Pondicherry--A Tale from Redwall

[WarriorOfMossflower]

Book 1: The Vermin Lord
Prologue

A great-horned owl glared down at her followers with contempt flickering in her eyes. It was a motley assortment of carrion-birds and the odd bird of prey that made up her army. She turned to her second-in-command, a strange golden-feathered eagle. Some thought he was insane, with the way he was always grinning and laughing for no apparent reason, but there was no doubt that he had more knowledge in war and conquest than any other bird.
   "Kreeeahhhh!!!" the great-horned owl screeched in her comrade's face. "What say you, Trass? Where he be? Where be the Vermin Lord?"
   Trass preened his golden breast feathers as if deep in thought. "Ereeeeekkk! Do not screech, Milady. Not good, the omens be not. Visions be clouded. Trass has lost sight of Vermin Lord, not good. If fate—"
   The owl was on him in a split-second. Her talons closed cruelly around the poor beast's throat, causing him to gurgle. "Kreeeahhhh! Make omens better, or I decide your fate!"
   Trass managed a wry grin. "K-kill meee.... You... you never find... Vermin...without..." 
   The owl loosened her grip slightly, her beak clacking menacingly. "You be a lucky bird, Trass Seereagle. Next time, Nara not let you get off so easy! Go, away to your nest. Leave Nara in peace."
   Trass fluttered upright, coughing and gagging as he sucked in as much air as his lungs would hold. He covered his neck with a large wing, laughing madly around his coughing fits. It was an odd and disturbing guttural sound. "Kreeehahaha, reeeeeeheeheeheeack! You be a cruel, kreehaha, ol' beast, karakachark!"
   Nara gave him a stony glare with narrowed amber eyes. "Go, Nara has spoken! Seereagle, you lucky to be alive. Go, blundering buffoon!"
   Trass Seereagle cackled and sailed off into the night, still grinning foolishly. Nara snuggled down in her own nest, malevolently slitting her eyes as she watched the movements of her miniature army. "Soon, Nara will have no need for those idiots. No, no, Nara will lead a mighty horde. Yesss, one day, Nara will!"

   Melnight the Vermin Lord observed his mighty horde through one half-open eye as he sat back against a tall oak with paws behind his head. They were all well-muscled and lean, rough and mean as rattlesnakes. Some pitched up tents, some slunk around through the shadows and snatched food from fellow hordebeasts, and the majority of them fought outright, cuffing each other soundly across the ears and dealing hefty blows to the head of their opponent. Melnight never worried, though, his force was so large that it could never be depleted by mere scuffles in the ranks. He sipped elderberry wine from a beaker as he watched his Captains, sitting in a ring around a small fire and roasting russet apples as they joked and jostled each other for position.
   Melnight was, in his opinion, the slyest fox that ever lived. He had evaded his ancient enemy, Nara the Greatowl, for many seasons, felling most of her army at the same time. The fox had a gruff voice and a nasty temper, but there was one thing that set him apart from other foxes: his black fur. The Vermin Lord had midnight-black fur, and deep brown, almost red, eyes. Those almost-scarlet eyes gave rise to his second name: Bluddeyes.
   Melnight Bluddeyes grinned his nasty, twisted, horrendously evil grin as he drifted off to sleep. Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow, he would flee his foe no more. He would stand and fight; if he didn't kill Nara, somebeast would. He ran his tongue around the jagged tooth that protruded awkwardly from the corner of his mouth as he slept, anticipating the taste of his foe's blood on the morrow.

Opinions? Constructive criticism is welcomed.

Okay, here we go.

Chapter 1

A tiny otterbabe wandered the halls of Redwall Abbey, drifting aimlessly about. He was stopped abruptly as he ran smack-dab into a strong brown figure. Stumbling a few steps back, he stared wide-eyed at the large otter.
"I's s'rry, m-mister..."
The large otter's face broke into a broad grin as he gazed fondly down at the daunted otterbabe. "Well ain't this the nice s'prise!"
"S-s'prise?" The otterbabe echoed in confusion.
The dark-furred otter crouched low, affectionately rubbing his knuckles between the otterbabe's tiny ears. "Aye, mate, a real s'prise! Y'don't 'member me, Skipper of Otters? Yore father?"
"Er, er... fa...fat'er?"
Skipper of Otters gave a resigned sigh. "Well, I s'pose you wouldn't. After all, you was smaller than you is now, when I was alive."
The otterbabe gasped, falling back on his miniscule rudder. "Y...you...not alif?"
"'Course not, liddle matey. I was killed by... no, you don't need to know that yet, son. I must go now. Take care o' yoreself, Brawn."

And thus the otterbabe called Brawn was found in Redwall Abbey, underneath the Tapestry of Martin the Warrior, paws outstretched as if reaching for the Sword of Martin, which hung on display above the Tapestry.
Abbot Tibbtayle has immediately taken kindly to the youngster and welcomed him into the lives of those who dwelled in the Abbey (for such was his nature) and adopted Brawn as his own son.
Brawn had no memory of the conversation with his father. He didn't know how he wound up inside the Abbey, and neither did the goodbeasts who dwelled there. All he could recall was his own name. Gradually, the young tawny-coloured otter adjusted to life in the Abbey. He was accepted and welcomed by the Dibbuns, who promptly promoted him to the position of the Leader of Dab--Dibbuns Against Bedtime.  The onlybeast ever to be angry with the otterbabe was the squirrelcook Friar Aestew, and even he couldn't stay furious with the amber-eyed otter Dibbun for long, despite claiming that the young one could out-eat a famished hare and still save room for dessert at every opportunity. Brawn, in turn, came up with a nickname for the cook. "Fire-ae-stew" He often muttered darkly behind the Friar's back when he was caught trying to make a midnight snack for himself, "Fire-ae-stew, d'ye know why I call ye that, matey? Y'could set fire to a stew if you was bein' careful, not t'mention that y'couldn't feed a pore starvin' beast if'n ye tried. Ye don't make enough food fer a peckish bird, much less a growin' young otter... Ha, ye could burn a salad."
Each endured the other's insults with good humour, but at times the conflicts could become rather heated as Brawn grew older. The Father Abbot was always there to intervene, however, and he seemed to be the only one who could reason with the bold young otter.
It was a warm summer morning when one of those heated debates arose.
"How many times must I tell you, young snip! You have t'wait for breakfast like all us other civilised beasts!"
"Huh, and wot if'n I don't wanna wait fer brekkist? Who's gonna stop me, eh? You, the fat old squirrelcook who can't even see his own footpaws? You, the one tryin' t'starve a pore young beast t'death? You, the cook who could burn a salad?"
"Your smart mouth will be the end of you, young Brawn! So will your appetite, y'great glutton!"
"Call me a glutton, will ye? I'll disfigure those perfect white teeth of yores if'n ye say another peep!"
"An' if you try that, young sir, your ears will be turned inside out and your hide tanned by my cooking paddle!"
The rebellious young otter and the squirrelcook were nose to nose, glaring at each other. Friar Aestew rapped Brawn's paw sharply with a ladle as it strayed close to a candied chestnut on the table behind the Friar's back.
"Please, please, gentlebeasts, calm down." Abbot Tibbtayle swept down the stairs, clad in a long robe with his paws folded into the sleeves.
"But he called me a glutton!" Brawn protested as he bounded back with a scone in paw.
"And you, young otter..." The Friar smartly whacked the paw that held the scone, causing Brawn to drop it and dance around with his paw in his mouth, howling in pain. "...have been stealing my pastries."
Brawn bared his teeth savagely, but the Abbot stepped in. "I will have no goodbeasts such as you fighting in my Abbey. Brawn, come with me. Friar Aestew, go about your business."
Brawn gave a sigh of resignation and bounded up the stairs, but not before he had snatched a cherry pie with a delicate tan crust and a fine, light brown, crispy surface from where it was cooling on a windowsill. The Abbot, shaking his head, followed, murmuring quietly to himself.
"Brawn, my son?"
"I am here, Father." Brawn was seated on a windowledge with his back against the red sandstone, one footpaw dangling as he picked casually at the pie. Upon catching sight of the Father Abbot, he leaped from the ledge and somersaulted nimbly across the room, landing in a kneel at the Abbot's feet. He held up the pie, head bowed. "For you, Father."
Abbot Tibbtayle did something that would have surprised anybeast there to witness it. He knocked the cherry delicacy away, teeth bared. "You think that offering me a stolen pastry is going to ease your punishment?" he growled, in high temper that was unusual for an aged Abbot of Redwall.
Brawn scrambled back, crab-legged style, catching the pie in one paw. "Well if you don't want it..." he muttered sulkily, nibbling at the crust of the pie. "I guess I'll scoff it. Besides, what punishment? You've never punished me for my antics before."
The old mouse gave a weary sigh and shuffled to the window. "Never before, son, never before because you were young and mischevious like every Dibbun is. But now you are growing up, you should act like it."
The tawny otter stood, twirling the spotless pie-pan. "Fire-ae-stew always starts it."
"Come, Brawn. Enough. The matter is settled. You must assist Friar Aestew for seven days in his kitchen."
Brawn joined the Abbot at the window, ignoring his punishment. "Father...why am I so different?"
"Different? What do you mean?"
"Well...I feel like I'm the only one...of my kind. Why are there no other otters in the Abbey? Is it because we are not meant to be here, like vermin?"
Abbot Tibbtayle stared at his adopted son increduosly. "How could you think that, son? Of course otters are supposed to be here. But...eight seasons ago, as I recall, the otters--including Skipper--left here on a quest to the Northlands. A quiet life as goes in this Abbey was not for them. They needed some sort of adventure. They haven't returned."
Brawn inhaled sharply.
"Here's a question, Brawn my son. Why do you talk so politely, not in your regular otter slang, when addressing me, yet you can't manage the same for the Friar?"
Brawn scuffed his paws on the floor, unable to meet the Abbot's eyes.
"You remind me of someone, young otter."
"Who, Father? Who? Tell me, I beg you!" Brawn finally looked up, his wide amber eyes pleading.
"Our former Skipper of Otters... The one who went questing into the Northlands. You are what, about eight seasons old now, no?"
"Aye, Father," Brawn was almost hopping up and down with excitement. "Why is my age important, though?"
"Hmm... Our Skipper was a curious creature, my son. One day, when he was maybe of twelve seasons, he disappeared out into Mossflower for a few nights. He returned, of course, but never mentioned where he went. Once every seven days, he would disappear into the night like that. We never asked him what it was about, and he never offered to tell. But I suspect he met a pretty ottermaid about his age, probably had her father marry them somewhere out in Mossflower. He was a rather shy creature when it came to maids, you see. Anyhow, you turned up a few weeks after Skipper and his ottercrew went off questing. Yes, I think it fits, Brawn. You may very well be the son of Skipper Tabbzy, as he was called."
Brawn blinked in shock. "Curl me rudder, yore serious, Father?"
Abbot Tibbtayle nodded solemnly. He adjusted his spectacles and refolded his paws into his wide sleeves. "I have things I must attend to. We can talk later if you'd like."
Brawn sat down hard as the Abbot swept off down the stairs. "Me, Brawn, son of the Skipper?"
"Presumably."
The tawny otter leaped up, searching for the source of the voice. "Who goes there?" he shouted.
"I might ask the same of you."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a red flash of fur. "Are you friend or foebeast, matey? Give me a straight answer this time, no games!"
"I don't know, otter. Do you consider any non-Redwaller a foebeast? Or are all woodlanders your allies?"
Brawn gritted his teeth. "Look, I don't have time for this. Woodlanders are always welcome in Redwall, and--"
"Well then..." Brawn found himself confronted by a pair of dark eyes, with erect reddish-orange ears underneath. Ears underneath? This creature was dangling upside down! "...my name's Twigg. Nice t'meet ye, Brawn son of Skipper Tabbzy, I'm sure."

Chapter 2

"Chief! Chief! 'Elp meeeeeee!"
Melnight Bluddeyes the Vermin Lord leaped to his paws, double-headed axe clenched in one paw even though his eyes weren't open yet. At a menacing screech, he came wide awake.
"Bluddeyyyyyyes! Score to settle, so we have!"
He curled his lip viciously, cursing under his breath and kicking himself for being so unwary. What reason would the owl have to attack at daytime? She was in her prime in the dead of the night, after all. Melnight knew that he should not have fallen asleep with only a nitwitted hordebeast on guard duty rather than one of his most trusted Captains. He tried to think up excuses to comfort himself, but could think of none. He didn't have time to think before Nara Redtallons swooped down on him, seeming materialising out of the still night air.
Birds and vermin thrashed about everywhere, the blades of grass beneath them glistening with blood. The Vermin Lord had just enough time to deflect The Greatowl's chainmailed tallons as the mortal enemies clashed.
"Ereeeeeeekaaaaaa!!! You die, vermin, you die todaaaaaay!!!"
"Grr..." Melnight flung the owl away from him with a thrust of his heavy axe. He pinned her down, one long-clawed footpaw dangerously pressing down on her throat. With a sneer, he leaned down and hissed near Nara's face, "'Tis not likely, Redtallons. If one of us must die, it will be you!"
It was a near-fatal mistake.
Nara lunged upwards with her beak, aiming for the black fox's neck. He ducked to the side, but not fast enough. Nara tore at least half of his left ear away, speckling her clacking beak with blood.
The night was full of mistakes for the Vermin Lord.
When Melnight Bluddeyes had leaned to the side to avoid death, he had stepped off of the owl. Nara surged upwards, throwing him off. While the fox lay winded on the ground, the axe just barely out of his reach, she tightly grasped one footpaw in her deadly beak and took to the air.
A Captain of Melnight's, by the name of Humbowr, was an excellent archer. He carried a longbow, with a sturdy arrow always notched to the string. Now he drew it back as far as possible without snapping the bow or string, his eye just above the arrow as he sighted his target. Expressing his remarkable strength, he let the arrow fly.
It was a good shot, but nobeast could expect it to be a kill at the height that Nara was flying, and the fact that she was a moving target. However, it took the owl through the shoulder and part of her wing, causing her to screech and drop her victim in pain. The fact that her prey had been lost still did not match the fact that the arrow was a very heavy thing, made from the firmest of wood and an enormous speartip. There was a sickening thud as Melnight hit the ground, closely followed by Nara. Flapping her undamaged wing in panic, she somehow managed to upright herself and come to a softer landing than her foe.
"Reeeeeakkk!!! Who be laughing now, blackfox? Eh, eh?"
Melnight's eyes were closed. He didn't move.
"Vermin, you follow Nara Retalloned Greatowl now! She be your--"
"Shaddup, goldie." Humbowr had an arrow drawn on his taut bowstring already. "Or would ye rather have yer dear Queen find out what Hellgates look like?"
Trass Seereagle screeched in outrage. He placed himself between the Weasel Bowmaster and Nara Greatowl. "You-you--" He was silenced forever by an heavy arrow.
The Bowmaster slowly placed another arrow to the string. "Yer wounded, owl. Go, take yer carrion rabble and git outta our sight. If ye've slain my Lord, I swear I'll hunt ye down and slay ye with me bare paws."
Nara glanced down at her fallen seer. She sniffed and turned, trying not to grimace in pain before the vermin. She swiveled her head completely backwards to look at the weasel Captain, hoping to unnerve him. "I will leave, but you are the one who shall be slain for the death of my Seereagle."
The remaining birds fluttered after her as she waddled along, hampered by the enormous arrow protruding from her shoulder.
Humbowr Bowmaster knelt beside the Vermin Lord. "Chief?"
The vermin stared at their paws or wandered around in confusion or tried to salvage supplies from the wreckage of their camp. Some, mainly the Captains, crowded around Melnight's body.
"Wa...ter..." the beaten figure croaked.
"Chief!"
"Wa...ter...idiot...gimme...wa...ter..."
"Water!" the Captain yelled. "Somebeast bring water!"
A ferret scrambled over with a beaker of water in paw. "H-here y'go, Captain Bowmaster."
Humbowr did not acknowledge the ferret, he simply seized the beaker and gently rolled the Vermin Lord over. "Here, Chief." He tipped some water into the half-dead fox's open mouth.
Melnight coughed. His whole body was aching, he felt as if he had been dragged through a blizzard then chucked into a maelstrom but had miraculously survived. "Get...a vixen...the twins, Bowmaster...the twins...let them...attend me..."
Humbowr dashed off, yelling, "Minhgo! Mehngo! The Vermin Lord is in need of your assistance!"
Two sleek, russet-brown vixen slunk from the shadows. "Lord Bluddeyes?" they said in unision.
Humbowr nodded, and the two healers slipped through the shadows in pursuit as he loped back to the Vermin Lord's side. The twin healers were exactly identical--the same piercing, icy blue eyes, the same bushy tails, the same black-tipped ears, and the same russet-brown fur. 
"We should identify his hurts, sister." 
It was rather eerie, the way they said every single thing at the same time with nary a glance at the other. But they seemed to share the same mind, and easily communicated.
"Hmmm... two broken legs..."
"...and a wrenched shoulder..."
"...not to mention deep wounds on his flanks..."
"...and a ripped ear..."
"Chief, we'll do all we can, but you won't ever look the same again."
Melnight Bluddeyes sighed, trying to curl his mouth into a grimace. It turned out looking like a wicked smile. He raised an eyebrow at the twin vixen. "Do what you can...healers...or you'll be in worse shape...than I am now...ackahaaaack!!!"
The blue-eyed vixen exchanged a glance, identical looks of fear stamped on their faces. They knew what the fox could do when he was in the mood to, even in the state he was in at the present. The Vermin Lord gave them his newfound wicked smile.
"Well...are you going to...stand there gawking at each other...all...ughuhaaaack!!! ...day?"

Chapter 3

Ruggan Axehound glanced down at his son. It was a beautiful morning, the sky rosy pink and streaked with blue dashes, not a cloud in sight. The brilliant golden blaze of the sun could be seen out to the distance, out on the sea's glittering waters. Rolling, foaming waves crashed against the rocks of the High North Coast as Ruggan and his son stood there.
"What are ye thinking of, Swiffo?"
Swiffo Axehound II looked up. "Mmm, about our coming voyage to Redwall. Is it really so grand as they describe it? Are the vittles really as splendid as I'm told?"
Ruggan's whiskered face broke into an enormous grin. "O' course it is, liddle matey! Ye think I'd lie about somethin' like that?"
The young otter tossed a pebble into the air, dealing it a great smack with his rudder and watching it shoot off out to sea. "Nah, I don't doubt ye, pa. When will the ole wotstheirnames--the Long Patrol, I think--be here?"
"Soon, Swiffo, soon. You'll see the ship from leagues away, sailin' right across the land. Wot d'ye think o' that?"
Swiffo scowled. "I think those vermin were too clever for their own good. Blood'n'bones, how'd they think somethin' up like that?"
Ruggan shook his head, patting his son's head roughly but fondly. The two Rogue Crew otters sat there for a moment, feeling the salty tang of seaspray spattering their faces.
"Could ye sing that ole vic'try song fer me, pa?"
"Vic'try song?"
"Aye, the one that goes...
Hoolawhey! Hoolawhey!
Hiyaree! Hiyaree!
...or somethin' like that."
Ruggan instead set his axe before his son, guiding his paws to the long handle. "See if'n ye can swing that beauty yet, Swiffo."
"An axe? Pa, ye know I'm better with bow an' arrows!"
"Aye, I do, son, but yore an Axehound. Ye need to learn how t'wield an axe!"
Swiffo relented with an uneasy sigh. "If'n I chop off a beast's paw, it ain't my fault, 'tis yores. Deal?"
The Chieftan of the High North Coast put a paw round his son's shoulder. "Son, ye won't. Yore an Axehound, ye kin do this. True, ye were named after my dead brother, a peaceful beast, but that was Skor's wish. Ye can swing an axe, Swiffo Axehound."
Swiffo took a deep breath and gingerly hefted the axe. Though he was young, this was no problem for an otter of his strength. To the sea otter's surprise, the axe felt just the right size, easy in his paws. "Yaylahooooo!!!" He whirled it above his head and sent it cleaving downwards through the air. It struck the rock with a noisy clang, almost splitting a crack in it.
Ruggan slapped his son heartily on the back. "There we go, Swiffo! Keep on!"
A light gleaming in his eyes, Swiffo grinned and swung out strongly, enjoying the thrum of the dangerous axehead on the air. He stopped after a while, panting slightly, and returned the axe to his father. "Haharr, that was great, pa! Stamp me rudder, when will ye give me one o' those?"
Ruggan's eyes twinkled merrily. "C'mon, whilst ye were choppin' down yore imagernary foes wid me axe, the Posy Gurdy arrived! We're already boardin', so move yoreself smartly, me bucko!"
Mhya, a pretty young ottermaid lethal with a dagger, was waiting for them. "Ahoy, Chief, move yoreself!"
Ruggan and Swiffo Axehound leapt aboard. Grinning down at the ottermaid, Ruggan called out, "I think 'tis you who needs to move yoreself, me beauty!"
Mhya smiled good-naturedly and hauled herself aboard the ship that could sail across both land and sea. A young black hare joined them at the stern, his long, tall ears flopping in the wind as the ship picked up speed.
"Well! If'n it ain't the son o' Cap'n Rake Nightfur! Stripe me rudder, 'tis...'tis... wot's yore name again, young un?"
The hare smiled and shook his head, shaking the Chieftan's paw heartily. "'Fraid nae, sah. Grandson, Myx Nightfur."
"Niiiiiiightfuuuuuur!!! Back to your post, young sah!"
Myx rolled his eyes, but he was already edging away from the otters. "Ah'm sorry, buckoes. That'd be the Gen'ral. Ah'll try tae git back tae ye later. 'Scuse me."
Ruggan tapped his rudder thoughtfully against the deckboards. "Hmm, Myx Nightfur, is it? Nothin' like his ole granpappy, not yet. Well, unless ye count that Northern accent."
Swiffo grinned. "'E's not so bad. Think I'd get along with 'im."
Mhya had moved up to the prow. "Crikey! Hare straight ahead! Stop 'er, stop the ship afore we tramples that'n!"
General Gridgegoul Graemsnap was a stern hare, tall and lanky, clad in a red tunic and a floppy hat that fell over his eyes with every move. Scowling darkly, his face like thunder, he stormed up to the prow, calling out angrily as he did so, "Haaaaaaalt!"
Mhya pointed. "Y'see? Right there, in the shade o' that overhang. Looks t'be asleep."
"Brikks Aulsummer Nayheed Glazeleaf Rilewynd Deepsprig Taytyle Waundribble Ashayah... The flippin' glutton..." Still muttering to himself, the General marched off the ship. "He'll find himself on a blinkin' fizzer so fast..."
Brikks was snoring loudly, his paws clasped and resting on his ample stomach. The General roared in his ear, yet still he did not wake. "Niiiiiiightfuuuuuur!!!"
Myx was at his side in a heartbeat. He threw a fancy salute with his twin blades--undoubtedly passed on to him from his grandfather. "Aye, Gen'ral?"
"Fetch a pail of cold water--and make sure it's rather bloomin' cold, d'ye hear?"
"Ah ken, sah." The black-furred hare dashed off to the ship, calling out, "Ahoy, Axehound! Fix a pail o' water, Ah'll be right up! Make it pretty flippin' cold, ye ken?"
Swiffo nodded and did as the young warrior of the Long Patrol had requested. He had the water ready by the time, the slim black hare had pulled himself aboard. He gave the Chieftan's son a swift nod as he took the pail, already making his descent. "Mah thanks tae ye, Axehound! Ah'll try tae talk tae ye later."
"Niiiiiiiiightfuuuuuuur!!! Where's that bally water I sent ye to fetch!"
"'Ere ye are, Gen'ral. Colder'n a blizz'rd in yon Northlands!"
Gridgegoul snatched the pail and dumped all the icy water on the tubby hare's face. Myx couldn't help but grin at Brikks's expression as he sat up, coughing and spluttering. "What did ye blinkin' well do that for, Gen'ral? I say, I'm wetter than a drowned rat, wot wot!"
The General glared down at Brikks. "Do you know what you'd done this time, Ashayeh?"
"N-no, sah, I don't know what I've jolly well done...what's wrong? Why do you have a face like flippin' thunder?"
Dragging the young hare unmercifully back to the Posy Gurdy by the ears, General Graemsnap gritted out. "This is the third time, you flippin' scoundrel. The third time!"
"Th-third time? Yowowow!!! Easy on the ears, sah! You're pullin' the bally old lugs out by the bloomin' roots! Yowch!"
The General paid no attention to his victim's pleading. "The third time you've stolen food and ran off, young chap!"
Brikks shot a pleading glance back at Myx, who was marching behind the General and the glutton. The black hare shook his head slightly, though he kept his eyes front and centre.
Swiffo was leaning out over the rail. "Wot's goin' on down there, Myx?"
Ruggan pulled him back. "Long Patrol matters, son. Leave 'em be, they'll sort it out."
Myx Nightfur raised his eyes slightly as he heard the young otter call his name, but said nothing. A footpaw in his path sent him sprawling. He leapt to his paws, drawing his twin claymores and glaring at the General. "Wot was that for, Gen'ral?"
"Eyes front'n'centre, chin up, shoulders straight, pick those footpaws up off the ground, laddie buck! Just 'cos ye hear your little otterfriend call your name don't mean that ye have permission to slack on your marchin'!"
Myx relucantly sheathed his claymores and resumed his march, though his thoughts about the General were dark.
Brikks was shoved roughly aboard the ship, protesting all the while. "You don't bally well understand, Gen'ral! It wasn't my fault!"
"Right, now ye are goin' tae tell us that yore stummick told ye tae do it, aye?"
Brikks nodded vigorously. "That's exactly wot I was goin' to say, m'lad!"
Myx put his head in his paws, calling out to Ruggan, "Ye kin give the order tae move off, sah. We kin deal with this un along the way."
"Lord Bradefurge, sah, I think you'd best be the one to give this glutton a right ole tellin' off, wot!"
Bradefurge was an intimidating Badger Lord, to be sure. In one paw, he swung an enormous battle axe as if it were a featherweight. The large badger had a stern face, and cold black battle-hardened eyes. His every step shook the deck of the Posy Gurdy. "Ashayeh again, Gen'ral?"
"Aye, Lord."
Lord Bradefurge whirled on the Brikks, who cowered down on the deck, curled tightly into a ball with paws over his eyes, whimpering. "Don't hurt me, sah, please, I beg ye!"
The large badger glanced at Myx Nightfur, who was leaning with his back to the rail, looking on the scene through half-closed eyes.
"What do ye suggest, Nightfur? Your father Cayl was a trusted advisor of mine."
"Ah dinnae think ye should hurt the wee lad, Lord, but--"
"Wee lad y'self, Nightfur! I'm older'n you!"
"--he must be punished. Ah'm thinkin'..."
Lord Bradefurge knew the look in Myx's eyes, and his dangerous tone. "Expel him from the Long Patrol?"
"Aye, Lord, mah thoughts exactly."
"N-no, I beg ye, Lord Bradefurge! Anythin' but that! Please!" Brikks threw himself to the deck at the badger's feet, sobbing hysterically.
"Och, dry your eyes, glutton. Ye've brought it upon yourself, time tae face up." Myx glanced down at the whining hare, contempt glittering in his eyes.
Lord Bradefurge sighed. "I'm sorry, Brikks, that it has come to this. But Myx Nightfur is right; this is the third time you've been given a chance and ruined it. I've forgiven you before, but this is going too far. You will travel with us to Redwall Abbey, and I will decide what to do with you from there. But you will not be coming back to Salamandastron as a Long Patrol warrior, you can be sure of that. While we are visiting Redwall, you are to remain within Myx or General Graemsnap's sight at all times. The Redwall food is extremely delicious, but I expect for you to control yourself during our stay. The Abbeybeasts are good creatures--do not abuse their hospitality."
Brikks sat up with a huge sigh. "As y'say, Lord. But--"
"Silence!" the Badger Lord boomed. "There is no arguing. I have given you too many chances already, Ashayeh. You will not be welcomed back into the Long Patrol."
The rotund hare trundled off across the deck, paws dragging. He cast one last look over his shoulder at the mighty badger and the two hares, then hopped off into the shadows. Myx saluted the Badger Lord with his blades. "Anythin' else ye want me tae see tae, Lord?"
"No, no, Nightfur. You are dismissed. Gridgegoul, come with me."
Stowing his claymores, the young black hare crept stealthily off into the shadows. Brikks jumped in surprise as he felt a light paw on his shoulder. He looked up at the warrior, then scowled and turned away. "Wot do you jolly well want, Nightfur? Can't a bod get a bit o' peace an' quiet?"
Myx crouched, staring into the sulking hare's eyes. "Mah 'pologies, Bang. Chap's got t'do what he's flippin' told t'do. Never meant tae expel ye, but ye know how it goes. Ye have to be punished when ye've done somethin' like this three too many times."
Brikks sniffed. "You've still got the bloomin' nerve t'call me Bang? Only me mateys call me Bang. I don't think that jolly well includes you anymore, wot!"
Myx gave a sigh. "Ye need a friend tae travel wi', Brikks. That's wot Ah meant tae suggest tae Lord Bradefurge, tha' ye go on ae adventure. But even Ah, nae matter o' how high regard the Lord holds me, dinnae care tae contr'dict yon badger's words. If he had the mind tae expel ye, he'd do it without mah agreement. Mayhaps Ah can do somethin' once we reach yon Redwall Abbey."
Brikks twitched his ears. "R-really? Thank ye kindly, old chap, wot wot!"
The black hare nodded and slipped off without another word. He found Swiffo up in the prow, standing beside Mhya. "Och, there ye are, mah bonny otterchap!"
Swiffo turned and broke into a grin. "The name's Swiffo Axehound II, an' don't ye forget it!"
Myx laughed. "An' wot's your name, lassie?" he asked, turning to Mhya.
"Mhya, Mhya Redblade!" Mhya replied, touching a paw to her sword hilt.
"Och, a braw name for a feisty ottermaid, nae?" Myx said with a wink at Swiffo.
"Wot did ye expect, Mhya Daisyflow'rs? I'm a member o' the Rogue Crew, Northlander!"
"Ah ain't nae Northlander. Mah name is Myx Nightfur of Salamandastron!"
"Then how come ye talk wid that funny accent, like all Northlanders do?"
"'Cos that's how mah father an' his father before him spoke, ye ken?"
Mhya Redblade noted the dangerous gleam in Myx's eyes and eased off her teasing as she saw the black hare's paws inch toward his twin claymore hilts. "Ahoy, mate, leave those swords where they are! I git yore point."
Myx Nightfur glanced at Swiffo. "Guid," he said simply. "Och, Axehound, will ye step tae the side a wee bit? Atwixt ye an' Redblade Ah cannae see a thing oot yonder."
Swiffo shuffled sideways a bit, and all three leaned out, peering into the distance eagerly for a sign of the legendary Abbey.
The loud call of the otter lookout came seconds after they spotted a glittering river in the distance. "Ahoy, Chief, River Moss sighted!"


Chapter 4

Brawn warily shook the offered paw of the squirrel. "How long 'ave ye been listenin' in on me?"
"I was up here, about to come down an' introduce meself t'the Redwallers when ye'n'the mouse walk in. So I wait. An' now, here I am."
The tawny-coloured otter still looked suspicious. "Ye wouldn't 'appen t'be kin o' Aestew, would ye?"
"Aestew? Great seasons, no!" Twigg darted into the shadows. "If he's here, I'm gone!"
Brawn laughed, dragging the ginger squirrel back out gently by the tail. "C'mon, matey. Looks like me'n'you 'ave got somethin' in common! An' by the way, that mouse ye saw is the Father Abbot here at Redwall Abbey. Be courteous t'Abbot Tibbtayle, 'cos 'e's a real goodbeast. 'E took me in when I was no more than a liddle otterkit."
Twigg still looked reluctant. "I ain't got a good past with that Aestew squirrel, keep 'im away from me, aye?"
"Aye. Now c'mon, or we'll miss brekkist!"

The new friends took the stairs two by two, chatting amiably as they went.
"Have ye ever tasted Redwall vittles, mate?"
"Nope, but I've heard legends, Brawn!"
"Legends? That's an understatement."
"What would you call it, my friend?"
"Haha, okay, ye got me."
"Brawn, my son?"
The tawny otter stopped in his tracks as he heard the Father Abbot. "Yes, Father?"
The mouse Abbot had his paws folded into his wide sleeves, and his head was bowed as if... "Could you have possibly waited to come down to breakfast so raucously until after I had said the grace?"
Brawn pulled Twigg back, restraining him from the delicious Redwall spread and murmuring in his ear, "After the grace, mate, after the grace." His voice still low, he bowed his head, speaking to Abbot Tibbtayle, "Sorry, Father. Carry on."
Twigg took the hint and bowed his own head, though he glanced up at the mouthwatering delicacies every now and then.
"Thank you seasons, for this spread,
which we partake of, surrounded by walls so red,
thank you for friends, who answered the call,
and dwell in safety, here at Redwall!"
"Twiiiiiiigg!!!" Friar Aestew flung himself at the young squirrel, who promptly scurried in the other direction, right back up the stairs, calling out, "'elp, Brawn! Please! Keep 'im awaaaaaay!!!"
Brawn dashed after both squirrels, and the scene became chaos. Many Redwallers followed the tawny otter up the stairs, all chattering and posing questions. The Father Abbot was trying and failing to make himself heard above the clamour. Some Redwallers simply shrugged and sat down, tucking in to the food with gusto. The Dibbuns immediately began pestering anybeast in sight with questions about the strange squirrel.
Brawn finally caught up with the Friar, catching him by the shoulders and restraining him from the panicked Twigg, who was at the far wall of the room they were in. "Friar Aestew! Stop! Leave Twigg alone."
The Friar growled, but could not escape the otter's strong paws. "Just lemme at 'im, I'll show that scoundrel!"
"Wot did 'e ever do t'you, cook?"
Scowling, Aestew stopped resisting and dusted his shoulders off as Brawn released him. "'E's the worst grubstealer in all o' Mossflower Country, worse'n you, piethief! When I lived in the woodlands, I would make my pasties and set 'em out on the windowsill t'cool. An' when I came back, they were gone! Finally I caught a glimpse o' the thief, that un right o'er there! Though he was smaller'n some o' our youngest Dibbuns are now, somehow he managed to steal those pastries. He'd sit out on a tree limb, just out of range, devouring those things and sitting there winking at me!"
Brawn gave a weary sigh. "Couldn't blame 'im, really. Nobeast makes pasties like yores, Friar. I hate t'admit it, but 'tis true, an' Twigg an' I both knows it. Leave Twigg alone, I kin deal with him. But don't expect me t'start bein' nice t'ye, Fire-ae-stew!"
The Friar narrowed his eyes and turned on his footpaw, storming off down the stairs. The Redwallers had quickly parted to make a path for him. Twigg finally relaxed, slipping to Brawn's side. "Thanks, mate," he murmured.
Brawn's amber eyes were slightly distrustful. "Was he telling the truth? Did ye really steal 'is pastries when 'e lived in the woodlands?"
Twigg lowered his eyes, shamefaced. "Aye, I did."
To the squirrel's surprise, the big otter slapped him heartily on the back. "Well, then I'm proud! C'mon, let's go get to vittlin'!"
Sister Cyminum, the good hedgehog Infirmary Keeper, threw up her paws in despair as the otter and squirrel bounded down the stairs. "The two of them will eat us out o' house an' home!"
Brother Ribram, the Abbey Recorder mole, nodded sagely. "Yes, yes, I do agree!"
All the Redwallers that had come up turned, giving the mole surprised looks. He slapped a paw to his forehead in exasperation. "Ho urr, I bee'd forgotted you uns still bain't a-custurmed to moi way o' a-speakin' things, boi okey, e'en arfter ee long seaseruns I bee'd ee Recorder!"
The goodbeasts laughed, and, chatting friendlily, they made their way back down the steps, only to be launched upon by the Dibbuns.
"SissiCynumnum, why you were gonned so long?" A mousebabe squeaked.
"We eated up alla vikkles widout you's!" a tiny squirrel added.
"I imagine you would, with that otter and his new squirrelfriend to help you," the literate mole Recorder muttered.
All the Dibbuns turned to gape at him. With a sigh, the chubby mole waddled off to the table to take his place beside Abbot Tibbtayle, muttering something to the old mouse. A smile broke across the Abbot's stern features, and he called, "Everybeast, please, take your places! I assure you, Brawn and young Twigg have not eaten us out of house and home, as our dear Recorder Ribram has suggested, quite yet, but you must hurry! They still linger here at the table!"
There was an immediate scramble for the table amidst much laughter (and a few indignate protests from the ravenous Brawn and Twigg). Everybeast was soon seated.
Minus the Dibbuns, who had disappeared to find out what mischief they could get themselves into without their elders watching.

Chapter 5

The Vermin Lord slowly, agonisingly slowly for him and his horde, had been making his recovery. He was fit enough to walk and rasp out orders, which he never ceased to do. He limped with every step, but this did not bother him. He was still every inch the cunning fox he had been before his battle with Nara Redtallons.
"Humbowr!"
"Chief?"
"Tell the horde that we break camp at dawn on the morrow. We're off to conquer Redwall Abbey."
"Redwall Abbey? Wot's that, Lord Bluddeyes?"
"'Tis a place nearby, where only peaceful creatures dwell. There were rumours of ferocious sea otters and warrior hares that dwelled there, but that was many seasons ago. They're prob'ly long gone now. There should only be those weaklings there, now, the ones afraid o' war. We'll conquer Redwall Abbey, an' any who doubt it kin answer to me blade. We're in Mossflower Woods right now, a short march west an' a tad south should do the trick. Oh, and send a hordebeast here to me. Anybeast will do, I'm just going to run a little experiment."
Humbowr knew exactly what kind of experiment Melnight was planning; in the fight, the black fox's right forepaw claws had been torn out. The twin healers Minhgo and Mehngo had replaced them with sharp shards of glass, at the Vermin Lord's request. He hadn't yet had a chance to use the glass claws, and everybeast knew he was itching to try them out on something other than tree-bark.
"Er, er, right away, Chief!"
His mind racing, the Captain hurried off to do his Master's bidding. "Khang Fletcher!"
Khang Fletcher was a lanky ferret, with furtive brown eyes and a bow and quiver slung across his back. His archery skills rivaled Humbowr's, and they both knew it. "Aye, Cap'n?"
"Chief wants t'see ye."
The slim ferret wandered off to find the Vermin Lord, muttering to himself, "Wot could Lord Bluddeyes want wid me?"
Captain Humbowr grinned maliciously as a scream rang out. "There can only be one bowbeast around 'ere, mate. Yore a dead un."
Melnight Bluddeyes sat back, satisfaction flickering across his bruised face as he carefully lapped blood from his new glass claws. Khang Fletcher lay, his life bleeding out onto the grass, wounded in two places; the back of the neck, and a large gash in his stomach.
"Ah, that was lovely..." the Vermin Lord murmured as he cleaned the rest of the scarlet liquid off his claws by wiping them on Khang's lifeless body.
Later that night, Humbowr happened to pass by the scene. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes fixed on the gruesome sight. With a gulp, he tugged his ear in a vermin salute as Lord Bluddeyes marched past.
"Humbowr, have you told them yet?"
"Er, told 'em wot, Chief?"
Melnight slapped a paw to his face. "I am surrounded by idiots and buffoons! If ye want somethin' done right around here, ye got t'do it yoreself!" He stalked off, still muttering to himself.
The stoat Captain breathed a deep sigh of relief and crept off to hide in his tent.

The morning was clear and bright, larks and doves wheeling about in the sky as they twittered their melodies of early dawnsong. The beauty of the new day was lost upon the vermin, however, as they were marching behind their limping leader in apprehensive silence. The black fox was determined to reach Redwall Abbey by nightfall, and nobeast dared to argue with the cunning Vermin Lord.
Latt, a scrawny weasel, muttered to his companion, a burly rat tattooed all over, "Yuddo, I dun like dis one bit! 'Tis way too quiet in dis for'st. An' who knows, mebbe dose otters'n'rabbets is still at dis Red Abbey place. Worra we gonna do den, eh, eh?"
The rat Yuddo glanced around before replying. "I dun like it neither, but we gots t'do wot the Lord wants us t'do. Ye would be a fool to argue wid that fox, 'e'd slay ye wid a tiny flick o' those sharp clawthingies 'e's got!"
"Sharp clawthingies? D'ye mean these, mate?"
Yuddo gulped, staring down his nose at the four shards of glass. "Er, er, y-yes, Chief."
"Oh? And d'ye wish t'see them give a tiny flick, as ye so wisely put it."
The dumb rat nodded vigorously. "Aye, Chief!"
"Good." The black fox glanced contemptuously down at the weasel whose stomach he had just plunged his glass claws through. "Yore wish 'as been granted. Move, unless ye want the same thing t'happen to ye, ye spineless puddenheaded fool!"
Yuddo didn't have time to look back at the carcass of Latt before they were both trampled by the horde's constantly marching paws.
Melnight Bluddeyes strode at the head of his army, still limping, his need for blood satisfied. His cold brown-red eyes were fixed dead ahead; there was only one thought running through his evil mind now.
Redwall Abbey.

Chapter 6

Ruggan Axehound bellowed back up at the lookout. "Thankee, Slaze! Ye kin come down and git yoreself some vittles, 'tis a hare's turn t'relieve ye!"
Slaze, a burly but nimble otter, descended speedily, saluting as he hit the deck. "Aye aye, Cap'n."
Myx Nightfur, having overheard the discussion, was about to volunteer himself for the job when, much to his obvious surprise, Brikks hopped out of the shadows and began hauling himself up the ratlines. "I think I'm the jolly old hare for the job, sah!"
Ruggan glanced at Myx, who simply shrugged. Swiffo joined him, and together they watched the tubby glutton's slow ascent. Swiffo shaded his eyes with a paw. "Ahoy, Myx, d'ye really think he'll make it?"
The young black hare shrugged again. "Och, who am Ah tae say? Yon glutton can do anythin' when he sets his mind tae it, Ah'm bound tae believe."
Brikks suddenly froze, clinging close to the rope ladder as he looked down at the swaying deck. It was a dizzying drop that he did not fancy, though he could not bring himself to move. "Oh, corks, sure is an awful bally long way down, wot!"
"D'ye need any 'elp, mate?" Swiffo called.
"N-no, stay down blinkin' there! I'll bloomin' well make it, you just wait!" Yet still the hare did not move.
Ruggan heaved a great sigh. "Ahoy, Swiffo, ye an' Nightfur take the tiller, I'll go an' get that helpless stomach on legs."
Swiffo and Myx willingly held the tiller steady as they watched Ruggan swiftly scramble up the ropes.
"Yowch, watch the blinkin' paws, sah! You're crushin' a dashin' young Salamandastron hare! Ooch!"
Ruggan descended as swiftly as he had gone up, this time with the protesting glutton tucked underneath his strong arm. As he reclaimed the tiller, Mhya Redblade joined them. "Chief, I don't mind bein' lookout for a liddle while."
Ruggan gestured to the ropes. "Shinny right up those an' ye'll make a fine lookout, darlin'."
Myx Nightfur was paying close attention to the course of the ship. "Pardon me sayin', but why are we swingin' out t'wards sea when the river's dead ahead, sah?"
"This ship would too easily get stuck tryin' to turn in the river, so--"
Myx finished the sentence as the realisation dawned on him. "We're goin' tae do an aboot turn oot on open waters, then sail oop the River Moss, aye?"
The Axehound nodded. "Aye. And then we 'ave t'punt 'er along wid oars to make it up the river. The water ain't runnin' in our favour, but we'll make it. A good thing we kept those logs the Wearat's vermin made so many seasons ago--we wouldn't make it across the ditch at Redwall widout 'em."
Myx nodded, fascinated. He was about to reply when Mhya gave loud cry, "We're gettin' close t'sea, Chief!"
The Long Patrol hares crowded the prow, each eager to see the shimmering sunlight dancing across the aquamarine ripples. The Rogue Crew, being more familiar with the water, stationed themselves at the oars, ready to row or punt. Myx, Swiffo and Brikks leaned out over the rail, trying to get a better view. Trying to find a place in the front was futile, so they made do with the few glimpses they could catch from the rail.
"An' just wot d'ye young scoundrels think you're up to, eh, wot?"
Myx turned and instinctively threw a smart salute with his twin blades. "'Tis tae crowded in the prow, we're only tryin' tae catch a guid view o' the braw sea waters, Gen'ral sah!"
General Gridgegoul Graemsnap marched off in a huff. "Hmph, the nerve of those bally Long Patrollers, breaking ranks an' mobbing the front like that, jolly bad form, wot!"
Myx winced. "Ach, we're in for a braw auld tellin' off."
"Ateeeeeeeeeen...shun!"
Every hare turned and saluted the strict officer.
"Hacksaw!"
"Sah, yes sah!"
"Wot is the flippin' meanin' of the bally rabble? An' where is the good ole Sergeant, eh, wot?"
"Sergeant Fladerthorn is in with Lord Bradefurge, as ye requested, sah! We only wanted a view of the jolly ole sea, sah!" Hacksaw was the regimental medic--there was none more knowledgable in herbs or remedies to cure an ache of pain than he. He was clad in a simple green tunic, with a sling wrapped about his neck and a pouch of pebbles at his waist. Hacksaw was a young, friendly hare, but a few seasons of experience had taught him how to deal with the General.
General Graemsnap opened his mouth to reply, but he was drowned out by Mhya Redblade's warning.
"Grab onto something, mates, we're about to go over an outcrop and into the seeeeeeeeeeeea!"
There was a quiet splash as Mhya was thrown from her perch atop the mainmast and into the water.
"Mhyaaaaaaa!" Swiffo yelled.
Myx threw himself down, bracing against the deck and the side of the ship. He pulled his friends down, gritting, "Ye heard the wee lassie, hold tight!"
A jolt ran through the ship from stem to stern as it careened over the outcrop. If not for the powerful grip of their friend, Brikks and Swiffo would've been mercilessly flung overboard.
Whoom!
There was a mighty crash of waves on rock as the Posy Gurdy hit the water. Ruggan grimly clung to the tiller, his dark brown eyes roaming the disturbed surface of the wide blue sea. Finally, he caught sight of a drenched brown head poking up. Mhya struck out strongly for the ship, then suddenly stopped.
Swiffo wrenched himself free from under the black hare's paws. "Mhyaaaaaa! Why've ye stopped?"
A thud against the hull told Ruggan Axehound all he needed to know. "Myx, Swiffo, git over here, move sharply now!"
Myx, dragging his sea otter friend with him, joined the Axehound at the tiller. "Aye, sah?"
"Swiffo, stay here with me. Myx, I need ye t'run an' git the Sergeant."
Swiffo looked distressed as he watched his friend go and turned his gaze back to the disturbed waters. "Pa, wot about Mhya?"
Ruggan passed the tiller to his son and began honing his double-edged axe. "I'm about t'deal with that, when the Sarge gets 'ere, though. I would leave the tiller in yore care, but not wid that shark tryin' t'knock us around from down there."
Myx was marching behind a tall, well-muscled veteran hare. "'i, h'Axehound, tootle pip h'an' h'all that. Wot's wrong, wot?" Sergeant Fladerthorn called out as he approached.
Ruggan beckoned him closer. "There's a shark down there, aye, an' one o' my Rogue Crew's finest young ottermaid warriors, too. I need ye t'take over the tiller while I go an' help one o' my Crew. Tell all yore hares to stay back from the edges unless they fancy goin' o'er. Clear? Nobeast is t'follow me. Includin' ye, Myx Nightfur." He gave Myx a stern look.
"Och, d'ye plan tae take on a shark single-pawed, mah bold bucko?"
Ruggan hefted his axe easily. "I think I can take 'im," he said with a grin.
Myx twitched his ears doubtfully. Brikks, who had been eavesdropping on the latter part of the conversation, broke in, "What's the rush, eh, wot? Aren't we rather jolly safe up here? The shark can't pull its blinkin' self up, wot!"
Ruggan was already at the rail. "Aye, you are, but Redblade down there ain't. An' I'm not about t'let her get eaten!"
Myx still had his doubts. He stared after the brave sea otter Chief as the Axehound plunged into the waves. "Are ye sure, Axehound? Yon axe's boun' tae weigh ye doon, an' how'll ye fight then? Ah've a mind tae help ye!" he murmured.
Sergeant Fladerthorn waggled his ears disapproving. "H'insubordination h'in the ranks! Cap'n Axe'ound gave ye h'an h'order, ye are jolly well expected t'follow h'it, wot!"
Myx and Swiffo exchanged a glance.
"H'attennnnnnnn...shun!"
Swiffo jumped, startled, at Fladerthorn's bellow. Myx, being accustomed to this sort of thing, immediately turned and saluted. The Long Patrollers in the prow stood briskly to attention.
"Ye have the Cap'n h'orders, chaps an' chappesses. Stand clear of the blinkin' edges unless ye want to go for h'a jolly old swim with h'a shark, wot! Cap'n Axehound is out there now, tryin' to help one o' his gallant Crew. Ye are t'stay right where ye h'are, right h'on this flippin' ship, ye hear me? Cap'n h'orders, wot. Now clear h'off!"
The hares scattered, some joining the sea otters who were standing grim-faced at the oars. Some were yelling encouragement to their Chieftain, though the words were lost on the salty sea air as gulls wheeled and screamed above them and the waves crashed against the ship. General Graemsnap spotted Myx eying the rail and talking quietly to himself.
"Niiiiightfuuuur, don't even think about it, ye insubordinate rascal, wot!"
Myx continued musing to himself, edging closer to the rail as if he had not heard the General. "Aye, see, yore flounderin' wi' yon axe, e'en now. But mah claymores dinnae weigh so much. Redblade's in a helpless position--she cannae go for'ards, but she cannae go back'ards 'cos she'd attract the shark's attention, an' ye dinnae outswim a big braw shark."
Myx leaped, but the General grabbed his footpaw, bellowing all the while, "NIIIIIIIGHTFUUUUUUURRRR, ye'll lose your bloomin' place in the Long Patrol for thi--oof!"
The young black hare had twisted midair and gently whacked the General in the stomach with his free footpaw, just enough to double Graemsnap over. Finally free, Myx plunged into the sea, yelling, "Ruggan sah, leave the axe! Get Mhya, Ah kin deal wi' yon shark!"
Myx drew his claymores just in time to meet the shark as it surged up behind him. He caught a brief glimpse of the numerous rows of razor-sharp teeth in the shark's gaping mouth as he slashed furiously at the monster's face.
Ruggan, unable to help for his heavy axe, was with Mhya now, guiding her sideways to the ship while the shark was distracted.
"Eulaliiiiaaaaaaaa!!!" The brave hare's war cry was drowned by the frothing scarlet waters, but he continued to fight on, despite the General's threats.
"I'll boot ye out of the bloomin' Patrol, I'll confiscate those flippin' claymores of yours, I'll...I'll..."
Brikks watched as Myx jabbed on at the shark. "Huh, an' they have the blinkin' nerve t'call me insubordinate, wot!"
Myx could feel his fur clogging up with salt water, and his limbs already felt like lead. The cold of the waters was soaking him to the bone. "Ah've goot tae finish this soon! But how could Ah kill such a great braw beastie? Cannae decapitate him, need a flippin' enormous sword for tha'...hmm, if only Ah could git un'erneath him tae stab...that's it!"
He swam backwards as far as he could, all the while keeping an eye on the infuriated beast. The shark fell right into the trap--it leaped into the air. Myx Nightfur summoned all his remaining strength to meet it, sticking both claymores into the beast's huge white stomach. It gave a bellow of pain, but that was its last sound. The limp carcass floated on the rough bloodstained sea waters for a moment--long enough for Myx to wearily retrieve his claymores. He weakly sheathed them and tried to make his way back to the Posy Gurdy, but the effort was futile. He let himself be enveloped by the darkness and lay bobbing in the waters on his back.
Swiffo plunged overboard and struck out strongly, grabbing his friend and towing him back to the ship. The creatures on board threw down a rope ladder for them, and the burly otter Slaze leapt into the sea and came up from behind to help Swiffo get the exhausted black hare on board.
Lord Bradefurge was waiting for them, his paws folded sternly across his chest. Swiffo laid the unconscious form of Myx Nightfur before him, bowing respectfully as he backed away. "Hacksaw!" the Badger Lord barked.
"Yes, Lord?" Hacksaw hurried over and began checking the black hare. "Absoballylutely drenched in blood, wot, though I can't tell if any of it's his own. More likely the shark's--did you see the way--"
"Will he live?" Bradefurge snapped.
"Oh, yes sah, he certainly will live. I don't see much harm done on him--just needs a good bath, sah!"
"No. Leave him as he is. I need to have a little talk with him about mutiny and its meaning when he wakes up. I hope he's learned his lesson."
Hacksaw took pity on the young black hare, but he did not dare to countermand his Lord's orders. He simply saluted. "As y'say, sah! Oh, look, he's already coming around! Oh, corks, that's the fastest flippin' recovery I've every jolly well seen!"
Myx gave a low moan as the Badger Lord hauled him bodily up and slung him over one shoulder before marching into the Captain's cabin. Swiffo stared worriedly after them, standing beside Brikks and ignoring the water dripping from his long, shaggy brown fur. "Hope yore Lord ain't too hard on 'im," he murmured to the glutton.
Brikks frowned. "That would be rather blinkin' rare, wot!"
Mhya was standing by Ruggan at the tiller. Both were shaking water from their fur. Ruggan's face broke into a wide grin as Slaze presented him the axe he had abandoned in the water. "Here y'go, Chief. Figgered I might as well fetch it for ye when I was down there."
The Axehound slapped him heartily on the back. "Thankee, Slaze! I'm indebted t'ye!"
Slaze laughed as he took the tiller. His tone was serious, though. "I kin take care o' this, Chief. You go see that liddle son o' yores, 'e don't look so good."
Mhya frowned. "I hope the Badger Lord ain't too hard on Myx, 'e did save me life after all."
Slaze patted her back fondly. "Don't worry yoreself about that hare. He'll be fine--'twould be silly if he could slay a shark but not stand up to a Badger Lord."

Chapter 7

Nara Redtallons was steadily making her recovery, as her rival Melnight had. Bight, the sister of Trass Seereagle, was an excellent healer--which was saying a lot for a bird ofttimes given the reputation of a killer. She had deemed the murderous owl fit to fly about the same time the Vermin Lord had begun his journey to find the fabled Redwall Abbey.
All crows and rooks had been slaughtered in the battle with Melnight Bluddeyes, which was perfectly fine with the great-horned owl Nara. It made room for the scores of fighting eagles, viscious hawks and wicked owls that she had recruited in the time she had spent making her recovery in the Northlands.
Now Nara Redtallons was back in action, and she was ready to take on her long-time rival Melnight Bluddeyes the Vermin Lord.

[WarriorOfMossflower]

Somehow, Nara knew her enemy had not yet made his voyage to Hellgates. Though he had suffered quite a beating, the owl had never been more certain in her life; the Vermin Lord was alive.
Bight, the sister of Trass Seereagle, had overseen the recovery of Nara. It was about the same time that Melnight had set his course for the fabled Redwall Abbey that she had deemed Nara fit to fly. Despite being a bird better-known as a killer, the eagle was a remarkable healer.
Bight spread her golden feathered wings in a long stretch, making sure that she was slightly out of Nara's immediate reach. Nobeast could tell what the murderous owl was thinking these days; it was better to be safe than sorry.
Nara stared at Trass' sister with narrowed eyes. "Thou miss thine brother, do thou not?"
Bight met the evil amber eyes warily with only a nod.
"And thou want vengeance, vengeance against yon vermin which took thou brother's life?"
Bight seemed to believe that Nara was in good humour for the moment. She nodded eagerly. "Yesyes, MightyOwl, thou knows all, sees all, yesyes!"
Nara did a sideways hop-skip on the branch she and the eagle perched on, coming in range of her deceased Seer's sister. She lunged, pulling the eagle close so that her own murderous beak was a hairsbreadth away from Bight's light yellow eyes. "Thou will be mine eyes, thou shall track vermin from sky. Stay hidden, scout out. We will follow thee in mine own time. Now go!"
Terrified and trembling, Bight shot off through the starry night sky like greased lightning.
Chuckling quietly to herself, Nara Redtallons hopped into the small hollow in the knotty tree--her sleeping quarters. She eased herself down, round amber eyes blinking slowly over her shoulder. "Mine enemy and I shall meet again, and 'twill be thou who is cut down this time, Bluddeyes! Yeeeeeeeeeeeesssss, karackarakraaaaaaaaaaaakkkk! Time has come for thee to die, foxvermin!"

"Foxvermin" was not in a good mood. He and his army had failed to reach Redwall Abbey by nighfall as he had ordered--and for once it wasn't the fault of his dim-witted minions. The Vermin Lord almost doubted himself for a moment, wondering if he had perhaps been leading his troops in the wrong direction. He quickly pushed the thought from his mind, for was he not the most cunning of the cunning, the cleverest of the clever? Surely such a sly beast could not get lost in some silly woodlands. But somehow, he had to find somebeast to blame. An idea came to him; his scarlet eyes slitted evilly.
"Haaaaaaaaaaaalt, ye soft-pawed slobber-mouthed lily-livered slimebuckets!"
The vermin skidded to a stop in the springy emerald-hued grass of the Mossflower Woodlands.
"Minchay, my bold ferret Captain, tell me, why have we not sighted the red Abbey yet?"
Minchay the white ferret was no fool, but he knew no more of the Abbey's wherabouts than his Lord did. He came up with the best excuse his furtive brain could muster.
"Mayhaps that be 'cos 'tis dark, Lord Bluddeyes."
Melnight paused to think for a moment. Captain Minchay had given a valid excuse that he had not anticipated. Another idea came to the fox, one with some rare truth behind it. "Tell me, Captain Flazkard, who was leading the horde when I dropped back to check for stragglers?"
Captain Flazkard was a river rat with a cruel face and deadly skills with knives. "'Twas I, Lord Bluddeyes," he said boldly.
"Ah, yes, and is it possible, perchance, that while I dropped back, you led the horde in the...wrong direction, maybe?"
The river rat was hard put to defend himself. "L-lord, I continued west and a bit south as ye told me to."
Melnight smiled disarmingly. "Give me your paw, Captain."
"Wh-what?"
"Hold out your blasted paw, idiot!"
Flazkard warily extended his right forepaw.
Swish!
There was a sickening sound as the glass claws of the Vermin Lord sliced clear through Flazkard's bone, severing the forepaw from the rest of the foreleg. Flazkard screamed in agony and fell to the black fox's footpaws, moaning and wailing piteously. Melnight sneered in contempt and kicked the unlucky river rat brutally.
"Ye do not even think ye know the correct path to take, for I am the only intelligent one of ye sniveling wretches. Ye do not think at all; I am the beast who does the thinking! Is that clear?"
The reply was unanimous. "Aye!"
"We will make camp here for tonight--we find the Abbey of red at dawn."
Two slim fox captains, both black like Melnight, glared malevolently at the Vermin Lord from the shadows. They slunk quietly away to their own sleeping area, where they murmured to each other in low tones.
"Just look at our brother. Bluddeyes the Bossy, they should've called him."
"Aye, Surva. If the three of us were ever going to rule jointly, the time has long come and gone. I bet yon Melnight does nay remember us anymore."
"You're right, Salin, but what's there to be done?"
Salin stared at the flickering embers dancing in their firepit for a moment before replying. "We bide our time, sister, 'tis the only thing we can do."
Surva narrowed her eyes as she glanced over her shoulder at the sleeping form of her treacherous brother the Vermin Lord. "Or we could slit his throat right now."
Salin lowered his head to rest on his forepaws, twitching his ears in reply to his sister. "Do not be a fool, Surva. He could best both of us in a fight with one paw tied behind his back, now that he has those silly shards of glass substituting for claws. We wait."
"Mayhaps we wait until we take the Abbey?"
"Now ye are thinkin' like the cunning sister I know."


Chapter 8

"I'm hungry."
Brawn yawned widely as he stretched. "You're always hungry, Twigg."
"You should talk."
The late evening sun slowly sank over Redwall Abbey, lighting the worn sandstone with the warm hues of orange and rosy red. Brawn hopped off his bunk and strolled to the attic window. Twigg had found it the only place he was safe from Friar Aestew, so he and his newfound friend had taken to sleeping there. Brawn glanced back at the squirrel, who was swinging from the rafters. "Wonder when there'll be another feast?"
"Feast?" Twigg dropped down eagerly.
Brawn didn't reply. He was staring out at a large shape in the distance. "C'mere, Twigg mate, an' tell me, d'ye see wot I think I see?"
Twigg leaned out the window, shading his eyes with a paw. "Crikey!"
"Wot is it, d'ye reckon?"
"Looks t'be a ship on wheels, mate, but... I've only heard legends o' such a thing, and the last I heard it was ruled by a Wearat an' his vermin scum!"
Brawn looked concerned. "We've got to warn the Abbot right away!"
The pair dashed downstairs to the kitchens and peeked around the corner. The Friar and his helpers were busy preparing supper. Brawn boldly strode forwards. "'Scuse me, good Friar sir, have ye seen Father Abbot recently?"
Friar Aestew turned and gave him an evil look. "Aye, so I have. Who wants t'know, your fellow thief hiding around the corner?"
"Eep!" Twigg flattened himself against the wall and edged away.
"No, sir, I need t'know, 'tis a very important manner!"
"Oh aye? Do tell."
Brawn was starting to lose his patience with the Friar. He slapped his rudder against the kitchen floor as a sign of irritation. "Friar!"
A kindly mousemaid kitchen helper stopped and murmured, "Father Abbot is down in the cellars, Brawn."
Relieved, Brawn dashed towards the cellar staircase. "Thankee, miss!"
Friar Aestew glared at the place the mousemaid had been, but she was already lost among the other kitchen helpers.
Down in the cellars, Abbot Tibbtayle was sitting with the old hedgehog cellarkeeper, Mairyo Pokes. Twigg was already speeding towards them. Brawn paused at the foot of the staircase for a moment to wonder how his friend had made it down faster than him. "Father! The Abbey is in terrible danger!" he called urgently as he continued pursuing Twigg.
Twigg bounced off the wall behind the cellarkeeper and landed in a crouch with squirrel-like grace. Brawn skidded to a halt just behind him.
"Son, what is the meaning of this?" the Abbot enquired as he stood and dusted himself off.
Twigg explained. "Y'see, Father, Brawn an' I were up in the attic lookin' out the window an' we saw somethin' that had t'be a ship on wheels! Though it was really far off, heading for the sea, I think."
"Slow down, young Twigg. A ship on wheels?" Mairyo guffawed loudly. "Why would we be in danger from such a thing?"
Brawn was confused. "But ain't that ship, Greencloud, I think 'tis called...ain't it ruled by a fearsome Wearat an' his vermin horde?"
Abbot Tibbtayle chuckled. "No, son, now that ship, renamed the Posy Gudrdy, is under the command of the perilous Long Patrol and dangerous Rogue Crew. They're both alliances of Redwall. I suppose they're coming for a visit--it's been seasons since they came! I'll go tell the Friar to prepare a feast!" The Abbot bustled upstairs without another word.
Brawn stared after him, apalled. "Ye mean I talked civilly with that fat ole lardbarrel we call a cook for nothing?"
Twigg grinned. "Not for nothin', there's goin' t'be a feast!"
For once, this statement did not seem to cheer the tawny otter. Nonetheless, Twigg sang out lustily as he skipped upstairs ahead of his friend.
"There's going to be a feast,
a feast!
Don't gobble it up like a mean ol' beast,
mean ol' beast!
Save some for this han'some young treejumper,
young treejumper!
Or I'll cut off yore ears an' have 'em for supper,
have 'em for suppeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrr!"
Brawn winced at his friend's ear-splitting screech on the last note. "Oy, matey, ye need t'do somethin' about that frog in yore throat!"
Twigg pretended to be hurt. He sat on the top step and began preening his brush. "Well, mate, let's 'ear you take a stab at it!"
Brawn cleared his throat and began a lively tonguetwister.
"I once new a mole
wot lived in a hole
'is name was Young Dole
an' he ate with a spoon from a boooooooowllll!

Oh. Ho. Ho. Ho.

Mole hole Dole
spoon from a booooooowllll!

Well Young Dole, y'see
such a fine mole was he
that he insisted on suppin' 'is tea
with a spoon from a boooooooowllll!

Oh! Ho! Ho! Ho!

Mole hole Dole
Y'see he suppin' 'is tea
spoon from a booooooooowllll!

Young Dole the mole set out one day
"Oi'm a wunnerful mole," he dared t'say
as he went right merrily on 'is way
with a spoon from a boooooooooowllll!

Oh-hohoho!

Mole hole Dole
Y'see he suppin' 'is tea
day dared t'say on 'is way
with a spoon from a bowl that came from a hole wot belonged to a mole named Doooooooole!!!

Hey!"

Brawn was out of breath by the time he finished. He sat panting for a moment.
"Huh, what a nonsense song!" Twigg scoffed, nudging Brawn playfully.
Brawn nudged him back. "Hey, least 'tis better'n a pointless ditty about feasts, beasts, treejumpers an' ears for supper!"
Twigg grinned as the pair slipped out of the busy kitchens. "Hah! Let's ave a singin' contest up in the attic, that'll prove it!"
"Or..." Brawn said slyly. "...we could get Father Abbot to host a whole poem, riddle an' ditty contest out in the orchards during the feast for the Long Crew and Rogue Patrol, or wotever it is."
"Long Patrol and Rogue Crew," Twigg corrected as they hopped up the steps.

Elsewhere in the Abbey, the Dibbuns had finally been rounded up for their baths, which, for their elders, promised to be an uncomfortable task, at best. The twin shrewlets, Binker and Winker, were the oldest of the gang of Dibbun miscreants, but they provided more harm than help when it came to bathtime. Binker attempted an escape, shouting, "DAB!"
Nawyun Vole, who was helping out with the Dibbuns that day, pulled him back by his tail. "Dab? Wot's Dab, ye little spike-furred 'ooligan?"
"Dibbuns Against Bathtime," Sister Cyminum murmured as she passed by with a drenched molebabe in tow. "Used t'be Bedtime, but I suppose the Dibbuns can adapt."
The molebabe set up a wail. "Oi'm a moler! Molers bain't s'posed to get wet, you gurt 'orrible beasties!"
"Winker, you get back 'ere, missie!"
Winker turned and fluttered her pretty eyelashes. "But I'm a shrewmaid, an' shrewmaids don't need baths, Mister Vole!"
Nawyun fixed her with a hard stare as he towelled off a mousebabe. "Then git back 'ere an' lend a paw or two!"
Winker smiled and skipped off, calling over her shoulder, "Oh, I don't think so, I'd much rather stay dry!" She bumped straight into Brawn, who was on his way back down to the kitchens to sneak a scone or pastrie.
"Whoa!" Brawn looked down at her. "Ah, I remember you! Winker, ain't it? Remember, ye used t'help me rob the kitchens when you were naught but a babe."
Winker glanced behind her to see Nawyun charging down the hallway. "Winker Sessmirew!" he shouted in outrage.
Winker scrambled frantically behind Brawn, squeaking in alarm. "Hide me!"
Nawyun Vole, being rather nearsighted skidded to a halt in front of Brawn. "Did ye see a shrewmaid dash through 'ere, Brawn?"
Wordlessly, Brawn pointed down the stairs, towards Cavern Hole. Nawyun touched his lopsided cap in a salute and hurtled away, little fat legs pumping like pistons. Brawn and Winker fell on the floor laughing. Twigg slid down on the stair railing. "Brawn, who's this?"
"Oh, ah, hahaha, this is Winker Sessmirew. She helped me liberate the kitchens when I was a growing Dibbun."
Twigg bowed low. "Welcome, O Fellow Thief!"
Winker giggled. Brawn sat up suddenly and gave her a suspicious look. "Why exactly were ye runnin' anyhow, mate?"
Winker shuffled her footpaws in embarresment. "Bathtime," she murmured.
Twigg twitched his erect red ears. "The Abbey will have guests tonight, y'know. The famed Long Patrol hares of Salamandastron and their Badger Lord and the wild Rogue Crew otters of the High North Coast. Wouldn't want to be all messy, would you?"
"I...guess not..."
"Then you'll go back an' get yore bath? Who knows, mayhaps the Guosim will drop by an' you'll get to meet a han'some young shrew warrior. You are coming out of yore Dibbun days, after all, Miss Sessmirew."
"Aye!" Winker set off to find Sister Cyminum and appologize.
"Well well," Brawn laughed when she had gone, "You were a good example for once, mate!"
"Didn't know I had it in me," Twigg chuckled.
"Y'know, I think you almost convinced me to stop stealing from the kitchens." Their eyes met, and they burst out in infectious laughter. "Nah. Ahahahahaha!"



Chapter 9

Myx shook out his waterlogged ears and made an effort to stand, knowing instinctively that he was in the presence of a Badger Lord. Salty water blurred his vision, however, and caused him to see double and stagger into the table in the corner of the Captain's Quarters.
"Have a seat, Nightfur. We need to talk."
"'Bout wot? Ah slew the shark beastie an' saved Mhya, wot else d'ye want me t'do, fight off a blinkin' vermin horde?" Myx muttered under his breath.
"What was that, Nightfur?" Bradefurge fixed him with a stern look.
"Nothin', m'Lord!" Myx said hastily.
Bradefurge stood and began pacing about the cabin. "Myx Nightfur, I am thinking of putting you on the same charges as Brikks Ashayeh, or giving you the same punishment, rather."
Myx was silent for a moment, then stood and unsheathed a claymore. "Lord, Ah mean ye nae disrespect, but Ah wish for somethin' tae be noted afore ye boot me outta the Patrol." Myx whipped the claymore into the deck timbers between his footpaws.
"Go on," Bradefurge said slowly.
"Ah never meant tae expel mah guid friend Bang from the Patrol, Ah meant tae suggest sendin' him on a quest wi' some mates an' see if he benefits from the journey. Aye, Ah did strike an officer, Ah did disobey the Sarge's orders, an' Ah slew tha' bold shark beastie. Ah admit it, Ah'm an insubordinate rascal. Now ye have the cold hard truth, Lord." Myx bowed his head low. He glanced up for a moment. "Ye may judge me now, sah."
The mighty Badger Lord paced around for a few more moments, leaving Myx in an uncomfortable silence. "I see why you did not wish to countermand my orders, and I see why you did the things you did. Myx, looked at me." Myx dared to raise his eyes. "You are a perilous young hare, with a strong sense of justice. That is exactly what we need in the Long Patrol, you just need to learn a bit of self-control and to not act so rashly. An adventure would do you well."
Myx looked confused. "Ah beg yore pardon, sah?"
"I will follow your advice. You, Bang, maybe a Rogue Crew otter or two, and any troublemakers from the Abbey will go on a quest. Where, I do not know yet. One thing is certain, though, Myx Nightfur. Your position in the Long Patrol is safe. You are brave, and you have the blood of a legendary warrior coursing through your veins, Myx. Put your skills to good use, always tell the truth, do not slay needlessly, and always fight for what is right and the ones who cannot fight for themselves. That is the way of the warrior, Nightfur."
"Th-thank ye, Lord Bradefurge! Ah will no' let ye down!" Myx stammered.
He stumbled out in a daze, nearly crashing into Swiffo. "There ye are, matey! How'd it go?"
"Well..." Myx began as Swiffo led him off. He shuddered as a blast of cold wind hit him. "Brrr, 'tis freezin'!"
Mhya tossed him a towel. "Yore wet, no wonder it's chilly!"
Myx wrapped himself gratefully in the towel. "Thank ye, marm. Now, where was Ah, Swiff?"
"Ye left off at "well..." Swiffo answered dutifully, grinning.
"Och, aye, Ah kept mah place in the Lang Patrol, Ah released mah mate from most o' his charges an' got us on a little quest. Not bad, Ah ken."
"Wot d'ye mean by 'us', Myx?" Swiffo asked.
"Me'n'Bang, any o' yore Rogue Crew wantin' tae come, an' any Redwall miscreants."
Swiffo stood on tip-paw eagerly. "Kin I come?"
Mhya gave a quick bark, signaling for Slaze to take the tiller. "I'd like t'go on a liddle journey meself. Would ye be willin' t'take a grumpy ole warrior from the sea with ye, mate?"
Slaze called from the tiller, "Would ye take me as well?"
"Ah don't see why not."
"Ho, Rogues an' Patrol!"
Mhya drew her dagger, ready for anything. A spiky-furred shrew with a red bandanna about his head hauled himself up on deck. Sergeant Buckthistle Fladerthorn pulled him further on board. "Well, skin me scut an' h'eat it for supper, h'if it h'ain't h'old Log a Log Sylvester! 'ow'd ye come h'about on this blinkin' vessel, wot?"
Sylvester was a stout middle-aged shrew, with a short braided beard with beads strung among it. He wore high-buckled black boots, and had a traditional shrew rapier thrust through his belt, cleverly disguised under his long waistcoat. "Haharr, wot d'ye think I did, ye old longlegged faminefaced Sergeant?"
Myx frowned. "Would've been quite the flippin' challenge tae leap the bank an' make the rope ladder, sah, if ye'll excuse mah sayin' so."
Sylvester turned, eying the black hare curiously. "Well, who do we 'ave here, Sarge?"
"Myx Nightfur, bally grandson o' Cap'n Rake, wot!"
Myx bowed low. "At y'service, sah!"
Sylvester frowned. "Would ye quit callin' me sah, matey? The name's Sylv, or Log a Log to you!"
"Aye sa--er, Lage a Lage."
Sylv through up his paws in despair. "There's just no teachin' young uns these days, Sarge!"
"Would ye prefer it if I talked like a bloomin' Salamandastron hare, wot wot?" Myx grinned at the Log a Log's confused expression. "Aye, I can talk like a flippin' hare, a bally badger, a blinkin' otter, maybe even a bloomin' shrew, wot!"
Bang swaggered out. "An' I, sah, am a professional full-blown flippin' hare, wot!"
"Professional hare, mah auntie's polka-dotted pinafore, garrulous glutton, aye!" Myx teased. "Lage a Lage, ye never gave me an answer--Highland accent or hare?"
"Ye'll have no accent to speak if ye call me 'Lage a Lage' one more time, young rip!" Sylv said with mock severity.
"So that's a yes on bloomin' harespeak, Sylv, wot?"
Sylvester turned to Ruggan Axehound as he approached. "Oy, ye great wavedog, which d'ye reckon's more annoyin', 'ighlander or 'arespeak?"
"That's a hard question, mate," Slaze remarked from the tiller.
"Aye," Ruggan agreed.
Myx waggled his ears impatiently.
"Ye'd best h'answer the young buck, or 'e'll draw those claymores o' his. Then, h'it won't be pretty, laddie. Nightfur slew a confounded shark an' faced h'a Badger Lord not long h'ago, wot wot!"
Myx scowled fiercely for emphasis. The shrew chieftain's considerable gut wobbled as he chuckled. "Stick with 'are, ye violent beast!"
Myx relaxed. "I should jolly well say so, wot! Tootle pip an' all that, I need t'join up with the bally ole Patrol before out grumpyfaced Gen'ral shows up an' puts us all on a flippin' fizzer! He's bound t'still be rather bally well mad at me, after the shark incident, wot!" He and Bang dashed off to take their places in the ranks again (Bang assuming that he was back in the Long Patrol).
A pretty young haremaid named Petunia Crossfelt, a haremaid with constantly fluttering eyelashes and deadly aim with a longbow, called out from the Crow's Nest, "Sarge, we'll bump the shore in a moment, sah! Looks like we'll have to walk the jolly old rest o' the way, wot!"
The Sergeant yelled back, "Well come down from that confounded Crow's Nest an' quit flappin' them h'eyelashes like h'a bashful butterfly!" He winked at her as she hopped down from the last rung of the ladder. "An' ye'd best get in with the ranks, me gel, the Gen'ral ready t'go, wot!"
General Graemsnap was readying the Patrol in his rough manner. "Yew lazy lollop-eared layabouts, straighten those bloomin' jellyspines ye have. Eyes front, shoulders square--by the left, young Hupscut, is that dirt I see on yore blinkin' blade? Don't just stand there like a confounded duck at a dinner party, you idle fiddle-pawed dozy young buck! Start polishin'! Can't have dirty weapons on parade, doncha know--Hamflat, don't even think about lettin' a smirk crease through those bloomin' whiskers o' yores! Crossfelt, 'ow many times d'we have t'tell ye, quit flutterin' those eyelashes like a...a..." Graemsnap halted his tirade at the sight of Lord Bradefurge.
Bump!
The Posy Gurdy nosed gently to a halt against the bank. The Sergeant took control of the orders. "H'on the shore, Lord Bradefurge h'an' Chieftain Ruggan Axehound will lead off, Cap'n Keenblade h'on the right flank, meself on the left, an' Nightfur an' Hacksaw bringin' up the rear. Is that clear, laddie bucks? I'll 'ave the first 'are to drop behind's scut fer supper, teeth fer tea, guts fer garters an' ears fer afters!"
Log-a-Log Sylvester chuckled quietly to Ruggan. "Same ole Sarge, 'by the left'n'right'n'centre' an' 'wot-wot this, wot-wot that'."
Ruggan could not suppress a smile. "Quiet now, mate, or 'e'll 'ave ye marchin' right along with 'em!"
"Ha, 'fraid not, matey, gotta get back to my Guosim. I'll meet up with you at the Abbey, tell the cook to prepare to feed threescore shrews!"
"Oh, I'm sure ole Aestew will love that, threescore ravenous shrews, fivescore 'ungry 'ares, an' twenny-five starvin' otters!"
Sylv grinned and disappeared over the side and off into the woodlands. Behind him he could hear the General and Sergeant yelling, "By the right, quick march!" almost as soon as the last hare's footpaws touched the ground.


Chapter 10

Salin and Surva marched in the rear ranks of the army, murderously watching the swishing black tail far ahead of them. Nobeast would admit it, but all had suspicions. They were lost. Melnight himself even knew it, but he would not say it. Finally, Melnight called a halt to the march. "Stop where ye stand, ye scruffy-furred ragbags! Where are my scouts?"
Two ferrets were pushed forwards by the horde. They all knew what was about to happen, and some even averted their eyes as Melnight began venting his spleen on them.
"Why haven't we yet sighted Redwall Abbey, ye dunder-pawed jelly-spined bottle-nosed blaggarts! Tell me!"
The two unfortunate scouts could only quiver in fear, too terrified to reply. With a sneer of disgust, the black fox walked closer, right between them, and ripped open the first ferret. His blood spilled out onto his companion's paws.
Melnight glared at the second ferret. "Let this be an example to ye. If we have not seen Redwall's gates by tomorrow morn, then I'll show ye how to skin a coward and keep him alive for days afterwards. Or worse."
The second ferret, named Kligmag, managed a shaky salute. He fainted as Melnight turned, distracted by a voice.
"Yore wastin' yore time with those spineless jellyfish, Bluddeyes. Ask somebeast who actually knows their right paw from their left."
Melnight glanced furtively around, baring his fangs viciously. "Who's there?"
"Look closely at the big ash tree. Too yore left, mate."
Melnight squinted at the ash tree. He could just make out the outline of a weasel, but how could it be? Weasels didn't look like trees. "Who are you?"
The weasel made an elegant bow, sweeping a tricorn hat off with a flourish. "Grauld Fakepelt, master of disguise, at y'service sir."
Melnight's red eyes widened as the shape stepped away from the tree, distuinguishing himself as truly being a weasel, not a tree. He glanced backwards at his army. "Make camp, get some vittles goin'. Our guest and I need to talk."
Grauld Fakepelt was thin and sinewy, wearing a patchy kilt about his waist, an eyepatch over one eye, and a sash across one shoulder. A wicked cutlass was poked through it. "Wot d'ye wish of me, Lord Bluddeyes?"
Melnight drew him away, murmuring, "Tell me, friend, what d'ye know of Redwall Abbey? What kind of creatures are there? How would you get in?"
"Ah, mostly peaceful mice, moles, an' 'edgepigs, a few riverdogs, nothing that could stand against yore mighty army sir. There's those confounded walls though, tough to scale. The little wicker wallgates in the sides are always locked, I think. Then there's the main gate, but 'tis always barred. I don't know how ye might get in, Lord, but I know that once ye got in the pickin's would be good and life easy."
Melnight Bluddeyes contemplated this for a moment, pensively dragging the glass claws through the grass. An evil smile crossed his face. "I've got an idea."

High in the upper foliage, piercing green eyes blinked. Attentive ears caught every word of the fox and weasel's conversation. The creature waited for more, but Melnight had turned and walked away. So the creature began a mad dash through the trees, flinging itself from limb to limb and catapulting across the leafy boughs, desperate to warn Redwall before it was too late.

The Vermin Lord sat back in his tent, devouring a roasted woodpidgeon. Fakepelt sat across from him, munching on a ripe apple.
"Ye said ye were a master of disguises, Grauld?"
"Indeed, I cannot lie."
Melnight picked a chunk of meat from the bird, spiking it with one of his glass claws. "Tell me, could ye become a mouse?"
"I can become anythin' ye wish, Lord." Grauld spat out a few seeds.
"Fakepelt, if ye can gain entry to that Redwall place, what would you require from me in return?"
"Just the sparing of my life and a small share in the plunder is reward enough for me, Sire," the weasel said humbly, watching the Vermin Lord carefully.
Melnight toyed with the piece of meat a while longer before swallowing it in a single gulp. He stared at the weasel through narrowed eyes. "At dawn ye shall lead me to Redwall Abbey. If what ye said about the place is wrong, then I will do worse to you than I promised to that ferret scout."
Grauld Fakepelt smiled benignly. "I do not lie."

[WarriorOfMossflower]

Extra post 2

[WarriorOfMossflower]

Extra post 3

[WarriorOfMossflower]

Extra post 4

[WarriorOfMossflower]

Extra post 5

[W0NWILL]

Great!

[WarriorOfMossflower]

Thanks--Chapter 7 will be finished in the next few days.

[W0NWILL]

Yay!

[WarriorOfMossflower]

Chapter 7 is finished!

[WarriorOfMossflower]

Chapter 8 is done! If you read, please take the poll and give me your feedback.

[WarriorOfMossflower]

Chapter 9 is up!

[MatthiasMan]

Cool Warrior.

[WarriorOfMossflower]

Thank you!