The Price of Defeat

[cairn destop]

Chapter Fourteen
Two Fates

"Kurella, wake up.  Something's happening outside."

Firecrown prodded the sleeping mouse.  He got nothing more for his troubles than a muffled grunt from his companion.  She squirmed a bit and moaned, but remained dead to the world.  He reached out his paw; it hovered above the girl's shoulder.

He paused.  Both of them had spent ten hours rowing the Red Sharkeye through the night.  If she could sleep in the bowels of a ship despite the putrid smells, he would let her.  Soon enough the guards would return and they would be rowing again.  He leaned back against the curved side of the ship.

In the dim light, he could make out a creature advancing in his direction.  The clinking of shackles overpowered the low rumbling grunts, wheezing and snores from the other inhabitants.  When the beast crossed the center section, Firecrown recognized him as the rower who replaced him last night.  The hedgehog lowered himself to the deck wiggling between him and another sleeping oar slave.

Until now, the two never had reason to speak.  With the hedgehog sitting next to him, Firecrown had a chance to scrutinize the beast.  He displayed an even mixture of black and white tipped quills trimmed close to his downy white fur.  The grey fur on his muzzle and around his eyes obscured his face in the low light.  If not for his white forehead, Firecrown could almost imagine the fellow with no head.

"About two hours after I relieved you, the crew had us ship our oars."  He hacked, searched for an open area of deck, and spat.  "We're in a harbor.  Best you rest for what is about to happen."

Firecrown nodded.  Thanks to the hedgehog's comments, he understood what had awakened him.  Strange how fast he got use to the routine sounds of the vessel in motion.  Sitting in the slave hold, his ears couldn't detect any sounds from the rowing deck above him.  If he did not know better, he would think the ship deserted.

"Our captain is a sly old rat, no doubt about it.  He breaks his captives by having them serve on the oars.  When we get somewhere needing slaves, he will have us taken topside.  If you're lucky, some vermin scum will buy you."

"You sound like you've been through this before."  Firecrown turned his head towards his uninvited guest.

"That I have squirrel.  The first time, I had the same fire I see in your eyes.  I'm here with a bit of friendly advice.  Spitting in the face of the captain's best customer kept me in this living hell.  The second time we went topside, the buyer thought I had too many scars.  I learned my lesson.  Since then, I've been on my best behavior."

Firecrown never got a chance to respond.  A number of feet pounded the deck above their heads.  He listened to the clanking of keys by the grate that separated them from the oars.  The release of the lock tolled like a mistuned bell.  The door squealed as it swung open.  Firecrown had just enough time to see the legs of some vermin crew beast before the hedgehog's paw pulled him down.

"Act like you were sleeping" the hedgehog hissed.  "Don't go up until they force you, but don't resist.  As the last ones out, we'll be in the front row.  We stand a much better chance of surviving as slaves on some estate than as rowers with an oar chained to our paws."

They didn't wait long.  The guards pushed and prodded the captives from the farthest end as they worked towards the ladder.  The noise and activity woke everyone.  The guards had most of the hold cleared when the hedgehog bullied his way into the line leaving him where he sat.  A moment later, the guards rousted him and his mouse companion.

Once out of the hold, the crew shackled him to a chain with nine other rowers.  A quick check behind him confirmed Kurella's presence.  Two crew beasts used belaying pins as clubs, prodding everyone to the stairwell.  From there, they climbed three decks.  For the first time since coming aboard the ship, Firecrown saw sunlight.  He shielded his eyes from the glare and reveled at the warmth.

A large pine martin leaned across the railing from the quarterdeck, staring down at the captives.  He continued his visual inspection as the crew formed the slaves into neat lines running from port to starboard.  Nobody spoke or moved for several moments.  A sea rat came alongside the pine martin.

"I told you we had an excellent haul, and I'm giving you first opportunity.  Every one of them is in prime condition and ready to do your bidding."

The pine martin snorted.  "Don't try pulling the sail over my eyes, Captain Peggen.  Those beasts will be on the auction block in another week if I don't take them.  Whichever ones you don't sell, I'll see when you stop here next time, assuming they live that long."

Captain Peggen remained silent.  Again the pine martin stared at the collection of slaves standing on the decks.  The fellow tucked his hat under his arm and descended the stairwell to the main deck while the captain followed.  They strolled up each row.  Sometimes the pine martin pushed or prodded one of the slaves as he made a closer inspection.  Firecrown almost bit the pine martin when he tried inspecting his teeth, but remembered what the hedgehog said.

With their assessment finished, the two ascended the stairs.  Though Firecrown stood in the first row, he couldn't pick up what the two vermin said.  They haggled for some time until the pine martin withdrew a large purse.  Even from his vantage point, the glint of sunlight reflected off gold and silver coins as they passed from the pine martin to Captain Peggen.

The sea rat summoned one of the crew.  The stoat hustled down the ladder and rushed aft while several others fell in step with him.  The sound of chains dragging on the wooden deck broke the silence.  Firecrown watched as other slaves disappeared down the stairway. 

Something grabbed his leg.  Looking down, he saw the stoat insert a key into the shackle.  A loud click heralded his release.  Two paws seize his shoulders and pull him aft.  Firecrown wanted to drive his elbow into the guard's stomach once the sailor released him, but remained docile.  When the last string of slaves returned to the hold, twelve woodlanders remained, including Kurella and the hedgehog Firecrown spoke with earlier.  The sound of wood striking wood drew his eyes back to the pine martin.

"Welcome to the island of Vratadoe in the Tamagoran Archipelagos.  Once this ship leaves, understand all hope leaves with it.  For those assigned to toil on any of our many islands, quash any thought of escape.  None have ever succeeded.  We are so far off any established trade routes that we remain unknown to most of the world."

Vermin sailors herded the slaves to a rope ladder hanging over the side.  One by one the slaves climbed down to the raft floating alongside the ship.  The pine martin came last.  He shouted a series of commands sending the craft towards the beach.

His first view of the island of Vratadoe quashed Firecrown's escape hopes.  The wide beach contained no vegetation and the high hills appeared devoid of life.  If not for the many wooden huts lining its shore, the squirrel would believe this place nothing more than a deserted isle.

The pine martin led everyone to a large building at the center of the compound where a number of creatures stood.  At the urging of the pine martin, each new arrival approached a waiting clerk who made a notation in his ledger.  Then with a dismissive wave of his paw, the slave shuffled outside toward a waiting guard. 

Firecrown approached the ferret clerk who looked over the rims of his glasses while writing in the ledger on his desk.  He snapped his fingers and a female vole stepped forward.  She hustled him out the door so fast he had no chance at learning the fate of his friend.

"My name is Splinters, and I am the slave overseer.  That means I can give you an order, and you must obey.  Refuse the orders of any taskmaster, and you could be feeling leather across your back, from me or one of the guards.  If you obey, life here can be very pleasant."

"I thought you were some willing servant, a creature broken by these fiends."  Firecrown spoke in a contemptuous tone.  "Now I see you're as much a slaver as the vermin that captured me.  Best you keep your distance vole, one way or another, I intend making life for our taskmasters just as miserable as they make ours."

Unlike the voles he knew back at Redwall, this one stood before him unclothed.  Her only adornment being a sash she wore over her right shoulder.  For her part, she stood in front of him as he completed his examination oblivious to her lack of clothing. 

"Is there a reason why you would be naked," Firecrown asked.

"These islands are tropical, and our masters prefer us this way."

Firecrown's response had the female shake her head.  At that moment, the vole's eyes reminded him of his mother whenever he did something not to her liking. 

"The Fates must have decided I needed a challenge.  Such an attitude will only lead to trouble.  I just hope nobody else is harmed by your foolhardy actions."

Splinters led him up a long narrow path until they crested the summit.  He could not believe what his eyes beheld.  Instead of the bleak landscape he expected, the valley showed cultivated fields and an orchard.  Near the center, the sun reflected off water.  Distracted by the stark contrast between the beach and the valley, Firecrown almost missed the vole's monologue.

"To the east, there are deep mines where we extract iron.  On the north side of the mine entrance, are smelting and casting plants where pig iron is made.  Our village is located on the south side of the mine's entrance.  There are several artisans crafting things the masters sell or trade with outsiders.  For example, I happen to be an excellent furniture maker.  I use wood shipped from another island and build whatever my masters deem saleable."

As Splinters spoke, a male squirrel approached.  Firecrown initially mistook his light brown coloring for dirt.  Up close, he realized his mistake.  Never had he seen a squirrel with such a fur coloring.  Any lighter and it would match the color of harvested wheat.

The lady vole handled the introductions.  Firecrown almost laughed when he heard the other squirrel's name.  It may have lacked imagination, but it did match his coloration.  Splinters asked the other squirrel to show their newest worker to the bunkhouse.

After the lady vole left, Dusty reached out his paw. The two shook.  Dusty squeezed his paw and Firecrown accepted the challenge.  The two engaged in this silent test of strength for a few heartbeats more before they released their grips.  Firecrown fought the urge to flex his fingers, but smiled when he saw the other squirrel do it.

Dusty rested his paws on his hips, his expression matching a drill instructor upon seeing his latest batch of recruits.  "You're a strong one and should do fine when you go digging for the iron.  Stick with me, I'll show you everything you need to know about this place." 

"So you're my guide.  In time you can show me where I will be staying.  For now, I need to know more about where I am." 

Over the next two hours, Dusty gave him a rundown on his new home as they meandered through the valley.  He pointed out the many workshops where skilled workers crafted the tools needed or those things ordered by their masters.  Dusty spoke about the processing plant where they smelted iron.  He went into great detail regarding the deep mines that buttressed up to their camp.

"What about guards?  I haven't seen many."

Dusty surprised Firecrown by his response.  "The ferrets who run this island allow a unit of thirty stoats to guard this valley.  Most watch the mines, or the smelting plant.  The rest are off duty.  Very few ever patrol the region."

Firecrown came to a sudden halt.  "We outnumber these vermin slavers by more than ten to one and nobody ever considered rebelling?  Wouldn't you like to be free to go or do whatever you wanted?"

Dusty's scowl startled Firecrown.  "I have lived here all my life and never have I heard anyone even suggest such a crazy thing.  We may outnumber the guards here, but have you considered those down on the beach?  There are over a hundred trained ferret soldiers there.  None here are foolhardy enough that they would oppose such a military force.

"If you're honest, even you served some master back at your old home.  One can move away, but all you do is change masters.  Better the threat of the whip and a full belly than the illusion of freedom and starvation."

Firecrown stared at Dusty and wondered how so muscular a creature would willingly submit to these vermin.  He told his companion about his home and how everyone worked together helping each other.  While they meandered through the slave compound, Firecrown tried to explain how all united against slavers.  As he spoke, he hoped the spark of freedom could be fanned to a brilliant blaze here.

"You have one talent friend that may enable you to fare well here," said Dusty.  "We are always in need of a good storyteller; somebody that can entertain us with their vivid imagination.  Come the end of shift, while all are eating, let's hear more about your homeland and this warrior mouse, Martin.  If your other tales are as amusing as the one you just told, we might have a hard time keeping you in our cabin.  Everyone will want to hear more of your fantastic yarns."

[cairn destop]

Chapter Fifteen
New Duty

"Please tell me this is the last one." 

The ferret clerk looked over his glasses and stared at the mouse standing before his desk.  Though he said nothing more, Kurella detected the irritation in his voice.  She might have reacted to such ill manners, but the clerk addressed his comments to the pine martin behind her.  Kurella had a feeling the ferret clerk wouldn't remember her beyond this moment.

"Be happy that old sea pirate is such a greedy rat; otherwise you would be processing another dozen new workers."

The clerk grumbled about having to select which supervisor needed the last worker.  He wrote in his ledger for a few seconds before turning to them.  "You see there is only one left; decide among yourselves which of you will take her."

Kurella watched the assorted collection of beasts gathering together as they talked.  She just wanted a chance to rest.  When the slavers captured her, she ran.  Aboard the ship, she rowed.  Now she stood in a room where a dozen beasts examined her like a bug under a glass.

At last, one beast stepped forward.  A wildcat approached the clerk; she stood to the side of his desk.  The clerk made a notation in his ledger, closed the book, and joined the pine martin as they departed the room without a word.  The mouse followed the beckoning wildcat out the same door she had entered.  Kurella stared at the other door, her tired mind wondering why she didn't use it like the other captives.

They traveled in silence back to the waterfront.  While the wildcat prepared a canoe, the Red Sharkeye departed.  Oars lifted and fell in unison.  Within her mind, the sound of the drum and the crack of the whip crowded out all other thoughts.  Even though she stood on a dock, her paws still felt every grain of wood within the oar's handle.

A heavy paw on her shoulder broke the spell.  The mouse tried clearing her mind as she joined the wildcat.  Kurella sat at the bow staring back at her new companion while the wildcat paddled the canoe at a leisurely pace.

Though Kurella had never before seen such a creature, she knew of them.  Based on an old story from the Abbey's past, she compared what she remembered with the reality sitting before her.  She found her tawny coloration and size matched those from the story.  The way her muscles flexed when she paddled explained why others saw such creatures as fearsome warriors.  With each stroke, Kurella noted the scars on the wildcat's paws.

"Somebody had you declawed."

The wildcat's methodical strokes missed a beat and the canoe drifted.  "How did you know?"

For the first time since the slavers attacked, Kurella smiled.  "I'm an apprentice healer; at least I was before my capture."

"Don't tell others.  Keep that to yourself."  The wildcat's eyes widened and her head checked the waterway for other boats.  She relaxed, her massive paws resting on the crossed oars.  "Healers tend to be troublesome as slaves.  Keep your talent hidden until I find out how our masters would react to such news."

Whatever sense of power Kurella felt evaporated as the wildcat resumed paddling.  She shifted in her seat until she saw nothing more than the sea and sky. 

"Let me introduce myself," said the wildcat.  "I am Snarllyn.  This sash I wear designates me as a taskmaster.  Though I am as much a slave as you, I do hold some authority."

Kurella responded without thinking.  "A vermin slave?  I didn't know such a thing ever happened."

Snarllyn nodded.  "I'm the only slave woodlanders would classify as vermin on all these islands."

This peaked Kurella's curiosity.  "It seems strange seeing a vermin beast as a slave."

The wildcat hesitated for several strokes of the oar.  "At one time, I was a high ranking soldier of the Chovian Armada.  During one arduous campaign, I ran across a most unusual plant.  Its aroma and flavor was a narcotic that became an addictive craving.  The euphoric feeling it afforded helped me endure the pressure of battling our enemies.  I needed just a little of the plant at first, perhaps no more than once a day.  However, the longer the war lasted, the more of this herb I craved.

"My addiction became so great; I neglected my duties.  Like a foolish kitten, I abandoned my post one night and indulged my habit.  Our enemies counterattacked while I was missing.  Because I wasn't at my assigned station, the enemy infiltrated our base.  Every beast under my command died."

Kurella sat for a moment while the sound of a dipping paddle replaced Snarllyn's voice.  "So what happened next?"

"My superiors stripped me of all rank and sentenced me here.  They even told my family I died in battle so none would come looking for me."  The wildcat shook her head; she then snorted.  "Though I no longer can satisfy my cravings, there are times when I swear I can still smell and taste that plant, even after all these years."

Their journey carried them pass several islands.  Kurella examined each in turn, but found all of them uninviting.  Soon the pace changed and the canoe turned.  When the boat bumped into the pilings, Snarllyn jumped from her seat to the dock showing a lithe agility Kurella envied.

While the wildcat secured the canoe, Kurella gazed upon her new home.  Compared to the first island, this place looked like paradise.  Where the other island had no plants, this one had some greenery surrounding a collection of thatch huts. 

On the other side of the huts, she stood in place, shocked by the contradiction.  Even the cultivated fields outside the Abbey's walls paled in comparison.  Everywhere she looked, woodlanders labored in lush gardens.  A few waved in their direction, and each time, Snarllyn would shout back some greeting.

Kurella tried reconciling the reality before her.  All of these creatures had to be slaves, yet they worked without prodding.  It didn't match up with the numerous stories told back at Redwall Abbey about those condemned to a life of slavery.  She wondered if these woodlanders realized the means of escape now floated at the end of a pier.

Snarllyn continued walking several paces before she stopped.  The wildcat rejoined her as the two observed the many creatures working the field.  When the wildcat spoke, it startled her.

"Our masters need few guards around our homes.  After all, where could one go?  Every island around here is part of the Tamagoran Archipelagos.  Those leaving one island will just find themselves as a slave on another.  With such small boats, who would challenge the open ocean?  Any storm would sink your craft."

"I swear you must be a mind reader," said Kurella.

"You think you're the first creature from beyond our islands that has ever come here?  Every new slave has asked the same questions.  Some are just more direct."

With a gentle prod, Snarllyn led her pass the fields.  Their path meandered uphill, growing steeper as they ascended.  A strong breeze from the surrounding ocean blew around them, and despite the tropical heat, they shivered as their sweat dried.  Both stopped near a flat rock and the wildcat pointed towards the coast to the right of them.  She identified the large diamond mine that extended deep within the mountains of this island.  Next she singled out a series of bamboo pipes running down the side of the hill.

"Those pipes carry water from the one source on this accursed desert island to the living quarters, the gardens and the mines.  Without it, we would all die.  The tropical breezes that caress this island carry no moisture.  All the other islands south of us have drained the clouds dry.  So one either digs as a miner or works as a water provider.  Given the choice between fresh air and a sunless pit, I'll take an open sky."

They resumed their climb for another hour before they reached the summit.  On what Kurella now perceived as the northern side of this high plateau, she saw a series of thatch covered open-air floors that didn't even qualify as huts since they provided no privacy.  They did nothing more than protect the occupants from the searing heat of the tropical sun.

A large log building dominated the plateau.  Unlike the simple huts down on the beach, this building appeared solid enough to withstand any weather.  Compared to the buildings she had seen, this place could pass as the manor house of some powerful dignitary.  Once again the wildcat proved herself a mind reader.

"That structure houses the guards assigned to this area of the island.  It might have better accommodations, but you'll not want to ever go inside.  They have a special room reserved for those they think need a private lesson on manners.  Any slave might walk into that place, but I've yet to see one come out under their own power.  Most need help getting back to our village while the unfortunate ones are thrown over the side." 

Snarllyn led her beyond the building where a dozen large wheels turned.  Inside each, three creatures marched to the rapid beat of a drummer.  As the wheel turned, it lifted a series of buckets attached to a long chain from deep underground and tipped them into a large cistern.  From there, the water flowed in different directions by a series of pipes.  Kurella marveled at the ingenuity.

"Meals are served walkers before they mount the wheel.  Your shift will begin in another two hours and every wheel has a crew of five runners and two drummers."  The two watched the water wheels constant turning as Snarllyn described the work routine.  "Every half hour the walkers move one slot to the right.  That means you are on a wheel for ninety minutes and off for one hour. We call the three slots morning, noon and night.  We refer to the time as a wheel day.  Ten days equals one shift.  After the third shift, your crew is sent down to those huts for five days."

"You mean we have time to rest?"  Kurella could not hide the incredulous note in her voice.  "I can remember Mother Tassel saying slaves always worked."

"None will force you, but those on leave are expected to help with the gardening.  Its how we supplement the rations our masters provide us."  Snarllyn snorted.  "After you see what passes as a meal, you'll work hard tending those fields."

Kurella noticed how the other slaves stared at her.  It made her feel like a cockroach crossing an open room in daylight.  She expressed her unease to the wildcat.

"It's your garments.  No slave wears clothing since our masters fear we will hide something from them."

She examined herself.  She lost her sandals while running across the beach.  Her stockings she discarded on the ship when the beast sleeping next to her puked on them.  She remembered tearing off her hem as a bandage for another rower.  Kurella tried brushing off the filth from her tattered dress; her fingers discovering several ripped seams.  The garment was beyond redemption; she pulled it off and dropped it to the ground.  Odd as it seemed, Kurella felt cleaner having discarded her attire.

Time seemed to pass all too fast and Kurella soon found herself waiting to mount the wheel.  The drummer sitting before it slowed the pace.  Before the wheel stopped, Snarllyn approached with a short piece of cord.  Her adept fingers formed it into two loops.  The wildcat placed one loop over her head like a noose and then grasped the mouse's tail.  Snarllyn threaded it through the other loop and tightened it.

"That cord will keep your long tail from getting caught in the wheel spokes.  At full speed, that can be fatal.  The shrew you replaced committed suicide by jumping off his perch.  I have also seen others executed by being bound paw and foot then thrown on a wheel.  Such a death is long in coming as the guards will keep the pace slow.  I pity the runners forced to kill a fellow slave."

At that moment, the wheel slowed almost to a standstill and the drummer commanded everyone to shift.  Kurella entered the contraption and grasped the long handlebar that rose from the central axis.  The drummer began to set a slow beat.

"Keep in step with my drum, and you will not slip from your perch."  The lady hedgehog stared at Kurella, her eyes boring into her.  "Listen to nothing but the sound of my drum and you will make it through another day."

Kurella had just a few seconds to notice she shared the wheel with a pair of female otters before the rhythm of the drum became too fast for her to do more than watch her step.  She continued running in place in time to the hedgehog's drum.  When her three shifts ended, she shuffled off to the nearest unoccupied platform, grateful for the straw pallets.  Kurella no sooner laid her head down then she fell into an exhausted sleep.











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[cairn destop]

Chapter Sixteen
Meeting the Father Abbot

The large room felt like it served more as a functional worksite or a formal meeting room.  A massive oaken desk dominated the space, which allowed easy access to any of the many journals stacked on the ceiling high bookcases.  Sunlight streamed through the large window, which kept the place bright and cheery.  A long sofa faced the desk, placed there for the comfort of visitors. 

Bruno leaned against its right armrest.  On the opposite side sat the masked female he fought earlier.  Each time he glanced her way, her brown eyes would acquire a slight pink tinting.  It unnerved him whenever he looked at the faceless head.  He tried picking up her mood, but without a tail or other visible clue, he had to rely on her continual low growls.

The unnamed female never left the sofa once Bruno ordered her to remain there.  She crossed her arms as she leaned into the backrest.  Her right pawed fingers drummed her upper left arm.  Sometimes the female twitched her black ears; otherwise, she made no further movement.  He tried getting some comment from her, but she refused dignifying him with any form of recognition.

Each hare grabbed a chair and moved it as far away as the room allowed.  Like the unknown female, the buck hare planted himself in his chair and refused to budge.  He mimicked the creature on the sofa by crossing his arms but did not drum his fingers.  He kept his eyes focused on the empty chair behind the desk, though he did occasionally turn his head towards the sofa.  Whenever he did so, his growls matched those of the unknown female.

Once the doe hare moved her chair next to the male, she sat as long as it took to take three breaths.  She then launched herself from the chair as if the seat turned to fire.  She stormed towards the masked beast with clenched fists. 

"I will not tolerate another brawl," said Bruno.  "Force my paw, and you'll wish I hadn't."

Again, the female hare sat, but she did not stay put long.  This time she stomped across the room and confronted him.  After engaging in a short staring contest, the female pivoted on her heels.  She paced from her chair, to the corner of the desk to a point near him, and back.  The doe completed this circuit four or five times, and sat.  After a few minutes, she repeated her agitated movement.

"Hey sis, would you give the rug a rest?  The way you keep marching around this room, I'm getting exhausted just watching you.  That old woodchuck will get here when he does.  You pacing like a prisoner awaiting his execution will not get him here any faster."

"Maybe you can sit there like a fat frog on a water lily, but not me.  If I don't keep moving, I'll tear into that vermin beastie.  I have never been so humiliated in all my life."

For the first time since they entered the room, the masked beast spoke.  She may have whispered, but her gravelly voice still carried. 

"You deserve a lot worse than what I would have given you, Darlow.  I just wish this brute hadn't stopped me before I gave your brother a good lesson on proper manners."

Darlow spun around on one heel and faced the masked female.  The doe hare giggled.  She remained in that pose for several seconds before she addressed her brother. 

"Did you hear her, Markus?  That piece of vermin filth thinks she can teach others how to behave.  I have a better chance of getting water to flow uphill."

The female hare again commenced her travels around the room.  Since the masked female's last comment, Darlow giggled whenever her eyes locked onto the unnamed beast.  When her path took her towards the sofa, her face became hard while her nostrils flared.  Each time she halted before Bruno, Darlow balled her fists as her eyes bored into his.

Bruno tried calming Darlow whenever she stopped her agitated walk, but she always responded with a dismissive snort before she repeated her now established pattern.  He stared at the mantle clock resting on a bookcase shelf as the minute hand concluded its second trip around its face.  Markus made no further comment as his eyes followed his sister. 

At last the outer door opened.  The male woodchuck entering the room wore a deep green habit with its cowl resting across his back.  Darlow ceased her pacing when she saw him.  Bruno watched the fellow stroll behind the desk as if nobody else occupied the room.  He removed his outer garment and hung it on a coat rack next to the window.  The woodchuck continued to stand with his back to the room for several seconds, ignoring the two hares calling him by name.

The woodchuck sat behind the desk and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.  "It is on days like this that I think my elevation from chief cook to Father Abbot a cruel joke."

He shifted his chair, drawing it closer to the desk.  He sorted through the material lying atop his desk.  Throughout this time, the occupants kept quiet as they watched the woodchuck.  After folding his paws on the desk, he gazed at the four beasts in his office.

"An important matter required my attention at the infirmary.  It seems our resident glassblower, Mister Scrimmith, suffered a serious injury.  One of our residents claimed you two," and here he pointed at Markus and Darlow, "may have been responsible.  I find it hard believing either of you would deliberately injure an elder, regardless of the provocation."

"If he got hurt, it wasn't our doing."  Darlow returned to her chair before she continued.  "We just let a lot of hot air out of that conceited otter's ego.  Couldn't stand his constant carping about him having the best pelt of any creature, otter or otherwise."

Markus nodded.  "Our prank worked like a charm.  While my sister distracted him, I threw a bucket of roofing tar onto him.  Way he carried on, I'm sure you could hear him bellow all the way to Fiery Mountain.  Bet his fur isn't the envy of every beast now."

Both hares laughed.  The masked beast jumped off her seat, taking a step towards the two hares.  She returned to her seat without uttering a word when the woodchuck first pointed at her and then the sofa.  The Father Abbot's expression never changed as he watched the two hares.  Bruno opened his mouth, but Father Hughnaught's look silenced him.

"You do know roofing tar has to be heated before it is applied?  It's too hard in its natural state.  Our roofers use boiling oil to soften it.  When you threw the hot tar on him, the liquefied pitch soaked through the fur onto his chest.  Some splashed onto his back and legs.  His pelt has been ruined and it will be at least a full year before it gets long enough to be seen in public."

Markus grabbed his sister's paw, pumping it with vigor.  "Another successful mission completed sis."

Darlow snickered.  "I imagine that otter will be spending the next day or two cleaning his fur and a week in hiding.  Do him good to learn a little humility."

The father abbot said nothing as he listened to the two hares.  When Markus and Darlow quieted, they leaned back in their chairs as if they attended an informal function.  Both wore a smug expression even Bruno ached to erase.

"Your practical joke worked quite well.  Healer Fazbee removed all the affected fur, which ruined the appearance of his pelt.  That's a minor inconvenience I can forgive."

Father Hughnaught turned his head.  Bruno found his expression remained unreadable while he stared at him.  Completing his visual examination, the abbot leaned back in his chair.  He placed his paws in his lap.

"You must think me an inhospitable host dear sir.  After sitting through this mess, I still have not asked your name or your purpose in coming here.  My regrets, sir; official duties require I settle this matter first.  Would you prefer waiting outside my office until I finish?"

He settled into the sofa's plush cushioning.  "My name is Bruno and I have traveled a great distance.  Telling my story will take time.  Perhaps we can speak of it in private after this matter is concluded?"  Bruno glared at each antagonist in turn.  "It seems I too am involved in this dispute and am curious how it will unfold.  Perhaps I can stay if there is no objection."

None of the three antagonists spoke.  The father abbot waited another moment before turning his attention back towards the masked beast. 

"Tassel, I hear you have gone against my expressed orders regarding these two.  According to witnesses, you took matters into your own paws.  One elder told me you beat these two senseless before carrying them off to your quarters."

The masked female nodded.  "The account you heard exaggerates what happened.  I couldn't just stand there and watch these two arrogant teens continue their rampage through our Abbey.  I saw what Markus had planned and tried stopping him, but I wasn't close enough.  After the otter got hit with the pitch, they saw me.  I gave chase.  Fortunately, the tower they tried entering had been closed for repairs.  Once I had them by the ear, I took them to my quarters.  They did a lot of screaming and hollering, but except for a pair of sore ears, unharmed."  The female faced Bruno.  "If this interfering buffoon hadn't stopped me, I would have given those two just a taste of what they so rightfully deserved."

Bruno listened to the exchange before he raised his paw as if requesting permission to speak.  The others looked his way; the hares smirked.  When the woodchuck acknowledged him, Bruno described what he witnessed and why he did what he thought appropriate.  While he relayed his version of events, his voice remained devoid of any emotion.

"You heard Markus correctly" the woodchuck said.  "When these two first came to our Abbey for schooling, their parents insisted that our resident badger keep her paws off them."

Bruno's jaw dropped.  His eyes widened as he faced the masked female sitting near him.  "Badger, this one is a badger?  Usually my nose can detect the fairer sex, but I must have been distracted during our scuffle."  Bruno laughed.  "I must say you are a feisty one, dear sow.  Never have I fought so worthy an opponent."

The father abbot rapped his desk until Bruno fell silent.  The woodchuck turned to where the two teens sat.

"Dousing our glassblower with pitch made him feel as if he was afire.  His frantic efforts as he tried quenching that fire resulted in him tumbling over the stairway wall and into the courtyard.  Five of our residents carried him to the infirmary.  They said his pain had him fighting them every step in spite of the severity of his injuries.  I waited outside the examination room while our healer did his work.  I spent my time composing the words I would speak to his mate if he died; his injuries were that serious."

Neither hare reacted.  Father Hughnaught shook his head, his disappointment evident.  Bruno listened to the lady badger as she emitted a low growl, though she never moved from her spot at the far end of the sofa.

"You were both most fortunate; he will survive.  Mister Scrimmith broke both legs and his right shoulder due to his fall.  The boiling oil caused second-degree burns wherever it touched his skin.  Healer Fazbee tells me his injuries will keep him in agony for much of his recuperation time.  This will be one summer our resident glassblower will never forget."

When the father abbot finished describing what happened to the otter, Bruno noticed how the two hares appeared unconcerned by his suffering.  Darlow then broke the ensuing silence when she jumped out of her chair and marched to the woodchuck's desk.  She stood there for several seconds shaking, her face displaying her anger.  Then she gave full vent to her emotions.

[cairn destop]

Chapter Seventeen
Retribution

Darlow roared.  "That vermin badger attacked another beast.  She did so without any justifiable provocation.  She must answer for her crime and I demand justice."

The female hare put one fist on her hip and pointed a wagging finger at the masked female badger.  She advanced on her target, but hesitated when Bruno shifted his weight forward as if he intended intervening once again.  Darlow's muttered several vile comments about Tassel as she moved next to her brother.

The Father Abbot's eyes focused on him.  The voice reminded Bruno of a judge issuing his verdict.  "Tassel has indeed committed a serious offense against you when she assaulted your person, sir.  Her actions cannot be overlooked if you seek justice against her.  Regardless of my opinion, her fate is now in your paws.  Say the word and I will enforce the law as it pertains to our resident badger."

Even with the cloth mask hiding her face, the female badger's stiffened posture betrayed her emotions.  Her sharp intake of air when the Father Abbot decreed he would surrender her to whatever law governed this land, concerned him.  The paws that rested in her lap shifted.  They gripped the seat cushion so hard it ripped.

Tassel proffered her regrets for striking him.  Throughout her abject apology, Bruno detected a quivering voice filled with genuine fear.  Even his nose caught the whiff of her emotional distress.  Tassel spoke a few more words; then her muzzle pointed down to her chest.  She kept that pose as she cried, her tears staining the fabric covering her face.  Once she had her emotions under control, she continued.  When she finished, he smiled at the masked badger who sat with her muzzle pointed at the floor. 

"I'm inclined to believe Tassel's actions against me were more frustration at handling these two than any deliberate desire to attack me.  I'm thinking her apology sincere and I accept it as such.  I see no reason taking this matter further."

Father Hughnaught nodded.  "Then I declare the incident closed.  No further action is warranted, though her poor conduct shall be noted in the Abbey's official record."

The father abbot's declaration left both teens frozen into a stunned silence.  Like mirrored images, each hare had their mouth hanging open.  That momentary lull ended when Markus found his voice.  His words reverberated off the wall.  The hare's reaction duplicated that of his sister, Darlow, when she charged the masked badger.

"You canna do it; the law is the law.  She forfeited whatever protections the court granted her when she committed her crime.  The law demands satisfaction.  That vermin badger must face woodlander justice regardless of what that other badger said.  You cannot accept a verbal apology."

The woodchuck smiled.  He remained silent until Markus ceased his tirade.  When he did speak, the father abbot did so minus the bombastic tones the two hares used.  He kept his voice so low Bruno almost missed his reply.

"And you forget my word is the law within these walls.  Your badger king has no power over us; I can ignore his decrees without a second thought.  My ruling is final."

Bruno's eyes rose at the mention of a badger king, but then his mind returned to the heated debate.  The two hares continued arguing Tassel's fate while the aforementioned female listened, their words flying back and forth like arrows fired by opposing armies.  Father Hughnaught raised his paw.  The room fell silent.

"I have full discretion to either enforce your king's version of the law or to apply my own judgment regarding Tassel.  I choose the later.  Need I remind you two that I have always accepted your apologies in the past?  If I am willing to do so for you, I shall extend the same courtesy to her."

Darlow walked over to her brother's chair.  When she faced the Abbot, the doe's expression reminded Bruno of a starving beast eyeing a banquet.  Darlow shifted her gaze and glared at Tassel.  Her predatory expression intensified.  She lowered her voice, though the harsh edge remained.

"Dismissing that boar's charges might be seen as magnanimous, but it's all for naught.  She escaped judgment for her actions against him, but not us.  Unlike that fool, we are not so forgiving.  You might say she did nothing more than pinch an ear with me, but you cannot ignore what she tried to do to Markus."

The buck hare's eyes brightened.  "How right you are, sis.  She had her paws all over me and would have done me physical harm if not for that boar's timely arrival.  If I take this to any court within the Northern Alliance, her fate is sealed.  One letter to our parents and they will have the Long Patrol laying siege to this place until she is surrendered to them."

Darlow bounced in place.  "Imagine how much fun it will be seeing that vermin badger brought to justice.  As the injured parties, we'll get to see her sentence carried out."

Markus and his sister discussed the wording of such a request while they stood side by side.  Everyone then stared at Bruno when he laughed. 

"And what will you do if I denied witnessing anything?  I'll say I caught her before she did anything more than force you and your sister to her room.  Something tells me those same judges will take a dim view of your actions against a certain otter if this abbey's healer testifies.  I suggest you reconsider, or it might be you facing whatever your king calls justice."

Father Hughnaught leaned back in his chair with a pleased expression.  A quick check on the two hares showed them in a whispered discussion.  At times, they faced Bruno before they returned to their private conversation.  Markus returned to his seat, his face reflecting his frustration; Darlow snorted as she slammed her fist into the palm of her other paw.  Tassel's paws now rested in her lap.

"Are you aware I received a letter from your parents this morning?  Now I know they told you about staying here until the end of the next school year, but did they say anything else?"

Father Hughnaught chuckled at their reaction to the sudden change in topics.  Two shaking heads confirmed neither hare knew their parents discussed anything with the father abbot that involved them.  The feral grin on the father abbot's face shocked Bruno.

"When your parents first broached the subject of you staying longer several months back, I expressed my misgivings.  After a series of letters explaining your antics here, I got this reply.  Darlow, do you recognize your parents' script?"

Darlow nodded as she accepted the letter.  Bruno saw her lips moving as she read.  Darlow's facial expression displayed a radical change.  Her eyes doubled in size.  Her ears went from rigid attention, to half-mast, to flat down.  The paw holding the letter dropped to her side.  Her whispered one-word reaction to the letter could be heard by all. 

"Impossible."

Markus stepped to his sister's side and snatched the letter from her paw.  Darlow never moved.  Now the buck hare read his parent's letter.  Like his sister, first came the bulging eyes, then the flattened ears.  He lifted his eyes from the paper, shook his head as if to clear it, and then reread the message.  For a second time he lifted his eyes and Bruno noticed how his face shifted from shock to disbelief.

"They must be daft.  It's the only possible explanation.  I mean, seriously, they couldn't.  No, they wouldn't do it, not ever." 

The father abbot then asked Bruno to pass the letter down to Tassel.  She opened the letter, shifting the paper until sunlight fell across the page.  The mask over her face disguised her reaction as she read it. 

Tassel placed the message back in its envelope.  She stood.  She took a few steps and stopped opposite Bruno; their eyes met.  When Bruno did nothing, she crossed the room to the father abbot's desk, but kept as far from Darlow as possible.  Father Hughnaught accepted the envelope without making any further comment or explanation.

The masked badger moved to the side of the desk and stood closer to the father abbot.  Tassel turned so she could focus on the two teens.  She enunciated every word.

"Well, well, well.  It appears two more furry bottoms are all mine.  My original intention was to give each of you a firm spanking.  Afterwards, I would plead with Father Hughnaught regarding a more befitting punishment.  Now that decision is mine alone."

Both hares shivered as if a winter wind chilled them to their very marrow.   Brother and sister stared at each other before turning to Father Hughnaught.  Both, in near perfect unison, pleaded for a second chance.  Bruno watched the growing terror manifest on their faces each time they looked at the masked badger.  Then Bruno saw how the father abbot's face registered pleasure at the hare's distress. 

Tassel rubbed her paws together when the father abbot made no further comment.  "Let me see if you are as good at your studies as you claim Markus.  Can you define the term leashing as it was used before the formation of your union?"

Markus recited the definition as if he read it from a book, without any emotion.  "It was a form of punishment used in several kingdoms prior to our unification.  Any beast sentenced to the leash became the property of another.  Part of the punishment required the prisoner to remain silent at all times unless given permission to speak.  The duration of a prisoner's sentence rested with the court and fluctuated based on the crime committed.  The handler could abuse his slave without fear.  The only limitation is that any further disciplinary actions not kill the prisoner.  Our king outlawed its use since those sentenced to the leash suffered too harshly for minor offenses.  He also called such a punishment demeaning to the beast put on the leash."

"I would not call nearly killing another beast a minor offense, and I see nothing demeaning about a punishment that I see as befitting the crime committed," said the female badger.

She turned to the father abbot.  "As soon as we leave here, Markus will follow me to the infirmary.  I will administer the kind of sound thrashing he has earned.  Afterwards, Markus will become the leashed servant of Mr. Scrimmith.  Rest assured I shall enforce whatever further punishments that otter decrees.  The duration of his time as a leashed beast will be until the healer declares the otter fit.  I'll not allow his mate to care for him when the one responsible can do it."

Tassel turned until her muzzle pointed at Darlow.  "I have a special punishment in mind for you, girl.  Tell your classmate Gaddie that an hour before the dinner bell, in the second floor meeting room, somebody is going to get a sound thrashing.  Say nothing more."

Darlow's eyes began to tear and she spoke in a husky whisper.  "That hedgehog is the biggest gossip in the whole Abbey.  If I tell her that, every classmate I know will be there." 

Badgermom Tassel continued speaking as if Darlow hadn't interrupted.  "Return to your quarters, pack everything, and bring it to the Dormitory.  I'll have a bed made ready by the time you get there.  At the appointed hour, go to the second floor meeting room.  I will give you the same walloping your brother received.  Anyone wishing to watch you get what you deserve may do so with my blessing."

Huge tears coursed down Darlow's face as she collapsed into her brother's embrace.  For a moment, both hares tottered.  The doe asked for mercy as she promised she would mend her ways if given another chance.  Bruno could tell her imploring voice did not affect Tassel.  The father abbot kept silent.  The two exited sobbing.

Once the door closed, Father Hughnaught asked Tassel what disciplinary action she believed appropriate.  Bruno couldn't hide his shock.  He found her suggested punishment far too cruel and brutal.  Yes, they both deserved a harsh punishment, but not what she intended.  Bruno interceded on behalf of the departed teen hares as he asked for leniency. 

Though Tassel said nothing, Father Hughnaught agreed.  The father abbot reduced the severity of their punishment by half.  Bruno added his objection, but his words went unheeded.  Tassel left the office when the woodchuck dismissed her.  Bruno knew the two hares rightfully deserved a harsh punishment, yet he pitied them.

[cairn destop]

Chapter Eighteen
School Ends

The father abbot's secretary entered the room once Tassel had departed.  She carried a steaming teapot in one paw and two settings in the other.  With a minimum of wasted effort, she poured two cups and then withdrew.  Father Hughnaught thanked Cinnamon as she closed the door.

Once she left the two alone, Bruno sipped the tea.  While the two of them enjoyed their drink, he relayed the details of his adventure.  Throughout his rendition, the woodchuck said nothing more than offer an occasional prod whenever Bruno faltered.

"From the time I passed your sleeping guard, you know what happened.  I regret our first encounter would be ...."

"Trying?" offered the father abbot. 

Bruno nodded.  The woodchuck smiled, which caused him to laugh.  The father abbot placed his cup on the corner of his desk next to Bruno's empty one.

"No doubt you have decided that the final line about a faceless mate refers to our sow badger?" 

Father Hughnaught must have read Bruno's disgust.  The father abbot grinned back at his discomfort. 

"Forgive me for teasing you.  I believe the prophecy refers to an unknown female at your ultimate destination.  As Robertasin said, if you travel down the main road another three days, you'll come to Brockwood Hall, the location of a small badger clan.  Last summer I journeyed there, and I can tell you they have far more sows than boars.  A fine fellow like you should find himself the target of every unattached female.  Were our roles reversed, I think I could cover that distance so fast my paws would never touch the ground."

"You make a strong argument for my pressing onward.  I do know that vixen witch mumbled something before she spoke that last passage, but she garbled her words.  Considering what Tassel intends for those two teens, I rather favor finding some female with a more compassionate heart and not one etched in stone."

"First impressions can often be misleading.  You know nothing about those two hares.  For the last six months, Markus and Darlow have tried the patience of every creature living within this Abbey.  Whenever their behavior strayed beyond proper bounds, I protected them.  My faith in their parent's belief that they would settle down turned out wrong and that almost cost someone's life.  It seems my indifference only encouraged them to escalate their antics."

Bruno did not hide his disgust.  "You support her abuse?  I would not have believed Redwall could be so barbaric." 

"I admit our badgermom's idea of discipline can be quite harsh when dealing with the worse kind of irresponsible behavior.  She has never employed such stern measures before today.  Every child living with her is well behaved."

"Understandable," Bruno snorted.

Father Hughnaught rose.  He glanced out the window.  The woodchuck's eyes widened as his head turned from the window to the bookcase on his left and back.  The abbot grabbed his habit, threw it on, and rushed to the door. 

"Cinnamon is right; that mantel clock needs to be repaired.  Instead of the leisurely stroll I planned, we must hurry.  As hard as Tassel can be, she is the exact opposite when the circumstances are more favorable.  Will you join me so I can prove we at Redwall are not the barbarians you think?"

Bruno shrugged.  Father Hughnaught led the way as the two backtracked Bruno's original path to the Abbey's front door.  They crossed the courtyard as fast as the crowd allowed until they entered a nearby strawberry grove.  Bruno kept to the middle of the path as the high trestles, now in bloom, continually brushed his head.  Once they entered the flowered path, the crowd disappeared. 

The woodchuck led him down several rows until they reached a long bench.  He sat on one end and patted the bench next to him.  Bruno accepted the unspoken invitation.  From his vantage point, Bruno could peer through the foliage to a set of closed doors across a grassy field.  Father Hughnaught pointed to them, as well as the many occupied benches scattered halfway between their hiding place and the building. 

After a short wait, the woodchuck tapped his shoulder and pointed off to the side.  Bruno turned his eyes in the direction indicated.  Tassel approached.  She crossed the open field, looking in their direction.  Bruno almost ducked until he realized the female badger had no idea he sat behind the flowering wall.

She passed close to many of the elders gathered.  Some ignored her passing while talking with their neighbors.  Most ceased their conversations until Tassel went beyond them, their expressions reflecting disapproval.  Bruno also spied quite a few elders who changed directions in order to avoid her. 

Tassel settled on the far side of a long bench warmed by the sun.  One already occupied by a contingent of female woodlanders.  The others gave the sow a withering glare, rose as one and moved.  They did not disguise their feelings, but made it clear they did not welcome the masked female's presence.

"It appears Robertasin was right; this sow's reputation keeps any honorable beast at a distance."

Father Hughnaught never got a chance to offer a response.  The tower clock chimed the hour.  A great hush fell over every elder gathered.  All eyes turned towards the closed doors.  Nothing stirred and Bruno found himself caught up in the anticipation.  Time slowed to a snail's pace.

Without warning, the two doors slammed open as if a battering ram had hit them from the inside.  As they parted, a virtual flood of dibbuns of every age bolted from the interior.  The momentary silence shattered as youthful voices squealed in delight.  From every bench the gathered elders waved.  Once the living flood hit the ground, each child raced to an expectant parent.  It took no great powers of insight to tell which students did well and which would be dreading the reunion.

Two female voles hesitated at the doors, scanning the schoolyard.  They made like two arrows in flight straight to the masked female's side calling out "Mother T."  In quick order, they were joined by an otter, one hedgehog, two woodchucks and a mouse.  Tassel greeted each of them by name but implored them to wait. 

While Bruno watched, a grey streak zipped through the crowded courtyard.  A young squirrel seemed intent on doing everything he could to catch the lady badger's attention.  She kept shooing him down as her eyes locked on the open doors.  The exodus faltered as the number within the building dwindled.  Just as Tassel stood, a male hedgehog approached their group at a quick trot.

From his vantage point, Bruno could observe everything without fear of detection.  Thanks to the profusion of blossoms, even his scent remained unnoticed. 

Bruno felt confused.  He knew what she planned for the two hares.  He expected these children would display some fear of the masked creature.  Instead, like all children in a loving family, they strived hard to curry her favor.  Each child tried catching her attention by displaying their latest achievements. 

Tassel tried maintaining a sense of order without much success.  Instead of snapping a virtual whip, she reveled in the chaos her gaggle of young charges created.  Her demand for report cards had her youngest forcing his way to the front.  The small squirrel jostled everyone else aside in his zeal.  The masked female took his report card first, but placed it near the end as she administered a gentle verbal rebuke.

"Flashfoot, I have no intention of viewing your report card first.  You will just have to wait your turn." 

Hearing this from Tassel made the squirrel even more anxious as he bounced from foot to foot, his unrestrained impatience apparent.  It did not help when the other children laughed at his obvious failed efforts to go first.  Several of the older ones pulled the small squirrel by his bushy tail until they had him as far from the masked badger as possible.  The child redoubled his efforts at reaching the front.  At no time did Tassel show any sign that she observed their jostling. 

In spite of himself, Bruno smiled.  Midst all the revelry, Tassel commented on every report card.  Sometimes her gravelly voice sounded a hint of disappointment when she expressed her expectation for a higher score.  Yet each child got praised for completing the school year with a passing grade.  Everyone kept close, an air of expectation energizing them.

Finally, Tassel announced Flashfoot's name.  The poor fellow pushed and shoved the older ones standing between him and the masked female.  Bruno saw these youngsters had turned their blockade into a game, but allowed the grey squirrel through when Tassel called his name a second time.  Flashfoot rested his chin on his paws while planting his elbows on the badger's thighs, staring into the masked face.  His long bushy tail repeatedly snapped up and down, like a long banner in a stiff breeze.

"Let's see now.  Lots of C's so it's apparent that you passed too."  Bruno could hear her delight when she told the boy how proud she was of his first year in school.  Then Tassel gave a deep sigh as she continued.  "According to this, your behavior has not been exemplary.  You need to settle down in class.  What say I make you sit here all day instead of going to the swimming party?"

Tassel lunged at the squirrel as he dodged her outstretched paws.  The older ones tried hemming him in, but he ducked between them in his efforts to avoid the masked female who never left her seat.  Even Bruno could see this as nothing more than a game.  After a short battle, she conceded victory to the squirrel.  The two ended their show with a warm hug.  Throughout the entire escapade, the others laughed and clapped in merriment.

She motioned the last child to her side; Tassel placed the hedgehog on her lap.  From where he listened, Bruno could hear the concern in her voice.  "This isn't too good a report, Tabeston.  Your teachers have given you several D's and said they wouldn't advance you without some additional school work over the summer."

Every child hearing this pronouncement seemed crestfallen.  The younger ones began crying.  One girl moaned about the cancellation of their swimming party, which led to a round of sharp rebukes from the others gathered around the seated badger.  Bruno saw none appeared as dejected as the object of their scorn.  Tears flowed from Tabeston's lowered head.

"Hey now," Tassel's soft voice intoned.  "The teachers did say they would pass him if he agreed to some extra tutoring.  You all know how good a student he can be.  Why several of you would never have passed your studies without his help."

Bruno's thoughts mirrored the confusion all the children showed.  He leaned closer to the father abbot who had not moved since the doors first opened.  He whispered in the woodchuck's ear, watching the others in case his voice carried to them.

"Is this the same female I met in your office?  Her actions are so different you would have no trouble convincing me there is a second masked creature in your Abbey."

Father Hughnaught said nothing.  He held his finger before his muzzle imploring Bruno to stay quiet.  When the father abbot pointed to the bench, the boar listened to the masked badger.

"Since everyone is expected to advance next year, do you see any reason why I should cancel the swimming party?"  Everyone's face brightened.  "Return to the Dorm, change into your casuals and grab a towel.  I will meet you at the swimming pond in an hour or two.  Tabeston, you stay here."

Most of the children raced off leaving the two at the bench.  A female mouse remained standing at the far end, watching the others.  Bruno saw the crestfallen face of the girl as she approached.  She reached into the pocket of her dress.  The masked badger accepted the proffered document.  Like a beached fish, the mouse opened and closed her mouth without a sound uttered.  Tassel's paw rested on the mouse's shoulder.

"I know how much you miss her, Sarweed.  I knew her calling as a healer meant cutting her schooling here short, but we always expected her to return." 

Bruno saw how the words affected the mouse.  The girl did not cry, but her woebegone face carried the same emotional message.  The mouse nodded.  She turned and wandered off in the same direction as the other children, but at a more dignified pace.

Tassel watched until Sarweed rounded the corner of the building.  As for the young hedgehog, his eyes stared at the ground.  Tears tracked down his face.  Tassel reached into a pocket, which held a kerchief.  One paw lifted his muzzle while the other dried his fur.

"I don't blame you for this poor report card.  I know how much honest effort you put into your studies."  When the young hedgehog tried to say something, Tassel shushed him.  "Healer Fazbee said you needed spectacles, but I feared slavers would capture you just like they did Kurella.  Now I have no choice; you're going for a pair of eyeglasses.  Once your vision is corrected, I'm betting you will pass with high marks."

She set Tabeston down, kissed his forehead, and sent him on his way.  Now that she was alone, Tassel again reached into her pocket and drew out the document Sarweed gave her.  Tassel read it.  Afterwards, she crushed it in her paw and threw it on the ground.  Tassel stepped away and then changed her mind.  She retrieved the paper, smoothed it, and placed it in her skirt pocket with the others.

"Would you know what that is all about?"  Bruno asked Father Hughnaught.

"Four months ago, raiders struck Plintar.  They killed Foremole's daughter when she tried to escape.  They captured Kurella and a friend from the Pine Tar Tribe of squirrels."  Father Hughnaught furrowed his brow as he spoke.  "After that raid, our warriors joined the king hunting down those slavers.  We were most fortunate the Pine Tar Tribe's warriors agreed to protect Redwall.  I just wish we had more of them available."

Bruno watched Tassel leave the schoolyard.  "Do me a favor; deny her an escort for the child."

[cairn destop]

Chapter Nineteen
Second Impression

Father Hughnaught's eyes widened.  "You would have me deny that child his sight because of your dislike for Tassel?  Before you call her cruel or us barbaric, try checking a mirror."

Bruno saw how deeply his earlier comments about Tassel affected the father abbot.   The badger pointed at the retreating female while he acted as if he missed the rebuke.

"Tell her you cannot afford to put this place at peril, which is the truth.  I will tell her I volunteered to escort Tabeston.  That way, everyone is satisfied.  You keep your guards here and the child will have his glasses."

Father Hughnaught stared at him while one finger tapped the side of his muzzle.  The fact that the old woodchuck voiced his agreement informed Bruno that in his way, the father abbot apologized for his earlier remarks.  It seemed only fitting he do the same.

"I am having second thoughts about that sow.  Perhaps I shall delay my departure for the badger clan you mentioned until I have sated my curiosity."

Seeing the crowded schoolyard almost deserted, the two hidden observers retraced their steps through the maze of strawberry trestles.  This time Bruno inhaled their fragrance.  For just a moment, he no longer walked through a strange land.  He stood within his orchard at the peak of spring.  A gentle paw grasping his arm broke the nostalgic memory.

"I assume you'll be needing guest quarters?" 

Bruno blushed when he realized the abbot must have asked him the question twice.  His face had that patient look some of the ladies back home got whenever they interrupted one of Bruno's longwinded discussions about farming.  He nodded.

"We can house up to a hundred during the school term.  Our reputation as an educational institution has every village and nomadic tribe within three day's travel applying for an opportunity to send their young to our Abbey's school.  Once classes end, the housing units stand vacant.  If you are still here next school year, we will need to find you permanent quarters."

Father Hughnaught led Bruno to a building next to the Abbey.  The sound of brooms scrapping hardwood floors greeted them as they entered.  While the father abbot searched for the innkeeper, Bruno stood in the foyer.  With the exception of the wide picture window above the door, the interior appeared very utilitarian.  He marveled at its design and how sunlight turned the whitewashed room into a brilliant rainbow of colors.

The father abbot returned, accompanied by a lady shrew.  With no more than a hasty farewell, he exited the building.  The lady beckoned Bruno towards a short counter next to the stairway.  After circling behind the barrier, she reached under it and lifted a large book. 

Bruno accepted the proffered pen and added his name on the line below the shrew's finger.  The lady secured a key and again circled the counter.  A moment later, she stood next to Bruno.

As the shrew preceded him upstairs, she delivered a well-rehearsed speech about the rules applicable to all guests.  Bruno chuckled, catching the shrew off guard.  Then she recalled her words.  Both stood midway up the stairway as the lady daubed at her eyes, her body shaking with mirth. 

"My word; you can tell I've been here far too long when I treat honorable elders like undisciplined dibbuns."  Bruno shared the funny moment while he waited for her to regain her composure.  The female shrew started her speech again, leaving out the rules, or the consequences if broken.

"The rooms are empty since all the nonresident students have returned home for the summer.  The one I'm giving you is clean.  I know because I just finished it."

Near the end of the corridor, they stopped at a closed door.  The shrew unlocked the room, placed the key in Bruno's paw, and then stepped aside.  Once Bruno's foot crossed the threshold, the shrew again delivered a speech she must have repeated countless times.

"A fresh set of bed linens is in the top drawer of the closet to the left of the bed.  Lamp oil is replenished once a week.  Wash area is three doors down to the right.  Firewood and kindling for hot water is available, though we expect you to replace whatever you use for the convenience of others.  We have soap or dipping solutions, should you so desire.  Inquire at the front desk for anything else you may need, such as a tailor or laundry service."

After the shrew withdrew, Bruno examined his room.  Other than the bed and closet, the furnishings consisted of a wooden desk, an oil lamp and a stool.  Everything sized for a child.  A quick test of the bed proved this as his ankles extended over the edge.

A sharp knock interrupted his inspection.  Upon opening the door, the same female shrew greeted him.  An older male stood next to her.  Before he could voice any inquiry, the older male ran a cord from the badger's hip to his heel.  With a flick of his wrist, he whipped the cord around Bruno's waist, grunted, and then retreated down the hallway.

"Give me an hour and I'll have proper accommodations.  I'm sure your bed is too small and my nose tells me you'll need clean garments."

"It's that noticeable?" 

Bruno marveled at the lady's efficiency while they discussed laundry service.  From behind the washroom door, he passed what he wore to the innkeeper.  He then enjoyed the luxury of a hot bath for the first time since leaving home.  Bruno stepped out of the tub feeling better than he had in days.  After wrapping a towel about him, he padded back to his room.

In the time he spent bathing, the old bed vanished, replaced by a larger one.  Although it made the room a bit cramped, Bruno found it functional.  Though he did not favor the color of the new garments, they did fit.  Refreshed, clean and sporting a new outfit, Bruno went outside looking for the swimming pond.

He found many helpful residents who offered him directions.  Then the constant babble of young voices drew him pass a small orchard.  As he circled the edge of the pond, he spotted the exuberant children as well as a fair sized contingent of elders resting along the grassy shore.

Tassel sat cross-legged by the water watching about thirty children laughing and splashing.  Bruno approached Tassel from the rear, watching her caution one dibbun about straying into deep water.  She seemed unaware of his presence until a diapered boy, perhaps two years of age, pointed at him.  The masked female turned.

"You have children this young to watch?" Bruno inquired.

"He resides in our nursery.  Once Firelog becomes a dibbun, he will move into the Dormitory.  Our nanny thought being together would do both of us some good."

Tassel pulled the hedgehog closer and started kneading the fur on his chest.  The youngster flopped onto his back as he wiggled closer to the masked badger.  Another quick rub and the boy closed his eyes. 

"He seems quite happy remaining where he is."

"So he does, at least while I'm rubbing his belly.  Toddlers can be such a pawful.  They have a tendency of getting into mischief faster than lightning flashes."

Since the female made no objection to his presence, Bruno reclined on the grass next to her.  Tassel kept her attention focused on the water, her head swiveling from left to right as she observed the action.  An awkward silence stretched.  Bruno pondered what he should say to this lady without success.  Tassel did not make it any easier as she refused initiating any conversation.

"Father Hughnaught told me about your problem, Tassel.  I offered my services and he accepted my help.  Tomorrow morning, I'll escort Tabeston wherever he needs to go for those spectacles."

Without turning away from the pond, Tassel answered in a harsh voice Bruno never expected.  "If you are hoping for a favor in return, think again.  I can still hear that buck's howling for mercy as I gave him what he earned.  I have no intention of doing any less to the girl when it is her turn."

Bruno had forgotten Markus faced his punishment soon after leaving the father abbot's office.  Then he recalled what Tassel said to Darlow.  Her voice left no doubt she would do no less to the girl. 

"We seem to have started off less cordial than I would like.  Perhaps we could start over again.  If for no other reason, we can learn more about each other while traveling with the boy."

"I remain here." 

Bruno hoped she could find another to watch over the other children for the few days it would take.  Tassel's dogmatic answer left no room for discussion.  That option died before he could voice it.  Instead of the three of them, he would have only the child as a traveling companion.

Bruno tried maintaining his smile while Tassel's eyes bore into him.  He found it unnerving, staring at another badger that remained unreadable.  Bruno watched the masked female's eyes first reflect hostility, but then they softened a bit.  He waited, hoping she would grant him some sign the animosity she must have for him had diminished.

The masked female turned aside as she roused Firelog.  She placed the sleepy tot on her shoulder, gave a grunt, and stood.  Tassel scanned the pond for a moment before turning her back on the frolicking horde of dibbuns.

"I need to return this one to the Nursery.  Once that is done, I have another duty to perform, one involving Darlow.  If you wish to be helpful, see if you can maintain some order here."  As she started to walk away, she paused.  "Join our table at dinner tonight, perhaps we can begin afresh.  It would be wise learning more about the beast taking one of mine on a long journey."

By the time the bells tolled the next hour, the last two youngsters exited the pond.  The otters darted across the field alongside another, but older male.  Now that the children had abandoned the pond, Bruno made his way back to his room.  There he groomed his fur in anticipation of dinner.

A brisk stroll and he stood at the very doors to the Abbey.  Before he touched them, they parted from within.  Father Hughnaught stood there, startled by his sudden appearance.

"Good, I didn't have to hunt for you.  Dinner is about to be served.  Will you join me Bruno?"

"Sorry, Father Abbot, Tassel invited me to her table.  You will excuse me this one time?" 

"So our resident badger has asked you to join her?  Well, there will be other opportunities if you should decide to remain at Redwall."  With that, the Father Abbot stepped back and beckoned Bruno inside.

Together they entered a room the woodchuck identified as Cavern Hole.  Long tables filled the place, most occupied by diverging groups of woodlanders.  Bruno trailed the father abbot until he spied the masked female.  He weaved his way around several tables while dodging residents carrying heaping plates of food.

Since he approached her from behind, she gave a slight jump when he spoke.  Tassel repeated her invitation to join her table, though it sounded more like an order than an offer.  While taking his seat, a young female woodchuck approached them pushing a cart filled with food.  The girl's head swiveled from Bruno to the masked female.

"We have a guest joining us Nassella," said Tassel.  "Please go back for another place setting after serving the rest of us."

Nassella distributed the various food dishes before she returned to the kitchen.  By the time she returned, everyone had started.  Like the other children, she said nothing to him.  As Bruno ate, he noticed how each dibbun would either gaze at him or Tassel before returning to their meal. 

Bruno nudged the hedgehog sitting next to him.  When Tabeston looked up, he kept his voice serious.  "We will be traveling together for the next few days.  Can I rely on a brave spikedog like you to watch my back?"

Several children tittered.  The tension vanished.  Bruno entertained the youngsters with tales from his homeland.  The dibbuns spoke of their life at the Abbey.  Tassel remained silent.  All too soon, everyone finished.  Tassel's voice ended all conversations.

"By tradition," the masked badger said, "I give everyone a free day after school ends.  Kitchen duty is mine."

The youngsters rose as one.  Each gave the masked badger a quick word of thanks as they left the table.  Bruno watched as some of them raced out while others went at a more sedate pace.  He gave the dining hall a quick glance, noticing how most of the residents had already departed.

"Your work would go faster if I help you Tassel." 

"We must gather the dirty dishes, remove the soiled table linens, and sweep the floor.  If you prefer doing that to meeting our residents, I would be most grateful."

For the next hour, they worked in silence.  Bruno followed Tassel into the back as she carried the last bundle of dirty tablecloths.  When she turned to leave, Bruno snagged her arm.  His grip remained firm, yet gentle.

"Those little ones speak quite highly of you.  Perhaps we can share some time together, learn more about each other.  I think we might even find it a pleasurable experience."

Tassel did not look at Bruno, yet her voice sounded so bitter.  "Other males claimed my status here at Redwall didn't affect them.  They gave me hope for happiness.  Each has gone faster than they came.  So spare me any more heartache."

Badgermom Tassel wrenched her arm free.  She exited Cavern Hole.  Bruno stood for a moment before he followed her to the Abbey's common room.  It took him a few moments locating the young hedgehog he spoke with at dinner.  Bruno beckoned the boy closer.  When Tabeston approached, he knelt on one knee so the two could gaze eye to eye.

"Tomorrow morning boy, you and I are going on a long trip.  By the time we return, you will have told me everything you know about Badgermom Tassel.  And I do mean everything."

Tabeston gave an audible gulp as he looked into Bruno's resolute eyes.

[cairn destop]

Chapter Twenty
Tracked Down

He stood in an alley watching the building across a darkened street.  The one lantern hanging by the door provided scant illumination since the city's lamps remained untended in this part of the seaport.  A stiff breeze from the harbor swirled down the deserted street caused the overhead sign to creak as it swung back and forth.  The badger, standing to his left, faded further into the alley's shadows.

When the badger moved, eight other hares altered their stance.  Each soldier patted his weapon.  One shifted his crossbow off his back, his finger stroking the loaded bolt.  Another gripped his short sword.  The badger remained silent.

Major Eytomin maintained his position halfway between the badger and his squad.  He crept forward until he stood by the badger's side.  Now, he leaned far enough into the street that he had an unobstructed view of the Cozy Den Inn.  Nothing moved.

When he drew closer, the badger whispered.  "I do wish you had been with me at Plintar.  Together, we would have stopped those slavers."

"Politics," he said.  "Your title gave you the clout needed to get things done in another noble's court.  However, the Long Patrol remained at base.  If the king sent us, it would assign far too much importance to bandits camped in the mountains.  Nobody anticipated slavers raiding east of the Grand Spar."

"Still," growled Lord Brisson.

"Begging your pardon, sire, but we cannot stay out here much longer.  In another two hours, it will be dawn.  An hour later, the tide goes out and any crew beasts will be rushing back to their ship.  If you wish to keep this a clandestine operation, we must take action soon."

The badger nodded.  "For three months we've tracked down several leads.  A disgruntled army clerk, a greedy merchant, a disreputable thug, and a blabbermouth dock worker, all of them eventually leading us here."

For the first time that night, Lord Brisson gazed at him.  "I had hoped our quarry would be here so we could finish this once and for all.  No such luck.  You know the plan; signal me when all is secured."

Without replying, Major Eytomin snapped his fingers and pointed across the street.  Each hare rushed the Inn.  Weapons merged with paws as they stood outside the closed door.  One soldier began a silent count while holding his arm up.  The others watched that soldier as if he didn't exist.  He entered the tavern alone.

The outer entryway funneled patrons through an inner set of double doors.  He pushed through and took a step to his left.  A chair creaked as a burly wharf rat advanced.  His paw shot out so fast the rat never got a chance to challenge him.  He squeezed the bouncer's neck.  The rat's eyes rolled up and he plopped back onto his chair with a groan.  The rat made no further effort to rise. 

Major Eytomin spared enough time to give a quick glance to the counter at the other end of the room.  The mouse stationed at the desk never changed her position.  She continued flipping cards onto her counter, ignoring everything else.  He extinguished the candle sitting by the door, which plunged the doorway area into darkness.  No reaction.

He entered the common room.  He crossed the floor, noticing how patrons hid their faces in the shadowy booths.  Their conversations ceased whenever his eyes passed over them.  By the time Major Eytomin scanned the room a second time, customers gathered whatever gear they carried and hurried for the door.  By the time he reached the far end of the common room, every patron had departed.  He leaned onto the counter, feigning a casual stance.

The weasel barkeeper greeted his newest customer with the standard litany he heard whenever he entered any inn.  At no time did the fellow make any move closer to his newest customer.  Instead, he became engrossed with polishing the tankard he held while standing as far away as the counter allowed.

"What be your pleasure, good sir?  Our fine establishment has an excellent array of food, drink, and accommodations if any or all please you," offered the weasel.

"What I seek is the owner of this fine establishment barkeep.  Where is Madame Sultakka?" 

Despite the low lighting, he knew by the weasel's dismissive expression he had no intention of complying.  His retort just confirmed it. 

"Don't come in here issuing orders as if I'm some beast that can be enthralled by a uniform.  The Long Patrol has no authority in this city, not without one of our constables in attendance.  So until you come back with one, order a drink or leave, rabbit."

The blade flashed through the air shattering the glass tankard.  It also yanked the dingy washcloth out of the weasel's grip.  Both blade and dishrag were now embedded in a wooden post several feet beyond the startled weasel.  Major Eytomin flipped another knife out of his uniform sleeve with a casual motion before hiding it once more.

"Be very careful with the word rabbit, or I might take it as a personal insult.  One I will enjoy settling with you in quick order.  I carry a message for Captain Peggen.  If that name doesn't bring the owner here, I will hunt her down.  Needless to say, I can handle any trouble you care to send my way as easily as I did your bouncer." 

The weasel glanced at the dark alcove where he expected the bouncer.  Major Eytomin suspected the barkeep guessed the wharf rat's fate when the fellow didn't respond to the altercation.  His assumption had the weasel moving at a near run to where the mouse sat. 

He remained at the bar and made no effort at listening to their private conversation.  The mouse disappeared into a back room at a casual pace while the weasel returned to his station.  As he crossed the room, the barkeep kept both paws visible.  When the mouse reappeared, she grabbed her jacket and fled the inn without a backward glance.

Several moments passed before a lady shrew exited the same room the mouse first entered.  Her eyes strayed to the counter where he first noticed the mouse.  The officer's exceptional hearing detected the shrew's tongue clicking.  She strutted into the common room.  Though her hips came no higher than the tabletops, she carried herself like a high-ranking noble attending a diplomatic function held in her honor.  Her whole demeanor shouted she held the high ground and knew it.

"Alright rabbit, you have my interest with that bit of name dropping.  Before you say anything else, what say I first direct your attention to the second floor railing?  There you will see seven sea rats.  Make one false move and ....  Need I say more?"

"Madame Sultakka, I am Major Eytomin, commanding officer of the First Badger's Paw Division of the Long Patrol."  He paused a moment, gauging her reaction.  She either did not know, or did not care.  "Before you go making any more meaningless threats, perchance you would like to recheck that second floor railing?"

The lady shrew, glanced up at the second floor balcony in a bored manner.  If he had to guess by the way Madame Sultakka's jaw dropped, her confidence shattered faster than the weasel's tankard.  He knew the railings supported seven beasts, all armed with crossbows.  However, seven steel-eyed hares wearing the uniform of the Long Patrol had replaced the rat bouncers she anticipated. 

Major Eytomin called up to them.  "Any problems?"

An eighth hare leaned across the second floor railing, waving her paw as if she spotted her lover.  She held no visible weapon.  The doe couldn't suppress her wide grin when she answered the officer.

"Some of these sea rats proved a bit thick-headed when we asked them nicely for their weapons.  We convinced them to take a nap.  Should we wake them now or let them get their beauty rest?"  The doe turned her head for a second before she faced the officer.  "Judging by their looks, they should sleep until next week."

Major Eytomin chuckled.  "Convince them to leave and send them off with my blessing.  Once they go, let me know when you have this cesspool evacuated."

Four other hares joined the doe.  A few moments later, doors banged open.  Shouts and screams, both male and female, ruptured the quiet.  Next, the sound of many feet echoed through the room as the occupants raced down the wooden staircase leading to the inn's exit.  The door Major Eytomin used banged open as the guests departed.  The noise diminished until an eerie silence replaced it.

Madame Sultakka's slouched as she watched her fleeing guests.  She turned towards the barkeep, but the weasel had slid out from behind the counter, his paws held high in surrender.  When Major Eytomin pointed to the door, he bolted. 

He glared at the shrew.  He stood no more than a pace away, the officer let his words roll off his tongue with studied civility.  Yet his clenched fist held a short distance from the shrew's nose emphasized his true feelings.

"As you can guess, I am no friend of your Captain.  Do forgive our deception, dear lady; but how else could we get a cockroach like you out in the open?"

Just as the shrew opened her mouth, the female hare who spoke earlier made a noisy entry.  The doe said nothing as she moved to the far end of the room.  She feigned disinterest as she rested her rump on a nearby tabletop.  Two more hares moved to the opposite side flanking the shrew.  Major Eytomin waved his paw.  One hare on the second floor balcony lowered his crossbow.  The private sounded a long sharp whistle. 

Seconds later, Lord Brisson made his appearance.  The badger maintained a hard expression as he moved into the common room.  He reached over his shoulder and unlimbered his war axe.  The badger approached a support column near a now deserted table.  Lord Brisson swung the double-sided axe at the wooden support post wrapped in its metal sheath.  His blade cleaved the post in two as if it were a sapling instead of something as wide as any hare.

The badger approached Sultakka, his eyes turning a shade of red like a banked fire brought back to a fiery glow.  Sultakka quivered.  Her complete change in attitude did not go unnoticed by him.  Lord Brisson spoke in a conversational voice anyone else would have thought congenial, but Major Eytomin knew better.  He recalled how the lower Lord Brisson's voice became, the greater his anger.

"Everyone, leave this building.  I will speak in private with this filthy shrew."

Although he flanked the badger, he almost missed his words.  Major Eytomin protested, but kept his voice just high enough for the badger.  "Sire, your safety is my responsibility.  You might have the rank, but your father is king.  His orders supersede yours."

The male badger never broke eye contact with the lady shrew.  "You honestly think this insignificant insect can harm me?  Search her and check the room for any weapon if that will make you feel better, but I will not have you interfering when I question her."

Sultakka protested when the female hare's paws patted her down.  As she stepped away, the badger's voice purred at an even lower level.  Major Eytomin recognized such a voice as the prelude to an explosive temper that rivaled any volcanic eruption. 

"For now, I seek information.  Madame Sultakka, you can either give me what I want or I can allow the law here to persuade you to give it to me later.  It's your choice."

Major Eytomin waved the other members of his squad to the door.  He hesitated there as he counted.  When the last two hares appeared, he stopped them.  Without breaking eye contact with the badger or shrew who now sat at opposite ends of a table, he ordered both to guard the rear exit.  The major waited until his ears detected the sound of the back door closing before he withdrew.

Outside the Cozy Den Inn, the hares waited.  Major Eytomin worried about leaving Lord Brisson alone and unprotected even though he knew the shrew had no weapon.  Sunrise came.  Orders not withstanding, he decided if the heir to the throne did not come out when the town's clock struck the hour, he would go inside and be damned the consequences.

The town's clock tower chimed the hour.  As the last note fell silent, he stirred from his post outside the door.  His paw grasped the latch and pulled the door open.  He signaled the others to enter, but none moved.

Before he could voice his command, Lord Brisson greeted him.  Major Eytomin fell in step behind the badger as he crossed the street.  The other hares remained at their posts. 

"Have you any orders, sire?"

"Send one soldier to the Count apprizing him of our situation.  Extend my apologies for not delivering my message in person, as time is short.  When the clock strikes the next quarter hour, you are to torch this place.  Allow no one to fight the fire.  They can protect the other buildings, but I will have this vile place purged from the memories of this land."

"And what are we to do with Madame Sultakka?  Is she to burn with the building?  Is it wise invading Count Delupo's territory, harassing his citizens, and destroying his capital city without some explanation?"

"To answer your questions, I gave the shrew safe passage out the back way.  As to the rest, you do tend to exaggerate our actions, major."

He stepped before the badger.  "I'm a soldier, not a politician.  Yet I know one can sometimes be deadlier than the other.  All I'm doing is suggesting you make a peace offering to this old sea dog pirate.  You either smooth his hackles or allow him some way of saving face.  We came here unannounced and did something he might consider an act of war.  If our roles were reversed, wouldn't you be howling mad?"

The badger's mouth opened and then snapped shut.  He scratched the side of his muzzle while his eyes took on a distant glaze.  His paws dropped to his side and he faced the deserted building.  Lord Brisson remained in this pose for some time before he spoke.

"Very well, advise Count Delupo we will rebuild this inn to his specifications at our expense.  We will make any monetary restitution he thinks these surrounding businesses deserve due to our disruption.  Full documentation of our actions and the reasons behind them will be provided within two weeks.  If he is still not satisfied, tell him to take it up with my father.  Once that building has been reduced to ashes, we return home."

[cairn destop]

Chapter Twenty-One
Underground Rebel

Firecrown leaned against the nearest rock, gazing up at the early sky.  He marveled at how the moon had gone full cycle without him noting each phase like he did before his capture.  He pulled the cord from around his neck, his fingers tying another knot.  Firecrown refastened his necklace and draped it over his head.

"Back home, the Elders of our tribe often scared dibbuns with tales about the horrors that awaited evil squirrels in the afterlife.  Their stories cannot compete with the reality of these mines.  Hellsgate couldn't come up with a better punishment.  Squirrels should be racing through treetops, not burrowing under rocks like moles."

"Will you cease your griping for just one shift," another voice growled.

"I have got to get out of here, Dusty.  For a while, I hoped for rescue.  That's gone.  Now I'll settle for escape, one way or another."

Dusty stepped in front of Firecrown, blocking his view of the sky.  Once again, he gave his companion a visual examination.  Dusty had the lightest brown pelt of any squirrel Firecrown ever saw, and the physic of a badger warrior.  Yet, the fellow accepted his role as a slave without a second thought.

"Listen, friend, things would go easier if you accepted your role here.  Do I have to remind you what happened after your first day of work?"

Firecrown shuddered.  He remembered it in all too vivid detail.  He tried rallying the other slaves into revolting against their masters.  The other slaves laughed, so he took matters into his own paws.  He disrupted the carts, plugged the vents, threw rocks at any passing guard, and disabled the lift.  At the end of his shift, the guards cleared the mines and herded everyone back to their barracks without the expected evening meal.  He felt vindicated when the vermin guards avoided him.

Beyond sight of the guards, the other slaves expressed their displeasure.  Others might consider a brawl less dignified than a battle, but Firecrown learned numbers proved just as important.  He tried keeping the dozen woodlanders off him without success.  Feet connected as did tooth and claw.  By the time Dusty rescued him, one eye remained swollen shut and every part of him ached. 

He dared not go anywhere alone as his companion slaves had long memories.  Dusty warned him, either work hard or there would be a repeat of his first lesson.  One he might not have the time, or the desire, stopping.  Firecrown gave up his dream of leading a slave revolt.  Strange as it sounded, these woodlanders accepted their subservient role without considering any alternative.

A loud bell clanged.  Firecrown stood in line and marched forward.  Just outside the cave's mouth, one stoat guard first checked off each slave's number on a tally sheet before he handed out whatever tool they needed.  The next guard then sorted the workers into teams.  As each team entered the cave, the last guard read off a location.  The routine never varied, only the assignment.

Dusty's meaty paw pounded Firecrown's back.  "Talk about bad luck; we have the newest drift shaft this time.  We had better hope it's as rich a vein as the geologist think, or we'll not meet our quota.  I for one don't want to miss another meal."

Before Firecrown could say anything, Dusty yanked his hat away from him.  In the glow of a hanging lantern, Firecrown saw his companion's glare.  A moment later, he felt the hat slapped into his open paw.  Firecrown slipped it back on.

"You need a harder hat if we keep drawing the newest drift tunnels.  Tonight, soak your hat again in resin and let it dry.  Once it does, it will keep your head safe, unless you like rocks bouncing off your thick skull."

Dusty said nothing more as they moved deeper underground.  At the very bottom of the mine, his team followed the main shaft to the end.  Once past the shored-up area, they crawled into their assigned drift tunnel.  Blackness deeper than any night surrounded him while he followed the sound of the slave in front.  A brighter light up ahead indicated they would enter a cavern where all could stand.  The team commenced working.

The crew swung their picks while pushing the loosened rock behind them.  Since Firecrown held a shovel, he had the job of loading the bags while another crew transported the rocks to the crushers.  Time became an endless series of bags being filled with whatever the others hacked from the wall.

Time passed, adding to his misery.  He noticed a light moving in their direction.  Firecrown knew it had to be a guard as they kept their lamps so bright.  The stoat entered the drift shaft carrying another dozen ore bags.  He threw them on the ground while pushing an otter forward.

"This one is too weak for crusher duty.  Give him your shovel and take his place."

Firecrown did as told.  He crawled through the drift shaft to the main tunnel and followed the guard to a level higher than the cave mouth.  Crusher duty involved lifting a heavy piston and letting it fall on the ore.  The pulverized rock filtered down to the carts other workers pushed to the smelter.

The guard watched him lift the heavy piston and drop it several times before leaving.  Firecrown did this exhausting work until the sands in an hourglass emptied.  The slave who relieved him would turn the glass over before taking his place.  The backbreaking routine never varied.

Another rest period came, and Firecrown shuffled away from the pounding shaft.  As he leaned against the rock, he felt a rush of fresh air.  His eyes wandered upward until he found its source.  He gave a nervous giggle.  Unlike all the other vents he passed, this one had no bars.  It drew him like a magnet.

He squirmed inside.  His nose detected the flow and he followed it.  His paws stopped at the wooden turbine blades and pushed until the ventilator fell off its shaft.  Firecrown crawled out.  He found himself standing atop a hill out of sight of any mine guards. 

The cool, fresh air revitalized him.  He shaded his eyes in the bright sunlight.  A trail led from where he stood right down to the water's edge.  Then his heart leaped with joy.  An unguarded boat floated alongside the dock.

Moments later, Firecrown inspected the small vessel.  Like a providential dream, the craft had provisions and a full cask of water.  Best of all, it reminded him of the ones back home.  One beast could handle this vessel without much difficulty.

Seconds later, Firecrown pushed the boat clear of the dock.  Lessons learned two summers back while helping several otters came back.  A twist of the tiller and the bow swung away from the shore.  He reeled in the line, lifting the sail and secured it.  With an audible pop, the wind filled the sail.  He glanced behind him, drawn by the angry shouting coming from shore. 

Several vermin screamed while they raced towards him.  As the distance increased, Firecrown laughed at the guards standing at the dock.  One shook his fist, and shouted obscenities, which he ignored.  For the first time since his capture, Firecrown felt in control.  He continued tacking into the wind until he lost sight of the frustrated slavers.

When he got beyond sight of land, he turned the craft until the sails filled.  Like a hawk, leaping into the sky, his ship flew across the waves.  After nightfall, he searched the heavens for a familiar constellation.  A slight adjustment to the rudder and for the first time since his escape, he relaxed.

"South is as good a direction as any."

Five days later, he ate the last of his food.  The next day, he exhausted his water.  The ship sailed on, driven by his determination.  The sun's relentless glare and heat added to his discomfort.  He pushed southward.

The following morning a sail appeared.  He ignored it.  By afternoon, the speck along the horizon became another vessel.  Before the sun set, Firecrown could see the crew of vermin working hard to close the distance.  With the onset of darkness, he wondered if he could lose his pursuers by altering his course.

Hope died with the sunrise.  The other craft drew even closer.  Another hour passed and the two vessels bumped.  Half a dozen sea rats boarded the ship he hijacked.  Firecrown fought, but they outnumbered him.  Soon, ropes bound him as they reclaimed their wayward ship.

The ferrets who ruled the island made Firecrown's return to captivity an event for everyone to witness.  His flogging did not break his spirit as one guard learned the hard way when his paw came too close to his nose.  The vermin beast howled when Firecrown sank his teeth in the fellow's arm.  They forced him into his punishment cell, which took the full effort of almost half a dozen guards.  By the time they closed the door, each guard nursed a fresh cut or bruise.

Firecrown examined his cell.  He stood inside a simple iron box devoid of windows that sat on stilts as high as his fisted paw.  Ventilation came from the space between the top of the cell and the four walls.  He found the opening wide enough that his fingers could poke outside, but the sharp edge had him sucking blood dripping from shallow cuts.  Without protection from the tropical sun, the air inside the box soon became stifling.  Before the guards closed the door, they strung his tail through a hole in the back wall and attached a clamp.  It restricted his movements within the box.

Just when he thought the temperature could get no higher, Dusty opened the door.  A glance over the other squirrel's shoulder revealed a tropical sunset that gave Dusty's wheaten-colored fur an orange hue.  With the door open, the stiff breeze turned his sweat into an icy chill.  Dusty handed him a dipper of water, which he savored.

"I'm not sure what hurts more, my back or my tail.  Is there any way you can release that clamp?"

"Consider yourself lucky.  Your first day started late since the guards wanted everyone to know escape is impossible.  Usually a prisoner is flogged at dawn and is in the box well before noon.  Come tomorrow, you'll find the metal sides can burn the fur right off your hide if you touch them."

"So how long will I be in here?"

"Three more days.  I hear the guards have a betting pool going as to which night I'll find you dead.  The workers have the same wagering going on in every barracks.  Don't disappoint me; I said you would walk out under your own power."

An hour before dawn, Dusty returned.  Firecrown kept flapping his arms trying to keep warm in the unexpected chill the night brought.  Dusty passed a dipper of water and a piece of fruit to him and waited until he finished.  Firecrown shivered from the cold as his fellow slave closed the box door.

As the new day progressed, so did the heat.  Whenever Firecrown slouched, his body touched the metal sides scorching his fur.  Standing in the middle of the punishment box offered no relief as the heat made him lightheaded.  If his concentration faltered, the searing pain he got from whichever wall he touched jolted him back to reality.

On the last night, Dusty again opened the door.  This time the brown squirrel threw a bucket of water on Firecrown before offering him a dipper from a second.  Firecrown leaned against the still warm metal and slid down until the clamp on his tail made its painful presence known.  He moaned as he stood upright.

"Your sentence ends tomorrow at sunset.  The guards will release you then.  Unless you like it in there, don't give them any trouble.  I hear a few are hoping you'll put up a fight so they can have an excuse to pound you into rubble."

Too weak to reply, Firecrown nodded.  He leaned back as he finished his water ration, savoring the dissipating heat.  All too soon, the winds would have him shivering.  Dusty accepted the drained dipper and stepped out of sight. 

He gazed at the stars as the foreign constellations took shape.  His nose sniffed the wind, savoring the smell of the ocean breeze.  He closed his eyes while visions of home filled his exhausted mind.

Dusty's voice startled him.  His head a lot clearer with the water and the cooler temperatures, he tried replying with a chipper voice.  His throat betrayed him with a croak that would embarrass a frog. 

"If you don't care about the consequences to yourself, think what your foolhardy actions have cost others.  You have been here more than three months and have caused far too much trouble for us and our masters.  Others are wondering if a good storyteller is worth it.  Some think a fatal accident might be necessary, and I'm very close to siding with that faction."

The spark of freedom within Firecrown's breast flared to life.  It gave him the power to speak.  He just wished he could see Dusty's reaction.  He described himself as a warrior fighting the noble cause regardless of its cost to him and embraced that role.

"I had everyone's best interest in mind when I escaped.  One day I'll get away and when I return, these vermin will rue the day they made us slaves.  Freedom is worth any sacrifice."

Since Firecrown could not step beyond the doorway of his cell, he didn't know if Dusty heard him.  As the silence stretched, he wondered if the voice he heard belonged to the other squirrel or his weakened mind.  He jumped when Dusty's voice cut through his musings.

"You claim you had our best interest in mind when you made your escape, yet you care only for a heroic image none here find appealing.  What you call resistance, our masters call rebellious.  They have taken their frustration out on Splinters.  Your foolishness has condemned her to the oars, a fate she doesn't deserve."

Firecrown leaned against the cold metal, his mind sharper than it was when Dusty opened the door that first night.  He recalled all the troubles he caused and how the female vole tried reasoning with him.  Whenever they argued, which happened almost every day, he treated the lady with contempt.  Tears welled in his eyes.  As a warrior, he accepted the consequences of his actions when it concerned him alone.  When he learned about Splinters, it affected him far more than he ever imagined.

Somebody grabbed his tail.  Whoever had it gave a hard pull that slammed his healing welts against the unyielding metal.  For a second, he feared his tail would not remain attached to his body.  His vision swirled when the back of his head bounced off the wall of his cell; his knees buckled.  A loud yelp escaped his lips when the clamp on his tail arrested his fall.  Then he heard Dusty's grunt of satisfaction as his footsteps receded into the night.

[cairn destop]

Chapter Twenty-Two
Life on a Wheel

Bright illumination from a rooftop window ran the entire length of an endless corridor.  Beds lined both sides, their headboards merging with the colorless walls.  She strode down the middle; she had just enough space to maneuver. 

As Kurella shuffled down the passageway, she observed the occupants.  At this end of the ward, each bed held a patient suffering from minor injuries.  The mouse wore a patronizing smile as she passed them.

A short distance along the wall, the ailments appeared more serious.  Every step she took brought another case of misery.  Kurella saw all manner of creatures missing arms and legs.  Arrows protruded from patients as if they had become a macabre form of hedgehog.  She kept her eyes focused ahead.

Like an engulfing fog, the sounds of misery and pain drifted about her.  At first, the patients moaning stayed in the background.  As she walked down the aisle, the volume increased until it turned into a constant wail of agony.  Every creature reached out to her, beseeching her services as a healer. 

Then she beheld the dead.  Age, species, or sex played no factor.  They filled the beds she now passed.  The scent of their death hung like a sultry perfume, its sickly sweet odor washing over her.

Kurella attempted to escape the cacophony of pain-filled voices.  The bedridden called out to her by name, pleading for help.  The living and dead rose from their beds.  Her heart pounded like a blacksmith's hammer.  She careened down the corridor at breakneck speed.  Her terrified heart pounded faster, and faster, and....

She awoke with a start.  She lay under the canopy of a sleeping platform, her breathing coming in ragged gasps.  The onset of panic gripped her.  Kurella glanced around, but nothing moved.  The claustrophobic corridor vanished, replaced by the open air of the plateau.  She placed the palms of her paws over her eyes.  She took a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled.

"What a nightmare," she gasped. 

With a stretch, Kurella swung her feet off the elevated platform.  A quick glance behind her proved her bad dream disturbed none of the other sleepers.  Their light snoring provided a counterpoint to the muted, yet constant beat of the nearby drums.

Since most of the slaves had no education, they devised a special system of tracking time, which initially confused Kurella.  Using lengths of cord tied about each wrist and through a series of knots, the slaves tracked each wheel day and every shift.  She quickly adapted to this timekeeping system becoming proficient at its use.  Now, it seemed as understandable as the clocks back home.

Kurella's paw fingered the cords around her wrist.  By her count, her final shift ended late last night.  She would not have to return for five days.  Not that she could rest during her time away from the wheel.

She soon learned Snarllyn omitted one detail about her new life.  Slaves finishing their time as wheel walkers first reported to the overseer.  That beast assigned them to some other task for the next three or four days.  Instead of having five days off as the wildcat inferred, slaves got to work in their gardens for one or two days out of every ten.

Other light duty, as their masters called it, could run from excursions to other islands for much needed supplies or the backbreaking task of repairing water pipes.  So far, Kurella's luck had her doing nothing more dangerous than cooking meals.  Considering her talents in a kitchen, the slaves were better off starving.

The thought of food caused Kurella's stomach to growl.  She walked to the large tent where the workers received their rations.  A bored pine martin checked her name against his ledger before he allowed her to pass. 

Inside the mess tent, she found slaves clustered in groups at the tables.  Several possessed that stare common to any creature suffering from fatigue.  One look at their expressions and she knew they still had at least one more session walking the wheel.  At another table, she recognized the two drummers assigned to their team.  Like everyone else, their eyes also betrayed their exhaustion. 

At first she thought the drummers had the best job.  She envied them as it seemed so easy pounding a steady beat.  Then she remembered how one drummer lost the pace.  The wheel walkers faltered, and they all fell.  It took an hour to get the wheel running properly again.  Kurella recalled how many lashes the drummer received for his miscue, and how the next time she saw the unfortunate beast, he ran inside the wheel.

Nobody spoke within the mess tent.  Those going on duty had nothing to look forward to but the endless pounding of paws on the wheel's paddles.  Slaves going off got ready for their stint on light duty or would soon be looking for a place to rest before their next shift.  With at least one guard patrolling the mess tent, all feared an errant comment could result in some disciplinary action.

Kurella thanked the slave doling out the food and moved to a vacated table.  She dug into her meal with gusto.  As she ate, she repressed her grin and adopted the same blank expression every slave showed.  Unlike the stories she read back at Redwall, slaves here received sufficient rations. 

The tent door opened and the mouse turned towards the sound.  Her stomach twisted into knots when she saw the walkers from the wheel next to hers.  Near sunset, one of their team, a female otter, slipped off her perch.  By the time she escaped the spinning wheel, her leg hung broken in several places.

One guard examined the otter and declared her useless despite the slave's protests.  He waved over two other guards who helped him lift the otter by her arms and legs.  When they got to the edge of the cliff, they began a rhythmic swing.  At a signal from the first guard, they released her.

The otter flew outward.  Her painful cries turned into a wail of terror at the apex of her flight.  She remained suspended there for a second before plunging out of sight.  The otter's high-pitched scream drowned out the tempo of the drums until it stopped with a sickening finality. 

As a healer, Kurella knew the injury could be repaired.  However, she could do nothing while marching in a wheel less than ten paces away from the otter.  All she could do was watch the guards eliminate what they considered a worthless worker.  She mourned the life lost; one she might have saved.  She left her unfinished meal in the mess tent and made her way to the beachside huts.

At the start of the path, her eyes focused on a familiar creature.  The wildcat Snarllyn sat on a rock.  In her paw, she held the emblem of her rank.  Kurella wondered why she had removed the sash since she could not recall ever seeing her without it.  As she drew near, Snarllyn turned her head, gazing back at the plateau.

If ever an artist wanted a woebegone expression, the wildcat provided a perfect subject.  Her eyes possessed no spark.  Snarllyn's shoulders remained slumped over as she stared at the paw holding her sash.  Though her shadow crossed the wildcat's stretched-out legs, she never reacted.  Kurella stood there, uncertain as to what she should do.

"I tried to intervene in the execution of that lady otter.  It earned me a dozen lashes.  Seems good deeds here often have a very painful cost."  The wildcat's voice held no emotion.

Her hollow cackle made Kurella shudder as she realized this beast had lost her will to live.  She drew close enough that she could see the wildcat's bloody back.  She then moved before Snarllyn and grabbed her wrist.  With a gentle pull, she had the wildcat standing. 

"You, of all creatures know our masters' ire is easily aroused." 

Kurella continued to lend her support as they followed the path down to the beach.  Though the wildcat staggered, she worried more about Snarllyn's voice.  It lacked interest in anything around her.

Halfway down the hill, the wildcat dug in her heels.  Snarllyn turned towards the ocean and stepped to the very edge of the narrow trail.  Kurella held her breath as she watched.  If the wildcat decided she would step forward, Kurella could not stop her.  She came as close to the edge as she dared.

Snarllyn's monotone voice remained soft.  "Do you know many have fallen, or jumped, from this path and at this very spot?" 

"If you jump, it will not bring the otter back.  You know that one guard loves causing as much pain as possible, and he commanded the watch that night.  He got the chance to throw somebody off this cliff, and he wouldn't be denied.  Nothing you said or did could save her."

The wildcat stared into space.  Kurella held her breath.  Snarllyn sighed and again started down the trail.  She remained at the edge for a few second.  Kurella moved a bit faster until she drew even with the wildcat.  Together the two followed the path until they reached the wide fields where others labored in the gardens.

Once inside their cabin, Kurella had the wildcat stretch out on her stomach while she returned to the beach.  There she gathered the makings of a concoction made from witch hazel.  With great care, she worked the lotion into the welts.  At first, Snarllyn resisted.  When the pain receded, she relaxed.

"I have listened to you telling tales of your home.  A place where there is peace and harmony; where all are friends.  You said everyone works as hard as any slave, yet none ever fear the lash.  It sounds so idealistic, so unreal, yet I want to believe there is such a haven.  Even for vermin creatures like me."

Kurella continued to massage the salve into Snarllyn's welts with the practiced touch of a healer.  Her skills returned with unexpected quickness, though she hadn't used them since coming here.  She had done as the wildcat instructed, and kept her medical talents hidden.  She realized her mistake as she treated the wildcat. 

So many others she could have helped, but fear prevented her from acting.  No more.  From this moment on, she would not deny her talent, not to any of the other slaves, and not to her masters.  She would treat any beast she could help.  Kurella knew her skills could only benefit her fellow slaves.

Even more pleasing was how the wildcat showed some interest in things beyond this harsh reality.  It sounded so simple, but she knew the wildcat needed a reason for living.  Her mind searched for some elusive element that could inspire Snarllyn.  Then it came to her.

"Redwall would welcome you, Snarllyn, since you are a creature of peace.  I would stand by your side and declare you my friend.  All would be happy to have you stay as an honored resident of our Abbey.  You believe me, don't you?"

Snarllyn did not stir.  The wildcat's eyes glazed over as if she saw something beyond the stark reality of the barracks.  Kurella had to find something that would inspire her before she fell asleep.

"Let me tell you a special story from the history of our Abbey.  It is a tale of honor, deceit, and the struggle of good beasts wishing to live in peace.  In this story, our recorder mentions a friend among the vermin.  My mind is too tired right now, but I do remember it involved an honorable wildcat.  I'll tell it to you, if you wish, when you feel better."

That caught Snarllyn's attention.  She pushed herself upright; an effort Kurella saw took every last resource of energy she possessed.  When the wildcat almost teetered off her perch, she eased her patient back on the bed.  Snarllyn fell into an exhausted sleep before her head even hit the mattress.

Kurella stood by the bed for a few seconds, watching her patient.  She noticed the steady rise and fall of her chest.  She turned her onto her back as gently as possible for her own comfort.  She took the sash Snarllyn dropped, hanging it over a nearby chair.  The wildcat slept.

She moved to a bunk across the aisle.  She too needed her rest.  Her eyes closed.  A heavy paw shook her awake.  When she opened her eyes, she found the beast that roused her was a rejuvenated Snarllyn.  The window behind the wildcat showed a star-filled sky.  Then a large crowd of woodlander slaves gathered around her bed.

"In the past, your stories of home have always involved you.  We found them entertaining since none of us have ever known anywhere beyond these islands.  You said you recalled many adventure stories of your Abbey's past, but thought none would find them interesting.  I want to know if it is as wondrous a place as you described.  Just before I fell asleep, you promised to tell me one of those tales.  When others heard about this story, they gathered here, waiting for you to awaken."

Kurella blinked, her mind coming to crystal clarity.  Her eyes wandered across the crowd, and every face reminded her of a small child awaiting a special gift.  Snarllyn's had the most desperate and pleading expression; it touched her as nothing else here ever had.  Not a creature spoke.  She sat upright. 

"I promised this tale from our history to Snarllyn.  I intended it for her alone."  Kurella hesitated, knowing what her next words would do, "Unless she wants everyone else to hear it too."

A sea of nodding heads and sparkling eyes pleaded with Kurella.  She hung her head for several seconds.  Not a sound broke the silence.  Within her mind, she envisioned the historian's scroll opening; Kurella saw the words inscribed as if she held it in her paws.  The storyteller raised her head, took a deep breath, and spoke the words she saw within her mind.

"In a time before our Abbey was built, a mouse warrior named Martin, wandered down a snowy path within Mossflower Woods unaware that he had entered the realm of a mighty wildcat warlord named Verdauga.  He encountered one of his patrols and ...."

[cairn destop]

Chapter Twenty-Three
Two Plans are Made

Captain Peggen sensed the change beyond the sheltered waters of their homeport.  The old sea rat shifted his stance, responding to the ship as it rode the waves of the outgoing tide.  His nose detected the salty air swirling through the open porthole.  When he listened, he could hear the synchronized drummers setting the tempo for the oars.

He crossed his cabin and stared at the rows of circular storage holes lining the wall.  He read the tags below each opening.  Reaching inside selected spaces, he withdrew the rolled paper far enough that he could see its label.  He continued pulling out those that interested him. 

The captain stared at the half dozen charts that protruded while his paw massaged his long whiskers.  He slid one out of its compartment, placing it on the desk beneath the storage rack.  The rat unrolled the chart and used wooden guides to hold it open.  He reached into a desk drawer, removed a sheet of onionskin paper, and placed it over the first chart.

For the next few moments, he traced the original chart onto the onionskin.  When he finished, he slid the original back into its storage hole and fastened the onionskin copy onto the desk.  He picked up his navigational tools and made several notations.  Just as he finished, a light knock sounded on his door.

Commander Flashentie entered the Captain's cabin door.  The grey fox remained standing in the doorway until he beckoned him inside.  Captain Peggen returned to his work, ignoring his guest.  Once he felt satisfied, he stored his tools in their respective places before facing the fox.

"Well, commander, is your squad ready?"

The fox's expression soured.  "I do hope this one will be a lot better than the one on Plintar.  I lost over a third of my soldiers.  Instead of spending time with my family, I recruited and trained replacements.  Fortunately, the profits attracted those wanting to make their fortune."

Captain Peggen pointed to a second chair and the two sat.  He reached into a large storage trunk and withdrew two tumblers along with a jug.  He handed one glass to the fox and placed the other on the deck next to him.  He put the jug under one arm and grasped the cork.  It popped as he freed it.

"If this raid is just half as profitable, it will be my last.  Your brush with the Long Patrol has me worried.  I cannot afford having my ship trapped between another warship and the beach.  I prefer preying on helpless merchant vessels plying the sea-lanes.  It's not as lucrative, but a lot less chance of running into the unexpected."

The fox nodded.  "I'll miss our partnership, captain.  Our last two raids could have been disastrous, especially if those hares had seen through our deception.  My share of the profits has made me very wealthy, but such riches do the dead no good.  I'm looking forward to a life of luxury with my family once we return home."

"Since this will be my last attack against a land-bound objective, I've picked one that offers us the greatest profit potential.  I believe you'll concur."

"You must be expecting a rich catch.  I've never known you to leave two full decks of rowers open.  One always, sometimes half of the second deck is empty, but never two.  Your order that my raiders crew one deck of oars is not sitting well."

"Like I said, this will be my last venture into slaving.  Our profits will be two or three times what we made on our last voyage.  Tell your soldiers that; it will make them eager rowers."

Flashentie whistled.  "It sounds too good, which makes my fur itch.  How did you come up with this operation?"

"While you were recruiting fighters, I took the Golden Moon to the port city of Halazatt.  Madame Sultakka gave me some interesting information."

"It's a good thing that captured merchant is unknown to the Northern Alliance, otherwise you would be swinging by your neck from the gallows."

Captain Peggen laughed.  He poured another generous drink for Flashentie.  "The port authorities think I come from a distant land.  They extend every courtesy in the hopes other ships from my homeland will visit.  Since none know I command the Red Sharkeye, I come and go as I please."

"What about our informant?"  The fox didn't hide his mistrust. 

"I expressed my disappointment, but can accept her explanation.  She has no reason for tracking wandering merchants and those hares were assigned after my last visit.  As you guessed, they had business inland and if not for that one warrior who fetched them, you would have made good on your escape and doubled the number of captives."

They sipped their drinks in companionable silence.  Once finished, Captain Peggen stood and walked over to his desk.  He motioned the fox closer.  The captain watched his commander.  He expected shock, and the fox did not disappoint him.

"You have got to be joking, captain.  Our first raid north of the Great Spar might have been profitable, but it cost too many of my soldiers.  Now you want to go further north, and deeper inland.  There has to be another target more worthy, less dangerous, and just as rewarding."

"Belay your doubts, Commander.  Madame Sultakka outdid herself.  The village is a large one, mostly shrews and mice, but enough other species to make it worth our effort.  She also took the extra time procuring current maps regarding the surrounding area.  Best of all, she has an agent who will provide false information.  The Long Patrol will not be a factor in this raid if we stick to our timetable."

Flashentie listened as he described the village.  The farming community sat on an island in the middle of a swamp.  Located far from the sea, the village had no military force.  Access came from either a narrow road or the water.  With the exception of the river otters who transported cargo from further inland to the ocean, no other beast visited the town. 

"Our raid will hit them at the height of the harvest season.  Their population swells at that time, which means a lot more slaves.  Madame Sultakka claims the village has a large number of artisans living there; such slaves fetch a high price when auctioned."

The fox rubbed his long muzzle as he reread the information and gazed at the detailed map of the region.  "We can control the road with one squad, so none should escape.  I'll need heavy leg irons for otters and squirrels.  Their isolation will keep our raid a secret."  The fox looked up.  "Any local military units we need to know about?"

The commander studied the maps a second time after Captain Peggen shook his head.  "Armed civilians are no threat; I want to avoid trained warriors."

The captain waved his paw at the series of charts sticking out of their pigeonholes.  "If you lack confidence in our lady shrew, she also provided intelligence on several other locations.  But I think Quagland offers us the best chance at a profitable venture."

When the fox raised his eyes in a questioning manner, he laughed.  "Did I mention this place happens to be where she lived prior to moving to Halazatt?  When she visited her relatives last season, they gave her a less than cordial welcome.  The old shrew craves vengeance."

* * * *

Captain Istedikus walked through the main doors into a room where a dozen other seagoing captains engaged in idle conversations.  She greeted each, pausing long enough to exchange names.  She enjoyed swapping stories with her contemporaries as they waited.  Some speculated about why they were summoned to the city of Salamandastron and to the badger king's home within Fiery Mountain.

She felt a bit overwhelmed as she mixed with these more experienced captains.  She wondered why a wallowing merchant vessel's captain would be plucked off her ship by some currier boat and whisked here.  Yet she learned her story was not unique.  Two of the other captains told a similar story.

When the far doors opened, all conversation ended in mid-sentence.  Without any words spoken, the assembled beasts made their way to the table.  None sat.  The captains stared at those next to, or across from them, waiting for some signal.  At last, the latest arrival waved his paw and the gathered beasts sat.

"Based on your reaction, most of you know who I am," the badger said.  "I am Lord Brisson, and it was my message that summoned you here.  I have a special task for you, one that I believe each of you is best qualified to do."

Before the badger could elaborate, the doors each of the captains used earlier opened.  Into the room strolled a young mouse.  On his hip hung a sword, which caught the attention of the half dozen hares that followed the badger into the room.  Each hare took a position between the mouse and badger with their paws resting on the hilt of their sword.

One hare growled at the mouse.  "No weapon may be worn in the presence of the king, or his heir.  Withdraw."

"I am Jazzin of Redwall Abbey, here by personal invitation from Lord Brisson.  This is the Sword of Martin; it will not be surrendered to anyone," the mouse replied in an unperturbed voice.  "I give you my word as a fellow warrior that my blade shall remain sheathed."

Both sides refused to back down until Lord Brisson spoke.  "Friend Jazzin, would you consent to hanging your weapon on the far wall?  You will not be surrendering it, and it isn't worn in my presence."

Without hesitation, Jazzin unfastened his sword belt.  He walked to the wall, hanging it below a lantern.  The hares retreated.  Jazzin said nothing more as he took a seat.

"We have been plagued by slavers raiding our coast for far too long," Lord Brisson said.  "The worst of these pirates, Captain Peggen, commands the Red Sharkeye.  Three days ago, a lookout identified the pirate warship heading west.  Here are the most likely targets based on that sighting and the words of a treacherous shrew I questioned."

The badger clapped his paws.  The door behind him opened, and two hares relayed six easels into the room.  One by one, the captains walked over to the display.  They moved from one chart to another while they conferred.  When they finished their examination, the captains returned to the conference table.

"Let me summarize our consensus, sire," said a male wolf.  "Four targets have excellent potential for a seaward attack.  Three of them offer a hidden cove deep enough for a seagoing ship.  Three of the targeted towns are a short trip inland.  Two of these have never suffered an attack before now and both are located far from any permanent military installation."  The wolf pointed to two of the charts.  "Were we interested in acquiring slaves; those are the places we would choose.  Of the two, Karretta would be the most likely target."

Jazzin nodded.  "I bow to your expertise regarding the best target to attack if one comes from the sea, but that isn't the sole factor we should consider, which is why Lord Brisson invited me.  Karretta is building fortifications and recruiting a fair size militia.  This sea pirate avoids any known military units.  From personal experience, these slavers prefer a speedy raid with as little risk of battle as possible." 

A male otter at the far end of the table snorted.  "Those walls will take another year to build, and it takes just as long training a militia.  In the meantime, the place remains vulnerable.  Skilled artisans command a greater price at any slave auction.  If I were a pirate looking for the biggest profit potential, I'd find the risk acceptable."

Captain Istedikus agreed with the summations offered by the other captains regarding potential targets, but she had nothing more to add to the ongoing discussion.  She let the dialogue wash over her as the others debated the pros and cons for each target.  As she sat, the jewel within the hilt of the Sword of Martin flashed red from the sunlight.  She found herself staring at the gem.  The red light filled her head until she saw nothing else.  A paw covered the red stone and the spell broke.

Her paw covered the gem. She pulled her paw away as if the jewel turned into a fanged serpent.  The sudden movement dislodged the sword and it clattered to the floor.  She turned around, aware the room had grown very quiet.  Istedikus faced the table, wondering when she had left it.  Her mind remained a blank slate.  She could not recall the words spoken after the reddish light blinded her.  Every beast stared at her. 

"Lord Brisson, what are your intentions for the Red Sharkeye," she asked.  She felt a strange sensation, as if the words she spoke were not her own, yet she had no way of stopping them.  Some greater power controlled her.

An old hedgehog growled.  "If you stopped daydreaming, you would know we will send that ship to the bottom.  Not one pirate will be spared."

"And what of the slaves forced to row that ship?"

The male wolf sitting next to her vacated chair answered in a bored voice.  "Regrettable, but they too will die.  The Red Sharkeye is a warship, not a merchant, or privateer.  If we fail, our ship and crew will be at grave risk.  His ship is faster and more maneuverable."

Captain Istedikus closed her eyes and lowered her muzzle.  Images from her past flashed across her mind.  Some inner fire flared to life and her voice became that of an angered demon denied its prey.  Whatever spirit controlled her earlier departed.

"Unacceptable," she growled while facing the other captains.  Then she turned to the badger, her voice changing into that of a supplicant.  "My lord, bring my crew here and give me your fastest warship.  I will stop Captain Peggen, and I'll free those slaves.  If there is no other way, I will sink his ship and be damned the slaves, but the least you can do is give those unfortunate souls a chance."

Jazzin left his seat and lifted the Sword of Martin.  He rubbed his paw over the red stone that adorned its golden pommel.  "I believe she has been touched by the spirit of Martin.  There are tales told of him visiting some beast destined for greatness as a warrior when all hope is lost.  Our people will follow wherever she leads."

All the captains awaited the badger's response.  Lord Brisson pushed his chair back and stood.

"I can do no less than give my consent.  I pledge my personal unit from the Long Patrol.  Your crew will be brought here by our fastest courier boat.  We leave when you're ready."  The badger turned to those still seated around the table.  "We cannot wait until a vision proves itself true.  I'm assigning each of you a patrol area that will protect one of these specific targets.  If you see that pirate, sink him."

Captain Istedikus bowed to the badger before she spoke.  "The shrew you mentioned withheld a target, one that means something to her.  I have no idea how I know this, but our ship is the only chance we have of stopping that pirate."

[cairn destop]

Chapter Twenty-Four
On Patrol

Captain Istedikus listened to her ship speak as if it were a living thing.  She felt the air humming through its rigging.  The drums beating out a steady pace for her rowers became its heart.  She listened to the oars rising and falling like a runner's legs as he sprinted for the finish line.  After ten days at sea, the otter knew this ship better than those who built her.  She felt the warship surge across the waters in anticipation of the upcoming battle. 

As she reached the aft quarterdeck, she approached the door to what should be her quarters.  Before she could knock, two other beasts hastened to her side.  Jazzin still appeared a bit queasy after yesterday's storm while Major Eytomin carried himself with the confidence inherent of all Long Patrol officers.   The captain knocked.

A male badger greeted the three.  Lord Brisson ushered them inside.  The four no sooner sat around the table than another beast knocked.  Without waiting for permission, a doe hare entered.  She watched two others serve the four their meals and did not retreat until everyone had a cup of hot tea resting in their paws.  She closed the door restoring their privacy.

"My thanks for letting me have your cabin," the badger said.  "I might be the heir to a throne, but on this ship, your word is still law, captain."

"I live to serve, sire," she said.  "You promised to give those captured slaves a chance; losing the comfort of my cabin is a small price."

"We haven't found the Red Sharkeye yet," the hare quipped.  "Another warship might sink it first.  Everyone else is patrolling the waters west of the Great Spar while we blunder around on the eastern side, and in an empty ocean."

In the awkward silence that followed, Jazzin leaned closer to the otter.  "Captain, can you tell us what happened when you touched the Sword of Martin?  I have read stories of others who have experienced visions, but never met one who did."

Captain Istedikus sank into the seat's cushion sipping her tea.  "Did you know I was born a slave?  I can remember my mother claiming we have been slaves for more than five generations.  She took pride in serving our master, I didn't.  My rebellious nature had me sold at an early age to the oars of a warship.  Life there turned me as heartless as my masters."

The badger's voice rumbled low.  "A story to explain what fire burns within?"

The Captain leaned back in her chair.  The words rolled out like waves on an empty sea.

* * * *

The drums kept a steady rhythm.  She moved in time to its sound.  She saw nothing but the rise and fall of the stoat's arm as he kept the beat.  Even her oar partner remained undefined as she stared ahead.

A sharp whistle sounded three long notes.  The drummer never changed his beat, but his voice overrode the hollow boom of the drums.

"On the next full count, ship oars."

Her oar dropped, she pulled with all her might, and then she leaned forward until the shaft cleared the water.  Just like always.  This time she pushed the shaft down until it rested above her legs.  With the next boom of the drum, she shoved the shaft towards the walkway.  As one, the outer hull resonated with the sound of sixty oars striking the ship.

With the drums silent, Istedikus rested.  Her ears listened to the breathing of the other slaves, trying to detect which labored more than she did.  Nobody cried or whimpered, so none felt the whip.  She flexed her fingers but kept her paws on the oar.  If this unexpected break turned into a test to see how fast they could restart rowing, she would be ready.

A male vole climbed down the aft stairs carrying a water bucket.  As he moved down the rows, he handed the dipper to each slave in turn.  The guards joined the drummer at the stern, ignoring the slave as he performed his assigned duty.  The vole never turned, but his whispered voice carried to her.

"Remember that storm we had three days ago?  We lost most of our drinking water.  Captain intends to refill our casks when we reach land.  If this island we're approaching is dry, everyone can have water for five days."

The male mouse seated next to her leaned closer.  "What does that mean?"

Istedikus stared at her shipmate.  "You must be one of the new slaves we got at our last port.  Our ferret captain needs us, but he'll keep only the strongest."

The mouse looked around, checking that the guards remained far away.  "How does he choose?"

She closed her eyes.  "Slaves go topside in shifts, once every seven days for exercise and fresh air.  One day, our captain ordered everyone on deck at the same time.  Just like usual, they attached ten beasts to each chain.  Captain had the first beast draw a stone when they got topside, white to port, black to starboard.  Then each side drew lots.  The two chains drawing the same number fight, first in line on one chain against the first in line on the other."

The mouse's paw touched the otter's knee.  "You don't mean . . ."

"I do," she replied.  "We fight tooth and claw for the right to live.  The crew wager on us for entertainment.  Winners went into the hold.  Losers became food."

The male mouse turned white.  She eyed him as if he were a bug.  Her voice held no emotion.  "We did it a second time on day six.  My chain drew the first spot.  I killed a mouse just like you by biting his throat in two.  Just as they got ready to start the next match, the lookout spotted land.  Pray we don't meet on the deck.  I'll kill you without a second thought."

As the vole finished serving water, the guards opened the hold.  The sailors replaced a number of slaves, including her.  Before she went below deck, she eyed the replacement slaves who exited the hold.  She envied the next shift since they would not have to row.  At least not until the crew returned with fresh water.

Istedikus slept.  A sharp pain brought her awake.  She knew better than to grab her stinging foot.  The black squirrel next to her didn't.  The stoat waved his switch before the fellow's face, and Istedikus watched him back up against the hull.  The guard kept striking the tip of the squirrel's muzzle.

"So sorry I disturbed your beauty sleep.  If I wanted to hurt you, your foot would be bleeding, not stinging."  The guard lunged forward; his paw grabbed the black squirrel's chest fur as he pulled him upright.  A low whimper earned the squirrel a sharp slap across the muzzle as the guard dragged him closer.  "The two of you have slop duty.  Be sure every bucket down here is emptied."

The two climbed to the upper deck and moved to the fantail where they unfurled a drop cloth in case the overflowing buckets splashed over their sides.  She tied two long ropes to the aft railing and coiled it on the tarp.  While she did this, the black squirrel stood there mesmerized by the island.  When he turned, she could see the wistful look in his emerald eyes.

"Forget those trees.  You'll not get any closer than you are right now.  Remember not to spill anything on the deck.  We do and it means a flogging for each of us, and you don't want me mad at you.  Not if you value your teeth." 

They each carried a bucket from the slave hold up to the fantail.  With a heave, they threw the offal and waste overboard.  A quick knot and the buckets went over the side.  When the bucket looked clean, they pulled them back.  The two repeated the process with the next set of buckets.  After several trips, she grabbed the last bucket and heaved it over the stern. 

Out of the darkness, a series of vile oaths floated to their ears.  Istedikus leaned over the fantail.  A small boat floated by the stern.  The beast at the bow continued cursing while the second threw something.  It cleared the rail and clattered on the deck.  She watched the grappling hook slide aft until it snagged the railing.

A slime-covered hare climbed the rope.  He halted when his head cleared the deck.  His eyes darted from left to right.  He leaped onto the deck, his weapon clearing its sheath even as the next hare appeared.

"Corporal Dunnick of the Long Patrol at your service, we're here to free you.  I suppose I should commend you on your aim.  My fur is soaked in   . . . ."  He growled as he examined his fur and uniform.  "Actually, I bloody well know what it's soaked in, and it's disgusting." 

The hare tried drying his fur without success as a second one clamored over the aft railing.  He too slid his sword out as he scanned the empty deck.  Then he approached the male squirrel who hadn't moved since the small boat appeared. 

"You don't look like part of the crew, and slaves don't wander about; there must be guards on watch.   Tell me how many."

The black squirrel said nothing as his eyes fixated on the nearest hare.  He giggled.  He grabbed his muzzle with one paw to stifle the sound while the other paw kept stroking the hare's fur.

She wondered what madness infected the squirrel.  She saw no reason to lie to these intruders.  If they knew the dangers, perhaps they would leave.

"Three guards watch the ship.  We mustn't delay our return or they will come looking for us.  If they catch you, you'll die."

"Not likely river dog.  We're here to free you."

"Without the keys," She sneered.  "The guards have the one to the hold.  It doesn't work on the oars.  That much I know."

"Then we'll come back for them later."

Istedikus attacked the third hare just as he came over the railing.  Then she grabbed the bucket and bonked him on the head.  The three hares tackled Istedikus, subduing her.  One pinned the paw holding the bucket to the deck.  A second squeezed her throat until she weakened.  The first hare sat on her chest as she struggled.  While they fought, the squirrel stood by as if he were a living mast. 

The smelly one leaned down.  He asked her why she fought them and one hare eased his hold, but kept his paws around her neck.  She hissed her reply.

"For every slave that escapes, two die.  I might not call any here friend, but we have shared the same hardships.  You must take all, or none; no other option."

The officer signaled the others and they released her.  Two of the hares slid down the rope hanging over the side.  The smelly officer freed the grappling hook as he prepared to drop over the stern.  Before climbing over the railing, he grabbed her arm and pulled her close.

"Remember my name, Corporal Dunnick.  I will free you otter, this I swear."

She watched the hare disappear overboard just as an irate guard exited the stairwell.  She grabbed the two last buckets and with a hard shove, propelled the squirrel to the stairs.  Neither spoke while the guard escorted them back to the hold.  Istedikus stared up through the iron lattice as she found a place to rest. 

Once the guards secured the hatch, the black squirrel shook each beast awake.  Istedikus listened to him tell everyone the Long Patrol had come.  He spoke of hope.  He told the slaves that the hares would free them.  His words held no meaning for her.

Two days later, Istedikus sat on a bench, the oar resting on her knees.  She leaned against the hull, watching the sun play on a small patch of blue water.  Her mind envisioned a swimming pond filled with a dozen frolicking male otters who vied for her attention.  Such a pleasant dream had her drop her guard.  She smiled.

The sound of many feet echoed from above her.  Like the other slaves, she kept her eyes focused on the aft stairway.  A moment later, several hares climbed down and hurried over to the hatch.  Two hares dropped below the deck.  Though the words remained indistinct, their tone reminded her of a need for haste.

After herding those in the hold topside, one hare freed the rowers while an officer watched.  The hares directed the released slaves forward.  Finally, the hare with the keys reached her bench.  Anticipation had her heart race.  The chains dropped off the mole sitting next to her.

"Leave the otter.  She stays here," said the officer.  The hare moved to the next rower.

Istedikus listened to the freed slaves cheer.  She heard their paws clap.  She watched several hug and kiss the hares before going forward.  Many laughed and cried at the same time as they fled the oars.  Such joyous sounds made her heart long to join them.  A few waited with friends until their release.  They left together in a festive mood.

Like a nightmare, she soon found herself alone, the deck deserted.  The ship grew silent.  In spite of the chains that held her to her bench, she managed to view much of the empty rowing deck.  Fear gripped her like a snake, its coils squeezing all hope from her soul.  She sat staring at the drums that set the cadence for her oar, but the guards never showed. 

A voice she recognized drifted to her from the bow.  "Didn't I tell you I would return?"

Corporal Dunnick strolled forward, the key ring twirling around his paw.  He sat next to her in a clean uniform smelling of soap.  Istedikus wondered how this dream would end.  Would she awaken to the sound of a drum or an abandoned ship? 

She kept calm, glad he did not sense her fear.  Yet she wondered if this was real.  Her paw reached out to the hare, fearing him nothing more than an illusion.  She felt fur.  When he turned the key in her lock for the last time, her gruff exterior shattered.  The hare gently guided her up the ladder to freedom.  She needed his help as she couldn't stop shaking.  Sunlight never felt so good.

* * * *

Badger, hare, and mouse listened as she finished her tale.

"I joined the navy and eventually became an officer.  Despite my grades on naval tactics, the admiral gave me command of a merchant vessel.  My dream of fighting slavers died with each passing year.  When I touched that sword, a voice said four words."

A soft knock interrupted them.  The first officer entered the room and marched over to the captain.  He whispered in her ear before he exited the room.  Captain Istedikus stood, her paws smoothing out her uniform.

Jazzin waited until the officer left.  "Don't keep us in suspense, Captain.  What did you hear?"

"Your time is now."

[cairn destop]

Chapter Twenty-Five
Preparations Begin

Vermin soldiers scurried about as they established temporary quarters within the forest.  Dabhiran crossed the camp, verifying nothing was amiss.  When he reached the largest tent, he pushed aside the flap, and entered.  He came to attention and waited for his superior to acknowledge his presence.  The grey fox nodded.

"Commander, sentries have been posted and all scouts have reported back.  Our back trail remains well hidden.  Nobody has seen or scented anyone since we left the ship six days ago."

"Have all squad leaders report to me.  We have much work to do."



Flashentie watched as his second in command darted out of his tent.  Dabhiran still had a few rough edges since his promotion, but the weasel had proven his value.  His input during the initial planning while aboard the Red Sharkeye showed he could envision contingencies nobody considered.  Out here, the weasel's logical mind kept things moving.  Though he missed Altac, he found his new second in command's optimistic viewpoint refreshing.

A short time later, the squad leaders assembled in Flashentie's tent.  Dabhiran summarized their past performance, noting how fast everyone had covered the terrain while leaving no clues of their presence.  Each officer listened as the weasel outlined their responsibilities. 

"Two scouts found the trail through the swamp to the village of Quagland.  It's well marked, but quite narrow.  One squad will stay behind so they can seal off the town.  There should be no difficulty as few woodlanders travel here once the harvest season begins.  Those here are not likely to leave until they are paid.  A second scouting party found the trail and bridge leading to the river canyon.  Crossing the bridge should present no problem since it is unguarded.  "

One female stoat gave a slight head bob, raising her paw before asking her question.  Dabhiran turned toward her, but he interrupted his second.  Commander Flashentie didn't mind his second conducting the briefing when it touched things they discussed in private, but felt certain information carried more credence coming from him.  The female stoat displayed a concerned expression as Flashentie acknowledged her. 

"The local militia doesn't worry me too much, commander.  If I remember your briefing aboard the Red Sharkeye, there are several hare divisions within striking range.  They might not be the Long Patrol, but they could prove quite formidable."

Flashentie did not dismiss her concern.  "This region's military is guarding the eastern border due to a dispute with their neighbor.  The badger king dispatched three full divisions to keep the peace while the two leaders negotiate a resolution.  Nobody patrols the western border since the ruler of that region is allied with this territory."

The commander first commended the officer for her memory before continuing.  "King Meles will divert every hare he can muster even further west.  Thanks to a sailor who owes a big gambling debt to our agent, he'll claim he saw our ship just before they made port.  Those hares might tend to ignore such a flimsy report, but there are several prime targets located within two day's march west of that port city.  It would be political suicide ignoring the information; King Meles will not take the chance it's false."

Dabhiran added the final note regarding any military intervention.  "Other than our last raid on Plintar, no ship has ever ventured to this side of the Great Spar.  Our captain sailed a route that took us far out to sea before we turned back towards land.  Even the lookouts atop Fiery Mountain cannot see below the horizon."

The discussion turned to assignments and timetables.  Many expressed concerns regarding their anticipated route from Quagland to their base camp.  Commander Flashentie reminded them they would stay just south of the Alliance territory, which should eliminate any chance of an unexpected patrol.  He expressed confidence in his officers that when they did move across Alliance territory, they could do it in three days as planned, thanks to a full moon. 

He rested his back against a tree as he spoke.  "Captain Peggen isn't about to risk being spotted by some merchant vessel or coastal warship.  He'll keep the Red Sharkeye well beyond the horizon until the last minute.  We stick to our schedule, and in another month, you'll be home boasting about the money you made on this raid."

Flashentie's assurances had his officers eager for departure.  When they crossed the bridge, many of the soldiers began discussing how they would spend their share of the profits.  The commander's confidence increased since they encountered no other travelers.  Following the river southward, they made it to their next target ahead of schedule.

Dabhiran used the spyglass Commander Flashentie gave him when they first sighted the supply depot.  He examined the collection of buildings up ahead until the commander tapped his shoulder.  He shaded his eyes as he looked down on the trading post.

"How does our spy's report compare with what you see, lieutenant?"

"Six buildings are obviously warehouses.  The smallest structure appears fortified.  It must be where those off duty rest.  I count eight male hedgehogs patrolling the area, just as Madame Sultakka said.  If the rest of her information is this accurate, we can expect another twenty hedgehogs housed in that bunker.  Armed guards might not be trained warriors, but they can still put up a better fight than untrained woodlanders."

The next morning, Flashentie led his archers closer to the outpost.  When he gave the signal, the archers fired.  Two guards died.  The others raced inside their fortifications.  Flashentie ordered one officer to take his unit and mount a frontal assault. 

While the raiders stormed the only entrance, he directed a second unit onto the roof.  Flashentie's soldiers placed a heavy tarp over the chimney, which prevented anyone from sending a smoke signal.  The defenders proved better organized than he expected.  When the two squads retreated, half the soldiers assigned to those units lay dead.

A female stoat approached him.  "None of the wall openings are wide enough for us to get in or them out.  Do you want us to leave them be or do we try to burn them out?"

Flashentie considered his options.  He examined the building while remaining beyond bow range.  He called his officers together.

"No way am I leaving an armed enemy behind me.  We have to eliminate those beasts.  The bloody place is made of stone so we cannot burn it.  Anyway, a fire means smoke and the last thing we want to do is warn those river otters their supply depot is under attack."

Over the next two hours, the raiders turned a stout tree into a battering ram.  Once again, they stormed the stone fortress.  On their fourth charge, the door shattered.  Ten minutes later, most of his soldiers walked out of the building.  A female stoat limped over to him and reported their success.

While his soldiers buried the dead and policed the area, he joined his second as they toured the warehouses.  One contained nothing more than farming implements, many too bulky for transportation.  The next four contained all manner of bog berries and bog berry products.  The last warehouse stored bolts of fabrics and boxes of thread.  Lieutenant Dabhiran almost strutted as they returned to the dock.

"Our soldiers will quickly tire of bog berries, but it will extend our rations and we can use it to feed our captives.  We'll leave the tools; desperate prisoners will turn them into weapons.  And did you see all that fabric?  Now there's a prize haul, commander."

"If we can transport just half this cloth to the Red Sharkeye, we'll make a sizable profit," Flashentie mused aloud.  "Let's hope the raid on Quagland proves less costly.  Our captain expects a lot of new slaves and considering how many casualties we suffered taking this place, best we don't disappoint him."

The weasel nodded.  "Our soldiers are watching the river and preparing the trap for those otters.  Let's hope they are on time.  If they are even a day late, or our spy's report inaccurate, the soldiers we left at the trail will seal the road too early.  That could alert the town to our planned assault.  Since a lot of woodlanders come to Quagland as additional workers during the harvest season, there will be a lot more willing defenders."

Commander Flashentie opened his mouth, but his reply remained unspoken.  He watched a soldier running towards him pointing upriver.  The soldier's excited voice alerted everyone the otters were coming even before he uttered the words.  Those soldiers not assigned to the capture of the otter's raft scrambled to hide from view.

When he reached the dock, the injured female stoat who led the assault on the fortified bunker had changed into a lacy dress.  The rest of her squad hid in false boxes sitting on the dock armed with loaded crossbows.  Lieutenant Dabhiran shaded his eyes as he looked upriver from his place of concealment. 

The commander dashed to the mast at the end of the dock.  He reached into the box at the base of the flagpole and selected a yellow flag with a bright blue square upon it.  Commander Flashentie ran it up to the top, pleased that a light breeze kept the flag flying.  He then sprinted back to the boxes where he whispered to the weasel.

"If Madame Sultakka spoke the truth, the signal flag I raised indicates a passenger has requested transportation further downriver.  Since the otters are going in that direction, they should stop."

As the raft drew nearer, the two officers crouched behind the crates.  The female stoat kept up a continual monologue as she described the raft and its progress.  When it became obvious to her these otters intended docking, her voice reminded Flshentie of an angler luring a big fish closer.  He drew his weapon and pointed the blade at the stoat.

"Wave you fool.  Those otters have to believe you're their passenger.  If we give them too much time to think, they may notice the missing spikedogs.  Keep waving or feel the sharp edge of my cutlass."

From his place of concealment, he watched as the crew dropped their poles on the deck while two otters lassoed the pier's piling.  With the raft hitched, the otters hauled in the lines drawing it even closer.  One male otter's muzzle pointed first to the crates and then to the quiet depot.  The raft bumped up against the pier.  The male placed his paws on his hips as he faced the female stoat standing alongside the stacked crates.

"Say, missy, where's old Griffy?  It's not like him to hoist a flag and run off somewhere.  Don't think that hedgehog has missed any of our arrivals since he first came here.  I swear that fellow thinks he's part otter." 

Commander Flashentie pounded the side of the crate with his paw.  With a series of resounding crashes, the raiders inside released the false fronts.  For an instant, the river otters froze.  A shower of crossbow bolts killed them before any could react to the threat.

"Secure the raft," he yelled.  He walked over to the decoy passenger and placed his foot on the stoat's posterior.  With a less than gentle touch, he pushed her into the river.  When she surfaced, Commander Flashentie waited until she stopped sputtering.  He used his cutlass as a pointer.

"Get that body floating downriver.  I'll not chance somebody seeing it before we spring our attack."

One ferret dropped his crossbow and jumped onto the raft.  He rushed the small cabin at the rear, kicking in its flimsy door.  A moment later, he emerged with an otter kit.  The ferret held him by the scruff of the neck off the deck.  The kit made several futile efforts to break free, which had his captor chuckling.  The ferret soldier pulled out his dagger.  He placed it under the otter's chin until the kit ceased his struggles.

"Commander, look what I found.  The boy was sound asleep, snoring through the whole thing.  Want me to slit his throat now, or can we have a little fun seeing how long it takes to skin this one alive?"

He glanced at the young otter and guessed his age as somewhere around seven or eight years.  Since the otter tucked his tail, he knew the kit would offer no further resistance.  He kept his expression neutral and addressed the soldier as if they discussed something of little importance. 

"Hold your blade.  We came for slaves, so secure him to a tree and watch him.  When our raid on Quagland is finished, I'll send somebody over to recover our plunder.  That one will fetch a high price at the slave auctions, so be sure he doesn't escape.  If he gives you any trouble, find a good stick and don't spare its use."

As the ferret marched his young prisoner along, Flashentie supervised the other raiders.  In short order, he had the phony crates loaded on the raft.  He surveyed the raft, considering how many of his fellow slavers he could hide on the raft. 

The stoat, still in her lacy dress, exited the water, dragging the dead otter.  In a weary voice, she called to her commander.  He turned in her direction, his mind still fixated on the wealth within the warehouses. 

"Are we going to attack that village now or later," the stoat inquired.

[cairn destop]

Chapter Twenty-Six
Quagland

The ferret soldier lifted his pole and carried it to the bow.  He shoved the butt end into the muddy bottom and bent forward.  The ferret turned around and leaned into the pole as he walked to the stern.  When he arrived at the raft's aft end, he shouldered the pole.  After a quick walk to the bow he repeated the process.

"First I'm rowing some sea rat's ship like a lowly slave, and now I'm poling a raft downriver.  I signed on this voyage to avoid such work back home."

Commander Flashentie almost laughed at the soldier's grousing, but knew he would change his mind when the mission ended and his purse weighed heavy on his hip.  He dismissed the ferret from his mind as he inspected the raft.  Crammed inside the false crates that crowded the bow, eager soldiers waited.  Dabhiran called out to him from his hiding place.  

"Our timing is perfect.  With the morning sun in their eyes and its reflection on the water, nobody should notice what kind of beast poles the raft."

"Just be sure everyone remembers we want captives, not corpses.  The dead don't sell."

The weasel nodded.  "Too bad we have to kill the one stationed in the watchtower, but we can't allow him to raise the alarm.  Those who served with us on past slaving raids have told the others how much silver each prisoner is worth.  Nobody wants to lose money if it can be avoided."

The ferret operating the sweep called out in a low voice.  "Get your weapons ready.  The dock is within a hundred meters of us now."

As the raft drew nearer, the sweep operator's monologue described everything he saw.  None interrupted his report.  When he ceased, they waited.

A voice hailed them.  Commander Flashentie wondered if anyone would recognize the danger and raise the alarm.  His luck held.  Whoever stood on the dock took no notice of who, or what, poled the raft.  The guard expected otters and that's what he saw.  The craft shuddered as it made contact with the pier.

Dockworkers tossed lines to those standing on the raft.  When the ferrets caught the ropes, they gave the signal.  The false crates opened and the vermin swarmed onto the dock.  Two archers exited the cabin and fired at the lone beast in the watchtower.  Both scored direct hits.  The three helpful beasts on the dock became their first captives.

By the time the Commander Flashentie walked from the raft to the town, his raiders had complete control.  They caught the entire village sleeping.  As he entered the main square, his soldiers herded the sleepy inhabitants outside.  Even as he surveyed the catch, his raiders fastened chains to the woodlander's ankles.

Commander Flashentie called Dabhiran closer.  "Most of these woodlanders can be easily handled.  Our problem is keeping those otters and squirrels in line.  Which group do you prefer teaching?"

He ordered his soldiers to finish chaining their captives.  While Dabhiran's squad led all the squirrels to another section of the village, Flashentie selected six raiders who herded the otters down to the dock.  The soldiers had them climb aboard the raft.  It took some prodding with swords to get the hobbled otters in line facing the water with their backs to the guards.  He grinned in anticipation as he walked behind the unsuspecting captives.

"Most of you are just itching to fight, others are thinking of escape.  I see it in your eyes.  Let me convince you such ideas are foolhardy."

Without warning, he pushed the otter he judged the strongest off the raft.  He watched as the otter struggled to keep his head above water.  He splashed and desperately gasped for breath each time he surfaced.  The guards kept the other captive otters close enough that they could see, but far enough away that they could not help.

"Those leg irons might not seem that heavy on land, but they will prevent you from swimming.  Eventually you will tire and when you do, you'll sink."  Flashentie noticed how the otter's struggles lessened.  "In deep water, there is no hope.  You will drown."

The otter's paws clawed at the air, but his head never rose.  He snapped his finger and two guards leaned over the side, yanking the otter high enough that he could inhale.  The otter vomited up the water he swallowed.  His deep gasps sounding like a blacksmith's bellows.

The commander snapped his fingers again, and the guards released their hold.  The otter clawed at the raft's side until one of the guards pushed him away.  His mate pleaded for mercy as her frenzied eyes darted from the water to him.  The guards waited until the otter failed to surface.  Their paws again plunged into the water.  They hauled the otter halfway out of the water.  The exhausted otter panted, too worn out to move.

"Now I can save him, if I choose.  But the next time he goes under, I'll let him drown.  So will you cooperate or must I demonstrate the futility of a water escape with another volunteer?"

Each otter nodded before hanging their head in shame.  When the last one bowed, he ordered the guards to haul their captive out of the water.  As the half-drowned otter hacked and coughed, his mate and kits rushed to his side.  Flashentie led all the otters back to the village square.

Dabhiran jogged over to his commander.  "Our tree rats now understand the futility of climbing.  There will be no trouble from them so long as they wear those leg irons."

"Well done.  Now find me a villager with two children, one of them a toddler and the other over eight.  Then bring me both parents and five other males with a mate and young."

The commander again led the male otters to the dock while their mates and kits remained with the other villagers.  By the time they cleared the raft of the false crates, Dabhiran returned with the selected villagers and six guards.  The raiders joined the otters, who now held the poles.  He waited until the selected captives faced him.  

Commander Flashentie approached a family of woodchucks.  Despite her protests, he relieved the mother of her youngest as he led the other child to the end of the dock.  He cradled the small female woodchuck in one arm while he tickled her with his other paw.  Though the babe giggled and laughed, both parents stood rigid, too frightened to move.

"We have supplies and booty across the river.  You will ferry the material here.  Once everything is on this side of the river, you will be returned to your families.  If anyone is thinking of escape, consider the consequences of your actions."

Commander Flashentie lifted the toddler by the scruff of her neck.  The young woodchuck bawled as she struggled in his paw.  The two parents pledged their cooperation if he returned the female kit.

"Such a lovely girl, pity I must use her as an object lesson."

With his other paw, he drew his dagger.  

"That one died quick.  Any failure to obey will result in a far more painful death for one member of your family.  Anyone escaping condemns everyone, even if we recapture you." Flashentie shouted over the din as his blade pressed against the dibbun woodchuck's throat.

By the time the sun had set, the raiders had the villagers cowering.  Soldiers looted each hut in their search for weapons and valuables.  Once stripped, the raiders crammed as many captives as possible into the empty huts.  Per his orders, whenever the guards changed shifts, they roused the tired prisoners for a head count.  By morning the vermin felt refreshed while the villagers dragged.  

Commander Flashentie prepared for departure.  His force paid a heavy price taking the trading post, but seeing so many captives made such losses acceptable.  They had far more healthy adults than anticipated.  He knew older dibbuns fetched a premium at the slave auction, which translated into more coins in everyone's purse.  The cloth recovered from the warehouses added an unexpected bonus.

"Sir, I chained the prisoners in family units or in groups of five," said Dabhiran.  "These new slaves will carry our loot until we meet up with Captain Peggen.  I gave our soldiers the task of carrying the food since hungry prisoners might steal it."

He listened with only half an ear to the weasel as he watched his raiders organize the chained woodlanders.  According to Dabhiran, they could move out within the next hour.  He considered that one more piece of good news.  So far, everything Lady Sultakka had written proved accurate.

The prisoners lifted their burdens.  As the dejected creatures stood, he addressed them.  He knew his voice carried far more malice than these simple woodlanders ever experienced.

"So long as you can carry your packs, we will consider you useful.  Those who cannot perform this simple task will be killed.  If anyone attempts to escape, everyone connected to his chain dies.  I know several unique ways that are very slow and painful.  Don't force me to demonstrate my expertise."

Satisfied his message had its desired effect, Commander Flashentie ordered the march to commence.  The guards led the captives down the path until they met up with those watching the forest trail.  Once beyond the trail, the guards herded the woodlanders through the forest.

An hour before sunset, he ordered another halt.  Guards kept the slaves huddled close together as they prepared for their first night.  The prisoners moaned as they dropped their heavy burdens.  Many woodlanders rubbed sore shoulders and tender feet while they rested.  They accepted their rations without complaint.  

While the prisoners reclined, he approached the shrews congregated near one tree.  Their talk ended when they noticed his approach.  He smiled, which frightened the woodlanders he saw.  No doubt the stories regarding the otters and woodchuck toddler had circulated.  

"I want to know which of you is named Zoranna."  When none of the prisoners stepped forward, he growled.  "I know she is a shrew.  Must I show my displeasure with one of your young?"

Commander Flashentie almost laughed at the reaction.  Every female shrew pointed to the one he sought.  Several guards moved between her and the rest of her family while another guard released her.  Flanked by four vermin, the female shrew followed him to a clearing where the other woodlanders could see and hear everything.  When he confirmed the lady's identity, he called for Kanar, a male pine martin who displayed a muscular physic.

"Captain Peggen tells me you handle a whip like a master craftsman.  I do hope you followed your captain's order to pack it before you left the ship."  He noticed how Kanar's eyes brighten as he nodded.  He recognized the predatory stare Kanar gave Zoranna as he licked his lips.  The guards drew a close circle, ready to block any attempt at escape by the shrew.

"Give that lady shrew twenty lashes.  Do it in such a way that every time her backpack bounces or shifts, she will feel more pain.  I know what I'm asking is far milder than a proper flogging, so I have a special treat for you.  When we get back to the ship, you can entertain Zoranna when you help her experience a true flogging from the paws of an expert."

The shrew stood stunned by his order.  As the guards stripped her, Zoranna finally realized the commander ordered her whipped not once, but twice.  She pleaded for mercy while asking why she deserved such mistreatment.  Her futile struggles against the vermin securing her to the fallen log made Commander Flashentie smile.  He watched the pine martin unlimber his whip.  Kanar flicked it several times as he tested where it would fall.  

Flashentie stood next to the pine martin, his eyes focused on him and not the shrew.  He recalled how Captain Peggen described his favorite disciplinarian's ritual whenever he got the chance to use his whip on a helpless victim.  When the pine martin rubbed his paw on his britches, the commander moved between the predator and his prey.  He countermanded his order.  

Kanar's reaction proved better than he ever expected.  He noted the hostile glare as the pine martin stood back.  That pleased Flashentie.  According to the captain, if anyone denied the pine martin his fun, it made the next victim's flogging even worse.  Kanar's fury would have him put every ounce of strength he possessed behind each stroke.  

He felt no pity for the blubbering female.  To him, her beating would provide an entertaining diversion before catching a good night's sleep.  Flashentie spent the whole day envisioning this moment.  Now he wanted to savor it.  He stroked the lady shrew's soft fur with a tender caress like the one he gave his mate until she responded to his soothing voice.  

Zoranna turned her head towards the far side of the clearing where Kanar paced.  She shuddered.  Another gentle stroking of her arm and she faced him.  The shrew asked why she remained tied to the log if he cancelled her punishment.

"I want everybody to know we attacked Quagland because you treated your sister with such contempt when she visited.  That is why she contacted us.  Madame Sultakka extends her warmest greeting as you start your new life as a slave.  Her letter requested a very special welcoming gift, which I'm pleased to deliver."

Once the commander found a comfortable seat where he had an unobstructed view, he asked Kanar if he still wanted to demonstrate his talent.  The commander enjoyed his reaction as he raced back to the log.  Now the fellow's expression matched the one Flashentie saw whenever he gave his youngest a special gift.  He repeated his instructions but upped her flogging to thirty strokes.

The pine martin almost drooled as he eyed his helpless victim.  Zoranna's struggles heightened his anticipation.  The pine martin repeated his earlier actions as he prepared to administer the whipping.  Kanar glanced over while vigorously drying his paw against his pants, his eyes pleading for permission.  Flashentie nodded.  Kanar laid into his task with an intensity that mirrored his glee.

[cairn destop]

Chapter Twenty-Seven
Enter the Hermit

He enjoyed the isolation his home offered.  Set high in an ancient tree, he fashioned his living quarters within its trunk.  After a good night's sleep, he attended to whatever chores demanded his immediate attention.  With the setting of the sun, he retired to his kitchen where he contemplated his dinner.  He found such a simple routine comfortable.

As he pondered his evening meal, the peaceful solitude he treasured shattered like a dropped plate when he heard a large number of beasts moving through his forest.  He shuffled to his doorway searching for the source of disturbance.  A quick look revealed nothing to his eyes, yet his ears alerted him to their imminent arrival.

They approached his home from the east.  He drew himself up to his full height ready to give these intruders an earful for camping beneath his tree.  His protest died unuttered when vermin carrying weapons appeared.  A glance at the woodlanders revealed they did not follow willingly.  Chains rattled as they moved through the underbrush and into the clearing next to his tree.

Though he could not hear the words spoken, he observed a grey fox lead a shrew to a fallen log.  Both fascinated and appalled, he watched the series of events leading up to the first lashing.  The hermit shrunk far enough back into his home to hide from the sight.  He placed his paws over his ears, but could not block out the female's pitiable cries.

When he could hear her no longer, he paced his chamber.  Voices drifted up to his home followed by the sound of hammering.  Curious, he took a quick glance outside where he discovered several vermin soldiers raising a tent that abutted his tree.  Just as they finished their task, the same grey fox approached.

Then the old hermit had a horrible thought.  He couldn't remember when he last used his groundside door.  A second look outside confirmed his worse fears; the back of the tent touched his doorway.  Using all the stealth he possessed, he sped down the inner staircase until he reached the secret door, which he found barred from the inside.  An unfamiliar voice echoing within the tree almost had him faint.  Clutching his chest, he listened.

"A most excellent show we had there, Dabhiran.  Kanar is indeed a master with that whip."

Another voice laughed.  "I'll wager one silver Zoranna kills herself before she reaches our ship, commander."

"Then your job will be to make sure that doesn't happen.  Madame Sultakka is paying an extra bounty for making her suffer, which I shall share with you.  She wants our captain to make sure somebody with a cruel streak gets her in any auction.  I can tell you her letter has more venom than an adder's bite when she writes about her sister."

They conversed about other things before they exchanged farewells.  He pressed his ear against his door but detected nothing.  The unexpected sound of a boot hitting his secret door caused him to leap halfway up the stairway.  A second thud followed the first.

For several seconds, he hesitated halfway between the secret exit and the stairway's first landing.  No other sound invaded his domain and he approached the door a second time.  His finger poked a hole through the mud he used to hide the seam.  He placed his ear over the opening.  He heard nothing more than the sound of some beast sleeping.

Loud voices roused the hermit from a deep slumber.  For a moment, he wondered why he wasn't in his bed.  Then he remembered what happened the previous evening.  He approached the door and placed his ear over the hole.  For a moment, he wondered if the vermin beast could hear his panicked heart pounding.

"Let me get my boots on first."  He heard something slam his door. 

Then the voice he remembered as Dabhiran spoke.  "Sorry to disturb you commander, but you did say you wanted to see Lieutenant Garff whenever he returned.  I sent his soldiers to our cook for their morning meal, while I brought ours here."

Confident none knew of him, he continued leaning against the door.  He listened to the scraping of metal on metal, and the slurping of the vermin leader who used his tree as a backrest.  The conversations touched on nothing he thought important. 

Bored, he decided he wanted breakfast.  He started up the stairs when the commander's voice echoed within the tree.  His words drew him back to his listening hole.

"How did things go after we left Quagland, lieutenant?"

"We had the otter's raft dismantled by the older villagers.  It took them forever hauling the timbers to the square.  After soaking the wood in lamp oil, we burned it and everything we didn't take with us.  Those who didn't die on our blades, died in the fire.  Disposing of the toddlers and infants took no time at all once we eliminated the elders."

He recoiled.  These three vermin discussed the execution of woodlanders as if they described the weather.  Lieutenant Garff continued.

"It took us the rest of the day dumping the ashes into the marsh.  Wait another week and nobody will even know we raided the town.  Anyone stumbling across the place will think the inhabitants abandoned it."

Quagland destroyed. 

He slumped on the steps, horrified by the news.  Though he preferred his solitude, he remembered how Quagland always welcomed him.  Sometimes they offered bog berries in exchange for his carpentry skills.  None ever pestered him with questions; they respected his privacy.  His heart ached at the loss of so many innocent beasts.

"Are any of the prisoners suspicious?  Their minds haven't accepted the reality of slavery yet.  Many believe those left behind might rescue them or alert those who can.  Chains or no chains, they could cause us trouble if they learn the truth."

"They have been told what they want to hear whenever we see them listening in on our conversations, commander.  Everyone tells the same story about leaving the useless ones back at the village.  These naive woodlanders believe we left them alive."

The commander commend Dabhiran for his ingenuity.  "They will hold onto hope until we load them on the longboats.  When they find themselves chained to an oar, they will break.  They always do."

An eerie quiet replaced their conversations.  He hesitated by the door, his stomach felt twisted in knots.  He then raced back up to his living quarters where he chanced a quick peek outside.  His heart leaped with joy as the vermin dismantled their camp.  Within an hour, the tranquility of his forest returned.

Although shocked at what the vermin did, he ignored the plight of the villagers.  Despite their kindness, none of them meant more than a passing thought to him.  He saw no reason to concern himself.  He prepared a hearty meal since he missed his breakfast.  When he finished washing and restacking his dishes, he glanced outside once more.  Nothing stirred.

In the quiet of his home, the voice of his grandmother echoed within his mind.  He recalled the stories the old squirrel told about her days as a slave child.  All his siblings quivered in fear whenever she spoke of her youth.

"That old lady died before the years exceeded the fingers on my paws.  How is it possible for me to hear her voice as if she sat next to me?  She just liked telling dibbuns scary stories.  She probably invented half of them too."

He climbed down the tree as fast as his old bones allowed.  He repacked the mud around the hidden door.  Satisfied with his effort, he scouted the area surrounding his home.  Small bits of debris cluttered the forest floor, but that would be gone after the next storm.  Though repelled by the memory of the shrew's flogging, the fallen tree drew him closer.

Blood stained the bark.  The crack of the whip and the unknown female's wailing replayed within his mind.  He fell to his knees holding his paws over his ears.  That only intensified the sound.  Each time he opened his eyes, he saw the dried blood pooled on the bark.  His pain increased until he could bear it no longer. 

"Damn you, damn you all to Hellsgate."

Nothing moved.  He levered himself to a standing position.  Once more, he focused on the bloody bark.  He squeezed his eyes shut, but when he opened them, the scene remained unchanged.  A vision of the Quagland slaughter filled his mind.  It sickened him.  This time his voice made a whispery sound as tears clouded his vision.

"Damn every one of you vermin slavers."

Though slow, he moved faster than he had in years.  He rushed up the tree and raced to his sleeping chamber.  A quick trip to his storeroom and his backpack bulged with food.  He returned to his bedroom where he stored a sling.  As he exited the room, he snatched his short spear, securing it to his backpack.

Travel through the treetops at breakneck speed came flowing back to him.  He leaped from one tree to another as if his age suddenly halved.  He admired how well the slavers planned their movement.  He knew their destination offered a perfect refuge.  Located far from any trail, it provided everything the slavers needed.

So many creatures moving through a forest made a lot of noise.  He raced ahead.  When he found a tree with heavy cover near a small clearing, he stopped.  A few minutes later, three stoats passed beneath his hiding spot.  They did not see him and the wind scattered his scent.

Several moments passed before the main force entered the clearing.  Everyone rested.  Guards leaned against the nearest tree while the captives removed their backpacks.  He stared down at the scene listening to the general groans of those close to exhaustion.

Across the clearing rested four squirrels.  They clung to each other, their heads bowed.  The younger female, a child on the cusp of adulthood, raised her muzzle.  Her eyes locked with his.  He pointed up the tree.  The girl's eyes followed where his finger directed.

The older male reacted to her head movement.  He reached past the older female, slapping the girl's muzzle downward.  A ferret raced over and yanked the girl to her feet.  The slaver pinned her to the tree with one paw while he held a switch in front of her face.  The older female groveled at the ferret's foot while the two males fell to their knees begging for mercy.  Even from where he hid, the scent of their collective fear overwhelmed him.

The ferret called out for Commander Flashentie.  A grey fox sauntered over and listened to the ferret.  Words passed between them.  The fox dismissed the ferret, took the switch, and handed it to the older male squirrel.  The girl bared her back and the male squirrel laid into her until the fox stopped him.  Once the fox left, the older male embraced the girl while she sobbed.

When he heard the ferret call the grey fox by name, it gave him a face to match the voice.  This beast planned the execution of an entire village.  He ordered the whipping of another.  He forced a father to beat his daughter.  His blood ran cold.  A shouted command from the fox and all stood.  Everyone followed him into the forest.

Such woebegone expressions on the passing woodlanders convinced him none would offer much resistance.  As each chained group passed his tree, he saw hope dying.  Then the female squirrel glanced upward.  He felt her unspoken plea for help.  His heart ached knowing he could do nothing against so many vermin warriors.

A family of shrews passed his tree.  His eyes locked on the female leading the chain.  That face showed something beyond defeat.  A male kept to her side, his paw stroking her arm but she did not respond.

His eyes followed this beast even after she walked under his tree branch.  Then he saw the female shrew from the back.  Her bright blue dress had red stripes running across it.  Even as she walked, he saw how her backpack added more red to her blouse.  For just an instant he heard his grandmother's voice describe slaves who lost the will to go on.  It matched the female shrew.

Silence returned to the forest.  He stared in the direction the slavers traveled.  For just a moment, he again debated the wisdom of intervening.  Giving a loud harrumph, he climbed to a higher branch warmed by the afternoon sun. 

"I'm so sorry, there's nothing one old squirrel can do." 

He turned his back on the woodlanders once more, but could not move.  His mind tried to deny what his eyes saw.  That female squirrel pinned all her hopes on him.  Then the lady shrew's eyes filled his mind.  There had to be a way to rekindle the spark of life those vermin snuffed.

"Where one must fail, many can succeed." 

In his youth, he could reach the Pine Tar tribal homes in a few hours.  Today, it took him past sunset.  Upon his arrival, the he found the nesting spots empty.  With the palm of his paw, he smacked his forehead.  Last month a resident of Quagland said the tribe moved to Redwall Abbey for an extended stay.

Old age made night travel too dangerous since he found it hard judging distances.  It would do those woodlanders no good if he injured himself in a nasty fall.  Satisfied he could do nothing more this night, he entered one of the huts.  The hammock proved irresistible.  As he drifted off to sleep, he could imagine his grandmother demanding to know what he intended to do in the morning.

"One branch crossed, and you're committed to the forest.  This good deed is going to cost me four days, and that leaves little time for any beast wanting to help those woodlanders.  Sure hope those Pine Tar squirrels or uppity Abbey beasts appreciate my efforts."

[cairn destop]

"darn you, darn you all to Hellsgate."

Nothing moved.  He levered himself to a standing position.  Once more, he focused on the bloody bark.  He squeezed his eyes shut, but when he opened them, the scene remained unchanged.  A vision of the Quagland slaughter filled his mind.  It sickened him.  This time his voice made a whispery sound as tears clouded his vision.

"darn every one of you vermin slavers."

Though slow, he moved faster than he had in years.  He rushed up the tree and raced to his sleeping chamber.  A quick trip to his storeroom and his backpack bulged with food.  He returned to his bedroom where he stored a sling.  As he exited the room, he snatched his short spear, securing it to his backpack.

Travel through the treetops at breakneck speed came flowing back to him.  He leaped from one tree to another as if his age suddenly halved.  He admired how well the slavers planned their movement.  He knew their destination offered a perfect refuge.  Located far from any trail, it provided everything the slavers needed.

So many creatures moving through a forest made a lot of noise.  He raced ahead.  When he found a tree with heavy cover near a small clearing, he stopped.  A few minutes later, three stoats passed beneath his hiding spot.  They did not see him and the wind scattered his scent.

Several moments passed before the main force entered the clearing.  Everyone rested.  Guards leaned against the nearest tree while the captives removed their backpacks.  He stared down at the scene listening to the general groans of those close to exhaustion.

Across the clearing rested four squirrels.  They clung to each other, their heads bowed.  The younger female, a child on the cusp of adulthood, raised her muzzle.  Her eyes locked with his.  He pointed up the tree.  The girl's eyes followed where his finger directed.

The older male reacted to her head movement.  He reached past the older female, slapping the girl's muzzle downward.  A ferret raced over and yanked the girl to her feet.  The slaver pinned her to the tree with one paw while he held a switch in front of her face.  The older female groveled at the ferret's foot while the two males fell to their knees begging for mercy.  Even from where he hid, the scent of their collective fear overwhelmed him.

The ferret called out for Commander Flashentie.  A grey fox sauntered over and listened to the ferret.  Words passed between them.  The fox dismissed the ferret, took the switch, and handed it to the older male squirrel.  The girl bared her back and the male squirrel laid into her until the fox stopped him.  Once the fox left, the older male embraced the girl while she sobbed.

When he heard the ferret call the grey fox by name, it gave him a face to match the voice.  This beast planned the execution of an entire village.  He ordered the whipping of another.  He forced a father to beat his daughter.  His blood ran cold.  A shouted command from the fox and all stood.  Everyone followed him into the forest.

Such woebegone expressions on the passing woodlanders convinced him none would offer much resistance.  As each chained group passed his tree, he saw hope dying.  Then the female squirrel glanced upward.  He felt her unspoken plea for help.  His heart ached knowing he could do nothing against so many vermin warriors.

A family of shrews passed his tree.  His eyes locked on the female leading the chain.  That face showed something beyond defeat.  A male kept to her side, his paw stroking her arm but she did not respond.

His eyes followed this beast even after she walked under his tree branch.  Then he saw the female shrew from the back.  Her bright blue dress had red stripes running across it.  Even as she walked, he saw how her backpack added more red to her blouse.  For just an instant he heard his grandmother's voice describe slaves who lost the will to go on.  It matched the female shrew.

Silence returned to the forest.  He stared in the direction the slavers traveled.  For just a moment, he again debated the wisdom of intervening.  Giving a loud harrumph, he climbed to a higher branch warmed by the afternoon sun.  

"I'm so sorry, there's nothing one old squirrel can do."  

He turned his back on the woodlanders once more, but could not move.  His mind tried to deny what his eyes saw.  That female squirrel pinned all her hopes on him.  Then the lady shrew's eyes filled his mind.  There had to be a way to rekindle the spark of life those vermin snuffed.

"Where one must fail, many can succeed."  

In his youth, he could reach the Pine Tar tribal homes in a few hours.  Today, it took him past sunset.  Upon his arrival, the he found the nesting spots empty.  With the palm of his paw, he smacked his forehead.  Last month a resident of Quagland said the tribe moved to Redwall Abbey for an extended stay.

Old age made night travel too dangerous since he found it hard judging distances.  It would do those woodlanders no good if he injured himself in a nasty fall.  Satisfied he could do nothing more this night, he entered one of the huts.  The hammock proved irresistible.  As he drifted off to sleep, he could imagine his grandmother demanding to know what he intended to do in the morning.

"One branch crossed, and you're committed to the forest.  This good deed is going to cost me four days, and that leaves little time for any beast wanting to help those woodlanders.  Sure hope those Pine Tar squirrels or uppity Abbey beasts appreciate my efforts."






(AUTHOR'S NOTE:  something eliminated the above when I originally uploaded it.  Possibly the mild curse, which I had to change.  Sorry for the inconvenience.)