Invaders of Redwall --- No Comments Please

[cairn destop]

REDWALL REVEALED

"Shall we continue to the final item on our agenda," asked Brigadier Shawarran.

Outside his commandeered office, which belonged to the former mayor, the town's clock struck noon.  Brigadier Shawarran felt euphoric.  Three days into the occupation and his staff reported no incidents during the night.  He expected any armed resistance to last at least a full week, maybe longer.  Now he shifted his focus from pacification to his primary goal, the expansion of the port facilities.

The engineers announced the completion of their initial survey.  Their commander seemed very anxious about returning to his work as he groused about the time wasted at such meetings.  The Brigadier ignored his comment, knowing he would complain about a sunny day if it hindered his work.

The weasel ceased throwing numbers at him and got to the summary of his status report.  "Oar slaves from the beached warships are working at dredging the channel and widening it.  We hope to adhere to our original time schedule, barring any further injuries.  Additional slaves could insure timely completion of our task."

"With pacification done, we can take slaves from the outlying settlements," said the Brigadier.  "Best we avoid taking this town's residents as we need their cooperation.  However, I want all efforts regarding army recruitment doubled as we have too few if we meet any organized resistance."

Brigadier Shawarran stood, ready to dismiss his staff.  His Intelligence Officer raised his paw.  Since the wolf seldom spoke at these meetings unless he had something he considered vital, Shawarran gave him leave to speak.  The rest of his Command Staff turned in their seats and groaned, knowing the meeting might last longer than anticipated.  Colonel Varden stood so all could see him.

"I have learned of a citadel far to the north of us, called Redwall Abbey.  This place has quite a reputation.  It prizes peace over conquest and the residents welcome strangers with open arms.  They have no standing military force, save one warrior and a guiding spirit that many believe can become real in times of need.  Stories say no enemy has ever conquered Redwall, though many have tried.  Best of all, they remain independent of the Northern Alliance."

Several staff members barked in amusement.  Varden, waited until a sense of decorum returned.  The other members of the Command Staff acted as though this information held no importance.  However, a nod from the Brigadier had the Intelligence Officer continue his briefing.

"My informants tell me the place is now ruled by an elderly female squirrel.  Fortune did not favor us when the son of this Abbess of Redwall, evaded our perimeter guards.  It seems he and his band of refugees somehow overpowered one of our chariots even though they were unarmed."

There followed a moment of agitated murmuring among the officers.  The war chariots had proven themselves a vital weapon when the Town of Ferretville fell to them.  If the chariots could conquer an entire town without suffering casualties and then be defeated by an unarmed civilian, it shattered their sense of invulnerability.  Colonel Varden held his paw up for silence.  When the Brigadier made no inquiries, he continued his report.

"I have it on first paw knowledge that this squirrel, Narkade, is on his way back to his home at Redwall Abbey.  I'm certain he will alert them to our presence.  If he travels with a minimum of rest, I estimate his trip will take at least seven days.  It might take him a day or two longer since he has to forage for supplies."

One officer, a female stoat that had many battle scars attesting to her prowess, gave a deferential cough.  When Brigadier Shawarran acknowledged her, she asked about the other refugees that accompanied the squirrel.  Colonel Varden perused his notes before he answered.

"The others are fleeing to a place called Green Birch; perhaps a four-day march from here.  It is a small village nestled in a grove of trees near a river.  Its inhabitants are squirrels and otters, numbering less than a hundred, counting the young.  I doubt any of them are true warriors."

The female stoat stood up to her full height.  Every officer there saw her hackles raised, a sure sign she wanted a fight.  In the unexpected pause, the stoat faced her commander.

"With your permission, Brigadier, I would like to take a strike force and intercept these refugees.  Civilians don't move as fast as a trained military unit.  If we leave now, we can intercept the escaped civilians at Green Birch and contain the news of our presence.  The longer this land remains ignorant of our intentions here, the better.  Best of all, any captives can be added to our contingent of slaves."

Brigadier Shawarran granted her request.  As she departed, he turned to the ferret sitting on his left, asking how long it would take to move a sizable force against the Abbey.  When his logistics officer indicated a minimum of twelve days, he pounded his paw on the table and growled in exasperation. 

"Not good enough.  We must arrive within two days of that squirrel or the Abbey will have sufficient time to prepare adequate defenses.  No more than ten days."

An ermine down the far end gave a snort that attracted the attention of every officer.  He returned their icy stares with one of his own until Brigadier Shawarran demanded an explanation.  The ermine never flinched.

"Do we care about some distant Abbey knowing we're here?  You said they're peaceful and isolated by choice, so where's the danger?  Redwall has no army that can challenge us and since they are not allied with the Northern Alliance, they will not be apt to relay any intelligence."

Shawarran growled, expressing his displeasure at the ermine's assessment.  "Those are the very reasons why we must attack.  In our paws, the Abbey becomes a dagger aimed at the belly of the Northern Alliance.  Any idea how we can mount an offensive before this place can raise a viable defense?"

A ferret on the opposite side of the table asked if a scouting force could get there any faster.  Another officer answered his comment by stating it would cut the time by one day, still leaving the defenders sufficient time.  The low snarl at the head of the table indicated that such a delay remained unacceptable.

A heavy silence settled over the Command Staff like a thick fog as every officer tried devising some alternative.  Everything depended upon speed; they had to get there within hours of the squirrel's arrival.  Nateem rose. 

"Why not use our ponies?  Discard all their armor and hook them to several light carts.  We should get there a lot sooner.  Our soldiers may even beat that messenger if we move fast enough.  Since they have no army, even a token force can defeat unarmed civilians.  All we need do is get through the main gate."

The ferret responsible for the ponies nodded.  Her quill flew across the paper in front of her as she did some rapid calculations.  When she finished, she declared her findings.

"It will work.  Figure four carts holding ten warriors each.  They will reach their destination in nine days.  Our quick response units can follow this initial strike force and will get there eighteen to twenty-four hours later, which will double the number of warriors.  Within three days of our first unit's arrival, we can muster a force of a thousand soldiers.  The one drawback in such an audacious plan is the lack of supplies.  We can get there, but not back."

Colonel Varden spoke.  "This Abbey has an abundant food supply.  If the stories are true, they somehow missed the crop blight hitting this land, which means a bountiful harvest in another two or three months.  Once we take possession of Redwall, we can feast on its rich lauders.  When the Northern Alliance learns this famous citadel has fallen, it will dishearten every soldier.  Our General will be very pleased by our initiative at crushing their spirit.  We can hold our position with a small force since these creatures are pacifists."

Within the hour, orders were issued.  Nateem gathered his unit and prepared the carts.  Brigadier Shawarran exited his office carrying his backpack.  He marched up to the lead cart and with a lithe bound, joined the other soldiers. 

"I intend being there when Redwall falls," said Shawarran.

xxxxx

While Tassel's young charges attended the Spring Extravaganza, the Mother Abbot treated her like an honored guest.  Each night Tassel found herself sitting next to Robertasin at the head table.  The Abbess entertained her with stories of her son's youth at Redwall, while prodding her for stories regarding her two pups and the other dibbuns under her care.  Such unusual attention made her nervous, but Bruno encouraged her to accept Robertasin's obvious gesture of friendship. 

After another entertaining dinner, Tassel and Bruno relaxed in the Abbey's Common Room.  As conversations ebbed and flowed, one of the sentries crossed the room at a leisurely pace.  Each time he spoke, residents rushed from the room.  When he passed their table, Bruno snagged his arm, wondering what had everyone excited.

"The children return from the Spring Festival.  They should reach the gate in another ten minutes," he said as he continued through the crowded room.

"It looks like our holiday is over, husband.  Best we meet them at the gate," said Tassel.

She arrived just as her son led a large contingent of dibbuns pass the inner gate.  Many darted off to parents, the excitement of their trip still fresh on their minds.  Those Tassel cared for surrounded her; their voices creating a cacophony of exuberance.

Bruno gave a bark that overpowered the young voices.  One by one, the dibbuns quieted as they stared at Pa Badger.  With order restored, Bruno no longer needed to shout.

"I'm sure everyone has a story to tell, but for now, let the elders talk."

"You can tell me everything in the morning," said Tassel in an effort to forestall any arguments.

By the next afternoon, she had heard about the many wonders from all but her youngest charge.  Tassel led the young mole, Bridgett, to a bench warmed by the sun.  She lifted the dibbun onto the bench as she was reluctant to climb onto it.

"Everybody else already told you what happened.  Why do you want me to tell it too," Bridget said with a pouty voice.

Tassel prodded the girl, assuring her of her interest.  The mole's brow furrowed as she thought, no doubt considering each event.  Her eyes glowed as she faced her.

"Captain Serenity took us to a feast where we saw the King.  I even gotta chance to dance when a band played music and everyone clapped for me."

Bridgett stepped back and tried doing a few steps on the bench.  Mother Tassel clapped as the girl pranced.  The mole leaned closer to her as she revealed even more about the party her daughter had arranged.

"There was one mean old lady spikedog that said bad things about you.  She called you a vermin and said Redwall should get rid of you." 

Bridget jumped off the bench and stepped back several paces.  She then strutted forward while waving her slate board like a fan.  The mole's portrayal of the Countess Dorsattin Sharpae, the most powerful members of the Council of Nobles, proved less than flattering. 

Her son's account of the party and the meeting with the Countess matched the child's.  It seemed the noble lady hedgehog maintained her dogmatic dislike for her, though they never met.  Thorn could not convince the powerful noble that she had reformed over the many years.  The Countess wanted Tassel removed, but so long as Redwall expressed a willingness to keep her, she would not act on her personal dislike. 

Badgermom Tassel caught movement at a window on the second floor of the Abbey.  Her eyes marked the window and she knew what creature must be looking her way.  It had to be the Abbess since the window was the one in her office.  Tassel doubted many other black-furred residents within Redwall would have some reason for being in that particular room at this exact moment.

[cairn destop]

SECRETS UNRAVEL

Robertasin, Abbess of Redwall, stared across the courtyard, observing Tassel with one of her young charges.  She wondered if the badger knew just how much her attitude had changed.  Robertasin tried hammering that point home while Tassel was her special guest, but didn't know if she had succeeded.

"Mother Abbot, are you listening to me?"  The voice did not have the respectful tone to it a resident would use.  It carried a suggestion of superiority, which made her slow down her reaction as a way to reaffirm her dominance.

Robertasin turned from her office window as if she had plenty of time.  The room's other occupant sat on the sofa under the mounted shepherd's crook, his head tilted to the side as he stared at her.  His long white legs were stretched out before him and his shirt had ridden out of his britches, showing the grey fur that covered his slim stomach.  In one paw, the hare held several sheets of paper and even more sheets littered the nearby floor.

"Yes I am, Markus.  Just because I want to give my eyes a rest doesn't mean I'm not listening."

"Abbess, you have got to do something, and do it soon.  When you placed this Abbey on a war footing ...."

She glared at the reclining hare, her voice hissing like an angry adder.  "Keep your voice down you long-eared, blabber mouth.  We have got to maintain secrecy."

The hare's snort expressed his exasperation better than any words.

"This secrecy has gone on far too long, Abbess.  There is open talk about all the weird things my unit has done and those elders we have employed are wondering what is happening.  I have done everything in my power, but rumors are surfacing."

"Such rumors remain nothing more than wild speculations.  When it comes time for me to make an announcement, everyone will be praising your steadfast assistance."

Robertasin returned to her desk and dipped her quill in the open ink bottle.  Her paw traced the words on the long list before her until it reached a point near the bottom.  She drew a smudged line through the words, gave a giddy yip, and dropped the pen.  One more item eliminated from their list and another step closer to insuring the security of the Abbey.

"When we started this, you said the emergency was expected within five days.  Here we are going into the fourth week and are yet to see any indications of imminent danger.  Just look at how all this secrecy has affected the most jovial of creatures.  That cellar hog has been growling at his staff because you keep insisting the inventory numbers be kept accurate."

"Markus, that fellow will become a hero when the siege begins.  Thanks to him, we have canned whatever foods we have.  Meats and fish are either being salted or smoked for long-term storage.  He even spotted a few leaky cellars that can be fixed before the heavy spring showers hit the area saving a lot of our perishables."

General Markus swung his legs over the side and stared at her.  His expression confirmed how worried he felt, and his words dispelled any doubt. 

"Like it or not, I think our secret is slipping out.  Healer Shortspike has an idea what's coming because of the additional medical supplies we procured.  We keep giving her things she listed as traumatic necessities while ignoring the maintenance herbs and potions."

The Abbess waived her paw dismissively.  "She has no idea what's going on."

"You think so?  According to your resident warrior she has it figured out.  Two days ago, he escorted her on a hunt for some medicinal roots.  While her helpers gathered and processed the material, she asked him one question: 'How many casualties do you expect?'  I'm afraid Jazzin's silence confirmed her suspicions.  Others will soon guess what's happening and when the word does get out, every resident within these walls will panic."

Robertasin leaped out of her chair as if it turned into the pointy end of a spear.  Her bushy tail snapped to straight up as she marched over to her window.  The Abbess remained standing there for several moments before she returned to her desk.  She acted as thought she was not aware that her fingers were drumming the desk.

"Very well, Markus.  If nothing happens in the next five days that supports my contention, I'll reveal everything to our Counsel of Elders, but in private.  That should satisfy their curiosity and buy us another week.  We must continue our preparations, regardless of the cost.  I'll not inform the general population until we know the threat is real."

"What happens if this threat to Redwall's safety never materializes?  Have you thought about that possibility?"

She did not answer his query.  Markus went about gathering his papers.  From where she sat, his furrowed brow and worried expression could be clearly seen.  His eyes stabbed her as he weighed his words.  When the Long Patrol General spoke, he used a voice better suited to that of an army commander rather than a friend on holiday.

"I believe your vision has got to be wrong.  No military force would consider Redwall a first-strike strategic objective, and we know of no bandit strong enough to consider an unprovoked attack.  An army would strike a more viable target, like the badger King's citadel built on Fire Mountain or some inlet that can support seagoing vessels, not an isolated inland fortress."

Robertasin listened to his assessment before she wandered back to the window.  The Abbess allowed her gaze to wander about the courtyard where she watched others moving about, each of them performing their normal, routine tasks without any concern.  She spotted Tassel still conversing with the young mole at what she guessed was a fun time for both of them, trying to forget why she continued meeting the hare in relative secrecy. 

Such a peaceful scene made her stomach churn and she felt a sharp pain in her chest.  Robertasin knew the stress of keeping the secret affected her health, but had no confidant she could trust with her forebodings.  The Abbess knew her position isolated her and that terrified her.  She alone was responsible for all the residents that put their lives in her paws. 

For the first time in her reign as the Abbess of Redwall Abbey, she experienced the icy fingers of fear.  The dream happened so long ago, but too many Abbey leaders recorded prophecies that later came true.  She dare not ignore it.  She wondered if she remembered the words of Martin the Warrior, or was it her stressed mind playing tricks on her when she made that diary entry.  Did Tassel's recent nightmares have any connection to her vision of a future conflict? 

No doubt many residents speculated about what form of insanity had taken hold of their leader.  Though she hadn't told Markus, she heard a rumor the Council of Elders might seriously consider a motion asking that she be removed or forced into retirement.  They believed her recent actions indicated she no longer possessed the mental capacity to continue as Redwall's leader.  It seemed their final decision hinged on who should replace her.

"I know I'm right."  Robertasin whispered.  "I wish I was wrong, but everything my gut screams is that we have too little time."

[cairn destop]

CHILD OF PROPHECY

Tassel kept quiet, happy to hear about the Spring Festival.  Bridget ceased talking about her experiences once she realized she had told the last story earlier.  The young mole returned to the bench, and requested some chalk.  Tassel retrieved a piece she had in her pocket and handed it to the young dibbun.  The child focused her attention on the slate propped on her lap.

Badgermom Tassel relaxed; enjoying a very pleasant spring day.  Most of the children she cared for worked in the fields beyond the outer walls.  This early in the season, every resident assisted in preparing the land for seeding.  The school cancelled all morning classes since crops held a higher priority.  Lessons could be delayed until the afternoon.

Elders passing Tassel gave either a soft hello or a simple nod.  Tassel found such exchanges of pleasantries far more common since the Abbess announced her desire to seek clemency.  Tassel felt a new sense of belonging at Redwall.  Whenever she moved about, she remembered to keep her masked face held up and welcomed the many greetings directed her way.

Movement across the courtyard caught her eye.  Three creatures drew closer while engaging in an animated discussion.  Two she recognized.  The squirrel with her finger waggling inches from the other's muzzle was Highclimber.  One look at the agitated hedgehog with her head bobbing from side to side had everyone scurrying from their path.  Tassel wondered what possible dispute had those two ladies exchanging such heated words.

One woebegone male otter stood two paces back, his eyes darting from one elder to the other.  As the two females continued their verbal altercation, the otter looked as though he wished the lawn beneath him had turned into a wide lake.  Then he could dive deep below and out of harm's way. 

Tassel stood.  Satisfied Bridget would remain on the bench, she approached the two combatants.  The male otter must have noticed her approach as he now faced her.  Tassel guessed he would welcome her intervention since he seemed to be the reason for their altercation.

Then she hesitated.  His face, it's the one I didn't recognize from my dream. 

This close to the two elders, Tassel had no trouble hearing their heated exchange.  A momentary lull in their verbal barrage ended with the Healer's comments.  Based on the way Highclimber rolled her eyes, the squirrel must have known what Shortspike would say.

"I cannot believe you're that dense.  There's no way I'm taking that ignorant teen as an apprentice.  The bloody fool doesn't have any idea how to read or write.  What good is a Healer who cannot pass on their medical knowledge to others?  I'll not waste my time."

Highclimber's response held a sharp barb.  "Niltan has done an excellent job in our village helping our Healer, without the need for letters and numbers.  You forget we grew up in Redwall where there is schooling.  Not every village can afford a teacher.  Healers have learned their trade from other healers longer than this Abbey has existed."

"You speak of the past," said Shortspike.  "Medical knowledge comes as much from books as it does from practical experience.  The world is changing and without an education, he's worthless as an apprentice."

"Our healer thinks he has talent.  Why are you spurning him," the squirrel asked.

By this time, Tassel stood near the two combatants.  One glance at Highclimber convinced her that she was about to reargue her position.  Based on Healer Shortspike's expression, she remained unmoved by the squirrel's passionate plead.  As to the object of their angry words, the young otter's woebegone expression said he wanted to be anywhere but here.

"The solution is so simple; I'm surprised neither of you thought of it," said Tassel.

Everyone turned toward her.  Both elders crossed their arms, giving their opponent sideward glances, but remained silent.  Assured of their undivided attention, Tassel offered her solution.

"Since our young otter is here without any elders, I'll take the boy as one of my charges for as long as he lives here.  Whenever he isn't needed for medical training, he can attend classes.  That way he'll receive a proper education and will have several responsible elders caring for him.  Shortspike, I'm sure a willing and talented apprentice can be a great help to you.  As you said, a healer needs to pass on their knowledge, and you have so much you can teach him.  By the time he's ready to be a healer, his education will make him far more valuable.  The way I see it, you both come out better." 

Healer Shortspike mulled over the idea.  "I would prefer he master his letters and numbers first, but if he promises to attend Abbey school, I'll accept him as an apprentice.  He can work with me in the infirmary, but unless there's a medical emergency, his schooling comes first."

The squirrel did not react to her proposal.  Tassel remembered how Highclimber sometimes ignored what others said if it contradicted her views.  Than the dark expression melted and she nodded.  Highclimber gave the hedgehog a hug.  "I'm sure that's agreeable."

While Healer and squirrel exchanged another hug, Tassel scrutinized her newest charge.  Before she could offer Niltan a greeting, a familiar paw gave her shoulder a light squeeze.  Tassel leaned back, feeling her mate's presence.
If Bruno overheard the earlier spat, he tactfully ignored it.  A wide smile and a slight bow of the head acknowledged the otter's presence.  He turned to the squirrel and asked the obvious questions.

"Highclimber, whatever are you doing here?  And where is that mate of yours?"

The squirrel bounced on her toes and with a grin that could not be contained, Highclimber blurted out the reason why she had returned to Redwall.  "I have such wonderful news.  I'm expecting." 

All of them exchanged a hearty round of congratulations. 

"Chitter and I decided I would have my baby here.  Since we have no grandparents, we wanted our Mother Tassel and Pa Badger there with us on that happy day, so here I am."

A slight frown crossed her face.  "The three of us planned on traveling together, but our village elders had other ideas.  They sent Chitter to Ferretville with the last of this year's trading goods.  They said the round trip shouldn't take but a week.  I decided to press on without him since we haven't heard of any bandits.  He should be back at Green Birch by now.  Trust me; he'll be regaling everybody with stories about his travels before the week ends."

[cairn destop]

DANGER REVEALED

Markus collected his pages and arranged them in order.  While he did this, he kept his eye on the Abbess, who continued standing in front of the window.  He flipped towards the back of his documents and scanned it a second time.

"Mother Abbot, most of the preparations within the Abbey are done.  The remaining items cannot be started until we know the danger is real.  Top of that list is contacting the surrounding communities.  Since many of them are nomadic, I have a few of my soldiers searching for them.  Even that is dangerous; I doubt anyone will believe we are looking for trading partners, not this soon after the winter snows."

Robertasin never got an opportunity to respond.  With an unexpected suddenness, the office door banged open.  The Mother Abbot showed how tense she felt when she jumped a full foot off the floor.  His reaction was no better.  Instinct and training took over as he assumed a fighting stance, facing the unknown intruder.

"Narkade, what in the cloud-filled skies are you doing here," shouted
Robertasin.  "I thought you were traveling the southern region with a band of squirrel actors.  And how do you explain your disheveled appearance?  I know I taught you better, son."

Markus hid his surprise at that last word.  Robertasin never mentioned a mate during their dinner conversations, and this fellow didn't share any of his mother's features.  Something he could ask about at a later time.

The exhausted male squirrel propped himself up by leaning against the front edge of the desk.  Narkade did not react to Robertasin's angry tone.  When he did speak, his voice sounded flat and bereft of all emotion.

"You taught me to always act when there is a need.  Redwall is in grave danger.  An army of vermin conquered Ferretville a week ago and I fear they're coming here, mother.  Surely that is sufficient reason for my dramatic entrance." 

Robertasin faced Markus.  "The two of us were discussing the when no more than five minutes ago.  I do believe it's time I inform the other members of Redwall's Counsel of Elders about our suspicions as my son has now alerted us to the danger.  If we receive confirmation, I'll inform all the residents."

Markus needed information, so he questioned the squirrel.  As they listened, Narkade revealed the fall of Ferretville.  He told them of his group's skulking through the streets of the Town as they sought some means of escape.  Then he related the tale regarding their battle with the chariot.  With some firm prodding, he even spoke about the episode of his killing a soldier.

Throughout his narration, Robertasin remained silent.  When he finished describing the death of the injured soldier, the Abbess came around the desk and wrapped her arms around Narkade.  The male stood more than a full head above his mother, but size didn't mean independence.  He needed the comfort of his mother's embrace, and he let his tears flow.

Markus understood what happened to Narkade.  He commanded soldiers trained to fight, yet he recalled how some reacted after that first battle ended.  Most shrugged it off, a few celebrated their victory while a small minority bawled when the reality of their actions hit them.  Sometimes overcoming the shock took a kind word, a sympathetic shoulder and a chance for a good cry.  Then there were those that needed a good, swift kick in the posterior or a hard smack across the muzzle.  Over his long career, he had seen every type of reaction.

Narkade never trained for battle, he knew nothing of death.  No beast ever prepared him for such a possibility.  One look at the squirrel convinced Markus that Narkade could never kill again, even to save his own life.  If he served under his command, Markus would reassign him a supporting role far from the fighting.

That tender moment between mother and son ended at the sound of an insistent knocking.  Markus looked at the Abbess and seeing her nod, moved to the door.  When he cracked it open, he noted the concerned look of the vole receptionist.  He had never seen her expression, other than serious, but now her forehead showed deep furrows as worry etched it.

"General Markus?  I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's a messenger out here insisting she see you.  I tried accepting the message, but she said she had to place it in your paw, no exceptions allowed.  Her exact words."

He stepped out of the Mother Abbot's office and blocked any view of the room.  He believed the two squirrels needed a few moments of privacy.  A doe hare in the uniform of the Fleet-footed Messenger Corps stood at attention a short distance from the door.  Markus recognized the urgency of this particular message and why she insisted on giving it to him in person. 

She wore a golden armband.  Such an armband designated her as a messenger assigned to King Brisson.  This message had to be something of great importance, and it required his immediate attention.

The doe handed over the message and switched from attention to a parade rest stance.  It took Markus a few seconds scanning the letter before he again focused his eyes on the runner.  He folded the letter and walked over to Lilly's desk.  Markus pulled out a fresh piece of paper and wrote his response.  Though his attention remained focused on the document, he directed his words at the doe.

"You will take this reply according to your instructions, private.  I suggest you have a meal before leaving, avail yourself of the Dining Hall. It's a good five or six day's journey, so another hour will not matter."  Markus signed and sealed his response before handing it to the doe.  "You are dismissed."

The General returned the doe's salute before poking his head back into the Mother Abbot's office.  The two squirrels sat on the sofa, side by side.  Narkade still appeared to suffer from a delayed sense of shock.   Robertasin's eyes reflected his pain and a desire to remove the offensive memory.  Both squirrels turned in his direction.

"News has come to me confirming Narkade's report of an invading army on the move.  King Brisson has ordered me back as every soldier is needed.  I advised him Redwall anticipates being placed under siege within hours.  I remain here until I am certain the danger has passed."

Robertasin's eyes fixed on him; they reflected both relief and concern after he made his announcement.  "Will that cause you any trouble with your superiors?  Even a general must obey his ruler."

"Possibly, but I don't believe my hares would make that big a difference in the long run.  As a soldier on the battlefield, sometimes I have to act on intuition.  Redwall might not be a first strike target, but it is too important to leave undefended.  I believe my Liege will concur with my decision.  If not, I'll accept the consequences."

Robertasin gave her son a firm squeeze and a gentle kiss before she rose.  One look into her eyes and Markus knew the Abbey chose well when they declared her their leader.  With a determined stride, Abbess Robertasin exited her office. 

"Lilly, find the Captain of the Guard and have the alarm bell sounded.  I want every resident in the Grand Meeting Hall before the next quarter hour strikes, no exceptions.  It's time everyone learns what we have been doing, and why."

xxxxx

Robertasin listened to the bells ringing out the alarm.  It scared her to the core of her being.  Never, in all her years as the Abbess, did she ever have to give that command.  She stood atop the second floor landing, watching the residents arrive.  Despite her receptionist's efficiency, it took twice as long gathering everyone.

She spotted many familiar beasts and wondered how many would still be here after another day, or week, or whenever this ended.  In spite of the Abbey's history, she recognized the approaching danger as something far greater than any faced in their long history.  Redwall withstood the onslaught of tribal chieftains and ambitious warlords, but never fought an invading army.  Such thoughts caused a slight tightness in her chest as the reality of her announcement settled in her mind.

Robertasin shouted down to the multitude, demanding silence.  The buzz of conversations ceased.  Every face turned in her direction.  She had their attention.

The outer doors banged opened, sounding like thunder.  The hares of the Long Patrol blocked the doorway, standing four across.  Each soldier marched pass the threshold, they advanced to the middle of the room.   Half the hares broke left and the rest turned to the right.  When they reached the wall, they turned towards her end of the hall.  She lost sight of them when they moved under the balcony.  A moment later, a solid wall of armed hares marched forward until they formed a living barrier beneath her.  Every resident took a step back, leaving a void between them and the uniformed soldiers.

The Long Patrol carried their weapons and wore full armor.  The jovial expressions of yesterday disappeared, replaced with a blank look.  Youngsters clung to whatever elder stood near, many of them crying.  The hares came to attention with a loud thumping of one leg that frightened, rather than calmed the inhabitants of Redwall.

Abbess Robertasin could barely control her fury.  Here she had an important announcement and what happens?  She finds everyone's attention riveted on these visiting hares and their display of military might. 

Then the door at the far end of the balcony swung open and in marched General Markus.  While the hares under his command wore simple uniforms, the General's displayed ribbons attesting to his bravery and his long years of service.  She knew every eye within that room saw only the hare and that fact made her wish she could throw the bedazzling bunny over the railing for upstaging her.

When he got within three feet, he came to rigid attention and saluted her.  He did not shout, but his voice boomed across the gathered multitude.  "General Markus of the Long Patrol reporting for duty, ma'am.  We stand ready to obey your commands."

It stunned her.  Markus had just publicly declared his subordinate role.  With those few words, he announced his intentions of helping her, not replacing her.  That knowledge gave her a new sense of self-confidence.  In this time of crisis, what she had to say was not easy, but now she had the support she sought.

"People of Redwall, it is my sad duty to announce that we must expect an enemy army at our gates very soon.  They are a powerful force that has already conquered one city far to the south.  Now they are marching on Redwall."

Stunned silence greeted her announcement.  Robertasin gave none of them a chance to speak.  She couldn't afford to lose her command to a panicked mob.  She had to be the calming influence that instilled confidence.

"Over the last few weeks, King Brisson's hares have assisted us in doing everything possible to assure our ultimate victory.  I hoped it would not be necessary, but now that war has come, we are well prepared."

The Mother Abbot heard a few beasts cry and smelled the fear emanating from those below her.  They now understood the reason behind her many strange actions over the last few weeks.  Robertasin displayed a strong and resolute attitude that quieted the nervous shuffling of the many feet of the gathered creatures.

"I have a plan and it is time to put it into action.  Listen as I tell you what must be done."

[cairn destop]

BATTLE OF GREEN BIRCH

Between the long six-day journey and stress from constant pursuit, Chitter found himself in the grip of a bone-numbing fatigue.  He pushed the refugees of Ferretville in his desperate haste for speed and distance.  Circumstances however, played havoc with his plans as his band kept encountering other refugees.  With each additional creature seeking safety, their speed decreased.  Yet Chitter couldn't find it in himself to abandon anyone asking for help.

Dawn found the bedraggled refugees less than an hour's walk from the safety of Green Birch.  Chitter knew this stream passed by the outskirts of the village and kept their scent hidden from anyone tracking them.  He looked forward to resting within the familiar collection of treetop drays and otter longhouse he called home. 

Chitter's eyes skimmed the horizon, worried that the soldiers still trailed them.  A sense of relief overcame him as all looked peaceful along their back trail.  Toward the village, a column of black smoke billowed upward.  He tried convincing himself it represented nothing more dangerous than some neighbor burning his fields, clearing it in preparation for spring planting.

He knew such thoughts illogical.  They cleared the fields last week.  Chitter shimmied down the tree to the waiting group.  As he drew near, it all but broke his heart seeing those trusting faces looking to him for help, and knowing he would soon crush such hope.

"Alright everyone, we're going to rest here awhile.  Those of you carrying a weapon, I need to know, will you fight?"

He had no trouble reading them.  Each creature's face mirrored his concern.  All had expected a place of safety.  When they learned the opposite might be true, it came as a crushing blow.  A lady mouse dropped on her haunch, buried her face in her paws, and cried.  None knew how to comfort her.

The refugees squirmed under Chitter's gaze as they considered their options.  One by one, those carrying weapons came to the fore.  No longer did they have a woebegone look.  Now they had a resigned expression that further pained Chitter's heart.

"I see smoke coming from up ahead.  I hope it doesn't foretell trouble, but best we check it out before we all go merrily walking into a pitched battle."

Seven armed civilians against a trained army?  It seemed the height of madness.  Had Chitter thought about it, common sense would tell him to divert.  But the place up ahead was his home and he feared that his mate, Highclimber, may have delayed her departure until his return.  Not knowing her fate consumed him with worry.

The small band of armed civilians followed him as he entered the water and moved downstream.  He felt the cold water swirl about his pants and paws as he stooped over enough that the marsh reeds hid them from anyone standing along the shore.  Chitter waved his paw and the other beasts drew near so their whispered voices would not carry to any creature standing beyond the sloping banks.

"Remain here until I call you.  If it appears too dangerous, we'll retreat.  The water cannot hold our scent, and the rocky bottom will leave no trail."

He crept to the top of the small rise, overlooking his home village.  The treetops beyond the open field roared in flames and they drew a breeze that whipped from behind them to the inferno that had been his home.  Chitter first feared the three green-shirted Horde soldiers standing outside the fire zone might catch their scent, but the dead bodies lying nearby must have hidden it.

Chitter waved the others closer and whispered his instructions.  As one, they rose from the bank and in a ragged line, charged down on the unsuspecting trio from behind.  Some yelled out in anger, but the crackle of the fire drowned out their voices.  At least it did until they drew much closer.

All three weasels turned.  The ones standing at either end went for their weapon while the one in the middle ran.  Chitter gave pursuit, not even caring if anyone else followed him.  He watched the soldier drop his sword and run even faster.  Chitter gained on his adversary.

They raced across the field until the soldier tripped over some obstruction.  Before the weasel regained his footing, Chitter pounced on him and the two rolled about.  A few seconds later, the soldier found himself lying on his back, both arms pinned to the ground; Chitter prepared for the final plunge of the sword into his enemy's heart.

The soldier screamed as he looked into the eyes of his executioner.  Chitter lifted his chest and place it on the hilt of the sword.  The weasel's terror had him loose his bladder as the blade pricked his hide.  Then he stopped and the young soldier stared into Chitter's eyes. 

"You want to live?  Fine, I need information."

For the next few breaths, the weasel spoke.  He told Chitter about their raid.  Then he explained how the officer leading the attack became angry when they located no food stored within the village.  As he babbled, Chitter noticed the arrival of the other refugees.  Their blood drenched weapons had the fellow shiver so hard that Chitter's blade scored his chest.

"The villagers, what happened to them?"

"They were taken prisoners.  Our commander split them into smaller groups before sending them south.  He figured having a few prisoners per squad added security and made it easier to prevent escapes.  Everyone would fear reprisals against the other captives."

He continued questioning the terrorized weasel about the prisoner details.  Satisfied with his answers, he stood.  The weasel expressed his gratitude, though he remained on the ground.  Chitter debated the wisdom of executing his unwanted captive, but could not act like some bandit raider.

"See that our prisoner is cleaned off and his paws secured before we depart.  I'll join you in a moment."

Several of the refugees dragged off their cringing captive while the last member of the raiding party followed him.  This ferret watched as Chitter removed weapons from the two dead soldiers and attached their sheaths to his hips.  He trailed him as he moved closer to one of the burning trees.

"I take it that particular tree is your home?"

Chitter nodded, unable to respond.

Undermined by the fire, the dray's floor no longer supported the weight of the furniture within the structure.  When it spilled onto the ground, Chitter sifted through the smoldering wreckage in a near frenzy as the tree leaned over, threatening to crush him.  The ferret rushed to Chitter's side when he heard his anguished moan.

He held a scorched box, its intricate carving no longer distinguishable.  The latches that held it shut appeared as melted blobs of metal.  Though it remained close, a crack nearly split the lid.  Chitter and his companion, retreated and without a word spoken, they made for the trees where the others hid.

"Mind telling me what's so valuable about that box, Chitter?"

"It's a memento from my childhood.  That box contains the only thing that connects me with my mother, my real mother."

"And you risked your life for some memento?  Valuable it might be, but worth your life?"

Chitter evaded the question.  "I thought it destroyed and had I come but a few moments later, such thoughts would be true.  I'll have the box fixed, after this war ends.  For now, I have to see about freeing my friends."

The ferret placed his paw on Chitter's shoulder, drawing his eyes.  "Friend, I'll go wherever you go, fight by your side.  I lost my mate to this murderous vermin Horde when they invaded our home, so I have reason for killing them too.  But there are others that want nothing more than a full belly."

"Not to worry.  There's a storage cellar on the river's bank.  Its entrance is hidden behind a pile of stones on the north side, which is why those raiders missed it.  We can check it out later.  For now; I have something far more important on my mind."

Drawing the short sword he took from their prisoner, Chitter handed it to the ferret youth, Tranasey.  He watched as the boy held the blade, a feral grin coming to his face.  The young ferret dueled with shadows for a moment, the blade catching the sunlight.  Chitter recognized the blood lust within the youth's eyes, but hoped he would not kill without provocation.

"Guard the prisoner while you're at the storehouse.  If we don't return by noon tomorrow, I want everyone going north for safety.  If our prisoner attempts to escape, kill him.  Those of you who are armed, follow me."

Chitter's war party had been tracking one group of soldiers for about an hour when the same ferret that had spoken earlier, paced him as they continued along the trail.

"Do you think your words were wise?  It's one thing killing in battle or in self-defense, such an act is acceptable, but that dibbun is just searching for a reason to kill."

"You're Draulbin," Chitter asked.  When his companion nodded, Chitter tried to calm the elder's concerns.  "You noticed it too, his urge to kill?  I will keep his monster chained, but it means leaving the cage open."

Chitter noticed the fellow's confused expression.  "Something my drill instructor told me when I joined a militia unit in South Forest.  I wanted to claim the title of champion warrior after returning to Redwall.  Such is the folly of youth.  Our unit had to fight a gang of bandits and I learned about the monster that lives within all of us.  I found killing in battle too enjoyable; it frightened me to my core."

"What did you do," inquired Draulbin.

"When I served out my time, I returned home and married.  Until today, I believed my monster destroyed."  Chitter snorted.  "The beast within has waited for this moment.  We must become allies until this war ends.  I fear calling it out, but we both know I will need him all too soon."

"So how will you control that dibbun's monster?"

"I'm sending you back, right now.  Lead the others to safety.  If Tranasey still wants to kill the prisoner, tell him you intend turning the weasel over to the Long Patrol for interrogation.  That way, no harm will come to him.  Use the dibbun's blood lust as a tool to control the prisoner.  Tranasey wants to kill and that weasel knows it, he'll give you no trouble."

Chitter watched the older ferret retreat.  The others asked why he left, but the elder ferret remained silent.  One of the remaining war party hurled an insult.  Chitter rebuked him by telling everyone Draulbin followed his orders.  They accepted his explanation and doubled their pace as they tracked their quarry.

Night fell and the war party pressed on, seeking any signs of the Horde soldiers.  Chitter spotted their campfire on the far side of the field.  A quick count showed there were twenty members of the village being guarded by a dozen Horde soldiers.  Two-to-one odds were not good, but Chitter counted on surprise giving him the initial advantage. 

As the moon slid behind some clouds, Chitter nudged the fellow next to him and in a few moments, everyone crept forward.  After some whispered instructions, all kept low and advanced with as much stealth as possible. 

Such a simple plan.  Sneak up and kill the guards.  Release the prisoners and withdraw before those sleeping knew anyone had entered their camp.  Thanks to the rolling clouds, even the moon's light faded out when they drew near. 

Everything went as planed until one guard spotted movement and challenged the intruder.  Somebody threw their dagger and the guard screamed in agony.  In seconds, the entire camp erupted into a state of frenzied activity.  Chitter had no time wondering what went wrong or who did what.  He dashed forward and with a mighty thrust, gutted the startled guard closest to the prisoners.  All about him, voices shouted and screamed while the sound of metal meeting metal resounded.

With a sudden abruptness, all turned quiet.  A quick look told Chitter every soldier had entered Dark Forest, but so had two of his own raiders.  He remembered the first guard and thought there had been at least one or two others he may have injured or killed, but he didn't know for sure.  One lost track of events during combat.  For the moment, the monster within him felt satisfied with tonight's battle.

Chitter approached the prisoners and sliced through the ropes securing them.  He recognized the village Healer.  "Silsack, my wife, was she taken in the raid?"

"No, she left for Redwall the day after you left for Ferretville.  Impatient little lady you married.  My apprentice, Niltan, accompanies her, so she's in good paws."

A deep sigh of relief escaped Chitter.  His wife was safe.  He could strike back at the invaders without worrying about her or the unborn child she carried.  Chitter offered the former prisoners the scavenged weapons.

"I know Silsack will not fight because he is a healer, but what about the rest of you?  Will you join me in this struggle?"

One otter hefted a small war axe and twirled it about.  After giving a demonstration of his dexterity, he slipped the handle through his belt.  "Before these raiders came, my blade bit deep into any fallen tree, providing everyone with kindling.  Until my mate and kits are returned, I swear my axe will cut only bone.  But I do have one question, Chitter.  Do we have any realistic chance of winning?"

Chitter understood his question.  Only a fool fought when the forest burned.  They needed somebody who saw the road to victory, and he did.

"Their weakness is a lack of food.  We attack their supply depots and the Horde must assign extra soldiers to guard them.  There will be so many guarding their food that whatever offense they try will fail for lack of numbers."

One by one, each squirrel or otter pledged their support.  Even Silsack joined them, though his oath as a Healer prevented him from using a weapon.  Now he commanded a force of determined fighters; the war had just begun.

[cairn destop]

REDWALL PREPARES

Bruno pulled the cinch tight on his backpack.  He never realized how little he possessed until he prepared to depart Redwall.  He could pack all his clothes and still have space for something else he might need.  Perhaps living in one room helped.  He wondered if any of the other elders leaving the Abbey had difficulties deciding what to discard.

He picked up the tools he obtained earlier and his backpack.  As he stepped out of the room he called home, he had to dodge his wife.  Tassel marched up and down the central aisle, her paws resting on her hips while her gravelly voice barked out orders to the children.  He stopped at the first bed, disassembling it for storage.

Last night proved less than restful as many of their young charges needed comforting.  None wanted to leave the one place they called home.  Tassel gave them no option, and Bruno, as Pa Badger supported her decision.  He understood the reason behind his mate's inflexible stand, staying here was too dangerous.

Chaos ruled the Dormitory.  Children sifted through their meager possessions as they packed every garment.  Footlockers were inspected as the youngsters tried selecting the one personal item they would take with them.  Everything else went into a communal chest that would await their eventual return.  The dibbuns scurried about like bees in a disturbed hive.

"There will be no breakfast if I don't see every backpack ready for the carts in ten minutes," Tassel bellowed.

Tassel's switch struck the bed belonging to a male mouse.  "When I said every garment packed, I didn't mean some."

Bruno jumped off the floor, his job unfinished.  He ran to his mate's side.  His paw pushed her arm down, lowering the switch.  He moved between her and the frightened mouse, repacking his clothing.  A quick pull and he cinched it close.  The mouse's expression turned to relief as Bruno snatched the backpack off the bed.

Pa Badger noticed every child's stuffed backpack stacked on another bed.  He rushed over and grabbed the straps until all ten hung by their straps off his arm.  He turned towards the hallway exit, which took him pass Tassel.  He kept his voice low so none of the frightened dibbuns heard him.

"Have them go to breakfast, Tassel.  Our blacksmith, Egress, said he would help you with the beds after we leave.  I'm sure everyone will travel faster on a full stomach."

"You're right, Bruno.  Bad enough I have them scared out of their wits, no sense me making things worse by driving them away on an empty stomach.  I'll send them down to the Dining Hall while you get the carts ready."

Bruno had his paw on the hallway door when Tassel ordered everyone to breakfast.  Like a cork popping from a bottle, every waif under their care whisked by him and scampered down the stairs.  He turned his head and looked back, wondering why she said nothing about running down the staircase. 

He realized his mate had not witnessed their rapid descent.  She sat on the far bed, her masked face buried in her paws.  The silence within the room disturbed him more than the frantic activity.  Bruno wanted to say something, but his mind resembled a pristine chalkboard.  He followed the children, closing the door so it would not slam shut.

Instead of going to Cavern Hole, he went outside.  The few oxen owned by the Abbey stood between the traces of the larger carts.  They kept snorting and shifting their weight from side to side as residents raced around them.  No doubt they felt the anxiety infecting every inhabitant.

Bruno pitched the backpacks into one cart while his son, Thorn, worked on another.  Such heavy carts would burden anyone pulling them, thankfully, the oxen could handle the weight without difficulty.  He just wished they could make the oxen move faster.

"I don't think I have ever smelled fear in Redwall like I do now, father."

"It's been too far in our past since anyone attacked our Abbey.  I don't mean like the Recorder's tales of some band of outlaws or pirates.  They were more a menace than any kind of real danger.  An army is altogether different, they're well-organized."

Thorn gazed at the bassinets in his cart.  "So far, Abbess Robertasin has convinced almost every family into sending their infants to Salamanderstron and I believe most of the toddlers and dibbuns will also be riding along."

"Her determination at seeing them moved somewhere safe is commendable, son.  But there are still a few holdouts and the Abbess has been talking to them all night about the dangers of remaining at Redwall, without much success it seems." 

Bruno gave a stretch as his eyes wandered about the courtyard.  When the clock struck the quarter hour, he heard the Abbey doors open and watched their young charges join many of the other residents milling about the grounds.  If not for the serious expressions on the young and the worried one on elders, Bruno might think this the start of some pleasurable excursion.

No sooner had the doors closed than they flew open again.  Two creatures engaged in a heated discussion marched down the four steps to the courtyard.  The older one led the younger one by the ear and that one howled for all he was worth.  Bruno sighed, last night Tassel and Niltan acted like two rams vying for the same ewe.  Round two to their battle must have started.

"My word, Tassel, there's no need for this," Bruno said.  His admonishment fell on deaf ears as Tassel's finger stabbed the otter's chest, driving him backwards.

"I don't care who this babe thinks he is.  He's under my care, he goes.  End of discussion."

Bruno crossed his arms, giving his mate a hard look.  "Tassel, I thought we discussed this earlier.  The boy is Healer Shortspike's apprentice, she makes the final call, not you."

Freed of Tassel's paw, Niltan piped up as well.  "I'm under your control until there's a medical emergency.  Those were your words.  If there's to be a battle, then I'm needed here.  Even the Healer agreed I could stay if I wanted to, and I do."

"As much as I prefer he attend to the health of those traveling, I must support his decision."  Seeing Tassel about to argue, Bruno grasped his mate's shoulder, giving it a light shake.  "His choice is helping those who will require his special skills when and where they are needed most.  Honor his choice."

Bruno stared deep into the eyes of his mate.  They remained standing there for a short time before Tassel gave him a hug.  She said nothing more and turned towards the building.  Bruno knew she conceded this battle, but admired the way she walked away with her confidence and dignity intact.

A step short of the top, the Abbey door opened.  The first one out the door was Narkade, who bounced off the Badgermom's chest.  He never got the chance to voice an apology as the next resident exiting the Abbey shifted him to the side.

Abbess Robertasin wore her green habit, the very symbol of her leadership position at Redwall.  Those who gossiped in hushed whispers about her strange actions over the last few weeks now praised her foresight.  She addressed Bruno, though she kept her voice loud enough for all to hear.

"Narkade will be going to Salamanderstron as my emissary.  Best they are made aware of everything happening here.  We can use whatever aid King Brisson can provide."

"Everyone that will leave is here, Mother Abbot," said Bruno.  "Best we depart now if we intend making it to the Northern Roadway by nightfall."

Tassel hesitated, than reversed course.  She started down the steps, Bruno cracked the buggy whip and the hitched beasts moved.  Parents lined the way to the inner gate, but gave way for the Mother Abbot.  Badgermom Tassel followed close on her heels until they reached the passageway between inner and outer gate.

As each of the orphans under the Badgermom's care passed her, they exchanged a final fierce hug.  The older ones tried putting on a brave front, but the tears running down their muzzles betrayed their true feelings.  When Bridgett embraced her, she clutched onto the old badger.  Bruno pried her fingers from his mate's dress and led the bawling girl to the other dibbuns.

Thorn might be old enough that others considered him an elder, but he too had unashamed tears in his eyes.  Mother and son embraced and she whispered some final instructions.  The young boar nodded and returned to the cart with all the bassinets.  One more wave and he too passed beyond the gate.

Husband and wife stood, side by side, each afraid to speak.  They exchanged a few kisses and a fierce hug.  Bruno lifted his mate and turned her around before placing her sandaled feet upon the ground.  Tassel grabbed him, checked that nobody lingered nearby, and removed her mask.

"Tell me the truth, husband.  Do you have any regrets for marrying me?  Have you ever looked at my face and felt shame?"

"Not a one!  I wanted children, lots of them, and you did that for me.  Sure, not all of them were badgers, but never was I happier than when we were together.  As to your looks, I bonded with you, not your appearance.  Why these questions?"

"I fear this parting more than any other in our entire time together."

Tassel leaned into her mate and rested her head on his chest.  Bruno's shirt felt damp and he knew his mate wept.  He too wanted to remain, but he had responsibilities.  His mind kept searching for an alternative without any success.  The time for parting had come.

"I promise, once this ends, we will never be separated again."  He gave her one more gentle kiss and then he too strode beyond the gate.

Robertasin stood on the road just beyond the main gate.  Bruno acknowledged her presence as he joined the caravan.  Armed warriors stood at a distance, watching the nearby forest.  He hoped their services would not be needed.  All along the walls above, Bruno listened to shouted farewells. 

All too soon they passed beyond hearing.  A few travelers stopped for a final wave.  He resisted the urge, fearing his resolve would waiver.  His mind sought a compromise, one that insured the safety of those unfit for combat, and the need to stand with the defenders. 

On the fourth morning, an elder approached him.  Bruno's mind went blank and he could not recall the shrew's name.  He decided a simple nod would do.  The fellow drew closer.

"Many of us talked long into the night, Bruno.  We intend returning once we reach the territory ruled by the Northern Alliance.  We would be honored if you led us."

"I am no warrior.  Only once did I draw my weapon, and even then, I never used it.  Why would any be willing to follow me into battle?"

"A warrior's skill is not what we need, sir.  You are a leader, somebody who can inspire others."

Bruno remained silent for a few moments.  "Than here is my first order.  Select no more than one in four to join us, but tell none who will come until we reach our destination.  The safety of the others comes first.  Tell those remaining at the badger king's home they can return with whatever relief is sent.  I'll tell Thorn he must care for the dibbuns.  Even if we hurry, it will be another ten days before we see the walls of home."

xxxxx

Abbess Robertasin stood outside the gate.  Like the trees beyond the field, she thought her feet planted in the cobblestone.  Time slowed for her, and yet it felt as if the caravan disappeared over the hill between two breaths.  A silence descended on her from the walls above, telling her those on the battlement no longer saw their loved ones. 

That silence signaled the opening stage of the siege.  There still remained a great deal of work to do.  Every additional day strengthened them.  It also heightened their fear.  She nurtured the first, and intended to do everything she could to lessen the other.

Workers plowed over the soil, destroying the crops planted but a week earlier.  She wondered if the furrowed fields would ever yield another harvest.  Other work details labored outside and she worried if there would be sufficient warning for their safe return.  Robertasin knew the work needed doing, but her position as Abbess made her responsible for anything that might occur, which made her chest feel heavy.

As she turned, she detected movement on her right.  She muttered a few choice words about an eye that lost details and made a complete turn for a better look.  At the edge of Mossflower Forest, a contingent of hares marched on Redwall.  At the forefront, General Markus led his unit of the famed Long Patrol, singing a stirring song of a glorious battle from long ago.  The other hares continued with the chorus as they marched through the gate, pulling a series of carts laden with sacks of grain.

"Were you successful, General Markus?  Did our runners warn the other nearby villages of the danger?"

"Indeed we were, Mother Abbot.  My scouts have passed the word to every know village in the region.  Within the next two days, everyone will evacuate the area.  We may even get a few additional fighters, though that isn't certain.  Any food that cannot be taken will be burned, per your instructions.  It seems a shame torching that grist mill though.  We'll need it once the fighting stops."

Robertasin continued her visual inspection.  "A mill can be replaced, fields replanted, and homes rebuilt.  Lives lost, cannot come back.  My son, Narkade, made it clear this invading army needs supplies, so anything we do that denies them such material will hasten their departure."

"There's still much to do if we intend defeating this foe.  Best we get started, Abbess."

She reversed her course, walking back to her office.  The gatekeepers leaned against the wall on either side of the passage, ready to seal out their enemy.  The sound of the hare general's sandals reminded her of a funeral dirge.  She wondered how many times such music would play in the days to come.

[cairn destop]

KNOCKING ON THE GATE

Another sharp jolt of the racing cart threw Brigadier Shawarran into the soldier next to him, jarring him awake.  His riding companion, a stoat, continued her uninterrupted snoring.  He envied the other Horde soldiers riding with him since they could sleep while the cart pitched and swayed like a ship on a storm-tossed sea.

He checked the area behind him.  Four other ponies galloped at full speed, each pulling their wagon.  Drivers lashed their steeds, demanding an ever faster gait.  For six days, they had pushed their ponies at breakneck speeds across the countryside.

What happened to the sun?  It was overhead at our last stop, now it's gone.

"Glad to see you're awake, Brigadier," said the driver.

The fox driver's attention shifted to the road.  "It's fortunate we had no need to hide our presence, Brigadier.  Thanks to your constant snoring, I do believe every beast within a hundred leagues knows where we are."

Before the Brigadier could respond, the driver pulled on his reigns and with a mighty kick, set the brake.  A snarling growl from the weasel wearing sergeant stripes and every soldier sleeping within the flatbed stirred.  Soldiers tumbled from every cart, rushing about the area in what was a well rehearsed procedure.  In a matter of seconds, guards were posted, tents pitched, and cooking fires lit as everyone prepared for a good night's rest.

Colonel Nateem approached the rear of his cart and held out his paw.  Shawarran didn't need the assistance, but accepted it as a privilege of rank.  The two of them walked about the campsite.  When they had completed their circuit, they returned to the cart dispensing food and drink.  The two remained silent while each filled their mug from the small keg sitting in the back of another wagon.  Together, they made their way to a shady patch near a tall birch tree.

"So tell me, Colonel, how long before we reach this Redwall Abbey?"

"We'll set out about an hour before dawn and arrive by noon.  When the sun sets, we'll be feasting within that Abbey and sleeping on soft beds."

"Too bad we couldn't ride these through the gates of that Abbey.  If our information is correct, the turn is too sharp for our carts at full speed and this forest may not allow sufficient space."

"The forest will get us close enough.  Unless their guards are expecting us, they shouldn't have sufficient time to bar the gates."

"And the rest of our forces, Colonel?"

The stoat didn't answer right away.  Instead, his second in command took a long sip of the Ferretville brew, allowing another officer time to approach.  The two conferred as if he didn't exist.  When the other officer departed, Nateem answered his question.

"Based on the campfires my lieutenant spotted, we can expect reinforcements the morning after our arrival.  Our gear will come by caravan four hours later.  If all goes as planned, we will have half our army camped at Redwall within two days."

Brigadier Shawarran leaned back against the nearby tree.  He drained his mug and placed it on the ground.  His voice changed, losing the hard edge of a commander talking to an underling.  It sounded more like one friend conversing with another on trivial matters.

"There's just so much that can go wrong when you act in haste.  If that squirrel is fast, and never stopped, he arrived yesterday morning.  I must believe they will prepare some defense.  Our only hope is maintaining our initial element of surprise and overpowering them before they bolt the Abbey's doors."

"Colonel Varden assures us this place avoids fighting, if at all possible.  Best they can do is close the doors.  By the next morning, our slaves will deliver the gear we need for storming the Abbey.  It will just delay the inevitable by a few hours, nothing more.  It'll be like that castle we captured two years ago; you know the one I mean?"

Shawarran nodded as he recalled that battle.  He might not remember the castle's name, but he did recollect how easily the place fell.  The walled city looked impregnable, but a lack of any effective fighting force made the stony stockade nothing more than a challenging obstacle course.  His unit gained entry with little resistance.

He compared that castle to this Abbey.  Both had a peaceful reputation and neither had the will or desire for fighting the Horde.  If it had not been for a handful of warriors, his soldiers would have walked into that castle unopposed.  Shawarran wagered this Abbey had a similar number of creatures who could rally its inhabitants into a futile resistance.  Even if the fugitive squirrel made it here before them, it would take time, even for the most charismatic of leaders.

Brigadier Shawarran had two problems weighing heavily on his mind; the expansion of the port facilities at Ferretville and the capture of Redwall Abbey.  He had committed his soldiers to both missions and if he failed either, there would be dire consequences.  If he abandoned the assault, the Abbey might alert the Northern Alliance.  Failure at the port could cost him prestige with his commander and the loss of any spoils after the war.  Neither alternative appealed to him.

He soothed his anxiety with the anticipated gains his bold action would garner.  Done right, Shawarran might convince General Zavallin his Division played a major part in the success of this campaign.  That, in turn, he intended parlaying into an appropriate award.  Just the thought of his new title, Lord of Redwall, made him feel like an aristocrat. 

As for his primary assignment, slaves and prisoners taken here and in future raids on the surrounding territories would hasten construction of the port.  Once the Northern Alliance fell, the battles turned political.  Each officer would vie for land grants as rewards for their military victories. 

Shawarran knew his opportunity for such wealth and power died at the invasion's conception.  He knew the officers opposing the Northern Alliance would make the better impression and earn the power he craved.  If he wanted any of the spoils, he needed to make a most favorable impression on the ermine General, something his current assignment didn't allow.

Now, on the eve of the most important battle of his career, Brigadier Shawarran closed his eyes and pondered the possible outcomes.  He smiled and hummed to himself, confident of his inevitable victory.  Never did he consider defeat.  He expected some minor resistance, but like Colonel Varden, he dismissed its effectiveness since the Abbey had but one true warrior.

Of course he dismissed this unknown female squirrel who ruled Redwall Abbey as incompetent.  In all his past campaigns, whenever his force came across a town or village governed by a female of any species, they always capitulated.  One tried fighting.  She was so inept that the town replaced her with an older male and the new leader surrendered.

"It's a pity that squirrel slipped through Purrnella's claws.  Imagine, the son of Redwall's leader as a hostage for their surrender.  If I had him, this conquest could be done with some raw recruit and a reed sword."

Nateem's face had a pensive expression and he ordered his second in command to disclose what bothered him.  The stoat didn't give an immediate response.  He checked the area, making sure none overheard their conversation.  Satisfied, he leaned closer.

"I fear this Abbey shall not be like some over-ripened tree.  We cannot pluck whatever we want without suffering the consequences.  My mind shows me a stout forest sentinel with the fruit resting like jewels atop its leafy crown.  To eat, we must brave the adder's nest by the base, the hornets within some hollow, and a climb that challenges the bravest squirrel."

Shawarran  responded with a light bark.  His friend's habit of using metaphoric comments whenever he perceived danger had him laugh.  He stretched out on the ground and draped his right arm over his eyes while he continued chuckling.

"May I continue your analogy, Nateem?  I shall offer you my vision.  Our soldiers have a passion that burns.  Such a fire will clear any viper's nest and the smoke will frighten such annoying insects.  With enough pruning hooks, even the highest fruit can be snatched with little effort."


xxxxx

Marching on the Abbey proved more arduous than first anticipated.  Morning sunlight filled the sky, but the forest trails remained hidden in shadows.  The trails reminded Brigadier Shawarran of a snake as it took so many unexpected turns.  Several turned impassible and they lost time backtracking.  Their food exhausted, the soldiers voiced their discontentment as the walk extended beyond the noon deadline.

Brigadier Shawarran needed a clear path.  One that gave his force the best chance at surprising their adversary.  That was a crucial element to his battle plan.  He hoped this Abbey's leader believed the Horde would either remain in Ferretville or it would take much longer moving a sizable force against them.

It galled him that the original timetable forced them to move faster because those following expected this fortress to be already in their possession.  Shawarran knew his reinforcements moved along the roads, confident of his success.  If his force arrived without securing some entry point, the battle might take longer than the twelve hours he considered the maximum time needed to conquer this place.

An advance scout relayed a signal back to the main body of soldiers.  Weapons slid out of sheaths and the Horde formed a skirmish line.  In quick order, the soldiers reached the forest edge, where they all awaited the signal to attack. 

Brigadier Shawarran kept himself hidden behind a tall tree even as the soldiers crouched near the open field.  He opened his backpack, withdrew a small spyglass, and inspected the high walls.  Shawarran counted five guards patrolling the battlement.  The Abbey's entrance remained open. 

While Brigadier Shawarran watched, a large contingent of woodlanders strolled at a slow pace towards the gate.  As he examined the returning workers, his confidence grew.  None of the woodlanders crossing the open field carried weapons.  Either they had not taken the warning seriously or thought there was no imminent danger. 

Brigadier Shawarran's couldn't contain his elation.  "I do believe we did it.  I see nothing in the way of defenses and the those manning the wall are more interested in spotting friends among the returning workers." 

With a wave of his paw, the soldiers rose from their place of concealment and charged.  An alarm sounded.  The exhausted workers raced towards the gate even as three creatures exited the Abbey.  Brigadier Shawarran recognized the uniform of the two creatures flanking a mouse.  This he didn't anticipate, hares of the Long Patrol stationed at the Abbey.

The three warriors closed the distance.  Shawarran almost pitied them in their pathetic effort at stopping his force.  According to the pre-invasion intelligence report, the Long Patrol hares were a formidable force.  Still, two hares and a mouse challenging his force of thirty?  With grim determination, he prepared to sweep away the valiant creatures.

Colonel Nateem dodged around the mouse, receiving a slight slash from the woodlander's sword and raised his war axe for a killing blow against the hare before him.  The hare blocked the weapon and kicked the stoat in the stomach.  The two weasels that followed behind his second in command were not as lucky.  Both were caught in the follow-through stroke from the hare's scimitar.  A single slash disemboweled both soldiers.

The mouse lowered his shoulder and slammed into a female stoat, sending her into several of her companions.  Pivoting on his foot, he drove his sword into the chest of a vixen fox.  Ducking beneath the slashing sword of a ferret, the mouse used his momentum and spun again in place.  His hapless opponent screamed in pain as the mouse continued his suicidal charge.

The second hare used her spear like a quarterstaff, striking out at any and all comers.  She grasped the spear at one end and dropped to her knees.  The doe used the shaft like a scythe and swept four of the invaders off their feet.  A short sword nicked her shoulder before the hare regained her feet, but that creature paid a dear price as the hare drove the point of her spear deep into the shoulder of her opponent.

A rat got behind the first hare and threw his knife.  Somehow the throw sailed past the buck hare and the rat found his leg slashed by the hare's scimitar.  Three Horde fighters charged the buck and all three went flying from a roundhouse kick.  Another ferret tried chopping down the hare, but missed the swift moving beast and took an elbow to the head for his audacious action.

The mouse swung his sword and its keen edge snapped his opponent's blade at the hilt.  He elbowed the large stoat and heaved him into a group of rats standing to the side.  One rat darted past the entangled bodies swinging his metal studded club at the mouse's head only to have his shoulder lanced by the sword.  As the mouse pulled his sword clear, Brigadier Shawarran stepped forward.

Meanwhile, when an axe sliced through her spear, the doe used the splintered end and drove it into her attacker's gut.  As the Horde soldier wreathed in pain, the female hare snatched his axe and threw it with all her might at a creature attempting to circle the male hare.  The courageous doe never knew if her effort succeeded.  A spear from a charging ferret sent her on her journey to the spirit world of Dark Forest.

The buck's scimitar flicked forward and nicked another Horde beast.  He danced to the side as a fox lunged with his spear.  Though the fox missed, his thrust forced the hare to move to his left, bringing him in range of three soldiers.  All three lunged with their swords.  Two blades the hare turned away, but the third found his heart.  As his body slid off the blood drenched metal, his spirit joined the doe at the gates of Dark Forest.

Brigadier Shawarran held his cutlass at the ready as the mouse approached.  He could not help but admire such fighting spirit.

"Your futile effort at stopping us has failed, mouse.  Even now your two companions have fallen.  Surrender and I will spare your life in tribute to your bravery."

"Surrender was never an option, wolf."

"There is no need for you to die.  The battle is over and you have lost."

The mouse rushed him.  "To the contrary, we accomplished our mission.  We have delayed you long enough that the gates are now barred and our friends are safe inside."

A well aimed spear took the mouse from the back.  The sword dropped from his opponent's lifeless paw.  It landed at his feet.  Brigadier Shawarran felt overwhelmed by the treasure he discovered.  He sheathed his weapon and grabbed the sword wielded by the dead warrior.

He pointed his new sword at three of his soldiers.  "You help the wounded; the rest will follow me."

His soldiers fell behind him as he raced across the field.  The mouse was right, the huge gates were closed.  How did they react so fast?  He scanned the battlement and found no beast standing above him.  Then he noticed the smaller door in the gate.  He lowered his shoulder.

Brigadier Shawarran slammed into the door.  His command rammed the gate.  It buckled inward, but not enough.  The gate returned to its original position.  Frustrated by the barred gate, he banged his new sword's hilt against the door.  He ordered a retreat.  Though they walked back to the forest, the defenders never fired one sling stone or arrow.  Once he knew no paw held weapon could reach him, he faced the fortress and raised his new sword in tribute to the three dead warriors.

[cairn destop]

FIRST ENCOUNTER

"All quiet to the east," Robertasin asked.

The two hares stood just inside the outer gate.  They faced her and gave a deferential bow.  Their action showed respect for her position as the Mother Abbot of Redwall.  She acknowledged their action with a slight head bob.

The male wore the badge of a sergeant, while the doe showed the insignia of a private.  Though the doe stood closer to her, she remained silent. The buck kept his voice level, speaking without any emotion as he delivered his report.

"We went about a good hour's run along the forest northern border and spotted nothing.  Then we went west, behind those hills across the stream and found no signs of trouble.  All is quiet, Abbess Robertasin."

She thanked them for the information and allowed them to pass her.  She decided to check with those assigned to the main gates.  The Gatekeeper didn't see the necessity of posting a full crew at the gates ten days earlier.  Each day he complained about the extra work.  After the Mother Abbot's speech about an invading army two days earlier, he complied with her wishes.

Robertasin passed a few pleasantries with the guards.  These hedgehogs might look like all brawn and no brains, but they knew more about some of the residents than she did.  She enjoyed swapping gossip and thought her presence would let them know how much she appreciated their efforts.  While they conversed, she listened to the hares as they talked with the Abbey's champion warrior.

xxxxx

Jazzin stopped polishing the sword he held across his lap, gazing first at the buck and then turning to the doe standing before him.  The buck sat on the bench with a heavy thud.  He leaned far enough back that his head rested on the stone wall.  With a low grunt, he closed his eyes.  Jazzin then looked at the doe, his question unspoken, but asked.

"You know how the Sergeant here hates swimming.  If we returned five minutes later, we would have missed the boat, literally."

Jazzin again polished the sword, but chuckled at the doe's comment.  He remembered an incident some weeks earlier when the buck tried helping an otter pup out of the pond and fell into the water.  Poor fellow had to be rescued by several nearby otters.  When they lifted the hare back to his feet, everyone saw the water was no higher than his knees.  Jazzin didn't recall which embarrassed the buck more, having to be rescued, finding out how shallow the water was, or the sound of everyone's laughter.

"So the bridge has been dismantled?"  Checking to see that both hares nodded, Jazzin stuffed his polishing cloth into his vest pocket.  "Abbess Robertasin will be pleased with that news.  The spring season surge has that stream cresting near the top of its bank, so I doubt anyone will be challenging a swift current and it's a good two hour hike in either direction to the nearest ford.  Even without a heavy rain, that stream will remain impassible for the next six to ten days."

The buck leaned forward and held his paw out, pointing to his pocket.  Jazzin passed the cloth to the hare, who unsheathed his scimitar and polished his weapon.  The hare finished his task and returned the cloth.

"General Markus believes any danger will come from the south.  He plans on sending a large scouting party in that direction tomorrow morning, see if we can find signs of an approaching army.  That's the reason I volunteered for today's scouting trip to the north, he'll let me stay here."

The three of them shared a good laugh.  That was when the doe walked to the bench and sat on the opposite side.  She stared at the weapon he held across his hip and reached for it.  Her paw hesitated.  She changed her motion to a simple point.

"Is that the sword I saw hanging in the Tapestry Room?"

Jazzin grasped the hilt and lifted the blade, giving both hares a better look.  "It's the same one.  According to the history of our Abbey, this is the legendary Sword of Martin.  A blade forged from sky metal for our founding warrior.  Some say it has special powers and determines who will wield it.  Would you like to hold it?"

Before the doe could place her paw onto the hilt, the alarm bell sounded.  Jazzin gave the Sword of Martin a flip into the air and snatched it with his other paw.  He jogged down the passageway and several paces beyond the gate.  A large contingent of beasts broke from the forest, racing for the gate.  Based on Narkade's description, these were the Horde soldiers the Abbess feared might storm the Abbey.

A male voice startled Jazzin.  "Those soldiers will reach the work party before they get halfway to the gate.  Somebody has got to delay them."

Without hesitation, he ran towards the advancing enemy.  To his right, the buck brandished his sword.  On his left, the doe held her spear at the ready.  She shouted to her two companions.

"If you ask me, the three of us against all of them isn't what I call a fair fight."

The buck snorted.  "Then I suggest one of us drop back and give them a sporting chance."

xxxxx

Abbess Robertasin felt herself pushed aside as the three warriors exited the Abbey.  She heard their boastful banter and her eyes followed their path to the Horde soldiers.  She muttered a few curses about her poor depth perception, before she found her voice.

"Get ready to close these gates," she yelled.

Robertasin urged the work crew to greater speed.  In her haste to see everyone reach the safety of the Abbey, she almost blocked the passageway.  The cart's wheels snagged her green habit, giving it a slight tear.  As the workers passed her, a paw grabbed her arm and yanked her back.  The two doors slammed shut, one crossing the very place she occupied a few seconds earlier.

"By the Eternals.  Those three fools have mounted a suicide attack."

Nobody listened.  The heavy wooden barrier closed, but remained unlocked.  The gate crew threw a wooden latch that spanned the two doors.  She knew the enemy would soon be massing for a charge.  She couldn't imagine such a flimsy piece of wood keeping out a determined invader.

Abbess Robertasin shook with fear, shouting at the top of her lungs.  "Drop the beam.  Drop the beam."

From behind the stone wall, a beam of wood slid out.  Unlike the latch, this wooden barrier rivaled the ceiling rafters in thickness.  In her mind, it moved at the pace of a snail as the gate crew maneuvered the beam through several metal rings.  The hedgehogs guided it along the door until they seated it in the opposite stone wall.

A second beam slid out a paw's width above the ground.  Like the first beam, the gate crew guided it through several rings.  The first beam blocked the upper third of the visitor's door, which allowed others to enter the Abbey without opening the gate.  One hedgehog dropped a metal bar across the central portion of the visitor's gate.  Robertasin relaxed.  No beast, even an enraged badger, could break that iron bar.

The Chief Gatekeeper lifted the metal bar sealing the visitor's door.  His paw reached for the doorknob.  Robertasin couldn't believe it.  Here they were sealing the gate and this fellow wanted to open the door.  Before he could act on his impulse, Robertasin pulled the old hedgehog away from the wooden latch.

From the other side of the closed gate, they heard a loud thud.  The gates moved inward, but the first beam did not allow an opening.  The wooden barrier shifted back into its proper position.  A second, but less insistent knock sounded.

"Our warriors," shouted the Chief Gatekeeper.  "They're out there.  We have to help them, Mother Abbot.  Please, let me open the gate."

"Listen, spikedog, I want to believe our people are outside that door, but I know they're dead.  The three of them saved every creature within this Abbey."  When the Abbess saw the old hedgehog about to argue his point, she snarled in an even lower voice, trying to maintain her dignity and keep their conversation private.  "If there is anything General Markus has drilled into my thick skull, it's this: War is a matter of numbers.  Make the enemy losses more than yours.  We lost three lives and I don't intend having their sacrifice trivialize by some blubbering, sentimental fool."

Another voice intruded on her conversation.  She turned, finding General Markus standing at parade rest.  His voice remained cool and in command, but his posture held a note of deference as he addressed her, acting like there was no other creature around them.  No doubt his report should be made in private, but he projected his voice so all within the passageway heard.

"The initial attack has been repelled and our enemy is withdrawing.  Work details on the far side of the Abbey have slipped inside through the two sally ports, which are now secured.  I have observers stationed along the outer battlements in the unlikely event they try anther assault.  Reports indicate more than thirty beasts at our gate.  I shudder thinking how many we might have lost if they got inside."

An uneasy silence hung over all the creatures.  It continued until a single hammer sounded.  All looked at the hedgehog who disturbed the quiet.  The fellow pounded on a bracing beam, knocking it into place.  One by one, the other hedgehogs joined him as they reinforced the gate.

General Markus turned and walked towards the inner gate.  He waited until she joined him.  The two remained silent as they climbed to the roof of a tower where they could survey the battlefield.  The guards withdrew at the hare's command.  He closed the tower's door before joining her at the rampart.

"I understand how hard such a call can be for a new officer.  It's never pleasant sending others out to die while you remain somewhere safe.  You made the right decision, Mother Abbot.  If they got past the inner gate, the chances are our dead would number more than three hundred."

Robertasin watched the Horde soldiers move to the edge of the forest, dragging their dead and wounded.  A tall wolf left the safety of the forest for a point beyond range of any but the most powerful bows.  The wolf raised his weapon as if he saluted them.  He continued waving his weapon for several moments before he faded into the forest.

"Did you see what he was holding, General Markus?  He has the Sword of Martin.  We have lost it to an enemy.  It is an insult to everything we believe."

"Then tell everyone the loss of the weapon has cursed the raiders to certain defeat and it will be recovered by some honorable woodlander after the enemy withdraws."

Robertasin didn't like that answer.  It trivialized the loss of their greatest treasure, and yet, she knew Markus was right.  They could not sacrifice lives recovering it and safeguard those within the Abbey.  She had to accept the loss, for now.

She opened the door and waved the guards back to their post.  She descended the stairs and met the officers responsible for the security of the Abbey.  Abbess Robertasin issued her orders.  Once the officers left, she toured the outer battlement.  Each time she passed a guard on duty, she gave them a well done.  Little by little, she let it be known to one and all, Redwall would not surrender.

[cairn destop]

THE FIRST BATTLE - PRELUDE

"We suffered four dead and nine injured in our initial charge.  Five of those injured can no longer fight.  The gate is locked and barred, but our scouts report two other points of entry have been located.  Those passageways are so narrow that only one soldier can enter at a time.  I'm sure they are well guarded, making it too dangerous as a point of entry, but the woodlanders might use them as a means of attack or escape so I have assigned one guard to each."

Brigadier Shawarran listened to Colonel Nateem's report, nodding whenever the stoat took a breath.  The rest of the report consisted of a detailed briefing regarding his efforts at surrounding the Abbey with the soldiers under his command.  When the stoat fell silent, Shawarran issued his directives.

"As our troops arrive, have them relieve your force.  Continue scouting this citadel, I want a viable assault plan ready by morning."

Colonel Nateem saluted, but did not leave.  Shawarran looked at his longtime comrade and knew he had something more on his mind, though he seemed reluctant revealing it.  He pointed to a nearby log and his second in command accepted the invitation.  Nateem moaned as the bandages around his waist shifted; irritating the injury he received earlier.

"Brigadier, two of the enemy's dead wore the uniform of the Long Patrol.  If they have a sizable force within those walls, this place might prove more difficult defeating than we first anticipated."

"I assure you, no such force is here, Colonel."  The Brigadier gave a light chuckle.  "If they had such a sizable force, we would be fending off their counterattack.  They are uncertain of our numbers, so they stay inside.  They will learn the size of our force when we scale those walls tomorrow.  Granted, our losses will be higher than first anticipated, but they haven't prepared any viable defenses other than that trench."

"We have no food, Brigadier.  Half of my available force is out foraging and what they tell me is not encouraging.  Fields have been plowed under and crops destroyed.  There is no food anywhere within an hour's march.  If we have to camp here for an extended period, our soldiers will become discontented.  We can expect desertion."

"That is why we attack tomorrow.  Our soldiers can go a single day without food.  We proved it back at Ferretville.  After the attack cleared out all opposition, we feasted.  The same will happen here.  Our soldiers will eat their weight in whatever food they want when victory is ours."

Dismissing his commander, Shawarran searched for a comfortable spot where he could rest.  Soft grass, a shady tree, and a setting sun put him into a deep sleep.  A firm paw shook him by his shoulder and he shaded his eyes from the rising sun.

Colonel Nateem led the Brigadier to a forest clearing.  As the two of them approached, Shawarran acknowledged his unit commanders who awaited his arrival.  Each officer snapped to attention and remained standing until he sat in the chair some underling carried from Ferretsville.  The officers sat on the ground and the meeting commenced.

One scout reported a weak point located where the forest came closest to the walls.  He indicated all of the trees nearest Redwall showed signs of recent trimming.  Though the crowns remained below the fortification's walls, they still afforded an ideal place of concealment.  The Captain commanding the archers assured the Brigadier he could pin the defenders along that segment of the wall.

Another officer discussed the trench surrounding much of the Abbey.  Their swift arrival prevented its completion, reducing a defensive barrier into a minor hindrance.  No direct assault could be made over the trenching, but the Abbey inhabitants couldn't use it as an additional line of defense.  His scouts said the central third of the front wall and the wall section bordering the forest remained unfinished.

Instead of the five thousand soldiers he expected,  they had just over two thousand able warriors.  Another thousand were bivouacked on the opposite side of a swollen stream, scouting for some feasible crossing point.  He preferred having the extra soldiers for this initial assault, but time was his greatest enemy.  The more he gave the Abbey, the better chance they could shore-up their defenses.

They discussed the upcoming battle until every officer knew his role.  He dismissed his staff, knowing he could do nothing until the appointed hour.  The Brigadier retrieved his backpack and withdrew his parade uniform.  Once he fastened the last button, he left the safety of the forest and moved to a point where he had an unobstructed view of the upcoming battle.  He never glanced back at the soldiers still hidden in the forest.  Such a move might be seen as a lack of confidence.  Footsteps behind him announced the arrival of several soldiers. 

"What a glorious day for a battle.  The sky is clear, the noon sun is high, and a strong wind crossing the field favors us.  Sound assembly, one horn only."

A single bugle disturbed the quiet.  Horde soldiers rushed the road where they arranged themselves as if they intended marching in a parade.  Every soldier stood in his assigned place, carrying a small shield, which they used to reflect the sunlight as they advanced. The field filled with the sound of metal on metal as the Horde soldiers pounded weapons against shields in time with their march while singing about their many victories.

When the soldiers advanced a third of the distance, the leading squads wheeled off the road.  The first unit moved left while the second moved right.  They continued marching in groups of twenty, turning either right or left.  When the fifth squad turned either left or right, all five made a crisp turn and faced the Abbey.

The soldiers advanced.  The Horde soldiers repeated the maneuver until they had a second row.  This time, both rows advanced, giving the remaining soldiers space for a third row.  A single note blared out and every Horde soldier came to a stop, allowing the dust to drift away on the breeze.

He felt somebody tap him on the back.  A quick look and the bugler handed him a note.  The soldier retreated a pace and came to parade rest alongside five other soldiers.

"Good news.  Colonel Nateem reports all is ready.  Better yet, our forces across the stream found a place to ford and will arrive within the hour.  A thousand extra soldiers might give us the advantage we need.  Instead of a diversion, I can change this into a full frontal assault."

Brigadier Shawarran examined the walls over the main gate and the towers flanking them.  "Civilians, that's all they have stationed up there.  It appears our quick arrival has left this Abbey ill-prepared for a siege.  Our attack will give them the bitter taste of war.  It takes time forging civilians into a viable defense and a single day isn't enough.  Mark my words they will break."

xxxxx

Right after the early morning briefing, soldiers slipped quietly through the forest, circling behind the Abbey.  After an hour, everyone arrived at the initial staging area.  Soldiers fell out and rested.  Colonel Nateem dispatched one unit across a field and into the forest where they could advance on a section of the wall their scouts deemed the best spot for the main attack. 

Their Captain led his unit closer, worried a sentry might detect them.  The forest floor was carpeted in a thick layer of dry deadfall that snapped with every footfall.  The strong wind to his back blew the scent of every soldier over the Abbey's wall.  In spite of this, no alarm sounded and no curious guard appeared at the wall. 

The officer pointed upward and archers climbed into the trees using the foliage as camouflage.  Though they remained below the top of the wall, they held an excellent positioned for the upcoming battle.  Each archer lowered a rope to the ground.  Other soldiers attached quivers full of arrows or crossbow bolts to these ropes and the archers hauled them to where they waited.

The Captain imitated the sound of lark and those on the ground retreated.  The officer withdrew his squad a hundred meters back before he waved them closer to him.  He relaxed, glad his part of the assault had gone as planned.  Once he cleared the area containing the archers, he ordered his unit to hold while he sprinted across an open field and reentered the woods on the far side.  He examined the Abbey wall one final time; he detected no signs of alarm from the red-stoned fortress.

The Captain searched for his commander.  Almost a hundred meters deeper into the woods, Colonel Nateem sat on a campstool, listening to the other officers reporting their readiness.  At last Colonel Nateem acknowledged him.

"Sir, all three hundred archers are in place.  They have sufficient arrows to provide suppression fire during our initial attack and should prevent any countermeasures until our force scales the wall.  Soldiers from my unit are standing by with additional quivers for each shooter."

"I'll advice the Brigadier."

Colonel Nateem dismissed the Captain and summoned a runner.  Once the runner departed with his message, he relaxed.  He sat in his chair for so long, he felt drowsy as time continued its relentless march.  To the north, the sound of a single bugle blast disturbed the quiet.  He waited.  Just as he expected, horns blew a steady series of notes he recognized as the prelude to the attack.  When they stopped, he stood, awaiting the final signal that would send his forces charging the walls.

He had the soldier next to him wave a grey cloth.  All around him, officers prodded those under their command.  He pointed in the direction of the Abbey and all moved to the edge of the forest.  Colonel Nateem withdrew his blade.  By ones and twos, the Horde force sprinted across the open field to the heavy forest.  The Abbey remained unaware of their approach.

"With the defenders focused on the main gate, my soldiers will fall on them from the rear.  A full belly and a soft bed awaits, and I intend indulging on both before this day ends."

[cairn destop]

THE DEFENSE

General Markus kept his head low and his hat pulled down; hoping anyone observing him would not recognize his uniform.  He had debated the wisdom of abandoning uniforms, but thought the presence of the hares along the anticipated points of attack would bolster the courage of the residents. 

One bloody week of lessons isn't going to do it.  Our Mother Abbot's blasted insistence on secrecy is going to hurt when we cross swords.  I could have trained these civilians a lot better if we started when I wanted.  Let's hope they fall into our trap or we might be witnessing the conquest of Redwall.

He searched the Horde's camp for the wolf that held the Sword of Martin.  Markus knew deep within his bones this wolf commanded the enemy forces.  He found the wolf, accompanied by a stoat, studying the Abbey.  He wondered if this wolf would commit his forces to a frontal attack.  Everything depended on his opponent taking the bait.  If they committed all their forces to a frontal assault of the main gate, he doubt they could hold.

All remained quiet after the wolf retreated to the shadows of the forest.  As the sun reached its zenith, Markus noticed movement.  The wolf he saw earlier walked several paces out into the open.   A number of soldiers followed the wolf, but instead of weapons, these soldiers carried bugles. 

Time dragged.  The long wait ended when a single bugle blared out in the field before the main gate.  Markus hurried to his observation post.  A gust of wind displaced his cap and his ears sprung upright.  The Horde soldiers advanced on the Abbey.

Markus gazed upon the many frightened faces staring at the display of military might and discipline before them.  He listened to one or two defenders crying, but when he looked towards those residents, he saw them digging deep within for the courage they needed.  He knew they would do their duty when called upon.

General Markus scanned the surrounding walls.  A few residents leaning over the battlement, checking the growing number of Horde soldiers.  He kept a confident demeanor while he continued his long distance inspection.  A lady mole crawled along the base of the wall until she came within reach of his belt.  She gave a tentative tug.

"Begging your pardon, General, but we have everything ready for deployment.  Should we put them out now?"

"Not yet, my dear, no sense making our move until they make theirs.  Trust me; this is the hardest part of any battle, waiting for it to begin."

When the enemy units had advanced to a point halfway between the stream and the main gate, a single bugle sounded.  Every Horde soldier came to a stop, allowing the dust to drift away on the breeze.  Markus found the silence more disquieting than their display of military discipline. 

He left his post and climbed to the tower's roof.  Markus strolled to an open box sitting against the back wall.  His fingers raced along the many tubes within until he found the one he sought.  Markus withdrew a blue banner with a gold triangle, fastened it to a long pole, and hung it over the side facing the courtyard.  A few seconds later, a solitary beast raised a similar banner on a long staff and waved it.  One by one, the towers on the other walls displayed the banner. 

"Alright everyone, stand by to repel attackers.  Their plan is simple; they will attempt to secure these towers so the force crossing the wall between them can do so unopposed.  All we have to do is stop them."

The tower door opened and several residents wheeled in a large cauldron.  They stacked wood under it while another defender applied a torch.  As the workers fanned the blaze, others hauled up the wooden boards prepared weeks earlier.  Workers used heavy hammers as they prepared the contraptions for battle.  At each merlons these defenders faced him, awaiting his signal.

A lone hare wearing the insignia of a lieutenant darted across the battlement roof.  Markus moved closer while keeping an eye on all the defensive preparations.  He grabbed a resident carrying quivers of arrows.

"We cannot afford to waste arrows.  This wind is too strong and not every archer is an expert.  Have those on the wall exchange bows for lances."

The young shrew hesitated.  "What about anyone using slings?"

Markus laughed.  "Stones we have in abundance."

The shrew rushed down the stairs, leaving Markus.  He turned to the hare officer.  A curt command and the lieutenant made his report.

"General, I have one squad in the other tower and the rest of our unit spaced out along the wall.  All report ready for action.  I assigned two squads to spring our trap at the appropriate time."  The buck hare scanned the tower rooftop, and snorted.  "Civilians, if they run at the first sign of blood, we're doomed."

"His force outnumbers us by two to one, if the civilians hold, which is why I want our unit in full view.  My gut tells me this wolf has no intention of fighting a frontal assault with such a small number of soldiers.  This is a diversion for the real strike.  I expect you to keep me apprised of any such attacks if it comes anywhere but where we want him to hit."

General Markus dismissed the officer.  His mind spun like a top as he considered his options.  He had to believe the residents would fight.  If not, he sacrificed his unit for nothing.  He needed this wolf to act as he wanted.  If the wolf didn't, the number dead would give another meaning to the term Redwall.

xxxxx

Stormpaw felt less than useless.  Here she was in what had to be the greatest battle ever and she stood within the doorway of a tower far from the fight.  General Markus called her role vital; it didn't seem like it.  All morning she remained here, wishing she could wade through their enemy instead of hiding.  She peered out at the deserted wall and once again questioned the tactical wisdom of her commander. 

A horn sounded and from the neighboring tower, a flag was raised indicating the main gate expected an attack.  The color told her two things.  First, General Markus thought the attack was a diversion.  If the General was right, a massive assault would hit an unguarded section of the wall.  The flag's design let her know he expected the main thrust to be against her.

Stormpaw couldn't decide which she feared more.  If the General was right, she faced the brunt of that massed force without the manpower she needed.  Ten hares and twice as many untested residents against a thousand?  Did such a move signal confidence or desperation?  She tried comprehending how a mere lieutenant, received such an awesome responsibility.  If the Horde stormed this section of the outer wall, she hoped the General's plan would work.

Her second, a buck hare missing his front tooth, tapped her shoulder.  "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but sss-something is-sss happening.  There's-sss movement in the woods-sss."

She found the whistled s-sound a comfort, and not an annoyance as some did.  The fellow had a sharp eye and even sharper ears, which made him a great scout.  Several times in the past, his senses detected ambushes that might have killed her squad.  She followed the hare inside, hoping she would find whatever he detected, and at the same time, praying he would be wrong just this once.

She kept far enough back that no light reflected off her spyglass.  It made it difficult to do a proper scan, but her scout directed her.  Stormpaw kept the glass focused on the clearing.  Movement, two forms just dashed across the dry field.  It repeated.  The scout pushed her spyglass to the right.  At first, she saw nothing more than a forest dying under a severe drought.  Than she noticed one tree's leaves move against the wind. 

Stormpaw grabbed a red scarf and hung it out the window facing the inner courtyard.  The moment had come, the enemy had taken the bait.  She returned to the tower's doorway, listening.  In the courtyard, several residents prepared four war machines.  Time became her greatest enemy.

She grabbed her shield and took a deep breath.  The distance to the next tower measured a hundred paces.  In the past, she proved herself the fastest runner in the unit.  This time, failure didn't mean losing a prize; it might cost every resident their life. 

She charged across the gap to her first objective.  Stormpaw opened a bag and scattered the special blades.  No matter how they fell, two edges pointed upward.  She than used her sword's hilt like a mallet, breaking the clay urn.  An oily concoction spread across the stone battlement.

No time to admire her work.  She sprinted to the next station where she repeated her actions.  Time dragged.  She shattered the last vase and dove through the doorway and into the other tower.  Another hare caught her as she rolled across the floor.

"Take two up to the roof, make sure all is ready.  When it starts, things are going to heat up fast.  This better work or none of us will see the sun set." 

[cairn destop]

THE FIRST BATTLE

Brigadier Shawarran performed a final inspection of the wall.  Nothing had changed; his confidence soared.  Perhaps this feint would prove as effective as his main attack.

"Send the slaves carrying the assault ladders forward.  Then sound the charge.  These Abbey beasts have a reputation of not hurting slaves, that will serve us well."

All five bugles played a series of notes that made his fingers long to curl around his favorite weapon.  His emotions surged.  The soldiers standing mute before the wall launched themselves like a sea wave against a rocky shore. 

The slaves carrying the assault ladders lifted them even as the first soldier started his assent.  Those soldiers carrying grappling hooks prepared to launch them at the wall.  The Abbey defenders waited.

Some inner sense of foreboding had him study the wall a second time.  He shook with rage.  The defenders anticipated his move.  They deployed a wooden barrier that kept the ladder's grappling hook from securing to the wall.  Even as he realized the danger, the first ladder fell.  The slaves struggled to lift the ladder back into position and his soldiers became targets for the defenders overhead. 

He called one of his attendants forward.  "Find the assault officer and have him lean the ladders under that barrier.  Our soldiers will have to force their way onto the battlement."

A whistle blew and more than a dozen grappling hooks flew towards the wall.  They reached their apex and bounced back, with the exception of one.  That one hung suspended in midair as if it were a tethered hummingbird.  When his soldier gave the rope a hard pull, Brigadier Shawarran heard the distinctive twang of metal separating.  He called a second attendant forward.

"Have those soldiers using grappling hooks fall back and toss again.  The Abbey has wire strung between the towers.  We need to clear that first before we can attempt the wall."

Such elaborate defenses took time.  Even with help from a Long Patrol unit, these Abbey defenders needed more than a two-day warning.  Either this Abbey was more warlike than their reputation, or they had a much longer time preparing for an attack.

Shawarran's mind recalled the morning briefing.  His scouts reported villages abandoned and fields destroyed.  It confused him.  At this time of year everyone planted new crops while repairing homes damaged during the winter.  They should have found sufficient food and supplies, unless the inhabitants had advanced warning. 

His mind returned to the assault.  Soldiers surge over the wooden barrier, though a fair number fell to their death.  This Abbey couldn't muster that large a force without leaving a weak point.  He knew they would press the defenders back somewhere.  Trained soldiers defeated pressed civilians, regardless of their numbers or their determination.  Once they gained a point of access, it was just a matter of time. 

The tide of battle shifted.  The wooden barriers fell, as did many of his soldiers.  Those standing on the ladder had to reach up for the wall, giving defenders the time they needed to repel his attack.  Atop the towers, liquid flowed out of the gargoyles and sprayed over those below.  Screams of pain drowned out battle cries.

Hidden recesses within the wall opened.  Through his spyglass, Shawarran watched flaming rags destroy the few ladders and climbing ropes he possessed.  Within the protection of the tower's walls, lances shot out.  Soldiers had no chance at avoiding such weapons and had no opportunity at killing these defenders.  His soldiers fell off the towers and none replaced them.  With the two towers secured, those attacking the wall faced a deadly crossfire. 

"Where do you want my troops?"

The voice intruded on his thoughts.  He recognized it as the officer commanding the force delayed by the swollen stream.  Though he expected him, he anticipated using these soldiers to overwhelm the defenders wherever his first wave secured a foothold.  Perhaps victory remained within his grasp.

"Have you any ladders or grappling hooks," he asked.

"Those supplies were either lost or misdirected, Brigadier.  What are your orders?"

He had no choice.  Without those supplies, he lost the initiative and any chance at victory.  Instead, he shouted above the sound of battle.  Though he anticipated this outcome, it did not make the defeat any less bitter.

"Sound retreat.  I shall decide if a second assault is necessary after we regroup."  He pointed at the officer.  "Have your soldiers assemble on the road, but beyond range of their weapons.  Keep the defenders focused on us and they might nor realize the danger until it's too late.  We will have this Abbey by nightfall."

xxxxx

Colonel Nateem raced across the dry grass between him and the forest.  Once in the woods, units reorganized.  Military discipline and training took over and the soldiers moved forward.  Everyone hesitated at the marker his scouts left, waiting.  After experiencing many battles over the last seven years, Nateem still felt the nervous anticipation that came before every encounter.

Bugles sounded the charge and he knew Brigadier Shawarran attacked the main gate.  Nateem knew his commander didn't expect to succeed.  Its purpose was to keep the defenders busy while he breached the Abbey's walls.  Once he secured this section of the outer wall, he could overwhelm the defenders by sheer force of numbers.  The battle would be over quick.

He lifted a whistle to his lips and blew.  Soldiers surged forward.  Through the treetops, he listened to the twang of bows loosen flights of arrows.  If any beast guarded this section of wall, they either died in the initial volley or would fail to get any help soon enough.

Grappling hooks flew over the wall and atop the towers.  Nobody disturbed them.  His soldiers climbed.  It seemed so easy.  Everything happening according to plan.  He already anticipated the victory celebration.

Disaster hit.  A wall of fire burst out along the battlement and the rooftops.  Soldiers from the first wave fell off battlement and towers, their fur burning.  An officer came back, telling him what he already guessed.  The defenders used a heavy layer of oil on the stone tops and ignited it when his soldiers cleared the wall.  They had anticipated his attack.

Nateem shouted at the nearest officer.  "Delay the next wave another moment.  The oil will burn itself out soon enough.  If the defenders shift forces to counter our attack, they leave the main gate vulnerable.  One of us will break them."

Something flew over the walls.  Nateem's eyes tracked the flaming bales of hay as they flew overhead.  He ignored the fiery projectile as it would land well behind his soldiers.  It couldn't harm him or his troops, he dismissed the defender's counter as unimportant, though the presence of a war machine, like a catapult, indicated these defenders had sufficient time to built them.  That worried him.

His eyes wandered down to his boots.  Something discolored his left boot.  He glanced at the wall, saw the flames, decided he had the time, and sat on a nearby log.  It took a moment to remove his boot and examine it.  One sniff told him everything.  Oil, the shoe reeked of oil.  He tried puzzling out the meaning behind his discovery.

It came to him just as the danger manifested itself.  He remembered the sound of breaking pottery as he crossed the field.  It seemed so odd, he dismissed it as an overactive imagination on the eve of battle.  Now it's meaning came to him with absolute clarity.  If the defenders laid oily pots throughout the field and those burning bales hit one. 

A strong wind, tinder dry grasses, the forest suffering a drought, a heavy covering of dry debris, and a flame.  It roared like a maddened beast denied its meal.  Fire raced across the ground and atop the trees faster than any runner.  Smoke turned into a dirty fog that made eyes water and throats choke.  Visibility dropped.  The officer he spoke with vanished in the haze.  Some beast fell out of the tree next to him, burning.

Screams filled the air.  Somebody ran past him and into a tree, knocking himself unconscious.  Soldiers panicked as the fire and smoke intensified.  Colonel Nateem dodged several as he too sought safety.  One beast turned into a comet as he raced through his field of vision, disappearing in the smoke after running half a dozen paces.

He knew the battle lost; he needed to escape this trap.  He picked a direction and ran.  The boot he discarded since the oily stain might hold a flame.  As he ran, he passed soldiers lying on the ground.  Most twisted an ankle or broke a leg tripping over the heavy deadfall or each other.  A few thrashed on the ground as they burned.  Embers fell from the treetops like raindrops.  Bodies caught fire and they started new fires.  The stench of burning fur acted as an incentive for greater speed.

Nateem felt the heat and saw the wall of flames before him.  Every instinct said turn.  Instead, he removed his uniform blouse, covered his muzzle, and dumped his canteen over the cloth.  He took a deep breath, held it, and ran into the fire.  He dare not stop or fall, either would prove fatal.  His lungs demanded air, but he continued to hold his breath.  If he inhaled, it was certain death.  He ignored the pain from the foot missing a boot.

Cold air washed over him.  Nateem threw himself to the ground and rolled until certain no spark remained.  He inhaled the clean air, celebrating his victory over the fire.  A bloody foot seemed a small price to pay for his escape.  The reality of the last few moments hit him hard.  He lived, but how many others died?  That fire caught everyone unaware, and most paid with their lives.  As he limped back to camp, he wondered if he would ever find another boot to replace the one he lost.

xxxxx

Abbess Robertasin sat behind her desk.  She held a written report regarding this first day of battle.  Her eyes refused to focus on the words.  Her mind kept seeing bodies lying in the corridor by the Infirmary.  Perhaps she made a mistake volunteering to help the Healer.

"I'm too tired, give me a summation, General Markus."

"We repelled their charge against our main gate, as expected.  Eight were killed, all residents.  Another fifteen suffered minor injuries.  Healer Shortspike said they will recover over the next three days.  Enemy losses exceeded fifty, though I believe my spotters may have underestimated their count."

She nodded.  "What about their main attack?  Did that trap work?"

Markus almost gloated.  "They took the bait, Abbess.  We lost all our oil reserves and most of our grease, but our plan worked exactly as intended.  Best of all, we suffered no deaths; though three beasts sustained minor injuries.  None required medical care.  The forest might be burned, but those fallen trees will make any assault suicidal until they clear it.  All in all, we gave them a bloody nose they'll not soon forget."

Robertasin dropped the papers she held and buried her head in her crossed arms.  "And this is just the first day."

[cairn destop]

WOBBLES REACHES REDWALL

"Colonel Varden said I could stay on light duty.  If this is light, I'd hate seeing his idea of normal."

Wobbles muttered a few more choice words as the cart she rode in hit another bump and the healing welts on her back and bottom connected with some of the cargo.  While she rode, the other slaves and guards marched from dawn to dusk at double pace.  In spite of their efforts, they fell behind schedule.  Instead of arriving at dawn, they reached their destination at sunset, more than a day late. 

The cart hadn't yet come to a full stop when Wobbles jumped off, glad to be standing on her own feet once more.  At least her earlier interrogation earned her a ride.  Up front, a lady mouse dropped the trace and snarled back at her.

"I see no reason for you to complain, Wobbles."  The mouse moved closer to her.  The other slave had her paws clenched into fists.  "You got to ride while the rest of us had to run like the wind with our taskmaster's switch tickling our backs every step of the way."

Her companion, a dour looking lady hedgehog, remained in front, catching her breath.  Like Delcora, the hedgehog grumbled about her privileged status at every opportunity.  Unlike the mouse, the hedgehog preferred staying out of any physical battles. 

Delcora voiced her resentment and accented her comments by poking Wobbles in her chest.  Wobbles slapped the mouse's paw away and went on the offensive.  She shoved Delcora hard enough that it drove her two paces back.  As usual, the hedgehog gave her friend all the verbal support she wanted while remaining far from any confrontation.

"I earned these two golden disks because our masters know I get the job done."  Her comment silenced the hedgehog and now Wobble's finger pointed at the mouse.  "You, Delcora, have been with the Horde five years and are yet to earn a second white because you're lazy."

Delcora balled her fists.  Wobbles prepared to meet the challenge.  The mouse cocked her arm ready to punch Wobbles when a sharp voice commanded their attention.  Both Wobbles and Delcora stopped their fight, though each gave the other a sideward glance.

"There be none of that.  Settle your differences later, after you finish your work.  No guard will interfere, though I know a few who wouldn't mind wagering on the fight if you two don't mind an audience."  He laughed a mirthless laugh.  "We might even offer an incentive if the fight provides enough entertainment."

Wobbles gave Delcora a predatory smile that dared her to accept the challenge.  She bested Delcora in an earlier altercation, though it got no worse than a shoving match when they first came to this land.  Based on the mouse's expression, a bare knuckle brawl didn't appeal to her.  Delcora retreated.

With their quarrel resolved, for the moment, the guard issued his orders.  "You, Delcora, those carts need unloading.  Wobbles, grab a keg of ale and get it to the Brigadier's tent."

While Wobbles hustled to obey, Delcora meandered back to where the convoy parked.  As she passed the rat, he cuffed her and threatened her with even worse if she didn't move along.  Now Delcora jogged toward the carts, no doubt muttering words best not heard by the guards.

Balancing the keg on her shoulder, Wobbles asked for directions to the camp.  She hustled to the largest tent and approached the guards.  When she drew near, they blocked her way by crossing their spears before her.  She explained her presence and they moved aside.  One guard lifted the flap and earned a quiet word of appreciation from her.

She placed the ale on a low table, noting the presence of a serving tray.  A glance around at the gathered officers, and Wobbles took the initiative by pouring several tankards of the brew.  She moved around the outer edge, serving each officer in turn.  She knelt behind the wolf and held the tray.  Brigadier Shawarran took the proffered mug and she retreated to the keg where she filled several empty tankards.  What these officers said turned into background noise.

"Our initial assault cost us dearly, Brigadier," one ermine remarked.

Another officer chimed in with her report.  "Battle casualties exceeded two hundred on the diversionary attack at the main gate.  The primary attack cost us just under sixteen hundred and those who did survive cannot fight.  Until reinforcements arrive, our effective fighting force is under two hundred."

Colonel Nateem offered his assessment of the battle's aftermath.  "Our count shows a hundred unaccounted for; most likely they died in the fire and we are yet to recover their bodies.  If they're deserters, they'll join the others on the hanging tree.  I have patrols scouting the area for them, as well as any supplies we can scrounge."

The wolf withdrew his sword, Brigadier Shawarran drove the point deep into the tree stump they used as a conference table.  The golden hilt caught the lantern light, and every officer stared first at the blade and then at the wolf who wielded it.  Even Wobbles caught her breath as the light reflected off the red pommel stone.

"Unacceptable.  I refuse to believe an ill-prepared gaggle of peaceful woodlanders can withstand the mightiest military force ever assembled.  The only possible explanations for our failure, inaccurate information, insufficient supplies, or the incompetence of our soldiers."

An unidentified voice piped in.  "Perhaps they were better prepared than we were led to believe."

That comment had Wobbles give a slight nod.  The wolf must have seen her nodding.  Brigadier Shawarran jumped upright and in three strides, had a dagger pressed against her throat.

"Does our slave desire the defeat of her betters, or do you concur with whichever officer spoke?"

Wobbles made no defensive move; instead, she stared into the face of the wolf.  She kept her voice loud enough that all heard her as she respectfully responded, knowing her next words may well be her last.

"I have served the Horde for twenty years and have seen battles won and lost.  In all that time, never did I desert the unit I served.  My loyalty is something none should question."

The wolf kept the blade against her throat.  "So you think me an incompetent fool?"

"A wise commander realizes his enemy can be just as resourceful."

The blade slid down her chest, the point traveling through the fur between her breasts until it reached her stomach.  A second later, Wobbles heard the dagger settle into its sheath and exhaled the breath she had not realized she held.  Without warning, the wolf's paw slammed into her shoulders.  Pain raced up her body as she landed with a thud on the unyielding ground.

"Get out of my sight, slave, or I may just change my mind about letting you live."

Outside the tent, Wobbles could not stop shaking.  It wasn't the closeness to death or the night chill that made her shiver as she walked.  After twenty years in the Horde army, such things were commonplace.  The sword the wolf held chilled her blood, fear gripped her.  Seven years ago, she saw that same blade in a drug-induced dream, and she remembered the stern face of a warrior mouse with eyes that flayed your very soul.

Even though the Brigadier had not ordered her, Wobbles felt driven to check on the dead.  Her mind remembered a dream where a multitude of faces flashed before her.  Regardless of the sex or species of the creature, there remained one constant.  The sword, every warrior held it.

Wobbles wanted to convince herself the dream and the blade unrelated.  She tried dismissing the reality, thinking the sword just a coincidence.  That too failed.  Wobbles couldn't imagine another such weapon.  The sword in her dream and the one held by the Brigadier were indeed, one and the same. 

I must see the warrior's face, if it matches the one from my dream, than the prophecy is coming true.

The soldiers assigned to guard detail at the burial site did not stop her.  They seemed relieved when Wobbles announced she had been placed in charge.  Many of the guards withdrew far enough away that the wind dissipated the smell and they did not have to look at the dead.  Though one never got use to the stench, Wobbles learned long ago how to mask her aversion. 

She stood aside and watched as half a dozen slaves shift the dead into one of two carts.  As they carried the bodies, Wobbles examined the faces.  Most wore a charred Horde uniform, and her eyes slid over them like an ill-placed paw on ice.  Any creature not dressed as a soldier she examined, checking its species.  Some of these were the unfortunate slaves assigned ladder duty during the frontal assault; none of them survived.  A few wore a simple brown habit, which marked them as beasts from the citadel.

With the carts loaded, she led the way across a makeshift bridge and around a low hill.  There she found other slaves digging a massive pit.  To the side, bodies awaited their final resting place.  As Wobbles moved about the field, she glanced at the dead.  Like those outside the camp, most wore the uniform of the Horde.

Then one body caught her attention.  She knelt down, examined the face and shuddered.  She knew this mouse, not by name, but by appearance.  He showed signs of advanced age, yet his body showed a well developed physic.  Her paw reached out and felt the strong arm muscles.  She noted the many injuries he had suffered before dying and knew this one had to be a warrior.

Her hunt finished, she moved further down the trail.  She stood there watching the others finish the mass grave.  None of the slaves needed her supervision and the soldiers never questioned her presence.  Within her mind, Wobbles replayed the witch's prophecies.

xxxxx

Delcora rested by leaning her shoulders on the shovel she held.  Removing a clod of dirt from the earthen wall, she tossed it at her friend, Tergello.  The hedgehog acted like she  was digging, but did nothing more than shift some of the loosened dirt from her left side to her right and back again.  Delcora dragged her shovel along the ground until she stood next to Tergello.

"What's so important that you risk having us placed on report for malingering?"

Delcora joined her friend, scrapping the thinnest layer of soil so the guards continued past them as they patrolled the perimeter of the grave.  When she spoke, she whispered.  Best none of the guards hear what she said.

"That snotty squirrel is prancing about, giving orders again.  But something weird just happened."

One overzealous  guard approach and they ceased their conversation.  With the guard watching them, they gave full effort to loading the wheelbarrow assigned to them.  The guard remained nearby and despite their best efforts; the shoveled dirt soon filled it.  With no other option, they lifted the wheelbarrow and with a hearty grunt, pushed it uphill to the appropriate spot.  On their return to the burial site, the guard continued his patrol, leaving them unmonitored.  Delcora spoke as if their conversation had never been interrupted.

"I saw her fondling a dead mouse like he was some long-lost relative or lover.  Then I heard her speak about some prophecy that involves our Brigadier.  Mark my words, Tergello, I'll use that against her someday and then I'll be wearing those golden disks."

Everyone returned to the holding area once the last shovelful of dirt covered the bodies.  Wobbles spoke to a friend about what had happened.  She kept her voice low as she didn't want any of the other sleeping slaves disturbed.  When Wobbles was certain none of the guards were near, she finished her story.

"I recognized that mouse as the one I saw in a prophecy given me seven years ago.  I have been scared in many a battle, but never terrified.  My fate depends on knowing which is more important, honor or loyalty.  I hold the key and know not which door to unlock."

Unbeknown to Wobbles, Delcora overheard everything.  She remained motionless until certain the other slaves slept.  Delcora slipped over the boundary rope and snuck into camp.  She dodged from shadow to shadow, keeping herself hidden in the dark until she reached the back of Brigadier Shawarran's tent.  Deft fingers slackened one guy rope and she crawled under the loosened tent wall.

When she tried standing, a foot pinned her to the ground and something sharp tapped the back of her head.  "A slave sneaking into my tent at night?  I know promotions through assassination is not uncommon.  I removed a senior officer and turned a rout into victory.  The rest is history.  I wonder which officer felt the need for a bloody promotion."

The wolf turned the light up enough that he could see, but not enough to alert the two guards outside his tent.  She stood, the blade always hovering near her heart.  The wolf patted her down, his paws checking her body for any hidden weapon.  When he finished, he sat on his bed, facing her.

"You have no weapon.  I know you don't have the nerve to kill me, even if I slept.  I see it in your eyes.  You must have another reason for slithering under my tent like an adder."  The wolf smirked.  "No, not an adder, more like a harmless worm."

Delcora ignored the insult.  "I have information you need, something vital.  I'm here to bargain a trade."

"For your freedom?"  The wolf almost laughed when she answered no.  "There are proper channels.  What do you have that you consider worth risking your life?  Speak, if what you say has value, we shall bargain.  If not, my interrogators can always use test subjects for untried forms of torture.  Need I say more?"

This isn't how she envisioned their conversation.  Delcora intended teasing the Brigadier as she negotiated her best deal.  She knew he never made idle threats, which left her no alternative.

"Wobbles concealed information about a prophecy concerning this Abbey.  I overheard her say it involved you, Colonel Nateem and Captain Purrnella."

The wolf entertained himself by tossing his blade from paw to paw.  Her statement startled the wolf and he dropped the blade.  He retrieved it and placed it in its sheath.  His eyes bored into her.

"You have my attention.  Tell me what you want."

Not only did she survive, the Brigadier wanted to know what she wanted.  Her moment of glory and revenge.  Delcora savored her victory.

"I want to wear a gold disk in each ear.  I know how to read and am competent with numbers.  An educated slave should serve officers and not work with lowly grunts."

With a casual wave of his paw, the wolf gave her permission to speak.  Delcora told the Brigadier everything she knew.  When she finished, the wolf approached the entrance of his tent.  He stood there for several moments, speaking in hushed whispers.  At last he returned.

The wolf approached her, his paw open.  Brigadier Shawarran held two golden disks.  He pinned a gold disk above the white one she wore in each ear.  Delcora strutted about the tent as she fondled those earrings.  Now she served officers and held a position of power.  She need not jump every time that squirrel snapped her fingers.  Vengeance never tasted so sweet.

Brigadier Shawarran called her over.  Delcora stepped closer.  She never saw the dagger he plunged into her belly.  The pain proved greater than any she experienced.  She knew the blow fatal and looked at the wolf.

"If you're willing to betray a friend for such a trifling thing, then I fear someday you'll betray me.  You told me everything you knew, so you have no further value.  At least I spared you a long and lingering death with my interrogators."

[cairn destop]

EMISSARY

With the coming of morning, Wobbles found herself summoned to Brigadier Shawarran's tent.  Inside, she faced two officers.  The wolf she recognized as her commander and showed her respect and subservience by first dropping to her knees.  As protocol dictated, she bowed deep enough that her forehead touched the ground.  Since she wore two golden disks in each ear, she came to parade rest until given her orders.

The second officer, a fox, handed her a sealed scroll and a flag of truce.  Wobbles listened to her instructions and with a quick nod, accepted the items.  The wolf dismissed her, she spun around, and quick-marched outside.  The fox spoke just as she exited the tent.

"You know they will kill her for such treachery."

"Than we lose one slave," replied her commander.

Wobbles had no chance to fathom their conversation.  She had her duty, regardless of the dangers.  For the first time, Wobbles got to see the impressive structure in the light of day.  As she marched up the road, she gazed on the fortress that defied the might of the Horde.  In her years of service, she had seen many such structures and a simple glance told her this one had been well-designed for defense.

She drew within a dozen paces.  A stone struck the road but a short distance before her feet, while three more ricocheted off the pavement behind her.  Wobbles raised her head and scrutinized the many defenders standing along the ramparts.  The hairs on her back tingled.  Her life might end if these creatures didn't honor her call for truce.

From the top of the wall, a deep voice boomed out.  Wobbles didn't know who spoke, but did recognize the voice as male.  Since she still lived, she called back to the unknown defender.  She projected a confidence that comes from performing her duties to the best of her abilities.

"I come as an emissary from the Horde, approaching your castle under a flag of truce.  If such customs are recognized by any civilized creatures living here, accord me the honor and respect an ambassador deserves.  Otherwise, dismiss me and I'll withdraw in peace."

A cacophony of voices roared down upon her and in those voices, she heard many threats and boasts.  Wobbles did not move, even when her flag took a stone and another bounced off the road. She did not react to the one that hit her side.  The noise receded enough that she felt certain her voice would be heard.

"My words are for the one known as the Mother Abbot and whichever beast commands the garrison within these walls.  I shall not shout like some benighted market haggler, but insist on a face to face meeting.  Will you come out and speak or shall I report to my master you have refused our efforts at resolving our conflict without further loss of life?"

"What business do you have with our Mother Abbot," a different male shouted.

Wobbles ignored the voice that shouted down from atop the high battlement.  She had made her point quite clear, speak as civilized creatures are supposed to do when they parley or dismiss her.  She waited in silence.

Wobbles stood at attention, holding the flag of truce.  Her eyes fixated on the massive door before her and she allowed no other sight or sound to distract her.  Such was her concentration that Wobbles tuned out all but the door before her.  She studied every grain in each timber; even the buzzing flies and gnats milling about did not affect her.

She recalled another time when she had been chosen for such a high honor by her commanding officer.  Wobbles remembered marching with pride at the rear of their army, carrying the banner of a conquered nation.  That was the time she led a formation of some fifty slaves, each bearing the flag of some vanquished unit.  Never had she felt such pride.

She had been given an assignment by Brigadier Shawarran and would not return until the mission had been completed.  The wolf explained the dangers but called her the best emissary available.  Such lofty praise and such an important task made her swell with pride.  Her initial fears dissipated since the armed defenders had not fired a second volley.

A shadow extended onto the door, covering almost half of the first beam.  Then the sound of wood sliding on wood came to her ears.  The sounds continued for several seconds before the small door within the larger one swung inward on silent hinges.

From the darkness beyond the open door, a voice called.  It conveyed an attitude like some high noble from home, a superior unwilling to subjugate themselves to any beast of a lower class.  Wobbles did not recognize his voice.  She took that as a positive sign.  Some inner sense told Wobbles the speaker had the rank and authority to receive the message she carried.

"Speak, Emissary, and we will listen.  Or, if you wish, you may enter with the assurance that we will release you unharmed."

"My master has commanded that I speak with you on an urgent matter, out here where all can see."

A female voice called out with a softer tone than the male.  "Emissary, your master ordered you to speak with us, and we will, but only if you come inside."

Brigadier Shawarran emphasized having them come to her was imperative.  Wobbles remembered the wolf's explanation and saw the logic behind it.  Force the defenders outside and she gained a position of dominance.  Despite her lowly status, when they left the Abbey, she held power over them.  Wobbles took three steps back.

"My orders are clear; we must do this beyond your gates.  What have you to fear?  I carry no weapon and our army is camped beyond the trees."

It was the male voice that responded and its tone contained a note of anger.  "Liar.  Even now we can see at least two soldiers within striking distance."

Her confidence never wavered, though she took a moment scanning the field.  Wherever she looked, the landscape showed no other soldier.  This angered Wobbles and when she faced the blackness framed by the open door, she did not hide that emotion.

"There is no soldier within sight, sir.  Unlike your rabble, we honor a flag of truce.  I can forgive ignorance, but your force fired several stones my way after I identified myself.  One hit my flag and another struck me.  Your actions are disgraceful.  I remain here because I serve my masters with honor and dignity.  Do you dare deny the truth behind my words?"

No sound came from beyond the open door.  Once more, she assumed a pose of rigid attention.  She continued holding her head high, knowing she represented an army that considered honor and duty synonymous.

"What if we prove you wrong, Emissary," asked the male voice.

Impossible!  Wobbles accepted the challenge.  The male issued orders like a drill instructor and she acted on them.  After reversing course, she marched forty paces before he had her pivot to her right.  She counted another fifteen paces off the road until the male yelled halt.

Wobbles planted her flag into the soft soil and relaxed her rigid military posture.  With a swift turn in place, she looked over the wide expanse and smirked.  Nobody was visible.  I knew no soldiers would be here, but best I humor theses Abbey beasts before returning to parley.  She examined the ground closer to her.

Then she spotted the anomaly.  She discovered a slight rise to the flat ground and what appeared to be a square cave.  Wobbles moved closer and as she did, she noticed the dirt-covered sailcloth dyed an earthen color.  She looked back at the Abbey and then returned her gaze to the object before her. 

As she bent down, the cloth was yanked aside by somebody hidden beneath it.  Once the dust cleared, four armed members of the Horde stood.  Each soldier had a crossbow bolt strung and ready.  The four rats gave her a withering glare as they folded the cloth and without speaking a word, withdrew. 

When they had gone more than halfway to the woods, the male voice demanded her attention.  Wobbles lifted her flag and once again followed the instructions of her unseen drill instructor.  She marched thirty paces to the left before she stopped.

This time she knew what to look for and soon spotted the opening.  She walked within a single pace before she knelt.  Like the other sniper's blind, a piece of sailcloth dyed the color of the surrounding field and covered with dirt hid it.  Had she not been directed to the exact spot, she would never have seen it.  Unlike the other blind, nobody within stirred. 

"If anyone is under this cover, the defenders know you are here.  You fool no one.  Perhaps you didn't know that I am operating at the explicit orders of Brigadier Shawarran and stand before you under a flag of truce.  Withdraw now or I will expose you."

When nothing happened, she yanked on the cloth.  Four soldiers stood, all armed with cocked and loaded crossbows.  One of the four rats was an officer and she took exception to her actions.

"We have been lyin' out here since the hour before dawn and you saunter on by and ruin everythin'.  You're goin' to pay for wastin' our flippin' time out here.  And that's a promise."

Wobbles cocked her head sideways, giving her comments some thought.  Wobbles felt confused.  Did Brigadier Shawarran know about the two sniper's nests?  What was their mission?  Would they have fired while she negotiated or did these rats intend holding fire until negotiations ended?  Was this the treachery the fox spoke about after she left her commander's tent?  Either was a breach of honor she thought no high ranking officer capable of doing.

Wobbles knew she appeared as deceptive as any collection of bandits.  A look at the closed door proved that.  She made her way to the road and gazed back at the retreating rats.  Whatever credibility she had, those soldiers destroyed it.

Her mission had ended in failure.  Worse yet, the honor of the Horde had been besmirched.  Perhaps, she thought, something might be salvaged.  Lifting her flag, Wobbles came to rigid attention and marched back to the gates of Redwall.  Several stones struck near her and a few flew so close that her fur sensed their passage.

Once again, she stood at the exact place where she had last addressed the unknown male voice.  She came to attention and watched the afternoon shadow stretch across the door.  Just as the line between light and darkness reached the far side, the small door opened.

A buck hare exited.  In stature, they were evenly matched, though his ears made him look taller.  His fur reminded her of the snows that covered the high mountains back home and she marveled at how well groomed he appeared.  The male carried himself with the bearing of an officer who served the military and his attire reminded her of a uniform. 

In one paw he carried a small metal shield, and in the other he held a rapier.  Its keen point pressed against her breast, just where her heart thumped at a rapid pace.  Wobbles licked her lips, but did not flinch when the hare nicked the skin and drew a bead of blood.

"Emissary, I am General Markus of the Fourth Salamanderstron Army, a unit of the Long Patrol.  In accordance with military law, I hereby inform you that you have violated all standards of civilized warfare by trying to assassinate us under a flag of truce.  Can you give me one reason why I should not execute you for your crime?"

"I spoke the truth when I said none were here.  Their presence was not known to me and if it had been, I would insist we speak inside.  A flag of truce that does not protect all is less than worthless."

A female voice ordered the hare to sheath his sword and he did so.  Once the blade disappeared, a creature dressed in a flowing robe of green stepped beyond the doorway.  Based on the information given to her earlier, she faced the Mother Abbot.

Lifting her paws, the Abbess pushed the cowl off her head and revealed her face.  Her fur was black; her facial bones outlined by a thin line of grey, which gave her a sculptured look.  One eye appeared a milky green while the other displayed a deep emerald color.  Her response to the Mother Abbot's appearance did not escape the black squirrel's attention.

"Your reaction makes me think we have met before, though I cannot recall your face."

"No, Mother Abbot, we have never met."  Wobbles removed the scroll Brigadier Shawarran gave her that morning.  "This scroll contains our terms for your surrender.  You will advise us come morning as to your decision."

After the hare took the scroll, the Mother Abbot spoke.  Her voice sounded soft and pleasant, yet it contained a note of righteous determination.  "We accept this from somebody who has demonstrated her honor and her integrity.  It took courage standing before us after such treachery.  Will you at least identify yourself, Emissary, so we may call you by name?"

"My name is unimportant, Mother Abbot.  Listen carefully to my words.  During the time I served the Horde, I have known many different commanders.  All have acted with honor, until now.  I fear Brigadier Shawarran might be the exception.  Don't trust his terms."

Having delivered the Horde's ultimatum and her personal message, Wobbles marched back down the road.  She wondered whatever possessed her to add that warning.  She would have to guard her tongue when she reported to the Brigadier.  Others had been executed for saying less.

Wobbles gave her report.  Birgadier Shawarran never looked away from the paper in front of him.  The wolf continued writing his message after she finished.  A knock on the tent's pole had the wolf raise his eyes.  A tall ermine marched within a pace of the Brigadier.

"Lieutenant, I have an important dispatch involving this slave and Captain Slyclaw, deliver it personally.  You are to transport our more seriously injured by cart back to Ferretville."  The wolf turned his eyes on her.  "Select seven other slaves to assist our injured.  I want both of you gone within the hour." 

Five relaxing days passed.  She enjoyed the peaceful ride, finding the duty of serving the wounded easy.  As she rested, her mind replayed the incident at the gate.  Like a thorn stuck in her paw, the snipers plagued her mind.  If she came under a flag of truce and those soldiers hid there first, did Brigadier Shawarran intend honoring the parley?  Something told her the wolf had willingly sacrificed his integrity.

Such thoughts were interrupted when the ermine riding next to the driver screamed.  As Wobbles turned forward, the Lieutenant's body topple off the cart.  The driver snapped the reigns.  An arrowhead protruding from the sideboard confirmed his frenzied warning.

She risked a quick look.  Two carts had toppled when the ponies pulling them, died under a cloud of arrows.  Wobbles watched the third pony collapse with several spears in his flank.  That cart fell over, spilling its cargo of wounded creatures and the slaves serving them.  Rebels swarmed over them like ants at a picnic.  The cries of the fallen reached a crescendo before they were silenced.  She worried about the slaves, did they die too?

Then her eyes focused on the back of the cart.  Two grey paws hung onto the edge and as Wobbles stared, a rebel struggled to gain a foothold.  The invader held a dagger in his mouth while trying to climb inside the racing wagon.  Her eyes darted toward the driver, but his attention remained focused on the road, unaware of the danger.

She viewed the fierce countenance of the rebel and shivered.  If he gets inside, we die.  I must stop him.  For a second, the two locked eyes.  It was the angry squirrel, the one that vowed to free her.  He froze in place, a startled look on his face.

Without conscience thought, Wobbles stretched out her paw.  She lunged towards the squirrel.  Her fingers felt the fur running along his chest and she tried gripping him.  The cart bounced over a rut, dislodging the intruder just as her fingers closed.  Wobbles leaned over the back of the cart as the male tumbled along the roadway.

The speeding wagon crested the hill and then slowed, even though Wobbles could still hear the driver snapping the reigns.  Despite the abuse, the animal gradually stopped.  With a whinny, the exhausted pony dropped to his knees and died. 

The driver checked behind him.  The fox unsheathed his sword, ready to fight.  Then the rebel squirrel surprised both Wobbles and the Horde soldier when he turned and retreated.  They stared at each other for a few seconds, looked where the rebel had stood, and back again.  They repeated the motion, but then faced forward when a branch snapped.

"Good thing our patrol arrived." said a Horde officer.  "Those insurgents have been getting more brazen with every succeeding raid."

While Wobbles carried a stretcher to Ferretville, she replayed the raid over and over again in her confused mind.  Did she really try helping that rebel?  Was she about to betray the army she served for over twenty years?  She had no answers, and that, more than anything else, kept her quiet during the long march.

[cairn destop]

THE KEY TO VICTORY

The fortress home of the badger king within Fiery Mountain depressed Captain Serenity.  The enlisted soldiers whispered about the death of close friends.  Lower ranked officers equated upcoming assignments with an execution, only the where and when remained unknown.  The higher ranked officers cringed if any rumor placed them in command of a unit destined for combat.  Regardless of how many windows the household staff workers opened, the stench of defeat filled every room and hallway.

She walked through the fortress of Salamanderstron deep in thought.  The many beautiful tapestries Captain Serenity passed never registered on her mind as she replayed the latest meeting of the War Council.  News regarding the many defeats suffered by the Long Patrol disturbed her as much as the siege at Redwall Abbey.  She worried about her father fighting a guerilla war and her mother back home.

Her brother, Thorn, often voiced his concerns for the residents trapped at the Abbey but other dignitaries affiliated with kingdoms under attack clamored for King Brisson's attention.  Whenever he could spare the time from caring for the many children that accompanied him, Thorn demanded whatever news his sister possessed.  It hurt Serenity telling him Redwall must stand on its own without revealing the Northern Alliance's own disastrous war record.

Turning the corner, Captain Serenity spotted the one other inhabitant she preferred avoiding.  At the far end of the corridor stood a tall, female hedgehog whose ears came within a whisker of the badger's brow.  It was the Countess Dorsattin Sharpae, First Noble of the High Council.  Judging by the way the hedgehog approached, Captain Serenity anticipated no chance of avoiding her attention.

Captain Serenity admitted the hedgehog knew what royalty considered fashionable.  The Countess wore a knee-high skirt of the finest dark blue silk embroidered with silver and gold thread that caught the light and any wayward eye when she swiveled her hips.  The hedgehog's quills stood erect, indicating confidence, though they had been trimmed to a modest length.  Even her tan fur appeared feathery soft thanks to one of the Lady's many servants.  The Countess carried a folded fan like an officer's swagger stick.

"Why Captain Serenity, I have been looking for you ever since this morning's meeting."

With a flick of the hedgehog's wrist, the ornate fan expanded.  Its multicolored fabric caught Serenity's attention as the Countess fluttered it before her muzzle.  The Countess gave another twist of her wrist and now the open fan rested against her bosom.  Its colored bands highlighted against the white fabric of her blouse.

"I'm sorry, Countess Sharpae, the bad news from the front has me searching for some remedy to this Horde invasion, just like the Command Staff of the Long Patrol."

The fan snapped shut and Serenity felt it tap her shoulder.  "Please, when we are in private, I would prefer you call me Dorsa, or if you must be formal, Lady Sharpae.  Though I do think a title has a way of interfering with the work that needs doing.  Don't you agree?"

Captain Serenity rolled her eyes towards the rafters.  It seemed incredible such a powerful personage preferred attending to social amenities more than matters of state.  Both heard the news about the military being routed in every battle.  If the Horde had pressed forward, this fortress would now be under siege.

"Lady Sharpae, I know your reputation.  Forgive me for being so blunt, but I'm a simple soldier.  I prefer a direct strike.  If you have something that concerns me or this war, then speak without the riddles and insinuations common to nobility.  Neither of us have time for such maneuvers."

Now the fan opened with an audible pop, leaving just the eyes visible over the top edge.  When it dropped below Lady Sharpae's chin, the hedgehog's expression appeared blank.  She moved to the nearby window but kept her eye on her.  The fan continued its methodical wave for a few moments before if ceased.  The hedgehog beckoned Captain Serenity over and pointed to the harbor.

"See the warship? It serves as the flagship to my father's navy and brings news that might prove useful.  Perhaps if we presented this information to the King, he would be grateful."

Captain Serenity saw through the manipulation.  She knew the Countess had a reputation for brokering deals among the nobles.  Before the war, she used that talent so well she became First Noble.  However, the war ruined many of those arrangements and now several High Council members sought her position by undermining her authority.  Captain Serenity suspected Lady Sharpae feared an upcoming vote might topple her.

She tried excusing herself, but the hedgehog grabbed her paw.  For the first time, she looked at a frightened lady trying to maintain her position of power.  When Captain Serenity discovered the hedgehog's weakness, she attacked like any military person would do.  Her sudden change from avoiding the Countess, to one courting her favor, did not go unnoticed by the consummate politician.

Lady Sharpae tried asserting control with her title but Captain Serenity's verbal assault turned relentless.  After a heated debate, the Countess promised her support for relieving Redwall Abbey.  Captain Serenity got what she wanted but saw no chance of success since every noble clamored for the King's help against the invaders.  While the Countess continued fanning herself, she reached into her pocket and withdrew a small currier's pouch. 

"I know the information must be valuable, Captain.  My father would never waste the time of a Fleet Admiral as a simple courier.  Protocol requires me to submit this to the Council first, which I am reluctant to do.  If it comes from me, others will debate its merits until its value disappears.  I cannot allow that.  As one not beholden to any sovereign, you gain nothing showing this, though I do expect credit where credit is due."

Serenity read the report.  She did it a second time.  After securing the papers in the pouch, she retraced her steps without saying a word to the waiting hedgehog.  Lady Sharpae call out and Serenity beckoned her with a vigorous motion of her paw.  As she dashed to the Grand Audience Hall, the hedgehog's satin slippers slapped the marbled steps in time with her heavy sandals.

She rounded the corner and charged the entrance to the Hall.  Before each double set of doors, two hares stood guard while an armed squad augmented their numbers.  As she raced down the hallway, the soldiers at the  doors crossed their pikes, acting as a barrier to her progress.  The other guards assumed a defensive posture.  When Serenity tried passing, the squad's commanding officer made it quite clear nobody could enter the room. 

Lady Sharpae made her presence known.  The hedgehog reached for the doorknob, only to have the hare guards block her progress.  The Countess turned on the highest ranking officer she saw and stood so close their muzzles almost touched.  As she spoke, her voice climbed several octaves as she verbally assaulted the buck hare.

"Move aside, sir.  You are delaying the Countess Dorsattin Sharpae, first born daughter to the Earl of Vertgreen, heir to the throne, betrothed to the oldest son of Count Flingspike, commander of the Imperial Third Fleet, and the duly elected leader of the High Council of Ruling Nobles.  By the rights granted me by my titles, I may demand an audience with the King whenever I wish and with whomsoever I designate."

The officer's ears showed a slight twitching before every hare came to rigid attention.  Nothing blocked the door.  The Countess tapped her foot on the floor until Captain Serenity got the hint.  With a muttered apology for the delay, she turned the handle and followed Lady Sharpae inside.

The room beyond the doors had been carved out by artisans with the talent for manipulating stone.  It measured perhaps two hundred paces long and a third that in width.  Even a squirrel would find its dizzying rafters a challenge.  Along the north wall a dozen windows stood open to the sunlight's rays that flowed into the room. 

Captain Serenity never had a reason to enter this room.  Its ornate chandeliers, the thick carpet and rich tapestries bedazzled her.  As the two of them walked to the opposite end of the chamber, she passed under the many national banners hanging from the high rafters.  Up ahead, she saw King Brisson, ruler of the Northern Alliance, in conference with several hares, each wearing the insignia of General.

Lady Sharpae maintained a regal pace, always keeping two steps ahead of her.  The hedgehog stopped several paces from the King and executed a deep curtsy.  When the King acknowledged her presence, she rose.  The Countess addressed the boar badger with the appropriate degree of deference.

"Your Majesty, we bring you news that came within the hour.  Captain Serenity believes it to be of vital importance, and I beseech you to grant her an audience."

King Brisson said nothing.  Captain Serenity took that as his tacit permission.  She first handed the papers to the King before turning to the maps strewed across the conference table.  As she hunted down the appropriate maps, King Brisson read the document, then passed it to Grand Marshal Eytomin, supreme military commander of the Northern Alliance.  By the time the last hare read the material, Captain Serenity had everything ready.

"We kept wondering why the Horde never followed-up its victories; why they never pressed their advantage.  This scroll explains their reasoning.  Their primary objective hasn't been the annihilation of our army, but securing a sufficient food supply.  Once they have solved that problem, then their focus will shift to attacking our forces." 

Captain Serenity pointed to each chart in turn.  "They captured a slaughterhouse here, a major grain elevator here and in this battle, they took one of the largest root cellars of the Northern Alliance.  In each case, they allowed our forces to retreat." 

The assembled hares maintained a blank expression.  Captain Serenity threw her paws up in exasperation.  "Oh come on now, Generals.  Put it all together, merchant ships loaded with supplies instead of soldiers hugging the coast and the Horde seeking food stockpiled ahead of their marching army." 

One hare General grasped the significance of this new information.  The fellow drummed his paws on the table in exuberance.  A moment later, each officer joined in the celebration.  Frowns turned into wide smiles, one female general giggled.  The senior officer turned to his Liege and almost shouted the joyous news. 

"Not one of us saw the obvious.  The Horde doesn't have enough food.  They timed their attack to coincide with the spring harvest and the summer planting.  The invaders expected lush fields that could support their units.  None knew the Western regions suffered a terrible drought which blighted the crops.  If they intend pushing ahead, they need their supplies transported by ships anchored as close to the front as possible and they also must continue to forage.  Our navy is making such voyages too dangerous."

King Brisson approached the large map displaying the progress of the invaders.  His fingers traced the path from the first reported sighting and through the conquered lands.  He tapped the location of each quay raided by the fleet and the locations of each enemy ship sunk or captured since the war began.  His paw slammed onto the table as he gave an exuberant bark.

"If our enemy intends defeating us, they must destroy our army, but they first need a secured supply source.  Destroy their supply ships, deny them any stockpiled food on land, and we will force them into a confrontation of our choosing."

Now the real business of winning the war commenced.  Each general checked the region ahead of the invaders.  Lady Sharpae pointed out stockpiled food and the Generals examined the surrounding countryside.  The hares discussed strategies and plans made for the ultimate confrontation between the two opposing forces.  Captain Serenity wanted a pivotal role in the upcoming battle, as well as access to the city's blacksmiths.  The King granted both her requests.

xxxxx

Colonel Nateem hurried across the camp and flung open the canvas door to Brigadier Shawarran's Command Tent.  Inside, he accepted a towel and dried the heavy rain off his fur.  The last thing he wanted to do was fling water droplets throughout his superior's office.

"I'm not sure which I hated more, the month of drought or a week of nonstop heavy rains.  This cursed weather has played havoc with our troops, Brigadier.  Our foraging parties range further and return with less.  The soldiers are already on three-quarters rations and if things don't improve soon, we'll be going to half rations."

The tall wolf faced him with a look as angry as the storm clouds marching across the skies.  The Brigadier's paw rested on the hilt of the golden sword while he paced the area behind the table he used as a desk.  He remained silent for a moment before he returned to the large-scale drawing of Redwall Abbey.

"What about our latest attack?  Do you have an explanation as to how woodland farmers defeated us?"

Yesterday, Colonel Nateem ordered a thousand soldiers into battle against one section of the Abbey's defenses.  The open field removed all chance at surprise and the defenders rallied in large numbers on the parapets.  Slaves carrying their last supply of scaling ladders and grappling hooks led the way.

When the attack began, the first few warriors passed over a wide ditch a hundred yards from the wall.  These soldiers encountered no opposition as they crossed the depression and the rest soon followed.  As the massed soldiers passed over the bottom, the combined weight of so many collapsed the camouflaged covers.  Many plunged into pits filled with sharpened stakes while others tried to avoid the revealed traps.  Anyone unfortunate enough to cross the narrow passageways between the pits died from the defender's arrows.  Colonel Nateem sounded recall rather than witness the continual slaughter of his fighters.

He decided it might be far more prudent focusing his commander's attention on his efforts at countering the defense.  Nateem explained how he ordered heavy rocks rolled from the river and into the wide trenches.  He omitted the number of soldiers lost in the initial attack and in their subsequent efforts at locating other hidden traps.  Colonel Nateem knew the loss of soldiers and equipment made further attempts impossible until replacements arrived from Ferretville.

Brigadier Shawarran growled while he described the failure of their latest effort.  Some innate sense must have alerted his commander he had more bad news.  The wolf plopped onto the wooden bench.  A simple gesture of his paw had him continue his report.

"Isolated rebel attacks are increasing.  There is a male badger leading a band of woodlanders sniping along our northern flank that has succeeded in destroying much of our food supplies.  It now takes a full unit to ward off their attacks and guard the material we do find, which leaves us with a limited number of soldiers stationed here."

The wolf stared at the depiction of the Abbey's main gate.  Colonel Nateem feared his commander's stony silence as it usually came before an emotional outburst.

"Another insurgent group has attacked our supply convoys using hit and run tactics.  Their leader has intercepted much of what we transport.  This same rebel led the attack on Ferretville that destroyed several outlying warehouses.  His raids have delayed construction on the harbor by destroying valuable equipment or by freeing our workers.  According to Captain Purrnella, he anticipates every countermeasure.  She suspects spies among the town's residents."

"How did that wildcat become the ranking officer in Ferretville?  Unless I'm mistaken, both a Colonel and a Major outrank her."

Colonel Nateem shifted his stance, worried about his commander's irate tone.  "That's the final part of her report, Brigadier.  This squirrel rebel leader assassinated several of our high ranking officers.  His latest victim, Colonel Varden, happened two days before she sent this message.  As the longest officer in grade, Captain Purrnella now commands the garrison at Ferretville."

Brigadier Shawarran's temper exploded with the violence of a volcano.  With a furious motion, the wolf swept the drawings off the table, scattering them about the tent.  The bench toppled.  Then the wolf stomped over to the tent's canvas door, pushed it open, and stared at the heavy rain.

"Two days, that's all it was supposed to take.  We have camped here six weeks and I'm no closer to victory than I was when this campaign started."

[cairn destop]

MARCHING

"I swear all this bloody marching is wearing my feet right off my legs.  It seems that's all we've done since joining the army.  I don't know about you, but I expected something more adventurous than eating dust day after day."

Threadfoot sat in the shade of a tree and glanced at her companion.  She wondered if she looked as worn out after a week of forced marches as Sandythorn.  Right now, she didn't want to do anything but let the river's cold water rush over her swollen feet.

"Don't know why you're complaining, Threadfoot.  The two of us have had some pretty good luck since boot camp.  Think about it, we complete our training and both of us are offered the rank of Corporal and given our own squad to command.  Or would you prefer your original orders, being a private with the High Kickin' Sixth?"

News about the elite fighting force reached the Fiery Mountain fortress two days earlier.  None thought the news accurate, but Treadfoot knew better.  As their commander's aide, she had access to official reports confirming the rumors.  She almost cried when she learned about the virtual annihilation of the Sixth Army, one of the most elite units of the Long Patrol. 

They numbered over two thousand battle-hardened hares and five hundred veteran warrior badgers.  Two full divisions of the regular army supported them in a major offense against a numerically inferior force.  When these soldiers returned to Fiery Mountain, the Northern Alliance's mightiest army numbered less than a hundred walking wounded.  Not one badger survived the confrontation.  Nothing remained of the supporting divisions.  The Horde's war chariots crushed all opposition without suffering any appreciable losses.

Threadfoot's mood changed that day from one of expectation to somber reflection.  If the Northern Alliance's mightiest army failed, how could an untested unit do any better?  Their commander, Captain Serenity, accepted her orders as if she won some coveted prize.  She wondered how her family would react to the unemotional letter confirming her death.

Captain Serenity announced their new orders and the Long Patrol Auxiliary prepared for departure.  When morning came, they took to the road.  Soldiers marched through Salamanderstorn to the sound of drums beating out an easy cadence while residents cheered.  Those closest to the back listened to the many oxen grunt as the supply carts groaned in sympathy.  Officers stood to the side of their particular unit making sure none slackened the grueling pace. 

Just beyond the city, they encountered a civilian tending two oxen hitched to a cart.  Captain Serenity had the soldiers load their instruments into the cart.  Everyone changed out of their parade uniforms and these too, went to the civilian.  Once unburdened of such unnecessary gear, they marched.  Instead of music, the only sounds heard were the clinking and clanking of gear as they moved along the stone highway.

For the next six days, Captain Serenity demanded all the speed they could muster.  None complained since the badger captain marched at the head of her division.  If she rejected her right to ride, a privilege of her rank as the Divisional commander, they would match her pace.  Each time the army rested, the formation changed.  Units to the rear moved forward and away from the dust of so many marching paws.

On day seven, the unit reached their first waypoint.  Weary soldiers pitched tents, grateful for the early stop.  The two friends from boot camp hiked to the nearby river.  She didn't want to admit it, but Sandythorn had a great idea.  Threadfoot found the stream and surrounding grasslands quiet relaxing.

She picked-up a pebble and flicked it at her friend Sandythorn.  "Say Boo-boo, how do you rate the readiness of your squad?  You think those otters and mice can fight as well as a Long Patrol hare?"

Sandythorn never reacted to the pebble that ricocheted off her muzzle.  "Give us a target and my squad will clear a path for those squirrels you command, Maggot.  There's not a better bunch of warriors when they're carrying a sling."

"Never thought of squirrels as fighters, Boo-boo, but I have to admit there are a few that can challenge my skills with a sword during our workouts.  When my squad gets into combat, I'll wager those tree rats I command will give the Horde something to worry about.  Them beasties are going to make fine soldiers, mark my words."

Another voice intruded on their conversation.  "That's what I want to hear from my officers.  Confidence in their squad's ability to perform their duty."   

Sandythorn recognized the voice of their unit commander, Captain Serenity.  Like her friend, she jumped to attention, worried her unauthorized departure might have unforeseen consequences.  She stood there minus her sandals while her companion's eyes searched for her own discarded gear. 

She gazed upon the badger she remembered as a drill instructor when she first joined the military.  In what many called a bizarre twist of fate, King Brisson promoted her from sergeant to Captain.  The King formed a special division and placed the badger in command.  Captain Serenity selected a core of hares officers and over the next four months, molded a collection of diverse woodlander species into an elite fighting unit.

The war changed everything.  Instead of their unit patrolling some region for bandits, they continued training.  Some welcomed the additional time in the relative safety of Fiery Mountain's shadow.  Threadfoot sided with those hares who groused about their inactivity.  After the resounding defeat the Long Patrol suffered, her opinion changed.  Now she worried about their role in this war.

"I suggest you two return to camp and get some rest.  We move at first light when the rafts arrive.  In another day, we reach our destination.  If all goes as planned, we will engage the Horde on the following morning."

Threadfoot appreciated how Captain Serenity overlooked their temporary absence from camp.  As a drill sergeant, the badger insisted on strict adherence to military standards.  With a full division under her command, the badger seemed more willing to overlook minor breaches of the rules. 

She scrambled for her gear, almost bumping heads as her friend did the same.  A quick salute and the two hustled back to their squads.  It surprised her when she failed to hear the footfalls of the female badger.  Threadfoot risked a look behind her.  Captain Serenity stood there, facing the wide river.  Perhaps the badger needed the change of scenery as much as they did.

xxxxx

Wobbles took the time to enjoy a slow stretch.  She felt lucky.  No, every slave in Ferretville enjoyed the same luxuries.  After the town fell, the Horde commandeered a number of buildings for housing its soldiers.  Slaves too received better quarters. 

As a slave overlord, she shared the office of a warehouse with the other high ranking slaves.  The lower ranked slaves assigned here crowded the main building.  Whenever she stepped outside her quarters, the high walls surrounding the warehouse reminded her of the military slave camps back home.

She approached the main gate.  Two sea rats, still in their naval uniforms, guarded the only exit.  One rat challenged her, but the other whispered something and he relaxed.  Once the sentries had her tag number, they allowed her to pass.

Over the last two days, it either rained, or threatened to do so.  Today, a brilliant golden orb hung in an azure sky.  It made her walk into town enjoyable.  None of the residents gave her a second look, which allowed her time to observe them.  Instead of a docile and cooperative populace, she noticed angry glances at any Horde soldier passing them.  She had a feeling they resented Captain Purrnella's restrictive edicts and her habit of hanging anyone who voiced a negative opinion.

Wobbles continued to her destination.  Before the invasion, the building she entered housed a squad of Peacekeepers.  They still occupied the place and performed their old duties, but Horde soldiers oversaw their actions.  Wobbles went to the second floor, knocked on a door and took a seat once granted permission to enter. 

An old male weasel, past his prime as a soldier, greeted her.  "I take it you heard the news about the rebel raid last night?"  He offered her a page with a list of names and numbers.  "We took roll call and these slaves are missing, presumed stolen.  They were assigned to today's convoy.  I'll need replacements."

"Can you get me the duty roster for the upcoming two weeks?"

He handed her a second clipboard.  While she scribbled numbers, the old weasel leaned back in his chair.  "I want you to take that wheelwright, Firelog, with you.  He made a convincing argument for his reassignment to the Redwall siege when he visited me last night.  Best you go too, Wobbles.  Advise me how these rebel attacks are affecting the other slaves."

She juggled some of the more important work details, keeping workers she trusted.  By late morning, she joined a large convoy transporting supplies to the soldiers near the Abbey.  Six days passed without incident.  She wondered if the stories of raids this far from the port more rumor than fact.

Wobbles released her grip on the cart she pulled and dropped the handlebar that ran between the two traces.  She than placed both paws on the small of her back and gave a push, trying to work out the kinks from the long day.  She issued a low moan as she stood, which caught the attention of another slave as she parked her wagon next to hers.

"Pulling these heavy carts isn't such an easy chore, is it Wobbles?"

"The work would go a lot easier, Tergello, if you stopped your bellyaching.  I ran three slots back and heard nothing but your constant whining all day long.  I'm surprised the Trailmaster didn't have your muzzle tied shut so the rest of us could have some peace and quiet.  Worse yet, you've done it every day.  Even in my dreams, I hear your voice gripe."

Wobbles examined each wagon, assuring herself the traces faced inward and all harnesses stowed.  None needed her supervision as the work details prepared camp.  A glance towards the nearby forest showed a slave detail gathering firewood while guards secured the camp's perimeter.  Nothing disturbed the usual routine.

Several slaves worked on their section of the camp.  Bedrolls covered the grass, but left enough room that nobody touched their neighbor.  She started driving in the stakes acting as their boundary when somebody approached her.

"It looks like our luck's holding out, Wobbles.  The rains have moved off and we're making good time.  We'll reach Redwall Abbey by nightfall, day after tomorrow."

"You're right about that, Firelog.  After that raid on Ferretville, everything has been peaceful.  We only lost one cartwheel, which we replaced without delaying anyone.  The credit for that goes to you.  Perhaps so many soldiers has discouraged any filthy rebel attacks."

Wobbles anticipated some retort.  Firelog disappointed her when he remained quiet.  She gave the red-furred hedgehog a sidelong look, confused by his change of attitude.  While based in Town, Firelog advocated resistance or escape.  Out here, he acted like somebody supporting the Horde's efforts.  It unnerved her how he seemed to read her thoughts.

"I haven't joined your side, Wobbles.  What's making me so happy is getting this close to my former home.  It does my heart good seeing your efforts flounder before Redwall Abbey."

"Tell the truth, spikedog.  You're smitten by a certain female who got assigned long-term duty at the Abbey.  Instead of asking me for a transfer, you slipped off to the Slave Master behind my back.  If you hadn't convinced that weasel about the wisdom of sending you, I would have nailed your pointy hide to the nearest tree for bypassing proper channels."

"Tergello loves my stories and I enjoy her attention.  It's the one good thing that's happened since my capture.  Once you lose this war, I'll take her as my mate."

Wobbles wanted to vomit.  How a diligent and hard-working fellow could find such a lazy beast as Tergello attractive boggled her mind.  She couldn't think of a proper witty retort.  Instead, she pushed the love smitten hedgehog aside, leaving him to his delusions. 

The nearby stream offered her a quick diversion.  She rested her feet in the water, rinsing the dust from a long day's journey out of her fur.  Since she was downstream of the area designated for cooking water, she indulged in a quick wash.  It refreshed both body and mind as she shook the water from her fur.  Wobbles stretched out on a nearby rock, enjoying the warmth from the late afternoon sun.

A light kick to her ribs had her on her feet.  An officer stood in front of her, his spear in one paw while the other held a crumpled shirt.  Wobbles didn't remember working for him earlier that day, so his anger seemed misplaced.  The officer threw the shirt into her face and then struck her shoulder with the shaft of his spear.  His voice could waken the dead.

"You call that shirt clean?  Take a good sniff and I dare you to call it clean."

Wobbles did as instructed.  As she sniffed the garment, the body odor assailed her nostrils.  She recognized the scent.  Her expression must have showed the officer she knew the smell.  The fellow grinned.  The officer grabbed Wobbles by the scruff of the neck, twisted it until she yelped, and dragged her to an open area along the stream's bank.  Her mind raced as she tried sorting out the contradictions.  The officer leaned closer, his paw ready to strike.  He whispered in her ear.

"Sorry if I'm hurting you, but we must maintain appearances.  Nobody will approach if they think you're undergoing some punishment detail.  There's not much time, so just listen to what I say."

Wobbles dropped to her knees and washed the uniform.  As she worked, she listened while the officer told her about an upcoming rebel raid planned for tomorrow.  The raiders would target the wagons for destruction and keep the guards busy during a surprise attack.  In the ensuing confusion, they intended freeing as many slaves as possible.

"My commander sent that shirt hoping you understood its message.  He said I was to tell you your salvation and freedom are near.  Remember my instructions, it will reduce losses among the slaves."

Wobbles kept her eyes focused on the rock she used as a scrubbing board while she absorbed what he said.  She awaited further instructions, but the unknown officer kept silent.  Wobbles whispered a question that had plagued her mind since she first met the one she nicknamed Angry Squirrel.  No reply.  A quick glance behind her revealed nothing.  She found herself kneeling along the riverbank alone.

Her mind whirled about like some dust devil.  She wondered where her loyalties belonged.  In the past, such doubts never existed.  Had she learned of such a threat against the Horde in previous times, she would rush to the Trailmaster.  But the dishonorable behavior of Brigadier Shawarran at the Abbey and the harsh actions of the wildcat commanding Ferretville made her question her own ethics. 

By the time she returned to the slave campsite, Wobbles chose the safety of her fellow slaves.  She approached a few trusted friends and passed the word, believing in their discretion.  Wobbles went to her assigned wagon and hung the shirt, knowing it would act as a beacon to Angry Squirrel when the raid started.  As she ate, her mind continued its bouncing ball routine between serving her masters with honor or engaging in open opposition to those that demanded her absolute loyalty.

Several soldiers approached her campfire.  One of them pointed to her and she followed them.  A few moments later, Wobbles stood at parade rest before the convoy's ranking officer.  Five other slaves, including Firelog, knelt with their foreheads touching the ground.

"I just received word that certain personnel and vital war materials are needed at Redwall Abbey before morning.  You will, therefore, depart ahead of the convoy.  Be ready to travel in five minutes."

Dusk found her racing with the other slaves along a wide forest trail.  Wobbles managed to grab the wet uniform and hang it on the cart she tended, worried it might endanger whichever slave replaced her.  They moved past the moss-covered rock the officer described as the location for the attack.  Wobbles scanned the surrounding forest, wondering where the rebels hid.  For just a moment, in a high branch crossing the path, she saw the figure of a squirrel silhouetted against the moonlight.  When she refocused her eyes on that branch, nobody stood there.