Dusktail: A Tale of Redwall

[Darkenmal]

For a better formatted (and more complete) version of this fic, please go here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9528816/1/Dusktail-A-Tale-of-Redwall.

Dusktail - Book 1 : To Answer The Call

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"Do not always judge one by their actions, but by their motivations. Remember this, and you will be worthy of ruling the mountain." Lord Swiftpaw, Badger Lord of Salamandastron and Defender of the Western Coasts.

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Book 1: Chapter 1

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Present day...

The sun shone brightly in the sky while the Badger Lord still wrote, once in a while briefly pausing to dip his quill into the inkwell. Swiftpaw realized he was hunched over, and he straightened. He looked enviously at the beautiful, clear sky, aching to go outside and enjoy the summer's day... but something stopped him from doing so.

He regarded the scroll he had recently written with disdain, and as he leaned closer to continue to write, he found himself putting his quill to the side. He rubbed his ink-spotted paws together and glanced outside, and again at the huge pile of scrolls that littered the table. "Maybe if I burned them all, I could be rid of it," Swiftpaw mused. He briefly imagined himself setting alight the whole table, and felt a certain sense of satisfaction at the pleasant image: his entire work burning to cinders.

The Badger Lord snorted, and held up the scroll close to the window, blowing on it softly and letting the air get at it. Such thoughts were not new, and they had only increased the closer he had gotten to finishing his account.

With a sigh of relief, he realized he was now close to finishing the summary of the event he had blocked shut in his mind for over sixteen seasons. Glancing at the scroll and seeing that it was now dry, he put it gingerly on the desk, smoothing it over like a new-born babe as he went to go pick up his quill once again.

In the corner of his eye, Swiftpaw noticed the earliest recordings he had written of his account, and he pulled it out. Coming to a swift decision, he gathered his scrolls and stood up, noting with satisfaction that a slight breeze had started, blowing the smell of the sea that he so loved into his dusty bedroom.

"I need some fresh air," the badger muttered, and he left the room to go to a quiet place to read over the first part of his account that he had written thus far.

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Eighteen seasons previously...

The air was thick with the sounds of arms smashing into each other, grunts as hares repelled strikes from other hares, all of this mixed in with the smell of sweat, along with the occasional hint of blood that permeated the training grounds.

Colonel Karth watched his hares as they fought each other, as each of them squared off into separate duels. Doing his rounds, whenever he saw a mistake he would correct it and force them to repeat until it was to his satisfaction. Others could do the job and probably better, but he always found himself doing it instead. He liked the bonding experience with his fellow hares. It gave him great pleasure in helping others become who they were born to be: hares of the famous Long Patrol.

He stopped his pacing as he spotted the nearest pair to him redoubling their efforts, both well aware that their commander was watching.

At this Karth smiled to himself. He had been like them at their age; the allure and glory of the higher ranks had always been ever-present to him. He remembered listening in rapt awe at the tales of valor and heroics that the veterans would bring back from patrols, or even from prior battles. He had worshiped them, at least until he had seen combat.

Then it had all changed.

Karth's smile changed into a frown, and the still-dueling hares frantically redoubled their efforts, their strikes and blocks taking on a frenzied state as they sought to impress their Colonel, along with the other hares close by that stopped to watch.

With a start, Karth realized that the dueling recruits thought that his frown was meant for them and that something was wrong, and he quickly blew his whistle and called a halt. Instantly the recruits stopped, their chests heaving with exertion as they stood stiffly at attention, as Karth walked over to where they stood.

"You both were doing fine, lads. Pay no attention to me, and continue at a less... rapid pace. Is that understood? I don't want to face either of your mothers coming to see me and wondering why their son is short a head." The two recruits muttered something affirmative, and Karth decided to have a little fun with them.

"I said, IS THAT UNDERSTOOD, RECRUITS!" Karth bellowed, the sound drawing attention of everybeast in the yard as the two recruits jumped at the sudden noise, and each quickly responded with a swift salute and the time honored reply.

"Sah yes sah!" the two hares replied, staring straight ahead as Karth smiled appreciatively, his grin reflected back at him by the two hares as he continued his lecture.

"Very good, recruits. Now take up your arms again, only this time with a-"

He stopped as he heard a loud creak, the mountain's main entrance gates squealing as they were forced open in a great hurry. Quickly turning, he spotted something passing through the gates in the corner of his eye. When the figure drew closer, he saw something that quickly took him back to his younger days.

A Long Patrol runner, covered in blood and dust, blood-stained sabre still clenched in his right paw, lopsidedly ran through the still-opening gate. The runner trotted confusedly for a few moments, until he saw Karth. Upon spotting the colonel, the scout turned and began sprinting straight towards him.

The training grounds immediately became still as the runner moved towards the colonel, and with a start, Karth realized that his paw was resting on the hilt of his sword. "Old habits die hard," the colonel mused, as the runner came ever closer to him, baring news that was doubtless unpleasant.

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Maia rushed up the stairs, almost bowling over a leveret as she took the stairs two at a time. Calling back an apology, she quickly reached the top of the stairs and continued at her brisk pace, glancing through open doors and moving a little faster when she saw that Swiftpaw wasn't there.

"Stubborn," the badger mused with a wry smile. When Swiftpaw did not want to be found, he could be a very elusive creature. However, being the Badger Lady of Salamandastron did have its benefits.

Quickly brushing past some Long Patrol guards, she burst into the Badger Lord's forge and walked towards a sacred place that was forbidden to all others. Glancing around to see that nobeast was watching, she walked up to the boulder and threw her body against it, feeling a primal sense of satisfaction as the huge chunk of rock quickly moved to the side, the doorway now unblocked.

She reverently gazed upon the legendary rulers of Salamandastron's distant past as she walked towards the only other living beast in the room. The air inside smelled of dust and stone, while the ancient Badger Lords stared down at her grimly as she walked down the hallway. "Hard rulers for a hard time," Maia thought as she peered at the Badger Lords and Ladies from Salamandastron's distant past.

Her paw-steps echoed as she continued to walk, lost in her own thoughts. She paused at Boar the Fighter's place and tepidly placed a paw on his throne. Staring up at the armor that encased the badger's remains, she wondered at how long this could go on. Badgers ruling Salamandastron. She turned around and saw the ancient mountain's current ruler.

Swiftpaw sat upon the ancient throne, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed in concentration as he breathed deep, completely unaware of Maia as she approached him. Drawing closer, she could see tinges of white on his muzzle, along with a tiredness that almost shocked her. He looked worn out, the weight of command almost too much to bear.

Suddenly, Swiftpaw's eyes opened and he smiled, although Maia was sure that it was for her benefit.

"I see I have been followed," the Badger Lord said, his eyes twinkling as he slowly stood up from his throne.

"I have at last received a reply," Maia retorted, not allowing the conversation to turn into one of jest. More serious matters were at hand.

Swiftpaw's face sagged as he realized the true reason for this unusual visit.

"So you are leaving us at last then," Swiftpaw said bitterly, his gaze staring right through her as he continued to walk down the battered stone steps, his footpaws bringing up dust and chunks of stone as he descended.

"I fear that I must," Maia replied. Swiftpaw finally reached her, and they stood there gazing at each other for a few moments until she brought herself back to the present.

"We have at last received word from Redwall, and all of it is bad. The Abbey is in a state of war it seems; a new warlord and his followers have been gaining support from most of the vermin in Mossflower, and beyond."

"From beyond?" Swiftpaw echoed, the confusion in his tone evident as he started to pace back and forth. The pacing was an old habit of his that he had been desperately trying to break lately, with the usual predictable results of whenever he had tried to break any of his habits.

The Badger Lord had begun talking again as she had been musing, and she responded with the first thing that entered her mind, "Yes, Swiftpaw."

Swiftpaw's face broke into a smile as he reacted to her words. "You mean you will stay? No more of this foolish visit to the Abbey?"

Instantly, Maia regretted ever speaking, as now she would have to break his heart again, and this time it was entirely her fault, and no other beast's.

"No, Swiftpaw, I spoke without thinking," Maia said gently, regretting every word that she spoke.

Swiftpaw's face turned into a mask, as he kept his smile on his face but not in his eyes and began to usher her along.

"Come with me, Maia. I have something to show you."

Not allowing herself to be placated, she firmly stood her ground and rounded on the Badger Lord.

"You still have not heard what I have had to say yet! Stop running and come back here, Badger Lord, or I swear I will-"

"Leave?" The Badger Lord interrupted, the twinkle in his eye returning.

Maia allowed herself a small smile. Perhaps this would not go over as badly as she had originally feared.

"The reason that I had to interrupt your meditation is because the patrol you sent out returned today. He is eager to see you."

"Only one," Swiftpaw said softly, and Maia knew that she now had his complete and undivided attention.

"Yes, although that isn't the worst news. You'd best come with me quickly, I don't think he has much time left."

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As the runner approached Karth, he wondered how the runner could still be upright and moving as the closer he got, the more he could distinguish the wounds that littered his torso, all of them bad. The runner, a young hare that had recently ascended to the position, looked like he was about to pass out as he stopped in front of the Colonel and saluted.

"Colonel Karth sah!" the hare puffed, laboriously holding the salute. Despite himself, Karth could not help but notice the little details as he studied the young runner. A recent scar went across his cheek, most likely the result of an arrow or a branch. His tunic, once completely spotless, was almost ripped to shreds, the result of whatever the hare was about to tell him. Glancing again at the slices and wounds across the runner, Karth realized the urgency of the situation. He might not have much time left.

"At ease, runner." The runner lowered his arm, almost stumbling as he let his arms fold behind his back in the 'at ease' position. Karth held out his arms to steady the soldier, and the other hare nodded in thanks. Karth felt impatience, and anger. He would find whoever did this, he vowed silently.

"Feel free to speak, private." Karth said loudly, letting his voice echo throughout the training grounds. He didn't have time to take him to a private area so he could properly debrief the soldier. The wounds, and the dizziness from completing simple actions, clearly showed that time was of the essence. The runner realized this as well, and began speaking quickly.

"We were about to leave Redwall just a half-moon previously," the young hare spoke, and although he spoke softly, his voice carried throughout the entire courtyard. Every hare present in the yard leaned in closer to hear and spoke not a word as the runner continued his tale.

The hare paused, almost unwilling to go on next. Impatiently, the Colonel nodded his head, and the young hare swallowed nervously, but persevered and continued speaking.

"After exchanging the letters written, Abbot Albus took Captain Striker aside and spoke a few words with him. I did not hear what was said, sah, but later as he was dying, he told me what had happened. The reason he did not tell us is we would have gone after them the second... the second we would have heard."

"Heard what?" Colonel Karth asked, and with a sinking feeling, he thought he knew what the scout was about to say.

"It's about their Dibbuns, sah."

Karth felt a pain in his paw and realized that his right paw had been tightly clenching the hilt of his sword. Releasing it and taking a calming breath, he nodded his head and said, "Continue."

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Captain Striker of the Long Patrol left Redwall, his prior good cheer gone as he grimly reflected on the news that he had been recently told.

He remembered Abbot Albus: younger than he but grown old before his time, wearily beckoning him to a secluded corner so they could talk privately.

In the corner of his eye, he could see young Blythe, the newest recruit to his party, watching closely as he allowed himself to be pulled to the side. Striker remembered wondering why he wanted the Abbot to speak to him, and him alone.

When the mouse was sure that nobeast else was listening, he began speaking slowly, his reluctance to speak clear on his face. Listening to the mouse talk, Striker could not believe what he was hearing.

"You are tellin' me," the hare said in a hushed tone, wary of eavesdroppers; "that a half-dozen of yore Dibbuns have been kidnapped, and that you haven't told me of this earlier?"

The Abbot look scandalized for a brief moment, but calmed himself as he spoke in a lowered but intense tone.

"With all due respect, Captain, I have not been able to get a chance to speak to you privately until now."

The admission took Striker aback, and the captain bit off a few choice statements as he searched for an answer. The mouse watched patiently, until the hare spluttered out a complete sentence.

"Why," Striker retorted, voice dripping with scorn, "did you have to tell me this alone? Why could the squad not listen to this as well?"

The Abbot glanced about quickly, his nervousness as plain as the habit he wore as he looked for any unwanted listeners. Seeing none, the graying mouse looked at Striker straight in the eye.

"Could you stop your hares from going after them, Captain? From charging in to certain death? You must go back to Salamandastron and come back with the full might of the Long Patrol."

The mouse bitterly scrubbed a paw across his eyes, hating himself for having to ask for outside help, even from long-time friends such as the renowned hares from the Long Patrol. His heart leapt for the first time in a few moons as the hare immediately nodded his head, and the mouse allowed himself to feel something that he had not allowed himself to feel in a long time.

Hope.

Striker remembered with a hint annoyance at how quickly he had agreed to keep it from the rest of his hares. Knowing his hares, he quickly recognized that if they had any inkling of the situation, immediately they would set off after the stolen Dibbuns, with or without him.

It did not make him resent the situation any less however, especially in the way he had been instructed.

The mouse had suggested that he return to Salamandastron with reinforcements, assuring them that the babes would survive until then, albeit obviously not under the best of conditions.

Striker gritted his teeth as he recalled how the mouse had told him how they had originally been captured. They had gone out in the morning to pick some berries for a pie, but only a few had returned, covered in blood that was not their own, among other things.

He shuddered at the rest of the details, all of which too horrible to even think about. Pushing the thoughts of the Dibbuns from his mind, he reminded himself sternly that he was leader of this outfit, and that he must pay attention at all times.

"Blythe!" The Captain called, hoping that the young scout was somewhere near by.

Thankfully, he was, and after a few agonizing moments, the scout reappeared from the bush, ready to give an account of what he had seen.

"Report," Striker ordered the runner.

In a precise tone, the runner outlined what he had seen. Tracks, all leading off in strange directions, before heading back in a vague loop and eventually disappearing entirely.

"Disappearing?" the captain echoed, and he saw his confusion echoed in the scout's eyes.

"It just does not make sense, Captain. But never fear, we will soon sniff out the blackguards, wot."

Striker looked out into the woods and shivered. He remembered the Abbot telling him of the ambushes, along the results of failed rescue attempts, and made a snap decision.

"No. I do not want anyone to get lost. Mossflower Woods can be dangerous, especially considering other... things. No fires, no carrying calls; no whoops or shouts. We march as quickly as possible, and everybeast to be on high alert. I want all of you treating this as if we are in hostile territory."

The entire company instantly stilled, their faces all full of stunned disbelief, until the sergeant starting yelling out for them to get back into formation... with a lowered tone. The lessened tone seemed to really bring the orders home, and the hares quickly and efficiently went into position, everybeast of the score that he had brought with him ready and waiting within a few moments. Soon they were all staring at him silently as they waited for further orders.

Striker released his breath, not aware that he had been holding it the whole time. Just for a moment he thought he saw something moving in the corner of his eye in the foliage, but he reasoned it was just the wind. "Eyes playing tricks on me again," the captain thought sourly as he signaled the column to proceed.

"I just pray that we are not too late," Striker muttered, and he went to the back of the column, blissfully unaware of what was to come.

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I figured I should start posting Dusktail on the Redwall Forums again. Let me know what you think!

[Captain Tammo]

I've read this on fanfiction.net, really good stuff! Can't wait to read it again

[Skyblade]

Wow, it's the fanfic that won all those awards!

That quote is interesting.

I like the introduction: it's rather suspenseful and foreshadows that this story isn't a good one for Swiftpaw.

The fanfic is nice so far - just one thing I want to mention, and this could be just me, is that it gets confusing when new characters are introduced (ex. Maia, Captain Striker). Maybe better use of spacing to separate them from the previous happenings would help.

Please keep posting this!

[Darkenmal]

Thanks for the replies and the criticism! I thought I had included the line breaks, and as a result I edited the first post accordingly.

Enjoy the next chapter. 

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Book 1: Chapter 2

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You say you heed my orders, to lead, and not to follow?

Lies, every word, empty phrases, all of them hollow.

You seek to undo the past?

You are not alone, many have tried.

Few are ready for the final goodbye.

However, I can give you this,

This one last thing, your fondest wish.

The one you love, this one that you seek.

You would search, your agony so close to being unleashed.

You would die for her, as you continue to say.

What you have done cannot ever be repaid.

You say that you don't believe me, that you still hesitate?

Watch closely as it vanishes, while you are filled with hate.

Dim echoes of the past, slowly fading away.

Struggling to keep the ravages of time at bay.

This one last memory, I will allow.

Simple, but yet still profound.

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Present day...

Swiftpaw gently put down the first chapter, his editing complete for the time being. He felt a certain sense of satisfaction at that, at how close he really was to seeing his life's work complete and finished. It felt odd, but in a good way.

Swiftpaw reached for the next parchment but was quickly interrupted by a intense growl from his stomach. He glanced up and saw that the sun was near its apex, indicating that it was close to midday. With a start, Swiftpaw realized that he had been up for almost an entire day, with no sleep and with little sustenance.

"I need to rest," the Badger Lord reflected to himself wryly. He glanced at the rest of his work and felt a stab of irritation. How he wished he could work all day and all night, with no need for sleep or eating.

"I will rest when I am dead," Swiftpaw whispered.

Gathering his work quickly, he stood and began to walk back towards his study, hoping for a quick meal and perhaps a nap. True rest was hard to come by, but whenever he found himself working on his account, he found it easier; his personal demons kept temporarily at bay.

Absentmindedly, Swiftpaw kicked up a few tuffs of ash. He watched as the coarse sand was thrown into the air and how the wind played with it for a few moments before depositing it in a different place. It stayed there unmoving, its spot now permanent until nature or otherwise decided to move it again.

Amused, the badger kicked another tuff and watched as the process repeated itself, with the sand being coercively shifted from its location and forced to move elsewhere. Suddenly, the badger felt bitterness and began to walk faster, the game now forgotten and replaced by darker thoughts.

"Why do I find such pleasure in destruction? Why can I not find the same pleasure in building, to see things grow, or even at raising our own son-"

The badger paused in his step and listened, unsure of why he even stopped.

The only sounds he could hear were the muted echoes of his hares practising sword play, and the distant, omnipresent sea rolling to and from the Western Shores. He wondered if his son had come back to the mountain yet, after their quarrel. He hoped that he would forgive him. For what had been said.

The thought of his son triggered the sense of loss that had been always present in him. Something about Melator always reminded him of what had been lost. He had wanted to be a good father, to be a friend, to help him become a far better creature then he was, and he had failed.

Grief washed over him like a wave, and the badger found himself desperately holding onto his last vestiges of sanity. Swiftpaw stood there, completely oblivious to anything but his own self-pity.

"My fault..."

With everything he had, Swiftpaw forced himself back to the present, away from that horrible time where he once had a future, a time in his life where life was perfect. How wrong he had been.

Suddenly, he found himself close to the front gate, and with a stiff nod to the guard the gates opened, and the Badger Lord continued through, barely noticing the salutes and the polite nods of the officers.

What did draw his attention was the fact that Melator was in the dueling arena again, egged on by his friend Buck no doubt. He still remembered what it was like to be young and reckless, to be full of enthusiasm and energy. To be within the swirling tempest that was your sense of self. Swiftpaw remembered how long it had taken him to reach and find himself, and what it took to finally accept it.

Swiftpaw still remembered the rage that he felt that day. Unconsciously, he clenched his paw into a fist and felt the scar there. "Never forget..."

He almost found himself going towards his son, but the rational part of his mind took over.

Avoiding the potential confrontation, Swiftpaw turned the other way and moved on towards the comfort of his study.

"How odd that I now find more comfort in my writings than in the art of war," Swiftpaw thought sardonically.

Maybe it was best that there were no more wars to be fought, no more blood to be shed.

It would have felt more convincing if he had meant it.

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Eighteen seasons previously...

Blythe walked silently on the far right side of the company, always keeping the column in the corner of his eye as he also watched for tracks, or for any other identifying features that might help him catch his prey.

A few minutes earlier, he had noticed that the sun was starting to set, which would quickly turn his job from something incredibly difficult to downright impossible. At first, when he had spotted the tracks, he thought little of them. Redwallers and other creatures travelled through these parts of the woods all the time, and even the less reputable ones that did would not dare bother an elite squad of Long Patrol hares. This meant nothing, as the manner in which they seemed to appear and disappear at will concerned him deeply.

Once in a while, he would see strange tracks leading to somewhere, but he would always end up stumped as they would inevitably lead to a small river or stream. The trail would literally run cold, and Blythe would find himself getting angry at losing the tracks so easily, at least until he found some new ones, and all over again he would repeat the process.

"Downright confounding this is," Blythe muttered warily, pulling something from his foot-paw for what seemed the umpteenth time. He had been barely able to argue against the Captain about pulling himself, along with a few others, tighter into the column. He had only been allowed this much leeway because he had promised that he would keep the patrol within the corner of his eye at all times, and Striker had looked leery at letting him have even that.

Blythe had to remind the Captain that he would be far better off at having at least a small curvature of scouts, and that wandering the countryside blind, as they gradually followed River Moss back into the sea, would be a bad idea. Surprisingly, Captain Striker had agreed, and Blythe's lack of getting chewed out pretty much confirmed the scout's suspicions.

Something was dreadfully wrong at the Abbey.

The whole business at Redwall still seemed fishy to the young scout, although the whole thing didn't click together for him until the very end of the visit, when he had seen the tired-looking Abbot pull Striker to the side for a 'brief moment'.

He had not been able to hear anything, but the way the Abbot had looked around nervously, along with the Captain's face turning unusually grave as he continued to speak... it gave Blythe a chill, even though it wasn't cold.

A thunderous crack made the scout jump, and with a glance, he realized it was thunder. The flash was so bright that Blythe was temporarily blinded, and he leaned against a nearby tree and scrubbed his eyes, trying to regain his sight as quickly as possible. Just as the light receded from the sky, Blythe heard a snap behind him that sounded like a branch breaking.

Whirling, the hare saw nothing; the lightning bolt had destroyed his night-vision a few moments before. Scrubbing his eyes angrily, Blythe jumped when he heard a lightning bolt again.

Instead of staring at the sky, he looked around himself, hoping to find the source of the unaccounted branch.

In the still-illuminated area, he found himself completely surrounded by vermin, with no hope of retreat or surrender.

Reacting quickly, Blythe yanked the dagger from his side and threw himself at the closest vermin, hoping that the element of surprise could get him a kill before he went down.

Nobeast moved but his opponent, who launched himself to the side with a silent snarl. Blythe stood still as the vermin's paws curled around the hilt of his sword as he rolled into a crouch, warily watching Blythe as the scout stood stock still, briefly overwhelmed at the enormity of the events that were occurring before his eyes.

He glanced at the vermin around him. What were they doing? Why was only one attacking him? How would he get out of this?

The questions pounded through Blythe's brain, and he almost didn't react in time when he saw the sword strike rushing towards him, intent on cleaving him in two. Blythe stumbled and leaned backwards, barely avoiding the blade as it whooshed past his stomach. The confusion in the vermin's eyes was evident when he hit nothing, seeing a vague blur in the pitch blackness as he stumbled forward, trying to recover quickly for another blow.

Blythe didn't let him. With a shout, he leapt at his foe and stabbed downward, the knife going through the rat's throat. With a brief gurgle and an even briefer struggle, the vermin quickly became still.

The almost tranquil silence of the vermin around him was shattered as they watched one of their own being slain. A few of the quicker ones drew arrows and shot as Blythe simultaneously yanked on his knife that was still lodged in the vermin's throat.

Blythe pulled the knife sideways and by consequence, the motion moved the rat's body from in front of him to his side, right in the path of the incoming arrows. They slammed into the rat, his lifeblood spraying everywhere as Blythe twirled and threw his knife at the nearest foe, a large fox who had been watching attentively the entire time, almost as if he was studying the whole thing.

Like lightning, the fox drew his blade and swung, the knife deflecting off of the sword with a loud clang. His eyes danced with suppressed rage as he charged forward, seeking to kill Blythe quickly before he could alert anybeast for help.

"'TIS DEATH ON THE WIND! EULIALIAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

A large shout arose from behind the trees, and Striker charged out of the bush at the head of his squad, a terrible look on his face as he and the other hares behind him yelled Salamandastron's famous battle-cry.

The hares charged past Blythe, not one of them looking at him aside from Captain Striker, who gave him the briefest of nods before joining in the fray. The two forces smashed into each other, each side screaming in raw fury as they fought a desperate battle. The fox who had tried to attack him was engaged with two hares, which he dispatched with disturbing ease. What frightened Blythe the most was that he barely looked at them, his gaze piercing Blythe like a razor as he finished off the last hare by stabbing him in the heart.

Blythe reached out futilely, an unwitting sob let out as he saw of his best friend Lancejack look briefly in his direction as he died.

Blythe stood in the middle of the two forces, all aware of the cataclysmic consequences of what he had wrought. He saw the sword of his fallen enemy close to his feet and he reached for it, pulling it from the slack grip of the dead vermin, intent on using it on the fox who had killed his last.

The fox, who had taken the time to wipe his sword on a hare's tunic, raised his blade in a mock gesture of salute and stepped forwards, still intent on finishing the scout off.

Blythe raised his sword, suddenly aware of how over-matched he truly was compared to his foe.

He thought of his father and what he truly meant to him. Once feared by many and a true hare of the Long Patrol. He proudly told him that he had no fear, except of losing somebeast and being in no position to help. The scout felt an intense feeling of shame as he took a breath and breathed deep, that he would find the blade before it was too late trying to empty himself of all feeling and thought.

"Forgive me," Blythe thought sadly. He stepped forward to face his foe, and the battle consumed him completely.

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The battlefield was filled with the dead and dying, but one among them would yet live to see the new dawn.

Blythe leaned against a tree, breathing heavily, the shock and thrill of battle just now leaving him. The hare forced himself to inhale deeply the smell of decay and death, the stench of the blood and gore. The scent of battle. He felt like he was going to be sick, and he probably would have if he hadn't already, when he woke up amongst the corpses.

He remembered little of the battle, and what he did remember came in still images, each one more horrifying than the next, filled with death and blood. Except the screams: they continued without pause, each scream different, and each scream belonging to a friend that was now dead, and it was all his fault.

He stared at his paw and realized it was shaking.

Blythe tried to clench it into a fist and almost screamed in pain. The slash he had received across his arm had almost gone to the bone. Any movement felt like he was being stabbed with a thousand needles. He was lucky to have only received this wound, courtesy of the fox that he had dueled.

Predictably, the duel had gone badly as soon as it had started. He had managed to block the first blow... barely. The fox's strikes were deceptively strong and fast, and he had caught him flat-footed. A series of exchanges followed, and each blow the scout had blocked had gotten harder to avoid. Finally with a flick, he had found himself disarmed with the fox's blade at his throat, a cruel smirk on his face.

Just as the fox went in for the kill, Blythe had seen a sight he'd never seen in his life, and likely would never see in a hundred more lifetimes.

Captain Striker, who had been dueling multiple foes, saw in one glance his scout's predicament and had disengaged, heaving with all his might against his foes and pushing them back.

While the rat and weasel stumbled and re-orientated themselves, the Captain sprinted towards the fox, with a look in his eyes that promised death for any who dared interfere.

The fox released the tension on Blythe's throat and glanced at the hare, who had been temporarily stopped by an unfortunate vermin. A single strike nearly decapitated the stoat, and he fell limply, his head flopping as he crashed to the ground.

In a blind panic, Blythe scrambled away from the fox on all fours, hating himself while he did so.

He felt anger at his cowardice, and hatred. It was the fox's fault that this had happened. Blythe began looking for the sword that he had dropped, hoping he would find it before it was too late. He glanced up and saw the captain rapidly approaching the fox. It was about to begin.

A feeling of desperation came over Blythe, and he hoped that he would find the blade before it was too late.

He let the Bloodwrath consume him as he had never let it before. Striker's vision darkened and he felt the fabled burst of strength flood into him.

"Let them all come," Striker snarled to himself.

They will all burn.

The fox had begun running towards him, and with a smile, Striker increased his pace. He ran as fast as he ever had, not feeling even slightly winded as his foe rapidly approached him.

When he judged the time was ripe, he suddenly swung, allowing his body to twist so that the full momentum of his run was transferred into the blade.

The fox dropped down in a roll and simultaneously sprung up and swung, a snarl fixed on his face as he tried to cleave the hare in half.

Despite initially missing the fox, the hare converted his swing into another strike and pivoted his entire body in a desperate effort to block the blow before it killed him.

The two blades collided, and Striker took a brief moment to look at his foe.

Striker felt the insanity of battle within him, that lust for death that he could never fully contain. As they stood, blades locked together, Striker regarded the fox and observed the cruel half-smile on his face and how his eyes bored into his.

"You will pay for what you have done," Striker vowed.

Striker heaved on his blade and forced the fox back. A surprised look briefly flickered across his face, and Striker knew that this did not happen frequently. He was used to controlling his duels and winning quickly. Long, drawn-out duels were not a common occurrence for his foe.

He would use this knowledge against him.

Striker moved forward and swung. The fox blocked, albeit strained, his smug look now vanished as he realized that perhaps this would not be an easy fight.

The Captain of the Long Patrol swung a massive strike, one with all his might behind it. The fox blocked this again, so he unleashed everything he had. The fox blocked his blows, but a look of panic appeared on the fox's face, sensing that he could be outmatched as he was forced on the defensive.

Striker was so engaged in his fight that he almost did not see Blythe trying to sneak behind the fox. At this, Striker grunted and stopped, pulling back and allowed his weakness to show, panting heavily and lowering his blade.

A superior look on the fox's face, the vermin moved forward, anxious to kill this upstart that had made him exert himself before his followers.

With no warning Striker, stabbed forward, the point of his blade levelled at the fox's chest as he tried to distract him from Blythe, who was now directly behind him.

The fox slashed it away, not noticing until it was almost too late that Blythe was about to swing at his back.

Striker stared at Blythe, fervently hoping that his surprise attack would work. Although he found himself still able to fight, it was a near thing, and he would not be able to keep this up much longer.

The fox, looking at his eyes and seeing that he was staring at something behind him, turned quickly. As he did so, Striker swung his sword with a bellow, giving it everything that he had left.

The vermin was now caught between two foes, and while he had managed to block Blythe's sword and give him a wound in return, he could not avoid Striker's blade. Not fully.

Striker felt satisfaction as his blade cut through the air and through the fox's claws on his right paw, giving him his first real wound.

His foe dropped his sword and screamed in pain, the cry alerting every vermin around him that their chief was in danger.

Striker stepped forward eagerly, hoping that he could end the struggle quickly, but his hopefulness proved unfounded as he found himself completely surrounded by vermin.

He swung his sword in a rough arc, keeping the vermin back. Through the crowd, Striker saw Blythe go down with a club to the back of the head, the last of his patrol. His rage vanished like a snuffed out candle, and he felt remorse. He had failed them all.

One stepped forward, and the Captain of the Long Patrol ended him, stabbing him through his chest and pulling out as quickly as he could, but not quickly enough.

"So this is it," Striker thought as he fell, blood pouring from his side.

------------------------

Blythe gracefully fell into nothing, and everything. Darkness surrounded him completely, and Blythe wondered if he would ever see light again. He closed his eyes as if to sleep and then opened them a few moments later.

Suddenly, the world turned green, and Blythe landed easily on the mossy floor, the impact not bothering him in the slightest. As far as he could see, there were gentle rolling hills and not a cloud in the sky. Blythe sighed in appreciation and closed his eyes for a few seconds, enjoying the warm breeze. Remembering what happened before, he hesitantly opened his eyes, uncertain of what would happen again.

Blythe started as he saw paths appear before him, each one more intriguing than the next. Although the paths were all different, they all carried a degree of familiarity to him.

Frowning, Blythe looked at the paths and weighed his options. He noticed that while some were well- explored, others were not travelled at all. To him, all of them seemed to be equally logical choices, but he had trouble deciding which seemed best. He chose the simplest option.

Choosing the main path straight ahead of him, Blythe walked forward with a spring in his step, glad to be moving and on his way. As he walked, he noticed that all of his injuries were healed, even ones he had received long ago. This did not bother Blythe in the slightest as he reveled in the moment. This was the best he had felt in years, as if all of his worries and concerns had been lifted from his mind.

He should have known that it would not last.

Up ahead, the scout saw a fork in the road and sped up, wondering what he would see. As he came up to the split, he saw something that shook him out of his reverie.

To his left, he saw a scene of devastation, and something else that he thought he would never have seen again. In the far distance, he could see the piles of corpses. The young scout found himself moving on his own volition, his own horror momentarily stifled by his morbid curiosity.

As he approached the bodies, the smell grew more and more overpowering, the rank smell of death almost too much for the hare. Eyes watering, he looked at the bodies, and he saw that some were stiff in death, clasping weapons in silent solemnity. This was in contrast to others barely alive and struggling to breathe, and a few still had the strength to cry out in pain, as death slowly took them.

The fields, which Blythe had grown used to seeing healthy and alive in all shades of green, were grey and brown, every strand as dead as his comrades.

The thought repeated loudly in his mind as he whipped his head back towards the bodies, looking for some visible faces. His heart fell as he quickly confirmed his suspicions, that they were all from his party. The brave and loyal hares that had died defending one of their own. The one who had failed them.

"Blythe?"

The voice was familiar, but so weak that Blythe could not place it. Looking desperately at the mounds of corpses, he started to run towards them, hoping that the hare still lived long enough so that he could reach him.

At this movement, many voices rose up, all calling his name, even the ones that were dead.

Tears welling down his cheeks, he forced his eyes shut and fell to his knees; the volume of the voices was too much for him. He wanted to disappear, to be away from this awful place. This feeling only worsened when he discovered that he could identify every single voice, even the ones that Blythe saw die in the battle. He wondered if this was the end.

He felt weak, and he was growing weaker.

The voices grew louder in pitch as they grew almost hysterical, each one trying to get Blythe's attention. He tried to shut them all out, but the harder he tried to ignore them, the more insistent they got. Soon some sounded angry, and he heard noises that indicated that something was moving towards him. He felt frightened and alone, more so than he had ever felt in his life.

"Leave me alone!" Blythe shouted fearfully. To his astonishment, they listened, and soon all was quiet.

There was a momentary silence, and Blythe felt something vanish. The awful smells were gone, and the air smelled fresh and clean once again. The slight wind returned, playfully coming and going in fitful spurts as Blythe sighed, happy that the horrible nightmare was over.

He heard soft paw-steps behind him, and he opened his eyes.

All of his comrades stood before him, each one unmoving as they silently watched him, their gazes neutral and their faces revealing nothing.

He felt a gentle paw on his shoulder, and he turned and saw that it was a mouse, around his age or perhaps a little younger. This was in contrast to his eyes, eyes that had seen much and seemed older than time itself. If anything was shrouded, it was not his face, which was creased in a sad smile as he pulled Blythe up from the ground gently.

Nodding his thanks, he glanced back around to see if the hares were still there, which they were. They all remained solemn and straight-backed as they stared at him, arms behind their backs as they stood clearly waiting for something as their gazes never wavered from Blythe. A flickering shade stood at the front, every moment growing slightly stronger as it stared through Blythe, his expression blank. The face was the only one whom he could not place, but this did not bother him as he saw what had changed.

Looking around himself, Blythe discovered that the surroundings had changed on him again, each one stark in their tone.

A couple hundred feet behind the mouse lay the same battlefield that Blythe had just fought on, and walked through. This was in contrast to the surroundings behind the hares, with featured the same gentle rolling hills and sweet scents that made Blythe's heart ache in envy.

He wanted to rest, to close his eyes and to truly be at peace; but he had to know something first.

He pointed to behind the mouse and asked a question to all of them, uncertain as of yet about what answer he would receive.

"What lies over there?"

"Pain."

The voice came from the front, and Blythe remembered him well, as they had been best friends in life. Lancejack, who Blythe remembered with cold realization, had been killed by the fox in the thickest part of the battle. He had wanted to help, but there had been too much distance between them.

Tears filled Blythe's eyes as another spoke up, this time the voice unknown.

"Agony."

The voice had come from the back, and because of this, Blythe could not see the speaker. As the second voice faded, another spoke; this time it the mouse's. The gentle voice was filled with sadness and remorse as he spoke one word, a word that, although simple, was filled with terrible knowledge of what was to come.

"Death."

Blythe turned, and the mouse that had been standing in plain brown robes had been replaced by a warrior covered in armour, and although they looked different, they were the same. The mouse held a sword aloft with four words emblazoned upon it, and with a shiver, Blythe realized who the creature was.

Understanding filled him, and he turned from his comrades and moved towards the mouse. Martin knelt before him as he passed, sword implanted into the ground and his head bowed, paying homage to the sacrifice that Blythe was about to make.

He passed Martin the Warrior and broke out into a jog, which soon turned into a run, and finally a full-out sprint. He held nothing back, pushing himself to his limits as he mentally said goodbye to his comrades for the final time.

"Your life is nothing but a failure," a familiar voice whispered as he continued to run, and as he ran forward, his wounds returned, the wounds he had received while journeying throughout life. Before he reached the battlefield, the wound on his arm returned, and as he trotted onto the dead grass, he heard hares call softly the old poem that the Salamandastron hares often repeated to the recently deceased.

You have served the mountain loyally,

But now you have answered the call.

Into the grassy hills you will now go,

And feast in our ancestral halls.

Blythe smiled grimly at the irony, and re-awakened into a world of pain.

------------------------

Blythe looked up, wearily judging the sun's position as he stood on top of the sand dune, the sea's pungent odour for the first time registering to him as the scout wonderingly gazed upon his destination.

"I actually made it," Blythe whispered as he stared at the mountain looming before him. He had never thought to live long enough to deliver his message, but fortune had smiled upon him and he had survived to tell his gruesome story.

He almost expected nothing else; the ghosts of his fallen comrades needed to be avenged.

He moved forward, the sudden shift causing Blythe's whole world to spin as he tumbled and fell down the dune, each impact jolting his arm painfully. Finally, Blythe came to a rest at the bottom, all of the will to continue onward taken out of him.

Something snapped within the scout. He groaned involuntarily as he pushed his paws into the sandy floor, the pain almost overwhelming. He briefly thought of giving up, to lie on the ground and let nature take his course. He felt his resolve weaken, and with a snarl he forced himself to his knees. He would not abandon his mission. It would be completed, at any cost.

This resolution battled with the grim realization that he was growing weaker as the wounds and lack of water took their toll. He just wished that it had waited for a more opportune time.

While the water had run out a day ago and the food a day before that, Blythe still ran, putting the runners from Salamandastron to shame as he sought to complete his odyssey. He would not fail the mission given to him by a dying Captain Striker. Forcing himself, he lightly jogged towards the mountain and forced himself to maintain his pace as he contemplated what he had been told three days earlier.

Blythe remembered waking up amongst all the bodies, the final desperate heave as he felt them crowding in all around him. He remembered the feeling of elation as he breathed the fresh air, the pounding of his heart as he stumbled away from the bodies; all this mixed with the feelings of relief and shame that overwhelmed him.

Most of all, he remembered the startling sound of Striker breathing, each breath more shallower than the last, as Blythe unsteadily moved towards his Captain.

A warrior to the end, Striker's eyes flew open as he heard Blythe approach. The stark look of relief on his face was heart-rending as Blythe glanced at the deep wounds on the body of the heroic hare. He jumped with a start as Striker began to speak haltingly, but his tone was still certain.

"I don't have long," Striker whispered as Blythe drew closer to him.

Blythe nodded, still completely numbed by the events that had just taken place as Striker breathed a deep breath and sighed, the sound so small that he almost didn't hear it.

"The Abbey... their Dibbuns... all taken, by Him." Blythe knew instantly of whom he was speaking, and with a nod Striker proceeded, every word a little quieter as Blythe stared into his Captain's eyes, watching the life drain out of them slowly.

"Save them. Tell... Lord. Warn mountain, before..." He didn't finish as his eyes rolled back and he slumped backwards, the final effort costing him too much.

Blythe froze for a moment, unable to believe that Striker was dead. He wanted to sit there and grieve for his now lost brothers and sisters. He wanted to dig a hole right beside them and join them, but he simply closed the Captain's eyes before standing; one quick nod was the only eulogy that the Captain would likely ever receive.

For him, it was enough. The brave sacrifice of the Long Patrol hares would not be in vain while he still breathed. He had a job to do, and there would be a time for mourning later.

For now, he dampened the raw emotion that he felt, killed the sadness that filled him to his very soul, and replaced it with something that he could use.

He leaned against a tree to recover briefly, forcing himself to breathe deeply. He remembered the duel with remarkable clarity now, even more then the blood and death. It was now shrouded in a red haze, and within that haze, lay one emotion. Hate.

He looked down and looked at his wounds. Mostly non-lethal, but added together and untreated, they would be a problem. He smiled. They thought he was dead. The fox and his cronies would curse their mothers when the full might of Salamandastron was turned upon them. Blythe smiled eagerly at the thought.

Scavenging what meager supplies remained, the scout stored them in a miraculously intact pack and slung it over his shoulder, setting off at a jog, before quickly turning it into a full-out run.

Before it was too late for them all.

------------------------

The gates opened quickly, and Blythe looked around for the one face he had hoped to see. In his blurred vision, he saw whom he sought and he pushed forward, his arm giving a painful twinge as he stumbled towards Colonel Karth.

When he approached, he could barely do a salute, so gravely injured and tired as he was. Blythe almost fell forward, but gratefully he felt the old hare's paws on his shoulders, steadying him, and abruptly felt ashamed at his weakness. "Father would be ashamed," Blythe thought dully as he dutifully recounted the events that had taken place as precisely as he could. Strangely, he found it easier to focus just on the talking than on anything else.

Blythe had just finished recounting how he had been disarmed when his forehead flared and suddenly felt like it was aflame. He staggered, and he felt a swooping sensation as his vision went dark, his last thoughts wondering why everybeast was shouting.

------------------------

Until next time!

[Darkenmal]

Book 1: Chapter 3

------------------------

"I closed my eyes, only to open them again. I did not know what to expect, but I was afraid of knowing the truth; the truth which my dreams have revealed..." - Swiftpaw, Lord of Salamandastron and the Defender of the Western Coast.

------------------------

The grounds erupted into a cavalcade of noise as Blythe fell. Karth caught him just before he hit the ground and over-cut the indignant shouts with one of his own.

"Fetch me a medic, NOW!" Karth screamed, and the closest hares to him saluted hastily and ran towards the mountain, which was just beginning to stir and react to the uproar.

Karth gently laid Blythe on the floor, taking great care to not jostle him in any way. It was clear that he did not have much time left and that he had to take command of the situation before the panic spread further.

Karth looked up from his kneeling position, and saw a few that had not let the panic overtake them. He saw a sergeant whom he had relieved earlier, visibly restraining himself as he watched Karth for orders.

The colonel merely nodded in agreement, and the sergeant understood immediately. He knew what had to be done in a situation like this.

"Long Patrol!"

Everything stopped as the hare's training set in, and the hares stood at attention as the sergeant began roaring out orders.

"Company Three, close the gates and seal them. Archers to the top, and the rest... STAND AT ATTENTION!"

The hares stood at attention as the medics arrived and gently placed Blythe on the stretcher and whisked him away. Karth finally stood up as they left and felt something that he hadn't felt in years.

The urge to kill.

Karth's mind flashed back to his younger days, when as a young recruit he had been so eager to fight, eager to uphold Salamandastron and its legacy. He still felt that desire, but it was tempered by age. Like a fine sword, cared for lovingly by its owner. Karth was still dangerous, and he could still see the terrible event like it was yesterday.

In situations such as this, he would need to close his eyes for a moment, and he was back to that day.

As long as there are vermin who commit acts such as this, the killing will never cease.

The colonel did not know how to feel, knowing that he would have to kill again. Karth felt uneasy at acknowledging that one part of him still lusted for battle. It was like becoming reacquainted with an old friend, a friend whose greeting was by murdering everything he had ever loved.

------------------------

Swiftpaw roared in outrage as he reacted to the news.

"An entire patrol... dead!?"

The Badger Lord did not even wait for a response before he rushed away, cape flapping as he pounded down to the steps towards the infirmary.

"Stand aside!" Swiftpaw growled as the two hares on guard duty visibly blanched and stepped aside.

Rapidly, Swiftpaw scanned the beds, trying to find the lone survivor. In a few moments he saw Blythe, breathing shallowly and growing all the more pale, but still alive. As the Lord of the Western Shores slowly made his way towards him; he found rage momentarily cooling. It would not last, not on a day like this.

Swiftpaw stood over the sole survivor of his ill-fated expedition and stared for a long moment as he took a quick inventory of his wounds. A half glance was all that was needed. He was shocked that the hare had even left the battlefield, never mind completed a run to Salamandastron at a speed that would shame his most able runners. He must know something, something so terrible that he would give everything to make sure we heard it, Swiftpaw mused. He felt his anger returning with a vengeance. "Who would dare attack-"

He was so deep in thought that he jumped as he felt Maia put her paws on his shoulders and slowly turned him around to face her.

"Approach this with a calm head and a heavy heart, my love," Maia said softly as she looked deep into his brown eyes.

Swiftpaw stepped back, not speaking as he continued to hold his gaze with Maia, his face unreadable as he digested her words.

Suddenly, Swiftpaw's face for an instant was completely overcome by pure rage, something that chilled Maia to the bone, but it faded as quickly as it had come as he released a shuddering sigh.

He pulled Maia into a tight embrace, and as they hugged, she was shocked to feel him shaking. His grief was so strong that it radiated off him, and she in turn fought back tears, so strong was his sorrow for his loyal hares.

"I don't know how I can go on, Maia. My dreams whisper of possibilities, all of which are horrifying. I can barely concentrate these days without dwelling upon them and their outcomes. You are the rock that stabilizes me, the rock that keeps me on my footpaws. I cannot keep you from doing your duty, but I also do not know how I can cope without you."

Maia stiffened and pulled back, her tone containing some of the same emotion that Swiftpaw had just released, and Swiftpaw had a confused look as she berated him.

"I appreciate your honesty, Swiftpaw, and I love you for it; but there are others who rely on you as the Lord of the Mountain. The Long Patrol- " Maia cut off suddenly as she saw Swiftpaw grimace, and she for a moment she felt the terrible pain that was emanating from her mate, who until now had seemingly kept it all bottled up within himself. She looked at him with worry in her eyes, but he waved his paw wearily, urging her to move on. Her face softened as he looked into Swiftpaw's eyes, trying to convey the love she felt towards him for being who he was. She then continued, albeit a little more gently. "The other poor creatures who rely on us for protection... but most of all our son Melator. Your heir, and our legacy."

Swiftpaw's confusion vanished as her words sank in. Soon he couldn't meet her gaze, and his shoulders slowly slumped. He sat on the bed next to Blythe and held his head in his paws.

Maia did not know how to react to this change, so she stood there watching him as he stared at the floor.

After a long while, she could not stand it any longer and knelt in front of him, gently clasping his paws and gazing into his eyes, which now looked determined and a little bit afraid.

"I've been a terrible ruler as of late," Swiftpaw murmured softly, staring at her but also through her.

Maia almost jumped in and interrupted him but something held her back from speaking, so she contented herself with squeezing his paws tightly as he continued to speak.

"I've let myself grow lax and lazy. I don't train anymore, I barely interact with my hares; I have been shirking my duties as the Badger Lord of Salamandastron and the Western Coasts. Now a squad has been killed to the last hare because of me. This will not continue. It cannot continue."

Swiftpaw's paw clenched into a fist, and Maia felt it shake as he struggled to contain his emotions as he let loose everything he had contained within him.

"My son is nearly three seasons of age, and I have not even given him his first rites. I see the stares of my hares, their looks of confusion and anger. I see yours, full of understanding and conviction. I myself feel all of these emotions. I loathe myself for my inaction, but whatever I do next will be critical."

Maia almost stopped breathing at his words, marvelling at how acute his sensibilities had become, and shuddered at his next sentence.

"I fear what I see in my dreams, and I hate what I could become; what I would be made into."

Swiftpaw looked up, locking eyes with the one he had fallen in one with, his mate, his Maia. He smiled, a reaction born from determination and doubt, knowing what he was saying was the right course, but unsure if he had it in him to complete the task.

"I will become the Badger Lord that I was meant to be."

------------------------

The mess hall was as crowded as usual, but instead of the usual hustle and bustle and overall good cheer, it was almost completely silent as nearly every hare stared at their meal and ate quietly. Most of them had lost something out there today. Their innocence, something precious that could never be returned. It had been stolen from all of them.

Karth sat alone at the officers' table, trying to remain stoic and strong for his hares' sake. He sat straight back, lightly blowing on his spoon as he ate his soup, trying to think of anything but what had just happened.

"Don't think," Karth whispered. Don't feel. Instantly, he was angry with himself. If I don't feel, then I would not mourn, and if I did not mourn...

Dangerous thoughts. Very dangerous. It was something he had to relearn every time, and every time he thought it would get easier. It never did.

He glanced up and saw his hares. Not a word was said, and if it had been under any different circumstances, it would have been pure bliss. Karth looked at every one of his hares, and although none were openly shedding tears, he knew. He could read them all as easily as he could read a well-worn book. They were all in pain. A pain so deep, so unfathomable, that one could get lost in it. Permanently.

Karth slowly sipped another spoonful of his soup as he pondered the problem that lay before him. What was he to do with this... grim mood that had settled upon all of them. How could he tell them it was all right, when it wasn't. How could he-

Karth stood up, and instantly all eyes were upon him. He walked in a calm, deliberate pace, his features showing no sign of strain or worry, the ideal look for an officer of the Long Patrol. You were never supposed to know what an officer was about to think or do. He was thankful for that, as he was about to do something entirely unexpected.

Slowly, the colonel undid one of his badges on his chest. He paid them no attention as he worked, ignoring the small gasps as he pulled it free. Turning it around, he pulled out the small metal pin in the back. He put the old piece of fabric in his pocket, and lifted his head up and gazed upon all of them. His hares, the hares that he had watched grow up before his very eyes.

He considered it a blessing, although he never did like the jokes that they made when they thought he wasn't looking. He didn't really mind, and he even found a few of them funny. He appreciated that they respected him enough to try and include him, but it was the fact that it reminded him that he was growing old. He considered his pride to be one of his many faults, and that daily dosage of truth was one of the few things that got to him.

And he did feel it usually. As he stood, his bones creaked, a constant reminder of his now slightly dulled reflexes that he had come to rely on. However, what he did have in abundance was experience. With this experience, he was about to share something special. This could only be taught once, and it had to be taught perfectly. He hoped with every fiber of his being that it worked.

The colonel lifted the pin to his enraptured audience, and dropped it. The pin clattered off the floor, and the noise seemingly echoed throughout the entire mess hall. Karth almost smiled at the puzzled looks, but he didn't. It would only spoil the fun.

"Let it be known," Karth intoned in a mock serious voice.

He let the pause stretch out, and he knew that he had them all. He took a deep breath and resumed his overly serious voice.

"Let it be known that for the first time in the history of the Long Patrol, you could hear a pin drop in the mess."

He knew it was a terrible joke and that it was hardly funny in the least. However, it was something entirely unexpected, and with their present condition along with the fact that he never told jokes, he hoped that something beautiful would happen.

It did. One hare in the front snorted, a great lump of a hare who was well known for his own terrible jokes, and beside him a hare laughed. A couple of hesitant smiles and chuckles, and then all of them were laughing. Karth felt the room grow warmer as his hares howled in laughter, and the one that first laughed came up to him and hugged him, a long, loving embrace that was entirely genuine. Karth felt a tear roll down his cheek and quickly scrubbed if off, not wanting to ruin the moment.

Karth gently disentangled himself from the hare and he started to move towards the door, not wanting to break down in front of them all. They all moved out of his way, and Karth nodded in appreciation to each one, not trusting himself to speak as they all shouted his name. He was so proud of them all.

Soon he was close to the door and temporarily composing himself, he turned quickly and barked out an order for silence. They all stopped dead and saluted as one, and held the salute as Karth glared at each one of his hares, making sure he locked eyes with every single one of them, even if it was for a brief moment.

"Your standing orders are to grieve properly for the squadron of brave and loyal hares that died for each and every one of you. You are to talk and to laugh, to sing and to dance. You will remember the good times that you had and the bad times. But you will remember and mourn them. Sing their praises and break out some October Ale! You are all dismissed and relieved for the entire day."

Karth snapped off a perfect parade salute and rounded the corner as the mourners began to applaud, and they did not stop as the colonel collapsed against the wall, taking deep breaths as he tried and failed to keep his composure.

The party soon started, and every one of his hares began to follow his orders to the letter. They grieved together, and they all remembered each one of the hares that had been their fellow brothers and sisters. They reflected on their loss with sadness, but they did it with a smile on each and every one of their faces. Karth hoped they would become strong, stronger than he ever was, and then maybe they would be able to remember this valuable lesson.

Karth thought of the first time he had learned his lesson, and he finally lost it completely. He let himself go and soon, he was immune to the world as he sank to the floor with his head bowed. His shoulders shook, and he jumped as he felt a familiar paw on his shoulder.

He glanced up through the tears and saw it was Maia, crouched down in front of him. With a small smile, she knelt in front of him and spoke gently.

"Each one of us does it differently, but that doesn't mean there is ever a better way than what others may use. You did a commendable thing in cheering up those poor hares, and in leaving before you could ruin your own hard work. I am so very proud of you, colonel."

Karth remembered the last time somebeast told him that they were proud of him and cried harder, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her tightly, clinging to her like a babe.

Maia gently wrapped her arms around his back and rocked him back and forth whispering so quietly that he almost did not hear.

"Grieve for our lost hares Karth. Grieve for the hares who will never be able to find love or never watch their sons and daughters grow up. Grieve for what may, and what could have been. But most of all, grieve for what is still yet to come."

They sat there a long time in their own little world until Karth suddenly let go and forced himself up in a standing position, wincing at the sudden movement. Maia did the same, and she slightly turned and looked through the door at the ongoing party. She never moved as the colonel addressed her.

"You have my thanks, my Lady. I was acting un-according to my position as colonel and acting commander of Salamandastron's forces. I can't afford to let myself wallow in my self-pity."

Maia smiled disturbingly, and Karth noticed that it held none of her usual warmth. She glanced back at him and he shrank back. The legendary soft glow of the Bloodwrath emanated through her eyes as she began to speak, her words coming out in short and controlled bursts.

"Whoever did this will wallow in a lot more then self-pity by the time I am done with them. They will wallow through fields of blood and ash, of suffering and loss. I will kill every last one of the vermin myself before I would let them take another one of our own. They will rue this day as they choke on their own blood before we send them to Hellgates. This I swear, by my honor as a badger and by the oath I gave to protect and serve."

Karth remembered the oath he gave as well and the reasons for which he gave it. He smiled, putting every ounce of hate and malice into it. "That they will, Lady Maia, that they will."

[Darkenmal]

Book 1: Chapter 4

------------------------

As I weep, I rage. As I rage, I shout. As I cry;

I wonder.

I wonder how my life will be later defined.

I wonder.

How I wish I could take back what was once mine.

I wonder.

How to escape this trap, before I fall to the edifices of time?

How I wonder.

'Tis a simple thing, the gift of belief.

But it did not stop him from wanting to leave,

And to hold on, as instinctively as wanting to breathe.

Death.

The last doorway for some, a new dawn for many.

How I wish I had the courage to let go, but I am already empty.

Pain.

How sad it is to fight, when the battle is already over.

But what choice is there?

I fight, while my doom crawls ever closer.

The hardest part about forgiveness is not receiving it from others, but allowing yourself to be absolved.

Forgive me...

------------------------

Present day...

Swiftpaw awoke, wondering if his son's threat was for real. He went down for breakfast, and with a sigh of relief, he saw Buck and Melator sitting beside each other.

Buck animatedly was trying to lighten his friend's dark mood, while Melator stolidly ate, his face like stone as he stared straight ahead, acknowledging his friend with the barest of grunts or small nods.

Swiftpaw took his place at the head of the main table and tried to catch his son's eye. It was a futile effort, he knew, but he had to try at the very least. He had to try and make him understand his motives, why everything he did was for him in the end.

When enough hares had left to do their allotted duties, Swiftpaw left his all but empty plate and slowly moved toward his son, intent on telling him the truth.

Instead, his son stood up, and without another word or even a glance at his father, he left to go to the duelling pits. Buck followed, with a look of apology in his eyes as he glanced at his Badger Lord.

Swiftpaw nodded and sighed. He remembered very well what it was like, to be on the brink of such a momentous decision.

It had changed him forever.

------------------------

Eighteen seasons previously...

A harsh scream emanated from the command tent, and all of the vermin nearby flinched at the sound.

"Unnatural he is," muttered a stoat as he turned the carcass of a bird over a small fire. Two weasels and one rat sat around him, their eyes flickering to him briefly as the bird sizzled, confirming it was almost ready.

"Now's th' time, lads," the rat whispered urgently as he nervously looked around himself, his face pale as he reassured himself they were the only ones close by.

One of the weasels gave the rat a quizzical look, but when he said nothing more he resumed his gazing upon the flickering flames.

The other weasel laughed bitterly, a great tub of a vermin whose three separate chins wobbled as he chuckled at his fellow vermin's naivety.

"Yew think now's the time, eh? Go on, brave warrior, heroically finish off th' warlord while he's writhin' in agony. Don't yew think there's guards round his tent, idjit? They could be listenin' t' yore ugly gob right now even."

Following the weasel's outburst, they all lapsed into a sullen silence as they all stared at the fire and the now well-cooked bird.

"Take it off, or there'll be nuthin left of it," the stoat interjected.

With a sigh, the rat ripped it off and tore off a chunk of the bird and stuffed it into his mouth, disregarding the pain as he sighed in contentment.

"Aaah, 'tis th' life, ain't it? Grub, good mates... nuthin would-"

"Shaddup," the fat weasel hissed as one of the Redwallers trundled past, eyes dulled over from pain and lack of sleep. They were all as still as the grave while the mouse moved towards the tent, the occupant of which had gone disturbingly quiet.

"Wot'd ye think that's for?" he rat asked, his face one of confusion as the tent flaps parted and the mouse stepped inside.

"I think th' mousie's is goin' t' find us a healer," the fat weasel whispered knowingly.

Without warning, the other weasel stood up and began walking away, quickly disregarding his former companions and their confused looks.

"Fools," Splitface hissed, ripping off his disguise and blending into the night.

The darkness called him, but Blythe had one more mission to complete. He forsook the temptation and awoke for the final time.

Blythe winced as the sunlight blinded him and groaned at the pain as it hit him like a ton of bricks.

His eyes quickly adjusted to the light, but his vision still remained blurred. He breathed in and was surprised at the amount of effort it took. With a small shake of his head, he tried to gather the attention of anybeast close by. He did not have time to waste.

"Water," Blythe croaked as his vision cleared. Before him was his Badger Lord, the one creature that he needed to see.

Swiftpaw stood, his features a mix of anguish and rage. Blythe had heard the whispers before he left, of how incapable and unworthy he was in comparison to his father. These were only mutterings, but the fact that they existed in itself was worrying.

In truth, he had barely even seen Swiftpaw these last few seasons, and he had always remained one of those who did not complain. He would always maintain faith.

"Let me get that for you," the Badger Lord said softly.

With a swish of his cloak, Swiftpaw hurried away, off to do the labor that was never meant to be done by one of a badger's status, and Blythe reconsidered what he knew. Lord Swiftpaw had never been haughty, but he had definitely never been so... humble. To him at least, his Badger Lord had been one that was always aware of his station and of what his rank entailed. He never rubbed anybeast's noses in it, but both parties always knew.

Now... something had changed, and Blythe was unsure if this was a good thing.

A few moments later, Swiftpaw returned with one of his own personal goblets, which was filled with water. Blythe's eyes grew wide at the enormity of this gesture. Drinking out of this cup was reserved only for himself or others that he as the Badger Lord deemed worthy; and as far as he knew nobeast else had drunk from the goblet while Swiftpaw had reigned. He was the first.

"Please, let me help you with this," Swiftpaw said, holding the chalice gently to Blythe's lips. Blythe opened his mouth, and the Badger Lord slowly tipped his paw, allowing enough water to trick that Blythe could drink steadily, but not too much as to make him choke. At the first hint of Blythe wanting to pull back, Swiftpaw gently pulled the chalice back and placed it on the small night-table next to his bed.

"What I have done for you now is nothing in comparison to what I and many others owe you, Blythe. You have done a deed that should have been impossible for a healthy creature; yet you with your grievous wounds managed to complete it in only a few days. You will be remembered with gratitude and great respect, although I wish I could do more. You deserve more-" Swiftpaw cut himself off as he almost choked on his words, and a single tear trailed down his cheek. Blythe had never seen such sadness and anger before, and for a moment he just sat there, touched by his words.

"Now," Swiftpaw uttered, his tone neutral and his gaze so penetrating that Blythe fought the urge to close his eyes.

"What happened to you and my brave hares?"

------------------------

Karth sat by the open window, staring at the vast emptiness that was the sand dunes. Whatever happened during his day, he could always end it by being at peace.

Karth did not know what to feel about the events that had occurred a few days earlier. Swiftpaw had emerged a different creature then the one he had recently been.

For the few seasons after the birth of Melator, an overall air of excitement had filled the mountain, and Karth had personally never known such a happy and prosperous period. That had changed after Swiftpaw had emerged from his chambers one day, the chambers only accessible by a badger and other legendary warriors that had proven themselves.

As far as he knew outside of Badger Lords, only Martin the Warrior had been worthy enough to go into the chamber, when he had went inside with Boar the Fighter. What had happened in the chambers that day only the two of them knew, but it was said that Martin's famous sword had been a product of their meeting.

Only in times of great need or wise council did a Badger Ruler go into those chambers, and everytime one would come out, something would... change. Every Badger Lord and Lady that wished it was laid to rest in those chambers, and only when a new ruler arrived did the recently deceased take his or her rightful place on their own throne.

When Swiftpaw had come out of those chambers, his change was to his detriment. Gone was the proud and graceful air that he had worn like a comfortable cloak. Instead he was quiet, elusive, and moody. Not even Maia had been able to talk him out of his moods, and as such, the mountain slowly changed. No longer was the mountain a happy place. It was as if somebeast had recently died, except they did not know who died as of yet.

A season had passed, and Karth had finally snapped when he had seen that the Badger Lord's place had gone empty for the third time in a row. He vaguely remembered stomping up the stairs, about to give Swiftpaw a piece of his mind, a creature he had loved like his own blood.

Any guards in his way had subsided their complaints at one look on his face. They had all stepped aside, and from a few knowing nods, they knew what was about to happen. Karth hadn't cared about what they thought. He was going to give his aid to someone who sorely needed it.

When he approached Swiftpaw's personal chambers, he saw that the door was ajar. Instantly, alarm bells went off in Karth's head, and he slowly made his way to the right side of the door and peeked in.

Inside was Swiftpaw, Lord of Salamandastron and the Western Shores, sobbing quietly as Melator watched him from his crib, his eyes wide.

Karth began to move away, far away from the door, until he heard Swiftpaw talking through his sobs, and he then moved in to listen better to what he was saying.

"Nothing I can do... so helpless... why bother to continue... to resist?" Karth stopped breathing for a moment as the implications of what his Lord was saying sunk in. He was dangerously close to giving up, and giving up for good.

Karth ached to go inside and help in anyway he could, but something in his gut told him not to. The feeling did not come often, but he had learned long ago to trust it.

He turned and walked away, ignoring the confused looks and gapes from his subordinates, and hoped that he had made the right decision.

Two seasons later, it appeared that whatever funk Swiftpaw had gone into, he had managed to claw out of it. After the interview with young Blythe, he had gone outside and had begun to train like a mad-beast, throwing himself completely into his training and not stopping until Maia had literally forced him to. This had gone on for a few days until suddenly he had not appeared for dinner.

Immediately, he had gone to Maia, and instead of the worried look that he was used to, it was one of hopefulness.

"He has made great strides in discovering who he really is," the Badger Lady said softly.

"We never knew him before?" Karth asked confusedly.

Maia's smile grew wider as she regarded Karth's puzzled look and nodded in satisfaction.

"He has grown more determined to do what's right; more firm in his own judgement. Swiftpaw is not the same badger he was a few days previously, and tomorrow you will know exactly what he is planning."

The words had pleased him greatly, and he had gone to finish his meal with his hares, who had grown far more respectful of him since the party he had thrown a few days previously.

However afterwards... something bothered him. He trusted Maia with his life, but he felt uneasy. Something was about to happen.

And he hoped that Swiftpaw was ready for the incoming storm.

With a sigh, Karth leaned back, happy to relax before whatever was going to happen would hit them. As he began to close his eyes to doze, he thought he saw something in the corner of his eye.

Disregarding it, he went to sleep, until suddenly he jerked awake, angry at himself as he realized what was happening.

A single vermin scout approached Salamandastron; and he bore the white flag of truce.

As Blythe finished his tale, Swiftpaw realized he had been holding his breath. He released it, shuddering as his emotions exacted their toll. The death and destruction that the young hare had witnessed was something no beast should ever see.

Even now, the battle was claiming its last victim as Blythe struggled to relay the last, crucial bits of his story. When he finished, his voice was little more than a whisper and his face had grown even paler.

Swiftpaw clasped the hare's paw and leaned in close. Blythe sat up a little, his gaze momentarily alert as he held on for a few moments more, intent on receiving his Badger Lord's message.

"You have done far beyond what is expected of you, and little of what I can say can in actuality mean much; except this. You and your brethren will be avenged, I swear it. Rest easy, warrior, go to death at peace with yourself and what you have accomplished. You will be remembered for all time as one of our greatest heroes."

Blythe nodded slightly, tears rolling down his face as he smiled for the last time. The smile seemed to erase all traces of worry and pain from his features; and with a momentary pause, he died.

Swiftpaw stood up, staring down at Blythe's body. Slowly, hesitantly, he raised his right paw and put them over the scout's face. He closed Blythe's eyes and settled him into a more comfortable position. If one were to look at him from a distance, it would almost look like he was sleeping.

"He is sleeping," Swiftpaw snarled, his entire body shaking as he tried to fight the rage that threatened to overwhelm him.

"The same sleep that will soon claim our enemies."

------------------------

At last, one of the scouts saw the newcomer and blew his horn, sounding the general alarm. The horn blasts echoed throughout the entire mountain, its three short notes notifying the arrival of a potential enemy.

An armed enemy.

Following protocol, everybeast dropped whatever they were doing and went to their assumed positions, waiting for their next commands with the excitement of warriors eager to kill, and to avenge.

Karth leapt up from his seat, already knowing exactly what was about to happen. Since he was nearly at the top of the mountain, he threw decorum out the window and ran down the stairs, throwing the entire staff into a general disarray, with some convinced that they were under attack.

"Follow me!" Karth barked, and his officers stopped what they were doing and followed him, content that he had a handle on the situation, as he nearly always did.

As he ran down the stairs, Karth noticed that it was not just his officers that seemed content to follow his lead, but everybeast else as well. Generally, he would allow somebeast else to take control in a situation like this, but lately he had been feeling far younger and more energetic; it just felt right.

In what seemed like a few moments, Karth found himself near the main door. He shoved outward and the doors flew open, and he winced as the twilight almost blinded him for a moment before he saw the vermin.

He was a foul, loathsome beast, decked out in earrings and tattoos, which spanned his entire body. The rat had a dagger strapped across his middle, along with a sword on each side. Karth could just barely make out the swords, and hissed as he realized that they were trophies recovered from the recent battle, with Striker's sword in the vermin's paw as he waited for Karth to approach him.

Taking a calming breath, Karth slowly walked towards the rat; whose features took on a vague sneer as he saw who was in command.

"Lissen here, Grandpa, bring out the Badger and we can get to the real discussion- urk!"

The vermin was silenced as Karth held his sword to the rat's throat, his paw quivering as he fought to keep himself from slitting the vermin's throat.

"Say what you have come here to say and leave," Karth uttered, every syllable spat out as his grip on his blade tightened.

The rat's sneer deepened, and he opened his mouth to retort but stopped with a slight frown at the expression on Karth's face.

"Fine," the rat muttered, slowly drawing back from Karth's weapon and carefully drawing out a piece of parchment from his side.

An insidious smile spread across the rat's face as he began to read from the parchment, and Karth could only gape at what the rat said.

"Swiftpaw of Salamandastron and his underlings, I bring you my humble greetings. Please give my messenger whatever hospitality you can provide, as Blackcut has travelled very far to deliver this message to you. I take credit for the destruction of your Patrol, and I will take credit for any more that dare trespass into Mossflower, as it is as of now under my complete and total authority. Redwall is mine, and there is nothing you can do to save it. If you try to help Redwall or to reinforce it in anyway, I will bring about the same deaths as I did to your hares: through decapitation, maiming, slitting of their-"

"ENOUGH!" A voice boomed, and everybeast listening turned as the main doors smashed open to reveal Swiftpaw in all of his rage. In his right paw was his sword and in his left was his sceptre, something he brought out only in times of celebration or rituals. One look at Swiftpaw's face was enough to reveal which Swiftpaw what had just been doing, and Karth found himself smiling for what felt like the first time in years. It looked and felt feral but he did not care. Not as he once did.

"You dare enter my mountain and utter threats to me and my hares? You think you have the right to desecrate the flag of peace and the bodies of our dead? You think you have the strength to resist an enraged Salamandastron? You think... that you have won?!"

As Swiftpaw approached the rat, the vermin drew his sword, the blade that had belonged to Striker. This proved to be a mistake, as Swiftpaw slapped the rat's paw aside and grabbed him by the neck, choking him and slamming him into the front wall; and his legs dangled a few feet from the ground as Swiftpaw roared in his face.

"You think you can challenge me and my own? If i do not manage to destroy you and your kin, my son will take up my mantle and finish the job. All of those who align with you- you are all walking deadbeasts!"

Swiftpaw turned back towards the crowd, lifting up the rat whose face was turning blue, and threw him like a discarded rag. The rat crumpled to the ground outside of the front gates and lay there not moving, barely breathing as Lord Swiftpaw turned again towards the crowd and shouted towards them all.

"I am the Lord of the Salamandastron and the Western Shores, and I swear upon my title and my life that the lives of the hares and the creatures that the Fox has slaughtered and duly stolen shall be avenged!"

Swiftpaw lifted his sword and sceptre as the amassed crowd of hares roared their approval and stomped their feet; and this time Karth joined them, tears streaming down his face as he saw the Badger Lord that he always dreamed of, the badger that Swiftpaw had always had the potential to be.

Swiftpaw stood there, his face shining and his tribal markings dancing in the twilight as he soaked in the shouts and applause from his hares. After a minute, he raised his paws for silence when he realized that the applause would not stop.

"Lady Maia will take two squadrons of our finest hares and root out the Fox, or die in the attempt! I will stay here to help train our forces and to prepare our defences if she does not succeed wholeheartedly in rooting out this evil!"

Karth looked at his leader and discovered who he now was. Capable, deadly and compassionate. Qualities that he had long strove to cultivate and things that he had hoped would surface in Swiftpaw; attributes that had been lying dormant but had now awoken.

Slowly, Karth raised his sword in the air, its edge pointed toward the half moon. As he did this, everybeast around him did the same, and soon everybeast was standing still, arms pointed towards the sky in a vast array of death as Swiftpaw swung his gaze to Karth's.

With a smile, Swiftpaw raised his sword, his sceptre lying at his side. Karth noticed movement at the corner of his eye and saw it was Maia, her lance held up in one fist, her eyes full of contentment as she too waited.

Swiftpaw's gaze switched from Karth towards his mate, and he smiled a special, intimate smile: a secretive look that only creatures that understand each other perfectly read.

Finally, he drew a deep breath and shouted the famous battle-cry of Salamandastron as loudly as he could. In tears, Karth shouted it as well, along with the other hares and Lady Maia.

Their shouts echoed off of the rock and into the far countryside, where all who could listen heard and reported what they heard to others. Soon the news would spread across the entire area, that Salamandastron was gathering its forces to march, to wage war on the vermin who had inflicted such a grievous defeat.

As Karth shouted, he reflected on who he was, as a creature of Salamandastron and as a sworn hare of the Long Patrol."To defend the weak and to protect the innocent; to show no mercy upon our sworn foes and to mourn our fallen comrades. As a Hare of Salamandastron and a sworn defender of these ideals, I vow to uphold these oaths and to uphold them always. Forever am I bound to this pledge, and forever shall I be remembered. Let our banners fly as our enemies bleed, and let us celebrate while we are still among the living!"

Karth smiled as he remembered the last word of the pledge, the word that he was shouting now, with hundreds of others. As the shouting began to die down, he took another deep breath and shouted, unable to let the moment end.

"EULALIAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

------------------------

"When will I be able to resume my normal activities?" Dusktail asked, gritting his teeth as he shifted his damaged paw. "How long do you think I can afford to lie here drinking your foul brews?"

Silvia paused in her examination of Dusktail's mended paw, raising an eyebrow at the warlord. "How much time can you afford to lose if you get sick or injured again because you didn't heed my advice?"

Dusktail grumbled under his breath, glaring at the vixen for a moment before settling back down without complaining further. Silvia smiled to herself.

It had been only a few moons since she had first stepped off a boat, sent from her homeland at the behest of her sponsor to help the Warlord enact his plans... and to ensure that he stayed on task. So far, the white-furred fox could state that Dusktail's plans were coming along magnificently, despite his wounding and subsequent illnesses, although one of his plans in particular made her anxious. Dusktail's stares had become increasingly audacious as of late, and she did not want to even think of what that could possibly mean for the both of them.

Silvia was about to tease him for grumbling like a kit, but she found her eyes drawn to Dusktail's.

"He trusts me," Silvia realized and nearly frowned when the realization caused her stomach to tighten slightly.

Giving herself a mental swat, she stood, pasting on a smirk as she leaned over the Warlord, whose own face was also showing hints of a warm smirk. After another moment, Silvia decided to have mercy on the wounded fox and decided to answer his question.

"You will be able to resume your plans when I deem you able, my Lord. I will not allow my hard work to go to waste when I am far away and unable to be of service to your greatness."

Dusktail snorted at his healer's candor before turning his scrutiny to one of her own attendants. "Fetch me Splitface," he ordered, and Silvia noted that the warmth that she had seen was gone, replaced by a cold veneer that suggested an entirely different creature lived behind those brown eyes.

Oddly, Silvia found she wasn't afraid.

Waiting an acceptable amount of time after the attendant had left the tent, Silvia bowed her head and moved to leave, but she was stopped when Dusktail spoke again.

"Stay. I wish for you to listen to our discussion – and your services may soon be needed once again."

The vixen bit back a laugh before it started. As she did so, she observed the smirk that momentarily appeared on Dusktail's face once again, before it slid back into remote stillness.

The implications were troubling, but before Silvia could ponder the injured fox's actions further, Splitface arrived, looking curiously at Silvia before turning to the Warlord.

Silvia watched Dusktail's eyes narrow at the impudence of his captain. She had seen the faint suggestion of a power struggle between the two in public, but this was the first time that it was so overt. Normally, all that came in contact with Dusktail were supposed to at least bow, but Splitface had walked in as if he had little care in the world.

Silvia subtly moved to the side of the tent, intent on discerning the dynamics between the two, who were still staring at each other silently. It was as if they moments away from squaring off in The Ring, one of the things that Dusktail had added to the camp keep passions down before the flared out of control, which was still not an uncommon occurrence with how many creatures there were here.

Finally, Splitface smiled, his expression sour as he lowered his head mockingly, deciding seemingly that while Dusktail was weakened, he was not by any means incapacitated. A wise move, if a disappointing one.

"Begin," Dusktail said softly and with a touch of imperiousness, holding himself up with no indication of the pain that he was doubtlessly feeling. Inwardly, Silvia nodded at the Warlord's poise. It was obvious that the two of them would eventually fight, but his grace in victory had postponed that day, at least for a while.

"Warlord," Splitface began, his voice impassive as he outlined what he had managed to accomplish while Dusktail had been recovering from his wound. "The issue of the captured Dibbuns has been resolved. They have been set to work maintaining the camp, and our plan proceeds as scheduled. Redwall has attempted on more than one occasion to speak to us, demanding to know what we want with their young, but we rebuffed them as you requested."

"Good," Dusktail said with a nod, all traces of distain wiped from his face and replaced with an intensity that Silvia found intriguing. There were definitely things that he had done so far that she did not agree with, but nobeast was faultless, and his willingness to lead had never been an issue.

"Your forces are becoming tired of waiting," Splitface said, sounding bored. "And I cannot help but notice that the other officers are voicing the same sentiments. They are beasts of action and are unused to such a length of inactivity. What is your next plan?"

"The Dibbuns will be released shortly," Dusktail said tersely. He suddenly lifted his injured paw, bringing it to Splitface's attention with a harsh imitation of a smile. "You will now address me as Barkclaw, as Dusktail is dead. In his place is a fox who is not nearly as forgiving as before. Do you understand this, my friend?"

The not-so veiled threat partially conveyed by Dusktail's repaired paw had skillfully distracted Splitface from the most important thing that Dusktail had said – or had left unspoken. The emotion in Dus- no, Barkclaw's eyes as he spoke of the Dibbuns was not so easily hidden from those who had been specifically trained to look for the subtlest of change in a creature's body language or voice. That he was so concerned for the Dibbuns was strange and bore further investigation in the future.

"I understand perfectly, my lord Barkclaw," Splitface said with a bow, his eyes flickering away to the sharpened stakes of wood at the end of the fox's paw.

"Very good," Barkclaw said with a sniff, carefully placing his paw back on his leg as he nodded towards the tent flap.

"Go now, and prepare my forces. Salamandastron has sent us a welcoming party, and it would be remiss of us if we weren't there to greet them."

"My lord," Splitface said, his ruined face tearing into a lopsided grin as he inclined his head respectfully and left, his grey cloak fluttering behind him.

The moment his captain left, Barkclaw turned back to Silvia and smiled, becoming Dusktail once again.

"You were examining my paw before I interrupted you?" he said softly.

Silvia sighed in exasperation, but still found herself moving to examine his paw and other vitals. "What, did you bring him in just so you could impress me?" Silvia said idly, not really expecting an answer.

"And if I did?" Barkclaw replied, looking as serious as he ever had.

"Then you wasted your time," Silvia said sternly, placing his paw back to its former position before stepping back to bow, leaving the tent with her silent aides before he could respond.

[Skyblade]

I read it all, and I'm glad I did! This is an interesting tale, covered by a perpetual sense of foreboding that I really like. Considering the happenings of the present time, I imagine that it ends quite tragically (maybe because of the characters' actions).

Eloquent style with a good grip on emotion (I also looked up the vocabulary woods I didn't know. Thanks! ).

Pretty cool that the title is "Dusktail", too. I wonder what significance that makes.

[Darkenmal]

Thanks for your thoughts Skyblade! You are right in that Dusktail will end tragically... although not everything will result in tragedy. The name 'Dusktail' is the name of the eventual main character, who doesn't make an appearance until the second book.

------------------------

Book 1: Chapter 5

------------------------

"We are all doomed to repeat the same mistakes... it is inevitable. However, what makes us who and what we are is how willing you remain to fight to the bitter end, and what you are willing to sacrifice for victory." - Unnamed

------------------------

It was done.

Swiftpaw felt relief, and felt shame at his relief as he slowly moved up the stairs, feeling exhausted as he made his way toward his bedroom.

Pensively, he thought of how it had gone that day, and how Melator would be now that he had gotten what he wished.

He thought of how he could have made him decide differently, of anything but what he chose, but...

"It was going to happen, it was just the matter of time," Swiftpaw mumbled to himself as he reached the top of the stairs.

He walked into his room and to his surprise, he saw his entire room was spotless, with a fire blazing merrily and a hare sitting on a chair in front of the flames, her back turned to him as she held out her paws for warmth.

Choking back tears, Swiftpaw walked over and saw the one creature that knew him better than himself. The ancient hare smiled as he pulled up a chair beside her, and they sat there for a long time, each staring into the flames and seeing something different.

He was thankful for her, and sometimes he didn't know what he would do without her, even though she had not been Melator's nurse for many seasons. Sometimes they would sit and talk for hours on end, and their discussions could range from the changing of the seasons to the times before memory, when life was a never-ending battle, the only peace being found in death and the cold earth.

Swiftpaw stared into the flames, seeing the same thing repeatedly in his eyes, along with another event that he saw every day in his dreams.

Swiftpaw blinked and looked at the flickering flames themselves. For some reason they seemed vaguely familiar, and yet...

With a crunch, one of the logs snapped, lightly showering Swiftpaw and the sleeping hare with sparks. Swiftpaw blinked at the momentary pain and brushed his fur with the back of his paw. He looked over at the hare and snorted. She was still fast asleep, her face completely at peace as she breathed slowly and deeply, completely obvious to the world. Swiftpaw felt envy, and at the same time a little contempt, no matter how hard he fought it down.

Still smiling slightly, the Badger Lord returned his gaze to the fire, and his smile quickly disappeared.

The flames flickered, and for a moment Swiftpaw saw something that stirred deep within, and glanced towards the corner.

For a brief moment, the flames had flared, and Swiftpaw had seen a banner flying in the wind: the same banner that he had kept safe for the last eighteen seasons.

The banner was propped up in the corner now, the blood on it still visible Swiftpaw thought as he moved towards his desk, tiredness forgotten as he regretfully picked up a quill.

------------------------

Eighteen seasons previously...

Maia had always loved the sea. The sheer strength of it, the constrained wrath that was always being held back... only for it to be unleashed at the right moment. After what had happened earlier that night, everything had clicked into place. Swiftpaw had become the ruler that she had known he could be, and the wrath of Salamandastron would be truly released.

Maia was still shaking, and it wasn't from the cold. She hadn't felt such joy in a long time. The boundless enthusiasm; she felt like she could shift mountains on pure emotion.

Lord Swiftpaw stood beside her, his expression grim and his stance nervous. He stared, not blinking, as the dawn rapidly approached them.

"If only I could make this moment last forever," the Badger Lord whispered. His voice was filled with awe as it always was; just from the sheer natural beauty that was before him.

Maia turned, and her eyes locked into his. To her surprise, she saw a deep impenetrable sadness lurking within, and Maia shuddered at the weight of it. Swiftpaw put on a brave face for the others, but for her alone would his true feelings be brought forth.

"I now know what I must do- what I have to do. I know what I have to become to overcome it. It could tear me apart; and it probably will. I fear the events that will soon come. I fear for you."

Maia felt like she had just been slapped. He truly thought that she was in grave danger, despite her protests that she would be well-guarded and that she could defend herself. Maia knew that if she left with the entire standing army, Swiftpaw would not be satisfied.

"A born worrier," Maia thought sadly.

Swiftpaw looked at her strangely, and Maia realized she had not yet spoken, and that there had been a long silence. "He needs this," Maia realized. "He needs my support, now more than ever."

She opened her mouth to speak, but Swiftpaw interrupted her.

"Forgive me, Maia, I ruined the moment that we had. Just... stay with me. Please."

A sad little smile flickered across her face, and she hugged Swiftpaw tightly. "I will never leave you," Maia murmured in his ear. "I will always be with you, no matter where I am."

Swiftpaw hugged her back just as tightly and as he did so, he allowed himself a moment's respite. He did not want her to see his tears.

------------------------

"Colonel."

"My Lady!"

The parade ground was packed full of hares armed to the teeth as Karth saluted Maia, who nodded briefly as she walked past, her mace swaying back and forth in her paw as she glided away.

Wearing her secretive smile, she moved to the front of the column. For a long moment, she stared at her hares, and suddenly with a quick snap of her arm, she saluted.

A wild cheer broke out as each hare in the column saluted back in perfect unison, with Karth following them a moment later with a big smile on his face.

Maia lifted her mace towards the sky and whipped around, her back to the mountain, her gaze staring off in the far distance towards where an entire squad had been lost. The Badger Lady felt a dull ache in her chest, and she gritted her teeth. She would now act as her own precepts and honor demanded of her, and nothing less.

"Onward, hares of the Long Patrol!" she cried.

Not turning back, she started to march, and with an exaggerated shout, the column began marching forward. Some of the hares still had their smiles on their faces, but the officers all had their faces perfectly neutral; the time for pleasantries was over, and to a hare they were all preparing for the battle ahead.

------------------------

Swiftpaw watched closely from the window as the call to march was sounded. Beside him was Melator, who with a look of puzzlement watched most of the creatures that he had ever known march away from the mountain.

"Why are they leaving?" Melator asked with a frown as he leaned forward to get a better view.

Swiftpaw sighed inwardly and glanced toward his son. Although only a few seasons of age, Melator was already speaking in complete sentences and asking the types of questions that he found himself not wanting to answer.

He remembered the news from Maia as if it was yesterday and the joy he had felt. He remembered the celebrations, and the small voice that told him that he was not ready, not wise or patient enough to teach what needed to be taught. He knew there would be times when it would be integral that Melator was shown what it meant to be a true leader, and to become a better badger than he himself could ever be.

This was one of those moments, and he hoped that he was ready.

"Your mother is leaving with most of our regulars to root out the enemy, son. She will be back soon."

Melator nodded, and absentmindedly scratched at the windowsill as he looked up at his father, his eyes alight with unanswered questions.

"Do you know when she will come home?"

Swiftpaw grew tense as he sought to restrain himself from snapping at his son. With great effort, he smiled and began speaking gently.

"No, my son. I was trying to make you happy, but I now know that to be a mistake to depend on your ignorance to do so." That was what he wanted to say but Swiftpaw could not find the voice to say it. Instead he said something else, something that wasn't a complete falsehood, but also not the entire truth.

"Knowing your mother and Colonel Karth, they should mop up all the vermin and be back before you know it, asking where supper is. Now go find your Nana, and tell her that you deserve some freshly baked scones."

Melator grinned and took off at a run, calling back a thank you to his father as he rounded the corner, and in a few moments all Swiftpaw could hear was the single joyful caw of a bird, far away and close to the coast. Would she return to the mountain? Could she?

Swiftpaw shook himself harshly, angry at his momentary weakness. However, he couldn't stop himself from uttering something that at once both gave him comfort and filled him with dread.

"Please come home," Swiftpaw whispered, his voice tinged with desperation and fear: a fear of the unknown and what was known. He turned towards his armor, which was on its own stand, and sighed.

------------------------

After a hard march of four hours, everybeast stopped for lunch, a little tired but satisfied with their progress thus far. As everybeast ate their rations, Maia paced back and forth, unable to control her nervousness. She had not been in charge of such a large contingency before, and she felt the pressure mounting. She had just decided on the proper course of action when she heard quiet pawsteps behind her.

"My Lady," a familiar voice said chidingly.

Maia could not help but smile. Even though she had not been a babe for many seasons, she knew Karth could sometimes only see that small, inquisitive young badger. Usually she felt annoyed at his over-protectiveness, but now she only felt gratitude. She needed to talk.

"Yes, Colonel?" Maia replied, turning around and looking at him with a blank expression.

"You never told me and my officers what you and Lord Swiftpaw had intended to do with this expedition. It's not that we don't trust you, it's just that-"

"I understand completely, Karth. Every hare will know what will occur soon enough. For now however, it is just a pleasant stroll on a mid-summers day."

Karth grinned. "I quite like the sound of that."

Maia allowed her smile to break through at last. "Good. Gather the hares. I have to tell them something important."

Within minutes, every single hare had gathered. Maia watched as they all hurriedly moved into formation, and she raised her mace in the air for silence.

Maia felt a deep sadness as she prepared herself to begin her speech. Most of the hares before her were of fighting age but not much older. They were all as green as spring grass, and nothing she could say or do would properly prepare them for the trials ahead. Still, she persevered. She was new at leading as well and would learn alongside them.

"Our mission is to find the vermin who have murdered a squadron of our finest hares, and to send them to Hellgates!"

A cheer rose up but was quickly silenced as Karth turned his head around and barked out an order for silence.

"Silence in the ranks, you lot! If I hear one more cheer before the good Lady has finished her speech, I will personally make certain that all of you will march double-time on half-rations!"

A sullen murmur arose from the middle of the crowd, which was interrupted by the Colonel's lowered voice.

"Do I make myself clear?"

The mutterings stopped at once, and every hare snapped to attention, including the officers.

"Yes, sah!" cried the hares, and Karth quickly whirled towards the Badger Lady, almost unable to stop the inklings of a huge grin breaking across his face, as he saluted her in his finest parade salute.

"The floor is yours, my Lady."

Maia fought the urge to giggle as she looked at the distraught group of hares in front of her that collectively believed that they were about to get in trouble. She then remembered where she had been leading the conversation and sobered.

"I will not lie to you all. This is a perilous mission, and I can't guarantee anybeast is coming home, including myself."

Not a word was spoken as Maia looked at them all, trying to memorize each and every face as each stared back at her, completely sober now that serious matters were at paw.

"Make no mistake, this is war and many of you will die, but the Fox must be put to justice. As you all know, the monster has murdered an entire squad to a hare, but he has also kidnapped Dibbuns from Redwall Abbey as hostages."

Instantly, there was chaos as nearly everybeast spoke up at once, their voices growing louder by the moment as Maia waited calmly. She still felt that same anger, and she would not deny her hares the opportunity to vent their own passions. Briefly for a moment the young scout on his deathbed flashed before her eyes, and she almost snarled as her vision grew red.

At this, Maia took a deep breath and regained control. "Passion is good, but too much will be your downfall." She remembered and would to her dying day. A Badger warrior's unending curse, known and fought against since the very beginning. She still fought it, and sometimes lost; but not as badly as she perhaps could have.

She looked beside her and saw Karth, his face tight as he held his blade in a death grip. He seemed as if he was in another world, and Maia knew why.

"Forgive me for bringing forth those memories, old friend," Maia thought sadly as at last order was regained.

"Standard bearer, come forward!" the Badger Lady shouted into the silence.

Shakily, the hare came forward, aware that every eye was now upon him as he held the banner high, the blue banner of Salamandastron flapping gently in the breeze as Maia took it gently from the recruit, nodding a thanks as she held it in the air with her other paw as high as she could so that everybeast could see it.

"It is our solemn duty to both avenge and to protect! We will see this through to the bitter end, or die trying!"

Karth stepped forward in front of Maia. Without saying a word, he drew his sword and thrust it into the sand, kneeling in front of the entire army as he began to speak slowly; his voice rising in intensity and tone as he spoke.

"I pledge my life that I will see him and his own put to justice, and I will follow Lady Maia to Hellgates and back to see it through. For Salamandastron! For justice!"

Maia felt shock for a brief moment, which quickly changed to gratitude. He knew as well as she did that they could be heading out onto a suicide mission, and it was always good to see Karth take the initiative. Before the last few seasons he had been growing old and had looked like it. Now he seemed to be aging in reverse.

She slammed the banner into the ground and shouted the war cry of Salamandastron. Everyone else yelled the ancient battle-cry as well, most having tears in their eyes as they saluted both Karth and Maia.

After it was finished, she picked up the banner and put it back into the wide-eyed recruit's paws and turned around, looking towards the horizon and at the location where an entire squad had fought and died. Hardening herself, she turned back around and put a warm smile on her face: a mask she found herself slipping on more and more often recently.

"Now then, let's truly begin our journey!" Maia cried, and whoops and shouts exploded from every hare as they moved back into formation. She turned around once more and began to march, and in a few moments the entire army followed, their paws perfectly in step as she realized that she had forgotten something. She started to jog and prepared her voice. It had been a long time since she had last done this.

"Sing the Long Patrol anthem!" Maia called in mock seriousness.

One of the sergeants shouted, and within a few moments, the anthem had begun as the squads broke out into a brisk trot, doing their best to keep in time as they sang.

We are the Long Patrol,

Our weapons will take their toll.

Our life's no simple stroll,

For we're the Long Patrol!

We march through fields of mud,

Blades smeared with vermin blood;

Our foes fall with a thud,

For we're the Long Patrol!

Our battle's fought and won,

The fight's past and done,

Finished what we'd begun;

For we're the Long Patrol!

Our cook has gone and drowned;

No vittles to be found,

Make haste! We're homeward bound,

For we're the Long Patrol!

The hares are home at last,

A season's flown and past,

At table don't be last,

For we're the Long Patrol!

Maia laughed uproariously as the tune ended. Immediately most began singing again, until some sergeants bellowed for order but all with a happy smile as the march slowly regained its somber tone.

Throughout the rest of the day, nothing of importance occurred and quickly the march became one of repetition; and Maia did not know what to do with herself.

She was left alone to her own thoughts, and found herself thinking of the past, present, and future, all of which gradually faded into one creature, one she had sworn to bring to justice.

"We will find you, Fox," Maia thought eagerly as she looked into the far horizon, the forests of Mossflower growing steadily closer.

After a few hours of marching through the dunes, Maia found herself becoming exhausted. Ignoring her tiredness, she continued onward, ignoring the stares as she nearly tripped and fell over.

Karth steadied her, and Maia realized with a guilty start that Karth was far more tired than she, and that he was holding her up, the Badger Lady of Salamandastron and the leader of the expedition. At her half-irritated nod, Karth released her gently as he calmly stood beside her, looking towards Mossflower Woods and their mortal foe.

"Lady Maia, we must rest. We cannot march at this breakneck pace forever and the hares will drop like flies before we reach our destination."

Maia opened her mouth to retort, but then she shook herself and took a deep breath. Karth smiled warmly, and Maia felt shame at what she had done. She had acted like an arrogant cub and a fool.

"Karth..."

The colonel held up a paw, his smile only growing as he interrupted her softly.

"It is nothing, my Lady. You inspire us all, myself included, with your commitment to duty and honor. If we could, we would march day and night to avenge our fallen and to rescue Redwall's children, but we have to be in the best fighting shape possible. Doing one's duty is life's greatest burden, while shirking it is its easiest."

Maia's shame only increased as she listened to what Karth was saying. "This is a true hero," Maia thought with a hint of pride as she nodded emphatically to Karth's last statement.

"Our watch truly never ceases, old friend. Thank you for your always timely advice and aid. I honestly do not know what I would do without you, Salamandastron included."

The old hare grinned crookedly as he gestured towards a group of new recruits, who were arguing good naturedly over who would be the one to pass soup out to the rest of the troops.

"They are all willing to fight and die for you. You are the true heart and soul of what makes us who we are. Glory and honor is not our objective; defending all free creatures is and will be paramount over everything that we do. As our commander, you will make extremely difficult choices in the future. Dozens or even hundreds of lives could depend on your decisions. Out of everybeast here, I know how that feels. I don't feel envy or scorn towards what you will be doing... I feel pity instead."

The smile had long vanished from the old hare's face, and Karth did not look how he usually did, but how ignorant creatures assumed he would be: old, weak and feeble. Maia shuddered at the abrupt change in Karth's demeanor, and she knew that the Colonel was as serious as he had ever been.

Maia nodded stoically and placed a paw on Karth's shoulder. She smiled slightly, and Karth tepidly smiled back.

"I will do whatever is needed to keep our hares safe, Karth. You have my word."

Karth relaxed slightly, but his eyes only hardened further as he whispered something that chilled Maia to the bone.

"It is not them I'm worried about. If it ever becomes too much, please come to me whenever you wish. I know from experience what it is like to cherish somebeast and then lose them forever. I know that pain, and I had to learn how to deal with it; others were not so lucky..."

Maia shuddered despite herself, feeling a wave of pity nearly overcome her as she watched the hare walk away; understanding him more and yet less than ever.

------------------------

As darkness gathered, Maia sat by her tent, staring into the main campfire. The flames beckoned her, and she gazed deep.

What she saw made her afraid, more so than she had ever been.

"Triple the watch," the Badger Lady called out, and the order was quickly repeated and spread as she bedded down, uneasily awaiting the dawn.

[James Gryphon]

I read through everything that was up on Fanfiction earlier. It's a great, albeit very depressing story. The violence is heavy by Jacquesian standards, but the overall plot and juxtaposition with expectations works well. It would be nice if there was some way to break up the tension a little bit, to make it easier and gentler to read, but I guess that would spoil the effect of a "doomsday"-type story, as this one seems to be so far.

The second book is a lot weaker than the first right now, but that's not really a big deal, since it isn't finished yet.

I am curious as to why Swiftpaw didn't lead the expedition himself and leave his wife to guard the mountain.

Stuff on Fanfiction.net

Also, although I guess this might be intentional (a "fog of war" to increase the dramatic and emotional effect) it isn't as clear as it is in the Redwall books (when they depict battle) exactly how the Long Patrollers get outmaneuvered so handily, earlier in the story. The silver fox giving away all of their secrets straight over to the enemy warlord helps to explain why, but I guess I'm also interested in the how, especially when it seems like the Patrol is taking reasonable precautions and should be getting a good view of the battlefield.

[close]

It's interesting how the casualty ratio seems to be pretty close to 1:1 here. People say they wanted something like this in the Redwall books, but when you actually start to get a feel for how many protagonists are getting killed, even a veteran critic like me wants to start backtracking.

[Darkenmal]

I read through everything that was up on Fanfiction earlier. It's a great, albeit very depressing story. The violence is heavy by Jacquesian standards, but the overall plot and juxtaposition with expectations works well. It would be nice if there was some way to break up the tension a little bit, to make it easier and gentler to read, but I guess that would spoil the effect of a "doomsday"-type story, as this one seems to be so far.

The second book is a lot weaker than the first right now, but that's not really a big deal, since it isn't finished yet.

I am curious as to why Swiftpaw didn't lead the expedition himself and leave his wife to guard the mountain.

Stuff on Fanfiction.net

Also, although I guess this might be intentional (a "fog of war" to increase the dramatic and emotional effect) it isn't as clear as it is in the Redwall books (when they depict battle) exactly how the Long Patrollers get outmaneuvered so handily, earlier in the story. The silver fox giving away all of their secrets straight over to the enemy warlord helps to explain why, but I guess I'm also interested in the how, especially when it seems like the Patrol is taking reasonable precautions and should be getting a good view of the battlefield.

[close]

It's interesting how the casualty ratio seems to be pretty close to 1:1 here. People say they wanted something like this in the Redwall books, but when you actually start to get a feel for how many protagonists are getting killed, even a veteran critic like me wants to start backtracking.

To begin, thanks for your in-depth response James Gryphon, I really appreciate it.

Regarding your comments on the overall atmosphere of Dusktail, I always felt that Redwall had the potential to be far more than it ever was. I'm not exactly criticizing Mr. Jacques, as he had his niche and he excelled in writing the stories that he did, but the way he presented his world always had me thinking of what could be done with it. Tantalizingly, we see this potential shown very briefly throughout the series, most notably in the form of Blaggut, a rat who 'turned good' and eventually made a peaceful living building boats. I had always wanted more characters like Blaggut, but that is not the way Redwall has ever really been presented.

The way that Redwall has always been presented is remarkably akin to a fairy tale: characters that are almost uniformly black and white, evil or good, moral or depraved. This is why I have always preferred the books written up to Lord Brocktree, as while the characters were still good and bad, there were elements within these characters that were not perfect or despicable, depending of course on the side that the characters were fighting for. This is most notably found in badgers and other 'noble' warriors of note who become possessed by the 'Bloodwrath', a form of unconsciously induced insanity that overwhelms and forcibly constricts one's personality and mind toward a single goal: producing death. While this is admittedly the goal of any warrior in the field of battle, this also does not mean that this insanity is restricted to one's enemies. In Mossflower, Boar the Fighter demanded absolute obedience on the night of his death, as while in the throes of the Bloodwrath the Badgerlord admitted that he would not be able to properly deduce friend from foe. While sometimes useful, the Bloodwrath is undoubtedly an affliction that harries as much as it aids one's goals.

You described Dusktail as a 'doomsday' story, an association that I wholeheartedly agree with. In my opinion, a 'doomsday' is the only thing that could occur when I forcibly injected more realistic characteristics into a world such as Redwall. As you have seen so far, I have written my characters to exhibit traits that would put them on both sides of Jacques' spectrum of good and evil, and in contrary to Jacques' categorization, both sides have a reasonable excuse to be waging their war on each other in Dusktail.

For Barkclaw's side, once the so-called 'vermin' realized the depths to which they have fallen to and the racism that they had to live with, how could they continue as they had had before? This realization is first seen by Greyfang, who tries to achieve his goals in a mostly passive manner. His son, Dusktail, (who later took up the name Barkclaw) admires his father for attempting to achieve his goal of a community akin to Redwall for 'vermin', but Barkclaw perceives the futility of the entire process. In his mind, a creature cannot simply end racist perceptions overnight through peaceful means. Instead, he sees that in order to achieve their shared goal of a safe community for all 'vermin', he would have to attack those perceptions head on and through any means necessary.

Regarding the other side, (which encompasses Salamandastron and Redwall) how can they trust Barkclaw and Greyfang's side that has never (at least in their point of view) given them a reason to truly trust them? In my opinion, such a situation can only result in something radical, and the war that has erupted up between the two factions is the inevitable result. Paraphrasing from Heath Ledger's Joker, it is like an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. Both sides are unwilling to give an inch, and both sides are more than willing to fight for their beliefs until the very end. This can only lead to bloodshed.

Shifting proverbial gears, you mention that the second book is a lot weaker than the first. This is undoubtedly true, and it is something that I have been wrestling with for quite some time. This is because the second book was originally the first, until my editor told me that I was writing far too many flashbacks and that it would make much more sense to write the events that led up to the current events in Dusktail. I haven't taken Book Two down because I don't see it being a real issue at the moment, as I'm still writing the ending to the first book. However, after Book One is completed I think I will revise the first chapters of Book Two to bring them up to par. It's been almost three years since I first began writing Dusktail, and my writing skills have increased substantially since then. In my opinion, the plot is good, but the way that I have told it can definitely be improved.

You wondered as to why Swiftpaw wouldn't lead the expedition himself instead of leaving Maia to guard Salamandastron. I thought I had made this fairly obvious as to why Swiftpaw is at Salamandastron and not Maia, but if not then I may have to have Swiftpaw make a few statements to clarify the issue. However, the answer to your question is relatively simple, and can be found either in Lord Brocktree or Mossflower. It's been a while since I've read either book, but from what I interpreted from completely separate statements from each novel is that male badgers, especially male badgers that are in line for the rule of Salamandastron, have to be taught in a manner befitting an heir of such an integral stronghold. In Book 1, you can see this as Swiftpaw is slowly coming to grips with what has to be done, as seen in his attempts to try and help Melator understand his importance in the seasons to come through both paternal and ancestral means. As Maia isn't the Ruler of Salamandastron, it is not her place to teach Melator - it's Swiftpaw's. That is why Swiftpaw stayed behind and Salamandastron, as Melator is at a critical stage that will determine the rest of his life, as you will later see.

Your thoughts on the 'fog of war' are on the mark, however if you have read the latest chapter of Dusktail you should have your answer regarding the 'how' if you look closely enough. If not, you will know within the next two chapters, as the true reveal is something I have looked forward to writing for a couple years.

Your observation on the casualty ratio was interesting, and your reaction to it even more so. To explain, I am strongly against predictable plot-armor in all its forms, and you can certainly expect to see more protagonists to unexpectedly die throughout the course of Dusktail's story. However, just because a character is 'good' or 'bad' doesn't mean that they will automatically live. This is where I differ from Mr. Jacques, but I do so with only the best of intentions for his world. The order of things is by no means eternal, and I am writing a scenario in which that order is disrupted and eventually destroyed forever for the greater good of all of his creatures.

I hope all the blood and death don't put you off though, as I am writing a Redwall story for a reason. Where is there is darkness there is also light, and this wouldn't be a Redwall story without songs, feasts, and general tomfoolery. It get's better eventually, and I hope you will join me for the rest of this long journey.

Cheers!

[Darkenmal]

Book 1: Chapter 6

------------------------

What is life's meaning, but without pain?

I do not know, but please let me try and explain.

To love without consequence is indeed a great feat,

But to think you are alone in this is something unique.

Love is precious and invaluable, especially for me,

It is all I have, and in death it seeks to set me free.

When it is taken from me, you shall know my wrath,

As Salamandastron is called and set upon the warpath.

The end is near for the mountain, but do not be afraid.

The battle is never done, until the debts owed are paid.

------------------------

Fog completely enveloped the camp, and Maia knew something awaited her deep within it.

Standing upright as much as she could within her tent, she grabbed her mace and shield and stepped outside, shivering despite herself at the large temperature drop. She sniffed and blanched. The air itself smelled sickly, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose as she looked around for any sign of life. There was nothing.

Maia started moving, her pace gradually increasing as her worries mounted, confused as to where everybeast was. Unaware of where she was going, Maia soon found herself far outside of the camp's radius.

Suddenly, she heard a harsh croak, and a toad appeared from the mists, armed with a trident. A smile spread across its ugly face, and its eyes twinkled in remembrance as it leapt towards her.

She stood there for a moment, startled at this sudden intrusion, as the trident moved rapidly towards her chest. Shaking off her shock, she slammed her shield into the trident, shattering its head completely as the toad was pushed back, confused at her resistance. She swung towards its face but it ducked, smile gone and now croaking sullenly as it hopped and paced in a semi-circle around her, eyes now hardening into slits.

Maia stood still, breathing heavily as the toad twirled his trident in extremely complex movements. She found herself mesmerized until it unexpectedly slammed the weapon forward towards her skull. Cursing her stupidity, Maia went to raise her shield and mace but found that she was now wielding a spear instead. They slammed together with an audible crack, and Maia looked downward and was shocked to see that it was a mouse opposing her instead of a toad.

The mouse nodded at her and flicked his wrists, disarming her easily. The quarterstaff fell to the sandy floor and Maia stood there studying the mouse. Something about him was overly familiar, and yet...

The mouse's face, which up to that point had been warm and welcoming, hardened. He turned and began running away from her, quickly vanishing into the mists. With a snarl, she thundered after him, not bothering to pick up her weapon as her camp now fully disappeared behind her. Maia found herself not caring in the slightest at this, now completely driven at finding the mouse.

"Why is this happening?" Maia muttered, her pulse quickening as she looked forward to confronting her foe. There was a reason for all of this, and she intended to find it.

Abruptly, the mists parted for a brief moment, and Maia saw something straight from her worst nightmares.

She saw Swiftpaw and Melator, dead, mixed in with visions of Karth and her hares dying with a pleading look in their eyes, with her powerless to stop it. All through these visions, a shadowy figure loomed, and Maia knew who it was.

Maia stopped midstride, unable to truly believe what she was seeing. Anger, sadness, and rage warred deep within herself as she stood rooted to the spot. Trying to dispel the images, she shook her head wildly and closed her eyes, paws up in front of her face like she was warding off a foe. When she opened her eyes, she saw that the mists had reappeared. Steeling herself, she began to move forward once again.

As she did so, Maia felt something outside on her coat, and she looked down to find herself coated in dry blood. Instantly, she also knew whose it was. She felt the urge to turn around and to leave, until she felt the familiar weight of her mace and shield at her side and back. With her familiar weaponry, she firmly ignored her desire to flee and return back to the camp, and she took a step forward.

Suddenly, a different mouse appeared, old before his time and a mournful look permanently etched upon his face as he gently urged a Dibbun forward.

"Come on, no time to waste. We don't want to make everybeast wait for dinner, now do we?"

The Dibbun started moving at a lethargic pace, not acknowledging the mouse's words or encouragement to move faster in the slightest. At this, the mouse's face slowly crumpled, unable to keep up the farce. She understood quickly what was happening, and what it had to do with her.

"No..." Maia whispered.

"Only you can stop it, Badger Lady of Salamandastron."

The warrior mouse stood in the exact same spot where the Abbot and Dibbun had been, as if they had never existed.

Maia roared in anger, kicking the sand towards the warrior as her paws moved towards her mace and shield.

"I have no time for games, little mouse. Tell me what you wish and be gone!"

The mouse smiled sadly. He looked around for a moment, his gaze piercing the mists until he swung his head around and firmly fixed his gaze upon her as he spoke slowly and with great care.

"Fate is not what you suspect. While many think it is not set in stone, others believe that there is nothing that one can do but soldier on, holding the weight of themselves and many others as their world crumbles around them. A special few try to rise above it all, seeking to uphold an ideal that is impossible to maintain. Which are you?"

Maia stood there, speechless. She went to speak, but couldn't. After a moment she opened her mouth again, and the same horrifying images swiftly re-assailed her vision, each one more terrible then the next.

"Which are you?" the mouse whispered, his eyes glowing with the Bloodwrath.

------------------------

"Just a few more days and we will be at the edge of Mossflower Woods, my Lady."

Maia smiled grimly, her first true smile since she had had that terrible dream a half moon ago.

She remembered screaming, and soon the entire camp was roused as Karth had burst into the tent, sword drawn and ready to defend his Badger Lady.

The only thing he had seen however was Maia, her back turned as she leaned against the tent's support frame, not caring in the slightest about the noise and confusion she had just caused.

"Maia?" Karth whispered, keeping a respectful distance away as Maia opened her eyes.

She remembered saying a few words, and at her words Karth left, shouting for order as the camp slowly returned to silence. She stayed awake the rest of the night, thinking of the words that the mouse had said.

"Which are you?"

When she had gone outside the next day, she found everybeast walking on tip-paw, nobeast knowing exactly why she had screamed in the night. She remembered the bewilderment, so heavy that she could nearly see it, but nobeast said anything at Karth's command.

The last few weeks, Maia had felt a distance from everybeast except Karth. There was no collective anger towards her, but whatever it was it had hung heavy over the entire camp the past few weeks.

At Karth's words, something tightly bound had been released deep within her, and she finally felt herself relax slightly. Whatever the mouse had warned her about would be close, and she would do what had to be done, as was her duty.

Looking to her side, she saw Karth, one eyebrow raised and a worried look in his eyes as she realized that she had not replied but instead had again lapsed into her own thoughts. Shaking herself, Maia to pay attention to her surroundings. Going over a brief exercise, she unconsciously began going through the major events that had occurred in the last view days, starting with the choosing of the camp site.

She pictured the area surrounding herself and her hares. As they were still in the sand dunes, it had been rough on everybeast, including herself. Right now they were in a valley of sorts, with sandy hills surrounding them at all sides, making it easy for an attack, which was why she had doubled the guard. They couldn't go too far as they were still waiting for one last scout sent nearly a week previously, for although the small oasis near the camp made the lack of natural defenses more palpable, it was best to be leaving as soon as possible.

Maia remembered the subsequent debate between herself and most of her officers over the chosen site of camp, and how Karth had watched silently the entire time, waiting patiently as the conversation went back and forth. Nothing had been accomplished with both sides standing firm between staying for a single night or for over a week, until Maia had suggested a compromise. With her proposed terms, the matter was quickly resolved, with everybeast there happy with the solution. With the issue settled, the officers began to file out of the tent, with Karth the only one not moving, a slight frown on his face. At first she felt worry, but that quickly disappeared as he broke out into a wide smile and congratulated her, offering a few words of encouragement:

"You are learning to be a leader, and to lead well. While a compromise often does leave both parties unhappy, there comes a time when a compromise is the best for everybeast. You were wise to offer a suggestion when you did, and your officers won't forget it, myself included."

Maia's thoughts shifted, and she thought of the guards that she had stationed all around the camp. Over a score of them in total, with the shifts changing every four hours and those on duty off to rest, with nearly the entire fighting force switching by the end of the day.

Something shifted next to her, and Maia felt annoyance at herself. Karth was still waiting for a reply, something she had not bothered to do, despite her earlier pledge to pay attention.

Just as she was about to say something, she saw Karth's face tighten for a brief moment, and Maia found herself growing tense. Due to this, she almost jumped when Karth began speaking, and Maia's annoyance quickly abated at what Karth was saying.

"Lady Maia, your last scout has finally arrived. Do you wish to speak with him?"

For the first time in a few weeks, she felt herself actually becoming interested in the potential conversation with one of her subordinates. "Anything to keep that dream at bay," Maia thought morosely.

"Go, Lady Maia. He wants to talk to you, and to you alone."

She turned around and saw the scout, who was standing next to Karth and looking sheepish. With a half-conscious smile, she gestured the scout to move forward and followed as he began to set a path that led her throughout the camp. Everywhere she went she got a deferential "Lady," or "Lady Maia," but overall it was a stark contrast to before her episode in the tent. A slight nervousness hung over the camp, replacing the good cheer that had before been firmly in place. She wondered if it was always like this, when reality set in to what they may have to do, and what was at stake.

Forcing herself from her brooding, Maia began to study the hare across from her, who was now leading her away from the camp. "He must want to speak to me privately," Maia thought, although something about it all made her feel tense.

She noticed that the scout walked with a slight limp, and Maia also observed that the scout's eyes were sunken in, like he had slept little in the past few days. Usually her hares were good at covering their injuries to her general anger, as untreated injuries could be fatal. The only reason she had noticed his limp was because the young hare had tried to over exaggerate his movement as he walked. His step was firm, but for some reason also timid. Whatever the young hare was trying to hide. it was most definitely serious.

Maia wanted to order him to turn around and to head straight for the infirmary, but what he had wanted to tell her must be serious, and for some reason as well he also didn't want Karth to know, or at least not yet.

The scout had arrived a few days after he was supposed to, but that was sometimes known to happen. Patience was a virtue for every scout, and sometimes this required time, perhaps more than what would have previously been expected.

"Where are you taking me, scout?"

The hare turned around briefly to reply, and Maia got a good look at his face. She noted that among the scars on this face, one was relatively new. Along with this information, she noted the nervousness of his stance and a look of fear that was well-hidden deep within his eyes. Unconsciously, she began stroking the handle of her mace, feeling satisfied that they had finally found the Fox at last.

The scout spoke up suddenly, his voice betraying him as he almost squeaked out his reply.

"We are going somewhere quiet, my Lady. This news is more important than you realize, and plans will have to be remade."

------------------------

Karth watched Maia go and smiled slightly. Finally, she was regaining interest in her surroundings after nearly two weeks of brooding on her dream.

Of course she had done what had been required of her, leading and preparing the Long Patrol for the potential battle to come, but no more. She no longer mixed in with the hares as much as she used to, quickly becoming more aloof and unapproachable. Karth had found himself steadily taking up more than his share, at least until Maia had come to grips with what she had witnessed in her dream.

He had seen her at times staring off into the distance towards Mossflower Woods, her expression of the deepest pain that Karth could possibly imagine. In times like those, he felt the seasons melt away from both of them, when she was little more than a child and he was her only confidant, her only friend.

Karth smiled wanly, remembering the lectures he had gotten from Swiftpaw's father, and the examples he was supposed to set for the rest of the hares, especially considering he had been at that time newly appointed to his position of Colonel: a position that he had now occupied for many seasons. He grimaced at that. Karth was then at the lowest point of his entire life, and the only place he could go was father downward, at least until he could see the light once again.

Maia had been the one bright spot in his life at that point in time, although he had not let anybeast know or even to wonder if there was perhaps something wrong with the young hare that had recently ascended to his position in a heroic blaze of glory and triumph.

Karth took a deep breath and steadied himself. "Best to not think of that," Karth thought grimly. He had made his peace a long time ago, even though his version of making peace was a little different from other creatures' versions of making peace with oneself.

Karth's smile disappeared entirely at that thought. His problems might have indeed been permanently ended at that point in time, but looking back he felt a deep sense of shame. He was meant to lead and to make the difficult decisions, he understood this now. What he was now finally beginning to understand after so many seasons was how it was not just the decision that would affect one in the future, but the line of thinking that led to that decision.

He had gone down both paths, and Karth realized that Maia could perhaps be at the threshold of one of the most difficult decisions of her entire life, and he found himself desperately hoping that she was ready to meet the problem head-on, ready to continue forward with barely a pause in her step.

Karth's gaze passed throughout the whole camp, watching diligently for anything out of the ordinary. He needed the distraction right now, no matter how small the problem was.

Turning around, he saw that Maia was on the very edge of the camp, animatedly speaking with the scout she had sent out nearly a week earlier.

Suddenly, something washed over him, and he realized that the scout had not handed in his weapon at the specified cache at the outskirts of the camp, something that was always required of a scout returning from a mission. A name floated to the surface of his thoughts, and with a shake of his head, Karth dismissed it. "Over my dead corpse," Karth snarled.

Cursing himself for a fool, he started to jog towards where Maia was still conversing with the scout. He had been so pleased with Maia taking a personal interest in leading again and not merely a professional one that he had ignored the signs. He redoubled his pace as Maia turned her back on the scout to look at where he was gesturing.

------------------------

As Karth arrived, he saw the scout wince, although he recovered so fast that Karth wasn't completely sure if he had seen it or not.

He nodded deferentially to Karth, who coldly stared back as Maia looked at Karth confusedly.

"Colonel, why are you here? Is there something that you need?"

Karth smiled and gestured towards the scout, who was now staring fixedly into the hills that surrounded them, ignoring them both completely.

Karth nodded towards the scout, keeping his voice pleasant.

"I just wanted to know why he led you away from the camp to talk to you privately, especially since he has not handed in his weapon at the cache, which is required of all scouts returning from a mission."

With every word, the scout's face fell, and Karth knew he had him. Treachery was almost unheard of, at least for the Long Patrol. It had happened before, but with such irregularity that his reflexes had been almost too slow. The hare before him would join a very small list of betrayers, and as such, most knew each and every one of their names and the circumstances of each of their betrayals.

"You're lucky your name isn't on that list," a voice whispered snidely.

Suppressing a shudder, Karth grabbed the scout by the scruff of his neck and pulled him in closer to him, looking deep into his eyes.

The scout struggled, but his exhaustion prevented him from being able to escape or do anything more than delaying the inevitable.

Abruptly, he stopped, and his pale blue eyes stared deep into Karth's.

"You don't understand, Colonel. They are probably dead already, just like I am going to be. I was damned no matter what I did. Tell my friends- tell them I'm sorry."

Maia had stood there the whole time, her face one of complete disbelief as she had struggled to come to grips with what was happening.

"What do you mean, they?" She demanded, her face clouding over in fury.

Karth looked up and saw something in the distance in the hills that surrounded them and spotted a figure that had been watching them, along with a few others. He heard the scout's reply and Maia's subsequent reaction, but he was now paying close attention to the figures on the hill in front of them: the hares that were supposed to be on guard duty. He then saw a flash of light, and he knew what was happening as he moved forward.

------------------------

As the scout's treachery was revealed, Maia rapidly found herself switching from confusion, sadness, understanding, and rage. She could not believe that anybeast would dare betray her own trust, along with those of Karth and the hares of the Long Patrol.

"What do you mean, they?" She found herself saying. As she said the words, she hoped beyond a hope that it was nothing, just an ill-timed joke that would see the unfortunate scout reprimanded, the whole situation quickly forgotten as they all moved on with their lives.

One look at his face and she realized that this was not to be, a fact that only made her angrier. Karth released his grip on the scout, and Maia loomed over the scout, who looked more sad than terrified. Maia noted his terror, but she also noted that for some reason it was not because of her. She paused at this, and the scout took the advantage and began speaking quickly.

"I followed some vermin back to the outskirts of Mossflower Woods and found the Fox and his army. That was before I was taken by surprise and captured. I was badly beaten and then brought forth before one of the Fox's lieutenants. He told me he was going to let me go, but also that his scouts were going to follow me back towards where we were encamped. He told me to lead you out so that you could be shot full of arrows. He also said that if they saw anything out of the ordinary, a runner would immediately be sent back with orders to kill the Dibbuns. No matter what I did..."

The scout's voice broke; his face was pale, and Maia found herself completely at a loss as Karth spoke up suddenly.

"My lady, I see-" Karth cut off abruptly, and Maia found herself shoved forward slightly. She whipped around to see him on his knees, an arrow in his shoulder and his face grey as his lips moved soundlessly.

The colonel slowly sank to all fours as Maia rapidly turned, her vision turning red as she looked for her prey as the other hares in the camp began to react and shout in alarm.

The scout drew his weapon and started to run towards the hills, eyes blazing as arrows whipped past him and slammed into the sand with a thud all around his footpaws. One arrow flew towards his face and the hare ducked, falling down into a roll and springing back up to his paws, roaring a cry of defiance as continued his charge.

Maia was about to call him back when she realized that the rest of the camp was still blissfully unaware of the events that were occurring, and that the scout was giving her valuable time.

"We're under attack, get to your positions!" Maia roared, and at these words the camp came alive at once.

She looked back and saw the scout continuing his suicidal charge forward although a little more slowly, an arrow sticking out of his footpaw as he approached the vermin position.

Behind her, the shouts were getting a little closer, and at this, her gaze tore through her surroundings, looking for her guards. Besides the scout that was still moving, she saw nothing. "All dead,"Maia thought angrily. How could they have been taken by surprise in this manner?

At this, Maia found herself becoming even more enraged at this cumulative failure and she started to breathe heavily, quickly losing control as she snatched at her mace. Not spotting her prey, she turned around completely again, listening carefully as she positioned herself in front of Karth, protecting him with her own body.

Moments later, she found herself quickly surrounded by hares, each bearing a shield and an expressionless faces as they waited for her command.

"Find what's left of our guards, and hunt down every single vermin; they must not leave here alive!" she snapped, and without a word, they moved up the hill towards where she gestured, where the scout had disappeared.

A few others were dragging away Karth, who was feebly stretching his paw out toward Maia and speaking incoherently, which only deepened to a downward spiral into madness.

Suddenly, a figure stood up and started running as fast as he could, a few grains of sand flying off his damp coat, running diagonally from his prior position. In disbelief, Maia recognized the rat that Swiftpaw had killed the day before she had left Salamandastron. Maia watched him run, quickly speeding up as the rat realized that he would soon escape. She also remembered the scout's words and decided that escape could mean the death of Redwall's Dibbuns that she had sworn to protect, as well as her own hares'. Escape was not an option.

"Not on your life," Maia muttered.

Shoving past her hares, she saw the recruit from earlier in the march, his arms quivering as she snatched the banner from his slackened paws.

Taking a few steps, she adjusted her grip and felt its balance as she took a few running strides, and with a snarl she heaved with all her might, grunting in exertion as she threw the banner with all her strength.

It soared upward, the banner seemingly flying through and out of the sun until it began to fall in a graceful arc. The rat kept running, his paws digging deep into the sand as his head turned briefly backward. She heard a cruel laugh, a laugh that rose in volume as he saw that attention had been diverted to him. His laughs soon broke off into a loud cackle, which soon became breathless as he redoubled his speed.

This continued until it suddenly cut off into silence as the banner impaled the rat through the throat. The rat stopped running, his body thrown forward and slamming into the sandy ground, his body sliding down the shaft until it could do so no more.

Behind her, she heard a shouted command to form a line and the screams of the dying as she starting running back towards her hares, her face tightening as she saw a shield wall of hares surrounding Karth.

"Those of you with overriding commands move back with the Colonel," Maia called, and with a nod from Karth's second, a score and a half of the Long Patrol's finest separated from the main group, carrying Karth with them.

Those that still remained stood still, waiting for further commands as she glanced towards the hill, where she could see glimpses of fighting.

"My last scout returned, and he brought dire news. He had been captured by the Fox and released, with a promise that if he warned me of the subsequent assassination attempt, word would be sent back with orders to kill all of Redwall's Dibbuns."

Gasps of shock and outrage permeated the air, and Maia knew that any sort of awkwardness that had between them for the past few weeks had now disappeared. She had them all back, and for that alone she was grateful.

"We cannot allow this to happen! If we are to call ourselves the defenders of all that is good and just, word cannot be allowed to returned to the fox and his underlings. We must track them down and kill them all, with no survivors!"

A huge roar broke forth and Maia turned from them, facing the hill where she could no longer see the scout or the troops that she had sent. She felt anguish at their deaths, but forcefully stopped herself. The time for grieving would be later.

"Form a skirmish line, with two out of the eight squads on the far outskirts of our position, to make sure we are not surrounded and to form an avenue of escape. What lies before us is uncertain, but what we do today must be anything but; our fates are now sealed and set upon this path. For freedom! For Salamandastron!"

"EULALIAAAAAAAA!"

[Darkenmal]

Book 1: Chapter 7

------------------------

"You think that because we fight for what is good and just, we are guaranteed victory? Nothing is ever certain." - Swiftpaw, Lord of Salamandastron and the Western Shores.

------------------------

Present day...

"Gone, both the young Lord and his friend. Left at dawn they did, with that lump of a hare carrying enough grub to feed an army for a week."

"What should we tell him?"

"Nothing. I think he already knows... Lord Swiftpaw hasn't left his room since that terrible argument a few nights past. Such dreadful words, 'tis a wonder that Swiftpaw didn't strike him there and then."

"What should we do? We all need him, now more than ever!"

"We do nothing. Lord Swiftpaw told me this morning that he has an announcement to make and that all must come to dinner. Personally, I think his writings are finally finished."

"Do you mean..."

"Yes. Let us hope that he may be able move on, with his works and account of the Battle of Salamandastron finally completed."

"Will he?

"I doubt it. Not as long as he lives."

------------------------

Eighteen seasons previously...

Maia turned from the amassed crowd of hares before her and began running at a full-on sprint, with a huge roar behind her, signalling that they too had joined the charge.

Arrows thudded into the sand around her, with one or two of them nicking her shoulder and cheek as she kept running, moving diagonally in order to make it harder for the archers to hit her.

Maia heard the shouted command to fire back at the archers but she paid it no mind as her vision started to turn red at the edges of her vision, her breaths becoming more ragged and shallow as she realized what has happening.

"No!" Maia snarled, yanking her sanity back like one would grab something from a rabid animal. She needed her head, and becoming consumed by her hatred would make her useless for everything except one thing.

Death.

As she rounded the hill, she saw the last of the forces that she had sent forth earlier fleeing in her direction, with a pack of vermin hard on their heels. She stood there a moment, out of breath and nearly hoarse, as she watched another hare fall to a spear through his back. They were running out of options.

"Stand firm!" Maia shouted at them, moving forward and holding aloft her mace. At her words, the vermin slowed, shocked at seeing her make it up the hill, unwounded and ready for combat.

The half score of surviving hares sped up, with the lead runner making it to Maia within twenty heartbeats, long enough for Maia to catch her breath and to assess the situation.

"Orders?" the hare wheezed, saluting as his eyes darted around the area behind her, and Maia knew he was looking for the archers that had been harassing her. They were no doubt eliminated by now, as they had stopped firing shortly after she had heard the order from Torgil, who currently was in command of the Long Patrol.

"Karth's third,"Maia thought bitterly, her anger at the entire situation just shimmering beneath the surface. Karth should be with her right now, helping her to do what had to be done, helping her keep back the gathering darkness.

Maia opened her eyes, unaware that she had closed them. The vermin had nearly reached them, but that was not what had truly caught her attention. In the far distance and nearly out of sight, close to two dozen vermin were running at full-tilt, away from the skirmish and back towards wherever they made their camp. There they would tell the Fox everything, and even more blood would be upon her paws.

Shuddering, her eyes darted back from the fleeing vermin towards the foes in front of her, who were now nearly upon them, double the number of the escapees. The last nine hares surrounded her protectively, their weapons held forward, every eye upon her as they waited for her command, which would likely be their last. A snarl unconsciously spreading across her face, she moved forward, speaking loudly as she moved to the front of the line.

"We kill, while being quick about it," Maia growled.

------------------------

"Defend the Badger Lady!"

"For Salamandastron!"

Karth heard the words and tried to stand, but something was pressed against his chest, preventing him from doing so. Angrily, he saw that it was one of his recruits, the one that had first hugged him after he had made the speech in the mess. He tried to stop himself from being dragged away from the fighting but the only rewards for his efforts were an excruciating amount of pain and a growing tiredness.

"You must stop, or you will be unconscious within minutes," a voice shouted in his ear, briefly overcoming the sounds of battle.

Karth stopped, not because he wanted to but because he knew that he would be needed. By Maia, the hares, and Salamandastron. His biggest fear was that the mountain would never stop needing him, and he was not getting any younger, no matter how much others remarked on his vitality. His days were numbered.

"How... many?" Karth spluttered, forcing himself to look up at his rescuer despite the pain.

The hare grimaced, his paw momentarily tightening on his shoulder, sending streaks of pain throughout Karth's whole body.

"A sixth of us are here, with a few wounded but none nearly as badly as you. We had orders from Lady Maia that presided over all others, and we followed... as we were commanded." Despite himself, a hint of bitterness was present in the hare's voice, with which Karth was familiar, perhaps too familiar.

Karth understood. He remembered a few days back, when she had shaken off whatever had been inflicting her for a brief moment and had called a score and a half of hares, from all regiments and rank, and had a whispered exchange with them that had lasted a few minutes. During that time, when Maia had paused mid-speech, her eyes had flickered over to where he had been standing, paws behind his back watching them. He knew what it was for, to make sure the chain of command wouldn't be broken under the worst circumstances.

The hare dragging him stopped for a moment and called for the stretcher. Karth wondered why they hadn't just given him the stretcher before, until he saw that it was made of spears, with belts looped around to hold it in place. The recruit saw that Karth had noticed the finer details and smiled slightly.

"We had to get you out in time, and we had to make do with dragging you out of the chaos until then. I trust you didn't mind?"

The sarcasm caused a ghost of a smile to flicker across Karth's face, and despite his pain, he nodded approvingly.

"That will do perfectly, at least until I get properly patched up."

The hare's face dropped at the mention of his fragility, and Karth felt angry at himself. They were holding on by a thread; one more disaster would ruin them, and Karth had just reminded them of it.

"That you will, Colonel!" the hare added a little too brightly, and Karth felt himself lifted off the ground and gently placed on the stretcher.

As he was carried away with as much speed as possible towards the camp, Karth found that the battle was nearly over, the clamour of weaponry all but silenced, with a few shouts audible here and there. "She must have followed," Karth thought silently. This was not good news.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to remain conscious, and began to plan.

------------------------

"They are trapped at the ford and will be captured or dead within the hour, my Lady."

Maia of Salamandastron stood on top of a hill facing a large stream, doing her best to remain strong as she fought the urge to fall to her knees, fighting the temptation to submit and to let herself be overcome, both physically and mentally.

After eliminating the vermin squad that had nearly wiped out a score of her own, Maia and the Long Patrol had chased the vermin nearly to the edge of Mossflower Woods, doing a day's march in just under four hours.

"Strange," said a quiet voice beside her.

"Strange?" Maia echoed, her confusion clouding over her face as Torgil jumped, unaware that he had spoken out loud.

"Pardon, my Lady, but every time we thought we had lost the vermin, we miraculously found them again. It just seems a little suspicious. Barkclaw may be laying a trap here, my Lady."

Maia nodded, as she felt her chest constrict and her thoughts glaze over as she heard the Fox's name. Even the mere thought of her foe was enough to threaten her mental stability.

She shuddered at the thought of actually seeing him and what would occur. She didn't know if it was from delight or muted disgust. She couldn't even bring herself to speak his name. He wasn't worthy of one...but she did wonder.

"Is he really that clever? Is the Fox really capable of making such a convoluted plan that hinges on too many different outcomes to be even remotely plausible?" Maia didn't know, and not knowing just made it worse. She didn't have the option of pondering the dilemma, however, not if Redwall's Dibbuns were to be saved.

She just wanted this to end, before she lost control of herself.

Taking a deep, calming breath and forcing herself to remain stoic, Maia turned to her hares and called out tersely, watching the vermin trying to escape via the stream as she did so.

"There will be no prisoners. If even one of the vermin happens to escape from us and make it back... Redwall will never recover. This must be done; kill them all."

With a salute, and a look giving neither agreement nor condemnation, Torgil nodded to the nearest sergeant, who bellowed out orders for an advance.

The plan was straightforward in its simplicity, although the simplest plans seemed to be the ones that were most likely to go awry.

A third of the total archers would remain on the very top of the hill, split in two to both keep the vermin penned down; as they were doing this, a select few would go down to eliminate the last of the vermin, with Maia and the rest of the infantry staying near the crest of the hill, looking out for a potential ambush at the ford or anywhere else.

If anything were to go wrong at the bottom of the hill, a blue flag, adorned with the colors of the Long Patrol would be raised to warn Maia and those guarding the hill, giving them a few moments to prepare a counter-attack.

She wondered what Karth would have said at this plan. Would he have applauded her bold manoeuvre, or would he have advised caution? Maia frowned. Now was not the time to be plagued by self-doubt. Every action in the last full-moon had led to this moment. It was time to cast the dice.

"Forward!" Maia said softly, and she watched as the assigned fifth of her troops broke out into a trot and began to move down the hill, including the commanding officer Torgil. This time there were no shouts or war cries, nothing but a grim acceptance, that what they did and committed today would be forever embedded in their minds and consciences.

Maia peered down and really looked at the vermin for the first time, seeing the vermin had finally turned around to face them. Most had wounds, either from the arrows or from the brief skirmishes that occurred throughout the day. Few had weapons, as most had lost theirs during the struggle or discarded them while trying to cross the river, and all wore expressions of defeat or helplessness, the rage easily visible on their faces, even from Maia's distance.

Had these very vermin been some of the ones that had massacred Blythe's regiment? Tortured her own scout? Kidnapped Redwall's Dibbuns? Maia ground her teeth together, finding that she was looking forward to watching her Patrol finally take their revenge. The red mists of Bloodwrath pressed in at the edges of her vision, obscuring the hills in her peripheral. It was almost frightening how much she wanted to see those vermin die.

"What do I have to become in order to secure victory?"

------------------------

As Torgil ran down the hill, he thought of the reasons for which he was fighting.

He remembered like it was yesterday: the inspiring sight of Lord Swiftpaw coming into his own and calling Salamandastron to war, the feeling of elation when he had been promoted, and the realization that creatures would now depend on him. Lives were at risk, and throughout his journey, Torgil had done his best to do his home proud. He remembered with bitterness his eagerness for the heroic battles that would occur, with him standing alone and fighting his mortal foe to the death, winning and bringing honor both on himself and Salamandastron. How wrong he had been, both about himself and Lady Maia. She should never have lead this expedition.

He stared at the vermin in front of him as he reached the shoreline. Torgil ran in, cursing as the shocking coldness of the water washed over him. The vermin were about forty paces away, nearly halfway through the stream. The current was strong, but the actual depth of the stream only went up to just below Torgil's knees. If one was cautious, a creature could move quickly, but there was no time to be careful.

Digging up his last reserves, Torgil increased his speed, pulling his sword from over his shoulder as he reached the first vermin, who stood rooted to the spot in fear, his body shaking uncontrollably. Whether it was from the cold or from the fact that his death was immiment, the hare did not know.

"Please, I beg yeh-"

With a scream, Torgil swung his sword in a rough arc, forgoing finesse for raw urgency. The rat tried to move out of the way, but Torgil's strike was too fast to avoid, and Torgil's sword slammed into the rat's side, nearly cutting him in two. With a whimper, the rat fell forward, hitting the water with a loud splash, and was swept away almost instantly. Raising his now bloodied sword, Torgil turned to his squad and beckoned forward towards the shoreline.

"Onward! For Salamandastron and for Lady Maia!"

The cry gave his squad a much needed shot of adrenaline, and he watched as they moved past him, the blue standard-bearer last as he held the flag sideways, only to be waved towards the hill by his command, and his alone. Catching the standard-bearer's attention, he jerked his paw downward, and the hare stopped, face blank as he awaited further orders.

"Stay behind me," Torgil muttered.

------------------------

Maia's sight flickered back and forth between red and grey. Whatever energy she had had before sending Torgil out had now nearly dissipated, and Maia was finally feeling the effects of her relentless pursuit.

She looked at her troops splayed around her and Maia stared enviously at her troops crouching and sitting, not even caring that they were breaking protocol. She wanted more than anything to sit and to relax, but she couldn't. Although she loved each and every one of her hares, she wasn't one of them. She couldn't be one of them. It was harder to know when to distance herself from her troops than nearly anything else, but she did what she had to do. She would stand here forever, if she had to.

A flash of color swam across Maia's vision, and for a moment she thought it was nothing, until she saw what was happening.

A massive vermin horde flooded out from behind the ravine, surrounding the hares, and they were capturing her troops, just as they had captured her scout and tortured him for days on end.

The flag flew back and forth, and from the shouts behind her, she knew that the others had seen the standard as well.

"Perhaps we should retreat."

Maia snarled angrily at the thought, and whirled around towards her troops, who were now standing in formation, their heads held straight and their weapons held high.

Just as she opened her mouth to issue the command to charge, she heard a single scream down by the river, one that she recognized immediately.

Like a dam breaking from stress, the Bloodwrath slammed into her. This time she did not fight it, but embraced it. Forgetting everything but her beleaguered troops below, she starting running at a full-on sprint, ignoring the cries of alarm as she starting laughing hysterically, eagerly anticipating the bloodshed ahead.

Every time Maia fought, she was fighting a battle on two fronts. One physical, the other taking place within her mind. Each time, the madness lingered at the edges of her consciousness, tantalizingly baiting her to let her control slip, even just for a single moment. Always the struggle continued, and always it surfaced when she was needed most. The best she could ever do was to just concentrate and to lead, something that even the best Badger Rulers consistently struggled with. To know when to be diplomatic, and when to kill. To be a harbinger of death or a vessel of peace. It seemed lately that both were required in order to make the other possible. What was peace, when it was resolved through violence and death? What was death, when it never achieved a lasting peace?

She had difficultly knowing which was which anymore.

As she reached the stream, she saw that Torgil and a few others stood alone, avoiding both the nets and vicious blows that were being sent their way. At the sight of these vermin, these vile vermin who had caused her and those she loves so much pain, causing her creatures yet more agony, Maia felt a furious roar swelling inside of her.

She spotted vermin trying to escape by running into the stream and swim away, but the expert aim of the Long Patrol archers assured the surviving vermin that flight was not an option. It was a true fight to the death.

Fighting four at once, Maia did her best to not focus too deeply, not on what she was doing, but on whom and what she was fighting. For justice, for Salamandastron, Swiftpaw and Melator... and for revenge.

Maia grunted as she leaned backwards, barely avoiding the tip of the razor-sharp blade as she swung her mace forward in reply, satisfyingly crushing a skull with a loud crack, and sending the rat flying into the weasel next to him, taking out two with one mighty blow.

"Lady Maia!" The scream cut over the din of battle as Maia became aware of the fighting around her, the screams and the blood and the death. It was not glorious, nor was it beautiful. As that thought crossed her mind, the smell hit her like a blow from her own mace, and she stumbled backwards from shock and partly from disgust, allowing the hares behind her to cover her while she looked for the source of the urgent shout.

"Lady Maia! The hill!"

Maia whirled around, just in time to see the hares on the hill, the hares that she had been supposed to stay with to command and protect, being overwhelmed, the entire hill completely covered by even more enemy forces. Instantly, she knew what was happening.

"No..." Maia snarled, and while moving forward despite herself, she felt something slam into her side.

The force of it nearly drove her to her knees, but deep within, she found some inner strength tucked away and forced herself to stand, turning around to see enemy archers firing upon her own. They could not go to take the hill, with archers firing at them from the side, and the vermin on top of the hill holding the high ground, squeezing Maia and the Long Patrol into a noose that was nearly impossible to get out of.

With a cry of defiance, Maia ran towards the archers, not caring in the slightest that they were all aiming at her. She felt something holding her at her back but kept on, oblivious to the shouts and screams in both her ears and behind her. She could not hear, she could not feel, and she could not see. Maia was dead, replaced by death itself.

"Protect the Lady!" Maia heard dimly, and in the corner of her eye, she saw hares abandon the fight to come towards her. Some intent on pulling her back, the others trying to form a protective shield in front of her with their own bodies.

The arrows rained down, some hitting her, with the rest either splashing down into the water or hitting the hares around her. As the arrows landed, she felt the grip on her slacken and cease, and she turned around to see Torgil face down in the water, not moving.

"BARKCLAW!" Maia roared, nearly frothing at the mouth as she ran full-tilt through the stream, intent on either killing the archers slaughtering her own or dying in the attempt.

Around her, she saw her hares running forward and heard the screams as they were thrown backwards by the arrows slamming into them. She felt helpless to defend them, something that only served to further her descent into madness as her vision slowly began to turn black.

Screaming incoherently, she kept running.

Despite her inner pleas, the arrows continued to rain down, the focus still on hitting her own troops, now that she had been eliminated as a competent commander.

Maia charged forward, panting heavily as her wounds began to take their toll. That fact alone only served to enrage her even more, and she redoubled her efforts, punishing her body as she moved forward, each step feeling like a hundred.

Despite herself and her current state, she laughed when a vermin stumbled in front of her with a dazed look on his face, almost as if he didn't know what was happening.

Maia reached forward and grabbed the rat by the throat, lifting him up and staring into his eyes as the life drained out of them. The rat struggled for a moment desperately but stopped abruptly as the vermin archers refocused on Maia and sent an entire volley in her direction, determined to finish her once and for all.

"Wound her, do not kill her! She is more valuable alive!"

With a roar, Maia snapped the rat's neck like a twig and threw the corpse to the side, the body resembling a pincushion as she began her charge once more. For a minute, only a few arrows were shot her way, all glancing shots that either missed her entirely or only sliced her as they exploded into the water around her.

However, when she was nearly halfway to the other side of the riverbank, the arrows again rained down upon her, most of them hitting her in non-vital areas as she finally fell to her knees, overcome by her wounds and exhaustion. Around her, it was nearly silent as she realized that the battle was over.

Vague thoughts flickered throughout her mind, all of which were unrecognizable, save one.

A body, over top another. A laughing face, swimming in and out of her sight. Blood, all over her body and weapon. Suddenly, she realized what was being shown. The realization washed through her mind, and Maia gasped as she understood what she was doing.

Damning everyone around her to a fate worse then death. Her mind now completely clear, she hoped that at least she could save those that were still at the river.

"Forgive me," Maia whispered.

Had it all been for nothing?

Maia felt her eyes close despite themselves. Her will to fight fading, she forced her eyes open and stared upwards, convinced that she had seen her last sunrise.

Just before all was still, an image flashed through her mind, an image of what would come now that she had failed. Melator and Swiftpaw, all but dead at her feet, the Fox laughing as he brought them both to the very precipice of death itself, before dragging them back kicking and screaming from death's warm embrace. All while she stood there bound, unable to help or do anything besides watch the cycle continue over and over, the only thought in her mind of how this could have been avoided if she had done her duty.

------------------------

It was dark as the weasel pushed through the tent's opening, disrupting both the conversation and the meal as they got a good look at his countenance. Disregarding them, Splitface moved forward towards the table, paws behind his back as he focused his gaze on the deadliest creature he had ever known.

The weasel stared at the fox, waiting patiently as their eyes both bored into each other for a long and uncomfortable moment, the atmosphere quickly becoming chilled.

With an irritated toss of his head, Barkclaw broke eye contact first, and Splitface allowed himself to exult in his victory for a brief moment as the fox's face briefly tightened in anger.

Even still, Splitface waited, forcing Barkclaw to speak first as Splitface looked over Barkclaw's guests, noting every single one, quickly seeing if any were his creatures. He almost jumped as the warlord spoke, his tone mocking as it pierced through the room like a knife.

"Is it done?"

Splitface paused for a moment, just long enough for it be noticeable before he began his explanation. From the dull looks of Barkclaw's guests, nobeast noticed save Barkclaw who nodded impatiently for Splitface to begin. With a curt smile, he began to speak.

"It is done, my Lord, as you requested. The expedition sent from Salamandastron has been completely crushed, although not without our own serious losses, with the last stragglers that we know of surrendering the day before yesterday. We caught them by a secluded stream finishing off our scouting squads. It seems that they had indeed followed the bait and believed everything, with the rest going according to plan... as you so predicted."

Barkclaw cackled, enmity momentarily forgotten as he slammed his goblet down, ignoring the splash that doused all around him as he smiled warmly at Splitface. He stood up, everybeast else following, albeit a little confusedly.

"Lead me to my prisoners, Captain."

------------------------

The badger awoke, breathing heavily as his vision swam. His head pounded like somebeast had just smashed it, and Swiftpaw's breath caught as he realized that something terrible had happened: the perfect culmination of his deepest fears.

Moving towards the window, he looked towards the east and confirmed his own prophecy. Two dotted specks could be seen in the far horizon, and Swiftpaw knew at once who they were and what they would tell him.

"Must everything be inevitable?" Salamandastron's ruler whispered.

The Badger Lord stood silently, feeling the wind brush over him fitfully as he started to chant the poem that had been first spoken to him three seasons ago, speaking it out loud for the first time.

"As the battle rages and as the banners fly,

One looks upward and prepares to die.

Awake from your slumber, Badger Lord, and look to the east.

What comes for the mountain is death, which may soon never cease.

Already it has claimed many, and soon much more;

You will be sorely tested, as all are in times of war.

Take heart, for while the battle is lost, the struggle has just begun.

What will take place is for you to decide, as the Fox's plans soon could be undone."

"Maia..." Swiftpaw whispered, his voice tinged in agony, images flashing before his eyes as he gripped the windowsill, desperately hoping against what he knew would be true.

------------------------

"Take heart, Captain, for with Swiftpaw's downfall, Salamandastron will finally be mine." - Barkclaw the Defiler.

[Skyblade]

This is a thought-provoking story, and one of the most eloquent ones I've read on this site. I'm going to read the rest on Fanfiction, now that I know it's on there

[Darkenmal]

Hey all, it's been a while. Happy New Year!

If you are interested in reading the rest of the fic, please go here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9528816/1/Dusktail-A-Tale-of-Redwall. To clarify, the reasons for me asking you to go to another site is that it takes a lot of time to format the fic for this forum, and I found out pretty quickly that it's honestly not worth the effort if people are just going to hop on FFN anyway. For those that don't want to go on FFN, I can provide a downloadable link for you if you want it. Just PM me and I'll whip up a downloadable version for you.

For the curious, I'm still working on my next chapter. It's floating around 17k words, which is around 33 pages in my word document. It's been completely re-written three times already, but my editor and I have finally come to an accord on a version that we both like. It should be published soon, although for us "soon" probably means another month or two.

If any of you guys have questions, reviews, or just want to talk, feel free to PM me or respond to this thread. It really means a lot to me that you are even reading this.

Cheers!

[Captain Tammo]

This is a thought-provoking story, and one of the most eloquent ones I've read on this site. I'm going to read the rest on Fanfiction, now that I know it's on there

I agree. Dusktail is certainly one of the best fanfics I've read. You do a great job, @Darkenmal !!!