Wolfrum – An Urthblood Saga Fanfic

Greetings, fellow Fanfictioneers!

This little number is the first chapter in what I hope to be a complete story based on Highwing's magnificent epic "The Crimson Badger", the first book in the Redwall-based Urthblood Saga. It's written to express my great love for his work, and to fill in the gaps and flesh out a character that, as you'll know if you've read my reviews on this site, I've always had a strange fascination, even sympathy, with: Wolfrum.

This story takes place during the events of TCB told from the perspective of other characters, both Highwing's established ones and my own original. Needless to say, this story will contain heavy spoilers for Wing's work, so if you don't want important plot points revealed to you, I suggest you read The Crimson Badger first, located here: .net/s/6788438/1/The_Crimson_Badger_Book_I_The_Warlord

I want to give a very special thanks to Highwing for the tremendous help he's been in editing this story, as well as to provide feedback and suggestions for improvement. His help has been so substantial that I almost consider it as much his work as mine. My heartfelt gratitude to you, Ol' Featherbag!

Aside from Wing's own magnum opus, my main inspiration for this story is the Swedish book "Lasermannen: En Berättelse Om Sverige" ("The Laser Man: A Story About Sweden"), a biography of John Ausonius, a serial killer who targeted immigrants in Stockholm in the early 90's, armed with a laser-scoped rifle. If you think that's a weird source of inspiration for a Redwall-fanfic, well, hopefully I can explain more fully later.

I hope you will enjoy this tale, and that it will give you something to hold you over while we wait for "The Shrew War".

Samadhir

"Alright, you mangy lieabouts, get ready to march!"

Mykola strode along the lines of soldiers as they positioned themselves for inspection. Everybeast he passed stood at attention as the fox paced before the lower ranks.

Camped on the northern edges of Mossflower, the army of the Badger Lord Urthblood were sheltered under the dense foliage of nature's proud giants - beech, elm, chestnut and oak. An extended rest in the cool shades was their deserving reward for their latest victory: vanquishing the flock of villainous ravens and crows who'd fancied themselves warlords and conquerors. The feathered foebirds' delusions had been put to a swift and merciless end when the hardened warriors under the standard of the Crimson Badger had swarmed upon them, killing the head-raven Girsha and scattering the survivors. Those winged refugees would spread the word of these new defenders of the lands to any other would-be troublemakers who might seek to blight Mossflower with their presence.

This latest battle, fierce as it had been, was in truth little more than a diversion from the army's main objective. Urthblood had been planning to visit Mossflower for quite some time. For twenty seasons he'd struggled to pacify and tame the Northlands, driven by a dire prophecy of catastrophe, but news of his exploits had yet to reach the more southernly lands. Determined to rectify this situation, he had given the order for a sizeable detachment of his troops, over half a thousand strong, to commence a southward march. The badger was not among them at present, for several days earlier he had left his troops to travel alone to the most famous landmark in Mossflower: Redwall Abbey. His army would soon follow him to this legendary sanctuary, and Urthblood expected his soldiers to be on their best behaviour; he sought to make a favourable impression on the Redwallers, and with over half the forces in the detachment being vermin, it was that much more important that they behave properly and civilly. Anybeast who gave the Abbeydwellers reason to regret Urthblood's arrival at their home would bear the brunt of his wrath, and they had seen the results of that enough times to fear it above everything else.

Not that such intimidations applied to Mykola or any of his fellow swordfoxes. Indeed, they were the ones who doled out intimidation as a living extension of Lord Urthblood's will. Like the others of his special brigade, the bladebeast commanded great respect and fear from the vermin ranks, his black uniform jacket marking him as one of Urthblood's elite enforcers. Aside from their uncanny skills as both warriors and healers in the badger's army, their main duty was to maintain discipline and order in the lower ranks, particularly among the vermin. Many of these rats, weasels, stoats and ferrets had been forcefully recruited from defeated bandit gangs and plundering hordes and pressed into Urthblood's service. Despite all attempts to reform them and mold them into proper soldiers, old ways died hard, and they often needed a strong guiding paw to keep them from reverting to their old villainous selves. The swordfoxes provided just that kind of guidance, and had averted several disasters in the past, when unruly or rebellious elements in the badger's forces had tried to assert themselves.

Mykola had a bit of a problem, however, when it came to asserting his dominance in this regard. Ever since birth, his left leg had been slightly shorter than the right, causing him to walk with a slight wobble - not enough to hamper his combat skills, for then he would never have been inducted into the swordfox brigade - but just enough that he could give an unfortunately comical impression to the creatures he was supposed to cow into submission.

On this day, preparations were underway for the final leg of the Northlanders' march into Mossflower and thence to Redwall, where Urthblood even now shared the news of his prophecy and his unorthodox campaigns with the Abbey leaders, and plied his diplomatic paw in hopes of establishing an alliance with them.

As he made his way down the front line of Captain Cermak's rat platoon, Mykola couldn't help but spot the bruised snout and swollen eye on one all-too-familiar face. Wolfrum looked even more sullen and moody than usual as he stood next to his comrades, who this morning gave off an air of bare tolerance. Another fight for the trouble-prone rodent, it seemed.

Mykola paused and cast a brief gaze on Wolfrum, who seemed unsure whether he should display shame before settling on a look of worn defiance instead. The fox gave an inward sigh; this particular rat was only too well known as one of the "problem soldiers" in Urthblood's army who had to be watched with special care. And usually fell to Mykola to do the watching where Wolfrum was concerned.

He turned from the recalcitrant rat and hitch-stepped over to his commander Machus the Sword, leader of the swordfox brigade. Alongside the senior fox stood Lady Mina, the lone representative of the Gawtrybe squirrels who'd accompanied this army south on its march to Mossflower.

Machus received his underling's salute. "How are things looking with the troops, Mykola?"

"Good, for the most part. Rested and ready for the journey to Redwall. Most are in high spirits and eager for their assignments."

"Most?"

Mykola paused uncomfortably before continuing. Little got by Machus, and it was best to be entirely forthcoming with the Sword.

"Looks like a little trouble with the rats again. Nothing serious, just the usual scrapes and bruises. If you'd like, I can talk to the beasts involved ... smooth things over, make sure there's not a repeat …"

"It's Wolfrum, isn't it?" Machus surmised.

Mykola returned his commander's gaze without flinching. "'Fraid so. You know how he is; temperamental, he has trouble relating to other beasts, and he has problems with authority figures …"

"He'd best not have a problem with THIS authority figure." Machus idly pawed at the hilt of his sword. "Squabbles among the rank-and-file within their own platoons is a matter for the squad captains. Have Cermak handle this."

"From what I've heard of this Wolfrum," Lady Mina interjected, "he strikes me as an irresponsible, selfish, violent lout. I don't understand why Urthblood would keep a beast like that under arms. If it were up to me, I would've had him slain when we sorted out the survivors of that robber band he travelled with."

Machus shot Mina a cautionary glace. "Lord Urthblood makes those decisions, My Lady, not you ... or I. Or do you doubt his ... vision?"

Mina shrugged. "Even Lord Urthblood has been known to make mistakes."

"Not many, or else we would not be standing here on the northern fringes of Mossflower, with the Northlands half-tamed behind us."

Mykola cleared his throat for the attention of his two superiors. "I know Wolfrum's a bit of a pawful at times, but he's still a competent soldier in the right situations. He's never done anything to merit discharge from the army… or execution. If you will just let me talk with him, I'm sure this can all be sorted out without the need for any official disciplinary action."

Machus sighed. "I appreciate your concern for the soldiers, Mykola, but this is an army, not a nursery. The time you spend counselling the troublesome elements of our forces could be better spent on more important matters. What they need, especially the vermin, is stern discipline and severe reprimands when they step out of line. That has always been Lord Urthblood's way, and our way as well. The way you pamper them… I'm afraid it will just make them go soft, or even inspire them to further troublemaking if they believe they can get away with it."

"Or maybe it will give them a new kind of respect for their officers," Mykola countered. "Isn't that also what Lord Urthblood stands for - treating all creatures with respect and dignity so that they will come to respect themselves? You know how the lower ranks feel about us foxes. They think we're aloof and haughty, having these fine swords specially crafted for us, being so close to Urthblood and drilling and eating and sleeping apart from the others. Isn't the best way to dispel that resentment to actually take the time occasionally to talk to these beasts, get to know them and try to resolve their problems in ways that doesn't involve harsh words, beatings or reassignment to latrine duty?"

Machus smirked at Mykola's choice of words, but quickly turned serious again. "How they think of us now is exactly how we want them to think of us ... and why we set ourselves apart from the other squads. These are armed and fighting vermin, not innocent babes with wooden toy swords. When discipline is necessary, it must be dispensed with cold efficiency, without misplaced feelings of camaraderie getting in the way or clouding our judgment. There are five-hundred-and-eighty-two beasts in this detachment last time I checked – and yes, I do take the time to know these things. How can they be expected to get along with woodlanders and decent folk if they can't even get along with each other? They've had plenty of time to learn how to do just that - and the squad captains are there to settle any squabbles that can't be settled on their own. Let's face it, if a problem grows to the point where I or one of my other foxes is forced to become involved, it's a problem that has moved beyond mere words."

Mykola couldn't help but shuffle his slightly shorter left hindpaw in the grass during his captain's discourse, although he kept his expression professional and soldierly. "Well… doesn't the well-being of our beasts mean something too?"

It was Lady Mina who responded instead of Machus.

"We are preparing for a journey to Redwall Abbey. Those upstanding beasts have never seen an army of this size or composition before, and they certainly haven't seen armed rats or weasels traveling along with woodlanders and behaving like decent, civilized creatures. It is of utmost importance that our troops are on their best behaviour, if we want to make allies out of the Abbeybeasts, and we cannot get the vermin to pull themselves together on such short notice with kind words and friendly pats on the back."

"Yes, I know. But I really think my approach would be better for this particular situation. Wolfrum looks like he got the worst of that scrape; any further discipline from his superiors would probably only make things worse."

Machus considered Mykola's plea. "Very well. Normally I would let Captain Cermak handle such discipline within his own ranks - if he even decides it's a matter requiring his attention. But I agree that there's really no need to further aggravate matters by dishing out punishments just as we're about to begin our journey southward. Have a word with Cermak first so that he knows what you're about, and I'll let you try and sort this out the way you prefer to."

As Mykola thanked the fox captain, the squirrel Lady addressed him once more.

"Mykola, let me just say that I do admire the way you try to connect with the lower ranks and take care of their problems. I know that you've been able to handle these kinds of situations in your own manner before, and I think it's noble of you the way you can relate with the beasts and take your time to help them."

She then locked her eyes with that of the limping fox.

"But in this case … Wolfrum may be beyond such kindnesses. As I understand it, he barely responds to the reprimands Machus and Cermak dish out. Sooner or later, that rat is liable to do something so foolish that we'll have to remove him from the army permanently … one way or the other. I won't hesitate to take action myself if I'm there when that time comes, and I know Machus won't either. What about you?"

Mykola returned Mina's gaze with an imploring one of his own.

"No, Lady, he barely responds to reprimands anymore; on that we both agree. And that's entirely my point. I've spoken with Wolfrum several times; I know him better than either of you. He does have better sides to his nature, sides that tend to stay hidden under a tense military regimen. He's hardly got a heart of gold beneath that gruff exterior, but I truly believe he holds promise we've not seen yet - the promise Lord Urthblood saw in him when he took Wolfrum into his service. If you just give me the chance to connect with him more fully when time allows, I promise I will do what I can to turn him into a proper goodbeast … or at least a proper soldier."

The squirrel sighed and lowered her head.

"I hope you're right, Mykola, I really do. Because if he does step out of line again, especially at Redwall …"

Mykola repressed a gulp, realizing the implications of Lady Mina's warning. Nothing must go wrong at Redwall - nothing at all. The stakes were simply too high.

And that was the responsibility Mykola had just taken on for himself.

00000000000

"You want my advice, matey? Don't go makin' this anymore difficult fer yerself than you hafta. You know me 'n' Mikky're there fer you, we can talk about this an' sort it out without gettin' anybeast's fur mussed. Just don't cause a scene, 'cos that'd be the absolute worst thing you could do right now."

Liam's steadying paw kept a firm grip on his fellow rat's shoulder as they stood in formation. While Wolfrum bristled at being spoken to like an upset infant within earshot of his comrades, he knew better than to reject his friend's calming overtures. If anybeast other than Liam or Mykola stuck their snout into this mess and saw fit to start dishing out reprimands, he knew his troubles would only grow. And so the battered rodent drew a deep, laboured breath and let the insults and jabs from the soldiers alongside him wash over him, as hard as it was. Maybe he could pay them back more discreetly sometime in the future…

Forced to the front ranks by his antagonistic comrades in hopes that his marks and bruises might single him out for chastisement, Wolfrum's fur rippled in agitation at the injustice of it all, and from the pain he still felt from last night's incident. It had started during the battle against Girsha's birds; Wolfrum and a few other rats from his platoon had gotten separated from the main force during the vicious fighting. Left no choice but to make their way through the woods in hopes of rejoining their squad, they ended up losing themselves so thoroughly in the unfamiliar forest that they soon found themselves at the back of the enemy line. Which was not all bad, for soon they caught sight of Girsha himself, squawking out orders to every enemy bird within range of his caws. The amulets shining against the sleek black neck feathers and the rings decorating his talons left no doubt that this was indeed the raven lord Urthblood sought to bring down.

Wolfrum saw this as his personal moment, an opportunity to distinguish himself in battle. His small party lacked any commanding officers, freeing him to take any action he saw fit. He grabbed a spear from another rat and hissed at his companions to hold their position while he sneaked up behind the leaderbird, intending to be the one to bring down the enemy general singlepawed. Before he could draw within striking range, however, an unseen crow swooped down from a nearby tree, shrieking a warning to its master. Wolfrum unexpectedly found himself facing off against two formidable winged fighters at once.

The uproar of the struggle reached the waiting rats, but only Kefrin ran to his aid, brandishing his sword and taking a swing at the crow. This diversion had allowed Wolfrum to rally and stab Girsha in the side underneath his wing. The raven tried to fly away, but the wound made him stumble and fall upon his beak during his attempt. He should have been an easy target for Wolfrum.

Unfortunately, Kefrin wasn't very accomplished with his weapon; he served mostly as an errand rat in the army, taking messages, foraging, working as an advance scout and helping out the cook Gratch with meals. Capitalizing on his opponent's lack of skill, the crow quickly disarmed Kefrin and pushed him to the ground, harrying the rat with beak and talon. Kefrin had screamed for Wolfrum to help, but greed for personal glory won out, and after the merest moment's hesitation, Wolfrum turned to slay his quarry.

But that moment's hesitation was all Girsha needed; while Wolfrum had looked toward his besieged comrade, the raven managed to lift off and fly through the forest just beyond spear reach. Wolfrum would later learn that Girsha ultimately crashed into the midst of an otter brigade and was slain by the waterbeasts' javelins. Not that this fitting end to the feathered tyrant served Wolfrum's quest for glory one whit.

Raging at this missed opportunity, he ran back to the struggling rat only to discover that the crow had stabbed out one of Kefrin's eyes and torn open his throat. Wolfrum slew the bird before it had a chance to turn about and fully face him, then knelt at Kefrin's side. The stricken rodent spasmed and shook, blood gushing from his mouth and throat, then went still. The other rats finally chose that moment to pluck up their courage and come forward, only to find Kefrin's face and neck torn apart, while Wolfrum stood by seemingly unharmed and with nothing to show for his valiant efforts. The accusing looks they traded were as cold as Northlands snow.

Perhaps it was inevitable. Kefrin had been well liked. Wolfrum was not. The previous night, a group of rats and weasels had set upon Wolfrum as payback for what they considered his part in Kefrin's death. After a short struggle, a weasel had locked Wolfrum's paws behind his back and a rag had been stuffed into his maw to keep his cries from being heard, after which his assailants took turns punching and kicking him in his chest and stomach and groin. The assault concluded with a stinging slap across the face that made his eyeball turn somersaults in its socket, then they released him and left him splayed on the ground, vomiting from the pain.

Throughout the beating, Wolfrum had glimpsed the shadowy silhouette of a swordfox, leaning against a tree about twenty paces away. The red-furred bastard had watched calmly while Wolfrum's tormentors rained down their blows against him, not stirring a paw to stop the abuse. When the rat had looked up from his retching, the impassive figure was gone.

The swordfox's reaction - or lack thereof - hardly surprised him. Wolfrum had long been on the bad side of the bladebeasts, and several other officers as well. The unsympathetic commanders were probably only too happy to see him receive a good threshing once in a while. Cermak in particular hated him, regarding Wolfrum as an exemplar of all the worst stereotypes about their species (as if that son of a whore, recruited by Urthblood from a former slaver gang, was any better). And while you could get back at your equals in various ways if you were careful and imaginative, trying to physically settle a score with an officer was liable to earn you an equally severe beating for your troubles, and if you went against a swordfox you would wind up in a shallow grave before you knew it. That was the worst part: the unfairness of it all, the stacked deck which could leave an unpopular soldier utterly helpless from bullying. Sometimes he daydreamed that Cermak and most of the foxes would die violent and painful deaths in some future battle, preferably while Wolfrum was close enough to ignore their pleading cries for him to save them.

Wolfrum liked those daydreams.

But not every superior was a personal enemy. One of the few creatures in Urthblood's army who viewed Wolfrum with something less than total vitriol was Mykola, probably the only swordfox who didn't act like a stuck-up git. And then there was Liam, a young sergeant in Wolfrum's own platoon who commanded enormous respect from the ranks above and below due to his courage, openness and the care and dedication he showed to every rat under his command. Both Mykola and Liam had stepped forward to help him out with some of his past episodes and incidents, dissuading reprisals from his fellow soldiers and more severe disciplines from the higher officers. Sometimes Wolfrum wondered if he was still alive thanks to their efforts.

Liam was right; best to just get through this day, and when he had a moment for himself later tonight, he could speak with Mykola. The sympathetic fox would surely understand that Wolfrum didn't get Kefrin killed, and that the unprovoked assault on him was entirely unjustified. Hopefully, he could also convince Mykola to give his wounds some attention; it wouldn't surprise him if the aching in his chest signified a cracked rib or two, and he really hoped that the intermittent stabs of pain between his legs were merely the result of an unfortunately placed bruising…

A pair of swordfoxes - neither of them Mykola - strolled by on their final inspection of the massive multispecies formation awaiting the call to begin the march to Redwall. Wolfrum looked forward to the visit with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. On one paw, the Abbey was renowned for its hospitality, its welcoming atmosphere and the lavish meals its residents enjoyed on a regular basis; Wolfrum had long believed that the sting of his fellow soldiers' hostility toward him would be blunted by a decent hot meal and a warm, soft bed every night instead of the bland hardtack rations and bare ground that was usually a campaigner's lot. Then again, he had never gotten along well with woodlanders, and his superiors knew it. More than once his back had known the cane's lash due to discourtesy towards some stupid mouse or hedgehog villager. It was a minor miracle he hadn't gotten into worse trouble; he still shuddered at the fate which had nearly befallen that stoat now permanently chained to a member of the mouse platoon, and while Wolfrum's transgressions hadn't been nearly as bad as the stoat's, he would still have to tread carefully during his stay at Redwall so that no Abbeybeast went running to Machus with complaints over a muttered grumble or dour glance from the visiting rat.

And then the inspection rounds were completed and the commanding officers took their places at the front of their respective platoons. Machus could be heard in the distance, giving the order to be underway. The order was relayed down the lines, hundreds of beasts long, until Captain Cermak shouted out for his rats to begin marching. Still wincing a bit at the aches and twinges from his beating, Wolfrum fell into step behind the shrew brigade in front of him. Doing his best to ignore the palpable enmity of his immediate "comrades" - and what a misleading term that was for fellow creatures-in-arms who would so grievously mistreat one of their own - Wolfrum hoped the army didn't break into one of their ridiculous marching songs. Even if the tone-deaf rat hadn't been blessed with a singing voice that could drive an elderly rabbit-mother to murder, his tortured chest wouldn't have welcomed such an exertion. Oh, well - he could always just move his lips and fake it. He often did anyway.

And thus did Urthblood's army begin its march to rejoin its erstwhile master at Redwall Abbey. And most of the marchers, including Wolfrum and Mykola, held a strong sense that this visit would be the beginning of something new and significant, for the lands of Mossflower and maybe for themselves as well…