Dusktail - Book 1 : To Answer The Call

"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.

Book 1: Chapter 1

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.

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.

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."

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."

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.