Act I
The three chieftainsAn icy gale blew violently through the snow-covered island that was Arksmif. The island itself was set amongst the southern most oceans of the world, far away from all other civilization. Amidst the winter storms, it was hardly visible to a creature's eye, or that of which who was foolish enough to set sail for any destination in the hostile weather. Arksmif was an isolated place, where only one creature lived. On the largest peak in the snow-capped ranges there stood a pine martin. Regardless of the storm buffeting at the pearly-white tunic he wore, and the violent winds that threatened to hurl him from the mountain, he stood, staring out across the ocean, glimpsing the tiniest part of the Mountain of the Fire Lizard, Salamandastron. But he didn't need Salamandastron; the pine martin had other ideas. All he wanted was to build a tower upon his island. The strongest tower ever built. A tower on Arksmif, where the pine martin could rule against all who opposed him. But this tower wouldn't just appear; the pine martin was smarter than that. The pine martin had trained in all arts of fighting, from martial arts to swords to lances to bows. No weapon was unknown to him. Ambitious, confident, yes, but this pine martin had plans to set sail upon a ship he would build himself. A secret ship, that would sail the seas, capture friend and foe alike, then run over Salamandastron, take all hostages, then sail to the area he knew as Mossflower, and conquer everything there. Single-handedly this pine martin wanted to conquer the world to build this tower upon Arksmif. Nothing could stop him, nothing at all. A smile flickered across the pine martin's features as his tunic blew all about his body. Soon the winter storms would no longer bother him, he was to set sail and attack all likely places that would house slaves. He was no ordinary pine martin, he was Ashwood the Druid!
"Foremole! Get those fruitberry flans out of the oven; I want no slip-ups for the Abbot's Anniversary Feast!" Friar Gambit called from behind the enormous cheese he was rolling.
"Burr aye! That 'un be a gurt cheeser you'm a cookin there, zurr Friar!" Foremole Trugg grinned as he trundled over to the ovens to rescue the fruitberry flans from burning. Friar Gambit continued calling out orders.
"Don't let up on that deeper 'n' ever pie mixture, pile it up, or the moles will have you as well!"
"More hotroot pepper in the hotroot soup, the otters eat it hot!"
"Oh hello Cellarkeeper Muffa, a nice smelling ale you have there, what do you call it?"
"Oh just a homemade brew my great nuncle Grubb taught me! It's called Warm Morning," the large hedgehog who was in charge of the cellar, Muffa, said proudly. Friar Gambit dipped his finger in and tasted the brew.
"Mmm…superb! You're 'nuncle Grubb' sure knew how do keep cellars!"
"Oh yes Friar, best cellar keeper in the history of Redwall Abbey!" Friar Gambit didn't reply, a splashing in the Warm Morning ale distracted him.
"Whatever live creature is in there?" He asked curiously, peering through his half moon glasses. A small mouse, Tick, or a Dibbun as they called baby creatures at Redwall, broke the surface of the brew.
"Aah, Friar Gam'it, that's a nice drink for Tick!" He squeaked, saturated by the dark red ale.
"Bad Tick, don't go swimming in poor Muffa's ale!" Scolded Sister Carina, one of the good mice that raised and protected the Dibbuns at the abbey. She swept Tick up in one paw and carried him off, Tick protesting in vain. Friar Gambit couldn't suppress a smile. The Abbot's Anniversary Feast to be held in the Great Hall was going to be a good one!
Captain Troona of the Skullbearer was a pure corsair in every way. From head to foot he was coated black, as he melted soot and rubbed it into his normally brown fur every day. A massive cleaver was strapped across his broad back, and a red bandana was tied around his head. His ferret crew were masters of the southern seas, conquering all the ships that sailed past. The Skullbearer was the grandest looking ship around. It was painted pure silver, great blue sails billowing in the strong arctic winds. Below the deck of the ferret captain's ship was a huge underbelly housing several hundred oarslaves. These ranged from mice to mutinous ferrets to hedgehogs, all helplessly chained to the oars, bending their backs day after day. Captain Troona was an ambitious beast, but now his shipping supplies had run low and he needed a stop off point in the howling gales of winter.
"Land Hooooooooooo!" Called the ferret at the crow's nest, Dalbark called. A great cheer went up through the drunken ferrets, Captain Troona not among them. An athletic beast, he had sprung up the rigging to join Dalbark in the crow's nest.
"A good 'lil island for the ol' stomach buckoes, count yourselves lucky that your matey Troona found land!" Troona yelled over the edge of the nest, taking all the credit for the finding of the island.
"Dalbark, Hellclaw! Get yor' lazy behinds moving and get the crew ready to land!" He yelled above the gale, the whiteness of the air and the howling wind not helping his cause. The crewferrets stumbled about, each trying to be more organised than the other, which made them terribly disorganised on a whole. They stood in two messy lines. Troona stared out over them, hardly being able to see them, from the crow's nest.
"Git onto the island and git the tents erected, I want a roarin' fire in five minutes!" He bellowed.
Not only the crewferrets had heard this. Unfortunately for them, they had stopped right near Arksmif, the snow covered island. Thus another creature had heard this. Another creature who didn't take kindly to visitors. Ashwood the Druid slunk away from the Skullbearer, hurrying back to his cave to arm himself, a grim smile sliding across his features.
"Right buckoes! We'll be needing a foragin' party out there 'coz we need some food afore the day's out, so git goin' and get some o' yor' mateys and git out there for some vittles!" Troona said after the tents had been set up on a flat part on the south side of Arksmif. The crewferrets chose their own groups, going only with ferrets they could trust. As the parties were filing out of the camp between the tents, a mighty howl rent the air.
"Aaaaaaaaaaarksmiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiif!!!"
A pine martin, clad in a white tunic stormed into the camp wielding a huge flail which he flung with deadly precision, killing many of the ferrets before they had a chance to draw their swords. When they finally got their swords from their scabbards, the pine martin had dropped the flail and was rushing the ferrets armed with a huge double-bladed battle-axe, swinging ferociously, blocking and striking at the same time. As the numbers wilted from fifty to around ten, Troona did what he nearly always did in times of emergency, he fled. The black ferret ran for his life, back towards the Skullbearer. He grabbed hold of one of the ropes then pulled himself up, paw over paw, faster than he'd ever climbed. However, the pine martin had already performed a mighty jump and stood on the deck of the Skullbearer, axe in paw.
Troona gaped at the feat in fascinated terror. He finished climbing the rope, swung over the deck and turned to face the pine martin, drawing his cutlass as he did.
"What gives, pine scum, killin' my crew like that?" He asked savagely, shaking his sword at the pine martin. The martin's eyes, stared back at him, radiating cold hatred as he bellowed aloud,
"I am Ashwood the Druid, I'm in need of a ship, and yours is perfect for my needs. You come to Arksmif, you accept my terms, and my terms in this case is your death!"
"Whoa there matey, I'm recruiting, and you might make a good warrior for my fleet y'know," Troona said, trying to bargain with the pine martin.
"I work for no-one, I need a ship, and your ship is mine ferret!" Ashwood spat, swinging his axe dangerously.
"I ain't got no time for a run-downer like yew who charges inna' my camp and makes demands!" Troona snarled, advancing on the martin.
"Ah the insolent ferret captain, always the one to die," Ashwood said, amused by Troona's violent speech.
"We'll see who's dead after this martin!" Troona said through gritted teeth. With a roar, Ashwood threw himself on Troona. The ferret barely had time to raise his sword as Ashwood drove him back, swinging the axe with ease, as if it weighed but a feather. Troona immediately panicked, this pine martin could fight! He threw away his cutlass and launched himself at Ashwood's face.
Ashwood dropped to the deck and rolled aside as his foe landed off balance. Discarding his battle axe, he span in a quick circle, bringing his right leg up in an arc as he did so, landing a powerful spinning kick on Troona's jaw. The ferret stumbled backward, knowing that the inevitable was about to happen. Ashwood went at him, throwing several vicious kicks to the ferret's stomach.
"I might have fought more nobly ferret, I may have waited for you to get your balance. But no, you had to call me a run downer, didn't you? Well I'm not a run-downer, I'm Ashwood the Druid, and I have had my vengeance upon you!" Ashwood cried, running Troona through with his own cutlass.
"There now, impaled on your own sword eh ferret? Nobeast stands before Ashwood the Druid!" The pine martin grinned as Troona crumpled to the ground. Without a backward glance, Ashwood leapt from the Skullbearer's deck and against the icy wind he ducked his head as he strode back to his cave to get supplies for his new vessel.
The Abbot's Anniversary Feast at Redwall Abbey was about to commence!
Mice, moles, hedgehogs, a badger, squirrels, otters and a hare stood respectfully behind their chairs at the long table in the Great Hall of the abbey. The table was bare, and the aromas from the abbey kitchens made more than one mouth water. The Dibbuns stood, shuffling impatiently, but showing enough respect for their Abbot. Finally, Abbot Alistair entered the room. The mouse walked slowly in, dressed in his brown habit, paws tucked into the sleeves. He reached the head of the table and addressed the creatures of Redwall in a grace.
"For the meat we took to make this meal,
To the sacrifices we owe a great deal,
And through the seasons that will come,
We give back life to many of the some,
That gave themselves to us for this meal,
To them our respect will always be real,"
Abbot Alistair stood staring around at the grave faces after grace. His ancient face and thick round glasses broke into a small smile.
"Why all the solemn looks? It shows respect to the animals that stopped our hunger. My stomach is rumbling, and it will cause an earthquake if we wait any longer. So eat my friends, eat!" He said cheerfully, seating himself. The creatures of the abbey followed suite.
"First course to the table please!" Abbot Alistair called. Foremole and four other moles trundled into the Great Hall, pushing trolleys full of steaming hot food. A rousing cheer went up as the Abbot's Anniversary Feast began!
There was summercream pudding, fruitberry flan, hotroot soup, deeper 'n' ever pie, a variety of meats and vegetables and the ever-popular Warm Morning Ale, which was taken to enormously by the elders of Redwall. The smooth taste bubbled as it went down throats, and the warmth of the ale made everybody very happy. Kentucky, the hare visiting the abbey, put the food away like he was on a seven-season famine, which is the case with most hares. Dibbuns stared wide-eyed at the hare as he scoffed the pudding, two fruitberry flans and a large bowl of hotroot soup down in a matter of minutes.
"I say old chap, would you mind passing me that pie? Golly, this scoff is absoballylutely brilliant, wot? If you've finished with that apple pie I'd gladly polish it up for you good sir, I say, is that the next course?" He said through mouthfuls of food. Shouts of happy laughter echoed around the Great Hall as the Redwall dwellers conversed about the sheer variety and quality of the food.
"Really, this herb pizza here, it's quite brilliant Friar, whatever is in it?"
"Oh it's just a little secret of herbs here and spices there,"
"Really? You simply must give me the recipe,"
"Simple actually, just take two pinches of garlic, a clove of parsley, a dash of basil and a pawful of paprika and mix it and then spread it on the pizza base with good old apple sauce!"
"Simply wonderful Friar,"
"Hurr aye, this'm deeper 'n' ever poi'm being the'm best one I'm ever havin, hurr hurr!"
"Cawww…this hotroot soup is the hottest I've ever had, the nicest too!"
"I put extra spice in it just for you, Skip!"
The feast dragged on for several hours until nobody except Kentucky was still eating dessert.
"I say, have you all finished? Cripes, I could be going on for hours. A chap needs to hold the old tum for a while however, and I think I might slacken the old belly for a while, wot?" A sigh of relief went up from most of the creatures around the table. Kentucky had finally finished, and now the formalities could commence, followed shortly after the entertainment. The Abbot took the stage.
"It is not often that an Abbot of Redwall Abbey lasts these seasons, as this is the tenth I have run my beautiful abbey. I couldn't have done this without the ongoing support of the Brothers and Sisters of Redwall, who have helped out in both duties and friendship. To you I show my appreciation," a cheer went up for the Brothers and Sisters of the abbey, who looked around, smiling as they usually did.
"I would also like to say that it is fortunate that Redwall has had ten seasons of peace, and no threats have come to our abbey. I hope that this will continue from now on in. I also want to say a special thankyou to Reggata, our badgermum at the abbey who has been here almost twenty seasons, and led a long and happy life, and who has defended our abbey against the forces of evil. I now conclude by saying let Redwall live long and happy!" The Abbot finished, and the creatures started chattering again, wondering who would be the one to start the entertainment. Kentucky, never backward in coming forward, immediately sprang up onto the table and began singing:
This is ditty, I have no pity,
For the ones who can't understand,
It's nitty, it's gritty,
It's practically contraband,
But I'll sing it; I'll sing it,
Like I don't have a care,
And if I'm in trouble, trouble,
I'll say it's a dare,
Because a singing hare,
Is so very rare,
Unlike a mouse,
In this big red house,
Look! There's one over there!
With the last note, Kentucky pointed to the doors of the Great Hall, and when everyone looked he swiped a bowl of strawberry ice cream.
"Top hole, wot!"
Shouts of laughter greeted Kentucky's humorous act, and the music and dancing began. What a feast it had been!
Ashwood clambered up the side of the Skullbearer, laden with his numerous weapons. Flails, cleavers, maces, crossbows, daggers, axes, he had the lot. He searched the cabins below deck, found the captain's room, and threw all his stuff in there. He then went down below deck to greet the oarslaves.
The oarslaves were pitiful creatures, who had been chained to the oars and forced to bend their backs under the slavedriver's watchful eye and vicious whip. Upon seeing Ashwood, they hung their heads, saddened that their new master was such a vicious fighter. Ashwood however, took a different approach towards the oarslaves.
"I see you've been terribly done by in your time, slaves. Well I'll tell you what. I'll cut those chains, and you're free to walk around deck, manage the tiller, whatever, but let me tell you, any sign of mutiny and you'll be thrown from the deck, and I will personally pincushion you with five arrows before you hit the water, clear?" He said menacingly. This proposition was well received by the slaves, who leapt about in their newfound freedom. Ashwood couldn't hold back a smile. Having no contact with other creatures in his life, these slaves really were good company.
"Right! Now that you're all decked out and ready to sail, I'm going to outline my plan. Nobody on this vessel fights except me. I need every able-bodied creature to be able to help build a tower on Arksmif. We will sail north to Salamandastron, where I will disembark and invade the mountain, slay all the hares and take the Badger Lord there. We will then sail to Mossflower, where I believe we will find an abbey or something in that fashion, of which the building materials will be stripped from the abbey and taken back here. These plans must be carried out, and you will all help to build the tower, or you will be slain, do I make myself clear?" Ashwood growled, staring around at the slaves.
"Isn't that a bit ambitious captain?" A weakened ferret said, confident that their leader was slightly soft.
"Ambition is reality for Ashwood the Druid! Should he have plans, the plans work! Ignorant ferret, I sentence you to death!" Ashwood bellowed angrily.
"Oh yeah, you're just a big softy aren't you, sentence me to death!" The ferret smirked in retaliation. Ashwood's paw strayed towards a sword leaning against the bows of the deck, but he drew his paw back.
"Yes captain, go for the weapon, kill the oarslave like the coward you are!" The ferret snarled, becoming over confident.
"When I said I sentenced you to death, I meant with my own paws!" Roared Ashwood, moving like lightning to be in front of the ferret. He swung his right leg high in an arc, bringing his right footpaw crashing down on the ferret's neck. The ferret died instantly, crumbling to the deck.
"Let this be a warning to you all. I am not like other warriors. I fight for myself, by myself. You push your luck, I kill you. You show me respect, I show you respect. No respect, I slay you as I see fit. I am Ashwood the Druid, Lord of all Fighters!"
The steamy forge of Salamandastron took its sweaty toll on Furnum Fireblade's brow as he belted away at his keen-edged sword, already thinner than paper. Badger Lord at Salamandastron for a season, Furnum Fireblade had an obsession with keeping his battle sword so sharp that it could pierce even the heaviest of vermin armour. With every time the hammer fell, he imagined slaying a vermin. His eyes grew misty red as he thought the dreadful thought of losing his beloved Salamandastron to vermin. The bloodwrath upon him, he roared, giving the sword one last hit.
"Excusing meself sah! But there is brekkie to be had down in the kitchens sah! I believe you'll be wanting food?" The hare warrior Micyel bounded into the forge.
"Ah it's the glutton, Micyel! Well I'll be wanting breakfast, so I'll come down shortly," Furnum murmured, the bloodwrath fading from his eyes.
"It'll be absoballylutely top hole sah! The ol' gel in the kitchens, what's her name? Seleve, that's her, she's been up to her old tricks, making the best scoff ol' Salamandastron could ever want. Pretty good, wot!" The hare said, swaying on his long, lanky legs.
"Fair enough Micyel, I'll be down soon!" Furnum repeated. Micyel left, drawn to the table by the delicious aromas from the Salamandastron kitchens.
However, Furnum Fireblade had one last thing to do before breakfast. He wished to venture into the chamber of the Badger Lords for the very first time since his era had started, to see the fate that had been written for him by other Badger Lords in their time at Salamandastron. It was important for Badger Lords to do this, as it was tradition at Salamandastron. Furnum hurriedly climbed the steps towards the top of the mountain. Around halfway up, there stood a fissure in the wall. Setting his incredible bulk against it, Furnum began straining his great muscles to open the rock face entirely. The warcry of Salamandastron echoed around the staircases as Furnum threw his weight against the fissure.
"Eulaliaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!"
The fissure opened, slowly but smoothly. Panting, Furnum staggered inside and slumped down. The chamber had many pictures on the wall. Standing up, Furnum Fireblade ran his paw along the framed drawings. There was Lord Brocktree, Boar the Fighter, Sunflash the Mace, Rawnblade Widestripe and many others. Reaching the final picture, Furnum stood, gaping at the picture. Instead of a picture of him there, he simply saw a beach with hundreds of slain hares lying in pools of blood, and him being chained to the mast of a silvery ship, mid-winter, and the grinning face of a pine martin that had performed this feat!
At that moment, Ashwood the Druid and the Skullbearer were in sight of Salamandastron! Ashwood stood on the bowsprit, knowing that soon his conquering of the mountain would be done. He didn't doubt himself in any manner, and the pine martin's face radiated confidence as he stared grimly at the mountain. His plan was simple, find a way in, slay all the hares, capture the Badger Lord. It would work, Ashwood was sure of it. His abilities were far beyond any hare or badger in that mountain. He went below deck to get his armour, this would be some fight!
One hour later, the pine martin stood on the shores of the mountain, staring upward through the slits in his great helmet. The horns on top of the helm made him look grand, and the chain mail plate he wore allowed manoeuvrability. Strung across his back there was a long sword, sheathed in his great belt were two daggers and in his paw he carried a gnarled staff. The mountain looked spooky in the misty morning, great swirls of cloud around the top made it look somewhat foreboding. But no sense but determination lay in the mind of Ashwood, as he crossed to the foot of the mountain. Through the slits of his helm, he saw an arrow slit about one hundred metres up. He felt it suitable for an entrance. Digging his blunt claws into the rock face, Ashwood the Druid began his ascent, the beginning of his plan to conquer Salamandastron!
Micyel had finished his breakfast. Wolfing down nine courses had taken its toll on the warrior hare, and he was heading up to his room to take a nap for a while. The hare sluggishly dragged himself up the stairs, his fattened belly bulging.
"Feelin' terrible this good fine morning wot! Bit hard on the jolly ol' tum when a blighter's got to have breakfast isn't it, stupid stomach! Bad show, wot!" He mumbled, punching his stomach which wobbled comically. Reaching the top of the stairs, he failed to notice the shadow which was cast on the sill of the arrow slit, or the silent swish of air as Ashwood the Druid entered the hallway before the dormitory doors.
"Surprise hare," Ashwood said silkily as the hare turned around.
"Good day to you pine martin, can I ask how you jolly well got in-" Micyel couldn't finish his sentence, for a quick blow on the jaw with the gnarled staff and a swift slitting of the throat left him dead on the floor, his face a picture of surprise and dismay as Ashwood stole down the stairs.
Krainer the Paladin was a powerful creature in every way. He was of the wolf brood, who knew nothing but death. Powerful talon like claws protruded from strong paws, teeth scarred, sharper than needles, bunches of muscle coiled around the joints in his incredible body. Long neck and head fur flowed freely behind his pointed, erect ears. His head fur was pure white, and gold armour plated his chest and abdomen, with a silver mesh flung about his legs and footpaws. Paladin by name, Paladin by appearance and Paladin by fighter. Krainer and his band of rebellious wolves had conquered an area to the north of Salamandastron, the northern ranges. Krainer and his band were noble fighters for wolves, who were usually evil and devious warriors. They fought with respect, not hitting opponents when they were down, respecting ones of larger numbers. However, when it came to territory there was no respect whatsoever, the wolves wanting to dominate the regions all around the northern ranges. Many enemies had been slain at the ferocious fighting paws of Krainer the Paladin. Today, Krainer was going head to head with a new challenger in from the East, one they called Santoro the Ruler, one of the fox type. Krainer didn't trust foxes, thus he planned on showing no respect for the fox. He had his band decked out in arctic furs, heavy woollen coats which arrows had trouble piercing. Krainer's band had five in it, Dasonze, Rielle, Wulluck, Morkusk and himself. They dwelled in a mountain cave about halfway up Mount Mahjesno, the highest peak in the northern ranges.
"All right gang, if yew see me getting into any amount o' trouble out dere, I wancha ta get ya maple bows out and train 'em on dis fox's band ok? Can't let me get on me back foot den dey kill us, can we? Leeve dis Santoro tah me though, I wont him outa my territory ok?" Krainer said in his husky northlandish voice as his band marched down from the cave to the foot of the mountain, where they could make out twenty or so dark shapes. His band whole-heartedly agreed. With a cocky name like that, the fox needed to be seen off the land. Krainer bounded down the last few metres and stared deep into the eyes of Santoro the Ruler.
Santoro wore a silver cloak and a metal skullcap with slits cut out in it so that his pointy ears could protrude. Wide eyes for a fox, they swivelled evilly in their sockets, taking in Krainer's band. Around his neck he wore a thin gold chain, which Krainer noted in wicked delight. Dressing up like that the fox couldn't be that good a fighter.
"Good day to you…leader," Santoro said, smiling disarmingly.
"What do yew wont with mah land, sly one?" Krainer said back, glaring at Santoro.
"Oh, just a mountain here and there, your head on a stick," Santoro replied, his sly face breaking into an evil smile.
"Ya slimy vermin, ya think ya can just turn out here an' take on mah land?" Krainer snarled. Santoro had pulled out a broadsword and was waving it dangerously.
"I take what I want and spare whom I want, and I want you dead, and this mountain range," he said calmly, taking one step toward Krainer. Krainer flicked his paw and his archers had maple bows and arrows trained at Santoro's head in a split second.
"Who were ya going to 'take' fox?" Krainer said, pulling out his own longsword.
"Cheatin' scum!" Santoro yelled in rage, charging in recklessly.
Krainer raised the enormous kite shield he had strapped onto his left arm and blocked the broadsword slash from Santoro, who rolled quickly aside as Krainer's blade crashed down onto the ground beside him. He sprang up and attacked wildly, slashing and stabbing at Krainer's defensive shield. From behind the shield, Krainer was perfectly safe, though he wanted the fight to end quickly. Santoro kept coming, but could never get through the shield. Until he pulled out the second broadsword. Krainer immediately knew he was in trouble, flinging the shield down and taking a dagger from Rielle.
"Eusentraylaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!" With a fearsome warcry, Santoro came at Krainer, swinging his broadswords with deadly accuracy. Krainer hung on grimly to his dagger, waiting for an opening, all the while parrying and thrusting with his own longsword. The combatants circled, swords clashing, Krainer's band still with their arrows nocked at Santoro's group's throats. Both Krainer and Santoro, neither showing any sign of weakness, fought the battle ferociously. Until Krainer's longsword found its touch. Finally Krainer could use the longer blade to burst through the gaps in Santoro's defensive guard. Santoro remained on the attack, though Krainer slowly drove him back with his superior sword. Finally, Krainer pushed with all his might on his footpaws thrusting his sword through Santoro's guard, deliberately not stabbing Santoro. As Santoro's guard opened slightly, Krainer pounced, heedless of his heavy armour, straight into the arms of Santoro. Dropping his longsword, Krainer grabbed Santoro by the throat with one paw and drove the dagger into Santoro's stomach.
"Archers, fire!" Was all Krainer said before both Santoro and ten of his band crumpled to the ground, felled by arrows. The other ten of Santoro's band fell a second later when the lightning fast reloading actions from Krainer's group took their toll on Santoro's band's hearts.
"Back up tha mountain boys, git breakfast ready an' make it quick, I'll go an' throw dis body inta da sea!" Krainer said, swooping up Santoro's body. Krainer had defeated yet another opponent, and his ambitious mind looked deviously toward the canyon south of the ranges. Krainer had a plan!
Ashwood the Druid broke into a run down the hall, his white tunic wet from the perspiration, which dampened his chest. Stealth was gone from his mind now, he was inside Salamandastron! Reaching the doorway of the dining hall, he heard hares talking in curious tones and the booming voice of the Badger Lord. Calmly leaning his gnarled staff against the wall, Ashwood drew the longsword from the scabbard across his back. He spun quickly, shooting his right footpaw out, kicking the heavy oak door in.
"Aaaaaaaaaaarksmiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiif!!!"
Ashwood bellowed his warcry as he stormed into the dining hall, slaying two hares on his way in. The rest of the hares spun around, looking at Ashwood racing toward them. Before any could act, Ashwood was on the table, ducking low and carving heads off the hares. Fiercely he kicked out at the hares, stunning them before cutting off their heads with his fearsome blade. Furnum Fireblade was on his feet in a second. He went nowhere without his keen blade, not even meals excluded. So as the last hare at the dining table fell, Furnum Fireblade roared out Salamandastron's warcry and attacked Ashwood the Druid in a battle that Furnum believed would be to the death.
At that precise moment, Badgermum Regatta stood atop the north battlement of Redwall Abbey with Abbot Alistair, staring out onto the path leading past the abbey.
"A beautiful morning wouldn't you say, Regatta?" The Father Abbot murmured.
"Indeed Alistair, though I wonder this fine morning of the whereabouts of my only son, Furnum Fireblade. I haven't seen him in many seasons, and I wonder what has become of him," Regatta spoke softly in reply.
"Badgers are drawn to Salamandastron as we well and truly know Regatta, thus I think you will find your son well, doing what he does best, defending the coastline against the rats of the sea." Abbot Alistair said.
"Indeed they are, and I hope he is safe there- No!" Regatta suddenly snapped into a fighting stance, growling and hissing dangerously.
"Whatever is wrong Regatta?" Alistair asked uncertainly.
"The first blow has been struck in a battle which I am sure Furnum Fireblade cannot win. I must leave the Abbey!" Regatta said hoarsely.
"Regatta, as you are a badger I respect your decision, therefore I will have provisions packed and ready by noon," Alistair said, sensing the urgency of the moment.
"Hurry! I must leave!" Regatta shouted, snarling.
"Regatta, you must remain calm! I'm sure Furnum can handle the situation-"
"No! He cannot. This is a warrior he faces, not a searat, something different, please hurry!" Regatta cut Alistair off.
"So be it Regatta. The dibbuns will be sad to see you go, so say your goodbyes at least," Alistair said soberly, attempting to hide the sadness, which gripped him.
"You're right of course, Father Abbot, I will say my goodbyes in a civilized fashion. However, after that, do not expect me back at the Abbey for a few seasons!" Regatta finished, bounding off the walltop to the Great Hall.
****
"Eulaliaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!"
Furnum Fireblade launched himself at Ashwood the Druid, who dodged nimbly aside.
"Come on badger, where's the bloodwrath when you need it?" Ashwood smirked.
"Eulaliaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!"
Furnum Fireblade answered with a warcry, attacking Ashwood like a mad beast. Ashwood simply dodged the vicious sword strokes, parrying well and thrusting in a manner that lured Furnum Fireblade into a false sense of security. Suddenly, Ashwood flung his sword at Furnum and leapt off the table, facing the Badger Lord with only his paws. Furnum flung his sword up to block the throw and then attacked Ashwood.
Ashwood jumped every sword stroke, kicking as he did so. He landed three solid blows before Furnum threw his sword down and came at him, teeth bared. Ashwood leapt, high over the Badger's head and landing behind him, spinning and putting his footpaw into Furnum's stomach as he turned around. Furnum stumbled backward, surprised at the pine martin's strength. Ashwood threw fake punches at Furnum's head and as his conscience went up, Ashwood's footpaw hacked into his left leg joint. Repeatedly, Ashwood dodged and ducked under punches, crunching Furnum's leg with vicious spinning, jumping, roundhouse and forward kicks, weakening the joint. Realizing what the pine martin was doing, Furnum switched his fighting stance so that he had his right leg forward.
This manoeuvre was a tactical and beneficial one, until Ashwood worked out a plan. Moving to the left of Furnum, he forced the badger to circle, twisting his injured leg. As Furnum winced in pain, Ashwood hit the floor and slid beneath the gap in between Furnum's huge legs. Before Furnum knew what had happened, Ashwood had seized the badger by the neck and pulled him in closer, regardless of the badger's bulk, and buckled his left leg with a sidekick. With a groan of pain, Furnum crashed to the floor, lying still and crying out in pain.
"How does it feel badger?" Ashwood mocked. "Feels bad now doesn't it, lying on the floor, defeated by a pine martin! Well don't I have news for you, Furnum Fireblade. You'll be joining me on the Skullbearer, and we're sailing off to Mossflower to conquer Redwall Abbey!"
"Huh, you'll never take the Abbey while I'm against you, I'll never join you!" Snarled Furnum.
"That's where you're wrong badger, you'll see soon enough when Ashwood the Druid has done his work!"
After slitting the Badger's hide, Ashwood had caused enough blood loss to cause Furnum Fireblade to pass out. Calling upon his oarslaves, Ashwood was able to lift the badger up and over the deck railing and onto the ship's deck. The slaves stared in awe at Ashwood's victim, though the slaves were not the only ones who saw the unconscious badger. Two elderly hares, Gemini and Norkee, stood at the top of Salamandastron, staring sadly down onto the deck.
"There has never been a time where a Badger Lord has left Salamandastron. Now I fear that the mountain is in jeopardy," Gemini said, his eyes blinking back tears as he stared at the Skullbearer.
"The mountain isn't in jeopardy, we are the only defenders left, and now we cannot defend, for we are elderly," Norkee replied quietly.
"What is there to do now?" Gemini asked of him. Norkee seemed to lighten a little.
"We will leave the mountain," he began. "Leave the mountain, then travel directly south from here. We will come to Huskarl's village, though his son Skeepang may lead there now. There we can seek refuge and plot against this monstrosity which has taken Furnum Fireblade!" He finished confidently. Gemini also brightened.
"Yeah, we've got nothing to lose, everything to gain, we've got weapons, rations, and everything needed for a journey. So what are we waiting for?" He said.
"It'll be absoballylutely brill to be on the jolly ol' march again, wot! Chin out, stiff upper lip wot!"
"Let's give this Ashwood the Druid scum a jolly ol' warcry to see him on his way, wot?"
"Eulaliaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!"
With a final warcry, the two hares began packing rations.
Dibbun and elder alike stood on the ramparts of Redwall Abbey to watch Badgermum Regatta leave the abbey. There were many tears and hugs as the badger said her goodbyes. She stood on the dusty path leading south, waving goodbye to the good creatures in her former home.
"Good fortunes and winds at your back go with you, Regatta, we hope to see you back in a few seasons!" Abbot Alistair said sadly to her from the south wall.
"I will return Father Abbot, fear not!" Regatta murmured, turning away.
"Wait muvver Rugetta! How vill I grow big an' strong wivvout ya to help Tick?" Called the Dibbun from the wall. Without a backward glance, tears forming in her eyes for her favourite Dibbun, she bounded down the pathway away from the abbey.
"So I says to the ol' chap, why doncha go an' put that knife somewhere else, wot!" Gemini and Norkee were on the move, travelling south, cackling like a pair of Dibbuns despite the situation and sadness of Salamandastron.
"Oho! That's a good un' lemme tell you bucko! How 'bout an ol' marchin' ditty on the way to Husky's camp eh?"
"That would be absojollyballylutely spiffin' wot!" And with that, the two hares broke into song.
Left, right! Left right!
Oh it's such a sight!
Paws sore, eyes weary,
From marching through the night!
Leaving yore home, walking away,
Feeling of depression ain't here to stay,
'Coz when yore on the march,
It's the only way, hey!
Marching Left, Right!
Oh it's such a sight!
Paws sore, eyes weary,
But we made it through the night!!!
Gemini and Norkee held the last note as they swaggered onward.
A couple of hours later, the environment around the two hares changed drastically. It started snowing heavily, the trees became bare and the weather became freezing cold. The hares trudged doggedly onward, not stopping for the fear of being buried in the snow. After many tracks had been made, Gemini and Norkee finally stumbled upon a grove of trees, bare, snow capped and separated in the middle of the line. Reaching the trees, the canyon below was barely visible amidst the winter storm. They peered down through the swirling mists, broken slightly by the black smoke billowing from some kind of hut below.
"Ahoy there, Skeypy matey, it be us, Gem and Norkers from Salamandastron, we're coming down!"
Gemini yelled down through the fog.
Below in the canyon, a squirrel sentry heard the call. Turning his back in the direction of the sound, he trudged up a town square like road. Reaching a cosy cottage like building, he rapped sharply on the door, three quick knocks and two slow knocks.
"Sire, it's two hares from Salamandastron, coming down for some reason!" The sentry called gruffly.
"When they get 'ere get 'em in 'ere at once, clear?" A husky voice replied from inside the hut.
"Aye Sire, will do!" The sentry growled in return.
****
Gemini and Norkee stumbled down the step canyon hill towards the mysterious village below. Upon reaching the foot of the canyon, they were accosted by the sentry.
"Boss wishes to talk to you," he said solemnly.
"Rusty you old bush-tailed tree-climbing confounded blighter! However have you been?" Norkee asked the squirrel cheerfully.
"Not bad, and yourself?" Rusty replied, still with a gruff voice.
"What the devil's happened to yore voice?" Gemini asked him.
"Unlike yourselves I've actually grown up a bit and am now second in command to boss," Rusty replied, seemingly annoyed at the comment from Gemini.
"How is the bushbag?" Norkee asked of him.
"You are addressing Skeepang Huskarl, not 'bushbag' as you call him," Rusty said.
"You say your second in command, what's your full title?" Norkee asked Rusty.
"Rusty Hussar," Rusty replied, a smile flickering across his features.
"Aw…yore no fun anymore Rusty ol' chap, we're yore bro these days?" Gemini questioned Rusty.
"Fenris Jarl is third in command now," Rusty told him.
"Both of you on the dark side eh Russ? Bad form wot!" Norkee joked.
"Huh, Fenris does not deserve the Jarl title, he is still young and carefree," Rusty said reprovingly.
"Ha! Still young in the ol' heart eh? Good show! Now you said this Huskarl fellow wants to see us?" Norkee asked.
"Skeepang Huskarl will see you now, you must come with me," Rusty said importantly.
"He's an ol' mate o' mine from me yesteryears, be good to catch up with the blighter, wot?" Gemini said to Norkee as Rusty turned away.
"Skeepang Huskarl has changed hares, he's very different. And with the recent troubles threatening our village, he is very solemn and stubborn. I ask you to speak politely and not be an embarrassment like back at your mountain in our younger years," Rusty said, finally showing a slight sense of humour. Gemini, Norkee and Rusty had been friends for a long time, as the squirrels always used to visit Salamandastron. The three were nought but Dibbuns at the time, but they remembered the fallout between the old squirrel leader, Jormund, and Akrin the Blade, the Badger Lord at the time. Rusty and his brother Fenris had been separated from the hares of Salamandastron, and they had not spoken for many seasons. Thus they did not expect a warm welcome when they spoke to Jormund's son, Skeepang, a Dibbun who was very talkative in his time, friends with Gemini and Norkee.
Rusty, Gemini and Norkee strode up the path of the village. There were houses either side, and orchard and farmland over the back of the houses. Puffs of smoke drifted sleepily out chimneys as Rusty and the two hares passed. Beyond the snow covered houses, lay another village type area, with an armoury, archery range, barracks and a few other military buildings. As they passed the barracks, a shadowy figure cut around onto the path.
"Rusty! What are these 'ares doin' in thy village?" It called hoarsely.
"Fenris, it's only Gemini and Norkee from Salamandastron," Rusty mumbled back. A great whoop followed, a clack of a spear on the ground and running feet as Fenris Jarl rejoined his friends.
"Gem, Norkers! How ya been?" He said excitedly. Fenris wore a battle helm and a chain mail tunic, and he was taller than Rusty.
"Not bad, third in command sah! We're seeing the leader, sah!" Norkee replied importantly.
"Really? No time for old friends eh Norkers?" Fenris said, disheartened.
"I say ol' chap, always partial to a jolly ol' reunion, carry meself well I do!" Norkee said, dropping his serious military antics.
"Haha! I knew you'd retain yore ol' swagger there, Norkers!" Fenris said cheerfully.
"Unless you are to be skipping around gaily for the whole blooming evening I remind you hares that Skeepang Huskarl wishes to see you," Rusty said solemnly.
"Shuddup Rus, these hares must be hungry, get 'em some vittles first!" Fenris replied.
"Really Fenris Jarl, I'm ashamed of you! These hares will be taken to Skeepang Huskarl now!" Rusty's voice had a final tone which Fenris did not retort to. Rusty and the two hares swept away down the snowy path.
"I say ol' chap, bit hard on yore bro there, wot?" Norkee said as they moved silently towards the armoury.
"I have direct orders to bring you to Skeepang Huskarl, and I'm not breaking them!" Rusty growled in return. Fresh clanging sounds were coming from the armoury as Rusty rapped on the door.
"You and the hares?" A voice said gruffly from inside the armoury.
"Yes sire," Rusty answered.
"Come in."
Krainer and his band were on the hunt! Tracking a squirrel scout, they followed him stealthily, maple bows at the ready. The squirrel had heard too much, he knew of Krainer's plan to march south. The squirrel village was there, something that Krainer considered to be a nice new home for his band.
Fourth ranked in the squirrel tribe, Takone Drakkar ran for his life. Armed only with a spear, he knew he couldn't put a fight to the vicious wolves that stalked him. He fled in the direction of the canyon, speeding across the beaches of Salamandastron. Five arrows barely missed him as the wolves let a first volley loose. Takone panicked. He had to make it back to the canyon, and fast. He put on a final burst of speed, and reached into his pack for his squirrel foghorn. Taking an arrow in his side as he did so, he blew into the foghorn. A shrill blast on the horn was all that was required. An arrow took him in his right footpaw. He pulled it out grimly. He hoped the squirrels would be here soon.
Skeepang Huskarl had grown!
Gemini and Norkee couldn't believe their eyes when they first laid eyes on the grown up version of the talkative Dibbun from their childhood. Skeepang wore a plumed war helm, the visor pulled over his eyes. Clad in arctic furs, his shiny breastplate gleamed against the dull metal of the anvil. Spiked arm and leg guards were fixed onto all limbs. Towering above the hares, his cold blue eyes were only just visible beneath his visor.
"What is your business in Peltast?" He boomed, but in a rough, hardened voice.
"What the devil is Peltast ol' chap, and Skeypy me ol' mate, how goes the business?" Norkee asked.
"Peltast is the name of my village, and who are you, you address me Skeepang Huskarl, my full title, while in Peltast!" He said in his deep voice.
"It's Gem an' Norkers matey, remember us?" Gemini cut in.
"I care not whether you are my best friends or enemies, what business have you in Peltast?" He asked flatly, paying no heed to Gemini's statement.
"Salamandastron's been run over ol' chap, bad show, wot, anyway, we've come to seek refuge in Pelamathingy for a while!" Norkee explained.
"This is not a refuge!" Growled Skeepang. "This is a squirrel warrior camp, and I care not whether your precious mountain has been run over, your kind deserted the squirrels long ago, hare! Besides, I have other matters to attend to in Peltast!"
"Well…we need a place to stay ol' chap, we can't just jolly well linger around the countryside!" Gemini pleaded. At that very moment, a sentry burst in.
"Takone Drakkar's in trouble sire, we heard his horn. One long blast, sir!"
"One long blast…it can only mean one thing. Krainer the Paladin has made his move!" Skeepang Huskarl leapt up.
"Marshall the squirrels immediately, armour them up! It is time to defend Peltast!" He roared. Suddenly, he turned as if just noticing the hares.
"Ah, my old friends from Salamandastron. Here's your chance to claim residence in Peltast! Get some armour and help defend the city!" He cried
****
"Shrink bak inta dose trees, I dun wanna kill da squirrel! Jus snipe a while, 'e's got nowheres ta go!" Krainer snarled as Takone Drakkar backed into the snow-capped pine grove near the edge of the canyon. In his haste, he had accidentally circled around to the back of the canyon, which featured nothing more than a sheer drop backward. He ducked and weaved amongst the trees as arrows zinged into the grove and embedded themselves in the trees. The blood loss from the arrows in his side and footpaw caused a sluggish feeling in his body. Stumbling backward, he tripped and fell, straight off the edge of the canyon. Before he plummeted out of sight, he was full of at least two score arrows from Krainer's band's maple bows.
"Circle 'round da front of dis canyon, ve vill attack now!" Krainer growled. He and his crew slunk off into the grove, circling around to the front where they would make their stand on Peltast.
"Peltast must be defended! I speak for all of you when I say the wolf brood wants our city, and I speak for all of you when I say that we must- Good god!" Skeepang Huskarl gasped as the ranks of squirrels stumbled upon the slain body of Takone Drakkar.
"This is wolves' work! We will wreak a terrible vengeance upon the scum that has killed Takone Drakkar!" Skeepang said hoarsely. He turned. "Thus we need a Drakkar for this battle defence. Hersir! Son of Takone, you will lead the honours of Drakkar in this fight!" He yelled in vain, pointing out the new fourth in command.
"We fight to the death, but with reserve, we must not wildly charge these wolves. The cooks have the kitchens busy, thus we're in for the long haul. The wolves are fearsome fighters, so we will follow our usual battle strategy. I, Skeepang Huskarl, will take the lead infantry horde to the wolves. Rusty Hussar, you will back us with the spears. Fenris Jarl, you will pincer the wolves left and right. And finally, Hersir Drakkar, you will hang back and snipe, and pick off any wolf who gets past our stand, clear?" Skeepang Huskarl outlined his plan.
"Clear!" Was the chorus from the squirrels and hares in return.
Gemini and Norkee had been placed in the newly appointed Hersir Drakkar's horde. They were given yew longbows, plus a quiver of yew arrows. Grimly, they hung tight onto their bows as they marched in the back rank of the horde, which was advancing down the laneway. Skeepang Huskarl called a halt when Krainer the Paladin and his wolves were in sight. They stood, lined up, halfway down the steep canyon side.
Krainer the Paladin looked over his band. Archery specialist, Dasonze, stood with a maple giantbow, a mammoth bow capable of firing much further than the regular longbow. Rielle, clad in chain mail tunic, was armed with a lance. Wulluck, sword specialist, had two daggers thrust into his belt, and a longsword in his paw. Morkusk, with his crossbow, short ranged and deadly, with a shortsword in its sheath. And himself, in full plate mail armour, a heavy arctic fur, armed to the teeth with swords, daggers and a spiked mace. He glared down through the snowy mists at the four squirrel ranks.
"What do you want with our canyon, wolf?" Skeepang Huskarl called from below.
"The canyon, our mountains are getting old, we need a village!" Krainer yelled back.
"You want it? Come and get it, scum!" Skeepang bellowed. Krainer's band howled the fearsome northern ranges warcry before advancing on the squirrel horde.
"Eusentraylaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!" The squirrel horde answered with their cry.
"Peltaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaast!!!"
Dasonze stayed where he was, loosing the first arrow into the ranks. A squirrel fell with a scream of anguish.
"Peltaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaast!!!"
Skeepang Huskarl had met Krainer the Paladin!
Both sides fought like mad beasts, Skeepang Huskarl's first rank stabbing at the wolves from below the slight ledge. The wolves had a position advantage, and Morkusk was having a field day with his crossbow, the high velocity bolts wreaking havoc in the squirrel ranks. Skeepang's rank parted, making way for the flashing swords of Rusty Hussar's rank. The wolves backed away slightly, surprised at the ferocity of the squirrel's blades. Rusty himself had nearly climbed up onto the ledge on which the wolves fought, but he took a spear blow in his left paw. Rielle was the only wolf still at the edge, stabbing with his long lance, while Morkusk fired his crossbow to cover him. Fenris Jarl's band began their pincer assault on the wolves. Parting in two, Fenris took the left along with six squirrels. They climbed the steep hill, careful to avoid the whirling blades of the wolves. Krainer stood alone, higher up the hill, and had spotted the manoeuvre coming.
"Retreat, quick, or yew'll be cort inna pincer!" He called to his band, who immediately backed up the hill, covered by Morkusk and Rielle, Dasonze still slaying squirrels from above. However, in their haste to retreat, the wolves stumbled up the canyon side, leaving an almost open target to Hersir Drakkar and his rank further back up the path.
"Right crew, yew bows at ready…aim…fire!" Hersir Drakkar bellowed as the hares and squirrels let loose their first arrows. None of them hit.
"Get the slimy devil with the plate armour on! He's their leader!" Hersir yelled as the second volley of arrows were struck into the snow near the wolves. Suddenly, a mammoth arrow, like a short javelin, came hissing through the air and piercing a squirrel's heart. He fell like a stone. Hersir Drakkar's rank saw a wolf waving from higher up the hill with a giantbow.
"Scum!" Roared Hersir.
"What the devil will we do now ol' chap, we're in a right ol' fix, what with these wolves sniping. We can't cover the other three ranks!" Gemini said, worried, as his bow twanged as an arrow shot like grease lightning from the string.
"Damn the snow as well, it's not helping our shots!" Hersir growled. "Crew, I'm going against orders doing this but we have to force a retreat from the wolves. Get your back-up longswords and come with me!" The two hares and the squirrels drew their swords and marched with Hersir Drakkar to make their stand against the invading wolves.
"Keep pressin' for'ard now boys, we got 'em driven back!" Krainer urged his crew as he came lower down the edge to face squirrel's swords.
"Cap'n, dose otha ones, they the ones we was snipin' at, dey've gone off somewheres!" Dasonze called from above.
"Peltaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaast!!!"
Hersir Drakkar's rank bounded up the hill with their longswords drawn and ready.
"What the hell are you doing here, you're meant to be sniping!" Skeepang Huskarl hollered from the foot of the canyon side.
"To no avail sire, we're forcing a retreat!" Hersir Drakkar bellowed, flinging himself onto the foxes.
"Let's git 'em boys!" Krainer grinned wickedly, engaging the squirrels and hares. Hersir Drakkar was ahead of the rest, bounding up the canyon side. Krainer swung his sword immediately, but Hersir ducked and hammered him with the flat blade of his longsword. Krainer yelped in pain as Hersir smashed his edge into Krainer's hide. The squirrels attacked ferociously, but the wolves were too quick. Their flashing blades parried each thrust, as they backed up the canyon side.
"Retreat! Retreat!" Krainer yelled, and the wolves fled back up the hill, the squirrels waving their swords, daggers, bows and lances after them.
"Beat you wolf! Peltast will never fall to scum such as you!" Skeepang Huskarl bellowed in the wolves' wake.
"Peltaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaast!!!" A huge warcry was bellowed by every squirrel and hare present as the wolves disappeared over the edge of the canyon.
****
"What da we do now, boss?" Morkusk asked, dejected, as Krainer the Paladin's band sat amongst the pine groves.
"I admit defeat, Morkusk. Dose squirrel beasts fight real vicious yeh, we gotta git outa here afore dey follow us!" Krainer said in reply.
"What shud we do?" Wulluck persisted.
"Ve march up north, passed dat mountain, den our ranges, den we go and find somewheres ta live for a while," Krainer replied. This decision was greeted well by the wolves, and before the squirrels could come after them they had packed up and had begun marching back to the northern ranges.
"Badger! Wake up Fireblade! We ain't got all day!" Ashwood snarled, kicking the badger's foot after he had been chained to the mast of the Skullbearer. Furnum Fireblade grunted in his sleep, eyes slipping slowly open.
"What do you want with me, martin?" Growled Furnum groggily. Ashwood had his sword at the Badger's throat before he could shut his mouth.
"While you're on my ship, you go by my rules, and you address me as Ashwood, as I address you as what I will," Ashwood smirked back.
"Okay then…Ashwood…speak your piece and tell me what you want with me!" Furnum said impatiently.
"Listen Badger, I want you to tell me everything you know about the Mossflower region, landmarks, lay of the land, everything you know," Ashwood explained menacingly, tickling Furnum's fur with his sword point.
"Mossflower is a flat region, populated by many trees. On the side of a path going northward from Mossflower lays Redwall Abbey, populated by the peaceful creatures of the woodlands," Furnum Fireblade said apprehensively, glancing at the razor sharp point of Ashwood's sword.
"I see, and you look pained Badger, is there a relative of any kind staying at the abbey?" Ashwood persisted.
"Yes, Badgermum Regatta is my mother," the badger said, waking from his groggy trance.
"How touching," Ashwood smirked dangerously. "You're going to help me Badger, together we are going to tear down this abbey, take the building supplies, put them on the ship and take them back to my island, Arksmif. And then we're going to build my tower!" Ashwood said finally.
"You truly believe my ancestors would guide me into such treachery against my kind? I will never help you!" Furnum spat in Ashwood's face. Wiping saliva from his eyes, Ashwood brought his face close to the struggling badger.
"Your ancestors were weaker than I, Furnum Fireblade. If they were here now they would tell you to surrender to a better kind!" He whispered.
"My ancestors were noble! I shall never turn in your favour. Eulaliaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!" With a final warcry, Furnum Fireblade struggled against the chains, and then slumped back into a restless sleep.
"Never to join me Fireblade? We shall see, oh yes, we shall see!"
Not all that far to the North of Mossflower Wood, lay a peninsula. The great sea stretched far and wide from a beachhead below the bluff. On the bluff itself stood a weasel clad in blood stained robes. Wearing a great helm with devil like horns on top, the weasel peered down over the edge of the bluff. All he saw was an empty beachhead. It was too quiet, far too quiet. A single bead of sweat trickled down his brow underneath the full-faced helm. All of a sudden, a twang was heard and an arrow clanged off the metal on his helm.
"Galam! Reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeegaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar!"
Below on the beachhead, amidst the rocks to the south, several hundred rats appeared, headed by a taller one, with a robe with a hood, covering his face. Behind the rocks, the weasel saw many daggers, swords and spear being thrust into the air.
"Good noontide to ye, Einhajar the Necromancer!" Cried the rat on the rock. From a few hundred metres away, Einhajar the Necromancer saw the rats clamber over the rocks.
"And to you, Galam Reegar, what can I be doing for you?" The weasel, Einhajar asked, knowing the answer.
"I've cum ta take ye little catacombs straight out of ye paws!" Galam Reegar answered.
"You defeat me, you may have them, but please know that my catacombs on the top of this cliff are swarming with my warriors!" Roared Einhajar, turning his back upon the rat on the rock.
"This be war with ye, Einhajar thy Necromancer, hope you can weave some magic, because yew are going ta be needin' it in the days ta cum!" Galam Reegar bellowed back, but Einhajar the Necromancer had gone.
Sweeping down the dark corridors of the cliff's many catacombs, Einhajar arrived in the main hall, where hundreds of weasels were gathered, as if waiting on an answer to a question. Indeed they got an answer.
"Members of my kin, you have always served nobly under I, Einhajar the Necromancer. Thus, now we have a critical situation. We are at war with Galam Reegar's Fallen Ones!" He spoke into the silence. Respectfully, Einhajar's crew awaited their master's orders.
"I want nothing more than Galam Reegar dead, and his Fallen Ones, drowned in the sea with rocks tied around their necks!" He roared.
"Einhajar! Einhajar! Einhajar!" Einhajar's crew answered him. A clatter of spear butts on the ground sounded as Einhajar's crew split into several small groups, each going off to their battle stations, an entrance to the catacombs.
Minutes later, the swarming mass of Galam Reegar's rats had scaled the cliff, and were circling around the many catacomb entrances. Each was armed to the teeth, with a bardiche, a long pole with an axe head on top, suitable for luring enemies out of enclosed spaces, in their right paw. They leered at the caves, searching for any sign of movement in the gloom. Galam Reegar perched on the edge of the cliff, back from the fighting. His teeth were bared with wicked delight as his hundreds of rats prepared to charge.
A low whistle sounded from one of the caves as the weasel Stormfang glanced around at the vast rat army.
"Sure seems ta be a lot of 'em," he muttered from under his horned helm.
"Quiet!" Hissed Einhajar, who was with this particular group.
"What are we gunna do boss?" Another weasel asked.
"We're going to fight Enumclaw, we're going to fight!" Einhajar replied.
"Ya but dere is so many of dem!" The weasel, Enumclaw persisted.
"Then we go out in a blaze of glory don't we? Let them come!" Einhajar growled Enumclaw into silence. The rats had started advancing, pressing in on a semi circle, and cutting off all exits to the catacombs.
"This is it, this is one the we're going to tell our grandchildren about when we're old and frail!" Einhajar whispered hoarsely.
"Einhajaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar!!! With a fearsome warcry, the weasels materialised from the shadowy catacombs.
"Well well hares, you've done extremely well in our little encounter with the wolves!" Skeepang Huskarl praised the hares while they were sitting in the steamy armoury with Rusty, Fenris and Hersir.
"Well you know ol' chap, the fightin' spirit never leaves the ol' bones, wot!" Gemini chuckled, sipping his hot mint tea.
"Fearsome fighters the hares always were," Skeepang Huskarl smiled a rare smile.
"Yes sah! Thankyou for the praise and all that sah! Could we ask a favour, sah?" Norkee asked importantly, puffing out his chest. Gemini nudged Norkee in the ribs, but Norkee silenced him and waiting for Skeepang Huskarl to answer.
"What might this favour be?" He growled.
"Well sah! We are asking you to come with us to hunt down and stop this Ashwood chap from taking over jolly ol' Mossflower!" Norkee continued. Skeepang Huskarl seemed to ponder this for a minute.
"There is nothing in it for us, why would we hunt a vermin that we don't even know?" Skeepang asked curiously.
"Well sah! There's a fair chance that this Krainer fellow may hook up with Ashwood the Druid you see in Mossflower, and lead the charge against Redwall Abbey!" Norkee finished.
"Krainer the Paladin should not be alive to this day! He fled the scene when we dominated the war! We will follow you, hares of Salamandastron!" And with that, Skeepang Huskarl addressed the four leaders with his final orders.
"Rusty Hussar, Fenris Jarl and myself will get their ranks and follow you north hares. Hersir Drakkar, as much as I know you would like to join this war and reap revenge for your father, you must stay here and guard Peltast with your rank, along with the elders and young ones," Skeepang said.
"Your word is my command sire!" Hersir Drakkar murmured, disappointed.
"Good Hersir, you will grow to be a loyal fighter," Skeepang assured him. Hersir beamed.
Just a few minutes later, every fighting squirrel in the village apart from one and a half score of Hersir Drakkar's rank were assembled in true military style in the main street of Peltast. Each had a spear, a willow short bow, a quiver of arrows, a cleaver, and arctic furs, suitable to travel in. Skeepang addressed them.
"These two hares have dictated my decision to leave the village. Those who have a problem with leaving, address them now!" He growled.
A few shouts of disagreement were heard, then an uproar of angry shouts.
"Why should we have to leave the village because of two hares?"
"We want to stay in Peltast!"
"We've got loved ones here!"
Gemini held his paw up for silence.
"All of you, I respect your decision. However, Krainer the Paladin still lives, and there's a fair chance he'll hook up with another arch enemy of ours, Ashwood the Druid. You want Peltast a free city, not overrun by vermin?" He asked them.
"We're with you hares, to the gates of the Dark Forest and back!"
"Krainer doesn't deserve to live!"
"Well what are we waiting for? Let's give a couple o' warcries to see the ol' Peltast off!" Norkee yelled above the din.
"Eulaliaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!"
"Peltaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaast!!!"
With two fearsome warcries the army swept off toward the canyon cliffs.
"Well there she goes, old Peltast, for a while!" Fenris Jarl said to his brother Rusty Hussar as Peltast drifted away in the snow covered mist as they climbed higher and higher up the canyon.
"Stop you're whinging Fenris Jarl, we have a journey to complete!" Rusty said back.
"I reckon you should snap out of your 'second in command' rank and just have some fun on this journey and let Skeepang Huskarl do the strict lecturing, eh?" Fenris replied in question.
"Oh…what the heck, Skeepang can handle an army, I'll shrink back with these hares, I've still got the young heart in me!" Rusty said in resignation.
"Good show, wot!" Norkee said, hearing Rusty's promise.
****
"I could feel this from the time I was a child growing up. This battle would come. And now that it's here it worries me. I mean, I thought Einhajar would easily drive Galam away, it seems this won't be the case, I can feel it in the air tonight! It's a feeling of death and destruction!" Enumclaw murmured to the rest of the weasels posted at that particular catacomb entrance.
"Einhajar has seen us through thick and thin, why would this be any different?" Another weasel, Magnus, piped up, his spear quivering in his hand as he watched the rats milling about on the rocks.
"Even he is nervous this time. No, I have a bad feeling about this battle." Enumclaw persisted.
"Enumclaw, is there a single battle that we go into calm and ready? We're always jumpy, this time is no different," Magnus replied. Enumclaw fell silent as the rat movement stopped. The small band of weasels stared silently at the rats. Then they heard Galam Reegar's chilling voice ring through the night air.
"Kill them, kill them all!"
It had indeed been a long day. After coming from the catacombs, the weasels retreated after they found thousands of arrows at their throats. Thus, a standoff had followed. Until now. With Galam Reegar's command, the rats howled and came at the catacomb entrances with devastating force.
"Here they come! Let's do this!" Enumclaw said in a hushed tone, and the weasels gathered their strength for the charge.
Like a tidal wave they hit. Galam Reegar's Fallen Ones met the guild of Einhajar the Necromancer. The weasels immediately were on the back foot. The sheer power of Reegar's rats took them completely by surprise, slaying two score before they had a chance to retreat.
"Blimmin' hell! Hard hitting, ain't they?" Magnus growled, skilfully breaking out from a sword lock and driving his sword home into the ribcage of a rat. He then watched as three weasels from another entrance were hacked to pieces at the hands of Galam Reegar himself.
Then Einhajar the Necromancer arrived. He hadn't been seen all day, and for good reason. Clad in spiked armour and carrying a dangerous-looking flail.
"Hey Reegar, this enough magic for you?" He said, charging out of the tunnel. Galam Reegar's eyes widened in horror, but then he composed himself for carnage.
"All groups! Kill the armoured one and we have them!" He yelled above the sound of battle. All fighting ceased, and the Fallen Ones attacked Einhajar.
"Party time," Einhajar the
Necromancer muttered to himself, swinging the flail. It became a blur of deadly light. The rats packed in.
Einhajar rushed one, smashing the flail across its head. Blood spattered everywhere, blinding some
rats, which found themselves with no arms and legs after a few more vicious
attacks from Einhajar.
Einhajar's ferocity seemed to rub off on the guild members, and they went at the Fallen Ones with determination. Blood spattered in their eyes, furs and teeth flew in all directions.
"ENUMCLAW!!!" Magnus cried, seeing his fellow group member fall face first into a pool of blood. He slew three rats on the way over to him.
"Stay with me buddy, we're going to fight our way out of here!" He growled, kneeling beside Enumclaw.
"S' too late for me, Magnus, this battle has been fought and lost," Enumclaw replied softly.
"This is not over! We must fight Enumclaw!" Magnus yelled into Enumclaw's scarred face. Seeing Enumclaw's eyes beginning to mist over, Magnus screamed into Enumclaw's ear.
"FIGHT DEATH ENUMCLAW!!! FIGHT THE ODDS!!!"
Enumclaw's eyes shot open. Sword in hand, he jumped up, eyes still misty. Magnus glanced in the direction of Einhajar with his flail, going down beneath the thousands of Fallen Ones surrounding him.
Like a bolt of lightning, Enumclaw was there, oblivious to all about him but Einhajar. The daggers of Galam Reegar's rats bristled into his fur. Enumclaw whirled around, knocking the head straight of a rat's shoulders. In seconds, Magnus had joined him, and they stood back to back, over Einhajar the Necromancer, swords going like whirlwinds. Magnus hefted Einhajar's flail, rushing the rats as blood fountained over the warriors.
But the inevitable was bound to happen. Magnus wore his energy thin, Enumclaw lost his fighting spirit, and Einhajar drifted off into his final slumber. But not with no avail. Literally thousands of rats lay upon the battlefield, drenched in blood, only four were left standing, Galam Reegar among them. He alone wandered over to the armoured body of Einhajar and flipped the visored helm off his head. He saw that Einhajar was only half dead. Jerking him awake, Galam Reegar stood, staring deep into the eyes of Einhajar the Necromancer.
"Well…I guess this is it…Einhajar," Galam said.
"Yes…Galam…Reegar…a…battle…well…fought," Einhajar said slowly, closing his eyes.
"Stay with me, Necromancer, don't go yet," Galam whispered. Einhajar's eyes slid back open.
"I must, my ancestors await me in the Dark Forest," Einhajar said with a smile.
"Your ancestors would want you to stay with us, Necromancer," Galam said back.
"No…they are calling me, blessed mother, she is waiting," Einhajar said.
"I am sorry Einhajar the Necromancer, forgive me, before your mother greets you," Galam asked Einhajar.
"You…are forgiven…Galam Reegar…leader of the Fallen Ones…goodbye," Einhajar whispered, before his eyes slid closed, and the most prestigious guild member of Necromancers ever, died.
"He was brave, he took many of us. He was a true soldier, not a coward like me. Who will assist me in carrying this brave warrior?" Galam asked of his rats. They nodded solemnly. Hefting him high above their heads, they marched down to the bluff.
An hour later, Galam Reegar and his last three Fallen Ones stood, looking out to sea, standing just behind the place they had buried Einhajar. Galam lifted his sword out of its scabbard.
"This sword took one life too many," he told his rats. "Thus it takes nothing but rust anymore!" He said, throwing his sword way out to sea. The rats too took their swords and cast them out onto the choppy seas.
"He will live peacefully here, and all of us will remember him as a warrior. I will take many lives more in my life, but from now on in I take them only in the name of good and honour. Let this be heard by the upholding of Einhajar the Necromancer, the guild of Galam Reegar's Necromancers. We will replace Einhajar, make him happy to have died." Galam told his Fallen Ones. Without another word, they turned away and walked away from Einhajar the Necromancer's grave.
Act II
The Northern Wilderness
Far, far away from the Mossflower and Salamandastron region, way up north from Krainer the Paladin, Ashwood the Druid and Galam Reegar's routes lay the vast, ice covered northern wilderness. Nothing survived for long in this region, it being far too cold. However, some races had indeed found refuge there. One of these races lived in a monastery in a small hollow between some small mountains. This race was the Otter Monks.
"Good morning to you, Drass!" A deep voice from inside the chapel of the monastery said as Drass the otter opened the door. Drass, like all other otters in the monastery, wore a green and gold circlet around his head, a sign of faith to the monastery. Drass was also clothed in brown monk's robes with a red dragon stitched into the back.
"Morning Sligg," Drass mumbled in his deep voice, acknowledging the other otter inside the chapel.
"Cold outside?" Sligg asked in amusement as the frosty mist from outside cleared as Drass slammed the door shut.
"Nightmare," Drass grunted.
"How go the invitations?" Sligg asked of Drass.
"Fine, the hawks are moving out this morning," Drass replied.
"Good, did you give them the parchment to read?" Sligg said.
"Yes, it's right here," Drass grumbled, handing a piece of rolled-up parchment to Sligg. Sligg unrolled it and read.
To all travelling and stationary warriors,
As many of you may know, the Northern Battle Games are coming up in just a few weeks. I, Sligg Arak, leader of the Otter Monks have organised this huge event and I hope you can all attend. All fighters are welcome, and there will be great prizes, the grand prize is ten score of my most vicious mercenaries to do with what you will. There will be hundreds of competitors there, so I advise you to attend and make this Northern Battle Games the best ever! We are located in the Northern Wilderness, simply follow the base of the mountains leading west and you will find us.
Regards,
Sligg Arak.
"Good, I think many will turn up this time around," Sligg said, sitting back in his leather chair.
"Where's everyone else?" Drass grunted in question.
"Up on the second floor, eating breakfast," Sligg replied. Drass slouched off.
Several days later, Krainer the Paladin was marching was his band of five along the fringes of Mossflower Wood when a swishing noise caught his attention.
"Back inta tha trees, dere's somebeast out dere!" Krainer hissed. His band shrank into hiding.
"I won't hurt you, wolf, but please, if you are trying to hide, do a better job!" A voice said from behind him. Krainer had his sword drawn before he spoke.
"Who are you?" He called. A hawk emerged on one of the tree boughs. A powerfully built creature with gold feathers and a menacing beak, the hawk did in fact look like it was going to rip Krainer in half.
"My name you don't need to know wolf, however I bring to you a message from the Otter Monks of the Northern Wilderness!" The hawk replied.
"Say your piece hawk, but keep your distance!" Krainer growled. The hawk cleared its throat.
"Ahem, to all travelling and stationary warriors, as many of you may know, the Northern Battle Games are coming up in just a few weeks. I, Sligg Arak, leader of the Otter Monks have organised this huge event and I hope you can all attend. All fighters are welcome, and there will be great prizes, the grand prize is ten score of my most vicious mercenaries to do with what you will. There will be hundreds of competitors there, so I advise you to attend and make this Northern Battle Games the best ever! We are located in the Northern Wilderness, simply follow the base of the mountains leading west and you will find us.
Regards, Sligg Arak." The hawk said.
"Sounds interesting, where are we in relation to these games now?" Krainer asked.
"Go North, past the forests of Mossflower, and keep going, you will get there eventually," the hawk replied.
"I see. Well, when you go back to this monastery, tell them Krainer the Paladin's band of wolves will be there," Krainer said as formally as possible.
"Your wish will be granted, see you at the games, wolf!" The hawk replied, taking flight.
"Vot makes you think dese games are better dan where ve are going?" Dasonze asked Krainer.
"Anyvere is better dan here Dasonze, dese games vill be fun, methinks ve vill vin prizes if ve do well!" Krainer said, switching back to the wolf accent.
At that very moment Ashwood the Druid and his crew were disembarking on the outskirts of Mossflower Wood. It had been many seasons since Ashwood had conquered Salamandastron, and after messing with the badger's sleep by whispering things into his dreams, it was apparent to Ashwood that he had full control over the now-evil Furnum Fireblade. The former Badger Lord sprung from the Skullbearer, saliva dripping from his razor sharp teeth. It was too easy, thought Ashwood, smiling to himself. He faced his crew of oarslaves, which had come from a band of ragged slaves to highly-trained warriors, thanks to the training Ashwood had given them on deck.
"Now my children, we march upon the very heart of Mossflower Wood, to tear down the hateful hive that is Redwall Abbey. You know exactly what to expect from this battle. Blood and destruction, clear?" He asked them.
"Clear!" They repeated. A sudden whoosh broke their concentration. Ashwood's glance flicked up to where a hawk sat perched upon the mast of the Skullbearer.
"Good day to you, Hawk, please tell me why I stand here facing you," Ashwood growled.
"You face me because I am here to give you a message, an invitation if you will." The hawk replied, ruffling its gold-brown feathers importantly.
"Death Badger kill now!" The evil Furnum Fireblade bellowed, proceeding to climb up onto the deck to get at the hawk.