Disclaimer: I do not own any Redwall characters mentioned in this story
that have been mentioned in any other person's story or anywhere in the
Redwall series. I only claim the characters of my own imagination—wholly
original characters like Jem, Lignutt, Smargren, etc.
Enjoy the story—and tell me what you thought of it! Thanks again!
Chapter 1
The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon. Brilliant hues of yellow, orange, pink, and purple shone brightly as a new day began. It was the first day of spring in Mossflower. All over the woodlands flowers sprung up and birds sang and twittered happily to one another. Crocuses, daffodils, irises, and goldenrods were just becoming visible in the nearby meadows. Streams and brooks gurgled happily and ripples moved over pond water as fish moved restlessly. A light, gentle breeze sent delicious scents floating through the air as dewdrops lay glistening on the beautiful scenery. The woodlands were coming alive after a long, sleepy winter.
Miles and miles away, near Mossflower's border, a lone hawk flew high over a small clearing, while on her way back to her nest. The sound of crying suddenly reached her as she passed over the northern part of the meadow. Startled and curious the hawk wheeled back to fly once more over the small clearing. As she glided lower she saw what she had not been able to see while flying higher up; a day old battlefield, and in the center, surrounded by the bloodied grass, sat a large group of corsairs, a little over three score. To the side was a big cage filled with wounded and crying beasts, the survivors of the families that had once lived peacefully in the meadow. A tall pine martin with black and red war paint on and dressed in fine armor, made of gold and bronze, stood up from among the corsairs and started yelling out orders. "Shatdog, Ripear, Muglit, Spikkle! Take a dozen with you and gather supplies. Heness and Jawda take some beasts with you and gather firewood for camp tonight." Knowing that she couldn't do much against three score of corsairs, the hawk sorrowfully wheeled away and began flying northward once again. Back on the ground, the selected corsairs moved calmly and proficiently, doing as they were ordered. The remaining corsairs, those who were not ordered to gather food or firewood, sat about talking or sharpening their blades and fixing weapons that had been damaged during the battle. Two of the few stoats in the motley array of vermin, were sitting on a large, almost flat rock that jutted out in the otherwise flat meadow, grumbling about the recently battle as they sharpened their spearheads. "Tha' battle ain' erned us notin' but bruithis's and bumpths. I can 'ardly talk cauths a big sthuirrel hit me nothse and mousth with 'is thling," the smaller of the two stoats groaned as he put his spear down and began gingerly patting dock leaves and mud on his injured, swollen face. The larger stoat, a slow, dim-witted beast named Dirttail, cocked is head to one side and inclined his ear toward his companion, "Ehh! What's this matey? A swirl hit yourn toes and mouse with a swing? Are ya sure you wasn't hit in the head Blugg? Ya look 'n like ya got hit in the mouth and nose and yar talkin' funny." The smaller one, Blugg, rolled his eyes, well he rolled only one, the other was swollen shut, and growled, "I wasth hit by a sthquirrel in the fathe like I told ya, nitbwain!" Missing his fellow stoat's name-calling and exasperation Dirttail brightened up with realization, nodding, "Ohh yus was hit by a squirrel in the face. Ya sure are swollen up." Scraping his spearhead on the rock face to his right he again missed his companion's sarcastic and irritated look. "You litt'el 'thupid blunderer. You can do a thing,"Blug muttered under his breath. Talking louder though not too loud, Blugg said lamenting another result of the battle, "And we wathn't givin' any booty neither! E'en though we's got injured." Dirttail agreeded, nodding good naturedly, "Yup Blug matey, I didna get a bit of plunder either, Capt'an got the bit that we did get, a couple trinkets and slaves. Now the slaves canna do much for us now can they?" The two jumped as a third voice, cultured and rigidly cold, answered Dirttail's question. "Slaves build ships. As stupid as you are I would think that that much would be obvious." The two vermin, turned to see Hilth, the "Captain's" nephew, leaning casually against their rock, deftly twirling a knife in one paw. The two gulped as they eyed the blade and then looked guilty into the eyes of the handsome, young pine martin standing before them. Seeing the two beasts fearful and apprehensive looks Hilth chuckled evilly, "Ohh no, don't worry. I won't tell my dear uncle of such prattling. I'm sure you were just kidding, now weren't you mateys." The two stoats nodded hurriedly, Blugg's messy dock leave and mud poultice falling off in his alacrity. Hilth smiled, a hint of menace now entered his voice as he began sharpening his blade on the rock, "Now I suggest you stop lazing about and get to work. Blugg go and help guard the slaves. And Dirttail if I were you I'd go off and gather supplies. Surely a beast such as yourself could make himself useful—no matter your lack of brains. You would do better off hunting than sitting around. No doubt my uncle would enjoy some perch or young fish for dinner tonight." The two stoats nodded quickly again, scrambled off the rock as they did. As Hilth watched them dash off in different directions he laughed again. Settling more comfortably on the sun warmed rock he closed his eyes dreaming ambitiously of becoming "Captain Hilth", the fiercest beast upon the high seas.
The sixteen corsairs and the battered, wounded group of survivors, mainly mice and squirrels, with a couple moles, arrived after close to an hour. They looked pitiful; all of them were dirty, wounded, and scared. Some were weeping softly and only a few beasts had the defiant look of an unbroken beast. For long moments the group of beasts stood there. Tension grew as more time past. The younger beasts in the group began to cry as the fierce, scarred corsairs stared impassively at the slaves. Their mothers tried to shush them as the taller pine martin suddenly appeared from behind a clump of trees. He was a half head taller than any of them and they could see the powerful muscles and shoulders rippling under his dark brown fur as he walked toward the group, seemingly cloaked in powerful aura of dominance and cruelty. The morning sun shimmered off an array of ornate blades stuck into his snakeskin belt, but the pine martin's eyes were what captivated them. Those evil, hard, golden hued eyes, that were blank of any emotion other than malice, were staring on in amused ruthlessness. The many young beasts huddled closer to their mothers as the vermin leader began to address the group in a clear, cultured voice icy as the north winds.
"You are my slaves now, fight me and I will make you wish you were dead by the time I'm done with you. Disobey me and you die. Even attempt to rebel and I will crush you. Remember this, you are mine, to work, kill, or torture, whenever wherever. You have no freedom." Smargren's gold-flecked eyes looked over the slaves. He smiled sinisterly as he asked the group, "Which one of you is the leader?"
An old male squirrel with angry black eyes standing near the front of the slave group stepped forward and answered in a gruff voice, "I am."
The evil pine martin smiled again, this time in evil amusement. "Do you hate me old one? I can see that you do. Want to take revenge on me squirrel? What is your name?" "Lignutt." "Well Lignutt, are some of these beasts," he said scornfully, motioning to the rest of the slaves, "family members?"
"No." The old squirrel said quietly.
"I believe some are," Smargren said in a chilly voice. The pine martin snapped his fingers and instantly two of his crew grabbed a beast from among the slaves and dragged it forward. It was a pretty squirrel maid wearing a worn and tattered autumn colored dress tied with a green sash. The pine martin turned to the older squirrel, his features becoming hard and cruel.
"You lie. Do you think that I am blind and don't have spies! I am Smargren Dagra the Ruthless One! I am not to be lied to! From the first I knew you had a granddaughter! Foolishness has a price and yours has just cost you very dear." In a flash Smargren grabbed the squirrelmaid and ran her through. A gasp of surprise and horror arose from the spectators as young ones screamed in fear and clutched their mothers.
The old squirrel fell next to his unmoving granddaughter on the now crimson grass, sobbing and crying heartbrokenly, "My little maid. My darling Katra." The others stood there in a sickened silence not daring to move in case it caught Smargren's notice. Turning to his corsairs and his new slaves he said in a harsh voice, "Let this be a lesson to you. Lie to me and your punishment will be far worse than this. Be it corsair or slave: if you disobey me, you will pay. Killfer, Shatdog, Spittle, Muglit. Take the slaves back to the pen." He watched as the corsairs dragged the old squirrel and the other slaves back to the wooden cage, his gold-hazel eyes following their every movement.
Enjoy the story—and tell me what you thought of it! Thanks again!
Chapter 1
The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon. Brilliant hues of yellow, orange, pink, and purple shone brightly as a new day began. It was the first day of spring in Mossflower. All over the woodlands flowers sprung up and birds sang and twittered happily to one another. Crocuses, daffodils, irises, and goldenrods were just becoming visible in the nearby meadows. Streams and brooks gurgled happily and ripples moved over pond water as fish moved restlessly. A light, gentle breeze sent delicious scents floating through the air as dewdrops lay glistening on the beautiful scenery. The woodlands were coming alive after a long, sleepy winter.
Miles and miles away, near Mossflower's border, a lone hawk flew high over a small clearing, while on her way back to her nest. The sound of crying suddenly reached her as she passed over the northern part of the meadow. Startled and curious the hawk wheeled back to fly once more over the small clearing. As she glided lower she saw what she had not been able to see while flying higher up; a day old battlefield, and in the center, surrounded by the bloodied grass, sat a large group of corsairs, a little over three score. To the side was a big cage filled with wounded and crying beasts, the survivors of the families that had once lived peacefully in the meadow. A tall pine martin with black and red war paint on and dressed in fine armor, made of gold and bronze, stood up from among the corsairs and started yelling out orders. "Shatdog, Ripear, Muglit, Spikkle! Take a dozen with you and gather supplies. Heness and Jawda take some beasts with you and gather firewood for camp tonight." Knowing that she couldn't do much against three score of corsairs, the hawk sorrowfully wheeled away and began flying northward once again. Back on the ground, the selected corsairs moved calmly and proficiently, doing as they were ordered. The remaining corsairs, those who were not ordered to gather food or firewood, sat about talking or sharpening their blades and fixing weapons that had been damaged during the battle. Two of the few stoats in the motley array of vermin, were sitting on a large, almost flat rock that jutted out in the otherwise flat meadow, grumbling about the recently battle as they sharpened their spearheads. "Tha' battle ain' erned us notin' but bruithis's and bumpths. I can 'ardly talk cauths a big sthuirrel hit me nothse and mousth with 'is thling," the smaller of the two stoats groaned as he put his spear down and began gingerly patting dock leaves and mud on his injured, swollen face. The larger stoat, a slow, dim-witted beast named Dirttail, cocked is head to one side and inclined his ear toward his companion, "Ehh! What's this matey? A swirl hit yourn toes and mouse with a swing? Are ya sure you wasn't hit in the head Blugg? Ya look 'n like ya got hit in the mouth and nose and yar talkin' funny." The smaller one, Blugg, rolled his eyes, well he rolled only one, the other was swollen shut, and growled, "I wasth hit by a sthquirrel in the fathe like I told ya, nitbwain!" Missing his fellow stoat's name-calling and exasperation Dirttail brightened up with realization, nodding, "Ohh yus was hit by a squirrel in the face. Ya sure are swollen up." Scraping his spearhead on the rock face to his right he again missed his companion's sarcastic and irritated look. "You litt'el 'thupid blunderer. You can do a thing,"Blug muttered under his breath. Talking louder though not too loud, Blugg said lamenting another result of the battle, "And we wathn't givin' any booty neither! E'en though we's got injured." Dirttail agreeded, nodding good naturedly, "Yup Blug matey, I didna get a bit of plunder either, Capt'an got the bit that we did get, a couple trinkets and slaves. Now the slaves canna do much for us now can they?" The two jumped as a third voice, cultured and rigidly cold, answered Dirttail's question. "Slaves build ships. As stupid as you are I would think that that much would be obvious." The two vermin, turned to see Hilth, the "Captain's" nephew, leaning casually against their rock, deftly twirling a knife in one paw. The two gulped as they eyed the blade and then looked guilty into the eyes of the handsome, young pine martin standing before them. Seeing the two beasts fearful and apprehensive looks Hilth chuckled evilly, "Ohh no, don't worry. I won't tell my dear uncle of such prattling. I'm sure you were just kidding, now weren't you mateys." The two stoats nodded hurriedly, Blugg's messy dock leave and mud poultice falling off in his alacrity. Hilth smiled, a hint of menace now entered his voice as he began sharpening his blade on the rock, "Now I suggest you stop lazing about and get to work. Blugg go and help guard the slaves. And Dirttail if I were you I'd go off and gather supplies. Surely a beast such as yourself could make himself useful—no matter your lack of brains. You would do better off hunting than sitting around. No doubt my uncle would enjoy some perch or young fish for dinner tonight." The two stoats nodded quickly again, scrambled off the rock as they did. As Hilth watched them dash off in different directions he laughed again. Settling more comfortably on the sun warmed rock he closed his eyes dreaming ambitiously of becoming "Captain Hilth", the fiercest beast upon the high seas.
The sixteen corsairs and the battered, wounded group of survivors, mainly mice and squirrels, with a couple moles, arrived after close to an hour. They looked pitiful; all of them were dirty, wounded, and scared. Some were weeping softly and only a few beasts had the defiant look of an unbroken beast. For long moments the group of beasts stood there. Tension grew as more time past. The younger beasts in the group began to cry as the fierce, scarred corsairs stared impassively at the slaves. Their mothers tried to shush them as the taller pine martin suddenly appeared from behind a clump of trees. He was a half head taller than any of them and they could see the powerful muscles and shoulders rippling under his dark brown fur as he walked toward the group, seemingly cloaked in powerful aura of dominance and cruelty. The morning sun shimmered off an array of ornate blades stuck into his snakeskin belt, but the pine martin's eyes were what captivated them. Those evil, hard, golden hued eyes, that were blank of any emotion other than malice, were staring on in amused ruthlessness. The many young beasts huddled closer to their mothers as the vermin leader began to address the group in a clear, cultured voice icy as the north winds.
"You are my slaves now, fight me and I will make you wish you were dead by the time I'm done with you. Disobey me and you die. Even attempt to rebel and I will crush you. Remember this, you are mine, to work, kill, or torture, whenever wherever. You have no freedom." Smargren's gold-flecked eyes looked over the slaves. He smiled sinisterly as he asked the group, "Which one of you is the leader?"
An old male squirrel with angry black eyes standing near the front of the slave group stepped forward and answered in a gruff voice, "I am."
The evil pine martin smiled again, this time in evil amusement. "Do you hate me old one? I can see that you do. Want to take revenge on me squirrel? What is your name?" "Lignutt." "Well Lignutt, are some of these beasts," he said scornfully, motioning to the rest of the slaves, "family members?"
"No." The old squirrel said quietly.
"I believe some are," Smargren said in a chilly voice. The pine martin snapped his fingers and instantly two of his crew grabbed a beast from among the slaves and dragged it forward. It was a pretty squirrel maid wearing a worn and tattered autumn colored dress tied with a green sash. The pine martin turned to the older squirrel, his features becoming hard and cruel.
"You lie. Do you think that I am blind and don't have spies! I am Smargren Dagra the Ruthless One! I am not to be lied to! From the first I knew you had a granddaughter! Foolishness has a price and yours has just cost you very dear." In a flash Smargren grabbed the squirrelmaid and ran her through. A gasp of surprise and horror arose from the spectators as young ones screamed in fear and clutched their mothers.
The old squirrel fell next to his unmoving granddaughter on the now crimson grass, sobbing and crying heartbrokenly, "My little maid. My darling Katra." The others stood there in a sickened silence not daring to move in case it caught Smargren's notice. Turning to his corsairs and his new slaves he said in a harsh voice, "Let this be a lesson to you. Lie to me and your punishment will be far worse than this. Be it corsair or slave: if you disobey me, you will pay. Killfer, Shatdog, Spittle, Muglit. Take the slaves back to the pen." He watched as the corsairs dragged the old squirrel and the other slaves back to the wooden cage, his gold-hazel eyes following their every movement.