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Friends and Foes: Chapter One
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Dawn's morning light glinted off the polished Matthias and Methuselah bells and the red walls of the abbey seemed to glow warmly under its light as Redwall Abbey lived up to its name. That particular spring morning, Father Abbot Roark was taking his morning walk around the Abbey.
Roark was not a typical Abbot. Roark was young for an Abbot, just entering middle age. Even less typically, Roark was an otter and a Skipper of the otters at that. When his friend Father Josiah had selected him to succeed the dying Abbot, Skipper Roark had been as surprised as anyone. Josiah never revealed his reasons for choosing the strong otter Skipper as Abbot and had passed away the next day.
That had been four seasons ago. Roark—now Father Abbot Roark—had settled into his role as Abbot fairly well. There had been some transitional hiccups, but that was to be expected.
"Father Roark." Roark turned around to see Redwall's recorder, a mouse named Brother Gideon, approach from the door. Roark turned and gave a wane smile.
"Gideon matey, how many times have I told you not to call me 'Father?' Strike me rudder, it musta been at least a couple o' hundred!" Roark never got used to creatures many seasons his senior calling HIM father.
Gideon smiled crookedly and shrugged as if to concede the point. "Sorry…Father." The older mouse smirked. "Friar Bartholomew is serving breakfast in the Great Hall. He suggested that you hurry if you want to get any. That Long Patrol squad is still here."
"Ah yes." Roark chuckled. "I remember." The Badger Lord Drazen of Salamandastron had sent a squad of a dozen and a half hares led by Major Percival Lambert Montesquieu to Redwall as a goodwill mission. "Well we best be going if we want breakfast." The otter Abbot nodded for the recorder to accompany him into the Great Hall.
As they passed the tapestry of Martin the Warrior with the warrior's great sword hanging above it, Abbot Roark stopped. He stared up into the warrior mouse's strong yet comforting face and an odd look passed the otter's face. "Abbot Roark? Roark?" Gideon asked his friend in concern. "Are you alright?"
"I—yes, matey." Roark blinked, rubbing his face. "I just remembered a dream I had last night—Martin was in it!"
Gideon's eyes widened. "Did he speak to you?" He asked urgently. Gideon was probably the best recorder of Redwall Abbey in its long history. He had patiently gone through the records of the Abbey, compiling information on the Abbey's history; its abbots, its champions, its brothers and sisters, and most importantly, visitations by Martin's spirit. He knew well what a message from Martin the warrior meant.
Roark nodded. "Aye. He said, 'Hearken to the doombringer, who carries the future in his mind. Do not allow prejudice to linger, or for hatred to blind.'"
"That sounds ominous." The older mouse pointed out worriedly, nervously chewing on a whisker. Roark frowned.
"I know." Just then the abbey bells started to toll as the Gatekeeper, a dormouse named Matthew came huffing and puffing into the Abbey from the Gatehouse.
"Somebeasts are approaching the Abbey!" The elderly dormouse wheezed.
Wasting no time, Roark immediately bounded outside, calling orders over his shoulder. "Get everybeast into the Abbey and call out Major Montesquieu s hares! Have them meet me at the parapets!" It was with a sudden, sinking feeling that Abbot Roark realized why his predecessor would want a Skipper of otters to become Father Abbot of Redwall Abbey instead of an older, wiser, more even-tempered beast: because Redwall would need someone in command who had seen combat.
To give the Long Patrol—sometimes arrogant, sometimes hard to understand, and often gluttonous—credit, they never were backwards in coming forwards. Major Montesquieu and his hares charged up the steps to the top of the Abbey's wall so quickly that Roark didn't even have time to look for the intruders Mathew had warned him about.
"Jolly good day for a bloomin' good run, eh yer Abbotness?" Roark looked over his shoulder to see Major Percival Lambert Montesquieu standing beside him. A typical Long Patrol hare officer, Montesquieu wore a monocle, had a short bristly mustache and wore an immaculate uniform jacket besotted with campaign medals and ribbons. Abbot Roark liked Long Patrol hares. If you were ever in a fight they were second to none.
The Major however struck him as being too stiff, even for an officer. He was a strict disciplinarian and supremely overconfident in his capabilities and those of the Long Patrol. Montesquieu had a hair-trigger temper and his first instinct to every situation was to reach for his saber. Roark suppressed that feeling, focusing instead on the matter at paw.
"We'll soon see how good a day it is Major." Roark replied. "My gatekeeper says he saw strangebeasts approaching the Abbey."
Montesquieu polished his monocle on his jacket. "Pish-posh sir! Nothing to worry about, my chaps and I can go h'out and give any ol' vermin gang a good thrashing wot wot!"
Roark opened his mouth to respond when one of the Major's troops called out. "Sirs!" A hare pointed with his paw. "There they are!" Roark and Montesquieu quickly turned to look. Coming down the dusty path to the Abbey's main gates was a band perhaps a dozen strong of beasts where travelers' cloaks. They were long, covered in dust, and hooded, making it impossible to tell what sort of beast lay under them."
"Archers at the h'ready!" Montesquieu bellowed. "Prepare to fire on my command!" A dozen hares armed with bows, knocked their arrows.
"Hold your fire!" Roark sharply countermanded. "We do not know who these beasts are or if they mean us harm. We will parlay and IF they are dangerous, THEN we will determine what course of action to take. Not before!" Montesquieu glared and jutted out his jaw but offered no protest. Not out loud.
The hares lowered their bows. Roark looked out on the path. The strangers were now at the Abbey gates. Roark took a deep breath. "I am Father Abbot Roark of Redwall Abbey and Skipper of the otters in this part of Mossflower. Who goes there?"
Two of the strangebeasts in cloaks stepped forward and lowered their hoods. On each of them a pair of long ears emerged. "Hares?" Roark asked, not realizing he had said anything aloud until he heard Montesquieu harrumph in derision.
"Hardly ol' bean. Rabbits." Roark could hardly imagine more scorn being packed into one word then what Montesquieu had put into the single word 'rabbit.' It was hardly surprising. Hares had been called rabbits so many times that most hares considered being called a rabbit a grave insult—and consequently didn't think much of rabbits themselves.
One of the two rabbits took a step forward and looked up. He had brown fur and face that radiated responsibility and a hangdog look of exhaustion that often came with it. The other was also brown furred but was a bit sturdier in stature. He looked like a rough customer, not unlike a Long Patrol sergeant. Just as noticeably, he had an odd shock of dark fur on his head.
The first rabbit raised his voice and called up to Roark and the hares. "Roark-rah! We are hlessil from the northlands. Our warrens were zorn by elil. We come seeking shelter and safety!"
Roark blinked. He turned to Montesquieu. "What did he say?" Montesquieu looked no less puzzled.
"Don't 'ave the foggiest notion. Bally strange way to walk, wot wot!"
"Sir." They turned to see a sprightly young female hare wearing the uniform of a lieutenant took a step forward. "He's speaking Lapine, sir. I can translate."
Roark inclined his head. "That would be most appreciated Lieutenant, ah--?"
"Laverne Llewellyn Lestrade sir." She paused for a heartbeat at the Abbot's expression. "My parents liked alliterations. You can call me Vern, Father Abbot."
"Ah. I see." Roark said who really didn't. Honestly, what was with hare names? "You say you can translate?"
She nodded. "Yes sir. I grew up in a village that had hares and rabbits; picked up some of their language."
Montesquieu gestured impatiently. "Yes, yes now quit talking an' get to the, er, talkin' wot wot!"
"Yes sir!" Vern nodded. "He said that they are hlessil, which roughly means wanderers or travelers. He said that their warrens were destroyed by enemies, probably vermin."
Roark nodded. "And what was it he called me at the beginning? Roarkah?"
"Roark-rah." She corrected. "Rah is a word for 'lord'. So he was calling you Lord Roark." The otter nodded as he scratched his chin. Looking down at the two rabbits he called down his answer.
"Redwall Abbey is open to all those who come in need and come in peace." He turned to Major Montesquieu. "Kindly have one of your hairs go inside the Abbey and tell them that it is alright. Have the gates opened and prepare food, clothing, and medicine for our guests. If they've been traveling from the Northlands, then they've been traveling for a long time." At a gesture from the Long Patrol major, one of his hares saluted and sped down the steps to the Great Hall.
Roark turned back to the rabbit envoys. "How many of you are there in your party? Is this all of you?" He gestured to the small band before the Abbey.
The envoy shook his head. "No. We just went on ahead. There are hrair more of us." Roark looked to Vern.
"That's means there's a lot of them." She explained.
The otter nodded. "I see. Well, here at Redwall we are well provisioned. We can manage." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Brother Matthew the Gatekeeper heading toward the gatehouse to let them in. Gideon was leading the other Redwallers into setting up stations for food, medicine, and spare clothing for their guests. Roark called down to the rabbits. "We are opening the gate now. You can lead us to the rest of your band soon."
"Thank you Roark-rah!" The envoy shouted back up.
"No need for thanks. Here at Redwall we are friends to all creatures who come in peace." Roark smiled. Then a thought crossed his mind. "I am sorry matey, but I never got your name."
The rabbit leader looked up at Roark, his eyes as brown as his fur. "Hazel, sir. My name is Hazel of Sandleford."
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