CHAPTER ONE

An unnerving stillness lay about the sands that stretched out in front of the mountains, separating the high peaks of the western perimeter from the low depths of the vast ocean. Five miles of barely valuable land that came under the territory of the extinct volcano that teetered at the edge of the surface world, its solitary shape coning upwards towards the sky, letting loose from its summit a slow, casual plume of smoke; the signal that made this mountain the unavoidable challenge for any vermin that dared set foot upon the sacredly peaceful lands that it defended.

Salamandastron.

Emblazoned against an unusually large full moon, it was a beacon home for the 7th Shore and Spear Patrol. Commanded by Lieutenant Brasson Fernwood, the unit was making the last of its week-long patrols for the winter season, and upon the morn of the following day, they would be relieved by the 12th Stalwart and Sound Regiment, who would pick up the more intense rota of patrolling the southern shoreline at the most probable time of year for invasion.

Lieutenant Fernwood and his troops would be glad of the relief, and a good long rest for the half season – a rest consisting mostly of training drills, catching up with their loved ones, but perhaps more importantly, feasting. After weeks of rations – with rare opportunities whilst back at the mountain to have a proper meal – they would be glad to finally sit down in the large mess hall and eat as much of the beautifully prepared home cooking as they were able. As the officer looked around his score strong force, he could tell he wasn't the only one thinking of food.

'By jove, I can't wait to get me paws on Rubella's apple and blueberry pie,' Corporal Corsan remarked, his eyes glazing over, his feet only subconsciously submitting to the steady rhythm that Fernwood was keeping.

'Hmm,' sighed Patroller Apax, 'but not before her jam and honey scones. Then the pie, with custard and cream, washed down with a cool flagon of damson cordial.'

'Cordial?' Fernwood suddenly piped up. 'With spring coming around, I'm going to sample the latest offerings from the Redwall brewery. Bardon's Cider, here I come, wot?'

'I've got a good mind to join you, sah,' Colour Sergeant Lepus Holm nodded in agreement, 'make it a night to sample what otters do best! Skilly'n'duff and cider!'

The patrol was already salivating as they neared the smooth rocks that formed the path up to the great oak doors to their mountain home. Fernwood slowed the pace, and brought his patrol to a halt. Standing to attention outside the entrance, the lieutenant raised his long javelin high into the air, and called out the password to a time set by the stamping paws of his hares.

'The nights are long and the wind is tough,

We're coming home and we've had enough.

Brace for the sound of our gnashing jaws,

Enough of your dawdling and open these doors!'

The beat stopped, and then silence. For a few seconds, only the sound of the wind could be heard, and then, the great welcoming sound of a metal bar being moved met the long ears of the returning hares, and the doors swung open, revealing two guards and a large hallway leading to stone steps upwards into the mountain.

'Welcome home, lieutenant!' said one of the hares holding the doorway open.

'It's good to be home, Willup!' said Fernwood with a broad smile, before sensing the tone of those he led, and ordered a forward march into the mountain.

'Hares of the 7th Shore and Spear; officers of the Long Patrol; into Salamandastron...quick march!'

At double time, the hares strode nobly into the fortress, and were brought to a halt once more at the bottom of the stone steps, which led up to an archway opening that framed the most perfect sight for a Salamandastron hare: the mess hall.

Lieutenant Fernwood, whimpering at the sight of the hanging chandeliers in the hall and the warmth that he could feel from the furnaces burning beneath the floor of the extinct volcano, spun around to face his resolute soldiers. 'Troop, right turn...dismissed!'

At those words, chaos reigned. The twenty warrior hares of one of the most prestigious and highly decorated units in the Long Patrol broke out into a hungry rabble, dashing off within seconds up the stone steps into the mess hall. Slightly disorientated by the tornado that had just rushed past him, Lieutenant Fernwood took some time readjusting himself before he too sprinted desperately up into the atrium-like dining room.

Once their platters had been filled from the numerous trays that stood by the serving hatch, the unit settled down at the tables to converse with their fellows from other platoons in the Long Patrol. A force that numbered around four thousand in total, the army dedicated itself to the protection of the western shores and the safety and harmony of the country beyond. From Luke's Beach in the north to the Great Stream to the south; and from the lapping waves that crash against Salamandastron itself to the lands just east of the famous Redwall Abbey, was under the protection of the military headquartered at this mountain. Covering such a large area of land undoubtedly produced numerous stories and remarkable adventures, which all of the hares were happy to share with their friends.

Brasson Fernwood and Lepus Holm grabbed their hot skilly'n'duff and a jug of Bardon's cider and went to sit at a table often reserved for officers, where General Bannox Granden also sat, reading a despatches report, and – unusually for his species – sipping daintily at a bowl of tomato, basil and leek soup.

'Evening, sah!' Fernwood remarked jovially, setting himself down on one side of the general, whilst Holm took a seat opposite. 'Anything interesting happening abroad in Mossflower Country?'

General Granden, unmoved by the breakdown of protocol used when addressing a superior officer, did not look up from the report, and took another spoonful of soup before replying.

'This report isn't from the 10th Honour and Hunt,' he said coolly, 'it's from the Salamander Guards.'

Fernwood and Holm looked quizzically at one another before the latter turned to Granden.

'The Guards are away from the mountain?'

Bannox Granden finished his soup and pushed the bowl away to allow space for the despatches report to be placed directly in front of him. He linked his paws together and placed them on top of the small pile of paper to address the two inquisitive officers directly.

'Very early this morning, the 10th Honour and Hunt, on their usual patrol pattern north to Luke's Beach, over the north western hills and back down into Mossflower, encountered a small rowing boat with ten sea rats on board paddling furiously into the mouth of the River Moss. Naturally, they captured the blighters and found out that they had abandoned their vessel out to sea when they came under attack from what they referred to as a "fire boat".' Here, General Granden paused to check the looks on their faces.

'Colonel Windscut sent a squad back to the mountain with the prisoners, and they are currently being detained in the holding cells. The squad then returned post haste to the regiment. Now, this morning the Summit Sentry spotted a small fire on the horizon, appearing to head towards Luke's Beach. After the report I had been given by Windscut's hares, I thought it prudent to investigate: unfortunately, the Salamander Guards was the only unit available at the time, and I wasn't about to abandon our good hedgehog friends in the north.'

Satisfied that he had answered the question posed by the colour sergeant, General Granden picked up the report and his bowl and headed for the kitchens.

'Hold up, old chap!' Lieutenant Fernwood called out, causing Granden to stop and turn around. 'You can't just stop there!'

'I think I bally well can,' huffed Granden, feeling rather ruffled. 'Colour Sergeant Holm's question, rhetorical or otherwise, concerned the reason why the Guards are away from the mountain. I think I answered the question more than sufficiently.' He continued on his walk towards the kitchen.

Torn between their meal and their curiosity, Fernwood and Holm glanced down at their plates and at the Patrol General several times before letting their stomachs dictate their actions.

'Probably nothing anyway, eh, old chap?'

'Hmmlph, indeed, probably just somebody having a campfire, wot?'

General Bannox Granden deposited his bowl on the table next to the door leading to the kitchen and walked out of the mess hall into a corridor that curved around the mountain, leading upwards in a spiral towards the chambers at the very peak of Salamandastron. He began his ascent, his mind still in deep thought about the report that had been sent back to him by the runner.

The Salamander Guards, a force usually dedicated to maintaining sentries around Salamandastron and providing local defence to the mountain itself, had travelled north under his orders along the coastline, crossing the mouth of the River Moss and continuing along the cliffs until they had reached Luke's Beach, a quiet corner of the Long Patrol's watch area that was local to a hedgehog tribe, who greeted them when they arrived. Guided by Chief Tombo, they found the burnt wreckage of a pirate galleon beached on the sand. Barely recognisable was the name of the ship, Red Raider, which was the same name of the ship abandoned by the sea rats discovered by the 10th Honour and Hunt. In several places along the hull of the ship were breach points: large holes punched into the side of the ship that seemed to burrow straight through the vessel's interior, in some cases creating holes that penetrated the entire width of the ship.

Onboard, they found very little. Either the crew had taken all of their loot with them as they made their escape, or it had been pinched by those that had attacked them – presumably the crew of the "fire ship". The report concluded by adding that they would stay with Chief Tombo and his tribe for a couple of more days to investigate further, and then they would venture home.

The feeling of angst felt by the general was quickly swept aside at the site of his own, one and only superior: Meledan, Badger Lord of Salamandastron. A tradition that was constant and never tiring was the presence of a badger at the mountain, to lead the force of hares at his or her command, a tradition that was so much more than just ancestral passage or writing on the wall; it was a destiny transcribed by a beast long forgotten upon the walls of the secret room that lay beyond the bed chambers of the Badger Lord. As part of an agreement of mutual trust between the two friends, upon arriving at Salamandastron at a young age Meledan had shown his close friend and confidant – at the time a captain – the secret chamber that he had discovered almost by chance upon entering his new quarters.

General Granden smiled upon seeing his old friend, but his features hardened once again when he saw the look of nervousness etched on Lord Meledan's great striped face.

'My lord?' he said. 'You look how I feel,' Granden added.

Meledan paused at seeing Bannox, his aging features crinkling into a grin. 'Oh, it's nothing Bannox,' he lied, a little too obviously. He changed the subject by eyeing the despatches report and remarking on it. 'News from the Salamander Guards?'

Bannox's mind returned anxiously to the topic that had previously occupied him, and handed Lord Meledan the report, outlining the specifics to him as briefly as he could whilst the badger flicked intensely through the pages.

'I'm sure it's nothing sah,' the hare concluded, saying it more for his own benefit than Meledan's. 'At least, nothing the old Long Patrol can't handle.'

'Still,' said Meledan slowly, still fingering the pages of the report, 'it's worth keeping an ear out for any more stories or reports concerning something like this.'

General Granden nodded dumbly, transfixed by the quiver in Meledan's voice. 'Are you quite all right sah?' he asked cautiously. Meledan seemed not to hear initially, and then looked at Granden as though coming out of a trance.

'Hmm? Oh, yes, absolutely.'

Still not believing the badger lord, Granden retrieved the report from his commander's large hands and saluted him officiously. 'Well, if it's all right with you sah, I'd like to go down to the cells and quiz the prisoners a tad further.'

'By all means,' said Meledan, granting his approval. 'I'm off to get a bite to eat.'

General Granden twirled curtly on his right footpaw, and walked smartly off towards the cells with the report tucked under one arm.