Chapter Eighty-Six

Snoga felt things were finally starting to go his way again.

Standing at the large ornate window that looked out over his courtyard and the vast expanse of calm waters beyond, the True Guosim chieftain reflected upon all that had happened to bring him to this point. After the disastrous attack on the swordfoxes, with nearly half his forces slain and the rest put on the run by relentless, invisible avengers who never once dared to show themselves - and with Gomon and others challenging his leadership from within his own ranks at nearly every turn - Snoga recognized he needed two things: a sanctuary beyond the reach of their pursuers where he would be able to regroup, and some kind of victory, however small, that would allow him to reassert his uncontested authority over his shrews.

He remembered the big inland lake from dim childhood stories, and from vague references gleaned over the seasons from various travellers he'd met. Some of these even claimed to have seen it with their own eyes. And he recalled other legends too, the faintest whispery myths of an isolated island at the center of this miniature sea, and a now-extinct race of creatures called Marlfoxes who'd dwelt in a splendid castle upon that isle. Perhaps these were all just fairy tales conjured up to entertain youngbeasts before bedtime, but if such an island castle truly existed, Snoga could not have wished for a better hideout. Now all he had to do was find it, if he could.

Once Fitkin crossed the True Guosim on his ferry barge, delivering them from Hanchett's immediate wrath, Snoga led his followers back east again into the thick of lower Mossflower, only this time on the south banks and hopefully beyond the reach of their landbound pursuit. The dense forest canopy here would also hide them from the eyes of any birds flying overhead - an important consideration, given Urthblood's known use of winged warriors among his forces. Thus shielded from enemy eyes, they pulled out their limited supply of axes and saws and set to work building themselves a new fleet of logboats. These woods provided plenty of trees for their needs, and fortunately - or unfortunately - they'd not require nearly as many as before, after the losses they'd suffered in their ill-fated battle with the Northlanders. The mere thought of this made Snoga grit his fangs as he worked at felling trees and hollowing out the trunks to shape the vessels. Ordinarily the temperamental shrew leader would be content to let all the others perform the necessary hard labor, but he knew his position now was precarious among his discontented gang and he had best lead by example to help renew their flagging faith in him. The exertion actually felt good for a change, allowing him some outlet to vent his massive frustrations. He realized his typical tantrums and tirades might well get him killed given the current tensions within the True Guosim. Besides which, any traitorous-minded beast here would think twice about trying anything as long as Snoga had an axe in his paw to go along with the usual eyes in the back of his head.

During the two days it took to fashion their new fleet, Snoga was also quick to invoke the spectre of their lethal pursuers. He easily quelled any dissatisfaction and diverted unwelcome questions by reminding his fellow shrews that they were all in this together; the unseen foe who wanted them dead would make no distinction between the leaders of their band who had planned the attack on Foxguard and those who'd merely been following orders. Enough shrew bodies littered their path of escape for this argument to prove most persuasive. Instilling fear of dangerous outsiders was always good for fostering a little extra unity.

It was also during this time that, unbeknownst to the True Guosim, Klystra recommenced his reconnaissance flights over southern Mossflower at his badger master's bidding. But the multilayered treetops, heavy with the full bounty of the late spring greenery, served to hide Snoga's shrews well as they labored on their logboats beneath the cover of the leafy branches. And so it was that several times the falcon passed directly over them without bird or shrews even being aware of the other.

When at last they took to the broadstream, fortuitous timing continued to favor them. Tree limbs and other concealing growth overhung many parts of the river, but along other stretches the stream lay open and exposed from one bank to the other. Snoga's waterborne caravan stuck as close to the south shore as they could, taking advantage of any cover there and ever mindful the vengeful enemies they'd left behind on the north side of this river. This strategy served them well; a quirk of fate had them obscured by overhanging branches every time Klystra scouted along the river, and so they remained hidden from the eyes that sought them out.

Headed inland and away from the sea, the True Guosim found themselves paddling against the current for all they were worth just to make any headway. The narrow profile of their logboats helped greatly, providing minimal resistance to the waterflow, but they still had to stop twice for rest breaks that first day, putting ashore along the south bank and pulling their rough-hewn vessels up into the cover of the woods until they were sufficiently rested to get underway again.

The end of that day's strenuous rowing found them drawing up to Lorr Bridge, the vast timber construct of pylons, planks and arches that the Guosim had helped their eccentric bankvole friend build the summer before. The mere sight of the thing filled Snoga with wrath and soured his stomach with bile. Log-a-Log had convinced the shrew tribe, over Snoga's objections, to commit to that nonsensical endeavor and waste a huge chunk of their limited seasonal wandering time tied down to one spot, engaged in a project that would directly benefit the Guosim not one whit. This bridge was a reminder of everything Snoga hated: the fool who now led Mossflower's shrews and all the idiots who followed him, too dense to see that Snoga truly deserved to be Log-a-Log ... and that crazy vole too, who had inexplicably been embraced by the Guosim and no doubt by the Redwallers as well. If those really had been Abbeybeasts fighting on the side of the foxes, it was hardly surprising, since Log-a-Log - now indebted to Urthblood for saving his son - would have had all winter to impress his side of things upon the Abbey leaders during those long nights of storytelling by the warm fireside, corrupting their minds and unduly influencing them in the sheltered comfort of Redwall while the shrews who represented the true spirit of what the Guosim stood for were forced to fend for themselves outdoors through the coldest depths of winter.

That coldness had hardened Snoga's already stony heart. It was this chill - now carried inside him at all times - that had enabled him to plan the attack on Foxguard, and press on with it even after woodlanders came out in open support those treacherous swordvermin. Glancing up at the high arch of Lorr Bridge as they paddled toward it, Snoga was gripped by an ire that surprised even him. He wanted to lash out at the wooden structure, to deal it a kick that would send it tumbling into the river.

"Guess this 'ere's as good a place t' stop fer th' night as anywhere," Gomon said from the logboat in front of Snoga's.

"Yah, only if'n ye're a stupidbeast who don't care whether 'ee lives t' see another day," Snoga scoffed, pointing at the landscape around them. "This bridge lies right along th' main road through Mossflower - anybeast could happen along at any time. An' look at all th' clear space, 'cos of th' trees that got chopped down t' make this fool contraption! We're more exposed here than we been all day! Keep rowin', shrews! We can't stop fer th' night 'til we're well past here, back in th' thick woods that'll hide us!"

And so on they paddled.

On their second day after passing the bankvole's bridge, Snoga's troop came to a place where several streams and rivers met in a confused tangle of side channels and cross-cuts in a marshy region that was neither land nor lake but a little of both. It was here that the fugitive shrews were able to leave the main river they'd been following and switch over to another flowing south, thus losing themselves in the heart of this wild and overgrown region beyond even Klystra's ability to track them. And lost they literally were, for these were parts unexplored by any shrew in their company, every tree and rock and bend in the broadstream new to their eyes, strange and unfamiliar.

"Whaddya think ye're doin?" Gomon demanded of Snoga at one point. "Ye're gonna lead us inta some dead-end netherland we'll never find our way outta!"

"I know what I'm doin', gitface, so shut yer gob an' stop questionin' my authority!" Snoga shot back. "If t'weren't fer my leadership, we'd prob'ly all be dead now!" This may or may not have been true, but he'd drummed it into his followers enough times in recent days that many had come to take it for granted ... as well as lose sight of the fact that it was Snoga who'd put them all in jeopardy in the first place. Yes, an effective leader knew the uses of fear to instill loyalty, and Snoga was feeling secure enough in his position by now to let some of his old arrogance and belligerence creep back into his manner.

Their arrival at the big inland lake caught them all quite by surprise. One moment they were cruising along their chosen watercourse at a good clip, surrounded on all sides and above by the densest forest growth any outlaw band could hope for, and the next they were out from under the concealing gloom onto the flat surface of an inland sea that stretched out before them for as far as the eye could see. So vast was this reservoir that a number of streams and brooks fed into it even as it served as the wellspring for others flowing out of it to the ocean. If any island was truly to be found at the middle of this great lake, Snoga could not discern it at this distance ... although perhaps it was just the sun's glare reflecting off so much water that obscured his vision. His gamble that they would be able to find this lake had paid off, and Snoga intended to push his luck in this matter as far as it would go. He was willing to bet his life - and the lives of every shrew in his company - that there was indeed an island, and perhaps even a castle, right where legend said they would be. It might very well mean their lives if such a refuge was not available to them.

But such expanses were not to be crossed by hunted beasts in broad daylight, not with the threat of aerial spies prowling the skies on the lookout for them. No sooner had their logboat caravan shot out onto the open waters than Snoga waved them all back toward the shore, where they could pull their boats up once more under the protective cover of the trees lining the lakeside. It was there that Snoga announced his most audacious plan yet.

"Cross that thing at night?" Gomon sputtered, incredulous. "That's ... that's insane!"

"No," Snoga countered, "insane would be paddlin' 'cross it in plain view o' our enemy! We know Urthblood uses birds, an' whether any o' th' ones we've spotted since we went on th' run are his is besides th' point. Them otters at that fox tower was swearin' t' hunt us down, an' after seein' 'em in action, I take 'em at their word - them, an' ev'ry other fanatical fightin' beast that badger's got at his command! Now, you've all heard me say my piece about that island. I think it's there, I think there's a castle on it too, and I say that it's the only place we'll be safe from Urthblood short o' paddlin' ourselves clear 'cross th' ocean!"

"But, what if there's still Marlfoxes livin' out there?" Poss worried. "Look at all th' trouble we got inta last time we went messin' with foxes ... "

"Ain't no Marlfoxes!" Snoga snapped. "They're all dead. Legends say so."

"What if th' legends're wrong?" Gomon challenged.

"Then we're gonna go find out fer ourselves," said Snoga. "An' we'll take plenny o' weapons with us! If there's any nest o' villains layin' claim t' that isle, we'll paint it red with their blood an' chuck their corpses to th' fish! That island's ours now!"

"If we can even find it," Poss said, staring uncertainly out over the empty waters.

"We'll find it, awright," Snoga maintained. "My eye says it's gonna be a clear night, so we'll navigate by th' stars. We'll push off soon as it's full night, an' make due south rowin' hard as we can. If we ain't reached it by sunrise, we oughtta at least be within sight of it, so we c'n adjust our course accordin'ly ... "

And find it they did. Setting forth as soon as the first twinkling stars sparkled out against the descending mantle of night and putting their backs into their synchronized oarstrokes, the tiny flotilla propelled itself across the open waters with such rapidity that more than one shrew among them feared they would shoot clear across the big lake to the opposite shore by the time morning came. The greater fear, however, was that they might find themselves stranded in the middle of this freshwater sea with limited provisions and no land in sight in any direction ... and as the pale dawn gave shape to the world around them, it appeared those fears may have been well-founded. The preliminary ghost shades of the new day revealed naught but the becalmed mirrorlike waters all around them. It was not until the risen sun burned off the last vestiges of the wispy morning mists that their goal was exposed. Ahead of them in the distance and slightly to the east, the featureless waterscape was broken by the only land visible to north, south, east or west.

"Cripes!" Gomon spat. "We paddled like demons from dusk 'til dawn, an' we still ain't halfway 'cross this confounded thing!"

"That's th' point, addlehead!" said Snoga. "Most beasts don't even know 'bout yonder island, an' those that do wouldn't dare this crossin'. But there 'tis, just like I said it'd be! Nobeast's gonna be able t' find us all th' way out here, that's fer certain. See, mateys - I toldja I'd deliver ya t' safety, an' I'm good as my word!"

"Well, I'm just glad we didn't miss it alt'gether," mumbled Gomon. "If we'd been rowin' any harder or longer, we coulda shot right past it, an' then where'd we be?"

With the sun up and the morning fog lifted, Snoga urged his tired shrews on, not wanting to be caught out on the open waters in full daylight any longer than they could help it. Taking up his own paddle in aching paws to provide an example of decisive leadership, Snoga turned their caravan east toward the distant isle.

The heavily-armed shrew force hit the shores of the isolated land mass an hour before noontide. Even from a good way out they'd been able to see the castle rising high above the north side of the island, towering nearly as tall as the interior mountains at its back. Snoga diverted his small fleet south toward the forested part of the isle, since the castle seemed in no great state of disrepair ... which meant that somebeasts had been here fairly recently to maintain it, if they weren't here still. Snoga fully intended to make this haven his own, and would not play second fiddle to anybeast else.

Finding a sheltered cove on the island's southern tip, the True Guosim hauled ashore their logboats and charged up into the wooded, mountainous terrain toward the castle from behind. They didn't know whether they might have been spotted from those high windows before steering south, but there was nothing to be done for it now. Clearly, if any sizable strength defended the castle, a frontal assault by the shrews would prove futile. Instead they would come at it from overland, scout around to see if they could discover what creatures might be living here, and then plan their moves accordingly.

The peaceful water rats tending their spring plantings that tragic afternoon were taken completely off guard by the army of shrews that came sweeping down upon their cleared fields from the forest above. Nearly every fit adult male of the rat farming community, along with many of the females as well, was out amongst their crops, leaving mostly the children, the elderly and the infirm back in the castle. None were aware of the invaders' presence on the island, the shrews' arrival having gone undetected by the busy cultivators.

Fully half the rats lay slain before the battle-fevered attackers realized the rustic rodents seemed entirely without weapons and were making no move whatsoever to defend themselves. The islanders stood nearly twice the height of the shrews, but the ferocity of Snoga's assault - first with hails of slingstones and then followed up with a spreading wave of slashing and stabbing shortswords - left them stunned and helpless. Not a single shrew was lost in the engagement; if it even occurred to any of the rats that the rakes, spades and hoes in their paws might serve as makeshift armaments, none acted upon the notion. They had lived in peaceful isolation for so many generations that all ways of warfare were strange to them.

Snoga's shrews, of course, had no way of knowing the history behind the creatures they'd just vanquished. They saw only rats, and rats were vermin, and vermin belonged dead. But not even Snoga could persuade his fighters to slaughter unarmed beasts who'd fallen to their knees clasping their paws before them in beseechment for their very lives. So, the survivors were rounded up and marched to the castle at swordpoint while their murdered friends and family were left to lie where they'd fallen under the hot spring sun.

Snoga was delighted by the splendor of the castle that met his eye as they swept through it from top to bottom, passage to passage and room to room, gathering up any rat who could walk and herding them down to the courtyard to join the other prisoners under armed guard. Scores of generations had passed since the Marlfoxes last dwelt here, but the plundered treasures with which those mystical beasts had surrounded themselves was still very much in evidence. Certainly the finer bedclothes and furnishings and carpets had long since lost some of their opulence, but there still remained many extravagant hangings and appointments and artworks which had withstood the passage of time. And of course the castle itself was a magnificent residence with its sloped, stairless corridors and spacious chambers - a palace befitting the now-gone race of luxury-craving foxes who'd dwelt here ... and equally befitting the Log-a-Log of the True Guosim.

For all their bloodthirsty faults, there was no way the True Guosim could bring themselves to execute their prisoners, since many were children, ladyfolk and oldsters. Sending them off the island would not be possible, and tempted as he was to order them into exile on the south half of the isle to fend for themselves, Snoga preferred to keep them all where he could see them, just to make sure they wouldn't cause him any mischief down the road. Not that there was much danger of that; these rats may have dwelt in a splendid palace once ruled by vermin royalty, but they lived as a simple agricultural community - families and farmers, not a warrior among them. And now with so many of their malebeasts dead, and so many of the survivors having seen how formidable the shrews were in battle, Snoga deemed they would prove docile enough. That left only one option as to their fate.

Having thoroughly secured the castle - assuming there were no hidden chambers or secret passages, which would be uncovered in good time if they were there to be found - Snoga made his way down to the courtyard and addressed the assembled rats, who stood or sat hemmed in on all sides by shrews with drawn blades at the ready.

"Lissen up, you rabble! This island now belongs to th' True Guerilla Union o' Shrews In Mossflower - that's us! From now on, ye'll serve our needs an' do whatever we say! Give us any trouble, an' ye'll wind up like yer dead friends back in yer fields!"

An older, gray-furred rat - perhaps the elder of their community - spoke up. "Why should this be? We have lived here for generations, tilling the soil an' keepin' up maintenance on Castle Marl. This's our home. By what right d' you come here an' slay us an' claim all we have fer yerselves?"

Snoga stalked over to the beast in question, but his reply did not come in words. Without uttering a syllable, the shrew chieftain drew his searat sword and ran the elderbeast through. The old rat fell to the ground, clutching at the mortal wound and gasping his last breaths, eyes already glazing over.

Snoga stood over his victim, sneering down at the dying creature. Slaying rats with a searat blade - now this was what being Log-a-Log was all about!

"He t'were askin' a perfectly reas'nable question!" a ratwife protested.

Snoga wasted no time in slaying her too for good measure.

Standing midway between the two bodies with his bloodied blade brandished menacingly, Snoga glared at the rats encircling him within their own circle of shrew guards, daring any more to speak or act against him. Anger and resentment smoldered in some of those eyes that returned his gaze, but the prevailing emotion he saw was fear. Many stood sobbing silently, while some of the younger children clutched tightly onto the legs and hips of grownups, whimpering softly. The sound was music to Snoga's ears. These rats weren't the brightest of beasts, that much was plainly evident, but even they had to realize that if they tried anything, there would be a bloodbath ... and their children would be caught right in the middle of it.

"Please don't go a-slayin' no more o' us," implored one of the few remaining adult male rats. "We jus' wanna tend our lands an' raise our families in peace. We'll do whatever y' say."

"Now there's some good sense," said Snoga. "All I'm interested in is Lordship of this castle an' island. We shrews ain't normally slave-keepin' creatures, an' the only reason we're makin' you our servants is 'cos there's naught else t' be done with ye. Don't think fer one moment that ye're necessary to us, or that we can't get along just fine without ya. We inherited yer worthless hides when we conquered this isle, an' they're ours t' do with as we please. Give us any reason t' think ye're more trouble than ye're worth, an' we'll just get rid of th' whole lot o' you." Snoga pointed at first one rat corpse then the other with his gore-stained sword. "If'n y' get my meanin' ... "

That had been nearly half a season ago, and never had the cowed rats given Snoga cause to regret not casting them all into the lake for the pike to have ... not even though Snoga made them all sleep outdoors in every kind of weather, and forced them to subsist on rations that were half what the shrews enjoyed. Almost certainly they were sneaking a little extra for themselves when they worked their fields, but Snoga didn't care as long as they stayed out of his way. He'd not had to slay any more of them since that first day ... not that there weren't times he wished one of them would step out of line just far enough so that he'd have an excuse to spill some blood. Snoga really did not like rats, not one bit.

So the True Guosim now ruled their own island, surmounted by a castle that would be the envy of many a chieftain and royalbeast. And they were safely beyond the reach of those who wanted them dead. Snoga had at long last delivered his followers both the sanctuary and the glory he'd promised them. This was the victory he'd sought, and not even Gomon had been able to say one word against him since the conquest of this island.

But it was not enough for Snoga. If they were safe from their hunters, neither could the True Guosim venture forth from this island without the fear of running into them again in the lands beyond. And if they ruled over the water rats they'd enslaved, they were merely exiles themselves, presiding over an indentured vermin populace only slightly more wretched than they were. Yes, Snoga had his victory under his belt. But the ambitions for a far greater victory smoldered within the banked fires of his soul.

Snoga still wanted to hurt Urthblood, now more than ever before. That badger was the reason Snoga had to hide here in the middle of an inland sea instead of standing as the Log-a-Log of all Guosim. First had been the indignities of last summer, and then the victory turned to defeat at the fox fortress. And while his true shrews of Mossflower had been put on the run in their own woodlands, those vile foxes had been left free to .. to ...

He could not complete the thought, even as his eye strayed to the point on the northern horizon where stood the thing that taunted him without cease these days. If he squinted, he could just make it out, pointing into the sky like a fine red needle. From this high double window of Castle Marl, no shoreline could be seen to the north ... but the summit of Foxguard could, showing its obscene altitude where sky and water met. Snoga knew what it had to be, impossible as that was to believe. No other artifact could conceivably be visible from this distance.

For most of his time in exile on this island, that red tower had been a thorn in his mind, driving home to him that Urthblood's power in Mossflower was growing even as Snoga was forced to cower in anonymity as little more than a castaway. But recent developments gave the renegade shrew leader encouragement and hope that the situation might soon be reversed, or at least evened out to an extent. The tide was turning in his favor, he could feel it, and if he played his acorns right, Snoga could soon expect to become the dominant figure in lower Mossflower.

A faint scuffling and clatter behind him reminded Snoga that he had an appointment, and could not tarry here lost in his private ruminations forever. He turned to regard the ratchild servant, who strove to remain silent and invisible as he cleared away his master's teatime tray. The water rats had pleaded so incessantly to have their youngsters given quarters within the castle, so that they would not have to dwell outdoors in the baking sun, heavy rains and cold winds with their parents and grandparents, that Snoga had finally agreed to take most of them in as serverbeasts to wait on the shrews. The lodgings assigned to the juvenile rats were closets and storerooms, since Snoga and his most deserving followers had claimed all the bedrooms for themselves and weren't about to surrender them to the whelps of the vermin they'd conquered. But as long as their children were in from the elements and sleeping where it was comparatively warm and dry, the adult rats were satisfied with the arrangement. As satisfied as enslaved and terrorized beasts could be, at any rate.

Snoga lashed out with his footpaw, dealing the rat a savage kick that sent him sprawling and the tray's contents clattering across the stone floor. So hard had the young slave tried to keep from dropping the tray that he made no attempt to break his own fall, and ended up with a chipped fang, a bruised chin and a bloodied lip. Kneeling on his scraped knees, he stared up at his cruel tormentor through tear-filled eyes, not daring to ask what he might have done to provoke his master's displeasure.

The adolescent rat was nearly Snoga's height even on his knees, but did not possess a tenth of the tyrant shrew's meanness or brutality. Intimidated and confused as he was, it would never have occurred to the youngbeast to raise his paw to Snoga in retaliation or self-defense.

"Clean that up, you clumsy sack o' worthless meat! There'd best be no trace o' that mess when I get back, or I'll show ya what a real thrashin' is!"

"Y-y-yes, sir!" the terrified rat whimpered.

The shrew ruler spun imperiously on his heel and strode from his grand private quarters to keep his meeting with his fellow chieftain.

Truly, Snoga did not like rats.