Chapter Seventy
Roxroy couldn't wait for lunchtime.
While the moles, weasels and otters oversaw most of the construction process in and around the tower, the young swordfox and his fellow cadets were being put through their paces in the clearing east and south of the rising edifice. The students' training grounds lay approximately where the thick outer protective wall of Foxguard would eventually go up, but for now they were just expanses of dirt and grass.
The number of foxes on site had recently topped fifty. Fewer than a score of those were full-fledged senior swordsbeasts of Lord Urthblood's brigade, experienced soldiers qualified to go into battle. The rest were newer recruits like Roxroy himself, some as young as eleven or twelve seasons but most in the fourteen to nineteen range. Not even the oldest cadets, in their early twenties, had been born when Urthblood started his Northland campaigns. Here was the future of the fox race, the first generation raised under the new order of all creatures working together toward the common goal of peace and shared respect for one another.
And for Urthblood's swordfoxes, earning the respect of other species started with learning to respect themselves. To that end, they underwent a strenuous and exacting regimen of training twice as demanding as anything imposed upon the rest of the Badger Lord's army. This made them the elite of all the Northland fighters, as formidable with broadsword as the Gawtrybe were with bow and arrow. They stood as the unswerving enforcers of Urthblood's will, the keepers of the peace within the ranks and the worst nightmare of any foebeast. The days of foxes as sly and conniving thieves and villains scavenging on the fringes of civilized society would be banished from the memories of all beasts, if those here had anything to say about it.
Thus, while the foxes at the construction site would periodically lend a paw with the building of their future home when necessary, they mostly left that endeavor to the expert moles and their workerbeasts. With no wall around the compound yet, Andrus and his brigade maintained the security of the perimeter. This mainly meant keeping up a show of force out in the open, especially now that their ferry shrews were gone, greatly diminishing their ability to scout very deeply into the surrounding forest. Those thick woods came came right up to the edge of their drilling areas in some places, but Andrus didn't seem overly concerned. The shrews had never found any sign of hostile forces during their reconnaissance patrols, and this was Mossflower after all. How likely was there to be any sizable enemy nearby?
Roxroy was paired up with the senior fox Sappakit along the south side of the site, practice duelling with his instructor while his fellow cadets Frew, Belsis and Thale looked on. Elsewhere around the circumference of the construction zone, other seasoned campaigner foxes worked with their trainees one-on-one or in small groups like their own. A few, drawn from both the pool of cadets and the veterans, were excused from the drilling to walk sentry duty at the forest's edge or stand lookout from the temporary plank roof of the unfinished fortress.
Roxroy felt he had learned so much in the last season and a half since coming down from the Northlands to begin his serious career training. He could hold his own against nearly all the other cadets, even those older than he, and it was clear that his instructors held back less and less in their practice engagements with him. The senior swordfoxes seldom spoke more than the sparest words of praise, but this increase in the intensity of the workouts told Roxroy more than any verbal encouragement. They trusted him to keep up with them, expected him to do so and made the assumption clear to him without voicing it. Sometimes he grew frustrated when he couldn't quite measure up to their increased expectations - every time he began to feel he was finally mastering his blade skills, they had a way of making him look like a fumble-pawed kit who'd never held a sword before - but for the most part he relished the challenge. He certainly would rather be at the head of the class than at the back of it, no matter what pressures and responsibilities came with the territory.
In his present face-off with Sappakit, Roxroy held himself raised slightly up off his heels, poised on the balls of his footpaws for quickness and balance, tail swishing back and forth for stability depending on which way he leaned in his parries and thrusts at any given moment. He kept the thumb of his left paw hooked into his belt at his side; as much as he could have improved his equilibrium by swinging his free arm back and forth as needed, all the swordfox cadets were trained to keep their empty paws at their waists at all times during exercises. This wasn't just for discipline or the pure honing of their skills. Practices always featured real swords, and the inopportune forward sweep of an untrained paw at the wrong moment could easily cost a cadet part or all of that paw. Andrus and his veteran foxes were extraordinarily and exceptionally practiced with their blades, but not so talented that accidents were guaranteed never to happen. Their young recruits were not yet so numerous that they could afford to end any of these swordsbeasts' fledgling careers with an inadvertent maiming.
This morning, Sappakit reviewed with Roxroy and the others some of the various wrist-flip techniques that could be used to deprive an unwary and less skilled opponent of his blade. As Roxroy leaned in to try his paw at such a maneuver (not that any senior swordfox of the brigade would ever allow himself to be deprived of his weapon by a student), the young fox heard shouts coming from the clearing's edge. This was fairly unusual - the foxes of their brigade typically kept their silence unless they had good reason to do otherwise - but Roxroy was too immersed in his exercise, his concentration too focused upon trying to prove to his instructor just how good he was, to divert his attention to what might be happening on the periphery of his vision.
Then the unthinkable happened: to Roxroy's amazed eyes and equally amazed sword paw, the weapon lifted from Sappakit's suddenly-distracted grasp and fell, as if in slow motion, to the ground alongside the veteran fox. Roxroy may not have allowed other events to intrude upon his single-minded drill trance, but the same could not be said for Sappakit.
Roxroy would never have the chance to exult, even momentarily, over his impossible triumph. Automatically he lowered his blade and stepped back from Sappakit, as was the protocol after relieving a sparring partner of his weapon. But even as he did so, the older fox hastily stooped to retrieve his sword, yelling, "Down! Everybeast, get down!"
Seeing Sappakit hold to an alert defensive crouch even after picking up his weapon, Roxroy quickly imitated his master.
But it was Frew who reached the ground first - not in a squat but with a toppled-over thud - after a whizzing stone smashed into the back of his skull, killing him before he knew what had happened.
Belsis landed hard on his tail a heartbeat later, clutching his shattered and bleeding elbow. "I'm hit!" he yelled out, as if issuing a routine status report.
Thale, uninjured so far, crouched as low as he could go without falling flat on his haunches, waving his sword wildly about his head in a feeble attempt to ward off any projectile that might be aimed his way. Shouts of, "Attack! Attack!" could be heard from various parts of the perimeter.
Roxroy swept his gaze along the forest edge from east to south ... and everywhere he looked he saw foxes down or falling. But they were not the only beasts to be seen. Swarming out of the trees and undergrowth were what seemed masses of shrews. Roxroy's first thought, that these were their own Northland allies who'd returned for some reason, was quickly chased out of his mind by the incongruous colored headbands these shrews wore above their fierce expressions, and their whirling slings and brandished shortswords. All doubt as to their intent was banished when they reached the first of the fallen foxes, a cadet named Joris. Perhaps Joris had been slain by the surprise volley, perhaps merely stunned ... but after the shrew blade was thrust through his heart there could be no doubt as to the unfortunate fox's state.
The shrews' gruff voices were added to the cries of alarm from the swordfoxes. "Snooooga!" "True Guooooooosim!" "Mossflower!" "Liberation!"
Tolar came bounding toward Roxroy and Sappakit in a headlong, zigzagging, crouched run, two of his own trainees trailing behind him. "It's an ambush!" he yelled, waving for them to make for the fortress. "Fall back to Foxguard! Everybeast, take cover!"
Roxroy needed no second bidding. Sheathing his sword in one fluid motion and then holding his arms up over his head to shield his skull from what had now become a hail of slingstones, he went into a sprint toward the unfinished tower. Thale, still swinging his own blade about his head, ran at Roxroy's side, while the injured Belsis was at their heels, clutching at his bloody elbow.
He'd covered half the distance to the redstone sanctuary when a speeding slingstone caught him squarely on his sword paw; the force of the impact drove the protective paw into a smack against the back of his head. Roxroy both heard and felt the bones snap. He almost stumbled but somehow kept his footing, ignoring the pain that flared up through his right arm, ignoring also the second slingstone that caught him a glancing blow off his right leg. These physical distractions were not enough to dispel from his mind the mental picture, playing out over and over again in his head, of the fallen Joris taking the merciless shrew blade through his chest. Roxroy knew that if he were to stumble and go down, he would meet the same barbaric fate.
And so onward he ran, for what else was there to do?
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Most of the otters, under the command of Lieutenant Rontorka, were working near the canal when the attack began. Much of the cut stone for the building of Foxguard still sat on barges there, or was piled on the banks of the artificial channel, where it would be carted to the construction site as needed. It was enough red sandstone to build a small town, and some of the stacks were like miniature mountains, walking between them akin to navigating sunken trenches. It was here that the otters' brawn and musclepower was needed most, whether in transferring the heavy blocks from the barges to the shore or hauling the stone from the canal banks to the tower.
The canal came almost to where the curve of the outer wall would be when Foxguard was finished. This would give the swordfox garrison its own harbor of sorts, a way for boating traffic from the River Moss to divert itself right to the door of the fortress. This also put the head of the canal close enough to the ascending tower - and close enough to the open areas where the swordfoxes had been drilling - for Rontorka's crew to have a clear view of the shrews' surprise assault, even if they weren't entirely sure at first exactly what they were seeing.
But they were otters, they were near water, and when the first sign of trouble made itself known, they automatically fell back on both their instincts and their training. Even as the besieged foxes broke and ran for the safety of their stronghold, the otters dove into the canal almost as one and stroked their way toward the river. Halfway between the head and mouth of the canal, confident that they were clear of the immediate skirmish zone, Rontorka called a halt to their strategic withdrawl so they could regroup and decide upon their next course of action.
"Ain't we gonna swim all th' way out to th' river where we'll be safe, sir?" inquired a stout female.
"Nay, Banka." Rontorka shook his head. "We'll be safe 'nuff here. If I saw things right back there, those were shrews attackin' us, an' I don't think they'd come after us. An' if they did we'd just swim further out t' get away from 'em ... "
"Shrews?" asked another otter. "Why would shrews attack us?"
Rontorka shrugged, "Dunno, but those were Mossflower shrews, not ours, so who c'n say what's in their heads?"
Banka cast a worried glance riverward. "What if there's more of 'em out there blockin' our escape route with their logboats, or gettin' ready to row up this canal t' catch us in a pincher movement?"
"Escape route? Who said anything 'bout escapin'?" Rontorka pointed back the way they'd come. "We're soldiers in Lord Urthblood's army, an' right now one of his bases is under attack! Those're our comrades back there, foxes 'n' moles 'n' weasels all, an' comrades-in-arms stand t'gether in the face o' th' enemy! We're goin' back!"
Rontorka's sergeant Scudder scanned the banks of the canal on either side. The land that had been cleared to accommodate the building of both the canal and Foxguard itself left this stretch largely denuded of trees and growth. "We won't have much in th' way o' cover, sir."
"So we'll swim back up the canal," the Lieutenant answered. "We made a splashy, noisy getaway, so hopefully they won't be expectin' a smooth 'n' silent return. Then mebbe we c'n find out what's stuck in their craw so deep that they'd attack us unprovoked. An' if they don't wanna be reas'nable 'bout explainin' themselves, then we'll show 'em they ain't th' only ones hereabouts who can sling pebbles ... an' mebbe give 'em a taste of our javelins' steel while we're at it!"
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Only the base of the tower was completely enclosed at this point in the construction. A wood beam framework encircling the tower outlined where the main part of the fortress would eventually stand, but for now only a few of the radial support walls had been set in stone. A roof of wood planks laid across the uppermost beams provided a crude shelter where the foxes and workerbeasts could sleep or come in out of the rain, but otherwise the frame was completely open and afforded them no protection whatsoever from the attacking shrews. Only stone walls could do that, and only the tower itself provided such walls right now.
And so into the tower everybeast ran.
To say that confusion and chaos reigned within would have been an understatement. The narrow structure had not been designed to hold any large number of beasts; the stairs that wound upward between its inner and outer walls were only wide enough to admit the passage of two foxes walking abreast, while the central shaft could hold at most a dozen creatures standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Fortunately, the cellars of Foxguard were nearly finished and accessible from within the tower. Unfortunately, that access was by the same narrow stairway, which made getting everybeast inside quickly a nearly impossible task.
The moles and others who'd been laboring up at the top of the structure, adding to its height brick by brick, stayed there so as not to add to the confusion that had broken out below them (not that there was any rapid way down from that high vantage even if they'd been inclined to take it). The workers who'd been toiling inside the base of the tower when the attack came now scurried up or down the stairs as fast as they could to make room for the sudden influx of foxes.
But it was not enough. The hostile shrews' slingstones chased the fleeing foxes all the way to the tower entrance, and two more of the swordsbeasts fell under the onslaught even as they sought shelter.
In the end it was one of the Foremoles who saved the fox brigade from further loss. Seeing that his fox comrades would never be able to get inside without suffering massive attrition, the digger beast and several of his fellows selflessly stepped forward, placing themselves between the foxes and the advancing enemy shrews.
The fusillade of deadly slingstones ceased almost immediately, as did the shrews' charge. Whoever these hostile waterbeasts were, the moles had guessed correctly that they would hesitate to use lethal force against fellow woodlanders. It had been a gamble and a terrible risk, but it paid off thanks to the moles' quick thinking and impeccable common sense. Every fox who'd succeeded in making it this far was able to get inside the tower without further injury.
Some of the moles remained outside, seeing they were in no immediate danger, offering themselves as intermediaries should their attackers seek to talk or negotiate. But for the moment the belligerent shrews seemed content to fall back and regroup at the forest's edge, perhaps satisfied with the damage they'd inflicted, perhaps reorganizing for another attack, or perhaps confounded and cast into indecision by the moles' unexpected countermove. Several among them could be seen striding back and forth gesturing emphatically and speaking loudly, although their exact words could not be made out at this distance.
There were doorways built into the outside of the tower, portals which would open onto the second and third floors of Foxguard once those floors were actually built. There were also windows higher up, so that creatures ascending the formidable staircase would not be sealed between two stone walls for the entire duration of their climb. The primary observation deck would be at the tower's top, but the design made practically the entire structure one continuous, multilevel lookout pillar.
The injured foxes were carried or escorted down to the basement, where their healthy kin could tend their wounds. Most of the remaining swordsbeasts - including Andrus and Tolar - took up stations along the staircase so they could look out over the surrounding area. They were trained soldiers, they'd been attacked, and that made this a battle ... a battle in which, at the moment, the enemy seemed to hold the upper paw.
The shrews, arguing and deliberating amongst themselves, had made no effort to move the bodies of the foxes they'd slain. All lay where they'd fallen out in plain sight - which made taking their count from the tower windows a very easy matter.
"Seventeen," Andrus growled after taking his own tally and finding it in accord with Tolar's. "Seventeen good foxes ... Kossuth and Korix, who'd survived last summer's battle at Salamandastron, only to be cut down by this cowardly, treacherous, unprovoked ... " The Sword could not bring himself to continue. "Who are those shrews, and why do they attack us thus?"
Andrus had been inside the tower consulting with one of the Foremoles when the assault came, so he'd not gotten as close a look at them as Tolar had. "They're the Guosim," the fox subcommander said. "The shrews that live here in Mossflower, who are allied with Redwall. I met them both times I visited the Abbey, and I heard them quite clearly giving the Guosim battle cry just now."
Andrus looked to his lieutenant. "But ... why would allies of Redwall attack us?"
Tolar leaned closer to his chieftain. "It cannot be coincidence, sir. We knew they would not take well to the revelation of Foxguard's true shape, or the fact that we hid it from them. Yesterday one of their birds comes here demanding explanations, and this morning we are attacked by their allies. You paint the picture."
"I did not think they would go to war over this. And why just the shrews? Where are their squirrels, their otters ... where are the Long Patrols?"
"Remember," said Tolar, "Lady Mina lives at Redwall now. Perhaps they think to hide this from her. It may even be that the Abbess herself does not know of this. It could have been planned and ordered by some of Redwall's other defenders, without her knowledge or consent."
"Couldn't these shrews have moved against us on their own, without any cooperation from Redwall?" Andrus asked hopefully.
"In light of everything else that's going on now? Ask yourself honestly, sir, what are the odds?"
Andrus chewed on nothing, and did not like the taste of it. "You have visited the Abbey twice since I was last there, and you know their current temperament better than I would. So, what do we do now?"
"They only went after us, you noticed. As soon as our moles stepped into harm's way, those shrews disengaged ... just as you would expect from Redwallers. This seems to be our only advantage at the moment, so we must utilize it fully. If there were no moles between us now, there can be no doubt whatsoever that the Guosim would try to exterminate us down to the last fox."
"Their slingstones won't do them any good against the walls of this tower," Andrus said. "And if they try to storm us, they'll quickly discover how lethal the swords of even our youngest cadets are."
"I doubt they'd try it, sir. They surely would have heard accounts of the battle of Salamandastron from the Redwallers, and from the Long Patrol. They know what we can do with our blades ... which is why they attacked us with long-range weapons like slings. What I wouldn't give to have a score of Gawtrybe here now!"
"I know what you mean, Tolar old friend. But for better or worse, we're on our own here ... "
"Too bad Lieutenant Rontorka's otters took off ... " Tolar lamented. "We might need their own slings before this is over."
"They're otters," Andrus said with understanding. "Their instincts and training are to take to any body of water close to paw when trouble breaks out. You can be sure they'll be back."
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Snoga was not pleased with the way things were going so far.
"Seventeen?" he roared at the shrews around him. "That's less'n a third o' their number! How'd we let so many of those brushtails get away?"
"Um, they was quicker'n we thought, Chief," Groat stammered. "It's like we hardly caught 'em by surprise t'all. They knew just how t' duck an' pull back t' minimize their losses ... "
Snoga scowled and pointed to where two shrews lay slain at the forest's edge. "An' what about them? This was s'posed t' be a distance engagement, with slings only until we'd brought 'em all down! How'd we end up with any dead shrews at all?"
"Uh ... er ... right when we began our attack," explained Ojomo, "there was this one fox, looked like he was walkin' a patrol, an' he was just the other side of some bushes where we was hid. So Stoo an' Volcy figgered they'd just jump out an' take care of 'im pers'nally. They took care of 'im, awright - but not 'fore he'd turned on 'em and run 'em both through. Cripes, Boss, t'was like that fox became a red demon with that sword o' his! Never seen a beast wield steel like that! If th' rest of 'em can use their weapons half that well, this might turn out t' be a tougher fight than we thought ... "
Ojomo might have choked if he could have known that the fox in question had been an eighteen-season-old cadet, only a fraction as skilled as Andrus or Tolar or the rest of the veteran swordfoxes.
"Doesn't matter how fancy they are with those pretty swords o' theirs," Snoga barked, "I don't mean t' get close enuff t' give 'em a chance to use 'em! We took out a third of 'em with slingstones, an' that's how we'll take care of th' rest! We coulda taken out a lot more of 'em, too, if we'd been able t' press our attack when we had 'em on th' run an' all piled up outside their tower door. Shoulda known they'd do somethin' like sendin' out their mole slaves t' shield themselves! Craven beasts like that have no shame! They knew we'd have no choice but t' break off our offensive, since we'd not slaughter moles."
"I dunno, Chief," the scout Poss worried. "Didn't look t' me like anybeast was makin' them moles do anything they didn't wanna ... "
"Shaddup, Poss!" Snoga snapped, stalking over to the doubtful shrew and smacking him hard across the snout for good measure. "No mole would be in cahoots with foxes! What, you think it takes more'n a word or a look from those wicked brushtails t' make their slaves fall inta line?"
Poss rubbed at his smarting nose, deciding then and there that he would utter not another word about moles for the rest of that day.
"Yeah," said Groat, "y' notice those otters didn't think twice 'bout clearin' out when th' fur started flyin', an' we know they was workin' with th' foxes voluntarily ... "
"Prob'ly not so much voluntarily as 'cos that big red brute of a badger ordered 'em to," said Snoga. "An' o' course they took off when we attacked - they've got better sense than t' risk injury standin' up fer th' likes o' that slaver swordscum! Prob'ly secretly hopin' we clean out that rabble entirely, wouldn't be surprised. 'Sides, they musta got enuff of an eyeful of the action t' see it was shrews attackin'. Otters 'n' shrews are kin of th' waterways, an' they wouldn't fight shrews anymore'n we'd fight moles."
"Yeah, but they didn't exactly stand with us neither, did they?"
"Shaddup, Neethu. They hadta get themselves outta th' line o' fire, 'fore anything else, didn't they? An' they'll wanna keep their jobs with Urthblood after this's all over. Can't very well do that if they help us fight these foxes who're s'posed t' be their allies, an' word gets back t' that badger. Simpler just t' swim away an' let us have at those vermin. That way they can honestly tell Urthblood they was makin' a tactical retreat, an' they weren't able t' get back inta th' fight quickly 'nuff t' keep those foxes from gettin' massacred. Take my word, lads, those riverdogs'll sit this battle out b'fore they'll take up arms 'gainst shrews."
"Glad we didn't hafta slay no otters," said the young shrew Verp. "I wouldn't of wanted t' slay otters." But none of the others paid Verp any attention.
"So, whadda we do now, Boss?" asked Ojomo.
Snoga regarded the tower before them. "Take a look there, mateys. Near twoscore foxes crammed in there, along with more'n twice that number o' moles. Must be packed in so tight they c'n barely draw a breath ... an' any fox who sets foot outside is a deadbeast! We got th' whole forest t' sustain us, while they prob'ly don't even have any food or drink in that place. So, we'll wait 'em out. Surround 'em, put 'em under siege, an' starve 'em out! They can't stay in there forever ... an' when they do come out, they're ours!"
