Chapter Seventy-One

Snoga was very much mistaken about any number of things, not least of which was how effective his siege strategy would be. His renegade Guosim had only surveilled Foxguard since after the expansive basement had been roofed over, and thus had no idea how large that cellar area was, or that it was accessible from within the tower, or that it was well-stocked with provisions to sustain the fox fighters and the workers erecting their new home. There was even a cistern basin, fed by an underwater tributary of the River Moss, designed into the layout to increase the future stronghold's self-sufficiency. None of Urthblood's creatures would have imagined that this hidden freshwater spring would be relied upon this early in Foxguard's history.

If the only space available to the besieged Northlanders had been that within the tower itself, conditions might have been every bit as unbearable as Snoga supposed. As it was, however, the situation was not nearly as dire for them as the shrew leader believed.

But it was dire enough. Roxroy and Belsis were far from the only ones in their brigade who'd sustained injuries as a result of the slung stones. Over a dozen wounded foxes sat, stretched or sprawled on the sandstone floors in the lambent pools of light cast by the workermoles' lanterns. Sappakit, Dijax and Haddican, three of the veteran swordfoxes who'd emerged from the assault unscathed, moved from one patient to the next, their healer's satchels in paw. While the cadets' training focused almost exclusively on their blade skills, the swordfoxes who'd served under Lord Urthblood for many seasons had been versed in the healing arts just as their first Sword Machus had been. And while none possessed the same level of skill as that now-legendary fox chieftain, their talents were equal to the challenge of gashes, contusions and broken bones facing them now.

Roxroy winced as Sappakit probed and poked at his fractured wrist. "Sorry, sir, but I don't think I'll be of much use if those shrews attack. I couldn't even hold a sword now, much less swing it."

"You can always use your left paw," the older fox told him. "I know you've not drilled much with it, but even so I'd wager you could best most any shrew that way in close-quarters fighting. And those out there may not leave you much choice in the matter. I'll set and splint this wrist of yours the best I can, so that if you survive this battle you'll be able to use it for future ones. But such wounds can be tricky."

"Sir," Roxroy asked as Sappakit went to work on his paw, "how ... how bad were we hit? Because it looked to me like half of us went down in the first moments of that assault ... "

Sappakit gave a mirthless smile. "It wasn't that bad, lad, though it is plenty bad enough. I heard Tolar give a figure of seventeen killed, plus those wounded we have down here. Most of the slain were cadets - which might turn out to be a good thing, in its own sad way, since it still leaves us most of the brigade's seasoned fighters. Andrus and Tolar are up in the tower now, keeping an eye on those savages and trying to figure out what our next move should be."

Roxroy couldn't help but notice the moles crowding the basement everywhere about him that he looked. "What about our other beasts? How did they fare?"

"Not a single loss among the moles, and we can't know about the otters, since Rontorka took his squad into the canal for a tactical retreat. But it appears those shrews won't harm their fellow woodlanders if they can help it." Sappakit described to Roxroy how the moles had put themselves between the foxes and the shrews - an episode the cadet had missed since he'd already made it inside the tower and was on his way downstairs when the incident unfolded.

"So it seems," Sappakit concluded, "that we have at least two elements of our forces those shrews are reluctant to engage. Most of our moles can handle a sling fairly well, and of course the otters are experts at that weapon, as well as most other kinds of fighting. If our enemies are intent on pressing matters, Lieutenant Rontorka and our Foremoles should be able to drive them off."

"I hope our otters get back soon," said Roxroy. "What we need now is a show of force, and unity."

"I just hope those shrews are the only enemy we have out there now," Sappakit said. "If they've got squirrels or hares or otters of their own backing them up, then things look rather bleak for us, I'm afraid."

"Squirrels? Hares?" Belsis asked from where he sat alongside Roxroy, still waiting to have his elbow tended. "Sir, you make it sound as if the whole of Mossflower's against us!"

"It might as well be, if Redwall really is behind all this."

"Redwall?" Roxroy's eyes went wide. In a flash he remembered the outpouring of hospitality he'd received during both his visits to the Abbey, the warm comraderie displayed by its residents and the sense of peace that seemed to radiate from the very stones themselves ... and how compassionate they had been, even toward the stoat who had killed one of the most vital members of their community. He simply could not conceive of such benevolent and tolerant beasts having anything whatsoever to do with this calculated and bloodthirsty attack upon an unsuspecting victim. "No! It can't be!"

"Tolar seems to think it can. He said this is the same tribe of shrews who spend their winters at Redwall. They're wearing the same headbands, and they even gave their warcry when they attacked." Sappakit gave Roxroy an unblinking gaze. "You accompanied Tolar to Redwall both times. Didn't you see them there?"

"Well, yes ... but ... " Roxroy shook his head in confusion. Of course he had seen the Guosim when he'd visited; with over two hundred of those shrews wintering there, how could he not have? But he'd never spent any amount of time talking with them or getting to know them, so he was no true judge of their character. There was no denying that the foe they faced now did in fact resemble the Guosim in both dress and strength of numbers ... plus they had indeed shouted the Guosim warcry, or at least they seemed to have done so - his exact recollection was hazy, it had all happened so fast. And only creatures familiar with this part of Mossflower could have pulled off such a surprise attack. All the pieces fit, and yet still Roxroy could not bring himself to accept it.

"But, the last time we left, the Abbess saw us off herself. She saw us off as friends ... "

"Perhaps pride trumped friendship when the summit of Foxguard started to show above the treetops." Sappakit shrugged. "Who can say?"

While the older fox immersed himself in tending Belsis's broken elbow, Roxroy sat back against the wall, pawing absently at his splinted and bandaged wrist. In his mind he reviewed the friendship he'd forged with Winokur, all the words they'd spoken and laughs and stories and meals they'd shared. He could not believe that had all been an act, and not genuine. Or that it would be swept aside so casually. Another creature might have been able to feign such camaraderie, but not an otter. Not Winokur.

"I don't believe it," he murmured to himself.

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Rontorka's otter squad swam back up the canal beneath the water like a silent school of large dark fish. When at last they surfaced, they did so with such stealth that not even the most attentive, long-eared hare would have been able to detect splash or ripple or any sound at all from the returning waterbeasts.

The Lieutenant brought his crew up alongside and amidst the cover of the barges. Under the unblinking glare of the midday sun, the loads and mountains of recently-cut sandstone blocks glowed nearly red as blood. Making a quick survey of barges and banks from the water, they spotted no sign of the warlike shrews anywhere in the immediate vicinity. Creeping as quietly as earthworms, Rontorka led his otters up out of the canal and onto dry land.

Sergeant Scudder glanced upward, craning his neck to take in the mountain of sandstone towering directly before them. It and several similar stacks provided them with ample cover - but also obstructed their view of the battle scene. "Hey, Lieutenant, you want I should climb up to th' top o' this rockpile an' scope out th' situation? I'd get a clear look from up there ... "

"Yah - an' you'd also make a mighty temptin' target fer any o' those slingshrews who might happen t' be lurkin' on the other side. Nay, we'll keep our heads down fer now, 'til we can find out more. Let's head over there, everybeast, to that pile that's low enuff fer us t' peek over ... "

Crouching low to keep themselves hidden, the otters crept from their present mountain of sandstone blocks to a lower stack that was merely chest-high. Rontorka poked his head up above his cover for two heartbeats, then ducked back down again while he mentally sorted out the image that his eyes had taken in.

"All the shrews are out in plain sight, at th' south end of th' clearing by th' forest's edge," he reported to his fellow otters. "Big crowd of th' liddle buggers - gotta be more'n a hunnerd of 'em. Right now they seem t' be standin' there millin' about, mebbe workin' out their next move. They don't seem t' be lookin' our way, an' I think we're outta sling range anyways ... " Rontorka stuck his head over the stack of blocks to take a longer look. "Aw, bilgemuck!"

"What? What is it, sir?" Several of the others dared to poke their own heads above the lip of their makeshift battlements. It was immediately apparent what had caused their commander to swear so. Many bodies littered the clearing south of the tower ... and it seemed every one bore the red fur and black jacket of the swordfoxes.

"Great stream an' rapids!" muttered Scudder. "Did those murderous liddle hellions leave not one of th' brigade alive?"

Rontorka had already finished taking a cursory tally. "Don't think it's as bad as it looks at first glance, mateys. I count about a dozen of our foxes down, though there's prob'ly more 'round th' east side o' th' tower where we can't see 'em. Then again, I can't find even one slain shrew. They must've hit us so hard an' so fast that Andrus 'n' his boys didn't have a chance t' take down even one of 'em."

"But, if we only lost a dozen or a score of our foxes," Banka wondered, "then where're th' rest?"

"They must've made it inside." Rontoka nodded toward the tower. "We saw enuff o' th' attack when it started t' see that those shrews launched their assault from all three sides, so our foxes couldn'ta fallen back inta th' woods even if they wanted to - they'da been cut off no matter which way they went. With no archers or slingers t' return fire, an' faced with an enemy like that, they would've retreated to the only refuge they had. Just like we took to th' water, they made fer Foxguard."

"Reckon those pore souls lyin' out there might've had a better chance if'n we'd gone right t' their aid?" Scudder asked his superior.

"We might've saved one or two of 'em, Sergeant, but this assault was so carefully planned an' so brutal, I don't think it woulda made much diff'rence either way. Those shrews were out fer blood, no two ways 'bout it. Best we coulda done was thin out their numbers some, tho' we prob'ly woulda lost an otter or three of our own in that melee. Most o' those foxes fell in th' first few moments, 'fore we even realized over here what was goin' on. We did right by followin' procedure an' takin' to th' canal. No way o' knowin' in all that confusion just how formidable an enemy we faced, who they were or what they aimed t' do. We had t' preserve our own forces first an' foremost, an' that's what we did."

In spite of his evenpawed recitation of protocol, Rontorka could feel the battle lust churning inside him, and he knew most of his squad must feel the same way. The fact that only foxes appeared to have been slain so far made no difference; they were all soldiers together in Lord Urthblood's army, comrades serving the common good under the banner of the Crimson Badger. This cowardly sneak attack had been an attack on all of them, fox and otter and mole and weasel alike. Unless those shrews meant to withdraw immediately, this was far from over. And even if they did, it might still not be over. Lord Urthblood was not a beast to allow a strike like this to go unanswered, and neither were his officers.

"So, just who are these shrews?" Scudder wondered. "Why'd they attack us, an' whadda they want?"

Rontorka narrowed his eyes at their distant enemy. "Wager they'll make that all known in their own good time ... unless they plan on lettin' their slingstones do all their talkin' for 'em. Y' know, I could swear those're some o' those shrews we met on our march t' Salamandastron last summer. Same dress an' headbands, same weapons too. I thought they were s'posed t' be allies of Redwall. Why in th' seven seas would they be attackin' us?"

"Wasn't there some kinda split in that tribe?" Scudder recalled. "A power struggle 'tween two o' their chiefs, or somethin' like that?"

"Hmm ... you may be right, Sarge. An' if memory serves, none of 'em was all that fond o' foxes, even th' ones who swore Lord Urthblood their friendship after he rescued their kinfolk from that underwater searat craft. That would explain why they went after Andrus's brigade so fiercely, but left th' rest of us alone." Rontorka glanced toward the tower once more, where a small group of moles could be seen standing at the ready outside the entrance. "They don't seem int'rested in slayin' otters, or moles ... "

"Can't say th' feelin's mutual." Scudder's cold gaze had never left the ragtag assembly of shrews. "Look at 'em, just standin' out in th' open like that, as if they own this forest! We are gonna counterattack, sir, ain't we?"

"Not 'til we find out more. Sergeant, would you say we're within sling range o' th' tower from 'ere?"

Scudder forced himself to tear his gaze away from their enemy and confirm his commander's distance assessment. "Aye, I'd say so. Just barely ... "

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do. I wanna keep most of th' crew out here, t' keep at least some our forces mobile an' not let us all get pinned down inside that tower. But we hafta talk to our mateys in there. They might know sumpthin' we don't, an' a coordinated counterstrike might work better 'gainst those shrews than if we tried t' go it alone. Scudder, yore one o' th' fastest runners we got, an' so's Yenorick. I want th' two o' you t' sprint from here t' Foxguard. Once yore inside, talk t' Andrus or th' Foremoles or whatever beast's in charge, find out all they know an' ask what they think should be done next. Write it all out on parchment, wrap it 'round a slingstone an' fire it out here t' us. That way ye'll be able to keep us appraised of what's goin' on in there without havin' us riverdogs runnin' every which way tryin' to keep our rudders straight. It'll also look less suspicious to those shrews if they only see two otters go inta th' tower, an' none comin' out ... not t' mention it'll give 'em fewer targets if they get it inta their pea brains t' take up their slings again."

"Good thinkin', sir," commended Scudder. "One thing, tho' - what if we shoot you out a dispatch that requires a reply?"

"Then I'll just write it out on th' back o' that selfsame parchment an' fling it back yore way. If it comes up a little short, one o' th' moles can fetch it where it falls in an' bring it in t' ye ... at least until them shrews start lettin' their own stones start flyin' again. Then I guess it'll be ev'rybeast fer itself, unless we get our strategy worked out 'fore then ... "

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"Well, mebbe if'n you'd been out front with yer fighters instead o' slingin' from behind us, we mighta slew more'n severnteen of those brushtails!"

Snoga stamped over to issue Straig one of his patented smashes across the snout for such insolence, but the other shrew had his blade out and pointed at Snoga's belly in a heartbeat.

"An' don't try slappin' me t' silence neither! That might work on these other footpaw-lickers an' tail-kissers y' got toadying fer you, but not me!"

"Traitor!" Snoga screamed into Straig's face. "Raisin' yer sword to yer Log-a-Log! That's treason!"

Straig was one of the recent additions to Snoga's forces, not a longstanding member of the Guosim at all but an independent-minded woodland shrew who'd been driven into Snoga's fold by Urthblood's Northland shrews who were immigrating to Mossflower in such profusion. But he was finding Snoga's attitude almost as hard to swallow as the invaders he'd enlisted to resist.

"I ain't one o' yer pet lackeys who'll take yer guff without question, bossywhiskers! I was never in th' Guosim, 'member? Now, I'm with ya far as gettin' these foxes outta Mossflower dead or alive, but I ain't yer punchin' bag neither! I notice ye're very good at givin' orders an' dolin' out th' blame fer things that don't go yer way, but not so good at takin' criticism or havin' anybeast say boo t' ya ... which wouldn't be so bad if y' rolled up yer sleeves an got yer own paws dirty once in awhile. Where I come from, a beast who doesn't invest some of its blood, sweat 'n' tears in what it wants done has got no right grousin' about it if things go wrong ... "

Snoga forced himself to keep his gaze locked with Straig's so as not to betray Groat, who was creeping up behind the challenger shrew. "Ye're right 'bout one thing," he hissed. "You ain't never been one o' th' True Guosim ... an' now you never will be!"

Straig turned at the last moment when he heard the rustle of Groat's shirt behind him, but it was too late by then. Groat's shortsword found its way between Straig's ribs and into his heart. The ambushed shrew slumped to the ground, his wide and staring eyes glazing over with death.

Snoga drew his own searat blade and whirled it about his head in a frenzy. "Anybeast else care t' challenge yer Log-a-Log fer leadership o' th' True Guosim?"

Poss chose that inopportune moment to raise his paw and point toward the tower. "Chief!"

Snoga was on him in an instant, blade pressed to the scout's throat. "You challengin' me, Poss?"

"No-no, Boss, I ain't challengin' yer! But ... look there!"

Snoga and most of the other nearby shrews turned their heads toward Foxguard ... just in time to see a pair of sleek but sturdy thicktailed figures dashing madly from the cover of the sandstone stockpiles to the tower.

"Were those two th' first?" Snoga demanded desperately from those around him; he'd obviously been too intent upon his confrontation with Straig to pay attention to his primary foe.

"Ye-yes, sir!" Poss forced out past the keen steel edge pressed against his windpipe. "I been watchin' th' whole time! Those're th' only ones I seen!"

"Oh. Good work, Poss. Knew I could count on ya." Without so much as an apology, Snoga withdrew his blade from across the other shrew's throat and turned to face Foxguard. "So, th' otters came back ... two of 'em, anyways. Well, if they wanna go into a place we got under siege, why not? Won't make any difference either way. We'll make 'em th' same deal we was gonna make 'em all along: they're free t' leave our woods anytime they want, an' we'll promise 'em safe passage long as they leave those foxes fer us! An' if they don't like those terms they c'n die alongside their fox friends!"

Some of the others weren't too sure about this strategy, now that they were actually faced with the situation. Not only were otters fellow woodlanders who shared a close affinity with shrews, but they were skilled with sling and javelin. If they decided to make a stand with the foxes, the True Gusoim would pay a heavy toll in dislodging them from the stone tower. But one glance at Straig's crumpled form was enough to convince every shrew present not to voice their reservations too strenuously.

"Why'd just two come back?" Snoga wondered aloud. "Mebbe they're defectors from th' main group, an' all th' rest had th' good sense t' swim away ... "

"Or else they could be hidin' in them piles of red stone," Poss offered. "That's where those two came from ... "

"Mebbe we'd best go check it out, Chief?" Ojomo suggested helpfully. "After all, it ain't much of a siege if beasts c'n just walk in 'n' out o' that place as they please, is it?"

"Good thinkin,' Oj. Okay, take yer squad down that way an' check it out. Groat, spread yer team around th' north an' east, in case those scumtails try t' make a break fer it that way. Me 'n' th' main group'll stay here t' guard th' southern approaches. Any fox tries t' get past us, it'll be th' last mistake it ever makes!"

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Andrus lowered his long glass - the only one at Foxguard - as he finished watching the bloody scene play out from his vantage at one of the higher tower windows. "So, now they're slaying their own. I cannot believe such fiends could be allies of Redwall. Surely we can expect no mercy from them."

Tolar was sticking close to his Sword's side. "Then again, sir, if they're drawing each other's blood, maybe there are divisions in their tribe that we can exploit. It could be that some of them were opposed to this attack. At the very least, maybe we can wait them out long enough for them to thin out their own numbers. Then, if we are forced to fight our way out of this, the odds will be a little more even."

Andrus peered through his long glass once more. He'd singled out the shrew who appeared to be their leader, and was paying that beast special attention. He couldn't help but think to himself what unsound military strategy it was for their commander to place himself out in plain view when they had the entire surrounding forest for cover, or to so clearly carry on in a manner that marked him as the creature in charge of his forces. It would only have taken but a single archer on the Northlander's side to deprive these Guosim of their chieftain. Andrus strongly doubted they'd had this site under surveillance long enough or closely enough to be sure there were no archers here. Even if this was meant as an arrogant show of force, it was still stupid. It was the kind of behavior Andrus might have expected from some of the slaver bands and robber gangs he'd battled up north, not any kind of proper army.

"I wouldn't count on that, Tolar," he said to his lieutenant. "Now that their leader's demonstrated his willingness to slay any shrew who opposes him, the others seem either thoroughly cowed or overly eager to carry out his orders, by the look of things now. If we're holding our breaths waiting for a bloodbath to break out among them, I think we're going to be disappointed. The only way this is going to end is through negotiations, or with further bloodshed."

"Negotiations?" Tolar scowled. "What's to negotiate? They attacked without provocation. For that they deserve to be wiped out. We have no choice but to fight them."

"No choice, Tolar?" Andrus folded his long glass and replaced it in his jacket. "I must remind you that in our present position, our options are somewhat limited."

"I didn't say it would be easy. Obviously we will need to formulate a strategy. But those shrews are a menace that must be removed from Mossflower."

Their discussion was interrupted by another fox who came bustling up the winding stone staircase toward them, shouldering his way past all the other bodies that crowded the steps. "Sirs!" the cadet reported breathlessly, "the otters have returned! Two of them just ran into the tower from the canal, and they're asking to speak to you."

"Where's the rest of Rontorka's squad?" Andrus asked.

"Hiding out behind the building stone."

"Good. If that otter's smart he'll keep his main force outside so that they don't get trapped in here with us. The only problem will be keeping the lines of communication open with them."

"Sergeant Scudder says he's got some ideas along those lines, sir."

Andrus shifted himself away from the window, preparing to pick his way downstairs. "Then I'd best go speak with him at once."

Tolar momentarily lingered at his observation post while Andrus started down ahead of him. A flurry of movement on the clearing below caught the subcommander's eye. Even without the aid of a long glass of his own, this high vantage afforded Tolar a clear view of the enemy redeployment. "You'd better make it quick, sir," he told Andrus. "Those shrews are breaking away into smaller groups again ... and one of them's headed straight toward Rontorka's hiding place."