THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Seventy-Four

The burial duties lasted well into the night. Dozens of lanterns and torches were lit on the slopes to help with the task of sorting out and identifying the dead. Urthblood decreed that the graves be located on the coastal plain to the eastern, landward side of Salamandastron, where ocean waves and sea breezes would not disturb them even during the fiercest storms. The sheer number of bodies was overwhelming, and the moles, natural diggers that they were, still required all the help they could get. Most of Saybrook's surviving otters chipped in, loosening the sandy soil with their javelins and then using their broad tails to push it up onto the sides of the pits. Exhausted rats and weasels, still too numbed by the horror of the battle to fully appreciate how lucky they were to be alive, did their part using swords, axes and shields as makeshift shovels. Meanwhile the smaller creatures - mice, hedgehogs and the very few remaining shrews - toiled without break on the south slopes, stacking or laying together the slain according to species, so Foremole would have a rough idea of how big to make each pit.

As much as Urthblood and his captains would have preferred to honor each of their slain fighters with individual graves, it simply wasn't possible, not with this many dead. The best that could be done was to bury each one together with the others of its kind. So, the moles and their helpers dug nine giant, oblong pits, side by side from north to south, one each for otters, shrews, mice, hedgehogs, foxes, weasels, stoats, ferrets and rats. This last was by far the largest of the common graves, for nearly a hundred rats had lost their lives buring the battle. The ferret and stoat divisions had been almost completely obliterated, but they would each have a pit of their own. The shrews likewise had sacrificed nearly their entire brigade, but owing to their small size their grave did not need to be especially large.

At the heads of the shrew and ferret graves were dug two smaller trenches for Bremo and Perrett. A pair more were unearthed adjacent the enormous rat pit for Lorsch and Cermak. Urthblood's slain captains, at least, would have individual graves - a privilege of their rank.

No single grave was dug for Machus alongside the fox grave. Urthblood gave orders that the swordfox chieftain, who had quite possibly saved his badger master's life, was to be buried where he'd fallen, to commemorate his selfless deed which had cost him his life.

While Urthblood's troops labored thus, the Long Patrol collected their own dead. Since the lower slopes were pretty well covered with the countless slain vermin, the threescore hare corpses were carried up and laid out neatly where the Patrols of Major Safford's flank had confronted the shrews and otters, and where that commanding officer had fallen. What was to be done with them now was still an open question.

Urthblood stood in the flickering shadows of the guttering torches all about him, supervising the identification of his lost soldiers. Traveller approached him wearily, footpaws nearly dragging along the ground with each reluctant step.

"Wot about our fallen lads 'n' lasses?" he asked the badger.

"I have already told you," Urthblood said to him, "I would be most willing to have my moles dig an extra burial pit for the Long Patrols. They have not done so yet because they are waiting to hear your wishes."

"Don't want any friends o' mine put to their eternal rest alongside foxes an' vermin."

"Then they can be buried elsewhere. Down there, at the southern foot of Salamandastron. Or around on the north side, if you prefer."

"Don't want any mass grave, neither," Traveller went on. "Each 'n' every one o' those hares deserves its own plot, an' marker."

"What these fallen fighters deserve and what we can give them are two different things," Urthblood stated. "I cannot spare the beastpower for digging separate graves, for your hares or for my own soldiers. As a token of respect, I have offered to take care of your slain comrades as I am tending to mine. If you wish your hares to have individual plots and markers, you will have to provide them yourselves."

"Ha. That's a good one. Mebbe by next season we'll be rested up 'nuff fer that."

"I know you must be weary beyond words. I did ask whether you wanted help in gathering your dead, but you refused."

"Like I said," Traveller snapped, "they're hares. We'll take care of our own. By all rights, they oughta be entombed inside th' mountain, where hares o' their merit belong."

"That I will not permit. They fought against the rightful Lord of the Mountain. They will not be laid to rest anywhere within or upon Salamandastron."

"That go fer Lord Urthfist too?" Traveller glanced a short way down the slope to where his fallen master lay. No paw had yet disturbed the Badger Lord; Urthfist's body reposed just as when the warrior had first been struck down.

"I may make an exception in his case," Urthblood replied. "Urthfist was my brother, and a Lord of this mountain. He performed his duties of safeguarding the coastlands admirably during the twenty seasons I was occupied elsewhere. It was not fair for me to leave him as abruptly as I did. Had I not been troubled so greatly by the prophecy fate thrust upon me, I might have tarried for some while to explain to Urthfist what it was I intended, and then he might not have made this horrible misjudgement about me. But no, I was not even clear in my own mind what that prophecy would require of me - how was I to explain it to any other creature? Perhaps it was cruel fate that he misinterpret the words I left behind ... perhaps he was meant, by some grander design than I can fathom, to spiral down into the madness born of his unwarranted hatred of me, and that one of us was bound to slay the other according to some plan set down when the world was young and Salamandastron still ran with rivers of molten rock. If so, then he and I are both victims of forces beyond our control. I cannot blame him for being misguided, if that was the part assigned him by fate. He was a Badger Lord, the same as I. His final resting place will be one befitting his nobility and honor, not his final seasons of madness."

Urthblood's assessment of Urthfist rankled in Traveller's tired ears. But at the same time, the old hare was moved by the enemy badger's impassioned tone of reconcilliation toward his slain brother. For the first time in twenty seasons, Traveller caught a glimpse of Urthblood as something other than the evil creature he'd grown to be in the minds of the Long Patrol. He was struck with a fleeting impression of the world shifting around him even as he stood there, of reality slipping out from under his footpaws to be replaced by something else. In that brief flash Traveller could see Urthblood as an unwitting player in the forces that swept and swirled unseen around them, no more in control of these powers than anybeast. Was this what it was like for Urthblood all the time, attuned to the flow of destiny invisible to all other creatures? Had this badger intentionally shared this vision with him? Traveller shook his head in tired confusion. If this were some kind of trick, then Urthblood possessed powers of the mind that were unguessed at. But if it was no piece of mental deception, then Traveller could well believe that there was far more going on here than a feud between Badger Lords. Forces of destiny were at play here, mocking as insignificant the lives and brave deeds of the creatures on this mountain. Urthblood was surely aware of this. Be he good or evil, truthful or a liar, Urthblood was a beast of destiny, and he knew it. Such a creature would be a majestic and terrible thing. Such a creature could not be stopped, until fate decreed that he be stopped. All other oppostition would be doomed to failure.

Or, perhaps Traveller's fatigued mind was simply playing tricks on him. He was past the point of collapse - all the surviving Long Patrols were, and most were injured as well - but still they'd pushed themselves, for the sake of looking after their slain brethren and making sure no hare corpses were treated disrespectfully.

But now there was no more left in them, and Traveller could not pretend otherwise. Their dead would have to be buried by Urthblood's moles, otherwise they would not be buried at all.

"If only the Colonel were here," Traveller lamented, "he'd know wot to do. He's th' true leader of the Patrols. Something tells me he wouldn't settle fer th' indignity of a mass grave."

"Even Colonel Clewiston would have to face the hard reality of the situation. But he is not here, and may not return for a number of days. This decision must be yours, Traveller."

The old hare finally nodded his consent. "All right. Go ahead an' dig a grave fer all th' Patrols."

"Certainly. Where would you like it?"

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In the end, the surviving Long Patrols gave themselves into Urthblood's custody after all. It was just simpler that way. A number of them were seriously injured and needed to be in the infirmary where they could be properly treated by the healer swordfoxes. Most of the rest bore lesser wounds, but at this point their cause would not be helped by sitting in exile out on the sand. Urthblood could very easily have had them all slain before now, and after his strange experience with the badger, Traveller was convinced he would honor his word to do them no harm. Winokur and Alexander would be watching too, and the presence of the Redwallers would discourage treachery by Urthblood or reprisals from any of his troops. Traveller was the only leader the remaining hares had, and they were all looking to him for guidance. So, when he advised that they all go into Salamandastron together, even though that meant surrendering their weapons and being confined under guard, they did not question his judgment.

The common grave for the Long Patrols was dug just south of the mountain, where the hare army had momentarily halted before Urthfist's mad charge had started the battle. Traveller could think of no better place to lay his fellows to their final rest; it was as good a spot as any, and far enough around the mountain to stand well apart from the graves of their enemies. In tribute to Major Safford, who had performed such a valiant job of commanding the Patrols after Urthfist had been lost to the Bloodwrath, Traveller followed Urthblood's example and had the moles dig a separate grave for the Major at the south head of the main burial pit. They took another cue from the Badger Lord as well, for Urthblood was having the names of all his slain soldiers recorded as they were lowered into the graves, and Traveller wished to do the same for his hares. Few of the Long Patrols were literate, schooled in the arts of war and foraging rather than in letters, so Winokur came out with stylus and scroll to write down the names that were called out as each hare was laid down in the pit. By the time all sixty-one were in place and their names duly recorded, Winokur's eyes were watery, and not just from the strain of trying to write clearly in the dimly flickering torchlight. Some of the hares wept more openly as the toll of this ill-fated battle was driven home to them as never before, but they held their dignified fronts and refused to break down completely. They were too drained, both physically and emotionally. They would grieve more fully after they were rested.

And rest they would. Overseeing the covering of the Long Patrol burial pit to make sure the moles carried out the task with the proper respect and thoroughness, the tired hares then marched up and into Salamandastron, leaving their weapons behind. Urthblood and a dozen of Saybrook's otters took a break from their own burial chores to escort them. A fox looked them over one by one in the dining hall, singled out the three who were most in need of healing, and took them to the infirmary. The rest were led up to the same large dormitory room where Colonel Clewiston's platoon had been confined, given food and water (although none had much appetite), and then locked inside with a guard posted in the corridor beyond. It was by this time only a few hours before dawn, and the hares had not slept fully for days. All the sheets and blankets that Clewiston had used for his escape had been untied and returned to the beds, but the exhausted hares could have fallen asleep on wood planks or the stone floor. They had pushed themselves past the point of collapse by several measures. Now, at last, they could sleep.

"Get yer rest, hares," Traveller encouraged even as his companions closed their eyes and drifted off around him. "We need sleep now more'n we need anything else. This day's past, an' there's naught we can do about it now. Sleep well, an' let's let tomorrow take care of itself."

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Alexander sat with Mina all that night in the infirmary.

The moles had done a good job bandaging her head, before they were called out to start their all-night gravedigging tasks. Mina fought to stay awake, wanting to hear all the details about how the battle had ended, but she'd drifted off even before the foxes started bringing in the first of the wounded, knowing only that Urthblood had slain Urthfist, and that was all.

She came awake in the predawn hours to find Alex still sitting attentively at her bedside. The large chamber was lit with numerous lamps and lanterns, set at the heads and feet of various beds. There were more beds in here now than when she'd fallen asleep, and every one was occupied. Two of the foxes moved quietly from bed to bed, checking on their patients. Those swordsbeasts had lain aside their weapons to assume the mantle of their other calling, as healers. Their eyelids drooped, their steps dragged, and their black uniforms were stained with the blood both of enemies they'd slain and patients they'd tended. But onward they toiled, not content to rest themselves while so many lay stricken and suffering around them.

Alex smiled down at her. "Wouldn't you know it?" he said softly. "You sleep like a babe through all the ruckus of the injured and the extra beds being brought in, but you wake up as soon as things settle down! How are you feeling?"

"Bit of a headache - no, make that a sore head. It's only the outside that hurts. And itches. I think Foremole may've made this wrapping too tight." The squirrel Lady sat up on her pillow and looked around her more carefully. "Guess I can't complain. Most of these poor souls look to be in much worse shape than I am. I must've really been dead to the world, not to've stirred while all this was going on."

"You slept for hours," Alex told her. "Like an angel."

"And, you were here the entire time?" Mina guessed.

"Of course. And it just so happened that this was about the best place to be for finding out everything that's going on outside, since the wounded are being brought in from every part of the battlefield. A lot are unconscious or too pained to talk, but that still leaves plenty to share the news."

Mina's eyes widened with interest. "Tell me what you've heard, Alex."

His smile faded. "Well, Lord Urthblood lost a paw ... "

"Yes, I know. His right, wasn't it? I heard that just before I went out."

"I believe so. He was only down here for a few moments, having his wound tended, before he was away again. That beast's downright unstoppable." Alexander's frown deepened. "There's worse, I'm afraid. Machus ... "

A spasm of grief twisted Mina's face. "Machus was slain?"

Alex nodded sadly. "He came to Urthblood's aid ... probably saved his life, and decided the outcome of the whole battle."

Mina sank back into her pillow. "O dark day! This surely is the costliest battle Lord Urthblood has ever fought. I think he would gladly have given up his sword paw rather than lose Machus. To have lost both on the same day ... there will be widespread mourning in the Northlands when this evil news reaches our home."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you."

Blinking back her tears of grief, Mina clutched Alexander's paw tightly. "Don't you dare keep anything from me, Alex. If not for this bump on my head, I'd be out there myself sorting out the dead from the injured. Now, tell me anything else I should know."

"Well, I didn't know most of the other captains that well," Alex said, "but, let's see ... the shrew captain's dead, along with most of his squad. Both the rat captains were slain, as well as one of the other vermin commanders ... stoat, I think, or maybe ferret."

Mina's gaze roved the room. "That's Captain Bandon of the stoats down there ... looks like he lost his left footpaw. Must have been Perrett, or maybe Mattoon."

"Not Mattoon. He's been through here since the battle ended. I remember now. Only three stoats survived the battle, and Bandon was one of them. He got buried under a couple of other slain beasts right after his foot was cut off ... that's the only reason Urthfist missed him. He was very lucky the foxes found him before he bled to death. Perrett was the one who was slain. Perrett the ferret." Alex recalled how that name had struck all the Redwallers as amusing when they'd first heard it. There was nothing funny about it now.

Alex continued, "One of the other stoats who survived was that one who was chained to the mouse."

"Oh, Broggen. Yes, he would've been up with Jans in the mouse lines. He would have been pretty safe there."

"Not safe enough. Some hares got through and slew his mouse partner. Broggen spent the rest of the battle chained to a deadbeast. Urthblood had to use a battle axe to cut them apart after the truce was declared."

"Oh, how awful! Poor Jans ... and poor Broggen. That beast was very fond of his mouse companion. They'd been together for so many seasons, we'd all come to assume that if they ever fell in battle, they'd fall together. It never occurred to me that one might be slain but the other not. This day was sure full of tragic surprises."

"That's certainly true," Alex agreed somberly. "There will be mourning at Redwall as well as in the north. Even if Warnokur didn't live at the Abbey most of the time, we still thought of him as one of us."

"Well, at least it's not as bad as it could have been. Winokur would have been slain too, if you hadn't shot that hare who was about to spear his skull."

This comment caused the hare in the next bed to sit up painfully, in spite of his slung paw and taped ribs. "Whoa a sec, ma'am. Did you just say this Redwaller here's th' one who shot Major Safford?"

"I don't know what hare it was I shot," said Alex. "All I know is, he was about to kill a fellow Redwaller, and a beast who was sworn to peace. If I had it to do all over again, I'd still let that shaft fly in order to save Winokur."

The wounded hare sank back down with a pained wheeze of a sigh. "Major Safford, slain by a bloomin' Redwaller! You said a bally mouthful, ma'am - tragic surprises indeed!"

Mina turned from the piteous hare. "How did the Long Patrol fare?"

"About a score survived, from what I've heard," Alex answered.

"A score? That's still a respectable fighting force, for creatures of their combat skill."

"Maybe so, ordinarily. But that score includes the injured ones who are in here. Even the ones who aren't so badly wounded are totally exhausted. And with Urthfist dead, they don't really have anything left to fight for, do they?"

"I suppose. But, getting back to our own troops, what kind of losses are we looking at, overall?"

"Oh, I couldn't tell you exactly, Mina. Some mice, some hedgehogs, some otters ... half the foxes, give or take ... but the shrews and vermin were the worst off. I heard somebeast say that not even a single ferret may have made it through the battle alive. Don't know whether that's true. The rats suffered heavily too, but there were a lot more of them to begin with."

Mina shook her head in disbelief. "I was going to say that I was surprised there weren't more wounded down here, but I understand now. Urthfist was out to slaughter, not win a battle or take prisoners. Anybeast who came under his blade met its end. Easy to see how not many creatures were left alive in his wake."

"Exactly," Alex nodded. "He attacked like a madbeast, and massacred the front ranks like it was the only thing that mattered to him. Perhaps Urthfist really was insane."

"Hey!" the hare next to her cried out indignantly. "Have some respect fer th' dead there!"

Mina scowled at the hare. "I give my respect to the creatures who earn it. As for Urthfist, how else would you explain his behavior?"

"He couldn't help 'imself. It was those weapons wot set him off."

"Weapons?" Alex and Mina both stared at him blankly. "What are you talking about?"

"Th' ones all them rats 'n stoats 'n' ferrets was bearin' ... th' ones that were badger-made. Don'tcha get it? The beasts Lord Urthfist went after was th' ones who were holdin' them treasures. Hadn't y' figgered that out fer yerselves by now?"

"I ... he's right, Alex. Urthfist didn't fight his way up the mountain, which would have been the logical thing for him to do. He stayed down near the base of the mountain, laying into the forward lines after he could have been well past them. He even went sideways and backward to pursue them. We had a better view of it from the plateau than anybeast. Why didn't we realize that's what was happening?"

"Because we just assumed Urthfist was mad," Alex said slowly. "But if this is true ... then the very arms Urthblood gave his front lines to protect them were what doomed them!"

The hare raised his head partway and cocked a knowing ear at the two squirrels. "Now, why didn't Urthblood, with all his high-falutin' prophetic vision, realize that's wot would happen?"

"Yes," Alex echoed. "Why didn't he know?"

Mina said nothing.