XX.

SOUTHSWARD

If the searats from the Bloodreef and Redsky gave any thought to setting out in pursuit of their dreaded badger nemesis, they never acted on it. Urthblood and his escort of more than fifty squirrels and mice, with Alexander stubbornly in their midst, trudged a brisk pace ashore and across the open coastal stretches and meadows, quickly leaving those exposed expanses behind them as they struck out into denser forest, where the Gawtrybe wasted not an instant in taking to the trees to provide arboreal cover from their natural element. No seabound enemy would dare pursue or engage them now, unless they wanted to be met with a swift hail of deadly shafts from the hidden treetops above.

Alex, tempted as he was to join his fellow squirrels in the branches for their far-ranging vanguard scouting and rearguard cover, opted instead to stay on the ground at Urthblood's side, plodding along on foot rather than leaping freely from limb to limb as his instincts screamed out for him to be doing. While he might have been more at home up there, he'd find no ready company or conversation, the Gawtrybe wholly occupied with providing security to their landbound cohorts.

While they stuck to the deep woods as much as they could, Urthblood also took care to closely parallel the broadstream which he knew led almost all the way to Floret. A Gawtrybe scout would occasionally drop from the trees to alert them when they were veering too far from the river, while at other times the party could glimpse the flowing watercourse glinting at them through breaks in the woods. Thus did they hold true to their course while never slackening their pace or taking more than the briefest of stops for rest.

"I must warn you again, Alexander of Redwall," Urthblood rumbled as they entered yet another patch of deeper woods, "once we arrive at Floret, I will tolerate no attempts to undermine my negotiations, or poison my treating with the Squirrel King."

"It's most appropriate that you just addressed me by my full title, since you should know by now that we Redwallers speak our minds wherever and whenever we see fit, and are not easily cowed or intimidated. When we reach the royal court, I will make my views abundantly clear - you can rest assured of that."

Abellon merely scowled from Alexander's other side, but it was Urthblood who voiced his mouse captain's thoughts. "We are no longer aboard the Stronganchor, so the maritime hospitality of Captains Wakefern and Whiskersalt no longer extends to you. If it strikes me you are proving more trouble than you are worth, I can still have you restrained, and see to it that you never reach Floret for the duration of our stay."

"Talk like that makes me think I should take to the trees myself, and get there ahead of you. That way I would at least be assured of a fair hearing, without you and your captains there to gainsay me and shout me down at every turn."

"And yet you have not done so, in spite of ample opportunities along our march so far to do just that. Perhaps you realize the futility of such a gesture. You could never outpace my Gawtrybe for long, and they would see to it that you don't reach Floret before us."

As if on cue, one of the Northland squirrels descended to the forest floor a short distance ahead, racing over to them to share the latest scouting report. "Lord, we've spotted a large otter holt on the river, directly ahead."

Urthblood took this news of the first substantial settlement to stand in their path with his usual matter-of-fact calm. "Of course there will be otter holts along so major an aquatic thoroughfare as this. More surprising that we've not encountered any before this, or river ports run by other creatures. It might have been beneficial to have some of the otter crew of the Stronganchor with us now, but they needed to stay behind to safeguard their vessel. But I do not see any cause for concern; mice, squirrels and a badger are not likely to put them ill at ease, even if we are strangers to their territory."

"Well, they know we're coming," the Gawtrybe scout informed Urthblood. "Must've been some lying low along along the riverbanks who spotted you, and swum upstream to alert the rest. Looks like they're mustering their full holt to meet us."

"Did their muster seem at all warlike or hostile?" Abellon asked.

"Maybe a mite ... intimidating. You know how otters are when they get to mobilizing."

"Not lately I don't." Abellon looked to Urthblood. "Do you suppose this could be trouble, Lord?"

"I don't see why it should. Then again, we have no way of knowing what has been going on in these lands prior to our arrival. It could be the searats have made it this far inland after all, and have caused problems for the local residents. We must be ready to demonstrate our honest intent if they greet us with suspicion or outright belligerence."

The squirrel scout smirked. "From the looks of this holt, I'd say any searats who came this way with mischief on their minds probably got more given back to 'em than the other way around!"

"Then let us hope this holt is merely being diligent in receiving unfamiliar travellers, and nothing more. And perhaps they themselves are not as yet aware of how thorough our own scouts are. They may know we're coming, but we know they know, and that grants us some small advantage of forewarning. Let us be moving on, and see what this encounter holds in store for all of us."

The otters did not wait for the Northlanders to reach their holt, appearing instead upon the forest trail, arrayed in imposing numbers across the path and blocking the way, javelins in paw and casually held at the ready. It wasn't quite a war party, but it hardly ranked as the warmest of greetings either. The Gawtrybe kept themselves hidden in the forest canopy as much as they could, not wishing to tip their paw as to their presence or full numbers as they silently monitored the proceedings from above.

"Welcome to Holt Bluesnake," hailed their chieftain, his tone more challenging than welcoming. "We see you are strangers to these lands. What brings you into our territory?"

The badger stepped forward. "I am Lord Urthblood of Salamandastron, and I travel on diplomatic matters to Castle Floret. It has come to my attention that searats are in this region, and I seek to address this issue with the King, if I may."

The head otter considered this statement. "Aye, there's searats about, as you no doubt saw yoreself if you passed the harbor on your way to get this far. Trust they caused you no trouble?"

"I convinced them to remain peaceful. I have some experience in dealing with searats, both on the field of battle and at the bargaining table, and they know better than to unnecessarily provoke me."

"At the bargainin' table, hmm? Then I take it yore the very same badger we've heard about who signed a peace treaty with those throat-slashin' seascum?"

"My war with the Searat King Tratton left him little choice but to negotiate. And I would maintain we reached terms most beneficial to the beasts of the lands."

"The lands, may'aps, but we've heard some complaints from th' beasts of the seas who gotta share this new peace o' yores, an' from what they've been tellin' our harbormaster Cuddy, it's no kind o' square deal."

"They would prefer the old days of being murdered and plundered to surrendering a mere portion of their cargo under the protection of a mutually-shared Accord?"

The otter let slip a grin at this. "Lots o' folks down here've been wond'rin' what kinda beast coulda forced the searats to parley. Now I know, an' I must say you didn't disappoint me. An' might I add, I'd not wanna sit across from you at any table, be it for games of chance or serious treating. I'm Skipper Dawton of Holt Bluesnake, so I guess that makes me yore host for th' moment, least 'til you get to movin' on. So, about these searats yore here on account of, I take it it ain't t' fight 'em, since they're yore allies now an' all that?"

"I am not allies with Tratton. The two of us reached an agreement to stop a war which might have destroyed us both - although I hazard he would have met with destruction before I did - and that is all. Any talk of deeper ties or cooperation between us is wholly without merit."

"Ah. So you would still consider searats enemies, even with the peace?"

"One has no need to make peace with friends. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say we are adversaries, or rivals. We no longer battle through open war, but perhaps there are other ways in which we still contest with one another."

Understanding lit Dawton's eyes. "Like competin' for the favor of th' King of Southsward?"

"That would rank as a prime example. May I ask, if you can tell me, how long ago those searat ships arrived at your shores, and what manner of expedition they dispatched to Floret? I did not think to ask the rats we passed on our way here."

It took a few moments for Dawton to respond to the badger's droll witticism with a hearty bark of laughter. "Naw, don't reckon you did, did you? Harr! Yore a rare one, Lord, who can toss off a joke like that. Think we'll get along jus' fine, you 'n' me will. In answer to yore question, they arrived 'bout halfway through this season, so they have been there a good spell. Boatload that went upriver - under our careful watch, us an' ev'ey holt 'tween here an' Floret - claimed t' be sailin' under a flag o' truce, an' didn't have enuff force of arms with 'em to be aught more'n a nuisance, if even that. Once they made it that far, it was the business of the Royal Court, so we put it outta our minds - much as we could, anyway."

"And how fared their diplomatic expedition?"

"Funny you should ask, Lord. I had occasion t' be at Floret not too long ago, and I saw no sign of any rats there, nor was His Majesty especially forthcoming about discussing them. 'Course, we had other things t' discuss right then, so those vermin weren't uppermost on anybeast's mind. But they were received at Floret, that much I do know, an' they've not come back this way since. If they were still there when last I dragged my rudder across that gilded threshold, they're bein' kept tucked away an' outta sight, so refined beasts don't hafta look at 'em."

"Could the King have had them killed?" Alex asked, addressing Dawton for the first time.

The otter Skipper regarded the Abbey squirrel with an assessing gaze. "Aye, there's a chance. That's the kind o' thing King Fael might do, in one of his more capricious moments. And you are?"

"Alexander of Redwall. And no less an 'adversary' or 'rival' to Lord Urthblood than Tratton himself."

Dawton's eyebrows lifted. "And yet you travel in each other's company, an' by mutual consent, it appears. I'm sure there's a tale to be told in that, so perhaps you'll tarry with us here long enuff for the telling, before moving on again, if it pleases you."

"My only concern is making sure your King does not hear only the searats' side of things," Urthblood told Dawton. "From how you describe it, the situation does not sound particularly pressing, but I would nevertheless prefer to be at Floret at the earliest possible time - just to be safe."

"And my only concern," Alexander interjected, "is to make sure your King does not hear only this badger's side of things, bolstered by his mice and squirrels, with nobeast else to tell you what they've really been up to in Mossflower - and what he might try to pull off here in Southsward too, if you're foolish enough to listen to him as we did at first, before we saw what kind of a beast he really is."

Abellon glared daggers at Alex, but Dawton seemed less perplexed by the Redwaller's provocative statements than either Alex or Urthblood's mice would have expected. "If you think King Fael is easily hoodwinked or led into alliances not to his benefit, you will be in for a surprise when you meet him. But, you mentioned Lord Urthblood's squirrels, so while we're on that subject ... " The otter gestured skyward with his lance. "If we're to allow you free passage to Floret, can't be any secrets 'twixt us, can there? I'll need t' see yore treewallopers - all of 'em."

Urthblood lifted his head to the trees, and to the invisible army lurking there. "Sergeant Witko! Assemble all the Gawtrybe down here, front and center!"

Within moments, all twenty Northland squirrels had raced down from the surrounding trees and formed up alongside Abellon's mouse brigade, in a stance that was half dress review and half defensive posture.

Dawton seemed impressed in spite of himself. "A full score, huh? Never woulda guessed, tho' it makes sense. We knew they were up there, but not in what numbers. Quite stealthy they are - reg'lar treefoxes!"

"Urthblood left his foxes back in Mossflower, so as not to make a bad impression," Alex said, regretting as the words left his lips his invocation of Tolar's swordfoxes as such a verbal bludgeon, in spite of the fact that they'd never been anything but friends to Redwall. Then again, he'd not been home since Latura's abduction; who was to say where things stood now, or whether Redwall and Foxguard were even still at peace?

Urthblood barrelled on over Alexander's attempted vulpine recrimination before Dawton could even pick up on it. "These squirrels are the Gawtrybe of the Northlands, and if their stealth impresses you, be assured that their shooting skills are twice as impressive. They may number only a score, but if the searats tried anything, they would have found their corpses piling up very rapidly."

"They sound like just the kind of fighters any proper Lord needs," said Dawton, staring long and hard at the treebeasts and then adding, almost to himself, "They might just have made it. The mice, tho', wouldn'ta been no hope for 'em ... "

"I beg your pardon?" Urthblood asked.

"Lord, were you at all troubled by any creatures on yore march between th' coastlands an' here? Not so much in the forest, but on the open lands, nearer the sea? Seen anything that struck you as odd or outta place, or just plain strange?"

"Not that I can recall, Skipper. Of what do you speak?"

"Somethin' best not spoken of, not even here in th' safety of these deep woods in broad daylight. But it is somethin' I can show you, tho' it cost the lives of five otters brave 'n' true to bring it to bear, an' the combined efforts of several holts t' hold off its fellow nightmares. You say yore bound for Floret; well, you just got yoreselves an escort, 'cos I wanna be there when the King takes you t' see it."

"Has it anything to do with the searats?"

"I doubt it has anything t' do with any other creature that's ever lived. Except mebbe with killin' 'em."

Abellon looked to Urthblood with open concern. "Lord, have you ... seen anything like this? Have you any idea ... ?"

"No, Captain. I know not what this good otter speaks of, but if it is half the mystery and threat he makes it sound, that alone would have justified my journey to Southsward. Skipper Dawton, I must indulge you to let my squirrels return to the trees. If there is any kind of danger, that is where they can best meet it."

"Course, tho' I doubt it's a worry. All the trouble's been more seaward - mostly where there's sand. They seem t' like the sand. We should be safe this far inland. Leastways, I think we should."

All of Urthblood's fighters were exchanging perplexed glances now, uncertain what to make of the otter's sinister hints and half-revelations.

"Anyways," Dawton went on, "if it's good speed yore lookin' t' make, we got boats enuff to carry you an' all yore mice, if yore squirrels don't mind makin' their own way through the trees 'longside us. Even tho' we'll be headin' upstream 'gainst the currents, with our riverboatin' knowhow we'll still get you to Floret faster'n you'd make it on foot. Offer's open, if'n you wanna avail yoreselves of it."

"I shall have to consider this. With your leave, we will make a brief stop at your holt to discuss the matter further. Then we shall proceed based on how we decide."

"Spoken with the sense of a mole, an' easier to understand, too! Come along then, friends, and let me fully introduce you to Holt Bluesnake!"

As Dawton led the way along the shaded banks, the blunt-tailed otter Bludder sidled up to Alex and whispered, "What you said back there, matey - does this bruiser really have foxes servin' under 'im too?"

"Aye, that he does," Alex affirmed. "But if you want to hear a really good story, ask him why he doesn't have any otters serving him any more."

THE WESTERN PLAINS

It always seemed to be feast or famine for Fitkin the ferry shrew - and, judging from the contingent approaching him along the broadstream's south shore now, today looked like it might land squarely in the first category.

The gulls came first, harbingers of the larger land party trudging along in their wake, and while the wheeling seabirds obviously had no need of Fitkin's river crossing services, their forewarning appearance tipped off the shrew that something out of the ordinary was going on. Like most residents of southern Mossflower, he had heard of Urthblood's use of gulls as both scouts and warriors, and so when such a number of them congregated in the skies so far inland, following a clear surveillance flight pattern, Fitkin could only conclude it had something to do with the Badger Lord.

The makeup of the land beasts who slowly came into view surprised Fitkin once he got a good look at them from the roof of his low tollhouse. Seeing squirrels and rats marching in shared company held no special novelty these days - although the ferry shrew might have viewed that sight very differently had he been fully aware of the campaigns underway in northern Mossflower - since Fitkin had long known Urthblood counted vermin species among his forces. And that these squirrels approaching now were of the Northland Gawtrybe he had no doubt, having gotten a good eyeful of them at the start of this season when Custis had led two hundred of his tribe right past this spot, along with all the freed slaves on their way to Redwall. None of that immense group had availed themselves of his services on that occasion - what a payday that would have been! - electing instead to push on to Lorr Bridge and cross there in the woods rather than here in the Plains. And while Fitkin often cursed that vole-designed span for the passengers it cost him, in that instance he'd been half-relieved to have his services declined, since it would have taken literally days to ferry so many beasts across on his single small barge. This smaller party now would prove much more manageable, if he could persuade them to make their crossing here.

But if these squirrels were undeniably more Gawtrybe, marching under the fluttering banner of the Crimson Badger, Fitkin quickly came to see that the rats accompanying them clearly ranked as no soldiers of Urthblood's. Sporting silks ranging from fine to weathered and worn, the delicacy of the fabrics could not hide the barbarity of the rodents wearing them, and their own tricolor standards of red, black and green marked them as something totally apart from any beasts of the lands.

"Searats!" Fitkin spat with a scowl. "They've brought searats with 'em here to Mossflower!"

The Accord between Badger Lord and Searat King was no secret to the shrew, but it was one thing to receive that news as tidings from the distant shorelands and quite another to see so bold a manifestation of it paraded before his very eyes. Fitkin found himself half-hoping that this party too would opt to forgo his services, since he hardly embraced the prospect of working so closely with these seavermin, no matter what they might offer to pay.

Of one thing he was sure: That he'd sit right where he was atop his abode, unless or until these very mixed travellers gave him reason to come down. When it came to searats, he preferred to keep whatever distance between himself and them as he could.

The troop halted just before his hovel, threescore strong and evenly split between squirrels and searats. The former seemed to be led by a professional-looking female Gawtrybe who now detached herself from the main body and came forward to stand directly below the elevated shrew.

"Greetings, friend. I assume you to be Fitkin?"

"Aye, that I am. An' who're you?"

"Sergeant Poinsett of Lord Urthblood's Gawtrybe forces at Salamandastron, assigned to special escort duty. I was told our route would likely take us past your station here, but unfortunately we will not be engaging you this day."

"P'raps just as well, seein' as who yer friends there are."

"You've no concern on their account. King Tratton wished one of his senior captains to take a walking tour of Mossflower, now that peace holds between Salamandastron and Terramort. Our mission is purely a diplomatic one, so no woodlander has anything to fear from our current contingent."

"Hrmph. You all look pretty heavily armed fer a diplermatic mission, seems t' me."

"Only natural that we should be. Searats are unfamiliar with these inner lands, and their reputation among woodlanders is likely to earn them suspicions of exactly the type you display now, if not outright hostility. They have the right to defend themselves from any unfriendly actions directed at them. And as their escorts, we are bound to stand with them to safeguard their well-being. As you see, they are far too few to represent any real threat to Mossflower, or to stand as any invasion force. As such, we expect to provoke no armed reaction from any locals we meet, even if we do provoke some misgivings and raised eyebrows."

Poinsett gestured toward the rat at the forefront of his own group of the seavermin. "May I present Captain Redclaw of the Imperial Searat Navy? He represents King Tratton's interests directly on this expedition."

Fitkin studied the indicated searat with narrow-eyed scrutiny. This Redclaw certainly lived up to his name if nothing else, his silks all of scarlet and crimson, and all four paws dyed the hue of blood as well, even if road dust from their march had left his footpaws coated and dimmed in their vermilion aspect. Barbed battle rings adorned his tail, and a gold-thread-embroidered eyepatch hid one of those evil orbs, no doubt disguising some horrendous war wound suffered in his campaigns of terror and piracy over the seasons. All in all, a regally barbaric visage of exactly the sort Fitkin might imagine the Searat King would dispatch to further his agenda in Mossflower, whatever that might be.

"Welcome t' Mossflower," Fitkin told the searat. "Hope yer stay's a short one."

"It'll be what it is," Redclaw shot back, giving no sign of being put off by the obstreperous shrew's gruff demeanor. "We'll be goin' least as far as Redwall ... King's orders. Once we've seen what there is t' see, then we'll head back to th' coast."

"Redwall, huh? Wish I could be there t' see their faces when you lot show up at their gates. They know ye're comin'?"

"For now we're travelling ... unannounced," Poinsett responded. "We felt it would be best. Perhaps we'll send word ahead once we're closer."

"P'raps that'd be a good idea, yeah." Fitkin regarded Redclaw and his fellow searats with continued reservation. "Still dunno what ye're hopin' t' prove bringin' yer seascummy paws inta these fair lands, but I think you'll find th' good folk o' Mossflower won't have aught t' do with it, or with you, an' might prefer t' drive you back to th' sea 'fore they'll lissen t' anything you got t' say."

"Drivin' us away ain't gonna be so easy," the searat captain retorted with expected barbaric confidence. "That's why we got our weapons, an' our escorts got weapons too. Now, if y' got anything more you wanna say to us, shrew, why don'tcher come down 'ere an' say it to our faces like a polite an' courteous beast."

Fitkin flashed a fang-filled smile to match that of any searat. "Naw thanks, I'm perfectly cozy up 'ere where I am, an' will be 'til ye're good 'n' far away from 'ere."

"Our presence as escorts is to help avoid any such confrontations as you describe," Poinsett told Fitkin. "Once any Mossflowerians see these rats marching in the presence of Gawtrybe squirrels, and once we make it clear Captain Redclaw is to be treated with respect, we hope to forestall incidents which could prove ... unfortunate."

"Yah, you might wanna work on that then, 'cos yer presence is fillin' me with so much confidence."

Redclaw turned to Poinsett. "Since we ain't gonna be usin' this ingrate's sorry excuse fer a raft, an' since he ain't sayin' anything worth my ears' trouble, c'n we be on our way, Sergeant?"

"Agreed, Captain. Good day to you, Fitkin. We will likely see you again on our return. Hopefully your manners will have improved somewhat by then."

"Don't bet on it, lady. Not if ye're still in this kinda company. Happy trampin' to ye!"

The threescore marchers moved on past the ferry shrew's hut, kicking up enough dust to have Fitkin lightly coughing as he waved a paw before his snout. When they were finally all past, he saw them into the distance with a satisfied smirk. "Goodbye t' bad rubbish!"

When they were safely beyond the ferry station, Poinsett said to the red-adorned rat, "I do believe that may've been your finest performance yet, Your Majesty. I find it ... illuminating how you can play the part of a barbarian so convincingly, knowing you to be anything but."

Talarek, marching close by his sovereign's side in more traditional searat regalia of his own to disguise his identity as the senior representative of the Terramort Guard on this expedition, gnashed his teeth at this veiled insult, but his master shook it off, taking it in stride as part of the deal when it came to cooperating with skeptical woodlanders.

"I was a ship's captain before I became King, Sergeant. And a lowly deckpaw before that, if you care to go back far enough. I am still a searat, and I have always been surrounded by my own kind, even as I rose above our baser ways. This masquerade that Lord Urthblood proposed I undertake has not been especially difficult for me to pull off." Tratton glanced down at his red-dyed paws. "I think this might be going a bit too far ... even if it does remind me of an incident at Terramort from a few seasons ago ... "

"You were the one who suggested the name 'Redclaw' for your alias, Majesty. I'm just glad you had silks aboard to match your new assumed identity so perfectly."

"One of Talarek's formal dress uniforms I'd had him bring along for the occasion, although I'd not anticipated it would be me wearing it instead of him. Good thing we are close in size, although the tunic does hang a bit loosely on me - even with this extra padding I'm wearing underneath to bulk me up."

"In this case it works," Poinsett said. "The bagginess looks more ... pirate-y than your usual ensemble. And your choice of cutlass and tail rings pulls it all together. There's no goodbeast in all these lands, I don't think, who'd doubt for a moment that you're anything more than what you appear to be - or who would not be convinced of such by your performance either."

"As long as that holds true for the rest of the way to Redwall," said Tratton, fidgeting with the eyepatch which hid the fact that his eyes were of mismatched coloration - a physical trait of the Searat King already known to some in these lands, and a feature which might give away his true identity. "Once we arrive there I suspect I may be able to drop this charade."

"I'm not so sure about that, Your Highness. That might prove the one place above all others where you dare not reveal yourself - at least not to anybeast more than a select few. As Captain Matowick already warned you at Salamandastron, the Long Patrol hares living at Redwall might try to take a crack at you if they guessed who you really were, out of their traditional animosity if nothing else, and then there are the former slaves who might still bear you great malice, and the rat refugees seeking shelter there, who might see getting rid of you as a way of scuttling the Accord and disrupting our campaigns against them." Poinsett paused a moment. "Just out of curiosity, what would the status of the land's rats be if something were to befall you, Your Majesty?"

"Now there is a question of considerable temerity. The Accord would endure, since I have a Queen who would step forward to take the throne of Terramort for her own, and should insist that all provisions of the Accord continue to be observed. I suspect those rats would gain nothing by any assassination attempt."

"But do they know that?"

"If my true identity remains secret, the issue should not even surface." Tratton slipped off his eyepatch as they walked, blinked a few times and then put it back on, readjusting it so that it now covered the other eye. "I'm not exactly thrilled by having my vision halved by this disguise, since that impacts my weaponry skills, but if I must wear it, I'll at least switch it up from time to time so as not to strain one eye and let the other grow lazy."