The Gatehouse
Jaws dropped. Eyes widened. Heads were put in paws. Heads were thrown back in a long sigh. Whistles were blown.
"This explains...quite a lot," said Zeela slowly, biting her lip.
The others nodded. As the tale sunk in, Mervo began to feel excited. "So we could save vermin? All of them?"
His excitement spread.
"Ho urr, us'ns jus gotta put owt yon foire," said Foremole.
Brother Ruford shook his head. "Arbor said that was virtually impossible. Granted that means it is possible, I think we'd have a better better bet with that second option. We get every one of the heirs, I'm pretty sure that means descendants, to free themselves with that emerald he talked about."
"The only problem is, Ruford, that those listed were vermin, with the exception of Iro and ummm... does anybody know what a goat is?" asked Posy.
The others shook their heads. "Maybe they're extinct. And if so, then we don't actually need the goat heir. But what about the others? What if they have none? We would have a problem," said Sylva.
"Well," began Darrow. "Let's get to work! We'll comb the whole gatehouse for any mention of the lot. Let's go!"
Mossflower Woods
Tench groggily opened his eyes. He was tied, his back to a tree. He felt weak, as if he had been running all day, though he wasn't exactly tired. The otter smacked his lips as he assessed the situation. I was captured! No doubt I'll be ransomed, or interrogated. But they won't get anything from me, matey! No sir! Hahahahahahah... wait a second... oh no.
Fyron came walking up calmly in front of him. The ferret was followed by followed by five vermin, a rat, a weasel, and three ferrets. Each had a blade on the neck of a bankvole. They'd been unable to part with their home and go to Redwall, and had payed for it dearly when the vermin found them.
Fyron grinned. "You tell us 'ow many are in the abbey, how good they are with fighting, and what species. Or they pay." The ferret flicked his sword towards the bankvole family.
The voles looked at him with sadness. Tench bit his lip and kept silent. What was he to do? He couldn't let these voles die. But he couldn't tell them what they wanted. Aaaargh!
Tench made his decision. "Wait! I can't tell you. Yet."
The rat nicked the youngest vole with his sword. The child began to wail in pain and fear.
"You match Mervo's description. You were the one that caught him. But then you let him escape. No doubt yer chief made yeh do this. But yeh don't have to, matey."
The rat began to make a move to kill his vole. Fyron held up his paw and began speaking. "Don't try mind games with me, otter."
"I'm not. You and yer vermin could become good beasts. Make a life at the abbey. Think, you'll no longer have to do what somebody else tells you to do, though you will have to follow our basic abbey rules. Not to kill, not to harm. You will have a choice on how to live. You could find friends, eat good food, and have peace and joy."
Fyron bit his lip. The other vermin lowered their weapons half a centimeter. If Tench wasn't tied up he'd have a chance to free himself.
"Others have done it in history. A rat called Blaggut, and another called Grubbage. They were happy at Redwall. You could be too."
The vermin began to look intrigued, but also as if they were having an inner battle with themselves. Blood trickled from Fyron's lip. If Tench handled this correctly, he might do well. Thinking of what his Uncle, the Skipper, taught him in diplomacy wouldn't help. He chuckled as he recalled Skipper's voice.
"Diplomacy? Ah, yes. A very good strategy for diplomacy is threats. If you have a blade at their throat, they'll do anything you want."
Of, course, his uncle had no sense of humor any more. He was a grim beast that spent his time in the cellars, drinking ale and wine, waiting for his chance of revenge. Tench shook his head and turned his focus back to the situation. It was time for bribery.
"No doubt you're hungry. That's probably because you have such a large force that it would be quite difficult to keep 'em all well fed. And yer out in the woods. Tsk, tsk."
"We know what yer doin', otter!" shouted the weasel. Tench was delighted to find some strain in his voice.
"At Redwall we got prime conditions. A nice big feather bed with fluffy blankets and a nice roof..." The weasel dropped his weapon another half centimeter.
"And food! I'm not kidding, amazing, matey! Giant cheeses with chopped nuts and great ole trifles with strawberry or cherry or blueberry or gooseberry or any other berry. Roasted Chestnuts lathered in honey and sugar, scones with honey spread over and nice cream..." The vermin began licking their lips and lowered their weapons a bit more, with the exception of Fyron. "And the drinks! Elderberry wine, October Ale, Strawberry Fizz..."
Swish!
A bankvole fell dead in the weasel's arms. He was the father, the other voles had a shocked expression. Fyron's sword was in its throat. Even the other vermin looked shocked.
"Now!" shouted the ferret. "Tell us what you know, or they'll die!"
Tench gaped. What could he do? The otter sighed. "Log-a-log-a-log-a-log!"
Fyron had a puzzled expression on his villainous face. "What are ye sayin'? I want te know 'bout the chaps who live in the abbey?"
"We call this when we're building. Yeah. Log-a-log-a-log-a-log-a–"
Fyron had a similar diplomacy idea to Skipper. He put his blade at Tench's throat. "Answer me truthfully and straightforward or another vole goes! How many are in the abbey?"
Tench bit his lip, as the ferret did. "Errr... Ten."
"Don't be foolish!" He swished his sword. A ferret wordlessly cut the throat of the mother vole, who fell dead. The young ones began wailing and squirming.
"Fine! Tenscore an' twenty four! Mebbe more! Why are we in this war?" Tench felt tears well up in his eyes. He rhymed when he felt bad
"And the species? No games, now." Fyron pushed his sword closer to Tench's neck.
"Oh, that's a chore! Well, mostly mice, what's this for?. A good bit of 'edge'ogs, an' sum moles, obviously make up the core. A few squirrels and otters, too, and probably a bit more."
The ferret bit the other side of his lip, the one that wasn't bleeding. "That's not so bad. Sure, the squirrels an' otters might show a stand, but the others? Hah! Tie the voles up and stay to guard. I'll go tell Darkblood our information?
The other vermin nodded and laughed.
The Gatehouse
"Haway the Braw is a war-cry of the highlands!" called out Darrow. "Here's a lead!"
"But remember, Haway wasn't a general that took with the spell. We don't need his descendant."
"Your right, but we should still research him. There might be a mention of one of the other generals in the books."
"I believe you're right! Read on!"
And so they combed through the books, trying to find everything. Erzvin's books proved to be invaluable.
"Aha! Garro the Great, first of the wolverine emperors, began his empire on the western coast– Salamandastron, of course– After a stinging loss at the hands of the badger lord Arbor Brock, he sailed across to the Land of Snow and Ice! Gulo was a descendant of Garro!"
Damping Erzvin's previous joy, Uggo said, "Wasn't Gulo killed?"
"Oh... yes..."
"Wait," said Zeela. "What about Ansgar and Bjart?"
Erzvin's joy returned. "Yes! Ansgar and Bjart were twins, so they dueled for the walking stone. Ansgar was thrown into the ice water, but he survived, hijacked a boat, and sailed far south to start his empire!"
"Hmmmm, Mervo–"
A tall otter ran through the door. "Tench's been captured!"
