Sunlight streamed through the branches and green foliage, casting dark,
cool, pools of shade at the base of the trees. The brown dusty path,
stretched onward. At a small bend rose up the famed Redwall Abbey. It's
sandstone battlements towered over the forest and the surrounding
countryside. Next to the path, the young mouse Lanster sat in the grass
with a glazed expression on his face, listening to Rubert explain about
herbs. "Now, wild thyme is used for minor toothaches and such," explained
the fat mouse, asorbed in his work. "Now", he said standing up. "What is
the use of lesser budock? Are you listening, young Lanster?" asked Rubert,
peering angrily over his spectacles.
"What, o, er, sorry brother. Um let me see, lesser budock. Hmm." Then, as to save him from further embarrassment, he spotted two figures walking down the path."Brother Rubert, look!" Turning, the Brother called up.
"Sound the bells, creatures on the path!"
Rive and Sinetra were met on the path by Nett, the gatekeeper, and several other brothers and sisters. There was much hugging and paw shaking all around.
"Oh, how nice to you again, my but you've grown!"
"Why, hello Rive. Guess what? I'm taking up sewing!"
"Hey, Nett, you've not changed a bit!"
Rive and Sinetra found themselves dragged away by the Abbey Warrior, Trey. "The Abbess, wants to see you two." Ushering them upstairs, they knocked on the thick oaken door. A voice on the other side said," Send them in Trey."
They were confronted by the Abbess, a wise looking mouse, not to far advanced in her seasons, sitting in a cosy armchair, gazing out over the grounds. " Come in, come in young ones. Don't look so nervous, or your face will stick that way." Closing the door behind them, the three friends sat down on the carpet and window seal. "Now then Rive, I want to hear all about the trip What does Lord Dunbar have to say?"
Their story stretched on into the evening, pausing only to have supper brought up, and when it was finished a grim silence filled the room. Trey spoke first, "Well then, I will march to aid Lord Dunbar." The Abbess nodded her head.
"I shall ask for volunteers in the morning to accompany me. I am sure Skipper and Log-a-Log would not mind coming." continued Trey, thinking hard.
Unexpectedly, Rive spoke up."I want to go with thee, Trey."
"Ay and so do I," added Sinetra.
"No, you'll are naught but dibbuns, said Trey, referring to the Abbey babes. "I care for you two, and don't want to see you two hurt," he added, seeing the hurt look on Rive and Sinetra. Rive gave the abbess a pleading look.
" It has been seasons since this abbey last saw bloodshed." Said the Abbess addressing them all and ignoring the look,"Now, I think it would be wise for us to get some rest, so that we may all have a clear head tomorrow."
That night, the cool breeze whistled through the branches of Mossflower woods and over the ancient, weathered stones of Redwall, that had seen so many autumn harvests. They had seen so many die, so much blood run for the protection of these sacred, rose colored stones. The autumn moon shone through Trey's window, bathing him in moonlight. In his dream Trey saw a fellow warrior mouse. Trey felt immediately at peace, a great calmness came over him. He wanted to stay with this warrior. The warrior mouse wore armor, and his face was helmeted. Yet, Trey knew immedeatley who this was, it was Martin the Warrior. The founder of Redwall. The armored mouse turned and spoke to him, "The river lord marches from Sala-manda- strom,
Followed by two hundred and some,.
And three hundred will come with thee,
As you at dawn shall see,
Two maids shall the Abbey give away,
To follow the warrior's way.
The way is hard, but the maids must learn
In order to return. With that, Trey fell into a deep asleep, forgetting all that had been said.
Varclatt, glanced at his companions. All had faces darkened with ash and all were eager, waiting upon his orders. They lay along the top of a ridge, watching a small family of hedgehogs below them. It was near dusk and already the first stars could be seen in the eastern sky. The tall grass that hid them was damp, and there was a cold wind making him shiver. Turning his attention to the family of hedgehogs toiling in their field he made sure none of the family was inside the squat little hovel behind them. His patrol of ten scouts, had been searching ahead of the main column all day, until they came upon the hedgehogs. There were eight of them, the mother, father, three older sons and two daughters and one baby.
Grinning wickedly Varclatt, stood up and selected a green feathered shaft from his quiver, the others did the same. Laying it across his yew bow he sighted along the oaken shaft. Just as the elder son began to turn around Varclatt released the shaft with a sharp twang. With a deadly hiss the shaft whistled through the air, striking the hog through the head. The hog fell forward with a the shaft buried in the back of his head, the green feathers still showing. The blood began to flow in torrents from his head, creating a puddle on the ground. With a gasp of horror the hog mother grabbed her baby and clutching the baby to her chest ran into the house. Then another green feathered shaft stopped her at the threshold, with the arrow buried in her back. With a bellow of rage the father grabbed a club laying against the wall and charged the vermin. He swung high smashing a rat's head into bloody pulp. His two sons armed shovels with charged after him. They were big strong hogs, with huge muscles, but they were farmers with no proper weapons. A ferret side stepped and stuck his scimitar into the soft underbelly of one of the sons. He stared dumbfounded at the sword sticking out of him and as his blood spilled out, his life suddenly became counted in seconds to live. Then a rat struck the second son over the head with the handle of his dirk, he fell unconsciousness to the blood splattered ground. Then the father went down, mobbed by three rats who whipped him with bowstrings. At a nod from Varclatt, a rat lopped off the hog's head which fell onto the ground splattering the grass with more blood. Looking up Varclatt, stuck up his nose at the offending smell from the carcasses. As his patrol trooped away from the bloody ridge, smoke rose up behind them as the sun set a bloody red.
The sky had darkened, and when the ranks stopped camp fires appeared by the hundreds, until it looked as if the ground was a field of flame. Frindel laid down on his cot, still in his cloak, and let his eyes search wearily watching the wax drip down from the four iron-cast candle holders that illuminated his tent. Frindel listened to the talk oust side his canvas tent. Several soilders had burst into song, which pleased Frindel. It meant his army was happy, which meant they would follow orders better. So far they had found enough to eat by fishing and raiding small farms, plus the food they had brought with them. Still he knew that this war could not last for long. Soon they would have to leave the coast, leaving behind the tide pools, and possibility of being re-supplied by ship. Clearing these matters from his head he began to fall asleep.
Someone calling his name awakened him. With blurry eyes he recognized the face of his aid, the weasel called Flatnose. Snarling he struck out at the unfortunate weasel, smashing his jaw in. "Why, have you awakened me?", he growled dangerously. Only, a gurgling noise escaped Flatnose's throat. "Aw, you're useless", he screamed, kicking the sniveling weasel aside. Stepping into the cool darkness of the night he realized it must be near midnight. As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he recognized his head tracker talking to a sentry nearby. "You", he whispered quietly,"Get in here."
Drawing aside his tent flap he let out a small ray of light that pieced the darkness, as he ushered in his tracker. Handing him a flagon of brandy, he motioned for him have a seat, and he sat across for him. Moving his dirk out of the way, the scout gratefully the rat scout looked nervously at the brandy and then at Frindel who sat staring quietly at him.
"Lord", began Varclatt, "We tracked ahead, found no sign of the enemy though did encounter a hedgehog family, which after killing the father, mother and two sons we burnt the house leaving the two infant daughters and the baby unconsciousness to die. I think the village another day's march north, sir."
After contemplating this Frindel,"Well, done Varclatt, now drink up. It won't kill you." He said, smiling wickedly.
Varclatt hesitated, "Um, well that's okay sire, I'll just go now sir."
Frindel gripped Varclatt's throat, bringing his face up to his, "Drink!", he snarled, slowly choking Varclatt. Wine dribbled down from is chin and down his tunic as he tried to drink with Frindel chocking him. Frindel let him go and Varclatt stumbled off massaging his throat in one paw and still clutching the wine in the other paw.
Frindel laughed, an evil laugh, one of pure joy at the thought of the blood that had been spilled that night. Clutching some wine he laughed again, and again until he fell into a deep slumber. He was Frindel, the greatest rat warrior anywhere, the commander of two-thousand and with that thought in his head, he mouth twisted into an evil insane smile making him look even more frightening as he slept on.
Outside his tent, the two sentries stepped away from his tent fearfully. The evil laughter made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Glancing toward his companion he whispered,"Frindel, is a mad beast!"
"Ay, cully, yore right about that. But are two poor muggers like us s'upose today about it. He'll kill you if you talk bad a'bout him!"
"Ay, mate yore right about that, though I guess all warlords are like that!"
As the mist lifted the next morning it revealed the East Army, perched on the stop of a green hill. Pennants fluttered bravely from lances as the sun rose, and so they waited.
"What, o, er, sorry brother. Um let me see, lesser budock. Hmm." Then, as to save him from further embarrassment, he spotted two figures walking down the path."Brother Rubert, look!" Turning, the Brother called up.
"Sound the bells, creatures on the path!"
Rive and Sinetra were met on the path by Nett, the gatekeeper, and several other brothers and sisters. There was much hugging and paw shaking all around.
"Oh, how nice to you again, my but you've grown!"
"Why, hello Rive. Guess what? I'm taking up sewing!"
"Hey, Nett, you've not changed a bit!"
Rive and Sinetra found themselves dragged away by the Abbey Warrior, Trey. "The Abbess, wants to see you two." Ushering them upstairs, they knocked on the thick oaken door. A voice on the other side said," Send them in Trey."
They were confronted by the Abbess, a wise looking mouse, not to far advanced in her seasons, sitting in a cosy armchair, gazing out over the grounds. " Come in, come in young ones. Don't look so nervous, or your face will stick that way." Closing the door behind them, the three friends sat down on the carpet and window seal. "Now then Rive, I want to hear all about the trip What does Lord Dunbar have to say?"
Their story stretched on into the evening, pausing only to have supper brought up, and when it was finished a grim silence filled the room. Trey spoke first, "Well then, I will march to aid Lord Dunbar." The Abbess nodded her head.
"I shall ask for volunteers in the morning to accompany me. I am sure Skipper and Log-a-Log would not mind coming." continued Trey, thinking hard.
Unexpectedly, Rive spoke up."I want to go with thee, Trey."
"Ay and so do I," added Sinetra.
"No, you'll are naught but dibbuns, said Trey, referring to the Abbey babes. "I care for you two, and don't want to see you two hurt," he added, seeing the hurt look on Rive and Sinetra. Rive gave the abbess a pleading look.
" It has been seasons since this abbey last saw bloodshed." Said the Abbess addressing them all and ignoring the look,"Now, I think it would be wise for us to get some rest, so that we may all have a clear head tomorrow."
That night, the cool breeze whistled through the branches of Mossflower woods and over the ancient, weathered stones of Redwall, that had seen so many autumn harvests. They had seen so many die, so much blood run for the protection of these sacred, rose colored stones. The autumn moon shone through Trey's window, bathing him in moonlight. In his dream Trey saw a fellow warrior mouse. Trey felt immediately at peace, a great calmness came over him. He wanted to stay with this warrior. The warrior mouse wore armor, and his face was helmeted. Yet, Trey knew immedeatley who this was, it was Martin the Warrior. The founder of Redwall. The armored mouse turned and spoke to him, "The river lord marches from Sala-manda- strom,
Followed by two hundred and some,.
And three hundred will come with thee,
As you at dawn shall see,
Two maids shall the Abbey give away,
To follow the warrior's way.
The way is hard, but the maids must learn
In order to return. With that, Trey fell into a deep asleep, forgetting all that had been said.
Varclatt, glanced at his companions. All had faces darkened with ash and all were eager, waiting upon his orders. They lay along the top of a ridge, watching a small family of hedgehogs below them. It was near dusk and already the first stars could be seen in the eastern sky. The tall grass that hid them was damp, and there was a cold wind making him shiver. Turning his attention to the family of hedgehogs toiling in their field he made sure none of the family was inside the squat little hovel behind them. His patrol of ten scouts, had been searching ahead of the main column all day, until they came upon the hedgehogs. There were eight of them, the mother, father, three older sons and two daughters and one baby.
Grinning wickedly Varclatt, stood up and selected a green feathered shaft from his quiver, the others did the same. Laying it across his yew bow he sighted along the oaken shaft. Just as the elder son began to turn around Varclatt released the shaft with a sharp twang. With a deadly hiss the shaft whistled through the air, striking the hog through the head. The hog fell forward with a the shaft buried in the back of his head, the green feathers still showing. The blood began to flow in torrents from his head, creating a puddle on the ground. With a gasp of horror the hog mother grabbed her baby and clutching the baby to her chest ran into the house. Then another green feathered shaft stopped her at the threshold, with the arrow buried in her back. With a bellow of rage the father grabbed a club laying against the wall and charged the vermin. He swung high smashing a rat's head into bloody pulp. His two sons armed shovels with charged after him. They were big strong hogs, with huge muscles, but they were farmers with no proper weapons. A ferret side stepped and stuck his scimitar into the soft underbelly of one of the sons. He stared dumbfounded at the sword sticking out of him and as his blood spilled out, his life suddenly became counted in seconds to live. Then a rat struck the second son over the head with the handle of his dirk, he fell unconsciousness to the blood splattered ground. Then the father went down, mobbed by three rats who whipped him with bowstrings. At a nod from Varclatt, a rat lopped off the hog's head which fell onto the ground splattering the grass with more blood. Looking up Varclatt, stuck up his nose at the offending smell from the carcasses. As his patrol trooped away from the bloody ridge, smoke rose up behind them as the sun set a bloody red.
The sky had darkened, and when the ranks stopped camp fires appeared by the hundreds, until it looked as if the ground was a field of flame. Frindel laid down on his cot, still in his cloak, and let his eyes search wearily watching the wax drip down from the four iron-cast candle holders that illuminated his tent. Frindel listened to the talk oust side his canvas tent. Several soilders had burst into song, which pleased Frindel. It meant his army was happy, which meant they would follow orders better. So far they had found enough to eat by fishing and raiding small farms, plus the food they had brought with them. Still he knew that this war could not last for long. Soon they would have to leave the coast, leaving behind the tide pools, and possibility of being re-supplied by ship. Clearing these matters from his head he began to fall asleep.
Someone calling his name awakened him. With blurry eyes he recognized the face of his aid, the weasel called Flatnose. Snarling he struck out at the unfortunate weasel, smashing his jaw in. "Why, have you awakened me?", he growled dangerously. Only, a gurgling noise escaped Flatnose's throat. "Aw, you're useless", he screamed, kicking the sniveling weasel aside. Stepping into the cool darkness of the night he realized it must be near midnight. As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he recognized his head tracker talking to a sentry nearby. "You", he whispered quietly,"Get in here."
Drawing aside his tent flap he let out a small ray of light that pieced the darkness, as he ushered in his tracker. Handing him a flagon of brandy, he motioned for him have a seat, and he sat across for him. Moving his dirk out of the way, the scout gratefully the rat scout looked nervously at the brandy and then at Frindel who sat staring quietly at him.
"Lord", began Varclatt, "We tracked ahead, found no sign of the enemy though did encounter a hedgehog family, which after killing the father, mother and two sons we burnt the house leaving the two infant daughters and the baby unconsciousness to die. I think the village another day's march north, sir."
After contemplating this Frindel,"Well, done Varclatt, now drink up. It won't kill you." He said, smiling wickedly.
Varclatt hesitated, "Um, well that's okay sire, I'll just go now sir."
Frindel gripped Varclatt's throat, bringing his face up to his, "Drink!", he snarled, slowly choking Varclatt. Wine dribbled down from is chin and down his tunic as he tried to drink with Frindel chocking him. Frindel let him go and Varclatt stumbled off massaging his throat in one paw and still clutching the wine in the other paw.
Frindel laughed, an evil laugh, one of pure joy at the thought of the blood that had been spilled that night. Clutching some wine he laughed again, and again until he fell into a deep slumber. He was Frindel, the greatest rat warrior anywhere, the commander of two-thousand and with that thought in his head, he mouth twisted into an evil insane smile making him look even more frightening as he slept on.
Outside his tent, the two sentries stepped away from his tent fearfully. The evil laughter made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Glancing toward his companion he whispered,"Frindel, is a mad beast!"
"Ay, cully, yore right about that. But are two poor muggers like us s'upose today about it. He'll kill you if you talk bad a'bout him!"
"Ay, mate yore right about that, though I guess all warlords are like that!"
As the mist lifted the next morning it revealed the East Army, perched on the stop of a green hill. Pennants fluttered bravely from lances as the sun rose, and so they waited.