Authors Note: I decided to read Redwall. Big mistake. I can't get it out of my mind. Only two of Redwall books are available translated to my language, and I have yet only read the first one. Never the less I had to write this down, and I hope I have not made to many mistakes. This is just some kind of long prologue, and I am uncertain if there is to be more coming. As things are looking right now, it would not surprise me, though. I am rather uncertain regarding when in the Redwall timeline this occurs, but I believe it to be some hundred years after "Redwall" and "Mattimeo" but as I said, I really don't know what I'm talking about. As always I would appreciate reviews. Anything will do, but please be nice.
Disclaimer: The world of Redwall and historical characters like Matthias and Martin belong to the genius know as Brian Jacques. The rest of the characters are mine, to the best of my knowledge.
Redwall: The Prince of Cats
Or
The Basilisk Crown
The night sky was clear and the moon smiled down on Redwall Abbey and the stars glimmered like diamonds. The sun had just disappeared beyond the horizon, leaving only a slowly retreating light. The mice of Redwall had just begun turning in for the night, when one of them took a look out the battlements and noticed a large white animal that dragged itself towards the Abbey.
"Ohoy!" he shouted to his brethren. "We have an incoming wounded animal, coming towards the North Gate!"
"What kind is it?" another one shouted.
"I can't see," the first one answered and peered towards the large white creature. "The light is to dim. It is quite large, and white as snow. It just fell and is not moving!"
"Whatever it is, we have an obligation to help it," the other mouse said. "Summon a rescue party, and inform Michael and the Abbot that we have a guest."
Soon the rescuers were on their way. Among them were Michael the Warrior, descendant of Matthias the Warrior who had once slain Cluny the Scourge, and his friend Bleys Fireheart, a still young yet strong and wise warriorfox. Along with a couple of Redwall-brothers they hurried to the wounded animal. Before they even got there, Bleys growled.
"It's a cat."
He was right as usual. It was a large, muscular cat with fur that would have been white as snow if not tainted in red blood and brown-grey mud. He was dressed in a strange uniform or body armour that seemed to have taken a lot of beating, since it was damaged in multiple places. He had a round shield on his arm and a heavy battleaxe hanging from his belt. Bleys' eyes were cold as ice. No one knew why he hated cats the way he did. Some said it had to do with his childhood, but no one ever dared to ask him. Not even Michael had been able to get a straight answer out of the fox.
"A cat," the Warrior nodded. "Never the less we must help him."
"We do?" Bleys asked.
"You know we do. Let us get him inside. The abbot and the other healers could surely revive him."
"And if he does not appreciate our help?" the fox asked.
Michael let his hand run over the hilt of Ratbane, the ancient sword of Martin the Warrior.
"You and I will stay close to him so that we can intervene if he would get aggressive." The mouse's iron-hard gaze met the fox's eyes. "But it is bad enough that you are wishing for it."
"Very well," Bleys said. "Let's get him out of here."
They picked the cat up and carried him inside.
"He doesn't look like a wildcat, even though he has scars all over him," Thorn said as she tended the cat's wounds. "What on earth can he have done to get this messed up?"
Unlike Bleys, Thorn was a very gentle soul who did not want any harm come to any creature. The fox glared at the new patient. "He is going to bite her the minute he wakes up," he muttered quietly. "I know it!"
Michael ignored his friend. "He looks like a soldier. Maybe he was wounded in a battle?"
"Wouldn't surprise me," Thorn said. "He sure has a lot of scars, and these wounds looks like cutlass cuts. What intrigues me, though, is that there is no war in the nearby neighbourhood. No armies, no warlords. So what did this to him?"
"Maybe he was attacked by scavengers or something," Bleys said. "Who cares."
"Bleys," the mousemaid began as she carefully began to sow a particularly deep wound together. "You are a good friend and a very intelligent person, but whenever you are around cats your judgement is clouded. Would you lay off the poor creature?"
Just as she finished her sentence and began another stitch the cat suddenly opened his yellow eyes and in a white flash grabbed Thorn around the throat with his sharp claws.
"Thorn!" Michael and Bleys shouted and flew up from their places. Suddenly the cat's eyes rolled back and he fainted, releasing Thorn.
"Poor creature? Yeah right!" Bleys said and showed his fangs.
"Thorn, are you alright?" Michael asked.
Thorn was obviously shocked. She took a step away from the bed and almost fell to the floor.
"I… I… I should have given him a stronger potion," she stammered. She looked up on Michael. "I am okay, big brother. You can put that down now."
Michael suddenly noticed that he was holding his sword in a grip so tight that his knuckles were whitening. He did as she said and let the blade fall again.
"You scared me there, little sister," he said.
Thorn nodded towards the cat. "He scared me. I have to get more potion, or I'll never get that wound closed."
She quickly left the room. As the adrenaline left his system, he noticed how hungry he was. He moved towards the door.
"Do you want something to eat?" he asked the grim fox.
"Bring it here," Bleys said. "I want to stay were I can see him."
As Michael left the room, he realised the Bleys Fireheart would not look away from the cat until the very moment it awakened, and probably not even then. Even if it would take the whole night.
The cat awoke a couple of hours after Thorn had finished her job. She and a couple of other order members had assembled near his bed, along with Bleys, Michael and Abbot Lucius. Bleys had proposed that the cat should be put in chains before he woke up and could cause any damage, but the Abbot had said that it would not be the right way to show their hospitality.
The cat was much calmer this time then before. He opened his eyes and let his gaze sweep across the room and the faces of the ones present. When he had evaluated the situation he tried to get up.
"You should lie down," Thorn warned. "You are still weak from you wounds and you lost allot of blood."
"I will manage," he said with a surprisingly calm and melodic voice. "Where am I, and who are you?"
"This is Redwall Abbey," Abbot Lucius said his most soothing voice. "We are the ones who healed you. You are safe now."
"Redwall," the cat said, pondering. "Yes, I have heard of this place."
"Who are you?" Thorn asked.
The cat grinned. "A dangerous question, young one. There is never a good answer for it. If you wish to know my name, it is Snowflake Silverslash."
"Snowflake?" Thorn said, surprised. A muffled laugh was heard from Bleys.
"Something funny about that?" Snowflake asked with a tone that suggested that he better like the answer.
"No," Thorn hurried to say. "It's just that you look like a warrior. I had expected something in style with Grimswipe or Wrathfang."
"I am a warrior," Snowflake said. "Many changes their names when they take their first steps down that road, but I am what I am, and if my enemies underestimates me because of my name, all the better! My parents gave me this name, and I happened to like it." He turned his head. "Got a problem with that, fox?"
Bleys did not answer. He was already back in his stare-with-grim-cold-eyes role. "No problem, cat."
"You must be hungry," Abbot Lucius said. "We do not usually serve so much meat here, but I could ask the chef to prepare a wonderful fish to you?"
"You would be surprised to learn what I have eaten in my days, Father Abbot. Bring it in."
As the cat known as Snowflake did not seem to pose any serious threat, everybody went back to his or hers respective chores. The last ones to leave were Thorn, Michael and Bleys.
"Now just lie here and wait for your food," Thorn said and reached over to it that his bandages were tight enough. "One you have eaten I'm sure you are going to feel much, much…"
With the speed of lightning Snowflake reached up and grabbed her paw. Bleys growled and took a step forward, but felt a hand on his shoulders. Michael shook his head, and his eyes spoke out only one word. Trust.
Snowflake carefully sniffed the frightened mousemaid's paw. He looked at her. "You tended my wounds?"
She nodded. "Yes, me and the others."
The cat let go. "Thank you," he mumbled and fell asleep.
Bleys looked at Michael. "He could have hurt her, you know."
"But he didn't," Michael said. "You do not need to guard him, Bleys, he is too weak to do any harm."
"He will get stronger," Bleys muttered and he left the room.
Thorn still stood by the bed, looking down at the creature that, under other circumstances, would have considered her as lunch. Michael walked up to her,
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "He startled me a little, bit I am getting used to him now." She smiled. "I have never seen a cat this close before. So strong and yet, in a way, quite beautiful." She reached down and gently stroked his forehead. He smiled in his sleep and started to purr softly. "He seems so peaceful now. I wonder why Bleys hates his kind so much."
"Because, little sister, just like you see something good in every vile creature and wounded scavenger we bring in here, Bleys has a hard time trusting anyone," Michael said. "He lived a hard life before he came here, you know that. He actually reminded a bit of this one when we brought him in, wounded and beaten. He must have had a bad experience when it comes to cats."
Thorn giggled. "What if Snowflake decides to stay here and help out like Bleys did?"
"I pray to Heaven that he does not," Michael snickered. "He and Bleys will just end up killing each other after three days only."
They let the cat sleep and left the room. In the hall outside they meet with a young squirrelmaid. She was dressed in light armour and had a long cutlass hanging on her back and bandages around her right arm.
"Callie," Michael said. "Shouldn't you be in bed."
"Oh, stop that," Callie Squirrel said. "Do you think a little sabre slash can keep me down, I'm feeling better already."
As to prove her point, she gave her damaged arm a pat with her left paw. She immediately regretted it and tried to disguise the grimace of pain to a grin.
"Cal, you have to cut down on all those duels or you will be cut down yourself," Michael said. "You are going to get yourself killed."
"Or worse," his sister added. "You are a beautiful squirrel, Callie. I would hate to see a pretty face like that ruined by a battlescar."
"Okay, okay, I get the point," Cal said. "Jeez. By the way, how is my former opponent doing."
"Jeremiah Rabbit will live," Michael informed. "No thanks to you."
"Hey, he drew first blood! He won the duel, didn't he?" Call sounded offended.
"Yes, and you drew second blood," Michael said. "He suffered from quite more then a bruised arm."
"Wasn't I the one who carried he all the way to this place so that he didn't have to bleed to death in the forest?"
"And that is the only reason you are not immediately thrown out," Michael said and leaned forward so that his face was extremely close to Cal's. "And I want you to know that even though I see you as a dear friend, Callie Squirrel, your childish "adventures" are beginning to irritate me."
Cal smiled, gave him a quick kiss on his forehead and ran off. "If that's the way you feel, love. But now I need to find something to eat!"
Michael sighed and began, utterly slowly so not to hurt himself, bash his head into the closest wall. "I hate when she does that," he said. "I hate it, I hate it, I hate it…"
Thorn could not help but to laugh.
Later, Thorn came across the young squirrelwarrior in the kitchen, gobbling up a big piece of nut-filled cake with a large stoup of October-ale.
"Hi, Thorn," she said and smiled. "Is your brother very angry at me?"
"No," Thorn shook her head. "That was just his way of saying that he is worried about you and that he fears for the day when something bad finally happens to you. We all fell that way, Cal. You are like the sister I never had."
"Thank you, Thorn," Cal said. "I promise to be more careful in the future."
"You might as well stay here," Thorn said. "You will not be able to use a sword for at least five days anyway. You could help out, make peace with Michael. Do you know we brought in a wounded cat last night?"
"You did?" Cal asked. "Tell me all about it!"
While Cal ordered in more cake and ale Thorn began to tell her about the enigmatic Snowflake Silverslash.
In a tavern far from Redwall Abbey the doors opened and a figure stepped in, dressed in a hooded cloak and holding a strange weapon in his hand. It looked like a light, short spear, but the blade was slightly bent and much longer then a usual speartip. Almost like a sword. What really caught the eyes of the customers was the face that looked out under the hood. The face of a mouse with fur white as snow and eyes red as blood. Without a word he walked over to the disk and let a silver coin fall upon it.
"Landlord, a pint of your finest ale," he said and leaned his weapon towards the counter.
"Right on," the landlord said. "Say, are you Simon the Widetraveller?"
"The very same. Who is after me this time."
"No one that I know of. It is just that we did not expect to see an adventurer like you in these parts."
"I am just passing by," Simon Widetraveller said. "I'm on my way to Mossflower."
"Mossflower?" the landlord said and raised an eyebrow. "But that place has been peaceful for years. Not many job opportunities for a… a…"
"A Soldier of Fortune?" Simon helped. "Maybe, but I have a really strong feeling that that is about to change… for the worse."
"They have breached the gate!"
"Save the children!"
"Run! Hide!"
Friar Amadeus could hear the screams from the outside. He could do nothing to help the poor villagers. Something bashed into the door, and suddenly in fell in. The friar gasped in sudden fear as an enormous, black rooster towered over him. The cruel beak looked like a deadly weapon and the talons were clad with razor-sharp steel-claws.
"General Talon Bloodcomb," the friar spat. "Only you could bee so vile! How dare you and your scum of an army attack this peaceful vill…!"
Talon silenced him by pushing him towards the wall and putting a claw towards the old mouse's throat.
"I am not here for your village, old fool," he laughed. "I am merely looking for an old artefact. An artefact that belongs to me! Tell me were it is!"
"I will not!"
Talon threw the friar away. A couple of searats immediately picked him up.
"Take him away," Talon said. The general turned to the poor mouse's office. It had to contain a clue to where the artefact was hidden. He searched the entire room without success. Then, suddenly, his cold eyes fell on an old map. He picked it up, put it on the friar's desk and studied it closely.
"Could it be?" he mumbled. "Mossflower…"
He did not even notice the large weasel Crimsonclaw coming in.
"We have sized the village, general," he said. "The villagers are dead or captured. I have ordered the men to begin their search.
"You waste your time, captain," Talon said "It is not here."
"I see," Crimsonclaw said. "May I ask what our next target will be?"
"Redwall," Talon Bloodcomb said. His claws ripped the map into pieces with an unpleasant sound. "Redwall!"
