Knocks upon the abbey door were becoming familiar to Wynnstream. He was starting to wonder if the sudden convergence of beasts upon Redwall was some sort of conference of the elders or something. Nevertheless, he abandoned the gatehouse and scampered up to the ramparts. Leaning over the walls, he called,

"Who are you? Make your business known with Redwall Abbey, please!"

"Goodness gracious, y'young pug! Wynnstream Pikepaw, son 'o me old messmate Skipper! You've certainly grown up big an' brutish!" Down below, the voice chuckled. "It's Long Patrol, laddie buck. An' tell your Daddy that Lieutenant Colonel Quinn Meadowclary is 'ere, 'long with 'andsome Harry Buckthorn of the honorable Stage Hare line, and Circassia Jangstaw, inheritess of the infamous Rosie Woodsorrel giggle."

Wynnstream, confused, once again bounded down the well-worn steps from the battlement. He hoped his father would know what the three hares were talking about as he listened to the chatter on the other side of the thick wood gates he hefted open.

"Whoohahaha!! I say, lads, me ould cuz Tryffen's sure well in fer a bally bowl-over surprise when 'e claps eyes on us!"

"Cass, just keep that bally chortle bottled up there. These good chaps an' chappesses don't need t'be jolly deafened upon first meetin' yeh."

"You're such a cad, Harry. Don't worry, I'm sure she'll keep th'bally horses reigned in tight." The otter welcomed them inside, and left to find the abbey leaders.

"Spittin' image of 'is daddy," Quinn sniffed nostalgically as he waited on the lawn with his two companions.

* * *

Skipper raced ahead of Abbot Daniel, Dolores, Michael, and Brother Neil.

"Quinn! You old sandwalloper! What in shrimp's name're you doin' 'ere?" the otter shouted ahead of him.

"Skip, y'great boundin' waterhound! Still scarin' babies with y'face, y'big villain?!" The two old friends pounded each other on the backs as they hugged. They bantered on with old jokes from bygone days. Handsome Harry waited politely in the background. Wynnstream, Jakob, Liam, and Tryffen lingered behind them, curious of the newly arrived travelers.

Cass, however, caught sight of Tryffen. "Tryffen! Is it really you! Whoooohahaha! You've gotten t'be quite a great fat abbeyhare, haven't you!" She scooped him up in a hug. Tryffen squirmed slightly, though secretly enjoying the attention from his cousin.

"No doubt that it's you though, love. I'm surprised that bally laugh o' yours hasn't sent all th'jolly Dibbuns up in a tizzy!"

* * *

The leaders of Redwall Abbey, including the Abbot, Michael, Dolores the Badger Mother, Foremole, the Skipper of Otters, Brother Neil the Recorder, Sister Joan the Infirmary Keeper, and the newly arrived Long Patrol sat around the table at Great Hall. Tori, Paul, John, Noel, Liam, Tryffen, and Sheryl were also present.

The huge Badger Mother arose and addressed the assembly.

"Friends, it seems that while life here at our beloved abbey is tranquil and undisturbed, it is not so everywhere in Mossflower. You have all heard by now Tori Rubyhaer's account of how her city was destroyed by Shang Widowmaker and her horde. And our friends John O'Lennain and Paul Braunhayr have informed us that she is moving south in our direction. They followed Shang for three moons until they halted just north of the mountains and broke camp. They are far enough away from an abbey in the general area that they presumably have not done it any harm. " To her left, the badger saw Sheryl go stiff. She continued.

"But the Widowmaker's army is strong. They destroyed the largest city in the northern half of the lands beyond Mossflower, the---tundra, is it?--- the tundra even above the Great Northern Mountains. To our knowledge they are still not moving, but we know very little and it is probably inaccurate by now. There is nothing stopping them from sweeping down into Mossflower."

The Redwall Council sat, silent and terrified at the thought of that mighty a horde coming to their beloved country. Dolores cleared her throat awkwardly, and readdressed them.

"This next point may seem irrelevant, but it may also hold the key to preventing the destruction of our own abbey. Father Abbot, I turn matters to you and Brother Neil."

Daniel arose quietly. "Yes. At the beginning of this previous autumn, Tryffen the hare was sent among our midst from the stronghold of Salamandastron. Dolores's brother, Lord Antisle Rawnblade, sent with him a scroll that was not to be opened until foreign creatures began flocking to Redwall and the season was almost ready to change. Brother Neil?"

The recorder held a parchment in his paws. "Yes, thank you, Father Abbot. Ahem. Well, this is the first page of the scrolls that Lord Antisle sent with Tryffen. It was all Dolores would translate for me from the Badgerscript, as the other two documents were to be revealed to the rest of us later on. It, um, seems to be a riddle." The stocky mouse adjusted his glasses and began reading the message.

"Hare who carried scroll from mount
Go now with these retrievers three.
Wrought in seasons too far back to count
Leave this quest to the songdreamers by the sea.

Healer who teetered on the Cliffs
Go back, now, before they fall.
Home may soon be hollow if
You stay within these walls.

Hear the warrior with no sword
Walking backwards to Redwall.
Daughter of slain Wolflord
Only you will know their call.

Seek no more in the Warriors' tombs
Another came from founder's caves.
Escorted 'cross a land where great stones loom
He too seeks to repay what the White One gave."

After reciting the mysterious poem, Neil looked over his glasses at the assemblage. Tori was weeping, Tryffen held a stricken look on his face, and Sheryl seemed about to protest something. Near Neil, Michael put his forehead into his paw and sighed, "Jakob won't like this."

Paul was the first one to speak and break the silence. "Well, some of that is easy. I mean, th'first bit is obviously 'bout this Tryffen fella, an' the next is Sheryl." He leaned back in the chair. "As far as that, your guess is pretty much as good as mine."

" 'Escorted 'cross a land where great stones loom,'" Tori quoted, musing and trying not allow herself to cry again. "I've never seen them, and I was borne by the sea coming here, so I wouldn't know, but I've heard tell of great standing stones in our neck of the woods. Megaliths, ancients tombs or something, built by giants, older than the lands themselves."

"We came across some of those, didn't we, Noel?" Liam interrupted. "Think we slept underneath 'em a couple time when there weren't nothin' else."

Noel nodded slowly. "You're right, kid. They're fairly commonplace south 'o Manchester. We're more easterly than you Leedsdown folks: me mam said there's more where we were."

"You know, I think we've got one of those just west of the Abbey."

"So our great savior is comin' from there?" Skipper questioned.

Neil shrugged. "I guess. This must be him: 'hear the warrior with no sword walking backwards to Redwall.' Now that doesn't make much sense, but I do know one thing. When Martin first came to Mossflower country, he was caught by the wildcats living in Kotir. Verdauga decreed that he be kept in the cells, whilst Tsarmina wanted him killed. She was so furious at being overruled that she snapped Martin's sword in half. Until he came to Salamandastron, he wore the broken sword around his neck as a reminder. Maybe that has something to do with it?"

Michael offered something. " 'Seek no more in the Warriors' tombs, another comes from founder's caves.' Didn't Martin come south from his father's caves on on the northwestern seacoast?"

"Maybe it's saying that Martin will come back to us, and we won't have to look to the past Warriors for protection," Sister Joan said strangely.

Abbot Daniel looked at her. "Please, Sister, let's have a little reason. We would, of course, be grateful if the original Martin were to come back to us. But, as much as we would wish for it, it cannot be."

The Infirmary Keeper looked down at her paws, slightly embarrassed. The abbot felt a bit guilty for his chiding, but turned back to the discussion going on with the others.

Sheryl and Tryffen had banded together, arguing their cases for remaining at the abbey.

"But Michael! My training isn't even near complete! It takes nearly a season and a half to travel to the Cliffs, not counting whatever I have to do there. And then, no, if, I can ever come back, there's still much for me to learn!"

"You tell 'em, young healer m'gel! What, and me without havin' experienced the full range an' spectrum of bloomin' abbeyscoff!"

The Warrior was frustrating himself trying to explain. "But it says here in this script, from Salamandastron, no less! that you are both to go to your respective homes at once! We cannot go against--"

From the sidelines, Liam, ever the rebellious one, muttered "Aww, stuff it, y'old fogey. 'Oo's t'say if they stays 'r goes?"

Quinn intervened. "Lord Antisle, that's who, young wolfy m'lad. His word's pretty much it in this lay o' th'land." Liam glowered at him momentarily, and then looked the other way. The hare arose. "Ahem, pardon me, but we do 'ave our orders. Tryffen, you're to leave with us in two days time. C'mon now, perk up, laddie buck, think of all the glorious scoff these generous Abbeylads an' lasses will heap on yeh when y'leave!" Through slightly bright eyes, the garrulous young hare smiled fleetingly.

"Well, can't do much 'gainst the jolly old orders of th'mountain, might as well exit with style, wot!"

Quinn chuckled deeply. "That's th'spirit, boyo! You stick with Cass, she'll smother yeh with the bally old TLC th'whole way, y'know."

"Heehee! I'm quite a sap at heart, y'know," she giggled, surprisingly quietly.

* * *

The whole affair boggled the abbey elders so much that it was decided that sleep might provide the answers. The only one who knew his path for certain, though, was Tryffen. Jakob, upon hearing the news, bore it better than anticipated by his father. His sole insistence was that he be allowed to accompany his friend a few miles away from the Abbey. Michael consented. George, Dolores and Tori agreed to go along, for guidance and company on return.

* * *

The day before Tryffen left the abbey, the five Leedsdown wolves gathered together over a late evening snack of tomato soup in an isolated wing of Redwall. Tori didn't beat around the bush or mince words.

"I've decided I'm returning back north. The thought of Shang Widowmaker destroying all this happiness causes my thoughts to be dark and heavy. I will appeal to those I meet along the way for help. I may try to go to Manchester, too. Either way, I will stop those foxes and destroy them, as they destroyed us. Anybeast who is willing to come with me is welcome."

George nearly choked. His dark eyes began burning, and his head pounded with shades and images and screams of a great battle. He slumped down, and stared into the bowl of tomato soup. Bodies, mangled and bloodied, nearly unrecognizable, littered the ruins of their city. His eyes widened, rolling in his head, horrified, as the scene flashed before him, and he saw, at the end, who stood and mourned for the lost.

"You can't go!" he yelped, unable to say to who. The other four watched him, stunned. He regained his breath, and, his narrow chest heaving, he repeated tearfully, "You can't go. You just can't."

"George, did y'see somethin'?" Paul demanded urgently. Crying, the wolf nodded yes.

* * *

The morning of the hares' departure dawned gray and rainy. The remnants of the winter chill lingered, reminding the woodlands that it was not altogether gone. The gloominess of the day did nothing to smother the Long Patrol's enthusiasm, however, or appetite, for that matter. Elena, the stout abbey Friaress, had a job of keeping the less-than-shy Cass away from the tarts cooling near the ovens.

She stood menacingly in front of them, brandishing a broom. "Now you just hold hard there, hare. If I let you at these, the whole of Redwall will be starvin' long afore noontide!"

"I say, miss, they're bally well already starvin'! Lemme bring 'em out t'Great Cavern or wherever y'serve y'lovely vittles! Owch! Give 'em here, spoilsport, I'm just tryin' t'help you, honest!"

"Vittles!? Vittles!? Ooooooo, you'll pay for that!" The mouse shook with rage, and chased the whooping Cass out of the kitchens. "You'll never eat 'vittles' here again, you gluttonous romping villain!" she shrieked. "I'll see to that!"

Liam wandered though, pushing a cart topped with steaming scones. He eyed the tasty-looking tarts, and slyly snatched one, a technique he'd often employed back home on his mother.

* * *

Tryffen gorged himself no less than usual. "A tribute to y'food, Friaress, love!" he explained as Elena had glared momentarily at his cousin Circassia, seated near him. Jakob, on his left, chuckled into his napkin at his friend.

"So, Tryff, is your review book of woodland fare finished?"

Tryffen's ears shot up. "Not likely! I 'aven't seen half the scoff on this table th'whole time I've been 'ere! The lovely Friaress has no doubt been savin' th'best for last for her jolly old pal me, eh?"

"Oh, is she your pal, Tryff? Whooohaha! Looks like I made yeh another bally enemy, then!!"

Further on down the table, Abbot Daniel conversed with Tori.

"Well, my child, our friends the Long Patrol are leaving with Tryffen on this morn. What about you? You have expressed a need to us to return north to fight Shang Widowmaker."

Tori nodded. "Yes. I've decided to leave before the next full moon. Every minute I remain here at your beautiful abbey, the further south that horde moves. John, Ringo, George, and Paul have all agreed to go with me."

"Umm, 'scuse me fer interruptin', but what's this I 'ear 'bout you leavin' without uz?" Noel leaned across the table. "T'wouldn't be very fair t'leave me an' Liam out've a good fight. In fact, I'm sure the little bugger'd be plenty o' use t'yeh." He grinned wryly.

The abbot smiled. "Just like the shrews, eh? Life's not much fun to you without trouble." Noel's broad smile deepened into a chuckle.

"Aye, tha's right, Father. We'd be fair mizzable all peaceful like our whole lives."

But when the hour arrived that their friend actually left Redwall, even Elena shed a few tears for the garrulous hare.

"Here," she grumbled, shoving a basket full of tarts and scones and a jug of Redwall's famous October Ale into the hare's paws. "Don't you starve t'death b'fore you come back t'us, hear?" His eyes widened gratefully, and he unexpectedly made a gallant, sweeping bow and kissed her paw.

"I say, I jolly well think I'll miss you th'most, old gel," he declared nobly.

Elena choked back some tears. "Really?"

"'Course, old thing! I won't be 'round f'any more of y'ironpawed kitchen bossin'!"

The Friaress understood the joke, and as the gathered crowd laughed, she scowled playfully and muttered just loud enough, "I won't say anything 'cause of the occasion, but when you come back home here we'll be servin' jugged hare, thank you very much!"

The normally saturnine Harry Buckthorn unexpectedly slapped Tryffen good-naturedly on the back. "Well, then, c'mon, old scout, we've got t'get you home t'y'old mater, wot! An' off we go!"

Circassia addressed the abbeydwellers even after she was hustled out the door by Quinn and George, shouting compliments and jests to the gates. "Well, then, thank ye once again f'your bally good hospitality! Whoooohahahaaa!!! 'Fraid we'll probably be back rather shortly, however though, eh! Food, y'see, wot!"

* * *

Jakob stood at the edge of the meadow marking Mossflower's westernmost boundary, where the land stretched out into a rolling golden plain. The four hares were long in the distance, but the mouse was still murmuring good-byes to keep himself Tryffen's company a little longer. George stood just behind the forest line and said to Tori, "Think we'd better tear 'im away. Won't be any easier on 'im t'stand there an' wait for the hare t'suddenly come back."

The red wolf nodded. "You're right of course. But let's just say we give him a couple more minutes."

"Fine." George's dark eyes scanned the horizon. "But th'longer y'leave 'im there, I think the harder it'll be t'get him to go home."

Tori approached the young mouse slowly from behind. He was still gazing towards the faraway mountains. She gingerly walked up beside him, and comfortingly put an arm around his shoulders. Jakob sighed. Tori felt it, heavily.

"You know, you'll be seeing him soon enough," she said cheerfully.

"Really?" Jakob sniffled slightly.

"Sure! That hare'll stop at nothing to get back to the food here, much less seeing yoo-OOO!!" She hugged his shoulder and began to lead him back towards Redwall. A blur shot out from a clump of tall grass and goldenrod, right at Tori. It threw itself into her and Jakob, knocking her down. The sheer force of the blow threw Jakob against a tree, and he landed with a splash into a small pond of stagnant rainwater.

It was a huge, mostly white and light gray wolf: it began furiously attacking her, in the traditional but fearsome northern style, using no weapons.

"Einar!" it growled ferociously to her terrified face. "Einar f'harmpeth!"

She desperately tried to fight back, but the wolf's unimaginable strength was overpowering. She yelped involuntarily, and George suddenly flew from the bracken, ramming his body into Tori's assailant. More shouts were emerging from the tallgrasses, and as the princess lay heaving and recovering from the bolt of lightening, she realized what had just happened. Einar, that was the Gaelic word for fox. Einar f'harmpeth meant 'child-stealing fox.' Her eyes widened. How she had hated those Gaelic lessons.....

"MENA!!" she shouted forcefully. "Gan bayle teerdannel!!"

The fighting ceased as suddenly as it had began. The strange wolves stood stock-still. The fox had spoken to them in Gaelic! Stop! she had told them: we are wolves! The "fox" advanced slowly. She limped, but managed to point a paw to herself as she moved toward bloody and broken George. "Teerdan, teerdan..."

The hulking wolf who had attacked them backed away, revealing his mistake: George was struggling to move, and his breath was interceded by coughs of blood and choking. Tori tried to keep her eyes off him as she kept pointing a paw to her chest. "Rubyhaer," she said. "Finne f'Colvin ta Derynai." Daughter of Colvin and Derynai, names known throughout all the Northlands. A gasp rippled through the immediate area. Several more Gaels appeared from the underbrush. The largest of them, accompanied by a powerful-looking female, stepped forward and copied Tori's gesture.

"Aelfwald," he said slowly. He pointed to his mate. "Adia."

"Rampek Aelfwald," she said, bowing her head slightly and addressing him respectfully as 'Chieftain,' "we must get these creatures help now."

"Oubla?" he asked helplessly. "Where?"

Before Tori could reply, a young, sturdily built mouse darted from behind them. He gaped momentarily at Jakob, lying prostrate in the bilgewater, then looked at Tori. His piercing gray eyes were somehow familiar. "Redwall?" he asked, without any trace of Gaelic accent. She nodded, dumbfounded. He turned commandingly to the Gaels. "Toyda!" he yelled in Gaelic: go! "Pick up these creatures and follow Rubyhaer to the abbey!"

George's attacker carefully scooped him into massive arms: another wolf, who looked his twin, lifted Jakob out of the water and wrapped a blanket around the shivering mouse. The small pack obeyed the mouse's order, and followed a breathless and frightened Tori through the woodlands.

* * *

"Mercy on th'bereft!" John drew his breath inwardly quickly. "George, what did this to yeh?" He raced alongside the Infirmary keepers carrying the two victims on stretchers. The injured wolf tried to speak and lift a paw, but he was much too weak. At the door, Fiona turned to John.

"I'm sorry, but y'can't go any further from here. You might get in the way. Sorry..." Rather than argue, the shell-shocked John stood silently on the other side of the slammed door, his jaw hanging open in disbelief. Ringo and Paul were soon at his side: Michael and Noel sat down, leaning against the wall.

Down below in Great Hall, Tori translated the Gaelic wolves' story to Abbot Daniel, Dolores, Skipper, and Brother Neil.

"Aelfwald and his tribe come from Aiyar, which is a mystical island to the west of Leedsdown. One day, a searat vessel was wrecked on their coast. The few corsairs onboard were slain in a small skirmish, and the oarslaves were rescued and taken care of. The wolves promised to help find their homes for them, as they knew they couldn't stay with them. Soon, all but one had found settlement. He was a mouse, from the old caves just south of our city. He'd been sold into slavery to searats by a white fox, after his family had been massacred at his home."

The mouse quietly gazed upward and around the abbey as Tori continued Aelfwald's tale as Neil bound her bleeding paw.

"He had no wishes to return to his caves. Instead, he told Aelfwald's niece Rivenna of visions he was having, of a great red-brick building. He said he knew he must go there. An ancestor of his came to him in dreams and told him of it, a mouse who'd once lived in those very same north-western caves. Rivenna, of course, told her uncle, and Aelfwald swore to help him go.

"When the Gaels had been traveling on the mainland for a few weeks, they encountered a vast horde of foxes, who overran and destroyed their camp, Hull Cklelihedd. Obviously Shang's group," she added bitterly. "They could see that they were up to no good, so through guerrilla attacks and fright tactics, they diverted them into the mountains and left them to either remain or go in circles through the valleys. They crossed through the mountains and continued south until today, when they saw me with Jakob. Since I'm not especially large for a wolf, and I'm red to boot, they thought me to be a fox kidnapping him, so Tamga here attacked us. All a huge mistake, for which he has apologized profusely and consistently to me."

"The mouse," the abbot asked, "what's his name?"

The mouse said nothing, and let Adia explain. As his eye wandered, he saw something that grabbed him, and he walked over to the tapestry of Martin the Warrior, transfixed by the picture.

Tori turned to the elders. "He tells me the mouse says he had an ancestor whose brother wandered away from home one season. When they heard tidings of him later, he'd come to be known as Matthias of Redwall." Dolores quietly gasped. Unawares, Tori continued.

"This Matthias of course shares his lineage, which can be traced all the way back to a cavemouse who lived in his same caves, called Luke the Warrior. His younger son was named Martin: his older, Lawlor."

The realization began to dawn on Tori's audience. She didn't understand the significance, and said, "It's for him he's named. The mouse's name is Llawder. What?" She realized she'd lost their attention, and turned her head to where the abbeydwellers were staring.

Llawder was entirely unaware of them. His eyes bright, he reached forward with a paw, and touched the tapestry's face. The image of Martin the Warrior was a perfect mirror of his own.

"Great ancestors above," Daniel whispered, white as a sheet. " 'Hear the warrior with no sword, walking backwards to Redwall,'" he quoted. " 'Seek no more in the Warriors' tombs, another came from founder's caves. Escorted 'cross a land where great stones loom, he too seeks to repay what the White One gave.' So Sister Joan was right. As Tori, a princess, translates, his name is 'Redwall' backwards, and indeed he carries no sword. His ancestors came from the northwestern caves to Redwall, he came across mountains, not monoliths, and now is back here again, in a full circle."

Tori solemnly approached him, and asked quietly, "Llawder?" He looked away from the tapestry to her. "Was it Shang?" she asked, her voice a near growl.

Llawder nodded, once. "Yes."

Tori's bright green eyes flashed once. "Me too," she said. "We are bound together by the same cruelty." She offered a paw in an unspoken pact. Mouse and wolf looked each other in the eye. Llawder took it, and repeated fiercely, once,

"Yes!"