The Verminmaid It was one of the harshest winters the goodbeasts of Redwall had seen in their lives; snow had been piling up in huge drifts against the abbey walls for many days now, with no sign of letting up. At one point it almost looked as if the main doors themselves would be lost beneath the milky white hills, but then the fickle wind had changed once again, howling off over the western plains, heaping snow along the eastern wall.
Creatures from all parts of Mossflower Country had come to seek refuge at the famed Abbey, driven from their homes by cold and hunger. Abbess Bryony could only remember one other winter this long and cruel, many, many season ago, when an orphaned son of vermin had been brought to Redwall and had brought to her both joy and sorrow.
Seated in front of a warm fire in Cavern Hole, a mousebabe snuggled down in her lap, the Mother Abbess was herself about to let her drooping eyelids fall with the welcome weight of sleep when a sudden though struck her.
"Blatt?" Glancing quickly around, she found him dozing beside her chair.
"Blatt!"
A loud snore greeted her in reply. Careful not to disturb the sleeping Dibbun, Bryony reached down and tweaked the otter's nose.
"Snrrrrr-khrrt! Phwah! Oi, wot's the deal? Oh, it's you, marm." Blatt grinned sheepishly for having raised his voice to the Abbess, however unwittingly.
An amused smile momentarily lit Bryony's face. In many ways Blatt was still just an overgrown otterpup.
"Sumin hasn't come back in from the gatehouse yet, has he?"
"I expect not, marm. 'E's been spendin' more'n more time in there since Ol' Barlom passed on, peace be 'pon 'is memory."
Bryony nodded sympathetically. "Yes, well the poor creature's going to freeze to death if he stays out there much longer. Would you please go and get him, Blatt?"
The friendly otter nodded readily and winked. "Aye, marm, I'll be back with 'im inna jiff. Snow's so deep, tho, I might 'afta plunk the ole bloke on me back an' swim through it!"

After wading slowly through the waist-deep snow blanketing the Abbey grounds, Blatt found Sumin standing outside at the large, oaken double doors. Pity welled up in his heart at the sight of the lonely old squirrel freezing in the unmerciful weather.
"C'mon there, old mate," Blatt called over the bone-chilling dirge of the wind. "Abbess wants yeh inside afore y'catch yer death o' cold out 'ere."
But Sumin held up a paw, put one of his failing ears to the gates and croaked, "There's somebeast outside there, young riverdog. Unbar these doors 'ere so I can let the poor creatures in."
Blatt sighed and shook his head. The old codger had been doing this ever since the first winter chills had taken his best friend, Barlom, the old recorder mouse. Always thought there was another woodlander freezing to death outside, even though the last of them had come weeks ago, bedraggled and beaten by the elements.
Moving as quickly as he could in the encumbering snowbanks, the burly otter heaved the heavy wooden beam out of its slots and rolled it aside so that Sumin could pull the gate open. Blatt stuck his head out, too, as the elderly squirrel peered around, holding a lantern retrieved from the gatehouse.
Satisfied with a brief scan, Blatt carefully patted Sumin's shoulder. "Now, see, there's nobeast fool enough t'be outside in this storm, mate - exceptin' us, o' course. 'Twas just the wind wantin' t'get in so's it could chill our poor bones." And, with a demonstrative shiver, Blatt turned around to replace the bar.
"I say, riverdog! You just come out 'ere an' I'll show you your wind!"
"Seasons o' famine, what's that crotchety ole kook think 'e's d-" Blatt stopped short mid-grumble as he sighted two cloak-wrapped figures outside the gates at the edge of the lantern light.
"Kind surs," said the bigger one with an oddly slurred northern accent. "Would ya have et en yur gudd 'earts t'sheltur two poor ould travelurs, or if y've no room en yur gudd 'oome, t'tell us whur we might take refuge from thes turrible storm?"
Blatt was thunderstruck. "Uh, uh o'course w-we can take y'in, mate. Great seasons! Yew two must be 'alf frozen solid comin' in from that! Uh, Sumin, sir, take these poor gentlebeasts to the Abbess while I get the gates barred up agin."
"Humph. Now the young rip treats me with due respect, not like I'm some old fogey lost 'is marbles. 'S what I always told Barlom, young 'uns don't have enough respect these days....This way, please, good creatures, we'll follow the trail that young dunderhead riverdog plowed through this miserable snow."

"My goodness, Sumin! Don't tell me these two gentlebeasts came from out of that frightful storm outside?"
Sumin put his lantern down and shook the snow from his grayed fur. "Alright, marm, I won't tell you they did...but they did!"
"Aye, that they did, marm," Blatt echoed increduously, following close behind Sumin. "Didn't b'lieve it meself 'til I saw 'em there outside the gate's, large as life."
"You mean until I had to point the poor freezing creatures out t'you before you'd believe the words of your elder, y'daft riverdog," huffed the old squirrel.
"Now now, Sumin...." Bryony began, rising from her chair with the mousebabe in her arms.
"Come back here you rogues! You're supposed to be asleep!"
Three of the Abbey's Dibbuns were chased into Cavern Hole by Brund the dormouse. A trundling molebabe was trying to hold two large bowls of leek and mushroom soup steady, while two little fieldmice scampered along with half a loaf of nutbread between them. On their way to hiding behind the Abbess's skirts, they managed to wake most of the slumbering occupants, stepping on tails and spilling drops of hot soup on noses.
"Hurr, you'm tellum us'n's bringin' bread an' zoop turr 'ee guests, Mizz," said the mole to Bryony, holding up the wobbling bowls as high as he could.
Flashing a forgiving smile at the flustered Brund, Bryony bent down and placed the bowls on the floor by the fire. "That's very nice of you, Gurdo. After they've eaten, though, I'm sure our guests will want to rest, so it's off to bed with you three."
"Beggen yur pardon, Mother Abbess," said the larger of the strangers, both still hidden in their draping cloaks. "These fine young gentlebeasts wur gudd enough t'bring me end my compan'in a warm meal. Et's my thought they shudd be 'llowed t'stay up end visit with us." From the heavy folds of cloth a gnarled black paw reached out and patted Grundo softly on the head.
Something wasn't sitting right with Blatt about the strangers. The bigger one was nearly bigger than he was, and certainly not an otter. And the way they tried to hide their faces and bodies with their cloaks....
"Ahoy, mates," he said, making his voice as friendly as he could. "Those bedsheets y'got on are soakin' wet wi' snow. Why don'tcha lemme hang 'em up for ya an' warm up by the fire while y'sup yore soup?"
After a moment's hesitation, the larger visitor took a shuffling step back from the gathering of Abbeydwellers and spoke in a low tone, striving to remove the harsh accent from his voice. "I know you're kind-'earted creatures 'ere at thes Abbey...." As the stranger turned his head towards her, Abbess Bryony could see two yellow eyes shining in the blackness of his hood. "We'll r'move our cloaks if you'll but promess not t'judge us by th'way we look." With that, he slowly raised two slender paws with blunt, worn claws and pulled the hood back from his long snout and big, pointed ears. There in Cavern Hole stood the aged figure of a gray fox with his uncloaked companion, a small, wiry black rat.
"Vermin!" The cry went up immediately among the Abbey creatures.
"Get those Dibbuns away from the fox!"
"Bo urr, Oi'm knew oi smelled a ratter, hurr!"
"Oh, they're rotten thieves! Waitin' for us to let down our guard so's they can murder us in our beds!"
"Sumin, you old fool! You've brought vermin into the Abbey!"
"Quiet! All of you, quiet!"
A hush fell over the room at Abbess Bryony's sharp command, save for the whimpering of the frightened mousebabe she clutched in her arms.
"Now before you all condemn these ver...creatures, and throw them out into the snow, let's act as proper Sisters and Brothers of Redwall should and hear what they have to say." She calmly strode over to the two, who were hunched against the far wall, away from the semicircle of woodlanders that surrounded them. "You, fox, tell me truly. Who are you and why have you come to this Abbey?"
Motioning the rat to be easy, the fox lowered himself into a sitting position before answering with a sigh, "Ai, th'creatures in thes lend are gudd-natured, but they nevur lessen. Ded I not esk ya t'not judge us fur whet we are, gudd Mother? My compan'in end I are th'last from a ship of explorurs. My name es Byarn, end he's kelled Yulan. Our dear leadur end frind wes taken by th'wintur coold b'fur we reached yur Abbey. We've 'eard such grand tales of et, we wented t'see th'legend of Redwall fur ourselves."
"Hmm....Byarn, Yulan. Those are strange-sounding names to me. You also have a peculiar accent. Are you from the Far North?"
Byarn smiled warmly, a grandfatherly expression that seemed quite odd on the face of what Bryony had always considered as a verminbeast. Deep down, she was beginning to feel she could trust him. "Me end Yulan 'ere are from a lend much further then whetchya kell yur Far Nurth. Ooh, we sailed th'seas from our 'oome end lended thur seasons ehgo, but thet's a long stury thet'd take meny coold wintur nights like thes t'tell."
Bryony shocked everybeast present with her next statement. "Well then, Byarn, I invite you and Yulan to stay as guests of Redwall Abbey until the telling is done. I would very much like to hear your story."
Blatt took a tentative step forward. "Er, Abbess marm, with all due respect t'yerself an' these two 'ere-"
"Abbess, they're vermin!" yelled somebeast from the back of the crowd.
Gurdo the molebabe waddled resolutely through the mass of Abbeybeasts, carrying one of the soup bowls from the fire. Setting it down before Byarn and clambering into the fox's lap, the little mole called out in a gruff bass, "Yurr, B'arn b'ain't no vurmint! 'E'm be a foxer, hurr, a noice foxer. 'Ere be yurr zoop, zurr B'arn. Ett it all oop, zurr, thun you'm be tellin' oi yurr story."
The old rat, who had been silent throughout the whole matter, now cracked a small smile and said in a surprisingly soft voice, "Byarn's a wonderful creature with young 'uns."
More apprehensive and wondering stares followed the two young fieldmouse friends of Gurdo's, one struggling to keep her balance while tottering over with the half loaf of nutbread, the other pulling the second bowl of soup behind him. Both were placed in front of Yulan before the two Dibbuns began a curious inspection of him, each climbing on one of his knees, staring and tracing over his tattered ears and the scars on his face, taking up his furless tail and stroking it until they finally coaxed another smile out of him and giggled in satisfaction.
Byarn grinned between spoonfuls of soup. "Ya know ya've always hed a soft spot fur th'lettle 'uns, too, Yulan."
The approval of their children seemed to allay the Redwallers' fears, although a few still kept a cautious eye on the two even after their ancient rusted weapons were taken and put someplace safe until the time of their departure. Food and drink were brought from the kitchens for all who wanted them, and as the mood grew lighter, friendly banter began to be exchanged along with food. Pasties, scones with snowcream and vegetable flans left over from dinner, honeyed autumn apples and candied nuts brought up from the cellars, along with flasks of elderberry wine, raspberry cordial, and goats milk for the little ones.
Villainous as they may have appeared, the old fox and rat were quite amiable, Byarn doing most of the chatting and joking with Yulan throwing in some comments on the side. When the refreshments were gone and the night was beginning to get on, Abbess Bryony politely suggested that their guests may wish to get some sleep, which also mean bedtime for the all the little ones bunched around the two.
"Hurr, but Zurr B'arn still gotten be tellin' oi 'eem story, h'Abbess, marm. Cain't oi stay oop jus' ee liddle bit more?"
All the youngsters echoed Gurdo's plea. "Can't we stay up jus' a liddle bit more, Abbess, marm?"
"Ken we please stay up jes' a lettle bet mure, Abbess?" Byarn implored Bryony in comical imitation. "Yulan 'n I'd love t'tell 'em th'farst pert of our stury, marm. Ken we please stay up?"
Bryony brought a paw to her mouth and pretended to cough in order to hide a smile at the good-natured fox's antics. Putting on her sternest face, she slowly swept her gaze over the eager crowd.
"Oh, very well," she said with mock severity. "And I suppose I should allow you all to sleep in tomorrow and have a geat big brunch with our guests as well, hm?"
A resounding hooray went up from the Abbeydwellers, and the children hastily claimed their front row seats as everybeast gathered close to hear the strange creatures' tale.
Taking a sip of cordial and clearing his throat, Byarn began, "I ken well understend yur startled react'en when y'farst saw whet menner of creatures me end Yulan are. Thes lend of yurs, th'Far Nurth, end all en b'tween are crawlen weth 'oorrible, cruel beasts thet certainly deserve th' name vurmen. Our 'oome esn't much defferent en thet respect, but whur we come from, thur's mure guddbeasts whom y'southurnurs'd be kellen vurmen then thur es ectual vurmenbeasts. Ai, foxes, ratses, all menner of creatures leven en peaceful settlements, often enough weth woodlendurs sech es yurselves."
A wondering murmur spread through the gathering. Foxes and ferrets living with mice and moles? It was a thing unheard of, indeed a thing that seemed, to the creatures of Mossflower, altogether impossible.
"Yes," continued Byarn, "survivel essa vury surious business en thes lend of tundra end mountains. Th'oonly way creatures survive es by wurken t'gethur, soo thet's whet they do. Now I cuddn't tell ya our stury wethout begennen from th'begennen. Et all started weth a young wurrior maiden, who's prolly now long been a herooine beck en hur lend, end shudd rightly be en yur Far Nurth, for she saved et from a terreble, wild wurlord...a great mountain wolf!" Byarn was a good storyteller, jumping up with claws raised as he told of the warlord. Naturally, his audience recoiled fearfully, but more from the idea than the gesture. A wolf! Nobeast in Mossflower Country or beyond had ever told of actually seeing such a beast, but it was said they were so fierce that even a Badger Lord would be scared to fight one. "Yes, th'maiden kept thes wolf from taken oover th'nurthurn lends 'ere, end ensodoin' freed 'er oown 'oomelend, th'vury same es ours. She wes a marten creature, end th-"
"Burr, you'm mean she wurra vurminmaid?" interrupted an old mole in the front.
Byarn settled down comfortably and nodded. "I s'pose y'cudd say thet, Sur. Ai, a marten she wes, a vurmenmaid, end thes es 'er stury es much es ours...."

Far across the storm-blown Eastern Sea, far to the north, in a land of seacoast and mountains, a wolf mother lay with her litter of puppies. They rested far back in a mountain cave on one of the highest of the crags that stretched down the great mass of land, separating the western coastline from the eastern forests and the rest of the inland continent beyond them.
The puppies were mere days old, weak and sightless, their downy fur just beginning to show their mottled patterns. Their mother, white as the snow that fell in big puffy clumps outside, kept them close against her thick, warm coat. Her crimson eyes drifted back time and again to two puppies, the largest and the smallest. Her little Fenrir wasn't scrawny or sickly at all; she could tell he would live through the cold, unforgiving winter, and she would make sure he stayed strong. Her mate's biggest son, one of the three he had named, pawed and nudged at his brothers, pushing for the warmest spot between them and his mother. This tiny, whimpering wolf pup finally settled down to sleep, and to dream. To dream of being bigger, of being stronger, of being wilder. To dream of being the terror that stalked all the northern lands and their creatures, of running, of hunting, of killing. To dream a dream that would haunt him all his young seasons until his father would teach him better, a dream of a northern creature far fiercer than he, of the cold bite of that creature's steel, of the chilling pain far worse than all the winter's snow and ice that battered the land of seacoast and mountains.
Outside, the snow grew heavier.