Book One: The Alliance

No stories are the same

all have a different plot

old or new, happy or sad,

a choice tellers have not.

Three travelers from abroad

from mountains, sea and marsh

with histories quite similar

their futures are rather harsh.

All orphaned by one fox,

death is soon to come

yet the trio must prevail

a task too hard for some.

Trust is hard to come by,

impossible I fear,

but if they don't believe in it,

Redwall's fall is near.

Prologue

Abbot Aren hummed a quiet tune to himself as he cross the Abbey grounds and approached the gatehouse. He folded his arms into his robe and took a deep breath, closing his eyes in the process. Exhaling slowly, he smiled and opened his eyes. Nearly crashing into the gatehouse due to his walking with his eyes closed, he inhaled sharply and took a jump back, amidst the laughter of Sister Sage, the Recorder. Frowning, Abbot Aren straightened his glasses as Sage regained her composure.

"Ab..Abbot Aren, hello! What brings you here this morning?"

The old mouse frowned, and cleared his throat. "Well, I realized that today was a perfect day. The sun was shining down on our proud abbey; there wasn't a cloud in the sky, millions of strawberries growing plump in the field. Which reminds me, isn't it about time to pick them? It must be just about time-"

"Abbot Aren," Sister Sage interrupted, "you were saying?"

"Hmm? Oh, oh, yes... Well, realizing that it was such a grand day outside, I thought to myself, the Dibbuns deserve to hear a story. Then I recalled that it was only yesterday I promised those little ones that the next day such as this one that we had I would tell them a story they'd never forget. Now, unless I'm becoming forgetful in these old days, the Dibbuns are in this gatehouse waiting for me, are they not?"

Sister Sage smiled and opened the door to the gatehouse wider to show a group of five mousebabes, a molebabe, and a squirrelbabe. Seeing their Abbot, the seven young ones jumped up and rushed to their elder. "Abbot Awen! Abbot Awen! You tell us stowy?" The squirrelbabe had climbed onto the Abbot's shoulders and was pulling on his ears. The kind old Abbot gently reached up for the squirrel and held him in his arms, smiling to the other six. "Indeed, yes, I will tell you a story. This story is about a group of three unlikely heroes, a young shrew, hare, and otter, each with a history not unlike the other, and a future very much alike. None were from this abbey, yet this trio would ultimately protect it. Three orphans and three warriors, their story is about to unfold."

And then the Abbot began to reveal the tale of a trio of friends, destined to save three peaceful groups.

1

Lord Oneye ran a single paw over the hundreds of carvings covering the wall that stood before him. His gaze followed the picture of three hares approaching a badger sitting in a throne, and then walking off into the forests of Mossflower. His gaze halted on the next image, and his single eye became misted over. None of the hares returned to his mountain home.

He ran a paw over his eye and left the room. He had spent the better of an hour in this room of carvings, studying each one until he felt he would die if he stood in that position for another hour or so. It wasn't the carvings that tired him; if anything, viewing the messages they told him was exasperating. Shaking his head, he sat down in his throne and awaited the arrival of Slick and Marisol de Quickfleet, his most trusted hares.

Swiftpaw de Quickfleet was sitting on his bed, watching his parents rush about his room. Both were hastily packing their haversacks, his mother busying herself with blankets and bandages, his father with food and drink. Swiftpaw kicked his feet back and forth, waiting impatiently for his parents to hurry and making some rather rude comments under his breath. Finally, after what seemed like decades of packing to Swiftpaw, Marisol and Slick were ready to talk to Lord Oneye, the badger lord of Salamandastron.

Swiftpaw looked about his room. He had no idea of what he and his family were going to be doing over the next few weeks or how long they would be gone, but due to the gray emptiness of his room, he knew they were going to be gone for a long time. He did, however, have an idea of where his family was traveling to; a wonderful place called "Redall Habbey", where you got to eat the best food for as long as you wanted to. Squirming with glee, Swiftpaw pulled himself down off the bed and ran out of his room to catch up with his parents.

Slick de Quickfleet had gotten his name for a reason, and his wife lived up to it just as well. The two went shooting through the fortress, arriving at the throne room in record timing. Whether Swiftpaw had inherited double speed genes, was "inspired" by his name, or was just fast due to the fact that he wanted to be fast, remained a mystery, but despite the fact that he left so much later than his parents he arrived around the same time as them, give or take a few seconds.

Lord Oneye had been dozing as he waited for his friends. Hearing a small knock at the door, he opened his right eye and yawned, flexing his muscles. Straightening himself up, he called out to the visitors in his booming voice, "Enter!"

Slick pushed the door open, beckoning for his wife and son to follow him in. Marisol calmly followed her husband in, but Swiftpaw immediately took off for the Lord. Marisol gasped and reached out for her son but, as he was at least twice as fast as she was, missed him by a mile. Swiftpaw ran up to Lord Oneye and catapulted onto his lap, landing on it with a dull thud. Lord Oneye glared at Swiftpaw with a reproaching look. Swiftpaw, recognizing that Oneye was playing around right away, frowned right back at him.

"Word," he said, "me finks you jolly well better tell me mummy and daddy when we going!"

Lord Oneye glared at Swiftpaw and Swiftpaw glared right back at him, in a sort of staring game. Lord Oneye broke first, grinning and slapping Swiftpaw on the back. "Har har, Swiftpaw, how can I refuse to answer such a well put question? Well, Slick, I need you to leave as soon as you can- I trust you've already packed- and travel to Redwall, as you already know. Now then, what you don't know is why you're going. What you must do is tell the good creatures of Redwall to raise their guard. A large horde of vermin is traveling their way, and if they're not warned soon.." Oneye took a deep breath. "Just go."

Slick exchanged a glance with Marisol, who nodded. Slick then, in turn, nodded to Oneye. "All right, Oneye, we're on our way."

***

Rutter sat on the banks of the River Mossflower. He muttered a few curses under his breath, quiet enough so that the seemingly hundreds of otter babes in the water before him didn't hear. Aye, wouldn't that be awful, having the whole tribe on his back for teaching the otter babes colorful new language. It was bad enough having to baby-sit all the young ones while everyone else got to forenge for food and supplies, but it would be worse if he had to forenge for food and supplies alone, a most depressing punishment.

Rutter counted all the babes, to be positive they were all there. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven... Rutter frowned. There should have been nine. Sure, Willow had gone with her Mom to gather fish, but that meant that there should still be eight. Counting and re-counting, Rutter still got the same number-seven otter babes where there should be eight. Groaning in frustration, Rutter decided to count off using names this time. Millie, Tiller, Skitter, Water Lilly, Rapido, Iggy, Eugene...

"Rawhide!"

The young otter jumped and fell out of the tree he was hiding in, jumping up and saluting.

"Aye, aye, Rawhide's a-portin' for duty, sah!"

Rutter set his jaw and walked over to Rawhide, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck. "Why you little-" Rutter was cut short when an arrow caught him in his side.

Rawhide stared at the arrow in shock. The young otter had been hiding in the tree watching three weasels scamper about the opposite bank, thinking they were playing some kind of game. But even a young otter can realize when something is not a game, and when something has gone dreadfully wrong, and seeing death right before his very eyes made Rawhide's instincts immediately kick in.

"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!"

From the tribe's cave, the woods, and the river, otters began to pour onto the scene. Rawhide scampered into the cover of the bushes and watched the scene that turned him from innocent otter babe to hard-core adolescent.

By the time the forengers had returned from their gathering, all the old ones and young ones had been killed by vermin. The whole camp was overridden by weasels, stoats and foxes, and every time another otter entered the camp they were killed by vermin arrows. Rawhide's spirit lifted as he saw his mother and father run past the bush, calling out Rawhide's name, and, his hopes risen for a brief moment, he was about to run out and cling to them. However, before the babe had a chance to do so, his parents were shot down like the rest of the tribe, and Rawhide lost what little sense of control he had.

"THAT'S MY MOM!" He shot out of his cover like a bullet out of a gun, barreling himself into the side of a fox with a large rip in his left ear. The fox snarled and turned on the otter, throwing him against the tree. Rawhide found himself panting as he tried to pull himself up, only to be pulled up and thrown against the tree once more, held there by the fox. The fox glared at the otter, snarling at him.

"You stupid otter," he snarled, "how dare you attack a beast so much stronger and wiser than you?!" He emphasized his words by slamming Rawhide against the tree, giving him a rather large headache. "I'll make you regret ever dealing with the likes of Ripear!" The fox picked up his paw, which had a silver glove with five inch claws sticking on it, and dragged it over the left side of the otter's face, leaving a long cut from his forehead down to his cheek. Panting, the otter held back tears, and the fox got a look of mock pity on his face.

"Aw, mateys, looks as if the poor baby is in pain. Should we wash off that nasty old cut for him?" This comment was returned with a round of "ayes!" and "throw him in the river!" Rawhide was now shaking with fear, and as Ripear held him over the river, Rawhide's eyes widened with terror. Ripear's eyes narrowed about as much as Rawhide's widened. "Goodbye, otter babe." And with that, Ripear dropped the bleeding otter into the river rapids.

***

Swiftpaw was sitting against a tree at the edge of Mossflower, waiting for his parents to catch up. He gratefully lapped up the shade of the tree, having just crossed the desert between Mossflower and Salamandastron in record timing for one of his age. He tapped his foot in the air as he began to fall asleep. His nose twitched as his long ears fell onto it, tickling him and making him sneeze. Twitching his nose once more, he yawned and began to doze off, his parents nowhere in sight.

***

At the moment, the only emotion Marisol felt was fear. She was fearful for her life, for the lives of the poor creatures of Redwall, and mainly for the life of her son, Swiftpaw. She had been careless and even stupid to let him run ahead and get out of her sight. She was paying dearly for her mistake, as she was now more worried than she had ever been in her entire life.

As Marisol lay hidden in the hollow of a tree, she knew she needed to fine her son. As the grass below her turned red with blood, she pulled an arrow protruding at an odd angle from her shoulder. She knew her time to fine Swiftpaw was rather limited, and that she'd soon join her husband at the Gates of Dark Forest. Oh, the irony of it all; Marisol had gone on this mission to warn Redwall of an ambush, but instead had been ambushed by the very vermin that she and Slick were sent on this journey about.

Marisol sighed as she heaved herself with great pain out of the tree. Taking one last hopeful look at her haversack, she ripped off the strap, tying it around her shoulder to staunch the bleeding. Taking a shaky, deep breath, she headed east to Redwall, the last mission she'd ever take part in.

***

Swiftpaw awoke with a start. Judging by the absence of light, he assumed he had fallen asleep for almost half a day. The young hare found himself trembling with fear, not only from being alone but from his dream, or rather, his nightmare. An armor clad mouse had appeared with his father, telling him to "head west to you goal." The nightmare part of his dream was when he realized his father was covered in silver blood and had hundreds of arrows protruding from his back. As tears welled up in Swiftpaw's eyes, he jumped up, gathered his supplies, and set off in the direction the mouse had pointed him in. If his mom was still alive, that's where she'd be headed, and that's where Swiftpaw would be waiting.

***

Gilde sat on the banks of the River Moss, watching her father build boats. Of course, other shrews were helping out besides her father- Log-a-Log, Durm, Tidbal, Sparce, and just about all the other male shrews. However, in Gilde's eyes only her father was important, because he was the one piecing together the boat.

Despite the fact that Gilde was little older then the shrewbabes, she had already taken an interest in boatmaking. She had never quite understood the arguing antics of her fellow young shrews, when she was only a week old up until now. Yet the moment she had first seen the older shrews begin to build a bat, she fell in love, and sat watching them build everyday afterwards.

Gilde sat on a log not too far from where the young ones were playing. Their antics were quite typical, running back and forth while arguing and fighting. Gilde kicked her feet back and forth, leaning out far over the side of the log- she had long since been ignoring the others, knowing that they'd not bother her unless she bothered them first. Of course, this didn't always work.

As Gilde kicked her feet back and forth, she heard a few shrews behind her giggle. Choosing to ignore them, she leaned out over the side of the log a little more, feeling something graze along her neck and back, striking somebody in front of her. Frowning, she spun around and found herself staring at a large blue fox, with a large rip through his left ear. Gasping, Gilde fell over the back of the log and crawled under it, then ran through the fox's legs and into the woods to safety.

While Gilde was running to the cover of some underbrush, others in her camp were not so lucky. Indeed, half of the Guosim had been killed, including most of the babes, before anyone knew they were being attacked. Ripear walked slowly with his head held high towards the shrew tribes' chieftain, Log-a-Log. As he walked, shrews fell around him before they could strike him with their little rapiers. Upon reaching the leader, Ripear held up a paw and at least five hundred vermin leaped out from undercover, surrounding the shrews with longbows pulled taut. Ripear stared at Log-a-Log before announcing, "Kill him."

Five hundred arrows shot at Log-a-Log at the same time. They could not have possibly missed.

***

Swiftpaw was hopelessly lost. Mossflower was so big, and every tree looked the same after you passed millions and millions of them. Hungry and tired, he sat on a stump and took out his haversack. Reaching for a glass of cordial and a chunk of bread, he began to think about how much farther he had to go when he heard someone moan not too far from his current spot.

Swiftpaw tensed up as the moan came once again. Abandoning his meal, he approached the moan cautiously. Pushing the leaves apart, he saw a full grown hare in front of him covered in blood- to be quite honest, the hare resembled his mother more than a little. Sure enough, a closer look confirmed that the hare was none oher than Marisol de Quickfleet.

Swiftpaw let out a weak gasp. Frozen to the spot, he looked at his mother, revolted that anybody would do such a horrid thing to a fellow creature. Walking up behind her, he prodded her carefully with his foot. "Mum?"

His mom rolled over and looked up at her son in confusion. Swiftpaw's eyes filled with large tears as he repeated his question, this time with more confidence. "Mum?!"

Marisol's eyes slid in and out of focus a few times before she concentrated on the face of her son. "Swiftpaw?" she said, faintly and weakly.

The leveret's ears perked up as he threw his arms around his mom. "Oh, Mum, shouldn't 'ave gotten ya self bally lost like that, ya end up scarin' an old chap out of his bloomin' mind. Wot 'appened?"

Marisol take a few deep breaths before answering her son. "Well, as ya should jolly well know, your pater and I decided t'let ya run on ahead, so we could decided how t'tell the Abbey of the danger. Foolishly, although fortunately, we let y'out o'our bally sight and by the time we realized it, y'were so far ahead we could've never reached ya. So, I suggested that we make a jolly old fire and somehow signal t'you, which worked very well surprisingly- unfortunately, it signaled the wrong jolly old creature, wot." Here, Marisol paused to catch her breath before continuing on.

"Well, it all seemed to be goin' great for a while. We had a jolly old smoke signal signalin' up t'you, an' it was growin' larger by the moment. We heard a yell come from behind us, and then..." Marisol sniffled and set her jaw. "We were surrounded. We didn't stand a chance. At least 200 arrows flew out at us. Your dad threw me t'the ground and every arrow struck him. He died right there on the bally spot, an' I ran off as fast as these legs would carry me, receiving this single arrow in my shoulder. Swiftpaw, I'm afraid your pater is dead, and that I'm slowly joining him thanks t'the bally scoundrel of a fox, Ripear Bloodfang."

Swiftpaw gawked at his mother. He had just discovered that his dad was dead, and now his mom was going to die when they had almost reached Redwall. Furrowing his brow, Swiftpaw began to think and quickly got an idea. He began to gather some fallen branches, covering them in leaves. Dragging it to his fallen mom, he hoisted her up onto it. Panting, he made sure she was settled in safely before he began to pull her to Redwall.

Swiftpaw kept at his hauling for the rest of the day and most of the night. He kept at it until he reached the path that led to Redwall's west entrance. By now, Swiftpaw was fatigued and exhausted, and was long passed needing a break. Looking to his mother, who's chest was rising and sinking much slower now, he was suddenly filled with renewed energy and hauled his mother much faster now. As Swiftpaw dragged his mom onward, he swore to himself that he'd have his revenge on his parents' murderer, Ripear Bloodfang, or at least die trying.