Chapter 8

Festivities ended, Abbess Avelle called to order the business part of the feast. She rapped on the table with her wooden beaker, saying, "If I may have everybeast's attention." Within a few moments the Hall was completely silent and all eyes were on the Abbess. "Thank you. Now, as our young Lingen has told you earlier today, vermin were sighted in Mossflower Wood. Apparently, there has been a battle with these vermin, and they have retreated, for the moment." Remembering the meeting earlier that day, most of the Redwallers kept a respectful silence even at news of a battle, apart from a few scattered whisperings. "No Redwallers or woodlanders were lost, thankfully, but it is the opinion of our guests,"-- here she indicated the woodlanders seated nearby-- "the Furgins and the Silvercoats, that we shall likely see the vermin again, soon. Mr.-- uh-- Poisonleaf?"

Poisonleaf Wolfbane stood to face the assembly. "Thank you, Mother Abbess. We did have a slight skirmish with the vermin this afternoon, but as the Abbess said, they retreated from the woods and went westward. That means we are all safe for the moment, but I know that we have by no means seen the last of them." Noting the Redwallers' mounting concern, he said, "Now, rest assured, young Stikle Furgin, who was actually a prisoner of the vermin, says that they don't know Redwall Abbey even exists. But if any of you have a suggestion on what we can do to prepare in the meantime, it would be most appreciated."

The entire hall remained virtually silent as everybeast present pondered on the problem at hand. A husky voice finally broke the silence. "Ho urr, oi thinks oi may 'ave a surgestin furr ee, zurr."

The Abbess looked across the Hall to the creature who has spoken. "Yes, Foremole?" she inquired.

Standing up, although it barely was any help with his unusually diminutive height, the mole leader continued. "Burr, seein' as we'm Redwallers can't go a-movin' in with ee woodlanders, an' they'm bain't a-movin' in yurr, oi sez to moiself, whoi not 'ave ee woodlanders form up they'mselves a koind o' pertrol or summat? Loik oi allus sez, thurr be's strength in numbers, ho aye!"

"Very good, Foremole!" Abbess Avelle praised. "Anybeast else have any comments?"

Gardil the Cellarhog, stood up. "I'm with Foremole, but would it work? Would the woodlanders willin'ly work together t'form this patrol? I mean, isn't th' reason th' woodlanders choose t'live in the woods instead o' elsewhere like the Abbey, isn't it 'cause they're such solitary creatures? I'm sure th' last thing I would want would be contact with a bunch o' other creatures."

This time it was the wise old Silvercoat Ferrence who responded. "You're right about some of the woodlanders, miss, but many, like the Furgins here, and myself, were simply brought up in the woods and do not wish to live anywhere else. But I'm sure that even the most solitary woodlanders would much rather work together with other beasts than be all by themselves when those vermin come a-calling."

"This is all utter nonsense!" exclaimed suddenly Sister Polly, whose paws were no longer occupied now that the Dibbuns had been taken up to the dormitories, and wanted to go up there herself. "What are we talking about this for? We're Redwallers, not woodlanders. If anybeast should be making any of these decisions, it should be the woodlanders. Let them choose for themselves. I motion we adjourn."

"Very sensible idea, Sister Polly," Abbess Avelle said with a bang of her beaker that made some of the less alert Redwallers jump in their seats. "It is much too late to do anything else tonight anyway. On the day after next we will have a delegation to meet with the forest dwellers of Mossflower and present them with our idea. Brilla, Brother Lucas, I would like for you to accompany me in the delegation, along with Skipper, and-- oh yes, Foremole. Temmlock and young Lingen, would you be so kid and cover the entire wood tomorrow to tell everybeast in the are about this meeting. Detail as many messengers with you as necessary to do the job. Ah-- Friar Gringle, Gardil, we will need you to provide enough refreshments to feed all present. How many do you say we'll have there, Mr. Poisonleaf?"

"Oh, about threescore, I'd say."

"Right. Be sure to have ample food and drink prepared, and then some. We can survive on leftovers tomorrow if need be so you can work in the kitchens unhindered."

"No need f'that, Mother, I can 'andle it fine!"

"And finally, we need a meeting place. Mr. Poisonleaf, Mr. Silvercoat, Mr. Furgin, can you think of a good meeting place that would suit all the woodlanders?"

"I think I know jus' th'place, marm," suggested Dangur Furgin. "North up yonder's a glade, an openin' deep in th' middle o' Mossflower Wood. 'Tis a pop'lar meetin' place among th' woodlanders there; I been there once or twice m'self. Goes by th' name o' Treestone."

"Treestone, Treestone, hmm... Very good. Would you kindly take me over there tomorrow afternoon so I may have a look around and make preparations? It would be most appreciated."

"That I will, marm; 'twill be my honor!"

"Good. Then with that, I call this meeting-- adjourned!" Mother Abbess banged her beaker down on the table one last time to accentuate.

"Shh! Not s'loud daown thurr, mizz h'Abbess, 'twill wake ee sleepen choilds oop yurr! Hurr!"

~

Darkness covered the southwest shores in the iron grip of night, the sun temporarily banished in wake of its relentless reign over earth and beast, land a sea. The stone fortress of Kortron stood dark and mysterious, unable to free itself from the grasp of the moonless night. Within the heavily-lighted interior, on his throne sat Raslor, Lord of Kortron. He was a fox, red-furred, tall, and mighty. The crimson color of his thick, smooth fur coat stood out as a symbol of Lord Raslor's infamy: bloodshed. Just as at that moment darkness ruled the shores in a grip of night, so the fox of the southwest ruled the shores in a grip of cruelty. This was his domain, Kortron, the great corsair kingdom and terror of the south coasts.

Raslor sat motionless as the doors to his throne room were closed, leaving him alone with the old traveling river otter; he had been captured by a ferret called Bloik, one of the corsair captains who docked at Kortron. When the doors had closed, the fox lord turned his eyes towards the old otter, neither moving a muscle nor displaying any sign of emotion. The otter felt his piercing gaze as he looked up at the fox, flanked by a large, lavish scarlet throne, draped silken curtains on the wall, and treasures of all kinds-- gold, coins, priceless weapons, jewelry-- in clear view all around him in the tall room.

Chills went down the otter's back at the sound of the fox Raslor's voice-- level, calm, emotionless, but deadly at a moment's notice. "They tell me you are a traveler," he said simply, his voice echoing across the walls of the room.

"Y-yes, sire," the old otter responded shakily, feeling somewhat small in the large hall.

"Look around you," said the fox with a gesture of his paw. The otter did as he was bidden, not daring to disobey. "I, Raslor, Lord of the South Seas and the Fortress of Kortron, I who carry both life and death within my mighty paws, I alone possess the greatest riches in the south seas, nay, the entire world. There is not a precious treasure I have seen that does not lay here in my great fortress. Tell me-- and your life depends on your honesty-- have you ever seen any treasure as fine as that which you see before you?"

"M- my lord, the great riches Your Greatness possesses here are many and v- valuable. They are as great as the precious gold of the eastern mountains, the fabled pearls-- Tears of All Oceans, they call them, the great battle sword of Redwall Abbey--"

"What?" He had caught the fox ruler's interest. "A great battle sword?"

"Aye, s-sire, the legendary sword of Martin the Warrior. It is said that it hangs in the great Abbey of Redwall, if such a place exists."

"Tell me more, my prisoner." A look of greed and desire began to spread across his face.

"Well, accordin' to legend, it was forged by one of the ancient Badger Lords of the northern shores, from a rock that came from the sky. Martin the Warrior was said to have been one of the greatest Warriors of all time. Ever since his time, many warlords and rulers have fallen by the hand of he who wields the Sword of Martin."

Raslor was completely entranced by the stories of this legendary sword. "This Redwall Abbey-- where is it located?"

"I was told that the Abbey of Redwall lies in Mossflower country, north of here, at the western edge of Mossflower Wood. It is supposedly a very prosp--"

"Yes, that will be just enough, old one. Guard," he called across the hall, to which a rat guard stuck his head around the door. "Take this prisoner down to the prison level and lock him up." His cruel eyes surveyed the sniveling otter coldly; the otter had expected a reward for his information. "I shall deal with him later; to nobeast shall he tell his tale ever again. Also, summon for me Bloik the ferret, my captain. He is to report to me at once."

Once he was alone again, Raslor let out a laugh-- a greedy laugh-- which rang out around the entire hall. He would have that great battle sword, to be the greatest of his valuable possessions, no matter how great the cost. Nothing escaped his mighty grasp-- it would soon be his!