Chapter 10

Treestone glade was a famous landmark in Mossflower Wood that bordered on the northern pathway; it was named after a strange rock formation at the edge of the glade, which looked very much like a tall pine tree. It was the second morning after the Redwall feast, and a temporary tent shelter had been set up the day before for the delegation meeting. Abbess Avelle, Mother Brilla, Brother Lucas, Skipper of Otters, and Foremole sat under the canvas shade along with Ferrence Silvercoat, Poisonleaf Wolfbane, Shadowfeather, Dangur and Stikle Furgin, and twoscore-and-a-half woodlanders, as well as Friar Gringle, Gardil Cellarhog, and Gringle's assistant Benno.

"Is everybeast here?" Abbess Avelle asked presently.

"Well, almost," said Wolfbane, indicating the spot where Temmlock Trapella, the flattering squirrel, was supposed to have been by then. "... But never mind. Carry on then, as Temm might say." Brother Lucas rolled his eyes.

"Yes, well,... The shall we start? Good. Welcome, woodlanders all. We are most grateful that you chose to come here today, for I believe what we have to say is more for your benefit than ours. First, I take it most of you know the Furgins, Dangur and Stikle, and the foxes Shadowfeather, Mr. Poisonleaf, and Mr. Silvercoat. Those of you who do not, you might be having your doubts about whether or not foxes are trustworthy allies--"

"Aye, marm, y'took th'words right outta my mouth!" called a middle-aged woodvole, accompanied by a few snickers.

"... But I myself can vouch for their loyalty, and bravery, as can many other beasts who are gathered here today," Abbess Avelle finished.

"Well, that's good enough for me, but I still wouldn't wanna be left by myself with th' likes of 'em," came the voice of the same woodvole, once again with some scattered snickers.

The woodvole suddenly found himself staring into the grim eyes of a dark-furred fox-- Wolfbane. "What's your name, vole?" Wolfbane said nearer a low growl.

The vole's spine chilled. "Er, eh, M- Miggon, s- s- sir," he stumbled out nervously.

"May I sit here, Miggon?"

"S- sure, help y'self," the dazed woodvole managed to get out as the fox sat down next to him. He had almost expected the fox to do something treacherous like all foxes do, like knock him out and steal all his belongings, or sell him as a slave, or worse, run him through right then and there. So this came as a slight surprise, as it did many times to whoever met the fox and his family; he wasn't even carrying a weapon!

The Abbess went on: "Now, some of you are aware that there have been vermin abroad in Mossflower Wood as of late. They are no longer here-- they receded westward two days ago, thanks to the Furgins and Mr. Trapella and especially our fox friends here, on the day of our Fall feast. It was there we thought of a possible solution-- our Foremole thought of a solution--" she nodded at the mole leader, "which we have all agreed upon and hope you too will see as a very good idea, and possibly our best--"

"Ah, and there we are! Here's the tent now!" Temmlock Trapella appeared outside on the path, chatting away with Lingen Reguba, another squirrel and a woodmouse. Ignoring the other beasts there, he strode in gaily and plopped himself down next to Wolfbane. "I say Bane, nice mornin' for a daily continental, eh? Hullo, am I late?" he said, noticing for the first time all the faces staring at him.

"Huh, you late? Not for a good 'scoffin' ', you're late," Mother Brilla muttered with her face in her paws. Straightening, she said, "Yes, you're late if you're referring to the meeting, which I doubt, and no if you're referring to the food."

Temmlock beamed. "Ah, good news if I ever did hear it! All that runnin' around yesterday has given me quite an appetite-- at least for a week or so."

Friar Gringle had been uncovering a platter of pasties with the mouse Benno when he heard this. Quickly he covered it back up. "Well you better keep your paws, an' that 'earty appetite o' yourn, 'way from 'ere while I'm 'round, you treacherous scal'wag!" he called across the tent.

Amid laughter following this statement, and the resuming of the business part of the meeting, a young female squirrel behind Wolfbane whispered, "Are they really serious? I mean, do they not like your friend as much as it sounds?"

The fox leaned back and, after looking side to side, whispered, "One thing everybeast learns sooner or later is this: never take anything seriously while Temm's around. I should know-- he's been my closest friend for as long as I can remember!"

The squirrel looked somewhat confused. "So you're saying that not everything they say is what they really actually mean?"

Wolfbane smiled. "Aye, missie, that and lock up th' larders when you see a certain squirrel about!"

Meanwhile Brother Lucas and Abbess Avelle were trying to get Foremole to speak, who had become very bashful all of the sudden. Speaking wasn't one of his strong points when he wasn't around his other moles, and any nerve he had built up to speak here he had lost during Temmlock's entrance. "Go on Foremole, we're all friends; all we want you to do is explain your idea to the good woodlanders here," said Brother Lucas, to which Foremole responded by crinkling up his small, furry face and saying, "Hurr, urr, oi were a-thinkin', 'bowt ee-- 'bowt ee-- ho urr, hurr, bo uuuurrrr, hurrrrr, hurr hurr hurr!" and covering his crinkled face with his digging claws in embarrassment.

After a great deal of fruitless coaxing, it was Skipper of Otters who finally filled in for Foremole and explained the idea of a "forest patrol" to the woodlanders. The response was positive as the woodland animals there nodded their heads to each other, although at the time they did not know each other all that well yet, being woodlanders. One of them, the squirrel who had come with Temmlock and Lingen, stood up to speak; short and simple, it voiced the thoughts of the majority of woodlanders. "Sounds like a good idea. Y'can count me in!" This statement was met by many cheers of agreement.

" 'Sright! 'Slong as there's foebeasts a-comin', we'll be a-fightin'!"

"Y'have my service and sword t'command!"

"Lemme at ee vermints, hurr, oi'll give 'em billyo!"

"Lead on, O mighty-- say, 'oo's in charge?"

The tent became silent. They hadn't thought about this yet. Temmlock, hoping for enthusiasm's sake to keep the tempo of the meeting going, stood up. "That's right! Every good patrol needs a commander. But who..."

Heads turned away to look about for a likely-- any other-- candidate; they obviously did not want this position themselves.

"I don't' know nothin' 'bout commanderin', jus' woodlanderin'."

"Aye, y'can expect me t'fight, aye, an' fight well when th' time comes, but I'm no leader either."

Many of the woodlanders agreed with these statements, and some made more like statements, until Wolfbane's sister, Shadowfeather, leapt up to her feet. "So, y'would give up so easily as this? Of course y'need a commander, but we're not asking every one of you to volunteer! You don't have to know anything different from what you know already, you just have to know how to fight, and how to tell otherbeasts how to fight."

"If'n it's so easy, why don't you do it?" chuckled a young dormouse.

The dormouse was boxed across the ears by Miggon, the same woodvole who had earlier been making jokes at the foxes himself. "Hush yer disrespectin' talk an' show some, er, respect, young 'un!"

"Why don't you take the position, sister?" Wolfbane said, shoving her playfully. "You certainly've never had any problem commanding otherbeasts, as I recall." He laughed, but was cut short as his sister returned the gesture.

"Why don't you take the position, smarty?" she said as she shoved her brother sideways.

" 'Ey, I never said I wanted t'be no commander of no patrol--"

"Say, that's not a bad idea," Temmlock chimed in. "Ol' Wolfbane the Poisonleaf'd be the perfect commander-- big, tough, crafty as a--"

"Hold it, whose side are you on, you backstabbing little fiend?"

Ignoring his friend's jesting insults, Temm turned to the woodlanders. "Whadya' say, eh? Just look at this formidable warrior, will ya'? He can outwit anybeast in the whole o' Mossflower-- and a born leader, too!"

"Born leader? Ha! I don't know anything about being a leader!"

"All in favor of electing Poisonleaf Wolfbane th' fox, an' my personal friend, your very first patrol commander, say aye!"

"Temmlock, I'm not cut out to be any 'patrol commander', an' you know perfectly well--"

"Aye!" came the unanimous vote while Wolfbane ground his teeth and glared at Temmlock, although his attitude was still not unkindly.

"Very well," he said finally, "you want a commander, then you've got one." He turned on his friend. "And for my first order as Commander, I decree that the squirrel Bobbelo Temmlock Trapella, the second of that name, shall chop an ample supply of firewood to last the whole patrol this winter, give up pinching food from the official larders, be put on strict rations of--"

"Sorry, Bane ol' pal, not in your jurisdiction y'know, just an honest peace-lovin' Redwaller!" the squirrel called running off to the other end of the tent where the food was being served, and leaving much laughter in his wake.

.

For such a short notice, Friar Gringle had produced quite a fare for the delegation meeting. He and Benno had set out three kinds of bread, the pasties he had been setting up earlier, leek turnovers, a platter of crisp vegetables, and apples from the orchard, and two fresh pies, alongside tankards and beakers of the best Gardil Cellarhog could offer from her cellars. The woodlanders and Abbey leaders lined up at the tables set up, headed of course by Temmlock the squirrel. "Make way for the Commander!" shouted a voice near the end of the line, however.

"What's that? The Commander? What for?" Temmlock turned.

"Our new Commander should get first choice o' th' vittles," said the voice again, which was Wolfbane's new friend Miggon the woodvole. "Ain't that right, fellow patrol beasts?"

"Oh, aye, Commanders first!"

"Leaders before commoners, I always say!"

Before he could lodge any kind of complaint Temmlock found himself being lifted up comically and placed none too gently outside the tent, with much theatrics on Commander Wolfbane's part. "They are right, y'know," the fox winked, "bein' just a common Abbeydweller puts you in lower rank than a Patrol Commander."

The squirrel stammered, dumbfounded. "But- I was- that was my- but- but--"

The fox silenced him with a wave of his paw. "Don't worry, don't worry, you'll still get your vittles- and to show you what a sport I am, the first plate shall go to the best friend of the Commander of the newly-formed Mossflower Forest Patrol." Making for the tables, Wolfbane noticed Temmlock following close behind, heading straight for the food that had been laid out. Catching a glance from the Redwall Friar, he stopped suddenly. "Eh, but I'm afraid you'll have to stay right here while I take a moment t' fill your plate for you. I still get first choice, after all, no matter if it's for me or not. Besides, I'm not all too sure ol' Ovenspikes here trusts you around his culinary territory for some reason!"

.

Longtooth the horde captain was not having things very easy. First he had taken more than his share of blame for the defeat in Mossflower Wood, and now he was being forced to do the common work of foraging, upon penalty of death, no doubt. Such was the life of vermin.

The burly horderat, sporting an unusually long curving fang across his lip as a trademark, sighted out the riverbank down the wooded horizon. Hordebeasts under his command foraged along it and the nearby foliage for anything form the odd fish to edible herbs and plants nearby. It was dreary work even for twoscore scavengers, for they had been sent to supply an entire horde of several hundred vermin. Food was scarce already, but such was the life of vermin.

.

It was well into the day when Longtooth had called the twoscore foraging party back downriver, or nearly all. Miles away eastward a handful of vermin, like unheeding Dibbuns had wandered off far out of earshot. They were mostly rats, but for a stoat who had appointed himself leader of their "expedition", whose only true ambition was to get as far away from Krigg's camp as possible and bolt for it. This he kept to himself, of course. "Stabear!" he called to a rat who had gone ahead among the trees. "Stabear me cully, wot's that y'got there eh?"

"Looks like a sort o' clearing," the rat called back, pointing. "Wot d'ye think of it?"

"Let's 'ave a look, eh mates?" he responded heartily, still wanting to humor the rats for the moment; this might prove interesting and-- profitable-- anyway. Upon close examination it turned out to be a kind of temporary campsite. From his vantage point he could easily pick out cloaked figures sitting in a circle-- unwary travelers, obviously: the best kind of prey. Drawing his hefty saber he signaled to the rest of the company, who broke through the shrubbery behind him, the scent of plunder fresh in their nostrils. "C'mon mates, chaaarge! Take no prisoners, an' th' booty's fair game for all!"

Before they had laid blade to the travelers, who had strangely remained unroused, suddenly the lead stoat's call was cut short with a sharp gasp, and he fell forward with an arrow buried in the side of his neck. The others stopped dead in their tracks, figuratively, taken completely off guard. It was not until another had fallen next to the first with a sigh and a thud that the remaining rats split and ran. Two more were felled with the same silent shafts before they were out of range, well aware of their peril now. A husky treble voice rang out in the trees. "Ahahahahahaha! Cut an' run, ye cowardly vermin whilst ye can! Th'art next, bear in they crooked minds! Alayna hast spoken!" Before the voice had finished the vermin, heedless of direction, scattered both ways along the river's course. Scarce had they left when a large full-grown ottermaid bounded through the camp, disheveling the cloaked sacks set in the middle, the so-called campers. " 'Tis the oldest ploy known t'vermin, huh, now turned against the scum. Jumped into it like a cat to a river full o' pike, they did!" She turned downstream, where most of the rats were out of sight, and loosed a shaft at the back of a straggler. "They'll head right back for their little vermin camp, t'be sure. 'Tis these others who'll be great sport for my bow. Keep running, ye vermin, but know that death followeth in the wind!" With that she turned in pursuit of those who had been unwittedly cut off from the way to their camp, heading eastward at a loping gallop with the exhilaration of the hunt burning deep in her eyes.

.

Before long Redwallers and woodlanders alike were served and seated comfortably-- on the ground, no less-- and chatting away with complete strangers, which most were, like they were lifelong friends. Friar Gringle lounged in his favorite wooden chair which he had insisted on bringing, eyeing his young mouse assistant, who stood before him wringing his paws. "Well, wot is it, young Benno? Y'look like a wee weaselbabe 'oo's been caught a-stealin' eggs. Go on, whad'ya want, eh?"

"Well, Friar Gringle, sir, could I have something too? To eat, I mean. Something to eat?"

"Of course, that's what it's there for. I already 'ad a bit o' somethin' afore we left th'Abbey. Go on, ye young 'un, be off with ye an' enjoy y'self!" The kindly hedgehog Friar shooed off the young mouse with his dockleaf, commenting as he left, "Ah well, 'ee's a good young 'un, Gardil me cousin. 'Ee'll turn out th' next Friar, y'wait an' see-- ain't much 'ope f'young Leslie, I'm afraid, but Benno there shows some real promise; jus' needs a bit o' encouragement, s'all. Mark m'words!"

After serving himself a heaping platter of anything he could lay his paws on and being shooed off by Mother Brilla, who called him a "thieving young rip" and told him to be off with him, Benno was soon hitting it off well with the only other mouse near his age there, the woodmouse who had come with Temmlock, Lingen, and another squirrel.

" 'Allo," he said after he sat down.

" 'Allo," the other mouse replied with a mouthful of turnover in his mouth. "My name's Maxillo-- Maxillo Fernwood."

"And I'm Benno-- eh, just plain Benno, though. Where are you from, Maxillo? Mossflower Wood?"

"Southsward," he answered simply.

"Hmm, Southsward, Southsward... it sounds familiar enough. Where is it located?"

"To the south, I'd say," Maxillo joked.

Benno laughed. "I expected as much. But where south? What is Southsward?"

"You mean to tell me you don't know?" he asked, surprised. "Southsward is the great squirrel kingdom, from beyond the Great South Stream to the woods south of Castle Floret. Castle Floret was the home of the royal family, served by their otter guard. If I recall correctly from my records-- the records of the great Scholar Egbert, of which were saved a few old volumes, although I was still very young then-- the royal family can be traced all the way back to Gael Squirrelking, the ancient king who lived during Egbert's time, when the first records of Redwallers in Southsward can be found--"

"Redwallers in Southsward?" Benno couldn't help but interreupt Maxillo's run-on sentence.

"Of course," he said matter-of-factly. In a very short while Benno had begun to notice some uncanny similarities between Maxillo's manner and that of Leslie the kitchen mouse-- he was starting to envy her knowledge of Redwall history, which was one thing he had never paid much attention to. Maxillo continued. "It was Questors from Mossflower, from Redwall Abbey itself. Let me see-- there was Dandin, and Mariel, and her father Joseph, the Bellmaker, and Rufe Brush the squirrel, and Durry Quill, Hon Rosie the hare, and one they called the 'Foremole'."

Benno gave a low whistle. Leslie would sure have met her match here! "Yes, go on," he said. "What else of Southsward then? What else is there? Are you from that Castle Whatsit, or somwhere else in Southsward?"

In answer Maxillo said merely two words: "Fern Hollow." Without hearing anything else but the mere name, Benno felt as if he had already been there times over. He did not have to wait long to hear about it though. "Fern Hollow," Maxillo repeated with a faraway look in his eyes as if he were gazing at something Benno could not yet see. "Fern Hollow was my home-- I was born there, and I lived all my life there, up until-- that is, until we came here. It was north of Castle Floret, and the home of the peaceful woodland beasts of Southsward, who founded it long ago. To be back home, where the rain trickles down from the eaves of the great oaks, and the warm sun beams softly on your back from above the treetops, and the autumn leaves shower the world in a blanket of color you can roll yourself up in, and in the winter when all is covered in a down of snow and all the trees turn white like a dove, and spending the winter in the great underground hall under the Hollow itself with good cheer and friends upon friends gathered together in merriness, as if it would never come to an--"

He stopped suddenly, leaving Benno looking in rapt expectation. All that was around them had faded away, giving way to far away places and splendorous woods with happy creatures telling stories around the fire about such as these. Had he seen it with Maxillo's eyes he would have also seen a small mousebabe, wrapped snugly in a shawl, and looking up at his father's merry eyes as they sang a song of their home,

O'er wint'ry halls
And sleeping glades
Come, my child,
Fern Hollow waits.

.

The spell was suddenly broken, bringing them back to Mossflower Wood and Treestone Glade and the woodlanders and Redwallers there, with the sound of a husky voice far, far away, but coming steadily nearer. "I say, eh, again, don't you agree, Maxillo?"

Maxillo looked up to see his squirrelfriend whom had come with him with Temmlock and Lingen. "Oh, um-- yes, Otta," he heard himself say, as if subconsciously he had remembered the question. The squirrel had been discussing different diversionary tactics with Temmlock Trapella and Poisonleaf Wolfbane.

"I say, pardon me," the squirrel said suddenly, "where's my manners? Wolfbane, this is my good friend and traveling companion Maxillo Fernwood."

"On behalf of the goodbeasts of Mossflower country, let me welcome you both," Wolfbane nodded as they shook paws. "Strangers are always welcome, so long as their intentions are peaceful."

"Thank you, sir. We grew up together-- you might say we're somewhat inseperable, squirrel and mouse. As a matter of fact, I was just telling Benno here all about our old home-- oh wait-- Benno, meet the best friend I have in the world."

Benno shook paws with the sturdy red squirrel. "Ottakar the Archer of Southsward, at your service."

"Benno of Redwall-- pleased, I'm sure. Are you from-- Fern Hollow-- too?"

"Oh, Otta?" Maxillo laughed. "You could say so, but he wasn't born there. His parents lived in--"

"I think that's enough getting acquainted, don't you Maxillo?" Ottakar cut in. "Why don't we see what Temmlock's up to over there?" The irrepressible Redwal squirrel had wandered back to the food for what he called "secondies".

"I say, what's left on the ol' menu for a poor hungry squirrel, eh?" This question was met stone-faced by Mother Brilla, arms crossed, who apparently saw it as her duty to guard Gringle and Gardil's fare. "Brilla ol' gel, y'wouldn't stand in the way of a chap's tucker?"

The Badger Mother stood in front of him, unmoved. "You know I wouldn't, Bobbelo Temmlock, but you also know many beasts have hardly yet had half your first generous helping of 'tucker'. I'm merely making sure there's some left for some o' those young 'uns afore you come an' fill your belly-- unless I have to ask Mr. Poisonleaf to make you see reason?"

"Mr. Poisonleaf" caught on quickly enough. "C'mon, Temm, see reason eh?" he winked. "Y'don't want me t'have to carry you back outta the tent again, do ya'?" It was then that the squirrel gave the worst possible retort.

"You wouldn't dare!"

The next moment Temmlock found himself sitting squarely down outside in the grass. Springing up, he stomped up to Wolfbane, where several woodlanders were already having fits of laughter at their interplay. "I bet y'wouldn't do that again!" he said defiantly.

Plonk! Temmlock was sitting outside again. "That does it, it's your turn! Help me out mates!" the squirrel called, going straight back in again.

While the others watched and laughed the larger woodlanders, including Ottakar the Archer, Dangur Furgin, and Miggon, helped hoist an enormous wriggling fox, who yelled his protest. " 'Ey, I say, this isn't funny! I'm your Commander, remember? It's mutiny, I say, mutiny! You'll never get away with it! Put me down!" This, of course, was a mistake, because they had just reached the northern path that led past Treestone Glade.

"You 'eard 'im mates, put 'im down!" Temmlock called. "He's th' boss!" Trying to drop a large, heavy fox however, proved a lot harder than it had been to pick him up. Struggling and grunting, the group tried in vain not to be pulled down with the fox, but soon collapsed into a heap of panting fur, laughing all the while. From his position on top of three other woodlanders, Wolfbane rolled over onto his back and lay on the path, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

Some of the more alert beasts twitched suddenly. All became silent. They listened tensely to the woods about them, suddenly aware of a disturbance nearby. All of the sudden a rat came thundering through the woods on the other side of the path, running wildly and looking over his shoulder. He was followed by another of his kind, who hardly made it out of the thicket before he fell forward with a cry, transfixed by a strange red-fletched arrow. Wolfbane, who was closest, reached out and grabbed the other rat in mid-flight. "What's going on? What are you running from?" he asked the wide-eyes, shaking rat, trying to get his attention.

"Run, mate, run shile ye still can!" the hysterical rat cried at the black fox, confusing him for one of the horde. "It's comin', after us, kill us all! Ambushed us it did, arrows an'--" He stopped sharply as the whiz of an arrow hit the air, and he fell suddenly forward into Wolfbane's arms, a look of confused agony frozen on his face. The rat dropped limply to the ground, stuck with an arrow in his back.

Wolfbane stood, bewildered, staring at the rat when a voice echoed out of the forest. "Such is th' wrath of Alayna the otter on vermin!" The sound still echoed in the trees as out strode a cinnamon-red female otter with a longbow, nearly as long as she, strapped over her shoulder. She stopped at the fallen rat at the edge of the path, stooping over the pull her red shaft from its back. "Hmm, looks like I c'n use it again. Yon vermin's back di'n't 'arm it much," she commented to herself coldly, inspecting the shaft's length with one eyes closed.

Wolfbane broke. "Have you no mercy, otter?" he said, ashen-faced. The otter looked up and was startled to see who was addressing her.

"Hmph, a fox," she mused. "An' what would vermin knoweth about mercy?"

"I was talking to him! Don't' you understand? I was talking to him-- I was-- I was--" His voice cracked.

"Thou dost not understand too well, fox. Many seasons ago vermin killed my family in a rockslide. I wast the only survivor."

"Were these the vermin?" Wolfbane asked, pointing to the two rats.

"What dost it matter? They are vermin! Surely thou of all beasts should understandeth that, fox." Turning with dismissal for the dark fox, the otter addressed the woodlanders on the path. "I shalt not take more of thy time, friends. I'd advise thee to keep an eye on yon vermin, though-- shan't be trusted." She turned back to Wolfbane curtly. "If thou dost not mind, fox, yon arrow belongeth to me."

Quivering with rage, the fox yanked the arrow out of the rat's carcass, holding it a few seconds, then broke it and threw it at her feet. "There, take your arrow and go!"

Alayna the otter stood wordlessly, staring at him with hatred in her burning eyes. "If thou were not their prisoner," she said slowly, "thou wouldst be dead where thou standeth."

"He's not our prisoner!" blurted Miggon. "That's our Commander you're talkin' to!"

Alayna eyed the woodvole coldly. "Is he now. Well then, I shalt leave thee to thy fox friend and trouble thee no more." With that she turned and disappeared into the forest, longbow, crimson shafts and all. Temmlock looked at his friend, still standing on the path, staring where she had left.

"I say, should we be getting back t' the tent now, Bane?" he asked warily. Wolfbane turned, his primeval canine roots smouldering in his eyes like two red coals. Temmlock gasped inwardly, taken aback by the sudden change. His limbs shaking, Wolfbane stalked back to the tent, almost mechanically. A few stayed behind to bury the two rats, vermin though they were, while the others followed the fox silently to the tent. The entire glade, and the beasts in it, seemed to be affected somehow.

"This storm ain't rained itself out yet," thought Temmlock to himself, "not if I know Poisonleaf Wolfbane it ain't."