The world of Redwall is copyright to Brian Jacques. This is a fanwork in honour of his astounding series, and is making no profit for the author.
Wow, some glowing reviews from you guys! I'm glad you are enjoying so much! This chapter I'm not too impressed with. Keep in mind that, as I write this story (and there's a fair bit of it, you'll see) I may go back and edit some of the earlier chapters. But I always say that. Anywho. Cloudedhorizon: Thank you, I'm glad you are enjoying so far! And I'm glad you like Bryn. And I'm also glad you liked the fight scene. There'll be a few more of those somewhere along the line. Saber-otter: Thank you for the compliment on my writing style, and I'm also pleased that I've managed to grab your attention. I do hope you'll stay to the end of this story, because there are going to be some interesting twists and plotlines running throughout. All my other reviewers: Thank you for reading and commenting! On with the story!
Skipper came in through the open front gate with a russet-furred fox draped over his shoulders, Finear and Ruddertail flanking him as he entered the abbey grounds. The gates swung closed, thudding heavily into position. The otter grunted as he walked quickly towards the main building. Abbess Sorrell opened the doors that lead to the main hall. She gasped as the otter leader passed her carrying the bleeding fox.
"What happened to this poor creature?" she asked.
Finear grunted. "Young Swiftstream was right when 'e said weasels were chasin' somebeast," he said. "'E just didn't know they were after a fox! We hit 'em with sling stones afore they could slay the fox, but they wounded 'im pretty bad."
Bella appeared, making her way past the tables that still lay laden with food. "I moved everyone to Cavern Hole," the badger said, before catching sight of the fox. A growl rose in the old badger's throat. "Vermin!"
Sorrel shot the badger a glare. "Bella, this is the one that was being chased by the weasels. Help Skipper get him to the infirmary, please."
Bella lifted the unconscious creature off the large otter's shoulders, and, holding the fox gently in her massive paws, nearly dashed across the hall and up the stairs leading to the infirmary, Skipper in tow. Abbess Sorrell looked across the great hall at the dark, crimson trail that led back to the doors. She shuddered.
"Ruddertail, Finear, could you please clean up that…ah, mess?" she asked, blanching slightly.
Ruddertail nodded to Finear, before hurrying off to get some cleaning equipment. Finear took the Abbess by the paw. "Come on now, marm, best not hang about in 'ere, eh? Let's get up to the infirmary, Bella and Skip should 'ave the fox there now."
The Abbess nodded as she allowed the otter to lead her up the stairs.
"Good grief!" Brother Geoffrey exclaimed as Bella and Skipper entered the infirmary. "What happened to this fox? Get him onto that empty bed, please, quickly now!" The badger obeyed swiftly, laying the injured fox down on the white sheets. Patches of crimson immediately began to spread out across the clean linen. "Oh dear, oh dear," the mouse muttered as he opened a cupboard. He pulled out bottles of green and blue liquids, sprigs of herbs and plants, and finally a pestle and mortar. "Bella, grab some bandages from the lower left cabinet. Skipper, put some thyme, wormwort, and extract of marsh-root into that mortar please. Yes, the green bottle! Now mix them, quickly! We haven't much time!" The blood-stained otter did as he was told as the infirmary keeper bent over the fox, pressing a damp cloth to the large hole in the creature's shoulder.
"I never knew a beast could hold so much blood," Skipper muttered to himself as he worked, shaking his head. "How is 'e still alive?"
"Quiet, please, Skipper!" Geoffrey said. "Is the mixture ready?" The otter nodded, passing the mouse the mortar that held the think mixture. "Good. Bella, the bandage, if you please? Yes, thank you." The Brother worked quickly, gently applying the poultice to the shoulder, before repeating the process on the injured leg. Geoffrey sat back, wiping his brow. "We were lucky that wound in his shoulder didn't shatter the bone," he said, dabbing at his brow with a 'kerchief.
The Abbess and Finear appeared in the doorway. Finear gently led the small mouse into the room as Bella and Skipper moved aside. "How is he?" she asked.
Geoffrey shook his head. "By rights, he should be dead; he's lost a lot of blood. I've stopped any further bleeding, and hopefully the poultice will prevent infection." The old mouse turned to look at the silent fox, lying pitifully on the now stained bed. "Now all we can do is wait."
Skipper looked at his paws, shuddering. "If you'll excuse me, I feel the need fer a bathe in the pond," he muttered, quickly exiting the room.
Sorrell moved to the side of the fox's bed. "Is there nothing else you can do, Geoffrey?" she asked the healer mouse.
Brother Geoffrey looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully, before crossing over to the cupboard. "I think some fluids may help him recover from loss of blood. Now, where did I put that mint flavoured spring water?" the mouse muttered to himself as he rummaged through the shelves.
Sorrell placed a paw upon the fox's. The Abbess' eyes looked at the wounded creature's shut lids. "Why were they after you?" she asked quietly.
The fox remained silent.
Outside the great walls of Redwall Abbey, a slumped form groaned as it awoke. Stripfang opened his eyes. He sat up, rubbing at the large lump on his head. Standing, he glanced about, trying to ignore the throbbing headache that had lodged itself inside his head.
"Gah, me achin' noggin'!" he muttered. Stepping over to the silent body of another weasel, Stripfang nudged the form with his foot, and was rewarded with a moan. "Git up," Stripfang growled.
Tailbite moaned as he sat up, his paw touching gingerly at a great red weal on his neck. "Urgh, what happened?"
Stripfang grabbed his comrade by the arm, hauling him upright. "I dunno, mate. I remember we was fightin' the fox, then I 'ad a pain in me head and everythin' went black."
"Aye, that's what I remember too," Tailbite said. "Ha, but at least we found our target, eh?" He looked around. "Er….where is 'e?"
Stripfang also cast about, searching for the creature they had fought less than an hour ago. "I dunno, mate, 'e's gone! Ole Gripjaws ain't gonna like this…" He was interrupted by a sharp squeal from his friend. "'Ey, what's up with you?"
Tailbite hopped about on one paw, clutching at the other. "Summin' struck me paw!"
Something struck the ground, kicking up dust as it skimmed across the grass and stopped next to Stripfang. He bent, picking up a small, smooth object. "'Tis a pebble," he said in confusion.
Both weasels turned their heads, looking up at the high, red-brick walls. A lone otter stood at the top of the battlements, whirling a loaded sling. "You two can clear off!" Swiftstream shouted down at them, ready to loose off his missile.
Tailbite was about to hurl an insult at the young otter, when Stripfang grasped his shoulder, shaking his head. "No, mate, leave 'im. We gotta report back to the boss anyhow, 'e'll want ter hear about this." Tailbite threw a final, withering look at the otter, before the two weasels ran off into the trees.
Swiftstream grunted, satisfied that the vermin had left. He stopped whirling his sling, putting the pebble back into the pouch attached to his belt. The young otter walked down the steps, and walked quickly across the Abbey lawns. Bypassing the orchard, Swiftstream made his way towards the Abbey pond. As he drew near, he could see the quiet bulk of Skipper, sat on the bank and watching the cool waters intently. The young otter sat next to the older figure.
"I kept watch on the weasels, just as you asked," he said quietly.
Skipper turned his head slightly. "Good lad. They left, then?"
"Aye, after I sent 'em a couple of partin' gifts," the young otter chuckled, fingering the sling on his belt.
Skipper smiled. "Ha, I'll bet they were none too happy, eh?" The older otter sighed, his gaze shifting back to the pond. The light from the sun glittered on the cool water, shimmering and rippling as the fat trout broke the surface, half-heartedly trying to catch a passing dragonfly.
"What's wrong, Skip?" Swiftstream asked.
"I dunno, lad," Skipper replied, squinting his eyes. "There's somethin' goin' on here. Why were two weasels chasin' after a fox?"
"Maybe he took somethin' from 'em?" the young otter offered.
Skipper shook his head. "I doubt it, unless the sword he was carryin' belonged to them vermin, and that's not likely by the looks of it. No, there's somethin' else they were after, but I can't for the life of me think of what it is." The otter turned to Swiftstream. "Get a couple of the lads up on the walls on watch. I have a feelin' those weasels will be back."
As Swiftstream ran off to follow Skipper's orders, the older otter once again turned his attention to the Abbey pond.
"Aye, they'll be back," he muttered. "I can feel it." Skipper shuddered as a sense of the darkness to come spread over him.