41. The Mountain.
The cold and clear weather held until the exhausted band of travelers were within a day's march of Salamandastron. Everybeast could see the great flat-top bulk gradually growing on the horizon as they approached it.
Salamandastron, the place of legends to some and the place of horrors to others… The vermin mostly heard about the ancient Fire Mountain from Rowanbloom's tales, else they would hardly be willing to go anywhere near it in the first place. Smalltooth did remember that when the time was ripe for scary tales on dark winter evenings, Amber sometimes told about the Ghost Mountain of the Western Coast, but he was too little at the time to keep much of it in his memory.
In ages past there was some distance between the mountain and the shoreline but with endless cycles of seasons sea rose, eating away sandy beaches, licking at the rocky spurs of the great mountain, and forming a sizeable bay in the lap between them. The mountain itself still stood as tall as ever, defying all storms. Heat spreading from the deep core of the sleeping volcano kept it warm even in winters as merciless as this one. Terrace fields, cultivated on the lower slopes; numerous farmers and fishers settling in the protective shadow of the mighty stronghold; and generous gifts from the shore tribes of squirrels, shrews and otters kept its inhabitants well-supplied with food. And while the Long Patrol itself was perhaps not at the all-time pinnacle of its strength, it remained formidable, with nearly two hundred hares on active duty and five times that number of cadets, dismissed veterans, family members and simply workers, who could be expected to pick up arms if the Mountain were to come under direct attack. Led by the experienced badger lady, it was a force to be reckoned with.
The friendlier half of the Gallopers were eager to brag about all that. Still, not everybeast was glad to see its silhouette on the horizon. The four vermin's trepidation was obvious.
The hares never returned them their weapons even after an attempt at a forced march had failed miserably on the first day and it became clear that being caught by the Axehound otters was quite likely. At least Aldwin did not command to bind his de-facto prisoners – unarmed and in an unfamiliar land, with no hope of overpowering the eight hares bare-pawed, even the rest of the woodlanders were to stand by idly, their options boiled down to sticking with the company or dying in the snow desert. They didn't really hide that only something as dire as the latter could force them to bear with the former now.
The rest of the wanderers from Ergaph weren't exactly in high spirits either. Flicker disappeared without a trace and that made everybeast even more nervous. Selvathy barely talked and glared hatefully in Suran's direction. Ewalt was not an outgoing type even in the best of times and now he displayed nothing but a facade of grim stoicism. And Rowanbloom was on the edge of despair, seeing the tentative companionship of earlier all but destroyed.
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The northern approach to Salamandastron was devoid of beasts and shelter for suffering travelers: it was a barren dune country right up to the slopes of the Fire Mountain. Aldwin and the rest of the group rued that fact when on the last day of their travel the weather turned foul enough to match their moods. Clouds and freezing mist blanketed the earth, making beasts unable to see farther than a few steps, and snow fell from the skies in large flakes. It was not that thick, not enough to make walking truly difficult. No, the worst thing of all on this day was the cold that only seemed to get worse. Every breath was like applying an iced grater to nose or throat. Honestly, Aldwin would have tried to sit through weather this ugly in the camp, if not for the thing that made the cold doubly biting: hunger.
The company had no time to forage when pursuit was still expected, and a few woodlanders encountered on the way needed their food for themselves to survive the winter. Aldwin had to cut rations a week ago, and by this morning they only had half a small hardtack per mouth, enough to quell protesting stomachs a bit before the final leg of the journey, not nearly enough to restore vigor.
Rowanbloom was no stranger to hunger. All the fat she gained on the Redwall fare was long gone. But she had never gone hungry at the end of an exhausting march, in such Hellgates-spawned cold. After what seemed a couple of hours she could think of nothing besides how nice it would be to sit next to a warm fireplace in her old Redwall room, eating strawberry pies, or maybe apple puddings, or maybe meadowcream cakes, or even simple honeyed chestnuts. After what seemed a couple of hours more, she could no longer think coherently of anything, except of cold, hunger and making another step forward. Her whole body felt like a lump of wet, heavy, cold snow.
"You're dragging your paws." It took Rowanbloom several seconds to comprehend that a beast was addressing her and that beast was Ewalt.
"Don't worry." She somehow found enough energy to wipe frozen snot from under her nose and smile painfully, even to raise her bushy tail that dragged across the snowy ground like a dirty rag. "I'll manage."
"Said a minnow before ending up in a pot. Here, take this."
Rowanbloom's mouth suddenly watered when she saw Ewalt producing half a hardtack, in all likelihood his portion from today's poor imitation of a breakfast. But she shook her head. "I said, I'll manage. And how can I leave you going on not a single crumb?"
"It won't be the first time I went without food for days, and I managed. I'm not a beast to starve myself out of strength." But seeing the squirrel's stubborn expression Ewalt sighed and snapped the tiny morsel in two. "Take this at least. Let's eat together."
It took all of Rowanbloom's willpower to take her half neatly and chew through it methodically, instead of snatching and swallowing in one bite. It shouldn't have helped much, but somehow her footpaws got lighter. Maybe it was the thought behind Ewalt's gift that mattered. Or maybe she just really didn't want it to be wasted.
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Rowanbloom was not the only beast who felt terribly drained. Even before this day Smalltooth sometimes wished to not wake up in the morning. His footpaws were sore and frozen, moving like wooden stilts; his belly rarely felt so empty as now; and his thin bag seemed heavier with each minute. Just one thing prevented the ermine from whining about the pace or asking one of the soft-hearted woodlanders for help. Smalltooth knew that even if he weren't such a coward, he still would be pretty much worthless – no good at tracking or foraging, hopeless at fighting, not really cunning or witty. All he had was decent memory. But even he could do something as simple as keeping the pace with his warlady! So he did, never letting Kethra's back out of sight in the icy murk.
Kethra, as usual, walked side by side with Suran. But this day was just too cold and oppressive for their usual banter, and silence, in turn, added to the gloom.
"I wonder if that badger ruler sends us back to our Axehound friends whole, or just our heads," said Suran finally, after a large black rock suddenly materialized from the mist and reminded him about their destination.
Kethra tried to say something, but only coughing came out at first. "Agh… I hope heads. Bloody tired of walking this thrice-cursed wasteland."
Both of the warriors laughed or at least tried to. It was not their best attempt.
Has Smalltooth any strength for it, he would have laughed too – but at himself. "And why, again, am I trying so hard? Did I think by accident that something good might wait ahead?"
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The vermin were not the only ones who approached Salamandastron without much pleasure.
The wound on Private Sovna's paw healed well, promising to leave no scar visible under the fur, and that was about the only good thing she could think of. Sovna was not really on talking terms with anybeast after Greeves died, but she was pretty sure that the rest of the hares saw her as a complete joke, good only at screwing up in fights and scrubbing pots. The captain did not even allow her to stand nightly watches except when he was on the watch duty himself. She wondered what humiliating nicknames she would be called after returning to Salamandastron. Sovna the Foxbait, maybe?
Physically Sovna was nowhere near as exhausted as Rowanbloom or Smaltooth, but with thoughts like these no wonder she dragged her paws.
"Get your chin up and step brisker, Private." Sovna didn't hear Lieutenant Bascinette, who was supposed to walk at the rear of their small force, approaching. Or was it she who started to drop behind? "One last blinkin' dash and we'll finally be comin' marchin' home."
Something in the way Sovna straightened and clenched her jaws told the lieutenant that she was not entirely enjoying the homecoming. Bascinette's voice was wheezy and hoarse, far cry from its usual melodic tone, and talking at length must have been painful to her in this throat-biting cold, but she continued. "Imagine the faces of all the cadets who laughed at a wet-nosed farmer's daughter tryin' to become a Patroller, wot. They won't be blinkin' laughin' now, when ye're a real jolly warrior and a Galloper to boot."
"Yeah, what a jolly warrior I am!" answered Sovna bitterly before thinking.
Bascinette shrugged. "Ye marched with us and your footpaws didn't fell off, ye fought with us and didn't die, all that makes ye a warrior. If ye stop actin' as if one of us burned yer house, bedded yer mother and stole yer winter stores, we might even call ye a comrade."
Sovna jerked away and turned to Bascinette, face twisted in a silent snarl. For a brief moment the lieutenant thought that her comment not only struck a chord but accidentally snapped it. Then the younger female got a hold on herself.
"Thank you, Lieutenant," she answered in a wooden voice that suggested anything but what the words were supposed to express and started walking again. Just then a multitude of voices, loud but muffled by fog, reached them right from the direction in which they were heading.
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"Captain Aldwin. I'm glad to see you safe an' sound."
Aldwin was not wholly certain about that. However, one did not voice such doubts openly before a commanding officer. "I'm rather glad to see myself safe and sound too. Greetings, Brigadier Greyfield."
Brigadier Ewin Greyfield, the hare in command of the Long Patrol, looked down on Aldwin. Standing above on the shallow slope helped a little bit, but the brigadier could look down on nearly all beasts normally. He was an exceptionally tall, hard-faced hare, who always kept a posture as straight as if he swallowed a spear. About a dozen of Patroller hares clad in metal from ears to knees under their thick red cloaks arrayed themselves behind and to the sides of him.
"Figures," thought Aldwin. "At least when you command something blinking pointless, like sending out a patrol in this weather, you lead by example."
Meanwhile beasts who trailed behind Aldwin one by one were appearing from the mist, and a certain thing became obvious to Brigadier Greyfield, as well as to his hares. On the latter it had an almost magical effect, dispelling their obvious weariness in an instant; a few reached for hilts of their swords or started lowering pikes, but then stopped, unsure why Aldwin and his hares do not react to vermin in their midst. Greyfield did not bat an eye. "I'd like an explanation for unbound vermin right behind your back, Captain."
"It's mightily complicated and I'd prefer to tell it in a warm hall and with a cup of ale in my paw, Brigadier." Aldwin shrugged. "The long story short, the company me and my chaps were sent to find happened to be bally well strange. But orders are orders, and I'm still bringin' them to Salamandastron, sah."
Greyfield looked at Aldwin and his reluctant companions with the faint disdain of a well-mannered gentlebeast spotting a fly on his neat dinner table. "Please don't tell me you mean to admit vermin creatures within the hallowed halls of Salamandastron, wot?"
The captain seethed inwardly. After all that happened this winter Greyfield's obstinacy made him much angrier than it should have.
"Well, as a matter of jolly fact I do, old chap." Aldwin shrugged, speaking as nonchalantly as he could. "Are you afraid that just four vermin with not a flippin' weapon between them will tear down Salamandastron, wot? Then let everythin' be on my head, I'll answer for whatever they might do."
It was the wrong thing to say. Aldwin could tell that before he finished saying it. Creases of suppressed anger on Greyfield's face were obvious.
"Bringing vermin to our Mountain is the height of folly, unless they're safely in chains, Captain. Surrender those prisoners to me, an' I'll …"
"Oh, so we're bloody prisoners ought to wear chains now?" Kethra heard most of the conversation and no longer was able to keep her mouth shut. At least until Greyfield's harsh gaze shifted to her.
"So they were not? I believe you're owing a serious explanation, Captain Aldwin Nightfur."
"That Aldwin does." A great silhouette stepped out from the white-grey soup, every bit as tall as Greyfield, even counting the latter's long ears, and way more massive. Greyfield's hares backed away and to the sides as she stepped forward.
Lady Violet Wildstripe was an awesome sight, even when wearing a simple long winter coat, and now, in the gloom, with tendrils of fog swirling around her, she looked ominous too, an immense and otherworldly figure from old scary tales. Even the hearts of woodlanders skipped a beat, and for a moment all the vermin found themselves unable to breathe as fear beyond normal fears froze their blood more solidly than the weather could.
Then the badger spoke again and the spell of terror was gone. "But he acted on my orders and his report should be to me."
"Forgive me, my Lady." Aldwin bowed his head and swiftly continued before Greyfield could say anything. "I've found the beasts you sent me for. Here they are, not your usual bunch, as you see, yet bally well fittin' your words. But that's not all. I..."
He hesitated very slightly, and Violet finished the phrase for him. "...have terrible news?"
She sighed, when he only bowed deeper in response, and pulled back her cowl to take a better look at the beasts standing behind Aldwin. Now she no longer looked like a creature who stepped right out of a scary legend to domineer over mere mortals, but a living, breathing beast, just one of uncommon size. And of uncommon beauty too, stately like a tall beech tree and fair-faced, marked even among badgers by herjagged cream muzzlestripe and clouded violet eyes.
"Excuse my rashness, Milady Violet, but this "unusual bunch" is full of vermin." Greyfield hastened to make his own comment. "Would bringing 'em to the Mountain be wise and proper, wot?"
"This is for me to decide." Violet looked over the newcomers again, paying particular attention to the vermin creatures. Chances to observing living and breathing vermin this close were less than common, and usually those vermin were prisoners of the Long Patrol scared out of their wits. The faces of those four also were showing fear, but not only fear: the aging weasel looked worn-out yet determined; the ermine remained awestruck; the big ferret assumed a defiant posture, paws crossed on her chest; and the evil-looking one-eared fox tried to look unconcerned, but Violet could see that his eyes follow every twitch of hers. The woodlanders also were a strange bunch, besides the fact that they apparently travelled with vermin – the otter, scarred and dull-eyed; the squirrel, handsome but barely standing now; the exceedingly dangerous-looking mouse; all three were much younger than they seemed at the first glance. But however unusual this company seemed, the badger lady could not smell duplicity in them. Either they were such amazing liars that every one of them smoothly faked a different reaction, or they indeed were the beasts in search of Salamandastron, whom her vision foretold.
"I am Violet Wildstripe," she addressed them, "the Badger Ruler of Salamandastron, the Guardian of the Western Shore, and the Commander-in-Chief of the Long Patrol. If fate brought you to my mountain, let us share roof and bread."