44. Thoughts and Conflicts.

The whole host of jerbilrats gathered on the precipice of the great rift to hear Belk's words – about eighty able-bodied adults, half as many children, old ones, and cripples. They knew that their savior intended to tell them something important, so they tried to look their best, a rather sad effort, considering that their adornments were made from whatever pieces of bone and stone they could scavenge in the desert, and not even chieftains owned clothes beyond their everyday grass cloaks. However, the jerbilrats did what they could: cleaned their meager possessions, combed their fur and painted their faces with ochre and yellow stripes. The last part, in Belk's opinion, only detracted from their normal handsomeness.

Now the crowd assembled before the big flat-toped rock that Belk chose as an improvised pulpit. The morning was good, clear and almost calm, the crimson of early sunrise already melting into gold. Even the cold had abated, now bracing rather than murderous. The spring was not far away.

Belk felt his damaged left paw aching more than usual and he had to walk atop the rock from the side where it was inclined towards the sand, instead of getting up there in one or two bounds as he would have done a season ago. He tried to his best to look regal, wrapped in the fine Redwall-made cloak, his paws crossed on his chest, the blood-red pommel stone of the Martin's sword glinting in the sunlight. Maybe the savage rodents could be impressed with his bearing, if his strength and agility were nothing to be impressed with anymore.

Belk looked over the crowd. Over the moons he spent with the jerbilrats he came to know quite a number of them. He never stopped disliking chief Gerrul, whose attempts to ingratiate himself to his tribe's hero and savior seemed to only grow slimier as the time passed, and who now stood at the front of the crowd. But Belk grew fond of some of the other tribesbeasts – Syjann the rock-painter who could not have enough of his stories about Redwall, Jaigo the climber who was glad to show him every corner of jerbilrats' rocky home, and even Jeibras, who nearly killed him and spent most of the winter trying to apologize for that with much more apparent sincerity than Gerrul. He wondered one last time if what he intended to say was the right thing...

"Jerbilrats." Belk barely raised his voice, and soft murmurs in the crowd immediately fell silent, those in the farther ranks stretching forward on the tips of their toes to better hear him. "Listen to my words. You all know me. I am Belk of Redwall, Belk the Swordbearer, who was the Abbey Warrior for many seasons, who stopped the winged death, and who slew the great warrior of the underworld. I am the one you called Foretold Beast, the one who was prophesized to show you the path not walked before."

For a moment everything was so quiet that Belk clearly heard his own tail as it swished once across the snow-covered stone. Here was the point of no return: reveal Zarfayn's deception, the false prophecy, to everybeast or play along with it. Could he stake his hopes – and quite possibly several lives – on his newfound friendship with jerbilrats surviving the reveal? Belk pondered that for many days and decided that he could not afford the risk, yet the thought of using lies for his benefit still rankled him enough to hesitate. Briefly.

"I cannot give you a better life." Belk shook his head slowly. He heard a few gasps and saw that a number of jerbilrats looked positively pained. Just before shock turned to outrage, he continued. "That I cannot do. But I can lead to you to the land, where you can obtain a better life by your own paws, if only there is still courage and dignity left in you! The land full of lush forests and clear streams, the land which will greet you as its heroes, if only you have what it takes to be warriors!"

Jerbilrats were unsophisticated people who had yet to refine their art of pretense. One did not need to be a master demagogue to read their mood. And so one look at the crowd told Belk that he had them. He would bring an army, if a rather pitiful one, with him to Southsward. And it truly was for the jerbilrats' own good too, wasn't it?

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Ubel wiped moisture from his eyes, still sore as they were the day after Kunas' pyre, and looked down from the towertop at the scene below. In the courtyard of the castle Ulakhai Stonestrength was schooling young Seien in the art of swordplay using wooden blades. As far as Ubel could tell, more by cheers from the small crowd than by his own expertise, the young king was giving a good account of himself, though Ulakhai was holding back most of his strength.

Ubel frowned slightly as he heard Ulakhai down below cheerfully encouraging his young opponent. Did the big mustelid really expect Seien to forget that not a single officer in the castle used to give a damn about him? Maybe yes, and then Ulakhai was an utter fool. Ubel himself was polite with Seien but did not bother with pretenses. He was not planning to stick around long enough for the king to become a king in more than name.

Now Ulakhai was helping Seien to rise from the snow, both laughing at something. Regardless of whether both mustelids were pretending, or only the older one, for now Ubel could feel a little at ease. Even Eikeru Manybattles, still the most popular of captains by far, was going to have trouble convincing the army to raise weapons against whomever Seien supported. Common soldiers liked their exuberant young king more and more as moons passed, seeing in him the return of his father, except without the foul temper that marked Kunas' later seasons. So when Ulakhai came to Ubel asking to personally train the young pine marten in the use of weapons, Ubel gladly agreed. The better balanced against each other his rivals were, the safer he was for the time being. At least until Southsward was conquered properly. Then the war of conquest would become the war for the throne, and his life wouldn't be worth a snowball in winter, his own followers too few in numbers and too lacking in ability.

Good thing that by that moment his destiny and his greatest desire should be fulfilled, allowing him to leave the army behind.

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Rowanbloom felt almost at home. Well, as far as anybeast could feel this way among creatures half of whom treated her with suspicion as a companion of vermin, while most of another half probably just hid the same sentiment better. But the last time she had a solid roof over her head, a soft bed, a chance to eat a great breakfast without cooking it herself, plenty of books a few corridors away from her room, and no threats hanging over her head, was all the way back at Redwall. She has to admit, at least to herself, she really missed her old life. And only now did she realize that she cannot quite return to it, not completely.

She was reading one of said books on the day when the sunrays finally turned warm and the first drippings could be heard beyond the window – the fact that she paid little attention to the coming of spring was a further mark of change in her. And that was when Violet Wildstripe found her in the library.

"Ehm… good morning, Lady Violet."

"Good morning." Violet stepped closer and looked at the massive badger-sized ancient tome placed on the equally massive wooden bookstand. The badger briefly wondered if the squirrel was stronger than she looked and carried the book here by herself, or if she asked one of the hares for help.

"The Secret Chamber. I know this book well, though sometimes it makes me wonder if Lord Russano the Wise was overly fond of answering questions with both "yes" and "no"."

She did not continue, waiting for a reply. But although Rowanbloom did have questions – questions very much related to the subject of the book she has been reading – she found herself tongue-tied, frightened of possible answers or maybe the badger lady herself. Violet noticed her reluctance. "I was told about a disturbance yesterday, involving you and your companions. Were some of my hares provoking a fight?"

"Well…" The squirrel, of course, remembered the whole thing clearly, even if she didn't want to.

"I wonder if they ever saw a bath in their lives. My nose tells otherwise, wot."

"Hey, Sarge, don't be so unfair to our jolly guests! Didn't ye hear, them vermin are natural born stinkers. Can't help bein' this way, just like they can't fix their ugly mugs."

Rowanbloom knew that she should interfere, to tell something, but… This bunch of hares wasn't here just to start a quarrel for no reason: the chamber assigned to serve her and her companions as the dining room happened to be their usual hangout, the place where they gathered to wag their tongues, play games and drink, and they were clearly less than enthused to see vermin and other outsiders invading their refuge from hustle and bustle of the main halls. Maybe that's why Rowanbloom failed to find right words immediately. Or maybe she was just too polite.

The same could not be said of Kethra.

"And didn't you hear – hares are just jumped-up rabbits who got bloody ashamed of their proper name. But who can blame 'em?"

The six hares at the next table fell stone silent. Most beasts in the room would have been very surprised to hear that one of them actually saw a living rabbit. But even little babes knew that rabbits were the most cowardly of all creatures.

Just as Rowanbloom tried to move, a heavy paw descended on her shoulder. She looked up, and, to her confusion, found Private Sparth. Wasn't he supposed to watch for things like this? The squirrel was no fool and long since noticed that at least one of the Gallopers always hanged near the vermin. But now the huge hare just silently shook his head!

"Oh look, chaps." A tall hare, who still looked sharp despite the left sleeve of her tunic hanging empty below the elbow, unhurriedly turned on the bench to sit facing the two vermin. "This funny ferret thinks she's the first beast who thought of callin' us rabbit-hearted, wot. I say, this is doubly rich comin' from a beast who flew from her land like a little pigeon from a hawk."

Tezza looked as if she wanted to bolt out of the room but if Kethra had the same thoughts she shoved them in the far corner of her mind. "And I say this is still not as rich as a poor rabbit, who needs five more rabbits behind her back to pretend bravery."

"That's just a game, let 'em go at it." Sparth whispered to Rowanbloom. The squirrel wanted to believe this, but her experience told her otherwise. Judging by what could spark bloody fights among vermin, Kethra was demonstrating noticeable restraint by not lunging for the nearest sharp object already.

"Hah, a beast with belly as yellow as yours sure knows a lot about pretendin' bravery. Tell me, oh warlady, did ye went to beg us, poor rabbits, for help, because you ran out of vermin to die for you?"

"Enough!" Rowanbloom saw Kethra's face twisting and knew she had to act before something irreversible happens. Wriggled from under Sparth's paw and rushed forward, yelling at the top of her lungs. "Stop this nonsense! I thought you all were warriors, not insult-slinging dibbuns!"

Everybeast looked at her, if only because the loud outburst took them by surprise.

"Oh, come on." Sparth sighed. "Lieutenant Ranseur didn't mean anything bad. Just an insult match, it's all in good fun."

"Fun?! If only I wasn't a guest under your roof, you'd see some fun!" Surely at that moment Kethra wanted she had actual venom to spit. "And you, squirrel, I don't bloody need your help and the rest of your wiles!"

"I'd say they were picking a fight even if they didn't know that. But I'm not sure if my companions would feel better if you step in to protect them by punishing those hares."

"That's the matter of some Patrollers apparently losing their hearing when they were ordered not to pester my guests, rather than just of stepping into other beasts' squabble." Violet shook her head. "Certain hares need their ears cleaned. But besides this… incident, how do our vermin guests feel about Salamandastron?"

Rowanbloom clasped her paws together before her, another scene fresh on her memory…

"You know what, squirrel?" Suran apparently tried his best to drink himself into stupor this evening but weak beer and ale they were given with their meals were of limited help in this task. "You know what? Now I believe all your stories about all the armies trying to take this mountain over and over again only to get themselves killed were true."

"And why is that?" Rowanbloom asked neutrally, trying not to provoke the fox's anger. She knew very well that in a mood like this Suran was dangerous, unpredictable.

"Because they are so high and mighty, all those stiff-necked hares and this bloody, beautiful Badger Lady, with all their shiny weapons, and great halls, and soft beds, and tasty food, and remembering their ancestors for twenty generations, and their all-defeating Long Patrol, and all that gives them their thrice-damned right to be high and mighty! If a beast just says she is better than you, you just laugh at her, you know, but if she is better than you and there ain't a thing you can do about that? Then you can only hate her with all your heart and try to tear her down if only given half a bloody chance!"

"How can I say it… They are very impressed. Or maybe I should even say "intimidated" or "shaken"."

"Not unexpectedly." Violet reached for a large chair that stood in the corner and moved it to sit next to the squirrel. "I know that you must have questions for me, but I, in turn, have plenty to ask you, so can you, please, indulge my curiosity first, Rowanbloom?"

"How can I refuse our gracious host?"

The badger looked at her strangely. "You can refuse to answer. Some of my questions might be inconsiderate, painful, even demeaning. I would not be asking them as a badger ruler, but as a fellow seeker of knowledge and understanding. You are the first woodlander in my lifetime, who has lived among vermin as neither a captured slave nor an outlaw renouncing all of our ways. You are educated and fairly observant. All in all, there is no other beast in the world who could tell me about vermin more than you. And I want to hear everything you can tell me about them."

"I'm not sure if there is so much difference between a prisoner, whom I was at Marroch's camp, and a slave, Lady Violet. That aside, I'll answer what I can."

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The sun was already sinking below the horizon, and the room, carved in the western slope of the mountain with a great view on the sea and the bay, was growing dark, when Lady Violet asked one last question. "You have told me what you could of your experiences with vermin. Certainly you gave me much food for thought. But there is one more thing I want to hear: what do you, Rowanbloom of Redwall, personally think – is there a fundamental difference between us and them? Something that makes vermin inherently worse than our woodlander kind?"

Rowanbloom sighed, sitting back in her chair. "It is unfair, Lady Violet. I mean, to ask such a big thing suddenly, after putting me through a wringer for the entire day."

"You're right. Take your time and give me your answer when it is ready."

"No, no." Rowanbloom rubbed her temples. "I pondered the very same question so many times. I wanted to share my thoughts, too. It is just I'm in no shape for speeches. Speeches smooth enough for something this important, at least. Do excuse me, if I start rambling."

"Go on, please."

"You see, Lady, when I left Redwall I was sure that the only difference between vermin and woodlanders is upbringing, education, maybe old prejudices. Yes, vermin are violent, bloodthirsty, and predatory, and they love eating meat too. And the longer I've lived with them, the more I saw all of that as true."

Rowanbloom paused remembering yet more from the recent past, something she did not relay to Violet…

Smalltooth was panting, his fur wet with sweat to the point it clung to his skin. Looking at him, Rowanbloom could not help but be scared a bit. However, once upon a time she promised that she won't be a helpless bystander in battle anymore, and even if nobody but herself cared about that promise, she wanted to keep it.

Ewalt returned to the small training hall, carrying a weapon that Rowanbloom never saw before, though heard about in stories, a small thick-stringed bow on a solid wooden stock, alongside with a metal hook and a quiver of missiles.

"Aldwin advised me to give you this thing when I asked him yesterday. It's called a crossbow. Easy to shoot, just point at an enemy and push the trigger. And with a weapon that kills at range there is less chance that you hesitate at the last moment because you just can't bear the thought of stabbing another creature to death."

"Really?" Both Ewalt and Rowanbloom turned to Smalltooth and the ermine looked down sheepishly. "I mean, I heard that it's not easy for, eh, woodlanders to kill but looking at great warriors like you, Ewalt, and Captain Aldwin, and others, well, I started doubting, and in our old band everybeast said that slaying a foe in battle is the second most, how shall I say, oh, exhilarating thing in the world."

"I take you were too afraid in all your battles to check that," said Ewalt.

To Rowanbloom's surprise, Smaltooth talked back. "No! I fought in the Seacrag Castle tower! I stabbed… a beast. At least one. I was afraid, yes, but I did it. Can't say whether I felt anything special, though."

The mouse warrior shrugged. "I'm not a beast to care. At least your heart won't fail when the time to kill or be killed comes again. We only need to work on your guts and your paw."

"But..." the squirrel continued, "but can't we say the same about many woodlanders? Shrews enjoy fighting. Many otters are warlike and take pride in slaying enemies. I've even heard of squirrel tribes who murder travelers just for fun, not sure if this is true, though. And, please forgive me if saying this offends you, but badgers sometimes grow so bloodthirsty that their desire to kill is stronger than their desire to live."

"No offense taken." Violet shook her head. "Bloodwrath is a terrible affliction of our people, more terrible than you probably know. Lying to myself about it would be most unbecoming."

Rowanbloom nodded. "And then, is there that much difference between eating meat and fish? No, I don't think so. Not until woodpigeons and seagulls start talking to us, at least. If the difference between vermin and woodlanders is not in bloodthirst then where it is? In sloth, laziness that makes vermin keep slaves for hard work? I've read of woodlanders who kept slaves too, and there are few harder, more exhausting works in the world than sailing, yet many vermin ply the seas. In selfishness? I've seen vermin who loved. I've seen vermin risking their lives, even laying down their lives to save another creature. In materialism, not thinking beyond simple comforts? But vermin love beautiful things, and songs, and music, and stories just as we do, well their songs and stories can be unlike ours, but you see my point. In pride, arrogance of deeming themselves superior? Aren't we matching them pound for pound in that, Lady? Why else would we call them "vermin"?"

The squirrel inhaled deeply – she was nearly out of breath, talking a bit too fast. "If we're not that different in all these things, are we different at all? There was a time in the past I would have said "no". But… if we're no different then why are things easy to us so difficult for them? I mean, things like compassion, mercy, generosity, honor, gratitude, integrity, camaraderie, love? Is it just because vermin upbringing, their tradition and custom, stomp out goodness in them? But over thousands, and thousands, and thousands of seasons shouldn't customs and traditions change sometimes? Do they not change because rats, weasels, stoats, ferrets and foxes are much bigger and stronger that most woodlanders and their strength makes taking what they want by force easy? But why are otters, hares, and, forgive me again, badgers different then? It is like fate itself is against them, like some dreadful curse afflicting the vermin species, poisoning their hearts. I cannot put my claw on what exactly it is, I just can't, but it is there."

"So this is what you think." Feelings behind the badger lady's clouded violet eyes were unreadable. "My deepest thanks to you, Rowanbloom. What I learned from you today was most illuminative."

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From a high ridge to the northeast of Salamandastron, Akkla Axehound could clearly see the flat-topped mountain ahead, illuminated by the final pastel pink light of the dusk. Behind her stood almost fourscore of beasts, her otters and representatives of the western country tribes, mostly squirrels and hares, with a few mice and voles. Sympathies towards the Axehound clan and the solution to the vermin menace they offered were greater than Akkla expected. Just two or three more days of travel – and the arrogant Long Patrol with its arrogant Lady would learn that their authority among woodlanders is no longer what it was.