Author's Note You know what? I'm not even going to make any excuses. I'm just going to apologise and accept the fact that no-one will probably read this after the wait they have had for this chapter. It's too long an absence to expect anyone will still remember this.
So: I'm really, really sorry.
On the plus side, due to the discovery of two lovely musicals called Wicked and Rent and an actress called Idina Menzel, along with Youtube I have discovered I can actually sing.
On the minus side, I have just had a filling and two teeth out (ow) and will soon get braces fitted. Oh joy.
So, enjoy. I am so sorry for the wait. And the shortness and cra- um, lack of quality and un-importentness of them. Writer's Block.
Bang, bang, bang, go the drums of war.
Let me tell you something. Come closer. Lean in and I'll whisper a little nugget of wisdom in your ear. That's it, lean right in close to listen.
Boom, boom, boom, go the drums.
You hear those drums? Those drums are the start of a war. Hear their deep, hollow sound, dark and angry?
Rat-a-tat-tat. Tap, tap, rat-a-tat-tat.
Now hear those drums? They are different. Their sound is sharper, smaller, but they are still drums of war.
Bang, bang, bang, bang.
Many beasts fear the sounds of these drums. They shut themselves away with children and friends, to wait until the sounds of the drums fade into the distance.
Pat, pat, pat, pat.
Hear those marching paws, coming closer? Those are the weapons of war. Those are the things that wield sticks and stones to break others' bones.
Tap, tap, tap.
Sometimes, a rain of grey falls upon a green floor. The drops of the rain are long and sharp. A stick and a stone, to break some bones.
Of course, rain like that cannot be rain. Rain like that is the rain of war.
Clash, clang, clash, clang.
Sometimes, a forest rises from the brown underbelly of earth and moves. The trees have stripped their branches and now wield a metal tip upon their heads.
Metal and earth are not made to mix.
This is the forest of war.
And sometimes, a silver tide of water falls upon a mass of brown and grey and white and red. The water cuts through this mass and from the mass comes a red liquid, bright and clear.
It is strange that this liquid is one thing that we depend on for survival.
It is strange that it is the beating of the drums that we fear more than those who beat the drums.
And, while we're on the subject, is it not strange that we can kill quite happily, when we believe that we are right to kill. If I took you back and showed you a little babe, innocent and playful, and told you that they would grow to be a terrible tyrant, who would kill many and cause misery to countless beasts, would you be able to kill that child?
And so, lean in closer, let me whisper it right in your ear, I come to the wisdom you came searching for.
Fear not the drum, but fear the beast who wields it, for a beast who pounds a drum of war is a beast who will kill without mercy.
This is information you will need in your life, my dear, this is information that may well save it. Remember these words, as an echo of them shall call to you later and you must make your decision; can you kill the little babe?
Captain Rammat was cold, hungry and miserable.
He and his team had been wandering around for hours in this dark, oppressive, noisy forest and he had had enough. He dared not return to Tehera empty-handed, however. He shivered as his anguished mind dreamt up a thousand ways that she could punish him.
There was a shout from up ahead.
"Captain, over here, I have found some tracks!"
He hurried up to where a one-eared ferret was crouched on the ground. He crouched beside her, wincing as a loud animal call echoed from the dark trees around him.
"What do ye see?"
She did not look up.
"These are the tracks of a single beast- an otter, though they have tried to hide them. They were travelling fast through the underbrush, and by the size of the prints, I would say that they are a young male. It is the beast we seek."
Rammat bounded upright joyfully, wincing as this action irritated the wounds inflicted upon him by Tehera.
"Can you follow them?" he asked.
She now looked up "Yes, Captain. It will be like following a trail of blood to a dead badger."
And so, naturally, it was only a few minutes before she ran into problems.
"Here, there has been a scuffle. Another beast has joined him, though from where, I cannot say. These tracks appear from nowhere. And then," she gestured hopelessly "They run on for a short time and then disappear again."
Rammat groaned. This was not the type of news that he needed to hear. He couldn't go to Tehera with no slave. She would have his hide. Literally.
"Captain!" It was another of the small group he had brought out; a weasel.
"A branch had been knocked to the ground here! And see there, bruised leaves and broken twigs. They may have taken to the trees!"
Rammat smiled a smile of grim satisfaction. Maybe he would not return empty-handed after all.
"Follow the trail!" he ordered.
The seabirds wheeled and called to the grey sky at Salamandastron. But their calls were matched in strength and sheer annoyingness by the cries that came from inside the mountain.
Tula, the calm, cold wolf who never showed feelings or emotions, was close to tearing her fur out.
"Can't you stop it from making that infernal racket!" she all but screamed at the door behind which the badger cub was screaming its stripy head off.
An elderly female rat poked a fearful head around said door, shaken by her Queen's rare show of temper.
"Th-the b-babe is hungry, my lady," she explained shakily "It needs f-feeding."
Tula let out a final scream and then settled back into her normal icy exterior. It was a change so sudden that those who were not used to her swings of temper, when she showed any, would be scared into silence.
Not this rat, who had nursed Tula and her sister, Tehera, from when they were babes themselves.
The screaming from the badger cub stopped abruptly.
Tula let out an inward sigh of relief. The rat disappeared from view and there came a timid knock on the door.
"Come in," her voice was back to its normal, quiet self.
One of her captains shuffled in.
"A report from Captain Fuegro. They have discovered the remnants of the band of hares who we drove from this mountain."
"And?"
"Not a single one survived. Oh, except one that he had captured earlier. He still keeps it alive, he says he hopes that it may prove useful."
Tula only grunted to that. She saw the captain's head turn to the door, where the badger's low whimpering could be heard. He knew of the babe, but could not understand it. She smiled a very small smile and waited for him to ask the question burning in his mind.
"My Lady," he began, nervously.
"Yes?"
"My lady, I cannot help but wonder-well, that is to say I-well. Why is there now a badger cub here?"
He flinched back, expecting a reprimand, but instead, Tula observed him through half-closed eyes in a way that could only be described as friendly. It unnerved him more than any temper she could have shown.
"Let me show you something." She drew him away from the room and down a cold stone passageway, to a gaping black hole that yawned open at the end. A breeze whispered down the passageway and through the hole, which gave off a faint whistling sound. He shivered. All soldiers are superstitious and he knew that there was something unnatural inside.
But Tula was prey to no such doubts. Inside she padded and the unfortunate rat had to follow.
He saw what lay inside and his jaw dropped.
The carvings. Covering all the spare wall space; these pictures showed mighty battles and fearsome warriors. They showed great bells, ships at sea and many other seemingly random images that made his brain swirl with confusion.
"See there." Tula's voice made him jump as it cut through the oppressive silence. He followed the line of her pointed paw until his eyes alighted on the pictures she wanted him to see.
They showed a depiction of a mountain; the very mountain he stood in. They showed a mighty army, led by a large wolf (Tula, he guessed). They showed hares fleeing and settling in a nearby wood, but with a fox leading part of the army towards them. They showed a great square building, with the identical image of Tula's resting inside and they showed a group of woodlanders, mice, moles, squirrels and the like hiding, far away from it.
And they showed a small representation of the badger cub, sitting inside the mountain, on a chair, with hares sitting at his feet.
"See," Tula was right behind him now "He shall grow. Big and mighty and powerful and strong shall he grow. But shall he grow as evil? Or as good? I plan that he shall grow as my weapon. With a badger at my side, all armies shall fall before me. You, unfortunately, shall not live to see that day."
His back was to her. It was easy. Just one quick slash with razor sharp claws.
There were many creatures crowding the small entrance to the Corim hideout when the leaders and Rose and Ayila reached it. They could not see their visitors through the thick crowd, but Mother Tamlin soon put a stop to that.
"Move away, Redwallers, let us through!"
They moved through the gap that appeared as the crowd parted. When they saw the beasts, Rose's paw flew to her mouth "Oh my…"
"Somebeast get a healer here quick!" Arren shouted.
The shrews seemed to have been through a battle to get there. Blood flowed freely from the many wounds they had inflicted upon their persons, though they still seemed to be able to stand. How, nobeast knew, as one had had an ear torn off, another's arm had been impaled by a javelin and the third's face was just a bloody mess. The leaders hastened forward, supporting the wounded beasts.
Well all except Log-a-Log Wurren, that is.
"Manjol, Fatrell, Helfal what happened?" she gasped "I thought you were with the tribes upriver!"
"Red fox…bones…hare bones…blood, blood, death…victory to Tula!" one stammered.
Another, more coherent, tried to explain "We were attacked. A red fox and an army, with hare bones affixed to their flag poles. They're marching this way, Log-a-Log -they're coming."
HA! I'm not that predictable yet. The hares shall soon be visited, my friends, and their fate recounted.