Author's Note: Warrior: Actually, of the five disorders you mentioned, only one applies to Deathblaze (that one being bipolar; note the "racing thoughts"). Most of Deathblaze's problems really are geared more towards social problems, as evidenced in this chapter.
By the way, I suddenly got an explosion of hits (well, a relative explosion: I went from about 7 hits a chapter to 15 a chapter), but I didn't get any more reviewers. I may not say it in my summary or anything, but I, like most other people here, likes reviews. Just so you know. ;)
XVIII: The Truce
Deathblaze was nervous. He always got nervous whenever he had to talk to others, and he got especially nervous when he had to talk to large groups, such as the one he had gathered in the mess hall on Ballantyne's request. Standing in the shadows and looking intimidating was easy; he knew he could intimidate. But public speaking was not his forte by any means. He didn't even know what to say. Ballantyne hadn't said to say anything. Maybe he shouldn't say anything. Deathblaze's thoughts were racing.
The stoat spotted Golding at the other side of them room. Ballantyne had said that it was the Long Patrol, not the scout commander, that had assassinated Regner, and Deathblaze didn't doubt a single word Ballantyne said, but…
But…
Deathblaze forgot what he had been thinking about; it had been lost in a blur of mental exclamations. He continued to stand silently, alone underneath the tapestry of Regner. Not a single hordebeast dared draw near.
The mess hall doors opened; Ballantyne walked in, casting a false somber expression that didn't suit him very well, as Ballantyne didn't show emotion to others or himself (he seemed to have effectively created a wall, blocking out his thoughts and feelings). The chatter and discussion between the vermin died down nearly instantly. If anybeast knew what was going on, it would be Regner's head tactician.
Even though the room was mostly silent, Ballantyne held up a paw for order. The room became eerily silent, not because of any respect for the ferret, as there was none, but because of the horde's curiosity.
"My fellow compatriots, be you ferrets, stoats, weasels, rats, or foxes, I implore you to listen carefully to what I must, as my duty requires, articulate to you now," announced Ballantyne elegantly, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall, "We have been forced into a particularly dire predicament. Unfortunately, Sir Deathblaze discovered this morn that Lord Regner the Magnificent, who led us so well and justly, has been promptly assassinated."
There was a sudden explosion of noise as the vermin all began shouting things all over the room. Ballantyne had expected this. Yes, let them vent. Let their anger rise. Ballantyne knew, from his experience with Deathblaze, that when creatures became infuriated, they also became impulsive and rash.
Golding's voice rose above the others, even from the back of the room. Both he and Ballantyne were excellent orators. "So, Ballantyne, I guess yer gonna claim it was me who killed the weasel, ain't ya?"
Ballantyne chose not to reply over the roar of the crowd. He held up his paw for silence again. It died down gradually, after perhaps a few minutes.
"While I hold nothing but contempt for you, Scout Commander Golding, and I would absolutely enjoy forcing the blame upon you and finally rid you once and for all from this grand fortress, my fair and just nature will not allow me to partake in such slander. According to the extensive evidence that I have uncovered at the scene of the crime, I have deduced that it was not Scout Commander Golding who was the assassin, but rather a hare from the Long Patrol!"
Another uproar rose. Ballantyne was not going to attempt to quell this one. It's festering would only prove to be beneficial to him.
"The Long Patrol?! Those gutless cowards!"
"There wasn't no way they could take on Regner in a fight, so they had ta stab him in the back!"
"We oughtta burn every last one of 'em!"
"I say we put me in charge, an' we'll march up to their big ol' mountain and smash it to the ground!" shouted Golding, suddenly jumping on top of a table and drawing his saber. Excellent, Ballantyne thought to himself, Golding was playing into this perfectly. Of course, he hadn't really expected the weasel not to. Ballantyne knew Golding very well, and knew that the scout commander wouldn't be able to resist such an opportunity to take power. His close circle of trusted friends was already shouting "Long live Lord Golding the Great!" amongst the crowd.
"Of course," continued Golding, walking slowly down the table towards Ballantyne, "We'd have to see what the master tactician here has to say 'bout that plan. Y'know we hafta have his full approval before rushin' off like that. So, what say you, O brilliant genius?"
"I actually put great faith in that idea, Sir Golding," Ballantyne replied, much to Golding's great shock.
"I don't trust ya one bit. Wot's the catch?"
"The catch is that you must adhere to my advice as a tactician," Ballantyne explained. Golding looked at him skeptically.
"No, no, no. There ain't no way you'd just let me be in charge, and there ain't no way Deathblaze would either. Yer up to sumthin', I know it."
"Allow me to explain," replied the ferret, "I plead for a truce. It is no great secret that we harbor intense dislike towards each other, but I believe we should put these differences beside us so that we could focus on the far greater enemy: The Long Patrol. Your natural leadership skills, coupled with my tactical brilliance, will surely allow us to vanquish those despicable hares from this realm forever. After we have done so, I propose that we go our separate ways; I shall return here, to Castle Regner, and you shall be able to live in the Long Patrol's mountain, Salamandastron. Please do note that I still despise you, I just despise the Long Patrol more. I am not making this proposal out of my own sheer kindness."
Golding pondered this for a moment. The ferret, as much as he hated to admit it, was right. Golding would be able to make much use of his skills as a tactician. Then, after he defeated the Long Patrol, he could always kill the ferret and have both Castle Regner and Salamandastron. There was one question left, however.
"Fine, that seems reasonable. What about Deathblaze, though? I don't want him killin' me or nothing." Golding looked around the room apprehensively for the stoat in question.
"I can restrain Sir Deathblaze, and quite easily. That is not an issue," Ballantyne announced, "Watch as I do so this instant. Deathblaze, halt!"
Golding turned. Just behind him was Deathblaze, his sword raised, ready to strike the weasel down. The scout commander froze in terror for a split second, and then realized that Deathblaze was unmoving.
"I see," Golding responded meekly, "Fine. But I'm gonna be in charge, which means I get the final say on all yer plans, okay?"
"As you wish," Ballantyne said agreeably, motioning for Deathblaze to retreat back into his little section of the room underneath the tapestry of Regner.
"Also, since we're gonna be marchin' up to Salamandastron, and we will be marchin', I don't care what ya say 'bout that, I'm gonna need cap'ns. And I'm gonna choose who they are myself, ya got that?"
"As you wish."
"Great, then. In fact, I'll choose my cap'ns right now. Hairmold, yer gonna be my second-in-command. Amora, yer gonna be my third-in-command, in case I ever need one."
"What?!" shouted Valla, Amora's twin sister, "Why is she third-in-command an' not me?"
"Ah, shut yer trap," Golding shouted back, "She's easier on the eyes. Yew can be fourth-in-command, I guess."
Valla looked absolutely miserable, but didn't decline the offer to be fourth-in-command (and she didn't question how her identical twin sister could possibly look better than her). Embarrassed, she slowly made her way towards the back of room.
"An' the lizards," Golding continued, "The two lizards in charge will be my fifth- an' sixth-in-command, just in case I ever need a fifth- an' sixth-in-command. That should do it fer my cap'ns. Just remember, anybeast else from my group of mateys is automatically higher in command than the rest of yew lot. Now, is that all right for yew, Ballantyne?"
The ferret simply shrugged. "It is your decision, not mine, as according to the rules of the truce."
"Ah, yeah, 'bout that truce, we gotta confirm it," Golding suddenly said, as if just remembering. He walked towards Ballantyne, spat in his paw, and held it out. Ballantyne looked down at the grimy paw in absolute terror, shying away from it. "What's yer problem?" Golding growled, "Spit on yer paw an' we shake."
"Um…" Ballantyne stepped back, "How about we confirm the truce in the form of a legally binding document?"
The entire mess hall erupted into laughter. Ballantyne frowned. Golding reached forward and snatched the ferret's paw, then shook it overdramatically. The laughter increased tenfold as a mortified expression appeared on Ballantyne's face. When Golding released his paw, the tactician swiftly made his departure, no doubt to cleanse off Golding's saliva.
After Ballantyne had left, Hairmold whispered to Golding, "Ya think we can trust him?"
"Yeah, right," Golding laughed, still looking amused, "I trust him as far as I can throw him, which ain't very far. He's up to sumthin', I just know it. I dunno wot he's up to exactly, but I'll find out. I ain't no fool."
---
The mess hall had erupted not into mourning, but celebration. Golding promised them the chance to finally destroy the Long Patrol once and for all. None of the lizards knew that the Long Patrol was the name of the army that had nearly slaughtered all of them, but they celebrated anyways.
The lizards had been horribly naïve to their situation. Other than Golding, who was being friendly to them simply because he felt their power would be a great asset to his now-defunct cause, not a single creature even approached them. Of course, the lizards neither noticed nor cared. After a season or so of aimless wandering, they had finally gotten back into some sort of military again.
The only lizard who had an idea of what was going on was Kalzmar. After the lizards had fled from Redwall, she had really just been in charge in title. She never made any decisions, instead leaving them all up to Corzon (a scary thought, which explained the aimless wandering). She was plagued by progressively worse nightmares, with King Kirrent chasing after her. Sometimes Marclaw was in her dreams as well, also missing his head, searching for his lost sword. And Davian sometimes showed up too, endlessly falling from the great red walls.
These constant, nagging dreams caused her to grow reclusive. The other lizards seemed as if they didn't even remember what had happened, how their entire race had been conquered by King Kirrent the Great and then sent to die. Kalzmar remembered when King Kirrent, losing his temper, had had the lizards charge the hares, and then retreated himself.
No, Kalzmar held no regret for what she had done to King Kirrent. But there was always the thought: Maybe, just maybe, if King Kirrent hadn't died then, and Marclaw hadn't taken over, then maybe they might have been able to beat the hares. Maybe almost all of them wouldn't be dead. Kalzmar was ignorant to the fact that there was never a chance for the lizards against the entire force of the Long Patrol.
Golding climbed back up onto his table, towering above the horde. Regner was dead; that was okay. Kalzmar had hardly met him, and from what she had seen, he wasn't the sanest of creatures. Golding had instantly gone to their aid once they had been forced into service, making sure nobeast gave them any grief. The fact that he was in charge was at least one thing that was going right.
"We're gonna start marchin' tomorrer, ya got that?" shouted Golding confidently, "We're gonna show those longears who's boss! We'll destroy 'em all!!"
The crowd cheered. Golding cast a glance over to the spot under the tapestry. Deathblaze had departed, no doubt after Ballantyne. The former scout commander hoped that the little charade in which the stoat had snuck up behind him was just a ploy. It wasn't good to have Deathblaze wanting you dead.