Author's Note: This chapter and the one after it are probably two of the shortest chapters in the entire fic, but after them, every chapter is generally pretty long. This chapter's pretty interesting despite being so short, I guess.
XIX: The Resurrection
Taroll and his three friends were getting tired of dragging Regner's body past the stream, following Ballantyne's directions exactly. They had thought about just dumping the body, but they al figured Ballantyne had calculated the exact time they would return from the task, and would know when they came back at the wrong time. It was something the tactician would do, they knew it.
"The spot where Ballantyne said ta bury him oughtta be comin' up soon," Taroll announced dully, "I know the place, where the two hills make a pass. It ain't too far from here."
The four had taken turns carrying Regner. Now, the two other stoats were the ones that had to drag the weasel's body along. "Can we take a rest, then?" cried one of them, a young creature named Sawdirge, "I'm tired, an' hungry."
"Fine by me," Taroll shrugged. The two stoats dropped Regner and the four all opened up their packs, looking for something good to eat.
"So," said the fox, a laid-back character named Alsten, "I betcha when we git back ta the castle, ol' Deathblaze will have jus' up an' killed everybeast. I 'spect he'll be roving 'round the place, shoutin' an' all, holdin' up Golding's head fer all ta see."
"Nah," Taroll replied, "Deathblaze could prob'ly take out a whole lot of 'em, but Golding's got too many on his side. They'll have taken the ol' stoat down, an' Ballantyne too. Though I don't 'spect much of 'em to be left afterwards, of course."
"Ballantyne's too clever ta git himself killed so easily," interjected the last of the four, named Levail, "He's prob'ly got some sort of big plan or sumthin', usin' Deathblaze as a threat to keep Golding an' his cronies at bay."
The four began to argue, throwing out their opinions on what state the castle would be in when they returned and placing bets. They were so engrossed in this that none of them even noticed when Regner, whose body they had haphazardly thrown onto the ground, began to rise. The weasel wore a blank, confused expression on his face, and his head hurt. What had happened?
"Um…" moaned the resurrected warlord meekly. Taroll and his friends didn't hear. Memory began to return to Regner slowly; he knew his name, and he knew he was the great ruler of Castle Regner, and he remembered Golding and Deathblaze and Ballantyne…
Ah, yes. It had been Ballantyne. Ballantyne had poisoned him! That traitorous ferret! Well, Regner mused, it took more than poison to kill him! Ballantyne would soon realize that mistake.
The weasel recognized Taroll and his friends, as well. They were good soldiers, loyal and obedient. That was good, he would need them to reclaim his army from the foul clutches of that ferret!
"Taroll!!" shouted Regner. The four instantly froze, and slowly turned to look at their warlord, who had seemingly risen from the grave. They all held mortified expressions on their face.
"Is this some kinda dream?" murmured Sawdirge, mostly to himself.
"No!" Regner shouted, hearing the unfortunate comment, "I am alive! That idiot Ballantyne may think he could kill me, but I'm too powerful for poison! I am Regner the Magnificent!"
"Ballantyne told us that the Long Patrol poisoned yew," Taroll said.
"Then he lied! It's not like it's impossible to lie, y'know!" Regner spat. The four all looked bewildered. "And what's this piece of paper tucked into my armor?!"
The weasel pulled out the note that Ballantyne had claimed was a eulogy. In the flowery, elaborate handwriting that could only be the tactician's, the words "To Lord Regner the Magnificent" were scrawled. Regner unfolded the note. Another piece of folded paper dropped out; Regner recognized it to be one of Ballantyne's hand-drawn maps. There was also writing on the inside of the note, which Regner read aloud.
"To Lord Regner the Magnificent," recited the warlord, "It is my deepest apologies that you had to endure what you must have thought would surely be your death, but you were so impulsive when reaching for your axe that you, in all truth, left me no time to explain the matter further. You see, the toxin you ingested was not fatal; rather, it would simply give the impression that you were deceased. This is instrumental to my grand scheme, in which victory over both the Long Patrol and Scout Commander Golding is assured. You see, with you supposedly deceased, Golding will no doubt seize control of the horde. Due to my clever wordplay and undeniable skills in the art of persuasion, I will very efficiently be able steer the horde to march towards Salamandastron, prepared for war. I will then dress Golding in the same fashion as you, my lord, and deploy him as a form of bait for the Long Patrol. They will be tantalized by the prospect of slaying you once and for all, and I have no doubt that the complete and entire force will charge at the unsuspecting Golding immediately. From there, a force led by Deathblaze will simply waltz right into the mountain, effectively capturing it. From this vantage point, it will only be a small amount of time before we are able to eradicate the hares, as well as there nefarious leader, Lord Oxpaw. Now, for your instructions. Enclosed in the interior of this letter is a map of my own creation. While it ails me so to have to mark this vessel of my genius, I must do so. Follow the marked pathway on the map, and wait for me at the exact place I direct you to. You will find that, by that point in time, the defeat of the Long Patrol should be under way. Sincerely, your loyal subject, Ballantyne."
Regner frowned. He was both glad and annoyed by this note. He was happy that he wouldn't have to strike down Ballantyne; they had been friends for a very long time, and the only reason Regner was a warlord in the first place was because of the tactician. He was annoyed at how Ballantyne had simply done this without consultation. Sure, Regner approved anything the ferret said (including this), but he still liked to know exactly what he was getting into. And the prospect of Golding being in control of his horde, albeit for a brief period in time, was very unnerving.
"Wait… so what's all that gibberish mean?" asked Alsten the fox.
"It means," Regner said, "That Ballantyne didn't betray me, and that he's going to kill the Long Patrol and Golding. What do you think it meant, idiot?!"
The four all shrugged. "Nothing Ballantyne says ever makes no sense," pointed out Levail.
"Whatever," Regner growled, "You all must have at least heard the part about following the map, right?" The four nodded. Regner continued quickly, "Good. Because we're going to follow that map. Ballantyne promises that he'll be taking over Salamandastron when we get there, so let's not waste time, okay?"
Taroll and his friends didn't care much for Regner, but they sure liked the idea of living in Salamandastron a whole lot. Regner, with his small group of loyal soldiers, swiftly departed, following the path that Ballantyne had marked for them on the small, folded map.
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A young mousemaid watched the five leave. Those were the ones Martin had told her to follow, she was certain of it. "A warlord returned from the grave…" she spoke, reciting the riddle that the warrior mouse had whispered to her in her sleep. Clenching Martin's sword tightly, she slowly went after them, making sure to keep her distance.
What had started off as a big fib had turned into something deathly serious. The mousemaid, a hot-tempered creature, had become fed up with the hum-drum life at Redwall shortly after the lizards had been routed. So, she had told everybeast there that Martin had told her that she was the abbey champion and must go on a great journey.
That, of course, had been a lie. But it had worked. The abbot had sent her on her way, along with plenty of food and the sword of Martin the Warrior. And so she had departed, hoping to find a life of adventure and heroism, as opposed to the life of chores and boredom at the abbey.
It had started out great. Mossflower wasn't as vermin-laden as it had been in previous seasons, mainly because the Long Patrol had forced most of them to live reclusive, hidden lives. She was never bothered, and she had fun.
But then Martin the Warrior really did come to her in a dream. He had murmured a long, intricate riddle and claimed that the situation was dire, and since she had the Sword of Martin she was the only hope. The only hope of what, she did not know. But now, listening to the vile-looking weasel that had apparently sprung back to life, she realized that she was the only hope for Salamandastron.
Trying to decipher the riddle Martin had told her as well as she could, the mousemaid stalked the warlord returned from the grave, afraid, alone, and unsure.