THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Thirty-Nine

It turned out that the Northlanders and the Guosim shared common customs in the burial of their war dead. Both believed that the best way to honor their fellow warriors was to bury them where they had fallen, on the site of their battle, whenever possible. And so, with a large crew of rats and an equally large crew of shrews on paw, the graves were quickly dug. Cermak laid his three rats to rest where they'd stood their ground along the north side of the path, while Snoga's unlucky followers were interred in seven smaller graves just across the trail from the rats. There would be no monuments or plaques, no stone cairns to mark this spur-of-the-moment cemetary; the placement of the bodies would be memorial enough, and the dead would require no further reminder of what had happened here.

Log-a-Log heaved a sigh as the last of the dark earth was packed down over the shrew graves. "Those poor fools prob'ly didn't deserve even this much. Hardly fittin' fer the way they died."

"Would you have left them lying in the woods for scavengers to pick their bones clean?" Urthblood asked the shrew leader.

"Don't think I wasn't tempted. They really didn't represent the Guosim, Lord, provokin' bloodshed in direct defiance of their Log-a-Log's orders. I'd like to ferget the whole incident an' start us off on a fresh footin', if you'd be able to put it behind us too."

"I agree," Urthblood nodded. "It would be folly for us to become enemies over this, when there are slavers and other truly evil creatures abroad in these lands."

Warnokur cleared his throat loudly. "Ahem ... speakin' of slavers, M'Lord, wot's to do about these scummers who've got Log-a-Log junior? I'm volunteerin' my services to lead a search party t' help our Guosim pals here. But if we're goin' after 'em, we'd better get our tails movin' now."

The badger warrior rested his massive paw on his sword hilt. "I can no sooner abandon or delay my journey to Salamandastron than this good shrew can turn away from his son to come with us. Perhaps one day we will march and fight alongside each other, but that day is not now. If it is your desire to aide your friends, I will release you from my service to do so. But I can spare no other soldiers from my own mission. You and your son must decide whether this is where you will part ways with my company."

"Oh." Warnokur looked to his son. "What do you say, Wink? You're Redwall's official envoy here. I'll go by your decision."

Winokur was thrown into a quandary. He knew the Guosim's chase after the slavers could take many days, and if he joined it, he would have no real hope of catching up with Urthblood's army before they reached Salamandastron. He must chose one quest or the other. But which was more important: to try to stop a war that could kill hundreds, or to help rescue a fellow Redwaller who was in the clutches of slavers?

"I ... I don't know," he stammered. "I feel like I'm needed both places. If only there were two of me ... "

"Well, there ain't, Wink lad, and time's a-wastin'!" Log-a-Log turned to the rest of the Guosim and gave the move-out signal. "We're headin' south now, after our stolen brothers an' sisters. If'n you're comin, you'll be at our heels instead o' standin' here."

Winokur was at a total loss. "You move along, Log-a-Log. I need a minute more to ponder this."

"A minute is all I can give you," Urthblood told the two Redwall otters. "We will be underway ourselves within that time."

Log-a-Log was already leading his shrews away from the trail, but before he'd taken two steps the shrubbery in front of him exploded and a large shrew wearing a rust-colored headband emerged to stand squarely before the shrew leader, exuding an obvious air of self-importance.

"So there you are, Snoga!" Log-a-Log snarled. "Seein' as how you weren't among the dead, I was hopin' you'd run away, never to show yer face in the Guosim again. Now that you've come back, you 'n' me are gonna have it out!"

"Shut yer gob, bossywhiskers!" Snoga spat back. "While you been standin' here makin' nice with dirty rats, I been out provin' why I oughta be head o' this outfit!"

"Oh yeah? Strikes me you simply ran away from the fight you started, like the filthy coward you are."

"Excuse me," Urthblood stepped forward, "but would you be the same Snoga who ordered an attack upon my forces?"

The ill-mannered shrew looked up at the great armored badger towering over him. "They was rats! If ye're fool 'nuff t' have 'em in yer service, then ye're due fer any trouble you get!"

"Nevertheless, they are my troops, and my responsibilty. Perhaps you could explain something to me ... "

"Don't gotta explain nuthin' to you!"

Urthblood continued as if he hadn't heard. "Perhaps you could explain why I shouldn't have your head on a pike."

Snoga sputtered, red in the face. "Wha .. wha .. you can't talk to me like that!"

"You'll find I can do far more than talk. Captain Cermak!"

Nearly fifty rat swords came up as one, all of them pointed at Snoga. Cermak himself snatched up a wickedly-curved pike that could also be used as a long-handled axe, and strode forward to stand beside his badger master. "Shall I, M'Lord?" he asked eagerly, pawing at the pole with undisguised anticipation.

Urthblood raised a paw. "Hold a moment, Captain." He bore a gaze at Snoga. "Perhaps this shrew has an explanation for us after all."

"Uh, uh ... they attacked first!" Snoga accused, pointing at Cermak.

Captain Saybrook quickly stepped forward and put a paw around Snoga's shoulder. Speaking low, he said to the shrew, "Listen up, matey. This badger's got the gift of prophecy, an' can tell when a beast ain't bein' truthful, just by lookin' into its eyes. So take my advice an' walk away ... right ... now!"

Snoga shrugged off the otter's flipper. "These're my woods, an' I don't gotta walk nowheres! Not from you," he stuck his chin out at Urthblood, then turned to Log-a-Log, "or you!"

The shrew chieftain was surprised in spite of himself. "After what you did here, what makes you think you can act so high 'n' mighty?"

Snoga spun at the sound of shrubbery parting behind him and pointed defiantly. "That does!"

Four of Snoga's followers staggered out from the underbrush, bearing between them the lifeless form of a large fox. Its head lolled from side to side as they carried it, and a shrew shortsword stuck out of its back.

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"I should be made Log-a-Log now!" Snoga yelled triumphantly into the amazed silence that followed. "I'm the only one of us who's been able to actually capture one o' these slavers that've been preying on us. That's the kind of leader the Guosim need right now!"

Winokur whispered to his father, "Do you really suppose that is one of the slavers that have taken Pirkko?"

"If it is, he ain't tellin' us now," Warnokur muttered.

Urthblood stepped forward to more closely examine the corpse as the carrier shrews laid it as tribute at Snoga's feet. "I would hardly apply the term 'captured' to this fox. There is a difference between a captive beast and a dead one."

"Dead or alive, what does it matter?" Snoga glared at the badger. "It was our enemy, and now it'll never bother us again! One less slaver in Mossflower's a good thing ... or would you care to argue that, in front of goodbeasts who've lost friends and family to 'em?"

"I will never disagree that slavers are the enemies of us all. But killing that fox was rather stupid."

"It wasn't like the scum left us any choice!" Snoga blustered, while several of his supporters clutched at their shortsword hilts, deeming this badger stranger had gone too far in his criticism of their leader.

"On the contrary ... " Urthblood pointed at the sword protruding from the fox's back. "Warriors who stand and fight do not end up with a blade between their shoulders. Clearly, this fox was trying to flee when it was slain. That suggests that you could have taken him alive if you'd tried. And then we might have gained valuable information from him, information we will never be able to get now."

Log-a-Log thrust his snout in Snoga's face. "You idiot! He coulda told us where Pirkko an' the others are!"

"An' mebbe he couldn't! I ain't makin' no apologies about slayin' this verminous brushtail. It's still more than you've done fer us, you incompetent fool!"

Winokur and Warnokur knew from experience that shrews were famous for arguing amongst themselves, but the two otters had never seen such a level of antagonism as seemed to exist between Log-a-Log and this Snoga. And both appeared to have many supporters. It was practically civil war within the Guosim!

Urthblood's deep rumbling voice cut across the scene, freezing the two shrews before their hostility could escalate into physical violence. "It might be helpful, Snoga, if you could tell us exactly what happened."

Snoga's animosity toward the Badger Lord was outweighed by his desire to potray himself as the hero of the moment, so he decided to comply with Urthblood's request.

"Why, this vile slaver was sent out to spy on us! Lurkin' about in the bushes, lyin' in wait where he wouldn't think he'd be seen. Well, we sure surprised him, didn't we, fellas!"

Beneath the supportive cheer that went up from Snoga's followers, Warnokur mumbled to Winokur, "Course they surprised 'im. Why would he expect to encounter shrews runnin' away from other shrews?"

"Anyways," Snoga continued, "we flushed 'im outta his hidin' place, sure nuff. He drew his sword an' fought us somethin' fierce, but I got th' best of him! That's my sword in his rotton corpse, an' I ain't sorry I put it there!"

"If he drew his blade on you," Urthblood observed, "why is it still in its scabbard?"

"Uh, um ... why, I put it back, so's we could carry him back here more easily," Snoga stammered in reply. "It's too long to fit in my sheath. Here, see fer yerself!" He pulled the fox's sword from its holder and practically waved it, hilt first, in the badger's face.

Urthblood's eyes widened. "Let me see that."

"No!" Snoga instantly pulled it away. "It's mine, won fair 'n' square in th' heat of mortal combat, an' I ain't givin' it to nobeast!"

Urthblood stooped down to Snoga and removed the weapon from the shrew's protesting grasp like Snoga was a helpless infant.

Shortswords came out of their scabbards with a deadly dry rasp. Longer rat swords were raised in answer.

"Gimme that!" Snoga shrieked.

Urthblood stood still as a statue for several moments, the totality of his attention focused upon the sword in his paw. Then he held it out so that Snoga would have a good view of the weapon. "I don't suppose this design on the hilt, or the shape of the blade, hold any special significance for you?"

"No. Why, should it?"

Urthblood gazed at the shrew for a few heartbeats, then returned the sword to Snoga. "No, I don't suppose so. Take this weapon and keep it if that is your wish, but my advice would be to cast it away. The only luck it will bring you is bad."

"What's that s'posed t' mean?"

Urthblood ignored him and turned to Log-a-Log. "Tell me, where is the nearest large body of water? A lake or river that connects with the sea?"

The shrew chieftain was thrown off-balance by this sudden change of subject. "Um, right now we're midways 'tween two broadstreams, one to th' north an' one to the south. Both run to the sea."

Urthblood shook his head. "The one to the north runs under the mountains. No sea vessel could navigate it. It is the one to the south that we want. How far is it from here?"

"Bout half a day's march, I'd guess," Log-a-Log answered. "We were actshully headed that way, until we caught wind o' yer army an' came to investigate. I'd be begrudgin' the waste o' time, but if that fox was still close enuff fer Snoga to stumble over him, mebbe our pursuit's a lot closer than we'd guessed. There may be hope fer Pirkko yet!"

"Indeed there may," Urthblood said. "It will take me a day out of my way to accompany you to the southward broadstream. But, if all goes well, it will be a day which sees your son and your friends returned to you safely."

Warnokur brightened. "My Lord, you've decided to help the Guosim after all?"

"I have. Although I suspect there are larger issues at play here than just the shrews' stolen kin."

"What makes you say that?" asked Log-a-Log. "What did you see in that sword?"

Urthblood's reply was but a single word, but it was one that sent a chill down the spines of all his soldiers, and made Winokur's stomach do a slow somersault.

"Tratton."

He turned away to start reorganizing his forces for an immediate southward turn. The shrews of the Guosim stared blankly after him, then looked to the two Redwallers. "What in the name of black stones is a Tratton?"

"Trouble, that's what," Warnokur replied soberly, "an' no mistake!"

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That same afternoon, as the united force of Urthblood's army and the Guosim turned south in pursuit of the slavers, Urthfist and his eighty hares encountered their first sign of trouble in Mossflower.

The expedition from Salamandastron was well into the Western Plains by this time, having crossed the river on Fitkin's ferry the previous morning. As they drew nearer their goal, the dark green line of the forest lands became easy to discern, both ahead to the east and also to the south, on their right. The terrain immediately around them was still very much rolling, tree-sparse plains, but the mountains they'd left behind were growing dim with the distance. They were roughly halfway across the flatlands, and the morrow should see them leave the Plains behind and fully enter Mossflower Woods.

"This does not feel right," Urthfist muttered as he marched at the head of his hares. "We have seen no trace of any enemy, or of refugees fleeing from Mossflower. The woodlands are within sight now, and still everything seems normal. I am beginning to wonder whether we have been lied to."

"We've come this far, sir," Major Safford said. "Home is farther behind us than Redwall is ahead of us, so we may as well finish this journey and see wot's wot at the Abbey."

"And meanwhile, my brother will take Salamandastron." Urthfist gritted his teeth. They'd been speaking low, so that no other could overhear. Now the Badger Lord said to Safford, "Bring Browder up to the front of the line with us. If he does turn out to be a spy, he will probably try to make a break as we approach Redwall. I do not want to give him that chance."

"Yes, sir." Safford turned to obey, then checked himself at the sight of a small party approaching from the northeast. "Hold a sec, M'Lord. One of our flanking patrol's returning, and they've got somebeasts with 'em."

Sure enough, the outlines of six figures could be seen just ahead, cresting a slight hill. The three hare scouts were escorting a shrew, a mole and a hedgehog, all dressed in woodlander garb.

Traveller moved up alongside Urthfist and Safford. "Well, it's about jolly time. They're comin' from the direction of Redwall. Maybe now we'll finally get some firstpaw news of wot's goin' on there."

"Perhaps," the badger nodded slowly. "But mark them well, and keep your eyes and ears open. I do not want to be taken by surprise, by anything. Hares, halt!"

The scouts brought the woodlanders straight up to Urthfist as the main column shuffled to a halt. Patrol leader Woythaler nodded to his master. "My Lord, we encountered these three just up ahead, walking towards us. They're from Mossflower, right near Redwall. I think you'll wanna hear wot they have t' say, sir."

Urthfist scrutinized the strangers. The mole was unarmed; the shrew carried a crude, simple sword, while the hedgehog hefted a spiked club that looked homemade. Their clothing was plain and varied, which suggested nothing of uniforms or these creatures belonging to any kind of organized militia. All three had slung over their shoulders sacks of provisions that looked hurriedly thrown together. The impression was definitely that of beasts who had been pressed into travel with little time to prepare.

"Indeed I would. What news from Mossflower, friends?"

"None of it good, I'm afraid," the shrew answered. "Some terrible things goin' on up Redwall ways. Guess you already knows that, if you be Lord Urthfist of Salamandastron, an' there's a hare named Browder 'mongst you."

Urthfist raised a heavy eyebrow. "That there is. You are friends of Browder's?"

"We're acquainted. Best beast we could find fer th' dash to summon you. He must've made it o'er those mountains okay, elsewise this flop-eared brigade o' yers wouldn't be here right now." The shrew took a few steps forward alongside the hare formation, searching the ranks with his gaze. "Hey, Browder, you ol' whompfoot, come out an' show yerself."

Browder wasn't hard to spot, being the only woodland hare among the more properly-attired fighters of the Long Patrol. He stepped out from behind Traveller and pounded the shrew on the shoulder. "Hey, Jarbsy, ol' chum. Didn't know whether I'd ever be seein' your homely shrewface again. Glad t' see that at least somebeasts I know have managed to survive this blinkin' mess."

Major Safford loudly cleared his throat. Browder turned and looked at him.

"Oh! Sorry! M'Lord, may I introduce Jarbo the shrew. He's a good egg. Over there's Folsom the mole - "

"'owdy, Browdee. Gudd t' see ye, boi okey."

" - but I'm 'fraid I don't know that 'hog. But if he's in the company o' these two, he must be all right."

The hedgehog tipped a casual paw-to-brow salute toward Urthfist. "Bollom's the name. T'wasn't part o' the plannin' to call on you. Too busy runnin' fer my life an' tryin' to save my spines while this gang was doin' that business. Only joined up with 'em three days ago."

"Sounds serious," Major Safford observed. "Has Redwall truly fallen?"

"Aye, that it has," Jarbo nodded. "Rats all over the place to the north of the Abbey, weasels to the south, an' foxes standin' lookout on the walltop. Can't get near Redwall wi'out bein' slain, or captured fer a slave."

Safford looked to Urthfist. "Sounds like he's consolidated his forces right around Redwall, just as we'd supposed, M'Lord. Explains why we haven't run into any of his gang so far. It means we'll be able to get pretty close before he knows we're on th' way."

"Don't count on it," Bollom warned. "From that walltop, they can see purty far inta th' Western Plains. You'd best be advised to head straight east from here, that way you'll have some cover from the forest as you approach the Abbey from the south. But you'll still 'ave yer work cut out fer you. Them woods is swarmin' wi' bad 'uns, long afore y' gets to Redwall."

"It also means the bulk of my brother's forces will be concentrated in one spot," said Urthfist. "Can you give me a rough idea of how many troops he has with him?"

"Oh, hunnerds," Jarbo said.

"Burr hurr, moight even be more loik a thousarnd," Folsom added.

"And tell me, what kind of support can we expect from the creatures of Mossflower?" Urthfist asked.

"Well, that's another reason to go due east," Bollom answered. "Most of the goodfolk who were able t' escape made fer the south, since this evil lot came down from th' north, an' the Western Plains is too open an' exposed to make a good escape route. In the woods south o' the Abbey, you may find scores or even hundreds who'd foller yer lead an' march wi' you inta battle. They ain't seasoned warriors, but that's their home they'd be fightin' fer, so what they lacks in experience, they'd mebbe make up fer in enthusiasm."

"An' there's even more who went farther south, into lower Mossflower," Jarbo put in. "'specially children, oldsters an' ladyfolk. We're on our way now to be with 'em. They took the south road a few days ago, while we stuck 'round Redwall to see if there was aught more we could do there." The shrew gave a long, respectful look at the Long Patrol hares. "Now that ye're here, some who gave up hope an' ran away might be convinced to come back. An' there's a large shrew army that travels the south of Mossflower in the summer. They're allies of Redwall, an' if they can be found, they're sure to join you."

Urthfist silently considered all he'd heard. At length he said, "I will follow your advice, and turn our course directly east. We will muster whatever support we can find, and battle any evil we encounter back to the very walls of Redwall. With luck, I can liberate the woods around the Abbey and put Redwall under a siege that will keep my brother bottled up inside the very stronghold he has captured. I will leave it to you to get word to others in the south who might be persuaded to assist us in this fight. I regret that I can spare you none of my hares to aid you in that task; I will need every one for the battle ahead. I do not know if we can liberate Redwall ourselves. But if you can bring sufficient help from the south, perhaps together we can succeed, and rid Mossflower of this evil that never should have befallen it."

"We'll do what we can," Jarbo volunteered for his two companions. "But it sure would help if we had at least one speedy beast to help get th' word spread thoughout south Mossflower. We shrews, hedgehogs an' moles ain't exactly th' fastest creatures around, y' know."

Urthfist cast a long gaze at the woodland hare in his company. "Would it help if I gave you Browder for this purpose? By his own admission he is not a fighting beast, so would be of limited help to me where I am going. And he was able to reach Salamandastron in three days. He should be more than fast enough for your needs."

Jarbo waved aside this offer. "Oh, I'm sure Browder's got 'is heart set on goin' with you to Redwall ... "

"Do you want a hare or not?" Urthfist barked at Jarbo, then turned to the hare in question. "What say you, Browder?"

The woodland hare shrugged. "Like you said, M'Lord, I'm no fighter. An' these friends o' mine sure could use my bally shanks for runnin' 'round with dispatches an' such. Then again, I do know the woodlands south o' Redwall pretty well, and could still help guide you there. I'm fine with wotever you decide, Lord."

"Then go with your friends, Browder. You can better serve the cause of Redwall and Mossflower with them than with me. When I see you next, it is my hope that you will be in the company of a great many allies that you have been able to raise for our fight. Until now, I had not been sure whether I should trust you, but I see now that goodbeasts truly are in need. You did well to summon me as quickly as you did."

Folsom the mole stepped over to Browder, warmly shaking paws with his hare friend and then digging into his haversack to produce a set of wood pipes. "Hurr y'go, Browdee. Oi kept 'em safe 'n' foine for 'ee."

Browder took the instrument from the mole. "Thanks, Folsom chappie. Knew I could trust you t' look after 'em." He raised the pipes to his lips and blew out a snippet of a rousing and lively melody, then turned to Urthfist. "No room to bring these with me to Salamandastron - hadta travel light, don'tcha know. Many's the time I wished I had 'em with me to play you a few ditties while we marched. When a beast's got music in it's heart, it's hard to make do without it."

The badger gave a nod. "You can make your music for your friends now, and perhaps someday soon make it for the new Abbot or Abbess of Redwall as well. But now our ways must part. Good fortune be with you. All of you."

"And with you, Lord." Browder bowed deeply to Urthfist, then stepped aside to stand with the other three woodlanders while the army of Salamandastron got underway once more. He raised the pipes to his lips again and blew out a stately, measured marching tune as the column tramped past them. Jarbo, Folsom and Bollom saluted and waved at the departing hares, wishing them luck in journeying and in battle. Browder ceased his playing once the last hare was past, and the four of them watched in silence as the trailing end of the procession dwindled into the distance. Then they turned and started away to the south.

"Good show, chaps," Browder said. "I do believe they swallowed it."

"Hook, line an' sinker," said Bollom.

"Hey, you ain't the only beast here who can act," Jarbo jibed. "But I'll be just as happy to get back to Lord Urthblood an' take my place with my shrewmates. I'm a fighter, not a player!"