A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed the previous story.

All mistakes are mine. Enjoy!

Chapter 6

It was the middle of the following day when Clawing and some trackers headed into Mossflower to search for any creatures willing to join the Hooded Clan. The raven knew it would prove to be a simple task, as most vermin were more than eager to snatch up the opportunity of robbing and murdering innocent woodlanders. Besides, everybeast had heard of the Clan and its reign of terror. It would be foolish not to join such an illustrious army.

The small group eventually happened upon a freshly abandoned campfire. Something - or somebeast - had obviously terrified whomever had been there, as leaves and branches were strewn all over. There was even a few drops of blood near the dead fire, which still held remnants of smoke that slowly wisped up into the early afternoon air.

Clawing inspected the scene, noticing bloody pawprints resembling that of a vole. He hopped to the left to examine different tracks, a move that ultimately saved his life. Without warning an arrow buried itself in the very spot he had just been, forcing the raven to leap back in alarm. His fellow vermin merely stared at the arrow in dumbstruck awe.

Clawing peered up at a small hill overlooking the site and found himself staring at an angered male stoat. Another arrow, which was pointing straight at the raven, was notched to his bow.

The stoat sneered at the vermin and spoke directly to Clawing. "This 'ere is me camp. Ye 'ave no right to jus' barge in an' go through me stuff. Now, unless ye wants t'die, I suggest ye an' yore fellow scumbags go back ter wherever ye came from."

Not about to be insulted, Clawing puffed out his chest and flared his impressive wings. "Brave words for a beast who is outnumbered. Unless you want to die, you best be putting down that arrow."

The stoat saw the wisdom in his words and slightly lowered his weapon. "Or perhaps we could discuss matters like gennelbeasts."

He jumped down from his position and walked towards Clawing, who studied him. He was a tall creature with yellowed teeth, cruel eyes, and a tattered green tunic. Despite being a little on the larger side width-wise he was obviously very strong, with muscles and sinew bunching out from his arms and legs. A black dagger hung from his waist.

"I am called Clawing, and these vermin are trackers in the Hooded Clan. No doubt you've heard of us?"

"Aye, nothin' but murderin' scum!"

Another creature materialized from the bushes, boldly walking straight past the vermin and into the campsite. Except for a smaller stature, this one looked nearly identical to the male. It was also made clear from her voice that she was a female.

The newcomer made her way over to the other stoat, her voice dripping with venom. "If'n ye askin' fer us t'join yore clan, the answer is no. We do not associate ourselves with such cruelty."

Her companion pushed her aside. "Who said anythin' about not joinin', sister? Synno does wot 'e wants, an' I wants to be a part o' this army."

Clawing glared at the bold female stoat. "A vermin who doesn't relish joining an army. Pray I ask, why don't you want to join our fabled clan? Your brother seems quite intrigued."

She sneered at him in contempt. "Clean the mess out o' yore ears, raven. I already gave ye my reason. Yore nothin' but murderin' scum!"

The one called Synno then posed a question. "Wot's in it fer us?"

"Only being a member of the greatest army that ever roamed these woods. Of course there's also the chance of owning some slaves from Redwall Abbey."

The female stoat merely laughed at this. "That's a good 'un! You an' yore pathetic army are tryin' t'conquer Redwall. Methinks I'll join jus' t'see you stupid lot git yoreselves killed by those woodlanders. They're fierce beasts."

Clawing's feathers rose dangerously, and his pupils became slits. "You are beginning to anger me, stoat. You best watch what you say."

"An' you best not be callin' me that agin. The name's Gala, an' this 'ere is my brother Synno."

Totally ignoring her, Clawing focused his attention on the other vermin. "So what do you say, stoat? Lord Kren and Lady Mortaza will be greatly pleased to have you become a member of the Hooded Clan. They're always looking for more warriors like yourself."

This flattery seemed to impress Synno, and he nodded in agreement. "Ye got yoreself a deal, raven."

Mortaza was busy going over some new battle plans in her tent when a commotion reached her ears. She initially ignored it but the noise quickly grew louder, to the point where something was obviously wrong. Figuring it was another scuffle breaking out between the vermin, she rolled her eyes and casually walked outside, sword in paw.

A female stoat thrashed around in the tight hold of two guards, who were clearly struggling to contain her. She bared her sharp teeth, spittle flying everywhere as she lashed out with her powerful hind legs. One of the guards cried out in pain as her claws raked his eye, and he released his hold on her arm. Synno, who was nearby, did nothing to aid his sister.

The other immediately whipped out his dagger and was about to stab her when his weapon suddenly fell from his grasp. He doubled over in agony and retched from the savage blow he had just received from Mortaza's clenched paw.

She spat on him before turning her attention to the still-struggling stoat, emerald eyes burning cruelly. "'Twould be a pity to waste such a strong and confident fighter. Tell me, what is your name?"

The reply she received was one of pure hatred. "Go an' boil yore head, scum."

Mortaza's tail twitched in annoyance, but she contained her temper and simply chuckled. "Scum, am I? You're definitely not short on nerve. Why are you injuring my warriors when they have done nothing to you?"

Gala refused to meet her glare; instead, she kept her eyes fixated on the ground as she replied. "Ha! Yore so-called warriors 'ave taken me against my will. I will not associate meself with such evil. I 'ave better things t'do than slay innocent beasts."

Mortaza threw back her head and laughed, obviously amused by the stoat's remark. "I am giving you a chance to make a name for yourself when I conquer Redwall Abbey, and you do not wish to slay innocent beasts?"

Gala spat on the dirt near her enemy's footpaws. "Unlike you, I don't relish killin'."

Mortaza was growing tired of the stoat's ignorance. She placed the tip of her sword under the other creature's chin and forced her to lift her head so their eyes met. The deadly weapon pressed against Gala's throat. "Boldness. That's what I love to see in my soldiers: boldness. Unless you want to be roasted alive on a spit and fed to my army, you will join the Hooded Clan."

"Do what you want," Gala snarled at her, completely unafraid of the weapon pressing against her flesh. "My brother will be more than 'appy t'join yore murderin' army, but you cannot fight yore fate. You will die like the others who failed miserably at conquerin' Redwall."

Mortaza had seen enough. Removing her swordtip from the stoat's neck, she struck her across the face with her wicked claws. Gala fought back the tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes as sharp pain tore through her body. She could feel the burning scars forming on her skin, but she would not allow the fisher any satisfaction and bravely swallowed the pain.

"I'm tired of your impudence, stoat. My word is law, and if you disobey you die. You and those foolish Redwallers will learn that lesson the hard way. That Abbey is mine, and your childish view of righteousness cannot stop me. Perhaps being in the front ranks next battle will change your mind. For now though, you can be locked away until you understand how to show respect to those higher than yourself."

Gala forced herself not to struggle as two guards dragged her away, but she let out a parting shot that caused a shiver of fear to run down her enemy's spine. "You cannot break me, fisher, an' you an' yore evil clan are fightin' a war you are destined to lose. Everybeast knows that good will always triumph over evil."

A guard gently pulled back the tent flap with his speartip and cautiously peeked in. "Lord an' Lady, the stoat captured earlier wishes to speak to ye. Er, the one who isn't locked up."

Kren, who had since returned from his previous fit of rage, waved a paw in the air. "Can't he come back later? Lady Mortaza and I are busy going over some battle plans."

The guard, an obese rat, remained persistent. "'E says it's about the Abbey."

Mortaza caught herself from nearly jumping up in her chair. "Why didn't you say so? Send him in."

Synno sneered at the rat guard and pushed his way through the tent flaps, stopping several feet from the two fishers. They immediately noted his powerful stature and obvious swagger.

"What do they call you, stoat?" Mortaza's voice was deceptively soothing.

"Synno. I 'ear yore tryin' to conquer Redwall Abbey, eh?"

A low growl elicited from Mortaza's throat. "We ask the questions. Do you know anything about that Abbey that may be of importance?"

Synno shook his head, almost as if he were disappointed by her lack of hospitality. "'Tis bad manners to throw out orders afore ye 'ave even offered a poor beast summit to drink or eat."

The fisher flattened her ears in anger. "Start talking, unless you want the last meal you ate to be your last."

But Synno knew he had the upper paw, and he was not about to back down. "Ye want t'know 'ow to really stab those Redwallers in their 'earts? Get me some vittles first."

He pointed to something on the table where Kren was seated. "Methinks that will do."

Mortaza snarled and, grabbing the piece of roasted bird, tossed it to him. "Huh, methinks you don't need any more food in that disgusting belly of yours."

Tearing off a chunk of meat, Synno purposely chewed it slowly and licked his lips in enjoyment. "Delicious. Best meal I've ever 'ad."

Both Kren and Mortaza were quickly losing their patience with the impudent stoat. They exchanged glances and, whipping out their swords, began to circle him menacingly and taunt him.

"Y'know my dear Lady, we haven't had stoat in such a long time. Just the mere thought of it makes my mouth salivate."

"Nothing better than skinning alive an idiot beast who thinks he can outsmart us, don't you agree my love?"

Synno was not stupid; he was outnumbered and knew the two fishers prowling around him were totally serious. They eyed him hungrily, saliva dripping from their snapping jaws. In an instant his demeanour had completely changed from overconfident to absolutely terrified.

Words poured from his mouth like a leaky faucet. "I know a riverdog who lives at the Abbey."

Kren leaned in, his rancid breath washing over the quivering stoat's face. "Tell us his name and who he is."

"Semser, 'is name is Semser. 'E 'as a wife an' daughter, an' 'e wields a sword that's said t'be magic."

He suddenly found himself hanging in mid-air, Kren's muscular paw grasping his neck and slowly choking him. "Magic?"

Finding words and breath proved difficult for Synno as he fought for both. "Some...some mouse used t'own it, but 'e's long dead. They say whomever wields the sword will be forever powerful."

Kren released his hold just in time, sending Synno dropping to the ground like an anvil. The stoat sucked in air greedily as he held his throat, now able to speak more coherently albeit with some coughs in-between. "The Redwallers...they worship this sword an' the mouse who used t'wield it. They also cherish their own kind. Ye capture any woodlander - Redwaller or not - the entire Abbey will be practically beggin' fer yore mercy. You'll 'ave the upper claw."

Mortaza used the tip of her sword to raise his head so they were eye-to-eye. "How do you know this riverdog?"

She had to crank her neck a little in order to get a good view of what Synno was about to reveal. Lifting his tunic, he ran a grimy claw over an old vertical scar on his midriff that ran from the middle of his rib cage to the top of his right hip. "Coward gave me this some seasons back. Since then I've been plannin' my revenge an' dreamin' of killin' 'im slowly an' painfully."

"You'll get your chance soon enough," Mortaza snapped. "For now you need to work on your courage. Not so tough when you're faced with real warriors, are you?"

Synno massaged his throat, hatred for the fishers boiling in his veins. "Jus' let me 'ave my vengeance against that riverdog an' I swear I'll never bother ye agin."

It was good enough for Kren and Mortaza. The latter, who had an immense hatred for the stoat but knew he was valuable to the clan, bared her teeth in satisfaction. "You're a crafty beast, I'll give you that. Prove yourself worthy to me and perhaps I'll let you have your revenge. Go out into Mossflower and find a woodlander. I don't care what species; just bring them back here. A young one is preferable, but if you ever want to see another sunrise again you return here with a prisoner. It's time those idiot Redwallers know how dangerous we can become when they do not obey our orders. Now get out of my sight afore I rip you apart with my claws and feed the scraps to my army."

Outwardly Synno appeared fine, but his heart pounded furiously against his chest at what had just occurred. Scrambling up, he hurriedly left the tent without a single word.