A/N: Thanks to Auda and Evelina888 for their lovely reviews.

All mistakes are mine. Enjoy!

Chapter 8

As soon as he was thrown into the cell, Taffa instinctively scurried to the farthest corner away from Gala. He glared hatred at the stoat, his entire body still shaking with pure terror. "Ye move a single paw, vermin, an' I'll tear ye apart!"

Gala smiled at the little shrew's ferocity. "Yore bravery sure is admirable, young 'un. But ye 'ave to need t'worry; I won't 'arm ye."

Taffa was not convinced, and he let her know it. "Cowardly scum, all o' ye!"

Gala spoke in a soothing tone in an attempt to comfort the terrified shrew. "Do ye think that only because Synno captured ye?"

Her cellmate nodded furiously but still kept his distance. "Aye, the rascal snatched me up when I was tryin' t'get some vittles. Besides, me dad says all vermin are bad."

The female stoat chuckled quietly. "Not exactly. Ye'll eventually find out that I'm an exception. 'Ere, why don't ye take me food? Ye look 'ungry."

She pushed the jug of water away with her footpaw until it was about halfway between them, knowing he wouldn't come near her. "'Tis not much but 'opefully it'll keep yore stummick 'appy."

Taffa was indeed very hungry; his stomach rumbled in protest at the sight of life-giving water. His mouth was parched, and with extreme caution he inched closer to the jug. When he was within reach his tail shot out and, snaking it around the handle, pulled the jug in close.

Gala held out her paws as he began to greedily drink the water. "Slow down there, young 'un, or ye'll make yoreself retch. Take small gulps."

Taffa heeded her advice, and she spotted him eyeing the stale piece of bread. This she picked up with a paw and gently tossed it to him. "Go ahead. I've already eaten."

"Y'know," the young shrew said as he chewed on the morsel, trust for the stoat beginning to set in. "Yore pretty nice fer a vermin. My name's Taffa."

"I'll take that as a compliment. I'm called Gala."

Her companion scowled at the hardness of the bread and decided to dunk it in the water. "So 'ow did ye get yoreself captured? If'n ye don't mind me askin', o' course."

The kind stoat waved a carefree paw. "A good conversation can pass quite a bit o' time. The one who captured you, that's me brother. Although sometimes I wonder 'ow we're even related. Any'ow, a big raven an' some o' his crew stumbled upon our campsite. Synno decided t'be all big an' brave an' attempt to slay the raven, but I quickly intervened. That wicked bird ordered 'is vermin to apprehend me, an' although I struggled I couldn't escape."

Taffa interrupted abruptly. "Wot about that big mean beast? She looks like she's a wicked 'un."

"Patience, young 'un. I was jus' about t'get to that part. 'Er name's Lady Mortaza, an' yore right: she is a wicked beast. Cruel, greedy, an' determined to conquer Redwall Abbey."

At the mention of Redwall, Taffa's eyes widened and he sat straight up. "That's where me ma an' pa are goin'! Oh, I 'ope they made it there safely!"

"For their sake, they better 'ave. Nobeast wants t'be out in these 'ere parts whilst that evil Mortaza is still alive. Ye sit tight now, young 'un. Afore ye know it, ye'll be back wid yore parents."

Taffa cocked his head quizzically. "'Ow do ye suppose that'll 'appen?"

His newfound friend winked mischievously and tapped the size of her muzzle. "Leave it t'me."

Above the camp, a female kestrel had witnessed the entire exchange. Due to her smaller size and chestnut plummage, she was virtually invisible amongst the branches and budding leaves of a giant oak tree. Unfurling her brown wings, which were flecked with black spots, she launched herself into the air and headed straight for Redwall Abbey.

Log a Log stood perched on the Abbey battlemented ramparts, gazing out into the moonlit night. The Guosim leader was twitchy and ready for action; he pawed anxiously at his rapier, eager to know what Mortaza was up to. He was not about to disobey the Abbot's orders, however, and told himself to be patient.

A somewhat blurry shape in the distance caught his attention, and he squinted his eyes to get a better look. He was almost bowled over by a bird, who had come hurtling towards the Abbey at an alarming rate.

The shrew leader immediately knew who the visitor was. "Santalo, wot in the name o' nuts'n'acorns are ye doin'?"

The female kestrel was breathing heavily after such a furious flight, and collapsed on the stone near his footpaws. "Young shrew...prisoner...vermin camp..."

"C'mon ole gel, let's get ye some water. The Abbot will want t'hear this." Log a Log called a nearby guard over, and together the two carried the exhausted bird to the Abbey.

Down in Cavern Hole, Abbot Torlay studied the newcomer as she drank. She was a beautiful creature, with a brown tail that featured black bars and a narrow yellow ring around her eye. Perhaps most notable, however, were her talons. Black and hooked, they were fearsome weapons and excellent tools for hunting. The old hare was a true fighter, but even he would not want to face such a dangerous predator.

As she drank some refreshing water, Log a Log filled him in as to who she was. "Santalo's an ole friend of the Guosim. Says the vermin 'ave a young prisoner, a shrew. Since she's small an' can escape quickly, she's our spy. Helped us in many a battle too. If'n she likes ye, you've got a friend fer life."

Culy, who was with her parents, asked hesitantly, "An' what if she's not yore friend?"

Log a Log chuckled grimly. "Then ye better run an' pray she doesn't find ye!"

At that moment Santalo opened her eyes, and everybeast present found themselves staring into twin pits that were as dark as a moonless night. The fearsome bird clacked her beak together and nodded at Abbot Torlay, her curious speech intriguing Culy. "Art thou the ruler o' this Abbey?"

Torlay bowed respectfully. "Aye. My name is Abbot Torlay. My friend Log a Log says you were spying on the vermin and noticed they have a prisoner."

The kestrel's feathered head bobbed up and down. "A young male shrew, in the same cell as a female stoat. Although 'tis odd vermin would throw one of thine own into a cell."

Torlay's ears shot up in alarm. "You mean he's locked in the same cell as a vermin?"

Santalo nibbled on a piece of cheese as she answered, "Aye. But yon shrew did not seem afraid o' her. She gave him some vittles, and methinks they were conspiring."

Taffa's father, who, along with his wife was present, suddenly spoke up. "Did ye get any names?"

The kestrel turned her unblinking eyes to the shrew. "Methinks one was called Taffa."

He was nearly in hysterics as he questioned her further. "That's my son! Was he alright? Injured? If'n that vermin lays a single paw on 'im, I'll slay 'em!"

Torlay ordered Mahdis and Emroon to hold the shrew back. Tears sprang from his eyes as he crumbled to the ground and wept openly, his wife comforting him.

Santalo, however, had good news. "Thy son is safe. A rare sight to see, but thine vermin was of the friendly sort."

Log a Log looked pleadingly at the Abbot. "We can't jus' let the poor mite rot away in some scummy vermin cell. With yore permission, Abbot, I'd like to attempt a rescue."

Semser seconded this by thwacking his rudder upon the ancient stone. "'Tis time Mortaza realizes who she's dealin' with."

Torlay nodded in agreement. "Any woodlander in danger is considered an emergency. Skipper, Log a Log, round up your crews and meet us back here. We need to plan this accordingly; any mistake could mean fatalities."

Gala was in the midst of her own preparations. The crafty stoat had thought of a simple but daring idea to free both herself and Taffa from their filthy prison. She could spot some guards roasting food over a fire whilst others warmed their backs and tails, for it was a rather cool night. Others were drinking seaweed grog and spitting it into the flames. This produced brilliant colours that shot up into the night air, eliciting a laugh from the drunk vermin.

Gala turned to her young cellmate, who was shivering noticeably. "Sit tight young 'un, an' take me cloak. 'Tis not much but it'll keep ye warm fer at least a little while."

Nodding gratefully, Taffa wrapped the article of clothing around his small body. "Wot's the plan Gala?"

The stoat peered out at the campfire, eyes twinkling in the light. "All ye need t'do is jus' stay right behind me, unnerstand? I don't want t'see ye get 'urt."

Taffa wrinkled his snout at her. "Can't I help fight those nasty vermin?"

Gala patted his head affectionately. In the short time they had been cellmates she had found herself becoming quite fond of the feisty little shrew. "There won't be any fightin', young 'un. Mebbe a few unconscious beasts, but that's about it. Now, how's yore wailin' voice?"

"Me ma an' pa say it's loud enough t'wake a hibernatin' bat."

Gala smiled in the moonlight. "Good. Ye think ye can show me jus' 'ow loud?"

The second Taffa unleashed a scream, Gala was forced to cover her ears. Taffa's parents had been right: his wailing was indeed quite loud. "Can't anybeast give this poor creature somethin' to eat? I'm starvin' 'ere!"

His cries quickly reached the campfire, but none of the guards actually made to get up. Gala watched as they repeated her action, groaning as the shrew's voice shook their eardrums.

"Gah, somebeast make that idjit shut up afore me ears burst!"

"My poor ole 'ead!"

Kren and Mortaza burst out from their tent, paws clasped to their ears in an effort to drown out the cries. Above the din the latter yelled, "Half-witted morons! Get up you lazy beasts, afore I beat you with your own weapons!"

Fortunately for the vermin, nobeast heard her. Gala saw the fisher and immediately nudged Taffa. "Keep goin', yore doin' a great job."

The young shrew took another deep breath and, cupping his paws, continued to yell. "Please! We're 'ungry an' need vittles! We're dyin' 'ere!"

Mortaza was none too pleased and started to berate her soldiers. "Get up I said! You, go see what that was about."

The creature she had spoken to, a fat weasel, grumbled as he rose to his footpaws. "Why me? I'm 'ungry an' was jus' about to eat." He found himself back on the ground, only this time doubled over in agony from the savage kick he had just received to the stomach.

Mortaza sneered at him. "Unless you want to see your innards, I suggest you clean the mud out of your ears. My orders were to get up, not complain like a crying infant."

Amidst the continuous yells, she headed back to her tent. The unlucky weasel fell silent as he got up for a second time and waddled over to the cell. The piercing cries were nearly too much for him, and he tapped on the bars with his spearpoint. "Ahoy, enough with the racket already! Yore givin' me a splittin' headache."

Taffa clasped his paws together, pleading with the guard. "Oh please sir, won't ye give us some food?"

The weasel snarled at him irritably. "The only thing I'll be givin' ye is a stab from me spear if'n ye don't shut up!"

As he had approached, Gala noticed a set of keys attached to his belt. She silently thanked the fates and launched into action. The fat weasel didn't even get a chance to blink as Gala grabbed his spear from him and whacked him on the head, rendering him unconscious. He slumped to the ground silently.

Taffa was taken aback by what had just happened, but one glance from Gala told him he was to continue yelling out desperate pleas. As he did so, Gala worked on unlocking the cell. Within minutes she was successful and quietly opened the door, making sure to move slowly so that nobeast would suspect anything was out of the ordinary. As she and Taffa stalked out of the cell, she grabbed the unconscious weasel and gently lay him inside.

"There ye go, mate. All cozy an' snug."

Without another word the two fugitives headed into Mossflower. Not a single vermin had heard or seen them leave.

Semser peered up at the full moon, knowing its light wouldn't fully reach the forest floor thanks to Mossflower's thick canopy. Still, it was better than a pitch black night. Sheathing the great sword of Martin, he stood alongside his wife and daughter as he addressed the rescue party.

"We've got a bit of a march in front of us, so keep your eyes an' ears open for any suspicious movements. Once we reach the vermin camp we'll unlock the cell in which Taffa is being held. As for his vermin companion, he or she may try an' trick us. Babes as young as Taffa don't realize how dangerous vermin are."

Culy raised a paw. "An' what if this vermin is indeed good? Do we bring them back to the Abbey for interrogation?"

Her father nodded and gripped the ancient two-pawed sword tightly. "Having a hostage who knows the enemy is useful, but with vermin ye can't take any chances. Alright, let's head out. And remember, be on your guard. There's no telling what these scum are up to."

At the same time the Redwallers were setting out on their search for the young shrew Taffa, the Hooded Clan's camp became a scene of chaos. One of the vermin, a rat who had had a bit too much grog, stumbled over to where the prisoners were being held.

"Ahoy there Rottail! Wot be ye doin' layin' on the job, eh? Lady Mortaza will 'ave yore guts fer garters."

Although he was slightly drunk, the rat could tell Rottail had been knocked unconscious. Turning around so he was facing the camp, he called out in a slurred voice, "Somebeast went an' whacked poor ole Rottail in the 'ead!"

The other vermin heard this and came rushing over. All of them had been swigging back some of the grog, so their sense of perception was unsteady. They all rammed into each other and crashed to the ground, cursing and groaning as they tried to push one another.

Mortaza, having heard the commotion, burst from her tent, eyes blazing. "What in the name of blood and thunder is going on?"

She raced over to the fallen vermin and kicked them savagely. "Lazy worms! Where's that oafish weasel I sent to check on the prisoners?"

The rat who had found Rottail raised a grimy claw. "Beggin' yore pardon, m'Lady, but Rottail seems to be sleepin' in yonder cell."

Mortaza gritted her teeth in anger and peered inside the cell. Sure enough, Rottail was lying motionless on the ground. But she was more focused on what - or more precisely, who - wasn't there.

"The prisoners have escaped!"

Taffa had a difficult time keeping up with Gala. While he was younger, his small legs couldn't run as fast as her. He was forced to stop and catch his breath. "You go on ahead, mate. I'll catch up later."

But the loyal stoat would hear none of it. "Wot, an' leave ye in Mossflower all by yeself? Not a chance, mate. Climb up on me back; I'll carry ye the rest o' the way."

As she bent down, Taffa had an inquiry. "Where exactly are we goin'?"

The extra weight was no burden for Gala, as her friend was small. His stomach was touching the back of her head, and her paws were clasping his legs so that he wouldn't fall backwards. "Redwall Abbey, o' course. We'll be safe there."

Landing softly upon the grass, Clawing swiftly made his report. "A large group of Redwallers heads this way, Lady. Riverdogs an' rivermice, a treemouse, the big stripedog, an' two birds."

Mortaza's fertile brain was working feverishly as she devised a plan. "They know of the little shrew. Well, I'm certainly not going to let them reach our camp. Clawing, round up the entire army and make every single beast is prepared for war. I'll make this forest run red with woodlanders' blood before morning!"

Askhew and Santalo, who, since it was too dangerous to light a torch, had come along for the rescue party due to their ferocity and excellent senses, halted suddenly at the head of the group. Their sharp hearing had picked up a foreign sound.

Semser muttered out of the side of his mouth, "What is it?"

The red-tailed hawk's plummage rose slightly. "A single creature, coming from that direction. You want Santalo an' I to investigate?"

"No, 'tis too dangerous. We don't know if they're friend or foe." He was practically bowled over by a sprinting Gala, who had not seen him until it was too late. Otter and stoat went crashing to the ground with a hard thud.

Recovering quickly, Semser jumped back up to his footpaws and greeted the newcomer with a snarl. "I guess this answers my question."

Taffa, who had not sustained any injuries from the fall, came bounding over and placed himself in front of Gala. "No, don't 'urt 'er!"

The stoat gently urged him aside. "Don't worry young 'un. Jus' go with the goodbeasts; I'll be alright."

But Taffa refused to budge. He glared up at the otter warrior with fierce eyes. "She 'elped me escape from the vermin! Please, she's me friend."

Semser lowered the great sword of Martin, although he kept a close watch on the stoat. "You helped him? Why?"

"With all due respect, m'Lord, mayhap right now isn't the best time t'be askin' questions. Take this young shrew an' return to yore Abbey. No doubt Mortaza an' 'er scum will be after ye."

A sinister voice suddenly rang out, surprising the Redwallers. "Too late, me beauty. We're already here."

Culy's eyes widened with horror as her eyes fell upon the Hooded Clan. An icy claw gripped her heart as the terrible realization struck her like a bolt of lightning: they were totally surrounded and outnumbered.