Chapter Eight

"Oooooohhh, Gerrith is just as handsome as always," sighed a young haremaid.

"He is not, he's even more handsome than he was!" said another haremaid.

"And he's a lot more grown-up," commented a third haremaid. "He's a lot more grimmer than before. I wonder what all he's been through?"

Horty rolled his eyes. He was down on the beach with some of the young hares and Gerrith and some of the younger woodlanders. Gerrith and some of the young males were jousting or wrestling in the sand while the females watched, giggling and fluttering their eyelashes. Ferrl was among them, her eyes ever upon Gerrith. Horty was sitting on the sand, somewhat apart from the group, leaning back on his elbows. He felt hot and tired, which was something new to him. Usually he always felt this surge of energy flowing through him that made him leap, box, wrestle, and fight savagely.

But lately he felt as if just by meeting Gerrith his strength was draining away.

Windblade had explained Gerrith to Horty, about how he was a foundling on a corsair ship and that both of his parents were presumably dead, and that he had left the mountain when he was only twelve seasons old to seek adventure. Windblade had also told Horty that he expected him to be nice to Gerrith, regardless of the fact that he was a ferret. Though Horty would've rather been drowned in the ocean, he made absolute certain that he was polite to the young ferret and that he didn't go off screaming at him again.

Horty still felt a little ashamed of what he did that night, and was determined not to let it happen again. And he figured that would be easy, as long as he never went near Gerrith ever again. . . .

A great sickness fell over the mountain.

Nobeast had been prepared for it, nor did any of them know what could've caused it. Some of the hares intimated that the visiting woodlanders brought it ashore with them, but Windblade would hear none of that.

"Wherever it came from, it'll do us no good arguing about it. What we need to concentrate on right now is how to defeat it. Come on, troops! We only just defeated a whole horde of seavermin! We're not going to let some measly illness bring us down, are we?!"

The hares and woodlanders cheered heartily that they wouldn't, but as the days went by, spirits began to fade. And things didn't get any better when Lord Windblade himself became sick.

Horty when he heard had rushed to the badger's bedchamber – only to meet with the sight of Gerrith already holding Windblade's paw.

For a split second, the young hare felt as if he had been slapped. Then that same strange, horrible feeling from that night on the beach began creeping up on him.

"Get," he growled through clenched teeth, "away from him."

This time, Gerrith was already filled with frustrated grief, so he whirled on Horty, all manners forgotten. "You keep away! He doesn't need some hard-faced–"

"I need both of you," the ailing badger lord rasped. He held out both of his paws, which each of his adopted sons took, both looking sadly down at their adoptive father.

"Both of you, listen to me," Windblade said, his face graying and thinner. "My days may be drawing to an end–"

"Don't talk like that!" Gerrith quickly said.

"No!" Horty said at the same time, shaking his head as his eyes filled with tears.

"I can't die – knowing that the two of you. . . ."

"My lord!" a healer-hare came rushing in, looking very excited. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I've finally found some documents that describe just the type of decease we have, and it also tells of a cure!"

"A cure?!" Horty and Gerrith joyfully cried out. "Well where is it? Did you make it?!"

Here the hare's face fell slightly. "That's where the problem starts. I do know how to make the medicine, and I do have most of what it calls for. . . ."

Both young hare and ferret felt their hearts fail at the word "most".

"But I do know where we should be able find the rest of the ingredients!" the hare quickly added. "I'm sure Redwall Abbey would have them. The only thing to worry about is how fast we can get them."

"I'll get them!" Horty said, already thinking of all the provisions he'll need to take with him.

"You don't even know the way to Redwall!" Gerrith said scornfully. "But I do! I'll go, and–"

"You're not fast enough to get there and back on time!" screamed Horty.

"If I'm fast enough to beat you I'm fast enough–" retorted Gerrith, only he was cut off by a sharp roar from Windblade.

"ENOUGH!" the badger then fell back against his cushions; that roar had taken a lot out of him. His two sons hurried forward, both ashamed suddenly.

"You'll both go," Windblade breathed. "Help each other. Save our mountain. Save . . . me," he added with a slight smile. "And save . . . each other."

And with that enigmatic note, the badger lord fell into a deep slumber.