Well, here you go! If all goes well, updates should be out every two months- but then, you might get lucky and the Redwall Muse could return more often! Shout out to Ala Cye, Yemi Hikari, and Lady Eowyn of Ithillien for reviewing!

Oh, and Long Patrol Girl from the Redwall Wiki has done fanart! Here is a link, but you shall have to remove the spaces except leave the bold part alone:

http:// redwall. wikia. com/ wiki/ File: 5iege Group

Chapter Thirteen: Useless

Grumm watched the other questers with a small smile on his kindly face. Yesterday's slight argument seemed to have been completely forgotten and forgiven. Brome's ear seemed to be coming along nicely indeed, he was currently schooling Keyla on the usage of various herbs, while Celandine and Tullgrew were talking in hushed terms about something or other. It didn't matter. He was happy to see the five of them together, united in friendship against the evil that loomed over them.

The smile fell from his face as he recalled the fact that only two would be standing at the end of this adventure. He looked at Brome, laughing at some joke that Keyla had cracked, his bandaged stump of an ear painfully obvious.

Grumm wondered about how things could have gone. If Keyla and Tullgrew had not showed up... If the vermin had been quicker with her blade...

Rose had already died for his sake. He would do everything in his power to keep Brome from suffering a similar fate.

Zounzdican watched from the center of the field as the rams faithfully battered away at the walls of Noonvale. She could see widening cracks in the tree trunks and she smirked to herself.

Then she saw white... somethings... being lowered on ropes between the walls and the battle rams. Mattresses? She almost smiled to herself. Oh yes, if this were just a game, quite a fun game it would be. But this was no game, it was reality. And the quicker she took the woodlanders, the better.

She watched, as they fought, some falling to her troops' arrows, others taken by the javelins, still more by the slingstones. It was not uncommon, she noted, for one woodlander to die while shielding a comrade from a missile that would have meant their certain death.

Her lip curled. Fools! What need was there to save your comrade, if one of you died anyway? There was no point to it, it did not preserve your numbers, it made no sense at all! Just a useless tactic. Let the fools die- you weed out the slow and weaker of the bunch.

Zounzdican eyed the white mattresses softening the blows from the ram. Metal hoops were now being lowered, and she realized their intent- to grasp the head of the battering ram and pull it up. The ram would fall back and crush her troops.

"Blacknose," she ordered, "Have your archers aim for those hoop they're lowering. If we get to it in time, we can stop the hoops before they catch-"

Too late. The hoop caught the tip of the ram and pulled up sharply. The ram was raised, as she expected, but she did not expect the hoop to break as it was being raised, dropping the ram onto her troops. She ground her teeth in frustration and loaded an arrow to her bow, aiming for the one who seemed to have engineered the fight against the rams- and old squirrel. She pulled the bow back, back, so far back that the string touched her ear. She breathed out and let it fly.

She scowled in disappointment. A young mouse had leapt into the arrow's path, taking it through the chest.

"Fall back," she ordered moodily. It would seem they were a tougher nut to crack than she thought. She looked over to the battlements, where the old squirrel was trying to staunch the bloodflow of his shield and obviously failing. She narrowed her eyes and turned away.

She would never understand the strange ways of the woodlanders.

"Yes, that's it! Parry, thrust!" The young hare, whose name was Sabretache, dodged to the side, avoiding Jules' flashing blade. The swordsbeast smiled to himself. It was plain that the young 'un had never been trained, and yet he showed an incredible amount of talent. His form was terrible, but his instincts and ability to make split-second decisions were excellent. Add that to his long arms and agility, and you had the makings of an excellent swordsman.

Sabretache gave an unexpected twist of his sword, but Jules, having seen the tell tale ripple in the other's arm muscles, twisted his sabre along with it. Sabretache lost hold of his blade and it went flying, embedding itself into a nearby tree. Jules smiled, pleased with the young hare's progress. "Good work! That's enough for today, we only took a short break. Here." Jules tossed the young hare a heavy cylinder of stone.

"What's this for?" It looks useless, he thought.

"Hold it in your wrist and twist it around while you march. It will build up strength in your wrists. Practice with both hands, as if it were a claymore, as well as with your left and right hands."

"But why me left hand, wot?"

"Because one day yer right hand or arm may be broken and ye'll have to use yer left hand."

"It's heavier than any sabre I'll use!" Sabretache argued.

"Someday, you may lose yer blade and have to rely on a stolen or borrowed weapon. That's no time to be picky. It may be lighter than yer used to, or it may be a flippin' claymore, eh?"

The leveret nodded and began to slowly twist the cylinder in his paw experimentally.

Lawd approached the two, a grin gracing his face. "Come on, or we'll leave without you! Break was only fifteen minutes, eh wot!"

Barkjon grabbed Ferndew's paw as she sank to the ground, the arrow meant for him embedded deeply into her chest. "Ferndew... hang on, we'll get a healer. Why did you do it?"

She smiled, blood leaking from the wound and the corners of her mouth. "Barkjon.. you're like... a father to us all... You led us... gave us hope during the dark days of Badrang's tyranny... and even now, even though... you're old... you fight to protect us... I am proud to fight... by your side..." She coughed up red liquid and lay still, eyes remaining open as they looked upon the sky.

By the time they found it, the body had already been set upon by the scavengers of the desert. Vultures tore at what was not covered by golden grains, trying to get to the sweet meat protected by the layers of skin and fur. The remainder of the vermin crew that set out from Zounzdican's camp looked down at Crow's body as the morning light spread over the desert. Fatgutt leaned on his spear as he looked down at her still form. "Huh, I allus knew she was stupid, a-trying to take on the woodlanders by herself."

Their tracker, Zilvana, eyed the body carefully, noting the tracks shielded from the sand and wind by the corpse. "Mouse tracks. And a few otters' print to."

"Only that big otter could have done something like that," growled Fatgutt, gesturing at the damage.

Ripred eyed her grotesquely twisted neck. He couldn't say he particularly liked her. She was loud, selfish, and obsessed with treasure, always demanding her own way, but she was a good pickpocket and an excellent navigator. "We should bury her and get moving," he said at last.

"Who knows how far ahead those woodlanders are by now? Why bother burying her?"

"She was still our crewmate. She deserves at least protection from the scavengers." Ripred looked Fatgutt in the eye. "That could have been you forgaing. You are the best fighter herem but they have the advantage. You could have been the one who died."

Fatgutt met his gaze, and they stared like that for a long minute until finally Fatgutt looked away. "Aye," he muttered, disgruntled.

After several hours of brisk walking, Celandine stopped and put her hand to her eyes. "I can see something up ahead! I think it's a cloud bank, or maybe a mountain range..."

Keyla peered ahead, and could make out the espied ranges. He grinned. "Betcha Redwall's right over that mountain range!"

"Do you really think so?" Tullgrew asked.

"Martin can't travel forever. And if you go too far south, there's all sorts of vermin- nasty creatures."

"But that might actually be appealing to him- he might want to... you know..."

"Kill them? Maybe." Keyla looked back at the mountains, good mood spoiled. "He used te be like a brother to me. But after... well, after... I didn't know him any more." He fell silent, saying nothing, fixing his eyes on the mountain, except for shooting occasional glances in the direction of the other questers.

Brome fell back until he was even with Tullgrew. "How well did you get along with Martin?" he asked.

"Pretty well, though it's no secret that he was the closest to Keyla and Felldoh. They were practically brothers." She smiled softly to herself, engrossed in memory. "I guess I was the little sister of our little family, with Barkjon as the father."

Brome looked down, recalling Martin's quiet smile and Felldoh's oh-so-rare cheerful laugh. Tullgrew placed a hand on his shoulder. "Cheer up! They would not want to see you so glum."

Brome forced a smile and looked ahead to the mountains. He wondered if his family was safe and if he would have the strength to see this quest out to the end. His ear throbbed painfully, and he reached up to rub it. I am naught but baggage, he thought bitterly, I am a healer, I am supposed to heal the wounded, not get wounded!

There was a shout from ahead and he looked up just in time to see Grumm and Celandine vanish into the earth.

Ahh, looked longer in OpenOffice... hmm. Anyway, two months. And reviews help me improve!