A/N: Hiatus revoked.


Chapter 10

Journey into Kyrrabeck


'Duty'. That was a word I hated as much as 'tradition'. -Lia, The Kiss of Deception by Mary E. Pearson


Egil decided that Gystra was just a bit better than he had expected. The locals strongly disliked vermin, true, and most of them somehow hated Kaldosians even more, but there were more sights to see than the rest of Travrik combined. Stone Bridge was a sight, yes, but this was quickly overshadowed by the old amphitheatre, the ruins of old aqueducts and two of the arches just beside the river were just some of the landmarks that the old Briscans had built. The young ferret could not stop talking about them after Emperor Kiordan and later his father took him around the city.

"And when the Southswarders ambushed Domitius Strabo around here," the ferret continued, pointing at some woodlands just across the horizon, "he managed to beat them back while losing only a few hundred beasts!"

"And just how did he do it?" asked Arni. He was in a good mood, as he did not roll his eyes, yawn loudly, or slink away with a muttered excuse. Instead, he stood with Egil outside the camp, listening to what his younger brother had to say all evening.

"Simple! He laid a trap of his own. When they pounced on his armies Strabo just had them lock shields, and after a while, when the Southswarders were tired, he had his Voluceri pounce!"

"Voluceri?"

"The winged ones! Riders! On massive birds! It's not like they could fly, but they were tall. The warriors threw their javelins, and rode in with their swords and shields. The Southswarders were scattered, and the Briscans won the day."

"What happened next?"

"Um…" Egil scratched his head. "The Briscans retreated back to Castrum Udsonis and signed a treaty with the Southswarders because they were having some sort of civil war. Ammian's Oldspeak was a bit unclear, and the Chryso-Historia was translated from Laskarine - I don't think I can read that."

"You read a lot in Gystra, I take it!"

"Thank Seasons for the printing press," said Egil, smiling. Were it not for this the Lord of Gystra would have had a harder time collecting books for the castle library, and the ferret would have had a harder time finding information. "It's probably the best invention of this day and age."

Arni chuckled and patted his brother on the shoulder. "You might have luck heading back to Gystra and asking Father to let you go to Kalopolis. Like Lora."

"And run the risk of me leaving you two like she did?" asked Egil, shuffling closer to the edge of the tent they were supposed to stay in.

"She's happy with Demetrios - Father consented to the match."

"He had lots of fights with Mother over it! I was caught in the middle of that while you were off in Garlesca with the Lecannese. He won't take another kit's permanent departure well."

"If you say so," replied Arni. "I might have to talk to my father about this. But it's getting late now. Kyrrabeck's still a day away, and if you would like to visit their library, you might want to save your strength and have an early sleep."

Egil nodded. "Good idea."


There were some beasts who were famous for having the strangest of dreams. Some could see into the world of the dead, some could peer far into the future, and some, like Egil, just dreamt of complete and utter nonsense.

Sleep came quite easily to Egil every night - the travelling took quite the toll on his body - and his dreams were filled with weird images, images that somehow became weirder and weirder the more the ferret thought of it. There was one time where rolls of paper wrapped around Egil, and the more he struggled the tighter they seemed to be. He recalled that this was not the strangest - there were lingering memories of him watching a red dragon fall from the heavens or being chased by walking and talking candied chestnuts through the alleys of Kaldos.

Last night he was an eagle, soaring across the known world. From the enigmatic abbey of Redwall, he flew over the forests and deserts that separated Mossflower from the South. Perching on one of the towers of Castle Floret, he spied over the inhabitants of the city, laughing at their diminutiveness before heading east. Over Kyrrabeck and Varelwood he passed, and his great shadow loomed over Gystra's bridges. Finally, he approached Kaldos, but before he could cross the Helsker strait into Imperial territory he woke up.

Egil spent a bit of time wondering if he was a ferret dreaming of being an eagle or if he was an eagle dreaming of being a ferret, before he decided that he had much better ways of spending his time.

Sitting up on his mat, he saw that Arni was not in the tent, having left a tidy blanket behind him. He had left. The ferret sprung up, put on a coat and his boots, walked outside and gasped.

Snow!

The camp was coated with a thin layer of white, and Egil felt the chill climbing up his footpaws. He had only had the fortune to witness snow in the month of Waterrise but twice before - usually it fell in the other two winter months or Windrise. Then he remembered that Southswarder weather tended to be rather unpredictable.

From outside his tent, the ferret watched as the Aveyn flowed, sending chunks of ice down the slopes towards the west. Birds overhead warbled in their own tongue while the beasts around Egil began to pack up. This leg of their journey would soon be over, and they would be in Kyrrabeck within hours and Floret within days.

Perhaps I should begin packing as well! Before the ferret could do anything, he felt a paw on his shoulder. "Where's your brother, Egil? I would like to speak to him."

"Lord Erlend!" gasped the ferret. "Pardon me, but I have no idea where he is."

"Very well…" Erlend's voice trailed off as he cupped a paw against his head. "Blasted kit, always getting himself into trouble." Before Egil could ask what was the matter, the otter was gone in a huff, and in a few seconds the ferret was too.

Egil weaved between the tents, leaving a trail of dirty pawprints as he trudged over snow and grass, weaving around a few annoyed retainers until he arrived at the Emperor's own tent. It was not so richly decorated as the young ferret would have liked, but when pressed Kiordan recounted an embarrassing incident which happened when he was on campaign, involving a few barrels of wine and a heatwave. It was a tall tale more than anything, but the ferret knew better than to ask about that again.

The ferret opened the tent and cursed in frustration. Within the tent was an otter, but instead of the greying, smiling face of Kiordan the equally grey and frowning face of Niels Waveguard. "Please close the blinds, kit. I'm still sleeping."

"Have you seen His Majesty?"

"No. He only got a few hours of sleep. Woke up before me."

"I see. Sorry for the disturbance. Sleep well." Egil spun out and prepared to return to his tent, but he almost collided into his brother.

The elder ferret stroked his neck and his whiskers twitched as he directed his brother to their tent. "I need help with my armour."

"What? Why? Did you get into trouble?"

"No, I got somebeast else into trouble. That's different."

"But why armour? Is it a fight?"

Arni sighed. "Willem of Aventoft had the brilliant idea to question our decision to follow His Majesty to Floret before launching into a tirade about vermin in general. I had to challenge him to an official duel just to get him to shut his muzzle."

Egil's eyes widened. "Aren't you worried in the slightest?"

"Somewhat. I'm worried that I might actually maim my enem- opponent, or worse. If Lord Willem dies as a consequence, I might get a bit too infamous, and nobody would want that."

"I meant if you were afraid of losing," said the younger ferret, shaking his head.

"Oh no," replied Arni. "Not in the slightest. Snooty nobles-"

Egil decided to interrupt. "Snobles."

"You keep using that word."

"Well, you can't deny that it's a rather ingenious term!"

"Very well." Arni's tail shook for a moment. "Those 'snobles' really don't know how to fight. All they do is prance around battlefields trying to look gallant and relying on the beasts under their command to actually do the hard work."

"You can say that again."

"Just don't repeat what I said before to the Emperor. He probably wouldn't like it."

The pair made their way back to their tent, where Arni fumbled with a key, unlocking a massive oaken chest while Egil stood and watched.

Arni lifted up two great pieces of plate mail and handed them over to his brother. "This time, please don't switch the pauldrons up."

"I promised never to do that again, and I'm keeping this promise."

Arni smiled as he slipped on his chainmail, but before he could do anything else the tent flaps opened and a short and stocky otter stepped through, brushing off the dusting of snow that clung to his coat. As its lieutenant and commander, Blerun Streambattle had the right to wear the brilliant azure adder of Gystra on his body, but he had chosen to wear the woad-blue uniform of a simple soldier.

"It's you." The otter pointed at Arni, who tensed at the sight of the Steward's middle son. "You were the ferret who got Lord Willem in trouble, yes?"

"What of it?"

"It was most foolish of you to accept his challenge to a duel, first blood or otherwise." Blerun's glare never left Arni's body, except for a brief moment where his eyesight darted towards Egil. The ferret felt uncomfortable with this newcomer - Kiormund may have been yet another one of those insensitive nobles who never had to do without, but he was definitely more accommodating. "It was even more so for him to do so in the first place."

"What would you have me do then?" Arni crossed his arms. "Make amends, perhaps? To my knowledge I did not do anything wrong."

"Reconcile with the squirrel. He must be led to know that justice comes from royal authority, and not from a brutish contest of arms. The old ways of Travrik should be left buried."

"Your king doesn't seem to be here to deliver his justice," said Egil, trying to help his brother. "I mean no offence. It is a mere observation."

"But his subordinate is present," replied Blerun, not even giving Egil the dignity of eye contact. "I stand before you, do I not?" Arni mumbled something under his breath, leading to the otter placing a paw on his shoulder. "I understand that swallowing one's pride is difficult, but please understand that I will not allow a petty dispute between a lord and a mercenary to flare or simmer. Realms have suffered for much less." He weaved between the tentpoles and left.

"Snoble?" asked Egil.

"Definitely snoble," Arni slunk off his mail. "But my previous statement might have been a generalisation. Blerun Streambattle may be a haughty pain in the tail, but he has reasons to be full of himself."

"And by 'reasons' you mean-"

"More than a droplet of actual skill. We've met before once, when he was touring Otharn. We sparred a few times, and I lost as many rounds as I won."

"Then why didn't he recognise you?"

"A better question would be this." Arni raised a claw. "Why didn't he want to recognise me?"

The answer popped into Egil's head like an otter diving into a stream. "Snoble?"

"Snoble."


Unlike the great cities Egil had set his footpaws in, Kyrrabeck was downright miniscule. Nestled between the Aveyn and the woodlands that Egil had pointed to earlier in the day (Niels Waveguard said they were called the Pleris Heath), it was easily defensible, or, perhaps more accurately, it was remote.

The castle was easily visible even through the falling snow. It was an ancient building, constructed during the Bellmaker seasons. Repairs had been made after the wind and hail and the raids took their toll, but when Southsward expanded east it lost its military value. After all, why guard some decrepit fort in the middle of nowhere while there were Gystra and Hildrinn and the Tarelian border to defend?

It was very apparent to Egil that the Kyrrabeckers were greatly overestimating their importance in the greater picture. Many of their leading beasts were all too quick to point out that they would not bear the burden of housing a hundred foreigners on top of a force five times that number. "You may be from Gystra or Floret, the great cities," said a mouse, apparently head of some council, "but Kyrrabeck is as much as a city as they are."

Blerun Streambattle went up to one of them, whispered in the poor mouse's ear, and they changed their attitudes with incredible haste.

Now, standing in the city square, Egil looked on nonchalantly as he witnessed the most awkward embrace known to any beast.

On a hastily erected platform stood Blerun, with his uncle Erlend by one side and the Emperor by another. However, in his travel-clothes and with his whiskers sagging, the sleep-deprived Kiordan did not look regal at all. Egil recalled seeing paintings some rat had commissioned for the otter. He was just a pup back then, and he still knew how to smile. Now, after fifty seasons of wars won and lost, and of beasts born and dying, Kiordan was old and looked even older.

To be brutally crushed under the wheel of time - is that what it meant to rule?

"I promise to show no hostility towards you or your kind," grumbled Willem of Aventoft, trying his best to quickly escape from the ferret's embrace. "Unless the situation calls for it."

"I promise to…" Arni's eyes rolled as Egil realised that he had forgotten his lines. He would have a good laugh later. "I promise to do the same."

If Blerun was in any way displeased with that, he did not show it. "Southsward has given you her pardon. May the Seasons give you both peace."

The duo sprung apart almost immediately, while those on the platform took their leave as well, to seek shelter from the snow. Egil wanted to dart towards Kiordan and to ask him how he was doing and why he was not feeling well, but the Emperor was gone. He is a busy beast and it would not be good to disturb him.

The ferret saw Lord Willem spring away to join his brother, but before he could find his way to Arni he received a strong tap on the shoulder. He turned to face a familiar otter. "You. You're Egil, right? Skuli's son, Arni's brother, Kiormund's friend."

Egil gulped at the sight of Erlend Streambattle. "Yes."

"Good. I have a task for you."

"What of it?" Egil felt his tail twitch. "I cannot answer for my father - I have no gifts in the pursuit of profit. You would have better luck talking to my father directly about that."

"That does not concern you." Erlend's face folded into a scowl in a manner that reminded Egil of his nephew. "I am more concerned about your brother. He seems far too aligned with the Southswarders for my liking."

"And you expect me to do something about it?"

"Yes," replied Erlend, rubbing his head. "Seasons Above, all of this is giving me such a headache. You are to talk to your brother, and tell him to stop associating with Blerun. I expected him to react a bit more violently toward that squirrel's offences. Him lying on the ground, drenched in his own blood, begging for mercy - that would be a sight, wouldn't it?"


Night fell on Kyrrabeck swiftly, as if it were a hare spotting food from afar. Finding lodgings was troublesome, but eventually the ferret brothers obtained a room in an inn. It was cramped and just a bit too cold, and it had just a single bed for the pair, but Egil was just glad to rest his legs for the two nights before the final leg of their journey.

"And then I asked Lord Erlend what I would gain from completing his tasks," said Egil as he gazed out the window. The streets of the city were deserted as no honest beast would come out onto the streets at night. Glimmers of light could still be seen, through the windows of the cityfolk, and the moon had finally decided to make its way beyond the clouds.

"Allow me to guess. Nothing?"

"Absolutely nothing." The younger ferret made his way towards the bed, which was thankfully large enough to fit two beasts in. "He reminded me of my 'duties' and 'obligations' and that I should go fulfil them without asking so many questions."

"Easily one of the worst snobles out there, I bet. Is his son any different?"

"Kiormund? He's fine, I suppose. He doesn't speak ill of other beasts often, and if he does he doesn't mean it."

"He sounds like a great friend to have."

"He is one indeed." Perhaps three seasons of Redwall had changed Egil's friend, rendering his personality unrecognisable. But Redwall was Redwall - a place of peace, good company and even better food. Kiormund Streambattle was still himself.

That night Egil dreamed of books, birds and his old friend.