Chapter 16

Two Swords


Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart. -Meditations, by Marcus Aurelius


Urza's dreams were strange to Margane.

One moment they were in some sort of forest, and then they were in some sort of ruined castle in the north, but now the trio were standing on a rocky beach, watching the waves crash onto the pebbles and the breeze above them move the clouds around the sky.

"Again!" shouted the vixen, as the marteness lifted up a paw and breathed. She watched as the waves suddenly stopped, a thin layer of ice abruptly covering the froth before it once again vanished, melting before the strength of the tides.

"It's not working…" groaned Margane. "Maybe we could try something else besides water?"

"There's a problem with that," said Dennol, chucking a stone into the ocean from his perch on a dead tree trunk. "It's everywhere, and Urza would like to see how we can take advantage of it. I don't know about the efficacy of tinkering around with ice though."

"We Sorcerers cannot tinker with matter directly." Urza reached above the waters and smirked as a bucket popped into her paw. "But we can change the energy around the water to change its properties in order to suit our purposes - exactly like this!" With a smooth motion of her arm the vixen launched the liquid towards the sun descending across the horizon, but water did not clash with water. Instead, the water remained in the air, solidified with the power of the Sorcerer's mind. "It took me too long to master this, and by the time I managed I threw myself into another area of studies - which I doubt I can teach. It can go wrong so, so easily."

"Of course it can," said Dennol. "We can't just assume things will always go our way."

"So when the Fates weave in the other direction we are prepared. Right, Dennol?"

The marten nodded at his sister as he gazed into the waters below him. "Yes, yes. But sometimes we must move things around so that everything that holds us back could give us a good, careful look - and proceed to run away with their tail behind its legs."

Dennol chuckled as he saw nascent chunks of ice coalesce around the sea. "After all, one of us is the Taggerung, great warrior and greater Thaumaturge. A force to be reckoned with."

Urza shook her head. "But neither of you are invincible, despite what the Juska say. A stray arrow or a heavy mace or a poorly-prepared meal could see you into the grave."

Dennol's whiskers twitched, and the ice cracked.

"I wouldn't recommend you not flout your power so much. Especially when you have yet to master it."

The marten skipped a stone across the water, shaking his head. "To be fair, that's why we're here. Something within me feels like we're not pushing ourselves enough…"

"We don't want to break ourselves before we even get to see what's on the other side, Dennol," chirped Margane, placing a paw over her brother's shoulder.

"That, and we keep getting summoned to senseless gatherings over early meals."

Urza scoffed. "If Daghild was here she would try to justify the entire thing, but I don't have much to say about the matter. In any case you should get some rest before daybreak - I doubt two tired martens would have their moods improved by being shouted at in the morning, right?"

The siblings shook their heads with differing magnitudes of vigour.

"Good then. We'll give this a few more tries before we take an early rest."


Margane could march across the coast roads to Gystra, pay the southern mountains a visit to see off those brutish Tarelian marcher lords, or even make her way up to Redwall Abbey and back again, but tidying up her room? That was an actual challenge.

Thankfully, the marteness did not have to do it alone. In fact, she did not have to do it at all. It had never occurred to Margane that Bodvar would be willing to tidy up their room while she was away on her duties, especially as dates of his examinations drew nearer and nearer.

Right next to Margane, Bodvar continued to sleep, most of the quilt the pair shared wrapped around his slim body. He's taking up all the space again…

Getting up on her footpaws, the marten walked a few steps forward and unlocked the windows before flinging them wide open. "Time to wake up, dear…"

"Ugh…" Bodvar's eyes fluttered as he threw the quilt above his head. "The sun's barely up…"

"It's winter, dummy. It rises far, far later than a few months ago."

"So it's… the seventh hour?"

"The eighth, actually."

"Drat," replied the otter, launching himself from the bed onto the floor and moving quickly to put on his usual clothes, marred with splotches of ink (from studying) and sauce (from regular trips to the mess hall).

"When are you going to get that washed?"

"Probably later this week - I'm a bit too busy with the remaining anatomy sessions." He grunted as one of his paws got stuck within a sleeve. "Then I need to finally meet my classmates again."

"For what?"

"They need my help, apparently!" Bodvar yawned as he slipped into his trousers and grabbed his belt. "Who am I to refuse friends in need? Besides, teaching is one of the best ways to help me retain knowledge. Nobody loses here."

"Heh. You have time for everything! I've got a morning briefing with the General and more drills afterwards." She neglected to mention what was between the two tasks. "I have quite a busy day today."

The otter paused as his eyes drifted up, evidently wondering what the briefing was about, but to Margane's relief he did not pry. Not that she didn't know what to say - it was just that lying to Bodvar hurt. "Fair enough. You go around Floret and keep the realm safe. I'll be here to patch you up if things go pear-shaped."

The embrace they shared next was warm, and the marteness pushed all her troubling thoughts away as she clung to the otter's chest.


Shivering in the cold, Margane wished she had put on more clothes.

The winter wind was fierce, and the snow hampered their visibility. Every building within the martens' line of sight was covered with a fine layer of ice, and the marteness was very glad she did not have to go up the stairs leading up to Castle Floret today. They were called the Steps of Majesty for a reason, and nothing could be less majestic than suffering severe and (most likely) permanent injuries caused by rolling down a great number of stone steps.

Dennol grumbled. "I don't like this hood."

Margane stepped closer to her brother, taking care not to slip in the process. "How so?"

"It's too short. The snow keeps blowing into my ears, and it's just maddening."

"It's just a short walk away. A few minutes until we head to the relevant establishment. You should be glad we're not paying for that."

Dennol nodded. "That would kill Ma Ankarette."

Like a serpent in the shade, the pair of siblings moved into the Upriver District. The further Margane walked, the fewer houses she saw, one after another replaced by shops. In the morning snows they had yet to be properly opened and visited, but even in the wind she recognized the signs hung atop their doors.

There were smiths and carpenters, though they were few in number. Most of these were in the south, where the Guild headquarters were, but some were also stationed here. Margane had no idea whether or not they were affiliated with other organisations or if they had been posted there to assist the locals, while Dennol was just happy to find some shelter under the canopies.

The more Margane walked, the more she noticed the shops starting to become more and more different. There were the usual stores which sold foodstuffs and assorted services, but there were also weavers and cobblers. One of the stores displayed a grille absolutely studded with locks, which made the soldier smile.

Eventually the duo emerged out of the district, and made their way into the Portway. The marteness paused before a very familiar tavern she had hauled some foreign otter into before heeding her brother's beckons and continuing on her way.

"Thinking about Little Lord Kio, are you?"

Margane frowned, her ears folding underneath the safety of her hood. "There was this ferret talking with him when I last saw him in the Castle."

"That doesn't sound like it's worth talking about. Not at all."

"He's not some normal beast - there was this air around him. Like he's dead."

"A ghost, then?" One of Dennol's eyes squinted. "Have you been staying up late again?"

Margane shrugged. "It's not even close to the strangest thing we've seen lately."

"Fair enough."


Things seemed to be perfectly normal in the little room at the corner of that fancy ordinary. Daghild was early, Rikart was late, and the siblings just sat there trying not to be awkward. However, the presence of Lamont Streambattle, Steward of Floret, made the martens' failure an inevitability.

Although, from Margane's side of the table, the otter was failing at the same task.

"So… which types of pastries would you two like?" asked Lamont, clad in his usual disguise as a somewhat well-to-do merchant. "I'd recommend the cherry ones." The Steward's whiskers drooped when he received a silent response. "If I wanted to be bored I'd be with my wife dealing with guest preparations."

"I'm sure they will not have a problem with anything you might order," interrupted Daghild, in the costume of a farmer from the south of the kingdom. A quick glance indicated that Dennol was still suppressing his giggles as he saw this version of the usually prim and proper scholar.

The incognito Archivist exchanged some sentences with another mole in their almost unrecognisable accents, then waited until the serving-beast departed. "I just asked for the signature pastries, breads and crepes. We may continue our discussion here without distractions."

Rikart nodded. "These are the two martens I was referring to a few days ago. The one with darker fur's Margane, her sibling's Dennol."

"Potential Taggerung candidates, hm?" asked Lamont, leaning forward to give the siblings a closer look. Even in the clothes of a simple merchant he still carried himself like he was running the entire realm behind the king's back, and his emerald-green eyes gleamed in the candlelight as if they were distant stars in the night sky. Kiormund's never did that, thought Margane, but then she remembered the colour of their eyes was the only familial resemblance between the two.

"That is what Oswin said anyway," answered Margane.

"My foremost associate," clarified Daghild. "He is busy with his research and so could not be in attendance today."

"I doubt he'd like this atmosphere." Dennol rolled his eyes. "I was not aware you listened to Juska myths and legends."

"Perhaps those myths and legends will be the only things that can save Southsward when push comes to shove." Lamont lifted up a paw. "You know of Tarelis. Despite our best efforts at peaceful diplomacy, King Gudmund refuses to diminish the garrison at Marratz, and thus they control all three mountain passes into Boreloa, as well as the loyalties of my errant brother."

Rikart nodded, his quills bristling. "We may have the best army in the Southlands, but we cannot fight a war on two fronts for seasons on end. What we require is something, somebeast, to tip the scales."

"But sir, we already have all the mightiest warriors of the land!" said Margane. "However strong this Taggerung of ours is, nobeast can kill an entire army on their own."

"We do not have warriors, Margane." The hedgehog shook his head. "Nor do we need them ever. What we need are soldiers, beasts who have the will to stand and fight, but the good sense to fall back and meet the enemy again. Beasts who fight to live and not the inverse."

"Then why do you need a Taggerung at all?" asked Dennol. "You have thousands of woodlanders willing to fight for their homeland, and thousands of vermin who don't have much of a choice. Why not just let the Juska have their own champion?"

"Because they will follow the strongest beast available to them," replied Lamont. "If the Taggerung is fighting for the Southswarders, who are also willing to pay beasts to join them, surely they shall be swayed to throw themselves at the Tarelians or the Travrikans or the Imperials in search for prestige, plunder and purpose."

"Are you sure the tribes always function this way?" asked Daghild. "My predecessors have written books about them - books that I have elected to ignore due to being poorly researched and outdated. Sometimes both."

"We have been up north," replied Rikart, "all four of us, and we have encountered strange beasts in our journeys to and from Redwall. Regardless of whether one's a Southswarder, a Travrikan, a Juskabeast, we all speak the language of spears and swords - and I suppose they have been listening to our 'conversation' with Tarvann for the last few seasons."

Lamont nodded. "We need somebeast to guard the northern border against further raids by tribes. Why not play Juska against Juska and build a barrier, and bind our two populations as allies and friends?"

"If you allow me to be honest I do not think this is going to work," said Dennol. "The tribesbeasts wouldn't become 'civilised' within an instant no matter how many Taggerungs there are or how many soldiers you give them."

Margane chuckled as she looked up and down. "Don't press too hard, dear brother. What do mere merchants know about the wild north?"

The Steward leaned forward as the muscles on his snout curled up to form a smile that made the marteness's fur stand on end. "Heh. I like you two."

Before anybeast could say another word the door to the little room was rudely shoved open, and a voice emerged from behind a mound of pastries atop a tray.

"Burr aye, yon vittleporshings!"


The climb up to Daghild's tower was always a somewhat exhausting journey, and after Margane pushed open the door she collapsed into one of the seats behind Oswin.

"Am I to understand that breakfast didn't go well?" asked the Conjurer, busy with something the Sorceress could not see.

"Not at all," replied the marteness, stretching her legs. "Lamont kept besieging us with questions even when all three of us had our mouths full." She sighed. "The food was rather nice though."

"Glad to hear you're trying to enjoy yourself." Oswin chuckled as he stood up from his seat, closing the cover of a heavy tome. "I'm having to do some research on some bratty ottermaid I keep seeing in my dreams, so this distraction is quite appreciated. What have you decided to find me for?"

"Answers," replied Margane. "I'm feeling rather lost."

"The first thing you have to know about me is that I am not well-versed in the art of talking to beasts about problems, mine or theirs-"

"I am very aware. I just want to know everything about the whole Taggerung business."

"Everything?"

"Everything." The Thaumaturge sighed again. "Including why you have a stake in it."

The otter chuckled. "So… you want to get all up and personal with me?"

"That's not what I-"

"To be fair you are known to fraternise with otters. Maybe I could inquire if Bodvar is willing to share or not."

"He's not," spat Margane.

"Hm. You look less interested in jokes today…"

"I wonder what gave you that impression."

"Never mind that." Oswin moved his chair to a spot right in front of the marteness, his grey robes folding neatly as he sat down. "The Taggerung takes precedence."

Margane nodded. "This is going to dominate my entire life, and I will not be leaving this room unless you tell me why you are here."

All joy left the otter's mouth when he said a single word. "Kiordan."

"Yes, we all know your disdain for a certain faraway ruler. What of him and the Taggerung?"

"He has one of his own."

"Pardon?"

Oswin stood up. "Across my journeys over all worlds they kept meddling with me. So far we have clashed twice, and now I'm licking my wounds and training a new batch of Thaumaturges while he tries to do the same. But there was always this fear eating at me, a fear that whoever's on their side is invincible. I distinctly remember seeing them killed time after time, but they. Just. Keep. Coming. Back!"

"And you need a real Taggerung to ensure the relevant fake is dead and stays that way. Right?"

The otter nodded. "We might need more than that, but it's always good to have an idea of what we have to do. Speaking of which… I have a task for you."

"Do I have to tell Bodvar that we might have to consider expanding the number of beasts in our relationship by one?" asked Margane. "Because that isn't something I'm going to do."

"No, you just have to keep an eye on the emperor when he comes over in a few hours."

"Hours?" Margane's eyes widened. "Oh yes, he's coming this evening."

"Just take a few looks at him, be discreet and report to me, and don't chase him into his dreams." The otter patted the marten's shoulder. "He gets the advantage in them."

"I know, I know." The Thaumaturge stood up. "Urza loves to tell me that."

Oswin marched back to his table at the end of the room. "If you do everything right I'll teach you my own set of abilities… like Pathways, for instance. You would enjoy their utility."

"I'll do it as long as Rikart doesn't keep giving me additional duties." The marteness turned to leave, but paused just before she opened the door. "Oh, and what about his grandson? He's got a ferret-"

"The Shade, yes. I could perhaps pay Redwall Abbey a visit, to borrow a few books and learn about famous ferrets in Mossflower - and this gives me a good excuse to evade Kiordan's watchful eyes." Oswin moved to the left and foisted the tome onto a pile of similarly sized texts. "As for the lordling… leave him alone for now. I expect you to be occupied by the old one. I'll have Dennol deal with the otter for a bit, if he's not occupied enough by old friends and family. He should not be of your concern."

"I understand," said Margane as she pushed the door open.

"One last thing."

"Oh?"

"If Bodvar Sparkflame's not good enough for you just remember this: there are always more otters around!"

The otter's giggles echoed through Margane's ears even after she slammed the door.


C/N: Hello readers, it's Margane here, everyone's favourite marten! (Please don't tell Dennol you said that.)

Thaumaturgy's still a pain to learn as usual, and I've got a sinking feeling my author's making things up as they go, but at least what little we know of it remains consistent. As for mixing it into the world of political intrigue and military action... I'm just as clueless as he is regarding that, but I hope he manages things well.

I'm not really enthusiastic about going to deal with the Juska up north into Mossflower. Yes, I am from there, so what? I feel safer here, wherever Bodvar is. The past and future matter far less than the here and now anyways... and I am less than interested in dealing with ottery family drama at the moment. The goal is to master Thaumaturgy and spend a long, calm life with Bodvar.

Yes, I am aware that it's going to be a dramatic story with twists and turns we have no influence over.

And yes, I'm going to aim for that anyway.

I'm supposed to be the Taggerung, after all.