Redwall: War of the Four Banners

by PepperDeadSworn

"Young as autumn, old as summer, from sea to forest the cries of war shall come Four armies, one outcome, in ruin you shall find the truth Look to the place of my rest, for friend shall be foe, and foe shall be friend." A epic tale of Redwall in which four great factions battle for the fate of Mossflower itself.

28. Know Thy Self

Chapter 27: Know Thy Self

Jarolom and Niala Foxtrot's pace had slowed to a crawl, as the two continued to trudge their horde into the Great Vermin Band's lands. Wulvog and his own beasts were less than happy, even if many of their food issues were solved as they marched. Jarolom and his gang of miscreants would stop by one tributary village, get their fill, and move on without much care to the critical shouts from the powerless woodlanders. At this point, Jarolom could not have given a care in the world for his boss's rules, just so long he was finally back in Gholand. Niala stayed a little behind, keeping an eye on her elderly mother who complained the whole way. Much to the dismay of her luggage carriers, however, her complaints were not about the journey and more about how the otter and sea otter, Wesk and Kag carried her things.

"Put yer paws into it, ya lazy good fer nothin water dogs! Who in the hells below taught ya to carry things, eh? If I waz yer mum, I'd have ya lashed fer such sham-Balance it ya sea dog! Balance it! If ya even scratch me plate wear, i'll have yer rudder I will!"

Kag struggled to carry all of the elder foxess's things, including an increasingly heavy pair of fragile plates and silverware in bags. If anything, Margatha Foxtrot's eternal rage against someone at least landed on the two slaves, a relief for Niala who had been near her mother at all times. Several times a day she would suddenly trip on a stick or a rock, and the marching certainly exhausted her. Yet, it was her legendary complaining that brought her to life.

As for Wulvog, he seemed less than thrilled. He didn't like being in the south, but he enjoyed the company of the foxes a bit more. He was a bit confused as well, as he had not seen his brother in quite awhile. Just as he thought how odd it was, his shadowless brother appeared beside him, haughty as ever.

"Oh cheer up, brother! Ya aren't marching to war are you? You are just heading into the middle of some blasted camp of some worthless rat. He'd probably be begging you not to eat him and give you the horde in his stead I bet!"

"I suppose that is being a bit too optimistic, Yulfang." Wulvog rolled his eyes.

"Probably, but if there was anything Pa was ever right about it would have been 'you are big, strong, and terrifying to all who meet you, and use it to your best of times' an' all that."

Wulvog noted this and spoke to the being beside him "Yulfang, I always wanted to ask, but do you think we made the right decision coming down here?"

"Aye, brother, of course we did."

"I mean, truly. If father saw us now, he'd have tanned us silly! Retreating from a battle like that."

"We never retreated. We won, remember!" Wulvog tried, but couldn't really recall. He remembered the bloody snow drifting skirmish, wolverine against wolverine. The white city's most valiant against his rebel father, leading the charge as the body and the ice below them shook alike. They had. . .won. At least, Wulvog thought they did. He was alone, holding Yulfang in his paws, and then he got up and motioned to go onward. His tribe was gone, but he and Yulfang remained.

"I. . .I suppose, Yulfang. I just feels we made a mistake is all. This heat is getting to me, making me sweat and wheeze!"

"Oh, stop complaining, Wulvog. You will survive and march on of course."

Some of the others would have stared at Wulvog with concern. Not that he was an unrepentant cannibal and proud murderer, but that he often talked to himself. It was blatant as even Margatha would stop her relentless bullying of her two pack beasts to look at Niala for guidance. Niala could not really explain it well, all except that Wulvog was 'okay for the most part'.

As the group treaded up a long and hearty path up the forest hill, Jarolom's scouts came back with a joyous expression. They were quick to exclaim "Sir! Jarolom! It be Gholand, de vermin be singin victory!"

Jarolom lifted an eyebrow to this as the large group climbed the hills to look upon the settlement of Gholand in the far off distance. It was the first time Wulvog saw Gholand, and he and his horde stopped in utter disbelief. They had expected a small horde, maybe less then 200 or so vermin and their slaves at best. Instead, what laid before them was a mighty and expansive fortress, surrounded by a vast city of tents and small temporary structures. The camps were lively, with music and song being played as Jarolom could see the army still marching from his victories back into Gholand proper.

Spears an' swords, beer an' drink flow like rivers through the tents

Oh how our shields blistered us, oh how our pikes shattered in paw

When it came to battle, our leaders loosed der hounds

An we of the Great Vermin Band, turned the tide o' war!

Praise be to us, Praise be to our brothers!

Praise oh most, important of all, Hail to chief an' ruler!

Now drink yer fill, count yer loot, fer peace comes at last

But be ready fer the long march ahead, till we beat em' at last!

Jarolom could see into the distance as Markem was just entering Gholand itself, surrounded by cheering vermin and even happier warlords. He could see him, as his horned helm was not that hard to spot. Wulvog was utterly impressed by the size of the horde he saw, as Niala whispered to her brother.

"It sounds like dey just conquered all of Mossflower today? What happen? Ya know?"

"I have a clue, Niala. However, I'd like to meet wit Markem first an' foremost. Get us some decent drink!"
_

Once she began to hear the cheers, Sheera was at first dismayed, misinterpreting it as cries of defeat. Yet, once the victory songs were heard, Sheera nearly bursted from her room, calling for her guard and for her children. Yet, the first people to meet Markem at the door to his manor was 'Mud' and Yala who opened the doors for Markem, his warlords cheerful and happy with themselves. Markem, the victorious triumpheter had returned from the fray of Tussock, and boldly strode. The last to enter was 'Dirt', who was rather grim and forlorn, but still came up close to Markem to keep him company. Markem's first act was running into his wife's arms, spinning her around and embracing her. It brought tears to Sheera's eyes, the impossible having seemingly been done.

Markem had beaten the Long Patrol, and with so few casualties.

"Pa! Pa!" Mard and Maiz bursted towards their father who scooped them up in his paws. "Ya aren't hurt pa, right?!"

"A couple ol' scars, but nothin serious me young'uns! Evening be drawing near! 'Mud'! Yala! Break open as many casks as ya can find! Tonight we celebrate! We celebrate our victory! Tonight we make Mossflower cry with song!" 'Mud' and Yala got to work immediately, although both gave pained looks at one another. The thought of Tussock falling was on every slave's mind. If Tussock could fall, and Markem returning from such an astounding victory, what hope was there for Mossflower?

Markem raised his own sword and yelled out "For the Great Vermin Band, an' fer Mossflower!"

All but two joined in this chorus. Even Kylan and Resker, non-natives of Mossflower, joined in. Hazul remained eerily silent and lifted his mug, but Luzgot only grumbled to himself. Although all the warlords were all in one place, Luzgot seethed privately as Markem enjoyed the fame, but he couldn't help but be impressed. Despite even his attempt at sabotage, Markem had thrown himself into danger and came out even more popular than before. Luzgot felt a bit alone in the room, and drank in silence, watching with increasing spite as Markem drank his fill.

"Lads, ya should be proud of our people an' yerselves dis day! Ya did the impossible, we all did, together as one! Tonight! We will celebrate, restock our supplies, an' make good on our promise to conquer Mossflower! Once some small stuff is done at home of course, we can begin our march south along the river moss! To the victor, the spoils!"

It had become Markem's personal battlecry, but the fellow warlords seemed to come to some agreement with it, shouting a chorus before chugging down their drinks

"To the victor, the spoils!"

Yet not all had been well in the room of Markem and his companions, as 'Dirt' excused himself to bed. As the evening turned to night, 'Mud' found a means to slip away as Markem and his fellow warlords shared battle stories, and their children played openly in the room. He passed by Mard, Maiz, and their new playmate Kelp as they played tag in the manor itself. Yet, 'Mud' slipped into his bunk room, looking to find 'Dirt'. The room was dark, the songs of the vermin victory were muffled. 'Dirt' sat alone in the darkness, looking over his sword. 'Mud' lit a candle in the room, trying to brighten the mood.

"Turning in early I see, I know things be bad an' all, but we kind of always suspected it 'Dirt'. Ironic, eh? What was Tus-" 'Mud' stopped himself as he saw his brother lift his eyes to reveal he was depressed and dejected. He had not seen his brother like this since they were little, and it showed. As if the roped around his neck was choking him, 'Dirt' moved it awkwardly and spoke lowly.

"Dak. . .I killed someone."

'Mud' lifted an eyebrow. "I mean, Jan. You killed plenty of vermin in your day. I honestly don't know how many you killed."

"I-I was in the battle."

'Mud' stopped and felt paralyzed with what his brother uttered. 'Dirt' clasped his eyes with his paw, and began to spill out what had happened at Tussock. 'Mud' came to his brother, patting him on the back, but was wordless. He had no words of comfort for his brother, as 'Dirt' began to cough and cry a little. It was clear to 'Mud' how much his brother was damaged over what had happened, as the two brothers kept close for that night. Yet, the thought on 'Mud's' mind was clear. This would not be the end, and both brothers knew it.
_

"What do ya mean I can't come in!" Jarolom yelled in disbelief.

The group had been trying to waltz themselves into Gholand, and night was falling. There were no vermin guards at the gate, and were instead safely on top. This was rather abnormal, as vermin guards at Gholand's gates would have been checking supply wagons or greeting new vermin into Gholand. Instead, most were yelling down at an increasingly large crowd of angry vermin who were yelling up in kind.

"Let us into Gholand, ya flea bitten wretches!"

"Wheres we suppose to sleeps, eh?"

"Get down here an fights like a real rat!"

Jarolom was in this crowd, his group off to the side and trying to not get in the way of the crowd. The guard on top called out "By order of captain Scarl, Gholand is under lock an' key till the partying is settled! Ya rot brained morons down der can shove off till tomorrow, impatient morons!"

Jarolom yelled up "By order of captain Jarolom open des gates!" The guard did not hear him, as Jarolom's voice was drowned out by all the other vermin around him. The fox angrily trudged back to his group in defeat, trying to think of some far flung plan to get in.

"Niala do we gots ropes? If we cans make a nice pair of climbing gear, we could probably scale the walls an-"

"Jarolom" Niala firmly said, but she grunted in annoyance as her brother paced in his overthinking.

"No no no. Of course not! Mum can't even climb ropes, an' dat wolverine will probably break it. Maybe we can get the slaves to build us a big ol' ladder. I mean, it may look like us sieging down Gholand but we ca-"

"Jarolom. . ." Niala this time attempted to raise her voice, but Jarolom wasn't really listening.

"Oh! I got it! Nay, not a ladder, what fool I am! A siege tower be what we need, an if we all work tog-"

"Jarolom!" Niala was nearly yelling, finally catching Jarolom's attention "Lets just camp her in der tents fer the night. Were all tired an we can'z wait till morning when dey open the gates again."

Jarolom huffed "I'd prefer to get back to Markem as soon as possible, Niala."

"Ya, buts I don't wanna cross dat Scarl fellow. He sounds like bad business."

"He's a pushover if ya know how to push his buttons."

"Ya say that if it be normal, ya brain rotted buffoon. Besides, do ya really want to cause some scene when we can waltz right on in normal like?"

Jarolom sighed in defeat, as he couldn't really beat such logic. He called out to his horde to encamp along the other vermin tents as they began to set themselves up. Jarolom and Niala worked on their own fire pit as the vermin around them drank, sang, and snored in a chorus of festivity. Margatha was looking out over the fortress itself, trying to find a reason to be disappointed but was either too weak or too tired to do so. The slaves of Jarolom's horde whispered amongst themselves, wondering that in the festivities they could possibly escape. That hope was dashed when they kept running into a countless stream of sentries and scouts who were fanning out for their night time duties from Gholand itself.

As the entire horde were warming themselves by various fires, since a single circle would not do them well. Wulvog and his captain Dakar were mostly with their own group, as Kag dragged himself over to help them cook. Yet, as the group awaited their meal with anticipation, other vermin either drunk or bored began to come to them. Wulvog was suspicious at first, but he could not help being charmed by the Gholand horde.

What do ya do with a drunken rat?

What do ya do with a drunken stout?

Ya tip em in a barrel? Ya slap on der heads?

No, ya wash em till der clean an' dead!

What do ya do with a drunken ferret?

What do ya do with a drunken weasel?

Ya throw em in a pot? Ya stamp dem to the ground?

No, ya give em grog till they pass it round an' round!

Wulvog nor even the northern slaver Mikov had ever seen such a happy, and healthy, group of vermin like Gholand's before. It wasn't a forced happiness, or a drunken bloodlust after a victory, but a genuine happiness. Vermin, young and old, traded stories of battle and their daily lives. Jarolom was rather sick of such things, but Niala and their mother found it intriguing.

"De's vermin sound like dey gots some big battle under der belt!"

"I don't doubt they did." Jarolom noted. "Markem did plen to go off to Tussock, and we came home late. No doubt dey are all happy about dat."

Niala looked at Jarolom as if he was kidding "Tussock? Ya, I bets de's vermin also destroyed Redwall as well, or's Markem used beams of fire from his eyes to burn down's dat badger mountain." Niala laughed at her own joke, but Jarolom did not. His silence made Niala perk up in concern.

"Jarolom. Tussock be a fortress an-"

"Markem plans to conquer Mossflower, an from's the mood of the horde, I'd say things went oddly well. I suppose his spoils all dat big surprise, but we ain't out of the woods yet."

Margatha seemed to yelp with joy "Haha! Dem hares I bets be all dead an' rotting! To the hells wit dem I say! Jarolom, ya picked a nice an' smart one to follow, unlike dat half wit I married, eh! Yer a captains, right? So ya got good vittles, at least? Ya wouldn't drag me all der way here if der ain't at least good vittles."

"Better yet, Ma. I got a nice big ol' hut in der."

Margatha was not new to the culture of hordes, but it was a genuine surprise to her she wouldn't be housed up in some old barracks with other families. Niala remembered her mom's stories of her younger years, traveling with a bandit clan who stole her when she was little, taught her everything she knew, and then fell over herself over a fellow bandit they only called 'Jacks'. The elder foxess looked skeptical, but yet hopeful. Jarolom and Niala were joined by the newest member of their horde, the young white fox cub who had been conscripted into Jarolom's little horde. He had originally not been noticed, but Margatha patted his head much to his annoyance.

"I rememba when ye were dis tall, Niala." Margatha proudly said. "An ya too Jarolom. Ya two were so yung, I miss dem days. We just escaped from our own band, we's were on our own, we robbed some hedgehog of all his belongins. We found dat der tree, we dids."

Niala smiled and leaned on her halberd "Aye. I do. I remember so much more when we weres younger then when dem folk took me north. Honestly never though of ya, or me brother. Yet when I heard word, I came down without a single lick of reason, abandoned some potential employers I did. I never thought I'd see any of ya again, to tell der truth. Especially after Pa passed."

Margatha scolded her "Yous not use that word. Passed. It was no passing in der night like I will. He was murdered, Niala. Plain an' simple."

"I mean, he did try to steal the sword from dat abbey, an' nearly got away wit it." Niala had playfully said. Jarolom listened, his nostalgia was rising as his memories of his father would fill him with both joy and grief.

"Twas not what hows I remember it. Dat lot pushed poor ol' 'Jacks' right off a cliff, an fer no good reason as fars as i'm concerned."

---

Gholand was brimming with utter excitement as Jarolom and his group shoved their way through crowds of vermin and woodlander alike. When the gates were finally opened for the likes of Jarolom, an eerie barrier surrounded them. Many vermin, let alone woodlanders, had never seen a wolverine before. They had heard tales of them, an entire race of cannibals the size of badgers, whose teeth could bite through metal, and whose strength could life mountains. Wulvog's cape fluttered as he walked the streets of Gholand, constantly looking down at the vermin who stopped what they were doing to stare up at him. Luzgot and his captains, who were arguing with other warlords had dimmed their conversation to stare up in utter disbelief as Wulvog's massive form trudged by and up the stone stairs towards Markem's elevated manor. Jarolom led his group with reckless abandon, pushing past those he saw beneath them, but only slowing down for his mother. Wulvog felt embarrassed when the small horde went to a standstill, as Margatha's slow steps up the stairs were slow and steady. Wulvog growled in impatience, and with Niala's help, had held the elderly foxess onto the back of Dakar. Also complaining the entire way, Dakar dared not tempt fate by insulting or giving threats to the aging fox he carried with little effort up the stone stairs. The only ones who did not join them were the slaves, who were unpacking the small horde's things and getting check over by Gutan who was left with them.

Markem was eating his breakfast with family, having struck up a conversation with Pelchovmar. He and his brother-in-law were discussing something not very important, as Markem complained to him he would not have much time to discuss much else once he gathered the warlords in short order. 'Dirt' was standing next to him, although he ate slowly from a bowl of chopped fish.

Markem then heard shouting outside, and looked to the large doors to his inner sanctum. The doors of the court burst open, and to Markem's great relief Jarolom announced his return with all the bluster he came to suspect from him.

"Markem! I've returned! Sorry I be late, mate!"

Markem arose and smiled "Jarolom! Ya devil in me colors! Thought ya missed me entire campaign! I-" Markem paused as Jarolom's new compatriots entered the room with him. Markem needed some time to process what he was seeing. Pelchovmar nearly arose and drew his sword once Wulvog entered the room, but stayed it when he noticed the wolverine looked around curiously at Markem's oddly humble court.

"Oh. I must have missed quite a bit, eh?" Markem asked Jarolom. The fox gave a pained smile, and began to tell of the adventure.

Wulvog found Markem to be rather curious. Even though he had a throne, he was used to the high and mightiness of would be warlords. Markem's story wasn't particularly unique to him, a former hordebeast building a sizable retinue and building his own fort. At least, that was how the stories always began. Markem's uniqueness to Wulvog was that he was much shorter then he imagined, and a lot less formally dressed. He wore chainmail, tucked underneath a decaying tunic. Markem wore no jewelry, his fur looked almost wild and unkempt, and he spoke to Jarolom as if they were on equal standing. Both traded insults, Markem would look surprised, and the fox spared no details. The wolverine turned his attention to the otter, noticing first his rope collar bound to his neck which looked very old and stringy. Then he noticed his clean dark green cloak, his padded armor, and well clean garments. Wulvog lifted an eyebrow as he noticed the otter's sword hanged from a belt, and wondered. What kind of vermin allows his own slaves to carry weapons? If he trusts this otter so much, why doesn't he just free him? 'Dirt' and Wulvog stared at one another, both uncomfortable with one another.

Jarolom and Markem made their way up towards his throne, and Jarolom spoke with as much truth he could muster without making his chief angry. There was a lot of things in Markem's story that made him angry, and some of it directed at Jarolom. He was silent, but the fox knew Markem's facial expressions well enough to know he did not like what he heard. Jarolom guessed Markem would be very angry about conscription, an issue he had confronted Jarolom about many times. He listened intently, nodded several times, and then sat down. He called out.

"For those who know me, yer dismissed fer now to get yer vittles an' what not. Captains of Jarolom's horde, yer to remain, an all those new to Gholand. Ya who come from der north, especially." Some of the vermin filed out, leaving Wulvog, his hordebeasts, Milkov, and those associated with him behind.

Jarolom gave a critical eye to Margatha Foxtrot, who sat down at a table and looked over at him only briefly. She complained to her daughter that he wasn't a strong fox or stout, a comment which made Markem cringe a bit. Jarolom whispered to him. "Dat me mum, if ya didn't guess."

"I figured, yer sister looks a lot like her. Without the age I mean."

Jarolom chuckled lightly to himself, keeping close by. Markem called out to his audience. "Name's Markem. Brownnose if ya prefer surnames, and dis is Gholand. Me home. I welcome ye, to drink an' food fer stay. I will deal with the one called Wulvog first."

The wolverine stepped forward, pushing tables aside and came up close to Markem. Markem looked over him, partly impressed, and partly terrified. Wulvog had come close as a test, to prod the rat to see if he would flinch. Yet, he did not. In fact, it was his guards and bodyguard who came slightly forward, their paws tightly gripping the hilts of their weapons. Wulvog spoke. "I am Wulvog, me and my horde comes from the lands of Ice and Snow. Your captain bested me, a feat I do not take lightly."

"I am led to believe ye are bound to Jarolom's service?"

"Yes. By a bad trade and deal, I am bound to it, and thus you in turn."

"Ye can go, if ya wish."

"And I-wait, what?"

Jarolom sighed and looked at Markem, as if disappointed. Despite having a badger killing monster in front of him, he would still keep to his ideals. Markem did not see an honor bound warrior, but a conscript forced into an unfair deal. One which he was all too familiar with. He spoke to Wulvog plainly. "I do not accept any deal wit spirits, honor, or otherwise. Only through what I can buy or by loyalty to me horde. Tis not that I distrust yer honor, northerner, I just don't accept me captain's interpretation of yer deal with him."

Wulvog was shocked, and speechless. Markem noticed he turned to his right and Wulvog began to speak to himself, unaware of the spector in the room.

"You hear that Yulfang? I can't believe it. Dragged all the way here for nothing!" Wulvog shouted in anger. Yet Yulfang spoke with an increasing pride "See brother, even the rat knows you are too strong for you to be kept on a leash! Nows the chance to return north. Take his deal before he turns on you, like they all do."

Markem looked to Jarolom who whispered again in his ear "I fergot to mention, Wulvog be crazed. Thinken he speaken to a brother, I thinks?"

"How the hells did you keep him in line?"

"Code of honor I suppose, an' respect. Thats what I gots wit him, not sure why ya turning dat away, rat."

"Cause it bondage of a fellow vermin, Jarolom, no matter how well ya put it. Bonds are fer workbeasts, not me fellow horde." Wulvog looked back up at Markem, once he was done speaking his empty amazement to the figure who Markem could not see. Wulvog's tone shifted to friendliness as he spoke "I thank you, Markem of Brownnose, for freeing me from your service. Me and my brother talked, and I would li-"

Markem simply nodded his head and began to speak "I understand, ya may take yer l-"

Yet Wulvog finished his speech in a way neither Jarolom nor Markem expected. He began to slide his falchion from his sheathe. Jarolom cringed, and nearly backed away in fear, yet instead the wolverine bent his knee.

"-ke to give my service, and those of my horde to your service, and join your horde."

Some of Wulvog's hordebeasts were beside themselves, but their boss was kneeling and Dakar's critical eye fell upon them. Wulvog's northern cannibals took their weapons and leaned on them, giving their pledge in silence. Wulvog had surprised his brother, who called him foolish and walked away into the light beyond the open doors to Markem's keep, but Wulvog had made up his mind. Markem thought it over and let out a deep sigh. "No reason to bend yer knees, I accept yer service into me horde, but as I know ye all somewhat well. I must lay down some rules. Ya may eat the dead of me enemies, but not me slaves nor fellow vermin. I will put ya under Jarolom's command, as a sub captain in his rank, since ya command on yer own it seems. An-" Markem had to think it over, but wasn't sure what else to say. "An I thank ya fer not eating me friend. Welcome to the Great Vermin Band."

Wulvog arose and smirked, he could accept these rules, but wasn't sure how Jarolom would keep them. Jarolom was beside himself, it was as if everything had come full circle, and for a reason he did not fully know. He was almost immediately suspicious of Wulvog and his intentions, but dared not speak out loud to them.

Markem called forth the other northern vermin, those who were to be sold to the 'Green Eyes', who had been conscripted. Markem had offered them freedom, but yet none did not take it. One by one, even the youngest amongst them, took their turns to give their service to Markem. It filled Jarolom and his chief with pride. It was until Markem got to Mikov and his tribal rats who twiddled their paws and awkwardly approach did Markem's usually merciful mood changed. Jarolom expected the same deal for them, but Markem spoke ill.

"As for ya lot, I am curious what had possessed ya to sell fellow vermin to strangers an' what not. Explain yerselves and tell me what this 'Green Eyed Horde' is? Speak with efficiency, if ya would so kindly."

Mikov gulped and spoke up "Twas a contract, Oh chief Markem! Me clan an' I, we were confused as ya are about why they asked fer vermin an' not woodlanders. They would take those we captured, true, but the one called Tenteye asked fer vermin."

Markem commented to Jarolom "Ya got any clue, mate? What kind of horde enslaves vermin instead of conscripten them?"

To Jarolom, the difference between conscripting for a vermin army, or taking in slaves was a massive difference. Vermin hordes would not truly force a conscript and kept them in autonomy. Maybe bound them, forcefully starved them, and beat them into line, but it was always implied they had some kind of freedom. Yet, what Mikov explained to him, this wasn't conscription. It was just blunt slavery, the kind he and Markem would inflict on the woodlanders, or how other warlords treated them. Markem was disgusted by it, but Jarolom felt it was just dumb. Slaves do not fight well, even in emergencies, and he always had doubts about the likes of 'Dirt' as Markem's bodyguard. Jarolom eventually answered "I think, an tis implied, dey be westerners. Wildcats I thinks."

"Cats? Hells." Markem cringed. Of the kind of vermin he had so few of, was cats, and all he knew of them were that they came out of the west and sometimes appeared. Most he knew in life were overly arrogant, deeply entrenched in some kind of cursed idealism, and viewed the likes of him as a workbeast. Markem honestly knew very little of them, all he knew is that they would come out of the west, and that in tales told by other vermin they used to rule all of Mossflower.

"Continue, slaver."

"We know little, all except what we could tell was that they be cats of sorts, wit der big bright green cloaks and capes, turbans, and tridents. Some of der number were corsairs, an I saw an abnormal amount of sea otters amongst dem, slaves I am most certain of. We an' others would trade wit them, an' they'd pour gold coin unto us. Weird folk, never told us why they needed so much, but the ones we talked to always looked disappointed at our catch. That is all I know, I swears on heart and claw." The northern slaver looked exacerbated, and sweated. He wasn't use to such heat, but the burning gaze of Markem was like a sun to him, and looking directly at him could easily harm him.

"I see. Ya are excused, but not free. Ya will stay in me camp till the ends of the campaign, and ya will report to my slavemaster Gutan. Ya are to tell him all ya know, an he will give ya lodgings."

"We-we aren't free?"

"I have no guarantee if ya are tellen me the truth, an' I do not wish ya to return to yer business." Markem got up "When we are done in Mossflower, or until I am convinced ya won't enslave fellow vermin again fer riches, then I let ya return home."

Mikov sighed and bowed his head in defeat as Markem yelled out to his court "Dismissed!"
_

Kelp, Mard, and Maiz were in the manor's room, playing with small toy soldiers and playing a pretend battle. Kelp was pretending to be a right flank who represented the legendary figure of his mother's tales, the mighty Deyna, the great otter warrior of Redwall. Mard was playing his own figure, a certain Cluny the Scourge, who was on some equal standing. Maiz didn't have anything, but watch Kelp and Mard play pretend and debate as if it was a play.

"Wells, Dena smights Clueneigh wit lightning dat comes out of his eyes!"

"Den Cluney dodges out of zer way, and summons fire from zer sky, killen him!"

"No! He be an otter o' course, he just swim an' fire don't touch water."

"Wells, then the water boils, killen him anyways!"

"Ha! As if a little hot water could kill a warrior of redvall!"

"Don't be like dat, Kelp, I burned me paw once on hots water. Steam even!"

Their small childish play was interrupted by a knock on the door and the three children looked to see who it was. Kelp expected to see 'Mud' checking in on them, or even Sheera coming to scold him. Mard and Maiz wondered if it was their mother as well, as their father rarely was able to visit when he held court or talked with the other warlord. To their surprise, Scarl opened the door with utter silence and looked down, giving a comforting smile. "Ah, kids! I suspected ya be in here."

Kelp froze with fear as Mard and Maiz looked confused at one another. Scarl was never very friendly, and avoided the two as if they were annoyances. Scarl was dragging a big box with him, setting it down on one of the beds, as Mard perked up to question him "What dat, ferret?"

"A big box of me things an' surprises. Ya two should be off, yer mother sent me to tell ya yer lunch be ready."

"Oh. Come on Kelp, I be-"

"Oh, Kelp will be staying here. He gots work to do, eh?" Scarl smiled. Kelp frowned. Mard stood up to Scarl, huffing his chest "No reason to bully me playmate, ferret! He gotta eat too, ya know! Even if he be workbeast, as pa says."

"Ya be smart, an' dat be true. Yer mum also mentioned dat if ya don't hurry up, ya won't be getten dem cream balls ya two I heard like so much, eh? Kelp will join ya shortl-" Scarl didn't get to finish his sentence as both rushed out the door, not wanting to miss their favorite dessert. Kelp was nearly walking towards the door, but it was slammed in front of him as Scarl set the box on the floor. "Alright, ya young sea pup. Time to get to work. Hold dis." Scarl gave Kelp a small candle to hold. Scarl scolded Kelp "If ya drop it, you an' yer mother will not be enjoying what comes next. Last things I be needen is ya accidently burnen down der place. Actually. . ." Scarl took the candle back, untrusting of his new young assistant. It more accurate to say Kelp was a unwilling minion as Scarl ordered him about.

"Pry dat board loose. Need to get into me secret spaces." Kelp pushed and pulled on the wooden planks that Mard and Maiz had shown him. Scarl seemed grumpy, as he naturally fitted into the tight spaces. He carefully set the candle down and called out to Kelp. "Bring one of me contraptions in here, slave. An be careful wit them!"

Kelp looked into the box, seeing a jumbled mess of strange springs and pulleys, most of them looking old. They kind of looked like hunters traps, the kind vermin used to get their paws on smaller birds, but with some modifications. Some of the spiked traps look elongated, modified to what degree Kelp did not know. Scarl called out again, angrily "Well?! Ya hear me, sea dog!"

Kelp didn't want to anger Scarl far longer and took a random device, pulling it with some difficulty. Even though the traps were small, they were heavy enough to need some effort pulling them. Kelp pulled the device into the barely lit darkness of the hidden corridors, as Scarl squeezed his head to look at Kelp with some spite.

"Well? Come on. No reason to be slow."

Kelp took the device when Kelp dragged it to him, as the ferret slowly lifted it to a dark part of the wall and began to place a tiny string, barely visible, to the trap's base. If it was sprung, a large spike would have jammed a spike into Scarl, but the ferret freely looked over the design with a mechanical annoyance. "It'll do I suppose, not me best work. Now listen up, yung Kelp. Des be dangerous traps, an-Hey, are ya listening!"

Kelp wasn't but sprung to attention when he heard Scarl's raising voice. He yelled back "Yes, sir!"

"Good. As I was sayen, des be dangerous traps an yer gonna help set em' up, especially in da more difficult parts. Needs to be placed where it be difficult to see. If ya can't see the wall an just see a pitch blackness, then it be perfect. Now pay attention." Scarl made sure Kelp was watching as he placed the trap, smothering it with some kind of bad smelling substance and stuck it to the wall, and quickly dragged his paws in a cloth. They looked greasy. "Dis be a glue, but it gets der job done. Not the strongest stuff. Also pay attention to where I am placen these wires. I don't want ya accidently killen yerself or me. Especially me. When we are placing these."

Kelp gulped as he was flooded with new information. He yet paid attention diligently. If his mother had been here, she would have practically charged through the walls of Gholand to escape in fear of the accidents he could possibly fall into. He would have preferred playing with Mard and Maiz.

Scarl wasn't a very good teacher, but he was very thorough as he and Kelp set up the traps. To Kelp, at first, he thought it was just random busy work like anything else in Gholand. Yet, then he had an epiphany. As he and Scarl were working on one trap, he worked up the courage to ask.

"Sir, if I may ask, whys we body trappen this place? Me an' Mard an' Maiz went in here once, an' they like playen. Won't they get hurt here?"

"Yes. In fact, these are meant to kill. Neither of ya were suppose to be back here, but those lovely brats Markem bore have about half his intellect, an' that be scary enough. I'd have used this place to keep an eye on those here who think dey be safe from me, as knowen things be my speciality. With yer former boss, Mrs. White, now knowen all this, no doubt she will use this place as well soon enough."

"What if she sends others? Like some of me friends down below?"

Scarl rolled his eyes "So what? If they be stupid enough to try to spy on Markem like ya did, an use this, den they perish on der own damned fault."

Kelp sighed and continued, but Scarl quickly retorted "An ya won't mention any of dis to them. We be doin this in secret fer a reason."

"What if Mard an' Maiz explore dis when we aren't here? I can tell them, right?"

"No. Better they don't know the gruesome details, or get nightmares. I'd rather not have Sheera hitting me wit a broom again."

"She hit ya with a broom." Kelp giggled to himself as he and Scarl set another trap. Scarl told him an odd story, of how Sheera and him had gotten into an argument and the temperamental rat had nearly chased him out of Gholand with a broom. It had apparently been a massive misunderstanding when Sheera was inviting unknown visitors into the manor, and Scarl was curious. He apparently hid in a cupboard in her room, and only caught her with some vermin travelers who gave her books and news from the north. It was the most mundane of things, and she would have been open about it if asked. Yet, Scarl did not ask, and just wanted to know. The broom incident taught him a valuable lesson, or at least, it would have had Scarl still wanted to know about what Sheera was reading in her privacy. Scarl knew, but he remarked it was rather embarrassing, as Sheera was poor with reading and writing much like many vermin were.

"Case in point, Kelp." Scarl began, and placed his last trap over the entrance to the entrance. "We gonna be mostly removing it when I gets the time. Now, grab that block of wood, will ya?" The two were finally out of the hidden corridors, covered in dust and spider webs. Kelp nearly launched himself backward, brushing off one particularly big spider which had been rest on his nose. Both were panting from their little adventure as Kelp moved a large block over to the entrance. It wasn't particularly large, and was rather unsightly, but Scarl began to hammer nails into wood, keeping it locked to the entrance to the boobytrapped inner walls.

"Dat should do it. None of ya can hopefully enter. Now, ya go out an' play or whatever ya do, till I need ya again." Scarl brushed the dust from him, and Kelp sneezed. It was the first time in his life that he wanted a bath, but as he went to leave to be away from the ferret, the door opened and Scarl turned around quickly. His paranoia was unfounded, as Jarolom awkwardly entered the room and made his greeting to him.

"Back. I was wonderen where ya were, mate."

"Jarolom!" Scarl gave a handshake to him, clasping and shaking his paw in friendly abandon. "Ya be horribly late!"

"Oh, ya would not believe the adventure I had, Scarl. . . .whose this?" Jarolom looked down at Kelp, and Kelp looked up at Scarl. Kelp backed away instinctively as Jarolom gave him an unfriendly expression. It was one of those 'If you say the wrong thing, i'll beat you' kind of expressions he was used to seeing from other vermin in the settlement below their feet.

"Dis be Kelp, me newest addition to me growin collection of eyes an' ears."

"Don't tell me yer gonna take one of Markem's approaches, eh? Already got enough otters runnen around." Jarolom rolled his eyes. It wasn't very hard to tell what he was talking about, as Scarl cringed. "Ya ya ya, I know. Dis was entirely accidental, I swears. Little spy he was fer Parb, but I have a nice sense of humor that can turn most beasts I thinks."

"I'm certain ya do. Markem has me report, but told me to give it directly to you so ya know. I heard Tussock fell, I must congratulate ya. So when we headen out again?"

"In a few days, but not before Markem plans out our march. Tussock be only part one of the plan, after all. However, I gotta admit, I got a lot of decent surprises der. Don't tell Markem, but Luzgot still seething enough to try to kill em. Yet I'd say the host he gathered was considerable, an' his allies made quick work of the southern outposts. Our victory would have been in danger had it not been fer them."

Jarolom scratched his head "Why ya need him anyway? Can't ya just kill him?"

"Luzgot doesn't earn respect, he starts wit it. Everyone on the coast fears him, an until they stop fearing him, den we can make our move to replace him. We gets a whole area of vermin sworn to Markem, an' Luzgot just. . .fades away. Just need to keep an eye on him. I thought he had somethin bigger planned, but it turned out to be nuttin. Got a new spy out of it doh, an' one of me agents as Luzgot's own bodyguard. If he tries somethin I really don't like, he will be a dead beast in a snap of me paws."

"Ha! I'd offer ya a drink if I had one to give, Scarl." Scarl paused and his face turned a little grim. Jarolom could see something was wrong, as if Scarl was begging him to ask. Jarolom asked "Ya look partly pale, Scarl. Somethin not right?"

"About what ya said earlier, Jarolom. I think ya gotta know somethin about dat bodyguard of Markem's."
_

There was usually very little time for 'Dirt' to spend alone. If it wasn't at Markem's side or with his brother, he could be found taking a short break. Being on guard for Markem so often did not give him many options, and the rat did not like his bodyguard being exhausted. After all, even if little more than a slave, he still had to eat properly, sleep correctly, and keep in shape. 'Dirt' was sitting alone in the kitchens, empty this time as the cooks were in the slave section or elsewhere. Rigpaw, the mad cook, was often hunting in most of his free time. Adoln would always make sure to go down to the kitchens in the slave quarter, helping them ready soups and use his limited ingredients to keep morale up. It may have exhausted the hedgehog, but he always found the time to be helpful to them. In turn, 'Dirt' would often just pretend to not see him make off with some spices or salts, and Markem did the same in turn.

As 'Dirt' finished up his soup, an all too familiar face approached him as he appeared from out of what felt like thin air. Jarolom was standing in the doorway, looking at him. He looked suspicious and unsure. 'Dirt' acknowledged his presence.

"Jarolom, sir. Something wrong?"

"Not sure yet, I hear Markem took ya into battle, mate? Quite a dumb thing of him to do, I thinks." Jarolom pretended to be understanding. It wasn't much of a secret of what 'Dirt' did, most would have known either from the battle stories or otherwise, embellished or not. It was no surprise 'Dirt' knew Jarolom, or Scarl, had known. What 'Dirt' was surprised with was why Jarolom cared.

"Markem asked me to join him, and I did as he ordered, sir." 'Dirt' replied sadly, finishing up lunch. He set down his bowl and was about to leave, but Jarolom motioned for him to stay.

"I'd be worried, to be honest, bein a woodlander an' all. Ya can tell ol' Jarolom how ya really feel. After all, you an' yer brother have been the eldest members of dis horde next to Markem if ya really think about it, but at da end of the day, ya still be head bowed low serfs. Tell me, 'Dirt', why didn't ya kill Markem, eh?"

'Dirt' didn't answer, feeling like Jarolom was trying to entrap him. He was about to answer when Niala came into the kitchen as well, looking around until she laid her eyes on Jarolom.

"Der ya are! Jarolom, Ma gets impatient, an' I fears she is gonna argue wit the boss on somethin, or worse, tell him one her ol' stories. I think we best get her to yer hu-" Niala paused, giving a raised eyebrow at Jarolom and 'Dirt' giving each other deadly stares. Their eyes slowly shifted to Niala. "Somethin wrong here, Jarolom? Hope dis river dog ain't botheren ya."

"Nay. He ain't, but I ain't done. Yer amongst friends, 'Dirt'. Ya can tell ol' Jarolom the truth, can't ye?"

'Dirt' breathed heavily with annoyance. "It didn't come up, nor was it my intention, sir. Don't have a means to prove it to you either. You can ask Markem if you wish, though I doubt he will take too kindly to it."

Jarolom huffed "I see." Then, Jarolom smiled. "Tell me, 'Dirt'. How ya feel killen yer first Woodlander, eh? Heard ya stuck em' nice an' good. Who was it? A Hare? I'd say it is impres-" Jarolom wanted to twist his knife as hard and deep into 'Dirt' as he could. He had no reason to trust the otter, or his brother for that matter. He always found them an oddity, like a trophy one doesn't hang openly on the wall. He found it silly that Markem trusted them both, and was private with them more than Scarl at times. Yet, as he spoke, 'Dirt's' anger arose, as both foxes heard a harsh scratching. 'Dirt' looked deadly, his eyes affixed on Jarolom and his claws running deep into the counter he was sitting on. He calmed down quickly and folded his paws.

"I did what Markem commanded me, sir. I take no pride in it, as I never did. Is that all, Jarolom?"

"No pride? Ya killed a Long Patrol, ya stupid boy. If ya don't got pride in dat, ya be a scummy fool. I'm actually impressed, if ya don't believe it, otter." Jarolom's deceptive mood changed to something else. It was his rather 'truthful' mood, one which he gave only to so few like Markem or his sister. "Scarl tells me ya stuck a sword right into a hare, ended him right quick. Not even the likes me can do that so easily. I know ya save Markem from his stupidity from time to time, 'Dirt', but I gotta ask. Why ya do it? I wanna know if yer playin some kind of kind, slave. Woodlanders just don't end woodlanders without some really gosh darn good reason."

Niala interfered "Ya really killed a Long Patrol? How?"

'Dirt' sighed "He attacked, mam. I defended myself. There was no other choice."

"I see. Still, I guess I figure why Markem carries ya around like a drooling child, ya river dog. Impressive I s-" Niala didn't finish as 'Dirt' got up and excused himself "My break is over, sir an' mam. I don't want to keep Markem waiting. Please. I don't wish to talk about this." 'Dirt' left, although he was partly lying. His break wasn't done just yet, but he wanted to get away from the two foxes. Jarolom gave him a critical eye as Niala scolded her brother.

"Look, I know everyone here got der special hate fer the woodlanders an' all, but what was dat about? Ya just like to bully or somethin?"

"I just don't trust him, Niala. He will always be a woodlander, no matter what colors he wears or what words he says. They are our enemy, an tame or not, they will seek to end the likes any vermin, but dey got a special spite for the likes of us. I don't bully him, I prod him. To see if he really be loyal or got some plan in mind."

Niala rolled her eyes "Brotha, I know woodlanders all too well, an' I know vermin. Most importantly, I know war. Ya really think a woodlander is gonna gonna kill another in some far flung attempt to do ya in? No, he be over thinken his kill. Yer right though, Woodlanders don't kill one another without good reason, an it be rare even in der north. Yer boss must of asked him to join him in some fight, an in that life an' death situation he got so little choice. Battle, as ya know, be quick an' brutal. Ya don't get much chance to think. Hare probably thought he was a vermin, protectin Markem, no doubt. If anythin, ya should be impressed."

"What? Why."

"He killed a Long Patrol hare over killen his boss, Jarolom. At any time, all he would have had to do was throw down his weapon an' surrender. Or even stab yer boss in the back. I'd expect dat of a vermin, maybe, but not dis workbeast. Now come on, lets get Ma to her new hut." Niala had no stake in Jarolom's paranoia, but was annoyed with it. Jarolom sat still and thought it over, unsure if he could really challenge his sister's logic. Yet something bothered him still, a gnawing feeling. Huh, is dat river dog really that loyal? If not, why does he keep the chief so safe? I wonder if he even knows.

---

Stamp.

A mouse was standing in a line, his paws bound and looking worse for wear. In front of him was a dejected looking hedgehog, and to his back was an angry and sneering otter. Their paws were bound in ropes, and were stopped in a line. In front wasn't too many left, but to their back there were many. The mouse didn't want to count how many were captured, as he stared at one of the gates of Gholand.

Stamp.

The mouse would turn his head to one side, seeing vermin passing by in marching formation. Most were a mix of northern and Mossflower vermin, some even bearing colors and face from the eastern plains. They stepped professionally, with a mixture of spears and shields. One vermin family were heading towards the gates, ones whom he was familiar with. A bandit clan of ferrets and their screaming pups. They had once been rather docile since the defeat of Kasg, having kept their paws clean. Now that Markem held eastern Mossflower, the mouse could see them swearing their fealty to a captain.

Stamp.

The line moved forward as the mouse would look to see what was in the fortress himself. A mixture of homes on top of homes, a large walled off pen where fellow woodlanders were coming in and out of. Most of the woodlanders he saw were long time slaves of Markem's horde, used to the hopelessness of the situation. They all wore the distinctive mark of Markem's slaves, a rope tied to the neck. Some of the slaves would look over at the line, sad to see so many new faces getting sucked into Gholand.

Stamp.

"Is this some kind'a new torture? Making us wait or somethin? By the seasons, if it is, it is working!" The otter behind the mouse ranted. The mouse added to his complaints "I don't think so, It looks like they are slow or somethin. From the looks of dis horde, the vermin are pretty organized. Maybe they are organizing us?"

"Maybe, but they take a long blasted time. Me rudder is gonna fall off before they even work us to death."

The mouse's boredom of waiting for his inevitable and dark fate. He asked his fellow prisoner "How'd you get captured?"

"I was headen to Tussock to help out, but arrived too late. Got ambushed by some rats who dragged me into their camp an' sent me on the way to this stupid fort. Family is probably worried sick. And you?"

"The vermin came to my village. Lilyfield. They began talking about how we were all Markem's property or something, and I told them shove off. They didn't take too kindly to that and tried to beat me down. Fought back, but got piled on. Now I am here."

The otter growled "Wretched cretans, the lot of them. Can't believe Tussock fell."

"Me neither." The mouse sighed in defeat.

Stamp.

The hedgehog in front of the mouse was pulled forward, and he could see what was taking so long. The guards undid the bindings of the fellow woodlander in front of him and dragged him over to a table where Gutan and his fat assistant Jugar Blacktail were sitting. Forced to sit opposite from them, the two talked for what felt like forever. The mouse and otter looked conflicted as Gutan and his assistant seemed to write things down in a orderly fashion. Writing down on some large scroll, Jugar with bored expression would then harshly stamp the scroll.

Stamp.

The mouse was next, as he was untied and led to Gutan, forced to sit to face him. He felt uneasy as the former corsair gave a low smile, as if he was a friendly face. The mouse knew better, knowing full well Gutan was the head taskmaster of Gholand in some capacity.

"Hello. I am Gutan, an' dis is my assistant Jugar. Ya will get to know us well enoughs, workbeast. I welcome ya to Gholand."

The mouse looked shocked, and raised a question to them "You. . .are welcoming me?"

"Aye." Gutan smiled "Now, if ya would be so kind, why don't ya give us yer name an' previous profession an we can have ya all processed an' squared away."

"Name? Profession? What kind of sick joke is this?" The mouse raised his voice in anger, but one of the guard slapped him upside his forehead. Rubbing the small bump it created, Gutan's smile became a concerned frown. He exclaimed "My chief Markem has but a simple phrase I tend to enjoy. 'Make em' useful'. Ya can't be useful if ya got a skill dat be wasted on builden ditches if ya are a farmer, or fixing up food if ya worked in forestry. As fer ya name, tis but organization. Callen every beast slave or rememberen by sight not be how I run dings here, mate. Now please, comply or me friend here will keep slapping ya upside der head till ya do."

The mouse grunted, but then worked up the courage to ask "And if I don't?"

Gutan moved his head forward, giving a pained smile "Den ya will be sent to the quarry we's got outside of de fort, where ya can work off yer steam day by day till ya either drop or break. I can either be very nice, or very cruel, an it matter me none. Ya can either start cooperating now an' get dat out of the way, or don't. It be probably yer last choice when ya joins this horde."

The mouse looked angrily at him, but could tell Gutan was telling the truth. He finally complied in defeat. "Gam, they call me. I was a smith's assistant."

Gutan seemed to look at him with excitement "A metal worker! Oh finally, I was nearly prayen fer one of ya to be captured! Good, got der perfect place fer ya. Double rations an' decent lodgings wit our local smithy. We didn't inherit many smiths from udder hordes." Gutan's assistant began to write things down. One of the guards came up behind the mouse and tied a rope to his neck. Although uncomfortable, Gutan tried to give him some basic rules.

"Now, dat thing on yer neck don't come off. So long as ya wear it, yer under Markem's protection an' laws. Ya take it off. Straight to the 'stone pit'. Ya keep yer head down, an keep at yer work, we won't tire ya out or give ya trouble. If ya have questions, or troubles wit somethin, ya can see me or any of me lieutenants." The mouse gave one last confused look to Gutan as Jugar stamped into the scroll again, as if he entered some weird mirror world. He was led away by a guard to his new job in Gholand.

Stamp.

Gutan would motion to his guard for the next prisoner in line to be processed into another laborer for Markem's horde. As a rather angry otter was forcefully sat down in front of him, he began to give the same speech. Like many, he would look confused, but with less terror. When the otter mentioned he had a family, Gutan only nodded.

"-I can send ya back to yer village, as Markem doesn't like to separate families, even of his thralls. I mean, ya will likely still be doin cleaning work and cookery fer the garrison, but if ya don't cause trouble ya can stay snug in yer village and yer family free."

As the otter accepted his fate at the prospect of (kind of) returning home, the rope reached for his neck as well. Gutan was going to continue, up until he heard the pounding of paws on the ground. The group looked over and saw a large wolverine coming towards them. Being pushed forward was Kag, who at this point would try to not question the wolverine as Wulvog came to the front of the line. Gutan was going to complain, but looking at the wolverine's size made him shake in his boots. He pushed Kag forward to the table and looked down at the rats.

"You the ones who process the non-vermin into this horde?" Wulvog asked.

"I mean, Yes. I am, an' who ar-"

"The one called Jarolom's newest captain." Wulvog answered, although strained himself in trying to not be prideful nor shameful. Gutan spoke up "Ya mean sub-captain, whi-"

"The one called Jarolom says I need to have my thrall 'processed' or whatever that means, and said to talk to you."

"I mean, yes, but ya see I got a line and It-" Wulvog cut him off again. "Then be quick, I suppose. You wouldn't want me and Yulfang here to make room for your schedule." Gutan had no clue what a 'Yulfang' was, but he and his assistant did not wish to know. Gutan motioned his guard to send away the other otter, and the young sea otter was pushed into the chair by Wulvog. The wolverine seemed to pace, not wishing to have his favorite cook accidentally leave his sight. Kag shifted uncomfortably in his chair, as Wulvog spoke as the brute he was.

"Just tell him what he wants to hear, thrall. Be quick too, or you will be the horde's next meal."

Kag may have been used to the insults, but the fear of death was in him. Gutan was used to brutes like Wulvog. Perhaps they were not as strong as him, but he certainly was reminded of their haughty air of arrogance. Gutan's fear was replaced with malcontent as he looked to Kag and gave a smile.

"Name's Gutan. Dis be Lugar. An' welcome to the Great Vermin Band an' Gholand. Now, I just need yer name an' profession."

Kag didn't speak, so Wulvog spoke for him "No need for these formalities, he is just my thrall and he cooks for me. Is he done yet?"

Gutan gave a vicious stare to Wulvog, who looked back with his own. It was clear the wolverine had no patience, and certainly not for the likes of Gutan. He turned to Kag again "Ya got a name, boy, an' it ain't 'thrall'. I take nicknames usually, but fer our records I'd like to hear it from yer mouth."

Kag was unsure and began to speak, but again Wulvog cut him off "What is the meaning of this, are you going to bore me with these formalities? What possible use could you have for this thrall's name? He is my cook, and can you p-"

"I was asken the sea dog, ya dumb lout. Not ya. I don't know if ya be mercenary or not, but in dis horde we work des woodlander the chief's way, an in me own way as well. Ya will be silent, or stand elsewhere moping like a child."

The wolverine bent down towards the rat, trying to intimidate with his size, but bared his teeth in a toothy grin "An' I am saying you should hurry up."

Yet Wulvog looked into Gutan's fired up eyes, and noticed that he didn't give in. He seemed confident, even with the wolverine peering down at him. He had some kind of spark, the one of rebellion, even foolish bravery. Gutan did not back down, and Wulvog went back up and became silent. Gutan then smiled, turning his attention back to Kag who looked terrified.

"No need to look dat way, son." Gutan tried to comfort the young sea otter "Not sure how dis beast treated ya, but don't care either way. Now, yer name an' profession. Please."

"They calls me Kag, an' I be a cook. Don't know much else."

"Ah, I see. Well, I can't remove ya from yer master, but I will lay down these ground rules." As Gutan said this, Kag felt a guard near him put a rope around his neck. The vermin at first pulled it too tight, but then loosened it. He wasn't sure of its meaning, but he saw Wesk and the others wearing it. "So long as ya wear that, yer under Markem's protection an' laws. Ya won't be killed, nor punished in a way that will cripple ya. You will be given. . .ehhhhh. . .a decent ration. Cooks are pretty common, but ya seem skilled enough."

Wulvog spoke up "What do you mean 'won't be kil-"

"It means ya cannot harm him, all slaves in the horde are Markem's personal property, ya are just burrowing em'. I don't deprive ya of yer servant, but this formality means if ya bring terrible harm to dis beast, yer head will be on a pike before ya even know it." The words were like a miracle to Kag. Wulvog felt embarrassed, but he reluctantly (and silently) accepted. Kag was perhaps the happiest he had been, which lasted only a short moment when Wulvog grabbed him by the back of his neck and guided him along. Gutan pitied the poor thing, but he was happy to see the young beast at least feel a little safer.
_

The sea otter Streamwaddle was waiting in a line, one which he was all too familiar with. Having been in Gholand with his family before being rescued by Lefen, the sea otter got awkward stairs as he held a bowl to his chest, awaiting his turn. The slave quarter was an odd series of barracks, shacks, and wall-less pavilions of linen, with an outdoor messhall in the middle. Near it was a kitchen of very little shade, where a group of hedgehogs and a single sad otter widow were preparing food for slaves such as him. The line would move forward, and they would get their rations for the day. Yet whenever Streamwaddle moved, the short jingle of chain was also heard from the manacles still clasped around his feet.

Once he got his meal, the sea otter would make his way to a more lonesome part of the limited chairs and tables. He felt rather awkward being back, and most rightfully did not try to speak to him. The curse of being involved with trying to kill Markem made him unpopular. Not of course because the slaves enjoyed their cruel servitude to the rat, but because their association with Streamwaddle could endanger them and their families. Yet today was rather different as Streamwaddle looked for his normal spot and saw very little room. The slave quarter looked like it was growing, and a lot of faces he wasn't familiar with were sitting all over the place.

The sight depressed him, but he decided to sit elsewhere for the day he supposed. As he passed by, he would see a variety of vermin as well, intermingling amongst the woodlander slaves. Most were taskmasters under Gutan, but others were vermin who needed privacy away from their families and barracks. The woodlanders found this weird, but Streamwaddle knew better. They know we won't openly talk about rebelling if they are so close by, keeping us in line like this.

Yet Streamwaddle's attention was caught by a figure who seemingly appeared from thin air in front of him. It was a cloaked, draped in a great black cloak who leaned on a bow like a walking stick. The figure stared at him and looked around awkwardly. It lifted his hood revealing a elderly rat in a large black scarf which shrouded his face and mouth.

"Youys know wyhere thye one nyamed Gutyan is? Dyis place bye kneyw to me." The rat had a very thick accent of some kind, Streamwaddle could not tell if he was from the north or not. He looked certainly new, as Streamwaddle pointed to a larger structure near the middle of the slave quarter, raised up on a small beast-made hill. "Gutan be in where he usually be, his office."

"Thyanks." The figure turned and walked toward it with purpose. As Streamwaddle was about to head towards a table, he turned poorly only to bump into a vermin he really did not want to bump into. He dropped his bowl of hot soup and spilled it all over a slightly smaller than usual stout and his fox friend. The fox was not known to Streamwaddle, but the stout was. He was well armed for a slaver, a bolas and club to his belt and wore a very light garb. He had a very distinctive look, wearing the shirt of a mouse, the pants of an otter, and a silly looking masked helm which had decorative wings to its side. The stout angrily sneered at him.

"Look what ya done, ya dumb workbeast! Can't ya lot look where ya are goin?!"

Streamwaddle was about to try to make his escape, but the stout lunged with vengeance at him. The sea otter tried to defend himself, but was utterly shocked when the stout would come up behind, yank his paw behind his back and twist it. Pain coursed through him as the stout thrashed him to the ground. Or a creature who was slightly smaller then him, and supposedly weaker, Streamwaddle felt he didn't have much of a chance. He was tried to get up, but the fox kicked him in the jaw in anger which kept him on the ground.

"Ya ruined me good clothes to, ya useless beast." The scene got a large group of vermin and woodlanders alike to look in their direction, and none dared move to interfere. The stout let go, but brought out his club and began to beat on Streamwaddle angrily. He seemed to enjoy himself quite a bit, smiling as he did. However, as the stout tried to bash away at him, the stout suddenly stopped when the stout's paw was caught by the elder black rat. The stout gave him a vicious look, but was yet surprised when he was practically thrown to the ground himself with rough push.

"Hey, what ya doin dat for, ya rot brained geazer." The fox angrily retorted. The black rat only gave them a disappointed stare, as the stout looked him over.

"Ya look pretty new, don't ya. Just shove off, dis ain't any of yer business."

The black rat grunted "Youys should moyve aloyng. The worykbeasyst be damyaged enouygh it looyks liyke."

"I don't think he looks done just yet, don't you Keal?" The stout turned to his friend with a vile smile. The fox smiled in turn "Aye Zakz. Aye." The two returned their full attention to the rat who stood like a black statue in the middle of the tense moment. Zakz threatened the rat "If ya don't shove off, stranger, I'll do to ya what I am gonna do to dis otter, ya see? Useless beasts, no reason fer Markem to treat'em dis good. Makes em' lazy an' soft. Get distracted ya know."

"Deygenerate." The rat insulted. Zakz did not take kindly to that word and raised him club again, but before he knew it the rat drew an arrow and put it into the notch of his bow. Zakz stood still as the black rat very firmly continued "Shoyve off yerselyf, stouyt. Youys neityther be me firyst nor layst vermin I kyilled dis seayson."

"Zakz!" A voice rang out in anger. Gutan and Jugar were coming into the mess area with some of their guards, his angry eyes peered at the ground. Zakz and Kael relaxed, knowing that they were likely about to get the hellish talking down to of their life. Streamwaddle was picked up as well, but was carried over to one of the pens where he could rest off his beating. The black rat put an arrow back into his quiver in calm fashion, and took out a pipe instead, smoking it as the guards broke up the tense event and directed them to Gutan's office.
_

Gutan sat in his office with Lugar leaning on a wall, looking down at Zakz, Keal, and the strange rat. Gutan's office would have looked strange, like many things in Gholand, to vermin and woodlanders alike. It was very neat, orderly, and clean. When one would have assumed that slaves kept it tidy, Gutan would reveal he kept it tidy himself. In fact, Gutan did not have slaves serve him food, he got his own. He was very diligent for a rat, and certainly very private. The rat acted more like a reasonable manager than a slavemaster many times, with nothing in his office indicating the sight of blood, or claw marks of unfortunate victims. The elder black rat would look around, his eyes peering in all directions, and seemed content.

"Zakz. We talked about this, an' frankly I am beyond done with yer games, stout."

Zakz snorted "Dat beast needed a lesson, an ya know it. Look at dis shirt! It be ruined, an dey should know full well. Ya folk don't use whips, an' whats next, we can't beat de's wretches into line?"

"Not like dat, ya don't. I don't care if he clawed yer face, ya don't beat my slaves unless I tell ya to, Zakz. As much as I appreciate yer skills in bringen in laborers for Gholand, ya continue to flaunt me la-"

"Laws? What law. Dis is a vermin fort, Gutan. We don't got laws, we got rules. When a slave breaks a rule, we punish'em. There is nothing less simple den dat. Just cause ya don't take pleasure in maken in dance, don't mean ya can force vermin to avoid it. Besides, whats one dead woodlander compared to that giant line o' prisoners still out der?"

Kael interjected "Aye, Gutan, besides he be one of Lefen's boys. Nearly murdered the chief."

"An? Markem made it very clear he is to be reintegrated into the laborers. Kael, ya should know better. We are here to break dem in my own way, not to beat em an' hope dey survive the night."

Jugar spoke up "You two really should get another lesson in how we run things here. In any other horde, dis would have been acceptable. Not dis one. Law or rules aside, you are both sworn to Markem, and what the chief says, ya do. The chief says we don't harm the slaves, especially fer your own fun."

Zakz was about to speak up, but Gutan spoke first. "Now listen here, Zakz. I may have looked over yer last incidents before, but if Markem knew half of what ya do an' I forgive, yer head will be on a pike!"

"A pike?! Fer me? For what!" Zakz angrily demanded "Dey be workbeasts, nothing more or less. Ya act like dey are creatures on par wit us! A slave is always a slave, at the end of the day."

"An' me, Zakz?" Gutan huffed. Zakz fell eerily silent. He knew Gutan well enough, a corsair he may have been, but a lot of his time was spent rowing a galley. Chained to it, in fact. The scars on Gutan's back would have made any creature sick if the rat did not cover it up so well. Gutan was never prideful of that life, and spoke very plainly of it.

"Look. Zakz. Ya clearly are skilled, especially when it comes to yer slaving band. I wish ya would just follow me rules fer five blasted seconds! I had a job fer ya anyway, an' I don't want ya lingering around. I am sending ya westward, towards the coastline. I need some specific woodlanders I want ya to bring back to Gholand." Zakz listened, but was clearly less interested then he had been originally. Markem's horde was big and prosperous, sure, but Zakz hated how different it all was.

Jugar attempted to give Zakz a paper, but the stout slapped it away "Ya idiot, I can't read. Gutan, just tell me what ya want." Gutan replied with a sigh "I need woodworkers and smiths. Kidnap em' and send em' to me. I know western Mossflower be dangerous, but I am certain ya can handle it. Ya did it before."

Zakz only nodded, angrily getting up and slamming the door as he left. Gutan looked peeved and turned his attention to the black rat. "An' you. Do ya got a name ya would like to share?"

"Baryt." The elder rat replied. The rat continued to smoke into his pipe, having lost interest in the conversation earlier. Gutan raised an eyebrow to this "Is dat short fer somethin?"

"They jyust call mye Baryt."

"Bart? A nickname o-"

'Bart' shook his head "I aym here fer viyttles. Ways told to coyme to ya. Noyt sure why, doyh."

"Ya have any experience dealen wit workbeasts? Worked in a slave caravan?"

The elder rat shook his head. Gutan was confused as well, but he was never one to turn down help. "Wells, so long as ya ain't too bad, welcome to the Great Vermin Band. I'd give ya somethin more formal, but I will admit I ain't like dat. I actually had a job fer ya. Both of ya."

Kael shifted uncomfortably in his seat "Ya, boss?"

"Markem needs information from der south, especially on vermin homes an' woodlander communities. Need to get a handle on em' before we march out. Last ding we need is a bunch of bad eggs in a basket, if ya know what I be meaning. I'll be traveling wit Markem himself, but ya will report to me subordinates in Gholand."

"Boss, I kidnap woodlanders, not spy on dem. An' especially with not the likes of dis rat." Kael protested, which Gutan suspected. Yet the elder rat looked to Gutan and asked "Why? I thoughyt ya folk dyon't conscript, I hyear."

"Cause we don't."

"Deyn' why ya neeyd to knoyw where der verymin be liven." The rat sounded rather disappointed, but Gutan tried to correct his ignorance. "Cause when Markem finally does conquer Mossflower, all of em' will be his subjects of course. We just need to know where everyone be when we's move in. Ya know?"

"Oyh. I Kynow." 'Bart' sighed. "Doy I goyt to woryk wit dyis degeynerate, doh?"

"The Great Vermin Band don't deal wit degenerates, ain't dat right Kael?" Gutan made sure to give the fox a very clear tense look. The fox openly agreed, fearing the consequences if he did not. Kael got up and waltzed out as Gutan turned to 'Bart' who was giving him a critical eye. Whatever good impression 'Bart' had seemed to dissipate as he simply nodded and left in turn. Gutan at long last brought his paw to his head and gave a sigh of relief after his long and exhausting day. Lugar was quick to remind him that they would have to continue in much the same way tomorrow, and Gutan for the first time cursed his job.

---

Markem, Scarl, and Jarolom were alone for a brief moment, the three long time friends and patron fathers of the Great Vermin Band were in the office of Markem's manor. They were looking over a large table of the map of Mossflower, with a small scratching representing Gholand in the eastern corner. A line was around a small area that represented Markem's line of control. It was dubiously small, not going far enough to encompass his allies like that of Jusbrag or even further east along the coast. Yet with pride, Scarl used an ink quill to extend this border, encompassing Tussock and around a sizable part of the eastern river. It would have been relatively small on a normal map, but Markem and Jarolom were happy with the result. They were now one step closer to their ultimate victory. Their dreams of a conquered Mossflower was slowly but surely coming true.

"Can't believe we made it dis far." Jarolom mentioned. "If Pelg an' his cronies could see us now, oh I'd pay all vittles I had ever had to see it."

Scarl chuckled "We ain't done yet, Jarolom. The armies are well prepared, an' our 'allies' will be arriving soon."

Markem was quick to correct him. "Me 'allies' will be a part of dis band soon enough, Scarl. Especially after today." The door to the office opened, held by 'Dirt' who came in as well and stood by his master. Jarolom gave an awkward look to the otter, but acknowledged him as he stood to the side as Hazul, Kylan, Luzgot, and all the rest came in. Despite their night of cheer and victory, they still looked giddy with excitement and homely with in Markem's manor. As they gathered, Markem beckoned them over, as Markem greeted them.

"Good, ya all arrived. I am glad ya all came, cause now that our victory in Tussock is over, the real war can begin. If all goes as well as Tussock, we will march over Mossflower like de wildcat did of ol'. Yet I will ask each of ya to not take our victory so heavily, nor lightly, we still have yet to face the full force of Salamanderstron. No doubt they will send an army to face us, an' we need to figure out how to deal with dat."

Kylan boasted "Aye! We should go to der mountain straight away an' burn it to the ground! We'll make mince pie of de hares an' der lords! Wacha say, Markem?"

Hazul interjected "Marching on the mountain? Don't be senile. We'd be there for seasons, not to mention worse yet the likelihood of a relief force of Long Patrol being sent to deal with us. No, look at the map, we should fight their force before they reach us. We need to get them into a pitch battle if we can."

"A pitched battle? Dat be quite risky, Hazul." Markem thought. Yet, Scarl perked up in agreement "Actually, Hazul got a point, chief. If the Long Patrol don't fight us in one large decisive battle, dey will spread out no doubt, and begin attacking our tributaries an' other smaller regions all at once. They could easily overwhelm us in the shadows, an' we'd trapped in our forts otherwise. It would be what I'd do in that kind of situation."

Luzgot rolled his eyes "A pitched battle, are ya idiots insane? They'd slaughter us, we should burn an' pillage our way to middle Mossflower, an' then spread out."

Markem thought it over and shook his head "No, Hazul is right. We be vermin an' warlords all. A pitched battle is what we need, an' where we excel in. The peaceful woodlanders rely on shadow an' ambush, the forest is where they do battle in. Where they excel in. Fighting dem on a field will bring der forces all into once place, where we can use traditional tactics to overcome dem. Yet, it all depends where we wanna fight em' in. Getting der attention will not be easy, they aren't fools or reckless."

"Yet they are protective." Hazul said "We should fight them in the northern hills, make our way to the coast, come close to Salamanderstron. We'd have the high ground, no doubt, an better yet they'd be far off from der allies an' friends."

Pelchovmar intervened "Nay, bad idea tribal. Hills aren't always a guarantee fer success. In fact, an we'd be spreading a lot of our territory too thin. They'd hit our supply caravans, an siege us on der very hill we'll die upon."

Markem looked to the middle of the map, thinking to himself "What about the ancient quarry? Lots of opportunities I thinks to overwhelm them. Chokepoints an' what not. We'd could use our archers an' skirmishers to pelt them an' reduce der number considerably."

Kylan this time spoke up in turn "Nay. Bad idea, Markem. True, we'd be fighten dem one on one, but dey got the better archers an' skirmishers. A lot can go wrong in terrain like dat. The risk to us be too great, an' the hares could just as easily make der attack from anywhere, maybe even bury us alive in der."

Scarl looked over the map, and noticed one part of the map that was particularly interesting. As the other warlords debated, some wishing to do a wider campaign to try to divide and conquer, Scarl spoke up "How about der?"

He pointed to a large clearing near the River Moss with forests and hills on all sides. It was one of many clearings, but this one was sizable and had no real benefit. It was just a large plain, one which could fit two armies in. Hazul looked skeptical "I don't like it. A big flat land near dat place could draw attention from the Mossflower Holt an' the shrews."

"Wait. No. Scarl got it!" Markem said with excitement, he pointed his finger from the clearing to the dreaded image of Redwall abbey which blazened the map. "Look. If it looks like we are on a direct course to Redwall abbey, we'd draw der entire attention. They know we just won a siege in an' assault' quite easily. Its also close enough to our own territory for the hares to not try an' attack our supply caravans. We'd draw them to a pitched battle by force. True, we'd be facing off against the local tribes who inhabit dat land, like the holts an' gousim, but if we drew our entire force der. We could fight em wit equal advantage!"

The other warlords, at first skeptical, began to nod in agreement. Kylan hyped himself up by pounding the table "Haha! Dat why I like ya, Markem! Ya be a confident! If we beat the Long Patrol in a fort, we can fight em' in a field!"

Hazul was in agreement, for an entirely different reason he would not reveal, eerily agreeing "I agree. If our march to the abbey draws out our enemies, an' we win, our victory in Mossflower will be assured!"

Luzgot, being the poor sport he was, interjected "Look, I know ya'll are drunk on blood an' victory, but lets look at the facts here. A pitched battle against the Long Patrol? Ya are all pretenden we didn't still have grievous losses at Tussock. Resker, one of yer best captains died in the assault, and Lusket ya lost a good amount of yer skirmishers. Why? Cause dey are hares, born an' trained to kill us wit no qualms. An' skills to boot to make ya all shiver. I'm not gonna pretend like ya lot that we will be in a fight we cannot win."

Luzgot hoped to break some sense into the group, only to regret it as soon as Markem began to smile.
_

The warlords all filed out into the main hall, where 'Mud' and Yala were brushing up the room. They were interrupted as Markem strode with his warlords, his voice booming like it had never had before. "Ya be right, Luzgot, in one regard. We cannot win, an' I want ya all to listen." The two otters stopped, listening as well as Markem looked over his fellow warlords whose once cheery attitude soon turned to frowns and curious looks. "I will tell ya the truth, tis not Markem nor any of us who won at Tussock. Twas not a single vermin who scaled der walls, and bashed open the gates of the Long Patrol! I ask ya, why did we win at Tussock, Hmm?"

Hazul answered "Our tactics."

"No! Tactics only get us so far, but ya be close Hazul."

"Our numbers!" Kylan shouted.

"Nay! Not dat either!"

Markem could see he had everyone's attention, and began to climb to his throne, looking over all of them. He drew his sword and raised it. "It be dis. Vermin blood, wit vermin paws! It be us who won at Tussock! Tis not a single victory that brought us to the doors of the Long Patrol, twas not I alone who had made dis victory our own! It was how I run me horde, an run ya around! Twas no captain, no lash, an no cruelty that smashed down the Long Patrol. It was our spirit, an' our will! When I saw our allied army charge as one, they did not charge for me or for ya, I saw them charging for dat better future, one where none of us are der, an' we all live as kings under the sun!" Markem then slammed his sword the ground in anger, a fire in his voice and eyes.

"How can we win against the Long Patrol den! If none of us fight as one together! Why must we stay apart as back stabbing fools! I do not run a circus, I run a horde! I say this onto you, an' onto you all! Our march into Mossflower must be as one force, one people, one single spear into the gut of our enemies. Apart, we are lost! Together, we are strong!" There was a cheer amongst the warlords. Luzgot could see something change in Markem, the fire of soul now as bright as the very sun itself, blinding him. It blinded them all, and only Luzgot could see what his arch rival was doing. Tussock wasn't his prize.

It was the warlords.

Markem looked around and continued "I will gladly lead us all to victory, my fellow vermin! I cannot do so when we are all divided as allies. I ask of each an' every one of ya to swears to me, an' I promise ya victory. I promise ya prosperity ya see here in Gholand! I promise ye Mossflower!"

One by one, Luzgot witnessed as swords and axes were drawn. Pelchovmar, Markem's brother-in-law came first and bowed to him "I swear onta ya chief, ya have me an' me horde fer yer own! Lead us to victory, brotha!" Markem clasped his paw and raised him up, so they were on equal standing. Like a preacher, Markem baptized his new found subordinates as each swore to him. Resker. Lusket. Each gave their oaths to Markem much to Luzgot's dismay. They threw down their swords to Markem's feet, as even the fat Hazul, the ruler of a great vermin city came next.

"Ya helped me in Jusbrag, made me what I am friend. I will gladly have all of Jusbrag fly yer banner! I fight fer ya, an all of Jusbrag joins ya in turn!" The fat weasel didn't kneel, but he gave a low bow. Hazul came calmly to him and knelt. Like a knight he spared up to Markem and spoke "The spirits are with you, Markem, and so am I! Let our swords be as one, an strike into the heart of Mossflower together as we did at Veekun's Burrow!"

Jakker and the Bloodrack rats practically bowed. Luzgot's turn was next, and he now knew with personal spite what Markem's intentions were. He could not say no, his horde was already in his paws already. If he walked away, his death would come in time. Luzgot collected himself and came forward and knelt.

"Ya have Luzland's horde to yer beck an' call, Markem. I pray ya give us victory in Mossflower."

Markem's smile grew wider "No need to pray, Luzgot, I promise all of ya victory." In that moment, the Great Vermin Band was no longer a collective of warlords and allies. It was now one entity, its chief Markem now the head of all chiefs. Soon, Markem's laws would be rung from the far north in Pelchovmar's lands to Veekun's Burrow. 'Mud' and Yala watched this all unfold, a watershed moment for all of Mossflower. They looked to each other in hopeless concern, as soon all of Mossflower would burn with Markem's coming.
_

It was evening in Gholand as Markem and his advisors were setting up two things at once; The reorganization of the hordes into his own and the preparation to march. Markem was enjoying another fine meal with his family, as the warlords broke the news to their hordes, happy with the new arrangement. Any slaves in either of these hordes found themselves being a little bit happier that they now were working less and eating more. There were no longer several hordes, just one very big one and it was all waving Markem's colors. This new arrangement would have been slow, and when the euphoria of victory wore off, the warlords found themselves too far deep to get out. Any regrets washed away however when Markem's officers would arrive with bribes to keep them company. Weapons, tools, and even slaves and hordebeasts to show's Markem's trust for them. Only Luzgot was passed over, who ranted and raved to his captains without end about it.

Markem was with his family. His word would reach others, but warlords like Parb were too far out and in the field to know what had happened. Markem wanted to personally meet her, to tell her what was to happen soon. Soon enough, Markem would be marching to war but the mood at his dining table was a bit shallow. Mard and Maiz had barely touched their food, and Markem noticed.

"Ya two young'uns ain't hungry?"

"Pa, why'z ya gotta leave again?" Maiz asked, her sadness quite obvious. Sheera came over to comfort them, but Markem got up to be with them as well. Scooping them up, he embraced them deerly. "Cause I gotta do somethin, somethin important. Ya hear, nothin is more important den dis."

"But why'z ya gotta leave? Why can't we come with ya?" Mard asked in turn. Markem gave a smile to him, kissing him on the forehead "My dears, yer mum an yas won't like ya see what I sees. I don't want ya seein what I saw at yer age, or any other fer dat matter. I don't like leaven ya, I hates it."

"But yer the chief now, why not just stay here an' got dem other folk to do it." Maiz asked. Both of Markem's children did not like seeing their father leave, and both knew this time it would be a long time till they saw him. They overheard him while they played, and neither wished to let go.

Markem passed them to Sheera who cuddled them. Markem patted his children "Cause, if I ain't out wit me soldiers, how can's they trust the likes of me, Hmm? Others may send out der minions an' der servants to do thing on der behalf, but I ain't no craven, an' I ain't no warlord like da ones I tell ya about. Der be plenty of unlucky folks like ya, who gotta see der papas, mums, an' sibilens leave fer war. I'd feel guilty knowin tha they die fer a cause I ain't got a stake in. I do it fer them, an I do it fer ya."

"What if ya don't come back?"

Sheera answered "Den ya gotta be strong, ya two. We's all die one of these days. Death ain't a thing ya need to worry about, Mard an' Maiz. Yer pa will always be wit ya, even if ya can't see him."

It uplifted the two a bit to hear that, but Markem's smile faded. He did not believe in a afterlife, and hoped to whatever real entity there was there was none. The shamans spoke of fire and brimstone, and Hazul spoke of gray forests and marshes. Yet he patted his children "Now come on, eat yer vittles an' den time fer bed. Ya can wave to me from der walls tomorrow."

---

'Dirt' stood on the edge of the manor in the far morning, looking out into the distance. Not at Gholand, but at the vast army marching past it. It was a massive force of vermin, all of them having camped out and regathered their strength over the past few days. 'Dirt' had passed his stage of sadness and now he was just depressed. Markem would leave soon, as he was making his final talk with Jarolom and Scarl, both who would be joining him on the campaign trail. 'Dirt' and his brother talked, and 'Mud' knew he would likely be forced to kill fellow woodlanders again. 'Mud' tried to offer solutions, but 'Dirt' knew too well his brother was no warrior. 'Mud' had thought battle was slow, methodical, two armies crashing into one another at full speed. 'Dirt' knew better. It was very fast, true it could drag on for hours if not days, but it was full of sound and fury.

As 'Dirt' looked over, seeing the armies march by to war, another figure came up beside him. It was a younger sea otter, who sniffed the air as if it was freshest he had in his life.

"You southerners are a strange lot, I give ya that." He said in small talk. 'Dirt' looked to him as if he was mad. Despite the rope around his neck, he seemed like the happiest creature on earth.

"I suppose?" Kag turned, interpreting his attempts at small talk to give his introduction "Name's Kag. Nice to meet ya."

"Dirt."

"That's your name, or an insult? Can't tell really, to be honest." Kag frowned. 'Dirt' lifted an eyebrow to him "Its what Markem calls me, but it is not my name. . .uhh. . .well, it kind of it formally I guess."

"Well, good to meet you 'Dirt'" Kag's smile came back, still extending his paw for a handshake. 'Dirt' looked down at it, and shook his paw. He was curious now, not sure why this young sea otter was just so happy? Did he not see everyone else? He is clearly a slave, is he mad? Kag looked out over the huge vermin army and clasped his paws at his back. "Huge day I thinks. Ya comin with us, I suppose?"

'Dirt' perked up "I am. Although not sure why you are happy, that army isn't heading to do good things today."

"I mean, sure, but its just a lot better day then me last few days. That be for certain!"

"Alright. I'll bite. Which one do you belong to?" 'Dirt' motioned Kag to reveal his master, which Kag surprised him by simply saying "Oh. Wulvog. Dat big wolverine fellow. I'm his cook, ya see."

"The wolverine? The big one?" 'Dirt' said shocked, but Kag simply nodded. 'Dirt' continued "Okay, but why are you smiling and all that. You are still his slave at the end of the day."

"I mean, true, but before I never really knew when'd I finally get killed or worse. Wolverines are flesh eaters and cannibals, you see a lot of things ya really don't like seeing up north. He stole me from me parents when he killed em', an' I have cooked my fair share of fellow like you an' others. Apparently good at it too. Wulvog use to threaten me every single day, an' more. Now? He doesn't! Don't need to even be cooken his meats anymore it feels like, unless on some special occasion I thinks. You folk seem so miserable here, but I gots no idea why."

'Dirt' looked at Kag, not sure if he was insane, joking, or just so broken he could no longer think of freedom. "You. . .cooked woodlanders? For that thing?"

"Oh. Yes, hated every moment of it. Still do, but I did it. Kept doing it till it became just an annoyance really. Likely will still gotta do it."

"And your happy?"

"Happy? Kind of. More like joyful. Tis a new day, but I am grateful to the seasons, ya know, to be here. In places where I come from, beasts like me ain't to happy, even when free. I'm just happy that today I got some breakfast of me own, knowin I won't be killed or eaten fer no reason. Tis a brand new day, an' I am goin to take a good ol' step at a time. Bad things happen in the past, me fellow water dog. Future be far in front of us, an' all I can think about is not having to be carrying all those plates an' pots fer missus Foxtrot."

'Dirt' now knew Kag was insane, but he could help be charmed by him as he hummed to himself, going down into Gholand below. Even if 'Dirt' thought of the strange sea otter as crazy, he couldn't help but agree with him. It cheered up a little, there could have been far too many things that went wrong, and he counted his blessings. He still had his brother, his father's sword, and at least a decent position. Yet most importantly of all, he had Markem's respect. Markem came out of the door and looked over the vast army moving out. He breathed in, affixing his horned helm.

"You ready, sir?"

"No, 'Dirt'. I ain't ever ready, but I ain't backen down. Are ya ready yerself?"

"Only when you are, sir."