Chapter 30: Battle of Moss Field
The rain storm over Redwall created a darkness like no other. In the great hall, before the tapestry of Martin the Warrior sat a large number of characters, but only one was sadly looking out the glass windows and beyond the courtyard. Lightning rolled across the skies, as Marthomis looked to see a large number of hares trying to get to cover from the storm. The vermin had been herded beneath them, resting and getting dry from the storm outside. In Cavern Hole, Dakan and his son Kasser sat next to Stenna and Garfan. Several hare officers, and others were there as well, explaining in detail what was happening, and what had happened.
"I wouldn't as bloody well believed it myself. We got word of a siege at Tussock, from bloody ol' Markem and his horde. Going by the name the Great Vermin Band. Big ol' group of slavers and warriors who all swear to this Markem character. We were half way there when we started to run into survivors and runners, told us all that happened. The vermin assaulted Tussock, and overwhelmed it. Can't believe it myself, Tussock of all places. Held its ground even when Kasg sent an army to siege it. We tried to then begin a wider sweep, to cut off reinforcements or try to harass the enemy army, but they all returned to their fort to regroup. My scouts, best in the business, kept an eye on their movements. They are now heading here."
Stenna raised a voice of concern "Why Redwall, what do we have that he even wants?"
Naus was glad to have the question asked. "I was thinking that myself, ol stripe dog!" As Naus was about to say, Kalma came in with a large plate of food. The hares licked their lips and dug in, much to Garfan's annoyance. He could never believe the Long Patrol were so giddy about war, nor how cheery the lot were. Naus continued, stuffing food into his mouth "Now, if I am correct about this, Markem want us to walk into a pitched battle."
Dakan raised an eyebrow to this "I do hope you don't plan to do so?"
"I may bloody have to. If we go on a skirmishing campaign in Markem's new territories, he will move on you folk and likely do the same to Redwall what he did to Tussock. Can't risk it, especially on my family's honors! What would the ghost of my ancestor say if a Stag Hare cannot even defend Redwall abbey with 700 hares."
Dakan was thinking. He could not believe his ears, and did not want to. No one did actually, but they all could not avoid the giant rat in the room for much longer. "How big is the army heading towards Redwall?"
"According to my scouts? Thousands. Huge mix of blighters, wot. Jusbrag vermin, those northern scoundrels. Veekun's Burrow, if you remember that tragedy, is also pitching its colors to Markem. Resker. Lusket. Even Parb and Luzgot. The whole bag of hated vermin warlords all united under Markem for one reason or another, and it has built quite a gaggle of misfits."
Garfan interjected "This 'Markem', do we know anything about him?"
"We had an eye on him for some time, but slipped under the radar when we were going after Kasg's former captains. We don't know much then from what my scouts report back, but there are some oddities. First his name. Bloody terror of Mossflower is named 'Mark'. You'd bloody well think we'd get something better!"
Stenna scolded the hare "Now is not a time for jokes, please, be serious with us Hare."
"I am sorry, of course. Markem is not a normal warlord by any means. He had all his slaves were rope collars of sorts, for what reasons I do not know. His vermin host is apparently not as professional nor as well trained as other hordes, but it is extremely well organized. More so than most vermin standards anyway. We also know he is. . .oddly merciful, to but it very loosely."
"In what way?" Dakan asked
"Well, its the way he organizes his territory. My scouts reported back to see vermin protecting Markem's new lands. Treats them like serfs, but we see some slaves here and there. Most of my scouts also say they are much healthier and less lashed then the normal poor soul trapped in such terrible places, wot. Still, a slave is a slave, and we have a duty to free eastern Mossflower. I was hoping you would join us Dakan. Like the good ol' days."
"Good ol days?" Marthomis had said, in a sarcastic and dark tone. It was first thing he said in a while, and the room grew cold and silent. Naus quickly corrected himself "i am sorry dear abbot, I mean of course when we fought Kasg together. I had hoped to find Jue here, especially with those Companions of his running about. Could use is bolly help."
The silence was what answered Naus, ignorant of the situation. An officer whispered in his ear, and he realized he again had misspoke. He tried to correct himself "Sorry, I am off my bloody game tonight, for I am short of time. If we do not meet Markem in battle and kill him, I fear all of Mossflower will be his soon enough. The badger lord was at sea, chasing a different enemy, and I wish to be back in time to deal with it. Of course, we-"
Dakan spoke up "We will come with you, hare."
"Oh? Thought I'd have to con-"
"No need." Dakan looked distant, and spoke up "My Holt is in the region Markem is marching through. I will not have his filthy vermin endangering it. You have my aid."
"Oh jolly good! I plan to march in the morning, after the rain stops!"
Kalma tried to speak up, and saw her chance once Naus went back to eating "Good sir, what about Logis? I know me and Bollo would prefer to remain here, but the shrew tribes are still a considerable force."
"Met Logis on the way actually, says he heard what happened from his own informants. The Gousim promised to send a force to help us, but with how they are, that could either be days early or days late! I don't rely on him, but if he shows up, it will be bloody well appreciated! Ha!"
"You seem. . .confident." Garfan raised suspicions, but Naus chuckled "My good round ears, I cannot stress enough how easily it will be to scatter this horde. If we kill their chief, the horde scatters as it always does. Markem was reported to have personally led the assault like most vermin do, a stupid decision I think I might just copy. When he is leading some foolish charge, we'll probably kill in the first volley. We got plenty of experience killing vermin, and even if he forces us into a pitched battle, we will devastate his forces considerably. No vermin host emerged victorious from fighting the Long Patrol without unforgivable casualties! Blood an' vinegar me boy! Blood and vinegar."
"Your confidence is intoxicating Naus." Kasser chuckled, but stopped when his father did not chuckle with him. Kasser was actually a little concerned, he seemed very distant lately and had no real idea why. He wanted to talk to the heroic Hesam and Vogar for some reason or another.
Marthomis commented, his eyes looking out at the storm which wreaked havoc outside. It poured loudly and without care, covering his abbey in darkness. "It's happening again, isn't it? War. Dreadful, to happen twice in our lifetime."
Naus attempted to cheer the abbot up "Do not worry Abbot Marthomis. Redwall will be safe, and we will be victorious."
The abbot was silent, the storm was not dying down outside. In fact, it was getting worse.
_
When Dakan and Garfan left the meeting, with Naus and his hares discussing and eating their fill, the two friends were heading towards a more silent part of the abbey. Garfan and Dakan were silent, as if a deafness overtook them, and it disturbed the mouse. Dakan had a terrible look in his eyes, the otter's rage and spite could come out at the worst of times. Once alone, Garfan spoke up "Dakan, about what happened out there. . ."
"What of it Garfan?"
"Dakan, it was stupid, is what it was. These are the Companions we are talking about, a harmless bard. A mouse bard at that, and his companions! For bloody sakes, Dakan. You are sounding like that mole!"
Dakan stopped and turned to Garfan who did not look angry, but more terrified. Garfan knew all too well about the wars of Kasg, both had fought in them together. Garfan liked being a soldier, but the thought of going back into the fray of battle against a giant host of vermin was nightmarish. Dakan understood without judgement, for he too did not desire such a thing. Garfan continued, trying to make excuses.
"So what if that hellish weasel had that pouch, it's more likely he stole it or. . or something. What exactly does it prove, Skipper!"
Dakan was silent, he was unsure of how to proceed. It was Snot Butkin's word he had to rely on, and with the small proofs he was entirely convinced. Bollo was a hero much like him against Kasg the Craven, and who exactly was Hesam? Dakan had a lot of time to think during that dreaded meeting and he was only starting to really think that perhaps the heroic companions, those who followed Jue on his many adventurers afterward, were something else entirely. Dakan eventually replied.
"I have my reasons, Garfan. Is it really so hard to say that Hesam and his friends are responsible for all this? Don't you find it suspicious the moment he arrives we have trouble like our silverware disappearing, or a sack of coin I paid him for supposedly helping against a bird attack ends up in the home of a now enslaved, if not already dead family of weasels?"
"Yes! I find it impossible to believe. Have you ever met a mouse outside of me, friend? I've known some bad mice before, who may beat wives an' children alike, or even steal from time to time. Not bloody go out stealing an entire abbey's silver or selling some vermin to. . .I don't know, you said wildcats?"
Dakan could tell this was not about Hesam as Garfan strained his voice. It had not dawn on him until now why. Garfan looked longingly down dark hallways, worry and fear was across his face. "I mean, Dakan, how can we turn on ourselves now. Is this really worth it? What does the abbot think? What would everyone think? They are all frightened here, and if we start spreading rumors that the heroes we got in our halls these good folk are doing evil, or have done evil. . ."
"Fine. I'll drop it, Garfan." Dakan sighed.
"Oh! Good, glad you can s-"
"I am dropping it not because I am done with them. This. . .Markem. . .or whatever he wishes to call himself, is the immediate threat. My clan wants to return home, but now most of the families have to stay here, under guard. I'll leave a few of my younger warriors for you to command around to help keep order. Do me a massive favor Garfan."
"Yes?" Garfan asked, but didn't really want to give Dakan a favor.
"You keep your eye on those two. If they even go out of line, even for a moment, I want you to pounce on them. Once this storm starts to clear up, we need to headout. Hares don't really like to stop for much."
Dakan headed out, leaving Garfan in the empty hallways of a sleeping abbey. The mouse warrior grunted. He had no real intention of spying on two heroes of Mossflower, but he would still at least keep an eye out for his friend's sake. Seasons, we are all paranoid. I am really starting to miss Jue.
_
Pelma was heading down towards the kitchens, with a number of tired otters on guard over a large number of sleeping vermin and their families below in Cavern Hole. They had set a very strict curfew, but some of the older ones were still quite difficult to convince to sleep. Some were in a corner, playing some kind of card game in their boredom with one another, and complained about the lack of alcohol. The otters were fine denying their requests, as they didn't want to make the situation worse with a drunk vermin bandit doing something they both would regret. Pelma stepped over some bodies, looking for one otter in particular as she snuck past the sleeping vermin.
Pelma entered to see her brother Kasser and the hedgehog Pelma all tales of heroism to a group of little otter pups. It was three troublemakers in particular, who had tried to sneak out on their own adventure. They were amazed as Pelma regaled her favorite stories in a hushed tone.
"When I was a little older than your age, me, Bollo, and Jue were already out in Mossflower proper. We were passing all the great trees and bushes, looking for signs of tracks to lead us to Martin's sword and its thief. We thought we were quite lost, sometimes I thought we made a hard turn and headed towards the great inland lake. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, we came across what we were looking for. These big ol' feet paws right into the ground. We followed them, you see, but then we saw it. The tracks were not normal tracks, the earth was moon shaped, for you see a great snake was following our hunt as well! Oh, I am glad you pups never get so see such beasts in your time! I was quite afraid at first, but Ol' Jue and Bollo were practically cracking jokes as loud as one could hear, trying to keep mine and their own spirits up! Then y-" Kalma stopped and looked up, seeing Pelma smiling as wide as the small pups below them at her story. Kasser came up to his sister, and gave a friendly chuckle.
"Thought ya went to bed, Pelma. Is pa snoring again?"
"Well, no actually. I think he was wide awake, talken with that hare friend of his. I see you are still the child at heart as always. These troublemakers giving you trouble?"
The pups squeaked out a collective "No!" Kalma hushed them. Kasser bent down to their level, ruffling their little heads. "Kalma, could you do me a big favor and scoop up these wannabe pirates and bring them to their mum's rooms. Me an my little sis gotta talk about something that is otter business." Pelma was curious by this, as Kalma did as bidded. She happily scooped up the young beasts into her paws, as if playing with them.
Once gone, Kasser's normally happy mood became a saddened frown. "Pelma, I heard you ask dad if-"
"Oh come now, Kasser, you know full well why I asked. It's not like I am new to all of it." Kasser frowned a little more, but his bright face was still lit with a little bit of pride "This isn't beating up vermin like when our pa smoked out those rats those few seasons back who camped too close to the Holt. These aren't thugs, they're soldiers. Evil beasts who will kill or do far worse to you if you get captured."
Pelma gave a light and naive chuckle "Pa says the battle will be an easy one, we got shrews and all these hares! I asked pa If I could join you, but I don't think he is going to put me in some vanguard. I am a lot better with a javelin than you think I am. I only missed like, what, one time?"
Kasser sighed "Pelma, this isn't going to be like the stories. I've been, and seen, battles. Me and pa once watched two warlords once, some minor bandits having a big squabble. There isn't a heroic charge that smash through enemy lines, it's a lot of screaming and bloodshed. The hares know what they are doing, true, but I just don't want you thinking this is some walk alongside the river."
Pelma tried to collect herself "Oh. Sorry, I know it's all serious, but you seemed to come out alright."
"There is a reason I like our little ones, it takes the mind off a lot of things. I won't try to convince you to stop, cause ya got pa's anger right in your blood. And mum's eyes. A deadly combination, ha! Just promise me you will be careful, okay? Just do what pa tells you."
'Oh, you act li-" Pelma was going to crack a joke, but Kasser came up close and fast to her, gripping her shoulder. She had not seen her brother like this before, a glint of worry and fear in his eyes.
"Promise me, Pelma. For Pa's sake."
"Of course, Kasser. I promise." Kasser hugged his sister and both headed off to bed, the storm outside starting to clear up.
If there was one thing that made Markem nostalgic, it was looking up at the white linen sheet of his tent. It was true, he had a pavilion and a work team to build it, but he didn't like waiting for it or wasting the time of his horde. If his soldiers had slept like this, he would as well, and he made sure of that. He was a little regretful however, as a storm had come by and passed over the entire vermin army, the vermin were rushing throughout the night for the cover of trees or curled up in their tents. Markem was bothered by the fact nearly half the horde didn't have tents to set up to keep themselves out of the rain. He had the slaves and vermin alike begin building a large pavilion in the middle of the night, helping to set it up himself. By the time he was already in bed, he was partly exhausted and was fast asleep.
By the time Markem woke up, a smile crept from his face, staring up to see light shining and the song of morning birds all around him. He got up and crawled out of his tent, cracking his back and neck. 'Dirt' was standing there, with his stoic expression as always, but looked very wet. The otter shook himself off the water and held back his head fur with his paws.
"I hope ya didn't catch a cold again, eh?" Markem prodded. 'Dirt' only gave a shrug in response, but seeing that Markem was awaiting an actual answer, he quickly said "Oh. No, I was under cover for a majority of the night. A light drizzle did drench me though. Not that I am complaining about it, sir."
"I am certain ya won't." Markem grunted. 'Dirt' reached into his tent, grabbing the rat's armor and began to help put it on. The two looked out over Mossflower and Markem began to take note of a couple weird things. The first was that he saw a lot of new faces, as if his horde was growing bigger then before.
The other was that they were all happily singing.
Sons an' daughters of the horde, take up yours sword
For we all now go to war!
Our spears are sharp, theirs in dull
We will rise, an' dey will fall!
Our vittles be great an' big, a reward for our marchin
Grant us passage, if ya please
Or we will take yer cheese!
"Huh. Don't remember dat song. . .odd endin though." Markem commented to his bodyguard. 'Dirt' was helping to tighten Markem's breastplate, and he couldn't help but agree. "They probably added the last line to keep the rhythm, sir." Markem happily smirked. He could see his hordebeasts, all that he was accomplishing were joyfully singing. Yet, as Markem took up his sword and shield for his march, he began to frown. He would see so many happy vermin, all of them sworn to him and were happy to be his loyal soldiers. Yet, he didn't want them dead. If he could, his army would march forever in joy. He liked to imagine that his march would perhaps scare the woodlanders into submission, his presence alone would give him Mossflower. If only.
Markem walked amongst the horde, as 'Dirt' began to pack up his tent. The otter would not carry it, that job was given solely for another. Yet, 'Mud' was not on the campaign trail, and was still in Gholand. 'Dirt' would have to suffice. Markem made sure not to go to far, giving 'Dirt' his time to pack up his things, and was breathing in the morning air. The rat looked proud, greeting random hordebeasts and helping others. To those who knew him well, it was a surprise how much energy Markem had, capable and willing in his age to randomly go about and help his fellow horde and slave alike. By the time 'Dirt' was done, Markem was helping a rat soldier and a hedgehog slave load some crates into the cart. The rat was a lot more surprised to see his warlord so casually helping them, but to the hedgehog who was a veteran laborer for Markem, it was just a normal day.
"Thats the last of it, Markem, sir." The hedgehog huffed. Markem didn't know his name, nor pretended to. He just knew faces, but even then not very well. "Good. We are marchin out as quick as we can. Any delay is abominable." 'Dirt' came over to his master's side as Markem huffed out a bit. He watched the cart get pulled away and the horde and their servants went about doing their tasks.
"You said to me to remind you not to be doing that, sir." 'Dirt' goaded. Markem gave a low chuckle in response, in an unreasonably happy mood. "Ya know, 'Dirt'. I just really can't help meself. Been worken an' marchin fer an entire life time, an' now I just really can't stop. Never understood the likes of Kylan nor Luzgot. An's especially not Parb. All dem rulers of der hordes give out orders, but den do so little? Read, maybe? Nah, not the likes of Kylan. They get perpetually drunk an' pretend to knows what they be doin. Work really is the medicine fer the soul, as one of me ol' chiefs would say. Never believed it himself, but he shoulda."
As they were talking, Scarl spoke up beside 'Dirt', both he and Markem nearly jumped back in utter surprise. "Mornin, boss. Got yer reports."
"Of for hells sake, Scarl! Don't ya scare me like dat!" Markem huffed. His spymaster looked rather happy this morning as well, his smile was wide as ever. Markem was a little worried until he gave his report.
"Luzgot's ol' friends an' Parb took the south. Sixteen hamlets an' villages now fly our colors, an's we will be gettin shipments from dem soon. One even had spare iron tipped spears! I'd like to use em' for our own, but I think we might give'em to Resker's boys if ya don't mind."
"Oh good! An Parb obeyed me orders?" Markem was hoping she didn't, for a reason for why he was doing a little 'detour' this early in the morning. Scarl shook his head in equal disappointment "Aye, she most unfortunately did. She an' the coastal warlords established garrisons as' asked. She says she gots a lot of prisoners when I sent one of me folk to greet her, an' wanted to ask ya to send her back to Great Marsh."
Markem spat in disgust "Great Marsh, more like Great Grave! Only reason I even tolerate her an' her ways is because of dat dreaded silver. Gonna make sure to change dat soon."
"I bets you will, but do tread carefully. She is still quite influential."
"I'll tread on toes an' stomachs if need be Scarl to gets things done. I am actually sort of glad she kept herself busy. Gonna remember the look on her face when I break der news to her." Markem Smiled, and so did Scarl. 'Dirt' also gave a smile, knowing what his master fully intended to do.
_
In a field far from civilization stood a group of vermin and bound woodlanders. The vermin had silver cloaks and a mixture of vermin from the coast, looking over their prisoners, a mixture of mice, squirrels, and a single hare. They had resisted the will of the Great Vermin Band, or tried to fight them, and as was dictated to her, they would be punished. A mink was sitting in a bored fashion, reading a book on various old legends and tales she had read twice in a row, but she had no books with her on the long campaign, and it was the only interesting thing the woodlander prisoners had. Parb was joined by her slave Nurka had her head bowed to the side. Although cleanly dressed as Parb's personal servant, the otter maid could not help feel exhausted, having spent much of the campaign marching alongside her mistress's paraquin. Everywhere the mink went, to villages and even to small engagements, Parb would look bored and look out to see what was happening. The most danger she had been in was when one Long Patrol soldier got suspiciously close, only to be chased away by vermin soldiers. Even then, she had not been in danger.
Parb had been kind of excited at first, her boring life now had at least some aspect of danger, but she felt insulted. The Long Patrol never engaged her, they engaged in small groups and picked them off. It was a common tactic they used against the vermin to great effect. Yet when it came to defending their outposts, the Long Patrol preferred to flee, and Parb counted it as a tactical victory, even if she lost more vermin taking these places without killing a single hare.
In boredom, she would take her prisoners out into a field like this one and just starve them, about the only fun she had.
The woodlanders had their paws bound behind their back, and were forced to kneel like prisoners. Parb would just watch them, eating and reading to herself. She made sure the woodlanders watched, and no one was really surprised. In the hot sun, the woodlanders were observed by their cruel overlords. None begged for mercy, not expecting any from the likes of Parb. Parb had told them that they had a choice, either willingly go to Great Marsh in chains to mine her silver, or starve out in the hot sun till one fell over dead. These little games amused her at least, but even this became boring.
One of the vermin from the coast, a near toothless elder weasel, came up and shouted to her "Miss Barb! Miss Barb!" Parb looked up from her book annoyed, and gave a cold eye to the weasel. It was one of the scouts of her allied army as he bowed in grace and spoke in a hurried manner. Yet, Parb spoke first, already expecting what it may be.
"If the Hares are planning a counter attack, tell that fox Pelp to go deal with it. I am busy."
"Nay, mam! It ain't the Hares, it be-" He was interrupted by a loud and boisterous, but yet familiar voice. It was a rat, with a sea scum's accent. "Ah! Some new laborers fer the army, I sees Parb! Glad ya caught some, needed a couple extra paws I did." Gutan made his boisterous entrance. Parb was shocked to see him this far from Gholand. She tried to speak up to get his attention, but he was already heading towards the prisoners, his fat assistant with a scroll at his side. Gutan's eye came upon a hare, and the rat helped him stand up.
"Ya aren't Long Patrol by chance, bucko?" The hare remained silent, unsure what the right answer was. Parb spoke for him "No, just one of the villagers. A son of one I think. Gutan, what are you doing here?" She then noticed some Jusbrag rats by Gutan's side, assisting Gutan. The rat patted the hare, and was looping a rope around his neck. None of the woodlanders understood why, but Parb did.
"Gutan, these are my prisoners, You can't ju-"
"Sorry Parb! Markem's orders. All prisoners we get go straight to the horde they do! Can't have his vermin exhausted carrying der own things, an all! Carts an' wagons don't pull demselves!" His attention was entirely on the hare, who realized he was not out of the frying pan just yet. Yet Gutan spoke like a cheerful employer "Ya aren't a cook by chance, mate?"
"I mean, Ma did teach me a thing or two, but w-"
"We'll get to names an' occupation later, but good! Our camp cook really needs a good replacement. Can't stand his vittles." Parb arose in anger, nearly throwing her book at Gutan to try to get his attention, but yelled instead "Gutan, what is the meaning of this!"
"He be doin what I tell him, Parb." That other familiar voice came from behind her. Markem was walking through the field with his otter bodyguard to his side. She was shocked to see him, and also confused. I'd suspect he would be at Tussock for an entire season at least. Yet, Markem spoke in a cheery mood, a brightness in his voice "Tussock is fallen, an now we are marchin on Redwall Abbey. I'd have sent a messenger to tell ya, but I figured I'd pick ya up along der way. I already talked wit some of the other warlords, but ya are the last to know it seems. We needs to talk."
Markem and Parb entered her own camp, a small one at that. Of all the structures there filled with grim and mud, with vermin miserably eating their vittles or sharpening their weapons in preparations for campaigning, Parb's immaculate tent stood in the middle. It was guarded by her silver soldiers, and covered in all manner of expensive rugs. Nurka and 'Dirt' entered as well, taking their places alongside their respective masters. Parb was a little worried, as Markem began to explain with a hint of pride in his voice.
"We ain't gonna be tryin to siege Redwall in truth, which is why yer vermin be comin wit me. The other warlords bent knee an' swore to me, Parb. Yer the last to fall in line."
"Didn't we already swear to you at your anniversary feast?" Parb's normally complex composure strained on the verge of shattering. Markem explained as he crept dangerously close to her "Ya did as equals, an' I yer warleader. Now I am asken very nicely here Parb, for ya to swear Great Marsh's vermin an' her slaves to me an' to obey me laws. I cannot win this war fer Mossflower when we are all squabbling children, backstabben one another fer rank an' privileges."
"You can-"
"An more importantly, yer vermin will be treated wit not only the respect dey deserve, but the way ya run that death camp ya call a mine will change immediatly. Yer to send a runner back to Great Marsh an; lay off dem whips an' chains fer all yer workbeasts. Yer to give em' proper treatment under the way we do things in Gholand, ya hear. Any an' all beasts who work fer me also have my protection as well. No more murders, no more games, an' no more tortures without me expressed permission." 'Dirt' came over to Nurka and took out a small rope from a small sack that Gutan had given him. Nurka was frightful, as her fellow otter put the rope around her neck into a loop. 'Dirt' didn't smile but reassuringly patted her shoulder. Nurka had no clue what to think of this, but yet felt more comfortable with the woodlander warrior and fellow servant defying her mistress right in front of her.
Parb was beside herself as Markem ended his speech to her "An if I hear, an' especially if I sees, any vermin in dat little camp of yers, chained like dem slavebeasts do, I will kill you Parb. I will march dis army around an' burn yer stinken mine to the ground, an' ya can rule the ashes with yer head on spike. Ya can either fall in line like Luzgot an' his cronies had, or we can end dis now. In dis tent, at the end of me sword."
"You threaten me and speak of unity, Markem. You think I will trust you-" Parb was cut off again, something she was not used to.
"Unity means a lot to me when we are all equal, Mink. I'll be honest to ya. I'd rather put dat otter next to ya in charge of yer wretched horde den ya. I've looked over yer sins fer too long, an' now I am payen me dues. I've come fer yer answer, will ya fall in line. Or do I have to get bloodied."
Parb was horrified, backing up away from Markem who looked far more terrifying then he had any right to be. She saw utter contempt in his eyes, but it was that fire alongside it which intrigued her. She had no choice, and simply answered.
"I'll join you, Markem. You have my horde, and Great Marsh."
"Good. Now do as I bid, an' join the rest of the army. Ya march out now, an' I will hear no excuses." Markem and 'Dirt' left the tent, Parb looking utterly beside herself as she froze. She sat slowly on her couch, feeling outwitted. Perhaps I should have helped Luzgot when I had a chance.
_
The vermin army was camping near, but not in sight of, the River Moss. Their march had been long, and the horde still grew. Word spread of the massive army, and all manner of vermin from Mossflower were at first closing their doors and hiding to prevent themselves or their families from getting dragged into the horde. Yet, instead, when vermin came to their holes and homes, they were instead knocking in grace. Peaking head would answer, asking "Whacha want?" and the vermin soldiers would answer. They did not bust up their homes, stole them, or threatened them. They simply asked "Markem Brownnose marches to war, an' he marches to Redwall Abbey. He asks ya to join his ranks an' join the Great Vermin Band. There be vittles aplenty." Day by day, the horde grew with volunteers and recruits, slowly but surely. New faces appeared, curious to see how Markem ran his horde, and what his plans were.
It was night, and much of the horde was fast asleep. It was a massive horde, and would under any normal circumstances be difficult to keep fed. Yet Markem's territory provided food and supplies beyond the need to scavenge. Careful planning and rationing by the horde had made sure that even the forced laborers were well fed, although albeit on worse looking food. Food and supplies were rounded up in larger numbers, as tributaries pushed massive carts of food and much needed supplies to Markem's army. Vermin were used to bad rationing, and would often gobble down as much in last ditch attempts to remain less miserable. Yet, Markem energized his soldiers to eat less for their own sakes, to keep them partly full without gobbling down too much. Captains were told to watch the way their soldiers ate, to deal out punishments for gluttony and hoarding. Every tiny detail of Markem's army was orderly and thought out, more so than any other. To new slaves who ended up in the horde, it reminded them a bit of the Long Patrol to some degree, and that fact terrified them.
Yet, as the horde slept so soundly into the night, well rested and fresh, there was one grumpy rat who paced in his own special tent farther off then most from the horde. Luzgot did not tire, his mind swirling with all manner of curses and insults. Only one creature was in his tent, his mole slave Dannek. Dannek held his head low as always, keeping his eyes away from Luzgot as much as he could, and his paws behind his back. Luzgot angrily paced and ranted.
"Wretched Mink. I ask fer one second of time from her, an' late as always it seems! Can't get anything right, this lot. Damn Markem an' his rot brained horde." Luzgot was ranting, and he had his reasons. Where Markem and his allies saw genius, he saw incompetence. "Vermin should find der own food, der adults not blasted woodlanders. Next he'll be conscripten slaves into our hordes! Ha! Not like he already does now! I can't believe they are all so enthralled by dis, leaden us into a deathtrap. Redwall. Pleh." Luzgot spat and cursed, but Dannek was at least content. Dannek was secretly relieved, for when Luzgot was spitting and cursing, it was less time the rat would bully him.
In a moment, two figures entered Luzgot's tent. One flipped up her cloak, revealing Parb's cringe face. The other more slowly flipped up the hood of her cloak, with Parb's personal servant Nurka being a little more happier than she usually was. Luzgot stopped, and looked them over.
"Ya weren't followed, eh?"
"No, of course not." Parb answered. She snapped at Nurka who produced from her cloak the mink's goblet and began to pour from a small tin a deep red wine into it. Parb didn't look drunk, but could tell she was less groomed than usual. Luzgot looked to Nurka, noticing the new addition to her uniform immediately. He kept his mouth shut and spoke. "You stupid mole, you and that otter best go find us somethin to eat, or you'll be wishin ya were back in Luzland."
Dannek wasn't sure why Luzgot was suddenly hungry, but he didn't question it. Neither did Parb nor Nurka as they left the tent to search for rations for Luzgot, preferably as far away from them in a goose chase.
"Any particular reason why you sent my slave away, to find food in the night?"
"Any beast wearen dem rope collars may as well be in Markem's favor. No matter how well ya train em' otherwise. I suppose I am lucky that Markem didn't deprive me of me own servant, even after he drained me fort of my workbeasts. Twice. I don't even think Markem knows I even have one of them left, an' its the most worthless one of them all."
"I suppose that is. . .true." Parb couldn't have agreed more. Ever since Markem's visit, her slave was a bit happier than she had seen her in seasons. She was still bowing her head to her, but now Parb could not even use the threat of punishment as she once had.
"I see ya got a worse treatment, Parb. I'd have even pity ya if ya would have joined me sooner."
"You sound as if Markem has already won, both his insane war and in this affair. I have my ways, Luzgot, and you have yours. You'd be surprised what a few touches of Foxglove can do."
Luzgot then gave a smirk "Ya think it would work again, like last time?"
"The problem was delivery. Not the poison itself." Parb slyly retorted. Luzgot grumbled. The warlord continued to pace and seem less tolerant of her presence as Parb spoke up "I got your message loud and clear, Markem needs to be gone before things get out of paw. Yet, I cannot help be fascinated by him, I must admit, an interesting character."
"Interesten? What's so interesten what he be doin here? There be a reason I don't march into the middle of blasted Mossflower. Markem can think he can win a war with Salamandastron in a pitched battle with a single army. Campaigns like these against the Long Patrol be suicide. He was lucky at Tussock, but luck doesn't run on forever. He makes a mockery of us, making captains of proud warlords like meself, stealen my hordebeasts, and my slaves. He treats his slaves softly, he treats his vermin softly. Its all a house of cards, an' when it comes crashen down, I will be the one to fill the void. I'll have to be the one that gotta return de's wretches to reality."
Parb did not look convinced "You had ample opportunities to kill him and make your way back to Luzland and try to take 'our' new territory. You could likely leave right now."
"Ya don't think I tried? My incompetent, useless captains for whatever reason couldn't even delay the main army from assaulten Tussock's walls. They are mad, ya see, mad an' enthralled by Markem's snake eyes. They heard der chief was in Tussock an' rushed to his aid, knocken back der doors. I planned to escape back to Luzland wit Lusket an' form a real horde. Instead, Lusket fell all over like a lovesick youngster fer Markem. Now we are all Markem's subordinates."
Parb thought "You wouldn't be calling this meeting unless you had some plan."
"I still do, an' we will have to act quick. Long Patrol are gonna come, an' when dey do, we gotta run back to Luzland as quick as possible, an take any hordebeast an' captain wit us who isn't insane. When Markem inevitably gets defeated by the badger lord, he'll be good an' dead fer certain and take a lot of troubles wit us. Long Patrol will come fer us next, so we gotta prepare fer a siege, gather up a new army, an' beat em on our own turf. Hopefully Markem will kill a nice good ol' blump of dem an' we will be all the better off. Two birds. One stone."
Parb gave a heavy sigh and drank "You have my very reluctant support, Luzgot."
Luzgot smiled, but for a very different reason Oh, I got yer support alright Parb. If ya won't bend an' bow to me, den yer brother will the idiot he is. When Markem is dead an' buried, the Great Vermin Band will be mine to play wit.
Hesam and Vogar did not sleep well that night, as the two walked the halls of Redwall. Hesam was fuming, even hopping, mad. He ranted in a mumbling voice, complaining how close they were to being caught, how Dakan was going to skewer them had not an entire hare army showed up. Now? There was an entire vermin army in the north, marching to Redwall. Vogar had different thoughts in his mind. He had not seen Naus in years, and was truthfully happy to see him. If it wasn't for the mark of his true masters stamped beneath a hidden armpit, he would have even joined them. He had no ill will towards the mouse he called 'friend', but he did owe a lot of debts and favors. They had done a great deal together, and whether they liked it or not, were bound in the same ship by one single holder of their string.
"That damned water dog, you think how close he came to figuring us? What does he know! I knew that fiery look was trouble. Now we gotta think, whats the best way to make it seem like an accident. Maybe we can bribe one of the vermin to do it, eh? While he is sleeping an' all! Then we ca-" Hesam was cut off as they passed a group of chatting nuns. The two kept a stoic and heroic pose in silence, but once they left, Vogar interrupted him.
"Why do you bloody care, Hesam? Our 'friends' in Sandbeach are probably sending a secondary army, allied or not, to besiege Redwall. If they took Tussock, then they can bloody well deal with Naus and the otters, wot."
"Not worry! What about Salamandastron! Malgor is there, literally waiting for the blasted cats, and we were supposed to be last, something easy! What if the otters stay behind, tie us up, and throw us in the river!"
"The Skipper is going and we are staying, you idiot. You are more likely going to see him being dragged out in chains and beheaded by those cats. They may even just give you his holt for compensation."
As Hesam and Vogar were turning a corner, they nearly bumped into Dakan himself. He was with his captain Papet and the otter chief looked grimly down at them. The companions for a moment looked fearful, a confirmation to Dakan's suspicions. They recollected themselves and were presentable as Hesam spoke.
"Oh good otter! I am sorry we didn't get to meet up yesterday, you came quite boldly into Redwall with swagger, and all I could think of last night is what you wanted to ask us about." Hesam truthfully was trying to avoid the otter. Dakan was in a blue jerkin, his sword and a quiver of javelins were to his back. He was armored lightly, and looked like a proper otter warrior. Today they were marching out with the Long Patrol, but he was truthfully looking for his kids who were also getting themselves ready for this march.
Dakan was eerily silent, to a point Papet tapped his shoulder "Something wrong, sir?"
Dakan spoke up "It is nothing, I in fact forgot about it. I think I'll remember on my march to defeat the vermin no doubt."
Hesam and Vogar a fake smile as Dakan pushed past them harshly. Papet shook his head in disbelief and tried to apologize on his behalf "Sorry, Companions. Dakan been a little less himself lately. Not sure what's gotten into him."
"Probably just the battle shakes no doubt." Vogar retorted. Papet only gave a slight shrug. "Gotta say me own goodbyes to me wife an' pups. I imagine you are going to sing us off, Hesam? Perhaps even join us?"
"I will sing a song to brighten your moods as you go, of course. No bard like myself can pass such an opportunity! However, alas, me and Vogar will stay here. We work well on our own, but not in battles such as this. We will make sure that as you fight the vermin on the battlefield, we will keep your youngest company of course." Hesam was tempted to chuckle to himself. He lacks critical information! Ha! If only I could see his face if he knew.
Papet smiled and nodded "Of course. Thank you." The otter captain made his way elsewhere, humming an old Mossflower tune to himself. Hesam and Vogar looked at one another, their faces full of cringe and discontent.
_
Jase excitedly began to climb the stairs of the abbey walls, his friend Gaisen behind him. Many of the Redwallers were on the abbey's walls or in the courtyard. They were watching the fields outside the abbey, a mass array of tents and small structures being packed up and pulled down. In less then a single hour, the hares had nearly magically packed up their things and were lining up in their divisions. Bollo and Kalma were on the walls as well, coming up to Jase who looked in amazement as the woodlanders began to go to war. The officers of each small regiment shouted "Stand at attention! Present!" The hares all loudly would stiffen up and hold their weapons in a comfortable stance. Jase had never seen such things before, and he and Gaisen watched with deep interest.
Jase turned to Bollo, watching the spectacle. "Bollo, if I may ask. Why are you and Kalma not joining them?"
"Uoh, we'us nut une to ask, guud Juase. I'uv hud me fill uf buttle, a'un gut not much experiunce marchun in a'un armuy like dus. I'ud prubably slow dum duwn, we mules cannut really run or murch like dum hares an' utters do. Besides, if any ul varmunt come here, i'll give um a goud thrashen I wull."
"Not those of course we guarding inside the walls, as well."
Bollo shrugged. The hares from inside the abbey, mostly officers led by Naus exited in a march. Drums beat to the tune of the march and trumpets blew. Exiting with them, the otter warriors were following Dakan and his children. Pelma and Kasser looked dignified, and kept close as the otters marched to the tune of the hares drums. All of them carried their weapons, mostly javelins and short swords, and all wore distinctive cloth armor which was painted blue. Many had warpaint.
As promised, Hesam was in the field with his lute and began to play a rather fair song to boost the mood of the marching woodlanders, bringing a smile to the faces of all except Dakan.
We of Mossflower are peaceful folk, and farm an' toil till the day is done
Yet when the enemy raises their spear, they will know we mean war!
Gather your tents, wash your sheets, we'll be back before they peep
From Salamandastron to the River Moss, we don't give a fuss
We'll meet em' in the fields, an' make em pay for each day they yield
We of Mossflower don't hold back, we'll be relaxing when we get back
For our victory is assured, for no beast can withstand us!
For no matter how bold they are, thin steel will put them down far
Dirt and mud will be their grave!
A classic Hesam was certain, as the Long Patrol and otters sung in tune, to a point where they drowned out Hesam's illustrious voice with their chanting. The army marched like a thunderous host, each step kicking up dirt and sand as the army moved out, with terrible speed marching north and beyond Mossflower's forests.
Marthomis was on the walls as well, next to Garfan. While the woodlanders had all come to see the army off, amused by the sound and imagination of battle, and a new tale of war stories and what not filled their heads, it was the mouse and the dormouse abbot who did not say much. Both knew the terrible truth of war, more so than any other. Even their vermin guests were hiding a hidden pleasure as they watched the huge army move off, but others found it depressing.
"You think they can win. Right abbot?" Garfan asked, looking ever more worried.
"I know they will. I just wish none would die or suffer."
Garfan sneered, watching as two ferret bandits mocked the army leaving, even hoping that they lost. "You can hope, abbot. I just hope they drive those murderous beasts out of this forest. For good this time."
A group of mice in the village of Junemoth were getting ready for a long day's work, their small fields of the mouse village had a decent crop, and some of the mice were particularly excited about the rain that came in not too long ago. As the mice went about their business, one would breathe in the fresh air of Mossflower woods. It was a peaceful day, and a beautiful one at that. As the mice were gathering tools, some even already out in some vegetable patches, the mice villagers were content with their boring and peaceful lives.
As one farmer was munching down on a slice of cheese, a delicacy of Mossflower's rodents, one of the villagers looked like he was rushing past the treeline and towards the village. Most ignored him, a young militia recruit who kept the village's peaceful order for the most part and acted tough to scare away the common vermin threat. The son of the elder militia who was growing older in age. Yet, he began to shout, and shout as hard as he could.
"Vermin! Vermin! Sound the alarm!" Some of the mice looked awkwardly at one another, not sure what he was screaming about. Vermin were all trouble, sure, but they were nearly in the middle of Mossflower. Besides, the Long Patrol had basically blockaded the infested northeast from larger threats. Yet the mouse was in an utter panic, practically smashing into the elder militia mouse who came out to see the commotion. As the two argued, one trying to convince the other of the nature of the threat, the mouse eating the cheese looked to the treeline. He began to step back and began to run.
Coming out of the forest was a massive vermin horde, led by a fox and was already moving its force to the side. The fox was charging down the hill, followed closely by another with a halberd. Yet, this was not what gave the mouse fright. Next to them was a wolverine, trudging its way down hill with a massive blade in its paw, practically the size of a rat! Bravely, the two militia mice drew swords and began to make their stand at the entrance to the village, but before they knew it, screams of terror and shouts of anger were heard around them. They turned to see a wide array of vermin surrounding the village and rounding up those who tried to flee into the wilderness.
The two militia mice turned and readied to swing their swords. Yet, the fox slowed his pace, huffing a bit and trying to catch his breath. His companions, perhaps a bit in better shape, stopped before them.
"Is this. . .Junemoth, right?" Jarolom asked. The mice froze still, as the lady fox came forward, halberd drawn towards them. "Well? Ya woodlanders be deaf? Speak up, or we'll be spillin guts."
"It is?" The elder mouse said, backing away a bit, his eyes affixed on the wolverine. Wulvog bent his neck to him, giving a wide grin. Niala spoke up "If you don't want to end up bein cooked over dis big ol' glutton's fire, ya best be putten yer swords down, eh."
The mice could see they were beaten, and dropped their swords. They didn't wish to bring harm to their friends or family in the village as Jarolom pushed past them and began to wander the village shouting "I am Jarolom Foxtrot! Captain of the Great Vermin Band, an yer new boss is Markem Brownnose!"
The mice were gathered together, most expected the worst, to be put in chains and dragged away to some wretched pit. Some imagined a far more gruesome fate, but were surprised when Jarolom continued, although his voice seemed to crack a bit "Under Markem's law, yer village will now pay tribute to the true lord of Mossflower! Under order, ya are to pack as much food into a cart an' send em to the horde! We will leave a garrison to house with ya, but ya are to surrender any arms to em' and refer to em in a good manner an' blah blah blah." Jarolom did not like his rehearsed lines, and in fact cringed at them quite often.
The mice stood in stunned silence, unsure if the vermin was joking or not. Jarolom growled out "Well! Get to it, flat ears! Or do I gotta get out a whip!" The mice had expected that at least. Meekly, the mice were gathering from some underground stores some vegetables they had been growing. Niala and Jarolom went around the town, as Niala seemed less pleased with her brother.
"You know Jarolom, I don't know why ya hate doin dis. Look what we are doin! If we were in der north, we would have had to fight fer our lives just to get one village under control, an yet here we are takin names an' gettin viddles like it be no one's business."
"I mean, sure, but these are just a bunch of gentle beasts. Softies. Mum is a softie in her old age, sure, but she got more spirit in her den these bumpkins. Cowards all really. Only good they are for is worken fer betters like us!"
Niala sighed "I suppose. I never really asked, why ya even follow Markem? Ya sound like ya don't like how Markem runs his horde. Yer more like sounden like ya admire dem other losers like Kylan or Luzgot."
Jarolom stopped and turned to his sister and gave a pained smile "When me an' Markem, an with Scarl really, started dis whole thing, I thought he was an oddity before. We have our troubles, no doubt. When Markem ain't looken in the right direction, Scarl got to make sure his own vermin aren't stabbin him the back, like with any other warlord. When Gutan ain't looken, the slaves talk of escape or murder, like with any other warlord. Markem is idealist, I am a realist."
"Realist, eh." Niala chuckled "Ya like the way he runs things deep downs I bets."
"Kind of. Though, he ain't there when Vake, ya know the big ol' grim fox who keeps order, had to put down some slave who be talken openly about killen der betters. When Markem spares one vermin who do bad by him, thinkin dey may change, Me or Scarl are the one who gotta add em' to a list to keep an eye on an' disappear them if they get rowdy. Markem knows, but doesn't wish to know. He thinks he can change nature, but we can't no matter how hard he tries."
Wulvog came over, trying to eat an entire head of cabbage as a snack. He spat it out and angrily looked side to side. "Me and Yulfang are hungry. There meat in this Mossflower land? When does it snow?!"
"It don't snow till winter, Wulvog." Jarolom tried to calm the wolverine down, but Wulvog pretended to look more miserable than furious.
"When the hell is that! It's warm here, it practically feels like I'm melting! This food is watery too. How do you two live like this."
"We don't. We'll get ya a big plump bird when we gets back to camp for ya to eat, wolverine." Wulvog went by, trying to find anything to satisfy him. Niala couldn't help but be amused "I swear, he is going to get us killed one of these days, although he is useful. Take him to a few more villages, and we might just bleeding start our own little kingdom!"
"Well we ain't done anyway. Markem wants food, an' I provide." Jarolom put his paws on his hips, looking out over his chief's new conquests. Soon enough, his face will be well acquainted to several other villages, and those he had forced into the Great Vermin Band did not resist.
One of the mice pulled in a cart, full of vegetables that could feed a large portion of the vermin army. Jarolom overlooked it, a bit disappointed.
"Ain't ya got more?"
The mouse shook his head and Jarolom sighed "Fine. Markem orders ya serfs start growin food fer the vermin an' yerselves. Now pull this cart to the main vermin army."
"Jarolom, is that really necessary, we got vermin an' slaves of our own." Niala interrupted. The mouse was at first relieved he would not have to push this cart into the middle of a hungry vermin horde, but Jarolom shattered that hope soon enough.
"An waste energy of beasts who know der place? I thinks not. Mouse, ya better pull dat cart to that army, under escort, or I will lash ya to it in chain. Now get a move on!" Jarolom looked annoyed, turning as he called out to his vermin "We move onto the next village! Wulvog, we move out!"
Niala pitied the mouse and drew one of the vermin soldiers to her side. She whispered in his ear and he reluctantly did as bidded. The mouse was helped by one of the vermin soldiers, pulling the cart of food away into Markem's horde. Niala smiled, and joined her brother in the horde's next conquest.
_
Jarolom and his company of bandits were finally returning to the horde with confidence in the success of their mission. Niala could see her brother was more joyful than most, juggling a little brown back in his paw of jewelry and coins he had bullied and stolen from some of the woodlanders in those villages. Jarolom didn't wear much jewelry, maybe an earring on a blue moon, but he didn't much care for it. Niala knows why he steals, ever trying to impress a ghost of a legendary bandit who used to be on everyone's ears and lips, to mimic him. Jarolom couldn't help himself, and he was quite proud of his accomplishment as he returned to the marching horde.
As they did however, Niala and her brother could hear arguing. A lot of arguing. As they approached, seeing marching lines of vermin humming or talking to themselves, there were three characters off to the side with their respective guards. They spat, and cursed, and raised weapons at one another. It was a pretty normal sight, Kylan Bignose was obvious to see the fat weasel and his villainous guards clad in an amalgamation of armors and clothes. Then there was Hazul Leffer, his water rats tribesbeasts were clad in their black tribal garments, all yelling and spitting at one another.
Jarolom would not have normally cared, had not the third character been Scarl, awkwardly trying to act as a line between the two.
"Now, I'm certain Hazul didn't mean a word of it, Kylan!" Scarl begged. However, Kylan wasn't listening, his furious hate of the religious rat was seething.
"Ya ghost worshippen buffoon! Ya give back the vittles ya stole, an' den I am gonna hang ya from yonder tree an' watch ya squirm!"
"You and your wretched conscripts deserve nothing more than to be beheaded, you witless doult!"
Jarolom and Niala looked at one another, making a silent decision to intervene. Wulvog and the horde stayed back, not interfering for a different reason, wondering if a fight broke out, Wulvog could probably steal a corpse or two for a meal. Niala and Jarolom approached with caution. Next to these infamous warlords was the mouse who Jarolom had sent to resupply the horde, and his cart of vegetables which had been partly broken into.
"Yer a danger to dis entire horde, Hazul. Ya flaunt any rules we gots, an' send yer stupid rats to smash up my viddles! Dis good ol' stuff was headen to me boys, an ya know it!"
Hazul growled with a vile temper "My tribe practically starves because you and your thugs keep being sent to collect all the rations for yourselves. I know you and your ways, Kylan, and I will tolerate it no longer!"
"Please! Everyone, lets just talk this through, aye?" Scarl was begging, his paws failing as he tried to keep the two warlords back. Jarolom spoke up to get both their attention and swaggered on in "No need fer violence just yet, ya leave that for the woodlanders chiefs." Jarolom kept up a fake smile, trying to help his old friend calm down the two feuding warlords.
"Ya ain't gettin away wit dis, ya flea bitten burrow scum!" Kylan was about ready to crush his sword on him, but relented in the presence of the larger horde who would give the group curious looks. Hazul had no such qualms, his rats were already taking out bows and putting arrows to their notches. Hazul sneered "You flaunt every divine spirit you come across, but in this life it seems you must torment me for the faintest reasons of your own stupidity! You know you are a half wit. The fact I must call you a peer is an insult to me, and to everyone else here, Kylan. I earned my place in Mossflower at least, you had to backstab your own chief to do so!"
"Oh, an' now ya gonna bring dat into it, when me an' Markem took Jusbrag? I made Jusbrag big an' prosperous more so den any other vermin alive, an' ya call me a half wit! Rats like ya are all talk an' no brain between the lot of ya! Yer a moron yerself, believen in such stupid things told from the mouths of shamans an' magicians. The only real insult in anyone who believes such garbage to start wit, an' ain't got a bone nor blood tied to dis here land. Ya are a foreigner, Hazul. A wretched foreigner an' tribal who had to take yer home wit murder. I took me home wit murder, true, but at least I built somethin! Unlike ya, you tribal wretch!"
Jarolom shouted before the two warlords could crash into one another "Stop! If any of ya two draw blood with one another, I'll make sure you both hang from trees!" The two stopped and scoffed at Jarolom. Scarl looked relieved at first, but then their vitriol turned to Jarolom.
"Who gives you the right to threaten us. Captain." Hazul was quick to remind Jarolom of his rank, but the fox did not care. "I might be lower than the lot of ya, but I got the Great Warlord's ear more so den most. You two nitwits ever think fer a second that if you draw blades wit this marching lot, yer gonna duel in peace? If Markem hears word ya two kill his vermin before battle even starts, hanging will look merciful in comparison." The anger from Hazul's face dissipated, knowing Jarolom was right. It would have been stupid to attack Kylan for such a petty issue in front of Markem's horde. Kylan kept his silence as he spoke up angrily.
"This dolt had his vermin start smashen up our food! Food meant fer my Jusbrag vermin!"
It was Scarl's time to intervene, speaking up "Ya see Kylan, tis all a massive misunderstanden! As I've been tryen to say to ya folk! Now listen up Kylan, an' listen proper dis time. Dis shipment an any other'd shipments should not have been goin over to yer vermin at all, twas a mistake. It should have been goin to Gutan whose been handelen food an' rations fer us, and by mistake some of these dumb woodlanders think yer Gutan, which is honestly pretty funny if ya think about it."
Kylan paused, and tried to think on Scarl's odd reveal of information "I thoughts I was suppose to be the one handen out rations, mate. Like Markem said I should."
"Yer suppose to be helpen ration out der weapons, mate. Markem probably should have been more clear on dat, but dat be his business. An as fer ya, Hazul, we only took notice yer rations were lower den most an' I'll see that ya personally fix that up. I know yer rats probably didn't mean to start smashen up our viddles, an' I can understand dat. So please, do me a solid an' try to keep a bit more calm, eh?"
"You better, ferret." Hazul warned. The two warlords gave their momentary stares of vitriol at one another and left. Scarl was huffing and rested on the cart, clearly exhausted from stress. Jarolom came over, and then started to giggle and laugh to himself.
"Oh come now brother, no reason to bully dis ol' ferret, eh?" Niala spoke up. However, Jarolom corrected her as he spoke to Scarl "Okay, so how much ya gotta do to make sure dey don't know ya were lyin to der faces, eh Scarl?"
Scarl was wiping sweat from his brow and continued to look exhausted "I'll find somethin, a couple greased palms will do the trick. I swears, Jarolom, those two are gonna kill one another one of deez days. If they don't accidentally kill me first!"
Niala and Wulvog were a bit surprised as Jarolom comforted Scarl with a pat on his shoulder. "One of these days, ya are gonna need to pick one or der other."
"If only. Every time one of dem warlords, even wit Markem's deafening calls fer unity against Mossflower, tries to kill one another we could lose a big ol' section of our army. Both have their uses. Hells, even Luzgot. Without him, those coastal warlords would have had to be conquered an' scattered. Kylan has numbers, but Hazul got some of the best bowbeasts we gots in dis army. Markem made a fool mistake given Kylan the job of handling logistics, an'' as soon as I heard, I rushed on over to see dis."
"Lets me guess, Kylan really is tryin to starve Hazul out."
Niala interjected into the conversation "Doesn't that go against this horde's rules, if I may say? Shouldn't both get der necks wringed fer that?"
"Ha! If we used every rule Markem puts down, we'd all be ringing our own necks. Gutan may try to not use his whips or keep dem woodlanders in chains, but he still uses beatings an' ropes. Our tributaries aren't always so loyal either, an' tis a grim duty to put em' down an remind dem who be in charge! Though, things are be improven, slowly. But surely."
Jarolom looked critically at his friend and raised an eyebrow to that comment "Imporven? Come now, Scarl. When things ever improven. Yer all eyes an' ears and Markem be the mouth dat keeps everyone under dat ol' brown banner we gots."
"That the thing Jarolom." Scarl said, a hint of moral defeat in his voice as if he hated to admit it "Markem's little idealism is paying its dividends. . .an' mices like dis one still bring food, an' will likely bring another good ol' cart in time. Ain't dat right?" The mouse who had been near the cart was patted harshly on the back by the ferret. He said nothing, and just nodded in agreement.
Niala spoke up in a hopeful manner "Sounds like Markem really is doin something strange an' new. An frankly, bein here, I am kinda starten to like it."
Jarolom frowned at this spreading of toxic idealism as Scarl happily agreed. "Gutan. Karlgo. Markem. Idealists all, an' softies to yer brother an' Luzgot alike. Difference is, Jarolom knows who be winnen in the end, an' ya just hate to admit it, fox."
"No reason to be rude about it, ya boneless baffoon. I keep me loyalties fer good reason, an' fer all those years watchen that rat's back." Jarolom seethed, but Scarl laughed "Ha! As if, eh! Markem and ya tolerate one another at best, cause I'm der one whos gotta watch everyone's back! An. . .ummm. . .speaken of." Scarl's happiness became a more cringed expression, hiding something he didn't really wish to say. Jarolom prodded. "Speaken of whats?"
"Markem wanted to speak to ya. Alone. Somethin about a 'big talk'. From the sounds of it, sounds like ya goofed."
_
Markem was not alone in his command tent, looking over report after report from scouts and his lieutenants. 'Dirt' was standing outside the tent, looking as intimidating as he could, but two woodlanders were in the tent with him. One was a squirrel chief from one village, and the other was a mouse militia commander from another. Both had now been added to Markem's growing kingdom, and were silent as the rat warlord looked over his maps. 'Dirt' looked partly bored, his paws folded in his normal manner as he looked out over the vermin army marching to war. Jarolom approached the tent cautiously, trying to pretend he was going to be enjoying a good drink with Markem. Yet, he had a bad feeling otherwise. 'Dirt' looked down at him as Jarolom paused at the tent, giving a brief view inside.
Jarolom spoke up to 'Dirt' "Am I to wait I takes it?"
'Dirt' shrugged "I was told you could enter any time, sir. Although, to be honest, I wo-" Markem's loud voice cut off 'Dirt's' who could overhear talking outside. "Jarolom! Get in here!" The voice cracked with fury as the fox shivered back a little. He collected himself and entered, trying to think if he forgot something important or did something wrong. He looked at the two woodlanders who surrounded Markem, two he could recognize. Both were apart of the villages he forced into the Great Vermin Band at Markem's orders, as Markem finally got up from his desk and directed his attention to the mouse first.
"I can see what ya are sayin. I apologize profusely. I'll task some of me laborers from my army to help fix up some of yer homes an' structures under me own expense. As fer yer weapons, ya may keep em' fer now, but der will be punishments otherwise if ya take up arms against me. A critical mistake if ya will."
The mouse reluctantly nodded, as Jarolom was figuring out what Markem was mad about. He and his horde had gotten a little rowdy and smashed the mouse's home up a bit when he refused to exit, and continued to smash up some homes till the town fully submitted. Markem turned to the squirrel next. He went over to a chest full of silver coins and grabbed a bag and haphazardly began to fill it. He tossed it at the squirrel who fumbled as he caught it.
"Use those to buy provisions from Gholand, preferably. We gots plenty of food from other villages an' a network. I am told yer town lacks a lot of laborers? Gutan will send some of my slaves to help till fields if need be."
"Does it have to be slaves?" The squirrel said pathetically. Markem only nodded "Yes. I ain't got vermin to do it, unless ya want vermin laborers, an' der won't be many volunteers. I'll be generous wit the supplies ya gave me so far, but talk to me officers preferably. I am on campaign an' gots no time fer this kind of thing." The squirrel looked down at the bag and sighed, leaving the tent as Markem then turned his critical eye towards Jarolom. Jarolom didn't give a pained smile, only a dishonest shameful glance.
"I'd be angry if I didn't know ya well enough, Jarolom." Markem's voice was disappointment but hinted some spite in it "I had ordered ya to bring dem villages into the fold. Not smash them up."
"They resisted."
"They say otherwise."
Jarolom squinted his eyes "Ya gonna believe some dumb woodlanders over me?"
"No, but dey brought some pretty damning proof. Ya were to pay fer those supplies wit that silver crap I gave ya. May I ask where it is."
"Tis. . .already spent, actually."
Markem raised an eyebrow and Jarolom tried to explain "Looks, we are at war Markem, an' a little raiding ain't gonna burn down an entire village. Dey are now in yer paws, an' they'll be content we don't enslave em'. For now at least. They gots t oknow der place, like dat dumb otter out der guarden yer tent, an' all der others. Tis what we been doin fer seasons, an' all der others did before us. Besides, I saved us a little bit more didn't I?"
Markem tapped his paw to his desk "Jarolom, if ya aren't spenden the silver I give ya to these villages, den a lot of things I am doin aren't gonna make a lot of sense. Not gonna pretend to know a lot about dis kinda stuff, nor ever pretended to. Yet ya gotta think on dis, mate. Whenever has our 'old way' of hoarden an' doin the things others do ever worked? I ain't bein soft when I am given dem money fer me goods, I am binding em' more to Gholand. Or well. Dat is how Karlgo puts it anyway."
"Karlgo be a mess of a fox, sir. Not much of a rogue nor warrior. Barely even a true vermin, if ya ask me." Jarolom said with some considerable spite. Markem however was not amused.
"True vermin, eh? Jarolom, what is a true vermin? Is it a beast who follows the orders of Pelg an' his cronies to der deaths? Or when Luzgot tries to kill me fer whatever dumb game he plays? I've been marchen in hordes fer a long time, use to believe in warlords who would let me down, excused a lot of stupid things an' more so. Now? Now that I am in charge, I can see how much we have truly fallen, if we were ever above our own necks in dis filth to start with. When I give ya an order, I expect ya to at least follow it to the bare minimum."
"Markem, we be mates, but sometimes ya do dumb things."
Markem sighed "Maybe, but it ain't gotten us down yets. I can't just not start goin back on me word, ain't nothin good about dat. Hate doin it too. Call it dumb, even soft, but I gotta keep goin for it or I may as well end up like der rest of our 'glorius' ancestors. All of them failed." Markem paused as if looking longingly. Jarolom could understand his reluctance and regret. Had it not been him or Scarl pushing him, they would have stayed content in Gholand forever, just surviving. Yet they all shared the same vision, they had grown so far and done so much, and Mossflower could now finally be within vermin grasp in their lifetimes.
"We cannot fail, not this time."
Jarolom came close and gave Markem a reassuring pat "We won't mate. We won't."
_
It was another night as the vermin horde rested, having traveled so much farther from eastern Mossflower then they had ever been before. In the night, Hazul sent out scouts to look for the enemy. They knew full well the massive army was being tracked, and passed over obvious signs of hare footprints. No matter how hard they tried, they would not be able to get rid of the Long Patrol scouts spying on them, and there were no orders to engage them. Fanning out to capture maybe one hare out of several would have been wasteful, and Markem ordered a silence amongst the commanders who knew. Markem feared that if rumors spread of hares hiding in the bushes, that panic would demoralize his happy little army.
Jarolom and his company were enjoy a nice little night time meal with one another. Kag, for perhaps the first time in his life, was immensely happy to cook. A large shipment of fish and shrimp from the coast had come into the camp. Although the vermin avoided shrimp like a plague, other slaves like himself were happy to make something decent for themselves. What surprised even Jarolom was Wulvog gulping down a huge pot of shrimp and fish stew, although the wolverine would explain his tastes.
"I've been hungry all day. That bird they tried to give me is barely skin and bone! Gods, the things I would give to have a big plump seal, or a rat!" The rats around Jarolom's little circle drew back a little when the wolverine said that. Niala was amused as she was served her own meal by the division's new cook.
"Ha! Ya should probably hunt eagle, not like der rare in dis part of the world."
"Bah! Those fish starved baffoons barely are worth the time hunting them." Spoke up Dakar. The gray rat stirred his fish bowl as if it were a rotten ration "Ya folk eat bird an' fish, never understood why ya don't eat real meat."
"Cause we just don't. To put it, ya north folk are the weird ones. I suppose some vermin do, but we call em' cannibals, which ain't a good name."
"Like my brother said." Wulvog interrupted, the other vermin around him pretending to think they heard Yulfang. "There is no shame in eating the flesh of another. If I am hungry, we eat. If you do not eat, you starve. Starve, and perish. You folk eat so little, it amazes me honestly! All these plump vermin and thralls, and you don't eat them? That is what I find crazy."
"Heh. Ya." Jarolom said with a little worry in his voice. As the vermin meandered amongst themselves, Niala heard a brush of walking feet go past her. She turned to see Markem's bodyguard 'Dirt' going out towards a farther end of the camp. She wondered if he was just walking off at first, but the otter sat down at a log and lit his own campfire in a small circle. He was eating his own meal alone, seemingly distant to much around him.
Niala nudged her brother "Dat otter, why he ain't wit the rest of dem workbeasts eaten?" Niala said in a non-conversational manner. Jarolom looked and grunted in 'Dirt's' general direction "Bah. Who cares."
"Ya have no curiosity brotha."
"Niala, i've known 'Dirt' fer far longer then ya. An' his brother too. Believe me, dey ain't really all dat interesten." Niala didn't bother to listen, her nature of curiosity had her sit up with her food and head on over. 'Dirt' didn't notice as Jarolom tried to speak out something to get her attention, but he stammered his voice.
Niala sat across from the otter, who slowly raised his head from his bowl of soup. He was silent, and then returned to his meal, eating it slowly.
"Gotta say river dog, out of all deez gaggle of clowns an' misfits here an' all dem I've seen from north to the River Moss, ya are the weirdest one yet. They call ya 'Dirt', eh? Odd name, don't ya think?" Niala tried to keep a smile to goad the otter to talk or reveal something. She frowned hard when 'Dirt' ignored her and went back to gulping down his meal. Niala tried again, but more firmly.
"Ya deaf, mate? I know by dat little accessory on yer neck dat ya ain't a creature who can ignore der superior, eh? Come now, tryen to be friendly here ya know. I gotta be impressed even, I say, not even I killed a Long Patrol before." It was this what caught 'Dirt's' attention and his dangerous glare. He spoke, trying to keep calm in the situation.
"I'm only here for a little bit, mam. I'm on night duty. I prefer to be left in peace."
"Ya prefer it, but I ain't letten dis go, water dog." Niala chuckled. 'Dirt' could see he would need to move if he wanted some peace and quiet, and as he was getting up, Jarolom appeared and put his paw on his shoulder and sat him back down. Jarolom gave a cringed look to Niala as some other vermin followed their captain over. "Come on 'Dirt', no need to be like dat. Ya are amongst good beasts, ya hear? Now why don't ya tell me sis what she wants to know, aye?"
'Dirt' peered around as his company was now a lot of vermin. Kag was with them, struggling to bring his cooking over to his less than ideal camp. He sighed, accepting defeat and coldly replied "Okay. What exactly do you want Jarolom." 'Dirt' was fairly certain this was some ploy of the fox. The two held obvious contempt for one another, as 'Dirt' always viewed Jarolom as a more public version of Scarl. Scarl was cruel in the shadows, intimidating when he needed to be. Jarolom however was open about his verminous cruelty. Perhaps he is in a bullying mood.
Jarolom gave a pained smile "Nay, ain't somethin I want. Fer whatever reason, me sis thinks ya interesten. Workbeast or not, ya gotta give me family some credit in wanten to know more."
"Ya, like what kind of otter name is 'dirt' or 'mud' anyway? Ya seem to be drawn to it, a nickname? Yer master think ya worse den the ground beneath him? Doesn't sound to be normal fer a soft beast Markem, an' he clearly trusts ya enough to not abuse ya. What gives?"
'Dirt' gave a long pause and answered "When me and my brother were little, Markem took us in as his. . .servants."
"Slaves." Jarolom cruelly corrected. 'Dirt' didn't wish to argue and pained saying "Slaves. When he took us, he gave us new names, although not the way you think mam. He just saw the color of our fur and named it after the first thing that came to mind. He says it isn't much an insult as it is that he can't remember names very well. I believe him, mostly."
Jarolom chuckled "Aye, he bad wit names. Can barely remember his own if it ain't being shouted at em'. Not even dat good wit faces. Sometimes he forgets entire warlords!"
Wulvog shrugged "Sounds normal. The horde is massive in itself. I'd honestly forget half the names here, or more to be honest."
"Ah. Dat explains yer name. Still don't know why yer a bodyguard doh. In der north, ya don't hear much about woodlanders bein warriors in horde. Once in a blue moon in fact. Most times dey just downright refuse, even if given der own homes, weapons, an' slaves. You? Yer still a slavebeast. Why?"
'Dirt' paused at this question as Jarolom listened in. 'Dirt' frowned a bit, looking as long as possible into his dwindling soup. "Saved his life once, mam. Then I kept saving it. I don't really ask questions really, I just do what I am told and Markem treats me and my brother right."
"Better den ya tryin to run off, ya know how much I was huffen to try to catch ya when ya were pups?" Jarolom goaded. 'Dirt' gave him a vicious look, but collected himself when Jarolom gave him a cruel smile back.
"Tis odd is all. Ya were stolen when ya were pups, eh? Ya ever think of just. Ya know. Goin back to where dey are?"
Jarolom quieted himself and looked at his sister, who was genuinely curious. 'Dirt' himself looked sadly at Niala and answered "My father was killed by Markem, and my mother died protecting me from a ferret whom Markem aided."
"Huh, odd really, if ya think about otter. Reminds me how my pa told us how he got dragged into a horde." It was at this that 'Dirt' was now curious. Niala sat back and commented "Remember dat story, Jarolom? Grandpa an' Grandma were killed in front of him by one of his bosses? Dragged to a horde, marchen until he found ma an' got bored?"
"I remember." Jarolom rolled his eyes "Each time, he changed how it went. Pa did always like his stories."
The tone of the conversation shifted, and it left 'Dirt' a bit awkward. Jarolom continued, as he began to prod his sister now "Ya know sis, when ya disappeared up north, how did ya earn yer viddles? Bets it be a lot more exciting den dis."
"Ya would think so, but I spent two seasons getten to know one wooden palisade really well an' hatin every moment of it. Ol' grumpy we called him was tryen to make a big ol' name for himself, but then I said to meself 'Ya know, maybe I make a lot more viddles on me own' an I was right! Pa used to say he had a big ol' dashen escape from dat horde, but honestly? I think he made it all up! All I ever did was just walk out wit some viddles an' a spear an just left. Dey barely even noticed. Dat be honestly me first kill, actually. One of me horde mates tried to stop me, an' I accidentally killed him wit a knife. Oddest death der be, completely unintentional."
Wulvog spoke up "A lot better than my first kill. My chief and father always tormented me for it, and Yulfang over there as well. I was out doing my first march around the tribe as a sentry, and stumbled upon some sleeping rat in the snow. Tried to wake him up by shaking him, just trying to figure out if he was an enemy or not, and accidently snapped his neck doing so."
'Dirt' always knew vermin to be violent thugs, but the way they spoke of their first kills was a lot more different to his own. Jarolom spoke up next once some of the other hordebeasts spoke up about their first and surprisingly embarrassing kills. Niala turned to 'Dirt' who looked out of place and smiled "What about ya 'Dirt'. Don't tell me ya killed a Long Patrol on yer first try, eh?"
Jarolom spoke up "Nay, I wasn't der dat night, but even I gotta admit, ya were lucky water dog. Ya choked him out right?"
"Yes. He was attacking Markem and ignored me mostly. I got behind and put my arm around his throat and held it. Kept a good arm on his spear hand as well. Held on for dear life, even as he clawed at me with his free paw. I honestly didn't even know I was killing him at first. He fell on top of me, and it hurt a lot."
"Ah! Best way an' silent way to kill a beast, eh?"
'Dirt' frowned "To be honest, mam. I don't like killing."
"Dat is to be expected." Jarolom chided, but Niala spoke up in surprising agreement. "I gets ya. Didn't think about me first kill till it be a bit too late. He fell into me knife, looked at me painfully, an' was gone. Get nightmares sometimes ya know."
Wulvog also spoke up "I got used to it, but honestly, I kill for food. If meat grew from the ice, then that would be great. Too bad that isn't the case. When I get pelted with arrows or get stabbed a little, that kind of thing hurts like a paw dipped into the icy waters for too long."
Many of the other vermin voiced their agreements, much to 'Dirt's' shock. Yet, as he was paused in that moment, he checked up at the sky and stood up. Niala asked "No reason fer ya to leave ju-"
Jarolom cut her off "Ya best be headen out, otter." 'Dirt' left, as Niala gave a cold look to her brother. "What was dat for?"
"Tis his shift to guard Markem's tent, Niala. Just cause ya pretend he be a hordebeast, don't change der fact he a water dog an' a slave. No matter what he does really, he ain't gonna be like us. Now lets get this food all finished an' head to bed. We gotta prepare fer battle soon one way or another."
The hare army was marching, but no longer at it's fast pace as it began to camp near the River Moss. The hares and otters were resting, taking in their rations as they enjoyed the momentary peace of Mossflower. Naus and Dakan were at the edge of the river, admiring the clear waters. Dakan was wet, having decided to swim freely in the waters to cool himself off from the summer heat. The two could hear carts coming to a stop behind them, hares unloading gear and building materials. If they were going to cross the river, they would need rafters, and they would need to be built quickly. The otters could swim, but many aided their hare counterparts as they began to chop at young trees and tie logs together. Big rafts would be needed to transport the supplies, and smaller ones could manage to bring the hares across.
Yet, this was not what neither Naus nor Dakan were waiting for. Dakan spoke first, a bit annoyed "You'd think he'd be more punctual."
"There was a reason I didn't approach him first. By the time we engaged the vermin, he'd either be a season early or a season late, wot!" Just as Naus had said this, a heavy handed chant could be heard coming up the River Moss, going against the flow of the river. Dakan and Naus looked, and smiled, as shrew war chants could be heard.
Rats in der forest, a stone fer dem!
Weasels in a barrel, ya spear it through!
Ferret on the run, a paddle to his back!
Put dem vermin on der rout, an' sing and shout!
For the Gousim go to war!
First to enter, last to leave, to Mossflower we sing!
If they try to stand there ground, we'll make them frown!
When we get home, we'll be good an' free!
To this we promise as we sing!
Logis himself was on the head log that was being rowed up the river, and his army of Gousim shrews were chanting to a rythem to keep up. Their brightly colored headbands matched their light jerkins, all of them carrying a mix of spears, curved swords, and slings. Dakan and Naus smiled bright as Logis made his way to shore, wading through the water. By his side was a little shrew whom Dakan kind of knew from when the shrews visited Mossflower. Ganla, Logis's weapon bearer, held Logis's large sabre. Logis called out in an insulting manner, looking as furious and hot headed as ever.
"Naus you dumb long eared mucker! You should have come to me first den this old river dog!" It was a friendly and fuming voice. All three smiled as Naus came forward, shaking Logis's paw. Shrews from all over the river were unpacking and joining Naus's army, as the entire caste of warriors from Logis's clan answered his call.
"Vote was unanimous, and I made hell to make sure it was! My shrews are yours to command, Naus, so long as you keep by our rules."
"Bolly hope I don't talk to them then, ol bean. If I had to read and memorize every shrew rule there was, that ol' Markem fellow will have conquered all of Mossflower, an' his grandchildren would be ruling! It is an honor to have you, good sir."
"Ha! I would have come to fight this rat myself even if you haven't shown up! Although I was hopin to see Galgor with you both."
Dakan nodded "Sad to say friend, Galgor and a good amount of hares went to sea. Its just us. Although with the army we have, I think we are fairly good!"
"Ha! Good to hear. My shrews will help you incompetent lot of softies cross this river. Now, Naus, we need to talk about strategy." Naus nodded and the three walked alongside the river, as both informed Logis of their enemy. He spat in anger "Slaver of course, wretched lot no better nor worse then Kasg! I'd have loved for him to be alive, so I could disembowel him myself. This Markem will have to do."
Naus stopped at a muddy bank and took up a branch as Logis and Dakan spoke. "True, although this rat has a pretty large army. All those eastern warlords? Under his control now, and worse yet, he heads to Redwall. If we don't stop him at the river, he'll be in our heartland."
"We could fight him at the river! We'd be at the advantage."
"We would, but he wouldn't take the bait." Naus drew a crude map in the mud of Mossflower, with a line representing the river. Both looked down as Logis cringed "You don't really visit our river much, do you Naus?"
"You can be critical of it later, my good Logis. We are planning to engage this rat in a pitch battle, and it's likely exactly what he wants. Fighting him will be a considerable loss either way, and good on him for moving his armies so close. Gives us a means to end this threat quickly."
"Why fight him in a place he wants, ya made hare?" Logis raised an eyebrow. Naus laughed "Seasons I wish! We could do our usual tactic, fan out with the Long Patrol and wreak havoc on his supply lines. His army is too big to be sustainable for very long, and its likely a food shortage will cause trouble for him in the long run. My scouts report the army is here." Naus poked a hole a little above the river's crude mud map, which quickly filled with water.
"If we go into his territory, he will attack Redwall and that will not do. He could siege bloody well there too, and thus that won't do either. If we don't stop him, he will just downright bloody conquer Mossflower. If he continues to follow the river, we might be able to catch him in an open field and defeat him there."
"Your confident we can win?" Dakan asked. Naus nodded "Their victory at Tussock is a mystery to me. Markem must have had sappers, or some kind of siege equipment. It was also well prepared. No doubt vermin trickery was at play. Getting inside a warlord's head is easy, and you can predict movements with ease even without scouts." Naus pointed to a section a bit farther down "I've beaten Kasg's smaller armies before, and their tactics are quite predictable. Its the campaign I am little more skeptical about."
"We kill this rat, free his slaves, and drive the vermin out of Mossflower! What be so difficult about that?" Logis chuckled. Naus was a bit more silent than usual and put his paw to his chin. "Yes, but this is one larger horde. They come from a fort called Gholand, and its clear that if Markem dies, we win. It's besieging all those other forts and allies of his which will be difficult. Without our full force, we will need to take Gholand first, then Veekun's Burrow. Great Marsh will not be exciting to visit, for more reasons then one."
"I'm surprised you didn't say Jusbrag." Dakan spoke, ill intent in his voice. Naus nodded "Jusbrag will be dead last, but we could perhaps goad Noonvale to send a force as well, and purge that stain once and for all."
Naus stood to attention, pointing out his campaign trail and seemed oddly excited "You know, we knew about Markem for some time, even since he crossed the river all those seasons ago. Never knew he'd grow into this threat."
Logis grunted "They always do Naus. They always do."
_
Pelma and Kasser Whitewhisker were far from the camp, practicing javelin throwing with some relative peace. Although Kasser mastered this art with dedicated training, Pelma was becoming a natural herself. She proudly stepped forward and threw her javelin across a great distance, hitting her mark. Kasser clapped and Pelma cheered "Ha! Did it!" Pelma was excited to hit her mark so well. Kasser mocked his sister's wonderment "Congratulations, Pelma! You now are at the same range I was when I was whee high." Pelma gave a critical, but yet friendly look.
"Oh shut up, Kasser. You can't even admit I am getting close to your skill, huh?" Kasser smiled widely and nodded. "Of course, close to my skill when I was whee high."
Pelma gave her brother a friendly push and went to collect their javelins. Pelma gave a gasp and then frowned "Darn. I think mine is broken." Kasser came over to investigate, noticing her javelin was stable but looked cracked. He shrugged "Ya, they do that at times. Can't even be helped really."
Pelma smiled "Who knows, maybe I'll be head scout when you become Skipper, eh?"
Kasser rolled his eyes "Oh seasons, don't even remind me. If I had a shrimp for every time Pa gave me a speech about being a better otter and doing this and that for the Holt, I would be a very fat otter indeed! I may be Skipper one of these days, but seasons willing it won't be till I am old and grumpy as pa himself. I like being in the forest, Pelma, just enjoying the peace and quiet of our good home. Can't even wait to see the holt again. I kind of just wished mum was here, ya know?"
Pelma sadded at this comment. Their mother died quickly and suddenly, a disease which took her. Her funeral still burned a terrible memory into her mind, and despite all the playful squeaks and her father's best attempts to shepherd them both, that loss never was truly fixed.
"I wish that too. Pa says one day, when we pass, we get to see her again."
"True. Kind of wish it didn't work that way though." Kasser took up his javelin, he looked over and suddenly stood at attention. Dakan was coming with some other otters as Pelma turned and relaxed. Dakan smiled to them both "I knew you two were out here, eh? The army is crossing the river now, but it'll take time for them to fully do so. Kasser, you and the other scouts are going to assist the Long Patrol in spying on the enemy. They want to know their true number, and they asked for assistance."
Kasser nodded as Pelma perked up "Perhaps I can go with? I can sneak well, pa."
Dakan's smile became less so and turned to Pelma "No. Kasser can do this with his trained scouts."
"Put perhaps I can-"
"Any inexperience is a danger, Pelma. Please, do not argue with me." Both of Dakan's children became silent. Pelma reluctantly nodded her head and went off as Kasser turned to his father. Dakan sighed and put his paws to his forehead in frustration "Kasser, be careful. These vermin aren't like the bandits we faced, keep a good distance. Try to remain right of their main army, hares think they have less sentries on that side. Just don't do anything foolish, okay? Be back when you can."
"Of course, pa." Dakan hugged his son tightly and gave him a reassuring glance. The Skipper left with Kasser's scouting friends, and he was about to head back himself. He heard a rustle in the bushes however and turned, thinking he heard something. He pretended to go grab Pelma's cracked javelin and began to hear a rustling noise in a bush. As it became more clear that it was becoming louder, he dashed silently behind a tree and spied a shrew coming out. He ambushed the shrew in a friendly manner. "Hello, long nose. What you doin in the bushes, huh?"
Kasser's first thought was 'spy', but shrews were his father's friends even if he and Logis had their minor feuds. The shrew looked up terrified, and stammered "W-w-well you see. You see. I was just. . .relieving myself in the bushes. I saw you otters coming and got embarrassed, ya know! Tis a common mistake really! Then more of you come and I tried to exit, but you know, sounds all weird an' all!"
Kasser nodded in partial agreement "Whats your name? Your one of Logis's crew, right?"
"Oh. Oh yes, of course! Name's Bargol, good sir." The shrew looked like a common shrew, but Kasser noticed some odd differences. His jerkin was weirdly expensive, silver lined. He had a silver fang, and a nice looking rapier. "Your an officer, I take it?"
The shrew stopped to think, then smiled widely "Oh, yes. You can ask old Logis himself, 'Good ol' Bargol' he'll say." The shrew twiddled his thumbs. Kasser only nodded and smiled in turn "Oh, of course. Well, we are all friends here, no reason to be afraid. If we honestly know you were relieving yourself, we would have probably moved. Any of the shrews going on scouting missions with us?"
Bargol put his paw to his lips and nodded "Oh, yes, of course. They'll be spying on Markem's big ol' horde!" Kasser nodded and went off and called out in a friendly manner to him. "Have a good day, Bargol. Nice to meet you!"
Bargol felt blessed. Had Kasser been only slightly more suspicious, he would have trusted his smell to know the shrew did not relieve himself. Had Kasser prodded further, he would have probably noted that not many shrew even knew the name of the warlord they were fighting. Bargol wiped the sweat from his stressed brow and began making his way towards the river, heading north towards Gholand.
_
The crossing of the river was going well, half the army was across. Dakan had watched his son and a team of six other otters make it across, his most experienced scouts. Dakan sighed in sorrow when he left, praying for his safety when none were around. He was walking about the war camp towards Naus's tent, his pace slow and methodical. His mind turned to thoughts of Redwall, Jue, Ravens, and the Companions. He felt like an utter fool, and a lot of the things he told Bollo now made him just as paranoid as the mole. He couldn't really get it out of his head, as he walked into Naus's tent. Naus was surprised to see him, and spoke in a friendly manner to him "Ah! Good ol' Dakan, what can I do for you, lad?" Naus was smiling, but became a concerned frown when he noticed Dakan's icy and distant expression.
"We must talk, Naus."
Naus nodded and sat, as Dakan stood there. He explained a grim story of his discoveries and his suspicions. Naus listened, his normally happy expression becoming more serious. He sat like a parent listening to a terrible secret told by their child, listening intently and with concern. Dakan continued and paced, piecing all of his evidence together for Naus to understand. When he was done, Naus and Dakan stared at each other as the hare spoke up.
"Ol friend. Are you absolutely sure of all this?"
"More than ever, Naus. It all makes sense the more I think of it. Hesam and his friends didn't start becoming famous in Mossflower until after the ravens started attacking. A raven attacks the abbey, and Vogar kills it, causing our own resident hero to go mad."
Naus would look to the side, trying to piece everything together "I suppose. I could imagine Vogar doing a lot of dang nasty things, but nothing like this. These accusations, friend. They are extremely serious."
"And I am confident they are guilty."
The hare colonel spoke up in a questioning mood "Dakan, if this is all true, why didn't you interrogate them? Or arrest them? Or bloody well brought it up while we were in Redwall?"
Dakan sighed "I was just about to. Then this business with a vermin warlord shows up. An' old friend cornered me, Garfan. He didn't believe me, sure, but there was fear and doubt in his eyes. I hate to say that old grumpy guard has a point, but he did. If we shatter that illusion, if they prove to be true, we endanger ourselves. The immediate threat is the Great Vermin Band."
"A fair point, Skipper."
"Tell me I am crazy Naus. I am trying to piece this all together, and it honestly hurts me. The pups of my Holt would hum Hesam's songs, and now it pains me to think we were blind to it. Hells, how many vermin were rounded up and dragged away to some fate worse than death and we did nothing to stop it!"
Naus nodded his head an stood. He comforted Dakan by patting his shoulder and smiled "In fact, Dakan, I do. When we get ourselves back to Redwall, I will subtly arrest them both and we can figure out all this business together." Naus hoped he had cheered his friend, but Dakan still looked rather concerned. Naus prodded him in a firm manner "Something still wrong, wot?"
"Yes. Jue the Warrior. He disappeared Naus, and hasn't been seen in my neck of the woods or in Logis's. Everyone searched for him, and found nothing. What if. . ." Dakan trailed off, but Naus lightly shook the otter to snap him back to attention.
"None of that, Jue is a skilled warrior and a hero of Mossflower, Redwall, and bloody all good woodlanders. Biggum may have struck down Kasg, but at a young age Jue had dueled him into his bloody grave. Rotter deserves far worse in his afterlife. I suppose we will get to know a little more in time."
Dakan finally smiled and grasped his friend's paw "Thanks, Naus. Seasons. What madness have overcome Mossflower of late, ya think? Next thing you know, woodlanders will start becoming hordebeasts!"
"Ha! If I ever see that happen Dakan, I'll hopefully be long and gone by then!"
Clink! Clank!
It was midmorning and the horde of Markem was approaching its destination. They were now far into enemy territory and were approaching their main destination. Markem and Scarl kept up with reports from across their realm, with reports of hare scouts being spotted and tracked towards Redwall. Markem was a little anxious, as he had heard no sign of any supposed army. He would even have doubts of his own skill and the overextension of laying siege to Redwall Abbey, and a Hare army simply waiting in the shadows to relieve the siege. Yet, his focus was on 'Dirt' who was currently thrusting his sword downwards at him and Markem was holding his sword high up to block.
Lightly of course.
The two were a little bit far out from the normal vermin camp doing something the two enjoyed in the peaceful times. In Gholand, they would do the same ritual of going out into a far off glade or stream, honing their skills on one another. Markem was a warrior at heart, and it kept him joyful that 'Dirt' was not just a student of his way of fighting, but also his equal. The two would leave the horde as two beasts, and in the small forest clearings far from the noise of others the two would practice and duel one another. Currently, both were theorizing a technique they wanted to master as 'Dirt' began to mention as he was pulling his sword down from his upward swing.
"Then, if I remember right, you would then knock the sword askew to the left and jam it into my stomach. Although, I think that also means I could react? I'm not very sure myself, sir."
"Heh. Never heard of dat, but lets try it again, a bit faster dis time." Markem and 'Dirt' used their real swords, as Markem thought it was 'silly looking' using sticks. The otter found this dangerous, but Markem was careful. He was too, but both did try to keep some dangerous pace. 'Dirt' took an offensive stance, putting his sword in front for an upward swing down. A little faster this time, Markem blocked the swing. He then tried to knock the sword to 'Dirt's' left and lightly went to touch his stomach with his sword. However, 'Dirt' reacted and quickly brought his blade around and pretended to strike Markem down by tapping him in the side. Markem grunted "Ya, yer right, tis too quick. Looks better is ya are seenen it I suppose."
'Dirt' shrugged "What about using your elbow. You could bash an opponent back?"
"Ya, but when we are in battle, bashing an' tryen to keep up a duel is dangerous. Such things work in smaller groups." The two continued to train and pretend to fight one another. Both pretended to not truly enjoy such things, that it was just pragmatic training to keep them on their toes in their violent lives. However, both admired these times alone, where the world was less complex and they could just have some fun in a faux duel.
"I think i've beaten you. . .twelve times?" 'Dirt' mentioned, trying to goad Markem for a reaction. The rat laughed "Ha! Ten actually, the other two were draws in me book!"
"I suppose." Markem could see a smile forming on 'Dirt's' face, a rare but not unheard of occurrence. His usually grim and cold stature would intimidate other vermin. Yet 'Dirt' came to a crawl, as if wanting to remember something he wanted to ask. Markem could see the smile fade as 'Dirt' stopped pretending. Markem put his paws on his hips "I know dat face, an' ya thinken of asken me somethin."
"Sir. I mean to ask. Why are me and Dak-'Mud' slaves still? I beg you to not think I mean anything by it, and I-" Markem silenced him with a motion of his paws as he spoke up. "Its cause ya are useful beasts, an' ya prove it as well as yer brother. Tis just the way dings tend to go, an' I've honestly not seen much problem in dat. I fight, ya work, or in yer case fight as well but under me word. What ya thinken about asken a question like dat anyway? Ya wanna leave or somethin?"
Markem was trying to joke, but 'Dirt' was giving him a less than adequate expression as he wanted to say the right thing. He eventually revealed his reasoning "Just something Jarolom and his sister said last night, sir. I suppose I just wanted to know. You keep others free and all, have we ever done enough?"
Markem's voice became a bit angry "Ya an' yer brother will never do enough, 'Dirt', an ya best be putten dem thoughts out of yer head. I give ya a lot an' I can take a lot too." Markem seemed a little mad, he thought of the otter as ungrateful and perhaps even greedy. Given him a nice room, his family's sword, an' even a nice pair of clothes an' he wants to be asken about dat kind of things? Hells do they want? I. . .I. . . Markem's anger flowed from his body as he could see his bodyguard backing away in mortal fear of him.
"Sorry. Tis just the stress, 'Dirt'." Markem ached in his head as he rubbed it. "To be honest, I just don't honestly know. Questions an' stuffs like dat make me head hurt. We'll discuss dis later."
'Dirt' nodded his head and tried to apologize as well, trying to keep himself on his master's good side "Of course, sir. I'm sorry that I had asked to begin with, an-" Markem silenced him with a stare of pity. In truth, Markem still held deep regrets for what he did to that otter family all those seasons ago. "There be nuthin to apologize fer. Lets just head back."
_
Markem and 'Dirt' returned to the main army, as they were packing up to head out. Yet, as the army began to get into marching formation. As Markem walked amongst his horde, he was heading towards his command tent, where all his maps and reports were at. He didn't sleep in the tent, and frankly he would have preferred marching alongside his soldiers then actually looking over maps and trying to figure out if what he was looking at was a river or a bog. The army was getting closer to the clearing along the River Moss, and anxiety was setting in. The horde's war song began to dim a bit, as rumors were spreading of a ghost army of hares were on the horizon. Markem knew better, but his own small superstitions kept him camping closer in the middle of the army's camp.
Markem was looking over his maps, wondering if he had made a huge blunder. Curse me, what if der hares attack from the north anyway, an' retake Tussock? Or the badger lord is waitin in a huge ambush an' I am walken on into it. Blasted Long Patrol already know where I am, but I don't know where dey are. Scarl had reassured him that scouts did return, much to Markem suspicions that Long Patrol were picking them off. Markem thought over his campaign, and wondered if Salamandastron even noticed his taking of Tussock.
"Hells, Markem." Markem said to himself in a hushed whisper, trying to figure things out "Best case scenario, they don't know an' we assault Redwall. Shatter dat 'invulnerability' myth they gots. We take der south end an' middle, and that leaves the mountain an' north coast. Juska probably rather ally wit me den the badger, heh." Instinctively, he would reach for a bottle of vermin grog which would have laid near him. He reached for nothing and then cursed himself for not having brought 'Mud' along. "Bah! Don't need drink, just need to think!"
Scarl then came through the tent flap and rushed to Markem's side. He had a worried look on his face, and looked less well off then usual. "Let me guess, an enemy army ain't spotted yet."
Scarl was silent and spoke up only after collecting himself "It has. Scouts came back dis mornin. Yer not gonna like dis."
"Like what?" Markem looked tense and surprised, but relieved that their planning in Gholand had paid off. Scarl came over, a twisted and half hearted smile on his face "We're right about gettin the Long Patrol to fight us, buts its a relatively big force. Over 500 hares easy, supported by the Mossflower Holt. Scouts also saw a lot of shrews, so no doubt the Gousim are joinin in as well."
"Good! Finally, we can start pitchen up tents an' pla-" Scarl then pointed to a map and Markem's heart sank. He pointed across the river, and where the scouts found the woodlander army. It was heading towards them, and it was heading towards them fast. Markem at first couldn't believe it as Scarl broke further bad news "Apparently the entire army stopped in some of our western most villages, an' were spotted quite close to Tussock but turned around. If the badger lord be amongst dat army, were gonna have problems."
"Damn them. Fast as devils, an' we can barely keep pace. Even if we win an' engagement, they could just as well turn around an' fight anuder day. How the hell are they dis fast!"
"Its Hares, Markem. Hares."
"If they are upon us dat fast, we may have to fight em' in the thicker forest, which I ain't happy about." Markem shook his head as he and Scarl looked over the map, but were interrupted when 'Dirt' entered the command center. Markem paid only minor attention, as he 'Dirt' pulled his paws behind his back, awaiting for Markem to acknowledge him. This usually meant that someone was waiting outside to greet him, but was not called personally by the warlord.
"If it be another warlord, they can come in. If not, tell em' I'm busy."
"Ummm. Sir, it's actually not for you. A hordebeast and a shrew is here is to see you Scarl."
Scarl smiled and spoke up "Tell em' they can come on in 'Dirt'. I think I know who it be."
Markem chided his friend as 'Dirt' returned to outside "Scarl, ain't got time fer yer spies an' whats not."
"It be a spy, but one which I had been waiten fer actually." A hordebeast came in with a richly dressed shrew with tight bounds on his paws. He slapped the shrew his way into the tent as Markem and Scarl looked at them. The hordebeast saluted Markem and spoke up "Great Warlord, we found dis spy on the outskirts of our camp, blasted shrew been ranten an' raving about tryen to find ya captain Scarl. Says he got information."
The shrew remained silent as Scarl dismissed the hordebeast. He came over and cut the shrew's bonds and spoke like a friend, something that the shrew did not appreciate. "Bargol me chum, I had been very much hopin ya were here!"
"Don't call me chum, ferret. I ain't doin this for friendliness. You best give me a big stack of money when is through and through!"
Markem raised an eyebrow to this as Scarl kept his smile, giving a warm but intimidating warning "An ya best start speaken den Bargol."
"There is a huge army heading towards you, but it isn't as big as you folk may think. It isn't lead by a badger lord, you see. Badger lord is at sea for whatever blasted reason, but about maybe 600 or 800 hares are with the entire tribe and the otter holt, so its a pretty big army. Logis, my chief, leads his shrews. Den there is Dakan, all hot headed I thinks. Hares are led by some fellow named Stag Hare or somethin, all hare names sound absurd to me! From the sounds of it, they know where you folk are at all times, and are planning to pitch battle with you vermin lot."
Markem dropped his jaw with surprise as Scarl looked to be thinking. He didn't believe his own spy as he spoke in a critical tone "Ya sure Bargol? No badger lord, eh?"
The shrew nodded as Scarl looked at Markem and smiled "This just made things a lot easier, Markem."
"Or harder."
"Scarl, where is my money you promised?" Bargol insisted. Scarl rolled his eyes and looked to Bargol "Yer information is very good, shrew. I'll pay ya when I am done here, don't ya worry about that."
Bargol nodded and then cringed a bit, and was unmoving. Scarl could see he was struggling to keep something back and the ferret prodded "Ya look like yer about to relieve yerself. There be somethin else, eh?"
Bargol sighed and nodded "Ya, but if I tell ya, will you pay me extra?" Scarl was about to simply say 'no', but Markem spoke up with insistence "Yes, he will. Go on."
Bargol gulped and spoke in a low tone "On the right side of the march, there will be seven otter scouts from the Skipper's tribe. One of them is his son, Kasser be his name. Seemed like a nice lad, not sure if you can use that kind of information but-"
Scarl happily cut off his traitorous shrew cohort "By the seasons an' hells alike! I couldn't have asked fer somethin better meself! Now run along an' wait outside. Once I am done here, I'll gladly grant ya what we promised."
The shrew didn't bow and simply left, although he looked a bit regretful for tell them what he knew. When he left, Markem was utterly shocked, he knew Scarl's claws were in a lot of things, but to have such a spy in the middle of the hare army? He turned to Scarl, curious of his success "Okay Scarl, I'll bite. How did ya find dat one?"
"Bargol? Oh, he was brought originally to Gholand to enjoy yer hospitality, Markem, at first. I think a stout named Zakz caught em? Don't really remember. Either way, the shrew got wind I was pullen a few strings here an' der an approached me first. Little bugger had the gaul to not only ask fer his freedom, but money to spy on the shrews in Mossflower. I'd occasionally track em', thought it be useful an' all. Now all dat money is really payen off."
"You'd think with finery he was wearen he'd be caught by now."
"True, but the shrews are none the wiser fer now. Now, about that Skipper brat he mentioned."
_
Kasser and his scouts were behind bushes and trees, keeping an eye on the massive vermin camp in the far off distance. Kasser felt like he probably should have listened to his father more, looking out over the camp that felt like it could stretch forever. He crept a little closer and kept looking around, wondering when he was going to see those shrew scouts he had heard from. Yet, none came. He found it odd, even suspicious, but he kept his eye out regardless. Kasser was taking mental notes in silence, counting out tents he could see were more richer than others, or where Markem's tent would supposedly be. He could see one large pavilion which overlooked the camp which could have been it, but there were similar ones in the farther distance.
Kasser and his otters moved like shadows, creeping closer as he whispered to one of the scouts "Hares must have turned in for the night, and so shall we. I don't see Naus's scouts."
The scout nodded in agreement as Kasser continued "Can't see much else then what we already know. Let's head down a little ways and-" There was a loud snap of a stick behind them. The otters tensed up and turned, hiding in the foliage. From out of one of the woods, a sentry of the horde was complaining to himself "Bah. Stupid bloody cap'n. 'Go an' march far dis time you rot brained lout' he says. Bloody fool, ol' Rotban ain't gonna take dat down no sir. Ain't nuthin by a drunkard he is anyway." The sentry was a rat, certainly, and was loud and obnoxious. The otters were surprised as the sentry didn't have a torch, a very worrying sign. Once the rat had gone, Kasser turned to his scouts and motioned "Nevermind, we head out now. If their torches aren't lit, they are looking for something. Most likely the hares, but we can't take chances."
Kasser and his scouts began to move in silence farther out from Markem's horde. Kasser felt a bit more safe as he and his scouts were now out of sight of the larger horde, but kept up their silence regardless. Kasser looked behind him as he walked forward, his low voice a bit louder and sounding happy "Thank the seasons the vermin have such terrible perception, or we would be-" Kasser felt a slight and sharp jab to his neck, it was soft and he went back in fear. A rat in a black cloak was pulling back his arrow lightly in front of Kasser and he had just walked right into him.
The otters were about to get to action and kill the vermin before he sounded an alarm, but other black water rats emerged from the bushes doing the same. One, who had no weapon came forward and lifted his hood, revealing a tired and icy looking elder rat "I am Hazul Leffer. I was told I would be looking for you. Come quietly, and you won't be harmed."
Kasser didn't believe him for a second, and began to reach for his javelin. Hazul looked at one of his rats and nodded, and one fired his arrow clumsily into the otter's cheek and he fell over, giving out a painful cry. Hazul lifted a bored eyebrow to this as the rat who fired awkwardly stood back. Even if trained to hold an arrow for so long in a threatening manner, some of Hazul's rats were partly shaking. Kasser stopped reaching for his javelin and went over to his fallen scout, snapping the arrow and pulling it out. He looked up desperately as Hazul came forward like a floating wraith. "I won't ask again. Put down your weapons, and come quietly. Or perish."
Kasser threw down his quiver of javelins and his sword in anger, and rats pounced on them.
_
Kasser expected the worst, and got exactly what he had come to suspect. One of Hazul's rats carried his injured scout while the rest were bound in rope and pulled into the vermin camp. The vermin could see by the color of their armor and their resistance to their bonds they were enemies and would leave their night time campfires to surround the captured otters and Hazul's silent rangers. Hazul led the procession through the camp, the vermin jeering and prodding at them. This drew the hopeless looks of the slaves alike as the group was pulled into the camp and thrown into a central area of the camp, where a large bonfire was lit. It was a place where several warlords rested, and some got up to look at Hazul's catch. Markem stood, leaning on his sword, his otter bodyguard to the side, an a happy ferret Kasser did not know kept close to Markem. "I knew I could count on ya, Hazul!" Scarl proclaimed.
The rat kept his dark composure "Twas not an' easy hunt, but we got them. This one is injured, lucky to be alive at all." Markem would normally have been a little angry with the tribal rat chief, but he could see Hazul at least was improving to injuring woodlanders rather than just killing them. Kasser was frightened at first, but then he was angry as he looked up in anger at Markem and spat "You must be Markem then? Hope you like where your head is now, wretch, cause the hares are going to knock it right off!" Kasser's words were met with a harsh kick from one of his captors and was forced to kneel. The vermin were booing, and looked blood hungry.
"Amusing." Markem sarcastically announced. Kasser could not get a good look of his face, the horned helm he wore created a shadowy figure like out of his childhood stories. He could see a fellow otter standing next to him, and figured this would soon be his fate of being forced into slavery.
"I don't know names very well, but I am Markem. Yer name, scout?"
Kasser held his breath, but a blunt jab from a captor's end of a bow forced him to speak. "Danis Blackwood, just a scout." Kasser lied, trying to keep his mouth shut. Scarl could see the fury in his eyes, and came forward just a bit "No, I think not. Kasser is it? Kasser Whitewhisker? Quite a catch indeed."
At this, without thought and all instinct Kasser arose in anger to try to attack Scarl. The ferret went back a little ways, noticing how furious he was. His captors forced him to sit once again as Markem spoke out.
"Gutan! Put this lot in with the rest of the prisoners. We'll deal wit them later."
As Gutan was about to do as task, Markem looked at the injured otter. Kasser could see his scout was weak from the wound inflicted upon him, and the rat carrying him would not tolerate him much longer. Markem spoke lowly to Gutan, making sure others could not hear in the large crowd. Yet Kasser could, he could hear quite well what Markem was saying.
"Make sure dat injured one gets some attention, if ya can?" Gutan nodded, and came over to the prisoners, leading them away. Kasser gave Markem an odd look, unsure if Markem planned some kind of cruelty for them, or was trying to simply keep them alive.
The woodlander army was approaching the north at a brisk pace, and began to camp. Dakan seemed less than his usual self, as word had not come back from Kasser yet. He had hoped to at least get some word, but even when the hare scouts went out and came back, they had nothing to report. Dakan was confident in his son's abilities, but it was the waiting that always concerned him. As the army began to come to a stop, setting up the camp in the forest, a runner came up to him and saluted. "Good sar! Colonel of the First North Br-"
"Just call him Naus, please." Dakan asked firmly. The runner nodded "Naus asks for your presence, Skipper!" Dakan followed the runner to a pavilion that was being constructed at absurd speeds. It was the hare's command center and base of operations, and by the time Dakan was getting up towards it, the speedy hares were practically already done. Logis was following shortly there after, and pretended to not be impressed.
"Bah! What these hares can do in minutes, me shrews could do in seconds!" Logis joked, although he wish he wasn't at times. Naus stepped out and waved them in. Both entered as Naus produced a blank sheet of parchment and laid it onto a table in front of them. Surrounded by maps and scattered reports, Naus greeted them both.
"Looks like Markem has chosen where we are going to engage him, and I wanted to make sure we were all on the same page, wot. My scouts came back with news, the vermin army is much closer and we will be engaging in a large field a short distance away."
"Any news of Kasser?" Dakan said with worry. Naus reassured him "My boy, if your boy is as skilled as I think he is, its just as likely he is getting either juicy information or he can't find a means of being too cautious and escape a sentry's sight! I'm certain he'll return before we even engage. Now. . ." Naus began to draw a massive circle on the paper, and dotted the outside with crude trees. "This field is called Moss Field. Tis a large clearing, with forests on all sides. Vermin would love to engage us here, and I am more then willing to give them that fight."
"Why not choke them out in the forest or on the river?" Logis lifted an eyebrow of concern. "I fear we know little of Markem as much as we wish. We know he's a rat, but he must be one smart bugger to take Tussock. If we try to engage him in the forest, I think he might bolly well ignore us and try to chase us to a place we'd best not want to be in. Same with the river. He is confident he can beat us, and we'll use that to our advantage."
"A single decisive battle. I still don't like it." Dakan commented. "I'd normally agree, but I have a plan. Good one at that! Vermin tactics aren't really complex, they get into large lines and try to stretch them out. In a pitched battle, they use numbers to flank and defeat smaller foes. Kasg threw his vermin at us in a similar manner." Naus began to draw the vermin lines in small squares on his map, and then drew ones to represent the woodlanders on the other. "If I was to guess, Markem is smart enough to put some of his divisions in the forest, hiding them from view and hit us from the side. We'll counter that by putting our own division or two in the forest, keep them from doing anything we'll both regret."
"Right." Dakan smiled. Naus then tapped the right field "You will be here, and I'll be front and center. I'll use our major divisions to burst a large line through the main vermin center, no doubt where Markem will lead from. Kill Markem, horde shatters and breaks. If not, we'll use the cap to separate the horde into two and rout them heavily."
Logis nodded "I'll take the right field wit me shrews as well, keep ol Dakan from gettin flanked."
Naus nodded "Once the horde is shattered, then we can start this campaign for real. The rat may have had his day in the sun with Tussock, but we'll avenge those hares one way or another. Ha! We'll probably be bloody done by the time the first leaves of fall start falling!"
_
Where Naus and his commanders were planning in their own tent, unknown to them the vermin horde was on the opposite side and were pitching up their camps. Slaves were ordered to build trenches and unload platforms for scouting towers, the vermin were paranoid of the hares suddenly attacking the main camp. Markem was in his command center with the warlords and Scarl, all surrounding a crudely drawn map of Moss Field. The last to arrive was Luzgot as Markem and his commanders were debating just how they were going to defeat the Long Patrol. Pelchovmar spoke up, trying to act smart and skilled.
"Our lines should be spread thin, with a line of archers in the back. If we can get off a couple good volleys, we'll be good for certain."
Resker interjected "Nah. Hares an' otters got der own skirmishers. They'll crush that tactic real easy like. We should goad them into an ambush in the forest an' fight them defensively."
Markem spoke up "My decision is made, we'll fight them in the field."
Luzgot rolled his eyes as Markem began to explain "I've fought on many fields an' saw many battles. Nearly all against woodlanders were lost fer one reason or another. Thin line an' defensive positions won't do us well. We gotta defeat em' hard an' good. Dis is my thinkin, We'll set up a traditional line, three large waves in the middle an' two on each side. We'll set up our archers an' skirmishers in the forests. . .but all on the right side."
Hazul thought this over and nodded "I think I know what you are thinking, Markem. You'll use the left flank as a massive push to decimate one side and push the battlefield hard on the left and towards the center."
"I plan to hide my most experienced troops behind our less armored ones, but when the battle starts, those troops an' I will lead that charge an' they will disengage to aid our right most flank. Hares no doubt will push hard in the middle, an could do so easily. If dey are smart, they may even keep a couple divisions in reserve or sent units to counter our forest ones."
"An what about about the right side of der forest, Markem?" Kylan scratched his head. Markem looked up towards Luzgot and beckoned him over. The arrogant warlord strode forth as Markem got up and smiled "Luzgot an' his coastal vermin will remain farther from the battle den normal. When it starts, you are to take a force an' sweep to the left side an' try to ram em' from the right of the field."
Luzgot sighed but nodded "Fine. Me boys will be ready. I hope ya know what ya are doin Markem."
Markem chided him "If I didn't we wouldn't be here." The warlords filed out to begin forming their divisions. Markem's army was forming up into larger ones under their captains and their subordinates. Marching was heard as Scarl stayed and looked at Markem, with an idea forming in his mind. "Markem. I'd like to add a little to that plan of yers."
'Dirt' was walking back towards the pavilion, passing by warlords. As he got closer he could hear Scarl and Markem arguing. He came closer a bit curious for once to see what exactly they were arguing about and could overhear their conversation in some capacity.
". . .How far are ya willin to go to win, Markem! I'd given a lot to dis horde, an ya know me plan is good. Dat skipper be a angry an' mad beast, simple an' easy. We should use everything we gots!"
"It ain't right Scarl. Its not what I do."
"Yer a warlord, damn you! Ya think on this, if ya don't, a lot of our boys will die. Why be soft on dis?"
'Dirt' could hear silence, and some whispers. Scarl left the command tent in a huff, pushing past 'Dirt' at first. He turned and then marched right up to him. Scarl grabbed him by the rope collar and pulled him down to his level, and 'Dirt' did not resist. Scarl looked furious and angry, for whatever reason at him. "I blame ya for this. I am really starten to wish I'd. . ." Scarl began to calm himself and let go. 'Dirt' simply dusted himself off and did not react, looking more confused than scared. Scarl turned and marched off. Markem eventually came out of his tent, looking a little soulless and distant. He gave a good look at 'Dirt' and sighed.
"Don't mind him too much. Tis just somethin I did." Markem noted. 'Dirt' asked in a hushed tone "What was that, sir?"
"Been too soft fer the likes of him. Der is gonna be a death, an' it be my grim duty to do so."
_
Kasser was sitting with his scouts in a small campfire a bit closer to the vermin camp than normal. It was purposefully concealed to keep prying eyes from thinking of a rescue or even knowing they were there. It was night, but the stars in the night sky were hard to make out. Still in their blue armor, the otters were sadly enjoying a meal, and the scout who was injured was still getting used to his bandage. Kasser himself was quite surprised, he had known bandits and villains before. Fought or even killed them even, but Markem's vermin were much more tame by comparison. If they were a true horde, they'd be called soft and weak. Yet, when Markem ordered that he and his scouts were kept in good shape, they were. One of the slaves of the camp who pitied them would come by with what good food and scraps they had, and Kasser accepted gracefully.
There was a low tread of feet walking towards them. Kasser turned to see Markem, he was in his armor, which he found a bit awkward. Markem was looking down at him, his expression a mix of contempt and sadness. He called to him "Kasket Whitewise, er, whatever yer name is? We gotta talk. Alone." The other otters were unsure to either mock their commander for such a mispronouncing of his name, or to pity him. Kasser got up as some vermin guard tried to follow, but he waved them off. "Tis alone, I can handle meself."
The two went to a more secluded area, although were in sight of the guard and the other otters. Kasser and Markem sat across from each other as Kasser spoke first. "I guess ya are really bad with names as i've heard. Kasser. An Surname is Whitewhisker."
Markem shrugged "To be honest with ya, If me name wasn't short fer 'Mark' i'd forget me own name."
"Our commander talked about that, thought you'd be more intimidating. Honestly a bit short for a 'great warlord'." Markem gave a low chuckle "Ya haven't seen one me own chiefs den. Pelg the Tall dey called him. Shortest an' most thinnest rat i'd ever got to see."
Kasser didn't really get the joke, as Markem's voice became more serious. He looked to Kasser and asked a rather disturbed question "I don't know much about yer customs, otter. How do ya folks get buried?"
Kasser didn't like the question and he came to a realization. He wasn't angry, he supposed he expected this, but yet the way Markem presented it was far too odd for his liking. "You are going to kill me, aren't you."
"Yes. One of me captains. Scarl, de ferret ya met. Thinks it be a good tactics to try to goad yer father into making a move he'd regret. Wants me to behead ya an' stick yer head on my pole. Gotta say, it'd be demoralizing fer sure."
Kasser tried to look surprised, but he couldn't help but feel it was true what his father said of the vermin. Cruelty was in their very bones, and yet he couldn't help but wonder why Markem was so sadly telling him this. "I don't wanan do it, not like dat. A head on a pike be a bad way to be buried. I ain't a believer in ghosts, but I honestly just don't wanna do it."
"You are going to kill me anyway?"
"Ya. Yer the son of an enemy, an' I could just trade ya fer surrender, but I doubt that will do it. I have an executioner. Vake. He can do it real quick. I could have ya sent to Gholand, but ya would probably just escape an' cause trouble. Can't have dat either. I hate to say it, but as soon as ya were caught, yer a dead beast walken." Kasser accepted he was dead in some way already, and paused. He nodded "Fine then. We just bury our dead, preferably near the waters of the River Moss."
Markem nodded as Kasser looked back to his scouts with a concerned look. Markem tried to comfort him "They'll be fine. I mean, they'll be worken fer me, but i'll send em' back to Gholand where they'll be looked after in me own way."
He nodded, only partly comforted that his scouts would be alive and well. Perhaps not very happy, but alive enough for his father to reclaim them. Markem took out a canteen and offered it to Kasser. He looked suspiciously at it, but Markem took a swig "Cherry Ale, tis the best swill I gots really. Prefer grog meself."
He took it and seeing that Markem was not convulsing, he drank it. He coughed a bit and nearly spat it out. However he gulped it down, considering it was likely the last time he would drink. He handed it back to Markem as the warlord got up "Ya will be dead next mornin. Any last requests?"
"I do. Can you make a promise?"
Markem nodded, looking with pity at Kasser as he spoke up "If you, by some miracle, win. Spare my holt if you could."
Markem said nothing. He simply nodded in agreement as Kasser got up and went back over. He would not tell his otters what was told to him, not wishing them to harm themselves trying to sneak him out of the camp. Markem gave a longing and terrible look to the otter and went to go get his sleep. It would be a long and painful day tomorrow.
_
It was early morning, and the vermin horde was on the move in a different way. The two armies crept ever closer and the vermin army got into formation and moved out as Markem had ordered. Luzgot and his coastal warlords went far out into the woods, taking a large army with them in its own right. Hazul and his rats were lining up on the right side of the field towards the river, taking most of the archers with them. Kylan and the rest were pushing and shoving each other to get their army moving towards the front. Everyone was tense, but prepared, as the army marched out, leaving a skeleton garrison behind to look after the camp and the slaves within. Markem had hand picked the elite soldiers who would join him on the right side of the field. Each one was well armored and well equipped, most of them veterans of Markem's horde when he was but a small-time gangster roaming without a cause. Now they were some of his most fiercely loyal followers. A few older ones were former black clads who shed off their old fealty to the dead Kasg and embraced a brown tunic in pride of the Great Vermin Band. They would march behind some of the new volunteers and recruits, most of them ragtag soldiers from across Mossflower. Yet both veteran and recruit held high spirits, and cautious eyes as they were marching out towards the field.
Markem and 'Dirt' were still getting ready in the camp armory, with Scarl not having been seen all day. Markem figured his friend was still sulking over his refusal to use a defiled corpse to try to goad the enemy army into advancing in anger. Markem said nothing to 'Dirt' on this, as the otter began to tighten his armor. Markem was silent as greaves slid on, but today was a bit different. Once Markem was done, he looked to 'Dirt' who took off his dark green cloak and folded it up neatly.
"Cloak an' capes don't belong on any battlefield, just make sure ya leave it near me tent, otherwise someone wh'oll steal it."
'Dirt' nodded. He knew full well what was intended of him as Markem helped him put on chainmail for his size. It was meant for a weasel, and was a little tight, but it fit him still. Markem began to armor his bodyguard as the otter stood still. 'Dirt' then half realized Markem was doing it a bit wrong, and began to armor himself up for the coming battle. The only thing he didn't have was a helm.
"Sir." 'Dirt' began to ask "I'm not done killing woodlanders, aren't I?"
Markem sadly nodded "Nay, ya aren't."
'Dirt' remained silent and once done, Markem turned him around. He looked proud at 'Dirt', a face which the otter did not recognize. Something was bothering his master, but he had no means of knowing what. Markem took up his sword and put his shield to his back. "Ya ready?"
"Honestly?" 'Dirt' didn't forget to say 'sir' in a long time, and Markem allowed it to pass. It was a decent question it felt like, as Markem could feel tense. "Ya don't want to, do ya. Go to battle dat is."
"No, but I don't think I got much choice, do I sir."
"Ya don't. One day, 'Dirt'. We won't gotta to do dis at all. None of it. Are ya with me on that?"
'Dirt' sighed "Yes, sir." Markem patted his shoulder and smiled "Thanks, mate. Just keep close an' don't get yerself killed too much, eh?" Markem tried to cheer up his bodyguard with a smile. 'Dirt' was still frowning, but he followed Markem out of the tent, both ready for the battle at hand. Markem watched his army go to war. The die was cast over Moss Field.
Moss field was inhabited by only two small birds who were cheerfully playing in the field, the only living souls there. Yet, when one began to hear war cries and shouts, they turned in confusion. The vast field was massive, a huge clearing surrounded on all sides by trees, the River Moss not too far away. They thought it may have been a huge caravan, or maybe a passing army, but soon the players revealed themselves. Two massive armies, vermin and woodlander were marching into the field, a force they could not even imagine. In panic they flew away from the vermin, knowing what would happen if they were caught. The woodlanders appeared from the forest last, their lines set up obviously. The hares occupied the right and middle flanks, with Dakan and his otters to the right. Both woodlander armies had skirmishers in the front, and marched in a disturbing unison. A single step of the hare army was like the earth quaking beneath them.
The vermin were only barely relieved to not see a badger lord on the field. Their commanders gleefully mocked openly to their hordebeasts of the supposed cowardice of Salamandastron. This helped raise the spirits and confidence of their troops, which was their intention. Many of the warlords kept a bit back in the middle of their lines, wanting the glory of killing woodlanders but none of the consequences of actually fighting them. The yellow and red banners of the Long Patrol flew high and proud, along with local and regional banners, and the vermin held but one. An array of brown banners, but with a mix of symbols. Some were just brown wicker flags which did not flow in the wind to try to mimic Markem's banner in some weird capacity.
Secretly in the forest close to the river, Hazul and his rats were sneaking with the majority of their skirmishers. Hazul's brother Kajam was sneaking beside him, commanding a couple smaller melee detachments. Hazul could guess that if there were a counter attack on the divisions in the forest, Kajam could hold them off before Hazul came to his aid. The only thing Hazul was concerned about was Luzgot's army and his gaggle of misfits. He was certain Markem had confidently sent him into a wide flanking maneuver because most of his vermin were a lot more loyal to Markem than Luzgot. As Hazul got into position, he had some doubts. Could Markem win this, or am I wasting my time? Hazul crouched and took out a pack of small bird bones and threw them lightly on the ground. The signs were good, and Hazul smiled, taking up his little fetishes and stuffed them into his belt.
Jarolom and his division were in the middle flank, with Niala seeing the huge hare army in front of her. The vermin were fearful of this enemy, one who showed little respect or fear of them. The only creatures not intimidated was Wulvog and his northern savages who held their weapons in paw. Wulvog hoped his size alone would intimate his enemy. Yet, it did not. Maybe some of the otters gave pained and concerned looks at him, but were relieved they would not be having to face the wolverine.
Naus could see the entire vermin army out in the field, and he stood at attention. He wanted Markem to make his first move. Then the warlord himself began to come to the front of his great army, the stag horned helm adorning his head and his armored bodyguard to his side. Scarl made his first appearance, looking a lot more happy for whatever reason. 'Dirt' found this concerning, Scarl seemed almost giddy with excitement instead of fuming like yesterday. He still had no clue what Scarl was doing, but the look Markem gave him meant he knew something as well.
Markem called back to his horde "Banner bearer! Wit me." The banner bearer of the horde came forward as Scarl then frowned "Whacha thinkin, Markem." Markem began to stride forward confidently and alone. This wasn't part of the plan, and Scarl followed. The warlords were watching, unsure of what Markem was doing, and nor did his horde. 'Dirt' and the banner bearing vermin followed. Scarl then knew what Markem was doing "Ya really think they wanna talk?! Dat may work at Tussock, ain't gonna work here!" Scarl said in an angry and hushed tone. Markem ignored him and stood in the center field. He kept his distance and awaited the Long Patrol's answer.
_
Naus was lifting an eyebrow as he saw Markem simply just standing in the field. As a commander, he could not have asked for anything better, but this made him curious. Dakan came to him, looking out at Markem. He put his paws to his hips and looked to Naus who was unsure what to do. Dakan whispered "Is he that really that confident? You got snipers, right?"
"I do ol' bean. Could just end this right now, but I know what he is doing. Studious one he is."
"Well? What is he doing?"
"He is asking for a meet an' greet. Old war law an' wot not. Blighter wants to talk, and he expects us to keep our swords down till we do." Dakan snorted "Tell me, ol chum. You really aren't thinking about talking with that thing out there? At least not alone and well armed."
"Old tradition, not seen it in seasons. Vermin kept trying to get around it, you know! Could be a trick. I'll take a nice group of hares with me, you wish to come along."
Dakan nodded "Sure. Best get a look at his ugly mug, so I know what I can aim for." Dakan give a vicious smirk. Naus chuckled and called forth for a banner and a few hares to guard him. The group marched out into the field to meet Markem. Naus and Dakan kept an eye out for some trick, but as they got closer, it became clear that there was none. Soon, Naus got to see Markem close, face to face. He was actually kind of disappointed, he was staring down at Markem, not at eye level. The rat looked like a common hordebeast dressed in a warlord's armor. He may have been groomed, but Markem gave off an aura of being more than less.
Dakan peered around, looking at Scarl and then Markem. Yet his eye in particular spied 'Dirt' who was putting his head down in shame. He may have been Markem's bodyguard, but in the Skipper's presence he felt like a clown with his pants down. Dakan raised an eyebrow to this, unsure what to think he was looking at. From the rope collar he wore, he was a slave. From the armor and sword he also wore, he may as well have been a hordebeast.
Naus gave a courteous and humble bow to Markem in an introduction "Naus Stag Hare II, wot. Colonel of the Long Patrol, and other titles. This is Dakan, Skipper of the Otters." Naus may have introduced Dakan, but he folded his paws in silence. Dakan took silent note that Naus did not mention Logis nor his shrews, figuring the hare was still holding his card close to his paws.
"Nice to meet ya Naus Stare Harm. Name's Markem."
Dakan spoke up "You come to insult us then? Is that it?"
Scarl spoke up loud to correct him, trying to not cause an incident before the battle even started. "No, good water dog. Markem is bad wit names is all."
Markem confirmed "I apologize fer any other instances as well. Never was nor will be good wit names."
This got a good chuckle out of Naus "Ah. I see. I fully bloody understand you know. It kind of just happens to me too. Bolly once called my lord 'Valgor' an' he nearly flipped a table for my continued insistence! Nasty temper he has, but a good lord I say."
"I was about to ask actually, if ya mind tellen. Yer lord anywhere near here?"
"That is for you to find out, good sar." Naus winked. Markem let out a friendly grunt. Dakan did not like the two becoming so chummy and spoke up harshly. "What do you want, vermin. Me otters would like to go home before winter sets in, and we got a battle to win."
"Battle ain't even start." Scarl protested. Markem silenced him with a stare and he slinked back. "Aye, tis just a thing I prefer to do. Did it at Tussock, an' do it here as well. A trade of demands of surrender I suppose, fer political sakes."
Naus stiffened and agreed "Ah, well, then I will start. As with any code of conduct, I will gladly accept your full surrender if you and your subordinates throw down your arms. We'll escort you outside of Mossflower, for you and your horde is banished permanently from this land. Any who follow you are banished, any of you who resist will be dealt with accordingly. Any slaves you may have obtained are your slaves no more." Naus said his last line and gave a look at 'Dirt'. The otter didn't react, much to his disappointment. "You will live, but preferably somewhere where you won't bother us. Do you accept these terms?"
"Can't. Gone a bit to far meself. Me terms be simply an-"
Dakan seethed "We won't be your slaves if you are asking, come on Naus, let's go-"
Markem this time cut him off, continuing as Naus and Dakan listened closely to what Markem had to say as he begun, surprising them both "Ya are to surrender me horde an' if ya do, ya can all just go home an' stay der. All I ask if ya fly me banners an' give food to me mates. Any of ya who surrender are free in me book, as I do to most. I demand, by right of conquest, to be lord over Mossflower an' make it a vermin land for me an' me beasts. You do this, an' we don't gotta even spill blood. Don't want to really, would be real shame fer us all."
"Oh. Usually you lot demand we surrender into slavery." Naus said, his curiosity blooming into a rare respect for his enemy. Markem shrugged "I mean sure, ya all are a lot of soft workbeasts, don't mean I gotta be cruel or nuttin about it."
"We'd be slaves of a different kind, rat." Dakan seethed, nearly ready to choke out the rat as he came close. When he did, 'Dirt' instinctively put his paw on the hilt of his sword. He wasn't ready to fight, and looked rather afraid to, but if the Skipper drew his blade, he would as well. Only Naus's reassuring and firm paw in front of the otter's chest made him back off.
"What my friend means to say, Markem, is that even if you have your intentions to be slightly more kind than your fellow warlords, you would bring slavery and tyranny to this forest. I don't want to fight you either, none of us do, but when your people form armies like this and start taking our forts? This is a home for all of us, wot. I must admit, you and your lot are an oddity. Tell me, what exactly did you do to Tussock then?"
"Yer hares are fine, but under heavy watch." Naus looked a bit relieved and Dakan was suspicious. He did not believe Markem for an instant "I get ya don't take me offer den?"
"No. Honor and reason demand it."
Markem nodded "Well, tis nice meeting ya Naus Brag Hair. May I ask a favor though?"
Scarl and Dakan both gave Markem and Naus a critical look, the Hare was now looking suspicious himself, wondering if this was some kind trick that Markem used to get into Tussock. Whatever it was, he would just politely say no.
"If ya win dis battle. Spare me mate an' pups, an' me hordebeasts will ya?"
Markem looked and sounded genuine, and he was. Naus's eye opened wide, not really expecting that kind of favor. Dakan had no clue what Markem thought of them, they didn't murder the defenseless, and even felt insulted. Then he remember. Violence. Its all they know, and all they do. Amazing to think these beasts can't think of a world without violence at all!
Naus nodded "I can make sure of that, Markem." Markem nodded in turn and turned to go back to his army. Naus and Dakan stood next to their guards, with only Scarl turning around to give a smile at Dakan which shivered him. They turned back to their own armies as well, with Naus and Dakan discussing their encounter.
"I still can't believe this bolly tyrant acts like that, quite new for vermin. If half the warlords were like him, we'd be in deep trouble for sure! Although I was still hoping for a nickname at least, something terrifying. Going to be hard to sell to me own kids to say that I will be known for killing a mighty rat warlord named 'Mark'. Fun fellow he sounds like. Shame he have to kill him."
Dakan broke the mood "You noticed that otter beside him?"
"I did. I think one of Markem's servants perhaps, although why he is dressed like that I do not know. You don't think were going to see bolly woodlanders fighting in this battle?"
"Seasons I hope not! Do me a favor. If you do catch up to that poor critter, can your hares just capture him? Would be nice to see such a miserable otter set free."
"I will try, but I give no promises."
Dakan only replied sadly "Me neither." The otter returned to his own field and held his stoic pose. His daughter Pelma pushed through some of the lines, a little frightened and a little excited to see so many vermin to fight. Yet, her mind was burdened with worry as she crept close to her father to give him his news "Brother ain't back yet, Pa. I am getting worried myself now. I should have gone with him!"
Dakan tried to calm her and himself "I am certain he is fine. Trapped somewhere, but fine. Try to remain at the back of the army if you can, if you are going to fight, do it lightly. Okay." Dakan and Pelma turned to the rabble of vermin in front of them, and the forest of mossflower to his right. It'll be over before I even know it.
_
When Markem returned to the center army, he turned. Scarl patted his shoulder and smiled. Markem did not smile back, his pose was stricken with an invisible weight. The vermin all awaited his move. Partly aware of the plan, the vermin host in the front watched Markem make a sudden move to the side to face the otter divisions, and took 'Dirt' with him. 'Dirt' did not like this, he could at least face hares, not fellow otters. Dakan, who was across the field, squinted hard at this, not sure if this changed Naus's plans. Markem stood before his greenest troops and watched a small wave of them be pushed to the side, throwing his horned helm to the ground as if in disgust. 'Dirt' looked behind him and saw two armored guards dragging an otter with a bag over his head forward. He wasn't resisting, and was rather tired actually. Dragged from the camp, the otter was partly beaten to keep him from leaving. The guard pulled up the bag from the otter's head and Kasser's head pulled forward to the ground. His paws bound behind his back and knelt, he looked all around. He heard all manner of voices and saw 'Dirt' first. Kasser looked frightened, scared even, but still tried to hold some dignity.
Dakan froze. He and Pelma saw with clear eyes Kasser's face from across the field. Dakan's mind went blank and instinctively began to move forward, and then began to sprint. Pelma joined him, and his otters followed. Naus looked on angry as the otters broke formation, thinking Dakan was initiating a clumsy first charge, and much to his own dismay he saw why. Markem stood over Kasser, his sword raised over his head.
'Dirt' backed away in terror, not knowing what to do. It was as if time froze, and the voices for bloodshed by the vermin behind them were echoing. Markem had paused when Kasser gave one good look at him, his eyes full of confusion over Markem's treachery. For victory, no cost is too great. Yet Kasser could see he was trying to stay his blade, trying to find some excuse not to do it. Kasser then turned his attention to Dakan, screaming from across the field, running to the point of exhaustion. He would not make it as he realized what Markem intended to do.
Markem swung down once. Then twice, and Kasser was no more.
'Dirt' could not believe what he witnessed, as Markem looked down at the body before him. No matter what happened now, Markem had made that terrible choice for him. He did not react to saving the poor creature, and did not try to help. He simply looked at Markem. The rat did not mock, nor spit in disgust as others would have done in his place, or acted gleeful like the vermin behind them. Markem looked down horrified and full of immediate regret. His eyes turned to the charging Dakan, looking horrified at what he saw. Now his cries to stop this terrible execution became a cry for vengeance. The otters were charging, and Naus's middle line was also charging. Straight at Markem. The rat composed himself and drew his shield and raised his sword "Brace for impact! Charge!"
_
As the otters were charging, anger in their eyes and fury in their hearts, they did not see as some of their number was being picked off. Hazul and his rats opened fire from the tree line. Dakan and his otters were out, alone on the field and were now getting closer to Markem's lines. The vermin army and the woodlanders charged forward, although the woodlander lines broke into chaos. Naus now had Markem on the opposite side of the field, far from the middle line he planned to charge through. Dakan and his otters were about to be obliterated if he did not get the hares to support him. Naus and his hares were running, and even though much faster and professional, Dakan and his otters had the speed of furious demons. As the otters got closer, even more were felled by arrows fired from the tree line, they unleashed a volley of javilens on Markem. The rat stood in the front, but his vermin were slowly (or in some cases fastly) retreating from the back. Naus was hopeful this was already a rout, but that hope was dashed when a large line of armored vermin were shielded, marched forward and drew shields in a large shield wall. Markem stood at the front, the vermin marched over the first victim of this terrible battle and counter charged the otters and hares.
Kylan and his fellow warlords began their own charge, unleashing the main bulk of the horde on their foe. Although he foolish stood in front of the vast horde, carrying Markem's brown banner proudly, he fell behind as the horde rushed past him. Vermin shouted and roared as the hares in grim silence raised their long spears down and charged as well. The clash was immediate as the vermin crashed into their hated foe, and the melee begun in earnest. Yet, the bulk of the horde was fighting defensively, unmoving even as the brutal clash was going in the woodlander's favor.
Dakan and his otters began their assault with a throw of javilens, which bounced into shields and onto vermin heads. One landed right next to 'Dirt' who was practically hiding near Markem. Markem could now see Dakan a lot closer, his blade drawn and looking straight at him. He nor his daughter who charged together even noticed as Hazul and his rats were sniping from the tree line, hitting otters and hares alike. The melee began as Markem and his guard pushed forward more into the field, but concerns began to arise.
Dakan viciously targeted Markem. The angry otter practically tore a shield from a vermin who looked utterly surprised and his otters filled the gap by spearing him to death. The otters were horrifying to fight, even with their thick shield wall, the vermin could barely hit them and were dying. Markem looked to the trees, hoping to see Hazul rush out to fill the gaps and surround the majority of the main otter divisions before the hares could fill those gaps. Hazul did appear from the trees with a much smaller division, being chased and fighting a huge army of shrews whose shouts of fury echoed in the trees. Markem soon realized this battle would not go as planned.
Markem wanted to disengage, but soon Dakan had a hold of his shield. Protected by his better trained warriors, the angry father was nearly dragging Markem by his shield into his lines to finish him off. The vermin saw this and surged forward, spearing and clubbing any otter they saw. The melee got more intense, as Markem was able to slide his sword on top of his shield, and stuck down. Dakan was only able to dodge in time, as Markem could not see what was happening, pushed up against enemy otters and vermin alike. As both forces began to fall, Markem could see the lines being pushed back, but his troubles were far from over.
Hazul and his brother Kajam were fighting a vicious bout with Logis and his shrew. Kajam thought it was stupid, even an insult, when he saw an army of shrew come out of the woods. They slung stones at his rats, few fell, and the shrews brutally forced their way through his lines. The large and intimidating water rat was in a frightful duel with Logis, a vermin slaying veteran. Kajam earned a few scars and wounds as Logis forced him back and his lines began to collapse. The main host of Hazul's tribe who were meant to push the flank found themselves fighting a vicious tug and pulling on the shrew lines. Fighting went beyond intense, as the forest soon echoed with vermin and shrew cries of death alike.
Markem continued to push forward, even as Naus and the main middle line joined in the battle. Markem at first thought he was losing, but he pushed on regardless. The lines buckled into a stalemate, even as the hares began to push and prod at the main enemy lines. The hares were deviously clever soldiers, as their main archer divisions were soon unleashing long ranged volleys on the vermin lines behind them. The remaining skirmishers fought back, but at the main bulk of the main infantry in the front. Jaivlens and stone flew into them as the skirmishers goaded the hare archers to push forward and try to fire at them instead. When they got closer, the skirmishers kept backing up. This was a new tactic, as the vermin would have normally committed a lot more into the fight. Instead of being quickly routed, the vermin held their ground for hours and were even pushing back.
_
Luzgot and his captains were with the other coastal warlords. He did not have confidence as others did, even as he heard the sound of battle in the distance. He had a huge bulk of Markem's army, and waited. He was waiting purposefully. If his captains could not do it at Tussock, he could at least do it at Moss Field. Yet, his vermin grew impatient, even surging forward a small ways before he ordered them about "Keep yer pants on ya nitwits, were waiten for that signal." There of course was no signal. Once battle was sounded, Luzgot was supposed to exit with his army. He thought it funny Markem considered him tame enough to do as bidded. He would have loved to watch the enemy slay him, but now he stood like a statue. Then Gazla tapped his shoulder and he gave her an angry look.
"Sir, we's been waiten fer too long! We really need to head out, chief!"
"Are ya disobeyed me orders?" Luzgot seethed. Gazla however had her reasons, and it wasn't for loyalty. Snackfur joined her and whispered to the chief "Sir, the hordebeasts be talken about mutiny! I hears dem, an' if we don't charge, dey will go instead!"
"You idiots an' fools both of you!" Luzgot gave a hushed and furious snap "Are you all Markem's dogs now? If we wait. . .if we wait. . ." Luzgot then paused and had to think on it. He looked longingly at the battlefield and then to the angry eyes of his horde. Idiot bunglers all! They'd rather wear Markem's ropes then obey me! Their chief! Blasted rat. Luzgot began to wonder. As the fighting became more tense in sound, but he did not hear sounds of retreat. In fact, many of the voices were of woodlanders dying. Seasons. What if that moron wins. Better yet! What if shatters dat wretched army! Badger lord ain't even with them. All of Mossflower will be open fer me to pillage! Snackfur was now tugging on his chief's cloak. Luzgot angrily snapped at him, but his could see why. The vermin were looking less patient. The warlord sighed and surrendered to this mob mentality.
"Alrights! Listen up ya numbskulls! I ain't no softie like dem others, an ya know me well enough to know I will tear a hare limb from limb! Are ya softies, eh? Are ya! Raise yer weapons, ya wretched lot an' get into battle lines!" As Luzgot spoke, he raised his sword, a vicious zeal overcoming him. It felt good, it felt wonderful to be in true battles once again, the blood and sweat pumped through his black heart and through all the vermin with him. His coastal warlord brethren had no clue what he was doing. Plan was to sit out the war, now he was joining in it.
"Ya know I don't like dat Markem, nor his ways, but I don't like dem woodlanders either! I want none of ya to not have a single clean spot on yer weapons, or I'll personally lash ya meself! If ya win this day, ya will all be rich I tell ya! Rich!" The vermin were now cheering as Luzgot's eyes burned with hate and malice, he roared out and charged forward. His captains were proud of this display, their reason for following their strong and brave leader to battle. They charged with him, and the entire host followed in pursuit. Luzgot was thinking; Bumpkins, all of them! Markem, ya better win, so I can kill ya personally meself! His plans may have changed, but his desire for cruelty upon the hated foe burned more brightly then his malice towards Markem.
Luzgot's horde crashed with demonic speed from the underbrush, only to see a division of hares meant to counter them was rushing to the field against the main bulk of the horde. Luzgot quickly could see divisions of hare archers firing, oblivious to the charging vermin. Luzgot charged that way, sword raised and the horde screaming behind. The hare turned to attention, noticing the massive horde. Defensively they began to fire on Luzgot. Gazla was hit in the shoulder and fell behind, but Snackfur and Luzgot stayed charging. The evil beast of eastern Mossflower was hit twice but still kept up his charge and crashed into the hares. He butchered one, and then went to another. The hares had no defense they could muster in time, and only when the hares began to hear screams behind them did they realize Luzgot and his horde were emerging from the forests. Their officers cursed themselves for moving to help push on the main horde, and returned to try to drive off Luzgot for good.
It did not work.
The hares had turned to face Luzgot's main force. These were two smaller divisions who had already known of Luzgot's existence near the field, but had guessed wrong the size of his horde. They weren't ill prepared, their plan had originally been to skirmish the vermin horde and rout it through a slow backing up into the hare's main army. Now? Luzgot was on the field, and the hares were already backed up against their army. The hares threw javilens and then kept throwing, and the horde returned fire. Soon, the entire left flank was swarming with vermin soldiers, much to the terror of the Long Patrol. The hares tried to extend their line to compensate for the new foe, but Luzgot kept going all over the enemy lines and began to decimate them with increasing bloodlust.
Luzgot turned his attention to the hares, and charged from their back and was now hitting the main woodlander army in the rear. The Long Patrol turned in time to try to keep Luzgot from completely surrounding them, but it took several divisions to do. Even Markem, who was struggling on his own end, was utterly shocked to see the horde bursting with such force onto the field. As Luzgot's main horde began to close on the left flank, a large chunk of the hare army began to crumble under the vast pressure, and began to lose sight of their brethren as entire divisions were soon swallowed by the horde.
_
Jarolom led from the center army next to Kylan and several other warlords, their first charge into the main line was brutal, and the fox cleverly kept himself back. Jarolom had not done this out of cowardice, as Wulvog and his savages burst into the hare lines and slammed themselves into the main brunt with vicious strength. Jarolom and his sister were looking at Markem, and the fox was looking horrified. Markem was dueling Dakan, who kept up his pressure with boundless energy. Dakan could see he could not pull Markem into the crowd of woodlanders and raging otters, so he tried another tactic. The otters made a sudden push, breaking into the main vermin division and began to spread out, taking targets in fast succession and killing the vermin foe. Markem soon realized why Dakan had done this, giving the otter room to finish off Markem.
Dakan would try to bring his sword into the rat who hid behind his shield, but as he tried to slide to Markem's sides to get a good blow on him, his sword clanged into another. 'Dirt' looked terrified and into the mad Skipper's face who peered back. Any pity he had for him vanished as the skipper tried to push 'Dirt' to the side or at least injure him enough to get at Markem. 'Dirt' was however a lot more skilled than he seemed, expertly dodging his swings and parrying his blows. 'Dirt' didn't back up, but used his elbow to knock into Dakan. The Skipper staggered back into another otter. 'Dirt' was a little proud he stood his ground against such a mighty warrior, only to duck his head in time when a javelin nearly struck him in the head. It was thrown by Pelma who charged at Markem and 'Dirt' and soon she and her father were clashing blows again. Dakan and Pelma were two creatures of different skills, but 'Dirt' and Markem fought like one beast. When 'Dirt' did a wide swing, Markem would duck and do a lower one. The two knew each other's moves, even as Pelma was practically throwing her weight to try to shake up the fight in their favor. Otters were pouring into the main division Markem was in, and was crushing them ever so slowly. The stalemate and exhaustion was getting to them all, as the merciless sun beat down on all of them.
Jarolom could see all of this and yelled out to his vermin.
"Der chief is in danger! Follow me!" Jarolom was heading out with his captains, his veteran captain Bleakpaw behind him. He looked forward and saw Niala rushing past vermin and hares, killing some and slaying others in a path of death to get into the fight. It wasn't the otters she was concerned with, but Naus and his main vanguard of Long Patrol who kept pushing up on Markem. The vermin held their ground, but little by little they began to be pushed back, especially as the shrews were pushing so heavily on Hazul's tribe.
'Dirt' looked around and was soon fighting otters with Markem. He tried to keep his distance, but one looked him straight in the eyes and tried to swing an axe down on him. 'Dirt' would parry him, and in a regretful instinct he would push his sword into him. The poor creature was shocked and horrified as he realized he was not facing a vermin soldier, but a fellow otter. The face reminded him too much of what had happened to Tussock, and he froze, even as Markem was pushing against him, trying to get away from Dakan as much as possible. Another otter came, charging with a spear. 'Dirt' slew him with a cut to his neck, he fell over instantly and died without even knowing who had killed him. 'Dirt' was having a hard time processing that one, but then he kept killing. Three. Four. Soon he stopped counting, fighting for his life as Markem kept pushing him back. The rat was still backing away, trying to keep pace as Dakan would angrily bash at him. The otter exhausted himself, his righteous fury put the fear of death in the rat.
Naus and his hares soon joined the otters as the line continued to push. The hares were worrying heavily, even as they noticed a large number of their left flank was now entirely surrounded. The main bulk of Markem army was pushing forward, but the otters and Naus's slanted line were pushing at Markem's back. Naus could figure he could still win, and take Markem's head, but only if he could reach him. Naus slew his way through vermin, trying to reach Dakan. His charge to support Dakan's otters may have saved the holt from complete annihilation, but the force was getting pushed further to the brink of a rout. Naus spied Markem and began his charge forward.
Niala could see this, her eyes affixed to Markem like a hawk. She continued to push forward through the vermin and woodlanders alike at a harsher pace, especially as the battle got more fierce. Markem was surrounded by woodlanders and vermin alike, wherever his sword landed, it was parrying or striking something. His personal guard were utterly scattered throughout, in their own personal duels with either an otter or hare. Markem eventually was able to get one over on the Skipper, grabbing him suddenly and pushing him into the ground. Markem tried to strike Dakan, but he rolled to the side and took up a javelin. As he threw, 'Dirt' crashed into Markem and threw him to the ground, and Dakan missed. Once annoyed by this enemy otter, he was now furious. Markem and 'Dirt' prepared for Dakan's onslaught. Pelma would have joined him had she not been dragged into a vicious fight with another group of vermin. 'Dirt' prepared himself, and before he knew it, Markem heard a righteous shout.
"Blood an' Vinegar!" Naus pushed his rapier into one of the vermin trying to put room between Markem and the increasing chaos around him. Markem knew he would be in another exhaustive fight, and he had no energy to spar. He hid behind his shield as Naus began his brutal assault. Markem would try to swipe his blade aside, but Naus would do so in kind. Naus with but one paw was slashing Markem in all the right places in the weaknesses in his failing armor, already worn and tearing from the battle. 'Dirt' put up a brutal fight against Dakan, keeping the angry otter away from Markem's back. Even as vermin tried to help, they were caught in their own fights, and could only watch in horror as their brave chief was failing to fight Naus.
Naus did a harsh kick to Markem's shield and made him trip and slide to the ground. He had dropped his sword and tried to raise a shield to Naus. The hare simply tore it from his paws and threw it to the side quickly. The hare prepared his final and sudden plunge, and made his move to end Markem. 'Dirt' was not even aware of this, as he was busy fighting off Dakan. As Naus aimed for Markem's heart, a halberd blocked his strike to the side and a fox maid in an orange cloak stood in his way. Markem looked surprised to even be alive, breathing and panting as he scurried off for his sword and shield. Naus twisted and turned to face his new opponent as Niala raised her halberd in defiance of the hare.
If that ol' water dog can kill a Long Patrol. Den so can I! Niala began her assault, sweeping and swiping at the hare. Naus was fast and dodged each attempt, cutting her across the chest and face with his rapier in turn. Niala soon learned what a terrible mistake she made, her overconfidence earning her some wounds as she dueled the hare. Markem soon joined in, the two fighting Naus who mastered them both as he kept up the pace with speed and grace. Yet, as Naus and Dakan continued to fight with zeal and mastery, they had not noticed one crucial trouble.
They were losing.
The hares and otters continued to be pushed back. Even as Pelma found herself having to fight more and more vermin, instead of killing them with ease alongside other otters, she was now fighting just to survive. 'Dirt' held his own well, and eventually was able to push Dakan back. As he did so, Dakan tried to charge again, but bumped into a hostile vermin. He cracked skulls and necks in rage, but he began to lose sight of Markem and his daughter. He dueled one rat, but could not kill him either. He fought a ferret, who took a nice jab across his face. Then it hit him, and it hit him hard. A sword from one weasel, some nameless and unknown creature of the horde, had bursted a spear into him. Dakan fell, and gasped his wound, pain coursed through his body as he looked all around and saw the terrible danger. Pelma was nowhere to be found, but his hope and energy surged when he saw her alive. She was being pushed back, and he began to join her. It wasn't until other otters noticed that the panic truly started.
Naus was soon in a similar situation, as the vermin surged forward. He was soon not just fighting an exhausted and injured Niala and Markem, but also soon found himself fighting 'Dirt' or some other vermin. Naus found it hard to try to strike around him, eventually being driven back to his own lines. His attention is entirely on the battle at hand, but not the one around him. He was called only back to attention when he heard some of the otters yelping in horror.
"There are too many, we need to retreat!"
"The Skipper is down! The Skipper is down! Fall back to the river!" Otter captains began to pull back, and a rout began. It began with the back line, and then the entire otter division was on the retreat. Naus looked horrified to see Pelma carrying her father, screaming for help as she looked around in desperation. His distraction would cost him dearly as he felt a sudden pain in his chest. Niala had sweeped her halberd upward into the hare in a moment of distraction. Naus fell back into his hares, pain coursed and was being carried backward by his officers. Soon their own cries began
"Retreat! Bloody retreat!"
"Get to the river!"
"Were lost! Were lost!" Hares soon began to disengage and hop their way backwards, and the vermin horde continued to move forward. Markem panted as Niala wiped blood from her face and grasped her wounds. She was proud of herself. Markem was unsure what to think, but as he looked around, he had begun to realize something. He smiled.
He had won.
Scarl watched from the tree line, far off from the battle. He worried deeply that Markem would hiccup at the last moment. He had argued and fought him on this one issue, to goad a single mad otter into a trap and take an entire division out of the battle. Now, he was worried Markem would have done something else entirely. He waited in silence, sitting beneath a tree and waited for anything. He worried a great deal. What if something went wrong, we are ambushed or worse! Damn that rat's foolish bravery, what if that selfish cretan gets himself killed! So much can go wrong. Yet, the chief did some pretty stupid stuff and came out in all this. Seasons, I hope he gets out alive if we lose at least. Scarl continued to think, and began to hear the fighting to die down. The ferret got up and walked briskly towards the battlefield, keeping himself hidden as he began to hear the screams of battle. He kept his knife close, and looked out.
He was amazed by what he saw.
The vermin horde was now across the field entirely, and the hares who got surrounded were now throwing down weapons in surrender. The horde was pushing further and further as bodies littered the field, and not a lot of them were vermin. Scarl couldn't help it, giving a loud and boisterous cheer as he watched the battle continue to its final stages. The woodlanders were retreating, the main hare line disengaged but did not slow to fire a skirmish. Two divisions of fresh hares appeared from the trees, but took a defensive and thin stance as it gave the otters, shrews, and Long Patrol time to retreat. It was a disorderly mess, as the otter made for the river. The shrews, who had done the most damage and suffered the least, were hearing the calls for retreat and were rushing past the field and into a different route. Logis looked on in horror as the vermin continued to pursue, but knew when a battle was lost.
The remaining woodlanders were eventually finding themselves not being killed, but being pounced on, binding them and planning to take them as prisoners. More blood thirsty vermin took their weapons and jammed them into already dying woodlanders. Most of the horde continued to pursue, but found it more difficult to catch up. The Long Patrol and otters were too fast, but the vermin kept up such a pace that they had to abandon their camp entirely. This distracted the vermin only temporarily, as the woodlanders continued on to the river.
Scarl could see Markem, bloodied and injured as he strode in a dizzy mood across the whole field. He nearly lifted his sword to Hazul when he approached, but stopped himself. Hazul was nursing a nasty cut to his arm, and Kajam was now missing some fingers. Hazul's rats suffered horribly, but they held their high spirits as Hazul lifted his paws and praised the spirits for victory. Scarl could kind of guess that Markem found this distasteful, as he was limping along. Niala was with him, and 'Dirt' next to him.
Yet Scarl paused when he looked at the biggest surprise of all. He had been furious when he was told Markem had given Luzgot the responsibility to lead a major flanking maneuver, expecting him to pull something. Scarl did not even have time to do much about it, but he could see vermin cheering the prideful looking Luzgot as he stood over a Long Patrol body, raising his sword in victory. Scarl could not have been happier, cheering loudly and acting like a child.
He then noticed one younger member of the Long Patrol pulling up his pants and came a little bit beside him. Scarl looked at him, a soldier likely having snuck away from the battle to relieve himself. He paralyzized as he realized the battle did not in fact go well at all for the woodlanders, and that he was now staring at the last of his platoon rushing their way past the trees towards their camp. Even the reserve army was in retreat once the main bulk of the woodlander forces were far enough. Scarl quickly came over, and pulled the young recruit to him, much to his dismay.
"Look ye, Hare! Look an' behold! Mossflower be ours, eh!" Scarl tormented. He did nothing to the hare, but did pull out his knife to prod him forward and pass off the prisoner to another vermin. He walked with a happy step to Markem, a smile as wide as he could.
_
The woodlanders reached the river, and were now swimming for their lives, and it was a mess. Shrews were now desperately trying to dam the river to make an impromptu bridge as the otters helped their less able allies cross by swimming them. When Pelma had seen her father, grasping a horrible wound, she had carried and helped him limp away. She was frightened, more so than any other, as she called for anyone to help her. She was angry at her own people, as they passed by in panic to escape the coming vermin. She was barely able to hold her paw for much longer, the otter's grip weakened and she became beyond exhausted to continue holding him. As they reached the main crossing, where they were at least surrounded by woodlanders, Dakan finally fell from her and crashed onto a young tree. Pelma came close to her father, unable to process all that was going on.
Dakan no longer felt pain as much as emptiness. The pain was still there, but he felt as light as a feather as if floating away. Pelma was crying, her tears swelling as she tried to desperately call for anyone to help
"Help! Help please! I need a healer, someone!" Pelma could not believe her brother was dead, didn't want to believe it. Yet she knew, and so did Dakan. The skipper knew what he was now feeling, as he began to feel cold and helpless. He looked to the side, seeing hares carrying an unconscious and badly wounded Naus on a stretcher. He knew now that they had truly lost. He was blaming himself, but his anger which fueled him now became a low simmer and then into nothingness. Pelma tried to keep him awake, shaking him.
"No! Please! Don't leave me Pa!" She begged. Dakan touched her face and tried to give a reassuring smile. He looked beyond the trees, noticing vermin were streaming down the hill towards them. Some hares and otters turned to fight, buying little time for the rest of the woodlanders to get out. Shouting and cries of battle were now everywhere again.
"Pelma. You must go." Dakan said weakly. Pelma did not, trying to get her father up, and could not. Pelma continued to try to beg, but Dakan for one last time tried to chide her "Pelma. Please. Look after the Holt. Look after the-" Dakan tried to say 'Holt'. He tried to say a final 'goodbye' or a 'i love you' and was unable. Blackness was now overtaking him as Pelma tried hugged her father who finally went limp. She did not want to let go, crying and sobbing in the middle of the forest. The vermin were getting closer, as Pelma felt a tug on her shoulder.
Papet was there, looking concerned. He saw Pelma, and then looked to his horror to see the Skipper dead, lying against a tree. He yelled, trying to keep at least one Whitewhisker alive.
"Pelma! We have to go! We have to get back to Redwall!" Papet pleaded. Pelma looked to the captain, and begged him in silence to allow her to stay. She did not want to leave her father to the vermin, even when he was now cold and limp. Papet reasoned with her "Mam. You can't avenge him here. Let us go, before they take us as well." Pelma agreed and got up. The two ran for the river and swam to the other side, as Dakan's body laid dormant as vermin marched past it. As the vermin reached the river, a volley of javilens came from the water, and the horde retreated after some were felled. They fired arrows into the water, but were too late to catch any of their enemies. Pelma gave one last look back at the enemy, her fear and sorrow became rage and hate. Papet helped to carry her, as the group disappeared beyond the trees and towards Redwall.
_
Markem was unable to hear in one ear, but as his hearing returned so did the reality of the situation. He looked around, unable to even believe it himself. He had won, in a pitched battle against an enemy thought unbeatable in every story, he had won. Once he would kill his own captain just to escape a fight to die at the paws of the Long Patrol, and now his sword was stained in it. Ironic that his sword was hare made, stolen from them and a gift from another. He looked around as the vermin stopped their pursuit and entered the field. So many had fallen.
So many had survived.
The battle was not a horrendous one sided slaughter. Even as it seemed the fighting grew grim, there were more dead woodlanders than there were vermin. The warlords were shouting in amazement, yelling and roaring out in victory. Not even Kasg had been able to do what Markem had just done. Markem began to smile, not because his warlord subordinates were cheering in victory, but because their hordebeasts began to rush to Markem with happy shouts of joy.
They were happy, their smiles and surprised faces full of glee. They were cheering the warlord. 'Dirt' even had an ounce of pride as Markem was lifted into the air by his own horde, practically throwing him up and down as more and more clammered to him. They were shouting, praising their chief the best way they knew how.
"Markem! Markem! Great Warlord!" They shouted. Markem's heart soared as the common vermin joined in a chorus of shouts and cheers. The vermin raised weapons and let their warlord down as he strode amongst them. Jarolom and Wulvog pushed through one crowd, and Hazul and Kylan through another. They all surrounded Markem as he stood in silent valiance. Scarl came over patting his warlord on the back, happy to see the rat so joyful, even if a bit bloodied. Markem raised his sword, shouting to his entire horde so all could here.
"To Redwall! To Redwall!"
