Chapter 32: The March to Redwall

As much as it would have been great for Markem and his horde to immediately back up in formation, singing their way to Redwall abbey to finish off their foe, the reality was much more simple. Across the field of the battlefield fought and won by the Great Vermin Band, a grim duty was being fulfilled by soldiers who prowled it. The soldiers would go from body to body to nudge it with spears, looking for survivors. One hare was grasping a nasty wound, as he spotted in terror a vermin with a poorly made halberd approaching him. The hare twitched in utter pain, unable to even lift himself to a sword. The vermin bent over, and sniffed his wound and recoiled in disgust. The hare could realize what was about to happen, lifting his paws to beg for mercy even if he didn't expect it.

The vermin was giving him mercy, although not the one he expected as the soldier pushed his blade down on him.

Vermin were making their rounds, finishing off enemies or capturing them. Those who were uninjured or didn't look like they were dying were rounded up and bound, pushed into lines of other prisoners. Others, either vermin or woodlander alike who were dying from painful wounds the vermin could not heal were granted a swift death by the prowling vermin. Although this grim duty was performed, other members were prowling about for other reasons. Rats and weasels were fighting over the bright tunics of dead hares, others were collecting weapons for themselves and throwing away older ones which had rusted over their years of misuse. Hare weapons were just downright superior in most ways, and no one really minded if some vermin started collecting trophies.

Some like Hazul's vermin were far more grim. Kajam, the brother of their chief and commander of his armies, was head collecting. He had spent much of the morning trying to find the perfect set of heads from a shrew, otter, and hare. Their skulls now dangled on his own belt, much like how brother had placed the skull of a tiny mouse on his. Kajam occasionally looked in all directions, giving a confident huff as he watched the vermin do their own trophy collecting. He headed towards his brother, the smaller water rat looked on from the forests, not so pleased with the victory like others.

"Oh cheer up, Hazul! We bloody won." Kajam said to chide him. Hazul looked with a disappointed look at Kajam "We lost too many of our own. How those shrews had beaten you that badly is beyond me."

"We won regardless." Kajam said in a boisterous voice "Look out at this field, and remember this day! The spirits clearly saw victory, and we won! If this is not proof of our victories, I do not know what is."

Hazul remained silent and continued to look out. He was secretly quite impressed, maybe less so than others. There was a fever amongst the vermin, and he could feel it changing as the bloodlust of battle died down. He knew vermin all too well, some would have been gleefully murdering their charges or shoving their prisoners. Now? He saw vermin dividing up their spoils amongst their own divisions without the overwatch of their captains, he saw professional soldiers haul their prisoners away without fuss. They perhaps were still vermin at the end of the day, but Hazul could see something was changing that other could not. His thoughts escaped him when a boisterous and hated foe began to lumber towards him. He and his brother both.

"Hazul, ya lop sided wretch! Glad ya made it!" Kylan Bignose looked a lot happier than usual to see his hated peer. The nose-ringed weasel seemed to forget how much he despised Hazul and his views, as his brother carried a bag of jangling metals of dead Long Patrol.

Hazul kept back, mostly out of suspicion as the fat weasel and lord of Jusbrag was yelling at one of his dejected servants who had been observing the aftermath of the battle. One of his long time personal serfs, a hedgehog, came running with a tankard of ale for the parched warlord and drank of it heartily.

"Kylan, ya sure dat be wise?"

"Oh be off with ya Loc! I ain't gonna die from haven a good ol' boast of grog!" The weasel had a hard time lifting on his arm, an obvious and large gash that looked barely treated ran down from part of his torn shirt. Even though he had fought in battle, barely armored, the weasel was never in real danger being surrounded by his host of vermin. A hare had been lucky, or unlucky depending on a point of view, had been able to get a direct hit against him. Either out of stupidity or zeal, Kylan was not at all bothered by this.

Hazul was not without his wounds either, an otter had carved a nice sword mark across his forehead, and his tail was bruised from crushing wounds. "Our losses are not as considerable as I imagined, tis a great victory we had. Our spirits grant us much this day."

"Spirits? Ha! Twas Markem an' his big ol' army an bigger brain dat got us through, ya religious nitwit!" Kylan mocked. Hazul nearly flew into a fury, creeping closer.

"The signs were there from the beginning, Kylan! The spirits had given us victory and you will respect them in front of me. Markem or not, our victory was beyond secure. The woodlanders were not destined to fight well this day. What you say insults our ancestors a thousand fold, you soulless wretch!"

Loc and Kajam looked as their respective brothers were practically at each other's throats. No matter how much they despised one another, they were not dumb enough to draw blades on one another. Loc turned to Kajam and grunted "Nice skulls. How'd the front wit the shrews go?"

Kajam gave a friendly nod "Nice metals. Little bug eyed pygmies nearly had me, an' gave us a good fight. We kept up the fight, but they were definitely pushen us back quite a ways. How'd yer side of the field went?"

"Poorly, to tell the truth. We'd barely even got our first javilens off before the hares did, but we kept our heads up. Lucky dat Luzgot did so well I suppose."

As if he had heard himself being called, the triumphant looking Luzgot arrogant strode with his best guard to the meeting of the various warlords. When he approached, he had a grin on his face, looking like a child as he patted his own wound with increasing pride. "I see ya all fighten over spoils already, eh?"

"No. We aren't, Luzgot." Hazul firmly said to him. Both Kylan and Hazul backed off from one another. Their attention was now on Luzgot who looked rather triumphant and proud of himself. Nearly everyone was congratulating him since the conclusion of the battle, his charge had won the battle and made it much more successful then it had any right being. If most of the warlords viewed Luzgot as an arrogant, cowardly, treasonous wretch then they were now only half right. Luzgot seemed utterly full of himself, swaggering to Hazul and Kylan as if he was their conquering chief.

"Naturally of course, without der aid me armies an' skill ya lot wouldn't even be here today! If ya wish to thank me fer my service to dis 'band' ya can do so now. Which speaking of which, where is our 'glorius' chief anyhow?"

"Near der river, I thinks." Kylan scratched his head. "He be doin somethin, although I did kinda hope he'd be here on dis glorious day! Everyone was yelping out loud an' proud today!"

Luzgot grunted, and Hazul pondered. For the mastermind of the battle itself was missing from the field since his vermin cheered him, wondering what their great warlord was doing.
_

Far from the field of battle, the afternoon sun shone down at the River Moss whose waters sparkled in the increasing dim of the light. At the edge of the water, soft sand and rushes covered some banks, small ledges of rock and dirt separated the two sides of the river. The trees created a shadow over the waters, a cool wind blowing beyond them to greet all who traveled it. The waters were clear, the shine of fish could be seen coming upstream for their seasonal mating. The buzzing of dragonflies and mayflies flowed past over the waters, buzzing in the happiness of their early meals. One dragonfly, larger than all the others, flew from one side of the river to the other, landing on a soft mound of dirt near the water's edge. It stared up in due innocence at two lonesome figures looking over this mound, nameless and without a marker upon it. Markem was looking down sadly upon the innocent creature, with 'Dirt' keeping close to his side. The two stared down at the grave of a father and son, lost in the battle of Moss Field.

Markem did not even know, his vermin soldiers had routed the enemy to the river, but they had evacuated just in time. Markem wanted to finish up something when the cheers died down, only he and his most elite vanguard brought the body to the river, in which Markem found out that the otter's skipper had fallen. Now, buried together next to the river, did Markem begin to understand why the otters did it. It was a beautiful, mournful sight to be buried by the river's edge. Markem leaned on his sword, and stared down at it with sorrowful eyes. 'Dirt' was the only beast who joined him, and perhaps even shared in his master's regrets.

When Scarl came to the river's edge, the vermin were already doing something they had been preparing for. Several vermin and their serfs pulled boats to the river's water, ferrying about a quarter of the army to the other side to set up a perimeter for the march to Redwall Abbey. They would spend two nights resting from the battle, and then start heading out once the entire army had crossed. The shore line was swarming with vermin soldiers, and sentries were making wide sweeps to make sure neither Long Patrol or their allies decided to double back to make a mockery of Markem's horde. Scarl was confident however that the woodlander army was in full retreat. Had they faced a vermin horde this day, their enemy would have evaporated at such a loss.

Scarl had been happy about what had happened, but as pulled close to Markem, he was looking down at the grave. When Scarl approached, Markem's vanguard told him what Markem had been doing, and Scarl approached with a caution. He remained silent as he approached.

"The other warlords, Scarl. How dey fair?" Markem broke the silence, a lonesome regret to his voice. Scarl spoke up with a little bit a hushed cheer "Everyone got wounds, an' I see ya two got yer own. Luzgot got hit wit some nasty arrows but he'll live. I take it dis be dat otter's grave?"

"He an' father both." Markem sighed "The one ya met in the middle of the field? Died slumped up on a tree behind me. No doubt if dat wound is what killed em', dat hare will likely also be dead soon."

"An he'll be regardless." Scarl tried to say with a cheer, but he could see Markem was in no mood. He frowned, not at the otters now in their final rest, but at his chief. Markem was always the odd one out, a rat who he couldn't help but like. Scarl tried again to cheer him up and improve his mood.

"Ya lived, mate, an' dats what be important. More important ya saved a lot of lives of der vermin folk, an dats what dis all be about. When I suggested dis, I ain't doin it out of cruelty, but because we knew exactly how dat creature would react. Ya did well, mate."

"Scarl. I hate this." Markem suddenly blurted out. "I hate all dis killen, all dis violence since day one. I hate I have to plunge me sword into some poor fool's neck an' pretend its all fine, an' then pretend its all goin to be okay. None of this was okay. I hoped when I went out on dat field, dey be seein reason Scarl. Hoped I didn't have to even kill dat poor ol' creature. I hesitated, Scarl. I paused an' wanted nothin more to lift me sword down and just punt him back across der field, let some poor fool live another day. Yer right, though." Markem looked up and at the soldiers who were bust doing other things. They chopped up wood, ate vittles while sitting at the river's edge, or even laughed at jokes as they passed.

"Ye were right, we did save a lot of lives, an' at der end of the day I thinks dat why I did it." Markem's attention returned to Scarl who couldn't help but pity his chief. Scarl was thankful Jarolom wasn't here to call him a softie or for Luzgot to call him weak. What Scarl saw he also felt, a pity they even had to be here to start with.

"Ya got a soft spot, I gets dat. Yet ya did more today den most even thought of in a lifetime, even in elder memory! Be proud an' smile Markem, fer dem an' fer me. When we be done, an' Mossflower be ours, all of dis will have been worth it. We won't need to do such dings like dis ever again."

"Maybe in me children's lifetime, but not in mine." Markem said sorrowfully, looking back at the graves "Seasons. I'd hate to ever have me pups ever gotta know der things I've done to even survive an' fight fer the world dey are in now. If der is a hell waiting fer the likes of us Scarl, we mostly definitely deserve it. Yet, when we are gone, I want de sins to flow out from this place, an never touch me small ones. Not again. Ever again."

Scarl patted his shoulder and smiled "We'll get der, chief. Ya'll see." Markem smiled back, as he put his sword back into its sheath. He gave one last look at the grave, remembering Kasser's wish before his demise at his paw. Wells, I can't really give ya a good death, but I can at least keep yer last wish.

'Dirt' muttered something loudly "May the river take you to the gray forest, for where we will meet again."

Scarl raised an eyebrow to this and commented "Odd ding to say, slavebeast."

"Mum said it when I was little, it was an old otter prayer. Only thing I know really about this kind of thing." 'Dirt' explained. Scarl nodded, as he began to look at 'Dirt' with a new appreciation he had not had for him in a long time. As the three walked back to fulfill their earthly duties with their fellow warlords, Scarl spoke up to 'Dirt' in particular.

"Heard ya got some kills under yer belt, 'Dirt'. Protected the chief a whole lot from what der soldiers say. I'd even congratulate ya if ya weren't built fer dat purpose to start wit."

Markem patted 'Dirt' on the back, yet the otter seemed distant and thinking on something in silence. Markem frowned as he spoke up to him next "Ya killed some folk, an it ain't gon-"

'Dirt' for perhaps the first time in a while cut him off "That's the thing, sir. I did kill some folk and I didn't really freeze up, and I just kept on fighting. I don't know how many I slew. Honestly, I thought I'd be breaking down after the battle, even jump in the water and never surface. Yet I can't feel anything." Markem and Scarl looked at 'Dirt' like an oddity. Markem was happy, or at least he thought he'd be. Instead, both felt a twinge of pity.

"I don't think it's normal. It feels like it just happens. I am trying to think on it more, but nothing really comes up. Sir, to be honest, that frightens me more than anything else. I'd beg you not to tell me brother or others. They all give me poor looks as it is."

Markem gave a comforting smile to his long time bodyguard and servant "Ya got me word, so long as ya keep yer mouth shut. Now. Lets ready ourselves up an' win dis war."
_

Gazla was on the ground, horrified and in terrible pain. The rat captain looked with wide eyes to the side of her shoulder, a large arrow jutting out of it. Despite her already poor armor, she was surprised just how far it pierced on through her. She was on the ground, unmoving, as she kept calling out in vain in the field, surrounded by the bodies of vermin who fell next to her. "Snackfur! Chief! Helps me!" She cried out. None came, as she continued to panic. She continued to lay still, unable to see beyond the field even as vermin went from body to body, seeing if they could kill or capture those who were wounded. "Someone? Please? Mum? Pa?" Gazla was in a state of panic, unable to really tell what was happening any longer as she looked around in desperation.

Rather suddenly, Snackfur came up to her, having been looking for her or at least her corpse. He looked utterly relieved as he bent down and sniffed her wound. She sounded joyful "Oh seasons! It hurts it does! It hurts like as if the hells be in it!"

"Yer lucky ya didn't get worse ya did, Gazla." The rat captain gripped the arrow which made the rat maid recoil in terrible shock. He tried to hold her down as Gazla looked as if she was about to cry and flow an entire river from her eyes. He slapped her harshly "Yer a captain, ya daft rattess! Chief is watchen nearby. He see ya acten the softie, ya can say goodbye to der good rations back in Luzland. Now. I am gonna pull it up dem gotta seal der wound quick. Arrow woun't kill ya, but bleeden will. Good think hare arrows don't splinter, eh!"

Gazla nodded as she tried to keep composure. She waited as her fellow captain of Luzland breathed in and then harshly pulled up the arrow. Gazla held in a terrible scream as Snackfur began to bind up the wound. As she held in her terrible pain, her chief was soon standing over them both, his paws folded as he shadowed them.

"Oh? Yer alive, eh? Kinda expected ya to be dead to be honest, consideren der family ya say ya come from. Cheesethief, was it? Killed by a bolt, big ol' one. Ya survived, so ya got only some of me respect."

Gazla smiled as her chief finally came to respect her, but that was quickly dashed as Luzgot seethed in anger "Useless twit ya are, not even good blood on yer sword besides yer own! Well, get up an' dressed, cause we are gonna be on our way to dat Redwall place, ya sees."

Gazla gripped the wound of her shoulder as Snackfur helped her get up. Gazla seemed a bit fearful, more mature but yet frightened "Redwall? Dat cursed place, we goin to? Nothin but curses dat place, where me ancestor fell an' all of course." Gazla was always quick to point out that her ancestor was a captain under the near mythical rat raider Cluny. Even if a supposed traitor in any legend told by vermin or woodlander, the surname was good enough to keep Luzgot's attention.

"Yes yes, I know. Cursed or not, Markem is intent on goin der, taken der entire horde wit him. Keep yer heads down, cause once we take dat abbey, den the real war be starten."

"How so, we just won, chief!" Snackfur said gleefully, but Luzgot came up to him and grabbed him by the tunic and began to shake him violently "Cause ya think some stupid stripe dog in a mountain is gonna let this slide! Think fer once in yer life. Markem is leading us all to our deaths, an' we must be ready to fills the gaps."

"If only you could." A feminine and bored voice came from behind them. Parb was walking very cautiously amongst the corpse ridden field, followed by her servant who kept an umbrella above her. Luzgot seethed as he came close, trying to give a hushed voice and turned to Nurka who looked rather frightened of the rat warlord.

"Ya sure dis one don't talk? I hopes so, for yer sake an' its."

Parb gave a bored look to Nurka who only answered by keeping her head down. She returned her attention to Luzgot "I thought you were going to sit the battle out, let Markem lose and head back north?"

"Plans changed. Got dem nasty looks from me own horde. When the battle didn't turn into a full on route, it became clear I could kill two birds wit one stone. Now the woodlander army is total retreat, der leaders injured or dead, an' Markem is gonna spend his entire campaign tryen to break into a bloody abbey. When dat badger lord routs an' kills him, we will be ready by then to take his little home right out from under him."

Parb looked around, seeing vermin mourning their dead and stealing their weapons and clothes if they were good enough. Yet, she also saw many happy vermin, some still happily cheering on their new great warlord with abandon. What disturbed Luzgot and his captains had fascinated Parb, as the vermin seemed to soften and try to mimic their chief. She had noticed many vermin had eagerly returned to their camp, not to lazily rest and party on their victory, but packing and getting into formation. The vermin were so eager to get a move on, they dropped weapons and began helping their own slaves cook, clean, and haul.

"Disgusting ain't it." Luzgot spat. Parb returned her attention to him, her curiosity of Markem's success was replaced by the pragmatic boredom of Luzgot's desire for treason. He was looking over at perhaps the most curious site in the entire horde.

In the northern corner of the field, a large number of Long Patrol hares were sitting in a circle, having surrendered to the Great Vermin Band. Although some hares, otters, and shrews who got captured after the battle found themselves being put to work by Gutan and his taskmasters, these hares were part of two whole divisions. They sat mostly in silence, speaking to one another and wondering where everything went wrong. The vermin were surrounding them, watching them like hawks with utter distrust for them. Long Patrol were perhaps just as mischievous as any vermin shaman, and could easily crack necks if given the opportunity. Luzgot moved forward to them, looking down in contempt from a safe distance.

"Pathetic. Markem spares dem, an' fer what! Cause he don't know what to do wit them? Like I said Parb, he'll be dead when he meets a real challenge."

"Why spare the hares though?"

"Cause I demanded it." Boomed Markem's voice from behind them. Markem was with his bodyguard and his spymaster, moving over bodies as they came up to Luzgot and Parb. Markem gave a scolding look to Parb, as if trying to shoo her away from a more private conversation, but she kept her ground.

"I am gonna order Kylan to send em' to the old quarry in our new territory, where dey will work an' be kept too exhausted to give into a decent fight. Kylan's brother Loc will likely be looken after em', as Kylan an most of Jusbrag's horde will be comin wit me to Redwall."

"If they escape an' cause trouble, you are the only one ya can blame." Luzgot grunted, but then added on with a mocking tone "Chief."

Scarl wanted to speak up his own threat, but Markem didn't give Luzgot an evil eye, but rather a regretful one. Markem nodded "Luzgot, as much as I hate ya to tell the truth, I actually came to thank ya."

"Well as-wait, what?" Luzgot sounded surprised as Markem spoke in a rare, if not pained, respect of the old blooded warlord of Luzland "Without yer charge an' bravery, we'd have not won this battle so easily if at all. I always thought of ya as an incompetent, incapable of little else. Yet, ya prove me wrong, an' I can respect dat an' always will. Yer actions here an' yer bravery saved a lot of me horde's lives. The Great Vermin Band owes ya more den just favors."

Luzgot remained silent as Markem gave a deep sigh and continued "Our road to Redwall is just part of our plan to bring out der Long Patrol into the open, an' we'll likely have to siege dis ol' abbey down as best we cans. However, I am senden ya away back up north to secure our main fortresses an' supply lines. Let us not be enemies any longer, an' work as friends to our true goal. A Mossflower under our banner." Markem extended his paw to shake Luzgot's. When Luzgot did go to shake his paw, Markem gave it a couple slaps and gripped it weirdly. Luzgot secretly cringed, this was a gesture between low ranking hordebeasts, not a firm grip of true warlords like himself or his wretched father.

"As a sign of me trust, I ordered Gutan to send a number of me slaves to Luzland to fix'er up, an give ya a commission to start recruiten heavy like fer a larger garrison along the coasts. If the Long Patrol get desperate, or smart, der will need to be a force to deal wit them. Ya do good by me, i'll even give ya Tussock to add to yer territory."

Luzgot nearly dropped his jaw at such a substantial bribe, but Markem was still cautious as he spoke up "Most of yer horde an' dat of yer warlords forces will still be under me banner, but once ya refill yer numbers, i'll send em' back to you gladly once we take the red abbey."

"Of course, great chief." Luzgot smiled. Markem nodded and smiled back as he pounded his chest armor in a salute "As I like say, Luzgot. To the victor, the spoils." Markem left as Luzgot's smile grew ever wider. He kept an eye on Scarl who would occasionally look behind him at the two. Scarl seemed rather content, proud to having seemingly tamed the rat warlord after all these long seasons.

Yet, Luzgot kept up his smile. The idiot bumpkin, fool he is, has given me all that i'll ever need. Once he is good an' dead in the ground, his little fort an' all his little hordebeasts will be mine to play with. Luzgot turned to Parb and whispered to her, who only nodded in agreement. Gazla and Snackfur followed their warlord, as he walked out of the field to head on home.
_

Niala and Jarolom were drinking with one another, recovering from wounds along with their horde. Vermin didn't lack medics or healers, as an all too familiar black fox was pulling arrows and closing wounds with herbs and cloth from a very large and grumpy wolverine. Wulvog groaned as if he was sick, the black fox and shaman Dala Blackeye was humming as she pulled one hare arrow out from the huge wolverine. The wolverine didn't mind it, as he was actually quite satisfied right now. In a small pile next to the camp were the bodies of several hares as Kag was preparing to fix up one of the wolverine's gruesome meals. Horrified slaves and terrified soldiers would give glances at this sight as Wulvog would groan and grunt as the black fox pulled another arrow out from his back.

"You sure he ain't gonna bleed out?" Jarolom asked with some concern. Dala shrugged "Tis not unusual, such beasts like badger or wolverine will over exert demselves. Tis not abnormal, but what is that this ol' fool of a beast think he really is talking to some fool specter."

Wulvog attempted his dangerous and intimidating look to his would-be healer, but she was not so easily frightened as she pulled out another arrow from his back. "Yulfang can hear you perfectly well, fox."

"Yulfang can then help me reach the arrows at the top of your back then." Wulvog grunted and turned his attention to the vermin camp. The battle had been quite a good one, his first time fighting the Long Patrol certainly provided a challenge. Several hares with spears had charged him and then kept their distance, with others pelting him with arrows. His calm composure as he fought had saved his life, not being baited into a larger death knell. The wolverine had claimed many lives, at least by Long Patrol standards, and was ever so proud of it.

"I hear ya had quite a tumble with the Long Patrol's commander, girl." Dala commented, applying an oil to one of Wulvog's nastier wounds "Lucky to be alive I bets. You have my congratulations. You are now officially wanted creature, if the woodlanders get der act together."

Niala had remained silent, she had swung her halberd right into a Long Patrol officer of some higher rank and had rushed all the way across the field when she had noticed his assault towards Markem's line. She had been quite proud of the duel, but yet didn't feel as good as she wanted to. Her brother had spent much of the night bandaging her up with Dala's help whom the two foxes got to know a bit better. Niala eventually spoke up "Yer a shaman, right? A real one?"

"Kind of. More like educated enough to know when a rat really needs to be told exactly what he wants to hear." Dala said quite proudly. "I'm not real keen on spirits, but I feel a bit haunted. Ya don't got a salve fer dat, do ya?"

Jarolom rolled his eyes "Oh come now, sis! Ya challenged a blasted Long Patrol general! Yer not only lucky to be alive, ya should be proud! Ya saved me chief's life. Erm. Our chief's life."

"I mean I am, bra. I just feel a bit haunted is all."

Dala came over and looked her in the eyes, and nodded "Yer just haven post battle blues, ya are. Hazul and Kajam had der own when dey were done taken Veekun's Burrow. I gave em' a song an' dance, but I don't dink dat work for you lot. Gots a nice, but bad tasten, stew dat should fix ya right up."

As Dala was lifting her head back to her work on Wulvog, she noticed that Jarolom was slowly standing up and stiffening up. She turned to see the Great Warlord himself and his cadre following him closely. Markem gave an odd look at Wuvlog and Kag, the sea otter cook and thrall to the wolverine was poking at a growing fire. Markem shook his head, but turned his attention back to Niala. She stood up readying to salute her chief, as Scarl rushed forward and spoke to Jarolom. "Ya bloody better be alive, ya ol' bandit! Seasons! I can't be damned believe we won!"

Jarolom and Scarl gave their absurd handshake to one another and then hugged. Jarolom spoke up, with pride "Ya did it, ya ol' slinky devil! Well, erm. We did it! Or der chief, o-"

"No Jarolom, 'we' is perfectly fine." Markem gave a weak smile. Markem turned his attention to Niala and looked her over. Then the rat gave a humble nod to her "Ya saved me life. Twice actually, an' I owed ya a promotion der first time through the ranks me horde. Den ya earned me attention. Now ye earn me respect, Niafya Foxtrot."

Jarolom came over and whispered something in his ear and Markem embarrassingly put his paw to his face "Sorry. Niala."

Niala smiled, expecting perhaps a nice reward like some loot, but Markem continued and stood at attention "To be honest, I ain't good at de's kind of speeches, so I'll make it plain. Yer now a captain in the Great Vermin Band. Ya are to report to a vermin host not too far off who lost der own cap'n, an' ya will be given a proper supply, slaves, an' resources. If ya got any other siblings I should know about, i'd love to meet'em." Markem was only partly joking as Niala tried to not look surprised or even happy. Yet she could not help it. She pounded her chest in a salute to Markem and respect.

"Won't fail ya chief."

"I know ya won't if ya continue what ya been doin. Now, I must be off. I cross der river tomorrow, an' ya will cross der river next. Our march to Redwall will hopefully not be a long one." Markem went off, followed closely by his bodyguard and Scarl as they began already to talk of their campaign trail. Jarolom look at his sister, giving a proud and accomplished look. He patted her harshly to bring her back to reality.

"Congrats, now yer about the same level as I am, ya ambitious fool." Jarolom joked. He then reiterated what he said before when Niala had first joined "Partners an' siblings, sis?"

"Partners an' siblings." Niala chuckled.


The last crossing was about to be due, but Niala was a little anxious. She had met up with her new companions and was already making an awkward impression. She wasn't particularly new to commanding vermin, but she had maybe only ten at best to command when she fought for coin and food in the north. Now she had fifty vermin to command, not including her slaves. She was a lot more happy to have several good sub captains beneath her, and felt more like a struggling young warlord than a captain. Now this small horde was disorganized and rushing down the banks towards the River Moss as Niala would call out "Hurry up ya lot! Were late as it is! Wesk! Hurry up wit dat stuff will ya!" Niala had called out. She turned only to see the otter running down towards the boats with his paws absolutely filled with tents he had packed up in a hurry. The horde had gotten up very late, as much of her horde and her brother's had spent the night drinking in celebration.

The other vermin were rushing towards the river as if an enemy army had been chasing them, following their new leader with increasing speed and desperation. Niala was panting herself, stopping part way only to realize that her order to rush to the river was perhaps a bit too literal, as two of her hordebeasts crashed right into the waters but thankfully got back to shore. Although now muddy and soaked, the vermin could see the ever smaller traffic of hordes getting ready to cross. Niala was relieved that her near tardiness was not as terrible as she thought.

"Alright. Line up an' we head out!" Niala huffed. Her vermin didn't hear, and she ordered it again, although fumbled "Now, I said to line up! Yer all deaf?"

"No, dey be not." A call came from behind them as another one of the Great Vermin Band's divisions marched through the forest more expertly. She turned to see a ferret looking down on them from a grassy hill. He was a captain who was apart of Markem's horde. He gave a weak smile, but turned to his own horde and yelled at them "Get a move on ya lot, i'll join ya soon."

Kyth's presence had the other vermin and slaves in Niala's horde quickly get into line, as Kyth chuckled at their sudden need to be organized. Kyth wielded very little, just a sword to his belt and a shield to his back. For a ferret, he looked a bit older, but he spoke almost like an elder. "Ya must be Markem's new captain. Had to promote a few after der battle, I hears. Saved the chief's life twice?"

"I did." Niala lifted a critical eyebrow to Kyth, as if he wasn't impressed in saving Markem's life. "Ya make it sound like dat is quite mundane."

"Well, wit how many times Markem survived getten himself killed, ya would be surprised. Rat practically always be asken fer death. Got trouble I hears. Murg!" Kyth looked and saw one of Niala's new sub captains run up, a rattess with a spear and shield. She was better armored then her contemporaries, but her skill and experience with them was perhaps why she had a higher position then others. "Ya should know better, get dis lot into line!"

"I commands me own horde, ya boneless beast." Niala gritted her teeth, seeing Kyth was having a bit of fun. The ferret smiled and stepped closer "Den command dem. Cap'n." Kyth turned and walked off, without elaborating much further. He chuckled as he returned to his own horde and began yelling at them. Niala paused and sighed as she turned to her rabble of hordebeasts.

"Wells, lets not stay here ferver, lads! Comes now. Ca-'sub' Cap'ns! Get yerselves lined up an' move out!" The small host barely got into line as Niala frowned. Huh. Maybe I should have just denied me promotion. Wells, best not try to muck dis up too much I suppose. The small force kept up pace and joined the traffic of vermin, watching as one division at a time left the shore in boats and crossed. On the other side was Markem's massive vermin army, which was camping out on the other side of the river. Niala could see from a distance that the camp was getting ready to pack up already as she could see vermin and slaves loading up carts and the vermin packing up their tents in the distance.

Like other captains, Niala was partly aware of the new strategy that Markem was going for, and it sounded quite reasonable to her. Redwall was not the official target, but now that the army had beaten back the enemy, it was likely the hares and otters would retreat to the abbey to regroup and lick their wounds. Trailing close to the enemy army like the Long Patrol is dangerous, which is why Markem decided to wait, not wanting the hares returning to pick off parts of his army in an attempt to even out their defeat. The only difference from Markem's main army was that now small parts of it were missing, with Luzgot having marched back north to secure it in case of a counter attack, and Loc Bignose marched captured hares to an old quarry to keep them under lock and key.

As she waited for her horde to start crossing the river, her horde bumped up against Kyth's. The ferret kept his eyes peering down the river, his formerly tormentive mood turning deathly serious. Niala noticed and came up to him, trying to see what he was seeing.

"Ya think shrews be out der?" She guessed.

"Nay, not shrews i'm worried about. Otters. Der holt is around here somewhere, an' if dey decide to attack, we'd be real vulnerable. Not a lot of me hordebeasts can' swim. However, I gots me plans if dey decide to attack, heh." Kyth turned to some of his newest thralls, two captured otters from Mossflower's holt who were loaded onto one of the boats, although kept suspiciously to the side. Niala found this weird "If dey dip in der water, dey can gets away real easy."

"Otters an' Hares don't usually like pitched battles, prefer ambushes an' skirmishes. Saw an' otter once come right out der water, throw a javelin, an' hit me father right in der face. Swam back beneath before me ol' horde even gots a chance to string em' up wit arrows. Dey will do dat wit boats, even drag vermin in armor to the water an' lets der armor drag em' down. Dey may be workbeasts under the likes of us, but nasty ol' cretans otherwise. Asked fer those two personally. Dey won't attack too much if dey know der own be in mortal danger."

Niala nodded "Although ye forget to mention dat dey can still get in der water if dey see em swimmin beneath it. Advice fer advice I suppose. Rope der' feet to the ship." Kyth nodded in agreement and gave a low chuckle "Good idea actually. Ya may be fumblen like a babe wit dat lot behind ya, but ya got at least a thinken mind." Kyth stopped the boats before they left, ordering his vermin to tie their new slaves' feet to the row boat. The otters groaned as they were forced to row the victorious vermin across the river, spiteful of helping the enemy they had just been fighting not too long ago. Kyth and his vermin left first, but as Niala was getting ready to leave, another vermin host was coming down the hill.

This vermin Niala knew of, the stout Turbas gave her a critical look as he spoke up "Hey. Move out der way, fox. Me division needs to get past der river first."

"Den swim." Niala grunted in annoyance. She motioned her horde to get ready to get into boats once they made it across the river and were ferried by some of Hazul's water rats. Turbas looked annoyed and shoved Niala out of the way and called up to his division "Ya lot get a move out a-"

"No hold on fer just a second, ya layabout! I was here first!"

Tubas scoffed "Ya, an' I am getten on der boats next! I be late as it is!"

"Wells, so am I!"

The two looked like they could start going at each other's throats, but Niala backed down first. Her vermin were back away and Tubas's was not. She sighed, knowing that if she was going to have to do a lot more if she were going to win these petty fights with her fellow captains. Inner captain rivalry wasn't new, everyone did it, but she had perhaps expected too much to think Markem's horde avoided it entirely. "Fine, but ya best not be in me way again, stout."

Tubas didn't respond and was soon loading his vermin onto the boats next. Niala in a defeated moon came to the side of her horde who looked relieved they wouldn't be bashing each other to bits. Niala whispered to the rattess captain next her. "Murg, don't tell dis to me brother, okay?"

"Ya got me word, mam!" She happily said.
_

The army of the Great Vermin band moved southward along the River Moss, and only began to diverge from the river once it was settled enough to move. From where Markem and his army had crossed, concerns arose as to how to handle logistics. The vermin had left another portion of their army behind along with a decent number of slaves to begin the construction of two camps across from each river. Markem decided to leave his fellow warlord Resker in charge of the main issue of logistics, to work closely with Luzgot who would be handling affairs in his home country. Shipments could at least in reasonable time be ferried across from both camps which were to be walled off, with barracks and supply depots to extend Markem's ever increasing presence. The army moved at a fairly slow pace, taking two major detours before even heading towards Redwall itself.

The first major detour was a wide sweep of the villages on the other side of the river. Where once many woodlanders had waved to the advancing woodlander army, now they were being greeted by vermin who took them under their wing. Horrified villagers were quick to figure out from their new overlords how poorly Mossflower had done in the battle, and had feared the worst of vermin tyranny. Yet, rather than tyranny they were greeted in unusual kindness. Markem sent out small garrisons from his army to begin occupying villages, having his captains buy supplies from them rather than raid them dry. It was rather awkward when several Long Patrol hares who had been captured and assimilated into Markem's host now found themselves digging ditches in these villages, to provide earthworks to keep them under Markem's sway.

Yet the biggest surprise of all was Mossflower's vermin. When the vermin households and communities heard of a conquering warlord, their first thought had been 'Oh, not again!'. Many remember Kasg and his conscription, and of any other warlord from the north who would likely drag them from their homes to fight and die in his armies. Yet, when news of Markem's victory became very apparent, many vermin began to abandon their camps and holes, quickly rushing up to Markem's army to swear allegiance. As the Woodlanders looked on defeat as Markem's army trudged across Mossflower, their vermin neighbors would take their entire families to see the vast procession march and sing like conquering heroes. None had ever seen such a force in their lives, and some even wondered if Markem would even finally succeed where so many others had failed.

Yet this is what made Markem so happy more than his victory. As he marched with his army, near the head of it, he was happy what he beheld in the heart of Mossflower. He beheld vermin who came to march his armies, looking on in curiosity as if he were their liberators, not their conquerors. His vermin marched in a professional line, and their singing echoed across Mossflower with each loud thump of their marching steps

Beat em' hares black an' blue

Stamped of the holts

Broke the noses of the long nosed fools!

Broke em' apart, yes we did

Brought em' down with spear an' sword

An wit our chief we'll win der war!

From Gholand to Jusbrag we came

As we drag der enemy to the grave

Kick an' scream as they might

We'll bash em in till dey die of fright!

The vermin war song was new, but it passed around like a fever as the entire horde would hum or sing it, celebrating their victory. If there was one thing vermin and woodlander could ever agree on, it was their love of songs. Sea rats would share shanties they wrote to tell the stories of their battles, warriors would share hymns and war chants to pump up themselves for battle. This was not just any song, however, but something he had honestly never heard before. It was a song of victory, and the vermin were happily and greedily drinking in their conquest with newfound enthusiasm.

As the army continued to march on, Markem would pay attention to the cloudless sky, as if the very world had parted for his army's coming. He smiled to himself, and as he did he began to hear something rather odd and peculiar. His ears picked up a different song entirely, from an exhausted looking squirrel heaving a bag of supplies next to the supply train. He was singing in the direction of a family of moles who had been barely hidden, watching as the vermin army passed with concern.

Big ol' army, big an' tough

They go to Redwall with a chant

They are bringen a lot of spears

Shields, and bows they will bring you must go

For when they stop chanting, I will too

Or they may lash us with a spite

An' if you go to Garmeld, you must tell

Me youngest I got to see Redwall

Markem raised an eyebrow at this, but could see 'Dirt' giving the squirrel a look as well. He thought it was quite blatant, not even a surprise. Scarl would certainly be on the lookout for such things, as he was commanding a part of the army to scout out some of the other villages. Yet, then 'Dirt' began to sing in the squirrel's direction in an almost hushed tone, but he was able to get his attention.

Quiet you must be, for the vermin can hear thee

Take my advice, whose been marchen for long

That ya gotta keep it down

For if I can hear right here

So can yer chief who stands right der

The squirrel looked in their direction and then nodded to 'Dirt', and then gave a horrified look to Markem who was looking at him directly. The squirrel began to purposefully slow down to a crawl, blending in with the other supply wagons till he disappeared entirely. Markem gave a hushed voice "Okay, what gives."

"Well, singing is about the only way we can really communicate, sir. You didn't think we sang in captivity because we like it, do you?"

Markem did have to think on that a bit. Gholand's woodlanders did sing, and they sang a lot. He thought it was a hum to pass the time, but then he realized that in the disguise of songs, the woodlanders were giving each other information. "Huh. Wells, what is it all about den? Scarl an' Gutan don't mention it to me."

"Cause it's mostly harmless if I am telling you, sir." 'Dirt' shrugged "Gutan I know speaks of it, but he doesn't tell you unless it would be concerning. Scarl I think suspects, but he leaves that kind of stuff to Gutan. I think. You'd honestly know more than I, sir."

Markem nodded his head. "Well, if Scarl don't tell me, he either don't know or don't care enough. Although, knowing him, if he don't know den I'd be in huge trouble. 'Dirt', what do me slaves sing about?"

'Dirt' gave Markem a curious look, not really sure what to actually say. He gave a pause, hoping Markem might have even forgotten the question. Yet when he thought of an answer, Markem was giving 'Dirt' that dangerous look. The otter sighed out "Me and Da-'Mud' hear them outside the manor. It's usually mundane things, asken when overseers are coming around or asking what is for their dinner. Sometimes they sing about trying to figure out who each other are, or to just discuss things without their overseers listening on in. I think Gutan only knows it because, well, he was a-"

"Galley slave." Markem spat in disgust. "Well the to know I suppose. It just be strange. Ya would think I'd have noticed somethin like dat after all de's years. I thought ya folk sung to pass der time."

"Well. I suppose you'll get to hear more of it, sir."

Markem gave a silent pause to that comment. 'Dirt' had said it so casually, as if the otter already accepted Markem had won. 'Dirt' only kept up his pace as the two continued to march with the army towards their destination.
_

Niala and her host of vermin were finally on the move, but at the back of Markem's army rather farther towards the center where she wanted to be. The army wasn't moving at a fast pace, which allowed her to sort of march her way towards the bottom center of the army. The reason for this was simple, as she began to wave to her brother. Jarolom purposefully slowed till his host was right next to Niala's who was marching beside her. "Fer a moment, I thought ya took yer vermin an ran!" Jarolom joked. "Rough day I takes it?"

"Wouldn't have been if dat stout cap'n hadn't caused me trouble." Niala huffed.

Jarolom couldn't help but give out a slight giggle "Dat ol' bag of flea bites an' bad smells got to ya? Ya would face down a Long Patrol commanda only to flea from the likes of Tubas. Now if pa was alive, I think'd he tan ya fer certain!"

"I don't wanna get booted from new positions, ya know? I just got it!" Niala protested. Jarolom put his arm around his sister and tried to give her his bandit advice "Niala, yer thinken too much on Markem bein in charge down here, an' not realizen yer in a big ol' vermin horde! Dey may be walken real straight, but look around ya. Vermin spear, an' vermin sword. Nuttin too different, just not completely der same."

Niala supposed that was true, but her attention was quickly interrupted when they began to hear commotion behind them. She turned to see her own vermin were shoving each other, and her sub captains were doing nothing or not even paying attention. She growled out "Wells, keep der order den! We in a horde, not a circus!"

The sub captains grunted in disappointment and did as bidded, but as Niala turned Jarolom gave another cruel chuckle "Ya command dat oversized axe of yers a lot better den ya run dat lot."

"I am use to commanden a decent number. Maybe ten at most. Fifty tho? Tis like trying to herd children!"

"Bah. You'll handle its I bet. Ya just need der respect."

"I saved der chief! How is that not respect enough!"

Jarolom shook his head "Ya got Markem's respect, not dat lots. To dem, yer just a replacement fer a captain dey used to respect. Now you command em as if ya own dem. I mean, ya do, but ya gotta eeze dem into thinken ya be better wit ya den without."

Niala lifted an eyebrow to this statement as she looked around "Jarolom. Wheres Wulvog?"

"Oh, he an' his horde went up further ahead. Good ding too, cause tryen to command dat wolverine is like trying to herd a giant cannibal. Cause he be a giant cannibal." Jarolom's attempt at grim humor was perhaps funny to himself, but only caused Niala to cringe. Niala however did think on what her brother said. "Okay, so how do ya get 'respect' amongst de's Mossflower folk den?"

"Easy. Ya gotta get to know dem a bit more, feed em', and look out fer dem. If der is one thing me an' Markem can agree on wit his soft side, tis treaten dem soldiers right goes a long way earnen der loyalty, more so den what I think ya an' I are use to. Gotta give em' a nice speech from time to time, ya see."

Niala thought on what her brother was saying, and melded back towards her marching horde which she noted had become quite disorderly. She turned, walking backward as she gave a pained smile to the horde who gave only a light attention to her. "Keep up der pace, ya whipped goons an' we'll be in. . ." Niala paused, actually not being sure what she was saying and even fumbled a bit. "Nevermind, we'll be campen soon, we will, an' den we'll. . ." Niala was kind of dumbstruck that battle and combat seemed a lot easier when confused and bored eyes of her vermin were upon her. Her sub captains looked at one another as Niala tried to make a faint suggestion "Maybe we should just marchen in a proper line, aye?"

One of her sub captains rushed forward and turned to the horde, the rattess Murg who yelled out "Ya heard der cap'n! Get into line ya lot! Come on now, move it, before ya embarrass us!" The vermin slowly all got back into a more common formation like the other members of the Great Vermin Band marching next to them. Murg turned her attention to her fellow sub captains who were mumbling to themselves "Ya lot best be keepen der professionalism, or der cap'n will get yer hide!"

"Ya don't speak fer de cap'n, Murg." Seethed one rat, but a glare from Niala shut him up real quick. Niala turned and whispered to Murg "Thank ya. Thank ya a lot."

"Just so long ya got good rations in fer me, I'll help out mam." Murg smiled gleefully. Niala couldn't help but smile back. Even if a bit selfish, Niala still appreciated the help, but internally groaned at the fact she had a very long way to go. Jarolom meanwhile was uncontrollably laughing at Niala's attempts to keep command of her horde, nearly having to stop just to breath.

"Bloody hell, Niala!" Jarolom wiped a tear from his eye. Jarolom's own sub captains were looking awfully weird at one another, and dared not speak up as their boss recovered. Niala wanted to smack him over the head, however another creature came practically running up to Jarolom to do that for her.

Jarolom was utterly blind as he bumped harshly into Kylan Bignose, the warlord of Jusbrag. Bouncing from his fat stomach and right into the ground, Jarolom quickly set himself back up and dusted himself. Kylan however looked utterly furious, flanked by his elite guard and his captain Nosecheese.

"I heard ya did some pretty funny dings back in Jusbrag, ya treacherous little fox!" Kylan seethed. Jarolom was about to speak up, but Kylan spoke loudly first "Ya think I don't know about der little coup ya did, against me good ol' cap'n? Bigring? I had just heard of yer little attempt on me fort, an yer lucky I don't gut ya!"

"Chief, I don't think ya are getten it." Nosecheese tried to speak up, and so did Jarolom but in front of his own horde the larger weasel was already grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and practically dragging Jarolom off. "Yer gonna give me a good an' nice report ya lien fox, an' yer gonna tell me good what ya heard!"

Jarolom tried to escape his grasp to not cause a scene, but was Kylan's soldiers had pretty much kept Jarolom held tight. Instead of helping, Niala was now the one uncontrollably laughing as her brother was pulled away to be interrogated by the dull witted weasel.


As the vermin army began to encamp for the night, a cool calm flowed into the camp's vermin host. The army was the deepest they had ever gotten into Mossflower, and had pitched tents in the forests. Scouts and sentries were forming up larger than normal teams, as scavengers went to pick berries and collect food. Although a normal vermin army would have sent out raiders to pillage for food and supplies, Markem's horde instead sent out captains to villages, forcing the woodlanders to sell to them that same food and supplies under pain of being raided. Intimidated and defeated, the woodlanders eventually relented, especially when rumor spread of Markem's army burning a hamlet or two and enslaving its inhabitants who downright refused. These rumors were only partly true, as one vermin captain would report to Markem that he had accidentally started a fire in some poor mouse's home during a scuffle. Now that mouse was found being escorted to another village, with a sizable donation from Markem to compensate for lost possessions.

Yet, in that camp Niala was having the worst time trying to set up her camp. She had set up her own tent fairly quickly, but as she turned from her pride and joy of setting up her tent for the night, her vermin had not. Markem's vermin camp was orderly, each division set up three main structures for each individual division. There were sleeping tents, a supply depot, and a gathering tent. Although parts of the horde were advanced enough to have their own armorers and a command center, a single division of vermin was divided to keep up with their needs. Supply depots would keep track of an individual division's supplies rather than it all being piled into one easily destroyable pile, and a gathering tent to eat food or play games when it rained. The gathering tent would also end up being the sleeping quarters for the camp slaves of individual divisions, which would only need to be lightly guarded since Markem's camp had a large number of sentries.

Niala's division however looked like an utter mess. The foxess would have found it comical had it not been her division. Her vermin had set up tents either too close or too far, her sub captains were bickering about something while the slaves of her division were having trouble trying to set up the supply depot, and only Murg was setting up (and failing) to make the larger gathering tent. The ratess fumbled a lot, practically backflipping trying to set up something she had very little experience in. Niala paused in cringe, giving them a disappointed frown before going out to try to get her camp into order.

"Ya lot better have lost yer minds or yer eyes, cause dis is unacceptable! You two! Get yer tents closer to der camp! You three needed to be farder apart! Look at dem camps over in der main army, in lines dey are! Circles! What shape is dis!" Niala grunted in frustration as her vermin went lazily about their task. She came over to Murg and began to help her set up the larger tent. Niala had hoped this would have been easy, but apparently it was a lot harder than it looked.

Niala was used to setting up personal tents, news which where she could sleep in at least. Any hordebeast who was worth their salt had a tent, or even carried their own. There was never a guarantee of a barracks in any horde, and it was just practical to have a tent on them. Luckier vermin could have clean linen tents, even if they were small. Unluckier vermin simply slept out in the wilderness, which wasn't uncommon. Setting up these bigger tents? Niala was confused as she was now fumbling around with larger sticks and sheets.

It wasn't until Wesk came over and with some of his others, having frustrations of their own. The otter attempted to speak up in caution as both Murg and Niala failed to even set up a side of the tent. "Mam. Or Mams. Perhaps we could trade jobs?" Niala looked over, seeing that their supply depot was now just a pile of tools and weapons on the ground covered up by a small sheet, one which now had a nasty hole on it which one of the camp slaves was failing to cover up. Murg spoke up angrily "Ya workbeasts aren't tryen to get out of work. Go back an' set up dat proper!"

"Wait. Ya know how to set dis up?" Niala asked. Wesk nodded, but another slave spoke up in his place "That is a fair tent, or well, would have been used for a fair. Tis a bit bigger, but we know a lot more about that than setting up that wannabe armory."

"Look, we can handle dis, now get back to work before ya get beat." Murg grunted. Yet Niala gave a defeated sigh "I suppose dat be fair. Come on, we'll set up dat supply tent instead." The two traded their jobs as the captive woodlanders were quickly setting up the gathering tent, and Niala and her sub captain set up the armory with ease. Although, it was Murg who kicked some vermin around to help out as they quickly organized the supply depot's rations, gear, and other things. Niala turned back to Wesk, with him and the other slaves having set up to the larger tent almost immediately. Even Murg looked on impressed as the last of the tent stakes were put in.

"Okay. Gotta ask, how'd ya set dat stuff up so fast?"

"Well, before we got captured, we celebrated a good harvest season in the northeast. Twas a good year, and all the villages decided to have a fair." Wesk commented happily, but then sadly when he remembered what position he was in. Niala put her paws to her side and just simply commented "Huh. Wells, now dat is all set up, now we ca-" Niala turned and saw her orders had been ignored by the other vermin. Some were already sleeping or socially resting.

She turned to her sub captains, who were already making their way over to other hordes camp fires. Niala was angry, but held in that anger so as to not start something she didn't want to finish. She had only hoped night would come around somewhat, as her horde parked close to her brother's. She turned to Murg who seemed perhaps her only competent subordinate. "Can ya kick dem folk over der into a proper tent line. Tell'em dey won't get der vittles till I am satisfied."

"Huh. Maybes wit some help." Murg thought, putting her paw to her chin. Niala turned to the woodlanders who were now orderless as she commanded them next "Ya start cooken up somethin to eat fer the horde an' yerselves. Extra for me cap'n here. Den ya can all rest, cause we gots a long march ahead." The woodlanders reluctantly went to do their tasks, as Niala and Murg began to kick bums and shake soldiers awake to build up a proper camp.
_

"Oh boy, he nearly did gets me I tell ya!" Niala said happily and with some excitement.

Niala and her closer captain Murg were around a campfire with Wulvog and his own captain Dakar on the other side, sitting on small logs which acted as their benches. It was night, and much of the vermin army was drinking or resting up, some even singing shanties in the far off distance. Wulvog wiped at the air to one his sides, an empty space for a beloved specter "Come brother, you gotta laugh at that at least! You barely been seen all day, let alone this night, eh!"

There was a silence. Niala used to be creeped out by Wulvog's insistence on the ghost before her, but Yulfang spoke up with dutiful reminder "You may be apart of this horde, but not I! Come now, and drink with me, Wulvog. To ice and blood!"

Wulvog chuckled loudly and raised his own drinking horn in salute "To ice and blood!" He and his vermin drank, and Niala drank as well. "Hows the march been thus far, Wulvog? Ya comin to like Mossflower?"

Dakar grunted in annoyance "None of us can stand it, but at least finden food be easy I suppose. Lots of plants, not enough meat. Too hot in der day, and too little to see. Ya sure it snows here?"

Niala nodded "More den certain." Her attention went to Kag who had taken his place in the middle of the campfire, and could see he was smiling. Kag dipped up a small pot of soup, with the smell of fresh fish filling the air, along with some cheese and hotroot mixed in between. Niala raised an eyebrow to this and shrugged "I thought ya got a lot of bodies fer meat, Wulvog?"

"Started to rot, which can actually be pretty bad." Kag answered. Wulvog nodded to Kag's knowledge on the fine arts of cannibalism. "In the north, there isn't much food, so we just eat each other more times than not. Ice keeps the bodies preserved and the fire cooks the meat. Rot means a bad smell. Bad smell means plague. One dead beast from a plague is a greater tragedy than a beast who dies in battle." Kag was also quick to reiterate his experiences as well, much to Murg and Niala's dread. "Also there was that one time we didn't look, I think it was a white fox? Not sure. One of the vermin ate it, and the creature went mad. Found out rather quickly that if you do have to eat meat, you can only cook certain parts."

Murg looked like she was going to be sick and Niala spoke up before Kag could go into a speel about his 'cooking' "Maybe I'd prefer ya didn't inform me on dat kind o' ding."

As they group talked, Jarolom appeared and sat down next to Niala looking not damaged, but certainly not well. He had a deep frown to his face as Niala couldn't help but chuckle "How'd yer talk wit dat fat ol' Jusbrag warlord go?"

"I was wondering where you went." Wulvog grunted. Jarolom spoke up an odd tale, as if he didn't believe it himself. "Kylan practically dragged me from one end to der other, all de way up to Markem an' began to yell an' complain about der likes of me. Apparently our little misadventure in Jusbrag wasn't as believable. When we camped, Kylan an' Markem got into a big ol' argument, an' it took hours an' far into the night to actually get Kylan to calm on down. Dat ol idiot Bigring had given nuttin by his boss kind word, an' Kylan believed him through an' though."

"Ya got it settled out, doh?" Niala couldn't help but smile

"Wit Markem's help. Markem an' I always knew Kylan had his brain somewhere in der world, far away it be. Kylan tried to argue we were tryen to usurp him, an' even whens we tell him his other captain be in charge now, he still insisted I was some traitor! Markem looked the most fustrated I'd seen in awhile, an' I couldn't blame em. Kylan eventually got around to seein our way of dings, much to that Nosecheese's delight. Speaken of which." Jarolom looked over and an exhausted looking Jusbrag rat sat down on one of the logs. He was nursing his face with his paws. Despite it being a time of resting, Nosecheese didn't even bother to take off his armor, the strange mix and match patterns of Jusbrag gear latched to his body. "I swears. Kylan may be me chief, but sometimes I really wish we wasn't."

Murg looked Nosecheese up and down, thinking he looked weird. "Do all ya Jusbrag scum look like dat?"

"Ya, sometimes. Only der best gear fer der best captains." Nosecheese rolled his eyes. "Yet, Kylan at least be a lot better den me previous boss."

Jarolom chuckled "Aye. Honestly was surprised yer boss survived dat assault at all when we took Jusbrag. When it was just a decently sized rock fort."

Kag spoke up "That place used to be smaller?!"

"Oh. Der city Kylan be builden? Aye, workbeast. A lot smaller it use to be, but now der be walls, moats, an' home fer most hordebeasts an der families. In another life, Kylan I bets would have been some bloody round ear mason from Noonvale. About der only competent ding he does to be honest." Nosecheese was served some soup by Kag, who began to pass a bowl also to Jarolom. As both ate of their rations, Niala spoke up in curiosity "Why all dat trouble anyhow? Yer fellow cap'n Bigring was quite a character, I'll tell ya dat."

"An idiot you might even say." Wulvog rolled his eyes. Nosecheese seethed at the name. "Bah! A silver tongued wretch dat one is, waven flags an' yellen up a storm he does to get everyone's attention. An Kylan gave him it. When Kylan be away from campaign, first ding dat terrible excuse fer a rat does is sit on Kylan's throne and drink himself to sleep. Keep tryen to tell Kylan, but he don't listen. Even names me to Nosecheese, cause he dinks all his captains gotta be named after his nose."

"What were you called before?" Jarolom tried to keep in a chuckle as to not offend the already depressed rat. "Thiefpaws. Though, I dink me fellow cap'ns are the only ones who still call me dat, an' prefer ya only call me dat." Nosecheese took out a flask and drank mightly of it.

"Not sure why ya didn't kill em', woulda done a world of favors fer everyone." Nosecheese commented.

"Woulda likely been a lot worse, an' good think I spared em' too! Kylan sounded like he wanted to gut me."

"True I suppose. He be loyal to Markem to a fault doh, an' I dink dat why he didn't gut ya. Possessive of Jusbrag he is, an' pretends to not be paranoid he will get murdered in his sleep. He likes builden, an' that be why I don't be disloyal to the likes of him. He at least be dumb an' boisterous enough to be good enough fer the likes of me. Although, leaden his armies down here don't really do any good fer me back or me health."

As the group talked, Niala spotted another creature who was moving past the camp, one who was quite familiar. 'Dirt' was heading out towards a more lonesome part of the camp to eat. Jarolom noticed his sister staring as well, and was about to speak up to keep her from dragging the camp over, but Niala had gotten up anyway. She went over to 'Dirt' who was about to dig into his meager meal and spoke up "Wacha ya doin all der way out here, otter? Ya don't like sittin wit yer kind, eh?"

'Dirt' looked up at her and gave her a rather vicious look. "I prefer to eat alone, mam. If I co-" Niala extended a paw "Come now, yer interesten. Just get up an' eat wit us, ya scrub brained moron."

'Dirt' paused, tempted to just ignore her, but he could see Niala was insistent and Jarolom was watching. Seeing that it would be trouble not to comply, 'Dirt' reluctantly stood up and went over to their camp, sitting down near Nosecheese and silently eating his meal. Nosecheese gave him an odd look "Yer Markem's bodyguard I takes it? Notice ya a lot."

"I am, sir." 'Dirt' sighed, and tried to eat his meal in peace. Niala spoke up next as she was taking her own meal "Whats wit ya mopen all der way beyond der camp?"

"Hope ya ain't tryen to run off again, eh 'Dirt'? Jarolom chided. 'Dirt' exhaled and shrugged "I just prefer to eat alone, mam." Niala was rather disappointed in the answer when the otter took another gulp of his soup, but he explained further. "When most of the other slaves eat, they usually just give me odd looks, and I don't talk to them as much as I used to. It's a worse now that a lot of folk from the battle are now there. 'My kind' are there, and I have the oddest feeling they don't like me." 'Dirt' said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. That was a little bit of a surprise to Jarolom who had only ever seen 'Dirt' as a beast who kept his head bowed or grim beside Markem. He knew the two were a lot more sociable when no one watched, but 'Dirt' seemed to almost give a more friendly vibe.

"I bets. Saw ya in the battle I dinks." Nosecheese commented "How many ya got?"

"I prefer to not talk about that." 'Dirt' sadly mentioned. "Bah. Ya woodlanders an' yer weak stomachs. At least get a little pride when ya kill a beast."

"Ya, 'Dirt', ya seem a lot less mopey since Tussock, eh? Jarolom prodded. Niala didn't try to speak up against her brother's bullying mood this time, a bit curious herself. 'Dirt' admitted "I don't know. I didn't count, sir. I honestly don't feel much after that whole ordeal. They came at me, I killed them."

"Healthy way of putting it." Wulvog commented.

'Dirt' didn't know if that was the best way to put it, but he only nodded to not cause trouble. Nosecheese spoke up as if impressed "Bet dat part of the line nearly folded. How'd ya fare against dat whole ding anyhow? Though we were had der."

"It was difficult, sir. Very difficult." 'Dirt' wasn't sure if he was talking about the battle, or what Markem did to that otter in front of him. "Do all battles usually go like that? Does it all get that messy?" 'Dirt' raised his voice in a friendly question. Nosecheese kind of exhaled himself, and both nodded and shook his head. "Kind of. When me an' Kylan tried to do a pitched battle near Noonvale, we got nearly pretty badly beaten had not dat gray rat Pelch or somethin came running to our aid. Lucky Kylan keeps himself in der back, or'd he be a very dead beast by now. Lucky we all look so different, uter wise we'd be accidentally killen ourselves. Fighten fellow vermin be a lot messier, water dog, cause dat where ya find it hard to tell the difference between friend an' foe."

"I suppose that makes sense." 'Dirt' shrugged. Murg then spoke up, perhaps the only creature who didn't seem happy by the otter's presence and chummy conversation "I'd like to know somethin, why some water dog like ya be guarden der chief's life? I'd know rats who'd give der left paw an' tail to be where ya are, water dog. Why a slavebeast like ya got what we's don't got? Bets ya aren't even killed wit dat stabber ya got on yer belt. Workbeasts be meant fer toilen, not fighten."

'Dirt' was about to speak up in his own defense, but Dakar spoke up in a confused manner which bordered on annoyance "What be der matter wit a water dog like this thrall guarding your chief?"

"Cause it don't sit right. He clearly a slavebeast, an' workbeasts are meant fer worken fer the likes of us! Soft hearted the lot of em. Ma taught me dat worken beasts should be serven an' bowin to war beasts like ourselves!"

Dakar raised an eyebrow to this as Jarolom laughed it off "Ya see, rat. 'Dirt' here be a worken beast he is, just a beast who works by keepen our good ol' chief safe."

"But why it gotta be an otter? Slavebeast be a slavebeast no matter what dey do. Chief should get a better bodyguards I say." Murg looked as if she was going to challenge 'Dirt', but the otter kept a disturbed calm as if he wasn't really listening. He was used to this kind of talk and complete disregard for him and any of the other woodlanders. If it wasn't Murg telling him, it was Scarl or Jarolom. Or in many cases, Markem's wife Sheera.

Most of the other vermin around the camp seemed to be in silent agreement, all except Dakar and Wulvog who only gave pained glances at one another. Dakar spoke up "So what if he be a water dog?"

"Cause if ya can't trust em, dats why. An unskilled in real an' honored combat. Tis why they gotta ambush an' skirmish us to even stands a chance."

Wulvog seemed amused "Oh? If that beast there is as dumb and unskilled in combat as you say. Go and kill him then?" Murg didn't move, and kept her place down. 'Dirt' felt only a little threatened, his paw ever slowly going towards his sword. Yet, when Murg didn't move, Dakar mocked her "Knew it. Ya fear that water dog, don't ya."

"Do not!"

"You seem to think these thralls are not beasts as much as sticks you can throw into a fire to dispose of to keep yourselves warm an' comfy. Warrior is a warrior, no matter what he be. Food is food, an' cooks and are cooks. In the lands of Ice and Snow, what you'd say would get you laughed at right into the salt waters, it would. If this Markem chooses his thrall to be skilled enough to protect his life, it isn't without reason. I earned my position, fought it to a bloody pulp."

"I just don't wanna be in trouble wit harming der chief's pet, eh!" Murg folded her paws, refusing to back down, but Wulvog turned to 'Dirt' and simply asked "You fight well I hear. How'd you learn it?"

"Well. Markem taught me, sir." 'Dirt' shrugged. Murg felt a little confident in her beliefs, but Niala this time spoke up. "Ya fought well didn't ya. Saw ya take a bad beating from dat skipper. Markem taught ya well?"

"Aye, ever since I was little. Caught me once out in a field whacking flowers with a stick, trying to pretend to be a bit more like my pa. Markem caught me, but he then started to teach me. Reason why still escapes me, I think he was just really angry that day."

Jarolom smiled "I remember. I think I know dat day ya were talken about. Small horde back den, an' we were flipping tables just tryen to teach some of our newer recruits how to hold a spear properly. Markem nearly threw his shield at one when he kept stabbing to lightly. Ya should have seen Turbas dat day, he was tearing out his fur trying to teach some rats a basic parry."

"We kept practicing, at first Markem thought it was just fun, getting away from the whole thing. Now? We still do it for fun, but we just hone our skills the best we can. Although I still remember the time I hit him on the head for the first time." 'Dirt' let out a rare smile.

Wulvog turned back to Murg "Thrall or not, he seems a competent warrior. Why you southern folk think that just because you force these thralls to work for you, doesn't mean they are any less beasts. Pretending otherwise is moronic." Murg remained silent, but still held firm to her beliefs. Yet, she felt now at a larger bit of a disadvantage when she noticed Niala nodding her head. 'Dirt' stopped and looked up to the sky, and noticed it was his time for night duty. "Excuse me, sirs and mams." 'Dirt' said politely and went to guard Markem's tent.

"Interesten water dog." Nosecheese sniffed "To bad he be dat instead of a vermin, eh?"

Jarolom shrugged, "Shame indeed."
_

As other vermin were going to bed, others were stirring. Hazul Leffer and his tribe kept to their own end of the camp, the water rats usually kept to themselves most of the time. While some were practicing with bows, others were sharpening spears and arrows. Hazul's black robed rats were tribal through and through, with many applying a fresh coat of black war paint to them. To other vermin in the camp, this was just yet another common sight. Tribals usually kept to their neck of the woods, not bothered by other hordebeasts. Many of Markem's horde had kin in tribes, but there were reasons why they left or kept their distance. Tribal vermin were hard to understand, expected their tribe to work much like the woodlanders for their own good, and were deeply xenophobic. Hazul's tribe was no different, for seasons he had made sure vermin who were not his own kept their distance from the black spot that became Veekun's Burrow.

Yet, two figures were kept in the camp, following a black fox around closely. Two noonvale otters Bagon and Burnel felt a deep shame being in the vermin camp, and Bagon kept scratching at the rope collar at his neck. He complained "Blasted things! Why'd they gotta be so itchy!"

"Hush! Last thing we need is that lot's attention." Burnel motion towards several water rats who were doing an intricate tattoo on an elderly looking warrior of the tribe. They were following Dala to her own specialized tent, who kept up an air priestly authority as she passed, the black fox being the only fellow vermin Hazul's rat had any respect for. Once they entered her abode, a mess of herbs and salts clunked together on various tables, she relaxed and turned to her two new 'assistants'. "Extend your paws if you will."

Bagon grunted "Again?" Dala forcefully took his paw and poked it with a needle, drawing some blood. She poured it into a small vial and expected the same of Burnel who reluctantly extended it. "By me pa's rudder. Are we going to have to be doing this every blasted night?"

"Until you get a new ancestor, yes."

Burnel groaned as his blood was drawn as well. "They got the wrong otters then. Tis me uncle and his family who are direct descendents." Dala came close and hushed him. "You will be quiet about that as much as possible. If Hazul suspects, he won't be a happy rat. Not with you, nor with me."

Dala put the small vials into a cabinet with others as she clapped her paws "Now, let's get to work."

The two unfortunate creatures had been in Hazul's service as personal and close servants, which was odd. Most of Hazul's slaves were hard laborers they so happened to have captured. When their holt told them the old tales of their ancestor's escape from Marshank and its overthrow, they had very different expectations of a 'living death' under Hazul, which they got to know far more than they wished. Dala made sure to make it clear the otters were a lot luckier than the others, many were broken from tortured and forced into new roles as cooks, caregivers, and toilers. When one of the non-warrior rats would suddenly die, the rats went out to raid to find a woodlander to replace them as quickly as possible. If Hazul and his rats did enslave, it was more out of trying to hold onto their society than out of malice.

The two however had their own fair share of troubles, learning that Hazul and his tribe were deeply religious. It was like a paradise to creatures like Dala who was educated enough to begin packing up various ritual implements. "Hmmm. If I am right, we will need a winter star for the meeting tonight."

"I don't get it." Bagon grunted as he was passed a bag of various ritual implements "Why do these vermin worship like this? Can't they worship normally?"

Bagon referred mostly to his own experiences with religion, or more accurately, its lack of. Woodlanders didn't worship the seasons, they observed them as a power in the world, and their tie to the world is intertwined with the seasons. Shamans would speak of dark forests, the places beyond the sight of death, but this was not something he questioned until now. All he knew is that if there was a power in the world, the seasons was where it was at.

Yet, Hazul and his rats confused him.

"Normally? Oh seasons, no. Hazul more than just respects the power of the changes in weather, he basks in it. The seasons to him are more than just gods, it is the world here and the world after, more so then what other vermin respond to. Hazul has for a long time searched for the power beyond this world, and I am just happy to give it to him."

"Except you don't." Burnel huffed.

"True, it is all just sly of paw, but my ma used to be quite a skilled shaman herself. Enough so to rub it off on me. Spirits or no, faith is far stronger then what we can consider real or not. You can say, a lot of what Hazul believes in is some kind of Karma, and when he is distracted on such things, he doesn't question why I use so many of these wonderful salts I request of him for my services. As well as the likes of you two."

Bagon folded his paws as if it were an insult "As you are so fond of reminding us 'mistress'." Bagon really did not like the fact he and his brother's life were traded so casually between Hazul to a 'witch' who he had already suspected to be a con artist. From personal servants to one insane rat, to a less insane foxess was perhaps the only thing he could say had been 'good' about this whole affair.

"I don't get how that rat thinks like that. Seasons aren't spirits. They are just the change of the weather, reminding all good beasts of the time to sow and reap. We respect dem flow of the seasons, and give thanks to them. Why does that wretched rat worship them?"

"Easy, because he thinks they are gods, or god." Dala was bending over, picking up more stuff and stuffing them into her two assistant's paws. Bagon rolled his eyes "I've heard of 'gods' before from the north vermin we once captured, telling us they are some kind of powerful spirit who guides them."

"Not very surprising. Most northern vermin have their pantheons, and the wildcats have their god from the war western sea. Hazul is a bit tricky, but worth the time to be his shaman. He believes that the seasons are guiding him, that the spirits of this land is what drives him ever forward to secure his tribe's safety. Do not be so quick to judge, for even if you find such things silly and foolish, that rat's faith could truly move mountains. Yet, as he does not temper such beliefs, he will come to believe really anything. He is intelligent enough to be critical, but he quite dopish when it comes to many honeyed words he wants to hear."

"And you?" Bagon asked as he raised an eyebrow to her. Dala chuckled, as if Bagon expected to hear her to give a short jab at such beliefs "I know well enough that the seasons have their power, but also know well enough to not truly know the beyond or how it works. Beasts like Markem don't believe not because they find such things absurd, but because it is not relevant to them. Yet, when it becomes relevant such things are far too late. The body may pass, but it is the memory and spirit which lives on. I know enough about dreams to tell Hazul what he wants to hear, and neither the spirits nor the seasons mind such things."

Bagon begrudgingly accepted the answer, even thinking on it a bit more as he was being shoved out the tent. Passing by the water rats, Bagon could see a bit more and understand what some of the symbols on his own body and the water rats meant. The rats drew a circular symbol in wide patterns, representing each season connected to one singular place. The rat asked in mumbled prayers to the spring and summer to grant them protection for their way home, and the winter and fall for peace. Their belief as the otters knew was an obsession, one which was utterly foreign to them. Perhaps even heretical. It was an odd feeling, seeing their own beliefs butchered and mangled in a completely different way from their own.

The three entered a part of the forest, where a large number of the rats were surrounding an unlit bonfire. On top of this fire was a dead rat, a warrior who had passed in the night from disease. It was a funeral of sorts as Hazul watched over the whole group by standing close in the middle. The two noonvale otters joined the crowd next to some other slaves of Hazul's clan who were just as curious as them. Dala spoke up in a loud manner. "As seasons pass, and our fur begins to fall, we must honor the spirit of this warrior who fell. Not by sword, but by the cough, let us give onto his soul passage to the dark forest beyond. Let us await the day we may see him again."

Hazul was approached by the dead rat's three brothers and sister, all warriors in his clan. They gave onto the pier beads and shamanistic fetishes. One gave a beloved doll, and another placed the warrior's spear next to his body. Dala was used to this kind of trick, as she began to put the salts of speckled copper around the fire in an underhanded way. She gave a murmur and then spoke out "My power shall allow this one's soul entrance to beyond! His spirit is with us now, giving his last goodbyes!" Dala then lit the fire, and a blue flame erupted and began to consume the pier.

Bagon shook his head, he found such things absurd. One does not send to the black forest, they only arrive. The rats looked on in wonderment at a simple parlor trick, and wondered how such beasts of any kind could buy into such beliefs so divorced from what the woodlanders taught in abbeys like Riftguard or Redwall.

Bagon then turned his attention to Hazul who approached the fire. The rat looked on wide eyed as he spoke "Spirit of my kin and warrior, I beg of you to take your chief's final goodbye in turn. May we meet again, and march once more beyond." Hazul then without hesitation stuck his own paw into the fire. Dala was horrified, but stood as this was not part of the ritual. Hazul winced in pain as even Dala's two servants slowly began to drop their jaws. The rats in the clan murmured and then began to pray.

Hazul continued to wince in pain, twitching even, and eventually pulled his singed paw from the fire. It was partly still burning, most of the fur had been stricken off, and the remaining skin blackened. "I could feel him. I could feel his spirit pass, gripping my paw." Hazul said, in amazement. He smiled, even as Dala was rushing over to treat Hazul's self-inflicted wounds. Kajam looked on proud, and so did many of the warriors now secure in such faith.

Bagon and his brother were shocked, as the two now felt a cold chill down their spines, half expecting some wraith to come out of blue fire. None did of course, but Bagon could see that Hazul felt no fear or pain from his actions. He simply stared at his own paw, the rat chieftain admiring his zeal turned supposed reality. The two brothers were mortified in silence at what they witnessed, even as the fire fades and darkness returned to the forests of Mossflower


The sound of a morning horn blew across the vermin camp as Niala awoke rather suddenly, gripping her head in pain. She muttered a curse to herself for having drank too much last night. As she awoke and came out of her tent, she looked to see her vermin horde was packing up as well. She walked about, collecting her halberd and bow, and was quickly packing up her own tent. Yet, as she looked around, she noticed something a bit odd. She didn't see Murg at all, and went to some of the vermin to ask. "Any of ya seen that ratess Murg?"

They shrugged or didn't know. Few didn't seem all too concerned, at least at first as the group began to pack up and get ready to move out. Once of the mice of Niala's division came forward, a bit afraid. "Mam. You've seen that otter Wesk? He didn't come to bed last nights."

"What ya mean he didn't go to bed?"

"He didn't arrive at all."

Niala looked around, hoping to see the two had been near where the army was getting ready. She could spot Jarolom and Wulvog getting the horde into a line, with Jarolom angrily chiding a vermin soldier for something. Niala looked around and groaned "Somethin be up, either deserters or escapee. Or both really. You der, Gaip is it? Go to me brodder an' march wit him, i'll rejoin ya shortly."

Gaip, the ferret sub captain, gave a nod. He turned towards where they were camping and spoke up "Can't have gone far. Know Murg be too invested in dis horde, doh der otter be a different story."

Niala nodded, a little disappointed in the thought that Wesk had likely tried to escape, and even more disappointed that the sentries had failed in their one job. Markem did not spare expenses on his sentries, as with such a large number of camp slaves, keeping them in line meant also keeping them incapable of escaping. Yet it didn't make sense for just one to escape. Niala had experience with such scenarios in the north, if there was an escape attempt amongst the woodlanders, they would go in groups. They hated leaving each other behind, which she both admired and found stupid.

Niala came up to Murg's tent and noticed something odd. The tent was a little further than normal from the main camp, but not by much. A heavy paw print she was only partly familiar with was on the ground. She then noticed drag marks from the tent and widened her eyes. She wanted to get help, but felt that such an act would delay her and was quickly leaping into the forest. She nudged past a small group of sentries who were now just noticing the same drag marks, investigating on their own. Where the vermin debated, Niala was rushing past them and following the trail. They called after her, but she was far gone by the time she was rushing into deeper parts of Mossflower.

In the thick forests of Mossflower one could easily get lost in the trees and heavy brush. Niala tried to follow the trail in a fast pace, not caring who heard her and did not slow down for the sentries she had passed and were now likely lost trying to get after her. She saw that the dragging tracks ended in a deeper brush, but soon was replaced with a marching order of various paws.

In silence, she began to creep along the forest edge farther than one should have been from Markem's army. She came across a large boulder overlooking a miniature wet gully with a soggy puddle beneath a circle of trees whose roots looked like a next. This was where the tracks stopped, but as Niala sniffed the air, she smelled something quite awful. It wasn't a deathly smell, but she nearly stepped in something better left unsaid and concluded her query was recently there and that she was close. From the brush above the gully, she saw movement and she quickly dove to a tree and hid, gripping her halberd. She peaked as a familiar otter reared his head.

Wesk had appeared rather suddenly and running, his paws bound in front of him and a cloth tied to muzzle his mouth. Wesk would look behind him with fearful eyes. Niala was about to pop out, but noticed only barely when a rat who was silently gliding out of the bushes took out a sling and whacked Wesk in the stomach, the otter falling into a puddle. Niala did not know the rat but recognized him, a green caped rat with a mark burned into his cheek. Some other vermin dressed like he was, tame and silent also came out of the bushes. They had moved so quietly that Niala nearly mistook their number, as one glided out of the bushes in utter silence. One of these green cloaked vermin held onto another.

It was Murg.

Murg was also bound and looked very beaten up, as if the vermin she was held captive too had punched her to weaken her. Niala's first thought was a slaving band, but to be so bold and silent was not exactly what she thought of them. Most slaving bands were silent but cowardly, and if any existed in Mossflower they would have tried to keep clear of armies like Markem's. Murg's mouth was also stuffed with a cloth and her paws were bound in rope, and then she heard the unmistakable clink of chain.

In a less silent way, a large and elderly looking wildcat came out of the bushes with a strange device. It was a beast catcher, a pole with a brave with inward pointing spikes. A shiver ran down Niala's neck at his sight. She knew cats, even farther off north they prowled. They were not typical vermin, but they were deadly warriors and skilled fighters most of the time. This one was no different as he came up close to Wesk who had fallen into the puddle and put the beast catcher around his throat. The rope collar did not protect him as the wild cat cruelly began to glide the otter upward like a puppet, Wesk gripping the device in desperation, as he tried to not get jabbed or stung by it.

"Idiot slavebeast. I might even have spared you, had you not run." The cat gave a hushed chuckle, using his pole to yank the otter over. The wildcat didn't have much in the way of weapons except a bolas, a whip, and his beast catcher. "Although, the buyers will still enjoy another toiler, I suppose. Or a galley rower."

One of the rats gave a hushed voice to its master "Chief. We should get outta here. Dat vermin horde be huge! I don't think we'll be not hunted dis time, especially if dos sentries get a good look at the kicked up dirt from dat one."

"Oh be silent, slave." the cat hissed and drew a confused look from Niala who kept an eye on the group. "What kind of lesser vermin is going to care about some otter and rat?"

Niala counted, there were five in total, but as the wildcat released Wesk from the beast catcher, two were holding onto their prisoners. Niala considered her options. Going back would mean she would likely lose them, and fighting them was risky. Her mind told her to keep still and get help. Her anger at seeing her own being taken from her made her get up.

The vermin drew weapons in Niala's direction as she revealed herself and lowered her halberd in a defensive stance. On top of the tree roots, the foxess seethed loudly "Ya let go of me rat an' dat otter, an I might let ya go away wit your lives."

The wildcat gave a cringed smile and looked around. He didn't see reinforcements of Niala's but Niala soon heard rustling of two others behind her who revealed themselves. Both drew weapons as the cat made his own offer. "Let down your weapon before you harm yourself, wretch."

The wildcat was about to head forward until a loud Thunk was heard. Niala looked a bit surprised as the wildcat stumbled as a large arrow was now poking out of his neck. He gave a gurgling response and then fell over. The other vermin were not sure what happened, but Niala quickly hurled her halberd around and struck a green cloaked vermin in the shoulder and finished off in a swift motion. When the other tried to spear her, she was already letting down her weapon and caught it, hurling the vermin screaming into another. Before the last vermin could even start climbing up to combat its enemy, another arrow from the mysterious forest hit him in the back, and he fell into the puddle. The others tried to get up, but Niala quickly regathered her halberd and leaped onto them, finishing them both off with a swift couple of swings. The other two holding onto Wesk and Murg pushed the two down. As one rushed with a dagger towards her. Niala was caught a bit by surprise when the would-be assassin grabbed onto her halberd and tried to move it to the side to try to slice at her. The rat knew full well what he was doing, dodging her to get as close as possible, and aimed for her neck. It nearly caught her as the rat tumbled into her and knocked her down. Niala caught the paw of the assassin's dagger, while the other vermin's paw reached down towards her neck to keep her still. He pushed as hard as he could as Niala pushed just as hard back.

The rat angrily turned to his fellow beast catcher "Get yer weapon out and find dat sni-"

It was a bit late as an arrow was caught in his paw which was holding the dagger. Niala kicked and punched the weakened rat and got it off of her. The rat swiped with his dagger, catching her back which only tore into parts of her chainmail. She rushed to her Halberd and picked it up and held it outward just as the vermin was charging. The creature was felled. Seeing all this, the other vermin who had wanted to charge forward now let down his weapon and was trying to run off, but was headbutted by Murg as he tumbled down into the gully.

Niala heard bushes move behind her, as a large graying wildcat appeared. This one was not her enemy, and in fact Niala knew him well. The gray cat had stringy tassels on his face, his cloth armor was worn and tight across his chest. To his back was a long and beautifully decorated spear, but in his paw held a bow. This was Taban. Taban Greywisker, a fellow mercenary who had been Niala's companion who had ecorted her down towards Gholand. Niala however was actually quite surprised to see him, and yet thankful.

"Oh seasons. Taban. I am real glad yer here an' all, but what in hells name are ya doin here?"

"Believe it or not, Niala. Hunting these idiots." The wildcat saw the last vermin getting up and instinctively fired an arrow into him. The vermin fell back into the gully, this time for good. "Got a couple a decent tales to tell ya, believe it or not!"

"Later, mate. I was hunting for me vermin." Niala went over to Murg, untying her. The rat sub captain sighed with relief and then began to nurse her aching beating wounds. Her first instinct was to go over to the dead wildcat and kick him harshly. Wesk was next, as Niala looked around her with surprise. She was more confused than concerned.

"What idiot beast tries to steal an otter like ya from our band anyhow." She asked Wesk. Murg answered instead, angrily spitting "No, weren't after dat idiot workbeast. Twas after me. Dat one noticed and tried to call the sentries, but dey knocked him out too! When I get me paws on those sentries, I am gonna strangle them I will!"

"Don't blame yourself rat, too badly." Taban said happily. The group could hear a cutting as Taban casually began to take out a knife and began to cut at the recently made corpses' ears. "Sneaky lot this was, although this one's little clanking belt of chain was a dead give away! Nearly lost them, but got their scent pretty quickly." The gray wildcat poked his dagger at his fellow wildcat's corpse. The two wildcats could not have looked any more different. Beyond the green cape of the foe, the cat was wearing an absurd amount of cloth, almost like a robe which hid scaled armor. The colors were a lot more pronounced then Taban's all gray tunic which covered his brigandine.

"Taban, I still don't know what you are doing here."

"Simple. I decided to sell my services here, an' one of dem was hunting down some kidnappers dat tried their paws at kidnapping some poor folk in one of this horde's garrisons. Didn't work, even chased them off, but lost them shortly after. I picked up their trail, and it led towards that huge marching horde. Honestly did not intend to even rescue you, Niala, but they got slowed."

"Aye. Dey did." Murg grunted. As the group talked, they heard rustling of yet more bushes. From them, two huffing sentries came into the clearing, only to see what happened. They awkwardly looked around at the scene. Niala huffed, as Taban shrugged.
_

Murg was a bit excited at first to meet Markem face to face as she gave her report to him in a clearing off to the side. Markem looked a bit horrified as Murg continued her story "Den when we were all headen back to sleep, I began to hear voices beyond the thicker trees. Thought dey were sentries, but den it became real silent as it came closer. Der where no light an' got grabbed real good by me feet! Dey started to drag me out real fast, an began to stuff me with cloth, keepen me from screamen. The otter der noticed an came over tryen to help when he should had run to get der sentries, chief. To it's credit, he did try to speak out, but dey bonked him right on der head and den dragged us hard an' fast through the forests! Twas mornin an' dey brought us to some camp in der woods, an' bound us. Big ol' wildcat be der, mean ol' slaver he was. Beat me up specifically, saying a lot of weird dings."

"Like what?" Markem firmly asked. "Oh how says he was gonna take me to some place called 'bland birch' or somethen, but it was clearly towards der coast. Tried to motion one of der rats, but all I got was pitied looks an' angry snarls."

Markem looked next to Niala and Taban who were at another side. Scarl, who had heard what happened had been in this impromptu meeting "Very bold or very stupid to try an' steal one of our own right from under us, fer reasons we can only guess at. From der tools, i'd say bounty hunters, chief."

Markem looked to Murg, who didn't look very impressive, but did look rather impressionable. "Ya aren't wanted in some place beyond der west sea are ya?"

"Don't even know any pirates, boss!"

Scarl grunted and shrugged "i don't think she lyen either. Sounds an awful lot like dem slavers from up north. I'm haven the scouts go deep in der woods, bein led by Hazul, to sniff out any more camps. Though, it sound real stupid to get up on close to us, an' even weirder still dis lot be down here."

Markem tapped his chin "Odd indeed. Now, about ya." Markem turned to Taban looking him up and down. He looked very tall, old, and had all manner of scars across his body. Although more lightly armored, the mercenary made quite an impression by dropping his sack of ears at Markem's feet, giving a cruel smile as he did. Markem had no clue what this meant, but having now met a cat for perhaps the first time, he was actually a bit impressed.

"Yer a mercenary? One me tributaries hired ya?"

"Aye, rat."

"Ya say dis lot were tryin to kidnap me vermin? I don't know much about cats, but do ya fathom a guess as to why?"

Taban tapped his chin and nodded "Know only few western cats, all of them fine folk if you ignore their laws and rules. I know they don't have much love for neither vermin or woodlander alike. Although why'd they be over here is the real mystery. Most keep the west, and for good reason. The greencloaks also confuse me a bit, so I don't know for certain."

"Shame ya didn't keep one alive." Scarl snidely replied.

"I was hired to collect ears, ferret. Not to take prisoners or slaves."

"Enough!" Markem raised his voice. "Alright. Show me der bodies."

The group went into another clearing where the vermin sentries were dragging the bodies to, weapons and all. The bodies were broken with twigs and grass stains, but were still quite fresh. Markem looked around at them as he noted their wear. All of them wore a green cloak or cape, but were modified to be difficult to discern between the ground and the cape itself. Their armor and clothes were covered in sticks and twigs which were put purposefully into the armor, all except the wildcat's. Gutan picked up the dead cat's beast catcher and admired it. Wesk kept a distance back as Gutan spoke. "Nice gear, fer a slaver. A bit too nice, actually."

Scarl scoffed "Nice? Blasted wretches made it past our sentries. Clever an' stupid are not mutually exclusive it seems. Dey got past us no problem."

"Exactly, an' if dey are down here, den dat means slaven caravans are moven through Mossflower. Through Long Patrol outposts. Dis lot looks really prepared, more so den any band i've ever known."

Markem looked over the corpses, his first notice was a brand mark on the cheeks of the vermin. He peered down, looking more at the vermin "Odd. Niala, ya said dat cat called de's folk slaves?"

"Aye. I found it weird too. Looks exactly like dat rat we killed up north too."

"Odd." Markem got up and looked to Gutan. "Ya ever know slaves who fight to der death for a creature like dis?"

"Same could be asked why conscripts fight fer warlords. Although de's wounds from whip marks across der bodies. Whatever happened to dis lot wasn't pretty."

Markem tapped his chin as he looked around in utter disgust "I don't like it one bit. If dis lot is tryen to steal me vermin, den they can rot in hell fer all I care. Scarl, if we already haven't triple our patrols an' send out scouts wider." Scarl nodded and turned his attention back to the group. Of them, only Wesk tried to keep his head down, but was comforted by a pat on the back by 'Dirt' who was quick to rejoin Markem's side.

"Ya do well fer yerself, Niala. Ya got me honored thanks yet again, dis time fer saven yer own. Ya will get first pickins of loot in our next battle, as a promise."

"Deeply honored, chief." Niala smiled. Markem turned to Taban who gave a rather arrogant grin. Markem nodded to him "As fer ya, ya helped me own when ya didn't need to. Whatever ya were bein paid, consider it officially doubled. Continue what yer doin, I may just give ya a slave fer free as well."

"Ha! I like the way you think r-, I mean, boss." Taban gave a rather humble bow, or what have been humble if he bowed low enough. "If I may offer my services, great warlord, I would gladly."

"I can vouch for him as well, sir." Niala explained "Taban and I go way back. We budied up in several hordes together. He be an ol' whiskered fiend, but I know him well. Best bowbeast an' spearbeast i've known."

Taban was particularly proud of that statement, and Markem nodded "Alright. I'll give ya a decent pay fer yer services to cap'n Niala here. I don't really deal with mercenaries all dat often, but if dis fox says yer good, I'll believe it." Markem nodded to Taban. Markem called Scarl and 'Dirt' to him as they continued to look over the bodies, as Niala and Taban walked together back to their horde. Murg and Wesk also kept close as well. Taban grunted in annoyance "Save your life, his captain's, and doesn't even offer double pay. What joke of a horde you gotten yourself into, Niala?"

"One which one against the Long Patrol." The foxess chuckled. Taban rolled his eyes "Couldn't have been that bad if that one won so easily. Glad I stayed though, at least getting some nice pay out of this. How are the vittles?"

"Good actually, we even got our own cook." She motion back at Wesk which Taban took somewhat notice of. His eyes turned down at the otter's rope collar, but also noticed his general health and lack of whipping wounds. He turned back towards the front and seemed a bit more excited. "If this Markem keeps their workbeasts as healthy as that one, your vittles better be king grade."

"Maybe not as best at that cask we stole from those noonvale goons awhile back. But it be close enough. Welcome to the Great Vermin Band, ol' friend. You ever met me brother by chance?"
_

The army of Markem drew ever closer to their target, as the army marched on. The trouble with what Niala fought disturbed Markem greatly, which was why he and 'Dirt' joined Scarl and Gutan out in Mossflower's inner forests. Guided by scouts, Markem was a bit disturbed by the strange lack of vermin as they neared Redwall. Scouts would find holes, even break into them only to find nothing but empty homes and tipped over trash. Markem was near one such home, beneath some rocks. Markem was outside with Gutan, as Scarl and a scout were exploring the vermin hole looking for anything suspicious. 'Dirt' was a little frightened for perhaps the first time in a long time, always keeping an eye on the trees for a supposed enemy who sought to disappear them.

Scarl came out, shoving grime from his ragged shirt in anger "Bah! Ferret nest, I take it. Smells awful!"

"An no ferrets I take it."

"Not unless dey ran. Tis safe fer ya to enter, but we best hurry. We ain't far off from Redwall." As Scarl said this, the distant chime of twin great bells which rang out over the forest. Markem knew that his horde was likely already surrounding the abbey. His attention however was on the vermin home. In silence he entered with 'Dirt' and Gutan as they entered.

The hole's makeshift door was utterly shattered into splinters as Markem and 'Dirt' had to duck to enter down a small pathway into the ferret nest. The smell was awful, but yet also quite tame in comparison. Scarl may have been a ferret himself, but ferret homes did have quite a terrible smell to them. Markem looked over the home. He entered into a main gathering room, with many other rooms off to the side. Whatever clan lived here was a long time resident of Mossflower. It kind of half reminded him of his own home when he was little.

The scout who was still inside came out of the room, shaking his head "No bodies, but still smell bad in here, chief. I ain't seen anythin like it. Its almost like as if-"

"Dey were captured an' taken." Markem finished his sentence. The doors were all busted in, and whatever had happened in this place had been a brutal affair. Dried specks of what could only be guessed as blood was seen in various spots on tables and broken pieces of wood. In the grim and foreboding darkness of this former home, Markem could swear he heard screams.

"How many ya think?"

"Six adults an' three youngsters from how der beds were made. Whoever invaded in here, didn't stay fer long." The scout pointed to some ruffled up cloaks and weapons, clothes and other such things strewn about. The sentence depressed him deeply, but the mystery still made him curious. What manner of fool horde steals vermin like dis. Its not conscripten, dat be fer sure, but why dis? Why steal em? Can't even have tricked dem or offered dem vittles. Markem knew the signs of conscription, but there was one clear difference. The hole wasn't burned out, it was kept intact.

Gutan noted "Whoever de's folk are, dey know full well what dey are doin. Greedy, ya may say, but clever."

"How long ago do you think was this?" Markem ignored Gutan, asking the scout. The scout gave him a pained expression of not really knowing. "If I had to guess, maybe ten or twenty seasons ago? Definitely not durin Kasg's reign, dat be fer certain. Look at dat shirt over der, see the black in it? Feel it."

Markem looked to an odd looking and thick shirt. He felt it, feeling partial plates inside, a piece of armor. It was poorly painted, trying to hide a blackish tint underneath. "Black clad an' his brood lived here. Not abnormal really. Although if dey are taken black clads away, to be honest chief I am a bit frightened."

Markem truthfully answered him in a hushed tone "Me too."

Markem tried to piece what he knew in his head. Slavers looken fer vermin in der north, an' now right under Mossflower's nose down here? Don't remember reports of attacks on woodlander villages. Are they just targeting vermin, an if so, why? Is it a new horde? Markem shook his head and sighed. "Gutan, can ya round up some of yer lads an' go look to see if der be anyone here? Vermin folk. I want to know how bad dis is."

Gutan nodded "Aye chief. If I find someone?"

"Tell em to come to me. We'll send em to Gholand under guard. I don't know who de's folk are, an' don't care. We'll figure out dis mystery later." Markem tried to keep himself focused. Whatever this foe was, it would have to wait. He exited the hole and looked out over the forests, wondering what had happened. More importantly, he wondered what could or would happen. He didn't like knowing. The wind began to pick up and clouds began to form over the east. He heard the desperate bells of Redwall in the distance, which grew ever louder as he marched off past the forests.