Redwall: War of the Four Banners

by PepperDeadSworn

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

32. Down to Southward (Monsoon of War)

Book 2: Monsoon of War

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Chapter 31: Down to Southward

The dry and sandy desert between Mossflower and Southward has been both a blessing and curse. The sands blistered and burned from the afternoon sun down onto the sea of sandy dunes and hills, drylands covering small patches with few if any trees to see. Yet in these sandy dunes, a vast storm of misty sand arose from the deep south, a force of nature which parted the vast and empty planes which bore no life and had few souls. This was a normal sand storm however, for no wind could be felt for miles, the beating heat of the sun bore down on this mass which traveled at a brisk pace. The people of Mossflower called these sandy plains a natural barrier, between them and Southward, a terrible trouble for merchants but was thankfully short. It was from the south this storm came, parting a sea of dust.

A yellow banner was the only thing visible in this storm, affixed from the top of a long pike.

A huge host of woodlanders in armor were marching in lines from across the desert sands, many looking a little miserably at the beating sun which made them soak with sweat. Many wore a mix of yellow tunics, but each of their swords, shields, and pikes bore iron tipped weapons and professional gear. Each soldier carried a pack of tents and rations, kept supplied by a vast train of supplies which kept the soldiers from being too miserable. Each formation was separated into various formations. A division of 70 pikes would march alongside a division of 70 swordsbeasts, no creature in this army was without order, and each one marched to war with a naive joy. Singing was heard as a unison of war chants began in unison.

Ale an' stew ain't good enough, give me the good stuff!

Tis the grit we will fight for! Sent into battle with hearts abound!

We raise banners proud!

Ooooh Southward, Kingdom of Peace! We protect and honor

Good and peaceful beasts!

Sail and pike, sword and shield!

No creature beyond the pale will yield!

Oooh Southward, Kingdom of Defense! Fight in the name

Of good and honored redress!

The song continued on and on, different verses for all manner of beast, each one sung in peaceful unison by all. It passed the time as Hedgehogs, Otters, and Hares all marched to war under their proud yellow banner, fluttering lightly in the windless land.

Bow and Arrow, Stave and Fleece!

We bury the enemy in the ground, and sweat not in our brow!

Oooooh Southward, united we stand!

When we are done, we will march around!

Making sure our lord an' mates are good and proud!

The sand may have parched their mouths, but the vast army was eager as ever, their armor thick and fresh, and were all at the ready. They marched for many reasons, some were levies from peasant villages who had volunteered to the army to improve their station. Others were professional warriors, paid and salaried by Southward's extensive wealth. Many officers were of noble birth, each owning their own estates in some great capacity, but yet the most noble of all stood to their front.

At the front of this great army, leading it to war was a squirrel, one who had light brown tufts of fur and whose armor sparkled with the gaze of the sun. He wore a steel plate, lined in gold and silver, with images of crowns and beautiful designs etched across it. His shoulder plate was fine and shiny, even as it got covered in the dust. Even his tail was covered in a thick and expensive piece of gear, each hair on his body soft and groomed. He wasn't young by any means, but he had the aura of youthfulness about him. Each of his paw bore rings of the most fine diamond, and the sword to his belt was so bedazzled in beauty. His eyes were affixed ever northward.

"Frankfort! Frankfort Squirrelking, please wait up!" A voice shouted. The squirrel stopped, and when he did the entire army stopped as well. The squirrel turned, with a fairly well dressed otter, exhausting himself as he came up. The squirrel awaited in due patience, his princely aura had terrified the otter before him. Frankfort recognized the poor beast immediately. He had a lighter brown fur, and while he looked well groomed, his youth was obvious. He wore an exorbitant expensive looking pin and a fine yellow painted armor, as he saluted Frankfort.

"My Prince, the scouts came back, we will reach Mossflower in a few days!" Frankfort smiled and nodded "I am extremely happy to hear this Gosland Streambattle! What is your advice on this then? Shall we march straight away towards Mossflower, or camp somewhere to rest up?"

This was a test as Gosland tensed up a bit at the decision. His training in a war academy had taught him all number of things, but there was really no good answer. He thought, a bit too long, but then decided "Oh. Yes! We'll camp near some of that shade and grass. Tis better to not get out paws dirtied in the sand, I say!"

Frankfort chuckled, "And that is why you are the commander of the 3rd Army." He turned to the vast host. Even though only his front soldiers could hear him, he liked to pretend all of them could. Two runners were at the sides, listening intently as Frankfort spoke up.

"Tell the commanders that we will camp here for the remaining day and rest up, then we will force march to Mossflower and will be there within the morrow! Now, let us have a fine meal, and make due with what we can before we make our entrance into Mossflower!" The runners ran down to officers, repeating Frankfort's words. Gosland rushed back to his own army, as the vast host disbursed into an organized camp.

Frankfort made his way slowly towards the only shade of a tree. He was frankly a bit too hot in his armor, and even a bit dizzy. When he got the news from a Long Patrol commander who had sent a runner to Southward, a letter begging for aid, he was more then willing to comply. Frankfort remembered his mustering well, gathering a huge host from Southward's three most skilled commanders and generals, all rushing with their divisions north to come to Mossflower's aid against a vermin foe. You know, I am actually quite excited. Never seen a vermin before, but whatever they really are, they will not last long against the might of this great and glorious expedition. Frankfort took out a small letter from his back, reading it as a huge and heavy wagon rolled past him. An entire team of workers were setting up his personal grand pavilion for himself, all the luxuries of home. Yet this rare luxury for a great campaign such as this paled to the letter he read.

It was a single letter, dripping with a calm desperation. A hare named Numbat Vigor von Biggerplume III of the Long Patrol asked for reinforcements. Frankfort was a little confused by such a letter, his knowledge of the Long Patrol did not match the supposed enemy they fought. He shook his head and put the letter back in his pack, returning to his stoic nobility as he prepared for an evening of relaxation.
_

As the massive army of Southward began to settle in, talk was abound. Gosland would patrol the camp, his mind wandering as he would listen to the conversation of the soldiers. Many had been drilled and trained for war, much like he was. Yet, the thought of battle was still quite fresh for nearly all of them. He thought it was odd that his country had a great army, but no enemy to use it against. All except a growing trouble of barbarian lizards which had cropped up in the southernmost provinces. Gosland was actually quite excited, as many soldiers were. The night had not even set in, as the conversations were all about the great country of Mossflower.

"I bets you there are roads of jade from that Salamandastron all the way the Red Abbey, I tells you." One older hedgehog would say.

"Merchants say the land is quite nice, beautiful and plentiful. Me grandmom was from there you know? I just cannot wait to see it!" Another squirrel would proudly mention.

"I see your still anxious, brother." Another voice Gosland heard. He stopped after realizing it was directed at him, and turned to see another otter. An otter maid in a less formal painted armor smiled as she crept up close to him, Gosland's sister Perla was awash with excitement herself, and tried to not be giddy about it.

"To be honest, if pops knew that we would both be going, I think he may have come along just as well! I cannot even imagine what their holt must look like, the Mossflower otters. You think they got a big ol' pool and garden like back in our own?" Perla dreamed.

Both had a different imagination of Mossflower. Pelna imagined a humble and simple place, but still adorned with the richness of her own home. She tried to hold in her breath at the thought of some great beautiful city on a crystal clear river. Gosland's idea was perhaps a bit more simple. He was half aware that Mossflower was a tame country in some capacity, his heavy reading into the books of the famed Shackleford filled him with some ideas of his own "Oh, I don't think it will be some large estate. If I remember right, merchants say the otters there live in the northern edge of the forests, near the river of course. They might have a simple village or a-"

"Oh be silent, you lumpkin." Pelna mocked in a friendly tone "What holt doesn't look like pop's anyway? You've been to the far southern holt, and you expected a hole in the ground! You even read they lived in holes, and what do you find? A big ol' fenced off holt the nearly double the size of our own! I'd love to walk their gardens and forests, talking with their skipper about their daily lives. You know they are all warriors supposedly? That part still astounds me!"

"Well, perhaps not all of them." Gosland did not want to give his sister a bad image, but he knew that if his reading was true, it wouldn't be as pleasant of a surprise. They would at least have a nice grand hall, or perhaps a decent place to sip tea, and most likely a legendary kitchen. Maybe not a pool or some enchanted garden, but something exotic.

Gosland honestly didn't know much about Mossflower, no one really did. Maybe except merchants, but a lot more southerners like him stayed in their lands. They had visitors from Mossflower often, and from their health and stories, it painted a picture not all too similar to Southward itself. A land of castles and towns, cities and industry. A land of academies, temples the size of the tallest trees. Everyone in the camp had a very different idea of what Mossflower was like, and it sounded like a great place. It was the home of Marial of Redwall, the hero of their own country. It was the home of the Bellmaker himself, legend and honored founder of Southward's most prestigious structures and institutions. Perla even had a small silver necklace, depicting a bell which she had gotten from her mother. All seemed so right, all except one detail.

The vermin.

Southward had tales of the vermin, and so limited in contact. The shipping lanes which traded with the northern countries and with Mossflower's coastal communities brought tales of an evil group of beasts who were much like them, but prodded and tortured the land and the north. Southward had gotten a taste of the vermin only once, an evil usurper from the lands of Ice and Snow. Very few if any vermin existed southward, and each one an oddity. They spoke in strange accents, had vicious eyes and rotting teeth, and whose very existence was told in tales of woe and terror. However, when Gosland or anyone else thought of vermin, they knew them as circus performers, or just humble travelers who came from Mossflower and would often return just as quickly as they came. There were no vermin communities in the lands of Southward, but they all heard of tales and tragedies of the wars they committed on Mossflower. The most recent of which had been led by a rat named Kasg the Craven.

"Perla, I have to ask you, not to try to act that this is a vacation." Gosland took a firm stance, his smile slightly faded. Perla stood at attention in a mock display. Gosland was her superior by only a small margin, his co-commander of sorts. "Of course don't be daft, Gosland. We have three entire armies coming to aid the Long Patrol!"

"Exactly. We are in an army, and we are to expect battle eventually. Father says it's nothing like the tales, but you know that an' all."

Perla was naive to most battles. She knew battle tactics like the back of her paw, sure, but actual battle eluded her. No one in Southward really had fought in a war before. The navy did a lot of work protecting the shores from increasing raider attacks, but even these were rare. Perla could see her brother was trying to take a more serious stance, but couldn't help herself.

"Come now, if the tales are just as true, those Long Patrol fellows will have done away with those vermin by now! Maybe we come at the very last second."

"I wouldn't be so sure, wot." The otters turned to face a newcomer, to Gosland, a very familiar voice. His voice was elderly and wizened, much like his appearance. It was a hare, who was as well dressed and as Gosland was, with a bright golden sash around him with symbols of authority. He was smiling as well, just as excited as Gosland and Perla were. Gosland knew him well.

"Sir Kelsum von Bulbstrike, commander of the first army! I am surprised you are not with Frankfort planning the campaign?" Gosland said nervously, trying to be as professional as he could be. Kelsum could see he had a mediocre posture, and without saying much he slightly corrected it. It was a bad habit of his.

"I was, but Frankfort and our good and dear camp philosopher Shackleford were discussing things. In fact, I was mostly pretending to try to find Nosbub. You didn't happen to know where he was." Both otters shook their heads, although the two names uttered by Kelsum gave mixed reactions.

Shackleford himself had accompanied the army, not even at request. He was an elderly mouse, and a famed intellectual who specialized in studies of Mossflower and the vermin. Gosland had read many of his well written books on Mossflower histories and collected tales, but his most recent book was a bit hard to follow. 'Cycle of Atrocity' was Shackleford's latest tomes, detailing the trouble of the vermin, their motivations for their reckless wars, and its effects on Mossflower. Gosland read it twice, but even he had felt some of the things in that book were a bit off putting, but he wasn't an intellectual himself nor a prestigious scholar of a university to challenge it.

Perla curled her lips in cringe as Nosbub's name, for reasons only she knew why. The 2nd Army commander was not exactly a well liked person, and had many unfortunate nicknames to match his personality. Having met him only once, she now understood why they called him 'The Black Twitch'.

"As for the Long Patrol as I bolly overheard, we know little. Our army and traditions owe much to their order of such prestigious hares and their combative ways as much as we owe the Fallowthorn family. If the Long Patrol are calling for aid, I fear this is a more serious issue than imagined."

"I thought they beat Kasg? Don't they have armies?" Perla asked, but Kelsum shrugged.

"Last we heard, they had more hares than ever before, but even then they were close to defeat if the stories were to be true. Jolly Long Patrol are always close to defeat, but always manage a victory no matter how dire! No doubt if they are having troubles with this 'Gandal' and his people, I'd imagine things are not so great in Mossflower, or perhaps this 'Gandal' has an army far larger than they anticipated and will need good help defeating him. Yet, that is what also bolly well concerns me."

"How so? We'll likely outnumber them 20 to 1."

"Tis not numbers as you should know that win battles. It is skill, and the army we brought with us is decidingly green. Bolly whole northern garrison makes up this army, barely half I would normally even command. However, we will make do with what we have!"

Perla raised an eyebrow to this comment "You think our most professional troops will falter, after all those years of drilling and training?"

"You must remember, good Perla." Kelsum raised his paw in a strict fashion "Our enemy is a 'vermin', and if Shackleford is correct about their nature, they are bred and trained for total war. Cowards and villains though they may be, wot. Most of us, Shackleford included, had never seen many vermin, and those that we have seen, Shackleford says they are tame by being born in Mossflower rather then such lands like the far north."

"I suppose that's true. You'd think with how much he writes on them, he'd have seen a bit more vermin I suppose." Gosland thought. "Say, Kelsum, have you read his new book by chance?"

"Cycle of Atrocity? I don't think any officer here missed it! If they have, they are certainly reading it now. Now excuse me, I must find our twitchy friend." Kelsum went off, humming to himself. Gosland and Perla patted their stomachs in unison as it rumbled, and decided to spend the rest of the day enjoying a nice and quaint officer's meal.
_

Two hares stood in a massive tent in the evening, a command center of the 2nd Army. They were surrounded by boards full of maps of color and skill, some of Southward and many of Mossflower. When the army was marching towards Mossflower, their ignorance of the great forest and its people could be considered a major tactical trouble, but they at least had merchant accounts, small slim reports, and a decent land map which lacked many of the important towns, cities, and even the capital. Now sure, there was the important location of Redwall and Salamandastron, but even the hare looking over his maps knew this was certainly not the only major settlement in the region! The entire map of a single county in Southward could have been ticked with hamlets, villages, silos, barracks, and even schools. The tent's various documents were orderly, much like the army, although the two hares in this tent created a tense mood.

Ginny von Bulbstrike was standing at attention, daughter to the 1st army commander. Although she was youthful in age, she looked as professional and puffed up in preparation like any other, practically a stone as her officers taught her. Or more accurately, her father. Yet if she was a beacon of what a Southward hare looked like, the creature looking over maps and tooling out the miles it would take to reach Mossflower could not have been any more different.

Nosbub, his full name Nosbub Verg Von Gazbrig III, 2nd Army commander who mumbled to himself with increasing spite. He was shorter than most hares, even a little fat maybe. His fur, face, and really all parts of him looked unwashed and greasy, as if it were his natural look. Nosbub were the distinctive gear of his family, a black and yellow painted armor of light material which was at least somewhat comfortable. His lopsided ears, his partly dark fur, and his spiteful looking gaze as he began to frustrated himself on the map before him. He would give a sudden twitch to his neck or his leg from time to time, a nervous tick he had earned his nickname for.

Ginny knew many Gazbrings, a legendary family of hares whose military traditions extended far back and who were crucial in the formation of Southward's war academies and professionalism. Southward had no need for an army some time ago, but until a northern threat and begging from various hares and otters to reform all of the collected militias and defensive forces into a functional force. Southward now had 15 large armies protecting its massive and rich kingdom, most of them mothballed up until now, and Ginny was proud to be a part of an expedition to help the people of Mossflower. She was secretly excited to see the legendary and mythical mountain of Salamandastron, to meet and talk with a Long Patrol commander. To perhaps even see the great abbey of Redwall, whose tales still are told to young children in the home country.

She wasn't so excited about being next to Nosbub. "Blasted!" cried out Nosbub's stretched and groggy voice, completely devoid of normal hare speech. "It'll take three bloody days to even reach our destination, even if we force march!"

Ginny held her tongue silent as Nosbub raved and ranted in anger "This is exactly what I get from that little comfy position in the north. Nearly got my blasted fiefdom, an' I could have lived out the rest of my damned days in some luxury instead of this mess!"

As he ranted, Kelsum entered into the main command tent with a huff. He looked to Ginny who had also been searching for him, but had been ordered to remain silent and still. "I found him, sir." Ginny gave a weak smile to Kelsum. Kelsum nodded "Dismissed Ginny."

Nosbub didn't even look up from his maps, only pouring more out and slamming them angrily on the table. Kelsum was now alone with his peer commander, who was none too happy. "I see my good daughter caught you while you were busy Nosbub, perhaps we co-"

"Be quiet, Kelsum. If I wanted your opinion I would have asked for it."

Kelsum squinted his eyes and raised his voice "As your peer commander, I will not take any of the same trouble you give your troops or mine." Nosbub rolled his eyes and continued looking at the maps. Kelsum had known Nosbub for quite awhile now, the hare bothered him considerably. He had joined the army as a commander more for his brazen want to get his own lands, far away from everyone else. He would rant constantly about being close to retirement, but Kelsum knew that simply was never the case.

"Every bloody day we are out here, Kelsum, the longer it takes to get back to blasted Southward! I'd rather not have the stink of peasant on me, thank you very much!"

It was Kelsum's turn to roll his eyes "I'm sure we'll win in good time, Nosbub, but impatience and a willingness to retreat is not your strong suit."

"Victory I am sure of, don't think me stupid at least. Although I question your mental faculties if you think our good Frankfort will return home in due course. No, I'll have to suffer an entire tour or three around a country whose likely largest settlement is a bloody volcano!"

"Oh come now, no need to be harsh to Mossflower. We all know they may not be as rich or as protected as Southward is, but you don't know that."

"Neither do you." Nosbub seethed "I just want to be done with this, so I can return home, smile for a parade, and then make my way back to the coast where I can at least read in bloody peace!"

Kelsum hated calling Nosbub a peer, but he wasn't a commander because of nepotism. Or at least, he thought. "Come a bit closer Kelsum, we will be marching up a bloody hill once we reach Mossflower. Force marching will exhaust us and leave us vulnerable to an attack if we try to climb it. Much of this land is highlands, hills, and forests. No doubt once we find a road to the major forts and settlements, things will get easier. Food situation isn't grim yet, but it still concerns me. Long Patrol better have a bloody good amount of food when we arrive, and none of that military refuse we feed our soldiers!"

"You want to slow down?"

"Yes, I don't want to, but if I get but one defeat under my belt, someone is going to skin someone's tail right bloody off! Think Kelsum, you think this is going to be a walk in a garden? We are at war, and we are relying on so little information I don't even know if Mossflower has a single village or not! We don't even know where the damn roads are! If our prince was any less impatient, he may as well have gone bloody himself."

"Perhaps we were a bit hasty, but this is Mossflower, a new experience Nosbub!" Kelsum said excitedly and with flair.

Nosbub gave him a spiteful look "Just go convince him to slow down the army before we have to camp for an entire day on the side of some hill, why don't you?"

"Fine. I suppose you have a point." Kelsum left the tent with a huff and Nosbub looked down on Mossflower's map. He looked at it with contempt and disgust. He gave an angry twitch, and then returned to his planning.
_

Before Kelsum even entered into Frankfort's resting room, as calling it even a royal tent would lessen its size and scope, he could hear an all too familiar and elderly voice coming out from it, happily squeaking away.

"-and as we all know, these 'vermin' are quite a fascinating species! Like as I put in my tome 'Vermin Species and Culture', I like to think that we will be going into battle with more disappointment then glory, I am sad to say Prince Frankfort."

As Kelsum entered into Frankfort's pavilion, he could see his prince in far more comfortable clothes, although the shine of a golden chain and his gold trimmed clothes still produced an aura of dignity and authority. He lounged on a shined table, facing a small and elderly looking field mouse. Shackleford had all the trappings of a great scholar, his poor eyesight helped by spectacles and he wore this heavy robe of purple and gold. He carried a satchel of papers. Although he expected two beasts in the tent, Shackleford's assistant was also there. A dutiful rabbit who was eagerly writing down every word his mentor told him. The rabbit was perhaps not as richly dressed, but he looked like an overpacked student. Shackleford and Frankfort drank from teacups, enjoying an evening hot chocolate.

Frankfort turned and gave a wide smile to Kelsum "Ah! Commander Kelsum, please come in. I was just discussing Shackleford's latest entry on vermin. Tis best to know our enemy, especially if we plan to face them on the field of battle."

Kelsum nodded in agreement. Shackleford's fame as a scholar came from his histories of early Southward history, and his obsession with vermin became a rage of interest across Southward's academic world. "I find this most exciting, I must say, and I am honored to come on this expedition, my lords. This will certainly help in my research on my next and final books on our wayward brother species."

It was lost on both Frankfort and Kelsum of one prudent fact, quickly corrected by their elderly friend "Having met so few vermin, and surviving on our accounts of them, I can now safely and securely document their customs and rituals in relative safety. Ohhh, quite an exciting thing I must say!"

"Sir!" Spoke up the rabbit "If I may ask, how do you know so much about the vermin, but yet met so little?"

"Oh easy, Horst. You see, my studies in history and mythologies coming from our northern neighbor are well documented and studied. Even the great Redwall Abbey's most dedicated tomes find their way into our library, copies you could say. The way the writers speak about the vermin gives us a very good guess, if not correct, of their behavior and anatomy, and I simply but write it down. Vermin are violent creatures, completely lacking in any form of intelligence beyond what they can kill or rob in front of them, documented many times over by their customs of combat. My theories on their existence as a threat to Mossflower is what I wished to explore in 'Cycle of Atrocity' the most."

Frankford nodded "That is what I was just speaking about. You seem to imply there is more going on perhaps?"

"Oh yes. It makes no sense to a civilized people like ourselves to think of the vermin as capable of complex tactics, metallurgy, or even basic boat building. Yet, they produce weapons, form armies, and are considered a 'sea people' despite only so few even knowing how to swim or fish. Yet time and time again they seem to crop up out of nowhere, at the most convenient of times? I am simply asking the question 'why'."

Frankfort nodded in agreement. His thoughts were on Shackleford's most recent historical book, detailing his thoughts and opinions on Mossflower and its Vermin. Printed and distributed, almost every officer in some capacity had a copy, and it was quite a decently sized one at that. Frankfort was eager to fight the vermin, sure, but he wanted to know of them and Shackleford was conveniently in the north promoting his work at the time. Now he was the camp's morale guide, and it certainly boosted the mood of his troops. Yet something was off about the book, one which Frankfort asked of "Good Shackleford, if I may ask, in the last pages especially you seem to ramble on a bit, specifically about the badger lords of Salamandastron."

"Oh yes, the part which some of my colleagues say is 'odd', but I think is perhaps the most relevant. Do you not find it curious, perhaps even odd, that when there is a time of peace in Mossflower ever since it was saved from vermin grasp by this 'Martin the Warrior', that the vermin attacks have only increased in size and in scope? Odd even still that even though you hear tales of bravery, you hear very little if anything on policy. Perhaps there even is no policy, I am not certain. I have my thoughts on it, but we will know more when we arrive."

Kelsun was a little surprised, most in the tent were as Shacklford drank his tea as if he said nothing wrong. Horst spoke up a bit in a questioning mood "Sir, do you imply there is. . .something wrong with Mossflower's governance?"

"I never wish to imply anything nefarious, but none of us have seen let alone been too Mossflower, we know so little which is why I am excited to go. Perhaps my views will change, especially when I get to see their towns and cities. Nothing is more exciting than a decent study of institutions." Shackleford could give quite a decent smile and a friendly gaze, and those around them nodded in agreement.

Frankfort was informed of Nosbub's plan, but as Shackleford and his assistant went in for the night, the mouse's cheery mood continued, as he and Horst walked amongst the war camp. Horst whispered to his mentor "Sir, if I may ask, when you say to not imply anything nefarious-"

"Oh good Horst, as you should know, nothing is implied by the question. I fear that my true thoughts on this matter can only be held between us. I think there is something wrong in Mossflower, but we will not see it till we get close. These vermin, violent and savage as they may be, rely ultimately on beasts such as us to build for them. Yet, you must ask yourself, who commands them?"

"Their warlords?"

"Come now, think good and well on such a subject. Do you think vermin lead by themselves, or perhaps there is a force guiding them to these actions, in such a convenient way that keeps some peculiar beasts in power. Power lies in good beasts, and authority to command, but vermin? They respect strength, and I think are guided by a hidden paw." Horst looked shocked, and silenced himself. His master was implying something, something the mouse held in as if to reveal it at some time.

"Let us head to bed, good Horst. I would like to sleep off today, tis not good for my back." His assistant nodded, guiding him back to his own luxurious tent of books. Horst always considered the old mouse the smartest of them all, its all he really knew, but something at the back of his mind told him that something was amiss. He excused it, perhaps Shackleford was just tired.

---

The Southward army continued to march on, but at a brisk pace as was Nosbub's request. The beating heat of the sun had perhaps made many of the southerners in heavier armor slow to a crawl, but the army at least was very well supplied. An entire train of wagons filled with both military rations and expensive luxuries were pulled and carried along the sands. Crossing a small desert sounded nice and all, a small journey at best until they reached the forests which were cool and had shade. Yet, the commanders were having troubles almost immediately. Medics would come forward, complaining of heat wounds, dizziness, and an increasing water shortage. Others would say the wagons were slowing to a crawl, some even becoming impossible to move in the sands. Nosbub was not blind to any of this, as his fellow commanders floundered out with small confusion.

From day one the Black Twitch knew this all a terrible idea. His prince, his liege 'lord', had asked him. No, demanded him to pack up an entire army and follow him to Mossflower. He cursed that day in particular, and he could see how the army struggled. Southward had an army, it was beautiful in parades, it was high in spirits, but he knew the truth. It was an inexperienced army, with officers and commanders who knew more about battlefield tactics than logistics. Nosbub had a small hope that once they reached Mossflower, many of their logistical issues would disappear. Eager woodlanders, perhaps seeing them as heroes, would willingly give their crop to their cause. All to aid some blasted forest everyone is so nostalgic about. Blasted as it may be, I suppose at least i'll get a little glory from all this.

Then, as the army continued on, there was a shout of glee at the head of the army. In the far off distance, the sand retreated and a looming mist of foggy hills could be seen. Some soldiers even broke rank, setting their first sight on Mossflower. Nosbub looked, passing by his own troops and looking far into the distance. It was a large and hilly land, a mix of sand and grass with tall trees. Clearly they were in some part of the wilderness. It impressed the troops, but it also gave them an ominous feel. They stared upon the homeland of legendary figures of their myths, each having told tales each more absurd than the last. Nosbub saw things differently, using his paws to block the shine of the sun to see further. He could see short cliffs which jagged up from steep hills. It was impassable terrain, and they would need to find a proper hill to climb up towards.

The first thing done was to send out scouts as the main army marched onto more solid and grassy ground, the trees providing some bugger from the sands. Frankfort was looking like a dumb child all around, being impressed by something Nosbub found absurd. He came over, with Frankfort giving him a happy comment "Look at this place, such a mysterious land it is! Such an entrance into the lands of Mossflower. I wonder, what village do you think we will surprise first commander Nosbub."

"I do not know, my lord" The hare replied coldly. He looked around, not at all impressed. He was interested in windmills and castles, not trees he had seen a hundred times before or cliffs. Nosbub noticed some of Gosland's scouts were already off, racing to see what they could find.

"No doubt once we find a path or a road, we will be able to march directly to this Hare fortress. Palewind they call it?"

"It sounds high and mighty, no doubt a true lair of such a prestigious order."

"Yes, a prestigious order my lord." Nosbub had made sure Frankfort was still spinning before he rolled his eyes. Every day, of every hour, his own troops and those of his peers talked about the Long Patrol and their exploits. Many talked of their legendary deeds, their skill in battle, and their bravery against an endless tide of foes. He was not so impressed. Myth and legends, now hopefully this forest's villages and cities aren't myth and legend also. Nosbub excused himself as the main army began to set up camp, awaiting the return of the scouts to direct them.

Nosbub walked amongst the soldiers, all absorbed at first, but as they settled in their mood changed by a smidge. Most were hoping for a quick and easy march, not waiting at the bottom of some highlands and camping again. Nosbub had a purpose as he walked, he hated to even speak to his peasant troops, let alone his subordinates. The only creature he found even decent to talk to in the camp was a certain mouse and his truly fascinating book.

Shackleford was already sitting on the grass, his student having gone to find some food for him, as Nosbub came forward to the mouse. He had spoken with Shackleford before, although their conversation had only been brief. The mouse scholar arose and gave him a fine greeting "Ah, Lord Nosbub, it is good to see you again."

"As I am to you, scholar. I did read that book of yours as you suggested. Found it. . .interesting to say the least. Tell me truthfully, what do you expect to find in this land, and about our foe. Walk with me, I'd like to speak as a tactician and you as the philosopher." Shackelford agreed and walked slowly with Nosbub who kept a hushed voice, and so did the mouse.

"Of my expectations, I have some of my doubts. Those merchants that we base much information on? They trade with small hamlets, barely a couple homes in the middle of a forest or on a plane, a few farms and if any ports. I had once guessed that Mossflower was much like our dear home, but I fear we may find something different entirely."

Nosbub listened and questioned "I see, but surely there will be plenty of walled settlements and roads at least."

"I am not so sure. There is one main road we know of, and that is near the abbey of Redwall itself. There are no abbeys in any record beyond that, just references to small villages. If I am correct about my assumptions, there may not even be much governance here, but yet a lord rules over this land with an iron fist." Nosbub gave a slight nod. He commented in kind "I do hope you are wrong, Shackleford. I really do. We have enough supplies for a month at best, and we are dependent on supplies from an army we know little about. Three armies, blindly rushing to the aid of the Long Patrol is an odd coincidence."

"Odd indeed. To tell you the truth Nosbub, I don't think we are here to help the Long Patrol at all."

Nosbub lifted a bored eyebrow to the scholar, begging him to explain further "I think we are here for another reason, for in such a message from this 'Numbat' a cry for help. Help for a system of ceaseless raid and defense which does end. As much as it is controversial, I am thinking that perhaps these vermin are not the real enemy at all, but something else entirely. I think the Long Patrol and their lords are skilled, yes, but yet purposefully incompetent to some degree. Why keep a people who despise and kill your own so freely in a land, why do you not wiped them out once and for all, or drive them away permanently? That is what I find nonsensical. Would you in a situation deny routing an enemy simply out of mercy? I know my ideas are not popular, and I am more then willing to see reason, but perhaps there is an answer to simple questions which I know the answer to already."

Nosbub was a little surprised, even cringing a little, but yet listened with intrigue. "What if the hares, and the badgers, and others are not the great lords we think they are? What if they allow this threat of savages to continue to live and bare broods in their lands? These vermin, the tales are many and each one more horrible than the last. Thieves, bandits, slavers, and murderers all. A people so shackled to war, that their continued existence in a land that values peace is a mystery. I'd have said it was culture, but I know full well its nature. I think they are utilized to some hidden degree, to provide an excuse for them to rule this land and run it into the ground, denying true civilized progress."

"I kind of got that from your book." Nosbub couldn't help but agree, but where Shackleford was adamant in his own intellectual bliss, Nosbub found it funny. He would always remain silent of Shackleford's true views of things, but he didn't need to be a scholar to think the mouse had an ego the size of a moon. "Well, I suppose we will get to see first and foremost what happens. Goodbeast. Vermin. It matters not, we'll be home in due time once we clear this rabble."

"Do me a favor, good sir if you would have me say. If we do capture some vermin, I would most assuredly like to be there when they are interrogated. I would be most curious what they have to say."

"Of course." Nosbub saw the elderly mouse go off again, as he stood farther from the camp. He found such creatures amusing, and while he never personally met a vermin before, he wondered if the stories of their legendary incompetence were true. As the last remaining troops began to prepare for their rest, He looked southward, giving one last regretful look towards Southward. I'll return in no time at all, I suppose. At least a mad mouse and a bratty prince will keep us entertained.
_

The camp of Southward's army was cheery at first to be out of the blistering sun and sandy plains, now they were less so when a light drizzle began to pour on them, something didn't bother Frankfort nor his company. The squirrel was in the command center in the middle of the camp, with his advisors and commanders, which he had a great deal of. Being a prince of a prosperous nation, knowing names and faces was quite important. To one side of him was Gosland and Nosbub, to the other was Kelsum and two others. These others were a hedgehog and otters, both of meeker clothes but still in proper officer uniforms and wearing ornate pins. Frankfort knew the otter at least, wearing a silver pin depicting an owl.

"Guil Southwater and. . .and. . ." Frankfort motioned the hedgehog who quickly stood at attention and corrected him "Vergber Little, my lord!"

"Yes, yes, I apologize. We just need one more, and we will begin shortly." Nosbub silently looked on in boredom as the commanders and officers talked about themselves as the golden trimmed prince seemed a bit anxious. Everyone knew exactly what they were waiting for. Eventually the figure arrived, a huge and towering hare clad in yellow painted plate armor. Each step was a loud clank as the hare quickly took his place by the squirrel's side. Frankfort looked to him, giving him a wide smile, which the hare gave back. Nosbub couldn't help but feel annoyed, having to be in the presence of Frankfort's tutor and captain of his Golden Regiment, the towering hare Lars Fleetfoot, the fourth of his name. Nosbub had his troubles with Lars, for reasons which became very clear.

"Good, now that we are all here, I would like to put forward the first trouble. Our scouts had not returned yet. Gosland, is this trouble?"

Lars in a hushed tone quickly corrected Frankfort "My lord, it would be improper to give your commander an improper title. Chin up, my good boyo." Frankfort did as tasked and corrected himself "Apologies, your station is that of commander. Commander Gosland, what report could you give us?"

"They were ordered to go out and find roads and towns, my lord, for us to follow. Mossflower is a big country after all, it may be just taking extra time, which will only delay us by a small bit. Our sentries report really nothing, we really are in a major part of the wilderness, my lord."

"Ah. Vergber, our logistical situation, it fares well I hope?"

Vergber tapped his paw nervously "Oh, yes of course my prince. Our supplies will last us far over a month, and once we refill from our long journey, the army will not need much else. Mossflower I hear is a land where food is plenty, so I expect nothing less!"

Guil came forward, and pointed to a map. He was about to speak up, but a glare from Lars silenced him. Frankfort gave an awkward silence, wondering why the noble didn't speak up, but then remembered his station he quickly blurted "Oh. Right, Guil, what is our tactical situation? Our position is good?"

"I am afraid not. If our camp is attacked, we would be at a horrible disadvantage below those low cliffs. Terrain is most important my lord, and while a good hill can easily keep us from an enemy, my suggestion is an immediate march up the hills and camping in a more secure position. Likely near a town, a field, or even a city when we find one."

Nosbub spoke up "If."

Lars directed his dangerous glare to him, but Nosbub kept up that arrogant chin. He was by all means Lars's superior, but as Frankfort's friend he may as well have been their king. Lars did not back down, nor did Nosbub as the Black Twitch continued. "A major flaw my lord is that we are all just guessing where we are and what to expect. The reality is more simple, we don't know. Any and all plans we make should be directed at trying to use our facts, not our expectations."

"I'd normally agree, commander Nosbub. However, let us not pretend these are not fellow Woodlanders, civilized and good people." Frankfort dismissed Nosbub's concerns. "Even if there is no 'city' to be found here, we must not expect there to be only small hamlets and communities here. These are afterall a fellow people, and to say they are as barbarian as our foe would be an insult. To me, and to them."

"Of course, my lord." Nosbub was secretly seething. He was trained, from child to adult by his father and his teachers to be a tactical commander, a well honed general who used pragmatic logic to solve complex issues. Frankfort? The brat wears a suit of weak armor and pretends he is a bloody warrior king, all that nonsense drilled in not by a real soldier but by some fat oaf on a throne. Seasons, if I have to put up with this all campaign, I'll just hurl myself off a cliff!

Kelsum interjected "Excuse me my lord, but I wish to speak. Nosbub is correct, we must use facts. We should send out scavenging parties to gather materials for meals and what not, otherwise we may have to use our own prepared meals to feed our troops." Kelsum hated to see his fellow generals, even the likes of Nosbub, be ignored. Frankfort looked to Lars for support, who nodded. If Lars nodded, Frankfort agreed "Yes, of course. I apologize, as future king of Southward, we must always be diplomatic. Although it is a fact we know so little of this great land, I have no doubt our scouts will return with news of directing us down the path to the villages and roads. Once we make our stop at the first to-"

The flap of the tent went open, a mouse head peeking through it. "My lord." He began, "There is a scout here to greet you."

"Thank you Samkon, please show them in." The flap to the command tent opened and two soaking wet hares came in, looking a little pale. They stood at attention, as Gosland nodded "Ah! My scouts. Please, we have been waiting for your report. Has there been trouble?" There was a silence in the room, as Guil quickly tried to prod "There isn't an enemy army heading towards us, correct?"

"Oh? No, sir! Not at all." The scout said, trying to keep silent about something. Frankfort prodded himself this time "Ah, so what took you two so long? Lost?"

"No, of course not, my lord."

The two scouts looked at one another and then spoke slowly "My lords. We found a path up the main hills, which slopes down which the army can move through. We found signs of some small camps, and a hamlet. It looked abandoned my lord, only a few homes with no sign of life. We tried sir, we tried to keep to the orders given to us."

Frankfort spoke up "What? What is it?"

"There is no road my lord. There isn't a road or path for miles."
_

The southward army didn't camp at the border between forest and desert that night, but it seemed that way. When Frankfort left his tent, he spoke only in small murmurs, his commanders uncertain. Frankfort knew he was far out in the wilderness, but he had no idea he was that far out. Back home in Southward, a single hamlet could at least be connected by a small dirt road, but as the scouts made their reports on the terrain more. They were definitely in some form of hills and highlands far to the south of the forests, which opened up into plains with small forests in between. Frankfort had always known from the merchant reports that traveling into Mossflower by foot was a hassall, which was why trade by sea was so much more preferable, but as his army began to climb hills and move past trees, he began to have some serious concerns.

Frankfort in his ornate armor stood beyond the hills with his 1st army commander Kelsum, the two looking over the vast hills and plains, looking for signs of civilization. Frankfurt felt a little embarrassed at first "Commander Kelsum, do remind me later to apologize to Nosbub when I find the chance. Do you know exactly where we are by chance?"

Kelsum scratched his head "Not sure, wot. If anything, my lord, I think we are in a more western part. This large plain before us will at least allow us to settle in the open, and on a much larger hill."

"I don't see. . .anything. I asked the scouts to show me this abandoned hamlet, however I want you and the other commander to park the army on one of the larger hills and dig in, just in case this 'Gandal' is creeping around. If Shackleford is right, vermin do not use complex tactics, let alone scouts. We shall stay and send out a larger party of scouts to find a road to lead us to Palewind, or perhaps even find Palewind itself. Finding a castle shouldn't be too hard to find."

"Of course my lord." Kelsum went down with his army to do his duties, the large southward army continued to march past their prince. Coming out from one of the bushes, a less than groomed mouse with a grim complexion came to his side. He had a groomed complexion and a fairly delicate armor himself, a sword with a silver handle strapped to his belt by a colorful strap.

"Alright, that's done and over with." Samkon said with comfort. "I could not tell you my lord how much I wished for a bush in those days of marching! Not a lot of privacy out in the desert."

Frankfort gave his bodyguard a dumbfounded eye. "Excuse me?"

"Oh. Sorry my lord, I apologize for such rudeness." Samkon tried to say in a friendly manner, but the ever serious squirrel grunted. He shook his head as he commented "I had. . .kind of suspected a bit more development. Maybe a few farms even. Certainly looks like good land."

"Maybe this land isn't used for a reason?"

"'Maybe' is not a good enough answer. When my father sent me to handle a small village dispute, I saw a farm for the first time. Silos, windmills, structures as far as the eye could see all under the watchful eye of a great noble castle in the foreground is what I see. Are we in the wilderness perhaps?" Samkon wanted to give out a sigh, but couldn't out of fear his chief employer would not be happy. One of the hare scouts came up, looking a little embarrassed. Frankfort took immediate notice of his fidgeting "Ah, do tell me you found something."

"We were going to direct you to that abandoned settlement sir, but. . .we hit a snare."

"A snare?"

"It isn't abandoned."

Frankfort and his bodyguard followed the scout, but as they did Frankfort became a little despaired in a comical fashion. The squirrel in his ornate armor was led through increasing brush and thickets, crunching through dirt and grime as the scouts led him further and further into the forest. The three stopped at only a small little area where the scout pointed to the ground. It was a path, but no path Frankfort had seen in his life. He was use to wide and well rounded roads, workers and crews constantly working to maintain them to encourage trade and transportation. This path was barely meant for a single creature, practically hidden beneath all the dirt, and tread very rarely. The path got them to one of the most saddest villages Frankfort ever saw in his life, his first comment to the scout had been "Is this a vermin camp?"

It was not, it was barely even a camp to Frankfort's eyes, being only a few small structures and a cottage. One elderly looking hedgehog came out of one house, followed by a small horde of younglings. He carried a wood axe and froze at the sight he had a hard time believing. The squirrel prince in his magnificent armor was so strange looking, he didn't practically believe it till he came over to talk to him.

Frankfort looked the hedgehog up and down, and spoke with authority "Hello good peasant, I am Frankfort Squirrelking, Prince of Southward. I was told this. . ." He had a hard time really describing what this settlement was. It was no settlement at all to him, not even a hamlet. Hamlets could have at least 50 or more beasts. "Camp." Camp was probably not the right word either as the hedgehog gave him an odd brow.

"Tis not no camp, good squirrel. Also tis not normal for a prince of Southward to just come to our village! I am Piedal, not the chief of the village mind you, but closest one to get up in the morn." The hedgehog's younglings looked back with curious eyes at the squirrel. Frankfort looked the hedgehog up and down. He was unsure what to think of him, his clothes were dirty and makeshift. Not even the lowest peasants in southward were as impoverished as the one before him.

"Oh. I see. Tell me, this village of yours, what is it's name?"

"Bingford."

Frankfort paused at that. It was a familiar name, where some merchants he had talked to spoke of. When he thought of a village, he expected something a little bit larger. In fact, he expected something much larger, with roads running through the town, a well, or perhaps even a few smaller structures and homes. The homes of these woodlanders were simple, small, and something he would consider extreme poverty.

"Well, sir Piedal. I must ask, how far are we from other villages and towns? Me and my southern forces would like to find a place to rest and resupply. Perhaps you know the way to Palewind by chance?"

The hedgehog shrugged "Oh, Palewind be a bit farther out dat way." The hedgehog pointed farther west, which made the prince frown a bit "As for villages and towns? Not many here I be afraid, and now fewer still. Deep in dat territory belonging to does 'black clads' they call themselves. Avoided dem dus far, an' likely dey are too busy to bother with the likes of us."

Frankfort breathed through his nose at this news. Not only was he now mostly lost in Mossflower, he was now deep in enemy territory supposedly. "I see, these vermin, these 'black clads' you mention. Their horde is nearby?"

"A bit farther away. Heard dat the long patrol began to evacuate villages, though I don't know why. Big ol' hare came by tryen to convince us to leave, but dem vermin aren't really interested in the likes of us for now."

"My good hedgehog, do you have a lord. . .where is the garrison?"

The hedgehog hog patted himself "I bees, for the most part. Lumberer by trade, but wit an axe I can chase away most of dem bandit types."

Frankfort was not in the mood for jests "No, I mean, where is your liege lord if I may ask, the one who protects you and provides for you? Certainly Mossflower has powerful lords."

"Oh we do, in dat big ol' mountain in Salamandastron. Badger lord keep sea raiders off the coasts, doh I wish he'd also chase them frogs away too. Nasty critters. We mostly just live on our dear own out here."

Frankfort looked utterly shocked, even a little dismayed "Do you imply you are. . .just alone out here? No lord, no garrison, no institutions?"

The hedgehog gave him an odd stare, as if he were mad. "I don't know hows you do it in Southward, but we gots no other lords, most our villages be all like this. There be some lords sometimes dat settle, sure, but most of them are north folk movin on here in the north forests I thinks. Ain't nothing but ourselves an' some bigger ol' villages. Maybe an inn or smith, but I don't usually go far enough really to care. We just trade our wood fer some decent meals, an' leave it at that."

"Who protects you from these vermin then?! Do these savages not threaten you?"

"Oh. Well dem Long Patrol fellows fight em'. We peaceful folk just do what we wants."

Frankfort looked like he was staring at a mad creature, unsure if he was in some part of Mossflower where there was little law, but it honestly just confused him. He had known many noble houses, powerful lords, and even inspected many garrisons and armies. There weren't many that were needed, but Southward still had enemies and needed some law and order from the occasional feud. The idea of a people so far out in the wilderness, with no lord, barely a path to keep them company, and completely naive to the existential threat that supposedly lived by was an utter shock to him.

"I see. Good hedgehog, for the time being I will put some soldiers here to garrison your. . .village. Perhaps if you would be so kind as to provide for them."

The hedgehog only shrugged "We got some room, I suppose, and. . .thanks?"

Frankfort didn't reply, quickly turning and returning to his army. The commotion outside drew the attention of other woodlanders who came outside to see a golden figure leave. The hedgehog found the creature strange, and he didn't really wish to disappoint him.

"Strange folk dem Southward beasts are." He mumbled to himself, and set off to cut up his lumber for the day.
_

Frankfort remained in the command tent, sitting in a chair and was thinking about some things. His scouts came back from other so called 'villages', each with a similar story albeit abandoned due to a hasty retreat. Frankfort was honestly not sure what to think and had told no one except his close bodyguard his thoughts. When he had imagined Mossflower, he was told tales of a land of legends and heroes, perhaps not as rich or as majestic as his home country, but expected something a bit more developed. Mossflower's south it seemed was so free and carefree that it was practically borderlands, lands his ancestors spent years annexing into Southward. Small dirt paths barely connected the villages and hamlets, some not even connected at all. If this had been a fiefdom in his father's kingdom, by the laws of his land he would bring charges of gross incompetence. Perhaps even corruption. Yet there was no lord, no commander, no garrison except Palewind which was a ways away. It was quite a culture shock to him, but he did not feel very good about it.

Kelsum entered the command tent, followed closely by Gosland who had heard of the increasing reports. Both remained silent as Frankfort spoke up "Our scouts, have they found a road by chance, perhaps a walled off town we missed?"

"No, only some more abandoned settlements." Gosland replied. Frankfort didn't raise his head to look at them, thinking. "Perhaps Palewind will be more. . ." He paused, unsure of what else to say "Impressive. Developed perhaps."

"My lord, does something bother you?" Kelsum raised an eyebrow to his respective superior. Frankfort finally turned to look at him, looking rather critical. "Something does. We are supposedly deep into the enemy's lands, and I am a little bit concerned. There are no lords here, commander Kelsum, no authority to speak to except for village elders and rag tag militias who promote themselves. Is Mossflower truly all like this?"

"If it is, my lord, does that change anything about our mission?"

Frankfort felt a little insulted, but when Kelsum had spoken up he collected himself "No, no. Of course not. We should focus on regrouping with the Long Patrol. Even if all our northern brothers are like this, there is no reason to hold anything less in views. However, something does bother me."

Frankfort felt embarrassed as he got up "Something Shackleford had mentioned before. Policy. There really is no policy is there? For a lord of a mountain, rich in history, I expected perhaps a bit more competence I suppose. No wonder Mossflower has so many troubles with vermin, they are practically defenseless."

"I wouldn't say defenseless, they do have the Long Patrol." Gosland had commented, giving a happy smile to try to cheer up the squirrel prince.

"Yes. Yes of course." Frankfort did not seem as convinced, but held out hope that perhaps as he traveled deeper into Mossflower, things would become a bit more clear.

---

To creatures like Numbat Vigor von Biggerplume III, chaos was not a ladder, but a tumble down into the abyss. When the hares began to reach towards the villages of the west, they could not even hide the trauma they had for beholding Nurf's 'masterpiece'. The memory of what Numbat saw burned in him a new found spite for that fox, and he wondered if perhaps demoting Terrance had been such a good idea. Numbat was right now in the village of Anzbol, and he was in the house of the chief. Numbat normally would have been looking over maps, perhaps even planning out the building of proper defenses around the western villages, but right now he was staring out a thatch window, looking longingly out into the village. The thought of Nurf getting away again made him feel like an utter failure, and Gandal still roamed east of here.

"Sir?" A familiar voice came out. It wasn't the village chief, as the badger Balon nearly dunked his head onto the ceiling, practically crawling, he sat inside the hut, and could see his commander was none too happy.

"Please Balon, tell me caught him."

Balon was silent, and it was all the answer Numbat needed. The badger spoke up, giving him further information "Our scouts found that Nurf has been doing wide circles around both us and Gandal's main sentries. His horde is likely going back to their hidden lair far out near the lake. If you wish, we can send a patrol to clear him out."

"If we do, Gandal will make his move." Numbat chided "Two vicious enemies, you'd swear they were working together. We fought a group of black clads in the hills, and I think Gandal had a similar idea, albeit to his own bloody designs. If he sends out captains to try to distract us, it means he isn't in a good position either."

"I mean, we could ask Naus Stag Hare to help us, right?" Balon questioned "He is probably sitting bored in that mountain."

"I would too, but Naus has his orders, and will follow them to the letter. Usually." Numbat sighed, and looked out, watching as an increasing number of carts being pulled into the village, dropping off refugees. Some of the hares had to break up a small feud outside as well, as the refugees from the eastern villages were now pushing and shoving one another.

"We do not have long to deal with both of them. Balon, I rushed here to get these villages prepared as best we could, and began increasing their garrisons. I have hares who would normally be on the lookout for Gandal's skirmishers and scouts now helping to train some of these peaceful commoners into soldiers. They are frightened, angry, and disillusioned with us, and I cannot bloody blame them."

"Disillusioned, sir?"

"Yes. We are losing a war against a rat without a master, a fox psychopath who hasn't murdered his own horde yet, and now we are barely able to spend resources to crowd these villagers into camps. This is all a disaster, and if I was Biggum right now, I would demote myself to camp cook!"

"You cannot blame yourself, sir. Perhaps our runner to Southward will send us the reinforcements we need." Balon tried to give a reassuring smile to Numbat, but the solemn hare's frozen face continued to stare out the window.

"Balon, we couldn't even spend the time to bury the bodies, nor the resources to do so. I want you to go out and begin doing something I am going to very much regret no doubt."

"And that is, sir?"

"I want you to find every vermin, every blasted beast who can wield a spear, and send them to Palewind. I need mercenaries, and we are going to throw them at our problems till I have the reinforcements I need."

Balon cringed at the command, hiring vermin was a double edged sword in many ways. Mercenaries would always follow for money for food, but vermin were very fickle with their loyalties. If they got the impression you had more to give, they would ask until they were either intimidated or given what they wanted and more. Vermin hired mercenaries all the time, but the Long Patrol considered such things to be pointless. Mercenaries can guard a village against a fellow vermin bandit, but as soon as real danger comes, they are very quick to swear new loyalties out of survival.

"What can we pay them with? We don't have much left in terms of supplies as it is?"

"We got weapons, bribe them with that, wot. Give them what they want to hear, I care not. I am not going to see our people die because some blasted rat or fox continues to evade us. If I caught either of them Balon. Their deaths will not be quick, and I would be damn sure of that."

Balon nodded in agreement, got up and bonked his head on the roof. He exited to do as bidded, Numbat staring out the window and into the distance. He hoped to any spirit who could read his mind that things would get better. It was at that very moment, a hare was rushing into the chief's hut, bearing news. News from Salamandastron.
_

Frankfort's army was now on the move, marching close to the tree line of the inner highlands, their hums and chants could be heard for nearly a mile. Villagers and hermits came out to watch the huge procession of yellow banners move past like a massive parade. More were confused by this display then excited. Frankfort moved at the side of his army, surrounded by elite guards of the Golden Regiment and his own personal bodyguard to his side. He would keep an eye on his army, giving a reassuring smile as they passed. Although his tactical advisor Guil predicted that the army would become more noticable and likely tracked by vermin scouts, his debate with Shackleford had given Frankfort doubts. Shackleford was adamant of vermin stupidity and incompetence, saying that they likely had no scouts and did not use advanced tactics other than swarming their opponents at first contact. Frankfort was not sure who to believe, up until he actually got to see and speak to his first vermin.

How this came to be was its own funny little story, as Frankfort had gotten tired of walking in his armor, and even in the coolness of Mossflower he was sweating up a storm. He decided to excuse himself to relieve in some bushes. He had finished and was about to call over to his bodyguard to help put his armor back on, when he heard some commotion. Two loud figures were arguing with one another.

"Ya be crazy, ya half brained twit! Der ain't no stompen fer miles! No horde eder."

"I swears, if ya get us conscripted into a blasted doomed horde, I'll have yer ears I will!"

The two figures stopped, as even from where Frankfort was, the distant hum and march of his troops could be heard in the far off distance, marching through the highlands and forests. There was a silence as Frankfort grasped his ornate sword and snuck around. He spotted two vermin, ferrets who were listening from a distance and slowly backing up in silence. Before they could run however, Frankfort had already gotten to the back of them and pulled his sword towards them.

Frankfort had heard all about vermin from the old tales, cannibalistic savages and treacherous brutes who cared not for anything except their own lives. The two ferrets in front of him looked like twins, both wearing small peasant caps and looked like utterly ragged beasts. Frankfort was actually kind of amazed at what he was witnessing, the two had very little if anything on them except a belt which held non-matching knives and pouches poorly stitched in. One wore a hooped earring, and the other a string necklace with a colorful stone. He expected the vermin to be utter savages, but as the vermin drew up their paws they began to back away. "No, hold on der bush tail! We's mean no harm we do!"

"I highly doubt that. Drop your weapons, scoundrels." Frankfort spoke loudly and with deep authority. He had hoped to speak loudly enough for his nearby guard to hear, but the ferrets turned to not see anything. They kind of just stood there, not sure what the squirrel wanted, and didn't even know what he was doing. When the ferrets began to back away, Frankfort raised his voice in anger to them.

"Move and perish, vermin."

The two stopped moving, at least for a moment. Frankfort partly lowered his blade and reassured himself "You scouts of the enemy, you talk quite a bit!"

"Scouts of who?" One of the ferrets asked.

"You are clearly the scouts of your master, Gandal."

"The hells a 'Gandal'?"

Frankfort looked annoyed, as the two ferrets looked around and didn't see anything. Frankfort had no clue himself what he wanted of them, thinking them as an enemy. I mean, all these vermin, aren't they all enemies? The squirrel firmly waved his sword to them "Well, you prisoners of war will not waste my time, go forward."

"I ain't moven, bush tail!" One of the ferrets closed his paws in anger, clearly not having it. Despite some whispered plees from his brother, the ferret continued "I ain't gonna go anywhere wit the likes of ya, woodlander."

"Call me 'bush tail' again, scum, and I will have you beheaded." Frankfort seethed. He had never heard of such blatant arrogance from the likes of a creature so below him. The ferret then began to mock him, toying with them as it became clear that no one was coming to Frankfort's aid.

"Well come an' make me, nut teeth!"

Frankfort then came over threateningly, his sword still raised. He tried to prod the bandit forward, albeit lightly. The bandit did go back a bit, but seemed a lot more confident.

"We ain't goin, an ya can't make us. Come on Nirb. Lets get out of here befer a real threat shows up!"

"Mirb! Don't be sayen dat wit dis warrior!"

"Oh come now! Warrior or not, ya still got to get me viddles, an' besides, we wouldn't even be outs here if ya didn't drag me or stole me vittles!"

"Liar! I didn't steal anythin!"

Frankfort let down his guard as the two ferrets began to push and lightly hit one another, practically screaming. He didn't notice at first when they came a little closer, and taking their chance, turned on Frankfort. As a trained prince and warrior, he knew how to duel the most prestigious of nobles, a swordsbeast who could practically dance with a blade. Nirb however had decided to show what the element of surprise did to such beasts, bashing his below into the prince's face. Frankfort regained some composure as the two ferrets began to get out of there. Frankfort caught onto his tail in time, trying to slice him in the back. Yet he was shocked when Mirb had pulled out his own knife and deflected the blow.

Frankfort held onto his tail, as Nirb was trying to duck to safety, only to hit himself right into a branch. Nursing his nose, he noticed his brother having troubles, who was fighting for his life against the squirrel prince. Mirb kicked the prince in the chest, which forced Frankfort to let go of his tail. The two ferrets tried to flee, only to run right into an angry looking Lars who came out of the bushes with a sword directed at them. The two brothers hugged each other in fear, and then tried to turn to another way to escape, only to find more hares and woodlanders in ornate yellow armor blocking them off, all of them trimmed with gold. Samkon came running in utter shock and fear, helping Frankfort get to his feet. The squirrel prince put his paw to his face, and saw that the ferret had drew blood.

Lars angrily disarmed the two ferrets and grabbed them both "My lord, I shall put these ruffians into their respective graves at once!"

"Wait!" Frankfort replied "No need, we shall punish them the proper way. A civilized way."
_

Nirb and Mirb didn't exactly feel lucky to be alive, shoulder to shoulder with two angry looking hares as they marched alongside the army, keeping silent. Both were bound in heavy iron chains clasped to their paws and neck, and struggled to keep up pace. They got looks from other soldiers, as their elite captors made sure they were marching at the head of the army, as soldiers would give curious looks at them. They smelled awful, looked awful, were unwashed. Nirb was in fact looking rather malnourished, and gave frightened looks to their captors and themselves. Once the army stopped to encamp for the night, the two were brought and kept under strict guard, and it was only then they started to complain.

"I'm hungry!" Nirb loudly groaned "I ain't eaten fer an entire day! Whens des workbeasts gonna feed us, Mirb?"

"We wouldn't even be here if ya didn't dragged me out here, ya flea rotted twit!"

"Wells, I gots to say ya wouldn't be here if we didn'ts tries to run!"

"We'd be here anyway!" The two ferret twins could have been practically at each other's throats, but their guards very firmly kept them apart and remained silent. As the main camp began to set up, the two ferrets got curious looks from all the southern woodlanders. It was a mix of curiosity, disgust, and concern. After a tense time had passed, and evening was setting, Lars had come up to the two guards keeping a handle on their two prisoners, and practically dragged them along to the entrance of a large pavilion where a small crowd of soldiers and officers had gathered.

Frankfort was there, his general all looking from the crowd, but next to the squirrel was a small mouse who looked on with curious eyes through his glasses. He came, practically prodding one with a small stick much to their annoyance "Most fascinating! Even when outmatched they turn to violence! I am impressed my lord you had not received worse."

It was then the two ferrets turned to see a small wooden stump being pulled forward, and placed in front of them. The threat of death was not lost on either of them.

"You two will speak, and you will speak in utter truth under pain of death. You are Gandal's scouts, following our army?"

"No! Wes not even know what the heck a Gandal is!" shouted Nirb. The thick vermin accent was repulsive for most who heard it, as Mirb tried to give a pained smile "Tis just an' honest beast's mistake gov'ner. We thoughts ya mean us harm!"

"It is because I do. We are here to drive the enemy of Mossflower from this land at their request. Yet, your master must surely know that?"

"My lord, I actually think they may be telling the truth." Shackleford commented "These bandits, are dumb and ill willed as they may be, are but simple and dumb beasts. Incapable of any higher thought than violence and obedience of a higher and stronger beast. Truly, if these were scouts they would have surely been far more subtle!" Shackleford sounded excited, already asking the two ferrets a thousand and one questions. "Oh you must tell me, tell me about our parents? Were they a part of a horde, or were you born elsewhere? Where did you learn to fight? Do you even eat anything that isn't stolen?"

The two ferrets only answered in stunned silence. They were somewhat aware that woodlanders thought less of them, but this was something different entirely. Mirb tried to play along on a false hope "Ya hear, good beast, princely sort! Me and me bra both be too dumb fer such things like scouten, eh!"

Guil was next to Frankfort, his paws crossed as he looked down at the two. "I don't think they are scouts either, my lord. However, this violence is unacceptable. If these beasts really are this foolish, then we have not much to fear."

Frankfort looked down at them, and began to draw his sword as a silence came over the crowd. Mirb and Nirb could see something was happening, both beginning to beg for their lives.

"Please! Wes didn't mean it! Take Mirb!"

"Shut up Nirb! Please, me good woodlander! Won't call ya bush tail again me promise! Spare us!"

Frankfort gave a curious eyebrow to this and spoke, even as he drew out his sword and leaned on it "You have nothing to fear, dark creatures, for as a people of Southward we have rules and regulations on such things. For violence committed against a sovereign member of the kingdom, you would normally be judged before a court of peers. Since there are none I trust amongst you to give good testimony, I shall be that judge. You shall serve out twenty seasons aiding the southward army in the camp, where you will hopefully learn some manners and some proper judgement. You will be unpaid, and you will learn to be proper beasts, although my trust in your faculties is considerably lessened. Normally I would have you hanged for striking at me in such a manner, a prince of Southward! However, our good mouse here has asked me to spare your lives, confident that a long number of seasons doing honest work will give you some basic intelligence enough to be released in due course."

Nirb and Mirb sighed with relief, sort of, forced labor sounded a lot better than death. Frankfort was not done as Mirb's paw was forced forward onto the wooden stump. He looked surprised and horrified as the squirrel continued.

"However, I cannot let you go unpunished for your transgressions and violence, perhaps if you will not learn by reason, you will learn by violence instead." Mirb looked up in horror as Frankfort in a swift motion brought his sword down on Mirb's paw. The vermin gave out a horrifying scream, which echoed through the camp.
_

Frankfort continued to move with the army as it began to pass beyond the bend. His first encounter with the vermin had given him quite some confidence, and he was feeling much happier than usual. His scouts were coming back with finally some good news, having found a decent path that could lead to civilization at least. The army was marching along that path, but as they did, a scout came up to Frankfort with an uneasy face. "My lord. There is a corpse on the side of the road. Several in fact."

Frankfort paused and nodded "Have the army continue on, but tell Kelsum what is happening. Make sure the army keeps close to the path, but far from the sight of these unfortunate souls."

Frankfort and his cadre of servants followed the scout to the scene of this atrocity, and as told, three bodies laid in a field of grass beside the road. When Frankfort approached, the first thing he noticed was the smell, the rot made him keep back as he stuffed his nose. Samkon knew the smell well enough, and looked over the bodies with increasing dismay. The mouse could note that these poor victims were far younger than him. He looked over the wounds, bending down to one and angrily spat "Speared to death it looks like. It wasn't a good death either."

"Is any death good?" Frankfort retorted.

"Quick ones." Samkon got up. Their belongings were stolen, and even one's shirt was missing. It was a gruesome sight as Samkon came back to his master, looking far more troubled than ever. Frankfort sighed and nodded as he turned to Lars who was looking out at the field, swapping away at hungry flies.

"Lars. Grab those two. We must have a talk again."

Lars nodded and went off as he turned to Samkon, seeing his bodyguard was still troubled. "Samkon? We have known each other for so long, but you seem more troubled then ever? I know you fought in the wars with the marsh lizards down south, and have seen battle before. I can see you seem damaged, and even I am concerned."

"One of them could be old enough to be my son, my lord. What manner of monsters do something like this? Not even bothering to bury them. It's unlike any decent beast. Do the people of Mossflower truly live like this, accepting this?" Frankfort had no answer, thinking of it himself. The first thought he had was that the two bandits he picked up were more than just bandits, but now potential murderers.

Lars brought more than just brought the new camp serfs Nirb and Mirb with him, but Shackleford as well, who had pestered them the moment they arrived. Mirb was nursing his now missing paw, bandaged up which gave him a sad sniffle each time he looked at it. Nirb tried to keep himself quiet, occasionally giving whatever Shackleford wanted to hear. In their first day since being conscripted, they had been forcefully washed, groomed, and now wore some rather nice pair of yellow linen cloths. To the woodlanders, these were the gettups of serfs, but to them it was oddly comfy. Both looked to be in mortal fear of their captors, especially of Frankfort who was giving them a murderous eye.

"Oh! Good Frankfort, you would not believe what I am learning in these past few days! So much of my research is being made into true fact with the help of these two poor lads!" Shackleford gave a wide smile. The two ferrets knew it was a bit different, the two used their interviews with the mouse to get out of washing clothes and dishes for a group of easily angered troops, constantly floundering in their duties. Or lazily trying to avoid them.

Frankfort nodded to Shackleford "Of course, but this is now important business. Tell me, ferrets. Do give me an opinion of this." Frankfort motioned towards the mice. Nirb and Mirb recognized them immediately, and were taken aback. The shock was enough for Samkon to grab onto the collar of Nirb's shirt, angrily yelling "You murderers! You filthy, scum ridden murderers!"

"Twas not us, we swears!" Nirb said in utter fright. "Liar! Shocked are you that we caught your crime!"

Shackleford was about to protest, but it seemed that Frankfort had already made up his mind "Lars. Hang these murderers. I wish to not see them again."

"Please! No!" Nirb was practically crying out in a pathetic plea, even as Lars was soon dragging them towards the wood. "Oh seasons! Please! Twas not us! It was Bulcher! Bulcher!"

Frankfort called out "Lars, do stop, I wish to hear this pathetic excuse."

Lars did, and forced the two horrified ferrets to their knees in front of the squirrel, awaiting their excuse. He expected a pathetic story, but Mirb cried out, trying to hold back terror and tears "Please, good gov'ner! Bulcher is a weasel who lives out in der woods, big ol' brute he is! Never much of a bandit, always chased into the deep woods! Dem round ears over der got spear marks in dem, an Bulcher uses a spear! Please, you must believe us! Please!"

Shackleford, who had once saved their lives now spoke up "Perhaps, my lord, if you may we should caution ourselves. These vermin will likely lie, saying anything to trick us into sparing their lives. A sad instinct no doubt."

Samkon however spoke up this time, in their defense, but cursed himself for doing so "Bloody wretches are right, though. These folk died brutal deaths, with a spear and all. Not dagger marks like these two idiots used."

Rather than feel relief, the two ferrets felt terror, practically bursting into tears of the hell they had just been thrown into. They had known woodlanders well enough, even robbed from them, but these folk were an entire breed of their own. Frankfort however came forward, his anger still fuming behind his fiery eyes.

"Your ignorance has cost creatures their lives, and for it I will not accept it as an excuse. You knew this butcher and did nothing, and gross incompetence is something neither I nor any good beast can abide! Lars, have these two lashed thrice, and then have their work doubled for good measure."

"Please me lord! I'd even show you to his camp! Just don't hurt us more!" Nirb begged. The pity Frankfort or his mouse bodyguard had seemed to boil into a firm disgust of them as Samkon reminded them "Then you prove your purposeful ignorance for this blatant banditry."

"Six lashes, and then you will join us in dealing with your fellow vermin in a proper manner."

The two were dragged away, with Shackleford content that they would at least be alive. The two remained silent, feeling like they had not been drafted into a woodlander army as much as a vermin horde and silently accepted their fate.
_

Bulcher's camp was as simple as a vermin camp could be. Strone across a rocky outcropping was all manner of trash piled on top of each other, ragged clothes to broken spearheads. The weasel kept a small bag of vittles leaning against a tree, with a fresh pile of loot such as small coins and things he could trade for vittles laying open nearby, getting soggy from misuse. The camp was crowned with a stick 'tent' which was covered in clothes the weasel had stolen to act as his covering, and had been his 'home' for many seasons. Bulcher himself was at a burnt out campfire in front of his little home, sharpening his favorite wooden spear with a rock. The weasel was grinning to himself, as he would reach down towards a hardening scone and take a bite of it.

Bulcher was average for a vermin bandit, dirty and wild, and once he heard some movement beyond the bushes of his small hidden camp, he quickly jumped up with a spear in paw. He kept silent, as two figures emerged awkwardly and fidgeting as they approached. He seemed relieved, recognizing Nirb and Mirb. "Ya two give me ol' heart a jump der! What ya two dumbskulls doin here?"

When the two approached, Bulcher raised an eyebrow to their condition. They looked weak, traumatized, and were holding their paws behind their backs. They looked cleaned, and their new clothes was too colorful for his tastes "Ya two I hope didn't gone soft, have ya?"

They remained silent, as if ashamed. Bulcher raised in voice in anger "Wells? Whats der matter wit ya huh? What idiot ya steal dee's gettups from anyhow? An's why ya take an ol' dip in der waters?"

Mirb kept his voice as hushed as possible and spoke "Bulcher. Ya gotta run mate. Ya gotta run hard."

"What, why?"

The two ferrets brought their paws to their front. Nirb was twitching as if in pain, something which Bulcher could immediately recognize. He turned to Mirb and now grew concerned, seeing he was now missing a paw entirely. It was bandaged, but the wound still looked fresh. "Okay, lads. Whats happene, an' tell me goods or I really will just spear ya." Bulcher seethed in a more serious tone.

Nirb fumbled to speak up "Dem southward folk, dey call themselves. Dey ask ya surrender, Bulcher."

"South-who-now? Is some bloody Long Patrol trick, eh? To scare me, eh?!"

It was not, as a couple hares bursted slowly from the trees and brush surrounding him. Bulcher held up his spear to them, and they drew swords and long spears in kind. He heard the crunching of armor on the ground, turning to see a new foe approaching. Frankfort and his bodyguard approached, with Lars also at his side. Bulcher was unsure of what he was honestly seeing, realizing these were not Long Patrol at all. He was about to strangle those two ferrets, but one of the hares had already been forcefully backing them up, looking horrified at him.

"You must be 'Bulcher' I take it." Frankfort began. The weasel held onto his spear with dear life. He nodded "Aye. Whatcha ya want, bush tail? Ya don't look like no mossflower folk."

"Observant at least." Frankfort sighed. "Surrender vermin, you will not be given a second chance to do so." Lars called out. The weasel grunted, he didn't particularly wish to die today, and he knew when he was beat. He threw his spear angrily down at the ground, and the hares moved in to restrain him. "Hey! Careful wit me fighten paws back der, long ears goons! Now wat ya want, ya golden nut muncher!"

"Insult our lord again, and I will be sure your death is painful vermin." Samkon angrily retorted. Frankfort spoke up, trying to keep his anger to a minimum in Lars' presence and to command his authority to a creature who would certainly not last long. "My army of Southward found your victims, three mice of stolen possessions. These two know you and called you out, which I suppose is something I should count as predictable. I would have expected them, but I see your favored weapon is the spear. A weapon that was used in such violent murders. Since there is no constable I have seen in this land, I shall deliver justice myself, under Southward law."

Bulcher's eyes narrowed in anger "Ya ain't got no proof do ya! I ain't done anythin fer the last twenty damned seasons, ya soft cretan!"

"No one else could have done it, unless you want to point out someone else?" However, as the two spoke to one another, Samkon was already rummaging through the weasel's things, knocking stuff over much to the weasel's increasing spite. He pulled up a mouse sized shirt and smacked dirt and grime off it with his paw. Several spear holes poked through and showed it to his master, confirming the weasel's guilt. Bulcher grunted in annoyance "Don't ya touch me things, ya round eared wretch!"

"Did you really kill three souls for a shirt, weasel?" Frankfort had asked sadly, but his voice was trembling with utter contempt. He had known of banditry, heard tales of it even, but seeing such petty murder for such a petty theft was angering him.

"I robbed em, I did. When dey were but corpses. Ya think I am gonna rob some bumpkin an' den kill em?"

"I do not, and can not, believe you on that." Frankfort retorted coldly. The weasel rolled his eyes, seeing that the woodlander prince had already assumed his guilt, not much better then the Long Patrol. It was true in some way, he did find the bodies on the road, found it rather curious, and being the half decent bandit he stole their possessions before they started to rot.

"Fine. I admits to it." Bulcher sighed with annoyance. He assumed he would end up no better than the nitwit ferrets beyond him, and being caught red pawed certainly didn't give him much hope of being let go. "When dem Long Patrol started leaven, I tooks noticed an started trappen the roads. Three of dem gentle folk were comin up the road, an's I notice dey got some goodies. I asked fer dem politely, dey rebuked me, an' I stabbed one fer good measure. Tried to jump me they dids! Not that it ended wells fer dem as ya likely saw no doubt."

Frankfort nor anyone really was surprised, and especially not Nirb and Mirb. Bulcher was always a bandit, but they gave him a pitied look now, seeing that he had just given Frankfort what he wanted to hear. Nirb was curious however, as Bulcher was looking at him, angry eyed but yet also pitying him. Nirb wondered if Bulcher was telling the truth, but he supposed it didn't matter much now.

"I see. For your crimes of banditry I would have seen you lashed and put in stocks, but the crime of murder is severe. The cruelty you inflicted was severe, and I will not suffer such an enemy of life to live." Bulcher's eyes widened, as he felt a rope being put around his neck and tightened. He looked behind him, seeing what some of the hares were preparing to do, to execute him. They pulled him, putting a stump for him to stand on in this impromptu execution.

To Nirb and Mirb, they couldn't help but look away, but Bulcher called out to them angrily "Ya two better be watchen ya tattle tailing wretches. I helped ya pa out when his legs got broken, an fed ya duren winter when he passed. Ya better be looken when I be passen!" Only Mirb looked terrified and watched, as Bulcher was giving them a pitied look, but turned his attention to Frankfort. The squirrel expected little of him, for him to beg for his life, to even redraw his plea. Yet he only received curses in turn "Hope ya rot in hell, bush tail."

Samkon came over and personally rolled the log to the side, Bulcher struggled and then struggled no more. The southward folk and their two mortified prisoners left, leaving the body as it was, slowly swaying with the cool breeze of Mossflower's highlands.

---

Frankfort was in his tent, enjoying a nice cup of tea. He was a lot more satisfied then he should have been, remembering his days in the palace of Castle Floret with nostalgia. He had a great deal of responsibilities at home, but he imagined himself his future rule would be a lot better if he came back as a triumphant hero. Yet he couldn't help but be pleased with himself, having dispensed justice against a murderer and given mercy to others. His company was soon to be enjoyed by Shackleford who came into the tent, announced "My lord, I would like to speak of an urgent piece of information quite dire, a theory you might say! I heard of what happened in the forest from two wonderful folk you brought right into our good camp, quite a talkative lot you might say. Oh. Apologies, I mean criminals of course."

"No need to apologize. I was never in danger of that pitiful attack. They do a service turning in bandits now then later. Have they revealed others?"

"No sadly, quite silent about that. I would have loved to interview that weasel, and perhaps even get a good documentation of its cranial capacity. Tell me, was it at least as I predicted?"

Frankfort thought on that "Yes, and no. He had openly admitted to violence, showing no emotion other than contempt for the lives of others. Yet, he did not beg for his life. He did in fact surrender and accepted he would be dead. He certainly lived less like a civilized creature, a complete embarrassment to a sentient being, as if comfortable in such a state of poverty. Yet, he mentioned some things which were odd. Your theories on self preservation sounds might need some work. He mentioned to those ferrets that he helped their father out with a leg issue, and fed them when he passed on. That means that evil beast knew how to treat wounds, and showed empathy in some capacity. If it is to be believed of course."

"I will highly doubt that, and even debate it. No doubt he lied to get your attention to exert sympathy from you to spare his life. I am more than certain vermin do not even know how to properly heal wounds, except for one particular species of 'fox' which we have not encountered. I hear they are purveyors of religion, an intelligent and strange species indeed, more so than average vermin types. These savage beasts should not always have their words taken so seriously, but scholars like myself can easily divide up between the half truths to get a clearer picture. Likely this bandit would feed his subordinates such as those two ferrets out of a need to grow his horde, not out of a need for pity."

Frankfort nodded "I suppose that does make sense, but I also admit to not be much of an authority on them. I do not understand how the Long Patrol tolerate such beasts so brazenly in their lands."

"A question I had as well." Shackleford sat down, as Frankfort gave him a curious eye. The mouse seemed almost jubilant, the older beast quite proudly exclaimed "In a word to word speech, is it not curious that this bandit goes to prowl the road immediately as the Long Patrol retreat? I am a scholar, yes, but no tactician. Why would an organization which prides itself on their duties of ridding vermin from their lands seem so incapable of doing so?"

Frankfort looked less curious, and now grew concerned. "I suppose that is a fair question."

"I have had a long standing theory, of the comings and goings of vermin, and while many colleagues had missed my point, I think I know enough from some of the truths of this land to say there is something amiss. Our good Southward is not ruled by badgers, but yet we consider them the wisest of species. The Long Patrol has long been believed to be the top of their game in all manner of war and skill, and we base much of our own standing forces on them. Yet? Why do they flounder so often against a foe like these vermin? They are sieged down after siege, and it seems quite an odd predicament that the settlements here are more like plums for which these vermin hordes feast on!"

Frankfort kept silent, not even sure he could believe what he was hearing. Shackleford could not notice, practically a youthful child as he continued to explain. "It is a cycle you see, a circle of ceaseless war and endless strife. I do not think, I know, that a force guided from the only governance here in Salamandastron in secret controls these vermin. It is but simple logic and reason that we are not here to much aid the people of Mossflower, but perhaps keep a group of less competent badgers in charge!"

"Shackleford!" Frankfort spoke up in anger, the elderly mouse nearly backed away in fear of his own. Frankfort could not believe what he was hearing, but yet to him, it was kind of making low key sense. He had no explanation for what he saw, his extensive education as a prince of a mighty kingdom told him that all he saw here were red flags of barbarism and untamed lands. He could honestly not believe he was even in Mossflower, the home and precursor to many legends and tales of his own civilization. The saviors of his ancestors came from this land, and he had come to expect a paradise, not a backwater.

"You." Frankfort froze, he was tempted to have Shackleford arrested for trying to introduce treason to him. He had come to help Mossflower, not to coup it. "You will speak of this to no one. Under pain of the laws of treason. I will hear no more of these ideas of yours, and you will be silent for the remainder of the campaign." Frankfort gave a low whisper, making sure others outside could not hear. The elderly mouse nodded and did as bid, silently going off. Frankfort hoped he would reach this Palewind soon, and then he could help out for real.

Yet as he watched the mouse go off, he seemed less certain than before. He was a skilled politician, he had to be, but this? Seasons. What if Shackleford is right.
_

Shackleford was in his tent, writing down in his journal in silence. He was a little dejected that the prince could not see the reason he exposed, nor the logic of his writings. He had been so confident and jumpy on his ideas, but now he felt he had to rethink it. He had been interviewing the two ferrets as they worked amongst the camp, but even they grew silent and distant after the events of Bulcher's death. As Shackleford was writing into the night, he could hear the pat of rain on his tent. He paused to look up, wondering if it was going to storm again tonight. Yet, as he looked back down to his book, he jumped back in surprise to see Nosbub standing there, like a wraith having entered. He was slightly dripping, giving a wide and cruel smile.

"Oh? Commander Nosbub, my good lord. How can I help you?" Shackleford put his quill down as Nosbub silently went forward, looking over the room. "I am best to inform you that there was a meeting recently. About you most particularly. Once we reach Palewind, you will be escorted back to Southward."

"Oh." The elder mouse didn't seem surprised and fixed his glasses. "Bloody shame really. Bloody shame. Practically broke Frankfort's heart, but he did tell us of your-" Nosbub gave a long pause, his eyes affixed on a map of Mossflower in the room of Shackleford. "Ideas."

"I suppose I am too controversial then. Tell me, what do others think of it?"

"Kelsum was disgusted, but Gosland was quite defensive. No one could agree. You are the smartest beast in the camp you know, and of course, if anything I am little surprised you even mentioned such a thing to our dear prince. What exactly gave you confidence that your 'ideas' would be so eagerly accepted by our good lord?"

"Oh! Most simple. Logic and reason. Nothing of the vermin we have met screams any form of competence other then barbarism and a lack of coordination, a dumb and likely naturally unintelligent species who need to be goaded and commanded by a higher power. Yet I am asking, who is exactly that higher power? A fellow vermin? Tales abound of Long Patrol hares disguising themselves as such, and are entirely mistaken to be vermin themselves! It must stand to reason, that they are the real ones pulling the strings, and for what purpose could only be guessed at. I theorize it is because they continue to leech off the small communities and peasants of Mossflower, denying them civilization and offering nothing of value in turn."

If Nosbub was not up to his own tricks, he would have bursted out laughing, but yet he seemed to give a smile and a twitch of his face. He came over and happily spoke "I believe you entirely, and spoke of it. Yet, when it comes down to it, I have a feeling that the solution to this problem is not an easy one?"

"That is what is left up to others, not I. I do honestly think these vermin can be tamed, and made at least into competent creatures, albeit forever doomed to labor without much thought. The ferrets we have in our camp are a good example."

"This land is quite untamed it seems. Practically just empty one might even say, void of civilization's touch."

"A fault I put on the badgers, and no one else."

Nosbub lifted an eyebrow, he was prodding at something "The note we got from the Long Patrol commander, what do you think of that?"

"Oh I have already thought of that. Just as there are a few bad apples here and there, I think there are good apples amongst the Long Patrol. Most likely out of moral panic, or out of a need to redeem themselves shackled to such an organization, a member forged that message and sent it to us to get our desperate aid. Many Mossflower residents move to our land, yet none go north? Perhaps it's on purpose we know so little of this land, and that the merchants we rely so much on for our information on it as well. I thus conclude that the Long Patrol had not sent a plea of help, nor would the badger lords sent a plea for help, as it is designed for them to deal out justice on these enemies to give glory to themselves. Perhaps that is the only law in this land, to give praise where none should be give!" Shackleford liked that last line so much, he picked up his quill and began to write it down, not even noticing the increasing grin on Nosbub's face.

Bloody round eared madbeast has a bloody answer for everything. This backwater is quite ripe, like a land empty and void of anything decent other then to build upon. This land certainly not lacking in beasts, certainly, but yet there is much that can done with it. Like a sculptor's clay really. Nosbub was thinking to himself, his thoughts turned back to southward with increasing contempt. Returning back home means I'd have to spend the next bloody twenty seasons watching over some mothballed soldiers and slap a peasant around or two. If I play my cards right here, with this naive round ears I'd retire in absolute luxury in less then five! Nosbub's greed was getting the better of him, his fantasy of ways to profit off this strange situation made him let out curious questions.

"Shackleford, if I may ask, did the prince seem utterly convinced of your supposed madness, or only a little?"

"To be honest, he looked like he was about to completely agree. Shame that he lacks such reason."

"I see." Nosbub and Shackleford spoke into the night, and when Nosbub left, he was tired and filled with some new found hopes. He looked out into the midnight darkness beyond the hills of Mossflower, imagining new castles and fields that would perhaps one day bear his name.
_

Frankfort was again at the head of his army, as they began to pass by an increasing number of bad sights. They were following paths northwest, trying to find a larger road to lead them to Palewind. Yet, as the army passed, they would march past abandoned villages and impoverished farmers who were left behind, looking on curiously. In the back of the army, Gosland and Kelsum were having an argument with one another over last night's events, with the two becoming increasingly frustrated with one another.

"I mean, I suppose it makes a little sense Kelsum. We all read Shackleford's book, and now it makes a lot of sense!"

"I don't know what got into that mouse's head. Bolly lunacy that all is." Kelsum rolled his eyes. Gosland seemed more adamant however "Shackleford is a beast of authority, but not a physical one but a mental one. He is wisened with age and knows what he is talking about. I mean, have you seen and talked to those two prisoners we got? They can barely speak a word of common sense, practically fighting each other constantly! I may think Shackleford has gone a bit far, but you must admit this is all rather convenient."

"Tis not convenient at all, it is war young Gosland."

Gosland grunted at this fact. Of the generals, he was perhaps the youngest amongst them and had the littlest experience. "No need to pull that up, commander Kelsum."

"Yet necessary. We serve the prince at his leisure as is our duty no matter what it be. Even if you agree or disagree, you must always keep in mind you are to obey the orders he gives to the letter. If I was in charge, such talk from Shackleford would see him in shackles, explaining his 'ideas' to a tribunal. The Long Patrol are not nonsense, the tales of their exploits are not entirely legend. We are here to help the people of Mossflower."

"Perhaps from themselves it seems. You've seen these villages. If this were Southward, we would have called it poverty!"

"Yet it isn't southward!" The two were raising their voices at one another, but stopped when they saw a hare rushing past them. Kelsum noted that it was one of Nosbub's soldiers, although he rushed past the group as if he were a scout. Kelsum continued "Look, we haven't even seen all of Mossflower yet. We always knew that this land was behind us in terms of civilization, but we cannot just assume insane things such as this, wot!"

"Do you really think creatures like those two idiots who dared to attack out prince are smart enough to command an entire horde?"

"I must ask why you believe such things first and foremost. Why must you insist on defending such drivel?"

Gosland grunted "This is Shackleford we are speaking about, the only authority in all of Southward who knows about the vermin, and their culture. From what we've encountered so far, I think he is right." Kelsum however could tell Gosland was not fully telling the truth, from the otter's worried face. It was an expression of uncertainty, and confusion. The very idea of a fellow woodlander believing or doing anything so controversial was beyond him. Lizards perhaps were savages from the far southern marshes, and they could reason the difference of good and evil, but they could agree on one thing. There really was no moral gray, only lighter shades of light and dark.

"Look, perhaps Shackleford is just wrong, and that once we reach Palewind he will change his tune real quick. Distrust tis not a sin."

The army suddenly stopped, and began to turn towards the forests at a faster pace. The sudden change in direction was odd, and it was curious enough to have the two commanders rush to the front. Once there, they noticed Nosbub and one his soldiers there, speaking with Frankfort.

"We spotted smoke in the distance my lord, likely a battle sight no doubt." Nosbub grunted "Even if not, we should prepare for a quick engagement." The scout next to him wanted to speak up, looking rather wide eyed, but a vicious glare from Nosbub kept him silent. Frankfort nodded "Then we head that way, to the village's aid. No doubt more of these vermin threaten the villages."

"I shall send scouts my lord, to make sure it is a village and trouble and we ca-" Gosland was going on, but was cut off sharply by Nosbub "No need, commander Gosland. My scouts had done the work themselves. I sent them out to get a good idea of the nearby villages and towns in this region. For practical reasons."

Kelsum lifted a curious eyebrow to the Black Twitch, who seemed to try to hold back a smile. The short and greasy black hare kept his military composure as the army marched into the forest towards the light puffs of smoke.
_

This was where Frankfort and his general found the village of Banzlow.

This was where they found a masterpiece to the cycle of atrocity.

In solemn silence, a thick and blackened smoke formed a mist from the village and those around it, the southward army dispersed slowly across the field to form a perimeter. Yet, all looked on in a saddened terror at the fields and village center, unable to turn away from the brutality of such savagery. Frankfort stood at the village's entrance, the once well lit bonfire of the night now a cinder of smoke, and ash flowed onto his golden armor. His commanders, his friend, and comrades of the highest office stood to his side, looking on at the village in due silence. To describe what they saw would have given nightmares to children and adults alike, a cruel gesture.

Strone across the field were the bodies of villagers who were left unburied, and the grass watered in the ashes. They were of many species, but spotted amongst them were two Long Patrol hares who could be identified from their colorful jackets and metals. The bodies of several vermin were also amongst the dead, which only added to the mystery they saw. The southlanders looked for survivors and could find none, only more gruesome horror and more terrible things that made them sick. In the distance, several soldiers rushed beyond the bushes to recover themselves or to puke from what they saw.

Everyone next to Frankfort was in awe, their contempt rising as they continued to look on at this abomination before them. It was nothing they had ever witnessed. Kelsum, a veteran in wars against lizards and frogs of deeper marshes and northern incursions had never seen such a terrible sight. Not even lizards would have such imagination as they beheld. He kept silent, as Gosland looked on in sadness and contempt. He would look occasionally at the body of a Long Patrol hare, and sadly sigh at their failure to prevent such a tragedy.

The silence was broken as the elderly mouse scholar pulled forward, his student trying to silently get him to move back. "If the vermin are creative in one thing, it is violence such as this."

Kelsum was about to drag the mouse back, but Frankfort stopped him with a command "Let him speak." His eyes never turned away from this evil before him, as if trying to burn this memory into his mind.

"Even when given a chance my lord, the rulers of this land ignore such things like this, at the cost to themselves and all others. This tragedy, utterly preventable in all things, was avoided with malice. No creature could not see this stack of smoke, and yet these bodies are left unburied and their lives forever gone. My lord, I do not implore or command you, but I beg you to listen to what you see before you not as an act of vermin evil. It is an act of overwhelming incompetence, by the very creatures we are here to fight a war for."

There was a loud murmur of shocked voices from surrounding soldiers, but yet as all their eyes turned to their leaders, Nosbub spoke up. "My lords, we were far too late to save this village, but the Long Patrol was not. I must agree with our good camp philosopher. This tragedy is deep in mossflower lands, and was entirely preventable."

"Nosbub, you can't possibly think that!"

"Yet I do. Evidence shows otherwise. Two guards for an entire village against a force who likely rounded all these villagers up and massacred them? This is a joke, an insult to any garrison."

Frankfort remained silent, his eyes burned with rage and anger. Justice would need to be served, especially this time, but against who he did not know. He called out to his troops "Commander Kelsum, Nosbub, and Gosland. We will bury the bodies in decent graves. We will march to Palewind shortly thereafter, to get our answers."

Nosbub twitched his eyes from side to side, and seeing the shocked faces of Kelsum gave him a little glee. He smiled.

---

In the darkness she stirred.

In the caves beneath a mountain of rock, darkness began to slowly come to a dim light. It moved across, flickering her tongue in the silence. A great serpent moved its head around the face of a rock, resting upon the surface of a dim plateau like a throne as it rested and looked below. Torches were lit as a small gathering of frogs and newts bowed into her presence. She flicked her tongue as her eyes darted to a cauldron on the opposite side of her and spoke in a low and hushed tone "Bring usss the sssacrifce, he callsss for power, and we ssshall anssswer!" There was a loud and cheerful croak from the lady's minions. Her scales, painted a crimson red, and the banners of her minions of bloody colors. Their war paint was illuminated in dark light, as a figure dragged a screaming rat into the cavern.

The lady of the mountain, she who listened in the forests, listened ever so closely and flickered her tongue. It was if she was listening to someone, something.

"Please! Let me go ya slimy wretches!" The rat begged, but the figure in the dark in undeadish motion kept dragging him to the cauldron.

"One by day, we givesss you. One by day, to ssserve beyond, the King in Red. To feed powersss onto you, to break the foe beyondsss" The snake flickered her tongue in a dark chant. The frogs could not hear anything, but they believed fully in what the snake said as she watched the poor captured creature come forward. She watched intently, as it pleaded for life, but life was stolen as soon as it was dunked into the ancient stew that had claimed many lives thus far. A red mist blew into the air from it, and silence fell upon them.

The snake continued to comment to the invisible figure "Oh lordsss of all, mastersss of burning foresssts. Your day cometh, and yoursss desssigns made manifest. Onto you I grantsss power, ansss in turn you givesss us yoursss! Let the troublesss begin anew, your pawnsss from the south come forth, your beastsss from the west draw near! The warriorsss who defy you, oh crimssson king, will not stop you. I ssshall be sure of it."

She turned her head to the chief of her minions, a great frog whose spear dripped with her own venom. She scolded it "Gazsss, we mustsss have more. Go out and bringsss us more, or yoursss frogs will be used in theirsss stead." The frog knelt and swiftly went out. The snake's head turned to one stone at the far end of her cave and crept near it. She slithered her tongue at it, but yet kept her distance. It was an ancient thing, a thing of power which she feared.

It was a sword, a great sword nudged into the rock itself. A newt came over from the dark stew in the cave and poured the dark contents onto it, but it slid off of it and kept itself clean. The sword was stuck into the ground, and its silver cross piece and red pommel was wrapped in black leather. The star metal had not even faded. The snake flickered her tongue in anger, not able to even touch the blade let alone harmed it, but soon it would be vulnerable, and soon all of Mossflower would burn.