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.

58. Battle of the River's Side

Chapter 57: Battle of the River's Side

Markem was sleeping soundly in his tent, and began to awake. He felt quite alive and relaxed as he sniffed the morning air, filled with the fresh aroma of cooking meat of his horse. Markem both loved and hated camping, it was a paradoxical relationship he had with living in hordes. He didn't like stepping out into some muddy camp and having to clean it all off later, he didn't like the poor tastes of food, the awkward yelling between two frustrated soldiers over their station in the camp, and he certainly didn't like the constant busy work. Yet, he loved the comradery, he loved the safety of being in a horde, and the vittles were always secure.

Yet being a warlord flipped all of that, he wasn't sure he liked it.

He had slaves who did all the small annoying things, he always had the best food, and now he had a nice spot among captains of his own to not have to listen to the awkward rabble complain and fight over something foolish. Yet he missed just talking to vermin normally, he missed being a nobody who didn't want to kill him for his position or some game of intrigue, and what he certainly missed was not having to worry about the meals of his soldiers. He micromanaged his supplies so much, even just waking up was a headache to keep it all together.

Markem got out of his bed and breathed in and out, tempted to not call 'Dirt' into his abode to help him get his armor on. He had too much to do, too much to plan, and he really justed wanted to return to his bed and pretend he didn't need to do any of it.

Yet the thought occurred to him that always drove him onward; If he didn't do it, someone else had to, and they wouldn't do it right.

He sighed and called out "'Dirt'. Ready to get me bleeding armor on."

'Dirt' slowly poked his head through the flap and blinked and approached. He was frowning a little, and Markem was quick to ask "Have I said something wrong?"

"You seem in a poor mood, sir. I was wondering if I had done something wrong."

"Nay, tis just this whole business wit dem rebels, shrews, and ott-" He stopped and looked at 'Dirt', and quickly corrected "Erm, holt. Not like otters as in ya, 'Dirt'. Ya know what I mean."

'Dirt' nodded and got out Markem's armor, including the ever hated horned helm. Markem allowed 'Dirt' to fit it onto him as the rat stood still. He opened his thoughts to 'Dirt' "Cap'n Niala says we had some incident wit der boats, some rat an' youngsters crossed der river disguised as slaves, or were slaves, or somethen. Shot an arrow at her even.I swear, I am tempted to just hire beavers to dam dis whole damned river."

"Beavers are still around, sir?"

"I mean, I hope dey are. Not many of dem left, but dey still be kicken farther east. May need to send out Resker to round a few up. Dat river causes me plenty o' trouble, and der only bridge to cross it is many miles away! Der only shallows are even farther off. If dem rebels came out to attack me home front, we'd be returning home to find a ruin."

"You could always have those hedgehogs back home build a bridge, sir."

"Oh. Dey can do dat?"

"I think so? I don't know much about that kind of thing, sir. I just know how to swim."

Markem nodded "Hopefully, once me army is good an rested we can return back to Redwall and take it for good, or if I am luckier, Hazul took it while I was gone."

'Dirt' cringed, something which Markem noticed "Why ya maken dat face? I don't intend to massacre dem, ya know."

"I know that sir, its mostly thinking of Hazul taking it." Markem thought it over, and then also began to cringe. The thought of coming into Redwall Abbey, the halls strewn with bodies because some voice in Hazul's head told him so, with Hazul wrapped in the tapestry of Martin himself, speaking riddles or some nonsense to Markem was certainly a horrible thought. "Oh. Right."

"Boss." A voice came from outside, Scarl's voice. Markem beckoned him in, to which 'Dirt' finished up putting on Markem's armor. The rat looked himself over before turning to Scarl, the warlord smiling to his friend. His smile faded as Scarl did not smile back. "Okay, what is wrong. Dat nut farmer ain't laying siege to Gholand?"

Scarl shook his head

"Otters an' shrews ain't return?"

Scarl again shook his head

Markem bega to become anxious, as Scarl beckoned him to come out of his tent. Followed by 'Dirt' he saw Jarolom and Niala with their respective hordes as the came to the foot of the camp. Veekun's Burrow and Jusbrag vermin, along with the vermin of his allied warlords began to limp into the main camp, damaged and defeated. There was a long line of soldiers who limped into the camp to pitch their tent and get food as Markem looked about his soldiers. It was clear to him what happened as Kylan appeared, slowly approaching him.

Kylan tried to speak, but said nothing, as Markem's attention turned to Hazul. He was sitting near the edge of the camp, being farther off as he sat on the forest floor looking at the returning soldiers. Hazul didn't look anywhere but towards Redwall as Scarl explained in a short whisper.

"Hazul's brother, Kajam, der big one. He was killed in an assault."

Markem frowned. Such things were inevitable in war, but even Kylan did not bother the water rat who looked almost unearthly as he sat alone, looking at the routing soldiers who trickled into Markem's camp. Hazul finally got up and approached Markem with a distant stare, as he spoke with a sadness to his voice "Redwall is lost, Great Warlord."

"To who?"

"Woodlanders. From the south. Yellow banners, well organized. They attacked us quickly and viciously. We stood no chance."

"I mean, i'd have stood a good chance if I be der one in charge instead of h–" Kylan began, but was silenced with a glare from Hazul. Markem sighed "I am sorry fer yer brother, Hazul."

Hazul was silent "I'll mourn him later, we have a war to win."

Scarl was quick to ask "Ya two know anyding about who attacked ya? Ya say der yellow, but dat don't mean much other den dey ain't from around here."

"How ya figure?" asked Markem

Scarl was about to answer, but 'Dirt' spoke first "Cause, sir. Mossflower's colors are Dark Green. Ours is Brown. The Holt uses blue, and Redwall and the Long Patrol use reds. No beast uses yellow to represent them except, I think, Southward."

Everyone amongst the group stared at 'Dirt' who frowned "Oh. I mean, ummm–"

"Yer right, 'Dirt', but why are ya right?"

"Me and me brother used to talk about the banner colors back home in Gholand, like how Kylan has orange banners or Hazul has black banners. You can make a whole rainbow of banners, sirs. Southward was where Joseph the Bellmaker–"

"-Went to in his journeys once delivering the bell to Redwall. Redwall used to have one bell, up until Cluny the Scourge." continued Hazul "Yet, Southward being here is a bit of mystery. It would have taken weeks for Southward to assemble such an army we faced to get there, they'd have to have crossed a desert!"

"Scarl. Hazul. Grab our best scouts and set dem to work to find out what those folk are doin, I want to know everything we can. If dey rescued Redwall, we will just have to fight dem. It'll be annoying, but we can defeat dem as we did der Long Patrol. Hazul. Kylan. Get yer vermin some rest, I need to speak wit der others, make sure dey are alright."

Markem and 'Dirt' moved past them as Scarl looked baffled, almost humiliated as he asked the two "How close were we to taken Redwall?"

"Very close." Kylan answered

Hazul remained silent and went about his task, not answering Scarl.
_

Markem walked into the command tent, where what remained of his warlords and comrades had gathered, licking their wounds. The only beasts who didn't own hordes in his presence was Scarl who sat in the middle of the table, looking over their map of Mossflower, and 'Dirt' who stood beside his master at the ready. 'Dirt' excused himself to guard the tent from outside as Hazul took his place to look down at the map. Markem had reviewed what he had lost, it wasn't substantial for him, but it was devastating for the Great Vermin Band as a whole. Too many were dead for his liking. Resker and Jakker came forward first, their wounds treats as the pine marten spoke up.

"Chief, we saved whom we could, the good news is that it isn't a total loss, but many of the boys are badly hurt."

"Not be sure if dat is good to hear or not Resker. Our supplies? Your elite divisions?"

"Any supplies we had we left behind, that includes most if not all of the slaves we had in our camp. Our elite divisions suffered, but we got most of dem back with us. Hazul here, he–"

"Speak Ill of me Resker and you'll find a hole in the ground awaiting you." Hazul warned, not even bothering to bring his head up to give it. He pointed at the map of Mossflower, drawing his finger along a river. Scarl only nodded and made a mental note of it. Kylan, who was tired, sat in chair and folded his paws, grunting and rolling his eyes as he spoke in a dark tone.

"We lost too many, in me books, ya should have let me. Or even Resker, take command. Hazul here–"

"The same threat I have for all of you applies to you especially Kylan."

"Enough." Markem said, frustration in his voice. He got the front of the group as Hazul made way as he tried to speak in a calm tone. "I've heard the reports, from all of ya. I talked with everyone. We have scouts looken fer information an' der like on dis new foe. Dey beat us but once, an' blamen ourselves now for poor decisions ain't gonna bring the beasts we lost back, or our progress! Hazul was put in charge cause he der best siege beast wit der most experience wit it, any troubles ya had wit him we can resolve after we kill de's woodlanders from der south."

There was a rumor of disagreement from the warlords, but yet none dared speak up. Many expected Markem to be in a sour mood, but Markem seemed almost chilled. He expected some manner of bad progress after his battle in Mossfield, this was he hoped was it, and once he defeated this foe, he was clear to conquer the rest of Mossflower country.

"Der is an army at Redwall, an dat army won't stay der for long. If dey are smart, de'll march out to greet us in battle an' try to wipe us out while we are at bad strength."

Resker raised an eyebrow to this, asking "Why not just stay in Redwall, behind solid walls?"

"Den dey'll be under siege again, an' dat wall becomes a prison. If we snap back to layen siege to dem, de'll have messed up, even if dey can defeat us in der open, dey won't risk being put under siege while dey got an advantage."

Scarl shook his head "Aye, but question is, where do they go, and what do we do?

Markem was about to speak, it was clear to his warlords he was about it, but he truthfully was at a lost for words. He thought and sighed "I honestly don't bleeding know, I was hopen ya all got some suggestions. Yet keep in mind, we got issues up here an' all over, and not much we can pull from. We got a part of der horde keeping a hold on Tussock, we got Lefen's rebels an' escaped slaves doin trouble up here wit dem foxes, and now we got shrews an' otters to deal wit. Dey are defeated for now, but it won't be long till dey recover demselves. We got beasts all over der place."

"Overextended is a word you look for." Hazul concurred.

Hazul rose his head from the map and pointed back at Redwall "We were beaten, but we have to move on them when we can, and quickly. We need to show them, and our vermin, we are far from this fight. We march out, kill them, splatter their blood on sacred stones, and march back to Redwall with their heads on pikes."

The warlords were at first in agreement, up until Hazul mentioned 'sacred stones', but the fervor was there. Markem disagreed "Marching on Redwall wit der army in this state. We don't know where dey are headed, dey could be headed to Salamandastron for all we know, to deal wit dem Greeneye folk."

"Den dat is why we gotta attack now!" Hazul pounded his fat foot into the ground, his jewelry clinking as he did "We gotta take der whole darn army an' crash it against dem, before dey even dink what be goin on! Tis a good tactic, throwen our army at dem, before dey even get into battle lines!" Markem was about to silence him for his foolish suggestion, but was shocked when Resker spoke in agreement "Aye, we gotta attack dem, an it gotta be sudden an' brutal. Des folks, Markem, dey were built different, dem woodlanders looked like they relied on their professionalism an' so forth, or whatever the woodlanders call it. Professional beasts break in chaos. We gotta ambush dem good, an be quick in breaking dem apart."

Hazul rolled his eyes "We need to fight them, yes, but not like that. Markem, we need a pitched battle. We can't overwhelm a force like that, it is too big and we have too few. Kylan here would need to conscript an army and destroy the ideals of this horde."

"Who be caren about ideals, Hazul?" Resker asked "We can't afford to even be seen as weak, especially now! If der horde sees us not doin what hordes do, do you think dey will follow us to battle?"

Scarl yelled up at them, getting them to be silent "Enough! Look, we are all in agreement, we gotta fight dem, but we still don't what we are gonna do. We march out now, we could be missing der army as they head to who-gives-a-hell in der middle of gosh-darn-nowhere!"

"Agreed." Markem said firmly "Lads, we lost, but we ain't marching to another loss. I want more information on where dis army is headed, or if they are heading anywhere at all. I want to know everything we need to know. All of ya, get some rest and recover yer forces. I will send out some beasts to try to recruit fer yer hordes, but we aren't returning to conscription. We can't led woodlanders defile me laws because of one bad battle. Got it?"

Hazul and Kylan nodded, and with their agreement the others did too. One by one they left till only Markem and Scarl remained. Scarl looked up at his chief and sighed "Dis is all bad, Markem. How der hell do we miss something like dis?"

"Ya don't, I'm starting to just dink Hazul be right an Redwall just be cursed. We should be heading back to Gholand, let der army come to the river and challenge dem in a bad position, but all dem warlords are too bloodthirsty to keep on a leash. Dey are more calm in dings like dis den soldiers, if I were still a hordebeast, I'd be questioning why we ain't marching out to fight dem woodlanders meself. Knowing what I do, I know it would lead to our demise if we go in blind."

"Ya dink dey'll head to us?"

"I'd be surprised if they don't. Once our scouts return, I want every beast we got, slave an' free, to move out. We'll crush der others later." Scarl nodded as he left the tent, leaving Markem alone with his thoughts. Markem looked down at the table, his calm demeanor began to falter, anger filled his eyes. Redwall, the desire of many, eluded him. Without thinking, he angrily pounded the wooden table alone, cursing to himself. I will not let ghosts and superstitions beat me. I have done too much to let them do this to me!
_

Markem's army moved away from the river, but not far as they moved south towards Redwall, stopping by a clearing to which the horde began to unpack. Vermin began to pour in from wagon trains bound for the camp, as Jarolom and Niala walked together. Brother and sister watched as one wagon stopped, a caravan master being a hedgehog and his family bringing the horde's food. Two slaves helped unload the crates as fresh metals, clothes, and grain found its way into Markem's storehouses. Another wagon came on by, full to the brim with younger vermin, still adults, who bore armor and weapons who likely came from warband who hitched a ride and quickly ran up to Resker who waved them over. They were strange lads, all of them had their ears chipped as Resker reviewed them and brought them into his horde. Another wagon brought in some slaves, fairly fresh as Jarolom could guess by one annoyed older mouse tugging at the rope collar clinging to his neck. Loaded off their own wagon by some slaver, they found their way into Gutan's paws for which he introduced himself more as their landlord than their whipmaster.

"Its feels like we barely lost a ding." Niala said impressed.

"Ya, an dat be a problem." Jarolom retorted. Niala gave him a strange look as Jarolom huffed "If Hazul didn't drop dat ball at Redwall, all dis would be maken us bigger, not restoring what we lost."

"I mean, dis is Redwall we be talken about, place is cursed."

"Oh don't tell me, a fellow Foxtrot an' me sister, believes dat nonsense!" Jarolom joked. Niala chuckled, never revealing if she did or not dabble in the superstitions. Jarolom and Niala continued about the camp as Niala took some private offense with her brother "Jarolom, why wasn't I asked to scout? Ya dink I do good work on dat front, or heck, you do as well."

"Ya taken offense to dat, Niala, fershame. Ya shouldn't worry too much on it, Scarl always got a big list of scouts he got in mind, an Hazul's water rats are der best der is." Niala took note as the horde cooked its meals, socialized around the warm camp fires, or huddled in their tents as the slaves of the camp worked like busy bees in and around it. She had been in the camp for awhile now, but the whole thing felt much more healthy than it had any right to be. "Ya don't dink der chief is mad at me for losing dem boats, right?"

"Dat whole ordeal by der river? Don't ya sweat it, probably some fool creature or somethin trying to cross der river cheaply."

"Wit young'ens?"

"Who knows, or cares?"

Niala felt like she should care, at least somewhat considering that older rat fired an arrow at her. Jarolom put his arm around the shoulders of his sister and smiled, out stretching his other arm as he waved it around to get her attention "Just dink of dis, ya got unlucky, an dem beasts were doin some nefarious plot to overthrow der whole horde! Ya stopped dem an tried to get ya before ya could report it to Markem! He is now given ya plenty o' rest fer dat brave deed. Besides, Markem an' Scarl don't reward beasts wit given dem der good mission, der scouts are paid well enough already to do dat job without us doin it for dem."

"I suppose, but it be usually capt'ns who be leaden dem."

Niala and Jarolom found themselves towards the southern end of the camp, spotting a large host surrounding some creatures. She spotted 'Dirt' amongst the crowd, next to Markem who was in the middle. Instinctively, she began to push her way through with Jarolom following as they passed by common rabble to find other captains, and then warlords in the ranks the further they went into the mass. Markem was had his paws folded, staring at five beasts.

One was a scout Jarolom knew well, Hazul's spymaster Zugmat in his black cloak and holding a knife to his side. Two others were Scarl's scouts, but there were two others with them who were clearly not fellow scouts. One was a fellow rat like Markem with bloodshot eyes and a tired expression, but he wore strange colors, being a yellow colored peasant clothes. His fur was groomed, but yet there were visible scars on his snout and paws, looking like he had been whipped. Another beast, a ferret, looked traumatized, looking on the verge of weeping as he gripped a spear tightly, being some manner of hordebeast. Scarl paced next to the beast, as he seemed to be finished what he was speaking, many of the beasts murmuring and listening closely.

"-dey took dem, all of dem, so deep into der forest, chief. Dey, dey-"

"Ya, ya, dey killed dem, we heard dat. Hanged dem ya said. I've heard it already! What were dey doin in dat village? It was far out of der way, it sounds like."

Jarolom and Niala came close to Markem and 'Dirt' as Niala took note of the rat listening closely to the story. He glared at Scarl to be more sympathetic, but the ferret didn't notice, or wasn't interested, it was hard to say. The hordebeast sniffed as Hazul spoke up.

"Zugmat, are you absolutely sure what you saw?"

"Aye chief, I saw a big stinking army leading this way, but it was slow. They take their time with all the garrisons near the villages we captured. Most of der poor lads don't know what happened at Redwall, an we didn't got time to give dem new orders. Der dis squirrel, in big shining army leaden the whole army of yellafolk out of Redwall towards us. I'd say small than the one that attacked us, missing like a 3rd of dat whole force. If I had to guess, some of dem stayed behind as a garrison, but still a bad number to fight. Found de's two wandering about."

Zugmat pointed to the yellow clothed serf and the weepy hordebeast. Markem nodded as Scarl spoke up "What ya mean dey are stopping by all der garrisoned villages? Dey retaking them? Scaring off der garrisons? Killing dem?"

Zugmat was silent and didn't answer Scarl. He looked angry when he didn't get an answer, to which Hazul gave his spy a stern look. Hazul knew his water rats did and watched terrible things, but he baffled to see he felt awkward to speak, as if he would offend the crowd of vermin before him. With a slight nudge, Zugmat spoke "Massacred an' burned dem, ferret."

Scarl looked at him confused, as if he said something just plain wrong "What der hell ya mean by dat, dis ain't a stage play, no need fer dramatics here."

"I ain't bein dramatic. Dey massacred an' burned dem, dats der best i can describe it as. Dey were all over der place, some of der soldiers captured some, but then as soon as they brought dem back to some other force, dey took out weapons an gutted dem, or hanged dem. Der are bodies bein hanged all over der forest. Sometimes der forces burned dem. I don't know what to make of it."

"For beasts who are described to me as professional, dat sounds more like vermin warbands capturing territory den a woodlander one." Markem commented. Zugmat nodded in agreement, as Kylan spoke up next "Ha! At least we lads can do better den dat!"

Markem turned to the rat in yellow clothes and looked him up and down. He looked tired, strong but tired. "Ya look well dressed fer a vermin."

"Aye, not by choice."

Zugmat explained "Says he was made a slave of dat woodlander army, I didn't believe him at first eder."

Gutan spoke up, farther back in the crowd as he came forward "Der heck ya mean 'slave'? Woodlanders don't keep slaves. At least not those around here."

"De's ones do." The yellow rat spoke up "Shackled me, whipped me, killed some mates of mine. I was hoping to join yer horde. I want der blood, chief."

"Den welcome to it, but me mate Scarl here will have plenty of questions fer ya." The yellow rat nodded. Zugmat continued "Dis one we found escaped from bein hanged, found him in a hole wit der rope still on his neck. Though what he got to say, I'm not sure what to dink about."

"What ya mean." Zugmat glared at the hordebeast who stood up, and spoke his story, every beast surrounding him listened as he fidgeted in telling it.

"Ya see boss, me commanden officer, der garrison commander were assigned to some mouse forestry in der woods, we kept dem secure an' dey didn't do much to cause trouble. Den as we were one day haven lunch wit dem, some Long Patrol roll up. Our captain, big ol' fox named Amorguk goes up to dem an says 'hey, ya can't here longears, ya suppose to be under siege in der red place!' an dey go 'har har yes we know' and den der whole division of dem comes out of der woods! Crazy, we thought we be dead beasts, but all dey wanted were some food, some girly long patrol be leaden den, boss talks wit her an den dey all leave. Boss says to us 'Dem long ears says crazy dings, woodlanders be attacken woodlanders, an dey headen north to regroup', and den we had continued dis nice dinner with dem mice, and one of me mates stubbed his toe, an–"

"Skip to der relevant part, please." Scarl grunted. The hordebeast frowned, obeyed as he continued.

"Den dem yella monsters showed up, dey came and me boss goes confront dem, twice der number of us an wit thick armor an' big shining pikes! Bigger shields too. Dey says to me chief 'yer now prisoners of der soup worth' an me boss goes 'okay' and wes surrender, cause dey got more of dem den der was of us. One of dem asks about dem long ears, der long patrol ya see an me boss goes 'aye, we seen dem'. Dat–" The hordebeast gulped "Dat was when der mood changed, dey were all serious but not hostile before, den dey started to yell an' get angry, accusing us of consortin wit dem. Dey skewered der fox, an a few lads and dragged us into der woods. Dey toyed wit us, chief. Oh seasons! Dey tortured us! Dey kept asken us where der Long Patrol went, I didn't even know, an' dey kept slicing at us an' hangen us! I was last. Der rope snapped an I fell, I ran, an hid a hole. Oh seasons, boss. It was horrible!"

The hordebeast looked wide eyed with terror, whatever he faced Markem could not tell was serious or if he was being dramatic, but one thing we were certain. They didn't sound like they were aligned with the Long Patrol, which had disturbing implications. Resker yelped in disbelief "Ya can't be serious! Ya sayen dat the Long Patrol an' des folk be enemies? They came to save dat lot, didn't dey?"

"No." One of Scarl's scouts spoke up "We went towards Redwall and other places, these folk are no friends of the Long Patrol, if anyding, they sound like mortal enemies. We ran across a fresh mass grave, dug into it a little an' found a red jacket. Long Patrol red. Chief. Dem Long Patrol at Redwall fled into the north we dinks, but we didn't dare track dem."

There was a murmur of confusion amongst the crowd as they heard this, Markem in particular was silenced with disbelief. How is dat even bleeding possible? Woodlanders fighting the Long Patrol? Especially an army of them!? Seasons, I must have just stumbled into a mad season. Yet another thought crossed his mind: Redwall was taken, just not by me. So at least one beast broke dat curse of invulnerability. Markem was unsure if this gave him hope or despair. Scarl looked baffled, and Kylan and Hazul exchanged glances.

"Dis is a woodlander army, right?" Kylan asked. The group of scouts looked at him and simply nodded.

"Doesn't matter what dey are, they head to us, towards Gholand. Take rest, we march out in the morning."
_

Drums filled the air as Markem marched out from the River Moss and marched near the front of his army, with only a small detachment in front of him as guards, and further up being scouts. There was a fine rhythm to the tune of the vermin as they marched to war, with Markem, as he had much to think on. His captains discussed all the boring detail, but it was decided they would force a confrontation on the field of battle, and since this enemy army marched off slowly, Markem would have the time to maneuver his force into a favorable position. Yet there was an issue, he wanted to save his garrisons of his captured villages. Couriers rushed out, being sent to the villages most in danger to evacuate towards Gholand for the time being. As he marched, the sun beat down on him as 'Dirt' strode next to him keeping his eyes on the forest.

"Scouts say dis main army did not make it far out of Redwall, but der nature of the attacks on the villages says its all across middle Mossflower, some quite close to us even." Markem asked his bodyguard. 'Dirt' shrugged "Maybe its a smaller force, sir? An advance party?"

"Maybe. Advance parties doh is to keep an eye on der likes of our movements, we've heard little of der own scouts an' attempts to keep us blind to dem." Markem knew full well 'Dirt' knew little of tactics, but it didn't stop him from asking, only because he wanted a living mirror to keep his mind focused.

Questions whirled in his mind, like why Southward came at all, or why they were fighting the Long Patrol. As he marched, he couldn't help but feel daunted by the task of fighting yet another force, one he was learning more and more about. Scarl was able to make considerable strides, he knew this force used pikes, large tower shields, crossbows, and had thick armor. They were far from slow, they were professional and better at tactics if they wanted to be, yet their movements were janky and wild. It was like he was facing a child with toy soldiers, who took out their frustration upon other toys rather than fighting the battle at hand.

"Southward. How ya know about Southward anyway, 'Dirt'?" 'Dirt' didn't answer, which got Markem's attention. He turned to his bodyguard, his eyes slightly widened as he looked up. He followed the otter's moving face till he saw it. Straight over their heads as they marched was a vermin, still as it was, hanging from a tree. The dim of the drums did not stop, but the song of his troops certainly began to loosen.

Markem poked one of the soldiers behind him "Grab a slave and chop dat poor beast down." He ordered. The soldier nodded and scurried off. Markem wasn't disturbed, nor was 'Dirt' for that matter. He witnessed some fairly brutal deaths, even committed a few himself, but it was odd to leave a body hanging. Markem and his soldiers moved onward, and a silence fell across the two. They continued, but 'Dirt' again stopped something in the trees.

It was thankfully a bird.

At first.

Markem looked and saw the trees move as a black bird quickly swept upward to avoid the vermin marching across Mossflower, but then Markem saw blood on its peak and turned to see another poor creature, a fellow rat, hanging in trees where the crow had been pecking at. Markem again turned to a soldier, who rushed off to get tools to bring down the corpse. Markem was annoyed, he didn't want his army demoralized by the time they went into battle.

The army continued to march onwards, but as they marched, more bodies were found. Markem looked up, seeing two more pass over his army, one had fallen due to poor rope, and Markem was beginning to wonder where all this rope had come from! It seemed as they continued on, scouts came up to him, whispering of more bodies in the woods. Markem grew annoyed, he ordered his scouts to go ahead to cut down every body they found, but as the army marched, this did little to prevent Markem from seeing the bodies.

Then came the woodlanders.

It began when one of the bodies the army marched under was mistaken for a rat, but 'Dirt' pointed out was a mouse. Markem was shocked, he heard from Scarl that as he interrogated the scouts and the serf who freed himself, the Southwarders had captured and enslaved fellow woodlanders, an act he didn't believe at first. Now, he was seeing their bodies in trees. 'Dirt' nearly stopped when he looked and saw an otter being hoisted down to be buried. Markem looked at him, he looked and felt sick. As they continued, the rot on the bodies was becoming more apparent. This procession of death Markem could see made his troops uneasy. There were simply too many bodies.

He wandered his thoughts back to what Kylan had once asked. Are these even woodlanders? He could imagine some horrible creature like Kasg the Craven and his black clads doing something like this, but not woodlanders. He heard a horrified scream, looking back to see a squirreless slave of his horde having dropped a sack of things on the ground, looking up at a body being taken down. Gutan and an overseer rushed over, as Markem could only guess it was a relative they had found. Gutan tried to calm the slave down, mortified as she was. There was yelp from a soldier not far behind, a fox broke ranks, climbing a tree at another body as his captain rushed over to try to bring him off.

"S-stop." Markem whispered to himself.

He did not yell, he didn't want to stop now, he needed to get a bit farther, yet promised himself he would sent out a section of his army to clear this monstrous display.

Then he stopped, having dared himself to look up as he yelled "Halt!"

The horde halted, the drums of war stopped as Markem's jaw was lowered, and so was 'Dirt's'. The next display was the last and truly most horrifying, two beasts, a mouse and a rat, hung above them side by side, far too small to be up there. Markem's eyes began to partly water, seeing something which wasn't supposed to be there, something familiar. Reality told them they were safe back home, but anger began to fill his heart. Scarl and Jarolom came to the front to find out what was going on, looking up at the grim display.

"Scarl, we camp here. I want every bleeding hordebeast cutting down dis–" He paused, Scarl could hear the clear hint of hate in his voice "Cut down dis hell cursed display. I ain't marching to war wit dat in me way. Get every slave in the camp, I want dem buried proper."

"Markem, ya want me to get yer tent set up, ya need rest matey." Jarolom offered. Markem turned to him, and shook his head "Nay, I am helping. I want to see der faces, Jarolom. All of dem. Ya can help me by finding dis advance army doin dis, and bring dem to me."

Jarolom obeyed, rushing to find Niala as he turned back at the bodies. He studied their faces, making sure he would at least remember them before he slew their murderers.
_

Markem and 'Dirt' stood in a small grove farther from the camp as a wagon of bodies plopped beside them. In total, over a hundred or so beasts were found, and more were coming. The scouts found villages emptied, others having gone into hiding, and survivors having fled into the safety of the horde both woodlander and vermin alike. The army stopped near the southern river which flowed into the great inland lake. Markem leaned on his sword, watching beasts come to mark the dead, to bury them, or to mourn them.

The squirreless and fox who had caught his attention previously looked over the mass grave their relatives had been put into, along with the bodies of two unknown small beasts. In a rare comradery, both looked down on the grave as slave and vermin alike made the graves for the murdered beasts. 'Dirt' looked on, not stoically, his paw twitching with anger which caused Markem to notice. He calmed his bodyguard, tapping his shoulder as he spoke "Dey be dead, otter. Der murderers will join dem soon enough."

"Seasons willing, sir." 'Dirt' retorted. Hazul came with his shaman, performing funeral rites for those who needed them, Kylan and the other warlords were elsewhere, not at all interested in such affairs. Vermin had done barbarous things, perhaps ironically, but this felt wrong on many levels. This was not a thing supposed to happen, not under Woodlander care, and Markem had drilled his horde to not act like this. Yet here these woodlanders were, doing the unthinkable. Markem was angry, his war had been up to this point much cleaner than any other, but not these yellow clads were defiling it with this atrocity. Degenerates. Markem thought the word was well deserved for murderers of the young and elderly, a useless form of war meant to terrorize.

He watched as a group of enslaved shrews, older shrews, came in with their paws wrapped over a smaller body. They surrendered the small thing to Hazul who wrapped the shrouded figure properly and blessed it. "By the seasons do we pass, may we all return to the dark forest from whence we came." He muttered in prayer to them before returning to them the smaller and cold thing. Buried among many others, both began to weep as a group of vermin began to throw dirt into the full grave.

Hazul came over to Markem and sighed "The more time we spend burying the dead, Markem, the more time we give to the enemy."

"I know. If we leave der dead hanging, our army will be in poor spirits. Kylan an der rest may dink of fellow vermin an' slaves as little more than meat for der grinders, but dis is me people. I want dem to know I am not going to let der bodies rot while der murderers walk dis earth."

Hazul nodded in agreement "You please the spirits at least, Markem. We will not be cursed on our way to war at least, or attract ghouls."

Markem wanted to say something against that, but said nothing to it, allowing Hazul to walk off to continue his blessings. Markem continued to watch when he saw the kilt wearing weasel Tactum stride into the groove, his axes on his shoulders and he came forward as he looked more grim than he usually was. "Tactum says that Jarolom and Niala found those woodlanders, Markem. Tactum was sent to find you."

Markem left immediately, with 'Dirt' following. Several vermin, and woodlanders did as well as they followed the chief as he left the burial grove with a dark pace, marching across his camp. The sound of angry jeers was heard, and he could see rocks being thrown as he pushed his own hordebeasts out of the way as he made his way to the river side of the camp. Before him, damaged and bruised, were a large group of terrified woodlanders in yellow and black clothes and armor, for which Jarolom and Niala held captive in ropes. One hare in particular was divided amongst the rest, held by his paws by Wulvog who had a nasty scratch on his arm from a fight he had with him.

Only the hare stood vigilant and stoic amongst the teaming horde of barbarians who yelled curses at him. One of Hazul's hordebeasts took up a rock, throwing it harshly at one of the Southward squirrels, but what surprised him was when an otter of the camp took up a bigger rock and threw it at a fellow otter, with jeers of "Murderers!" "Degenerates!" "Monsters!" They were only held back by elites of the warlords, with Kylan and other warlords looking down at the catch.

Markem came up to them, looked to Niala who reported proudly of her catch.

"Found dem farther off chief, trying to make it pass the river near the old quarry. Found dem in several groups. Dey all claim to be the same rank, but dey all answer to dis one." Niala pointed to the hare who rudely introduced himself "I am Captain Murchan of the 2nd army! You barbarian filth won't bleeding win!"

"Any of ya others be captains?" Markem asked coldly to the prisoners. One stepped forward, a frightened hedgehogess who answered "I am Captain Elyan, also the 2nd army. The other captains I am afraid are slain."

"Don't ya give them bleeding information, you spiked back pig!" Murchan angrily yelled. Markem nodded "I see, den you two die first."

Elyan spoke up "Rat, wait, if you are looking for the prisoners, we know were we are, as a prisoner of war we are needed to be afforded some luxury. If you kill us, we–"

She was stopped from speaking when Niala hit her in the stomach and she doubled over in pain. Markem looked on coldly as much as amazement, even as the beasts around her jeered in fury and anger, this beast assumed he would be merciful to her at what her army did. Markem reminded her "I do not spare der likes of murderers, mam. Especially does whom kill me people in a degenerate manner."

"Killed?" Elyan asked

Markem blinked and turned to Kylan who came over to her and held her close to his mouth, which smelled horrifici as she tried to back away from the wretchedness "Aye, lass. Yer yella clads hung a bunch of bodies over our heads while we marched. It ain't a matter of what were gonna do to ya, but what der fish gonna be dinken of ya when we turn ya into bait."

"I didn't kill any beast! We didn't! I did as ordered, I sent back prisoners and refugees to my superior officer to bring back to Palewind!" Elyan looked to Murchan who sneered at her. Markem looked to Jarolom next, looking for answers, but got it from Niala instead who began to interrogate her.

"Lass, we've been burying bodies all day. Some dem woodlanders an' some of dem young." Elyan didn't respond, only looking to Murchan, at first in surprise, then in disbelief. Murchan huffed as all their attention turned to him next. Murchan only smirked, speaking loudly to Markem in particular "Do not listen to them Elyan, these bleeding barbarians do this themselves."

Eylan would have been set to believe him had Murchan not kept up an act. Eylan asked Markem "Vermin, you must believe me, we only came to bring beasts back to safety in Palewind and to evacuate woodlanders. We were under orders. I had ordered none of my beasts to kill anyone!"

"Oh don't be a coward now, Elyan, this beast already made up his mind." Murchan mocked. Elyan was baffled, Captain Murchan had lost all of his soldiers in the attack on his camp. Jarolom growled and threw ropes at Elyan's feet "And these? You had a great deal of these."

"For bonds, vermin. To take them back vermin prisoners to Palewind to be processed. I sent them to Captain Murchan because he handled the sup-" Elyan was starting to piece things together, she paused as Murchan huffed "You got your proof, vermin. No need for this charade, Prince Frankfort will have you all hung soon enough."

"Captain Murchan?" Elyan asked in disbelief "I-you-"

"Oh don't be a traitor now, Elyan! I did as I was ordered too! I sent back the strongest to Palewind and liquidated the rest, you and I both!"

"What do you mean 'liquidated'!?" The hedgehogess was as shocked as Markem was upon hearing the Long Patrol were being slaughtered by these yellow clowns. Markem would have been amused had not the situation been so dire. The two began to argue "You didn't, you couldn't!? You are a captain of Southward, Murchan! A beacon of the Bellmaker's bleeding reforms! You are supposed to be civilized!"

"I am civilized, Elyan, you are just too weak to see it! You followed my orders, and I followed Nosbub's orders, which are Frankfort's orders. That is how it all works! You did your part and I did mine. This is why rabble like you and Haylan can't get to understand all of what better beasts do, because you'll do things like this and side with vermin over good beasts like me and Nosbub! I am proud of what I did, for Southward and for Mossflower! I'll do it again too!"

"Captain Murchan, you murdered beasts, beasts I–" Elyan looked sick. Markem's cold attitude turned to pity as Jarolom came over and advised his friend "Leave der hedgehogess alive, chief, she might got information. Der hare doh? Too fused to his own chief to be a talker." Markem nodded in agreement. He turned to Elyan and spoke to her with authority.

"Ya did this unknowingly, an ya look remorseful at der very least. Gutan." Markem snapped and his slavemaster came forward as he pointed to the group "Put dem to work, an keep em secure wit der other, dey can explain der nature of der orders to those whom they got killed. Der were plenty of woodlanders in my camp who lost kin to ya. Dat will be punishment enough, as well as worken fer me horde." Elyan accepted her fate as Gutan came over, quickly wrapping a rope collar around her throat, tugging it harshly with some disdain. Yet, she looked to Murchan as Markem came forward to him.

"You barbarians, all of you! Elyan, you traitor! You should have fought to a bitter end like my beasts did!

Markem grabbed the bound Murchan and began to drag him to the river, Wulvog letting go. 'Dirt' and the others watched as many jeered in relief as their chief brought the struggling hare to the water's edge. He throw him into the water a bit before pulling him back out. Murchan struggled with all his might, getting a horrified glance from Elyan and the others as Markem took out his sword. The rat's anger boiled in his eyes, calling him out and cursing him to the ends of the earth.

"You murderous slime, I pray der fish choke on ya!" Markem screamed as he began to slash at the hare in fast motions. The waters began to turn red as Markem continued to scream in anger, now to the silent concern of his horde and his bodyguard. "I'll kill you an' every last one of ya! I'll drag yer guts from yer bleeding home to Jusbrag herself! I'll break yer spines on der ground, scatter yer bones to wind! Der won't be a single one of ya left! I'll throw yer prince upon a pike! Yer commanders will die! Perish, degenerate! Perish!"

Markem's paw was grabbed by a firm hand which drew him back, the rat's heart beating hard as he looked down what was left of Captain Murchan of the 2nd army, which began to float along the river downward, with small fish slowly following their meal. Markem turned to find 'Dirt' keeping his paw on his sword paw. Markem only breathed in and out, awaiting in that momentary silence just as the sun began to set.

---

It was a foggy morning in the Southward camp, and Prince Frankfort was in a poor mood. His bodyguard was outside of his tent as he fiddled with his armor and jewelry he wore, partly in a panic to stuff his big golden medallion into the golden breastplate he wore. He knew how to put on his own armor, it was just faster and easier when experienced beasts of war were there to guide him and help him, like Lars. Samkon normally aided in helping his lord put on his armor, but Frankfort wanted to keep up good practice. He was after all the heir to Southward, and no king of such a great country should not be an expert in all things, especially when it came to his golden armor. Frankfort looked at a bottle of creamy and cinnamon wine which was on the table of his abode, tempted to drink heartily of it, but yet he knew he had little time.

"I am coming." Frankfort whispered to himself, a order which he obeyed without question as if coming from his father and king to hurry up.

He left the tent, nearly bumping into Samkon who turned in surprise to him. Frankfort was about to speak to apologize, but he silenced himself. Samkon gave a light nod and stepped to the side, following his lord as he went to wander about the camp. "Good morning, my lord."

"Moring, Samkon." Frankfort spoke in a tired tone. Samkon picked up on it, giving a low smile and trying to be playful. "Do you need more rest, me lord? I am certain at our pace, we'd be going at the same speed as if we were all sleepin-"

"We go at a decent pace to clean up the filth of this forest, though yes, we do need to go faster." Frankfort said in unironic agreement. Samkon sighed in his response and kept quiet.

The army had been indeed very slow, it in fact had been a few days and only now was the army unable to see Redwall from a distance. the 1st army went up ahead, clearing out the vermin garrisons of this 'Great Vermin Band' which dragged in new serfs to be forced into his service or hung from gallows and buried far from his sight and memory. He didn't expect much, but after their victory of this lazy and indecent force of barbarians he had expected in normal circumstances the garrisons to give up their conquests and return to their master. Even the lizards in the last campaign did this, but not these vermin. Instead these captains worked autonomously, these gangs of slavers kept these small hamlets of barely a small family in line while they leached off good Woodlander works. The whole thing disgusted Frankfort the more he thought about it.

Walking about the camp, his soldiers looked lazy but no less busy as their kept their gear in shape and clean, the camp was getting too comfortable as he spotted his advisors Vergber and Guil talking to one another near the command tent which sat in the middle of the camp.

"Samkon, I am starting to think we already won." Frankfort admitted in small talk, a first in awhile. Samkon answered "How so, sir?"

"Ever since we won at Redwall, I expected a counter attack of some kind. Some manner of blind charge, and now according to Shackleford, they may have just retreated back to the north and scattered. The Long Patrol who command them are broken, their commander is dead. I think we won? Yet so much work must be done. This 'Gholand' will need to be burned along with any mockery of their 'civilization' we encounter of course, but I am hopeful."

"May."

"Hmmm?" Frankfort looked to Samkon, who looked at him more seriously. "My lord, pardon, but Shackleford said 'may'. He doesn't fully know either it sounded like."

"No, of course he knows, I mean maybe not fully, but he knows what he is talking about. He is a scholar of this subject in particular. I mean it makes sense, right? The vermin are barbarians who don't know much, they don't create, they don't even command their own armies."

"Yet, the Long Patrol as we know them are one beast armies all, we will need to exterminate all of them to be sure, and plenty escaped."

Frankfort frowned, as Samkon tried to be a bit more cheery "I say these things, sir, because we both kn–"

"Know? You don't know, Samkon. I am supposed to k–" Frankfort snapped suddenly, feeling anger of being talked to from a station beneath him. He stopped and gripped his head. What am I doing? What are these thoughts? He paused, Samkon only lookin at him with concern. Frankfort apologized "I am sorry, Samkon. I do not know what I was saying. Bellmaker damn me."

"No worries, sir. I know my place in this army and in Southward, I should apologize for trying to undermine your thoughts."

"Thank you." Frankfort's mind felt pleased to hear Samkon make his apology, even if both beasts felt an odd sense of unease in doing so. They got closer to the tent, but before they could get there, two figures appeared from out of the tents, quickly recognizable as Nirb and Mirb. They approached cautiously and awkwardly, with Mirb still rubbing his arm with his missing paw. They were silent, as Frankfort took a serious tone with them.

"Yes?"

"Erm, chief, ummm, ya see-"

"Out with it, both of you, we have no patience for your lollygagging." Samkon spoke suddenly, with a clear spite in his tone. Mirb blurted out quickly.

"Der otter ya see, dat gerbel gobslander or somethen. He sent us to tell ya about somethen over der, in dat place, where he be at."

Frankfort only blinked, to which Nirb repeated "Ya, dat otter, der utter chief, chief. Der one wit der fancy clothes an' armor an' dings. He an' his sister. Der, over der, we were doin some of our duties, an den dey say 'Nirb. Mirb. or whatever. Grab der prince ya see, an-'"

"Enough." Frankfort barked, both grew silent and bowed their heads. The squirrel prince sighed and asked "Wordlessly, just point to where General Gosland is." Both pointed to the eastern side of the camp. He nodded and turned to Samkon "Tell my officers I will be late, and I will be bringing General Gosland with me. However, return these two fools to their duties first. I do not wish to see them again today. You two are lucky I am in a good mood, or I would have you lashed once for wasting a lord's time." Nirb and Mirb dared not speak as Samkon grabbed them and pushed them elsewhere, as Frankfort dragged himself to the eastern side of the camp.

Frankfort marched into the woods alone with his thought, it did not take him long to find Gosland although he was not alone. On the forest floor near the camp, his sister Perla was with him, and Shackleford gave a friendly chat with the general. Surrounding them, and others were soldiers of his army, the otter captain Corper looked down at those whom they were surrounding.

When Frankfort got closer, he saw three prisoners. Two were stoats, an older and younger one, and one was a squirrel who looked up fearfully at both. The older stoat was female, who held the younger stoat more closely and looked up in fear at him. Gosland came over to Frankfort and bowed. "My lord, I am glad you came."

"As my general requests, General Gosland. Now, what is the meaning of this?"

Gosland explained "Tis a bit awkward, my lord, but Kelsum's soldiers sent these three back to us. This squirrel was hiding these two in his tree house, even though both are enemy soldiers."

"We ain't, river dog." The Stoatess seethed at him. Gosland gave her a dark look and she silenced herself. Frankfort looked at the vermin and then at Gosland "They are enemy soldiers, Gosland, you have your orders."

"I know, sir. Though, ummm, the one there is a bit too young and i'd have sent back to Palewind as a serf, but Kelsum's soldiers insisted I spare both."

"They aren't soldiers, neither of them." The squirrel insisted. Frankfort turned to him as the squirrel was allowed to speak "They are the family of the garrison captain the vermin sent us, he was dead and they took me and these two! They weren't hiding, they just ran for cover in my home. This is absurd!"

Frankfort was silent, as Gosland spoke up "Kelsum's soldiers don't lie, all three retreat the same thing."

"I am sorry, General Gosland, but I don't know what the issue is." Frankfort turned to the three and sighed "If Kelsum wants them to live, they can prove their ability to be civilized beasts and work in Palewind as serfs."

"Oh but my lord, that is the issue." Frankfort turned to the voice of Shackleford who was nearby. He looked like he only woke up not too long ago, and was drinking a fine hot tea in the morning. He sipped it, as he came over "My lord, I know full well that as good woodlanders, we have a natural need to show trust and mercy to our fellow beast, even when they wrong us. As civilized beasts, this is quite a regular show of our way of life superseding insects, birds, and especially the vermin whose morality is far more 'natural' in their state. Their ability to be reasonable, as we both know, is determined purely by instinct, and thus lie to get what they want, even if against their own wishes."

"What do you mean?"

"My lord, this vermin mother and her son are liars, not by intention, but by nature. They simply cannot help it."

"Der hells ya mean by that, mouse!" The stoatess yelled in anger, but Corper lightly pushed her to keep her silent.

"See, if there were no beasts here, my words would be seen as violence to her, and she would react, and that reflects poorly on her already well aged son. My lord, I was just speaking to Gosland here that this will not do. The woodlander here as you see, even if his intentions were pure, put us all in danger by hiding away a potential thief or murderer in his home, he should have dealt with them immediately but did not. My lord. The only way the vermin can respond to us is through violence, we must sadly show it." Shackleford's voice sounded 'sad', but even Frankfort could pick up a hint that such sadness was very commonplace and had a specific rhythm to it. It was harder to tell if it was genuine. The Stoatess's eyes lit up, realizing his intentions. She held her boy close as the squirrel protested.

"This is utter lunacy! All of it!"

Frankfort nodded "I see." Before turning to the others. He looked to Gosland first "General Gosland, return to the tent when you are able, we have much to discuss."

"I am sorry sir, I am unable to, Me and Perla are heading north, in secret, to meet with the Mossflower Holt. Captain Corper here will take my place for the meeting." Frankfort blinked but he simply nodded as he turned to the unfortunate prisoners and passed his judgement.

"For the safety of woodlanders, Captain Corper, take the younger vermin and this woodlander away, give both lashes and incorporate them into our camp's serfs. Deal with this one somewhere privately, in our usual style." Corper blinked, and nodded. He began to separate the younger Stoat from the Stoatess who began to cry and beg. The younger stoat spoke up, begging "Please! No! No! Bush tail, please don't take her too! Please!" Corper grabbed him and pulled him while his soldiers dragged the Stoatess away far from sight and memory. All was silent, with only the sipping of Shackleford finishing his tea was heard beyond the screams and terror.
_

Four otters made their way in the dark, past the trees to meet with but one. In the darkness, Papet greeted a cloaked Gosland and Perla Streambattle as they silently made their way towards the river. When the main Southward army began to close in, it did not take long for either the shrews or Mossflower Holt to take notice. Scouts were sent to try to contact them, but only silence was their answer. Gosland had lost nearly all hope until he received word from a scout of the holt, who answered the call for a meeting. Gosland and Perla left immediately, at first excited to see a beautiful country of possible allies, but their mooded blackened with Frankfort and Shackleford's deed in the morning. Perla had kept silent, but once in private, she was mortified. Not with just Frankfort, but with her brother.

The group found its way to the river, as Gosland looked around expecting boats. Papet was joined as two other otters came out of the water. Gosland spoke up in a whisper "Sir, you don't happen to have a boat? I do not wish to get my clothes wet."

Papet stared at him from the darkness in silence. He shook his head and simply pointed to the river. "Just follow my rudder, and be silent. We don't want vermin scouts looking for us."

"Sir, they don't have scouts." Gosland tried to correct. Papet said nothing and there was splash in the water. Gosland and Perla began to pull off their more expensive armor and heavier weapons and fine cloaks onto the ground. It took enough time that Papet resurfaced from the water to wait for them. All four Southward otters jumped in, following Papet into the darkness. Gosland could see a light, on the surface of a small cavern in the water and swam after Papet.

Gosland and Perla surfaced into the cavernous holt, a group of otter looking down at them both old and young. Some looked on curiously, while others not so much. Papet pulled Gosland out of the water who struggled to get a grip. Perla looked like she was going to despair, frowning hard. This is the great holt of Mossflower? This is the same holt who beat back enemy after enemy, and they live in a cave? This is their home!? Her mind flooded to wonder if Shackleford was indeed more right than he admitted, but a paw reached out to her and she grabbed, and found herself looking up at Pelma who pulled her out of the water.

"Which one of you is Gosland?" Pelma asked. Gosland spoke up "I am here, I am General Gosland of the 2nd army." He shook himself off. Pelma did not look very pleased and she commanded her holt "Rest of you, scatter. I need this room. It won't be long." Papet and his otters began to bring out chairs, rugs, and towels as the Southward otters cleaned themselves. Perla sat down as she tried to break the icy mood "This is, uhm, a find holt you have here Mrs, um–"

"Pelma. Daughter of Dakan Whitewhisker. Skipper of the Mossflower Holt."

"I am Perla, sister to our dea–" Papet interrupted them.

"Its good you come in the dark, if ya didn't, Logis would have had a fit."

Gosland knew the same somewhat, it was the shrew chieftain. He had expected to meet him as well. "Yes, I was hoping to speak to him."

"He does not feel the same way. Better for you all you didn't, in fact." Pelma grunted. Gosland grew annoyed, speaking in a more authoritative tone. "Mam, we are all friends against the tide of the vermin. I am here to offer Southward's aid against them, not to trade jabs. What is this hostility?"

"I mean it not as a jab, it is simply the truth. Your army murdered Naus Staghare, a friend of my father, and of Logis, when all of them fought against Kasg the Craven. My scouts have been seeing the work of your army all week."

Gosland blinked, and was about to speak till Papet spoke before him "Naus's hares told us. The ones who were left anyway."

"Sir, those are more your enemy than we are. It has been proven that the Long Patrol keeps this land in poverty and controls the vermin! We have come to help free this country from their villany, both they and the vermin you have been fighting." Gosland blurted out. Papet rolled his eyes and Pelma sat down.

"That is why we allowed you to come here, so we can firmly and politely say to return from whence you came, and never come back. You did undeniable damage already, but we both know each other's answers." Pelma chided.

Gosland tried to explain "Mam, where we come from, my family lives on an estate. Our villages are hundreds of times the size of what you call a village here, we have no vermin where we come from, we have no issue of slaves and raids. Our land has many roads and many cities, and our kings live in palaces. Your people live in a hole in the ground, your entire tribe does, how is this not poverty? The Long Patrol are to blame, if you would only read–" Gosland searched himself and frowned, having left Shackleford's book with his fine clothes near the river.

Pelma growled "Aye, we do live in a hole in the ground, but if roads and big villages make you folk act like traitors and slavers, I care little for it. I don't know what consumes you both, but you murdered good friends of mine. I have a good mind to drown you both, but we are not vermin, we don't murder envoys here. Or prisoners."

Gosland frowned "Mam, please, you must underst–"

"What is there to understand, you southerners butchered our allies instead of helping us. As much as I enjoy seeing vermin get their just reward, I've also seen you folk drag others away into captivity and butchery."

"We only butcher the evil vermin, the rest we save, are we not the same in some regards? Our methods are just more moral."

"Moral? Lad, we had watchers on your camp, we saw what you and your captain did to that Stoatess. Lad, we banish the likes of them to somewhere else, we don't butcher them and use their young'uns as slaves! If Dakan were alive, he'd have slapped your bleeding tails off!"

Gosland was silent, having a realization. They knew about that, it was only this morning. Pelma admitted his fears "The moment you left Redwall, me otters and and Logis's shrews were keeping a watch on you, especially once we realized what ya folks did to our friends there. If anything happened to those folk inside that abbey, you will regret ever leaving it." Pelma warned. Gosland retorted "We have treated them more than fairly. We are woodlanders, we–"

"Nah, ya ain't." Papet growled in anger, coming close. One of Gosland's bodyguards put his body between him and Papet, but it didn't matter much. Papet angrily pointed at him "We are woodlanders, you folk may as well just be vermin for all we care! Only reason we aren't fighting each other is because we hope you deal some manner of damage to Markem and his monstrous lot, and that's it. Once that is done, you are as much an enemy as he was."

Perla tried to intervene "We don't have to be enemies, perhaps we have done wrong in your eyes, but we can–"

"My decision is final." Pelma grunted "Tell your prince you won't get our submission or help from the likes of Mossflower, but we aren't enemies yet. You fight and defeat Markem, then we can discuss this further. Be warned, if you folks continue to go after woodlanders, the last thing you folk will see is a javelin coming out of the bush straight at your hearts." Gosland was silent. No manner of word was spoken as he left for the waters and back to the surface of the beach. Followed by Perla and others, they were not followed.

The four set back towards the camp once they regained their things, not stopping to even rest, with the soldiers who guarded them being paranoid as they kept an eye on the dark bushes. Gosland was clearly sad as he walked as Perla spoke up.

"Well, at least we know we are being watched."

"I know, Frankfort's orders to give rest and redirect our scouts is playing havoc on our ability to catch them. Do not envy me, I have to tell Frankfort in the next meeting we don't have the shrews or otters here to help us, and that both are effectively hostile. Perla, we will have to attack and destroy them both."

"Gosland, I know, and I don't like it."

"It has to be done."

"Gos. What if they are right?" Gosland turned to her, Perla looking to be in despair. Despite his sad eyes, he tried to look comforting to his horrified sister. "Gosland, we came here to help Mossflower, and now look where we are. We are mistreating them, or far worse to them, and we aren't being seen as liberators but as murderers. What happened out there, in the woods, I should have spoken up! Oh seasons, we–"

"Perla, what we are doing is helping, and helping is difficult and dirty. What Shackleford and Frankfort did was right, they are our superiors for a reason. Shackleford on an intellectual level, and Frankfort because he is our prince. We did the right thing."

"Gosland, what if we aren't?"

Gosland shook his head "We have to be, our enemy is the vermin who do far worse, we do things better by default. Let's just go back to camp and sleep this off. We have a long day tomorrow." They continued onward into the darkness, back to their camp.
_

Kelsum and Gosland overlooked their masses of troops on a hill, looking out through the forest at a river below them, the river which led into the Inland lake. Kelsum held his paws behind his back, as his soldiers led by Banoff and Gaslow boarded their ships their boats with their troops and began to cross it. Farther off, smoke arose from a village which had dared resist. Kelsum had sent his soldiers ahead, taking villages and annexing them as the troop moved east. More villages would need to be taken before the majority of the region was secure and could be properly managed. Another boat was coming to shore, full of vermin prisoners, but none of them being a part of the Great Vermin Band. Most would be folded into the camp's serfs, others not so lucky.

Gosland sighed, speaking up "Frankfort sounded like he took it well."

"That is because I was there, he was more furious in private." Kelsum said coldly. Gosland gave a depressed exhale as Kelsum sighed himself in agreement.

"With the shrews or Mossflower holt, both now ideologically and politically opposed to us, we are in a difficult situation. Nosbub and his army are many miles off besieging Salamandastron, our lines are over extended even with Redwall taken, and our army moves at an incredibly slow pace. If this 'Markem' warlord fellow decides to march on us, we'll get a nice advantage."

"You make our cause sound so bleak, General Kelsum."

"It is because it is." Kelsum tried to hide his contempt, something which Gosland caught up on.

"How so, sir?"

"Well Gosland, we made several crucial mistakes. The first being instead of capturing the Long Patrol and holding them hostage, we are seen now as dishonorable murderers. Secondly, actions like those in the woods are becoming more frequent. It doesn't take a scout to figure that foolery out. If I had been in a better mood, I should have just folded those three into one grand prison line in my own army, and we'd not be in such trouble. My soldiers even find hanged bodies all over the forest, someone is taking out execution methods and spreading it, making it look like we are murdering the entire bleeding forest. Not that we have done anything to deal with the reputation amongst those we came to save."

Gosland was surprised, giving his fellow and more experienced general a look of concern. He sounded a lot like his sister, the hint of regret was unbecoming of a General in this critical campaign.

"That is, umm, indeed quite bleak, Kelsum."

Kelsum shook his head "I am not one to question orders, you know this, but I am starting to find all this tomfoolery wasteful. I am a loyal servant of Southward and her peoples, and yet-"

"General Kelsum!" A loud voice bellowed from behind. Kelsum and Gosland turned and stood more firm as they had been, as Frankfort marched over with a purpose to them both. Both stood silent and bowed their heads to their prince as Frankfort looked upset. He had been quite upset since the morning, when the last meeting occurred. Frankfort tapped his foot, clearly upset with the two for some reason neither knew. Frankfort looked a bit different, even when surrounded by an oncoming and slow procession of his retinue with Samkon hurrying to his lord's side.

"My lord, is there something you require? Our forces have just passed the river, much of this side of the river will be in our grasp soo–"

"Kelsum, I want to know why you pulled back our scout divisions to their regular tasks."

Kelsum frowned, and looked around. He was looking for that smaller, troublesome mouse before he spoke. "It is regular army doctrine to keep a number of scouts focused on rooting out enemy spies and agents, my lord. I had pulled them back from advanced actions to liberate those villages for their regular duties."

"For what reason?"

"Because it is part of our regular operations, the less our enemy knows the better. Especially now knowing that the Mossflower otters have been keeping an eye on us, I thought it best to keep an eye out for them."

Frankfort gripped between his eyes, speaking as if to an angry child. "General Kelsum, the otters aren't the issue. You are sending out valuable beasts to scour the woods for nothing. I want you to pull them out to map out our territory through these woods."

Kelsum stood his ground "My lord, they can't map the woods if vermin scouts harass them or they take notice, the vermin army–"

"The vermin army has no scouts! According to Shackleford, vermin do not scout, they only pretend to due to being tactically incapable. Vermin 'scouting' is just a myth, and our resident scholar and expert on the subject should be listened to."

Kelsum's tone became very cold, clearly with a hint of frustration "My lord, I beg to pardon, but the vermin are indeed scouting us out. Our bird friends find a few skulking around, even some ranging farther south. We don't see them close to our camp due to our own scouts chasing them off or kicking them back north. They probably now know were we are, even if poor tacticians, we barely know where their own army is. Once we are sure their scouts are gone, we can map our route forward. It would take a lot less time if I or Gosland weren't rounding up prisoners from these villages or reclaiming them."

"Kelsum, have you no shame?" Frankfort suddenly asked. Kelsum only gave him a dark look in turn as Frankfort explained "We are saviors of this place, we won't back down from freeing every woodlander here! You are doing fine work, but you must have the attitude and tone for it. The vermin are not scouting us, what our own scouts find is likely just small unaffiliated warbands and gangs, which we will eliminate, but our main target is the vermin horde farther off! If we move through enemy territory, they'll use that to our advantage, we must fight them on free woodlander soil."

Kelsum found it strange, Frankfort's golden visage stood before him, but he spoke as if an angry Shackleford was in his place. The hare frowned and bowed his head. "I am sorry my lord, I didn't mean to subsume your orders and desires. I will redraw them back to their original mission."

Frankfort nodded "Thank you, General Kelsum. Please, if there is any other order, talk to me first about it. I cannot afford more mistakes."

Kelsum was about to reply but the squirrel prince marched off, although not back to the camp but to the plain below them, his retinue following him and trying to keep up pace. Kelsum stood there, slowly turning back to the field of view of his campaign. Gosland spoke up with words of encouragement to his fellow general.

"He is young, like I am, General Kelsum. You must forgive him."

"He is already forgiven with my obedience, General Gosland. Yet, I wish he'd listen more to my advice than our resident academic on military matters."

Gosland shook his head "I must disagree, I know Shackleford isn't a military beast like us, but he is intelligent and wise. The vermin are not likely scouting us, and likely never will, especially as their true masters retreat further north. You must give him the benefit of the doubt, otherwise would the academies back home say on us?"

Kelsum was silent on that question, wondering what the academies, historians, and others would say about his campaign. He could only imagine some grubby scholar looking over his journals, and the rambling of his troops, as they spoke about all the things good and evil they did. Evil, indeed. Yet, in war, evil had to be done for the betterment of realms and the securing of peace. He spoke "Let us not think on what others will say now and focus on the matters at paw. I will need to speak to my scout leaders, can you handle the campaign across the river from here, General Gosland?"

"Of course, sir. If you can't count on me, count on the Bellmaker."

"Indeed." Kelsum began a slow walk back to camp, his paws behind his back hardening.
_

It was late at night as Frankfort entered his command tent and his officers and generals stood at attention. It was like a ritual, Samkon would stand outside to guard and greet those seeking his audience, Gosland stood to the right with Guil, Kelsum stood to the left with Vergber, and Shackleford sat in his chair as he sipped some tea. In his full golden regalia, the squirrel prince swaggered to his position in the middle. As he looked down at the map in front of him. He had just come from the front of the camp, and took up a quill and dipped it in some nearby ink before circling on his map of Mossflower, a place near the river they were on. There were some eyes widening to this as Guil spoke in a shocked voice.

"They are that close!?"

Frankfort nodded and put the quill comfortably down. "The vermin army is on a direct course for the camp, and within a day or two they will be on top of us."

Guil looked over their position on the map. They were not far from Redwall at all, practically farther off than most. They were on the river and moving upward, their territory now extended only a little past the river itself and into the east, with the great plateau somewhat visible from a distance. Guil traced his paws along the map, walking his paw fingers as he rubbed his chin. "They made an utterly amazing time for recovery, my lord. Considering how damaged they were in their retreat. Perhaps they had another army farther off?"

Shackleford explained, proudly stating "My good friends, this is quite predictable! Vermin armies, for being clumsy and troublesome, have but one or two major advantages over a woodlander army which smarter generals can but exploit. Vermin have great numbers with them to support them, and there is never just one army but two or three. No doubt this 'Great Vermin Band's' warlord, its true face, is amongst them. If you cut off the head of a snake, to pardon a phrase, it will wither and die."

Frankfort looked at the map, for something didn't make much sense to him. For beasts who had no means of scouting him out, they were heading to him at a terrible and demonic pace. "They must have had Long Patrol amongst them, scouting us out." He looked up at Kelsum, expecting the hare to hold some manner of smug satisfaction over him, but the hare only coldly kept quiet.

Gosland spoke up "Perhaps, my lord. However, we move very slowly, they may just be heading in a lucky direction, and the river provides easy access to water."

"Perhaps, but vermin do not always need or require water, due to their lack of hygiene." Shackleford reminded him.

"Or for drinking water." Kelsum retorted. Shackleford thought on that, chewing it in his mind, a rare relief for Kelsum who spoke in an affirmative voice "My lord, we will have to fight this army, we cannot get to a better spot to fight them in. Look here, a clearing near the river." Kelsum pointed to the map. Frankfort looked down on it "Its open and fielded, a perfect place for us to fight them in rather than force us into a forest to fight where we will be at a disadvantage. If the vermin are as stupid as we have made them out to be, we will be able to defeat them here."

Frankfort looked to Guil who thought it over "Not a perfect thing to do my lord, but I see no better option. Retreating to some nearby hills or crossing the river and baiting them into an attack will take too much time. Not to mention we will need to withdraw all of our soldiers already out in the field recapturing those villages."

Vergber chimed in "Yes, absolutely, that will be a nightmare my lord. If we retreat now, we won't have supplies for a campaign. I will have the serfs begin backing our camp and supplies, for better or worse."

There was a hearty laugh from Shackleford which drew some heads "Oh, do not joke at a time like this, good hedgehog! Of course we will win, good always wins over evil, that is simply nature."

Shackleford's laugh began to die down as the beasts only stared oddly at him. "Well, you know what I mean."

"Of course, good Shackleford." Frankfort nodded "Though we must still fight in an orderly fashion, and with bravery. Goodness alone wins no battle while evil has iron and steel. Then it is decided. Kelsum. Gosland. Prepare your armies immediately to march. We will bait them into a pitched battle in this clearing! We will crush them, and drive their barbarian hordes from Mossflower for good!"

Frankfort didn't speak with much confidence as his generals nodded and the meeting concluded. He was silent as his advisors gave his final advice, and he wished Lars was here more than ever. He felt lost without the hare, we wondered if his advice was good. He began to return to his tent with Samkon, watching and listening as soldiers began to muster and their captains gave out orders. Courier birds flew swiftly in all directions to pull back the forces still retaking those villages. One rat, a serf, nearly ran into Frankfort but backed away in fear and went in another direction wisely. This battle will define my warrior legacy. He thought, but yet he felt a hollowness to it.

He was worried.

Worried he would fail.

The thought crossed his mind of failure, of his soldiers being driven into the ground by an endless horde of rats and weasels who crushed his golden form into the earth, of Mossflower and his country burning for a simple mistake he was not privy to. Battle was anxiety made manifest, and there wasn't much he could do to calm his nerves. He walked towards his tent, but heard voices inside. He and Samkon stopped and gave each other looks. Samkon marched over and yelled "Whoever is in there, come out immediately!"

Peeping out of the tent was 'Dangan' who looked to Samkon in fear, the weasel giving an awkward smile before opening the tent. Frankfort looked furious at first, not recognizing him until Loy Watertrot came up in a hurry and spoke "Frankfort! We were looking for you."

"Loy Watertrot?" Frankfort looked confused, as Eskert's voice rang out "Oh. My lord. Are you out there?"

Frankfort and Samkon went in, finding the heroes and champions of his army having gathered in his tent, a little tired with their servant quickly going to the side. Eskert was looking around his tent, but he could see Borbon Rocklore and his savior Balon Blackpatch meandering around the tent. Eskert bowed to his prince, introducing his arrival "We've come to help you, my prince, I see we are already moving again. We didn't wish to interrupt your meeting, so I do hope you do not mind if we are intruding in your abode."

"Not at all, Sir Eskert." Frankfort smiled, his fears disappearing from him "The Warrior of Redwall is always a welcome friend of the Squirrelkings. In fact, you and your friends have arrived just in time! Battle will be joined soon, tomorrow in fact."

"Perfect." Eskert casually remarked. Frankfort was a little surprised by this statement as Borbon cricked his neck "Mure varmunts dur kull? Guud. Luke dur uld duys, wuth yur pa Luy." Loy looked proud as Borbon said this. Loy looked ready for battle, as Balon nodded in agreement. The eagerness of his champions impressed the squirrel prince. "Good, join me in the vanguard, but before that, let us have some supper. You there, serf, tell the cooks of my camp to bring us a great meal to my tent for us all!" 'Dangan' left in a hurry to do as ordered as the group sat down and talked.

Frankfort smiled, now he knew full well he would win. Tomorrow, the entire 'Great Vermin Band' would be dead, the images of his defeat replaced with their own with the smiles and high spirits of his champions at his back.

---

Scarl looked down at the book before him, his eyes peering between it and the beast next to him, the newly captured and enslaved captain Elyan. The hedgehogess's uniform was partly torn, she looked tired, as she looked closely at the book. The Cycle of Atrocity was in Scarl's paws, once Captain Murchan's and now his. He traced his claw along the book as she read it aloud.

"Vermin as it would appear do not have a full concept of agriculture or craftsmanship in a traditional sense, as much as they make a mockery of it. This goes back to a original concept of their need for slaves to do their work for them, unable to read, write, or record even their own histories much to the frustrations of scholars like myself–" Scarl lifted his claw and looked to the hedgehogess as Scarl lifted an eyebrow.

"I mean, you have to admit that is at least partially true." Elyan tried to give a smile. Scarl frowned and nodded. "Aye, but dat still confuses me, spike back. An yer entire force be like dat, believen dis?"

"Maybe not all, but enough, yes."

Scarl turned back to the pages of the book and read the chapters of it. 'Vermin and the War Problem', 'Vermin Economics', 'Curiosity and the Question'. It was subtle, real subtle, but Scarl understood it. He found it almost amusing, how this woodlander book was made of questions with no answer, drawing on an idea of the viewer making up their own mind while not knowing it was being molded. Scarl admired the genius of it, this horrible form of propaganda he held in his paws was almost revolutionary and he loved every moment of it! He wanted to share his childish joy with the slave next to him, but to not spoil her of his true intentions with learning on this book, he kept his mouth shut.

"Dank ya. I dink dat is all I need fer now."

The flap of the tent open, and Scarl and Elyan looked, with Markem walking in and nearly jumping back in surprise.

Scarl nearly forgot where he was, it wasn't his own tent naturally, it was Markem's. The eve of battle drew near as the army marched straight at the Southward army in a full pace. Spotted and moving into a position near one side of the river, Markem was gripped his heart and growled at Scarl "Why ya gotta do dat, Scarl! Ya always popping up like as if from nowhere!" Elyan felt small and tried to keep herself unseen, but Markem noticed her too and grew angrier "An what is dat fool creature doin in me tent!?"

"I am learnen, Markem, ya wanna read a book? Ya can go spike back." Scarl did not turn his head to Elyan as she moved past Markem in silence. Markem saw her leave as he gave an odd glance at his spymaster and friend. Scarl only smiled as he explained.

"Well, dat is what I was tellen her anyway, der truth is half dat. Ya wanted me to learn what made dem yella woodlanders tick? Wells, I dink I am figuring it out." Scarl waved the scholar's book in his paw. "Ya know we got beasts dat can read, right?"

"I know, but only one perspective an' voice dat can make me really understand it. Common rabble an' our own slaves don't got der big picture on dis, cause what I got in me paw is some of the finest nonsense ya ever gonna read! Ya want to know what our enemy really be dinken about us?"

"Barbarians an' monsters?"

"Aye, but also incompetents."

Markem blinked "I mean, ain't dat partly true?"

"No, like real incompetents, Markem, like, erm, insects. An' birds. Not really conscious, but just conscious enough to talk an' do common dings like breathing, an' talkin, an', erm, mat-"

"Yes yes, I get it." Markem waved his paw annoyed "But dat is what weve been getting from all dat already. Dey dink of us like fool beasts. Dey capture vermin an' make em slaves, an woodlanders who resist."

"Dey also dink we don't do our own scouting, an dat we are all puppets of der Long Patrol, all cause we eat meat." Scarl said almost proudly. Markem blinked, he wasn't very much prepared for those statements all at once, as if hitting him with a train over and over again. It sounded fake, like a joke, but Scarl continued as if it wasn't.

"Dis scholar ya see, dinks our diet of bird makes us more unnatural an' evil cause of our diet. Because we eat der flesh of other conscious beasts, we become tainted an more closer to beetles den dem. Markem, dey don't just dink we are barbarians, we need voices from others like der hares an' badgers to keep us winning just long enough to make dis country poor. Ya see, it makes sense if ya really be dinken about it, like really be dinken. Yet-"

"Its utter nonsense, Scarl."

"Exactly! Tis genius! Ya know how many warlords we'd have fighten fer us if we convinced dem dat ferrets are all crazy otter worshippers! Ya put in enough pieces, hide a few facts, an suddenly we got a narrative more controlling den what der foxes have, wit der monopoly on the spiritual! Seasons, I wished I thought of dis!"

"Glad our enemy has a big fan of der works." Markem frowned. Scarl only shrugged "Aye, shame indeed, but dis is der biggest gift to us. Our enemy dinks of us as mindless barbarians, explains why dey don't bully our scouts all dat much cause dey dink we don't scout dings ourselves." Markem listened to Scarl and thought it over in his head. It sounded absurd, but yet he could see where he was going. It was making a lot of sense. "Dey weren't kidnappen vermin cause dey are murderous degenerates, Markem, I dinken dey were kidnappen dem to save dem. Though der are dings that still be a mystery to me."

"Such as?"

"Why kill dem once ya got dem, why save some but not all? Dey sound like der being cruel to us cause dat is how we can only respond. True in some ways, but not der real truth. Dat captain ya turned into fishbait, maybe we shoulda kept him alive."

Markem shook his head "I ain't going to regret doin dat, Scarl."

"Den how about der next best ding?" Scarl began to whisper slowly, peaking around to make sure others did not hear. Markem nodded as his ferret friend spoke of a plot they would use. Markem looked at friend in a dark manner, to which the ferret only smiled "Ya gotta admit, it would work, aye?"

"It will, but if I get killed during it, me spirit be comen back to haunt ya."
_

It was a clear day, with one or two clouds in the sky. From the east, an army marched out of the woods in two columns, yellow banners waving as it did. At the head of the army, a golden regiment of hares marched, a banner of Southward fluttering as Prince Frankfort traveled with his champions to his back. The Golden Regiment proudly and expertly looked forward, the 1st and 3rd armies followed suit. One by one the armies marched onward, led by their generals who took a position in the middle between the columns of troops. Divided amongst them were pike beasts followed by crossbows and swords. They marched as one, their feet hitting at one against the ground which nearly shook.

This was the place, Frankfort knew it even if his scouts told him the main vermin army approached. He waited, held up his paw and all the sounds of armor and weapons moving stopped at his command. Yet, the sounds of marching feet did not stop, for a distance away, he could see a shambling mass of troops exit the farther side of the forest and into the open area.

They were singing.

"-as we fight we put them to fright!

Retreat you will, as your boots do not heel

Run away, for this isn't you day!

Death comes, with our victory song!

You'll all run away, away!

The rat an' his axe, the fox an' his bow

They bring woe and woe

The bleeding army of Markem has come

To sing our victory, won

Ferret an' weasel, Stoat and Marten

Black is the heart that beats as one

Our spears are ready, are slings are too!

To bring the fright to you!"

Drums banged as the vermin marched out in shambling lines, happy and cordial in their song to one another, but making sure the enemy was loud enough to hear. Frankfort rolled his eyes at such a display, but he stopped to spot a farther and menacing figure amongst the crowd. He was oddly short, but he became noticeable when he saw his horned helm. The Warlord! Alarms went off in his head, as he spotted his foe. He wore a dark green cape, his armor shining beneath his ragged clothes with a stag horned helm crowning his head which went down to his snout. He held a shield to his back, and some larger figure likely some bigger weasel, stood by his side. A sword swaggered at his belt, and surrounding him were well armed and armored vermin, all of whom looked far more vicious and expert than he was.

The plan was easy, to just kill the warlord.

Frankfort's generals had been all in agreement, their plan was a frontal assault on their warlord and the army would shatter with his death. Naturally, the army would be on the front end, and would spread out to take advantage of their long flank, a common barbarian tactic! Frankfort grunted at the ease of this, unaware that beyond the field, Markem was looking at the army with a more serious concern.

Markem's army purposefully went out of that forest as a mess, but as soon as they did this their battle lines were drawn. Markem's army was sizable, but nothing like the two column army before him with their stoic woodlanders with their array of pikes and banners. Jusbrag and Veekun's Burrow vermin mixed in with his troops, but neither Hazul and Kylan were with him. He looked to the farther edge, hoping to not see them, for the truth was simple. Farther off, in the forest, half of Markem's army was getting into position. If all went right, they would outflank his enemy, crash in on them from the side.

Markem hoped that Scarl was right.

If his enemy indeed was not scouting, they wouldn't know they were there. He peaked at the combined columns, watching to see if they moved into a position to deal with them. If they did, Markem planned to move north to a better position to fight. Yet, to even his own surprise, they did not. This paradox of this professional army which had also beaten the Long Patrol had this tactical mishap made Markem unsure of whom he was fighting. This was a mistake some lesser warlord would make, or some baffling incompetent, not a woodlander army. Yet even if his surprise worked, a lot of pressure was on him, he had to distract them long enough for Kylan and Hazul to enter the fray, and hope that both of the warlords focused on this task alone.

'Dirt' stood by his side, his paw on the hilt of his sword as he whispered to Markem.

"Jarolom is in position, on the far end. Sir, you sure you want to go through with this?" 'Dirt' didn't sound sure with the plan as Markem looked to the river. He sighed and whispered back "I ain't sure of anyding, 'Dirt'."

Markem waved over his banner bearing beast who came over quickly to him. He whispered some orders him, and took up his banner. He called over two blackclad vermin to his side. Jarolom and Niala rushed about, taking their position where Markem stood as he strode out with 'Dirt' and his two bodyguards. Jarolom nearly yelled, but stopped himself, knowing his boss was going to do his 'talk'. Markem strode out as his army got ready for battle.
_

Frankfort looked out at the battlefield, his eyes widened with surprise as Markem alone came out from his battle lines and stood in the middle of the field with his banner waving. A brown and dark green banner which waved with the light breeze of wind. Loy came forward, squinting his eyes to what he could also see, and exclaimed quite loudly "Thats an' otter that is with him."

Frankfort looked to Eskert, who only provided his advice on the manner "My lord, the warlord himself is presenting himself to us, no doubt a trick. We could kill him now before he has a chance to escape back to his lines."

Balon chimed in, "No, I would advise against it."

Many faces looked at him, including Eskert who gave him a dark look. Balon explained "It's a Long Patrol tradition this beast is using, my lord. He wishes to talk, alone in the field. I mean, he is vermin, it may be a trick–"

"I am a liberator and a bringer of civilization, if this beast wishes to speak, I shall give him his due. I shall offer my terms of surrender, total and immediate, and see if this monster has any sense." Frankfort motioned to Loy and Eskert and walked out, two golden hares to his side as guards. Gosland and Kelsum looked out, sending couriers to Frankfort's company to figure out what was going on. As they did, Frankfort marched forward, his golden armor shining and clinging with his golden medallion beneath his armor. His golden helm was on his side. He came closer and closer, Eskert and Loy keeping their paws close to their weapons and Markem stood motionless in the field, 'Dirt' keeping a grim eye on them.

Frankfort came close enough and stood at attention, puffing out his chest as he spoke with the voice that was imperial and loud.

"I am Prince Frankfort Squirrelking of Southward, Heir to Southward, Grand Commander of this Expedition an–" He paused only as Markem took off his helm, revealing not a monstrous creature by a simple rat he could have mistaken for any one of his serfs. He shoved the horned helm into the paws of one of his bodyguards and coughed.

"Blasted ding." He muttered, staring at Frankfort who was annoyed. Markem grunted "Ya had any utter titles?"

"Many, vermin. Who are you to stand against the tide of Southward and her allies?"

Loy stared with disbelief at 'Dirt' who stared back with a coldness to his eyes, Loy looked at the old rope which clung to his neck, a clear sign of his submission to the vermin, and he was here guarding this beast's life. It was obvious by the way he dressed and the sword he carried. Loy was baffled by this, wanting to ask, but dared not to as Frankfort and this slaving tyrant spoke.

"Markem. Brownnose if ya be looken fer surnames."

"Markem?" Frankfort blinked. "You are the warlord of this horde, or this some manner of joke?" Frankfort kept a serious tone, he wondered if this was indeed some manner of trick up until one of the blackclad guards growled angrily at him, yelping "Ya don't speak to der chief dat way, bush tail."

"Enough." Markem's voice was harsh as his stronger and more bulky soldiers became silent. The veteran's of Kasg's horde were grim looking, and also all too familiar, even if they now wore different colors. Yet now Frankfort knew this was indeed their chief, and yet he was still baffled. Markem was not tall, he looked too average except for this horned helm he wore. He wondered if he could take this warlord more seriously if he had not thrown the helm to one of his soldiers. Indeed, now I know truly, the Long Patrol control this horde to place such a beast before me.

Markem looked Frankfort up and down with disgust, as Frankfort spoke with authority.

"As I was saying. You have come to parlay I take it? Then I shall give you my demands. Throw down your weapons, vermin, you and all of your soldiers. Give up your slaves and I shall be merciful to you as a Woodlander of honor. Refuse, and reveal the true barbarity and consequence of your actions as I will not be so merciful to an enemy who slays beasts and enslaves others in this country."

"So. Ya are a woodlander." Markem spoke suddenly. Frankfort frowned and rolled his eyes "Yes, I am indeed."

"Fer a moment as I marched here, I swore I was goin to be fighten a vermin degenerate."

Eskert growled back at him "Do not speak ill of your betters, slaver."

"Do not speak at all, round ears." Markem shot back, his eyes affixed on Frankfort, a hateful glare as he spoke with a seething voice "I don't care what ya are, i've not come here to give ya parlay, cause ya don't deserve it. Der will be no surrender from ya. I won't allow ya to throw down yer arms, nor undo yer banners. Look at yer soldiers, bush tail. Every last one of dem here? Der goin to clog dis river." Markem motioned towards the river, and Frankfort did not break his eyes from his enemy. He grunted, insulted by Markem's arrogance "I suspected nothing and got less, vermin."

"I saw your beasts handiwork on der way here, you degenerates deserve far more den just a sword to yer stomachs."

Loy grunted "Whatever do you mean by that, warlord."

Markem yelled, his uncontrolled anger bursting at Loy "I buried too many of yer victims on me march here, vermin an' woodlander all! Der whole bleeding forest was filled wit dem. We captured yer captains in der act, killed a good few. What ya folk did is somethen even Kasg an' der whole lot of me worse friends an' allies would call useless an' cruel. Degenerates, dat is what ya are."

"You speak lies and nonsense." Frankfort flatly declared "We haven't even been north, and no matter of lies will convince us otherwise. If there were hanged creatures, they likely deserved it as vermin scum or traitors to this good country. Or perhaps even placed there by the likes of yourself or the Long Patrol sent to trick you! You beasts are nothing but anger and villainy, and we will put you down like the mad beast you are." Frankfort pointed, not taking such an accusation with seriousness. Markem grunted, and spat on the ground at Frankfort's feet.

Loy took his chance. The enemy was right there in front of him, this slaver and murderer and drew a javelin from his back. As he did so, 'Dirt' pulled out his sword just as fast and pushed Markem behind him, keeping his eyes trained on Loy who was only kept back himself by an arm by Frankfort. Frankfort warned in a whisper "You may not be in my service by tradition, Loy, but do not humiliate my honor."

"Blasted be honor, hes right bleeding there." Loy said in anger.

"Try it, and perish." 'Dirt' firmly warned. Loy shot back, in a furious tone "You're a bleeding otter, how can you defend that slaver behind you!" 'Dirt' did not respond, his dark look did not escape him. Loy backed down as Eskert nodded with approval to Loy who grew frustrated. Markem mocked "Keep yer own water dog on a leash at least."

"I am a servant of Southward, a guardian for all good woodlanders, I have no need of such things unlike you, barbarian." Frankfort huffed "Any beast who defends their slavemaster so proudly deserves nothing less than the same fate as I will give them." Frankfort looked at 'Dirt' as he said this, though the otter only gave a low grunt in response. 'Dirt' put his sword away as Markem spoke up.

"You will die here, Prince Frankfort of Southward, you an' yer entire army. I am not a beast to bombastic, but I swear ya dis. If I find ya. Yer a dead beast." Markem took up his helm and turned on around, his small retinue following as he carried his banner with him. Frankfort sniffed, his eye partly twitched. That arrogance, I will wipe it from his snout when I crush this pathetic, small rabble. Frankfort and his allies returned to their own lines as he yelled out "Beasts of Southward! To your prince!" Once back in place, Frankfort turned, but could not see Markem. Likely having backed away into his own troops.

Eskert came close to Loy and comforted him with a pat to his back, the otter looked more frustrated and anxious since he arrived, his first major pitched battle and in the vanguard no less! Yet, the coming battle did not trouble him, Loy kept his eye on 'Dirt' as he stepped side by side with his master, looking at him in anger, this willing servant who with a single cut of his sword could save many woodlander lives. The Southward army rang out trumpets and banged drums, war chants from both armies began to ring out.

Yet as Frankfort advanced, unsheathing his sword and holding it high as his golden regiment went forward with tower shields and pikes advancing on the vermin position, the vermin army suddenly stopped. The vermin began to lay their to the front, and they brought up their own shields. A warhorn blasted to the far right towards the river. Frankfort turned to the noise, seeing Markem and his soldiers having dug themselves just slightly farther apart from the main enemy force. Markem had his back towards the river, a tactic which made sense to Frankfort for a vermin, but it yet baffled him. He naturally by began to turn his army to face Markem's smaller, elite division, unaware that Markem's horn blast was met by two more from the forest.

The Southward army converged on the Great Vermin Band, and Frankfort turned again and his eyes widened. Out of the forest a much larger force came, a volley of arrows softened up much of the 1st army on the left flank as a huge gaggle of Jusbrag and Veekun's Burrow vermin bursted from cover with swords and axes. The surprised woodlanders turned to meet this foe, but they were numerous. Kelsum turned his force around to fight this foe, but was unable to pull off a volley of his own, and the vermin army Markem had began to converge themselves.

The Great Vermin Band was far wider in size than Frankfort thought, watching as the line of battle extended all around him. The sounds of battle drowned the field, the screams of beasts deafened and orders began to muddy in the chaos of battle. Hazul and Kylan both led their respective forces as Hazul and his water rats rained down arrows as better armored Jusbrag vermin cut through the pikes and shields to fight their enemy closer where they no longer had their advantage. The professional army held still, as the Battle of the River's Edge began in earnest
_

"Hold der line!" Markem screamed, his shield held outright. The plan had worked well, as the entire army of Southward was surrounded on all sides, unable to get off their volleys, but yet held onto the middle lane with ease. Markem's division was further from the line, his vermin's back facing the water. Jarolom took his place at the front of the army, with his sister Niala on the side. The Southward divisions came as one force, trying to spear at Markem as he held up shields to them. Frankfort and his elite force stood still in the midst of battle, the squirrel prince was frozen, his perfect and simple battle had suddenly become a mess. It would have amused Markem had he not been put into an anxious spot.

He was the bait after all.

"Hold der line!" Markem slashed at a pike aimed for him, cutting it partly as he grabbed on tip and ripped it down, the beast using it abandoning it and taking up a sword instead. The woodlander changed but was cut down by a Blackclad veteran who was Markem's elite soldier, his personal division. Despite their brutality and mercenary nature, Markem was thankful that many of these wandering soldiers had been one of the earlier members of his horde since he left the horde of Pelg the Tall. They obeyed his orders as 'Dirt' kept to Markem's side, cutting down one fellow otter who tried to slice his way through to him.

Markem was well prepared, for despite being in a poor position, another vermin company led by Kyth was apart of the larger vermin line which attacked any enemy division which came after Markem, quickly reinforcing and cutting them down. A group of fresh vermin laid hidden behind Kyth's own, quickly reinforcing any downed vermin their chieftain endured.

Frankfort's dark gaze was visible to Markem, his attention turned to him with his champions beside him. Yet only two remained. Niala and Jarolom led their forces as Balon watched from afar as Wulvog crashed into his enemies, a single swipe of his flat blade sent beasts flying from the field. His cloak fluttered as Balon yelled out "They have a wolverine! Take it down!" Balon lept into action, with Borbon and Loy coming to support him. Only Eskert remained with the squirrel prince who had a golden hare present his golden helm which was attached to his armor. Markem saw those dark eyes look at him, and he showed no fear back.

Now is the hour of dis trap, brace yerself Markem. Seasons help me.

Frankfort and his golden regiment charged at Markem, one thought in his mind. Kill the warlord, kill the horde. They all scatter when the snake's head falls from the monster! Frankfort and Eskert were side by side, and like others all of them fell into Markem's trap. The Golden Regiment and their pikes punctured at the shields of Markem's horde, bolts rang out in a short burst to try to soften them up, but yet Markem's hordebeasts held. In silence, the elite division went forward, fighting claw and nail with each and every beast they could get their hands on. One unlucky blackclad tried to fight his way to duel Frankfort, only for a swift sword to puncture his front, with Eskert acting as the squirrel's guardian as he fought to Markem. It sounded like a fairy tale, the heroic prince to fight the evil tyrant.

Yet, as the two approached Markem, 'Dirt' and Markem came close with their swords, with Markem's shield outward. Even as the battle raged, Markem kept his calm. Frankfort did not look to falter as he charged, his armor gleaming in the light of the sun as he and Eskert approached, their vanguard fighting Markem's own. When one of Markem's soldier's fell, Frankfort sought to end the battle right then and there, slashing his way to Markem until his sword clanged against the rat's. Frankfort expected some weak posture from Markem, the rat was in a ways smaller than he was, but his sword refused to budge as the rat's iron grip kept Frankfort's from moving.

Eskert tried to bring his sword to Markem's chest, but it clanged against another beast's. 'Dirt' parried the blade from Eskert as the two went on the attack, their blades swiping and crashing down on the two as Frankfort and Eskert held their own. Their duel was powerful and vicious, but it was brief, as both were pulled back into their masses as the elite divisions of the prince and great warlord clashed.

Frankfort was at a loss. He expected something easy, but Markem was far from defeated, in fact, he was winning. Frankfort avoided looking about the battlefield, even if his tactical mind screamed for him to do so, as he general angrily yelled out orders from the safety of their own divisions.

"Pull the troops to the forest! We need an exit!"

"Push on the western side! They cannot collapse!"

Markem smirked beneath his helm as Frankfort's helm may have hidden the squirrel's face, but his movements looking about made it obvious he was starting to realize his poor situation. Markem's army was slowly surrounding him, not breaking as much as the squirrel had hoped. Yet, the squirrel continued to push his forced forward, dying as Markem held his ground.

A soldier of Markem came into his view, the black clad turning as he had some breathing room as the enemy regrouped in front of them. Markem smiled with confidence, up until the same soldier fell forward, a javelin sticking out of his head as he fell into the dirt.

It took Markem but a minute to realize something. That javelin did not come from the front of the enemy army.

It came from his back.

Markem's eyes widened as he suddenly turned, Kyth yelling out from a distance "Markem! Get outta of der! Hu-" Markem saw a large host of shrews on logs coming straight at him, disembarking as they dragged unprepared vermin who had kept their foot in the waters suddenly found themselves knocked down and a sword to their throats. Logis and his brother waved their sabers from a distance "Gousim, attack! Logalogalogaloga-"

Markem turned, as so did 'Dirt', but the enemy was not just the shrew who made such a sudden appearance. Out of the waters, as if a unholy tide, otters under Pelma and Papet attacked. The otters unleashed a close volley, the shrews did their own, and what followed was a brutal melee. The otters did not just stab at the vermin in armor, they grabbed the smaller vermin and dragged them into the water, disappearing into the depths as they simply dropped their victims to allow them sink to their demise.

Market was mortified, he slashed at one otter, and then a shrew, he and his vermin began to be overwhelmed near immediately. This army was not joining the battle, they were all after him! Kyth and his soldiers all rushed forward, trying desperatly to get a hold onto any vermin they could. Markem found himself facing the otter skipper, she looked at him with a dark look as she sicked her otters onto Markem. One by one, Markem's soldiers began to fall, unable to fight both Southward or this new force at once.

"We have victory!" Kylan shouted. Markem blinked, a bit surprised by that yelp even as otters began to grab onto his armor as he was separated from 'Dirt', fighting for his life against Papet who duelled him. Markem turned, seeing as the yellow banner of Southward began to retreat.

That was, ummm, quick.

The rout was near immediate, the generals had not called for a retreat as piece by piece the Southward forces panicked and began to lay down weapons and flee towards their camp. Divisions that once mustered so easily to war now were falling back. Frankfort yelled "Fight on! The shrews and otters are here, figh-" Frankfort's words were ignored, even as Generals tried to get their captains to obey his orders as the situation turned. The yellow banners began to be casted aside as the main army, now having a corridor to escape, began to flee for their lives. The Jusbrag vermin suddenly pushed forward, and Pelma looked on in more annoyance than horror as the Southward forces abandoned the field.

Frankfort had to be picked up, Balon disengaged from a vicious fight with Wuvlog as he practically pulled Frankfort from the field.

She knew she had little time.

Markem stared at her as he was disarmed, the rat bashing at his temporary captors who dragged him further towards the river. He got free only briefly as Pelam grabbed Markem and yanked him towards the depths. Markem's knees began to grow cold with the dampness, as Pelma loudly whispered to him as she held him.

"This is for my father and brother."

Markem didn't even have time to answer as Pelma grabbed Markem and pulled him fully int the water, dragging him further and further under the waters. Just as quickly as the shrews and otters came, they quickly began to retreat across to safety as the main vermin horde realized what was happening. Markem looked up as Pelma continued to drag him further towards the bottom, the light disappearing. Markem let out a cry for breath, as his lungs began to fill with water. Pelma stopped grabbing him as Markem's struggle subsided and he began to sink on his own. Pelma disappeared further, and as Markem looked up, a figure splashed into the water and dived straight to him. 'Dirt' swam as fast as he could, his paw stretched out to Markem to which the rat with his last pieces of strength tried to raise his paw to catch it, his vision blurring rapidly.
_

"Out of der way!" Jarolom screamed, practically throwing vermin as he pushed past the crowd near the shore. Jarolom heard what had happened just as the last of the Southward forces began to leave prematurely from the field of battle. Niala was not far from behind, calling after him "Jarolom! Wait, wut der matter!?" Not every vermin had heard, as many were waving their swords in victory, unaware of what was happening. Many would only realize until their captains and warlords began to rush on over.

Jarolom pushed his way to the river, packed with vermin who were silently murmuring or yelling. Two larger vermin stood in his way, desperately trying to push through them but they refused to budge.

Thankfully, Tactum and Wuvlog, bloodied from the battle were there beside him as they help push further into the crowd. Thanklessly, as the two pushed their way in themselves, giving a path for Niala to join them, they found a sorry sight. Jarolom was frozen in fear, looking down as he saw Scarl, Hazul, and Kylan all yelling at one another, and 'Dirt' who struggled to pull Markem ashore.

Markem was not moving, nor breathing as Hazul pushed past Kylan and helped the otter bring him out of the water.

"Markem? Markem!? Ya can't be dead, matey! Tis just water, ya drink it all der time, oh season!?"

"Dis is yer fault, ya useless ferret!" Kylan screamed in anger "I should have ya gutted fer dis! I'll do it meself!"

"Oh enough! Be silent you imbecile." Hazul seethed, dropping Markem's arm. Jarolom looked to 'Dirt', growing angry. Was he going slow? Where was he!? Why didn't he stop this! That traitor, that-, the thought quickly turned to action as he went forward to him, his paw still gripping his sword. Scarl looked down in anxious despair, yelling to beasts and to himself. Hazul and Kylan yelled, the horde yelled, there was just a lot of noise.

Niala found her way through, looking upon the scene. Jarolom approached 'Dirt', his voice very clear "Dis is your fault, ya blasted, useless beast! Yer kind dragged him into der water, an' got him killed! I knew twas a bad idea from der start to make ya what ya are. Ya even listening to me, 'Dirt'?" 'Dirt' was not, as he looked over Markem and began to pound his chest. Jarolom was baffled by this, nearly trying to kick 'Dirt' off of him, but Niala stopped him as he pulled him back.

Jarolom's anger and hate was overwhelming, but as Niala pulled and held onto him, Scarl looked on unsure of what to do. 'Dirt' began to press on Markem's chest, pressing and retracting over and over. He growled, looking up at Jarolom and yelling at him much to his surprise.

"Pull this bleeding armor off of him! Damnit. Hurry!" Niala sprung to action as Jarolom stood still, frozen by the command given by 'Dirt'. He eventually snapped out of it, as Niala gave him commands instead "Jarolom! Quickly!" Jarolom helped, seeing the two struggle as he came down and began to pull the chainmail from Markem's body. The group struggled, the motionless rat did not respond as they yanked his armor from him. Markem's jaw opened partially, but not by his own free will as 'Dirt' went back to what he was doing.

Jarolom did not understand what the otter was doing, as 'Dirt' pushed his paws to Markem's chest and retracted. Was this some woodlander trick? There was nothing but a silence, the vermin yelling and kept back barely, as if wanting to try their paw at healing their chief. Some called for healers, Hazul and Kylan continued to argue on faults, their view of Markem's fate was sealed. The other warlords watched on with baited breath, unsure of of what would happen, and who would lead them next.

Nothing was happening, the otter's movements did not cease, as he continued on what he was doing. Thus passed Markem Brownnose, the Great Wa-

Cough!

Markem's eyes shot suddenly open and he spat out water at a terrible speed into the air. The otter continued to press down on his chest as Markem felt his body hurt all over. He gasped for breath, spitting out the river water. Jarolom was shocked, but in truth, so was everybody. The momentary pause of despair became a sudden jolt of joy.

"Der chief! He is alive!" One vermin shouted.

The vermin began to lift spears and swords in the air as 'Dirt' stopped, breathing heavily and exhausted. Markem looked upon his slave and bodyguard, impressed. The otter was partly pushed to the side by Hazul and Kylan, who rushed over as they pulled him out, but he shook them both off as he spoke the first words since he returned to the world of the living.

"Bah! Get out der way." 'Dirt' grasped his bodyguard's paw and lifted him up, something he accepted. Markem quickly regained his composure, turning to his horde and reviewing them. They were cheering and many quickly swarmed over their guards, checking to see if he was alright as he picked up his sword and used it as a cane to quickly get away from the water. The soldiers of his elite division, those who were left, gave him room. Niala and Jarolom stayed with 'Dirt' who was panting as the foxess smiled "Ya did yer job well, otter."

'Dirt' only nodded, as Jarolom lightly nudged him "An yer failien again, now get to Markem's side, water dog." The insult would have hurt 'Dirt' had it not come from Jarolom, but the fox's voice was not spiteful or troubled. 'Dirt' did as he was bidded, pushing aside vermin till he was beside Markem again. The rat continued to spit out water, dazed as he looked at his newest victory under his belt.

"I thought ya dead, chief." Scarl said, Markem turned to him, and smiled "I thought as well, Scarl." Scarl did not look well, in fact, he looked sick. The ferret gave a respective nod to Markem, but also to 'Dirt'. The vermin surrounding him were impressed, their warchief was alive! Once again, Markem felt he cheated death, though now more than ever did he feel like he was tempting fate. He was silent as his vermin cheered, happy to win, and happier that they didn't lose him.

Kylan and Hazul both quietly and shamefully approached him, hoping Markem did not know they spent much of the time he was dying arguing with one another. Lucky for them, Markem barely noticed as he spoke in a low voice. "We won I take it?"

"Aye chief." Jarolom appeared and gave the good news "Der whole stinken degenerate army fled, much of der soldiers went against der orders, but no real bad casualties on eder side from der looks of it."

"Den we'll follow dem an' put em' down. Kylan, I want me camp ready to be on der move, now. Hazul, take her rats an' hound dem, damage der wagons, burn der sides. I want dem in pain every moment we catch dem, an I want dem slow. However, before we do dat, der is something I wanna do first."

"Rest?" Hazul answered. Markem shook his head and cricked his neck, turning to Scarl and gave a very clear, loud, and spite fueled answer.

"Scarl, find dat holt."

---

The Southward army did not stay in retreat for very long, although for many soldiers, they would have wished they had.

Kelsum and Gosland took many hours and genius manuevers to gather their troops, afraid to rejoin their army. Punishments had to doled out, but there was no time to commence them, as the main camp which had just packed up for a move northward was now quickly heading south. The main army was attacked by ambushers, Hazul's water rats came out of the woods to kill one or two soldiers before retreating back into the woods. Hazul himself led many of these attacks, with the main vermin army, or half, it was hard to tell, was marching straight at them and challenging them. Frankfort was screaming and yelling every moment he was dragged by Balon back to his retreating army, calmed down by his generals before accepting the reality.

Every day since has been a miserable disaster.

It was slow. The army would be forced to go out for battle, and like clockwork they would get into their formations as the Great Vermin Band advanced and they would suddenly retreat. Some battles never happened at all. The army couldn't move anywhere for very long, they would just be bombarded or surrounded by the vermin. Frankfort could barely ever set up camp, he could barely rest as his grand army which had once been the pride of his country was now faltering so quick and so suddenly against this simple minded enemy,

Frankfort was in a safe place now, looking down from a hill as his army continued to advance south along the river, watching as a relief force advanced on Jusbrag vermin in the woods. The trees prevented the formations from using their full armored might effectively, as the vermin would keep their distance from the pikes and just manuever around quickly, their rectangle hosts would become loose and move swiftly to the sides and engage in a mixed skirmish or wait for archers to arrive to deal with them. What should have been an easy victory turned into a stalemate. The captains of the divisions were busy or looking back at Frankfort nervously, their soldiers were eager to retreat or shaking.

Frankfort was not alone, as Gosland looked down depressed at what was effectively his own troops faltering to chase away a vermin horde, as Kelsum only kept his cold and stoic stance. Frankfort was frozen with disbelief, and began to pace. Besides them, the hill was surrounded with what remained of the Golden Regiment, which was reduced to half of its number due to their charge against Markem's own soldiers, and Shackleford who was baffled and thinking to himself. Frankfort began to yell, as he angrily seethed from above.

"This!? This is the great army of Southward at work! Has my father made warriors into children! Oh confounded foolishness, Bellmaker damn us all!" He knew Lars would never have allowed him to act like this in front of others, but now he was thankful Lars wasn't there. In frustration, Frankfort kicked the dirt angrily, getting Shackleford's attention, worried about how violent the prince was becoming.

"They are still hold, my lord." Kelsum coldly reminded Frankfort.

"Oh be silent, Kelsum. My champions are still out and about finding your soldiers who fled." It was true, of all the soldiers who fled, Kelsum had lost the most and many were still out and about in Mossflower, being rounded up by Eskert and his retinue. Eskert's friends and squires had been more than helpful, but their lack of presence was being felt. Frankfort turned his attention back to the battle, frowning heavily as the battle broke into yet another defeat. One of the divisions got loose and began to scatter, forcing divisions who were suppose to be resting or retreating to intervene to prevent another one from perishing completely. Gosland put a paw over his mouth, mortified as he saw beasts die in such a way as the vermin took their time on dealing as much damage as possible before retreating to their main force which marched closer to them.

"My soldiers retreat at the very image of vermin? Were all of our war chants and fealty to our cause an illusion. General Gosland! Why are my soldiers retreating!"

"I-I don't know, my lord."

"Then find out! I want double lashes for deserters! All of them!"

"I would advise against it my lord." Kelsum warned. Frankfort gave a dark glare at him as Kelsum explained, his frustrations boiling over, as he delivered his critique to his lord. "Prince Frankfort, we are not to blame for this travesty. Our soldiers are demoralized and are now easy to panic. We need a victory and a means of making our soldiers believe in our cause, and rest. We should be retreating if we can to Redwall with as minimal casualties as possible. For now, all we can do is try to get to a good position and force the vermin force back. Their full army is not even here, this army has been sicked on us to keep us in a panic. I will order my soldiers forward, chase the enemy out from our rear, and have my scouts root out any of their spies allowing their soldiers to take pot shots at our wagons."

"Kelsum. They. Have. NO. SCOUTS." Frankfort nearly yelled. Kelsum shot back, pointing to the battlefield, much to Frankfort's surprise "Prince Frankfort! They do indeed have scouts, they have been hounding us since we lost at the river, and continue to look through our lines!"

Frankfort panted as he looked at the failed battle, and gripped his head. He could no longer deny it. The vermin had won an incredible victory, they did something he did not expect, and he still wanted to refuse to believe it. It was a strange feeling, being so clearly wrong, and when faced with that fact he wanted to scream out. Yet, he held his tongue. Shackleford meekishly came forward, speaking up.

"M-my lord, I am afraid i may have miscalculated the capabilities the vermin have. I am not a military beast, but please, listen to your advisors. I hate to see fellow woodlanders die, even for something only partially wrong on my end! General Kelsum here seems to believe there are indeed scouts, I think we should investigate this anomaly as soon as possible-"

"It is more than just the scouts, Shackleford. Our troops retreating is not a sign of a healthy army, My lord, they lost all belief of what we are here to do, and we have done a great deal of harm to local woodlanders. They panic because they are far from home, and they are afraid. They just saw an enemy they thought they could kill by the hundreds outsmart them."

Shackleford kept quiet as Frankfort turned to his generals and tried to calm himself down. He thought it over and rubbed his head. Kelsum made a suggestion "My lord, you need rest. I am more experienced at these matters, let me and General Gosland take your place for the time being."

"No. You are right, but for that reason I deny it." Frankfort protested. "If our soldiers see me ill, they will think their lord is incapable and have led them to this. Advise me, Kelsum, but do not take my command. Your suggestions?"

"To take rest." The comment got a furious look from Frankfort, but Kelsum continued "More importantly, we need a small victory and a place to camp and regroup. We need to restore our original military command and protocols, as well as time to dole out punishments for desertion as well as lessen them. Those punishments help us drill and keep our soldiers professional, it doesn't keep them from a fight. More importantly-" Kelsum looked down to Shackleford "It would be best if we review our policies on your suggestions, on what is and is not theoretical and what can be exploited against our enemy."

Frankfort nodded "Fine. I shall take a rest, but only for a moment." Frankfort turned to the forests of Mossflower, grunting. He could have sworn he saw Markem disappear beneath the river as the otters attacked, and he wondered. "General Kelsum, did we come close to victory at least?"

"I do not know my lord. Think of future victories, not past defeats."

The squirrel prince twitched his eye and shook his head. "Bellmaker protect us."
_

No otter could have been happier as Pelma broke the waters and swam straight back into her cavernous home. She whirled her fur and shook herself off, and shortly thereafter, a while a group of otters followed her. The otter families came out to figure out who had lived and who had perished. Yet, despite the mourning of some, the mood was joyful. Pelma openly declared with a single, victorious voice "The bleeding tyrant is dead! Dakan and Kasser are avenged!"

Papet came over and embraced her, as she embraced her captain back. Pelma did not cry, for there was something lifted from her heart. It was not long before entering the hall was Logis and Bigoar, the two Gousim brothers looking to the skipper, one with pride and the other with a forlorn boredom.

"The Gousim are owed many favors, Logis."

"Aye, you owe us a lot of favors indeed." Bigoar grinned, but Logis nudged his brother. "Nay, Pelma, you owe me nothing. We did this for Dakan. Their horde will begin to attack itself soon, and we'll need to deal with them and those yellow cretans soon enough."

"Then let us bleeding eat, bring your best cooks shrews!" Papet declared. Bigoar frowned to this, reminding him "Gousim law clearly states that is-"

"-a perfectly fine idea! Bigoar, let us not have rules and codes for a single night at least, we got a victory to celebrate!" Bigoar grumbled and left in a huff as Pelma sat down as her otters dressed wounds and continued to file into the holt. It had been a long and silent march back to their hold, their sudden attack was genius ploy of her creation, with Logis and Papet advising of course. They had hoped their arrival would spur the Southwarders to some victory, but Pelma perhaps thought it was for the best. Now both enemies were on a losing end, and there was no doubt in her mind that Markem's accursed horde was already at each other's throats.

Papet went over to his family, hugging his missus and embracing his ever happy pups to see their father again, as another otter shot out of the water and rushed to him. The otter whispered something in his ear as Pelma watch. Her smile began to fade as Papet gave the otter a strange look.

"Go look again, that shouldn't be possible, maybe its just a large gang?" He whispered.

At the same time, Bigoar rushed into the hall, rushing over to Logis who was congratulating other otters on their bravery. He tried to brush him off, up until his bigger friend Sagad pushed his way through the otter stronghold. The hedgehog looked wide eyed and afraid, something rare for a beast his size. "Logis, you're needed outside. We need all of them outside."

Pelma could not help herself, coming over. Logis blinked and asked "Whats wrong? Vermin are probably miles off, still mourning their chieftain."

"Brother." Bigoar said grimly "We gotta leave now."

"What? Why?"

"I just came from outside, scouts came up to me. That chieftain they are mourning is walking along the shores with a whole stinking army."

Pelma's world began to freeze as she heard Bigoar speak. The otters stopped, giving him a hard look as Logis was baffled "That ain't possible, rats can't swim all that well. Not in armor at least."

"You didn't drag that wretch all the way down I guess?" Bigoar gave an accusatory glance to Pelma. The skipper felt eyes upon her, her thoughts returned to the battle. No. No! It ain't possible, that was him! I killed him, I dragged that murderer down to the depths! Even if he was pulled out, it wouldn't have been in time! Was it a different rat? A fake? No, that was him. "It was him. It couldn't have been anyone else." Pelma began to panic, because now? Now that army was on the river's banks, and they were now looking at her. Papet came over and yelled out "Everyone! Evacuate the holt! We move to our second home near the edge of the sea. Ladies, I want to see yer paws on your youngsters and ready to move!" The otters got immediately busy as Pelma began to angrily repeat to herself.

"It was him. How is he not dead?"

Papet shook her as she snapped out of her dark daze. She quickly repeated the orders, but this time to Logis "Logis, you and your Gousim need to head up river. Papet, I need your warriors. We can only delay them."

"Mam?" Papet was concerned as much as he was confused.

"I ain't abandoning you here, I know what you intend." Logis shot back angrily, but Pelma refused to listen "If the scouts just got back now, those vermin are going to be on top of us, and it won't take long for them to figure out where the entrances to our holt are. Papet, grab your otters damn you!" Papet did as ordered, as she bent down to Logis "Logis, your shrews won't make it well on foot, my otters can swim and escape the vermin if need be. I can delay them, you need to get out first."

The shrew chieftain grabbed his saber and held it aloft "No, we fight this together, as-"

"If my pa was still alive, he'd be giving the same order to! Listen to me Logis, we'll make it out. Just trust me."

Logis paused, unsure of what to do, as his brother shook him "Logis, ya waste time! Make a decision or I will!" Logis saddeningly agreed with the otter skipper, speaking in warning "You an your otters make it out, mam. If you don't, I'll bully you till your days grow dark. Sagad! We move!"

Sagad and Bigoar left, as Logis gave a longing look at Pelma as she prepared for battle once again. Through tunnels, Pelma and Papet led their warriors, popping out of a hidden entrance near the river with weapons held and anxious looks. As the crept out, three vermin were awaiting them, with one fumbling as he blew a war horn. The otters came out, weapons drawn and slew them, but not before more vermin showed up. The vermin chased the otters back into their tunnels, and began to beat the entrance shut.

Pelma returned to the main hold, and went down new tunnels to the main entrance, peaking out and seeing nothing. This was where the shrews had set up, having just left, and thankfully in time as she spotted a big figure in the forest. Wulvog and his northern vermin approached slowly, weapons drawn as they looked for the otters, but found tracks left by the shrews.

Papet led a few otters out from the water entrance, going downward into the water but stopping once they saw a few figure on the surface. Boat. Boats! Arrows rained down into the water from above, Papet and his soldiers fleeing to the safety of the holt in time. One by one, each entrance of the otters was shut down, until only the main entrance remained. Each entrance Pelma tried to fight out of, each time beaten back. More and more entrances were found, but by accident or by purposeful intent as the vermin began to close them up. The otter families were pushed deeper into their Holt, as Pelma and Papet realized that their foray became a trap, and now they could only hope Markem could not breach them or try to collapse the holt.

Then came the smoke.

Pelma smelled the air, as one of the otters exclaimed "Oh season. They are trying to smoke us out!" From one of the western entrances, a fume of gray mass flooded the air and arose, slowly filling the room, and panic ensued. The otter families began to go into corners as Pelma made one desperate call, coughing out "To the eastern entrance! We'll have to fight through them to get out!" It was a desperate maneuver, but it was better trying to push youngsters and elders into fighting against coughing fits of controlled fires.

Then the eastern entrance began to smoke.

The otters pulled back to their central room, time ran short as more smoke filled the entrance. "Papet, what about the water entrance, can we fight our way out to the other side of the River Moss?"

Papet nodded and gathered a few otters and disappeared below the surface. He had been gone for only a few moments, but cries of otters and horrified coughing fits began to make it seem like an eternity. Pelma tried to hold her breath, but keeping herself calm and all the others was a task only better creatures could do, beyond the skill of any other. She ordered beasts to beat down entrances. One otter foolishly tried to make a hole in the ceiling, but Pelma grabbed him growled "It will reveal where the holt really is!"

"They already know mam." The otter shot back, the creature was fearful, and truthfully so was Pelma.

Eventually, Papet returned, but with a few otters and scratches across his head. The smoke was getting worse, to the point of breaking as he gave the only answer Pelma needed; a shake of his head. The river was taken fully, any hope of getting from the river was gone.

"To the entrance!" Pelma led her tribe through the southern tunnels, tipping over the central area's amenities and going past her room. Pelma wanted to stop to collect her belongings, especially that of her late family, but she coughed and fell over. Papet grabbed her and continued to make towards the surface. Bit by bit, the smoke arose as the otters opened their front entrance and began to make their way outside.
_

Pelma and Papet embraced the light as the squeaks and yelps of the otters gasped for air. Papet drew his weapon, as Pelma tried to recover to give out orders. As the otters made it out, they expected a fight, but as the smoke cleared as they got closer, Papet stopped and looked around.

Spears

And banners

Some otters ran straight into them, but the spears did not move forward on the vulnerable otters as they instead pushed them back or jabbed at those who got too close. The entire army was there it looked like, a good chunk of it at least. Pelma gasped and whispered "We need to get back inside. We need to-"

"It'll just kill us, mam." Papet whispered back, defeat in his voice. She knew he was right, and that mortified her. Pelma looked forward, peering around at the grinning and smirking faces of her confident foes who held up shields and spears at her growing host of otter warriors and their families. She arose, coming forward as other coughed and recuperated all around.

Then she paused, seeing him approach.

The soldiers to the front made way as Markem, Scarl, and his bodyguard 'Dirt' marched out towards Pelma. Markem looked on with a curious stare, not at all angry as she expected a vermin warlord to be. Markem held the grip of his sword's hilt hardly as he came over to her, stopping a far enough distance to make sure she wouldn't try anything difficult.

"Skipper of der otters. Poetic, ya nearly got me at der river." Markem commented. Pelam looked him up and down, and then to Scarl who had the biggest, fattest grim a ferret could make on his face, proud with his accomplishment of finding them. She would never know it, but Scarl did suffer going about the camp, dragging former members of the holt made slaves of the camp into some corner and having them threatened and beaten till they told him clues to where the holt was, at least one of them. Context had be put together like a puzzle back to the ferry along the river, reinforcements forged into an army, as Markem shadowed the victorious otters and shrews quite successfully.

"Ya got from all der way over here to der, passing over me good scouts too. I'm impressed, otter."

"How are you alive." Pelma spat. Papet came to her side, spear in paw as Markem's vermin partly advanced at his coming. Markem yelled out "Throw down yer weapons, ya won't need dem now."

"Answer the skipper's questions, cretan. Was it a body double?"

"Slain, sadly, but not by ya. Dat was me ya nearly got."

Pelma looked slowly to 'Dirt' who kept his grim and cold stare at her. Markem smiled "Yer not der only one who swims in my horde. Does it matter who saved me? I lived."

Pelma stared with deep hatred at 'Dirt' who only blinked in response. She wanted to simply ask 'why', but she did not know this, but 'Dirt' did not fully know himself. He had been asked by Markem, by Jarolom, and by Scarl many times. Yet his answer would always be simple. It is my duty, I must do it.

"You should be asken der question, skipper, 'why ain't I orden my vermin to kill der whole lot of ya'. Yer all here I be dinken, whole holt of Mossflower. Any other warlord like Kylan or Hazul would have ya speared wit yer elders and young'uns all, to be rid of ya from the campaign, an save survivors fer der slave pens." Jarolom was giving a nasty to look to Markem when he said this, clearly having 'discussed' this before with him in terrible length.

Pelma listened, partly, as she spat "Then speak, vermin, don't waste my time."

"I won't. Yer shrew friends escaped, but I have come wit an offer. Ya impress me otter, ya did a few annoying dings to outwit us, an I ain't here to massacre ya. Yer brother, Kass-"

"Don't ya dare say his name." Pelma seethed. Markem stopped and frowned, shaking his head and continuing "Listen lass, der last words he asked of me, knowen dat I would kill him, was dat I would spare yer holt. Despite all der vermin ya killed, despite nearly senden me to the dark forest itself, I will allow ya to live. I won't damae ya, won't enslave ya. All I ask is dat ya put yer troubles wit me aside, lay down in peace wit me, an' join us in fighten dem yella clads."

Papet looked baffled as much as surprise. He asked "Is this some joke, vermin?"

"Oh I really wish it were." Scarl said, rolling his eyes.

"It ain't. I mean it. Me word has been kept truthful since Tussock. I spared der hare families der, an I intend to spare you. Tis is not a mercy, but a deal for peace. Ya can keep yer holt, an' yer automony. You an' I know dat yella clad did a number on yer friends as much as I did, but ya know dey will do worse. Ya ain't blind to what dem lads did in this forest, an' neder am I. Let as be allies, an' I won't annex ya."

Pelma paused as Markem expected her to think of it as some trick or cruel joke. Pelma seethed from a distance as her home bellowed smoke behind her. Markem kept on being stoic as the vermin surrounded the otters. Papet's missus held close to her little ones, still coughing and wheezing. Pelma then spat on the ground and pointed to it.

"That is what I think of your deal, murderer."

Markem moved his mouth to the side, cringing a bit. Pelma continued, much to Papet's surprise as she tore apart this proverbial mercy "I don't want peace with you Markem, I am going to fight you and ever last one of your wretched, slaving vermin, even the ones next to you! There can be no peace between us, not even until the end of days! This holt would rather perish than become yet another one of your thralls, you vile tyrant."

Pelma's words were not met with action as Markem sighed. He motioned his soldiers forward, but they did not go to kill. Very few, if any of Pelma's beasts fought back as the vermin collected them and crashed onto them. They took all of them into custody as Papet tried to reason with Pelma, but only managed to grab her shoulder as she tried to take up a knife and lounge at Markem. She didn't get far when vermin fell on her as well, Markem looking down in disappointment as she was held, a shackle locked into place on her paws behind her back as she yelled at him "Get off of me! Fight! Cowards, all of you! Fight them!" Her bellows of anger was met with nothing but cries of anguish.

"Is dis really what ya want?"

Pelma only answered "We can have peace when I got my pa back, you murderous vermin!" In a way, Markem pitied her, but in another he only thought. What a soft child.

"Fine den. Gutan." Gutan came out from the crowd and came to Markem's side. He stared down at Pelma, another shackle forming to her neck as it was locked in place. "Take dis entire lot to der stone pit."

"Boss?" Gutan said surprised. He looked at the large group, their youngsters included mostly as Markem looked at his slavemaster with a coldness to his voice "Do as I order, Gutan. Dis lass an her tribe and cool demselves in dat quarry till eder they take me up on me offer, or till der days grow dark. Tell der boys der to not relent, especially on dis on." He lightly pointed to Pelma as the vermin hoisted the screaming and brave otteress up and shackled her to the rest of her tribe. Gutan nodded, giving a fearful look to his chief. Even Scarl next to him whispered.

"A bit odd of ya to be cruel, chief."

"I can be cruel once in me life. Dis is fer der own good, whether dey like it or not." Markem watched as the otters were hauled off in chains towards Gholand, Pelma led next to Papet who was silent to his vicious looking chieftain who continued to scream curses and hated phrases at the rat, her decision leading the holt to an uncertain fate.