The morning after the raid...
Disibod finished breakfast and headed outside in search of a quiet place to meditate. His foot wounds were healed enough that they no longer needed a wrap on them. He was also lucky enough to find a very nice pair of clean, white, owner-less socks that fit him perfectly!
He was walking around a corner of the Abbey's exterior, enjoying his new-found socks, when he spotted a barrel directly under a gutter spout. Disibod checked to make sure there was water in it and was delighted to find that there was plenty! After slipping back inside to rummage for a mug, the dormouse raced back to the barrel to indulge in his guilty pleasure: gutter water.
The squirrel couple who had been freed from Harl's clutches the night before came padding by, paw in paw. "Oh, I quite like it here, don't ye, my dear Alyssum?" the burly male said. "Tisn't quite as grand as I expected, but tis safe and sound."
Alyssum, the female, tutted. "I always thought Redwall was full of riches! Where's the gold? The jewels? The buttresses?" she scowled at the dormouse. "Is that wretch drinking gutter water? Is he wearing socks!? Leander, I think that this place is far less than what the stories say! They haven't even got clean drinking water! Disgusting!"
Full disclosure- these are Snowbelle's parents and they make me look like the patron saint of all things good.
Disibod turned to the couple with a very unamused facial expression "They have clean drinking water here. I just happen to like the taste of this water. If gold is what you are looking for, a monastery is a very bad place to go searching for it, you disgustingly worldly squirrel."
Leander growled. "How- how dare ye talk tae my wife like that, ye miserable gutter slurper!"
Disibod pulled the insignia awarded to his grandfather by his king for his valor in battle (his grandmother gave it to Disi) off of his neck and displayed it to the squirrels. "I am a knight, born and raised. Do not dare to insult me like that again!"
Don't ask me how he still had that insignia after a season or two as a slave. I should be asking that to my slavemaster...
The squirrels made a great show of being flustered. "Oh, great seasons, my Lord!" Alyssum curtsied deeply. "Our deepest apologies, Sir Knight! We merely are…um…exhausted! Exhausted from the journey here!"
Disibod, now greatly amused, fixed his posture to assume some class. "That had better be the case. Now present yourselves to your gracious host here, and be grateful that you peasants even have a roof over your head."
"Of course, my lord, of course," Leander bowed repeatedly. "My name is Leander Thornbrush, and this is my lovely wife, Alyssum."
The squirrelwife curtsied yet again. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord!"
Disibod, nodded and motioned for the pair to be on their way.
They began to walk off, chunnering to each other. "I could have sworn I've seen that beast before."
"Oh? Perhaps he was one of the buyers when we finally were rid of that curse."
"Indeed! Perhaps our luck is finally turning, my love. Far away from the wretched ghost of a babe."
Disibod waited until they were out of sight to find a quiet place to be alone. Pondering who they could be referring to..
Valentine had the window open in his study and heard the whole thing. The goofy monk that ruined his plan was a knight… Could the situation get any worse? He probably had a platoon of his buddies searching for him…
Without context, the scene looked like a massacre. Several creatures laid out in macabre poses, crimson staining them in various places. Barley mae was careful not to inhale the fumes from the little knobbly root she snapped and wafted under the ferret's nose before tossing it away and quickly turning her back. She gave a wink to Cynric, one of the casualties lying in their own cherry flavored viscera.
Mel licked her fingers, best not have the 'blood' all over me.
Rotjaw came to with a groan. Waking up to one of the worst hangovers of his life, he blinked into the morning. His eyes slid open blearily. He would have slid them right shut had he not been met with foul viscera, blood, guts and gore. He jolted upright, suddenly very alert, aware and afraid of the invisible ropes binding him to the ground "H-hullo?" He called into the clearing, swallowing audibly.
Melangell nudged Barley. "He's awake," she whispered.
"Awake? tsk tsk poor wretch. What a cruel twist of fate." The ferret saw the concerned face of a rat hover into view. "It would have been better for him to have stayed unconscious." The rat brought her face in close to his. Looking into his eyes, tutting and grumbling with woe. Barley sighed sadly, her arms akimbo. "Well, it looks like The Adder's venom will soon claim another. But, like we always say at the academy, my young apprentice, even misfortune can be a teacher yes?"
"Yes," the mouse nodded, pretending to wipe away a tear.
"W-whatcher talkin' about?" Rotjaw asked, traces of panic finding their way into his voice, try though he did to keep them at bay. "I-I ain't seen no blasted adders. Who're yew? W-where-" he swallowed again, his eyes falling upon the red. "Where am I?"
Barley chuckled. "Well 'e wouldn't have been a very good adder if ya did see 'im now would 'e?"
"N-no- I mean- Aye- I mean- I-I'd have k-k-killed it!"
Oakwin, who was playing a corpse some distance away, was trying with every fiber of his body to keep from laughing.
Barley nodded sarcastically. "Oh well I'm sure ya would have if he hadn't snuck up on you an' all these slaves you were watchin'." She sat on a stone next to the immobilized ferret and poked him with a stick. "Can ye feel that?"
"N-no." Sweat trickled from his brow and came dripping down to the ground. "I-i-is that b-bad?" He squeaked.
Melangell walked off a few steps and started to 'cry'. This was something that she was very good at, for when she was younger she would use it against her softer older sisters.
"W-wot's she cryin' about?" Rotjaw had deteriorated to full on desperation by now. As much as he didn't want to hear it he knew the answer to that question. B-but there weren't no adder! A-an' she don't know me! 'S'got n-no reason fer tears!
"It's better we don't know ya friend else yer passin' would be too much to handle. She's new to the healin' arts so mortality is still emotional. NEVERTHELESS we shall press forward in the name of academia, yes apprentice? Now come have a look. Tell me, remembering your studies on venom, what are the symptoms of each stage after a yellow-throated adder bite after AFTER paralysis paralasis?" She inquired, with all the enthusiasm of an abbeyschool teacher.
"Yeller-throated? B-b-but there were no adder!" Rotjaw whimpered, his eyes beginning to glisten. Behind his tears, the rat grew blurry.
"A-aft-ter paralysis there's-s sweating, cold feet, increase of heart rate, memory loss, bowel failure, and degeneration of eyesight," her hands began to tremble and she pretended to wipe away another few tears.
"Very good. And after the second stage comes three things. There is the jelly legs, then comes the thunder whistles aaaaand…?" She indicated for her student to complete the list.
"B-b-b-but yer healers, right?" The ferret pleaded, willing himself to ignore the horrible symptoms described. "Y-yew can m-make me b-better?"
"D-d-death-th."
"No! Nonononono!" Rotjaw wished he could clamp his paws over his ears and be deaf to his doom. Alas his arms failed him. "Please! I-I-I-I d-d-on't wanna die!" B-b-b-but yer healers, right?" The ferret pleaded, willing himself to ignore the horrible symptoms described. "Y-yew can m-make me b-better?"
"Close, young one, but there is one more symptom. Possibly worst of all. The dredded "necro-walkie-see'ums. That's the one where the dead appear to RISE!"
Rotjaw stopped blubbering long enough to realize that the dead bodies around him still looked dead. "H-h-hang on. I-I haven't got that yet! Th-there's still time!"
All of a sudden, the 'corpses' started to get up and move in a very frightening manner.
"NOOOO!" Rotjaw shrieked as the blurred corpses began to move. "No! Please! I don't wanna- I'm n-not ready!" Tears cascaded down his cheeks as with a sickening feeling of dread he realized there was no other symptom left… but death.
The corpses then slowly started to collapse onto the ground.
Realization struck the rat sitting before the broken ferret as she smacked her head with her own paw. "Oh my goodness! How could I be such a cottonbrains?! Here I am your teacher trying to make sure you remember your lectures when I'm forgetting what provisions I've brought!" She rummaged through a sack and produced a pot of honey she had found earlier in their supplies. "Turns out I have just the antivenom we need right here!"
"T-t-tell Mama Apple I love her!" Rotjaw sobbed. He could feel the end was near. "A-a-an' t-t-ell Lackfoot I'm the one who broke his spear- he don't need te blame Skunky no more- a-an' I want him te know it was me! A-a-an' tell m-my ma a-an' m-my pa th-th-that I HATE THEIR GUTS!" Following this outburst Rotjaw grew silent. The rat's words somehow leaked into his brain and with newfound desperation he threw himself into pleading. "Save me! S-save me please! Please, oh please!"
"Well friend, I'd be obliged to do so," The rat's countenance hardened. "But services ain't 're ganna need compensation." The rat crossed her arms. "Next lesson, apprentice. Fair value of your arts. What do you think is fair compensation for saving this wretch from Hellgates?" She inquired with chilling indifference.
"Please!" Rotjaw wept with newfound strength. "I'll do anythin' ye ask! I-I-I'll g-guard yer b-b-bandages. Scrub yer feet! Wash yer clothes! Please! It's all I've got!"
"Why, an exchange of knowledge!" cried Mel, who had this well versed. "We are academics- are we not?"
Drat! Knowledge! The one thing I don't have! "L-look, I-I'm in a horde- w-we're doin' somethin' big. There'll be a l-lot of gold- I-I-I can pay!"
"Where do you keep the white squirrel?" Barked Barley, momentarily dropping character.
"W-what?" Rotjaw swallowed. "D-dat some kinda riddle o-or?"
"Deaf ain't one of the symptoms. Where is the white squirrel?" she asked again, regaining composure.
White squirrel, white squirrel, white squirrel. Rotjaw racked his brains in search of the phrase. "S-Skunky said somethin' a-about an army o-of white squirrels wiv zuchini swords b-b-but I didn't believe 'im." He finally spluttered.
He doesn't know... Barley cursed under her breath. "Fine, tell us what Lenny is planning then." She demanded.
"L-Lenny?" he squeaked. "I d-d-don't know no Lennys."
Barley searched the canopy above for patience. "The tiny idiot running your operation! WHAT IS HE PLANNING FOR THE ABBEY!"
"Oooh ye mean de boss. W-well er- he says we's gonna conquer it." A lightbulb switched on inside the ferret. "Hey! Yew oughts te join us! We could use a big, strong rat like yew! More muscle never 'urt. A-an' yer a healer! That means extra rations!"
Barley turned away momentarily, having to literally vent her frustration through gritted teeth.
"Oh, but that is not the proper payment for the antivenom," she sighed and looked at her paws, "It's so sad how many poor beasts die because they do not give what is due to the healers…..." Mel looked back up again, "but I guess I have one question for you about a small field mouse about ye high."
Rotjaw swallowed. "I-I-I don't know if the b-boss is a field mouse if that's what yer askin'."
"There was a little field mouse among the slaves. When I say little I mean young. Was the poor wretch found with a family or was he found separately?" Wow, he's a box of rocks.
"There was one lil' wretch we happened across," Rotjaw remembered now. "H-hated mash taters? H-hung around wiv some quiet dormouse? I thinks it woz Dung who found him but 'e didn't say anythin' about 'em bein' others. O-or he'd have brought 'em too. S-s-so alone. Er- separately." The ferret licked dry lips. "S-so er- th-the antidote?" He gave the pair a hopeful smile.
Barley rolled her eyes and uncorked the little pot of antivenom. She figured the concentrate would wear off in roughly half an hour anyway. As she poured it into his eager gullet she spoke. "See? Nice 'n easy. That's called commerce. You'll do well to heed the lesson as I'm sure you'll need a change a' career. Ya see, yellow throated adder venom acts as a marker that they can track from any distance. This elixir will stave off death but you will always be marked and he will ALWAYS know where you are. Lucky for you they won't leave their territory so you have a chance if you run as soon as your legs can take ya as he's lethargic with a full belly." She replaced the cork and pointed a finger in the ferret's face. "But make no mistake friend, if you ever return he WILL FIND YOU." She stood and smiled. Her arms akimbo. "Now, my student and I will take care of these bodies so you don't have to see 'em anymore."
As Barley and Mel drug the 'bodies' to where they could safely reanimate out of view, Barley addressed the two otter brothers. "Would y'all be dears and hide amongst these rock while our friend recovers? Make sure he gets goin' at a good pace. Lots of hissing noises, rustling and the like. Sound good?" The brothers looked at each other grinning and nodded. With that, the party cleared the stage, leaving the ferret alone to his thoughts as the pins and needles returned to his limbs.
Rotjaw whined, his mind desperate for a solution of some sort. On the one paw he could not leave! Abandoning a horde was like putting a target on one's back. Deserters never fared well! Where would he get his vittles from?… On the other paw, judging from the feeling slowly but surely creeping through him, this healer knew their stuff (even if they asked a lot of stupid questions) and the last thing Rotjaw wanted to do was to end up sliding down the snake's gullet. I'm dead either way… by now enough strength had returned to his paw that he could blow his nose on it. Unless… unless… unless I kills the adder! He wasn't entirely sure how he was supposed to do that though…
The ferret began to hear a rustling from the hedges that studded the outcrop of stone behind him. Secretly the pair of otters played their best impression of what they thought a yellow throated adder sounded like. The first shook the limbs of the shrub in which he hid and nodded to the second with a grin. The second cupped his muzzle, making a menacing hissing noise. He had to put a paw over the first's mouth to stifle his laugh.
Killing the adder, an insurmountable labour already, only seemed more impossible now that Rotjaw could hear it! And it was coming for him! He had the mark! By now he had regained enough strength to move, albeit clumsily, and move he did. "SNAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!" he screamed. Spurred on by the serpent no doubt hot on his heels, Rotjaw shot to his feetpaws, and bolted face-first into the nearest tree. "My nose!" he whined, clutching it as he got back up and raced away as fast as his numb little legs could carry him.
The pair of otters rolled about in tearful mirth before heading back to rejoin the group a distance away.
By the time Rotjaw stopped running he was half a league away from the rocky outcrop, stiff, sore and exhausted from the morning's events. He figured he had put enough distance between himself and the yellow-throated adder to warrant a little rest, and by sheer dumb luck he had happened upon a stream. He guzzled and slurped up the water greedily. It was by far the best thing he had ever tasted. Though his legs were numb from running he forced himself to stand up and keep walking. "Gotta put that blasted adder behind me, but first… gotta get supplies." So thinking, the ferret set a course for the camp. He had a faint recollection of something hitting his haunch, and in hindsight it all seemed so clear. The adder had bitten him and torn the slaves apart. It had then dragged them all away to devour in the comfort of it's own lair. "Hope de rat gessaway. Saved my life she did."
Life at the camp had turned sluggish and slow. They had fought the big fire for most of the night, only to find that several smaller ones had started all around the camp (courtesy of Skunksnot's failed attempt to rescue Friar Clovis' foodstuffs). By the time the fires were down there was many a wound to lick and many a burn to salvage. Lackfoot hopped around on his one leg, searching for a suitable replacement to his incinerated peg-leg (Harlapple had gotten fed up with him and had tossed it into a roaring flame). Normally the assembled vermin would jeer and tease and guffaw at him, as they always did when he 'behaved like a rabbit' and it spoke volumes of their exhaustion that many were now helping him instead. Skunksnot had pawed out a few burnt pastries to share, and not a single hordebeast- not even Dung- made any comment on the cloud of foul air that surrounded his chubby form. The only hordebeast complaining, in fact, was Bill. But then most creatures had a complaint or two about third degree burns to the face. "I knew joining was a mistake. The lot of you are idiots. Letting a mouse do a fox's job. My face is ruined."
"Bill be quiet," Dung murmured, passed out and leaning against the hulking Durge's shoulder. "I'm tryn' te sleep."
Rotjaw's eyes bulged out of his face as he witnessed the devastation first-paw. The adder must've done this! Yellow-throated must mean it's fire breavin'! I'd better be quick! He wasted no time getting to his tent- nobeast stopped him- and packing his scant and meager possessions (along with some of the unburnt supplies still left) into a haversack, which he promptly slung over his back. "All done, time te go!"
As he made his way to the nearest exit in the camp, he was hailed from behind by a voice he was compelled to listen to.
"Rotjaw," Mama Apple greeted. "Oh thank goodness, I was just asking about you. We thought you'd been taken! Are you alright?"
The ferret's first instinct was to run before her son showed up and executed him for deserting, but something stopped him. H-he couldn't just leave the horde! He'd been in it for so long the thought of actually leaving was more daunting than a mountainside. But… he had to. "I-I'm not." He admitted, turning to face her with tears in his eyes. "I-I've been marked mam. Iffen I stays, the adder'll be back. 'S'long as I'm in it's territry I ain't safe. I've gots te get movin' before it finds the horde again. I-I-I'm sorry. I don't wanna go. N-not really. A-an' I'll miss yew. An' all the uvers- 'cept for Skunky anyways- but I'll miss 'im too. Ye was all the best muckers I could asks fer." He swallowed heavily, his whole body shaking in terror. "But the snake'll be back. A-an' this time it'll finish it's job. I'm sorry, b-b-but this is buh-bai!" he turned on the spot, sobbing so hard he was gasping for breath and fat droplets fell from his eyes and into the sand.
He came to a halt a few footsteps away, upon bumping into something small and immovable. Tired from his running and the weight of departure still heavy upon his chest, Rotjaw fell on his rump and found himself face to face with the camp's warlord.
"I couldn't help but overhearing," Harl spoke, frowning deeply. "Something about an adder."
Rotjaw swallowed, nodding vigorously. "I-it's got me marked b-b-boss! Bit me on the butt last night when the fires started. T-t-took all the slaves an' tore 'em te shreds too!"
"Yet you survived," the warlord pointed out.
"O-only just," the ferret winced as if accused. "A-an' it's only coz a rat saved me life."
"Ah. And she no doubt informed you about this… adder."
Rotjaw kept bobbing his head up and down in the affirmative. "Yeller-throated adder. V-vury dangerous. Luckily she 'ad the antivenom. S-so she could save me." Rotjaw scratched the back of his head nervously. "H-how didjer know it were a 'she'?"
"I know… many things." Harlapple gave him a very forced smile. "I know that, last night, after the fires started, somebeast freed all my slaves. I know that yellow-throated adders are not real. And I know that we are at war with Redwall Abbey and right now the rat that 'saved your life' IS LAUGHING AT US!" He exploded, dropping the poorly-maintained act of calm. The warlord's face grew so red with fury Rotjaw could feel the heat radiating off of him. "IF I wasn't in the middle of a campaign I would personally drag you to the nearest serpent and watch it SWALLOW YOU WHOLE!" The mouse raised his arm to strike the terrified ferret, but, with an incredibly deep breath managed to calm himself. He held his paws together to stop them from shaking too much. "You will go to your tent and stay there, or find to your sorrow that I do not make threats lightly."
The weasel that was in charge of Disibod came walking through camp slowly, quite confused by all of the carnage. He spotted Harl and dashed up to him. "Boss! Boss!"
Harlapple turned to him, his teeth gritted tightly.
"You will never guess what happened… So that quiet dormouse somehow escaped. But not to worry! I followed his tracks through the tree tops and guess where it led me…... Can you guess Can you guess?!" he was almost hopping at this point.
"I'm really not in the mood…"
"It led straight to that red 'ouse you were looking for! So, so the slaves are not lost, we can get them and the house now, Boss!"
"What's your name?" Harlapple managed to ask, putting on the same forced smile he had worn a few moments before.
"…Pr…promise you wont laugh at me?"
"You're talking to Harlapple," the warlord reminded him. "I don't judge names."
"My name is Meadowblossum, Sir" he said with a salute.
Rotjaw snickered into his paw. "Gonna remember that one."
The weasel gritted his teeth "Don't make fun o' me Rot."
"Ignore him, Meadowblossum." Harlapple beckoned for the weasel to come closer.
He came closer, as his master bade.
Harlapple grabbed him by the scruff of the jerkin, and dragged him down to eye level, his face once more turning violently red as his tailspike reared up behind him like a scorpion's stinger. "You are on the thinnest Vulpuz-damned ice right now! I see one more stupid mistake from any of you and HEADS WILL ROLL! UNDERSTOOD?"
The weasel was trembling "Y-Yes s-s-sir. W-won't happen again s-sir."
"It had better not," Harlapple growled. It took a great deal of self-control to pry his own paws off of the weasel. "Now. Meadowblossum… you will watch over mother and our special guests, while I go fix this mess!" The warlord whistled sharply, and a short while later his horde had assembled, most of them reluctantly. "You're all pathetic! All that training! All the drills and practice and the first sign of combat and you fail! Disgusting!" He forced himself to remain calm lest he start frothing at the mouth. "But it's fine. Because we will now make up for our loss and get the hellgates-damned abbeybeasts who humiliated us!" He drew the sword of Martin. "Who's with me?"
Some injured hordebeasts gave a weak cheer after the rest.
"But… not all of us." Harlapple selected the most well-rested and healthy looking of his band. "You, you, you, you, you, you, you aaaand you! The rest of you can spend the morning…" he racked his brains in search of something the brainless pack of vermin would find entertaining. "Thinking of a name for our horde!"
There came a substantially more excited cheer following this proclamation.
"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Harl snapped. "We move silently, so as to surprise our enemies."
The following cheer was whispered.
And so we slunk into the woodlands in search of vengeance...