Darkness, dampness and fear prevailed amongst the four prisoners sitting miserably on the floor of their unlit dungeon, deep inside the Exile's lair. Their cramped prison was a granite alcove, sealed off by iron bars, in the depths of a large cave high in the mountains. Shackled hand and foot and chained to the wall, the Brisby children sat hungry, thirsty and frightened, pondering their grim fate in despair.

After being snatched from their home in the dead of night, watched their Auntie Shrew being slaughtered in front of their eyes, their captors had carried them off, bringing them here and locking them in this dungeon, keeping them in total isolation. The Exiles wouldn't say why they had taken them or what they meant to do with them, but they guessed it couldn't be anything good.

For the first time in her life, Teresa felt at a total loss as to how to protect their siblings. Having heard many terrifying stories about the Exiles and what they did to their victims, she realised their situation was nothing short of desperate. What did they want with them? As far as she could tell, so far no demands had been made. Would her mother be forced to pay a ransom? She pitied her mother; she'd be out of her mind with worry when she found out they'd been kidnapped, even more so since she was in no position to pay a ransom anyway. After all, they were just simple farm mice, with only whatever meagre means their farm provided to support themselves. They had no gold, no money, nothing the Exiles might trade for.

"Teresa, it hurts!" cried Cynthia, struggling to lift her chained hands, the weight of the iron shackles overwhelming her, just like it did the rest of them, cutting and bruising their wrists and ankles. She continued to sob, "I want Mama...!"

"You'll see her again soon, don't worry, Cynnie," whispered Teresa, trying in vain to comfort her little sister, whilst fighting the urge to cry herself. Beside her, Timmy, also shackled, coughed painfully in his sleep, his eyes bloodshot from high fever. They'd been given no water, no food, not even a blanket for poor Timmy, who was ailing from his pneumonia again, the cold and dampness of the dungeon rapidly worsening his condition. He couldn't hold out much longer. Teresa had pleaded and pleaded with their captors for some help, but her pleas were only met with malicious scorn, jibes and laughter.

The Exiles had been ruthless in their hospitality, cruel and merciless in ways Teresa had never even thought possible. A few of them had even made some chilling snide remarks about her and Teresa knew it was only a matter of time before one of those brutes decided to become physical with her, maybe Cynthia too. The thought utterly terrified her. Never in her life had she felt so helpless, so alone.

"I'm starving," complained Martin for what seemed like the hundredth time, much to his big sister's annoyance at her dumb brother's impossible attitude, when their very lives hang in the balance. How she wished he'd shut up and behave his age for once.

"Quiet, Martin! You'll disturb Timothy!" she hissed at her brother. But Martin, who had a short temper, even for his young age, had had enough and was on his feet in an instant.

"We can't just sit here and let those bums do whatever they want with us, Teresa!" he shouted, causing Cynthia to start crying again. Martin ignored her and started rattling his chains against the bars of the dungeon door, yelling, "You hear me, you wankers?! We're hungry!"

"Shut up in there!" yelled an angry, mean-looking guard, who came storming over, keys rattling in one hand and a spiky whip in the other. Cynthia screamed in terror and crawled behind Teresa to hide as the guard glared at them with evil eyes, his yellowing, rotting teeth forming into a hateful snarl.

"You disturbed me from my slumber! One more sound and I'll beat you raw, you little brat!" He snapped his ugly-looking whip on the floor in warning, causing a few chips of the stone slab to fly loose. Before Teresa could shut her brother up, before he did something he'd regret, Martin opened his mouth again in defiance.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size, you fat, old sack of cat droppings?" He spat in the guard's face, whose eyes glowed red with anger. That little bastard needed to be taught a lesson! Wiping the spit away from his nose, he turned a key in the lock, swung the door open and stormed in. In an instant, he had lifted Martin off the floor and slammed him hard against the wall by the throat.

"You watch your mouth, you little pipsqueak!" he snarled, "Or I'll chop you into little pieces and eat you! You hear?" To make his point, he began slamming Martin hard against the dungeon wall, bruising and battering him. Feeling the life being chocked out of him, Martin struggled with his captor's iron grip about his throat, kicking and wriggling, but to no avail.

"Stop it, he can't breathe!" screamed Teresa, rushing to the brother's rescue. She may be only a timid girl of twelve, but she couldn't just sit there while her brother was being strangled to death! Reaching up, she grabbed the guard by the ear with her teeth, biting as hard as she could. The Rat yelled in pain and let go of Martin. With a roar of rage, he grabbed the screaming Teresa by the hair, holding her in front of his face.

"You little bitch!"

SLAP! SLAP!

Backhanding Teresa twice on each cheek, he threw the battered girl back onto the floor, before turning his attention back to Martin. He still had some unfinished business to attend to. Grabbing Martin by his shackles, he secured the chain to a big iron ring overhead, so that the boy was hanging in the air by his wrists, his face against the wall. Stuffing a gag into his mouth, he picked up the whip again, smiling sadistically.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Teresa and Cynthia could do absolutely nothing other than to shut their eyes and cover their ears in terror as the guard beat Martin, striking lash after lash, thoroughly enjoying the sight of the mouse boy wriggling and screaming into his gag. Finally, he relented at ten strokes, leaving Martin's back raw and lined with bloody ribbons, but luckily still alive.

"You brats are very lucky the boss wants you alive for now, or I'd beat your brother to death right here!" he sneered maliciously, satisfied that he had crushed the children's spirit, "And the next time anyone opens his mouth, or complains of the accommodations, it'll be a hundred lashes for each one of you! And as for you," he added, pointing a finger at the trembling Teresa, who shrunk back, "You, sweetheart, will rue the day you were born when I make you my new trophy slave! We have a reputation of making feisty females more...submissive for our pleasure." Teresa felt as if she was about to be sick, realising what that meant. Giving them one last savage smile, the guard left, slamming the barred door behind him, leaving the children to their misery.

Slowly working up the courage to move again, Teresa crawled over to Martin, whom the guard had left hanging on the wall as further punishment. The boy's back was bleeding bad, but luckily not too much. Turning him around, he saw Martin was still conscious, crying in pain and humiliation.

"Martin, talk to me, please. Are you all right?"

"I'm so sorry, Teresa," Martin sniffled miserably, "I should have listened to you... I'm sorry..." Teresa felt for her sibling. Martin may be a complete prat at times, but he was still her brother. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do to get him down, so instead she tried to make him as comfortable as possible.

Tearing a strip of cloth from the hem of her dress, she started cleaning out his wounds, muttering soothing words as she did, much like their mother used to. Martin winced under her touch but didn't complain as Teresa tended to his injured back. If any valuable lesson had been learnt from this experience, it was to keep his big mouth shut in future, both for his sake and that of his siblings. Teresa kissed him on the cheek.

"It's all right, little brother. That was very brave of you," she grudgingly complimented him, knowing full well that, while Martin's bravado had almost cost them their lives, it was only a matter of time before things got a lot worse. From what that guard had just said, once their captors didn't have any further use for them, they'd be as good as dead. How she wished Josh were still here; their human friend, whom they'd come to look up to almost like a second father during those few days they'd known him, would have saved them in a heartbeat. Unlike them, he was free and clear, probably reunited with his crew and on his way home by now. Teresa wondered if he'd remember them or if he'd ever learn of their fate...

Josh vigilantly navigated the maze of torch-lit caverns the Exiles called their headquarters, like a Commando on a Green Beret mission. These tunnels, once lava tubes leading into the depths of the dead volcano, had been developed into an elaborate underground compound, much like Rosebush City, only more sinister.

There were private bedchambers for the highest-ranking members of the outlaw gang, storerooms stockpiled with ample food and water, armouries, as well as other less pleasant surprises. Making his way down another tunnel, Josh saw many adjacent alcoves, which were being used as vaults, housing the loot the Exiles had collected from their raids. An entire king's ransom, mostly gold and jewels, sat on display in open chests and boxes. Josh felt sickened at the sight of all this wealth, knowing it was blood money, stolen treasures the Exiles had taken from their slain victims. And that wasn't the only unpleasant discovery to be found here.

Entering another cavern, Josh froze in his tracks. He had stepped into what resembled a medieval-style torture chamber. There were a number of sinister-looking torture racks with spike mattresses, fitted with shackles and other restraints, some still bloodstained from victims who had recently expired on them under torture. A table housing a collection of knives, daggers, batons, thumbscrews and whips, for the more sophisticated methods of interrogation, stood alongside. The most chilling exhibit, however, was the large stone stove on the far side of the chamber.

Curious why the Exiles would set up a stove in a torture chamber, Josh approached for a better look. He could see a couple of large pots on the fire, where some broth-like soup was boiling. Taking a spoonful of the stuff for a closer examination, he saw some bits of cooked meat steaming in the broth – but it wasn't just any meat. Picking one of those nuggets from the spoon, he saw it was the tip of a rodent's finger, with a shrivelled claw still attached to it. Josh dropped the spoon back into the cooking-pot.

Oh my God, they're cannibals...! He turned away from the stove, about to be sick. Adding to the Exiles' already overwhelming crimes, these bastards also practiced cannibalism on those unlucky enough to fall into their hands. Their victims were their food supply! For a moment, he felt the blood drain from his face at a chilling thought – were Elizabeth's children somewhere in that pot? Using every ounce of self-control he possessed to get a grip on himself and think straight, he approached and looked at the gruesome remains boiling in the soup. No, they were all adults, and in any case, he could tell they were Rat, not mouse.

"Hey, what are you doing there?"

Oh, damn! Whirling round, he came face to face with an Exile, probably the cook, who was carrying what looked horribly like a sack of freshly harvested Rat chops for the stove. Not waiting for the opportunity for the Rat to sound the alarm and give him away, he raised his crossbow to shoot the bastard dead but his opponent was faster. Brandishing a large cleaver, he swatted the crossbow aside, chopping it clean in half. He then raised his weapon to strike again. Cursing, Josh flung the useless handle into the Rat's face, buying him a precious couple of seconds to grab the nearest alternate weapon: the hot soup-pot.

Lifting it off the stove with both hands, he splashed the gory contents right into his attacker's face. The Rat screamed as the scolding-hot soup, filled with the remains of his own species, found him right in the eyes, momentarily blinding him. That gave Josh just enough time to raise the empty pot again and bludgeon the bastard on the forehead with it. The drenched-in-rat-soup Rat went down in a pool of his own blood from a crushed skull. But the party had only just started.

"Help! Intruder!"

The commotion had alerted a second Rat passing outside, who pulled out his own weapon – a morning star club – and moved in for the kill, but this time Josh was ready. His trusty Taser in hand, he jabbed his attacker in the throat with the sparking tip, causing the Rat to stumble backwards, momentarily stunned by the shock; giving him a powerful right hook, Josh sent him flying backwards, right onto one of the torture racks. The Rat uttered a dead groan as he was impaled by the bed of spikes, which went through his body like nails through cardboard. But Josh didn't have time to check his pulse.

Knowing there were more Rats coming, he grabbed the morning star and a couple of carving knives from the table of torture implements, which he would now have to use as a substitute for his ruined crossbow, along with his Taser, and fled down a nearby tunnel. The narrow passageway led down a spiral staircase carved into the lava flow, into another section of the Exile's cave.

Approaching an open doorway that led into another chamber up ahead, he saw a lone guard dozing off, his back turned to him. Raising the morning star, Josh tiptoed up behind him, preparing to strike. Before the bored-half-to-death guard could become aware of Josh's looming presence, the spiked head of the morning star struck him on the back of the head and he crumpled to the floor.

Josh, still clutching the blood-stained club, knelt down to check his pulse; sure enough, the Rat was dead as dead could get. Taking his large sword to add to his arsenal, he entered the chamber the Rat had been guarding.

This section was notably darker and dirtier than the rest of the caverns. Josh could see barred cells, shackles, chains and other implements of restraint, resembling a prison. His spirits rose. This has to be it, he thought. If the children are still alive, then this is where they're being held.

Noiselessly making his way along the passageway, Taser at the ready, he began searching every cell. Strangely enough, most of the cells were empty, or else housing the skeletal remains of long-dead prisoners, still shackled to the walls, where they had been left to starve to death. The stench from rotting corpses and lack of sanitation was overwhelming. It seemed the Exiles' brutality truly knew no end.

Finally, in one of the last cells, he found signs of life. Straining his ears, he thought he could hear something inside that sounded like a child crying. Shining his flashlight through the bars of a small cramped dungeon, no bigger than a couple of closets, he spotted a small figure, who, noticing him, ducked into the shadows under the straw cot that stood propped up against the far wall to hide.

"Hallo? Teresa! Martin! Timmy! Cynthia! Are you guys in there? It's me, Josh!" The figure, barely visible from his hiding place didn't answer him, instead only shrunk farther into the shadows, whimpering.

Examining the dungeon door, Josh determined it was too solid to force by hand; although primitive, compared to the maximum-security prison technology he knew back on Earth, it was still solid iron bars, with a large lock fit for a key the size of a handgun. He could try using the laser-cutter from his toolkit to burn through, but he'd rather not waste the battery, which he might need later on. But another, old-fashioned way might do the trick...

Reaching into his suit pouch, he took out his trusty pocketknife and got to work picking the lock on the door. He hadn't picked a lock in fifteen years, a forgotten skill from the 20th century and which only a handful of people still knew how to do in the 21st - but once you got the hang of it, it was like riding a bicycle no matter how long you were out of practice. With his flashlight in his mouth to see what he was doing, he carefully lifted the massive tumblers inside the keyhole, releasing the bolt-pin, and the door swung open. Making sure no guard was coming, he stepped inside, his flashlight trained on the small figure hiding under the cot.

Bending down, the glowing light of his flashlight revealed a young mouse boy of around Martin Brisby's age, curled up into a trembling ball of terror, whimpering at the sight of him. It wasn't one of Elizabeth's children at all. But, although a complete stranger to Josh, his chocolate-brown fur and hazel eyes looked somewhat familiar.

"It's all right, little fella. I'm not going to hurt you. Come on out..." He tried to reach out to the boy, but the young mouse only bit his wrist and shrunk back in fright. Forcibly biting his tongue to muffle his yell of pain, before he gave himself away, Josh reached out to him again. With lightening reflexes, he managed to grab the boy by the ankle, pulling him out of his hiding place. "Gotcha!"

The mouse screamed and struggled frantically, undoubtedly thinking this stranger meant him harm, forcing Josh to pin him to his chest, with a hand clamped over his mouth to muffle his screams, "Quiet, lad! I'm here to help you! Stop it!" Finally, realising there was no escape, the boy stopped struggling but still held tense in Josh's arms, "All right, I'll put you down now, but you must promise not to scream. All right?" The boy shakily nodded, albeit still trembling with fear.

As Josh put him back down, the boy backed up against the wall, recoiling, his eyes wide and fearful at the sight of the human. Josh couldn't really blame him; his spacesuit, combined with the fact that he was human, rather than Rat or mouse, must make him look real frightening to this poor little bugger. The kid had obviously been through some rough times while in Exile captivity. He was skeletally thin, his oversized red tunic and pants all tattered and dirty. But Josh had a pretty good idea who it must be. Tanya, it looks you're going to be one real happy girl...

"You're Fievel, aren't you? Fievel Mousekewitz, Tanya's brother?" This seemed to snap the boy out of his fearful trance. Slowly, he inched closer to Josh, staring up at him with wide eyes. Although definitely still on edge, Josh could tell he was curious. The man knelt down to meet his gaze.

"Who...who are you?" the boy stammered, reaching out to touch Josh's space suit, utterly fascinated by this strange material, the likes of which he had never seen before. "Are you...a human? How do you know my sister?" That last question confirmed that this was indeed the missing Fievel Mousekewitz, still alive and breathing. Josh nodded.

"She sent me here to get you out," he answered, trying to be as brief as possible, "And, yes, I am a human, but I like mice..." Unfortunately, this was the wrong thing to say. No doubt thinking he was another mouse-eater like his brutal captors, the young mouse uttered a scream of terror, curling up into a ball again and crying his heart out, expecting to die. Realising his blunder, Josh tried to calm him down.

"Whoa, take it easy, lad! I don't mean like mice as in eating them! Come now, don't cry." He reached out and gently stroked the boy's matted hair. This seemed to relax Fievel a bit, but it didn't relieve his misery in the slightest. He continued to sniffle, "I want my family... And I'm so hungry...!" Josh could easily tell that and took out his last nutrition-paste tube (a blue-cheese-flavoured one) from his survival kit, which he had saved for just such an emergency. He passed it to Fievel.

"Here, lad, eat this..."

Fievel sniffed at the paste coming out of the tube; he had never seen food like this before. But his hunger got the better of him and he tried it. His eyes opened wide with delight and he devoured the rest of the contents of the tube with great gusto, going so fast, Josh thought he'd choke. Obviously, the Exiles hadn't been feeding him well enough. He looked up at Josh again, his confidence restored and his curiosity growing.

"Thank you. But...who are you?" Josh picked him up and held him close to comfort him.

"My name is Josh Anderson," he said, cuddling him, "I'm a marooned space pilot from Earth, and just as lost and alone as you are, little mate." Although little Fievel obviously had no idea what space pilot or Earth were, at least he was convinced the stranger holding him in his arms wasn't going to hurt him. Slowly, he smiled at Josh, who smiled back.

"Were you also captured by Castor? How did you get in here?" he asked, wondering how Josh could have just waltzed in here without the Exiles even noticing. It was like a dream; after crying himself to sleep every night for the-Great-Mouse-of-Minsk-knew-how-many moons, he'd often dream of being back home with his parents and sister, only to wake up to the grim reality of his imprisonment, in which he believed he was doomed to spend the rest of his life.

It seemed like a lifetime ago when he'd been snatched in the middle of the desert and brought here. Like others before him, he had tried escaping many times but without success and was severely punished for every attempt by his captors, by being left to starve, put in isolation, or even by threatening his sister who had managed to escape. He had seen other prisoners come and go, first being used for slave labour and eventually executed for food, yet for some reason the Exiles seemed determined to keep him alive but imprisoned forever. Eventually, hunger, misery and fear had all but crushed any hope he had had of ever being free again – until tonight.

Josh smiled at the boy, "It takes more than a bunch of hooligan hillbillies to get in my way. Castor might want to ask those five cronies of his I left dead upstairs about whom he's dealing with. A soldier of the English Crown doesn't yield to common bandits, laddie – he fights them down to the last man!" Normally, Josh wasn't the type to boast, but he needed to fully gain his little friend's trust, if he was to get them both out of here, and a little humouring wouldn't hurt, "But this isn't the right time for chit-chatting," he added, getting them back on track. His primary mission objective was still incomplete.

"Fievel, did you see those clowns bring in four children a couple of nights ago? Their names are Martin, Teresa, Cynthia and Timothy Brisby, siblings, around your age. Ring any bells?" he asked, figuring the Mousekewitz boy would know where they had taken Elizabeth's children. Unfortunately, Fievel shook his head blankly.

"No, it's just me, Tony and Ms Bridget." Josh raised an eyebrow. More prisoners here?

"Who are Tony and Ms Bridget?"

Ms Bridget was the ward of a wealthy mouse Countess called Gussie Mausheimer, who lived in Rosebush City. A widow, she had adopted Bridget as a girl after her parents had been murdered by Rat supremacists. Bridget had become a staunch activist, lobbying for equal rights between Rats and Mice, the former of which ruled this world, often landing herself in trouble with the law. Tony Toponi was the Countess' gardener and Bridget's secret boyfriend and confidant. Eventually her lobbying for Mice to be allowed positions on the Council and ranks in the Garrison, among other civil rights, had caught up with her. As far as she could tell, it had been more Rat supremacists who had arranged for her abduction and Tony's, who had been with her at the time, in an attempt to silence her.

"They were brought in by the Exiles at the end of last summer," explained Fievel, "There were others as well, but they're all gone now – fed to Dragon." The boy shuddered at the name. Josh looked at him.

"Dragon?"

"The meanest, ugliest, scariest cat in the Dark Mountains," said Fievel, recoiling again, "Castor feeds those who disobey him to Dragon as an example to the others..." Josh had heard enough.

"All right, I get the picture," he said, cutting Fievel off, "Come, we're getting out of here. First, let's go get your friends. Let's go!"

Taking Fievel's hand, he led the boy out of the cell and they continued on down the passageway of prison cells. Fievel directed him to another, larger cell, where he had said he was living with the other prisoners until he'd been thrown into solitary confinement a few weeks ago for trying to escape. Josh could see a lone figure, a female mouse judging by her dress, asleep on one of the straw cots lined against the wall. He stuck his head inside the bars.

"Hallo...? Ow!"

CLANG!

A second prisoner hiding in the shadows caught him by surprise, walloping him on the head with a water jug. Feeling his head about to split open, Josh sunk to his knees, seeing stars. His attacker, a tough-looking young mouse with black hair and dressed in peasant attire, who'd been waiting to strike what he apparently thought was another guard, stepped forward, brandishing his weapon.

"You stay away from my girl, you dirty scum!" he shouted, "I'll show you a thing or two next time...Huh?" he gasped open-mouthed, noticing Josh by torchlight. Who was this weirdo and what was he doing here? The girl sleeping on the cot had been awoken by the noise and also gasped at the sight of the human crouching on the floor, nursing his head. Where had this stranger come from? Then, the pair suddenly noticed Fievel.

Tony! Bridget!

"Filly?" they both gasped in surprise, running to hug Fievel through the bars. The female mouse called Bridget, a striking redhead with a once elegant green skirt, which was dirty and frayed from her long imprisonment, kissed him on the cheek, "How'd you get out?" But her fellow prisoner, Tony, was more interested in Josh.

"And who is this?" he demanded, pulling Bridget away from the bars, almost as if he thought this strange human that had appeared out of nowhere could bite, "Where'd you come from, pal?" Before Josh could recover enough to answer, or rather give this blithering idiot a piece of his mind for clobbering him with a water jug, Fievel spoke up.

"Tony, Bridget, this is Josh. He's come to rescue us!"

"Nicodemus sent me here," Josh explained to the bewildered prisoners, as he got to work with his pocket-knife, picking the lock in their cell door. Soon, the door swung open. But Tony and Bridget didn't step out. A quick glance told Josh why – both were chained to the wall with shackles locked around their ankles. This would require some more sophisticated tools than a pocketknife.

Reaching into his survival kit, Josh took out his laser-cutter and got to work, cutting through the shackles. The little red beam cut clean through the steel hinge of the shackle like a knife through hot butter. Five frantic minutes later, Tony was free; then Josh turned to Bridget.

"With your permission, miss. This won't hurt," he said kindly, as Bridget reluctantly rolled up her skirt, so that Josh could get to the shackle. Finally, she was free too. Josh passed Tony the sword he'd taken off the dead guard at the entrance – although he wasn't trained in swordsmanship any more than Josh was, two guns were always better than one.

"All right, chaps, time to get cracking!" said Josh, "Everyone stick close together and follow me!"

With Josh in the lead, they left the cell, heading back towards the stairs, moving as silently as they could. Tony and Bridget kept staring curiously at Josh, not uttering a word, wondering just where the king had found this human he'd sent up here to bust them out. A human... Their logic suddenly seemed to turn upside-down.

Josh meanwhile was faced with his own dilemma: he had come here expecting to find Elizabeth's children and then make a quick getaway. So far, there had been no sign of them anywhere. Bridget and Tony hadn't seen them either. He was not leaving here without Elizabeth's children, but he daren't continue the search whilst escorted by three non-combatants, including a girl and a young boy, for whose safety he was now responsible.

"I'll get you as far as the exit," he told them, "You can then carry on down by yourselves. I've got a ship waiting at the foot of the mountain. Wait for me there."

"You aren't coming with us?" asked Bridget in astonishment. This human was either too brave or too crazy, or both. Tony was about to speak, probably to say he also wanted to stick around and help Josh in his search, when suddenly Fievel screamed.

"Look out!"

Suddenly, a whole army of Exiles came storming in. Cursing, Josh realised too late they'd walked straight into an ambush. These thugs, armed with cutlasses and clubs, were all dressed in thick armour plating, walking killing machines, and outnumbering them at least three to one. Josh had no idea how they'd realised he was here, but he knew for a fact his good luck had finally ran out. This was bad.

While Bridget held Fievel close and shielding him best she could, Josh and Tony desperately tried to fight back against their attackers. Tony hadn't struck more than a couple of amateurish blows with his sword before the soldiers overwhelmed him, leaving Josh fighting alone.

Using his Taser, Josh stunned Rat after Rat as they kept coming at him. But this was one fight he wasn't meant to win. He hadn't knocked out more than a dozen of those bastards, when he saw a red warning light start blinking on his Taser – the battery, overwhelmed by the too many rapid shots, was beginning to run low. The next shot barely managed to bring the Exile to his knees and the one after that had no effect at all. His last high-tech weapon was history.

Drawing his morning star and a knife, he continued fighting an already-lost battle. Although a seasoned soldier, he was still a 21st century man, accustomed to a world of high-tech weapons like firearms and heavy artillery, not this crude, medieval-style weaponry, which required years of practice to master. Swords and clubs were little more than stupid dress weapons back on Earth and the only experience in swordsmanship Josh had was from a few fencing classes he'd attended as a student. These brutes, on the other hand, were professionals in hand-arms combat, having practically grown up with it.

Soon Josh found himself deprived of his weapon from the swinging blade of a Rat's sword; he managed to slay the Rat in question by driving the carving knife through his opponent's mouth and out the back of his head, killing him instantly, before another Rat with a club snuck up behind him, decking him with a sharp blow to the head...

After what seemed like forever, Josh opened his eyes. His world was spinning and his head was throbbing like the aftermath of the worst G-force acceleration he'd ever experienced. He was lying on his back on some hard surface, his arms and legs shackled, completely immobilised. All of his weapons, his survival kit and even his space suit were gone, having been stripped off of him by his captors it seemed, leaving him wearing just his overalls. There was no sign of Fievel, Bridget or Tony. As his vision began to clear, a tall figure loomed into view above him.

"We've been expecting you, human. Welcome to my domain!" The Rat addressing him was a thickset brute, whose cold, firm expression told Josh he was the one in charge here. So this was the infamous Castor, the notorious leader of the Exiles. "I presume you know who I am?"

"Kind of hard not to, scumbag," retorted Josh coldly, recalling everything Justin and Brutus had told him about Castor's crimes, "Especially with all those innocents you've tortured and killed!"

"Only weak fools who think they can stand in my way," said Castor coldly, obviously proud of his crimes. His attitude sickened Josh. "Just like that weak old fool Nicedemus."

"You can't hold a candle to Nicodemus!" sneered Josh, taunting Castor, before his tone turned angry and menacing, "Now, what the hell have you done with the children, you scum of the earth?"

"The Brisby brats are safely in my custody," replied Castor indifferently, his face curling into a chilling smile, "And now that I have you as well, human, you'll do exactly as I tell you."

"Screw you!"

Castor frowned dangerously at the insult. He bent down over Josh, so they were almost nose to nose, "You belong to me now, human. Should you choose to dispute that, your precious little girlfriend's children will pay the price! I'll skin-..."

THUD!

Josh didn't let him finish and, in a fit of rage at the mention of Elisabeth's children being harmed, head-butted Castor as hard as he could, sending him staggering backwards with a bloody nose. Several of his cohorts moved to strike Josh, but Castor gestured at them not to interfere. Recovering, the notorious bandit leader glared evilly at his prisoner. It seemed this human needed some persuasion.

"I believe our guest needs a little lesson in obedience," he said, "Bring him along!" Two burly guards, larger than even Brutus, grabbed hold of Josh, unshackled his hands and marched him along into another chamber. Entering, Josh saw the opening to a large shaft, which he guessed was an old volcanic tube leading into the depths of the volcano. As his captors stood him on the edge, he saw the shaft only went a short way down, ending on a floor of solidified lava. But it wasn't empty.

Josh felt his insides twist up as he saw the occupant of the pit – a gigantic cat, the size of a full-grown elephant, circled hungrily around the bottom of the pit, its mean face, which had an eye missing, staring up at him as if he were a nice juicy snack. Josh could see the bottom of the pit was littered with numerous rodent bones – former prisoners of the Exiles, whom Castor had fed alive to his gorgeous pet cat Dragon, just as Fievel had said.

Josh paled. Were they going to force him to comply by threatening to feed him alive to that monster? Not that he would give them the satisfaction if they tried; after all, he was still a British officer and his code of command explicitly forbid him to submit to the enemy. Unfortunately for him, that wasn't to be the case.

Castor snapped his fingers and several more guards entered, bringing along four very familiar figures: Teresa, Martin, Cynthia and Timmy, who was being dragged rather than marched along by the guard holding him. All of them had been blindfolded and with their hands tied behind their backs, as they were led over to the pit and held over the edge, as if about to be thrown to the hungry Dragon. Josh saw red.

"Let them go, you bloody bastards!" he shouted, struggling to shake off the guards restraining him but they were too strong, even for him, "Wait till I get my hands on you, I'll kill you...!" On the other side of the pit, the children, although they couldn't see him through their blindfolds, heard his voice.

"Josh?" called Teresa, unable see Josh, but having recognised his voice all the same, making her heart soar with renewed hope, "Josh, help! We're over here! Josh...!" But, at another snap of Castor's fingers, the guards dragged the children away before Josh could answer them.

"I believe you get the point now, human," sneered Castor, with a sadistic smile, "Either you cooperate, or I'll send their bones – and yours - back to their mother after my beautiful Dragon has finished gnawing at them." Realising his hands were tied and fearing for the children's safety, Josh reluctantly gave in.

"What do you want from me?"

"My sources tell me you hold the secret to flying, along with other powers beyond imagining," continued Castor, "My master wishes to harness those powers, so that we may use them to destroy our common enemy – Nicodemus."

"Your master?" inquired Josh sharply, realising something very important. Castor was working for someone else above him? "Who is your master?"

"That's none of your business, human!" snapped Castor, realising his blunder, "As of now, you live only to obey me, so hold your silence...creature." He spat spitefully in Josh's face.

The Exiles led Josh into another section of the caves, until they came to another chamber. This place came as quite a surprise to Josh, who was expecting to see another dungeon or torture chamber. Instead, the room was a combination between an elaborate Renaissance workshop and an alchemist's medieval laboratory. It seemed the Exiles were into far more ambitious projects than just raiding, killing and looting – and as Josh would soon discover, real dodgy ones at that.

Castor walked over to a pile of stacked barrels. Prying the lid of one open with his dagger, he showed Josh its contents: a greyish black powder, which had once revolutionised human warfare in late Medieval Europe hundreds of years ago. It was black powder, commonly known as gunpowder, enough to level a small town. Although the Exiles hadn't progressed far enough to develop firearms yet, they still had a cutting-edge and potentially lethal weapon at their disposal. And they only way they'd have the formula for gunpowder stemmed from only one logical explanation: Castor had a second piece of the Stone! As if reading his mind, Castor spoke.

"The Stone of All Knowledge is the key to absolute power," he said, "Power for my master to rule this sorry world without competition or opposition. Unfortunately, in spite of our success in acquiring a piece of it, only a human can teach us how to unlock all its deepest and most powerful secrets."

"You seem to have unlocked plenty of its secrets already," commented Josh acidly, repulsed by the fact that they meant to exploit his knowledge and skills, to use him as an instrument of war against Nicodemus! "A real pity you didn't end up blowing yourself up!" Ignoring his cheap remarks, Castor continued.

"Our in-resident expert in the Stone, whom we were fortunate enough to, eh... recruit for our cause, has done a wonderful job deciphering our fragment of the Stone, including the recipe for the Exploding Powder, in preparation for our planned pre-emptive strike against Rosebush City!" he said in all his sickening glory. Josh briefly wondered who that other expert on the Stone could be. "But unfortunately, we still lack the means of delivering it – and that is where you come in." Finally, Josh understood what this was all about.

"So you want me to help you build more gliders, for an aerial bombardment, is that it?"

The thought of all that gunpowder mounted on glider bombers, raining fire down on Rosebush City, sent a chill down his spine. The Rats, completely unfamiliar with this kind of warfare, wouldn't stand a chance. Not Nicodemus, not Justin, or anybody would be able to stop them up in the air. It would either be a total massacre or an unconditional surrender. Castor, or rather his unidentified master, would have full control of the entire empire in no time at all.

"Here's the deal, human: surrender to me the secrets of your flying machine and I will release the children," Castor told Josh, "Refuse and their blood will be on your hands!"

With nothing more to be said, they dragged Josh below, where the cells were. But rather than sending him to join Fievel, Tony and Bridget, the guards brought him to a locked door that led to another cell Josh figured was used for prisoners kept in solitary confinement, away from the others due to their importance or simply for punishment. A guard whipped out a bunch of keys and unlocked the door to a dark dungeon. Castor turned to Josh.

"You have until tomorrow to think my terms over," he said, "I expect your full, unconditional cooperation, otherwise not only will those brats be slaughtered, but their mother will be next on our hit list! Choose!" Without another word, they forced Josh inside the dungeon, slamming the door behind him.

As soon as his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness of his little prison, Josh saw he wasn't alone in here after all. The sight nearly took his breath away.

Sitting on the cot, staring up at him with wide eyes, blank with amazement, was an adult mouse with light brown fur, which had turned a shade of grey from years of imprisonment and suffering. His hand-knitted shirt was filthy and in rags, his body, once slender and well-built, skeletally thin from malnourishment, his face bearing the scars of hideous torture. But neither his transformation, nor the darkness of the dungeon were enough to keep Josh from recognising the face of Elizabeth's presumed-dead husband he'd seen in the family portrait.

"As I live and breathe," he whispered in utter disbelief. Of all the unexpected discoveries he'd made today, this definitely clinched it, "Jonathan Brisby..."

Author's note: Terribly sorry for the delay, but I had a busy schedule over Christmas. I always wondered what things might have been like if Jonathan survived, so I decided to use it here. Enjoy and please review!