"Each Event is preceded by Prophecy. But without the Hero, there is no Event." ~Zurin Arctus, the Underking, 'The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind'.
As the rainstorm waned, the Redwallers congregated in the warm depths of Cavern Hole. Torches burned in their sconces with fresh tongues of orange-yellow flames. A lively fire crackled in the hearth.
Abbot Curtis sat at the far end of one of the long rectangular tables, his back to the Kitchens. He stared around at his fellow Elders, but they all shrugged at him, clueless. Brother Timms sat with his paws resting upon the head of his cane. A small knowing smile played upon his lips. The teenagers sat around a table of their own, finishing lunch. The Dibbuns crawled around on the tables or bounced in Lunafreya and Amelia's laps.
A delighted Madeline spun in circles for her brother, arms spread wide. Her new clothes twirled around her slender figure. She danced the sides of her crimson chiffon petal skirt back and forth like a princess at the ball. Jared watched, enchanted, a loving smile upon his face.
He and Larina met eyes from across Cavern Hole. A deep crimson red blush colored her cheeks when he mouthed the words "thank you" to her.
While Madeline hurried over to the teenagers' table, Jared's mood changed. He began to pace back and forth by the foot of the Cavern Hole stairs, head down and paws behind his back. After everyone had sat, he stopped in place and stood to his fullest height.
"I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called this gathering," he began seriously. "I won't waste your precious time with a preamble. Needless to say, I've received a vision from Martin the Warrior himself."
"Martin the Warrior?" Curtis leaped to his feet, planting his palms flat upon the dining table. "He visited you? Where? When? What did he say? Tell us everything!"
"I was in the Abbey Library when it happened," Jared began to explain. "Sister Falmur had taken Brother Timms to lunch. Earlier, he and I browsed through a catalog of former Warriors and Champions of Redwall. Then I started on a record of former Abbots and Abbesses after he left, when I dozed off. In my sleep, I dreamed that Martin the Warrior called out to me."
His bushy tail curled into itself, something he always did when thinking. "I woke up, got out of my chair, and called back. Martin told me to hear him; that war was on our doorstep. Redwall Abbey and Mossflower are in great danger from Nagrig Deathblade and his armies. They'll need a defender in the times ahead. I asked him if he had a plan for Redwall and Mossflower's defense. I wondered if he'd chosen his Champion by now."
"What did Martin say, Jared?" Sister Fanistra leaned forward, fascinated.
Jared took a deep breath, and an even longer exhale. "I am to be his Champion."
Collective gasps of wonder and surprise from the assembled throng answered his declaration.
"You!" Abbot Curtis's eyes widened in awe. "Jared Sandeye is to be Martin's Champion! He chose you to be the Abbey Warrior! It's a miracle!" He grinned from ear to ear at the others. "At last, Redwall and Mossflower have their chosen protector!"
"I'm afraid I have to disagree, Father Abbot," Jared bluntly interjected. In an instant, the smile slipped straight from Curtis's face like water. "I don't understand why Martin would choose me to be his representative. He's the legendary warrior-saint of Redwall Abbey, and I'm only a humble blacksmith."
"Only a humble blacksmith?" Arland shook his head in disbelief, smiling. "Humbug! A simple blacksmith you are, Jared, but a skilled and talented one at that!" He saluted Jared with his glass of white wine and took a deep savory sip.
"Arland's right, Jared," an enthusiastic Madeline nodded. She skipped merrily over to her brother, where she cradled her arms around his neck. "You're the best blacksmith in Mossflower these days!" An admiring smile spread across her face. "That's not flattery either; that's the truth!"
"Thanks, Maddie," Jared murmured sincerely in a low, dry voice. Madeline kissed her brother on the cheeks and returned to her seat.
"What I'd like t' know is," Almoner Mack rubbed his chin. "Why would Martin choose ye, Jared? No offense, o' course, an' not t' say that I disagree wit' Martin's decision."
"That's exactly what's been bugging me, too, Mack." Jared shrugged, skeptical. "Why would Martin choose anybeast?"
He put his paws in his pockets and again stared down at his feet, despondent. "Why me, when there are clearly many more capable beasts in this Abbey?" His sandals shuffled the dirt on the floor. "No matter how well I could do it, somebeast else can always do it better."
"See, now, you're wrong again," Jacob piped up from the teenagers' table. Wiping his mouth and paws on a napkin, he stood up pointing an encouraging claw at Jared. "Martin chose you for a reason, Jared. You might not know what it is now. But I'm confident that you'll understand it in time."
Jared raised a polite eyebrow at the towering arctic-furred wolf approaching him. "You honestly believe that Martin was right to choose me? A simple blacksmith with only an amateur skill level of the art of swordplay at best?"
Sensing the question in Jared's eyes, Jacob kindly held up a palm to ease his nerves. "Don't worry about telling me what's going on. Father Abbot and the Elders got me all up to speed. What I'm trying to say is that nobeast can shape Githinsteel quite like you can, Jared. You should more or less know how to wield a sword, too, right?"
When the squirrel did not answer, Jacob clapped him on the shoulder. "You don't have the strength yet, but you do have the skillset. All you have to ask yourself is, how are you going to use it?"
"So he's gambling with me," Jared mused aloud. "I'm the risk he's willing to take."
"I'm sure he had his reasons, Jared, for choosing you," Jacob gave Jared's shoulder a comforting squeeze, dropping his voice to a lighter, more soothing tone. "Instead of anybeast else in the Abbey, like me."
"'Do not go looking for the answers,'" Jared recalled Martin's cryptic words to him. "'The answers will find you.' That's what Martin told me."
"There you go," Jacob gave Jared an encouraging clap on the back. "You answered your own question."
"If I am the riskier option compared to anyone else, like you, Jacob," Jared met Jacob's eyes, understanding now. "Then if I succeed in ending the threat of Nagrig Deathblade, maybe more good than harm can come from it."
"Did Martin tell you anything else, Jared?" Curtis sat back down in his chair while Jacob returned to his bench. He lifted his cup of pumpkin spice tea to his mouth for a sip. "Did you say anything back to him?"
Jared put his paws behind his back once more. "I told Martin that I am no great fighter like he is. I asked him why he chose me. Then he appeared right in front of me, armed and armored, and said these exact words."
He composed himself and recited Martin's final words in his closest imitation of the warrior mouse's dramatic voice. "Heed my words well, Jared. I do not want you to be like me. Nor do I want you to be like the warriors of the past. I want you to be yourself. You carry the legacy of Redwall; but also, the legacy of your family."
He broke character, shaking his head in confusion. "It all made my head spin."
"Redwall's legacy," Timms spoke up, nodding in Jared's direction. "As I have always assumed about you, Jared; you, too, Madeline. Destiny has marked you both for great and noble purposes. Perhaps Martin has been watching both of you ever since you first arrived at the gates of Redwall this past midsummer."
Madeline shared her brother's confused expression. But Jared could only shrug without a word.
"Right," Madeline nodded her agreement. "Why am I not surprised? Things always seem to act in duality around us, don't they, Jared?" Jared shrugged nonchalantly, likewise confused.
"'Ow did dis vision o' yons en', Jared?" Sister Amelia inquired, bouncing a hyperactive and inattentive Caleb in her lap.
"I tried to make sense of everything Martin had said." An air of soft humility now hung about Jared. "But it left my mind in such a whirl. Martin touched me on the forehead." He tapped a finger to the center of his forehead, the same as Martin had earlier done. "'You've been asleep for long enough, Tinarandel. Time to wake up.'"
He coolly put his paws in his pockets. "I woke up sitting in my chair again."
"Wow…" Curtis whispered, overawed. "That truly is miraculous!"
"I know it's an awful lot to process," Jared held up his paws, sympathetic. "I'm still very overwhelmed, myself."
"Well, let's break it down one point at a time," Curtis nodded, refilling his cup of tea and adjusting his weight on his chair. "First, I'd like to know the outcome of your attempted parley with Nagrig Deathblade," He placed his teacup back in its saucer, and put his paws together on one of his armrests. "How did that go? Did Deathblade agree to depart from Mossflower?"
Jared heaved a despairing sigh. "I knew you were going to ask about that first," he murmured hopelessly. "I'm afraid Deathblade passed on my parley offer. He will not depart from Mossflower, nor will he leave Redwall Abbey in peace."
As he expected, the Elders groaned in unison. The young maidens all gasped and squealed in fear and hugged each other. The angry and disgusted males clenched their fists and growled. Jacob wrapped his paws instinctively around his hips, as if imagining his weapons still tied there to his belt.
"No…" Jonathan dropped his quill in his inkwell and put his paws to his head, closing his eyes in defeat. "That was our only chance to secure peace for Redwall Abbey and Mossflower!"
"I'm sorry. I couldn't do anything about it. I'm afraid we're on the warpath now." Jared awkwardly brushed dirt and dust from his rain-spotted blacksmith's apron. "But it gets worse. Zakrul Bloodeyes told me that there are currently over seven dozen more reinforcements sailing to Mossflower from every corner of the Western Sea."
"They'll destroy th' entire Abbey!" Rudmir protested, throwing his oven mitts high in the air.
"They'll kill every last one of us!" Avacyn cried, dropping her empty skillet on the floor with a loud, metallic, ringing clatter.
"They'll steal the Sandeyes away!" Diana clung frightfully onto Madeline's arm, tears filling her eyes, as if afraid that the younger Sandeye sibling might be snatched away by forces unknown if she dared let go. Madeline, suddenly taken aback, and not knowing what else to do, merely rubbed the volemaid's head to try to comfort her.
"Hush, children!" Curtis promptly jumped up, holding up his palms to pacify the young cooks. "I'm sure there's a logical explanation for all of this!" Once they had calmed down and resumed their duties, he turned back to Jared.
"Secondly, there is the matter of your true, Eastern name, Jared." He sat back down and returned his paws back upon the armrest. "Tinarandel."
"Our Elders already told us everything Madeline told them," Larina waved a reassuring paw towards Jared, who replaced opening his mouth to speak with a long sigh of relief. "We're fascinated by your Eastern names, to be truthful."
Jared turned to Madeline, putting a paw on hers, his expression serious, resigned. "So now they know the truth about us, Madeline. Looks like the secrets are out of the bag."
"Tinarandel and Isidith have been asleep inside of us all these seasons," Madeline agreed, giving her brother's paw an affectionate squeeze. "I suppose it's time for us to finally wake up, as Martin said."
"Birth by sleep, as they say back home," Jared mused aloud. He returned his sister's paw squeeze, interlacing his fingers with hers. "Our hour of awakening and rebirth has come."
"So now the truth is clear," Curtis mused. "But not quite complete. Deathblade gave us one fourth of the truth; Isidith the other. We need to know once and for all: what is the Prophecy of the Eastern Islands?"
Jared and Madeline shared a long and serious look, anxious and hesitant.
"It's no small thing to explain, Father Abbot." Madeline turned back to the Abbot. "What Jared and I remember will be opposite to what Deathblade knows."
"What we can tell you," Jared swigged down a quick mouthful of his dandelion juice. "Is that the Prophecy was created many decades ago by the Eastern Islands' first settlers. The creatures who established the Islands as we know them."
He put his drink down and articulated with his paws. "Over the seasons, the Prophecy has been passed down by oral tradition. We don't know exactly who created it, why, or how. What we do know is that it tells of great leaders who will someday be born into this world to bring the chaos of the Eastern Seaboard into balance and peace."
"Oh, like th' Taggerun'!" Weonsia piped up for the first time since the assembly.
"Taggerung?" Jared and Madeline repeated at the same time.
"Aye, th' Taggerun'!" Rudmir confirmed from behind them. He wheeled a metal cart up to the teens' table. He placed a pair of large silver tea trays on the table. Across the room, Diana and Avacyn did the same for the Elders. Anthony poured cups of warm milk for the Dibbuns.
"Ye've never 'eard o' that legen', mates?" Rudmir asked, honestly taken aback.
Jared scratched the back of his head, wracking his brains. "Er…I read a bit about it in the library. But I just sort of skimmed through the book, so I didn't really retain a lot of it." Madeline shook her head blankly.
All the teenagers snickered and chuckled. Jacob snorted and shook his head, a small smile upon his muzzle. Jared looked sideways over his shoulder at Timms, whose knowing smile had lessened a bit but still retained mild genuine amusement.
"'Tis th' ancient legen' o' th' Juska vermin tribes," Weonsia explained matter-of-factly. She stood up to place glass jars and decanters of sugar, honey, maple syrup, nectar, and milk on the table. "Th' Taggerun' is said t' be the most fearsome an' powerful warrior in th' entire world."
Rudmir placed miniature wicker baskets of cinnamon sticks and lemon slices beside the jars and decanters. "Thankee, Weonsia, m'dear." He kissed Weonsia on her temples in thanks. An adorable squeak escaped the young ottermaid, and she hid her pinkening face all the way back to her seat.
"Not only that," Rudmir leaned on his cart in a rather confident but not boastful manner. "But in order t' be a Taggerun', one must slay another Taggerun', or be so named by a seer."
"Aye, ya 'it th' nail on th' 'ead, Rudmir!" Weonsia nodded and poured cups of tea for her fellow teens, serving herself last. "An' accordin' t' one Grissoul the Seer o' th' Juskarath tribe, th' Taggerun' would bear a mark o' some kin'."
"Like Deyna," Jared recalled from the catalog of the Abbey Warriors. He carefully spooned honey and sugar into his chamomile tea. "He had a birthmark in the shape of a speedwell."
"What does any of this have to do with us?" Madeline inquired, scooping vanilla cream and maple syrup into her peppermint tea.
"Your legend may be similar in its concepts," Curtis clarified, passing out cinnamon sticks to his fellow Elders. "You two are like the Taggerungs of the Eastern Islands, metaphorically speaking. You are connected to these prophetic events created by your ancestors."
"So, now, this Prophecy," Jonathan prompted, waving his empty quill to bring the conversation back on track. "What is its text? Please, do tell us, as much as you know. We can concern ourselves with interpretations later."
They both put down their tea, Jared looking grim, Madeline fearful.
"Do we have to, Jared?"
"I'm sorry, Madeline. But we no longer have a choice."
Carrying their tea, they left their seats and flanked Jonathan at his lectern desk. They recited lines each in turn, slowly and articulately. Jonathan studiously recorded each one. Nobeast in Cavern Hole dared to interrupt. All eyes and ears fixed on the trio of squirrels, listening with rapt captivated attention. Even the Dibbuns ceased their rambunctious playing and fell silent.
"Where towered trees pierce eastern skies,
Winter, midsummer, and springtime hearts
Are born of metal and flower;
Three are sired of royal blood.
The three who will balance the Five,
And tame the lands south and west.
Unfamiliar darkness shrouds lands of light.
Flames of hope burn on five mountaintops.
Arms cross under a banner united.
Native blood seeks foreign kin.
Lost ones return from a realm beyond.
Holy light banishes wicked shadows.
Then sit the Chieftains with a new Eastern dawn."
A riveted silence fell over Cavern Hole for a couple of minutes. Only the hearty crackling of the torches and the fireplace punctuated the palpable silence.
"A Prophecy…" Jonathan dared to whisper, shattering the pregnant quietude. He stared with dreamy wonder at the mysterious text he'd written on the parchment. "How fascinating!"
"Not just a Prophecy," Madeline raised a finger in the air with a small smile. "The Prophecy."
"But what does it all mean?" Arland asked, furrowing his brow and scratching his spiny head, thoroughly confuzzled. "It sounds so cryptic. Disjointed, too."
"Some parts of it have been lost over the seasons," Jared used Jonathan's quill to dot his i's and cross his t's. "It's hardly complete. We're just dictating to you as much as we can remember."
"Intriguing nonetheless," Curtis took a thoughtful sip of his tea. "Let's break it down, shall we, friends?" He spread his paws wide at the congregation. "This can be an invaluable learning opportunity for all of us. It may also help uncover Martin's reasons for choosing Jared as his Abbey Champion. Jonathan, would you please read the first line?"
"'Where towered trees pierce eastern skies'," the gray squirrel Recorder recited. "What do you suppose that refers to?"
"Oh, the Eastern Islands, for sure," Wyatt piped up, the first time he'd done so since the start of the meeting. "But how many islands are there?"
"Five." Jared held up five fingers. "Our homeland, Maraul, is one of them."
"A land where the trees grow so tall, they pierce the clouds!" Madeline enthusiastically reached up to the ceiling to illustrate the towering trees of Maraul, to the oohs and aahs of the Dibbuns and teenagers.
"Wonderful!" Curtis clapped his paws together. "What's next?"
"'Winter, midsummer, and springtime hearts,'" Jared read from Jonathan's transcription.
"'Hearts of…seasons?" The young mousemaid Bethany tilted her head sideways, earnestly confused. "I don't get it. Can seasons have hearts?"
"Maybe it's not about the seasons themselves, young Bethany, as we think of them." Arland guessed, gesturing with his wine glass. "Maybe it's about the creatures born during those seasons."
"Exactly," Jared pointed a confirmatory claw at Arland. "It's about us, the Sandeye children. Edoran, myself, and Madeline, born in winter, midsummer, and spring."
"And the next line follows that same line of thought," Madeline straightened out the parchment. "'Are born of metal and flower'."
"Metal and flower…" Curtis rubbed his chin. "Your parents, of course. Dane and Amida Sandeye. A blacksmith and a botanist. No doubt that line refers to them."
"I must confess, Father Abbot," Jonathan turned to Abbot Curtis, enlightenment shining in his eyes. "This mental exercise has been very educational."
"Indeed, it has, Jonathan," Curtis sipped his tea before asking, "Next line, please?"
Jacob sprang up from his bench and walked briskly over to Jonathan. "'Three are sired of royal blood,'" he read the next verse upside down. "Uh, what?!" The white wolf scratched between his ears, thoroughly confounded.
"We've never spoken of this to anybeast at Redwall before," Jared admitted, rather hesitantly. "But both of our parents descend from royalty and nobility. Dane Sandeye's father was Gillamin Sandeye, Maraul's last ruling Chieftain and our grandfather."
"Amida was the sister of the Squire Jarvis Richings, son of the Knight Phineas Richings," Madeline added, sipping her tea. "Phineas led Maraul's knights and warriors in Gillamin's personal service. So, as you can guess, Edoran, Jared, and myself are directly descended from this same noble blood."
"Then that means…" Wyatt slowly rose from his bench, astonished, his eyes widening and eyebrows raising as he realized, "You two are royalty!"
"Now you're getting it, Wyatt," Jared nodded and sipped his tea, then added, "The Chieftainship in the Eastern Islands is a hereditary monarchy. Which means that…" he smiled expectantly at his sister, who beamed proudly back.
"By virtue of our birth and descendancy," Madeline stood up and proudly put her paws on her hips, puffing out her chest. Jared did the same without puffing out his chest, too busy drinking the last of his tea. "Edoran, Jared, and myself are heirs apparent to the throne of Maraul. There are no other heirs besides us."
"What revelations!" Lunafreya exclaimed, absolutely amazed while bouncing an excited Dorothy in her lap. "Oh, so good on you two!"
"Wow!" Dorothy's eyes grew as wide and round as the sun. "Pwince Jared and Pwincess Madeline!"
"So, you're basically part of the aristocratic peerage of the Eastern Islands, huh?" Jacob nodded, impressed. "You're members of Maraul's royal court! Who knew?"
"Oh, I don't doubt that Martin always knew about their great eminence," Timms pointed out. "Even if we didn't. Why else would he choose Jared to be his Champion and Abbey Warrior? Why else would he keep his eyes on Madeline, if not to fatefully direct her life path to Sister Fanistra's apprenticeship? The marks of destiny and fate are strong about them, and Martin knew it."
"These next two lines are rather striking," Jonathan read aloud. "'The three who will balance the Five, / And tame the lands south and west.' What on earth is all that supposed to mean?"
"Er…" Jared scratched his scalp, confused. "Honestly, we've never been able to figure out that part ourselves, either. Sorry about that."
"I don't know about you guys, but everything else sounds far too…weird to figure out." Jacob assumed, titling his head to one side as he read. "'Unfamiliar darkness shrouds lands of light? Flames of hope burn on five mountaintops? Lost ones return from realms beyond?' Huh?"
Jonathan glanced up and shrugged, quizzical. "We can't make heads or tails of it, Curtis."
"Hmm…" Curtis stroked his chin fur, pondering. "Is it safe to assume that Nagrig Deathblade and his forces are the 'unfamiliar darkness' that are invading the virtuous 'lands of light'? First the Eastern Islands, and now Mossflower Woods? I could be wrong. Perhaps it instead refers to something to happen in the future."
Jared gave Curtis a sidelong glance. "What makes you think you could be wrong, Father Abbot?"
"Well, to understand the present and prepare for the future, we must first learn from the past," Curtis elaborated, gesturing from one side of his chair to the other. "As you know, Redwall Abbey has an extensively storied history of vermin invasions. Why do you think we did not all come out at once to meet those so-called traveling merchants and inspect their nonexistent wares? The last time vermin were allowed into the Abbey, intentionally or accidentally, Cluny took it over for himself, and Slagar stole away all the innocent little Dibbuns."
"Not to mention the controversy surrounding poor young Veil Sixclaw," added Brother Timms contemplatively. "Or that infamous Dryditch Fever."
"Indeed," Curtis concurred, draining his last cup of pumpkin spice tea. "My point is, we have learned much from the examples of the past. We know now to be more careful, and to pay heed to our gnawing doubts whenever it comes to strangers on our doorstep."
"You knew from the beginning that something was off about those traveling merchants?" Jared folded his arms over his chest, showing the Abbot his full attention. "That they were not actually all who they said they were?"
"I had my suspicions," Curtis stirred a spoonful of vanilla cream inside his tea. "Wyatt was wise to confer with me first before letting them in through the Abbey gates. But now I admit that my duties as Father Abbot of Redwall overrode my better judgment. It is the moral obligation of all creatures in the Order of Redwall to offer sanctuary and aid to those who come to our gates in need. And yet, you two were almost kidnapped because of my shortsightedness."
The harvest mouse shivered in his chair, despite the warmth of his pumpkin spice. "I shudder at the mere thought of what would've happened to you both, had we not caught Deathblade and his accomplices at the last second."
He hung his head, sincerely apologetic and contrite. "I truly am sorry, Jared and Madeline. I sincerely pray you can find it in your hearts to forgive an old mouse's foolishness."
They did not even hesitate, kneeling down at Curtis' feet and taking his paws in theirs.
"Father Curtis," Jared spoke gently. "We do forgive you, wholeheartedly. What happened is not your fault."
"Nor is it yours, either, Wyatt," Madeline nodded at Wyatt over her shoulder. "We wouldn't want you or Father Abbot to blame yourselves."
Curtis closed his eyes and let out a long deep sigh. Wyatt wiped his brow and also exhaled, relieved.
"But what if we cannot decipher the rest of the Prophecy, Curtis?" Jonathan inquired, showing Curtis the parchment.
"It is a rather evocative piece of work, I agree," Curtis agreed, nodding. "However, whatever the rest of the Prophecy means, it must be for the Eastern Islands to discover, not us. All might be made clear in time. But not now. We can venture no further beyond this wall of thought. This, I'm afraid, my friends, is where our study ends."
"Very well, Father Abbot," Jonathan gathered his supplies together. He rolled up the dry parchment, cleaned his quill pen, and sealed his inkwell. "I shall analyze this in my own time and inform you if I make any further developments."
"I'd have it no other way." Curtis removed his paws from the Sandeyes and stood up. "This meeting is adjourned."
Jared and Madeline waited until all the Redwallers had left Cavern Hole. Arland and Mack helped Jonathan carry his lectern and chair in the long trek back to the Gatehouse. Reylia and her chefs cleaned their Kitchens before leaving as well. Alone in the hallway, the siblings breathed huge sighs of relief.
"Felt good to get that off our chests, didn't it, Maddie?" Jared slumped against the wall. His chest collapsed from a long exhale.
"I'm honestly relieved, Jared." Madeline placed her paws on Jared's stomach. He held her around the waist. "A clear conscience at last. I haven't felt this light since Nameday."
"It's like a great heavy burden has been lifted from our backs," Jared adorned his sister's face with kisses. "Now we have to figure out what we're going to do about Deathblade."
"No time like the present," Madeline slipped her paws underneath Jared's shirt, running her fingers through his fur. "Redwall has its protector now. You, Tinarandel, Martin the Warrior's Champion, the chosen Abbey Warrior! I can't put my feelings about that into words!"
"No need, Isidith," Jared took Madeline's face in his paws and stroked his thumbs over her cheeks. "We're going to figure this out together. Don't forget: we've got Redwall supporting us, too. We won't be alone. Not this time."
"Your Lordship," Lieutenant Gurutharc knelt on one knee at the base of Nagrig Deathblade's straight-backed wicker chair that served as a makeshift throne. The swarthy, slender ermine held a tightly-sealed scroll in his outstretched paw. "A message arrived by magpie from the forthcoming reinforcements."
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Nagrig Deathblade took the scroll and ran a claw through the ribbon that held its ends shut. "Ah, yes, there is the crest of Fort Bladegirt. It's from Dragel. Fair winds drive them to Mossflower within the next two days."
"That couldn't be better news," Zakrul brought a gin glass to Gurutharc, who stood up to take it gladly. "Dragel is one of our best soldiers. He wouldn't want to miss this conquest of Mossflower Forest for the world."
"You truly believe that the beasts of Redwall will acquiesce to our demands, my Lord?" Gurutharc added ice to his gin.
"Oh, I am more than positive about it, Gurutharc," Nagrig put the scroll aside on his end table. A confident smirk pulled at his lips and showed his fangs. "Once Redwall witnesses the fully combined might of Morringtat, Sampetra, and Terramort, they'll realize that they wouldn't dare meet us strength to strength. They'll be left with no choice but to surrender the Sandeyes to us."
"Having the largest army ever assembled in the history of the world sounds rather…cliché, doesn't it?" Zakrul pointed out, raising an eyebrow.
"It's not entirely about having the largest army, Zakrul," Nagrig explained, a decisive, knowing twinkle in his pink eyes. "It's more about the fear tactics. More of us and less of them means dominance, control, supremacy. Target the mind and the heart will fail. Sever the head and the body follows. Redwall's submission shall be a testament to our superiority."
"What if they don't submit?" Zakrul fingered the hunting dagger in his sleeve. He figured he already knew the answer his brother would give.
A devious light shone in Nagrig's eyes. "Then we'll burn their precious Abbey to the ground. Kill every single one of them and their allies. Dispassionately. Indiscriminately. Down to the last child. When all of them are dead, that's when we'll steal Jared and Madeline Sandeye away. Nobeast in Mossflower would dare try to stop us once Redwall falls."
He stood up to join the other two, raising his glass. "A toast, friends, to our successful hunt!"
"To the alliance of Morringtat, Terramort, and Sampetra!" Gurutharc lifted his gin beside Nagrig's.
"To Dragel and his reinforcements, may they reach Mossflower in safety!" Zakrul placed his glass in between the other two.
"To the fall of Redwall Abbey!" Nagrig proclaimed. "To the end of the Sandeye bloodline and the death of the Eastern Islands!"
The three vermin clinked their glasses together and drained them.
"Now come!" Nagrig led the way out of his tent and into the camp. "We cannot shirk our duties while Dragel still sails! We have our own army to build!"
He paced through the camp at an unhurried, leisurely pace. Zakrul and Gurutharc flanked him from behind.
"How go our gang-pressing efforts?" Nagrig asked Brosk, who had finished helping Adhuxnuo set up and load a spear rack. "Have Mudclaw, Darksnout, and Skullback returned yet?"
"Yesss, milord Deathblade," Brosk answered in his creepy lizardlike hissing. The hulking green monitor lizard pointed his free paw (the other held a sharpened javelin) towards the far west corner of the camp. "They reported back not five minutesss ago, sssire. They've gathered quite a haul, if I do sssay ssso myssself!" Nagrig promptly made his way to where Brosk pointed.
Amidst a curving, folding canopy of trees, two rats and a stoat stood with their backs to him. At his approach, they all turned and saluted.
"Yer Lordship!" the first rat, Darksnout, held a paw to his heart and inclined his head. "Ye're righ' on time! We scoured every corner aroun' th' western parts o' Mossflower, searching fer vermin fer our mighty army, as per yer comman'."
"Dare we say," added the stoat, Skullback, gesturing to a line of beasts behind him, composed of weasels, ermines, stoats, ferrets, sables, pine martens, and rats. They were all on their knees, sitting on their upturned ankles, their paws bound tightly together with rope. "We brough' in a darn good rabble, Chief! See for yerself!"
"All stand t' attention!" barked the second rat, Mudclaw, snapping his mud-colored claws loudly. "'Ail t' 'is Lordship, Nagrig Deathblade, th' 'igh Lord of Morringtat!"
"No! Never!" one of the ferrets talked back defiantly. "We'll never bow to evil, bloodthirsty vermin who threaten the peace of Mossflower!"
Nagrig couldn't hold back a derisive snort. "That's pathetic. You vermin must live in comfort and luxury. Through your boring and mundane lives, you defy your inborn nature of bloodlust and domination over woodlanders. You don't know what it's like to be in a battle, do you?"
He kicked one of the pine martens in the shins, who cried out and collapsed onto his side. "Answer me!" Nagrig growled. "Get down on your knees and swear your undying loyalty!"
"Please, no!" One of the weasels begged, shaking his tied wrists at Nagrig. "We have fam'lies, frien's! Please, we don't wanna be foigh'ers!"
"Yar commandin' officer gave ya a direct order, weasel!" Mudclaw snapped, spitting in the weasel's direction. "When th' 'Igh Lord gives ya an order, ya follow it, eh?" He waved his razor-sharp, mud-colored claws under the helpless weasel's nose. "T' disobey a direct order from th' 'Igh Lord is punishable by death!"
Nagrig put his paws on his hips and narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the rabble of vermin. "Don't waste your breath pressing them, Mudclaw. They're barely even strong enough to fight. A bunch of farmers and tanners and craftsbeasts have hardly the strength for a real full-scale battle; or even a small skirmish, for that matter. But that won't be a problem."
He punched one fist into his palm, and then the other. "We'll whip you all into shape nonetheless, starting now!"
"But we said we don't wanna be fighters!" an ermine begged, crawling away from Nagrig up against a tree. "We wanna live in peace! We ain't vermin! We'd never kill innocent goodbeasts! Please, we're beggin' ya; let us go home!"
"Shuttup!" Darksnout threw his leg hard into the ermine's stomach, knocking him onto his side, wheezing and gasping for air. "Th' boss is thinkin'! He don't like ta be disturbed while he's thinkin'!"
Nagrig turned his back to everyone to gaze over the horizon, paws behind his back. The sky had already started to clear, the last of the raindrops falling to the ground and the clouds drifting away, leaving a moderately blue sky and a shining golden sun in its wake. Nagrig pursed his lips and glared coldly at it. He turned his eyes to the south, in the direction of Redwall Abbey.
"I know none of you want to be fighters," he spoke aloud to the unwilling vermin sitting and standing behind him. "I won't force you to listen to reason, nor will I kill you. I simply want you to imagine something for me."
He lifted a thoughtful finger in the air. "Imagine a land where your birthright is the entire world. You grow up believing that you will inherit the world, and that it belongs to you. You are entitled to it. Every land, every kingdom, every nation and country, big and small. Those who raise you ingrain in your mind that the world is yours. Nothing and nobeast can take it away from you."
Then he raised his other finger in the air. "Now imagine that in some faraway land, somebeast invents a legend of some kind, saying that others will inherit the world, by some kind of special privileges. It contradicts everything you were taught to believe. You were assured to inherit the world. Now another creature demands to own it simply by virtue of being born? You begin to see where the logic falls apart. The world belongs to you, and so you ensure it remains that way. Heresy. Hypocrisy. Blasphemy!"
He turned back around to them and spread his arms wide. "So, you decide to take every measure to wipe out this opposition to your inheritance. You own everything, and everything is yours. How can another claim to be entitled to that same birthright, that endowment, when you were promised it first? Any reasonable beast in that situation would want to stamp out that threat to their privileged rule."
Nagrig clenched his paws into fists and knocked them together. The clanging of his silver gauntlets made his captives flinch and shrink before him.
"I am the Scornful Tyrant! This world is mine!" He hit his fists to his chest. "My birthright, entitlement, inheritance! By my right of possession of the Morringtat throne, and the sovereignty of my crown as High Lord, I say that this world belongs to me! Sampetra, Terramort, Mossflower, the Eastern Islands! Salamandastron, Noonvale, Southsward! They are all mine! I will not allow a fabricated, portentous little prophecy created by some deluded, hermit, incense-inhaling fortune tellers to steal it away from me!"
He knocked his forearms, making his prisoners slink even further back against the trees and shrubbery. "I hope I am helping you see reason. In time, you'll all learn that were you in my shoes, you wouldn't want somebeast else to steal what is rightfully yours, either. If you cannot put yourself in my position, then think of at least what you may gain by joining my side."
He knelt down at their eye level and beckoned them to him, lowering his voice to a lighter, more sympathetic tone. "Think of the rewards in store for you, the treasures, resources, and riches you may plunder from Redwall Abbey and Mossflower. Think of the helpless creatures you may keep forever as your slaves, tilling your farms, bringing you food and drink…and perhaps, satisfying more…base needs."
A sadistic, malicious smirk pulled itself at his lips, showing his fangs. "I doubt any of what I am saying is getting across to you. No matter. You'll all join me and my army whether you like it or not. I'll make soldiers out of you lot yet. You'll attack Redwall Abbey on my orders! You'll kill on my command! You'll shed woodlander blood aplenty before the season is out! Disobey and resist all you like. I have tried-and-true sure methods for getting what I want. Forget farming and tanning and crafting now. You're hordebeasts! You're vermin! You obey me!"
"We're no 'ordebeasts!" a rat objected, struggling against his tight bonds. "We don't wanta kill innocent creatures, either! Let us live our lives in peace! 'Ave ya no morality!"
"Morality?!" Nagrig scoffed, blowing rainwater out of his nose in disgust. "Morality is a sickness; a hollow philosophy! Empty words creating dichotomies in a vain attempt to justify one's meager existence and personal choices! Without morality, life becomes liberating! Without morality, life is given meaning! You are free to make your own choices without any foundation of right or wrong! I am bound by no morality!"
He jerked a thumb at himself, then approached the rat, brandishing his hunting dagger. The rat shuddered and struggled harder against the ropes binding his wrists together.
"I am beyond all morality," Nagrig continued. "I do not allow myself to be burdened by compunctions or ethics of right and wrong." He leaned down and held the cold blade flat against the rat's throat. "There is no such thing as right and wrong in this world. Only power, domination and entitlement, and those with the strength to handle it."
The rat shuddered and jerked his head back to try to escape the ice-cold hunting dagger. Nagrig curled his dagger inwards, pressing the edge of the blade into the rat's larynx.
"P-p-please…" the rat pleaded, shivering and sputtering. "H-ha-have m-m-mercy…"
"I will, my fellow rat," Nagrig whispered coldly, with a hint of cynical scorn and derision. "When you and your comrades pledge your allegiance to me and my army."
"Obey yer Lord's command!" Darksnout, with help from Mudclaw, Skullback, Gurutharc, and Zakrul, forced the vermin onto their feet. "Or we'll 'ave yer guts t' eat tonigh'!"
"Keep up the good work," Nagrig commended his trio of scouts. He stood up and sheathed his hunting dagger. The rat exhaled in relief and straightened up, gulping and breathing heavily. "Continue your search for vermin around Mossflower Forest. Use any methods necessary to turn them into joining our ranks. Do not hesitate and be merciless if you must. Dragel and his troops will arrive here in two days. When they do, we will launch our final assault on Redwall Abbey. In the meantime, keep up your efforts. Report your final results to Zakrul or Gurutharc at sunset."
"Ye're th' boss, Lord Deathblade!" Darksnout laid his blade across his forehead in a military salute. "We won't letcha down!"
"Ya can count on us, Chief!" Skullback hit a gauntleted fist to his heart as a show of loyalty. "We'll turn this entire forest inside out an' upside down if we gotta! We won't fail!"
"When we've scoured Mossflower fer every last vermin, an' brought 'em t'ya, milord," Mudclaw bowed his head and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Redwall won't stan' a chance!"
But as the vermin captives stood up, one of the ermines turned tail and sprinted in the direction of the forest. Nagrig pointed a claw in his direction. Darksnout, Mudclaw, and Skullback all hurried after him.
The ermine stumbled and staggered his way through the deep brush. Branches swiped and scratched at his snout and muzzle. Twigs and rocks cut and bit at his bare feet. The rope constricted around his wrists numbed his arms and paws.
His foot caught on a fallen log. He fell forwards onto his stomach and slid a few inches on the cold muddy ground. He pulled himself onto one side and lay still. His heart raced rapidly in his chest and pounded in his ears. He dared not breathe or utter a single word.
Three shadows appeared from the undergrowth. The ermine's limbs froze. He tried to move. But his rigid limbs would not obey. The shadows drew sharp daggers from their uniforms. He tried to turn away. But neither his neck nor his head would move. One by one, they surrounded him and pressed their daggers into his muddy flesh.
"Aaaggghhh!"
"Do you see now?" Nagrig Deathblade gestured in the direction that the ermine's final cries had come. "Anybeast who dares desert my great army, or who refuses to join our ranks, will suffer the same fate as that cowardly wretch! You dare desert, and I'll ensure that your names are forever forgotten by the annals of history! Your names shall fade into obscurity, and whatever reputations you built through your crafts will be eternally smeared! Now…"
He drew his falchion and pointed the deadly blade at his conscripts. "Declare your allegiance, loyalty, and undying fidelity! Scream it from the bottom of your hearts to the top of your lungs, loud and clear!"
"All hail the High Lord of Morringtat!" all the conscripts stood up as one and screamed at the tops of their voices. "Allegiance to Nagrig Karthor Deathblade! Loyalty to Zakrul Bloodeyes! Fidelity to the kingdoms of Morringtat, Terramort, and Sampetra! Hail, hail, hail!"