"Trust is earned, respect is given, and loyalty is demonstrated. Betrayal of any one of those is to lose all three." ~Ziad K. Abdelnour.

"What happened here?"

A familiar monitor lizard stepped into clear view of the camp from the northeast side of the forest. The campfires glowed on his scales and the cleaver blade he held over one shoulder.

"Brosk!"

Nagrig stepped into the lizard's shadow. "About time you returned! Where have you been, lizard? Explain yourself immediately!"

Brosk's massive shadow all but obscured Nagrig from view. "I go where I wisssh when I wisssh in thisss land. I do not anssswer to you anymore, Deathhhblade. Never have, never do, never will."

"Excuse me?!" Nagrig raised an eyebrow at the taller reptile. "Did I give you permission to give me backtalk? I asked you to explain yourself, Brosk! You are my soldier, and thus are at my command! You believe you can just leave camp to go do whatever you want? Much anarchy has transpired in your absence!"

He gestured behind himself at the camp. "First, our conscripted vermin rebel against us and wreck our camp. Second, we managed to capture Jared Sandeye! Only to have a rescue party from Redwall compromise our borders and knock out some of our soldiers! Finally, Jared snaps and flies into an uncontrollable rage! He leaves several of our soldiers bleeding! And where were you to stop him, Brosk?!"

The monitor lizard did not reply. Nagrig's face contorted into a hateful scowl.

"Dare I remind you what you did to prove your loyalty to me?"

Brosk did not reply, but only watched many of his fellow soldiers tending to each other, despite their wounds. Whimpers and sobs of grief, groans and grunts of pain, and the cracklings of campfires and cooking food filled the air.

"You made me do it. You made me kill him. Either thhhat or you would kill me…"

"Yes, exactly." Once more Nagrig's face broke out into a malevolent ear-to-ear grin. "I made you do it. I made you kill him. Or I would've killed you and employed him instead. All for the sake of proving your loyalty, obedience, and undying fidelity."

"He wasss my brothhher!" Brosk roared at the rat.

"Did that stop me?" Nagrig broke into cold-hearted laughter. "Did it stop you?"

Brosk could not find the words to reply. He only hissed and growled, clenched his fists, and contorted his face in fuming rage. His eyes flitted to the belt of scales around his superior's waist. Then back up again to the rat's eyes.

"In that case…" Nagrig humphed. "It seems a more extreme punishment is in order. Vadír!"

Out came the wildcat wielding his axe. Dirt coated his face and armor, and he wore a bitter expression. Feline and reptile exchanged snarls and hisses aplenty.

"How much simpler can I make this, Brosk?" Nagrig gestured at the wildcat. "Bite yourself!" He turned his finger to the lizard. "Shed your own blood! Or you get the axe!"

"My axe, that is!" Vadír hefted his battle axe at a vertical angle. "Off with your head! Spill your neck blood, as King Grimscar Ragthorn says!"

"Wait!" Brosk lowered his cleaver. He held out his other hand to the wildcat in a pacifying gesture. "Maybe we can come to sssome sssort of compromissse."

"Compromise?" Nagrig barked with laughter. "We're far past compromises now, Brosk. Now," he held up a claw of authority. "Bite your wrist! Through the flesh and down to the bone! I want to see you shed your own blood! Or Vadír will take off your head!"

"What's an executioner without an execution?" Vadír sneered from ear to ear, showing the lizard his axe. "Out of a job, I'd imagine!"

"Bite yourself!" Nagrig commanded. "Or it's to HellGates with you! Now!"

Brosk shot his superiors a dark look each. He raised his trembling left wrist to his mouth. He opened wide, showing rows of razor-sharp, dripping, glistening pearly-white fangs. And-

CRRRAAACCCKK! "Grrrrrrnnnnnnuuuggghhh!"

Bones cracking and painful grunting resounded across the entire camp.

"What in blazes was that?!" Gurutharc sat upright from where he lay beside the campfire. Opposite him, Adhuxnuo did the same, rubbing his injuries.

Brosk drew his punctured hand away from his mouth, panting. His fangs dripped with fresh blood. Tears filled his eyes and streamed down his face. He cradled his injured wrist in his other hand, sniffling and weeping. Fresh blood streamed down his arm and dripped onto the forest floor.

Nagrig stuck up his nose and smirked. "I've grown tired of this utter buffoonery. That'll teach you to wander off without leave, Brosk." He pivoted on his heels and walked away. "You're dismissed, Vadír."

Vadír grinned from ear to ear, shaking with sadistic chuckles. He sheathed his axe and turned to follow Nagrig. Brosk bent over facefirst into the bloodstained grass. His entire body heaved with audible sobs.

"No speech for your soldiers?" Zakrul asked when Nagrig had returned to the camp proper.

He raised an eyebrow when his brother shook his head.

"No. Not this time." Nagrig heaved a huge sigh. "I'm out of ideas." He stood facing his tent.

"Curses! Curses upon Redwall Abbey! Curses upon Mossflower! Curses upon the Guosim and Guoraf! Curses upon the Northlands! Curses upon the Sandeye bloodline! Curses upon the Eastern Islands!"

He patrolled around the camp perimeter, paws behind his back. Zakrul and Vadír exchanged confused looks, then followed.

"Patch Brosk up," Zakrul ordered Khaimtsu and Krodnal. Despite their own pains, they obeyed without hesitation.

Nagrig stopped at Arvuk's tent. He helped the Sampetran sable up into a sitting position.

"It happened so suddenly, milord," Arvuk held his left air and grimaced. "One secon' I was patrollin' like normal. Next thin' I know, I'm gettin' slapped an' punched left an' righ'." He winced and let out a small grunt of pain. "Didn't even see who got me. Though I suspect it was Madeline San'eye."

"You could have done nothing, Arvuk." Nagrig dropped into a crouch. "But we'll get back at her. Focus on your pain, your vengeance, your hatred, your anger. They are powerful motivators. Feel them ignite your blood and spike your adrenaline. For Sampetra!"

"I will, milord Deathblade." Arvuk nodded between heaving breaths. His blackish, dark-brown eyes narrowed into thin lines. "Ya can coun' on me. Fer Sampetra!" His eyes flicked to the left. "Look!"

He pointed with his spare paw. In the gaps between the tents, Skullback was rousing.

"At last!" Zakrul hurried over to him. Vadír followed on his tail.

"Aaauuugggh!" Skullback awoke screaming. He flailed his arms and legs, before clutching his head, laboring for breath, wide-eyed and manic. "Aaahhh! Uuuggghhh!"

"Skullback!" Zakrul knelt down in front of the stoat. He held him by the wrists. "You're all right! Whatever happened to you, it's over! You're safe now!"

"N-no, Lor-Lord Zakrul!" Skullback stuttered in between rapid breaths. "No, n-n-n-ot, not s-s-s-s-afe, safe..."

"Tell us what happened!" Vadír commanded the stoat, standing on his right side."Now! In the names of Their Majesties, Nagrig Deathblade and Grimscar Ragthorn!"

"He's back…" Skullback's voice dropped to a heavy whisper. "He's back…!"

"Who?!" barked Vadír in a demanding tone. "Who is back?"

All color drained from Skullback's face. He stared the wildcat dead in the eyes. He groped for the feline's collar. Vadír hissed in protest. But Skullback pulled him in close to whisper in his ear,

"Zagreb the Assassin!"

"It seems he's returned." Zakrul shook his head and sighed. "All the decades of urban legends, the myths, the rumors of old…They're true after all."

"An' now he's back!" Skullback raised a terrible cry at the tops of his lungs.

"He was only here for Jared Sandeye," Nagrig sighed and facepalmed himself. "So we're lucky, but also unlucky, that he targeted us."

Skullback wailed in anxiety-ridden terror and clutched at his chest. Tears streamed down his face. "He'll fin' us! Kill us all in our sleep!" He curled up into a fetal position.

"Not on our watch, he won't!" Nagrig hit a fist into his palm for emphasis. "We'll double the night guards! Dragel can spare soldiers. Anybeast who didn't get caught in Jared Sandeye's Wungkan wrath. We won't let Zagreb give us the slip again! Next time, we'll get the jump on him!"

"C'mon, Skullback." Vadír slipped his arms under Skullback's shoulders and spine. "Show me which tent is yours. I'll keep you company while you feel better…"

After their patrol, Nagrig and Zakrul returned to their tent.

"Such violence…" Zakrul turned a dagger over and over in his hands, looking contemplative. "Such bloodshed. Such rage."

"Galit." Nagrig looked over his map table, paws behind his back. "The 'Rage' style. All this time, I thought it was only a myth. Like Zagreb."

"To see it for ourselves…" Zakrul looked up from the dagger. He stood on the opposite side of the table. "To think that Tinarandel had such…fury…in him…The nearest thing to the Bloodwrath I've ever seen, at least."

"Such surprising discipline in one so young." Nagrig leaned forward to place his palms on the table, over his map of Mossflower. "Such technique and skill, and yet such outrage. Why did he not attack us?"

"He only cared about saving Isidith and their friends," Zakrul sheathed his dagger and folded his arms over his chest. "And punishing their tormentors. But I reckon he is saving his true rage for us. We must proceed with caution, Nagrig."

"Caution?" Nagrig scoffed and furrowed his brow at his brother. "We're far past the necessity for caution now, Zakrul. Tinarandel wields the Rage Style on top of his skills in Akret. Isidith carries on Edoran's legacy of the Southern Water-Dragon Style. Together, who knows what havoc they could unleash? No."

He shook his head, insistent, fervent. "Blood begets blood. Conflict begets more conflict. Anger begets greater anger. We must strike back at them, and everyone who supports them, with twice-even thrice-the amount of aggression they gave us."

Zakrul said nothing, only staring down at the Mossflower map. Beside it lay a map of the entire globe.

"Giodorr Adzi de Eolin…" He placed a paw on the Eastern Islands. "Our predecessors should've killed him when they had the chance. Exile only enabled him to grow and produce progeny who could vie for the Maraulian throne."

"Throne, my tail!" Nagrig glowered darkly at his brother. "Politics be damned. First Redwall, then the Islands. There won't be a throne left to vie for after we're done. But you're right. Exile was too good of a punishment for him."

"And so Adzi's bloodline persists!" Zakrul curled his paw into a fist, which he hit upon the tabletop. "In the Sandeyes! The Ironsuns! The Havsons! And it could continue on in their descendants!"

"What do you think I'm doing?" Nagrig straightened up to shrug. "What do you think we're doing?"

"Look at us, Nagrig," Zakrul gestured outside the tent. "Our plans have been thwarted three times thus far. By bloody teenagers, no less. Don't you think we should know when we're beaten?"

"Are you suggesting giving up?" Now Nagrig folded his arms over his chest. "Turning around and leaving? Going home? When we've already come this far? Do you even know how long it would take to sail home? And to have to make stops at Terramort and Sampetra along the way…"

"You know you're no fool, Nagrig." Zakrul shot his brother a stony look. "You're not Dathremac. You're not Cluny the Scourge. Or Slagar. Or Gulo. And you sure as HellGates aren't Razzid Wearat."

"Are you saying I should give up the hunt?"

"I'm saying you shouldn't let overconfidence get the better of you!"

He did not flinch when Nagrig side-eyed him. "What are you implying?" His sibling's eyes narrowed.

"Dathremac pushed too hard." Zakrul put his paws on his hips. "And where did that get him? Slain by a poisoned arrow in his right leg during a tribal skirmish. Do you want to take the same risks he did? Do you want to suffer the same embarrassments? The same pains of death? Cluny had a bell dropped on him. Slagar fell into a well. Gulo got impaled on Rakkety Tam Macburl's sharpened shield. And Razzid? Well, he got a dagger to his gut and a wooden stave to his head. Do you want to end up like any of them, because of some misplaced hubris?"

"HellGates forbid!" Nagrig hit a fist on the tabletop, the same as Zakrul had done. "I'm not scared of an abbey of monastic beasts, a fencer wolf, the shrew unions, and a family of gardeners! Zagreb does not even haunt my mind! None of them will stop me from getting to Tinarandel and Isidith! Although…"

His face fell. Then contorted with anger. "There is still one final major obstacle we must overcome to get the Sandeyes. Martin the Warrior. Yes." His paws curled into fists. "I still remember Tinarandel declaring himself the Champion of Martin."

"The ultimate thorn in our side," Zakrul once more folded his arms. "Remember the tapestry that hangs in Redwall's Great Hall? The old stories say that Martin's spirit walks with his Champions and Abbey Warriors. They wield his legendary Sword. A weapon of untold capabilities. Who's to say Tinarandel hasn't already taken it up?"

Nagrig said nothing but dropped his arms by his sides. His gaze fell onto the map of Mossflower. At the depiction of Redwall Abbey. He did not see Zakrul exit the tent.

His brother returned with their chief beasts in tow. Lieutenant Gurutharc, helmsbeast Adhuxnuo, and Captain Krodnal all sat on the tent floor together, still nursing their Galit-inflicted wounds. Zakrul remained standing.

"The time has come at last." Nagrig stood in front of his wicker throne. "Thrice now the Sandeyes have thwarted us. Whether with the help of Redwall Abbey, the shrew unions, and Zagreb the Assassin himself, whom we long thought dead. They have defeated us at every turn. We can tolerate this no longer. I know we've suffered setback after setback after setback-"

"Setback is a polite way to put it," Krodnal snorted bitterly. Gurutharc and Adhuxnuo snorted and Zakrul smirked.

"But that doesn't mean we take them in stride, Krodnal." Nagrig nodded at his Captain, not at all fazed about being interrupted. "Do not forget, my friend: we are vermin of Morringtat. And Morringtat owns the Eastern Islands, does it not? Redwall may have the advantage. But we have the authority. By our rights of colonization, we have a claim over the Sandeyes, whether Redwall and Mossflower like it or not. Prophecy be damned: as citizens of the Islands, and thus Morringtat's empire, they belong to us."

"So, at this point," Adhuxnuo perked up. "There's only one thing to do now. Ain't there?"

"Aye," Gurutharc nodded. He winced but chanced to stand up. "We strike at Redwall Abbey."

"In this condition?" Krodnal stared aghast at his fellows. "That's madness!"

"Perhaps it is," Zakrul stepped abreast of Gurutharc. "But giving up would be even madder. Think for a moment, Krodnal. How do you feel from this pain? What emotions does it stir in you?"

Krodnal stared down at his lap to think. "Anger…Rage…Hatred…Boiling like a cocktail of vengeance."

"Like fire in the blood," Adhuxnuo added, and the other two nodded. "No doubt the others feel the same. I'll bet my tail on that."

"Couldn't agree more." Gurutharc nodded. "And that's what we want, isn't it, sire?" He glanced at Nagrig.

"Yes, it is, Gurutharc." Nagrig stepped down from his throne to the floor. "Exactly. As I told Arvuk earlier, that anger, rage, and hatred are motivators. We want to serve that cocktail of vengeance ice-cold to all those who have wronged us. Or boiling hot if you prefer that."

He held his paws behind his back. "The shrews for humiliating us at Brockhall. Tinarandel for assaulting us with the Rage style. The beasts of Redwall for initially denying us the Sandeyes. And whatever else you might want revenge for. That's not for me to pry into. Nevertheless, you understand that after all these defeats, these failures, these mortifications…"

"That it's time we took matters into our own paws." Zakrul stood abreast of his brother.

"Patch each other up," ordered Nagrig. "Set new guards at the perimeters, more than the usual number. Can't risk another ambush like what Arvuk got."

He turned and ascended the steps to his throne. Paws behind his back.

"Gather your arms and armor. Rouse our troops. Tomorrow, we will attack Redwall Abbey. Hit them where it hurts. Once and for all."

Across the camp, Ember lay flat on his back in his cot.

"So close…I was so close. I almos' had her…I could've gotten her stripped bare, all' th' way down to' her fur, an' in my cot. Ravishin' her bareback between my legs an' beneath my arms…"

"We mustn't give up, Ember," Dragel sat cross-legged on the floor of the fox's tent. He held his right in one paw, his left shoulder in the other. "We'll get another chance; just wait an' see."

"What, an' risk gettin' thrashed again by Jared Sandeye?" Ember moved to prop himself up on his elbows, but-"Aaagh!" He fell flat onto his back once again. "Not a chance in HellGates. We've gotta do it wit' stealth, Dragel, that's th' only way. So that neither Jared nor those blasted Redwallers can fin' us."

"Deathblade plans t' attack Redwall very soon," Dragel mused, staring out of the opening of Ember's tent. "Maybe we'll seize a chance t' go after our maidens then. Play wit' 'em while bot' sides are too busy fightin'. Anybeast else ya've had yar eye on, other than them squirremaidens?" He turned to look again at the fox. "Jus' curious."

Groaning and grunting, Ember turned onto his aching side to look at the sable. "Well…I remember th' day we infiltrated th' Abbey. There was this one youn' brown ottermaid there. She looked real voluptuous." He licked his lips, the faint shadow of a grin growing. "An' a little volemaid chef, too; pretty nubile, she was. Oh, an' this cute brown mousemaid in a sleeveless low-collar pink dress, as well." He let out a grunt of pleasure as he thrusted his crotch upwards.

Dragel nodded and licked his lips. "Both delicious choices, Ember." He lay down on the floor to think, staring up at the ceiling. "I'd love t' get my paws on some o' them Guosim shrews, or th' Guoraf-Rovin' an' Fighting Shrews," he added, seeing the fox's look of confusion. "They look mighty beddable, too."

"Still, I don't imagine we'll ever get any better than Larina Skyleaf an' Madeline Sandeye." Ember once again flopped onto his back. He closed his eyes and licked his lips again, fantasizing. "Provocative in the fron'...shapely in the back…Mmmm…Oh, yes…"

"Ya an' I are o' the same min', Ember." Dragel turned to him, grinning from ear to ear. "If'n it'll make feel any betta, I'd love t' talk about lewd an' sensual delights wit' ya. What we can do t' an' wit' all those maidens once we get 'em! Howsabout it?"

"Aye, Dragel." Ember matched his grin, malicious and perverted. "Please do! Tell me what's on yar min'! Th' naughtier, th' better!"

"Them maidens may be pure, chaste, an' virginal. But we'll make 'em crazed, addicted, an' erotic! We'll make 'em beg fer us!"

Dragel opened his mouth to begin a spiel. But then the sounds of groaning and grumbling filled the camp.

"Hold yar thoughts." He climbed up and left the tent. Ember remained behind.

"Gwaelog! Shankorok!" His wolverine lieutenant and silver fox companion came towards him from the west. "What happened? Didja fin' the shrews?"

"Oh, we foun' 'em, all righ'!" Shankorok spat blood on the ground. Dragel did not even flinch. "And then they gave us a tail-whoopin'! I thin' my rear is gunna be achin' fer th' whole entire autumn!" The fox glared fiercely at his superior. Dragel could not mistake the vindictive anger burning red in his eyes.

"So much for teaching them a lesson about fraternizing with Redwall Abbey." Gwaelog shook his head and growled.

"But that don't mean ya jus' give up!" Dragel pointed a motivating claw at his two officers. "Ya'll have yar revenge before ya know it! Soon, Deathblade shall launch his final assault upon Redwall Abbey! An y'all get t' give those shrews what fer! You'll feast on their corpses an' drink their blood before lon'! I guarantee it!"

He seized Shankorok by the shoulder. "Go on! Get back to camp." He pushed him in said direction. "Check in on Fleaskin, Stumpback, an' Blackwhisker. An' see if Argthowe's awake. Tell Nazithail t' go on patrol, too, if you fin' him."

"Physical scars we can heal." Gwaelog shook his head and fell into rank behind the rat.

"But the mental scars stay foreva…" Shankorok whimpered. He held his head and limped away.

"Sorry 'bout that, Ember." Dragel staggered back into the tent. He collapsed onto his back on the floor. "Now, as I was about t' say…"

Meanwhile, the good vermin of Mossflower gossiped amongst themselves. They sat within one of the camp's rebuilt armory tents.

"Hungry…" Unkkt wrapped his arms around his stomach. "So bloody hungry…An' thirsty…"

"But we 'elped Larina Skyleaf an' her parents get outta 'ere alive, didn't we?" Rupiyr put a paw on his shoulder. "That's what matters, eh? Was wort' th' risk. 'Ere, maybe talkin' will 'elp ya take yer min' off your 'unger. Didja see th' way Jared San'eye barraged Deathblade's minions?" He scooted through the dirt on his rear towards his fellow vermin.

"Aye!" Clyde nodded with vigor. The white ermine's face ached from grinning from ear to ear. "What a rivetin' sigh'! All der swiftness o' a Lon' Patrol hare an' der raw muscle o' a Salaman'astron Badger Lord!"

"A real madbeast, he was!" Wuuzir exclaimed; the ferret's eyes were wide with wonder. "Fightin' with da strength o' ten squirrels! Musta been da Eastern blood in him!"

"Neva seen nuthin' like it in all my seasons!" agreed Mananagal. "Eh, whadda dey call deir ol' combat arts in da Islands? Wa…We…Wy…?" The sable rubbed his chin, wracking his brains. "Sumtin' like dat?"

"Wungkan," Delnok clarified for him, and Mananagal nodded in thanks. "Ancien' Eastern arts o' combat, armed an' unarmed. Been roun' fer centuries, in fact. An' perhaps even longer than that, since before Morrin'tat invaded an' colonized 'em. My Brawnhilda, in fact-"

He stopped, and his head slowly drooped. "She's fasc'nated by it. Wants t' be a bit o' a practitioner herself."

"Come ter thin' o' it, Delnok," asked Unkkt, fidgeting with his gauntlets. "Where is Brawnhilda? Ya'd think she'd 'ave come lookin' fer ya by now."

"Aye, poor, dear, belov'd Brawnhilda!" Longfang lamented. "She oughta be worried really sick abou' ya, Delnok!" The rat fiddled with a finely-sharpened iron dagger.

"Even if she did, what good could she do?" Delnok shrugged his armored shoulders. "She's just one beast, an' Deathblade's an' Dragel's forces are legion."

He hung his head and sighed in despair. "I still rememba 'ow they chained her t' the bedposts, th' day they took me away from her. Y'all should've seen her, foaming at th' mouth an' roarin' like a savage. They couldn't risk her comin' after them t' save me. Why they never got th' idea t' gan'press her, I'll neva know."

When he looked up, none could deny the fierceness in his eyes. "But my Brawnhilda's tougher than ten polecats. No doubt she figured out how t' break free from th' chains. That'd be th' Brawnhilda I know. Ain't th' type t' wait aroun' fer somebeast t' get th' key fer her. She's no damsel in distress like ya read in th' old fairytales. She'd save herself, an' when she did, there'd be Hellgates t' pay! Jared Sandeye would be proud o' her fury!"

"Aye, we all saw what Jared did!" interjected Smackpaw, shaking a paw at the polecat. "Smashed 'each an' every one o' Deat'blade's vermin all by his treejumpin', bloodthirstin', stick-wieldin' self! Besides, who knows wot Brawnhilda could do in her efforts t' getcha back, Delnok? Desperation, love, an' grief can make a beast do some awfully wild thin's!"

"Ya got yerself one fine vermin lass, Delnok." Swoos nodded at the polecat. "I'll betcha yar marriage is gunna be a happy one that'll last throughout th' seasons."

Delnok heaved a heavy sigh. "I certainly hope so." He stared out through the entrance of the tent. "But first we've got to figger out some way t' get outta 'ere fer good. Keep yer chins up, lads. Dere's hope fer our liberation yet!"

"If there's one thin' we take away from all this, frien's," Smackpaw nodded at the others. "It's that none o' it is our fault!"

"Methinks that Deat'blade is finally read t' 'ttack Redwall Abbey." Saltface also peered out of the tent. "That migh' be our big break, frien's! Our chance t' finally break free from his shackles! T' no longer be conscripts in his army, an' be free beasts again!"

"Well, why not now?" asked Unkkt. "While Deat'blade an' his army are beaten, broken, an' bleedin'? We could scram right 'ere an' now, an' nobeast would be well enough t' try to chase us!"

"Unkkt, that's brilliant!" Rupiyr exclaimed, patting his fellow vermin on the back.

"Madness is what it is!" Wuuzir shook his head. "But it just migh' work, if we do it together!"

"Then we'll take every chance we get!" Delnok declared. "We will make our final stan' there! Upon th' field o' battle! Fer Mossflower Woods!"

"Fer Mossflower Woods!"

They all stood as one with a mighty rallying cry. They emerged as one group from their tent. Fists and heads held high, weapons unsheathed, and armored heads to toes.

"Wot in tarnation-Whoomph!"

A passing Gorsespot had only a split second-before Unkkt and Wuuzir tackled him to the ground.

"Selfish curs!" Gorsespot spat. But Unkkt punched him in the diaphragm, while Wuuzir kicked dirt into his face. Delnok led Saltface and Rupiyr to the other tent. Gorsespot fell flat onto his back.

"Sound th' alarm!" He shouted to a groggy and dazed Blackwhisker, as his assailants sped off. The wearat had stumbled over in vain to help him. "Th' conscripts are escapin'!" In his peripheral vision, he could see the rest of them also dashing away.

"Alert!" Blackwhisker called out around the camp, despite his pains. "Escapin' conscripts! Them good vermin are runnin' fer it!"

"They've got win' o' us! Run!" Delnok ordered the others. "Get into th' forest!"

"Afta them!" Baric's voice rang out from the far side of the camp. "Don't let a single one get away!"

"Split up!" Delnok barked left and right. "Throw 'em off yer trails! Go!" He tossed pawfuls of autumn leaves at Dragel's soldiers. They stopped with a yelp.

Got meself a few precious seconds! He sped off as they swatted away the leaves. As fast as his feet would carry him.

Smackpaw on his left. He pulled back a tree branch. Thwack! It slapped and tripped up a rat.

Longfang on his right. He seized a stoat by the scruff of his shirt. Thump! He threw his pursuer into a pile of leaves.

Ahead of him, Saltface tripped Vadír on a tree root. All three vermin vanished into the depths of the forest.

"No!" On his right side, a few feet away, Rupiyr collapsed flat on his stomach with three other beasts on top of him. One of them held his ankles. The other two tied his ankles with rope. "Gerroff! Lemme alone!"

"Leave him be!" Delnok sprinted straight to them. He launched himself at the two front vermin.

His impact knocked the first one to the forest floor. He punched the second upside the chin. Then kicked the third in the stomach.

"C'mon, mate!" He united Rupiyr and helped him to his feet.

"Hungry!" Rupiyr barked at the polecat.

"I know, Rupiyr! I'm thirsty, too! But we've gotta move!"

They stumbled and bolted together into the forest brush. The fatigued Rupiyr almost tripped as he bent down to pick up a fistful of dirt.

He tossed it at the chasing vermin. They skidded to a stop to wipe it out of their faces.

Leaves and twigs and tree bark crunched beneath their feet. They pushed aside low-hanging tree branches and fruits. Leaped over waist-high berry bushes and protruding tree roots.

"Where we even headed?" The pine marten dared to ask.

"Anywhere they can't fin' us!" Delnok pushed him forward. "Just focus on gettin' away! As far, far away from 'ere as ya can!"

"Redwall Abbey ain't too far! Maybe we can hide there!"

"Are ya nuts?! An' put them Redwallers in more danger than they already are? No! We can't risk it! Keep movin'!"

"Well, I dunno 'bout ya. But I'm goin' straight back home!"

"Good thinkin'! Now run!"

Rupiyr leaped over a large log and leaped between two trees. He swerved around a thorny rosebush to spin behind a gargantuan oak tree.

Delnok stopped at the oak tree trunk and spun round. He unsheathed his sword in one swift motion. In his right arm, a steel shield pilfered from the armory tent.

Cries of vermin filled the forest air. Whether of his friends or foes, however, he could not tell. Cries of war mingled with screams of pain and shouts of surprise.

No matter. Gotta buy time for Rupiyr an' th' others t' get away! Mallgumm, Elrion, where are ya?

"Delnok!" Rupiyr's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Whattaya doin', mate?! We gotta run!"

"Go on without me!" Delnok called over his shoulder. "Get t' yer home! I'll hold them off!"

"Delnok, no!"

But the appearances of Gorsespot, Vadír, and Nazithail drowned out his desperate cry. Delnok gripped his sword tight. He held his shield up in a defensive posture.

"Rupiyr! Run! I won't tell ya again!"

Rupiyr's footsteps faded into the distance. Vadír cursed under his breath.

"Deat'blade warned ya o' the consequences o' crossin' 'im an' his troops again!" Gorsespot sneered at the polecat. "Didja forget? Now yar poor likkle Brawnhilda won't get t' celebrate autumn wit' ya!"

"Forget autumn!" Nazithail grinned from ear to ear. He gripped a scimitar in each paw. "She won't even get t' celebrate a marriage wit' 'im, either!"

"Be thankful you are not in Terramort Isle, polecat!" Vadír snarled while hefting his battleaxe. "His Majesty Grimscar Ragthorn would've had you dragged to execution! By me, no less! How'd you like that as a tragic end to your life? Surrender while yet you can! And Deathblade may be convinced to offer amnesty! Maybe!"

"Mossflowerrr!" Delnok roared and charged the vermin with sword and shield raised.

He parried a downward slash from Gorsespot. Slapped Nazithail across the face with his shield.

But the fox recovered to deliver diagonal slashes. Delnok ducked underneath them to tackle Vadír.

The wildcat recoiled and backed up. He gripped and swung his battleaxe in a low arc. Right towards Delnok's midsection.

Delnok dropped to one knee and caught the axe in his shield. Vadír hissed in frustration.

Whump! He kicked a charging Gorsespot's footpaws out from underneath him.

"Whoop!" The rat fell forward. Thump! He faceplanted into the dirt. His sword fell on the ground in front of him.

Delnok pushed himself to his feet. He forced Vadír's axe away.

The wildcat yowled and stumbled backwards. But he reclaimed his footing in the next instant. Delnok crushed the nagging twinge of satisfaction in his heart. He could see Gorsespot climbing back to his feet in his peripheral vision.

Nazithail roared and charged again. Delnok turned to parry one scimitar. But-

"Aaagh!" The first scimitar cut across his right hip. A spin round to get behind.

"Auuugh!" The second scimitar cut across his left hip.

Nazithail elbowed him in the side. Delnok staggered and slipped on a tree root. He landed flat on his rear end.

"No! I'm not givin' up!" He snatched up his sword and shield again. Biting back the pain, he bolted back into the fray.

"Feisty energy about ya!" Nazithail let out a sadistic laugh. "Ya would've made a fierce warrior in Deat'blade's army, 'ad ya chosen t' stay!"

"T' HellGates wit' Deathblade!" Delnok bellowed and brought his sword down on Nazithail's shoulder. "I'm done bein' a pawn in his gran' chess game! I'm sure my fellow vermin feel th' same! It's high time we took control o' the board!"

The blunt force of the blade's flat side sent rippling pain through the fox. Thunk! Delnok slammed the base of his shield into his enemy's temple.

Winded, the clumsy Nazithail teetered sideways and fell to the ground. Delnok held a paw to his right side. Fresh warm blood dripped from the wound. It coated his fur and stained his armor. Blood dripped freely from the wound on his left hip.

Gorsespot seized the moment. He growled as he charged the polecat.

Delnok ducked under the first arcing slash. He parried the second as the blade came back around.

"Agh! No!" He cried out as Vadír chopped his shield out of his arm. "Ugh!" Gorsespot's knee to his stomach knocked the wind straight out of him. Together, the two vermin forced him onto his knees.

"Down, ya selfish cur!" Gorsespot spat. He threw Delnok upside down. Delnok slammed into the ground, face to the dirt.

"Finally…" Vadír hissed. "Hold him still! Let me get into a good position…"

Gorsespot planted his boot on Delnok's back with callous laughter. The polecat protested to no avail. Vadír hefted his battleaxe. He held the cold metal to Delnok's neck. The polecat shuddered.

Vadír raised his axe high over his head. Sunlight glinted off the double blades. Delnok shut his eyes tight.

Brawnhilda…Forgive me! I love you!

WHOOMPH!

A scream of pain from Gorsespot. A cry of surprise from Vadír. A clatter of weapons to the ground.

Delnok chanced to open his eyes. Gorsespot lay flat on his back holding his stomach. Vadír stood a foot or two off the ground, hoisted by his neck.

Delnok pushed himself up into a kneeling position. There before his eyes stood-

"Brosk!"

"Traitor!" Vadír hissed in the lizard's face. He flailed his legs and clawed at the monitor lizard's hand around his neck. Bloodstained bandages wrapped around Brosk's free-yet injured-hand.

"You know," Brosk hissed back at the wildcat. "In my homeland, we eat little kitty catsss like you."

"I ain't afraid of you, reptile!" Vadír snarled at him. "Put me down and I'll take you on, one-on-one! Bet you can't fight with one hand broken, can you? Ha! I'm not scared to be your enemy, Brosk!"

"Well, that'sss the joke, isssn't it?" Brosk let out a dry and mirthless chuckle. "You're not an enemy, Vadír."

The color drained from Vadír's face when Brosk brought him in close.

"You're breakfassst."

He slammed the wildcat into a tree. Vadír yelped and slumped down the trunk to the ground, unconscious.

"Ye're a bloody traitor!" Gorsespot shouted. He picked up his weapon while he got to his feet. "An' ya'll suffer th' fate o' all turncoats!"

"Oh, shuttup!" Brosk shot back through gritted teeth. He backslapped Gorsespot across the face. "Shut thhhe bleeding HellGatesss up!"

The blow sent the rat flying into the trees behind Delnok. Behind Brosk, Nazithail stirred and sat up.

He stood up, snarling, and drew a dagger from his belt. Delnok's face turned chalk-white.

"Brosk, look out!"

Shunk! "Uhck!"

Brosk keeled backwards from the stab to his lower back. Nazithail's face contorted with hateful anger. Delnok clapped a paw to his mouth.

"Backstabbin' th' backstabber!" Nazithail declared. Shunk! Shunk! He stabbed Brosk twice more for good measure. Brosk slumped to his knees.

"No!" Delnok scrambled over to the monitor lizard. He pressed pawfuls of leaves against the lizard's bleeding wounds. Brosk heaved for breath.

"Don't worry, Delnok. There'sss nothhhing you can do. I've been hurt worssse."

"Like HellGates ya 'ave, Brosk," Delnok snapped at him. "'Elp!" He called into the forest. "Somebeast 'elp!"

"Shut up!" Nazithail advanced on them. "Just shut up! Nobeas' is comin' t' save ya! Not vermin! Not woodlander! Not anybeast!"

He raised his dagger for a killing blow to Brosk's nape-

"Ooomph!"

He fell forward and faceplanted into the grass. Where he stood lay Mallgumm Wegendell, having tackled his legs from behind.

"Mal?" Delnok stared in surprise.

"Don't ask, just go!" Mallgumm nodded at the path beyond the polecat and Brosk.

"Delnok! Brosk!" Clyde leaped out of the trees and brush. He helped Brosk to his feet, and together, they dashed off into the forest.

"Noooo!" Nazithail spat, practically foaming at the mouth. "Curses o' 'EllGates upon ya all!"

Two vermin took Mallgumm under the armpits. They tied his paws behind his back with thick rope, despite his protests.

"Well," Nazithail climbed to his feet. His muzzle spread into a cruel smile. "At least we've still got ye, carpenter weasel."

"How many got away?!"

Nagrig held a fist to his map table. He glared coldly at the disheveled vermin standing before him. Nazithail brushed dirt from his tunic, not daring to meet the High Lord's gaze. Baric had one paw on his sword; the other perched in his trouser pocket. Gorsespot grimaced and growled with vengeful hate. He rubbed his diaphragm and winced every now and again.

"Who got away?!" Nagrig barked. Thump! He slammed his fist on the table. The vermin flinched. "Give me their names! Now!"

"Unkkt…" Baric drummed his claws on his sword hilt. "Rupiyr. Clyde, Wuuzir, Saltface, an' Lon'fan'."

He watched Nagrig closely. The High Lord held a gin glass in his offpaw. Its grip tightened with each successive name.

"Smackpaw." Tighter. Claws scratched the rim of the glass. Even tighter. Paw clutched the glass until it turned red. "Delnok Rottail-"

Crush!

Nagrig's gin glass shattered. Shards and liquor flew and spilled everywhere. The three vermin flinched.

"Graaagh!" Nagrig roared bloody murder. He cradled his paw in the other and turned around to his throne.

"Brother!" Zakrul hurried to fetch a bandage cloth. He tended to his brother's now-bleeding palm. Apropos of nothing, Adhuxnuo and Krodnal cleaned up the broken glass and wasted gin.

"You mean to tell me…" Nagrig sat down upon his throne while Zakrul wrapped his paw. "That we lost eightof our conscripts?!"

"Whaddaya mean, it's hardly a major loss!" Nazithail, looking earnestly baffled, shrugged. "Ya've got Dragel an' us, milord!" He pointed a nonchalant thumb to the entrance of the tent. "And no less than seven dozen o' th' finest warriors o' His Majesty, Kin' Grimscar Ragthorn!"

"He makes a good point." Zakrul nodded at Nagrig, who couldn't help but agree. Zakrul tied the bandage tight inside Nagrig's palm. "This is hardly a setback worth giving attention to."

"All right, who's left?" Nagrig asked the trio.

"Only six," Baric growled. "Swoos, Mananagal, an' Elrion Hackadale. We managed t' appre'end them before they could get too far. Mallgumm Wegendell, too, risked his life for the others; he's here. As are Unkkt and Wuuzir; Dragel's troops 'ave 'em. But all th' rest got away.

Nagrig thumped his good paw on the armrest. Then he sighed and facepalmed himself.

"Rottail…I warned him. And he didn't listen! Seditious traitor! He will pay dearly for this! I'll find Brawnhilda and slaughter her, right in front of him! I'll burn down his home and make him inhale the smoke! I'll-"

"It gets worse, I'm afraid." Gurutharc stood up, still holding a poultice to his Galit injuries. "I think Brosk has officially defected."

"What?!"

Nagrig looked up from his palm, aghast. Then he scoffed and shook his head. "Well, that's his loss. Not ours. All of the privilege we gave him, and none of the gratitude. Despicable."

He wrapped a paw around his falchion hilt. "When I find him, I'll kill him myself! He'll regret ever disobeying me! Come to think of it…"

He stood up and marched out of the tent. The others all followed.

"Where are you going, Nagrig?" Zakrul asked his brother. Nagrig crossed the camp in the direction of the armory tents. "What are you going to do?"

"I am Nagrig Deathblade!" Nagrig unsheathed his falchion. Everybeast marveled at the magnificent sword. "It's time I lived up to my name. I should've done this days ago!"

When they arrived at the tent, Nagrig stood in the entrance. All of the good vermin were comforting each other. Swoos and Mananagal leaped to their feet, fists raised.

"You vermin of Mossflower have harassed me and my army for the last time!" Nagrig declared. He pointed his falchion at them. Its steel blade gleamed in the mid-morning sunlight.

"It's your fault the Sandeyes got away! Your fault the Skyleafs were rescued! Your fault your friends were able to escape my clutches! Your fault for all of these calamities! I am finally fed up with this spiteful anarchy! After all I have done for you, this is how you repay my generosity? No more! This ends now! Tell me where your fellow vermin have gone! As Lord of Morringtat, I command you!"

"We'll never say anythin'!" Mananagal spat at the Lord of Morringtat. "They're our friends! We'll protect 'em 'til our dyin' breaths! We'll tell ya nuthin'!"

"Aye!" Swoos hit his fist to his heart. "Mark our words, dis is only da beginnin'! Mossflowa will be ours again!"

"Very well, then."

Sshrrkkt!

"Mananagal!"

Nagrig Deathblade ran his falchion straight through Manangal's body.

The sable looked down at the blade on which he'd been impaled. Then up at Deathblade. All color, all blood, all life, drained from his face.

"No…"

Nagrig planted his foot on Mananagal's chest. Squelch! He wrenched his sword out of the sable's body. Mananagal's broken body crumpled gracelessly to the tent floor.

"Mananagal!" Mallgumm clambered over to him. He held the sable's head in one paw, and his wound in the other. But the blood could not be stopped as it flowed freely down his body.

"No! No, no, no! Mana! Mana, speak t' me! Help! Somebeas' help!" He called outside the tent. "Hold on, Mana! Hold on! Please! Mana!"

Mananagal reached up a trembling paw to the weasel's shoulder.

"I…I'm…sorry…M-m-Mallgumm…"

His paw fell limp to the ground.

"Mananagaaaaaaaalll!" Mallgumm dropped his head onto his fallen vermin's body. "Oh, seasons, Mananagal!" He wailed and sobbed openly, his tears freshly falling. Opposite him, Elrion Hackadale could only watch in stunned speechless shock, paw over his mouth.

"Ya monster!" Swoos roared at Nagrig through stinging tears. "Ya absolute heartless, soulless, gutless monster! Why?!"

"Come now, Swoos." A callous grin spread across Nagrig's face. His falchion dripped with fresh blood. "How else did you think this could've ended? Look at it this way: at least Mananagal is now joining your fellow dead vermin in the Dark Forest. That ermine who managed to get away? Before my officers caught up to him? Must've been quite the satisfying experience, sticking their daggers into a dissenter and deserter! At least Mananagal didn't suffer!"

Swoos let out a scream of blind full-lunged rage. He charged Nagrig with clenched fists.

But Zakrul and Krodnal each took a wrist. Gurutharc tripped his footpaws out from under him. Adhuxnuo threw a wrathful fist to the rat's left temple.

The blows forced him to the floor. He lay there glaring through swelling tears at his adversaries. Mallgumm only continued to wail. He now cradled Mananagal's lifeless corpse in his arms, rocking back and forth. Elrion bowed his head, paws clasped together in silent prayer. Nagrig turned to his officers.

"Check on Vadír. Tell him I have a task of the utmost critical importance. it's time he lived up to his title of Executioner."

He then found Ripspit and Gorsespot.

"Go to the Rottail residence. Find Brawnhilda. I want to teach her the consequences of her fiancé's disloyalty."