Chapter Five

Rescued

Dawn, the next morning

Western Coast, Mossflower

Martin woke with a start, roused from sleep by a bird's soft whistle echoing through the trees.

He looked around the silent camp where the vermin patrol had bedded down for the night. They had let the fire go out, only the ashes still smoldered with a faint orange glow beneath them. He scanned each of their still forms for signs of wakefulness but saw nothing. Even the guards who sat nearby were sound asleep, leaning their backs against each other.

Martin shifted a little, wincing at the stiff soreness in his injured shoulder as he began to work on the ropes binding his swollen wrists, turning them every which way in an attempt to loosen them.

Even though he was exhausted from yesterday's events, he hardly slept during the night, The thought of what Caliban might have planned for him and his friends had kept him awake and thinking; not only that but it was difficult to sleep tied to a tree.

He figured he must have dozed off at some point because the sky was lightening to a grayish pink hue. Dawn was about to break and soon, the vermin would be up and ready to march, most likely back to the shoreline where their boats were waiting to take them out to the fleet which had been anchored a safe distance away, out of range of the Mossflower army's catapults.

A second whistling chirp came from the trees behind him. Looking over at the sleeping vermin, he waited to see if one of them would react to the noise, but they remained still.

Another chirp came from his right and immediately after, the one behind him answered it. The warriormouse couldn't help but smile as the rescue party communicated with one another. It was a clever way to be heard but remain hidden.

A few more minutes went by before familiar shapes began to materialize from the shadows, surrounding the slumbering vermin. Feeling paws tugging on the kelp ropes that bound him to the sapling, Martin looked over his shoulder, sharing a wink with Gonff as the Mousethief pulled a knife from his belt and began to saw at the ropes. Once his paws were free, he used Gonff's knife to cut the ropes binding his ankles together.

Aynon was woken by a sharp pain in his chest. His eyes flew open and he sat up with a jolt, staring down his nose at the sharp point of a javelin just inches away. He raised his eyes upwards, meeting the cold gaze of the otter queen Garraway Bullow. She frowned grimly, jerking her head to signal him to get to his feet. Slowly, the black rat stood up and raised his paws in the air, folding them behind his head, staring around him at his patrol who were woken up with the same treatment. They were just as surprised as he was to be caught sleeping by the enemy.

Turning to his right, he narrowed his eyes as Martin approached, taking his sword back from one of the otter warriors passing by. The warriormouse met Aynon's gaze evenly, his blue-gray eyes cold.

The black rat snorted in disgust. "You're making a big mistake, mouse, taking me prisoner."

"Maybe I am," Martin replied icily, sheathing the weapon on his belt. "But it will give us an advantage against your father."

A low growl sounded in Aynon's throat. "More blood will be spilled before this day is through. I guarantee that most of it will be yours. There won't be much of you left once Caliban is through with ye!" His threatening rant was interrupted by a hard shove from behind by one of the otters, forcing him to march out of the clearing. He shot one last murderous glare at Martin before allowing himself to be led away.

Brushing off Aynon's threat, Martin turned to Garraway and smiled, grasping the otter queen's large paw. "I'm sure glad you came along when you did."

"Its good to see you still around, Warrior." Garraway shook his paw heartily, before moving past him to see to their prisoners. Martin went to follow her but Gonff and Dinny stole up on either side of him, grinning widely.

"Hurr we thought you wuz a'goner, Marthen." Dinny smiling up at him.

Gonff snorted. "He thought that. I knew you'd be too slippery for 'em and got away."

Martin gave a nod, putting a paw over his throbbing shoulder. "Well, they managed to catch up to me after a while." He replied dryly as they followed the group through the trees to head back to camp. Guilt crossed his face as yesterday's events came flooding into his mind. "Did you find them?"

Gonff's smile faded and he took a breath. "Aye, we found them. Trimp told us all of you stood your ground and fought with those vermin as long as you could." Gonff sighed. "You don't know how relieved I was to not see you lying there with them, matey."

"Trimp got away?" Martin asked, stopping in his tracks. "Is she alright?"

Gonff pushed him forward, forcing him to keep walking. "She's fine. Just a few scratches. She curled herself into a spiky ball and hid in a patch of nettles until it was safe to come out. Then she ran back to camp and told us you were in trouble."

Martin swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head. "I shouldn't have taken them out there with me yesterday. I should've done it myself."

"Doan't go'n blame yerself, Marthen." Dinny assured his friend. "Cudda 'appened t'any o'us."

"Din's right, matey." Gonff added softly. "There was nothing you could have done." He glanced at Martin's bandaged shoulder in surprise, finally noticing the torn sleeve and dried blood that had dripped down his arm now that it was getting lighter as the sun rose. "What did you do to your shoulder?"

"I got stabbed trying to fight them off." Martin nodded his head at the female weasel walking ahead of them with an otter javelin at her back. "If she hadn't sewed it up, I probably would have bled to death."

"Huh." Gonff huffed in disbelief, shaking his head. "Well, we'll have Sister Fern check on it to make sure. Wouldn't do you any good if that wound got infected."

Hearing a commotion from the front of the group, Martin drew his sword and ran over to investigate, Gonff and Dinny at his heels. They caught sight of a few otters racing through the trees after a ferret, heading for the shoreline.

Martin went to follow but Gonff held him back. "Oh no you don't, Warrior! Not with that shoulder wound! Let Garraway and her otters do it; you've done enough already."

Reluctantly, the warriormouse sheathed his sword and turned to the otter queen. "What happened?"

Garraway Bullow jerked her head in the direction of the fleeing vermin. "That ferret had a knife hidden that we didn't find when we searched them. He went and stabbed Barrool in the arm with it."

Concerned, Martin looked over at Garraway's longtime captain. The big otter gave him a reassuring grin as a young ottermaid tied a piece of cloth around his bleeding arm. "Jus' a scratch, mates."

Martin took a breath. "You might as well call your otters back, Your Highness, and let that ferret deliver the news to Caliban that we have his son."

"What fer?"

Martin stared at her evenly. "He'd have found out eventually. Might as well give him something to think about."

Garraway didn't like Martin's suggestion but she gave in, sending a couple otters to bring their comrades back.

As the group resumed their trek back to camp, Gonff leaned in close and whispered in Martin's ear. "You'll lose the element of surprise letting that ferret go. You could have made negotiations for them to surrender."

Martin shrugged, wincing as pain shot through his injured shoulder. "Like I said. He would have found out anyway. This will make him realize we mean business by taking a valuable prisoner."

True to Martin's statement, Caliban did find out shortly after the ferret arrived with the news.

The enraged warlord tossed a half-drunk bottle of wine across the stateroom of his ship, shattering it against the wall and splashing his cowering captains with red liquid and glass.

"You incompetent idiots!" He snarled viciously. "Half of my ships have been destroyed, several camps have been set on fire, potential slaves liberated, nearly a quarter of the horde are dead. And now my son has been taken prisoner. What is wrong with you worthless lumps that you can't overtake a bunch of landbeasts?!"

His leading captain, a weasel, answered for his terrified companions even though he was afraid of the angry rat himself. "That mouse warrior seems to always be one step ahead of us, no matter what we throw at them."

"Then try to be one step ahead of him!" Caliban spat, slamming his fist on the table, making all of them flinch. He pointed at the weasel. "You stay here. The rest of ye, get out of my sight!"

There was no hesitation. The assorted vermin fought each other to be first through the doors. When they were gone, Caliban sat down in his chair and massaged his brow.

The weasel captain approached the big rat tentatively. "Sir, this land isn't worth continuing to fight over. Those preybeasts won't give up."

Caliban dropped his paws and scowled at him. "Oh yes they will." He leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard thoughtfully. "They will if they have no beast to lead them."

"Sir?" The weasel raised a brow inquiringly.

"Are you too stupid to understand?" Caliban snapped. "Let me make it plain and simple for you." He leaned forward. "What happens when you cut the head off a cockroach?"

His captain blinked in confusion but he went along with it. "Well... it doesn't die right away."

"And what happens when there's no head?" Caliban raised an eyebrow.

The weasel shrugged his battle-scarred shoulders. "It wanders around aimlessly."

"Precisely. Do you know what I'm trying to say now?" Caliban bared his teeth in a wicked smile.

Hiding his uneasiness, the weasel nodded. "Killing that mouse will make them lose confidence and they'll surrender."

The black rat put his footpaws up on the table. "Now you're catching on. We were this close..." he pinched his claws together. "...to winning this war. It's only when the mouse and his friends showed up that their fighting methods improved. Sure they have plenty of beasts leading them and making decisions, but he's the one they look to the most. If we killed him, they'll just be a cockroach without its head."

The weasel shook his head doubtfully, not sure if killing one beast would make a difference. "None of us can get close enough to kill him though. He's dangerous with that sword in his paws." He went on nervously. "Even Aynon couldn't stop him." Realizing what he just said, he flinched, waiting for Caliban to explode in anger, but the rat remained calm, his yellow eyes thoughtful.

"We don't have to be close." The warlord said at last after an uncomfortable silence passed between them.

"But-

"Are you telling me you're afraid of a mouse?"

The weasel glared at him indignantly. "No, but-

"Then stop making excuses ye lily-liver and find Vida. Bring her to me!" Seeing his captain hesitate, Caliban stood up with enough force that it knocked his chair over. "Now! Before I chop yer tail off!" He snarled.

As the weasel hurried out of the stateroom to carry out his lord's demand, Caliban followed him out into the chill morning air, turning his head in the direction of the shore.

Walking over to the railing, he leaned on it; his eyes fixed on the burnt forest where he knew beyond that, the woodlanders had their camp. Now alone with his thoughts, his mind went back to the day he had seen Martin the Warrior fight. At first, he had mocked the idea that a meek mouse could be a warrior but after seeing the warriormouse in action and how formidable of a fighter he was, it made the big rat nervous for the first time since he laid siege to Mossflower. Here was a warrior who could change the tide of the war and come out on top. It angered him to think how close Aynon had been to bringing Martin in. And now his son was the prisoner instead. He dug his claws into the wood, imagining it was the mouse's flesh that he so desperately wanted to rip into. Martin probably thought he had the upper hand now. But let him go on thinking that. Caliban grinned as his vile plan came together to destroy his enemy.

He chuckled, his eyes fixed on the shoreline. "Enjoy your last hours, mouse."

Martin grit his teeth as Sister Fern cut the bloodstained bandage from his aching shoulder. His friends were gathered nearby, waiting for the Abbey sister's verdict on the wound. She inspected the hastily sewn-up gash, noting the slight swelling and redness. "I don't think that weasel knew what she was doing. She didn't clean the blood off. And I doubt the thread she used was sterilized."

Gonff narrowed his eyes in concern. "What does that mean?"

"She made it more likely for the wound to get infected." She replied sharply, looking over her shoulder towards the fire pit. "Where's that hot water?"

"I got it!" Trimp hurried over with a steaming bowl and set it down beside the mouse sister.

Sister Fern cut the last of the bandage away and pulled the torn sleeve apart so she could start cleaning the dried blood.

Pulling a rag from the steaming water, she wrung it out and gave Martin a knowing glance. "You're not going to like this, Warrior."

Martin grinned. "I'll manage."

He winced, gritting his teeth as she started scrubbing. She was right. He didn't like it one bit! "Anything happen while I was gone?" He asked Gonff in order to keep himself focused on something else other than the pain shooting down his arm.

Gonff sat down on a nearby stump. "Well, we had another fight down on the shore. No fatalities or serious injuries." He shrugged. "Other than that, there's not much to report."

Martin's entire arm was throbbing painfully by the time the meticulous Sister Fern was satisfied it was clean enough.

The plump mouse sister reached into her bag and pulled out a small pair of sharp scissors, the kind to cut thread.

Martin glanced at them warily. "What are those for?"

"I'm going to take out what the weasel used, clean the wound and re-stitch it so you don't get an infection and possibly lose your entire arm." She positioned her scissors and gave him a hard stare. "Or lose your life."

Trimp wrinkled her nose when the wound started to bleed as Sister Fern began to cut into the stitches. Fighting back a wave of nausea, she stepped closer. "What else can I do to help, Sister?"

Seeing the uncomfortable look on her face, the warriormouse shook his head. "You've done enough, Trimp." Martin replied through his clenched teeth. "You need to go and rest."

Sister Fern looked up at the young hogmaid. "She should have been resting any way." She waved a paw at her. "Off you go now, young'un."

Trimp started to argue but Dinny grabbed her by the arm and led her away. "But I've been resting..." She continued to protest as they walked off.

Martin shook his head, smiling after them. "Nothing keeps her down for long, does it?"

Gonff chuckled. "Aye. She's stubborn, that's fer sure."

Folgrim and Tungro approached, each burdened with a bow and a quiver of arrows. Martin stared at them questioningly. "What are you two doing?"

"Just took some food over to our prisoners and we're about to go out on patrol again." Tungro replied, adjusting the large bow on his shoulder. "But I came to ask if you had anything else planned for our special guest?"

Knowing he meant Aynon, Martin shrugged nonchalantly. "Just treat him the same as the others." He hissed in pain as Sister Fern pulled the cut thread from the swollen skin. "Have you given him food yet?" He asked them through grit teeth.

Folgrim shook his head, his single green ochre eye glinting with hatred for the black rat. "No. We left 'im for you to deal with. Figurin' you might 'ave some information to ask 'im."

Martin gave a nod. "Yeah, I do." He looked down at his shoulder. It was now bleeding profusely from the reopened gash. Sister Fern put down her scissors and quickly covered it with a clean bandage, pressing down firmly to stop the blood flow.

Gonff snorted doubtfully. "You're not gonna get anything out of him that you want, Martin."

The warriormouse gave his best friend a knowing look. "Maybe, but it's worth a try."

Sister Fern had reached into her bag again with her free paw and pulled out a small bottle filled with clear liquid. She pulled the cork off with her teeth. "Alright, Warrior, brace yourself. This stuff burns like crazy but it will help clean the wound." She lifted the blood soaked bandage and dipped the bottle.

The first few drops felt like fire searing his flesh. He grunted in pain as the liquid foamed and fizzed, mixing with the blood and turning pink.

Tungro nodded his head at his brother and turned to go. "Martin, let me know what that skin-tailed wretch says, will ye?"

Martin still had his eyes closed, grunting a reply as the two otters walked away.

Gonff stared down at him, paws akimbo, frowning concernedly. "What good is talking gonna do? You know as well as I do that Caliban will just launch another bloody attack on us to get his son back."

"I've been thinking of an idea, Gonff." Martin replied, slightly irritated by his friend's pessimism. "Just leave it to me."

Sister Fern frowned at him. "And after you've talked with him, Martin; you're going to come back here and get some sleep." When Martin tried to protest, she cut him off. "Even if I have to force herbs down your throat to knock you out!" She threatened, making Martin's pale eyes widen with surprise at her sudden show of temper.

Gonff laughed heartily at Martin's shocked expression. "Watch out, Warrior! The good sister is meaner then you are! Aren't you glad you allowed her to come?" He teased before walking away to attend to another task.

Aynon was taking a brief doze, where he had been chained by the neck to a big tree, enjoying the slight warmth of the winter sunshine. He wasn't too worried about being taken prisoner. He knew he had nothing to fear from the woodlanders as far as his father was concerned. He treated his imprisonment as a long break from the harshness of horde life and his father's constant demands and cruelty.

Hearing paws crunching in the snow, he opened one eye, grinning widely when he saw Martin approaching with a tray of food.

He sat up from leaning against the tree, raising his arms high above his head in a stretch. "Well, Martin. I was wonderin' if you'd come visit me." He glanced at the warriormouse's newly bandaged shoulder and grinned. "How's the war wound?"

Martin didn't waste any time. "You and I have a lot to talk about, Aynon."

Aynon's smile faded. "You won't get nothing out of me, mouse." He snorted in disgust. "Don't waste your breath."

Keeping a safe distance away, Martin sat the tray of food down on the snow and slid it towards the rat with his foot. "Alright then." He met Aynon's gaze and crossed his arms. "Looks like you won't be released any time soon." He smirked.

Aynon scoffed incredulously. "The longer you keep me prisoner, the more trouble yer gonna have." He gave a dry laugh. "Unless that's what yer wantin'."

Martin raised an eyebrow. "That's exactly what I want. You're the bait to get your father right where I want him."

The black rat was still shaking with mirth. "And what kind of plan do you have in mind to get him there, Martin?"

Martin twitched his tail impatiently, annoyed by the rat's sarcastic remarks. "I need more information from you before I can make it work."

"What information?"

"Everything that you know about. Caliban's next move, what he's planning, his weaknesses." Martin paused. "That kind of information."

"Pfft. Forget it, mouse." Aynon reached for the tray of food but was startled when a sword blade slammed down on it, nearly taking his claws off. He jerked his head up at Martin, his eyes wide with shock. "Are you crazy?!"

He glanced back down at the sword blade still between his claws and quickly moved his paw away.

The warriormouse withdrew his weapon and sheathed it on his belt. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes to end this war. Even if it means killing the likes of you to do it." Martin threatened, the beginnings of a snarl in his voice. "You'll find out just how crazy I can be if you keep your mouth shut any longer. Don't cross me, rat."

Aynon swallowed nervously, intimidated by Martin's piercing stare.

The warriormouse frowned and turned to go. "I'll be back later," he looked over his shoulder. "And you better have some answers for me then." With that, Martin stormed away, fighting the urge to go back and force it out of him.

Trimp was intrigued, watching quietly as Sister Fern skillfully tore strips of cloth to use for bandages, somehow managing to keep them perfectly straight. She would hand the strips over to Trimp for her to hang on a line behind them, tied between two tents.

The Abbey sister tore another strip. "There. That should be enough to get us through another battle. We just need to boil these to sterilize them and hang them to dry."

Trimp nodded grimly. "It seems like this war will never end." She sighed wistfully, looking towards the west where the sea was just barely visible through the gaps in the branches. Late afternoon shadows painted the snow in blue hues. "I sure do miss Redwall Abbey." Their breath hung in the air like smoke as the temperature continued to drop with the sun setting. "Do you think we'll ever be able to go home, Sister Fern?"

Sister Fern patted the hogmaid's paw. "We have to believe that, young'un." She stood up and began to sort through the torn strips, tearing some in half to use for less serious wounds. "But knowing our Warrior, he'll get us out of this mess."

The young hogmaid smiled fondly. Of course Martin would.

After having rested most of the morning, Trimp was wide awake and full of energy, eager to help where she could. "What else can I do, Sister Fern?"

The Abbey sister laughed as she hung more strips on the line. "Oh, I dearly wish I had your energy, Miss Trimp." She nodded at a couple of wooden buckets. "Do you think you can walk down to the stream and fetch some water that we can use to boil these?"

Trimp beamed. "Certainly." She picked up the buckets and turned to go but Sister Fern called her back.

"Before you do though," Sister Fern turned away from the line, meeting Trimp's eyes. "Can you just look in on Martin for me? Just make sure he didn't tear his stitches thrashing around in his sleep."

When Martin had returned from taking Aynon a tray of food, Sister Fern sent him to get some rest after seeing the glazed look in his eyes. Of course, the warriormouse insisted he was fine but soon relented and took the Abbey sister's advice. He'd been sound asleep since before noon, which proved just how exhausted he was after his harrowing experience the day before.

"Of course!" Trimp picked up the buckets and hurried away. "I'll be right back!" She called over her shoulder, passing Dinny and Gonff who both had an armful of dry twigs for the fire.

Gonff set his load down next to the fire pit and set to work to build up the flames. "Where she off to in such a hurry?"

Sister Fern chuckled, hanging another strip of cloth on the line. "Going to fetch me some more water down at the stream. I told her to check on Martin too."

Dinny grinned. "Hurr, ol' Marthen's still sound sleepin' loike an hinfant!"

"He's been out for a while." Gonff rose to his footpaws. "I should probably go wake him up."

"No." Sister Fern shook her graying head. "Leave him be. Martin needs the sleep. I don't think he's slept much since we've been here."

Gonff nodded, his usual cheery face fading into concern. "He hasn't been sleeping well for a while, Sister."

Sister Fern tilted her head questioningly. Gonff shrugged. "Something's bothering him and I have a feeling it has something to do with what happened to him before he came to Mossflower."

"Oh?"

The mousethief nodded. "There's too many indications that prove he hasn't told us everything. What happened to him in the North Lands is just the start of it."

Dinny and Sister Fern shared a confused glance. They both knew that Gonff knew Martin better than anyone and it surprised them to learn that there were more things about their Warrior that Gonff still didn't know.

THUNK!

The arrow hit dead center where a target had been crudely carved into the ship's mast. Vida, the female rat Caliban had sent his captain after, aimed another arrow at the same spot before letting it fly. It shredded the first arrow, hitting the same center spot on the target. She smiled in satisfaction, fitting another arrow to her bowstring.

Caliban chuckled gleefully, tearing a piece of roasted meat from the legbone of a shorebird. He wiped his greasy paw on his filthy tunic. "I knew I could count on you, love." He said with his mouth full. "Yer the best archer in this horde."

Vida relaxed the string and rested the bow on her shoulder. She was still skeptical about her lord's demand that he had ordered of her earlier that morning. "How are you going to persuade Martin to meet with you? He's not stupid enough to come by himself."

Caliban chewed thoughtfully. "I realize that. It's still comin' to me, see." Seeing Vida's doubtful expression, he laughed, spraying pieces of chewed meat from his mouth. "I'm in no hurry, pretty one. I want that mouse waiting in suspense. He knows I'm out to kill him, harhar! But he doesn't know how or when!" He tossed the legbone overboard and reached for a tankard of grog sitting on a barrel nearby. He took a long swig, allowing it to spill down his beard. He wiped his mouth, grinning from ear to ear. "Even if Aynon has told him our plans, he wouldn't know this particular part of it." He approached Vida slowly, leaning his face close to hers. "I trust you to make sure your aim is accurate. Hmm?"

Vida tried not to choke on the warlord's nauseating stench. She gave a curt nod. "He won't know what hit him, Sir."

Caliban grinned, showing of a row of nasty, blackened fangs. "Good." He leaned away and went back to guzzling down his grog.

Vida frowned, still feeling a little uneasy about her leader's deadly scheme. Without another word, she notched her arrow on her bowstring and turned about in a quick motion and let it fly, sending it spinning into the center of the target where it completely destroyed the second arrow.

Her aim was accurate, no doubt about that. It was attempting to kill a formidable enemy that made her uneasy. How would the horde of landbeasts react once Martin was dead?

By the time Trimp reached the stream with her buckets, the forest had darkened considerably. Kneeling down on the bank, she leaned over and dipped the first bucket into the icy, trickling water, humming softly to herself.

Hearing a twig snap, she sat up and looked behind her, clutching the bucket handle tightly with both paws. Scanning the shadowy woods, she waited a few moments to see if somebeast would show themselves but it remained still and quiet.

The hogmaid shrugged, though her heart started to pound in her chest. If it was someone she knew, they wouldn't be sneaking around.

She looked around again, ears pricked for another sound. After a while, she shrugged and shook her head. "Just your imagination." She reassured herself and reached for the other bucket. As she turned back to the stream, a big ferret appeared in front of her. She dropped the bucket and went to scream but someone grabbed her from behind and covered her mouth with a large paw to stifle her cries. Producing a pouch from their tunic pocket, the ferret pressed it against Trimp's nose. The sickly sweet scent filled her nostrils and she tried to fight it but her captors held her tight. She fought back, using her claws defensively, fanning her quills out, but the vermin only tightened their grip.

Feeling lightheaded, she dropped to her knees as a dizzying blackness came over her. She could hear them talking but their voices were muffled and undistinguishable. She finally passed out, going limp in her captors' arms.