User:ScottyBlue

'''THIS IS MY REDWALL STORY: I DON'T KNOW IF I WILL EVER FINISH IT OR NOT, BUT AS I ADD CHAPTERS TO THE FAN-FIC GALLERY, I WILL ADD THE WORDS IN THEM TO THE SINGLE PAGE HERE FOR EASIER READING. IF ANYONE WISHES TO LEAVE COMMENTS ABOUT THE STORY PLEASE EITHER FIND THE CHAPTER YOU WISH TO COmMENT ON IN THE FAN-FIC GALLERY OR POST THEM ON MY TALK PAGE. THERE IS ALSO A FULLY NAVIGABLE TABLE OF CONTENTS, SO ONE CAN JUMP DIRECTLY TO THE CHAPTER THEY LEFT OFF ON. THANKS, --Scotty Bluefleck, Mountain Hare from the Highlands 00:34, March 8, 2011 (UTC) '''

=GINGIVERIAN: A Tale of Redwall=

From far away, we marched to lands

We had not ever known before;

Never again to return home

To bitter, cold, forsaken shores.

New friends we found; old foes as well,

Upon our first arrival there.

Would you like to hear the story?

Come, then, friends! Pull up a chair

And listen to our family's tale

Of friendship, sadness, love and woe,

Of battles, songs, feasts and fights;

That happened not so long ago.

Dibbun, Elder, Young one, Old one,

All you Redwall friends draw near;

I'll tell you tales of the descendants

Of the famed prince Gingivere.

Few earthly entities are more wild, more merciless, and more terrifying than a summer storm at night. This is especially the case if the storm happens to hit in Mossflower Country; the opressive darkness of the trees, crashing thunder and crackling chains of lightning overhead, overflowing riverbanks, and howling gales ripping the woodland foliage apart are enough to strike fear into the hearts of even the stoutest warrior. Any creature with a grain of sense would have sought immediate shelter at the first sign of the approaching typhoon; only the bravest, or possibly the most insane, would venture out into a night like this.

Like pellets of iron, enormous, wind-driven droplets of rain sheeted down remorselessly upon what appeared to be a slowly moving heap of black on the woodland floor. The traveler's clothes and voluminous dark cloak were in tatters; she was gaunt and emaciated, and wounded in dozens of places. With the wind blowing directly against her she could barely manage to put one paw in front of the other as she staggered onward, onward, ever onward.

Several times, due to the storm, she had been reduced to crawling on all fours, or inching along on her stomach; still she never ceased her progression towards her destination. Many times it had seemed wise to halt, or to find a hidden place to ride out the weather. But still she continued, knowing that there was no time to be lost. Onward, onward....the memories of the barren northern islands, viciously destroyed by ruthless enemies were burned into her brain. These same foes were sure to be following; failure was never an option in the Ranks of the Shadow. The mission had been total destruction; to them the mere thought of any escapees was simply intolerable.

Onward, ever onward, the determined creature staggered feebly against the mighty force of the weather. Two long seasons of traveling, losing her way, finding it again, fighting countless bands of robbers and thieves, sometimes going days without food or water, were beginning to take their toll. But she could not give up; there was a mission to be completed, and she, too, had left no room for failure. Resolutely determined not to rest until the goal was acheived, the traveler limped, crawled, struggled her way through Mossflower; onward, ever onward, to the safe haven of Redwall Abbey.

Chapter One
Extract from the writings of Sister Flim, dormouse Recorder of Redwall Abbey

''"Dearie me, that storm last night was indisputably the worst I can remember in all my long seasons as Recorder; I can say with some authority that not a creature in Redwall slept a wink last night. The wind and thunder shook the building so much, Abbess Saffron feared some of the ancient roofing or windowpanes would give way and had all the elders and young ones moved to the cellars for their safety. Let me tell you, an overcrowded cellar full of terrified, squealing babes and frantic elders trying to restore order is not a pleasant place to be in the middle of the night. Those few Dibbuns who had not the sense to be terrified by the storm caused us even more trouble; tiring of the noise in the cellars, they attempted several times to escape to the upper floors so they could look out the windows at the lightning. Jorty the Cellarkeeper and her husband Bumbill tried to solve the problem by blocking the staircase with barrels, but we learned soon enough that this was more a hindrance to us than to the babes so we were forced to take the whole thing down again and take turns standing guard. Add to this the perpetual nuisance of our Abbey Librarian, Brother Willow (who indefatigably tried to boss everyone about, spouting off historical references to past storms the whole way), and there you have our long and wearying evening in a nutshell.''

''I have yet to tell the worst though; the storm is still raging! It is almost midday now, and there is no sign of its slowing in the slightest. Friar Dimp and a few of his kitchen helpers managed to make us a light breakfast, but all other chores have been suspended by the Abbess until this veritable hurricane finally blows through. I shudder to think of the damage that will be left in the wake of this storm. The orchards and gardens are probably a wreck; furthermore, the building has been struck by lightning at least thrice, to my knowledge. Fortunately, as the majority of our beautiful home is red sandstone, it would be difficult for it to completely burn down, especially in this strong a rain; however, Skipper and his crew of able-bodied Redwallers are busy making sure the flames are completely extinguished. Goodness, I think we've been hit again; that bang was too close for my liking! I certainly hope none of the creatures on the roof with Skipper have been hurt.''

''Confound that Brother Willow; does he never cease talking? I suppose I should not be so quick to judge him; he's probably just as nervy and frightened as I am. But I do wish he'd keep himself occupied with his own business, not everyone else's. Oh, dear, there goes that hogbabe again; I shall have to postpone recording for now."''

"Biddee, you little nuisance; come back here this minute!" Casting her parchment and charcoal aside, Sister Flim rose to chase after the infant hedgehog maiden, who was surprisingly speedy for one of her age and had already made it to the top of the cellar stairs. Knowing she could easily outpace the old, overweight dormouse, Biddee paused to wave at her impudently.

"Heehee! Nevernever catchee me Sissyflim! Biddee go to watch lightning; go Boom bangybang!" The Dibbun fled, shrieking with laughter. Sister Flim pursued her for a short distance before becoming out of breath; turning back, she implored the other weary creatures slumped about the cellars, most of whom were trying to catch a few minutes' doze after the long, sleepless night.

"Someone, please go catch that infernal rascal before she gets outside!"

Brother Willow, a tall, thin, dour-looking shrew, chastised the Sister. "You were supposed to be standing guard, you know; if you had been paying attention, you might have headed her off. It's your own fault!"

The good Sister's temper finally snapped. "And, tell me, pray; how does insulting an Abbey Recorder help to catch a runaway Dibbun? If you can't think of anything helpful to do or say, will you please stay out of this?!"

Brother Willow was taken aback by Sister Flim's ferocity; he stammered angrily, searching for a reply. "Why you...you...!"

Grandmum Dawbil, the Abbey Healer, placed herself between the two irate creatures, rumbling in her deep mole accent. "Stop ee this foightin' roight away; it be a bad day enuff wi'out you two gurt foozles makin' it even worserer, burr aye! Yurr, Shurmee, goo ee arter ee liddle 'un."

The young leveret Shermy was the fastest creature in the Abbey; this was the seventh time in the last few hours that he had been sent to round up a stray Dibbun. Though he was red-eyed and weary, as were all the other creatures in the cellar, he saluted obediently and darted up the stairs. "Righty-ho, marm! Be back in a tick, wot! I say, come back here, you spiny little cad!"

Biddee had, by this time, made it to the Great Hall of Redwall Abbey, and was hiding behind a column. The Great Hall was normally used for feasts and celebrations, when it would be decorated with huge banquet tables and rows of brightly lit lanterns. In these instances, the tall stone columns, stained glass windows, and great tapestry depicting the first Abbey Warrior, Martin, would seem to dance gaily in the bright lights. However, in the gloom of the storm, punctuated every now and then with flickering flashes of lightning, the huge chamber looked positively eerie. Shermy tried hard to keep his voice from trembling as he scooted across the back wall of the room, searching for the missing Dibbun. "You fiend, just you wait until I get you back in the cellars! I wouldn't want to be in your fur, let me tell you! Come out from wherever you're hiding this instant; this INSTANT, I say!"

He yelped involuntarialy as lightning struck the abbey building yet again; the accompanying crash of thunder shook the room, knocking out several small windowpanes, which shattered on the stone floor. Throwing himself flat, Shermy covered his ears with his paws until the deafening vibrations ceased.

Biddee, unmoved by the terror of the storm, had now reached the main door of the Abbey, but the door handle was far too high for her to reach. She, too, threw herself on the floor, and began to pitch a horrible tantrum. "Waaaaaaaaahaaaahaaa, Wanna go play in the raaaaaaaaaiiin!"

Shermy stood, sighing with relief. "Oh, there you are, wot." He glanced at the tapestry above him; noticing the two empty brackets above it, he furrowed his brow in confusion. He shouted across the hall to the hedgehog maid. "I say, you rotter, what did you do with Martin's Sword? It was hanging here a bally moment ago!"

Biddee ceased wailing, pouting sulkily. "I never take Ma'tin sword. It dere in da floor."

The bang of thunder had shaken the legendary weapon loose from its holders above the tapestry; it had fallen point first, embedding itself in a chink between two floorstones, directly behind where Shermy had been lying. It was a simple weapon; the only ornament was the bright red pommel stone in the leather-bound hilt. The blade, though countless seasons old, still shone as if it were newly polished. The young hare grasped the hilt and began to tug, addressing the figure of the warrior mouse on the tapestry. "Well, that nearly took off my tailbob, didn't it? Next time I need to hide, I jolly well won't do it under here. I say, this sword of yours is really something, Martin, old lad; it cut this stone like a bally cake, wot! Whoops!"

The blade popped free, sending the young hare stumbling backwards. He started to replace the sword, then thought better of it, propping it up in a corner. "I'll just leave this here, then; we'll put it back after the storm desists. Save other innocent beast's tails, doncha know..."

He stopped rigid and stared. In the dim light of the one lit lantern in Great Hall, Shermy had been watching his reflection in the blade as he talked. The reflection however, had seemed to take a shape of its own, until it was not the leveret's own face, but that of the mouse in the tapestry, staring back at him. Martin pointed at the young hare, then at the hedgehog babe. He spoke but a single word, in an unmistakable voice of command. "Outside!"

Having been brought up at Redwall, Shermy knew from old tales that creatures sometimes saw Martin in dreams when there was a great need. He nodded, being the obedient young creature he was. "Righto, old chap. Hi, you there, Biddee. You wanted to go outside, did you?"

The young hedgehog brightened up; she nodded. Shermy bounded across the room and grasped her paw, warning her sternly. "Well, one quick stroll then. But you hold my paw and do exactly as I say, understood? One false move and I'll tan your spiky little behind with a big stick, missy!"

Opening the door against the driving wind was no easy task, but between them, the two managed to push it wide enough to nip outside. Together, the leveret and the hedgehog Dibbun plowed their way through the abbey grounds, which were covered with broken branches and turned soppingly muddy with the downpour. His ears and fur plastered flat with water, Shermy took a quick look about, and announced to empty air. "Well, we're outside, wot! What's so jolly well important about outside? We already knew it was a bloomin' mess out here, if that's the case! Oh, lackaday, we're in for it now if we get caught out here in this muck!" He started to turn back. "That's enough for now, little one, we're going back in."

But Biddee pulled her paw free, dashing away, her face a picture of alarm. "Lookee, lookee! Onna path, Shermeeee!"

The leveret started to pursue the little one again, but pulled up with a halt, his mouth hanging open in shock. A bolt of lightning had blasted the huge main gate of the abbey, competely shattering one of the two immense wooden doors. Through the wreckage and pelting rain, the woodland path that led up to the abbey was plain to see; so was the biggest, blackest, most intimidating looking creature that Shermy had ever seen, which was lying in a pathetic, huddled heap just outside the gate.

Chapter Two
Skipper Windryder was markedly tough and brawny, and had a reputation for stoutheartedness; however, he was none too happy about being so high off the ground in such bad weather, as perilously leaping slippery roof tiles to beat at flames and sparks was not his strong point. A score or so of other creatures, mostly squirrels and other otters, scurried around with him, trying desperately to stop the lightning-induced blazes before they got out of hand, whilst avoiding being struck themselves. Every single one of them was tied to a roof column, and each other, by huge lengths of rope, sturdily knotted by the skillfull otter cheiftain. This was to ensure that, should anybeast lose their footing, they would not plummet all the way down to the abbey grounds, hidden from sight in the wet darkness below.

The one exeption to this rule was Dippertail, the abbey's resident falcon. He fluttered about the rooftoops, yelling instructions and acting as a sort of lifeguard to the less experienced climbers. Being a bird with unusually sharp eyes, he also had the ability to tell, from watching the clouds, when lightning was about to strike. This proved to be an invaluable aid to the fire-fighters, struggling in the dangerous heights. He zipped by the otter cheiftain, screeching the alarm.

"Hyeeeeeeeeeee! Ryder, strike coming!"

Skipper saluted the bird, bellowing the order. "Aye, aye, Dip. Take cover, mates!!!!"

BANG!

The whole rooftop shook and the world lit up bright white as a bright bolt connected with the giant Abbey weathervane, high overhead. Dippertail circled the structure, then landed beside Skipper, fluffing his drenched feathers in a futile attempt to dry them out. "Yeeeeeeeark! It only hit metal; no damage was done."

"Ahoy, Skip, Abbess overboard!" one of the otters shouted, some distance off.

Windryder spoted the small figure swinging from a rope about her waist some distance below and groaned. "Dip, get her up again, quick!"

The falcon took off again, but there was no need; the sprightly, middle-aged squirrel who was Abbess of Redwall Abbey was an excellent climber. Within moments, she had shinned her way back up the rope and onto the roof tiles. Skipper gently berated her, rasing his voice to be heard over the storm. "Beggin' yore pardon, marm, but you really ought not to be up here! Why don't you let us handle this?"

Saffron shook her head resolutely. She was small for a squirrel, with beautiful golden-red fur and fierce, dark eyes; these bored into the otter cheiftain as she spoke. "Please, Skipper, don't worry about me. I know you mean well, but my leaving is not an option. I said every able-bodied Redwaller who knows how to climb should be up here helping preserve our home and that includes myself. Quick, help me put out that rafter!"

One particularly large blast had made a hole in the roof and had lit some of the girders inside; the flames had not been noticed, however, until they were already starting a fine blaze. Saffron had dropped her wet sack when she fell; she whipped the cowl off her habit and began beating the rafter with it. Skipper joined her, shouting across the expanse of roof. "Tings, Raggle, get us a bucket, sharpish!"

The mouse and the black squirrel were both very young and very frightened; almost too young and frightened to be of much good on the roof. They were stoutly fastened to a shorter rope, right by a gargoyle water chute; from it, they filled an assortment of buckets and passed them along to the more experienced firefighters. Raggle tossed a full bucket to Dippertail, who caught the handle neatly as he swooped by. "One bucket, comin' up! Tings, fill another, just in case!"

Through the coordinated efforts of the brave Abbeybeasts, the blazing rafters were soon extinguished. Dippertail announced the fact to the two young creatures on bucket duty, then flew off to inspect other areas of the roof for flames that might have been missed. Tings, the young mousemaiden, sat down with a sigh. "Thank goodness for that. I sure hope that's the last of it! If I have to lean out over that edge and fill a bucket again, I swear I'll faint dead away!"

Raggle the black squirrel joined her, holding his bushy tail over his head like a rain hat. "Aye, that'd be a long drop for sure, if the rope were to break. And to think we volunteered for this!"

Tings snorted bitterly. "Well, what else could we do? It was either come up here or stay in the cellars with Brother Willow and all those screaming babes! How Shermy puts up with it, I don't know."

Raggle's tail was becoming waterlogged and heavy; he was forced to let it drop. "I'd sooner be in a noisy cellar than up here right now. It'll take us two seasons to dry off after this lot!"

Abbess Saffron joined them, slumping in a most un-Abbess-like manner beside them. "Phew! Thank you for your hard work with the bucket brigade, you two; some of those fires took root so quickly we couldn't have put them out without your help."

Tings forced a smile. "Oh...er...thank you. All in the line of duty, I suppose."

The Abbess nodded her head. "You're quite right, young one. It is every Redwaller's duty to make sure our home and friends are free of danger; be it from vermin, weather, or any other issue."

Raggle felt a bit ashamed for complaining earlier. He looked away, trying to change the subject. "Seems the wind has finally died down. Maybe that means the storm's almost over, eh, Abbess marm?"

Saffron wiped rainwater from her eyes. "I certainly hope so! It'll take my fur ten seasons to dry out after this downpour!"

Tings quickly turned away, stifling a giggle at the look on Raggle's face.

Dippertail appeared suddenly out of the darkness, landing in a flurry of feathers to join the trio. Tings was nearly knocked off the roof with the force of the falcon's descent; she sloshed a half-full bucket over him. "Watch what you're doing, Dip! You nearly cannoned me right over the edge!"

The falcon ignored her, dancing agitatedly in front of the Abbess. "Kyeeeek! There be a injured beast at the gate!"

Abbess Saffron leapt up, staring off into the gloom. "Where?"

A flicker of lightning briefly lit up the tableau far below; Saffron spotted the dark smudge on the path below and began issuing orders. "Never mind, I see them. Tings, Raggle, you two are excused from bucket duty as of now. Go down to the cellars and get Grandmum Dawbil and her helpers at once! Dippertail, you stand by the poor beast until help arrives, understood?"

The falcon saluted, leaping off the roof and going into a steep dive. "Aye aye, Abbess! Hyeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

The mousemaid and the black squirrel also saluted. "We'll take care of it, don't worry!"

Slicing through their holding ropes with a knife she had borrowed from the kitches, the Abbess pushed them towards the trap door that led from the attics to the roof. "Go then, but be careful!"

Chapter Three
Shermy had never seen anything like the beast on the path in all his born days. What manner of creature it was, he could not tell; it seemed to be almost entirely obscured by a tattered and flapping black cloak, which spread out in folds around it on the ground. What little of the actual creature was visible was plastered with mud until it was unrecognizable. He and Biddee had halted within ten paces of the intruder, unsure if they should draw any nearer.

The Dibbun stared at the unmoving mass. "What do it be, Shermee?"

The leveret twitched his nose and ears (his way of showing nervousness). "You're guess is as jolly well good as mine, old scout. I wonder if it's still alive?"

From beneath the cloak came a mewling, whimpering sound; Biddee nodded. "It alive, Biddee heard it. What we do?"

The question was answered for them when Dippertail soared in for a squelchy landing in the path mud beside them. He spread his wings aggressively. "Yiiiiiieeeeeeeeek! What are you doing here? Young ones should not be out in weather like this!"

Shermy started to explain. "Well, sah, the little one escaped the cellars so I...."

Another moan from the injured beast interrupted them. Dippertail clacked his beak dismissively. "Yeek! Go inside, now, before you catch a chill; and tell the old mole we need her help!"

Gathering up the infant hedgehog in his arms, Shermy flew across the lawn, into the building, and down the stairs to the cellar. Sister Flim shook her head at the bedraggled, muddy pair, addressing the young hare. "I take it you had to go outside. How did that little one get the door open? Or did she use a window?"

Shermy did not feel like explaining; he waved a paw. "Never mind that. There's some poor beast on the ground outside, and it's badly wounded, by the look of it."

There was an immediate clamor of questions and speculations; Grandmum Dawbil held up a digging claw for silence. "Shoutin' won't get us'ns nowhere. Oi'll go tend to ee sichewation direkly. Yurr, Aggit, bring thoi molecrew."

Foremole Aggit, who was Grandmum Dawbil's nephew and the leader of the abbey's mole population, nodded his velvety head. "Roight, Marm. Jorty, you'm and thoi husband stay here wi' ee uthers. The rest of you'm moles follow Oi!"

The rescue party left the cellars in a rush; Shermy collapsed wearily to the floor. "Whew! If you lot don't mind, I'll not be going after any more bloomin' young ones at the moment. Wake me next season, wot!"

Foremole Aggit poked his snout back into the cellars. "Yurr, Shurmee, coom ee and show moi crew whurr the crittur bee. We'm doan't much feel loike wunderin' ee entoire grounds in ee rainwet!"

Pulling a wry face, the young hare rose to accompany the molecrew.

Up on the roof, Tings and Raggle were having a hard time negotiating the wet and slippery tiles. Without the ropes about their waists, both young creatures had almost no confidence left. Raggle, being a squirrel, was slightly better off than his companion; after much struggles, he had finally made it over to the trapdoor to the attics. "Come on, Tings, hurry up!"

The mousemaiden was lying flat on her stomach, clinging desperately to the top edge of the roof, and sobbing piteously. "It's no good, I can't go on!"

Raggle, striving desperately to keep himself from panicking, scooted back over to her. "Here, take my paw; we'll go together!"

Tings shook her head firmly, wailing, "No, no! I can't...I can't do it. I'll fall!"

Raggle grabbed her sleeve, pulling her firmly along with him. She still refused to release her grip. The young squirrel fairly screamed at his mousemaid friend. "You've GOT to let go; come on!"

BLAM! A cloud-to-cloud lightning strike directly overhead caused a deafening reverberation of thunder. Tings screamed and let go her hold on the roof, involuntarialy jumping out into space. Raggle stared in dumb shock at the ripped habit sleeve, dangling uselessly from his paw; and the rapidly diminishing figure of Tings, plummeting towards the earth far below.

Dippertail had managed to coax the weary beast onto its feet; staggering almost drunkenly, it followed the waddling falcon towards the main abbey door. The bird had noticed the strange animal was carrying a large traveling sack on its back; relieving the burden to carry it himself, the falcon held a one-sided conversation with the beast, trying to keep its spirits up.

"Yeeee! You've come to a good place, friend. There are healers here; you'll be all right soon. There's no hurry, don't over-exert yourself. Hyeeeear, we'll have you a nice soft bed soon enough. Good food, too. Yieeak, don't worry, this bird will keep your bag safe."

A thunderclap, followed by a scream from above caused both falcon and visitor to look upwards. Dippertail spotted the falling mousemaid; dropping the sack, he spread his wings, preparing to launch into flight.

But the beast in the cloak reacted swifter.

With a sudden, powerful bound, it sprang through the air, catching Tings neatly in its paws. Performing a barrell roll in mid-air, it came crashing down to the muddy earth back first, with the young one on top of its stomach.

Shermy, Grandmum Dawbil, and the crew of Foremole Aggit emerged into the drenched lawns just in time to witness the rescue; joining Dippertail, they hurried over to where the two now-unconscious creatures lay. Shermy was the first to find his voice. " I say, that was awfully decent of the chap, wot! I wonder what poor rotter it was that fell off the roof."

Foremole prised the creature's paws from the limp form they held. "It bee liddle mizzy Tings!"

Shermy cried out in alarm as he recognized his friend. "Is she hurt? Oh, say she's not hurt!"

Aggit chuckled. "Nay, zurr, she'm a tough liddle mouseymaiden; she bees roight as rain."

The leveret looked around at the storm damage, which was more visible now that the rain was slowing to a drizzle. "Huh, don't bloomin' well see what's jolly well right about rain, old chap."

Grandmum Dawbil inspected Tings' rescuer. "Yurr, Aggit, this beast'n be bad hurt; goo ee and get oi a stretcherer!"

The Foremole repeated the order to several of his moles, who scurried back inside to do his bidding. Shermy turned to Dippertail. "I say, old thing, don't you think you'd better nip back up to the rooftop and let the others know Tings isn't hurt? Poor Raggle's probably in a fine tizzy right now."

Dippertail passed the bag to the young hare. "Yieeeer! You're right. Take this thing inside, will you?"

Without further ado, the falcon took to the skies, sailing back up to the rooftop. Shermy dragged the large sack across the grounds; it was very heavy. In fact, it was extremely heavy; almost too heavy for a mere travelers' pack. Overcome with curiosity, the young hare looked inside one of the many holes that pocked the sack.

Releasing it with a cry, he shouted over to the moles. "Miz Dawbil, I think you should see this!"

Chapter Four
In the woodlands, some distance away from Redwall Abbey, the rain-swollen River Moss thundered along its winding course to the sea, carrying a substantial amount of mud and woodland undergrowth with it. The shrews of the Guosim had been on their way to Redwall for a long-overdue visit; knowing it would be foolish to attempt to shoot the storm-induced rapids, they had pulled their logboats ashore, and pitched camp in a large bankside cave until the weather died down. The Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower were small, fierce, spiky-furred creatures, who followed a cheiftain they designated as the Log-a-Log. They were stout warriors all, renowned for both their bravery and their tendecy to bicker and squabble amongst themselves in their spare time; however, there was not a shrew among them who felt like arguing now, as they viewed the terrible scene about them.

Log-a-log Yik, the long-bearded chieftain of the Guosim, was still in a state of shock, as were many of his tribe. Some little while back, two tall strangers bearing swords had marched boldly into the shrews' cave. They were obviously some type of vermin, but, as they wore hooded blue cloaks and masks made of adder skulls, it was difficult to pinpoint exactly what manner of creature they were. They had imperiously demanded that the shrews surrender all of their provisions and one of their logboats, saying that they would be needed by the Ranks of the Shadow. As he had no idea what the Ranks of the Shadow were, and it was still a good three days' journey to Redwall, the dutiful Log-a-log had refused point blank. When the creatures repeated their demand with a threat to use force, he had ordered his shrews to take the two beasts prisoner.

That was the last thing Yik remembered clearly; everything afterwards was a jumble of teeth, claws, blades and screams, followed by total blackness as one of the vermin knocked him unconscious with its sword hilt. Now, almost a score of his creatures lay dead, and a dozen more wounded. All their supplies had been looted, and every boat but the one the villains had taken was smashed to pieces.

Ringo, a much older shrew, tended the bump on his chieftain's skull, making a report as he did so. "There were five more of 'em in hidin', Yik; three of those vermin in masks and two full-growed snakes. We never stood a chance; they fought like demons!"

Yik's face blanched; he, like most shrews, had a horror of serpents. "Were the snakes adders?"

Ringo shook his grey head. "No, they were blacksnakes; big 'uns, too. One of 'em crushed pore Dribble's footpaw with just th' end of its tail!"

Dribble, the shrew in question, was Yik's second in command; he hobbled over on a makeshift crutch, cut from a tree limb. "I sent some scouts upriver, Chief; they went as far as they deemed safe, given the circumstances. No sign of the vermin; they're well away. What do we do now?"

Log-a-log Yik gazed once more at the sorry state the Guosim were in, and made a pronouncement. "Nothin' much we can do, mate; not until this storm lets up. As soon as the weather clears a bit, we'll make for Redwall, on foot. There should be enough forage in the woodlands for us t'get by. Ringo, ye'd better see about getting some carrying litters made for any beast too bad hurt t'walk well; we need t'get there as soon as we can!"

The old shrew passed the instructions along to to the other shrews, who began immediately to lash broken logboat timbers together with the now-useless mooring ropes. Dribble sat painfully down beside his chieftain. "I agree with ye there, Log-a-log; I gotta feelin' they'll be needin' us at Redwall, with them Shadow creatures roamin' Mossflower!"

Back at Redwall Abbey, the storm had slowed to a misty drizzle. The fire brigade on the roof, deeming their work finished, had descended to the dormitories to dry off; several of them stopping by the sickbay on the way, to be treated for chills and sniffles. Abbess Saffron had allowed the rest of the Abbey Population to leave the cellars and return to their everyday tasks, or to their beds, if they so desired. Now, she was presiding over a council of Redwallers in Cavern Hole. This was the room used for gatherings when the Great Hall was not being utilized for that purpose; it was smaller and cosier than Great Hall, and a good deal warmer, due to the lit fireplace in one wall.

Tings had been placed upon a moss-covered ledge in Cavern Hole until she recovered from her faint; she awoke to the sound of Abbess Saffron's voice. "Raggle, do sit down; pacing back and forth won't make Tings wake up any faster. That's better, thank you. Skipper, what's your assessment of the damage?"

Windryder tapped the floor with his rudder pensively. "Well, marm, there's at least two holes in the roof, an' a few fire-damaged tiles 'n girders to replace. A good crew workin' in shifts should take care of that in not too much time. The windowpanes didn't break as bad as we feared, either; only about 'arf a dozen of 'em need work. The orchard's no worse than it usually is after a big 'ole storm, either. What really is worryin' me is that gate; havin' a busted main gate's just askin' fer trouble with vermin and such like. If you'll take my advice, we should concentrate on that first thing."

The Abbess adjusted the large towel she had wrapped about her shoulders, nodding her head. "That sounds sensible. Tomorrow, when we've all rested up a bit, you, Foremole, and Dippertail take as many creatures as you'll need into the woodlands and search for some timber; preferably good, strong oak beams, if possible. While you're at it, you could have a scout round for materials to repair the roof. Jorty Cellarmole, could you and Bumbill see to the woodcutting tools?"

Bumbill, a jolly, perpetually-smiling mole, answered for his wife. "Burr, we'm could doo et awright, Missus. Leave it to us'ns!"

Tings sat up a bit, interested in the conversation; Dippertail spotted her, and alerted the others. "Yieeeeek! The young one has awakened, I believe."

Raggle and Shermy, who had attended the council, were immediately at the mousemaid's side. The young squirrel grasped his friend's paw, nearly sobbing with relief. "Tings! Thank goodness you're all right. I'm sorry I couldn't catch you; the fabric just ripped off in my paw!"

Shermy was grinning from long ear to long ear; he patted Tings on the shoulder. "Well, good afternoon to you, miss. Feeling better, wot?"

The mousemaid nodded gingerly, as her neck was a bit sore from the impact. "Much better, thank you, though I doubt I'll be going on the roof again anytime soon. You don't have to apologize, Raggle; it wasn't your fault I fell. Frankly, I'm surprised I'm still here, myself. What happened?"

Shermy explained in detail - as he had already to the council - about his vision of Martin, the creature at the gate, and how the mousemaid had been rescued. His face showed great admiration for Tings' preserver as he wrapped up the narrative. "Leapt up like a bloomin' frog on a cinder soon as she saw you falling, wot! Must be a rare creature, that one, risking life and limb for a total stranger. Grandmum Dawbil says the strain might've done her in, even without the rough landing. Whoever she is, she's no wiltin' lily, that's for certain; a few weeks' rest and good feedin' should have her tip-top again, if you ask me!"

Brother Willow's harsh, derisory voice interjected from across the room. "We all would like to hope that's the case, young 'un, but it is a fact the poor beast's half starved, and badly wounded in several places. No one knows what's going to happen, really. Grandmum Dawbil doesn't even know, and you only recently became an infirmary assistant so you couldn't possibly have the experience to... "

"Thank you, Brother, that's quite enough of that!" Abbess Saffron interrupted firmly. "We appreciate your input, but now is not the time for lectures."

Tings stood; somewhat shakily, as her head was still a bit fuzzy. Raggle threw a paw about her shoulders to support her. "Don't worry, I won't let you fall again. Where to?"

The mousemaid smiled. "Thanks, Rag. I'd like to go thank my rescuer; would that be possible?"

Shermy supported his friend on the other side. "I certainly don't see why not; I'm due back in the infirmary, anyhow. I say, might we be excused from the council, Abbess Marm?"

Saffron gave them her permission. "I believe you've told us all you can for now. Go on, friends."

With Tings between them, the leveret and the black squirrel made their way upstairs to the sickbay.

By the time they reached the infirmary, the mousemaid had regained her balance enough to totter a few paces on her own. The door the the sickbay was bolted and locked, as Grandmum Dawbil wished to discourage the horde of curious Abbeybeasts from suffocating her patient. Raggle rapped noisily on the door; a gruff mole voice answered.

"Goo ee away, oi need et quoiett round yurr!"

Shermy looked offended. "I say, steady on, miz Dawbil, marm! It's only myself and two others; Tings wants to offer her thanks to the beast that saved her life, y'see."

There was a pause, then the door slid open a fraction to reveal the old mole healer. She wrinkled her velvety nose in a smile. "Of course ee can enter, young'uns. Furgive moi bad mannurrs; oi thought you'm bee more o' they pesky Dibbuns, nosey likkle villyuns!"

Timidly, the trio entered the infirmary. Grandmum Dawbil shut the door behind Raggle, the last to enter, and gestured to the back room of the infirmary. "Roight thiz way, doan't ee be afeared."

As Shermy had helped to clean the mud off of the patient, he knew what to expect; the other two young creatures stopped dead, drawing in their breath sharply. Sprawled across two beds pushed together was a scrawny, full-grown female wildcat. Her fur was a smoky grey, with dark flecks here and there; the spots converged into black rings on her tail and to black stripes on her head. The tip of her tail and her ears were black; her paws, however, were snowy white. She wore a shredded and tattered tunic of sharksin, the only ornaments being a fishbone necklace and a braided scarf headband. There was also a single gold hoop earring through her right ear; a rip in the left ear showed where the other ring had been wrenched off, some time ago. Countless scars and raggedly healed wounds showed through the fur, all over her body; one particularly large, curved scar ran from her left ear to her chin, right over a permanantly closed eyelid. She was a barbaric and terrifying sight; yet, at the same time, curiously pathetic.

Grandmum Dawbil lowered her voice to a whisper. "B'ain't a purdy soight, burr no; but she'm bain't as bad 'urted as oi furst thought. Goo on, mizzy Tings, she'm woan't 'urt ee. Oi've a'ready had ee wurd or two wi' ee gurt catbeast, moiself."

Swallowing hard, the mousemaid approached the prone wildcat. She lay so still at first that Tings thought she might be asleep; however, as soon as the mousemaid stopped beside the bed, the beast's one good eye snapped open. There was a tense silence as the cat stared rigidly and appraisingly at the newcomer; it lasted so long, Tings thought she might scream.

Finally, the wildcat sighed, relaxing again. Her voice, when it came, was feeble and rasping. "I suppose you're one of the healer's assistants, but I don't remember seeing you before."

Tings was caught off guard; she stammered a bit, staring at the other creatures for help. "Er...ah...n-no, I don't work in the..er, infirmary..."

Shermy, sensing a rescue was in order, rose to the occasion. "This, madam, is none other than the famous Tings, who fell of the rooftops earlier today."

The cat's smile showed a row of needle-sharp teeth, but it was friendly. "So it is; thank you, Shermy. Well, how do you do, miss? Good to see you up and about so soon."

Tings found her voice. "Yes, I'm all right, thanks to you. You saved my life, you know; I'll not lightly forget that. You must be either a very brave or a very stupid creature, sticking your neck out like that for a total stranger."

The wildcat smiled again, chuckling softly. "I suppose I should take that as a compliment; thank you, Tings. It really was no trouble, though."

"No trouble?!" Raggle blurted out. "How can you say that, when you nearly broke your spine?"

"And who might you be?" The cat's friendly gaze turned upon the speaker.

The young squirrel's bushy black tail drooped over his eyes in embarrassment. "Er, Raggle, marm; I'm a friend of Tings and Shermy."

The cat proffered a scarred and calloused paw, which the young squirrel accepted; his paw was completely enveloped by the huge white mitt as they shook. "Nice to meet you, Raggle; and you, too, Tings. My name's Siyuzin Stoneclaw. Now, Raggle, let us suppose you were seeking shelter in a strange place. Say, just as you got there, you saw one of the inhabitants in deadly peril, and you were possibly the only one who could do anything about it. Now tell me, what would you do?"

Raggle was nonplussed; he thought for a moment. "Well...I suppose the same thing you did, miz Stoneclaw. That is, if I were brave enough."

"I think you would be; you seem a heroic sort to me." The wildcat chuckled again, closing her eyes. "Oh, and please, call me Sy. Everyone does."

Sensing that her patient wished to rest, Grandmum Dawbil whispered in Tings' ear. "Oi think we'm best be a-goin naow."

The mousemaid began heading for the door, with her two friends and the molewife following. "I think we'll be heading to supper now; we'll be sure to have Friar Dimp send you up something. How does watershrimp-and-hotroot soup with mushroom pastie sound to you, Sy?"

Siyuzin Stoneclaw waved goodbye feebly. "As long as it's vittles and I can eat it, it sounds just fine, missy. Come back and see me again sometime. Oh, Shermy, if you see Rivereye or Speedwell, tell them not to worry about me; I should be fine after a few weeks' rest."

"Will do, marm." Shermy threw a lazy salute, then muttered conspiritorially to Raggle. "See? What did I jolly well tell you?"

Once Grandmum Dawbil had shut the trio outside in the corridor, Tings turned to her hare friend. "We don't know any Rivereye, or Speedwell. What on earth was she talking about?"

The leveret threw a paw dramatically across his brow. "Oh, fiddlesticks, I completely forgot to tell you about that, wot! I had a word with old Siyu-what-her-whiskers earlier; was wondering why old Martin thought she should come here, y'see. She didn't tell me much, but it seems some particularly brutal vermin coves raided her tribe's home. Goodness knows how many leagues from here that is, we've not had wildcats around here for nigh on a squillion seasons, y'know. Anyway, Sy and her aunt's two babes were the only beasts to escape. They're certainly in far better health than their cousin; were just about terrified into a bloomin' stupor by the time we got 'em inside the good old Abbey, though."

Tings, like most young Abbey females, adored babes of any sort; she was immediately sympathetic. "Poor little mites, they must have been through a lot. Well, at least they'll be safe here...provided, of course, that the other Dibbuns don't pester them to death!"

Laughing at this little joke, the three friends descended to the kitchens.

Chapter Five
Dankfur Clawhook was a born leader. The tall, fearsome pine marten with the gold hook replacing his left paw had an unmistakable air of command, a deadly skill with his saber, and a ruthless determination to succeed unrivaled by any other. In the unlikely event that, after all this, he still had trouble enforcing his will, he had his two enormous blacksnakes, Jettcoil and Whiptail; these he had raised from hatchlings, bullying and torturing them until they were completely under his sway and would obey his orders without question.

Many long seasons ago, Dankfur had been the Captain of the Redclaw, a ship crewed entirely by pine martens like himself. Roaming the seas, they pillaged many unsuspecting merchant ships and coast dwellings. However, Dankfur had begun to tire of the sea, as the life of a marauding corsair did not present to him many challenging opponents to vanquish. One day, messengers had come to the ship, offering the marten, who had already made quite a name for himself, a position as a Captain in the feared Ranks of the Shadow. His whole crew could join if they so wished, as could the two snakes; for, as the messenger explained, there were many serpents in the ranks already and a couple more would be more than welcome. Dankfur had leapt at the chance; within the space of a week he and his creatures were part of the cloaked and masked horde.

As time went by, the former sea raider acquired quite a reputation for his brutal, relentless drive to succeed; almost inevitably, he found himself rising in rank, until he had gained a new title - The Voice of the Shadow, second in command only to the mysterious and tyrannical Black Shade himself, Ruler of the Northern Isles. His two snakes, who far outdid all the others in size, equally inevitably became the rulers of the reptile section of the Ranks and gathered quite a reputation of their own. Soon, nobeast on the northern shores would speak the name of Dankfur without a shudder of terror; even the closest creatures to him looked upon him with horrified awe.

There was not a single vermin in the Ranks suprised when Dankfur was selected for the special mission, nearly three seasons back; it was a well-known fact that when he led a raid, it did not fail. Thus it was, on that fateful day, the marten had led a special, hand-picked band mostly consisting of his own crewbeasts away from the Black Shade's lair. They had set sail in his old ship for an offshore clump of tiny islands, where a tribe of wildcats had lived for countless generations. The basic instructions were simple; destroy the villiage, allowing none to escape. Dankfur knew there would be little resistance; the cats were mostly fisherbeasts, not fighters. However, the Black Shade had specifically ordered that those few cats who were strong warriors were not to be slain, but were to be captured and delivered to him alive. This was a highly unusual command, and a difficult one to carry out; but nobeast dared to argue with the Black Shade.

Dankfur came up with a fiendishly ingenious plan of campaign. First, he and his crewbeasts had hid themselves for nearly half a season, while the two blacksnakes scouted the villiage to determine which cats were fighters and which were not. Then, one night, he had ordered his crew to set fire to the entire villiage, casting buckets of special herbs on the conflagration. The sick, bewildered wildcats stood no chance against the vermin, who had plugged their nostrils with rancid-smelling plants to avoid the poisoned fumes; it was all over in a matter of minutes. Yet, for all this cunning, something still managed to go awry.

It was just as the horde were celebrating their evil victory that Dankfur spotted the Redclaw, sailing away from the islands towards the mainland. For an instant, the marten thought the three creatures he had left to guard the ship were inexplicably deserting him; the truth dawned on him, however, when the same trio staggered from the island foliage, all of them in a sorry state. Two of them, both weasels, had claw slashes across their bodies; the other, a rat, had his adderskull facemask shattered, and a horrendously ugly purple swelling on the side of his face. The rat explained that a huge female wildcat, accompanied by two kittens, had jumped aboard the ship. The guards had done their best to stop her - he, the rat, had even slashed her face with his cutlass. However, the cat struck him such a blow to the head that it had sent him hurtling overboard; she then proceeded to slam the two weasels into the deckrailing, snapping the timbers and sending them crashing back-first into the sea.

Dankfur had been beside himself with fury; not only had this creature escaped, but she had stolen his ship and stranded him to boot! Then and there he had sworn revenge, promising he would not return to the lair until he had finished the mission and paid back the wildcat for her deeds. Lashing together rafts, the group returned to the mainland; but they were too late to catch the wildcat, who had run the ship aground and abandoned it some time ago. Sending the majority of his group back to the lair with the prisoners, the Voice of the Shadow had taken an only an elite force (ten of his martens and the two blacksnakes) with him; this, he reasoned, would be a logical course of action, as he knew he could keep better control of a smaller group, and that the brunt of the Black Shade's wrath would fall upon the other creatures and not himself.

Now, it was nearly two seasons later, and the group was still tracking, though not with any great relish. None of the crew had forseen the hunt lasting this long, or taking them so deep into strange territory, or being such tough and hungry going. The force had now dwindled from thirteen beasts to seven; yet, they continued the search, for their relentless leader would allow no margin for surrender or failure.

Some distance away from the site of the attack on the shrews, Dankfur and his first mate, Gronk, huddled miserably under a willow tree, watching the other martens' failed attempts to get a fire going in the drizzle. They, like the Guosim, had found the storm-swollen River Moss too dangerous to sail at the moment, so they had pulled the logboat into a concealed sidestream until the weather cleared. Drawing patterns in the dirt with his hook, Dankfur muttered darkly. "Well, that's another good crewbeast lost."

Gronk, not as well-spoken as his captain, flung his mask and saber into the mud, venting his frustration. "First it was Burmin an' Dunpaw, inna swamp. Then Gribby got 'erself et up by pikefishes, an' Ridgeback an' Kordun both got th' fever, an' now pore ol' Greyfleck gits hisself drownded inna rapids! How long we gotta keep this up, cap'n? We ain't never gonna find 'em; even if we did, we'd still haveta take 'em all the way back to..."

He stopped, his head forced back by the saber at his neck. Dankfur growled through clenched teeth, "We don't surrender until the mission is finished. How many times do I have to pound that into your thick skull before it sinks in?!"

Gronk babbled hastily, "Aye, Cap'n, sorry, Cap'n, I'll keep me gob shut, Cap'n!"

He yelped in pain as a deft flick of the saber sliced the tip of his ear. Dankfur sat back down. "You'd better; I'd hate for us to be six in number instead of seven. Get your mask back on, and help the others."

Gronk scurried off; Dankfur signalled his two serpents to attend him. "Jettcoil, find the cats' trail again. Figure out which direction they're headed in and report back to me. Whiptail, bring us something to eat; and don't you dare come back with just roots and berries this time."

Neither blacksnake was much of a talker; nodding their heads in salute, they slithered silently off to do their master's bidding. Dankfur sat back against the willow trunk to wait, the whole of his mind occupied with nothing but the desire to exact vengeance on the one creature who had dared to make him look foolish.