User blog:Varkanax39/The Last Champion: A Novel of Redwall (fanfic)

This is a story by Varkanax39. It is 'not considered canon, nor is it a.

Okay. So this is my first Redwall fanfic ever. I've been a fan of the series for more than six years, and I've read every single one of the books multiple times. The inspiration for this came to me a few weeks ago, and I've decided to post this here. If you read it, hope you enjoy the novel. If you take the time to read this, please tell me what you think in a review/comment. I welcome all types of feedback, especially constructive criticism.

Disclaimer: I do not own Redwall. All Redwall characters, locations, etc., were created by Brian Jacques. All of the original characters in this fanfic are my own creation.

Prologue
There are many legends of Redwall Abbey, tales that hold both beauty and kindness, fear and tragedy- and are filled with both goodbeasts and with fearsome creatures that have stepped from nightmares. The legends of seasons long past, of tyrants who attacked Redwall and yet were turned back by the might of our Abbey Warrior Martin, who even now helps us through our dreams in times of need.

But never was Redwall Abbey so threatened than during the Summer of the Twisting Flame. It was then that we faced what we had feared for so long once again- a war against an enemy incalculably cold, merciless, and insidious. An enemy powerful, who held the weapons of fear and hatred in both hands. Without the aid of a powerful champion or outside aid, we fought on.

You wish to hear how it happened, you say? How the Twisting Flame came, bringing with it fire and death to Mossflower? I shall tell you, though be warned it is both a tale of triumph and tragedy. Perhaps when it is done all that has happened in the past seasons will make sense to you, young one.

Hah! You say you are not young. Compared to me you are young indeed, my friend. I have seen more seasons than your mother's mother. I have seen Redwall undergo many tribulations in my lifetime. But no season was worse than the Summer of the Twisting Flame.

Now, journey back with me, young one, into the Land of Dreams, where all time is held together as one. Where the Weavers of Dreams abide, those tellers of long-forgotten seasons. Listen to me, and I will tell you the tale. The tale of Redwall Abbey, and those who wished to conquer it.

It was during the Summer of the Twisting Flame that the worst fate we could have thought happen befell our beautiful abbey…

Chapter 1
Dawn was breaking over Mossflower Wood in a gorgeous cascade of colored light. The newly risen sun beat down upon the massive sandstone walls of Redwall Abbey, where upon the ramparts an elderly Badger lady stood, watching the sunrise. For a moment, the sunlight illuminated her features. She was tall, though age had bent her body slightly forward. Still, age had not brought weakness to this badger. She still looked strong, imposing, and fearsome, as she had years ago when she had ruled Salamandastron, the mountain of the Badger Lords.

Upon the rampart with her sat several of Redwalls abbeybabes, affectionately called Dibbuns by all Redwallers. All of them were listening intently to the elderly badger, their eyes staring at her with wide-eyed fascination as she recounted her tale.

"And then, when the Last Champion vanished during the Summer of the Lark's Song, he took the Sword of Martin the Warrior with him," she said. "His reasons for doing this are unclear, but evidently they were good enough for the Mother Abbess at the time, Abbess Kara, to let him go with the Sword. And since then, the squirrel known as Arken has never been seen since."

"But 'e left one thing, didn't 'e, mother Maia?" said one of the Dibbuns, a small mousebabe named Traye, excitedly. "The Riddle!"

"Yes, Arken left the Riddle," agreed Maia. "One day he was there, the next he was gone, leaving behind only the garbled riddle he claimed to have received from Martin. Not a riddle, he called it, he said it was the Riddle. A prophecy he'd received from Martin, along with the direction to take his sword and leave Redwall. And every good abbeybabe knows Arken's Riddle by heart. Do you?"

"Of course!" burst out the hedgehog maid sitting next to Traye, whose name was Turi. "In seasons far, when darkness and flame, falls upon Redwall-"

Now a molebabe took over "Ze h'abbey bluestone must be 'ound, or h'all ze wood shall fall."

"My Last secret lies in the second, in the words I wrote and gave, I have seen," said Turi.

Two abbey squirrels, one light, one dark, will save or end all hope."

"If the green-black eyes join-"began Traye, but Maia cut him off.

"That's enough," said the Badger Mother. "So you do know Arken's riddle. And that is the story of how the champion of Redwall vanished. And we have not had an Abbey Warrior since."

"Except Martin!" said Turi. "Martin protects us, doesn't he, mother?"

"Of course," said Maia. "Martin always watches over our abbey."

"But what about all of the bad stuff in the Riddle?" asked Traye, a hint of fear in his voice. "About the fires and everything. Will that ever happen to Redwall?"

Maia shook her head quietly, wishing that Arken's mysterious prophecy had never become such common knowledge. It was all fine and well that the older abbeybeasts should try to interpret it, but for Dibbuns to be worried about Redwall simply because of some mysterious words set down years ago by a squirrel probably long dead…well, it was contrary to her nature. She wondered now if she should have told them the story in the first place.

"No, it won't happen to us," said Maia, with far less confidence than she felt. "Martin would warn us if something as terrible as what is described in the Riddle will come to Redwall. Don't worry, Redwall is perfectly safe. Do you have any idea how many warlords have died trying to take this Abbey?"

"Oh, probably hundreds!" said the irrepressible Traye. "Cluny the Scourge, Slagar the Cruel, Gulo the Savage, Ublaz Mad-Eyes, Damaug Warfang…all of them defeated and slain!"

"Yes," said Maia. "But those are all stories for another time."

Turning away from the Dibbuns, Maia's face creased with anxiety as she saw the elderly infirmary keeper, the mouse Sister Marian, motion toward her with one paw. Ordering the Dibbuns to remain where they were, Maia stepped over to Marian. The mouse sister looked distressed and fearful.

"What's wrong? Has the situation below worsened?" asked Maia.

"Follow me," said Marian. "I'll take the Dibbuns and put them to bed. You need to meet with Abbot Tyrn and the others. There's been a…development."

Anxiety making her heart throb, Maia walked down the staircase leading from the rampart and into the main abbey building, scattering early morning dew around her. The big badger stepped into the Great Hall, where two elderly mice clad in Redwall habits were waiting for them. Abbot Tyrn, the elder of the two, had taken over from old Abbess Kara, who had in turn taken over from old Abbot Thibb. He was a wise old mouse, so the obvious distress on the Abbot's face worried Maia. Looking to Brother Alfin, she saw the Abbot's anxiety mirrored on his own face.

"What's happened? Has one of the squirrelbabes died?" asked Maia. Sister Marian had been working all night to keep both of the mother squirrels healthy. The sister was optimistic both of them would survive. Surely one of them couldn't have died.

"No," said Abbot Tyrn. "Both of them are healthy. Indeed, both of the mothers are healthy as well. It's just that…well, you'll have to see for yourself."

Maia stepped over the threshold and into the Abbey. All around her, the Abbeybeasts were trying to act as normally as possible, but Maia could feel the tension in the air.

The father Abbot led her to the edge of a small cot, where two small squirrelbabes, a male and a female, lay, helpless. Their eyes were still half closed. Both looked healthy and well, and both of the mothers were resting, oblivious to the tension around them. Several brothers and sisters were caring for the two squirrelbabes, but Maia could feel their anxiety as well.

"What's wrong?" asked Maia quietly. "They're both healthy. They'll both live."

In answer, Abbot Tyrn pointed at the cot. Maia followed his hand and peered over at the female squirrelbabe. For a moment, the squirrel's eyes opened, and Maia almost gasped aloud in shock. Now she understood the Abbot's anxiety.

The female squirrelbabe's eyes did not match. One was the color of dark almond, but the other was almost jade green.

Chapter 2
The sun rising over the Northern Mountains shone down upon the ferret warlord Rivan Fireclaw, ruler of the Twisting Flame horde. Standing in the ransacked, pitifully small fortress that had once belonged to the badger known as Gorseclaw, Rivan gave a smile colder than the ice of a Northern Winter. His horde of skilled warriors had easily breached the ancient building, ransacked it, and killed Gorseclaw and his defenders, about twoscore fighting hares.

Now Rivan Fireclaw stood over the corpse of the dead badger, his knife still buried in Gorseclaw's heart. Reaching down, the ferret pulled the blade free from the corpse of the badger lord. His bloodwrath had proven to be no match for the Twisting Flame Horde.

Despite his youth, Rivan was perhaps the most dangerous commander the horde had ever possessed. Before Rivan had taken command, the Twisting Flame had been little more than a fairly large clan of Northern Mountain vermin, powerful and with a reputation for savagery, but nothing extremely powerful. His father had conquered many of the vermin tribes which surrounded him; Rivan had completed the job, and wiped out several clans to the last surviving being.

After that, no one dared resist the might of Rivan Fireclaw. The warlord had united every one of the clans of the Northern Mountains into a single horde, whose name was spoken of in fear throughout all of north Mossflower. The Twisting Flame horde!

The ferret chieftain was armored in ornate armor emblazoned with his personal insignia: a column of fire which spiraled and twisted upward, as though trying to burn the heavens themselves. His eyes were dark, but they burned with a cold, malevolent smoldering red intensity, like twin shards of icy glass.

Standing beside Rivan, his second in command, Icecloak, an ermine who wore a cloak as white as his fur and carried the personal standard of the Twisting Flame, stood beside him, followed by several of the horde's senior commanders. The ermine's black eyes flashed with triumph as he reported to his warlord.

"Every one of the defenders has been wiped out to a man, my lord," said Icecloak. While the sight of the ermine would have been enough to chill must beings into submission, even Icecloak feared the cold, icy aura of power that surrounded Rivan Fireclaw. "We lost a little over a score of soldiers, as well as several of our mole allies."

"Those losses are negligible," said Rivan. His voice was cold and slightly high-pitched and nasal, rasping. "The horde will be fit for travel by tomorrow."

Icecloak nodded once, and turned to relay Rivan's order to the horde. However, he was stopped at once as Rivan reached out a single hand and touched his shoulder. "I will speak to them," he said quietly. Stepping forth from the shadows, Rivan Fireclaw strode outside the building and stood out in front of his horde. The ferret removed his demonic lacquered helmet, revealing a handsome, if coldly drawn, face beneath.

The ferret spoke softly, but with undeniable authority. The moment the horde, which was composed of over two thousand vermin, saw their ruler, they grew quiet, staring up at Rivan with anticipation. Beside him, several of his commanders took their places behind him, including Icecloak and the powerfully built weasel general known as Scythe and his seer, the vixen Shale.

"The time is close," Rivan began. "We are drawing near to our greatest prize. Devastating the northlands is a start. Unifying all of us into one tribe solidified our control over this region.

"But we will gain far more than that," said Rivan. "I have been to Mossflower Wood, if only to lead scouting forays. And we have all heard tales of the riches and glory that awaits any who can take it.

"But it is so much more," Rivan said, voice lowering still softer. The vermin leaned closer, their eyes widening with anticipation. "I know secrets so great that it will make this place a domain worthy of the Twisting Flame. Tales of a mountain fortress ruled by Badgers and guarded by hares. They will all fall as easily before our might as these did. And nothing stands in our path except a small fortress defended only by mice, shrews, and other weak woodland creatures. We shall conquer the Abbey of Redwall!"

And Riven Fireclaw smiled down upon his soldiers as dawn broke, impassive and uncaring, overhead. The ferret warlord's smile was as cold as the ice which froze entire lakes, and promised nothing but death or servitude for the creatures of Redwall Abbey and Mossflower Wood.