User blog:Shieldmaiden/Return to Noonvale

Dedicated to my family- Dad, Mom, V, B, J, and Z. Also for Rose, Finnbarr, Skarlath, Felldoh, and for Ares. You were a true warrior and will live on in Lord Resa. Look out for spoilers from Martin the Warrior (duh), Mossflower, Legend of Luke, Outcast of Redwall, and Doomwyte.

Prologue: Enter the Players
'''Whispering voices roused him from a deep sleep. His battle instincts, long unused, caused him to move quickly as he pulled his dagger from its place hanging above his bed, careful not to wake his slumbering wife. He noted with dismay the patches of rust and corrosion pitting the blade to the point of uselessness. He should have maintained it. '''

'''He opened the door outside and followed a faint light. It reminded him of that long night so many seasons ago, back when he had been a young 'un. He smiled, recalling his long-gone best friend's cocky smile and wholesome laugh. '''

'''The light entered Noonvale's library and he followed in silence. He lost it for a minute amidst the dusty shelves and old tomes, but arguing and sleepy voices soon got him back on track. “Wanga, why yoo bwing us here?” a cross Dibbun he recognized as his own son Riordan demanded, “I tired!” '''

'''He shook his head in amusment and sheathed the blade. Dibbuns. He should have known. The squirrelbabe Ranga was climbing a high shelf, scanning the titles as she responded to her inquisitive friend. “Wemember da stowy yoo Daddy wead us wast nigh'? Welw, da second book's here.” '''

'''“Dere's anover stowy wiv Martin ee Wurrior?” a plump harebabe asked. '''

'''Ranga nodded. “Yes. It after war wiv Badwung, back when Mommy and Daddy were likkle!” There were gasps.'''

'''“Dat old? Wow!”'''

'''“Did they figh' in da big battle!” Ranga squealed in triumph and pulled a tome nearly as big as she was from the shelf and threw it onto a nearby armchair. She nimbly leaped after it and opened it to the first page. She cleared her throat and began to read aloud, stumbling over the longer words.  The adult who had followed them smiled as he heard long dusty memories brought into the light at last from the dark recesses of his mind. Ah yes. Those were the days. Back when he was young and strong, and free as the wind. Back when many friends who were now dead walked the world and were alive. Ah, yes. Those were the days. . . '''

= Book One: The Warbeast of the North = 48 Seasons Before, in the Summer of the Shining Water



Chapter One: Zounzdican
Night had fallen over the village of Noonvale. Somewhere in the murky blackness, an owl hooted thrice, adding to the sense of foreboding and danger. On this night, precisely eight seasons ago, Badrang the Tyrant had slain Laterose of Noonvale. Unaware of the night's significance, two rats were bumbling blindly around in the woods. The older of the two was a bulky rat appropriately named Fatgutt. He leaned on a halberd, and a rusty iron helm graced his head. His companion was not very old- only aged about 12 seasons, but his face was scarred with traces of past battles, most notably the slash across his left eye. His name was Ripred, and his preferred weapon was a sabre.

“Admit it, we're lost.” Ripred said, more than slightly annoyed, “This is the second time we've passed that tree in an hour!"

"Come on, there's only one way left!" Ripred rolled his eyes but followed the older rat.

"What're we looking for, anyways?"

"Didn't ye listen? Her Ladyship gave precious orders-"

"Precise!" muttered Ripred.

Fatgutt dealt the young rat a blow. "Shud up, numbbrain! Anyways, she told us to scout out these woods and report anything of interest, like villages or fortresses."

The two vermin continued on their way, arguing. Silence descended once more on the woods- but not for long. A compact figure slid down the trunk of a nearby tree. Another popped out from behind a bush. The two converged in the center of the clearing. "Come on, Brome, let's follow 'em!" the second figure whispered. The first nodded and they followed the pair.

In the eight seasons since Badrang's defeat, Brome of Noonvale had grown much. He was now a very skilled healer, though still small for his age. His companion towered over him- though this was to be expected. Being the oldest otter at Noonvale, Keyla was taller than most of the populace, except Rowanoak and Ballaw DeQuincewold. The pair crouched behind a rocky outcropping and peered over it. "By the fire, would you look at that!"

It was a massive army. Ferrets, foxes, weasels, stoats, and rats, a mass of unruly vermin- all led by a single pine marten. Her name was Zounzdican the Evil. Unlike most females, she scorned dresses, preferring instead the rough tunic and spiked armor of a warlord. In her paw rested a barbaric sword- longer and wider than your average claymore. It boasted barbs running up and down the blade, a pair of which stood at the tip of the sword, larger and even more fiercer than the rest. It looked rather heavy, but she easily wielded it with one paw. Her eyes were like two chips of stone, and just as cold. This was Zounzdican the Evil, Warbeast of the North.

"An army of vermin!" gasped Brome.

"That big 'un's about to speak," Keyla shushed. His eyes locked on her. Somewhere, in his mind's eye. ..

''The gale bristled with thunder and flashed with lightning. He felt the hot passion of hate washing over him as he stared at the prostrate body of his father, blood pouring down his head. '' Something poked him and the memory vanished. Brome looked at his otter friend worriedly. "You alright?" Keyla shook his head to clear his thoughts. Whatever that was, it was gone now.

"Tell ye later," he muttered, eager to get off the topic, "Now shush."

"We are starting a new life here." Her voice rang and echoed off the rocks, intensifying her eloquent tone. "Here in the Northlands, we can regroup. Grow strong once more. And when we are, we will take vengeance." Deafening cheers rang from the shore. Keyla and Brome had to cover their ears until it died down. "If you remember, we were bested once by a tribe of mice from Mossflower. Pah!" She spit on the ground in disgust. As well as dressing like one, she had the atrocious manners of a searat captain. "We shall conquer what ever pitiful tribes are left here. And then on to Mossflower, to exact our revenge! What is our goal?" her voice was screeching now, so high with rage you could hardly hear it.

All the vermin cried as one, "Revenge! Revenge!"

"And who will lead you to victory?"

"You, O Evil One!" Several rocks shattered under the intense sound waves.

"I think we've seen enough,” Brome muttered. Keyla tore his eyes away from the strangely familiar pine marten and nodded.

"You're right, mate. Let's get out o' 'ere while we can." They slipped off into the blackness.

On this night, precisely eight seasons ago, Badrang the Tyrant had slain Laterose of Noonvale.

Chapter Two: Prophecy
Extract from the writing of Germaine, first Abbess of Redwall, as dictated to Bella of Brockhall. ''Life at our abbey has been calm for many seasons now. Gonflet and Chugger, along with a season old named Ivy have become tight friends- there is a constant watch on the Abbey kitchens now. Trimp the Rover, Vurg, and Beauclair Frethringsol Cosfortingham have made their permanent home here at Redwall. Beau has become Assistant Cook to Goody Stickle. Despite his age, he is still an excellent cook, one that Redwall can be proud of.  Martin, our Abbey Warrior, has been spending much time with the Dibbuns lately. I notice that he always seems melancholy round this time and season, though I have no idea why- even he seems to have no idea himself. A drought has come upon us. I incorporated the pond into the plans for the Abbey- all that is left of the flood tunnels we used to bring down Kotir. Now even if the generations to come have a drought this terrible, they will have an undying source of water. ''

' *** '

"An army, you say? How many?"

"Ten thousand, at least."

There were gasps of horror around the council room. Urran Voh sighed and put his head into his paws. First Badrang, now this.

"Ten thousand? We'll be massacred!"

"Our children!"

"We must leave!"

"I'm not going!" "SILENCE!" Everybeast turned in surprise to the normally soft-spoken Brome. "Shouting and panicking won't get us anywhere. My father-your chieftain- is talking, I suggest you listen." He nodded to Urran and sat back down.

Urran Voh turned to the populace. "The situation is grim, my friends. We are not warriors. We are healers, thinkers, creators. We know little of such matters. And so I have decided to reinstate the Fur and Freedom Fighters. Barkjon, Keyla, Ballaw, and Rowanoak know more on this subject than we do- you'll be in good paws. Now, does anybeast have any other ideas?" Almost immediately, Keyla's paw was in the air. "Yes, Keyla?"

The young otter stood and surveyed the populace. "Eight seasons ago, we faced a similar threat to our freedom. We faced Badrang the Tyrant, but overcame it with help." The otter's cerulean eyes were determined. "I vote we seek out that help." Urran Voh felt cold anger ignite with in him as he realized what the young otter was saying. Keyla's sea blue eyes met Urran Voh's. "I move we go to find Martin the Warrior." Conflicting murmurs ran through the populace.

Urran Voh, nearly blind with anger, managed to speak calmly. "Keyla, I need to talk to you in private." Almost as soon as they were out of earshot he turned on the young otter. "Are you mad? I wouldn't let Martin within a thousand miles of Noonvale if he was the only hope of peace!" Keyla waited while Urran continued his rant.

When he reached a stopping point, he spoke his argument. "That just shows how bitter ye are." Urran Voh opened his mouth to respond, but Keyla continued. "You're looking for someone to blame for Rose's death, and Martin makes a logical scapegoat. But he had nothing to do with it. He put her as far away from the action as possible. I know. There was little fighting where she was."

"Then how come she died?"

Keyla fought to control his rising temper. "Because Badrang was such a coward that he tried to escape through the tunnel dug. He hacked at Grumm, and Rose hurled herself at him. He threw her against the wall and you know the rest."

"If you know so much about it, where were you during all this?"

"Saving Brome's hide!" Their voices had both raised a few decibels by now, but they were too angry to care.

"I can't. You don't know what it's like, Keyla. To lose one you love."

The otter's blue eyes were filled with grief. "You at least remember Rose. I have few memories of my father and mother. Snippets of a lullaby, a voice, the rocking of a ship- scattered fragm