User blog:Heather the dragon rider/Defenders of Redwall (new)

OMT it's finally here!! *squeals and bounces in bed* At last, I am rewriting DoR!! I'm trying to figure out a way to take turns between writing this and my to-be-published book, because I love them both too much, so we'll see how this goes. 8] Here's the music playlist, which I should probably update. 

Sorry I don't have any new cover art yet... I'll be working on that. :D

But I should stop rambling, so, without further ado.... please enjoy, my dear mates. *bows, drops mic, and leaves stage*

Prologue
It started with a shadow.

A darkness had swept briefly over the peaceful abbey that fateful summer evening, casting a chill over the creatures below. Mice, otters, hedgehogs, badgers, and all were stunned to see the huge, bird-like shape in the sky.

Then the fire came.

A sheet of flames danced in the air, setting areas of the abbey roof alight.

Nothing like it had been seen for countless seasons in the history of Redwall. Many believed the monster to be nonexistent. Nonetheless, the huge, scarlet-scaled reptile landed its cruelly sharp talons in the soft green grass of the abbey grounds, sending the inhabitants scurrying inside in a panic, little ones wailing and screaming. Only a courageous few stood their ground.

Errol, the Abbey Warrior, and his group of faithful companions barred the way to the doors of Great Hall. But it was a futile effort against the great fire-lizard.

Killing a few of the warrior’s friends, the dragon had snatched the ancient sword of Martin right out of Errol’s paws and flown away with it, but not before scorching the ground with its flaming breath.

Errol remembered it all too vividly, as he sat on the rock ledge, panting, waiting for his followers. He leaned forward as a paw reached up toward him, grasping at the edge. Taking a tight grip, the muscular mouse pulled his companion the rest of the way up the rope.

The otter fell flat on the rocks, groaning softly and rubbing his paws. “Oooh, me paws! I thought I weren’t gonna make it, several times on the way up here. I tell ye, Errol, I ain’t doin’ that again, ever! Not me! No, sir!”

Errol gave a grim smile. “S’pose we’ll have to leave you up here then, eh, Randi? We’ve got to go back down again, ye know.”

Randi gave a loud groan, flopping an arm weakly over his eyes. “Oh, don’t remind me, mate! Just leave me bones up here to welcome the ravens! They’d appreciate some company, I’m sure.”

“Aye, but not your company, ye scallywag.” Errol poked his friend in the ribs, making him jerk in annoyance. “You’d talk the ears right off ‘em. Now help me get the others up here, when they come.”

Ignoring the otter’s reply of, “Wait a blinkin’ minnit, mate… ravens don’t have ears… do they?” the mouse laid on his front, inching forward until he could look over the edge of the cliff.

It was a dizzying height, but the warrior fought the slight nausea that threatened to make his head spin and his stomach churn. There was no time for that nonsense.

The thick rope, knotted every half tails-length and consisting of many ropes all tied together, stretched straight down the jagged Cliffs of Fire, the end so far at the bottom as to be barely visible. His remaining four companions were tiny, ant-sized figures on the rocks below. Another, slightly larger ant crawled its way up the rope, paw over paw.

Errol pulled his head back up onto the ledge, shaking the dizzy feeling away. “Wonder what my nephew Colby’s doin’ right now,” said Randi suddenly.

“Must you start one of your conversations right at this moment?” Errol rolled his eyes.

“Of course I must,” answered Randi quickly. “It helps me keep me mind off the danger, doom, and possible death ahead of us, and it’s somethin’ to do while we wait for the others. And think a’ yore boy. What d’ye s’pose he’s doin’ right now?”

“This is a strange topic to be speaking of at this time, but if it makes you happy, I would guess Ren is drawing, or eating strawberries with the other Dibbuns, until they all make themselves sick as frogs with the fever.” Errol gave a long sigh, swiping his shaggy red headfur out of his eyes, only for the wind to whip it back into his mouth. “Satisfied?”

Randi nodded, studying his rough paws. “Aye, an’ Colby’s likely throwin’ berries at his siblings.” He gave a short laugh, then continued to reminisce aloud of all the times his young nephew had managed to injure himself and fellow Dibbuns with otherwise harmless fruits.

But Errol, alone in his own thoughts, barely heard.

It had been over a week since he had seen his little son. He gave another sigh, missing the red fur, the lively green eyes, the tiny, frail build, and kind, quiet nature of Ren.

Ren was all he had left, after all.

His heart ached to recall the loss of the beautiful, sweet mouse he had fallen in love with all those seasons ago. But her best traits had been passed on to their son, and in a way, she lived on through him.

As much as he treasured his only mouseling, Errol couldn’t help wishing, in the back of his mind, that the boy had not been born so… small. Weak, for lack of a better word. He had always imagined that, by this age, a mouse might be able to at least lift the famous sword of Redwall.

But perhaps he did not know much about children. Perhaps the mouseling would have a sudden growth spurt soon. He was only eight seasons of age, after all. Errol reassured himself that in only a few seasons, Ren would be much stronger and more capable, just as Errol himself had been at that age. Then, someday, the famed sword of Redwall would be passed to his paws, and the new young warrior would wield it courageously against evil, as had his predecessors.

It made Errol’s chest swell with pride, the thought of his own dear son carrying on the legacy of Martin the Warrior. He would make the spirit of the ancient defender proud.

But only once the sword was returned to Redwall.

Errol felt a little deflated, but mentally shrugged it off. No matter, that issue would be solved within a matter of hours.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a friend, as were the ramblings of Randi. Both warriors leaned forward to help a squirrel up the remaining rope and onto the ledge.

“I didn’t need help, but thank ye all the same,” remarked the squirrel cheekily, pulling his paw out of Randi’s grasp and wiping it on his tunic with a look of pretend disdain. “I’m a blinkin’ squirrel, y’know.” “My apologies, oh Great Yewjack,” Randi gave a wildly exaggerated mock bow. “I should have let you fall.”

Errol’s paw shot out, grabbing the teetering otter by the back of his tunic. He yanked his friend away from the edge, shoving harder than he meant to and causing the otter to slam into the rock wall behind them.

“Seasons of slaughter, Randi!” gasped Errol, his heart racing at the close call. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Randi pressed himself against the stone, his bright eyes wide.

“Remind me never to stand next to Yewjack on the edge of a cliff,” gulped the otter, as he realized how close he had been to plunging down the dizzying mountainside.

“I’ll have to remind you never to goof off on the edge of a cliff!” Errol placed a paw on his forehead, taking a deep breath. “I don’t care what you always tell me every time you almost die, I’m not carving, “He died happily; with a stupid grin on his face.” on your tombstone. No matter how true it may be.”

Yewjack backed away from the edge himself, sitting on the stone ledge and preparing a torch.

“Maerko and Dugg told me to tell you they’re stayin’ behind, Errol,” said the squirrel, wrapping the torch tightly with cloth. “They figured they ain’t makin’ it all the way up here.”

Errol nodded. “That’s fine. We may need beasts below, in case of emergency.”

The three waited in silence, until two more companions joined them on the ledge. With a nod, Errol accepted a lit torch from Yewjack, and led the way into the cave.

It was cool and silent inside the tunnel, the firelight from the two torches flickering across the walls, decorated with strange patterns and pictures carved into the solid stone. There were mice, hares, badgers, swords, and strange monsters that looked like nothing that was known to exist. But the most prominent carving was that of the fire-lizard.

If he hadn’t seen the monster with his own eyes just over a week ago, Errol would have taken it to be just another mythical creature. He shuddered. The carvings reminded him eerily of those in the caves of the sandstone quarry in Mossflower, the very one that stone had been cut from to build Redwall Abbey.

Errol had ventured into those tunnels once, facing the danger of the adders that had inhabited the area since ancient times. They had been the ones to carve their weird pictures on the walls.

The ones surrounding him were similar, serpentine in feel but not as old. Fairly recent, even.

Holding his torch closer to the floor, Yewjack peered at a small object that had clattered as he kicked it.

“Lookit this.” The squirrel held up a blood-red scale, about the size of his pawpad. “Creepy.” He grinned, waving it in Errol’s face.

“Keep your voice down, Yewjack,” Errol said in a low voice, waving his friend’s paw away.

“But the monster’s away,” shrugged Yewjack, dropping the scale into his belt pouch.

“We hope,” corrected Errol. “He didn’t appear to be at home, but it’s always best to be cautious. He may even return while we’re in there.”

“Oh, mother of seasons, do you really think so?” gulped an anxious-looking shrew beside him, twisting his colorful but dirty Guosim headband nervously in his paws.

“I hope not, but it’s a risk we have to take.” Errol placed a paw comfortingly on his friend’s shoulder. “It’ll all work out, don’t worry, Gannon.”

“Oh, I’m worrying.” Gannon sighed shakily, replacing his crumpled bandana on his spiky head.

“I’ve gotta thank ye all for accompanying me, mates.” Errol smiled around at his comrades through the torchlit dimness. “I would’na gotten this far without ye.”

“Aw, ye know we stick with ya through thick an’ thin, Errol matey!” Gannon punched the warrior mouse in the shoulder, which was just about as high up as he could reach.

“We’re with ya ‘til the end,” smiled Randi.

“We’ve got yore back,” added Yewjack, twirling his bushy tail. “And yer front. An’ sides. I’d draw the line at yore bottom, though.”

Errol couldn’t hold back a grin, stifling his laughter in his free paw.

The spot of daylight disappeared behind them as the tunnel turned a few corners.

“D’ye feel that?” Gannon paused, shivering.

Errol stood stock still. Through the stone beneath his paws, he could feel a distant rumble. It was constant, rising and falling without rest.

“The vibration? Aye, I feel it too, now.”

The comrades glanced at each other.

“Mayhap th’ mountain’s a volcano?” said Randi, his rudder tapping restlessly against the cold floor.

“‘Tain’t a bad guess,” murmured Errol, moving on. How he wished he had a weapon besides the dirk he carried. The rumbling vibrations grew stronger as they ventured further in.

“Must be a pretty unstable volcano,” commented Yewjack, giving a quiet, fake laugh.

“Aye, watch your step.” Errol nodded, not wanting to voice his actual thoughts.

Was he leading his friends straight into the jaws of death?

“This… this must be it,” breathed Randi at his side, raising Errol’s torch-wielding paw higher for him.

Errol looked up, his eyes growing large to take it all in.

Before them stretched a great black hole, seemingly endless. From somewhere in the depths of it, something sparkled, reflecting the torches’ flames like a dozen little glowing eyes. Errol caught his breath, only to find they weren’t eyes after all. They were round, golden coins, scattered across the floor.

“I think this monster has a lot more treasure than we expected,” marveled Yewjack, stepping in and casting his torch light all around.

It was a huge pile of everything sparkly and ornate; mysterious coins, royal chalices, ancient swords, daggers and countless other weapons that had seen many an untold murder in their dark pasts, never to be uncovered by any living creature.

“How long did it take the beast to collect all this?” wondered Gannon aloud, barely raising his voice above a whisper.

Errol breathed a sigh of relief.

The lizard was nowhere to be seen. And yet… the rumble continued, seeming to come from the walls all around them.

Errol shrugged it off mentally. Randi must be right. It must be a volcano.

“Be ready to go when I say so,” murmured the warrior to his companions.

They nodded, and stood by the exit as he made his way across the large cavern.

Eyes searching, Errol climbed carefully over mounds of glittering artifacts, taking care not to cut his paws on the numerous weapons. The sword must be here somewhere. Having been taken so recently, it should be on top.

His heart pounded. What if the dragon returned before he had the chance to find it? He swiped the thought from his mind.

Focus.

Worrying would get him nowhere.

Get the sword, get out.

That was all.

His heart jumped as his own shadow against the wall startled him. He glanced back at his companions, mere dark shapes in the flickering glow of their torch. They stood waiting, restlessly.

Errol’s eyes strained as he turned back to what was ahead of him, finding a tiny red spot against the far wall. Hopes rising again, he scrambled across the treasures, until, reaching the thing he had sighted, it was in his grasp.

At last.

The worn leatherbound grip was soft, but cold in his paw. The pommel stone glinted blood-red as it reflected his torch.

With a smile of satisfaction, Errol relaxed a little, sliding the ancient blade back into its rightful place, in the sheath on his back.

Done.

He turned. His eyes fell on something that looked horrifyingly familiar.

A large black arrowhead shape, poking out from under a pile of slowly shifting armor pieces.

Had that been there before?

It was only then that he noticed the rumbling had stopped.

The mouse’s heart and seemingly all his insides dropped to his sweaty, well-worn boots. Metal clinked against metal, rattling as the pile rose, higher and higher, until, startlingly, two large, dark wings spread out on either side of it. Out burst the reptilian head, with a cave-rattling roar. The dragon was standing now, shaking valuable trinkets off his flanks as if they were no more than dry leaves he had been hiding in like a Dibbun on an autumn day.

“Ssstupid moussse.” The reptile’s voice was sibilant, his forked tongue flicking out of his toothy mouth like a snake’s. “Thought I wouldn’t notice, did you?”

Errol didn’t stop to answer. Gritting his teeth, he made a dash straight for the monster.

“Torwin always noticesss,” hissed the voice above him, snarling in surprise as the mouse slipped under its chest, popping out on the other side of the treasure pile.

“Time to go, mates!” Errol called to his companions, who stood frozen momentarily.

The warrior skidded down the side of the treasure pile, sending coins and jewelry flying, only to be jerked back. He turned just in time to grab the crosspiece of the sword as the dragon pulled it out of the sheath, holding it delicately between his claws.

“I believe thiss iss mine.”

“Wrong!” Errol grunted, bracing himself and pulling at the weapon. “It belongs to Redwall!”

“No more,” sighed the fire-lizard, as if tiring quickly of the game of tug-of-war.

The sword slipped from Errol’s grasp, and he fell on his tail at the foot of the pile.

Torwin gave a snarl, dropping the sword and turning to face Yewjack, who had stolen up behind him and taken a vicious stab at his tail.

“You will pay for sssneaking into my cave, sstealing my sword, and attempting to kill me, tiny assassssins.” Torwin’s voice was a roar now.

Before Errol could cry out a warning to his friend, Torwin had struck out at Yewjack with a lighting-swift talon.

The squirrel fell with a scream of agony, his chest torn horribly by the cruel claws.

“No!” Errol choked out, diving forward onto the sword, which Torwin had dropped in his fury.

“You will never kill another of my friends!” He raised the weapon, driving it straight ahead. It sunk into the reptile’s chest, but only the tip. The scaley armored plates were too hard.

“I don’t need to.” The dragon turned back to Errol, his slitted yellow eyes almost glowing.

“You already have.”

“No!” Head spinning, Errol yanked the sword out of the dragon’s chest, leaving no more than a tiny trickle of blood. His eyes filled with unbidden tears.

“Randi! Gannon!” He backed away from the dragon, shouting hoarsely to his friends. “Get out, now! Leave! Don’t… don’t wait!”

“We ain’t leavin’ ye, mate!” was Randi’s reply. The torch shook in his paw. “I told ya, we-”

“Don’t argue with me!” Errol whirled around, his green eyes crackling with furious desperation. “Go!”

The comrades argued no further. There was no dealing with the warrior when he was this way, they knew. There was nothing they could do.

“There’s another tunnel I noticed, over here!” Gannon shoved Randi to the right.

“If I must fight you for what is rightfully mine, then so be it.” Errol swung back to the dragon, aflame with rage. “Face me here and now, thieving snake!”

“I ssssshall glady, warrior,” hissed Torwin, raising his wings. “Once I have taken care of your annoying little friendsss.”

The wickedly pointed tail slammed down in front of Gannon and Randi, blocking their path.

Errol dashed forward, bringing his sword down in a vicious slice on the thickly scaled appendage. Torwin roared in pain, lashing his tail. The black arrow-shaped tip caught Gannon across the back, and the shrew crumpled with a shriek.

Nearly sobbing in desperation, Randi scooped up his smaller friend in his arms like he was no more than a Dibbun, stumbling quickly into the escape tunnel.

Further enraged by the escape of his victims, Torwin lunged full tilt at Errol with a bloodcurdling reptilian scream. The Warrior was ready.

He flung himself to one side, striking at the crashing jaws that had missed him by a few mere seconds. The shining blade made no more than a long, shallow furrow in the dragon’s hard face.

“You… will… not… essscape,” Torwin swore, spitting the words out in pure, white-hot fury.

“Maybe not.” Errol’s sweaty paws gripped the hilt tightly, and he clenched his teeth, preparing for the fire-lizard’s next move. “But whether I make it out of this alive or not matters little.” His chest heaved.

“Sooner or later, you will lose. Redwall will always claim its own. Even if you slay me, you will never truly win.”

With an echoing roar, Torwin lunged again, and Errol swung his great weapon.

Though his arms ached and his heart pounded hotly within, he felt his strength renewed somehow.

He was ready to go down fighting.

Chapter 1
TBC!

Dew ro se   Rose of the Mor ning      06:08, November 8, 2018 (UTC)