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Redwall Wiki | Brian Jacques and Redwall Information
Redwall Wiki | Brian Jacques and Redwall Information

Book 1- A Warrior's Destiny[]

Chapter 1 - Water and Tyranny[]

If cold air were an object, it would be a sword. Hard, unforgiving, and piercing everything it touched. Loveless, remorseless, unfeeling, freezing, and sometimes ending the lives of living things. If snow were a creature, it would be the warrior. The warrior whose weapon is cold air. The cold is its livelihood, its sustainer, its purpose. Without it, snow would be killed by its enemy, warmth.

But, at this very moment, the snow had another enemy. Snow was being crushed underpaw by a traveler. This mouse was a warrior, just like the cold snow, except this warrior had a conscience as well as a sword.

The wayfarer paused in his steps to take in the lay of the land. the cold wind got a better look at him as he stood still. Stormy grey eyes reflected the leaden skies and they said something the wind could not understand. Was it...could it be...regret? Nay, said the snow, they are the eyes of a fighter, grey as steel. Aye, the wind replied but there is something else. The wind whispered its question to the trees. They smiled. They knew. The trees creaked back, the thing hidden there is kindness. And love. The snow scoffed as the wind brushed through it. Warriors who love are weak. But the wind thought otherwise. The grey eyes were set above cheekbones defined from hunger, and the shadows beneath his eyes said he had not slept. Pulling his ragged cloak that had once been blue tighter around himself, the mouse shivered and trudged onwards. His worn boots sank through the snow with each step. Letting go of the edges of his cloak, the traveler blew into his numbed paws and rubbed the white sleeves of his shirt. Shirt, tunic, trousers, boots, cloak, and coppery fur, could not win the battle with the cold. The sword that was strapped to his back had also lost numerous battles against the elements; rust showing clearly on the blade. The sojourner had been walking all night, all morning, and all through the day. Covered by the clouds, the sun sank on the western horizon behind him. In the distance he could see dark shapes like houses but no light came from them. Beyond the empty hovels was something that resembled a massive fortress. Light came from its windows, but not a light that was welcoming.

It was twilight, and the trees silhouetted against the rosy sky like black claws when the mouse made it to the lifeless houses. Meandering among them, he looked for a place in which to sleep. The warrior stopped abruptly in his tracks, his ears twitching behind him. Though he strained his sense of hearing, the only sound was the sighing wind. He shook his head and continued walking. His senses must have been playing tricks on him, but deep down he could feel that something wasn't right. His fears were confirmed when the wind died down and he heard the sound of pawsteps crunching in the snow behind him. The traveler thought quickly. He was in strange territory and somebeast was sneaking up on him. The warrior knew only one course of action. Curling his paw into a fist, he spun around, his fist colliding with something metal and his pursuer was down. It only took a heartbeat for the mouse to realize what he had done. A wave of shock swept over him as he saw blood trickle from underneath the helmet of his adversary. He was dead. The warrior's head shot up to see a dozen creatures bolting towards him. They were armed with spears and shields embossed with thousands of green eyes looking every which way. They were also helmeted and garbed the same as the rat who had been slain. Rather than taking to his heels, the stalwart warrior drew his rusted sword; he would go down fighting. But before he could do anything, he was down face-first in the snow with a creature on his back who had his claws in the mouse's hair, pushing his face further into the frozen ground. Soon the rat party was on him, yanking him to his footpaws. Though he struggled, he could not get free; there were too many of them. They unarmed him and jerked his paws behind his back, tying them securely with coarse rope. A large figure strode toward the group. The mouse judged that it was probably the leader of the group, or captain.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" The speaker was a rather large, smelly rat with a muscular build and a large brass hoop dangling from one of his tattered ears. He looked the mouse up and down recognition dawning on his chunky features. "You're the mouse from the tavern aren't you?" he murmured as if not wanting the others to hear, "I haven't forgotten that you beat me, and don't worry, I'll get you back." He stood back from the mouse eyeing him with contempt.

A scrawny rat marched up bearing the mouse's sword to his leader, "Captain Fitz sir, 'e were carryin' this." Fitz chuckled as he handled the rusty weapon, talking to himself in scarcely audible tones, "The hilt isn't rusty and could still catch a fair price wot with the ruby an' all..." He continued, speaking now to the mouse, "Where have all your friends gone, eh?" He got in the mouse's face, showering him with spittle as he spoke, "Gone and left you all on your own?" He backed away grinning spitefully. Fitz glared at the mouse, whose face remained impassive. He glared back, steel gray eyes hooded over in silent defiance. Fitz looked away, shouting orders to those in his command, "Take 'im to see 'is majesty, Verdauga."


The massive fortress the mouse had seen turned out to be just that. It was an damp, huge, old castle. Crumbling ramparts with green algae clinging to them encircled a large courtyard, training grounds and keep. The mouse allowed himself to be roughly dragged into the fortress walls, biding his time. They were sauntering through a hallway decorated with emaciated tapestries, when he finally judged the time to be right. The mouse broke free from their grasp and began running down the corridor, the rope tied to his paws trailing in his wake. There was much shouting and scrambling as the surprised rats sought to gain their bearings and grasp the rope. "Get 'im!" roared the enraged Fitz who began chasing after the escapee. Not knowing where he was going, the mouse unsuspectingly found himself at a dead end. Panting and panicked the mouse spun around to face his rat archenemy, Fitz. The ratguard promptly seized the unfortunate by the collar and with his other paw delivered a hefty blow to the mouse's jaw. By now the others had caught up with them and took charge of the prisoner once more. Fitz, still panting, pushed his face up close to the mouse as he said in a low, menacing voice, "You'll do as I say, and it'll save you a lot of trouble. Do you understand?"

The mouse looked down as if thinking. His mouth was full of blood from having bitten his tongue when he was punched. Looking up he caught Fitz's commanding stare and spat blood in the gloating rat's face. Fitz leaped back, crying out and wiping furiously at his face. For the first time in days the mouse smiled, spitting the rest of the blood onto the floor, its coppery taste not quite diminished. When he looked up


2 B continued when i have time to get back to it....