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Chapter Text

The wind off the Eastern Coast cut through Keyla’s ragged clothing and fur alike as the otter struggled his way back out of the forest, causing him to shiver hard enough that the firewood stacked in his paws threatened to spill onto the frozen dirt. Unwilling to let that happen, Keyla paused just long enough to tighten his grit and force his body still. The corsairs would have no cause to beat him today, at least not over the firewood, particularly since the fox Skalrag looked as though he was in the mood to dish a particularly harsh reprimand out to any slave he felt needed one.

Well, Keyla thought grimly, it won’t be me you strike. Denying a corsair the chance to hurt him was about as small a victory as he could think of, but it was a victory all the same, and in his years as a slave he’d learned that that was the best way to cope with the day-to-day torments. It certainly served better than holding out hope for a miraculous escape from Marshank or for some liberator from a far-off land to appear, at any rate.

Keyla’s reverie was abruptly broken off by a massive clatter from somewhere behind him. Oh, blast it all. Who dropped their pile? Unwilling to risk dropping his own by looking back to see what was going on, he nonetheless winced in sympathy to the poor creature; it seemed that Skalrag was about to get his wish anyways.

“Oi, mouse! What in the gates of hell’d you go doing that for?” Sure enough, Skalrag’s voice snapped out into moments later. “Lord Badrang wants all the firewood back as soon as possible, remember? Stop slowing everybeast down!”

Come on, Keyla prayed, just apologize and pick everything up. You might be able to head him off.

Unfortunately, the mouse, whoever she was, did not seem to be the type to realize that. “Oh, come off it, you old villain!” She answered in a waspish tone. “Can’t you see I’m too old to be collecting firewood? My paws can barely even hold a single bloody log, let alone an entire pile!”

Although his back was still to the poor mouse, Keyla was still able to hear Skalrag strike her clear across the face with the back of his paw. “Oh, so the old mouse thinks she gets to tell me what she can and can’t do, does she?” He heard a crack, and shortly afterwards heard the mouse cry out in pain, and wondered which bones Skalrag had broken.

“Still think you can tell me what to do now?” Another crack. “Hard to do that with a broken rib, let alone a broken wrist, isn’t it? How about if on top of that I give you a broken – ”

“SIRE!” Unable to contain himself any longer Keyla whirled around, somehow managing to keep his firewood from spilling out of nearly-numb paws as he did, until he was face-to-face with the fox and his now-whimpering victim. “Please have mercy on her. She obviously didn’t remember that we needed to get back to Marshank quickly – none of us slaves are as clever as a fox like you, after all. And like you said, we need to hurry, don’t we?”

“But a cork in it, otter, unless you think you need some discipline as well.” Skalrag advanced towards Keyla a few steps before hesitating, and his eyes narrowed. “Although… I suppose you’re right that we’re falling behind too much as-is.” Stepping back, the fox’s cruel eyes swept over all the slaves. “It seems that your little mouse friend has bought all of you some extra work. Grab her firewood and get moving, or she won’t be the only one with broken bones tonight.”

All the slaves gathered answered in the affirmative before hurriedly complying with the new orders. After doing so a pair of squirrels started towards the mouse as if to help her, but with a crack of his whip Skalrag made them stop.

“Leave her. She’s dead weight to us.”

Nobeast was foolish enough to protest. Keyla started forwards again after tearing his eyes away from the creature still moaning on the ground, fighting to keep his anger at bay long enough to finish the cold, miserable walk back to the fortress.

“Geum’s dead.” Hillgorse announced the news to the rest of the slaves at supper. “I saw Gurrad throw the body to the gulls a few minutes ago.” The old hedgehog paused long enough to compose himself before he spoke again. “May she find peace in the Dark Forest, where nobeast can hurt her.”

The entire slave compound was silent; although none of them had really liked the old mouse and her acid tongue per se, every creature that died at the paws of the Marshank corsairs was a creature they mourned.

“What happened to her?” A little mouse asked.

“It was Skalrag.” Keyla spoke the words without even deciding to talk, not even looking up from his food. “That damned fox beat her to death because she was too old while I just…stood there and watched.”

Keyla felt a comforting paw on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Barkjon, an elderly squirrel. “There was nothing you could do. Once Skalrag and all those like him decide they want to bully us, there is little we can do.”

“Aye, at least while Badrang lives.” This time it was Barkjon’s son, Felldoh, who spoke. “Without old ironpaw begging them on they’d all scatter to the winds like the cowards they are.” The young squirrel slammed the ground with his paw. “Oh, if only one of us could get at him and make him pay for everything he’s done!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, lad.” A vole by the name of Druwp shook his head. “Badrang’s too well-guarded for anybeast to get at him, and even if they could somehow get him alone none of us can take on a stoat in single combat.”

“But one creature did! Don’t you lot remember that mouse from three years ago?” Felldoh laughed. “He’s the entire reason why Badrang had to get his iron paw in the first place! Now, if we could somehow figure out a way to get his aid…” He trailed off, hoping that some other creature would pick up his idea.

Instead, all Felldoh got was a sigh from his father. “Son, I wish I could share your enthusiasm. But, sad to say, the odds that we’ll ever see that warrior mouse again are tiny. He had the accent of a creature from Mossflower, make no mistake on that, and those southrons live far from here. Too far for us to go to them for help, I’m afraid.”

That set Felldoh to arguing with his father, but Keyla paid it no mind. As Barkjon had said, whoever that mouse had been he was surely far away from Marshank and Badrang.

The idea of going to him for help was ridiculous.

And yet, for some reason, the idea refused to leave Keyla’s head that night, nor did it leave the next morning, and if anything it only intensified as he battled his way through the frozen winds to the forest for more firewood.

Don’t be absurd, he admonished himself as he bent over a group of twigs, there’s no way you could even get more than five minutes away from Marshank before they noticed you’re gone, let alone make your way south to this ‘Mossflower’ place. He probably wouldn’t be able to take more than twenty pawsteps before Skalrag grabbed him for trying to escape, and if that happened the only mouse he’d be encountering would be poor old Geum.

Keyla sighed, stood up, and looked around for Skalrag in order to ram the impossibility of escape home.

Hey, wait a minute. Where is he? Keyla looked to his left and found his view oddly devoid of cruel foxes. The view to his right was the same, as was the view behind him. Keyla looked up and realized he was in a clearing, with the sun shining down and casting shadows on the forest floor, as if conveniently letting the otter know which direction was south.

South was tantalizingly close and tantalizingly devoid of corsairs…

No. It’s ridiculous. You don’t even know where Mossflower is…

But supposing he could find out and get there…

Keyla looked around again and strained to listen, hoping to catch some sign of Skalrag or some other slaver.

The only sounds he could hear came from the northeast, and were surprisingly faint…

Slowly, quietly, not even daring to breath, Keyla placed the twigs back on the ground. Then, not wasting another second and risking losing his nerve, he took off south through the forest.

South, towards the faint hope of salvation for the slaves of Marshank.

***

With one last gasp, one as faint and weak as anything the old Abbess had ever heard before, sister Ethnella’s grip on Germaine’s paw grew weak as the sick mouse perished. She was the tenth to perish that day, and the hundred and eighth in total.

That’s nearly half the abbey, Germaine thought as she closed Ethnella’s eyes for the last time and stood up. All dead in less than half a year. By the fur, I knew Dryditch Fever was deadly, but I could never have imagined…

Germaine shook her head. Ruminating on the fever wouldn’t change what had happened, nor would it cause the plague to vanish from Loamhedge.

Besides, she needed to make the announcement. Germaine looked around the room, taking in the sight of those passed for the last time, and straightened herself as she walked out into Loamhedge’s great courtyard. The deep tones of the bell rang out as she continued through the empty cloisters, ringing both to announce the dead and to call all those still alive to the great hall, and to Germaine the sound seemed almost to have a third meaning: nothing less than the death knell of Loamhedge abbey.

Germaine felt a paw tap her shoulder just as she was about to open the doors to the great hall, and turned to see Columbine standing behind her with a grim expression.

“Is it time?” She asked.

“Yes.” Germaine nodded. “As if this morning, over a hundred have died. We…we can no longer remain here. I almost fear that this site has become cursed.”

“And Ethnella? Was she…”

“She was. Ethnella is the hundred and eighth person to have passed.” Germaine dropped her voice almost to a whisper. “May she and all the others we have lost find everlasting peace in the Dark Forest.”

Columbine stood still for a moment, in shock at the number, before whirling and slamming the door hard enough that Germaine was surprised she didn’t break her paw. “Damn it!”

“Sister Columbine! This is still an abbey, so please, don’t speak like that.”

Tears had begun to flow down Columbine’s face. “I’m sorry Abbess, but it’s my fault she’s gone. I should have realized what was happening when she told me that she was beginning to overheat during supper prayers.”

“No, child, it’s not your fault.” Germaine gently clasped Columbine’s paw in hers. “Nobeast could have seen any of this coming.” Still holding the younger mouse’s paw, she pushed open the great oaken doors. Now, come – I must make the announcement.”

The great hall was silent and half-empty, the effects combining to make it feel less like a building and more like a massive cavern. In happier times Germaine might have had to suppress a smile at the appropriateness of that, but today all she could do was clear her throat, take a deep breath, and address the crowd of scared postulants in front of her.

“Brothers and sisters of Loamhedge, not long ago I stood in this very spot and promised to you all that our beloved abbey would stand strong and triumph over this latest crisis. Today, I am here to say the opposite. I have failed to live up to that promise, and have failed you all.

“Brother Paul. Sister Zinnia. Sister Joan. Brother Bernard. Sister Martha. Sister Fiore. Sister Iris. Brother Seteth. Brother Gerald. Sister Ethnella. These ten are merely the latest in the line of those whom have been sent to rest in the Dark Forest, and if we continue on as we have been I fear it will only be a matter of time until the rest of us all go to join them. No, the only option we have – the only hope I have – if anybeast is to escape this catastrophe is to do what is the most drastic action we could possibly take.

“We have no choice. We must abandon Loamhedge, in the hopes that by leaving we will find ourselves outside of the reach of this disease.”

As Germaine had expected, her announcement threw the entire chamber into an uproar: although it was highly unlikely that none of those present had never even considered the notion, the knowledge that the Abbess of all mice had thought about it – let alone that she’d decided to actually go for it – was almost absurd.

Germaine let the chaos reign for a few moments before raising her paw. “Please, quiet! I am truly, deeply sorry that it had to come to this, sorry that I couldn’t have stopped it, but there is nothing we can do.”

Germaine’s vision swam, and she realized that she had a massive lump in her throat. Taking more deep breaths, she steadied herself.

“We must leave, and we must do it soon, or we will all die.”

Chapter Text

The sky was almost entirely gray, tinged only with the faintest oranges and scarlets of a rapidly approaching sunset, and as though in response to the uniformity above the ground was covered entirely in ankle-deep snow. Shoes and fur already soaked through, Keyla tried to suppress the pain in his footpaws and tightened his ragged scarf against a wind from the west.

It was now midwinter, and he had been on his desperate quest for aid for a good two months now. At least, he thought it had been two months – doing nothing but walking in a single direction tended to cause the days to blend together even worse than working as a slave in Marshank had, and so he wasn’t sure.

Nor was Keyla even sure that he was on the right track; although he had learned what he should be looking for from a tribe of rats he’d encountered some time ago, namely a massive fortress named Kotir, there was a definite possibility that he’d just wind up walking right past it. After all, the world was a massive place, and he had no way of knowing whether he was even anywhere near Mossflower.

Raising his head, Keyla looked around. All I see are a bunch of white trees. For all I know, Kotir could be twenty miles to the west in a clearing somewhere. He sighed, head bent back down, and continued forwards. There was nothing else he could do but walk, and hope that his worst fears were mistaken.

He had only managed to trudge forwards another hundred pawsteps or so when he smelled it. The unmistakable smell of a hearthfire drifted to Keyla from his Southwest, and along with it the tiniest hint of an unfamiliar spice. The scent made Keyla realize that he’d not eaten in over a day, and immediately his stomach growled.

All the same, Keyla hesitated before starting after the elusive fire: after all, there was no way to tell whether or not it would be friends or foes. Perhaps I should just keep walking. But then his stomach growled again, hard enough that the otter nearly doubled over in pain, and so Keyla changed course and began walking southwest.

Eyes bent downwards and all his focus on the promise of food wafting through the air, Keyla was oblivious to everything above head level and thus missed the massive castle along with the twinkling lights of the medium-sized down that it loomed over.

Without knowing it Keyla had finally reached Mossflower, land of the Wildcats.

***

The scent that had proved so enticing to the starving otter was in fact the scent of wood-cooked bread, currently being made in the fires of Ben and Goody Stickle. Their younger set of twins, Spike and Posy, had just had their birthday, and so in celebration Mr. and Mrs. Stickle had decided to use the last bit of cumin Gonff had brought from Kotir the last time he visited. All six of the hedgehogs sat around the fireplace as it crackled merrily, warming their paws as they listened to the night winds howling against the roof, each trying harder than the next not to salivate.

Just before it was time to pull the bread out from the fire, they heard somebeast knock on the door.

Ben Stickle sprang to his paws and walked over to the door, his heart in his throat. It was probably nothing, he knew, but still he couldn’t help but worry. Even now, a good three years later, whenever somebeast knocked the old hedgehog couldn’t help but flash back to that horrid night when Tsarmina’s lot had burst in and dragged them out by the point of a spear.

Fighting to keep his sudden jolt of fear down, Ben stopped just before grabbing the door handle. “Who is it?”

“Tis oi, Ben! Tis Urthclaw. Open up, burr, it’m be bloody freezen out yurr.”

The sound of molespeak caused the tension in Ben’s shoulders to immediately dissipate, and he opened the door with a smile. “Well, then, stop freezing your paws off and come inside! We’re just about to eat Spike and Posy’s birthday supper!”

“Thankee kindly!” Urthclaw’s nose began to twitch the moment he came through the doorway and was confronted with the overwhelming aroma of baked goods. “Boi the fur, that there bread be smellin’ like heaven!”

Goody chuckled. “Thank you, Urthclaw. I think we should have enough for seven? Although your portion may wind up being a little smaller.”

Urthclaw shrugged. “No matter, marm. Oi’m just ‘appy you’m lettin’ me have some.”

As they all sat down at the table – or on the floor, in Urthclaw’s case – and Goody began to divvy up the bread, there was another knock on the door.

“Open up! This is an official Kotir patrol, so get this door open!”

All the color immediately drained from Ben’s face. Seeing it, Goody put down her bread knife in order to reach over and gently touch his paw.

“It’s alright, Ben. I’ll answer the door.” As Goody crossed to the doorway the knocks grew more and more insistent, prompting the hedgehog to roll her eyes in amusement before swinging the door open.

Paw raised mid-knock, the ferret Blacktooth stumbled forwards into the newly opened doorway, nearly tripping over his own spear. The action raised a chorus of chuckles from the four young hedgehogs still around the table, a chorus which the poor ferret gamely pretended not to hear. Shortly behind him another soldier stepped through the doorway, a mouse that Goody felt fairly sure was named Brinty.

Smiling and visibly suppressing his own mirth at Blacktooth’s mishap, Brinty doffed his cap and gave a little bow. “Evening, miss Stickle. Thanks for letting us in – it’s bleedin’ cold out there.”

“Well, we didn’t exactly have a choice, now did we?”

“Um, technically not, but, ah, we appreciate it all the same.”

Goody waved a paw. “Think nothing of it, I’m just pulling your tail.”

“You’ll learn soon enough she’s fond of doing that, matey.” Blacktooth smirked at his companion. “She is the one that raised a certain ‘Prince of Mousethieves’, after all.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“What brings you down into Moss Town anyways?” Ben had managed to regain his nerve, and now he set about pouring two small cups of cordial for the newcomers.

Blacktooth shrugged. “Gingivere’s got us roaming up and down, checking in on every household to make sure that everybeast is making it through the blizzard alright.”

“Mm-hmm?” Urthclaw nodded theatrically. “That’s the entoire truth? You’m not here to take urr bread foir ‘taxes’?”

“N-no! Of course not!” Brinty had just taken a good swig of drink only to sputter it back up. “We didn’t even smell it, honest!”

“Well, you can’t have it!” Ferdy dashed forwards holding a little stick. “It’s for Posy ‘n Spike, not for you all! And Mum ‘n Dad already paid their taxes this year, so leave us alone!”

Years of dealing with Tsarmina and her bullies had taught Ben and Goody to fear that any soldier in the Thousand-Eye army would respond to such an act by smacking the offending child clear across the room and threatening to gut them like a fish, but to their immense relief Blacktooth merely yelped a bit, laughed, and jumped back a few steps.

“Stay back, now!” The ferret gave a few playful jabs with his spear. “We’re not here to steal your food, Ferdy, promise!”

“Although we wouldn’t say no if it was offered?” Brinty gave Ben his most hopeful look, but the hedgehog shook his head.

“Sorry, we don’t have enough. Blame Urthclaw showing up unexpectedly.”

“Oi? ‘Ow was oi s’posed to know they’d come a’knockin?”

Brinty shrugged. “Ah, well. Can’t blame a mouse for trying.”

“Say, Ferdy, how about we make a wager?” Blacktooth had a nasty grin on his face. “Howzabout we fight ourselves a little snow duel? I win, you give me your share of the bread.”

“Deal!”

Smiling, Blacktooth opened the door and beckoned Ferdy to follow him outside. “Anybeast care to watch?” He asked.

“Sure, why not?” Brinty pulled his cloak tighter against his neck. “It’ll stop me drooling all over the Stickles’ floor, at the very least.”

The mouse shut the door behind him, and soon after everybeast could hear the telltale sounds of snowballs whirling through the night air.

Shaking his head, Ben sighed and sat back down. “You know, if somebeast had told me five years ago that my son would be challenging Kotir soldiers to snowball fights, or even that we’d be getting along with them at all, I’d’ve called them mad.”

“Oi be thinkin’ it’s gudd. It’s noice t’ walk around and no’ worry about a real narsty creature ‘urtin moi.”

“You know what Ferdy told me, Mum?” Coggs interjected. “A couple days ago he said that when he gets old enough he wants to just up and join ‘em! Can you believe it? Ferdy, in the – ”

“MUM! DAD!” The door burst open and Ferdy ran back into the house, cheeks bright red from the cold. “You have to come and see! It’s Brinty and Blacktooth!”

“Not sure what was going on, Goody and Ben motioned the other three young ones to stay inside before running out with Ferdy. Breathlessly, the little hedgehog pointed towards three creatures fighting a small distance away.

“Blacktooth and I were throwing snowballs when Brinty saw that otter over there stumbling towards our house, but when the two went over to see if he was alright the otter started attacking them!”

Ben winced upon seeing the otter’s fist crack Blacktooth straight across the jaw. “Why?”

“I dunno! I think I heard the otter say something like ‘get away from me, you vermin’, and then all of a sudden he tried to hit Brinty in the stomach, and then they started fighting!”

“Must be some traveler from outside Mossflower.” Goody shook her head. “Poor creature’s probably only ever been around the sort of ferrets you get in bandit hordes or corsair ships. Should we do something, Ben?”

Ben bit his lip, again feeling the instincts he’d been forced to develop thanks to Tsarmina war against his more recent experiences, until the latter won out and the hedgehog began to run towards the three combatants.

“Hey, otter! Easy, they’re not going to hurt you! Easy, I said! It’s alright!” All his shouts gave the otter absolutely zero pause, and indeed he proceeded to shove Blacktooth to the ground before pressing a footpaw directly down on the ferret’s throat. Ben winced again before gritting his teeth and breaking into a full sprint, tackling the otter into the snow and pinning his paws to his back.

“Are you mad, hedgehog?” The otter yelled. “Why’re you taking their side?”

“Am I mad? I’m not the one who was just trying to commit a double homicide! What in the gates of hell is wrong with you?”

“They grabbed me! What was I supposed to do?”

Ben looked over at the two soldiers, both of whom were leaning on their spears and panting. “Explain, please.”

Blacktooth looked abashed. “We were only trying to take him to your house for a bit. Thought he could barely walk, honestly.” Massaging his neck he glared at the otter. “Apparently I wrong.”

The otter snorted. “Ha! I rather doubt that. Not like any ferret’s ever bothered helping me before.”

“Oh, really? How many ferret’s you’ve ever bother to actually talk with, matey?”

“Enough to know you lot are nothing but vermin, you great bully.”

Before Ben could so much as open his mouth Blacktooth had lunged forwards and pointed his spear right at the otter’s face. “Oi! Don’t you ever, ever call me that, unless you want a –”

“Easy, Blacktooth.” Goody drew Blacktooth back, her paw on his shoulder. “Look at him – he’s obviously had a hard life.” Kneeling down, she looked the otter straight in the eyes. “Where do you come from?”

“The northlands. Fort Marshank, properly, although it’s no home of mine.”

All those present immediately connected the dots. Ah, Ben thought, poor creature’s an escaped slave. “What’s your name, son?”

“Keyla.”

“Well, Keyla, let me tell you as somebeast who’s lived around here his entire life: I’ve known plenty of ferrets, and I can tell you from experience that Blacktooth here’s no vermin. He’s a goodbeast, most of the time.”

“He just threatened to skewer me!”

“To be fair, matey, you did just try and crush his neck.” Brinty rubbed his shoulder. “And elbow me in the shoulder. Three times.”

At long last, Keyla began to stop struggling. “I’m, uh, sorry about that. I shouldn’t have assumed.” Feeling Ben’s grip slacken, the otter stood up and extended a paw. “Care to let bygones be bygones?”

Brinty and Blacktooth exchanged a look. “It’s…not really that simple, mate.” Brinty’s tone was almost apologetic. “See, there are laws around here, and assaulting a member of the Thousand-Eye Army isn’t exactly something that can go unpunished. Now, I know that you’re not exactly from here, and so there’s no way you could have known that, but still – you’ll have to come with us to Kotir.”

Keyla gave a start. “Kotir? Did you say Kotir?”

“Aye. See that big castle over there? The giant, dark shape in the blizzard? That’s it.”

“Really?” Keyla shook his head. “By the fur, I can’t believe I almost walked right past it.”

“It’s kind of hard to miss, even in a blizzard this bad.” Goody smiled. “But it’ll be a lot warmer than out here, Keyla. And don’t worry about the punishment; you’ll get a fair hearing, especially since Gingivere’s the one doing all the judgement now.”

Blacktooth cleared his throat, still messaging it with a paw. “Right, I’d love to talk more, but we had really best be on our way back to the castle. Now, are you going to come peacefully, or do we need to bind your paws?”

Keyla shook his head. “There’s no need for that. Besides, I’m too tired to fight anyway.”

And then the three of them were off. Ben and Goody watched them trudge back through the snow for a bit, watching as their shapes faded into faint outlines in the blizzard. When those outlines had vanished, the two turned around and walked back towards home.

Chapter Text

Days like this always made Martin glad to have an excuse to wander on down to the kitchen. The hot fires that powered Kotir’s great ovens were a highly enjoyable contrast to the frigid air outside, the crackling sounds of the logs similarly contrasting the howling, bone-chilling wind.

So, even given the circumstances, the moment he saw the kitchen’s great doors Martin was overtaken by a pleasant mood, something that increased when he saw the plump mouse currently hovering over a pestle of herbs.

“Evening, Gonff! I see Detta stuck you on medicine duty?”

Gonff laughed. “It’s what I get for telling her to hurry up and kiss that Trudd bloke already, I suppose, but I couldn’t help it! I’ve never seen two stoats give each other that many romantic looks in my life. Or any creature, really, including Sandingomm and your brother.”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t think that was possible.”

Gonff finished grinding the herbs and mixed them into a dark liquid. “Neither did I, matey, neither did I. Anyhoo, your father’s medicine is all done.” Handing the cup to Martin, he grimaced. “Have to say, though. I really don’t envy old Verdauga one bit – this has to be the bitterest thing I’ve ever made.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised. Motherwort’s got quite the kick to it. One time, my father had to bribe Gingivere with a new book just to take a tiny cup of it.” The memory made Martin smile. How long ago was that? I couldn’t have been older than, what, ten? By the fur, it feels like it was an eternity ago. “You know, I doubt my father even remembers it anymore.”

“I just wish that the motherwort’d help with that, too.” Gonff looked down at his paws. “You know that your brother told me the other day?”

Martin wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it, but he found himself asking all the same.

“He said that old Verdauga called him Ungatt.” Gonff tilted his head. “Any idea who that might be? From how Gingivere said your father reacted he seemed like a nasty fellow.”

“He was our uncle. Think Tsarmina, but somehow even worse. Honestly, it’s probably a small miracle that he died before I ever had the chance to meet him.”

The conversation lapsed, neither mouse sure what to say, or what there even was to say. After a long, awkward silence, Martin decided that he’d spent enough time in the kitchen and said goodbye. Once outside and alone, he took a deep breath to steady himself and started off towards his father’s chambers.

Almost poetically, the closer he got to the lord’s chambers the more and more damp the castle seemed to get. It wasn’t hard to see why; practically every fifth torch sconce was unfilled, its occupant pilfered by some creature looking to warm their favorite corner or to have a bit of extra heat while being outside. Sighing, Martin made a mental note to have Amber find those responsible. Not that I really blame them for wanting to keep warm, but every torch they steal makes the area around father’s chambers that much colder and that much worse for him to be in. They needed to be keeping the damp weather away from his bones, not drawing it closer.

He found Gingivere sitting on the staircase a few steps down from their father’s door. A scroll opened full across his lap.
Martin sat down next to him. “What have you got there?”

“A list of all the executions father ordered over the past five years. Trying to find the most common reasons why.”

“Your law project still going, I take it?” He looked over and read a bit; in his opinion, it was all rather boring and repetitive. “Doesn’t that get a bit mind-numbing, reading things like ‘Pluggan, guilty of murdering three mousemaidens, hanging’ over and over?”

“Somebeast has to do it, and besides, it keeps my mind off…” he trailed off, but there was no need for elaboration: Martin knew what he meant all too well.

“Well, you need to put that down and keep your mind on it right now.” Gently, Martin began folding up the scroll in his brother’s lap. “It’s time to give father his nightly medicine.”

Gingivere sighed, slipped the scroll back into his cloak, and stood to open the door.

Much like the kitchen Verdauga’s bedchamber was heated by a roaring fire, but where the kitchen’s fire warmed a creature’s bones and set them at ease the fire here reached into their chest and all but stopped the lungs from working. Instead of filling the room with a gently flickering light, Verdauga’s fire instead practically seemed to suck all the light clear out of the air.
Between that and the smell of sweat and sickness emanating from the great four-poster bed on the opposite side of the room, Martin felt as though his father had already died, and that he was stepping not into the old wildcat’s bedroom so much as his tomb.

“Father?” Gingivere called out in a tiny voice. “Are you awake? It’s us. We brought your medicine.”

Slowly, the great, green curtain around the bed parted and revealed its occupant. Martin grew cold at the sight of his father, as he did every time when confronted with the shrunken wildcat that had once been the mightiest warlord in all Mossflower.

Eyes clouded and showing little of the fire that had once been in evidence, Verdauga gazed out at his sons. “Ah, Gingivere. And is that…Luke? You look better than the last time I saw you. Almost younger.”

He thinks I’m my father. Martin’s paws were weak. “No, father, it’s me. Martin.”

Verdauga blinked. “What? Oh, yes. Sorry, Martin. Now, what was it you said you brought, Gingivere? My medicine?”

“Yes, father.” Gingivere handed the cup to Verdauga with a paw that Martin noticed was quivering.

Verdauga gave a snuff and frowned. “Motherwort, is it? Ugh, can’t stand the taste of this stuff.” He looked Gingivere clear in the eye. “Tell Aegle next time you see her to add in something to make the taste more palatable.”

Who? Martin mouthed.

Gingivere shrugged. “I…I will, father.”

“Thank you, son. Now, if you excuse me, I need to rest. This medicine always makes me tired.”

Before anybeast could say another word, however, the great doors burst open. Martin whirled around, paws automatically dropping to where his swordbelt usually hung, and froze in confusion at the decidedly odd sight of a weather-beaten Blacktooth and Brinty pushing an even worse-looking otter he had never seen before through the doors.

Verdauga, who had been reaching towards the bed’s curtain, immediately stopped and sat up as straight as he could. “What have we here?”

Blacktooth saluted. “We found this one wandering around the edges of Moss Town, m’lord. He started fighting us when we offered him some help.” Messaging his neck, the ferret shot a nasty look at the otter. “Gave us quite a few punches and kicks, this bloke.”

“Aye, m’lord, but only because – ” A weakly-raised paw combined with a kick from Blacktooth cut Brinty off mid-sentence.

“It is against the law to assault my soldiers, otter. This is well known down in Camp Willow, is it not?” Verdauga closed his eyes a moment before opening them in confusion. “Hello? I asked you a question?” Some more moments passed without a response.

Gingivere looked at Blacktooth. “He, uh, can hear, right? He’s not deaf, is he?”

No, Martin thought, he’s just too busy staring at me like he’s never seen a mouse before. The otter had been gaping straight at him with an almost unbroken stare ever since entering the room, his jaw dropped straight to the floor, completely oblivious to the rest of the world. The effect was, Martin thought, rather unnerving.

He was about to ask the otter to knock it off when Blacktooth prodded him with the butt of his spear. “Oi, Keyla! The lord asked you a question!”

Keyla jumped. “Sorry, what was that? I wasn’t listening, sire.”

Verdauga grunted. “I asked you whether or not it’s well-known down in Camp Willow that it’s against the law to strike soldiers in the Thousand-Eye army.”

The otter – Keyla – shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. Sire. I’m a traveler, see, from the northlands.”

“Do you lot normally go around punching innocent creatures up there?” Gingivere asked.

“The lad said he thought we were trying to capture him. Seemed to think we were slavers, I think.” Brinty replied.

“Aye. I’ve never met a ferret that wasn’t one, so when I saw Blacktooth here come at me I assumed the worse.” Keyla looked at the floor. “I panicked, sire.”

“That’s bloody well for sure.” Blacktooth muttered under his breath, too quiet for anybeast to hear. Then, speaking louder, he addressed Verdauga. “What should we do with him, my lord?”

Instead of answering, Verdauga leaned back in his bed and closed his eyes. “What do you think, Gingivere? I am tired, and so I shall leave this one up to you.”

Gingivere gave a start. “M-me, father? But that’s…” Stopping himself, the young wildcat took a breath. “Actually, alright then.” He turned to his brother. “Although I’ll be getting your input as well, Martin.”

“Fine by me.”

Gingivere nodded before addressing Keyla. “Am I correct in assuming that you are a former slave yourself?”

“Aye, matey. Er, sire. Escaped from fortress Marshank, I did.”

“I’ve never heard of it. Have you, father?” There was no response: Verdauga had seemingly fallen asleep. “Uh, okay then. How about you, Martin?”

“Only from the margin of a report Amber got from Skarlath. Supposedly it’s not exactly the cheeriest of forts, though.”

Keyla couldn’t help but snort. “That’s putting it mildly, all due respect. Just before I escaped, one of the guards beat an elderly mouse to death just because she dropped some firewood.”

Gingivere blinked before whistling. “By the fur. Did that happen often?”

“Not to that extent, but it was a rare day that somebeast wasn’t beaten for some stupid reason or another.”

“That would certainly support the idea that you’d panic easily. No offense,” Martin added quickly.

“I agree.” Now Gingivere faced Blacktooth. “How bad would you say your injuries are? From Keyla, I mean.”

“Well, they hurt like a moth – begging your pardon, m’lord. I mean they hurt a lot. Particularly my neck. Poor thing’s probably going to be sore for weeks.”

“Can you still breathe well enough?”

“I can. Still hurts a bit, though.”

“What about you, Brinty?”

The mouse shrugged. “I mean, my stomach and cheek ache were the otter elbowed me, but that’s about it. Nothing’s really broken.”

“I see. Martin, what do you think? Any chance that their injuries might worsen and actually cause some damage?”

“Probably not. That was what, at least half an hour ago that you three were fighting?”

“Possibly? I kind of lost track of time after the ferret grabbed me.”

“Thought so. That’s long enough that if anything was going to worsen to the point of doing a creature in, we’d know.” Martin smirked. “Odds are you three’ll just be sore as all get out for the next weak or so.”

“I see then. Very well, I think I have enough to make a decision.” Gingivere closed his eyes, mulling it over. “Hmm… let me think… normally, the penalty for striking Blacktooth and Brinty like that would be… but in this case since there were extenuating circumstances…”

Martin resisted the urge to give a theatrical cough into his paw in order to hurry his brother along. “But what is it father said a while back? ‘To let the accidental criminals roam free would read as a sign of weakness’ or something?”

Gingivere opened an eye. “I’m not chopping off Keyla’s paw, if that’s what your hinting at.”

“I wasn’t, just thought that you might appreciate the reminder.”

A sigh escaped Gingivere’s lips as he closed his eye again. “I know, I know. Still…” He thought it over for a few more seconds before opening both his eyes. “I have decided.” After clearing his throat, Gingivere turned back to Keyla and stood as straight as he could. “Otter Keyla, while it is true that you are a stranger to our lands, it seems to me that not attacking an innocent creature would be a reasonably common rule everywhere. However, on the other side of the scales, it is clear that you acted not out of malice, but out of fear. Thus, while my brother is correct in that there ought to be some punishment, it will be a light one.” His eyes, which had achieved a piercing green Martin had never seen in anybeast save their father before, swooped over all the creatures in the room. “It is my judgement that Keyla is to put into one of the topmost cells in Kotir for a month, with a full bed and a blanket, so that he can cool his paws for a time. After a month has passed he will be free to go, or to stay if he wishes it provided he agrees to obey all our laws and rules going forwards.”

It was a fair verdict, Martin thought, but all the same Keyla visibly paled as Gingivere pronounced his judgment. After Gingivere finished the otter turned his gaze back to Martin, as though imploring him to speak on his behalf, but rather than feel moved all Martin felt was mildly put out once more. Why does he keep looking at me like I’m some kind of grand hero?

He couldn’t stand it any longer, Martin realized, and so he held up a paw. “Blacktooth, Brinty, wait a moment – before you take Keyla below, I want to ask him something.”

Everybeast froze, and Keyla continued to stare at him.

“Just answer me this: why in the bloody hellgates do you keep staring at me like that? Have we met somewhere before?”

The question snapped Keyla out of it, and after a vigorous shake of the head the otter answered. “No, sire. Well, not exactly – it’s more like I’ve seen you from afar. I was there when you fought Marshank’s lord, see.”

Martin immediately felt the world bottom out from under him. No…it can’t be… “Are you certain that I’m the same mouse?”

“Aye, sire.” Keyla nodded at Gingivere. “He was there, too, along with a badger and another mouse. You fought Badrang to free them from slavery, I watched you duel.” He grinned. “I watched you win. It’s why I came all this way: us slaves need help, and I couldn’t think of anybeast better than the one who defeated Badrang Ironpaw once before.”

The world spinning around him, Martin clutched the wall to keep from toppling over. “Blacktooth, Brinty. Forget what my brother said about putting Keyla in a cell. I want him in the guest chamber closest to my own chambers.”

“But m’lord, Gingivere’s judgement was fi –”

“No!” Martin’s voice came out sharp enough to make everybeast jump. “I owe him that much. For the next month, Keyla will remain here as my guest.” He looked up at Gingivere, silently daring his brother to contradict him.

Gingivere threw up his paws. “As long as he remains in them for the entire month, that’s fine by me.”
Martin nodded and turned back to Keyla. By the fur, what are the odds that one of BADRANG’s slaves turns up on our doorstep? He wasn’t sure whether to punch Keyla for rubbing his greatest failure in his face, or thank him for giving him the chance to atone.

Chapter Text

The guest chamber – or his prison cell, as Keyla couldn’t help but think of it as – was probably the most upscale place Keyla had ever slept in his life. Used to bedding down on rags in the dirt with nothing softer than a blanket covering a rock to act as his pillow, when confronted with a featherbed like the kind Badrang used, complete with pleasantly fluffy pillows, the otter had absolutely no idea how to react. On one paw, it certainly was comfortable; on the other, the softness was unnerving to the point that Keyla was actively considering the idea of sleeping on the floor.

At least that way it won’t feel like I’m about to sink into a pit of sand, Keyla thought as he tried to pat a little bit of stiffness into the pillows.

Another new experience for him was the fact that a roaring fire had been kindled in the fireplace shortly after Blacktooth had all but shoved him into the room, and so after giving up his endeavor with the pillows Keyla promptly sat down in front of the fireplace and let the warmth gently spread across his paws.

Several blissful minutes later, easily the most blissful in Keyla’s recent memory, the locks on the door snapped open and the door itself opened a tad.

“Keyla?” It was Martin. “It’s me. I want to talk some more.”

“Alright, sire. But may I ask a favor?”

“Oh?” Martin tilted his head. “Is something the matter?”

“No, I, ah, would really enjoy getting to stay by the fireplace. Forgive me, but I’m still feeling the blizzard.”

Martin smiled before walking over and seating himself next to the otter. “Don’t worry about it. Stay right here as long as you need to. On one condition, though.”

“Sire?”

“Stop calling me that.” Martin made a face. “Sire. Ugh. Now there’s a title only the vile use.”

“Sorry, si – I mean, sorry. Old habit.” Keyla looked at Martin. “So then, what exactly should I call you? Not really familiar with southron titles.”

Martin shrugged. “Just ‘Martin’ or ‘Matey’ is fine if it’s informal like this.”

“Okay then, uh, Martin.” Keyla pronounced the name slowly, as though he’d never heard it before. “By the fur, that feels weird. Anyways, what was it you wanted to talk about?”

Fidgeting in place on the floor, Martin bit his lip. “Well, if it’s all the same to you, I wanted to hear more about it. About Badrang and Marshank, I mean.”

The request, although far from unexpected, still made Keyla feel as though all the warmth was being sucked out of the room. A thousand memories began to flare up: mornings in which he was awoken by a kick to the stomach by angry paws, afternoons toiling in the summer heat building Badrang’s fortress, nights trying to ignore the moans from other slaves long enough to fall asleep. Each memory felt as fresh as though it had only happened yesterday, but all the same Keyla forced them back down. I can’t lose my nerve in front of him. Not after I’ve come all this way.

Keyla took a deep breath and then began.

“Marshank is, in a word…cruel. Think the outer wall of this castle, except maybe about two-thirds, and with a second wall right behind made out of wood. It sits on the Eastern Coast far to the north of here, surrounded by cliffs and hills to the south and north and a bog to the west. The fortress, and us slaves, are ruled over by the vilest band of corsairs ever to sail the seas, as you probably remember from a few years ago.”

Martin nodded. “Aye. They certainly seemed quite terrible.” Martin’s paws grasped the air, as though holding an invisible neck. “Particularly that one-eyed weasel.”

Keyla let out a humorless laugh. “You mean Hisk? Killing him was the best thing you ever did. Trust me on that, Martin. He was the worst of them, although the fox Skalrag’s pretty close.

“Anyways, the corsairs of Marshank are a hardened bunch. They still train daily with mock battles, and I’d wager an apple to an acorn that they’re still as deadly now as they were on the high seas. And believe me, Martin, when I say that there’s not a lick of decency to be found in any of ‘em.” Now it was Keyla that seemed to be strangling somebeast. “If I began counting the number of times I saw somebeast beaten for some stupid reason or another, we’d be here until spring at the very earliest. With rods, with paws, with spears…” Keyla shook his head. “I doubt there’s anybeast older than five that doesn’t have at least a few scars on their back.”

Martin paled. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘five years old’?”

“It’s the truth. There’s this one squirrel I know named Felldoh, Badrang himself used to give him regular beatings when Felldoh was just a babe.”

“A babe?” Martin’s eyes widened. “That’s…”

“Horrid? I know, matey. But it’s what Badrang is, when you get down to it: a great, big, bully.”

“What’s he like?”

Keyla thought for a moment: how best to describe the tyrant that had dominated his life as long as he could remember?

“Well, everything you need to know about Badrang you can get from the title he gave himself: Badrang the Tyrant. Or, as we call him, Badrang Ironpaw.” Keyla tried to keep the mingled scorn and rage out of his voice, but found it impossible. “He fancies himself some great lord and the destined ruler of the entire East Coast, with everybeast he encounters crushed underpaw, and all decent creatures his slaves. He works us from sunup to sundown, and on every task, you can think of: building, fishing, farming. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if you sat me down and told me that he was going to start breeding us as a little side venture.” Keyla looked around and snorted. “Count yourself lucky that you’ve never had to suffer the company of a creature that vile.”

“I have.” When Keyla looked back at Martin the mouse was gazing into the fireplace, visibly caught up in some memory of his own. “I knew somebeast that set an entire forest ablaze just because innocent goodbeasts dared speak against them.”

“Oh…” Keyla took another look at the mouse’s face, one that had thus far seemed full of confidence and vigor, and was surprised to see a little of the same haunted look carried by all the slaves in Marshank. Not much, not nearly the amount Keyla saw when he looked at his own reflection, but more than he would have expected given Martin’s apparent status. “I’m sorry, matey, I never would’ve guessed.”

Martin waved a paw in dismissal. “It’s not your fault. And besides, my father was able to keep it from being nearly as bad as it could have been. Not to mention that we’re talking about Badrang here, not my sister.”

His SISTER? THAT’s unexpected. Keyla blinked, trying to process the information, before continuing.

“Oh, right. Now when I say that Badrang fancies himself a lord, I really mean it: he’d kill everybeast in a heartbeat to live in a castle like this, and the way that your brother talks actually reminds me a bit of him.” Seeing the look on Martin’s face, Keyla waved his paws and hastily added “But Badrang’s a lot less nice than your brother is.”

Martin decided to ignore the accidental slight. “How is he at fighting? He gave me quite the fight three years ago, to be sure, but that was back when I was only thirteen.” The mouse struggled valiantly to conceal a grin of pride before giving up. “Not to mention that he’s down a paw nowadays.”

Keyla found himself grinning as well. “Sorry to burst your bubble, matey, but Badrang’s still a formidable fighter. Trains with the spear and cutlass every single day, rain or shine, and I think he’s determined to never lose again.”

“So says them all.” Martin was quiet again, thinking. “But still, it’s good to know that I wouldn’t be facing down some crippled has-been so much as a formidable warrior.” He spat into the fireplace, getting a round of angry sizzles in response. “No, not a warrior. I won’t dirty that word.”

“Whether or not you call him a warrior won’t change the fact that he’s dangerous, although I suppose you’re probably stronger now as well?”

“Hmm? I…yes, I am.” Martin rubbed his left arm, looking away from Keyla as he did so before shaking his head. “At least, I’d like to think so.” Looking out the window, he sighed. “At any rate, it’s getting late, and you’ve given me a fair bit to think about.” Martin pushed himself up off the floor before turning and looking down at the otter still sitting in front of the fireplace. “Now is there anything that you want to know? About Mossflower? About Kotir?”

Keyla did have questions, in fact, several dozen at the very least, but for some reason the one that came out of his mouth was the one that led him to ask “so, uh, how does that…work?”

“How does what work?”

“Well, um, you know.” Keyla gestured vaguely upwards in the direction of the Lord’s bedchamber. “You’re a mouse, your father and brother are cats… I mean, if you don’t mind me asking, how do a mouse and a cat…erm…ah…you know…” Keyla was blushing furiously at this point, and completely regretted opening his mouth, fully expecting Martin to reach over and hit him for asking that sort of question.

Instead, Martin’s reaction – after gaping for a good half minute as his brain processed the implication of the otter’s stuttered and half-incoherent question – was to burst out laughing. It was a fully, hearty sound, and it immediately lifted the room’s mood.

“Oh, by the fur, no! Keyla, that’s disgusting!” Shaking his head, Martin smiled and wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “That’s not what happened. Not even close.”

“So then what did? You didn’t just spring from the ground or something, did you?”

“No, I had a normal mother and father. Both mice, I will note. Anyways, to make a very, very long story short, my mother passed away from the fever when I was a babe, and not long after my blood father gave his life to save Lord Verdauga, and because of that he took me in as his son. But before you ask, yes, he is my father. No ifs, ands, or buts. Now, if you excuse me, I really do need to think over what you’ve told me.”

Martin turned and left after that, and as he did so Keyla heard him chuckling to himself.

“A mouse and a wildcat, by the fur, what exactly are they doing up north?”

Keyla’s guest room was only a landing below Martin’s own chambers, and when he’d left the otter Martin had truly intended to go back to them and think, but instead he found himself passing up the landing entirely and going up another flight, lost in thought, until he found himself outside Gingivere’s rooms. The crack under the doorway flickered with candlelight, and Martin guessed that his brother was reading some old judgement or another.

Standing on the landing, paw outstretched, Martin hesitated. Is it really fair that I bother him? This is sort of my own personal problem, the whole Badrang situation, after all. Maybe I should just leave him be.

Turning around, Martin started back down the steps, resolved to reach a decision on his own.

Five pawsteps later he stopped again, the enormity of the decision crashing down upon him: if he refused Keyla and remained in Mossflower everybeast that the poor otter knew would remain a slave, he was well aware, not to mention that the guilt he still felt from his wager with Badrang would only intensify.

Yet at the same time…

If I leave I’ll be gone for a while, and then father will… He’ll…

Before Martin knew it, he’d run back up the steps and was knocking on Gingivere’s door.

“Gingivere? It’s me. I need to talk. Now. Please, it’s important.”

The door opened, and in the doorway Gingivere stood with a concerned look on his face. “I thought you’d be talking with the otter for a while longer.”

“I think we went over all we could for the night. He told me everything – about what it’s like up there, and about how cruel Badrang is, and I – I just don’t know what to do.” The words started to spill out before Martin could get the chance to control them. “Honestly he sounds almost as vile as Tsarmina, and the thought of leaving innocent creatures to suffer his rule just – it curdles my stomach. It really does. I want to help Keyla, I do, but… at the same time…”

“But?” Gingivere raised an eyebrow.

“If I go, then what if I – you saw how father was tonight, didn’t you? He – he thought I was Luke. He thought I was my blood father, Gingivere, even though he’s been dead for a decade and a half.” Martin realized he was crying now, and realized he was unable to stop that either. “If I go, what if by the time I return he’s – he’s gone?”

“Well,” Gingivere answered in a soft voice that Martin guessed meant that he’d spent a fair bit of time thinking about their father as well, “then it that case he will have passed knowing that you’re doing something that would make him proud. And you know how our father always prattles on about that.”

Martin half laughed, half hiccupped. “Yeah, I can’t argue with that.”

“And if you’re really worried about what he’d think, talk with him about it. It’s not like you can go anywhere else, what with us all getting snowed in like this.”

“Perhaps I will.” Martin felt somewhat lighter, he realized, and at the same time somewhat more resolved to go and help Keyla.

He had only crossed the threshold out to the landing when he heard Gingivere call out his name. Turning, half expecting to see his brother about to leap out for a hug, Martin was amused to see that the wildcat was instead casually reclining against the doorframe.

“Before you go, I’m curious: is it annoying when your brother’s right all the time?”

Martin snorted. “I’ll tell you whenever I find that out.”

Gingivere closed the door with a jaunty wave, after which Martin started back down the steps.

As he did so he heard a great, tremulous sigh coming from his brother’s bedroom, as though somebeast was letting a hundred suppressed emotions loose at once.

Chapter Text

Earlier, Martin had thought that his father’s bedroom had become more akin to a tomb than a place of rest, and as he returned to a room now devoid of even the sickly fire from earlier that feeling seemed even more apt. Eyes straining through the darkness to pick up some hint of light, Martin quietly walked across the room towards the sounds of his father gently snoring before halting just outside of the bed curtain. At least, he thought it was the bed curtain, judging by the vague drape-like outline he could make out, although he supposed it was just as possible that he was standing in front of a window or something.

Well, only one way to find out. Martin cleared his throat.

“Father? It’s Martin again. Sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if we could talk a little?”

“Huh?” Verdauga’s voice was fogged. “Martin? By the fur, it’s dark. Can you see alright out there, son? Did something happen?”

Martin was unable to hold back a smile. Even when he’s sick, he’s still fretting over me. “I’m fine, father. Somebeast just put out your fire so you could sleep. Frankly, I’m more worried about you – can you see alright?”

The answer took the form of a gentle snort. “I’m still a wildcat, aren’t I? Now hold on a minute – before we talk, let me open these blasted curtains a bit.”

After a few grunts of exertion Martin saw the curtains slip out of his field of vision, replaced with a pair of clouded, if still-piercing eyes. The effect would have been incredibly eerie, Martin mused, had he been anybeast else.

“Have at it then, son.” To Martin the eyes were not eerie, but comforting, as was the question’s gentle tone.

“It’s about Keyla, father.”

“Keyla? Who’s… ah, yes. The otter from earlier, right? Sorry, sometimes it gets hard to remember.”

“I know, father.” Martin bit his lip for a moment to suppress the emotions welling up before he pressed on. “Anyways, I’ve just been thinking about why he came. He said that Badrang’s set himself up a little empire on the Eastern Coast and…and I kind of feel like it’s… like it’s my fault.”

“Because you let him live?” Verdauga sighed. “Martin, there was nothing you could do as Bella and I have told you before. Still, let me guess: you feel like you need to make amends.”

“Exactly. I – I feel like I owe it to all the creatures he still has enslaved.”

“So what’s stopping you from going?” All the cloudiness had fled Verdauga’s eyes, leaving Martin under the same piercing gaze his folder showed every creature that faced his judgement.

As a result, Martin suddenly found it difficult to speak. “Well, I – I don’t…” A massive lump had formed in his throat, forcing Martin to pause and take a deep breath. “I’m not sure I should leave you.” He finished, almost too quietly for himself to hear.

“What was that? Speak louder, son.”

“I said that I – that –” Deep breaths, Martin. “That I’m not sure I should leave you.”

“Ah.” Verdauga’s eyes closed for a few seconds, the old wildcat lost in thought. “I should have known. Let me ask you this, Martin: what would you do if I was healthy?”

“I would go. Without hesitation.”

“Then you should go now, regardless of me.”

“But –”

“But what? Are you afraid that if you leave, I’ll die before you get back?”

“That’s not –”

“It is. Son, there’s no shame in that.”

The darkness swam, and Martin’s eyes burned. “I don’t want to lose you.” He whispered.

Slowly, gently, Verdauga’s paw reached out and ruffled the fur on Martin’s head. “Oh, Martin. I know. But you can’t live your entire life shackled to me. Otherwise, why even bother leaving this room? You still need to live your own life, Martin, no matter where that leads you.” The old wildcat chuckled softly, the laughter soon dissolving into coughs. “Unless you’re actively waiting for me to die?”

Martin laughed as well, in spite of himself. “Do I look like Tsarmina?”

“No, you’re too short. Now, son, it’s getting late and I’m still old, so I’ll leave you with this: I say go. And if it means that you’re not at Kotir when I pass on, then so be it. It will be enough to know that you’re away because you’re fighting to free other creatures from their chains.”

***

“So you’ve decided, then? You’re going?” Gonff set down his knife and looked at Martin, curious.

The other mouse nodded. “Well, probably. Unless something more pressing comes up that is.” He’d spent most of the night thinking it over, tossing in turning in the darkness of his own chambers, only falling into a fitful sleep upon deciding that heading north was the right call.

“Like what?”

“I dunno.” Martin vaguely waved a paw through the air. “Some giant horde from the south or something. But pretty much anything short of that? I’ll be heading out.” Now Martin was the one favoring the other with a curious look. “Any interest in coming along? Get revenge on the scum from three years ago?”

“Maybe. It would be nice…” Gonff looked out the window. “How long’ll we be gone for? A few months?”

“At least.”

“I’ll have to run it by Ben and Goody first, then.”

“Why? Don’t think they’d stop you if they knew it was me asking you along.”

Gonff rolled his eyes. “Because you know that nice tax break they have under your brother’s laws? I leave, that goes away, so I need to make sure they’ll be able to make do. My life doesn’t just revolve around you, matey.”

“I never said it did.” All the same, Martin felt chastened. “Actually, you’re right. Sorry if I’ve been taking you for granted.”

Gonff shrugged. “Just don’t make a habit of it. Make no mistake, Martin: I do want to go, I just want to make sure the family’s good with that first.” He gave Martin a significant look. “You’ve been doing that too, haven’t you? Unless you mean to tell me that neither ol’ Verdauga or Gingivere know about this scheme of yours.”

“They do, thank you very much. I talked it over with both of them last night. I’m not going to run halfway up the world and leave my family in the lurch without –” It finally dawned on him what Gonff was doing. “Okay, forget everything I said.”

Gonff smirked. “You know, for the son of a lord you’re really kind of rubbish when it comes to winning arguments.”

Martin coughed into his paw to hide the embarrassment. “Believe me, normally I’m better at it. Now, would you mind if I grabbed a few things for Keyla? I want to bring him breakfast when I tell him the news.”

“Sure, go ahead. Again, it’s your family’s castle, matey. I just work here.”

Martin walked over to the shelves and began to stuff a few dried fish into one of the bags strewn around the kitchen, selecting a nice variety before tying the bag up and slinging it over his shoulder. He then grabbed a small jug of wine and a pair of cups, hoping that Keyla had nothing against Black Pine.

He found Keyla pacing the room, clearly agitated. Upon hearing the door open the otter looked up and began to sink into a bow before stopping himself.

“Morning si – I mean, Martin. Have you given any more thought to going after Badrang.”

“I have,” Martin began as he sat down and put down the wine jug before undoing the tie around the bag, “and I thought you might like to discuss it while we eat.”

Keyla gave the wine a sniff. “What’s this stuff? Doesn’t smell familiar.”

“They don’t have Black Pine up in the Northlands?”

Keyla shook his head. “The only drinks Badrang let into Marshank were cheap ale and the occasional bit of Damson for himself.”

Martin poured a cup and passed it to Keyla. “Well then, to new experiences.”

Keyla took the cup and sipped. “This stuff tastes…interesting.” Setting the cup down (as far away as he could without making it conspicuous, Martin noticed) he turned to the food, the otter’s face immediately lighting up. “Fish look great, though!”

“I’m glad. I only had what the otters from Camp Willow like to eat when they come by to go off, so there was a lot of guesswork involved.”

“You did a good job, matey.” Keyla said between bites. “So when did you want to leave? I’d like to get going as soon as possible, but I suppose I need to stay here for the whole month your brother set down?”

“Aye. And even longer, to be honest with you.”

Keyla froze mid-bite. “L-longer? How long are you thinking?”

“Mid-spring. I want to give winter enough time to break completely before we leave.”

Keyla leapt out of his seat. “Mid-spring? Thousand pardons, sire, but are you insane? If we wait that long who knows what Badrang’ll do to everybeast?”

“Keyla, look outside. Do you really want to fight your way through all that again? We’d probably all die before we even set eyes on Marshank.”

“All the same, we can’t wait until the middle of spring to leave. What about the beginning of spring? It’s about a month and a half earlier than you wanted to leave, yes, but the weather’ll still be a lot better. That way we’ll still have time to plan, and we’ll still be able to stop at least some of Badrang’s cruelty.”

Martin thought about it. On one paw, if they left at the beginning of spring here it was likely that they’d march right back into winter once they got far enough north. On the other paw, it was certainly better than leaving in the coldest parts of the year, and it would also mean that they’d stand a better chance of avoiding the worst parts of the summer.

“First days of spring it is. I’ll have to get an exact date for you later.”

Keyla gave a curt nod. “Thank you, Martin. So, what do we do until then?”

“Well, I figured we could start with you telling me more about the fort itself – how Marshank’s constructed, any weaknesses, how the guards set up their shifts…” Martin trailed off, a though suddenly occurring to him. “Although, now that I think about it, how good are you at fighting?”

“Me? I can fight with my paws well enough, I suppose, or I could jab somebeast with a knife if I need to, but that’s about it.”

“Any interest in learning more? Proper knifework? Swordplay? Archery?”

“All three would be useful, probably. Why? I don’t think there’s much we can do if I’m still cooped up in here all the time.”

“I’ll talk to Gingivere about letting you go out to the yard to train. He’ll probably sign off on it provided it’s only that one place.”

“I see.” Keyla took another bite of fish. “Also, if we’re going to make proper plans and all, can I ask for something else?” Suddenly embarrassed, the otter looked down at the table.

“What is it?”

“Actually, forget I said anything. It’s stupid.”

“Keyla, I won’t think less of you for anything. You can tell me.”

“Well, um…” Keyla’s gaze dropped even further as he muttered, finally settling on the floor. “I don’t know how to read.”

Oh, right. Martin realized. That makes sense, especially since he’s probably been a slave for a WHILE. “You wouldn’t be the first creature I’ve helped with that, matey.” Standing up, Martin walked over and grabbed one of the books left for guests to read. “In fact, why don’t we start after breakfast? We can begin this today, and then work on your fighting tomorrow?”

***

When tomorrow came, Keyla’s head still hurt a bit from all the complications surrounding letters, particularly how a ‘c’ sounded like either an ‘s’ or a ‘k’ depending on the context. Personally, he thought to himself, they should just do away with the whole bloody letter and let the other two take over for it. I really hope that learning how to fight’s not this confusing.

Keyla was escorted out of his room around late morning, with two Thousand-Eyes hovering behind him while a third led him down the various corridors and staircases of the castle and out to the massive yard in front of the central keep. Somebeast had cleared away most of the snow since last night, leaving a wide open space of frozen earth in the middle, on which Martin stood alongside a squirrel and another otter. Wonder whether that’s a coincidence, them both being Woodlanders? Probably not.

Keyla and his escort stopped about ten paces away from Martin, after which the three soldiers left to take up positions back by the exit. As they did so Martin stepped forwards and gestured at the squirrel standing to his right.

“This,” he began, “is Lady Amber, Captain-General of the Thousand-Eyes and the finest archer in all Mossflower. And this,” he gestured to the otter, “is Mask, one of the most best creatures around when it comes to knifework.”

Huh, Keyla noticed, no swordsbeast. I wonder if he couldn’t… his gaze dropped to Martin’s waist, and was suddenly struck with the realization that the mouse had a swordbelt on.

Find…

Along with a sword in the scabbard, both of which looked completely functional and in no way just for show.

“You know,” Keyla heard himself say, “when I set out to get help fighting Badrang I wasn’t expecting you to, you know, actually train me.”

Martin looked slightly offended. “Would you rather train against a creature that looks like the ones that’ve been waving swords around you at Marshank? No? Thought not.”

Lady Amber cleared her throat. “Calm down, Martin. I’m sure the lad didn’t mean anything by it. Now, Keyla, trust me – Martin’s the best swordsbeast in Mossflower, no ifs ands or buts. In fact, I’d wager all the acorns I have that he’s beaten every other swordsbeast before. He’s certainly done all of my Thousand-Eyes.”

“Also, before we start,” Mask added, “we should probably lay out a few ground rules. How hard are you comfortable with us going at you, son?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, some of us” – Mask shot Martin a dirty look – “can get a little, ah, intense when doing this. Physically intense. Normally there are bruises involved.”

Keyla absentmindedly waved a paw over one of the spots Blacktooth had struck him. “Let’s avoid that, please? Can we just go over the basics for now?”

“Fair enough.” Martin handed Keyla a wooden sword and then grabbed one of his own, undoing his swordbelt and letting it drop to the ground. “Sorry, mate, I should’ve figured that. Anyways, whenever you’re ready, raise your sword like this.” Martin dropped his sword into some sort of position right above his hip. Keyla tried to copy him, but evidently whatever he was doing wasn’t good enough as Martin shook his head and walked over.

“No, the way you’ve got it now’s too weak and too open.” The mouse put a paw on Keyla’s arm and forced it down. “Feel the difference?”

Keyla realized that the whole affair was like to be a long process.

Chapter Text

Spring was finally just around the corner, the change in seasons heralded by the first, tenuous breaks in the cloud cover and by a few, faint but present, warm winds from the south. The snow was finally beginning to melt, sending drips of water cascading down the stone walls of Kotir as the snowdrifts that had built up along the parapets began to disappear.

All the same, the only drips Keyla was aware of were the drips of sweat falling from his paws as he struggled to keep his grip on the practice knife. It was his last day of training before he and Martin departed for Marshank, and it seemed that because of that his tutor was going to wring every single seconds’ worth of training out of him. And so Mask had run Keyla through so many exercises that the otter had lost count, including a few rounds with a small, ridged thing called a swordbreaker, and now they were busy trying to pass the knife from one paw to the other.

“It’s a lot harder than it looks.” Mask explained. “Grab too high, and you’ll grab the knife part and slash your own paw open. Too low, and you’ll drop it.”

Keyla tried a few passes back and forth. “Doesn’t seem all that difficult, matey. Even with the sweat.”

“You’re standing straight up,” Mask pointed out, “and it’s the middle of the day. Trust me, it’s a lot harder to pass it when you can’t see the whiskers on your face or when your body’s making an L-shape. Or when you’ve got other things occupying it, for that matter.”

“Like some vermin scum trying to wrestle you to the ground, I imagine?” Keyla smirked.

“Aye. So, what would you rather try first: doing this at an angle, or without seeing?”

“Without seeing, I guess?”

“Alright, then.” Mask unwound a green sash from around his tunic and handed it over to the other otter. “Tie this around your eyes. Oh,” he added as Keyla got to work setting the knot in the back tighter, “and sorry that we’re only getting to this on the last day. Truthfully, I really wanted to start it last week, but the kid was acting up.”

“You have a kid?” Keyla hadn’t heard about that before.

“Aye. My son Veil. Little guy’s the most stubborn ferret in the world, believe me. Especially when he wants candied nuts.”

“Your son’s a ferret?”

“I thought I told you about him?” The confusion was evident enough in Mask’s voice that Keyla knew the other otter was staring at him. “I married his mum about three and a half years ago after we rescued her from a bandit camp.”

Well, what do you know? Even after spending a solid two months or so in Mossflower, Keyla still found the amount of mixing between different types of creatures incredibly strange; having come from a place where the only relationships between creatures like ferrets or rats and creatures like mice or squirrels were those of bitter enemies, he was still wrapping his head around the idea that they could be close friends. Or, in this case at least, family. It’s actually really nice, though. I have to admit, I really wish that things could’ve been like this up north.

Shaking his head once again at the strange country he’d come to, Keyla readied himself for more training.

It was, Martin reflected, a pleasant way to wake up: the warmest day so far this year, a cup of wine on the way up, and the sounds of two creatures going at it in the yard. Walking over Martin opened his window and looked down, watching as Keyla attempted to throw around a knife with what looked like some kind of blindfold covering his eyes. He was doing pretty well, Martin thought, only fumbling perhaps one pass in twenty.

Watching the two practice, all of a sudden, a memory from long ago came to the forefront: one of his first days of sword training with Bane, struggling in the yard to land a single hit before finally managing a single whack against the fox’s ankle. At the time it had seemed like the greatest accomplishment imaginable, and he’d felt like a mighty, unbeatable warrior. At least, until Bane cracked him over the head and Tsarmina tried her best to smash his stomach in.

But now they’re gone, and I’m still here. Tsarmina’s absence was her own fault, the result of an unrelenting cruelty that still made innocent creatures shudder even to this day, but Bane…

Even now, years later, the sound of Bane’s spear puncturing the fox’s own throat still hurt to remember, as did the sight of the life fleeing a creature that Martin had looked up to for his entire life. But it was an old hurt, Martin knew, and one that he had thought he’d long since learned to live with.

Martin closed his eyes and tried to picture Bane in his prime, back when he was still a young mouse, but it was difficult. Details kept slipping in and out, to the point that Martin almost started to wonder if he wasn’t really remembering Bane so much as a generic fox.

He sighed and turned to look back down at Keyla and Mask. Perhaps that means I’m moving on.

“My lord Martin?” There was a knock on the door. It was Peony, a young squirrel that worked in the kitchens with Gonff. “I brought the wine you asked for. And some bread.”

“Come in.” Martin took the goblet and sipped it. “Now that hits the spot. Thanks, Peony.”

The squirrel blushed and shyly looked away. “Oh, it’s no prob – I mean, you’re welcome, Martin.” Looking up, Peony took a closer look at Martin. “Is everything alright? You look, well, kind of sad?”

“That obvious, huh? Just thinking about an old fox I once knew. He…he passed away three years ago during the liberation of Mossflower.” Martin waved a paw. “But that’s old news. Has Detta finished all the preparations for tomorrow?”

“She has. Just put in the finishing touches last night. Two packs’ worth of supplies, right? And a few extra canteens?”

“Just two, then?” It was sad, but not unexpected – he’d never gotten an answer from Gonff about whether or not the other mouse would be able to go with them, after all. The Stickles probably can’t do without the tax break. Still, it was going to be lonely, going north without his cheerful friend to keep him company.

“Just two. Although…” Peony’s voice trailed off. “I do remember a few things going missing from the larder over the past few days. But I suppose it could just be somebeast breaking in.”

Martin laughed. “No, it’s probably just Gonff getting into the whole ‘Prince of Mousethieves’ act again. I’ll ask him about it when I say goodbye tomorrow.”

A thought occurred. “Say, Peony? Is my father awake?”

“Lord Verdauga?” Peony frowned. “I think so, why?”

“Well, I just thought maybe it might be good to get the farewells out of the way now.”

“How come? Aren’t you not leaving until tomorrow?”

“We are, but the idea was to leave at first light. Saying farewell to everybeast then might drag out our leaving too long, and that’s assuming that my father’ll even be awake then.” Martin shrugged. “So it just seems to make more sense to do it now.”

The curtains in Verdauga’s chamber had been drawn wide open, allowing a wide swath of sunlight to enter and illuminate the head of the old wildcat’s bed. Peering through the dusty sunbeam Martin saw that his father was in fact awake, reading a letter that looked like it came from Salamandastron.

Verdauga set down the paper when he noticed his son standing in the doorway. “Martin? That is you, right?”

“Yes, father.” Martin was relieved to see that his father seemed to have his wits about him today; it was becoming less and less common as of late.

“You’re not leaving for the north, are you? Surely it’s not spring already.”

“We leave tomorrow. I just wanted to come by today and say goodbye now, if that’s alright.” The word ‘goodbye’ had caused yet another lump to settle in Martin’s throat, one that he tried to quickly swallow. “Better than waking you up tomorrow before half the castle’s even awake, right?”

Verdauga chuckled softly. “That’s true, I suppose. Particularly when the one being woken up’s a creature as old as I am.” Still smiling, Verdauga looked out at his son. “You know, some days I feel like yesterday you were still just a tiny mousebabe, little enough to fit in my paw. But look at you now: about to go out on your own wanderings.”

Martin smiled back. “Remind you of a certain other wildcat? One that carved out a kingdom for himself?”

“Perhaps. And who knows: maybe you’ll find your own Mossflower to lead out there.” The old wildcat gave a start before leaning over, wincing as he put pressure on his hip. “Ah. That reminds me.” Opening a small drawer on his bedside, Verdauga withdrew a small locket. It was solid gold, laden with a number of green emeralds set in the shape of an eye. “Take this with you, so that in the event that you do find some land of your own to call home you’ll always have at least some token of Mossflower with you.”

Martin took the locket, finding it surprisingly heavy, and he realized that it had some writing etched on the back:

May this connect you to Mossflower, as you did to the Woodlanders. As Martin traced the writing with his paw and moved to set the locket around his neck, he heard a tiny shuffling noise, almost too quiet to hear.

“Father, is there something in this?”

“Perhaps.” Verdauga’s eyes briefly lit up with mischief. “You’ll just have to figure that out for yourself. Think of it as a puzzle to keep yourself occupied on the journey north.”

“I, uh, I will, father.” I guess? Martin found himself unsure of what to make of the whole thing.

“Good lad.” Sighing, Verdauga reclined back in bed. “Alas, it seems that even this short talk has gotten me all weary. Allow me to share one final piece of advice, then: no matter what happens, no matter where you go and what you’re doing, you will always be my son. You will always be a Greeneyes.” And with that, the old wildcat closed his eyes.

Martin, knowing that their conversation was at an end, silently walked over and kissed his father’s paw. Then, without another word or glance back, he turned and began to leave.

“Martin?” His front paw had already crossed the threshold when Verdauga spoke again.

“Yes?”

“I’m proud of you, son.”

“Thanks, father.” I’m really going to miss you.

***

Dawn the next day came earlier than Martin would have liked. It was a cool morning, and it had rained the night before, so the entire landscape surrounding Kotir was covered in a low fog. Martin woke up, took one last look at his room, and grabbed his sword before heading over to the door. A moment later he paused and turned around, grabbing both the locket his father had given him the night before and a tiny, black rock that Bella had given him on her last visit from Salamandastron.

Keyla was waiting for him on the dew-covered grass, along with Gingivere, Amber, and Sandingomm. Martin found himself smiling upon seeing her.

“Well now, I can honestly say I didn’t expect to see you of all creatures up to see me off.”

Sandingomm put her paws on her hips. “And why not? You should know me better than that.” Bending down, the wildcat gave Martin a quick kiss on both cheeks. “Stay safe, Martin.”

“You too.” Martin returned the gesture. “Oh, and look after Gingivere, will you? You know how he gets.”

She laughed. “Oh, I do. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he doesn’t get himself into any scrapes.”

“Ahem? Right here, you two?”

Martin gave his brother the most simpering smile he could muster before turning to Amber. Visibly suppressing her own laughter, the squirrel held out a green bundle.

“Here. It’s a better cloak than anything you’d’ve gotten standard-issue from the castle stock. Trust me on that – it’s made from the material we use scouting in the forest.”

Martin took it and shook it out, and as he did so a small, silvery shape dropped to the ground with a thump. He picked it up and examined it: the shape turned out to be a knife, recently made with a leather hilt and inlaid with a small eye on the pommel.

“For luck.” Amber explained. “Just so you have a backup weapon or three.”

“I understand. Thank you, Amber, not just for this, but for everything.”

Amber smiled again before dropping to one knee. “At your service, my lord, now and always.” Without standing up she nodded towards Gingivere. “Now hurry up and talk to your brother before he bursts, will you?”

Martin hadn’t taken any more than a step towards his brother when the wildcat leapt forwards and grabbed him in a tight hug. “I’m going to miss you, Martin. A lot.”

“I know, Gingivere. I’m going to miss you too.”

“Just be careful, will you? I – I don’t want to hear one day that you’ve gotten yourself killed in some dark pit on the other side of the world from Mossflower.”

Martin stepped back from the hug. “I’ll try. And in return, you take care of yourself as well. I’ll try to come back, promise, and you’d better be waiting for me.”

“If I don’t burn Mossflower to the ground, first.” Gingivere muttered.

Martin rolled his eyes. “Gingivere, you’ll do fine.” Grabbing his brother’s paw, Martin gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’ve known you as long as I can remember, and believe me when I say that you’ll be a great lord. I have faith in you.”

“Thanks, Martin. That means –”

He was cut off by the sound of pawsteps coming from somewhere towards Moss Town. All five of them turned, suddenly tense, and watched as a shape appeared in the fog.

A shape that, as it got closer, Martin realized was oddly plump…

He narrowed his eyes. “Gonff?”

Sure enough, seconds later Gonff came bursting out of the fog, sprinting so fast that it was all Keyla could do to leap out of the way before he got barreled over.

“Oi! Watch where you’re going, matey!”

Gonff came to a stop and turned around with a surprising amount of balance. “Sorry about that. Oh, good – didn’t miss the sendoff. Was getting a bit worried about that. I was going to surprise you a little ways down the road, but unfortunately a certain hedgehog by the name of Posy thought it would be just swell to chase me around with a stick half the night. Just got up a few minutes ago, so sorry if I still look like a complete mess.” Grinning, he pulled a small brown bag off his back and waved it in the air. “Managed to grab my supplies, though. Got my flute, got my water tin, got a bit of food…”

“Hang on a moment.” It was all too much for Martin to process at once. “So you are coming? You could’ve told me, you know.”

“Well yes, but that would kind of ruin the whole ‘surprise’ now wouldn’t it, matey?” Gonff looked around. “Well, since I’m assuming that nobeast else is coming, what say we get this quest proper started and get moving?”

Keyla nodded. “Aye. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover. Is that good for you, Martin?”

Before answering, Martin turned around and looked up at the great shadow of Kotir hidden behind the fog. The realization that he was almost certainly never going to see his father again broke over him like a wave, and all of a sudden Martin was filled with regrets, questions he’d never gotten around to asking, missed opportunities, foolish arguments.

He breathed in, and then out. He’d said his goodbye and made peace with it. After taking one last wistful look back, Martin turned back to face Gonff and Keyla.

“Yes. Let us depart.”

Chapter Text

“You know,” Gonff remarked, “it’s always weird going from the area your sister burned to other parts of the forest.” The mouse waved a paw vaguely around the forest. “Completely dead to completely alive, all within maybe ten minutes’ worth of walking.”

“It’s winter, so technically it’s pretty much all dead.” Martin replied before taking another look around. “Still, I know what you mean. It’s like the silence here almost feels more comforting somehow.”

“Hold on a moment.” Keyla turned to Martin, eyebrows raised. “That big patch of burned forest’s your sister’s fault? What happened?”

“It’s a long story.” Martin shrugged. “Let’s just say that Tsarmina was never one for subtlety, and it was her way of trying to flush out the Woodlanders in order to force them to work.”

“Ah. That sounds familiar. Let’s hope that she and Badrang never meet up, then.”

Now that was a terrible thought, Martin realized. Especially since they had no idea where Tsarmina was – the last reports from Whitear had put her somewhere up in the far northlands, near where the Greeneyes family initially came from, and although it was possible that she’d decided to settle there it was just as possible that she’d continued to move somewhere else. What would she even do if she came across Marshank? Would she try and conquer it? Offer an alliance with Badrang? The idea of an alliance between warlords as cruel as the two of them made Martin shudder.

The three of them walked on, mulling over the prospect, listening to the drip of water falling from trees and the occasional crunch of leftover snow beneath their paws. It was all remarkably peaceful, and yet Martin couldn’t shake a growing sense of dread and anxiety. Normally he would’ve chalked it up to the fact that once again he’d been forced to think about Tsarmina, a creature whose entire existence seemed tailor-made to gin up those sort of feelings, yet Martin had to admit that the feeling had been there long before she had come up in the conversation.

It was frustrating, being on edge and not knowing why, Martin decided. He took a hard look around as they rounded a large boulder, wondering if perhaps he’d subconsciously noticed somebeast tailing them, but saw nothing. He looked up soon after when they reached a forest clearing, just in case they’d been spotted by a bird, but the only things he saw in the sky were a few grey clouds.

Then it hit him: the unsettling feeling was coming from the land itself. It was nothing but the familiar landscape of a forest, no different from what he saw every time he went into Mossflower, and yet at the same time it felt, somehow, completely alien. On one level, it was silly: Keyla had passed this way a few months ago and escaped relatively unscathed. He’d passed through himself for that matter, three years ago, when he was going north to seek aid against Tsarmina.

But then they’d been in search of a definitive endpoint, and a safe one at that. Martin only had the vague notion of where Marshank was situated from his talks with Keyla, and what awaited them at their destination was not the safety of friends, but a hostile land inhabited by enemies. I wonder if this is how father felt when he left grandfather Mortspear’s realm.

Martin observed his two companions, and for the first time noticed the tightness in Keyla’s throat as well as the way that the otter’s paw kept brushing up against the hilt of his knife. Then he looked over at Gonff, and saw the mouse walking with a gait entirely devoid of its’ usual swagger while occasionally taking furtive glances in all directions at the forest. Clearly, I’m not the only with shot nerves at this point. Martin resolved to address it as soon as they found somewhere safe to rest, both for his own sake and to reassure his companions.

The chance came soon enough, as less than ten minutes later Gonff’s ears perked up and twitched. “Say, mateys, a question: do either of you hear what sounds like a bunch of rustling?”

Keyla and Martin paused and looked at each other. “Actually,” Martin said as he strained to listen, “I think I do now that you mention it. Sounds like it’s somewhere to the northeast?”

“Think we should have a look-see?”

Martin thought about it. “Well, the way that I see it, if it’s only rustling then it’s not like to be any sort of creature. Either it’s a stream, maybe, or there’s something blowing on pines.” He looked around again, observing that the pines surrounding them were completely still. “And anything that can rustle a bunch of pines on a windless day is worth investigating. After all, it could be a cave we could rest in.” The three of them started off towards the sound, and several paces later Keyla held up a paw for them to stop.

“Martin, I’d say that your first guess was spot on. I think that’s a nice big stream up ahead, and no mistake. Want us to keep going?”

Martin took another few moments to listen, ears straining for the telltale noises of another creature. There was nothing but the soft gurgle of running water. “Aye. Maybe we can make camp there after all.”

Their path deposited them right on the edge of a stream that looked to be about as wide as Gingivere was tall, and a little ways to the south of a large group of mossy rocks that conjured up a miniature set of rapids. On the same bank as them there was a decently-sized outcrop just downstream from the rapids, one with an overhang large enough for the three of them to sit under. Not a bad place to camp, Martin decided. At least, once we take a look on the other camp to make sure that no hidden danger is about to come bursting down at us.

Keyla made an appreciative grunt as he stared out at the water. “You know, if we were farther into spring I think I’d go for a nice, long swim. By the fur, it’s been too long since I had the time to do that.”

Gonff walked over to the stream and gingerly dipped a paw in before yelping and leaping back. “I’d shelve that idea if I were you, matey. Blooming water’s colder than a midwinter night!”

“As long as we can drink it, the temperature doesn’t matter.” Martin walked down at cupped his paws, taking a sip. “Actually, I think it tastes better cold. At any rate, what say you two that we camp here for the night?”

Keyla nodded. “Seems as good a place as any to me. Although…” Voice trailing off, Keyla looked around the opposite bank and into the forest beyond. “Now that I think about it, if we think this is a good place so might anybeast else around here.”

“I thought so as well. My plan was to go scouting ahead while you two set up camp. Sound fair?”

“Sure, matey.” Gonff opened his pack and took out a metal pot. “Just make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Martin turned, scanned the stream for the best way to get across, and realized to his dismay that it was still going to require him to wade straight through. Oh, absolutely brilliant. Gritting his teeth, Martin tightened his clothes as much as he could and then stepped gingerly onto the edge of the bank. Standing there, feeling the water send icy waves up his paws, Martin nearly lost his nerve before forcing himself to count to three and plunge straight in.

From the waist down Martin’s body was immediately enveloped in a frigid blast, one so painful that every step forced an involuntary gasp out of his mouth while reducing his thoughts to little more than a formless, rapid-fire spring of profanity and regret. Yet all the same Martin forced himself forwards and fought through the cold, focusing in on taking one pawstep after another, until after what seemed like a few hours he found himself clambering up the opposite bank into a bush.

Pausing a moment to stop his teeth from chattering, Martin turned back and looked at his two companions, feeling an immense wave of bitterness about their relative warmth.

“Gonff?” He called out. “Keyla?”

“Everything alright there, matey? Want me or Keyla to come over?”

“No, for the love of sanity, stay over there and don’t subject yourself to this. But listen to me, you two: when I get back and say it’s safe, there had bloody well better be a roaring fire ready to be kindled.”

Paws still unsteady from all the shivering, Martin grabbed his sword and began to clumsily hack his way through the bush. Behind it was a large expanse of trees, entirely flat save for a small rise perhaps ten paces away. He made for it and looked around. Again all he saw was a good deal of forest stretching out in all directions, and when he looked back towards the stream he was pleased to see that, even devoid of leaves, the bushes still did an adequate job of hiding the opposite bank and their campsite from any potential hostiles standing on this side. That settles it. We’ll rest here. Still, just to be safe, Martin took another look around before circling the rise outwards a further twenty paces. All he saw was forest, silent and peaceful.

He was about to turn and head back to the stream when, just barely in the corner of his eye, a black shape in the distance seemed to move.

Silently, as quickly as he dared, Martin drew his sword and turned. There was nothing. Still nervous, eh, Martin? That had to be it, he told himself. It had probably just been a patch of falling snow or a shifting branch. Everything’s fine. Just go back to camp, and let the other two know that – wait a second. Did it just get dark all of a sudden? The sun’s not going to set for a while…

Martin looked up, curious, and only then saw the crow descending towards him. He leapt back and lowered his sword back into position, his years of training the only thing keeping him from losing it and screaming in terror, before clearing his throat and speaking with as calm and commanding a voice as he could muster.

“Afternoon, crow.” That’s it, Martin. Keep the sentences short and simple, and it’ll be harder for him to hear the shaking. “Nearly gave me a fright.”

The crow landed a short ways away and let out a heavy sigh. “That was the idea. Saves me having to flush out any mates of yours for myself, so it’s less annoying. So thanks for the extra work, mouse.” Looking around, the crow raised his voice. “Anybeast still hiding behind a tree, come on out! I’m not dumb enough to think that your mouse friend’s here by himself, so just come and get it over with will you?” As the moments went by and the crow’s entreaty was met with nothing but silence, he stopped looking around expectantly and returned his gaze to Martin, who in the meantime had been slowly edging back towards the bush.

Upon seeing it the crow rolled his eyes. “Please stop. And put that thing away while you’re at it – I’m not going to hurt you.”

Martin snorted. “Aye, because that’s a new one.” He’d heard tales of crows before from Chibb and Skarlath, tales of villains that feasted on the flesh of living creatures and took their bones as trophies. “How about this: I’ll stay where I am if you stay where you are?”

“Fair enough. I only wanted to talk anyways.” The crow gave Martin a long, searching look that reminded him uncomfortably of his father. “You – you aren’t alone, right? I wouldn’t think it exactly safe for a little ground-dweller.”

“Perhaps I am, but perhaps I’m not. What I don’t see is how it’s any of your business.”

“Are you always this rude to creatures you run into, mouse?”

Martin lowered his sword a fraction, suddenly confused. So far the crow had reacted to him with nothing more than annoyance and second-hand embarrassment, and Martin had discerned any of the malice he normally would have expected from a creature bent on killing him. Is this crow actually serious about just wanting to talk? He found it hard to believe, but even so…

Slowly, arms primed to spring back up, Martin lowered the tip of his sword until it was pointing to the ground. When he had made it all the way and still had gotten no reaction, Martin stood straight up again and looked back at the crow. “My apologies for the lack of courtesies, but I’m some way from home and don’t feel as though one can ever be too careful.”

“Particularly when talking to a crow?” The crow’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, spare me the denials, I know all about the tales you land-dwellers tell about us and how we’re supposedly cannibals. Well, for your information, carrion crows like me stick entirely to dead creatures. The only living things we eat are fish and the like. So as long as you’re still alive and kicking, you haven’t a thing to worry about.”

“That’s, erm, reassuring.” It really, really wasn’t, if Martin was being completely honest, but this was probably one of those situations in which little white lies never heart anybeast. “In that case, I am pleased to meet you. My name is Martin Greeneyes, second son of Verdauga Greeneyes, lord of Mossflower.”

“The Greeneyes mouse? I’ve heard of you, actually.” The crow smiled and shook his head. “Should have figured, with that sword. Whitear’s the one who mentioned you.” He explained.

“You know Whitear?”

“Of course. Sometimes the old rat lets me steal a bit of plunder in exchange for scouting. Never lets me eat any of the bandits he and his group kill, though…” The crow drifted off, muttering about something, before blinking and extending his right wing out to Martin. “Ah, but that’s neither here nor there. I’m Bren.”

Martin decided to ignore the casual reference to cannibalism for the moment and took Bren’s wing, shaking it. “It’s a pleasure to meet a friend of Whitear’s. What brings you this far south, good crow?”

“Funnily enough, I actually have news Whitear wanted me to tell your father. And something else I noticed flying around one day that I think he really needs to know.”

“Oh? Is something going on up north?”

Bren’s face was grim. “There, and to the east. I’ll tell you about Whitear’s news in a moment, but first, I have a question: do you know anything about a place called ‘Loamhedge?’ Or about why the inhabitants would suddenly pack up and start heading west?”

Chapter Text

“Loamhedge?” Martin frowned. “No, can’t say it’s a place I’ve ever heard of. You said it’s to the east of here?”

“East-southeast. It’s a good bit away, past a few canyons and arid places. There’s this giant tree nearby? Called the ‘Lord of Mossflower’ or something?”

Martin shook his head. “Nope. Only ‘Lord of Mossflower’ I know of’s a Wildcat.” He wondered if Bella had ever been out there in her wanderings. “You said that they were all heading west? Any idea what caused it?”

Bren shrugged. “Not sure – they were really the only creatures out there, so they probably weren’t fleeing somebeast, and when I tried to fly close and ask them the mouse at the head of the caravan warned me away while shouting about how it was ‘for my own good’.

“And you’re sure it wasn’t just because you’re, well…”

“Because I’m a crow?” Bren snorted. “No, too few screams of terror and not a single arrow launched, so I’d say it wasn’t the usual anti-crow bigotry.”

Martin was beginning to think he knew what they might have been running from, but in the absence of any more information he decided that there wasn’t much point to any further speculation. “What about that other news you spoke of? The thing from Whitear?”

“Oh, that? I’m not sure it’s really as important as the potential caravan heading straight towards your doorstep, but at any rate it concerns the far north.”

“If it’s about a fortress called Marshank, I already know –”

“Farther. Past that place, up in the mountain range near the Lands of Ice and Snow. Sound familiar? It should.”

And it did; long ago, when he was just a child Martin had sat one night on his father’s knee and heard the story of the Wildcat’s homeland.

‘Martin, I was born in a faraway land in the north, up in a great mountain range called Icetor. My father’s castle is there still, although I know not who lives there, if indeed anybeast still does.’

For Whitear to have thought the goings-on up there worth Verdauga’s attention would normally be rather odd: after all, it didn’t really matter what sort of creature was poking around in the lands Verdauga’s family used to rule.

Unless, of course, they were from the same bloodline. “My sister’s been seen up there, I’m assuming?”

Bren nodded. “She has.”

“Well, she’s welcome to it. As long as she stays as far away from Mossflower as possible, she’s welcome to whatever dingy old castle she can find. Not like she can do much, all by herself.”

“Ah, but she’s not alone. Whitear said that she was seen at the head of a horde of bandits – no, not the head. More like just behind it. Apparently there’s this ferret leading them, although Whitear wasn’t sure. Supposedly he has a weird paw or something, but nobeast knows for sure.” Bren shook his head. “Perils of sharing information over long distances, I suppose. Things really tend to degrade, don’t they?”

A weird-pawed ferret? Martin frowned and put his own paw to his chin, thinking. Now why does THAT sound familiar? I know I’ve run across somebeast like that somewhere, but… Mentally, he ran a list of all the vermin leaders in his head, but none of the ferrets he could think of stuck out. Eh, I’m sure I’ll think of it. “Thank you for the information, Bren. And, ah, sorry I was so jumpy around you at first. Everything around here’s so quiet that it’s got me a little on edge.”

“Worry not, young mouse. You’re not the first creature to act like that. Or the hundredth. At least you have the decency to own up to it. Still, if you really feel bad about it, could you point me in the direction of your homeland? It’d be nice to find it as soon as possible.”

“Straight south of here. You’re actually really close, in fact – probably not more than an hours’ worth of flight. In fact, if you go soon you should still be able to get there before the sun begins to set.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Bren stepped back and began to beat his wings, sending gusts of frigid air at Martin, and as the mouse drew his cloak up against his fur and tried not to shiver a thought occurred to him.

“Oh, Bren!” He shouted over the wind. “Make sure to tell whoever you encounter that I send my regards so they don’t try and shoot you down!”

“Cheers, Martin!” Bren winged around the clearing a few times before starting upwards. “And safe travels!”

***

Martin slipped back across the stream, once again fighting valiantly not to let loose every single profanity he’d ever heard over his lifetime, before all but lunging at the roaring fire Keyla and Gonff had kindled.

“Whoa, there!” Gonff yelled as he grabbed Martin’s shoulder. “Don’t throw yourself into the blooming fire, matey!”

“Gonff, I’ve had to cross a stream that’s about as close to freezing as you can get twice now. I just want to get warm, alright?”

“I get that, Martin, but don’t kill yourself.”

“I know, I know.” All the same, Martin reluctantly retreated a few paces and sat on the hard ground. “Have you two already got supper going?”

“Of course we have! You’ve been gone a fair bit.”

“Really? Didn’t feel like it.”

“You were probably hiding from that crow.” Keyla sat next to Martin and handed him a small, wooden plate. “Blooming gave me a heart attack when it flew overhead a couple minutes ago.”

“It was less ‘hiding’ and more ‘sharing information’.” Martin looked up and realized that twilight was already beginning to fall; the patches of snow on the tops of the trees were already turning gold in the reflected sunlight. “By the fur, I guess the two of us really were talking for a while.”

“Hang on a moment. You talked with it?” Keyla gaped.

“I did. Decent creature, if a little…odd…” Right, let’s NOT mention the cannibalism? “He told me a bit of news and I pointed him in the direction of Mossflower. Crow’s a friend of Whitear’s.”

“Whitear?” Keyla asked. “Who’s that?”

“Friend of Martin’s father a ways north from here.” Gonff explained. “Rat in charge of his own bandit horde. Rather nice fellow, considering.”

“Ah. Come to think of it, I think I might’ve ran into him when I was coming south. Gave me a fair bit of food.”

Soon after that their supper was ready, a thin salad made primarily from old herbs and the tiniest bit of light seasoning. The three ate in silence, none sure what to say. Martin studied his companions as they ate and noticed the same tightness he’d observed in them while they were still walking. In fact, if anything, they look even MORE nervous now than earlier. With night falling, that could very much be a problem; a preoccupied creature was one that was likely to miss something important while on watch, or, if their watch came later on during the night, to just up and fall asleep entirely. Martin’s early urge to sit down and talk with the other two returned, and this time he decided to indulge it.

He set down his plate and cleared his throat. “Gonff? Keyla? There’s something I want to say before we go any farther north.”

The other two stopped eating and looked at each other. “Something on your mind, mate?” Gonff asked.

“Aye, on my mind and – at least I’m assuming – on both of yours.” What would Gingivere say? “I just – I wanted to make sure we all understand what the three of us are getting into. Both the good and the bad. Because it’s going to be difficult, I can tell you that.”

“Martin, we know.” Keyla sighed. “Don’t forget, I’m from there. I know how hard it’s going to be to sneak in and out of Marshank.”

“That’s not all. We’re still going to have to figure out what to do with all the slaves once we rescue them.” Martin smiled. “But I know we will. You two are both clever enough for that. Not to mention that odds are there’s at least some town around there that we can contact. And if not, we can start one!”

Gonff rolled his eyes, smiling. “Think the cold water’s getting to your brain.”

“Maybe. But then, stranger things have happened.” Martin continued. “And I know it feels like we’re just marching into this on our own, but I have a feeling it won’t be like that forever. We’ll find allies, win them to our cause, although I’ll admit I don’t exactly know what they’ll look like. Unless we can get Whitear to march alongside us or something.

“Look, you two. I know that this sounds kind of like I’m just building hope out of nothing, but I’m not. It’s something that this traveling circus said when they passed through Mossflower some time ago – ‘somehow, some way, friends always appear when you need them most’. And I’d like to believe that, especially since I’ve experienced it for myself in meeting both of you. I mean it.

“Not that it’s going to be easy, mind, and not just physically.” Martin tapped his head. “It’s also going to be hard up here. We’re going to have to make some hard choices, some where it feels like there’s no right answer.” He let his smile drop before continuing. “And we’re, certain as sunrise, going to wind up fighting somebeast. And that means killing them.”

“Nothing I haven’t done before, matey.”

“Can you do it again, Gonff? Because what happened three years ago is going to happen again. The same type of battle.”

“Well, won’t know until we get there I suppose, but all the same I’m pretty sure I can.”

“Then say it for us to hear.”

“Hmm? Why?”

“Just say it. With confidence: you can and will fight.”

Gonff shrugged. “I can and will fight. I can and will fight.”

“And what about you, Keyla? I’ve seen you training out in the yard, and this is what you’ve been doing it for, but are you certain you can take a life if need be?”

“Aye.” Keyla had a steely glint in his eye. “Life in Marshank wasn’t life. It was living death, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that nobeast has to endure that.” He slammed one paw into the other. “Whatever. It. Takes.”

Martin laid a paw on Keyla’s shoulder. “Good. Remember that fire, Keyla.” He stood up and addressed Gonff and Keyla both. “Our fight will be long and hard, but I have no doubt we will prevail, not just because we can, but because we must. Because, like Keyla said, nobeast should have to live in fear of another’s whip!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” A low, hoarse voice called out from the undergrowth. Martin whirled around paws dropping to his sword hilt, and came face-to-face with a nasty-looking squirrel standing at the edge of the forest. The squirrel had a knife in his paw, which he used to gesture towards their supplies. “Seems to me that a whip’d be quite useful to have right now. Let me snap your things up right quick without anybeast getting hurt.” Four more squirrels stepped out of the gloom, each with a nasty look in their eyes, and at a signal from their leader each drew their own weapons. “Unless, of course, you three want to just be nice and hand over everything all peaceful-like?”

“Oh, go boil your arse in a teakettle.” Gonff sprung up and grabbed his own knife.

“Easy, Gonff.” Sword in one paw, Martin held the other out to keep his friend back. “Are you five certain that this is something you truly want to do? We’re awfully close to Mossflower, after all, and I’m assuming that you lot’d rather not have to deal with the Thousand-Eyes?”

“What, them?” The lead squirrel snorted. “The way I sees it, their word stopped a ways south of here. And that’s assuming that the rickety old wildcat or his weakling of a son could even stir themselves from their precious fort long enough to deal with us.” All five of the squirrels began to laugh. “Can’t you just see it now, mates? Ol’ Verdauga hobbling up with a cane, grunting and groaning while little Gingivere tries to look all brave and like he didn’t just put down his needlepoint long enough to pretend at being an actual warrior!”

With that last bit, Martin decided that the five of them needed to die. It was the principle of thing, really. And so, without moving his head so much as a fraction of a turn, Martin addressed his friends while dropping his sword into a combat stance.

“Gonff? Keyla? Do sit this one out, will you?”

“Understood loud and clear, Martin.” Gonff turned and motioned for Keyla to step back a few paces. “Although what I said earlier about ‘not killing yourself’ still applies.”

Martin allowed a savage grin to split his face. “Oh, don’t you worry. This’ll be over in a moment.”

The lead squirrel eyed Martin’s sword contemptuously. “What, you think you’re actually a threat, mousey? Just because you have that fancy sword doesn’t mean you can – urk!”

He never finished his sentence. Martin leapt forwards faster for him to react, thrusting his sword clean through the squirrel’s neck before pulling it back out and slashing the squirrel across the chest as he fell to the ground. The other four stood around and gaped long enough for their leader’s sudden death to finally register, during which time Martin was already on them. A horizontal slash opened one’s neck while simultaneously redirecting a second’s blade wide, after which Martin plunged into the gap and rammed his own sword into the offending creature’s stomach. The fourth squirrel winced before raising his sword and charging with a snarl, managing to last roughly three exchanges before Martin dashed behind him, spun, and send a vertical cut almost the entire length of the squirrel’s body.

The whole altercation, from Martin’s warning to the death of the fourth squirrel, had taken less than a minute.

The last remaining squirrel fell to his knees, his knife clattering to the forest floor as he stared in horror at the bodies of the others. “What…what the…”

Martin laid the flat of his sword under the squirrel’s chin. “What was that your leader said about the writ of the Lord of Mossflower not extending this far north?”

Unable to answer, the squirrel only made a strangled gasping noise.

“Go now. I will spare your life, but know this: if you ever show your face in Mossflower Woods again, the Thousand-Eye army and Mossflower’s other protectors will catch you. And when that happens, well…” Martin nodded back towards the other four squirrels. “Now begone.”

The last squirrel nodded once before getting to his footpaws and running off into the forest, screaming in abject terror all the while. Martin watched him go before turning back to Gonff and Keyla, both of whom were staring at him completely slack-jawed.

“Can we, uh, not camp here tonight after all?” Keyla finally managed to ask after a good minute of stunned silence. “I don’t know about you two, but I’d really rather sleep away from a bunch of bodies.”

“No argument here, matey.” Gonff turned around and began to pack up his things.                                                                                                                                           

“Hold a moment, you two.” Martin spoke. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to make us sleep here, but I just wanted to take a moment to remind you: this is what we’re marching towards. More fighting, more killing. Are you two truly prepared to see what happened here happen again, and by your own paws?”

Gonff and Keyla glanced at the bodies, then at Martin, before nodding in unison. They would fight to free Marshank, both for those currently enslaved there and all those who would be in the future.

Chapter Text

The day had dawned sunny and warm, and as Gingivere made the long ascent to his father’s chambers he couldn’t help but hope that his brother would get to enjoy the same sort of weather, wherever he was. Hopefully most of the way to where Whitear lives, Gingivere thought. I’ll have to look at the map later and see if I can figure out the distance.  

Lost in his thoughts, Gingivere didn’t realize that he’d made it all the way up to his father’s chambers until he walked headfirst into the door with a thunk. After taking a moment to mutter a few curses and massage his head with a paw, Gingivere pushed the great door open.

The room was bright and had an airy feel to it, for once; obviously, whomever had brought Lord Verdauga his breakfast had had the presence of mind to open up both the curtains and the windows, allowing fresh air to actually circulate throughout. It was a nice change of pace from the conditions that Martin had been calling ‘tomblike’ for the last two months straight before his departure, and Gingivere hoped that the good weather would signify a change for the better in his father’s state of mind as well.

Sure enough, even though he was still bedridden Verdauga’s eyes had managed to regain some of their old piercing gaze. “Good morning, son. I see that you’re dressed up more than normal – is something happening today?” Sitting back in bed, Verdauga closed his eyes. “No, wait, I remember: Bella and Sunflash were on their way here, weren’t they? By the fur, is it time for them to arrive already?”

“Yes, father.” The fact that his father had managed to remember was a massive relief in Gingivere’s eyes. “I just wanted to wish you good morning before I went down to greet them.”

“And ask for some advice?” Smiling, Verdauga opened one eye and studied his son.

Gingivere blushed. “That too. I’m still not sure I’m that good at doing this sort of reception by myself.”

“Son, it’s just Bella and Sunflash. Just be yourself around them.”

“But what if I mess up and do something stupid?”

“You don’t during the Corim meetings.” Verdauga paused long enough to cough before taking a sip from the goblet on his bedside table. “To hear Amber go on about it, you’re already as good a leader at eighteen as she was at twenty-five.”

“Really?” Gingivere brightened.

Verdauga nodded. “Really. Have more confidence in yourself, Gingivere. You’re a better leader than you think you are, and I have no doubt you’ll make me proud today.”

“I will, father. Oh, and thank you – honestly, what you just said helps. A lot.”

Verdauga smiled. “I’m glad. Now you had best run along and get ready for our guests. Although, now that I think about it, maybe ‘run along’ isn’t the best expression to use.” He laughed. “Wouldn’t want you to greet somebeast all sweaty, even if they are creatures we know as well as the Badgers of Salamandastron.” Gingivere laughed as well and then turned, buoyed by the fact that, for once, he was leaving his father’s chambers happy and with Verdauga in good health, ready to leave and make his way down to the castle gates.

Two pawsteps out from the door, and in exactly thirty words, it all came crashing down.

“Oh, and make sure Martin’s dressed properly as well. Granted, since I haven’t seen him training in the yard at all, I probably have nothing to fear on that front.”

“Father,” Gingivere replied in a voice that betrayed none of the emotions that had instantly begun to swell up, “Martin’s not here, remember? He left two weeks ago.”

“He did?” Verdauga frowned and thought about it. “Why? I can’t recall.”

“It was that otter Keyla, from Marshank. Don’t you remember when they dragged him in here and he and Martin decided to go north and free Keyla’s fellow slaves.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Verdauga sighed. “Good lord, how could I have forgotten about that?”

“I can’t answer that.” Gingivere bit down on his lip. “No if you excuse me, I really must be going.”

Once outside, with the door closed safely behind him, Gingivere took a deep breath. Then another. Then a third. Then a fourth. How could his father have forgotten? They’d talked about Martin’s journey the day before, and the day before that, and practically every day since the mouse had actually left, yet all the same somehow the fact that his son was out on a crusade of slave liberation had completely slipped the old Wildcat’s mind. It was, Gingivere had been sure, the one thing that his father was sure to remember, even if everything else had begun to vanish, and the fact that not even that was safe meant that…

No. Gingivere stopped himself from letting his thoughts run any wilder. Not today. He inhaled, long and slow. You have visitors. He exhaled, long and slow. You can’t be just ‘Gingivere’. You need to be ‘Lord Gingivere’ now. Take those emotions and bury them. You can think about them later.

The nigh-uncontrollable feelings once again hidden behind the mask of a calm, confident young lord, Gingivere started back down the staircase.

***

Ordinarily it was procedure to receive the visiting leader of a neighboring power with a show of strength from the Thousand-Eye army, but considering the nature of the visitors Gingivere had decided that the Thousand-Eye’s presence would be restricted merely to Lady Amber, Mask, Captains Whegg and Bula, and Skipper Warthorn – less of a military greeting party, and more of a show of respect and familiarity. The fact that they were all creatures Gingivere personally felt comfortable around was half a coincidence, half planned. And sure enough, with friends both behind him and coming through the gate at the head of a small entourage of Hares, Gingivere felt some of the tension in his shoulders dissipate.

He allowed himself to smile as he stepped forwards. “Welcome back to Mossflower, you two. It’s great to see you. I trust there wasn’t much trouble on the road?”

Sunflash grinned and gave a friendly little bow. “Great to see you too, Gingivere. And no, to answer your question, the entire journey was nice and peaceful.”

“Honestly it was kind of boring.” Sunflash’s Kestrel friend Skarlath swooped out of the air and landed a few paces to the Badger’s left. “Days of traveling, and not so much as a whisker of even the lowest bandit. I’m assuming we have you lot to blame for that?”

“Oi, mate, just be glad my brother didn’t have to pull Lord Sunflash out of another bandit camp.” Skipper joked.

“That’s really not funny, you know.” Bella shot a dirty look at the Otter before turning to Gingivere and embracing him in a quick hug. “Any word from your brother?”

“Not yet. Haven’t heard anything since what we learned from that crow.” Now that had been on odd creature, and a little disturbing, but all the same news that he’d seen Martin was something that Gingivere had greatly appreciated. “But I’m sure he’ll turn up at Whitear’s camp or something, and for the moment that’s neither here nor there. I imagine you and your Hares must be tired after the journey?”

Bella shook her head. “Not at all. Like Skarlath said, it was as unexciting of a journey as could be hoped for.” She smiled. “Not at all like our sojourn north a few years ago.”

The words caused a massive burst of white-hot envy to flare up in Gingivere. Well, isn’t that absolutely marvelous for you, getting to strut around like you’re half your age while my father can’t even walk and half the time doesn’t even know where he – Gingivere stopped himself, forcing the anger back down and mentally tightening the mask of geniality as hard as he could. “All the same, I trust your hares will have no reservations about heading to the barracks? I’ve had Raker and the kitchen staff prepare a feast. It’s not exactly Gonff-level, but it should be passable.”

At that all the Hares broke out into assorted cheers and entreaties to Sunflash begging him to let them partake. The Badger nodded, suppressing a massive smile. “Oh, very well. Just remember to behave yourselves, you all. We’re guests, so no leaving Thousand-Eye’s barracks in the same state you leave our own mess hall.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, My Lord!” Lupin saluted.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Amber stepped over to the Hares. “Now, if you’ll all follow me…” They all marched off as soon as Lupin was able to restore some semblance of order.

“Now,” Gingivere continued after the last of the Hares had followed Amber through Kotir’s gate, “I know that you two say you don’t need rest as of yet, but may we at least take your bags to your chambers?” He decided to let the mask slip a little, at least to joke around somewhat. “Otherwise I won’t feel like I’m doing this whole hosting thing properly.”

“Well then, in that case, knock yourself out.” Sunflash chuckled. “Far be it from me to pass up letting somebeast else do my work. And what about you, mother?”

“I suppose so.” Bella shook her head and sighed in mock annoyance. “Honestly you two.”

“It’s settled then.” Gingivere gestured forwards towards the Badger’s luggage. “Whegg, Bula, if you would be so kind?”

“Aye, m’lord!” Whegg’s response was a good deal more reluctant than Bula’s, but the Rat stepped forwards all the same and hoisted one of Sunflash’s bags before grunting and staggering over to Skipper. Before the Otter could so much as react, Whegg plopped the bag straight into his arms.

“Right, matey, you’re stronger than me, so you’re carrying this.”

Gingivere made himself ignore the argument that subsequently broke out. “Right, is there anything else I can offer you two? A goblet of ale? Some food?”

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I wanted to talk with Mask a little.” Sunflash looked over at the Otter, who was doing his best to stay as far away from his brother and Whegg’s shouting match as he could. “I’m curious as to how Bluefen’s doing.”

“Fine by me.” Gingivere replied. “At least, as it’s fine by him.” He looked at Mask. “What say you? Would you fancy a chance to catch up with Sunflash?”

Mask nodded vigorously, and shortly afterwards the two departed back towards Moss Town, already deep in conversation. Skarlath was next to leave, explaining that he’d come up with a  few ideas about improving communications that he wanted to share with Chibb, and not long after he winged off Bula managed to cow both Skipper and Whegg into submission regarding who was to carry what up to the guest chambers, leaving Gingivere and Bella alone at the gate.

“You know,” Bella opined, “it almost feels quiet now that everybeast has left.” She took a long, heavy sniff before sighing in contentment. “By the fur I’ve missed the scent of Mossflower woods. Even after these past years with Sunflash, it still smells like home.” She looked down at Gingivere. “But enough about me – and I’m sorry about earlier.”

“What do you mean?”

“Me, strutting around and talking about how I’m still perfectly fine after a long journey overland while your father’s… well… in the state he’s in.”

Again, the envy flared up fast enough that Gingivere struggled to keep it down. “It’s alright, Bella. Didn’t bother me one bit.” He hoped the lie was convincing.

It wasn’t. “Gingivere, I’ve known you since you were a babe, so spare me. It was written all over your face back there. But it’s my fault – I shouldn’t have said it that way.”

Gingivere turned away. “It’s fine, Bella. My father’s health is the way it is, and nothing can change that. I’ve made my peace with it.”

“Well, if you ever want somebeast to talk to or need me to stay a while I can –”

“I said I made my peace with it. End of discussion.”

“A – alright, then. I’m sorry that I keep bringing this up.” Bella sounded hurt, and Gingivere was immediately guilty.

“No, Bella, I should be the one apologizing. I’ve – I’ve just got a lot on my mind lately. About my father, about Martin…”

“About everything you told me about in your letter?”

“That too.” Gingivere looked up at the sky and shook his head. “Not only is my brother marching off into the unknown, but now my sister’s turning up with friends in the land my grandfather used to rule, and then there’s that caravan of mice heading this way. An entire community of Mice, just wandering their way over here, fleeing something.”

“The Loamhedge Mice? Don’t worry about them, Gingivere. I went out that way once, long ago, and unless they’ve changed beyond all recognition they’re good creatures.”

“That might be true, but that doesn’t change the fact that there’s a lot of them.” Pacing now, Gingivere began to tick off a list of problems. “I’m going to have to worry about housing them, feeding them off a land that’s still nowhere near recovered from what Tsarmina did, trying to integrate them into our way of life if they decide to stay, not to mention dealing with whatever’s got them running halfway across the land in the first place!”

“Okay, so how are you going to handle it?”

“I don’t know! That’s the problem!” Gingivere slammed a paw against the sandstone gate. “I – I don’t know how to deal with any of this! With the Mice, with Tsarmina, with Martin! I’d ask my father, but half the time he’s too far gone to even come up with a coherent answer, so I can’t exactly follow what he would do if I don’t even know what that is!”

Wordlessly, Bella walked over and planted her paws on Gingivere’s shoulders before turning him away from the gate, so that the two were face-to-face. “Two things, Gingivere. Number one: breathe. You’re a smart Wildcat, and when you keep your head the solutions will present themselves. Don’t worry about what your sister and brother are doing right now, just focus on what is going on here in Mossflower and what you can control.

“Number two: what Verdauga would have or wouldn’t have done doesn’t matter. You’re you, not him. All that matters is what you will do, so stop comparing yourself to your father. Mossflower is in your paws now, and it’s time for you to forge your own path instead of trying to tread your father’s.”

“You know, that doesn’t really help.” Gingivere grumbled.

“It will,” Bella replied, “trust me. When the time is right, it will. Us Badgers have a way of knowing the future a little better than most creatures, after all.”

Chapter Text

Martin stood upon a cliff overlooking the ocean, waves crashing and pounding with a mighty roar. As he watched the waves the wind picked up, blowing ever harder, until the mouse was forced to turn his back and face the land. It was desolate and black, covered as far as the eye could see in rocks and dust.

Almost. For as Martin looked, as if out of nowhere two groves appeared in the distance, pools of life in the middle of the endless desert. Martin started towards the shrubs, pushed on by the wind, moving ever closer until he could make out the hazelnuts dangling down to the ground, but before he could reach the two groves a group of shadows flared up from the rocks and stood in front of him.

Immediately Martin realized that he needed to stop them before they destroyed the grove. He looked around for something to use, and his eyes fell first upon a pair of daggers, one crossed on top of the other, before just afterwards noticing a sword. He grabbed it, kicking the daggers away to stop any of the shadows from grabbing them, before lunging at the nearest shadow. A single swing was enough to cause it to dissipate, and the others fell in turn before Martin turned to where the largest of the shadows stood.

Or rather, where it HAD stood, for while Martin had been occupied with the lesser shadows the largest shadow had reached the grove and was passing over it. He watched on, helpless, as the shadow devoured leaf and nut alike from the bush and leaving behind nothing but an empty, lifeless skeleton behind.

He had failed, completely and utterly.

***

He awoke several hours later to the scent of baked apples. Evidently Keyla had gotten up early, as the otter was sitting over the remnants of the campfire humming a tune to himself while the apples baked in the embers. Seeing that Martin had woken up, he smiled gave a little wave.

“Morning, matey! Breakfast’ll be ready in a few more minutes.”

Martin yawned and stretched before standing up, taking care not to wake the still-sleeping Gonff. “By the fur that smells good.” He took another sniff. “Hang on – am I losing it or do I smell cinnamon?”

“Aye. Gonff had a little bottle in his pack, and I, uh, decided to borrow it for the morning. Baked apples without cinnamon are like a hedgehog without spines, my grandmother used to say.” Keyla shrugged. “At least I think it was her. That or my grandfather. I dunno – both of ‘em died before I was born, so I only heard it second-paw from my mum. I’d ask her, but, well…” He shook his head.

“Because of Badrang?” Martin sat down next to Keyla.

“Right in one.” Keyla speared an apple with rather more force than necessary. “Bastard beat her to death on the march up north just for trying to get me a little more food.”

Martin was at a loss for words – he’d never really known what to say to creatures mourning the deaths of their parents, his having both passed away long before he’d been old enough to remember them. Well, he mused, I suppose THAT’S going to change soon enough.

“Just one more crime that stoat needs to answer for, I suppose.” Keyla plucked the apple off his stick and took an exploratory bite. “Hmm! Not bad.” Spearing another apple, the otter tossed it to Martin.

He took a bite. It actually was really good, with just the right balance of cinnamon and raisins to augment the taste, and within a few bites the apple was completely eaten. “Keyla, friend, ‘not bad’ is a massive understatement. Honestly, you could probably get something good for this at the market.”

Keyla smiled. “Thanks, matey, but I can’t take all the credit. That squirrel in the kitchens taught me how to make it a while ago, though it took a few hours.” Keyla took another apple and bit into it. “You know, she likes to talk about you a lot. And I mean it – a lot.”

“Really? That surprises me.” Martin raised an eyebrow. “Normally when she’s talking to me it’s half mumbled and she spends most of her time staring at my footpaws. Honestly, I’d started to wonder if she was scared of me for some reason.” He looked over at Keyla, and realized with a start that the otter was staring at him with an expression that was one-third disbelieving, one-third amused, and one-third piteous. “Ok, what?” He answered defensively. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Scared of you. You thought she was scared of you. You’re joking, Martin, right?”

“Keyla, I genuinely don’t have an idea what you’re going on about!”

“Oh, leave him be, matey.” Gonff had apparently woken up at some point, though he was still lying on the ground in his sleeping bag. “Martin here’s a bit dense when it comes to those matters.”

“And just how long have you been up for, Gonff?”

“Long enough to hear Keyla talk about how Badrang did in his mother.” Gonff sat up. “I’m really sorry to hear that, mate. My blood family died when I was really little, so I can’t even imagine that that must’ve felt like.”

Keyla shook his head. “Like what I told Martin, it’s just another cruelty in need of punishing.”

“You’ll be able to follow through on that soon enough.” Martin looked out over the ridge they’d camped on and down towards the valley below. “We’re almost out of the northern mountains, and after that it’s just over the plain and across the Broadstream, right? And from what you said crossing the plain should only take another two days at most.”

“Do we have enough food to last that long?” Gonff asked after finishing an apple. “I don’t know about you two, but my pack’s starting to get a tad on the light side.” He sighed. “I suppose we can just restock whenever we finally run into Whitear and his band, not that we’ve managed to do so in… how long have we been crossing this mountain range again?”

“Six days.” Keyla looked up at the morning sun. “Seven, now.”

“Seven, then. How long does it take to find a bunch of bandits anyway?”

“Well, considering that we’re searching an entire mountain range,” Martin replied as he strapped on his sword belt, “I’d say a fair bit of time.”

That being said, the fact that they’d gone a solid week without seeing so much as a single creature was odd; from what he’d gathered, Whitear had made his home here because the pickings were ripe from all the travelers heading between the northlands and the parts of the world closer to Mossflower, and in springtime a path as relatively easy as the one they were taking ought to have been full of creatures wishing to begin the spring and summer trading circuit, so to be greeted with nothing but oppressive silence was unnerving. It felt wrong somehow, like something was amiss. But what?

“I suppose,” he began, “maybe we can try to bring them to us instead of trying to search them out.” Walking over to the edge of the ridge, Martin cupped his paws around his mouth and yelled “ECHO! ECHO!”

The sound carried through the valley below, gradually fading into nothingness, and though there was no answer Martin was still satisfied. “There, see? Sound carries well here.”

“So, what?” Gonff asked. “Do you want us to sing until somebeast tracks us down.”

“I mean, I was thinking more that we could try and let Whitear know that it’s us a bit more specifically, but…” Martin noded. “Eh, to blazes with it. Last week’s been way too eerie, so let’s go with that.” He turned to Keyla. “Sound good.”

“Sounds excellent. And I happen to know a pretty good song to start us off.”

“Oh?” Gonff sat down next to Martin and grabbed one of the last apples. “Go ahead then, matey! Sing us a song!”

And so Keyla cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and began to sing in a deep, carrying voice:

“It’s just like a burning torch in the storm,

like a blooming flower in the home.

It’s strongly hoisting up a certain will,

Be still be gentle with me sometimes even still,

A misty moon,

I’m missing you…

Martin suspected that it was a lullaby of some sort, judging by both the lyrics and the emotion with which Keyla sung, and by the time the otter was finished all three travelers were profoundly moved.

“Wow.” Gonff wiped a tear from his eye. “By the fur, that’s a sad song. But I suppose there’s little enough room for happy ones in a place like Marshank, isn’t there?

“No, not really.” Keyla hurled the core of the last baked apple down off the ridge. “The best you get is bittersweet.”

“Fortunately for us, as it happens I know one that’s nice and cheery then. It’s a bit long, though.” Gonff took his flute and blew a few notes into it, making a quick little tune that somehow managed to both emulate what one would associate with an epic quest and mock that sort of tune at the same time. After he was finished, the mouse began to sing with a wicked grin on his face:

“Hey! Ho!

Ten there were, heading out,

Off to slay a dragon fierce!

North they went, for the bout,

Tho first they had a hundred beers!

And so they swayed, swords in paw,

Staring at the dragon’s flaming maw!”

On and on it went, eight verses’ worth of drunken adventuring, until at long last ten rolled down Salamandastron in barrels of ale and subsequently swore off drinking for all eternity. By the end of it, both Keyla and Martin were laughing so hard that they were both gasping for air.

“Now what the ten switched to in order to sate themselves,” Gonff said with a theatrical wink as the song came to a close, “is a song for another time. I’ll give you a hint, though: it involves enough flower petals to cover an entire room.”

“Think we’ve made enough noise to attract somebeast yet?” Keyla finally managed to ask after he’d calmed down enough to actually speak properly.

Martin shook his head. “I can’t see how we couldn’t have. Between you two singing and us two laughing our tails off, if there’s any creature in this mountain range at all they’ve got to have heard something. Now, all we have to do is wait.”

He sat back down as Gonff got the fire going again, but at the same tightened his grip on his sword hilt. Just in case.

***

It wasn’t long before an assorted group of rats stood before the three of them, paws all tightly gripping their spears. Keyla instinctively tightened for a fight, but Gonff and Martin relaxed instead; they could see the pale ears on the lead rat plain as day, as well as the very familiar bolas tied to the rat’s belt.

“You know,” Whitear began, “I can honestly say that of all the things I’ve seen and done in my life, finding one of the princes of Mossflower and his friends singing in the middle of my mountain range is probably the strangest.” He gave a massive bow before taking Martin’s paw and shaking it. “Whitear, at your service! And yours too, mr, uh…” he looked at Gonff, trying to remember the other mouse’s name. “Donif, was it?”

Gonff snorted. “Close, but not quite. I’m ‘Gonff’, remember?”

“Ah, yes. Sorry about that.” Whitear turned to Keyla. “Have we met before? I feel like I saw you somewhere, but I can’t put my paw on it.”

“Aye, sire. We met in winter when I was fleeing south from Marshank. You gave me some food and pointed me towards Kotir.”

At the mention of Marshank, Whitear’s expression immediately darkened. “Now I remember. And am I to assume that you’re heading back to it for some covert purpose?”

“How did you know?”

Whitear’s eyes flicked to Martin, then down to his sword. “Bringing Martin Greeneyes this far north? Without his brother or any other important creature from Mossflower? It’s obviously not a diplomatic visit anywhere.”

“We hope to free the slaves of Marshank, as a matter of fact.” Martin put a paw to his chest. “It’s something that I owe them from three years ago.”

“I see.” Whitear sighed. “Well, I know I can’t talk you out of it, although if you were expecting to enlist my horde I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do. Goings on in other areas mean that the only way we can stay safe is by staying in the areas we know best.”

“I understand.” It was the answer Martin had expected, particularly after the news from Bren. “All the same, is there any way we could maybe refill our packs a bit? We’re, ah, running a little low.”

Whitear chuckled. “Raiding the raiders, is it?”

“Not if I’m politely asking.”

“What, you don’t think that we don’t ‘politely ask’ some of the nice, rich caravans that wander across our path?” Whitear snorted before waving a paw through the air. “But fine, whatever you need. Stay the night if you wish, even – I doubt you’ve had any sort of feast since leaving home?”

“It’s settled then!” Gonff leapt forwards before either Martin or Keyla could think about the offer. “Cheers, Whitear!”

The rat smiled. “Any time. Shall we be off, then? I’m certain you lot’d rather be somewhere more comfortable than this ridge.”

As they started off down towards wherever Whitear was camped out, Martin suddenly remembered the dream he’d had the night before.

“Say, Keyla?” He asked as they were walking. “I have a strange question.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“There isn’t anything to do with hazels or hazelnuts anywhere near Marshank is there?”

Keyla shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of, unless Badrang’s got some nuts stashed away somewhere. Why? Want some to go with the baked apples?”

“No, I just had this odd dream last night, I don’t know why, but it feels…important. Like I need to remember what happened in it and not let it come true.”

“Can’t exactly help you with that, mate. Only dreams I ever have are ones where I’m still a slave.”

“Mm.” Martin looked down at the valley, wondering.

Chapter Text

Martin and Keyla stood across from one another, training weapons held tight in their paws, both eyeing the other.

Whitear held up a paw of his own. “Ready? In three…two…one…fight!”

Keyla rushed in first with his sword, charging at Martin and swinging downwards with a heavy cut that the mouse simply sidestepped. Keyla followed up with a forwards thrust, one that Martin batted out of the way, before attempting to finish with a slash across the neck that his opponent easily ducked under. Martin then made an attack of his own, an economical horizontal slash at Keyla’s stomach that the otter only managed to half block.

“If this had been a real sword you’d be bleeding out now.” Martin stepped back and lowered his own sword in an indication for the two to stop. Looking Keyla up and down, he frowned. “And your strikers are still too telegraphed and slow. A blind creature could see what you’re doing.”

Gonff sat off to the side and idly nibbled away at a hunk of cheese as he watched the two go at it. It was interesting, he found, to compare the regimen Martin was subjecting Keyla to to the one that he’d had to endure; the poor otter was having a much more intense one, it had been plain to see for some time.

“By the fur,” Banya muttered as she sat down next to him, “is Martin that way with every beast he helps train?”

Gonff looked up at the pine marten and shook his head. “Funnily enough I was just thinking about that, and he’s normally not. Wasn’t with me, wasn’t with any of the young creatures he’s sparred with around Kotir.” He turned back just long enough to watch Keyla’s training sword go spinning into the night in the aftermath of a particularly ill-thought-out attack. “Wonder what’s got him going like this?”

“You three are going to attack that giant fort up to the north of here, right? I’d wager that’s why – Martin probably wants that otter to be as ready as possible for a fight.”

“We were marching into a fight when he was training me too, you know.”

“You were also heading towards half of Martin’s father’s army.” Banya pointed out.

“Point.” Gonff finished off the cheese and noticed that Banya was still staring at him. “Can I, uh, help you?”

“Oh, I was just wondering – I get why Keyla wants to head up and free his mates, and why Martin feels all guilty about letting Badrang go three years ago, but why’re you here, if you don’t mind me asking? You don’t seem like the ‘revenge’ type, otherwise I’d guess that you’re looking for some payback. So why, then?”

Gonff thought about it before jerking his neck over towards Martin. “I mean, for one thing I don’t want that one to run off and get himself killed.”

“And he can’t handle himself?”

“I mean, he can, but…”

“And is that the only reason?”

“Of course not! I – I – uh…” Huh. Gonff realized. Why AM I here? “Actually, come to think of it, I’m really only here because Martin asked me to come.” And to think, after I said all that stuff about how my life doesn’t revolve around him.

“I see.” The pine marten’s expression was measured and searching. “Interesting.”

Gonff suddenly felt exposed and guilty, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t and only had been able to muster up a half-baked excuse. “Oh put a cork in it, will you? Not like I can just turn around and head back home.”

And yet, no matter how many times he told himself that, all through the rest of the day the simple question of ‘why am I here’ continued to pull at the mouse.

***

The next day the three of them set back out on the journey. The morning dawned cool and drizzling, making the path through the mountains far more treacherous and unpleasant, and Martin was relieved when the path began to gently slope back downwards. He began to pick up his walking pace and head down, but Keyla grabbed his shoulder and stopped him.

“Hold it. We don’t know how safe the path is.”

Martin looked at it and frowned. “Looks pretty safe, doesn’t it?”

“Aye,” Gonff agreed, “though it’s a little muddy.”

“Exactly.” Keyla slowly walked forwards and grabbed the branch of a shrub growing just off the path. Then, carefully, he lifted one paw and planted it in the mud before sliding it forwards. His footpaw immediately began to shoot out with a squelch, necessitating the otter’s scrambling back up with the shrub before he lost balance and slid down the path.

“See?” He turned to Martin and Gonff. “Go too fast and you start sliding. Start sliding, and I’ll have to scrape little mouse bits off whatever rock you bash on top of.”

Martin looked over at a particularly sharp rock some ways down and winced. “Well then, Keyla, thank you for pointing that out, otherwise I wouldn’t have realized until too late.”

“That does beg the question, though.” Gonff stared at the path. “How’re we to keep moving? I don’t know about you two but I’d really rather not wait until whenever it stops drizzling. Should we just sort of shuffle down? All slow-like?”

Keyla shook his head. “Never keep our balance like that. And besides, that’ll take so long that we might as well just sit and wait.”

“Well we can’t just sit on our bums and scoot down, matey. That’ll get us slip-sliding for sure.”

“Perhaps we should just crawl down?” Martin suggested. “Seems safer than any of our other ideas.”

And so they did. Knees and paws half-submerged in the mud, the three slowly began back down the path.

Look at me, Martin suddenly thought after a few minutes of this, look at the great lord’s son all covered in mud. A tiny part of him almost wanted to be a little kid again, just to see the look on his father, Bella, and Tsarmina’s faces when he wandered in this dirty. He bit his lip to keep from laughing, and slowly pressed on.

Keyla was glad when they finally reached the bottom of the mountain range, being heartily sick of both crawling and – after the weather had finally improved – scrabbling with slow, tiny steps down a path that needed to be a lot less steep. All the same, he wasn’t exactly looking forwards to the next stage of their journey: ahead of them lay nothing but the endless expanse Whitear had called the ‘open land’, a stretch of rocky steppe that ran endlessly until meeting either the oceans to the side or the great Broadstream to the north. Journeying south in the winter had nearly killed him with the lack of cover and the bitter winds, and although the weather was a good deal warmer Keyla was still wary. After all, even though the lack of cover was no longer dangerous to the winds, on the off chance that Badrang or some other creature had scouts roaming nearby it would still render them far too visible.

Gonff whistled. “By the fur, how far does this go on?”

“It’s at least twice as wide as the mountain range was, I’d wager. Took me two weeks to scramble across last time.”

“What? No. You’re joking, right?”

“I am not. Sun was just rising when I crossed the Broadstream, and it had just risen again for the fifteenth time when I stood about where we are now.”

“Oh, that’s just bloody brilliant!” Gonff moaned. “Well, nothing to it, I suppose, if we’re almost at the end when we’re done.”

“We should be.” Keyla nodded. “Cross the Broadstream, and it’ll be perhaps a day until we can circle around to Marshank.”

“And it shouldn’t even take us as long to cross now as you needed back in Winter.” Martin smiled. “Going over young grass is going to be much easier than marching through the snow, particularly if there were any tracks that happened to have been covered up in the winter.”
“There won’t be. Nobeast travels through the middle like this, Whitear told me.”

“Oh?” Gonff pointed at something in the ground. “Then what’s that?”

Martin looked down. They had escaped his notice earlier, but now he saw that there was a faint but unmistakable set of cart tracks in the dried mud. He bent over and poked the tracks, feeling to see how hard the mud was. It was both solid and shallow; the ground seemed to be in the final stages of hardening back up again. “Whoever it was, they haven’t been here for a few days.”  

Gonff looked at Keyla. “Any clue who this might be, mate?”

“Not the slightest.” The otter’s expression hardened. “But the only thing I can think of is a caravan of slavers heading to Marshank.”

“Or heading south to get more slaves.” Gonff suggested. “Any way we can tell?”

“Not until we see at least a few pawprints.” Martin studied the ground, hoping to see at least the faintest remnant of a footpaw, but saw nothing but mostly-dried dirt. “If only Amber were here!”

“Well, she isn’t, so there’s nothing we can do for that right now.” Gonff patted his dagger. “Except for keep ready in case they happen to be going north and we manage to overtake them.”

They set off again, now on guard, paws never far from their weapons. Martin found himself becoming uncomfortably aware of just how exposed they were in the middle of the steppe, without so much as a decently-sized rock to hide behind in the event that an entire caravan just happened to notice them –

Stop it! Martin made himself close his eyes for a moment and push the thoughts back down. Stop jumping at shadows! If it’s a big caravan, we’ll see and hear them first. And we don’t even know that they’re foebeasts anyway! All the same, as they marched Northwest following the tracks Martin found himself unable to set his mind at ease, to the point that he almost hoped to see somebeast, even a slaver, if for no other reason than because it would stop his imagination going overactive. By the dawn of their third day in the Open Lands, he’d started to wonder if he was going to go insane from the anticipation, his mind sending visions of a vast army and an entire train of carts waiting just over the horizon. Oh, come on. He admonished himself. If THAT were the case we’d be seeing a lot more than just a single cart path.

Eventually, Martin noticed something on the horizon and held up a paw. “Stop. I see something straight ahead, and I don’t think it’s a rock?”

Keyla squinted, paw shading his eyes. “Aye, it looks more like some kind of big wagon.”

“Our mystery creatures, maybe?”

“Maybe, only…” Martin took a closer look. “I don’t see anybeast. The cart looks deserted.” Starting forwards again, but slower now, Martin slid his sword out. “All the same, I think it best we go forwards ready to fight.”

As they neared the cart, it became steadily more apparent that it was in fact completely deserted. Gonff poked the fabric hanging over the cart, feeling the rough-spun cloth and absently tracing circles in it. “Well this is kind of anticlimactic. Three days of worrying and worrying, and we come across the reason for our worries and somebeast just dumped it in the middle of nowhere! Still, better we find nothing than an army of rats, I suppose. Mind was starting to make me worry.”

“Me too, Gonff.” Martin sheathed his sword and looked up and down the cart. “Though I wouldn’t say that we found ‘nothing’ yet.” Glimpsing under it, he nodded. “Still looks a bit damp. Certainly more damp than the rest of the ground.”

“Which means pawprints, hopefully.” Keyla crawled under the cart and knelt to the ground. “Aha! I think I see something!”

Martin crawled in as well, but Gonff remained where he was. “Right, well you two do that I’ll see what’s up inside. Still think I’ve got some mud left over from the mountains.” He muttered.

“So, Martin,” Keyla asked, “what kind of pawprints would you say these are?”

“Not sure.” Martin traced one with his finger. “Too small to be a rat, that’s for sure. Doesn’t look like the right shape to be a ferret or weasel either. Maybe a mouse?”

“If that’s the case, then at least we can say they’re not slavers.”

“Not necessarily. There was this band of slavers Blacktooth took down last year that had a few mice among them.” He pointed at a pawprint by Keyla’s knee. “How about that one? Looks big.”

“It is.” Keyla laid his paw in the middle and splayed it out. “Can’t even reach from one end to the other. Paw looks a little like mine, if you doubled the size and gave it longer claws.”

“So probably a badger, then.”

“Never met a badger. They tend to be goodbeasts or villains?”

“Goodbeasts, at least when they’re in their right mind.” Martin shuddered, briefly remembering the Bloodwrath and what it had done to Boar. “So I guess we can say that these cart’s probably owned by goodbeasts?”

“Nothing probably about it!” Gonff called out from above them. “Found some odd stuff in here – a bunch of instruments, some costumes, and what looks like a script of some kind. Matey, I think we’ve stumbled across the cart of some troupe!”

“Well that’s certainly…unexpected.” Martin crawled back out and hopped up into the cart with Gonff. “Can honestly say I have no idea what they’d be doing this far north. Hopefully they’re not going to try and perform at Marshank.”

“Well, if they were, they’d certainly chosen the right play for a bunch of searats.” Gonff ruffled through the pages, snickering. “Don’t think a play where a bloke throws somebeast’s business at a poet’s exactly aimed for your kind of creature, matey.”

***

True to Martin’s prediction, they reached the Broadstream after six days of travel, far fewer than what Keyla had needed to march south.

Standing on the edge of the river and looking out across it, Martin suddenly had a thought.

“Say, uh, Keyla? There…there isn’t a bridge over this nearby, is there?”

“In country like this?” Keyla shook his head. “Not unless you’ve got one in your pocket or something.”

“Then, uh, how exactly are we getting across?”

Keyla looked at Martin like he’d just gone dumb. “We swim, obviously. What, do you not know how to swim or something?”

“I know how to swim just fine, it’s just that, ah, I’ve never swum with something as heavy as this pack before.”

“If you’re really worried about it, matey, I’ll do it for you. It’ll just take me an extra trip.”

“Okay, that’s fine for me, but that still leaves Gonff.” Martin looked over to where his friend had been standing, only to notice that the mouse was gone. “Gonff? Where –”

“Over here, Martin!” Gonff had already started crossing the river while they were talking, still carrying his pack. “Sorry, I got sick of hearing you two arguing.”

He was swimming impressively quickly for a creature with a load of food and supplies on his back, Martin thought. “Never knew you were that good a swimmer.”

“Comes in handy sometimes.” Gonff called back. “Especially when I was nicking stuff from your larder and needed to be hard to follow.”

Martin sighed, exasperated at both his companions, and then counted to ten. Then, giving everything he didn’t think he could swim with over to Keyla, he dove into the water after Gonff.

A short, wet, and cold time later, the three of them were on the other side of the Broadstream. The land itself was the same mix of rocks and grass that they’d been traipsing through over the past week, but all the same it felt different, somehow more sinister, as though the very earth contained some festering malice.

It was easy to guess why: farther East, up a steady slope that gradually began to be covered in trees the farther it went, was Marshank.

They were on the very doorstep of the land of the corsairs.

Chapter Text

The forest closed in around Keyla like a vice, squeezing all the air out of his lungs. Looking around, getting closer and closer to Marshank, all the otter could think about was the things he’d seen in this forest before – creatures being whipped, hunted down, hanged, even – on one particularly dark night – shoved up against a tree and taken by a lust-filled corsair. Gonff and Martin were also tense, he noticed, but the tenseness the two mice were feeling was the ordinary, ‘we don’t know what’s around the next bend’ kind of tense. To them, this was just a forest, the same as all the others they’d passed through. The forest itself was deathly silent, even more so than the forest Martin had met the crow in, without so much as the faintest rustle of a leaf to hear. It was like walking through a land that had had all its’ air sucked clean out, a land that was waiting and watching.

By Keyla’s estimation, the three of them were only a few hours out from Marshank and would likely reach it by nightfall. It was both too close and too far away, Keyla thought. An odd feeling, that. He mused. Part of me wants to get this journey over with, but part of me wants to have a whole extra mountain range between me and the bloody fort. A mountain range, and maybe a river or two. Instead, all I’ve got is a forest. A forest in which every tree, every shadow looked like a hostile force springing at them.

Keyla stopped, unable to stand it. “Wait, you two.”

“Is something the matter?” Martin frowned. “We going to wrong way?”

“No, we’re still making the correct course, and we’ll be at Marshank soon, but…” It was hard to say. Am I just being childish?

“But? We’re all friends here, matey. You can say it.” Gonff smiled and sat down on the ground. “I won’t move another inch until you’re ready.” He grabbed Martin’s paw and, before the mouse could protest, yanked him down as well. “Neither is Martin.”

“Not that I really have much of a choice, I guess, but he’s right, Keyla. If something’s bothering you, tell us.”

“See, and now that you’ve gone and said that, I have no idea where to begin.” Keyla looked around at the forest. “I guess the fact that walking through this forest brings up a lot of memories is as good a place to start as any.”

“What sort of memories?” Martin asked.

“You don’t want to know. You really don’t. Just know that being back here, it’s… it’s almost like I never left. I keep expecting Skalrag or Rotnose to strut out from behind a tree and start whaling on me with the shaft of a spear. And the idea of going to Marshank again, facing all of it one more?” Keyla realized he was hugging himself. “I’m scared. I know it’s childish of me, but I am.”

“It’s not childish, matey. Did you ever meet a ferret named Bluefen down in Camp Willow?”

“I think so? I think she came up to Kotir once with Mask. What about her?”

“She had a hard life too, before this Mask pulled her out of the camp of this ferret named Swartt. Now Swartt was a mean old bastard, and he also fancied Bluefen, and because of what he did to her she’s still not comfortable with other creatures touching her. Especially if they’re blokes like you, me, or Martin. So the way that I see it, it’s pretty normal to be scared of things if they remind you of something horrible you went through.”

“And things are different now.” Martin chimed in. “You’re not the same otter you were during your time as a slave.” Leaning forwards, he took Keyla’s paw and clasped it in his. “And you’re not alone. You have to two of us alongside you, not to mention everybeast in Marshank once we free them.”

“Assuming we actually, y’know, can free them.”

“Gonff, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“We’re coming up to that bridge pretty soon, aren’t we? Please tell me you’ve got at least some idea of something we can do?”

“I don’t know, maybe we’ll tunnel in or something.” Martin waved a paw vaguely through the air. “Just build us a nice little secret entrance and exit.”

That set off a whole argument as to the feasibility of building secret tunnels without equipment, and Keyla had to smile. He knew that the two were partially just going on about tunneling for his benefit as a way to cheer him up, but all the same he appreciated the gesture.

“Well,” he declared, “we’ve still got a few more hours to think on it. I say we get moving, though, before the forest starts getting dark.”

Oddly, Keyla felt that he could almost breathe again. The fear was still there, along with the suffocating feeling, but his mind was also somewhat at ease.

They emerged from the forest with the sun at their back, the great Eastern Sea ahead of them already darkening to night. Martin immediately stopped and gently unsheathed his sword, looking around at the lay of the land. The terrain in front of Marshank was far too open for his liking, a stretch of grass sloping gently downwards to the ocean. There were a few large rocks scattered here and about, along with a small number of dunes right by the ocean, but besides that anybeast on the plains was no less exposed than the three of them had been back in the open land.

And then there was Marshank itself. While it was true enough that the fortress was no Kotir, and half-finished to boot, it was still an impressive construction of stone and wood. The fortress was about a third the height of Kotir, perhaps a little larger, with a set of great wooden gates that he guessed had been specifically reinforced against a battering ram. Dimly in the fading light he could make out sentries patrolling the ramparts above, each armed with a spear, and noticed that there didn’t seem to be much cover.

Had Lady Amber come with them, along with the Thousand-Eye Army, Martin felt they would be able to take Marshank after a short siege. With just the three of them, the fortress was a frustratingly difficult nut to crack. Perhaps we can send somebeast in for a look around. It would be helpful to know the current lay of the land, especially since he had to imagine Keyla’s escaping would have caused the corsairs to tighten up their security.

Martin head somebeast breathing deep behind him, and turned to see that Keyla was staring straight at the fort, seeing yet unseeing at the same time. But before he could do anything Keyla blinked, the spell passing, and shook his head. “By the fur,” he mumbled, “I’m back. I’m really back.”

“Has it changed any since you left?” Gonff asked. “Any bigger?”

“No, not really. There’s maybe an extra layer of brick, but that’s it. It doesn’t even look like they’ve added any new wood scaffolding.”

“Like as not they haven’t been sending as many creatures into the forest.” Martin frowned. “Probably afraid of another creature legging it south.” He scanned the beach again, looking for any sort of hiding place where they could creep up and take a closer look, and saw what he was looking for: there was a large rock outcrop down at the beach, one that offered both shelter and a vantage point to observe the comings and goings at Marshank. From where they were right now it would only be a short sprint, and so Martin decided to point it out to Keyla and Gonff and see what they thought about making camp over there. He surveyed the outcropping, trying to note every angle from which to see or be seen –

And noticed, softly, barely visible in the fading sun, the gentle flickers of a small fire.

“Gonff, Keyla, there’s something out there.” Grasping his sword firmly in his dominant paw, Martin pointed at the outcropping with the other. “See? It looks like somebeast has a fire.”

“Aye. I see it too, matey.” Gonff’s paw dropped to his sling. “And it’s too small to be that mystery troupe from the Open Lands. There ever any sort of night guards on the beach, Keyla?”

Keyla shook his head. “Not unless they had the slaves out late. Although they may have changed things since I left. Wouldn’t surprise me, actually.”

“So what do you say, Martin? Should we investigate?”

Martin considered it. “I say we do. If they’re corsairs, we might be able to hear something we can use. And if they’re not, maybe they’re friends.”

And so the three of them crept towards the outcropping, darting from rock to rock across the grass, hoping that the guards up on the Marshank walls would be focused inwards, on the slaves, instead of outwards on potential foes. Once the three of them had arrived, Martin held up a paw and signaled for the other two to stop. Then, slowly, silently, he edged forwards until he was leaning against the opposite side of the rock from the fire. Gently, Martin pressed his cheek against it and listened.

“Hurr, Miz Roser, you’m cumm an’ get this yurr supper. This’m be moi best cooken since we left ‘ome.” A mole, Martin thought. An old one, by the sound of it. But I wonder who this ‘Miz Roser’ he’s talking to is.

He didn’t have long to wait, for soon the mole was answered by the sweetest, softest voice he’d ever heard.

“Hmm, oatcakes and wild vegetable soup! By the fur, Grumm, I swear you can make a feast out of anything.” The voice chuckled, the sound immediately causing Martin’s stomach to begin an imitation of a rather complicated set of flips and spins he’d seen Chibb perform once. “This is delicious!”

“Hrmm, thankee kindly, Miz Roser, but you udd better sit daown n’ eat oop afore it gets cold.”

“Grumm Trencher, you’re worse than my mum. I’m not a little kid anymore, you know perfectly well.”

“Oi know, missy, oi know. You’m baint be your brother at least.”

“I followed him here, didn’t I?” Martin heard Miz Roser sigh. “Even if I’m not as bad I’m still a little reckless the way Brome is.” Her brother get captured? Martin wondered.

“But you came to bring ‘im ‘ome, and thar’s the difference, oi’d reckon. Brome’s the one tha’ just up and went a-wandering.”

“That and gotten himself caught by a bunch of slavers. I just wish he and father hadn’t argued like that.” Martin heard Miz Roser sniffle. “Or was there something I could’ve done, you think? Some way I could’ve been a better sister?”

Enraptured, Martin leaned closer and closer, not realizing he was beginning to slide down the rock, until all of a sudden he slipped and nearly fell clean into the fire.

With an impressive amount of speed, Miz Roser leapt up and grabbed Martin by the front of his shirt, dagger thrust up under his chin. “And just who are you?”

Martin didn’t answer. If Miz Roser’s voice had been captivating, the Mouse that it belonged to was something else entirely. Her eyes were two of the gentlest and most captivating islands of hazel he’d ever seen in his life, even possessed as they were with the fire of a creature confronting a possible enemy. And it wasn’t just the eyes – everything about her was beautiful, from the supple brown of her fur to the tender softness of her paws, down to the very air of confidence and caring she gave off.

One look, and Martin was enraptured. At least, until the cold point of steel on his throat reminded him what was going on.

“I said, who are you?” She asked again.

Smiling, Martin let his sword fall to the ground and held up his paws. “Easy, now. I’m friendly. My name’s Martin. Martin Greeneyes of Mossflower, son of Lord Verdauga Greeneyes.”

The knife faltered, just a bit. “I thought the Greeneyes were Wildcats?” Her eyes shifted over to Grumm. “Unless I’m wrong on that?”

“No, missy. They’m be cats.”

“It’s a long story.” Martin replied. “A VERY long story. I mean, if you want to hear it I’d be willing to tell you, but, um,” Martin looked down at the dagger. “D’ya mind taking that off my throat?”

Miz Roser blinked, blushing. “Oh, um, sorry. Can’t be too careful around here, what with Marshank and everything.” Sheathing her knife, she gave a little bow. “I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Laterose of Noonvale, although I’d rather just be called plain old ‘Rose’, and this here’s Grumm Trencher. Family friend and, if I’m being honest, worrier per excellence.”

“Oi!” Grumm gave Rose a playful whack with his ladle. “One’ve us needs turr tink abou’ those things, Miz Roser!”

Rose giggled, the sound once again causing Martin’s stomach to embark on a sequence of elaborate backflips. “That’s fair.”

Any further conversation, much as Martin would have liked it, was cut off by the sudden appearance of Gonff and Keyla, weapons still in their paws, from around the rock.

“Oi, mole!” Gonff gestured at Grumm with his own knife. “What’re you doing to our mate Martin?”

“It’s alright, Gonff!” Martin immediately ran over. “I was just listening and I, uh, kind of slipped and fell into their camp.” He turned back to Rose and Grumm. “This are my two companions, Gonff the mouse and Keyla the Otter.”

“A pleasure to meet you, miss!” Upon seeing Rose, Gonff immediately grinned, knelt down, and kissed her paw. Martin suddenly had a momentary urge to run him through and throw the body into the ocean, instead settled for looking away for the moment.

“Keyla here’s an escapee from Marshank,” Martin explained once the urge had fully passed, “and he made his way to Mossflower seeking aid. Gonff and I have come back with him to do what we can.”

Rose’s grew even softer. “Oh, you poor creature. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like in there.”

“It’s not exactly a walk through a sunny meadow, I can tell you that. But what about you, mis, uh…”

“Rose. Just call me Rose. And I’m here seeking my brother, a Mouse by the name of Brome. Grumm and I think he was captured by the corsairs a couple of days ago, and we’ve come to rescue him.”

“Then it seems our quests are in alignment, then.” Martin was glad, not least of which for the fact that he had an excuse to spend time with Rose. “In that case, why not work together for the freedom off all those trapped in Marshank?”

“That sounds wonderful.” Rose smiled and held out a paw. “For freedom, then!”

Martin, Keyla, Gonff, and Grumm all put their paws on top of Rose’s. “For freedom!”

Chapter Text

The sun had barely risen over the top of Mossflower woods when Gingivere awoke. Or was woken up, rather, by a robin frantically banging his talons against the glass windowpane.

“Wake up, Gingivere! Get up, it’s time to move! It’s urgent!”

Instead of responding, Gingivere turned over and clamped a pillow around his ears.

Chibb paused a second to curse under his breath before redoubling his efforts. “I MEAN IT, MY LORD! NEWS! REALLY NEED TO TELL YOU IT! NOW!”

A pillow sailed across the room before hitting the window and falling to the floor. A moment later the window swung open, and Chibb was face-to-face with a very tired and very angry wildcat.

“Alright, fine, I’ll listen. Even though I was up until maybe four hours ago trying to make sense of how the law of Camp Willow works.”

“Oi, it’s not my fault your law codation thing –”

“Codification.”

“Whatever! As I was saying, it’s not my fault you hit a rough spot right before those mice you lot’ve been worried about came marching into Mossflower woods.”

Still half-asleep, it took a moment for Gingivere to register the news. Then suddenly he blinked, the sleep vanishing from his eyes. “What? They’re here?”

“Almost. Sleekfeather was flying East of Brockhall on patrol when he saw them.” For once, Chibb was completely serious. “I came as fast as I could, and I mean that.”

“Thank you. Now if they’re out past Brockhall, then they’ll likely be here by midday, you think?”

“Maybe a little later – Sleekfeather said they’re moving pretty slowly and resting a lot.”

“Right, so more like mid-late afternoon.” Gingivere looked back at his room, seeing how unkempt it was. “Shit. I’d been really hoping for more time before they got here.” He turned back to Chibb, looking the Robin straight in the eye. “May I ask a favor? I’ll give you as many candied nuts as it takes.”

“I’ll do it for free, just this once. What do you need?”

“I need you – and any other birds you can gather up on short notice – to go around Mossflower and gather the Corim. Timballisto, Skipper, Amber – all of them. After that, get word out to Moss Town and as many settlements as you can that nobeast is to set paw East of Brockhall for the entire day. Still willing to do this all without getting any candied nuts?”

“Well…maybe a small bag?”

“You get it done, and I’ll get the bag prepared myself.” Gingivere held out his paw. “Do we have a deal?”

“Aye.” Chibb laid his wing on the paw. “I’ll get ‘em all rounded up for you.”

The Robin turned and took flight, heading straight for Timballisto’s lands. Gingivere closed the window, took a large swig of fresh water to finish waking up, and then threw on a set of underclothes before opening the door. Automatically Gingivere started upwards to wake his father up, but after a few steps he paused, filled with doubt. Father’s probably fast asleep, and if I’m being honest I’m not sure his wits’ll be there enough for this.

All the same, there was a big part of Gingivere that wanted him to go up anyway, hoping against hope that his father would be able to solve this problem just as Lord Verdauga had solved all the problems in the past. But that part of him was wrong, Gingivere knew; he’d need to face this crisis, at least in the very beginning, without his father to guide him.

Of course, there still is ONE creature I can turn to for a bit of wisdom… 

So instead of going upwards Gingivere ran downwards, sprinting as fast as he could, taking the steps two at a time and practically vaulting around the corners, until he was outside of the guest chambers he’d given over to Bella. Sunflash, I really owe you for persuading your mother to stay a bit longer. The door was unlocked, so Gingivere just went ahead and pushed it open.

Bella was sitting at her table, already dressed and with her fur tidied up, sipping on tea from a cup that was far too small for her giant paws. Her head whipped around as the door opened and Gingivere entered. “Gingivere? You’re, ah, looking like you just rolled out of bed.”

“That’s – that’s because I d-did.” Gingivere leaned against the door frame, panting. “Ch-Chibb…got me up. They’re here. The – the Loamhedge Mice. A bit past Brockhall. Chibb’s getting the Corim at the moment. We’ll meet as soon as they all arrive.”

“And I’m guessing you want me there?”

“Yes. Any advice I can get, I – I want.” Gingivere straightened up, no longer breathing nearly as hard. “Will you be there?”

“Of course.” Bella smiled. “Anything you need, My Lord.”

“Thanks, Bella. I’ll tell Ditchpaw to fetch you when we’re about to start.” Gingivere nodded before turning and sprinting back up to his room.

Hang on a moment, he realized as he fought to tame the fur on the top of his head, she called me ‘My Lord.’ Never heard her do that before. What’s THAT all about?

Fur combed down as best as he could managed it, Gingivere changed into clothing that was a bit more presentable, grabbed a small helping of bread from the bowl at his desk, and gulped it down before descending to the Corim meeting room.

It took roughly another two hours for the rest of the Corim to arrive at Kotir, two hours that Gingivere mostly spent debating whether he ought to sit in the chair he usually did or in the great seat his father had used during the rare times he actually was able to participate in meetings. As the acting Lord of Mossflower Gingivere supposed it was his right to sit in the great seat, but at the same time sitting in it just felt wrong somehow, like he was somewhere he shouldn’t be. And yet sitting in his normal seat also felt wrong, particularly in light of how important today’s meeting was going to be, so Gingivere found himself constantly switching from one chair to the other.

The rest of them all filed in while he was sitting in the great seat, so Gingivere supposed he would have to spend the meeting there. He stood up as they all went to their own seats, and once Ditchpaw had closed the room’s doors Gingivere cleared his throat to speak.

“My apologies for calling you all this early in the morning, but thank you for coming all the same. Now let us sit.” Gingivere continued once everybeast had settled into their chairs. “Now, I’m assuming that you’ve all been told why I gathered us all this morning?”

“Aye.” Skipper nodded. “So the Loamhedge Mice are here at last?”

“Almost. As of two hours ago they were still just inside the Eastern border of Mossflower proper.”

“That’s why those birds were telling everybeast not to head near Brockhall, then?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Why?” Timballisto asked. “Certainly they don’t pose us a threat.” He looked at Bella. “You’ve had dealings with Loamhedge before, right? What are they like?”

“Loamhedge was a community of peace.” Bella explained. “An abbey devoted entirely to contemplation and prayer, filled with Mice dedicated to a nonviolent way of living. Like as not, almost none of them will have even used a weapon before in their life.”

“So then why order everybeast to stay away? I don’t understand it.”

Gingivere felt the sweat gather under his collar, and tried to tell himself that Timballisto was only asking questions, not challenging his authority. “We don’t yet know what they’re trying to escape. Perhaps they’re fleeing some hostile army, or maybe disease.”

“Or famine, maybe?” Skipper suggested.

“I doubt it.” Amber shook her head. “If they were merely trying to find somewhere more hospitable there’s no reason they would’ve traveled as far West as Mossflower. No, there’s something that they’re trying to put as much distance between themselves and where they used to live as possible.” She turned to Gingivere. “Want me to send out a scouting party? I can have ten squirrels ready to head out in about three hours.”

“That would be most helpful.”

“Understood.”

Bella was the one to bring up the next question at hand. “What about when they do reach Mossflower? What do you all intend to do with them?”

“Gingivere asked us to begin setting up a temporary camp for them a month and a half ago, or thereabouts, near the main settlement in my lands.” Timballisto replied. “It’s been coming along nicely.”

“I thought it might help ease the transition into Mossflower if they’re surrounded by their fellow Mice. And if they decide to keep moving, it’s also fairly close to the border itself.”

“Ah. Clever.” Skipper gave a small nod of approval. “Wouldn’t have thought of that myself.”

“I’ve also been preparing a list of names for Thousand-Eyes we could send up there if there’s need for extra security.” Amber took a paper out of her sleeve and passed it to Gingivere. “Tried to choose those who would be more adaptable to whatever sort of challenges taking in a community of refugees might bring.”

“Good thinking.” Gingivere looked over the list before rolling it up and tucking it into his pocket. “Now, with any luck we can –”

The door burst open before he could continue. It was Chibb, followed shortly behind by Whegg and an elderly mouse Gingivere had never seen before. She had an air of authority, he noticed, along with the sort of deep-seated grief he’d come to identify as coming from creatures that had seen too much death. One of the Loamhedge mice, he assumed, maybe even their leader. But what’s she doing here? I thought they were a lot farther out?”

“Really, really, really sorry about this,” Chibb started to explain, “and I know I said they were a lot farther out, but I guess that Sleekfeather must’ve missed her. Saw her wandering into town as I was heading back to Kotir, and Whegg was the first creature I came across that I thought could help so I asked him to help escort her here.”

“Asked’ my paw.” Whegg grumbled. “You just turned up and shouted at me to follow you!” Gently steering the old mouse forwards with one paw, the Rat used the other to gesture around the room. “Now, care to introduce yourself to the rest of these creatures, ma’am.”

“No need.” Bella rose from the table and walked over to the two. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Abbess Germaine.”

“Just call me Germaine now, Bella.” Smiling, Germaine let Bella clasp her paw. “I don’t exactly have an Abbey to be Abbess of anymore.” After Bella let Germaine’s paw go, the Mouse walked to the front of the Corim table and bowed. “My name is Germaine, former Abbess of Loamhedge Abbey. Forgive me for intruding upon your domain.”

“No trouble, My Lady.” Gingivere went over to the Mouse and kissed her paw. “We heard of your coming some time ago, and have been preparing to receive you and yours ever since. Incidentally, I am Gingivere Greeneyes, currently acting Lord of Mossflower.”

“I am honored to meet you, My Lord Greeneyes.”

“So what brings you all this far West?” Bella asked. “We’ve all been curious for some time.”

All the warmth visibly fled Germaine’s body upon hearing the question, and the gentle, wise smile she’d been wearing since greeting Bella promptly dropped into a frown. “It was no longer safe to stay in Loamhedge. If we did not leave, we would all have died.”

“But why?” Whegg leaned over. “I doubt that you lot just up and started wandering here on a lark.”

Amber shot the Rat a dirty look. “What my subordinate means to ask is: what were you fleeing from? It’s important to know, so that we can prepare Mossflower in case it follows you here.”

“Yes, yes of course.” Germaine drew her wimple tightly around her head. “It was a plague. It struck us with terrible swiftness last autumn, claiming young and old alike.”

“What sort of plague?” Skipper asked.

“Dryditch fever.”

They all went silent. The room seemed to grow colder and darker, as if night had fallen. Dryditch. Gingivere thought, suddenly feeling faint. Dryditch. Of course. Of. Fucking. Course. Dryditch Fever was a disease that had always been blissfully rare in Mossflower, and they had not seen any cases since one tiny outbreak at the very beginning of Verdauga’s reign, yet the name alone was still enough to send as many shivers down a creature’s spine as the name of the vilest warlord. For even if the disease itself rarely touched Mossflower, the stories about it were infamous: stories of how the disease spread like wildfire in the lands it attacked, killing indiscriminately, slowly, and painfully. There were only a few cures, supposedly, and even then, the only cure they knew to be reliably effective was one that could not be found anywhere near Mossflower.

In short, if Gingivere could have chosen between facing Dryditch and facing an enemy horde, he would have really, really preferred the rather.

Timballisto was the first to find his voice. “And…are you sure that none of the creatures you brought here are infected?”
Please say yes, Gingivere prayed, please, PLEASE say yes.

“No.” Germaine said. “I cannot be sure. I have done my best to isolate anybeast showing symptoms, and it’s been some time since we lost a creature to Dryditch on the march, but there’s always the possibility that somebeast is still infected.”

“I see, then. Well, I suppose that means I’ll have to warn my Mice to stay away from you all.” Timballisto sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “Keeping their curiosity down’s going to be a bit difficult, but that can’t be helped. Are there any changes in how we should escort the Loamhedge mice to their temporary settlement, Amber?”

“They’re not going there.” Gingivere spoke without really meaning to, acting almost on instinct.

Every single face in the room snapped to the Wildcat, looking at him with mixed expressions of horror, confusion, and anger. “I’m sorry, what?” Amber’s face was perhaps the most confused. “Where are we going to put them, then? Surely you’re not going to drive them out of Mossflower?”

“Gather up all the tents you can and get ready to distribute them to the Loamhedge Mice. We’ll set up a camp for them near the River Moss upstream from Camp Willow. Nobeast will be able to enter without my leave, and nobeast will be able to exit.

“But we’re refugees!” Germaine protested.

“What you are is a group that could very well still be carrying one of the most dangerous sicknesses in the world.” Gingivere shot back, far more hotly than he meant to, filled with shame and guilt. “I don’t like it, My Lady, believe me, and I wish that we didn’t need to, but until we know – and I mean know for sure – that nobeast is infected, it’s too dangerous to let you near other creatures.”

Bella started. “Gingivere –”

“ENOUGH!” Gingivere slammed the table hard enough to spill the inkwell by his seat. “The risk is too great, Bella. As acting Lord of Mossflower, I say this: while we will take every step available to care for the Loamhedge Mice, as of now every one of them is to be treated as though they have the Dryditch fever. Every. Single. One.” He looked all those present straight on. “I will not let Mossflower fall to the Dryditch.”

And yet, at the same time, a tiny kernel of doubt took root in Gingivere’s stomach, and he wondered whether he was making a massive mistake, and what his father would have done in his place.

Chapter Text

Columbine looked down at the Mouse lying in the bed. He’d been complaining about hot flashes for the past three days, yet now the poor creature was shivering as though the tent was freezing.

“C-Columbine?” The Mouse asked. “Are there any more blankets?”

“No. You’ve got all we can spare.” He was under three already; any more, and he’d probably bake himself to death. “Would you like some water? It might help.”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright. I’ll be back soon with a jug, so don’t move until then.”

The Mouse managed to get out a weak laugh. “Right, because clearly I’m strong enough to run a lap around the camp.”

“Hey, you never know.” Columbine exited the tent, glad that she could smile at least for a second. Goodness knows I’ve not been doing much of that nowadays. Looking around at the massive camp, she was struck by how quiet it was. Nobeast shouting, nobeast running around, I don’t even hear anybeast so much as talking. But then, why would they? The Wildcat Gingivere’s predictions had proven correct, as Dryditch had in fact followed them from Loamhedge and was beginning to spread once more throughout the population.

When she’d first heard the order that all the Loamhedge Mice were to be cordoned off in an encampment, Columbine had been outraged and seen it as an unnecessary and cruel measure. Now, looking around at the nearly-silent camp while going to fetch water for a sick creature, she was beginning to understand why the Wildcat had ordered what he had.

Down by the river, Columbine finally saw another creature – a Ferret from Mossflower, one of the few brave enough to come and help out of their own accord. She was busy filling up a massive tub of water, and Columbine decided to take the opportunity to talk to somebeast by walking over.

“Morning, ma’am.”

Not noticing the new arrival, the Ferret gave a tiny squeak of fright and jumped into the air, nearly losing grip on the tub and spilling everything before Columbine could bend down and steady it.

“Sorry about that – lost in your own head? Heaven knows I get that way sometimes.”

The Ferret shook her head. “No, I didn’t hear you coming and just got a bit surprised.”

“Well then, in that case sorry for creeping up on you.” Columbine gave her a sheepish look. “Wasn’t really thinking, now was I.” She stuck out a paw. “Anyhoo, pleased to meet you. My name’s Columbine.”

The Ferret looked down at the paw, biting her lip and hesitating. Columbine began to feel a bit miffed at the reluctance, but all the same she continued to offer her paw until the Ferret finally took it. “Bluefen. Now what brings you down to the river, Miss Columbine?”

“This bloke I’ve been tenting with’s getting the shivers, so I thought I’d get him some water.” Columbine gestured towards the big tub. “That for the sick tent?”

“That it is. With all the beds still full, Germaine and the other healers are probably running through enough water to fill this every few hours.”

“Ouch. Are any of the sick getting better, at least?”

“Not really. At least, not well enough to get discharged. Was that how it was back at Loamhedge?”

“Aye.” Columbine bent down to fill her jug. “Perhaps one in ten recovered, if that.”

The two fell silent, listening to the river and grabbing a quick drink for themselves.

“Say, Bluefen? May I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

“Why help us out? No offense, but you don’t exactly look like the strongest creature yourself, so isn’t it a little, um, dangerous for you to come to somewhere as infected as this?”

Bluefen stared out at the water, thinking, before looking downriver. “Well, I suppose I’ve got two reasons: the first, I don’t want my son to grow up in a Mossflower that watched an entire community wither and die. The second, to be honest, is that I’m sick unto death of being just a passive creature in the events I get caught in.” She looked back at Columbine, and smiled a sad little smile. “I guess I just want to feel less helpless than I have in the past.”

There was a story there, Columbine felt certain, but at the same time she knew that it was one the Ferret probably didn’t feel like sharing. “Well, whatever your reasons, I think you’re very brave and selfless to come down here and do what you are.”

“Thanks, Columbine. I imagine it must seem like a paltry little thing, especially after we up and shoved you all into this camp in the first place.”

“Well, it does and it doesn’t. I won’t deny that I was angry about that, really angry, at least at first. And I know a lot of creatures still are, both in here and out among you all. But these past few days, I kind of understand it.” A wave of grief and bitterness towards the disease swept over her. “Particularly since the total summation of information we know about how Dryditch either spreads or is cured can be pretty much summed up with the phrase ‘bugger all’ if I’m being completely honest.”

Bluefen, who had been taking a sip of water from her tub, promptly did a double-take and spat it back out. “Well, that’s certainly, uh, a way you could describe it.” She laughed. “Can’t say I ever expected a creature from an abbey to talk like that.”

Columbine smirked. “You’d be surprised. Well,” she picked up her jug, “I probably shouldn’t keep you any longer. We’ve both got patients to attend to, after all. It was nice meeting you!”

“Likewise!” Bluefen nodded. “But before you go, I’ve got another question for you.”
“Oh?”

“See, as it turns out, Lord Gingivere’s actually holding a meeting later today that I’ve been asked to attend. Is there anything you’d like me to ask him? Or any requests?”

Aye, Columbine thought, I’ve got a million of them. Ask him to figure out how to get this sickness to go away. Ask him to make it clearer to those who think he’s just abandoned us to die that he really does care. Ask him if he really thinks that this won’t just leak out into Mossflower anyways. But in the end, all she said was “Just ask him for more beds and a few extra set of paws. We really need anybeast he can spare.”

Bluefen looked at Columbine in a way that the Mouse felt meant she knew there was a fair bit being left unsaid, but the Ferret merely replied that she’d do what she could before grabbing the tub and heading back towards the sick.

***

Later, sitting in the great hall of Kotir alongside Timballisto and Lady Amber, Bluefen couldn’t help but feel rather out of place still wearing her dirty and ragged clothes from her earlier work. It was almost like she was intruding upon a meeting of her betters, she felt.

All the same, she had to admit that Gingivere never made her feel inferior whenever they talked, in a nice change of pace from Bowfleg or Swartt or most of the other ‘Lordly’ creatures she’d known before. So, when he turned to her shortly after the meeting began and asked her how things were going in the refugee camp, she felt no hesitation in speaking.

“I wish I had better news for you, My Lord, but things still aren’t going very well. The sick tent’s still full to bursting, and although we haven’t lost that many creatures there aren’t any getting better either.” Bluefen then explained her conversation with Columbine, along with the mouse’s requests.

“Those are fair requests.” Gingivere replied. “Well, getting an extra tent should be easy enough, and perhaps we can move a few beds from Brockhall with Bella’s permission. As for the extra creatures to help out…”

“Some of my Mice are grumbling that we’re not doing enough to help,” Timballisto added, “so if I were to tell them more paws are needed at the camp I’m sure they’d jump at the chance.”

“Good. Thank you, Timballisto.” Gingivere frowned. “Although you said that they’re ‘grumbling’? How so?”

Timballisto looked down at the floor with an expression Bluefen was uncomfortably familiar with – it was the expression of a creature with news they were terrified to share. “They’ve, ah, been saying that you’re content to just let innocent Mice rot while you sit on your rear in the castle.”

“I see.” He looked over at Amber. “And have they been saying anything like that in Moss Town?”

“A few have.” At least Amber had to decency to look Gingivere straight in the face. “The other day Squint caught an otter saying that the way you’re carrying on isn’t much better than your sister.”

Gingivere gripped his chair hard enough to make it ache. “Oh, really? I’m not the one that burned down half the forest!”

“I know that, Gingivere.” Amber held up her paws. “Everybeast’s just worried about what’s going on, is all.”

“And they think I’m not? Do you know how much sleep I’ve been losing over this, Amber? How about you, Timballisto?”

“Gingivere.” Bluefen spoke with the same tone she used when she needed to talk Mask off some ledge or another. “Take a deep breath. None of us are trying to poke at you. Don’t forget that the creatures in Moss Town and everywhere else can’t read your mind.”

“Oh, uh, right.” Gingivere complied and then shrank back in his throne, which suddenly looked too large for him. “Sorry for the outburst – doubt that looked all that lordly.” He buried his head in his paws. “I’m just, I don’t know, stuck.”

“So then how do we get unstuck?” Amber asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know where to start, alright? Not a single clue.” Sighing, Gingivere stood up. “Excuse me, you all – I think I need a bit of time to compose myself. We’ll reconvene in an hour.”

And then he was off.

Gingivere paced upwards on the great staircase, embarrassed. There he’d been, acting like a child when he was supposed to be leading Mossflower and doing what he could to help out those suffering. I almost miss the war with Tsarmina. It was simple then, just go get father’s help and let him sort it out. Only you can’t exactly help us now, can you, father? Unless, by some miracle, Verdauga was having one of his rare good days…

Gingivere gently opened the door to his father’s chambers, and was greeted by the sight of the old Wildcat sleeping peacefully, every bit as serene as Gingivere was confused. Yeah, DEFINITELY can’t help me now. Guess I’m on my own, unless Bella can magic up a solution. Of course, first I’d have to get her to look me in the face again.

“What should I do, father?” Gingivere whispered. “What would you do? The same thing you did when the great plague came when I was little?” What had his father done, actually? Gingivere had never actually sat down and checked. Not that he could do that now, of course, lest he really look the part of the incompetent and uncaring Lord. Not that it was likely to have been Dryditch anyway, seeing as there were plenty of diseases in the world.

And yet, Gingivere thought as he crossed over to the window, I get caught with the worst of the lot. Just my blasted luck. Why couldn’t Loamhedge’ve been hit by some OTHER disease? Maybe one that only causes the chills, or just a fever without the breathing difficulty. Something simple.

Gingivere blinked, considering all the diseases that would have, ridiculous as it sounded, been at least a little better to have come to Mossflower. Of course, even then we’d have to sort through about a million different curative measures and other notes – and that’s assuming it would be a disease that we actually KNOW the cure for. Gingivere wondered how they’d even found cures for some of the diseases in the first place.

Oh. OH. Gingivere blinked and stood up straight. Turning, he looked back at his father. I still have no idea what you’d do, father, but, hmmm… I wonder…

He began to sprint back down the stairs, taking them two at a time, all the while thinking feverishly about his idea and trying to wind all the strains together.

Let’s see… we’ve had all sorts of diseases in the past, and there are probably books on them in the library, and at Brockhall, and maybe the Loamhedge Mice brought some…

Maybe if we get them all together we can combine all their knowledge about Dryditch: symptoms, palliative measures, potential cures…

Of course, there probably aren’t very many of the latter two…

But if we take the symptoms and compare them to other diseases that we DO know how to treat…

And if we can get a better look at how Dryditch actually affects the body…

He burst back into the audience chamber to find all three of his guests still there.

Timballisto began to speak. “My Lord, if you think all this is too much, we understand –”

“Hold that thought.” Gingivere realized that somehow, impossibly, he was actually smiling. “I’ve got an idea. Timballisto, go back to your lands and gather up all the books, scrolls, or whatever else you have written down that deals with disease. All disease, any disease. Bluefen, you get Abbess Germaine to do the same. I’ll go get Bella to get me what Brockhall has. And if you’re wondering why,” he added in response to the confused looks he was getting, “just think of it this way: the more we know, the less mysterious this disease’ll be and the more we can compare and contrast to other sicknesses.”

“That does make sense…” Amber frowned. “But what do you need me to do?”

“You? Well, uh, may we speak in private?”

“So what’s this about?” Amber asked once the two of them were in a side room. “What is it you don’t want the others to know?” Her paws dropped to her hips. “Are you going to send them on a hunt just to seem busy? Because if you are, then that’s ridiculous and completely unlike you.”

“No, I’m sending them out to gather information we can use. If we’re going to fight this thing we need to know more than a few half-remembered stories, and the best way to get more is to gather all the notes and past histories we can.”

“That’s fair, but why are you telling me this in secret? It’s not different from what you’re having Timballisto and Bluefen do.”

“You’re assuming that I just want you to get books as well. There’s something else I need you to get for me: two bodies, at the very least. One that died of Dryditch, one that died of natural causes or blood loss or something.”

Amber’s jaw dropped. “Wait, what? Forgive me for saying this, but you’ve gone mental. Absolutely. Mental.”

“Maybe, but as things stand we don’t actually know anything about how Dryditch kills. We know that it makes it hard to breathe, for example, but we don’t know how. Does it attack the lungs? Choke the throat? The only way to be sure is to examine the body of a creature that died of Dryditch and one that didn’t so we can see what’s different.”

For the first time, Gingivere actually felt a spark of confidence. “Honestly, I still have no idea what I should do or what my father would’ve done, but I can tell you what I’m going to do:

I’m going to study Dryditch. I’m going to study it until I’m as familiar with it as I am the back of my own paw, and through that I’m going to make it so that nobeast will ever have to live in fear of Dryditch Fever ever again.”

Chapter Text

“For freedom!” They all cried out, and with it Gonff found himself caught up in the rush. All of a sudden it seemed like their mission was going to be a breeze – that all they needed to do to free all the slaves of Marshank was, so to speak, march up to the front door and demand their liberation.

Then he looked back at the fortress, and the massive shape looming out in the darkness reminded him of reality. “Right, this is all well and good, but how exactly are we going to go about getting everybeast out of there?” He asked.

Keyla studied Marshank’s shadowy outline. “Well, before I escaped I remembered noticing a couple of bricks that hadn’t been mortared together very well around the North wall. Maybe we could see if we could make some kind of passage in by removing them?”

Grumm shook his head. “Baint there anymore, Keyla. Oi ‘ad a look all around the fort when me ‘n Mizz Rozer arroived. They fixed that ‘ole up roight quick after you fled, oi’d say.”

Keyla’s face fell. “Blast. Should’ve figured. And there aren’t any other ways in or out that I know of, save if we try and storm the front gate. Rest of you have any other ideas?”

Martin shook his head. “Nothing’s coming to me at the moment, and considering how little I know about Marshank I’m not sure if I’ll be able to think of anything. What we need is some more information: we need to know what it’s like in there right now, where the blind spots are, and if they’ve made any other mistakes in the construction.”

“Is knowing the rounds of the guards a good enough thing to start with?” Rose asked. “Because I’ve been watching all day and I’ve noticed a pattern.”

Martin nodded. “Yes, excellent. What’s this pattern?”

Rose pointed at the corners of the ramparts, each of which had a tiny shape that suggested a small room of some kind. “See up there? Each of the little towers there holds four guards. Two stay permanently, one walks clockwise to the next tower every five minutes, and the last walks counterclockwise with the same time gap.”

“It’s that predictable? Seems a bit lax, especially since they’ve got such a vested interest in making sure nobeast can escape.”

“There’s not enough time to make it to safety.” Keyla replied. “You can’t get to the forest in five minutes, and believe me, I’ve seen plenty of creatures try.”

Gonff looked back at the fort, considering. “Did you ever go up into the towers, Keyla?”

“Aye, a few times to deliver food to the guards or replace the lamps, that sort of thing. Why?”

“How wide are the windows, do you reckon?” He spread his paws out a little wider than his body. “About this wide?”

“Thinner. Probably about half that width.”

“You’m thinkin there be a bloind spot?” Grumm frowned. “Oi dunno. They’m be lookin pretty tall.”

Martin smiled. “All the same, that just means the blind spot’s going to be a little smaller than what we originally hoped.” He clapped Gonff on the back. “Good idea, matey!”

“Cheers, Martin. How we just need to figure out how big these blind spots actually are.” Now, if only Gingivere was here… “Which, sadly enough, I have absolutely no clue about.”

“We should be able to figure it out with a bit of thinking.” Rose suggested. “After all, we already know the width of the window, and from that we can probably take a guess at the height.” With the tip of her knife, Rose drew the outline of the window in the sand. “Of course, I’m not completely clear on how this works, but I think as you go farther away the width expands?”

“I think so, too.” Martin bent down and traced a line outwards. “Whenever I look outside a window at Kotir it’s something like this. Ah, but then the window here’s a different shape. So maybe it’s more like this?” He drew another line, one that was thinner and extended out farther.

“Huh.” Gonff looked at the shape. “If I’m reading that right, we’re actually right in the middle of their view. Guess we’re just lucky this rock’s here.”

“Burr aye.” Grumm agreed. “But oi ‘ad a thought – oi reckon it’m be impossible ta sneak an entoire group only in the bloind spot.”

“What if we just sneak out a few at a time?” Rose looked at Keyla. “How many slaves are there?”

Keyla shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe a hundred?”

“That explains why it looks so slapdash.” Martin sighed. “Still, even a half-baked fort is a mighty obstacle for anybeast to climb. That mean we’re back at square one?”

“Not exactly.” Gonff stood up and grabbed his pack, taking out most of the food, clothing, and everything else that was heavy. “Just means that we still need more info, which” – he slung the mostly-empty pack over his shoulder – “I think I’ll go and get.”

Everybeast looked at him with expressions of confusion and shock, save Martin. “The old ‘Prince of Mousethieves’ routine, I take it?”

“Right in one, matey.”

“Hang on a moment!” Keyla jumped up. “You’re talking about sneaking into a fortress by yourself!”

“Eh, not the first time I’ve done that.”

“Or the tenth.” Martin interjected.

“I’ve gone around Kotir a bit more than that, Martin. But anyhoo, if I can crack a nut like that I’m sure I can get in and out of Badrang’s little fort over there easy enough.”

“But if you be a-captured?”

“Then I’ll think of something from the inside, Grumm.” Then, without another word, Gonff darted off into the gloom. He zigzagged as quick as he dared from one rock to another, heart pounding all the while, constantly checking upwards both to confirm Rose’s pattern and to make sure nobeast had noticed him, until finally he was pressed against the cool stone of Marshank’s wall. Wall feels a lot rougher than Kotir’s. That’s good for climbing.

As he’d approached the fort, Gonff had already picked out the section of wall he’d intended to use for the ascent: right under the Southeast tower, where the moonlight was blocked by enough of the wall that he’d be ascending in almost total darkness, safe from view from the Southwest tower. Then he’d be able to flip up and onto the rampart itself during the grace period, and after that he’d climb down into the fort itself. As for getting back out, well, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

Nothing to do but start climbing, I guess. Gonff slipped on a pair of climbing gloves he’d had made two summers ago and started ascending slowly upwards. Even with the rough wall it was still difficult work, especially for a mouse just coming off a long walking journey, but Gonff forced himself to stop panting and keep his breathing as quiet as possible. Slowly, slowly, he pulled himself upwards, noticing halfway up that somebeast had left a bit of the construction scaffolding in place under the tower. Good, maybe I can rest there.

Gonff kept climbing, puffing from the exertion, before he was level with the scaffolding. His first instinct was to just lean over and sit, but the Mouse made himself hold off until he could make sure that it could actually support his weight. If not he’d be sent careening back to the ground, and if that happened Gonff was sure that he’d end up dead from a broken neck. So first he gingerly pressed down on it with one paw, then two, before climbing up a little more and setting his footpaws down on it, gradually increasing the weight. It held, so Gonff gently eased himself into a sitting position and began catching his breath. Muffled voices came from above, and Gonff took the opportunity to listen in.

“Y’know, the sound of the waves always feels so relaxing to me. I feel like I could just fall asleep right here.”

“Rotnose, I swear on me father’s grave, if you go to sleep and start snoring again, I’ll hurl you off the wall.”

“Oi, no need to be like that! I wasn’t actually going to.” Rotnose muttered something too faint for Gonff to hear. “But it’s not like there’s anything out here anyways.”

“Not anything right now. You remember Badrang’s old shipmate? Clogg?”

“Aye, what of him? Last I heard nobeast had any idea where he’d gone.”

Gonff heard a thwack and a yelp of pain. “Exactly! For all we know he could be sneaking up on us right now, just over the horizon!”

Instead of answering, Gonff heard Rotnose give the other guard a slap. Then the two began arguing and fighting in earnest, and as they did so Gonff suppressed a laugh before scurrying up to the rampart and dropping onto it, taking advantage of the distraction. He looked down at the wall’s interior, not wanting to stay long enough for the fighting to bring some sort of alarm, and was pleased to see that just below the stone wall there was a wooden walkway. He jumped down and rolled to the side, ducking into the space behind a little set of stairs. After waiting a few moments to see if a guard was going to pass by, Gonff exited his hiding place and climbed under the walkway, grabbing a pole and sliding it down to the ground. He was in.

Not quite what I expected, Gonff thought as he looked around. All the buildings look like they’re made away from the wall. I thought they’d be built into it, like at Kotir. He could see one exception, though – a long, low construction against the West side of the fort that seemed to lack a wall on the interior, but as Gonff looked closer at it he noticed that in the dim firelight he could see the faint outline of what looked like latticework. By the fur, that looks like a stockade. Gonff immediately felt his blood boil at the sight of what could only be the slave pen, and his heart ached to go over and try to set the poor slaves free. But he took another look and observed that the stockade was guarded by a good eight corsairs.

He turned away and took another look around. The fort’s barracks were just a little off to the side of where he was hiding, in a good position to keep an eye on both the slaves and the gate as well as respond to any disturbances from either direction. The rest of Marshank’s interior was given over to a jumbled mess of low buildings and open spaces, but in the very back Gonff saw one building that was both taller than the rest and had a tiled roof. As all the others were thatched, Gonff found it oddly out of place. I’d wager that’s where Badrang lives. Wouldn’t hurt to take a closer look. He crept forwards, crossing from building to building and trying to ignore the delicious scents wafting from the kitchen, and was nearly to Badrang’s hall when he heard pawsteps approaching from the side.

Blast it all! Gonff cursed silently and ducked back behind the side, waiting for the pawsteps to pass and recede before letting out a deep breath. That was close.

“Huh? Is somebeast there?” Gonff’s heart all but stopped. The corsair hadn’t left after all, merely gone a little ways before stopping, and now he was alert. “Hello? Skalrag? That you?” The pawsteps grew louder as the corsair walked back towards Gonff.

Well, this is absolutely brilliant. If Gonff had any idea what Skalrag sounded like he could imitate the creature and maybe use that, so instead he needed to take another approach. Gonff slinked across the wall as silently as he could, and when he reached the opposite corner the Mouse grabbed a stone and hurled it lightly against one of the buildings farther away. He then slipped around the corner and peered back across, watching.

Thankfully, a moment later he saw a Rat jog out and look around for the source of the noise. He peered up and down the open space and looked back at the wall Gonff had just left, and then returned the way he was headed.

Gonff exhaled again, silently this time. That was too close. Well and truly too close. He decided right then and there to leave off getting a closer look at Badrang’s quarters, and was scanning Marshank for any signs of weakness when he noticed something peculiar: a small grate, just sitting out in the open a few paces away from the main grate. That the latrine? If it was, it could serve as a handy escape for the night, and perhaps they could use it to sneak back in later.

Gonff walked over and looked down, his spirits sinking as he realized that, far from being a convenient exit, it was merely a dark pit. Can’t exactly use that, now can we. Unless we…dig…

Grumm. If they could find a way to steer the Mole in the right direction, he could dig them an escape hatch. And depending on where they let it out, they could potentially get enough of a head start to evade the guards…

Having struck gold, Gonff made up his mind to call it quits for the night and made for the wall. By some miracle he managed to get back over without being caught, and darted his way back to his companions.

“Well?” Martin asked. “Did you learn anything?”

“Aye, matey. I think I’ve got the beginning of a scheme.” Grinning, he explained his discovery.

“The prison pit, of course!” Keyla clapped a paw to his forehead. “How in blazes did I forget about that? Think you’d be able to dig your way in, Grumm?”

The Mole scoffed. “Moi, dig? Do ‘ares eat their weight fur brekkist?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Martin stole a glance back at the fort. “It sounds like a good plan, at least taking into account our limited options, but I think we’re going to need somebeast to go inside to help coordinate the directions.”

“I’d been thinking about that.” Gonff nodded. “And hate to say it, but I don’t think we can send you in. Badrang’ll probably remember you, not to mention that I’m pretty sure you’d make a terrible slave.”

“Probably. I was never good at taking orders from my own father, let alone a piece of scum like Badrang. And we definitely can’t send Keyla in, or Grumm, so that just leaves –”

“I’ll do it.” Rose stood up, a steely glint in her eyes. “And before any of you say anything, let me just say you can forget it. I’m going to do it, no ifs, ands, or buts.”

Chapter Text

“No, Miz Rozer, absolootly not!” Grumm vaulted to his footpaws. “If you’m be a thinkin that oi’ll let you just oop n’ walk into Marshank, you’m loozing yon moind!” 

“He’s right, Rose. Believe me - I’ve lived around the scum that rule that fortress for years, and I can tell you right out that it’s too dangerous for you to go in.”

“And it’s any safer for the rest of you lot?” Rose put her paws on her hips. “What do you think would happen to an escaped slave like you if you showed up back at the front gates, Keyla? Or you, Martin? Because I doubt Badrang’d be all that merciful to the creature that lopped of his paw.” 

“What about me?” Gonff asked. “I doubt the old Stoat’d even remember that I’m the same Mouse he once had chained up in his slave line. Especially since I was only there for maybe a week.” 

“Fine, then. That just means that we’ll be in an equal amount of danger, and I still intend to go.”

“No.” Martin shook his head. “It’s not the same.”

“Why?” Rose scoffed. “Don’t tell me it’s because I’m a maiden or some nonsense, Martin, because while I have no idea how things are down in Mossflower I can tell you that up in Noonvale we don’t care whether a creature is a boy or a -”

“That’s not why.” Now Martin was standing as well, looking Rose straight in the face. “I mean, not entirely. I don’t think the risk is greater because you’re weaker or anything like that.” The stories of what Swartt had done to Bluefen flashed through Martin’s head, followed by the stories of half a dozen other poor creatures he’d known over the years. “It’s because there’s a sort of attention that female creatures tend to attract from vermin like those corsairs that male creatures simply don’t, understand?”

The tenseness that spread over Rose’s body made it clear to Martin that she did, as did the way that she almost seemed to shrink back into herself a little. But then a look of determination set into her face, and Rose straightened herself out. “I don’t care. They’ve got my brother in there, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get him out.” She glared at the rest of them. “Or are you telling me that you wouldn’t do the same for your own families?”

Martin knew he didn’t exactly have any right to protest, especially considering he’d nearly gotten himself killed freeing his own brother from the exact same band of corsairs, so begrudgingly he kept his mouth shut and sat back down. Guess it’s not really my place to stop her, anyhow, seeing as it’s HER life she’s risking and all. 

“Aye, I would, if only I had any family. But I don’t, and you know why?” Keyla gesutred back at Marshank. “Because of those creatures in there.”

“All the more reason for me to go in and save my brother. None of you can talk me out of this, so stop trying. I came here to rescue Brome, and that’s just what I’m going to do.” With an air of finality, Rose spun around, took a deep breath, and began heading towards Marshank’s front gate as fast as she dared. Grumm made to follow her, but Gonff put a paw on the Mole’s arm and held him back.

“I don’t think you can win this one, matey. She’s made up her mind, and that’s all there is to it. All we can do is pray that she succeeds.”

Watching Rose’s shadow grow smaller and smaller, Martin was seized with the desire to run after her, either to pull her back to the campfire or to face Marshank as well. 

Turning away was one of the hardest things Martin ever remembered doing, but he made himself do so and look at the ocean. Gonff was right, after all: there was nothing they could do but hope Rose would succeed. 

Rose felt like a condemned criminal marching to the execution site, with every pawstep bringing her one step closer to her death. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to turn back, to leave this up to Gonff or Martin or legitimately anybeast else, but Rose ignored the instincts and walked on, face held straight ahead. 

After fifty pawsteps her heart was a thundering drum in her chest. 

After a hundred her legs were shaking so hard that she could barely walk. 

After a hundred and fifty it was a struggle not to start hyperventilating.

After two hundred she was at the gate itself, shivering from head to toe despite the heat of the summer night. Standing there, in front of the great wooden doors separating her from the horde of murderers and slavers within Marshank, Rose almost broke down crying, and more than ever was tempted to turn and start running, not back to the camp, but back to Noonvale itself.

No. Not without Brome. I’m going to bring my brother home, whatever it takes. Whatever. It. Takes. Rose took a deep, shuddering breath, and then raised a trembling paw. 

Bang, bang, bang. She knocked on the door as hard as she could. “HEY, VERMIN! GIVE ME BACK MY BROTHER!” 

Her knocks were answered by loud calls from above on the ramparts and on the other side of the gate, along with the sound of hurried pawsteps. A moment later she heard the thump of a massive wooden bar being removed, and the gate began to slowly open. Gritting herself and trying to stop her heart from pounding clear out of her chest, Rose stood firm and waited. 

Almost the second the gate was open wide enough for a creature to step through, a Rat darted out and slammed Rose to the ground, pinning her arms behind her. Another stepped through with a torch, and bent down in front of Rose with the torch thrust into her face. Through the blinding light she saw it was a Weasel, one with a mismatched set of teeth curled up in a savage grin and a feral look in his eyes.

“My, aren’t you a pretty one!” The Weasel’s breath was the most disgusting thing Rose had ever smelt. “What brings you out here tonight?”

Rose struggled against the Rat’s paws until she faced the Weasel. “My brother. You Marshank bullies took him prisoner, and I want him back.”

“Oh, you want to see your brother again, do you?” The Rat’s voice was high and squeaky. Well then, Fleabane, howzabout we reunite them?” His laugh was like rubbing two dull knives together, while Fleabane’s was, if more tolerable to listen to, even more cruel. “Come on, Mouse, up and at ‘em!” The Rat stood up and dragged Rose to her footpaws before spinning her around and starting through the gate, Fleabane following close behind.

They were greeted just inside by a Ferret, who eyed Rose. “And you two just found her outside?”

“Aye, captain!” Fleabane saluted. “And she seems to be on her own!”

“All the same, make sure to watch extra hard tonight. Could be some kind of trick.” The Ferret walked over to Rose and dropped a paw onto her shoulder. “Welcome to Marshank, miss…”

“Laterose of Noonvale.” It was all Rose could do not to flinch away. “Daughter of chief Urran Voh. You have no right to treat a free creature like this!”

“Ah! Feisty and pretty! Well, Badrang’ll soon burn the first one out of you!”

The next few minutes were easily the most degrading of Rose’s life, and by the time they finally shoved her into the slave compound Rose wanted nothing more than to curl up into a little ball and weep. She felt dirty, like she desperately needed to bathe, and the sheer wrongness of the way the three corsairs had acted was at once humiliating and horrifying, like she was nothing more than a plaything to be poked and prodded at until they were bored. And try as she might to remind herself of why she was in Marshank, and who she was hoping to rescue, Rose just stood there, still at the entrance to the slave compound, feeling the tears dripping down her face and making her feel as though her fur was getting even further soiled. 

“Oh, you poor thing.” An Otter popped in front of Rose as if from nowhere. Rose instinctively shrank away from the other creature, her back pressed against the wooden bars of the compound. “It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you.” The Otter stepped back a pace herself before sitting on the ground. “Does it help to not have me looming like that?”

Rose nodded wordlessly. 

“Good. I’m sorry those brutes did that to you, but don’t worry - you’re safe in here for the rest of the night. I’m Tullgrew, by the way. Who are you?”

“R-Rose. Laterose of Noonvale.” Saying her name seemed to give Rose the tiniest reservoir of strength, as if it lit a fire that burned away a little of the dirtiness. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Tullgrew.”

The otter’s eyes widened. “ Laterose of Noonvale? You wouldn’t happen to have a brother, do you?”

“Yes!” Rose drew away from the bars. “His name is Brome. Do you know him? Is he here?”

Tullgrew nodded. “Aye, he is. He’s resting right now, but would you like me to take you to him?”

“Oh, yes!” Standing up straight, Rose let Tullgrew lead her through the compound, the two of them creeping silently so as to not disturb any of the others. It seemed to Rose that it was taking an eternity, and she began to wonder if she was just getting her hopes up, but then…

He was curled up on a bed of straw in the corner, next to a pair of Squirrels, one about Rose’s age and one much older. His fur was tustled in some places and matted down in others, and he was shaking in his sleep, but all the same Rose was as overjoyed to see her brother as was possible, and although once again the tears had begun to fall, this time they were tears of joy.

“Brome?” She called out. “Brome!” She ran over to him and knelt down, waiting for her brother to wake up.

“Nnnnn…” Brome sat up slowly, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “Rose? Is… is that you?” 

“Yes.” Rose whispered as she pulled her brother into a tight hug. “It’s me. I’m here to bring you home.”

They were both crying then, not just from the odds facing them, but also at the sheer joy of being, after what had felt like years, reunited.

Chapter Text

The kitchen stank of rotting food. It was clear to Rose that the horde’s table manners were as bad as their actual manners, with moldy bread and rock-hard meat strewn in every single corner alongside glasses filled with ale so old that it had somehow congealed on the bottom. 

Actually, Rose thought as she gingerly picked up a piece of meat that was covered in a thin, green coating of...something, scratch that. Their table manners are definitely worse. Honestly, some of these scraps probably come from the first meal anybeast ever had in this damned place. Part of her wished dearly to slip some of the grossest items back into the food stores in the hopes of sending it out to Badrang or Skalrag’s plate, but she resisted the urge and instead dumped all of it into the waste barrel; she didn’t want to get any of the poor cooks that particular night whipped, after all. 

Rose leaned up and peeked out the window, more to smell something other than rot for a change, and saw that a good number of slaves were racing up and down Marshank’s inner scaffolding with roughly-hewn stones in their hands. I suppose I should count myself thankful that I’m not out there with them. That looks brutal. She wondered if Brome was among them. 

Rose shook her head and knelt down on the dirt floor, searching for more scraps. Best not to linger, before anybeast comes in and gets mad that I’ve stopped. She worked in silence, gingerly handling an apple so old and rotten that she was surprised it didn’t burst the second she breathed on it, glad that this part of the routine was almost over and she could go onto cleaning all the dishes. 

“Rose? You finished in there yet?” It was Felldoh, the younger of the two Squirrels that Brome had been sleeping with the night Rose let herself be captured by the corsairs. From what Brome had told her he’d taken it upon himself to act as a sort of protector for the little Mouse, be it shielding him from Badrang’s caprices or sneaking him a few extra morsels of food, and for that he had Rose’s eternal gratitude. 

“Almost, just let me look under the table another time.” She took a quick glance and, seeing nothing, grabbed the barrel’s lid and fastened it on. “Alright, come and get it.”

“Phew!” Felldoh immediately recoiled upon entering the kitchen. “That has to be the most disgusting thing I’ve ever smelled. Maybe I should take it up to Badrang and let him smell it, because who knows? Maybe it’ll make him keel right over.”

“Don’t think I didn’t consider that.” Rose let out a bitter laugh. “I’d just take it and dump it like normal so you don’t get yourself killed.” Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. “Although, speaking of punishments, may I ask a question?”

“Can it wait? I want to get rid of this before the smell gets all over my fur.”

Yes, because it’s not like that’s already happened to me or anything. Rose resisted the urge to point that out. “I just want to know something: what’s it take to get tossed into the prison pit?”

Felldoh had been walking out to the door, but when he heard Rose’s question the Squirrel stopped and turned to her. “I don’t think getting yourself thrown into the prison pit’s going to help Brome any.”

“Just answer the question.”

“It really depends on which corsair you happen to run into.” Felldoh shrugged. “Bluehide’s probably the one who puts creatures in there the most, though. Once saw him toss Hilgorse in for two days because the Hedgehog accidentally stepped on his paw.” 

Yeah, not going to go to that Ferret for this. Rose had no desire to give him an excuse to put his filthy paws all over her a second time. “What about the others?” 

“I don’t know, like I said it depends. My father might know better.” Felldoh exited without another word, the sounds of his exertion fading into the distance. For her part, Rose decided to get started on cleaning the dishes. 

As she wiped down Badrang’s plate with what had to be the dirtiest rag in the world, Rose found herself mulling over the status of the escape plan. It hadn’t developed much from when she’d left Martin and the others, unfortunately. I still need to figure out a way to get both Brome and myself into the pit, and then from there how to get directions to the Grumm. But then, if I’M in the pit, it’s going to be a bit hard to know when’s the best time for digging. And I can’t keep watch for guards…

So there needs to be a third creature in there. Who? Tullgrew, maybe? The Otter had a decent heart and was fairly clever in her own right, although Rose thought she was a bit jumpy. But then, Rose had to admit she was starting to get the same way, and she’d only been in Marshank for two days. Tullgrew it is, then, although I still need to figure out how to get her and Brome INTO the pit. Felldoh had suggested asking his father, and Rose decided that was probably the best thing to do; she’d broach the subject with Barkjon after supper, she decided. 

She inspected the plate she’d been scrubbing. It wasn’t exactly what she would call spotless, but Rose had at least scrubbed enough dirt off that the plate was shining a little, and that was enough for Badrang. It was almost funny, the way the Stoat tried to present himself as some genteel lord, always swaggering around in a fancy cape and eating off what must have seemed like ornate tableware. Not that it stopped the cruel pirate from showing, she’d learned after Badrang lay into an Otter with his iron paw until the poor creature needed to be carried back to the slave compound. And the way that he looked at her was… Best not to think about it.  

Cleaning the dishes made her paws ache so hard that it was almost impossible to hold anything, but fortunately by the time the pain became unbearable she was done. Pausing a moment to try and stretch some of the ache away, Rose stepped out of the mess hall. 

Waiting just outside the door was the Rat Gurrad, who was fingering the hilt of a whip as he watched the slaves toiling on Marshank’s walls. “Oh, finally done, eh?” He said upon noticing Rose. “About bloody time.”

Rose bit back a retort. “Apologies, sire. It took a while to gather all the scraps up, let alone clean a single thing.”

“Well, try and be quicker about it, won’t you? Badrang hates waiting.”

“So I’ve noticed.” Rose said before she could stop herself. Gurrad squinted at her, unsure as to whether or not what she’d said constituted backtalk, so Rose decided to change the subject before he made a decision. 

“Regardless, I do believe I’ve got the kitchen and the mess hall both as clean as I could make them, so what would you have me do now?” 

“It’s almost lunch time, isn’t it? Just go back to the stockade for now and wait for another job.”

“Aye, sire.” Rose gave a half-mocking bow and started walking away, keeping an eye out for Brome. Halfway back to the stockade she saw Bluehide watching her from the top of the wall, smiling down at her. Ugh. What I wouldn’t give to shove him off that wall, see if he’s still grinning when he hits the ground. One day, maybe. Fantasies about subjecting Bluehide to various gruesome deaths entertained Rose all the way back to the compound, where she found herself face-to-face with the Weasel Rotnose. As far as Badrang’s creatures went he was one of the better ones, as low a bar as that was to say, even if he was a bit on the dim side. 

“What’re you doing back here so early?” He asked.

“Gurrad told me to come back here, sire. Finished my work for now.”

“Really?” Rotnose unlocked the gate for her. “Cheers, then. Have yourself a bit of shut-eye until lunch.” 

Rose looked around, hoping that maybe she could ask Barkjon about how to best get somebeast into the pit, but unfortunately the old Squirrel seemed to be out working some other task. More fortunately, Brome was still there, so Rose limped over as fast as her aching paws could stand. 

“Rose!” Brome jumped up and hugged his sister, almost immediately leaping back as soon as he caught a whiff of her. “By the fur, you smell like you just took a path in an old dung heap!”

Rose giggled. “You’re not too far off there, little brother. But I assure you that you really don’t want me to go into detail. Now is there any chance you could find a pail of water lying around somewhere? I’d rather  not ‘smell like an old dung heap’ any longer than I need to.”

Brome scurried off and returned with a small bucket, which Rose proceeded to immediately pour all over herself. It was salt water, which meant that she didn’t need to feel guilty about wasting any of their drinking water, and instead could sit back and enjoy the feeling of cool water pouring down her body and washing away some of the smell. “Ahhh, that felt amazing!” 

“You’re welcome.” Brome sat down and scooted up to his sister. “Any more ideas on how we’re going to escape?” He whispered.

“I’m still working on it, but I think I’ve got a few more steps in the plan put together.”

“Can we bring Felldoh along? He’s done a lot for me and I don’t want to just leave him.”

“We’ll see.” Rose gave him a little kiss on the cheek. “That is, if he doesn’t escape on his own first!”

Brome laughed. “I’d love to see that!” 

“And maybe we will.” Rose heard the telltale noise of large numbers of paws heading towards them. “But let’s put all our talk of escaping to the side for now. Seems like it’s lunch!” 

And it was, a pitiful affair consisting of little more than heavily-watered-down soup and some tiny cups of lukewarm milk. All the same Brome gulped it down like it was the best meal he’d ever eaten, so while Rose went in search of Barkjon to finally get some answers she gave him the last third of her soup to polish off. 

She never made it to him. Five pawsteps away from Brome, and the stockade door slammed open. “PURSLANE!!!! WHERE IS THE MOUSE PURSLANE?” It was Badrang, with half the Marshank horde at his back. They stormed into the stockade, pushing every single creature out of the way regardless of age, everybeast waving around their spears at the helpless slaves. 

“Show yourself, Mouse, before one of your fellows gets poked.” Badrang hissed out. “Well? Where are you?”

“Right here.” Purslane stood up, gently shooing her husband and son away. 

“Ah.” Badrang’s voice went soft, but the tone still made Rose cold. “Now, would you mind explaining to me why you gave me some bread that was more mold than actual wheat?”

Oh, Felldoh, you couldn’t have. Rose looked over at the Squirrel and was dismayed to see the guilt etched all over his face. You did, by the fur, you did. You idiot, I TOLD you to get rid of everything.

Purslane tensed. “I - I wouldn’t know, sire. It must have been some mistake.”

“Oh, really?” Badrang advanced on her. “That’s odd, since I seem to recall leaving specific orders that you lot were to make absolutely sure that ‘mistakes’ like this don’t happen, unless you wished to get whipped.” 

Purslane, to Rose’s everlasting respect, refused to back down. “Aye, you did, so doesn’t that suggest the fault’s not on our end? Perhaps one of you idiot corsairs simply found it on the ground and tossed it onto a plate.”

Glaring, Badrang grabbed Purslane and struck her across the chin with his iron paw. “Insolent Mouse! I could take your head off for that!”

Groaning, Purslane got to her footpaws, but instead of apologizing or begging for mercy she spit a bloody wad onto Badrang’s cloak. 

Face darkening with anger, the Stoat ripped his sword out of its scabbard. “How dare you. I was going to let you off easy with a little chastisement, Mouse, but now you’ve left me no choice but to take your head. Rotnose, Fleabane, hold her down. I want to make a clean cut.”

“ NO! ” Brome surged forwards. “It was an honest mistake! It must have been! You - you can’t just kill her!”

Badrang turned to point his sword at Brome. “You think to command me, you little whelp? Perhaps you’re the one responsible for this ‘mistake’.” 

“He isn’t.” Felldoh pushed his way through the spears. “I am. I thought it only fitting that the rotten food go to the rotten creatures. If you’re going to punish anybeast, punish me, not Purslane and not Brome.”

Badrang scoffed. “I think not. All three of you are insolent slaves, after all.” Addressing his soldiers, he nodded towards Felldoh and Brome. “Take them to the prison pit; I’ll deal with them later. For now, I have a Mouse to punish.”

The corsairs dragged Brome and Felldoh away, the latter cursing them as he fought in vain to free himself. Rose was about to step out and protest when she felt a paw on her shoulder. She whirled around, fighting the terror rapidly taking over her, and found herself looking at Barkjon. 

The old Squirrel shook his head. No. he mouthed. Not now. 

So Rose stopped and stood, watching them drag her brother away again, before Skalrag commanded all the slaves to face Purslane and watch how Badrang punished traitors. 

Badrang laid the flat of his sword on the Mouse’s neck. “Any final words?” 

Purslane looked over at her husband, face full of regret. “Please, my love, tell - tell our son I’m sorry I can’t be there for him, and that I loved him more than anything in the world.” Then she looked up at Badrang, all the regret fleeing to be replaced with defiance and anger. “And as for you, sire , I’ll see you beyond the Hellgates.” 

One quick stroke, and it was over. 

Rose watched, rage and horror at the injustice intermingling within her. Part of her wanted to scream and lunge at Badrang, to rip the Stoat apart for his cruelty, and yet…

At the same time, one tiny, dispassionate part of her brain stood back and thought: 

THIS makes our escape a little easier.

Chapter Text

The Mouse laying in front of Gingivere was old; going by Timballisto’s records the creature had lived to be around fifty-eight or fifty-nine, long enough to have been around during the last years of Lord Brocktree’s reign. Gingivere wondered what he’d thought of the lords that had come and gone over the years, and whether or not he’d had any preference between being ruled by Badgers and being ruled by Cats.

Personally, Gingivere really hoped that the old Mouse hadn’t had much to complain about in regards to the latter, especially considering that a Cat was about to dissect his corpse. Not to mention the fact that he’d only gotten the body because Whegg broke into a crypt in the middle of the night and made off with it.  

Ah well, Gingivere thought, not like he can complain. Though his family might, now that I think about it. I’ll have to think of some way to head them off if it comes to that. He leaned over the body, studying the Mouse’s serene face before gently pressing the throat with his paw. 

“Dare I ask what you’re doing?” Sandingomm was leaning against the wall, bathed in the light of countless torches and candles. Not wanting to miss a single thing, Gingivere had ordered the storage room they’d commandeered be made as bright as possible. 

Pausing, Gingivere looked up and over at the sleek wildcat. “Just making a few observations. I want to see if I can figure out a good area to start cutting ahead of time.” 

“So you’re going to do that with the Loamhedge one? Is that smart?” Gingivere’d not intended for Sandingomm to be in here, or even know about what they were doing, but considering she’d been instrumental and helping Amber smuggle the body of a Dryditch victim out of the Loamhedge camp it had been difficult to keep her away. Besides, Gingivere liked her company. 

Gingivere nodded. “I have to. Not really much point in probing this one otherwise.”

“And you’re not worried about infection?”

“Not really. According the Bella, Abbess Germaine’s records suggest that it doesn’t spread by fur-to-fur contact.”

“That still means it could spread through the air. You could get it just by leaning too close.” 

“That’s what this is for.” Gingivere pulled a roughly-hewn wooden mask out of his tunic and put it on. “See? It’s only got two little air holes in the end here, and I’ve stuffed in a few clovers to help keep the bad air away.” 

Sandingomm giggled. “Fair enough, but it makes you look like a demon from beyond, just so you know.” Glancing around, she picked up a bit of spare cloth and wrapped it around her nose and mouth. “This should help me then, and it looks better.” She replied in response to Gingivere’s raised eyebrow. Her voice was muffled somewhat by the fabric, but he could still make out everything she was saying. “So, then: what can I do to help?” 

“Um...I guess you can be my second pair of eyes once I start the dissection? Didn’t really consider doing this with somebeast else.” 

“I figured as much. Just tell me when to start.”

“It will be a few minutes. Still need to finish looking over the bodies.”  Pushing the old Mouse’s mouth open, Gingivere took a cursory look before moving over to the Drydtich victim. Pulling on a pair of gloves Gingivere looked over at the third creature in the room, a short, thin Otter he’d drafted to serve as a recorder. “I am getting ready to examine the exterior of Body Two. Make note of any differences between it and Body One that I mention, no matter how minor.”

“Aye, my lord.” The Otter nodded and dipped his quill into an inkwell, ready to write.”

Gingivere started by looking at the Mouse’s ears. “As expected, Body Two’s ears show signs of increased redness compared to Body One.” He moved down to the eyes, which he pried open. “Huh. Hey, Sandingomm? Can I get you to check on the eyes of Body One for a second?”

“Anything I should be looking for?”

“I want to know what color they are.”

Sandingomm leaned over. “They’re normal. Just the plain-old white most creatures have, though they’re kind of milky.”

“Interesting. Mine are reddish.” He looked over at the Otter. “Have you got that? Evidence of eye discoloration.” The Otter nodded and scratched away as Gingivere turned back to the body. 

Next, he moved down to the throat. Just by feeling it, Gingivere could tell that it was noticeably bigger than Body One’s throat, which he pointed out to the Otter. 

“Anything else?” Sandingomm asked after Gingivere had finished his examination.

Gingivere shook his head. “Not on the outside. Seems I need to move on to the dissection.” He shuddered. “This won’t exactly be pleasant.”

“Before we start,” the Otter cut in, “I just had a thought - have you looked under the fur? Maybe there’s something under the skin.”

“That’ll take too long. We need to get this done quickly.” The room was already beginning to reek. “Although it might be good to write that down anyways - if we start with that on a fresh body, maybe we’ll find something.” 

“I’ll see what I can dig up.” Sandingomm added. “Maybe I can get Germaine to let me give somebeast a fur cut once they die.” 

“Thank you.” Gingivere crossed back over to Body One. “Preparing to make the first interior examination, which will consist of the throat.” Gingivere grabbed a long thin knife and began to carefully slice away the fur around the neck area. Almost immediately, the stench that had been slowly permeating the room became overwhelming, and Gingivere had to fight to keep from gagging. Pressing onwards, once the throat was exposed he took a small tool made up of two wooden picks connected by a swivel and placed it around the throat, pinching it together until the two picks were each tightly pressed around the body tissue. 

“Es-esta-establish-” Gingivere was trying to say ‘establishing base throat size’, but was only able to choke out the first word before the combination of the sight, the smell, and even a bit of taste overpowered him and sent the Wildcat to the floor. He immediately threw up. Damn it all! 

Sandingomm raced over to him and offered a paw. “Gingivere! What happened?”

Gingivere took her paw and shakily got to his feet. “I - I’m fine. Everything just got to me a moment.” He stumbled over to Body Two, but before he could speak or even place the knife against the Mouse’s neck he doubled over in a gagging fit.

“Here.” Sandingomm reached down and took Gingivere’s knife. “We’re trying to get at the middle of the neck, right? I’ll do this one for you. Just sit down a moment.” 

Too afraid to open his mouth to protest lest he throw up again, Gingivere nodded and sat back to watch. Sandingomm’s cutting was a good deal rougher than his own, and accompanied by a wide variety of profanities - many of which he’d never heard before - as well as a few dry heaves, but in the end she managed to cut in and make the measurement. 

“I had to move the picks out a little.” Her voice was hoarse. “What does that mean?”

“It means we know for sure this Mouse had an inflated throat. The next thing we have to do is, ah…” He trailed off. “We need to strip them both.” 

Sandingomm made a face. “Ew. That’s just wrong.” 

“If you can’t stomach it, feel free to leave. I won’t blame you.”

“I didn’t say that.” She looked around and sighed. “Well, I’m committed to seeing this through. Do you want the old one or the sick one?” 

“I don’t know.” Both choices were equally unappealing. “I guess I’ll just take the old one.” 

He got to work, stripping away the clothing and doing his best to avoid looking... down there... while considering where it was best to cut. It occurred to him that it might be a good idea to look at the stomach, a topic which he broached to Sandingomm. 

The two continued to work, occasionally discussing their findings or considering where the next best place to examine was, before, finally, they were done.”

“Well,” Gingivere said as he looked back at the bloody masses that had once been the bodies of two Mice, “that was easily the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life.” 

For her part, Sandingomm looked like she very much agreed. “Tell me we at least got some useful information out of this.”

“Aye, ma’am.” The Otter said. “From the throat all the way down to the, shall I say, the bilge, I make at least four or five differences. Although if I may, might I suggest it might be good to nab a second pair of bodies and take ‘em apart as well?”

The two Cats looked at each other. “No.” Gingivere replied. “Not now. I don’t think I can go through that again. I’ll get Amber and Whegg to do it or something.” 

“Please.” Sandingomm had a queasy look on her face. “If I have to make another cut I’ll hurl myself from the castle wall.” 

“So what now, then?” The Otter asked.

“First, I’m going to go take a bath. A long one.” Gingivere took off his mask and stuffed it in the corner. “Then, it’s off to the books to see if what we found today can point us at any other disease.” 

Then he opened the door, and the three creatures fled the disgusting sight as fast as their paws could carry them.

Chapter Text

“So remind me again,” Swartt asked her as they struggled up the mountain pass, “why are we wasting time traveling to some dingy old castle in the exact opposite part of the world from Mossflower?” 

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked that question, or even the fifth, and Tsarmina was getting sick of answering it. So sick, in fact, that she was genuinely tempted to hurl the idiot Ferret off the side of the mountain instead of answering. 

But she still needed him, or rather his horde, so instead of sending him tumbling off a cliff Tsarmina merely grit her teeth and answered. Again. “How many creatures do you command, Sixclaw? Three hundred at most?” 

“Three hundred and forty as of this morning.” 

“Right. And, as I’ve said before,” Too many fucking times, “that simply isn’t enough creatures to topple Mossflower. Especially since they’ll surely bring the might of Salamandastron down on us as well. You do still want to get your Badger slave back, right?”

“Of course.” Swartt smirked. “Been too long since I could discipline little Scumstripe.” 

“I feel the same towards the little furball. And if the two of us want to mete out the discipline and justice those idiots demand, we need to have a strong enough army at our backs.” She gestured towards the mountains in front of them. “My grandfather used to rule land up here. Perhaps if we find Castle Mortspear, we’ll be able to find a loyal creature or two.” 

“Seems like an awful large risk and an awful small change of reward, if you ask me.” Swartt grumbled. “Suppose we find an empty castle? Or worse, a castle filled with enemies?” 

Tsarmina shrugged. “If it’s empty, we claim it and raid the surrounding area. If it has enemies, we defeat them or turn them. Either way, we come out with soldiers, slaves, or both.” 

“Or we die of starvation, freezing, getting stabbed, or some other gruesome end.” Swartt growled, his paw dropping to his sword hilt. “I’m starting to regret ever listening to you, Cat.”

Tsarmina groaned mentally. Blooming hellgates, this one’s just as idiotic as the rest of ‘em, isn’t he? For some reason she was reminded of Bane, and the discussion they’d had back when she was still trying to persuade him to help her bring the Woodlanders to heel. Guess this Ferret’s another one I need to spend a lot of breath on. “Is there anything stopping you from turning around and marching down there?”

“Nothing but an arrogant and deluded Cat.” Swartt slid the sword out a few inches, just enough to show the tiniest hint of steel. “One that may wind up being a slave after all.” 

“One that will only be a slave during the time it takes the Thousand-Eye Army and the Long Patrol to batter your horde to dust.” Tsarmina forced herself to remain calm instead of ripping Swartt limb-from-limb for his insolence. “After which poor, soft father will send me on my merry way once again. Do you even know how many soldiers they have?”

“Verdauga only brought a few hundred against us when we fought, and that was before we -”

“Killed some of them?” Tsarmina scoffed. “Believe me, they’ll have replenished the numbers. Likely just with Woodlanders, but still. And it’s nearly been four years, plenty of time to train them a good bit. And as for the Long Patrol, count on them adding on at least a hundred and fifty or so. Go now and you’ll all wind up dead.” Looking over Swartt’s shoulder, she noticed his chief lieutenant was jogging towards them. “Not to mention that turning back might not be as simple a matter as you think. Just ask Aggal there.” 

Swartt frowned and turned. “Do you have something to report?”

Aggal dropped to one knee. “No, sire, the soldiers were just getting restless at stopping for so long. They asked me to come up and check to see what was going on.”

“Your leader here has decided that we need to turn around and march back down the mountain at once.” Tsarmina replied before Swartt even had the chance to open his mouth. 

As Tsarmina had hoped, Aggal’s face immediately twisted into a look of pure horror. “T-truly, sire? At once?”

“Oh, yes. Swartt, would you care to tell the horde, or should Aggal and I do it?”

Glaring daggers at Tsarmina, Swartt whirled back around with a humph and adjusted his cape. “Was that supposed to make some kind of point?” The Ferret was silent for a heartbeat, after which he shook his head and slid his sword back all the way down. “Fine, you’re right. Ask the horde to just up and turn around now and they’ll mutiny.” 

“So...we’re not heading back down then, sire?”

“Of course not, you nitwit! We press on, and hope that Tsarmina’s quest is actually worth it.”

“It will be, you have my word on that.” Tsarmina strode up to Swartt and patted him on the shoulder, enjoying the look of indignation on his face. “Now I’ll admit that you’re the craftier one when it comes to battle plans, but when it comes to the bigger picture just let me take care of the planning. I’m far better at it than you.”

***

She’d meant what she’d said about Swartt being the better tactician, what with her only foray into that area ending in disaster, and so when they arrived at Castle Mortspear only to find it occupied she sat back and let Swartt take the reins. She had to admit it was a decent formation, with a hundred pikebeasts marching in step behind her and Swartt, twenty-five archers to each side shadowing them along the cliff, and the rest held in reserve just out of sight but close enough to charge in at a moment’s notice if necessary. 

All the same, in the interest of keeping their force as intact as possible Tsarmina decided to forgo bloodshed for once in favor of simply talking it out. And so, when they were in front of the castle, rather than give the order to attack, Swartt held up a paw and bade his hordebeasts to stop. Tsarmina then stepped forwards, making note of the disorganized line of spears in front of her. All told there were about sixty, far fewer than she’d hoped, but still enough to potentially cause some trouble.

“Are you those who were once sworn to King Mortspear and the castle that bears his name, or descended from them?”

An old Weasel dressed in a ragged cloak pushed through the line. “Aye, but Mortspear is dead. His heir Ungatt Trunn is also dead, his line ended.”

“The line of Mortspear is not ended. He had another son, Verdauga Greeneyes.”

“Verdauga?” The Weasel snorted. “He grows soft in his Woodland stronghold, him and his two children both.”

“Only one of them.” Tsarmina removed her cape, allowing the Weasel to see the worn, damaged green eye carved into her cuirass. “You look upon the granddaughter of King Mortspear, Tsarmina Greeneyes, a Wildcat as hard and strong as the liege you and your kin once served.” 

“I see.” It was plain by the look on the Weasel’s face that he was unconvinced. “If you are truly the granddaughter of Mortspear, then you must prove it.”

You have no right to demand I prove anything , Tsarmina thought, but she said “what must I do, O great one who served my grandfather?”

“The test is simple.” The Weasel stepped to the side and tapped the ground with his spear four times in quick succession. The line of spears parted like a wave, revealing the gaping entrance to the old castle. 

Tsarmina wondered if there was some trial within she would need to overcome, but almost the second that the last creature moved aside a massive shadow appeared in the doorway. 

The creature that strode out was massive, easily half again as tall as she was. It was covered in thick brown fur, but she could still see the immense muscles under each limb. It carried a battleaxe as large as Swartt, but judging by the length and sharpness of the claws Tsarmina guessed that the thing barely needed it. Standing there, seeing the beast walk towards her, Tsarmina realized she was more afraid than she’d been since her father had exiled her from Mossflower.

“This,” the Weasel intoned as the creature marched forwards, “is the Bruin. Mortspear first laid claim to this land by defeating one of its kind. If you wish to prove you are truly his heir, you must defeat one as well.”

“Heh.” Tsarmina forced herself to laugh as she grabbed her own weapon, a greatsword Swartt had given her. “Just one creature? I’ll pass your test before you can even blink, old one.”

The Bruin snarled at her, but Tsarmina stood her ground. Seeing that his opponent was not going to back down, he roared a battle cry loud enough to all but shake the foundations of the castle before charging forwards. 

Tsarmina met the Bruin’s downwards swing with a parry, gritting her teeth as the vibrations from the impact coursed through her body, before pushing up and out to try and throw the Bruin off balance. But he was too strong, and Tsarmina found herself completely unable to make any headway, and suddenly she was the one being pushed off balance. 

If I fall, I die. Tsarmina had no idea just how she knew that, but it was a fact she was sure of: the second she was on the ground, the Bruin would cleave her skull in two. But that’s not going to happen. Tsarmina kicked at the monster’s leg with as much strength as she could spare, hoping to take the momentum out of his attack, but to her dismay she found that the limb felt less like a leg and more like a tree trunk, and then all of a sudden she was even more off balance. 

She hissed, less at her opponent and more at the realization that the only way to escape was to use a trick she associated with, off all beasts, Martin. She stopped trying to resist the Bruin’s push and instead rolled with it, diving out of the way as the great beast stumbled. She whirled and delivered a slash across the back, one aimed to cut her opponent almost in half.

Instead, all she accomplished was to cut into a layer of thick fat and send a small spray of blood down onto the barren rocks. Blast, he’s tough under all that fur. 

The Bruin roared at her again before charging, axe swinging wildly. This time Tsarmina put all her strength behind each counter swing, not wanting to get caught in the same trap as last time, but all the same each reply to the endless onslaught took more and more out of her, and Tsarmina felt her guard begin to slip. 

Crunch! With a sickening noise the battleaxe landed on her cuirass, nearly biting straight through it and still managing to bruise at least a few ribs. Tsarmina grunted from the pain and stumbled backwards before lunging forwards and swinging at the Bruin with a vertical cut. The Bruin raised his battleaxe to parry, meeting Tsarmina not with the steel, but with the splintery wooden handle. 

Perhaps what happened next was the fault of the handle; perhaps the wood was simply too old, too brittle, too weak, for when Tsarmina’s greatsword collided with it in a slash filled with the last, desperate strength of one facing their death, the greatsword hacked through the wood like paper and continued onwards. Now it was the Bruin who grunted and faltered, a trickle of blood running down the thin cut he now carried from neck to lower stomach. He took one look at the severed halves of his weapon before throwing them to the side, and before Tsarmina could prepare a defense lunged straight at her. 

The Bruin’s right paw slashed across Tsarmina’s face, briefly turning the world red as she reeled back, yelling in pain. Now her blood was on the ground as well as the Bruin’s, a fact that she found strangely fascinating: it had been years since she’d seen that much of her own blood, not since that damned Squirrel had stabbed her half a dozen ways. 

The massive paws shot out again, but this time instead of raking Tsarmina across the face they tightened around her neck, and she found herself sputtering and struggling to breathe as the Bruin lifted her towards his snarling face. Am I going to die here? The thought filled Tsarmina with terror. I don’t want to die! I can’t die! Not here! Not while Martin and Gingivere have what’s rightfully mine! 

She had one trick left. Unfortunately it was another of Martin’s, but all the same it was a good trick. 

She jabbed downwards with her greatsword, hoping and praying that, by some miracle, it would land in her opponent’s paw.

It did. The greatsword sunk straight through the Bruin’s paw, snapping in two as it hit the rock, but causing the monster enough pain that he released Tsarmina as he roared in agony. 

Without thinking, without looking to see if even half a greatsword was still a usable weapon. Tsarmina crouched down and threw herself at the Bruin’s face. She slashed out madly with her own claws, hacking at the eyes, the nose, the mouth, the neck, everything, yelling and hissing out every curse she’d ever heard, ripping, tearing, slashing, until…

“Tsarmina!” Swartt’s voice cut through her fury like a knife. “It’s over. You killed him.”

Pausing, breathing heavily, Tsarmina looked down and observed the Bruin. Or rather, what remained of its head. Then, standing up as straight as she could, she forced a smile on her face and turned to the Weasel.

“See? I passed your little test.”

“Aye, you did.” The Weasel leaned on his spear. “Yet I have blinked several times since the battle started, have I not.”

You can’t be serious. Was the Weasel truly considering denying her victory over something as trivial as that? “That’s just semantics.” Turning her head a fraction, she nodded back to Swartt. The Ferret raised a paw, and Tsarmina heard the sound of a hundred spears lowering behind her along with the sound of fifty bows being drawn. “Although I suppose you could try and force the issue if you want.”

The Weasel looked Swartt’s horde up and down before shaking his head. “That will not be necessary, Tsarmina granddaughter of Mortspear. We who have remained are at your service. Come, and take your grandfather’s place as monarch of the Northlands.”

“No.” Tsarmina shook her head. “This land is old, and done. The future lies to the South.”

“In the very same lands that turned Verdauga soft?” The Weasel asked.

“Yes, and no. Come with me, and I will turn those lands as hard as these. Come with me, and we can uproot the soft branch of Mortspear’s line and burn it to ashes.” Speaking to the entire group in front of her now, Tsarmina raised her voice. “Come, and you will know battle and fire the likes of which you have not seen before! Come, and you will be feared by all who live between the River Moss and the great Western Sea! Come, and I will show you power! WHAT SAY YOU, THOSE SWORN TO MY GRANDFATHER? ” 

“ AYE! AYE! ” All fifty of those behind the weasel replied as one. HAIL, TSARMINA! HAIL, HEIR OF MORTSPEAR! RISE, QUEEN TSARMINA, AND SHOW US ALL THAT YOU PROMISE! ”

For his part, rather than take part in the cheers the Weasel strode up to Tsarmina and knelt before her. “O mighty Queen Tsarmina, I, Roga, pledge myself to your service. From this day until my last, me and my soldiers are yours to command.” 

Tsarmina looked over at Swartt, whose face reflected a mix of envy, joy, and the tiniest hint of fear. And you thought coming here was a foolish idea. Well, Ferret, never doubt me from this day forward.

Chapter Text

“Did you lot hear? One of them Otters from Camp Willow snuffed it yesterday!” The old Rat slammed his mug down on the wooden counter. 

“Oh, ‘ow ‘oiribble.” The Mole shifted in her own seat, shaking her head. “This’m be, what, the fourth of us in Mossflower to doie a Dryditch, right?”

“Aye.” The Rat pounded the counter before ordering another round of mead. “Four of us, and twenty-six of the Loamhedge Mice!” 

Actually, Goody Stickle thought as she listened from a nearby table, it’s twenty-eight. Not that it’s any better. 

The Rat continued to rant. “Thirty creatures dead and buried, and it’s getting worse all the time.”

“And ta think: all this toime ole Gingivere’s been comploitly soilent. Oi’da never thought he’d jus’ sit back in ‘is castle, but…” 

“Bah!” A mouse spit on the ground. “I’m starting to think that none of the Wildcats truly care about us at all!” 

Goody bit her tongue to keep from yelling at her fellow tavern patrons to shut up; tempting and cathartic as it would be after listening to their drivel for the past hour, there were three of them and only one of her, and she wasn’t exactly a fighter. All the same it’s not right, them dragging Gingivere through the mud like this. 

The Rat nodded in agreement. “Aye. Things were better in the old days, back when Boar ruled us. He’d’ve never let a plague like this happen.”

“Laste ‘e baint be ‘is sister.” 

The Mouse snorted. “He’s not much better. Death by fire, death by disease, what does one over the other change? Either way it’s off to the Dark Forest because of those damned Wildcats, innit?” 

That did it. Placing her own mug down on the table, Goody pushed herself out of her chair and turned to face the three. “Oh, put a cork in it, will you? If I wanted to hear the yammerings of fools while I drink I’d go drink with bandits.” 

“Did I ask for your opinion, Hedgepig?” The Rat growled. “Can’t say I did.”

“Well, you’re getting it! And you ,” she rounded on the Mouse, “Gingivere’s no better than Tsarmina? Were you actually here when she ruled us, or were you just not paying attention?”

The Mouse flushed a deep shade of red, either from embarrassment, the drink, or a combination of the two, but only for a moment before he squinted at her. “Wait a minute - aren’t you the Stickle mum?” 

The Mole laughed. “No surproise you’m be mad at us - you Stikkle lot’ve got yer snouts so far oop the Wildcat’s arses that they’m be browner ‘n dirt!” 

Just as Goody was arguing with herself over the merits of throwing herself at the Mole and giving her a faceful of quills, the tavern’s barkeep, a Squirrel, leaped out from behind the counter and stood between all four of them. “Easy, Gertrude, easy. Same for you, Bonetail.” He turned to Goody. “You know, madame, you really should no better than to pick a fight with creatures that’ve drunk as much as these three.” 

I’m sorry, EXCUSE ME? “Actually,” Goody said as she picked her mug back up, “it seems to me that they could do with a little more.” Then she hurled the mug straight at the Mole Gertrude, the wine sloshing out all over the floor as its clay container arced through the air and slammed into the Mole’s left shoulder. Both the barkeep and the other two of the Mole’s friends yelped and leaped back to avoid the spray of drink and clay shards, while the Mole simply blinked, gaped, and, after a moment’s hesitation, charged straight at Goody. 

Goody braced herself to face the Mole’s charge and turn at the last second, hoping to give the Mole a far more painful reception then the latter was anticipating - 

“OI!” A clear, commanding voice rang out as the tavern’s doors slammed open. Goody spun towards it, recognizing the voice as Mask’s, while the Mole attempted to skid to a stop. She failed and careened straight into a wooden chair, knocking it over and flipping head-first into a table. 

I hope you break your head, Goody thought to herself. 

Mask walked over to the Mole and wrenched her to her footpaws. “What in blazes is going on here?” 

“The three of them were talking about Lord Gingivere, sir.” The barkeep gestured around the room. “And the Hedgehog over there took offense to what they said, and one thing led to another.” He glared at Goody. “And I’m now out a mug, thanks to you.” 

“I’m sure Miss Stickle will be glad to make you a new one.” A second otter walked over to the barkeep and laid a paw on their shoulder. “Perhaps with one from her own house.”

Over my dead flipping body, mate. But Goody held her tongue, and simply promised that she’d get a replacement by the end of the day. 

“Honestly,” Mask grumbled as he sat down on a chair near the fireplace, “I came to get a drink, not stop a bloody bar fight.”

“Tell that to the Hedgepig over there.” The Mouse sat back down and crossed his arms. “She’s the one who can’t take another creature’s opinion, even if it’s true that our mighty lords are just sitting on their fat arses all day instead of solving the Dryditch problem.”

“But that’s not true at all!” The other Otter hopped to his paws. “I’ve been in the castle, and Gingivere is in fact hard at work. He’s no dunsel, you can be sure of that.”

“And who are you, then?” The Rat asked. “His personal paw-kisser?”

“Not at all. In fact, what the Wildcat’s up to is a little, shall we say, questionable, in my humble opinion.” Oblivious to Mask’s frantic elbowing and shushing motions, the Otter leaned over conspiratorially. “Have any of you three been up to Timballisto’s lands lately? Or in the Loamhedge camp? Or, at the very least, heard about anything strange going on there?”

“Now that you mention it, wasn’t there something about a body going missing a few days ago?” 

Mask stood up, abandoning his efforts to silence his companion, and began to quietly edge his way towards Goody. 

“Aye!” The Otter nodded. “Two of them, in fact! Well, turns out I know exactly where they washed ashore, so to speak: right in Gingivere’s paws. The Wildcat cut them up from head to tail.”

Goody felt a swooping feeling in her stomach. Gingivere had gone grave robbing? And not just that, but he’d taken the stolen bodies and opened them up ? 

“But ‘ow do you know all this?” Gerturde asked. 

“Because I was in the room with them!” It was obvious to Goody that the Otter was very much relishing his captive audience. “Gingivere had me act as a recorder, so I was there for everything, from the first cut to the last.” Dropping his paw to his robes, the Otter pulled out a paper. “See? Here’s a copy of part of the transcription.” 

“By the fur, that’s worse than doing nothing.” The barkeep shook his head. “To think I’d live to see the day where somebeast would dare to open the graves of the deceased and mutilate their bodies.” 

Bonetail turned back to Goody. “Still think your precious Lord’s such a great creature?” 

In all honesty, Goody wasn’t sure what to think: while she was certain Gingivere had a good reason for disturbing the dead like that, if for no other reason than that he was far too gentle a creature to go around tearing into bodies, at the same time the idea of grave robbing was so vile, so perverse, so wrong . 

Struggling to get an answer, Goody noticed that Mask had edged right next to her. “Get ready to run for it.” He muttered. “This is going to turn ugly, sure as sunrise.” 

“Well?” Bonetail demanded. “I want an answer, Hedgepig.” 

“I have no reason to give you one.” Goody replied, mostly because she still wasn’t sure what her answer actually was . 

“You will if you want to keep all your pretty teeth.” Bonetail started forwards, one paw dropping to his knife. The Otter scribe tried to stand in front of him and head him off, but the rat simply threw him aside. 

Mask was more firm. “Not one more pawstep, mate.” He had a knife of his own tucked in his belt, but he made no move to grab it.

Perhaps mistaking that for weakness, the Rat continued undaunted. “Out of the way, Otter. This is between me and the Hedgepig.” 

When he was ten pawsteps away from Goody, Mask acted. Striding forwards, in a single, fluid motion he grabbed Bonetail’s paw with his own and bent it backwards, while his other paw went to the Rat’s head and forced it upwards. The knife clattered to the floor, and Bonetail stumbled backwards, falling as well. Mask then reached forwards with both paws and grabbed the Rat before he could regain his balance, slamming him into a table - the same one Gertrude the Mole had collapsed into, Goody happened to notice - with enough force to shatter the wood. Only then did Mask grab his knife, flipping it into his paw as he backed up to Goody. 

“Anybeast else want to make a go at either of us?” He gestured at the Mouse. “You? No?” When nobeast answered he took hold of Goody’s paw and started pulling her towards the exit. “Didn’t think so. Now, if you excuse me, the two of us are leaving.”

The two of them were silent until they’d managed to put two or three streets between themselves and the tavern. “Is it true?” Goody finally asked. “What your friend said about Gingivere and the missing bodies?” A tiny part of her hoped that there had been some kind of misunderstanding, unlikely as that was.

“I wouldn’t call him a ‘friend’, more like a particularly annoying subordinate.” Mask ran a paw through his fur. “But he’s right: Amber told me all about it.”

Suddenly horrified, Goody stopped and leaned against a fence. “ Why? ” 

“Apparently, it’s his way of finding out more about what Dryditch does to a creature. I hate to admit it, but cutting open a body to compare a Dryditch victim to a healthy victims not a bad idea when you get right down to it.” Mask shook his head. “I doubt that most creatures’ll see it that way, though And if they don’t, well, things aren’t going to be pretty.”

“What do you mean?”

Mask looked at her. “I just dragged you out of a tavern brawl. You . One of the kindest, gentlest creatures in Mossflower. If things are already tense enough that a creature like you is willing to fight somebeast over something they said, imagine what they’ll be like when it comes out that the Acting Lord of Mossflower’s desecrating graves. Mark my words, before the week is out this town is going to riot.”

Chapter Text

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap

Eyes locked on the fortress, Keyla tried to ignore the repeated sound of footpaws behind him. So far everything was quiet, much as it had been every night since Rose had been captured five days ago, but as always there was the possibility of some change or another - particularly since Gonff had come back from his last foraging expedition swearing he’d seen a large ship out on the ocean. If it was true, then tonight he needed to keep an extra close eye, but - 

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap

It wasn’t exactly easy to concentrate, especially since the tapping seemed to be getting more and more frequent, but Keyla struggled to keep his focus on a tiny, black shape slinking around the parapet -

Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptap

Fed up, Keyla turned around and glared at Martin. “Would you stop that ?” He hissed. “I can’t watch for danger with you stomping around like that.”

“Hmm?” Martin blinked. “ Was I stomping around? Guess I was so lost in thought I didn’t notice.”

“Aye. You’ve been going at it for most of the past hour, and it’s really, really getting rather annoying, if I’m getting honest. What’s got you fidgeting so much anyways?”

“It’s Rose and that blasted fortress.” Martin grabbed a pebble and tossed it farther down hill, towards where Gonff and Grumm were sleeping. “Shouldn’t we have heard from them by now? It’s been almost a week.” 

“Martin, I told you before. Marshank’s too heavily guarded for you to expect any sort of quick escape. It took a big stroke of luck for me to escape, and I was outside the fort itself.”

“I know, but…” Martin exhaled. “I - I just hope nothing’s happened to her, alright? I don’t want Rose to get hurt.”

“You knew Rose for a few hours and you’re already this concerned? Are you like this with every creature, or just her?” 

Martin blushed. “What are you implying, Keyla?”

“You know full well, Martin.” Keyla smirked and turned back to Marshank. Now please, just let me watch in peace.” 

A few moments later, Keyla heard somebeast begin to roll stones around behind him. At least it’s quieter than the footpaws. All was quiet up on the ramparts, and upon further inspection the shadowy figure from early looked suspiciously like a ferret or a weasel going about their patrol, and so Keyla decided to turn and scan the horizon for Gonff’s mystery ship. The sea was quiet as well, and almost flat in the darkness, broken only by the occasional wave. It was oddly peaceful, almost peaceful enough for Keyla to forget where he was. And yet, at the same time, there was something creeping up at the very back of his mind, something unsettling…

Turning back to Marshank, Keyla sighed and ran his paw down across his face; it came away slick with sweat. Blimey, a few months in Mossflower and I forget how muggy the coast can get if there’s not any wind. 

An hour later, when he was turned back to the ocean and watching another small crop of waves, Keyla’s ears began to twitch. 

“Quest that cannot fail.”

It was very faint, but, coming from inside Marshank, there was the unmistakable sound of somebeast singing in a high, carrying voice that reminded him of a gentle summer’s breeze. Rose! 

He leaned over and nudged Martin, pointing towards the fortress with one paw and cupping his ear with the other. 

“I know a squirrel and otter, and their sorry tale, 

Listening intently, Martin frowned a moment before his face lit up. Looking at Keyla, grinning, he pointed out a large heap of rocks closer to the fortress wall, asking if they should move closer. Keyla nodded, and the two silently padded across the open ground. Rose’s song continued.

“I know a squirrel and otter, and of their sorry tale.

“And of a daring quest, that truly cannot fail.

“To free them from a place that is beyond sadness,

“So they can go and smile once again while in a place that’s blessed.”

Keyla let the song run through once more, just to make absolutely sure that it was in fact Rose singing and to confirm that it was probably meant to be a sort of code, and then answered in a clear, deep, powerful voice.

“This quest it will not fail as long as they keep heart,

“So long as they hold true and keep their wits well firm,

“But they still need to learn about their cruel space, 

“If they are to see the world, their path forwards reaffirm!” 

He paused, waiting for Rose to answer back. 

It took a fair bit longer than he was expecting, but she did eventually answer.

“Careful to stay out of sight they must stay if they are to win,

“Unless they want to be found out by the vilest vermin!

“So they had best return to where they left to plan tonight, 

“And not get back to their brilliant schemes until after last light!” 

Martin and Keyla looked at each other, nodded, and began sneaking back down towards their hiding place. 

“...Until after last light!” Rose stopped singing, and then immediately doubled over coughing. By the fur, I need some water.

“Blimey, Rose, what in the ‘hellgates was all that about?” It was Rotnose, who’d snuck up on Rose unnoticed among all her singing. 

“Oh, just an old song my mum taught me.” Rose had to admit she almost liked Rotnose - insofar as somebeast could like a slaver - both because of his general amiability and because of the fact that, considering he was far from the sharpest knife in the drawer, he was rather easy to fool. “I thought it might set Brome at ease.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “Particularly since he’s starting to feel ill.”

“He is? Your brother?” Rotnose glimpsed down into the pit, where Brome and Felldoh were currently fast asleep. “Poor bloke. Hope he gets better.”

“I do too.” Rose nodded solemnly. “Especially since it’s looking like he’s coming down with…” She looked around with exaggerated fear. “No, you don’t want to know, sire.”

All the indignities Rose had suffered over the past few days were almost made worth it by the look on Rotnose’s face. “What is it? What’s your brother got? He’s not - not got the plague, ‘as he?” 

“Oh, no.” Rose leaned in. “Almost as bad, though. He’s got the Twinge .” 

“The Twinge?” Rotnose frowned and tried to think. “What’s that?”

“The Flurgy Twinge. It’s a terrible disease, truly terrible. Laid Brome and I’s hometown half dead? It’s why we came all the way here.” 

“But...but we don’t know for sure your brother’s got it, right? There’s still a chance it could just be the regular fever, right?”

“Yes. We’ll know soon enough, though, if... it starts.” Now what should ‘it’ be? I need something that I can use. 

“What’s ‘it’? Rotnose asked, trembling.

Stalling for time, Rose shook her head again. “It’s terrible, sire. When it starts the whole fort’ll know immediately, that’s for sure.” Aha! I’ve got it. She looked back down at Brome. “Yep, if poor old Brome truly has Flurgy Twinge he’ll soon begin screaming and raving at the top of his lungs. It’ll drive him mad, and the screaming might just drive us mad.”

“No!” Rotnose stepped back a few pawsteps. “I don’t want to go mad! Please”, he begged Rose, “don’t you know some spell or charm to make the sickness go away?” 

The poor Weasel looked so pitiable that Rose felt she had to sing something . “Well, there is this one that my father used to sing back when I got sick as a babe…

“You are in pain,

“I am troubled, 

“Struck dumb I gaze at the heavenly plain, 

“The new moon shines down on my face.

“Yet from my song you will grow stout,

“From my song you will grow tall.

“May you achieve a life of happy days, 

“May your feasts make bright the lives of all.”

Finished singing, Rose took a deep breath, wondering why that particular song had come to mind. Father hasn’t sung that in years, either to me OR to Brome. Didn’t think I remembered all of it.  

“That...that was beautiful. ” Rotnose sniffled and rubbed his eyes. “If that won’t drive away the Flurgy Twinge, nothing will!” The Weasel walked off, still sniffling. 

Feeling oddly comforted by the song, Rose turned back to the prison pit and studied Brome’s sleeping form. 

A pair of fierce eyes stared back up at her. “By the fur, Rose, you’re a wonderful singer. And an even better actor.” Felldoh snorted. “Is ‘Flurgy Twinge’ even an actual sickness.”

“How much of that did you overhear?”

Felldoh sat up and shrugged. “I think I woke up about the time Keyla started singing back to you? I can’t believe that Otter’s still alive and kicking.” 

“Good, so you were awake when I was telling Rotnose about all the shouting?”

“Aye.” Felldoh nodded and smiled. “That’s part of the escape plan, then?” 

“Exactly! I figure, if there’s any foolproof way of getting out instructions on how to dig a tunnel straight in here, that’s about as close to it as we can get.”

“Probably. I’ll tell Brome when he wakes, but you should probably get back to the stockade before somebeast catches you.” 

Rose nodded and started back towards the other slaves. As she passed by the corsairs’ longhouse she noticed that a candle seemed to be burning in Badrang’s window. That’s odd. Perhaps he’s planning the best way to make an example out of poor Felldoh and Brome. Too bad for him that’s never going to happen. 

Keyla sat next to the dying embers of their fire, thinking. They’d established communication with the inside, but that didn’t exactly equal them having a foolproof plan of escape. Still , he mused, small victories, I guess. Gazing back out at the ocean, its continued stillness broken only by the occasional wave gently pushing towards the shallows, Keyla was astounded to realize that he could consider anything a ‘small victory’ anymore. He’d thought that his years under Badrang’s lash, both at Marshank and as an oarslave before that, had burned that ability clean away, but somehow it had been re-kindled. Maybe it’s the two from Mossflower and their cheeriness. 

Sighing, Keyla decided to save the consideration of his newfound optimism for the morning and try to get some shut-eye. At least, as much shut-eye a beast could get when sleeping near a snorer like Grumm. I still feel a little uneasy about something, though, whenever I look at the waves...

Several hours later, just as the sun was beginning to rise over the horizon, Keyla woke suddenly and shot up, the realization dawning as to exactly why looking at the waves seemed so strange: he was looking at something that had no reason to exist. 

Uh oh. The entire night had been completely still, without even the slightest breeze, which begged the question: what was creating the waves? 

And why did they only appear in a single, tiny area of the ocean at a time? 

Because they’re not waves. They’re oar ripples. Bloody hellgates, how could I have forgotten? Nervously, staying completely silent apart from the constant drumbeat in his head, Keyla crept as slowly as he dared over the rocks in order to get a better look at the sea. 

Just over the horizon was a single ship, a massive, three-decked galleon. The ship’s immense sail was emblazoned with a great, black scarab, the sight of which chilled Keyla straight through to the bone. He’d seen it before, back during Badrang’s corsair days: it was the Seascarab, the personal ship of Badrang’s old partner in crime Tramun Clogg. Keyla’d sworn that the ship had been scuttled back around the time Badrang began his long overland march towards the northern coast, but apparently the mad old Stoat they’d left behind had managed to re-float and re-build it. That Clogg was heading straight for Marshank was a fact Keyla would be willing to wager his life on, and regardless of whether or not he intended to join Badrang or overthrow him Clogg’s presence made their escape all the more complicated. 

Taking one last look at the approaching ship, Keyla scurried back to camp. Martin was the lightest sleeper, he judged, so Keyla bent over the mouse and began furiously shaking him. 

“ Martin! ” He whispered. “ Martin! We’ve got a problem! ” 

“Huh? Keyla, what’s the matter?” Martin stood up and shook his head, trying to clear away the fog of sleep. 

“Our escape plan just got a lot harder.” Keyla led Martin over to where he’d been standing. “See that great galley out there? That’s the Seascarab , filled to the gills with at least two dozen extra pirates.”
Martin nodded. “I’ve heard of them - a few years ago they were poking around Salamandastron before Sunflash and the Long Patrol sent them fleeing back North.”

“So you know them being here’s not exactly good for us in the slightest.” The Seascarab dropped anchor as they watched, the crew swarming up on the deck like flies before disembarking in four longboats. Watching them approach, getting closer and closer until Keyla could make out the rotund outline of Clogg’s body, made the Otter feel sick and dizzy. 

Clogg and his crew strode right up to Marshank’s gates; although Keyla was unable to watch, the sound of Clogg’s cutlass banging against the wood was clear enough. Badrang must have admitted them, as Keyla heard the gates swing open and shut, after which silence descended back on the beach for an agonizingly long time. Then he heard a muffled roar from inside Marshank and steeled himself to take a look, wondering if perhaps Clogg and Badrang had come to blows. Maybe they’ve even killed each other, if we’re lucky. Keyla knew it was extraordinarily unlikely, and sure enough a few minutes after that the gates swung open again and Clogg’s group stormed back out. He watched them go, barely daring to breathe, until all four of the longships had returned to the Seascarab. 

“What was all that about?” Gonff had climbed up beside Keyla as the Otter was watching the ships row back across the bay. Keyla explained to him what he’d told Martin about earlier, and when he was done the Mouse winced. “Blimey. It’s just one thing after another up here, isn’t it? Guess this means it’s probably not safe for you and Rose to have another duet tonight.” 

“Aye.” Keyla shook his head. “I fear we’re going to have to put off escaping for a while.”

“Maybe,” Gonff suddenly looked past Keyla, back towards Marshank. “But, then again, maybe not - look.” 

Keyla whirled, and to his astonishment saw that the gate was opening once again. What had to have been three-quarters of the slaves in Marshank flooded out, escorted by at least half of Badrang’s horde, spreading out across the land towards the forest, towards the quarry, towards every structure or area Badrang had built up during his rule in order to remove anything Clogg’s crew could potentially use against Badrang. 

One group, consisting of Hilgorse, Tullgrew, and a few others, was being escorted along a path that went right past the rock Keyla and Gonff were currently hiding behind. 

Without a second thought, Keyla dove to the ground and pulled Gonff down with him. “ Don’t make a sound! ” He mouthed. “ Corsairs! ”

Eyes wide, Gonff nodded. The two waited in silence for the train to pass, listening to the shambling pawsteps of the slaves and the clinking mail of the corsairs, until all had safely passed in front of them. Hilgorse seemed to hesitate in front of the rock for half a minute, as though he knew Keyla and Gonff were hiding there, but the Hedgehog shambled on all the same. 

Once they were gone, Keyla peered out from behind the rock and noticed there was a rolled-up piece of paper lying amidst all the pawprints. Grabbing it, he and Gonff snuck back over to Martin and Grumm.

“Boi the furr!” Grumm shook his head as he served them all breakfast. “Oi’d’a thought that las’ bunch’d bein’ about ta see us!” 

“Same here.” Martin wiped the sweat off his brow. “That was far too close, you two. Why did you even stay up there, anyways?” 

“For whatever this is, I guess.” Keyla unfolded the letter and gave it to Martin. “It was probably dropped by a slave named Hilgorse.” 

Martin cleared his throat, and began to read. 

“Hilgorse,

“I fear the worst for Brome - it seems he has in fact developed Flurgy Twinge, and -” Martin stopped. “What the blazes is ‘Flurgy Twinge’?” 

“It’m be a sickness miz Rozer made up one day ta scare ‘er brother with.” Grumm scrutinized the letter, frowning. “Oi’d reckon this ‘ere’s some koind a code ta us!”

“Maybe.” Martin kept reading. “At the current speed, I suspect Brome will start screaming this afternoon. With lungs as loud as his, I’ve no doubt everybeast for miles will be able to hear it - even if they’re out in the rocks. Oh, how I wish I could escape his shouting! Perhaps you can find me some herb to either block up my ears or quiet my brother?”  

“So what she’s saying is that her brother’s going to yell at the top of his lungs sometime today? What’s he going to do, give us precise instructions on how to dig into Marshank?” Gonff suggested. 

“Basically, yes.” Martin nodded. “Although I doubt it’s going to be as simple as ‘dig this deep once you are this far away from the gate in this direction’. My guess it’s going to be mixed in a lot of meaningless yelling.” He looked back at the paper, frowning. “But what I don’t get is - what’s all this talk about herbs?”

“Oi reckon Rozer put that in as a trick, so if’n a poirate ‘appens ta see the note they reckon it’m be jus’ a remoinder to ‘Ilgorse.” 

“It’s a good plan,” Keyla started, “or at least it would be if it wasn’t for that lot.” He gestured back towards the Seascarab. “We’d best hope Rose knows what she’s doing, or we’re probably going to wind up slaves right alongside her.” 

Chapter Text

“You what ?” Felldoh hissed up at Rose. “Escape tomorrow? While Clogg and his lot are still just outside the fortress? Are you insane ?” 

“I thought it was safer than waiting until they come to some accord or one defeats the other.” Rose dropped a few scraps of bread down to him and Brome, who snatched one up and began eagerly nibbling away at it. “That way they’ll be half-focused on each other, which makes it a little easier for us.” 

“Maybe, but it also means we’ll be faced with two groups of vermin on high alert, each watching the same land we need to somehow sneak off.” Felldoh snapped his own morsel of bread in half. “Do you have any idea how bloody reckless it is, Rose?”

“This from the most reckless Squirrel in all Marshank.” Brome smirked as he wiped crumbs off his face. “I have to admit, Felldoh, I thought for sure you’d be all in favor of my sister’s plan. Since I’ve known you, it’s never been like you to sit back and urge caution.”

“Things change. That was before I got Purslane killed, and I’m not going to let anybeast else die because of me, Brome.” 

“Well, what’s done is done. I’ve given Hilgorse the message, so they’ll be expecting a shout tonight.” Rose shrugged. “And for all we know, they might not even start digging tonight - perhaps Martin or Keyla’s had the same idea as you about the dangers of starting too soon.” 

Before Felldoh could reply, the three of them heard the sound of approaching pawsteps. “You, Mouse! You’ve given the prisoners their breakfast, so why’re you still standing there yapping with ‘em?”

“I was just checking on my brother, Fleabane. Er, sire.” Rose replied with an icy stiffness. “Wanted to see how he’s faring.”

“Oh, right, he’s got that, what was it called? Twurgy Flinge?” Fleabane glanced down at Brome. “Rotnose was going on and on about a few nights ago. Barely slept because of you.”

“It’s ‘Flurgy Twinge’, sire.” Rose sighed, a tad overdramatically in Felldoh’s opinion. “Alas, as I was worried about, Brome’s got it bad. Soon the shouting’ll start.” 

Fleabane hmphed . “I still says the disease is nothing but a load of bollocks, but all the same, if the little brat does start yelling, try and keep it down, will you? Lord Badrang’s in a foul enough mood as it is.” 

“I understand, sire. All the same, it might be best if you and any of the creatures on guard tonight get something to block your ears with, just in case.”

“I’ll think about it. Now get back to...whatever you’re supposed to do after feeding the prisoners.” Without another word, Fleabane started back on his rounds.  

Rose waited for him to go before turning back to the two in the pit. “Right, then - I probably should get going.” She made a face. “I’ve got an entire cabinet full of plates to scrub clean, after all. But Brome? Just remember - Martin’s expecting you to start yelling this afternoon, so try and think of what to say by midday.” 

Felldoh choked back down every swear he’d ever learned and simply nodded, trying not to let his irritation with Rose show. “Is your sister always like this?” He finally asked Brome once the two of them were alone. 

Brome shook his head. “No, normally she’s a lot more cautious.” The little Mouse frowned up at the bars. “It’s Marshank, I bet. This fort and all the Corsairs are getting her all nervous.” 

“Then in that case, we best start coming up with what we need to say before her nervousness makes her come up with another mad scheme.” 

***

At the best of times, cleaning duty was unpleasant enough due to the disgusting nature of the messes left behind. Today, unfortunately, was not exactly the best of times. 

By some unlucky twist of fate she’d been partnered with a Bankvole by the name of Druwp, a creature whose bravery was in lacking only slightly less than actual height. Barkjon had warned her that the Bankvole had a reputation for informing on other slaves to Badrang, and sure enough Druwp wasted no time in starting to ask Rose several pointed questions about her loitering around the prison pit. Rose answered all of them as carefully as she could, and yet her forced partner still remained suspicious. 

“But isn’t it risky, spending so much time around a sick creature? What if he passes on his infection to you?” 

“He’s my brother, Druwp. That doesn’t matter.” 

“Even if it’s your life or his?”

“I’m not going to leave him to suffer, if that’s what you’re getting at.” 

Druwp studied her for a moment before returning to his cleaning. Watching him work, Rose suppressed a shudder. That one’d sell out his own family just to save hs skin, wouldn’t he? And yet, she pitied him; none of whatever the horrors Badrang had inflicted on the poor Bankvole had been his fault, after all. 

“What about you?” Rose asked. “Don’t you have somebeast you care about that much? A sibling? A parent? A wife?” 

Druwp’s answer was a mirthless laugh. “By the fur, you really are still new here, aren’t you? You saw Purslane’s death - that kind of softness never lasts for long.” 

Rose shook her head and turned away, both disgusted and saddened. The two continued their work in silence, Druwp brooding while Rose tried to plan, and when they were finished Druwp left Rose without so much as an acknowledgement or farewell. Are we going to end up like Druwp if we stay here, Brome? All cold and hard inside? It was all the more reason to escape, Rose thought as she watched Skalrag give Druwp some kind of order. 

***

The morning passed by slowly, as both within Marshank and without creatures waited for the yells to start. Martin, Keyla, Gonff, and Grumm slowly crept up to the fortress when the sun began to sink towards the Western sky, not speaking, listening for the slightest hint that something was going amiss. Felldoh and Brome quietly reviewed their preparations, making sure that all the information was present yet difficult to discern amongst all the rest, and Brome took a few breaths to ready himself for what he was about to do. Rotnose had managed to talk Fleabane, Findo, and Gurrad into cutting off parts of their tunics to use as earplugs, and so the four of them waited, still trying to figure out what exactly the ‘Flurgy Twinge’ actually was. Rose stood in a shaded position near the pit that commanded a view of Badrang’s quarters, watching in case the Stoat left whatever plans he’d been making since Clogg’s arrival to come and supervise his domain. 

And then, just as the first streaks of orange appeared at the very edges of the Western sky, it started. 

“AAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH! IT HURTS! IT HURTS! THE FEVER, IT HURTS! ROSE, FATHER, MOTHER, EVERYBEAST, IT HUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRTTTTTTSSSSSS!” 

Blimey, Felldoh thought as he stopped his ears to keep from going deaf, I’m not sure who’s the more dramatic one, Brome or his sister. 

“THE PAIN, THE PAIN! THE PAIN! MY PAWS, MY HEAD, MY STOMACH, EVERYTHING!” 

Rose dashed around from shadow to shadow, checking all the guards: each and every one of them had plugged their ears, so Rose sprinted over to the pit and gave Felldoh a paws-up. 

Felldoh grinned and turned to Brome, the absurdity of the situation burning away all his doubts. Now! He mouthed. 

“THE PAIN! THE PAIN! THE RAIN! THE BANE! I FEAR FOR MYSELF! FEAR! FEAR! HEAR! HEAR! HEAAAAAAAAR!” 

“You’m be a hearin’ that?” Grumm asked outside. “It’m be toime ta listen well!” 

OH, WHY DID I LEAVE TOWN? TOWN! FROWN! DOWN! DOWN! AW, THE FEVER HURTS, AW! PAW! PAW! PAW! PAW! PAW! PAW! PAW! PAW! PAW! PAW! PAW! CRAW! SAW! SAW! MA! WAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I HATE THE FEVER, I HATE IT! HATE HATE HATE! HATE! WEIGHT! MATE! GATE! OH, I WISH I WAS OUT OF THE GATE! GATE! EIGHT! TEN AND EIGHT! TWENTY AND EIGHT! THIRTY AND EIGHT! HATE! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! 

WHY? WHY, FEVER, WHY ME? OUUUUUCHHH! OUCH!! OUCH CROUCH MOUTH SOUTH! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OWWWWWWW!!!!!! OWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

GODOWNGODOWNGODOWN!!! DOWNPAW! FROWNPAW! CROWNPAW! THE FEVER, THE FEVER! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!  

MOUTHPAW! SOUTHPAW! RACE, FACE, ACE, PACE!!!!!!!! SOUTHPACE, SOUTHRACE!!!!! IT HUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTSSS!!!! OH, THE FEVER, THE FEVER! THIS BLASTED, PAINFULL, CRUEL, TORTUROUS, VILE, SCUMLIKE, FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Brome coughed, and immediately flopped onto his pack, panting. “F- Felldoh?” He panted. “Did - did I do it? Was tha - that loud...enough?” 

“Aye.” Felldoh unblocked his ears and was surprised to learn they still worked. “That was just fine, lad.” 

“Well,” Gonff managed to say after his ears stopped ringing, “ that was something that just happened, wasn’t it?” 

“Blooming hellgates, that Mouse can yell louder than an entire army.” Keyla winced. “I feel bad for anybeast too close that didn’t have anything to protect their ears, that’s for sure!” 

“So what exactly does it mean?” Martin looked at Grumm. “You’ve known Brome and Rose for a long time, right? Any ideas?”

“Hmmmm…” Grumm tapped a claw against his cheek. “Oi wonder - did you’m ‘ear how many toimes Brome said ‘paw?”

“He said it a lot.” Martin thought back. “Wasn’t there that one stretch where he said it a good number of times in a row? Maybe sixty times?”

“I counted sixty-two, personally. He said ‘downpaw’ after that, right? Does that mean we’re supposed to dig down sixty paws’ worth?”

“The pit wasn’t that deep when I left, Gonff, but I suppose they might’ve enlarged it. What do you think, Grumm? Are we on the right path?” 

“Burr aye, an oi reckon too tha’ oi’m be needing ta dig aboot there.” He pointed at a spot off in the distance. 

“Over there?” Martin asked. “Why?”

“Brome was a-sayen ‘paces’ an’ a bunch a numbers: eight ‘n ten, eight ‘n twenny, an’ so oon.”

“Oh, I get it!” Gonff clapped his paws. “And since we know that the pit’s not really the farthest off from the middle, we just need to figure out which number he meant as the real one.” 

“My guess is either ‘eight and twenty’ or ‘eight and ten’.” Keyla suggested. “More likely the first of those two.” 

“Alright, I think we’ve got everything we need.” Martin held up a rock and a small piece of sea coal. “Let’s see here, we know that we have to dig about sixty-sixty two paws deep, and twenty-eight paces to the South of the gate.” 

“Hang on,” Gonff cut in, “how do we know for sure it’s South?”

“That was the only direction Brome mentioned, at least if I’m remembering correctly.” Martin held up the rock to the other three. “Am I missing anything?”

Grumm took the rock and looked it over. “Cor, this’m be a bit deep, innit? ‘Salmost seven Mice deep.” 

“Aye, it is, but they may have made it that deep in order to make it harder for creatures to climb out of.” 

Gonff realized something. “Or we’re looking at this all wrong.”

“Eh? How d’ya reckon, Mizzer Gonff?” 

“So far we’ve been reckoning off the paw and pace sizes of adult mice, haven’t we? But Brome’s, uh, not exactly an adult from the way Rose was describing him, now is he?”

They were all silent. “...So about half the size, then?” Martin ventured.

“I suppose? Works as good as anything, I guess.” Keyla replied. 

“Right, then. That means only about thirty paws deep and fourteen paces? Give or take?” 

“Tha’s good enuff for moi.” Grumm cracked his knuckles. “So howzabout I start a-tunnelin’ right after supper?” 

***

Rose walked back towards the stockade, almost ready to laugh. They’d gotten the message out, and without a hitch! She could almost taste the fresh air, the salt, almost see Martin standing there with those grey eyes of his… 

They were almost free, and the second they were she and Brome could bring everybeast back to Noonvale. I wonder if they’ll like it there? Martin and Felldoh and all the rest? 

The paw took her in the back of the head. Rose never saw it, just felt the heavy thud , saw her vision swim and flash before her, and felt herself topple over as the world went dark. 

Chapter Text

Verdauga wasn’t sure where he was. He thought it wasn’t Castle Mortspear, unless somebeast had considerably renovated the place, but where else it could be he had no idea. 

Sighing, Verdauga rubbed his temples and tried to remember. Where else have I lived? Besides Mortspear there was that village up in the mountains, and then after that there was that place in Mossflower… What was it called again? Ko-something? Ko...Ko… It was on the tip of his tongue, he swore, but all the same the name eluded him. 

A young Wildcat entered the room. He was tall and lithe and looked rather like Verdauga did, which was perhaps why he seemed so oddly familiar. “Young one,” he asked the Wildcat, “what castle is this? All of a sudden, I cannot seem to remember.” 

The Wildcat looked sad for some reason. “This is Kotir, father.” He replied quietly.

“Kotir? Ah, yes, how could I have forgotten.” Verdauga frowned. “But if you called me ‘father', then that makes you… ah!” A tear rolled down the old Wildcat’s cheek. “By the fur, Gingivere, I can’t believe I forgot you for a moment. I’m so sorry, son, I don’t know how I could’ve.” 

Even in his semi-confused state, Verdauga could tell that the grin on his son’s face was completely forced. “It’s alright, I know how you’ve been lately. At least you didn’t call me Ungatt this time.” 

“Oh? Did I?” He chuckled softly. “Now that’s something I’m glad I forgot.” 

“I brought you breakfast, father, straight from the kitchens.” Gingivere walked over and gently set down a plate of Risotto on his father’s side table. “I’m sorry there isn’t much more than Mushrooms, but I ordered the lot of our meat and vegetables down to the Loamhedge camp.” 

“That was good of you, putting the other creatures of this land before yourself.” Not that Verdauga could remember what ‘The Loamhedge Camp’ actually was , save that it was important for some reason. 

Cutting up the food to eat was surprisingly difficult, but eventually with Gingivere’s help Verdauga was able to manage. “So,” he asked between bites, “how is that Wildcat girl?”

“You mean Sandingomm?” Gingivere blushed. “She’s...well. Been spending a lot of time with the Loamhedge mice lately, trying to help where she can.”

“That sounds like your mother.” Verdauga smiled. “Mina’s always been - was always the type to rush about aiding less fortunate creatures. That’s what I loved about her, truth be told.” He waved a paw. “But enough ramblings from an old Wildcat, especially one that is still in his nightclothes.” 

“Will you be needing help with that?” Gingivere asked. 

“I’m certain you have more important duties to attend to?” 

“Well...nothing that couldn’t be delayed.” Gingivere took a step back, discomforted by his father’s sudden anger. “But if you’re really worried about it, I can summon somebeast from the castle to -” 

“You will not ,” Verdauga snapped, “as I am still perfectly able to dress myself.”

“Oh, um, alright.” Ears flat against his head and his tail tucked under his legs, Gingivere turned and left. 

Verdauga stared after him, seething from the anger and indignity at being treated like a child, before reaching over and grabbing the robes somebeast had laid on his bed before he’d woken up. The old Wildcat struggled to put them on, his paws even more clumsy than during breakfast, and by the time he managed to get everything on he’d already half forgotten what had made him so angry in the first place. 

“By the fur, you’re hitting the books earlier than usual. I had figured you’d still be up with your father for at least another hour.” 

Gingivere looked up from a ponderous history of some far-away island called Helskerland to see Bella leaning against a bookshelf, looking oddly winded. “I was dismissed, and thought I would come down and start researching.”  

“What do you mean, ‘dismissed’?” 

“We were done.” Gingivere made it clear that there would be no further discussion. “Although, I have to admit that I shouldn’t have started with this book in particular.”

“Why?” Bella leaned over. “Surely it can’t be that boring.” 

“Speak for yourself. It’s all ‘we imported this amount of goods from that mountain, the sea currents made it hard to get ships out because of that, and the occasional protest from some segment of the populace or another.” 

Bella thumbed through the book. “What about this? Look - ‘ a Squirrel in from Southsward took ill. Although it was the height of summer, the Squirrel claimed he was chilled to the bone. Any attempts to get him a drink were made difficult by his inability to swallow more than the tiniest amounts’. ”

“Well, that certainly sounds like Dryditch. I wonder if it says anything about a cure.” Gingivere kept reading. “ Although we tried blisterwort, willow bark, opium, and snakeroot, none of them worked’  - well that’s good to know, I guess, we can save Amber mutilating that willow tree her father planted - ‘ and the disease has continued to spread throughout the Lower City.’ Blimey, looks like they had a rougher time than we’re having.” Gingivere looked through the next few pages, trying not to wince at the rapidly inflating casualty numbers and making note of all the failed cures, until something caught his eye only ten pages or so from the end of the book. ‘ We have found a cure, although it is not a pleasant one: the Water of the Lord seems to almost flush the Dry Fever straight from the body. ” 

Gingivere looked up at Bella. “What’s the ‘Water of the Lord’?” 

“I’ve never been down that way, so I have to admit I haven’t the foggiest.” 

“Are there any other books from this Helskerland place?” 

“Maybe.” Bella walked over to a stack of books she’d borrowed from Abbess Germaine. “Loamhedge was far closer to the Southlands than Mossflower is, so maybe our Abbey friends got one.” Opening up a large, weathered book, Bella frowned. “Oh blast, I forgot - it’s all written in Loam Script.” 

“You can’t read it? I thought you’d been out that way before.”

“Gingivere, that was years and years ago. I’m not sure how well I still know it…”

Gingivere watched Bella move a finger over the book, trying to sound out all the words. That’s odd, he thought, her finger looks like it’s shaking a little.  “Can you make anything out?” 

Bella shook her head. “Not enough - I’m having to make too many guesses. I’ll just have to take this down to Germaine and have her transcribe it. Assuming that there’s even anything of value in this book. It might not have anything to do with Helskerland at all.” 

Gingivere looked back at the one book they’d managed to find, flipping back to the cover as an idea struck him. “How about this?” He tapped an image on the center of the cover, a large Fox in the middle of an Argent shield. “This looks like their Coat of Arms, so if there’s a book or a chapter or something dealing with them we’ll probably find this symbol.” Gingivere grabbed a couple books out of Bella’s paws. “Here, I’ll look too.” 

They sat in silence, thumbing through the pages of books both ancient and new, looking for some hint of the Fox. Every so often, Gingivere found himself looking up and stealing a look or two at Bella. Is it just me, or was her paw kind of...warm? And she’s still breathing a lot harder than normal. A tiny bit of dread settled in Gingivere’s stomach, but he forced himself to keep working. The page he was looking at had a small map of the southern lands under what looked like a chapter heading. As luck had it, emblazoned above an island was the Fox and Shield. “Hey, Bella, I found something!” He gave her the book. “What does the large text say?”

“Hmm… I think it says “130-140 LY? LY means ‘Loamhedge Years’, by the way.” 

“I guessed as much.” Gingivere looked back at the Helskerland book. “Can you see if there’s any section that gives the equivalent years in Helskerland’s calendar?”

Bella turned the pages. “Aha! Looks like 89 Helsker Calendar is the same as 130 Loamhedge Years’. Is that before your book, or after?”

“After - looks like the Drydtich plague hit them in 71, Helsker Calendar, so if there’s anything in your book on the fever it might have some reference to their treatment.” 

“Well, from the looks of it, there definitely was an outbreak in 89.” Bella pointed at a word. “These word here means ‘sickness’, and there’s a few right afterwards that speak of cold and difficulty breathing, so it definitely seems like they were hit by Dryditch.” 

“What about a cure?” 

“Give me a minute, translating is slow going. There’s definitely a reference to ‘water’ here, but the word order’s a bit messed up.” Bella studied the passage. “I don’t see anything that looks like ‘lord’, or ‘king’, or any other type of leadership role, but it does say something about ‘water of Moles’.” 

“A Mole actually was the lord of Helskerland during the plague in 71, so it’s probably referring to the same thing. Think it’s some kind of spring they have up in the castle, maybe?”

“That would make sense.” Bella looked further down the page. “Hold on, it says something here: “luck...Moles...on a ship...we got much Mole’s Water from them…”

“So it’s something that can come from any Mole…” Gingivere rubbed his head with a paw. “You don’t think it’s blood, do you?”

“I doubt it.” Bella shook her head. “If Helskerland was in the business of sacrificing its lord to get their blood, there’d be some reference to that somewhere in here, or we’d have heard of it from hearsay.”

Tales of a nation repeatedly using their lord as a blood sacrifice were the sort of thing that would spread from place to place, Gingivere knew. But then what? He racked his brains, trying to think. It’s probably not spit, because that would take far too much to produce enough for a citywide cure, even if they DID have an entire ship of Moles, but if not that then…  

“Bella,” he asked slowly, “the expression ‘making your water’ is universal, right?” 

“Mostly, but what does that have to do with…” Bella did a double take. “No.”

Gingivere nodded. “Uh huh. It seems so. If it’s not blood, and it’s not spit, and it’s definitely something that comes from a mole, then that only leaves -”

They stared at each other. “So...you’re saying…” Bella replied slowly. “That the main ingredient the Helskers used for their Dryditch cure... is Mole urine? ” 

“Yes, Bella.” Gingivere struggled mightily to keep a straight face. “The best way to cure Dryditch fever is to drink Mole piss.” 

It was quite difficult for either of them to process. “Right, ah, I think I’m going to see if there are any other ingredients.” Bella looked down at the book and started reading, but after a 

while looked up again with a frown. “Blast it, I can’t tell. I don’t know enough words, although judging by some of the few I do know our theory about Mole urine is spot-on.”

“Why is the book in a different language from what the Loamhedge Mice speak, anyways?” Gingivere asked, mostly to change the subject.

“Because Loamscript is a classical language.” Bella sighed. “Oftentimes, Abbeys like Loamhedge continue to put things in classical languages, partially for continuity’s sake. I won’t lie, though, it certainly makes things difficult to not have it in the language we all use.” 

“Think we could get Germaine to transcribe it for us? It would probably be faster - not to mention more accurate - than muddling through as we’ve been.” Not to mention that maybe we’ll find out we’re mistaken about the whole ‘Mole urine’ thing. 

“Probably, although -” Bella half-stumbled over to a chair and sat down. “I’m going to have to ask you to go to her without me. For some reason I’m rather tired all of a sudden.” 

“I understand.” Gingivere faked a smile. “And besides, it’s high time I visit the camp again, isn’t it?” 

Gingivere plucked the book out of Bella’s paws, taking care to touch as little of her fur as he could, and immediately scurried out of the room. 

***

“Hold on, did I hear you right?” Germaine stared at Gingivere with her mouth completely agape. “You did just say ‘mole urine’, my lord?”

“Aye, I did.” Gingivere held out the book. “From what Bella was able to translate, that’s one of the main ingredients. We weren’t able to figure out any of the others, so we figured it best to bring this to somebeast that actually can read this blooming thing and transcribe it into something more accessible.” 

Germaine took the book. “I understand. But where is Bella? If she was part of this discovery, why did she not come as well?”

Gingivere looked around, making sure that nobeast could hear them, before stepping closer to Germaine. “Because she’s taking ill,” he explained in an undertone, “and the symptoms I’ve seen match up with the early stages.” 

“Truly?” Germaine put a paw to her mouth. “Then I need to work fast. But what about you, my lord, are you…”

“I don’t think so. But if I am, then this book probably holds the answer to curing it.”

“I’ll get started right away, my lord.” Germaine bowed. “And what are you going to do?”

“The first thing I’m going to do is send Chibb to Salamandastron with a letter. Sunflash deserves to know about his mother. Then,” he shook his head and chuckled, “I guess I need to gather up a bunch of jars and distribute them to every Mole in Mossflower.” Oh, they’re going to LOVE that. And I’m already getting more and more glares every time I set paw outside Kotir, I’ve noticed. 

Making a note to increase security both around Kotir and the Loamhedge camp, Gingivere bade Germaine farewell and started back towards home. 

Chapter Text

That Chibb would show up one day was something Sunflash completely expected; it had been quite a while since he’d heard from his mother, and so when Lupin first came into his study and announced that the Robin had come Sunflash assumed that it was a notice that Bella was journeying back West to Salamandastron. 

Chibb’s presence was expected. The news he brought was another matter entirely. Dryditch, of all the things. Bloody hellgates. 

“How far has the inspection spread?” Sunflash asked.

“So far it’s only spread to isolated cases outside of the Loamhedge camp, but that was a few days ago.” Chibb shook his head. “I can’t say for sure that the situation hasn’t gotten worse since then.”

“I pray that things may be better.” Personally, though, Sunflash doubted it. The world was rarely so kind. “How fared Gingivere and my mother when you left?”

“They were…” Chibb hesitated. “Both healthy. Busy trying to find a cure, and they’d already found one ingredient.”

“Oh? By Jove, that’d be great!” Lupin grinned. “What is it?”

To Sunflash’s eyes, it seemed that Chibb flushed a deep red. “Well, it’s, uh, mole piss.” The Robin said the last two words in the tiniest voice imaginable. 

“Excuse me, did I hear you right? Did you say bleedin’ Mole Piss ?” Lupin asked. 

Chibb nodded miserably. 

“Well, ah, that...certainly explains why you’ve winged it all the way out here.” Lupin shook her head. “Blimey. Hoping we have some other cure, wot?” 

“Do you?” Chibb asked.

“Unfortunately, we do not. Unless there’s something in my grandfather’s library.” Sunflash eyed Chibb. “But enlisting our aid in finding a cure wasn’t the only reason, was it?” He raised a paw. “Don’t bother trying to deny it - I spent half my childhood in the company of liars, so I know how to tell when somebeast isn’t telling the truth. So then, what’s the other reason?” 

Chibb looked over at Lupin. “Beg pardon, but Gingivere said I was to speak to Sunflash and Sunflash only about the… the other matter.” 

“Not an option, matey. I stay.”

“It’s for Sunflash, and Sunflash only. The way I see it, he can let you know if he wants, but you won’t hear it from my beak.” 

“Listen, you barmy little rotter -”

“Enough, Lupin. Let us talk in private.” Sunflash got to his footpaws and opened the door to his bedroom. “Chibb, follow me.”

Chibb hopped after Sunflash, leaving Lupin behind to glare daggers at the Robin’s back.

“Alright then,” Sunflash began the second he closed the door, “Which one has Dryditch? Gingivere? Verdauga? My mother?”

“How did you know?”

“You hesitated earlier saying they were all fine. So, which is it? Or is it all of them?”

“When I left, the only one that had caught Dryditch was, well, your mother.” 

“I see.” Sunflash forced the screaming building in his throat back down and nodded. “Thank you for telling me that in private.” Exhaling, Sunflash covered his face with a paw. “By the fur, this is… and so soon after my grandfather…”

“I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, m’lord. Is there anything I can do?”

Sunflash thought about it. Part of him wanted to rush to his mother’s bedside, but another part of him knew that doing so would be worse than useless. Turning, he gazed out the window. 

“Chibb?”

“Yes?”

“How much strength do you have left?”

“A fair bit, why?” 

“I need you to find Skarlath for me. He should be on patrol somewhere to the North of here. Bring him back - he may know something from all his travels around the land. In the meantime, I will speak to the Long Patrol about what is happening.”

Augmented in recent months by the arrival of several wandering bands of Hares from the South, the number of enlistees in the Long Patrol had risen to about three hundred and fifty, large enough that the benches in Salamandastron’s great hall were starting to look rather crowded. It was just as well then, Sunflash mused, that the Dryditch hadn’t reached any of them yet. 

Once the last Hare was seated, Sunflash cleared his throat and stood to address the hall. 

“By now, many of you are likely wondering why it is that we have had no communication with Mossflower these past few months, and anybeast who noticed the Robin Chibb earlier is presumably curious about that as well. These two matters are related, and it is not for a good reason.”

“Is it true, then?” A young Hare shouted from the leftmost bench. “They’re saying down by the docks that the poor chaps are coming down with the blinkin’ plague!” 

“Unfortunately, that is not far from the truth. Chibb brought word that Mossflower is currently suffering from an epidemic of the Dryditch Fever. My mother is among the afflicted.”

The chamber immediately erupted with shouts, protests, and various entreaties to help the Woodlanders, and rather than try and make a fruitless attempt at calming the mood Sunflash simply let the wave wash over him and run its course. 

“I know, I know.” He finally spoke again once a semblance of calm had returned to the hall. “There is nothing that I want more than to go right now and bring everything we have to Mossflower, but if we did so we would be worse than useless, simply adding to the victim count.”

“So then what?” Another Hare yelled, a young maid further down the bench from the earlier shouter. “You’re not proposing we just up and leave ‘em to snuff it, are you?” 

“Not in the slightest, but we have to face facts: if we wish to help them, the best road does not lie through Mossflower itself. Chibb tells me that Gingivere and his council are fast at work seeking a cure, and although they’ve managed to find one ingredient they are still short of their goal. Our best course of action is to join that search. And so, I ask you all: who, in all their readings, discussions by the docks, wanderings, or any other source of information, heard even the slightest whisper of a cure for Dryditch?” 

The great hall was silent for an agonizingly long time, long enough for Sunflash to start dreading that he would have to pore his way through the mess of confused papers that passed for Salamandastron’s archives, until at long last a voice piped up.

“Um, m’lord, I may have heard a yarn from my mum a while ago.” It was the same Haremaid from earlier. 

“Oh? Step forward, young one, and tell me your name.” 

She complied and gave a little bow. “I’m called Coriander Begonia Longear, m’lord, but most blokes just call me Cori.” 

“Well then, Cori, what is this ‘yarn’ your mother told you?”

“It’s just a story, but supposedly there’s this mountain off in the north that’s home to this one type of flower that can be used as a cure, eh wot?”

“Come t’ think of it, I heard something similar ages ago.” Lupin looked at Sunflash. “Can’t say I can remember where the dashed mountain is, or what it’s even supposed to be named.”

“Cori? Would you happen to know the name of our mystery mountain?”

Cori shook her head. “I don’t, just that it’s got ‘ice’ in the name.” She frowned. “Ice? Nice? Mice? Trice?” 

“Are you talking about Icetor?” Sunflash heard beating wings, looked up, and saw Skarlath descending from the massive window at the front of the great hall. “That’s definitely far in the North.” 

“Cori?”

“I’m not sure...Wait, that sounds right, by Jove!” 

“Excellent.” Sunflash nodded and turned to Lupin. “Captain, please go to my chambers and retrieve my grandfather’s map of the Northlands.”

“Aye, my lord!” Lupin dashed off as Skarlath and Chibb flew down to the floor, the Kestrel landing to Sunflash’s left on the dais while the Robin flitted over to one of the benches. 

“I have to say”, Skarlath muttered once he settled into his chosen place, “of all the places for this mystical cure to supposedly be, Icetor isn’t exactly the place I would have liked.”

“Oh? Why? Surely you’re not afraid of the cold.” Sunflash smiled. 

Skarlath ignored the remark. “I may be mistaken, and I hope I am, but if I’m remembering the land right Icetor is perilously close to Tsarmina’s last known location.”

Sunflash’s smile died. “Oh. That may prove...difficult.” Just then, Lupin returned with Boar’s map. Walking over to the nearest bench, she shooed a few Hares out of the way before unfolding the map onto the table. “Icetor is right up here, my lord.” Pointing at a mark towards the topmost part of the map, Lupin called back up to Sunflash. 

Walking over to take a look, Sunflash glanced from the part of the map labeled ‘Icetor’ and then down towards the part labeled ‘Ruddaring’, which on the maps he consulted showing the areas around Salamandastron was typically near the far North. Here, it was the Southernmost place identified on the map. By the fur, Icetor really IS far away, isn’t it? 

Chibb hopped over and studied the map as well. “Blimey, that’s quite the trek. Are you sure it’s worth it?” 

“I’d wager yes.” Lupin said. “The name ‘Icetor’ is really ringing a bell, now that I stop and think about it, especially as something related to those cracking flowers.” She looked over at Chibb. “ And especially considering what the cure you Woodlanders are making comes from.”

“Why?” One of the Hares asked. “What’s in it?”

“Never you mind, Wother. Just know that it’s, uh, not exactly the tastiest thing ever.” 

“Regardless, it’s probably worth it to have more than one treatment for Dryditch available.” Skarlath had hopped over as well. “Safer, right?” 

“Most likely.” Sunflash nodded. “How many should we send, Lupin?”

“I’d say no more than Ten, my lord - we’ll need to move fast if we’re like to get the flowers to Mossflower in time to save anybeast, eh wot?” 

“Ten it is, then. Would you be willing to serve as a guide, Skarlath?”

“Aye. Anything you need me to do I will, mate. You know that.” 

“And will you be wanting me to go with them and command them?” Lupin asked. 

Sunflash shook his head. “Not this time. I will go myself, and you will hold Salamandastron for me in the meantime.” 

“Sunflash - I mean, my lord - is that really wise? Things are rather dangerous up there, donchaknow.” 

“I’m well aware, Lupin. I will go all the same.” Sunflash’s paw slammed down on the map, landing not too far off from the area where Boar had died nearly four years ago. “I will not sit idly by and let my mother perish, or any other innocent creature in Mossflower. Not while I have the strength to do something about it.” 

The very next morning, before the sun was even fully risen, they were off. 

Chapter Text

Tsarmina watched Swartt’s horde train with the creatures they’d found at Mortspear’s castle, a loose assortment of Rats and Weasels that called themselves the ‘Grey Horde’ - a highly pretentious name, Tsarmina thought, considering there were a whopping fifty of them. At the moment, all fifty of the Grey Horde had formed up into two neat lines of spearbeasts and were readying themselves to take a charge from Swartt’s creatures. 

“First rank, advance!” She heard Aggal’s deep voice bellow out. The first rank of Swartt’s horde duly charged straight ahead in a tight formation, shouting their battle cry at the top of their lungs, but just as they were about to fall upon the Grey Horde the first line of the latter dropped their shields into a wall and let the charging creatures bounce harmlessly off. Then, with practiced efficiency, the second rank sprung forwards and punched with their own weapons through newly-made openings in the shield wall, forcing Swartt’s creatures back. 

It was just as well that they were only fighting with staves, Tsarmina mused. Had they been fighting with honest-to-goodness weapons as Roga had initially wanted, Swartt would’ve just lost himself a good twenty raiders. 

Absurd as their name is, they’re certainly skilled enough at fighting. Tsarmina was especially glad to see that the Grey Horde specialized in shields and heavier armor, something that was almost completely absent in Swartt’s own horde. 

Roga slid up next to Tsarmina and bowed. “My Queen, I am honored that you joined us in the courtyard today. I trust that my Grey Horde is performing to your standards?”

Tsarmina nodded. “Better than I would have hoped.” In fact, their entire stay in her grandfather’s old castle had been for more pleasant than she would have expected - the Grey Horde kept all the fires well-fed, the bedchambers she and Swartt had commandeered were surprisingly airy, and the food, although not remotely as high-quality as what she’d enjoyed back in Kotir, was certainly several pawsteps above what she’d gotten used to eating during her exile. “Your hospitality these past weeks has been most appreciated.” 

“The honor is all ours, My Queen. Anything for the granddaughter of King Mortspear.” Roga looked around. “But where is Lord Swartt this morning? I am surprised he has no desire to oversee his own forces in their training.” 

Tsarmina glanced up at the window denoting Swartt’s bedchambers. “The old Ferret’s probably studying your maps again.” Although the vast majority of his horde was enjoying the chance to stop marching and rest, Swartt himself had only grown more and more restless as time went on, hinting repeatedly that he thought it high time they moved on. “Although what he hopes to find, I have no idea.” She looked back down at Roga. “Say, what is around here, anyways?” 

“Perhaps we could go to the battlements? It would be the best way to show you.” 

“Yes, very well.” The two started off, Tsarmina occasionally nodding to one creature or another as they knelt before her. By the fur, I’ve missed being around creatures that know how to respect their betters. Roga led Tsarmina up a staircase to the castle’s Eastern wall, which overlooked a sizeable valley filled with rivers and forests broken up by the occasional crofter’s village. Looking over the valley in the crisp morning air, with the sun just peeking over the mountains on the other side, Tsarmina had to admit that it was easy to see why her grandfather had chosen this particular site for his castle. 

Gingivere would love this place , she thought. Tsarmina spared a moment’s ache for her brother before focusing back on the view in front of her. Best not think of him. Although perhaps once Martin’s dead I can convince him that the little furball led him astray, and then bring him here for a visit. 

“All these lands once owed King Mortspear fealty,” Roga explained, “and contributed both foods and creatures to his rule. Now, our writ is only honored in those villages right at the base of this mountain, and even then merely when we show up in force.” 

“Would the rest be easy to re-subjugate?” Tsarmina asked. “A little blood and plunder would stave off some of Swartt’s restlessness, she judged, not to mention allowing her to get a better feel for the Grey Horde’s abilities in actual combat. 

“Some parts, perhaps.” Roga pointed to the other side of the valley’s largest river, where amongst the trees Tsarmina could see a wooden longhall. “But most of what you see belongs to the inhabitants of that longhall - a family of rebel Pine Martens that swept in and liberated everything north of Bruach a’ Greadaidh.” 

“Where?” 

Roga indicated a stony hill a short ways into the valley. So they lost about two-thirds of the place. Plenty of areas ripe for subjugation. 

Tsarmina gave the valley one last look before returning to the castle. 

As Tsarmina had expected, Swartt was in his bedchambers studying a map of the valley, tracing the outline of some river or another with his paw. The Ferret looked up upon hearing her pawsteps and frowned. “Tsarmina. I assumed you would still be down in the yard with your Grey Horde.” 

Aye, Ferret, that’s right. They’re mine, and mine alone. “I watched until I learned all I needed to know, after which I thought it best to come and speak with you about, ah, your maps.”

“Really?” Swartt raised an eyebrow. “That seems rather unlike you. But, as luck would have it, today I was actually looking over a map of the valley below us: I think it’s high time we let my horde and yours get a taste of blood.” 

That’s convenient. Tsarmina smiled. “Ironically, I came here to propose exactly that; I spoke with Roga earlier, and according to him most of the valley was -”

With a raised paw, Swartt cut her off. “Conquered by a family of Pine Martens, I know. Scraw’s scouts reported in last night.” The Ferret snorted. “Although ‘conquered’ isn’t the right word - more like ‘liberated’, since they seem to be putting out the insane idea that they are merely the first among equals.” 

“That sounds like my father.” Tsarmina’s smile morphed into a wild grin, too amused by the parallels to take issue with Swartt’s disrespect. “Then perhaps teaching them a lesson’s fate, a preview of what will happen when we return to Mossflower.” 

“Precisely.” Swartt mirrored her grin. “My horde will relish the chance - they’ve gone too long without a proper sack.” 

“It’s settled then. We leave first thing in the morning in two days’ time.” Tsarmina declared.

***

Departing the castle, Tsarmina had to admit Swartt had the right of it; although both Swartt’s horde and the Grey Horde marched in silence, the sense of excitement, anticipation, and bloodlust emanating from everybeast was all too palpable. Perhaps Swartt was right for once. Perhaps we HAVE lingered here too long and done too little. This day would change that, she hoped. 

The first hamlet they came across, a collection of twenty houses huddled next to a sizeable field of barley, was friendly according to Roga, and it was a good thing that he’d appraised her of that fact ahead of time - otherwise she would have likely cut down the Mouse that came to greet them the second she laid eyes on him.

“Hallo, Roga! What’re ye doin’ back down here so soon?” Looking over their group, the Mouse’s gaze landed on Tsarmina and his jaw fell open. “Oooh, ‘at the Wildcat ye lot’ve been talkin’ aboot fer the past few weeks?” 

“Aye.” Roga nodded solemnly. “You speak to Lady Tsarmina Greeneyes, heir to Mortspear of old. Lady Tsarmina, this here is Stoughton, Provost of this hamlet.” 

Stoughton sunk into a bow. “Am honored by yer presence, y’grace. Me an’ mine ‘re at yer disposal.” 

“Thank you, Stoughton.” Tsarmina forced herself to smile at the Mouse. “We strike north to retake this valley from those who stole it from Roga, and would appreciate any help you can give us.” 

Stoughton nodded. “That Pine Mar’en? Aboot time somebeast took out ‘at arrogant sot.” The Mouse spat on the ground. “Sad t’ say, I dinnae got beasts t’elp run the bastard away, but here’s whit we’ve learned aboot his defenses.” 

For the most part, the Pine Marten’s longhouse was fairly lightly defended: there was only a small ditch surrounding the property and a single watchtower directly ahead, and a low, stone fence some ways away. 

“The fools’ unner th’ impression ‘at wi’ all th’ villages north o’ here unner his control ‘at he’s nae gotta worry aboot a serious attack.” Stoughton explained. “So once ye take oot th’ peedie li’il army he’s drummed up ye’ll have nae trouble wi’ th’ Longhouse isself.” 

Swartt had pushed his way to the front of march during the explanation, and upon hearing the last bit he smiled. “By the fur, it’s going to be easier than I thought if that’s true. How many creatures does he have?”

“Cannae say for sure, but I ‘ken less n’ a hunner.” 

“Easy pickings, then.” Tsarmina looked off in the distance, towards where she knew the Longhouse was situated, and imagined it burning. The thought made her feel strangely giddy. “Thank you, Mou - I mean, Stoughton. Once we move south again, you will be richly rewarded.” Much as the idea of rewarding a Mouse stuck in Tsarmina’s craw, she had to admit that Stoughton seemed clever and loyal enough to deserve it. Moreso than the idiots I had to deal with back in Mossflower. 

They began marching again shortly afterwards. The villages they passed through after Stoughton’s were universally less-welcoming, and the horde was greeted with nervous looks instead of open arms and information, but Tsarmina didn’t care; such fear was the proper reaction from low creatures such as them, after all. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder: was anybeast secretly loyal to the Pine Marten and reporting their movements? 

It seemed likely to be the case, as right before they crossed the stony hill Roga had indicated back on the ramparts the hordes were greeted with a ramshackle-looking militia of a hundred or so creatures. 

Tsarmina cleared her throat. “I am Tsarmina Greeneyes, rightful Queen of this valley. I have to come to return these lands to their proper status as subjects of Castle Mortspear, and in the process cast down the usurper Pine Marten.” 

“Which’d be me.” Dressed no more opulently than his militia, the Pine Marten in question emerged from the front lines and glared over at Tsarmina. “Sorry, lassie, but A cannae let ye do that. Ye’ve no right t’ make everybeast here yer slaves.”

“And whyever not?” Tsarmina replied. “Is it not the right of the strong to rule the weak? Is that not exactly what you’re doing right now, what you did when you stole these lands from Roga and his loyal creatures?” 

“Aye, A’ll cop t’ that.” The Pine Marten held up a paw. “But: there’s one big difference between oos. A dinnae rule t’ improve me own lot alone, but fer the good o’ all creatures.” 

“You sound like my brothers, and just like them you will fall before me.” Smirking, she tilted her head back. “And now, I will show you why. Grey Horde, ADVANCE! ” 

Tsarmina melted behind the line of heavily-armored creatures as they charged, yelling curses at the top of their lungs, shields held up and out. Taken by surprise, the first rank of the Pine Marten’s militia was unable to respond in time and were rapidly pushed back, spears all but useless. The scent of blood was soon in the air as the Grey Hordes cut through the militia as they struggled to retain their rapidly-collapsing formation, the shields of the Hordes ringing as enemy spears clanged against them to no avail, and all the while Swartt’s horde stood back, waiting.

Finally, the militia’s center broke. The Grey Hordes plowed in, demolishing the first rank, then the second, while the survivors and the flanks flew to the right and the left in an attempt to either encircle the Grey Hordes or simply get out of the way. 

It was then that, just as Swartt had drilled them, the horde waiting in the wings charged forwards. Moving far quicker than the Grey Hordes had been able to, Swartt’s creatures advanced on the attempted flanking maneuver and plugged straight in, stabbing and hacking with a savage efficiency. The back line of the Grey Hordes promptly spun around and hemmed in the militia from the back, leaving them trapped between the hammer and the anvil. 

After less than twenty minutes the entire militia was dead, the Pine Marten himself impaled on the end of Aggal’s spear. It was almost disappointing how fast it was over, Tsarmina thought. Still, everybeast seemed placated, so in that respect she supposed it was a good result. Now, onto the Longhouse. 

Just as Stoughton predicted the Longhouse itself was so lightly defended that the Pine Marten may as well have just covered it in wet paper, with a mere ten guards being all that stood between Tsarmina and Swartt’s hordes and the building’s insides. 

The amount of treasure recovered from the Longhouse was a sore disappointment, with only a single sword, some precious stones Roga said had once adorned Mortspear’s throne, the Pine Marten’s widow and son, and a decent amount of stored foodstuffs. The sword she gave to Swartt, the stones she took for herself, the widow she gave to Aggal, the son she gave to Roga, and the foodstuffs she ordered be taken back to the castle larder. Everything else in the building went up in smoke. 

Watching the smoke drift upwards across the valley and smelling the delicious scent of woodfire, Tsarmina decided that, all in all, it had been a pleasant enough day. 

Chapter Text

Martin stood upon a cliff overlooking the ocean, waves crashing and pounding with a mighty roar. As he watched the waves the wind picked up, blowing ever harder, until the mouse was forced to turn his back and face the land. It was desolate and black, covered as far as the eye could see in rocks and dust.

Almost. For as Martin looked, as if out of nowhere two groves appeared in the distance, pools of life in the middle of the endless desert. Martin started towards the shrubs, pushed on by the wind, moving ever closer until he could make out the hazelnuts dangling down to the ground, but before he could reach the two groves a group of shadows flared up from the rocks and - 

Martin was dreaming of shadows and hazelnuts, the same dream he’d had back in the mountains, when the sounds of battle crashed into his ears and forced him awake. The silence of the past few days had been broken again, replaced with screams, commands, the twang of arrows, and, if Martin wasn’t mistaken, the sound of a battering ram crashing against Marshank’s gate. Leaping to his footpaws, Martin grabbed his sword and spun around towards where Grumm had been digging for the past few hours. The Mole was still in the tunnel, the occasional clump of dirt flying back out, and Keyla stood guard with his knife in his paw. 

“Keyla!” Martin ran up to him. “Where’s Gonff?” 

“Down with Grumm. He thought it was best that Grumm had a guard digging with him, just in case…” Keyla shrugged. “I don’t know. This whole thing started up so suddenly, none of us were really thinking straight.” The Otter turned to Martin. “What do we do?” 

Martin watched the two groups of corsairs battle. He’d heard right: it was a battering ram, slamming away at the gate while Clogg roared commands from a little ways back. “We stay here. No sense getting ourselves involved when we’re only two creatures.” Martin spat on the ground. “By the fucking fur! Of all the bloody times for Clogg to attack, he just had to choose the exact same night as our own escape plan. I hope Badrang hasn’t pressed all the slaves into serving as arrow fodder.” 

Right as Martin spoke an arrow flew up from Clogg’s horde and embedded itself in the throat of somebeast standing on Marshank’s walls. With a shriek the poor creature toppled over and landed on the ground, dead, but as it fell Martin was relieved to see that it was a Weasel; not like to be a slave. 

Behind him, Martin heard Keyla gasp. “Is this the first time you’ve been in a proper battle?” He asked the Otter.

Keyla nodded, looking like he was about to throw up. “Aye. I mean, I was in a few back when I was an oarslave, but we were all below deck and didn’t see anything.” A large rock descended from Marshank’s Northwestern tower, flattening a pair of archers. Keyla shuddered. “This is - this is horrible. How in the blazes are you so calm?”

Martin sighed. “This isn’t my first battle.” The memories came rushing up: Ripfang, with a knife to his throat, threatening to kill him and his siblings; Ranguvar, doing her level best to rip his chest apart; Boar, killing his own captain with a single swing of his mace. 

He couldn’t look any more. “Come, Keyla - there’s no sense in us standing here watching this go on unless we want to get noticed. Once Grumm clears another load of dirt, we’ll go in behind him.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice, matey.” 

A few moments later a small cloud of earth flew into the air, and Grumm’s snout poked out of the ground behind it. “Marthen? Keyla? ‘As the plan changed?” 

“A little. It’s not safe up here anymore. Is there room for Keyla and I to come down as well?”

“Burr aye. It’m be koinda toight, but Uzn’s’ll make it work.”

“Great.” Martin looked at Keyla. “Well? Would you rather go first or second?”

Keyla looked down the hole and gulped. “I’d, um, rather go second I think. Not really one for tight spaces.” 

“Alright, then.” Martin jumped down next to Grumm. “By the fur, it’s a little cramped here, isn’t it?” 

“It woidens a bit farther in. Don’ worry.”

“All the same, we’ll have to crawl a bit. Are you going to be alright with that, Keyla?” 

“It’s not like I’ve got much of a choice, now do I?” Keyla jumped down as well. “Right behind you.” 

Grumm went first, crouching low against the ceiling. Martin followed immediately afterwards, taking care to avoid the Mole’s claws, and after a second’s hesitation Keyla started crawling as well. 

“Blimey.” He whispered shortly in. 

“You okay back there?” Martin called out. “I know it’s a little tight, but you’re doing great so far.” 

“No, it’s not that.” Oddly enough, Martin swore that Keyla was sounding flustered for some reason. “It’s, ah, nothing to worry about. Just - just keep going.”

True to Grumm’s word the tunnel did eventually open up slightly into a sort of miniature cavern. By the fur, he did all this in a few hours? That’s impressive. The miniature cavern seemed to be some kind of workspace, complete with a little diagram depicting the angle and length of the tunnel next to what looked like an annotated version of Brome’s directions. 

Gonff was leaning against the diagram holding a torch. “Battle getting that bloody out there, eh?” 

“Well, it’s not ‘Battle Against Swartt’ bad, but it’s not exactly a quiet night’s picnic. How’re things down here?” 

“Going rather well. Rose was right - ol’ Grumm really is a champion digger.”

“We’m bein aboot t’ break through t’ yon pit, oi reckon.” Grumm added. “But it’s strange, though. At furst oi ‘eard some footpaws bangin’ away as a guide, but fur th’ last few ‘ours oi’ve not ‘eard a sound.” 

“We’re not going to get lost then down here, are we?” Keyla asked. 

“Burr no, Keyla! Oi’ve got enough information t’ finish all proper-like.” 

Keyla was relieved, but the news that something had stopped Rose and the others in the middle of guiding Grumm worried Martin. By the look on his face Gonff was apprehensive about it as well, so while Grumm went back to digging and Keyla followed right behind him, Martin pulled the other Mouse aside. 

“So what’re you thinking?” Gonff asked. 

“Nothing good. Best case scenario, they got distracted by the battle. Worst case scenario, they’ve been found out.” 

“I’d say the second one’s more likely. What should we do?” Gonff waved towards Grumm and Keyla. “Call this whole operation a wash and leave the tunnel?”

“No.” Martin shook his head. “We’ve come too far for that.” He thought about it, wishing Gingivere was there to plan. “I think...the best thing would be for one of us to wait when the others get to the pit and sneak in afterwards. Not sure which one of us it should be, though.” 

“Well it can’t be Keyla. Poor bloke’s too afraid of tight spaces to wait in one. I’ll do it.”

“Thanks, Gonff.” Martin clapped the other Mouse’s shoulder. “Wait five minutes, and if we’re not there, come out and climb in a different direction from the one the three of us did. Now come on - we’d best catch up.” 

The final stretch of the tunnel seemed to pass by agonizingly slow, although Martin, Gonff and Keyla each sped up the process by taking what dirt they could back to the surface. All the while the sounds of battle carried in from the other end of the tunnel, growing no less intense, until Grumm came to a stop and gently rapped the dirt in front of him with his paw. 

“Hmmm… Dirt’s not very strong roight ‘ere. It’m be the wall of the prison pit, oi reckon! Stand back, you lot!” Grumm took one breath, then another, and then punched at the wall with all his strength. It crumbled after five such punches, revealing a shaft of dim torchlight and a breeze of light air - 

And a completely empty prison pit, just as Martin had been dreading. 

“What?” Keyla ran into the pit, confused. “Where is everybeast? I don’t get it - this is the right place, so why aren’t they here?” 

Slowly, cautiously, heart pounding, Martin emerged into the pit with his sword drawn. “I’m afraid Badrang must’ve found them out somehow.” This day just keeps getting worse and worse. “Maybe Brome’s shouting wasn’t quite as difficult to figure out as we thought it was, maybe some corsair overheard Rose or Felldoh planning, but something tipped him off.” he frowned. “What I don’t understand is, if they knew somebeast was going to try and tunnel into the pit, why not stay here and capture them?”

“The battle, oi’d reckon. Badrang loikly figured ‘e doesn’t ‘ave enough creatures t’ guard the pit ‘n wall both.” 

It made sense, and it was their first lucky break of the night. Probably our only one. “Regardless, they’re somewhere, and I’d wager an apple to an acorn Badrang himself’s got Rose, Brome, and Felldoh. The question is, then, how do we get to them?” 

“Simple enough.” Keyla pointed at the wooden grate covering the pit. “It’s still unlocked, see? I think we can get it if… aye, that’ll work. Martin, stand right under it. I’ll stand on your shoulders, and Grumm’ll stand on mine, and that should get us enough height to reach.” 

Martin did as he was told, and let both Keyla and Grumm clamber all over his face. By the fur, they’re heavy! It was worse than wearing the heaviest armor in Kotir’s armory by a good bit, and he had to admit that Keyla’s footpaws hurt pressing down on his shoulders. “Well, G-Grumm?” He panted. “C-can you get it?”

“Burr aye, Marthen! Jus’ wait a moment!” 

Finally, Grumm tossed the grate open before descending back off Keyla and Martin. The second Keyla jumped off Martin immediately let out a deep breath and swore, furiously massaging his shoulders. “Okay, so what now?” 

“We wait.” Keyla replied. “Soon enough somebeast or another will notice the grate’s been opened and come check. In fact, I hear the sound of footpaws right now.” 

Sure enough, a second later the face of a Rat appeared over the side. “Oi, you three! What’re you doing down there? Why’d you open the grate?” 

“What in the blazes does it look like we’re doing, taking a blooming swim?” Keyla called up. “We’re hiding!” 

Grumbling, the Rat tied one end of a rope to the grate and threw the other end down. “Oh, the cheek of you lot! When I get down there I’ll strip all your hides!” Rapelling down the Rat glared at Keyla and advanced, but was only able to make it two pawsteps before the Otter rushed up and put a knife to his throat. 

“Unfortunately, matey, we’re not about to let that happen. Cheers for the rope, though!”

Martin brandished his own sword at the Rat. “We have a question for you, pirate. Answer and you have my word that you won’t be harmed. Understand?” 

The Rat nodded. 

“Good. There were three creatures in this pit earlier this afternoon. Where are they?”

“No idea! All I know is Badrang took them out a little while ago and dragged them off somewhere, that’s it!” The Rat gulped and held up his paws. “Please, mercy!” 

“Very well, then. Grumm?” Martin nodded at the Mole, who walked behind the Rat and slammed his ladle down on the Rat’s head with as much force as he could muster, sending the pirate crumpling onto the pit’s bottom. “Alright, I’ll climb first, then Grumm, then Keyla. Gonff, stay here like we talked about for now.”

The three of them climbed out of the pit, relying on the noise to conceal their ascent. The arrows were still flying thick and fast both from the wall and over it, and several had landed in the middle of the fort itself, but judging by the sounds the gate was still holding up against the onslaught. Everywhere pirates rushed from one place to another, paying no heed to the three intruders in their hurry to respond to whatever crisis was developing. 

Where are you, Badrang? Martin thought. At the gate? No - not if you’re expecting guests. Too great a risk of being distracted when Clogg finally breaks in. But you’re not like to be too far away either, so you can command the response most effectively, that leads… Looking towards where the crashes of the battering ram were coming from, Martin noticed a small building right in front of it. Over there, maybe? 

He pointed it out to Keyla, eyebrows raised in questioning. Keyla looked the building over and nodded. Satisfied, Martin raised a paw and extended it forwards, bidding them forwards. They progressed slowly, taking care to avoid any stray debris, until…

“Over here, mouse.” 

Martin spun, sword outstretched. Badrang stepped out of the shadows cast by the building alongside two of his captains. Immediately, he sucked in a breath. “Rose…”

Badrang held the Mouse against his chest, one arm locking her in place while the other pointed a knife at her neck. Brome was similarly held prisoner by the captain to Badrang’s right, while Felldoh sat under the captain to Badrang’s left, all four paws chained together, a gag tied across his mouth. 

“I’m sorry!” Brome cried. “I thought I was being clever enough, but they -”

“ Silence!” The Fox holding Brome cuffed the little Mouse over the ears. “Who gave you permission to speak?”

“Brome! Miz Rozer!” Grumm charged forwards, snarling, but stopped when Badrang pressed his knife harder against Rose’s throat. “Not a step closer, Mole, or I’ll stick her like a pig.” 

A drop of blood was already running down the knife. Seeing it Grumm stopped, still glaring at the Stoat with a murderous expression. “Whoi, you!” 

“Enough, Grumm.” Rose’s voice was filled with fear. “Save your strength for later. I’ll - I’ll think of something.”

The quiver in Rose’s voice ignited a red-hot anger in Martin’s belly, something that made him desire nothing more than to grab the Stoat and rip him limb-from-limb, but Martin choked it back down. Any rash action was like to get them all killed, so instead he just strode forwards. “What do you want with us, Stoat?” 

“Do I know you?” Badrang frowned and studied Martin. “You look familiar. Are you an escaped slave of mine?” His gaze went over to Keyla, who flinched. “You are, of course, aren’t you? I’ll have your head for that.” 

“Sire, wait.” The Fox’s voice dropped an octave as his grip on Brome tightened. “That’s the same Mouse that took your paw. I recognize that stance.” 

A spasm flickered over Badrang’s face concurrently with a glimmer of recognition. “You?”

“Me.” Martin let his own voice cool. “Not that it’s stopped you from enslaving half the Eastern Coast, I see.” 

Badrang laughed, a wild, mirthless laugh filled with malice. “Aye, it hasn’t! I, Badrang Ironpaw, command the mightiest fortress in this part of the world!” 

“For the moment, at least.” Martin nodded towards the gate just as the battering ram crashed into it again. “Are you certain you have time for this? Sounds like your old shipmate’s about to bust in.” 

“I have time enough to take care of six slaves that don’t know their place in the world.”

Felldoh began to struggle at that, a scream of rage trapped behind his gag, squirming and twisting with such ferocity that the Rat guarding him was forced to slam the Squirrel with the butt of his spear five times before Felldoh would stop. Brome let out a moan at the sight, while Rose and Keyla began shouting curses at Badrang until the Stoat pricked Rose’s throat with his knife. “No more words from either of you.” He warned. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Martin saw a plump Mouse dart on top of a structure off to his right. Gonff! If only he could give Gonff a window to do something, anything…

Chapter Text

It was as if the war around Marshank had gone silent, leaving nothing but Badrang, his captains, and their prisoners facing Martin, Keyla, and Grumm, with Martin having to figure out some way to give Gonff an opening to get in and do...something…

So, until he could figure out how to do that, Martin decided to keep Badrang talking. “What about words from me, then? I don’t suppose you’d care to wager my friends in a duel again, would you?”

“Still not short on nerve, I see.” Badrang’s smile put all of Tsarmina’s to shame. “And why would I have any desire to risk losing my other paw and fortress both?” He shook his head. “No, Mouse, not this time.” 

There was another crash against the gate. Badrang’s head turned towards it for a fraction of a second, and Martin very nearly tried to charge him before getting the better of himself. I need something longer… 

Moving his eyes and head as little as he could, Martin looked up towards where Gonff was perched. The other mouse was crouched down low on the roof of some low structure, a small pile of stones in front of him, his sling in his paw. Aha! 

“Aye, I suppose it was foolish of me. You don’t have the stones for it, do you. I suppose it’s all for the best - you’d just be throwing your life away anyhow.” It wasn’t exactly the most elegant of ways to get a coded message across, but it would have to do.

“Mind your tongue, you arrogant little snot!” Said the rat. “You’re talking to Badrang, Lord and Master of the Eastern Coast! Not to mention he’ll soon be your own master as well when you’re all slaves!” 

“I’ll speak to him any way I like, rat.” Martin’s glare had turned venomous enough to match Badrang’s own, and the rat quailed under it. “Last I checked I’m still a free creature, am I not?”

“That’s about to change, I’d wager.” The fox replied. “And believe me - as soon as you’re nice and enslaved, I’ll make sure you answer for every word you’ve said tonight.” 

“Gurrad, Skalrag, enough.” Badrang dropped his knife, just a fraction. “I may not have any desire to take up your offer again, but allow me to present mine once more: why not be a captain in my horde? Do so, and perhaps I could be persuaded to -”

Two things happened at once. Before Badrang finished the sentence Clogg’s battering ram slammed into the gate with a great crash and burst straight through, leading to a chorus of shouts and curses from Badrang’s lot and drawing all eyes towards it, and in that fraction of a second Gonff acted. 

A stone flew from his paw and knocked into Badrang’s head, lightly enough that all the stoat did was flinch before spinning around to face the attacker. The turn forced him off balance, and to steady himself Badrang automatically extended out his arm just far enough to get equilibrium, but in the process the knife that had been pressed up against Rose’s throat pointed outwards and swung around wildly. 

The entire movement only lasted a heartbeat. 

It was all Rose needed. She slammed her elbow backwards into Badrang’s chest, trying to wind the stoat and keep him off balance, before aiming a kick at his leg. Badrang gasped and loosened his grip just enough for Rose to break free, and before he could readjust she charged Skalrag. 

“Let him go, you big bully!” Not wanting to drop his hostage but unsure of what to do Skalrag tried to tighten his grip around Brome with one paw while punching towards Rose with the other, a clumsy move that Rose easily batted aside before going in to headbut Skalrag in the chest, but just as she was about to do so Skalrag regained his footing. Raising a leg up he tripped Rose, sending her plummeting to the ground, and before she could get back up Skalrag moved to slam a footpaw down on her neck - 

Keyla ran in, knife in his paw, and succeeded where Rose failed. Toppling to the ground Skalrag let go of Brome, and before the fox regained control Keyla leapt on top of him and stabbed downwards. Skalrag caught the knife just before it impaled his throat and attempted to turn it back on Keyla, intending to draw on the edge in power a fox held over an otter. 

Had Keyla not spent much of the winter learning paw-to-paw combat techniques from the finest spy in Mossflower, it would have worked. As it was Keyla saw what the fox was doing a mile away and proceeded to grab the fox’s wrist, twisting it hard enough to make Skalrag scream in pain as he dropped the knife, which Keyla picked up and drove into the fox’s eye with a grunt. Spasming wildly, in his death throes Skalrag managed to claw Keyla across the face, sending the otter reeling backwards towards Badrang, unaware of the danger. 

It was then that Martin drew his own sword. “BAAAAADRAAAANG!!!” He yelled, running straight towards the stoat, who barely had time to unsheath his scimitar before Martin cleaved his legs off. They clashed, steel against steel, Martin letting loose the rage he’d choked back down before enough to match the stoat blow for blow. 

Gurrad stood transfixed, wondering how in the blazes he’d been the only creature lucky enough to escape the slaves’ notice. He looked down at Felldoh, who had been knocked unconscious with his spear, and then over at Keyla and Rose, wounded and winded, and smiled. Nice. Maybe I can take ‘em both hostage, and use that to… 

“Oi! RAT!” Gurrad looked up and saw the Mouse that had started the whole thing, a creature he’d completely forgotten about, sling in his paw and ready to fire. “Move another pawstep, and I’ll give you the biggest lump on the head you’ve ever seen!” 

“Lousy slave! You wouldn’t dare.” Gurrad raised his spear threateningly. “Come down here before I get you in the stomach!” 

“From that distance?” Gonff laughed mockingly. “You’ll be lucky, bilge drinker!” 

“Why, you little…” Gurrad growled. That’s it. That bloody little Mouse is DEAD. Before Gonff could get his aim back on point Gurrad leapt forwards and prepared to throw his spear, but just as the rat was about to let go a knife whizzed past his face and landed on the ground a little ways away. 

It was Rose. “By the - can’t believe I missed.” All the same it accomplished the purpose she had intended of interfering with Gurrad’s attack, throwing off the rat’s aim as he was in the middle of letting fly the spear, which proceeded to miss Gonff entirely and land in a wooden pole.

“HA!” Gonff guffawed. “What did I tell you, rat? You couldn’t hit a sleeping badger, could you?” Laughter shook the mouse’s entire frame, until he slipped and nearly fell off the roof, only holding on with the ends of his paws. “Oops.”

Now it was Gurrad’s turn to laugh. “You’re in trouble now , aren’t you? I’ll skin you for everything you’ve said and gut you like a fish!” 

“No! You’m won’t be a’hurtin moi friends!” Up until then Grumm had stood still transfixed by the scene unfolding in front of him, but the visceral threat to Gonff’s life finally spurred the mole into action. Running forwards he threw his ladle at Gurrad, nailing him in the back of the neck and tearing the rat’s attention away from his intended target. As Grumm leapt up to him Gurrad assumed a combat stance and intercepted the mole, kicking him in the shin as the mole swiped his left arm. Both reeled back in pain, and Grumm was the first to recover. He leapt at Gurrad and began whaling on him, biting and slashing and kicking, but the rat gave as good as he got and soon enough both of them were bleeding from several wounds. As the fight went on Grumm weakened, the exhaustion of his tunneling catching up to him, and seeing this Gurrad began to press the offensive. Mustering his strength the rat pushed Grumm off him and into the dirt - 

Right next to his ladle. Grumm took hold of it and waited for Gurrad to try and jump him before swinging it upwards into the rat’s chin. Gurrad sputtered and flew backwards in a graceful ark before landing in a heap on the ground, all the might knocked out of him. 

“Grumm?” Rose had been helping Keyla and Brome away from the fight, but when she saw Grumm standing there, blood cascading down his head, the mouse sprinted over. “Are you alright?”

Grumm chuckled. “Never be’er, Miz Rozer!” Wincing, the mole clapped a paw onto his forehead. “Oi’ve got ta say, though - yon rat really did a number t’ moi ‘ead.” 

“Sorry about that, matey.” Gonff finally let go of the roof and dropped to the ground. “But thanks for taking care of him before he could skin me.” He looked over at Rose. “You too.” 

“You’re the one that distracted Badrang.” Rose shuddered. “If it hadn’t been for that, the three of us would still be prisoners like as not.” 

“Um, Rose?” Brome called out. “Can you give us a paw with Felldoh over here? Sorry to interrupt but he’s, uh, not easy to move.” 

“Oh, right.” Gonff hopped over. “Leave it to the ol’ Prince of Mousethieves!” Withdrawing a pin from his sleeve he promptly got to work on Felldoh’s chains. “Have no fear, I’ll have these off in a moment.” 

Martin and Badrang continued their duel, the rest of the world completely stopped as the two focused on one thing and one thing only: killing the creature standing across from them. They’d both managed to land a hit so far, Badrang slashing Martin slightly across the right shoulder before getting a shallow cut on his leg three exchanges later, but nothing close to a decisive blow. They were stalemated.

This doesn’t make any sense, Martin thought. I trained every single day for three years. I’m matching his strength. I was faster than him last time and I’m even faster now, even with my stiff arm, so why can’t I finish this? Why can’t I just kill him already? Badrang hacked away at Martin’s guard, nearly breaking it with a series of lightning-fast cuts that forced the Mouse to fall back several paces. Blast it all! 

Keyla had warned him, Martin remembered all of a sudden, that Badrang had also spent much of the past few years training. Is that it? It is, isn’t it . A horrible realization set in: Martin had spent the entire time preparing to take on Badrang as he had been, trusting in his sword skills to carry the day, while Badrang had been adapting, planning, correcting. 

Another slash nearly took Martin’s ear off, and he snarled. Well, isn’t this just BRILLIANT. 

Felldoh’s head swam where Gurrad had hit it. Moaning, the squirrel tried to stand up, and was amazed to find that, somehow, all the chains that had been binding him were gone. Huh? 

“Felldoh!” An otter stood in front of him, speaking in a voice far too loud for Felldoh to handle. The squirrel looked up and saw Keyla, bleeding from a slash on his cheek. “You’re awake! It’s alright - we’re going to get you out of here.”

“Key...la? Wh - what’s going on?” Felldoh grit his teeth and tried to clear his head. “Where’s Badrang?”

Wordlessly, Keyla pointed. Badrang was going at it with a mouse that could only be that ‘Martin’ fellow Rose had been going on about for the majority of the past few days, the two creatures locked in combat. The sight of Badrang doing his best to murder another innocent mouse made the gorge rise in Felldoh’s throat, and the squirrel pushed himself to his feet. “I need a weapon. Keyla, give me your knife.” 

“No.” Rose shook her head. “We need to get out of here while Clogg’s still occupying the rest of Badrang’s horde.”

“Are you crazy? If we finish him off now we can -”

“She’s right, Felldoh!” Brome protested. “We need to get out of this horrid place now! If we wait they’ll all come after us.”

“But -”

“Matey, I get it.” Keyla laid a paw on Felldoh’s arm. “I want the bastard dead too, but we can’t do it right now. We need to wait.” 

Just then Badrang pushed Martin back, forcing the mouse to retreat until he was almost on top of the other escapees. Panting, Martin raised his sword while half-turning to check on his companions. “Is everybeast alright back there?”

“Mostly. Me and Grumm are a little dented, but we’ll live if we leave now .”

Martin looked over at Badrang, then down at himself, then back at his companions. “Fine.” 

“You don’t really expect me to let you lot walk away, do you?” Badrang scoffed. “Even a blind creature can see you’re all tiring fast, so give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just cut you all down now.” 

Helpfully, Clogg himself provided the answer. “ Badraaaaannnng, me ol’ shipmate! Show yourself matey before I turn the rest of your fine gate to kindling! ” Badrang half-turned his head, scimitar still pointed straight at Martin, and took in the situation. It wasn’t looking good: at least ten of the creatures on the ramparts had been slain by his estimation, and the battering ram had made a hole in the gate large enough for some of Clogg’s crew to begin throwing things and jabbing their spears through it. 

“Not going so well over there, is it?” Martin ventured. 

Jaw clenched tight, Badrang glared at the Mouse for a second before lowering his scimitar. “Get out of my sight, all of you.” He spit on the ground. “Take your reprieve, insolent whelps.” 

The seven companions turned and ran. 

***

As they clambered through the tunnels, Martin heard the noises above them gradually change; at first it was the same footpaws and occasional bangs of the battering ram that they’d heard on the way in there, but as they struggled onwards the footpaws began to peter out and were replaced by more and more screams. Nearing the other end of the tunnel Martin began to hear the clash of metal spears and the unmistakable sound of steel thudding into wood, began to smell sweat, blood, and fire, and knew that the course of the battle had changed somehow. Did Badrang get to the front gate in time? 

By the time everybeast had emerged from Grumm’s tunnel, the situation outside the fort had devolved into utter chaos. Badrang’s appearance had allowed his corsairs to rally and force Clogg’s to abandon their battering ram, after which the Marshank horde burst out the half-ruined gates and went on the offensive. Clogg’s horde scattered into clumps, each holding a pile of rocks or some other cover, gradually reforming as Clogg ran from clump to clump and re-established control. Eventually, there was only one small clump of soldiers left, a quartet of weasels that had managed to kill all of their opponents on Badrang’s side. 

Unfortunately, they were almost on top of the tunnel’s exit point. No sooner had Gonff and Keyla helped the last straggler out of the tunnel when one of the weasels saw them. 

“Ganabelt!” He cried out. “Seven more of Badrang’s lot incoming!”

“Leave us alone!” Brome yelled back at them. “We’re not with Badrang, we’re escaping him!” 

“They’re not going to care, Brome.” Martin unsheathed his sword again and advanced. “Keyla, Felldoh, Gonff, to me.” 

Ganabelt was brave, Martin had to admit: even faced with a recently-blooded sword the Weasel didn’t so much as flinch, instead lowering his own spear and attempting to skewer Martin on the end of it. Exhausted as he was Martin was only barely able to parry it, but he still had enough strength to take advantage of the opening and drive the point of his sword into Ganabelt’s chest. As the weasel fell Martin grabbed his spear and planted the point into the earth before leaning on it, completely winded, paws almost too weak to keep him standing upright. 

A feral cry drew his attention to Felldoh, who had broken his foe’s spear on his knee and begun to beat the weasel with the broken halves. “You - will - never - hurt - anybeast - again!” Each word was punctuated with a blow from the broken spear, and each blow seemed more forceful than the last. The Weasel yelled and kicked out wildly, but that only seemed to make Felldoh angrier, until the Squirrel reached down, grabbed the Weasel’s throat, and began to strangle him. 

Slowly, the Weasel’s struggles faded, and seeing two of their number killed in such a short time seemed to kill all the fighting spirit left in the other two, who promptly screamed and ran away from Gonff and Keyla as fast as they could. 

Felldoh looked up and over at Brome, who was staring at the Squirrel with a look of horror on his face. “It’s alright, Brome. I won’t let anybeast harm you again.”

“But Felldoh, that’s - I mean, he -” 

Rose put a paw on her brother’s shoulder and drew him closer to her - and away from Felldoh, Martin noticed. “We can talk about this later. We’ve still got an escape to finish, don’t we?” 

“Aye.” Gonff looked at her and Grumm, pointedly ignoring the dead weasels on the ground. “Either of you remember which way you came?”

“Burr aye!” Shouting over the din, Grumm pointed towards the treeline, somewhat to the West of where Gonff, Martin, and Keyla had come from, which also mercifully happened to be the exact opposite direction of Clogg’s ship. “If’n we a-follow the trail oi lade out, we’ll be ‘ome sooner n’ you can say ‘Noonvale, zurr Gonff!” 

The seven of them took off, disappearing into the trees, the sounds of battle finally beginning to grow quieter and quieter until the silence of the forest drowned them out.

Chapter Text

The seven of them ran even after the last echoes of Marshank had vanished behind them, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the fort, ignoring their exhaustion. Martin’s legs and lungs burned as one, yet he spurred everybeast onwards. 

“Come…on…just…a…little…farther!” 

“I…I don’t…don’t know how much… how much farther I can go.” Felldoh panted. “It’s…It’s getting…It’s getting hard to…to take a breath.” 

“Matey, he’s…he’s right.” Gonff added. “We’re all too…too knackered after that fight, and…and don’t forget that…hal-half of us are really injured.” 

Martin’s shoulder was searing where Badrang had slashed it as a matter of fact, and had been for some time, but he’d been ignoring it until Gonff mentioned the rest of them. For whatever reason it all but sent a twinge up his arm strong enough that Martin winced, and he stumbled to a stop. 

“That’s… that’s fair enough, Gonff. We’ve probably put enough darkness between us and Marshank.” 

The rest of them all came to a stop, groaning as one. “Please tell me we’re camping here for the night.” Keyla rubbed his legs. “I feel like my paws are about to fall off.” 

Martin looked around; the area of the forest they’d stopped in was certainly quiet enough, and the ground was covered in a layer of grasses and flowers above the dirt. The canopy above them was thick enough to provide shade from inclement weather, and best of all one of the pinewood trees directly to his right looked to have some kind of gaping nook they could use to store the supplies from - 

My pack! By the fur, I left it at Marshank! Martin realized he’d forgotten to grab it in all the confusion. Quick - was there anything important in there ? He ran stock: he’d managed to hold on to his sword, as well as the knife Amber had given him, although her travel cloak was probably still lying where he’d used it as bedding. There was something else, something Martin was forgetting about, but whatever it was had been important. At least, he had the feeling. 

Still, nothing for it I suppose. Taking one last look around, Martin turned back to the others. “This place’ll do nicely. Everybeast, get some rest - I’ll take first watch.” 

Nobeast answered, instead immediately flopping on the ground with various moans of pleasure. “Urgh, finally! ” Brome curled up next to a small fern. “I haven’t ever felt this tired in my life.” 

One-by-one they all drifted off to sleep, filling the clearing with the snores of three different species. A multi-species harmony , Martin couldn’t help but think. Ordinarily it would’ve been annoying, but after spending the past few days with little but Badrang’s cruelty providing the background noise, the mouse actually found it relaxing. 

Looking around, Martin noticed he wasn’t the only one that was still awake. “Rose? Is everything alright?” He spoke quietly so as to not wake the others, but Rose still heard him and turned. 

Walking over, Rose shook her head and sat down at Martin’s footpaws. “I nearly got everybeast killed back there, didn’t I?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“That plan of mine was foolish and half-baked. I thought I was being so clever with having my brother shout in code, but -” Rose glanced at her brother. “-Badrang still figured it out. Do you know what he told me? He said he was grateful. He said that he’d suspected that I’d had some sort of friends outside, or that I was here to get somebeast out, and that my little scheme had given him the perfect opportunity to lay a trap for them.” She sniffled and rubbed her eyes. “I’m such an idiot.” 

“But his trap failed, didn’t it?” Martin sat down facing Rose. “We’re free now, all of us, not to mention we managed to give him a bloody nose on the way out.” 

“Maybe, but still, I - Brome - he was - he was counting on me to keep him safe, and I nearly ruined it.”  

“Rose, as my old teacher used to say, ‘nearly’ and ‘did’ are worlds apart.” It was something Bane had said whenever his young pupil got a bit too proud of himself for almost accomplishing something. “And at the end of the day, you didn’t get us killed, did you?” 

Rose half-sobbed, half-laughed. “That’s not exactly comforting to hear, you know.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. My brother was always the better one for this kind of thing.” 

“Your brother’s a wildcat, right?” Rose looked at Martin, curious. “What’s it like, having a wildcat for a brother? Is it weird?”

Martin shrugged. “I don’t know, you get used to being the shortest one in the family? I guess?” 

“What. That’s your answer? Are you joking?” 

“Look, I’ve only ever lived with wildcats, alright? I don’t have anything else to compare it to, so asking me what it feels like to live with them is like asking you what it feels like to live with mice.”

Rose giggled. “I understand. Maybe it’d be better to ask what your brother’s like as a creature?” 

“Who, Gingivere?” Rose’s giggle had momentarily thrown Martin’s attention off. “No, sorry, of course you meant him. Gingivere’s lots of things - he’s smart, kind, and probably one of the most caring creatures in the world, but at the same time he’s awkward, prone to getting tongue-tied, and incredibly fun to tease.” 

“Brome says that about me, too, you know.” Rose smirked. “A few weeks ago he told me that poking at me is the single most fun thing in all of Noonvale.” 

“What about the rest of your family?” 

“My parents are the chieftains of Noonvale. My father Urran Voh’s the legal ruler, but he always says Aryah’s just as important. Father’s always gentle and usually kind, but he can get a bit stern when he’s mad about something.” Rose gestured towards Brome. “An argument with him is why my brother ran away, you see.” 

“And your mother?”

“The greatest cook in all Noonvale, save maybe Grumm, and the sweetest, warmest mouse you’ll ever meet. If we ever reach Noonvale, you’ll love her.” Rose looked at Martin. “What about you? What are your parents like?” 

The warm feeling that had been growing inside Martin began to flicker away. “Well, that’s… that’s a little harder to answer. For one I’ve never really had a mother, since both my blood parents died when I was little, and my father’s wife died around the same time.” 

Rose raised a paw to her mouth. “Oh, Martin, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine - my father and my brother were all I ever felt like I needed most of the time. And if you’re curious what my father’s like, he’s a lot like yours - gentle and kind most of the time, but stern when he needs to be. He always tried to make sure I knew I was loved, and that the fact I was a mouse and he was a wildcat didn’t stop us from being family.” 

“He sounds wonderful. Perhaps I could meet him one day?” 

Martin looked down at the ground, unable to look Rose in the eye. “That’s probably not possible.”

“Why not? I could come back to Mossflower with you, couldn’t I? Unless you were exiled or something?”

“That’s not it, it’s…I’d rather not talk about it.” 

Rose studied Martin, as though trying to figure out what he meant, before nodding. “I understand. Just know that if you ever do want to talk about it, I’m here to listen.” Reaching over, she gave his paw a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for letting me talk with you, Martin. I think I really needed that.” 

“I’m glad.” Martin was glad it was dark; the grin that had appeared on his face the moment Rose touched his paw would have been wildly embarrassing for her to notice. “Now get some sleep - it’s been a long day.” 

Later on he woke Gonff so that the other mouse could take over his watch, then laid down to sleep, still trying to remember what exactly it had been that he’d forgotten.

***

The next morning, everything ached. Martin’s arms felt like they weighed at least thrice as much as they had yesterday, while his legs had quadrupled in weight, and his shoulder felt like somebeast was repeatedly hitting it with a rock where Badrang had slashed it. 

“Does anybeast else feel like every limb is about to fall off?” Martin asked. “Or is that just me?” 

There was a general groan of agreement. “I can’t even unbend my fingers.” Gonff moaned. “Word of advice for you lot: don’t hang precariously off a roof for long periods of time. Doesn’t do the body any favors.” 

“I’m even hungrier than I am sore, myself.” Brome sat up. “Grumm, what’s for breakfast?” 

Ah. Martin looked around, it suddenly hitting him that it didn’t seem to just be him that had forgotten everything in their mad dash to escape…

“Ur, did anybeast arctually take anything when ‘ee left yon fortress?” Grumm asked.

The only response was silence. 

“No?” Grumm sighed. “Not even th’ toiniest a vittles?” 

“We were too busy running, matey.” Keyla replied. 

“Well that’s just marvelous, isn’t it?” Felldoh rolled his eyes. “We escaped death by corsair only to face death by starvation!” 

“Oi, wouldn’t go that far just yet.” Gonff pushed himself on his footpaws. “We can just go foraging for a bit. Ol’ Bella’s tricks kept Keyla, Martin and me alive on the journey upwards, so we can definitely make do now.”

“Who’s Bella?” 

“Old badgermum. Traveled a lot when she was younger, and learned a lot about what’s edible and what isn’t. Anybeast else feeling up to coming with?”

“I will.” Rose stood up and stretched. “If I sit still much longer I fear I’ll turn into a statue, not that I know all that much about foraging.” 

“Alrighty then!” Goff clapped Rose on the back. “I’ll teach you some things then!” 

As the two mice walked off, Gonff looked back at Martin and smirked. 

They had only been at it for a few minutes when Gonff picked up the distinctive aroma of wild garlic. Following it the two mice found a small glade covered in white flowers, and Gonff bent down and picked one up. 

“Ha! Flowers are all still healthy!” 

“Garlic flowers are safe to eat by themselves? Aren’t they going to be a little, uh, strong?”

“Not as bad as you’d think. Besides, we can grind ‘em up, maybe sprinkle a bit on some nuts. If we can find some pine or hazelnuts it’ll taste amazing, believe me!” 

“I’ll trust you then.” Rose smiled. “How much do we need?”

“Wouldn’t hurt to grab a fair bit in all honesty - stocking up for leaner times is never a bad idea.” 

“Alright, I’ll try and make something to carry them in.” Gonff looked at her quizzically, and Rose laughed. “You’re not the only one that’s been taught things by old mothers.” Walking over to a bush, Rose began to methodically strip the leaves off the branches. “Just leave me your knife, will you? It won’t be my best work but I think I can make a rough basket.” 

“Good on you. And while you do that, I’ll keep looking around to see if I can find anything else.” 

“Just don’t wander off too far.” After she took Gonff’s knife, Rose began to hum as she started cutting the bush up into little twigs.

“Have no fear, madam, I’ll stay within earshot of your music.” Gonff began to meander his way down the line of bushes, examining them. Is this Hawthorn? It is! Wonder how old the leaves are… Gently pressing down on them, Gonff was dismayed to find that most of them were rather tough. Drat, too hard to eat. But maybe some new growth? He continued down the line, looking for younger plants to take their leaves, checking back every so often to see how far he’d gone from Rose. 

Gonff was inspecting the topmost leaves on a small hedgerow when he heard it. 

“With a smile and song we’ll travel along,
“On our Rambling Rosehip way, hey!” 

The sound of song and instruments was music to Gonff’s ears, and he deeply wished that he hadn’t left his flute behind during the escape, so badly did he suddenly want to join in. But he restrained himself, unsure as to what to do, and instead hunkered down to listen. 

The musicians, whoever they were, promptly engaged in some lighthearted bickering about choreography; apparently the song he’d caught was part of some performance. Peering out, Gonff saw a mixed retinute of Woodland creatures led by a badger, who knocked a pastry out of a hare’s paws as Gonff watched. 

“Bad form that, Rowan, chucking a lad’s breakfast out!” The hare protested in a tone that reminded Gonff of both the Long Patrol and, oddly enough, of Gingivere. 

“Oh, ‘bad form’ my paw! How many times have I told you, Ballaw, breakfast comes after rehearsal, not during! ” The badger spoke in a rougher voice than Gonff would have expected (granted, he supposed, his only reference was Bella, so he wasn’t exactly an expert on what badgermums sounded like), but he could still sense the underlying kindness. They seem trustworthy enough. I’ll go get Rose. 

Gonff crept back through the brush. 

“Well?” Rose asked when he returned, a half-finished basket in her lap. “Did you find anything? Please tell me there’s an apple tree or something nearby.”

“No, not an apple tree.” Gonff grinned. “Better - a whole troupe of players, complete with actual food!” 

“Really?” Rose leapt to her footpaws. “Do you think we can trust them?”

“Most likely.” Gonff nodded. “I watched and listened for a bit, and they seemed like goodbeasts. Here, follow me - it’s just a little ways down past that bunch of Hawthorn bushes!” 

By the time Gonff and Rose returned to Gonff’s hiding place, the troupe’s discussion moved away from their opening song and towards a discussion of poetry. 

“Ugh.” Rose shuddered. “Hope they’re better than the Noonvale Poets’ Guild.” 

Unfortunately none of the creatures seemed in the mood to provide a sample, instead debating over the exact type of poetry to recite. 

“It’s a rougher type of creature up here than normal,” the badger Rowan began, “so none of the light stuff’ll do I fear.” 

“What about something with some action?” A mousemaid suggested. 

“It’s a poem, Gauchee, not a play!” A squirrelmaid replied. “You can’t have ‘action’ in something that’s over in fewer than 20 lines! We need something short and funny.”

“Aye, but I’m afraid it can’t be the ‘witty’ sort of funny.” Ballaw shook his head. “Most like to go right over the heads of the locals, eh wot?” 

“How about something bawdy, then?” Before Rose could stop him, or before Gonff could stop himself, the mouse stood up and strode out of the bush. “Something like this: 

“There was a mousemaid in Mossflower,
“She paid blokes to till by the hour.
“So I asked her mate,
“If they help seeds germinate,
“No’, he said, ‘we just plow ‘er!” 

“There was a moment of silence about the camp. Then, suddenly, the squirrelmaid burst into hysterical laughter. “Plow ‘er! That’s amazing! By the fur, that’s bloody brilliant!” 

“I’m not sure I’d go that far, Calendine.” All the same, Gonff saw Rowan’s chin quivering with suppressed laughter. “But it does make me curious, though: who’s the mouse behind the rhyme?” 

Gonff bowed. “Gonff, Prince of Mousethieves, late of Mossflower, at your service!” Gonff heard a rustling from behind him and saw Rose step out, looking fairly scandalized. “And this is -”

“Laterose of Noonvale, also at your service.” Rose’s bow was deeper and altogether more formal than Gonff’s, and the other mouse couldn’t help but notice how nicely it concealed the blush on her face. “And who might you be?”

“My name is Rowanoak, and that bottomless stomach of a hare over there’s Ballaw. Well, sir Ballaw de Quincewold and a whole other list of titles I won’t bother you with at the moment.”

“Bother them’, Rowan old Oak? Why, the very thought of my name being a ‘bother’!” 

“We’d love to hear them,” Gonff cut in, “but could it wait a bit? Besides us we have five more companions a little way back into the forest and we, uh, kind of forgot to bring anything for breakfast, so could we pinch some of yours?” 

“Oh? First you interrupt our practice and then you want to steal our food?” Rowanoak affected a look of mock sternness. “The very cheek!” 

“Please, ma’am, we just -”

“I’m just pulling your tail, young miss. There’s plenty of food to go around, so go on! Get your friends and bring them here. Let it never be said that the Rambing Rosehip Players turned hungry mouths away!”

Chapter Text

The Corim meeting room was particularly stifling during midday, Gingivere thought, but at the same time he supposed it was only to be expected - two years ago they’d moved the meetings into a windowless chamber situated at the very bottom of the lord’s tower as to lessen the strain on his father’s hip. With things being as they were that rationale was starting to feel more and more irrelevant, and so Gingivere had to admit he was considering moving the Corim back to the audience chamber, but with everything still in flux because of the Dryditch he supposed that was a decision for another meeting. 

So another few hours of us trying not to suffocate, I guess, Gingivere thought as he watched the rest of the Corim file into the room and take their seats. Studying them, Gingivere couldn’t help but notice how stricken and lined Skipper, Amber, and Timballisto’s faces all were. They all look so…tired.  

“What are the latest numbers?” Gingivere began.

“Seventy new infections in Moss Town, and twenty deaths.” Amber folded up one paper and took out another. “Fifteen in the Loamhedge Camp, seven deaths.” A third paper. “Here in Kotir, only one new infection and no deaths.” She shook her head. “That’s a positive, at least.” 

“Who was it?” Timballisto asked. 

“Detta.” Gingivere replied. “The head cook.” With the stoat out of commission and Gonff still in the Northlands the kitchen was left almost rudderless, with only a modicum of order kept up by the young squirrel Peony. “We’ve been keeping her sequestered, and thankfully there haven’t been any indications she spread the disease to anybeast else.” 

“I suppose that’s good at least.” Timballisto cleared his throat. “We’ve been hit fairly hard this past week, with fifty new cases and eighteen deaths. Not to mention that creatures are starting to get agitated, blaming the Loamhedge mice and saying they’ve brought down doom upon us.”

“It’s the same in Moss Town. I’ve been sending out the Thousand-Eyes as wide as I care to try and keep order, but they’re getting stretched too thin.” Amber looked at Mask. “Last time I spoke with your brother you said he had some information about the discontent?” 

“Aye.” Skipper nodded. “He’d be here himself, but he’s still occupied by a threat he heard about to Abbess Germaine.” 

There was a general intake of breath around the table. “The Abbess? ” Gingivere couldn’t believe it. “Why would anybeast stoop that low?” 

“Desperation, mostly.” Timballisto shrugged. “They probably think that if she dies the Loamhedge mice’ll leave, and that’ll be enough to make this all go away.” 

“It’s bloody stupid, is what it is.” Skipper said. “But we’ll have to sail this particular ship another day: for now, back to what my brother told me, eh? According to him and his sources, most of the discontent can be traced back to a pair of creatures: a rat and a mole.” 

“That’s not exactly the narrowest of categories, mate.” Amber pointed out. “There’s got to be at least a few hundred of both types in Mossflower.” 

“I know, I know, but it’s all Mask would tell me. Too big a risk of information leaking out, according to him.” 

“I’ll speak with him myself.” Gingivere nodded. “Next time you see him, tell Mask he’s to report to Kotir at once.” 

“Will do, my lord.” Skipper looked down suddenly, fumbling with his paws. “But, actually, there was something else he wanted to me to ask you personally.”

“That being?” 

“Well…I’d almost rather wait until this meeting is over? It’s more of a personal request type thing.” 

“Alright, then?” Gingivere studied the otter for a moment, curious. 

“How goes progress on finding a cure?” Amber asked. 

“Very slowly. Bella and I were making decent progress before she fell ill, but since then I’ve been mostly waiting on Germaine to finish translating the texts she borrowed. I’ve managed to come up with a few ingredients by cross-referencing the information we got by dissecting those two mice with cures to other diseases with similar symptoms, but I wanted to wait until more definitive information before we start mixing anything together. I’m not about to shove mole piss down anybeast’s throat until we know it’s going to have a decent shot at actually working.”

“Fair enough.” Timballisto leaned forwards in his chair. “But if I may, it might actually be incumbent to start seeing if you can get volunteers to test something out. As things stand the only measure you’ve taken towards curing this disease that the average creature knows about is the dissection, which, ah, isn’t exactly popular.”

“Did anybeast ever figure out who’s responsible for that leaking out?” Amber asked.

“Aye. One of my own otters was at fault, and I promise you he’s been disciplined accordingly.” 

“Good. All the same, Gingivere, Timballisto’s right. We all know you’re taking an active role in mitigating the Dryditch epidemic, but the average creature can’t see that. Starting up tests might serve to act as a decent counterpoint to the notion you’re just sitting around doing nothing.” 

“I’ll consider it.” By the fur, how in the blazes didn’t I realize that from the start? Gingivere wanted to kick himself. I’m such an idiot. 

“Thank you. Perhaps if need be we could use some of the prisoners we’ve got cooped up in the dungeons?” 

“How? None of them have gotten sick yet.” 

“Not yet, no, but we could remedy that.” Amber’s face hardened. “We’ve still got some rough characters locked up down there that could use a little humbling, make no mistake.”

“Hold on.” Timballisto protested. “You’re not seriously suggesting what I think you are?” 

Amber nodded. 

“Blimey, Amber!” Skipper gaped over at the squirrel. “Rogues or no, they’re still living creatures! You can’t just feed them to Dryditch like they’re nothing!” 

“Why not? Warthorn, we’ve got a rat down there that burned an entire traveling family of foxes to death because they disturbed his rest, a mouse that sold her sons into slavery in exchange for two barrels of ale, not to mention that weasel Brinty caught trying to abduct half the children on Timballisto’s estate. The only reason they haven’t been executed already is because we’ve had our paws full dealing with the fever, so why not at least put them to good use?” 

“As sacrifices?” Skipper glared at Amber from across the table. “You know who you’re reminding me of right now, matey? Because there was another creature we’ve both faced that sacrificed prisoners to make things easier for themselves, wasn’t there.” 

Amber’s eyes widened in shock and hurt. “How dare you. How dare you. You think I’m like… him ? Those were children, Warthorn! This is entirely different!” 

“It’s not from where I’m standing, it’s not. You start saying it’s fair to toss prisoners to the sharks just to save your own arse, all you’re doing is making the same sort of excuses he did.”

“I am not the same as him.” Amber jabbed a paw at Skipper’s chest. “What if Veil got sick, huh? Or Bluefen? You know how sickly your sister-in-law is. And what if that happens and we still don’t have any way to treat this? Do you really want to let your family snuff it because you were too interested in preserving the moral high ground?” 

The meeting promptly dissolved into a shouting match between the squirrel and the otter, Timbalisto’s pleas for them to calm down going completely ignored, while Gingivere sat completely unsure of what to do. They were just both being so loud , and they were completely focused on one another to the exclusion of everybeast else, filling the cramped chamber with mingled, echoing shouts that made it impossible to think straight. Briefly, ever so briefly, Gingivere wanted to turn tail and run away, run back to his room, hide and let somebeast else sort it out. 

Before he could do so, however, Amber whirled on him. “Well?” She practically spit out the demand, “you’re the bloody Acting Lord of Mossflower, so act! What do you think?” 

“I…I…” Put on the spot, Gingivere was completely flat-pawed and stammering, brain rapidly trying to think of an answer. “I mean, it is cruel, but at the same time we probably do need to make more progress, but then…” All his thoughts were jumbled up upon one another, leaving him unable to respond.

And then, suddenly, one thought broke through. Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’ve survived a literal war. 

Gingivere cleared his throat and stood up, glaring at the two. “Both of you, sit down before I call in somebeast to throw you out. This is getting absolutely ridiculous. Amber, Skipper’s right - we can’t deliberately infect somebeast with a deadly disease, no matter how awful of a creature they may be. That’s too cruel for even the vilest of scum to suffer.” 

“Thank you, Gingi -” 

“And you, Skipper, should know better than to accuse a fellow creature of being anything like somebeast as vile as Greypaw the Bloody unless you’ve suddenly gained a deep desire to be punched in the face. Truth be told, you’re both acting absurd, and it’s getting us absolutely nowhere. I understand that you’re both exhausted and stressed to the hellgates and back with everything that’s been going on because of Dryditch, but bickering amongst ourselves isn’t going to bring us to a solution any faster - quite the opposite in fact. So both of you sit down, and for the love of all that is good, think. Before. You. Open. Your. Blooming. Mouths. ” 

Chastened, both Amber and Skipper sat back down and went silent. 

“Uh, well done there, mate,” Timballisto finally was able to speak, “but, er, what exactly are we going to do now?” 

With an air of finality, Gingivere stepped out from his chair and pushed it up to the table. “For the moment, we are going to visit Abbess Germaine. Perhaps she has some translations for us, and even if she doesn’t, like you all said it’s a good idea for me to actually be seen trying to help out. Amber, Timballisto, grab whoever’s loitering around the great hall and get them kitted out to escort us as soon as possible. Skipper, stay a moment so we can talk about your request.” 

The mouse and the squirrel filed out silently, Amber still looking embarrassed at her outburst. Gingivere turned to Skipper once they had both left. “So what was it you wanted to ask about?” 

“Well, uh, Amber was on the right tack when she said Dryditch is especially dangerous to my family, what with Bluefen not being all that strong and Veil still so little. And even besides that, with the mood being as it is in Mossflower, I’m worried about their safety. So, with your permission of course, could they maybe come and stay in Kotir for a bit? Until all this blows over?” 

“That’s all?” Gingivere smiled and began walking towards the door. “By the way you were going on I was worried you were going to ask me to evacuate all of Camp Willow or something. No, that’s fine - have Mask bring them next time he reports back here, and we’ll get them put up in one of the guest chambers.”

Relieved, Skipper followed Gingivere out of the room. “Thank you, my lord.” 

Escorted by thirty soldiers, the Corim left Kotir and started down the dusty road towards the Loamhedge camp. As they marched a crowd slowly gathered to watch, and soon Gingivere found himself accosted from every direction by voices.

“Hail, Lord of Mossflower, finally bestirring himself from his fancy castle!” 

“Please, my lord, help us! We’re all getting sick here!” 

“Drive those disease-ridden mice out of Mossflower, I beg you!” 

“Aye, get rid of them! Justice for the dead!” 

“Where is Bella?”

Gingivere forced himself to look straight ahead, occasionally nodding in response to a comment that was less inflammatory than most, and wordlessly gestured for Timballisto to fall in alongside him. 

“Are most creatures this hateful towards the refugees?” He muttered.

“No, at least they’re not up around my lands.” Timballisto looked over at Amber, who was busy shouting commands to the Thousand-Eyes. “Amber and her captains would probably have a better idea of the sentiment in Moss Town, though.”

“All the same,” Gingivere replied as he surveyed the throng of angry, fearful creatures, “you all were right. I waited too long to make myself more known. You can practically feel the unrest bubbling up further and further by the second.” It might be a good idea to double the guard around the Loamhedge Camp again, if enough willing creatures can be found, lest somebeast try anything. Gingivere made a mental note to broach the subject with Amber once they were back in Kotir. 

The throng seemed to ebb in size the closer they got to their destination, something Gingivere guessed was either due to fear of catching Dryditch or a simple desire to not stray too far from home, and by the time the Corim arrived at the outer wall surrounding the camp the last of the stragglers had given up and returned to town. Attending the gate was a ferret by the name of Raker, who waved them in. 

“Step quickly, though - we’ve had a few miscreants from town trying to break in lately.” He warned. 

“We saw them.” Amber looked back towards Moss Town. “Think the walls are strong enough to hold?”

“Against the stray idiot? Definitely. But if an entire mob develops?” Raker shrugged. “That might be a different story.”

“Let’s best hope that we don’t have an angry mob, then.” Gingivere stepped through the gate and looked at Raker. “Is the Abbess still healthy?”

“Aye, and still poring over that old book in her tent.” Raker waved a spear at the rest of the Corim and their escort. “Now, once again, would you lot mind getting a move on? It’s not a good idea to keep the gate open for too long these days.”

With the gate slowly clacking shut behind him, Gingivere made his way through the camp to the Abbess’ tent. Inside he found her hunched over the history book she’d been working at since he’d last visited her. Next to her was Sandingomm, who was busy writing down some notes.

“Oh, Gingivere!” She grinned upon noticing the other wildcat. “I’m finally getting to put your writing lessons to good use.” 

Germaine looked up from her book long enough to smile. “Yes, she’s done wonderfully. A few days ago Sandingomm had the brilliant idea to take my transcriptions and sift through them for the most important bits, and she’s also been keeping a running list of the most common curative ingredients.” 

“Oh?” Gingivere looked down at Sandingomm’s notes. “Do any stand out as the most common?”

“Two in particular.” Sandingomm held up a piece of paper with multiple check marks next to the names of various plants and seeds. “Funnily enough, rice is actually mentioned as the best cure, and don’t you have a fair bit of it in the stores?”

Gingivere nodded, excitement beginning to rise in his chest for the first time in a while. “At least four or five barrels, as I recall. Does it say how much is needed?” 

“Not yet, but I’m still looking.” Germaine pointed down at the book. “There’s a passage four chapters after the one on Helskerland that may hold the answer, once I translate it.”

“How soon can you get the translation finished?”

“Hopefully within the week. Unfortunately much of the ink is smudged, as the Abbess recording this appears to have spilled her tea whilst writing things down, so it’s going to take me longer than normal.” 

“Oh. That’s…not exactly the answer I was hoping for.”

“Why?” Sandingomm looked at Gingivere, her smile disappearing. “Is it Bella?”

“No, she’s still doing fine enough. It’s every other creature in Mossflower I’m worried about - things seem to be going downhill fast, and if we don’t get this done soon…” he trailed off. 

“...There’s going to be a riot?” Sandingomm finished. 

“Without a doubt. As it is now Mossflower’s like a volcano about to explode, and if and when it does things are going to get bloody.” Gingivere’s mouth set into a grim line. “So it’s a race: what will happen first, we finish this translation or Mossflower reaches the breaking point?”

Chapter Text

“Again, my lord, I can’t thank you enough for this.” Three days after Skipper had given Gingivere Mask’s request, the otter had finally made his way to Kotir alongside his family.

“No trouble at all. After everything you’ve done for Mossflower, it’s the least I can do.” Gingivere smiled and looked down at Veil; the little ferret was gaping at everything in the castle entry hall while carrying a small bundle in his paws, all the while asking his mother several dozen questions per minute. 

Behind them trailed a young otter, grunting and groaning under the weight of a large chest containing Mask’s disguises and notebooks.

“All the same, I really do appreciate it with things out there being as they are.” 

Gingivere nodded - no explanation was needed. The past three days had seen the situation in Mossflower deteriorate faster than he would’ve thought possible, with attempted incursions into the Loamhedge camp happening at least five times a day. One otter had even managed to climb the fence, Raker had reported, and had been about to start pelting sick creatures with stones when she’d been stopped and hauled to Kotir in chains. “I’ll do all I can to make sure they’re both safe here.” 

“Huh? What do you mean?” Veil had gotten close enough to overhear the last part of the conversation. Brow furrowed in confusion, he looked from Mask to Gingivere and then to his mother. “Why weren’t we safe at home?” 

The three adults exchanged glances. “Well,” Bluefen started, “you know how lots of creatures have been getting sick lately?” 

“Yeah, but Uncle Skipper said there weren’t many cases at home, didn’t he?” 

“That’s true, but that doesn’t stop creatures from getting scared. And sometimes when creatures get scared they don’t stop and think before they do something, kind of like how last week you thought there was a monster in the kitchen and tried to get me to go behind the oven and make it go away.” Mask ruffled the fur on the top of Veil’s head. “Not to mention you’ve been begging us to bring you here for how long now?” 

“I still don’t get it, dad.” Veil frowned. 

“Then just think of it as an adventure - it’s your chance to explore Kotir.” Mask held up a paw. “But first, would you mind helping your mother take everything to our rooms?” 

“But -” 

“Come on, Veil. Your father and lord Gingivere have a lot to talk about. I’ll try and explain things a little better on the way up, but we need to get a move on - these bags are pretty heavy.” 

His face dropping into a sulk, Veil made to follow his mother up the stairs. “Come to think of it, how secure are the Corim chambers?” Mask asked once the two ferrets were out of view. 

“Fairly. Why? You worried somebeast is going to try and break in?” 

“Let’s just say there’s decent odds you may have to pull a certain young ferret out from behind a curtain or under a table.” Mask shook his head. “He’s gotten into a bit of a habit of sneaking around lately and trying to listen in on conversations he knows he shouldn’t. It’s driving me and Bluefen mad trying to figure out how to get him to stop, not to mention why he’s started doing it all of a sudden in the first place.” 

Gingivere cocked an eyebrow. “Well, considering your own choice in profession…” 

“Fair point.” Mask conceded. “Right, and speaking of, I actually have some good news to report.” 

“Oh? Any names?”

“Aye.” Mask nodded. “A couple weeks ago me and Goody Stickle got into it with this rat by the name of Bonetail over how you’ve been handling Dryditch, and since then he’s had a habit of popping up here and there, usually right before there’s a gathering of angry creatures or an attempt to sneak into the Loamhedge Camp.” 

Certainly sounds like Bontetail’s one of our provocateurs, Gingivere thought. “What about the mole?” 

“An old creature by the name of Gertrude. She was at the tavern when me and Goody had our fight with Bonetail, and although she hasn’t show the same sort of trail as -”

“Hold on, hold on.” Gingivere waved his paws in front of Mask. “You’re telling me that Goody Stickle was in a tavern brawl? ” 

“I know, I was surprised too.” 

“By the fur. Things really are getting tense out there, aren’t they?” Gingivere sighed. “But anyways, Bonetail and Gertrude are the probable ringleaders of the discontent, then?” 

“Most likely. Are you going to have Amber arrest them?” 

“Not quite yet. It would probably be better to meet with them first, as perhaps we can come to some accord if I show them that there has in fact been progress on finding a cure.” 

“Mmmph…urff…There has been?” The young otter huffed and put down the chest, carefully balancing it between the staircase step and his paw. “That’s news to me.” 

“I probably haven’t been as open as I should have been, my friend.” Gingivere looked the young otter over. “What’s your name, son? Can’t say I’ve seen you around here before.” 

“Name’s Gillig.” The otter sunk into a bow that nearly cost him his balance. Finally managing to steady himself after a moment of fumbling, Gillig blushed. “Erm, sorry about that, my lord. But if I may ask, what sort of progress has there been?”

“A fair bit, actually. Sandingomm sent a message earlier that Abbess Germaine’s finished transcribing some of the books I lent her, so we might be able to have the recipe for a cure in the next few days.”

“Really?” Said Mask. “That quick? Impressive.”

“Assuming that everything is of use, that is. And we still need to find potential subjects to test the cure on.” 

“Right, my brother mentioned you were having a bit of trouble with that. Any ideas?” 

“A few.” Gingivere looked over at Gillig. “But I should probably wait a little to talk about them.” 

“Oh, sorry, am I not supposed to be here?” Gillig blinked and tried to lift up Mask’s chest again. “Just give me…urgh…a minute and I’ll be…” 

Mask reached out and grabbed the chest’s side, pulling it forwards. “Careful, lad, don’t hurt yourself.” 

“I’ll be fine sir, just have to get a good grip.” Gillig started up the stairs again, forcing Mask and Gingivere to jump aside before the chest slammed into them. “It’s the, uh, third door on the right of the fifth landing, right?” 

“Second door, third landing. You’ll probably see Veil trying to sneak out.” 

“Righto. Strike my oar, this is heavy.” Gillig muttered just before he stepped out of sight. 

“Sorry about my young friend there. Loads of enthusiasm, not much surety in the paws.” 

Gingivere smiled. “Oh, he’s not so bad.” 

Before he could say anything else, Gingivere’s ears twitched. Huh? “Say, Mask? Do you hear something coming from outside?” 

“No, not really, why?” Mask frowned. “Wait, no, sounds like there’s some shouting?” 

“That’s what I hear. And I don’t think it’s the Thousand-Eyes.” 

“Maybe somebeast’s at the gates?” Mask shrugged. “Although it certainly sounds like a fair few of them.” Mask’s paw dropped to his knife. “Want me to go see what it is?”

“No, not yet. The guards should be able to handle it.” At least I hope so. “There’s something I wanted to ask you - what was that Veil said about there not being very many cases of Dryditch? Your brother said the same thing last time the Corim met.” 

“Aye, it’s the strangest thing. For whatever reason, Camp Willow’s gone almost completely untouched this entire time. So have some of the other communities further upstream, for that matter.” 

Oh? Interesting. Gingivere wondered what the connection was. Maybe I should get a map drawn up of the distribution of cases, see where is and isn’t affected? That might - 

A loud slam jarred Gingivere out of his thoughts. “What was that?” 

Mask exhaled slowly, annoyed. “Probably Gillig. Should’ve known that the chest was too much for him.” There was another slamming noise. “Oh for - what in blazes is he dropping now?” 

“No. I don’t think that’s him.” At the second noise, Gingivere’s heart had sunk like a stone. “Those came from outside. Near the shouting.” Which, now that I think about it, has gotten even louder. 

Not to mention that it almost seemed that Gingivere could smell the faintest whiff of smoke drifting in from the windows. 

There was a third slam, this one loud enough to shake the torch sconces nearest to the door. “What in the gates of hell is going on out there?” Mask pulled out his knife and stepped in front of Gingivere. 

As if on cue, the door leading into Kotir’s courtyard burst open, and in stumbled Sandingomm. Face ashen and fur tousled up in a dozen different places, the wildcat gazed around frantically before finally noticing Gingivere. “Oh, you’re safe! Thank the heavens!” 

“Sandingomm!” Gingivere rushed over to her. “What’s going on? Are you alright? You look, uh…” 

“Like I’ve been through a battle?” Sandingomm’s laugh was bitter. “That’s not too far off from the truth. Do you want the good news first, or the bad news?”

Gingivere looked out the still-open door, and was shocked to see a massive throng of Woodlanders pushing against a beleaguered line of Thousand-Eyes. As he watched the Woodlanders surged forwards as one, banging against the soldiers’ shields with enough force that the Thousand-Eyes nearly broke. “Let me guess - bad news is either a rat named Bonetail or a mole named Gertrude’s currently telling that lot they need to attack the castle?” 

“Well, I definitely saw a mole, although I didn’t catch her name.” Sandingomm’s eyes were wider than Gingivere could have imagined they could possibly get; she was shaking, he realized at the same moment. “And she wasn’t there. She was back in town, yelling and gesturing towards here and the Loamhedge camp, and then they…they…” 

Gingivere took Sandingomm’s paw in his own. “What is it?” 

“They started breaking things. The Thousand-Eye flag, the statue in the town square, windows, doors, everything. And some of them were headed towards the Loamhedge camp with spears and rocks and…” 

Mask swore before racing up the steps. Gingivere couldn’t blame him - Bluefen had spent a fair bit of time tending to the sick, and if somebeast was insane enough to think scaling the walls was a good idea, she would make an appealing target. Damn it! How did I let it get to this point? Gingivere was furious with himself. Why didn’t I let everybeast know how hard I was working? I’ve KNOWN they’re scared for weeks now, so why in the gates of hell didn’t I try to soothe them?  

“Whatever you’re thinking about,” Sandingomm cut into his thoughts, “it’s going to have to wait. What do we do now ?” 

“I - I don’t know.” Gingivere looked back through the doors. “I guess the first thing we need to start with is handling that lot out front.” Steeling himself, Gingivere stood as straight as he could. “Did you happen to notice how well the lines were holding as you ran past them? It looks bad, I’ll admit, but I can’t say for sure.” 

“Not really. I was just focused on getting to safety.” 

“Alright, then.” Gingivere studied them for a moment. “I’ll need to take a closer look, and I’m no expert, but I’d wager an apple to an acorn they’d love to get some relief. Sandingomm, take the central staircase down two flights and go through the fifth door on the right - that’s Whegg’s quarters, and he should still be around. Have him gather up as many soldiers as he can and bring them to the front gate.” 

“Will do.” Sandingomm nodded. “You’re going out there?”

“I have to. This whole mess is partly my fault, after all.” 

“Okay, just…just stay safe, alright?” 

“Look, I’m not about to charge into the middle of a fight, sword in paw. I’m not Martin. ” Although I really wish he were here right now, actually. 

“Fair enough.” Sandingomm ran towards the stairs, and after looking back towards Gingivere for a heartbeat she disappeared down the first flight of steps. 

Alrighty, time to face the masses. He’d known it was coming - even a blind beast would have been able to read the signs and gauge the deteriorating mood - and so had developed at least a bit of a response, but Gingivere had planned on having a bit more time to formulate a plan of action. Suppose I really HAVEN’T been paying close enough attention. Still , he mused as he sprinted out Kotir’s doors, nothing to do now but try and clean up my mess. 

As Gingivere let the shouts and commands of the rioters and Thousand-Eyes overwhelm him, shouts so loud that he almost staggered back, it suddenly occurred to Gingivere: he’d never gotten Sandingomm to tell him what exactly her ‘good news’ was.

Chapter Text

Sunflash grunted as he struggled to pull himself up the cliff. Almost…there…  

According to Coriander this was the swiftest path up and over Mount Philo, and although Sunflash could certainly understand how that was true if one reckoned according to a bird flying, for those creatures trapped on the ground the going was a fair bit slower - they’d been ascending the one cliff face for the vast majority of the past three hours, and only now was Sunflash about to reach the little outcropping that marked their rest point. 

I suppose it’d be easier if I still had two thumbs, Sunflash thought. Damn Swartt and his cruelty. Damn me and my impulsiveness. It was the same impulsiveness that had led him to abandon Salamandastron and strike north without anybeast other than Skarlath, Coriander, and ten hares from the Long Patrol under the command of a young corporal named Barmilton. It had seemed like the best idea at the time, but now that Sunflash and his party had reached the mountains he was really beginning to wish that he’d brought along a couple of surveyors and builders. 

With another grunt, Sunflash managed to finally heave himself over onto the top of the outcropping. Other than Skarlath, who had already flown off to survey the rest of the climb to the top, he was the first to reach it. With nothing else to do but wait, Sunflash turned and looked out at the view. 

He had to admit, it was amazing. The entirety of the western coastal plain spread out below him, miles and miles of grassland and moorland that, off in the distance, terminated in a blue line that marked the great western sea. Distantly to the south he could make out the great statue of Boar that had been erected in the square outside the hamlet of Murrel’s Inlet; the northernmost reach of his territory. And now, Sunflash thought as Barmilton struggled up next to him and turned to help the hare struggling just behind, I’ve left with a force that’s maybe a tenth the size of the absolute minimum one would usually bring on an excursion like this. 

“Right, easy does it now.” Barmilton pulled the hare up and gave them a solid pat on the arm. “There, that’s a good lass, time to rest now.” He looked over at Sunflash. “Flippin’ heck, quite the adventure we’re having, eh wot?” 

“Eh, better than my last journey up north.” Sunflash bent over and lifted Coriander up onto the cliff. “Although I could have done with fewer cliffs.” 

Cori blushed. “Sorry, milord. There’s supposed to be a hidden path somewhere around here, but…well, it’s called ‘hidden’ for a bally good reason I’d say. At least we’re most of the way up? I think?” 

Sunflash looked upwards. “Yes, it looks that way. Another, what, half an hour and we’ll be at the top?” 

“Can honestly say that this is the first time ‘another half an hour’ sounds like a good thing when said in relation to climbing.” 

“Me as well, Barmilton.” Sunflash shook his head. “Not to mention I’m doing this without two thumbs.” 

“Why are you missing one of your thumbs?” Cori asked. “None of the Long Patrol hares wanted to tell me.” 

“Let me just say I did something foolish a few years ago and leave it there.” Sunflash looked down at his paw and clenched it. I’ll pay you back for this someday, Swartt. But not now: there were far more pressing concerns. How are you faring, mother? Did Dryditch take you? Or have you recovered? And what about Gingivere? 

Sunflash pushed his worries out of his mind. No sense thinking about them now and risking getting distracted. Especially while we’re still climbing. At the very least, Sunflash was grateful they’d started with the morning’s first light, as trying this climb in the darkness was something the badger imagined would end with at least half of them splattered all over the ground below. 

“Any chance we’ll be able to break into the vittles soon, milord?” One of the hares asked. It was getting near time for midmorning brunch, now that Sunflash thought about it. 

All the same, considering they still had a fair bit of climbing left to do, Sunflash doubted it was a good time. “No, we wait until we’ve summited. It should be only another half hour - forty-five minutes, depending on how fast we climb.” Sensing protests about to form, Sunflash sweeped the assembled hares with a stern look. “And no complaints. Remember, we’re not on holiday. We’re doing this because our friends and family back in Mossflower are suffering. We simply don’t have time to eat at our leisure.” 

Further dissuasion of protest came from the beating of wings as Skarlath descended back to the cliff face. “Well said, matey.” Giving his friend a smile before continuing, Skarlath raised his voice to be heard by everybeast. “Just atop the cliff there is a decently-sized plateau. The Westwardly side has a raised bit we can sit against, and if there’s wind it would make a good resting point.” 

“What about beyond that?” A hare called out. “Are we at the blinkin’ descent yet?” 

Skarlath nodded. “Almost. There’s a gentle slope upwards just beyond the raised bit. Follow that a ways, and it starts sloping downwards again to the north before winding perhaps halfway down the mountain. After that’s a tunnel, but I didn’t go in.” 

“I’ll send a scouting party once we’re closer to it.” Sunflash patted Skarlath on the wing. “Thank you, my friend. This news is better than I expected. Truth be told, part of me wondered if you’d return and say ‘there’s another five-hundred-foot cliff’ or something else to torment us.” 

“Perhaps the world just decided to give us a lucky break for once. We’ve not exactly been full of those in the past, now have we?” 

“I wouldn’t say that - I count our meeting as a lucky break, after all.” Sunflash wiggled the stump of his thumb. “Even considering the mutilation.” 

“Fair enough, I suppose. Is there anything else you need me to do?”

“Could you keep watch as we climb? If the youngest couple hares hit their limit while we’re climbing it will be good to have an extra pair of eyes watching.”

“Agreed. Just, ah, don’t expect me to catch them. I’ll have to stick with being a warning system.” 

“Very well.” Sunflash approached the cliff and placed a paw on it. “I suppose we should count ourselves fortunate that this cliff is as rough as it is. Could you imagine trying to do this on smoothed-out stone?” 

“Didn’t some of those Mossflower mice do that a few years ago?” Cori asked. “That’s what Lupin said at least.” 

“Yes, but they were mice. We’re all a fair bit larger. But, when you get down to it, that’s neither here nor there.” Sunflash’s paws finally found a large enough crack that he could wedge his fingers in, allowing him to begin the climb upwards. “So rather than thinking about what Martin and Gonff did, let’s just focus on what we are doing.” Reaching upwards, Sunflash found another crack. And to think some creatures do this for FUN. For some reason, I can’t help but wonder if they’re actually in their right minds. At least this is the last cliff we’ll have to ascend for a little while. Badger and hare alike continued upward, mostly silent. Without any conversation to serve as a distraction Sunflash’s thoughts turned Eastward to Mossflower, and he wondered how everybeast was doing, and whether or not Gingivere had come up with a cure yet. 

“Come to think of it, there’s a good chance we’re doing this for nothing eh wot?” It was as though Barmilton was reading his mind. “What if we go all the way north, get our flowers, and then return home just to find that everybeast in Mossflower’s right as rain again?” 

“It certainly is a possibility.” Sunflash jammed his paws into a crag big enough to support him for a minute or two. “However, considering that the Mossflower cure is like to consist of I doubt anybeast’ll turn their snouts up at a nice bit of ground-up flowers.” The second day out from Salamandastron Sunflash had told them about the…unfortunate nature of the one ingredient Gingivere and Bella had managed to confirm, to expected reactions of horror and disgust. “Not to mention the very real possibility that we could perhaps make off with some seeds, which we could use to grow our own flowers for future outbreaks.” 

Sunflash began climbing again. Two-thirds of the way there… He had to admit, his paws were starting to get rather tired, particularly his left one. Won’t that just figure? If I’M the one to tumble straight down the cliffside? I just hope everybeast else is holding up better than I am. Craning his neck, Sunflash could just make out the other hares struggling their way upwards, and although they certainly all looked exhausted, Sunflash was pleased to see that all ten of them were holding up nicely. Looking around the badger caught Skarlath’s eye as the kestrel similarly looked for any signs of faltering creatures. Nodding and smiling, Skarlath returned Sunflash’s gaze a moment before turning his attention towards the hare at the tail of the group. Satisfied that everything was in order, Sunflash redoubled his efforts, and was shortly rewarded with the glorious feeling of clifftop beneath his paws. Ugh, bloody FINALLY! A one, and a two, and… 

Sunflash swung himself over the top and collapsed onto the rock, panting. Hopefully, I’ll never have to do that again. 

***

The group’s midmorning meal consisted of grilled leeks, although Sunflash felt that they’d lost most of the ‘grilled’ flavor in the two weeks since their creation despite the fact that he could still smell the faintest hint of smoke. Skarlath winged over after finishing his own meal, a part of the sea bass he’d received as a gift back in Murrel’s Inlet from a weasel he’d helped a few weeks before. 

“Any idea as to what’s in the tunnel?” Sunflash asked him. “I know some similar tunnels on other mountains are home to bats, thieves, hermits, and some other type of creature I’m likely forgetting about.” 

“Not in the slightest. Didn’t fly close enough to look. You want me to?” Skarlath looked over at the ten hares. “Pretty sure that lot’d thank you for the excuse to sit and rest a few minutes while I poke around.” 

“They probably would.” As would I, to be honest. “Alright then, sure, go scout in there a little, but keep your eyes and ears peeled. At the first sign of trouble, come back as quickly as you can. If you’re seen fleeing, try to mislead them by flying Westwards and circling back around.”

“Aye, mate, can and will do.” Skarlath took wing and started towards the cave. Sunflash watched him briefly before turning back to his meal and polishing off the last leek. Then, suddenly tired, Sunflash lay back against a black and oddly-cylindrical rock and closed his eyes, hoping that perhaps he could take a brief nap - 

Sunflash’s head, rather than stopping as one would normally expect when making contact with a rock, continued downwards as the rock crumbled beneath it. As the rock crumbled Sunflash’s nostrils filled with the smell of smoke, and with a start the badger bolted upright and turned around. Wait - that’s not a rock, that’s an old firelog! Getting to his footpaws, Sunflash looked around. And over there I can see ash marks, and by Private Gatiss there are a couple scraps of twig. Somebeast was here! 

Without missing a beat, Sunflash walked over to Barmilton and tapped him on the shoulder. “Corporal. We need to talk.” 

After Sunflash finished explaining what he noticed, Barmilton spoke. “Is that why Skarlath took off in a hurry? To find whatever chap left all this behind?” 

“No, but I’d wager an apple to an acorn he’s going to either run into them or find more signs of their presence. The question is, what were they doing up here?” 

“Bandits, I’d say.” Barmilton hmphed. “Decent folk tend to avoid desolate peaks like this one, donchaknow?” 

“Hey now, that Whitear rat Verdauga fought with a few years ago wasn’t a bad creature.”

“Fine, one exception. And even then, aren’t he and his group still a bunch of highwaybeasts when you get right down to it?”

“Perhaps. And yet, looking around, I can’t imagine there were all that many creatures here before us. Three at most?”

“Maybe.” Barmilton shrugged. “Hard to say for sure, eh wot? Best wait for Skarlath to return in my opinion, see what he’s learned.” 

The kestrel flew back into the camp not long after the last bits of the meal had been consumed, and as Sunflash ran over to him he couldn’t help but notice that Skarlath looked completely gobsmacked. 

“What’s wrong?” Sunflash pointed towards the ashes. “I noticed signs of a camp a few minutes ago - did you see who made it?” 

“I think so, but at the same time, I’m honestly wondering if the mountain air’s starting to get to me, because what I saw was…” He trailed off, brushing a wing over his eyes. 

“You’re a bird, are you not? I doubt the mountain air’s affecting you, particularly since we’re all still fine. What did you see?” 

Skarlath looked at Sunflash, eyes wider than dinner plates. “A badger, Sunflash. Here we are at the top of the world, and I see a flippin’ badger! ” 

Chapter Text

The badger was younger than Sunflash expected, probably no older than fourteen or fifteen, in Sunflash’s opinion far too young to be traipsing around the mountains alone. And yet alone he seemed to have been, because neither Sunflash, Skarlath, nor Barmilton were able to see so much as a shred of evidence that the other badger had anybeast accompanying him. Had it not been for the badger’s utterly-relaxed posture Sunflash would have wondered if perhaps he was the lone survivor of some attack, which would also have explained the fact that his cloak was a good three sizes too large for him, but with that seeming rather unlikely Sunflash wasn’t exactly sure what to think. Not to mention that the cloak’s, uh, purple. Don’t see that on many creatures. 

All together, it meant that there was something about the badger that just felt… off. Like he was out of place in every manner it was possible for a creature to be out of place. 

Thankfully as of yet the badger hadn’t noticed the three of them, so Sunflash turned to his companions. 

“Barmilton,” he whispered, cover my left. Skarlath, keep back in the open area by that rock and be ready to fly back to the Long Patrol if there’s any trouble.”

“Reckon he’s dangerous?” Barmilton asked. “Lad’s rather young, isn’t he?”

“Aye, but there’s something strange about him. I can’t explain it, but I think it’s best to be on guard.” 

“Fair enough.” Barmilton nodded and rested a paw against his throwing axe. “After you, m’lord.”

The badger was just finishing off a bag of candied nuts when Sunflash and Barmilton stepped up to him. Slowly looking up at the new arrivals, the badger smiled and nodded. 

“Hello, fellow travelers! Sunflash the Mace and a brave hare of the Long Patrol, I presume?”

‘The Mace’? “Just Sunflash is fine. I must say, I am surprised to see a fellow badger up here, much less one as young as you.” 

“Eh? A badger?” There was a fleeting look of confusion on his face. “Oh, right, I am a badger now. Thousand pardons - tend to forget every so often.” 

Sunflash and Barmilton looked at each other. “You…forget you’re a badger?” the latter asked. 

“Been a fair few different creatures in my time.” The badger stood up and offered a paw. “But that’s neither here nor there. My name is Ostrakon.” 

Um, okay… Sunflash wouldn’t have thought it possible, but somehow he was even more put off now by the badger than he had been at first glance. All the same, Sunflash took Ostrakon’s paw in his and shook it. 

“What brings you two up the mountain, if I may ask?” Ostrakon seemed oblivious to the confusion and discomfort on the other two’s faces. “Surely the lord of Salamandastron wouldn’t abandon duty and country on a whim.” 

Sunflash decided that he really didn’t like Ostrakon. “Mossflower has been hit by plague.” he responded stiffly. “Dryditch fever. My companions and I - there are more hares from the Long Patrol outside of the cave, along with Skarlath the kestrel - are going north in search of the cure.” 

If Ostrakon was surprised by the explanation, he didn’t show it, instead merely nodding. “Ah. Came out of the East, correct?” 

“Aye. I…wasn’t aware the source was known this widely.” 

“You misunderstand me - I truly did not know before you came. At least, not for sure - some months ago I had a vision of a mass of yellow and violet stretching out from the East and engulfing Mossflower, and have oft wondered what it meant, but your news has put it nicely into perspective for me.”

Sunflash gave a start. Gingivere told me once - Verdauga dreamed of that exact thing. How could this badger know about that? Surely, if either Gingivere or Verdauga had told anybeast about a prophetic dream, they wouldn’t have told anybeast as…eccentric as Ostrakon. 

“Ah yes, perhaps I should explain.” Continuing onwards, Ostrakon tapped the side of his head with a paw. “I’m something of a seer, you should know - every once in a while visions of things to come appear to me in dreams. That is why I am here, in fact, as a month ago I had a vision of an abandoned abbey.” 

“Well, mate, if you’re looking for Loamhedge you’re a mite lost.” Barmilton rolled his eyes. “It’s basically on the other side of the continent, dontchaknow?” 

“Oh, I know full well. See, the abbey is not the object of my quest, at least, not at first. Within the vision there was a voice, one that boomed out from the abbey, and it said: ‘two summers yonder search the cliffs for two who roam, one back in time, one far from home.’ And thus I set out, searching the cliffs. Unfortunately, my vision was not so kind as to say which cliff I am to meet my ‘two who roam’ at, so I have little choice but to wander.” Looking somewhat embarrassed, Ostrakon fiddled with a long strand of fur on the top of his head. “I am well aware that this is not exactly the ideal way to fulfill the vision, but alas, it is the only option I have at the moment.”

Sunflash and Barmilton exchanged glances for a second time, a glance the showed they were thinking the same thought: this badger’s nuttier than the pantry of the average squirrel. All the same he didn’t seem all that dangerous, per se, so Sunflash decided to humor him. “Are you sure there isn’t, er, a better way to go about figuring out which cliff you’re supposed to meet these two at?” 

“And why start your search two bloomin’ years ahead of time?” Barmilton chimed in. 

“I have a lot of cliffs to search, and I shall know the one I seek when I am there.” Ostrakon looked at Sunflash before shrugging. “Unfortunately, I’m as yet unsure of the differences between this…shall we say, this land…and my own, my knowledge is faulty. I can safely assume that the cliff is to lie somewhere along the road between Mossflower and Loamhedge, but I know not what that road looks like.” 

“So you need a map.” Sunflash had an idea. “Say, considering how much you seem to know I’m assuming you’ve heard about a mountain called ‘Salamandastron?’ 

“Of course.” Ostrakon bent into a deep bow. “You are the Badger Lord, are you not? Forgive a weary traveler for forgetting his manners.” 

“There’s no need to bow, but anyways, why don’t you go pay a visit and look over the maps? Might give you a better idea of where exactly you’re supposed to head.” 

“Hmm…perhaps. And perhaps too I shall receive another vision there, or at least more clarity. Salamandastron is known for granting visions to badgers such as ourselves, is it not?” Ostrakon nodded, but Sunflash got the impression that the other badger wasn’t talking to him so much as he was talking to himself. “Yes, some time at Salamandastron would likely do me some good. I should make for it at once, I feel.” 

“Well before you do, stop by our camp and tell the hare named Vessalius that I want you outfitted with enough food to last you two days. I’m sorry that it’s all I can spare, but we have a long march ahead of us, and I’m not confident as to the amount of forage we’ll be able to find up here.” 

“Fear not, Lord Sunflash, I am grateful for any help you can give me at all.” Ostrakon stepped past Barmilton and Sunflash and began walking towards the cave’s mouth, but just before he reached the rock Skarlath was hiding behind the badger turned around. “Oh right, where are my manners? I do owe you a great deal of thanks for the information and opportunity you’ve given me. You seek the Flowers of Icetor, correct? In the mountains of the Far North?” 

“We do. What of it?” 

“Those mountains were the first I searched after I received my vision, and while I was up there I came across the flowers.” 

“Blimey, is that so?” Barmilton grinned. “That’s brilliant!” 

“Aye, it is. Or at least, it would be, had I not seen something else. The flowers grow at the summit of the mountain that overlooks a great green valley, and upon this mountain there is a castle that once belonged to a warlord by the name of Mortspear.” 

“Mortspear?” Sunflash breathed. “That’s Gingivere’s grandfather!” 

“Then shouldn’t it be abandoned?” Barmilton asked. “What with Ungatt Trunn having snuffed it and Verdauga’s kin setting up in Kotir?” 

“It is abandoned no longer.” Ostrakon’s voice was deadly serious. “Whilst I passed by, I saw a wildcat with green eyes hard and cruel stalking the landscape around it. So to you, Sunflash, I say this: if you continue to journey north, beware the green-eyed wildcat and the six-clawed ferret.” 

Sunflash nodded. “Thanks for the warning, Ostrakon.”

Ostrakon bowed again. “You are very welcome, My Lord Sunflash. Now, if you excuse me, I would like to return to my own journey.” 

“Very well. Oh, by the way, when you get to the mountain make sure to let them know I was the one who sent you. Some of the guards can be a bit, shall we say, jumpy.” 

Ostrakon smirked. “I shall keep that in mind. Farewell, Sunflash! Until we meet again!” The badger waved as he walked off, and then disappeared out of the cave.

“Well,” Skarlath said as he hopped over once Ostrakon had sauntered out of view, “I can honestly say that was a new one.” 

“Flipping understatement of the year, eh wot?” Barmilton shook his head. “Completely mental, that badger. Best thing to do’s probably forget we ever ran across him, I’d wager.” 

“I’m not so sure about that.” Sunflash crossed his arms, thinking. “That thing he said about Mossflower being engulfed by a big mass of yellow and violet? According to Gingivere, Lord Verdauga dreamed the exact same thing a few years back. That’s quite the coincidence, if you ask me.” 

“I don’t know; he still seemed a little, uh, eccentric to me.”

“I’m not denying that Ostrakon is probably more than a little bit off his gourd, Skarlath. I just don’t know if we should dismiss everything he says out of paw.” Subconsciously, Sunflash rubbed the stump of his left thumb. “Especially if it directly impacts our own journey.” 

“Hmm.” Barmilton made a small, disapproving noise. “I will admit, though, that it makes a good bit of sense that Tsarmina’d run back to her grandfather’s castle, since she’s not exactly loaded with options. Bally question is, then: if she is there with Swartt, where does that leave us?” 

It was a good question. Part of Sunflash wanted nothing more than to go back to Salamandastron and raise the entire Long Patrol, march North to flush Tsarmina and Swartt out of their den, and crush the latter between his paws. In his mind’s eye Sunflash could almost see it: the ferret at his footpaws, kneeling, awaiting justice from the one that he had tormented for so long, all his pleas for mercy falling on deaf - 

Sunflash felt a wingful of feathers bat against his cheek. He blinked, and saw Skarlath looking at him with a look of concern. 

“Oi, matey. Whatever you’re plotting, drop it.” 

“Plotting? What do you mean?” 

“Don’t be daft with me, Sunflash. You’re fantasizing about getting even with Swartt, aren’t you?” 

“Was it that obvious?”

“You had that glint in your eye.” Skarlath hopped forwards until he and Sunflash were beak-to-snout. “The same one you used to get whenever you needed to be talked down from marching the entire Long Patrol after a group of bandits or a corsair ship.” 

So what if I did? Sunflash couldn’t help but think. This could be our chance to finally rid the world of that scum! I’m sure we could go to Salamandastron and get back here quickly, so why don’t we - 

Sunflash stopped himself from finishing the thought. No. Damn it, Skarlath’s right. I’m not thinking clearly.

“Tell me why it’s a foolish idea to go chasing after him.” 

“Well,” Barmilton said, “first of all, we’ve no idea the size of the blighter’s army, now do we? For all we know he and Tsarmina could have a thousand soldiers up there.” 

“And before you go all ‘oh, we can just get the rest of the Patrol’, do you have any idea how much that would slow us down?” 

“Somewhat, for the first leg, but once everybeast is back here -”

“We’ll be going even slower. Moving an entire army up a mountain’s not easy, mate. And by the time we get there, for all we know Mossflower could be dead from the plague. Especially if Gingivere’s cure doesn’t work or if nobeast is willing to take it.” 

“Skarlath’s right, m’lord. Best course of action’s still to creep up there all stealthy, get the flowers, and leg it back home before we’re spotted.” 

Fair enough, I suppose, especially considering how long it took just the dozen of us to get THIS far. Sunflash inhaled, counted to ten, and exhaled, banishing his image of Swartt at his feet from his mind. 

“Thank you both. I almost let my desire for revenge cloud my judgement just then, so I’m grateful you’re here to talk sense into me.” 

Skarlath nodded. “Always. I’m here for you, Sunflash.” 

“Aye, same goes for me and the rest of the Patrol.” Barmilton saluted. 

“I know. Now come - let’s get the rest of them up and ready to go. Once I’ve made sure Ostrakon’s headed in the right direction, we march once more.” 

He really is an odd one, Sunflash mused as they walked, but I have to admit: he’s got me curious as to those ‘visions’ of his. 

Chapter Text

The closer Gingivere got to the Thousand-Eye lines, the more unbearable the clamor became, all the smashing and crashing as dozens of creatures threw themselves against the soldiers, demanding to be let through, that the Loamhedge mice be expelled, that those responsible for the plague be executed, more shouts than Gingivere could possibly hope to separate. Regardless, they all carried the undertones of one emotion: pure, terror morphed and twisted into a violent rage. 

A violent rage that, somehow, he needed to calm. 

Just before getting to the lines, Gingivere paused. Okay, deep breaths. You can do this, Gingivere. Just explain what’s going on, and they’ll listen. Gingivere started mentally composing a speech in his head - 

“OI!” Some otter in the horde of rioters shouted, “THERE’S THE CAT! YOU’RE HALF THE REASON WE’RE ALL IN THIS MESS!”  

“Aye!” A rat nodded his head. “If it weren’t for the cats letting those plague-filled mice into Mossflower, everything’d be nice and normal!” 

“Oh yeah?” A squirrel sergeant replied, her spear pointed straight at the rat’s throat. “And what would you have done, Bonetail? Tossed an entire camp of refugees out on the road? Killed them all?”

“Better that than make the rest of us fall victim to their disease!” 

So that IS Bonetail. I was wondering. “I made what I thought was the right decision at the time.” Gingivere protested. “Is it not the Mossflower way to lend aid to those who need it?” 

“Not if your ‘right decision’ costs us all our lives!” A weasel yelled. 

“Yeah!” The otter nodded and started forwards until the was as close to Gingivere as the Thousand-Eye lines would let him get. “All you’re trying to do is ease your conscience!” 

“That’s not true! Ask anybeast on the Corim - I was the one pushing for them to be as sequestered as they are now.” 

Bonetail snorted. “Oh, and a fine job you did there, matey! Except wait - how many Woodlanders have died? How many more are sick?” 

Gingivere was unable to meet his gaze.

“That’s what I thought.” Bonetail’s voice was full of scorn. “You Greeneyes have brought nothing but death since you came here. First your father got us stuck in his personal grudge against that Greypaw,  then it was your sister and her madness, and now this!” 

“Watch your tongue, rat!” Another Thousand-Eye, a stoat, rushed forwards and jabbed the point of his spear at Bonetail’s throat. “Talk like that’s edging mighty close to treason.” 

Bonetail’s response was swift. Taking a pawstep back the rat raised both his arms and pushed the spear wide until it banged into the soldier to the stoat’s right, who stumbled before overcorrecting. As the stoat lost balance Bonetail leapt forwards and grabbed the spear out of the stoat’s hands, using it to sweep him to the ground before slamming the stoat in the waist. As the stoat laid on the ground, coughing and hacking in pain, Bonetail raised his prize above his head. “See? The ‘great lord’ here just tried to have one of his thugs silence me! Well, I say no more! ” 

“No, I didn’t - I mean, that’s not -”

“Do you deny it? Then you admit your own weakness.”

“But - I -”

“Well let me tell you what’s going to happen, cat.” Bonetail pointed his spear, threatening any Thousand-Eye that dared stop him. “Me and mine are going to break through your lines, break into that precious castle of yours, and rid Mossflower of those diseased lot! ” A savage grin split his face in two. “And who knows? Maybe we’ll run you tyrants out of the country while we’re at it! Woodlanders, CHARGE! ” 

The clamor began again. Caught up in Bonetail’s furor they hurled themselves against the soldiers, forcing them to stagger backwards under their combined weight, both sides shouting curses. Everywhere Gingivere looked, rioters and Thousand-Eyes alike wrestled for control of their weapons, cursing one another, while Bonetail took advantage of the confusion to vault over the Thousand-Eye lines. Landing behind them he rushed Gingivere, shouting that the wildcat was a butcher, a fool, a stain upon Mossflower. 

One heartbeat away from his target, Bonetail lunged. 

It was a universally-held belief in Mossflower that, of the two Greeneyes brothers, Martin was the only one with any combat skills. For the most part, particularly in reference to weapons, this belief was entirely accurate: Verdauga had more or less given up on making Gingivere do any sort of arms training when the latter was ten years old, letting him focus on his books instead. 

That being said, ‘for the most part’ was not the same as ‘completely’. Gingivere had, after all, managed to kill a member of Swartt’s horde, and all the bookishness in the world did not change that fact that Gingivere was still possessed of a cat’s reflexes. 

So, when faced with a lunging rat doing their best to skewer his throat, Gingivere merely stepped half a pace to the left. The point of the spear thus passed through thin air, and as it did Gingivere’s right paw shot out and closed around Bonetail’s neck. One moment later the other paw closed around as well, forcing the rat to drop the spear as his own paws tried to claw their way to freedom, but before he could do so Gingivere hurled him backwards into the mess of rioters. 

The sight and sound of a rat hurtling through the air was enough to make everybeast pause and stare, which is what Gingivere had been hoping would happen. 

All right, now that I have their attention, what do I do? Gingivere thought as he rubbed his arm; throwing rats really was a bit of a strain on the arm and paw muscles. What was I going to say before? Blast it all, I have to say SOMETHING… 

“You spoke of treason earlier.” Gingivere nodded towards the stoat. “Personally I’ve never considered the sort of talk Bonetail was spouting as ‘treason’, and certainly not executing the speaker. Now assassination attempts, on the other paw, I will concede are a fair bit over the line.” Now, raising his voice, Gingivere addressed Bonetail. “Say, are you dead?” 

Completely dazed, all Bonetail could do was shake his head. 

“Thought not. Now let me ask all of you this : what sort of butcher, faced with a creature that just tried to kill him, would settle for merely disarming his assailant and dazing them?” 

“But your sister is -”

“I am not my sister.” Gingivere raised a paw and cut the protesting hedgehog off mid-sentence. Am I to be judged for the actions of another simply because we are relatives? In that case, then when you get into Kotir make sure to kill the four-year-old ferret and his kind, gentle mother. One that,” Gingivere continued as he looked out at the rioters, “I know for a fact has watched over the little ones of Mrs. Fieldmouse over there.” 

The Mouse at least had the dignity to be ashamed. 

“Because that’s what you’ll be doing if you continue along the path Bonetail is heading you down: killing mothers, fathers, children, creatures whose only crime is to be associated with those who you think deserve to die.” Faintly, Gingivere could hear the sounds of creatures marching out from the castle: Whegg’s reinforcements had arrived, and at the perfect time to boot.

“Because did you really think that the rest of us will stand idly by while you, as Bonetail put it, ‘rid Mossflower of those diseased lot’? Because we won’t. Despite what Bonetail has been telling you, the Thousand-Eye Army, the Corim, and, yes, me, will never abide by the shedding of innocent blood.”

“Is that a threat?” The otter cried. 

“No. It’s a vow.” Gingivere raised a paw, and Whegg’s reinforcements marched forwards and dropped their shields in front of their beleaguered comrades. “A vow that, so long as I am here, I will do everything in my power to preserve the lives of Woodlanders. And that includes the Dryditch. I will concede that some of the blame for the spread does fall at my footpaws, but I ask - not command, but ask - that you all reserve judgement for now. For, despite what many believe, I have not been idle during this crisis. I’m presuming that many of you were angered by the news that I had taken several bodies for study?” 

“I know that’s what did it for me.” Miss Fieldmouse replied. “It just seemed so - so cruel. And I never understood why.” 

“Why? Simple: because we know next to nothing about Dryditch Fever. My goal with the bodies was to compare a creature that died of Dryditch to one that died of natural causes, find the differences, and compare them to what happens in diseases that we do know more about. From there, the hope was to use cures for those diseases to develop one for the Dryditch.”

“What about the books? The hedgehog asked. “My mate Arren said you were looking through a lot of old histories.”

“I was. The idea was to see if we could find attempted cures from previous outbreaks, so we could see what has worked and what hasn’t in order to make development of our own cure easier.” 

“And has it?” Bonetail had recovered enough to speak, it seemed. “Have your fancy books actually gotten you anywhere? Except of course running back to that diseased abbess with your tail between your legs?” 

“It has, actually.” Somehow, Sandingomm had managed to sneak up on Gingivere without him noticing, and as she addressed the rat Gingivere noticed she was far, far calmer than she’d been upon breaking through the mob to Kotir. And smirking too, he couldn’t fail to see. By the fur, I love that cat. 

“For you see,” Sandingomm continued, “within the books was contained a record of a successful cure developed in a faraway country called Helskerland known as ‘water of the moles.’ A couple other books suggested that ground-up rice worked as well, and even besides the references in the old books rice also serves as a remedy for an inflamed throat does it not? So the way that I see it, ground-up-rice is a pretty good bet for an ingredient.”  

“But what’s that ‘water of the moles’ you mentioned?” Mrs. Fieldmouse asked. 

“Probably some secret elixir in a faraway land.” Bonetail scoffed. “One we’ll have to wait ages and ages for somebeast to track down after decoding some old book passage or another.”

“Oh no, it’s quite a bit more readily available than that.” Gingivere fought to suppress the blush forming on his face. “All I need is a willing mole. One that, I promise, will be given fair compensation.” 

“And just what will this mole have to give you, eh?” Bonetail gestured at a pair of moles standing in the mob. “Are you going to bleed them dry both figuratively AND literally?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous - haven’t I said repeatedly that I’m no monster? All I need is to get a few willing moles to drink a good bit of water and permit me to collect the waste.”

That set the crowd off. The tension Gingivere had been steadily decreasing suddenly flared up again as the rioters digested the news regarding what the sick would be forced to drink, everybeast shouting in anger and disgust.

“Oh, sod off!” A mole shouted. “Yer can’t really be arsken uzn’s t’piss in a cup, let alone arsken other creatures t’drink it!” 

“That’s disgusting!” Another creature shouted. “It’ll just make us even sicker, I'd wager!” 

The Thousasnd-Eyes lowered their spears again threateningly. Sensing blood was about to be spilt, Gingivere decided to take a risk. 

He stepped in front of their lines and held up a paw. Most of the rioters shrank back, uncertain as to if it was some kind of trick, while the rest froze and eyed the wildcat uncertainly. 

“I understand that it is far from ideal, but if the choice is between that and death, I would choose that, disgusting it may be.”

“Aye, but you don’t have to make that choice, do you?” Bonetail jabbed a finger towards Gingivere. “You’re sitting up there all high-and-mighty, completely untouched by the Dryditch!” 

“Oh, believe me: I still intend to drink it. The very first cup of curative we make, I’ll be the creature to test it and make sure it doesn’t harm the body.” 

“What?” Whegg stared at Gingivere, jaw dropped. “Are you mental, mate?”

“No, just somebeast who is very aware of his mistakes.” Gingivere looked Bonetail in the eye. “You’re not completely wrong - my response to this crisis has left much to be desired. You all have been scared, and what have I done to assuage those fears? Very little. While I have been working on a cure, as I said, I have not been nearly as forthcoming with you all on its progression. So, the way that I see it, it’s only fair that I atone by being the creature to take the first sip.”

“And what if it doesn’t work, eh?” Bonetail looked away from Gingivere. “Will you just run back to your books?” 

“No.” Gingivere closed his eyes and thought. “If this doesn’t work…if everything I have done since the outbreak of Dryditch is for nothing…then I…” 

Gingivere looked back at Kotir, towards the lord’s chambers. Father, I may wind up throwing away everything you’ve tried to build for your family. Martin, you might not have a home to return to. Both of you, I’m sorry. 

“If this cure fails to help the afflicted, then I will step down from my position as Acting Lord and leave Mossflower entirely.”

Everybeast, Thousand-Eye and rioters alike, gasped and looked at one another. For his part Gingivere watched Bonetail, curious to see how the rat would react. Will he see this as a triumph? A complication in some plan? 

The Bonetail’s eyes narrowed and looked all around, the rat visibly trying to think about how to proceed. He then looked back at the rioters, and what he saw seemed to drag all the resolve from his shoulders. 

Gingivere followed his gaze. 

It was plain to see that his words had shamed the rioters; some whispered to one another while others were unable to look at anything but their own paws, and still others looked at Gingivere with newfound respect. 

Slowly, gradually, creatures began leaving, first alone, then in small groups, and then finally in a great flood, until everybeast was gone. 

Save one. Bonetail stood rooted to the spot, eyes darting around in confusion, as though the events of the past few minutes were completely incomprehensible. 

“Bonetail.” Gingivere called out to him, making the rat jump. “What you tried to do here today is nothing less than high treason, and so I am giving you one last chance: vow never to take up arms against me or the Thousand-Eyes so long as I still rule here and return to your home, or you will be placed under arrest.” 

“ There it is.” Bonetail glared back at Gingivere. “I knew there was a tyrant waiting inside of you.” 

“No, merely somebeast who is committed to the rule of law. Law that you have now violated. So once again: will you return to your home in peace?” 

Bonetail spit, not even replying. 

Gingivere nodded. “I see.” Raising his paw again, he pointed towards the rat. “Then Bonetail, as Acting Lord of Mossflower, in the name of Lord Verdauga Greeneyes I hereby place you under arrest for attempting to incite rebellion and disruption of the peace. Whegg, take him to the cells.”

“Aye, my lord.” 

As Whegg and two other Thousand-Eyes chained Bonetail’s paws and dragged him cursing back towards Kotir, Gingivere turned his attention towards the other soldiers. 

“I’m grateful to you all, but unfortunately our work isn’t done yet - there’s still a riot in Moss Town to quench, I’m afraid. All those who can stand and fight, to me. We need to stop things before they destroy the whole town.” 

One down, Gingivere thought as they marched, one to go. Hopefully. 

Chapter Text

It was chaos in the town square; everywhere Gertrude looked sombeast or another was wrecking something, be it a brick through the window, a cart smashed, a sign upturned, or - in the case of the statue of Verdauga in the middle of the square - a monument currently being brought down. A weasel, a rat, and two mice had slung ropes around the statue’s neck and limbs, and along with several of their fellows were attempting to send it crashing to the ground as she watched. 

“Burr aye!” Gerturde shouted down to them, encouraging their work. “Down wit’ the Woildcat’s statue! Down wit’ the Greeneyes family!” 

With a joyful yell, the creatures working the ropes tugged with all their might. The statue groaned, a long, deep sound, and then with a noise sharp enough to make ears bleed, tore off its pedestal and crashed to the ground. The onlookers all cheered. 

Well, she thought with a savage pleasure, least in ONE way them vilyuns did us’ns good: oi’ve never seen Woodlander and Vurmint so unoited. 

“ DOWN WITH THE GREENEYES! ” The chant rang out. “ DOWN WITH THE GREENEYES! ” Paws raised and fists clenched, the mob continued to be swept up in their fury. One squirrel grabbed a stone and hurled it straight towards the downed statue, and no sooner had it bounced off the metal then a veritable shower followed it, and soon what little of the statue wasn’t buried under stones was so riddled with dents and pockmarks that Gertrude could barely tell it was supposed to be a wildcat. Hmmm, she mused, p’raps we oughta turn it into a badger statue . 

From her vantage point on top of the tavern Gertrude could see all the way to the outskirts of Kotir, and turning away from the statue she watched, wondering, absentmindedly fingering her bow. Whoi haven’t we been a’seein any of the Thousand-Eyes? Thurr all stuck oop in thurr fancy castle? Or did Bonetail do it? A flicker of movement caught her eye: shielding her eyes with her paws, Gertrude saw a small number of the rioters Bonetail had commandeered making their way towards Moss Town, the red sashes Bonetail had insisted they wear as a distinguishing feature plainly visible. They didn’t look afraid or defeated exactly, but neither did they look triumphant: they looked, almost, shamed. What ‘appened? 

The rest of the rioters soon caught up with them, mostly sporting variations of the same look, that of a dibbun caught with their paw down the biscuit jar, but when they crested the hill and saw what was happening in Moss Town they all stopped. 

Gertrude saw a mouse run out to address them, an old friend of hers by the name of Leygel. He started talking to the creatures in front, gesturing animatedly, pointing towards the statue, and Gertrude tensed up, waiting for them to start cheering as well -

“WHAT IN THE GATES OF HELL ARE YOU DOING!?” A fox from the Kotir rioters decked Leygel hard enough to send the mouse flying. “WHY ARE THEY BURNING MY HOUSE DOWN!” 

Wha? Gertrude looked around, confused. The plan had been to only attack homes and places associated with the Greeneyes and their supporters, so that fox’s house shouldn’t have been a target…

And yet, it was in fact on fire. As was a cottage that belonged to one of the rats that had pulled down the statue. And, now that she looked, her own house had apparently been the target of a brick or two. Uh oh… 

The Kotir rioters were shouting now and had begun pushing forwards, some looking to save what they could from their own dwellings while others went straight for the Moss Town Rioters - even the ones that were strictly following the original plan. Whoi? What in th’ blazes ‘appened at Kotir? It didn’t make sense. Boi the fur, Gertrude realized suddenly, it’s loike… it’s loike thurr a’tryin’ to stop uzn’s? But, whoi? Whoi? 

What was going on? 

***

“Oh, that’s just brilliant.” Gingivere stopped in front of the Thousand-Eyes, frowning. 

“Huh? Did something else happen in town, my lord?” The questioner was a dormouse by the name of Jen, one of Whegg’s corporals. 

“Well, by the looks of it a good deal of our ex-rioters happen to live in the center of town, and are thus are now unable to return home as planned by dint of those homes being smashed to bits. Or set on fire, as seems to be the case for a few of them.” Gingivere winced. “Ouch, that fox’s left hook was strong. But things definitely look too far gone for another speech, unfortunately.”

“So we should hurry then!” Jen cringed as an otter took one of the town rioters and slammed the pine marten snout-first into the road. “Before they tear each other apart!” 

“Exactly.” Gingivere looked back towards the soldiers. “Everybeast, it seems our rioters have decided that, rather than taking issue with us, they’ll take issue with the town rioters.”

“Serves those bastards right!” A weasel shouted. “Let ‘em know what it feels like to get stabbed in the back!” 

“And let everybeast get killed?” Gingivere shook his head. “No, our aim is to restore the peace, not let half of Mossflower kill the other half. We need to make haste and stop this before it gets out of paw. Or, rather, even more out of paw than it already is. Remember: creatures with red sashes on are the ones from Kotir, and aren’t to be harmed at all. The ones without… don’t harm except as a last resort. We’re looking to subdue and arrest them, not cripple or kill.” 

“Aye, my lord!” The soldiers all saluted as one. The leaders began shouting commands again, telling everybeast to move doubletime, shieldbeasts to move to the front, pikebeasts behind them, and archers to stay in the back as a last resort. Then they were off again, marching, closing the distance, the shouts and curses gradually increasing in volume until they were louder than even the height of the Kotir riot, and as the Thousand-Eyes burst into the town square all those in it completely ignored the new arrivals. 

“Shieldbeasts, FORM A LINE!” Gingivere shouted to be heard over everything else. “Three ranks deep in front, two ranks deep on the sides!” They complied, some creatures finally noticing and dropping their fights, but the majority carried on yelling and fighting. Paws flew, creatures slammed one another to the ground, and as Gingivere looked a few began to bring out their knives - 

Wham. Wham. Wham. Wham. At a wordless command the shieldbeasts started banging their spears against the back of their shields, loudly, in unison, trying to overwhelm everything else. It finally worked, and slowly, one-by-one, paws faltered and faces turned towards the Thousand-Eyes. 

Once everything was silent, Gingivere edged his way to the front. “Do I have everybeast’s attention now? Good. Now I don’t care who you are, whether you’re fighting to tear this place apart or stop somebeast from tearing this place apart, you’re going to stop. Now. Drop the knives, drop the creature you’re strangling, all of it. I have archers,” Gingivere nodded towards the back, where twenty bowstrings had suddenly materialized arrows, “and although I’d rather not need to use them I will.” 

Most of the creatures complied, some more reluctantly than others, with the few holdouts mostly being those with knives that they kept out in the open. Least they’re not about to stab each other with them now, Gingivere thought. Eyes scanning the square, he noticed a mole perched on a rooftop, eyes narrowed in incomprehension. “You would be Gertrude, I presume? I know what you and Bonetail told them: that I’m a tyrant, that I’m responsible for Dryditch, the lot. 

“And’ve you a’come to tell uzns that baint be true?” Gertrude glowered back down at him. “Whoi’d oi believe a woord a ‘yours?” 

“Don’t.” Gingivere gestured towards several of the Kotir rioters. “Believe their words. After all, they were just as riled up as you were a few minutes ago, yet now here they are - trying to stop this riot. Why? Because they know I’m not their enemy.” 

“Oh? An’ Bonetail? Whurr izze?” 

Hmmm. The thought occurred to Gingivere that he was going to have to tell the town rioters not only about Bonetail’s arrest, but about the fact that odds were many of them were going to be arrested as well. Perhaps I should’ve just moved in to detain everybeast from the start. 

“Well? Oi’m a-waitin’ for yon answer.” 

Well, what’s done is done. “Bonetail attempted to assassinate me with a spear, and for that crime I had him placed under arrest.”

“And what about all of them , huh?” A mouse jabbed a paw towards the Kotir rioters. “You let ‘em all go free? You sent them here to fight us, didn’t you?” 

“My intention was for them to return to their homes, not knowing that many of them no longer have homes to return to.”

“Yeah, Leygel!” The fox pointed accusingly. “You lot weren’t supposed to burn down everything, now were you?” 

Uh oh. Gingivere had a feeling things were about to get ugly. 

“Tell those three squirrels to be ready to pull that mouse and fox apart.” He muttered to Jen. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“Will do, My Lord.” 

Leygel looked the fox up and down, glaring, and spit. “Aye, we weren’t. But now that I know you’ve let that cat charm you with his sweet words, Axell,  I don’t regret that your house got targeted. I only regret thinking a piece of vermin filth like you could be trusted.”

Axell stared, open-mouthed, face contorting into a mix of hurt and anger. “How dare you. How dare you. First you burn down my house, then you have the gall to say I’m vermin filth?” 

“What else would you call somebeast that willing to jump into a tyrant’s lap? Way I see it, the Greeneyes are vermin, and so anybeast that kisses their high and mighty boots are vermin too.” 

Axell lunged for the mouse, just barely being restrained at the last second by Jen’s squirrels. Two of them held him back as the fox cursed and struggled, while the third similarly knocked Leygel to the ground and pinned the mouse’s paws behind his back. 

“Mmphh…let…me… go! ” Leygel tried in vain to escape the squirrel’s grip. “You’re a squirrel? You’re supposed to be on our side!” His only response was a smack to the head, after which the squirrel managed to tie Leygel’s paws.

“Well don’ just stand thurr!” Gertrude called down at the rioters as it happened! “Elp ‘im!” 

A vole started to advance, but a spear blocked his path. 

“Not a step forward,” Jen warned, “or I’ll knock you silly with this.” 

“Out of my way, Dormouse.” The vole grabbed Jen’s spear and pushed it upwards, trying to make space to dart under it, but immediately afterwards the rat next to her slammed his shield into the vole’s chest. 

“Anybeast else want to make a try of it?” The rat snarled over the vole’s hacking and coughing. A few creatures took a few hesitant steps forwards, but soon thought better of it and stepped back towards their fellows. 

Interesting, Gingivere noted, the few that almost tried were all the types of creatures that the term ‘Woodlander’ has typically referred to. I can probably use that. 

Gingivere directed his next words towards the crowd. “Leygel refers to mine own supporters as ‘vermin’, but I see only those willing to support one another and stand up for what is right.” He looked over at the mouse, who had stopped struggling. “Not to mention none of us are the ones that just used that word, are we?” 

The rioters all looked at one another, and as they did so Gingivere could see that many of the creatures - particularly the ferrets, rats, weasels, and the like - had been disgusted by what they’d heard. I think I’m finally getting somewhere. 

Gingivere looked up at Gertrude. The mole glared back down at him, paws clenched tight around a bow, but she remained silent. 

“Everybeast with a red sash,” he continued, “disperse and return to your homes - assuming they haven’t been destroyed by your so-called friends. Everybeast else, remain in this square until we can sort out who exactly who damaged what.” His eyes drifted over to his father’s statue. “ And whoever decided throwing that down was a good idea. Oh, and if any of you get funny ideas about trying to sneak away, forget it.” The third line of shieldbeasts filtered out and took up positions along the various pathways. “We’ll be checking to make sure everybeast that tries to leave has a -” 

Twang. 

Gingivere heard the arrow’s whistle as it flew, wondering for the tiniest sliver of a heartbeat who had fired it. 

The next sliver, the top of his right ear exploded in pain, reminding Gingivere of the time he’d slipped up trying to practice knifework and nearly cut off a finger. 

Just after that, the top of the right side of his head exploded with the same pain. It was exactly like when he’d almost cut himself, save that it was, somehow, infinitely worse. Blood immediately dripped down into Gingivere’s eye as he cried out in pain, still looking around, still trying to figure out who had shot him…

Gingivere’s left eye finally landed on Gertrude. The mole was frantically grabbing for another arrow, obviously intending to finish him off, but as she groped at least five arrows thudded into her. Gertrude jerked back, dropping the bow, and then toppled to the ground. 

Pain coursing through his entire body, Gingivere fell shortly afterwards as his legs buckled. Struggling to hold himself up on his paws, Gingivere heard everybeast behind him begin to yell. Breaths coming in labored and ragged bursts, Gingivere felt the earth tremble as they charged. Vision fading to black, Gingivere thought: father…Martin…Sandingomm…what did I do wrong?

Chapter Text

“I understand now.” Rowanoak poured Felldoh another bowl of soup. “You poor, poor creatures, stuck up in that fortress with a monster like Badrang.” 

“If you’re going to feel sorry for anybeast, pity the ones still stuck back there.” Feldoh took a quick spoonful of soup before setting his bowl aside. “We’re free creatures now; they’re still stuck laboring under his whips.” 

“I think what Felldoh means to say,” Rose said as she gave the squirrel a dirty look, “is that while we’re genuinely grateful for you sharing your food, we’re not the only ones that suffered at the paws of those corsairs.” 

“I know he meant no offense, Miss Laterose. I don’t exactly feel all that merry myself, knowing so many creatures are trapped in slavery in a place so close to here.” 

“But weren’t you heading up to Marshank to perform?” Gonff asked. 

“Aye, we were. Now we didn’t exactly know how bad it was, but I will admit that knowing wouldn’t have stopped us from at least considering a visit. We need to eat too, and there aren’t exactly all that many places to refill our larders this far north. Would’ve hated every minute of it - and still might, if the troupe still thinks going there’s the best course of action - and probably would’ve tried to sneak a few slaves out, but that’s how it goes sometimes.” Rowanoak shrugged. “We don’t always have the luxury of refusing to interact with creatures we dislike.”

“My father used to say the same thing.” Martin nodded. “I remember one time when I was eleven he needed to hire some band of mercenaries or another, even though they were somewhat infamous for pillaging some villages in the South. When I asked him why, he said it was because they were the only ones that could get to Mossflower fast enough to guard against a horde off to the East.” 

Felldoh squinted at Martin for a second, as though seeing the mouse for the first time, before shrugging and wiping his mouth with his paws. “It still doesn’t feel right though, sitting here filling our stomachs while everybeast else is choking down that disgusting gruel they serve us.” 

“Well then,” Gonff smirked, “we’ll just have to get all of them filling their stomachs here as well!” 

“How? The seven of us barely escaped, let alone the entire slave population.” 

“Ah, but that was before we had allies! I’d wager an apple to an acorn that, with a bit of thought, us and the Rosehip Players’ll come up with a mighty fine strategy.” 

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or concerned you’ve got so much faith in us, Goff.” Rowanoak rolled her eyes. “If you haven’t noticed, we’re a traveling theater band, not an army. We’re not exactly well-versed in liberating fortresses of slaves.” 

“No, but I bet you know all sorts of ways to trick creatures! That’s bound to help out.” 

“I don’t know about that, Brome.” Rose smiled at her brother. “There’s a pretty big difference between pulling off a few magic tricks and the sort of deception we’d have to pull.” 

“Don’t let old Ballaw hear you saying that, Miss Laterose. That old hare’s fonder of his little magic acts than any other creature on the planet, let me tell you. All the same, you’re right in a way - I can’t even imagine the sort of act it would take to spirit everybeast out of Marshank. Have any of you thought of any ideas we could start building off?” 

“I haven’t, personally.” Felldoh shook his head. “Been too focused on getting us out in the first place to really think about doing the same for everybeast else.”

“Same goes for me and Keyla, unless he got struck with inspiration while helping make this soup.” 

Rose giggled. “Only thing he would’ve gotten struck by was Grumm’s ladle if that old worrier didn’t approve of how he’s cooking things. Granted, I can’t exactly say I’ve got any sort of plan cooked up myself. Or that I’ve got the right to even try and make one, considering how badly my last one went.” She looked over at Martin. “Have you got anything?” 

“Not in the slightest, unfortunately. Truth be told, I’m not even sure where to start.” Martin absentmindedly picked at the bark of the log he was sitting on, thinking. What would father do? Or Gingivere? Blast, I’ve never really been one for this sort of strategizing. “I think…”, he continued slowly, “that the best thing to do would be to take this slowly and cautiously. Start by getting a feel for what we have to work with right now, and then go from there.” 

Gonff blinked. “Hang on. Did I just hear Martin Greeneyes telling everybeast to be patient ?” 

“Yes, Gonff, you did. Believe it or not I am aware of that concept. And like Rose and Felldoh said, our last attempt to smuggle creatures out from Badrang’s fort went, ah…” 

“Completely abysmally?” Gonff ventured. 

“ As I was saying , since our last attempt shook out the way it did we’d best approach anything else we try with a little more caution.” Martin stood up and stretched. “And the best way to do that would be to have a look around, with your permission of course Miss Rowanoak.” 

“Permission granted. I’ll go pull Ballaw out of whatever plate he’s got his face shoved into and have him show you around.” Standing up herself, Rowanoak turned and gestured towards a large tent. “That’s the kitchen over there - if I were a betting creature, I’d lay down everything that he’s in there.” 

“And even if he isn’t”, said Rose, “Keyla and Grumm’ll probably want to join us for the tour.” 

“Oh, thank heavens.” When Keyla saw the new arrivals the otter let out a massive breath. “I was worried it was that ottermaid again.”

“Ottermaid?” Felldoh asked. “That’s odd, I haven’t seen any around.” 

“Probably because she’s been just… staring at me this whole time and giggling. It’s really, really been unnerving, you know?” 

“Do you mean young Orla?” Rowanoak crossed her paws. “That’s odd. Normally she’s not one to gawk like that.” 

“Oi don’t know about that.” Grumm walked over, drinking a small cup of wine. “Yon lass seemed quoite fond o’ starin’ at Keyla loik ‘e’s some koinda show.” 

“Well, if you get too sick of it, I can take over helping out in the kitchen for you.” Gonff had been looking around the kitchen tent. “Truthfully, I’ve really missed being in a well-stocked larder like this, smelling the ingredients and hearing everything get made.” 

“If you want to, be my guest. But, uh, why did you all come to see us?” 

“Your friend Martin thought it was a good idea for you all to get shown around the camp. We came here to grab you and Grumm, as well as look for Ballaw. You haven’t seen him around, have you? In between serving as a source of entertainment for young ottermaids?” 

“Oi saw ‘im a few minutes ago, sayen summat about making sure awl th’ backdrops are cooming along properly.” 

“Oh? So that’s where that leaping glutton’s hidden that stash of his…” Rowanoak muttered. “I’ll go get him. You all, wait here.” 

“Okay,” Gonff said after Rowanoak was safely out of earshot, “do any of you get the feeling that Rowanoak and Ballaw are, erm, more than just this troupe’s co-leaders?” 

Martin thought about it. “I can’t say I really see it.” 

“Maybe it’s just me. But that’s neither here nor there, I suppose.” Gonff looked over at Keyla and Grumm. “Cheers for the soup, you two - it was delicious.” 

“Thanks. Not that I can take much credit, since it was Grumm’s recipe. And instructions. Still, glad you enjoyed it.” 

Felldoh smiled, the first genuine smile Martin had seen the squirrel make. “It’s a few dozen steps up from Marshank’s slop, matey. Any way you can make it again for my father once we spring him?” 

“For Barkjon?” Keyla smiled back. “It would be my pleasure.” 

“Oh, spaking of, any a’ you got any sorta plan for freeing the slaves?” 

“Not as of yet, Grumm.” Although what Brome said keeps nagging me for some reason…  

***

Soon afterwards Ballaw and Rowanoak returned to the kitchen tent, arguing. 

“By jove, Rowan Old Oak, a lad’s entitled to a few extra vittles if he needs the energy, eh wot? And as I said before, my new magic routine involves a lot of moving around and tumbling!” 

“And as I told you , you old bottomless pit, there’s a difference between an extra apple or two and that giant mountain of food you’ve got stashed back there.” 

“Oh, stop exaggerating! I don’t have a ‘mountain’ back there, just a…tiny little embankment.” 

“Well,” Rowanoak said as she opened the tent flap, “now that I’ve got you away from your ‘embankment’ I’ve got a job for you: our new guests want a tour of the troupe, and you’re going to be their guide while I decide on a final play script to use at Marshank and make sure our guests have some accomodations.” 

Upon seeing the various creatures in the kitchen, Ballaw smiled and doffed his cap. “Ah, it would be my pleasure. Ignore our jolly little spat there, lady and gents, by the way - merely a disagreement over how much food is too much. My friend’s rather tight with the rationing, dontchaknow.” Ballaw gave an exaggerated wink, after which Rowanoak playfully swatted the back of his head with a spoon. 

“Talk like that and maybe I really will start rationing your food.” 

“Oh, perish the thought!” With an exaggerated shudder, Ballaw threw open the tent flap. “Now come along all, before she makes good on her promise.” 

As he followed Ballaw out, Martin took a look at the Hare and then back at the Badger. Oh, NOW I see it. He wondered if, given time, Gingivere and Sandingomm would be like that. Probably, to be honest. If it does happen, it’ll be fun to watch I’d say. Smiling to himself, Martin turned his attention back to Ballaw as the hare stopped and pointed out a pair of mice practicing some sort of tumbling routine. 

“Those two are Gauchee and Kastern, our balancers, singers, and occasional cooks. Most agile mousemaids I’ve ever laid my eyes on - saw Kastern swing from one tree to the next using only her footpaws once!” 

Felldoh whistled. “By the fur, I can’t even do that, and I’m a squirrel.” 

Ballaw waved at the two, who stopped their routine long enough to wave back. “I’m sure she’d be willing to teach you how, but I’ll warn that she can be a bit, well, intense .” 

“Sounds like a perfect match, then.” Keyla teased. “Say, who’s that squirrel up there? On the ladder?” 

“Hmm?” Ballaw looked around. “Oh, that’s Celandine. Cracking good singer, although admittedly rather vain.” 

“She’s the one that laughed at my limerick about the plowing mousemaid, I think.” Gonff squinted at her. 

Ballaw chuckled. “Aye, she can be like that. Enjoys a good flirt and raunchy joke, our Celandine. But onwards! We’ve more Players to meet!” 

The hare lead them past Celandine, who stopped painting the ladder long enough to wave cheerily down at them (and Felldoh in particular, Martin felt), and onwards to a series of carts pitched near the forest. Tending them was another squirrel who Ballaw introduced as Trefoil, lead prop and set designer. 

“You must be the escapees I’ve heard so much about!If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.” Trefoil leaned in. “Makes a nice break from wrangling my stagepaws”, she whispered in an overly-conspirational tone. 

Now that Martin looked, there were in fact two mice and an otter rushing around the carts. Dressed in muted colors, they each carried an armload of props to be used in whichever play Rowanoak decided the troupe would perform. 

“What’s a stagepaw?” Brome asked. 

“Have you ever seen a play with fancy sets or any sort of special effect? They’re the ones that make all of those and ensure that they’re running properly behind the scenes. You might not see them during the play, but they’re just as essential as the actors.” 

Watching the stagepaws weave their way up a model tree, a tiniest inkling of an idea began to worm its’ way into Martin’s head. “Say, Trefoil? Mind of I go over and talk with them for a bit?” 

“Would you mind waiting? They’re behind on their propmaking - we lost a cart in the mud some time ago, and with it a fair few things.” 

“We actually saw it!” Keyla said. “It’s still there, about a week to the South of us.” 

“Truly?” Ballaw hmmed. “Perhaps we should swing by and grab it on our way back South, eh wot?” 

“Might not hurt, but we’ll have to take it up with Rowanoak first.” Trefoil turned back to Martin. “In the meantime, I’ll ask Porth if she’d be willing to answer any questions you’ve got once the three of them are all finished.” 

“And until then?” 

“Until then, you’ll just have to follow me.” Ballaw started off back towards where they’d come from. Odds are that by now Rowanoak managed to get a tent set up for you lot, along with some extra clothes from the wardrobe.” Leaning over, he gave Felldoh a slightly derisive sniff. “Goodness knows you lot could all do with some new garments.” 

Felldoh looked mildly offended, but swallowed it back all the same. “I, uh, appreciate that Ballaw. It would be nice to get out of these slave rags, after all.” 

***

As it turned out, there were two tents: one for Martin, Gonff, Keyla, and Felldoh, the other for Rose, Grumm, and Brome. The tents were reasonably spacious; certainly not as large as the ones Martin’s father used for his command centers, but all the same they were a good deal larger than the ones the regular soldiers rested in. There was also a decently-sized circular table in the middle made out of some kind of dark wood, and on it were indeed four outfits of new clothes. Holding his outfit up, Martin supposed it was from some play about a lord or another; it certainly looked somewhat dignified, having been dyed a dark green, and it felt as though it was made from some sort of faux silk. 

Personally I’d prefer something a little less lordly, Martin thought, but it certainly looks comfortable enough. He slipped the shirt on and buttoned it. Blimey. This actually feels good. Making a mental note to ask Rowanoak if he could keep it for usage back home, Martin looked at his companions. 

Felldoh was struggling to fit on his own shirt, and seemed to keep mistaking one of the arm holes for his neck hole. “By the fur,” He grumbled as he stared over at Martin. “How in the blazes have you already got it on all the way?” 

“Years of holidays, dinners, and events having to act like a nice, formal Lord’s son. You’re almost there, by the way. Try and rotate the shirt a half-turn clockwise.” 

Felldoh did so, and finally managed to get everything on the right way round. “What do you mean, ‘Lord’s son?”

“You didn’t know?” Gonff smoothed a wrinkle out of his trousers. “Martin’s dad is the Lord of Mossflower.” Seeing the look on Felldoh’s face, Gonff waved a paw. “But don’t worry, he’s nothing like a certain ‘Lord of the Coasts’ or whatever Badrang calls himself. He’s actually tolerable to live under, for one.” 

“Fair enough.” All the same, Martin noticed Felldoh’s paws had balled up into fists. “Well, regardless, I suppose it’s not right of me to assume everybeast that calls themselves a ‘lord’ is automatically going to be like Badrang.” 

Martin eyed the squirrel for another few seconds before forcing his attention over to Keyla, who was fumbling with the buttons on his outfit’s vest. “Do you, uh, need some help with that matey?” 

“Hmm?” Keyla looked up. “Oh, sure. I can’t seem to get these things forced through each other.”

“That’s because you shouldn’t be trying.” Martin walked over. “Mind if I show you?” 

“Sure, go ahead.” 

Martin took the vest’s collar in his paws. “Only one that needs to move at all is the button. Hold the other side steady, and gently guide the button over to its slot.” He demonstrated, pushing the button all the way through. “See? Easy as picking daisies.” Looking up, Martin noticed a slight blush had crept over Keyla’s cheeks. “Look, there’s no shame in not knowing how to do this. Like I told Felldoh, I’ve just got the benefit of practice.” 

“Oh, uh, right…” Keyla stepped back a little and shook his head before buttoning up his shirt. “I think I’m going to have another look around this place. Care to come with me, any of you?” 

Felldoh nodded. “I’ll come. Sort of interested in talking more with Rowanoak.” 

The two of them scurried out of the tent, leaving Martin and Gonff. To Martin it almost seemed like Gonff had been watching Keyla as the otter left before turning his attention to Martin and shrugging a fraction. 

“Funny they had something your size in green, eh?” He opined. “It’s almost like they pulled it straight from your wardrobe.” 

Martin had to laugh. “You’re not kidding. Honestly, all I need is some kind of pin or necklace or something with an eye on it and it’ll be just like I’m -”

Oh. 

Martin trailed off, a memory striking him like the blow of a mace. That’s what it was. 

“Martin?” Gonff walked over to the other mouse, concerned. “What is it? You’re - you’re shaking.” 

“Am I?” Martin took a deep breath. “You know how in our rush to leave Marshank we left everything behind? Last night I got this sort of feeling that I’d left behind something really important, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember what it was.”

“And now you can?”

“And now I can. It…it was a little locket my father gave me, shaped like an eye.” Martin swallowed the lump that had just formed in his throat. “It had an inscription on it. Something about how I’d always have a tie to Mossflower.” And to him. 

“Oh, Martin, I’m sorry.” Gonff patted Martin’s paw. “But have no fear - a certain Prince of Mousethieves is here, and I swear to you I’ll get it back.”

“Thanks, Gonff. But I think we should probably focus on freeing the slaves first.” 

“Any inkling on how to do that?” 

“Actually, I just might, but I’ll need to talk to that Porth beast Trefoil mentioned…”

Chapter Text

Keyla woke early and fast, an old habit from growing up a slave, one that had proven quite useful during the trip north, and on this particular morning it meant that he was the first one up. Looking around, Keyla couldn’t help but think about just how weird it was to see a bunch of creatures sleeping so peacefully. Usually there’s more whimpering and moaning, not just little snores. A particularly loud one drew his attention over to Gonff. Or, uh, not-so-little. 

Shaking his head in amusement, Keyla’s gaze turned over to Martin - and flicked away just as quickly. Ugh. What was going ON yesterday? It wasn’t as though he was a stranger to being uncomfortably close to another creature, but for whatever reason it had felt…strange when Martin had helped him button everything up. The mouse had taken his flustered reaction for embarrassment at not knowing how to do it, but if Keyla wasn’t sure that was the reason. It was almost like… like… I don’t know. All I know is, it felt off. And good at the same time, somehow. Not that THAT makes much sense. 

Keyla stood up and stretched, yawning. Maybe I should go for a walk. Clear my thoughts. Pushing his way outside, the otter was greeted by the sight of an entire camp that was still asleep and silent. Keyla heard the rustle of the wind as it passed through the trees above him, and smelled the dirt that was still damp from last night’s gentle rain, but that was it. 

This presented Keyla with a problem he’d never had before: he had absolutely no idea what to do. There’d always been some task that needed doing, be it an order from the corsairs, training/strategizing back at Kotir, or any of the myriad situations they’d all found themselves in since heading north, so a morning where there was absolutely nothing he needed to do was completely foreign. 

Huh. Maybe this is why most creatures sleep in. Still, he was up, and Keyla knew himself well enough to know that he was up for the day. Maybe I’ll go have breakfast. 

Making his way across the camp, Keyla knew the quiet wouldn’t last: before long the Rosehip Players would wake up, filling the camp with the noises of the daily routine, and so he decided that, for the moment, he would savor the peace. Actually, come to think of it, having breakfast underneath that big aspen over there might be nice. Just sitting and doing nothing, listening to everybeast wake up, figuring out why being near Martin made me feel so off… Pushing that last thought out of his mind, Keyla entered the cooking tent. Let’s see, last night Leuca said all the recipes were in that book over there… 

Keyla opened it up and was greeted by a recipe for something called ‘sunset pudding’. No, not making that. The next page was for roast pike. Or that. Keyla flipped through the pages. Or the potato salad. Or a fruitcake. Or toasted apple slices, but at least that’s something that could feasibly BE breakfast food. By the fur, this thing’s a mess. As Keyla went from page to page, the recipe book continued to be a disorganized muddle, with hors d’ouvres sandwiched between basic lunches while fancy dinners shared page space with herbal concoctions one could make in the middle of the forest, with absolutely no rhyme or reason. 

Ah, Keyla thought after seeing a page on exquisite wines opposite one on how to boil mushrooms in order to remove the poison, to blazes with it. This honestly hurts to look at, so I’ll just nick some bread or something. 

After tearing a pawful off a loaf that somebeast had left on the counter, Keyla was about to head out to the aspen tree he’d decided to sit under earlier when the tent flap opened. Martin and Brome stepped through, the sight of the former nearly causing Keyla to swallow his bread whole, and the two mice continued what seemed to be a conversation about their own cooking experiences. 

“I still can’t believe it,” Brome was saying, “what do you mean you don’t know how to cook?” 

“I never said I didn’t know how, just that I’m not used to doing more than simple things. Growing up other creatures were always the ones that handled that. Isn’t Grumm the same way?” 

“Well, yes, but he and my mum still make sure Rose and I know how to make what he cooks. At least the easy stuff.” 

Martin looked over and saw Keyla, who had been forced to retreat towards the waste barrel. “What do you think, Keyla? Brome here thinks it’s weird that my entire cooking knowledge is restricted to odds-and-ends and the sort of simple things you make on a march.”

“Wha?” Keyla forced the bread down before turning. “Oh, uh, can’t say that seems weird to me. Only thing I know how to make is about a pawstep above gruel. Honestly last night I was surprised Grumm didn’t just hurl me out of the tent the tenth time I messed up making that soup.” 

Martin laughed. “I could see him doing that, won’t lie, but I’m surprised - with how nice that soup tasted I’m surprised you made any mistakes.” 

“Th-thanks.” The sound of Martin’s laughter had thrown Keyla for a loop, while the fact that the mouse likes his soup gave him an odd and completely unjustified warm sensation. “Anyways, if you two are here for some breakfast I’m warning you now: finding what you need from that book’s like trying to hunt down a single pebble in a stream.”

“Oh come on, it can’t be that bad…” Martin walked over to the book, read a few pages, and then closed it. “Alright, I take it back. By the fur, who wrote this?”

“They probably just put in the recipes as they thought of them.” Said Brome. “Grumm said that my father’s old cook was like that. Talking about it’s the only time I’ve heard him curse, now that I think about it.” 

“It’s probably good that Leuca was too focused on me to show him it then. Grumm cussing out one of the cooks probably would’ve gotten us booted out of the camp.” 

“I’m assuming that was the ottermaid you were talking about last night?” Martin asked. “Speaking of which, has she found you yet today?” 

“Thankfully, no.” Keyla suppressed a shudder. She was nice enough, Keyla thought, but the way she kept trying to get close to him - a brush of her paw against his, the occasional shoulder bump - had made Keyla wish he could build a wall between the two of them. 

“Awww, you don’t like her?” Brome frowned. “When I ran into her last night she seemed really sweet.” 

“Well, if I see her I’ll send her your way. Unless you were planning to stick around for breakfast?”

“I wasn’t, personally.” Martin replied. “I wanted to ask the stagepaws about a few things whenever they wake up.”

“And I was going to ask Felldoh if he could show me a few of his paw-to-paw tricks. Sorry Keyla.” 

“You can come with me, if you want.” Martin suggested. “And I don’t think Felldoh would mind you tagging along with Brome.”

“No, you two go have fun. I think I’ll just stay here and try to figure out a way to organize that recipe book over there.”

“You sure? Like Martin said, I doubt Felldoh would mind you coming with me.” 

“I know, I just…”Keyla looked over at the book. “That thing’s driving me nuts, alright?” As was the oddness of the way he was starting to feel every time he looked at Martin, but Keyla decided to push that aside for now. “I want to see if I can find some way to put it in order.” 

“Alright then.” Martin grabbed two pawfuls of bread and tossed one to Brome. “See you later, Keyla. Good luck!” 

“Cheers.”

Once the two mice were gone, Keyla looked back at the book and sighed. Nice going there, matey. It wasn’t a complete lie that he felt that the book needed ordering, but the prospect of doing the entire thing by himself was, now that Keyla was faced with it, rather daunting. Nothing left but to give it a whirl, I suppose. But how to go about this? The best way to organize the recipes, at least for the moment, would probably be by the sort of meal they were for - one mark for breakfasts and morning, another for lunch and midday, and so on. 

After that, the question was how to make the marks themselves. They ought to be visible from the outside, so that a creature doesn’t have to hunt around for whatever sort of recipe they’re looking for, but how to get THAT? Looking around, all Keyla could see were little bits of parchment that creatures could use for writing their own notes or directions. Blast, if only there was a way to get those to stick onto the pieces of paper. But come on, there HAS to be a way… 

Hang on. Didn’t Barkjon tell Felldoh and I once that his own parents had a system for noting types of chores? Something about marking everything with little bits of string… It would need some adapting, but now that he thought about it that was probably the best way to go about making it accessible. 

Flipping through the pages, Keyla mentally ticked off the categories on his paws, and in the end he decided on 7. Good. Now I just need a lot of colored string. It’s good that I’m in the ONE place where that’s probably easy to find. 

***

Half an hour of arguing with a very surly mole later, and Keyla had managed to get his paws on an entire basket of colored string to take back to the kitchen. Shortly after that Keyla was back in front of the book, poking small holes in each page with a pin he’d liberated from the mole during their argument and trying small knots of string in them: crown knots for even-numbered pages, button knots on odd-numbered ones. It was the sort of mind-numbing work he’d been doing most of his life, but at the same time it felt bizarrely fulfilling. Maybe because I can see the point in this? Maybe because it’s something I decided to do on my own? Keyla wasn’t sure. Regardless he found it relaxing, and soon the otter began to sing a tune his mother had taught him as a babe. 

Seven Apples on a Witches Tree,

Seven Seeds to Plant Inside of Me,

In Springtime I Grew a Magic Song, 

And Skipping Along,

I Sang the Song to Everyone… 

“Jolly good song there, eh wot?” Ballaw strode into the tent. “Can’t say I’ve heard it before though. 

“It was something my mother sang back when I was little.” A good dozen years after her death, and the memory of his mother still ached. “It helped me forget where we were.” 

“You mean Marshank? Dashed cruel place, that old fort seems to be.” 

“Aye. Honestly, there’s still a part of me that wants to just drop everything and run as far away as I can. But I know I can’t - I owe it to everybeast in there to do what I can to liberate them. There’s no future for anybeast there, and that’s not something I can tolerate.” 

“Cracking well said, young otter!” Ballaw looked over at Keyla’s partly-finished project. “But, ah, what does tying a bunch of knots in our recipe book have to do with that?” 

“Oh, this? Nothing. I was just looking for something to make for breakfast and, well, the sheer haphazardness got to me. Each color signifies a type of recipe, to make perusing easier: Yellow means breakfast and early morning items, green means lunch, blue means dinner and evening, pink means desserts, red means upscale recipes that I'm assuming are meant to impress, white means snacks, and brown means the sort of recipe you make off what you can find in the woods.” 

“Smart.” Ballaw nodded. “This’ll make old Rowanoak happy, and as they say, a happy wife means a happy life.”

So they ARE married after all. I’ll have to tell Martin and Gonff. Thinking of Martin again made Keyla feel off, and he shook his head to clear his thoughts. 

“Keyla? Is something the matter?”

“Huh? No, it’s -” He stopped partway through his sentence. Maybe Ballaw knows what this is? For some reason Keyla felt as though the hare could help him sort out the odd feelings. “Actually, Ballaw? Mind if I tell you something?” 

“Of course, young one.” 

“Well, you know how Leuca was staring at me yesterday and practically pawing all over me? I know she didn’t really mean anything untoward by it, but I still would rather she not.”

“Oh, is that all? I’ll tell her to keep her distance from you.” 

“Thanks Ballaw, but it’s not just that. See, Mar - I mean, another creature was doing something similar last night, but it felt different. It was weird, but at the same time I - I didn’t mind it as much? Like there was a part of me that enjoyed being close to them.”

“Well, now, that’s a different matter entirely. Funnily enough, I used to be the same way around Rowanoak when I first met her - the very sight of her used to make me blooming hot under the collar.” Ballaw chuckled, obviously reminiscing. 

Hang on, what? But that’s exactly how I felt. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t . The very thought was absurd. 

Wasn’t it? 

“Ah, those were the days. Getting to know one another, eventually talking about building a future together…” Ballaw smiled at Keyla “Not unlike what you said you want to build for everybeast in Marshank, eh wot? But what about you, young otter? What sort of future do you see for yourself?” 

The question caught Keyla off-guard. “I - I can’t say I’ve ever really thought about it. I suppose I wouldn’t mind settling down though.” Keyla tried to picture the image, maybe living back in Kotir, perhaps even marrying some ottermaid - 

Except, in his mind’s eye, the hypothetical ottermaid stubbornly refused to form, instead taking the vague outline of a mouse - 

But I’m… and he’s…

What? 

“Is something else bothering you Keyla?” Ballaw leaned down in front of him. “You look like you’re halfway to another world.”

“One more question. How does it feel to hear Rowanoak laugh?”

“That’s a tiny bit of an odd one, isn’t it?” Ballaw laughed himself. “But I suppose it makes me feel all warm. Like I’m being covered in a snug blanket if that makes any sense? Why? Some fair maid catch your eye? Make your heart skip with a laugh of her own?” 

The world was spinning. I don’t understand. HOW is this possible? It’s just… 

“Keyla?” Ballaw gently took the otter by the paw and led him over to a bench. “Are you feeling alright? Do you need to rest?” 

“You - you’re half-right there Ballaw, and everything you said you felt with Rowanoak I’ve felt recently, except…not because of a maiden.” What’s WRONG with me? The very idea was absurd, almost unnatural, but at the same time after talking with Ballaw, Keyla knew there was no denying it.

“It's Because of Martin.”

Chapter Text

Rose stood in Marshank’s slave pen. “Brome?” She called out, searching for her brother, needing to find him, trying to figure out just how they’d gotten back into Marshank, “Brome, where are you?” 

He was gone. So was everybeast for that matter, Rose realized as she looked around; the pen was deserted, as were the surrounding buildings. 

“Hello? Is anybeast there?” Rose walked over to the pen’s gate and pushed it open. “Brome? Felldoh? Barkjon?” There was still no answer. 

And then, suddenly, Rose felt a presence behind her. Turning around, standing right inside the pen, was a shape. “H - hello?” Rose spoke to it. “Who are you?” 

Focusing in, trying to see what exactly the shape was, Rose watched as it gradually solidified into the form of a mousemaid. She took a pawstep back in horror.

“Purslane?”

It couldn’t be, there was simply no way, and yet it was - the very mouse Badrang had executed was now staring back at her, no sign of death save the bright red scar across her neck. Purslane took a pawstep forwards - 

Rose awoke, gasping. Sitting up she looked around, half-expecting to see the mousemaid’s ghost still looking back at her, but there was nothing. Just the same tent interior she’d fallen asleep in, dark green with little silver streamers running up and down the sides. That was… She’d had dreams about Marshank before, indeed almost constantly since entering the accursed fort in the first place, but that one had felt different. More real, somehow, and even after waking it still felt like she’d actually been there. 

And Purslane… The Mousemaid had figured in a dream or two, but she’d always been headless. And on the ground. And, most assuredly, not walking towards her as though to say something. But what would she have said to me? 

Before Rose could think on it any longer, she heard somebeast outside her tent.

“Rose?” It was Martin. “Is everything alright? You weren’t having trouble breathing, were you?” 

“No, Martin, I’m fine. It was just a nightmare.” 

“Oh…want to talk about it?” 

“No,” Rose said, and then regretted it half a second later. “Actually, may we? Sorry, I - I think I actually do need to talk to somebeast right now.” 

“It’s absolutely alright.” Martin pushed his way into the tent. “I’ve been there before lots, and it’s not like I was sleeping anyways. Too much to think about.” He looked around. “By the fur, it’s dark in here. Mind if I light up a candle?”

“Go ahead. There’s one on the table to your -”

Thump

Rose heard Martin curse under his breath. “Okay, are you alright? That didn’t exactly sound all that pleasant.” 

“No, fine, just a stubbed toe.” Rose heard the tink of spark rocks, and a second later the tent was illuminated in the soft, warm glow of candlelight. “That’s better.” Martin walked over and set the candle on the ground between him and Rose. 

“Right, before we start, mind if I ask a question real quick?” 

“Go ahead.”

“ How were you able to find my spark rocks that easily when you couldn’t even find a table without bumping into it?”

“What, these?” Martin stuffed the rocks into a pocket in his tunic. “I borrowed them from Kastern. Never hurts to have a pair on paw, my archery instructor used to tell me.” He looked back at Rose, face full of concern. “Now, what did you dream about?” 

Rose explained her dream to Martin. The other mouse listened attentively, and at the end he gave Rose an inquisitive look. 

“So when you say ‘it felt more real’, what exactly does that mean?” 

Rose thought about it. “Well…You know how normally when you’re dreaming this sort of a sense that you’re not really in control? That you’re sort of just ‘going with the flow’?” 

“Yeah. Are you saying that this felt different?” 

“It did. Everything felt more solid? Like I could actually influence everything around me.” 

“I see. Interesting. And Purslane was there, which I suppose normally means you’ve been thinking about her a lot…”

“But that’s just it. I haven’t been. Truth be told, beside seeing her body in the occasional nightmare I haven’t spared her a moment’s thought. And the way she looked at me - it was almost accusing? Like…” Rose’s eyes wandered the tent, searching for a way to describe it. “Like she was going to tell me off for not caring about her.” 

“To be fair,” Martin replied, “we have all been a little busy lately. Not like I’ve really had much time myself to ruminate deeply on what happened back there.” 

“You’re not understanding me - when she died, the first coherent thought that went through my head was ‘huh. This actually makes our escape easier’. Had nothing to do with her family, nothing to do with her, just thinking about how the circumstances behind it helped me. And truth be told, I barely even gave her sacrifice a moment’s thought the entire rest of the time I was in Marshank.” Rose looked up, concerned. “What does that say about me, Martin?” 

“I can’t say for sure, but I can guess.” Martin smiled across the candle at her, a soft, gentle smile. “If you’re worried that it makes you a bad creature somehow, don’t be. I don’t know what it’s called exactly, or why it happens, but it’s normal for somebeast to kind of detach themselves from what’s going on if it’s too horrible.” 

Rose wasn’t sure if she believed that. “What do you mean, ‘detach themselves’? It still feels like I just didn’t care.” 

“Well, first of all, if you genuinely were that apathetic you wouldn’t be feeling this guilty about your past reaction. And second of all, what I mean is that you’d be far from the first creature to more or less separate themselves from the world. You wouldn’t happen to have heard of Sunflash the badger, would you?”

Rose thought about it. “He’s the Badger Lord of a mountain in the Far South, right?”

“Yeah, although I have to admit that’s the first time I’ve heard of Salamandastron being called ‘the Far South’.” Martin laughed quietly. “But anyways, Sunflash was himself a slave for a good decade, and a few times when talking about it he’s mentioned that he used to sort of ‘go away inside’ if he was being beaten or saw another creature suffering, so it was like he wasn’t there. From what I’ve gathered it’s just the way that some creatures cope with things. Doesn’t mean you don’t care, just that it’s how you, uh…” Martin looked at Rose, and she could tell he was suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m not explaining this properly. This was always Gingivere’s speciality. But what I’m trying to say is - what you’re going through is normal. Personally I was one of those that had constant nightmares for a good week after the first time I saw somebeast die, Gonff makes songs about everything, and so on. Everybeast reacts differently, if that makes sense. Actually, has anything I’ve said made sense? At all?” 

Rose considered his words. “Actually, yeah, it does. Thank you, Martin.” 

“That’s a relief.” All of a sudden Martin looked back down at the floor; Rose thought she could detect the faintest hint of a blush on his face. “Hmm, this candle’s burning a little low. You wouldn’t happen to have another one somewhere, would you?” 

“The drawer right behind me’s got a few.” Rose gestured over her shoulder. “Want me to grab one?” 

“I don’t mind.” Martin pushed himself up and leaned over Rose, paw outstretched above her -

For a split second she saw Bluehide. Rose flinched, and sidled away from Martin, who stopped what he was doing and stepped away himself. 

“Rose? Are you alright?” 

Rose shook her head. “Martin, I’m sorry, I just saw your paw there, and for a moment it was like when Bluehide took me captive outside of Marshank and he - he - I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. You have nothing to apologize for. If anything, I should’ve realized. Is there anything I can do to help you with it?” 

“Not unless you can go back and stop it from happening.” 

“If only I could. There’d be a lot of things I’d like to stop.” Martin sighed. “But we’re not talking about me here, now are we? I guess…just know that I’m here for you. No matter what it is.” 

“I appreciate it. And again, I’m sorry about flinching like that. When I saw your paw it just took me back to how helpless I felt, and I - wait, no.” Rose forced herself to look Martin straight in the eyes. “Actually, there is something you can do.” Standing up, Rose walked over to her bedside table and grabbed her knife. “See this here? I’ve got this knife but I barely know how to use it. I can throw stones in a sling with the best of them, sure, but when it comes to fighting in close quarters I know next to nothing. If I’m ever caught in a situation like that again, I’ll be just as helpless as I was with Bluehide. So Martin, please - teach me how to fight.” 

“Are you sure?” Martin stood up. “Don’t get me wrong, I think that’s a great idea, just, well, when I train creatures I tend to get a little intense.”

“That’s fine. It’s not as though those corsairs were gentle back at Marshank.” 

“Fair enough, but just so you know, knifework isn’t really my strength. I’m far better with a sword.” 

“Then I’ll learn how to fight with a sword as well. Though I have to admit, with that fancy knife you had earlier I kind of just assumed you were great with that as well.” 

“What, that? I’m alright with a knife, but mostly that was one of the parting gifts I got from back home before I left. That and the…” Martin trailed off suddenly, and even in the flickering light of the candle Rose could see the color drain out of his face. “Oh no. Oh, no no no.”

“Martin? What’s wrong?” 

“Our packs. We left them back at Marshank, and there was something important in mine, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember what it was.” Steadying himself against Rose’s table, Martin continued. “There was this locket my father gave me. It had something in it, though I have no idea what it was.” 

“Think it was something important?” 

“Maybe? I don’t know.” Martin’s voice had grown thick. “But that’s not the point - Rose, it was a gift from my father .” 

“Oh… would he be angry that you lost it?” 

“A little disappointed, maybe. But he won’t know. He’ll never know.” 

“Because you’ll get it back?” 

“Because when I go back to Mossflower, he won’t be there. When I left he was sick, and he’s been sick for years, and getting worse, and for all I know he could already be -” Martin slammed his paw into the table, making Rose jump. “The one thing - the one thing - he gave me, and of course I had to up and lose it. For all I know Badrang’s got it now and is using it as his own symbol of some kind, or… or…” 

Her earlier aversion forgotten, without even realizing what she was doing, Rose crossed over to Martin and wrapped her arm around him. She squeezed, tightly, as Martin buried his head in her shoulder. 

An eternity later Martin pulled away. “Right, um, sorry about that. But - thanks.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Rose smiled as gently as she could. “Consider it repayment for comforting me .” 

“Oh…alright.” Flustered, Martin rubbed the fur on the top of his head. “So, about that sword training…is - is tomorrow too soon to start?” 

“Not at all. After breakfast.” 

“After breakfast, then. In that case, I should, erm, probably go get some sleep. Need to get up early and think up lessons and all.”

“Fair enough. Goodnight then, Martin.” 

“Goodnight, Rose.” 

And then Rose was alone again, lost in thought.

Chapter Text

Gingivere faded in and out of consciousness. One second he was in the town square, then one blink later he was being carried back through the Kotir gates, and then up the stairs, then in his bed. His hearing faded in and out as well; a shouted command from Jen to his left sounded clear as day, while an answer from a pine marten to his right sounded as though the speaker was off in the distance. 

One thing that didn’t fade, however, was the pain. As Gingivere’s surroundings changed, as his senses gained and lost efficacy, the agonizing throb across the top of his face, the fire, the constant punching as though being slammed with an iron bar remained constant. 

Shadows were all around him, poking, prodding, compounding the pain, and one of them poured a bucket of boiling oil over his head. Gingivere moaned, writhing in place, the paws of Badrang, Hisk, Tsarmina, Greypaw, and countless others holding him down, forcing him to submit to the torture.

Gingivere looked up. The weasel he’d killed in the north all those years ago stood over him, knife repeatedly stabbing into his right ear. “Mmmm…no…” he muttered, pushing feebly upwards, trying to push the knife away. 

“Easy, Gingivere.” The weasel spoke in Bluefen’s voice. “Easy. It’s me . We need to close this wound up before…” 

The weasel dissolved, as did the shadows, and Gingivere sank into a world of blackness. 

And in that world, surrounded by nothingness, Gingivere saw. 

His sister and Swartt Sixclaw, burning a village. 

His brother, fighting somebeast, betrayal etched on his face. 

A mouse and an otter gazing upon the sunrise in an abandoned hall, flanked by a small badger leaning against a broken pillar.

Another mouse, one that looked so much like Martin that for a heartbeat Gingivere was sure it was his brother, standing alone on a pier, waves crashing all around him, struggling to lift a sword. 

And then the darkness returned, pulling Gingivere down, down, down, the pain in his head growing even stronger…

Gingivere’s eyes flew open. Blinking rapidly to adjust his eyes to the bright sunlight, he looked around. He was in his room, now mercifully free of ghosts and long-dead beasts; indeed, other than himself, the only creature present was Sandingomm, who was curled up in his desk chair, fast asleep. In spite of the dull throbbing in his right ear, Gingivere had to smile. She really is cute when she’s asleep, isn’t she? Not that it was the sort of thing his time was best served by focusing on, and Gingivere started shaking his head in amusement at himself - 

It was a terrible idea. The pain exploded from a dull throbbing into the sort of fiery, stabbing sensation he’d felt upon getting whipped, only several magnitudes worse, and it was only compounded when Gingivere reflexively tried to clamp his paw against his ear. For a millisecond he felt the tightly-wrapped bandages, but then all feeling was lost as the world erupted into red, and clubbing, burning, stabbing sensations flooded his entire head. 

And then Gingivere was on the floor, throat hurting, panting, a concerned Sandingomm standing over him. 

“Easy, Gingivere, you didn’t hit your head on the floor, did you?” 

“What? What happened? I - I don’t think so, but…” Gingivere looked at her, confused. “How did I get down here?”

“You don’t remember screaming? Louder than anything I’ve heard before; jolted me right out of sleep and blooming nearly gave me a heart attack.” 

“Oh, uh, sorry about that. Embarassed, Gingivere made to rub the top of his head again. 

Sandingomm’s paw shot out and grabbed his. “No. Don’t aggravate it. Bluefen said poking around too much risks harming the stitching. So unless you want to lose the other half of your ear, leave it be.” 

Gingivere froze and tensed up, sending yet another wave of pain. “The other half? What do you mean ‘the other half’?” 

Sandingomm sat down next to Gingivere. “What do you remember from the square?” 

Gingivere tried to think. “Not much - I remember I was talking, then that blasted mole fired an arrow at me, and then I doubled over as everybeast went mad, but after that it’s all a mess.” 

“Well, the good news is that Gertrude’s shot more or less killed any momentum her and Bonetail’s movement had left. Amber’s busy cleaning up a few stragglers out by the Loamhedge camp, but that’s it.” Sandingomm made a face. “Turns out that shooting the creature actively trying to calm everybeast down while your own side’s burning everything to a crisp doesn’t exactly endear you to the average beast. The bad news is that said shot ripped clean through the top half of your right ear and cut it nearly in two.”

Gingivere felt nauseated. By the fur, that’s… well, it explains why it hurts whenever I move my head. “How many days have I missed?” 

“A day and a half? I think? I’ll admit I’ve been sleeping a good bit myself.” 

A day and a half. An entire day and a half I was dead to the world. The feeling of nausea increased. “What else happened while I was asleep?” 

“Well, like I said, most of it’s just been mopping up after the riot. Although last night Mask came in ranting about - never mind.” She cut off abruptly. 

“Ranting about what?” 

“Forget about it. I’ll - I’ll tell you later.” 

“Sandingomm, I’m still the acting Lord of Mossflower, so whatever it is I can hear it.” 

“Are you sure you want to know?” Sandingomm looked at Gingivere, completely serious. “It’s not exactly the best news.” 

“Tell. Me.” 

“You know the tavern near where Gonff’s family lives? The one tended by that Ven squirrel?” 

“The one Goody got into a brawl at?” 

“Aye. Well, anyways, one of Mask’s informants was eating there when they brought word you’d been injured. Most of the creatures were horrified, as you’d expect, but…” she trailed off. “Are you absolutely sure you want to know?” 

“Just get it over with.” 

“If you insist.” Sandingomm took a deep breath. “Ven, two mice, and a ferret started celebrating. Ven poured the other two free drinks and led a toast: ‘Here’s hoping his death is long and painful.’ Mask came up here after hauling Ven, the ferret, and one of the mice off to the dungeon - the other mouse was apparently killed when another patron took a bottle to their head - all but spitting fire. I can honestly say I’ve never heard anybeast curse as rapidly or intensely as he was.” 

Gingivere was glad the two of them were still sitting on the floor; his legs were shaking so hard that, had they been standing up, he probably would have fallen again. “And you’re sure it was Ven?” He used to have Gonff run choice drinks up for Martin and I. Said they were ‘gifts for the heroes of Mossflower’. 

“I am. Well, Mask was - he’s the only squirrel bartender there. Did you know him well?” 

“Apparently not as well as I thought.” 

“Oh… What are you going to want done with them? Mask and Timballisto have a few suggestions, but -”

“I don’t care.” Gingivere snapped. “Hang them, let them go, I don’t care.” He looked up towards the ceiling. “How’s my father? And how’s Bella?” 

“Oh, uh, Bella’s condition seems to have stabilized enough that Bluefen’s fairly confident she’s going to pull through cure or no cure. And Lord Verdauga, he’s the same? I think? He still sleeps most of the day away. But going back to the toast…” 

“Didn’t you hear me? I. Do Not. Care.” He thought I was a hero…

And the two mice and the ferret - had he known them too? Interacted with them? Solved some boundary dispute or argued with the Corim on their behalf? 

But they still wanted me to die. Gingivere’s vision blurred. “I was nearly enslaved for them…”

“Come again?” 

“Four years ago. When we all went north to liberate Mossflower - Bella, Gonff and I wound up in a slave line for a couple days.” His paw rose to his forehead, where there was still a faint break in his fur indicating where he’d been whipped. “This comes from then. Damn it, I’ve let my own father rot in his room for them! I’ve run myself ragged trying to figure out how to cure this bloody disease, just like I ran to the end of the world and back for them, and what did they give me?” He pointed. “A shattered ear and a toast to my death!” 

“Gingivere, that was just the work of a couple of -”

“You saw how big that group in the yard was, didn’t you? There were at least that many rioters in town, if not more! My own creatures, the very same ones I’ve devoted every bloody moment of my life to helping , and they all wanted me dead.” Pushing off Sandingomm, he stood up. “Do you have any idea how that feels? After everything I just, I - I - I -” 

And then he broke. 

He was sitting on his bed; how he’d wound up there, Gingivere had no idea. Nor did he have any idea when Sandingomm sat next to him, and gently pulled him in, letting him press against her. And as for how long they sat like that, Gingivere had no idea of that either. 

All he knew was that it all came pouring out, the worry, the pain, the guilt, the doubt.

Eventually, he pulled away, and looked at her. “I - I’m sorry about that.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” She reached over and patted his paw. “You’ve been keeping a lot to yourself, haven’t you?” 

“I suppose… But still, I’m not sure that was very lordly of me.” Gingivere sighed. “Not that I think I’ll be one for much longer.” 

“No?” 

“Sandingomm, you saw everybeast out there - half of Mossflower doesn’t even want me around anymore. Even after everything I’ve -” 

Sandingomm held up a paw. “I’m going to stop you right there.” Sitting straight up, Gingivere could tell she was choosing her words carefully. “Didn’t you promise you would only leave if the cure didn’t work?”

“Yes, but that was before I knew just how deep this anger went.” 

“Alright, fair enough.” Sandingomm stood up, walked over to Gingivere’s desk, and grabbed a few of the loose papers he’d left out. “Would be a shame for you to leave without finishing this law code of yours, though.” 

“Oh, right.” With everything about the Dryditch, Gingivere had to admit he’d almost forgotten about that. “My great effort to ensure uniform justice.” He laughed bitterly. “Clearly, that idea hasn’t exactly taken hold amongst the masses.” 

“I always thought it was a good idea.” Sandingomm ruffled through the papers. “Hey, I remember this law - we argued about it over dinner a while ago: ‘ If a creature neglects to strengthen their dyke and does not strengthen it, and a break occurs in their dyke and the water carries away the farm-land, the creature in whose dyke the break has been made shall restore the grain which they have damaged.’ Didn’t I try and tell you that it would anger all the otters or something?” 

Gingivere tried to remember. “I think so, yeah… because of floods in the River Moss and how they wouldn’t see dykes breaking due to flooding as their fault. And then I said that it didn’t matter, because they had the obligation as custodians of the river to keep that in mind, and besides -”

“- it wasn’t like half Camp Willow drowned every time it rained too much, so clearly they knew how to engineer dykes that could stand up to a little extra water.” Sandingomm finished, grinning. “That really shouldn’t be as funny as it is.” She looked back down at the paper, and nodded to herself. “Come to think of it, you said things like that a lot - that it didn’t matter what one group of creatures or another thought, so long as justice was done.” 

“If you’re trying to draw a link between our dinner conversations and me being sick of everybeast ignoring what I’m doing, then don’t waste your breath. They’re entirely different.” 

“Not from where I’m standing.” Sandingomm waved the papers at Gingivere. “Doesn’t it come from the same starting place? You wanting to just do what’s right?” 

Gingivere tried to speak, but Sandingomm barrelled over him. “In all our conversations about this - and believe me, there have been a lot - want to know how many times I remember you talking about wanting recognition? A whopping zero. It was always ‘everybeast deserves fair treatment by the law’ or ‘the rights of the average creature need to be protected’ or something to that effect. Or, most of the time, because it’s the right thing to do. ” Sandingomm crossed back over to Gingivere’s bed and sat down next to him. “Because if you quit, innocents would suffer. So let me ask you this: say this had happened at Salamandastron. Say Sunflash was the one who got maimed and you heard he was going to step down over it. What would your reaction be? Your immediate, gut reaction?” 

“Are you expecting me to say ‘I would worry about all the creatures that would die because of his decision’? Because if you are, then I’ll have you know that that’s…” oh, to blazes with it. To blazes with her. “...that’s exactly what I’d think, isn’t it.” 

“Uh huh. Because that’s what you’ve always cared about most: doing the right thing and helping as many creatures as you can. So stop pretending you’re in it for the adulation.” Gingivere felt Sandingomm was looking entirely too smug for her own good.

“Alright, I’ll concede to your speech, as obviously rehearsed as it was.” He glared at her, although the glare was more exasperated than anything. “Have you been planning that out the whole of the past day and a half?” 

“Yes and no. I didn’t exactly know you were about to quit, or your reasons for it, at least not until you told me. But, in fairness you spent a good half an hour against my shoulder, so I had time to think.” 

Was it really that long? “Ugh, fine. I’ll forget about abdicating until I know Dryditch has been cured. But after that, no promises.” 

“Good enough for me. But just do me one thing.” Sandingomm’s smug look vanished from her face. “Don’t bottle everything up, alright? You need to let things out again, tell me. It’s what I’m here for.” 

“I’m grateful. Thanks, Sandingomm.” Gingivere meant it. 

Perhaps because she’d been willing to let him break down in front of her as he had, or because of the way that she knew all the right words to encourage him, but for some reason Gingivere said more. “I don’t know if I’ve said this before, but I, ah, I really don’t know what I’d do without you. Actually, I, uh, well, I’d even go so far as to say that I, erm, well…” By the fur, spit it out, you idiot! You’ve only said it to yourself half a dozen times. 

“I love you, Sandingomm.” 

Sandingomm blinked, visibly shocked. “Well, that was unexpected.” And then she smiled. “But nice.” She leaned in and kissed Gingivere on the cheek. “And also wholeheartedly returned. Now, about the cure for Dryditch…” 

Although Gingivere felt in that moment that he could cure a thousand plagues, he contented himself with saying “let’s just wait for the mole concoction to finish, shall we? I probably shouldn’t be doing all that much with a recently-destroyed ear anyways.” 

Chapter Text

“So remind me again why you’re doing this?” Timballisto asked Gingivere while eyeing the small bowl the wildcat was carrying. 

“Symbolism, mostly. I’m trying to show everybeast that I’m willing to endure the same difficulties they are.” He shuddered. “Even if it means eating…this.” 

“Maybe the taste won’t be too terrible? The rice taste could overpower the urine, couldn’t it?” 

“Mask, it’s Rice. Rice doesn’t really have a taste.” 

By the fur this is going to be the most disgusting thing I’ve ever done. Everybeast on the Corim had suggested they add some kind of spice or flavoring to dilute the…rather unsavory taste they were all expecting the concoction to have, but Gingivere had forbidden it; all of the translations they’d found had suggested that the mix would have to be eaten as-is, one part urine to three parts rice, and Gingivere wasn’t going to risk diluting the efficacy by adding in something else. Even if it meant he would have to get the taste raw and unfiltered. I am going to throw up. I am DEFINITELY going to throw up. 

Still, there was nothing for him to do but give it a try. Grabbing the spoon he reluctantly scooped it into the mix, trying not to shudder at the sounds, before raising it up to his mouth. Don’t breathe don’t breathe don’t breathe don’t breathe

He began chewing, wondering how intense the look of resignation on his face was. Amber, Timballisto, Mask, Sandingomm, and the Skipper all leaned in, obviously morbidly curious. 

“Well?” Skipper asked. “How does it taste?” 

Gingivere forced himself to swallow. “It’s very bi-” 

Four retches later, and he shook his head. “No talk. Comes up.” 

He kept eating, trying vainly not to smell it, failing, forcing everything down, until at last, at long merciful last, the bowl was empty. 

One trip to the nearest chamber pot after that , and Gingivere stumbled back into the council room minus one doublet. 

“Two things”, he announced as he dropped back into his chair, “yes I know this is unprofessional to attend a corim meeting wearing just an undertunic, and we really need to find a way to stifle the gag reflex.” He looked up at Amber and Timballisto. “Stop looking smug, you two.” 

“Bread should serve for that, thankfully.” Skipper suggested. “The more important thing is: do you feel like the cure is having any adverse effects on your body?” 

“I’m assuming you mean besides the expected effects from eating piss soup? Just a stomachache. We’ll have to keep a watch on that and make sure it doesn’t get worse, but until then should we start making plans for distribution?” 

“Aye.” Timballisto took out a list of known cases and studied. “By the fur, this is going to be complicated. One bowl for each creature, correct? And a bite of bread loaf for everybeast but mice, rats, and squirrels? That means we’re going to need a grand total of…” 

As the Corim were talking, Sandingomm tapped Gingivere on the shoulder. “I’m going to go give Bella her dosage. Did you want to come with me?” 

Gingivere looked over at the others. “Just give me a second to let everybeast know.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Snadingomm and I are going to administer Bella her dosage. Once I get back, we can resume talking about how to distribute to everybeast else. And, uh, how to get more ingredients from the moles.” 

“Fair enough.” Amber nodded. “Just try and be back here quickly, alright? I don’t want you two celebrating just yet.” 

Sandingomm gave a theatrical scoff. “Come on, Amber. Now? With that smell on his breath? Have no fear, we’ll be back soon enough.” 

“You know,” Gingivere said as the two wildcats started making their way up towards Bella’s sickbed, “I’m not sure we should be this casual during meetings. We are still talking about matters of governance, after all.” 

“I think everybeast is just happy we’ve finally got the medicine ready, disgusting as it is. After so long, we’re finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.”

“I suppose…” They walked up the stairs in silence; even with everything seemingly going well, Gingivere couldn’t help but worry. What if this cure doesn’t work? I know that means I’ll be leaving Kotir, I’ve made my peace with that, but what will everybeast else do here in Mossflower? He knew that Sunflash was off somewhere in the north looking for the traditional cure, but there was no way of being in contact other than the occasional second-paw missive from Salamandastron - and from the sounds of it they were busy with their own problems, including a rather strange badger Sunflash had apparently run across in the north. What if he dies up there? Or the  traditional cure can’t be found? What if - 

Gingivere pushed the thoughts back down. Stop it. That’s not going to help anybeast. For now I need to just focus on OUR cure, which IS going to work, and when Sunflash comes back with the traditional cure it’ll just be a nice bonus. 

Trying to get his mind to focus on something else, Gingivere looked over at Sandingomm. The way she walked certainly seemed proof that everybeast was starting to get more upbeat, with each step having a gentle, light spring to it that he hadn’t seen in several months. Not to mention that her shoulders weren’t sagging nearly as much, and the lines in her face seemed less prominent, not to mention her entire face itself was far less taut… 

Gingivere was so focused on Sandingomm’s face (which a small part of him felt was strange, considering how much time they’d been spending face-to-face lately) that he nearly collided with the door to Bella’s quarters. Are we here already? What happened to the three flights of stairs? 

It was a question for later. Right now, his focus needed to be on Bella. “We’ve got everything, right? Correct dosage? Correct ratio of the mix?” 

“I think so? I have to admit that complicated math isn’t really my strength, but Peony’s instructions were clear enough. And it makes sense - the bigger the creature, the more they have to take in order to get the same results as a smaller one. She said two bowls would be plenty for a badger.” 

Gingivere shuddered. “Ugh. I can’t even imagine having to take two bowls at once. Just one was almost impossible.” Pushing the door open, he sighed. “Then again, I suppose that if I was sick I wouldn’t exactly have a choice.” 

“Gingivere?” A weak voice called from within the darkened chamber. “I-is that you?” Immediately after getting the words out Bella started coughing, a deep, dry cough. 

“It’s me and Sandingomm.” Gingivere waited for the coughing fit to pass before replying. “We finished developing the cure.” 

“I - is it the…”Bella trailed off into another set of coughs. “The mole mixture?” 

“Unfortunately. I can tell you from first-paw experience that it tastes exactly like you think it does.” 

Bella sat up, shocked, the movement setting off yet another round of coughing. “You didn’t catch it did you?” 

“No, I just promised all those rioters that I would be the first to take it and make sure it was safe.” Seeing the look of horror on Bella’s face, Gingivere waved a paw. “Erm, yes, there was a riot about two weeks ago. Two of them, actually. I’ll explain more when you’re feeling more healthy.” 

“Alright then.” Looking at Sandingomm, Bella rubbed her forehead. “By the fur, the light from the hallway’s bright. I can’t really tell, but are both those bowls for me?” 

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry that it’s as much as it is.” 

“It can’t be helped. Better than sitting here wasting away in the dark for the rest of my life.” Bella coughed again before taking a deep breath. “Let’s get it over with, shall we?” 

Bella ate the mix with a grim and resigned air. Gingivere had to admit that she was taking it a lot better than he had, besides several heaves of the stomach halfway through, and soon enough both bowls were empty. Shuddering, breathing deeply, Bella pointed towards a massive jug at her bedside table. “That. Now. Need water.”  

Gingivere gave it to her before scurrying away, expecting the imminent arrival of a very large mess on the floor, but instead Bella simply drank the entire jug down in a single go, swishing the water around in her snout before swallowing. Then came another round of coughs, this time punctuated with the errant sputter and forced swallow, after which she looked back at the two wildcats. “I hope you two never have to eat this.” 

“Oh, I’m actually going to have to eat another bowl in public.” Just thinking about it made Gingivere’s ears droop. “It’s sort of a public penance-type thing?” 

“Then why did you eat all that back with the Corim?” Sandingomm asked. 

“That was more of a practice run. See if I can get it to stay down, and if not - as wound up being the case - what I can do to prevent a spectacle in the town square.” He made a face. “I’m probably going to need to have a jug of water of my own when the time comes, I’d wager.”  

They all waited around, Gingivere fidgeting with his paws while Sandingomm adjusted the collar on her shirt. “Well?” Gingivere eventually asked. “Do you feel anything?” 

“Gingivere, I finished eating half an hour ago. Give it some time to settle in.” 

“Oh, right.” He supposed it made sense; cures didn’t just immediately go to work. Or, at least, not visibly. 

Time passed, slowly. Gingivere excused himself to get some water and stopped by the kitchen long enough to get a cookbook, returning to find little had changed. 

“I just wanted something to flip through.” He explained to Sandingomm when she raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Fair enough. Let me know if you find anything that would sound good for a victory feast. Might be fun to throw one if this works, after all.” She stood up. “Now that you’re back, I think it’s my turn to go for a walk.” 

Sandingomm returned about fifteen minutes later and joined Gingivere in his reading. They were just getting to the chapter on desserts when Bella spoke. 

“Huh.” 

Gingivere shot up. “What is it? Is something wrong?” 

“No, it’s -” Bella shook her head. “I can’t explain it, but I feel better somehow?” Raising a shaking paw to her forehead, Bella pressed the two together. “And my forehead’s less hot than it’s been in days .” 

Gingivere and Sandingomm looked at Bella, and then each other, ecstatic. “Then,” Sandingomm began, “does that mean it’s working?” 

“I think it does.” Although her face was still haggard, Bella smiled. “Our concoction, disgusting as it is, seems to be a success.” 

Oh, yes, yes, YES! Gingivere felt the urge to dance through the entirety of Kotir, but settled for looking back at Sandingomm, grinning, and swooping her up into a giant hug. 

Somewhere along the line, even though Gingivere was sure his breath still smelled terrible, their lips met.

***

The next day dawned with Gingivere standing on a podium in the middle of Moss Town, wearing a new doublet and with a jug of water that went up to his knee helpfully off to the side for afterwards, and a medium-sized bowl of cure sitting on a small table in front of him. A number of creatures slowly filed into the town square, glancing furtively up at him, each other, and the scars still evident from the riots. Gingivere waited for the square to get half-full and then, reasoning that it was likely as good a turnout as he could hope to get in the middle of a plague, cleared his throat to speak.

“Good creatures of Mossflower, two weeks ago I stood in front of you all ( or at least those rioting outside Kotir , he thought to himself) and spoke of the cure for Dryditch that me and the Corim were busy researching. I also promised that, as my atonement for a lack of transparency prior, I would be the first to taste the cure.”

He paused, waiting for the ripple of those who had not heard about the cure asked questions of those who had; judging by the number of shocked looks, double-takes, and whispered ‘ what’ s that he heard, the mole urine and rice mix was news to about one third of those present. 

“Today”, he continued once the ripple had passed, “I come to announce both that the cure is done and that I intend to fulfill my promise.” Gingivere picked up the bowl and displayed it to the crowd. “This contains the amount of cure that would be needed to treat a wildcat such as myself. And so, without further ado, I shall eat.” 

Gingivere inhaled, then exhaled. Here we go. Let’s hope that this time I don’t ruin the doublet. 

One bite went down, bringing back the mix of bitterness and sweetness he remembered all too well from yesterday, and then another, and then another, all the while Gingivere fighting both the urge to throw up and the shudders doing their best to travel up and down his body. Just focus on the next bite. Then the one after that. Then the one after that. And so on and so forth, until finally the bowl was empty. Gingivere hiccuped, terror that he was about to throw up taking hold and passing in that instant, and then with an air of forced calm he reached for the jug of water. 

Slowly, casually, disguising the fact that he wanted to drink as much as he could as fast as he could, Gingivere sipped the blessedly cool and clear water. Once the jug was empty he set it down on the podium, wiped his face with a handkerchief, and turned back to the assembled creatures. 

“Well, I won’t lie and say that I just had the greatest meal I have ever eaten, but such is how I can show that the cure is safe to eat. 

“Of course, it’s one thing to say ‘it can be eaten’, and it’s another thing to say ‘it should be eaten. After all, I doubt that there are very many creatures out there that would go out of their way to eat something made of mole piss.” A few waves of laughter passed through the crowd, as Gingivere had intended. “So, you’re probably wondering? Does it actually work? Does mole piss and rice actually combat Dryditch Fever?” He shrugged. “Having not caught Dryditch myself, I can’t exactly speak from first-paw experience.” More waves, this time of confusion: Gingivere imagined everybeast was wondering if he was about to announce that it wasn’t going to work, that he was going to abdicate as promised, and that they’d all have to wait for Sunflash to return with the other cure.

Gingivere cleared his throat again before continuing. “However, I do in fact know somebeast who can: Bella of Brockhall! ” A half-turn later, and Gingivere gestured towards the back of the podium. Bella slowly made her way up the steps from where she had been resting the majority of the speech, the whispers gradually increasing in volume to shouts and cheers as more and more creatures saw the badger take her place on the podium next to Gingivere, obviously winded and somewhat unsteady but looking far healthier than a creature with Dryditch had any right to. The cheering only grew louder when she raised a paw, waving out at the crowd, the other paw on Gingivere’s shoulder for support. 

“Thank you all for the enthusiastic response.” Said Bella. “Although I have yet to fully recover, I can assure you I grow stronger every hour.” More cheers. “I owe my recovery to the cure Gingivere ate before you all moments ago, and to all those who were behind its’ creation: Abbess Germaine and Sister Columbine of Loamhedge, who translated ancient books containing the wisdom that helped us down the path to the cure. Lady Sandingomm, who was a beacon of optimism for us all. The Corim, who emptied their own histories for clues and kept the fires lit across Mossflower. And, perhaps most of all: Gingivere, Acting Lord of Mossflower, who pored over book after book searching for the tiniest scrap of information, studied Dryditch in both life and death, seeing how it affected the body, using that to find the needle in the haystack we needed to uncover our path in the first place, and who was willing to sacrifice everything to ensure Mossflower will never have to face Dryditch again!” 

Personally Gingivere felt the accolades were a little over the top, but he knew better than to say so. It is strange though, he mused as everybeast cheered him and Bella, to be in front of a cheering crowd so soon after many of these same creatures were calling for my ousting. 

The rest of the morning passed in a blur: bowl upon bowl of curative was distributed to one creature after another, many of whom claimed that merely one bite was enough to chase away all their ailments, and Gingivere found himself shaking paw after paw. Somebeasts called blessings upon him, or asked him to bless them, and a few even sheepishly walked up and apologized for taking part in the rioting. The latter he pardoned, not wanting to ruin the celebratory atmosphere rapidly taking hold across the town square. 

 Bella had long since retired to Kotir by the time he managed to break away, which he found entirely understandable considering she was still in recovery, even if shaking all the paws by himself meant that Gingivere’s own paw was more than a little sore as he made his way back to Kotir. 

Finally, he made it back to his own chambers, where, without even bothering to remove his doublet he fell into bed. 

By the time his face hit the pillow, he was already fast asleep.

Chapter Text

Hey everyone, 

I’m sorry that I was on complete radio silence again the past few months. I’m breaking it to make an announcement that, for most or y’all, I imagine is just a confirmation of the obvious.

I’m probably not ever going to finish this. 

I’m sorry. I really am. I hate that I’m abandoning something like this, but it’s time to face facts: the drive to write simply isn’t there, and no matter what I do it just…won’t come back. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve moved on, or because this feels kind of like an artifact from my college days, or because I still have way too much taking up my headspace, but the spark feels almost irretrievably gone. 

For those who stuck with me through all the hiatuses and shit, I’m sorry. For those who may just be discovering this for the first time, I’m sorry. I feel like I’m letting people down, and I hate leaving things unfinished, but the odds of me actually getting my ass in gear to finish things feel like they’re getting lower by the day. But who knows? Maybe I will pick this up again at some point.

So once again, I’m sorry. To all of y’all. If anyone cares I do have a couple bullet points on where the story was supposed to go, but that’s it.
-Adrastos

Chapter Text

Gonff had long since learned that the planning abilities of his best friend left much to be desired; the mouse had run them all halfway up the continent in effectively the world’s most dramatic “I’m telling on you to dad”, after all, and grateful as Gonff was for the outcome he’d learned that it was always best to, when faced with a Genuine Martin Plan, to make sure that there was a second opinion throughout the entire affair. Usually that was Gingivere’s role, but since the wildcat wasn’t exactly available Gonff took it upon himself to double-check the actual feasibility of their scheme to free all of Marshank’s slaves. 

The best place to start, he figured, would be by talking with Ballaw and Rowanoak for a bit, to see where they stood in the preparations, and to that end he decided to eat breakfast with the two of them. 

“By jove, this thing’s amazing!” Ballaw took a deep gulp of his drink and smiled. “That mole friend of yours is one of the most brilliant cooks I’ve ever met.” 

“Oi, it’s my recipe! I just taught him how to make it.” The drink, which he called a ‘red freeze’, was in fact something he’d whipped up for the anniversary of the liberation of Mossflower the summer prior, mixing raspberries and lemons. “Truth be told, I don’t think Grumm’d ever seen a lemon before I showed him one.”

“Fair enough, fair enough.” Rowanoak finished her own drink and wiped her mouth. “They don’t exactly grow this far north. So, Gonff, thanks for showing us how to make this. I can see us getting a fair bit of use out of the recipe in the future.” 

“Good - I’ll go add it to the recipe book you’ve got in the kitchen, if you want.”

Rowanoak smirked. “You’ll have to run that by Keyla, first, I think. He’s been going a little nuts organizing that thing lately.”

“Well, to be fair, we did let it get a trifle messy, eh wot?” Ballaw snatched the scone Rowanoak threw at his head, winked at her, and then took a bite. “Well, now that we’re all properly fed and watered, what is it you wanted to talk with us about, Gonff?” 

“Just wanted to check up on that scheme of Martin’s. See what’s coming together, see what’s not, all that.” 

“Oh?” Rowanoak raised an eyebrow. “Think you’d be able to plan better than your friend back there?”

“For something like this?” Gonff shrugged. “Probably. Not to diminish the skills of you and yours, or anything - this sort of sneaking and thieving is just something I’m pretty good at.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Sure thing!” Gonff stood up and launched into a retelling of the time he’d broken into Kotir and accidentally run into Martin. His account of their volley of insults while dueling made both Rowanoak and Ballaw crack up, and by the time he was finished Gonff was fairly sure he’d seen the hare snort a bit of his drink out his nose.

“Well,” he said as he wiped his snout, “I’ll concede to you - and have you perchance ever thought about joining a performing troupe?”

“Not really.” At least, not since he was little - his primary concern had always been to make sure the Stickles had enough food to put on the table, and that meant putting any wants of his own aside. Although, they are doing rather well lately…

“I’d think about it - you’ve certainly got the flair for storytelling down pat.” Said Rowanoak. “But getting back to your earlier point, I’m with Ballaw - you do seem to know your way around thievery a little bit. Particularly the need for misdirection.”

“Cheers. So - what’s the current plan? Who’s best to talk to?” 

“Depends on what you want. Overview? Me or Ballaw. Specifics about the carts? Porth, most like.”

“Right, gotcha.” Gonff nodded. “So - I know the plan’s got something to do with drinks, right? The cooks were, ah, pretty insistent I not touch certain things.” 

“Aye. Plan is to serve the corsairs drugged ale, and once the blighters are knocked out sneak the slaves out.” 

“What about the beasts still at the gates?”

“That’s what the carts are for - hide the slaves under tarps, and if anybeast guarding the gate tries to take a closer look we’ll have a layer of supplies on the very top to throw them off.”

“Gotcha.” Gonff thought about it. On the surface it was a good plan, but he wondered. “And we get them to drink the ale by…”

“By making them want some, of course!” Ballaw grinned. “We’ll be putting on a brilliant show, the sort that will have them cheering, weeping, laughing, raging, the like! By the end they’ll be rushing for their drinks. And when that happens…” Ballaw snapped his fingers. “We’ll be the only creatures still up and moving in the whole blooming fortress.” 

“Except the perimeter guards.” Gonff pointed out. “Badrang’s not likely to leave his walls unguarded, especially with that Clogg bloke still around. Suppose we could try and overpower ‘em, but…” He trailed off, thinking. 

“Ah, right. Sounds of combat would just wake everybeast up, scare the slaves, or both.” Rowanaok rubbed her chin. “Hmm…ordinarily I’d say to run up some drinks to them as well, but things on the ground are going to be hard enough as it is.”

“We’ll think of something, Rowan old Oak.” Ballaw gave her paw a squeeze. “Do you have any ideas, Gonff?”

“Not really.” Well-versed in thievery as he was, Gonff had never really pulled off anything on a scale like this. And then there’s the fact we’ll need to leg it as far as possible, and that won’t be easy with those carts… What they really needed, he decided, was a boat - assuming the currents went in the right direction. “Well,” he stood up before continuing, “think I’ll go talk with Port for a bit.”

“Alrighty-then. Thanks again for the drink!” Ballaw waved goodbye. 

***

Crossing towards the part of the Rosehip camp where the theatre technicians tended to be, Gonff came across a rather unexpected sight: Keyla, wandering in the same direction, looking somewhat out of it. As he’s usually been, nowadays. “Hey, Keyla!” Gonff walked over to him. “Mornin’, matey!”

“Oh, Gonff.” Keyla nearly jumped. “Sorry. Still get a bit skittish sometimes. What are you doing out here?”

“Just wanted to talk with the theatre technicians a bit.” He waved a paw. “Things for Martin’s grand - and absolutely not half-arsed - plan.”

Keyla snickered. “Oh come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Eh. I’ve heard worse, but still.” Gonff looked around. “Say, you haven’t seen Martin at all today, have you?”

“What, me? I just know he’s in the kitchen getting breakfast.” 

“Ah. Come to think of it, aren’t you normally there yourself around this time? Organizing the cooks’ shelves for them?”

“Yeah, but I - I fancied a walk. Besides, with Martin being there Rose is probably not far behind, and I wouldn’t want to make things awkward since lately they’ve been spending so much time together…” 

“Ah. Fair enough.” Gonff decided not to push Keyla, although he found it rather interesting that the otter had spent a lot of time lately being as far away from Martin as possible. “Well, I won’t keep you from your walk. Unless you wanted to come with me to chat up Porth?”

“Hmm? Oh, uh, sure. Her tent’s that green one over there, I think.”

“Oh?” Gonff looked where the otter was pointing. “Huh. Thanks - probably would’ve been searching all day.” 

Walking over to the tent, Gonff paused to see if he could hear anybeast inside. Nodding after hearing what sounded like a large stack of papers being shuffled, he pushed open the tent flap and poked his head inside. “Miss Porth? Would you perchance be free to engage in conversation for a moment? I have a few queries I believe you may be able to answer.” 

The squirrel looked back at Gonff. “...sure? I can honestly say I’ve never heard you talk like that.”

“Neither have I.” Keyla added. 

“Aww, you two are no fun.” Gonff shaked his head in mock hurt before letting himself settle back into serious mode. “Me and Keyla wanted to ask you a few things about the carts we’re using to smuggle everybeast out of Marshank.”

“Oh? Alright.”  The hedgehog put down her papers and sat in front of them. “What did you two want to know?”

“Well, first off, how many carts do we have to work with?”

“Currently? Five supply carts, three storage wagons we can probably convert in a week at the maximum, and maybe Rowanoak and Ballaw’s personal wagon? I don’t think they’d mind for this.”

“Right.” Gonff looked at Keyla. “How many slaves do you think there are in Marshank at the moment?”

Keyla shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe about a hundred?”

“Right, so that makes ten beasts per cart? Eleven?”

“Eleven or twelve.” Keyla frowned. “Hmmm, that seems a little tight. Not to mention hard to move. I mean, I know we have a badger, but…”

“Good point.” Porth thought about it. “Alright, I’ll see if we can get Rowanoak and Bella to let us use the sleeping wagons as well.”

“Won’t they think it’s a little suspicious if we roll up with literally every single wagon you lot have?” Gonff knew that such an occasion would have earned the carts an incredibly thorough search from the Thousand-Eyes, one that would probably see through the deceptive measures the Rambling Rosehip players were planning on taking. “Unless you think they’d believe some sort of ‘we always do this in case we need to flee at a moment’s notice’ sort of excuse?”

“Knowing Badrang, he’d just pretend to reassure us and demonstrate how ‘committed’ he was to our safety by stationing guards around the carts. Honestly, he might do that anyway.” 

“Fair enough. Now, going back to your earlier questions about capacity, it would be tight but I feel like we could probably put about fifteen slaves in each of the three storage wagons before they start to get all jammed together, and if we can borrow the personal cart that’s another fifteen.” 

“Wait - two creatures need a cart as big as a storage wagon?”

“Rowanoak’s a badger, Keyla. Their things take up a lot of space.” 

“Okay, so that brings us up to sixty of the hundred. How many creatures is that per cart? Eight, right?” Gonff knew it was doable: he saw wagons holding that many beasts heading up and down the road back in Mossflower on an almost daily basis. Maybe Martin’s plan’s more solid than I gave him credit for. But something was still nagging him. 

“Yeah. And you figure, some of the creatures in there are younger beasts, so they won’t take up much room. In theory, we could load a few carts a little fuller because of that.” 

“Right.” Porth nodded. “And as for the hauling, we’re used to doing that. It won’t be the lightest thing in the world, but I think if we abandon some of our things at Marshank beforepaw we should manage it easily.”

“And we can help you with the pulling - me, Keyla, Felldoh, and Martin are all still young beasts too, not to mention fairly strong.” Gonff looked at Keyla apologetically. “Oh, uh, sorry for volunteering you, matey. You’ve got no problem with that, do you?”

“Not in the slightest - anything to help liberate everybeast from Badrang’s clutches.” 

“Anything else you wanted to know, Gonff?” Porth asked.

Gonff thought it over. “No, not that I can think of? I’ll swing back by if I can think of anything. Pushing open the tent’s flap again, Gonff started to head out. “Alrighty then, I’m gonna go grab some breakfast. Oh, and Keyla? Want me to come get you if Martin’s gone?”

“What? Oh, erm, no, I’ll go wander over myself.” 

“Gotcha. See you later, then!”

“Yeah.”

You know, Gonff mused as he started back towards the kitchen tent, he really DOES get flustered whenever somebeast mentions Martin. Reminds me of how Gingivere used to get around Sandingomm… 

Before Gonff could muse any further on Keyla’s awkwardness, Gonff’s nose caught a few whiffs of barleycake emanating from the kitchen tent. Mmmmmm… 

Gonff began to skip towards the tent, imagining the sweet taste filling his mouth, and was on the point of singing a little ditty when his paw abruptly brushed up against something, sending him toppling to the ground. He stood up, looking around to make sure nobeast had seen that as he dusted off his knees, and looked around to see what had tripped him up.

It turned out to be a cart track - a very, very deep one. So THAT’S what that nagging worry was about, he thought, well bugger me with a bloody spear. 

Chapter Text

“Alright,” Martin said as he lowered his sword into the ready position, “Rose, Felldoh, we start in three.” 

“Understood.” Rose copied his position, despite the fact that he had a broadsword and she had a rapier. 

“Got it.” Felldoh, who had a broadsword as well, needed to adjust his grip somewhat.

Well, Martin thought, to be fair to them we’ve only been doing this for a week or so. “Two.” 

Rose and Felldoh eyed each other, nodded, and swung their gaze back to Martin. 

“One.” 

Felldoh adjusted his grip.

“Annnnnnd, go! ” 

The two creatures advanced on him; Rose took the lead, aiming at him with a quick flurry of slashes, aiming to capture his attention while Felldoh prepared a solid blow to break through his defenses. Martin supposed it was relatively subtle, at least enough to fool the average searat, which was decent progress in their education. 

A pity the same couldn’t be said for their actual swordplay. 

“Rose,” he admonished, “you’re using this all wrong. You’ve got to stab , not hack and slash. With a rapier that’s not going to give your opponent anything more than light wounds.” Catching her paw in his, Martin tripped Rose up before spinning to block Felldoh’s oncoming rush. Gritting his teeth as the shock from the sword’s impact reverberated up his arms, Martin parried and dodged to the left. Then to the right. Then to the left again. “Felldoh, mate, you’re strong, but you’re wielding that like a cleaver.” 

A rustle from behind him told Martin that Rose was back on her footpaws. Doing just enough of a half-turn to see her out of the corner of his eye, Martin saw that she was about to try for a stabbing thrust towards his chest at the same time as Felldoh was aiming a savage downward cut at his head. Martin waited until their swords were almost touching him, did a quick half-turn, and jumped out of the way as they collided.

“Argh!” Rose winced and dropped her Rapier as Felldoh’s sword slammed into her shoulder. “By the fur , Felldoh!” 

Felldoh immediately blushed. “Sorry, Rose. Didn’t expect Martin to just jump out of the way like that.” 

“It’s fine.” Rose rubbed her shoulder and winced. “I don’t think it’s broken or dislocated. It’s a good thing these are props, though - that would’ve taken my arm clean off, I think.” 

“Most likely.” Martin nodded. “At the very least it would be caught in your shoulder bone. But honestly, you two - trying a double lunge like that? Those never work.”

“Oi,” Felldoh glared at Martin with an expression of exasperation. “We don’t all have the benefit of fancy castle training.” 

“Neither did Badrang, and if you didn’t notice, he nearly overmatched me.” Martin studied the two creatures he’d been trying to teach. “Truth be told, you’re probably still yet to hit the point where you could reliably fight off the average bandit.”

“And here I thought we were getting better.”

“Oh, you are.” Martin looked at Felldoh. “I don’t have to point out your grip to you every time we fight anymore. And Rose, you’ve finally broken the habit of going at my sword instead of me whenever we fight.” 

“Right.” Rose sighed. “I seriously thought that was how swordfighting was done.”

“Well, do be fair, that’s how they do it on stage.” Martin shrugged. “Less danger for the performers. And if that’s all you’re exposed to, well…”

“Fair enough.” Rose winced again as she gingerly probed the spot on her shoulder where Felldoh’s blade had landed. “Well, that’s going to leave a bruise.”

“Most likely.” Martin realized he was grinning. “My old teacher always used to say that bruises were just as important of a lesson in swordplay as the actual technique.”

“Oh? What’s that supposed to mean?” Felldoh asked.

“They show you where your blind spots are. Keep getting bruises in a single place, you know that’s where your guard needs the most work.” A memory floated up of him excitedly running to his father, telling him how for the first time in three weeks he wasn’t bruised on the arm where Bane had always managed to hit him, proudly rolling up his sleeve to show that his fur was still in pristine - if sweaty - condition.” Do you remember that anymore, father? Or have you forgotten everything? 

“Martin?” Rose’s question snapped Martin out of his reverie. “Is something the matter?”

“Huh?”

“You had this weird look in the eyes for a second, like you were off somewhere else.”

“Oh, sorry. Just got caught up in an old memory from when I was little.” 

“I see…” Felldoh looked away, biting his lip; it was something Martin had noticed Keyla doing a lot whenever the otter talked about his past, and Martin had decided that it most likely had to do with how growing up in a slave compound wasn’t exactly a way to build up happy memories. “Well, it’s getting near lunch time - I was going to head over to the kitchens, see if Grumm’s got anything made. Do you two want me to grab anything for you?”

“Sure.” Martin nodded. “I could do with a snack.”

“Same here.” Said Rose. “And if you wouldn’t mind, could you potentially grab a wet dishrag for me? My shoulder’s still stinging.”

“Sorry about that, again.” Felldoh replied. “But sure, two lunches and one dishrag, I can do that. Might have to rope Gonff into helping bring it back for us, though.”

“That’s fine.” Having Gonff around would actually be useful, Martin decided, as it would give Rose and Felldoh a change to spare with somebeast new.

“Alright. I’ll be back in a minute, you two.” Felldoh put down his sword and left, walking briskly towards the Rosehip camp.

“You know,” Martin said as soon as he and Rose were alone, “is it just me or does everybeast seem to be going out of their way to leave us alone as often as possible?”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that too.”

“Any idea why?” 

Rose snickered. Nonplussed, Martin turned to her. “What? Did I say something funny?” 

“Oh, no, it’s just…say, uh, when you were getting all nostalgic back then, what were you thinking about?”

“Huh? Where’d that come from?” 

“Well, you just seemed kind of wistful. And sad.” Rose gently took Martin’s paw in hers. “And after all you’ve helped me with my own feelings, I’d like to return the favor.” 

Martin realized his heart was racing again, but he ignored it, focusing instead on the mousemaid looking at him. “I was just thinking about my father again, and how by the time I get back to Mossflower - if I get back - he’ll probably be gone.” He took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. “And then that reminded me of that stupid locket he gave me. I completely forgot about it , even though it’s probably the last thing he’ll ever give me, and now Badrang’s probably claimed it as a trophy or destroyed it or something.” He shook his head. “The thought of him wearing it around his neck’s just… ugh. Sorry, Rose. This just wells up some times.”

“Is that why you’re spending so much time drilling me and Felldoh?” Rose asked, quietly.

“That may be part of it. I’ll admit, it’s a good distraction.” Martin favored Rose with a smile that was half tremulous, half teasing. “Not to mention that you two have a loooot of work to do.” 

“Fair enough.” Rose smiled teasingly right back. “The morning jogs around the camp are a little much, though.” 

“All for building up stamina, Miss Rose. The finest swordplay in the world won’t do you much good if you get tired the second you -”

“ - Swing your sword around a little bit, blah blah blah.” Gonff interrupted them, smirking as he carried a plate of sandwiches. “Were you giving Rose the same song-and-dance routine you used to give me about the need to run more?” 

Blushing, Martin looked down at his paws. “Come on, it really does help.” 

“I know, I know. You just need to vary your speeches up a bit.” Gonff took a sandwich and tossed it over to him. “Here - got you one with apple slices.”

“Thanks, Gonff.” Martin took a bite. “Mmm-this is delicious!”

“It’s Grumm’s recipe.” He said as Rose took a sandwich of her own. “Now Felldoh should be along in a bit, and I don’t know what you lot have planned for the rest of the day, but Martin, I need to talk to you about our slave liberation plan at some point.”

“Oh? How soon?”

“By tomorrow evening at the latest.”

“Alright, that works.” Most of Martin’s day had been planned out anyways, between sparring practice and the need to fine-tune some logistics with Ballaw and Rowanoak. “Tomorrow after dinner?”

“Sure.” Gonff waved to Felldoh, who had just appeared from around the kitchen tent with a sizable meal of his own. “You know, I’ll admit I sort of want to stick around and watch you practice.” 

“Go ahead. I actually wanted you to help out, anyways.” Martin explained his idea to the other three as soon as Felldoh sat down, belatedly registering that it was perhaps a trifle insulting, but in the end] they all agreed that it was for the best.

The four of them divided up into pairs, Gonff against Rose and Martin against Felldoh. Martin had wanted to pair up with Rose, but admittedly Gonff was better with the sort of weaponry that Rose seemed to be the least terrible with, whereas Felldoh’s choice in sword was more similar to his own, so he had (somewhat grudgingly, if he was being honest) agreed to work with Felldoh. 

“You’re doing it again.” Martin admonished as Felldoh came at him. 

“Doing what?”

“You’re using the same cleaving strike over and over.” Martin parried Felldoh’s last attack with ease. “You’re using a sword, not a butcher’s knife.”

“Then what do you - suggest?” Felldoh grunted out the last word as he blocked a series of thrusts and cuts from Martin. 

“Try and follow up each movement with one that feels like a natural extension.” Martin disengaged and mimicked Felldoh’s cleaving style before following up with a forward thrust. “Like this - let the movement left over from one attack carry you into the next.”

Felldoh frowned and tried again, this time attempting a horizontal cut in one direction before slashing back across. “Like this?”

“Sort of - it definitely works better than hacking downwards over and over.” 

“Duly noted. So then, what about this? ” Felldoh lunged forwards, a quick series of vertical cuts forcing Martin’s sword upwards before a horizontal slash from the left slammed into his stomach.

Or tried to, anyway; at the last second Martin managed to lower his own sword in time to block, the impact jarring his wrist in the same place where Boar had broken it three years prior, before Martin drove the blade forwards and tapped the end against Felldoh’s leg. “And there goes your limb. Still,” he said as he massaged his wrist, “that was probably the closest you’ve come yet.” 

“What happened to your wrist?” Felldoh asked when he noticed what Martin was doing.

“It had a nasty break a few years ago. It’s mostly healed properly, but every so often an impact in just the wrong way makes it really hurt.” Martin shrugged. “Oh, that’s another lesson, by the way - always be on the lookout for your enemy’s weakness. If you notice they’ve got a bad leg, or their vision seems off in one eye, or -”

“- or a weak wrist?” Felldoh finished.

“Exactly. So if I seem a little weak there while we’re training, don’t hesitate to press your advantage.”

“Right, I understand.” Felldoh raised his sword. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” 

The two of them started for the second time since lunch. Running through the forms, Matin noticed that Felldoh was in fact trying to make more of an effort to strike at his wrist. A little obvious, though. Still, it was clear that the squirrel was proud of his progress, so Martin decided against pointing it out. And Felldoh was making it more of a challenge for Martin to defeat him, which was also nice, even if their second sparring match still ended with the squirrel on the ground with Martin’s sword at his throat. “And, yield.”

“Alright, fine.” Felldoh raised his paws in surrender. “You know, I still don’t get why you’re so insistent upon ending this with a surrender. Why not just ‘kill’ me? It’s what you’d do with a defeated enemy, right?”

“Depends on the circumstance.” Martin helped Felldoh up on his footpaws. “If they refuse to surrender and keep trying to fight, like the corsairs did back at Marshank, then yeah, I’d probably kill them. But if they surrender? They’re my prisoner and it’s my duty to guard them until they can face whatever justice is deemed appropriate.” 

“Wait, so if Badrang surrendered to you all peaceful-like you - you’d protect him ? Am I hearing that right?” 

“Until he could be properly tried for his crimes, yes. Granted he’d probably still wind up being executed, but…” Martin trailed off. “Okay, what’s with that look?” 

“You’d spare a corsair? The same beast that would gut you like a fish if your positions were swapped?” 

“Even so.” Martin nodded. “At least, that’s how I was brought up.” 

Felldoh gave Martin a long, deep look. “Things down South must be a lot softer and happier than up here, if everybeast follows that kind of rule.” 

“It’s not ‘soft’, Felldoh, it’s decent .” Martin was strangely annoyed by Felldoh’s words. Maybe because I’ve seen what happens when you fight those who don’t follow that rule? “Hate it if you want, but think of it this way: if the positions were reversed, wouldn’t you want to be spared?”

“I guess, but…”

“There we have it. If you go around planning to summarily execute prisoners, you’re -” No better than Badrang , Martin almost said, but he stopped himself at the last second; comparing Felldoh to Badrang was both unfair and insulting to the former, not to mention be received incredibly poorly. “-you’re not going to find very many creatures who are going to want to fight alongside you.” 

Felldoh started to protest before grudgingly saying “I understand,” as he looked at the ground. 

“Good.” Martin nodded and smiled. “Now, of course, if somebeast pretends to surrender and then attacks anyway, all bets are off.” 

“Alright, fair enough.” 

“Then shouldn’t you have stabbed me when I broke into Kotir?” Gonff broke off combat with Rose long enough to point out.

“Well, first of all, isn’t it clear by now that I wasn’t exactly treating that as a life-or-death fight?” Martin chuckled, eyes flicking over to Rose as he felt a smirk forming on his face. “And second of all -”

Thwack

“Agh!” Gonff hopped back massaging his knee; Rose had taken advantage of his momentary lapse in concentration to somewhat-forcefully smack into him. 

“Second of all,” Martin finished, “shouldn’t you be paying attention to your own partner instead of eavesdropping on me and mine?”

Gonff gestured rudely at Martin before turning back to Rose, smiling all the while. 

Okay, Martin thought as he watched the two of them start again, when did YOU become the responsible sword instructor? 

Before Martin could think any more on that particular puzzle Felldoh called out to him, and they began their own sparring once more. 

Chapter Text

Martin felt like an idiot. He’d figured his plan was the height of subterfuge and cunning, and he’d accounted for everything: the amount of sedative they’d need to put down the corsairs, the number of carts they’d need converted, even talked Grumm into preparing a little extra to drug potentially nervous slaves if need be. 

And then Gonff just had to point out that they would be leaving large, deep, and highly visible cart tracks. Because they would, especially in the soft, muddy ground surrounding the forest. Not to mention that, at least according to Grumm, there was an even chance of a storm within the next few days, and that would mean the ground was even muddier, and…

Well, I suppose the plan’s all scuppered, then. “You don’t suppose we could just, I don’t know, ditch the carts somewhere, do you?” 

Gonff shrugged. “Maybe. But I feel like any trail we’d leave would be pretty obvious, you know? Trampled plants, pawprints in the dirt, that sort of thing.”

“Fair enough.” Martin sighed and sat down. “Although I suppose that’s going to be an issue no matter how we try and sneak everybeast out of there, unless we have an entire crew devoted to covering up our pawtracks somehow. And I suppose we could do that, but there’d still be lots of broken and trampled plants like you said.” Groaning, the mouse rubbed his temples. “Damn it all, I wish Gingivere were here right now. He’s always been way better at planning than I am.” 

“Fair enough.” Gonff sat down next to Martin. “But, he’s not, and in your defense, it is a decent plan. Well, maybe not for smuggling an entire fortress worth of creatures to freedom, but for a small group I could definitely see it working. Maybe if we] smuggle them out piecemeal? No more than ten at a time?”

Martin shook his head. “Do you have any idea how long that’ll take? Everybeast would be wide awake by then.”

“Ah, right.” Gonff rolled his eyes. “That’s kinda obvious, isn’t it.”

“Yeah, maybe a little.” 

“And to think I consider myself the expert at theft-related things. Well, the way that I see it, we still have two-thirds of a plan: our method of getting in is pretty solid, our method of putting Badrang’s lot to sleep will work, so we just have to figure out how to make a clean getaway.”

“And we’re going to accomplish that by…”

“I’m not sure yet.” 

Some Prince of Mousethieves you are , Martin thought bitterly. And, he realized, somewhat unfairly. Gonff wasn’t the one that had dragged them all on a quest most of the way up the known world, after all. “Hey, Gonff?”

“Yeah? Have you got an idea?” 

“No, I just - I just wanted to say sorry for getting you into this. For making you come all the way up here.” 

“You - you do remember I came up by my own choice, right?”

“I know. It just doesn’t seem fair that I keep pulling you on these insane journeys because I can’t be bothered to think things through, you know?”

Gonff was silent for a moment, obviously thinking. “Martin, matey,” he finally said, I have long since gotten used to the fact that you’ve got a talent for insane goings-on: least this time you haven’t suggested smuggling them out in a barrel of apples.”

Martin blushed. “I was seven, okay? How do you even know about that?”

“Bella.” Gonff smiled. “She likes telling stories about when you lot in Kotir were little.” Before Martin could protest, Gonff waved a paw. “But anyways, what I’m getting at is I’m used to the craziness. In fact, I really like it. I am the same mouse who snuck into the larder and tricked two soldiers into fighting each other with a couple voice impressions, not to mention the pie episode.”
“What do you mean, ‘the pie episode’?” Martin raised an eyebrow. I haven’t heard that story.

Gonff laughed, “this one time last autumn I stole a pie from your kitchen, pretended some other thief had taken it, and then waltzed back with the ‘rescued’ pie and presented it to Detta in the hopes that she’d let me eat a few slices.”

“And did she?” 

“No, buuuut she did give me an entire crateful of spices from the kitchen. I think the Stickles used the last of them during Posy and Spike’s last birthday?”

“Ah.” Martin had wondered why Goody’s food had been tasting even better than usual whenever he’d visited that autumn. 

“Anyways, Martin, my point is that when you get right down to it I really don’t mind the occasional bit of craziness. Makes life more interesting, you know?”

“Fair enough.” Martin looked over at the carts, and then over in the direction he was fairly sure Marshank lay in. “Hmmm…maybe we need to just…embrace the insanity.”

“Oh, what are you thinking? This, uh, is about the plan, right? You’re not planning on just going stark raving mental out here?”

“Yes, this is about the plan. What we really need,” Martin said as he thought up everything anybeast had ever told him about sailing, “is a way to cover a large distance without leaving any trace whatsoever.” 

***

Ballaw and Rowanoak stared at Gonff as though they’d sprouted wings, an extra pair of heads, and declared they wanted to embark on a musical trip around the world. “...what.” Ballaw finally managed to stutter out.

“For the record it was his idea,” Gonff said as he pointed at Martin, earning him a dirty look in response, “although you do have to admit it makes a good deal of sense.” 

“I’m not so sure about that.” Rowanoak shook her head before reaching for a glass of cider. “I mean, yes, a boat would be a good way of going a ways away from Marshank, but…well, are you two completely insane? ” 

“Eh, probably.” Gonff had expected their reaction; in other contexts, the sight of a badger and a hare gazing at him with jaws open wide enough for a small bird to fly in would probably have had him rolling on the floor in stitches, but the need to convince them forced him to suppress his laughter. “But I think we can pull it off.” 

“You…you think…we can… steal a ship… from an entire army of corsairs ?” Ballaw gaped at them. “That seems a trifle, ah, difficult. We haven’t the fighters to take them all, dontchaknow?” 

“Well,  not sober , but Martin had the idea of getting them all so hopelessly plastered -”

“Surely not on the same drugs we’re going to give Badrang’s lot?” Ballaw asked. “Don’t get me wrong those blighters are like to be just as daft but I feel like even they’d catch on to us using the same trick twice.” 

“No, just regular alcohol.” Martin replied. “We’re going to get them partying so hard that the ale will be flowing faster and harder than the River Moss in spring flood, and they’ll do all the rest. Then, when they’re well and truly in their cups, we steal the ship, stick them all on a little wading boat, cut them loose, and sail away.”

“Why not just kill them?” Asked Rowanoak. “I was wondering why we wouldn’t just kill the creatures in the fort anyways.”

“Like Ballaw said a moment ago, none of you lot are fighters. Asking peaceful creatures to just slaughter other beasts doesn’t work very well.” Martin tapped his head. “At least, not up here.”

“Ah.” Rowanoak frowned. “Well, it certainly is an…interesting plan. Ordinarily I’d worry about the likelihood of everybeast there drinking, but I’ve never known a corsair to turn down a cup of grog. Still…”

“Look, Rowanoak,” Gonff stepped forwards, “we know it’s a little half-arsed, but to be fair so was the original plan.” He felt a tiny smidgeon of guilt when he saw Martin’s eyes flick towards the ground. “But getting a ship is our best chance at putting genuine distance between us and the corsairs, not to mention that when we beach it we can use that for a little misdirection in where we’re heading as well. And look at us through the eyes of corsairs: a harmless group of saps offering a chance to do in your mortal enemy and take all their power for your own. Would you turn down the opportunity?”

Rowanoak and Ballaw looked at one another, obviously thinking. “Hmmm…” Ballaw finally said. “I suppose, young mice, that I would. I fear we may have to make some adjustments to our act, though, if we carry out this plan.” 

Martin shrugged. “Sorry about that, Ballaw. Oh, and you’ll probably have to leave these carts behind? Unless we can sweet-talk Clogg into letting us load some things on his ship beforepaw.” 

“Maybe.” Rowanoak sighed. “But if not, well, a few carts is a more than worthy trade for the freedom of slaves in my book. Come, Ballaw, let’s go tell the others the news and see what they think.”

“Alright. You two, stay here - we’ll be back in a jiffy.” 

Once they were gone, Gonff realized his shoulders were stiff as a board. Exhaling, he relaxed them. “By the fur, I didn’t think they’d go for it.” 

“No?” Martin shrugged. “From what I’ve gathered they like a bit of audacity, same as us. Deep down they’re probably even more in favor of this than they’re letting on.” 

“If you say so.” I’m just glad we talked them around. “Bleh, I can’t believe I went all fancy there for a moment. ‘A ship is our best option for putting genuine distance between us and Marshank’; did that even sound like something I’d say?”

Martin laughed. “You’ve been spending too much time around my family, lately. We’re making you all sophisticated. ” 

Gonff had to laugh as well. “You’re laughing, but I swear it’s true. Do you remember that first year I started working in the castle kitchens? When I drew the short straw and became the one taking your father’s meals to him? Every time we finished talking I had to run to the castle library and look up five or so words in the dictionary.” 

Gonff had meant it as a joke, but upon hearing the mention of Verdauga Martin’s smile immediately died. “Right…yeah.” 

“Sorry about that, I wasn't thinking. You worrying about him again?”

Wordlessly, Martin nodded. 

“Oh…” Unsure on what to do, Gonff crept up to his friend and patted his shoulder. “I’m sorry, matey. I know you two said your goodbyes, but it still must be hard.”

“That’s an understatement.” Raising a paw, Martin clenched it. “I’ll be fine, Gonff. Once we get into Marshank and I steal back the locket he gave me that’ll help. Not to mention that I’ll finally be accomplishing the thing I left him to do.”

Assuming our plan DOES work, Gonff thought, although he kept it to himself. “That’s the spirit, matey! Now, let’s start hashing out the rest of the details for our little scheme…”

Chapter Text

“Well,” Skarlath declared as he winged back down to Sunflash and the Long Patrol, “ this certainly isn’t going to be easy.” 

“Why?” Sunflash called up. “Did you not see the flowers?” 

“Oh, I saw a few, don’t you worry.” Skarlath landed. “They just won’t be easy to get to.”

“Why not?” Barmilton asked, curious. “Are they growing out of a balley cliff or something?” 

Oh, Skarlath thought, if only they were. “No, they’re sitting in a bush on top of a rise over there.” He pointed with a wing. “There’s just one slight issue.”

“That being?” Sunflash prompted. 

“Well, you know how that Ostrakon bloke said that the flowers were growing near to where Tsarmina and Swartt are holed up? He, ah, may have understated it a little - the rise I saw them on directly faces the castle, and there are enough windows facing it that I fear we’d have little chance of sneaking in and out with any sort of ease.”

Sunflash cursed under his breath. “And I’m assuming there were plenty signs of movement in the castle?”

Skarlath nodded. “Unfortunately. The whole place is swarming with creatures armed to the teeth - stoats, rats, weasels, even a couple mice.”

“Huh. Surprised Tsarmina would allow that.” 

“I doubt she had much choice, eh wot?” Barmilton suggested. “This whole place is as empty as a food cupboard the night after a feast. Odds are she’s working with what she can get.”

“Indeed.” Sunflash rubbed the scar where his thumb had been. “And you are certain that she and Swartt are still working together?” 

“I am - there were plenty of creatures from his horde crawling around there.”

“Alright.” Sunflash gazed over at the rise Skarlath had indicated to him. “And you are certain there’s no way to sneak up there unseen?”

“Almost as certain as sunrise - they’ve got what looks like a permanent watch on this side of the castle, and if I’m being honest somebeast probably caught a glimpse of my wing.” Skarlath glanced back in the direction he’d come from. “The good news is that it’s been a few minutes since then - if they haven’t raised any sort of alarm by now, odds are they’re not going to.” 

“That’s good, I suppose.” Sunflash crossed his arms. “Hmm…I will admit, I’m unsure as to what to do. Attempting to sneak in and steal the flowers seems like a fool’s errand, since they’re facing the castle directly, and we obviously lack the numbers for a full-on assault. What say you, Barmilton?”

“Dashed if I know, milord.” The hare shrugged. “Say, Skarlath - you didn’t happen to visit the other side of the valley, did you?” 

“No, why? Are you thinking there might be more somewhere over there?”

“In theory, yes. It’s worth a check before we commit to trying to get these ones, that’s for sure.” 

“Fair enough.” Skarlath chewed his lower beak. “Still, I don’t like the idea of trying to fly across the entire valley unseen…” 

“That is also a fair point.” Looking back towards the other hares, Sunflash beckoned Coriander to come forwards. “Say, Cori, that ‘yarn’ of your mother’s didn’t happen to mention whether the flowers are exclusive to one mountain or not, did they?”

Cori shook her head. “No, just that they were far up in the North. Although, I’ve been looking over the maps, and I don’t think we’re actually at Icetor yet?” 

“Oh? Go on.” Skarlath had to admit, it would be nice if it turned out the Icetor was a little ways away - preferably back the way they came, or off to the side somewhere Tsarmina and Swartt couldn’t get to easily.”

“Aye. Give me a moment…” Cori hopped up on a rock and gazed northwards, a paw shading her eyes. “Ha! I see it! By jove, it really is massive!” Hopping back down, she grinned at Sunflash. “It’s on the opposite side of the valley from Castle Mortspear, and I think I can make out some kind of village at the base of the mountain?” 

“Let me take a look.” Skarlath flew up into the air. “Hmm…I see it, too, and there’s…oh, sodding hellgates.”

“Not good, I take it?” Sunflash asked. 

“Well, the village center seems to have a few banners with green eyes and a six-clawed paw on them, so I’m guessing it’s ruled by our friends in the castle.”

Sunflash’s sigh of exasperation was audible even at Skarlath’s height. “So we’re in for a fight no matter what, then? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Skarlath flew back down. “For all we know there could be a hidden path up there - old and disused trail, secret cave, that kind of thing.”

“Aren’t those only in books?” Said Barmilton.

“Maybe. Still, I feel it may be worth a look - and I’d like to confirm there are flowers over there in any case. Would you be willing, Skarlath?” 

“Of course.” Skarlath nodded. “Just give me a few minutes to try and figure out the best route, and I’ll be on my way.”

As he took wing once more, Skarlath had to admit he was feeling a lot less confident than he’d acted around the others; while flying across the valley was certainly doable, making the trip without being seen was like to be a great deal more difficult. Slowly, cautiously, beating his wings as little as he could, Skarlath rounded the side of Castle Mortspear while doing his best to avoid flying in front of any windows.

You know what I wish? Skarlath thought as he tried to figure out how to get around a two-story-tall window, I wish that I was a bat right now. Those claws would be rather nice, right about now. 

Fortunately, the window turned out to have a small awning on the top, and although there was another window some ways above it Skarlath was fairly certain that he could crouch and shuffle along the awning without being seen. As he landed and began taking a few hesitant steps forwards, he heard voices coming from the window above. 

“Ur ye done gazin’ oot th’ windae? Whit are ye, some kinda poet?”

“Aw, shaddup! Am jus’ double checkin’ tae see if’n there’s somebeast oot thir. Thought a heard ‘eard wings or summat.”

“Lek what] Archie said ‘e saw ‘n ‘eard earlier?”

“Aye. But fit’s it matter t’ ye whit am doin’ anyway?” 

“It’s aboot time fer trainin’ innit? Karen telt me th’ cat ‘n stoat ur plannin’ to march soon, sae we’ve gotta be in tip-top shape!” 

Shocked, Skarlath nearly stumbled off the awning. They’re going to be marching soon? Where? If they were going to make a strike at Mossflower, odds were that they’d find the place easy pickings unless either they returned with the flowers or Gingivere had managed to completely cure Dryditch by then. Damn it, this means we’re gonna have to work fast. 

“That’d be a right treat, aye - be good tae leave th’ moun’ains n’ see whir Lady Tsarmina’s from. A wunner if th’ wheasellasses be any prettier n’ up ‘ere?”

The two started laughing, so Skarlath took the opportunity to launch forwards back into the air. Soon he’d cleared the castle entirely, and looking down he knew that if he headed Northeast he’d be able to fly between a number of small hills in order to evade detection. Then, sinking into the trees of a big forest he imagined the locals used for timber, he returned to his previous course and continued onwards, every so often all but diving into] tree canopies to avoid being seen by some enterprising woodsbeast or another. One or two of them seemed to hear him and looked curiously up at the trees Skarlath hid in, but upon seeing nothing they shrugged and continued on their way, one squirrel singing a little ditty about two dibbuns named Jack and Diane that Skarlath had to admit was rather catchy. After waiting for the squirrel’s music to fade from hearing, Skarlath counted to five and took off Northwards once again. 

When he arrived at the base of Icetor, Skarlath’s stomach dropped; just past the village he’d seen, nestled at the very foot of the mountain, there had been an odd, brown shape that he’d taken for a pile of discarded logs or an old, rotted construction. Now that he was close enough to actually see it, Skarlath saw that the construction was not simply decaying from lack of use - somebeast had torched it. The ends of all the timbers that remained standing had charred black, and right in front of the property Skarlath saw a body that had been burned to the point that he couldn’t tell whether it was a weasel, stoat, or ferret. By the talon…was this Tsarmina and Swartt? It had to have been. And, judging by what those two soldiers back at the castle had said, their armies would soon be on the march. 

Is this what they’ll do to Mossflower? Somehow, Skarlath didn’t doubt it one bit. Taking one last look at the ruin, he swallowed the anger and disgust rapidly building inside himself and began to hurry up the mountain. Let’s see… I’m looking for a flat space where they could grow, one that’s relatively protected from the high winds… As the winds in question were relatively tame Skarlath decided to simply use them to glide around, trying to get a feel for what parts of the mountain they buffeted and what parts they didn’t in order to cut down the search area. 

Okay, he decided after circling the mountain twice, the South-Southwestern side seems to be the least affected. Returning to it he searched up and down for the sort of outcropping the flowers could grow on, all the while aware somebeast could easily see him, growing more and more frustrated…

Finally, nestled in a small crag in the side of the mountain alongside what looked like the remains of some eagle’s nest, Skarlath found a rather sizable growing of flowers. Oh, thank heavens. Counting them, Skarlath saw at least two dozen; plenty to cure the plague back in Mossflower, he was fairly sure, and maybe even enough that they could start growing their own. 

***

“Did you have any luck?” Sunflash asked as soon as Skarlath landed next to him. 

Skarlath nodded. “Actually, yes - about two-thirds up the Southern side of the mountain I found a decent amount growing.” 

“I see. That is excellent.” Sunflash smiled a moment before frowning. “And what of Tsarmina and Swartt? Do they have a presence on the mountain?” 

“Not that I could see, but they’ve definitely been around there.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?” 

Skarlath hesitated a moment. Is telling Sunflash about that burned-out ruin really the best idea? I can tell he’s already choking back a good deal of frustration over being so near to Swartt and unable to do anything; this could tip him over. 

“Skarlath? Is something the matter? What did you see there?”

Oh well, Skarlath mused, he’ll see it anyway. “Right, Sunflash, before I tell you what I saw there, you have to promise me that you’ll stick to why we’re here .” 

“What’s that supposed to mean? Surely you don’t think I’ll turn tail and -”

“I know you won’t. Just promise. Me. ” 

“Oh…well, if it’s that important to you…” Sunflash nodded and thumped a paw against his chest. “On my honor as the Lord of Salamandastron, I promise to keep my focus purely on obtaining the Flowers of Icetor.” 

“Okay.” Skarlath felt slightly relieved. “Now, at the base of the mountain I saw…” 

It was almost astonishing, really, just how fast the color drained from Sunflash’s face. “And…and you are certain it was done by Tsarmina and Swartt?” 

“Not completely, but it’s hard to see how anybeast else could have been responsible.”

“Right…” Sunflash closed his eyes, muttering, fingers rapidly running over his scar. 

“Milord?” Barmilton asked. “A thousand pardons, but this still doesn’t change the fact the rotters’ve got us outnumbered by a considerable margin.”

“I understand.” Opening his eyes again, Sunflash looked at Skarlath. “I suppose I can understand now why you made me promise to stay focused on the task at paw. There’s nothing we can do for some dead stoats, anyways. Now, how do you propose that we get to the mountain?”

“There’s a path down and around the castle. I didn’t take it because it would require me to walk a good ways before I could fly again, and I’m not exactly fond of doing that.” Skarlath frowned. “Oh, that reminds me - when I was sneaking past the castle I heard a couple of beasts talking with one another, and - at least, I think, since blimey they had accents thicker than Oscar’s carrot soup - it seems as though Tsarmina and Swartt plan on marching soon.”

A shadow passed over the Badger’s face. “So we’ll have to make haste, then. Blast, and then we’ll just be watching as they march away wherever they please” Sunflash looked at Skarlath, suddenly hopeful. “Say, that route of yours didn’t happen to take you by any smile outposts, did it? The sort that losing might give them -”

“ No. ” Barmilton cut Sunflash off with a glare. “We’re here to get the herbs, not start a flipping war. A thousand pardons for saying this, milord, but accept you’re not going to derail this mission just to satisfy your blooming rage fantasies.” 

Sunflash glared at Barmilton before blinking, suddenly abashed. “Y - you’re right, of course. Forgive me for letting my emotions get the better of me.” Turning to Skarlath, he exhaled as though letting all the emotion flow out of him. “Lead on, friend.”

“Okay. If you will all follow me…” As he took to the sky yet again, Skarlath sent up a silent prayer that they not encounter anybeast affiliated with their enemies. 

***

They were making good time across the forest Skarlath had nearly run into several creatures in last time, and the kestrel was just beginning to hope that his prayer had been heard when he saw the same squirrel as last time dead ahead, chopping down a tree.

“ Urts sae good, ” he sang as he slammed his axe into a thin trunk, “ c’mon baby make it ‘urt sae good! Sometimes love disny feel lek it - ” He paused and spun around. “Who’re ye lot?” 

Oh, bollocks. Skarlath glanced at Sunflash, nervous, but the badger seemed to be remaining calm. “Merely passing through, friend.” 

“Oh? We dinny see many badgers ‘ere.” He looked at the Long Patrol. “Or ‘ares.” 

“We come from far away - there are some flowers growing up on the mountain that we need to heal some sick comrades of ours back home.” 

“Ah. Well, yer gunna ‘ave tae ask permission. Whole moontain’s blocked aff unless ye get an okay from th’ queen.” 

“I see.” Sunflash’s paw tightened on the hilt of his sword, ever so slightly. “Would I be correct in guessing you’re talking about Tsarmina?”

“Aye,” the squirrel responded proudly, “a proper queen, ‘at wan is! Strong’s a beast gets, fierce as ‘er grandpa, ye shuid join oos! When we leave ‘ere she’ll make us all rich in plunder ‘n slaves! Nae more choppin doon trees fer me all day.”

“I see.” Skarlath could tell Sunflash was getting angrier. “I know of creatures in the South that have a rather different opinion of her.”

 The squirrel shrugged. “A dinny care aboot ‘at. ‘S fun tae watch ‘her fight, though! Ye shuid see wha’ she n’ tha’ ferret did tae auld Bravetail! Stabbed a spear right up ‘is arse, took ‘is wee lad, n’ -”

The squirrel never finished his sentence; without a word, and so quickly that neither Skarlath nor Barmilton could intervene fast enough, Sunflash drew his sword and lunged forwards, cleaving the squirrel in two. “Hmph. The rest of you, go onwards to the mountain.” Raising his sword again, Sunflash pointed it towards a rat dressed in all grey, staring at the dead squirrel with an expression of pure terror. It seems some of Tsarmina and Swartt’s band were kind enough to come to us! ” 

Sunflash raced forwards. “Well, if that isn’t just absobloodylutely sodding perfect.” Barmilton grumbled. “Skarlath, with me. The rest of you, go get the blooming seeds.” And then, without waiting for a reply, the Hare took off after Sunflash. Groaning internally Skarlath made to follow, wondering just what sort of mess they were getting into. 

Chapter Text

When they got back to Salamandastron, Skarlath decided, he, Sunflash, and Bella were going to have a loooooooooong talk about Sunflash’s anger issues. Preferably coupled with them writing a prescription for Sunflash to start regularly taking calming herbal supplements. 

Some jasmine tea would serve nicely for that, I think. Hmm. Could use a cup myself, actually. Skarlath pushed the thought out of his mind; at the moment, stopping Sunflash before he did something stupid was the top priority. Not that chasing the enormous badger was all that easy, considering how dense the forest was starting to get, but fortunately even on the rare occasions Skarlath lost sight of his friend the constant shouts of anger were able to pick up the slack. 

So he continued forwards, hoping and praying that he reached Sunflash before they reached the edge of the forest, and gradually the trees began to part to the point that he was almost able to catch up…

With a roar, Sunflash hurtled forwards and burst through a pair of trees, enormous paws closing around the fleeing rat. 

“A dinny ken aboot whit she did!” The rat begged. “Promise! Am jes’ a woodsbeast!” 

“Then why were you with that squirrel?” Sunflash glowered down at him. 

“Clyde’s an auld matey o’ mine! ‘Onest! Am nae part a th’ army! Ye hev t’ believe me!” 

Skarlath did: as he flew down next to Sunflash, he could see the rat hyperventilating and shaking in fear. “ Let him go, Sunflash .” Skarlath hopped in front of the badger. “Look at the poor creature - he’s terrified.” 

“Skarlath?” Sunflash blinked. “What are you-”

“Shut your snout and look at the bloody rat.”

Sunflash did, and a second later his grip slackened. Wasting no time the rat pulled himself free, stammered out a thanks to Skarlath, and bolted. 

“Thank you, Skarlath.” Sunflash said as soon as the rat was out of sight. “I - I’m sorry about that. When I heard that squirrel bragging about what Tsarmina had done I just - I couldn’t hold it back any longer.” 

“I know. I understand why you’d be angry - I was too.” Skarlath gazed downhill. “What I don’t understand is why you thought that was a good idea. See what’s over there?” He pointed with a wing.

Sunflash looked down as well. “Blast, there’s a village down there. I didn’t realize we were this near the edge of the forest.” Sunflash groaned. “They’ll be raising an alarm any second now, won’t they?”

“Most likely.”

As the two of them gazed down the village, trying to think of what to do next, they heard the frantic sound of pawsteps coming from the forest. “A thousand pardons, sir!” Barmilton all but crashed into Sunflash. “Tripped over a balley tree root back there and got all turned around for a moment. Say, where is our rat friend?” 

“Gone. Skarlath managed to get me to my senses.”

“Good, good.” Barmilton nodded. “I’ve got the rest of the patrol heading towards the mountain; if we hurry we can catch up. Skarlath, do you see any way through the hills?”

“Why aren’t we going back in the forest?” 

“Because, when the inevitable happens and they raise the alarm, I want us to hear it. Sound travels better in the open, dontchaknow?”

“Fair enough.” Skarlath looked around. “Hmmm - there looks to be a little divet in the hills that should carry us a good way Northwards. We can pass unseen, at least for a little while.”

“Good, good.” Sunflash started forwards. “Come on, you two - let’s go before my lapse in judgment turns into a disaster.”

“Oh,” Barmilton muttered, “I’ll be you an apple to an acorn it will anyways.” 

As the three of them set off, Skarlath swore he could already hear bells ringing in the distance. 

***

They were just across the river from the ruined longhouse when Barmilton’s prediction came true, in what was - in Skarlath’s opinion at least - the single worst way possible. 

“Well bugger me with a bloody spear, if it isn’t Scumstripe!” Swartt grinned. “When Stoughton came shouting that one of his rats was attacked by a badger I wondered, but you have to admit the odds of it actually being you were rather low.” 

“My name is Sunflash .” The answer came in the form of a low, deep growl. Skarlath stole a glance at his friend; mercifully, his eyes still showed no hint of red. 

“Still defiant as ever, I see.” Swartt shrugged. “Well, I suppose a few years away from your rightful place will do that to you.” He eyed Barmilton contemptuously as the hare unsheathed his dagger. “Who’s the carrot muncher?” 

“That’s Barmilton Reginald von Aegir to you, ferret.” Barmilton spat on the ground. “Captain in the Long Patrol of Salamandastron. And I’ll ask you kindly to not talk to milord Sunflash like that.” 

“I’ll talk to my slave any way I please.” 

Sunflash scoffed. “Hmph. If you think I’ll ever kneel over and let you hold me as a slave again, you’re even less sane now than you were four years ago.” 

A shadow crossed Swartt’s face. “What did I used to tell you about taking that tone with me, Scumstripe?” 

“It’s going to be far more difficult to remove my tongue now, Swartt. Unless you think you can defeat me with five guardsbeasts?” 

“Correction: twenty guardsbeasts and a wildcat.” The conversation was joined by a cruel, sharp voice that reminded Skarlath of Gingivere Greeneyes. Oh, fuck me flying. “Is that you, Sunflash? I haven’t seen you since we were children!” 

“Indeed, Tsarmina.” Sunflash’s sword was pointed at the wildcat. “Normally it’s simply a cliche to say in this scenario that you hardly recognize somebeast, but in this case I’d say it’s relatively accurate.” The badger shifted his gaze slightly; it was unnoticeable to Swartt, Tsarmina, and their guardsbeasts, but Skarlath could tell Sunflash meant to get his attention. “Go get the rest of the Long Patrol,” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, “grab the flowers, and circle back down here. If I can, I’ll join you and make a break for it. If not… If not, make sure you get back to Salamandastron, alright?” 

“And leave you two alone here? I’m not sure that’s-”

“Oi. Scumstripe. Kestrel. Don’t ignore me when I’m standing here.” 

“ Go. ” Sunflash’s last word before he turned back to Swartt carried a clear tone of I’m not going to argue with you . As such, Skarlath merely nodded, took a breath, and jumped into the air.

“STOP HIM!” Tsarmina shouted. As Skarlath rose he heard four or five bowstrings tighten at once and began making plans to evade -

“EULALIAAAAAAAA!” Sunflash charged forwards, aiming a savage cut at the bowbeasts. Three of them managed to dodge out of the way at the last second; the last two took the full force of the badger’s cut and were bisected across the torso. 

Skarlath took one last look at Sunflash and Barmilton before turning to the mountain and shooting for the tiny hares he could already make out partway up. 

Sunflash knew what he was doing was, in many ways, a catastrophe: it was supposed to have been a stealth mission, after all, yet here he was, blowing that to the hellgates and fighting. 

And a part of him was actively enjoying it . Likely because Swartt was there, even if the damnable ferret was still staying out of his reach. That being said, it was nice to be able to get out and actually do something, and for the first time in a while Sunflash felt completely in control of the situation. 

A stoat charged him with a spear, shouting some war cry or another, and Sunflash responded by cleaving the spear straight down the middle before doing the same to the spear’s owner. To his right Barmilton wrestled with a pair of weasels, knife sticking out of one’s hip while they did their best to slam the hare into the ground and bash his head in with a rock. Oh, that won’t do at all. 

“FOR TSARMINA!” A mouse with more courage than sense raced at Sunflash, carrying a flail. The mouse lifted it and threw it back, ready to take deadly aim - 

Without hesitation Sunflash reached for the mouse and grabbed her face before spinning around and letting his momentum carry him towards Barmilton and the two weasels. 

When Sunflash let go of the mouse, as intended the weasels took the brunt of the hit. The result was… at the very least Barmilton’s uniform is already red, Sunflash mused. 

“Ch-cheers, sir!” The hare staggered to his feet. “Although you could’ve waited until I got my knife back!” 

“Take one from our friends.” Sunflash turned back to Swartt, Tsarmina, and their soldiers. The latter were all hanging back, nervous. “Come - who wishes to try their luck next?”

The soldiers all looked at each other before turning to Tsarmina, visibly terrified. “M-ma’m,” one of them said, “I’m not sure we should -”

“Ugh. Fine.” Stepping forwards, Tsarmina unsheathed her own sword. “I’ll do it myself.”

“You never could beat me in the yard, Tsarmina. Are you certain you wish to do this now? If you’d rather stand aside and let me have Swartt I would be perfectly willing to let you live.” 

“Heh. Well, as it happens, Swartt and I have a mutually beneficial arrangement! ” On the last word she charged, obviously hoping to take Sunflash unawares. 

How predictable. Sunflash met her charge head-on, swiping upwards when she stabbed forwards, the momentum forcing her sword to grace off his shoulder instead of poking through his chest, and in exchange the point of his blade nearly slashed Tsarmina’s chin in half. Not even noticing the pain Sunflash pressed the attack, seeking to leverage his superior strength and force her to the ground. Again and again he battered Tsarmina’s defenses, and slowly the wildcat fell back. Excellent. Sunflash kept an eye on her knees, waiting for one to give out and drop, feeling her grip on her sword slacken -

And as a result nearly missed when she lashed out again, not with her sword, but with her claws: her slacking grip, Sunflash realized, had not been exhaustion so much as readying one paw to let go. Sunflash jerked back, half on instinct, barely getting out of the way in time. 

“What was that you said? ‘I could never best you in the yard’, correct?” Tsarmina laughed. “Oh, poor Sunflash. We’re not in the yard, now are we?” 

“Fair enough.” Sunflash’s eyes flicked towards Swartt for a fraction of a second. “I should have known better than to expect an honorable fight from one allied with that piece of filth over there.” 

Swartt stepped forwards, face contorted in rage, and unsheathed his own dagger. “Scumstripe, don’t you ever -”

“Oi!” Barmilton sprung forwards with a stolen dagger. “You want a fight, ferret? Dance with me, then!” 

And so, ferret and hare met, and a moment later badger and wildcat resumed their own fight. Again and again their swords met, the impact sending shockwaves up and down both their arms, slash upon slash nearly cutting the other to shreds. Damn it , Sunflash thought after a leg-swipe from Tsarmina almost took his knees off, how did she get so STRONG? If there was one thing Sunflash was grateful for, it was that his vision was still free of the bloodwrath’s red tint; a descent into that mindless berserker rage, he knew, would do nothing but rob him of the finesse that was allowing him to stay in the game. 

In that case, best put that finesse to good use! Sunflash went on the offensive again, this time trying to take more care where and when he struck. For a moment Sunflash wished, absurdly, that he was wielding a rapier instead of a greatsword - he could just make out chinks in Tsarmina’s armor, but his own sword was too massive to slip in and out of the minute openings. Eh, nothing for it but to try . And so, with hack upon slash upon jab, he tried anything and everything he could think of to expand those openings, constantly met with nothing but failure. Damn it! 

Tsarmina pushed back, and Sunflash took the opportunity to retreat several steps in order to reassess, in case there was something he’d missed. Hmm… 

And then Tsarmina was on him again, with Sunflash on the defensive. Limiting his movements Sunflash managed to keep Tsarmina’s sword away from his body, but at the expense of any and all chances to strike back, and slowly, inexorably, she managed to chip away at his guard, until Sunflash felt his own grip slacking. In seeming desperation Sunflash copied Tsarmina’s earlier tactic, swiping at the wildcat’s face with a paw of his own, and she dodged with contemptuous ease. Smirking, Tsarmina opened her mouth to gloat -

“ What?” Instead, the wildcat gasped as she began to fall to the ground: at the same time as his pawswipe Sunflash had worked his leg around hers, and with a jerk uprooted Tsarmina. Both badger and wildcat lost control of their swords as they attempted to regain their balance, and both raced to be the first to reclaim them. 

Sunflash, footpaws planted firmly on the ground, got their first. Striding forwards he hacked across Tsarmina’s chest, aiming to rip her armor straight off and cleave through the soft skin beneath, but at the last second something made him pull back; although his strike was still enough to create sparks, knock the wind out of Tsarmina’s body, and send the wildcat back to the ground right after she had struggled to her footpaws, it was not enough to cause serious injury. 

Sunflash was unable to think about it, for at the same time he felt three quick, sharp pains rake across his forehead, and half the world went black. Argh! Clutching his forehead Sunflash was reminded of that time four years ago when a mouse had stabbed him in the chest - but, thankfully, this time it was far shallower. Still, the speed with which his paw was growing soaked suggested he’d be completely unable to see out of his left eye. Damn it, I’ll be going forwards half-blinded. And that was assuming he’d be able to fight, which considering how difficult it was becoming to keep a tight grip on his sword was becoming more of an open question. 

If there was one saving grace, it was that Tsarmina herself was in no more fit state to fight, obviously still unable to catch her breath after Sunflash’s attempt to cut her in half, barely able to stand on her footpaws. Sheer exhaustion, Sunflash realized, had forced them into a stalemate. 

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the fifteen or so soldiers that had retreated before Sunflash and Tsarmina’s duel - they were still ready and raring to go, and although for the moment their terror at a badger’s strength was still keeping them at bay Sunflash knew it was only a matter of time before the first daredevil conquered their nerve and went for it. When that happened, the rest would follow, and… 

“EULALIAAAAAAAAAA!” Before any daredevil could charge, the forest behind them all burst with hares; the Long Patrol, fresh from their mountain sojourn, had returned. Spears lowered they advanced until Sunflash was enclosed in a protective semicircle, each hare glaring daggers at Tsarmina and Swartt’s soldiers. 

Standing up as steadily as he could, Sunflash looked around: Barmilton had broken off and fallen back as soon as the hares had charged, it seemed, emerging from his duel with Swartt no worse for wear. The ferret, unfortunately, was much the same, although the way he was clutching his right soldier made Sunflash figure Barmilton must have struck home at some point or another. Still, that will heal. Blast.

Swartt glared back, sizing the intruders up and visibly calculating the odds. “Tsarmina,” he said with obvious reluctance, “it pains me to say it, but…I think we should retreat for now.”

“I… n - no.” Tsarmina struggled to her feet. “Agreed. Soldiers, form up for retreat!” 

“Let them go.” Sunflash held up one paw, keeping the other clamped over his forehead. Upon further inspection he could see that the hares were exhausted themselves, chests heaving up and down. By the fur, they must have run full-tilt down the mountain. “I fear we are in no shape to chase them.”

“Understood, sir!” 

“Are you alright, milord?” Barmilton asked once their enemies had vanished over the horizon. “I - blimey, I’m guessing no?” 

“Trust me - it looks worse than it is. Tsarmina just nicked me, is all.” 

“I’m not so sure about that.” Barmilton winced. “Here - this should help, eh wot.” Tearing off a part of his sleeve, he gave it to another hare, who tied it around Sunflash’s eye. 

“What of the flowers?” Sunflash asked the hares as the one attending to him worked. 

“Skarlath’s collecting ‘em.” A young private replied, one whose name unfortunately escaped Sunflash. “Him and miss Coriander.” 

“Ah.” That was good to hear. So our mission will still be a success, despite my actions. 

“Sir?” Barmilton asked. “What’s the plan from here?” 

“Simple: once Skarlath and Cori get back, we go home.” I’ve made enough trouble up here for everybeast as it is. 

Chapter Text

Gonff couldn’t remember a time he’d seen performance artists looking so nervous: everybeast he saw as the Rambling Rosehip players prepared to show off before Tramun Clogg and his crew was giving off an air of palpable tension, be it sweaty, fidgeting paws, throats so tight it was a wonder they could even breathe, hyper reactions to the slightest sounds, the works. 

Not that Gonff could blame them: willingly marching towards a crew of pirates was enough to unnerve even the most stoic of beasts, and the mouse had to admit he wasn’t exactly feeling very serene himself. Well, he tried to tell himself, it can’t be worse than the time Tsarmina nearly cut my tongue out. Although I wouldn’t put THAT sort of little ‘fun’ past Clogg, at least going by what Keyla’s said about him. 

Just before the Players had embarked on their little sojourn, Ballaw and Rowanoak had sat Keyla down and asked if the otter knew anything about the stoat they intended to perform for. “Just a little,” Keyla had said, “he and Badrang split up about five years ago, and before then he didn’t exactly come down to the hold deck very often.” Keyla had sighed and pulled up his hood before continuing. “But from what I did see of him, he always seemed, well, mad: one minute he was so cheery and full of smiles you almost got the feeling he’d free any slave that asked nicely, the next he was carving out somebeast’s lungs for speaking too loud.” 

“Any advice on how to avoid the latter?” Rowanoak had asked. 

“Keep him happy. Puff him up, make him feel like he’s some sort of brilliant genius, but don’t make it so obvious that he thinks you’re just flattering him. If he thinks that, well…” Keyla had shuddered. “One time told a mouse that words as sweet as his had to mean his body was full of honey, and cut the mouse in half to look for it.” 

Gonff had rolled those words over in his head repeatedly, trying to think of just how to do that - so far Ballaw had managed to walk the delicate tightrope well enough that the stoat was having the time of his life, guffawing and clapping his paws at the hare’s magic tricks and lapping up every single word of praise thrown his way, and Gonff had to admire the hare’s silver tongue. Wish I could speak like that. 

“...now, my dear, sweet Cloggo, the grand finale!” 

“Ooooh!” Clogg jumped up, visibly excited. “What’ll it be, hare? Show me!”

“Of course.” Ballaw bowed before smirking at Clogg. “Say, my friend: could I perhaps borrow your cutlass a moment?”

“Of course! As long as you give it back all quick-like.” Clogg unsheathed his cutlass and passed it to the hare. 

“Wouldn’t dream of doing anything else, good sir.” Balla examined the cutlass. “Hmmm… my my, sharper than a shard of glass, eh wot? Yes, this’ll do quite nicely!” Without letting Clogg ask just what Ballaw intended to do, the hare flung the cutlass straight up in the air. Corsair and performer alike gasped as one as it dove back down towards Ballaw, pointy end downwards, but the hare simply smiled, opened his mouth, and swallowed the cutlass whole as though it were a blueberry. Grinning at Clogg, Ballaw wiped his mouth with a pawkerchief and burped. 

“Wha- you… you ate me cutlass! ” With a roar, Clogg tackled Ballaw to the ground and held a knife to the hare’s throat. “Spit it up now, or I’ll cut yer gullet apart and reach down myself!”

Gonff saw Martin stand up, paw on the dagger Amber had given him, but before he could do anything Rowanoak laid a paw on his shoulder and sat him back down, finger over her mouth. 

For his part, Ballaw simply laughed. “Worry not, fair Clogg! Why, your cutlass is safe and sound!” Ballaw reached around Clogg’] ear and pulled the corsair’s cutlass out from behind it. Flipping it around so the hilt faced Clogg, Ballaw passed the cutlass back with a grin. 

“By me mum’s old…” Clogg gaped at the cutlass. “ How did ye do that? ” 

“A magician never reveals his secrets, eh wot?” Ballaw stood up and lightly dusted off his shirt. “And thus ends the magic show of Tibbar the magic rabbit!” Holding up his paws, Ballaw spun in a circle before winking theatrically at the assembled corsairs. “At least, for tonight.”

“You mean there’s more? ” A rat asked, astonished.

“Of course! I have tricks by the barrelfull!” 

“Then show them!” A weasel demanded. 

“Perhaps…” Ballaw turned towards Rowanoak. “What say you, love?” 

“Hmmm…” Rowanoak made a big show of thinking it over. “Maybe, but…” she glanced in Marshank’s general direction. “It seems rude, you know? Performing all our tricks and acts and not giving those fine fellows a chance to watch for themselves.” 

Clogg laughed, spitting ale all over Rowanoak; personally, Gonff was impressed that the badger didn’t clock him over the head for it. “Har! Fat chance of that, stripedog!”

“Oh?” Ballaw asked, eyebrow raised as high as it could go. “Whyever not?”

“Listen, Tibbar me hearty, I sailed the seas with Badrang for years, and that fellow’s sense of humor is as dry as a landlubber’s boots and as boring as a bookshelf!” Clogg rolled his eyes. “Years ago he got it into his head to act all sophis- sophisti- high and mighty, like one of those fancy beasts in their fancy castles in the south.” Gonff stole a quick glance at Martin; the other mouse looked mildly offended. 

“Well, if it’s ‘high and mighty’ entertainment Badrang wants, we can do that as well.” Rowanoak chuckled. “In fact, it was about to be our next act!” Standing up, Rowanoak clapped her paws and turned to the assembled players. “Alright, lads and lasses! Time to start our show!”

That means me. Gonff stood up and gathered with the other performers. “You okay?” He asked a squirrel named Celandine, the lead actress for the night’s first play, who was nervously wringing her paws.

“Hmm? Oh… I’m fine. Just - I don’t like the way that awful Clogg is looking at me, you know?”

“Then stay near me,” Felldoh patted her shoulder reassuringly. “If anybeast tries to lay a paw on you I’ll rip it off.” 

Celandine giggled. “Come on, Felldoh, that’s not nice! But thank you, though.” 

“Places, everybeast!” Rowanoak called. 

The Rambling Rosehips had planned on performing two plays: one comedy and one tragedy, with the comedy coming first. In this case, it was a play called ‘The Duchess Wife’, a tale that Gonff had enjoyed once as a kid. Ah, to tell my younger self that I’m acting in it now… 

(Although personally he would have rather been the terrible corsair as opposed to the duke, but ah well.)

SCENE: A Castle Wall. Against the Wall Stands LADY SPEARWORT, GRIEVING

NARRATOR: Alas, with her true love taken, the beautiful lady Spearwort was brokenhearted and swore to spend the rest of her life in mourning. But it was not to be.

Enter DUKE CROOKEDTAIL [Gonff strode onto the stage, displaying his most malicious grin] 

CROOKEDTAIL: Ah, my lovely lady Spearwort! Surely, ‘tis a sign from the heavens that we are meant to be together! 

SPEARWORT: You mock me, milord! I will not rejoice with my love sundered from me so! 

CROOKEDTAIL: No? Even though it means the two of us can finally…

(Enter SACCO, VANZETTI, and LAURA, who place a sack over LADY SPEARWORT and exit)

CROOKEDTAIL: …so what say you, my love? Care to… (He turns back and realizes he is alone) …oh. Well, bollocks.