Subject:  Chapters Eleven through Fifteen |
Author:
Jessie
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Date Posted: 00:22:36 02/12/03 Wed
In reply to:
Jessie Oakshade, Ex-Fort Storyteller
's message, "If Rose had Lived....re-re-re-re-re-re-re-re-re-vived...." on 00:16:43 02/12/03 Wed
Chapter eleven: The Code of the Warrioress
“Gr, I’m Badrang, you shall not free the slaves!” Dallum half-heartedly swung his stick. He was usually picked to play Badrang, because everyone else had a pretty big part on the good side. Santhe(Chrysanthemum is too long, I’ll just call her Santhe from now on) played her father, Jorrell played his father, Nytestripe played her “mother”, Bungo played his uncle, and Dammy played Ballaw.(who is NOT his father, by the way)
Santhe looked every inch a warrior... kind of. She had a long stick as a sword, a wooden board as a shield, and a wooden bowl for a helmet. But other than that, she looked like a true warrior. Her eyes blazing with the thought of battle, she pretended to run and jump on “Badrang”, and pretended to run him through with her “sword”. The rest pretended to jump on enemies and kill them too, but not with as much enthusiasum as Santhe.
Dallum pretended to stagger around, fall down and die, instructed by Santhe. “No, no, look like you’re in pain! Not like a demented lizard drinking elderberry wine.”
The young hedgehog faithfully demonstrated Badrang’s death, just to Santhe’s satisfactory. “Wonderful! Okay, Rowanoak, how did you and the Gawtrybe squirrels do?”
Nytestripe winced slightly at being called Rowanoak, but answered, “Lost a few squirrels, Martin, but we took quite a few.”
Santhe nodded her approval. “Great, Grumm and Brome, how are the wounded doing, are they okay?”
Bungo and Jorrell looked up from tending imaginary patients and replied, “We lost a few, but the others are fit and will be up in no time, Martin.”
“Burr aye, ee’m be fit as ee fiddler!”
Santhe was about to ask Dammy how their force went when an irritable voice from the ground said, “Can I stop pretending to be Badrang and being dead?”
The mousemaid smiled apogeletically and helped Dallum to his feet. “Sure, let me help you up.”
“No, I mean stop pretending to be Badrang.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because it isn’t easy, and not many creatures fancy pretending to be a vermin.”
“But... then who will be Badrang?”
“Dunno, Nytestripe?”
“No way! Even though Rowanoak isn’t my mother, she has a big part in the Marshank battle and I like pretending to be her.”
“Then how about Jorrell?”
“Me?!? Oh, no no no no no, please no. I can’t play Badrang.”
“Hm, maybe Bungo?”
“Hurr, counten oi outa dis, oi doan’t wanna be nae varmint.”
“And if you’re thinkin’ of me, Santhe ole gel, then don’t bally well think, cuz I’m not gonna play some smelly vermin rotter, wot.”
Santhe blew out a long breath. “Whew, and I can’t play Badrang, I’m supposed to kill Badrang, oh well, let’s just find something else to play.”
Jorrell pointed towards the village. “Too late, looks like our parents want us back. See you tomorrow guys!”
They all departed, agreeing to meet next morning at the front of Council Lodge. Santhe walked into her family’s tent, where her mother Rose was sewing a new dress for her daughter. “How was your day, Santhe?”
Santhe flopped down on her bed, lying back. “Okay, I guess.”
“What did you do?”
“Um, we played ‘Marshank’ again.”
“Again?!? Santhe, what have I told you?”
The mousemaid turned away from Rose, knowing exactly what her mother was going to say. “The Marshank battle isn’t something to be remembered, let alone being played as a game. The Battle of Marshank was violent, and frightening, from what Martin told me. That is no game for a mousemaid!”
Santhe inwardly sighed. There was nothing else for it. She sat up and faced her mother, whose face was still beautiful as ever, but now creased with concern. Santhe took a deep breath and said her true feelings. “Mom, I don’t want to stay here all my life. I want to be a warrior. I can’t stay locked up here without knowing what battle and fighting and war is like.”
Rose silently listened and stared at her daughter. Santhe finished speaking not sure whether to continue. She decided to stay silent, but the silence between became almost unbearable. They stared at each other for what seemed like forever.
A tear silently materialized from Rose’s eye and trickled down her cheek. “Oh Santhe, I knew it. I just knew it.” Rose broke down weeping.
Santhe looked puzzled and sad that her mother was crying and patted her back gently. “It’s okay, mom, it’ll be all right.”
“I knew,” Rose sobbed, “I just knew you’d want to be a warrior. Like your father.” The thought of Martin and where ever he was now brought more tears to her eyes. She dried them and faced Santhe. “Santhe, you must promise me, that if you ever fight, control yourself. Never, ever, slay needlessly, only for the good of others. And take very good care of yourself. Never attempt to do reckless things, that may cost you your life, or a loved one’s life. Try not to kill, kill only if the other creature persists in trying to hurt you, or another. Protect the weak, and shield them from cruel and heartless.”
Santhe was trying not to pay attention, but the words her mother said seemed to force their way into her ears, and burning themselves in her mind. It would be a hard thing to forget.
Rose wiped another tear from her eye. “Martin had always said those to others, he called it the code of the Warrior. He lived by that code, and fought by it. I could never forget it, the exact words I can still recall.”
Santhe looked down. So that was it, the code of the Warrior. She had heard of the Warrior’s code, but no beast she asked would tell her. Now that she knew, she wanted to forget, but couldn’t. Every single word glued themselves to her memory. The future Warriormaiden lay down to sleep, repeating the code in her mind.
1. Control yourself.
2. Never slay needlessly.
3. Take care of yourself, as well as others.
4. Don’t do reckless things.
5. Kill only as a last resort.
6. Protect those that cannot defend themselves from stone-hearted.
Santhe thought them over and over again, till she fell in a deep, dreamless sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter twelve: A plan
Martin slept in the visitor domitories. He had been up almost the whole night thinking up a plan to defeat Tsarmina’s hordes. But Chibb, their spy/scout, had brought news that the hordes were steadily growing larger, with their numbers reaching almost a thousand. And to make matters worse, Chibb also reported that there a raggedy band of vermin, tough-looking, coming from the south. Their leader, a fox, seemed intent on moving quickly up north. The robin spy said his name was Bane.
Martin knew that if this Bane sees Kotir, and meets Tsarmina, the wildcat queen would most likely team up with Bane to get rid of the woodlanders. But the warrior mouse had devised a plan to stop that.
There was a knock on Martin’s bedroom door. “Hey, matey, time t’get up! Brought you some breakfast.”
Martin sprang from his bed and opened the door, knowing it was his new friend Gonff, the Prince of Mousethieves. The previous night, they talked and joked, and Martin knew it would be a life-long friendship.
Martin grinned as he set down the tray to eat. “I’m surprised the food made it this far with you carrying it, Gonff.”
Gonff stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Well, actually you did have a slice of damson crumble...”
Martin pretended to roar with mock rage, but was unable to stop himself smiling. “Why you cheeky little thief!”
Gonff was about to thank Martin for the compliment when Bella strode through the door. “How was your night, Martin? Do you have a plan we can use?”
Martin munched thoughtfully on a blackberry scone and replied, “I thought about it all last night. That band of vermin are coming from the south, heading at a north-eastern direction. If we can just sneak over to their east side, blocking their way to Kotir, and put a small fighting band to their north, we can stop them and make them turn around and go back south.”
Bella nodded. “That sounds like a good idea. How many warriors do you need?”
Martin thought for a second and said, “I think we might need about 300 hundred on the east side, and a hundred or so on the north. I’ll be on the north side.”
Bella nodded again. “All right, that sounds like enough.” She made her way to the window, and looked out to the dawn sun rising slowly into the gold-tinged sky. “When should we attack? This afternoon, maybe?”
Martin shook his head vigorously, making his answer firm. “No, the sun will be in our eyes, and it will be extremely hot by then. I understand that this band of vermin are making remarkable progress in a short time, but one wrong move we make could cost us precious lives.
Gonff felt like leaving the room, because he wasn’t any good at developing war plans, but he was also amazed at his new friend’s know-how about battle strategies and such. He stayed and listened to Bella and Martin weaving a plan to block Bane’s way to Kotir and make them pack their bags and head back south.
Then some random thought struck him like spear, almost making him lurch with pain.
Martin switched his glance to Gonff. “Gonff, matey, what’s wrong? You okay?”
Gonff straightened up on the bed again. “Uh huh, Martin, I’m fine. It’s just that I thought that if we drive the stinkin’ vermin back south, the woodlanders who live there would have a problem they’ve pro’bly had before, a gang of tough vermin. And I doubt it if those rotters go back, the goodbeasts there will invite them to tea.”
Bella stroked the covers on Martin’s bed absent-mindedly. “Hm, you have a point, Prince of Mousethieves. How can we stop the vermin from reaching Kotir, but stop them from returning back south?”
Martin rubbed his head and whistled. “Whew, no idea. Shall we go to the main hall to talk about this with the others?”
Bella looked uncertain of herself for while, then shook her massive grey head slowly. “No, let’s stay up here until we’ve found a way to get rid of this band once and for all.”
Gonff pasted a pained look on his face. “You mean, no food? No lunch at all?!?”
Bella stifled a smile. “No food for now. You need to keep your mind clear of thoughts, so we can drive off those vermin properly. Er, we might stop a bit to eat lunch, mind you. That mousemaid, Kastern, is a wonderful cook, and I wouldn’t skip her lunch for anything at all. But, so we don’t get carried away, I’ll have somebeast bring it up.”
Gonff looked slightly happier.
“Okay, think, think, think.” Martin paced back and forth in his room, still racking his brains for a bug-free battle plan.
Gonff lay on the wooden floor, on the brink of falling asleep. At first, he had been thinking just as hard as Martin and Bella had, but his pondering proved too much for his mischieveous little mind. He fell asleep once, and was jostled awake by Bella when his snores grew too loud.
“Gonff, stay awake, please! We need to stay awake!” Bella gave him a light tap on the shoulder which nearly made him be thrown flat on the floor.
Before Gonff could retort, there was a knock on the carved oak door of the bedroom. Gonff sprang up and opened the door in a gentlemanly fashion, bowing to whoever came in the door. There was a mole carrying a large tray of assorted foods with aromas that lingered in the air and clouded Martin’s brain. “Oh finally, lunch! I’d rather think of food than battle plans, to be honest.”
Gonff, however, wasn’t thinking of food. He jumped on the mole who came in. “Young Din! Still robbin’ food Bella’s kitchens?”
Young Dinny chortled and flipped over so that he was sitting on top of Gonff. “Hurr hurr, t’wasn’t oi ‘oo steals ee food, zurr Gonffer. Oi thinks et be’s summbeast else!” Dinny patted Gonff’s pudgy little stomach.
Martin smiled at the two, hiding his thoughts. Strangely, as it had been with Gonff, he felt he had always known Dinny, and he knew that was impossible because he had lived in the north all his life. Maybe it was just destiny they had met.... something that couldn’t be evaded... it just had to happen... no matter what.
His mind was brought back to reality when Dinny heaved his furry black body off a chest-sore Gonff to see the parchment where Bella had drawn a diagram of possible strategies. He couldn’t read, but understood their predicament.
He turned the parchment sideways and upside-down, as though trying to read a map. “Hurr, ee varmints can’ goo nort’, eas’ or sooth, so why doan’t ee varmints goo wes’?”
Gonff sat upright with an expression of sudden understanding etched on his face. “By jove, you’re right, Dinny! You have something in your head besides dirt after all!”
Martin scratched his head. “What did he say? Sorry, I’m not so good at interpreting molespeech.”
Bella explained. “Since we can’t let the vermin go east, north or south, Dinny says why not let them go west?”
Martin still looked puzzled. “But-but there’s still land.... then the sea!!”
Gonff nodded while patting Dinny on the back none-too-gently. “Exactly. Why not drive the rotters into the sea?”
The warrior mouse stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Hmmmm, it’s a good plan, though it still has some flaws. How could we make sure the vermin would go straight west? And how would we know if we’re not driving them into some more innocent woodlanders?”
Bella sighed. “We’ll go downstairs later and see if we can ask the others later, Martin. For now, let’s eat and keep our minds fresh.”
Gonff perked up at the word “eat”, and tripped over Dinny trying to reach the tray of food, making him fall face-first on the floor. Martin and Bella looked at each and laughed. The laughter was infectious, and soon all four joined in.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter thirteen: Puzzled Minds and Plans
The feline ruler of Kotir, Tsarmina, ruler of the Thousand Eyes, stood at her elegant bedroom window, surveying the woods she knew the Corim headquarters was located. A slow, cruel smile spread on her evil features as she recalled their last battle, in which her soldiers had sorely defeated them. She felt that a good, well-fought battle from her side would finish them off once and for all.
Some movement down below in the shrubbery caught her eye. Argulor the hunting eagle flew out, having taken his afternoon nap, ready to hunt.
Tsarmina slapped her paw on the window sill. That blasted eagle! He was always interfering with her plans. He may be an enemy to the woodlanders, but he was no friend to Tsarmina, and it was plain that the great eagle would not take sides.
The wildcat reached for her bow and arrows, thinking maybe if Argulor swooped down close enough, she could get a shot in. But the eagle flew nowhere near her window, flying eastwards for a meal.
The Ruler of the Thousand Eyes slumped by the window, thinking. The eagle would be back, she knew it. But she wasn’t sure if the woodlanders had decided to leave Kotir to its own devices, in fact, she hadn’t heard about anything from them at all. It had been unbelievably quiet for the past three seasons.
Suddenly, an idea sprang into her mind.
“Ashleg! Come quickly! Now!”
The deformed pine-marten hobbled as quickly as his wooden stump would allow up the stairs. He saw Tsarmina staring out the window.
“Get the whole army ready. We can finish off those woodlanders if it takes my last breath. We know the area where they’re hiding, all we have to do is look around in that area for it. Fortunata was there, but it’s a pity she isn’t alive to tell us exactly where it is.”
Tsarmina recalled the death of Fortunata and the spy Patchcoat.
Ashleg showed no emotion on his face as he bowed low. “Right away, Milady.” Then he stumped off back down the stairs.
The Wildcat Queen cackled evilly, madness taking over her. “I’ll get you little woodlanders yet! Oh yes, don’t go to sleep, I’ll be there soon, killing every last one of you. Then I can live in peace! That’s right, Tsarmina will get you all!”
Ashleg had heard, and his mind was racing. He was almost at the point of thinking to escape, but thought better of it, and shrugged, carrying off to the soldier barracks.
And Bane’s small horde of vermin drew closer.
Gonff skipped down the stairs in Brockhall. The plan was almost finished, and the time for battle was ticking closer.
He, Martin, Dinny, and Bella, all had come to the conclusion of the final battle plan: First they would do the original plan, separate the army into two sections, one would come from north, and the other from the east. The east section would have to fight harder, driving them a bit west so that section of fighters could move south, and the north and east-to-south sections would meet together squeezing the band of vermin west, like icing squeezing from a tube. Then Martin, Gonff, and Dinny would go on ahead, keeping right behind them, making sure they go straight to the sea.
Gonff thought it was a wonderful plan, but Bella wasn’t very happy with it. She had given her consent, but she still had her worries. What if the whole band noticed the three followers and attacked them? They were only three creatures, and three against sixty? It would be suicide!
Gonff just chuckled and reassured her that no vermin would look back twice if they knew the Prince of Mousethieves was following them. Then Dinny quietly remarked something about the vermin wanting to keep their food and rations to themselves.
Jorell was worried. His cousin Santhe hadn’t been looking very well in the past two days, and he couldn’t figure out in the world why. The rest weren’t that worried, the mousemaid was tough, she could take care of herself. But lately, she was very quiet and spoke little, mostly sitting by the pond, thinking, and pondering over various little things. Jorell had tried to get Santhe to play with them, but she gently pushed him away, asking to be left alone.
Jorell hid in the bushes by the pond, where Santhe was dabbing her footpaws in water, her mind lost somewhere in another world.
Dallum crept up to Jorell as quietly as he could and whispered. “So, is she still... you know...”
Jorell nodded quietly, keeping his eyes on Santhe.
Dallum sat up and blew out a sigh of frustration. “Nothin’ seems to get through to her. D’you know what caused her t’be like that?”
Jorell shook his head, still watching Santhe. “Though I asked Aunt Rose why, an’ she didn’t tell me. I think that Aunt is upset too.”
Dallum looked surprised at these words. “Huh, d’ya think it’s about Santhe’s daddy?”
Jorell shook his head again. “I’m not really sure, but I don’t think so. He’s been gone for a long time, and I think they expected that. He might not be back for another 7 seasons.”
“Hm, so what c’n we do ‘bout it?”
“Beats me, I don’t know how long Santhe will stay like this, though eventually she’ll have to talk to us. It’s been two days already.”
“Has it only been two days? It seems longer than that.”
“Yep, and Dammy, Nytestripe and Bungo aren’t much help either.”
“Hm, I wonder what we can do?”
“Nothing right now. Maybe later she’ll cheer up or something.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Don’t worry, I know my cousin like the back o’ my paw.”
“Really truly positive?”
The answer came back irritated. “Yes Dallum, I told you not to worry. I’ve got it all under control. We’ll have Santhe back in no time.”
“Are you really sure about this?”
“DALLUM!”
“Oh all right, I’ll be quiet.”
“You better be.”
“Oh don’t worry, I’ll be the quietestest ‘og in Noonvale.”
“Oh really?”
“Yep. Really.”
“Then be quiet!”
“Okay. I’m quiet now.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter fourteen: Like Icing from a Tube
Bane’s horde of vermin were now drawing closer and closer to Kotir, and Mossflower Woods, only a couple stone throws away.
Too close, for Bella’s liking.
The now large band of rebels lay in the bushes, waiting for the right moment. Martin, as he had said, was heading the north side, of about a hundred fighters. Skipper of Otters, and Lady Amber jointly led the east-to-south regiment. Bella was wringing her paws nervously by Skipper. “Oh, they’ve gotten so close now, why don’t you attack them?”
Skipper just grinned and replied, “Yore right there marm, but Martin said specifically that the north band should scrap ‘em first, then afore they properly kill the stinkin’ vermin, we get to go in an’ get our share.”
Lady Amber nodded. “Skipper’s right, Bella, if the north side goes first, then they’ll be busy fighting those fighters, while we sneak up on their side and jab them there. Then after we drive them back a bit, we’ll go down to the south side a-“
Bella cut her off. “I know, I know, I’ve heard the plan at least a thousand times. But why can’t Skipper take his otters, or even you Amber, with your squirrels and help Martin and his friends follow the vermin.”
Skipper shook his rough head, the otter javelin firmly in the ground. “Nope, we can’t, because if that liddle pussycat plans somethin’ while we’re away, there’s hardly any fighters here to ‘elp you creatures.”
The Squirrelqueen nodded again slowly, bow relaxed at her side. “Skipper has a point, Martin may have brought quite a lot of good fighters with him, but that’s just not enough to cover Kotir’s hordes. And besides, with Martin, who will dare to fight Gonff and Dinny?”
Bella was about to reply when a blood-curling shout rang out from the north. “ATTAAAAAAAACK!!!!”
Skipper winked at Bella as he gathered some javelins and set up a pile of stones for his sling. “Sorry Bella marm, time to skin some vermin.”
Bella nodded absent-mindedly as she sat by Rowanoak, some good distance away from the fighting. “You have been in a war before, Rowanoak, haven’t you?”
Bella’s younger sister chuckled drily before answering. “Oh yes, many. None that I’d want to go through again.”
The elder badger stretched out her footpaws, groaning as she did so. “War is not a thing to re-experience. I know if I had to go through a war again, I would not come out alive.”
Rowanoak nodded sadly as she watched the battle. “So true, so true. I do hope this battle comes out right.”
“So do I, sister, so do I.”
Martin had been watching the vermin tramp closer and closer, and eyed the leader. He was a fox, as Chibb had said, and had the look of an experienced fighter on him. He was tall, and wore a curved sword at his side, well used. His face was like any other vermin’s faces, cold and ruthless, but his eyes darted around the foliage, ready for any kind of ambush. Martin curled his lip derisively at the fox’s band of plunderers: they were tough-looking, aye, that was true, but some were unbelievely skinny, and somewhat diminished from lack of food and hard labor and fighting.
The Warrior Mouse watched as Bane was now close enough for Martin to even prod him lightly with a spear. Then he gave the signal.
“ATTAAAAAAAAACK!!!!!!”
He rushed in and jumped on the leader, who had his back turned, sneering at the stragglers in his group. Martin slashed viciously with his sword, so fast all anybeast could see was a shining metal blur held tight in Martin’s paws.
Bane was taken by surprise, he had to admit that, but one mouse with a fancy sword wasn’t going to stop him. Swiftly he drew his saber and slashed out at the mouse. Martin blocked it and lunged in, swinging at Bane’s leg. Bane jumped and smirked at his enemy, and yelled out. “KIIILLLLL!!!! KILL THEM ALL, LEAVE NONE ALIVE!!!!”
Skipper and Lady Amber were tense, waiting until the vermin were in the right spot to ambush. However, Bane’s mercenary fighters were not stupid, and only fell back inch by tortuous inch.
Bane realized that the mouse he was fighting was no fool; he certainly knew how to fight. In his early years, Bane had met some matches, all of which he eventually had beaten and made examples of, but he was certain that he could beat anybeast in one-on-one combat. The fox now noticed that all of his ruthless band of fighters were fighting, and he also noticed that they were outnumbered, three to five. He knew a retreat was a big possibility, but his pride in being a fighter drove him to finish off this mouse once and for all... to show him the Bane the Fighter wasn’t a coward. A new determination sprang up within him. He faked a thrust to Martin’s left, and swept his saber under the Warrior’s footpaws. Martin had unknowingly played into the trap, and his right footpaw began bleeding freely, sticky red liquid flowly onto the ground.
Martin the Warrior of Noonvale gritted his teeth and gripped his sword tightly, slashing a dozen times at Bane’s neck, before thrusting his sword at Bane’s chest. Bane just smiled sadisticly and stepped backwards, fending off Martin’s attempts to slay him. The Warrior Mouse swung towards Bane’s side, using all his strength. Bane feigned a yawn and slashes his saber downwards, actually slicing Martin’s sword in half with a screechy sounding chop.
The mercenary fighter laughed hard in Martin’s face, whose temper was building up at being humiliated, losing his only weapon in combat.
As Bane was busy laughing, Martin looked at the hilt of the sword, with the red pommel stone set at the top. This was his father’s sword, the sword his father gave to him, the sword his father trusted him with, the sword Badrang had taken from him, the sword he had fought hard to regain. And now it useless. Martin grabbed the blade of the sword in one paw, and the hilt in the other, still not ready to back down before his sudden enemy. Bane noticed, and kept laughing, his saber out in front of him. He spoke mockingly to the Warrior. “You may be a good fighter, mouse, but you’re nothing without your precious sword are you? Look around, my fighters will eventually win against your pitiful little army.” Martin seethed inwardly, but stood his ground, threw back his head and yelled at the top of his lungs. “MOSSFLOWEEEEEERRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Skipper and Amber heard. It was the signal.
Bane stopped laughing and gazed dumbly at his paws, one pierced right through by an otter javelin, and the other embedded with a squirrel arrow. Martin yelled again, swinging the hilt of the sword at Bane’s head. “NOOOOOOONVAAAAAAAAAALE!!!!!!”
Bane was dead from the blow before he hit the ground.
It took his band some time to realize they were leaderless as they still had their paws full fighting some four hundred warriors. Then one of them, a weasel, saw Martin stamping towards them, raising the broken hilt of his sword. The weasel’s eyes moved downwards and saw Bane’s pitiful dead figure. He screamed a high note in panic. “AAIEEEEEEE!!!! RETREEEEAATTT!!!!!” Martin nodded at Skipper and Amber, and their forces moved west at a southerly direction, and Martin’s force at the north moved closer to the southern force, making a “U” shape around east side of the remnants of the mercenary band.
The Mossflower fighters made no move to kill, only kept their weapons out and dealt out warning arrow or the slap of a small pebble as a warning. It worked, and the vermin had no choice but to go straight west. None attempted to move north or south. Before long, they all had reached the end of the forest.
Gonff, who had been slinging stones with Dinny and the otters, winked cheerfully. “Time f’r us warriors t’go keep those rotters in line, eh matey?” He patted Martin heartily on the back.
The Warrior Mouse was shaking, holding the hilt of his father’s trusty sword, the blade at his footpaws. “I-no.... all that war....for nothing at all...”
Skipper misunderstood, sharpening his javelin on a rock as he spoke. “What’re ye talkin’ ‘bout, matey? We drove those vermin a fair distance away.”
Martin stared miserably at what had once been his greatest possession. “No, not that... I haven’t told you my life yet, have I?”
Dinny shook his furry black little head, a slingshot still in his digging claw. “No zurr, you’m nevurr tole us’ns yet, you’m were awf’ly quoit.”
Martin of Noonvale sat down, and began the tale of his life. He skipped some parts, trying to shorten it down a bit, only telling the important bits.
“The day before Chibb came to Noonvale, Rose had a child, a daughter. Of course I’d hoped it would have been a son, but a daughter is just as good, I suppose. Rose named her Chrysanthemum, or Santhe, for short.”
Dinny scratched his head with a blunt digging claw. “Kursamteemun? Boi ‘eck, this pore mole’d ‘ave twist’d tongue tryin’ t’say that, burr aye.”
Amber gently lifted the hilt of the sword. “So this was your father’s sword, eh? A good ‘un no doubt that, ‘xcept for the rust ‘twould make an excellent sword.”
Gonff suddenly leaped up. “By the fur! We’d better catch up with those vermin, you lot, cummon Dinny...Martin, get over here!”
Dinny waved an urgent digging claw. “Hurr aye, getten thoiself o’er ‘ere afore this liddle mouseythief eats oop all our viddles!!” Any further remark was forestalled by Gonff tossing the food sacks into Dinny’s stomach, driving the wind from him. After the sturdy little mole caught his breath, he actually smiled and patted Gonff none-too-gently on the back, and Gonff fell flat on his nose in the mud. “Ee’m fergettin’ oi’m the stonges’ mole in ee wuddlands ‘cept f’r moi ole granfer, zurr Gonffer!”
Martin’s sad look dissolved as a smile slowly spread on his face. Pulling his haversack on his back, he bid good-bye to Skipper, Amber, Rowanoak, Bella, Ballaw and the rest, and ran to catch up with Dinny and Gonff, who were still dealing out blows to each other.
“Hey, come on, stoppit you two, you don’t want to kill yourselves and leave me to chase the vermin alone, do you?”
Gonff pulled himself free from Dinny, who was sitting on his back, and put a friendly arm around Martin. “Of course not, couldn’t let me best matey to have fun lickin’ those vermin on his own.” Unknowingly to Martin, Gonff aimed a kick backwards towards Dinny’s stomach, but the mole’s quick little eyes spotted it coming, and caught it, and twisted it, so Gonff once more fell in the mud. But since Gonff had his arm around Martin, the mouse from Noonvale had been pulled down by Gonff into the mud puddle, leaving Dinny walking along nonchalantly, as if nothing had happened.
Martin spat the foul-tasting mud out of his mouth. “Blech, Dinny, get back over here and get us outta here!”
Dinny yelled back cheerfully. “Nay, oi’m naught cummin’ lessen ole Gonffer ‘polajizes.”
Gonff put on the most innocent look he could and sang out.
I’m very sorry, young Din,
I promise next time I’ll let you win,
But me and my friend here,
Do not hold mud dear,
So please get us out,
before I scream and shout.
Dinny chortled and agreed. “Ho, you’m a drefful charmer, Gonff, burr aye indeed!”
Chapter Fifteen: Strange Events
Ashleg walked, or rather strutted, up and down in front of the ranks of Kotir.
The soldiers looked scant, and under-fed, but determined to prove themselves in case it might get them to be a Captain.
The pine marten stalked back and forth, his magnificent cloak twirling dangerously as he eyed Captains Brogg and Ratflank in the eye.
“The Lady Tsarmina Greeneyes, Ruler of the Thousand Eyes commands the full horde to scour the woods of Mossflower for the headquarters of those woodlanders. Milady wishes you to take the whole of them by surprise and kill them all.”
Brogg, the not-so-smart weasel Captain, could not help blurting out, “That’s imposs’ble! There ain’t a way t’capture ‘em all jus’ by walkin’ inter their ‘eadquarters!”
Ashleg shot Brogg a poisonous glance, and Brogg withered and stepped back. The one-legged pine marten knew what the weasel had said was true, but Ashleg dare not break the Queen’s orders, or Mossflower would have one less pine marten...
Ashleg repeated himself. “Go into Mossflower, now! Or you will face Milady’s wrath if you try to disobey.”
This left no choice. Who would stand against a wildcat thought to be crazy in the head?
Brogg and Ratflank nodded silently, yelled orders into the army and set off into Mossflower with all speed.
The three pursuers took their time, runnning a bit when the horde got out of sight, and dropping down low when they got too close.
This continued for about the rest of the day, then when the Bane’s defeated band of mauraders sat down to rest and eat, the chasers followed suit, except that they took shelter in a small grove of trees a good distance away.
Dinny opened his pack. “Hurr, zurr Gonffer didn’t et any o’ moi supplois!”
Gonff just winked. “Aye matey, I was too busy eating Martin’s.” Martin tried to look stern and reprimand Gonff at the same time.
“So that’s where Goody’s apple pie went! I thought maybe somebeast else stole it because I KNOW it couldn’t have been you, Gonff.” Martin lay down the broken hilt of his sword, which he had been carrying ever since the end of the battle.
Gonff actually asked Martin a serious question. “Are you going to keep carrying that hilt around for the rest of your life?”
Martin nodded, and opened his pack. “It’s the hilt of my father’s sword, and my sword, and if I had a son it would have been his sword too. It’s been passed down from generation to generation and even though it’s no use to me now, I’d hate to part with it.” Martin rubbed the red pommel stone slowly, remembering old times in the north.
“Here matey,” Gonff handed him something. “make it easier on yourself instead of lugging a whoppin’ piece o’ metal all ‘round the place.”
It was a girdle cord from a habit.
Martin looked puzzled. “What do I use it for?”
“Use it to hang the sword around your neck. Columbine gave it t’me b’fore the battle.”
Martin smiled and slipped the cord around the sword, and put it around his neck. “Thanks, matey, you’ve been a great help to me.”
“No problem, that’s what mateys are for, eh?”
Dinny had been watching the vermin up close and came back. “Looks loik yon varmints’re gonna sleep, burr aye.”
Gonff yawned and lay down. “Aye Din, and so should we. Chasing two score vermin can tire a mousetheif out.”
Martin leaned against a tree and replied. “And a warrior too.” Then he put his paws behind his head, acting as lookout for his other two friends. He was thinking about many things. His wife and his daughter among them. How tall would Santhe be now? She’d be much taller, maybe even growing a warrior’s spirit. Warrioress, Martin reminded himself. Was his daughter like her gentle and beautiful mother, or was she like a true warrior, able to defend her friends in battle and help the weak? Maybe if she would like to be a warrior, Rose would let him teach their daughter in how to be a proper warrioress, and teach her the Warrior’s Code, and everything she needeed to know about being a warrioress. But then, maybe she was against war like her mother, and only wanted to live a happy life of peace in Noonvale. Or maybe she was both.
Martin sat there pondering, till he fell into a peaceful slumber.
Santhe woke the following day feeling pleasantly refreshed. She knew her friends were disappointed that she had not spoken to them, but she was thinking about a lot of things, things she had not given thought about ever since her mother mentioned the Code of the Warrior.
She thought about her father, being a warrior, and the way he left to help to free Mossflower.
She dearly wished to be like her father.
On the outside, she was beautiful, and she looked exactly like her mother, gentle, and forgiving. But a fire burned within, because on the inside, she had her father’s fighting spirit.
Santhe peeked out of the tent fold. She could see even at a distance that the rest of the group were splashing by the pond. She sighed, and decided to go join them. She would have to apoligize for not talking to them, and tell them why, because she knew that all of them, especially Jorell were worried sick about her.
She walked outside and stretched. Suddenly, she felt herself being pulled sideways, towards the forest, somebeast’s paw clamped over her mouth. She tried not to scream, and started wriggling, and kicking at whoever it was. But this creature was strong, and held her tight as the captor pulled her silently into the bushes.
“Oh, thanks for drenching me, Dammy, this was my good tunic!”
Dammy ran around the pond as fast as his little paws could carry him to save himself from the wrath of Nytestripe.
“No! Please, spare me, wot!”
The others laughed at the sight of Dammy on his knees begging for mercy to be spared. Nytestripe towered over him, paws akimbo, squinting sternly down at him.
Even Jorell laughed. He looked around, and then remembered Santhe, and decided to see if she was feeling well enough to play.
“Hey guys, come on, let’s get Santhe, see if she wants to come out and play.”
“Hurr, awright. Les goo!”
Jorell peeked inside the tent. “Santhe, come on out and play! We miss you.”
Dallum poked his head in under Jorell. “Hey, she’s not ‘ere!”
Nytestripe voiced her opinion. “Well, her mother isn’t here either, Miz Rose probably went to go prepare the lunch.”
Jorell’s eyes lit up. “And Santhe went with her!”
And off they went towards the main part of the village. In the opposite direction of the forest where Santhe was taken captive.
“Let...me...go....you stupid little....unh!” Her captor whacked Santhe hard with a stave.
“Quiet!”
The voice from underneath an emerald-green cloak came out rapsy and harsh.
Santhe grabbed large stick, her warrior spirit rising. Her opponet began circling her, the stave held out ready to beat her. “Keep away. I mean it! Just...let...me....go....back!” Santhe tried to lunge at the cloaked figure, but whoever it was, was no fool. The creature backed away and blew an ivory whistle, and it emitted a low hoot, like an owl.
More cloaked figures came to surround the mousemaid.
Santhe looked desperately around her, but there was no way of escaping the ring of cloaked figures. Then the leader stepped forward again and rapped her harshly on the back. “You! Stan’ steell now. We ‘ave you captive.”
Santhe was about to object and throw a rock at the figure when the creature shed its cloak. Underneath was a lithe and sinewy ferret.
“I am Bowfleg da Warlord, an’ you arr my prisoner!”
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