Ratha Kaltag stood ready amid the fortifications of the half-built castle. She had no weapon; the lord Felis had not deigned to arm her. No matter. If the fighting came this far, some of the cat guards would surely fall, and she would take up one of their blades. And if some fool otter cornered her before she had the chance? Well, she still had her claws. By steel or nail, she would stand bathed in blood to greet her lord, and in the heat of his victory he would never resist the allure of her embrace.

She leaned against a rampart, stretching out her back, eyes narrow and a smile playing over her fangs. The thud of siege weapons reverberated down the coast. Even now Lord Felis himself would take to the water to board the otter priestess's flagship, hewing her down amid the chaos of the bombardment. Ah, what a glory it would be, to see him in action at the height of his regal power! It rent her heart not to be there now… but Felis was a warlord. There would be more battles in the future, when she stood by his side and in his heart.

Flames lit the waters to the north, otter boats dying as they approached. Ratha paced, watching them descend beneath the waves and gutter out. Nothing, nothing she could do but wish impotently for stronger winds to speed the otters to their doom and the Lord Felis to her side.

Wishes or no, the winds, and the ships, did come. The flagship still stood, tall and impudent amid its fleet of charred and broken hulks. The sails sported painted emblems, green against their white, symbolic of the otters' "High Rhulain." Ratha held her breath, her paw at her throat: what? Did that bitch of a warrior-prophetess yet live, despite the wildcat lord's assault?

But no—the flagship began to list in the water, its prow skewing toward the bank as the craft continued to float southward. And above the mast, a fearsome banner unfurled, a canvas smeared with otter blood in the clawed sigil of Riggu Felis. Ratha Kaltag let out her breath at last, in a laugh so heady with relief and victory that it seemed to shake the very fortress she stood upon.

Felis stood overseeing the disposition of his newly made otter slave workforce. The most dangerous of them went about their orders chained; all labored under the leering eyes and sharp spears of the cat guards. For the taskmasters, he appointed those wounded in the fighting who could still walk and crack a whip. That way, even as the cats' injuries scarred over, they would punish any insolence with the utmost vengeance, and the otters would always know their resistance was the cause of their greatest suffering.

Ratha approached Felis as soon as the slaves' new routine seemed secure. "It goes well, my lord," she purred. "These spoils will fashion you a magnificent fortress indeed."

"Mm." The wildcat shrugged and adjusted his cloak, newly sewn in with otter pelts still fresh and reeking.

"Well enough, I think, that you can be spared some time aside. These defeated creatures will cause no trouble for you today."

"Oh?" He turned and stood over her, arms folded. "And what errand would you presume to send me on, she-cat, and deny me the savoring of my victory?"

"No errand, my lord. A mere walk. A conversation." She lowered her voice that nearby cat guards would not hear. "Your victory is still incomplete, Riggu Felis. But I would not explain this where lesser ears might hear." It all turned on this opportunity for privacy. She shot a wary glance at the pine marten Atunra, sitting in privilege above the taskmasters, smug in the rewards for her service.

Felis spat down from the wall, striking one of the slaves. "Incomplete?" A snarl touched the corner of his mouth. "You insult my leadership, Kaltag." She barely suppressed a shiver, to hear her own name so! "If I am not satisfied with what you tell me on this walk of yours, you will not return to this fortress alive."

Ratha's heart pounded fit to crush her chest, but she bowed and said nothing more, letting the wildcat lead. He strode through the archway that would soon hold his fortress gates; none, of course, questioned him on where he was going or to what purpose. Still Kaltag did not speak, but gestured with a submissive nod of her head toward the shore, where a grassy slope occluded them from both sight and hearing of the fortress. Out in the water, the mast of the Rhulain's sunken flagship stood, protruding from the shallows as a monument to the battle.

"So. Your chance is now, Kaltag. Speak plain or die."

"Yes, my lord." She stood straight, willing the tremble out of her tail, head inclined just slightly, proud but obeisant. "Your accomplishments are mighty. The otters are broken. All their lands will soon be under your sway. The cat guards have marched and sailed with you to blood and conquest. They will forever remain loyal. And this fortress now rises with the speed and strength of hundreds more worker beasts. It will stand tall on this coast for all your reign."

Felis growled. "You spoke of the victory being incomplete. You did not draw me out here for more flattery. Out with it, she-cat."

Ratha dared not even nod lest she quaver; she only closed her eyes a moment in acknowledgment. "Your reign, my lord Felis, will not last forever. Someday you, too, will go to Dark Forest, though may it be many seasons from now."

The wildcat scowled. "What, are you a priestess? To advise me that my victory is not whole until I consider my most final reward?"

Kaltag choked down a puzzled and nervous laugh. What a strange notion! Well, while gaining his confidence she had made sure to impress upon Felis that her mind worked differently from his. No surprise, then, that she should be struck by the difference coming the other direction. "No, my lord. I speak not of your soul, but of what happens to your empire when you are gone. As you saw when you first came to this Isle, we feral cats cannot hope to hold a strategic success ourselves for long. Soon after your death this land would belong to the otters again." She took a deep breath and raised her head, meeting his eyes. "The missing piece of your victory, my lord… is an heir."

Felis did not move. He did not reach for his axe, nor strike her with one of his great paws. He held her gaze, those glorious wild eyes smoldering with more than anger.

"I will be your Lady, Riggu Felis, and give you sons to succeed you. You will rule this Isle for a lifetime, and wildcats—not otters, not feral cats—will rule it for generations to come."

Still Felis did not reply, but Ratha saw her words ripple through him like calm water disturbed. He had all else that was his by right of conquest: treasure, slaves, land, respect. But he could not take wives from the conquered otters; that he needed from his own kind, or one like. He needed her.

So Riggu Felis cast off his lordly cloak. He seized Ratha by the back of her neck, shoved her against the bank, and mounted her. Ecstasy coursed through her body as she claimed her own victory. Riggu Felis's seed would not make her a wildcat, but it would accomplish the next best thing.

Lady Kaltag screamed, in pleasure and triumph.

Author's Note: Four years later, I finish this at last! As with Say Farewell, I'm going to take this opportunity to explain a little of what I was going for with this story, which you can read, ignore, or comment upon as you see fit.

First of all, I wanted to do a story from a Redwall villain's point of view. Too often, Jacques's antagonists become two-dimensional. They display a few interesting quirks (like Riggu Felis's hatred of birds), but otherwise act evil for evil's own sake, or exhibit a remorseless greed for power without any depth behind it. So I seized upon the Lady Kaltag's protectiveness toward her children and her jealous paranoia, and tried to flesh them out with the reasons and belief system behind them. Felis himself remains a cipher, but that, I think, is appropriate enough to the tale told here.

Speaking of the belief system, that's the second objective here: a subtle critique of the racism in Jacques's work. Kaltag thinks Felis is successful because he's a member of a superior race, and the feral cats failed at conquest because their race (her own!) is innately weak and sluggish of mind. How true is that? It looks true from Kaltag's point of view, but she's not supposed to be the most reliable of narrators. I think I went a little too understated with this, since it's easy to take Kaltag at her word in this story, and nothing here contradicts the "all foebeasts are evil" idea in Jacques's books. To attack the genocidal tendencies of the supposedly peaceful and virtuous Redwallers, we'd need a more sympathetic depiction of a foebeast than we see here. Perhaps another time!

Lastly, there's the matter of sex in the Redwall universe. I've no interest in writing smut, but the topic just doesn't come up in Jacques's work due to its target audience, and I thought it would be interesting to play with as a plot element. "Dibbuns" and other child-creatures have to come from somewhere, after all. The Lady Kaltag, both villain and mother, seemed like a perfect means for exploring those themes.

Let me know what you think, by message or review!