"Scores of charred-black bodies slowly emerged from the smoke, scattered about the battlefield like forgotten toys. I can still see their dull eyes open wide, staring upward and silently judging me in their vacant stillness. I could do little else but gaze upon the massacre with the taste of smoke and bile in my beak, while I slowly realized that this was only the beginning." - Edgar's account of the Battle for Mossflower

The air was cold, and the hints of dampness caused Karth's nose to twitch as he studied Barkclaw's defenses and absentmindedly fiddled with his epaulets.

The palisade looked sturdy, Karth gave him that. It loomed threateningly over the area in the enveloping darkness, the tips of its wooden barricades hardened into points like overlong pikes.

It didn't appear to have been rushed either. No, it looked like it could withstand a barrage of battering rams or even a few hits from a ballista before it came tumbling down. Luckily, such extremes would not be unnecessary, as his plan would use the structure's sturdiness to his advantage. It was ironic to think that if Barkclaw's fort had been a haphazard pile of brambles and branches, this rescue would have been much harder to pull off.

Not that it wouldn't be hard enough already. The wind began to pick up, the chilled breeze brushing through him and provoking an involuntary shudder as he scowled and clenched his fists. They were all waiting for him. Maia, the Dibbuns, and Barkclaw, all of them… they were waiting for him, and he was -

A sudden pain flared in his thumb, and Karth bit back a curse as he opened his fists and looked down at the epaulets now partially embedded in his paw. Jerking them out, he glared at them bitterly. Soon, somebeast else would be wearing them, but it would not be a battlefield promotion.

He turned. Before him stood only thirty hares – the last free members of the Long Patrol.

They were all focused on him now; they had been the moment he turned to face them. For a second, Karth brushed his irritation aside and took in the sight of his hares, looking over them like the proud parent he sometimes saw himself as.

What filled him with regret was that they looked so young. While a few were seasoned, most looked little more than leverets. Their faces were unmarked, their uniforms still relatively pristine. They had seen combat, yes, but this was different – this was not the chase and subsequent flight in the dunes surrounding Salamandastron. No, this was a premeditated assault - they knew what they were going into.

For the young ones, the nervousness he saw on some faces and the wide, frightened eyes that he saw on others would either break them or push them to new heights. There would be blood, there would be death, and the Long Patrol would be ready. It would have to be.

Karth sighed, although lightheaded anticipation bubbled within his chest. "Jade," he murmured, holding out his insignia.

The hare stepped forward, her eyes widening at she realized what Karth's paw contained.

"Colonel?" Jade asked, her voice rising in disbelief.

"At attention," Karth said stiffly.

"Sah," Jade whispered, her body rigid and eyes staring straight ahead as Karth pinned the epaulets on her right shoulder.

When he was done, he placed his paws on her shoulders, gazing into her eyes.

"You will go to the otters and shrews and pretend to be me," Karth said, keeping his voice to a low murmur. "Barkclaw will expect me there, and he must not suspect anything otherwise."

At this, she nodded slowly, her body still stiff. Any hint of fear or doubt vanished as she took a deep breath. "Yes sah," she whispered.

"Her eyes are brown," Karth realized suddenly, a bright and incandescent shade that reminded him of his favorite season of the year, when the land changed and began to prepare for the coming winter. The idea startled him. It was almost summer now.

"I've been fighting for so long," Karth thought wearily. Soon it would be over, one way or another.

Jade nodded once again, her own thoughts obvious as determination settled upon her face. Clearly, she had found what she was looking for. "I won't let you down, sah," Jade said, her eyes shining brightly as she looked up at Karth.

Karth's smile was brittle as he released her shoulders and stepped back. "Fool them at a distance, and lower your tone when you shout," he said softly. "Amidst all the other shouting they won't know the difference until you are at the front lines, and by that point it won't matter any longer."

"Understood," Jade said with a brisk salute, which he returned with a small nod.

Jade turned, her movements sharp as she nodded to the silent assortment of Long Patrol hares. Pausing, she almost looked as if she wanted to say something before she left, her strong stride faltering as she visibly considered her options. However, the moment passed as she frowned and headed southwest, where the otters and shrews would shortly meet the enemy and buy the Long Patrol the time and distraction they needed.

After Jade's soft pawsteps faded into silence, Karth looked back at the twenty-nine hares he had left under his command.

"Form ranks," he murmured, forcing himself to look and sound calm, although his body betrayed him and shuddered, revealing his glee. "Finally, it begins," he thought, his lips peeling back into the beginnings of a smirk.

In moments, the Long Patrol efficiently formed ranks, three lines of nine with Karth at the head and Stubb at the back.

Silently turning to the wall, he launched the initial phase of the assault with a twist of his wrist.

He emerged from the hollow by the forest's edge, wary of the looming palisade. If it was just the physical obstacle, it would be simple to overcome. But Barkclaw was no imbecile – even as he sallied forth with most of his troops to meet the woodlanders' attack, he would have still staffed the wall with guards. With only a few twinkling torchlights bobbing up and down on top of the palisade walls, it would be a relatively simple task for himself and a few others to creep to the wall unseen, perhaps even as many as half a score.

Karth knelt and pressed an open paw against his ear. Immediately, all movement stilled as the hares waited for their orders.

Raising a paw, Karth lifted four fingers before curling them into a fist and tapping it against the side of his head.

Four come forward.

A moment later, he found Stubb and three others crouched close to him, radiating a mixture of anticipation and dread. Anticipation from the other three, and dread from Stubb, who was watching him with narrowed eyes that bespoke of a different type of fear.

Raising a paw to his head, he made a fist and rotated it in a circle.

With me.

As one they stood, slipping out from underneath the canopy of tree shade and gliding into the clearing. Before them, the two hundred meters of flat, open grass between themselves and the river was dominated by the looming palisade, which formed a rectangle attached to the steep bank of the River Moss. To the south, the forest line curved away out of Karth's sight, hiding the location where the otters and shrews would momentarily begin their attack.

Karth frowned. Regrettably, there wasn't much to hide behind as they crept. The only vegetation was grass that was too short to conceal their movement.

Altogether, the full moon was both a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing in that the shadows were long and bountiful, but a curse in that the shadows shifted continually – if slowly – leaving the hares with only short intervals before they had to move forward.

Flitting to the heaviest shadows he could find, Karth crouched down, trusting in his dappled fur and camouflaged uniform to hide him in plain sight while Stubb and the others pressed themselves into the grass beside him a few moments later. A few pawsteps away, another shadow wavered with only a thin strip of moonlight between it and their current position. Seizing the opportunity, they moved, dodging back and forth to the heaviest portions of shadows while clutching their sabres and climbing gear close to minimize the noise.

Karth's breathing became ragged as he ran half-crouched, his panting in rough symmetry with his four subordinates in the abnormally quiet clearing.

The moon slipped behind a thin row of cloud, casting the clearing into darkness. Frowning, Karth flicked a paw upward, taking advantage of the brief cover to dart forward, weaving back and forth in response to the breeze with his hares following. To an observer from the wall glancing over the clearing, they would seem like no more than shadows themselves, flowing smoothly from one patch of darkened earth to the next.

A half-minute later, the light returned as the moon emerged from the far side of the clouds, causing Karth to immediately sway and drop while glancing around for another shadow to which he could move. As he did so, he noted one of the bobbing torches rounding the corner of the wall. A flick of his ear warned the hares behind him of the approaching danger.

The patch of shadow hiding the four of them was little more than a sliver and quickly sliding past them. Desperately, Karth searched for a more substantial shadow to conceal them until the guard passed and cursed as he realized there was nothing but gleaming moonlight for at least ten paces any direction. Without moving his head, he glanced at the torch and felt his stomach drop. The guard had stopped.

The shadow was slipping away from them, threatening to reveal them to their watching enemy's eyes. Already Karth saw that Stubb's paw was half in, half out of the moonlight. Within seconds, it would glint unmistakably off the bright metal of his sword hilt…

Another cloud swallowed the moon, and Karth's breath exited in a swift and silent billow of relief. They waited a few seconds until the torch continued bobbing forward, and then escaped the unshaded spot before the moonlight returned.

Sweat beaded Karth's forehead and slowly trickled down his face, stinging his eyes as his body trembled. It was becoming difficult to control his movements and hide his increasing debilitation. His legs burned, his shoulders ached, and his head throbbed, making it harder to maintain his concentration. He struggled to focus on their destination, which seemed further away by the moment even though they were already halfway there.

Their target was the northwest corner of the wall, where the north side-wall intersected the west-facing gate-wall that fortified the palisade. There they would be able to creep up the wall with a far better chance of remaining unseen than if they charged it like a bunch of glory-infested leverets.

Three quarters of the way to the wall, Karth froze again, his eyes flickering up to where another bobbing torch paused in place. To his consternation, his body jutted out into the moonlight, a traitorous arm that could serve to doom them all if the sentry was particularly keen-eyed.

Karth didn't allow his body to move and prayed that the hares behind him remembered their training. All four of them fought their instincts, which demanded for them to break and run for the tantalizingly close cover of the wall. Karth gritted his teeth as raw panic flooded through him, forcing it down with a violent shove as he monitored his steady breathing. Even a hitch in breathing could be enough to draw attention from this short a range.

He was stone, unsteady and unremarkable. The trick was believing it.

Apparently, luck was with them. A few pounding heartbeats later, the torch moved again, bobbing slowly back and forth as its owner returned to its rounds.

The tension left him like water flooding past a broken dam as he rose back into his running crouch. He heard the hares behind him do the same thing, their paws producing faint puffs in the grass as they rose to follow.

The last three dozen paces were accomplished through a haze, and the next thing Karth remembered was forcing back the urge to break into a run for the final few steps. Instead, he continued his crouch right up to the wood, where he rose and pushed his back against the wall, brushing off dust and breathing heavily through his nose.

After giving himself a few moments to gather his wits, Karth passed his portion of the rope to Stubb, who was already busy tying the four ropes together.

The entire time Stubb worked, the creaking footsteps of the sentries were very much evident in the quiet surrounding the palisade. Karth closed his eyes for a moment, trying to count the individual pawsteps. Were there three or four of them? He had seen the single torch, but that didn't mean there weren't others. What he did know right now was that there were no torches on this side of the wall.

Stubb stood, pulling back Karth's attention as the private began to twirl the rope, the metal hook flashing in the darkness as it picked up speed. At its climax, Stubb stepped backward, his eyes narrowed as he sighted, grunted, and lunged forward to release his burden.

The rope shot away as if it had been released from a bow, flying upward until it disappeared into the darkness and landed on the palisade wall with a faint thunk. Stubb frowned as he tugged on the rope, once, twice, and thrice, putting a little more of his weight behind it each time. Finally, he pulled with all his might, visibly straining against the rope before releasing it with a grim nod.

Nodding his thanks, Karth held out a paw for a knife, which he took from Stubb and promptly placed in his mouth, clamping down on the cold metal as he began to climb the rope as quickly and quietly as he could.

Almost immediately into his climb, Karth's shoulders and back suddenly clenched, as if violently displeased at their current predicament. But it wasn't that particular ailment that disturbed him most – it was his head. What had once been a blistering headache now thumped steadily like a drum, and Karth found himself slowing as waves of dizziness threatened to overwhelm him.

Halfway up the rope, creaking footsteps alerted Karth to the fact that he was moments from being discovered. Karth didn't allow himself to freeze as he climbed. Forgoing stealth for speed, he scuttled to the top of the wall, his tiredness temporarily replaced by adrenaline.

He shoved a paw between two sharpened planks of palisade and hauled himself over them awkwardly, landing heavily and coming up in a roll in front of two startled vermin.

"What-" a rat croaked, his voice weak from disuse as Karth seized his dagger and leapt to his footpaws. Raising an arm to deflect the instinctive thrust of the stoat holding the torch, Karth stabbed forward, slicing his knife across the throats of the two vermin before whirling back and slamming his knife into the rat's chest, whose only indication of impending death was a shuddering gasp.

The two vermin collapsed, the rat falling limply to the floor while the stoat fell to his knees. Eyes wide, he gaped at Karth, blood welling in between the trembling paws clamped to his neck.

Seizing the unresisting stoat's head, Karth jerked, snapping the vermin's neck with an audible crack that sounded more akin to a broken branch.

Crouching, Karth jerked the handle of his knife, receiving a meaty squelch for his efforts. Turning to pick up the fallen torch, he heard a voice filtering from the other side of the wall.

"Scumnose, Grimfang, wot do ye think ye're doin' over there? Yew all right, mates?"

Karth grimaced; he had never been good at imitation.

"Fine," Karth bit out, lowering his voice and lacing it with a hint of a snarl as he picked up the torch and stood. "Slipped."

"All right, all right, don't bite me 'ead off," the vermin said testily, and Karth relaxed as the creaking pawsteps began once more.

Darting to the side and chancing a look over his shoulder, Karth saw that Stubb and the three other hares were making their ascent, with Stubb already near the top. He eyed the bodies and the blood pooling around them, the sight causing his eyes to twitch. He wanted to move and hide them, but the additional noise and effort required to do so could jeopardize the mission.

Scowling, Karth began to patrol, following the vermin's original path and allowing his steps to creak as he strode to where the palisade walkway ended. He would keep up the charade until his path realigned with the other sentries, or at least until some other opportunity presented itself, but Karth was doubtful of that.

A quiet thump announced Stubb's presence, and by the time Karth made it back to his entry point they were all waiting for him, each deliberately ignoring the bodies at their footpaws.

Grimly, Karth held up two fingers, pointed to his paw, and then pointed behind him.

Two pawsteps. Follow.

Silent movement greeted his command, but Karth ignored them as he locked onto his target: the flickering torch a few dozen paces ahead of him.

He lowered his free paw to the hilt of his sabre, rubbing a thumb down it as he considered his options. Should he try and take them from a distance? No, too risky: he might miss and that would be one less weapon to use. Try to sneak past them? No, their paths would eventually intersect as somebeast would still need to hold the torch and prolong the facade.

Karth gritted his teeth. "This will be unpleasant," he thought bitterly as he lowered his torch as much as he could without looking suspicious. Even an additional second before discovery could be crucial.

The colonel's sabre glimmered in the pale moonlight as he eased it out of his sheath, his action mirrored by the other three hares.

Almost against his own will, Karth felt his head turn to the northeast, looking down into Barkclaw's camp for the first time.

More than four score tents that looked large enough to house ten or so vermin ringed the camp, set up close to the palisade walls. One larger tent with a deep awning dominated the far eastern edge of the camp, facing the entrance in the opposite wall. Barkclaw's tent. That was surely where Maia would be, Karth betted grimly.

Between the tents was an open courtyard large enough for some five score vermin to easily gather, but right now it was empty.

"No, not quite empty," Karth thought, leaning forward as he saw movement in front of Barkclaw's tent.

Cocking his head and squinting, he made out a sight that caused his blood to boil and his aching limbs to find new strength.

A dozen vermin, all armed, formed a ring around a huddled group of small, shivering forms that he knew could be nothing but Redwall's kidnapped Dibbuns.

Karth couldn't keep back the snarl as his gaze returned to the vermin sentries, who were now less than two dozen paces away. He lifted a finger and tapped it against his leg twice, making sure the action was visible in the fading torchlight.

The hares behind him moved a pace up, now lurking on the very edges of the torchlight. He could make out five creatures on the wall top by the light their leader held. Tightening his grip on his sabre and ignoring his pulsating head, he slipped the weapon to his side.

It was time to finish this.

So far, Karth's plan was going as well as could be expected.

Edgar soared high above the soon-to-be-battlefield a quarter mile west of Barkclaw's camp, noting distinctive markers as the forces of Mossflower gathered into ranks below him.

The area Karth had chosen to stage the main battle wasn't particularly noteworthy, but it was the highest ground in the area, just atop the River Moss valley. Here the trees thinned, making just enough room to fit about two and a half score creatures in a line before they reached the thicker edges of Mossflower Forest. The forest itself was dark, the full moon doing little to illuminate its greenery. The hope was that when Karth returned with Dibbuns, hares, and Maia in tow, any surviving woodlanders would be able to quickly melt back into the forest and lose the vermin. "But," Edgar reflected darkly, "right now the woods could just as easily conceal their foes."

As far as Edgar could see, the only thing the woodlanders had on their side was the fact that they didn't have to win the battle. They just had to survive.

That task was going to be hard enough just in and of itself, however.

The first part of the plan was to draw Barkclaw's forces out of his fortification, leaving as little opposition between Karth and the Dibbuns as possible. The Skipper of Woodland Otters and Log-a-Log Bluetail had sent out a small regiment of their creatures to complete this task already, a large enough force to get the vermins' attention but small enough to leave plenty behind to surprise the vermin when they arrived. Their instructions were to harry the vermin with guerrilla tactics, luring them gradually back to the battlefield and away from the camp. The most important feature of Karth's chosen ground was the fact that from the clearing, Barkclaw's camp was completely hidden from view and none of the vermin engaging the woodlanders would have any idea what was happening inside the palisade until it was hopefully too late.

If Skipper and Bluetail's regiment were not enough to drain the vermin encampment, Nurzon and his squirrels had been instructed to attack the south side of the palisade, drawing the attention of any remaining guards as Karth and his hares slipped over the north wall.

Between the two forces, Edgar hoped it would be enough. He didn't know what he would do if it wasn't.

Shaking his head, Edgar turned, sweeping his night-visioned gaze over the area. Anytime now, the first of the vermin should come into view… And then the Battle for Mossflower would truly begin.

The amount of forces Barkclaw had at his command, even if he only sent half his vermin, would sorely outnumber what the otters and shrews could muster, which was only two and a half score creatures. It was terrible odds, but Edgar knew better than most creatures what desperation could force a creature to accomplish. And the woodlanders were nothing if not desperate.

As his gaze swept down the forest slope in the direction of Barkclaw's camp, something he had not seen previously caught his sharp eyes. Flapping closer, he saw that a rickety barricade cobbled together with leafy branches squatted less than a hundred meters from the clearing. The feeble creation looked as though a stiff wind could blow it over.

"Perhaps I should fly over it and flap my wings."

Edgar snorted derisively. Yes, and then he would huff, and he would puff, and he would flap his wings at the ramshackle structure and it would fall over, just like in the old nursery rhyme.

It looked like a hunting blind more than anything else, and a poorly made one at that. Edgar figured that made sense – the vermin had been here for several months now, feeding a sizable force, and would have had plenty of time to construct snares and blinds. All the same, something about the shabby structure's presence caused Edgar to shiver with unease.

"Karth's plan is half-baked at best. We'll be lucky if it doesn't start cracking at the seams before we're a quarter of the way through."

Approaching shouts caused Edgar to start mid-flap, making the barn owl lose a few meters in altitude before he leveled off and glanced downward.

The advance force of otters and shrews came running up the slope through the trees, pausing only briefly to throw javelins and sling stones at their pursuers. The tree cover made it difficult to tell, but there were easily four score vermin crashing through the undergrowth behind them, howling in anger and shouting for vengeance. Upon reaching their compatriots in the clearing, the otters and shrews abruptly pivoted and faced their oncoming foes.

The vermin halted at the edge of the clearing upon seeing that the number of the woodlanders had just doubled. They hesitated just under the cover of the trees, looking to the creature who seemed to be in charge, a ferret with a long poleaxe.

On both sides of the clearing, there were now two groups of creatures facing off against each other. The woodlanders of Mossflower had a somewhat convincing double of Karth with her back to the enemy, shouting some last-minute encouragement to the otters and shrews.

"For freedom! For Mossflower! For Redwall!" Karth's double shouted as she drew her sabre, provoking another roar from the crowd.

"To battle! To victory!" Each word was punctuated by a jab from the double and by a massed shout from the otters and shrews.

The double turned, still holding her sabre aloft as she began to march toward the vermin soldiers, who were still loitering at the tree line.

Throughout all this, Edgar picked out creatures whom he knew, liked, and loved. "Goodbye," Edgar thought sadly, his eyes welling with tears as he saw the Woodland Skipper of Otters step out from the massed row of river warriors, his scarred face grimly set, and Log-a-Log Bluetail, a shrew whose malformed footpaw had never held him back.

They were brave and true creatures, all willing to lay down their lives for an honorable cause that they believed in.

Edgar's talons clenched tightly, like whenever he dove in to snatch a live target off the ground.

"If anybeast survives this, I'll be ecstatic," he whispered, and a chill racked him when he realized the truth behind his words. They were indeed quite capable, but they were outnumbered and potentially outthought.

"Karth, you had better get in and out of that fortress as quickly as an autumn wind."

As the Mossflower forces charged forward with a rain of otter javelins, shrew sling shots, and shouted battle cries, the vermin quickly formed ranks, their panicked shouts audible even through the tumultuous noise of the woodlanders. Edgar felt a thrill at the panic he heard, but for some reason the sense of uneasiness still resided deep within his stomach.

The ferret captain rallied his troops and the vermin lifted a row of shields and gave way slightly to counteract the brutal impact of the woodlander charge. The otters slammed into them first, jabbing double-ended javelins with deadly accuracy into the chinks between shields and armor. As the vermin line broke under the fierce onslaught, the shrews rushed in, maiming and killing their larger adversaries with short rapiers.

At the sight of the blood quickly turning the ground a murky red, Edgar felt his predatory instincts strain within him, demanding him to immediately dive down and add his talons and beak to the fray. However, his task was not to fight, unless the battle was going so poorly that the plan would fail without his aid. Turning his focus to the task at hand, he swept back and forth over the skirmish, watching for pincer movements, reinforcements, or any other tactics the vermin might try to win.

"What are they doing?" Edgar thought worriedly. The vermin had still not recovered from the initial charge, despite their superior numbers. In fact, they had not yet even attempted to go on the offensive. As a result, the wall of otters and the quick strikes of the shrews were pushing the vermin steadily backwards. He flew down lower for a closer look, putting himself in line with the forest fringe. "What are they waiting for?"

Step by step, the woodlanders were pushing the vermin back down the hill and deeper into the trees. Edgar frowned as he saw that the vermin were nearly back to the blind-barricade. Perhaps they were planning to take cover behind the ramshackle structure…

The barn owl's uneasiness deepened, and a glimmer of an idea sprouted in his mind. Just as Edgar prepared to fly down to intervene, he spotted a fast-moving grey flash his peripheral, causing him veer around in mid-air.

The night was quiet, although Splitface knew that would soon change.

"Where are those damnable squirrels?" he thought sourly, tapping the pommel of his cutlass. The squirrels should have been here by now, as the position afforded by these trees overhanging the south side of Barkclaw's camp was something that any half-capable attacking commander would feel required to exploit.

Splitface sneered derisively as he took inventory of his chosen followers. Ripear and Wormclaw, two fellow weasels, were lying prone in the foliage, clutching the firestarters and awaiting his signal. Darkeye, his second, grinned at him as he and the rest of the squadron knelt in the surrounding foliage, holding weapons, bows, and shields as they waited for their honored 'guests' to arrive.

The weasel smiled at the thought of the hell that awaited them.

"No," Barkclaw growled, slamming an open paw on the table in frustration. "I will not allow you to use fire against the squirrels. It's too dangerous."

It was less than twelve hours before the battle, and Splitface viciously quelled the urge to snarl at his 'Warlord.' Instead, he smiled mockingly, knowing that the action would infuriate the fox.

"Can you repeat what I may have just heard?" Splitface said softly as he leaned forward in his chair. "Did you just state that there would be no fire used in the battle?"

Barkclaw's paw quivered in rage as he stood, his tail swishing behind him as he walked around his desk to stand in front of Splitface, whose fixed smile was beginning to pain his facial wounds.

"Unless you wish to squabble over ashes, we will not be lighting large-scale fires in Mossflower Woods," Barkclaw hissed. "Wood burns, as you may have oh-so-cunningly realized. It doesn't matter that the woods are currently wet; given enough time and coaxing, Mossflower will burn."

Splitface didn't bother to hide his sneer. "Are you suggesting that I cannot control the fires that I set?" the weasel said, doing his best to appear nonchalant in the face of Barkclaw's rage.

Barkclaw raised his ruined paw. He stared at it for a long moment before he looked back up at Splitface. "If the fire gets out of control, I will skin you alive with these claws," Barkclaw hissed, jabbing the claws into Splitface's middle before retracting them, leaving four small spots of blood that slowly oozed down his front.

The captain of Barkclaw the Warlord's armies swallowed hard, before nodding once. Now was not the time to infuriate Barkclaw further, before he was ready to make his move.

"Good," Barkclaw said, grinning cruelly at Splitface's visible discomfort and impotent rage. "Dismissed."

Despite the angry feelings that the memory provoked, Splitface felt calm and ready, although dismissing the nervous excitement was much harder than usual. "Their pitiful screams will be delightful," Splitface thought savagely as he leaned against the broad bole of a tree, his naturally patched fur blending into the moon-streaked shadows. After a period of false starts and failure, his plans were finally moving forward accordingly; he only had to be patient.

So, when Barkclaw had accepted Splitface's request – with the stipulation of him launching the attack at a specific moment of time and at a specific place – he had waved it off. He would follow the orders and complete them, as he had always done. What could the squirrels possibly do to him?

He knew where they would be attacking - although the way that Barkclaw had acquired that information made Splitface suspicious. He knew the obnoxious little treehoppers would resort to the same strategy they always did: keeping to the tree tops and using their slim bows. Idiotic creatures. They would think themselves well out of his range, as the vermin possessed no bows or spears that could punch upward through the thick undergrowth of the old trees. Splitface almost wriggled with glee at the thought. He could hardly wait to see the looks on their faces when they found out that this time that would not be the case.

And it wasn't just any idiotic little squirrel he was about to teach a lesson. It was Nurzon. The mighty "Wild King" Nurzon.

Many who had sworn to follow him to Hellgates and back looked visibly reluctant, while others had begged him to reconsider. "'E knows where we all sleep, the Wild King does," a rat had mumbled to a stoat when they had thought he wasn't listening. "'Is arrows never miss, an' 'is eyes glow a pale yellow when they look upon yeh. 'E's made a deal with 'ellgates to kill every vermin 'e can find, an' soon 'e will find us, mark me words: we're all walkin' deadbeasts!"

Splitface almost snorted at that particular memory. Yes, he had indeed begun to reconsider a few things… and when they had seen his contemplative expression they had fallen to their knees and had begged for mercy.

He had granted it – he did need every able-bodied creature he could get – but he had also sent them a message that wouldn't be forgotten anytime soon.

"Oh, I will give you mercy, friends. Providing you live through this attack, all will be forgiven as if it had never even occurred."

They had seemed relieved at that, the fools. Well, they wouldn't be relieved when they discovered they would be leading the attack after he dealt with Nurzon.

Almost directly above Splitface, a nearly imperceptible crack sounded, and a tiny branch half the length of his paw fell beside him.

Making sure his movements were slow and absolutely silent, Splitface nudged the grey-haired rat who was kneeling beside him in the bush they shared, a warning to keep silent etched upon his mutilated face.

"Now," Splitface mouthed, before he drew his firestarter and flint and turned to the already marked spot on the tree.

There was a series of crisp snaps as Splitface fumbled with striking the already doused wood aflame. Already, he could smell the thick stench of alcohol drifting through his nostrils. Splitface's paws shook as he worked, betraying his eagerness. He could feel his chest rise and lower in shallow pants as he continued to strike the wood. Finally, after a particularly forceful snap, open flame appeared, and a wide grin crept across his face.

The surrounding trees – already doused with alcohol – went ablaze. Shrieks of alarm broke out above them, causing Splitface to grin as he rose from his position and leapt back from the smoking bush that had concealed him.

All around him, red, white, and orange danced, all mixed with the cacophonous cries of the squirrels, who found themselves trapped in a huge circle of alight trees. They were hemmed in, with only two ways to go: down into his waiting paws or back through the roaring flames.

"Fall back with the King! –" came the panicked shout of a nearby squirrel. His call was cut off with an urk! as he fell, skewered by a thrown spear.

Splitface started laughing then, although the noise of the surrounding flames meant that even he barely heard it. It didn't matter though, as the show was only just beginning.

Squirrels began to rapidly fall to the ground, causing Splitface to nearly double over in mirth. Some slipped, looks of distressed confusion on their faces as they slammed into the ground while others jumped, their expressions grim in bleak acceptance as they tumbled to their deaths, preferring the quick end of sword and spear points to the long agony of burning. Their faces were raw masks of horror, many singed black from the sudden explosive power of the alcohol.

Despite himself, Splitface felt a lump of disappointment curl within his chest even as he laughed. These were the fearsome freedom fighters that his soldiers feared above all others? The ones who knew where they slept and were sent by Hellgates itself? "They don't know which way is up or down!" Splitface choked out, his laughter taking a derisive quality as smoke wafted through his vision.

Peering through the smoke past the dead with watery eyes, Splitface's mirth dissipated. A small knot of squirrels charged the band of fire, holding hardened bark shields to protect them from the eagerly licking flames as they burst through in a shower of sparks. "Get them!" Splitface bellowed, but before his archers could respond, they hurtled through the tree tops, heading back north. Before they vanished, a single larger squirrel in the middle glanced backwards, his pale-green eyes glowing furiously in the moonlight before he followed.

Splitface cursed, but then stopped as he considered his situation. So, a few had escaped, with King Nurzon among them. It was regrettable, but Nurzon had been satisfactorily reduced to a singed figurehead, his capability of waging war destroyed. Splitface had accomplished his first part of Barkclaw's plan.

"He will receive his due," Splitface thought acidly, before sighing in disappointment as he turned away from the sight of the surviving squirrels being massacred, the odd chuckle still escaping his malformed grin.

With the squirrels now gone, Splitface turned to the northwest, where a mixture of his and Barkclaw's faithful were holding the barricade. Mostly Barkclaw's now. His pretty speech had most likely swayed any neutrals or those not firmly entrenched in his camp, but he wasn't worried.

Splitface smirked. It would all be his, in the end. This temporary setback would be negated soon enough.

His mood buoyed by that thought, he turned back around to see one of the few surviving squirrels struggling weakly against Ripear and Wormclaw. Almost all the fur at the crest of his tail had burned off and what remained of his brush was smoking, reeking of burnt fur. The two weasels were prodding him with the tips of their spears, enjoying his impotent fury.

The squirrel looked up and saw Splitface approaching. He bared his teeth. "You did this!" he screamed, horrified rage boiling in his eyes. "Do you have any idea what you've done, vermin?"

Splitface smiled coolly. "I'm fairly sure I've just won, squirrel."

The squirrel ignored his jibe. "You reckless, mutilated fool. You would endanger all Mossflower to defeat us. This entire forest could burn to the ground because of your stupidity!" His breaths came out in harsh pants before he narrowed his eyes, as if unable to believe Splitface's sneering expression. "No sane or honorable creature fights with fire," the squirrel whispered.

Splitface slid forward smoothly, taking Wormclaw's spear and slamming it through the squirrel's neck. Pulling it free with a quick jerk, he spat on the dead creature's twitching body. "Honor shackles the weak," Splitface hissed, tossing the spear aside. "Let Mossflower burn; I will rule over whatever remains."

And he would, too. They would all burn, just as he once burnt.

"Enough sport!" Splitface bellowed as he whirled away from the squirrel, grimacing at how loud he had to be to project himself over the bellowing flames.

He didn't hear the hoarse screams of the surviving squirrels or watch them as they were butchered, but he didn't have to. He had a good imagination, and he had spent plenty of time imagining the outcome of this battle.

It would be glorious – and it would be his.

Shortly after his call, nearly all his two-score had returned, splattered with gore and most of them grinning like buffoons.

"We lost Dirtclaw and Mangenose," somebeast muttered behind him, and Splitface turned to view the nervous creature who had no doubt been 'volunteered' to tell him his information.

"It does not matter," Splitface said, shifting around to view his force arrayed in front of him in a half circle.

"The squirrels have been defeated, and we will now join our comrades to crush the otters and shrews. Follow me!"

The vermin cheered, and Splitface turned back to the northwest.

Victory would be glorious – and it would be his. Barkclaw would live to regret giving his pretty speech, and he would make sure Barkclaw received the message… personally.

Snarlfang sighed in boredom as he paced across the palisade, simultaneously hoping for and dreading the thought of seeing a hare or any other woodlander approach him. Mostly dreading.

He had never liked fighting - it always seemed such a waste to the rat. Who was he, to kill another living creature? He would defend himself, of course, but fighting in Barkclaw's army - or any army really, had never been something he imagined himself doing.

"To take a life is to remake a portion of the world in your own image," Grandmother's voice whispered. Snarlfang shook his head sadly. Even in death, she always knew. "How could she not?" the rat thought with a sad smile. "She's Grandmother."

Looking out into the night, Snarlfang glanced at the nearest tree he could decipher in the darkness. Birch. "Chew the bark, boil the leaves, and you'll be right as rain." How many times had he heard that silly little song whilst growing up?

"Not anymore," Snarlfang thought, running a paw along the rough edges of the palisade. "Elm. Good for building."He'd been pleased to be assigned on the project a half-moon back. When he mentioned that he had been a woodcarver – amongst other things – he was given command of his own work crew.

It had been good, hard work, the kind that kept his blood flowing and made him feel truly alive. Some creatures turned their noses up at such labor, but Snarlfang had never understood such an attitude. He had always worked - his life was one filled with hard labor. How was that a bad thing?

The plague had swept away his parents when he was twelve seasons old, leaving him with increasingly faded memories of what had once been. Sometimes, he wondered what it would have been like, what they would have been like, but in truth, he had been too young to truly miss them.

Grandmother had always encouraged him to focus on what he had, anyway, not on what he could have had. She had always been good at that.

Snarlfang breathed in, closing his eyes. Even now, he could smell the whortleberry pie cooling on the windowsill, or the reassuring skrish, skrish, skrish of his chisel in wood. He remembered the wonderful, refreshing pop in his spine when he stretched after hunching over a project for hours. Even now, he could see Grandmother's proud smile when he showed her a new table, footstool, or bedrest he'd made for her.

"Yew all right, mate?" Ragtail whispered from a few paces behind him, sounding worried. Snarlfang opened his eyes, turned his head to the stoat – his closest friend – and smiled.

"Right as rain," he said softly, nodding his appreciation to the stoat before turning back toward Mossflower Forest and letting his thoughts take hold of him again.

She quickly became not just his Grandmother, but the Grandmother for everybeast who still remained in the village after the plague. She was the one he and the rest of the young ones had gone to for treats, for stories, or just for companionship. She had always been there to lend an ear, always ready to listen to their insignificant problems as if they were of vital importance, always making a difference by just being there for them.

They all had needed her. The wounded, the old, the sick, the young, they all went to her, and all received some form of aid. When asked why, she just shrugged and kept working on her patient. "Somebeast has to," she had said, and her words would stick with Snarlfang until his dying day. He would do what had to be done for himself and his people, and he would keep at it until he no longer could.

"D'yeh 'ear that?" Ragtail whispered, the words tumbling nervously from his mouth.

Snarlfang froze, leaning forward and closing his eyes as he listened closely. Ragtail was often clumsy and reckless, but his hearing was well-regarded as second to none.

Clump clump.

They were no longer alone on the walltop.

Only four seasons ago, Snarlfang had met the stoat who would become his best friend. Ragtail had gushed to him how Dusktail, a fox, was looking to save their vermin community from extinction. He was looking for builders, woodworkers, anybeast willing to lend a paw to make his father's dream of freedom a reality. It was just the sort of thing that Grandmother would have wanted for him and his skills.

But somewhere along the line, things had changed. It had been slow at first, creeping insidiously into their lives like mist creeping through the crack of a door. But in the end, it had led to one thing: war.

Dusktail – Barkclaw, now – had made it clear that there was a monster they had to slay for their dream to be realized. He wasn't sure what Grandmother would make of such a claim, that war was inevitable, but he did know that she'd want him to help his friends at whatever personal cost. He'd rather that cost was laboring at his woodworking from dawn to dusk, but he'd always been a hard worker with any task that needed doing.

All around him, fellow watchbeasts drew swords and daggers and hefted spears and shields. Snarlfang turned to see Ragtail and four others standing and watching.

Suddenly, Snarlfang felt cold fear course down his neck and back. He didn't want to fight, he didn't want to kill, and he didn't want to lead himself and five other creatures to their deaths.

"Be the creature you want to be, Snarlfang."

Snarlfang squared his shoulders. He would do what he had to, as he always tried to do.

"Should we sound the alarm?" Ragtail murmured, glancing around uneasily, as if the hares would leap out from the darkness at any point in time, like a creature from one of Grandmother's ghost stories.

Snarlfang turned, looking at the five loyal, brave creatures. Good creatures, all of them.

Resisting the urge to shake his head, Snarlfang moved his gaze to his best friend's. "Ragtail, go to Barkclaw and tell him that the Long Patrol has arrived."

Ragtail's mouth dropped. "Snarlfang -"

"Go!" Snarlfang snapped. Ragtail didn't deserve this fate, and his eyesight made him the best bet for escaping any other creatures who might be sneaking up behind them.

The stoat's eyes were wet as he nodded his head in acceptance. He turned to leave, but hesitated, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to say goodbye. Instead, Ragtail clasped Snarlfang on the shoulder, trying and failing to speak as his emotions overwhelmed him.

"Farewell," Snarlfang wanted to say, but he said nothing. Instead, he jerked his head toward the stairs.

"Go," he said softly.

As he watched Ragtail disappear into the shadows, Snarlfang breathed deeply, trying to calm his racing heart and shivering paws. He failed.

"Let's move," Snarlfang said. He was proud that his voice didn't tremble as the assembled creatures waited on him to move.

They went.

Karth had expected a shout of warning as he strode closer to the vermin. He held his torch as far out as he could and as low as possible without arousing suspicion, but he knew there was only so long they'd be able to keep up their pretense. Still, the longer he could capitalize on doubt and confusion, the better.

The torchlight in his eyes was rendering him all but blind. A sudden leathery rasp up ahead made him halt for a moment, suspicion flooding through him.

He didn't say anything; he didn't have to.

"Even when you think your cover is blown, keep going until you know for certain."

But it was those moments of indecision that he hated. Was he discovered, or was he not? That was the question, one which he didn't know the answer to.

They were close now, close enough that he could see the vermin in far more detail, with one detail standing out.

Their blades were drawn.

Karth frowned. "They know, and they haven't called the alarm?" It took a few moments for clarity to strike, and when it did, his frown deepened.

"They are delaying me," Karth thought with a burst of panic. The Long Patrol was to be the trump card. If he was to hear that they were attacking…

As if on cue, there was a sudden flare to the south, right from where Nurzon and his squirrels would be waiting.

Karth ducked instinctively at the violent light, which suddenly flooded the palisade with a bloody glow. He cursed to himself silently but resisted the temptation to whip his head around towards the conflagration. There was nothing he could do to help Nurzon if something had gone wrong. They were each on their own, and he had his own mission to complete.

He narrowed his eyes at a rat with an elongated tooth, whose stony expression was briefly lit by the sudden burst of flame. His face was mirrored by his four companions, each looking as determined as the next, though their stiff posture and shaking paws belied their nerves.

"They know," Karth thought furiously. "And they are prepared to die in order to delay me!"

He burst into a sprint, his blade gleaming in the firelight as he leveled it at the rat and his four companions. Behind him, Karth heard his own hares burst up from their crouches, with a deadly jangle of drawn weapons and thud thuds of racing paws.

There were no shouts or screams, just muffled thumps of footpaws on wood as the two groups sped toward each other. Karth barreled forward, panting heavily as he lifted his sabre over his head then leveling it downward like a spear.

He couldn't see much of his foes – bursts of colored coats of grey, white, and brown, mixed with flickering eyes narrowed in hatred or fear, sometimes both. It was enough.

In the afterglow of the ominous bonfire and just as the two sides collided, Karth lunged, his lips locked in a silent snarl as his blade punctured the leader's skull. He felt a flicker of amusement as the rat's eyes widened, then froze.

Another creature charged into his peripheral, but before Karth could react, his foe was slain, killed by a grim-faced Stubb.

Sweat beaded down Karth's forehead and into his eyes, making him blink as he blocked a surprisingly powerful spear thrust. Shaking from exertion, he stepped backward, his footpaw stepping into a pool of blood. Slipping, he stumbled forward ungainly.

It was all Karth could to do to avoid disembowelment. Slapping a rat's sword aside weakly, Karth could still not avoid the blade that sliced painfully across his side. "That should have killed me,"Karth thought angrily. If these had been actual soldiers, it would have.

Heaving mightily, he forced the rat to stagger backward. Karth's lips twitched upward, but the rat's visage remained stony as he took a step back and renewed his stance. The Colonel took a step forward and raised his own blade in response.

The rat moved, but Karth was faster. Ignoring the stinging pain of his side and his other aches and wounds, Karth swung, gritting his teeth as he put the entirety of his strength behind it.

All was still. Karth found himself bent double, panting heavily as he collected himself.

Bile rose up his throat and his head pounded like an anvil. His body shook, and it was all he could do to remain standing. When the world stopped spinning, he turned around to assess his hares.

Of the five, there were four left, with one dead and another lightly wounded. Stubb hadn't received a scratch, which didn't surprise Karth in the slightest. While his loyalty might not be ironclad, his skill in battle could not be denied.

"You all have done well tonight," Karth said slowly, "but I must ask for much more of you before the night is over."

They all nodded, standing ramrod straight at attention. Karth forced a grimace of a smile to show his appreciation. "Space yourselves out irregularly and move to where we first summited the wall. We must hold this wall at all costs until our fellow hares join us, which will greatly depend on our abilities of deception."

The hares saluted and then scattered, and Karth leaned back against the wall again. He was so tired, and the night had only just begun. He wanted nothing more than to rest, but the thought of surrender caused Karth to snarl into the darkness.

"I'll hold," he thought viciously as Barkclaw's sneering face appeared in his mind. "I'll have to."

Edgar turned towards the grey flash, quizzicalness giving way to pain and horror as an arrow punctured his shoulder, the projectile forcing its way deep into the bone.

"I've been shot," Edgar thought, the words forming in his mind haphazardly as his body abruptly shuddered, his wing numb and rigid. Disbelievingly, he flapped his wings, the shocked part of his mind unable to process his injury and trying to spur his body on as normal.

Immediately, Edgar's right wing protested, and when he tried to maintain his altitude, the piercing jolts caused the barn owl to screech. His previously relaxed flaps became desperate and erratic as he struggled to stay in the air. Below him, the sounds of raging battle seemed distant and fuzzy, as if he'd suddenly been plunged underwater.

The barn owl turned his head nearly three hundred and sixty degrees, looking in vain for the injury even as he plummeted. Foliage whipped at his body, lacerating feathers and battering his wings. The roar of combat popped painfully back into focus as he crashed through the understory… and realized he was meters away from impaling himself on top of waving pikes, spears, and javelins.

Edgar heaved with all his strength, unable to prevent another cry of pain as he forced his injured wing to cooperate. Each flap felt as though liquid fire was being pumped through his veins, but Edgar still pushed himself, knowing that to give up now was to doom scores of others, including the entirely of Redwall Abbey.

Below, there was a great cry and heave from the woodlanders, as the combined might of the otters and shrews forced the vermin to back past the makeshift barrier. Enemy arrows fell from the treetops surrounding them, tapering off when they began to hit just as many vermin as woodlanders.

"Thank the seasons that I wasn't hit again."

It was a fleeting thought, but one rooted in truth – while he didn't much care for his own wellbeing, Redwall Abbey would have to be told what occurred. Right now, he was an observer, a looming specter made feeble by the titanic weight of the struggle occurring directly before his eyes. He had never felt so helpless.

Shrugging off his moment of introspection, Edgar forced himself to lift higher, his wings pumping like a bellows from the effort. Clashing swords and pitched screams pounded through the barn owl as he positioned himself in a tree on the western edge of the warring combatants, observing but not interfering. All he needed was to be shot again. Fate was a smug and irreverent creature, and it was only a matter of time before everybeast was forced to kneel before her.

Blearily, Edgar blinked, roughly shaking his head in a mixture of fear and anger at his own encroaching weakness, like an otter clearing his coat of water. He redirected his gaze back to the barrier… and almost dropped from the tree in astonishment.

Somehow, the vermin had been nearly pushed back over the barrier, with the otters' long pikes providing the suggestion and the shrews' swords delivering the demand. It was everything that they had hoped for. Perhaps -

"LOOK OUT!" Skipper's voice roared above the fighting, and before Edgar could react, his entire world became a mixture of red, orange, and white as he was hurled backward, his body crumpling to the ground and rolling uncontrollably before it came to a stop beside what felt like a tree. Something had snapped in his shoulder as well, but Edgar couldn't remember what it could have been.

Immediately, Edgar tried to rise, his singed armor creaking and his entire body screaming in protest. Slowly, he raised his head, the ringing in his ears finally resolving into something more decipherable while his nostrils clogged with an overwhelming stench of charring.

There were screams, Edgar noted vaguely, unfettered and unadulterated screams coming from all around him. They were loud and keening wails, some gurgling, while others were hacking yelps. Sizzled flesh and burnt wood created a vile miasma, a raw mixture that only served to compound Edgar's confusion.

"What just happened?"

Almost as soon as the thoughts registered, realization shaped itself into meaning. Edgar stirred weakly, his pupils dilating as the true horror of what had just occurred formed rapidly in his mind. However, before he could do anything else, unconsciousness seized him in its cold embrace, and Edgar entered unknowing perpetuity.

Edgar's head jerked upward, his breathing coming ragged and his body so hot it felt fully aflame. All over, jagged stabs of pain made Edgar cry out, but what should have been a cry of anguish emerged from his beak as a low rasp.

He felt as light as a plume, but when he tried to move his body, all he could manage were a few uncoordinated twitches. Slowly, he gritted his beak and lifted his head further, feeling as though rocks weighed him down. While the action provoked an involuntary moan, he forced himself to glance around his immediate area, trying to make sense of his situation. Why was he on the ground? What had he been doing prior? Where was he?

Through sheer will, the barn owl shifted his body further, causing rivulets of pain to course throughout his body, the agony centered on his shoulder. Glancing downward, Edgar saw that he was wearing armor, which made the owl blink in confusion. Ignoring the obvious question of why he was wearing armor, he narrowed his gaze and abruptly focused on the reason for his pain: a snapped arrow.

"They dare?" Edgar hissed, his beak twisting into a snarl. "They will pay," he whispered, rage giving him renewed strength as he slowly leaned downward, opening his beak incrementally before seizing the shaft and pulling upward with all his might.

Edgar's talons scrabbled in the earth as he screamed, tearing out gouges on grass and dirt while his body flailed and his wings twitched, multiplying his pain further. Groaning hoarsely, it was all he could do to remain conscious.

At last, he let his head softly fall backward, allowing it to rest against the trunk of a tree as he closed his eyes, his breathing accelerating into breathless wheezes as the pain crescendoed. His head pounded like a parliament's wingbeats and his entire body throbbed in constant agony, but even through that, Edgar found the weight of sanity slowly beginning to return to him.

Karth. Stubb. Maia. The woodlanders. Battle.

Edgar surged upward, ignoring his body's protests. Was he too late? Had they won? Had they lost?

His breaths came in shuddering gasps as he felt the weight of the world crash into him. Were they all dead? Who could survive such a blast?

He shifted a talon, and the ensuing wave of pain provoked another groan and more concerns. Right now, he could barely even move, and yet he was supposed to fly back to Redwall to warn them? How was he supposed to accomplish a task of this magnitude? It wasn't until tears slid out of his mask that Edgar realized he was weeping, and for a moment he fell upon it, letting it envelop him like a rising thermal.

But these were not warm winds. No, he felt cold, and he twitched as a sudden chill swept over him. His vision swam, and the branches and leaves above his head crisscrossed over one another in a rough symmetry.

The Dark Forest called to him, and Edgar found himself tempted to answer it. For a moment, he faced his fledgling mortality, an abstraction which hovered before him like an endless abyss, dark and silent. It wasn't foreboding, but it wasn't welcoming either. It was his own decision to fold in his wings… or to keep on fighting.

It was silent all around him, too silent, deathly silent. The stink of char and smoke still permeated the air, lacing it with the very smell of defeat. Edgar didn't need to lift his head to know who had won the battle. Karth's plan had failed.

He snarled, flaring out his wings and glorying in the pain. They were all dead, for all he knew, and while the searing pain threatened to force him back to unconsciousness and made his vision swirl with darkness once again, it also made him feel alive.

The barn owl flapped his wings once, hissing in discomfort as he stumbled, almost falling flat on his face. Shaking his head loosely, he flapped his wings once, grimacing as he repeated the action twice, thrice, and by the fourth flap he slowly lifted himself off the ground, his beak opened wide in a silent scream of agony as he propelled himself upward.

To his satisfaction, he continued to rise, gliding above the now-devastated field of battle, which he could see in all its gory misery. Below him, blackened trees, undergrowth, and corpses surrounded the obliterated barricade that had contained whatever explosive material Barkclaw had devised. At its center lay Skipper, two broken spears still clutched like daggers in his paws, surrounded by six vermin he had taken down before the blast claimed his life. A few paces away, Edgar spotted Log-a-Log Bluetail's body, which was recognizable only by his twisted footpaw, the rest of his body so badly burned that Edgar found himself hoping desperately that he had felt no pain.

And all around them, the dead from both sides lay scattered and broken, as if absentmindedly tossed aside by an uncaring paw. Some were as burnt as Log-a-Log Bluetail and left as near unrecognizable husks, while on some Edgar could clearly see the fear and pain pressed into their features, along with the terror that not even the blast could fully envelop and burn.

"Such a waste," Edgar whispered, dipping his head mournfully. All of this, and for what? Freedom? Revenge? Both?

"Nothing but fuel for a madcreature's dreams," he thought bitterly.

There was absolutely nothing left for him to achieve here. His only chance of redemption lay in Redwall Abbey.

Sickened, Edgar turned himself westward, to Redwall. They had to be warned of what was coming, and if he had to drag his broken body to the Abbey's gates, then so be it.

Almost against his will, Edgar's gaze shifted to regard the palisade which Karth was now undoubtedly assaulting, if he had not already been defeated as well. "Doomed," Edgar thought grimly. "We were so blind, and yet we thought we could see."

Edgar only hoped their sacrifices would not be in vain. He wouldn't let them be. He would fly to Redwall or die in the attempt.

There was nothing else he could do.

The fire behind her was warm. Too warm. Maia shook her head as much as her constraints would allow, but to her discomfort she only received the beginnings of a pounding headache in response. The thick cloth draped over her entire body was stifling; it was hard enough to breathe with the foul-tasting gag, but the addition of the air trapped underneath the black cloth made her feel as though she was struggling to drag in each breath. The enclosed space brought forth a constant level of panic that lurked within her chest, threatening to consume her mind the moment she let down her guard.

"At least that will keep me awake," Maia thought bitterly, thankful for her discomfort at least in the face of her own bone-weary tiredness. Despite her weakness, her gaze quickly found its way back to the horrific sight a few dozen paces in front of her.

The abducted young ones were cowering behind a dozen soldiers with grim faces and drawn weapons. They stood silently, their silhouettes dancing in the firelight as they faced the palisade wall, waiting for Karth to arrive.

The thought of what awaited Karth and his loyal hares made Maia's stomach roil, but what truly horrified her was the bargain she had made with Barkclaw.

About an hour earlier…

The courtyard surrounding Maia was abuzz with activity. Vermin rushed back and forth as tents were erected and weapons were prepared, as orders were called and sent out, and as the trap that awaited Karth took shape. To the side of it all Barkclaw stood alone, his paws folded behind his back and his brow furrowed. He had been staring off into the distance for a few minutes now, a fact that put Maia on edge.

"What could Barkclaw be contemplating now, of all times?"

With a grimace, Maia discovered she didn't want to know. She knew it was cowardice, but after the revelations that Barkclaw had 'enlightened' her with, she found herself sympathizing with him, at least to some small degree. That realization made her feel filthy, like there were patches of mud on her fur that couldn't be scrubbed off no matter how hard she tried, but it was the truth nonetheless: Barkclaw wasn't without sympathy from her.

As if in accordance to her thoughts, the fox abruptly turned, his ponderous expression clearing as his eyes met Maia's, who shuddered in revulsion as the fox smiled and walked in her direction.

"No doubt he wishes to gloat one last time before the battle."

He had done that over the past few days, slipping in the odd comment here and there about how his victory was predetermined, that fate itself guided his blade. It was standard vermin rhetoric, but what frightened Maia was his overall collectiveness. Barkclaw might be arrogant, but this was not a leader who had previously made ill-advised decisions on the battlefield like herself and Karth. No, his calm conviction in his absolute victory was something to be wary of at the very least, and to be frightened of at the very worst. A cool and collected enemy was to be feared, and there was nothing she could do to help to turn the tide against him.

Maia's thoughts were interrupted as Barkclaw stopped a few paces away from her, his smile fading as he visibly sobered.

"We will be greeting our beloved Colonel soon," Barkclaw said, his soft voice somehow audible above all the hustle and bustle.

"How do you know he will be here?" Maia asked testily, her well of patience finally running dry. She had been woken at dawn, made to carry around dozens of cords of wood, and then promptly sat down and tied to a chair after being fed a meal of tasteless soup and water. She wanted answers, and she wanted them before the battle started. She was through with his games, his snide remarks and smirks, his very presence.

She didn't want to be near him – to look into his cruel eyes and feel sympathy for such a creature. Who was he, to provoke such feelings from her? What was she, to understand him enough to have her hatred dampened.

Maia shuddered as Barkclaw raised an eyebrow and stooped, lowering himself so that he was eye to eye with Maia. "Where else would he go?" the fox said quizzically, his head tilted as if he were a bird regarding a struggling grub clenched within his talons. "Why would he want to be anywhere but here?"

Maia opened her mouth to speak but stopped as Barkclaw straightened, the hint of a smirk appearing on his face as he dipped his head to stare down at her imperiously. "Karth will play his paw tonight," Barkclaw said, his smirk widening into a smile as he raised a paw to silence Maia's objection. "And when he arrives with his followers, we will be waiting for him. You will be tempted to warn him, but you will not."

Maia opened her mouth to object, to say that she would never betray those she loved and those who trusted her, but she stopped at Barkclaw's smile, which now looked fixed. "Remember what you have left to lose," he said, before his smile dissipated into something else, something indecipherable.

"You know what he is capable of," Barkclaw crooned, moving now so that he stood behind her. Maia tensed as a paw landed on each shoulder, his grip becoming taunt as he unconsciously displayed the truth behind his smug veneer.

Once more, she felt a familiar fantasy spill forth from within the darkest place of her heart. For a moment, Maia let it play out, taking a deep breath and reveling in the vision taking place behind her now closed eyelids.

In it, she was the victor. In it, she saw the agony and pain within Barkclaw's grey eyes, all hints of mirth and sardonic wit cast aside and banished. She saw herself lift the fox up by the throat, holding him up to her eyes. This was no longer the confident warlord or the victorious commander. Instead, what hung from her paw was a wretched creature - somebeast who had lost everything and had nothing left to offer to her or the world.

"Do it," Barkclaw hissed, his defiance now limited to a pitiful gurgle. At his side, his paw fluttered vainly, forming a useless fist and yielding a visible reminder of how low he had been brought, a visible reminder of his weakness before her own strength.

Maia watched Barkclaw's eyes roll wildly as she tightened her grip around his neck. She watched with satisfaction as she felt his neck snap, his windpipe crushed beneath her paws. She watched with glee as the life left his eyes - as she permanently wiped the smirk off his face.

Maia took another deep breath, dispelling the vision with a twitch of her paw, both of which tightened on the armrests of her chair. As exhilarating as the fantasy was, she could not pay heed to her own desires – not if she wanted to stop this massacre.

The armrests of her chair creaked, and Maia realized that she had been squeezing them tightly, replacing her dream of Barkclaw with the reality before her.

As if in full knowledge of what she was thinking, Barkclaw's grip tightened even further upon her shoulders, his impatience clear.

Maia's face crumpled. What could she possibly do? For each path she chose, good creatures would die. She remained undecided – ignoring Barkclaw's steadily tightening grip – until a single, traitorous thought floated upward from the depths of her mind.

"For the good of many, I will damn the few."

"I will do as you say," Maia finally whispered, her voice so quiet that she was surprised Barkclaw heard it, but the grip on her shoulders relaxed and he stepped away.

"You have done the right thing, Lady Maia," the fox said, and Maia was surprised to hear no trace of mockery in his voice. "You will understand this, before the night's end."

Maia closed her eyes, letting her head fall back onto the top of her chair as she allowed herself to crumple into despair.

"What have I done?"

Present time…

The fact that Maia had bargained with the enemy made her feel sick, like she was moving living creatures upon a game board.

"But I would do it again."

The thought wasn't angry, frenzied, or weary. Instead, the thought came from the portion of her mind that was unmarred by emotion and irresponsibility, an oasis of calm surrounded by walls of logic and cold calculation.

Yes, she would have made the same choice, if faced with it again. There were still so many captured hares who had lives to lead, so many Dibbuns who had not even begun them. They deserved to have them, and not have them ended so soon because of the mistakes of their leaders.

She chose not to think of the other lives she had bartered away, of all those who deserved to live and fulfill their dreams. They would still pay the ultimate price - a price she wouldn't even pay herself.

Suddenly finding herself desperate for a distraction, Maia painfully turned her head to regard the enigma of the Dibbuns, who still sat silently behind the vermin guards.

To Maia's unceasing surprise, they had been well-treated, perhaps the best treated creatures in the entire camp - vermin included. While their smocks were dirty and some of their shirts were torn, they looked well-fed and in relatively good spirits, especially considering their situation.

For that at least, Maia was thankful - if one could truly be thankful towards a mass kidnapper and murderer.

Overall, in all her time in Barkclaw's camp, Maia had never seen a Dibbun mistreated, save once. This puzzled her, until she had seen a young mouse trip while carrying a bucket of water. Within moments, a rat appeared and began berating the Dibbun.

The rat grabbed the Dibbun, slapping the young mouse across the face when she began apologizing and clamping down on her mouth when she started to cry.

"Enough jabberin', yeh mewlin' frogscum!" the rat hissed with a grin. "Wouldn't want anybeast 'earin yeh complainin' of yer punishment, now would we?"

Maia jumped at a loud crack, turning her head as best she could to see Barkclaw rise from his chair, his paws gripping armrest so tightly that they creaked.

It would have gotten worse, but the vermin happened to glance up from the bawling mouse to see Barkclaw, whose expression, Maia was shocked to discover, was coldly furious.

"Excuse me, yer lordship," the rat murmured, his eyes widening in terror as he released the mouse, who fell backward with a squeak.

Barkclaw said nothing, his eyes shifting from the mouse's reddening face to the rat's now shaking form.

Maia couldn't help but smile vindictively at the memory. She still hated Barkclaw with all of her being, but she still couldn't help but feel faint approval at the punishment the rat had received. Ten lashes and half-rations for over a week. Fitting, if not a little less stringent than the wretched creature deserved.

From this and other situations, Barkclaw had made his position on the Dibbuns extremely clear. Which was why Maia found herself confused and terrified as she thought of the Dibbuns in the middle of Barkclaw's army, even with Barkclaw's implied assurance to their safety.

"Will he use them as shields, or bait?"

Maia fervently hoped it was the latter. At least then her failure wouldn't be as complete as she was now fearing it was.

As she continued to wait, it was all Maia could do to remain alert and not give in to despair. The snuffles of the Dibbuns and the nervous shuffling of their guards gave her something to focus upon. The young ones were there; they needed her. Even though her paws were tied, both physically and theoretically, she would do her best to help them.

Maia started in surprise as a weasel suddenly gurgled. She watched uncomprehendingly as his eyes rolled back in his head, stumbling drunkenly before sinking to his knees, his sword falling from his failing grasp.

It was amidst the Dibbuns' screams that the hares arrived, taking advantage of the other guards' confusion to strike them down before they could level their weapons. Maia turned her head back and forth, fighting her restraints in a desperate attempt to better see what was happening. A moment passed before she realized what she was doing, and with shaking paws she forced herself to remain still. If Barkclaw thought she was reneging on her promise, it would be a massacre.

While her visual senses were compromised, Maia still heard everything. No battle-cries erupted from the Long Patrol during the quick and furious onslaught, with the only shouts coming from the suddenly outnumbered vermin as they fought and died. Orders were called, and Maia could only watch in mounting panic as Karth's hares slaughtered the remaining vermin with ruthless precision.

Maia shook her head, which due to her restraints only registered as a vague twitch. Her entire world narrowed on the carnage in front of her, and it was all she could do to breathe regularly and calm her roiling stomach. "They're here," she thought desperately. What could she do? "You will do nothing," a voice like Barkclaw's whispered snidely, and Maia lowered her eyes in shame.

Just as quickly as it began, it ended. Maia blinked, narrowing her eyes in suspicion before she felt her lips curling upward. The Dibbuns had been rescued with zero casualties. Perhaps if Karth left immediately, Barkclaw wouldn't be able to spring his trap…

Maia's mouth opened, and she found herself taking a deep breath to scream a warning to flee, but even as she moved her lips, nothing emerged.

In the back of her mind, she could feel Barkclaw's superior smirk as she imagined the fallout from her warning. "I am disappointed in you, Lady Maia," Barkclaw whispered. "We had an agreement..."

When Maia collected herself, she spotted Karth standing to the side, talking quietly with a large hare wearing a blood-splattered uniform and standing with unyielding professionalism. With a jerking gesture to the wall behind him, Karth turned away from the hare, who saluted briskly before turning to the Dibbuns, a kind smile washing over his face as he moved toward the whimpering young ones.

It was then that Karth turned toward her, his appearance intense as his eyes flickered back and forth, evidently scanning for more foes. Whereas before the hare had bright green eyes and an easy smile, his eyes were now tinged with a malevolent red.

"Bloodwrath," Maia thought numbly.

She shrank back, horrified, as his tainted eyes swept over her. Who was this creature? This was not Karth, the hare who had comforted her when she had needed it the most. This wasn't her confidant, the one whom she trusted above all others save her husband and son.

Instead, this creature loomed before her, and suddenly she could see the creature who had eradicated Greyfang's village. Karth's sabre gleamed dully, dripping with enemy blood, while his eyes feverishly shone in the darkness, looking far too eager for more bloodshed. Maia took in the changes in her friend and closed her eyes. She didn't want to see her friend like this.

Maia opened her eyes as she heard the Dibbuns moving, tottering about and falling over as the hares gently pushed them into a line. The badger smiled for a moment, all thoughts of war forgotten as one squirrel complained that his legs were sleepy and that they didn't want to move. But even through the innocence, Maia's anxiety rose precariously. With the Dibbuns slowing him down, Karth didn't have much time.

As the Long Patrol and the Dibbuns moved back towards the wall, Maia's hopes rose, only to be dashed as a familiar cackle filled the air.

Concealed inside his tent, Barkclaw observed with growing satisfaction that the Badger Lady of Salamandastron remained in her chair, point-blankly refusing to warn Karth as he played directly into Barkclaw's own paw.

"I have broken her," Barkclaw thought, his eyes widening in disbelief as he watched Karth lead the hares back in the direction from which they had come. He'd seen it all: the arrival of the hares over the wall, the blunt efficiency with which they'd dispatched his dim-witted wall guards, and how the Long Patrol had glided across his own campgrounds without rousing any of the dozen soldiers surrounding the Dibbuns. Even Barkclaw had to admit that Karth had pulled off his plan smoothly. If Barkclaw hadn't had additional help on his side, there was even a possibility the colonel might have been successful. But he had so much more on his side than Karth could possibly have counted on.

Sharp laughter echoed off the palisade walls, and Barkclaw realized with some disapproval that the laughter originated from himself, but he couldn't help it - the irony of the situation was just too much. Maia, the Badger Lady of Salamandastron and the centerpiece of resistance against him, had been destroyed without him lifting a paw against her. It hadn't been torture, malice, cruelty, or even a combination of the three to break her. No, he had only needed to speak to her logically in order to shatter her resistance.

Taking his laughter as their cue, Barkclaw's army burst out of their tents, their actions synchronized despite the chaos. They swarmed out in pincer formation, trapping the hares between two bristling rows of weapons and two unforgiving wooden walls. To their credit, the Long Patrol didn't stand gaping, as a series of barked orders from Karth brought the hares into a semicircle around the Dibbuns, the very creatures who had unwittingly lured them to their fate.

Barkclaw's lips quirked in amusement at the sight the two and a half score of his troops surrounding Karth's meager group of followers. A further half a score of armed vermin stood by his tent awaiting orders. He wasn't sure if they would be needed.

"Honor is a curious thing," Barkclaw mused, as he brushed aside the doors of his tent and walked to where Karth and the Long Patrol silently waited for their battle to truly begin. He noted some faces that were truly shocked, others grim as if they had expected this outcome all along, others devastated with that unique despair of having hope brutally crushed at the last possible second. Honor was easy to play with but deadly to provoke, which he had painfully learned many seasons before.

But now, after eighteen seasons, he had won their game.

"Are you watching this, Father?" Barkclaw thought, hoping against hope that he was. "The world you envisioned is coming together at last - and not through calm negotiation and treaties, but through fire and sword."

And what a world it would be.

Salamandastron had refused to allow Greyfang his dream of a better world, a world that allowed all creatures to live together peacefully and without hatred. Barkclaw's paw clenched around the hilt of his weapon as he drew it with a flourish, the noise attracting the attention of Karth, who snarled the moment his eyes fell upon Barkclaw.

"Begin," Barkclaw said calmly, although he pitched his voice so that it would carry. While his expression was mild, a grin slowly crept across his face as he spoke, betraying his delight.

Oh, how he had waited for this moment.

Karth grinned as he watched the vermin spill out of the tents. For a few minutes, he had been worried that Barkclaw would allow him to escape with the Dibbuns.

His sword was still wet from the gore of the last guard he'd killed; he could feel it dripping onto his footpaws, warm and oily. The Dibbuns were sobbing in terror, whether at the sight of their bloody rescuers, the lifeless corpses of the guards, or from the new threat of their captors, he didn't know. There was only one thing that mattered right now: the fox standing across the courtyard from him.

Barkclaw sneered, and for a moment Karth wished that he had gone through with his first inclination of burning this entire portion of forest to the ground. Karth's grin widened further as he envisioned Barkclaw trapped in a blazing inferno, weeping bitterly as his world burned around him.

But no, Barkclaw didn't deserve a martyr's death - he deserved to be cut down like the loathsome beast he was. Let the others think that he had not weaponized fire because of the inherent dangers it represented – Karth wanted to see Barkclaw's last breath, to see his body shudder in its last moments and for the light in his eyes to fade.

He wanted to end it the way it had begun, all those seasons ago.

"Orders, sah?" asked Stubb, bringing Karth out of his musing with a start. His sword paw twitched, and Karth's smile flickered and transformed into an ugly scowl.

They had left the Dibbuns where they were – they would not be physically injured in the fighting, although Karth refused to let himself think of their emotional health after this was finished. He probably wouldn't survive this, but he didn't need to. All that mattered was taking Barkclaw to Hellgates with him. Everything else could burn.

"We hold," Karth said, each word terse as if dragged from his throat. "We either walk out of this with the Badger Lady and the Dibbuns, or we die defending what we believe in."

There was a shocked silence from the rest of the Long Patrol, as though they were just realizing that Colonel Karth, Leader of the Long Patrol and the vanquisher of countless foes, had delivered an ultimatum that could easily lead to all their deaths.

And yet, they stayed. Their formation around Karth only seemed to solidify, something that caused tears to well in his eyes, and he lowered his head in solemnity. These were true warriors.

"Begin."

Karth's head shot upward, and for the first time in eighteen seasons, each commander looked upon the other's face.

"Barkclaw," Karth spat, the leather on the hilt of his sabre groaning as he adjusted his grip.

Even though the chances that the fox heard him were slim, Barkclaw's teeth bared in a feral grin as battle cries erupted from the vermin. Karth switched his focus from Barkclaw to the horde of vermin bearing down upon him.

"EULALIAAAAA!" Karth screamed, his cry echoed by his fellow hares as they defiantly stood their ground against suicidal odds. They were loyal and brave, and they were about to fight to the death against a charging foe that they should by all rights flee.

"But they won't," Karth thought grimly. For they were the Long Patrol, and they never backed down from a battle.

The Long Patrol waited until the vermin were within mere pawsteps before sprinting forward, their roars momentarily dwarfing those of their adversaries as both sides smashed into each other. Bodies flew every which way as the Long Patrol's ferocity pushed the vermin back a step, almost two, before the two sides locked together in mortal combat.

Karth finally let himself descend into the madness that he had been barely keeping at bay the entire night. He welcomed the darkness, the oblivion that it eventually promised and the blood that he would be drenched in. Gripping his sabre with both paws, he swung his weapon about like a butcher, sacrificing speed for brute strength as he laid about him indiscriminately, killing any rat, stoat, weasel, ferret, or fox who was foolish enough to stand in his way.

Through it all, there was only one face he saw on each of the vermin he killed: Barkclaw. Each creature he slew had Barkclaw's sneering face scrubbed clean of all malice, cruelty, and all vestiges of life, something he should have done all those seasons ago. He should have felt pleased for every vermin he finished, but instead each kill further stoked the fires of Karth's rage.

His sword seemed to move of its own accord - it fluttered in-between the guards of his foes, plunged through the backs of ill-prepared vermin, and smashed through shields. It felt like he was harnessing a tempest, forcing the winds to blow his way as he stood above them all, dealing judgment to those he deemed unworthy.

His earlier tiredness, wounds, and worries persisted, but they belonged to a different creature with different responsibilities. Karth's vision reddened and tilted as he slid on the now blood-soaked ground, blocking a wild stab from a ferret as he pivoted into a vicious riposte. The smell of copper burst into existence as he thrust into the ferret's gaping mouth and came out the other side, his shoulder and arms straining as he lifted the ferret off his footpaws and threw him into his fellows, bowling them over with the dead weight.

"It isn't enough," Karth thought deliriously, shaking his head and spraying gore off his brow as he spun and weaved through the onslaught of enemies. He didn't know how many he needed to kill - he only knew that he had to keep killing. Terrible things would happen if he didn't - the world would be consumed by fire and death and reduced to ash because he hadn't done his duty.

Karth grunted as somebeast punched his chest, but with a roar he shoved back and disemboweled the wide-eyed stoat before anybeast could capitalize on his sudden bout of weakness.

Throughout it all, the Long Patrol fought desperately, their combined savagery and precision giving them the edge as the fought off an enemy force that was nearly three times their number. Back-to-back, comrades in arms until the end, fierce lights of desperate determination glinting in their eyes, they drove back every offense the vermin attempted. Behind them, the Dibbuns cowered against the ground, too terrified to even whimper as they witnessed the heroic last stand of the Long Patrol.

It began with a step back, and then another. A rat threw down his sword, followed by his shield. A stoat hurled his spear to the side, before hurrying backward towards the tents. That action broke the dam, and soon the vermin were tossing aside their weapons and rapidly clearing the space around the surviving hares. A ragged cheer arose from the Long Patrol, a cry that died on their lips when they saw what was happening.

Immediately, Karth turned, his eyes seeking out the one whom he knew was watching him. To Karth's fury, the fox was untouched, his dark orange fur unruffled and unbloodied as he stood twenty pawsteps away, watching him. Judging him. The surviving vermin surrounded them at a distance, creating a ring around their lord and the hares.

For a moment, all was silent as each force looked one over.

"Only a coward leads his forces from the back!" Karth shouted, his body trembling with rage and exhaustion. "Only a coward condemns his forces to an easily avoided grave! Surrender now, and your death will be without pain!"

Barkclaw laughed. "You and what army?" he snapped, and Karth turned to see that his force was all but decimated. Nine remained of the thirty who had joined him in the assault, and of those nine not a creature was unwounded.

"I don't need an army to kill you!" Karth spat, taking a confident step towards his foe. If he couldn't save Maia or the Dibbuns, or even the captive Long Patrol hares whom Barkclaw had secreted away, he would cut the head off the snake while he still could.

Barkclaw grinned, his eyes glinting with hatred. "You have nothing left, Colonel. You -" Barkclaw paused, his grin widening as battle-cries sounded from behind them. Karth didn't even look back as the voices grew nearer, knowing the remainder of Barkclaw's army had just arrived, blocking whatever chance of escape they might have had. Faintly, the implications filtered into his mind, that Nurzon, Skipper, Bluetail, and Edgar must all have fallen.

He didn't care.

Karth took another step forward, then staggered and nearly fell. Straightening, he moved his paw up to his chest, where he felt at the hilt of a small dagger. Gripping it, he locked gazes with Barkclaw and pulled.

The Colonel of the Long Patrol felt nothing but a slight twinge as the blade exited his chest. He didn't see the horrified expressions of his fellow hares or hear the wailing Dibbuns. The only thing that mattered was Barkclaw, who watched him now with narrowed eyes as if seeing him for the first time. Karth smiled grimly and took a fourth step forward, now gripping both weapons in trembling paws.

Behind him, the last of the Long Patrol prepared to engage the enemy, hopelessly outnumbered and outmatched.

But Barkclaw was still not finished. His eyes remained narrowed, hanging onto Karth's every move and expression as he slid gracefully under the awning of the largest tent. Karth noticed something he'd not seen in all the confusion and red-hazed passion: something large and bulky concealed under a black cloth. Apprehension tightened in his chest like steel as recognition dawned.

"You truly have nothing left," Barkclaw said, his voice so full of contempt, glee, and hate it seemed impossible that he didn't burst into flames. He flicked his paw, sending the cloth spiraling to the ground.

Karth's gaze whipped from Maia to Barkclaw and back again, as if he were watching a fencing match. "How could this be?" Karth inwardly railed, unable to believe the possibility of what was transpiring before him. How could Barkclaw have changed Maia so quickly? What had he done to her? His eyes returned to Maia's, and he reared back as if slapped at the fear and self-loathing that he saw within them.

She had been there that whole time. She had seen everything and not made a move to warn him. What could Barkclaw have possibly ever done to render his Badger Lady so utterly helpless?

"Or am I the one who has changed?" Karth thought, regarding the idea with horror for a moment before he scornfully discarded it. No, it was Barkclaw who had done this. That was what was important, in this most trying of times. And he would pay. He would suffer.

"Kill every creature who will not surrender!" Barkclaw shouted, his gaze tearing from Karth to the advancing vermin. The proclamation caused Karth to take another few steps forward in anger, although he found that surprisingly difficult. Why were his limbs so heavy, his sight so blurred and grey? He shook his head, the action akin to a fish flopping on a riverbank. He felt cold.

"You have lost, Colonel Karth," Barkclaw said. Drawing his sword, his expression was now one of fevered eagerness. "You lost before you ever began. I challenge you to single combat. Fight me or die with the rest of your pathetic Patrol."

At those words, the steadily marching vermin broke into a gallop, their numbers reinforced by those who had returned from destroying the woodlanders.

Karth ripped his gaze from the sight and started running to Barkclaw, his sabre nearly dragging lines in the ground as he moved to meet his foe.

The two engaged with a jolt. Slowing abruptly, Karth swung a sudden strike at Barkclaw's head. Barkclaw ducked, then wove to the side and stabbed out with his sword. Karth strained to block it, but as the blades screeched together and locked, he discovered that he lacked the strength to hold. His muscles gave, releasing the tension, and the blades disengaging with a tortured screech of metal.

The action caused Barkclaw to stumble, although Karth didn't have the speed to finish him. Instead, Karth struck at him wildly, slicing a deep furrow across his chest. He went to tackle the fox, but instead tripped over his now unfeeling footpaws. He staggered drunkenly for a moment, falling to a knee then slamming his sabre into the ground and propelling himself into a standing position, where he stood waveringly.

"I won't give in," Karth sneered, as he gripped the hilt of his sabre and heaved it back up from the ground. He had already lost everything; he wouldn't be denied this.

Behind them, the Long Patrol fought, taking down two to three creatures apiece as they died. Maia slumped in her chair, her eyes sightlessly staring out into the night.

"You actually managed to wound me," Barkclaw said, glancing down at his injury before he lifted his head and narrowed his eyes at Karth, who stood with a clenched paw pressed against his bleeding chest.

It was becoming hard to breathe – it felt as though the dagger wound that he had received was inching forward toward his heart. Blood steadily poured from his wound, and when Karth glanced at his clenched paw he could feel the greasy lifeblood leaking through it.

"I'm going to kill you," Karth whispered, his head lolling forward and his eyes fluttering in their desire to close. It would be so easy to let himself fall, to give in, and to die. He had done enough, hadn't he? He had done all he could for Salamandastron; what else could possibly be asked of him?

Karth shook his head, his breathing little more than panting gasps as the paw clapped to his wound spasmed. Time seemed to freeze as his greying vision became darker and less defined. He did not have much time, but he would give what he had left.

He had dropped his sabre. Reaching for it blindly, Karth felt for the grip and grasped it firmly, ignoring his quaking limbs. Barkclaw was still there, watching him curiously.

"I only have one thing left to give," Karth thought as he staggered forward and screamed the battle cry of Salamandastron one last time.

"EULALIAAAA!"

The Colonel charged toward him, a battlecry on his lips as Barkclaw bent his knees, waiting.

"Now!"

Laughing wildly, Barkclaw swung, slamming Karth's blade aside. It flew from the hare's nerveless paw, and Karth spun from the force of the blow before sprawling.

Seizing his chance, Barkclaw leapt at the hare. The fox's hard landing on his stomach caused the hare to hack and wheeze uncontrollably, his limbs flailing weakly. Forcing down the shaking paw still clutching a knife, Barkclaw began beating the inert hare.

Within moments, Karth's right eye was swollen shut, with the left well on its way. He didn't know if the hare was conscious, and he didn't care. He had waited eighteen seasons for his moment, and now his father and those who had died with him were finally being avenged.

Finally, he hesitated, leaning back and observing his foe. Whereas in the heat of the moment he didn't know if the Colonel had fallen unconsciousness immediately, Barkclaw's eyes narrowed as Karth glared back at him, his body twitching as he took in a shuddering breath.

"His body is broken, but his spirit remains."

"I could kill you so easily," Barkclaw murmured, reaching down and grabbing Karth's throat. The hare struggled uselessly, his legs thrashing as his paws grasped his own.

"You took everything from me, Karth," Barkclaw said musingly, tightening his grip as Karth's eyes rolled backward. "It seems fitting that I take your life in return."

For a moment, he was tempted. Here lay the creature who had single-pawedly destroyed his life, lying helpless as his paw wrapped even tighter around his throat.

And he only had to squeeze a little harder for that threat to be forever eliminated.

At the last moment, he released him, Karth heaving in deep breaths as Barkclaw knelt, lowering his lips to just above the hare's ear.

"Your life is mine," Barkclaw hissed, inwardly shoving back a wave of hatred that demanded the hare's blood. "You don't deserve to die, Colonel. You don't understand, but you will soon. You will live on borrowed time, waiting for your demise. And when it comes, I will be there, waiting."

Rising to his footpaws, Barkclaw sneered down at his defeated enemy. Derision filled him as he spat on the Colonel's face. Before, he had been strong, a worthy opponent.

But now…

"Tend to his wounds. He isn't allowed to die yet," he said, matching a guard's savage grin with one of his own as he shifted his gaze to the now-silent crowd of vermin watching him. Of the warriors from Salamandastron, only Maia and three Long Patrol hares remained, the fighters barely conscious and bleeding from a myriad of slices and scrapes.

Barkclaw didn't say a word; he simply schooled his expression and raised his weapon, an action copied by all the creatures looking at him. They yelled and screamed their delight until their voices were hoarse, tears streaming down some of their faces as they realized what they had accomplished. Barkclaw scanned the crowd until he found Splitface, who grinned at him and lowered his head incrementally, his weapon held high but his lips firmly closed.

They had won.

AN: After nearly three years, four drafts, and many Skype conversations, this massive beast of a chapter is finally complete. A huge thank you to Sauron Gorthaur for her amazing work on this chapter. Without her untiring efforts, this chapter would not exist.

The next chapter will not take as long, but it will be a while. Both my beta and I are busy, and before I even begin writing the next chapter I am going to properly plot out the rest of Dusktail so that this wait does not happen again.

For those of you who have been waiting, thank you for your support. For those who have just joined, welcome and enjoy the ride. See you soon.

Cheers,

Darkenmal