Thadius Roth was loathe to dismiss the arrow plans, but Raskol had not returned. As part of the test mission the stoat had been equipped with directions and enough provisions to take him back to the twin towers. Yet Raskol had not returned. The eventual target was not so far away that, even if the stoat had reached it, he wouldn’t have taken so long to return. And Raskol had not returned. Thadius knew it was time to move to newer plans.
        Thadius had long wondered about the properties of fire. What its state of matter was baffled him, not to mention why it took that particular form. There were other principles of flame, however, that the fox better understood. By chance he’d once found that a strip of cloth hanging a foot or so above a candle flame was moved, slightly lifted by the fire. He wasn’t sure exactly why, but the principle was what mattered.
        The fox gathered varied scraps of material, holding each over a lit candle to determine which remained airborne for the longest time. He was experimenting with a swatch of waxed canvas when Nadal, as if from nowhere, appeared. “Why are you playing, Roth?”
        Thadius released the fabric, which remained afloat a moment longer before drifting to the side. “Sir, I am not playing. I have taken notes on the properties of flame and levitation, and—”
        Nadal licked one finger and used it to extinguish the flame. “I have something more interesting for you.”
        Ob Insame had already taken the liberty of bringing the injured Llewtcy out of the dungeon. He snapped his fingers and she timidly entered, too occupied by the pain in her wing and the fear in her heart to protest or run. The bat lowered her head and closed her eyes as the weasel gestured toward her. “Amazing construction, is it not?”
        Nodding, Thadius approached Llewtcy, extending his paw toward the tear in her sail. Llew winced. Thadius backed up, rummaging through his workshop and emerging from the clutter with needle, thread, and chloroform. “That is repairable.”
        Thadius poured a small amount of chloroform onto a nearby rag, wafting it under Llewtcy’s nose. As the bat grew groggy, the fox closed the wound with a neat row of tiny stitches.
        Nadal looked approvingly on Roth’s work with a thin smile. “Yes, I do suppose that flight would be hindered due to a hole,” he mused. “Easier to fix now than later?”
        As he tied the final stitch, Thadius nodded to his commander. “The same principle as the gliders we tried earlier. They catch the air and ride on it. Of course, with bats the wings serve as arms and are steered by finger motions.” He paused his explanation just long enough to run a finger along one bony spar in Llewtcy’s wing. “The control is more extreme, more versatile. Yes, that must be why you brought her here. If I can match the natural design of her body in some synthetic form, something a creature could maneuver with a similar proficiency to a bat’s...That, I think, would solve our landlock problem!” Thadius clapped his paws in a rare show of enthusiasm.
        “Roth, you...think about that,” Nadal told Thadius, carefully lifting the slumbering Llewtcy and carrying her the full distance upstairs to his private chamber. With almost uncharacteristic delicateness, he laid the bat out on his personal table, eyes fixed on his wings. Although awkward at times, his stare did not divert even as he paced about the table, not unlike a soldier guarding a tomb.
        As if he’d caught something from Thadius Roth, Nadal ob Insame began to think aloud as he paced. “Bat wings...a natural structure, time proven, does work. Can’t improve upon nature. And nature has set up bats as goodbeasts, which is all the better, all the better indeed. Redwall would think nothing of a big group of bats flying in for a visit, and at night, why, they wouldn’t see well enough to recognize the difference...”
        Very pleased with himself, Nadal stopped in midstride, grasping the end of the table with a wild gleam in his eyes and a feral grin shaping his maw.

*****

        Medical history retains all peculiar cases. Several such cases deal with the malfunction of anesthesia. The rare patient will report that certain nerves fail to be quieted. Some simply do not fall asleep, while others are completely conscious within an immoble body. The entire spectrum. 
        Llewtcy was among the latter group. She lay completely helpless on Nadal’s table, aural receptors catching the weasel’s every word, pain receptors screaming to no avail at the probing in her wing joints. 
 
 

        “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
        Bats are known for their skill of echolocations, which involves making high-pitched squeaks whose sound waves bounce off surrounding objects into bats’ ears, alerting them of obstavles. Though extremely high-pitched indeed, Nyctllr’s shriek was not intended to lead her anywhere.
        Llewtcy lay on the air dungeon’s floor, having been deposited there by Nadal ob Insame himself. Her face was horribly worn, exhausted and traumatized. Her dark eyes, half-lidded, had a glazed look to them, the glazing that comes to those who have lost all will to live. Yet even that doomed expression wasn’t the most horrific thing about Llewtcy’s appearance. Most likely the cause of her despondence was her glaring lack of wings. Raw open flesh lined Llew’s sides from shoulder to hip, fringed with dried blood and still welling fresh. No effort had been made to close the cruel wounds.
        Horrified, Nyc sat at her stricken companion’s side, wiping sweat from Llew’s brow. “What did they do to you?” 
        Of course Nyc knew perfectly well that Llew’s wings had been removed, but her question really involved cause, as indicated by the anger in her voice only barely suppressed by grief.
        With great effort Llewtcy spoke, voice as weak as body. “He wants...to attack...Redwall...by air.” She lay her head down on her exposed shoulder upon finishing speaking.
        Nyc’s own wings clenched irately. She needed not to ask who “he” was. But if Llew brought herself to say it, then “he” wasn’t the point.
        Troyte clambered sympathetically over to the two bats, querying with a dipped beak, “Redwall?”
        Until this time Holdsclaw had remained decidedly indifferent; he still barely flinched in giving his information. “Redwall—big redstone abbey, karrk, south in Mossflower Country. A goodbeast stronghold, unmistakable from air. Rekk! One of my ancestors had a horde and tried to take it over once. Kra!” Holdsclaw seemed perversely proud of that fact.
        “But he didn’t succeed, eh?” Troyte interjected.
        Holdsclaw opted not to respond.
        Nyctllr remained by Llewtcy’s side until she could no longer feel her companion’s side rise and fall with breath. Even after this point, Nyc remained silent, closing her eyes and laying her head next to Llew’s.
        Again, Troyte broke the silence. “Well, why’d he want to take it over if he already had free range of the whole skies?”
        Holdsclaw fixed a disapproving eye on Troyte. “Krr. It’s a stronghold in the Woodlander world. To control it means to own the woodlands. Arrach!”
        Troyte clicked his beak thoughtfully. “So if that’s really the case, shouldn’t we be trying to stop ol’ Nadal?”
        “From in here? Kchackarakka!” Holdsclaw scoffed.
        Eyes rimmed red with grief and rage, Nyctllr looked toward the two birds, steel in her voice. “We will stop him.”
        Troyte began scraping his blunted beak against the mesh enclosure walls. “If I can just scrape this off my beak, I think I could get through...” No sooner did he finish saying this than the lower part of his beak became caught between two wire links. It took him quiet some time and pulling to free himself.
        Holdsclaw again cackled in delight at the maladroit hawk’s antics. Even he, however, was silenced by Nyctllr’s glare.
        “Breaking through metal and glass will do us no good,” Nyc stated flatly. “Their point is to keep us from getting out or to kill us in the attempt. But the next time that door opens, we’re out.” 
 
 

        For once this project of Nadal’s was an individual effort. Usually the horde was almost bureaucratic in its function, with ob Insame getting “his” ideas from Thadius Roth, then going through Kaliban to select a hordebeast to serve as a test dummy. All delegation of responsibility.
        Not this time, though. Nadal was exceedingly proud of his own idea, and the weasel had set it in his mind to keep this plot entirely his own mental property. He lovingly stroked his leathery bat wings, sliding his arms into straps he’d fastened on the top, harnessing the bottom edges to his waist, slipping the fingers under the skin of the spars. So arranged, Nadal flexed experimentally. So far, everything was moving according to plan.
        Nadal had enlisted his trusty Holdsclaw to assist him only at the last moment. The two stood atop the Northern tower, an odd silhouette against the lights from below.
        “Once I jump, you take off and stay directly underneath me. Understand? No more than eight feet below me. If anything happens, or if I signal, you catch me. You will catch me.” Nadal’s face was expressionless, but his voice alone was threat enough to make his orders undisputable.
        Nadal’s abdomen twinged as he looked down the sheer drop of his tower. For a moment the weasel feared the onset of his problems, but he dismissed that from his mind and jumped, stolen wings spread wide.
        The weasel soon relaxed in the evening air, experimenting on turning and steering, catching little eddys in the air. Yet unlike the late Raskol Nadal wasn’t relishing the sensation of flight so much as what flying at last meant for him. Here was something that worked and even had an element of natural control to it. He could find a way to carry weapons in flight, and he could find more bats...
        Suddenly Nadal’s stomach twinged again. With the muscle spasm, Nadal’s whole body tensed and he lost control of his position. Holdsclaw caught him, just as directed.

*****

        Holdsclaw had been completely convinced that Nyctllr and Troyte stood no chance with their escape plans. He’d even dared them to go through with it, assuring them that Nadal would catch them and use them for spare parts as well. Holdsclaw went so far as to tempt them by leaving the dooor unlocked after Nadal called for his assistance.
        The raven had not wagered correctly on the determination of the small.
        A bat’s echolocation is inaudible to others, so Troyte was extremely confused when Nyc seemed to be speaking and listening, despite the fact that no obvious sound was coming out. He trusted Nyc, though, and took her audible word for it that she could no longer detect Nadal and Holdsclaw.
        In the silent manner that becomes her species, Nyc eased open the door. The other captive ravens ruffled slightly as Troyte clattered through, but none awakened. With equal stealth, Nyc latched the door behind her.
        They found themselves on the roof of the Northern tower. Again Nyc echolocated, then motioned for Troyte to follow her.
        “Um, Nyc, one problem,” the hawk whispered. “I can’t see much past my own beak. It’s too dark.”
        Nyc had already glided off the tower, but she returned at the hawk’s complaint. “Can you see me at all?”
        “Now I can,” Troyte told her. “But I don’t think I could in the air. Maybe if you beat your wings particularly hard I could feel the wind in my face...”
        Nyc turned her head to the side, sensitive ears twitching. “We’ll try.” She leapt. Troyte followed.
        Nyctllr was at first hesitant in her pathfinding, winging about the unfamiliar air surrounding the twin towers. Soon, though, she felt the familiar tug of a certain wind against her wings. Knowing that meant they were in the clear, Nyc called back to Troyte, “We’ve found the Windburn! We’re off!”

*****

        Oblivious to all other occurences within the towers, Thadius Roth sat in his study, gold-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, meticulously sketching fine lines on some sort of diagram. The wax candles on his desk had dribbled all over his other papers. Of this the fox did not know, but he wouldn’t have particularly cared either. His mind was riveted to that one sheet on which he worked.
        The dark hours waned, but in the predawn Thadius heldw an exquisitely detailed picture of a strange contraption up to the candlelight. The tip was pointed like an arrowhead, though turned on its side. Attached to this was a long flat board, with large batlike wings to either side. An inset diagram demonstrated how a creature was supposed to lay on the board, using his fingers to control the wings. Beneath each wing, as shown in another inset, was a small metal container in which a fire burned, giving extra lift to the waxed canvas wings. A final inset demonstrated how the contraption was to be set aloft via a giant bow.
        Roth wearily lay the sheet flat on his desk, then collapsed onto his cot. His tired muscles still managed to smile, however, as he drifted off to sleep with visions of certain flight in his head.