The midmorning sun had not yet risen high enough to blast the environs of Redwall with its full summer fury. Beyond the tall sandstone perimeter wall of the Abbey, Mossflower Woods created an immense haven of shady glens and cool forest floor. Even with the border trees that Alex and Mina had cut down, the unbroken expanse of leafy canopy still came to within a stone’s toss of the Abbey walls in several spots.
        Such a place was to be found along the northern wall, just outside the small gate there. Jans and Broggen, the manacled mouse and stoat duo, luxuriated on the thick grass and moss beneath the forest edge, lying on their backs and gazing peacefully up at the sun-dappled leaf layers overhead. They were just far enough into the woods that they would be hidden from the view of anybeast on the Abbey ramparts, but easily visible to any stroller who happened to come across them ... especially if the newcomer knew where to look.
        “Hullo! Jans, Broggen!”
        The stoat sat up. “Huh, looks like soup’s on, Jansy mate.”
        Jans was reluctant to raise himself up from the cozy hollow he’d impressed upon the cool grass. “Ah, it’ll keep for a bit, Broggs. I’m still enjoying me nap.”
        Unfortunately, it was very hard for the mouse to remain prone while his larger companion climbed to his feet. Jans found himself being pulled up paw-first by Broggen. He was still muttering under his breath when Cyril drew up to them.
        “Right on time you are,” Broggen said in complimentary tones. “You Redwallers shore enuff are a punctual bunch. Ol’ Urthblood likes that in a beast.”
        “Bit too punctual, if’n you ask me,” Jans grumbled, then shrugged. “Oh, well. I agreed to this, so no grounds fer complainin’ now. So tell us, Master Cyril, just what you were wantin’ to learn?”
        Cyril was glancing nervously over both shoulders, expecting to be missed at any moment and called angrily back to the Abbey by Maura or Aurelia. The two warriors noticed his apprehension. “Had t’give ‘em the ol’ slip, eh?” Broggen asked.
        Cyril nodded. “I’m not really allowed out on my own. If Maura catches me she’ll tan my hide for sure.”
        Jans laughed heartily. “That’s an important part of bein’ a fighting beast, bein’ able to slip around without raising an eye or a cry. Good work, lad!”
        Cyril beamed at receiving such a compliment from a seasoned Northlands warrior.
        Broggen wagged a paw at the scabbard Cyril was carrying. “Wot’s et, little bucko?”
        The young mouse held it out. “I borrowed it from one of Lord Urthblood’s soldiers when he wasn’t looking. Tubby rat in a fringed brown jerkin. He only had half of one ear.”
        “There’s lots of us missing ears,” Jans said, “but from your description I reckon that’s ol Gratch of the rearguard. Lemme guess ... was he snorin’ when you, a-heh, borrowed that there sword from him?”
        “Like a badger with a frog in its throat. Stretched out by the forest fringe outside the east wallgate, dead to the world.”
        This assessment made Jans and Broggen whoop such gales of laughter, Cyril was sure they’d be heard clear down in Cavern Hole. His nervous glancing about began anew.
        “That Gratch, ‘ee always did like ‘is beauty rest!” Broggen declared mirthfully. “I swear, that rat could sleep even while ‘ee was marchin’. A badger with a frog in his throat - harrharr!”
        “Yup, he could sure enuff snore to raise th’ dead.” Jans clapped his free paw around Cyril’s shoulder, growing more fond of this Abbey novice with each new revelation. “That’s another necessary skill for a warrior to know, young Cyril: how to take what weapons he needs wherever he has to find ‘em.”
        A sudden thought struck Cyril. “When Gratch finds out I took his sword, he won’t be angry, will he?”
        “Oh, he’ll be furious,” Jans grinned. “Not half as furious as Lord Urthblood, though. Don’t you worry, Cyril. Gratch is our cook, and his prowess with a blade comes in a distant second to his skills with cookpot and ladel. He’s as non-fighting a rat as you’ll ever meet. And if Urthblood finds out he let his weapon be taken from him while he was asleep, well, let’s just say it’s not something Gratch’ll raise a fuss about on his own. Teach that lazybones a lesson if he wakes up to find his sword gone. That kind of thing can get you killed in the Northlands.”
        Cyril hadn’t realized his pilfering of a sleeping rat’s sword could be such a serious matter. “Perhaps I’d better go put it back ... “
        “Before you’ve ‘ad a chance to show us wot you can do with it?” Broggen waved aside Cyril’s misgivings. “Aw, that old stirpot’ll probably sleep straight through to sundown. We can still get in some good jousting before he’ll ever miss his ol’ sticker, I betcher.”
        “Listen to Broggs,” Jans said. “Long as nobeast saw you take it, Cyril, might’s well put it to some use. Broggs an’ I can slip it back on him when we’re done, so you’ll be in the clear. Now, what kind of sword training have you got?”
        “Uh ... none, really. But, I saw you two sparring with Alexander and Montybank two days ago. No contender has ever knocked down our Abbey Skipper before. I want to be able to do what I saw you do. I want to be a warrior.”
        “Well, you shore enuff got the spirit fer it,” observed the stoat.
        “And that’s important,” added Jans. “But why us, lad? Why didn’t any of your Redwall defenders give you training?”
        Cyril toyed with the idea of making up some story to hide the embarrassing truth, but in the end said, “Because, from the time I was old enough to attend classes, I’ve been a bellringer. That’s all I’ve ever been, and all they see me as. But I don’t want to be a bellringer for the rest of my life! I want to be a warrior, like Martin and Matthias, and you two. I want to be able to fight for good creatures everywhere, the poor honest beasts who can’t stand up for themselves. I want to fight against the evil creatures like Cluny who would terrorize and oppress us. I want - “
        “Whoa, whoa!” Jans raised his paws, forcing Broggen’s right paw up too. “You don’t hafta convince us! Just asking, was all. If pointers on swordswinging is what you want, Broggs and I will give you a couple of rounds.”
        “Well spoke, tho’,” Broggen put in. “Oughtta be a scholar, with a tongue like that.”
        “Enough talk, then.” Jans took the scabbard from Cyril and withdrew Gratch’s blade. It was a short sword, well suited for a mouse as well as a rat. Casting the scabbard aside, Jans pushed the grip into Cyril’s paw, coaching the young mouse’s grasp with his own digits until he was satisfied. “There, see that? You’ve got to keep the balance right, so that you can swing either way, or stab forward. Not too tight, now. Keep your wrist loose. Put your body behind it, but don’t become clumsy. You want to control it, not throw it about so that it drags you along behind it. Remember, balance. Now, hold it up and across, so it can be a shield as well as an attack blade. Ah, not bad ... now take a few practice swings, just to get the feel of the weight in motion ... “
        Before he knew it, Cyril was slicing the air before him with sweeps of the short sword, back and forth, up and down, side to side - all under the direction of Jans, but the blade felt so comfortable in his paw, Cyril was sure he could have done it on his own. A sudden weariness in his muscles made Cyril realize he’d been swinging the weapon for quite some time. Checking the sun through the leafy overhang, he guessed it must be near noon. Where had the time gone?
        “Bellringer, my chained paw!” Broggen remarked. “I’ve seen so-called swordbeasts up north wot couldn’t swing a blade ‘alf as well.”
        Jans nodded in agreement. “Yes, there must be something about yanking those bellropes that gives a beast a feel for the steel, that’s all I can say.” He drew his own sword and held it up in a duelling stance. “Now let’s tap blades for a bit. That’s where you really learn what’s what.”
        Cyril quickly found that two-beasted swordplay was a lot more challenging than fighting empty air. Even though Jans was obviously going very easy on him, the clashes of steel on steel soon had Cyril’s paw stinging, and twice he lost his weapon to swipes from his opponent’s blade. Jans coached as best he could, giving quick words of advice and sometimes leading by way of example, showing Cyril moves he should try to imitate.
        Reaching down to retrieve Gratch’s sword after losing it the second time, Cyril puffed to catch his breath. “Whew! This is a lot tougher than you warriors make it look.”
        “Takes some gettin’ used to,” Jans admitted. “But a trained warrior might have to fight for hours straight, up in the north. I remember a couple battles ... “ Jans shook his head at the memories. “Tough times Broggs ‘n’ I’ve seen, serving under Lord Urthblood. You rest a bit, Cyril, then Broggs’ll have a go with you. He may be big, but he’s not as good with the short sword as I am. Maybe you can even knock it out of his paw, if you remember all the things I told you.”
        “Don’t bet on it,” Broggen told his companion with a grin. The stoat cast aside his double-pointed javelin and took Jans’s sword, hefting the weapon to get its feel. “Jus’ call me “Lefty,’ lads!” he cried, tracing a crude figure eight in the air in front of him. It was plain that left-pawed swordplay was not one of Broggen’s strong suits.
        Jans stepped back and away from his stoat partner as far as the manacle chain would allow. “I’ll keep my distance. You might split me open without meaning to!”
        “Aw, I wouldn’t. Anytime ye’re ready, Cyril lad!”
        None of them noticed a fourth creature approaching through the forest from the north, ducking and bobbing from the cover of one tree trunk to the next so that it could draw near without being seen.
        Cyril braced himself, trying to remember everything Jans had told him, and stepped into duelling range. Broggen’s blows were clumsier and therefore heavier than Jans’s had been, and Cyril’s paw began stinging anew. But he held on to the sword.
        “Go easy there, Broggs!” Jans called out. “This one’s not an experienced fighter. Just tap around with him a bit.”
        “I’m bein’ as gennel as I knows how,” Broggen protested, with a trace of petulence.
        “Gentle like an oaf!” Janes muttered. “Cyril! Don’t take his blows straight on. Parry and dodge with the blade, like I showed you. Watch for openings, and try to keep on top.”
        The stranger from the north was now at the edge of the glade, standing alongside a tree mere paces away yet still unnoticed. It held itself perfectly still, its light green and sand-colored garments blending into the surroundings in a perfect display of camouflage. For several moments it merely observed the scene before it. Then ...
        Cyril was trying to follow Jan’s advice, but he was too tired by this time. Broggen was slow with his swings, but not so slow that Cyril could avoid every one. Now a forceful blow came down squarely on Gratch’s sword, knocking it from Cyril’s grasp and causing the young mouse to fall backward onto his tail.
        Broggen lowered his blade. “Oh, sorry - “
        “Eulalia! Rottin’ blighter!”
        From out of nowhere a hare came flying at Broggen with an impossible airborne kick. Both huge feet caught the stoat full force, one in the head and one in the shoulder, and Broggen went tumbling tail up. The hare’s momentum was so great that Jans was pulled down too and dragged for several paces until Broggen stopped rolling and came to rest.
        In the same fluid motion that he landed, the hare stooped down to retrieve Gratch’s sword. He passed it back to Cyril even as he pulled the Abbey novice to his feet. “Here y’go, laddie! Never let ‘em get you down an’ out!”
        Cyril gaped at the hare, the returned sword dangling from a limp paw. “Who ... who are you?”
        “Never mind that. ‘Nuff time fer proper introductions later. Business first ... “ The hare bounded over to Broggen, scooping up the sword that had flown from the stoat’s grasp when he’d been sent sprawling. Broggen lay motionless, knocked senseless from the flying kick. The hare glanced down at the iron manacles that linked Jans and Broggen together, and drew the wrong conclusion. “Dirty slaver scum! This is what we do to th’ likes of you at Salamandastron!” With that, he raised the sword to plunge it into Broggen’s exposed throat.
        From where he lay, Jans could just reach Broggen’s javelin. Seizing one pointed end of the shaft, he swung it hard against the hare’s legs with a whack! that brought their attacker down.
        “Yeow! Wot’re you doin’, chappo?”
        Regaining his feet, Jans pressed the javelin point into the soft flesh below the hare’s jaw. “Drop that sword, hare, or I’ll make yer brain see daylight!”
        “You’re one daft slave mouse!” The hare turned to look at Cyril. “Is this how you folks thank beasts who come to your rescue?”
        Cyril ignored him, kneeling down to see how Broggen was. He was afraid his stoat friend might have been killed by the hare’s kick; he’d never imagined anybeast could launch itself like that. To his immense relief Broggen groaned and fluttered his eyelids, but fell back upon trying to sit up. “Oooo, me head! My noodle’s been scrambled!”
        “Cyril! Get my sword from this hare, then stand back while I keep him covered. As soon as Broggen’s up to walking, we’ll take this beast into the Abbey and let him explain himself!”
        “Jolly well right I will!” The hare made to get up, but Jans put more pressure on the javelin to keep his adversary pinned.
        “Uh, I left the north gate unlatched when I sneaked out,” Cyril told Jans. “Unless the otters came back and locked it, we should be able to get back in that way.”
        “Good!” Jans looked to the stoat. “Broggs, d’you think you can walk?”
        Broggen clutched at his aching head and squinted. “Lemme try an’ stand first, matey.” Slowly he struggled to his feet, leaning on Cyril for support. “Oo, ah, I think I’ll live. Wish it were winter, so’s I could bury me noggin in a snowbank.”
        “Sister Aurelia will give you a bed in the Infirmary,” Cyril said to Broggen. “She’s got potions for any type of hurt.”
        The hare watched and listened to these proceedings with growing incredulity. “You’re friends? A moment ago you chaps were tryin’ to slice ‘n’ dice each other.”
        “They were just havin’ a friendly go-round,” Jans said crossly, “until you interrupted an‘ nearly knocked my pal’s bloody head off!”
        “Oh, I’m not bleedin’, Jansy mate,” Broggen corrected Jans.
        His mouse companion ignored him. “Right,” he ordered the hare, “on your feet - and no tricks! We’ll sort this out once and for all. Now, get moving!” With the javelin at his back, the hare was led toward the wallgate. Cyril gave Jans’s sword to Broggen so the stoat could help keep their prisoner covered. That left Cyril with Gratch’s sword, and the dilemma of how he was now going to return the rat’s weapon unnoticed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

        There was quite a commotion on the north Abbey grounds.
        Several creatures witnessed the foursome’s entrance through the wallgate, and Cyril’s hopes for an anonymous return to the Abbey were immediately dashed. Two soldiers from Urthblood’s army, a weasel and a shrew who were part of the Northlander rotation currently inside Redwall, raced over in response to Jans’ and Broggen’s calls, helping the Abbey otter guards to keep the hare properly surrounded. The young otter Rumter rushed off to inform his Skipper Montybank of this development. Likewise, Elmwood took one look at the strange hare and, recognizing it as no resident of this part of Mossflower, sprang toward the south lawns to alert Alexander. And at least three different mice of the order, drawn to the scene by the flurry of activity, set off at once to fetch the Abbess, or Arlyn, or Maura, or whomever they could find.
        In very short order the northern cloisters were packed with beasts who’d turned out to see about this new arrival to Redwall. The speedy Alexander was the first Abbey leader on the scene; Machus and Mina were not far behind. The hare bristled visibly at the sight of the fox. But that reaction was nothing compared to his first sight of Urthblood, striding toward him with Monty, Maura, Vanessa and Arlyn at his side.
        Moving like lightning, the hare ducked back from the ring of swords and spearpoints hemming him in. Reaching into his tunic he withdrew a long throwing knife and cocked his paw behind his ear to hurl it at the Badger Lord.
        Broggen, who was closest to the hare and held the longest weapon, knocked the knife from the hare’s paw with a smack from his javelin shaft. The hare tried to snatch the javelin away and scramble after his knife in the same motion, but Alex, Machus and a dozen other creatures jumped on him and held him immobile.
        Urthblood stepped up to the pinioned hare, outwardly unmoved by the fact that there had just been an attempt on his life. “What is going on here?” he demanded of his subordinates.
        “Broggs and I were drilling outside the wall, Lord,” Jans spoke up, “and this vicious beast assaulted us without warning or provocation.”
        Abbess Vanessa joined Urthblood at the armored badger’s side. She looked the hare in the eye. “Who are you, and what brings you to Redwall?”
        The pinned creature looked from Vanessa to Urthblood and back again, confusion plain on his features. “I think somebeast had best explain wot’s goin’ on here.”
        “You are the one who has explaining to do,” Urthblood said ominously. “Answer the Abbess’s questions.”
        The hare glared at Urthblood, fear and hatred vying for prominence on his face. Addressing Vanessa, he said, “My name’s Hanchett, Ma’am, of the Salamandastron Long Patrols. I came to warn you ... but I see I’m too late.”
        “Warn us? Of what?”
        “That Urthblood might be coming to Redwall.”
        The gathered woodlanders regarded the hare quizically. “Lord Urthblood and his army are guests of Redwall,” Vanessa said at length. “He has offered us his assistance in strengthening our defenses. You speak of him as if he were our enemy.”
        “Ma’am, this brute’s the enemy of every goodbeast alive.”
        Urthblood spoke. “I think this would best be continued down in Cavern Hole, with just the Abbey leaders.”
        Hanchett strained against the many paws that held him. “Oh no you don’t, you deceitful, murderous beast! I’ll not let you lead me quietly away to disappear like all your other victims! What I have to say, I’ll say in front of all these good, decent creatures. Or are you afraid of what they might hear?”
        Vanessa held up her paws. “Nobeast will come to harm in Redwall if I have anything to say about it. Now, you - Hanchett, was it? - you’ve caused quite a ruckus, and you’ve attempted violence against our guests. I would have your reasons for such actions, and I would have them now!”
        Vanessa was not a particularly imposing figure, but when she exercised her full authority as Abbess she became a mouse to be reckoned with. Hanchett swallowed, thoroughly cowed by her tone.
        “Yes, Ma’am. Well, you see, when I got near this place, I saw that little feller over there,” Hanchett nodded toward Cyril, who tried to shrink inside his fur, “locked in battle with this oaf of a stoat. I thought he was a goodbeast in need of assistance, so I kicked my way into the row. An’ when I saw that this vermin had another mouse chained to ‘im, I surmised he was a vile slaver in need of dispatchin’. That’s what I was doing, an’ the next thing I know ... wham! All these beasts wot were fightin’ each other suddenly start in on me.” And here Hanchett stopped, as if all had been explained.
        “Ah. And, tell me, was it my imagination, or did you just attempt to kill Lord Urthblood with a throwing knife?”
        “Oh, that.” Hanchett seemed as if this were the most natural thing in the world for him to have done. “Course I did. What else would you expect me to do?”
        The assembled Redwallers were flabbergasted by the hare’s nonchalant attitude toward his failed assasination attempt. “So please indulge us,” Vanessa went on, “and pray tell us why you would want to do such a thing.”
        Now Hanchett looked to be getting exasperated. “There’s not one hare of the Long Patrol wouldn’t ‘ave done the same, Ma’am. Urthblood has been our enemy longer’n many of us’ve been alive.”
        “This beast is mad,” Urthblood rumbled. “He speaks nonsense.”
        “Takes a madbeast to know one, I ‘spect,” Hanchett taunted the badger warrior.
        “Quiet, both of you!” Vanessa said sharply. “I want to get to the bottom of this. Hanchett, please explain fully, so we can all understand, why you have come to Redwall, and why you consider Lord Urthblood to be our enemy.”
        “My master, Lord Urthfist - uh, he’s the legitimate Lord of Salamandastron - well, he’s been keeping tabs on this oone for the past twenty seasons, ever since Urthblood abandoned the throne of the mountain and stormed off in a rage. Tracking from a distance, I guess you could say, using the faster hares of the Patrols to relay reports. As long as Urthblood stayed to the Northlands, we were content to simply watch his horrors from afar. But we all knew he would have to come back south someday. When we started to see signs that he was gettin’ ready to move toward Mossflower, I was sent to warn you.” Hanchett glared at Urthblood. “Never guessed he’d move so flippin’ fast.”
        “So let me make sure I have this right,” said Vanessa. “Urthfist views Lord Urthblood - his own brother - as an enemy?”
        “Guess you could say that, given our standing orders.”
        “And those are?”
        “Same as they’ve been for the past twenty seasons: if ever Urthblood should try to return to Salamandastron, he’s to be slain on sight. And our platoon captains don’t let us forget it for one minute, no they don’t.”
        “This is all news to me,” Urthblood said. “This beast is either mad or lying.”
        “Or else there’s something going on at Salamandastron that you haven’t been clued into,” Alex suggested.
        Urthblood gave the squirrel archer a penetrating stare. “You raise an interesting point, friend. Abbess, may I ask a few questions of my own? This hare has cast serious aspersions on my character, and I think it only fair that I be allowed to address him.”
        Vanessa nodded her assent.
        Urthblood stepped forward, towering over Hanchett and causing the hare to blanch in spite of his demonstrated courage. “You say you are from Salamandastron, and you serve my brother. Why should I believe you?”
        “I don’t give a seagull’s arse wot you believe. My only concern is convincing these goodbeasts what kind of a monster they’ve let into their midst.”
        Urthblood walked completely around Hanchett, studying the hare from all sides. “I will admit that it has been many seasons since I was last at Salamandastron, so I do not know all my brother’s hares by name or by sight. I will grant that you look and sound the part. If you are an imposter, sent by my enemies to sow doubts among my allies, you have put a great deal of work into your charade. Even I might mistake you for the real thing.”
        “One of us is lyin’ to these goodbeasts, and it ain’t me,” Hanchett snorted.
        “The Long Patrols are always organized in groups of three hares. If you really are from Salamandastron, where are your two companions?”
        “I was sent alone. Lord Urthfist wanted speed, and I’m about the fastest hare in the Patrols. He felt sending three would only slow me down.”
        “You are so modest.” Urthblood turned to Vanessa. “Abbess, I must insist that you allow me to interrogate this beast alone, in my own fashion. There are questions only I would know to ask, and only I will be able to gauge the truthfulness of his responses. I need hardly remind you that he may be dangerous.”
        “Yo ho, Abbess, Marm!” Hanchett protested. “Aren’t you mice sworn to give sanctuary to beasts in need? Well, I’m invokin’ my rights here. I plead for the protection of the order of Redwall!”
        Alexander looked incredulous. “Such protection is not usually extended to creatures who assault our guests.”
        “Yeah,” said Jans. “He nearly killed my mate Broggs!”
        Hanchett sniffed. “If I’d known he was one of Urthblood’s lot, I’d’ve kicked a little harder.”
        “Hey, watch it there!” Alex warned.
        “Abbess, Ma’am,” Hanchett pleaded, “if you leave me alone with Urthblood, he’ll kill me, sure as I’m standin’ here. If you believe nothing else I’ve told you, believe that. Don’t let that happen!”
        Vanessa waved her paws for silence and considered the situation. At length she turned to Urthblood. “My Lord, unless this hare is putting on a truly remarkable performance, it seems to me that he truly does fear you.”
        “Good. That can be used to our advantage in questioning him.”
        Vanessa shook her head. “We do not terrorize creatures here at Redwall. I am granting his request not to be left alone with you. He will be well guarded by Redwallers, to make sure he causes no mischief. But when he is questioned, it will be in Cavern Hole, at a full assemblage of the Abbey leaders. “ She cast her gaze around the crowd. “Monty, Alex ... I am putting this hare in your charge. Find some accommodation where he may be confined ... and see to it that he comes to no harm.”
        “Aye, Nessa, we’re on it!” Monybank pushed his way through the throng around Hanchett and helped Alex and some of the other squirrels and otters escort the hare across the lawns toward the Abbey building. The departing glare he received from Urthblood’s troops was downright venomous.
        “Well!” declared Vanessa. “If that was not the strangest thing yet of all the strange things that I’ve witnessed at Redwall this season, I don’t know what is! What do you make of this, Lord?”
        The big badger shook his head slowly, gazing after the departed hare. “I must think on this awhile. But I will say, Abbess, that I do not believe this turn of events can bode well, however it turns out.”