Title: Vicente's Wrath
Synopsis: Vicente, the Monstrosity of a Fox, is terrorizing Mossflower while Martin is away. What Martin doesn't know is that Vicente remembers how he was treated when Martin was his employee.
Rating: PG-13 (just in case)
Critique: Please, anything would help.
Martin, son of Mattimeo and Tess Churchmouse, a mouse himself, was very happy to return to his home, Redwall Abbey. As he stepped out smartly a small dust cloud followed behind him on the road. If Martin had not been so ecstatic about returning to Redwall, he might not have overlooked Saint Ninian’s Church, and the eyes peering out at him. Bowstrings had been pulled taught and swords brought to the ready in preparation for the Warrior. To Martin’s account, he slew three rats before a stoat and a fox knocked him out with swings from long staves, dust flying every which direction.
Abbess Lycian of Redwall Abbey, Martin’s home, was taking tea with her close friend Molemum Burbee when a wallguard ran up and told her a story of an enlarging and then disappearing dust cloud.
“That must be Martin coming home. I knew he’d be back soon.” Lycian stood to look out upon the road. She couldn’t see anyone there but was sure Martin would be home soon. She didn’t think Martin the Warrior could have been captured, at least, not now.
Several hours later the wallguard’s story weighed heavily on Lycian’s mind. After supper Lycian called the Skipper of Otters to her private room.
“I don’t understand it, Martin should have been home hours ago!” Lycian paced the room as Skipper, whose name was Banjon, settled into an immense armchair made for a badger named Constance.
“Would you like me to send out a search party, Mother Abbess? I haven’t seen you so upset since the big oak tree collapsed the South wall.” Skipper looked at her with concern, ”You never pace unless it’s serious. What do you think happened to Martin?”
Lycian half fell, half sat into the chair at her desk. Skipper began to rise to help her but she waved him to sit down.
“I think Martin’s been captured.” She began to explain her thought process starting with the wallguard’s story.
For the inexperienced reader I will give a little background on Lycian’s home here. The Abbey of Redwall was a huge structure. It’s walls were at least seven feet thick. When animals defended those walls, only twice had foebeasts been inside, once by treachery, once by tunneling. Never were the enormous North, South, East, or West walls touched save by enemy missiles. No battering ever pierced the front gate. Stories were told around vermin campfires that spirits defended the walls as well as the living Abbeydwellers. Those stories are true. The skulls of two different Warlords were buried in the plains to the east. Redwall was nearly invincible.
Vicenté was an abomination of a fox from the far South. He was the leader of a good-sized band of vermin currently razing Mossflower, where Redwall is located. They are centered in St. Ninian’s Church and came across Martin by accident. Vicenté recognized Martin from afar and set up an ambush. They were on their way to raid a shrew picnic at some water meadows at the time. The three rats Martin killed were only grunts but cost the group men they couldn’t afford to lose. Because of this Vicenté was that much more irritated with the struggling mouse, bound as he was, to a pipe of the Church’s organ. Nobeast wanted to go near Martin to drag away the unconscious fox whom had strayed too close to the writhing Warrior. Instead they proceeded to toss stones at him until he awoke and crawled away, nursing a bleeding chin.
“I am bound and still you fear. I have no weapon and still you keep your distance. How dare cowards like these be kept in the same room as such a leader as the one sitting in the priest’s chair thinking shadow makes him invisible?” Martin’s voice dropped in intensity as he spoke of the giant fox.
“Very observant, mouse.” Vicenté turned to the injured fox’s group, “He speaks truly, leave us.” Needless to say, they hurried out the door to the foyer.
“You’ve caused me trouble already, Martin of Redwall.” Vicenté’s low voice reverberated in Martin’s ears.
“Vicenté of the far South, it has been a long time. Is your leg any better?” Martin goaded Vicenté.
“It will never be better as you very well know, Bonebreaker.” Vicenté snarled as he rubbed his left leg. It was bent opposite the kneecap.
“No one’s called me that in sixteen years.” Martin rested his head in his bound hands in mock nostalgia. “So you remember everything?”
“Everything.”
“Then I must ask how you plan to keep me here. For the different was you could do so, I must change my escape plan.
Vicenté rose up.
“There will be no escape Martin, I know your tricks, I know your plans. Nothing’s changed.”
“Everything’s changed. I have something worth fighting for and it’s not you!”
“You dare insult me? I will have your head on a pike for this!”
“You will have nothing soon, not even your life!”
Vicenté was almost startled by the look the bound mouse gave him. It was one of unwavering resilience. Not even when Martin was his ally did he give him a look like that.
Vicenté left the mouse with his resolve shaken. He returned to his quarters to work out a plan to keep the mouse in his grasp, but he couldn’t think straight. All he could think about were those blazing eyes.
Lycian had now sent Brantalis the Barnacle goose to notify Salamandastron the mountain fortress of the situation. Her request for a battalion of fighting hares was granted. Rugan, Lord of Salamadastron, would command them himself. Skipper Banjon and his otter crew were ready to begin the search as well as a veritable army of mice, moles, voles, squirrels, and even some hedgehogs. All were combing the Mossflower area. The first casualties came in the form of two shrews from Log-a-Log’s group. Log-a-Log is the title any leader of a group of shrews takes. One shrew that survived tracked the rats that attacked them to St. Ninian’s Church down the road from Redwall.
Woodlanders and Abbeydwellers alike armed themselves with weapons from garden pitchforks to bows and arrows. They marched down to St Ninian’s and were met with a hailstorm of slingstones, arrows, and javelins. The army took cover in a ditch on the opposite side of the church. Skipper was here trying to staunch an arrow wound while giving orders to a hare from Redwall, Pipkin.
“Make sure no one so much as peeks an ear over the edge of this ditch. After that I need you to gallop a bit and find where is blazes Lord Rugan’s battalion is, they should be commanded by the Badger Lord himself. Go!”
“Well forgive me for being half a day late.” Badger Lord Rugan was an intimidating sight. He was twice as tall as a mouse and twice as thick with a silver stripe down his back and along his muzzle. He held a double-bladed war axe bigger than Skipper’s head. He was flanked by Captain Rafael Granden. This mountain hare was tall and lanky with a saber strapped across his back and a long rapier at his side. Granden was notorious for using both at the same time in battle.
“’Bout time you arrived. I imagine the rest of your battalion is hidden in the trees on the side of the ditch?” Skipper was a little anxious.
“Yes,” was all the badger said. Skipper saw no one.
“Then I opt for a charge.” Skipper Banjon grinned during his suggestion.
“I agree, shall we?”
“Yes, let’s.”
“CHARGE!!!”
The Abbey attack along with the fighting hares frightened the vermin. Suddenly, tall rabbits had doubled the Abbey’s might. Now the vermin were the outnumbered ones.
During all of this Vicenté was in among his troops. He wasn’t one to command from the back of his army. He led by example. He killed and wounded more woodlanders than any five of his vermin band added together.
While the two armies vied for an advantage, Martin was working his way out of his bonds. Knowing the Abbey was attacking raised his spirits. He also knew that Skipper would have brought his sword. Crafted using his father’s sword hilt, Lord Brocktree, Rugan grandsire, crafted the blade of metal from a fallen star. It was magical.
Once freeing himself, Martin began to look for a weapon so he could beat his way to his friends.
“A window pole or metal fence post ought to do the trick,” Martin thought to himself. He ended up taking a very large candlesnuffer and breaking the end off. This attracted the attention of the guards, however.
After beating the guards senseless, Martin stole off into the woodlands, traveling in a wide arc. He hopped into the ditch right next to Skipper, who was nursing a new wound.
“Tear some tunic to bandage that, Banjon, or you’ll never stop the bleeding. Where’s my sword?” Martin was in a hurry.
“Nice to see you too, Martin. Your sword’s over there.” Skipper was having trouble pointing and tearing tunic at the same time.
Martin took up his wondrous blade and leaped out of the ditch. He immediately deflected an arrow and began to shout.
“I challenge any vermin from your band to single combat.” At this, both woodlanders and vermin stopped fighting. Martin now stood alone on the road. “The loser is to be sent out to the plains and driven away. The winner claims Redwall Abbey.”
“I challenge you, Martin of Redwall.”
“I knew you would, Vicenté of the Far South. I know that, despite the fact that you are a vermin, you are a beast of your word. Promise none of my warriors will be harmed if I am defeated.”
“Only if you do the same.”
“So be it.”
“Then let it begin.” Vicenté charged Martin with his weapon, a trident with a flails as the tips. He swung upward at his adversary. Martin jumped and put his weapon beneath him, blocking the attack and sending him sailing skyward. Martin used this momentum to swing down on Vicenté, but found himself blocked by barbs. Vicenté’s next move was to swing around his head and bring his trident down on Martin. Martin easily sidestepped this and brought his sword down so hard, it sliced clean through Vicenté’s trident haft. The fox was now fighting with a steel staff. Unfortunately for Vicenté, he wasn’t as learned with this weapon. He tried to run. He failed. Martin threw his sword like a javelin and pinned Vicenté to a tree, killing him. Martin retrieved his sword and stood in front of Vicenté’s vermin.
“Do to the agreement before our battle, you shall be driven from this land, and none of you harmed in any way.” Martin was an impressive sight. All obeyed, they knew to disobey meant death.
Thus ended the tirade of Vicenté of the Far South upon the woodlanders of Mossflower. Thus continued the career of Martin the Warrior as the Abbey Champion. Thus continued the peace in Mossflower and at Redwall Abbey.
For now.
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