victory over Redwall, and all the country of Mossflower?”
Zwilt’s dead black eyes bored into the speaker. “Tell me.”
The Sable Quean prowled down from her throne. Slowly circling the tall beast, she took up the explanation. “It’s quite simple. We leave Redwall alone. They cannot fight what they do not see. The Abbey, and all this land, is inhabited mostly by woodlanders, would you agree? Good, honest, hardworking creatures, yes?”
Zwilt nodded, allowing her to continue.
“Woodlanders with families, relatives and friends. The young ones, their babes, their kindred, are the hope of the future, the very lifeblood of peaceful creatures. They would do anything to protect their brood, even fight. But how can they fight what is not there? The worry, the grief and sorrow at the loss of their dearest treasure. Where are their young ones? Are they alive or dead? No woodlander or Abbeydweller will know until I speak to them on my terms. Give me what I want, and your families will be allowed to live. They will, believe me, because the alternative would be too awful for them to imagine. That is my plan, Zwilt.”
Returning the broadsword to his belt, the Shade nodded, then paused. “When will all this happen, Majesty?”
She moved close, whispering in his ear, “When I think the time is right. Once we have control, I will need Ravagers to enforce my will. I trust only you, my loyal commander, to help me in all things. Remember, the rewards will be great, and only we two shall share them. Now go and do as your Quean bids.”
Zwilt bowed his head slightly. “Your wish is my command!”
Watching the tall figure striding away, Vilaya went back to her throne. Dirva waited until he had left the side chamber.
“I think he got your message, but I keep feeling that Zwilt the Shade would rather wage war on Redwall.”
The Sable Quean produced a slim knife from the end of her snake fang necklace. “He would be dead and at Hellgates before he could shout charge. One scratch from my little toy would see to that.”
Carefully, she withdrew the knife from its slender crystal sheath, watching the drops of adder venom collecting at its needle tip. She smiled. “On the day that Zwilt is no longer useful to me, he will learn the real power of Vilaya the Sable Quean.”
With their bonds and gags removed, the two little shrews were thrust roughly into the holding chamber. This was the largest of the subterranean caverns. It had an oaken door, complete with a small grille aperture. As the guard bolted the door from outside, the younger shrew broke out crying again. “Waaaaah—I wan’ my daddy’n’mamma . . . waaaah!”
The older of the pair, a little shrewmaid, hugged her brother, soothing him. “Hush now, Borti. Don’t cry.”
“Aye, tell Borti t’keep quiet, or we’ll all suffer!”
Midda, the shrewmaid, looked around to see who had spoken.
The place was poorly lit by three guttering lanterns. She could see shapes of other creatures huddled around the walls in groups. The speaker was a young otter—he strode through the gloom to her side.
“I’m just warnin’ ye, miss. Keep the liddle feller quiet. Thwip’ll take the lanterns away, an’ we’ll all be left in the dark. If’n Borti makes a sound after that, we won’t get any vittles. That scum’s just lookin’ for an excuse to punish us, so don’t give ’im the chance.”
Midda picked her little brother up, rocking him gently. “He’ll drop off t’sleep soon—we’re both very tired. My name’s Midda. We’re Guosim shrews. D’ye know what our name stands for?”
The otter nodded. “Aye. Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower. My name’s Flandor—ain’t got no kin. I’m from the Eastlands. We’ve got a few shrews in here. Maybe ye might know some of ’em, Midda.”
The shrewmaid peered into the shadowy interior. “Maybe I might, Flandor, but who’s Thwip?”
A gaunt squirrelmaid appeared at her side. “Here, let me take the
Zwilt’s dead black eyes bored into the speaker. “Tell me.”
The Sable Quean prowled down from her throne. Slowly circling the tall beast, she took up the explanation. “It’s quite simple. We leave Redwall alone. They cannot fight what they do not see. The Abbey, and all this land, is inhabited mostly by woodlanders, would you agree? Good, honest, hardworking creatures, yes?”
Zwilt nodded, allowing her to continue.
“Woodlanders with families, relatives and friends. The young ones, their babes, their kindred, are the hope of the future, the very lifeblood of peaceful creatures. They would do anything to protect their brood, even fight. But how can they fight what is not there? The worry, the grief and sorrow at the loss of their dearest treasure. Where are their young ones? Are they alive or dead? No woodlander or Abbeydweller will know until I speak to them on my terms. Give me what I want, and your families will be allowed to live. They will, believe me, because the alternative would be too awful for them to imagine. That is my plan, Zwilt.”
Returning the broadsword to his belt, the Shade nodded, then paused. “When will all this happen, Majesty?”
She moved close, whispering in his ear, “When I think the time is right. Once we have control, I will need Ravagers to enforce my will. I trust only you, my loyal commander, to help me in all things. Remember, the rewards will be great, and only we two shall share them. Now go and do as your Quean bids.”
Zwilt bowed his head slightly. “Your wish is my command!”
Watching the tall figure striding away, Vilaya went back to her throne. Dirva waited until he had left the side chamber.
“I think he got your message, but I keep feeling that Zwilt the Shade would rather wage war on Redwall.”
The Sable Quean produced a slim knife from the end of her snake fang necklace. “He would be dead and at Hellgates before he could shout charge. One scratch from my little toy would see to that.”
Carefully, she withdrew the knife from its slender crystal sheath, watching the drops of adder venom collecting at its needle tip. She smiled. “On the day that Zwilt is no longer useful to me, he will learn the real power of Vilaya the Sable Quean.”
With their bonds and gags removed, the two little shrews were thrust roughly into the holding chamber. This was the largest of the subterranean caverns. It had an oaken door, complete with a small grille aperture. As the guard bolted the door from outside, the younger shrew broke out crying again. “Waaaaah—I wan’ my daddy’n’mamma . . . waaaah!”
The older of the pair, a little shrewmaid, hugged her brother, soothing him. “Hush now, Borti. Don’t cry.”
“Aye, tell Borti t’keep quiet, or we’ll all suffer!”
Midda, the shrewmaid, looked around to see who had spoken.
The place was poorly lit by three guttering lanterns. She could see shapes of other creatures huddled around the walls in groups. The speaker was a young otter—he strode through the gloom to her side.
“I’m just warnin’ ye, miss. Keep the liddle feller quiet. Thwip’ll take the lanterns away, an’ we’ll all be left in the dark. If’n Borti makes a sound after that, we won’t get any vittles. That scum’s just lookin’ for an excuse to punish us, so don’t give ’im the chance.”
Midda picked her little brother up, rocking him gently. “He’ll drop off t’sleep soon—we’re both very tired. My name’s Midda. We’re Guosim shrews. D’ye know what our name stands for?”
The otter nodded. “Aye. Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower. My name’s Flandor—ain’t got no kin. I’m from the Eastlands. We’ve got a few shrews in here. Maybe ye might know some of ’em, Midda.”
The shrewmaid peered into the shadowy interior. “Maybe I might, Flandor, but who’s Thwip?”
A gaunt squirrelmaid appeared at her side. “Here, let me take the
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