NOONVALE, PROLOGUE:
Takmar stood rigidly outside the tent. The ferret knew his wife
was inside, giving birth to a young one, but he also knew that it
was his responsibility to accept or reject the babe. He cursed
himself silently, or rather; he cursed his heart, so soft when it
came to young creatures. His roving band could not stand many
more slowing them down, so the only young accepted were the ones
without defect who showed sign of strength and cunning. The
defective ones were cast adrift in the waves in a watertight box.
Some fooled themselves into believing that these
"drifters," as they were called, would be found by some
other vermin band. Others feared that they would come back
someday for vengeance. Takmar grimaced as he remembered the
truth: being thrown into the ocean without food or water, the
only shelter a wooden box, would be a death sentence for anybeast
so young.
If only Ublaz still had control of the island! If only those
wretched Abbeybeasts hadn't destroyed the empire, leaving
Sampetra an empty shell! Takmar spat on the ground as if on an
enemy. It was all the fault of the crown...no, the six empty
spaces on the crown...if not for the empty spaces, Takmar
wouldn't have to be standing there, waiting to turn away or
welcome his own child.
Suddenly, the old pine marten midwife came out, carrying a
sailcloth bundle in her feeble paws. Takmar reached forward
tremblingly and opened the bundle.
What he saw was a tiny ferretmaid, lashing out at the world with
her claws and crying as if she had just grasped a red-hot poker.
That wasn't all...he gasped as he noted her startling coloring.
Her eyes were so dark brown they were almost black, with bright
yellow spots around them, and this abnormal coloring pattern
continued throughout her body. Takmar felt his eyes sting with
tears as they roamed over the scrawny limbs and drooping
ears...aside from the color defect, this babe was not strong. He
slowly turned his back on the midwife, who dropped her bundle
roughly into the waiting box and sealed off the lid.
The last Takmar heard of his daughter was her, howling her anger
at the night, as she was thrown into the turbulent sea.
NOONVALE, CHAPTER ONE:
Tseeeer. Tseeeeer.
The horrible sound of onyx grinding on stone came from within the
tent. The frantic stoat captain was in the process of tearing a
barkcloth bag to shreds between his paws, waiting to be called
in.
Tseeeer. Tseeeer.
Rumors flew around the whole vermin inhabitance of the world of
this creature that he was about to face. That she was cruel
beyond all measure yet cared for her daughter like a woodlander.
That her cutlass had been forged from onyx, with topazes stolen
from the heart of a northern mountain embedded in the hilt. That
she had, in her vast travels, gathered more vermin than anybeast
had ever seen, always known by their black and yellow bandanas.
That nobeast had ever heard her real and true voice because it
was as inconstant as a fox.
Tseeeeer. Tseeeeeer.
And he, Fangtear, had to give her bad news. He laughed gratingly
at the pure irony of his luck. He had finished with the bag and
had reached up to his already tattered ear when the grinding
stopped. A high, gentle voice came from within.
"Come in, Fangtear. Please report."
He gulped, but then relaxed. Nobeast with such a beautiful voice
could be cruel as all that. The stoat swaggered in hastily and
bowed low until he saw a black blade gesture upward. The sight
that met his eyes was unlike any he had seen before. There was a
tall, slender female ferret standing before him, with seemingly
black eyes and fur, with large yellow spots all over her body.
She wore a crude vest of old leather and a pair of pants made
from the same leather. Even though she was built rather
delicately, she radiated a sense of power and confidence.
"Milady...the scouts have returned."
She tested the cutlass blade with one paw. "And?"
"There is good news and bad," he mumbled, fiddling with
his bandana. "We have discovered a colony of crows a few
days' walk to the East."
"Good, good." Suddenly, her eyes glowed with a fire
exactly like a coal.
"And what of the bad news?"
His scrawny throat bulged as he gulped.
"Y-yes...milady..."
"Well, what is it?"
"W-w-we...t-tried to overcome them...give them a ch- a
chance to surrender, b-b-but they dropped stones on our heads,
and we lost a number in the s-scuffle...milady." He added
hastily.
"I see. Well, how many lost?"
"O-only twenty-three out of a band of one hundred,
milady."
"Hmm. I see." She turned her gaze back to her cutlass
and polished it furiously.
"S-so, you aren't angry?"
"Merely disappointed, captain. A group of fine vermin such
as I sent with you...how did you manage to lose
twenty-three?"
There was no response. Through Fangtear's head ran embarrassing
scenes of hordebeasts running amok after the first stone was
cast. He couldn't get away from this.
"I see. Well, I must say, I truly am disappointed. Now I
must find twenty-three other creatures who are as good as the
twenty-three lost through your blundering troop."
"So...there will be no punishment?"
"How do you like my cutlass? I've just sharpened it, you
know."
"Have you, milady?"
"Indeed I have. Would you like to see it?" She held it
out in her left paw.
Stupidly, he reached out a paw to touch it.
"I do love breaking in a new edge." There was a flash
of topaz and onyx.
The last thing Fangtear heard was "Twenty-four."
NOONVALE, CHAPTER TWO:
The wrinkled old paws of Marlinga Reah trembled in the tight knot
her captors had tied about them. The ancient vole sat in the
corner of her cell, bound both paw and footpaw, and remembered
better times. She had been the leader of Noonvale for
generations, and kept peaceful the beautiful place. Until, she
thought with a shudder, until these horrible crows invaded.
Nobeast knew how they had found Noonvale, but they had, and
shattered the peace in the process. Their leader, Mercrov, had a
heart as black as his feathers, yet constantly spouted sayings
about honor in a very old-fashioned tongue. Marlinga attempted to
make herself comfortable in the tiny cell as she remembered the
slaughter that had accompanied Mercrov's arrival; Noonvale had no
troops, no weapons, and no fighting skills. And why would they?
There hadn't been any need...until now.
A sharp rap on the door and a rude voice interrupted her
thoughts. "Mercrov wishes to speak to you!"
Her voice was a feeble, reedy cry. "Please come and help me
to my footpaws; I cannot move in these bonds."
Derisive laughter came from the other side, but the door opened
and a crow came in, heaving her roughly to her feet. She thanked
him, but he only severed the rope tying her footpaws together and
shoved her rudely with his beak. She made her slow way forward
until coming to Mercrov's hideously decorated tent. Marlinga had
to wrench her eyes shut as she walked in, so as not to burst into
tears at the sight of her old friends' paws dangling morosely
from the doorway.
Mercrov himself sat on a large leather chair, black feathers
glistening with oil and grease. He gobbled down a plateful of
candied chestnuts stolen from a babe's paws. "Be ye the
Queen of old?"
She would have laughed at his quaint speech if she didn't know
about his cruel interior. "Yes, I am the leader of
Noonvale."
"Am? Thou darest claim leadership? Even whilst I sit on thy
throne and eat thy food and speak down to thee?" He laughed
throatily. "Thou art a fool, old one. Hast thou enough sense
to now reveal to me, the leader of Talonperch..."
"It is called Noonvale and you know it!" Marlinga said,
quietly yet defiantly.
"The leader of Talonperch the whereabouts of the great
treasure?"
"There is no great treasure, Mercrov."
"Fool! Thou liest! I am merciful, so I shall ask thee once
again: Where be the treasure?"
"And I shall tell you again, you foul bird, there is no
treasure!" Marlinga exhausted herself in the defiant effort.
Mercrov threw his empty plate at her, and it knocked her head so
hard she passed out. He turned to his guards. "Lock this
bundle up for a fortnight. She be lying, I know it! Just wait!
Mercrov shall reign!" All his guards raised their right
talons and raked the air in salute.
"Mercrooov! Mercrooov!"
NOONVALE, CHAPTER THREE:
Deep in the heart of Mossflower Woods, a chattering noise began.
It swelled to a nearly deafening level, and, had somebeast parted
the trees and looked inside, an amazing sight would have met
their eyes.
Cosasim.
At the Congregation of Sparra and Squirrels in Mossflower,
creatures lined the trees. Nests bent the upper branches and the
multitude of red, brown, and gray bent the lower ones, where
squirrels and sparra had gathered in staggering numbers.
Cosasim!
The chattering sound grew steadily until a regal-looking female
Sparra and a kingly gray squirrel, both carrying silver shields,
nodded to each other and shouted one word aloud in clashing
harmony.
"Cosasim!"
The reply rang back.
"Cosasim!"
The Sparra held up her shield so that it reflected the sun, and
the clearing fell silent at her signal. When she spoke, her
voice, though commanding, was shrill to the verge of comedy.
"Clara Sparra and Branchleap Squirrelworm welcomeyou!"
"Cosasim!"
Now the squirrel held up his shield. His voice rang deep and
rich, like a tolling bell. "My friends, Cosasim, this
meeting is called in powerful urgency. I ask now that you give
full attention to our scouts, who bring important news." He
stepped aside, loaning the floor to two young squirrels, both
carrying loaded slings. One spoke.
"Noonvale is under attack!"
A panicked chattering began at these words until Clara and
Branchleap held up their shields, silencing them. The young
squirrel continued. "Crows, led by the notorious Mercrov,
have captured Marlinga Reah and are holding her hostage. We don't
know why; if we had stayed longer, we'd have been slain by
Mercrov's guards."
The other squirrel chimed in with her information. "All we
know is that Noonvale, which has never seen war, is now under
siege by a vicious army of crows."
"Whatta canwe do?" came one panicked Sparra's voice.
Branchleap cleared his throat and spoke up. "We have friends
at Redwall Abbey who claim to possess a riddle. They believe it
to be a map to Noonvale in disguise. Abbess Song and her friends
should be working on it as we speak."
The little squirrelmaid sat by the Abbey pond and tried to gather
strength from watching the tranquil scene. In her left paw rested
a bow with the string only tied on one end, and the other end
frayed from many attempts. Ever impatient, Avenna Reguba was
trying to string a bow and make a quiverful of arrows before
anyone else in her family had. Suddenly placing her tongue
between her teeth and picking up the bow, she grasped the bottom
with both footpaws and the loose end of the string with her right
paw. Avenna stretched the bowstring tight and guided it,
trembling with tension, to the tiny hook she had made.
"Come on...Come on..."
In a final burst of energy, she pushed the looped end of the
string inward and let go. To her vast surprise, she had done it!
There, she held a bow that she had made herself...before she was
expected to! Avenna sprang up on her footpaws. She ran as fast as
she could to Great Hall, shouting "I did it! I finally did
it! Father, look!"
She stopped, however, at the doorway of the Great Hall. Blocking
her way was the Abbey Champion and her father, Dannflor Reguba.
He was a tall, strong-looking squirrel, and stood with paws
akimbo now.
"Avenna? What did you do?" Dann looked stern, but
always kept a twinkle in his eye that reminded all young ones
that he was once like them.
Breathless from her running, Avenna held up her completed bow
with proudly flushed cheeks. "I finally finished my bow! Now
I can be a real warrior, father! Just like you!"
Chuckling and abandoning his stern manner, Dann swept his little
daughter up onto his broad shoulders. "You did, eh?
Wonderful job! I suppose now you'll be wanting to go off and
fight some vermin?" He was just teasing; the Abbey had been
a place of complete peace since Castle Marl had been defeated. So
Dann was very surprised when Avenna bobbed her head up and down
eagerly.
"Yes, please!"
He laughed again. "Now, where, pray tell, will we find this
vermin horde for you to defeat?"
She shrugged. "Even Mother Abbess doesn't know that. She
says it's too much of a riddle, even for her and all the rest of
the Abbey Elders. But one thing's for sure: it's got something to
do with a place called Noonvale."
Something, some deep instinct deep within Dannflor, was affected
by the word. "Noonvale..." He said it as if he was
trying to remember a dream. "Never mind, Avenna. Do you know
where we might find Abbess Song?"
She giggled. "Maybe she's off fighting the vermin at
Noonvale."
"Maybe, Avenna!" He laughed deep in his throat.
"Maybe!"