All We Have Left

[Kentigern MacRaff]

"MacRaff!" His name pierced through the indistinct hum of chatter that droned on throughout the tavern. The hour was late, and a myriad of sailors, laborers, and merchants, thirsty from a day's work, gathered inside for a drink. Kentigern scanned the crowd for the source of the call. His eyes settled on a grinning squirrel, moving with ease despite the crowd, making his way across the tavern to where the hare sat. A similar smile slid across Kentigern's features.

"Dunwillie MacDougal, ye auld scoundrel," the hare called back, standing up and crossing the floor to greet his old friend. "It's been a long few seasons since ah last saw ye, has it nae?" When he reached the squirrel, Kentigern reached out a paw and pulled him into a rough embrace.

He had not, in fact, seen Dunwillie MacDougal since he had married Bonnie and hung up his sword. However, despite the time, his friend's features were a familiar sight to Kentigern. His eyes still twinkled with youthful exuberance and his summer coat was no greyer than when Kentigern had seen him last. Kentigern himself could feel his fur failing to regain a little bit of color in the summers as the seasons rolled by. The stress of raising a family, Kentigern had long ago decided, would kill him early. Wee Bonnie and her mother were quite the headstrong pair, and the hare often found himself on the wrong side of many arguments.

Ach, what ah wouldnae give fer the auld days, he thought, remembering the times he shared with Dunwillie and the rest of the Braw Adventurers, roaming across the North freely. He hadn't seen any of the other Wanderers in a long while, either, though.

Dunwillie pulled out of the embrace and held Kentigern at arm's length. "A long few seasons, aye. What? Nae since the battle a' Tanning Ford oot west, or aboot then, aye?"

"Aye," laughed Kentigern. "So 'twas. We showed those vermin how tae fight like true highlanders, when they thought they'd wiped us oot."

"Ach. Those were the days, were they nae?" Dunwillie shook his head. "Us'n the lads. Roamin'. Fightin'. Drinkin'. 'Tis a shame ye had tae settle doon." He paused, and motioned the bartender over. "Two October Ales. Ye drink that'un nooadays, eh? Like a proper Mossflower Laddie."

"Last ah checked, MacDougal, ye drink more o' the stuff than ah dae," Kentigern said.

Dunwillie waved him off. "Everybeast kens ah'll drink more o' any drink than ye, MacRaff."

"Do ah hear a challenge?" The hare raised an eyebrow. Despite his nonchalant bravado, though, Kentigern knew that he would, without a doubt, lose to the squirrel. Dunwillie had often challenged the other Wanderers to drinking contests, but in the ten odd seasons they had spent with the band Kentigern had never seen his friend lose. The hare himself was never one to hold his drink. A few flagons of ale were enough to send him reeling.

"Ye dinnae, but ah wish ye did," Dunwillie said, as the bartender returned with two flagons of ale. "Need ye sober, aye. Sensible." He took a moment to grab his flagon and take a swig. "How is that bonnie lass o' yers, anywhoo, er...?"

"Bonnie," replied Kentigern, sipping his own ale. While attempting to maintain a measured composure in front of his friend, he inwardly cringed when he uttered the name. He had sent his wife a letter as soon as he arrived in Northvale, but she had yet to respond. Kentigern gnawed his lip. When he had left, he thought that by this time she would see at least some merit in his reasoning, but the lack of his response from his usually verbose wife over the last few days was worrisome.

Dunwillie chuckled. "A bonnie lass named Bonnie. Ain't that somethin'?" He took another healthy gulp of ale. "Did ah hear right that ye have a bairn as well?"

"Aye," said Kentigern softly. "Wee Bonnie." In his letter, he had asked Bonnie to give their daughter the gift he had left her? a guide to the herbs of Mossflower. She wanted to become a medic for the Long Patrol, just like her grandmother. It was her birthday soon, and though he wouldn't be there to see it Kentigern longed to see the smile light up her face the way it usually did when she received a gift.

Again, Dunwillie shook his head. "Now ah've heard everythin'. Kent, ah ken yer clan has a tradition o' namin' the first bairn the same as the parent, but that's a mite silly."

"Tradition is tradition," said Kentigern. "Mah family's one of the auldest in the North. We've been uphauldin' our ways since the first snow fell on these lands." He stared wistfully into the distance. "Times are changin', Dun. The North's changin'. This city? This crater? Vulpuz is all o'er it. Nae clan would hae stood fer it in the auld days. Tradition's all the clans hae got left o' the auld North. Tradition an' blood."

He knew that for now, at least, his blood was safe in Mossflower. They lived but a short distance from Redwall Abbey. If there were any trouble, he reassured himself, they could reach the safety of its walls in two nights at most. It did a little to allay his worries, but the thought of his wife and daughter lying amidst the wreckage of their burning house made him hesitate. Maybe, he wondered, it wouldnae be the worst thing if ah went go back.

But he would at least hear Dunwillie out, first. His old friend deserved that much.

The squirrel was now mutely staring into his nearly empty flagon. "Aye. Tradition 'n blood? an' there's little o' the latter that hasnae been spilt. Ye ken what happened to the MacGillies?"

Kentigern nodded grimly. "Castle stairmed by a horde o' madbeasts? Ah ken the rumor o' there bein' a wolf. Heard no beast survived. And auld Laird Abernathy died with nae child. That's two clans that are nae longer, in wee under a season." He frowned, and raised his flagon to his lips.

"Nae. One MacGillie escaped." Dunwillie downed the rest of his drink and motioned the barkeep for another. "Actually, that's why ah asked ye tae travel all this way. Me and mah band were set up in a tavern o'er in Gairkirk, a few days offa Laird MacGillie's castle, and wee Lloyd MacGillie stumbles in all frightened and spewin' somethin' about an army o' crazy beasts. We took him in wi' us, figured we'd take him back tae his parents when we were passin' by. He didnae really talk aboot what happened, but we began tae hear rumors." As the bartender brought another flagon, he fixed Kentigern with a pointed stare. "The details are hazy, but ah ken one thing? the MacGillies were all but wiped out."

"What aboot Alastair? Didnae he settle doon in Mossflower?" asked Kentigern. He had wandered the heath with Alastair MacGillie when they were bairns, and when Kentigern and Dunwillie created their band of warriors the impetuous otter had been the first beast they had asked to join them.

Dunwillie sighed, eyeing his drink. "They were up tae visit fer the auld laird's birthday."

"Ach," said Kentigern. "Ye ken when we were wee lads, startin' the Braw Wanderers? That auld riverdog wouldnae fight a battle wi'oot bein' the first tae holler the auld 'Haway the Braw' an' charge the enemy." Kentigern took a moment to take a long draft of ale. "Ah think he wouldnae leave the fight unless he were the last beast standin'."

"Aye," agreed the squirrel, before raising his glass. "To Alastair? haway the braw."

"Haway the braw." Kentigern echoed the old battlecry of the North. The pair sat solemnly, and despite the din around them their silence lay heavy between them.

The last time Kentigern had seen Alastair, they hadn't parted on the best of terms. After the battle at Tanning Ford, when the hare had decided to hang up his claymore and settle down with Bonnie, the otter had leveled more than a few choice words at his captain. Back then, Kentigern's seething anger at being called a coward led him to refuse to speak to his friend again. Now, though, he regretted not offering the otter an olive branch. Alastair had stuck with him since their youth, and hadn't abandoned him during the disaster at Tanning Ford.

After a time, Dunwillie took a deep breath. "Ah guess that brings me tae what ah need ye fer, Kent. Ye ken how Nire Borean's patrols sweep the Northlands and capture beasts tae fight in his arena, aye? Me and mah band decided tae doo somethin' aboot it. We've been attackin' the patrols as best we can find 'em. But the last attack didnae goo well. They laid a trap fer us. Lloyd got taken. Ah ken he's somewhere in that crater, but ah couldnae tell ye where."

"And where dae ah fit intae all o' this?" asked the hare.

"Lloyd doesnae stand a chance in there, Kent," said Dunwillie. "He's still a wee lad, barely aulder th'n a bairn. He hasnae seen a lot o' action. Ah need a beast tae get him oot."

"An' ye reckon ah'm the beast tae doo that." Kentigern reasoned.

"Nire's beasts ken us all by sight," replied the squirrel. "Ah need a beast ah can trust fer this." Dunwillie held the hare's gaze. "Kent, ah ken ye have a wife, an' a wee bairn, tae. Ah'm nae gonna force ye tae take this responsibility. But this is Alastair's wee brother ah'm speakin' o'. Dinnae we owe it tae the auld riverdog tae rescue Lloyd if we kin?"

Kentigern hesitated. "Ah would, Dun, but like ye said? ah've got a wife, and a bairn. What'll they dae if ah dinnae come back?"

"Kent, ah trust ye wouldnae marry a lass who couldnae take care o' herself," said Dunwillie. "An' this is Nire Borean we're talkin' aboot. Ye think Lloyd can? Ah'd dae it mahself but the guards ken who ah am."

"Ach," Kentigern said, after another brief moment of hesitation. "Ah'll dae it."

"Aye?"

Kentigern nodded. He couldn't leave Alastair's brother to the brutalities of the arena. He owed that much to his old friend. And tae Dunwillie, he thought.

"Ach," smiled Dunwillie, clapping Kentigern on the shoulder. "Ah ken'd ah could count on ye tae not abandon a beast who needed ye."

Kentigern winced, but offered his friend a small smile in return. "Aye. Ah couldnae doo that."

"Ah have tae goo now," continued his old friend, glancing surreptitiously over his shoulder. "Ah dinnae want tae be recognized by Nire's beasts. Meet me here in a week's time, aye?"

"Ah'll be here," replied the hare, as he watched Dunwillie put on a cloak and hurry to the backdoor of the tavern.

"Oi, mate," called the bartender, gesturing toward the numerous flagons of ale around the hare. "Are ye gunna pay fer those?"

"Aye," said Kentigern, absentmindedly staring at the door out of which Dunwillie had left. Tossing a few coins onto the counter, he heaved himself up and followed the squirrel outside.

-

"MacRaff?" Nire Borean lounged indolently across the table across from Kentigern, head cocked and wine glass swirling between wickedly curving claws. The lynx pondered the name, which seemed to hang in emptiness of the large dining hall. "Y'know," he mused, leaning forward with a glint in his eye, "I think I just might be able to work with that." He nodded, fangs curving into a toothy grin. "I can just about see it? 'Beware the Hare!', 'Face the Wrath of MacRaff!'"

"Ah'm nae interested in how ye sell me?" Kentigern began.

Nire waved him off brusquely and continued as though the hare hadn't spoken. "They'll love you, of course. Proper highlander like you? You'll be the hometown favorite." He chuckled. "It's been a while since we've had a clansbeast. They're damn hard to capture alive? if you'll forgive me? and they usually find this sort of work?well, distasteful." He paused, seeming to consider the Highlander for the first time, and fixed the hare with a piercing stare.

Kentigern shrugged. "It's hard tae find a good fight these days. Ah'm a wee bit bored." He gave Nire a nonchalant smile, but inwardly he bristled at the lynx's casual admittance to murdering his fellow Highlanders.  He clenched his paw into a fist under the table, reminding himself that he was here to rescue Alastair's brother and that killing Nire would ruin any chance he had of finding the young otter. "Like ah said, ah'm here tae fight. Ah dinnae care much fer how ye go aboot the rest o' yer business."

Nodding, Nire took a sip of his wine. "Well, you don't have to worry about that. Keep winning fights, and I think we can both make a lot of money. Speaking of that?your contract." The lynx gestured to the piece of paper lying on the table between them. He leaned forward even more. "I think you'll find the compensation for each fight very generous. It's a lot of money?the rest?" He waved indifferently. "Just all of that 'selling' stuff. Don't worry about it. The money's the important part." He offered Kentigern another grin and procured a quill seemingly from nowhere.

"Yer sayin' ah could make ye more'n a wee bit o' money?" asked Kentigern, accepting the pen.

"Oh, much more than a wee bit, my friend." The lynx said this almost absent-mindedly, a satisfied smirk resting across his muzzle. He leaned back in his chair and casually sniffed the wine in his glass. "This damson, by the way, came from the cellars of Redwall itself. I had to go through numerous?hurdles, shall we say, to get it. It's only a few seasons old? Summer of Ceaseless Rain, I do believe? but it's aged remarkably well. How do you like it?"

"Ah'm more of an ale beast mahself, tae be honest," replied Kentigern, beginning to write on the page.

Nire smiled. "Of course." However, his smile fell when he noticed that the hare was writing a substantial amount more than just his signature. The lynx narrowed his eyes. "What?exactly are you doing there?"

"Ach," said Kentigern. "Ah ken ye willnae mind if ah change the contract a wee bit, seein' as how ah'll be makin' ye so much money. Dinnae worry aboot it. The money's the important part, aye?" Kentigern managed to meld his burgeoning smirk into an innocent smile, but inwardly sneered as Nire, suddenly upright, tightened his grip on the wineglass.

"And just what, if I may ask, is this change?" snapped the lynx.

"It ain't anything tae big," replied Kentigern. "Ah'm just nae all that keen on killin' mah fellow woodlanders, is all. Ah simply added a clause that says ah only haftae fight vermin. Ain't got any trouble wi' killin' vermin."

Nire took a deep breath and settled back into his chair with his chin resting on his free paw. His claws tapped shapeless rhythm on the glass in his paw. "No woodlanders?" He gave Kentigern a long look, eyes narrow and unreadable. Kentigern's smile faltered imperceptibly. Briefly, he wondered if Nire would call his bluff.

Finally, the lynx nodded. "No woodlanders. I can do that. Most of our volunteers are vermin, anyway. They tend to gravitate toward this kind of work." The jovial look returned to Nire's face. "Come on. Let's go to the training arena. I want to introduce you to your new partner."

"Partner?" asked Kentigern.

"You know," responded Nire. "The beast you'll be fighting with in the ring."

Kentigern frowned. "Ach, ah dinnae need a partner. Ah?"

"Signed a contract, Mr. MacRaff," Nire interrupted. "And in that contract it very clearly stipulates that I can make you fight however I deem fit, in order to maximize profit or otherwise." The lynx's teeth still stretched into a smile, but now his tongue sidled along the curving fangs hungrily.

"If ye insist," Kentigern relented. "Ah kin fight however."

"Good. Now let's go meet him, shall we?"

-

The journey to the arena's training grounds took longer than Kentigern had expected. Nire decided to give him a personalized tour of the arena, stopping his guards at each doorway to give a detailed explanation as to what happened behind it. Kentigern largely ignored the lynx's speeches, nodding listlessly along to Nire's drone while committing the layout of the arena into his memory. He took a special note of the location of the slave pens? in all likelihood, Lloyd would be somewhere among them, having been captured in battle. The thought of his fellow highlander's freedom being taken from him made Kentigern sick. Marking the heavy iron bars of the door in his mind, he vowed to himself that he would get the otter free as soon as he could.

Finally, they meandered into the training arena. The sandy floor was mostly empty, save for a scattering of beasts hacking away at training dummies. A rat, greater in size than most, stood in front of a shelf full of training weapons. Nire led Kentigern to face him.

"This is Hracken? Hracken the Kraken!" exclaimed Nire, gesturing to the large rat. "Specialist with the trident and net. He'll be your partner in the arena."

The vermin stepped up with a disarming smile and offered Kentigern a paw. "It's ac?"

Kentigern spat on the floor. "Ach, ye ken ah'm nae gonna fight wi' a vermin." He pushed Hracken's outstretched paw out of his way and stalked by him with a glare. He came to a stop in front of Nire. "There's nae a thing ah hate more'n a rat but one, an' that's a fox. Ah said in mah contract?"

"That you wouldn't fight against vermin," Nire interrupted smoothly. "Never did I read something about you fighting with one."

"Ah'll nae doo it," said Kentigern.

"Oh," oozed Nire. "I think you will. I don't think you realize, Mr. MacRaff, but I own you."

"Ah'm nae takin' orders from a damn wildcat," sneered Kentigern.

Nire, fur standing on end at the insult, drew himself up to his full height and looked down upon the defiant hare. "Need I remind you again that you signed a contract," he growled, "and should you violate that contract in any way, such as refuse to fight as I desire, I am legally permitted? no, legally obliged to take your freedom and force you to fight as such." He glowered at Kentigern and leaned down to look him in the eye. "Consider your options carefully, Mr. MacRaff," said the lynx, before spinning on his heel and stalking out of the room. Before he left, he gave one last parting shot. "I'm sure I could find you a collar that fits just right."

Kentigern sputtered, unable to formulate a response. The rat, silent through the exchange, stepped forward apologetically and again offered Kentigern his paw. "So?my name is actually Thrayjen, not Hracken the?Kraken, or whatever. I think Nire may have confused me for a?"

"Ah dinnae care much fer what ye call yerself, rat," Kentigern said, still seething. "Ah willnae fight wi' a vermin." He glared at Thrayjen, who's paw still hung awkwardly in the air.

The rat cleared his throat. "Well, it's been a while since I've wielded a blade, and I'm a little rusty, but I'm still fairly confident if we have a quick spar I can?"

"Ah ain't fightin' wi' ye. Kin ye nae get that through yer skull?" Kentigern said. Nae, ah'll never dae it. This beast was a rat. To sully the name of his family's sword by bearing into battle alongside a vermin would be beyond disgraceful. Never had a clansbeast of MacRaff broken bread with such a vile creature. Out of the corner of his eye, a movement caught his attention. Through the open gates of the arena, he saw a young otterpup being pushed along by a limping weasel. Her eyes were wild and wide, and she whimpered as the weasel grabbed her collar and dragged her forward.

After a moment, Kentigern looked away from the terrified young otter, flushed. His anger was futile, he realized. He still had an otter of his own to find, and he wouldn't be doing Lloyd any favors by getting himself thrown in the slaves pens. He glanced back at the doorway, but the dibbun was gone. He replayed the image of her baring her teeth at the weasel, ears pressed flat against her skull. And the collar? He's sick, Kentigern realized. He's keepin' bairns here. Ah'll nae stand fer it. Resolved with new purpose, his eyes hardened. He would find Lloyd, he would find the young otter lass, he would find any other dibbuns and he would get them out of the hellpit in which they were trapped. And then? He would return, galvanize the slaves, and burn the crater to the ground.

But for now, at least, he would have to play the game Nire's way, though the thought of it made his stomach churn. He looked back at Thrayjen, blood boiling despite the rat's friendly demeanor. The highlander's piercing glare forced Thrayjen to shift his feet uncomfortably. As Kentigern eyed the rat standing sheepishly before him, he was not impressed. This vermin was not a fighting beast? his awkward feet and lumbering size would only slow Kentigern down in a fight. Perhaps, though, mused the hare, this wouldn't be the worst thing. Ah'll willnae need tae deal wi' him fer long? he'll most likely be dead after a fight or two.

"Ach, if ah haftae goo intae the ring with ye, ye'd best sit back an' let mah claymore dae all the talkin'." He didn't bother to listen to Thrayjen's response, making sure to shove a shoulder into the rat as he brusquely pushed by him and stormed to the other side of the arena.