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Chapters (64)
  1. CAPTURED!
  2. Other Books
  3. Title Page
  4. Map
  5. Introduction
  6. BOOK ONE
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. BOOK TWO
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. BOOK THREE
  46. 38
  47. 39
  48. 40
  49. 41
  50. 42
  51. 43
  52. 44
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. 49
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. What’s next onyour reading list?

Three winters ago his wife Brockrose had died, leaving him to rear their little badger cub. Auma was the most precious thing in Orlando’s life. He taught her of the seasons, the plains and the mountains. Now he had turned his back on those same mountains and plains with only one thing in his mind: to find his daughter and the creature who had taken her.

Orlando the Axe was following the fox.

Striding the wide spaces, the badger let a fearsome rumble start to build deep within his cavernous chest, a terrible sound that grew into a howling roar of pent-up rage and anger. It rebounded to the mountains across the sunlit plain as he shook the battleaxe aloft with one paw, his eyes narrowed to red bloodshot slits which changed the whole world crimson in front of him.

Orlando the Axe was following the fox!

BOOK ONE

Slagar the Cruel

1

From the diary of John Churchmouse, historian and recorder of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower country.

We are close to the longest day of this season, the Summer of the Golden Plain. Today I took up my ledger and quill to write. It was cool and dim in the quiet of my little study indoors. With a restless spirit I sat, quill in paw, listening to the merry din outside in the sunlit cloisters of our Abbey. I could no longer stand the solitude, that happy sound of revelry drew me outside, yet there was still my recorder’s duties to catch up with. Taking ledger and quill, I went out, up the stairs to the top of the outer wall, directly over the Warrior’s Cottage, which is the gatehouse at the threshold of Redwall Abbey.

What a glorious day! The sky, painted special blue for the summer, had not a cloud or shadow anywhere, the hot eye of the sun caused bees to drone lazily, while grasshoppers chirruped and sawed endlessly. Out to the west, the great plains stretched away, shimmering and dancing with heat waves to the distant horizon, a breathtaking carpet of kingcup and dandelion mingled with cowslip; never had we ever seen so many yellow blossoms. Abbot Mordalfus named it the Summer of the Golden Plain. What a wise choice. I could see him ambling round the corner by the bell tower, his habit sleeves rolled well up, panting as he helped young woodlanders to carry out forms for seating at the great feast, our eighth season of peace and plenty since the wars.