DISCLAIMER: Redwall and all related indicia are the property of Brian Jacques; no copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.

            The white ermine had many names among those who followed her and those who feared her: Nakaris Iceblade, Nakaris Kinslayer, Nakaris the Merciless, Nakaris the White; but in the far northlands where she and her band of plunderers and killers dwelled, there was one name known above all others: Nakaris the Cold. She had been the daughter of a corsair from the south who had wrecked upon the icy coast years before and built himself a fortress; as soon as Nakaris had been old enough to wield a blade, she had slain him and the rest of her family and struck out on her own: Nakaris Kinslayer, white wraith of the snows. Her sword was hewn from a single shaft of crystal, ice-clear and stronger than steel, with an edge on it like the howling north wind.

            She was moving south again, as the winter set into the north mountains, bringing her band of roving plunderers with her. Pickings had been slim all that year, and Nakaris’s vermin were hungry and lean, hollow-eyed, eager to enjoy the warmth and plenty of the woodlands. They were going farther south than ever this year, into the green countryside, moving inland from the sea. Reports from her scouts told her of a great fire mountain set upon the shore, the home of a badger Lord and many fighting hares, and Nakaris had skirted neatly around the edges of the mountains that led down to the seas, avoiding notice by the fierce creatures of the shore and its fortress. She was afraid of nobeast, but she had no desire to waste valuable time and energy fighting with the badger and his servants; they were none of her concern. Her sights were set on a different prize, the ruins of an ancient wildcat fortress deep in the rich woodlands. A roving northlands crow had told her of it early that autumn, while he lay dying with her arrows in his back; she had liked the sound of the place, inhabited by meek woodland creatures, surrounded by fruitful land, and she had decided that by the time spring came again she would hold court in the south. She had conquered all the northlands with her merciless crystal blade, and she was hungry for new victims and new plunder.

            Nakaris sat in the shelter of a ratskin tent, picking her claws absently with the point of the crystal sword, waiting for a scout patrol to return. She was a slender creature, snow-white all over unlike other ermines, whose tails were tipped with black; her eyes were a curious clear pale silver-grey, the colour of woodsmoke in a clear winter morning, ringed with very black lashes. She did not look dangerous until you met those pale eyes; she hardly looked strong enough to lift the crystal sword, let alone wield it, but her snow-coloured fur hid lean whip-strong muscles, and her eyes were as cold and merciless as winter. Despite the frigid air, she wore only battered black half-armour, a silver ring around her tail. She leaned back against a pile of furs and sipped ice-wine from a curiously decorated flask, her silver eyes hooded and unreadable.

            Snow was beginning to fall again as her scouts returned; two stoats in armour, carrying a sack between them slung on their spears. Nakaris set down the wine-flask and waited for them to approach, and they flung down the sack and saluted her.

            “What have you brought me?” she asked. Her voice, like her eyes, was cold.

            One of the stoats, a tall scarred beast called Snapclaw, saluted again. “Not much, milady. Some late stockroots and a few tundra-berries.”

            Nakaris hissed between her teeth. “Fool! How am I supposed to survive on withered roots and berries?”

            “That’s not all, milady,” said the other stoat, Graynose. He upended the sack and a small baby dormouse tumbled out, blinking in the light. The infant was dressed in warm clothes, and looked remarkably fat and sleek for a creature on its own in this harsh country. Nakaris gestured with her sword, and Graynose nudged the baby closer to her with the butt of his spear. “Found ‘im curled up in the lee of a dead bilberry bush, a few leagues yonder. Looks pretty tasty, don’t ‘e?”

            Nakaris ignored him, bending closer. She lifted the baby dormouse’s chin with one claw, amused and surprised at the infant’s apparent lack of fear.  “Where did you come from?” she asked, making her voice soft and purring.

            The dormouse shook his head, eyes wide. “Mummy say Rudge not talk to st’angers.”

            Nakaris chuckled. “Your Mummy’s very wise, little one.” She picked up her sword. “Tell me how you came to my northlands, or I’ll skin you with my Iceblade and roast you for dinner. I’m very hungry, you know.” Her voice was still gentle and soft. Rudge squeaked.

            “No, no, no eata Rudge, I tell you!” He huddled as far back from Nakaris as he could, but Graynose and Snapclaw were standing behind him with their spearblades ready. “Me ‘n Mummy gonna big place, Redwall place, lotsa food there, no eata Rudge!”

            Nakaris smiled coldly and licked her claws. “Redwall, eh?”

            The dormouse nodded frantically, trying to make himself as small as he could.

            “How far away is it?” she asked.

            “Rudge norra know, not far, Mummy say three days journey,” whimpered the dormouse. Nakaris stood up suddenly, leaning on her Iceblade.

            “Tie him up and take him away before I change my mind,” said the ermine, eyes narrowed as she looked down at her tiny captive. “This little one will lead us to a better place than the old wildcat fortress.”

            Graynose and Snapclaw dragged Rudge off by his paws, grimly, and Nakaris threw her head back and laughed into the white sky.

            “Do you hear me, Redwall? Do you hear me, warm south woodlands? Winter is on its way. Nakaris the Cold is coming!”