The Outcast of Redwall Part 21

Food was rushed in to the returning warriors and their allies, the best that Salamandastron could serve. Mounds of pasties and great barrels of Mountain Ale, thick seasoned stews, crusty hot bread, and new cider were carried to the tables, and full justice was done to the victuals that night.

Sunflash sat with Colonel Sandgall, Log a Log, the two otters, Folrig and Ruddle, Sabretache, and the other Captains. Sandgall wagged a reproving paw at the Badger Lord. "Ahem, Sire, y'll kindly let us know before you go chargin' off again to take on a whole filthy horde single-pawed."

Sunflash shook his head, as if disapproving of himself. "I'm sorry, Colonel, but I am not myself sometimes."

Sandgall winked at the badger and patted his paw. "Hmm, the ol' bloodwrath, wot! It's that an' a Badger Lord that've kept these sh.o.r.es an' this country safe'n'free, don't apologize for it, sah. But us hare chaps are here t'protect you as much as you protect us, so it's nice t'be able t'return the favor. Now then, Log a shrew an' you otter types, that was a bally clever show you put up out there today, eh!"

Log a Log explained how it had come about. ' 'It was simple, really. We arranged it among us-sent out a few spies to see what was goin' on, then we put a plan together. I landed the logboats further up the coast before sunset and we waded along through the shallows, round the rocks an' charged 'em. My call was the signal to attack."

Folrig took up his side of the campaign. "We came in from the backway, me'n'ole ugly mug Ruddle with Lady Firdance an' her gang...."

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Firdance, a big rangy squirrel with a deep scar running from ear to nosetip, interrupted in her husky voice, "Aye, we split up an' worked the old pincer movement, caught the sc.u.m nicely in between an' gave 'em some buryin' f do!"

Bloggwood caught Sunfiash's eye. He sidled over and whispered in the Badger Lord's ear. "Sire, can yer comeV 'ave a word or two with Bradders? Pore feller, 'e's proper cut up about Fordpetal."

"Why, certainly, friend-what's up with Fordpetal?"

"Foller me an' I'll show yer, Sire."

Sunflash excused himself from the company and followed Bloggwood; they threaded their way through the packed hall. As they went the banter of old warrior friends having a reunion was thick upon the air.

"Gully, y'old treeflyer. I thought you was slain seasons ago!"

"Well, I'm still here, matey, an' eatin' aplenty t'prove it!"

"Haharr, Munga, 'ow is the shrew logboat business goin'?"

"Saves gettin' your paws wet like you otters, Reedtail."

"Ahoy there, Floke, we pulled yore chestnuts out of the fire just in time for yer today, didn't we?"

"Aye, matey, an' yer cracked a few nuts on the other side too!"

It was cold and silent in the vaults beneath the mountain where Bloggwood led Sunflash. They went through to a long torchlit cave where the hares who had been slain in battle that day were laid out on stone slabs, each one wreathed in fresh mountain flowers. Bradberry was standing by the body of Fordpetal, his head bowed. Sunflash dismissed his guide with thanks and went straight to the young hare.

He placed a paw comfortingly around Bradberry's shoulders. "Bradders, I'm sorry, I didn't know ..."

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The hare buried his face in Sunflash's chain mail tunic and wept. "She wasn't really soppy, was she, Sire?"

The Badger Lord swallowed hard. ' 'No, just young and very pretty, and she knew we were only joking when we said that. Let's hope that we have somebeast as thoughtful and tenderhearted as yourself to weep for us some day."

The young hare turned his tearstained face up to Sunflash. "Why do creatures have to have wars and kill one another? Why can't everybeast live in peace and be contented? I was just thinkin' before you came, Sire, Fordpetal won't ever see another summer day or laugh an' smile again. Why?"

Sunflash led Bradberry slowly away from the vault. "Why? It's a question I've often asked myself, Bradders, particularly when the life of a young one is wasted. Over quite a few seasons now I've found myself wanting to be only a farmer and grow things, but there are evil ones in the lands. One day when all the evil is gone, maybe then we'll be able to find peace and watch things grow. Until then it is up to the good ones, like yourself, to fight against evil. Fordpetal was doing just that today. War is a terrible thing, but until something arrives to stop the fighting, we must endure it and battle harder to make sure that good wins."

In the banqueting hall the warriors were singing an age-old song they always sang after battle.

"Oh here's to the comrades who fought the good fight, On the field where their valor was won.

They gave their lives hard to defend what was right, Let us drink to the warriors who've gone.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, there's none who was bolder, And many's the foebeast we slayed; 270.

We'll remember our friends who will never grow older, Alas, what a price that they paid.

For the word has been spoken, the sword now is broken, When we're old we will sit and tell tales of their days."

35.

Swartt Sixclaw sat roasting a mackerel by a fire, far down on the tideline, close to the rocks. More than one-third of his great horde had been lost that day, but victory had been nearly within his grasp. The groups of hordebeasts crouched around their fires were too weary to do anything but eat, sleep, or lick their wounds. Swartt stared up at the rock, racking his brain for a solution. Within the next hour it presented itself in the form of a weasel whom Nightshade brought to him.

Swartt found that he had to keep his eyes trained on the skinny, undersized creature. It was mottled, whether naturally or by skillful dyes, he could not tell, but it was only by watching its pale eyes that the Warlord could tell where it stood. The weasel had only to stand motionless against rock or sand and it almost vanished. It was sand-colored-or was it rock-hued?-with gray, dirty-white and dark brown flecks, the strangest-looking creature he had ever witnessed.

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Swartt looked at the vixen. "Where'd you find that thing?" he snarled.

' 'Lord, he is called the Wraith. He is not of our horde; I do not know where he comes from, though you would be wise to listen to his offer."

Swartt looked back and found he had lost sight of the Wraith. "Stan' still, weasel. Where are you?"

He tried not to start with shock as the voice came from behind the back of his neck.

"Me herrrre, Sirrrre!"

The Wraith flitted round in front of him and sat by the fire. He spoke in a most peculiar manner, extending his 'R's. Swartt kept his gaze fixed on the Wraith's eyes, the rest of his body kept disappearing and reappearing in the flicker of the firelight.

"Sit still an' tell me why you came here," said Swartt.

The speckled mouth opened, revealing two rows of toothless gums. "Wrrrraith hearrrr you have enemy, me kill him forrrr you."

Suddenly Swartt was interested. The idea of an a.s.sa.s.sin had not occurred to him before. He would have liked to take Sun-flash alive, but in the end, one way of winning victory was as good as another. The Warlord pointed his mailed paw at the pale watery eyes. "An' what d'you get out of it, eh?"

The soft rolling voice replied, "Me think you know that. Half, Sirrrrre!"

Swartt knew what he meant-he had dealt with rogues and villains all his life. Half meant half of everything he stood to gain, but really it meant all: a.s.sa.s.sins who offered their services were always overambitious. Swartt shrugged. ' 'Half seems fair enough. See yon mountain, there's a badger inside o' there they call Sunflash the Mace. Bring me back the great mace that never leaves his side, an' you get yer half!"

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The Wraith vanished. Swartt looked around and saw the creature sitting behind him, holding something in its claws, hissing, "Just strrroke badgerrr with me Kisserrrr!"

It was a tiny knife, carved from some strange type of mottled stone, almost the same color as its owner.

Swartt curled his lip at the undersized weasel with his minute blade, "Yer goin' t'kill a Badger Lord wid that toy?"

The pale eyes narrowed in a mocking smile. "See that rrrat yon, sitting by his firrrre? Watch!"

The rat was wearing a bright red bandanna, so he was hard to miss. Swartt watched him sitting by the fire with some others. He had lost sight of the Wraith, so he kept watching me rat. Then the Wraith's voice came from beside him; the thin weasel was sitting, warming himself by the flames.

"One strnroke from me Kisserrrr, that one is slain."

The Warlord continued to watch the rat, his voice laden with sarcasm as he spoke. "Huh, he don't look so dead t'me, chewin' on a mackerel there as if there weren't no tomorrer."

"Rrrright, Sirrrre, no tomorrrrow forrrr him!"

Without warning the rat leapt up and, clapping a paw to the side of his neck, he staggered about, gurgling for a moment, then fell to the sand as if poleaxed. Swartt stared in astonishment, listening to the others from the company as they left the fireside to crowd around their companion.

"Wot's wrong wid ole Glimpy?"

"Hahaha! Can't yer see he's takin' a nap, mate!"

"Mebbe it's somethin' 'e ate?"

"Come on, Glimp ole mate, gerrup!"

A stoat knelt at Glimpy's side and inspected him. Suddenly he cried, "Glimpy's dead, mates. Ain't that awful, sittin' scof-fin' fish one moment, nex' thing Vs pegged it!"

A fox spat mackerel into the fire and rubbed his mouth. "Phtooh! I ain't eatin' no more o' this fish, mates!"

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The Wraith had shifted position. He smiled at Swartt from across the fire. "Now Sirrre believe me, just one strrroke, not even a rrrreal cut. Me Kisserrrr neverrrr fail!"

The Warlord nodded his head in admiration of the deed. "The Wraith, eh? Well, the job's yers, Wraith. When do I expec' to see you again?"

"You don't see me if Wrrrraith not want you to. I will find you when it is done!"

Then the Wraith vanished, melting into the night.

Swartt threw the vixen a roasted mackerel. "Good work, at last y've done somethin' right. Stripe'ead is as good as dead, I'd say. Oh, when the Wraith gets back, you know what t'do."

"Aye, Lord. I know exactly what to do!" Nightshade replied.

36.

It was the evening of the day Veil had robbed the dormice of their food and possessions, and the young ferret was not finding the going too easy. He chose a thick copse of pines for his camp. He brushed away the pine needles and dug a shallow hole, then he put steel to flint and made a small fire. Squatting by the flames, he ate some bread and cheese while roasting an apple. He was dozing, half asleep, wanned by the blazing pinecones and dead twigs, when two foxes arrived. At first Veil chose to ignore them. Though he was a bit startled and unsure of himself, he put on a tough face, making sure his knife and staff were clearly in evidence. Equally, both foxes feigned indifference to him. They squatted on the other side of the fire wordlessly. They were old and ragged, but sly looking. One carried a spear, the other a sling and pouch of stones. Drawing their tattered cloaks about them, they sat silent, cast- 275.

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ing the odd cunning glance toward the lone ferret.

Veil began to feel more uneasy, and he tried striking up a conversation with his uninvited visitors. "Where did you come from, friends?" he asked.

The taller of the pair spat into the flames, narrowly missing Veil's roasting apple.

"Nosy young snip, ain't 'e, Brool?"

The other smiled nastily, his eyes never leaving Veil. "Aye, stoopid too. We saw 'is fire from a good way off. Look, Vs got bread'n'cheese'n'apples, a richbeast, eh, Renn!"

Veil decided he could let the situation go no further. Holding his stave ready and brandishing the knife, he stood up and shouted, "Keep yer mangy paws off my vittles, I'm not scared of you two ol' ragbags!"

The foxes worked their way around the fire until they were on either side of him. The one called Brool bared his few blackened tooth stumps. "Young 'uns these days ain't got no respect, eh, Renn. 'Mangy ol* ragbags'? We got a cheeky one 'ere, no mistake!"

The one called Renn neatly stabbed the roasting apple with his spear tip and, pulling it from the fire, he blew on it and took a bite. "Mmm, 'e cooks a decent apple though. ..."

Veil grabbed at the spear, his voice shrill with anger. "You leave my apple alone, you dirty old ... Unnhh!"

The young ferret had made the mistake of turning his back on Brool. The fox's sling, loaded with a heavy pebble, cracked down on Veil's head from behind, laying him flat.

He came to his senses slowly, groaning at the triphammer throb in his skull. Both his paws were hoisted high, tied to an overhanging pine bough.

The two foxes were eating Veil's food, cramming bread and cheese ravenously into their mouths. Brool took a drink from the flask; making a face he spat it out. "Yerk, water! Ain't you got no good wine or ale, young 'un? Cold water don't sit easy on my stummick these seasons."

Renn sorted roughly through the traveling bag Veil had stolen from Ole Hoffy. "Nothin' much in 'ere, Brool, jus' a thin blanket an' a few more apples. Not very considerate of yer, ferret!"

Struggling against the tight bonds, Veil glared hatred at them. "Blunderin' ol' fools, don't you know who I am? I'm Veil Sixclaw, son of Swartt the Warlord!"

Renn tore a strip from the blanket and did a low servile bow. "Oh, fergive us, yer 'ighness! Yaaahahahah!"

Then he gagged the young ferret firmly, boxing his ears and pulling his nose painfully. "Son of a Warlord, y'don't say! Fm the cousin of an eagle an' a great fish meself. Wot about : you, Brool?"

{ "Who, me? Oh, I'm the Queen o' the flowery dell, pleased t'meet yer majesty, I'm sure!"

Both foxes fell about cackling. Forced to stand on tippaw, , bound and gagged, Veil could only glare at them and make *;. whining sobs of rage.

An even shade of gray washed the dawn sky, bringing dun-hued clouds and a steady downpour of rain. Bryony and Tog-get gathered up their belongings hurriedly from their camp on the open hills. The mole did not like rain.

; "Yurr, us'n's be soaken an' cold if'n ee doan't foind shelter ;.; missie, on'y fishes do loik ee rain!"

The mousemaid pointed to the distant pine grove, saying, '*:. "Come on then, let's make for there; we can camp in the trees . until the rain stops."

Togget took off, both paws over his head, calling back to . Bryony, "Hoo aye, maken ee foire an' git brekkfist a goin', *T oi'm gurtly 'ungered furr ee vittles!"

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The mousemaid ran after her companion, laughing. "Slow down, you great Dibbun, the rain won't melt you!"

"Hurr, so ee says, missie, tho' oi b'ain't too sure!"