The Outcast of Redwall Part 4

55.

The sun broiled the flallands mercilessly, drying up streams to a trickle, baking the earth, and raising dust swirls on the hot wind. It was a hostile waste where even scrub, gorse, and broom barely survived in the parched heat.

Things were not going well for the new Warlord Swartt Sixclaw; there was a murmur of discontent running through the great horde. Swartt sat in his tent, pondering the dilemma facing him: too many soldiers and not enough food or water, and, worst of all, they were lost! The mighty cavalcade had started out on the wrong paw. Some had wanted to go, swayed by Swartt's promises of plunder and plenty, but others had wanted to stay, knowing they could get by in the semifertile cliff shadows, where there was at least water and a certain amount of vegetation, birds, and eggs. The whole project had been too unwieldy from the outset, with tents, trappings, and camp followers, most of the hordebeasts having mates and families.

54.

Sometimes Swartt felt as though he were merely the figurehead of a great traveling settlement; and as if that were not enough, he had found himself landed with a wife. Swartt had not known that Bowfleg had a daughter. It was the tradition and unwritten law that she became wife to the new Warlord as a matter of course. Bluefen was her name, and she was quiet and pretty enough. Swartt marveled that such a fat ugly creature as Bowfleg could have sired her. Bluefen largely kept out of Swartt's way, as she had with her father, knowing the angry moods and great rages Warlords were capable of.

Swartt dismissed his wife from his mind and concentrated his thoughts on horde problems. How they had lost direction on the desertlike flatlands was anybeast's guess, but he blamed the vixen Nightshade. She should have been calculating their direction while his time was taken up dealing with more important horde matters. Swartt had berated her soundly, sending her off three nights back to find water and food and to get them back on the right trail, south and west. To make doubly sure, he had sent his two killers with her, the weasels Scarback and Marbul. When Swartt had taken command of the horde, these two had immediately caught his eye. They were ambitious and ruthless, coldhearted a.s.sa.s.sins, just the types he needed to do his secret biddings.

Outside the tent Swartt could hear the horde as they pitched camp. Travel on the hot windswept plains was impossible at noon-they would move again when eventide cooled the land slightly. Bluefen slipped quietly into the tent, placed a flagon at Swartt's side, and hurried out. The Warlord hardly noticed she had been and gone; absently, he knocked the stopper out of the flagon and sipped from it. Pulling a face, he spat out the brackish-tasting water, which hit the footpaw of the stoat Trattak as he entered the tent. Swartt beckoned him inside swiftly, saying, "Shut the tent flap, I don't want everybeast seein' you report t'me. Are they still at it?"

56.

57.

Trattak pulled the tent flap closed.

"Aye, Lord, it's as you said. Wildag the ferret Captain and his toady, the rat they call Lardtail, they're the two. I hung about close to them, all's they do is go from tent to tent talkin' about you be'ind yore back."

Swartt placed the flagon on the ground and sat down by it. "What do they say, tell me? Speak, don't be afraid."

Trattak swallowed hard and crouched close to his master. "They say you've got us all lost and y'don't know where yore goin'," he said in low, halting tones. "Also they say you ain't fit t'be Warlord an' that you eat all the best food an' drink fine wines from silver goblets while good 'onest 'ordebeasts are starvin* ... an' ..."

Swartt Sixclaw nodded understandingly. "Go on, what else? I know it's their words an' not yours."

Trattak continued, a little more confident. "They say that a dagger between yore ribs'd solve a lot o' problems, then they could go back an' live by the cliffs where things were a lot better. Any'ow, Wildag's called a meetin' secret like, tonight. All the Captains'11 be there."

Swartt patted Trattak, noticing the stoat eyeing the flagon. "You did well. Take this if yore thirsty-it ain't fine wine, only muddy water, but it'll do t'wet yer throat with. Send Nightshade t'me the moment she gets back. Go on now, keep an eye out for "er."

The vixen returned at twilight. Swartt had not given the order to move on; the horde had stayed camped in the same place since noon. Leaving the two weasel a.s.sa.s.sins outside the tent, Nightshade went in to make her report.

Swartt watched her as she laid a lumpy sack in front of him. "The news better be good, fox-speak!" he snarled.

Words spilled from the vixen's mouth like water from a pitcher. "The word is good, Lord, I have found the southwest trail again-two days' trek should take us out of these desert lands. There is a broad stream, fresh water, small copses with trees and gra.s.sy hills. There is food there, fish, birds, and fruit. Look!"

She emptied out the sack, which contained roots, tubers, and a couple of russet apples, plus a dead bird, which the vixen held up for Swartt's inspection.

"Your weasels Scarback and Marbul killed this bird with slings and stones," she said. "There are many like it where we have been."

Swartt munched on an apple as he turned the carca.s.s with his sword point. He shook his head in disgust. "It's a crow, and an old one at that. You tryin' t'poison me?"

Before the vixen could answer, Swartt shoved the dead crow back into the sack and laughed wickedly. "Never mind, it'll come in handy before the night's through. Well, at least we ain't lost anymore. Go an' get some sleep, I'll be movin' the horde out on the double tomorrow. Send the weasels in here."

The ferret Wildag was older than Swartt, though not as big, and his ally, Lardtail, was a grumpy, fat, oversized rat. By the light of a flickering fire at the outer edge of the camp, the two faced a sizeable gathering of Captains and a.s.sorted horde-beasts, all of whom were disaffected with the leadership of Sixclaw. Wildag addressed the meeting, backed up by Lard-tail's whining comments.

"Well, how does it feel t'be lost an' starvin', buckoes?" Lardtail stepped up. "Aye, all I've had since dawn is a few roots an' a mouthful o' dirty water-it's not good enough, mates!"

A voice called out of the crowd, "There's nought out 'ere but sand an' wind, but if we starve then at least Sixclaws will too!"

58.

59.

Wildag's paw jabbed the air as he shook his head vigorously. "Swartt Sixclaw starve? Huh, that's a good un, tell 'em, Lardtail!"

"I seen that vixen of his sneakin' into camp this evenin'. She went straight to Swartt's tent, carryin' a sack of vittles!"

Wildag waved his paws to silence the outraged hubbub. "Did you 'ear that, friends, a sack of food! I'll wager the sc.u.m's sittin' in 'is tent right now, drinkin' wine an' stuffin' a roasted duck down his greedy gullet!"

Amid the uproar that followed, a sack flew through the air and struck Wildag in the face. Furiously he grabbed the sack and shook it at the a.s.sembly. "Who threw this?" he yelled.

Swartt stepped into the firelight, his painted face and red-stained fangs highlighted by the flames. Silence fell instantly upon the gathering. Showing no fear or concern, the Warlord winked at the two conspirators and rubbed his paws together in front of the fire. "Gets a bit chilly 'ere at night when the sun goes in. You cold, Wildag, hungry maybe?"

The Captain was at a loss for words, and, sensing something awful was about to happen, Lardtail began shuffling backward.

"Stay where y'are, rat, or I'll gut ye!"

Lardtail froze, noting that Scarback and Marbul, the two a.s.sa.s.sins, had materialized out of nowhere and were flanking him.

Swartt spoke to the would-be mutineers in a reasonable tone. "I've heard that some are sayin' we're lost? Now what sort of a Warlord would get his horde lost? Two days from here is a broad stream of fresh water, food, fruit growin' on the trees. Would I be lost if I knew this? An' I tell you some-thin' else, the farther on we travel, the better it gets-greener, fatter, richer. I don't tell lies, you'll see."

He picked up the sack and faced the ferret Captain. "But as for you, my friend, I don't think you was tellin' the truth when you said I was drinkin' wine an' eatin' roast duck. If I was, then I'd make sure everybeast got the same as me."

A sob escaped Wildag's lips, and he began to tremble. Swartt patted the Captain's back rea.s.suringly. "Oh, come on now, bucko, cheer up, ole Sixclaw don't like to see anybeast un'appy or 'ungry. I'm willin' t'share my vittles with you, but t'show you I'm a real comrade I'll let you 'ave it all for yore-self."

He tipped the old dead crow out of the sack, smiling com-panionably at Wildag. "As y'can see, it ain't no roast duck, but yore welcome to it." Then, pinching Lardtail's ear cruelly in his claws, Swartt marched the rat over to the crow carca.s.s. "Pick it up, matey, there's a good rat," he said. "D'you want some?''

Hauled up on tip-paw by his ear, the rat whined, "No, Lord, I ain't 'ungry!"

Hordebeasts are fickle creatures at best, and now some of the gathering began chuckling as they realized what Swartt was up to. The Warlord winked at them, knowing they would be firmly on his side after he had a.s.serted his power. Wagging his chain-mailed sixclaw in the rat's face, he explained firmly, "Wildag's yore mate, so I want you to feed this to 'im right now, all of it. Meat, bone, claws, feathers, beak, the lot! Show Wildag that Swartt is a real friend. I ain't just sharin' it with 'im, I'm givin' 'im it all out of the goodness of me 'eart."

Roars of laughter from the pitiless hordebeasts rang out as the two a.s.sa.s.sins grabbed Wildag in preparation for his awful meal. Swartt silenced them with a wave of his mailed paw. "I'm goin' to my tent now. I'll eat at the same time we all do, in two days' time, or sooner if we march fast. Meanwhile, *- don't go mutterin' an' meetin' among yoreselves, come to me. If you have anythin' to complain about I'll always listen."

Cheers rang in the Warlord's ears as he strode off into the . night. He smiled to himself, The horde were with him once * more.

60.

61.

The following morning was hot as usual, though not as windy. Swartt waited until the tents were packed and the last rations issued before he stood to address the horde. They gathered around, banners fluttering in the light breeze, drums beating until the entire army stood waiting. Swartt knew that if he was to stay Warlord the one thing he must do was to instill fear of his powers into the hordebeasts. He did not want their affection or comradeship-to Swartt that was mere weakness. Respect and loyalty were only gained by one thing in the ferret's mind. Fear! He demonstrated it fully on that morn in front of his horde.

The rat Lardtail cringed on the ground, flanked by Scarback and Marbul, the two weasel a.s.sa.s.sins.

"I don't see our Captain Wildag about. Where is he?" Swartt Sixclaw's voice rang out commandingly.

Marbul, so called because one of his eyes was a sightless white orb, spoke for the trembling rat. "Wildag's dead, my Lord!"

Swartt managed to look both concerned and astounded. "Dead? How did he die?" he asked.

Scarback kicked the quivering Lardtail contemptuously. "This stupid blunderer killed him by feedin' him a dead crow-beak, feathers, claws, the lot! Pore Wildag choked."

Swartt shook his head in disbelief. ' 'Choked, eh? Somebeast is goin' to pay for chokin' a Captain!"

Lardtail*s voice was a strangled sob of protest. "But Lord, you told me to feed the bird to Wildag. I was only carrying out yore orders!"

The mailed sixclaw pointed accusingly at the unfortunate rat. ' "You liar! I never ordered you to kill Wildag, only to feed him. The penalty for slaying a horde Captain is death!"

Lardtail screamed and groveled in front of the Warlord. "No, Sire, please! Spare me, Lord Sixclaw!"

Swartt turned his back on Lardtail, nodding to Scarback and Marbul as he did. Their daggers flashed in the morning sunlight. Turning back to the horde, Swartt did not even bother glancing down at the slain rat. A chilling silence fell over the mighty army.

Swartt hammered the lesson home with harsh callousness. "Lardtail's learned his lesson. So has Wildag. I am Swartt Sixclaw, Warlord of all this horde! I see all, I know all, I hear all! Look at the beast standin' next to you-he could be one of my spies. I have many, this is the lesson you must learn. Even thoughts cannot be hidden from me, I can read your mind just by your eyes. I see some of you lookin' away from my gaze, but that won't help. My vixen seer, Nightshade, can read thoughts with her eyes closed! Listen now, every slab-sided, droolin', misbegotten mother's whelp of yeh! Yore mine to the death, everybeast! Wherever we go I will conquer all. Bowfleg was ruler of the east scrublands. Hah! I will be Warlord of the whole country! None will stand in my way, and you will see to this! If I say march, starve, fight, die!- you will do it without question. This means everybeast, females, young, and families! It is two days' march to food and water, and we'll do it by tomorrow noon. There'll be no stragglers-keep up or die. Drummers, beat double march time. Now!"

The drums beat a fierce tattoo as the entire horde moved forward at double their normal marching pace. Heavy cooking utensils and c.u.mbersome possessions were littered in the wake of the marchers as each tried to keep up with the other. Swartt strode out in front, the vixen at his side showing him the route. At the rear of the horde, Marbul and Scarback trotted, blades at the ready to deal with stragglers or deserters. The lesson was being learned, and Swartt had added another t.i.tle to his name-the Pitiless One!

63.

High above the dust clouds of Swartt's army, far out of range from arrow or sling stone, four crows flew like ragged black specks against the sky. Two of the birds broke off and wheeled south, leaving the other two watching the horde of Sixclaw. Soaring on the high thermals and using the breeze, the first two crows were out of the desert regions and into the fertile hill lands by noon. Circling swiftly, they dropped into a copse of pines.

Krakulat, Ruler of the Crow Brethren, sat immobile on a pine stump, his plumage covered in earth, dust, and pine needles. The huge bird was grieving for his mother, and none dared come near him. The two scouts landed a respectful distance away and waited until Krakulat's wife, Bonebeak, waddled up to them before making their report.

"Rakkaaa! The vermin are as many as grains of sand blown by the wind, they come this way. Tomorrow when the sun is this high we will see them, Lady Bonebeak."

62.

The fierce female called to her husband, "Yaggaaa! Did you hear that? The ones who slew your mother are coming to this place!"

Krakulat's talons sunk into the bark of the pine stump with rage; his bloodshot eyes widened with antic.i.p.ation as he rasped hoa.r.s.ely to the trees about him, "Harrkaa! Tomorrow will be the dying day for many vermin, do you hear me, my Brethren? Krakulat has spoken!"

A deafening din arose from the copse as hundreds of savage crows set up a mighty cawing. Krakulat shook his feathers until dust and needles flew about him. Blue-black and beautifully iridescent, the mighty bird nodded his frightening beak up and down in a stabbing movement, screaming, "Karraaaa! There will be many vermin for our eggchicks to pick over as the sun whitens the bones of those who slew my mother!"

Sunfiash the Mace saw the gates of Dark Forest. He lay on the ground as they began opening before him, slowly, oh, so slowly; without sound of a creak, the mist-shrouded timbers moved. He felt his body being drawn toward them and could not resist, did not want to resist; the burning pains within him eased as he felt the desire to enter Dark Forest and rest. As the gates opened wider he saw two mighty Badger Lords, fully armored. One carried a fearsome sword, the other a double-headed axe. Now a third badger joined them. This one was simply clad and carried no weapons; he smiled at Sunflash.

"My little Sunflash, do you not know me?" he said.

Sunflash smiled back through the tears that welled in his eyes. "Father!"

"Yes, my son, I am Barkstripe, husband of your mother, Bella of Brocktree. These two Badger Lords are Boar the Fighter, your grandsire, and Lord Brocktree, your great grand-sire. Listen to them now, they have something important to tell you."

64.

Boar the Fighter and Lord Brocktree barred the gate entrance with sword and axe and spoke as one.

"You cannot enter here, Lord!"

Sunflash felt a great sadness come over him. He wanted to join his sires, not to be rejected by them. He felt alone and helpless. "Why do you refuse me entrance when I am weary and wish to sleep, and why do you call me Lord?" he asked.

Again the sepulchral tones of the Badger Warriors rang out: "There are many long seasons to be lived before you come here. Do not surrender, rise up, the mountain awaits you! It is in need of a Badger Lord!"

Inside the cave dwelling, the squirrel, who was called Elmjak, rubbed his back ruefully. "Mine old bones be yet stiff from all that dragging and pulling, 'twas the hardest day's work in many a long season, friends, thanks to thy rush mat, goodwife Lully."

The mole wife peeked over her ap.r.o.n top. "Hurr, ee ole rush mat'll be wore'd out arter draggen it all that way wi' zurr badger layin' on et, aye, wore'd out loik us'n's be."

Outside, the little molemaids and hoglets played on the sward under a soft morning sun. Unaware of how close to death Sunflash lay, they had invented a new game, as infants will, fighting off adders. The two little molemaids clung to each other, shrieking, "Eee! 'Elp 'elp, ee sunpints be a goin' to eat us'n's oop!"

Gurmil and Tirg were jointly pretending to be Sunflash. "Stop still-we'll save ee!"

Bitty and Oilier, the two little hogmaids, stood on the sidelines, yelling, "Better save'm quick afore they get etted up!"

"Gurr! Go 'way, nasty ole snakers!" Gurmil and Tirg roared as they thrashed imaginary adders. "Yah, slinky stinky ole slimy snakes, take tha'!"

65.

Dearie Lingl hurried out with a paw on her lips. "Shush, *ush now, liddle, uns! Keep yore noise down, we got a very sick badger to nurse in there; do be quiet, please!"

The babes halted their game and clung to her ap.r.o.n.

' 'Whoi do ee gurt Sunflasher be sicked, marm?' *

"Badgers be too big to get sicked!"

"Ee surrpints bited 'im, twenny 'undred toimes!"

"Will Sunflasher get deaded?"

"Ee squirrel make 'im better oi thinks, hurr!"

Dearie rummaged in her ap.r.o.n pocket until she came up with some dried apple pieces, which she gave them, saying, "Sunflash'll only get well if you keep very quiet. Be good beasts now, try not to make too much noise, my liddle b.u.t.tons."

They sat in a row on the gra.s.s, watching each other as they ate.

"You'm chewen orful loud, Maister Gurmil!"

"I can't 'elp it, 'tis a noisy apple piece I got."

"Hurr, then keep ee mouth shutted!"

"Then I won't able to talk!"