The Outcast of Redwall Part 8

Sunflash licked honey from his paws as he answered, "An egg inside a duck's tummy, even I know that one! Righto, what falls every day and breaks every night?"

Ruddle sniffed. "Huh, dusk an' dawn, what else? What goes buhurr owch! Buhurr owch! See if y'know that'n."

"Two moles fightin' over a damson pudden."

Ruddle glared at Folrig. "How did you know?"

"Well I should know, matey,'twas me that made it up!"

They fell to wrestling and insulting each other until Sunflash pulled them apart. "Stop this fighting, you two, I'll go first watch."

Suddenly Folrig and Ruddle wanted to take first watch.

"No, no, matey, I'll go watch."

"Oh no y'won't, I will."

Sunflash tossed his mace from paw to paw menacingly. "I said I'll go first watch. Anybeast care to argue?"

The two otters threw themselves flat, eyes closed tight.

"Can't 'ear yer, mate, I'm fast asleep."

"Me too, needs me beauty sleep, I do."

Chuckling quietly at the irrepressible creatures, Sunflash strode softly off around the edges of their camp. He settled on a boulder from where he had a good view all round.

The early part of the night was uneventful. Sunflash stayed alert, enjoying the silence of the balmy darkness. He sat thinking of his friend Skarlath and the happy seasons they had spent 106.

with the Bruff Dubbo and Tirry Lingl families at the cave. Intermingled with these thoughts were the dreams of his family: father, mother, and grandsires, and of course, the mountain, always the mountain, waiting for him somewhere in the southwest. The campfire had gradually reduced to embers and gone dead; there was no moon, only the wide star-strewn darkness above. Gradually, little by little, the badger fell under the soft spell of night's mantle. His eyes began to droop, and small sounds receded into the background, merging into a faint, comforting whisper.

Then a weighted net was flung over Sunflash, pulling him backward off the boulder. Before he had a chance to break loose or lift his mace, the badger felt cold steel at his throat, at least a dozen sword or knife points. A gruff voice grated in his ear. "One move an' you're a deadbeast!"

The net tightened as stakes were driven through it into the ground.

"Munga, are those two others taken care of?" the gruff voice called out.

A reply came back out of the darkness: "Out cold, the pair of 'em, Chief!"

Sunflash began to struggle against the confining net. A sword point p.r.i.c.ked him under the chin and a higher-pitched voice grated angrily: "Let me finish him off, Chief!"

Shang Damsontongue was even easier to deal with than Bow-fleg had been. Swartt Sixclaw promised her joint leadership of the horde, plus many fine metal weapons, and she was eager and greedy. They sealed the bargain with fine wine from the south, Swartt drinking from the bottle and allowing his new partner the honor of drinking from the poisoned silver chalice. The sixclawed Warlord could scarce suppress an evil sn.i.g.g.e.r. Would they never learn, these so-called leaders, that none was more deadly and pitiless than he?

Once again he was Warlord of all the great horde. Shang's former band of foxes was only too happy to follow Swartt; issued with good metal weapons to take the place of their former crude arms, regaled with promises of lavish booty to come, they joined gladly. But Swartt had not reckoned with Balefur!

The big dogfox had been only loosely attached to Shang Damsontongue's band. He was more of a loner-tough, in- 107.

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dependent, and fearless, Balefur answered to n.o.beast. Swartt had noticed him as the march southwest had continued, standing out, bigger than the rest, striding confidently, neither asking nor giving help to anybeast. Moreover, Balefur had armed himself with a large double-headed battleaxe, and he carried it with the easy grace of one who knew how to use it.

On the second night's camp, Swartt decided to meet with the big fox. Being one of the few left with a tent, the Warlord had it set up, guards posted around it, and a fire burning outside. Cushions were scattered around inside, and Swartt's wife, Bluefen, set out a good array of food and drink. The Warlord was out to impress any potential friend or enemy with a show of splendor and power.

Four armed vermin were sent to bring the fox into Swartt's presence, but from the start the interview went badly. Balefur sauntered in, battleaxe slung nonchalantly across his shoulder, completely ignoring the four guards around him. He winked casually at Swartt and leaned up against the tent post.

Swartt studied his guest before speaking, then he crooked a claw at Aggal the stoat Captain. "Aggal, relieve our friend of that great heavy weapon."

Balefur toted the axe, shaking his head at the Captain. "Nay, laddie, this's mah weapon, n.o.beast takes et from me, d'ye ken?" He laughed openly at the hesitant Aggaf. "Besides, et's no' heavy, ah kin wield et wi' nay fuss!"

Taking a quick pace forward, Balefur swung the axe in a swift arc. Aggal jumped backward, but not before the axeblade had sheared through his sword belt. The fox picked up the severed belt and sheathed sword lightly on his double-headed axe and tossed it to the speechless Captain.

"Och, yer no' hurt, stoat. If ah was aimin' t'slay ye they'd be buryin' ye in two pieces now!"

Swartt got up from his chair; striding forward he faced the fox imperiously. "I am Swartt Sixclaw, Warlord of this horde!"

Balefur looked away insolently as if dismissing him. "Aye, so ah've heard, what else is new, ferret?"

Swartt fought inwardly to control his rising anger. "So you're Balefur, I can tell by your speech that yer from the far northlands. How did y'get this far south?"

The fox shrugged, smiling patronizingly at me Warlord. "Och, that's a long story, but nae doubt ah* 11 be goin' farther a bit wi' ye, if we're t'betieve all yer talk o' great booty an' mighty plunder."

Knowing the fox was getting the better of the confrontation, Swartt decided to change his tack. He smiled and clapped the big beast's back, saying, "I like you, mate, yer a beast after me own heart. How'd y'like to be a horde Captain in my army?''

Balefur chuckled, shaking his head. "Not fer me, polecat, ah'll leave that tae the wee beasties who like t'dress up an' play soldiers. Mah business is takin' care o' maself, not lookin' after otherbeasts."

Seething inwardly, Swartt pasted a smile on his face. "Don't take or give orders, eh, a good idea. Come sit with me, Balefur, let's eat'n'drink together, friend."

The big fox laughed openly.

"Yer a canny creature, Swartt, ye drink from the bottle an'

ah drink from the silver cup, eh? Is that what yer thinkin'?

Well et'll no' work, ah ate an' drank afore ah came here an'

:H ah'm off tae take mah rest now, so ah'll bid ye good night."

**$' Without waiting permission from the Warlord, Balefur shoul- * dered his battleaxe and strode off.

*i When Balefur had left, Swartt leapt at one of the guards ! standing nearby and felled him with a mighty blow from his mailed paw.

"There! That'll give yer somethin' to smile about! Any- beast want some of this, speak up an' I'll give it to yer!"

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At a nod from Nightshade, the guards and Captains hurriedly left the tent. The vixen hovered behind Swartt's chair. "That one is dangerous, Lord, he knows we poisoned Shang Damsontongue. But we will have to be careful. Balefur is much admired within your horde; we will watch and wait."

Swartt gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. "I'd like to finish the blaggard tonight, while he's sleepin'!"

" 'Twould not be easy, Lord, he is a northlander, experienced in the art of battle. 'Twould be no simple task to slay that one. If you missed then you would be made to look foolish in front of the horde."

Swartt studied his six-clawed paw in its metal gauntlet, and said, "I suppose you're right, vixen, we'll watch an' wait. Nothing must happen t'make me look foolish in front of my horde. I want you t'go ahead and scout the land for three days. Make sure we're on the right course, I don't want them mut-terin' that we're lost again, Balefur'd just love that. Travel alone and let n.o.beast know where you're goin', d'ye hear?"

Nightshade stuffed provisions in a sack. "I'll go now. Don't worry too much about Balefur, he does not figure in your fate, Lord."

Swartt drew his curved sword and tested its edge. "No, but I'll figure in his fate sure enough. There's more ways of sh.e.l.l-in' an acorn than hittin' it with a rock. Go now."

The following days were not easy for Swartt. Tales, enlarged by rumor, had spread through the horde, telling of his encounter with the fox Balefur. The stories grew more fantastic as they pa.s.sed from one to another.

"I tell yer, mate, Swartt's terrified of ole Balefur."

"Who told yer that?"

"One of the guards who was in the tent, 'e said that Balefur chopped Swartt's belt in pieces with that battleaxe of 'is."

"So, what did Sixclaw do about that?"

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"Never did a thing, jus' stood there tremblin', then Balefur goes an' lays Cap'n Aggal out with a single blow."

"It must've been a good blow, that Aggal's a tough 'un!"

"Hah, none of 'em are as tough as the fox. 'Ave yer seen the size of 'im? I wouldn't like to chance me paw with that 'un!"

"Me neither, not if 'e did wot you said."

"Well 'e did it, true as I stan' 'ere. I'll wager that ole Bale-fur'll be leadin' this 'orde afore long."

Swartt could hear the murmurs; he heard the stifled chuckles also, though he could never identify the culprits from out of the marching horde. Luckily the going was easy, over copse-dotted gra.s.slands crisscrossed by small gurgling streams. Alone in his tent at nights, the Warlord noticed that his Captains were hardly bothering to come in and report at the end of each day. When he slept his dreams were visited by visions of the badger Sunflash. Each morn he would wake, and the one thing driving him on, even in his present precarious position, was to slay his enemy, the badger who had ruined his sixclawed paw.

Balefur, however, was enjoying his notoriety and courting popularity with his admirers. There were a great number of hordebeasts who favored the big fox; some were only too glad to serve him food, erect a tent for his use, and obey his whims. The horde Captains were plainly frightened of him, and Bale-fur took every opportunity to belittle them by making sideswipes at their authority. His prowess with the battleaxe was becoming something of a legend around the campfires. Often he would chop an officer's spear handle in two pieces and pretend it was an accident.

"Whoops! Sorry about (hat, laddie, ye must've stepped in mah way jist as ah was practicin', still, nae harm done, eh?"

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Some days he would deliberately hold about half of the horde back by taking a rest in mid-march. He would sit at the edge of a stream, bathing his paws and calling out so that Swartt could hear every word clearly, "Och, ye march on wi1 yer badger-chasin', we'll catch ye up by nightfall, mebbe!"

Grim-faced and silent, the Warlord marched onward, afraid to challenge Balefur's easygoing insolence in case he lost to the fox, yet knowing that while the challenge remained unanswered, he was losing the respect of both horde and Captains. It was a dilemma he would have to face sooner or later.

It was in the dark of a moonless night when the vixen returned. The Warlord sprang up from the cushions where he had lain sleepless through the long hours. "Where in the name of fur'n'blood have you been all this time, vixen? Make yer report, an' it better be good!"

It was good. Swartt's agile mind weighed up the possibilities as Nightshade explained what she had found.

"Lord, you are marching south now, and have been for the last few days, but no matter. Two days from here a great river runs to the west. If we follow it to the sh.o.r.es of the sea, then we only have to go due south."

Swartt nodded impatiently. "Yes, yes, y'did well, vixen, we won't get lost followin' a river. But there's somethin' else you've seen, I know there is! Tell me."

Nightshade leaned close, her voice low, relishing the role of conspirator. "A little way east before I found the river, I discovered two old stoat hags living not far from a great hole in the ground, a quarry they called it. Funny thing though, these two old ragbags of stoats, they were living in a hovel made of gra.s.s sods, but it was ringed about by many thick ropes lying flat on the ground...."

"Thick ropes on the ground, what for?" Swartt interrupted.

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"I asked them that very question, Lord. They told me it was because of the snakes-they said that serpents won't cross over a rope laid flat on earth... ."

Swartt stared hard at the vixen in the gloom of the tent. "Snakes! How many snakes were they tafkin' about?"

"They said a great nest of adders live down in the quarry, where the stone is dry and sandy in places. I stood at the edge of the quarry with them and they showed me the entrance holes to the serpents' lair. Anybeast going into one of those holes would meet a horrible death for certain."

Swartt scratched his painted chin thoughtfully. "A great hole in the ground full of snakes, eh? I wonder how they got there."

There was disbelief in Nightshade's voice as she explained. "Those two old hags said that the quarry was made by many mice, squirrels, moles, and woodland creatures, who needed the red sandstone to build. When they left, the snakes took it over. I think those two stoat hags are as crazy as weed-fed frogs!"

Swartt waved her to silence with his mailed paw. *'Never mind all that, if the hole in the ground is there and full of serpents as they say it is, then I've got a great idea. Listen carefully now, I want no slipups!"

15.

The following day was light and breezy. Patches of sun and shade stippled the gra.s.slands as Swartt stood on a small knoll, his face and teeth freshly painted, cloak swirling on the wind. The Warlord's tone had a fresh ring of confidence as he addressed the horde in a loud voice: "I've been travelin' due south because I know a great river runs west not two days from here. We'll march to that river and follow it west, and if we make it to the river in good time, I'll allow you a couple of days' rest, eatin', sleepin', and doin' what you like. Now break camp and let's move!"

A half-hearted cheer went up, but most of the horde did not seem in any hurry to march. From somewhere in the center of the horde, Balefur's voice could be heard clearly. "All those who want tae chase badgers, follow the ferret!"

' 'If you think Swartt Sixclaw came all this way just to chase a badger, then you're slow in the head, fox."

Balefur stared at Nightshade curiously. "What makes ye say that, do ye ken somethin' I don't?"

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Nightshade smiled craftily, tapping her muzzle with one paw. "I know more about Swartt Sixclaw than any beast living. Don't you believe he's down here on a badger hunt. Follow me if you want to know the real truth."

Balefur followed the vixen as she picked her way through the vermin throng until the two of them stood alone in an ash grove. She sat and patted the gra.s.s indicating that Balefur join her. The fox inspected the area, then sat in a place of his own choosing, back against a tree, axe lying close to paw. "Ye dinna fool me, la.s.sie," he said, "ah know ye t'be Swartt's creature."

Nightshade's eyes were bitter and her voice shook as she answered, "For too many seasons, my friend, but now I'm sick of being treated like a pawrag-vixen do this, vixen do that, fetch, carry, yes Lord, no Lord."

Balefur smiled as he toyed with the axe haft. "Och, then what changed yer mind all o' a sudden?"