The Long Patrol

The veteran Shangle Widepad inspected the torn-up grass and scratched rocks. “Well spotted, young ’un. She’s

well off course, though.”

Ctubrush limped slowly over to the spot. After a quick glance he gave his verdict to Ellbrig in an undertone.

“Bad news for us, Lance Corporal. Looks like the Blood-wrath’s full on ’er. Take four with you an’ find ’er. We’ll

wait ’ere.”

Trowbaggs, Deodar, Furgale, and Fallow jogged in a line abreast with Ellbrig. In broad daylight the trail of Rose

Eyes was clear: ripped-up moss, flattened bushes, and trampled heather all told the story of the badger’s flight.

The irrepressible Trowbaggs chatted constantly as they forged on. “I say, looks like a flippin’ herd o’ badgers

passed this way, wot? This Bloodwrath thing, Corp—what’s it all about?”

Ellbrig eyed the grinning recruit, about to tell him to mind his words, then he thought better of it. “You’ve as much

right as the next beast t’know, I suppose. Bloodwrath is more a sickness than anythin’, ’tis a terrible sight t’behold. I

think ’tis mainly Badger Warriors suffer from it, though I ’ave ’card o’ otherbeasts taken by the Bloodwrath. Imagine

hatin’ an enemy so much that even if he had ten thousand at his back, y’d charge at ’im, aye, an’ destroy many to get

at ’im. They say a beast taken in Bloodwrath can fight on, even though wounded almost to death. Aye, they battle on

still, as if they was fresh as a daisy, slayin’ anybeast that stands afore ’em. Red-eyed, full of the lust for death, an’

scornin’ fear, that’s Bloodwrath. Worst thing that c’n happen to a creature, I think!”

Trowbaggs was subdued by the Corporal’s statement, but only for a moment. He nudged Furgale, saying, “Hard

luck on the foebeast, I’d say, but blinkin’ useful to have a hefty dash o’ the Bloodwrath on our side. Wot, wot!”

In the late afternoon, Ellbrig stopped to scan the weaving, meandering trail. “Hmm, the fires appear t’be dyin’

down. These tracks are all over the place, willy nilly. She can’t be far ahead.”

Fallow pointed to the distant ash grove, set in a vale between three low-lying hills. “I’ll wager we find her there,

’tis where I’d make for if I was tired’n’weary. What d’you think, Corp?”

“Aye, I’d say you made a good bet. Let’s get a move on. I think there’s big birds flyin’ low over that way.”

They increased the pace. Drawing closer to the grove, Ellbrig put on extra speed, roaring out an order. “Out slings,

it’s rooks, they’re attackin’ somethin’!”

Yelling Eulalias and loosing off stones, the five hares leaped to the fray. Shrieking harshly, the rooks fled from

their prey in a dark flapping mass, beating at one another with wing and talon in an effort to regain the safety of their

grove.

A few bold ones remained, sticking out their necks and menacing the hares with their pointed beaks. Charging into

the ferns, Ellbrig and his companions battered at the birds with loaded slings. Several rooks were slain before the birds

finally fled.

Cregga Rose Eyes was surrounded by dead and dying birds. The big badger was ripped and pecked in a dozen

places. Using her axpike for support, she staggered from the fems with the hares assisting her. Ellbrig watched her

carefully as she drank from a small canteen he had brought along, and he noted that her face was calm and her eyes

had returned to their normal rose pink.

“Sar’nt Clubrush sent us, said you’d lost y’way, marm.”

Cregga looked slightly bewildered. Wiping a heavy paw across her eyes, she blinked at the Lance Corporal. “Lost?

Yes, I suppose I was, in a way. Where are all the others?”

Ellbrig pointed in the direction they had come from. “Nearly a full day’s march back that way, marm. Can y’make

it?”

The badger set out slowly, her head bowed wearily. “Yes yes, you carry on, Corporal. I’ll be fine.”

Drill Sergeant Clubrush sat finishing a fine supper of forager’s stew, washed down with some good mountain cider.

He wiped his platter with a chunk of rye bread.

“By the furV feather, that was a better meal than I ever knocked together in my recruit days. Top marks to you’n’

yore crew, young Algador, there’s hope for ye yet!”

As Algador saluted he cast a quick glance to the huge form of Lady Cregga, fast asleep on a pile of groundsheets

by the fire. “Thanks, Sarge. Will we be movin’ out at dawn?”

Clubrush continued wiping his already clean platter. “Y’move when I say, laddie buck, an’ I move when she says.

Though the seasons only knows when Lady Cregga’ll waken. She looked fair done in. Thank the fates that she’s

normal agin.”

Rinkul was festering with hatred for the ragged pair of mystics who had entered the Rapscallion camp. He garnered

a dozen of his cronies about him and issued secret orders. “Let me know every move that pair make, see. An’ the

dumb one, keep a keen eye on ’im, ’specially once it gits dark!”

Tarnmo managed to give Rinkul’s cronies the slip. He slid off at twilight, while the hillside camp was still teeming

with Rapscallions going about the business of cooking, fishing, and foraging for supper.

Rockjaw Grang was awaiting his arrival. He fed the young hare from the last of his supplies and passed on the

information Taunoc had vouchsafed to him. Getting back was more difficult. Tammo could see Rinkul and his band

searching for him as he peered over the hilltop. There was only one thing for it. Keeping bent double, Tammo shuffled

into the camp, trying hard to look inconspicuous. He was doing fine until a heavy paw descended upon his shoulder. It

belonged to the big, slow-witted rat Lousewort.

“Er, er, tell me a funny riddle like you toF Cap’n Blug-gach.”

His companion Sneezewort shook his head in disgust. “Oh, belt up, seedbrain, that ’un can’t talk—that’s the dumb

’un!”

Lousewort was not convinced. “But he’s magic like the otherbeast. Maybe he kin put a spell on hisself so that ’is

voice comes back!”

Lousewort’s voice was so loud that he attracted the attention of Rinkul and his gang. Immediately they spotted

Tammo and began making their way toward him. The young hare acted quickly. Moaning and uttering dreadful

croaking sounds, he waved his paws wildly at Lousewort and Sneezewort. Unsure of what the ragged creature was

about, the two rats backed off nervously. Rinkul and his vermin tried to shove past them and seize Tammo, but he

pushed Sneezewort and Lousewort into them and ran off. Extricating themselves from the tangle, Rinkul and two

others gave chase.

Tammo threw himself into the shelter, where Midge was waiting. He barely had time to gasp out the information

when Rinkul appeared. Ducking his head under the canvas awning, the ferret drew an ugly-looking blade.

“‘Tis time ter settle up wid you two ragbags!”

Midge gave an evil cackle and raised his paws dramatically. “Beware o’ my magical powers, fool. Raise that blade

at me an’ I’ll turn yer into a toad, right where y’stand!”

Sneeringly, Rinkul began raising the blade. Midge also raised his paws higher, threatening his adversary. “Don’t

say I didn’t warn ye. Snakeblood an’ lightnin’ come strike this abode, an’ turn yonder ferret into a fat toa—”

“What’s going on here?”

At the sound of Damug Warfang’s voice, Rinkul swiftly sheathed his blade. Lowering his eyes humbly, he

shrugged and said, “Just a bit o’ fun, Sire. The ragged one was gonna show me’n’my mates a few spells an’ tricks.”

Damug strode between them, eyeing Rinkul suspiciously. “Get out of here and leave these creatures alone!”

Rinkul and the other two vermin bowed and hurried off, relieved that the Firstblade had not sensed their intentions.

Damug bade the two hares to be seated. He stared at Midge for some time, then asked, “Could you have turned Rinkul

into a toad?”

Cocking his head to one side, Midge returned the stare boldly. “That’s my business, Warlord. Now I’m really goin’

to show yer some magic. D’you want to know where t’meet me Redwallers?”

Damug leaned forward eagerly. “Aha! Your voices have spoken-to you, Seer! Tell me!”

Midge shook his head knowingly. “Not so fast, Damug Warfang. Answer my questions an’ you’ll find that you

already know, the information’11 come out by itself.”

For the first time, Damug looked puzzled. “You speak in riddles, Miggo. What do you mean?”

“Be silent, an’ speak only when I ask you a question!”

Tammo was as mystified as Damug. He feared that Midge had gone too far with their dangerous game. But as he

listened, Tammo was surprised by his friend’s skills.

Midge tapped the patch that covered his eye. “Tell me, Firstblade, ’ow many good eyes ’ave you’n’I got between

us?”

The Greatrat answered without hesitation “Three.”

Midge cackled knowingly. “Haharrharr! You said it. Three! That’s the time you’ll meet those Redwallers, three

days from now!”

Damug’s voice quivered with excitement. “What are their numbers—how many will they be, Seer?”

Midge Manycoats eyed him scornfully. “What if they ’ad twice yore number? Redwallers are peaceful creatures,

they toil at growin’ things in earth. Yore a Warlord wid a thousand at yer back, all warriors. But ’earken t’me, Damug,

if we’re talkin’ in hundreds, then three is still yer lucky number.”

Damug thought about this a moment, then grinned wickedly. “Three hundred peace-loving beasts!”

Midge nodded. “You said it, Warfang, an”tis little use lyin’ to yerself. Wot’s three ’undred farmers agin a thousand

soldiers?”

Damug drew his sword, pointing it at Midge. “If there’s only three hundred, then why can’t I just march on

Redwall Abbey and take it, tell me that?”

Midge brushed aside the swordpoint contemptuously. “Go if ye will, fight ’em there! Wreck the place, smash it,

burn Redwall t’the ground. What’ll ye have then, mighty one? Go on, you tell me that!”

Sullenly the Warlord sheathed his weapon. “Mayhaps you are right, it is difficult to control a thousand when they

sense plunder in battle. So, where is the place to be?”

Squatting by the fire, Midge tossed in a pawful of salt. Blue flames rose from it. “Beneath a blue sky west o’ here

lies a valley. I see a hill with a rock like an otter’s tail atop of it, and three ’undred standin’ by, waitin’ for yore blades

to bring ’em death. Now I see yore father, Gormad Tunn, tellin’ you t’make the Rapscallions great again. Keep the rift

at yore back, my son, that’s wot ’e says, keep the rift at yore back!”

The blue flames from the salt died down, and Midge shrugged. “That’s all, I see no more.”

Damug continued staring into the fire. “So why should the whole of Redwall be waiting for us in this field?”

Midge smiled. “Think, great one. The Redwallers have friends throughout Mossflower. They have been informed

that a great army is gathering to attack. They will not risk allowing you to reach their sacred gates. Tomorrow they will

hold a Council of War, this I have seen. The quickest route to Red-wait is through that field. The next day they will

decide upon an ambush there. The third day they will set forth. All this I have seen.”

Damug sneered. “Well, what’s to stop us taking Redwall when the fools are all away playing soldiers in this field?

”

Midge toyed with his cap while he rapidly thought of an answer. “Think again,” he said finally. “You are destined

for complete victory, to be the unchallenged ruler of all Moss-flower. Do you really want to deal with bands of

insurgents, resistance fighters who know these woods better than their own right paws? No! Better to slay and take

prisoners for slaves to serve you and your great army. True victory only comes through conquest, great Lord!”

Convinced at last, the Greatrat recounted the information. “Three days from now I will face the Redwallers west of

here. They will be on a hilltop; I must keep the rift at my back. What does my father mean—keep the rift at my back?

”

Midge closed his eyes, as if exhausted. “I can’t tell yer, that’s all I know.”

“Hmm,” Damug grunted. “Well, I will field a thousand, but the Redwall creatures number only three hundred. Are

you sure you can tell me no more, Seer?”

Midge shook his head several times. “Nothin’ except a certain victory for you an’ yore army.”

Damug strode to the entrance of the dwelling and summoned two guards; then he turned to Tammo and Midge.

“So be it. Pray to the fates that you have seen truly. These two guards will watch you and never leave your side until

Redwall is mine. If you have tried to play me false, I will have you both skinned, roasted, and fed to my army.”

He fixed the two guards with a cold stare. “If either of you let these two out of your sight for a moment, I will

make you curse the day you were born. Is that clear?”

Sneezewort and Lousewort (whose turn it had been to stand guard duty) bobbed their heads vigorously as they

croaked, “‘Er, er, yes Sire!”

Immediately after Damug had left, the two rats leveled the heavy guard spears they had been issued with at

Tammo and Midge. “Sit still an’ don’t bat an eyelid, you two, or yer dead-beasts!”

The two hares sat with spearpoints almost touching their throats, knowing that the nervous rats were capable of

anything in their highly strung state. Tammo stared beyond them. Outside he could see Rinkul and his gang lurking. In

a barely audible whisper, he said to Midge, “Touch an’ go, old chap, wot?”

Midge blinked his eyes in agreement. The situation was extremely dangerous. If they escaped the guards it would

be like jumping out of the frying pan into the fire. Yet they had to escape and take Fourdun with them before dawn,

when the Rapscallion army would break camp and march west.

“Time t’put the old thinkin’ caps on, bucko!” he murmured back to his friend.

44?

Spitting pebbles and dust, Foremole Diggum worked furiously in the darkness. When the tunnel collapsed, he had

been thrown partially clear, but he was trapped below the waist by the mountain of debris that stretched from floor to

ceiling. The mole’s powerful digging claws tore at the rubble, showering stone and mortar either side until he pulled

himself free. His head struck the lantern; it had gone out. Grabbing the cover off, Foremole blew gently on the

smouldering wick, and a spark showed. Slowly he coaxed the flame back to life.

“Ahoy there, mate, move aside, I’m comin’ down!” Shad the otter emerged from the top of the pile and slithered

carefully over the slope of the cave-in, favoring his injured paw. “C’mon, let’s git diggin’ fer the others!”

Glittering pieces of booty sparkled in the lantern light. Shad seized a heavy gold platter and, using it as a scoop, he

attacked the pile.

Foremole dug alongside him, calling out, “Whurr are ee, you’m gennelbeasts? Call out naow!”

A muffled but urgent cry came back at them from inside the pile: “Go easy, (here’s only a beam protectin’ us. Dig

careful, friends!”

Shad grunted as he tunneled into the jumble of earth and stone. “Take care o’ miz Craklyn an’ the Abbess, young

Butty—we’ll soon have ye out o’ there!”

They hauled aside a block of masonry between them, and pulled and tugged at timbers and rock slivers. Foremole

flinched suddenly. “Yowch! Oi be stabbed in ee tail!”

Shad held up the lantern to see what it was. An ornate silver spearhead, studded with peridots and tasseled with

silk, was poking out of the debris, its point waving and shaking.

“In here, we’re in here! Hurry, the air’s runnin’ out!”

Shad held on to the spearhead while Foremole dug swiftly around it. The good mole was an expert digger, and he

soon had a small tunnel through to the three trapped creatures. Shad began enlarging it, scooping aside earth with his

gold platter.

There was an ominous creaking of timber, then the sound of Abbess Tansy’s voice calling to them, “You’d best be

quick—Craklyn’s been knocked senseless and I think this beam is about to break under the weight of rubble!”

Shad thrust the lantern through and squeezed in after it. Bent double, he sized up the situation.

The cave-in had fallen around a huge baulk of timber, leaving a small space. Butty and Tansy were crouched in it,

supporting the limp form of Craklyn. Suddenly, unable to bear the weight of collapsed material, the beam gave a

splintering crack, showering them with soil and mortar dust.

Foremole scrambled in alongside Shad. Moving Tansy aside, he took her place so that he and Butty were

supporting Craklyn. “Hurr, et be gurtly bad in yurr, marm. Do ee get owt quick loik!”

Shad assisted Tansy into the escape tunnel, and the limber beam began to groan like a living thing as it shifted. The

hefty otter threw caution to the wind. Wedging his back beneath the beam, he strained upward and took the weight

upon himself.

“Get ’em out, Diggum, mate. Don’t argue. Go!”

They scrambled out, dragging Craklyn between them, through choking dust and a rain of pebbles.

Foremole and Butty grabbed the silver-headed spear, thrusting the pole back toward Shad, who had been forced

almost flat. Butty shouted instructions: “Grip tight to the spearpole, mister Shad. You push, we’ll pull. Ready, one,

two, push!”

Shad held the spearpole like a vise as, forcing himself free of the beam, he gave a mighty shove. Foremole and

Butty heaved on the other end, knowing their friend’s life depended on it.

Covered in earth and battered by stones, Shad flew out of the tunnel as the beam broke and everything collapsed

inward behind him. He was practically shot out of the hole like an arrow from a bow, landing in a heap atop his

rescuers.

Butty found the remains of a flask of elderberry wine, which had been thrown clear. While Tansy bathed

Craklyn’s brow with it. Shad took stock of their situation.

“Well, messmates, that’s wot we get fer goin’ treasure ’untin’. We’re blocked in this passage better’n if we’d been

walled in by builders. Still, we’re alive, an’ the air is fit to breathe.”

Licking her lips, Craklyn came back to consciousness. “Mmm, I taste like elderberry wine, that’s strange. What

happened? Is everybeast all right?”

Tansy breathed a sigh of relief and hugged her old squirrel friend fondly. “Everyone is fine, though you were

knocked out when the tunnel collapsed. How do you feel?”

Craklyn stood up and dusted off her gown. “Fine, never felt better! Dearie me, looks as if we’re trapped down here,

though. What in the name of seasons are you up to, young Butty?”

The squirrel Friar pointed proudly to the small heap of glittering objects he had gathered from the rubble.

“Collectin’ treasure, marm. ’Tis rare pretty stuff!”

Foremole wrinkled his snout at the precious trove.”Phwunr! Pretty is all et be. Us’n’s caint eat et, hurr no, so ’tis of

no use at all down yurr!”

Craklyn ignored the mole. She dug out of her pocket the rhyme she had copied, shaking her head knowingly. “I

thought so. Treasure, that’s what we missed. Look at the first letter of each line, reading downward.

“Turn at the lowest stair, Right is the left down there, Every pace you must count At ten times paws amount, See

where a deathbird flies Under the hunter’s eyes, Radiant in splendor fair, Ever mine, hidden where?”

She folded the scrap of parchment triumphantly. “So that’s the riddle solved. Treasure! And we’ve found it!”

Shad picked up the empty wine canteen. “Well good fer us, marm, but Foremole’s right, treasure ain’t goin’ to feed

us or get us out o’ this mess. So, wot next?”

Craklyn and Butty gathered up the treasure and wrapped it in a cloak—having found it they were not about to

leave it behind. The young Friar gazed at the heap of debris blocking the passage. “We’ll take this with us. Hmm, bet

there’s lots more of it buried in there, pity we can’t dig it out.”

Abbess Tansy tweaked Butty’s ear playfully. “You greedy young wretch! Come on, let’s explore farther down this

passage and see where it leads. Bring die lantern, Shad.”

There was neither dawn nor dusk far beneath the earth; time had no meaning. It was only by hunger and thirst that

the five companions could judge how long they had been down there. Long, dark and dreary, dry, dusty, and silent, the

passage wound on a downward slope. Occasionally they arrived at a cave-in that had not quite blocked the way, and

then they found themselves scrambling up hills of broken stone, forcing their way through narrow apertures close to

the tunnel ceiling.

Foremole tapped the walls regularly and probed the tight-packed earth at window and door spaces, but without any

great success. Being the strongest of the party, he and Shad forged ahead in front of the others, to make sure the way

was safe.

The big otter was wearied from his exertions fighting the crushing beam. “I don’t like it, Diggum,” he murmured in

a low voice to Foremole. “Looks like we’re goin’ nowheres down ’ere. We ain’t got food nor drink, only the air we

breathe, an’ that lantern light ain’t goin’ to last forever.”

Dust rose from his back as the mole patted it. “Hurr, oi knows that, ole riverdog, but us’n’s be bound t’put ee

brave face on, lest ee froighten an’ scare ee uthers. Coom now, let’s set an’ rest awhoile.”

They waited for the others to join them, then all five sat with their backs against the wall, tired and dispirited, each

with his or her own thoughts, which were rather similar. Green grass, sunlight, fresh air, clear water, and the happy

world of Redwall Abbey, so far above them that it all seemed like a dream.

45

Major Perigord stood in the gap of the south wall with Captain Twayblade. Together they watched the shrews and

Waterhogs from the water meadows being led up the slope by Log-a-Log and Gurgan Spearback to join the Redwall

army. Perigord attempted a rough head count as they turned west to the main gate.

“About a hundred an’ ten, maybe twenty, not many really. Let’s go an’ see what Morio has mustered up.”

Lieutenant Morio was seated in the orchard with quill and parchment on an old tree stump. Pasque was assisting

him in compiling the figures on what number of fighting beasts were available.

Perigord looked questioningly at the two hares. “Make y’report, be it good or ill. Speak up, chaps.”

Morio wiped an inky paw against his tunic. “Well, it ain’t good, Major, but they all seem fit’n’able. There’s fifty

Red-wallers, and thirty squirrels come in from ’round Mossflower, all pretty fair archers an’ good slingers, well

equipped too. Skipper’s rounded up a few more otters, bringin’ his strength up to twoscore. Wish we had more otters—

they look like they know their way ’round a fight.”

Perigord straightened his green velvet tunic, now practically in tatters after all it had been through. “Wishes don’t

win wars, Lieutenant, we make the best of what we’ve jolly well got. Have y’counted all the shrews’n’hogs?”

“I have, sah. One hundred an’ sixty-three all told, and if you add our twelve, well, that’s the total strength. Always

providin’ that Tammo, Midge, an’ Rockjaw make it back from the Rapscallion camp in one piece.”

Perigord did a quick mental calculation. “Well, that makes nearly three hundred we can put in the field. Pasque, me

pretty one, how’s the jolly old armory?”

Pasque Valerian had slightly better news. “Top o’ the mark, sah. Everybeast carries their own weapon, an’ there’s

a chamber in the bell tower crammed full of arms, all manner of blade, spear, and bow. Ginko the Bellringer says

you’re welcome to ’em all, sah!”

Twayblade drew her rapier, and flicking an apple from a nearby branch, caught it deftly and polished it on her

sleeve. “Three hundred, eh. Wish I’d told Midge to let the Rapscallions know there was only two hundred of us, but I

said three, hopin’ we might have had four. Always nice to keep a hundred as a surprise reserve. Ah well, no use

worryin’ over spilt cider, wot.”

Perigord took the apple from his sister and bit into it. “Indeed, we’ll just have t’give ten times as good as we get

off the vermin. Hello there, what’s amiss here?”

The Galloper Riffle was trying to restrain Viola Bankvole from reaching Perigord.

“Sorry, marm, y’can’t see the Major right now, he’s busy.”

Viola thrust her jaw out belligerently. “Stand aside, young sir, or I’ll take a stick to you. I must see your officer

right now!”

Perigord gestured Riffle to one side. “At y’service, marm. You wanted to see me?”

Viola shot Riffle a haughty glance before addressing the Major. “It’s our Abbess. She’s missing, and so are Shad

the Gatekeeper, Foremole Diggum, Craklyn the Recor ...”

Perigord cut her off with a wave of his paw. “Enough, marm, enough! Just tell me how many altogether.”

“Well, there’s five of them. They’re nowhere to be seen, I’ve searched the Abbey grounds high and low. Now,

what do you intend doing about it, sir?”

Perigord answered her gently, seeing that Viola was upset. “Beggin’ y’pardon, lady, but there ain’t a lot I can do.

We’re about to march off an’ fight a war. So as y’see, I can’t spare anybeast to go off searchin’ for your friends.”

Viola Bankvole’s paw waved under the Major’s nose as she ticked him off. “Well, that’s a fine how d’ye do. But

mark my words, sir, I will gather more reliable searchers and look for them myself. Good day!”

She flounced off through the orchard, calling to the older ones. “Gurrbowl, come here! I need you to search with

me, and you, Mother Buscol, you too, Brother Ginko. Follow me!”

Captain Twayblade chuckled as she rescued the apple back from her brother. “I say, chaps, I think we’d best stay

here an’ search. Send her off to face the vermin. She’d soon send ’em packin’, wot!”

Perigord nodded admiringly as he watched Viola bullying half the Abbey elders into service. “Aye, she’s a bold

perilous creature right enough. But to business now. Pasque m’dear, would y’be good enough to assemble the leaders?

We’ll have to get geared up an’ movin’ shortly.”

The last full meal had been produced in Red wail’s kitchens by Guosim shrew cooks. They had filled six huge

cauldrons with a thick stew of leeks, mushrooms, carrots, turnips, water shrimp, onions, potatoes, and lots of herbs,

enough to feed an army. October Ale casks were broached and served in beakers with rough batch loaves and wedges

of autumn nut cheese.

As the Redwall force ate, Perigord consulted with their Chieftains: Skipper of Otters, Log-a-Log of the Guosim,

Gur-gan Spearback of the Waterhogs, and Arven, Champion of Redwall, bearing with him the great sword of Martin

the Warrior. There was not a lot to say that had not already been said; they all knew what they had to do, and even in

the face of overwhelming odds they were prepared to do it, or go down fighting.

Mother Buscol had evaded Viola. She stood on the sidelines, with Russano the badgerbabe and Orocca’s three

young owls in the straw-lined wheelbarrow, enjoying the sun. The rest of the Abbey Dibbuns crowded ’round, hanging

on her apron strings, in the absence of anyone else to mind them. Together they listened to the Major address his

troops.

“Right ho, chaps, for those who don’t know me, let me introduce m’self. I’m Major Perigord Habile Sinistra of the

Salamandastron Long Patrol, commandin’ this entire operation, though your orders will prob’ly reach you through

your own leaders an’ chieftains. Now I’ll make this as short as possible, wot! There’s a thousand Rapscallions

sweepin’ up-country, an’ Redwall Abbey’s in their path. So to save the place I’ve ... ahem ... arranged for the jolly old

fracas to take place elsewhere. According to Taunoc the blighters are on the move, and we’ve found the ideal place to

meet ’em head on. So that’s what we’ll jolly well do, if y’follow me. As you know, we’ll be outnumbered by more’n

three to one, but by jingo we won’t be outclassed! We won’t be outfought! An’ as long as I can stand with a saber in

me paw, we won’t be driven backward a single pace!”

Every creature listening leapt up cheering and brandishing their weapons.

“No surrender! No retreat!”

“Eulalia! ’S death on the wind!”

“Boi ’okey they’m furr et!”

Perigord gestured for silence. “Thank you, friends. But as you know, not all of us will come marching home. War

is war, and that is a fact. So if there are any of you with families or young ’uns to look after, well, nobeast will think

less of ye if you go home to them now.”

A rough-looking otter stood up. “Beggin’ yore pardon, Major, but I got a wife an liddle ’uns, an’ if I didn’t go

with ye then I’d think less of meself. ’Cos we ain’t fightin’ the vermin just to protect Redwall, we’re facin”em to make

the land safe an’ rid of their kind.”

Mother Buscol trundled her barrow of babes through the army ranks, followed by a flock of Dibbuns. She halted in

front of the Major and presented him with a cloth bundle.

“Indeed to goodness, sir, you can’t ’ave an army without a flag to march under, oh dear no you cannot!”

Skipper and Arven unrolled the bundle. It was a dark green tablecloth with a big red letter R embroidered upon it.

Inside the bundle was another smaller package, which Buscol gave to Perigord. “It ain’t velvet, sir,” the old

squirrelmother said, shrugging awkwardly, “but may’ap ’twill be of service.”

Arven grabbed a long pike and began fastening the flag to it. “Here, Skip, lend a paw, you can tie better knots than

me.” The banner was lashed to the pikestaff, and Arven waved it high over the crowd. Back and forth it fluttered in the

sunlight as the massed shouts rose to a concerted roar:

“Redwaaaaaalll! Redwaaaaaalll! Redwaaaaaalll!”

Major Perigord slipped out of his tattered tunic and donned the one that Mother Buscol had made for him. It was

blue linen, homespun, but beautifully fashioned from an ancient bed quilt. Fastening on the medals from his old tunic,

he bowed gracefully and kissed the squirrel-mother’s paw. “My thanks to ye, lady, I’ll wear it with honor an’ pride.

Mayhap I’ll even return here with it unharmed.”

The Dibbuns dove upon the Major’s old tunic.

“Me wannit, ’smine, gitcha paws offen it, Sloey!”

Perigord eyed them sternly. “Silence in the ranks there, you fiends! Y’can wear it a day each at a time. Sloey first.”

Even the search party led by Viola left off their task to see the Redwall army on its way. Elders and Dibbuns alike

lined the path to the main gate as the warriors marched past four abreast, every creature well armed and carrying

provisions. Arven and Perigord stood to one side, each drawing his blade to salute the flag, which was being borne by

Skipper. The stout otter dipped the colors, awaiting orders as the columns formed up on the path outside.

It was a high summer day, and the sun shone out of a sky that appeared bluer than it had ever been. They stood

waiting in silence, listening to grasshoppers chirruping and skylarks singing on the western flatlands. Many Redwallers

straightened their backs, breamed deeply, and blinked to prevent a tear appearing, wondering if they would ever see

the old Abbey on such a beautiful day again.

All the good-byes had been said, though Major Perigord bowed to Sister Viola and spoke a last few words. “‘Tis

always hard to leave a place, marm, particularly when certain friends are not there to wish you farewell. I wish you

every good fortune in your search for the Mother Abbess and her companions. In happier, more peaceful times, myself

and the patrol would have been at your disposal to help find them, but alas it was not to be. I hope you bear me no ill

will, marm. I must bid ye good-bye.”

Sister Viola smiled at the gallant hare. “How could any true Redwaller bear ill will to a brave soldier marching to

defend our home and our very lives? Never fear, sir, I will find our lost friends. I bid you success and good fortune

along with my good-bye. You are a perilous creature. Major.”

Sergeant Torgoch’s stentorian roar rang out through gateway and path: “Flagbearer three paces forward! All

offisahs to the vanguard! In the ranks ... Atten ... shun! Corporal Rubbadub—beat the advance! By the right ... quick ...

maaaaaarch!”

Shouldering blades, Perigord, Arven, Gurgan, and Log-a-Log formed the first rank of four behind Skipper’s

banner, with Rubbadub behind them setting up a fine, paw-swinging drumroll.

“Barraboom! Barraboom! Drrrappadabdab! Buboom!”

Galloper Riffle called out through the rising dust cloud, “Permission for the Company to sing ‘O’er the Hills,’

sah!”

“Permission granted, Galloper,” Perigord’ s voice rang back at him. “Sing out with a will!”

“O’er the Hills” was a famous marching song, and close to three hundred voices roared it out lustily:

“O’er the hills an’ far away, ’Twas there I left my dearie, An’ as I left I heard her say, ‘Come back to me d’ye hear

me, Y’may eat cake an’ drink pale wine, But come back home at autumn time, An’ on fresh bread’n’cheese you’ll

dine, For no one brews good ale like mine.’

O fields are green an’ skies are blue, Ole woods are high an’ full o’ loam, But hearken friend I’ll tell you true,

Ain’t no place in the world like home.

O’er the hills an’ far away,

‘Tis there my home’s awaitin’,

The season’s shorter by a day,

Whilst I’m anticipatin’

A logfire made from cracklin’ pine,

An’ washin’ dancin’ on the line,

As blossoms ’round the door entwine,

Hurrah, for there’s that dearie mine!”

Redwallers old and young stood out on the path waving kerchiefs, aprons, and headscarves until the marchers

diminished to a faraway dust cloud, with their song a faint echo on the hot air.

Viola could not help sniffling into a lace kerchief, “Oh, they made such a brave sight going off like that!”

Ever the practical creature, Gurrbowl Cellarmole shooed the Dibbuns back inside, remarking, “Hurr aye, they’m

did, an’ let us’n’s ’ope they’m lukk ee same on ee day ’em cumms back!”

46

The two rats Sneezewort and Lousewort kept their weapons firmly centered on Midge and Tammo, suspicious of

their every move. It was a stalemate that was lasting far into the night, with little hope of the two hares escaping.

Eventually the fire inside the canvas-and-brush shelter began to burn low. From beneath his heavy disguise, Midge

Manycoats winked significantly at his friend. It was time to make their move. Tammo edged slowly around until he

judged that Rinkul the ferret and his cronies, who were hovering outside, could not see him.

Midge stood upright. Sneezewort’s spearpoint menaced him, a fraction from his throat. “Siddown, ragbag, where

d’yer think yore goin’?”

Midge stood his ground, nodding at the guttering flames. “Need more wood fer the fire, matey.”

The rat considered Midge’s request, then jabbed with his spear so that his prisoner fell back in a sitting position.

“I’m not yore matey, an’ you ain’t goin’ nowhere. Lousewort, keep an’ eye on ’em. I’ll get the wood.”

Once Sneezewort had gone outside, Midge turned to his slow-witted partner. “You ain’t afeared of us, are yer,

bucko?”

A slow smile spread across the rat’s dull features. “Er, er, scared? Huh, why should I be scared o’ two rag-

bottomed beasts like youse? Yore no bother at all t’me.”

Midge moved closer to him, chuckling in a friendly manner. “Of course we ain’t, a dumb ole vermin like me mate

there, an’ a pore one-eyed wreck like me. Fat chance we’d ’ave agin a fine big strappin’ beast like yerself, armed wid a

great spear like that ’un. But lookit, yore spear shaft’s cracked right there!”

Lousewort lowered his head, following Midge’s pointing paw. “Where? I don’t see no crack.”

Midge’s other paw came swinging over, clutching a stone he had picked up from where he had been sitting.

Whump!

He hit Lousewort a hefty blow between the ears. The rat’s body wobbled, and he staggered dazedly. Using the

handle of his dirk, which he had kept well hidden beneath his cloak, Tammo sprang forward and dealt Lousewort a

smart rap between the eyes.

Midge caught the spear, lowering the senseless rat quietly down. “Quick, Tamm, put that fire out and get this

spear!”

Tammo kicked earth over the embers, then, grabbing the spear, he stood to one side of the entrance. Midge

positioned himself on the other side, holding the fallen rat’s cloak at the ready. Almost as they did, Sneezewort ducked

inside, carrying a few twigs. “Hoi! ’Taint arf dark in ’ere, wot’s go—Mmmtnffff!”

Midge had flung the cloak over the rat’s head. Tammo gave him two good hard knocks with the spearhaft to make

sure he went out.

Then they lay still, peering outside at Rinkul and his band, who had made a fire some distance away—careful after

Da-mug’s warning to stay away from the prisoners. Tammo watched them until he was sure they had noticed nothing

amiss. Midge passed him Sneezewort’s cloak and spear, and donned Louse wort’s cloak himself.

“Get rid o’ those rags now, Tamm. We’ll have to shift pretty fast!”

Discarding their disguises, they slid under the rear of the canvas shelter and wriggled off into the night, hugging

tight to the ground until they were well away. Midge threw the hood of his cloak up. “Now t’get old Fourdun free.

Right, Tamm, straighten up there! Make it look as if we’re two sentry-type vermin takin’ a duty patrol ’round the

camp, wot.”

Picking their way boldly ’round Rapscallions sleeping by campfires, the pair made their way down to the stream.

Blug-gach the Rapmark Captain was snoring next to his companions by the water’s edge, their fire untended and

burned to white ashes.

Tammo crept up to the cage and identified himself to the old squirrel. “It’s Tammo an’ Midge. C’mon, old chap,

time to go!”

A few swift slices of Tammo’s dirk severed the ropes on the cage door, and Fourdun crawled out, having already

freed himself of his bonds with the small knife they had given him earlier.

Positioning themselves either side of Fourdun, the hares gripped his paws and marched him off quietly, Midge

whispering to him, “If anybeast stops us, leave the talkin’ to me. We’re two Rapscallion guards takin’ you to Damug

’cos he wants to question you. I’ll bluff us through, don’t worry.”

Lousewort had two things going in his favor: an extra-thick skull and remarkable powers of recovery. Staggering

from the dark smoky shelter, he sat on the ground, nursing his head and grunting with pain.

Rinkul, who had been watching the darkened shelter suspiciously, came bounding over. “Where’s the two

prisoners? ’Ave yer still got ’em?”

Shaking his head gingerly, Lousewort peered up at him. “Er, er, I dunno, it went dark all of a sudden!”

Rinkul ran back to his fire and snatched a blazing brand. Kicking Lousewort aside, he rushed into the shelter, and

seizing Sneezewort cruelly by one ear, he struck him several times with the burning stick until the rat came ’round

with a yelp.

“Bunglin’ idiot,” Rinkul snarled into Sneezewort’s frightened face. “Y’ve let ’em escape, ’aven’t yer! Best thing

you can do is take off fast afore the Firstblade learns they’re gone, or Damug’H slay youVyore mate fer sure. Go on,

beat it, an’

don’t raise no alarms. Leave those two t’me, I’ll settle wid ’em!” He signaled to his waiting band. “Arm up an’

let’s go, they’ve escaped. Don’t go shoutin’ an’ roarin’ all over the camp. I wants those two ragbags fer meself. We’ll

catch ’em an’ take ’em somewheres nice’n’quiet where I’ll do that pair ’ard an’ slow afore dawnbreak. Now go silent!”

Lousewort staggered upright, and Sneezewort leaned on him for support. “That’s us finished wid the Rapscallions,

mate. Let’s be on our way afore Warfang wakes an’ decides to ’ave us fer brekkfist!”

Without another word, they stumbled off, south, as far as they could get from Damug Warfang’s vengeance.

The three escapers made their way uphill through the still-sleeping camp. Tammo felt that all was going well, too

well, and that worried him. Fourdun peered around into the darkness and suddenly saw Rinkul and his band striding

through the camp, coming in their direction.

Thinking swiftly, the old squirrel pulled his two friends down beside half a dozen vermin lying ’round a fire, and

scrambled beneath Midge’s cloak. “Lie still, some o’ the scum are comin’ this way!”

Hardly daring to breathe, they stretched on the ground amid the slumbering Rapscallions. Rinkul actually trod on

the hem of Tammo’s cloak as they went by, and Tammo heard the ferret murmur to one of his companions as they

passed, “I’ve got a feelin’ they’ll be down by the stream where that ole squirrel’s caged up!”

Raising his head carefully, Midge watched them from the back as they headed toward the water. The trio rose

slowly, avoiding the outstretched paws of a stoat who was acting out a dream. The stoat snuffled and turned away

from them, kicking out with a footpaw that came into contact with a glowing log.

“Yowch!”

At the sound of the creature’s yelp, Rinkul and his party turned.

Midge saw they were discovered. He took off at a run, hissing to his friends, “Fat’s in the fire, chaps, make a dash

for it!”

Silently and grimly the chase of death began as they shot off uphill.

The stoat was clutching his scorched footpaw, hopping about. One of RinkuFs band whacked him with a cudgel as

he passed, and snarled, “Go back ter sleep, mate!”

Though Fourdun was a strong old beast, he was not half as fast as the two hares, so they were forced to run at his

pace. With the enemy hard on their heels, they got clear of the encampment and made the brow of the hill. Midge

turned and threw his spear, and it pierced a vixen who was running alongside Rinkul. This slowed their pursuers

momentarily and bought them a second’s time.

Breasting the hill, Tammo called out as they ran, “Rock! Rockjaw Grang!”

Lower downhill, the giant hare heard Tammo. Leaping from cover, he bounded uphill to meet them. Rinkul was

first over the hilltop. He had pulled the spear from the dead vixen; taking aim at Midge, he threw the weapon skillfully.

“Sithee, Midge, look out!”

Rockjaw flung himself in a flying tackle, bulling into Midge and knocking him sideways. The spear took Rockjaw

through his side.

Hatred welled up in Tammo. He heaved his own spear straight at Rinkul. It struck the ferret through his middle,

snapping off as he fell and rolled downhill toward them.

Rockjaw brushed Midge and Fourdun aside as they tried to lift him. Close to a dozen vermin were dashing down

upon them now. The big hare unslung his bow, crying, “Get goin’, I’ll hold’em off!”

The lifeless carcass of Rinkul the ferret halted its downhill roll in front of Rockjaw. He forced the hardwood stick

from its death grip and tossed it to Tammo. “Good throw, young ’un. Russa woulda been proud o’ ye. Now leave me

an’ run fer it, I’m bad hit!”

Fourdun ducked an arrow as he inspected Rockjaw’s side. He looked up, shaking his head at Tammo. “’Twould

kill him to pull the spear out!”

The big hare sat up and sent two arrows in quick succession at the vermin. Notching another shaft to his bow, he

glared angrily at the two friends standing either side of him. “Sithee,

‘tis not yore night to die. Now get out o’ here an’ don’t stand there wastin’ my time. Leave me t’my work!”

Ignoring them completely, he fired the arrow and selected another.

Fourdun tugged at their paws, whispering urgently, “Can’t y’see he’s dyin’? If we stay here we’ll ail be slain. That

beast doesn’t want or need yore ’elp. Come on!”

Attracted by the shouts of their comrades, the vermin from the camp edges near the hilltop appeared. Rockjaw

laughed wildly. “Hohoho! Come t’the party, buckoes, the more the merrier! Tammo, Midge, tell the Major I took a few

wid me. Good fortune, pals—run straight’n’true an’ remember me!”

Tammo, Midge, and Fourdun had to run for it before the Rapscallions encircled them. They ran like the wind into

the night, shouting, “Give ’em blood’n’vinegar, Rock!” Soon they were lost among the groves and knolls, charging

headlong across darkened country until there was no sound save the thrumming of their paws against the earth.

Rockjaw Grang sat on with his back against a jutting boul-..; der, the arrow quivers of two dead vermin beside

him, his sling and stones ready for when he ran out of shafts. Completely surrounded, and wounded in four places, he

fought on.

“Come on, thee cowardly scum. Ah’ll wager nobeast warned ye about Goodwife Grang’s eldest son.

Eulaliaaaaaa!” As the foebeasts closed in on him, Rockjaw drew the spear from his side and hurled himself upon them

like a creature taken by the Bloodwrath.

“‘S death on the wind! Eulalia! Eulalia! Eulaliaaaaaaa!” He bought the time for his friends to escape safely, for

even within sight of Dark Forest gates, Rockjaw Grang was a perilous hare.

Lady Cregga Rose Eyes sat bolt upright from the bed of grass and soft mosses she had been laid upon for a day

and a night. It was but a few hours to dawn as the great badger roared out, “Eulaliaaaa!”

Corporal Ellbrig and Sergeant Clubrush, wakened from their sleep, rushed to her side.

“Lady Cregga, what is it?”

Her strange eyes looked all ’round before settling on Clubrush. “A bad dream, Sergeant, a very bad dream!”

She rose and stared over his shoulder in a northwesterly direction. The Drill Sergeant was very concerned. He

watched Cregga’s eyes carefully, though it was still too dark to see them clearly.

“Are you all right, marm?”

She moved to the nearest fire, nodding to reassure him. “I’m fine, Sergeant, but very hungry. How long to

breakfast?”

Corporal Ellbrig busied himself at the fire. “Right now if y’like, marm, you h’aint eaten in two days.”

Deodar and Algador had just finished their sentry watch, so they joined the trio at the fire. Young hares are always

willing to eat an early breakfast when they smell it being cooked. Lady Cregga seemed in a rather mild, thoughtful

mood, which was unusual for her. She passed scones and honey to Deodar, followed by a beaker of hot mint and

dandelion tea.

“Breakfast tastes good after being on sentry, eh?”

Through a mouthful of scone, the young hare sipped her tea. “Rather, marm, ’specially when you can have an

hour’s sleep before reveille an’ join the jolly old queue for more.”

Lady Cregga smiled at Deodar’s honesty. “Tell me, young ’un, do you ever have dreams?”

“Dreams, marm? Well, yes, I s’pose I do.”

The badger stared down at her huge paws. “I had a dream just now, and I believe it to be true.”

Algador paused from ladling honey onto a hot scone. “Really, marm? May I ask what it was about?”

The Sergeant was about to upbraid Algador, when Cregga spoke. “I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you the parts that aren’t

clear, but I know a brave creature died. I shouted Eulalia with him as he went down. Somewhere over there to the

northwest. And the more I think of it, the more certain I am. That is where the army of Rapscallions is at this very

moment. I can feel it!”

The two young hares exchanged puzzled glances with the Corporal and Sergeant until Lady Cregga caught their

attention once more. “When the sun is up and my hares are fed, we will go there.”

Trowbaggs spooned hot oatmeal in at a furious rate, eyeing a last scone that lay between him and Furgale. “Well

lucky old us, it’s heigh-ho for the northwest on the strength of a bally dream, wot! I think I’ll dream tonight that I’ve

been sent back to Salamandastron to take up the blinkin’ job of head food-taster. D’you think it’ll work?”

Drill Sergeant Clubrush tweaked the cheeky recruit’s ear. “Strange y’should say that, young sir. HTve just ’ad a

dream that you was on pot-washin’ duty an’ you volunteered to carry my pack all day. Wot d’you say to that, young

Trowbaggs?”

“Er, haha, silly beastly things dreams are, Sarge, er, that is unless Lady Cregga dreams ’em up, wot!”

The Sergeant’s pace stick tapped Trowbaggs’s shoulder lightly. “Right y’are, bucko, an’ don’t you forget it!”

The Long Patrol hares assembled after breakfast for their final orders before marching. Lady Cregga and Corporal

Ell-brig looked on from the sidelines as Drill Sergeant Clubrush lectured them.

“Listen carefully now. From this moment we march silent an’ quick. An’ when I say silent—Trowbaggs an’ some

o’ you other young rips—I means it! Foolish an’ thoughtless noise or playactin’ could get us all ambushed or slain.

Shangle Widepad, you an’ the other seasoned veterans keep an eye on our recruits, ’tis yore duty to show ’em the

ropes. Everybeast, make sure yore weapons are in good order—slings, javelins, swords, bows’n’quivers. Soon we’ll be

in enemy territory an’ you may need ’em. Right, that’s all. Unless you got anythin’ t’say to ’em, Lady Cregga, marm?”

For the first time, the Badger Warrior addressed the five hundred hares who formed her traveling army. “So far you

have all proved worthy and well, my thanks to you. Soon we will be facing Rapscallions in battle. Make no mistake

about them—vermin they may be, but they are trained killers. To bring peace to these lands we must slay them, or be

slain. From this moment you are hunters and warriors, and there will be no marching songs, Eutalias, or campfires.

That is all.”

They marched then. No commands were called; a nod, the wave of a pace stick, or a signal from the Sergeant’s

paw was all that they required. They kept to grassland, ferns, and rocky terrain wherever possible, so that a tell-tale

dust cloud would not betray their position. Trowbaggs strode silently alongside Shangle Widepad. After a while the

irrepressible young hare found himself humming a little ditty called the “Fat Frog’s Dinner,” and he winked at Shangle

and grinned. The glare he received from the grizzled veteran silenced him immediately. Grim-faced and determined,

the five hundred pressed on.

47?

Rapscallion drums pounded savagely, throwing out their wild challenge to the summer skies. Pennants and war

banners fluttered in the breeze, bedecked with tails, skulls, and hanks of animal hair. The little rat informant Gribble

slunk about outside the Firstblade’s shelter, waiting for him to emerge. Damug Warfang strode out, his face streaked

purple and red for battle. Unsheathing his sword, he cast an approving eye over the ranks of snarling vermin before

turning to the rat groveling on (he ground in front of him.

“Speak your piece quickly, Gribble, then get out of my way!”

The rat was already shuffling backward to avoid a sudden kick. “Great Lord, the Seer and the dumb one are gone,

so are the two guards you left to watch them. Also the ferret Rinkul and several others are missing from camp.”

Damug faced west across the valley slope and nodded curtly. “Well, let’s hope they catch those two, for tiieir own

sakes. If they’ve deserted Til find them when this is all over. But now I march west, to find out what these Redwallers

are made of. Stand aside—death waits on anybeast barring my way!”

The Greatrat hurried to the forefront of his vast eager army, with their roars drowning out the pounding drums:

“War-faaaaang! Warfaaaaang! Warfaaaang!”

Away to the west, a green valley basked in the warm sun. Light breezes rippled the vale ferns and stirred the

blossoms of gorse and pimpernel on the broad hillslope. A single rock with moss and lichen clinging to its sides stood

out on the long high ridge like a raised ottertail. Far below, wispy tendrils of mist arose from where the sun’s warmth

penetrated a deep rift that ran like a jagged scar along the valley’s far edge. Small birds, redstart, stonechat, and

wheatear, chirruped and chattered, perching on gorse thorns with sure-clawed skill, bright beady eyes constantly

searching for minute insects. Butterflies and bumblebees visited the flowers of the vale, and sunlight glinted off the

iridescent wings of hoverflies seeking aphids.

The life of the valley hummed peacefully on, lulled by summer’s warmth, unaware that three armies were marching

toward it.

Trapped in the tunnels of old Castle Kotir, far beneath Redwall Abbey’s south ramparts, five creatures sat dozing

fitfully in the gloom. Giving off an occasional flicker, their lantern warned that its light would soon be out.

Abbess Tansy gazed ruefully at the small golden tongue of flame as it gently swayed. “I should never have

encouraged you to come on this silly venture, friends. I’m sorry.”

Craklyn snorted, wagging a paw at her old companion. 11 You encouraged us, you? Hah! Let me tell you, Tansy

Pansy, we’re all down here because we wanted to come. We encouraged ourselves!”

Tansy clasped the old squirrel Recorder’s paw affectionately. “Dearie me, ’tis some long seasons since anybeast

called me Tansy Pansy. D’you remember when Arven was a Dibbun, he was always saying that name? Now what was

it he used to chant at me?”

Craklyn thought for a moment, then chuckled. “‘Tansy Pansy toogle doo.’ Hahaha, he was a proper little wretch.”

Foremole wrinkled his nose severely at the pair. “Beggin’ ee pardun, but do you’m be soilent, oi can yurr summat.”

There was a moment’s silence. Young Friar Butty looked around. “Aye, I c’n hear somethin’ too. Sounds like

water drippin’.”

Shad pressed his ear to the tunnel wall. “That’s water, all right, on the other side o’ this ’ere wall. I can ’ear it drip-

drippin’ away. Sounds like ’tis fallin’ a far way down. Wot d’ye think, Abbess, marm, shall I ’ave a go at breakin’

through the wall?”

Foremole Diggum waved a digging paw hastily. “Ho no, zurr, you’m’ll be a bringen ee tunnel topplin’ on us ’eads

agin fur sure!”

Shad scrambled upright and retrieved the lantern. “P’raps yore right, mate. You all stay ’ere an’ I’ll scout about

further down this tunnel t’see wot I can see.”

While Shad was gone, the remaining four creatures sat in complete darkness without the lantern. To keep their

spirits up, Tansy sang a simple little ditty.

“If I were a leaf upon a tree, Then I would live right happily, I’d grow up flat and green and big, Unless of course I

was a twig, A twig with a leaf upon its end, And then the leaf would be my friend, I’d grow to such a wondrous

length, And from my branch I’d take my strength. If I were a branch upon a tree, With leaf and twig for company, I’d

grow so round and fair and trim, Sprouting from a great stout limb, But if I were a limb all thick and wide, Branch,

twig, and leaf I’d hold with pride, And they would all depend on me, And the mighty trunk of my big tree. Then if I

were a tree with bark for husk, I’d stand up firm from dawn ’til dusk, And limb, branch, twig, and leaf would be, All

through the season part of me!”

She had barely finished singing when Shad’s voice boomed up the passage and they saw the welcome glow of the

lantern.

“Ahoy there, mates! Come an’ see this—I’ve found a way down!”

Stumbling through the half-light behind the fading lantern, they followed Shad down the corridor. He halted in

front of a heavy wooden door, swinging it open with a jarring creak to reveal its other side, covered in fungus.

“Welcome to the ole castle cellars, me hearties, though I don’t see wot good they’ll do us. We should be goin’ up,

not down’ards!”

Dropping his bag of treasure, Friar Butty pushed past the otter. “Look, torches!”

From rusted iron rings in the wall he pulled four hefty wooden bundles, their ends coated thick with pine resin.

Tansy took one and lit it from the last dying lantern flame. “Of course, it makes sense to leave torches at the entrance

to cellars. By the seasons, they do burn brightly!”

Brilliant yellow light radiated around, revealing then—position. Far larger than Great Hall, the cellars stretched

above and below them. Water dripped from long stalactites hanging from a high-hewn rock ceiling, falling down from

a great height to splash far below where they stood. The five questors were on a narrow step jutting from the wall.

Other steps wound their way downward, hugging the wallsides until they ended in the depths below.

Shad lit another torch from the one Tansy carried. “Only one way t’go, mates: down. C’mon, foller me.”

Placing their backs to the wall, they descended carefully, step by step, each holding the other’s paws. The stone

stairs seemed never-ending, and by the time (hey had covered three-quarters of the distance, wet moss and slime made

the going treacherous.

Shad stopped and rested by crouching against the damp walls. “Phwaw! This place is enough t’give a crab the

creeps. You got any rope left, Diggum?”

The Foremole unwound a coil from “round his waist. “Yurr, oi gotter liddle len’th.”

Shad took it and knotted it ’round his middle, then passed it back. “Best rope ourselves together fer safety—

Yaaaaar! Gerraway, yer filthy scum!”

A large, gross toad with sightless eyes was trying to gnaw the end of the otter’s tail. With a swift flick of his

rudderlike appendage, Shad tossed the amphibian in the air and batted it off the step. The toad whirled in an arc, then

hit the liquid below. It vanished with a squelching plop, leaving a small dimple on the surface.

Tansy held her torch out over the stair edge. “That isn’t water down there, ’tis more of a swamp!”

Other toads were crawling upstairs toward them, the dreadful creatures apparently attracted by Shad’s cry and

Tansy’s voice.

Craklyn hid behind Foremole, shuddering. “Ugh! Horrible monsters, keep ’em away from me!”

Butty had been carrying his treasure slung on the end of the silver-headed spear he had found in the rubble.

Untying the bundle, he passed the spear along to Shad.

The otter Gatekeeper began clearing the toads off into the ooze below. Some spread their webs to prevent

themselves from sinking instantly, and these were set upon and torn to shreds by creatures not half their size, who

appeared in packs. At the same time they were being devoured, the toads began eating their tormentors.

The five friends watched, revolted but fascinated by the sight.

“Yurr, they’m all a h’eatin’ each uther!”

“Aye, those small ’uns look like some kind o’ mudfish, they’re blind as the toads!”

“So they all live down here in this slimy darkness, feeding off one another. What an awful existence!”

“Yukk! What are we doin’ in this terrible place? Let’s get out!”

Foremole Diggum tugged against die rope as they began moving. “Hurr no, us’n’s mus’ goiter stay. Lookee!”

They followed the direction his paw was pointing, across the underground morass to a dark hole in the wall at the

cellar’s far side.

Tansy held the torch high. “What is it, Diggum?”

The mole’s reply was prompt and confident. “That thurr’s a tunnel dugged boi moles, oi’d stake moi snowt on et,

oi surrtinly would, ’tis a mole tunnel, ’twill lead oopward!”

Shad shook his head doubtfully. “Are you shore ’tis a mole tunnel, mate? ’S a long way off.”

Diggum Foremole would not be shaken from his belief. “Oi said ’twurr, din’t oi, oi’m ee Foremoler, oo’d know

better!”

Friar Butty stared unhappily across the expanse of cannibal-infested bog.

“If that’s the way out, then how do we get to it?”

A small meeting was being convened in the kitchen at Redwall Abbey, It was for elders, though the Dibbuns had

invited themselves along too, because there were always plenty of tasty bits to nibble at in the kitchens.

Viola Bankvole presided. “Mother Abbess always appoints me in her place when she isn’t here, so if you don’t

mind I’ll take charge. Gubbio, get your head out of that oven, please!”

Mother Buscol shooed the little mole from the oven, nipping back to the table just in time to stop Russano the

badgerbabe grabbing a bowl of soup. “Indeed to goodness, Viola,” she said, passing a paw across her flustered brow,

“what is it you’re wantin’ now? Can’t you see we’ve got our paws full as H is?”

Viola shook her head primly at die old squirrel. “Abbess, Craklyn, Foremole, Shad, and young Butty are still

missing. Sloey! Put that ladle down this instant! Now, have you all searched properly?”

Pellit the dormouse tried to wrest the ladle from Sloey’s grasp. “Well, I searched the entire orchard and down as

far as the gatehouse, Sister. I don’t think Ginko was looking very hard, though.”

Ginko die Bellringer glared across die table at Pellit. “I done my share o’ searchin’. Found you asleep ’neath the

stairs in my bell tower, didn’t I!”

Gurrbowl Cellarmole, who was sitting with Taunoc and Or-occa, tending the owlchicks, ventured a suggestion:

“May’ap they’m losed theyselves unner ee gurt ’ole at south wall.”

An owlchick fumbled itself loose from her and lumbered into the bowl of soup that lay nearby. Viola leaned over

and fished the little bundle of downy feathers out. “Good job that soup was cold. Under the south wall, you say?

Ridiculous! What would our Mother Abbess be doing grubbing about down there? Personally I think she may have

gone up into the Abbey attics to look for something, and taken the others with her. Barfle, stop pulling Sloey’s ears.

She’ll end up looking like a hare. What do you think, mister Taunoc?”

“About what, madam, the Abbess in the attics, or Sloey looking like a hare?”

“Silly! I’m talking about the Abbess in the attics!”

The Little Owl ruffled his feathers and blinked at her. “Silly yourself, madam! All this meeting has achieved is to

get one of my chicks soaked with soup. Wherever the Abbess is at this moment, it will be exactly where she wants to

be. Your Abbess is a hedgehog, old and wise. She will return in good time.”

Russano looked at Taunoc and spoke the only word he knew. “Nut!”

Sloey the mousebabe managed to hit Pellit a good whack on his nose with the ladle he was trying to take from her.

Reaching over to assist Pellit, Viola Bankvole upset the bowl of cold soup, and it spilled all over Mother Buscol’s

apron. An owlchick fastened its small sharp beak on Ginko’s paw, who yelped with pain and woke the remaining

owlchick, who had been sleeping. The owlchick set up a din. The meeting dissolved in disarray, with Viola Bankvole

struggling to maintain her dignity in die position of deputy Abbess.

“Er, continue the search. I will inform you later of when the next meeting is to be held. Be about your business

now!”

Viola was about to make a stately exit, when she slipped on a patch of cold soup diat had dripped from the table,

and sat down hard on the stone floor.

The molebabe Gubbio tried pulling her upright by the apron strings, lecturing the bankvole severely: “Doant ee

play abowt onna floor, marm, you’m get drefful dusty!”

The meeting ended widi everybeast of the opinion that without a Mother Abbess to run things, Redwall Abbey

would grind to a halt.

Underground, young Friar Butty made his way back up to a dry step, where he sat nursing his rumbling stomach.

“Ooh, am I ’ungry, I’ve never been so ’ungry in all me life!” Abbess Tansy sympathized with Butty, but she could not

show it. “We’re all hungry, but sitting complaining about it isn’t going to do us any good. Look at Shad. He’s bigger

and hungrier than the rest of us, but he isn’t moaning, are you, Shad?”

The otter, who was perched on the bottom stair amid the mud, called back up to Tansy, “No I ain’t, marm. I think

I’ve got a plan t’get us across to yonder mole tunnel!”

Picking their way carefully down the muddy steps, Tansy and the others joined Shad. He shifted a big venturesome

toad off into the swamp with his spearbutt before explaining. “See, about halfways along the wall there, ’tis a chain,

hangin’ from a ring set high in the stone. If’n we could get hold o’ that chain, I reckon we could swing across to the

ledge over yonder an’ make our way along it to the mole tunnel.”

Craklyn studied the scheme, looking doubtful. “It’d be a mighty big swing needed to get onto that ledge, and look,

the ledge itself is piled high with those loathsome creatures. But the main difficulty would be getting hold of the chain.

It’s much too far away for us to reach.”

The thin, rusty chain hung down into the mud, well out of reach by about eight spearlengths. Shad scratched his

chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, yore right, marm. I could soon clear those ole toads off’n the ledge when I got there, but

’ow t’get the chain over ’ere, that’s the problem. Any ideas, mates?”

“Burr aye, farsten summat to ee rope an’ try to snare ee chain!”

Shad’s hearty laugh echoed boomingly ’round the vast cellar space. “Haharr, leave it to our ole molemate. Good

idea, Diggum!”

Knotting their own belts and habit ropes together, they fastened them to the rope Foremole had brought with him.

Shad coiled it up. “That should be long enough fer the job. Now, wot we needs is an ’ook to tie on to our line. Let’s

’ave a look at yore treasure trove, young Butty.”

The squirrel Friar tipped a glittering heap of precious objects from their cloak wrapping and began sorting through

them. “Nothin’ here that looks like a hook, mister Shad.”

Craklyn selected a long thin dagger. It was a beautiful thing, more ornament than weapon, with a hilt crusted with

seed pearls and blue John stones. Its slim, elegant blade was made of solid gold. “Here, this should do. Gold is soft

metal, it’ll bend.”

Shad took the dagger and, setting it in a crack between the stair stones, he bent it double with a few powerful

shoves. The rope was tied tightly to the dagger handle, and Shad twirled it like a sling.

“Right, mates, let’s go fishin’!”

The first few throws went short. Hauling the line back through the watery mud, the otter winked broadly. “I’ve got

the range now, this time does it. Redwaaaaaalllll!”

Mud splattered all ’round as he swung rope and hook in a circle above his head. Shad let go, paying out the coil as

his hook streaked out. It landed with a splodge, slightly beyond where the chain hung. Crouching down, he began

drawing the rope slowly in.

“Easy does it, messmates. Come t’ me, you liddle beauty ...”

The chain moved toward them. Butty waved his paws wildly, crying, “Good throw, Shad, you’ve got it!”

It was indeed a good, or a lucky, throw. As the chain appeared from beneath the surface of the swamp, they saw

that the point of the hooked dagger had actually passed through the center hole of a chainlink, snaring the chain

securely. But Shad took no chances; he continued drawing the line in carefully until he could reach out and seize hold

of the rusted and muddied object.

“Gotcha!”

Craklyn backed off, surveying the risky venture with a jaundiced eye. “Er, who’s going to go first?”

The otter Gatekeeper tugged boldly on the chain to test it. “Bless yer ’eart, marm, who else but me, seein’ as I’m

the biggest an”eaviest? If the chain ’olds fer me, ’twill be safe fer all.”

Without further ado Shad climbed up five stairs and stretched his paws high, holding the chain as far up as he

could. Abbess Tansy had a sudden thought. “Here, Shad, you’ll need the spear to clear those toads from the ledge.

Stay there, I’ll bring it to you!”

Shad bit down on die spearhaft and nodded, and the Abbess stood aside. He took a short run and launched himself

from the stairs. Tansy watched the gallant otter swing out in a huge semicircle over the vast lake of liquid mud, with a

spear clenched in his teeth and his tail standing out straight behind him, and knew she would never forget the sight.

She held her breath. It looked as though the wide, arcing swing was about to dip downward and plunge Shad into the

swamp. But on the final stretch he kicked out and up with both footpaws, jerking himself onto the ledge. The four

friends on the steps cheered heartily. Shad held the chain in one paw and thwacked at the fat revolting toads that had

already crawled up onto the ledge with his spear handle, sending them flying high and wide with dreadful hisses and

croaks of protest.

“Shove off, ye great blobs of blubber, g’wan, jump fer it!”

The oozing surface boiled with writhing mudfish tearing at the toads who, in their turn, gobbled down as many

mudfish as they could.

“Stand ready wid the ’ook an’ line,” Shad yelled across to Diggum Foremole. “‘Ere comes yore chain!” He swung

the chain out in a wide arc. Foremole threw the line, hooking it as it came within range.

“Oi got ’er. Coom on, miz Crakkul, doant ee be faint’earted!”

Craklyn went next, aided by a mighty shove from her friends. She wailed and yelled the whole way across the

ledge as she swung over the toads, mudfish, and deep morass.

“Whoooooeeeeeeeaaaaaa ... Heeeeeeelp!”

“Well done, marm. Never fear, I’ve got ye, yore safe now!”

The old squirrel Recorder ceased her din, smiling sweetly at Shad. “There, it didn’t hurt a bit. Send the chain back

to Tansy now, mister Shad. I’ve never heard an Abbess scream, have you?”

Tansy was next to go, but when Foremole and Friar Butty pushed her from the step, she did not scream at all.

Instead she clung on like grim death and closed her eyes tight. Shad and Craklyn caught her. She wagged

a

mischievous paw across at the Foremole. “Guess who’s next, Diggum?”

When he had hold of the chain, Foremole looked pleadingly at Butty. “Oi ’opes they toadyburds an’ muddyfishes

doant get oi!” As it was, Foremole probably had the best crossing of all, coming in to land so fast that he almost hit the

wall.

Young Friar Butty was last to go. His was the most difficult trip, because he had nobeast to give him a good

starting push. The fat little squirrel launched himself off, only to swing in a faint halfhearted circle and land back on

the steps.

Abbess Tansy roared across at him, “Oh, come on, Friar, you can do better than that. Imagine twenty hungry hares

are chasing you to cook dinner for them, and run.”

Butty went at his task with a will; grabbing the chain high, he dashed from the step and leapt out, yelling, “Go an’

get yore own dinneeeeeer!”

He flew across the swamp, but halfway across his paws began slipping down the muddy chain. Butty was still

traveling inward towards the ledge when he plowed into the swamp and vanished.

Immediately the surface of the swamp began wriggling and roiling with toads and mudfish.

Shad seized the spear close to its blade. “Quick, you three, grab the other end tight an’ don’t let go!”

Hanging on to the spear with one paw, Shad dipped daringly outward and grabbed the chain with his free paw.

“Pull me in, pull me in quick!”

They hauled him from his almost horizontal position back onto the ledge. Wordlessly they all took the chain and

pulled it in paw over paw, heaving madly at the rusted, mud-coated links. Butty was dragged forcibly to safety,

practically unrecognizable. He was coated from head to tail in reeking sludge, roaring and spitting mud as toads and

mudfish clung to him, gnawing.

“Blooaargh! Gerrem off me, the filthy dirty swampscum!”

They brushed and wiped at him, cleaning him up as best they could.

“There y’are, matey, you’ll live. The worst bit’s over now!”

Butty winkled mud from both his eyes and glared at Shad. “How do you know?”

Toads proved the only problem on the narrow rock ledge. They congregated there in droves, perching on one

another’s backs, standing on the heads of those beneath them, blocking the way, sometimes five and six high.

Sightless, filmed eyes, bulbous heads, damp spreading webs, and fat slimy bodies barred the path of the five

Redwallers. The cavernous space echoed to the sound of venomous hisses and croaks.

However, Shad was made of stern stuff. He headed the party, battling a path for them along the slippery rock strip.

Buffeting left and right with the spearhandle, he thrashed the creatures unmercifully until they were forced to flee into

the swamp. Toads plopped and flopped in scores to the waiting mire below.

The four creatures walking behind Shad kept their backs firmly against the wall. Gripping one another’s paws, they

edged slowly along to the mole tunnel, encouraging their champion.

“Get that big scoundrel, Shad—that ’un there!”

“Watch out for that fat ’un, he’s tryin’ to slip past you!”

“Burr, you’m give ’em billy oh, zurr, ’ard’n’eavy!”

The hole was not too high up. Shad could see into it by pulling himself up tip-pawed, but it was dark inside.

Foremole Diggum produced one of the torches from the cellar. “Oi brung this’n o’er with me. Can ee set flame to

et?”

With a few threads of Tansy’s habit, a piece of flint which Friar Butty always carried, and the steel blade of

Craklyn’s quill knife, they improvised spark and tinder. Tansy set the smouldering threads on the resin head of the

torch, and blew gently until it ignited.

Shad boosted them all into the mole tunnel, where they sat and took a breather. They all were tired, thirsty, and

with grumbling, rumbling stomachs.

Friar Butty picked drying mud from his paws and spat out grit from between his teeth. “Ah well, we might yet see

daylight if this tunnel goes anywhere.”

Foremole wrinkled his nose and sat back confidently. “Lissen yurr, Butty, if’n summ mole digged this tunnel, then

you’m can lay to et thurr be a way out. Ho aye!”

It was a steep uphill climb, slippery at first, but growing easier once they encountered deep-sunk tree roots, which

they could hold on to.

Craklyn explained the tunnel’s origin to Tansy as they went. “From the journals of Abbess Germaine, I gather that

this is one of the original passages that the moles dug to flood Castle Kotir. They diverted a river down several tunnels

and flooded the place out.”

The Abbess, who was traveling behind Craklyn, smiled wryly. “Very interesting, I’m sure, marm, but will you try

to stop kicking soil down the back of my neck!”

Friar Butty, who was traveling up front with Foremole, shouted, “Fresh air! I can taste the breeze!”

Foremole, who was carrying the torch, suddenly backed up on to Craklyn’s head, pulling Butty with him. “Coom

quick, zurr Shad, thurr be a surrpint up yurr!”

Scrabbling soil and bumping past the others, Shad, who had been bringing up the rear, fought his way to the front.

“A snake, ye say, matey? Where?”

The torchlight showed a sizeable reptile, coiled around a mass of roots, hissing dangerously. Butty was petrified by

it. “Sh ... Sh ... Shad, look, ’tis an adder!”

The otter seized the torch and thrust it at the bared fangs and beaded eyes. The snake’s coils bunched as it backed

off.

“‘Taint no adder, that’s a smooth snake. It don’t carry poison in its fangs, but it can bite an’ crush ye!”

“Hurr, you’m roight, zurr. Oi see’d ee smoothysnake once. Moi ole granma, she’m tole oi wot et wurr. Gurr,

boitysnake!”

The fearless Shad stripped off his tunic. “A bitin’ snake, eh? Then we’ll just ’ave to give it sum mat to bite on,

mates. There y’go. ’Ow’s that, me ole scaley foebeast!”

He hung the tunic on his spear and jabbed it in the snake’s face. Instinctively the smooth snake struck, biting deep

into the homespun material. Shad was on it like lightning. He bundled the snake’s head in the tunic, wrapped the

garment tightly, and thrust it forcibly into the crossed forks of some thick-twisted roots. The snake thrashed about

madly, but only for a brief time. It settled down into a steady twitch as it tried to pull itself free of the encumbering

tunic.

Shad pointed upward. “Come on—I can see a twinkle o’ starlight up ahead there!”

They followed him, hugging the far side of the tunnel cautiously as they passed the slow-writhing reptile. Even

though they were sore and weary, the five companions leapt about gladly once they were aboveground in the moonlit

woodlands.

Friar Butty was ecstatic. “O sweet life! O fresh fresh air! O green pretty grass!”

Foremole was used to being underground. He sat back and grinned at the young squirrel’s antics. “Hurr hurr hurr!

Wot price ee treasure naow, young zurr? Oi’lf wager ee wuddent I loik t’go back an lukk fer it.”

Butty shook his voluminous Friar’s habit and the cloakful of treasure fell out upon the grass. “I wasn’t leavin’ that

behind! Why’d you think I slipped down the chain—it was the weight of this liddle lot!”

Shad tweaked the young squirrel’s nose. “Yer cheeky liddle twister, we shoulda left you fer the toads an’

mudfishes!”

Butty pulled loose and jumped out of the patch of moonlight they were standing in. His four companions looked

shocked for a moment, then they started laughing uproariously.

He pouted at them indignantly. “What’re you all laughin’ at? I don’t see anythin’ funny.”

Craklyn wiped tears of merriment from her eyes. “Oh, don’t you? Well, take a look at yourself, you magic green

frog!” Swamp mud, dried and crusted, and the dust on Butty’s paws, was shining bright green in the darkness. He

gazed at his small fat stomach in anguish. “I’m green, shinin’ bright green!”

Craklyn patted his back sympathetically, and a cloud of green dust arose. “It must be some mineral in the mud that

does it, phosphorus or sulphur, I suppose. Heeheehee! Lead on, Butty, we won’t need a torch to show us the way, my

small green-glowing friend!”

Butty waved a bright green paw at the Recorder. “One more word outer you, miz Craklyn, an’ I’ll give yore share

o’ the treasure to Sister Viola, so there!”

48?

Two old moles, Bunto and Drubb, were sleeping in the gatehouse at Redwall Abbey when they were wakened by

banging on the main gate. Bunto blinked from the deep armchair he was settled in. “Oo c’n that be a bangin’ on ee

gate inna noight?”

Drubb rose stiffly from the smaller of the two armchairs by the fire. He yawned, stretched, and said, “Us’ll never

know ’til us’n’s open ee gate. Cummon, Bunto.”

Stumbling out into the darkness, they unbarred the big gate and opened it a crack to see who required entrance to

the Abbey, The other four had hidden themselves; Butty stood there alone. The two moles took one look and scooted

off toward the Abbey building, roaring in their deep bass voices, “Whuuuooooh! Thurr be ee likkle green ghost at ee

gate, an’ ee’m lookin’ loik pore young Butty. Murrsy on us’n’s!”

A half of a dandelion wine barrel cut lengthways formed the badgerbabe Russano’s cradle. Mother Buscol rocked

it gently with a footpaw as she dozed on a pile of sacks in the dark, warm kitchens of Redwall. Only a faint, reddish

glow showed from the oven fires, where the scones were slowly baking for next morning’s breakfast. From his cradle,

the little Russano sat up and pointed at the strange apparition that had appeared. He smiled at it and uttered the only

word he knew.

“Nut!”

Mother Buscol half opened her eyes, inquiring sleepily, “Nut? What nut, m’dear?”

Then her eyes came fully open and she saw Butty standing there. “Waaaoooow! ’Tis young Butty, come back to

’aunt me! Ho, spare me, green spirit, don’t ’arm me or the liddle one!”

The glowing phantom answered in a hollow, moaning voice, “Bring scones from the ovens, enough for five, honey

too, an’ woodland trifle if’n there be any about. Some strawberry fizz an’ October Ale. I’ll be outside. Remember

now, enough for five!”

The specter faded slowly away to the small canteen outside the kitchens. Mother Buscol busied herself,

complaining to a cockleshell charm she always wore around her neck, “Indeed to goodness, fat lot o’ good you were.

Lucky charm, indeed. I was nearly eaten alive in me bed by an ’ungry ghost. Fifteen scones, that’ll be three apiece,

now where’s that woodland trifle got to? Oh, dearie me, don’t you fret, my liddle babby, I won’t let ’im ’ave you!”

Russano stood up in his tiny nightshirt, chuckling. “Yee-heehee. Nut!”

Accompanied by Taunoc and Orocca, the old squirrel-mother brought out a heaped tray. Shad had to take it and

put it on the table, as she almost dropped it. In the lantern-lit area, Butty appeared normal.

Tansy waved at her. “Hello, Mother Buscol, Orocca, and Taunoc, my friends. How are your eggchicks? Well, I

hope?”

Taunoc bowed courteously and alighted on the table. “We are all healthy, thank you, Abbess. Welcome back to

Redwall!”

49?

Major Perigord Habile Sinistra looked around the high ridge in the dawn light, sizing up the hillside and valley

below.

“You an’ Mono did well, Sergeant Torgoch. This ridge could be held against many by a few. Top marks, wot!”

Morio threw a languid salute. “Best place we could find, sah. Looks like we’re first here.”

Brisk as ever, Torgoch was issuing orders. “Scout around now, see if y’can find stones, any kind, from pebbles to

blinkin’ boulders. Put ’em in piles along the ridge—always useful t’chuck down on the vermin.”

Perigord nodded approvingly. “Good show, Sar’nt, make use of the terrain, eh, wot. Chief Log-a-Log, what can I

do for you, old lad?”

The Guosim leader nodded, shrews not being in the habit of saluting. “ThinkirT about food fer the troops, Major.

Shall we risk lightin’ cookin’ fires?”

“Why not, old chap, why not, we want the blinkin’ enemy to see where we are. Light some whackin’ great

bonfires, if y’please.”

Log-a-Log took Perigord at his word, and soon three huge fires were alight and blazing out like beacons in the

gray of dawn.

Gurgan Spearback had a stroke of luck. His Waterhogs reported they had found a great, fallen pine trunk on the

ridge’s other side.

“Thee did well, ’ogs. Fetch rope an’ wedges. Methinks I’d like yon timber atop o’ the ridge—’twill come in

useful.”

Everybeast joined in to roll the big dead trunk uphill. Gurgan, painted for war, wearing his club and ax, supervised

the job. “Put thy backs into it, thou slab-chopped ne’er-do-well rabble! A liddle twig like yon should give thee an

appetite for when we breakfast. Worry not about gettin’ lily-white paws dusty, by me spikes, come on, move it, afore I

move ye to bitter tears!”

Captain Twayblade levered hard at the pine with a pike, smiling in high good humor at the fat hedgehog’s insults.

One of Skipper’s crew working alongside her gritted his teeth as he threw his weight against the massive log, and

muttered, “Wot’s so funny, Cap’n?”

Twayblade leaned on the pikehaft, taking a short breather. “That Waterhog, old chap, Gurgan thingummy. I’d like

to put him in a contest against our Sergeant Torgoch. I wager they could insult a regiment for a full day without jolly

well re-peatin’ themselves. That Waterhog’s a born Color Sergeant!”

Pasque Valerian sat alone near the tall standing rock at the ridge center, her breakfast untouched, watching the

daybreak. Rising from behind a bank of dusky cream cloud, the sun appeared reddish-hued like a new copper coin,

burning the morning dew into tiny wraithlike tendrils. It was the start of a high summer’s day, but the young hare was

downcast.

Arven, the Champion of Redwall, had already eaten. He wandered across to where Pasque sat, and, leaning against

the rock, he watched her. “Gracious me, there’s a long face! D’you want it to rain?”

The young hare looked up into the squirrel’s kind features. “No sir, I hope the day stays fine.”

“Lost your appetite too, I see?”

“Oh, I’ll get ’round to eatin’ it, sir.”

“What is it, then? Are you afraid of the battle to come?”

“Not really, sir. I’ve seen quite a bit of action with Long Patrol.”

Arven drew the Sword of Martin from its sheath across his back. He touched Pasque’s paw lightly with the tip,

smiling secretly. “D’you see this sword? Did you know that it has the power to make pretty hare maidens happy?”

Pasque cast her eyes over the legendary blade. “I’ve never known a sword do that, sir, but if you say it does, then

I’ll have to take your word.”

Arven snorted impatiently and flourished the blade. “Hah! I see y’don’t believe me. Right, I’ll show you, missie.

C’mon, up off your hunkers and see where my blade is pointing!”

Pasque arose with a small sigh. She did not feel like being forced to laugh at sword tricks.

Arven pointed the blade out and downward to the back of the ridge. “Place your eye level with my sword and look

carefully.”

The young hare did as she was bid, and in an instant she was wreathed in smiles, jumping about excitedly. “It’s

Tammo, he’s coming! He’s coming here!”

Arven watched the small figure below on the plain, running in front of two others like a true Long Patrol Galloper.

“Y’see, I told you this is a powerful sword!”

Major Perigord had to lower his brows and glower a bit to prevent himself from smiling. “I say, Pasque, old thing,

d’you mind lettin’ go of young Tammo’s paw, just while he makes his blinkin’ report t’me, wot!”

Tammo flushed to his eartips and gave a smart salute. “Midge’ll be here soon, sah, our mission was successful.

Da-mug Warfang is headed this way with the Rapscallion army. Sorry to report that we lost Rockjaw Grang ...”

Tammo’s voice broke for a moment. “He ... he gave his life so we could escape. Brought a squirrel with us, name o’

Fourdun; he was a prisoner, y’see. I cut your trail ’twixt here, south o’ Redwall, and we’ve been runnin’ like

madbeasts all night t’get here. Sah!”

The Major turned aside and, taking out a spotted kerchief, he wiped his eyes. After a moment he faced Tammo

again, his face pale. “Big Rockjaw Grang, eh? A good an’ perilous hare. By my blood an’ blade, we’ll make the

vermin pay heavily for him! Go an’ get y’vittles, Tamm, you look quite done in. I’ll get the fine details from Midge.

Thank ye, y’may dismiss.”

50?

Bluggach the big stoat Rapmark, made his way to the head of the marching Rapscallions, pointing as he came level

with Damug Warfang.

“See, Firstblade, fires burnin’ on that ridge in the distance!”

The Greatrat kept his gaze locked on the trio of smoke columns rising against the distant sky. “I saw them a while

back. Send Henbit to me.”

Henbit was a wily-looking Rapmark officer. He appeared at Damug’s side with scarcely a sound. “Mightiness, you

wanted to see me?”

“Aye, listen now. Take a score of trackers, good ones who are able to hide and run silent. Get over to that ridge,

look for a rock like an otter’s tail, and see how many are waiting for us there. Then check the valley, it should have a

rift running along the far side of it. Take care that you are not seen. Go!”

Damug was confident that he could win. Who else could put an army of a thousand in the field? Where in all the

country east of Salamandastron was any serious force of fighters to be found? As he strode at the head of his powerful

force, Damug planned ahead.

He had learned the lesson of overconfidence from his father, Gormad Tunn, when they attacked Salamandastron

with disastrous results. Though this battle would be different and his opponents fewer, that was no reason not to take

precautions. He would split the army into two groups, sending them into the valley from both ends in a pincer

movement. This would catch any of his enemy who were lying in wait on the valley floor and prevent the Rapscallions

being outflanked.

Those Redwallers had a harsh lesson in death coming to them. Redwall—when the Abbey was his he would

change its name. Fort Damug! That had a good sound to it. His name would live forever when the place was

mentioned in far seasons to come. Fort Damug. Tales would be told of how he defeated the foe on open ground and

took the Abbey without disturbing a stone.

A keen-eyed squirrel, one of the friends from Mossflower Wood, stood erect on top of the standing rock. Shading

both eyes with a paw, he scanned all ’round. The way in which he halted, tail erect and head thrust forward, told

Lieutenant Mono that he had spotted something.

Mono hailed him. “What ho there, Lookout, any sign o’ movement?”

Holding his position, the squirrel called back, “Dust cloud comin’ out o’ the southeast, too faint yet t’see much!”

Morio’s long face lit up momentarily. “Keep your eye on it, bucko, looks like our visitors are on their flippin’ way.

Report if you note any change!”

The big pine trunk had become a kind of social gathering place; hares, mice, hedgehogs, shrews, moles, and

squirrels grouped about it when they were off duty. Perigord sat scratching his initials into the wood as he listened to

Morio’s report.

“That sounds like the blighters right enough. When d’you think we can expect them to arrive?”

“Can’t say, sah, have t’wait on the Lookout’s report.”

The Major winked at his waiting warriors. “Well, whenever it is, we’ll give the blackguards a warm welcome, eh?

”

Ribald comments greeted this statement.

“Aye, we’ll feed ’em a nice ’ot supper o’ cold steel!”

“Haharr, we’ll rap their scallions for ’em!”

“Give the villains rock cakes served wirh spearpoints!”

Perigord looked down to the (hick end of the trunk. Several creatures were throwing weapons at a shriveled leaf,

which they had pinned to the trunk. A selection of axes, knives, and javelins quivered from the wood all ’round the

leaf.

A shrew called Spykel held up a ribbon of crimson silk. “First to pin the leaf dead center wins this!”

Log-a-Log balanced his rapier and threw it like a javelin.

“A hit! The Guosim Chief’s hit it!”

Gurgan Spearback inspected the leaf. “Nay, ’tis not dead center, a touch left, I’d say. Stand away now, yon

ribbon’d look fetchin’ in my wife, Rufftip’s, spikes!”

Gurgan stood on the ten-pace mark. Closing one eye, he licked the blade of his ax, sighted, and flung it spinning. It

struck the leaf, slicing it neatly in half through its middle. Gurgan pulled his ax loose and wound the ribbon on to his

paw. “See, that’s how a Water’og learns to cast his blade!”

Midge Manycoats stopped Gurgan strolling off with the prize. “If a chap could send his blade spot into the cut your

ax made, would you give him that nice fancy ribbon, old feller?”

Gurgan chuckled so that his oversized boots quaked. “Ho-hoho! Hearken to this ’un! ’Taint possible, master ’are!

No-beast can cast a blade good as that in one throw!”

Midge winked at Tammo, who was standing nearby with Pasque. “Show the Waterhog how our patrol chuck a

blade, Tamm, go on!”

The young hare blinked modestly. “Oh, really, Midge, I don’t go in for showin’ off.”

From his perch on the trunk, Perigord interrupted. “Go to it, Tamm, win the ribbon for young Pasque!”

Three paces farther out than the mark, Tammo drew his dirk. “Oh, well, if you say so, sah ...”

The weapon shot from Tammo’s paw like chain lightning. It hissed through the air and thudded deep into the center

of the split made by Gurgan’s ax. A roar went up from the onlookers.

Bewildered, the Waterhog Chieftain inspected the throw. “Lackaday, I never seen a beast sling steel like that,

young sir! What manner o’ creature taught thee such a skill?”

Tammo grunted as he used both paws to tug the dirk free. “One called Russa Nodrey, a far finer warrior than I’ll

ever hope t’be. Keep your ribbon, Gurgan, ’twas you split the leaf.”

But the Waterhog would not hear of it. He draped the crimson silken ribbon on Tammo’s paw and bowed formally.

“Nay, I’d like t’see thee give it to thy pretty friend!”

Tammo felt his ears turn bright pink as he draped the silk about Pasque Valerian’s neck. Everybeast cheered him,

and Perigord shook him warmly by the paw.

“Your mother’d be rather proud if she could see you now, Tamm!”

51

Furgale and Atgador Swiftback had been out scouting the land ahead of the Salamandastron contingent. They

returned at mid-noon and made their report to Lady Cregga and Sergeant Clu-brush.

“I’m afraid we haven’t sighted the ridge you described, marm. It must be further than you estimated.”

The badger leaned on her fearsome axpike. “No matter, ’tis there somewhere, I know it is. Did you sight vermin or

anything else of interest?”

“Well, m’lady, about two hours ahead there’s a dip in the land, sort of forming itself into a windin’ ravine. It goes

north and slightly west ...”

Cregga exchanged a knowing glance with the Sergeant. “Good work! We’ll camp there tonight and follow the

course of this ravine you speak of. That way we won’t betray our presence; ’twill keep us well hidden as we march.”

Drill Sergeant Clubrush winked at the two recruits. “Top marks, you two, that’s wot I calls usin’ the old

h’initiative. Go an’ join yore pals in the ranks now.”

Twilight was falling as they entered the ravine’s shallow end. Within moments nobeast within a league’s distance

could tell there were five hundred hares on the march. The columns were reduced to three wide in the narrow gorge;

they pressed forward with the rough earthen walls rearing high either side of them.

Trowbaggs accosted Corporal Ellbrig in quaint rustic speech. “Hurr, ’ow furr be et afore us’n’s makes camp, zurr?”

Ellbrig looked at him strangely. “Wot’re you talkin’ like that for, y’pudden-’eaded young rogue?”

Trowbaggs continued with his mimicry. “Hurr hurr hurr! ’Cos oi feels just loik ee mole bein’ unnerground loik

this, zurr, bo urr!”

The Corporal nodded sympathetically. “Do you now? Well you keep bein’ a mole, Trowbaggs, an’ when we makes

camp you kin dig out a nice liddle sleepin’ cave in the ravine wall fer yore officers.”

Trowbaggs did a speedy change back to being a hare. “Oh, I say, Corp, why not let old Shangle do the diggin’? He

looks a jolly sight more like a mole than I do.”

Shangle Widepad fixed the young recruit with a beady eye. “One more squeak out o’ you, laddie buck, an’ y’won’t

be either mole or hare, y’H be a dead duck!”

It was chilly sleeping in the ravine. After a cold meal of thick barley biscuit and apple slices, the hares settled down

for the night, wrapped in their groundsheets. However, Lady Cregga Rose Eyes felt her blood run hot as she lay there,

dreaming of meeting Rapscallion vermin in a valley beneath a far-off ridge.

Standing as high as he could on the pine trunk at the ridgetop, Arven watched the Rapscallion campfires. They

dotted the far plains like tiny fallen stars. Skipper of Otters climbed up beside him and passed the Redwal! Champion a

beaker of vegetable soup, steaming hot.

“All quiet down there, mate?”

Arven blew on the soup and sipped gratefully. “Aye, Skip. If they break camp just before dawn, I figure they’ll

arrive in the valley below at midday tomorrow. By the fur’n’fang, though, there’s going to be a lot of ’em facin’ us!”

The big otter set his jaw grimly. “Mebbe, but there’ll be a lot less of ’em by the time we’re done! Wot makes ’em

act like that, Arven? Why can’t they just be like ordinary peace-lovin’ creatures an’ leave us alone?”

Paw on swordhilt, the squirrel Champion shrugged. “Hard to say, really, Skip. There’ll always be vermin of that

kind, with no respect for any creature, takin’ what they please an’ never carin’ who they have to slay, as long as they

get what they want. Peaceful creatures to them are weak fools. But every once in a while they come up against beasts

like us, peace-lovin’ an’ easy-goin’ until we’re threatened. Win or lose then, we won’t be killed, enslaved, or walked

on just for their cruel satisfaction. No, we’ll band together an’ fight for what is ours!”

Far away from the ridge, in the safety and warmth of Redwall Abbey kitchens, the badgerbabe Russano lay in his

barrel cradle, his soft dark eyes watching a chill blue mist forming across the ceiling. From somewhere, slow muffled

drumbeats sounded, sweet voices humming in time with them.

A scene appeared out of the mists. The army from Redwall lay in slumbtr amid shattered spears, broken swords,

and a tattered banner. Other creatures came then, warriors he had never met, yet a voice in the babe’s mind told him he

knew them. Martin, Matthias, Mattimeo, Mariel, Gonff, all heroic-looking mice. There were badgers, too, great fierce-

eyed creatures with names like Old Lord Brocktree, Boar the Fighter, Sunflash the Mace, Urthclaw, Urthwyte,

Rawnblade, and many more. They wandered the ridge, and each time they touched a creature he or she stood and went

with them.

Finally they stood in a group together, pale and spectral, and another joined them. It was Rockjaw Grang, the big

hare who had carried and nursed Russano on the long trek to Red-wall Abbey. Though he did not speak, the little

badger heard his voice.

“Remember us when you are grown, Russano the Wise!”

Mother Buscol was awakened by the babe’s unhappy cries. Not knowing what he had witnessed, she laid him on

her lap and stroked his head, whispering soothingly, “There, there, my liddle one, sleep now, ’twas only a dream.”

Back and forth she rocked the little badger until he drifted back to sleep, far too young to tell her what he had

seen. Russano had witnessed the Redwall army upon the ridge in the aftermath of battle; he had beheld all those who

lived, and the ones who did not.

52

Dawn brought a mad bustle of activity to the army on the ridge, with fires being relit, Corporal Rubbadub beating

all creatures to stations, and Chieftains roaring commands.

Damug Warfang had stolen a march on them. Perigord listened as the squirrel Lookout reported what he had seen

at daybreak.

“Major, those fires last night were nought but a bluff. Da-mug must’ve lit ’em an’ carried on marchin’ forward.

They split into two forces, and right now they’re lyin’ in the rift at both ends o’ the valley, waitin’ on some kind o’

signal to move!”

On the right flank, half of the Rapscallion army crouched, led by the Firstblade himself. He sat motionless as the rat

Henbit, who had headed the scouting expedition, told what he had discovered.

“Mightiness, there can’t be more’n three ’undred creatures atop of that ridge—a few hares’n’otters an’ some

Water’ogs. The rest ain’t much: squirrels, mice, an’ moles, wid a scatterin’ o’ those liddle raggy beasts that sail the

streams, shrews I think they call ’em. They got plenty of weapons, but no chance o’ winnin’ agin a thousand of us.

Back side of the ridge is too steep an’ rocky—you’d be best advised to attack from this side, Sire.”

Damug Warfang peered upward, noting the piles of rock heaped along the heights and the big tree trunk positioned

at its center. “A thousand won’t be needed to conquer three hundred. Bluggach, you take half of this five hundred.

Gribble, take word to Rapmark Skaup that he will send half of his force with Captain Bluggach’s fighters. Between

them they should take the ridge. That is my command. Go now.”

The little rat scurried along the defile to where the ferret Skaup lay waiting on the left flank.

Tammo stood with Pasque on one side of him and Galloper Riffle on the other. He leaned slightly forward and

looked down the line. Tight-jawed and silent, the front rank waited, while behind them the second rank, mainly

archers, checked shafts and bowstrings.

The young hare felt his limbs begin to tremble. He looked down and noticed that the footpaws of Pasque and Riffle

were shaking also. Behind him, Skipper drummed his tail nervously on the ground.

“Me ole tail’s just bumpin’ about for the want o’ somethin’ t’do,” the otter leader chuckled encouragingly. “‘Tis all

this waitin’, I s’pose, mates. Can y’see ’em, miss Pasque?”

Gripping the cord of her sling like a vise, Pasque nodded. “Indeed I can, Skip, they’re lyin’ in the rift down there,

waitin’ the same as we are. D’you suppose they’re nervous too?”

Sergeant Torgoch was pacing the ridge, keeping an eye on the front rank. He winked as he halted in front of her.

“Nervous, missie? I can see ’em quakin’ in their fur from ’ere!” He waved his pace stick to where Perigord was

perched on the pine trunk, leaning nonchalantly upon his saber. “Wot d’ye think, sir, shall we tell ’em wot we thinks o’

vermin?”

Waving back with his blade, the Major smiled. “Capital idea, Sar’nt, carry on!”

Swelling out his chest with a deep breath, the Sergeant roared in his best drill parade manner at the Rapscallion

army, “Nah then, you scab-tailed, waggle-pawed, flea-ridden excuses fer soldiers! Are ye sittin’ down there ’cos yore

too stoopid t’move, or are yer afraid?” Then he turned his back on the foebeast and waggled his bobtail impudently.

Laughter broke out from the Redwallers’ ranks.

Gurgan Spearback clumped up in his oversized boots, wielding the massive mallet that was his favorite weapon,

“Hearken t’me, all ye vermin wid half a brain to lissen. Remember what thy mothers told thee about climbin’. If you

come climbin’ our hill, we’ll spank thee right ’ard an’ send you away in tears!”

Hoots of derision from the ridge accompanied this announcement. Then Lieutenant Morio’s deep booming voice

called out a warning: “Stand to arms, here they come!”

Five hundred Rapscallions clambered out of the rift from both flanks, and charged. They made a blood-chilling

sight: painted faces, bristling weapons, and blazing war banners. Drums pounded as they screamed and howled, racing

like a tidal wave across the valley floor toward the slope of the ridge.

Nobeast could stop it now. The battle was begun.

Captain Twayblade held her long rapier point down. “Steady in the ranks there, let ’em come! Stand by the first

three rockpiles! Slingers, wait my command! Steady, steady now, chaps!”

The vermin pounded up the slope, increasing their pace until they were running at breakneck speed, spearpoints,

pikes, and blades pointing upward at their adversaries.

Tammo stood his ground, deafening noises thrumming in his ears, watching the hideous pack draw closer until he

could see their bloodthirsty faces plainly.

Sergeant Torgoch’s voice rumbled across the first rank. “Wait for it, buckoes, wait on the Cap’n’s command!”

A barbed shaft whistled past Twayblade’s jaw. “Front rank, let ’em have it,” she shouted. “Now!”

Slings whirled and a battering rain of stone struck the leading Rapscallions. Tammo saw the look of shock on the

face of a lean scarred weasel as his round weighty river pebble struck it hard on the forehead. The creature toppled

backward with a screech, rolling downhill, still clutching a broken bow. Loading the sling swiftly, Tammo swung out

and hit a rat who was almost upon him.

Now Major Perigord was standing with the front rank, whirling his saber and calling to the moles who were

behind the hills of stone. “First three rockpiles away!”

Boulders, rocks, soil, dust, and stones showered down on the advancing Rapscallions. The vermin were seasoned

fighters, giving as good as they received. Ducking and dodging, they battled upward, thrusting with pike and spear,

slinging, firing arrows, and hurling anything that came to paw.

Tammo was on his third sling when he heard Sergeant Tor-goch bellowing, “Down flat an’ reload slings, first rank.

Second rank, shoot!”

Tammo and Pasque threw themselves down side by side, fumbling to load up their slings. Skipper and the second

rank stood forward, shafts drawn back upon tautened bowstrings, and sent a hail of arrows zipping down into the

massed vermin. From where they lay, the first rank twirled their slings and added to the salvo.

Then everybeast in the Redwall army grabbed for the spears tying on the ground between the ranks. Tammo,

Pasque, and Riffle, like many others, did not have a proper spear, but the long ash poles with fire-hardened points

served just as well. Staves, spears, pikes, and javelins bristled to the fore all along the line.

The Rapscallions were completely taken by surprise. They had expected their opponents to stand and defend the

ridge, not to mount a counter charge with spears. Many a vermin heart quailed then as the war cry of Salamandastron’s

Long Patrol cut the air.

“Eulaliaaaaa! JS death on the wind! Eulaliaaaaaa!”

The Redwallers’ charge broke the Rapscallion advance. Drums from below in the rift pounded out the retreat,

calling the vermin back.

Damug Warfang estimated that he had lost threescore in the first assault; the Redwallers had lost about half that

number. Slightly more than he had expected, but the Greatrat was satisfied. Now that he had tested his enemies, he

knew their strength and also their weakness. However, the Firstblade was surprised at his adversary; for peaceful

Abbeydwellers they showed great ferocity in fighting and much cunning in their maneuvers. Despite this he was

confident they would be unable to resist the might of his full army.

Arven sat still as a mole plastered boiled herbs to a deep graze in his side, lifting one paw up to allow the healer

better access to his wound. The mole stopped bandaging, blinking at the sight in the valley below.

Damug Warfang was standing on the grassy sward with his entire army formed up behind him.

“Bo urr an’ lackaday, zurr, lukkee, ’tis a tumble soight!”

It was indeed terrible, and impressive. Almost a thousand well-armed vermin, lined in columns, flags streaming,

drums beating, with the Greatrat in full armor, sword drawn, out in front.

Log-a-Log stopped sharpening his rapiertip on a whetstone and glanced quizzically at Major Perigord. “Wot d’you

suppose Warfang’s up to now?”

The hare viewed the scene below dispassionately. “Tryin’ to frighten us with a show of force, what else? That was

only half their blinkin’ number he threw at us in the first charge.”

Sergeant Torgoch saluted with his pace stick. “Shall I stand the troops ready for action again, sah?”

Perigord sheathed his blade and started downhill. “I think not, Sar’nt, the blighter obviously wants to parley. Huh!

We’re all supposed t’be tremblin’ in our fur at the size of his force. I expect he wants us to jolly well surrender.”

Arven’s voice echoed the Major’s final word incredulously. “Surrender?”

Tare and Turry, the Long Patrol twins, helped Arven upright. “Hah, fat chance of that, old lad!”

About a third of the way downhill, Perigord halted, calling out, “I take it y’ve got somethin’ to say, rat. Well spit it

out an’ be quick about it, a chap can’t dally here all day, wot!”

Damug Warfang waved his sword eloquently at the massed Rapscallions backing him. “What need of words, hare,

when we could destroy you in a single sweep!”

Perigord shook his head and smiled mockingly. “Oh, is that all you’ve got t’say? Wasted your breath, really, didn’t

you? Still, what else can one expect from vermin?”

The Greatrat smiled back as if he were equally at ease.”Just think for a moment what we will do to the ones you

left behind at Red wall Abbey. I imagine they’re the creatures not fit to fight, babes and oldbeasts. Have you

considered them?”

Perigord seethed inwardly, but he did not show it. “Oh, if it comes t’that, old thing, I wouldn’t worry if I were you.

Y’see I fully intend slayin’ you, so y’won’t be ’round to see it”

Damug was still smiling as he played his trump card. “I’m a bit ahead of you there, because I intend killing you.

Now!” He let his sword blade drop and nodded.

The rat Henbit had lain near the ridgetop, concealed among the dead vermin that littered the slope. He sprang up,

poising himself to hurl the javelin he held, not three paces from the Major. Suddenly he sighed, as if tired of it all, and

let the javelin slide carelessly backward as he fell, an oak shaft in his back.

Perigord stepped distastefully over the fallen rat. “Don’t like that sort o’ thing. Sneaky. Well shot, Corporal!”

Rubbadub twanged a chord on the empty longbow string, grinning from ear to ear at his officer’s compliment.

“Drrrrrrubadubdub!”

Then the Rapscallion army charged. As it swept across the valley, Tammo left off helping Pasque Valerian to bind

wounded heads and paws and took up his position in the first rank, feeling slightly detached from it all.

Gurgan Spearback nudged him with a rough paw. “Art thou all right, friend?”

The young hare shrugged in bewilderment. “Strange, isn’t it, but here we are facin’ almost a thousand an’ all I can

think about is the time o’ day. Look, ’tis almost evening, yet it only seems a moment ago it was mornin’. Can’t get it

off my mind, really. What’s happened t’the rest o’ today? Where’d it go?”

Gurgan stumped the ground with his mallethead like a batsman at his crease. “Aye, I know what thou means. All I

can think of is my wife, Rufftip, an’ our seven liddle ’ogs, ’avin’ a pickernick on our boat in the water meadows. Silly

wot a body can think of at times like these—Oofli!”

An arrow protruded from Gurgan’s shoulder. Tammo stared, aghast. “You’re hit!”

The Waterhog pulled the shaft out, snapped it, and flung it from himself bad-temperedly. “Tchah! When a beast’s

as full o’ spikes as I am, one more don’t make much difference, though ’tis a great displeasure t’be shot!”

Before Tammo could reply, Sergeant Torgoch was bawling out orders. “First rank, sling! Second rank, stand ready!

Keep ’em off the slope!”

At the point where valley met hillslope, the Rapscallions took the full force of the first stone volley. Owing to their

numbers, Major Perigord had taken the decision to strike early and save his Redwallers being speedily overrun. He

turned to the moles, saying, “How’s the fire comin’ along under that log, chaps?”

“Ee’m a burnen broight an’ reddy t’go, zurr!”

“Capital! Splash all that vegetable oil over the trunk now, quick as y’like!”

Dry timber and resin gave a great whoosh as the oil buckets were hurled upon it. The evening sprang to light,

sparks and flaming splinters crackling as they leapt from the blazing tree. Skipper and his otters rolled it forward using

spearpoints and ash staves. It teetered a moment on the brow of the ridge, then took off with a crash, rumbling, rolling,

bouncing, and spinning.

Lady Cregga Rose Eyes and the Long Patrol army had been plodding all day. The going was awkward and rough

in the narrow rift; it seemed to stretch on forever. They had waded through mud and water, squeezed through narrow

gorges, and climbed over collapsed debris.

Deodar was first to see it. “Look, Sergeant, up ahead, that light!”

A sudden bright glow lit the evening sky from a ridgetop in the distance. It flared brightly then disappeared,

leaving the hares blinking against the gathering darkness. Sergeant Clu-brush placed himself in front of Lady Cregga,

blocking her way.

“Deodar, Algador, drop y’packs but ’old on to yore weapons. Scout up ahead, close to that ridge as y’can get. We

needs h’information quick as to wot’s goin1 on up yonder. So make all speed there an’ back. Run lively now, young

’uns!”

As he spoke, the Sergeant had pulled Corporal Ellbrig and several others past him to barricade the rift. Both

Runners hared off.

Lady Cregga glared fiercely at Clubrush. “Stand out of my way, Sergeant!”

It would be said in later seasons that this was the first time a hare openly disobeyed a Badger Ruler. Sergeant

Clubnish drew his sword.

“Sorry, Lady, but we got to wait ’ere “til the Runners gets back. If you goes chargin’ off now, not knowin’ wot lies

ahead, you could get y’self an’ all these slain, recruits an’ veterans. We must know wot’s goin’ on at that ridge first

afore we goes at it. Now I know y’could snuff me out like a candle, marm, but I’ll try to stop ye if’n I can, for the

good of all ’ere!”

Lady Cregga Rose Eyes raised the terrible axpike high over her head with one paw. She brought it smashing down

into the rift wall, knocking out a great quantity of soil-bound rock.

“So be it, we wait! But those hares of yours had better be quick, Sergeant, because I won’t wait long!”

53

Vermin screamed and wailed as the blazing pine trunk cut a swathe through the Rapscallion ranks. It thundered off

the hillside, over the valley, and disappeared with a crash of loose earth into the rift, where one side of the defile fell

in on top of it.

This was followed by a frightening silence.

Galloper Riffle rubbed both his eyes, peering into the fallen night. “What’s happenin’? Why’s everythin’ so bally

quiet—I can’t see a flippin’ thing!”

A shrew standing by Riffle blinked hard several times. “Neither c’n I, matey, all’s I see is colored lights, poppin’

all round. ’Twas that burnin’ tree wot did it.”

Most of the Redwallers were grouped at the center of the ridge, in the place the otters had launched the trunk from.

A shout from the far side of the ridgetop alerted them.

“Help! They’re attackin’ this end!”

With their sight growing clearer, the Redwallers rushed to defend mat end of the summit, only to be hailed by

another distress cry. “Yurr, on ee t’uther end, they’m up ’ere too!”

Damug had not been slow. Even as the burning trunk was launched from the crest of the ridge, he had issued

orders for his army to split up again and attack the summit from both ends. Now the Redwall army was in deep

trouble. Damug’s plan had worked; he had gained the precious moments he needed to put his Rapscallions on the ridge

summit.

Tammo fought back-to-back with Pasque, sling in one paw, dirk in the other. Vermin came at them in mobs.

Lieutenant Mono was surrounded and alone; gallantly he battled away, hacking at the encroaching Rapscallions with a

cracked pike. Tammo and Pasque began forcing their way through to Mo-rio’s aid, but too late. The brave Lieutenant

went down, fighting to the last.

“Eulaliaaaa! ’S death on the wind! Eulaliaaaaa!”

Captain Twayblade, too, was ringed by the enemy. Her long rapier darted and flickered as she wove it around

cutlass and spear, slaying every vermin she touched. “Saha! Come an’ meet me, sir vermin, I’ll have ye crowdin’ at

Dark Forest gates this night!”

Tammo glimpsed a fox working his way behind Twayblade, and as the fox raised his sword, Tammo let fly with

the dirk.

“A hit!” Twayblade laughed. “Over here, Tamm, come on, Pasque!”

They were joined by Skipper, and between them they smashed free of the crowding foebeasts. The otter pushed

them toward the standing rock. “Over there, mates—get our backs agin somethin’!”

Perigord and Gurgan had been outnumbered and driven back along the ridge. Striving valiantly with what was left

of their group, they too managed to reach the standing rock. The Major’s saber decimated the ranks of vermin

swarming to get at them. Blood ran from a cut above his eye as he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Gurgan.

“Whew! I keep choppin”em down, but they’re still comin’!”

The Waterhog’s huge mallet hit the Rapmark Skaup, wiping him out. “Aye, there’s nought left but to take as many

as we can with us. Hearken though, I’d like t’get yon Damug atwixt my paws!”

Log-a-Log gritted his teeth, bringing down a weasel with his heavy loaded sling. “Y’won’t get close to that scum,

mate. Damug’s the kind who leads his army from be’ind, like the true coward he is! Tamm, did they get ye, bucko?”

Tammo almost collapsed as Pasque drew the pike from his leg. “Aaaagh! He got me, but I made sure I got him, the

blackguard!”

They ringed the pair, fighting off the attackers as Pasque stuffed herbs into the awful gash and bound it with the red

silken ribbon. “There, that’ll hold you, sir. Lean on me. I knew that ribbon’d come in useful. Good job you won it for

me, wot!”

Deodar and Algador slumped on the rift floor, gasping for breath after making their report.

Lady Cregga acted instantly. “Sergeant, take the right flank; Corporal, you take the left. I’ll hold the center. Let’s

get out of this ditch and form up in a skirmish line, ten deep, fifty long. Double-quick speed, weapons out and ready.

We’ll come at that ridge from the back. Rapscallions haven’t got the brains to think we’d attack that way!”

Still fighting for air, Algador and Deodar drew their blades. “We’re comin’ too, Sergeant!”

Trowbaggs nodded to Shangle Widepad. “Grab old Algy there, chum, we’ll help him along. Fallow, Reeve, lend a

paw to Deodar, there’s good chaps!”

The night air thrummed to the paws of five hundred Sala-mandastron hares. Silent and determined, they sped off

into the darkness.

Damug Warfang was delighted beyond measure. He stood back from the fighting, leaning on his sword by a fire.

The Rapscallions had suffered heavy losses, but nothing to what the creatures of Redwall had sustained. From his

position he viewed what he considered to be the last stages of the battle. His enemy would soon be soundly defeated

and the famous Abbey of Redwall his for the taking.

Rapscallions crowded in on every side around the standing rock, but there was a space at the center between them

and their opponents. The Redwallers had fought more fiercely than anybeasts they had ever encountered, and now, at

this final part of the battle, many vermin were growing cautious, not wanting to be on the lists of the slain while their

comrades enjoyed the spoils of victory.

The stoat Captain, Bluggach, was a bigger and more reckless beast than his confederates. Pike in one paw and a

wicked steel hook in the other, he swaggered into the open space between the armies and began taunting his

beleaguered enemy.

“Haharr, so yore the bold crew who were gonna spank us an’ send us off in tears, eh? I wager the one who

shouted that is ’idin’ somewheres at the back now, prob’ly in tears hisself!”

Mass laughter and cheering from the Rapscallion horde prompted Bluggach to become bolder. He leered at the

Red-wallers, licking the tip of the hook he carried. “C’mon out an’ face me, ’tis my turn t’do the spankin’!”

Gurgan Spearback was already out as he spoke, wielding his tree-trunk-headed war mallet. “Stoats be windy

braggarts. Come an’ spank me if thee thinks thou art warrior enough to do it!”

Bluggach gave a wild yell and charged the big Waterhog. Gurgan sidestepped and swung the mallet once. Just

once.

Bluggach slumped to the ground, never to rise again.

But Gurgan’s sidestep had carried him close to the Rapscallion mob. A crowd leapt upon him, overwhelming the

Waterhog Chieftain.

The Redwallers could not leave their friend in enemy paws. They charged forward into the vermin pack, roaring,

“Red-waaaaallll! Redwaaaaaallll!”

They were hopelessly outnumbered, but prepared to sell their lives dearly. Strangely, though, it was Damug

Warfang who saved them.

The unpredictable Warlord strode among his vermin, lashing out with the flat of his swordblade. “Halt! Enough, I

say! We will take these creatures as prisoners. Nobeast must touch them. I will keep them as captives to serve me!”

The Greatrat halted in front of Perigord. “All except you, hare. Nobeast talks to me as you did and lives!”

Held fast by four Rapscallions, the Major still struggled to break free and get at his enemy, even though he was

twice wounded. “So be it, foulface. Give me back my saber an’ I’ll fight you, blade-to-blade. Come on, vermin, let’s

have at it, wot!”

Damug looked Perigord up and down. Dried blood was caked over the Major’s brow, covering his right eye, while

the Redwall tunic hung from him in shreds, revealing a ragged scar on one shoulder. The Greatrat sneered

contemptuously. “Your fighting days are over, fool. I’m going to make an example of you in front of your friends.

Conquered beasts always leam to behave better when they see their leader executed. Get him down in front of me and

bend his head!”

A massive roar shook the night air, chilling the blood of every Rapscallion on the ridge.

“Eulaliaaaaaaa!”

Thundering forward, fifty paces ahead of her command, Lady Cregga Rose Eyes hit the vermin ranks like a

lightning storm.

Tammo saw vermin actually fly through the air as the huge badger, her eyes blazing red with Bloodwrath, swung

her ax-pike into them. Then she was upon Damug Warfang. Casting her weapon away, she seized the Firstblade with

both paws and teeth.

“Spawn of Gormad Tunn! Evil murderer’s kin! Come to me!”

Hacking furiously at the Badger Warrior’s head with his sword, Damug gave an unearthly screech. Locked

together, the pair hurtled into space from the ridgetop.

“Eulaliaaaa! ’S death on the wind! Eulaliaaaaaa!”

Booting aside a rat, Major Perigord grabbed his saber. “Hares on the ridge, hundreds of ’em! Eulaliaaaaaa!”

The army from Salamandastron charged into the Rapscallions’ midst to join the Redwallers. Galloper Riffle was

down; a snarling weasel who was about to dispatch him with a dagger thrust fell forward, slain by a saber swing.

Riffle felt himself pulled upright; he stopped a moment in the thick of battle, recognizing his rescuer. “Algador! My

brother!”

The young Runner blinked, smiling and crying at the same time. “Riffle, thank the seasons you’re alive!”

“Logalogalogalogalooooog!”

The shrew Chieftain, at the head of his remaining Guosim, tore into a pack of vermin and chased them the length

of the ridge.

“Redwaaaaaalll! No surrender, no quarter, me buckoes!”

Skipper of Otters and his ragged band threw themselves headlong at another group of foebeasts, javelins forward.

Tammo had formed foursquare with Pasque, Midge, Tway-blade, and Fourdun, battling madly against the

desperate Rapscallions. They pushed their way with blade, sling, and tooth to where Corporal Rubbadub lay stretched

on the ground, limp and trampled. While the others fought, Pasque stooped to inspect the big lump and the awesome

cut across the back of Rubbadub’s head. She looked up sadly at her friends. “I think poor old Rubbadub’s gone!”

“Nonsense!” Twayblade kicked Rubbadub’s paw roughly.

Turning over, the drummer rubbed his head, grinning widely. “Dubadubadubb! B’boom!”

Sergeant Torgoch found himself fighting alongside Drill Sergeant Clubrush. The pair fought like madbeasts but

chatted like old pals.

“By the left, Sar’nt, yore young’uns are shapin’ up well!”

“They certainly are, Sar’nt—they pulled yore chestnuts out o’ the fire!”

Tare and Tuny had formed up with Trowbaggs and Furgale. They pressed forward in a straight line, driving

Rapscallions off the edge of the ridge. Determined to distinguish himself in this his first action, Trowbaggs pulled

away from the others and began taking on four vermin single-pawedly. “Have at ye, y’scurvy rascals, Trowbaggs the

Terrible’s here!”

He managed to slay one before another got behind him and put him down with a dagger in his side. Corporal

Ellbrig and Shangle Widepad rushed in to his aid, slaying two and sending the other one running.

Holding on to his side, Trowbaggs managed a weak smile. “Chap got behind me. Wasn’t very sportin’ of him, was

it, Corp?”

Shangle provided cover while Ellbrig ministered to the recruit. “Trowbaggs, wot am I goin’ t’do with you, eh? War

isn’t no game—there ain’t no such thing as a vermin bein’ sporty. Good job that dagger only took a bit o’ fur’n’flesh.

You’d be a goner now if’n that was an inward stab instead o’ a sideways one. Come on, up on yore

hunkers, me

beauty, stick wid me’n’ole Shang.”

Furgale and Reeve Starbuck were in difficulties. Heavily outnumbered, they fought gallantly. Tammo’s party saw

they were in a fix and dashed over to help, but too late. Both the recruits went under from vermin spear thrusts before

they could be reached. Others came running to avenge their comrades, exacting a terrible retribution on the vermin

spear-carriers with swords and javelins.

Clubrush saw Furgale twitch, and he knelt by him, supporting his head. “Y’did bravely, young sir. Be still now,

we’ll git you some ’elp.”

Furgale tried to focus on Clubrush, his eyes fluttering weakly. “Get my old job back, servin’ you an’ Colonel Eye-

bright in the mess ... won’t shout too loud though, Colonel doesn’t like that ...”

The young recruit’s head lolled to one side, his eyes closed. Drill Sergeant Clubrush hugged him tightly, tears

flowing openly down his grizzled face. “I ’ope you’ve gone to an ’appier place than this blood-strewn ridge,”

The tide of battle was turned. What was left of the mighty Rapscallion army fled from the hill, pursued by the hares

and the Redwallers. Major Perigord and Captain Twayblade limped their way down the hill and across the valley, with

Tammo and Pasque following them. They found Lady Cregga in the rift, clutching the mangled remains and broken

sword of Damug Warfang.

Pasque Valerian was the only one of the four who was still fit and active. She climbed down to the bottom of the

rift. Perigord peered over the edge, watching her inspect the badger.

“I say, Pasque, get a chunk o’ that smoulderin’ wood t’make a torch.”

The young hare snapped off a billet of pine from the charred trunk and blew gently upon it until the flame

rekindled itself. She looked closely at the still form of Lady Cregga, checking her carefully.

“Good news, sah! Though you wouldn’t think it to look at her. Lady Cregga’s alive, but Warfang must have

slashed an’ battered at her with his sword somethin’ dreadful. Her face, head, an’ eyes suffered terrible injuries, but as

I say, she lives!”

The Major winced as he straightened up. “Well, there’s a thing! Our Badger Lady must be jolly well made of iron.

Tammo, see if y’can hunt up stuff t’make a stretcher and find some able-bodied beasts to carry it. Tamtn, are you all

right, old lad?”

Tammo sat at the edge of the rift, his head in both paws, shaking and weeping uncontrollably. “No, I’m not all

right, sah. I’ve seen death! I’ve been in a battle, I’ve slain other creatures, seen friends cut down before my eyes, and

all I can think of is, thank the fates I’m not dead. Though the way I feel right now I don’t know if I want to go on

living!”

The Major sat down beside him, “I know what y’mean, young ’un, but think for a moment. Think of the babes at

Redwall and the oldsters, think of all the families, like your own, who will never be frightened or harmed by the bad

ones we fought against. You’ve done nothin’ t’be ashamed of. The Colonel an’ your mother would be proud to know

they had a son like you. What d’you say, Pasque? Tell this perilous feller.”

Pasque Valerian paused from her salves and dressings, capturing Tammo with her soft voice and gentle smile. She

pointed skyward. “I don’t have to tell you anything, Tamm. Just look up.”

Tammo felt the other three staring upward with him.

Fading from dark blue to light, dawn was breaking, with threads of crimson and gold radiating wide. Pale, cream-

washed clouds lay in rolls to the east, their undersides glowing pink with the rising of tfte sun. Somewhere a lark was

singing its ascension aria, backed by waking curlews on the moor, and wood pigeons in the copses.

The spell was broken abruptly as the little owl Taunoc swooped out of nowhere to land at the rift edge. “I see by

your returning warriors and the vermin carcasses lying everywhere that you won the battle.”

Perigord wiped his saber blade with a pawful of dewy grass. “Aye, we won!”

Taunoc nodded sagely, preening his wings, ready for flight. “I will carry the good news back to Redwall Abbey. Is

there anything else you wish me to add?”

Tamello De Fformelo Tussock dried his eyes and smiled. “Tell them ... tell them we’re coming home!”

54?

Extract from the writings of Craklyn the squirrel, Recorder of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower Country.

Healing the wounds of war takes a very long time. It is four seasons since the victorious warriors returned to us,

but still the memory of that terrible time is fresh in all our minds. When Lady Cregga was brought to our Abbey, we

feared greatly for her. She spoke little and ate even less, lying in the Infirmary with her whole head swathed in

bandages. Pasque Valerian and Sister Viola both knew Cregga would be blind, even before the bandages were

removed.

Alas, when we did unbandage her, the rose-colored eyes were no more. They had been replaced by tightly shut

eyelids. She no longer had the desire to slay, the Bloodwrath, they call it; all that was gone. Throughout the winter she

remained in an armchair by the fire in Cavern Hole.

It was pure accident that a miraculous change was wrought in her. One day the baby Russano got loose and

crawled off, and we found him perched in Lady Cregga’s lap, both badgers entirely happy. Since then she lives only to

rear and educate Russano. He is her eyes, and now that he can walk in a baby fashion, they are seen everywhere

together. Tammo reminded me of the second half of the rhyme Martin imparted to him:

One day Redwall a badger will see,

But the badger may never see Redwall,

Darkness will set the Warrior free,

The young must answer a mountain’s call.

After the battle, the Warriors buried the Rapscallions in the rift and our own on the ridgetop. When spring arrived,

they returned to the Ridge of a Thousand (for that is what it is known as now). Major Perigord took Lady Cregga’s big

axpike. Moles chiseled a hole into the top of the standing rock on the summit, and they cemented the axpike in it,

upright, with the old green homemade flag that bears me red letter R fluttering proudly from the piketop. There it will

stand until the winds of ages shred the banner and carry it away with them.

The moles are good stonemasons; they carved Pasque Valerian’s poem to the fallen on the rock.

Slumber through twilight, sleep through the dawn,

Bright in our memory from first light each morn,

Rest through the winter beneath the soft snow,

And in the springing, when bright blossoms show.

Warriors brave, who gave all you could give,

Offered your lives so that others would live.

No one can tell what my heart longed to say

When I had to leave here, and you had to stay.

Aye, there are memories that die hard and others that we want to keep forever. What courageous creatures they

were; as the Long Patrol would say, perilous!

I wish that little Russano would never grow up, but that is an idle and foolish thought. One day he will have to take

his place on that mountain far away on the west shores; he will be Lord of Salamandastron. Lady Cregga is certain of

this. He is a quiet youngster, but he seems to radiate confidence, understanding, and sympathy to all about him.

Already the hares call him Russano the Wise.

The owlchicks of Orocca and Taunoc are big birds now. My goodness, how quickly they grew and learned to fly!

They chose the names Nutwing, Nutbeak, and Nutclaw, because “nut” was the only word they spoke for a full season.

All three are fine birds, though not as well-spoken as their parents and inclined to be a bit impudent at times, but they

are still young.

I am the official keeper of the medals, did you know that? I’ll tell you about it. The treasure we brought up from

sunken Castle Kotir was melted down by order of my good friend Abbess Tansy. She decreed that a solid gold medal,

each set with a separate gem, would be made for everybeast who fought at the Ridge of a Thousand. Redwallers get a

ruby, Waterhogs and otters a pearl, shrews a peridot, and hares a blue John, every one set in a small gold shield

attached to a white silken ribbon. But I am left in charge of them all because they will not wear them to work!

What work, did I hear you say? Why, the rebuilding of our south wall, of course. Major Perigord, Skipper, Log-a-

Log, Gurgan Spearback, and our own Arven all agreed that they cannot abide idle paws. So we have a veritable army

working on the south wall, filling holes, tamping down earth, and relaying the massive red sandstone blocks. It will

soon be completed, and then there will be double reason, nay treble, for festivities. One for the new wall, and two to

celebrate the lives of those lost in the battle last summer. The third reason is so exciting that I can scarce bring myself

to write about it.

Tammo and Pasque are to be wedded!

It’s true! Taunoc flew off some time back to bring Tammo’s family from Camp Tussock to attend the celebrations.

Mem Divinia was very proud of her son, and even old Colonel Cornspurrey had to admit that his son was a true Long

Patrol warrior. Abbess Tansy saved enough gold and three beautiful emeralds to make a paw bracelet for Pasque. She

is the prettiest hare I have ever seen, and I personally think that she knows more of healing wounds than anybeast. But

don’t tell Sister Viola I said that. Alas, even Pasque can do nothing for Tammo’s limp, which the spear wound in his

leg caused. But Tammo just laughs when asked about his injury. He says that he never intended being a Runner and

gets about better than most. I agree with him, the limp is hardly noticeable.

When the sad day arrives that Russano has to leave us, our Abbey will not be without a badger. Lady Cregga has

decided to live at Redwall as Badger Mother. The Dibbuns adore her, and though she has massive strength, her

gentleness toward them is touching to see. And talking about seeing, Mother Cregga is learning to see more without

the use of her sight than most of us can see with two eyes!

The Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower, or the Guosim, as they are known, have faithfully stayed at our

Abbey to help rebuild the wall, as have the Waterhogs. Redwall is full of fast-growing Dibbuns with even faster-

growing appetites. Log-a-Log has been hearing the call of the streams and rivers of late, though he says he will wait

until Russano is ready to go, then the shrews can accompany him.

Gurgan Spearback keeps his houseboat on the water meadows, merely for the pleasure of his large family. What a

quaint beast Gurgan is. He has relinquished Chieftainship of the Waterhogs to his eldest son, Tragglo. Gurgan’s great

interest now is being Abbey Cellarhog; he was so enthusiastic about brewing October Ale that old Gurrbowl has

retired and passed the job on to him.

You will forgive me, but I am about to put aside my quill pen and scrub the ink from my paws. I have an

appointment with Friar Butty. Together with the Friar and Captain Twayblade, I will help to plan the triple feast. There

will be ten kinds of bread, from hazelnut and almond to sage and buttercup loaves.

Cheeses, well, last autumn’s cheesemaking was the best ever. We have some huge yellow ones, with celery and

carrot pieces in them, and all the different cheeses in between, ending with tiny soft white ones.

Friar Butty has drawn up a recipe for a South Wall Cake, it will be the centerpiece of the tables. Though if you

could see the recipe and the amount of fruit, honey, and meadow-cream the cake will take, you would wonder how

any other food could find room on our festive board. The seasons have been kind; there will be more than enough for

every-beast, but then they deserve it.

What more is left to say, my friend? Redwall Abbey is as it has always been, basking in the shelter of Mossflower

Wood, the gates ready to open any old sunny day to weary travelers, friends, and visitors, all good honest creatures

like yourselves. Please come and feel free to stop for a season, any time. You are always welcome.

Craklyn Squirrel, Recorder of Redwall Abbey