The Outcast of Redwall

11

Krakulat withdrew his Crow Brethren to a place where the horde of Swartt Sixclaw could not see them. They settled behind low hillocks, waiting for nightfall. The Crow Leader had been off hunting with his Brethren when the weasels Scarback and Marbul had slain his mother with slingstones. Fearfully the old ones reported the murder to Krakulat on his return, and the savage crows rage and grief had been awesome, more so when his scouts reported back to him on the dreadful end his mothers body had met. Krakulat decided to take his ven-geance without regard to life and limb, and once his initial rage had subsided, he planned the time and place his Brethren would strike.

Swartt had suddenly become a great Warlord and the toast of the horde. Never, not even in the eastlands, had the hordebeasts known such a delightful spot. There was a broad-stream, fruit trees, and an abundance of edible vegetation. The fact that no birds were to be seen was forgotten when Aggal the stoat Captain speared a large fat chub in the stream. The vermin soldiers and their families flocked to the water and drank, sported and splashed, some catching watershrimp, others hunting caddisworm and tadpoles. Fires were lit, tents were pitched, and a holiday atmosphere prevailed. Using a tent canvas under the vixen Nightshades supervision, a team of soldiers dragged the stream, bringing in a goodly catch of chub, dace, perch, and even a big old pike.

The six-clawed ferret sat beneath a shady tree, painting glowing pictures of the good times ahead to his officers. Swartts unobtrusive wife, Bluefen, scurried about, serving fruit and fish. Swartt hardly noticed her.

“This is only the start, he said. “Give me one good season travelin southnwest an everybeast in the land11 be flockin to my banner, youll see.

“Hmm, southwest, eh? Is that where the badger is? Scraw the rat, now a Captain, mused idly.

The good mood of Swartt Sixclaw suddenly dissipated, and his voice became a questioning snarl. “Who told you about the badger?

Scraw was not intimidated by the Warlords ill humor. “Some o those beasts you were running with before you came to the tents of Lord Bowfleg, he answered. “They say the badger is young, but a great warrior, fearless in battle....

Swartt leaned forward anxiously. “What else do they say? Tell me.

“They say he was the one who ruined your sixclawed paw, made it dead forever, and that you have sworn to slay him.

Swartt upturned his metal drinking cup and suddenly dealt it a swift blow with the chain-mailed and copper-bound gauntlet he wore over the withered six-claw. The vessel crumpled, flattened beneath the force of the blow. Swartt stared at Scraw. “Dont ever make the mistake that my sixctaw is useless. Its slain more foebeasts than youve had hot dinners, rat. As for the badger, I hear he calls himself Sunflash the Mace now; take it from me, that ones a walkin deadbeast!

Aggal the stoat Captain made bold enough to ask, “Howll you know where to find this Sunflash the Mace?

Swartt nodded to the vixen. “Tell him.

“Searats; some seasons back we met them on the coast, Nightshade explained briefly. “They told us of a place far in tfie southwest, a mountain ruled by badgers and hares, it has a strange name I cannot remember. The searats said that any badger traveling south and west will eventually arrive at this mountain, something to do with the destiny of badgers. Who knows?

Aggal shrugged dismissively. “Huh, searats! Who can believe that lot of floatin rogues? We slew a few up on the east coast last season; before they died, some of them said they knew of a great redstone Abbey that had been built in the mid-south. Liars, theyd have said fish had wings if theyd thought itd save their miserable lives.

Swartt lied with a straight face to his officers. “I have spoken with a wise old owl; he knew of the badger mountain. You all know that owls dont lie, so gather round and Ill tell you somethin.

The officers gathered closer to Swartt. Information from wise owls was rare, but always true. The ferret Warlord spoke low. “The mountain of badgers and hares, this owl said, was also a storehouse of fabulous treasure, jeweled swords, golden daggers, and shields mounted with pearls and gems. Well take it by force of arms with this great horde. Then Ill split this treasure, but only with my brave Captains. What I tell you is not for other ears, it will be our secret. None of the ordinary hordebeasts need know. Are you with me? The Captains looked from one to another, their eyes shining greed. Scraw acted as spokesbeast for them as he said, “Were with you, Lord Sixclaw, you can depend on us!

The remainder of the day passed happily for the horde as they fed, played, and napped among the tents that had been set up on the streambanks. Late night found the fires burned to embers. A soft breeze moved the tent flaps and rippled the stream as the horde slept deeply, tired out after their forced march from the flatlands. Even the sentries slept. That was when Krakulat the crow made his move....

Scarback and Marbul were sleeping in the open, outside the Warlords tent. It was their job to guard him, but the two assassins were as tired as any. They did not feel the thin twine made from animal sinews until it began tightening upon their necks, and by then it was too late. Four crows dug their talons into the earth as they strained and pulled in opposite directions on the strangling loops. Meanwhile, Krakulat stirred the embers of a fire at the edge of the camp into leaping flames, Silently, Krakulats wife, Bonebeak, dipped her wing in signal to the army of waiting crows, and the Crow Brethren went to work.

Each of them winged silently over the fire, carrying in their talons a long string. At the end of each string dangled a mass of dried moss and grasses dripping with pine resin. As the Crow Brethren passed over the flames, the fireballs ignited. Speeding like dark phantoms, they flew upward, dropping their blazing burdens onto the tents of Swartts horde. As soon as this was done, they circled high out of range of the flames, waiting.

Three ferrets dashed screaming from a burning tent. Krakulat and his crows dived and slew them as they tried to escape the flames. Now others could be seen against the patches of firelight that had sprung up, illuminating the landscape below. The Crow Brethren took no prisoners; the vengeance of Krakulat was swift and unmerciful.

Swartt hurtled from his tent, ignoring his coughing, choking wife, who staggered behind him. He grabbed the vixen as she dashed past, yelling, “Whatn the name of bloodnfur is goin on? Who set all these tents alight?

Nightshade pointed at four dark shapes attacking a squealing rat in the firelight. “Crows! Theyre all over the place.... Yaaaagh!

A crow fastened its talons in the vixens back; Swartt clubbed it flat with his mailed paw. Drawing his sword, he roared, “The stream! Everybeast into the water, archers an slingbeasts, rally to me!

The Warlord stood in the shallows, flaying about himself with the flat of his sword blade as he rallied his troops. “Fire arrows an rocks! There, you dummies, there! Cant yer see em in the firelight when they fly down? There aint so many of em! Come on, move yerselves, shoot!

A withering hail of stones and arrows whizzed into the night sky, followed by another and yet another. Krakulat saw the destruction the missiles wreaked on his Brethren and wheeled upward out of range, cawing, “Kraawkaa! Follow me. We will show them the Brethren have no fear. Higher, my warriors, higher!

Nightshade found Swartt and pointed upward. “Lord, theyre out of range, but theyre going to dive down upon us!

The Warlord acted quickly, passing word to his Captains. “Spears an pikes, hold em low til I give the signal!

Swartts quick thinking ended the encounter. Krakulat sent his crows zooming down like thunderbolts, and, unable to stop themselves in time, the last thing most of them heard was Swartt yelling, “Spears an pikes up!

The Crow Brethrens ranks were so drastically thinned by this sudden action that they were forced to take flight.

Morning light found Swartt and his officers seated on the streambank, surveying the smoldering ruins of the hordetents. Soldiers, some with fur badly scorched, kept bringing in reports.

“Weve found the two weasels Scarback and Marbu!. They were strangled to death, Lord.

Swartt dismissed them with a wave of his sword. “Just as well, Id have throttled em meself if theyd lived, for not warnin me of the crow attack. Any more sentries left alive?

Aggal pointed out a pair of rats. “Only those two, Lord.

Swartts face was expressionless as he pronounced sentence. “Slay em, theyre no good to me sleepin on duty. Make sure the rest see yer do it, teach em a lesson!

A weasel called Grayjaw came running up, breathless. “Sire, weve seen the crows. Theyre in that grove of pines over yonder. Give the word an well attack!

Swartt shook his head as if in despair.

“Listen to her. Give the word an well attack. Blockhead! Theyve probably got an ambush set up for us if we go near those pines. Leave em, theres no profit in losin more of us by stayin in this place an wagin war on a lot of crows.

Nightshade slid to the Warlords side and whispered in his ear. Swartt brightened slightly, nodding approval, and, standing up, he called so that all could hear: “Salvage what ycan, pack all gear, were leavin!

The horde broke camp at midmorning. As they turned to march south and west, Swartt nodded to the line of archers standing round a fire. “Give em back what they gave us. Fire!

Burning arrows sped into the pine grove. It was a natural firetrap, with thick layers of dead pine needles providing a floor and old pines leaking resin, supporting half-fallen trees, dry as tinder and highly flammable. Swartt had lost more than threescore hordebeasts to the crows, but it did not make much of a dent in his horde, many of whom mourned the loss of their tents more than that of their dead comrades in arms. Black smoke belched skyward as the Crow Brethren tumbled out like a pile of old dark rags to take refuge on the stream banks.

Krakulat watched the pine grove bum, saying, “Kchaakah! We will follow them and kill them One by one. Come!

The first the horde knew of it was not long after midday. A horderat marching slowly at the rear was seized by a score of crows and lifted screaming into the air. The birds flew as high as they could with their wriggling wailing burden, then they dropped him. He left a dent in the landscape; other hordebeasts leapt to one side to avoid being hit by the falling rat.

After that a whole company of archers was ordered to march at the rear facing backward, their bows ready strung against further attacks. Next the crows picked another rat off the middle right flank, and the archers at the rear could not fire for fear of hitting their comrades. Before sundown a third rat was lifted off, this time from the front left flank of the marching horde. Swartts bad temper descended once more, and he ordered the vixen to march alongside him. Repeatedly treading on her footpaws and digging her in the side with his mailed paw, he upbraided her. “Burn em out of the pines, Lord? Shortsighted stupidity! Whatve yer made me look like, eh? A slopead like yerself! Those birdsll follow us until were dead or they are. Righto, my bright seer, see me a way out o this, an quick about it!

Chaos was beginning to break out in the horderanks as the rats, realizing that they were the only ones light enough for the crows to lift into the air, started panicking. Pushing and shoving at weasels, stoats, and ferrets, the rats tried to occupy the center of the marching masses, where the crows dared not fly down upon them. Hordebeasts fought the rats viciously, claiming the center spot for themselves and their families, some with young ones. The crows, however, did not have it all their own way. Archers and slingbeasts began a relentless barrage of stones and shafts at the dark-winged harassers.

As night fell Swartt was forced to make camp. A burning ring of fires in the open surrounded the horde, stopping the crows picking off anybeast on the fringes. Half the soldiers were ordered to stand upright, pointing spears, javelins, and longpikes at the sky, while their comrades rested until it was time to relieve them. Swartt ordered Nightshade to sneak off under cover of darkness and scout ahead for a possible solution to their dilemma. Krakulat and his Brethren squatted out of range of the campfires. Bonebeak gave her husband no peace, as she constantly berated him.

“Rakaaah! Vengeance is a fools idea, what good will it do us when we are all dead? You have slain enough of the land-crawlers to pay for your mothers life ten times over. Our Brethren must get on with the business of living, we must find new homes. If you get us all slain, who will be left to say what brave birds we were, what a courageous fool Krakulat was? Kchaah!

She followed the Crow Commander as he waddled angrily between the sleeping Brethren, trying to shake her off.

“Agga! Give your feathers a rest, and your nagging beak too! he snapped. “I will say when I have had my revenge on the vermin. The Brethren follow me, my word is law here. Now leave me alone!

The night wore on with both sides fitful and uneasy, the horde unable to rest because of their guard duties, while the crows were kept awake by the constant tirades of their leaders wife.

It was still several hours to dawn when Nightshade slipped back into camp with news for Swartt. “Lord, there is a deep winding ravine not far from here. A stream runs through the center of it, and I think there are caves on the stream bank. I saw no sign of other creatures there.

Swartt stood and drew his sword decisively. “Right, tell the Captains tget this lot movin. Well get to the shelter of this ravine an take cover in the caves. Then I can figure out what tdo about these crows!

The horde entered the gorge in darkness, stumbling over the rocky defile at the shallow end of the ravine, still beset by the crows. It was a scene of chaos. Swartt and his Captains yelled commands at the hordebeasts above the cawing din of the birds, vermin fired arrows and slung rocks willy-nilly, others jabbed at the night sky with spears. Splashing through the stream, they bundled into the shaded gloom of the caves. There was not room for all the hordesoldiers, and many were forced to shelter amid the lupin and brambles of the steep ravine sides. Swartt had managed to light a fire in one of the caves. He looked around at the rushes and dry grass pallets in the corners, then said to the vixen, “So, you saw no sign of any other creature, eh? Well, who lives in these caves, tell me that?

Screams and terrified cawing from outside saved the vixen having to answer awkward questions. “Lord, listen, something strange is happening outside! she cried.

The Warlord peered outside, taking care to stay away from the cave entrance. “Well, itll be dawn soon, then well find out.

The agonized choking cry of a hordebeast rang out, causing Swartt and the vixen to start. Nightshade slunk to the rear of the cave, avoiding Swartts glare. He shook a mailed paw at her threateningly, snarling, “By rights I should send you out there, yer cringin cur! Sometimes I think yer more trouble than yer worth.

After a while it went quiet outside, and all that could be heard was the odd moan of vermin who were obviously wounded.

Dawn arrived gray and patched with lowering clouds. A fine drizzle caused the gorge to glisten wetly. Swartt poked his head out of the cave to see half a dozen foxes come splashing through the stream shallows toward him. The leader was a large, tough-looking vixen, and like the others of her escort she carried a bolas, four thonged, with rounded pebbles fastened to its ends. The Warlord tried to hide his surprise when the vixen spoke, for her tongue was a bright purple, unlike any he had seen.

“Be ye the leader of this motley array? she barked.

Swartt could see hordebeasts peeping cautiously from the other caves and scrambling down the gorge sides. His quick eyes took in the number of slain vermin draped over the rocks. More foxes, maybe fifty, were collecting dead crows and heaping them in a pile. The ferret drew his sword and put on a bold face, saying, “Im Swartt Sixclaw, Warlord of all this horde. I see youve slain some of my soldiers. Why?

The vixen spun her bolas idly, clacking the big pebbles together rhythmically. “Follynfie! Twas a mishap; did I not rid ye of the crows?

Looking up, Swartt had to agree. There was no sign of a crow flying anywhere about. He saw a young fox plucking feathers from the carcass of Krakulat to decorate his brush with. “Aye, the crows are gone, sure enough, he said. “What do they call you, friend? Never mind the few of mine you slew, those crows were becomin bothersome.

The foxs purple tongue showed vividly as she answered. “I am Shang Damsontongue, and this is my gorge. Ye may stop awhile, Swartt Sixclaw.... Shangs eyes glistened covetously as she watched Swartts sword. “Ye have many fine metal weapons, she continued. “Thy beasts carry spears and good daggers. I see shields, too, much metal.

Immediately Swartt was on his guard, though he took it as an advantage that the foxes seemed only to be armed with the primitive stone-and-thong bolases. Obviously metal arms were considered precious by the foxes of the gorge. Swartt sheathed his sword, the beginnings of a crafty plan forming in his mind.