Gingivere smiled understandingly. ‘As you will, Bella of Brockhall. Give my best wishes to all the woodlanders, and don’t forget to tell Ferdy and Coggs to visit Uncle Gingivere and Aunt Sandingomm sometime.’
‘Oh I will, never fear,’ Bella assured him. ‘Thank you, it’s good to know that we of the Corim have two great friends always ready to help.’
The badger set off westward, back towards the leafy glades of Mossflower in the noonday sun.
‘Goodbye, Bella of Brockhall. Good luck to you,’ the cats called after her.
‘Thank you. Take good care of each other now. Goodbye, Farmer Gingivere. Goodbye, Lady Sandingomm.’
41
NIGHT HAD FALLEN over Salamandastron.
The war party climbed down the roof ladder onto the sand. Gonff, Dinny and Log-a-Log had been outfitted by the hares. They were helmeted and armed with long pointed pikes, smaller versions of the arms carried by fighting hares.
Martin looked around, checking out the company. There were Trubbs, Wother and Ffring, Harebell, Honeydew and Willow, his three travelling companions and Boar the Fighter. The silver badger towered above them all, looking fearsome enough to chill the blood of any sea rat’s veins. He wore heavy spiked armour across his back and front, topped off with a shining metal headpiece that came forward into a badger war mask.
Boar pointed his great war sword up at Buffheart as he gave final orders.
‘Make sure you pull that ladder back up safe, slide a rock over the entrance hole and don’t open it to any creature.’
‘But supposing you want to get back in again, Boar?’ Starbuck asked, gazing down from behind his father.
The badger chuckled drily. ‘Don’t worry, Star. A short climb and a rock slab won’t stop me.’
Lupin appeared at the opening. ‘Breeze is at the forge sobbing herself silly. Will you be all right, Boar?’
The badger did not look up. ‘I’m fine, Lupin. You’re the strong one. You know what to do.’
‘I do, Boar.’
‘Good. Then come on, you lucky lot, follow me. We’re going to a party with some sea rats.’
As they moved off, Gonff nudged Dinny. ‘What a happy badger. He seems to get merrier when he’s closer to a battle.’
‘Urr, wishen oi did,’ Young Dinny gulped. ‘Moi young paws be all of a-trimble.’
‘I’m glad I haven’t got that trouble, Din,’ Gonff giggled nervously. ‘Mine froze solid with fright some time ago.’
In silent file they made their way out to the shore, keeping close to the rock face. The party halted when they stood with their backs to the mountain. It was deserted, though Bloodwake bobbed at anchor close to the land.
Trubbs twitched his whiskers. ‘Don’t like this at all, chums. Not one little bit.’
‘I’ll second that, laddie.’
‘Thirds for me, old scout, wot?’
Gonff peered toward Bloodwake. ‘Maybe they’re still on board.’
Log-a-Log gripped his pike tighter. ‘No, mate. She’s riding too high in the water for that.’
‘Log-a-Log’s right,’ Martin whispered to Boar. ‘What do you think?’
‘Oh they’re here, somewhere,’ Boar chuckled softly. ‘I can smell the stink of sea rat fouling up my territory. Trubbs, you take the left. Harebell, around the mountain to the right. See if you can spot anything.’
The hares slipped off like sand on the breeze. ‘Look, there’s a small band of ’em,’ Boar exclaimed, pointing straight ahead. ‘Been lying low where the waves lap the sand. Ha, they don’t fool me. There’s some kind of ambush being rigged up around here, but don’t worry, we’ll be ready.’
Trubbs and Harebell arrived back at the same time. ‘Boar, they’re around the back of the mountain, hordes of them!’
‘Harebell’s right. I saw ’em too, all skulking in the shadows.’
Boar remained calm. ‘Huh, Ripfang seems to be using his brains more and his mouth less these days. They must have dropped off further up the coast and come overland, circling to get behind us. I told you that band up ahead was only a blind.’
Dinny gave a hoarse shout. ‘Look out! Yurr they’m a-cummen!’
From both sides of the mountain they filtered out in a swift pincer movement. Trubb’s estimate was right: there were hordes of them. Martin watched in silence as they formed a semicircle. He had never seen so many sea rats.
Villainous faces wreathed by black headbands and adorned with brass earrings snarled at them. Strange sickle-shaped swords with small round target shields were brandished high. Daggers and whips bristled where there were no swords. Martin thanked the fates that there were no archers.
Boar stood forward smiling hugely, leaning idly on his battle blade. ‘Well well. The gang’s all here. Where’s old snotwhiskers?’
The ranks parted, allowing two standard bearers carrying sea rat banners to come through. Standing between them was a rat, half as big again as any of the others, carrying a sickle sword and a long whiplash. A single fang grew overlong from the left side of his mouth, giving his face a grotesque sneer.
‘Here I am, mountain Lord. We have you surrounded and ready to die.’
Boar did not give the courtesy of a reply. He whirled his giant war sword aloft and charged with a thunderous battlecry.
‘Yoooohaaarrraallaayleeeeee!!!’
Both sides surged forward, meeting with a crash of steel upon the churning sands.
Martin felt the madness of combat searing through his veins. He leapt and struck, hacked and thrust, stabbed and slashed like a flash of hot summer lightning. Shields were shorn through by his flying blade, sea rats went down before him like corn to a reaper. They crushed inward, swinging their sickle swords. Dinny took a gash upon his shoulder. He was about to go down when Trubbs heaved a squealing rat high upon his pike, tossing him onto the blades that menaced Dinny. Gonff had lost his pike, but he went at them with a dagger in each paw, flailing like a windmill, up, down, across, over, his fear forgotten in the boiling melee of battle. Ffring was hemmed in on all sides, his bobtail shorn off; but Wother and Log-a-Log came vaulting over the sea rats’ heads on their pikes to save the beleaguered hare. Jabbing left and right, they were joined by Harebell. Foursquare back to back they fought, turning in a ferocious circle, spearing and ripping like a carousel of doom.
The rats on the tideline had begun to move. Boar swung low at the feet of his enemies. As they jumped, he carried the sweep high, the immense war sword slicing through at head level. Blood-spattered, pierced by steel in a dozen different places, he fought on, oblivious of his wounds, trying to reach Ripfang, who stood at the back urging on his sea rats.
‘Come to me, Ripfang,’ the silver badger chanted as he battled. ‘Meet Boar the Fighter. I am the son of Old Lord Brocktree, ruler of Mossflower, Chief of the mountain. My blade is singing your deathsong. Let Boar take you and your vermin crew to the gates of Dark Forest this night. The summer sun cannot stand the sight of you darkening the earth!’
Now the rats packed in harder at Ripfang’s command. The roiling mass of enemies seemed endless. Martin and his comrades wiped sweat and blood from their eyes as they battered heroically away at the tide of sea rats which threatened to engulf them.
The warrior mouse found himself back to back with Boar. ‘Boar, we’re hard pressed and outnumbered,’ he yelled over the noise of war. ‘It’d take us all season to slay this pack, even if they stood in line and waited.’
The silver badger made a rat into two half-rats with his sword. ‘I know, little warrior. I told you this was my fight. I’m sorry I got you into it.’
Martin extinguished a spitting face with his blade. ‘Not your fault, Boar. It was written.’
The badger used his sword hilt to pulp a rat who came too near. ‘Listen, Martin. Get the crew around you. I’m going to force a way through, then we’ll run for it. There’s only that single group standing between us and Bloodwake. Are you ready?’
It took a few moments in the batt
le until Martin had mustered his comrades in a group. There was a momentary lull as they stood ringed on all sides by sea rats.
Like chain lightning, Boar made his move with a furious charge. The mad onslaught carried them forward to the edge of the horde. Hewing ceaselessly, Martin and the rest broke through. They began running toward the small advancing band of sea rats.
Pikes clashed with sickle swords as they met. The astounded vermin were so taken aback by the ferocity of the attack that they broke and scattered.
Rushing onward, the friends made the water’s edge.
Honeydew looked back. ‘We’ve left Boar behind!’
‘No, he never came with us.’
‘Let’s go back.’
‘Stay!’ Martin’s shout was a cold command.
They turned to stare at the warrior mouse.
‘Remember your orders from Boar. Do as he said; it is the way of the warrior. Boar has seen his own fate written, there is nothing we can do to stop it. We must capture that ship.’
They slid into the surf with the sounds of battle still ringing in their ears.
There was only a token watch left aboard to guard the galley slaves. They leaped overboard at the sight of the roaring fighters who sprang dripping to the deck of Bloodwake.
Panting with exertion, Martin turned to Log-a-Log. ‘Get this vessel under way with all speed!’
The shrew rapped out commands to the new crew. ‘Slash that anchor cable. Hoist those sails. Martin, take the tiller – steer her out to deep water. You below, row for your lives if you want to taste freedom again.’
Pushing the tiller over, Martin felt Bloodwake respond. She turned on the ebbing tide with a stiff breeze at her stern, riding the waves out toward the open sea. The rest of them joined him as he stared over the after end, across the smooth wake to the shore.
The silver badger’s voice carried to them on the wind.
‘Sail away, my warriors. Tell Bella and Mossflower of Boar the Fighter. Come closer, sea rats. Let my blade kiss you to sleep. Ah, Ripfang, my old enemy, got you! Now I embrace you as a friend. See.’
They watched as Boar went down under a mob of sea rats who were howling and screaming. The badger wielded his sword with a single paw, the other mighty paw held Ripfang close to his studded metal armour, crushing him to death.
Martin turned away, blinded by tears. He could look no more.
Nor could his companions.
Before them lay the deep open sea. Behind them, the flames of Salamandastron burned bright over a shore piled and littered with dead and wounded sea rats.
The spirit of Boar the Fighter lingered on the sands, reluctant to leave a good battle and travel to the gates of Dark Forest.
The silver badger had seen the writing on the wall. He had fulfilled the legend of the mountain!
Tsarmina and Bane watched each other like pike eyeing a water beetle, the wildcat Queen from her high window, Bane from where he crouched shivering with the troops, drenched in morning dew, completely dispirited after a fruitless night spent in the forest. The rift was widening between cat and fox.
Bane squatted in the wet grass beside Brogg.
‘See how your Queen treats us? We shiver out here all night while she lies in luxury, warm and snug.’
Brogg squinted dully. ‘She always has. Milady is a Queen, you know.’
Bane spat at a small insect. ‘If I ruled Kotir, the troops would get the same treatment as me. Ask my crew. We always had plenty to eat. I never hid in safety and let them take all the risks.’
‘Is that why you pushed them out of doors, in front of all those arrows and javelins?’ Ratflank sniggered.
Bane cuffed him soundly across the snout. ‘Who asked your opinion, snivelwhiskers? I didn’t notice you volunteering to dash out and fight those woodlanders.’
Brogg stood up, brushing dewdrops from his cloak. ‘Ah well, they won’t be showing up this morning. Wonder how they knew we’d be lying in wait?’
Bane winked and tapped his muzzle. ‘Maybe she got word to them. That way she could have Kotir and the rations to herself. There’s enough supplies in there to keep one cat happy forever.’
Brogg scratched his chin. ‘Really? Do you think she’d do that?’
‘Well, look at the evidence.’ Bane laughed mirthlessly. ‘From what I hear, the garrison was in a right old mess before I arrived with reinforcements and rations. They say she was acting strange. You should know – she had you pulling tails and checking whiskers. What normal creature does things like that?’
As the force moved back to Kotir, Bane and Brogg were deep in quiet, earnest conversation.
Tsarmina watched them from her high window. She also scanned the surrounding treetops for signs that the eagle might be abroad. An idea was forming in the wildcat’s mind.
Later that morning, while Bane was supervising a team to replace the burnt door and window timbers, Tsarmina had Brogg come to her room. She fed him on cider and roasted woodpigeon as she wormed information from him.
The weasel Captain told his Queen all.
Tsarmina resumed her position at the window, watching the telltale quiver of a spruce top. When she turned to Brogg her voice dripped sincerity.
‘You have been a good and loyal Captain, Brogg. Make no mistake, your Queen will reward you. This fox forced his way in here while we were distracted by the woodlanders. He countermands my orders and whispers lies about me to my soldiers. Do you realize that if he had not barged his way in with his ragged mob, I was going to promote you to act as Supreme General.’
‘Me, Milady?’ Brogg could hardly believe his ears.
‘Yes, you. Say nothing of this to any creature, especially Bane. Let him carry on repairing our woodwork. He thinks he will rule Kotir one day. You stick to doing your job, Brogg. Keep my Thousand Eye soldiers loyal to me. As for Bane, leave him to me. If he speaks to you, tell him that I wish to see him, up here in my chamber.’
‘I will, Milady. You can trust me.’
‘I do, Brogg my good friend. Now go.’
The weasel did not stop backing up and bowing until after he was outside the room.
By mid-afternoon most of the repair work was well under way. Bane strolled up to the high chamber and slouched against the table where Tsarmina sat.
‘Well, what d’you want me for now, cat?’ he asked insolently.
Tsarmina pushed a beaker of elderberry wine across the table to Bane, and poured one for herself.
‘To you, Bane. A good job well done on the doors and windows. I could not have done better myself.’
The fox watched carefully, not taking a sip of the wine until the wildcat had drunk from her beaker.
‘Why this sudden honour, Tsarmina? What are you up to?’
The wildcat Queen shook her head sadly. ‘How did we ever come to this mistrust and enmity, Bane?’ She pointed a dramatic claw to the open window. ‘Out there is where the enemy is. The woodlanders are the ones we should be fighting, not each other.’
The fox took a mouthful of the rich dark wine. ‘I’ll agree with that, but what’s brought about this sudden change? Tell me, if we are to trust each other.’
Tsarmina passed a weary paw across her brow. ‘Until you came, I had not won a single victory over the woodlanders. Even when they attacked us yesterday you did all you could, but still I did not trust you,’ she confessed. ‘I made you wait out in the open all night and you never complained once. Today I looked from my window and saw you helping your band to repair the damage to Kotir. That was when I changed my opinion of you.’
Tsarmina refilled Bane’s beaker with wine. When she spoke again there was something approaching a sob in her voice.
‘Forgive me. I have misjudged you, Bane. You are a true friend.’
The fox quaffed the wine, then took the liberty of pouring himself some more.
‘You like the work that we are carrying out on the fire damage?’
Tsarmina pushed the wine jug so that Bane would not hav
e to stretch when reaching for it.
‘Indeed I do. It’s ten times better than my bumbling lot could have done,’ she assured him.
Bane nodded agreement. ‘Aye, my band can turn their paw to most things. They’re still working round at the larder and scullery entrance.’
‘Good,’ Tsarmina said over her shoulder as she rummaged in a wooden chest. ‘But what I’m worried about is the main gates between the courtyard and the woodland edge.’
The fox finished his wine, banging the beaker down decisively. ‘Right, let’s go and take a look at ’em, though I don’t think they’ll need much repair. They’re a solid old pair of gates.’
Tsarmina produced a cloak from the chest. It was a long trailing garment made from bright red velvet trimmed with woodpigeon feathers. Recently it had been cleaned and brushed.
‘I want you to take this cloak, friend,’ she insisted smilingly. ‘Wear it as a token of our new alliance. As you can see, it is not the plain cloak of a Captain; this was made for a Lord.’
Bane took the cloak. Twirling it round, he admired the colour and weight of the velvet. He swept it up, draping it around his shoulders. Tsarmina fastened the clasp at his neck.
‘There! How handsome you look. More like the Ruler of Kotir than I do.’
Bane’s paw stroked the feather edged velvet. ‘Thank you, Queen Tsarmina. This is a splendid cloak. Hoho, wait’ll my gang see their leader decked out in his finery. Come on, let’s take a look at that gate.’
There were many admiring and envious glances from Bane’s mercenaries as he strode across the courtyard.
‘By the fang. Look at old Bane. What a fine cloak!’
‘He certainly cuts a dash in it. I’ll bet he’s been promoted.’
‘Haha, he looks more like the Chief here than the cat does.’
Brogg and Ratflank leaned out of the barrack room window. The weasel Captain could not help remarking under his breath, ‘What d’you suppose the fox is doing wearing Ashleg’s cloak?’
Mossflower (Redwall) Page 30