Mossflower (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Martin turned to his army.

  ‘Let us go and settle the score with Kotir!’

  Brogg cursed in the half-light before dawn as he tripped upon a coil of rope lying in the main hallway. The place was a jumble of snaring equipment. The weasel Captain rubbed a bruised paw and wished he had not been so enthusiastic on the previous day. Picking up the rope, he hurled it at Chinwart, as the rat was settling down for a quick nap in the corner.

  ‘Come on, dozychops. On your paws. I thought you were supposed to be helping me sort this mess out?’

  ‘What about the others?’ the rat yawned. ‘Why aren’t they all awake and helping?’

  Brogg paused, letting go of the net he was dragging to the doorway. ‘Good idea. Why should I have to do it all myself? Chinwart, go and kick them out of their billets, say that anyone who isn’t ready to parade smartly will be reported to the Queen.’

  The threat worked. A few moments later the hall was filled with sleepy soldiers; but seeing Tsarmina was not about they offered no help. They lounged about, sitting on the stairs.

  Brogg remembered Tsarmina’s advice.

  ‘Attention,’ he called. ‘First one out on the parade ground carrying a trap gets double supper this evening. Anybody who lies about will be sentenced to half bread and water.’

  Chinwart grabbed three stakes and scuttled outside. The rest began half-heartedly picking up nets.

  Chinwart came hurtling back inside.

  ‘Cap’n, they’re out there!’ he said wildly.

  ‘What are you yammering on about now, rat? Who’s out there?’

  ‘Woodlanders! Go and see for yourself!’

  Recalling the last woodlander raid, Brogg acted with caution. He poked his head around the doorway nervously, ready to pull back swiftly in case of arrows.

  The main gates had been flung agape. Standing in the open with the dawn mist evaporating in the sun around them were a number of creatures: a badger, a mouse in armour and that brawny otter. Brogg did not linger to see if there were others.

  ‘Chinwart, go and rouse the Queen, quickly!’ he ordered.

  Tsarmina came bounding down wide awake, she peered round the doorway with Brogg.

  ‘So, at last they’re showing themselves. Maybe we might not need the snares, Brogg. Perhaps they’ve walked straight into a trap.’

  ‘But, Milady, they’re carrying a white flag. Doesn’t that make them peaceable?’ Brogg protested.

  ‘Don’t believe all you see, Brogg. You’re carrying a sword, but that doesn’t make you a soldier. Let’s hear what they have to say.’

  As she stepped boldly out into the open, Tsarmina whispered out the side of her mouth at Brogg, ‘Get the archers. Wait for my signal.’

  None of the deputation was armed, except the mouse who carried a sword at his side. Tsarmina recognized him immediately, also the cheeky mousethief standing behind him. She curled her lip in scorn.

  ‘Escaped prisoners and woodland rebels, what do you want?’

  ‘We are the leaders of the Corim come to deliver an ultimatum.’ The warrior mouse’s voice was hard and clear.

  Tsarmina’s mind was racing. All the leaders here in one place; they must not be allowed to escape alive. Had Brogg organized those archers?

  ‘Well here I am, speak your piece.’ The wildcat Queen kept her voice deceptively calm.

  The warrior pointed a mailed paw at her. ‘Listen carefully to what I say, cat. You and your creatures have no right to tyrannize or try to enslave woodlanders. We are honest and free. Mossflower is our home.’

  ‘You insolent upstart!’ Tsarmina laughed harshly. ‘I should have killed you when I had the chance. Do you realize who you are threatening? I am Tsarmina, Queen of the Thousand Eyes, Ruler of Mossflower.’

  Her adversary did not seem impressed. ‘I am Martin the Warrior, and I have not come here to make idle threats. This is what I have to say: leave this place by sunset today, take your army with you, go where you will, but stay clear of Mossflower and do not try to harm any woodlander.’

  Tsarmina glanced over her shoulder; she could see the archers standing ready inside the doorway.

  ‘If I do as you say, what then?’

  ‘You will be allowed to leave in peace and none of your creatures will be harmed. You have my word as a warrior.’

  Tsarmina shrugged. She held her paws open wide. ‘What happens if I choose not to leave?’ she asked.

  Martin’s tone was like Boar’s hammer striking the anvil. ‘You will die here, you and all your vermin. I will bring this evil place down on your heads. Again you have my word as a warrior.’

  Tsarmina remained silent for a moment, as if considering both offers. When she spoke again her voice was flat and dangerous. ‘Big words for a little mouse. I will make no promises save one: you will all be slain where you stand.’

  At her signal a score of archers leaped forth, ready to fire.

  She folded her paws, smiling sarcastically. ‘What do you say to that, little warrior?’

  Martin stood like a rock, showing no trace of fear. ‘Then we will stand here and be killed by your arrows. But look behind me at the trees and on your outer wall. Every woodlander who can draw bowstring or throw javelin is aiming straight for your treacherous heart. You would not get a paw’s length before you were sent to the gates of Dark Forest. So carry on, cat. Tell your archers to fire. We will die so that Mossflower can be rid of you.’

  Tsarmina’s eyes shifted, dodging back and forth. Otters, mice, squirrels, hedgehogs, even hares – there seemed to be as many of them as leaves in an autumn gale. Each with a weapon trained on her, every face grim with determination.

  ‘Down bows!’ she called to her archers in an urgent hiss.

  The soldiers pointed their bows to the ground, allowing the strings to slacken off.

  The Corim leaders began walking backwards out of the gateway.

  Tsarmina extended a quivering claw. ‘This isn’t where it finishes,’ she threatened, her voice shrill with rage. ‘Oh no, this is only the start.’

  Martin’s response rang back at her. ‘Until sunset tonight. We will wait outside for your answer.’

  Brogg popped his head out. ‘Don’t forget to close the gates after you, huhuhuh!’

  As the gates closed, Bella’s voice was loud and clear. ‘These gates are being shut, not to stop us getting in, but to keep you from getting out.’

  Tsarmina dashed inside. ‘Get those nets and ropes out of my way. I want everybody up to the top of Kotir, the very top. Hurry!’ she urged.

  Gonff stood in the shadow of a sycamore with Martin.

  ‘Well, matey, it’s done now. We’re all in it, win or lose. No second chances. You heard the cat – this is only the start.’

  ‘She’s planning something, Martin,’ Lady Amber said from up in the branches. ‘It’s gone too quiet in there for my liking.’

  Martin looked up. ‘Mine, too. Tell the leaders to draw their companies back under cover. Let us wait and see what move she’ll make.’

  Whispered orders went out, and the woodlanders moved back, blending into the green shade and mottled shadow. The outside wall was deserted; not a whisker, paw, or weapon showed anywhere. Eerie silence fell upon the soft morning warmth, broken only by a faint rustle of breeze through the treetops.

  Filing silently up a wooden loft staircase, Tsarmina led her forces out onto the flat, square, battlemented roof of Kotir. Signalling them to lie low, she peered over the top of the wall.

  ‘Quietly now. Archers come forward. Keep your heads down and station yourselves around these battlements. Be ready to fire at my command.’

  The archers deployed stealthily. They lay waiting.

  Tsarmina nodded to them.

  ‘Fire!’

  A deadly hail of arrows flew earthward. She watched as they vanished into the treetop foliage. There were no screams or cries from below; silence reigned.

  ‘Fire again!’

  A second volley of shafts plunged
down into the green fastness.

  Still nothing.

  Further back in the woodland, Skipper munched an oatcake. ‘I wonder if the cat’s allowing her troops an early snack?’

  Timballisto polished and apple on his fur. ‘Shouldn’t think so. Look at those arrows peppering the trees where we stood a moment ago.’

  The woodlanders sat eating, watching scores of arrows striking the branches and soft earth, just out of range of where they sat. A Loamhedge mouse was sharing a bowl of milk with Gonff.

  ‘Shouldn’t we be firing a few arrows back, sir?’ he asked boldly.

  ‘No, matey. Waste of time. Too high. Besides we’d give our position away to them. Let ’em waste more shafts awhile yet.’

  ‘Unless we could get high up in those trees on the north side,’ Barklad said as he nibbled a stick of celery.

  ‘Could you hit them from there?’

  ‘What! Good squirrel archers! Of course we could, Martin.’

  The warrior mouse pondered. ‘Hmm, possible I suppose. But we’d need something to decoy them into concentrating their fire over this way. Any ideas, Amber?’

  Tsarmina waved her paw for the archers to cease fire. Some of them did not see her and kept shooting.

  ‘Stop, that’s enough, fools,’ she shrieked. ‘Can’t you see they’re not there!’

  The arrows stopped. A fox called Bentbrush turned to his companion, a rat named Whegg.

  ‘Bane would have thought of something to weed ’em out,’ he said nostalgically.

  ‘Like what, for instance?’

  ‘Well, like, er. I don’t know. But he’d have thought of something.’

  ‘If he was so smart, why is he so dead now? Look, the bushes are moving down there!’

  Tsarmina was alongside the rat in a flash. ‘Where? Show me!’ she demanded eagerly.

  ‘Down there, right by where we were shooting.’

  The fringe bushes at the wood’s edge were indeed shaking and rustling.

  Tsarmina smiled with satisfaction. ‘So, we weren’t just wasting arrows; some of them are hit. Over here, you lot. Give those bushes a good raking with arrows. I don’t want anything left alive down there. Ready, fire!’

  The shafts went through the bushes like a shower of rain.

  Lady Amber climbed high in an elm until she glimpsed the back of the soldiers over the battlements. Notching an arrow to her bowstring, she murmured to the twelve stout squirrels who were following her example, ‘Three shots, quick as you like, then away from here.’

  The shafts flew straight and true, striking the huddled group who were firing upon the bushes. Tsarmina was saved by the body of Bentbrush, who fell across her, two arrows protruding from his back. There was nowhere to run on the open roof; a score of soldiers were struck by arrows.

  Before they could recover and retaliate, the squirrels had gone.

  Log-a-Log and Foremole sat some distance from the bushes. Well hidden, they tugged vigorously at lengths of rope that were attached to bush and branch.

  ‘Yurr, ‘ow long do us’ns keep a-tuggen ’ee ropes?’

  ‘Take a rest now, Foremole. They’ve stopped firing.’

  Lady Amber and her squirrels swung in from the high branches.

  ‘Good decoy, Martin,’ she congratulated him. ‘We gave them something they won’t forget in a hurry. Nearly got the cat, but a fox fell across her.’

  ‘Yes, a clever strategy, but you must keep on trying to think one jump ahead of Tsarmina. She’ll come back at you with something else, if I know anything of warfare. That cat is as cunning as any sea rat, you’ll see,’ Log-a-Log warned.

  Martin pointed to Chibb descending from the blue. ‘Here comes my spy now.’

  ‘Er, ahem, I overheard the cat giving orders.’

  ‘What was she saying?’

  ‘Well, harrumph, ahem. Most of it wasn’t fit for the ears of any decent creature, but she’s left a token force on the roof and is taking the rest downstairs.’

  Martin unsheathed his sword. ‘That may mean she intends coming out to make an attack on us.’

  Bella nodded. ‘Well, she can’t get through the gateway. I’ve locked and wedged that gate myself.’

  ‘Then they’ll probably be coming over the walls,’ Skipper interrupted. ‘This is what I’ve been waiting for, hearties – a good chance to use my pike hares.’

  ‘Oh, we’ll be there, old bean, pikin’ away.’

  ‘Rather. Done this sort of thing before, doncha know.’

  ‘Jab, thrust and whatnot; all part of the game.’

  Young Dinny waved a dagger at his crew. ‘Ho arr, we be roight aside ’ee. Wudden miss et furr nuthen.’

  Martin called order. ‘I want no pitched battle or wholesale killing,’ he told them firmly. ‘You must do just enough to defend our position and send them back in retreat over that wall. Lady Amber, keep squirrels high in the trees; have them take brushwood shields for protection. They must keep those archers on the roof pinned down.’

  A weasel called Foulwhisker peered around the doorway to the parade ground.

  ‘All clear, Milady. They think we’re still on the roof,’ he reported.

  ‘Good. Get across the open ground quickly and don’t drop those ladders.’

  The attack force was a large one. Brogg led them across the parade ground to the wall.

  ‘Right, you lot. Set the ladders up and get climbing,’ he ordered.

  They scaled the walls until the top of the stonework was thick with soldiers. Nervously they watched the trees, until Brogg came up last, panting hard.

  ‘See anything?’

  ‘No, Cap’n. All clear.’

  ‘Then haul these ladders up and let them down the other side.’

  As the last troops set paw on the woodland side, Martin appeared from the trees. He was backed by six hares carrying pikes. Brogg grinned; not a very large reception.

  ‘Troops charge!’

  Otters poured out of the undergrowth from behind Martin and the hares. From the left and right flanks, a horde of Mossflower irregulars sprang from hiding, closing like pincer jaws.

  Pike clashed upon spear as the two sides met, and battle cries arose.

  ‘Death to the woodlanders!’

  ‘Martin for Mossflower!’

  A fox struck down an oar slave. He was about to finish him off when Skipper thwacked him hard with a rock-laden sling, knocking the spear from his paws. The six hares were causing devastation, with their pikes easily outreaching Kotir spears. Soldiers facing fierce otters ran to the left or right, only to see the way barred by mobs of shrews, mice, moles and oar slaves.

  Brogg was no coward when his blood was roused. He fought madly to reach the warrior mouse who carried the whirling sword.

  Martin took a stoat low down, whipping the blade up and round at head height as Boar had shown him. Turning, he felled a weasel. Then Brogg was upon him, bulling forward. Unable to use his spear, the Captain threw himself at the warrior mouse. Martin saw him coming. Falling backwards and throwing his paws up, he caught Brogg off balance, tossing him neatly. Skilfully Brogg landed on all fours. Grabbing his curved sword, he came thundering back with the point held low. Martin rolled to one side, leapt straight up and chopped down with a double-pawed swing. The weasel Captain found himself holding a sword handle from which the blade had been completely shorn. He backed up to a tree, with Martin’s sword at his throat.

  ‘Back over that wall. Now!’ The warrior mouse’s voice snapped like a whip.

  To Brogg’s surprise, the blade lowered. He found himself dashing for the wall, shouting aloud, ‘Retreat, retreat. Back to Kotir!’

  Skipper hefted a javelin, taking aim at Brogg, but Martin’s sword pushed the weapon aside.

  ‘Enough, Skip. Let them go.’

  The vanquished troops fought tooth and claw among themselves to be first over the wall lest the warrior mouse change his mind.

  Loamhedge mice moved in to help the wounded.

  Martin, Skipp
er and Gonff stood breathing heavily.

  ‘You should have let us finish it, Martin.’

  ‘No, Skipper,’ Martin said firmly. ‘The only time I would have allowed that was if the cat had been here.’

  Gonff sheathed his two fighting daggers. ‘Blow me, matey. We had them whipped there. Why did you let ’em go?’

  Martin wiped his sword on the grass, staring at the slain of both sides strewing the woodland floor.

  ‘To show them we are not evil,’ he said at last. ‘We only want what is ours, and now I think they know we’re strong enough to get it. Could you not see, the fight is going out of those soldiers? They are beginning to look as if they need food. Their larders must be just about empty, and only the fear of their cruel Queen keeps them going. Besides, when I put my plan in motion with the help of some otters and my friend Timballisto, Kotir will be truly broken and defeated until it is only a bad name to frighten little ones off to bed with in the seasons to come.’

  Bella shook her head sadly as she picked up the limp form of a squirrel who had been a former oar slave.

  ‘You did right, Martin,’ she told him. ‘There is no greater evil than killing. I don’t care whether they call it war or justice. Life is precious.’

  A Loamhedge mouse wiped away a tear as she turned to Timballisto ‘I think Bella’s right,’ she added.

  ‘Aye, and so do I, young missie. But what can Martin do? He has to lead us to a lasting peace against a cruel and coldblooded cat,’ Timballisto said gently.

  There was no more fighting that day. Both sides halted to lick their wounds. Martin waited for sunset, whilst Tsarmina berated her soldiers as she tried to think up fresh schemes for victory.

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