Doomwyte

by Brian Jacques

  The young shrew shuddered as he saw the tail of the reptilian bulk sliding slowly into the passage of the subterranean lair.

  Veeku, leader of the carrion crows, stumbled into the rear cave, one wing hanging useless at his side. He crowed weakly, “Craaak, Baliss is here.”

  Korvus Skurr emerged from the shadows, mounting the rock above the deep, cold pool, where his monstrous fish, Welzz, dwelt. He stood impassively, trying to hide his fear as he awaited Veeku’s full report. Korvus had hoped, against hope, that the big snake might not reach his caves. From the messages that had reached him, he knew Baliss was badly hurt, and acting strangely. But all the Lord of the Ravenwytes’ speculations had been in vain. The giant adder had not succumbed to illness, or suffered further injury. It was inevitable, the massive reptile was akin to a force of nature. Baliss was unstoppable, and now he had finally arrived at the threshold of the Doomwytes’ realm.

  Favouring his broken wing, Veeku nodded back to the entrance tunnel. “Yaaarrr, Baliss has slain and wounded many carrion crows outside, now he rests in the passage to your main cavern. I was lucky to escape with my life, Mighty One.”

  Showing no sympathy for Veeku’s plight, Korvus Skurr stood watching the entrance between both caves. His keen eyes had not missed the smoothsnake trying to slide in undetected. The raven called out in a harsh monotone, “Raaaharr, come in, Sicariss, attend me. I will not slay you, we need counsel, my friend.”

  Sicariss had been avoiding her raven master for awhile. Still she had sought him out, knowing that old quarrels would be forgotten now, in the face of the ultimate peril. She wriggled forward, staying at a safe distance. “Lord of Doomwytesssss, how can my humble counsel help? I am at your ssssservice.”

  There was an amount of water in the entrance tunnel, which had slopped in from the stream outside. Baliss laid his diseased head in it, trying to gain some temporary relief from the hot, throbbing pain which raged through his senses.

  The giant reptile could neither smell the poisoned air, wafting from the boiling, sulphurous lake, nor visualise its immensity. Baliss lived in a world of pain, wrath and madness. The cold-water immersions were growing less effective as the infection from long-embedded hedgehog spines advanced, worsening rapidly. Truly, he could feel his once strong life starting to ebb.

  The snake held his blunt snout in the shallow trough of water. Only the desire for revenge on Korvus Skurr and his creatures drove him onward, filling his crazed mind and occupying every waking moment. The narrow passage was completely blocked by the thick coils of Baliss.

  From their vantage point above the entrance, the two watchers saw the end of the giant adder’s tail slide out of sight, into the hill. A thought struck Dubble. “If we could only collapse this lot in right now! Just think, Zaran, all Mossflower’d be rid of that slimy monster, as well as Skurr and his gang, eh?”

  The black otter shook her head ruefully. “Not ready, Dubble, too much work yet.”

  Together they made their way back to Zaran’s retreat beneath the streambank ledge, where Dubble began kindling a small fire with flint and the otter’s steel blade. He shrugged when the otter looked at him quizzically.

  “There’s no need to hide away now, I don’t think our enemies are lookin’ to ambush us. Huh, they ain’t in any position to attack anybeast right now. Fetch yore vittles out, mate. I’ll cook us a nice late supper whilst we try to think up some sort o’ plan. Wot rations have ye got there?”

  Zaran had very little—a withered section of comb honey, a few nuts and berries and two big apples, wrinkled but still edible.

  Dubble grinned at her encouragingly. “Us Guosim are great cooks, I’ll soon show ye a trick or two. I’ll borrow that blade o’ yores, if’n I might. You put more wood on the fire.”

  There was only streamwater to drink, but Zaran was pleased with her friend’s inventive cooking. They tucked into roasted apples, filled with berries, nuts and hot liquid honey, which Dubble had stuck on sharpened sticks.

  The young shrew nibbled away reflectively, posing the question, “Isn’t there anythin’ we can do to collapse that entrance in? Maybe I’ll help ye to dig, so we’ll get done quicker.”

  The otter licked honey from her paw. “No faster, Dubble only get in my way.”

  The young shrew hmmphed indignantly. “Sorry I opened me mouth!”

  Zaran flashed him one of her rare smiles. “I did not mean to hurt you, friend.”

  Dubble sipped water from a rough clay bowl. “I know ye didn’t, no offence taken, mate. What?”

  Zaran held up a paw to silence him; leaning toward the water, she listened carefully. Then Dubble heard the splash also. This was accompanied by a hollow bumping sound, and two quarrelsome voices.

  “I told you to paddle on the other side, now look what you’ve done!”

  “Hah, wot I’ve done, ya puddle-’eaded Abbeymouse, didn’t ye never learn t’paddle?”

  “Glubb, yuk! No, didn’t you?”

  “Gonfelins don’t need boats, so wot’s the blinkin’ use of learnin’ ’ow to wave an oar around, eh?”

  “Oh, stop moaning an’ give me y’paw before you drown!”

  “Huh, me drown? Who d’ye think helped ya t’the bank!”

  Jumping into the water, Dubble began wading out to the main stream. “I know who that is, come on, mate!”

  Bisky was on the bank, pulling a dripping Spingo up onto the rocks, when his paw slipped and she fell, splashing back into the water.

  She floundered about, yelling, “Didn’t they ever teach ya how t’pull a beast out o’ the water at that bloomin’ Abbey…. ’Ey, wot? Leggo! Gerroff me!”

  But the black otter lifted her, spluttering, onto the bank. “I am Zaran, friend of Dubble, you safe now, stop shouting!”

  Dubble moored the capsized Guosim logboat to the shore. “Wot’n the name o’ fur’n’feathers are you two doin’ here?”

  Bisky waved cheerily to him. “We’ve come to save you, in case you were in trouble!”

  Dubble shook his head in disbelief. “Me in trouble? Oh, an’ where did ye get the Guosim logboat, who said ye could borrow it?”

  Spingo stamped her paw irately. “That was ole bright snout’s idea, we found it up a sidestream, with some others. But I wish we’d left it where it was now, flippin’ useless thing!”

  Dubble gave the slim craft a sharp heave, tipping the water out and setting it upright. He retrieved the paddles, throwing them in the logboat. “Well, at least ye picked the pride o’ the fleet. That’s Tugga Bruster’s vessel, he won’t let anybeast near it!”

  Spingo giggled. “Oh, I’m glad it was that ole sourface’s boat I pinched. Shame we never sunk it for good.”

  Bisky went a few paces down the bankside and retrieved their haversacks, which were safe and dry. “Good job I slung these ashore before we were shipwrecked. Anyone for a bite o’ supper?”

  Dubble winked at Zaran. “Oh, I think we could manage a bite or two, especially if’n those vittles come from Redwall. Come on, ye can get dried out by our fire.”

  The searchers sat around the fire, steam rising from them as they listened to the account of Dubble’s travels. A Redwall supper was much appreciated. Zaran took an immediate liking to Friar Skurpul’s hefty dumplings; the rest, including dandelion and burdock cordial, went down exceedingly well. Bisky brought Dubble up to strength on the news from the Abbey prior to their departure, finishing with their encounter with Tugga Bruster. Dubble averted his face from the firelight, obviously embarrassed.

  “I don’t blame ye for what ye did to Bruster, mate. I know he’s me father, but I’ve never liked him. He’s always been a bully an’ a slybeast. D’ye know I used to look at other young Guosim, whose dads had been killed, or gone off missin’, an’ I wished I was like ’em. Awful thing t’say, ain’t it?”

  Spingo nudged the Guosim shrew playfully. “My da always sez ye can’t choose yore family, but ye can choose yore friends. So never mind, Dubbo, ye’ve always got us, we’re as g
ood as family!”

  They sat in silence, gazing into the flames, until Zaran noticed them yawning. “Sleep now, I keep watch. Dry and warm here, you sleep!” The otter brought some moss and dried grasses from the back ledges, spreading them around. Dubble curled up next to his friends.

  “Aye, sleep, an’ while y’do, try an’ think of an idea that’ll help Zaran an’ me to collapse that entrance in. Redwall wouldn’t be troubled agin by Wytes an’ that big snake if’n ye could.”

  Watching the shifting water patterns cast by the firelight on the ledges, listening to the peaceful gurgle of the night streamwater as it played along the bankside, the three young creatures fell asleep, each with their own thoughts and dreams.

  Starlight twinkled along Zaran’s double-bladed sword. She sat outside on the rocks, ever watchful, determined that the tragedy which had befallen her own family would not be visited on her new young friends.

  BOOK THREE

  Baliss

  Could nothing slay the giant?

  28

  Afternoon tea was about over in Redwall’s orchard. Dishes were being cleared onto trolleys when the Redwallers heard the tawny owl’s hoots of alarm. At first, nobeast seemed to recognise the distress call for what it was. Furff, the Dibbun squirrelmaid, clambered onto Skipper’s shoulder. She was giggling. “Heeheehee wot’s dat funny noise goin’ wooowoooowoohoo!”

  The brawny Otter Chieftain smiled. “I don’t know, liddle missy, let’s go an’ see.” With Furff still perched on his shoulder, Skipper ran from the cover of the orchard hedge. Once he was out on the open lawn, it was clear to see the main Abbey building door. There was Aluco, staggering about, with both wings folded on top of his head. As he stumbled to and fro, the owl was hooting for all he was worth. Placing Furff down on the lawn, Skipper broke into a run, shouting back to the others in the orchard, “Somethin’s wrong, mates, Aluco looks hurt!”

  Within moments, Aluco was being cared for, with a crowd of Redwallers on the wide stone walkway pressing around him. Brother Torilis soaked a towel with pennycloud cordial, still cold from its storage in the cellars. He held it on the feathered head, making a compress. “Lie quite still please, looks like you took a bad tumble there. How did you come to trip?”

  Aluco was made of stern stuff, as most owls are. Shrugging Torilis aside, he held the towel himself. “Why do you assume I tripped, owls are not in the habit of tripping and falling about. I was struck over the head by somebeast. Father Abbot, I think you’ll find that your emerald has gone.”

  The news struck like a thunderbolt; everybeast was talking at once, most of them repeating the same thing.

  “Gone, you mean stolen?”

  “And you were struck over the head!”

  “Who’d do such a thing?”

  “Did you see who did it?”

  The clamour rose, until the Laird Bosie roared, “Hauld yer weesht, ye daft, noisy bunch. Silence!” Abbot Glisam sighed gratefully as the mountain hare took command, with fine military precision. “Clear those dishes off yon trolley, an’ get the poor, braw bird on it. Stand back an’ stay oot the way, all of ye. Right, ma bonnies, let’s go tae the scene o’ this rascally outrage. Sister Violet, control these wee beasties, can ye no keep these babbies frae under mah paws? Skipper, Samolus, hurry ahead an’ guard the scene o’ the crime!”

  Even before they had reached the tapestry, Aluco scrambled from the trolley, smoothing his feathers with as much dignity as he could muster. “I’m well enough to get along unaided, thank you. Hah, just look at this!”

  The tawny owl hurried over to the place where he had been struck down. He waved the object with his formidable taloned leg. “I think this is what the thief knocked me down with!”

  Ignorant of such matters, Brother Torilis stared at the weapon. “What’s that supposed to be?

  The Gonfelin mouse, Gobbo, supplied the answer. “Huh, ain’tcha never seen a sambag afore?”

  Samolus took it, weighing it with one paw. “Aye, ’tis a sandbag sure enough, a good, well-made one, too. Sort of thing a Gonfelin might use.”

  Amidst angry growls from the Gonfelin mice, Gobbo faced aggressively up to Samolus. “Aye aye, ould un, wot’s all this, are yew tryin’ t’say it was one of our lot who clobbered that owlburd, eh?”

  The Abbot interceded. “No, no, not at all, my friend. All Samolus said was that the sandbag is normally a weapon favoured by your tribe. I don’t suspect one of you Gonfelins for a moment.”

  Tenka, a young Guosim shrew, stepped forward, paw grasping the short rapier at his belt. “An’ wot about us Guosim, eh?”

  Brother Torilis sniffed audibly. “Oh your tribe aren’t to blame, neither are these Gonfelins. I suppose the emerald took it upon itself to strike Aluco down, then it just rolled off, for fun!”

  Skipper slammed his hefty rudder hard upon the floorstones. His eyes were cold and angry. “Stop all this silliness! The Abbot ain’t accusin’ nobeast. But the Doomwyte Eye is gone, an’ that’s a fact. Now not another word from anybeast…. Abbot?”

  Glisam bowed to the Otter Chieftain. “Thank you, Skipper Rorgus. I’ll talk to the leaders of the Gonfelin and Guosim, perhaps they might shed a little light upon the problem.”

  The Abbot looked around both groups. “Er, has anybeast seen Nokko, or Tugga Bruster?”

  Brother Torilis pointed upstairs to his Infirmary. “I have the Guosim Log a Log in my sick bay. A most unpleasant beast, I’m treating him for two minor head wounds. You may interview him, should you so wish, Father.”

  Filgo, who was one of the Gonfelin Pikehead’s wives, ventured further information. “My Nokko’s up in Prince Gonff’s ole room, takin’ a nap. Said he had a headache, just afore tea.”

  The Abbot appeared puzzled. “Prince Gonff’s old room?”

  Samolus interrupted, “Er, that’s my fault, Father. Nokko kept pestering me about which room Gonff used to occupy. I didn’t know, but he kept on and on about it. So I chose the first attic room, above the dormitories. Who knows, Gonff might have stayed there at some time. I meant no harm, really.”

  Filgo smiled. “Well, it’s pleased my Nokko no end. He loves that liddle room like it was his own.”

  In company with Samolus, Skipper and Bosie, Abbot Glisam followed Torilis up to the sick bay. Tugga Bruster was lying in bed, propped up by three pillows. He gave the visitors a surly glare. “Well, what d’ye want, come to persecute me some more, have ye?”

  When he needed to be, Abbot Glisam could be quite formidable. This was such a moment. He gave the Guosim Chieftain a haughty stare. “I haven’t come to bandy words with you, about alleged tribulations you have received during your stay here. I’m going to ask you some questions, to which I need straight answers!”

  Tugga Bruster adjusted the bandage on his brow, and gave a sigh of obvious boredom. “Ask away then, but don’t take all day. I need me rest.”

  Glisam came straight to the point. “Brother Torilis tells me that he brought you up here this morning. Have you moved from this room for any reason?”

  The Log a Log shrugged. “Why should I, that un there, yore Healer, said I was to lie still an’ rest. So that’s wot I’ve been doin, ain’t moved nowheres.”

  Torilis nodded. “That’s true enough, Father Abbot.”

  Glisam turned to the Brother. “And you were with him all the time he was here?”

  The Infirmary Keeper nodded. “Yes, I was here, except for going to take afternoon tea in the orchard.”

  From a stool next to the bed, Bosie picked up a dark green cloak with a hood attached to it. “What’s this thing supposed tae be?”

  Samolus answered, “Oh that, it’s one of the old habits. Sister Violet an’ myself found a pile of them in an old chest. So we made them into dressing gowns or bedjackets. Some of these rooms can get a bit draughty in the winter season.”

  The Abbot paused a moment, then gave further instructions. “Samolus, take me to Nokko’s room, I’ll speak to him next. Skipper, would you and Lair
d Bosie kindly search this room from top to bottom.”

  The Gonfelin Pikehead was roused from his sleep by Samolus and the Abbot knocking on his chamber door. Placing a paw on his bandaged brow, he called out grumpily, “Go ’way, an’ give a porebeast some peace, will ye!”

  Without further ceremony the two Redwallers entered.

  Nokko smiled feebly. “Sorry, mates, I was right inna middle of a nice ole snooze then. So, wot can I do for ye, come an’ siddown on me bed.”

  The pair remained standing as Samolus came right to the point. “What ye can do for us, Nokko, is to tell us where you’ve been since teatime this afternoon.”

  The Gonfelin looked from one to the other. “Why, wot’s up, mates, wot’s botherin’ ye?”

  Abbot Glisam placed both paws in his habit sleeves. “My friend, you’d help us by answering the question.”

  Sensing that it was a matter of some import, Nokko replied promptly, “Well, d’yer remember that sherrew, Bruster? I put ’im down with a good ole butt, just after ’e slung young Dwink inta the ditch earlier t’day. I tell ye, Abbo, that Bruster must ’ave an ’ead like a boulder. Ye can’t see it, but under this bandage I’ve got a right ole bruise, an’ a lump like a duck egg. I missed afternoon tea through it. Me skull began to ache somethin’ fierce, so I came up ’ere to Prince Gonff’s ole room, just to rest me pore ’ead. Afore I knew it I dropped off t’sleep on this liddle bed. Good job ye woke me, or I’d ’ave missed supper, an’ snored through until tomorrer!”

  Samolus nodded. “So this is where you’ve been all afternoon.”

  Nokko grinned guiltily. “That’s right, Samo, mate. Why?”

  Feeling rather embarrassed, the Abbot answered, “Because the green Doomwyte Eye has been stolen, and Aluco was assaulted by whichever beast did it.”

  Nokko leapt from the bed, a look of shock on his face. “Ye don’t think I did it, do ye?”