Salamandastron (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  ‘I don’t understand. Why must you have me along?’ Mara scratched her head in puzzlement.

  Log-a-log spoke then, keeping his voice low. ‘Because you are a badger, and the ghost that haunts the island of the big lake is a badger also, a huge white one without stripes!’

  20

  Samkin and Arula sat in the late afternoon sun peeling the mud from themselves. Spriggat had proved correct: the stings came out with the mud. The young squirrel picked the last of it from his tail bush.

  ‘That mud is marvellous stuff, Arula. Look, there’s not a sting on me and scarcely a lump. I feel great.’

  ‘Ho urr, an’ oi loikwoise. ’Tis champeen mud, as ’ee say. Oi wunner whurr Maister Spriggat be agone to?’

  They had been so preoccupied with bankmud and stings that neither of them had noticed the curious hedgehog’s disappearance.

  Samkim rubbed his back energetically against the rough bark of a hornbeam tree. ‘Ooh, that feels good. I expect old Spriggat’s about somewhere. No need to worry over him – he can take care of himself all right.’

  ‘Hohohoh! That I can, young feller m’lad. Here’s yer tucker bags.’ Spriggat materialized out of the woods and tossed the two haversacks upon the bank. He was picking wasp wings from his teeth again. ‘I been back yonder ’mid the lupins and found these. Mmmtk! Found that broken waspnest too. I’m full as a stuffed duck. There’s nothin’ in all the woodlands like a good feed o’ buzzers, no sir.’

  Samkim and Arula checked their supplies. Most of the food was intact. They thanked him and sat down to share a small flask of October ale with their new-found friend.

  Spriggat swigged at the flask, a slow smile spreading across his snout. ‘Hoho, this be prime stuff. ’Tober ale, ye call it. An ’og could get use to a drink like this, I tell ye! Oh, by the by, young uns, I picked up the tracks of that stoat with your sword – not too far from ’ere, travellin’ south an’ west. If you feels up to it we can start trackin’ right away.’

  No further encouragement was needed. The two friends shouldered their haversacks and weapons. Spriggat was not a fast traveller; he was slow but exceedingly thorough.

  ‘Not too long till dusk now. See ’ere? Swordpoint’s been stuck in the ground – usin’ it as a walkin’ stick, the rascal is. Look, this is a smear of blood from a wound on the bole of this elm.’

  Samkin watched the hedgehog carefully. He was a master of trail and woodcraft, and without him it would have been nigh on impossible to follow Dingeye’s track. His wisdom and experience were proving invaluable in their search.

  Spriggat noticed their wonderment and laughed good-naturedly. ‘Hohohoh. Never fret, I’ll learn ye, young uns. ’Tis no disgrace to be shown a trick or two. I had t’ learn the ’ard way. . . .’ He paused to pluck a dragonfly from mid-flight and gobble it up. ‘Hmm, that’n were a longways from his stream. Tasty though. Now what were I sayin’? Oh aye, yew tew watch an’ take notice, an’ soon you’ll s’ave young ’eads on old shoulders.’

  ‘Doant’ee mean owd ’eads on young shoulders, zurr?’ Arula corrected him.

  ‘Hohohoh, so I do. You’re a bright un, Arula. A quick learner, eh!’

  In the depths of the woodlands, dusk overtook the trackers swiftly, the sunset in the west casting darkness between the haphazard columns of trees.

  Spriggat held up a cautionary paw. ‘Camp yonder beneath that three-topped oak. Mind now, no fire tonight – we be dangerous close to your enemy. I can smell somethin’ I don’t likes on th’ breeze. Yew tew bide by the oak and get supper ready. I won’t be gone long.’

  Before they could reply he had melted into the undergrowth ahead of them. Samkim and Arula squatted beneath the sheltering boughs of the oak and set out a simple supper of oatcake and apple, uncorking a small flask of elderberry wine for their absent friend.

  They had long eaten supper and were dozing on the soft moss at the base of the oak when a snap of wood caused them to come alert. Spriggat stood beside them with both halves of the dead twig in his paws.

  ‘Hohohoh, a lesson learned is a lesson remembered, I ’opes. Never both go asleep together, always ’ave one on guard an’ t’other sleepin’ – that way yew tew will never be sneaked up on, like I just did. What’s this? Mmm, tastes good!’

  Samkim refused the proffered flask, letting the hedgehog drink as much as he liked. ‘It’s elderberry wine, Mr Spriggat, made at Redwall Abbey. Keep the flask and drink it all. What did you find out there?’

  Spriggat caught a droning gnat neatly with a flick of his head. He chewed it reflectively. ‘Gnats ain’t nearly good as wasps ’n’ bees – too acid-tastin’. Now, where were I? Oh aye, what did I find? Well, I’ll tell yew tew, that were a strange scent I caught on the breeze a while back. ‘Twas death! Aye, death an’ other things . . . the whiff of rats – can’t mistake that stench – fox too, though I can’t be certain o’ that . . .’

  Arula rocked back and forth impatiently. ‘Burrhoo, Maister Spriggat, wot did ’ee find out’n thurr?’

  ‘No sight fer yew tew t’be lookin’ upon, young uns.’ Spriggat took a sip of wine and smacked his lips appreciatively. ‘It were the stoat, but his ’ead was chopped clear off! Most likely done wi’ that sword you’re a-seekin’.’

  Samkim was shocked that the sword of Martin the Warrior should have been put to such base use as murder. ‘Nobeast could use Martin’s blade so foully. It’s dreadful! The sword of our Abbey Warrior was only ever lifted to defend the right and good in fair combat. How could anybeast treat it in such a wicked way?’

  The old hedgehog shook his head at the young squirrel’s innocence. ‘Ye’ve a lot to learn, laddie. There’s no magic in any weapon. That sword may be used for good or evil; it all depends on the creature who wields it. C’mon now, sleep. We’ve got a full day ahead tomorrow. Rats ’n’ foxes ain’t as careless about their tracks as that pore silly stoat were.’

  That night Samkim’s head was full of dreams. Martin the Warrior appeared, and there was the rolling hiss of great waters. Shadowy figures fought battles across the paths of his mind, great lumbering mist-shrouded creatures . . . badgers! The voice of the Warrior echoed all around:

  ‘Courage, Samkim, courage. Follow and find my sword, for destiny lies heavy upon you. Trust Spriggat, and take care of Arula. I am with you, no matter how far you may roam. Do not lose heart. Remember the words of Spriggat: the sword may be used for good or evil by the creature who wields it . . .’

  The dawn was shrouded in a curtain of drizzle, though the thick woodlands offered fair protection. After a hasty breakfast the three searchers set off, Spriggat leading them on a course that skirted the headless carcass of Dingeye. Still following a southwest trail, they pushed on until mid-morning, when they halted in an open sward. The rain had ceased though the sky overhead was grey with rolling clouds.

  Spriggat cast about. ‘Hohohoh, whoever is carryin’ yon blade couldn’t resist a chop at this wild mint – I smelled it soon as we got ’ere. Look, see the cut stems? That sword is leavin’ its own trail. It’s as if it knows yew tew is follerin’ it.’

  ‘Yurr et be a very swingable sword,’ Arula agreed. ‘Sharp too, hurr.’

  Two rabbits popped up from the ferns at the edge of the sward and began chattering simultaneously.

  ‘Stupid sword, stupid fox, stupid rats!’

  ‘Weren’t chopping mint, y’know. Oh no, oh no!’

  ‘Trying to chop us. By the burrow, they were!’

  ‘Hope you haven’t got any silly ideas about chopping rabbits?’

  Their heads bobbed up and down as they spoke. They ran two paces back, turned and ran two paces forward all the time they were talking, alternately showing their white bobtails and scared faces.

  Samkim shouldered his bow to show they meant no harm. He spread his paws wide and smiled openly. ‘Don’t fear, friends. We’re not the kind of creatures who go about chopping up rabbits. I’m Samkim of Redwall, this is Arula and he is Spriggat the wasp-eater. We won’t h
arm you.’

  The two rabbits stopped hopping about and bared their teeth in what they hoped was a fearsome grimace.

  ‘Harm us, hah! Don’t you know I’m Fangslayer?’

  ‘No you’re not. I’m Fangslayer. You were Fangslayer yesterday. You can be Deatheye today.’

  ‘All right. Listen here, you’re talking to Deatheye now, so watch yourself, you scruffy squirrel, mouldy mole and hairless hog!’

  The mouldy mole picked up a hazel twig and took an angry pace forward. ‘Naow lookit yurr, bunnies, you’m moind yurr manners or oi’ll tan ’ee fur wi’ this stick, hurr urr, so oi will!’

  The two rabbits hugged each other and yelled aloud in panic. ‘Mummy, Mummy, the mole’s going to beat us with a stick!’

  A large fat female rabbit waddled out of the undergrowth some distance away and began berating the two rabbits. ‘Clarence, Clarissa, what have I told you about speaking to strange creatures? Get back to the burrow immediately!’

  The rabbits stamped their paws petulantly. ‘Oh, Mummy, we’re Fangslayer and Deatheye not Clarence and Clarissa.’

  She bustled over and seized them by their ears. ‘I’ll give you Fangslayer and Deatheye, you naughty bunnies. Didn’t I tell you to stop inside the burrow after being chased by that horrid fox and those smelly rats?’ She tweaked their ears until they yelped. ‘Well, didn’t I?’

  Spriggat made a courtly old-fashioned bow to her. ‘You’ll excuse me, marm, but we won’t harm your young uns. Did you say that a fox and six rats came by this way today?’

  She turned on the hedgehog with a mixture of temper and impatience. ‘That’s right, an evil-looking fox and six filthy rats. The fox had a sword too. Would you credit it, he tried to chop up my little Clarence and Clarissa, the ruffian! What are the woods coming to? As for you three, be off with you. Beating little bunnies with sticks! Have you nothing better to do with yourselves? Now clear off, go on! The other lot went that way, southwest. You tell that fox if you see him that I’ll give him a piece of my mind when he passes this way again, verminous villain!’

  She receded into the woodland, shaking the two rabbits by their ears and carrying on at them in a motherly way. ‘Straight to bed. That’ll teach you two. And no lunch for either of you until you learn to behave properly. Fangeye and Deathslayer indeed. Behaving like two little savages!’

  ‘Waaah, leggo my ears, Mummy!’

  ‘Wahahaaah! Don’t want to go to rotten ol’ bed, Mummy!’

  When they had stopped laughing, Spriggat ate a passing butterfly. ‘Huh, all wings an’ no taste, those things. Well, yew tew, I ’opes all the enemies you meet be as ’armless as those, though if you stood lissenin’ t’ that mummy rabbit for long she’d wear you to bits wi’ ’er tongue. Right, young uns. Let’s press on.’

  As soon as darkness had fallen on the previous night, Ferahgo put his plan into operation. The horde went charging towards Salamandastron, chanting as they brandished their weapons.

  ‘Fer-ah-go! Kill! Kill! Kill! Ferahgoooooo!’

  In the dining hall, Urthstripe sat with Sapwood and Oxeye taking supper. The sounds of the warchant reached their ears. Oxeye sighed wearily as he put down his beaker.

  ‘Night attack, sah. Shall we just block all openin’s an’ sit doggo in here? They can’t harm us, and all that’s required is a score of defenders round the crater rim. We can relieve them through the night, wot?’

  But Urthstripe was loath to sit still while there was the faintest chance of battle. He pushed aside his chair. ‘What? Sit in here while those scum crawl all over my mountain? Never! This is the ideal time to set up a few surprises for Ferahgo. Follow me. We’ll need long poles, archers, and oil too. Have that big barrel from my forge brought up to the crater top.’

  Ferahgo, perched upon a low rock with Klitch and Crabeyes, watched the masses climbing the outer rocks of the mountainous front face of Salamandastron. Doghead the stoat Captain ignited a torch, and others began lighting their torches from it. Soon the mountain was ablaze with twinkling lights as the attackers sought to find openings in the rocks that would lead them into the mountain. Dewnose had led three ferrets ahead of the rest. They were almost halfway up when one of them yelled, ‘Over ’ere! There’s an openin’, a sorta window cut into the rocks!’

  They scrambled to get in, Dewnose leading the way.

  ‘Evening, chaps. Nice night to learn flyin’, wot?’

  Bart Thistledown and Pennybright thrust forward with their long poles. Dewnose saw what was happening too late. The poles hit him square in the chest and he shot outward with a scream.

  ‘No, don’t. . . . Yeeeaaaggghhh!’

  Together with one of the ferrets who had squeezed in the window aperture with him, he went sailing into outer space. All over the mountain similar flying lessons were taking place.

  Down below, Klitch roared up at the crowds of soldiers who were trying to scramble back down, ‘Up! Keep going. Get to the top, you worthless cowards!’ He ran forward, climbing upwards and belabouring all about him with his spearbutt. ‘Come on, follow me, I’m not scared!’

  Ferahgo urged the attackers up, keeping the assault centred on the seaward side of the mountain. This way he hoped that Farran would have a clear path on the landward side.

  Crabeyes unslung his bow. ‘Shall I get the archers firin’, Master?’

  ‘addlebrain!’ The Assassin pushed him aside scornfully. ‘They can’t see anything to fire at. We’d be killing our own. Tell them to light more torches. Climb up there with ’em, and see if you can’t fire some arrows from close range into those slits they’re pushing the poles out of.’

  Sapwood clad himself in old rags and climbed out on to the mountain face. The bold hare moved about freely in his disguise. A weasel carrying a torch and shaking a pike climbed level with him. The Sergeant dispatched him with a swinging left-paw uppercut, the weasel’s lifeless body bouncing like a broken doll as it hit the ledges on its way down. Another weasel raised his spear at Sapwood as he balanced precariously.

  ‘Hoi! You’re not one of u—Aaaarrgghhhh!’

  The boxing hare merely banged his paws down on the weasel’s footpaws and the unfortunate spear-carrier danced painfully on empty space for a second before plunging shoreward. Sapwood spat on his paws and went in search of others.

  On the shoreward rim of the crater, Urthstripe and Oxeye were tipping the barrel of forge oil over a heap of large boulders. When the barrel was empty the badger Lord kicked away the wedge holding the boulders back. With a loud rumble they bounced off down the mountainside, and Urthstripe flung the empty barrel after them with a wild laugh.

  Climbing nimbly, Klitch was almost halfway up the mountain.

  A ferret named Frang grabbed his paw. ‘Sir, what’s that noise?’

  ‘Noise?’ Klitch pushed him savagely away. ‘It’s the sound of battle, you fool. Keep climbing!’

  Further up, a rat gave a half-scream as the first of the boulders ground him flat, the flames from his torch setting him ablaze as he rumbled downwards. Now the boulders were smashing into the topmost attackers, killing them instantly and igniting into huge fireballs as they touched the blazing torches which they had carried on Ferahgo’s orders.

  Crabeyes and the troops who had just started their climb came dashing back down.

  ‘Master, get out of the way!’ The Captain yelled as he passed Ferahgo.

  Ferahgo took one backward glance at the mountain as he fled. The front face of Salamandastron was lit up bright as day, and rocks roared with the wind fanning their flames as the blazing boulders cracked and burst, sending death and devastation widespread among the shrieking horde of the Assassin. Above it all could be heard the booming laughter and exultant warshout of Urthstripe, Lord of Salamandastron.

  ‘Hahahaha! Eulaliaaaaaa!’

  Farran the Poisoner slid noiselessly over the far topside of the crater. Without pause he made his way down and into the corridors of the mountain fortress. The first door he came to he opened silen
tly, and he looked inside. Nothing there. Shutting the door, he turned around to find himself face to face with Windpaw. The female hare was hurrying up towards the crater top with a supply of oil-soaked arrows. Swifter than her eye could follow, Farran flicked out a dagger made from greenhart wood and thrust the poisoned tip into the side of her neck. Windpaw did not even have a chance to call for help. She died instantly, her face in an agonized grimace. Moving like a flickering lamp shadow, Farran slid effortlessly down the passage, checking a cave here, opening a chamber there, until he found what he wanted. The water barrels were arranged along one wall, ten huge oaken tun vats. The black fox sighed almost lovingly as he lifted the lid of one and took a sip. Cool and sweet, rainwater and clear springwater mixed – it was perfect, but not for long.

  Carefully uncorking a green glass vial, the Poisoner went about his deadly work, dividing the contents of the vial evenly between the ten barrels. It was the work of a moment, then he was gone.

  Slipping off down the corridor, he descended a rough-hewn flight of rock stairs to the lower level. Farran spent considerable time checking the rooms on this level; they were all armoury chambers. The pale eyes showed no emotion, but he knew that he was wasting valuable time. Down the next flight of stairs he went in his search for the foodstore. Unfortunately, every room he went into was a dormitory. Taking a long spiral stairway, he found himself in the dining room. Farran knew then that the foodstore would be somewhere close by, near to the kitchens.

  It was quiet inside at the base level of Salamandastron; the rock walls shut off all noise from the outside. The Poisoner padded softly about until he found the kitchen entrance. His amber eyes flickered slightly at the sight of the food laid out there for the next morning’s breakfast. Ferahgo had never fed his army this well.