Salamandastron (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

Mara rummaged in a sack of provisions. ‘Oh, you’ll find out soon enough. It’s too long a story for tonight – we’ll need rest if we’re going into battle tomorrow. Here, take this food. I’ll bet you’re hungry, eh, Sergeant.’

  ‘Huh, ‘ungry ain’t the word, missie. Hi could make a stew o’ me own ears an’ enjoy it!’

  ‘I say, Sarge, no need for that sort of thing, wot.’ Pikkle pulled a face and shuddered. ‘Tuck in and have a good supper, have a nap and wake up bright ’n’ breezy tomorrow, eh!’

  However, it was some time before Sapwood was allowed to sleep. The shrewd old badger Loambudd questioned him closely about what was going on at Salamandastron. Later she held a conference across the boat sides with Mara, Urthwyte, Log-a-log and Alfoh.

  ‘From what I gathered off Sapwood, I think that my grandson’s mountain is in a perilous position. Our help is sorely needed there. When do you think we’ll make land, Log-a-log?’

  The shrew leader watched the moonlit wake of his small fleet. ‘We’re running with the current and the wind is behind us. If the weather holds out, we’ll probably hit the beach by dawn – though if I put on extra paddlers we could be there in the hour before daylight.’

  Loambudd did not hesitate. ‘Then do it right away, my friend. There’s not a moment to lose. Now, let’s hold a war council and make plans . . .’

  Only the rolling night waves were witness to the five logboats cutting speedily through the sea towards Salamandastron. Grim-faced shrews dug their paddles deep, keeping the boats abreast of each other as the leaders conferred urgently.

  Salamandastron had been breached – the horde of Ferahgo was within the mountain!

  Bart Thistledown and his little band had fought a gallant action. Firing into the oncoming masses until their arrows ran out and thwacking away at vermin bodies, they defended the open fissure heroically until Oxeye sent Seawood and ten others to pull them out. Javelins clashed and slings whirled as they fought a fierce retreating action, having to desert the opening and back off into the maze of tunnels that honeycombed the mountain.

  In his forge room at the middle level, Urthstripe lay sorely wounded, bound to his bed by restraining bandages as he hovered between life and death. Ferahgo’s Corpsemakers flooded the lower corridors, crowding into caves and chambers – harassed by the hares, who, though overwhelmed by numbers, fought guerrilla style, popping up at intersections and appearing in the most unlikely places to loose arrows at the vermin.

  Oxeye was now in sole command of the Long Patrol. He used all his warrior cunning and skill to contain the horde within the lower levels; hares appeared, attacked, then vanished like smoke along the winding tunnels. Big Oxeye used the forge room as his centre of operations, issuing instructions as he stayed close to the delirious badger Lord.

  ‘Moonpaw, take Lingfur an’ Penny. Stay at the south stairwell an’ give ’em blood ’n’ vinegar. I’ll send a relief as soon as Catkin an’ Barfle get back.’

  Moonpaw took the two younger hares, saluted and set off at a trot for the stairwell. Oxeye watched them go, shaking his head despairingly as he slumped down beside Bart Thistledown. ‘It’s no good, Barty old lad. We can’t hold ’em back for ever – there’s too many of the vermin.’

  Wounded and battered from his defence of the opening, Bart grinned lopsidedly through a half-open eye. ‘No use shiverin’ over lost fur, Ox. What’d you sooner die of, old age or battle?’

  Oxeye shook his head admiringly. ‘Battle, I suppose. By the left, Barty, you’re a cool one!’

  His friend stroked a lancebutt with an injured paw. ‘Cool nothin’ – I’m quiverin’ like a jolly jelly inside, but don’t tell old Urthstripe that.’

  Oxeye took a damp cloth and bathed the badger Lord’s heated brow. Urthstripe was oblivious to all about him. He lay struggling against the restraining bandages, muttering, ‘Winter. . . . golden medallion. . . . cold. . . . Father, Mother . . . where are you? . . . White snow, white brother . . . cold!’

  The pale moon glinted off Ferahgo’s medallion as he sat out on the sands with Klitch. For once father and son were in agreement over their strategy.

  Ferahgo drew his skinning knife and pointed at the mountain top. ‘I’ll take a hundred and get up there; you keep up the attack inside – we’ll have them trapped both ways.’

  Klitch’s blue eyes shone gleefully into the night. ‘You took the words out of my mouth, backstabber. By tomorrow night the mountain will belong to us!’

  Ferahgo tapped the knifepoint against his son’s chest. ‘And while you’re in there, young one, remember: just keep fighting, don’t stop to look for badger treasure. I’ll do that when my horde have finished the job.’

  ‘Your horde?’ Klitch turned the knifepoint aside with his spearshaft.

  The Assassin twirled the knife deftly. ‘Yes, my horde – and so it will remain while I’m alive!’

  The younger weasel leapt up and bounded athletically up the rocks to the opening, turning to address his father before disappearing inside.

  ‘Once again we agree, old one. It is your horde . . . while you’re still alive!’

  39

  In the hour before dawn, Guosssom shrews leapt from the logboats into the shallows, willing paws pushing and tugging as they beached the five vessels on the shore in front of Salamandastron. Samkim and Arula looked up and down the empty beach, paws close to their weapon handles.

  ‘Yurr, Sanken, it be turrible soilent ’ereabouts. Oi wunner where all ’ee vurmints be agone to?’

  Sapwood was tracking through the sands. ‘Not too ’ard to tell Harula. I’m a-thinkin’ we might’ve arrived ’ere too late!’

  Loambudd lifted Ashnin lightly from the logboat and set her on dry land. Hefting a paddle, she joined them. ‘No time for gossip now. Gather round, everybeast!’

  Every creature present dropped what they were doing and crowded about the wise old female badger as she rapped out orders.

  ‘Urthwyte, Samkim and Arula – go with Alfoh and his tribe and find out what the position is at the mountain. Pikkle, you go with them and act as runner. The rest of you stay here with me.’

  Armed with rapiers and paddles, the tribe of Alfoh stole silently across the shore in the wake of Pikkle and the white badger. Samkim drew the sword of Martin as he hurried along with the frontrunners; Arula waddled alongside him, swinging a loaded sling. Automatically Pikkle made for the main entrance. He groaned softly as he saw the unblocked fissure yawning wide.

  ‘Oh no, it looks like Ferahgo’s stinkin’ lot have found a way inside!’

  At the opening, Samkim held up a paw for silence. ‘Hist!’ Badtooth had taken an arrow in his paw. Hauling himself painfully through the opening, the stoat sought a soft resting place on the sand. He was halfway through the opening when a huge white paw seized him by the throat. Badtooth gave a terrified gurgle as he was dragged out on to the rocks. Samkim held the edge of the sword across his throat, growling viciously, ‘One false move or a wrong word and you lose your head! Now speak up, what has happened here?’

  The unfortunate stoat gulped and whimpered out all he knew. ‘The horde are in there, tryin’ to fight their way through the mountain . . .’

  Pikkle grabbed him by the ear. ‘Where’s Ferahgo an’ Klitch?’

  ‘Klitch is in there, an’ Crabeyes, an’ Dragtail an’ the rest. I ’aven’t clapped eyes on Ferahgo since the attack started, I swear it!’

  Urthwyte and Samkim exchanged glances.

  ‘We’ll have to take his word for it,’ the white badger grunted. He knocked the stoat senseless with a sweep of his paw, looking about as if undecided what to do next.

  Samkim took charge, coming up with a fast and workable solution. ‘It’s going to be light soon – we’ll have to move fast. Pikkle, tell Loambudd that we’ve gone up the mountain to reinforce those inside. If she brings the rest up through this opening we can mount a two-pronged assault.’

  Alfoh clapped him on the back. ‘Good idea. Are you sure you’ve never
done this sort of thing before, young squirrel?’

  Samkim shouldered Martin’s sword with a wry grin. ‘There’s a first time for everything, matey!’

  Pikkle was gone in a spray of loose sand. Strapping his mighty dub to his back, Urthwyte began climbing. Arula threw up her paws in resignation as she started the ascent.

  ‘Burrhoo! Oi doant loik ’igh places, bein’ naught but ’ee mole. Bohurr, yur goes one cloimbin’ young beast.’

  Dawn broke in roseate splendour over Salamandastron as Mara and Loambudd thundered over the sands with the Guosssom of Log-a-log hard on their heels. Pikkle rested a moment as they surged by him. Eventually he regained his breath and grabbed a paddle.

  ‘I say, chaps. Wait for me!’

  Moonpaw was slain defending the stairwell. The gallant hare placed Pennybright and Lingfur behind her. The two young ones thrust either side of Moonpaw with their lances at the ravening pack of vermin that pressed its way forward up the stairs.

  Wounded in a dozen places, Moonpaw yelled to the two young ones, ‘Get back to Oxeye quickly. Tell him to send reinforcements.’ She gazed for a moment at Pennybright’s tearstained face. ‘Don’t stand there gawping, young Pen. Do as I say. Go on!’

  Moonpaw had a double-pointed javelin. Wildly she broke it in half over the head of a ferret. Brandishing both halves, she dived headlong into the press of foebeasts, yelling a last warcry.

  ‘Eulaliaaaaaa!’

  Breathlessly the two young hares sobbed out their story to Oxeye. He sat them down, keeping his voice calm.

  ‘Well, it looks as if we’ve lost the lower levels. Sorry I haven’t any food or drink to offer you two. Sit there and rest awhile. I say, Barty old thing, how’re you feelin’?’

  Bart Thistledown flexed his paws. Nodding to two other hares, he picked up his bow and quiver of arrows and limped off. ‘Oh I suppose I’m about ready for another scuffle, Big Ox. Come on, you chaps – duty calls, an’ all that. Oh, if I don’t manage t’ make it back, you’ll know its bye-bye Barty. Under those circumstances you’d be best movin’ His Lordship out of here an’ up to another chamber, wot? Toodle-oo!’

  The sounds of yelling, chanting vermin stamping about inside the mountain was growing louder. Big Oxeye threw a paw about Lingfur’s trembling shoulders and chuckled. ‘Noisy old lot aren’t they?’

  In the full flood of bright morning sunlight, Urthwyte’s party neared the top of the crater.

  Alfoh was staring at something up above as he fitted a rock to his sling. Whirling the weapon, he called out to Samkim, ‘Look, that’s a rat up there. Hey you!’

  The rat’s head was barely visible, but as Alfoh shouted he turned and showed himself. The slingstone took him under the ear with a distinctive thud. The rat screamed and toppled over the crater top. Instantly there was a mob of vermin, hurling rocks and firing arrows down on them.

  ‘Where did they come from? Who are they?’ Ferahgo could be heard yelling from the top of the mountain.

  Arula aimed a rock from her sling in the direction of the voice. She was rewarded with a cry from the Assassin.

  ‘Ow, my paw! Kill them, whoever they are!’

  A shrew stood to whirl his sling but an arrow took him through the eye and he fell back dead. Urthwyte picked up a sizeable boulder and hurled it upwards, taking out a rat and injuring a fox.

  ‘Charge! Eulaliaaaaa!’ The great white badger went surging forward regardless of arrows and stones.

  Samkim and Arula took up the cry. ‘Forward, Redwaaaaaallll!’

  ‘Logalogalogalogalog!’ The shrews broke cover and began scrambling up the rocks, slinging as they went.

  Klitch led a band of Corpsemakers along a twisting rock passage towards the stairwell. He trod scornfully on the body of Moonpaw as he mounted the stairs.

  ‘Kill! Kill! Kiiillll!’

  Standing to one side, he let his attack force sweep up the stairs, smiling craftily as he heard the death screams of the front rank who had walked into the range of Bart Thistledown’s bows. ‘Come on, you lucky rabble. It’s only a couple of hares. Rush them!’

  Big Oxeye picked up a longbow and arrows. Issuing slings and stone pouches to Pennybright and Lingfur, he nodded towards the clamour of battle echoing up through the passage outside.

  ‘Right, hares, up on y’ paws. Quick’s the word an’ sharp’s the action. We’ll have to go an’ give ol’ Barty a pull-out. His Lordship’ll be safe here until we get back. Young Pen, an’ you, Ling, give me a big smile – come on now. That’s the ticket. Now yell after me as we go. It’s the Loooong Patrooool! Eulaliaaaaa!’ Yelling like demons, they sped down the passage to Bart’s aid.

  Standing at the back of his command, Klitch watched as an ashen-faced Dragtail came running up from the lower levels. The young weasel eyed him cynically.

  ‘Where in the name of Hellgates have you been? It’s up here you should be, where the fighting’s taking place, not down there in the peace and quiet!’

  Dragtail was plainly scared and, breathing heavily, he hooked a paw back down at the lower levels. ‘Listen to that!’

  Echoing hollowly up through the rocky corridor the sound reached the young weasel’s startled ears.

  ‘Logalogalogalogalog!’

  Undecided as what to do, Klitch shrugged and smiled nervously. ‘Logalog? What’s that supposed to mean?’

  A well-aimed arrow took Dragtail through the chest as Log-a-log, Mara and Pikkle came hurtling along the passage at the head of a charging Guosssom band.

  With a terrified yelp, Klitch took to his heels, fighting his way through the vermin crowding the stairwell until he was safely ensconced in the middle of the pack. Unreasoningly he grabbed a fox by the throat and shouted into his face, ‘Nobeast told me about this.’

  The fox was about to reply when one of Big Oxeye’s arrows snuffed out his life. Klitch looked wildly about as he moaned, ‘It’s a trap. We’re trapped!’

  With a stentorian roar Lord Urthstripe burst through the restraining bandages, ripping his huge bulk up from the bed. Seizing a forge hammer, he lumbered off towards the upper levels. From some amazing reserve, the mountain Ruler had dredged up his wild strength; the madness of the warrior badgers was upon him – nobeast could stand in his path now, even despite the fearsome wounds that scarred his giant frame.

  Urthwyte’s party had gained the summit, and now they were fighting around the top of the crater. Ferahgo stared at the white badger, a wave of fear sweeping across him.

  ‘Kill the white one! Kill him! The one who slays the white badger is a richbeast!’

  Twenty crowded round Urthwyte as he battled furiously. Roaring mightily, he swung his oaken club. Samkim forged around the crater top, his sword flashing in the sunlight, leaping, dodging, hacking, thrusting – with Arula covering his back, swinging her loaded sling.

  ‘Goo on, Sanken, urr hurr. Make Redwell proud of ’ee!’

  Alfoh and his shrews fought valiantly with rapier, paddle and sling. There was no quarter given; shrew and vermin alike died that day on the heights. The creatures of Ferahgo fought with the ferocity of despair, bemused by the strange force that had scaled the mountain to offer them battle. Seeing his chance, Ferahgo sneaked up on Urthwyte, knowing that if he could slay the white badger the fight would swing his way. Urthwyte had his back to Ferahgo, hammering relentlessly at any creature coming into club range. The Assassin drew both his best knives, the killer and the skinner, and crouched low, bunching his muscles for the spring that would carry him on to the white badger’s back, where his blades could feast on the unprotected neck. Nerving himself, he made the spring.

  In midair time seemed to stand still. He heard the roar, saw Urthstripe appear in front of him and felt the shock as two fearsome paws caught him in their vicelike grip. Ferahgo screamed with shock. Galvanized into action, he began stabbing with both knives, plunging them into the body of the roaring badger Lord.

  The massive injuries he had formerly sustained, together with the horrendous wounds
of Ferahgo’s daggers, now caused Urthstripe’s fierce dark eyes to cloud over with deathmist, but his fate was not yet sealed. From the deep wells of strength within his gigantic frame he called up a last mighty surge that would enable him to rid Salamandastron of Ferahgo.

  Crushing the blue-eyed weasel to him, Urthstripe leapt from the top of the mountain, yelling his last beloved battle cry:

  ‘Eulaliaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!’

  The knowledge that he had glimpsed his lost brother for a moment hit Urthwyte; the look on his face caused every creature who had followed Ferahgo to lose their nerves completely.

  Alfoh pulled Samkim to one side. ‘Leave him here. Get Arula and my shrews down inside the mountain before he kills us all. Leave him here with the vermin!’

  Samkim could readily understand Alfoh’s meaning; the sight of the berserk white badger hurling himself bodily at the panic-stricken vermin was enough. Pushing Arula in front of him, the young squirrel followed the Guosssom band down the walkways that spiralled into the heart of Salamandastron.

  Pennybright hurried up from the forge room with a quiver of arrows. She passed them to Oxeye.

  ‘These are the last. There are no more!’

  Oxeye grinned as he fitted a shaft to his bow. ‘Good gel. Keep slingin’, Penny. Look at young Ling there – he’s tossin’ rocks like a good un. Want some good news, m’dear?’ There’s a band of shrews an’ whatnot attackin’ from the lower levels. Listen to this.’ Oxeye shouted over the mêlée at the top of his voice. ‘Duck ’n’ weave! Blood ’n’ vinegar! Long Patrol’s here!’ The sound echoed down the rocky stairwell.

  A moment later there was an answering call.

  ‘Jab an’ move! Give ’em a towsin’! Long Patrol’s ’ere too!’

  ‘Good ol’ Sapwood.’ Oxeye’s grin spread from ear to ear. ‘Knew I never sent him on that cruise for nothin’.’

  Lingfur looked fearfully over his shoulder. ‘Sir, look out! They’re behind us!’