Outcast Of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  Warpclaw knew it was a standoff, but he had the upper paw. ‘Shift those boulders or I’ll kill ’em all, every last one!’

  The crew of Gutprow sprang to arms; suddenly the rails bristled with armed vermin. Log a Log looked at the two otters, despair stamped on his scrubby face.

  Warpclaw chuckled; he knew how soft woodlanders were about their young. ‘Well, stripedog, you look big enough. Are yer goin’ to move the rocks?’

  Sunflash could not stop his voice trembling as he answered, ‘Give the babes back and I’ll free your ship.’

  The Corsair knew he had won. Drawing the scimitar further back, as if ready to chop, he called down to the badger, ‘Tell yer wot I’ll do, we’ll call this liddle maggot number one, then I’ll keep slicin’ ’em until you move those rocks!’

  The wide blade glittered in the sun as he swung at the babe.

  ‘Kreeeegaaaaaar!’

  Skarlath hit the searat like a thunderbolt from out of the sky! One set of talons buried itself in the swordpaw whilst the other took Warpclaw round his throat. He fell backwards, dropping the babe into the water. Then Sunflash the Mace was aboard the ship in a flash, bloodwrath of the Badger Warrior Lords filling his eyes.

  Skarlath knew what was about to happen; he was powerless to stop it. Seeing the shackle that connected the slave chain he wrenched at it madly until it clattered free, then he shrieked at the oarslaves, ‘Kreeeh! Grab those little ones! Get clear of this ship!’

  One paw at his throat, the other scrabbling for his scimitar, Warpclaw rasped hoarsely at the crew of the Gutprow, ‘Kill the badger, rip ’im, tear ’im to shreds!’

  As the crew advanced on Sunflash the oarslaves splashed overboard, clutching the yelling shrewbabes.

  Skarlath swooped down beside Log a Log as the babes and their rescuers were hauled from the water. ‘Kreeeh! Stay clear of the ship!’

  A blood-chilling roar rang out from the deck.

  ‘Eeulaliaaaaaaaa!’

  Log a Log drew his rapier, saying, ‘But we must help him!’

  The kestrel knocked the blade from his paw. ‘If you value your lives, stay clear of the ship, all of you! The sight of that rat nearly slaying the little one has set off the bloodwrath in him; Sunflash is berserk! I have seen it before, though never like this. He will slay anybeast in his path, he is a Badger Lord. Stay clear I beg of you!’

  The gathering on the shore stood in shocked silence as roars, screams and chaos echoed from the Gutprow. Sunflash the Mace was visiting death upon the searats who had stolen babes from the shrews.

  * * *

  17

  With his back against the mast, Sunflash faced the searats six at a time. Daggers stabbed, blades slashed, but nought could stand before him. The mace swung and fell, whirling in arcs, sweeping like a scythe, smashing like a sledgehammer. The searats fought back with desperation, but their swords snapped like twigs as the Badger Warrior wielded his mace, so fast that it was hard for the eye to follow. His speed and strength were unmatched.

  On shore, the shrews covered their babes’ eyes and ears as they looked away from the swaying vessel. The oarslaves, however, stood watching, grim satisfaction stamped on their thin faces. The vermin of the waves were being paid back in full for every lashmark, every chainscar, every day of near-starvation, every night separated from their loved ones. An old squirrel raised a clenched paw and shook it at the hated Gutprow, crying, ‘Let them reap the whirlwind they have brought upon their own evil heads!’

  Not one searat or wave vermin left the ship alive. When his terrible task was at an end Sunflash let slip the mace from his paws and fell down in a stupor by the mast. Folrig, Ruddle and Skarlath had long since herded the shrews back behind the rocks at the shore’s edge, where they ate and stayed resting until sunset’s scarlet fires began lighting the horizon. Then the kestrel flew out over the silent ship.

  Sunflash was wakened by the lonely cry of seabirds. Lowering himself over the ship’s side, he washed all traces of battle from his body and cleaned off his mace in the cold water. The badger’s eyes were normal now, back to their usual mild, dark-brown hue.

  Skarlath landed nearby and watched as Sunflash took his mace and smashed two gaping holes in the Gutprow, one each side, amidships, just above the waterline. Placing his mace to one side he waded into the broadstream and, bending his back and grunting with exertion, he loosened the two boulders from the streambed and rolled them ashore. The water had been building up behind the vessel, and now it was free of the restraining boulders the ship sprang clear. Night winds caught the sail, billowing it out; the Gutprow was off on its last voyage.

  Sunflash sat down on the sand beside Skarlath, his shoulders bowed wearily, saying, ‘She will sail out into deep waters until the waves find those holes, then she will go to the bottom.’

  A great fire was lit on the beach; shrews sat round it with their backs to the rocks, and a cauldron of soup made from watershrimp, herbs and leeks bubbled away merrily. Bread and cheese was shared, shrewbeer was poured, with blackberry cordial for the little ones.

  Sunflash sat alone, apart from the festivities. Log a Log brought him food, and said, ‘Lord Sunflash, we of the Guosim thank you. Words do not come easily to show our gratitude for what you have done for us, but our hearts are full for you. The name Sunflash will live for ever with the Guosim.’

  The badger echoed the curious word, ‘Guosim?’

  Log a Log explained. ‘Guerilla Union Of Shrews In Mossflower, first letter of each word. We are warriors, we honour you!’

  Sunflash nodded his thanks, but still he sat alone, knowing the first real feelings of being a Badger Lord, fearing his own bloodwrath, shuddering at the sight he had been granted of his own dark side.

  Skarlath sat perched by the fire, watching Sunflash from a distance. The shrewbabes were too excited to sleep; they played and danced, laughed and sang with boundless energy. The kestrel knew how little ones affected his friend, so he called them over. ‘Poor old Mister Sunflash, doesn’t he look sad,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you go and say thank you to him for saving you from the searats? Go on, maybe he’d like to play with you!’

  When the little shrews had run off to Sunflash and there was peace around the fire, two shrewmaids began singing. One of them played a small stringed instrument not unlike a mandoline. It had a sweet tinkling tone, and to it they sang a ballad that they had written that very day, a song that would become a great favourite around shrew campfires for countless seasons to come.

  ‘Oh ’twas all in the summertime,

  Our hearts did sadly grieve,

  The searats stole up in the night,

  And with our babes did leave.

  Full four and thirty little shrews

  Were taken to be slaves,

  To live in misery or refuse

  And die in watery graves.

  But then a mighty warrior

  Did come along our way,

  We knew what fate had sent him for,

  When these words he did say:

  “Come follow me down to the sea,

  Across the mountain track,

  And I will set your young ones free,

  I’ll bring those babies back.”

  And then with mighty chunks of rock,

  He dammed the great broadstream,

  And gave those foul searats a shock,

  Which caused them all to scream.

  He came with death held in his paw,

  Which no rat born could face.

  Oh woe to those who break the law,

  Of Sunflash and his mace.

  Take warning all you bold searats,

  Who plough the raging main,

  Steal not our babes, and come not near,

  Our peaceful shores again,

  For fear you meet the Badger Lord,

  He of the gold-marked face,

  For you’ll meet death once you have met

  The Warrior with the Mace.’

  Folrig raised his beaker in admira
tion. ‘Here’s to a great ballad sung well by pretty maids!’

  Ruddle and Log a Log were chuckling. The shrew pointed, and said, ‘Aye, look, here comes a big babe playing with little babes.’

  There were six shrewbabes riding on Sunflash’s back as he ambled up and shook them off, then collapsed on the sand, begging, ‘Enough, enough! I’d sooner do battle with ten shiploads of villains than fight you lot off!’

  Another group arrived panting, dragging the mace along the sand by its corded handle. A plump, serious-faced infant held up a pebble in one paw and addressed Log a Log. ‘See dis peggle, I make it get stucked inna star, watch!’

  Smiling broadly, Sunflash picked up his mace and held it like a bat, calling to the infant, ‘One, two, three. Now!’

  The little shrew flung the pebble and Sunflash struck it with his mace, sending it straight up into the night. He crouched and held out one paw, and the infant stood solemnly on it and was lifted high.

  ‘Where has that pebble gone?’ the badger asked him.

  A little paw pointed straight at the sky. ‘Way up der, it stuck inna star now!’

  Yelling and laughing, the big badger dashed off across the beach with a horde of little ones clinging to him.

  ‘Cummon, let’s go’n paggle inna water!’

  Skarlath looked up from a bowl of soup and shook his head. ‘Shame on him, he’s worse than the babes!’

  The Guosim slept on the shore that soft autumnal night, and never had they felt more safe. The presence of Sunflash drove away all fear of trouble. Next morning, Log a Log stood on the rocks that skirted the broadstream. Cupping his paws around his mouth he warbled a long ululating call upstream.

  ‘Logalogalogalogaloooooog!’

  It was answered so faintly that at first Sunflash thought it was an echo, but the shrew Chieftain put him right.

  ‘That is our elders coming downstream with the logboats. We of the Guosim don’t care to do too much travelling by paw.’

  In a short while the boats appeared. They were long logboats carved from pinetrunks, punted skilfully by old shrews.

  Log a Log took Sunflash’s paw. ‘You’ll like our settlement; we’ll lay on a feast for you that’ll make your fur curl, matey.’

  The big badger shook Log a Log’s paw firmly. ‘No thank you, friend. I have my own path to follow.’

  Folrig and Ruddle nodded in agreement. ‘Aye, matey, we’re bound a long ways from here.’

  Sunflash grabbed the two otters and, tucking one beneath each elbow, he walked to the broadstream and dropped them into the nearest logboat.

  ‘You two ugly mugs are going back with Log a Log,’ he said. ‘This part of my journey I must make alone. I can feel it in my bones; the mountain of Salamandastron is not far away now.’

  By the look on Sunflash’s face, the otters knew there would be no room for argument, so they slipped back into their old insulting ways.

  Ruddle stretched out in the stern and waved. ‘G’bye, ole frog frightener, hope yore mountain doesn’t crack down the middle when y’look at it, what d’you say, nastynose?’

  Folrig flicked streamwater at the badger. ‘Right, me ole bulgebelly, at least I won’t have t’wake up an’ think I’m havin’ nightmares when I see yore great big badger-butterbonce starin’ at me. Take care of yoreself, ’cos nobeast else will, yore not pretty enough!’

  Skarlath and Sunflash stood on the shore, waving as the logboats loaded with Guosim disappeared around the broadstream bend with the shrews paddling and chanting:

  ‘Shrum a too rye hey, shrum a too rye hey,

  Dig those paddles deep today,

  Where the alders shade me overhead,

  And trout swim on the broadstream bed.

  I’m a Guosim to the water wed,

  Shrum a too rye hey, shrum a too rye hey,

  I’ll see you one day to make,

  O’er any stream or pond or lake,

  A good ole logboat’s ripplin’ wake,

  Shrum a too rye hey, shrum a too rye hey, shrum

  shrummmmmm.’

  The sounds died off into the far shady reaches of broadstream.

  Sunflash turned to Skarlath as he set off, saying, ‘Straight south to the end of autumn, I dreamed it last night. But what of you, my hawk, have you no affairs of your own to fly off to and attend?’

  The kestrel circled his companion’s head. ‘I’ll stay with you for a score and a half days, until you reach your dream mountain, then I will fly off and see to my own business.’

  Sunflash tried to focus on Skarlath as he swooped and wheeled. ‘How do you know it is a score and a half days away?’

  Dipping low, the kestrel brushed the gold-striped head with his wings, and flew off high, calling, ‘Because I have flown south until I saw it rearing to the sky. Go now, see for yourself, Badger Lord of Salamandastron!’

  The autumn was, if anything, as warm as the summer. Sunflash travelled the shores moving south. He saw little of Skarlath during this time, but he knew his friend was not far off, watching, ever watching. Misty mornings dissolved into golden noontides and crimson sunsets, and the big badger found peace, walking alone, making solitary camp at night, thinking and reflecting on both the past and the future. Often he was visited in dreams by his mother, father and grandsires; they imparted much wisdom to him, as if preparing him for the role he was to play.

  The last day of autumn was hot and bright as mid-summer. Still as a millpond, the sea reflected a cloudless blue sky. Seabirds wheeled and called, soaring lazily on the warm thermals above the sun-baked sands of the shore.

  Sunflash stood for a moment, his breath taken away by the majesty of the great mountain that lay ahead of him.

  Two hares stood shaded by a cave entrance, watching a fully grown male badger plough his way wearily across the beach towards them. He was big and dangerous looking; the fierce light in his eyes glinted off the metal tip of an immense war club which he carried easily in one paw.

  When the two hares stepped out from the shadows, Sunflash could see that both were of a very great age.

  ‘What do they call this place?’ he asked.

  The older of the hares, a male, answered him, ‘Salamandastron, the place of the fire lizard.’

  The badger gave a huge sigh. Leaning against the rock, he rested his club on the sand.

  ‘I feel as if I’ve been here before,’ he said strangely.

  The female hare produced victuals from within the cave entrance. ‘Rest awhile. Eat and drink. I am called Breeze, and this is my brother Starbuck. What do they call you?’

  The badger smiled. He touched one of his headstripes, which was yellow rather than white.

  ‘Some call me Sunflash the Mace. I am the son of Bella and Barkstripe. I’m a traveller.’

  Starbuck nodded in satisfaction. ‘Your travelling is at an end, Sunflash. You are the grandson of Boar the Fighter and great grandson of Old Lord Brocktree. It is written on the walls of our mountain that you would come here someday.’

  Sunflash straightened up. He stared hard at the hares. ‘Written, you say. By whom?’

  Breeze shrugged. ‘By whoever wrote that other hares will follow after us. That is the way it has always been and always will be.’

  Both hares stood in the cave entrance. They bowed to the badger.

  ‘Welcome to your mountain, Sunflash the Mace, Lord of Salamandastron.’

  The high sun above watched as the badger and the hares went together into the mountain on the shores below.

  Skarlath the kestrel had watched all from the crater peak of the mountain fortress. Fierce pride welled in his breast for the badger who had given him back his life all those long seasons ago in a winter forest. Then, without a backward glance he soared off into the blue, winging northeast to seek out Swartt Sixclaw.

  BOOK TWO

  * * *

  A Broken Trust

  * * *

  18

  Nobeast in living memory could recall a winter as long and harsh as t
he one that followed the brief, hot autumn, though some had predicted it earlier, judging by the great number of berries that were seen on tree and bush at harvest time. Shrieking northeast winds drove the snow into deep drifts, and great, ancient trees were riven, split from root to tip, felled by ice which sought out any weakness in their trunks. Overnight, the west-flowing river stood still, frozen solid. Bushes lining both banks poked bare skeletal twigs at the hostile sky, as if pleading for the release of spring. Bitter and intense, the cruel season took savage toll of anybeast weakened by its ravages. It was a winter of death, hunger and despair.

  The great horde of the Warlord was held prisoner, trapped amid a freezing world of whiteness. They erected crude shelters in the woodland surrounding the riverbank. Sustenance and morale were at their lowest, stifling any ideas of desertion or mutiny as effectively as the snows that shrouded the earth. Bluefen, daughter of Bowfleg and wife of Swartt, gave birth to a ferretbabe, after which she faded and died, like a delicate spring flower suddenly embraced by severe frost, though it was said that she had never been a strong creature. Unlike the babe, a young male, tough as a deep-rooted weed and marked with the legacy of his father Swartt, six tiny claws showing on the left forepaw. The Warlord lived up to his title the Pitiless One, neither grieving after his wife, nor caring for his son. Bluefen was buried with scant ceremony in a shallow hole hacked into the stone-hard earth, whilst the babe was given to an old female rat to nurse and guard. Swartt acted as though the whole thing was no concern of his.