Outcast Of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  There was no talk of Veil between the two friends. Bryony set her face, and refused to discuss what he had done to the good dormice. In silence, the two set off tracking the ferret once more.

  Veil was back on the southwest trail again. Armed with a knife, staff and food, he had cut the blanket up to make a cloak for himself. Finding a patch of wild strawberries he ate as many as he could, streaked his face and renewed the red on his paws with the juice, then stamped the remainder into the ground until the strawberry patch was a sludge of red fruit and bruised leaves. Blissfully unaware that Bryony and Togget were less than a day behind him, he strolled off in search of the great mountain of Salamandastron and the father he had never known. He wondered occasionally if his parent, the one called Swartt, was as cunning and tough as himself. Mentally Veil wagered that he wasn’t.

  * * *

  34

  Sunflash the Mace was down. Vermin crowded to jump and stamp on the sand-heaped canvas bundle, screaming and yelling with triumph. Swartt stood imposingly on top of the rock groyne, hero of the hour. Up at the chamber window Colonel Sandgall leaned far out over the sill, anxiously watching the threshold of the main mountain entrance.

  Sundew stood alongside the Colonel, beating the rock sill with her paws. The young hare was trembling, and sobbing, ‘Oh help him, help him! Where are they?’

  Sandgall replied without looking at her, ‘Steady in the ranks, m’gel, stiff upper lip an’ don’t let the side down, wot. By thunder! Here they come – listen!’

  A band of hares came bursting through the main entrance, Sabretache at their head, swinging his long sabre like a drum major’s baton. Two stout Captains, Fleetrunn and Rockleg, flanked him, and behind them bounded fifty hares of the famous regiment, all armed with lances and short slings, loaded with iron lumps from the forge.

  ‘Long Patrol, give ’em blood’n’vinegar! Eeulaliaaaa!’

  Soaring through the air like hungry eagles, they cleared the horde-filled trench in a mighty leap, and went crashing into the midst of the startled vermin surrounding Sunflash. Swartt vanished down the far side of the rocks and ran towards the sea as if pursued by demons.

  Hordebeasts fell like leaves before a winter gale. The veteran warriors of Salamandastron took no prisoners; javelins flashed in the sunlight, and metal-filled slings thudded savagely into their targets. Sabretache took a tattooed rat through his midriff with the sabre, yelling as he did, ‘Cut through the canvas – free Lord Sunflash!’

  Swiftly the vermin who were left alive fled, and a tight circle of hares, javelins pointing outwards, surrounded the big canvas bundle. Then keen-edged hareblades sliced the canvas to shreds. Sabretache and his Captains pulled Sunflash from his stifling prison. The badger was limp and unconscious; Fleetrunn was at his side, unhinging the helmet roughly. Supporting the Badger Lord’s head she called to Bloggwood, ‘Bring water, hurry!’

  Swartt had regained his courage. Gathering a crowd of hordebeasts, he led them up the back of the rock groyne and around to the front of the mountain. They massed across the big rough timber gate at the main entrance, blocking the way back into the fortress.

  Swartt issued orders to his archers in the trench further down the sands. ‘Don’t let ’em pass, drive ’em down to the sea with yore arrows!’ He turned his attention to his own group. ‘About turn an’ give those in the mountain plenty o’ rocks an’ shafts, that’ll keep their heads down!’

  The Warlord was trembling with frustration. He had almost taken Sunflash and won the battle; but the badger would not elude him a second time. The ferret’s plan was simple and good; once he had the Badger Lord and his hares up to their waists in seawater, he could slay them at his leisure.

  Fresh water splashing over the gold-striped face brought Sunflash slowly back to his senses. Bruised, scarred and weakened, he lay still, allowing Fleetrunn to pour the life-giving water over his head.

  The female hare Captain allowed him a few sips. ‘Let it wash over you, Sire, don’t drink too much or y’ll feel pretty bad. That’s the ticket – just wet y’mouth, eh.’

  Sabretache rapped out commands as a hare fell beside him, slain by a barbed shaft. ‘Keep y’heads down! Back up to the rocks, troops, they’re shootin’ at us from that flippin’ trench!’

  Dragging Sunflash with them, the Long Patrol hares fought their way to the line of rocks stretching from the mountain to the sea. Swiftly digging the sand with their long legs, they formed a temporary barricade, a low sandy hump between themselves and the vermin archers. Arrows hissed viciously, some burying their points in the sand, others hitting the rock, while some found targets among the beleaguered hares.

  Colonel Sandgall had to draw back from the window: arrows and slingstones from Swartt’s hordebeasts were whistling through the opening, ricocheting around the chamber.

  He sniffed disdainfully and, adjusting his monocle, he waggled one long ear at Sundew. ‘Out y’go, missie, no sense in gettin’ y’self injured here, wot. Go an’ make y’self useful elsewheres, there’s a good gel.’

  Sundew had collected the slingstones that came in, and now she was sending them out with a vengeance. Whirling her own sling she dashed at the window and hurled down a quick one at those below. ‘I’m stayin’ here with you, sah,’ she said. ‘They won’t make me shift!’

  Sandgall took a bow from a wallpeg and, notching one of the fallen shafts to its string, he nipped smartly to the window and fired, nodding as he was rewarded by a scream from below. ‘Good gel! True blue’n’never fail, eh! Come on, let’s return fire with their own gear. Long time since I put ash to yew an’ twine. Never forget the old skills – good show!’ Squinting through his monocle he loosed another arrow.

  Sabretache crouched low with Rockleg at his side, assessing their perilous situation. ‘Looks bad, old chum, the blighters have got us well pinned down here. Not much chance of gettin’ back to the jolly old mountain either, just look at that evil rabble all ganged up in front of the main gate! Absolute rotters!’

  Rockleg twitched an ear in the direction of the sea. ‘Right y’are, ’Tache, y’see their strategy, doncha, they want to drive us down to the water, stop us gettin’ back to the mountain. Huh, look at that dirty great mob of vermin, waitin’ for us on the waterline. Bad show if y’ask me. They’ve got us trapped here like frogs in a bucket!’

  Sabretache flicked his head to one side as an arrow whizzed by. ‘We’ll just have t’sit it out old boy, wait until Lord Sunflash is up to the mark again an’ hope for some sort of a miracle t’pull our chestnuts out of the fire, wot.’

  Sunflash had begun to tear at the confining chainmail tunic; Fleetrunn tried to hold his massive paws still. ‘Best leave it on, Sire,’ she said. ‘Better feelin’ a bit uncomfortable than bein’ stuck all over with arrows.’

  As if to confirm her words, a shaft glanced off the chainmail and buried itself in the sand. She winked at the badger. ‘No disrespect, Sire, but y’see what I mean now!’

  Evening shades began to fall; the hot day cooled with a breeze from the incoming tide. Still trapped against the rocks, the hares crouched and waited. The arrows and slingstones had slowed somewhat, though now the horde in the trench were sniping, taking more careful aim. It was a frustrating and dangerous time. Rockleg poked his head over the sandy barricade and took a quick peek seawards.

  ‘Oh dash it all!’ he groaned. ‘That lot down by the water are startin’ to sneak up here. Stand by, chaps, I think we’re about to be ambushed shortly. It’ll soon be dark – that’s when they’ll come.’ Licking a wound on his shoulder he poured dry sand on to seal it.

  ‘Logalogalogalogalooooooog!’

  Sabretache’s ears shot up. ‘What’n the fur was that?’

  Sunflash struggled upwards and grabbed his mace. ‘It’s the Guosim shrews! They’ve arrived by sea!’

  ‘Guosim, Guosim, Guosim! Logalogalogalooooog!’

  Rockleg pointed with his javelin. ‘Look, they’re givin’ those blighters down by the water a hard
time of it. Up here, chaps! Up here!’

  Sabretache turned towards the mountain. ‘Hurrah!’ he cheered. ‘Look, there’s a gang of otters’n’squirrels batterin’ the livin’ daylights out of the vermin!’

  A great roar went up from the warriors at the mountain front.

  ‘Heyaaah! Hoyaaah! Firjak Greenstone! Whump! Whump! Whump!’

  The otters and squirrels had come around the mountain from both sides, hurling themselves on both flanks of Swartt’s hordebeasts with clubs and spears. Guosim shrews charged up from the tideline, cutting a swathe through the vermin pack with flashing rapiers.

  With the blood of his ancestors rising in his veins, Sunflash came bulling out at the head of the hares. Joined by the shrews they went crashing heedlessly over the heads of the trench archers, scattering vermin left and right.

  Swartt took flight once again and the demoralized hordebeasts broke and fled, rushing straight to the safety of the rocks or the tide shallows. The rough-timber gates swung open. Sunflash stood by them, brandishing his mace until everybeast was inside and safe. Sentries were posted at every lookout post to watch the horde, while the rest crowded into the banqueting hall.

  Food was rushed in to the returning warriors and their allies, the best that Salamandastron could serve. Mounds of pasties and great barrels of Mountain Ale, thick seasoned stews, crusty hot bread and new cider were carried to the tables, and full justice was done to the victuals that night.

  Sunflash sat with Colonel Sandgall, Log a Log, the two otters, Folrig and Ruddle, Sabretache and the other Captains. Sandgall wagged a reproving paw at the Badger Lord. ‘Ahem, Sire, y’ll kindly let us know before you go chargin’ off again to take on a whole filthy horde single-pawed.’

  Sunflash shook his head, as if disapproving of himself. ‘I’m sorry, Colonel, but I am not myself sometimes.’

  Sandgall winked at the badger and patted his paw. ‘Hmm, the ol’ bloodwrath, wot! It’s that an’ a Badger Lord that’ve kept these shores an’ this country safe’n’free, don’t apologize for it, sah. But us hare chaps are here to protect you as much as you protect us, so it’s nice t’be able to return the favour. Now then, Log a shrew an’ you otter types, that was a bally clever show you put up out there today, eh!’

  Log a Log explained how it had come about. ‘It was simple really. We arranged it between us – sent out a few spies to see what was goin’ on, then we put a plan together. I landed the logboats further up the coast before sunset and we waded along through the shallows, round the rocks an’ charged ’em. My call was the signal to attack.’

  Folrig took up his side of the campaign. ‘We came in from the backway, me’n’ole ugly mug Ruddle with Lady Firdance an’ her gang . . .’

  Firdance, a big rangy squirrel, with a deep scar running from ear to nosetip, interrupted in her husky voice, ‘Aye, we split up an’ worked the old pincer movement, caught the scum nicely in between an’ gave ’em some buryin’ t’do!’

  Bloggwood caught Sunflash’s eye. He sidled over and whispered in the Badger Lord’s ear. ‘Sire, can yer come’n’ ’ave a word or two with Bradders? Pore feller, ’e’s proper cut up about Fordpetal.’

  ‘Why, certainly, friend – what’s up with Fordpetal?’

  ‘Foller me an’ I’ll show yer, Sire.’

  Sunflash excused himself from the company and followed Bloggwood; they threaded their way through the packed hall. As they went the banter of old warrior friends having a reunion was thick upon the air.

  ‘Gully, y’old treeflyer. I thought you was slain seasons ago!’

  ‘Well, I’m still here, matey, an’ eatin’ aplenty t’prove it!’

  ‘Haharr, Munga, ’ow is the shrew logboat business goin’?’

  ‘Saves gettin’ your paws wet like you otters, Reedtail.’

  ‘Ahoy there, Floke, we pulled yore chestnuts out of the fire just in time for yer today, didn’t we?’

  ‘Aye, matey, an’ yer cracked a few nuts on the other side too!’

  It was cold and silent in the vaults beneath the mountain where Bloggwood led Sunflash. They went through to a long torchlit cave where the hares who had been slain in battle that day were laid out on stone slabs, each one wreathed in fresh mountain flowers. Bradberry was standing by the body of Fordpetal, his head bowed. Sunflash dismissed his guide with thanks and went straight to the young hare.

  He placed a paw comfortingly around Bradberry’s shoulders. ‘Bradders, I’m sorry, I didn’t know . . .’

  The hare buried his face in Sunflash’s chainmail tunic and wept. ‘She wasn’t really soppy, was she, Sire?’

  The Badger Lord swallowed hard. ‘No, just young and very pretty, and she knew we were only joking when we said that. Let’s hope that we have somebeast as thoughtful and tender hearted as yourself to weep for us some day.’

  The young hare turned his tearstained face up to Sunflash. ‘Why do creatures have to have wars and kill one another? Why can’t everybeast live in peace and be contented? I was just thinkin’ before you came, Sire, Fordpetal won’t ever see another summer day or laugh an’ smile again. Why?’

  Sunflash led Bradberry slowly away from the vault. ‘Why? It’s a question I’ve often asked myself, Bradders, particularly when the life of a young one is wasted. Over quite a few seasons now I’ve found myself wanting to be only a farmer and grow things, but there are evil ones in the lands. One day when all the evil is gone, maybe then we’ll be able to find peace and watch things grow. Until then it is up to the good ones, like yourself, to fight against evil. Fordpetal was doing just that today. War is a terrible thing, but until something arrives to stop the fighting, we must endure it, and battle harder to make sure that good wins.’

  In the banqueting hall the warriors were singing an age-old song they always sang after battle.

  ‘Oh here’s to the comrades who fought the good fight,

  On the field where their valour was won.

  They gave their lives hard to defend what was right,

  Let us drink to the warriors who’ve gone.

  They stood shoulder to shoulder, there’s none who were bolder,

  And many’s the foebeast we slayed,

  We’ll remember our friends who will never grow older,

  Alas what a price that they paid.

  For the word has been spoken, the sword now is broken,

  When we’re old we will sit, and tell tales of their days.’

  * * *

  35

  Swartt Sixclaw sat roasting a mackerel by a fire, far down on the tideline close to the rocks. Over one third of his great horde had been lost that day, but victory had been nearly within his grasp. The groups of hordebeasts crouched around their fires were too weary to do anything but eat, sleep, or lick their wounds. Swartt stared up at the rock, racking his brain for a solution. Within the next hour it presented itself in the form of a weasel whom Nightshade brought to him.

  Swartt found that he had to keep his eyes trained on the skinny, undersized creature. It was mottled, whether naturally or by skilful dyes, he could not tell, but it was only by watching its pale eyes that the Warlord could tell where it stood. The weasel had only to stand motionless against rock or sand and it almost vanished. It was sandy-coloured – or was it rock-hued? – with grey, dirty white and dark brown flecks, the strangest-looking creature he had ever witnessed.

  Swartt looked at the vixen. ‘Where’d you find that thing?’ he snarled.

  ‘Lord, he is called the Wraith. He is not of our horde, I do not know where he comes from, though you would be wise to listen to his offer.’

  Swartt looked back and found he had lost sight of the Wraith. ‘Stan’ still, weasel, where are yeh?’

  He tried not to start with shock as the voice came from behind the back of his neck.

  ‘Me herrrre, Sirrrre!’

  The Wraith flitted round in front of him and sat by the fire. He spoke in a most peculiar manner, extending his ’r’s. Swartt kept his gaze fixed on the Wraith’s e
yes, the rest of his body kept disappearing and reappearing in the flicker of the firelight.

  ‘Sit still an’ tell me why yer came here,’ said Swartt.

  The speckled mouth opened, revealing two rows of toothless gums. ‘Wrrrraith hearrrr you have enemy, me kill him forrrr you.’

  Suddenly Swartt was interested. The idea of an assassin had not occurred to him before. He would have liked to take Sunflash alive, but in the end one way of winning victory was as good as another. The Warlord pointed his mailed paw at the pale watery eyes. ‘An’ what d’you get out of it, eh?’

  The soft rolling voice replied, ‘Me think you know that. Half, Sirrrrre!’

  Swartt knew what he meant – he had dealt with rogues and villains all his life. Half meant half of everything he stood to gain, but really it meant all: assassins who offered their services were always over-ambitious. Swartt shrugged. ‘Half seems fair enough. See yon mountain, there’s a badger inside o’ there they call Sunflash the Mace. Bring me back the great mace that never leaves his side an’ you get yer half!’

  The Wraith vanished. Swartt looked around and saw the creature was sitting behind him, holding something in its claws, hissing, ‘Just strrroke badgerrr with me Kisserrrr!’

  It was a tiny knife, carved from some strange type of mottled stone, almost the same colour as its owner.

  Swartt curled his lip at the undersized weasel with his minute blade, ‘Yore goin’ t’kill a Badger Lord wid that toy?’

  The pale eyes narrowed in a mocking smile. ‘See that rrrat yon, sitting by his firrrre? Watch!’

  The rat was wearing a bright red bandanna, so he was hard to miss. Swartt watched him sitting by the fire with some others. He had lost sight of the Wraith, so he kept watching the rat. Then the Wraith’s voice came from beside him; the thin weasel was sitting warming himself by the flames.