Outcast Of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  ‘Up y’get, matey, must’ve been the weight of that rockcream pulled you down. Get Bradders be’ind our archers, see yer later, good huntin’, eh. Whumpwhumpwhump! Firjak Greenstone!’

  The vermin on the opposite flank charged the shrews gleefully. Attacking small creatures with small swords was better than facing hares. They did not reckon on an old shrew manoeuvre known as the Guosim Windmill. Three tight circles of shrews in one, whirling madly, some cutting low, others at stomach height, whilst more worked at head and neck level, the vicious little rapiers went in and out, round and round, scything at everything in their path, while a row of Guosim shrews at the centre of the ring continuously slung rocks over their comrades’ heads.

  Swartt stood tip-pawed upon his rock, shouting, ‘We’re pushin’ ’em back, vixen, I told yer, we’ve got the numbers on our side!’

  Nightshade climbed up to appraise the situation. ‘Aye, but only in the centre, Lord, and that’s because the badger made his move too early and allowed them to close in around him. See the flanks, the horde is crumbling and giving way on both sides. We may have the numbers, but they’ve got the heart!’

  Swartt sent her flying with a kick. ‘When I want yore opinion I’ll ask fer it. Get me that bow an’ arrers, the badger’ll soon be in range!’

  Sunflash was like a great seabeast surrounded by waves of foebeasts, but all he could see through the red mists of bloodwrath was the ferret, perched on the rock down by the tideline. His great speed with the heavy mace was causing destruction among the horde. Up and down, left and right, swinging in a huge blur the mighty warclub battered horde vermin, sword, spear and dagger without regard to any. Snapped blades, shattered hilts and splintered hafts flew high in the air around him. Sabretache wisely kept his force behind the berserk Badger Lord. Rockleg fought alongside Hedgepaw. Both would take a short run, vault high on their spearshafts and come down with long hindlegs kicking savagely into the faces of the vermin.

  The hordebeasts fought fiercely, with the strength of desperation. Most were experienced warbeasts, determined to push through their attackers and gain the mountain, where there would be shelter, food and plunder. But Nightshade’s judgement had been correct: the mountain warriors all had brave hearts. The tide of the battle began to turn when the Guosim shrews broke through to the centre and joined up with the hares and Lady Firdance’s squirrels, who had been holding the middle with the otters. Now the flanks of the horde had been well battered and the attackers massed in the centre. Leaving any vermin who had broken past them to be dealt with by the rear lines of archers, the entire force turned to fight their way through to Sunflash, raising one mighty cry. ‘Eeulaliaaaaaa!’

  Swartt cursed as his arrow took a searat in the back of the skull instead of striking Sunflash. He notched another shaft to his bowstring and fired. This time he did not miss: the arrow pierced the Badger Lord high on his shoulder, where the chainmail tunic ended. Still swinging the mace, Sunflash gave a deep roar and tore the arrow out with his teeth. Spitting the shaft away, he waved the battleclub in Swartt’s direction, his voice thundering out over the melee.

  ‘I’m coming, Sixclaw, wait there!’

  Then the horde broke and began retreating, battered and defeated by the relentless mountain warriors. Sunflash was suddenly knocked down from behind as milling, panicked hordebeasts fled towards the sea. Sabretache stood with one footpaw on the Badger Lord’s back, wielding his sabre like a maddened drum major as he shouted orders.

  ‘Up an’ at ’em! Forward to the sea! Chaaaaarge!’

  Hedgepaw and Rockleg were at his side in an instant. Between them they managed to drag the dazed Sunflash upright. Rubbing sand from his eyes, the badger bellowed furiously, ‘Where’s Swartt?’

  The rock stood empty. Swartt Sixclaw and his vixen had gone!

  * * *

  39

  Evening crimsoned into purple; on the horizon, a blood-coloured sun dipped slowly into the dark, tired sea. Spears with thick rush torches tied to them stood upright in the shore along the tideline. Sunflash the Mace sat with his head buried in both paws; his war weapon lay on the sand beside him. Colonel Sandgall had come down from the mountain; he threaded his way through the exhausted warriors, shaking paws, patting shoulders and giving credit where it was due.

  ‘Well fought! Good show! Stout feller! Brave gel, wot!’

  Sabretache was cleaning off his blade in the sand. He stood smartly to attention, saluting the old Colonel.

  Sandgall nodded. ‘Did any of ’em surrender? Prisoners?’

  The hare Captain’s sabre pointed to the sea. ‘None, sah, ’fraid not, it was a no-surrender situation. Most of ’em retreated too far an’ too fast, dragged out by the undercurrent. As for our own, we got off surprisin’ light, sah, though they’re still takin’ count on wounded an’ slain.’

  Sunflash joined them. The red light of bloodwrath had faded from his eyes, though they were still dark and troubled. ‘Sixclaw wasn’t lost in the sea, I’m sure of it, he’s too cunning for that. Swartt has escaped, and he can’t have got very far. It’s my job to go after him and finish what he started!’

  Sandgall gave his monocle a quick polish and looked the badger up and down from head to footpaws. ‘If I may make so bold as t’say, milord, you’re in no fit condition to go chasin’ off anywhere. Headwound, arrow hole in y’left shoulder, spear thrust to footpaw, deep slash across mace paw. How far d’you think you’ll get in that state, eh? Sundew, Ryeback, fetch your box of medical tricks an’ patch this beast up!’

  As the hares ministered to his wounds Sunflash protested, ‘Don’t you see, I must go after Swartt. The more time I spend dawdling here, the further away he’s escaping!’

  But Colonel Sandgall would brook no argument, not even from the Badger Lord of Salamandastron.

  ‘Tomorrow our Long Patrol will pick up the ferret’s trail, then you can face the bounder an’ settle up your score. But if you try to go it alone tonight, sah, then I’m afraid I’ll use our warriors to stop you. It is my duty as Colonel and Senior Offisah at Salamandastron to protect my Badger Lord, beggin’ y’pardon an’ hopin’ you understand. Sah!’

  Sunflash nodded. ‘I understand. Ow – that hurts!’

  Sundew chided him as she rethreaded a fishbone needle with a long hair plucked from the badger’s own back. ‘Keep the ol’ head still then, Sire, how’s a body supposed to stitch up this headwound if you keep nodding like a woodpecker at an oak?’

  When the hares had finished, Sunflash stood up stiffly. Stitched, poulticed and cleaned, he strode off with a slight limp towards the mountain and his bedchamber.

  ‘Tomorrow then, Sandgall! I’ll be up at crack of dawn; have your Long Patrol waiting, ready to travel!’

  ‘If he’s up at crack o’ dawn it’ll only be to sleepwalk,’ Ryeback whispered to her friend Sundew. ‘I gave him enough slumberin’ draught to knock three out!’

  With his vixen and about thirty other vermin, Swartt had waded off through the shallows in the thick of the retreat. Striking north and east he crossed the shore on the mountain’s south side, up into the high hills behind Salamandastron. The ferret knew that making camp or sleeping was out of the question; he had to get far away from Sunflash the Mace. Breasting the first hill, he paused and watched those behind him struggling and panting as they strove to reach the top.

  ‘Move yerselves if you want ter stay alive, y’rot-pawed, maggot-backed ditherers!’ Swartt berated them. ‘Step lively or sit’n’weep here ’til the badger an’ those hares track yer down!’

  Nightshade brought up the rear. The vixen seer was puzzled. Her dreams and visions all showed Sunflash falling at the battle in front of the mountain, and twice it had almost happened, but at the last moment her visions clouded and Sunflash was replaced by an ancient female badger. The vixen was baffled, because all of her dreams ended with Swartt standing on top of a mountain, laughing and victorious. Wearily she cast all omens aside, banishing dreams from her mind as she followed the
leader she felt fated to serve.

  Dawn had long dispelled the sea mists, and the sun was already beginning to climb in the sky when Skarlath landed on the windowsill of the badger’s bedchamber. Cocking his head curiously on one side, the kestrel’s keen eye watched the Badger Lord sleeping. The mace still hung from its cord on Sunflash’s paw, and his mighty chest rose and fell to the echo of rumbling snores. Skarlath spread his wings wide and tilted his fierce curved beak upward.

  ‘Kreeeeeh! Does my friend sleep his life away? Kreeeeh!’

  The big badger sat bolt upright pawing at his eyes. ‘Where, what? I’ve been asleep . . . Skarlath!’

  The kestrel swooped in, landing on Sunflash’s shoulder. ‘So, my gold-striped friend, it must have been a good, hard day’s battle to keep you so long abed this morn . . .’

  The Badger Lord tore at the bandages and poultices restricting his limbs, flinging them from him. ‘Crack o’ dawn, eh? Well, where are they, the Long Patrol trackers? Swartt escaped. I’ve got to go after him!’

  Skarlath flew back to the windowsill. ‘The hares are down there by the sea, burying their comrades who were slain in battle. I know that Sixclaw got away, I picked up his tracks south of here at dawn. His band numbers three and thirty. He is heading north, taking a wide easterly loop, travelling light with few rest stops.’

  Shunning the chainmail tunic, Sunflash chose an old woven tabard, smiling grimly as he donned it. ‘So, it all comes full circle. That is about the number he had when we used to hunt one another in younger days. Come on, my hawk, let us go hunting again one last time, just the two of us!’

  The burial party had completed their sad task, and they arrived back at the dining hall within the mountain to take lunch. Sundew, who had immediately gone to check on her patient, came bounding downstairs, shouting, ‘Colonel Sandgall, sah, Milord Sunflash is gone!’

  Sandgall slammed a flagon of cordial down so hard that it cracked and the liquid dribbled into his lap. ‘Fur’n’botheration! I thought you said he’d sleep ’til noontide, marm! Sabretache, how’s the old footpaw, ready to travel? Rockleg, Fleetrunn! Rations an’ weapons for twelve Long Patrol. Pick up the tracks, follow His Lordship, quick’s the word, sharp’s the action. Dismiss!’

  Within a remarkably short time twelve hares of the Long Patrol, headed by Sabretache, had found the distinctive pawprints of Sunflash, and set off fast after him.

  High in the hills, with the hawk on his shoulder and the mace in his grasp, Sunflash followed the trail of Swartt Sixclaw, the lifelong enemy whom he had sworn long seasons ago to slay.

  * * *

  40

  Bryony and Togget lay flat on their backs at the stern end of the raft, a jug of cowslip cordial and a deepdish pear and redcurrant tart between them.

  The mousemaid dipped her paw overboard, allowing cool riverwater to caress it. ‘Hey ho, Togget, this is the life for us, eh!’

  ‘Bo urr, et surpintly am, Broinee, oi never gurtly was one furr sailen, but this be’s most wunnerful, burr aye, so’t be.’

  The hoglet Arundo was hiding behind the hut, watching them. The sight of Togget’s fat stomach sticking in the air was too much for him. Breaking cover, he dashed up and jumped on it. ‘Heehee! I jumped onna moleth thtomach!’

  Togget was too winded to express an opinion on the subject and Bryony was shaking with laughter along with Arundo. Tutty Pollspike was pegging out washing up for’ard; she had seen what took place and shouted dire warnings. ‘Rushes an’ riverbanks! Just let me catch either o’ you jumpin’ on that pore h’animal’s stummick agin an’ I’ll chop yore tails off, d’ye hear me, you two?’

  Bryony sat up indignantly, pointing at Arundo. ‘But it wasn’t me, it was him!’

  Arundo pointed back at her, still giggling. ‘Heeheehee! Mouthemaid tol’ me to do it!’

  Duddle emerged from the cabin, stretching after his mid-morning nap. ‘Now then me bold beasties,’ he said, ‘what’s all the kerfuffle out here? Still mindin’ the tiller for me, Togget?’

  Remembering the duty he had been allotted, Togget got up and, rubbing his stomach, leaned against the tiller. ‘Aye, zurr, ee tiller ain’t been gone nowhere’s since oi been mindin’ et.’

  Duddle took command of the tiller, saying, ‘Have to be careful on this stretch, there’s a slipstream off to the south comin’ up shortly. Rapids an’ waterfall down that way, dangerous, ‘stremely perilous, mmm, ain’t that right, my little river lily?’

  Tutty passed the washing basket to Clematis Roselea. ‘Rocks an’ rapids! We’d do well t’stay away from that lot. Keep tight ’old of that tiller, Duddle!’

  ‘Never fear, my darlin’ damselfly,’ the fat smiling hedgehog reassured her. ‘I have it within my vicelike grip, no harm will befall the family. Hmm, just a thought, Bryony, but d’you think yore friend the ferret may have drifted that way? He could very well have strayed into the slipstream, not bein’ used to the currents’n’flows.’

  Bryony looked up from a piece of pie. ‘Do you think so, sir? If he did, how would we find out?’

  Duddle indicated a spot on the left bank further along. ‘That’s where the slipstream is, we’ll pull over an’ hove to land when we get past it. I’ll ask Ilfril, a mean-tempered creature if ever there was one – best let me do the talkin’.’

  It was a difficult business keeping the raft in midriver while passing the slipstream. Bryony helped Duddle to control the tiller. When they were safe downriver from the side-pulling current, they hauled the raft into the high bank, securing it to a crack willow with a stout rope. Duddle Pollspike led them back along the bank until they reached the slipstream. It flowed on a slight downhill gradient, very fast and smooth, losing itself as it twisted and turned into the distance, where a big greensloped mountain stood out clear against the cloudless sky. Duddle tapped the side of his nose, cautioning them to be silent. Planting his bottom firmly on the edge of the bank, he dangled both footpaws in the water and spoke aloud as if to himself.

  ‘Perfect day for a spot o’ fishin’!’

  A squeaky, ill-tempered voice answered him. ‘Clear off! You’re not fishin’ on my stretch of river!’

  The overhanging plants on the bank’s edge parted and a sourfaced bankvole clambered out and waved a knobbly stick at Duddle. ‘Hah! I should’ve known it’d be you, Pollspike. Now go on, shift yerself off my bank!’

  Duddle grinned from ear to ear, teasing the bankvole. ‘Oh, cheer up, Ilfril, an’ give us a smile, you know I’m not fishin’. Come on, laugh, yore face won’t crack.’

  The bankvole scowled and swiped at the reeds with his stick. ‘What d’you want around here, then?’

  ‘Lookin’ for a ferret, friend o’ the mole an’ mousemaid yonder. Did he pass along this stretch perchance?’

  Ilfril scratched his stubby chin thoughtfully, saying, ‘I don’t give information freely to trespassers, y’know.’

  Tutty Pollspike produced a thick wedge of the pear and redcurrant tart from beneath her apron. ‘Parsnips an’ periwinkles! We didn’t expect nothin’ for nothin’ off you, ole crabapple face. Take this, it’s more’n the likes o’ you deserves!’

  Ilfril grabbed the slice of pie, his eyes darting hither and thither as if somebeast was trying to trick him. ‘Ferret eh, saw ’im last night, late on, sittin’ astride a willow log. Dozy oaf! Fast asleep, didn’t ’ave the sense to rouse ’imself an’ keep to midriver. Shot off down the slipstream snorin’ like an ’edge’og. Huh! That un’ll get a rude awakenin’, I can tell yer!’

  The bankvole clambered back into his den, dragging the pie slice with him, muttering and complaining. ‘Got what y’want, now make yerselves scarce an’ give a creature a bit o’ peace.’

  Duddle placed a friendly paw on Bryony’s head. ‘So, there you have it, my little bank blossom, yore ferret has taken a turn for the worse. This is where our paths must part, I couldn’t risk life’n’limb takin’ my family down the slipstream, ’tis a wild an’ dangerous waterway. I wouldn’t advise any c
reature to follow it.’

  Togget gazed at the swift-flowing water. ‘Hurr, nor wudd oi, zurr, but missie Broinee, she’m bounden to foller ee rascal, tho’ oi doan’t knows why.’

  Tutty agreed wholeheartedly with the mole. ‘Fiddles an’ follies! After wot you’ve told me about that ferret I wouldn’t pass ’im the time o’ day nor a piece o’ pie. Why does an ’onest mousemaid like yoreself go chasin’ after such an evil vermin?’

  Bryony gave the only answer she could. ‘Because I’m responsible for him. I’ve cared for Veil since he was a babe and bad or good I cannot desert him.’

  Tutty gave Bryony a careful embrace, as is the way with hedgehogs, overcome with admiration for the mousemaid. ‘Summers an’ strawberries! This earth’d be a better place if there were more like yer, missie!’

  Veil was enjoying himself. It was early morn with the sun rising hot, and flickering light patterns danced on the fast current as the boughs of graceful alders from either bank formed a canopy over the stream. The young ferret ate some candied fruit and an oatfarl from the haversack, scooping up the clear rushing water in his paws to drink. Not knowing he had veered from the river, he leaned forward on the willow trunk, allowing the spray to wet his face. The stream was deep, smooth and swift, and wherever he was bound it was better than plodding by paw. Sometimes he drew his knife and slashed through the green-shaded waters at passing fish, but they were far too quick for him. Veil was about to lie on his back and take a nap, when an unexpected turn in the streamcourse made him grab tight hold of his log.

  The willow began to bump up and down on the widening stream, and he had to start fending off rocks which sprang up in his path. Leaving the shelter of the trees, the dashing water bounded through a high-walled gorge. The log struck an underwater ledge and bounced high, coming down with a juddering splash. Veil began to feel frightened. He clung grimly to his perch in the splayed fork of the willow trunk, thoroughly drenched and shivering from a combination of fear and cold water. Steering the log to the bank was out of the question; it bucked and rolled as it plunged headlong into a series of rapids. Blinded by the spray, Veil gripped the bark until his paws were numb, while the deafening noise of rushing water pounding in his ears drowned out his own screams. Blinking furiously, he made out a mist-clouded rainbow ahead, then the log struck a rock and turned sideways, slowly at first, then picking up speed on the boiling current until it was spinning around like a top. Then it turned over and Veil was in the water, screeching, yelling and choking on icy mouthfuls. Clunk! The butt end of the willow trunk struck his head. Unaware of the unearthly roar and awesome drop, the senseless ferret hurtled over the cascading top of the waterfall.