The Guosim Log a Log nodded. “I’m a Guosim an’ I am wot I am. Tell me, miz, would you feel the same about some vermin who’d killed yore father?”
The haremaid was forced to concur with his logic. “You can bet your bally boots I would, bucko!” To change the subject, Maudie took stock of the scene, staring down at the woodlands. “Seems to have gone jolly quiet down there, wot? Nobeast chargin’ or retaliatin’, wonder what’s goin’ on?”
Gorath leaned on his pitchfork, watching the land below the plateau. “Mayhaps they’re getting ready for an all-out effort. What do you think, Salixa?”
The badgermaid summed up her outlook on the situation. “I don’t think they’ll be mounting any major attack, we’re in too strong a position at the moment. If the fox is in command, he’ll lay siege to us. Without supplies or reinforcements, time isn’t on our side. The vermin still have us far outnumbered, I think they’ll play the waiting game. It’s the sensible thing to do, and it will save them losing more creatures on their side.”
Rangval winked at Gorath, remarking quietly, “Ah now, there’s a pretty maid who’s as brainy as she’s beautiful. Ye couldn’t do much better’n to stick with her, if’n I say so meself!”
Gorath winked back at the rogue squirrel. “I intend to!”
The day rolled onward, with the sun mounting high on the shadeless sandstone plateau. Together with Salixa and Kachooch, Maudie helped to apportion and distribute their scant ration of food and drink. Like most hares, Maudie had always been blessed with a healthy appetite. She viewed her miserable ration gloomily, a slice of apple, a small piece of hard cheese, a tiny crust of bread and half a beaker of watered-down shrewbeer.
It was the same for everybeast. The normally cheerful Rangval scowled at his portion in disbelief. “In the name of pity, is this all we’re gettin’? Shure, there’s not enough nourishment here to keep fur’n’bone t’gether!”
Gorath caught the disapproving glance which Salixa shot at the rogue squirrel. Shielding Rangval from the Guosim with his huge bulk, Gorath lectured him tersely. “I know it’s little enough, friend, but don’t start complaining. You’ll not only upset the Guosim, but should any of the vermin hear you, they’ll know what a bad fix we’re in, d’you understand?”
Rangval saluted smartly several times. “Ah, shure yore right, sir, aren’t I the pudden-headed ould grouser. Now don’t you go frettin’ yore grand self, leave it t’me, I’ll soon put things right.”
Gorath watched him as he sat on the rim of the plateau, dangling his footpaws. Salixa also watched Rangval.
“What’s he up to now?”
Gorath shrugged his mighty shoulders. “I’m sure we’ll soon find out, one way or another.”
They did, as did everybeast on both sides, a moment later. The rogue squirrel began yelling at the top of his voice. His plan was to fool the vermin into thinking that there was no shortage of food or drink on top of the plateau.
“Ah, cook darlin’, will ye take those mushroom an’ gravy pasties out o’ me sight. If’n I eats one more I’ll burst. Just pass me a flagon of that grand ould October Ale ye’ve got coolin’ in the shade, if y’please.”
Rangval continued as though he were conversing with some imaginary cook. “What’s that? No, no, I couldn’t manage another crumb of that plum’n’apple pudden. No, I’m sorry, cooky, cheese’n’leek turnover, I’ve already had two. Are ye tryin’ t’stuff me to death with yore fine vittles! Lissen, t’me, for pity’s sake. I don’t want any more to eat! No fresh-baked bread an’ soft cheese, no summer veggible soup, meadowcream scones, strawberry preserve, fruit cake, elderberry jelly or cold mint tea. Just a drop of the October Ale, to settle me pore, groanin’ ould stummick. Yowch!”
A well-aimed slingstone hit Rangval’s bushy eartip. Wincing and rubbing his stinging ear, he grunted. “Ah, I’m gettin’ through t’the scummy ould vermin at last!” He turned in time to see a Guosim shrew launch another pebble at him. Leaping to one side smartly, the rogue squirrel complained bitterly. “Cease fire, ye eejit, are ye tryin’ to kill me?”
Osbil signalled the warrior to stay his paw. The shrew chieftain glared angrily at Rangval. “I’ll do the job for him if’n ye don’t shut up goin’ on an’ on about vittles!”
“Aye, matey, belay that talk!”
The squirrel countered indignantly, “Wasn’t I only tauntin’ the villains, to make ’em think we’re not short o’ a bite to eat up here?”
Both beasts were in a fine temper, threatening one another as they came nose to nose.
Maudie forced her way between the irate pair. “Steady on, chaps, there’s no blinkin’ need for all this shoutin’ an’ arguin’, eh, wot!”
Osbil seethed, “Then tell that fool to shuttup about vittles!”
Rangval gritted his teeth aloud. “You tell that dimwit I was only doin’ it to tease the enemy!”
Maudie felt herself drawn into the quarrel, she wagged a paw under Rangval’s nose, raising her voice. “It’s you who’s the dimwit. Teasin’ the enemy, if y’please, did it occur to you that it might jolly well be your own side who are bein’ teased twice as bad, eh?”
It was Salixa’s calm demeanour that halted the row. “What Maudie means is that we’re the ones who have no food or water. Down there the foebeast can forage for their needs, and there’s probably a stream close by. I’m sorry, Rangval, but yelling about delicious food is only upsetting your own comrades.”
The sun beat down mercilessly on the bare rock plateau as the three creatures stopped their argument. There was an awkward silence, which was broken by Gorath as he peered down to the bushy shade, where Stringle’s carcass still lay. “It’s gone very quiet down there. I wonder what’s going on?”
Rangval tried to get in the closing remark. “Maybe I made ’em hungry, an’ they’ve toddled off to lunch somewhere, aye, that’ll be it!”
Gorath’s level stare silenced the rogue squirrel. Salixa patted the big badger’s paw comfortingly. “Whatever’s going on down there is nothing we can’t take care of together.”
Things were going better for Vizka Longtooth than he imagined they would. Suddenly the golden fox had more beasts under his command than ever before in his infamous career. He had two things to thank for this stroke of fortune, the death of Stringle and his own powers of eloquence. That, plus the fact that Brownrats were not the smartest of vermin. Without a leader, the Brownrat horde were fish out of water. Once the word got around that Stringle had been slain, the Brownrats did what they had always done, sat and waited for somebeast (usually Gruntan Kurdly) to galvanise them back into action. Stringle had been Kurdly’s sole leading officer. Now that he was gone, the Brownrats were waiting for somebeast to tell them what to do.
Vizka was quick to realise this. He delegated each of his crew to act as group leaders. As tawdry as they were, the seafaring vermin looked superior to Brownrats, who were little better than primitive savages with their paint-daubed fur and stone-tipped clubs or spears. Vizka sent his crew among the horde, to order (not invite) all Brownrats to a meeting with him, in a clearing, west of the plateau.
Wielding the sword of Martin in one paw, and carrying his mace and chain in the other, he watched them file silently into the woodland clearing, they outnumbered his crew by at least six to one. The Brownrats seated themselves on the sward, whilst the Bludgullet’s crew stood around behind them on the fringe of the gathering. The golden fox took the floor, smiling as he made his address, his quick eyes watching everybeast closely.
“I’m Vizka Longtooth, cap’n o’ der Sea Raiders. I just seen yore cap’n, Stringle, killed by dat lot up dere. Bunch o’ cowards, wouldn’t come down an’ fight proper, slayed pore Stringle wid an arrer from far off. Jus’ when we’d reached an agreement!”
Vizka paced up and down, eyeing the silent rats, waiting for a reaction. They stared dumbly back at him. He put a paw to the side of his mouth, as if imparting a secret. “Aye, an agreement, an’ ya know worrit was?” There was sti
ll no reaction, so he continued dramatically. “Dat we all join t’gedder in one big ’orde to defeat dat lot up dere. Me’n Stringle woulda commanded t’gether, but now dat yore cap’n’s been merdered, youse’ll have ta take orders from me. Unless ye’ve got anudder cap’n?” Sticking the sword point down into the soil, Vizka draped the mace and chain around his neck, allowing his gaze to range over the assembly.
A voice spoke out. “Worrabout Gruntan Kurdly, ’e’s our chief, Stringle always waited fer him afore doin’ anythin’.” The speaker was a big, lean, tough-looking rat.
Vizka began moving through the seated throng toward him. “Wot’s yore name, mate?”
The Brownrat met the fox’s stare. “Gurba, me name’s Gurba.”
Vizka stopped in front of him. “Well, let me tell ya sumthin’, Gurba. Yore Cap’n Stringle was waitin’ on der big chief. Aye, waitin’, while youse Brownrats was gettin’ slayed by dose stripe’ounds an’ shrews atop o’ dat rock. But Stringle couldn’t stand ter lose no more mates, ’e got tired o’ waitin’ fer Kurdly. Dat’s why me’n ’im made de agreement, see!”
Something about the twist of the Brownrat’s lip warned Vizka. He took a pace back as Gurba stood, holding his big, flint-tipped spear loosely, but ready for action. There was open defiance in his tone as he told Vizka, “I ain’t agreed to nothin’, neither ’ave the rest o’ my mates. We’ll wait for Gruntan Kurdly, an’ see wot ’e sez!”
Vizka seemed to wilt in front of the bold, lean rat. He turned away shrugging his shoulders. “Fair enuff, if’n dat’s ’ow ya feel….” He spun around without warning, Gurba was taken by surprise. A clank of chain and the whirr of the steel-spiked ball was the last thing the Brownrat heard. There was a sickening crack of metal on bone, and Gurba lay dead on the ground with a smashed skull.
The golden fox stood smiling, his overlong fangs exposed as he toyed with the mace, flicking it with one paw, and catching the ball in the other. His tone was almost playful as he addressed his dumbfounded audience.
“We’ll leave Gurba ’ere, to wait fer Kurdly. Jus’ put ya paw up if’n ya wants ter join ’im…anybeast?” Not a single paw moved, the Brownrat horde sat in shocked silence, staring in awe at their new leader.
Vizka nodded, then got down to serious business. Retrieving his sword, he pointed to the plateau. “Wot’s up dere, a coupla score o’ liddle shrews, one rabbet, a squirrel an’ two stripe’ounds. Dat’s all wot stands atween us an vict’ry. An’ look at us, mates. A fine crew o’ Sea Raiders, an’ a full ’orde ’o fightin’ Brownrat warriors. One good charge’d wipe all our foes out, a force our size couldn’t lose. Nobeast but a few ole cooks an’ a pack o’ toddlin’ babes would be left in dat Abbey. Jus’ picture it, you’n’me an’ Gruntan Kurdly, marchin’ through der gates o’ Redwall t’gether, wotja say, eh?”
The Bludgullet’s crew knew what to do, they took up the cry. “Aye, Cap’n, we’re wid ya! Yaaaahaaarrr!”
Caught in the wild moment, Brownrats leapt upright, waving spears, clubs and slings as they roared. “Kurdly, Kurdly! Kill kill kill!”
Vizka let them carry on awhile, even encouraging them by waving both sword and mace. He allowed them to carry on until they began to sound hoarse, then he stood on a boulder, calling for silence. “Enough, all of ye, I knows yer all good beasts an’ true!” He glanced toward the westering sun. “We’ll camp ’ere for der night. Glurma, get some ’elp an’ feed dis lot, git some cookin’ fires lit. Rest now, me buckoes, look to ya weppins, eat’n’sleep, ’cos at dawnlight tamorra we got some slayin’ ta do!”
Vizka wandered about, quietly contacting several from his crew vermin. “Ragchin, Dogleg, Patchy, Bilger, Firty. Set up a fire, away from dose Brownrats, I wants werds wid ya!”
35
It was the end of a hot, dry, dusty day on the high plateau. Osbil and Barbowla walked around the rim checking on the sentries. They paused at the western edge to see the scarlet orb of the sun descending amid strata of purple and gray clouds, some with gold-tipped underbellies.
Barbowla sighed, “A pretty picture, Log a Log, but I’d much sooner be seein’ it from the doorstep of my holt upriver.”
“Aye, me, too, mate, but we’re up ’ere ’til the party ends for better or worse.”
Barbowla pointed to a glow some distance off. “That clearin’ in the trees yonder, I think the vermin are campin’ there, that light looks like their fires.”
Osbil studied the glow. “About six, maybe seven fires by the look of it.”
“Ah well, we might get a bit of peace seein’ as the foe’s camped down for the night. I’ll warn the sentries to keep their eyes peeled in case any vermin tries an ambush in the dark.”
Osbil and Barbowla reported back to Gorath, who was sitting with Salixa, Maudie and Rangval around a small, boulder-ringed fire.
The big badger yawned. “I think you’re right, those not on guard can rest tonight. Vizka will probably be having his supper and planning his next move.”
A moan came from Rangval. Barbowla turned to him. “What’s the matter with your face, rogue?”
Rangval stirred the flames with his dagger tip. “Ah, ’twas just the mention of supper…”
Maudie prodded him. “Don’t even think about it, sah, we don’t want you goin’ off into vittles raptures again, wot.”
The rogue squirrel looked injured by her attitude. “Ye’ve a harsh tongue, me beauty, but ’twas Gorath who mentioned vittles, not meself. Ah well, seein’ as me freedom of speech is forbidden, I’ll just have to give ye a bit of an ould song, eh?”
Maudie smiled. “You warble away to your heart’s content, old lad, a jolly good ditty might cheer us up, wot!”
Rangval sat up straight, making ready to launch into song. “Thank ye kindly, miz. I’d like to start with a little thing entitled, ‘Please pass the plate of peach’n’pear pudden.’”
Osbil waved a clenched paw. “Oh, no you won’t!”
Rangval swiftly changed his selection. “Oh, right y’are, sir. Well, how about, ‘Don’t chomp cheese while yore mother’s chewin’ chestnuts’?” Rangval saw several Guosim shrews glaring at him and toying with their rapiers. He took the hint. “Er, as me third choice I’ll give ye a rendition of me ould auntie’s favourite. It’s called ‘The battle of the boiled beetroot an’ how d’ye slice strawberry soup.’”
Maudie dived at the rogue and got him in a headlock. “Righto, you bushtailed bounder, now you’ve got two blinkin’ options. You’ll either hear me sing one called ‘How to strangle a senseless squirrel,’ with actions to suit the words, of course. Or you can simply belt up an’ go t’sleep. Take your pick, sah!”
Rangval wailed as the haremaid’s hold tightened. “Mercy, marm, if’n ye throttle me ye’ll never forgive yoreself. Desist from squeezin’ me ould windpipe, an’ I’ll take me rest with sealed lips, so I will!”
After that, silence fell over the plateau for awhile as some slept, and others lay there, thinking of what the dawn would bring. Gorath sat alongside Salixa, letting the little fire burn low. They both lay back, gazing up at the star-spangled wilderness of dark night skies.
Salixa chaffed her big friend quietly. “I thought you were going to sing for a moment back there.”
Gorath gave a deep chuckle at the thought. “Who, me, sing? No thank you, I only ever sang to myself as I worked on the land in the Northern Isles. Sometimes it was just to break the silence and loneliness. I think I’ve got a pretty awful singing voice, I’d never break into song whilst other-beasts are listening.”
The slender, young badgermaid turned toward him, she saw the starlight reflected in his huge, dark eyes. “It must have been very hard for you. Did you ever get angry about your lot, stranded there with your aged grandparents? Tell me, were you aware of the Bloodwrath?”
Gorath passed a paw over the scarlet wound on his brow. “Not really, but looking back on things, I know that my grandfather could see the Bloodwrath in me. He never spoke of it, but he knew, I realise that now.�
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Salixa frowned thoughtfully. “How so?”
Gorath explained, “When Grandfather was still able to work, we toiled side by side, getting the earth ready to plant crops. Often we would come across a big boulder, or an old tree, barring our progress. We’d try together to move the boulder, or uproot the tree. When we failed, Grandfather would stop work and sit down, then he’d say, ‘It’s too much for a young one and an oldster, but your father could have done it alone. Aye, he’d get into a temper with that boulder, or that tree, he’d shout Eulalia at it, and kick the thing with his paws. Go on, young one, give it a try.’ So I did.”
The badgermaid continued questioning. “What happened?”
The big, young badger flexed his mighty paws as he recalled the incident. “The first time it was a rock, a huge granite boulder, half-buried in the frozen earth. I shouted Eulalia at it until I was roaring, I struck the bare rock with my clenched paws. I didn’t feel any pain, just a mighty surge of power building within me. My chest was heaving as I sucked in huge gasps of air. Suddenly I was yelling, panting and seeing the boulder through a red mist. I flung myself upon it, thrusting both paws deep into the soil either side of the stone. Grandfather told me later that I plucked that rock from the earth, as easy as if I were lifting a babe from its cradle. I lifted it and flung it from me. Either I passed out after that, or fell asleep, but I couldn’t remember anything, except what Grandfather told me. I uprooted trees in the same way. I became bigger and stronger, my muscles grew hard.”
Salixa picked up one of his hefty paws, she studied the tracery of old scars crisscrossing the pad. “So your grandfather goaded you into Bloodwrath to get the heavy work done. That was so unfair.”
Gorath smiled. “That’s what Grandma used to say to him, she said he was making me into a Berserker, who would die just as my father had. But it never bothered me then, I did the work of three badgers. Often I enjoyed the feeling, the rage and power, the knowledge that nothing could withstand my wild strength.”
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