The Sable Quean (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  “I knew that cattypult wouldn’t stop the scum forever. They’ve still got more’n enough vermin to overrun us.”

  Buckler’s long rapier swished as he drew it. “Aye, but the ballista bought us a bit o’ time. Pity it can’t be used for close-up work. Well, this is it, mates—we need everybeast that can fight right here!”

  Jango, Skipper and Oakheart began bawling orders.

  “Logalogalogalooooog! Guosim to me!”

  “Redwaaaaaallll! Come on, buckoes, let’s show ’em!”

  “Gather to me, brave beasts! Woe unto they who would face a Witherspyk!”

  Axtel Sturnclaw began pounding a baulk of timber with his war hammer, roaring, “Woooohuuuurrrr! Cumm an’ meet ee choild o’ death, vurmints! Woooohuuuuurrrr!”

  Vilaya caught up with Grakk, who was at the centre of the first wave. She yelled at him above the noise, “Get them across that ditch an’ straight up the hill onto the wall. Don’t stop—keep up a full charge. Once our Ravagers are on the walltops, we’ll eat them alive. Don’t fail me, Grakk! You’re in command now!”

  Flib joined the second row of archers and slingers. Trajidia Witherspyk, armed with a sling and stones, stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her. Flib’s blood was up—she bounced up and down, whirling her sling in anticipation of the action.

  “Yaharrr! We’ll show that scummy lot the way to Hellgates. First vermin that shows his nose over the wall’s a flamin’ deadbeast, eh, Traj?”

  Faced with the reality of life and death in warfare, the hogmaid’s dramatic nature suddenly deserted her. “Oh, er, right, Flib, we’ll show them. . . . But what are we supposed to do? I mean, do we actually have to kill other creatures, f ace-to-face?”

  Flib laughed recklessly. “Well, o’ course we do, ya blinkin’ wiltin’ lily! If’n ye don’t kill Ravagers, they’ll kill you. Just sling’n’whack’n’batter as hard as ya can. Stick by my side. I’ll show ya how!”

  Streaming to either side of the burning ram, vermin fighters scrambled out of the ditch. Grakk urged them up the sloping hill of rubble, waving his spear, and firing them up.

  “Take the Abbey, ye bold buckoes! Let’s conquer the place an’ live the good life. Go to it if’n ye want enough vittles t’stuff yoreselves, aye, an’ slaves to serve ye! It’s all there for a night’s killin’!”

  The first score mounted the pile, their footpaws sinking in as they scrabbled upward. Buckler waited until he could see their villainous faces rising through the smoke and darkness. He raised his blade, steadying the first row.

  “Stand ready. . . . Wait now. . . . On my command . . . Shoot!”

  A hail of shafts and slingstones whined through the air like angry wasps. Screams and gurgles rang out from below, followed by a salvo of thrown spears and javelins. Three Guosim fell to the missiles, two wounded, one dead.

  Now the second wave of vermin came climbing up over the bodies of their fallen comrades. This time, there were more of them, and the ascent was faster. Jango heard Buckler calling his row to fall back and reload. The Guosim Chieftain leapt onto the battlements, shouting, “Second row forward. . . . Stand ready. . . .”

  Flib whirled her sling, winking at Trajidia. “Here we go now, Traj. Good huntin’, mate!”

  Jango’s command rapped out as they stepped to the threshold. “On my command . . . Shoot!”

  Trajidia was about to loose her slingstone when the scarred head of a rat poked over the top at her. She whacked the loaded sling down hard on her enemy’s skull. The rat stumbled, grunted and kept coming. The hogmaid hit him again. And again. And again! An insane strength seemed to fill her limbs. She was screaming like a madbeast, “Eeeeeyaaaaah! Get back, back, baaaack!”

  The rat reared to his full height on the walltop, then fell lifeless in front of her. She slung off her stone at a stoat who was following the rat. He toppled backward, struck full in the throat. Trajidia heard the order to fall back and allow the third row forward. She retreated, loading up her sling, laughing hysterically in Flib’s face. “I did it, I did it, mate! See that! Two of ’em—I got two Ravagers. Eeeeeyaaaaah!”

  The rows of defenders had now fallen into disarray, so fierce was the vermin onslaught. Buckler was everywhere at once with his commanders. Thrusting, kicking, slashing and stabbing at an endless stampede of vermin attackers. The Redwallers were sure to be overwhelmed as the tide of Ravagers swept upward. Some were even now fighting on the walkway, in paw-to-paw combat with the lesser force.

  Then the unexpected happened. Ambrevina smashed the ballista to smithereens with a fusillade of blows from her mighty paws. Timber went flying everywhere as she grabbed both the young alder trunks, with the canvas sling tied between them. Skipper saw what was coming. He acted swiftly, ordering the defenders to retreat south along the walltops.

  “Back to the south corner, everybeast. Stay out o’ that badger’s way or ye’ll be slain!”

  Buckler, Skipper, Jango and Oakheart put their backs to the retreat, fighting off the Ravagers who were pursuing them. There was, however, not much need for this when Axtel arrived on the scene.

  The Warrior mole was in roaring Bloodwrath, hurling himself joyfully into the advancing Ravagers. His war hammer rose and fell, as if he was a mighty smith working at an anvil.

  Ambrevina swept the walkway clear, wielding both the supple young trunks, bellowing in fury. Vermin flew through the air, right over the walltops, left, right and centre. The drastically thinned ranks of the foebeast could not, nor would not, face two such beasts consumed with the urge to slaughter. Even those climbing the heap fell back. However, this could not save them. Having cleared the threshold and west walkway, Ambrevina and Axtel jumped over the wall. They came thundering down upon the Ravagers like twin thunderbolts.

  Buckler grabbed Jango. “Come on, Log a Log, get your Guosim and let’s finish this! Skipper, Oakheart, stay up here and guard the Abbey. See to the wounded!”

  Seeing the battle lost, Vilaya took to her paws and fled across the flatlands, with panic lending speed to her footpaws. Grakk ran, too. Panting and gasping, he caught up with the Sable Quean.

  “Majesty, did ye see that? The big stripedog an’ that other thing, the madbeast with the hammer? Once they came at us, we stood no chance. We need a new plan now.”

  Vilaya threw a paw around the weasel’s shoulder. “I plan to get far away from here, travelling alone.”

  Grakk sensed what was about to happen—he knew Vilaya, and knew what he had to expect for the failed conquest. He tried to pull away, but too late. The Sable Quean was already thrusting with her small venomous blade.

  She released him then. He collapsed to the ground with a small sigh. Vilaya stared down at him.

  “Mayhap you never heard me say I travel alone.”

  She sped off into the night, leaving Grakk staring at her retreating figure. It gradually grew dim, as did his eyes.

  The once-fearsome army of Ravagers was defeated on the path twixt the ditch and the Abbey’s west wall. Leaderless and totally unnerved by the ferocity of the counterattack launched upon them, they scattered and stumbled off in disarray. Buckler chased after a small group, but only for a short distance. Putting up his blade, he returned to the Abbey.

  Skipper was sitting on the hill in front of the main gates, watching the burning battering ram. He nodded to the hare. “I think that’s the last we’ve seen of the Ravagers, mate. Take a seat an’ rest yore paws.”

  The young hare sat down beside him with a sigh. “I chased after one or two of ’em, but they were runnin’ scared. No point in catchin’ vermin who’ve lost the will to fight, so I gave up.”

  Skipper probed at the debris with his javelin tip. “Hah, try tellin’ that to Jango an’ his Guosim. Those shrews don’t take no prisoners, mate!”

  Buckler rose, dusting himself off. “Well, you know what they say. The only good vermin’s a dead un. It’s hard to break a lifetime’s habit. Did ye see anythin’ o’ Axtel or Ambry? Are they off huntin’ vermin, too?”


  Skipper pointed west over the flatlands, which were tinged with pale reflections of early dawn from the eastern sky. “Went over yonder, both of ’em, though ole Axtel was goin’ a lot slower ’n the badgermaid. Somebeast said the Sable Quean had run off that way.”

  Buckler leapt the ditch with a single bound. “I’m goin’ after ’em, Skip. Keep yore eyes peeled on things around here, mate!”

  The Otter Chieftain shrugged. “Not much t’see now the battle’s over—ahoy, go easy up there! Can’t a beast sit in peace for a moment?”

  He dodged to one side as a Ravager carcass rolled down from the walltop, followed by several more.

  Foremole Darbee poked his homely face over the wall. “Oo hurr, moi pololojees, zurr! Me’n moi crew bee’s shiftin’ ee slayed vurmints offen ee rampits t’be buried.”

  Skipper climbed nimbly to the threshold, his dignity still intact. “Well done, good sirs. The ole place could do with a tidy-up. Don’t want Abbess Marj seein’ this lot lyin’ about Redwall, do we?”

  The Abbess appeared at the top of the gatehouse steps. “We most certainly don’t, though I’ll excuse it this time, seeing as how you restored my Abbey to me. So, what can I do to reward you goodbeasts?”

  Oakheart came panting up onto the parapet. “A smidgeon of breakfast wouldn’t go amiss, my dear Marj.”

  Marjoram curtsied, smiling. “Then breakfast it shall be!”

  A crowd of defenders made their way across the lawns, with Oakheart Witherspyk, in fine baritone voice, giving a rendition of a song he had written many seasons ago for one of his renowned Witherspyk productions. He remembered it well, because he had cast himself in the role of the conquering hero. Everybeast soon caught on to the chant which opened each verse, and the repetition of the final verse line.“We won we won we won we won. . . .

  A victory’s like the finest of wine,

  I can say this without conceit.

  We left our enemies to dine

  on the bitterness of defeat.

  The bitterness of defeat!

  “So hey sing ho as we merrily go,

  no warriors happy as we,

  for every beast will share a feast,

  of the fruits of victory!

  “We won we won we won we won. . . .

  Oh, see the foe as away they go,

  all battered an’ beaten full sore,

  we wave our swords an’ shout hoho!

  They’ll never come back for more.

  No, they’ll never come back for more!

  “Let’s cheer out near an’ far hoorah,

  brave comrades, rally to me.

  Not a moment to waste, come on an’ taste

  the fruits of victoreeeeeee!”

  Drull Hogwife met them at the Abbey door. She was looking flustered. “Ooh, er, beg pardon, Mother Abbess, but is Mister Diggs with ye?”

  Skipper answered for her. “No, marm, Diggs ain’t with us. He was lyin’ wounded in the sickbay last I heard.”

  Drull threw her apron up over her face. “Oh, corks, he ain’t there now. Diggs ’as gone!”

  31

  After ridding herself of Grakk, Vilaya pressed on awhile before settling down to rest. The Sable Quean lay behind a small hummock. The defeat of her forces at Redwall rankled her, though not for long. Ever an opportunist and a creature of whim, she chose to stay alone for some time. If and when she needed another following, it was a simple matter.

  Vermin had always been in awe of Vilaya. She was quick, ruthless and intelligent—all the qualities which made her a Sable Quean. Maybe the next band of roving barbarians she might meet up with would prove suitable to serve her. Redwall to her was nought but a bad dream, which she pushed to the back of her mind. She was far away from the Abbey now. She would not worry about the severe lesson she had learned at the paws of simple woodlanders. However, a lesson learned was a gaining of knowledge. She drifted off into a light sleep.

  Daylight was fully up when she woke. She stretched, standing up as she gazed around. Larks chirruped in the high azure sky, grasshoppers rustled, bees hummed, and myriad-hued butterflies flew silently upon the high summer morn. All this natural beauty was wasted upon Vilaya—she was hungry and thirsty. Then she saw the distant figure coming over the flatlands toward her.

  The Sable Quean cursed herself for a fool. Always having Ravagers on guard, ready to report any movement, it was strange having to shift for herself. Her eyesight was keen; she stood still until she identified the unmistakable bulk. The big badger was tracking her, moving at a steady lope.

  Ambrevina plodded doggedly on. She had slowed her pace to accommodate Axtel and his injured footpaw. In the half-light of dawn, the Warrior mole had rallied somewhat, even running slightly ahead of her. Then he stumbled, tripping over the huddled body of Grakk. Axtel sat rocking back and forth, his velvety face creased in pain as he hugged the damaged footpaw. Ambrevina knelt by his side.

  “Are you hurt, my friend? How can I help?”

  The sturdy mole would not look at her. He waved a mighty digging claw, grunting, “You’m carry on, marm. Oi’m h’only ’olden ee back. Catch ee up wi’ ee villyun. If’n you’m wanten to ’elp oi, do that. Leave yon evil vurmint in such ee way that she’m carn’t ’urt any more pore likkle uns. Hurrr!”

  The huge badgermaid clasped her friend’s digging claw briefly. “You rest here, I’ll pick you up on my way back. Don’t worry about the Sable Quean. Death marked her well on the day she murdered a young otter called Flandor. I took an oath she’d pay for his death.”

  Axtel Sturnclaw watched her lope off westward, with pale dawn light on her back.

  Ambrevina kept the same pace, conserving her huge strength. Dust pounded off her paws, which sounded like dull drumbeats on the plain. She emptied her mind of everything, concentrating only on her mission. Almost a league further on, she was finally rewarded. The slim lone figure stood out on a hummock in the distance. The drumbeats speeded up as the badgermaid burst into a run.

  Vilaya took off like a startled hare, telling herself she could outdistance such a big, lumbering beast. After a while she ventured a backward glance. It struck fear into her heart. Framed by the golden summer sunlight, her pursuer was still coming, vengeance lending speed to her scorching pace. The Sable Quean sobbed, a dry lump rising in her throat as she sucked in the warm air. Now she could hear the badger’s footpaws—Whump! Whump! Whump! Whump!—coming onward at a ground-eating rate. Then she heard the hunter’s breath, hard and hot, but with no sign of weakening.

  Vilaya tried to put on an extra spurt of speed, which she actually did for one brief interval. Then it was as if she was moving waist high through water. She had run out of breath; her pace began flagging. Devoid of energy, she felt her adversary’s hot breath on the nape of her neck. Quick as a flash she loosed her long silken cloak. It billowed out and fell, catching the badger’s footpaws, snarling her up so that she stumbled.

  Ambrevina felt her balance go. Automatically, she threw herself into a headlong leap. She collided with Vilaya’s back, sending herself and her quarry thudding to the ground. Being on top, the badgermaid was first up. Swinging her loaded sling, she hefted the sable with a footpaw, turning her over.

  The Sable Quean’s face was tight with horror. She gasped, “You . . . you’ve killed me!”

  Her paw clasped the crystal poison holder and the lethal blade which it sheathed. It had broken and pierced her chest. Vilaya could smell the sickly aroma of serpent venom as it oozed around the wound. Her eyes blazed hatred at the badgermaid standing over her.

  “Y-you . . . k-killed . . . the Sable . . . Quea. . . . !”

  Ambrevina saw Vilaya’s body contort once, twisting like a corkscrew. It went stiff; she died like that.

  Flandor, the young friend of Ambrevina Rockflash, had been avenged. She turned and walked away without a backward glance, blinking as the sunlight shone into her eyes, mingling with her tears.

  Redwall Abbey’s twin bells, Matthias and Methuselah, boomed out
a warm brazen message of peace over Mossflower Country. In the aftermath of a temporary breakfast, with the promise of an afternoon feast, Redwallers and their allies flooded joyfully out into the Abbey grounds.

  Buckler, Jango, Oakheart and Skipper accompanied the Abbess, gathering on the gatehouse steps to deal with current matters. Marjoram looked to Buckler for assistance.

  “First there’s the problem of your friend Diggs. Where do you think he’s gone? Maybe you can organise a search party. He could be anywhere in the Abbey, even in the grounds. Very odd, him going off like that.”

  Buckler did his best to sum up the situation. “Aye, marm, I’ll arrange a search locally. As y’say, it is odd, but Diggs was acting strangely after his head wound, as you saw. But I don’t care if he thinks he’s some old officer.” Here Buckler chuckled. “Colonel Crockley Sputherington, wasn’t it? Huh, Diggs is Diggs, basically—he can take care of himself. An’ as for not wanting vittles, he’ll show up faster’n a scorched frog as soon as his stomach tells him it’s dinnertime. Leave the problem of Diggs t’me, marm. Now, what next?”

  Oakheart held up a paw. “What’s become of our two friends, the real heroes of the battle, Ambrevina an’ Axtel? They seem to have disappeared, too.”

  Jango did not seem unduly worried. “There’s a pair that don’t need any lookin’ after. I pity any score o’ vermin wot gets in their way, mate.”

  Skipper nodded agreement with his Guosim friend. “Right, matey. Ambry an’ Axtel are two fearsome warriors. They’ll come back if’n they feel like, but if they wants to wander an’ travel, well, fortune be with ’em both, an’ may the sun shine warm on their paws.”

  The gatehouse door opened. Big Bartij strode out, wielding a shovel. He was followed by Foremole Darbee, plus a procession of moles, all suitably geared out with picks, shovels, hoes and rakes. Darbee gave orders to his crew.