High Rhulain

23

Returning swiftly to her former position at the window, Tiria continued to scan the sea, though her mind was in a state of turmoil. How did Mandoral know about the Rhulain? Why had he told her to watch that area of the sea, and where had he disappeared to? She tried to fathom it all out. In the midst of her deliberations, Tiria suddenly saw something which set her senses tingling.

The ebbing tide had receded sufficiently to expose a rock, in the very spot she was watching. In a flash, Tiria recalled the dream she’d had on the night before she left Redwall Abbey: the Rhulain appearing out of the sea to deliver the message which had sent Tiria in search of Green Isle. When the High Queen had sunk back beneath the waters, she had left what appeared to be the tip of her hooded figure, showing above the waves. There it was now, far out on the deep—a rock shaped like the top of the Rhulain’s hood!

A deep voice sounded close by. “The rock is only visible when the tide is at its lowest ebb. It shows quite clearly in moonlight, don’t you agree?” Mandoral had returned. He was carrying a sheaf of scrolls, which he placed on a barrelhead.

The ottermaid stood wide-eyed. “I’ve seen that rock in my dreams! What is it? I mean, what does it stand for, sir?”

The dark eyes of the Badger Lord widened in surprise. “You mean you don’t know?”

Pointing to the rock, he explained solemnly. “That is where the Queen of Green Isle was lost forever—she, her brother and an entire crew of Wildlough otters. Their ship was wrecked on that rock, and they were slain by murderous wildcats!”

Tiria felt very young and ignorant in Lord Mandoral’s presence. “But how do you know all of this, sir? It must have taken place in the far distant past, long before your time.”

The Badger Lord indicated the pile of scrolls. “Recorded history, Tiria. Did I not tell you that I have become a student of all the events at Salamandastron?”

The ottermaid gazed longingly at the scrolls. “Let me study the history, too, Lord. I must find out more about the High Queen.”

Mandoral allowed one of his rare smiles to the young otter. “No need for that, I can tell you all about the Rhulain. I have researched the subject thoroughly.”

The big badger swept Tiria up, as if she weighed no more than a leaf, and deposited her on the windowsill. “First, you must understand that the queen was no stranger to Salamandastron. She had visited here before. This was in the reigning seasons of Lord Urthwyte, the great white badger. Through my studies I learned that they were friends. Throughout the ages, Badger Lords have possessed formidable skills in the making of weapons and armoury. Take, for instance, Boar the Fighter. It was he who made the fabulous sword for your Martin the Warrior. Lord Urthwyte was gifted with a particular talent, the manufacture of armour. Nobeast before or since ever produced shields or armour of such strength and beauty.”

“And did he make armour for the Rhulain, sir?”

Mandoral’s massive paw touched Tiria’s mouth gently, silencing her. “I am always saying to the young hares here, the only way you will ever learn is by listening, not by speaking.”

Tiria watched in silence as Mandoral went to the pile of scrolls. He selected one, which he spread on the windowsill alongside the ottermaid.

“This is a sketch drawn by Lord Urthwyte. It was to be a new armoured breastplate he had designed for the High Queen. Now you know why I mentioned her to you. Look!”

It was the regal otter lady, just as Tiria had seen her in that first dream. About her brow was the slim gold circlet, containing the large round emerald. Beneath her richly embroidered cloak of dark green, the breastplate could be seen. It was burnished silver metal, with a gold star radiating from its centre. She wore a short kilt, around which her sling was belted, with a stone pouch attached. Tiria took in all of this at a glance, but she stared hard and long at the face.

Tiria was aware of Mandoral voicing his thoughts aloud.

“The moment I saw you down on the shore, I felt that Queen Rhulain was reborn. Now I am certain of it.”

The ottermaid was still gazing at the sketch. “Aye, sir, she could be my older sister for sure!”

The Badger Lord lifted her effortlessly down from the sill. “Come with me, I have something to show you.”

When Tiria saw him draw back a hanging wall curtain, she knew where Mandoral had vanished to previously. He unlocked the door which stood behind it.

“This is my own personal bedchamber-cum-study-cumrefuge from mess halls packed with noisy Long Patrol hares.”

She inspected the badger’s retreat. It had one smaller window, shelves full of volumes and parchments, a table, a comfortable chair and various pieces of armour and weaponry hanging from two walls. The Badger Lord took a bundle from a cupboard and placed it upon the table.

“That last ill-fated voyage made by the Rhulain has been documented by Lord Urthwyte. She came from Green Isle to Salamandastron to be measured for a new armoured breastplate. Urthwyte was planning on making one for her. Apparently he thought the old one was getting rather thin and battered. Like that of Badger Lords, Otter Queens’ apparel can get some fairly rough treatment. From Urthwyte’s records, I gather the new armour would take a full season to manufacture. Alas, she was never destined to see it. But even after the High Queen’s death, Urthwyte continued with the breastplate until it was completed. He was a beast with a love for his art, you see. I had the regimental tailors re-create the cloak and kilt from the drawing you saw. As for my own contribution, I made the sling and stonepouch. Unfortunately, there is one piece of the regalia missing, the coronet. We possessed gold enough, but nothing remotely resembling the great round emerald which would have completed it. I want you to take these things, Tiria Wildlough. They are yours by right, I think. I’m sure they will fit you well.”

Tiria opened the bundle slowly. The cloak and kilt were tailored skillfully from a thick, dark-green velvet, the hue of mossy streamstones which lay in shaded shallows. The ottermaid could not suppress a gasp of awe as she beheld the breastplate. It was a true example of the armourer’s art, a waist-length, sleeveless tunic. The back was a mesh of fine silver links, forming a chain mail. The front was also pure silver, beaten, smoothed, and burnished to a mirrorlike finish. This was surmounted at its centre by a radiating star of bright gold. The inside was padded with a soft, azure blue silk.

Tiria exclaimed as she picked it up, “Goodness, it’s light as a feather!”

Mandoral nodded. “Indeed it is. I wish I knew what sort of secret metals Urthwyte infused into it. Don’t let its lack of weight fool you, Tiria. It would stand against any blade, even a spearpoint. Do you like the sling I made?”

It was slightly longer than Tiria’s sling Wuppit and a little broader, a grey-black in colour and rough to the touch. Tiria tested its balance and pliability. Taking a stone from her own pouch, she loaded the weapon, twirling it experimentally, then smiled her approval.

“This is a marvellous sling, sir, far better than my old one. The material is tough and very coarse, good to grip. It would never slip, I can tell. What’s it made of?”

The Badger Lord pointed out the window. “The hide of a great fish, a shark that was washed up dead on our shore. There’s more than a few lances and arrows among my hares, tipped with the teeth and bone shards of that beast. I knew the skin would come in useful for something, so I had it treated and cured. I see by the way you twirl that sling, you can use it. Can you throw far?”

Speeding up the sling’s revolutions, Tiria suddenly whipped off the stone, sending it whirling through the open window. As it sped off into the night, Mandoral watched the sea until he saw a faint phosphorescent splash, far out over the calm waters.

“I have some good slingers in the Long Patrol, but none as good as that. You can use a sling!”

Tiria joined him at the window, her eyes seeking out the rock where the Queen’s ship had sunk so long ago. “All I need now, so that the otters of Green Isle will know me, is the coronet. If the Rhulain went down with her ship, it must still be there. Gold does not rot, nor will it rust away, even in seawater. I will go there once it is light. If the crown is there, I will find it!”

Mandoral glimpsed the light of determination in her eyes. “I believe you will. I can see that nobeast would attempt to stop you. I will come with you, Tiria.”

She bowed courteously. “I will be glad to have you with me, sir.”

Even before dawn had properly broken, a gang of hares had hauled the Purloined Petunia down to the floodtide and set her in the flow. Cuthbert, as the commander of the vessel, cut a bizarre figure. In his dual role as ship’s captain and regimental major, he wore the musselshell patch over one eye and his monocle in the other. Over his Long Patrol tunic, he had donned his tawdry nautical frock coat. Pointing with his swagger stick, he bellowed out orders.

“Haharr, buckoes’n’chaps, take ’er out a point to port, wot!”

Quartle and Portan, who were jointly in charge of the tiller, began to complain.

“I say, sah, it’s high flippin’ tide! How are we supposed to see the bloomin’ rock, wot?”

“Porters is right, Cap’n sah. You can only see the jolly old rock when the blinkin’ tide’s out!”

Seated together on the prow, Tiria and the badger smiled as they listened to Cuthbert roaring at the subalterns.

“Who asked yore opinions, ye blather-bottomed buffoons? You just steer as I tells ye, or I’ll have yore jolly old scuts for sammidges! Tides don’t matter, the water’s clear enough t’spot that rock. Why d’ye think I’ve got a lookout?”

He bawled up to the osprey who was napping on the masthead, “Pandion, matey, go an’ sort out that rock an’ waggle yore wings over it ’til we gets there, will ye?”

As the osprey took off over the rolling waters, Cuthbert continued to berate his hapless steersbeasts. “Ye slab-sided scoffswipers, wot d’ye know about navigatin’, eh? If’n I wasn’t commandin’, ye’d get lost in a bucket o’ water. Now steer a course after that bird yonder, or, so ’elp me, I’ll kick yore bottoms into next season!”

It was not long before the fish hawk’s keen eyes picked up the top of the rock below the surface. Pandion Piketalon hovered over the location, fluttering his impressive wingspan like some exotic black-and-white-barred fan.

Mandoral pointed. “Your good bird has found the rock, Captain.”

Quartle muttered to Portan, “Amazin’, he must have eyes like a blinkin’ hawk, wot!”

Portan guffawed. “That’s ’cos he is a blinkin’ hawk, old lad.”

Dawn breezes wafted the ship gently to the location. Pandion resumed his perch on the masthead, whilst Cuthbert ordered the subalterns to furl the sail and drop anchor. The Badger Lord took a long coil of rope with a chunk of rock attached to one end. Securing it to the prow, he dropped the weighted end into the sea. By this time, the sun was spreading its light over the waters.

Tiria watched the stone falling through the semitranslucent sea. It fell rapidly, bouncing off the sides of the underwater rock peak. When it had vanished into the depths, Mandoral instructed the ottermaid. “You must hold on to the rope at all times. Don’t let go of it, Tiria. When you want to come up, just give one normal tug and I’ll haul you up. Is that understood?”

Tiria winked at him confidently. “Don’t worry about me, sir, I’ll be fine. Otters know their way about underwater.”

She winced as the big badger gripped her paw, his voice becoming stern. “I know you’re an otter, but you listen to me, young ’un. It’s not the same as Abbey pools or forest streams, being down under the deep seas. Nobeast really knows what dangers may lurk down there, so you hold on to that rope tight. If you get into any real danger, then give it two sharp jerks, and I’ll have you out of there.”

Tiria took a firm grip on the lifeline. “I understand, sir, and thank you for all your help.”

She slid over the prow into the cold sea, with the crew’s best wishes.

“Haharr, Tilly me gel, you keep yore eyes peeled down there!”

“Aye, miz, best of jolly good luck an’ all that, wot!”

“Toodle pip, old thing, hope it ain’t too flippin’ cold down there. Rather you than me, I say.”

Then she submerged completely into cold, eerie silence.