Salamandastron

89

"Gwaw! Look what you've done, you thick idjit!"

Thura let go of the string, and the bow clattered to the floor. "I never done nothin', smartstoat. It was you!"

"Oh, stow the gab. It was both of us then. There! Does that make yer feel any better?' '

"No. Do yer think 'e's dead?"

"Well, 'e don't look very lively lyin' there with an arrer through his gizzard, does 'e? I 'spect that'n's deader'n last autumn's leaves."

Thura found the remnant of a scone and began munching it anxiously as he watched the still form of Brother Hal. "Oooooh! What're we goin' t' do, mucker?"

Dingeye picked up the bow and tried to snap it angrily. The strong wood withstood his puny efforts, so he flung the bow away. It landed close to Brother Hal.

"Stupid fool, couldn't 'e see we was only 'avin' a bit o' sport? Why did 'e come downstairs like that? 1 tell yer, mucker, the best thing we can do is get well clear of this Redhafl place. It's bad luck, anyway. No one's about yet, so we c'n be gone afore they're up an' about. Grab what yer can an' foller me."

Thura was casting about. He found more scones, a pot of honey and a dish of nuts. Dingeye's urgent hiss made him look up.

"By the claw of 'ellfire an' darknight, lookit this!"

Thura' s eyes went wide as he saw his companion hold up the sword. "Wow! Wotta sword! Even Ferahgo ain't got one like that!"

Dingeye was too elated to chide him for using the Assassin's name. He waved the great sword aloft. "This is treasure riches, I tell yer. There ain't another weapon like this in ... in ... nowhere!"

In a very short time dawnlight was beginning to streak the eastern sky; The two stoats sneaked from the Abbey and let themselves out by a small wicker gate set in the south wall, then they dashed across the open sward and vanished into the fastnesses of Mossflower Woods.

Unfortunately Samkim was awake by the first light of day. He could not remain in bed with the thought of the previous evening's events; he had to see the sword again to reassure himself he had not been dreaming. Arula was still snoring as he tip-pawed from the dormitory and made his way downstairs. Samkim was in such a hurry that he stumbled over Brother Hal's body and fell. With a cry of horror he rolled over and leapt to his feet, only to trip and fall again. The bowstring had become tangled in his footpaws. He extricated himself and stood up, holding the bow.

Friar Bellows was up at his usual time to start preparing breakfast for the Abbey dwellers. He came bustling down the stairs and froze to a stop on the bottom step, his plump face a mask of horror. Standing in front of him was Samkim with a bow in his paws, and close by lay Brother Hal with an arrow through his throat. The Friar sat down on the stairs with a bump, his voice hoarse with disbelief. "Samkim, what have you done?"

Sakmumdas tron

91

12

Windpaw bound Sap wood's injured paw with a poultice of soothing herbs and a woven ryegrass wrapper. Urthstripe strode up and down the forge cavern like a demented beast. Though the Sergeant had told his tale several times, the badger Lord kept roaring out a steady stream of questions.

"Did they capture Mara or didn't they?"

"I don't think so, sir. I gave 'em the old runabout so's young Mara an' Pikkle could hescape 'em."

"Can't you give me a straight answer, Sergeant? Did they or didn't they! Who was their leader? How many of them are there?"

Sapwood shook his head despairingly as he glanced at Windpaw, Catkin, Starbob, Seawood and Big Oxeye. All the hares knew that Urthstripe had thrown reason to the winds. Oxeye stood between Sapwood and Urthstripe.

"Milord, I suggest y* leave Sapwood alone. Like me, he's told you all he jolly well can. Workin' yourself into a tizzy ain't goin' to help, if y' don't mind me sayin' so. We all know that before the season's much older mere's goin' to be a vermin horde knockin' on our front door. Worryin' over Mara an' shoutin' at Sapwood ain't goin' to solve that, no sir."

90

Urthstripe stopped pacing and faced Oxeye. Big as he was, the fighting hare quailed slightly under the brooding gaze of Urthstripe the Strong. But he had no need to worrythe badger Lord patted his paw lightly.

"Thank you, Oxeye. You are right. Sapwood old friend, how's your paw coming along?"

"Bandage or no bandage. Hi can still punch me weight, sir."

Urthstripe nodded approvingly. "Good. Now let's get things organized. Oxeye, Starbob, Catkin, take your patrols and seal up all entrances except the front. Windpaw, Seawood, check that the mountain is fully provisioned and see to the water-barrel levels. Sapwood, you come with me. We'll get together some weaponry to provide a warm reception for whatever scum come visiting. I hope that Klitch and his pal are among themI'd enjoy meeting them again."

So the fortress of Salamandastron started gearing itself up for war.

Ferahgo was readying his horde to march upon Salamandastron by midmorning of the next day. Forgrin the fox and Rap-tail the rat were seeing to their weapons. Forgrin was using a flat rock to grind a new point upon his long rapier, Raptail was fletching his arrows with leaf flights. As they worked, the two creatures conversed in low tones, keeping silent whenever Ferahgo or Klitch was near.

"D'you know why we're attackin' this badger mountain, mate? I mean, what's the real reason behind it?"

"Yer not supposed to ask that, Forgrin. The Chief sez it'd make a good fortress for us ter use as a base."

The fox licked his paw and tested the point of his rapier. "Huh, he must think we're all as dimwitted as Migroo. A fortress to use as a base, my fangs! That brat of his, Klitch, and his pal Goffa, and that whinin' searat Sickear, they seem ter know somethin' we don't."

Raptail peered down an arrowshaft, checking its straight-ness. "Aye, that's the lot of a soldier, mate: carry out orders .and don't ask questions. But I'm tellin' yer this, I don't fancy

92

Brian Jacques

gettin' slain in battle fer summat I don't know about!"

"Same 'ere, male. Though just atwixt you 'n' me, I've kept me lugs ter the ground and I thinks there's some kinda treasure at the bottom o' this.... Stow it, 'ere comes trouble!"

Ferahgo and Klitch walked by,- and the two soldiers kept their heads down, working busily at their weapons. The Assassin flashed a dangerous smile and nodded his approval. Klitch pawed his short sword, looking about impatiently.

"We've lost the edge of surprise. This army should have moved quicker. Urthstripe will be ready and waiting for us. Tell me, when are you going to make your move?"

Ferahgo played with the gold badger medal hanging around his neck. "Patience, my young backstabber, patience. When Migroo and his hunters get back, then we march."

"But why wait for Migroo and the others? We could leave signs for them to follow."

Ferahgo seated himself on a rock and stared upward, his eyes becoming bluer as they reflected the clear skies above. "What a beautiful summer morning after last night's heavy storm. My son, do you see how wonderfully clear the air is? I like to clear the air before I do anything. Have you noticed a few grumblings and rumblings amongst my army of Corpse-makers? I have. When Migroo returns with the rest, depending on whether or not he has captives with him, I'll use him as a shining example, or a warning. Either way, I'll instill some loyalty into those who murmur behind my back. You'll see."

"Hah, so you say, old one!" Klitch snorted and stalked off moodily.

Ferahgo smiled mockingly as he called after him, "With age comes wisdom. Hotheads are ten for a crust, young one."

At high noon a stoat named Doghead called down from the lookout post, "Migroo an' the huntin' gang comin' in from the south, master!"

Ferahgo tapped Goffa lightly on the side of his heavily swollen face. The ferret winced and cringed. "Laid out by an unarmed hare, eh. You're a bright one. Get Klitch and muster

Salamandastron

93

die army together for a march."

By the time Migroo and his hunters reached camp, the entire horde was gathered in one place among the rocks. Ferahgo stood apart from them, his eyes as dangerous as thin blue ice on a deep spring lake.

"Ho there, Migroo. Where've you been?"

The stoat was not the brainiest of creatures. He stood scratching his head as he pondered the odd question. "Chasin" the badger an' the hare, Chief, like you told us to."

Ferahgo smiled indulgently. He was enjoying this. "No no, you've got it wrong, Migroo. I never said chase them. I said capture them and bring them back here. Right?"

The stoat was beginning to feel nervous. He swallowed hard. "That's right, Chiefcatcher 'em an1 bring them back 'ere, that's wot you said."

The Assassin's smile swept around the watching horde. He let the tension build a little, then shrugged carelessly. "Well, I don't see a badger and a hare, do you, Migroo?"

The stoat backed off, holding out his paws pleadingly. "Arr now, Chief, we wasn't to blame. We tracked 'em arf the day an' all night through the dunes in the dark an* the storm. We tried, Chief, 'onest we did, but they just vanished in the night when the rain was 'eavy! Eeeeyahhhh!"

Ferahgo's skinning knife had moved like lightning. Migroo was writhing on the ground, clutching the side of his head. The Warlord wiped his blade on Migroo as he stepped over him. When he spoke to the horde he did not raise his voice, but everybeast heard each word distinctly.

"When I give an order I expect it to be carried out. Migroo here was lucky: he only lost an ear. The next one who disobeys me will lose his head. Oh, I know some of you think Ferahgo is getting old...." Here he winked at Klitch. "Or Ferahgo is losing his grip. Some of you even think Ferahgo is going deaf, so you gossip behind his back...." Ferahgo smiled at Forgrin and Raptail; they blanched visibly as he continued.

' 'Let me tell you, Corpsemakers, because who knows about me better than myself? I am Ferahgo the Assassin, scourge

94

Brian Jacques

Salamandastron

95

of all the Southwest Lands, or wherever I choose to set my claw. I was murdering and skinning when most of you were milk-slopping babes. Nobeast can outsmart, outfight or outwit me! Now I am leading you against a mountain fortress to do what you do best, fight! And fight you will, and bleed and die if I say so! You will either end up wealthy and well-fed, or cursing the day you were born ..."

The Assassin leapt onto a nearby rock and twirled his daggers until they flashed like wheels of light in the sun. His blue eyes twinkled like brilliant twin pits of evil as he threw back his head and roared.

"Death to the enemies of Ferahgo!"

Spears, lances, knives, swords, pikes and bows sprang into the air as the rocks resounded with a fearsome chant that ripped from the throat of each Corpsemaker.

"Fer-ah-go! Fer-ah-go! Death! Death! Fer-ah-go!!"

As the evil reptilian head pushed its way into the tiny cave Mara searched frantically for the dagger but could not find it. Pikkle Ffolger did. Wakened by Mara's shout, the startled hare rolled onto the dagger and its point stuck sharply into his rear. With an agonized yell Pikkle leaped forward, butting into the reptile's head. It fell backwards with Pikkle clinging to its neck. Locked together, both creatures tumbled out of the cave. Yelling, hissing, snarling and spitting, they half-fell half-rolled down the steep side of the high dune. Throwing caution to the winds, Mara jumped after Pikkle. She landed with a thud in the sand below and was immediately assailed by the tail of a yellow-bellied sand lizard. The creature had its claws locked in Pikkle's fur, while the young hare had it in a good headlock. Neither would release their grip, as they shouted and snarled fiercely at each other. "Wah! Lemmego, you slimy old reptile." "Gitcha paws off, rabbit, ksss!" "Rabbit y'self. You let me go an' I'll let you go!" "Kkssss! Nan nah, you leggo first. Kksss!" "Fat chance, scalybonce. You leggo first then I will!" Mara solved the problem by giving the lizard's tail a sharp

tug. To her horror, it came off in her paws. Immediately the creature released Pikkle. As it let go, the lizard turned on Mara and spat at her.

"Kkkkssssss! Look watcha done now, stupid stripedog!"

Mara's quick temper rose. She dealt the lizard a blow that sent it spinning head over claw and flung its tail after it. "Don't you dare spit at me, you filthy reptile! And just call me stripedog once more and I'll give you a few stripes to think about. Who in the name of fur do you think you are?"

The lizard sat up, exposing its bright yellow stomach. Its bottom lip began to quiver as it picked up its severed tail. "Kksss! Kaahaa! Just looka that, me bestest tail I've ever growed. Kksss! Tooka me seasins t' grow that. Now looka wotcha did. Kaahaakkssss!"

Neither Mara nor Pikkle could feel any sympathy for the lizard.

Pikkle wagged a stern paw at it. "Serves y' right, bally ol' butterbelly. Frightenin' us out of our cave like that!"

Tears popped from the reptile's eyes as it shook the severed tail at them. "Jawot? Kksss, thatsa mine cave. I duggen it. Kksss! Who said a rabbit anna stripe ... badgerer could use

it? Kksss!"

Pikkle advanced a pace, his ears indignantly erect. "Less of the rabbit, chum, or I'll show you what a doubleback hare-kick looks like!"

: Mara intervened to prevent further grappling. "Look, I'm

S sorry, we didn't know the cave was yours. We only intended .7 spending the night there to shake off our pursuers. You probably saw them searching for us. You should be grateful really, we dug it around a bit and widened it out for you. By the : way, my name is Mara and this is Pikkle Ffolger."

The sand lizard sat sulking, rubbing its tail stump. "Call-a V me Swinkee. Not pleaseter meetcher tho'. Kkssss! Ruint me j cave's far too big fer me now. Kaahaa!"

.i Pikkle sat down alongside the reptile. "Oh, stop blubberin', ;gt; Stinkee, or whatever y' name is. We'll make the cave smaller ,,;.-, if that'll please you, old lad. I say, you don't happen to have 3 a bit of breakfast around, do you?"

96

Brian Jacques

Swinkee began scooping out a hollow to bury his beloved tail, all the time muttering and hissing, "Kssss! Breffist be a fatchance round 'ere, kaahaa. Take me seasins an' seasins ter grow more tail likea that one. Kssss!"

Mara tried reasoning with him. "Look, we're completely lost. Do you know Salamandastron, the big badger mountain on the shore? If you do and you could guide us there, we'll give you as much breakfast as you like."

"Kkssss, swampflies, marshworms, good breffist for Swinkee." The sand lizard shot his tongue in and out several times. "Kkssss, 1 take-a you there for lotsa those. I know mountain."

Pikkle nudged Mara as he addressed the lizard confidently: "Good enough, old sport, wot? We've got loads of jolly old marshflies an' swampworms at the mountain. I expect we could rustle you up a sackful or two. How d'you like 'em, Stinkeefried, boiled or done up in a salad with lettuce an' whatnot?"

Swinkee pulled a face as he stood up, dusting himself off. "Kksss, not boila fry, lizard like 'em alive so's theya wriggle an' wiggle inna mouth, kkssss, mmmmmm! Folia me!"

The day rose hot and bright over the dune country as they trekked between interminable sandhills behind the lizard, completely baffled at the direction in which they were traveling.

"Pikkle, are you sure this creature is guiding us back home?" Mara kept her voice low.

The hare tore up dandelions by the roots. Passing some to Mara, he munched steadily, spitting out the sandy grit. "Who knows, old gel. We're at his mercy really. He could be leading us any ballywhere. S'pose we'll just have to rely on his greed and the promise of two bagfuls of squigglies. Yuk!"

At midday they halted. Digging in a damp patch of sand produced a small muddy pool at which they drank gratefully. Mara yawned mightily and stretched. It was peaceful and pleasantly warm where they had stopped.

Salamandastron

97

"Whooohuuuh! I hardly slept a wink last night. What about you, Pikkle? Are you tired too?''

"Absoballylutely whacked out, chum. I could sleep on a prickle."

Swinkee stretched himself luxuriously in the sand. "Kksss, you inna my cave last a night. I didn' sleep, kksss. Bester we sleepnow, longways to go yet. Kksssnnmr!"

"Well, beat my bush! Look at old Stinkee, he's snorin'." Pikkle gnawed the last of the dandelion roots.

Mara patted a hollow in the sand and laid her head down. "Good idea, I'd say. Give me a shake if you wake first, Pikkle."

An hour had gone by. Pikkle and Mara curled up in the soft sand, sleeping peacefully through the high golden afternoon without as much as a breeze to disturb them. Swinkee's eyes popped open and he watched them for a moment. Assuring himself that they were sleeping soundly, he slid away, hissing to himself, "Kksss, pulla my tail off, hit Swinkee, sleep inna my cave, rabbit V stripedog tella me lies 'bout swampflies. I do show 'em, theya mess with lizard nomore, kksss!"

13

The beauty of the soft golden summer morning following the previous night's storm was lost on the inhabitants of Redwall Abbey. Nameday sports had been canceled and sadness and shock hung like a shroud over everything. Samkim sat alone in the Infirmary, numb with disbelief. Was poor Brother Hal actually dead? Who had done the awful deed? The young squirrel knew nothing of what went on outside the Infirmary, as he had been hastily escorted up there by Friar Bellows and Abbess Vale immediately after being discovered by the Brother's body, bow in paw. They had made him promise to stay put and speak to nobeast until investigations were under way.

While the Redwallers took their breakfast outside on the lawn, a meeting was convened in Cavern Hole. In the smaller, more intimate surrounding of the room that was separated from Great Hall by a downward flight of steps, the Abbess, Fore-mole, Hollyberry, Bremmun and Nasturtium gathered to discuss events. Bremmun pushed away his untouched breakfast.

"Friends, it staggers belief: Brother Hal dead! Where is young Samkim now?"

Abbess Vale held up a paw for silence. "He is confined to the Infirmary. Now, Bremmun, we are all as shocked and

98

Salamandostron

99

saddened by Hal's death as you are, but please let us not say anything in haste or jump to conclusions that we may be sorry about later. So, has anybeast got something to tell us that we do not already knowand let me add, we know little or nothing of what took place, except that poor Hal is no longer with us."

Sister Nasturtium spoke up. "I cannot contribute any evidence, Mother Abbess, but I must say what I feel in my heart. I do not think that there is a single Redwaller who believes that Samkim would be so careless as to endanger another's life. It would be horrible to even think of accusing him."

The Abbess folded her paws into wide habit sleeves. "I agree with you, Sister, and no one has accused him yet."

Bremmun disagreed. "Friar Bellows told me that when he found Samkim standing over Hal with a bow in his paws he said to him, 'Samkim, what have you done?' "

Brother Hollyberry interrupted Bremmun. "Aye, and the young un didn't say a word. It was as if he was struck dumb by the shock of it all. But I have something to tell that may throw some light on things. Those two stoats, Dingeye and Thurahas anybeast seen them this morning, because they weren't in their beds when I woke up."

Foremole stood up decisively. "Hurr, then you'm gudd-beasts stay yurr whoil oi go'n foind 'em. May'ap they do know sumthern."

"Vermin!" Bremmun ground his teeth aloud.

The Abbess rapped the tabletop sharply. "Bremmun, there you go again. I can see you are ready to condemn Dingeye and Thura without any proof or evidence. This must stop instantly. Redwall has a reputation for goodwill, justice and fair play. We are here to uphold it!"

Bremmun made a shamefaced apology. To save him further embarrassment, Hollyberry opened a parchment upon the table. "Frair Bellows gave me this. It was in Brother Hal's paw."

They read the record written down long seasons ago and by simple process of deduction came to the same conclusion that Hal had.

100

Brian Jacques

Saiamcmdastron

101

Nasturtium spoke for them all. "Well, now we know how the sword of Martin was found by Samkinthe lightning tore it from the weathervane and it fell to earth. To what purpose, I wonder?"

Foremole came trundling back in, shaking his head. "Ev-erybeast be a-searchen for they stoaters, but yurr this. Mar-then's gurt swoard be gone too. Oi 'spect enfurmation any moment naow."

Bremmun's angry voice broke the shocked silence. "The great sword of Martin the Warrior gone? Those filthy thieving vermin! They'll pay dearly for this when we lay paws on 'em. Why, I'd like to . . . "

Indignant voices joined the squirrel until the Abbess rapped the tabletop sharply to restore order.

"Silence, please." She held up a paw. "We won't get anywhere shouting and threatening."

There was a knock upon the door and Tudd Spinney entered. "Mornin' to ye all. Sorry I can't say good mornin', 'cos it's not. Foremole, did you check all the wallgate locks last night?"

Foremole nodded vigorously. "Oi allus do, maister, wi'out fail."

Tudd shook his walking stick. "I knew ye did, 'cos you're a good V thorough feller. Well, I've just checked the wall-gates an' the east one is unlocked!"

In the silence that followed, Foremole ticked off further information on his paws. "Burr hurr, an' food fer young uns is gone from Gurt' All, an' thurr be arrers a-sticken in table an' sporty 'quipment tossed all o'er the place."

Abbess Vale stood up. "As soon as we have laid Brother Hal to rest in the grounds, we will organize a party to search for the stoats and bring them back here! Now I must go straightaway to Samkim to tell he has nothing to reproach himself for. He'll need some comforting after the death of poor Hal."

But Arula had been listening at the keyhole and was already on her way to the Infirmary.

The midmorning sun shone down brightly on a sad little ceremony in the grounds of Redwall Abbey. Brother Hal was laid to his final rest amid much mourning. There were wreaths and posies of wild flowers and small tokens from his friends. Thrugann reverently placed a small quill pen in tribute to the Recorder of the Abbey, and Baby Dumble put his favorite straw mousedoll alongside it on the neat heap of earth surrounded by brightly colored pebbles. Mrs. Faith Spinney recited a few lines:

"Your seasons have run their course, old friend. In your goodlife we were proud to take part, But in springtimes unborn and summers to come, You will live in each Redwaller's heart."

While the ceremony took place at the west lawn, a rope snaked downward from a first-floor window at the east side of the Abbey building. Samkim and Arula were down on the ground in a twinkling and running for the east wallgate. Beside a haversack of provisions apiece, Samkim carried a quiver of arrows and the bow that had fired the shaft which struck Brother Hal down. Arula had a big pruning knife and a sling with a pouch of pebbles. They opened the small wall-gate quickly and let themselves out into the leafy depths of Mossflower Woods.

After the ceremony. Brother Hollyberry and the Abbess made

their way up to the Infirmary. The Abbess dried her eyes on

a spotted kerchief.

"Oh, Brother, I can understand how poor Samkim was too

upset to attend Brother Hal's last resting. Well, maybe it will ».. be some consolation to him that we've recommended his ;.;; name to Thrugg as a member of the search party for those t two stoats."

The Infirmary door was wide open. Hollyberry entered, ^; looked around the empty room and picked up a pillowcase ,|- with a badly scrawled charcoal message written on it:

102

Brian Jacques

"The stoats are the ones what did it. We will fetch them back and 'the sword too. Tell Friar Bellows it was not me. Do not worry, me and Arula will be all right. Samkim."

The Abbess produced a kerchief and wiped her eyes. "Hol-lyberry, they may be in danger, we cannot let them go alone."

The old Infirmary keeper took the kerchief and dried Vale's eyes. "We have to. I feel that the sword of Martin did not fall from the roof to land at Samkim's side for nothing. He is marked by destiny and the sign from our Abbey spirit. Call off the search party, Vale. Let us put our trust in two young friends and Martin the Warrior."

The sun started its inexorable descent into the horizon far out to sea. At the close of a long hot day the sky remained cloudless. Salamandastron's monolithic rock took on a somber purple aspect against the dusty fawn of the darkening shoreline.

Hares of the Long Patrol watched from the top of the crater. Armed and alert, each one silently surveyed the torchlit horde advancing steadily through the dunes. Myriad pinpricks of light, like a river of stars fallen to earth, were separating in the distance like the horns of some great animal, closing in to surround the mountain.

Ferahgo the Assassin was coming to Salamandastron!

A young female hare named Pennybright swallowed nervously as she fidgeted with the string of her bow. Big Oxeye patted her gently as he passed. "Steady in the ranks there, Penny."

He moved on to another youngster, Shorebuck, who was sorting out his best slingstones. Oxeye nodded approvingly. "That's the ticket, young feller. First battle, is it?"

"Yes, sir. I've decided to choose good stones an' give a good account of m'self to those vermin."

Oxeye grinned. "Did the same m'self when I was a nipper like you."

"D'you think they'll take long gettin' here, sir?" Shore-buck tested his sling with an experimental twirl.

Salamandastron

103

"Don't fret, laddie. When they do, I'll be right by your side."

Shorebuck relaxed slightly, comforted by the veteran fighter's presence. Keeping his eyes on the advancing lights, he murmured, "No sign of Lord Urthstripe yet. Where d'you suppose he is?"

"Oh, he'll be around somewheres, gettin' ready an' whatnot. Stay awake now, supper should be round any moment now. Y'don't want to miss that, wot?"

Oxeye moved on around the vantage points, murmuring encouragement, his solid presence radiating calm and good humor to the fighters of the Long Patrols.

Inside the mountain stronghold of Salamandastron passageways hewn through the living rock led off caves and chambers. Some were lit by torches, others illuminated from window slits, giving the entire place the air of some vast primeval warren. At the end of one such corridor a large rock slab had been rolled aside, and lantern light cast a warm glow upon the smooth stone face of the chamber where Urthstripe stood. This was the place where he sought solitude when his mind was troubled. All around the walls the record and history of Salamandastron and its badger Lords was depicted in intricate carvings: Brocktree, Spearlady Gorse, Bluestripe the Wild, Ceteruler the Wise, Boar the Fighter, Sunstripe the Mace . .. they were all there. It was a place of mystery, heavy with the ages of badger lore.

Urthstripe set the lantern on a ledge and picked up a fine pointed chisel. Selecting a clear space on the flat rock wall, he began carving the likeness of himself into the stone. As he cut skillfully into the rock he reached into his forge apron and produced a pawful of herbs. These he sprinkled over the flame-heated sides of the lantern. Soon the cave was filled with a swirling gray smoke that carried with it a smell of autumnal woodlands. The badger Lord began chanting, the words forming in his mind as he gouged trancelike at the wallstone:

"Seas and lifespans, ebbing, flowing, Past and future merge as one.

104 Brian Jacques

Mountain Rulers, coming, going, Seasons future, seasons gone. Badger Warriors from the shades Stand beside me, guide my paw. O wise Lords and gentle maids, Restrain my rage, preserve our law."

Sergeant Sapwood left off stacking lances at a concealed window slit on the lower level. He accepted the bowl of hot mushroom and leek soup from a small wiry hare who carried two short swords strapped across his shoulders. Together they sat on the windowledge and took supper, watching the seemingly endless torchlight procession flooding from the dunes into the moonless night.

Sapwood blew on his soup to cool it, his strong face expressionless. "Do you think they 'ope ter scare us, Thistle?"

Bart Thistledown of the Westshore Thistledowns stared languidly down his long aristocratic nose at the lights bobbing and flickering in two prongs toward the mountain. "Actually, it all looks rather pretty, doncha think, Sap. Though if I were those flippin' vermin I'd be gettin' a good night's sleep instead of paradin' round like a flock of fireflies goin' courtin'. Darnfools, if y'ask me, old fellow!"

"Cor you talk luvly, Thistle." Sapwood chuckled admiringly. "Yer a cool one, all right. Hi'11 say that for ye."

Thistledown sniffed disdainfully. "Bad form t' get one's ears in an uproar over vermin, wot?''

Klitch shook his head in disapproval. "Well, if they didn't know we were coming before, they certainly know now. All these torchesit's foolish!"

Ferahgo's blue eyes twinkled in the torchlight. "They'll see us all right. I want them to. Can't you see it's a show of strength? Each of our creatures is carrying two torches, and that makes it look like double our numbers. Also, they can see the torchlights, but from this distance they don't know if we're foxes or frogs, ferrets or toads, big or small, badly or

Sahmandastron

105

well armed. That will have them guessing and worried too. They know we're here, but they won't see us. Now watch this, my young and still wet behind the ears son."

Ferahgo gave a piercing whistle and upended both his torches in the sand, extinguishing them immediately. Every member of the horde followed his example. All around Sal-amandastron the lights went out as if by magic.

"Now they know we're here, but they can't see us." Ferahgo settled down in the sand, grinning with satisfaction. "We can sleep until dawn, but they'll have to stay awake and alert."

Klitch dumped his torches head down in the sand. "I still think it's a stupid move. I've told you, these are trained fighters. They know all the tricks in the book."

Of the two weasels, Klitch was to prove right.

"Right, chaps an' chapesses, lights out an' heads down, wot!" Big Oxeye had caught on to Ferahgo's plan. As he watched from the crater top he tossed aside his sling scornfully. "Huh, they must think we came ashore in buckets, brainless buffoons! Seawood, post six sentries. The rest of you can get a bit of jolly old shuteye until dawn."

Lantern shadows flickered around the hidden cave as the badger Lord stirred his powerful frame. The smoke from the herbs had cleared away, and Urthstripe rubbed his eyes and yawned as if coming out of a deep sleep. Casting aside the chisel, he picked up the lantern and held it close to the wall, where it illuminated the fresh carvings. The badger Lord's gruff voice echoed around the cave as he translated the pictures aloud:

"Two badgers. This small oneit's my Mara, I'm sure. This other one, is it me? No, it cannot be. I have stripes, he has none."

The mountain Lord's eyes clouded over. He shook his head as half-forgotten images flitted through his mind.

"Strange, a badger without stripes .. . Without stripes?"

He blinked, turning his attention back to the wall.

106

Brian Jacques

"What's this? Vermin eyes? Yes, they're the eyes of vermintwo pair, probably weasel's. The round thing between them, is it the moon or the sun? No, it has carving on but I cannot see, it is too small and fine. Ah, here is a sword, the weapon of a warrior, and here am I, Urthstripe, Lord of Sal-amandastron."

Next to the figure of Urthstripe a few lines were written in Badger rune. He narrowed his eyes, studying them.

Faintheart shall be made strong, But a warrior's fate for the mountain Lord. Blue eyes brings battle ere long, Whilst the maid comes of her own accord. The mount shall be ruled by badger kin, The sword shall make Mossflower free The Abbey will take its Guardian in Far from this rock by the sea.

Urthstripe stood tall, his brooding eyes alight with the knowledge of his own fate. He felt as though the heavy paw of destiny had touched him, but the thought of a coming war seemed to obliterate all feelings of sadness or fear.

Sapwood's voice cut into his thoughts as it boomed hoi-lowly along the chamber passage, "It's three hours t' dawn, sir. Those vermin are all haround us, surroundin' the mountain. Everybeast is in position, waitin' on your word, shall Hi tell 'em yore comin', sir?"

The badger Lord unfastened his forge apron. "They will see me in the hour of dawn, Sergeant, and I will see them. Then we will take a look at this vermin horde in good plain morning light. Lay out my armor, helm, sword and spear!"

Dingeye and Thura headed south through Mossflower Woods. They had a good head start and made the most of it, knowing that once Brother Hal's body was discovered, together with the loss of the sword, pursuit by the creatures of Redwall would be inevitable. The forest was tall, green and silent, save for the rustle of leaves and trill of birdsong.

Dingeye had been forging ahead, slashing and chopping at fem and nettle with his newly acquired weapon. As midday drew near, Thura was lagging noticeably. His companion wiped the blade of the wondrous sword on his sleeve as he waited impatiently for him, calling back through the serried columns of treetrunks, "Move yerself, mucker. Cummon, stir yer stumps, stoatnose!"

Thura wiped his brow. Leaning against an oak, he breathed heavily. "I've got t' rest, Ding. Don't know wot's wrong wi' roe. I feels all done in. Must've been that bath they made me take."

Dingeye sneered and took a swipe at a passing butterfly with the sword, admiring the flashing green lights as its blade glinted in the sunlight filtering through the emerald canopy. "Gam! I got bathed, too, an' it didn't 'urt me. Now get yer paws a-movin', or I'll leave yer be'ind. 'Urry up!"

107

108

Brian Jacques

Thura's face was an unhealthy grayish pallor, his limbs trembled and sweat beaded on his nosetip as he stumbled to keep up, calling out to his comrade, "Slow down, mucker. You wouldn't leave me 'ere ter be catchered by that lot from Redhall. 'Ere, carry the vittles an' I'll be able to get along a mite better."

"Carry vittles?" Dingeye pulled a lip and slashed moodily at a young rowan tree. "Huh, not likely. You took 'em, you carry 'em. I've got me paws full luggin' this 'ere sword around. Tell yer wot, though, we'll stop awhile an' 'ave lunch. That'll make less food ter carry."

Gratefully Thura let the sack of provisions drop as he collapsed in a heap at the edge of a small clearing. Dingeye immediately set about stuffing himself with honey, bread and nuts from the sack, ignoring Thura's pitiful state.

"Lissen, we can't stop 'ere too long, they'll be on our trail by now. Still, we've escaped before an' we c'n do it again. We'll stick to this forestit's better'n flatlands, more cover."

Thura curled into a ball, shivering uncontrollably, his teeth chattering and his tail quivering fitfully. Dingeye stopped eating and prodded him.

"Hah, yer wobblin' about like a baldy beetle there. Just look at yer, mucker. Wot's the matter?"

Thura's head went up and down as he stammered a reply. "S-s-sick! I-I-I'm s-s-sick, feel b-b-b-bad!"

Instinctively Dingeye drew away from him. "Is it a fever? 'Ave yer got a fever? Huh, you look awful!"

"H-h-h-elp me!" Thura stretched out a trembling paw.

Dingeye shouldered the sack. "Oh, come on then, I'll carry the vittles. But I'm not carryin' you, stoat. I don't wanna catch no fever." He took a few paces and looked back angrily at Thura curled up on the woodland floor. "Well, are yer comin' or aren't yer, 'cos I'm not 'angin' round 'ere waitin' for yer!"

Thura made no reply. Dingeye sniffed moodily. "All right then, you stop 'ere awhile till yer feelin' better. I won't go too fast so that y'can catch up with me."

Still receiving no reply from his companion, he set off into the forest, traveling south and slightly west, talking aloud to

Solamandos Iron

109

reassure himself. "Must be somethin' he's et, greedy oF toad. Prob'Iy catch me up ter night when 'e gets hungry again."

The trial of the two stoats was not difficult to follow. Samkim and Arula could see plainly the slashed and damaged vegetation which Dingeye had hacked at with the sword. Despite the urgency of their mission, neither of the two young ones could help noticing the beauty of Mossflower, draped in summer green and studded with small islands of color from flowering bush and shrub. Their paws made little or no sound as they padded along over the carpet of soft brown leaf loam. Samkim pointed ahead to where a strip of bark had been wantonly sliced from the trunk of a white willow, exposing the pale sapped wood beneath.

"Easy to see which way they went. Look at that." Arula nodded. "Urr, Foremole'd tan thurr 'ides for doen that to a livin' tree. Ho urr, they'm surely two nastybeasts." Samkim touched the trunk, noting the dampness of sap on his paw. "If we travel a little faster we may catch them up by late afternoon. They can't be too far ahead. Come on, Arula."

"No need to worry, young Redwallers, hen heh heh!" The thin reedy voice had come from nowhere. Samkim and Arula halted, staring at the leafy screen about them.

The voice spoke again. "Worry, hurry, that's all some creatures do. No time to live to a ripe old age. Look at meI can't count the summers I've seen and I'm fit as a flea. Heh heh heh!"

Samkim fitted an arrow to his bowstring. "Show yourself!" A bed of tall ferns stirred and a woodvole stepped into view. He was small and thin, dressed in a long smock of brown barkcloth, and his face was framed by the biggest white beard they had ever beheld on any creatureit fuzzed out like a cloud, and only his bright black eyes were visible through it. The woodvole laughed and cut a little caper. He was astonishingly agile for such an ancient creature.

"Heh heh heh! You can put the bow down. I'm not going to hurt you, Redwaller. How do I know you're a Redwaller?

110

Brian Jacques

Easy! You talk with the accent of an Abbeydweller. I'm Fur-gle the Hermit. I live here all alonealways have done, can't stand the company of any creature for too long, prefer my own. I suppose you're tracking the two stoats who came by here earlier?''

"You'm seen 'em then, zurr?"

Furgle did an angry little dance around Arula. "Why can't moles ever learn to speak properly? Seen them! Of course I did, two evil smelly vermin, slashing away at my woods as if they owned them. You don't need to hurry to catch tho.-i two, though."

Samkim bowed politely to the hermit. "My name is Sam-kim. This is Arula. You are right, of coursewe are both from Redwall Abbey. Why do you say that we have no need to hurry?"

Furgle waited until Samkim had unnotched his arrow. "Because one of them is very ill. He won't go much further. I've never been ill a day in my life. Come on then, Redwallers. I'll go along with youI know Mossflower better than you ever will. By the oak and the ash, I'll give that stoat a piece of my mind when I meet him. How dare he go about chopping up my woodlands!"

Without further ado the woodvole set off. In a short while both Samkim and Arula were having difficulty keeping up with the energetic pace he set.

An hour's swift journey found them on the edge of a clearing.

Arula sighted Thura lying curled up. "Lookum o'er thurr. 'Ee must be the sick un!"

"Wait!" Furgle restrained them both from running over to Thura. "You can never tell with vermin. Give me an arrow, Samkim. We'll see if he's sick or shammingbetter careful than careless I always say, generally to myself though."

Furgle snapped the point from the arrow and tied a pad of leaves in its place, then returned it to Samkim. "Fire that at the creature, young squirrel."

Samkim shot the shaft perfectly. It thudded against Thura's back and bounced off onto the grass. The stoat made no move.

Salamandastron

111

"As I thought, he's finished." The hermit nodded knowingly.

The two young ones dashed over to the body. Furgle was right: Thura was freshly dead. Samkim rolled the stoat over. "Dead? I can't believe it. Only yesterday he was as lively as you or I."

"Humm, ee'm dead aroight. Deader'n 'ee black acorn." Arula scratched her head with a huge digging claw.

Furgle pulled them away from the body. "Don't get too closethat stoat died of some form of fever or ague. Well, it was nice meeting you, but now I must go about my business. If you are going to bury him then do it quickly, but try not to touch him. Er, sorry, there's some urgent business I must attend to. See you later. Goodbye."

In the twinkling of an eye he had vanished back into the depths of Mossflower. Samkim and Arula stood looking at each other, slightly disappointed at Furgle's abrupt departure.

"Burr, yon owd un doant' ang about, do 'ee?"

Samkim shook his head. "Not the action of a true forest dweller, I'd say. Still, I suppose he had his reasons. Now, we'll bury this one and track his friend Dingeye. Huh, some friend, leaving his pal here to die like that. Can't see the sword anywhereDingeye must have it. Arula, where are you?"

The little molemaid was swiftly excavating a tunnel beside Thura's body. A shower of dark earth flew upwards as she dug in with powerful blunt claws. Before long she vanished into the hole, and the ground trembled and heaved alongside the dead stoat. Samkim blinked with surprise as she emerged from the ground nearThura's ears. Arula dusted herself down.

"Thurr, that be done! Jus' tip'm in with 'ee bow, Sanken."

Samkim levered the body over with his bow. It plopped onto the tunnel top and the earth gave way. Arula covered it with the earth she had pushed out from the excavation.

"Best oi c'n do fer 'ee, pore stoater, tho' 'ee'm wurra bad lot."

Though the lunch at Redwall had only been a light summer salad and some blackberry scones, Friar Bellows found him-

112

Brian Jacques

Salamandastron

113

self weary and perspiring. He left the Abbey kitchens and went to sit out by the pond where it was cool. The fat mouse took off his cap and apron and mopped his brow with a dock leaf. Thrugg came over, shaking out his shrimp net.

"Avast there, ol' Sellers. No scones to bake for tea-time?" The Friar sat down rather heavily, shaking his head. "Oh, scones. I'll get to 'em later. Very good, very gD'you know, Thrugg, I feel terribly dizzy today."

Thrugg sat down beside him. "I 'spect it's wi' workin' around those hot ovens, matey."

"No, I never lit the ovens today. Brrrr! It's cold out here!" The jovial otter looked at him quizzically. "Cold? It's the middle of summer, me 'eartie. I don't know as 'ow y'can say it's cold when you're all asweat."

Bellows lay back and wiped his whiskers. "You're right. I'm sweating but I feel cold. Those scones, must get the ovens lit. Mrs. Spinney'11 help me with the mixin'... . Very good, very good. ... Hmmmm."

Brother Hollybeny was shaking a blanket from the Infirmary window to freshen it when Thrugg called up to him, "Ahoy there, Brother. Friar Bellows ain't lookin' too chipper. D'you want me to tote him up to sickbay so's you can give the pore mouse a look over?"

Hollyberry folded the blanket neatly. "Bring him up, Thrugg, there's a good fellow."

When Thrugg had gone, Hollyberry turned to a very downcast young hedgehog sitting on the edge of one of the beds.

"Now close your eyes and open your mouth, young Brin-kle. Be brave, this physic will make you feel better and stop all that shivering and sweating. You'll be right as rain by teatime, believe me, young feller."

Tudd Spinney found his old friend Burrley Mole seated with his back to a barrel of October ale down in the wine cellars. He shook his stick disapprovingly. "You been oversamplin' of our October ale again, Burrley?"

The mole's normally bright eyes lacked luster. He waved

a hefty digging claw at his hedgehog companion. "Hummmm! Go 'way, Tudd. Oi feels orful an' drefful, nor a drop'n of 'ee Nextober ale 'as passed moi lips t'day!"

Tudd heaved Burrley up onto his paws. "C'mon, ol' mate. May'ap yore sickenin' for summat. Let's git you up to the Tirmary."

By evening the Infirmary was full. Abbess Vale and Holly-berry were discussing using one of the upper galleries of the Abbey as a sickbay when Baby Dumble began his interminable tugging upon her habit.

"Muvva Vale, Muvva Vale, there's a funny old un wiv a cloud stucked on 'is face at the main gate. Wantsa see you, Muvva!"

The Abbess pried Dumble free from her gown. "Yes yes, Dumble. Now go and play like a good little dormouse. I'll be down as soon as I can."

However, there was no need for the Abbess to go to the main gate. Mrs. Faith Spinney had opened it to the stranger, and she brought him to the upper gallery.

"Vale, my dear, this is Furgle Woodvole the Hermit. Would you believe, he met Samkim and Arula today. I think he wants to speak with you."

Abbess Vale took Furgle's paw. "So good of you to come with news of our young ones, Mr. Furgle. You must be tired and hungry coming such a long way. Come with me and I'll see you're fed and rested. Mrs. Spinney, would you take over here with Brother Hollyberry while I see to our visitor."

.Seated in the privacy of the Abbess's room, Furgle took elderberry wine and plumcake with relish. When he had satisfied his hunger he turned to the Abbess with a look of concern upon his face.

"You look like a sensible lady, Abbess. I've got something serious to say to you, so listen carefully." ;, Vale's paws plucked nervously at her sleeve. "Is it Samkim or Arula? Oh please, Mr. Furgle, tell me that they're all

;lt;jght!"

114

Brian Jacques

The hermit refilled his beaker with the dark red wine. "Oh, they're fine, madam, just fine. It's the stoat I've come to tell you aboutone of the two that were here at Redwall. This very day at sometime before noon he dropped dead. I've gone over all the possibilities on the way to your Abbey. I'm certain now: by the look of that creature he died from Dryditch Fever!"

The Abbess's paws knotted into the hem of her sleeve and her eyes were wide with fright as she breathed the terrible name. "Dryditch Fever! Are you sure, Mr. Furgle?"

The woodland recluse nodded his head sadly. "I wish I weren't. Abbess, but it's Dryditch Fever all right!"

Mara was awakened by something heavy-descending upon her. The air was filled with wild gleeful croaking as she tried to stand but fell flat with the smothering weight. Her voice sounded muffled as she called out. "What's going on? Pikkle, wake up!"

Beside her she felt Pikkle stirring into action. "Phwaw! I say, what's apaw? This thing stinks!"

Mara managed to push him flat. She lay still a moment as she tried to make some sense of the situation. Instantly it became clear and the icy paw of fear gripped her. They were both enveloped in the meshes of a sprawling net fashioned from tough dried reed-grass and weighted all around with boulders. Through the small apertures she could see literally hundreds of large toads; the slimy creatures were waddling and hopping about in a primitive victory dance, their baggy throats puffing and swelling as they croaked a horrid tuneless chant. Most of them were armed with tridents or a curious type of flail with stone-tipped thongs.

The sand lizard Swinkee leaped triumphantly forward, brandishing the dagger and broken javelin that had been their only weapons. Thrusting his leering face close to the net, he

115

L16

Brian Jacques

Salamandastron

117

slithered his tongue in and out as he watched the plight of Pikkle and Mara.

"Ksss! Howja feel now? Kaha kaha! Want ta pull me tail off, steal me den, abeat me up? Kksss!"

Mara was about to say that they had not harmed him, but she thought better of it. Unknowingly they had made a dangerous enemy. She tried reasoning with Swinkee. "I'm sorry about what happened. We didn't mean to upset you. We promised to reward you if you took us back home."

"Kksss! Liarssss!" The lizard spat through the meshes at her. "Youa don't fool Swinkee. Kahaha! I got plenty swamp-flies V marshworms off King Glagweb inna trade for you. Swinkee-a like revenge. Kksss!"

Pikkle pawed at the net in helpless fury. "You're an absolute bounder, Stinkee. D'you hear me? If I could get out of this confounded shrimp trap I'd raise a blister on your noggin that wouldn't go down in a season!"

Before they could exchange further insults, the lizard was swept aside by a massively bloated toad, red-eyed and covered in repulsive yellow warts which blotched its slime-green skin from end to end. The toad prodded a long trident through the meshes, narrowly missing their eyes. "Thrrruk! Foodslaves be silent, krrik! Or you die!"

"Best do as he saysI think he means it!" Mara whispered under her breath to Pikkle.

The lizard bowed fawningly before the massive toad. "Kksss, Swinkee bring you gooda trade King Glagweb."

The King of the toads nodded ponderously and waved his trident. Two smaller toads came forward, carrying between them a sack which moved with a wriggling, writhing motion.

Swinkee snatched it from them and backed off, bowing and scraping. "Kkss, kaha, swampflies, marshworms, no need t' counta them, Swinkee trust great King, always good to-a do trade with."

Dragging the sack off into the dunes, he waved to Mara and Pikkle. "Kahahaha, bye bye, Foodslaves. Kksss!"

The badger maid and the young hare were made to march with the net still over them. Stumbling and spitting sand, they struggled across the dunes, surrounded by hopping, croaking toads who were only too willing to jab at them with tridents or lash out with wicked flails, should they fall or attempt to" stop. Some of the smaller toads thought it was good fun to sit on the trailing net ends and be towed along. Pikkle was soon exhausted, but Mara put out all her strength to aid her friend. Holding the net up so that he could walk freely, she bunched her muscles and dragged the whole thing along on her own, ignoring the trident and flail stings, impervious to the sand and stones that were thrown at her by the mocking .. amphibians. Pikkle crouched low, doing his best to keep her footpaws from being snared or tripped in the net.

Night had long fallen over the dunes, and the captives were still lugging the enormous weight. Mara was forced now to travel oh all fours; the strain of standing upright had proved too much. Pikkle crawled doggedly at her side. Blinded by sand and smarting from the cuts and blows of goading weapons, the young ones plowed wearily onward, oblivious of where they were bound, hoping only to be allowed to stop and rest. It gradually filtered through to their numbed senses that they were traveling along flat damp groundthere were , tussocks of grass and patches of mud.

One of the toads produced a conch shell. Puffing out its ;f throat, the creature blew into it. There was an answering call

--, from up ahead and lights began to show.

-- King Glagweb prodded Mara cruelly with his trident. "Krrroik! Move, stripedog. Hurry, krrrik! Nearly there!"

When they reached their destination the two captives

^ flopped gratefully to the soggy ground, panting with exertion.

:;K, Other toads, carrying lanterns full of fireflies, came waddling

J, over to inspect the prisoners. One firefly settled on Pikkle's

:'-| ear, which was sticking out of the netting.

,V Pikkle gave a yelp of pain. "Yowch! That blighter bit me!"

,;/ King Glagweb laid about with the handle of "his trident,

: scattering the onlookers as he called out to his guard,

118

Brian Jacques

Salamandas iron

119

"Krroikl! Get these Foodslaves into the pit. Krrrk!"

The net was roughly dragged for a short distance then tipped by a score of guards. Mara and Pikkle were upended into a deep dank hole. They splashed pawsfirst into muddy water almost to their middies. Squelching to a low ledge at one side, the two friends slumped down together.

Covered in sludge and mud, they lay waiting until the sounds of the toad guards retreated. Pikkle immediately jumped up and tried to scale the slippery clay sides of the pit, but slid back hopelessly.

There was a murmur of voices from the darkness, one louder than the rest.

"You're wasting time and strength trying to get out. Don't try again. If the guards come back we'll all be punished."

Mara felt about until her paw encountered short muddy fur. "Who are you, what are you doing here?"

The shape of a small creature loomed up out of the gloom. "We're prisoners, Foodslaves, just like you. What name do they call you?"

"I am Mara of Salamandastron. This is my friend Pikkle Ffolger. He also comes from the mountain."

The small creature offered his paw. "I am Nordo, only son of Log-a-Log. My father is leader of Guosssom, the Guerrilla Union of South Stream Shrews of Mossflower. There are thirty-four of us all told down here."

Mara and Pikkle shook Nordo's paw.

Pikkle pawed sludge from his ear in disgust. "Please t' meet you, Nordo. Hah, Foodslaves indeed. We'd be filthy if we attempted to serve 'em food in this bally state!"

Several shrew voices piped up. "Oh, you won't be servin' food, matey. You are the food!"

"Aye, the mud'll roast off pretty easy in a cookin' fire!"

"Foodslave's only good for one thing matey. Food!"

Mara was horrified. "You mean they intend to eat us?"

Nordo led them to a small cave scooped out in the pitside. He sat them down and explained.

"Glagweb and his tribe are cannibal toads. If there are no captives they eat the weaker ones of their own kindyou

wouldn't believe some of the stories about King Glagweb and his band. At the moment we are lucky; yesterday we numbered forty, but they took six of us last night. We have a temporary reprieve. I heard some of the guards talking today, and it seems that we are to be kept and fed until the King's Feastday, then it's our turn."

Nordo held up a paw. "I know what you're going to ask me next: when is the Feastday? Sorry, I don't knowyour guess is as good as mine. But while there's life there's hope, eh. At least we'll be given food for a while."

"And then jolly well served up at a party." Pikkle gulped. "What a nice surprise. Makes a chap feel wanted, wot, wot?"

Mara could not stand in the enclosed space, but she clenched her paws and growled fiercely, "I'd like to see them try to eat me. I'd give them a few bodies of their own to cook before they got me on the table. Nordo, why do you all wait down here doing nothing? Can't you attempt some kind of escape instead of just sitting here waiting for those filthy creatures to eat you?"

Nordo drew them close and whispered, "That's exactly what we are doing. Are you with us?"

Mara and Pikkle clasped his paw in the darkness.

"We're with you, all the way!"

"Just say the jolly ol' word an' we'll stick t' you like slime on a toad's back, if you'll pardon the pun, old lad!"

Nordo chuckled grimly. "Good! Let me explain. We have a messenger. When it is daylight if you look up you may see a wren fly over. That is Leaflad. He is a friend of the shrews, so keep a watchout for him. The day he drops an acorn into tills hole, that's the day we escape from here."

"You mean you're going to break out with an acorn?" Pikkle Ffolger scratched his nose.

Mara slapped his paw. "Stop fooling, Ffolger, and listen to what our friend has to say. Sorry, Nordo. Carry on."

"Right. When the acorn drops in it means that my father and his shrews will attack from the river south of here. They Will have to act quickly and drive the toads back beyond this hole. It is our job to defend ourselves until help arrives."

120

Brian Jacques

Mara nodded. "How will we do that?"

"Simple really. The cave we are sitting in was dug by us to prevent the toads hooking us out when they want us. While we were digging this cave and others like it, we found lots of good heavy throwing pebbles in the mud. So we stockpiled them and tore up our jerkins to make slings. That's how we'll defend ourselves until the shrew warriors can get us out of this pit."

"Krrike! Hey down there, here's food for you. Eat it ail up now. Kraahaahaa!"

As they piled out of the cave they were hit by a pile of watercress, roots, tubers and dandelions that the guards had thrown down. Mara gathered them and heaved them into the cave while they were still dry and edible.

"As you said, Nordo, while there's life there's hope, and we need food to stay alive, so let's eat up and keep our hopes high!"

Pikkle mumbled through a mouthful of roots, " 'Sright old gel, couldn't have said it better m'self, wot!"

BOOK TWO

Warriors and Monsters

Hazy sunlight pierced a pale-washed dawn, sending streaks of gold lancing to banish the sea mists over Salamandastron. Urthstripe the Strong strode boldly out onto the sands in front of his mountain with ten hares at his back. The badger Lord looked every inch what he wasa true warriorclad in shining metal greaves and breastplate with a plumed and visored headgarb fringed in fine chainmail. Across his back a mighty double-hiked war sword was strapped; resting easily in his right paw was his famed spear, which weighed more than a grown hare and was tipped by a long double-edged blade with ornate iron crosstrees a third of the way down its length. He threw back his head and bellowed out the badger Lord's challenge in a voice like rolling thunder.

' 'Eulaliaaaa! I am Urthstripe the Strong, Ruler of the mountain! Who dares trespass on my domain?"

A white flag appeared from behind some rocks on the shore, followed by the call of a high-pitched voice: "Flag of truce, flag of truce. My master would parley with you!" Rap-tail the rat showed himself, waving the flag furiously.

Behind the visor Urthstripe's eyes glittered in anticipation. "Urthstripe does not parley with vermin, he buries them!"

A tall blue-eyed weasel stood up behind Raptail. His voice

123

124

Brian Jacques

carried neither menace nor challenge as he sidled forward. "I am called Ferahgo. We have no need to fight each other, Lord Urthstripe. Besides, if I did want to fight, you would lose sorely. I see you have only ten hares at your back."

Urthstripe had gone silent. He stared hard at Ferahgo, as if trying hard to call up something from the depths of memory. Sunlight flashed upon the badger medallion around the weasel's neck, causing it to glimmer like fire, and his blue eyes opened wide in a disarming smile. The badger Lord peered at Ferahgo through the slitted visor; voices were calling dimly down the corridors of his mind, too distant for him to make sense of. The hardeV he looked the more the blue-eyed weasel with the golden medal seemed to confuse him. Urthstripe shook his head and lifted the visor.

' 'Ferahgo, Ferahgo ... where have I heard that name before?" He banged the spearshaft down, bringing himself back to normality. "Hear me, Ferahgo. There may be only a few warriors at my back, but there are many more inside my mountain."

The Assassin stopped a few paces from the badger Lord and waved his claws once in the air. In a trice the rocks were bristling with armed vermin behind him. He turned right and left to wave his claws again. They flooded onto the sands of the shore and stood like a pestilence of evil weeds sprung there by magic: line upon line of ferrets, stoats, weasels, rats and foxes, each one armed to the fangs. Banners of blood red and standards decorated with skins, hanks of beast hair and skulls swayed in the light breeze.

Ferahgo turned to Urthstripe with a confident smirk. "You have thirty more fighting hares inside, I know. The odds would be well over fivescore to one. But let us not talk of fighting. I am a visitor to this countrywhere is your famous hospitality? Invite me into your mountain and let me look around, we will talk..."

"Never! I do not allow vermin into Salamandastron!"

As he was speaking, Urthstripe noticed the front ranks of the horde advancing slowly. Behind him he heard the slither of arrows being drawn from quivers. Sapwood and the ten

Salamandastron

125

hares were readying themselves for trouble.

Ferahgo shook his head. "You say you never allow vermin into your mountain, yet my son Klitch and his friend Goffa took breakfast with you not so long ago."

The point of Urthstripe's spear had been gradually tilting. Now it dropped, centered on Ferahgo's midriff a breath away. The Assassin took a cautious step back.

Urthstripe's short patience was worn exceedingly thin. "Leave Mossflower country, weasel, or you and your scum will die here. I am tired of talking. Take your face out of my sight. You offend me!"

Ferahgo was not short of nerve. He spat scornfully in the sand. "Your mountain is surrounded, badger. If it comes to war there is no way you can win. What do you say to that?"

But Urthstripe was finished talking, except for one word.

"Eulaliaaaa!"

There was a deadly hiss of shafts as ten of the advancing enemy were cut down by the Long Patrol arrows. Ferahgo leaped to one side roaring, "Charge!"

The horde swept forward over the bodies of the fallen toward the badger and his ten hares. The hares dropped behind another ten who had been waiting to back them up with bows ready. They fired into the yelling horde as their comrades fitted fresh arrows to their bows and let loose another quick volley. Carried on by the lust for battle, Urthstripe, instead of retreating into the safety of the mountain, flung himself forward into the foe. A burly ferret wielding a pike charged Urthstripe. The badger's spear took him through the chest and lifted him like a rag doll, hurling him into the seething horde. A weasel flung himself on Urthstripe's back and stabbed the big badger between greave and breastplate. Urthstripe slew him with the backward stroke of a huge mailed paw. Three hares were downtwo to spears, one to slingshot.

"I'll try an' get Lord Urthstripe away," Sapwood called out to Oxeye. "Keep the entrance open till we gets back!"

Oxeye coolly notched an arrow to his bow and felled a fox. "Righty ho, but put a move on, Sap. We can't keep up this

126

Brian Jacques

bally performance all day. Dearie me, what a chap has t' do for these badger Lords!"

Sapwoocl dropped his bow and tore out into the melee. Punching, kicking, butting and hooking, he made it to the badger's side.

"Cook sez breakfast's gettin' cold, sir. Hare you comin' in."

An ill-timed thrust from a vermin spear missed Urthstripe but knocked Sapwood senseless on the rebound as his head met the blunt end of the spearbutt. Urthstripe grabbed the hare in one paw and slung him over his shoulder as he fought his way back to the entrance. Suddenly Klitch appeared in front of him, brandishing his short sword. The badger turned as he thrust, taking the blade in his arm. Burdened as he was with Sapwood, the badger Lord stood for a moment glaring at the young weasel. Tearing the sword from his arm, he stood on it and snapped the blade, snarling angrily, "Better luck next time, brat. We'll meet again. Eulaliaaa!"

Urthstripe went hurtling through the melee like a juggernaut. Scattering bodies right and left, he pounded through to the entrance, dropping the unconscious Sapwood into the paws of two waiting hares as he roared out orders.

"Oxeye, get your hares inside. I'll block off the entrance!"

Within seconds the hares had ducked into the passage and Urthstripe threw his weight against a mighty boulder. The stone rolled into place, sealing the mountain from the horde outside. The badger Lord drove a large oak wedge into its base with a mallet.

Oxeye leaned on his bow, watching him. "Not very friendly those chaps, sir. I take it they want to fight us, wot?"

Urthstripe licked blood from his shoulder and grinned at the irrepressible hare. "Good enough, Oxeye you old battler. We'll give them a fight, one that we can talk about in the winters to come, when we're sitting round the fire growing old and lazy."

Big Oxeye checked his empty quiver. "Don't mind me sayin' so, M'lud, but there won't be too many around to grow old after this fight's finished!"

16

Dryditch Fever!

The awful name was enough to chill the heart of any crea-ture. A hasty conference was called by the Abbey elders Abbess Vale, Bremmun, Faith Spinney and Brother Holly-berry, with Furgle the Hermit sitting in on the proceedings. Abbess Vale addressed them.

"Friends, if something is not done swiftly this dreadful fever may wipe us all out. Brother Hollyberry, as Infirmary Keeper do you have any knowledge of this illness?"

Hollyberry pursed his lips. "Mother Abbess, my skills are simple and very limited; tummyaches, headaches, scratches and wounds are what I am used to. I have had a quick look through my medical books, and the opinion of most former Infirmary Keepers is that there is no sure cure for Dryditch Fever. I can keep it under a certain amount of control with my own remedies, but alas I cannot cure it."

"Flowers of Icetor, heh heh heh! But that's only an old mousewives' tale. Heh heh heh, Flowers of Icetor indeed!"

They all turned and stared at Furgle. The woodland Hermit shrugged as he did a small hopskip.

"Never needed anything myselfmedicines, pah! Though when I was young my grandma used to say that the only thing

128

Brian Jacques

which could cure Dryditch Fever was the Flowers of lector, boiled in fresh springwater. I think she was mad, of course. Quite mad!"

Faith Spinney shook her paw severely at Furgle. "Show some respect for your elders. My grandma used to say the same thing, Flowers of Icetor from the mountains of the north. Now I recalls her words, she always said that they could cure most anythin'. But who knows where the mountains of the north are? Mercy me, no right-thinkin' Redwaller ever goes north. That's badlands. Tis a hard and hostile region we know little about."

"Mousewives' tale or no, we've got to give it a try." Bremmun stood up officiously. "I'll go this very day, see if I don't."

Thrugg had been standing nearby waiting to speak with Hollyberry. He pressed Bremmun back down into his chair. "No, matey, you're too old and long in the tooth t' be climb-in' northern mountains. I'll go. Oh, Hollyberry, yore wanted up in the Affirmerytwo more creatures just been took poorly."

Mrs. Faith Spinney was very fond of Thrugg. She patted his paw. "Oh, you are a brave creature, Thrugg. We must send somebeast with you to help you on your quest."

Thrugg shuffled awkwardly. "Bless yer, marm, but I'll be fine steerin' a lone course. Every spare pair o' paws will be needed 'ere at Redwall to cope with the fever. 'Sides, I'm mortal feared of bein' sick, so I'd best find this flower quick like. What's it called again, Furgle?"

"Heh heh. Icetor, you great ignoramusFlowers of Icetor. Though as to where you'll find it or the north mountains is a mystery to me."

Thrugg took hold of Furgle in his brawny paws and lifted him easily on to the tabletop. "Hark t' me, woodvole. You ever call me iggeramius agin an' you'll be goin' for a swim in the pond, fully dressed. Yore so clever, but not clever enough t' see the answer to your own question. Where's the north mountains? Why, in the North, o' course. There's a path right outside this 'ere Abbey leadin' north, an' I intends takin'

Scdammdastron

129

it. Flowers of Icetor, eh. Don't you fret yore spikes, Mrs. Spinneyol' Thrugg will bring back bouquets of 'em! I ain't never seen no Flowers of Icetor, but I 'spect if they're so val'ble an* rare I'll know those blossoms as soon as I claps eyes on 'em. Mountain's in the north, flowers is on the mountainwhat more does a beast need t' know? You leave it t' me, mates!"

The big otter's logic was so strong and straightforward that he received a hearty round of applause. Everybeast was in agreement, Thrugg was the otter for the job; in fact, the quest-.jngMight in Thrugg's eye discouraged any fainthearted disagreement.

Being a beast of his word and a creature of action, Thrugg set out without delay, taking with him his throwing sling and pebbles and a large haversack of food. Night had long fallen when he was waved off along the north path from the Abbey gates by a contingent of his Redwall friends.

"Goodbye and good luck, Thrugg!"

"Ho urr, you'm taken good care of 'ee'self."

"Hurry back with the flowers, matey!"

"Do be careful, Mr. Thrugg!"

The gates shut behind him as the otter strode out boldly along the dusty brown path to the north.

Thrugg had not been walking long when he began hearing sounds from the woodlands on his right. He tied a big pebble into his sling. Whoever was trailing him would be called sharply to account if they tried anything. A paie sliver of moon illuminated the path and woodlands dimly as the otter watched the small bushes and shrubs moving not far from where he trod; his hidden follower was trying hard to keep pace with him. Smiling grimly to himself, he twirled his sling meaningfully and stopped. The other stopped too. Suddenly a juniper bush began shaking and thrashing madly and a squeaky little voice cut through the night silence.

"Elpelpelp! Mista Thugg, it's a serpink, a serpink got me!" The voice could belong to only one creature: Baby Dumble.

130

Brian Jacques

Salamandostron

131

Thrugg hurled himself into the woodland and pounced upon the bush, ripping leaves and branches as he shouted, "Belay, matey. Don't be afrightedThrugg's "ere!"

The infant dormouse was trapped in the coils of a fully grown grass snake. Though not poisonous, the creature was trying to squeeze the life from Dumble. Thrugg gripped it by the throat and dealt it a powerful blow with his loaded sling. It was knocked senseless in a trice. Baby Dumble's face had an unhealthy bluish pallor and his cheeks were puffed out as he tried to breathe. Sudden shock had paralyzed him.

The big otter turned the tiny dormouse upside down and dealt him a hefty whack on his bottom. It was a drastic but surefire remedy. Dumble let out a yell that resounded through the woodlands, "Waaaahoooooh!"

A short while later he was seated happily on a fallen tree, eating a candied chestnut from the otter's haversack as he watched Thrugg tying the snake in an intricate knot around a sapling.

"You stringy oF rascal, 'ow dare you try ter choke my liddle matey? Y'can stay there till you learn some manners!"

Dumble chuckled. "Thatsa way, Mista Thugg. Tie d'ser-pink up!"

Thrugg narrowed his eyes severely and squatted in front of Dumble. "Never mind the serpink, matey. What in the name of jib booms are you doin' followin' me?"

"Wanna come wiv you to norf mountings, Mista Thugg."

"Do you now! Well, you lissen ter me, young dormouse. It's back to yer bunk in Redwali Abbey for you. Now come on!"

Dumble burst into floods of tears. "No no, don't wanna go! Dumble get sick an' die wiv feeva. Me fright'ned."

Thrugg shouldered his haversack and stood undecided with the tearful Dumble gazing beseechingly up at him.

"You my matey, Mista Thugg. You not let Dumble get sicked inna Habbey. We find niceflowers together. Yeh?"

Thrugg picked up the infant in one paw and set him atop the haversack. "All right, you liddle rogue. I couldn't think of ye lyin' sick back there. I'm as feared of the fever as you

are. Shove your paw through the straps up there an' get some sleep, then we'll find these Iceflowers t'gether."

Off they went up the path, the big otter having his patience sorely tried by the infant dormouse.

"Good oF Mista Thugg. You're my bes' matey, aren't you?"

"Oh aye. Now you git t' sleep an' stop gabbin'."

"I go t'sleep now. G'night, Mista Thugg."

"Good night!"

"See you inna mornin'."

"Aye, now be quiet!"

"I quiet now. Dumble quiet."

"Well, I should 'ope you are!"

"Oh I are."

"Be quiet, d'you 'ear me. Be quiet!"

"Dumble quiet. You de one makin' alia noise, Mista Thugg."

Since dawn King Glagweb had been peering over the edge of the pit, watching Mara intently. The toad guards heaved a massive load of tubers and roots down to the captives. There was even some fruit among ita few apples, some half-ripe hazelnuts and late strawberries. Nordo and his shrews gathered it into the little walicaves, keeping the hazelnuts to one side as sling material.

As Pikkle helped to gather up the food he called to Mara, "You've got a royal admirer there, old gel, wot? I think he fancies you on toast with an apple in your jolly mouth."

Mara shook a paw at the King of toads. "Go away, you fat sloppy swamp-walloper!"

"Kroikl! Silence stripedog, Glagweb is King, Krrk!" Glagweb flung a hazelnut savagely at her. "Not fat or sloppy. I punish you when the time comes. Grrk!"

Mara flung the nut back, scoring a direct hit on Glagweb's nose. "Why not come down here and punish me now if you dare, fathead. Or should I say your royal splodginess!"

Glagweb waddled about the edge of the pit, quivering with rage, his eyes bulging and his throat pulsing wildly.

132

Brian Jacques

"Grrroak! I will eat your heart!"

"Hah!" Mara curled her lip scornfully. "Eat my heart? You couldn't eat mud if it hit you in the mouth. Here!" She flung a pawful of slime. It splattered into the Toadking's open mouth. The creatures in the pit had to scramble for cover as the toad guards hurled pebbles down at them.

Glagweb went into an insane rage, spitting slime as he croaked venomously at the badger maid, "Krrikl! I wait no longer. You have angered me, and soon you will all die. Kroik! I will make your deaths so slow and painful you will plead to be eaten. Grakk!"

After the toads had gone, Mara apologized to the other captives.

"I'm sorry I lost my temper and hastened your deaths, but I couldn't stand that loathsome toad staring at me."

Nordo wiped mud from an apple and bit into it. "What's the difference? We're all going to die anyway. Probably better sooner than laterget it over with."

Pikkle nibbled at a strawberry reflectively. "I don't know whether to stuff m'self and give those toads a good scoff, or bally well starve so they won't have much to chew on. What d'you think, Nordo ol' lad?"

"As I said, Pikklemakes no difference. Once you're dead then that's it, fat or thin."

"Here, what's all this?" Mara put a paw around Nordo's shoulders. "You talk as if the end is inevitable. Where's your famous fighting spirit of the Guosssom?"

Nordo sat down heavily in the mud and slapped his paws in it. "Look at thismud, slime, sludge, everywhere! Trapped in a pit like frogs in a barrel, forced to live in this filth. I can't take it anymore, living like a wriggling swamp insect!" He yelled hoarsely and threw himself at the pit walls, slipping and sliding as he tried to claw his way upward.

A grass noose snaked down without warning and settled over Nordo's shoulders. Suddenly the pit edge was alive with a mob of toads croaking and hopping gleefully as Glagweb waved his trident and bellowed loudly, "Knrrokk! Now we eat 'em, one by one. Gurrrrkk!"

Solamandostron

133

Pikkle dived forward and grabbed Nordo's footpaws. "Come on, chaps. Don't let the scurvy knaves take him!"

Mara waded forward and seized the rope. Several shrews hurried to help her, and the badger maid called to them, "Pull! Pull with all your might!"

On the topside of the pit toads attached themselves to the rope and hauled frantically.

"Krruuuukk! Heave! If you want food, heave!" Glagweb shouted at them.

The toughened grass rope stretched and squeaked taut as creatures at both ends bent their backs into the tug-of-war.

Two young shrews named Scraggle and Wikk climbed over the heads of the others and began attacking the rope with their bare teeth.

Pikkle smiled grimly. "That's the stuffier give the troops, lads. Bite away!"

Several toads leaned over the edge and prodded with their tridents, but they were driven back with a volley of mudballs from the pit below. Scraggle and Wikk bit furiously into the straining rope, spitting dried grass left and right as their sharp teeth worked on the fibers.

The rope parted with a loud snapl

On top the toads went staggering back and landed in a heap on Glagweb. He thrust at them cruelly with his trident.

"Krrrrekk! Off, fools. Get off the King!"

Mara, Pikkle and Nordo fell back into the pit in a splashing deluge of watery mud. Still clinging to the severed half of the rope, a pile of shrews fell in on top of them. Through the slime and sludge they laughed aloud at their victory.

"We won! We won! Hooray!"

"I say, good show, you chaps. That'll teach old Glag guts, wot?"

An arrow came streaking down and pierced Scraggle's paw. Glagweb appeared at the pit edge with several toad archers.

"Krrrg! Kill! Kill them all!"

Mara felt something hit her between the ears. She clapped a paw to her head and caught the object. From the comer of her eye she caught sight of a wren zooming overhead.

134

Brian Jacques

Holding up the acorn, she roared aloud, "Look, it's the acorn! Eulaliaaaaa!"

Immediately, the battle cries of the Guosssom shrews reached their ears. Nordo dived into a wallcave, avoiding arrows as he threw slings and stones forward, lifting his head in an answering war shout to his father's warriors who were pressing up from the riverbank. "Logalogalogalogalog!''

An arrow zipped between Pikkle's ears as he flung off a rounded stone from his sling. There was a satisfying thud as it caught a toad guard in the throat. Toads were everywhere, swinging their vicious flails and thrusting with tridents. Fierce-eyed Guosssom warriors, their heads bound in bright-colored cloths, leapt to the fray, parrying and riposting with their short fencing rapiers.

"Yahaa, 'sdeath to you, scumback!"

"On guard! One, two, slay!"

Mara and the rest whirled stones upward with as much speed and force as they could muster, dodging arrows and ducking long pike thrusts from the toads on top. King Glag-web turned back and forth, trying to divide his attention between the prisoners in the pit and the advancing Guosssom shrews. The element of surprise was working well. The shrews drove the toad masses backwards mercilessly, pushing them into the flames of their own cooking fires as they did. Log-a-log, the fierce-eyed leader of the shrews, fought like a mad beast, throwing himself onto several toads at a time, regardless of danger. Bleeding from a dozen trident and flail cuts, he fought wildly with tooth and rapier, all the time booming out in his gruff bass voice:

"I'm coming, Nordo my son. Logalogalogalogalog!"

Several shrews had been slain by the toads, but the losses on King Glagweb's side were far heavier. The toads were beginning to lose heart. They still fought on, but they were pushed into retreat by the ferocity of the Guosssom attack.

Salamandastron

135

Down in the pit there were four dead shrews, but the prisoners never stopped for a moment. The upward hail of stones was so fast and thick that they felled many toads. Mara leapt out of the cave she had been slinging from, heaving and throwing anything that came within reach of her paws. For a second she glimpsed the snarling features of King Glagweb, then he retreated from the edge.

"Mara, he's gettin' away," Pikkle's voice called out to her over the melee. "The tridentsover there!"

Two toad guards had been knocked down into the pit. They lay dead in the deep watery mud, still holding their tridents. Immediately, Mara sensed what Pikkle meant.

Snatching the two tridents, she used them as climbing spikes. Paw over paw, up the side of the pit she went, using the tridents to haul herself up, thrusting them deep into the slippery sides and exerting all of her huge strength she thrust her way up to the top. Flailing with the tridents, she sent two toads hurtling into the pit before she took off after Glagweb.

The King of the toads wobbled and hopped through the swamps. Toad warriors less ponderous than himself passed him on both sides as they fled from the wrath of the Guosssom fighters.

"Krrruk! Worms, deserters, come back and help your King!" Glagweb spat at the toads. Chancing a look back, he saw Mara coming after him. The Toadking's throat bulged with terror as he tried to go faster. The badger maid was a frightening sight, her eyes red with rage, foam flecking her jaws as she hurtled forward regardless of brush or sapling. Glagweb froze with horror, the strength draining from his flabby limbs as the young badger threw herself through the air and pounced upon him.

The Log-a-log and several of his crew came dashing up as Mara lifted Glagweb from the ground bodily, both her paws locked around his throat. He dangled helplessly, croaking feebly as his legs tried to reach the ground.

Mara found herself suddenly borne down beneath the weight of half a dozen shrews. Blinded by her warlike badger

136

Brian Jacques

spirit, she turned to fight with them as her prisoner was wrested out of her grasp. Log-a-log's rapier touched her throat.

"Be still, young badger. Leave this one to us. He is our longtime enemy, and we will deal with him. Come and watch!"

The toad camp had been destroyed, and those who had not fled were slain. Pikkle, Nordo and the others were hauled up out of the pit. Shrew warriors gathered round the pit edge as Glagweb was dragged forward. He snarled and spat at all about him. Log-a-log took little notice of Glagweb's anger as he unceremoniously kicked the Toadking down into the pit. Two shrews nearby loosed the mouth of a sack and something flashed down to join the toad in the pit. The shrew leader smiled.

"So then, Toadking, you end up in your own pitthe same pit that you kept my shrews in so that you could eat them. Other creatures are flesh-eaters too. Take, for instance, the pike that has just been thrown in there with you. He is only half-grown, but fierce. Why don't you try to eat him, Glagweb? Once he is hungry enough he is going to try to eat you. I call that justice, Toadkingeat or be eaten. Goodbye."

Glagweb recoiled to the side of the pit, trying to avoid the ominous dorsal fin that stuck out of the muddy water as the pike cruised the pit bottom. Looking for food.

Farther down from the toad camp lay the South Stream. Moored on the bank were fifteen huge logs, each one hollowed into a long dugout. The shrews sat in pairs along the length of each log; Mara and Pikkle were seated in the prow of the leading log with Nordo and his father. The dugouts pushed out from the bank and the shrews paddled them out into the center of the broad stream which meandered to the southeast.

"Where are you from, Mara?" Log-a-log questioned Mara as they rode the stream.

"From the mountain called Salamandastron, sir. Do you

Salamandastron

137

know how we can get back to there?"

The shrew nodded. "It is a long journey, but I know the way. I am Log-a-log of all these waters. The South Stream has many tributaries, and I know them all like the back of my paw. I will take you to the mountain, but first you must come with me. I have other plans for you at the moment."

Pikkle smiled coyly. "Other plans, eh? Give us a hint, Log-a-thing."

The grim expression on Log-a-log's face wilted Pikkle. He turned aside muttering, "Hmph. Only asked. No harm in jolly well askin', is there? Wonder what shrew tucker tastes like. I could eat a toad."

Salamandastran

139

17

Dingeye got over the loss of his comrade Thura with surprising speed. At first he had grown nostalgic and even wept a bit, but then he remembered how stupid and insulting Thura could be, all the times Thura had stolen food from him, and the arguments that invariably ended up in fighting. As he traveled south and west under the canopy of Mossflower, Dingeye reconciled and justified himself aloud to the lonely thicknesses of the silent green forest.

"Yah, serves 'im right. Anyhow, maybe Thura's got better and gone off on his own. That stoat never really liked me,'e weren't no proper mucker. Bad luck to him, I says. Besides all that, who needs a mucker wi' a sword like this'n?"

He swung the fabulous blade and chopped off an overhanging branch. It fell, tangling his paws and tripping him. Growling curses, he slashed and hacked at the offending branch.

"Yowhoo! Yaha! Owch, that 'urt!"

Dingeye's clumsy attack on the harmless foliage had caused him to wound himself on the left footpaw with the razor-keen sword. He dropped the weapon and sat rocking back and forth as he tried to bend double and lick his injured limb.

"Urgh! That'll be Thura, wherever 'e is, wishin' bad luck

138

on me, 'is old mucker who never did 'im any wrong nor wished him ill, not once. That Thura was allus a nasty one!"

Casting about, he found a large dockleaf and improvised a dressing for the paw. Staunching the blood with a pawful of leaf mold, he bound the lot with a thin weed stem. Using the sword as a walking stick, he set off again, gnawing on a wrinkled apple and feeling sorry for himself.

"Just fancy, bein' wished bad fortune by me mucker who's deserted me. Life's *ard an' cruel fer a pore stoat who's all alone an' wounded."

Samkim and Arula had also encountered an unlucky setback. Tracking steadily, the pair were making good progress when they came to an area that Dingeye had not chopped at with his sword. Casting about this way and that, they hunted for signs that would help them to pick up the stoat's trail. Arula rummaged about in a yew thicket until Samkim gave an excited shout:

"Over here, Arula. Look, blood!"

The young mole scurried across to find her friend sitting among a heap of slashed twigs and branches. He pointed to the scarlet stains on the leaves.

"He's been here, all right. See the stoat pawprintswho else could it be? I suspect this is his blood too. Yes, Dingeye's passed this way. What d'you think?"

Arula turned the leaves over with heavy digging claws. "Yurr, so 'e 'as. Oi wunner wot yon stoater wurr a-bleedin' for, Sanken?"

The young squirrel wiped his paws on the ground. "Who .knows? Dingeye can't be too far ahead now, though. What d'you say we rest here awhile and have a meal, then we can put on a good forced march and catch him up?"

Arula agreed readily at the mention of food. "Ho urr, gudd idea. Oi'm fair famishered. But us'ns sit o'er thurr, away from -all this stoater bludd."

They sat in a sunlit patch between a lilac clump and a ythicket of lupins. Samkim allowed Arula to choose the fare. |.She unpacked strawberry jam turnovers and blackcurrant cor-

140

Brian Jacques

Scdamandastron

141

dial from the haversacks. Spreading a napkin, she laid the food out. "Thurr, that do look noice."

First one wasp came. It settled on Samkim's turnover until he brushed it away. Soon there were several wasps trying to light on the sweet jammy turnovers. Others buzzed and hummed around the little flask of cordial. Arula flicked one of the insects as it went for the jam around her mouth. "Gur-roff, 'ee pesky wosper!"

The wasp attacked and stung her.

"Burrhoo! 'Ee wosper stungen oi!"

Samkim flailed about at the wasps with his bow, thwacking about as he punctuated each swing with angry words. "Go away, little nuisances! Be off with youscoot!"

Unwittingly the bow whipped into the lupins, demolishing the wasp nest that was built in the forks of three stems. In a trice the air was filled with maddened wasps. They hummed and buzzed about the young ones' heads in a maddened frenzy. The two friends leapt up, beating frantically at the stinging cloud of insects.

"Quick, run for it before we're stung to death!"

"Whoohurr, they'm all o'er the place. Leave oi alone, wos-pers!"

Abandoning their meal, Samkim and Arula dashed off among the trees, pursued by an army of wasps.

"Owch! Yowch! Look for cover, Arula! Look for cover!"

"Hooh! Ooh! Oi doant see nuthin' but pesky wospers!"

A burly hedgehog appeared out of nowhere and began catching wasps with a net on a stick and eating them with great relish. "Hoho hoho, lookit yew tew. Don't like wasps, do yer?"

Samkim beat furiously at the insects as he shrieked out in panic to the newcomer, who was obviously enjoying himself: "Yaaah! This is no time for chitchat, mister. Do something!"

The hedgehog snapped at a passing wasp and caught it in his mouth. He chewed on it as he spoke.

"Tchah! Naught like a good crunchy wasp,'cepting fer a big fat bee, o' course. Come on then, yew tew. Foller Sprig-gat."

They ran after him, wailing and yelling in pain, with the wasps still in hot pursuit. Spriggat stopped at the edge of a small woodland tarn. Pointing to the little lake, he urged them into the water and plucked two hollow reeds.

"Hoho hoho. Never see'd nothin' like it in me born days critters afeared o1 wasps. Come on, cullies. In y' go. Best duck under an' breathe through these reeds. 'Urry now!"

Grabbing a reed apiece, the two young ones hurled themselves into the water. Submerging themselves totally, they fixed the reeds in their mouths and sucked greedily for air.

Spriggat carried on dining off wasps. Impervious to stings, he ate the buzzing insects by the pawful, only stopping now and then to winkle out wings that were caught between his teeth.

"Come to Spriggat, me crunchy liddle beauties. There's plenty o' room for you all in me good ol' tummy!"

From beneath the clear waters of the small sunlit pool Samkim and Arula watched the hedgehog gorging himself on wasps until the buzzing horde thinned out and flew off back to their damaged nest. When the wasps had gone, Spriggat hauled the young ones dripping from the pool. They looked a sorry sight, soaked and covered in lumps.

"Well, curl me spikes, lookit yew tew. I wouldn't give a moldy acorn for the pair of ye. See this bank mud? Well, if you plaster it all over y'selves it'll stop the stingin'."

Rolling over in the sticky black mud, they coated themselves with it. Strangely enough, it relieved the stings immediately. Looking like two mud dollies, they introduced themselves, telling the hedgehog of their quest.

He nodded knowingly. "I seen that daft stoat earlier, limp-in' an' bobbin' along an' talkin' to hisself like a worried wart. No mind, ol' Spriggat'll put y'back on his trail. Least a body could do for bringin' me such a good dinner o' wasps."

There was a slight buzzing noise from the hedgehog's stomach. He gave it a sharp pat and it stopped.

" 'Scuse me. Now if yew tew will take a tip from Spriggat you'll set there awhile an' let that mud dry hard, then it'll peel off an' take all the stings with it."

142

Brian Jacques

Samkim and Arula sat in an open patch of sunlight. As the mud dried they watched the strange hedgehog taking wasps one by one from his catching net and scrunching them down as if he were at a banquet.

A blow from a spearbutt laid Dingeye flat. Half-stunned, he looked up. Dethbrush the fox and his six tracker rats held him pinned to the ground with the points of their spears. The fox kicked the sword from his nerveless paws, and Dingeye whimpered with fright. There was neither pity nor mercy in the cold eyes of the trackers and their leader.

"Where's Thura? Tell me and I'll make your dying easy." The fox's tone was harsh and commanding.

"Thura's dead. 'E died of the sickness. I saw it meself, sir. Oh, you ain't goin' ter kilt me, are you?"

"Ferahgo has a long paw," Dethbrush sneered as he kicked the quivering stoat. "You thought you'd escaped us didn't you. Poor fool!"

Dingeye moaned as a spearpoint prodded his injured paw. "I was goin' back to Ferahgo, sir. On me oath I was. See that sword? I was bringin' it to him as a gift. On me 'onour!"

Dethbrush picked up the sword, admiring its cold lethal beauty. "Honour? Don't talk to me of honour, Dingeye. Me and my trackers have wasted nearly a full season searching for you and your mucker. Nobeast escapes Ferahgo the Assassin. You should know that by now. Guess what he told me to do when I caught up with you?"

Dingeye gulped. His throat had gone dry and he could scarce get the words out. "Prob'ly said to f-fetch me back ..."

The fox smiled mirthlessly at his trembling victim. "Wrong, Dingeye. He said to fetch your head back on a spearpoint."

The sword swung once, its blade flashing in the sunlight.

Dethbrush wiped the blade on Dingeye's carcass. "Leave him; one head's no good without the other. I think Lord Ferahgo will be happy to receive this sword as a gift from an old departed friend. Come on, it's a long and hard trek back to the Assassin's camp."

Salamandastron

143

The battle for Salamandastron was under way. Massed behind sand barriers and rocks, the hordes of Ferahgo sent flaming arrows up at the mountain. Vegetation and crops that had been cultivated on the crevices and ledges of the fortress were soon blackened stubble, burned to the bare rock by hundreds upon hundreds of blazing shafts.

Ferahgo stood in plain view, well out of range, Klitch at his side.

From one of the high slitted rock windows Bart Thistledown brushed drifting black ash from his face as he notched a shaft to his bowstring, murmuring to himself. "Move, you rotten blighter. Come on, just ten paces closer and I'll put one right between your bonny blue eyes, wot!"

Starbob fixed an arrow to his bow and sighted on a ferret who was standing up to take a shot. "Wastin' your time, Barty old lad. Take the nearest available target, like our friend down there, for instance ..."

Straining the bow taut, Starbob let fly. The arrow zipped down and took the ferret in his chest. He fell backwards, releasing his fire arrow straight up. Starbob gave a grunt of satisfaction.

"Good oh! I say, look, the scoundrel's arrow came straight down and wounded that rat next to him. Two for the price of one. Not bad, eh?"

Barty twanged off his arrow and turned away, ignoring the death cry of the stoat below that he had hit. "Not too fussy on this snipin' game. Open warfare's much better, more team spirit in it, doncha know."

"Move aside there, hares!"

They both shifted from the position as Urthstripe stood at the opening. He strung a massive bow and placed a quiver of arrows within handy reach, each one as long and thick as a short spear. The badger Lord spat on his paws and rubbed them together. "Right, let's open this party up properly!"

144

Brian Jacques

Salamandastron

145

Klitch sighed as he drew patterns in the sand with a spear-point, his face the picture of boredom. "So this is it, the grand attack plan: chuck a few fire arrows at the mountain then sit about and snipe at each other all season. You've really outdone yourself this time, old one."

Ferahgo watched the fire arrows hissing through the air. "Have you got any better ideas, clever snout?"

"At least I got to stick the big badger with my sword!" The young weasel curled his lip contemptuously.

"So you did, Klitch, so you did. Now you're short one pretty little sword. Urthstripe pulled it out of himself as if it was a sewing needle and snapped it in half. What a clever young weasel. Brilliant strategy on your part, eh? Now why don't you leave things to your elders and betters?"

Klitch kept the spear ready lest the Assassin's paws should stray to the long knives strapped across his chest. "You may be my elder, but you'll never be my better. Come on, let's hear about your brilliant strategy, Father."

Having run out of arrows, Goffa decided to stand in the rear awhile with Klitch. He was crossing the beach, exactly in line with Ferahgo, when a huge arrow hit him like a thunderbolt, sending his body crashing into the two weasels. Quickly they leapt up and ran farther back, scrambling behind an outcrop of rocks.

Ferahgo laughed, his blue eyes shining merrily at the narrow escape. "Hellsteem and Darkgates! That thing was meant for me! Pity about your friend Goffa."

Klitch peered out at the dreadful sight. The arrow had gone through Goffa a full half-length into the sand. Keeping his bored look, Klitch leaned back against the rocks.

"Friend? That dim-witted idiot? He was only my lackey, though I'd never have ordered him to save your skin. Come on, tell me how you plan to conquer this mountain."

Some of the more venturesome members of the vermin horde were slowly advancing closer to the mountain, under the hail of burning arrows. Big Oxeye watched them from the top of

the crater. Seawood and Pennybright were with him, and all three leaned on a wooden prop which held back a pile of boulders. Oxeye pointed a paw straight down, closing one eye as he sighted along it.

"Hmmm, about two spearlengths more should do the trick. Come on, you idle vermin, move y'selves. Righto, chaps, that's it, all paws to the log now!"

The three hares leaned down heavily on the wood. The vermin on the shore beneath Salamandastron heard the rumble from above. Some moved quickly, others were not so alert. Over half of them were slain by the huge slabs and boulders that cascaded down the mountainside. A cheer went up from Oxeye and his comrades when they saw the effect ;; of their avalanche. Yells of rage and curses arose from the « attackers on the shore as they redoubled their volleys of burn- ing arrows.

In the late afternoon Ferahgo called Raptail to him. The Assassin winked at Klitch.

"Now I'll show you how I became ruler of all the Southwest Lands, little weasel. Raptail, send Doghead, Crabeyes, Dewnose and Badtooth to me. Oh, and ask Farran the Poisoner to come too."

Raptail blanched visibly as he bowed to Ferahgo. Nobeast, ;-; not even the Assassin himself, liked to do business with Far-1" ran the Poisoner. The black fox was not even part of the

TP*

.f horde, he merely followed at a short distance, going and com-JA ing as he pleased. Raptail trotted off to do his master's bid-i ding, dodging around rocks and behind sand barriers. ;, Farran sat alone at the edge of the tideline, watching the

-I', waves ebb and flow. Raptail did his level best to keep in full view, not wishing to be seen trying to sneak up on Farran the Poisoner. Wading into the sea, he drew alongside the black f fox and delivered the message.

* "Sir, my master Ferahgo wishes to speak with you. He is 'V camped in the rocks north of here. Will you attend, sir?" V Raptail's body shivered nervously as he stood staring into ; the pale amber eyes of Farran. Nobeast had ever heard the

146

Brian Jacques

Salamandas Iron

147

Poisoner speak. The sunlight did not glint off Farran's fur; it was soot-black with no luster whatsoever. The pale eyes stared hypnotically at Raptail from a face dark as the depths of midnight. All the horrific whispered tales he had heard of Farran loomed large. Was it true that he could kill with a long stare? Raptail fervently believed it was as he stood transfixed by the Poisoner's eyes.

"W-w-will you attend, sir? F-F-Ferahgo wishes to know." Unblinking, Farran stared at him a moment longer then nodded once. That was enough. Raptail bowed so low that his snout went underwater. "Th-th-thank you, sir!"

He took off like a startled fawn, splashing through the waves and dashing across the shore. Farran's sinister eyes followed his course expressionlessly. Slowly the black fox stood up and buckled on his belt of adderskin. Pouches hung from the belt, small sacks made from the skins of bats. What they contained only he knew. Moving like a silent stormcloud shadow, he padded noiselessly over the sand.

Seated at the outermost edge of his camp, away from the horde, Ferahgo outlined his plan to Klitch and the four creatures he had selected as Captains.

"Siege! No mad charges, paw-to-paw battles or out-and-out fightinga siege is the thing that will conquer the mountain. Sooner or later the badger and his hares will run out of arrows, spears, javelins and boulders. I have him bottled up inside his mountain; he cannot leave. We have superior numbers and time on our side. Nobeast is coming to his rescue. All we have to do is snipe from safety and wait him out. Now, there is one question, can anybeast guess what it is?''

"Food and water!" Klitch answered.

Ferahgo chuckled at his son's quickness. "Right. Someday you may turn out half as clever as your father. Food and drinkhow much have they got and how long will it last them, that's the question!"

Crabeyes was an ex-searat. His eyes shifted constantly, never staying still. He held up a paw. "Master, they might 'a've vittles enough ter last them fer seasons to come. Admit-

ted they can't get out while we've got 'em surrounded, but if they 'ave enough food 'n' drink they could stay snug in there forever."

Badtooth, a large fat stoat, agreed with him. "Crabeyes is right, Master. If they 'ave enough supplies we could die of old age waitin' out 'ere on this shore."

Ferahgo pawed at the gold medal on his neck. His blue eyes shone happily as he unfolded his master stroke. "But we won't die of old age. Neither will Urthstripe and his fighters. They will die pretty soon now of something else."

There was a sharp intake of breath from Klitch and the four Captains as the shadow of Farran fell across them. Hurriedly they moved aside to make room for him, each one shivering with fear as he passed them. Farran chose his own place, directly in front of the Assassin.

Blue eyes met amber ones as they faced each other.

Ferahgo smiled ingratiatingly. "Well well, the Poisoner meets the Assassinwhat a combination. But we have worked together in the past, Farran, and I have always rewarded you well, have I not?"

The black fox merely nodded once in acknowledgment.

Ferahgo averted his eyes, knowing the danger in Farran's constant stare. He took out his skinning knife and whetted it slowly against a rock, speaking as he did.

"Friend Farran, if I were to launch a nighttime attack on the mountain, could you slip through the lines and find a way in?"

Farran nodded once. That was enough for Ferahgo.

"Good! Once you were inside it would be up to you to find the food and drinking water. I imagine that the mountain \ will be a honeycomb of passages and side-cuts, but you could find the larders no matter how many chambers and corridors you had to explore, eh, Farran? When you do, I want everything eatable or drinkable to be poisoned with your most deadly fluids. No creature is to be left alive in Salamandas-tron."

Farran nodded then held out a paw. Ferahgo understood. Standing alongside the Poisoner, he drew close lo his ear and

148

Brian Jacques

whispered in a voice so low that none of the others heard: "Your fee is half the badger's treasure. Is it a bargain?"

Farran's nod was final; the pact was sealed. He gave Fer-ahgo one long last glance, then padded off silently.

There was a loud sigh of relief when he had gone. Ferahgo turned to the others. "Now do you think my plan will work?"

They all nodded agreement, even Klitch.

Ferahgo sheathed his skinning knife. "Then tonight is the night. Here is what you must do ..."

18

"Towels, more towels. Damp them down with rosewater, please!"

Brother Hollyberry bustled about the beds that had been set up in the upper gallery, mopping a brow here, administering a dose there, tucking blankets in firmer.

"Please lie still, Burrley. Plenty of cool drinks and sweat it out under those blankets, there's a good mole!"

Sister Nasturtium looked up from the table where she was working with bowl and pestle and wiped her brow. "We're running low on dried motherwort and lemon verbena, Brother. This is the last of it I'm using."

Thrugann put aside a napkin she was dipping in rosewater. "Leave that t' me, Sister. I'll take a trip into Mossflower Woods right now an' gather some. Anythin' else you need while I'm in the woodlands, Brother?"

Hollyberry scratched his chin. "Hmm, nightshade berries light red ones if you can, the dark red berries are far too squashy. Perhaps you can take a look around for Dumble while you're there, Thrugann."

"That liddle snippet." The otterlady shook her head and chuckled. "I told you once nor a dozen times he's gone off with that brother of mine. Dumble an' Thrugg are close as

149

150

Brian Jacques

Solamandostran

151

peas in a pod, you take my word for it."

"Oh, I do hope you're right." Abbess Vale left off laying out clean sheets and sat down on the side of a truckle bed.

A small mole named Droony took a large sucking swig of cold mint tea and half sat up.

"Oh, she'm be roight, marm, never'ee fear. Oi see'd Dum-ble meself, just afore 'ee went off, an' 'ee said as ee'd fetch me back Oicetor Flowern t' make oi better, so 'im did, hurr."

Sister Nasturtium ground the pestle hard into the bow!. "Droony, you naughty liddle creature, why did you not tell us this before now?"

The small mole let his head fall back on to the pillow. "Oi'm surry, Sister Aspersium, oi wurr sick as an owd frog."

Nasturtium hurried over and drew the blankets gently up to his chin. She wiped the furry little brow with a napkin. "Yes of course you were, Droony. I didn't mean to be sharp with you. Forgive me."

She sat down on the edge of the bed and mopped her own brow. "Whew! Is it hot in here, or is it just me?"

Faith Spinney felt her forehead. "Are you all right, m'dear? My, you do look frazzled."

Nasturtium stood up, swaying a little. "Silly me, complaining of the heat. Now all of a sudden I feel quite cold!"

Abbess Vale placed a paw about her shoulders. "Good job I've just made up this fresh bed, Sister. Time you had a rest you're a patient from now on."

Droony waved a limp paw at Nasturtium. "Plenty o' ro-seywater an' medsin furr 'ee, Sister. Naow you'm lie abed an1 go t' sleep. Do 'ee gudd!"

"Thank you, Doctor Droony." Hollyberry smiled as he mopped the little mole's brow. "Now how about taking a bit of your own advice and trying to get some sleep?' *

The Abbess and Faith Spinney folded a sheet together, worry and concern showing through the weariness on their faces.

"Oh, Faith, do you think Thrugg will get the Flowers of lector?"

"There there. Vale. I'm sure he will. Mr. Thrugg is a good otter. I 'ope he's takin' good care of Baby Dumble."

Thrugg and Baby Dumble were in fine form, composing songs as they marched northward on the old path.

"O give me a road to walk along,

An' a bite of food or two, I'll tramp an' eat the livelong day, My liddle friend, with you."

~ Dumble rummaged in the haversack and found a vegetable pastie. Passing it down to Thrugg, the infant dormouse threw $. back his head and sang uproariously loudly:

t

f "O, I'll sit on top'a Mista Thugg f An' give 'm food to scoff, 'V. 'Cos he's my great big matey an'

'E won't let me fall off!" .' 4; Thrugg munched the pastie as he thought of his next verse.

]*. "O, Dumble is a scallywag, v Fat as a liddle frog.

'&' p

He's eaten so much vittles, He's 'eavier than a hog!"

Dumble selected an apple and began polishing it on Thrugg's bead. As he did he chanced to look back down the road. ,Dumble's eyes widened, then he turned them ahead again, this time singing in a low urgent voice:

"O Mista Thugg, don't turn around,

And don't you cause a fuss. There's four oF foxes wiv big sticks i" I fink they're followin' us!"

152

Brian Jacques

Solanumdostron

153

Keeping his paws in front, Thrugg fitted a stone to his sling. "Let's see what these coves want then, matey."

He halted and stood in the center of the path as the four foxes approached. They were roving beggars who haunted the path, waiting for helpless travelers or any easy prey that came their way. Two of them carried rusty swords, the other two were armed with cudgels.

"Good summer day to ye, mates!'1 the brawny otter greeted them.

The foxes exchanged knowing smiles. One stepped forward. "Top o' the summer to ye, yer 'onner. What's in the 'avvysack?"

Thrugg grinned cheerfully at the raggedy fox. "Four unconscious foxes with their tails chopped off who tried stealin' our vittles. Why do you ask?"

"Hee hee, we've got a funny un 'ere mates!" one of the foxes sniggered.

Another fox drew his sword, testing the edge with his paw.

"Yeh, wonder if 'e's tough as Vs funny?"

Thrugg twirled his sling ominously. "Why don't you come an' find out, mudface?"

The first fox saw that the big otter was no easy proposition, so he adopted a whining tone. "Now be reasonable, friend. We're not lookin' fer trouble. You wouldn't begrudge four starvin' creatures a bite, would yer?"

Thrugg took a step toward him. "Begrudge a starvin' creature a bite? Not me, matey. You come 'ere an' I'll bite you anytime. Now listen, you lot: be off with you. Go an' scare some crows."

The fourth fox pulled out his rusty sword and began swinging it. "Yah, we're four to one. Gerrim, lads!"

Baby Dumble let out a terrified squeak. Suddenly Thrugg realized that he could not fight and look after the infant; escape was the only solution.

"Hold tight, Dumble. 'Ere we go!" Bulling through the foxes, Thrugg bowled them aside as he rushed off the path into the woods. Dodging and ducking, he skirted tree and bush with the outraged cries of his pursuers ringing behind him.

An idea began to form in Thrugg's head. He put on an extra burst of speed to gain a little time.

The foxes stumbled and bumped into each other as they hurried into the woodlands. They ran a short distance and halted. Thrugg was lost to sight.

"The coward, 'e's 'idin' somewheres!"

"Yeh, spread out an' search. We'll find 'im."

"Hee hee, roasted dormouseages since I tasted that. Ringworm, you go with Splidge. Me an' Blitch'H fan out the other way."

They had not been searching long when the one called Ringworm spotted their quarry. He gave a low secret whistle to the others. When they came he cautioned silence, pointing forward as he whispered, "Ssshh! There they are, mates 'idin' be'ind that there bush. See the liddle brat settin' on top of the 'avvysack?"

Sure enough, the haversack and the back of Baby Dumble were visible above the spread of a thick clump of willowherb.

"Now let's do this quiet like. Sneak up an' jump 'em!"

"Yeh, good idea. Clubs 'n' swords ready. Let's go!"

Within feet of the vegetation they threw caution to the winds and leapt at the clump of willowherb, stabbing and striking.

Whack! Bonk! Thwack! Thud!

Four foxes lay senseless on the ground, half in and half out of the clump of rosebay willowherb.

Seated atop the haversack, which was strapped to a low sycamore branch that dipped into the willowherb, Baby Dumble looked as if he were still perched on his friend's shoulders. The trick had worked perfectly! The infant dormouse shouted excitedly: "Mista Thugg! Did ya biff th' foxes, Mista Thugg!"

Thrugg stood over the prostrate foxes, twirling his heavy stone-loaded sling. "Aye, matey, I raised lumps like duck eggs on the villains!"

The big otter disarmed the foxes, throwing their weapons off into the surrounding shrubbery. Breaking off a whippy

154

Brian Jacques

willow switch, he revived them with a few smarting cuts. "Come on, hearties. Snooze time's over. Up on yer paws!"

Each contributing a shoulder, the four foxes were made to bear the haversack with Dumble sitting on it between them. Thrugg walked behind as they trekked along the north path, making sure they did not flag or lag with his willow switch. By nightfall the foxes were sore, hungry, weary and in tears. Thrugg had driven them a fair distance, even at double speed through a ford where pike lurked.

"Waaahahhooh!" The fox named Ringworm bawled unashamedly. "A pike bit me back there. It ain't fair!"

Thrugg waggled the cane under his nose. "Stop moanin', mate. You won't die, though maybe the pike will. Righty-ho then, you scruffy bandits, 'ad enough?"

"Oh, let us go, sir. We've 'ad enough!" The foxes collapsed weeping in the road.

Dumble took charge. Swishing the cane perilously close to them, he made them repeat extravagant promises never to be naughty, to help other creatures and to get a good wash every night. Thrugg chuckled at the sight of the infant dormouse making sure each fox repeated his lines word for word. The otter then took out his sling and loaded it.

"Right, me lucky lads, I'm goin' to count ten. Then if I can still see you I'm comin' after you. We need porters for tomorrow, see. One, two, three ..."

Before he had reached seven the four foxes were rapidly vanishing into the distance down the dusky path.

Thrugg and Dumble camped at the edge of the path that night, beside two curiously shaped stones known to travelers as "the otter and his wife" because of their odd contours. Seated by a merry little fire they had a good supper of beechnut scones, cherry cake and cider.

Thrugg stirred the flames with a stick as he ruminated. "Hair, who knows what lies beyond the 'orizon tomorrer, matey."

Baby Dumble also picked up a stick and prodded the fire,

Salamandastron

155

nodding his head seriously as he imitated his big otter friend. "Oh harr, matey. Might be more foxes an' serpinks. But you stick wiv Dumble, Mista Thugg. I'll take care of ya."

Stifling his laughter, Thrugg tossed his warm jerkin at the infant. "You liddle villain, I'll take care of you if you're not asleep soon. Wrap y'self in that there jerkin."

The quarter-moon hung like a golden sickle in the summer night. Hardly a breeze stirred the mantle of the woodlands as the two adventurers settled down to rest by the fire's glowing embers.

19

The Guosssom shrew flotilla cut off down sidestreams and weaved its course along barely navigable waterways shrouded by hanging vegetation from tree, bush and foliage. Mara and Pikkle had lost all sense of direction, but the voyage was soothing and the quiet waters transmitted a sense of tranquillity. The young badger maid lay across the prow, half asleep as she watched sunlight dappling through a tunnel of willows onto the barely rippling waters. Dragonflies hummed and once a kingfisher flashed past like a brilliant jewel. Her sense of urgency over returning to Salamandastron waned as, lulled by the steady dip and fall of shrew paddles, she was overcome by lassitude and slipped into the realm of sleep.

The treetrunk boats drifted to rest with a slight bump against a bank overhung by lavender, willow and rowan. Nordo cupped his paws and gave a short call.

"Logalogalog, Guosssom home!"

Only half awake, Mara and Pikkle were escorted through a tunnel in the bankside which opened out into a well-lit and spacious cave. All around them shrews were bustling hither and thither, carrying food from earth ovens to long shelves around the side of the cave which served as tables.

156

Salamandastron

157

"I say, this is more like it, wot?" Pikkle rubbed his paws together in anticipation. "Shrew tucker and loads of it, by the look of things. Lead on, old Log-a-thing!"

Log-a-log and Nordo seated them at a semicircular ledge. Immediately as they had sat down, a large fat shrew, accompanied by two small thin ones, approached them with a scowl on his face. He prodded Mara and Pikkle roughly.

"You've taken our places. Those seats are for Guosssom shrews, not for ragtag stripedogs an' rabbits!"

Before either of them could say anything, Log-a-log gave the fat shrew a sharp shove. "Mind your manners, Tubgutt. These are my friends. Go and sit at the other end with your pals, do you hear me?"

Log-a-log's paw strayed to the rapier at his side. Nordo stood beside his father, grim-jawed and ready for trouble. Tubgutt gave them a surly glance and retreated to the seats at the other side of the table, muttering something to the two thin shrews, who nodded and sniggered rudely.

The shrew fare was excellent, starting with shrimp and watercress soup, then on to an admirable salad served with soft white bankcheese, and after that there was a magnificent pas-tie of chestnuts, mushrooms and leeks, followed by hot spiced apple pudding. The two friends did the food full justice, washing it down with beakers of sweet shrewbeer.

Log-a-log watched Pikkle eating and shook his head in amazement. "Witherin' waterweeds! Where do you put it all, Pikkle?"

The young hare demolished his second portion of apple pudding and licked the spoon clean. "No bother, old Log-a-thing. Scoffin' is me fav'rite sport, wot!"

"Rabbits can't scoff, it takes a shrew to do real scoffin'." The loud remark came from Tubgutt, who was sneering openly at them across the table.

Pikkle chuckled as he waved his spoon. "Maybe rabbits can't scoff, m' fat friend, but I'm Pikkle Ffolger, a hare from Salamandastron, and I'll scoff you under the table any day in the season!"

Tubgutt stood up, his face dark with temper. "Nobeast can

158

Brian Jacques

SoJamandostron

159

outscoff Tubgutt of the Guosssom!"

Pikkle turned to Log-a-log. "May I?"

Log-a-log nodded. "Certainly, Pikkle. But watch out for Tubgutthe's sly. I've noticed that he was waiting to challenge you, so he has hardly touched any food,"

Pikkle shrugged. "Well, I only did a quick practice scoff m'self."

A table that was formed from an old oak stump in the center of the cave was cleared. Seated at it, Pikkle and Tubgutt faced each other as Log-a-log stated the rules.

' 'Do both contestants agree to hot spiced apple pudding?' *

Both the protagonists nodded and picked up their spoons.

Log-a-log waved a paw to the servers as he continued, "It is a contest to a pawstill, then. Bowley the cook will count the dishes emptied by each creature. Shrewbeer may be drunk while eating. No half-finished dishes will count, and no throwing food on the floor or hiding it in clothing. First one unable to raise his spoon from the bowl must admit defeat. Make it a good clean scoff and best of luck to you both. Spoons ready ... then begin!"

Servers fought their way to the table through the throng of Guerrilla Shrews packing round the two contestants. Steaming hot spiced apple puddings were stacked at its center as hare ate against shrew. Tubgutt went to it in a rush, spooning out three bowls of pudding in record time, his fat jaws working madly as the spoon plowed up and down in a blur. Pikkle paced himself, eating slow but big mouthfuls, chewing each morsel with relish. A large contingent of the shrews began cheering for Tubgutt. Mara stood between Log-a-log and Nordo, viewing the proceedings from a ledge some distance away.

Tubgutt had downed five bowls to Pikkle's two. Nordo was beginning to look worried.

"That Tubguttlook at the speed of him! He's picking up his sixth bowl. What's the matter with Pikkle? He's awfully slow, Mara."

The badger maid merely smiled. "Don't fret yourself. Pik-

kle can hold his own with creatures twice his size. He's eating slowly because he's enjoying it. Tubgutt may be fast, but he's no Pikkle Ffolger. You watch!"

Back at the table, Pikkle licked his spoon clean, quaffed down a beaker of shrewbeer and began on his third pudding. "Absolutely delicious pud, wot? You must tell cook to give me the recipe. Old Tubbyguts is enjoyin' it, too, aren't you old lad? My my, you are a messy eater, Tubbyguts!"

With pudding festooning his chin and apple smeared across his face, the fat shrew lifted his head and glared at Pikkle. "The name's Tubgutt, hare, and I'll make you sorry you ever went into a contest against me!"

"Sorry, old chap? One could never be sorry with all this beautiful scoff about. May I pour you some more shrew-beer?"

At the end of his eighth bowl Tubgutt began to slow down. He put the bowl aside and reached for another. Bowley the cook rapped his paw with a ladle.

"Bowl not finished there. Still puddin' in it, see."

"Never mind, chum." Pikkle grabbed the bowl from Tubgutt. "You carry onI'll finish it. Waste not want not, that's what we always say back at the mountain!"

Pikkle was becoming very popular with the shrews. His good humor and impeccable table manners endeared him to them. The Gousssom began to cheer support for the young hare.

"Come on, Pik. Slow and easy does the trick!"

"I'll bet a barrel of shrewbeer he beats Tubgutt!"

"I'll take that bet. Tubgutt's eaten nine, he's only on his sixth."

"I'll bet my sword the mountain hare wins. He's a good un!"

The banter went back and forth as the two contestants battled on. Tubgutt undid his belt and leaned back. A look of disgust crossed his face as he picked up his eleventh pudding and dug a spoon halfheartedly into it. Pikkle now had eight empty bowls to his credit and was halfway through his ninth. The incorrigible hare drank another beaker of shrewbeer,

160

Brian Jacques

Solamandostron

161

wiped his lips delicately on a napkin and winked at his opponent.

"Good stuff this. I say, Tubbyguts, don't take that one-it looks bigger than the rest. Leave it for me. Try that little oneit only looks half full, wot!"

On his thirteenth pudding Tubgutt stopped. He was breathing heavily and his mouth hung slackly open. The two little thin shrews fanned him with napkins and gave him a beaker of shrewbeer, but he pushed it away with a flabby paw.

Mara nudged Nordo. "Now watch Pikkle really take off!"

The young hare now had eleven empty bowls to his credit. He licked his spoon shiny clean and selected a twelfth.

"Tubbyguts old pal, you've gone green. I must say, you looked much better your other color. Pass another pudden, will you?"

With the spoon halfway to his lips, Tubgutt's stomach heaved and his paw went limp. The spoon clattered back into the bowl.

A hushed silence fell over the onlookers.

Completely ignoring his fellow contestant, Pikkle polished off the twelfth pudding and chose another as he licked his spoon.

Bowley the cook watched Tubgutt carefully. "Can you raise spoon or paw, shrew?"

Tubgutt collapsed, his head squelching into the pudding in front of him. Pikkle blinked and tut-tutted at his table manners. "Is he finished already? Ah well, never mind, Tubby-gutts. It's not the victory but playin' the jolly old game that counts. Anybeast want to take his place?"

A wild cheer went up from the shrews. Log-a-log laughed heartily. "Well done, Pikkle! I liked that little joke about anyone else taking Tubgutt's place. Good, eh, Mara?"

Mara gave Log-a-log a blank look. "That was no joke. Pikkle meant it. Look, he's on his sixteenth!"

The Guosssom shrews were laughing, patting Pikkle's back and cheering him to the echo. Bowley the cook held Pikkle's paw aloft.

' 'The winner by a clear four bowls of pudding, Pikkle the

hare from Salamandastron is the champion!"

Amid the cheering and applause Pikkle smiled modestly, trying to pull his spooning paw from Bowley's grasp. "Steady on, chaps. Leggo me paw will you, Bowley old lad. It's bad form to stop a fellow in midscoff!"

Covered by a blanket, Pikkle lay on a ledge, snoring loudly. Mara sat with Log-a-log and his son Nordo. The other shrews had retired for the night.

Though Mara had been glad to escape Salamandastron she could not reconcile herself to the idea of Urthstripe being besieged along with the hares inside the mountain. A sudden yearning to be back there, giving what aid she could, caused the young badger maid to turn to the shrew leader.

"Log-a-log, I want to thank you and your tribe for rescuing

. us and showing us the hospitality of your home, but I am

anxious to go back to Salamandastron. I have told you about

what will be happening there, so why can I not go?'' (' "AH in good time, Mara. AH in good time." Log-a-log v patted her paw. "When you do go, the Guosssom warriors , and I will be with you. I have crossed swords with this Klitch you speak ofaye, and his father Ferahgo. The blue-eyed f ones are our enemies; we would wear out logboats traveling ,} to fight against them." / Mara nodded. "Then why do we not go now?"

Log-a-log took a sip of shrewbeer from his tankard. "Be-

, cause I need you to do something for me. Listen and I will

. tell you. I am leader of the Guosssom because I am the strong-

:; est; that is the only thing that keeps our tribe together without

the Blackstone. The Guosssom will follow the shrew who

holds the Blackstoneit is sacred to us shrews. I held the

:; Blackstone from the time it was passed to me by my father,

who got it from his father before him. It makes the holder

"., undisputed leader of all shrews. Well, one day when my son

Nordo was little he took it from around my neck as I slept. I

; ,did not worry too much because Nordo was a baby who liked

4 to play with the Blackstone. I let him, thinking that one day

.;gt;; it would be his by right. However, Nordo lost the stone. I

162

Brian Jacques

took the blame on myself, not wanting him to be shunned by the Guosssom, and since then I have been leader only by my authority and fighting skills."

"Where did Nordo lose the Blackstone?" Mara could not help interrupting. "And how does it concern me?"

Nordo took up the story from his father. "You must understand our ways, Mara. The importance of the Blackstone is great in our tribe. Without it my father leads only by his strength; if he possesses the stone then he is leader not only by his toughness, but by Guosssom law.... But let me tell you my story. One of the tributaries of the Great South Stream leads out on to a large lake, so big it is like an inland sea. I drifted out there in a little logboat that my father made for meactually I fell asleep and the logboat took its own course. The oars were lost overboard as I slept. I drifted around on the big lake for more than two days, then I sighted an island near its center. Paddling with my paws, I made it to the island. There I searched the woods, looking for suitable wood to make oars so that I could row back home. Having no knife or sword, I could not cut wood. I searched all day without success. When night fell I went to sleep in the woods. It was like a dream. I was suddenly wakened by a dreadful roar. A huge white creature stood over me. It was terrifying, more ghost than fur or blood. It had hold of the Blackstone. I screamed and ran off, leaving the Blackstone and the broken thong that it had hung from. The ghost had it. I made it back to my little logboat and drifted round until the evening of the next day, when I was found by my father and a search party who were scouring the lake with the big logboat fleet. Since then no shrew has been near the big lake or the island where the ghost lives. But with you along I might be able to get the Blackstone."

"I don't understand. Why must you have me along?" Mara scratched her head in puzzlement.

Log-a-log spoke then, keeping his voice low. "Because you are a badger, and the ghost that haunts the island of the big lake is a badger also, a huge white one without stripes!"

Samkim and Arula sat in the late afternoon sun peeling the mud from themselves. Spriggat had proved correct: the stings came out with the mud. The young squirrel picked the last of it from his tail bush.

"That mud is marvelous stuff, Arula. Look, there's not a sting on me and scarcely a lump. I feel great."

"Ho urr, an' oi loikwoise. 'Tis champeen mud, as 'ee say. Oi wunner whurr Maister Spriggat be agone to?"

They had been so preoccupied with bankmud and stings that neither of them had noticed the curious hedgehog's disappearance.

Samkim rubbed his back energetically against the rough bark of a hornbeam tree. "Ooh, that feels good. I expect old Spriggat's about somewhere. No need to worry over him he can take care of himself all right."

"Hohohoh! That I can, young feller m'lad. Here's yer tucker bags." Spriggat materialized out of the woods and tossed the two haversacks upon the bank. He was picking wasp wings from his teeth again. "I been back yonder 'mid the lupins and found these. Mmmtk! Found that broken wasp-nest too. I'm full as a stuffed duck. There's nothin' in all the woodlands like a good feed o'buzzers, no sir."

163

164

Brian Jacques

Samkim and Arula checked their supplies. Most of the food was intact. They thanked him and sat down to share a small flask of October ale with their new-found friend.

Spriggat swigged at the flask, a slow smile spreading across his snout. "Hoho, this be prime stuff. Tober ale, ye call it. An 'og could get use to a drink like this, I tell ye! Oh, by the by, young uns, I picked up the tracks of that stoat with your swordnot too far from 'ere, travelin* south an' west. If you feels up to it we can start trackin' right away."

No further encouragement was needed. The two friends shouldered their haversacks and weapons. Spriggat was not a fast traveler; he was slow but exceedingly thorough.

"Not too long till dusk now. See 'ere? Swordpoint's been stuck in the groundusin' it as a walkin' stick, the rascal is. Look, this is a smear of blood from a wound on the bole of this elm."

Samkim watched the hedgehog carefully. He was a master of trail and woodcraft, and without him it would have been nigh on impossible to follow Dingeye's track. His wisdom and experience were proving invaluable in their search.

Spriggat noticed their wonderment and laughed good-naturedly. "Hohohoh. Never fret, I'll learn ye, young uns. 'Tis no disgrace to be shown a trick or two. I had t' learn the 'ard way...." He paused to pluck a dragonfly from mid-flight and gobble it up. "Hmm, that'n were a longways from his stream. Tasty though. Now what were I sayin'? Oh aye, yew tew watch an' take notice, an' soon you'll 'ave young 'eads on old shoulders."

"Doant'ee mean owd 'eads on young shoulders, zurr?" Arula corrected him.

"Hohohoh, so I do. You're a bright un, Arula. A quick learner, eh!"

In the depths of the woodlands, dusk overtook the trackers swiftly, the sunset in the west casting darkness between the haphazard columns of trees.

Spriggat held up a cautionary paw. "Camp yonder beneath that three-lopped oak. Mind now, no fire tonightwe be dan-

Salamandastran

165

gerous close to your enemy. I can smell somethin' I don't likes on th' breeze. Yew tew bide by the oak and get: nper ready. I won't be gone long."

Before they could reply he had melted into the undergrowth ahead of them. Samkim and Arula squatted beneath the sheltering boughs of the oak and set out a simple supper of oat cake and apple, uncorking a small flask of elderberry wine for their absent friend.

They had long eaten supper and were dozing on the soft moss at the base of the oak when a snap of wood caused them to come alert. Spriggat stood beside them with both halves of the dead twig in his paws.

' 'Hohohoh, a lesson learned is a lesson remembered, I 'opes. Never both go asleep together, always 'ave one on guard an' t'other sleepin'that way yew tew will never be sneaked up on, like I just did. What's this? Mmm, tastes good!"

Samkim refused the proffered flask, letting the hedgehog drink as much as he liked. "It's elderberry wine, Mr. Spriggat, made at Redwall Abbey. Keep the flask and drink it all. What did you find out there?"

Spriggat caught a droning gnat neatly with a flick of his head. He chewed it reflectively. "Gnats ain't nearly good as wasps 'n' beestoo acid-tastin'. Now, where were I ? Oh aye, what did I find? Well, I' II tell yew tew, that were a strange scent I caught on the breeze a while back. 'Twas death! Aye, death an' other things ... the whiff of ratscan't mistake that stenchfox, too, though I can't be certain o' that..."

Arula rocked back and forth impatiently. "Burrhoo, Mais-ter Spriggat, wot did 'ee find out'n thurr?"

"No sight fer yew tew t'be lookin' upon, young uns." Spriggat took a sip of wine and smacked his lips appreciatively. "It were the stoat, but his 'ead was chopped clear off! Most likely done wi' that sword you're a-seekin'."

Samkim was shocked that the sword of Martin the Warrior should have been put to such base use as murder. ' 'Nobeast could use Martin's blade so foully. It's dreadful! The sword of our Abbey Warrior was only ever lifted to defend the right

166

Brian Jacques

and good in fair combat. How could anybeast treat it in such a wicked way?"

The old hedgehog shook his head at the young squirrel's innocence. "Ye've a lot to learn, laddie. There's no magic in any weapon. That sword may be used for good or evil; it all depends on the creature who wields it. Cmon now, sleep. We've got a full day ahead tomorrow. Rats 'n' foxes ain't as careless about their tracks as that pore silly stoat were."

That night Samkim's head was full of dreams. Martin the Warrior appeared, and there was the rolling hiss of great waters. Shadowy figures fought battles across the paths of his mind, great lumbering mist-shrouded creatures ... badgers! The voice of the Warrior echoed all around:

"Courage, Samkim, courage. Follow and find my sword, for destiny lies heavy upon you. Trust Spriggat, and take care of Arula. I am wim you, no matter how far you may roam. Do not lose heart. Remember the words of Spriggat: the sword may be used for good or evil by the creature who wields it..."

The dawn was shrouded in a curtain of drizzle, though the thick woodlands offered fair protection. After a hasty breakfast the three searchers set off, Spriggat leading them on a course that skirted the headless carcass of Dingeye. Still following a southwest trail, they pushed on until midmorning, when they halted in an open sward. The rain had ceased though the sky overhead was gray with rolling clouds.

Spriggat cast about. "Hohohoh, whoever is carryin' yon blade couldn't resist a chop at this wild mintI smelled it soon as we got 'ere. Look, see the cut stems? That sword is leavin' its own trail. It's as if it knows yew tew is follerin' it."

"Yurr et be a very swingable sword," Arula agreed. "Sharp, too, hurr."

Two rabbits popped up from the ferns at the edge of the sward and began chattering simultaneously.

"Stupid sword, stupid fox, stupid rats!"

So/amaruiastron

167

"Weren't chopping mint, y'know. Oh no, oh no!"

"Trying to chop us. By the burrow, they were!"

"Hope you haven't got any silly ideas about chopping rabbits?"

Their heads bobbed up and down as they spoke. They ran two paces back, turned and ran two paces forward all the time they were talking, alternately showing their white bobtails and scared faces.

Samkim shouldered his bow to show they meant no harm. He spread his paws wide and smiled openly. "Don't fear, friends. We're not the kind of creatures who go about chopping up rabbits. I'm Samkim of Redwall, this is Arula and he is Spriggat the wasp-eater. We won't harm you."

The two rabbits stopped hopping about and bared their teeth in what they hoped was a fearsome grimace.

"Harm us, hah! Don't you know I'm Fangslayer?"

"No you're not. I'm Fangslayer. You were Fangslayer yesterday. You can be Deatheye today."

"AH right. Listen here, you're talking to Deatheye now, so watch yourself, you scruffy squirrel, moldy mole and hairless hog!"

The moldy mole picked up a hazel twig and took an angry pace forward. "Naow lookit yurr, bunnies, you'm moind yurr manners or oi'H tan *ee fur wi' this stick, hurr urr, so oi will!"

The two rabbits hugged each other and yelled aloud in panic. "Mummy, Mummy, the mole's going to beat us with a stick!"

A large fat female rabbit waddled out of the undergrowth some distance away and began berating the two rabbits. "Clarence, Clarissa, what have I told you about speaking to strange creatures? Get back to the burrow immediately!"

The rabbits stamped their paws petulantly. ' 'Oh, Mummy, we're Fangslayer and Deatheye, not Clarence and Clarissa."

She bustled over and seized them by their ears. "I'll give you Fangslayer and Deatheye, you naughty bunnies. Didn't I tell you to stop inside the burrow after being chased by that horrid fox and those smelly rats?" She tweaked their ears until they yelped. "Well, didn't I?"

168

Brian Jacques

Spriggat made a courtly old-fashioned bow to her. "You'll excuse me, marm, but we won't harm your young uns. Did you say that a fox and six rats came by this way today?"

She turned on the hedgehog with a mixture of temper and impatience. "That's right, an evil-looking fox and six filthy rats. The fox had a sword too. Would you credit it, he tried to chop up my little Clarence and Clarissa, the ruffian! What are the woods coming to? As for you three, be off with you. Beating little bunnies with sticks! Have you nothing better to do with yourselves? Now clear off, go on! The other lot went that way, southwest. You tell that fox if you see him that I'll give him a piece of my mind when he passes this way again, verminous villain!"

She receded into the woodland, shaking the two rabbits by their ears and carrying on at them in a motherly way. "Straight to bed. That'll teach you two. And no lunch for either of you until you learn to behave properly. Fangeye and Deathslayer indeed. Behaving like two little savages!"

"Waaah, leggo my ears, Mummy!"

"Wahahaaah! Don't want to go to rotten ol' bed, Mummy!"

When they had stopped laughing, Spriggat ate a passing butterfly. "Huh, all wings an' no taste, those things. Well, yew tew, I 'opes all the enemies you meet be as 'armless as those, though if you stood lissenin' t' that mummy rabbit for long she'd wear you to bits wi1 'er tongue. Right, young uns. Let's press on."

As soon as darkness had fallen on the previous night, Ferahgo put his plan into operation. The horde went charging towards Salamandastron, chanting as they brandished their weapons. "Fer-ah-go! Kill! Kill! Kill! Ferahgoooooo!"

In the dining hall, Urthstripe sat with Sapwood and Oxeye taking supper. The sounds of the war chant reached their ears. Oxeye sighed wearily as he put down his beaker.

"Night attack, sah. Shall we just block all openin's an' sit doggo in here? They can't harm us, and all that's required is

Salamandastron

169

a score of defenders round the crater rim. We can relieve them through the night, wot?"

But Urthstripe was loath to sit still while there was the faintest chance of battle. He pushed aside his chair. "What? Sit in here while those scum crawl ail over my mountain? Never! This is the ideal time to set up a few surprises for Ferahgo. Follow me. We'll need long poles, archers, and oil too. Have that big barrel from my forge brought up to the crater top."

Ferahgo, perched upon a low rock with Klitch and Crabeyes, watched the masses climbing the outer rocks of the mountainous front face of Salamandastron. Doghead the stoat captain ignited a torch, and others began lighting their torches from it. Soon the mountain was ablaze with twinkling lights as the attackers sought to find openings in the rocks that would lead them into the mountain. Dewnose had led three ferrets ahead of the rest. They were almost halfway up when one of them yelled, "Over 'ere! There's an openin', a sorta window cut into the rocks!"

They scrambled to get in, Dewnose leading the way.

"Evening, chaps. Nice night to learn flyin', wot?"

Bart Thistledown and Pennybright thrust forward with their long poles. Dewnose saw what was happening too late. The poles hit him square in the chest and he shot outward with a scream.

"No, don't.. .. Yeeeaaaggghhh!"

Together with one of the ferrets who had squeezed in the window aperture with him, he went sailing into outer space. All over the mountain similar flying lessons were taking place.

Down below, Klitch roared up at the crowds of soldiers who were trying to scramble back down, "Up! Keep going. Get to the top, you worthless cowards!" He ran forward, climbing upward and belaboring all about him with his spear-butt. "Come on, follow me, I'm not scared!"

Ferahgo urged the attackers up, keeping the assault centered on the seaward side of the mountain. This way he hoped that Farran would have a clear path on the landward side.

170

Brian Jacques

Crabeyes unslung his bow. "Shall I get the archers firm'. Master?"

"Addlebrain!" The Assassin pushed him aside scornfully. "They can't see anything to fire at. We'd be killing our own. Tell them to light more torches. Climb up there with 'em, and see if you can't fire some arrows from close range into those slits they're pushing the poles out of."

Sapwood clad himself in old rags and climbed out on lo the mountain face. The bold hare moved about freely in his disguise. A weasel carrying a torch and shaking a pike climbed level with him. The Sergeant dispatched him with a swinging left-paw uppercut, the weasel's lifeless body bouncing like a broken doll as it hit the ledges on its way down. Another weasel raised his spear at Sapwood as he balanced precariously.

"Hoi! You're not one of uAaaarrgghhhh!" The boxing hare merely banged his paws down on the weasel's footpaws and the unfortunate spear-carrier danced painfully on empty space for a second before plunging shoreward. Sapwood spat on his paws and went in search of others.

On the shoreward rim of the crater, Urthstripe and Oxeye were tipping the barrel of forge oil over a heap of large boulders. When the barrel was empty the badger Lord kicked away the wedge holding the boulders back. With a loud rumble they bounced off down the mountainside, and Urthstripe flung the empty barrel after them with a wild laugh.

Climbing nimbly, Klitch was almost halfway up the mountain.

A ferret named Frang grabbed his paw. "Sir, what's that noise?"

"Noise?" Klitch pushed him savagely away. "It's the sound of battle, you fool. Keep climbing!"

Farther up, a rat gave a half-scream as the first of the boulders ground him flat, the flames from his torch setting him ablaze as he rumbled downward. Now the boulders were smashing into the topmost attackers, killing them instantly and

Salamandastron

171

igniting into huge fireballs as they touched the blazing torches which they had carried on Ferahgo's orders.

Crabeyes and the troops who had just started their climb came dashing back down.

"Master, get out of the way!" the Captain yelled as he passed Ferahgo.

Ferahgo took one backward glance at the mountain as he fled. The front face of Salamandastron was lit up bright as day, and rocks roared with the wind fanning their flames as the blazing boulders cracked and burst, sending death and devastation widespread among the shrieking horde of the Assassin. Above it all could be heard the booming laughter and exultant warshout of Urthstripe, Lord of Salamandastron.

"Hahahaha! Eulaliaaaaaa!"

Farran the Poisoner slid noiselessly over the far topside of the crater. Without pause he made his way down and into the corridors of the mountain fortress. The first door he came to he opened silently, and he looked inside. Nothing there. Shut-ting the door, he turned around to find himself face-to-face with Windpaw. The female hare was hurrying up toward the crater top with a supply of oil-soaked arrows. Swifter than her eye could follow, Farran flicked out a dagger made from greenhart wood and thrust the poisoned tip into the side of her neck. Windpaw did not even have a chance to call for help. She died instantly, her face in an agonized grimace. Moving like a flickering lamp shadow, Farran slid effortlessly down the passage, checking a cave here, opening a chamber there, until he found what he wanted. The water barrels were arranged along one wall, ten huge oaken tun vats. The black fox sighed almost lovingly as he lifted the lid of one and took a sip. Cool and sweet, rainwater and clear springwater mixedit was perfect, but not for long.

Carefully uncorking a green glass vial, the Poisoner went about his deadly work, dividing the contents of the vial evenly between the ten barrels. It was the work of a moment, then he was gone.

Slipping off down the corridor, he descended a rough-hewn

172

Brian Jacques

flight of rock stairs to the lower level. Farran spent considerable time checking the rooms on this level; they were all armory chambers. The pale eyes showed no emotion, but he knew that he was wasting valuable time. Down the next flight of stairs he went in his search for the foodstore. Unfortunately, every room he went into was a dormitory. Taking a long spiral stairway, he found himself in the dining room. Farran knew then that the foodstore would be somewhere close by, near to the kitchens.

It was quiet inside at the base level of Salamandastron; the rock walls shut off all noise from the outside. The Poisoner padded softly about until he found the kitchen entrance. His amber eyes flickered slightly at the sight of the food laid out there for the next morning's breakfast. Ferahgo had never fed his army this well.

Washing his paws meticulously, the black fox seated himself and ate his fill. Oatcakes, warm and fresh from the ovenshe spread them with comb honey and chewed them with relish, washing them down with gulps of old golden cider; summer vegetable pasties and beechnut crumble, crusty brown bread with mountain cheesethe black fox sampled each one in turn. When he had finished, Farran wiped his lips daintily on a napkin and set about poisoning it all.

Having finished in the kitchen, he sought out the storeroom that led off it. Sacks of flour, vegetable racks, apple boxes, salad bins, nut containersnothing escaped the deadly potions of Farran the Poisoner. A scattering of powder here, a few drops of liquid there... it was accomplished with his evil, but natural skill.

21

Midmorning was cloudy, but promising to clear up later. Thrugg and Dumble had been wakened by the dawn drizzle. The otter sat the little dormouse in the top of the haversack and covered his head with the flap. Shouldering the lot, he strode off northward.

' 'Better on the move than sittin' round gettin' a wet bottom, eh, matey. Come on, give ol' Thrugg a song t' keep his paws goin'."

Anybeast on the road at that time would have marveled at the sight of the big otter stepping out with a singing haversack strapped to his back. Dumble sang his dormouse song.

"There's no roof mouse, nor chimbley mouse, No winder mouse or floor mouse, An' I ain't gotta nokker on me nose, but

I'm a likkle dormouse. There's a fieldmouse anna 'arvest mouse, An 'edgemouse an' prob'ly a shoremouse, But I'm the bestest of the lot, 'Cos I'm a likkle dormouse. Ohahaha an' heeheehee, Yes I'm a likkle dormouse.

173

174 Brian Jacques

So I'll eat me dinner an' grow big, An' then I'll be enor-mouse!"

"Ahoy, up there, don't yer know no songs about otters, matey?"

By noon the weather had cleared. White clouds scudded across a sunny blue sky on the light breeze. Dumble was freed from the haversack. He skipped along at Thrugg's side, enjoying the freedom of the open road. The otter slowed down, placing a restraining paw on his small friend.

"Whoa there, shipmate. What's that sittin' in the road up ahead?''

The shapeless mass lying on the path some distance ahead started moving awkwardly to one side, making for the thinning forest on the right. Dumble skipped round Thrugg and began racing toward the object.

"Dumble, come back 'ere, you liddle thick 'ead!" Thrugg roared out as the infant dashed toward the thing.

But Dumble had a good head start and plunged onward, ignoring his friend's shouts. Thrugg stamped his paws down hard several times; but then, deciding it was useless, he gave chase.

It was a falcon, a season fledged and of no great size. The bird flopped about with its right wing hanging awkwardly as it struggled to seek shelter in the thinning woodlands at the path's east side. Dumble cut off its escape and squatted in front of it, holding out a friendly paw.

"Aaahhh, poor birdie, is your wing 'urted?"

The falcon halted, its fierce golden eyes distending as it hissed a warning through its dangerous hooked beak:

"Kaarrhzz! Stan' oot o' mah way, bairn, or I'll mak' dead meat o' ye."

The little dormouse chuckled and tossed a piece of candied chestnut in front of the savage creature. "Dumble won't 'urt you. 'Ave some food. It's nice ..."

The bird hopped to the nut and devoured it hungrily. Thrugg arrived just then. He decided Dumble and the falcon

Salamandas tron

175

were too close to each other for him to intervene. Holding his breath anxiously, the otter stood to one side. The bird cocked its head and squinted at him through one eye.

"Hauld yer wheesht, riverdog! Hey, canna this wee bairn no onnerstand me? Does he not know he's in peril? Ah'm no a sparrow, ye ken. Ah'm a falcon!"

When Thrugg had got the meaning of the bird's high north-land accent he replied, "Qh, I can see you're a falcon all right, matey. Lookit me, I'm an otter. An' I hopes you don't mean my liddle pal any harm, 'cos I'd hate to 'ave ter slay you with this 'ere sling!" The big otter twirled his loaded sling meaningfully.

Dumble held out his paw, offering the falcon more bits of candied chestnut. The bird ate them gently, keeping a wary eye on Thrugg and talking conversationally.

"Aye, Ah catch yer drift. We're both warriors the noo. Ach! Ye've no need tae be feared for the wee yin, Ah could-nae hurt a fly wi' mah wing breaked an' hurtin' like 'tis. Mind, though, Ah'm a falcon, not an eedjit, an' Ah'd no be slow in givin' a guid account of mahseF, even to a big bonnie laddie the like o' you!"

Thrugg unshouldered his pack and sat down, smiling good-naturedly. "Call it quits then, matey. You don't hurt us an' we won't hurt you. I'm Thrugg an' this is Dumble. We're from Redwall." He set out oatcake and cheese in three portions.

The falcon relaxed as all three set to eating lunch. "Ah'm beholden to yer for the guid food, Thrugg. Mah name is Ro-cangus, only son o' Mactalon, Laird O' the High Crags. Och aye, mah home is in the great northern mountains, a braw place tae live. Ah was lost an' driven by the wind some days ago, and had tae land in yon woods, ye ken. 'Twas there the crows set upon me. Ach! They're a sair lot o' cowards. Ten o' them it took tae bring me down. That's how mah wing was breakit."

Thrugg took a careful look at the wing. Rocangus stood still, bravely bearing up under the otter's searching paw. "You're got a fractured bone there, shipmate. Still, I don't

176