-s-'4 and went on hammering at the stake. "But I know nothing of gt;any plan to kill you. My plan was to take hostages, and I've done that. If I'd planned to kill you I wouldn't have failed at that either. Out of my way, old weasel!"


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Big Oxeye peered through the net holes at Klitch and his soldiers driving stakes into the sand. "What I wouldn't give for two minutes alone with that evil little brat!"


"We fell fer that one, Ox." Sapwood rubbed his head ruefully. "Hi wonder what they're a-cookin' up for us?"


A ferret jabbed a spearbutt at him, laughing nastily. "Wouldn't yer like to know! Well, you 'ave a nice sleep an' you'll find out tomorrer!"


33


The Joseph Bell tolled out mournfully across a quiet summer morning. Mrs. Faith Spinney sat on the west wallsteps, sobbing gently into her flowered apron. Her husband Tudd sat beside her, resting his chin on his walking stick as he stared across the Abbey grounds through tear-dewed eyes.


"Pore old Burrley. I can't believe he's dead. .Not Burrley me best cellarmate. Who'll 'elp me to brew October ale an' roll those liddle casks o' berry wine about?"


Faith sniffed loudly as she dried her eyes and stood up. **Oh, that dreadful Dryditch Fever. Wot did we ever do wrong that made fortune visit it upon our Abbey? Pore Mr. Burrley, he were such a gentle ol' mole. Ah well, tears won't make anythin' aright. I'd best make meself busy. There's lunch t' :be made an' sickbeasts to care for. Now don't you sit out 'ere too long, my Tudd. Go an' 'ave a nap in your chair. You still ain't well enough t' be out an' about." ; Tudd pulled himself up shakily on his walking stick and hobbled alongside Faith toward the Abbey. "I'll go an' set awhile in the cellar among the barrels. That's where me 'n' Burrley sat yamin' many an' ot afternoon. Oh, smash my prickles! I wish it'd been me as was taken, an' not that good lt;H' mole feller."


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The Abbey door opened and Foremole trundled out with his crew, bearing with them the sad little bundle that had been their friend Burrley. Foremole wiped his eyes on a spotted kerchief and tugged his snout respectfully to the two hedgehogs.


"Burr, 'tis a sad mom oi bid 'ee, guddbeasts. Us'ns will 'ave ol' Burrley putten to rest at late noontoid. Will 'ee tell everbeast within 'ee Abbey?"


Tudd patted the bundle and nodded brokenly. "Thankee, Foremole. I'll let 'em all know. They'll want t' be at Burrley's last restin'. He were greatly loved by all."


In the Infirmary and the upper gallery the beds were packed end to end. Abbess Vale and Furgle the Hermit hovered anxiously about Brother Hollyberry's bed, mopping his brow and rubbing his paws. Hollyberry lay still, his old face thin and ashen. Vale pawed her girdle cord distractedly.


"Oh, Furgle, can't you do anything to snap him out of it?"


"I wish I could, Abbess." The woodvole Hermit shrugged helplessly. "Hollyberry is in a deep faint. I know naught of such things. If he goes any deeper we'll surely lose him."


Bremmun levered himself weakly up off his pillows. "Ooooh, I'm aching all over! Don't even think of losing Brother Hollyberryonly he knows how to mix the medicine that's keeping us all alive. If he goes then who will be able to make it?"


Thrugann had been bathing little Droony's brow. She hurried over and hushed Bremmun. "Keep yore voice down, squirrel. These sick creatures got enough t' worry about without you startin' off a panic!"


Abbess Vale grasped the otter's paw beseechingly. "You'd know how to make the medicine, Thrugann. You collected the herbs for Bremmun. Surely he told you how to blend them together?"


"Oh, Abbess, marm, I only wish he had." Thrugann shook her head sadly. "I can find herbs an' pick 'em, but make 'em into medicine, never!"


Droony the infant mole woke up and began crying. "Whurr


be moi ol' nuncle Burrley? Burrhurrhurrhurr."


Thrugann hurried to comfort the little fellow, drying his tears and reassuring him. "There there. Hushabye, mole. Nuncle Burrley's gone away, but you'll see him agin some sunny season."


Abbess Vale swayed slightly, clasped a paw to her face and fell with a bump to the gallery floor. Faith Spinney had just arrived with a jug of soup and some bowls. She set the tray down and hurried across to help her old friend. The Abbess lay senseless.


"Oh, mercy sakes, somebeast 'elp 'er, please!" Faith looked around wildly.


Thrugann swept the frail form up in her strong paws. "Lan' sakes, I knowed this'd 'appen. She's been runnin' about 'ere takin' care of everybeast except 'erself. Furgle, it looks like one o' those faints to me. What d'you think?"


The Hermit needed only one glance to confirm his worst fears. "Lackaday! This is the worst thing that could happen right now."


Thrugann looked around gnawing her lip worriedly. "There's not an empty bed in the whole place for 'er."


"Oh yes there is." Faith Spinney dropped her voice to a whisper. "Burrley's bed is still empty in the dormitory. We'd best take pore Vale down there."


The dormitory was silent. Hastily Thrugann !aid Abbess Vale on the bed and dashed around checking on the patients. They had all gone into a deep faint, with the exception of Blossom the mousemaid, who was feebly shaking her comatose sister, Turzel, and weeping softly.


"Wake up, Turzel. Please, please wake up."


There was a pawstep on the stairs. Thrugann and Faith turned to see Furgle standing in the doorway.


"Er, er, the medicine has just run out and er, er.... " The Hermit stood fidgeting with an empty medicine bowl in the doorway until Faith Spinney snatched it impatiently from him.


"Goodness me, Mister Furgle, stop stammerin' about. Is there somethin' you've got to tell us?"


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He sighed and sat down on the floor. "There'll be another empty bed in the upper gallery. We've just lost Bremmun!" Thrugann shook her head. "But that ain't possible. I was only talkin' to Bremmun a moment ago. Oh, tell me 'e ain't dead, Furgle!" The Hermit shook his head. "I wish I could, marm. I was wiping his brow when he looked me in the eye and said he was tired, then he just turned on his back and closed his eyes and died."


Faith Spinney sat down on the floor, her face pale and shocked. "Oh dearie me, that means there's only we three an' my Tudd down in the cellars who ain't down with Dryditch Fever. We're all that's left standin' on our paws in Redwall Abbey!"


Thrugann mopped sweat from her brow and sat down on the bed where Abbess Vale lay.


Faith Spinney was at her side in an instant. "Thrugann, are you all right, my dear?' *


The otter staggered up and crossed to the window. "Aye, all I need is a breath of fresh air. Help me with this window catch. Mister Furgle, I feel weak as an otter kitten."


' 'Redwaaaaaaallllll!''


"Great acorns, what was that?" Faith Spinney sat bolt upright on the dormitory floor.


Thrugann flopped down beside her. "Now I know I've got that pesky Dryditch FeverI'm seein' things. I just saw Baby Dumble go flyin' past that window!"


Furgle jumped up and down, pounding the windowsill. "I can see him too! He's sitting in a haversack and the biggest bird on earth is carrying the thing in its claws!"


Faith Spinney and Thrugann went skeltering down the stairs toward the main door, yelling aloud.


"Murder! Help! A big bird's got Baby Dumble!"


"I don't care 'ow big the bird is, I'll wring its neck if it 'urts one 'air of that infant's liddle 'ead!"


Tudd Spinney hurried up from the cellars and hobskipped on his cane after them. "Ain't things bad enough without an attack of big birds!"


The Wild King MacPhearsome beat the air with his gigantic wings as he set the haversack carefully down on the lawn of Redwall Abbey.


"Oh, ye didnae tell me ye lived in sich a braw nest, Dumble!"


The infant stumbled from the haversack wreathed in lector Flowers. "It notta nest, birdie, it's a Habbey called Red-waaaaaalllll!"


In the island cave Mara listened with amazement to the tale that Loambudd told.


"My son Urthound was the strongest and wisest badger in all the Southwest Lands, and his wife Urthrun was famed for her beauty and gentleness. They ruled and protected the Southwest and were loved by all. Urthound's father Urthclaw had been dead many seasons. I was alone and there was trouble in the land, so Urthound took me in his home to live with him. It was autumn and Urthrun had given birth to two beautiful badger babes, male twinswe named them Urthwyte and Urthstripe. The trouble was called Ferahgo the Assassin and his gang of Corpsemakers. He was young and evil, a blue-eyed weasel who murdered for pleasure, with an army of vermin to back him up.


"That winter, the babes were scarce one season old, the snow was deep and the weather hard. If I had known that Ferahgo was in the area of my son's home I would never have gone out into the woodland that day to gather snowdrops. But I think that my son had arranged some sort of meeting with Ferahgo. It was Urthound who asked me to go and gather the snowdrops for his wife, though I know now that he only did it to get me out of his home lest I should attack FerahgoI was a mighty fighting badger when I was younger. Be that as it may, off I went into the winter woodlands to gather snowdrops.


"When I returned it was to find an awful scene of Ferah-go's treachery. The beautiful home was wrecked, my son Urthound lay dead, murdered by the blue-eyed one, and his wife Urthrun, too, was terribly slain. Of the two little ones there


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was only the white one Urthwyte. As for Urthstripe, I never knew what became of him. Did Ferahgo carry him off? Or did he wander away into the woodlands to perish in the winter? I never knew until this day when you came here, Mara. Fate sent you here to let me know that my grandson still lives. I might have known it, he was a tough little thing, more like his grandfather, fierce and warlike. He must have survived


somehow.


"Urthwyte is like no other; he can be gentle at times but savage when needs be. 1 have told him the story of what happened many a time throughout his growing, hoping that someday he might have a chance to avenge the death of his parents. That winter day I fled, taking Urthwyte with me. We wandered the woodlands for many seasons. That is where we met our goodfriend Ashninshe was the slave of wandering foxes. I fought them off and freed her, then the three of us traveled together, looking for peace and a better life. One summer day many seasons ago we found it here, an island paradise where we lived in safety until now."


Mara touched the old badger lady's paw.


"Why don't you forget the past and stay here, Loam-budd?"


"Because you have brought the past walking in through our door and because my grandson and I are both badgers, fighting beasts. Besides, how do you think I could stay here, knowing that kin of mine may be battling for life in the lands by the big sea? When you go, we will go with you, on the day after tomorrow."


Pikkle looked up from his cherry cordial. "Why the day after tomorrow, marm?"


"Because a great storm is brewing. It will hit the lake tomorrow and nothing will be able to get on or off this island


all day."


Mara rose. "I must go and tell Log-a-log so that he can pull the logboats up to safety."


The old squirrel, Ashnin, spoke, "That would be wise. The rock ledge they are camped on will be battered by heavy waves when the storm comes. Go and wake Urthwyte. He


will haul the boats up to the woodlands for you. Tell your shrew friends to come and visit us until it is time to leaveI would like to know what sort of creatures I will be traveling with to the shores of the great sea."


"You'll be goin' too, marm?" Pikkle was surprised.


The ancient squirrel took a bow and arrows from the chimney corner. "I certainly will, young feller. I've never missed a good fight in my life. I'm a dead shot too!"


Pikkle rubbed his head where the cherry stones had struck. "I can already vouch for that, marm!"


Log-a-log and the Guosssom shrews yelled in alarm when a large white badger head poked over the cliffs at them, until Pikkle came bounding down paw over paw on a rope.


"Panic over, chaps. This is old Urthwotsit, a pal of ours. He's offered to haul the boats up to high groundapparently there's goin' to be a whizzo storm tomorrow and all this ledge where you're standin' will be underwater. Hey, Mara, come down an' show old Log-a-thing what you've brought for him!"


Mara slid down the rope. Without a word she hung the Blackstone around Log-a-log's neck. Immediately all the Guosssom shrews raised their paws in the air and gave a mighty roar.


' 'Logalogalogalogalog!''


One by one they filed past their leader, touching the Black-stone and bowing respectfully. There was not a shadow of doubt who the absolute leader of the Guosssom was now. Log-a-log clasped Mara's paws in both of his.


"I will never forget this, Mara." His voice shook with emotion. "No matter what the time, day, or season I am yours to command."


Nordo placed his paws over those of his father. "And I also. Mara, friend, words cannot thank you enough!"


The badger maid smiled at them both. "Then save your words, friends. Show me by your actions when we reach Sal-amandastron and face the hordes of Ferahgo!"


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The white badger was a great source of amazement to the Guosssom. They watched openmouthed as he wrapped his huge paws around the damaged logboat. Bracing himself, Urthwyte gave a single grunt and lifted the entire vessel. He carried it five paces, then deposited it neatly on the trestles they had set up for its repair.


Nordo hesitantly touched the powerful corded muscle and sinew which stood out through the badger's snowy coat. "By the log of my father's boat! It would have taken at least fifteen shrews to even budge one of our craft. You have the strength of a giant, Urthwyte!"


The big badger smiled and swelled out his chest. He was a simple creature and enjoyed the adulation of the shrews.


Loambudd brought him back to earth with a bump as she commented to Nordo, "Aye, my grandson has strength that he has not used yet, but he also has an appetite to match. He could eat your tribe out of house and home. You should try feeding him for a seasonhe's a bottomless pit, that one."


Log-a-log knew all there was to know about boats. Pikkle sat watching him as he deftly set about repairing the damaged craft. Taking a saw-edged dagger, the shrew leader cut away the damp splintered wood from the boat's side. Working with wet clay and pine pegs, he fitted a neatly cut piece of oak into the space, bedding it with clay and boring the wood with a red-hot rapier until the pegs secured the new piece firmly. Taking a bubbling pan of pine resin from the fire, he brushed on several thick coats, rendering the whole job waterproof.


Pikkle stood back to admire the repair. "I say, good show, wot! I'll bet the old boat'11 go as fast as the day it was built now, Log-a-thing."


Log-a-log dipped his brush in the resin pan. "She certainly will, Pikkle my friend. This pine resin is a marvelous glue they say that two coats of this around the mouth of a hare will slop him chattering and eating too much. Hold still now while I try it on you!"


The entire camp roared with laughter as Log-a-log chased Pikkle round the boat, brandishing the resin brush.


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"Gerraway, you moldy ol' shrewfeller," the young hare whooped as he ducked and weaved. "Go an' try that stuff out on old Tubbguts. He needs it more than me!"


Ashnin leaped about, cackling. "Get him, Log-a-log. That Pikkle eats more than Urthwyte an' Tubgutt put together. 1 should knowit was me who served them lunch today."


34


Through the drenching curtains of storm-blown rain, Alfoh and Arula watched the battle from the logboat as it bucked and pitched on the heaving surface of the Great Lake. Only Samkim's nimbleness of paw was saving him from Deth-brush; the fox was an experienced fighter and used Martin's sword efficiently. Samkim was on the defensive, seeking desperately to parry each slashing blow with his light shrew rapier. The remaining tracker rats clung grimly to the side of the boat, silent spectators to the duel. Steel clashed upon steel. Bobbing up and down with the storm-tossed craft, Samkim held his weapon in both paws, frantically trying to turn the ever-seeking point and edges of the glittering sword. Deth-brush pursued him along the boat's length, hacking and thrusting until the young squirrel was trapped up on the bow with nowhere left to go. Showing his teeth viciously, the fox battered away forcefully at the puny rapier which stood in the way of a death-thrust from the sword. With a sweeping blow he struck at the outstretched weaponand the rapier snapped off at the hilt with a metallic ping.


"Paddle 'ee boats over," Arula yelled aloud. " 'Elp San-ken!"


The three logboats nosed their way across as the Guosssom


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paddled wildly against the mounting waves.


Reaching instinctively as Dethbrush raised the sword above his head, Samkim kicked out with both footpaws. He caught the fox low in his stomach, sending him sprawling into the bottom of the boat.


Dethbrush pulled himself quickly upright, snarling, "I'll use your tail as a he ad plume after I've slain you!"


The prow of Alfoh's logboat struck the fox's craft amidships. He tottered, struggling for balance as the other two vessels closed in. Samkim saw his chance. Leaping up, he punched Dethbrush on the jaw, still holding the rapier handle in his paw. A look of surprise crossed the fox's face as he plunged overboard into the rain-lashed waters, still holding the sword.


The Deepcoiler came suddenly, surging up from the depths like a juggernaut into the midst of the maelstrom. The fearsome head crashed through the surface, water rushing from it as the horrible mouth yawned agape.


Dethbrush gave vent to a gurgling wail as the monster's jaws closed across the middle of his body, and the sword fell from his lifeless paws into the water. Without thinking, Samkim flung himself headlong into the water, grabbing the sword as the fox let it go. Arula was only inches from the Deep-coiler's head. Swinging her paddle with both paws, she struck with the strength of panic, belting it in the eye. Immediately the gigantic reptile shot back under the water, Spriggat and Alfoh grabbed Samkim by the ears and heaved him scrabbling back into the logboat.


Without warning the Deepcoiler exploded back to the surface. The four logboats stood upright on their sterns as the mighty beast cleaved the water between them. Every creature aboard the boats was flung into the lake. Amid the driving gales of wind and rain the Deepcoiler began its killing in the crests and valleys of the sweeping waves.


Samkim clung grimly onto the sword. For the second time in as many moments he found himself pulled to safety as Arula dragged him onto the hull of an overturned boat. Screeching and yelling creatures hung on to capsized logboats


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as the Deepcoiler wreaked its savagery upon them. Coils of awesome thickness lashed and crashed everywhere, and the gray and white foamed lake was tinged with red as rows of razorlike teeth ripped and tore at any moving thing, the thrashing tail stunning, killing and drowning as it whipped about in random savagery.


Spriggat roared in pain as the deadly jaws closed on his back. Samkim cut a chunk from the rearing neck in front of him. The creature hissed, opening its mouth and releasing the hedgehog as it turned its attentions to the young squirrel. Samkim caught one glance of the glittering eyes as the lake monster came at him with open mouth, then recklessly he drove his blade beyond the teeth and into the roof of Deepcoiler's mouth.


' 'Redwaaaaaalllllll!"


Arula and Alfoh threw themselves upon Samkim, dragging him back as the fearsome jaws closed with a stunning clash of teeth. AH three creatures fell back onto the hull in a bundle as with its customary unexpectedness the Deepcoiler submerged.


Samkim fought madly to free himself from the paws of his rescuers, roaring above the storm, "The sword! That thing has taken Martin's sword! Let me go!"


Arula and Alfoh dug their paws into his sodden fur. "Hurr, yon beastie near got 'ee, too, Sanken, but yore safe naow!"


Out of his mind with frustration and battle lust, Samkim bit fiercely at the paws of his friends. "Let me go, I've got to get the sword! Stupid shrew, blundering mole, let go of


me!"


Samkim did not see the paddle that Arula swung at his head until too late. Stars burst inside his brain, then suddenly he was falling through rushing darkness.


It was nighttime when Samkim regained consciousness. The rain had stopped but northeast winds were still sweeping across the lake. He lay on his back at the bottom of a logboat, watching wind-driven columns of cloud scudding across the


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face of a pale moon. A cool damp cloth was pressed to his head. It lessened the nagging pain which pounded in his temple. Samkim groaned and tried to sit upright.


Alfoh pushed him none too gently back down. "Be still, you wild squirrel. I'm trying to reduce the size of this bump on your skull. How do you feel?"


Samkim closed his eyes, and the throbbing receded slightly. "Ooh! A massive headache, that's all I can feel. What happened, Alfoh? I can't remember much of what went on."


The shrew held a beaker of water as Samkim drank slowly. "Hmm, can't remember, eh? Well, let me refresh your memory, though I don't know whether you'll trust the word of a stupid shrew. Or maybe you'd like to ask the blundering mole?"


Arula leaned over her friend's face and winked broadly. "Blunderin' mole 'ee called oi, hurr hurr. Oi blundered 'ee one o'er yore 'ead wi' moi paddle! Sanken, you'm wurr loik some orful woild beastie. You'm said bad things 'bout us'ns."


The young squirrel winced as memory of the events flooded back. "Arula, and you, Alfoh, I'm very sorry for what I said, but it was the thought of losing Martin's sword like that. Forgive me."


"You'm a mad ol' feller, but you'm moi best matey." The molemaid's homely face creased into a friendly smile.


Arula took over the ministrations with the damp cloth as Alfoh explained what had happened while Samkim had lain unconscious.


"Deepcoiler went straight down and never reappeared, at least not so far. We lost six shrews, all the rats and one boat. I can tell you it wasn't much fun trying to turn three boats upright in that storm and keep you and Spriggat above water at the same time ..."


Samkim pushed the cloth aside and sat up. "Where is Spriggat? Is he all right?''


Alfoh pointed across to one of the other boats. "He's over there. We can't really see how badly the poor creature is injured. When it gets light we'll check up on him. Don't worry, my Guosssom are attending to him as best as they can. Rest


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now and try to sleep. Our position is none too goodwe lost all the provisions and this wind is driving us along very fast, though to goodness knows where. There's no point in paddling or fighting against things. Lie back and restthat's all we can do. At least the rain's stopped and that horrible monster hasn't shown up again,"


It was a long night. Completely exhausted, wet and shivering in the blustery wind, they curled up in the bottoms of the speeding logboats, trying to ignore waves splashing over the sides as they were rushed on through the gusty darkness.


Samkim was the first to wake at dawn. His headache had cleared up and he felt much better. He lay still awhile, enjoying the light warmth of early sunlight. Alfoh, Arula and the rest were still snoring peacefully as Samkim sat up slowly and looked about. The wind had dropped and the clouds were gone. The lake was calm, mirrorlike and silent, and the three logboats lay side by side, becalmed on the tranquil surface of the great waters. Ripples spread as Samkim dipped his paws to drink the clear lakewater.


"I'd give a whole waspnest fer a drink o' that. C'n yew get some across t' me, young un?"


Spriggat's head lolled against the boatside as he watched Samkim drinking. The young squirrel found a beaker and filled it. Treading carefully, he stepped over sleeping shrews, and the logboat wobbled slightly as he climbed across into the other craft. Cradling the old hedgehog's head in his lap, Samkim held the beaker to his lips.


"Take it easy now, Sprigjust small sips, don't try to gulp it. Well, how are you feeling today, you old flyscoffer?"


Water dribbled from Spriggat's mouth as he smiled wearily. "Yore a good young un an' I don't want to upset ye."


Samkim wiped his friend's mouth. "Why, what's the matter?"


"I'm right sorry I can't stay much longer." Spriggat held feebly on to Samkim's paws as he spoke. "No, be still an' listen t' me! That there monster chewed me up like a fat juicy dragonfly. Don't try to turn me over an' look at me back,


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SamkimI'm all broken up." Spriggat moved slightly, screwing up his face in agony. "Uhhhhn! Wish I could've gone with me paws on good dry land. Taint too bad, though. It's a fair morn an' I'm in the arms of a friend."


Arula and Alfoh were awakened by the sound of Samkim sobbing. With the three boatcrews, they watched in silence as the young squirrel sat rocking back and forth. Regardless of the hedgehog's spines, Samkim held Spriggat's limp body as though he were nursing an infant, and tears coursed openly down his face onto the wrinkled old paws.


"He said he was going to find a summer forest, full of wasps and flying insects. Then he just smiled at me and, and ... Oh, my poor old friend!"


Arula and Alfoh climbed across. Together they held Samkim and Spriggat tightly, letting the support of their strength flow through their paws, united in their grief at the passing of a fatherly creature who had given his all for them.


35


Klitch and Ferahgo, backed by a hundred armed vermin, strode boldly across the sun-warmed sands toward Salaman-dastron. The golden badger medal bobbed on the Assassin's chest as it reflected the hot summer morning.


Urthstripe watched them from an unblocked windowspace. Resting his huge paws on the sill, his eyes locked on the shining medallion as he tried hard to recall some long-gone event.


The two weasels sat down on the sand within hailing distance of the badger Lord. Food and drink was placed before them by Migroo and Feadle, and they ate and drank noisily, slopping water into the sand and carelessly chewing on bread and a roasted fish from the sea, spitting out bones and throwing away crusts. Ferahgo's blue eyes held a trace of mock pity as he called out to Urthstripe, "What a pity that you can't come and join us, badger. Food and drink must be pretty scarce inside your mountain by now."


Urthstripe tried hard to control his rising temper. "Hear me, scum! The only thing that will be scarce will be your breath if I get my paws around your miserable neck!"


Klitch threw a clay beaker. It smashed against the rocks as he shouted out contemptuously, "You talk a good fight,


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stripedog, but words never won wars!"


Swiftly Urthstripe brought up his longbow. Fitting a shaft to its string, he drew it full back. "Here, this is for you, little snotnose!"


Klitch leapt up. Pulling back his jerkin to expose his narrow chest, he challenged the badger. "Fire away. Go on, kill me! But the moment you loose your arrow you will slay two of your own creatures. Look out by the tideline, you great stupid beast!"


Big Oxeye and Sergeant Sapwood lay staked out upon the damp sands below the tideline, and Crabeyes and Badtooth had spears pressed to the throats of the two hares. Urthstripe had to stare long and hard before he understood what was going on. It was a fair distance away, too far for bowshot. The badger Lord slacked his bowstring and withdrew the arrow.


"What do you want?"


"Nothing, really." Klitch sucked a fishbone and flicked it away. "We can sit out here until you all starve to death in there, and just to make things a little more interesting you can watch your two best hares get a good wash each time the tide comes in. At least they'll die clean."


Baffled rage was stamped on the striped features of the badger. "Then tell me what you want of me. What do you want?''


Ferahgo took out his long skinning knife and began drawing patterns in the sand. "When we first arrived here we were only after your treasure. But now things have changed, as you can see, so now we want the treasure and your mountain too."


Urthstripe shook his head vehemently. "There is no treasure, weasel, and as for my mountain, you will never have it, no matter what evil plans your twisted minds can think up. You will never be Master of Salamandastron. Never! Do you hear me?"


Klitch chuckled nastily. "Oh we hear you all right, you great windbag. But soon you'll hear from your friends Oxeye and Sapwood. When the sun dries them out and all they have


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to drink is seawater, then you'll hear them calling for mercy, screaming for a quick death. What'll you do then, eh?"


Oxeye shut his eyes against the midmorning sun. Licking parched lips, he looked across at Sapwood. "Are they still parleyin' up there by the mountain. Sap?"


The Sergeant tried to crane his head, but the rope across his throat pulled tight. He lay back with a sigh. " 'S no good, Hi can't see a thing. Ox, but Hi tell yer, if n Hi was Urth-stripe, Hi'd wipe Klitch an' Ferahgo out as soon as they was close enough an' fergit us two."


Migroo menaced them with his spear. "Shut yer mouths, yew tew!"


Big Oxeye winked at him. "Do me a favor, ol' chapgo an' boil your scabby head!"


1 "One more word an' I'll run yer through!" The stoat touched Oxeye's throat with the spearpoint.


"Slay away, old lad, slay away." Oxeye closed his eyes again, dismissing Migroo. "But if you harm a single hair of our handsome heads, young Master Klitch'll let his daddy skin you alive, then he'll kill you."


Klitch came striding up and stood over his captives.


Oxeye stared boldly up at him. "Listen, sonny me old weasel, if that chap Migroo kills us, would you be awfully kind and kill him back for us?"


"I wouldn't be so cheerful if I were you." Klitch kicked the big hare savagely. "Urthstripe is leaving both of you here to die. We've given him until dawn tomorrow to make up his mind, but by then a couple of tides will have washed over you and the gulls will be pecking at your corpses."


Oxeye raised his head slightly, smiling insolently at Klitch. "Feedin' the jolly old birds, eh. At least we'll be doin' some-thin' useful. What d'you say, Sap?"


"Oh aye, but Hi think I'd sooner feed 'em this 'ere weaselthat's if they haint too fussy wot they eats."


Klitch leaned down and struck Sapwood in the face. The boxing Sergeant wrinkled his battered features scornfully. "You ain't got much of a right, sonny. Try yer leftit might


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be better. Tell yer wot, why not untie me an' I'll give yer a free boxin' lesson."


Bart Thistledown and Pennybright watched from the top of the crater. Pennybright was very upset, but Bart comforted her in his laconical style. "Now don't be gettin' y'self in a tizzy, young Pen, wot? Oxeye an' Sap look in good form from here. No doubt Milord Urthstripe'll lead a party out an' rescue 'em tonight."


"Oh, Bart, d'you think he will?" Pennybright gnawed her lip anxiously.


"Goes without sayin', young Pen. Bad form not to, y'know. Milord would never give up his jolly old mountain, but he's a good ol' stickhe wouldn't leave two of his best chaps in the clutches of those vermin, you can bet your bally lettuce on that! I say, speak of the badger an' here he comes. Sah!" Bart came smartly to attention as Urthstripe ascended the crater stairs.


"Thistledown, get your weapons ready. There'll be you, Moonpaw, Catkin, Seawood, myself and some others. We're going out tonight to rescue Sergeant Sapwood and Big Oxeye. Penny, you'll stay here and guard the mountain with the rest., No arguments, missie! Bart, one hour after sunset, be ready at the main entrance!"


When Urthstripe had gone, Bart turned to the crest-fallen young hare. "See, I told you, Penwe'll have 'em both back by mornin'. Now now, don't stick your lip out like that, m'gelmakes you look quite ugly. Some-beasts have got to stay here and mind the old place. Cheer up, I'll slay a few for you, eh?"


By late noon the tide was swirling in. Fortunately for the two hares it was not a spring tide. They lay staked out with the water oozing around their backs and paws.


Sapwood shook his head several times. "Cor, it's runnin' down me ears. D'you think it'll come much 'igher? Hi'd 'ate ter be drownded by the sea."


Oxeye strained against the neck rope. "Me, too, Sap. Bad


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enough a chap gettin' all his back V tail soaked in salt water. Where's old stoatbottom an' his pal got to?"


"Over there, see, sittin' on those rocks an' keepin' their paws dry."


Oxeye turned his head on one side, watching Migroo and Feadle as they sat on the warm dry rocks. The big hare wiggled his paw. "Now don't get too excited, Sap, but I think I've got me bally paw free. Those dimwits prob'ly didn't realize that these ropes are only twisted grass fibers, and the water makes 'em soft V stretchy. Hold fire a tick, there! That's one paw free. Now for the other three. How are you doin', old feller?"


"Workin' on it," Sapwood grunted. "An' less of the 'old feller', you cheeky rogue. You must be at least two seasons older'n me."


"One, actually. What drill d'you think we should follow when we're loose? Personally I think that big hunk o' driftwood looks like a good bet. We'd never make our way through all those vermin back to the mountainthey'd probably stick us so full of bally spears an' arrows we'd look like a couple o' pincushions."


Sapwood wriggled his paws against the softening fibers. "An' what 'as that cob o' driftwood got to do with all this?"


Oxeye sneaked a footpaw loose. "Can't you see? It's an ideal boat. They wouldn't think of you putting to sea. It's the great escape. Sap. You could float up or down the coast apiece, land the driftwood and sneak back to Salamandas-tron."


The Sergeant shook water from his ear as he looked at his friend through one eye. "Me?"


"Yes, of course you! I simply hate watercan't swim a stroke, y'know. But I've watched you doin' all those sporty exercisesyou used to swim like a bally duck, every morn-in'."


Sapwood was not very keen on the idea. "Er, 'scuse me, hold feller, but what'H you be doin' while I'm cruisin' round on a cob of driftwood if Hi might ask?"


"Keepin' 'em busy while you escape, you great pugilistic


duffer." Oxeye chuckled. "One of us has got t' do it. I'll catch up with you as soon as I've roundly cracked a few heads. Now no arguments, Sergeant. Besides, I outrank you I'm a lieutenant, y'know. Never use the title an' I hate pullin' rank on a chap, but that's the way the pebble rocks. First we've got to get some weaponslet's see if we can entice ol' thickhead an' his pal over."


Migroo was nodding off nicely in the late noontide heat when Feadle shook him awake.


"Wot are those two hares up to, matey? Listen to 'em!"


Migroo sat up as the two captives started yelling, "Help, Help! There's a big fish over here tryin' to eat us! Yowch! Gerroff! Do somethin', chaps. It's a big fat fish!"


Feadle grabbed his spear. "Did yer 'ear that, mate? A big | fat fish!"


-5 Migroo also picked up his spear. "Hoho, just the job fer supper. Don't tell the others. Come on!"


They splashed across through the shallows. Feadle got there first, waving his spear animatedly as he shouted, "Where's the big fat fish?"


Sapwood sprang up right on cue, laying the weasel out with a crashing double pawswing. Migroo pulled up short, alarm on his face as he turned tail and ran off yelling, "Escape! The prisoners are escapin'!"


Oxeye's back had sunk into the wet sand and he had difficulty pulling himself up. Coming free with a sucking squelch, he ran to the driftwood and began tugging it into the water. "Come on, Sap. Hurry up! Get this thing out to sea!"


Between them they lugged the heavy tree limb, tripping and stumbling on branches and twigs as they pushed and towed it into the water.


Scores of vermin came racing across the beach with Klitch and Ferahgo yelling in the rear.


"Get them! Stop those hares!"


"Kill the two of them if you have to, but stop them!"


The driftwood was just beginning to float as Oxeye pushed his friend aboard. The enemy was now in the shallows, racing


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toward them through the rippling waves. Sapwood turned and grabbed Oxeye* s free paw.


"I haint goin' anyplace without you, Ox!"


Big Oxeye shook his head and laughed. "No no. Sap, you sail away. I'll hold 'em off. Have a good trip!" He whacked Sapwood beneath the chin with the butt of the spear he had taken from Feadle. The Sergeant lay stunned on the dead tree limb as Oxeye pushed it out into the current and the waves began to recede, carrying the makeshift craft into deep water.


A skinny ferret had outdistanced the rest. He waded out, swinging a sword. The big hare disarmed him with a single spear thrust. Grabbing the ferret, Oxeye pushed his head beneath the waves as he called out to the advancing foebeasts, his anger renewing the warrior spirit of his strength: "Come on, chaps, who's next for a jolly good bath?"


Sapwood was out of reaclrof the enemy as the water bore him on a southerly curve. Far behind him Big Oxeye threw himself spear in paw at the foe crowding forward through the waves.


' 'Eulaliaaaaaaaa!"


36


Dumble sat on the edge of little Droony's bed. The mole listened wide-eyed as the baby dormouse described his flight in great fictitious detail.


"Wizooooo! Right up inna sky we was, anna heagle was frightened, but Dumble wasn't, me laughed, haha! like that."


Brother Hollyberry opened his eyes slowly. "Who's that I hear laughing? Woke me up from a lovely sleep."


Thrugann was caught by surprise. She almost dropped a beaker of lector Flower mixture, juggling it in the air as she hooted, "Mercy me! Look, Furgle, it's Brother 'Ollyberry, an' he's waked!"


Furgle clasped his paws together gratefully. "Oh joy! He was first to go into that deadly sleep and the last to come out. Aren't old mousewives tales wonderful? Flowers of lector boiled in springwaterwho'd have ever thought it?"


Mrs. Faith Spinney trudged up from the Infirmary. She was carrying a trayful of hot hazelnut scones, each one with a blob of buttercream and chestnut on top of it.


"Dearie me, bake, bake, bake! I've done nothing the livelong day but bake since you sleepyheads woke up. Friar Bellows, when d'you think you'll be fit for kitchen duties again, sir?"


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The fat friar hopped nimbly from his bed. "Right now, marm. Are those hot hazelnut scones? Very good, very good. I'm quite partial to a well-baked scone."


Faith rapped his paws. "Then get along wi' you an' bake some, you idle mouse. These are for the big bird. I'm afeared greatly of it meself. Here, Dumble, take these to your friend."


Abbess Vale and the two mousemaids Turzel and Blossom watched chuckling from the dormitory window as Dumble and Droony fed the Wild King MacPhearsome on scones.


"Missus Spinney says don't eat too much, you get heagle's tummyache."


"Yurr, Dumble, let oi give heagle a scone. Burr, 'ere y' are, zurr."


MacPhearsome had never tasted such food in all his wild life among the icy crags. He picked the scones from the infant's paws delicately with his savagely curved beak and wolfed them down, showering the two little heads below with crumbs.


"Och, these vittles are braw eatin', Dumble. Ha' ye nae mair o' those wee veggible pasties the guid hedgepig lady made?''


Droony squinched his eyes until they nearly disappeared into his small velvety face. "Bohurr, you'm heagle do be a-talken funny loik. Oi carn't unnerstan' a wurd 'ee be sayen, Dumble."


That evening the tables were laid out in the orchard. Friar Bellows, Faith Spinney, Thrugann and Furgle were setting out a scratch feast in honor of the two saviors of Redwall: Dumble and the Wild King MacPhearsome. It had all been done on the spur of the moment with what food was available; nonetheless it was a happy and joyous occasion.


Perched on a specially chosen log, the great golden eagle and Dumble did full justice to the food from their place of honor. A large basin of mole's deeper'n ever tater 'n' turnip 'n' beetroot pie stood steaming in the center of the board, surrounded by woodland salad, yellow and white cheeses and oat farls. Farther out it gave way to candied acorns, hazelnuts


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and chestnuts arranged around flagons of October ale. Three plumcakes, heavy with honey, stood at strategic points, and between them were heaped platters of bilberry, redcurrant and apple tarts, with bowls of greensap milk and rich buttercup cream. Friar Bellows had invented a special MacPhearsome cake, comprised mainly of damson cream, stiff comb honey, arrowroot shortbread and glazed maple shoots. It was difficult for the Wild King to keep a dignified posture and satisfy his ravenous appetite, so Dumble translated for him as he sank his talons into the special cake.


"Ach, yer a bonnie wee mousie, Dumblebringin' yer auld pal MacPhearsome tae sich a gran' blow-oot. I'll remember ye fer aye an a', ye wonderfu' bairn."


Abbess Vale wiped Dumble's cream-caked mouth. "What is your friend saying, Dumble?"


The infant chortled. '""The heagle says to feed me plumcake so I'll grow all bigga an' strong, wiv cream too."


Tudd Spinney and Droony, his new cellar apprentice, rolled out a keg of elderberry wine.


Foremole removed the head from the keg and bowed graciously. "Yurr, zurr, heagle, dip'n 'ee beak into this woin, hurr hurr!"


Thrugg strode down through the foothills, accompanied by Rocangus. Tammbeak and two other able-looking falcons circled overhead as they began the trek back to Redwall. The Laird Mactalon stood waving goodbye with both wings.


"Mind how ye go, lads. Rocangus, ye young rip, watch yer manners an' be civil tae other beasties. Guid luck walk with ye, Sir Thrugg. Yer a braw riverdog an' Ah'm proud tae call ye fren'."


"Och, man faither's no' a bad auld stick," Rocangus whispered to Thrugg. "Just o'er fussy."


Thrugg chuckled as he swung his sling. "Listen, matey, d'you think by chance we could drop in on them crows an' whack the features off 'em? Make the journey back to Red-wall a bit more interestin', eh?"


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Rocangus flexed his good wing. "Ach, yer a wicked riv-erdog, Thrugg, but et's a braw idea!"


The two logboats were about to be lowered from the cliffs in the early dawn when a scream from the rock ledge below cut the still summer air.


"Eeeeyaaahhh! It's the Deepcoiler!"


Log-a-log's face was ashen. "That's Nordo down on the ledge!"


Urthwyte and Loambudd tore into action. Shoving Mara and Pikkle aside, they grabbed the lowering ropes and scrambled down to the ledge, Mara and Log-a-log following them as soon as the ropes were clear.


Like some grotesquely twisted tree trunk, the reptile lay half in and half out of the water, its tail trailing off into the take depths and its monstrous head laid flat on the rock ledge.


"Stay clear! It'll kill you all!" Ashnin yelled down after


them.


Mara ventured forward cautiously, staring into the wide-open eyes that were glazed over with a milky film.' 'It's dead!''


Pikkle stood pressed against the rock face with Nordo. "Dead? I wonder what killed the dreadful old blighter?"


Mara moved around the lifeless head until she could touch the cold steel that stood out from the center of the skull. "This is what slew the Deepcoiler. Urthwyte, Loambudd, lend a paw herewe'll get the head on its side and open the mouth."


Between the three of them the badgers managed to push the wet scaly head on its side. It was a repulsive dead weight, and foul-smelling water gushed from the mouth as they prised it open. Urthwyte propped the jaws apart with his club as Mara reached in with both paws. She began tugging. The steel that protruded from the skull waggled back and forth. Loambudd struck the pointed steel with a rock, driving it downward as Mara pulled and tugged with both paws, setting her foot-paws against the sides of the fearsome rows of teeth framing the mouth. Finally the object came loose and the badger maid fell backwards onto the rock ledge with a beautiful sword in her paws.


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A cry of wonder went up from the shrews crowding the clifftop. Loambudd inspected the head, speculating as Mara washed the fabulous weapon in the lake, "Somebeast stabbed it in the roof of its mouth. The thing must have swum off then and tried to close its jaws. The brain was pierced, because as it forced its mouth shut it drove the sword right up through its head, killing itself. The storm must have washed it up here last night sometime."


Mara held the sword aloft. It glittered and shone in the sunlight, completely undamaged and sharp as any razor's edge. "What do you think, Loambudd? It's too small for a badger, but slightly too large for a shrew to wield. But what a weapon!"


The older badger inspected it. "The beast who carried this must have been a famous warrior. This sword was made by badger skillI know, I have heard of weapons like thisand nothing can turn or damage the blade."


Pikkle plucked a hair from his tail and split it across the blade. He gave a whistle of amazement. "Well, chaps, I think we should all be grateful to the warrior who slew this horror. Now the lake is safe to sail on!"


The Guosssom raised a mighty cheer and began preparing for the voyage. Urthwyte scaled the cliff and lowered both boats down to the ledge, then supplies were packed on board the vessels. With light hearts the Guosssom took up their paddles. The boats were riding low in the water because of their extra passengers, but two more badgers added considerably to the paddle power as they shot out across the wide lake.


"From lake to the river and down to the sea, Paddling, paddling, onward go we. The sun on the water does shine merrily As away go the logboats like birds wild and free. So paddle, my brother, I'll sit next to you, A fine handsome creature, a bold Guosssom shrew. High sky and deep water are both colored blue. Our boats like our friends are all solid and true."


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The weather stayed fine, and they pushed onward until the island was a mere dot on the horizon behind them. Log-a-log noted the position of the sun and set a further course. Mara could not help noticing the admiring glances everybeast cast at her sword; as she paddled, it lay beside her, sparkling in the sunlight, its beautiful red pommel stone shining above the black bound hilt with its flaring silver crosstrees, the mirrored steel of the blade clear ice-blue, deep blood-channeled, and keenly double-edged down to the awesomely dangerous tip. It was a true warrior's weapon with no unnecessary fancy bits and no sign of weakness in its design; the swordmaker had forged and tempered it with one thing in mind; a stout blade that would serve its owner well in battle. She stared at it hard until a dizziness came over her. Shaking her head, the young badger maid blinked and rubbed her eyes as she glanced out over the lake, then back to the sword. She gave a start. Pikkle noticed her strange behavior.


"What ho, old gel. Are you all right?"


Mara picked up the sword. Bringing it close to her face,


she peered at the blade until her breath misted it. "Can you


see anything in this blade, Pikkle?"


The young hare took a look and shook his head. "No, not


a bally thing. Why d'you ask?"


"I saw the face of a mouse looking at me from the blade,


a warrior mouse, fiercer than any fighting badger." Mara kept


her voice low so that only he could hear.


Pikkle let one ear droop comically. "You didn't eat any


strange fruit or plants on that island, did you? I remember one


time I scoffed an old preserved damson I was sick as a frog


for a day, and you wouldn't believe the things I saw when I


tried shuttin' me eyes ..."


Mara jabbed him with the end of her paddle. "Don't talk


silly, it was nothing like that. I tell you, I'd swear I saw this


warrior mouse looking straight at me from the blade of that


sword!"


Log-a-log had overheard Mara. He offered an explanation. "What you saw was probably the face of the shrew sitting behind you; the blade was lying at an angle where it caught


his reflection and distorted it, what with the sunlight and the movement of the boat. It couldn't be anything else, Mara, believe me."


Mara thought about it for a moment then nodded. "Aye, you're probably right, Log-a-log."


As she resumed paddling she glanced back at the shrew behind her. He was an old Guosssom member with a thin face, one good eye and a flowing gray beardnothing remotely like the fierce hot-eyed warrior she had seen reflected in the mirrored blade.


Morning gave way to noontide. They ate as they paddled, traveling on without any untoward event.


Urthwyte stood up carefully and stretched his cramped limbs, turning this way and that as he rolled the stiffness out of his thick leg muscles. Suddenly he pointed and cried out, "Over there, to the left, dark shapes in the water!"


Immediately the crews felt a chill of fear run through them. Was there more than one Deepcoiler? Perhaps the monster had a mate that was seeking vengeance for the slaying of its partner.


Log-a-log gave orders for them to ship paddles and be silent. The two logboats lay still and quiet on the waters, some of the Guosssom shrews even holding their breath with apprehension.


When Mara could stand the suspense no longer, she turned to Pikkle. "Come on, Ffolger. You've got good long-sight up on my shoulders and tell us what you can see."


Nordo and Log-a-log steadied Mara's footpaws as Pikkle climbed up and stretched his lanky frame. "Can't see much, you chaps. 'Fraid it's too far away. Paddle over to the left a bit, please, and maybe then it'll become clear."


Log-a-log gave the order. "Stay where you are in that other boatno sense in putting two craft in danger. Right, Guosssom, no paddle-splashers nownice and easy, long deep strokes, paddle over that way."


Still balanced on Mara's shoulders, Pikkle shaded both eyes with a paw, flopping his ears over to add to the shade. The


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shrews pulled well and strongly; not a spare drop of water fell from their paddle blades as the logboat glided smoothly over the lake, silent as a feather floating on the breeze. Mara stood still as the trunk of a tree as Pikkle narrowed his eyes and strove to make something of the dark shapes that shimmered in the sunlight on the surface. Suddenly his ears stood erect and he muttered out of the side of his mouth, "Log-a-log, old scout, you've got friends out heresomebeast is cal-lin' your name."


The shrew leader looked up. "Calling my name?"


"Oh yes indeed." Pikkle nodded. "Shall I tell you what they're saying?" He threw back his head and shouted, "Log-alogalogalog!"


Immediately Log-a-log swung into action, his deep shrew voice roaring out orders:


"It's Guosssom shrews. They need help! You shrews in the other boat, follow us! Bend your backs, dig those paddles deep and pull! Logalogalogaiog!"


The two logboats raced across the waters, paddles flashing as bow waves churned up and the vessels rocked from side to side, Pikkle leaped down and grabbed up his paddle to match Mara's stroke.


A cheer went up from the crews of the three logboats as Sam-kim climbed down from the shoulders of Alfoh and Arula.


The young mole patted Samkim's back furiously. "You'm a roight gudd shouter, Sanken. They'm 'card 'ee, hurr hurr. Lookit, they acomen. Wot think 'ee, Alfoh, zurr?"


Alfoh shook Samkim heartily by the paw. "Best Guosssom call I've ever heard in me whole life. We'll make a boatshrew of you yet, young squirrel!"


There was a moment's pause as the five logboats met on the wide lakewaters. Log-a-log stood in the prow of his boat, displaying the Blackstone strung about his neck. All the five crews bowed low in acknowledgment of the Log-a-log of all the Guosssom, then happy shouting broke out. "It's Alfoh's colony from the hillbank!"


"Hey, Nordo, you young rip, how's your paddle!"


"Cousin Dwing, you fat old rascal, give me your paw!"


"Bowleyhi, Bowley, are you still poisonin' the lads with your cookin'?"


"Forbun, how are the twinsstill growing?"


"I'll say they are, Tubgutt, and they're the image of your sister: fat and idle. Hahahaha!"


Backslapping and paw-shaking went on apace as the shrews were reunited with old friends from the Great South Stream. Samkim was lost for words; he could only stand and stare at the handsomely marked young female badger holding the sword of Martin the Warrior in her paws. Stepping over the side of the boat, he never once took his eyes from hers as he spoke.


"I am Samkim of Redwall Abbey."


"I am Mara of Salamandastron."


They stood staring at one another until Samkim found himself speaking again. This time the words sprang unbidden to his lips. He felt as though he was back in Redwall, standing before the tapestry picture. Images golden with motes of the dust of time floated through his mind like brown leaves drifting over an autumn evening meadow . .. Thrugg the otter dressed as a badger guardian at the Nameday feast... the big empty chair in Great Hall where once sat Abbey badgers. . .


"The sword you are holding belongs to Redwall Abbey. It was once the sword of Martin the Warrior, and it was his face you saw in the blade."


Samkim shivered and placed a paw across his mouth, not knowing why he had spoken such words. He felt slightly foolish as he looked into the badger's dark brown eyes. Mara was mystified but she did not question the young squirrel. A sense of calm and quiet happiness stole over her as she placed the beautiful sword into his paws.


' 'May your sword travel safely back to its Abbey, Samkim of Redwall."


37


Three gnarled apples and half a beaker of water stood on the long dining hall table in Salamandastron. Urthstripe sat in his chair like some brooding mountain spirit, and around the table were thirty-two haresthe full complement of the Long Patrols. Urthstripe's gaze roved about his fighters, finally settling on Pennybright.


"Take these apples and this water, Penny. A sip and an apple apiece for you and the two next youngest in the mountain."


Pennybright was about to object when Bart Thistledown nudged her forward, murmuring under his breath, "Do as your Lord says, Pen. Go on, don't question him when he's in this moodhe's dangerous!"


The young hare did as she was bidden, bobbing a curtsy to the badger Lord as she passed him.


The hares waited in silence until Urthstripe stood. His gruff voice was heavy and doom-laden as he spoke.


"Sergeant Sapwood and Big Oxeye are gone. I could not make out what way they were slain, but there were over a hundred vermin against them. No two hares were with me longer, or served Salamandastron more loyally. First Wind-paw and Shorebuck, and now Sapwood and Oxeye. It has


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come to this, my friends." His paw crashed down on the tabletop. "We are starved and surrounded by a vermin horde, trapped inside our own fortress!"


The booming echoes of the badger Lord's voice died away as he glared down at the tabletop, the dark eyes becoming blood-flecked with rage. His paws clenched and unclenched, and a fleck of foam appeared at the side of his jaw as he pounded the table with each thunderous word.


"My mountain held under siege by a blue-eyed weasel and his brat!"


The chair behind him clattered onto its side as he swept out of the dining hall.


In the shocked hush that followed, Bart Thistledown set the chair upright and commented lightly, "Well, I'm glad I'm not a blue-eyed weasel, chaps. Yes indeed!"


Pennybright shared the water and apples with Lingfur and Barfle on the crater top. They gulped the water down but ate the apples sparingly, making each bite count, chewing hungrily.


Lingfur finished his apple first. "I'm still hungry, Pen. Phwaw! What I wouldn't give for a big beaker of mountain-pear cordial and a plate of hot oat scones with honey to spread thick on 'em!"


Barfle chewed away at the core and apple pips. "Greensap milk I'd like, with hot oatmeal and a whole blackcurrant pie, all to myself."


Penny closed her eyes longingly. "D'you remember those little cheese and onion pasties that Windpaw used to bake? I'd love to have one of those right now, with a flagon of new cold cider mat'd been cooling in the bottom caves for two days, all sparkly and light gold!"


"Oh, what did we start ta.lkin' about scoff for?" Lingfur nibbled the soft wooden stalk that his apple had hung from the tree on. "It only makes you even worse hungry than you are now!"


Suddenly a battered and sandswept figure hauled itself


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wearily over the crater top. It was none other than Big Oxeye, alive and well.


"Cheer up, young Ling. I never knew when you weren't bally well hungry, wot?" His familiar chuckle boomed out around the mountaintop. "Have some pears. They're a bit hard, but I don't suppose a young feedbag like you would care."


The three young hares gave a yell of horror at the ghastly apparition and fled down the crater steps as if a demon were chasing them.


Big Oxeye dropped the two woven reedbags he was carrying and looked down at his sand-crusted body. "Hmph! Suppose if I clapped eyes on me right now I'd be frightened out o' me wits!"


They gathered around the table in the dining hall as Oxeye related his marvelous escape.


"Hoho, you should've seen old Sap, floatin' off t' sea like he was born on the briny with not a care in the world. Next thing, here comes a bunch of those vermin yahoos, right nasty lot I can tell you. So I ups spear an' slays one or three, just t' let 'em know I mean business, doncha know. Blow me, there must've been more than a bally regiment of the stinkers. They stabbed an' whacked at me with cutlasses an' whatnot. As for me, did m' best to give a beastlike account of a Long Patrol scrapper, an' then I tripped and went under the water. D'you know, I could never swim until that moment, as true as I'm here, I tell you, chaps. I went under an' right off started swimmin' like a bloomin' fish underwater. Just kept goin', wot! On an' on I swam until I ran out of jolly old fresh air, so I came up an' there they were, far away, all arguin' an1 hackin' at each other like billyoh. So I took a good deep breath, dived an' swam some moremust've done that a dozen times until I got clear away from Ferahgo's lot. From there it was quite simple really, I just rolled meself in the dry sand to give me a coat of camouflage and hoofed it back here. Oh, I stopped off an' gathered a few supplies on the way backthought you chaps might be gettin' a bit peckish. I say,


where's His Nibs old Urthstripe?"


Bart Thistledown pointed a paw upward. "Probably in the forge room beatin' some poor chunk of metal to a powder. He's got one of his rages boilin' up. You'd best go an' report that you're alive, Ox."


Oxeye popped his head round the doorway of the forge room and called out in a loud voice, "Big Oxeye, sah! Reportin' for duty, sah! All present an' correct an' quite alive, contrary to popular rumor, sah!"


The forge was cold and the room deserted. Oxeye wandered about until he noticed one of the window apertures had been unblocked. The big hare sighed with despair at the sight that greeted his eyes as he looked out of the window.


Fully clad in badger war armor, Urthstripe was pounding over the shore towards Ferahgo's encampment. Brandishing his giant battle spear aloft, the badger Lord of Salamandastron hurled out his challenge to the foe:


"Come and meet me, Ferahgoyou and your brat together. I will fight you in paw-to-paw combat or any way you choose! It ends here today, weasel. Come and meet death! I am Urthstripe the Strong, born in the dark of the moon! Lord of the mountain! Slayer of vermin! Eulaliaaaaaaa!"


Migroo had died beneath the spear of Big Oxeye, so the other prisoner guard, Feadle, was held responsible for the escape of the two captives. His lifeless body hung, bound to a stake, in front of the entire horde. Ferahgo put away his killing knife and took out his skinning knife as Urthstripe's roars reached his ears across the beach. Ignoring the weasel he had just slain, he sheathed the knife and issued hasty instructions.


"Crabeyes, station archers in the rocks around where we fight. Badtooth, get forty spearbeasts and be ready to strike whenever you see the badger's back. Klitch, come with me and do as I say!"


Klitch was in a foul mood. He had been responsible for the victories they had won so far, but because of his youth the army was more inclined to obey Ferahgo. Accordingly his


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father had swiftly assumed position as Master of the horde. Klitch sat sullenly on a rock, curling his lip at Ferahgo.


"Huh, another of your cockeyed plans. It'll end in disaster like all the others, you'll see."


The Assassin dragged his son bodily from the rock and shook him. "Young fool, you don't know everything. I'm going to set up an ambush for the badger. Just watch me and do as I tell you. This will work. I killed the badger Lord of all the Southwest Lands and his wife the same way, seasons before you were ever born. Now get yourself a weapon and follow me!"


As the word spread around Salamandastron, windows and openings were unblocked. The hares crowded to the viewpoints, watching in dismay.


Big Oxeye had assumed command in Urthstripe's absence, and his word was law. "Lord Urthstripe is out to settle this himself. He's challenged the two weasels to double combat. When they meet we must stay here out of itthis is between Urthstripe and the two weasels, a Duel of Chieftains. Not even the vermin of the horde are allowed to interfere in a battle of honor, so stay at your posts and watch. That's an order!"


Down at the tideline, Ferahgo and Klitch stood in a smooth sea-washed area of sand, a semicircle of rocks at their backs. Urthstripe faced them. Raising the visor of his warhelm, he tried hard not to laugh aloud with joy. This was what he wanted, the moment he had been waiting for. Ferahgo had armed himself with a mace and chain in addition to his knives. Klitch wore a short sword and carried a pike. Urthstripe leaned on the haft of his great battle spear; it was half as tall as he himself was, forbiddingly heavy and thick with a leaf-shaped blade and barbed crosstrees jutting out.


The badger nodded at them. "Let us get things straight before we settle this. If you win then the mountain is yours, but you must let my hares leave unharmed. If I win, your army turns around and marches off back to wherever you came from. Agreed?"


Ferahgo pawed the golden medal on his chest and replied levelly, "As Master of the horde, I agree. So does my son."


Klitch swaggered about, jabbing the air with his spear as Urthstripe continued, "Nobeast must interferethis is a Duel of Chieftains and must be fought under the rules of honor. Agreed?"


"Agreed!" Ferahgo's blue eyes shone with fervor and sincerity.


Urthstripe lowered his helm as he spoke the final words.


"No quarter, no surrender. To the death!"


Under the midafternoon sun the three combatants closed in on each other.


Under that same sun the creatures of Redwall took their ease. Young ones played and tumbled on the lawn while the elders rested in the cool shades of the orchard. The Wild King MacPhearsome perched on a beech stump, sound asleep in the summer heat that he seldom felt among his icy crags and mountain wilderness.


Friar Bellows nodded with admiration. "Very good, very good. What a magnificent giant of a bird. I'm glad he's sleeping, because while he is he's not eating!"


Tudd Spinney leaned on his stick and chuckled. "Oh, he's got a rare appetite, that one, but I'm a thinkin' that he's entitled to it. We'd all be dead as doornails but for yonder bird. What d'you say, HoIIyberry?"


The old Infirmary Keeper had been half dozing off. He shook himself and looked around, blinking. "Oh, er, what? Indeed, whatever you say, Mr. Spinney. I was just wondering whatever became of young Samkim and Arula. I was very fond of those two little rogues, y'know."


Abbess Vale sniffed, brushing away a tear with her habit sleeve. "Oh dear, it seems ages ago since they both sat out here at our Nameday feast. I do hope they are safe. Samkim was a bright-eyed little fellow and Arula was a dear funny mole."


"What's all the fuss about?" Furgle brushed an ant from his paw and lay back in the shade of a spreading pear tree.


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"When I met them they seemed like two sensible and resourceful young beasts. Maybe they've settled down elsewhere and found a new life for themselves."


"Mr. Furgle, the very idea of it!" Sister Nasturtium chided him. "I know Samkim and Arula and I've lived here with them since they were tiny orphaned dots. They could,never be happy in any place except Redwall. I'll wager an apple to an acorn shell they come striding back through that main gate one day. You mark my words, that day will be the happiest day this Abbey has ever known!"


Faith Spinney stood up, brushing off her flowered pinafore. "What about pore Mr. Thrugg? What's to become of him?"


Thrugann stifled a gurgling laugh. "What? You mean that great lump of a brother of mine? I'll bet wherever he is right now he's scoffin' or fightin'. Don't fret yore 'ead over Thrugg, marmhe'd live in the middle of a snowstorm on a duck's back with a daisy in his ear!"


Baby Dumble popped through a gooseberry bush. "Yeh, Mista Thugg my friend. 'E carry me inna 'avvysack an' was gunna fight the heagle. Mista Thugg a brave hotter!"


Foremole gave Dumble a push that sent him rolling downhill. "Hurr well, that be all ter be sayed on that subjeck. Tho' oi do 'opes liddle Sanken an1 our 'Rula be safe, fro yes, zurr."


Safety was the last thing on Samkim and Arula's minds. They sat in a logboat with Mara and Pikkle as it flashed helter-skelter down a long winding stream towards the sea and Sal-amandastron. The previous night had been spent swapping life stories with their new friends, so each now knew all there was to know about the other. Samkim and Arula felt duty bound to help free Salamandastron and the Mossflower country of vermin; faintheartedness was not their strong suit.


The logboats had traveled without stopping. Under the twin Captaincies of Log-a-log and Alfoh, they pressed onward. Creatures ate, slept and paddled in shifts, and sometime before dawn they had left the Great Lake behind, steering into a long winding arm of the Great South Stream that traveled downhill


to the open sea. The paddles chunked steadily as high canyon walls swept by the five logboats, and shrews in the bows watched out for rocks and warded off the tall banks with their paddles and long branches. Bowley the cook and Ashnin passed out food from the goodly supply they had brought from the island, while Nordo made his way skillfully between the vessels with a compound of china clay and slippery elm bark for blistered paddle paws. To any creature on land that saw them passing it would have made a curious sight: five logboats stem to stern, hurtling downstream, laden with three badgers, two squirrels, a mole and a crowd of shrews, roaring out a bass war shanty.


' 'The Guosssom shrews are off to war, With our rapiers close to paw. Woe to him who will not go To fight the vermin foe. Logalog Logalog Log-a-log! Guosssom shrews must live or die Free beneath the open sky. Battle on while we have breath, With no fear of death. Logalog Logalog Log-a-log!"


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Ferahgo whirled the mace and chain. The spiked iron ball whistled and hummed as he closed in on Urthstripe's left side. Klitch sneaked in on the right and threw his spear at the badger's head. Urthstripe whirled with a roar, knocking the spear aside with his own weapon as he spun in a circle, catching the mace around the haft of his own spear and heaving Ferahgo bodily onto the sand. Behind the rocks an armed band of treacherous vermin waited until such time as Urthsjripe was forced to turn and present his back to them. Scrabbling through the sand to get away, Ferahgo cowered in the shadow of the badger Lord. Urthstripe kicked the mace and chain toward the blue-eyed Assassin.


"Pick it up, weasel!"


Klitch dashed in and slashed at Urthstripe's shoulder. The short sword caught the badger on an open place between shoulder plate and back armor. With a roar Urthstripe wheeled on him, thrusting at the stabbing sword with his mighty bat-tlespear. Ferahgo was still down on the sand as he grabbed the mace and chain. Flinging it, he trapped the badger's foot-paws, and Urthstripe toppled and fell with a crash of armor. Klitch ran in with his sword held high, but Urthstripe pulled himself into a sitting position and lashed out. The metal-clad


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paw caught Klitch in the chest, sending him thudding into the rocks. The young weasel sobbed for breath as he looked down at his own blood, oozing from the deep bruising scratches the armored paw had inflicted.


Ferahgo seized the spear Klitch had dropped and advanced on his opponent. Kicking free of mace and chain, the badger Lord came up off the sand, holding his battle spear crossways like a stave. They clashed, and Ferahgo yelled in dismay as his spear was snapped in two like a brittle straw.


"Klitch, help me, son. Help me!"


All the fight had been knocked out of the young weasel. His blue eyes flooded with tears as he nursed his aching chest. Dragging himself up on the rocks, he spat at the ambush party. "Stop hiding there like a pack of halfwits. Kill the badger!"


Ferahgo had drawn two of his knives. Throwing himself flat, he rolled under Urthstripe's paws, out of the way of the big spear, stabbing at the badger's footpaws viciously until Urthstripe leapt back and dealt him a tremendous kick. The weasel's body left the ground in a somersault as the ambush-ers came flooding over the rocks, spears ready and bowstrings taut.


Spitting blood from a mouthwound caused by the breaking spear, Urthstripe snarled, "You treacherous scum, come and get me!"


Ferahgo struggled up, gasping hoarsely, "Don't shoot any arrows until I'm out the way!"


"So you don't want to be slain by murderers, eh?" Urthstripe roared with laughter as he went after the Assassin.


The ranks of spears and blades closed in, cutting Ferahgo off from his enemy, but Urthstripe saw nothing in front of him but the terrible joy of battle. Spear flailing, he bulled in among them, yelling as the lust to slay foebeasts took hold of him.


"Eulaliaaaaaaaa!"


Ferrets, stoats, foxes, weasels and rats flew everywhere, stabbed by the giant spearblade, hooked with the crosstrees and hammered senseless by the battering spearbutt. Ferahgo


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and Klitch danced and leapt on the outskirts of the melee, shouting:


"Get him! Slay the badger!"


"Go on! Get at him! Don't stop!"


Spears, pikes and swords battered at armour and fur as Urthstripe went down beneath the howling mob. There was an immense roar as the badger surged up, throwing bodies into the air, punching, kicking and biting. The helm ripped from his head and his spear lying on the ground, the badger Lord fought insanely against the overwhelming odds. Down he went again. Blades flashed in the sunlight on the churning sands, barely visible beneath the pack of yelling, screeching ambushers. Again they shot in all directions as, scored by countless wounds, Urthstripe rose like a mighty geyser bursting from the ground with a fox between his teeth and a rat in each paw, hurling the lifeless carcasses into the mob, and went at them again, laughing like a beast gone mad.


Like a pack of wiid animals they clung to him, bearing him down to the sand once more. Limbs thrashing and teeth slashing, Urthstripe battled on, the armor torn from him, battered and dented into uselessness. Ferahgo and Klitch hugged each other in delight, anticipating the inevitable outcome.


"Blood V thunder, chaps! Eulaliaaaaaaa!"


Twoscore well-placed shafts thudded into the ambushers as Big Oxeye and twenty others came charging over the sands, their javelins held short for stabbing action. Straight into the fray they plunged, dealing death wherever their lancepoints found the foe. Completely taken by surprise, the vermin scattered, leaping for the safety of the rocksbut not before Ferahgo and Klitch, who hid among the rocks, calling out frantic commands.


"Get them! Don't let them escape!"


"Finish the badger off!"


Six hares supported the staggering badger Lord. Oxeye and the others backed off swiftly, firing arrows into the rocks to discourage pursuit. Hurrying across the sands toward the mountain, they ducked returning salvos of arrows and sling-stones.


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Klitch and Ferahgo laid about them with sword and knife blades.


"Gel after them, you lily-livered cowards!"


"Come on, you worthless trash. Charge!"


Oxeye saw them coming and broke his command into threefive shooting arrows, with five behind waiting and another five behind them. As one party fired they fell to the rear, letting the next five loose off their arrows; they fired and went to the rear, leaving the next five to shoot. Urthstripe's paws dragged twin furrows in the sand as they half carried, half pulled him along.


Big Oxeye was moving slowly backwards with his archers, coolly in command of the situation. "Righto, chaps. Fire! Next five, ready, aim, pick y' targets now. Fire! Well done, the Long Patrol. Next five, steady in the ranks there, draw strings ... and fire!"


The deadly shafts hissed through the air as the ambushers advanced reluctantly. Ferahgo sent another contingent out from the rocks to reinforce the half-hearted ambushers.


"Their arrows are nearly used uplook. Get after them!"


Bart Thistledown muttered to Oxeye as the mountain loomed large, "Bad show this. We'll never get Urthstripe up through that windowspace he climbed out of. What'11 we do, Ox?"


The big hare glanced over his shoulder, sizing up the situation. "You'd better dash back, Baity old lad. Tell Penny and the others to unblock one of the big groundlevel openings. Off y' go now!"


Ferahgo had followed his ambushers, loping a short distance behind them and yelling a mixture of threats and encouragement. Klitch stayed behind. Standing on one of the high rocks, he surveyed the scene before him. Excitement rose within the young weasel as he called the ferret Dragtail to him.


"Dragtail, come here! See that? They've unblocked a big space near the entrance to the mountain. Go as fast as you can and muster the rest of the horde. We'll never get a better chance than this to conquer Salamandastron. Hurry!"


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Oxeye, Bart Thistledown and some others were having difficulties with Urthstripe. They had lifted and pushed him halfway through the long unblocked fissure when the badger Lord began shoving backwards. Half demented, he had partially recovered and wanted to return to the battle.


"Never trust vermin. I should have knowntreacherous toads. I'll show them! Where's my spear, Oxeye?"


The hare scrabbled desperately, clutching Urthstripe in an attempt to stop him escaping. "You're in no shape to fight, sah! Wounds *n' injuries an' so on. Come inside an' rest now, there's a good feller."


Urthstripe sat up on the bottom ledge of the fissure, swaying as he glared groggily at his friend. "Don't talk rubbish, Ox! Day I can't attend a battle I'll... I'll..." As he crashed over unconscious, Oxeye had the presence of mind to tip Urthstripe inside. He fell backwards over the ledge with a bump, landing in the groundlevel corridor. Willing paws gathered round to carry the badger Lord up to his bed, a rush-strewn rock slab in the forge room.


Pennybright stood side by side with Bart Thistledown and Starbob, firing arrows at the advancing horde. She was clearly worried.


"Oh, Barty, what'll we do? Most of the rocks blocking this space were pushed outsidewe just levered them out to get Lord Urthstripe inside. It'd take simply ages to reblock this crevice."


Bart Thistledown notched a shaft to his bowstring and dropped a charging rat with unerring accuracy. "Nothing much we can do, Pen. Hold the gap and wait further orders from Oxeye. Hi, Starbob, bring your bows an' lend a paw over here!"


Outside on the shore, Ferahgo's blue eyes gleamed triumphantly as he was swept along toward Salamandastron at the center of his horde of Corpsemakers. Now nothing could stop them.


,"Yurr, be this'n anuther o' those gurt lakes?"


"No, it's the jolly old sea, Arula. We've reached the sea!" Pikkle waved his paddle in the air.


The logboats bumped out across a gurgling stream that spanned a short pebbly beach. Mara turned to her right and pointed at the distant flat-topped peak.


"Look, Salamandastron!"


Framed against a reddening evening sky, the badger mountain stood separate from the ranges to the east. Loambudd placed a paw on Urthwyte's shoulder.


"Look at it, grandson. That's where your brother Urthstripe rules."


A tear gathered in the comer of the white badger's honest eye. "Urthstripe, the brother I never knew!"


The logboats bounced as they hit the white-crested waves. Log-a-log shouted orders as they backed water and turned the noses of the vessels into the tide, beginning the wide semicircular tack which would eventually bring them to land on the beach in front of the mountain. As darkness fell they paddled side by side in convoy.


"What's that floatin' up ahead?" Alfoh called across in a gruff whisper.


Log-a-log peered into the darkness as he called to his pad-dlers, "Take a tack to starboard, watch out for that driftwood ahead!"


A voice rang out from the floating debris of branches. "If yore vermin, I warns yer Hi'11 fight fer me life!"


Mara looked at Pikkle in astonishment. Together they echoed one word: "Sapwood!"


The Sergeant was hauled aboard. He hugged Mara and Pikkle, staring over their shoulders at the huge white badger in the other logboat to his left. Pikkle ducked and bobbed, throwing a light friendly blow at Sapwood with his remaining skill and energy. The boxing hare dodged it and rapped him smartly on both ears with a left-right combination as he spoke to Mara.


"Who's the big white badger over there? Strewth, 'e must


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be as big as 'Is Nibs Urthstripe."


Mara rummaged in a sack of provisions. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough. It's too long a story for tonightwe'll need rest if we're going into battle tomorrow. Here, take this food. I'll bet you're hungry, eh, Sergeant."


"Huh, 'ungry ain't the word, missie. Hi could make a stew o1 me own ears an' enjoy it!"


"I say, Sarge, no need for that sort of thing, wot." Pikkle pulled a face and shuddered. "Tuck in and have a good supper, have a nap and wake up bright 'n' breezy tomorrow, eh!"


However, it was some time before Sapwood was allowed to sleep. The shrewd old badger Loambudd questioned him closely about what was going on at Salamandastron. Later she held a conference across the boat sides with Mara, Urthwyte, Log-a-log and Alfoh,


"From what I gathered off Sapwood, I think that my grandson's mountain is in a perilous position. Our help is sorely needed there. When do you think we'll make land, Log-a-log?"


The shrew leader watched the moonlit wake of his small fleet. "We're running with the current and the wind is behind us. If the weather holds out, we'll probably hit the beach by dawnthough if I put on extra paddlers we could be there in the hour before daylight."


Loambudd did not hesitate. "Then do it right away, my friend. There's not a moment to lose. Now, let's hold a war council and make plans ..."


Only the rolling night waves were witness to the five log-boats cutting speedily through the sea toward Salamandastron. Grim-faced shrews dug their paddles deep, keeping the boats abreast of each other as their leaders conferred urgently.


Salamandastron had been breachedthe horde of Ferahgo was within the mountain!


Bart Thistledown and his little band had fought a gallant action. Firing into the oncoming masses until their arrows ran out and thwacking away at vermin bodies, they defended the open fissure heroically until Oxeye sent Seawood and ten oth-


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ers to pull them out. Javelins clashed and slings whirled as they fought a fierce retreating action, having to desert the opening and back off into the maze of tunnels that honeycombed the mountain.


In his forge room at the middle level, Urthstripe lay sorely wounded, bound to his bed by restraining bandages as he hovered between life and death. Ferahgo's Corpsemakers flooded the lower corridors, crowding into caves and chambersharassed by the hares, who, though overwhelmed by numbers, fought guerrilla style, popping up at intersections and appearing in the most unlikely places to loose arrows at the vermin.


Oxeye was now in sole command of the Long Patrol. He used all his warrior cunning and skill to contain the horde within the lower levels; hares appeared, attacked, then vanished like smoke along the winding tunnels. Big Oxeye used the forge room as his center of operations, issuing instructions as he stayed close to the delirious badger Lord.


"Moonpaw, take Lingfur an1 Penny. Stay at the south stairwell an' give 'em blood 'n' vinegar. I'll send a relief as soon as Catkin an' Barfle get back."


Moonpaw took the two younger hares, saluted and set off at a trot for the stairwell. Oxeye watched them go, shaking his head despairingly as he slumped down beside Bart Thistledown. "It's no good, Barty old lad. We can't hold 'em back for everthere's too many of the vermin."


Wounded and battered from his defense of the opening, Bart grinned iopsidedly through a half-open eye. "No use shiverin' over lost fur, Ox. What'd you sooner die of, old age or battle?"


Oxeye shook his head admiringly. "Battle, I suppose. By the left, Barty, you're a cool one!"


His friend stroked a lancebutt with an injured paw. "Cool nothin'I'm quiverin' like a jolly jelly inside, but don't tell old Urthstripe that."


Oxeye took a damp cloth and bathed the badger Lord's heated brow. Urthstripe was oblivious to all about him. He lay struggling against the restraining bandages, muttering,


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badger. Samkim drew the sword of Martin as he hurried along with the frontrunners; Arula waddled alongside him, swinging a loaded sling. Automatically Pikkle made for the main entrance. He groaned softly as he saw the unblocked fissure yawning wide.


"Oh no, it looks like Ferahgo's stinkin' lot have found a way inside!"


At the opening, Samkim held up a paw for silence. "Hist!" Badtooth had taken an arrow in his paw. Hauling himself painfully through the opening, the stoat sought a soft resting place on the sand. He was halfway through the opening when a huge white paw seized him by the throat. Badtooth gave a terrified gurgle as he was dragged out onto the rocks. Samkim held the edge of the sword across his throat, growling viciously, "One false move or a wrong word and you lose your head! Now speak up, what has happened here?"


The unfortunate stoat gulped and whimpered out all he knew. "The horde are in there, tryin' to fight their way through the mountain..."


Pikkle grabbed him by the ear. "Where's Ferahgo an' Klitch?"


"Klitch is in there, an' Crabeyes, an' Dragtail an' the rest. I 'aven't clapped eyes on Ferahgo since the attack started, I swear it!"


Urthwyte and Samkim exchanged glances.


"We'll have to take his word for it," the white badger grunted. He knocked the stoat senseless with a sweep of his paw, looking about as if undecided what to do next.


Samkim took charge, coming up with a fast and workable solution. "It's going to be light soonwe'll have to move fast. Pikkle, tell Loambudd that we've gone up the mountain to reinforce those inside. If she brings the rest up through this opening we can mount a two-pronged assault."


Alfoh clapped him on the back. "Good idea. Are you sure you've never done this sort of thing before, young squirrel?"


Samkim shouldered Martin's sword with a wry grin. "There's a first time for everything, matey!"


Pikkle was gone in a spray of loose sand. Strapping his


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mighty club to his back, Urthwyte began climbing. Arula threw up her paws in resignation as she started the ascent.


"Burrhoo! Oi doant loik 'igh places, bein' naught but 'ee mole. Bohurr, yur goes one cloimbin' young beast."


Dawn broke in roseate splendor over Salamandastron as Mara and Loambudd thundered over the sands with the Guosssom of Log-a-log hard on their heels. Pikkle rested a moment as they surged by him. Eventually he regained his breath and grabbed a paddle.


"I say, chaps. Wait for me!"


Moonpaw was slain defending the stairwell. The gallant hare placed Pennybright and Lingfur behind her. The two young ones thrust either side of Moonpaw with their lances at the ravening pack of vermin that pressed its way forward up the stairs.


Wounded in a dozen places, Moonpaw yelled to the two young ones, "Get back to Oxeye quickly. Tell him to send reinforcements." She gazed for a moment at Pennybright's tearstained face. "Don't stand there gawping, young Pen. Do as I say. Go on!"


Moonpaw had a double-pointed javelin. Wildly she broke it in haif over the head of a ferret. Brandishing both halves, she dived headlong into the press of foe-beasts, yelling a last warcry.


"Eulaliaaaaaa!"


Breathlessly the two young hares sobbed out their story to Oxeye. He sat them down, keeping his voice calm.


"Well, it looks as if we've lost the lower levels. Sorry I haven't any food or drink to offer you two. Sit there and rest awhile. I say, Barty old thing, how're you feelin'?"


Bart Thistledown flexed his paws. Nodding to two other hares, he picked up his bow and quiver of arrows and limped off. "Oh I suppose I'm about ready for another scuffle, Big Ox. Come on, you chapsduty calls, an' all that. Oh, if I don't manage t' make it back, you'll know its bye-bye Barty. Under those circumstances you'd be best movin' His Lordship


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out of here an' up to another chamber, wot? Toodle-oo!"


The sounds of yelling, chanting vermin stamping about inside the mountain was growing louder. Big Oxeye threw a paw about Lingfur's trembling shoulders and chuckled. "Noisy old lot, aren't they?"


In the full flood of bright morning sunlight, Urthwyte's party neared the top of the crater.


Alfoh was staring at something up above as he fitted a rock to his sling. Whirling the weapon, he called out to Samkim, "Look, that's a rat up there. Hey you!"


The rat's head was barely visible, but as Alfoh shouted he turned and showed himself. The slingstone took him under the ear with a distinctive thud. The rat screamed and toppled over the crater top. Instantly there was a mob of vermin, hurling rocks and firing arrows down on them.


"Where did they come from? Who are they?" Ferahgo could be heard yelling from the top of the mountain.


Arula aimed a rock from her sling in the direction of the voice. She was rewarded with a cry from the Assassin. "Ow, my paw! Kill them, whoever they are!" A shrew stood to whirl his sling but an arrow took him through the eye and he fell back dead. Urthwyte picked up a sizable boulder and hurled it upward, taking out a rat and injuring a fox.


"Charge! Eulaliaaaaa!" The great white badger went surging forward regardless of arrows and stones.


Samkim and Arula took up the cry. "Forward, Red-waaaaaallll!"


"Logalogalogalogalog!" The shrews broke cover and began scrambling up the rocks, slinging as they went.


Klitch led a band of Corpsemakers along a twisting rock passage toward the stairwell. He trod scornfully on the body of Moonpaw as he mounted the stairs.


"Kill! Kill! Kiiiillll!"


Standing to one side, he let his attack force sweep up the stairs, smiling craftily as he heard the death screams of the


front rank who had walked into the range of Bart Thistledown's bows. "Come on, you lucky rabble. It's only a couple of hares. Rush them!"


Big Oxeye picked up a longbow and arrows. Issuing slings and stone pouches to Pennybright and Lingfur, he nodded toward the clamor of battle echoing up through the passage outside.


"Right, hares, up on y' paws. Quick's the word an' sharp's the action. We'll have to go an' give oi' Barty a pull-out. His Lordship'11 be safe here until we get back. Young Pen, an' you, Ling, give me a big smilecome on now. That's the ticket. Now yell after me as we go. It's the Loooong Pa-trooool! Eulaliaaaaa!" Yelling like demons, they sped down the passage to Bart's aid.


Standing at the back of his command, Klitch watched as an ashen-faced Dragtail came running up from the lower levels. The young weasel eyed him cynically.


"Where in the name of Hellgates have you been? It's up here you should be, where the fighting's taking place, not down there in the peace and quiet!"


Dragtail was plainly scared and, breathing heavily, he hooked a paw back down at the lower levels. "Listen to that!"


Echoing hollowly up through the rocky corridor the sound reached the young weasel's startled ears.


' 'Logalogalogalogalog!''


Undecided as what to do, Klitch shrugged and smiled nervously. "Logalog? What's that supposed to mean?"


A well-aimed arrow took Dragtail through the chest as Log-a-log, Mara and Pikkle came hurtling along the passage at the head of a charging Guosssom band.


With a terrified yelp, Klitch took to his heels, fighting his way through the vermin crowding the stairwell until he was safely ensconced in the middle of the pack. Unreasoningly he grabbed a fox by the throat and shouted into his face, "No-beast told me about this."


The fox was about to reply when one of Big Oxeye's ar-


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rows snuffed out his life. Klitch looked wildly about as he moaned, "It's a trap. We're trapped!"


With a stentorian roar Lord Urthstripe burst through the restraining bandages, ripping his huge bulk up from the bed. Seizing a forge hammer, he lumbered off toward the upper levels. From some amazing reserve, the mountain Ruler had dredged up his wild strength; the madness of the warrior badgers was upon himnobeast could stand in his path now, even despite the fearsome wounds that scarred his giant frame.


Urthwyte's party had gained the summit, and now they were fighting around the top of the crater. Ferahgo stared at the white badger, a wave of fear sweeping across him.


"Kill the white one! Kill him! The one who slays the white badger is a richbeast!"


Twenty crowded round Urthwyte as he battled furiously. Roaring mightily, he swung his oaken club. Samkim forged around the crater top, his sword flashing in the sunlight, leaping, dodging, hacking, thrustingwith Arula covering his back, swinging her loaded sling.


"Goo on, Sanken, urr hurr. Make Redwell proud of 'ee!"


Alfoh and his shrews fought valiantly with rapier, paddle and sling. There was no quarter given; shrew and vermin alike died that day on the heights. The creatures of Ferahgo fought with the ferocity of despair, bemused by the strange force that had scaled the mountain to offer them battle. Seeing his chance, Ferahgo sneaked up on Urthwyte, knowing that if he could slay the white badger the fight would swing his way. Urthwyte had his back to Ferahgo, hammering relentlessly at any creature coming into club range. The Assassin drew both his best knives, the killer and the skinner, and crouched low, bunching his muscles for the spring that would carry him onto the white badger's back, where his blades could feast on the unprotected neck. Nerving himself, he made the spring.


In midair time seemed .to stand still. He heard the roar, saw Urthstripe appear in front of him and felt the shock as two fearsome paws caught him in their viselike grip. Ferahgo screamed with shock. Galvanized into action, he began stab-


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bing with both knives, plunging them into the body of the roaring badger Lord.


The massive injuries he had formerly sustained, together with the horrendous wounds of Ferahgo's daggers, now caused Urthstripe's fierce dark eyes to cloud over with death-mist, but his fate was not yet sealed. From the deep wells of strength within his gigantic frame he called up a last mighty surge that would enable him to rid Salamandastron of Ferahgo.


Crushing the blue-eyed weasel to him, Urthstripe leapt from the top of the mountain, yelling his last beloved battle cry:


"Eulaliaaaaaaaaaaaa!!"


The knowledge that he had glimpsed his lost brother for a moment hit Urthwyte; the look on his face caused every creature who had followed Ferahgo to lose their nerves completely.


Alfoh pulled Samkim to one side. "Leave him here. Get Arula and my shrews down inside the mountain before he kills us all. Leave him here with the vermin!"


Samkim could readily understand Alfoh's meaning; the sight of the berserk white badger hurling himself bodily at the panic-stricken vermin was enough. Pushing Arula in front of him, the young squirrel followed the Guosssom band down the walkways that spiraled into the heart of Salamandastron.


Pennybright hurried up from the forge room with a quiver of arrows. She passed them to Oxeye.


"These are the last. There are no more!"


Oxeye grinned as he fitted a shaft to his bow. "Good gel. Keep slingin', Penny. Look at young Ling therehe's tossin' rocks like a good un. Want some good news, m'dear? There's a band of shrews an' whatnot attackin' from the lower levels. Listen to this." Oxeye shouted over the melee at the top of his voice. "Duck V weave! Blood 'n' vinegar! Long Patrol's here!" The sound echoed down the rocky stairwell.


A moment later there was an answering call.


"Jab an' move! Give 'em a towsin'! Long Patrol's 'ere too!"


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"Good ol' Sapwood." Oxeye's grin spread from ear to ear. "Knew I never sent him on that cruise for nothin'."


Lingfur looked fearfully over his shoulder. "Sir, look out! They're behind us!"


Carrying a heavy paddle and her sling, Arula bowed low. "We'm not behoind *ee, young un. Us'ns are with 'ee!"


Oxeye stifled a laugh as he shook paws with the molemaid. "Well, thank goodness for that. I'd hate to face a warrior like you, young molemaid."


Arula wrinkled her nose. "Thankee koindly, zurr."


"Pleased t' meet you, I'm sure." Oxeye clasped the paws of Samkim and Alfoh gratefully. "But could we leave the introductions until after the war, old lads?"


Samkim immediately liked the big hare. Gripping his sword in both paws, he took up a fighting stance and nodded. "That seems fair enough, sir. Shall we charge?"


Paddles, slings and rapiers waved behind Samkim and Ox-eye as the hare tossed aside his bow and picked up a lance.


"Well said, sir! Ready, chaps ... Then .. . charge!"


"Eulaliaaa! Redwaaaaall! Logalogalogalog!"


Taking up the call, the band at the bottom of the stairwell howled their own battle cries as they charged from their end.


The war was hopelessly lost for the once vaunted horde of Corpsemakers. Klitch killed the two vermin closest to him and fell flat on the stairs, pulling their bodies over his to act as concealment. The rocks echoed with the clangor of battle. Trapped and cut off on the long rambling flight of stairs, the last of the horde fought with desperation, but they were no match for the Guosssom, two badgers and the remaining hares of the Long Patrol. Mara felt herself swept along in the rush. Ahead of her she glimpsed Samkim, his face alight with the madness of battle as he fought his way through the tight-packed ranks of vermin, some of whom were standing dead, having no room to fall. At the center of the turmoil they met, the young squirrel and the badger maid. A sudden silence prevailed. The madness was over, Salamandastron stood free. Creatures who a moment before had been yelling and slay-


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ing stood weary and quiet, as if shamed by the indignity of war. Bodies of friend and foe alike lay strewn on the rocky steps like leaves after an autumn gale.


The voice of young Pennybright echoed hollowly round the scene of carnage: "Oxeye, sir, I want to go out into the sunlight. I don't want to be here!"


Oxeye stroked her ears gently as he gazed around. "Neither do any of us, young Pen. Come on, let's all go out into the fresh air!"


As they climbed out of the opening, Loambudd grasped Mara's paw.


"Ayaaaaaaah!"


The sound that tore from the old badger's throat was like the cry of an animal being slain. She released Mara's paw and went rushing out. The young badger maid was about to call after her when she, too, saw what had made Loambudd cry out. As fast as she could she ran after her.


Urthstripe the Strong lay with his paws still clutching Ferahgo the Assassin. Both were dead. On all fours beside the two bodies was Urthwyte, weeping like a baby, his paws bruised and cut from the wild rushing descent he had made from the mountaintop to be with his brother.


Loambudd unlocked the dead badger Lord's paws from around Ferahgo. As she removed the golden medallion from the weasel's neck, Sapwood and Oxeye approached her and bowed low.


"Can we be of help, Lady?"


She turned the Assassin's carcass over with her footpaw. ' Take this worthless thing and cast it into the sea. It does not deserve a resting place like any decent creature."


Blinded by hot tears, Mara watched as Loambudd placed the medallion about Urthwyte's snowy neck.


"This belonged to my father and to your father. It should have been worn by your brother Urthstripe. It now belongs to you, my grandson. Wear it proudly."


Mara knelt and clasped the big battle-scarred paws of the fallen badger Lord. Words tumbled out with her tears. "I


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came back too late. Now it is past the time when I could tell you what is in my heart. I have ranged far and wide to be back home here with you, and in that time I have slowly understood what you tried to teach meyou who were ever true to your own code of honor and duty. To everybeast you were Urthstripe the Strong, Lord of the mountain; so will your name be always remembered. You cannot hear me now, but I wish to add one more name to your title."


The young badger maid took both the lifeless paws and placed them on her bowed head as she spoke a single word:


"Father!"


Klitch lay still, listening until the victors had departed. Beneath the slain bodies it was hot and airless. His tongue clove to the roof of a dry mouth, parched from battle, thirst and the fear of discovery. The silence became total, oppressive, like the weight of the two creatures he had slain lying on top of him. Pushing and kicking, he freed himself from the carcasses and sneaked off up the stairs. His only hope now waito gain the crater top and slip away over the east rim white his enemies rested on the sands at the west side of the mountain.


The young weasel took several wrong turns as he roamed the passages and upper galleries, seeking an exit. Panic was beginning to set in. Fearing the return and possible vengeance of his foes, Klitch ran desperately. Some passages ended in a blank rock face, others opened out into caves and chambers. He padded along, silently cursing Ferahgo's stupidity and the bumbling horde that had followed blindly on such an addle-brained enterprise. Licking bone-dry lips with a parched tongue, Klitch stumbled along a passage that opened out into a cool dark cave. Feeling his way around the rocky walls, he sobbed raggedly. Was there no way out of this accursed mountain, no way back to the good lands of the Southwest where he could terrorize the creatures that had been subdued by his father? Surely they would know that he was the son of Ferahgo the Assassin and learn to fear him as they had feared the old one.


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Klitch's footpaw stubbed against something hollow and wooden in the gloom. He hopped painfully, biting his lip to keep from crying out. When the pain receded he looked more closely. There were several of the objects. He tapped their sides.


Barrels!


Pulling one over, Klitch was rewarded by the swishing sound of dregs swilling about. The top was open. The young weasel smiled in the darkness; maybe now his luck was beginning to change. The water sloshed out of the open barrel on to the rocky floor, and Klitch went down on all fours and lapped gratefully at it. The cool liquid refreshed him, lending a new sense of purpose and resolve to the Assassin's son.


Standing upright, Klitch squared his narrow shoulders and strode out of the cave purposefully, fear receding as he mentally planned a campaign of terror that would mark his return to the Southwest Lands.


Now every passage and corridor appeared light and airy, and the way to the top was clear. His bright blue eyes gleamed confidentlyyes, this was the day luck had returned to him. Up ahead he could see the bright summer morning and the catwalk to the crater top.


An unexpected stomach twinge caused him to double up. He stood still a moment until it passed. Straightening up, he smiled. There, the pain was gonenothing was going to ruin his newfound luck. Mounting the catwalk, he started to run for the crater top and freedom.


Twice, thnce, he was stopped by the sudden lightning bolts of pain that lanced through him, but each time he recovered and hastened upward.


Now Klitch was going slower, his limbs became numbit was like wading through deep cold water. The young weasel blinked. Why had the day become foggy and dark? Finally he made the top and lay down upon the edge of the crater, fighting off the dizziness and agonizing lances stabbing through his body. Klitch doubled up and wedged himself between two rocks. He would sleep here awhile until he felt


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better. Fixed in this position he could not roll over the mountain edge as he slept. Nothing was going to ruin his good luck ... The once bright blue eyes clouded over and went dim as he slipped into an endless dark dream.


40


Two days had passed, two days of sadness and hard work. Salamandastron was cleared of the horrifying debris of war. Pennants waved from lances fixed in the sands of the shorelinethese were the graves of hares and shrews who had fallen in the struggle to free the mountainand farther along in an unmarked place the carcasses of Ferahgo's horde found their last resting place. Now was the time to bring light and fresh food to the rocky fortress by the sea. Parties were sent out to forage, others worked on the slopes, unblocking window spaces and replanting the mountain terraces with flowers, crops and trees.


Deep in the cellars Arula had discovered a fault in the rock. She supervised a band of shrews as they levered, chiseled and chipped at the fissure. The young molemaid had smelt water below, a cold clear spring of good fresh drinking water. It would make the mountain invulnerable to siege, giving an endless supply of the most precious of liquids. She shook paws with Log-a-log and Alfoh as they watched the spring gurgle gently through the hole they had sweated to cut into the living stone.


"Hurr hurr, it baint no 'Tober ale, guddbeasts, but oi wager 'ee taste just as gudd, hurr hurr!"


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There remained one last sad duty, to install the body of Urth-stripe with his predecessors.


Samkim was requested to be at the ceremony, wearing the sword of Martin the Warrior strapped across his shoulders. He carried a lantern, lighting the way for the three badgers who bore the mountain Lord. Big Oxeye and Sergeant Sap-wood walked with them, giving Samkim directions to the spot.


Urthwyte pushed back the slab to the secret cave. Samkim gazed around at the rock walls covered in mysterious badger carvings and pictures. Sapwood sniffed and wiped a paw roughly across his eyes as he peered at the last carving.


"This 'ere was graven by 'Is Lordship 'imself. See, there 'e is, an' there's you, Lord Urthwyte. 'Ere's young Master Samkim, too, an' the sword. Though Hi can't read the writin' my friend Urthstripe carved there."


Loambudd could, however. Samkim held the lantern as she silently scanned the high ancient badger script. When she had finished reading she turned to them.


"This was written for me alone to read; that is why I am not pictured on the wall. I alone must keep the awful and joyful secrets written here until Urthwyte can be instructed as Lord of Salamandastron. There is one thing I can tell you, however: Urthstripe my grandson wishes to rest beneath emllorwhere that is I cannot say. Do any of you know?"


The lantern light flickered about the walls as they looked at each other.


"Emllor?'1 Big Oxeye shrugged. "There's no place in this mountain with such a name."


Samkim wandered about the chamber, repeating the name to himself. "Emllor, emllor."


At the far end of the cave the wall was smooth but blank; there was no writing on it. Samkim ran his paw across it and leapt back in surprise. "Look, this is not stone!"


It was a curtain made from some rough woven material. Pebbles and sand had been fixed to it with pine resin, giving the effect of a rock wall. Urthwyte moved it carefully to one


side. An awesome sight greeted the eyes of the onlookers. Seated on a rock throne was the crumbling skeleton of a badger clad in full war armor. The alcove behind the curtain was semicircular in shape, marred by a huge boulder that bulged out on one side. "The writing says that is-the last remains of old Lord Brocktree, first badger Lord of Salamandastron." Loambudd's voice echoed around the cave.


Sapwood touched the dusty mailed pawguards reverently. "Hi'11 bet this old Lord knows where emllor is, but he ain't tellin' us, hare you, sir?"


Mara stood staring at the skeleton of Lord Brocktree. When the feeling of awe had passed she noticed something. Hurrying forward, she examined the wall at one side of the throne. "His paw seems to be pointing this way. Look!"


An oblong plate of copper was fixed into the rock. It was green and dulled with age. Loambudd wet it and scoured the surface with sand until it gleamed dully. Bringing her face close, she inspected it carefully. "It's just a smooth metal platethere's nothing written on it."


They sat on the floor, facing the plate. Oxeye turned to the entrance where Urthstripe's body lay waiting.


"Poor old Lordship, looks like you'll never get to emllor."


Mara stared at the copper plate long and hard. "Pass me that lantern, please, Samkim."


The young squirrel did as he was bid. Mara placed it on the arm of the throne next to the skeletal paw. "Who's got good eyes?"


Sapwood raised his paw. "S'pose my peepers are good as anybeast's,"


"Then sit right here and tell me what you see, Sergeant."


Mara moved out and Sapwood took her place. He sat staring at the burnished metal as it shone dully in the lantern light. "Well, bob me tail! I can see wordsletters, I mean though I don't know what they says. Never learned writin'. Too busy teachin' meself other thingsfighting* an'"


"Samkim," Loambudd interrupted, "give him your sword. Sapwood, can you scrape the word on the floor here?"


"Certainly, marm."


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It was badger script. Loambudd said the word triumphantly:


"Emllor!"


Loambudd placed her paw on the plate, then moved precisely in a straight line across the chamber. Her paw smacked hard upon the rock bulge to one side of the throne.


"Give me the lantern. It's right here! See this word carved on the boulder? It is directly opposite the plate so that it reflects in the metal, backwards, of courselike all mirror images it is the wrong way round. It's not emllor, it's rollme."


Urthwyte looked puzzled. He began repeating the word over and over, fast at first but then slower: "Rollme, rollme, ro ... llm ... e, r... oil... me ... Roll me!" Striding heavily over to the boulder, he stretched his powerful paws to its sides, grunting as he cautioned his friends, "Stand out of the way!"


Mara knew that Urthwyte was a badger of immense strength, but she doubted that even he could shift such a formidable chunk of rock. She was about to move forward and offer her help when Loambudd placed a restraining paw about her. "Watch him, Mara. He will do it."


Planting his legs square like two tree trunks, Urthwyte threw his weight against the boulder. Cords of sinew stood out from his snowy hide as the muscles of the great white badger bulged, and his teeth ground together like millstones. Growling savagely as the blood rose to his eyes, Urthwyte grabbed the boulder and gouged deep at it with both paws. His whole body shook and trembled with the staggering effort. Riveting his whole being on the boulder, Urthwyte let out a whooshing roar and heaved.


Wide-eyed with awe, Oxeye grabbed Sapwood's paw. "By the blazin' thunder! He's not rolled it... he's lifted the thing!"


Urthwyte stamped a full three paces before letting the huge boulder drop. The thud shook the entire cavern. The boulder had rested in a hole. Holding the lantern between them, Mara and Samkim lay flat on the floor, gazing down at the treasure of the badger Lords of Salamandastron.


Pearls from the depths of the sea; silver cups and gold plates; and weapons, fabulous arms forged by the badger Lords of oldlongswords, sabers, rapiers, strange curved swords, shields, spears, pikes, daggers and lancesmade from the most precious woods and metals, lay in a glittering heap, cascading over the massive sets of ancient badger armor, studded with stones that shone and twinkled, scarlet, ultramarine, turquoise, amber and obsidian jet. Their lights reflected in Mara's eyes as her mind went back to the day when Klitch tried to wheedle information out of her in the dunes.


"So there is a badger Lords' treasure after all!"


Urthstripe was lowered down in his full ceremonial battle armor to lie there as he had wished, an eternal guardian.


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"Ho, the good ol' Abbey. Anybeast 'ome? Redwaaaaaallll!"


Mrs. Faith Spinney jumped up and down like a fat little jack-in-the-box on the north ramparts, peering across the battlements each time a leap carried her that high.


"Stickle my ol' spikes, it's Mister Thrugg! Bless 'im, it's Mister Thrugg!"


Thrugann leaned on the parapet, shaking her head. "Oh, it's that harum-scarum brother o' mine. I could tell that if he were two country leagues away. Ahoy there, trouble. What took you so long, an' who are all those hungry-lookin' birds?"


Looking very much the returning hero, Thrugg strode jauntily up the road, wearing a cap he had taken from a fighting weasel who had picked on the wrong otter. In the cap was a splendid falcon feather. Thrugg swept it off and bowed low, grinning like a mole at a picnic.


"Good afternoon to ye, ladies. Meet me mates, Rocangus, Tammbeak, Winghye an' Rantaclaw. I trust yer all well an' shipshape."


Mrs. Spinney was overjoyed. Thrugann opened the gates impassively. "You look like a rovin' riverdog in that hat, Thrugg Otter."


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Flourishing the hat elegantly, Thrugg kissed his sister's paws affectionately, declaiming aloud, tongue in cheek, to the whole of Redwall:


"You was never out o' my thoughts, sister dear, an' all the rime I was freezin' in the mountains, battlin' crows an' livin' lower than a lame toad, there was one question that I made me way back here to ask yer."


Thrugann sniffed slightly, and wiping her eyes on her tunic, she asked in an apologetically tender voice, "What was that, brother o' mine?"


"What's fer tea? Me an' me mates is fair famished!"


The four falcons joined the crowd of Redwallers who had flooded out to greet them, laughing uproariously as they watched Thrugg fleeing across the Abbey grounds with Thrugann, hard on his heels, swinging a twig broom.


"You bottlenosed rogue, I'll give yer tea. You'll get a taste of this when I catch up with ye!"


Later that day Abbess Vale watched fondly as Thrugg dandled Baby Dumble on his knee while he plowed his way through a buffet teatime meal, specially set up on the gatehouse steps for him and his four falcon guests. Baby Dumble told the most atrocious lies about his epic flight in the haversackhow he had rescued the eagle from some far bigger birds and how he had pushed MacPhearsome's wings up and down to keep him flying when he was weary. Thrugg and the four falcons tried their level best to keep straight faces.


Dumble glared suspiciously about at them. "Och, yer no laughin' at the bonny Dumble, are ye?" He had begun affecting a smattering of Northland into his speech.


The Wild King MacPhearsome, perched on his favorite log in the orchard, nodded his approval as the falcons circled above, dipping their wings in tribute to him.


"Aye, they're a grand bunch o'laddies, nae doot!"


As evening drew on, Dumble was carried off snoring to his bed by Thrugann. Thrugg sat relaxing with a flagon of October ale, glad to be back safe in his beloved Abbey. A dep-


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utation of Redwallers attended as Tudd Spinney presented the otter with a specially carved bowl and spoon of applewood. The old hedgehog twirled his stick awkwardly as he made the presentation speech.


"Er, oh dearie me, I'm not much at words, but this is a liddle gift from us all to you, Thrugg. Redwall owes its life to you. It's all carved pretty, like, wi' your name an* so on, an' Friar Bellows says as he'll fill it with shrimp an' bulrush 'otroot soup any time you pleases. So er, 'ere 'tis, an' thank ye!"


Three rousing cheers went up for Thrugg. He hid his head with embarrassment, placing the bowl over his blushing face. "Thank ye, mateys. Thank ye kindly, but 't weren't nothin', you'da did the same fer me, an' I knows it!"


Late that night they all sat together in the orchard around a small fire. The summer was drawing to a close and nights were getting chilly. Brother Hollyberry held out his mug for more hot spiced cider, and Foremole filled it from a big black kettle, eyeing the laden apple trees as he did.


"Burr, 'twill soon be toim fer' arvestin'. 'Ee arples do make a noice drop o' cider for next summertide."


Hollyberry blew on the steaming drink and sipped reflectively. "Aye, the seasons turn and the fruit ripens well, old friend. Oh dear me, I wish that young Samkim and Arula were back with us, I do miss those two scamps."


Foremole poured himself a mug of the hot spiced cider. "You'm roight thurr, zurr Berry'oily. 'Tis not fittin' furr a young moley maid t' be gone so long. Burr hurr, no taint."


Sister Nasturtium had been sitting staring long into the flames. In the silence that followed she sang:


"Bring me back a squirrel carrying my blade, Bring me back a little mole, a pretty fair young maid, Bring me back a speedy one with hunger and long


ears, And a Redwall Guardian to watch us through the


years."


Nasturtium shook herself and sat up straight. "My goodness, there I go again, singing silly songs that I know naught of. I am sorry!"


"Nay nay, Aspershum, doant 'ee 'pologize." Foremole patted her paw. "That wurr Marthen 'ee Wurrier."


Abbess Vale stirred the fire with a twig. Sparks drifted upward to dissolve in the night. "Thank the seasons for that! Now I can stop worrying over those two young ones. If Mar-.tin says they're coming back, that's good enough for me. I'll post lookouts on the ramparts tomorrow as soon as it's light."


High above Mossflower Woods the moon shone down over Redwall, and the fire burned to embers as everybeast about it dozed in drowsy contentment.


The sun burned through to the shores of Salamandastron, dispelling the wreaths of sea mist to reveal the Guosssom shrews standing side by side with the hares of the Long Patrol. All eyes were on the front entrance, and a hubbub arose as the boulder was rolled to one side, revealing Loambudd, her head garlanded in a wreath of wildflowers. She was clothed in a magnificent robe of blue. She stepped aside and silence fell as the procession emerged from the mountain.


As honored guests from far Redwall, Samkim and Arula led the line, the young squirrel holding aloft the sword of Martin, the molemaid bearing a shrew paddle wound about with ivy. Behind them walked the shrew leaders, Log-a-log and Alfoh, green cloaks about their shoulders, paws resting on sheathed rapiers. Then came Mara and Pikklethe badger maid in a decorated smock of rich autumn brown, carrying a large bouquet of late roses upon a lancetip. Pikkle in light sandy-yellow, bearing a hare longbow and a quiver of gray-flighted arrows. Ashnin walked behind them, wearing a splendid cloak adorned with sea shells. Urthwyte was flanked by Sapwood and Oxeye. They were the last to emerge.


Now that Urthstripe lay at rest clad in his best ceremonial armor, the great white badger was wearing his brother's old fighting armor. It had been retrieved from the shoreline where he fought his last great battle. The armor had been restored,


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rebeaten and burnished at Urthstripe's forge by Urthwyte himself.


He looked every inch the true warrior now, and it shone from his eyes and face, told in every movement of his giant limbs as he strode easily out in front of the assembly. The sun bounced and glimmered off snowwhite fur and glittering metal as Oxeye presented him with his own huge oaken club and Sapwood knelt and placed his head beneath Urthwyte1 s free paw.


"This is my grandson," Loambudd's voice rang out majestically. "His grandsire was Urthclaw, his father Urthound and his brother Urthstripe the Strong. He stands before you this day and for all the time until his seasons have run. Ruler of the mountain! Commander of the Long Patrols! Warrior Lord of Salamandastron! Salute Urthwyte the Mighty!"


Lances, bows, rapiers and paddles went up like a sea of weaponry.


' 'Eulaliaaaaaaaaaa!''


All creatures alike yelled the mountain war cry until the very rocks rang and the clear morning air was -filled with the swelling sound. Salamandastron had a new badger Lord.


After the ceremony there was a meal spread out upon the shore. It was good solid food, but quite plain. Salamandastron being a warriors' place, even the best of cooks there could never match the skills of Redwall creatures at preparing a festive board.


They sat among the rocks and sprawled on the sand, happily sharing the homely fare. Arula, Pikkle and Nordo were building a likeness of Salamandastron from the sea-damped sand. Alfoh and Ashnin perched on a low rock watching them.


The wise old shrew smiled wistfully. "Look at them playing at sandcastles like a proper bunch of young uns. Arula, what about a tunnel entrance?"


The young molemaid touched a heavy digging claw to her nose. "Thankee, zurr Alfoh. Oi'll do that straightways, hurr hurr."


Arula vanished in a spray of flying sand as Ashnin shook


her head in wonderment. "They bounce right back like springy little branches. That's a good thing, Alfoh. It helps them to forget all the hardships, warfare and slaying they've been through. Look at young Samkim sitting alone down there by the sea. I wonder what he's thinking of. He's been very quiet all morning."


Samkim was staring at the logboats moored above the tideline. The sword of Martin lay beside him. He made no move to join the others, staying alone and apart from everybeast.


Still clad in her new smock, Mara approached the solitary young squirrel. She sat beside him, gazing out at the sea pensively. Without looking at her, Samkim began to voice his thoughts. It soon developed into a conversation, though they both avoided each other's eyes.


"The season is dying, Mara. I feel that summer is gone and the autumn is upon us. The leaves will turn gold and brown."


"So they will, Samkim. Nobeast can stop the turn of the seasons. I think you are lonely and far from home. What is Redwall like in the autumn?"


"Oh, it's a happy place to be at anytime. Autumn is harvest time: the fruits and crops are gathered in, October ale is made, chestnuts are candied in honey. We sit up late in Cavern Hole around a great fire, enjoying supper and listening to the stories and songs of bygone days. The mornings are quiet and misty. Leaves rustle in Mossflower Woods, and you can feel the dew on the grass between your paws, smell the bread and cakes being baked in the kitchens, lie in the orchard on a sunny afternoon and eat a russet apple or a ripe purple plum. Oh yes, Redwall is like no other place."


"You must love your home very much, Samkim."


"Aye, the Abbey is everything to me. What about you, Mara'? Salamandastron is a fine placedon't you like being here?"


The badger maid ran dry sand from the rocks through her paws. "It is all I can rememberI grew up with the mountain. This morning I feel that I have a certain fondness for it,


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but I can never make it my home again. There are too many unhappy memories hovering around it. Lord Urthstripe put his mark upon that mountain. The graves of creatures we knew look lonely here by the great sea, and it will take a lot of healing. Time alone can do it, though I would not be happy staying here to grow old. Even today I noticed the change in Urthwytehe is becoming a badger Lord. The life here is not for me."


"Then what will you do, Mara? Where will you go?"


"I will follow my dream."


"Ah! The dream you dreamed last night of Martin the Warrior?"


"Samkim, how did you know .. . ?"


"Because I, too, had a dream. Martin came to me also. He told me to stay apart from the others today and I would see the Guardian of Redwall Abbey come to me. Is it you, Mara?"


The badger maid turned and looked at him. "Martin said in my dream that this was my destiny. He told me that I will be happy at Redwall, happier than ever before."


Samkim took hold of her paw. "So you will be. Come on, let us go home, Mara of Redwall!"


42


Though the season was well advanced, Abbess Vale stoically refused to hold any Nameday feast. Each day she had posted lookouts on the ramparts, and they watched until torches were lit and lanterns shone with the onset of night. Through sunny days, cloudy days, and days when soft drizzle and mist hung low over woodlands, the vigil continued, still with no sign of Samkim or Arula returning.


Sitting in the gatehouse one windy morning, Abbess Vale and Faith Spinney took hot mint tea and nutscones with cream as they embroidered a bedquilt together.


Faith took the spectacles from the end of her nose and massaged her eye comers gently. ' "My ol' eyes get tired pretty quick these days, Vale. 'Spect it'll be with standin' out on yon wall all yesternoon."


The Abbess looked rather severely over the top of her glasses. "Faith, what have I told you? There are lots of younger ones happy to do lookout dutyyou have no need to be up on the ramparts in all weathers."


The hedgehog lady poured more tea for Vale. "But I wants to be first to see 'em. 'Sides, it keeps me out of Dumble's way. That infant's become a reg'lar liddle terror."


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"Indeed he has." The Abbess nodded in agreement as she picked up a stitch. "Everywhere I turn he's following me, bullying away in his north country speech for a Nameday feast."


"The Hautumn of the Heagle, you mean." Faith chuckled.


Vale threw her paws up to her ears. "Honestly, if I hear that name once more I'll tan the little villain's tail!"


The little villain in question was hatching a conspiracy, together with Thrugg, MacPhearsome, Friar Bellows and several others. It had been brewing for three days. Secret meetings in the cellars with Foremole and Tudd Spinney standing guard, clandestine gatherings in the dormitory with Brother Hollyberry watching the door, and whispered conferences in the orchard were becoming the order of the day at Redwall. Dumble made the participants swear deathly oaths that Abbess Vale and Mrs. Faith Spinney should not know a thing until the time was ripe.


The kitchen fires burned late, heating the ovens as extra cakes, pies, flans and pasties were baked to a golden turn. Bands of moles plundered the orchard regularly, and young ones were seen coming and going, muttering furtively to each other as they covered for others who wheeled great cheeses from the storerooms, lugged forward big barrels of October ale and strawberry cordial from the cellars and grunted beneath mysterious bulky sacks as they strove to move them in secret.


Around lunchtime the wind dropped, and so did Abbess Vale's head. She fell asleep in the armchair by the fire. Faith Spinney covered her with the quilt they had been working on and stole quietly out of the gatehouse.


The sun was breaking through scudding cloud masses as the Wild King MacPhearsome flapped his wings and did a short run. The golden eagle nearly collided with Faith as she came out of the gatehouse. He pulled up short and stalked off huffily to the start of his intended launch. Faith followed him.


"Sorry, Your Majesty. Did I disturb your exercises?"


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MacPhearsome sniffed the air, hopping from one foot to the other. "Och no, wee lady, Ah'm just off for a stretch o' the wings, ye ken. Mah fithers need a guid wind rufflin' 'em."


Swaying from side to side, he dashed forward and launched himself into the air. Faith shook her head in bewilderment as she watched the huge bird soar gracefully.


"Whatever you say, I'm sure! Dearie me, I wish I could understand one single word from that bird's beak."


Hollyberry watched from the sickbay window, explaining the scene to Foremole, who was sitting on a bed tucking into a huge wedge of yellow celery-studded cheese.


"He's about to start his second run nowhold on, he's talking to Faith Spinney. I can't hear what he's saying. There he goes, up into the air! Faith's looking up and saying something. Let's hope MacPhearsome hasn't given the game away to her."


Foremole wrinkled his nose. "Missus Spinney doant un-nerstand heagly burds. They'm can't talken propply. Doant *ee wurry, zurr Berry'olly."


The five shrew logboats were on a broad open expanse of the Great South Stream. Mara sat side by side with Samkim, paddling steadily, as well as any two shrews. The badger maid could hear Arula telling Pikkle of Redwall feasts as they sat paddling in the prow of the boat opposite.


Pikkle kept interrupting with what could only be described as groans of delight at the mention of each fresh dish.


"Yurr, an' then they takes the meddyo cream an'"


"Whoo, my growlin' tummy! Don't tell me, let me guess, they take the jolly old meadowcream an' spread it thick over the damson pudden an' chuck lots of those candied chestnuts on top, wot?"


Arula blinked earnestly, shaking her head in amazement. "Bohurr aye. But 'ow did 'ee knoaw, zurr Ffloger?"


Pikkle rubbed his stomach. "The name's Ffolger, of thing, not Fflogeran' if it's absoballylutely anythin' to do with tucker, you can bet an acorn to a boulder that a Ffolger'll


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know about it. We're professional gluttons, y' see."


Mara splashed him with her paddle. "I can vouch for that, Arula!"


"Back water, ship paddles! Bows 'n' slings at the ready, Guosssom!"


Mara looked up to see a massive bird of prey beating its wide wings close to the water as it sped towards the logboats. Swiftly she brandished her paddle in the air as Samkim drew his sword and stood by her.


Log-a-log roared out further orders: "Don't fire until it tries to attackit may not be hunting!"


The great bird soared over them, brushing Mara and Samkim with a wingtip as it mounted into the air and wheeled in a circle. "Ach, yer braw beasties the noo, but if ye fire one arra' Ah'm a-coming doon tae mak' ye regret it!"


Pikkle put down his paddle and scratched his ears. "What in the name of the crazy cuckoo is the chap burbling on about? Can anybeast tell me?"


Alfoh placed a paw across Pikkle's mouth. "Wait, I think he's trying to tell us something. The bird certainly doesn't mean us any harm or he'd have attacked by now. Hi! You up there! We're the Guosssom shrews. Who are you and where are you from?"


The golden eagle dived, screeching like a siren.


' 'Redwaaaaaaaalllll!"


Samkim leapt up, waving his sword as he yelled out the reply:


"Redwaaaaalllllll!"


The eagle wheeled slowly then flapped off at a leisurely clip, turning off north to follow the course of another channel.


Samkim quivered with excitement as he picked up his paddle. "Did you hear that, Mara? Come on, Guardian, paddle! I'm sure he wants us to follow him. What do you say, Log-a-log?"


The shrew leader took up his paddle. "I think you're right. He's certainly traveling in the right directionthat branch stream will make a good shortcut, now I come to think about it. Right, let's follow the bird. Up paddles, Guosssom. Take


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the watercourse on the portside. We've got a new navigator to take us to Samkim's home!"


"Beating up the river, paddling down the stream, Find me a berth, lads, somewhere I can dream, Still quiet waters there, where the lilies float, Cool and green, dark and clean, there I'll moor


this boat.


Oho, you old paddle, you have made me sore, Bent all my back and wearied all my paw. " Pull me into harbor, there I'll make my thanks, Lie by the river, slumber on the banks. Where the willow's leaning o'er And the waters kiss the shore, That's the place that I will rest, linger


evermore."


"Abbess, marm, Missus Spinney, would you please get in the cart!" Thrugg stood with the harness about his shoulders, and the little green Abbey cart stood waiting on its four small wheels. Abbess Vale and Faith Spinney had been roused when it was barely dawn and hustled out of gatehouse and Abbey dormitory by Tudd and Sister Nasturtium. They stood hastily dressed on the lawn.


Thrugg looked over his shoulder at them. "Come on, ladies. Stir yore paws. Hop in the cart an' we'll go a nice ride down the path, eh?"


Faith Spinney fussed with her cloak fastener. "Mercy me. Mr. Thrugg, whatever for?''


The otter snorted impatiently. "For some o' those violets an' saxifrage wot grows in the churchyard of old Saint Ni-nian's, of course! I've told ye, Brother 'Ollyberry needs 'em fer a new batch o' physick. Now come on, Marms. We can't be lettin' 'im down, can we?"


Reluctantly the two friends climbed into the cart, plumping themselves on the cushions that had been placed on the seats specially for them.


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"But why must we go nowit's barely dawn?" Abbess Vale shook her head.


Tudd Spinney opened the main gate and waved the cart out onto the path. "That's the best time for violets V saxifrage, so I'm told. Off you goes now, gels. 'Ave a nice time!"


Faith wagged a severe paw at her husband. "Tudd Spinney, you ol1 fibber. What's got into you, sendin' us off like this? I'm sure there's lots of spry young uns who could pick plants better'n us two old creatures."


Thrugg jogged off south down the path through the mists of the rising dawn. "Aha, that's where yore wrong, marm. 'Ollyberry says them young uns don't know lupins from lilacs. He says that you an' the Abbess 'ave the beauty of experience."


Mightily flattered. Abbess Vale arched her neck and fluttered her eyelids. "Hollyberry isn't given to untruths, Faith. He could be right!"


Behind them, Tudd Spinney slammed the door and hobbled across the lawn, waving his stick. "Stir yore stumps now, good Redwallers. They've gone. Let's get busy!"


The sun heralded the day, palely at first but gradually bursting through into a heavy golden autumn radiance. Faith Spinney looked up at the dark evergreens and golden brown leaves turning crisp on the boughs, the dappling patterns of light and shade through the foliage making her blink as they trundled


along.


"Oh well, we've got a fair 'n' pretty day for whatever it is we're supposed to be a-doin' of, Vale."


The Abbess folded her paws into the wide habit sleeves. "Violets and saxifrage, my paw! There's something going on back at Red wall, or I'm a frog. Isn't that right, Thrugg?"


"Don't croak too loud, marm. Saint Ninian's is a fair ol' way yet. Why don't you two ladies 'ave a nap and catch up on yore sleep. I'll tip ye the word when we gets there."


The logboats had been pulled ashore at the nearest point MacPhearsome could manage; now the rest of the journey was mainly a good stout march through woodland. They ate sup-


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per and slept through the early evening on the banks of the stream.


Two hours after midnight, Log-a-log had disguised the five boats with branches and fern for safekeeping. He roused them and they broke camp. Lighting lanterns, they struck off into the depths of Mossflower. Samkim and Arula led, watching the dark shape of MacPhearsome whenever it could be seen above the treetops.


Arula drew in a deep breath. "Booharr, smell 'at, Sanken. 'Tis loiken the smell of 'ome!"


Samkim sniffed gratefully. "I know what you mean, Arula."


Mara plucked a sycamore leaf, peering hard into the woodland. "Trees, PikkleI've never seen so many trees. It's so silent and peaceful, too, not hot and bare and sandy like the shore by Salamandastron. I could grow to like these woods."


"I could grow t' like any place where there's a scrap of tucker about, old gel. It's bally ages since we had supper, I'm starvin'."


In the same hour of dawn that the cart left Redwall, the travelers emerged from the woods onto the path. Though the going was easier, there were many who were weary from marching all night. The irrepressible Pikkle kept everybeast going by improvising a silly ditty.


"I'd give my left ear an' raise a cheer For a plate of woodland pie, And as for a pudden, if it was a good un. I'd give my best right eye. I'd give a paw to get my jaw Around a fat fruitcake. For a dumplin' stew, my tail could go too. I mean, for goodness sake, If I saw a pastie, I wouldn't get nasty I'd trade it for my nose. And if I couldn't smell, I'd just say 'Well, I'd rather have one of those.'


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So take my heart and leave me that tart, But my mouth I won't take off, Because, I plead, it's a mouth I'll need To eat all that bally scoff!"


The burgeoning sunlight lifting flagging spirits, they stepped out with a will, the golden eagle flying low in front of them as they chanted aloud.


"Redwall! Log-a-log! RedwaH! Guosssom! Redwall! Log-a-log! Redwall! Guosssom!"


Abbess Vale rubbed her eyes and looked about suspiciously. It was midmorning and they were still bumping along the dusty brown path in the cart. She rapped on the side sharply.


"Thrugg, where are you taking us? I haven't been this far for seasons, but I recognize the country. We're well past Saint Ninian's!"


Thrugg muttered something unintelligible under his breath and quickened his pace. Faith Spinney awakened suddenly.


"Eh, what's that, m'dear? What's a Log-a-log?"


The jolting of the cart was not doing much for Vale's mood. "Log-a-log? I never said anything about a Log-a-log. What are you chunnering on about, Faith Spinney?"


Faith held up a paw. "Stop, please, Mr. Thrugg. Sssshh, listen!"


Thrugg halted the cart. All three creatures listened carefully. On the still morning air the sound drifted up to them from farther down beyond a bend in the path.


"Redwall! Log-a-log! Redwall! Guosssom!"


Slow to catch on, Faith Spinney shook her head. "What sort of beast d'you reckon a Gossen is, Vale? Who's making al! that noise, anyway?"


A large smile was spreading across the Abbess's face. She leaned over and patted Thrugg on the back. "It's Arula and Samkim, I know it is. Forward with all speed, Thrugg. Charge!"


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347


As they rounded the bend, Samkim saw the cloud of dust approaching and heard the rattle of the cart.


Ever vigilant, Log-a-log yelled out to his shrews, "Bows and slings ready, somebeast is coming this way fast!"


But Samkim and Arula had recognized Thrugg and the occupants of the cart, who were standing up, cloaks flying in the breeze. "It's the Abbess and Mrs. Spinney and Thrugg! Good old Thrugg! Come on Arula!"


They dashed off toward the oncoming cart, Faith Spinney could be heard crying shrilly, "Oh, my dears, it's Samkim an' Arula! Oh, my spikes! Oh, those young rascals! Oh, see them, Vaie, see them. An' young Master Samkim a-wavin' that great sword aloft! My life an' great acorns! Tis the sword of Martin! Look, he's brought it back to us!"


Everybeast cheered wildly and tears sprang unbidden to the eyes of Abbess Vale at the sight of the young squirrel, now a fully fledged warrior wielding the great blade in the sunlight.


Thrugg made the little cart bounce and leap from the path as he dashed at top speed, laughing wildly. "Haharr haharr, I knew it were you two young villains. Samkim! Aruia! It's me yer old matey Thruggo!"


Arula made the dust fairly fly as she pounded along the path. "Habbess, marm! Missus Spinnsey! 'Tis oi, 'Rula the moleymaid!"


Laughing, weeping, gasping for breath, they met in a rush.


For one so old and frail, the Abbess turned out to be a mighty hugger. She clutched Samkim, completely winding him as she yelled down his ear, "Samkim, Samkim. I knew you'd come back someday!"


Faith Spinney was kissing Arula and boxing her ears at the same time. "Oh, you liddle rip. Welcome back, m'dear! Now don't you ever stray from that Abbey again, d'you 'ear me!"


Thrugg wiped the dust from his face and patted their backs heftily. "Yore a sight fer otter's eyes, young uns! I'll wager you've some good ol* tales an' yarns to spin about adventures an' travels!"


The Abbess had managed to compose herself. She placed her paws around Samkim and Arula, protecting them from the


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curious Redwallers. "There will be ample time for the telling of tales later. Perhaps we'd better greet all these new guests they've brought to our Abbey."


Mara had purposefully fallen to the back of the crowd. Slightly embarrassed and unsure of herself, she listened to the Abbey ladies as they met the others.


"So good to meet you, Mr. Log-a-log, and you, Mr. Alfoh. Thank you for bringing our young ones safely back to us. Oh dear, there are such a lot of you and we haven't prepared anything, but you are welcome to come back to Redwall Abbey with us, all of you. Samkim, Arula, will you lead these good creatures to Redwall, please. I'm sure you'll excuse us. Mrs. Spinney and I have to get back before you and see what we can arrange in the way of lunch. Thrugg, turn this cart round and get us back to the Abbey with all speed! Faith, don't stand there fussing, get in the cartquickly!"


The shrews set up a mighty cheer as Thrugg galloped off up the path, towing the cart behind him.


Early noon saw the Guosssom outside the Abbey gate. They met with a very embarrassed Abbess and Faith, who were sitting resignedly in the cart. Abbess Vale threw up her paws in despair.


"We're locked out, Samkim. We've banged, yelled and shouted but nobeast answers. Thrugg has gone round to the back wall to see if he can climb over somehow."


Faith Spinney threw her apron over her face. "Oh, the shame of it, m'dears. Locked out of our own Abbey, and here you all are without a welcome, dusty an' hungered!"


"Excuse me, but may I be of help?"


Abbess Vale looked up into the deep brown eyes of a beautiful young badger maid. She was completely taken aback. "Oh, Samkim! Oh, why didn't you tell me?"


The badger maid patted the Abbess's paw lightly. "My name is Mara."


"Maraa good name for such a lovely creature." Vale clasped the badger maid's paw tightly. "Yes, I am sure you could be of help, Mara."


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Striding slowly over to the gateway door, Mara raised her paw and dealt it a flat blow. The sound boomed out as she called, "Open these gates in the name of your Abbess!"


Immediately the hinges creaked as the gateway door swung open.


It was a joyous shock. Every creature in the Abbey crowded on to the lawn in front of the main entrance, cheering them to the echo. Faith and Abbess Vale were bewildered until Thrugg stepped forward and bowed.


"Forgive our liddle surprise, ladies. They let me in by the north wallgate. King MacPhearsome has been watchin' Samkim's approach for the past three days. No need t' worry yore 'eads, just step this way, if y' please!"


Samkim and Arula were borne shoulder-high, and the young squirrel waving Martin's sword cheered as loudly as anybeast. Paw in paw, Mara and the Abbess headed the procession.


In the center of the orchard a feast had been laid out.


Pikkle gazed at it in openmouthed delight. "Well, flop my ears! I've heard of tucker, but I never thought I'd live to see such a bally spread as this!"


Dumble appeared from beneath a table, his high northland accent forgotten as he clung to the Abbess's robe, staring around at the army of strange shrews.


"It's a Nameday, Muvva. Wot we gunna call it?"


The Abbess looked fondly at Mara and Pikkle standing next to Arula and Samkim.


"The Autumn of the Homecomers. What else could we call it?"


The Feast of the Autumn of the Homecomers was an event long to be remembered in the annals of Redwall Abbey. For the first time in many long seasons the big badger's chair that had remained empty for so long had a badger sitting in it: Mara, Guardian of Redwall.


Friar Bellows, clad in a smart new white apron and cook's hat, stood ladle in paw on top of a barrel of cowslip cordial where all present could see him. The fat mouse coughed importantly.


"Er, ahem, ahem! Your attention please, friends. Very good, very good! Now, er, as most of you are new guests to our Nameday table, the Abbess has asked me to say a word or two."


Vale chuckled quietly as she whispered to Alfoh, "I never asked Bellows to say anything, but he will!"


The Redwall Friar continued his speech, warming to the subject. "It is indeed unusual to see such visitors joining us. I've never catered for a royal golden eagle, four falcons, a badger and a veritable army of shrews, to say nothing of a hare"


"I never told you to say nothing of me, old chap," Bikkle chipped in.


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351


Bellows shot him a glare. "Er, quite, very good. Where was I? Ah yes. Welcome to Redwallour Abbey is yours. Join us in good cheer upon this happy day. Eat, be merry and enjoy the bounty of the season, though I don't know whether our food will suit you all as my helpers and I have never had to feed such a strange assembly. Yes, very good!"


Droony ducked his head beneath the tablecloth and called out, "Hurr, then give you'm jaw a rest an' let 'em try 'ee vittles!"


There was a general roar of laughter. Amid the jollity, Mara stood up and rescued the red-faced Friar.


"I am sure the food will suit us all, Friar Bellows. It looks too good for words. The fame of you and your kitchen staff is a legend throughout Mossflower. We intend to do this feast full justice. Abbess, I believe it is customary for you to say grace at these occasions. Would you be so kind?"


Abbess Vale recited the Abbey grace as they all bowed their heads.


"Squirrels, otters, hedgehogs, mice, Moles with fur like sable, Gathered in good spirits all, Round the festive table. Sit we down to eat and drink. Friends, before we do, let's think, Fruit of forest, field and banks, To the seasons we give thanks."


Amid a clatter of bowls and spoons, the feast began. Tables had been joined together to form a large cross shape, and there were five centerpieces. A Redwall jubilee trifle of pears, damsons, greensap cream and hazelnut truffle was on the north end. Opposite at the south trestle stood a magnificent blackcurrant pudding, swimming in a peach-covered cream of whisked beech-nut and strawberry topped off with a sugar-preserved sprig of maple. The east side was graced by a high wobbling redcurrant jelly with flaked almond and chestnut suspended inside like a sunset snowstorm, and it was wreathed


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in yellow-piped meadowcream. At the west board was a golden honey-crusted confection of latticed pastry with mint-cream and candied chestnuts oozing from it onto a bed of purple plums. In the center stood a wide diamond of sweet arrowroot shortcake with all the fruits of the summer piled on it, fixed there by stiff comb honey blended with a puree of apple and raspberry. Salads of ten different kinds ranged amid the wedges of white, yellow and beige cheeses, studded with nuts, herbs and celery. Oatfarls, cottage loaves and batons of ryebread, all hot from the ovens with their crusts gleaming brown, lay scattered between vegetable flans, shrimp and hot-root soup and massive deeper *n' ever turnip V later 'n' beetroot pies beloved by moles. Redcurrant tarts, bilberry scones, plumcakes, latticed apple pies, strawberry flans and damson puddings radiated out into patterns, dotted by bowls of nutcream, meadowcream, Abbeycream, rosecream and buttercup fondant. Pitchers, flagons and jugs overflowing with October ale, strawberry cordial, dandelion and burdock, berry wine and cowslip cordial jostled for position amidst bowls of warm scented rosewater and embroidered napkins standing by for sticky paws.


"Hey, Nordo, what do you think of our shrimp an' hotroot soup, matey?


"Whooh! It's hot! Pass the October ale, please."


"Yurr, you'm sample some o' 'ee deeper 'n' ever pie, zurr


heagle."


"Och, as soon as Ah get man beak free o' this trifle, laddie."


"Righto, Dumble me old scout, load in the cheese an' salad. Now you start at this side of the loaf and I'll start at the other side. That's the ticketmeet you in the middle, wot?"


"D'you likes ches'nut an' celery cheese, Mr. Log-a-log? Just try a piece atop of yore vegetable flan."


"Mmm! It was worth paddling all that way for, Mr. Spinneyand I think I'll dream of your October ale for the rest of my life. Alfoh, what's that you're eating?"


"Bilberry scone with meadowcream. The Friar's going to


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give me the recipevery civilized indeed. Now then, young mole, don't fall into that deeper pie thing."


"Hurr hurr, zurr. That be the bestest part, fallen in 'ee pie, then oi c'n eat moi ways out o' et!"


"Oh, look out, Thrugann and Brother Hollyberry have started a shrimp-and-hotroot-soup-eating competition. Just look at that pepper they're putting into it!"


"I say, chaps, any room for another jolly old contestant?"


"Steady on, Pikkle Ffolger. You're in the middle of a pie-eatin' contest with me."


"Haha, so I am, Tubbyguts old lad. Hold the soupI'll be with you as soon as I've dealt with this Guosssom glutton."


"Ach, you skinny lang-legged laddie is a braw scoffer. Ah'd hate him tae visit mah nest for a season. Pass some o' those candied chestnuts, will ye, Tammbeak."


"Awa', yer no doin' sae bad yerseF for an injured falcon, if ye'd tak' yer beak out o' yon trifle an' look at yersel', Rocangus!"


The son of Laird Mactalon did take his beak out of the trifle long enough to rip away the dressing from his wing. He flexed it and gave a wild whoop. "Kaahey! Mah wing's wor-kin' again. Thrugg, yer a bonny riverdog!"


Immediately he was in the air, circling and soaring around the high spire and redstone turrets of the Abbey. Wheeling out, he swooped down and glided majestically over the heads of the revellers in the orchard as they cheered and hurrahed.


Abbess Vale smiled contentedly at her old friend. "My my, Faith, they are enjoying themselves. I do hope we don't run short of anything."


"Humph!" Friar Bellows leaned over between them. "Short, did you say? You should see the supper spread I've laid out in Great Hallit would feed an army through a hard winter."


Mara shook the fat mouse solemnly by the paw. "Thank you. Friar Bellows, you have done our Abbey proud."


Abbess Vale smiled as she grasped the badger maid's paw.


"Did you hear that, Samkim? She said 'Our Abbey.' Do


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you think she will stay here as Guardian?"


"I'm certain, Abbess. Martin the Warrior said it should be


so.


Vale sat back in her chair, folding her paws into the habit sleeves as her eyelids began to droop. "You must forgive me, it has been a long day and I need to take a little nap. Samkim, I always knew you would come back. You have returned Martin's sword, and tomorrow the Wild King MacPhearsome will restore it to its place on the weathervane. There it will stay to watch over our Abbey. My heart is glad, because not only did you bring the sword, you brought us our beautiful badger, Mara. Heroes Samkimwe were never short of them: Thrugg, little Dumble, Arula and yourself, brave creatures all! What more could an old one like me desire than to rest here with Redwallers enjoying themselves in good health, peace and happiness..."


The young squirrel and the badger maid sat watching the Abbess of Redwall as she slept quietly, surrounded by her friends in the orchard on a high sunny afternoon in the Autumn of the Homecomers.


44


The great Joseph Bell pealed out mellowly over the warm spring evening as an old mole grandmother made her way slowly over to the small cheery fire that glowed by the beech-log in the orchard. The infant mole was toasting a chestnut on a stick at the fire, and his friend the dormouse elder was dozing.


Taking the little mole by his paw, the grandmother whispered, ''Come on, Burrem, et be yurr bedtoime long since, bring thoi chesknutter with 'ee."


Paw in paw they strolled back toward the Abbey dormitories, the old one questioning her grandson.


"Wurr et a gudd story, Burrem?"


The infant trundled along, nodding. "Hoo urr, it serpintly wurr, tho' oi thinks that ol' dormouser be a gurt fibber, Gran-murr."


She stopped and wagged a heavy digging ciaw at him. "Gurr, maister Dumble b'aint no fibber, you 'pologize roight naow, young un!"


The infant mole smiled winningly at her. "Oi 'pologizes, Granmurr 'rula. You wutr in 'ee story so it must be 'onest true, burr aye!"


355


356


Brian Jacques


Old Arula patted his velvety head. "You'm forgived, young ripscullywag."


They continued walking to the Abbey.


"Whoi does Maister Dumbie allus sleep outside in 'ee orchard, Granmurr? Him'n doant go t' bed in 'ee durmitory."


"Oh he'm a-stayen out thurr every noight fer long seasons naow, Burrem, waitin' on heaglyburds an' falkies t' come back. S'pose someday they will, hurr."


Together they entered the Abbey, leaving the door open, as it always is to welcome any traveler to Redwall.



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