The javelins and throwing stick dropped from Brome’s paws. ‘You killed them!’
Felldoh slid another javelin along his throwing stick. ‘Aye, young un. It’s called war! You’d best give me those javelins if you can’t use ’em. Stay here and rattle these rushes, but keep your head well down. I’ll be back soon.’
With a grim light in his eyes, Felldoh crawled off.
Hisk threw his spear at the clump of bulrushes. ‘Over there, see the rushes moving, that’s where they are!’
Spears and arrows flew in the direction he had indicated.
Brome was a brave and reckless young mouse, but the idea of slaying another living creature appalled him. Now other beasts were trying to kill him. Suddenly he knew the meaning of fear. He lay flat, doing as Felldoh had told him, tugging at the rushes so they rattled. Fragments of bulrush showered down on him as missiles crashed by overhead. His paws were shaking so much with fright that the long stems rattled furiously. What had started out as an adventure had turned into the stark reality of life and death.
Felldoh worked his way around to the other side of his foes. Silent as a shadow, the powerful squirrel used a single javelin as a stabbing implement, taking out a ferret and another rat. Felldoh had a javelin sighted on Hisk when a rat stepped in the way and took it through his side. The rat let out an earsplitting scream as he went down. Hisk turned, catching a glimpse of his enemy as the squirrel dodged off into the cover of the rushes.
‘It’s a squirrel, one of the slaves. After him!’
They crashed off into the marshes after him. Hisk took a swift head count as they went. A tremor of shock ran through him. Only five left, counting himself! He had taken ten soldiers and two trackers when he left Badrang. The squirrel had slain five, plus the two trackers who had been lost in the swamp. Enraged, Hisk picked up the spear of the rat who had fallen to Felldoh’s last throw and followed the others.
Brome stopped shaking the reeds and lay still, wondering if Badrang’s soldiers had caught Felldoh. The young mouse was frightened at being left all alone in the hostile marshland, but determined he should do something to rescue his friend. Gritting his teeth, he grasped his throwing stick firmly. He had no javelins, but at least he could use the stick as a weapon. There was a rustle in the vegetation nearby. Brome froze as a paw fell on his shoulder.
‘Come on, mate. Time to get out of here!’
‘Felldoh! Where did you come from?’ The young mouse’s voice sounded squeaky in the night silence.
The strong squirrel pulled him upright, explaining as he led the way to firmer ground, ‘I got about half of ’em, maybe more. Missed that scummy Hisk, though. I’ve been leading them a pretty dance around the edges of this quagmire. They’ll be lucky to find their way back to Marshank, let alone locate our camp.’
They followed the false cart tracks back to the low hill and were soon in sight of the camp. Brome had to dogtrot to keep up with his friend’s strong pace. ‘Felldoh, back there, I was, I mean . . .’
The squirrel winked and patted him kindly. ‘You don’t have to explain anything to me. You’re my matey. You were very brave tonight, young un. Not every creature can slay or take life. Don’t worry about it. I’ve seen the time when I was like you. Wish I still was.’
Brome shook his head. ‘You wish you were like me?’
Felldoh threw a paw about the young mouse’s shoulder. ‘Indeed I do. It’s slavery that has made me this way. I’d slaughter every one of Badrang’s horde if I had my way. Then I’d be sure that every honest creature was safe from the threat of slavery, bending to the will and whim of a tyrant, cold in winter, hungry in summer, watching old friends dying around you from hardship. Hoping and longing for freedom through all those lost and wasted seasons of my life. You’ve never known that, Brome. Only a few days’ captivity with Martin and me in the pit. I wish that I’d had a happy life in Noonvale like you, never knowing the burning hate that drives you on to slay enemies.’
The camp was still. Fires had guttered low and creatures were sleeping peacefully. As they entered the camp, only Ballaw and the baby Fuffle were still awake, both munching steadily at the remains of the feast.
‘What ho, you two.’ The hare waved a half-eaten pastie at them. ‘Come an’ help us mop this lot up, wot?’
They sat down and tucked in gratefully, drinking deep from a bowl of cider with blossom petals floating on it.
Felldoh glanced at Fuffle over the rim of the bowl. ‘That little snip should’ve been snoring long ago.’
Ballaw chuckled as he demolished the rest of his pastie. ‘I know he should. Amazin’ little blighter really. Bit like me, I s’pose. Can’t rest while there’s still tucker about. Ain’t that right, me old Fuffle?’
The infant mouse halted his attack on a carrot and parsley turnover long enough to reply, ‘Fuffle like foo’. Plenny foo’ make y’ big!’
It was still several hours to dawn when Badrang and the horde halted within sight of Marshank. They rested, waiting until Fleabane and Findo, who were the advance scouts, returned. The two weasels came panting along the shore to where Badrang sat, and made their report.
‘Clogg’s taken over the fortress, Sire!’
‘Aye, Lord. We could hear the noises of his crew, singin’ and feastin’. Sounded like they was ’avin’ a fine time.’
Badrang stared impassively at the fort in the distance. ‘I might have known something like this would happen. Has Clogg posted wall sentries?’
‘Two, Sire. Both over the front gates.’
‘No others that you noticed?’
‘None but the two, Lord. We circled the place to make sure.’
The Tyrant stoat stood upright slowly. ‘Follow me. I’ll gut anybeast who makes a sound. Clogg has got to learn that he is only an idiot corsair. I am Badrang, master of all this coast. He’ll soon find that out!’
29
‘GIVE ME A bunk up, Martin. I’m a bit short in the paw for this.’
Martin shoved his sword flat under Pallum’s footpaws and heaved. The hedgehog scrambled swiftly on to a higher ledge. Bringing up the rear, Martin hoisted himself alongside Pallum, halting a moment to note the progress of the Gawtrybe. The squirrels were catching up quickly, far too quickly for Martin’s liking. He looked up to where the cave loomed like a black eye socket on the mountain in the night. Rose and Grumm were in the lead, assisting each other as they scrambled up the brown rocks which still radiated heat from the day’s sun.
‘Hurry, Martin,’ the mousemaid called down urgently. ‘With a bit of luck we might make it to the cave.’
Grumm peered down at the crowds of nimble, screeching figures advancing upwards like the waves of a spring tide.
‘Us’ns needen more’n a bit o’ luck, mizzy. Need a gurt ’eap!’
‘Don’t stop, keep going,’ Martin yelled up to them. ‘Take Pallum with you! I’ll act as rearguard. At least I’ll stand a bit of a chance being above them with a sword in my paw. Go on, Rose. Do as I say!’
The mousemaid sat down firmly on an outcrop, her footpaws dangling over the landscape far below. ‘Oh no, if you don’t start climbing I’m stopping here. Either we go together or not at all, Martin!’
Now the squirrels’ wild faces could be picked out in the darkness, illuminated in silvery moonlight as they chattered and shrieked.
‘Good game, good game!’
‘Catch em an’ throw ’em off, throw ’em off!’
Martin put up his blade and began climbing fast. ‘All right, I’m coming. Keep moving!’
Grumm slid back on the scree. Only the outcrop that Rose had been seated on saved him. Martin arrived behind him with Pallum, and together they shoved Grumm upwards. The mole was trying hard not to show his fear of high places, though every so often he clamped a digging paw across his eyes, moaning softly, ‘Oi carn’t lukk up nor daown. Et makes oi vurry sick, oo urr!’
Rose reached down to grasp his paw. ‘Please, Grumm, keep climbing. It’s not far to the cave no
w!’
Martin found a loose rock and hurled it down at the leading squirrels; they skipped aside with superb agility.
‘Heehee, good game. We’ll catch you, mousey!’
His paws aching from the strain, Martin pulled himself onward and upward, grunting with exertion as he shoved Pallum ahead. Suddenly Martin felt his footpaw being grabbed. One squirrel, faster than the rest, had sprinted up and caught him.
‘Heeheehee, gotcha!’
With furious energy, he kicked back with his free footpaw.
‘Yeeeeeeeeee!’ With a drawn-out howl of despair, the squirrel hurtled out into empty space and was lost in the night. Shaking himself, Martin clambered on with the shouts of the Gawtrybe ringing in his ears.
‘Heehee, sillybeast fell. Yeeeeeeeeeee!’
Martin could hear the swift nimble patter of their paws on the rocks behind him. Glancing up, he saw that Rose had made it to the cave mouth. She pushed Grumm inside and reached her paws down to help Pallum, who was blowing and panting as he strove to gain the opening. The Gawtrybe were within a paw’s-length when Martin arrived at the cave. Pushing Rose inside he stood in the entrance and drew his sword. Chest heaving, limbs trembling, Martin still managed a short laugh of triumph.
‘Hahah! Come on, you thick-headed rabble. You can only come two at a time, and I’m more than a match for any two of you!’
Inside, the cave was like a huge rock-faced tunnel. The first thing Rose saw were two great luminous orbs. She jumped back in fright.
‘Who’s there?’ The voice was awesome, harsh and thundering. It echoed around the rock walls.
Rose shrank back in terror. ‘Please, we’re only harmless travellers hiding in here from the squirrels. They’re trying to kill us!’
An enormous short-eared owl waddled out of the gloom. Rose cringed as it lifted a heavy taloned claw. It smiled, lowering its tone to a kindly whisper. ‘Don’t be feared, mousemaid. We must act with all haste. Tell your friends to heed me not when I put on my great voice. Come.’
The Gawtrybe leaped and chattered on the narrow escarpment at the cave mouth. Martin bared his teeth, slashing the air menacingly with his small sword. ‘I am Martin the Warrior. Anybeast who is fool enough, come and meet death!’
The squirrels screeched and leaped, pushing one another forward, but for the moment it seemed that none were too keen to encounter the foemouse who stood defending the rocky entrance. However, Martin knew that it was only a matter of time before the frenzied squirrels were pushed to attack him. Still facing his enemies, he tried to communicate with Pallum in a low murmur.
‘Hurry, get rocks to throw, sticks to beat them off, anything. They’re getting ready for a charge. I’ll be overwhelmed!’
A mighty bark-brown wing enveloped Martin, sweeping him lightly aside. The short-eared owl filled the cave mouth, its legs thick as yew branches tipped with lethal talons.
A wail of fear arose from the Gawtrybe. They fell flat wherever they stood, pressing their faces down on the mountainside.
‘Eeeeee! Skyqueen! Eeeeee!’
The massive feathered head swivelled back and forth, huge golden pupils distending as its glittering black irises reflected the moon at their centres. Hunching over, it glared murderously at the quaking squirrels. ‘Boldred sees all! I was many leagues from here, yet I winged high and watched you torment these travellers. Brainless ones who live for pleasure without any thought of others, did you not think I would return?’
A moan arose from the prostrate squirrels. The great owl repeated her question, raising her voice to a maniacal shriek. ‘Answer me, did you not think Boldred would return?’
The mob remained silent.
‘Where is your Chieftain?’ Boldred screeched at them.
She turned a squirrel over with a swift flick of her beak. Its terrified tear-stained face stared pleadingly at her as it pointed in Martin’s direction. ‘The mouse defeated him, Skyqueen. Eeeeee!’
Boldred gave a short coughing noise as if reassessing the situation. ‘This I already knew. Do I not know all? Answer me truly, why were the Gawtrybe persecuting these travellers?’
The squirrel Boldred had elected spokesbeast hung his head, like a naughty young one caught with his paw in the cream. ‘Sky queen, it was a game, we were only playing.’
With a speed that the eye could scarce follow, the short-eared owl pinned the nearest six squirrels by their tails with her flashing talons, calling out over their cries, ‘Shall I play my game?’ She spread her wings and rose from the ground, lifting all six with ease as the outspread pinions beat slowly in the night. ‘Speak! Shall I play my game . . . Or will you obey me?’
Rose clutched Martin’s paw. ‘Is she going to kill them. Oh, I can’t watch!’
‘Don’t fret, Rose,’ the young mouse whispered reassuringly to her. ‘The owl knows what she’s doing. Leave it to her.’
The Gawtrybe cowered on the rocks sobbing piteously, ‘Do not slay us, Skyqueen. Mercy. Eeeeee!’
She dropped the six on to the heads of the others. Landing, she resumed her stance, accentuating her words with clacks of the dangerous hooked beak.
‘You are dull, witless beasts with short memories, but I will not slay you this time. Next time I will, every one of you! Heed my warning! As punishment you will all stay on the ledge below here until sunset on the morrow. You will neither eat, drink, move or talk. Go now!’
Without a sound the entire Gawtrybe vacated the space in front of the cave entrance, dropping to the lower ledges where they sat in utter silence. Boldred flew out, hovering low over their heads. ‘Remember and obey, or Boldred will return!’
The four friends stood back as the owl landed in the cave mouth. She gestured them to keep quiet, indicating that they should move further into the tunnel, out of Gawtrybe earshot.
Boldred went ahead awhile, before ushering them into a cunningly concealed side chamber. They entered, surprised to see that it was illuminated by a shaft of moonlight which came from somewhere up near the cave’s craggy ceiling. A friendly-looking full-grown male, perched alongside a small fluffy owlet, nodded to them.
Boldred waddled up on to a moss covered ledge and blew a loud sigh. ‘That Gawtrybe! Lack a day, they must think everybeast as stupid as themselves. D’you know what they said, Horty?’
The big male chuckled. ‘Don’t tell me, they were only playing a game.’
‘Game indeed,’ Boldred snorted. ‘The scatter-brained little savages!’
She turned to the travellers. ‘Forgive me, but those squirrels do try my patience. This is my husband Hortwingle – call him Horty, he hates his full title – and this is our daughter Emalet. As you already know, I am the famous Boldred. Now, who do we have the honour of meeting?’
Martin, Pallum, Rose and Grumm introduced themselves. Boldred looked at Martin, nodding her head. ‘Martin, eh. You’ve got the look of a warrior. It’s a good job you defeated the Gawtrybe Chieftain or they would have slain you all on the spot. Using the excuse of a game, of course.’
Martin felt the scratches on his face. ‘Some game!’
Boldred nodded in agreement before turning to Horty. ‘I sat the entire mob of them on the lower ledges, no food or drink or talking until sunset tomorrow. That might teach them a lesson.’
Horty stroked the downy back of Emalet. ‘You don’t really believe that, do you? By tomorrow noon they’ll have forgotten and wandered down to play in the foothills.’
Martin inspected the cave. It was a comfortable jumble of family living with brushes, pens, inks, vegetable dyes and charcoal sticks scattered everywhere among large strips of bark parchment.
Grumm produced food and drink from their pack. As they ate, Boldred explained. ‘We are mapmakers and historians, that is why we don’t have a lot of time to control the squirrels. One of us stays here with Emalet, while the other flies off to explore, and hunt for food too. As you see, we are short-eared owls, and as such are daytime hunters. Normally we would be sleeping now, but the cries
of the rabble wakened us.’
Rose bowed politely. ‘We’re extremely lucky they did. Thank you.’
Horty cocked his head at Boldred, and they both nodded. He turned to Rose. ‘Are you Rose, daughter of Urran Voh and Aryah?’
‘Yes. Do you know my mother and father?’
‘Oh yes. You’d be surprised just how much we both know, though it must be many long seasons since we were at Noonvale. You wouldn’t remember us, you were only a tiny babe then. Always singing, as I recall.’
Grumm scratched his head then held up a paw ‘Oi amembers you’m zurr, an’ you’m, marm, tho’ oi wurr on’y a liddle tyke two seasons elder’n Miz Roser. You uns wurr oft in Noonvale, that be whurr us’ns be travellen to.’
Boldred smiled with pleasure. ‘Yes. What a beautiful place! We were mapping the area at the time. I’d dearly love to go back there. Horty, would you take care of Emalet while I accompany our friends back there? It would make their journey a lot less perilous if I were to guide them.’
Her kindly husband chuckled as he watched Emalet playing around his talons. ‘I don’t mind at all, I’m a real homebird at heart. We get on well together, don’t we, my little eggchick.’
Emalet, who never made any sound, looked adoringly up at her father and snuggled under his wing.
The atmosphere in the owls’ cave was so safe and homely that the four friends slept deeply for the remainder of the night.
Martin woke next morning and lay watching Rose feeding one of Grumm’s sweet flat invention cakes to Emalet. The owl chick waited respectfully for each fragment then wolfed it down with gusto, enjoying the sticky sweetness greatly.
Horty bustled in, chuckling as usual. ‘Those squirrels are still sitting silent and tight, Boldred. You must have given them a really stern lecture last night. Hey, come on, you sleepyheads, it’s two hours past dawn!’
Martin The Warrior (Redwall) Page 23
