Salamandastron (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

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

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

  ‘No. Do yer think ’e’s dead?’

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

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

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

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

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

  ‘By the claw of ’ellfire an’ darknight, lookit this!’

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

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

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

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

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

  12

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

  ‘Did they capture Mara or didn’t they?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Raptail peered down an arrowshaft, checking its straightness. ‘Aye, that’s the lot of a soldier, mate: carry out orders and don’t ask questions. But I’m tellin’ yer this, I don’t fancy gettin’ slain in battle fer summat I don’t know about!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  ‘Ho there, Migroo. Where’ve you been?’

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

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

  The stoat was beginning to feel nervous. He swallowed hard. ‘That’s right, Chief – catcher ’em an’ bring them back ’ere, that’s wot you said.’

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

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

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

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

  ‘Let me tell you, Corpsemakers, because who knows about me better than myself? I am Ferahgo the Assassin, scourge of all the Southwest Lands, or wherever I choose to set my daw. I was murdering and skinning when most of you were milk-slopping babes. Nobeast can outsmart, outfight or outwit me! Now I am leading you against a mountain fortress to do what you do best, fight! And fight you will, and bleed and die if I say so! You will either end up wealthy and well-fed, or cursing the day you were born . . .’

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

  ‘Death to the enemies of Ferahgo!’

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

  ‘Fer-ah-go! Fer-ah-go! Death! Death! Fer-ah-go!!!’

  As the evil reptilian head pushed its way into the tiny cave Mara searched frantically for the dagger but could not find it. Pikkle Ffolger did. Wakened by Mara’s shout, the startled hare rolled on to the dagger and its point stuck sharply into his rear. With an agonized yell Pikkle leaped forward, butting into the reptile’s head. It fell backwards with Pikkle clinging to its neck. Locked together, both creatures tumbled out of the cave. Yelling, hissing, snarling and spitting, they half fell half rolled down the steep side of the high dune. Throwing caution to the winds, Mara jumped after Pikkle. She landed with a thud in the sand below and was immediately assailed by the tail of a yellow-bellied sand lizard. The creature had its claws locked in Pikkle’s fur, whilst the young hare had it in a good headlock. Neither would release their grip, as they shouted and snarled fiercely at each other.

  ‘Wah! Lemmego, you slimy old reptile.’

  ‘Gitcha paws off, rabbit, ksss!’

  ‘Rabbit y’self. You let me go an’ I’ll let you go!’

  ‘Kkssss! Nah nah, you leggo first. Kksss!’

  ‘Fat chance, scalybonce. You leggo first then I will!’

  Mara solved the problem by giving the lizard’s tail a sharp tug. To her horror, it came off in her paws. Immediately the creature released Pikkle. As it let go, the lizard turned on Mara and spat at her.

  ‘Kkkkssssss! Look watcha done now, stupid stripedog!’

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

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

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

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

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

  Pikkle advanced a pace, his ears indignantly erect. ‘Less of the rabbit, chum, or I’ll show you what a doubleback harekick looks like!’

  Mara intervened to prevent further grappling. ‘Look, I’m sorry, we didn’t know the cave was yours. We only intended spending the night there to shake off our pursuers. You probably saw them searching for us. You should be grateful really, we dug it around a bit and widened it out for you. By the way, my name is Mara and this is Pikkle Ffolger.’

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

  Pikkle sat down alongside the reptile. ‘Oh, stop blubberin’, Stinkee, or whatever y’ name is. We’ll make the cave smaller if that’ll please you, old lad. I say, you don’t happen to have a bite of breakfast around, do you?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  ‘Absobal
lylutely whacked out, chum. I could sleep on a prickle.’

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

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

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

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

  13

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

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

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