Salamandastron (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

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

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

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

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

  A blow from a spearbutt laid Dingeye flat. Half-stunned, he looked up. Dethbrush the fox and his six tracker rats held him pinned to the ground with the points of their spears. The fox kicked the sword from his nerveless paws, and Dingeye whimpered with fright. There was neither pity or mercy in the cold eyes of the trackers and their leader.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  ‘Move aside there, hares!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Some of the more venturesome members of the vermin horde were slowly advancing closer to the mountain, under the hail of burning arrows. Big Oxeye watched them from the top of the crater. Seawood and Pennybright were with him, and all three leaned on a wooden prop which held back a pile of boulders. Oxeye pointed a paw straight down, dosing one eye as he sighted along it.

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

  The three hares leaned down heavily on the wood.

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

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

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

  Raptail blanched visibly as he bowed to Ferahgo. Nobeast, not even the Assassin himself, liked to do business with Farran the Poisoner. The black fox was not even part of the horde, he merely followed at a short distance, going and coming as he pleased. Raptail trotted off to do his master’s bidding, dodging around rocks and behind sand barriers.

  Farran sat alone at the edge of the tideline, watching the waves ebb and flow. Raptail did his level best to keep in full view, not wishing to be seen trying to sneak up on Farran the Poisoner. Wading into the sea, he drew alongside the black fox and delivered the message.

  ‘Sir, my master Ferahgo wishes to speak with you. He is camped in the rocks north of here. Will you attend, sir?’

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

  ‘W-w-will you attend, sir? F-F-Ferahgo wishes to know.’

  Unblinking, Farran stared at him a moment longer then nodded once. That was enough. Raptail bowed so low that his snout went underwater. ‘Th-th-thank you, sir!’

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

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

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

  ‘Food and water!’ Klitch answered.

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

  Crabeyes was an ex-searat. His eyes shifted constantly, never staying still. He held up a paw. ‘Master, they might ’ave vittles enough ter last them fer seasons to come. Admitted they can’t get out while we’ve got ’em surrounded, but if they ’ave enough food ’n’ drink they could stay snug in there for ever.’

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

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

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

  Blue eyes met amber ones as they faced each other.

  Ferahgo smiled ingratiatingly. ‘Well well, the Poisoner meets the Assassin – what a combination. But we have worked together in the past, Farran, and I have always rewarded you well, have I not?’

  The black fox merely nodded once in acknowledgement.

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

  ‘Friend Farran, if I were to launch a night-time attack on the mountain, could you slip through the lines and find a way in?’

  Farran nodded once. That was enough for Ferahgo.

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

  Farran nodded then held out a paw. Ferahgo understood. Standing alongside the Poisoner he drew dose to his ear and whispered in a voice so low that none of the others heard: ‘Your fee is half the badger’s treasure. Is it a bargain?’

  Farran’s nod was final; the pact was sealed. He gave Ferahgo one long last glance then padded off silently.

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

  They all nodded agreement, even Klitch.

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

  18

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

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

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

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

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

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

  ‘That liddle snippet.’ The otterlady shook her head and chuckled. ‘I told you once nor a dozen times he’s gone off with that brother of mine. Dumble an’ Thrugg are dose as peas in a pod, you take my word for it.’

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

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

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

  Sister Nasturtium ground the pestle hard into the bowl. ‘Droony, you naughty liddle creature, why did you not tell us this before now?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Droony waved a limp paw at Nasturtium. ‘Plenty o’ roseywater an’ medsin furr ’ee, Sister. Naow you’m lie abed an’ go t’ sleep. Do ’ee gudd!’

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

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

  ‘Oh, Faith, do you think Thrugg will get the Flowers of Icetor?’

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

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

  ‘O give me a road to walk along,<
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  An’ a bite of food or two,

  I’ll tramp an’ eat the livelong day,

  My liddle friend, with you.’

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

  ‘O, I’ll sit on top’a Mista Thugg

  An’ give ’m food to scoff,

  ’Cos he’s my great big matey an’

  ’E won’t let me fall off!’

  Thrugg munched the pastie as he thought of his next verse.

  ‘O, Dumble is a scallywag,

  Fat as a liddle frog.

  He’s eaten so much vittles,

  He’s ’eavier than a hog!’

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

  ‘O Mista Thugg, don’t turn around,

  And don’t you cause a fuss.

  There’s four ol’ foxes wiv big sticks –

  I fink they’re followin’ us!’

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

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

  ‘Good summer day to ye, mates!’ the brawny otter greeted them.

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