Salamandastron (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Urthstripe’s eyes were red-rimmed from tears and wrath. ‘First it was young Shorebuck. I watched him during the battle – he would have made a great warrior had he lived. Now it is Windpaw, often pretending to be stern, but with a heart as soft as a summer dawn. She always took good care of my Mara. But now she’s gone. Gone! And there’s some dirty, low vermin going to pay for this, I promise you!’

  A party of Long Patrol hares carried the bodies down to the lower caves, where they could lie until such times as proper burial could be given on the shoreline where tide meets land.

  Urthstripe sat with Seawood in the empty dining hall. The hare turned out a kerchief containing dead ants.

  ‘Poisoned, all of them – some from the kitchens, some from the foodstore, these two here from the base of the water barrels.’

  The badger Lord brushed them away with a heavy paw. ‘Is there none of our food or drink that has not been contaminated with poison, Seawood?’

  ‘None, sir – or at least none that we know of. Who’s goin’ to trust any of our supplies? I wouldn’t. We’re facin’ starvation!’

  Urthstripe sighed as he covered his eyes with both paws. ‘Leave me alone now, I must think. Oh, just one thing. Make sure that none of our creatures shows themselves to Ferahgo or his vermin. I want them to think we’re all dead, then we’ll see what his next move will be.’

  Sapwood and Oxeye were returning up a flight of spiral stairs hewn into the rock. They were making their way back to the dining hall after laying Shorebuck and Windpaw to their temporary resting place in the lower caves. Bart Thistledown grabbed Oxeye by the paw.

  ‘What was that?’

  Oxeye was quick-sighted. He squinted in the direction indicated. ‘It’s a black shadow like a. . . . Wait there!’ Oxeye bounded up the stairs with an amazing turn of speed. ‘Hi! You there. Stop!’

  The others arrived within seconds.

  ‘What was it, Ox? Did you spot anything?’

  The big hare scratched his eartips. ‘Funny, at first I thought it was a shadow. But I’d swear on a carrot pie that it was a black fox – long sleek vermin with funny eyes.’

  Urthstripe appeared in the corridor outside the dining hall. ‘Fox, did you say you’d seen a fox inside the mountain, Oxeye?’

  Oxeye was still slightly puzzled. ‘Er, yes an’ no actually.’

  The badger Lord was in no mood for jesting or riddles. ‘Stand up straight, sir – ears up, chin in, chest out, shoulders back, paws at an angle of forty-five degrees to the side legfur! That’s better. Now answer my question as a hare of the Long Patrol. Did you see a fox?’

  Standing correctly to attention, Oxeye faced front as he replied. ‘Sah! Difficult to tell, sah! Could’ve been a trick of the light, sah! Looked remarkably like a black fox with odd eyes, sah! If it was, the blighter went that way, to the left along the corridor. End of report. Sah!’ Oxeye threw a smart salute and stood awaiting further orders.

  Urthstripe paced up and down, musing aloud. ‘Hmm, quick, dark and sleek, like a shadow . . . slip in and out unnoticed, a fox too. That doesn’t sound much like a fighter, more like a creature that does things by stealth, a spy, or a poisoner maybe!’

  Sergeant Sapwood clenched his paws. ‘May Hi ask yer permission to find this ’ere creature, sir?’

  But a swift plan had already formulated in Urthstripe’s mind. ‘Permission denied, Sergeant. I want this poisoner myself, but if we are to capture him we must act with all speed. Right, here’s the plan. Split into two groups – Oxeye, you take one group up to the crater top immediately. Keep low so that Ferahgo’s army cannot see you. I want that crater top sealed off like a bottleneck so that the fox cannot get away. Sapwood, take the rest and follow him. When you reach the top, pair off in twos and start searching the mountain thoroughly from top to bottom. Wedge off all exits, window slits and the like. If you do the job correctly, the fox will have only one way to run – down! I will be waiting in the cave where Shorebuck and Windpaw are lying. Off you go now!’

  Ferahgo had been searching the base of the mountain, poking, sniffing and prying all around its mighty circumference. A sizeable contingent headed by Doghead and Dewnose followed him. They watched as the Assassin halted at a spot on the north side and marked a cross in the sand with his dagger.

  ‘Here! See the cracks and loose boulders? It’s a fault in the rock. This is where we’ll tunnel in. Hah! They should have eaten and drunk their fill by now in there. Thirsty work, heaving all those boulders about and defending a mountain against my horde. The poison should be working well, if I know Farran!’

  Klitch perched on a rock slightly above his father’s head. ‘Tunnel in? Seems a lot of unnecessary work when we could find a window slit, or even attempt unblocking the main entrance. That’d save a lot of digging.’

  Ferahgo toyed with the gold medallion around his neck. ‘Don’t worry, Klitch my son, you won’t be asked to get your paws dirty. We’ve got an entire horde to do the job. Have you never heard of the element of surprise? If there is anybeast left alive in there and they still happen to be in fighting form, they’d expect us to try unblocking one of the entrances, but we will be doing the unexpected. Doghead, Dewnose, make a start here. There’s loose boulders and lots of wide cracks. Use spears, pikes, knives, swords – anything, but keep them at it.’

  Farran the Poisoner knew that his mission had failed. All that he desired now was to leave the mountain. But try as he would, the black fox was frustrated at every turn. Salamandastron was virtually alive with determined hares. Fully armed and alert, they scoured every nook and cranny from the top of the crater downwards. Farran found himself running before them, down, ever down. Whenever he turned and tried going upwards he was cut off by two pairs of angry, determined hares coming from each side. Scurrying along one of the mid-level corridors, he practically bumped into Sapwood. Turning, he dashed off down a flight of stairs with the Sergeant’s voice ringing in his ears. ‘Run, you poisoner. We’re givin’ you more of a chance than you gave two pore ’ares. Go on, keep runnin’, vermin!’

  In desperation Farran concealed himself in a dark corner until Sapwood had passed by, accompanied by Pennybright. The ghost of a smile flitted across Farran’s sombre face. Slipping out of his hiding place, he mounted the stairs, only to find himself facing the lance points of Bart Thistledown and Starbob.

  Bart tapped his lancepoint on the steps. ‘Up y’come, laddie. Let’s see what you’re made of, wot?’

  The black fox turned and fled, taking the opposite direction to Sapwood and Pennybright. Behind him he could hear Starbob and Bart. Suddenly the passage ahead of him was cut off by Seawood and a hare called Moonpaw. Drawing his deadly greenhart dagger he backed off, snarling. The two hares made no move to attack, merely covered the bottom of the staircase so that he could not go up. Hugging the opposite wall, Farran slid past them and sped off. As he descended another flight of steps, he could hear four sharp lance tips tapping behind him.

  On the ground-level corridor Farran glanced left and right. Two more hares were coming from the left, both with arrows nocked on drawn bowstrings. He ran to the right. Narrowly avoiding two more advancing members of the Long Patrol, the Poisoner went helter-skelter down a long spiral stairway carved into the rock. Tripping and stumbling, he staggered into the final passage leading to the lower caves. Further along the way hares flooded down silently from another stairway in front of him, whilst at his back another group came down the spirals he had recently descended.

  The sour taste of fear rose in the black fox’s mouth. There was just one place left to go: the large cave in front of him.

  It was a huge, rough-hewn place with torches placed plentifully in wall sconces. There was a pair of raised stone slabs at the far end.

  Beside the bodies of Shorebuck and Windpaw, Lord Urthstripe stood waiting in the well-lit chamber. He was unarmed, save for a wet strip of linen that had been knotted at one end. Farran’s pale eyes watched him warily as the Long Patrol crowded in
the cave entrance, blocking any possible way out. The badger Lord pointed to the two lifeless creatures laid out either side of him.

  ‘See how you have murdered my friends, fox? Now the time for reckoning has come. You must face me. Sapwood, provide this vermin with any weapons he needs, then stand back, all of you. Nobeast is to lay paw upon the fox. . . . Nobeast, save me!’

  25

  As night fell, Thrugg began piling up pebbles. The otter moved stiffly, his whole body aching from the fight earlier that evening. Out on the open land the crows were beginning to stir in the cool night air. One or two were trying out desultory hops and caws.

  Rocangus glanced over the bank edge of the dried-out streambed, his fierce eyes watching them keenly. ‘Och, yon birds are startin’ tae work theyselves up again.’

  Dumble had fallen asleep. He muttered to himself and turned over.

  A full moon rose like a dull gold platter. As Thrugg looked up at it, a dark winged shape swooped low out of the night. Grabbing his sling, the otter launched a hasty stone at the bird. It banked and circled, shrilling out angrily, ‘Ach, ye great lump-haided riverdog, can ye no see Ah’m a falcon?’

  Rocangus cocked his head on one side. ‘Is that ye, Tammbeak?’

  The other falcon landed smoothly atop the haversack. ‘Aye, ’tis. Whit ha’ ye done tae yer wing?’

  Thrugg stood to one side, listening to the falcons conversing in their quaint northland accent.

  ‘Never ye mind mah wing, Tamm. Will ye lookit you crows, mah cronies an’ mahsel’ are sair troubled by them. Are any of oor dan aboot tae lend a talon here?’

  ‘Nae bother. Bide ye here a wee bit. Ah’ll bring ye help.’ Tammbeak shot off into the night sky, screeching at intervals as he flew in a high wide circle.

  ‘Krrreeeekah! Gather ye tae me! Krrreeekah!’

  Rocangus watched him. ‘Och, it’s a braw thing tae be flyin’. Dinna ye fret, Thrugg, yon crows’ll soon be sorry they messed wi’ the son of the Laird Mactalon.’

  The cawing and hopping from the crows had increased. They appeared to be working themselves up into a frenzy. Out on the open moonlit land they hobjigged and sang raucously. Thrugg covered the still sleeping Dumble with his jerkin as he watched them anxiously.

  ‘Rocangus, matey, I ’opes yer pals gets here afore those birds charge us. We won’t stand a butterfly’s chance agin that mob!’

  As if on cue, six falcons dropped out of the sky into the streambed.

  Thrugg gave a startled jump. ‘Phew, that was quick!’

  A tall, imposing elder with fearsome beak and huge talons folded his massive wings and winked at Thrugg. ‘Aye, ’twas an’ all. Mah clan’s speedier on the wing than anything in yonder sky.’

  Thrugg looked around doubtfully. ‘But there’s only six of you. There’s ’undreds of crows out there, beggin’ yer pardon o’ course.’

  The big falcon grinned fearsomely. ‘Ach, dinnae apologize, streamdog. We were searchin’ for that young rip, mah son Rocangus, but six braw sojers like us wid be shamed if we couldnae give some crows a guid tanning!’

  Rocangus had been standing respectfully to one side. Now he came forward and bowed his head to the Laird.

  ‘Faither, ’tis yerself. Och, am Ah glad t’see ye. Yon riverdog is Thrugg, the wee mousey is Dumble. They found me wi’ mah wing brokit an’ fixed it up. Ah should be flying again soon.’

  Laird Mactalon inspected the dressing on his son’s wing, then proffered a talon to the otter. ‘Ah’m beholden to ye, Thrugg. Mah son should be thankful he met sich bonny decent creatures as ye an’ yer wee friend there. We’ll talk some mair later. Sit ye down while Ah deal wi’ yonder bunch o’ disgraceful birds.’

  Now the cawing and dancing had increased to fever pitch and the bolder crows were beginning to hop towards the streambed. Laird Mactalon and his clan-birds broke cover. They stood in a line on the banktop and threw back their heads.

  ‘Kreeeekah, tak’ nae prisoners, give nae quarter, kreeekah!’

  As if by magic, the crows fell silent and ceased dancing. Laird Mactalon and his falcons started walking toward them with a definite warlike swagger, chests puffed and neckfeathers spread wide, their talons crunching the dead bracken as they went. The front crows hopped backwards. Mactalon threw out his bold challenge and walked forward alone ahead of the others.

  ‘Och, come on, laddies. We’re no a babbie mouse and a wounded young un, or an earthbound riverdog. See if ye can do any better against us. Ah’m the Laird Mactalon, as well ye know. Ah’ll do battle wi’ ye on land or in the air. Dinnae keep retreatin’. Whit’s the matter? Surely you’re no’ frighted?’

  All the time he was talking, Mactalon had been advancing. With the speed of a whipcrack he suddenly hurled himself into the crows. In the mêlée that followed, four crows were stretched out by the deadly beak and raking talons of the Laird. The other crows took to the air in an awkward flurry. They were met by the five falcon warriors, who hit them like thunderbolts.

  Baby Dumble was awake. He sat on Thrugg’s shoulders, wide-eyed as crows fell from the sky like tattered scraps of dark cloth. Eventually the crows made it back to the safety of the pine thicket. They crouched among the trees as the six falcons circled in a warlike aerial display. Between the streambed and the trees, crows dead and injured littered the ground like discarded rags.

  Thrugg and Dumble cheered wildly, but Rocangus perched miserably on the haversack, muttering away. ‘Ach, ’tis a sad thing tae be stuckit here on the ground, by mah eggshell it is. Missin’ oot on a scrap the like o’ that!’

  Landing back in the streambed with his clan members, the Laird contracted and dilated his big golden-flecked eyes as he preened his wing feathers delicately.

  ‘Ah wisht ye could fly, Thrugg. Battlin’ in the skies is a grand thing, sure enough. Och, the wee Dumble is awake an’ all. How are ye, bairn?’

  Dumble offered his paw. ‘Please ter meetcha, mista.’

  The rest of the night they spent sleeping in the fragrant heather that grew along the far streambank, safely surrounded by the six falcons. Next morning they were on their way again, trekking northeast. Thrugg raised his head and saw the snowcapped mountains far off, pushing their peaks up at the high blue summer skies.

  Rocangus flapped his good wing. ‘Lookit, ’tis a braw sight. Did ye ever see stones piled so high that winter snow stays atop o’ them in summer, Dumble?’

  The little dormouse nibbled on a candied chestnut. ‘I never see’d mountings wiv snow. Goin’ ter play in it when us gets there, eh, ’Ocangus?’

  Snow would have been of great use to cool fevered brows in Redwall Abbey at that moment. Mrs Faith Spinney carried up a pail of springwater that had been left in the cellars to stay cold overnight. Trudging up the stairs, she stood to one side as Foremole and two of his crew lugged down a large basket, bumping it on each stair. The Foremole tugged his snout respectfully to her.

  ‘’Scuse oi, marm, but us’ns be goin’ to do ’ee washen in ’ee pond. Boi ’okey, oi never did see so much durty washen in moi ol’ loif. These yurr diggen claws ain’t bin so clean since moi mummy used t’ scrub ’em furr oi when oi was a hinfant.’

  Faith patted their velvety backs. ‘Bless you all, you’re so kind.’

  Abbess Vale was up to her paws in oatmeal. She mopped it up from the floor and set the bowl upright.

  Brother Hollyberry tried to help her, stammering apologetically, ‘I’m sorry, Vale, it was all my fault. The old paws started shivering and I couldn’t stop them. Here, let me dean it up.’

  Furgle the Hermit approached with a ladleful of dark liquid. ‘Huh, looks like you’re coming down with a touch of Dryditch Fever too, my friend. Here, get this down you.’

  Hollyberry took it and pulled a wry face. Droony the little mole watched him and gave a weak smile. ‘Hurrhurr, naow you’m knows wot yurr own med’ sin tastes loik!’

  Thrugann bustled in and plonked down a large bunch of fresh herbs on the table. Seeing Hollyberry and Abbess Val
e struggling to dean up the oatmeal, she hauled them both up and sat them down on the edge of Droony’s bed.

  ‘Tch tch! Lookit the mess of you two. Let me do that. There’s more motherwort, nightshade and dockleaves, though I’m havin’ to travel further afield to get ’em now. Ah well, press on and never weaken, that’s an otter motter.’

  Tudd Spinney sat up on the bedside and found his walking stick. ‘D’you know, I do feel a little better this mornin’. P’raps I can get up today an’ be of some ’elp around an’ about here.’ He began to stand upright but was pushed back down by his wife as she passed carrying the pail of cold water.

  ‘If you wants to do anythin’, my ol’ dear, then you just lie still there an’ stay out of the way. Lan’ sakes, there’s enough to do without trippin’ over you all day.’

  Bremmun poked his nose over the bedsheets surrounding his face. ‘Bah, I’m weak as a brown leaf and fed up lying about. I wonder how Thrugg and little Dumble are going on with their search for those Icetor Flowers?’

  Sister Nasturtium was so ill she could not raise her head. She waved a limp paw at Bremmun.

  ‘I dreamed of Thrugg and Dumble last night. . . . Thrugg was sad. . . . Sad for Dumble and – and another young one. Threatening . . . threatening, horrid shapes like . . . like dark birds. . . . But warriors will help Thrugg. . . . Warriors. . . . Martin said so . . .’

  ‘What was that you said, Sister Nasturtium?’ Bremmun sat up with an effort.

  Faith Spinney plumped the pillows and pressed him back down. ‘Hush now, she’s asleep. Prob’ly just talkin’ to herself, pore thing. That nasty ol’ Dryditch sickness has hit her worse’n any of us.’

  26

  Two hours before dawn the Deepcoiler came back!