Outcast Of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  Aggal the stoat Captain made bold enough to ask, ‘How’ll you know where to find this Sunflash the Mace?’

  Swartt nodded to the vixen. ‘Tell him.’

  ‘Searats, some seasons back we met them on the coast,’ Nightshade explained briefly. ‘They told us of a place, far in the southwest, a mountain ruled by badgers and hares, it has a strange name I cannot remember. The searats said that any badger travelling south and west will eventually arrive at this mountain, something to do with the destiny of badgers, who knows?’

  Aggal shrugged dismissively. ‘Huh, searats! Who can believe that lot of floatin’ rogues? We slew a few up on the east coast last season; before they died some of them said they knew of a great redstone Abbey that had been built in the mid-south. Liars, they’d have said fish had wings if they’d thought it’d save their miserable lives.’

  Swartt lied with a straight face to his officers. ‘I have spoken with a wise old owl, he knew of the badger mountain. You all know that owls don’t lie, so gather round and I’ll tell you somethin’.’

  The officers gathered closer to Swartt. Information from wise owls was rare, but always true. The ferret Warlord spoke low. ‘The mountain of badgers and hares, this owl said, was also a storehouse of fabulous treasure, jewelled swords, golden daggers, and shields mounted with pearls and gems. We’ll take it by force of arms with this great horde. Then I’ll split this treasure, but only with my brave Captains. What I tell you now is not for other ears, it will be our secret. None of the ordinary hordebeasts need know. Are you with me?’

  The Captains looked from one to another, their eyes shining with greed. Scraw acted as spokesbeast for them, as he said, ‘We’re with you, Lord Sixclaw, you can depend on us!’

  The remainder of the day passed happily for the horde, as they fed, played and napped among the tents that had been set up on the streambanks. Late night found the fires burned to embers. A soft breeze moved the tentflaps and rippled the stream as the horde slept deep, tired out after their forced march from the flatlands. Even the sentries slept. That was when Krakulat the crow made his move . . .

  Scarback and Marbul were sleeping in the open, outside the Warlord’s tent. It was their job to guard him, but the two assassins were as tired as any. They did not feel the thin twine made from animal sinews until it began tightening upon their necks, and by then it was too late. Four crows dug their talons into the earth as they strained and pulled in opposite directions on the strangling loops. Meanwhile, Krakulat stirred the embers of a fire at the edge of the camp into leaping flames. Silently, Krakulat’s wife Bonebeak dipped her wing in signal to the army of waiting crows; and the Crow Brethren went to work.

  Each of them winged silently over the fire, carrying in their talons a long string. At the end of each string dangled a mass of dried moss and grasses dripping with pine resin. As they passed over the flames the fireballs ignited. Speeding like dark phantoms they flew upward, dropping their blazing burdens onto the tents of Swartt’s horde. As soon as this was done they circled high out of range of the flames, waiting.

  Three ferrets dashed screaming from a burning tent. Krakulat and his crows dived and slew them as they tried to escape the flames. Now others could be seen against the patches of firelight that had sprung up, illuminating the landscape below. The Crow Brethren took no prisoners; the vengeance of Krakulat was swift and unmerciful.

  Swartt hurtled from his tent, ignoring his coughing, choking wife who staggered behind him. He grabbed the vixen as she dashed past, yelling, ‘What’n the name of blood’n’fur is goin’ on, who set all these tents alight?’

  Nightshade pointed at four dark shapes attacking a squealing rat in the firelight. ‘Crows! They’re all over the place . . . Yaaaagh!’

  A crow fastened its talons in the vixen’s back; Swartt clubbed it flat with his mailed paw. Drawing his sword he roared, ‘The stream! Everybeast into the water, archers an’ slingbeasts, rally to me!’

  The Warlord stood in the shallows, flaying about him with the flat of his swordblade as he rallied his troops. ‘Fire arrows an’ rocks! There, you dummies, there! Can’t yer see ’em in the firelight when they fly down? There ain’t so many of ’em! Come on, move yerselves, shoot!’

  A withering hail of stones and arrows whizzed into the night sky, followed by another and yet another. Krakulat saw the destruction the missiles wreaked on his Brethren, and wheeled upward out of range cawing, ‘Kraawkaa! Follow me, we will show them the Brethren have no fear, higher, my warriors, higher!’

  Nightshade found Swartt and pointed upward. ‘Lord, they’re out of range, but they’re going to dive down upon us!’

  The Warlord acted quickly, passing word to his Captains. ‘Spears an’ pikes, hold ’em low ’til I give the signal!’

  Swartt’s quick thinking ended the encounter. Krakulat sent his crows zooming down like thunderbolts and, unable to stop themselves in time, the last thing most of them heard was Swartt yelling, ‘Spears an’ pikes up!’

  The Crow Brethren’s ranks were so drastically thinned by this sudden action that they were forced to take flight.

  Morning light found Swartt and his officers seated on the streambank surveying the smouldering ruins of the hordetents. Soldiers, some with fur badly scorched, kept bringing in reports.

  ‘We’ve found the two weasels Scarback and Marbul, they were strangled to death, Lord.’

  Swartt dismissed them with a wave of his sword. ‘Just as well, I’d have throttled ’em meself if they’d lived, for not warnin’ me of the crow attack. Any more sentries left alive?’

  Aggal pointed out a pair of rats. ‘Only those two, Lord.’

  Swartt’s face was expressionless as he pronounced sentence. ‘Slay ’em, they’re no good to me sleepin’ on duty. Make sure the rest see yer do it, teach ’em a lesson!’

  A weasel called Grayjaw came running up breathless. ‘Sire, we’ve seen the crows, they’re in that grove of pines over yonder. Give the word an’ we’ll attack!’

  Swartt shook his head as if in despair.

  ‘Listen to her, give the word an’ we’ll attack. Blockhead! They’ve probably got an ambush set up for us if we go near those pines. Leave ’em, there’s no profit in losin’ more of us by stayin’ in this place an’ wagin’ war on a lot of crows.’

  Nightshade slid to the Warlord’s side and whispered in his ear. Swartt brightened slightly, nodding approval, and, standing up, he called so that all could hear: ‘Salvage what y’can, pack all gear, we’re leavin’!’

  The horde broke camp at mid-morning. As they turned to march south and west, Swartt nodded to the line of archers standing round a fire. ‘Give ’em back what they gave us. Fire!’

  Burning arrows sped into the pine grove. It was a natural firetrap, with thick layers of dead pine needles providing a floor and old pines leaking resin, supporting half-fallen trees, dry as tinder and highly inflammable. Swartt had lost over three score hordebeasts to the crows, but it did not make much of a dent in his horde, many of whom mourned the loss of their tents more than that of their dead comrades in arms. Black smoke belched skyward as the Crow Brethren tumbled out like a pile of old dark rags to take refuge on the streambanks.

  Krakulat watched the pine grove burn, saying, ‘Kchaakah! We will follow them and kill them one by one. Come!’

  The first the horde knew of it was not long after midday. A horderat marching slowly at the rear was seized by a score of crows and lifted screaming into the air. The birds flew as high as they could with their wriggling wailing burden, then they dropped him. He left a dent in the landscape; other hordebeasts leapt to one side to avoid being hit by the falling rat.

  After that a whole company of archers were ordered to march at the rear facing backwards, their bows ready strung against further attacks. Next the crows picked another rat off the middle right flank, and the archers at the rear could not fire for fear of hitting their comrades. Before sundown a third rat was lifted off, this time from the front left flan
k of the marching horde. Swartt’s bad temper descended once more, and he ordered the vixen to march alongside him. Repeatedly treading on her footpaws and digging her in the side with his mailed paw, he upbraided her. ‘Burn ’em out of the pines, Lord? Shortsighted stupidity! What’ve yer made me look like, eh? A slop’ead like yerself! Those birds’ll follow us until we’re dead or they are. Righto, my bright seer, see me a way out o’ this, an’ quick about it!’

  Chaos was beginning to break out in the horderanks as the rats, realizing that they were the only ones light enough for the crows to lift into the air, started panicking. Pushing and shoving at weasels, stoats and ferrets, the rats tried to occupy the centre of the marching masses, where the crows dared not fly down upon them. Hordebeasts fought the rats viciously, claiming the centre spot for themselves and their families, some with young ones. The crows, however, did not have it all their own way. Archers and slingbeasts began a relentless barrage of stones and shafts at the dark winged harassers.

  As night fell Swartt was forced to make camp. A burning ring of fires in the open surrounded the horde, stopping the crows picking off anybeast on the fringes. Half the soldiers were ordered to stand upright, pointing spears, javelins and longpikes at the sky, while their comrades rested until it was time to relieve them. Swartt ordered Nightshade to sneak off under cover of darkness and scout ahead for a possible solution to their dilemma. Krakulat and his Brethren squatted out of range of the campfires. Bonebeak gave her husband no peace, as she constantly berated him.

  ‘Rakaaah! Vengeance is a fool’s idea, what good will it do us when we are all dead? You have slain enough of the landcrawlers to pay for your mother’s life ten times over. Our Brethren must get on with the business of living, we must find new homes. If you get us all slain, who will be left to say what brave birds we were, what a courageous fool Krakulat was? Kchaah!’

  She followed the Crow Commander as he waddled angrily between the sleeping Brethren, trying to shake her off.

  ‘Agga! Give your feathers a rest, and your nagging beak too!’ he snapped. ‘I will say when I have had my revenge on the vermin. The Brethren follow me, my word is law here. Now leave me alone!’

  The night wore on with both sides fitful and uneasy, the horde unable to rest because of their guard duties, whilst the crows were kept awake by the constant tirades of their leader’s wife.

  It was still several hours to dawn when Nightshade slipped back into camp with news for Swartt. ‘Lord, there is a deep winding ravine not far from here. A stream runs through the centre of it, and I think there are caves on the streambank. I saw no sign of other creatures there.’

  Swartt stood and drew his sword decisively. ‘Right, tell the Captains t’get this lot movin’. We’ll get to the shelter of this ravine an’ take cover in the caves. Then I can figure out what to do about these crows!’

  The horde entered the gorge in darkness, stumbling over the rocky defile at the shallow end of the ravine, still beset by the crows. It was a scene of chaos. Swartt and his Captains yelled commands at the hordebeasts above the cawing din of the birds, vermin fired arrows and slung rocks willy nilly, others jabbed at the night sky with spears. Splashing through the stream, they bundled into the shaded gloom of the caves. There was not room for all the horde soldiers, and many were forced to shelter amid the lupin and brambles of the steep ravine sides. Swartt had managed to light a fire in one of the caves. He looked about at the rushes and dry grass pallets in the corners, then said to the vixen, ‘So, you saw no sign of any other creature, eh? Well, who lives in these caves, tell me that?’

  Screams and terrified cawing from outside saved the vixen having to answer awkward questions. ‘Lord, listen, something strange is happening outside!’ she cried.

  The Warlord peered outside, taking care to stay away from the cave entrance. ‘Well, it’ll be dawn soon, then we’ll find out.’

  The agonized choking cry of a hordebeast rang out, causing Swartt and the vixen to start. Nightshade slunk to the rear of the cave, avoiding Swartt’s glare. He shook a mailed paw at her threateningly, snarling, ‘By rights I should send you out there, yer cringin’ cur! Sometimes I think yer more trouble than yer worth.’

  After a while it went quiet outside, and all that could be heard was the odd moan of vermin who were obviously wounded.

  Dawn arrived grey and patched with lowering cloud. A fine drizzle caused the gorge to glisten wetly. Swartt poked his head out of the cave to see half a dozen foxes come splashing through the stream shallows towards him. The leader was a large, tough-looking vixen, and like the others of her escort she carried a bolas, four thonged, with rounded pebbles fastened to its ends. The Warlord tried to hide his surprise when the vixen spoke, for her tongue was a bright purple, unlike any he had seen.

  ‘Be ye the leader of this motley array?’ she barked.

  Swartt could see hordebeasts peeping cautiously from the other caves, and scrambling down the gorge sides. His quick eyes took in the number of slain vermin draped over the rocks. More foxes, maybe fifty, were collecting dead crows and heaping them in a pile. The ferret drew his sword and put on a bold face, saying, ‘I’m Swartt Sixclaw, Warlord of all this horde. I see you’ve slain some of my soldiers. Why?’

  The vixen spun her bolas idly, clacking the big pebbles together rhythmically. ‘Folly’n’fie! ’Twas a mishap; did I not rid ye of the crows?’

  Looking up, Swartt had to agree. There was no sign of a crow flying anywhere about. He saw a young fox plucking feathers from the carcass of Krakulat to decorate his brush with. ‘Aye, the crows are gone, sure enough,’ he said. ‘What do they call you, friend? Never mind the few of mine you slew, those crows were becomin’ bothersome.’

  The fox’s purple tongue showed vividly as she answered. ‘I am Shang Damsontongue, and this is my gorge. Ye may stop awhile, Swartt Sixclaw . . .’ Shang’s eyes glistened covetously as she watched Swartt’s sword. ‘Ye have many fine metal weapons,’ she continued. ‘Thy beasts carry spears and good daggers. I see shields too, much metal.’

  Immediately Swartt was on his guard, though he took it as an advantage that the foxes seemed only to be armed with the primitive stone and thong bolases. Obviously metal arms were considered precious by the foxes of the gorge. Swartt sheathed his sword, the beginnings of a crafty plan forming in his mind.

  * * *

  12

  The reptiles hissed joyfully as they hauled on the vine hawser. Sunflash wallowed helplessly, and his great weight was sucked under as the tree limb submerged slowly into the ooze. By spreading his paws and holding his head back he tried to halt his descent into the swamp, but it was useless. He gave a final battle cry before he was lost for ever in the murky depths.

  ‘Eeulaliaaaaaa!’

  Skarlath arrived like a bolt of lightning. In seconds the big eel was writhing in mid-air, clutched tight in the kestrel’s savage talons as he pecked sharply at its head.

  ‘Kreegaah! If my friend sinks, you die! Tell the slimy ones to get beneath him and buoy him up, quick now!’

  Though he was trapped fast by the neck the eel hissed aloud, ‘Ssssstop, do not let him sssssink!’

  Sunflash felt the mud well into his mouth, then suddenly he was pushed upward from beneath, the wriggling mass under his footpaws acting as a raft. Skarlath forced the eel to clench the vine hawser in its mouth, then, beating the air furiously with all his wingpower, the kestrel flew slowly upward, gripping the eel. Beneath him the reptile latched hard on to the vine hawser, knowing its life was at stake.

  Fortunately the hawser was long, and Skarlath managed to reach a dry bank with lime and alder trees growing on it. Flying as high as he could, the kestrel dropped the eel among the topmost branches of an alder and grabbed the vine from it. Leaving the eel stranded high in the alder, Skarlath took three turns around the lower trunk, then, securing the hawser, he flew back to Sunflash calling advice. ‘Kreeeeh! Feel around for the vine and pull yourself out!’

  Letting his paws sink
, the badger felt about until he touched the oak limb beneath the swamp’s surface. Sunflash groped wildly, knowing it was his only chance. At one point his head vanished completely under the mud. Skarlath felt a surge of panic, then sudden relief as his friend appeared like some slime-covered primeval monster, rearing up as he pulled and hauled on the hawser that he had found. Blinded by swampdirt and spitting mud left and right, Sunflash dragged himself paw over paw, the vine hawser tautening as it rose and slapped against the viscous surface. Skarlath hovered overhead calling encouragement, while the reptiles, who had all risen to the surface, watched unblinkingly as the swamp-covered giant hauled and pulled, grunting and gasping, until he emerged on the dry bank with a final sucking gurgle.

  Sunflash the Mace lay completely exhausted, the mud plastering him turning to a grey, cement-like coating in the hot sun. Skarlath strutted around him, carefully pecking the mess from his friend’s ears and eyes. Spitting out the gritty substance, Sunflash nodded weakly at the reptiles.

  ‘That lot look disappointed. I would have fed them for three seasons after they’d suffocated me,’ he said.

  The slow worms, newts and eels were lying offshore, still watching intently. Nobeast was more surprised than the badger when Smerc staggered up, one side of his jaw swollen out of shape as he grinned lopsidedly and jeered, ‘’Ello, stripeydog, see yer ’scaped from d’swamp. Heeheehee!’

  Sunflash made a half-hearted grab at the cheeky newt, but he was too slow. Smerc tottered quickly off into the shrubbery. A moment later he was heard shrilling, ‘Gerroff me yew! Lemmego, I di’n’t do nottink!’

  Two otters hove into view, one hauling Smerc by a back leg. Both beasts looked plump and well fed; they moved with the sure-pawed grace common to otters. Nodding to Skarlath they peered intently at Sunflash, and then the larger of the two spoke.