The sandbars and shallows at the estuary were deep under the running floodtide. The Seascab sailed into the fjord smoothly. Some of the slaves were weeping openly. I felt a lead weight inside my chest. Mental images of the three escapers being dragged in chains from the ship invaded my mind. Then I saw Triss the squirrelmaid. She was holding a magnificent sword. She was actually smiling! The hairs on my rudder still stand up when I think of how she raised that sword and yelled, “Free-dooooooom!” The deck became suddenly alive with warriors. Not vermin, but hares, otters, shrews and a massive young badger holding a battle-axe. Triss swung over the side on a rope, shouting, “Agarnu, I am Trisscar Swordmaid, I have returned!” Then the warriors poured off the ship, which had the word Freedom painted in large letters along its side. Agarnu called to his guards to engage the newcomers.
Caught up in the fantastic moment, I found myself yelling “Freedom,” and rushing the guards who stood over us with whips. Then something heavy hit the back of my neck and I went down. Captain Hydrad was standing over me with his spearpoint at my throat. I was going to die. Magic happened then. I saw Hydrad’s eyes roll up to the whites as he gave a sigh, let go of the spear and fell across me. A sea otter like myself pushed Hydrad’s body off me. He had the nicest smile as he held out his paw and said, “Sorry about that, miss. I meant ’im t’fall the other way. You stick by me, I’ll see ye safe!”
That was how I met Kroova Wavedog.
The Warriors made short work of the King’s Ratguards. The vermin were overwhelmed by hares and shrews, who gave no quarter and took no prisoners. I turned my face away from the guards with whips, who vanished beneath roaring crowds of slaves, each one wanting to get at them. Those guards paid the final price for their seasons of cruelty. But it was Agarnu who screamed loudest. The slaves who had been carrying his litter, groaning under the weight of their burden, waded into the fjord and set it afloat. It did not sail far before it sank into the deep icy waters. Agarnu was sobbing, “I cannot svim, I cannot svim!” I saw the badger holding Triss back, then the King of Riftgard went under and never came up.
We made a bonfire in the courtyard of the fortress. Whips, spears, uniforms and anything, including the throne, which had the royal symbol on it, were burned: cushions, drapes, scrolls, tables, chairs, beds, everything! Some slaves took a white silk bedsheet and painted on it, in green dye, the word FREEDOM! in large bold capitals. Kroova and I hung it out on two spearpoles over the fortress gates.
Food, we found food! Large stocks of it locked away in storehouses and pantries. Food that slaves had grown in the fields of Riftgard’s slopes. Our cooks put on an amazing banquet. I was sitting by the bonfire, between Kroova and Triss, eating and singing. My face was hurting from smiling and laughing. Log a Log, the Guosim Chieftain, and a funny hare called Scarum followed Sagax down to the dungeons belowstairs. I was told later that the badger demolished each cell door with a single blow from his big battle-axe. The prisoners had to be treated carefully, for they were very weak and puzzled. When I told them they were free, some of them could not stop crying. We had to stop one or two who wanted to go back to the cells, afraid of what would happen if they were caught outside.
Mokug the old hamster came up from the cells carrying a small bundle. It was a tiny mousebabe. Nobeast knew who he belonged to. Kroova and I took him, fed him and wrapped him in silk sheets. Triss could see we liked the little fellow very much. She asked what we were going to call him. Kroova never hesitated. “Freedom, that’s wot he’ll be called. Freedom!”
Triss took a golden crown and a gold pawring from under her cloak. Both were studded with jetstones. She watched the baby’s eyes shining in the firelight as he gurgled and reached out with his tiny paws for the shiny objects. Triss gave both the pawring and the crown to him. She patted his head and said, “Pretty toys, that’s all they are, pretty toys for a babe to play with. If he gets tired of them, let him throw them in the sea, because they’re no use to any other creature.”
This account of what happened at Riftgard, I entrust to Skipper. He has promised to let others read it. I do this because I want to thank all those good friends across the seas whom I have never met. Without them I would still be a slave. The Badger Lord and Lady of Salamandastron, the kind hedgehogs of Peace Island, and the Abbot of Redwall, together with all the dear creatures who dwell at the Abbey. There must be others I do not know about, honest beasts, who in some way or other helped Triss to honour her vow and free the Northlands of tyranny. My thanks goes out to all of you. I hope the reading of my letter conveys the gratitude I owe to you. Drufo, Shogg, and many slaves who died so others could live in the sweet light of liberty, did not give their lives in vain. The memory of their courageous deeds will be with us always.
There are no more kings or rulers here; we live together as one great family, though everybeast seems to look to Kroova and Mokug for guidance, they having been out across the seas to other lands. Talking of families, with Mokug acting as grandfather to our mousebabe, and Kroova and I treating him as if we were his parents, we have our own little family, the four of us. We have a lot to learn, never having known parents of our own. But from what Kroova and Mokug experienced at Redwall, its way of life and kind treatment to all, I think between them they will make our home a happy place to live. Yes, Kroova is staying here with me. He is sorry to see his old friends sailing away, but glad to have finally made something of his own. Perchance we may meet again one day, who knows? I will often go to the sea. There I will gaze out over the deeps and think of you all. You, who have made us straighten our backs and smile. May your seasons be long and peaceful.
—Sleeve.
Written personally into the Abbey Archives by Apodemus, Father Abbot of Redwall in Mossflower Country:
Autumn mists have given way to winter’s first frost. Our Abbey prospers in calm and safety. Normally I would lie abed a little longer, now that the mornings are cold and dark. But today I walked in my sleep! That is something I have never done before. It must have been the spirit of our Warrior, Martin. Just before dawn he led me up to the northeast walltop and left me standing there in my nightgown. Crikulus and Malbun joined me, having heard me pass by the gatehouse door. Those two! They had been up all night, studying the artefacts they gathered from Brockhall after it had been cleared and cleaned up. So we stood there in the silent grey fog, all three of us. I told them how I came to be there. Crikulus said that Martin had his reasons. We decided to stay and find out what they were.
Dawn arrived with a pale sun piercing the oatmeal-hued gloom. We heard creatures coming down the path towards Redwall. They were marching, singing a song to keep their paws stepping in time. I knew it was one of that rascally Scarum’s Salamandastron barrack-room ballads. He was leading the singing:
“Straighten up those shoulders,
Keep your chins up, chaps,
Step lively in the ranks there,
Don’t ye dare collapse.
I know the road’s been long, sah,
We’ve all been far away,
But smile, ye laggardly, dusty lot,
We’re comin’ home today!
Home! Home! Home!
Wake up the fat ole cook.
Home! Home! Home!
You’ll see it if ye look.
We’ll kiss the babes an’ pretty ones,
Ring out the welcome bell,
An’ if the grub is good enough,
We’ll kiss the cook as well!
Hurrah! Hurrah!
Salute the Colonel, sah,
An’ pin a medal on me chest,
Three ribbons an’ a bar . . . Hurrah!”
The noise ended abruptly, because Scarum marched through the mist and straight into the wall. They had to carry him in.
And so our friends returned. We rang the bells until I feared they would crack. The whole Abbey was immediately aroused. Sister Vernal, Memm Flackery, Gurdle Sprink, and a pack of squealing Dibbuns came running. They hurried the travellers inside, served t
hem hot drinks, bathed their footpaws in warm water and applied salves. I was not surprised to see that our Triss had come back. She presented me with Martin’s sword and told me to hang it up in Great Hall. I am vastly relieved that should we ever have need of a Warrior, one lives right here. Trisscar Swordmaid! I think Sagax will stay, too, and Scarum also (if the kitchens can stand it). They said they will visit Salamandastron every spring, and arrange for their parents to visit our Abbey. I would like that.
Well, the feasting, the song, the stories they had to tell about their adventures! We did some laughing, I can tell you. There were also a few tears shed, but that is life, sunshine and showers. The main thing is that they are all home safe and well. Scarum is furious; he allowed Log a Log to trim his right whiskers to match the left ones, which were chopped off short. Unfortunately, Log a Log is no expert with shears. He cut the right side whiskers too short. Now the poor hare has hardly a whisker on his snout, he looks like a bemused rabbit. But they’ll grow back—time heals all. Did I tell you Malbun is retiring, Churk is to become our new Recorder and Sister Vernal is taking over as Healer and Herbalist? Ruggum and Bikkle are training as bellringers. Dearie me, will we ever get used to being wakened for breakfast in the middle of the night? They are so enthusiastic, bless them.
So, here we are, back together again, all the old faces and one or two new ones. Looking forward to resting up through the winter. Fires and storytelling in Cavern Hole, wonderful aromas coming from the kitchens. Harvest all in, October Ale not long barrelled up, and our Abbeybabes plump and healthy. Who could ask for anything nicer? And remember, guests are always welcome at Redwall Abbey, anytime. Here is your invitation.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The cheers and cries of Redwall bands and their adventures have been heard around the globe, as storyteller Brian Jacques has explored the many worlds of the Mossflower mouse kingdom. An actor, a dramatist, a commentator for the BBC, Jacques has long had a following in England. But it was the publication of Redwall, the first volume in the epic, that brought him and his story to the world’s children.
In recent years, Jacques has formed a dramatic company who have created audio presentations of his books. The Nelvana Company presents weekly, on PBS stations across the United States, the now-famous epic. And Jacques has invented another series, as different and magical as the first, in Castaways of the Flying Dutchman, an epic about a boy and his dog who, having escaped an evil ship, are destined to walk the world in search and aid of goodness.
When not writing or performing or commentating, Brian Jacques enjoys cooking, singing, taking long walks with his dog, and spending time with his friends and family at his home in Liverpool, England.
Contents
BOOK ONE
A Season of Runaways
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
BOOK TWO
Of Serpents and Paradoxes
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
BOOK THREE
The Swordmaid
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is
http://www.penguinputnam.com
Triss: A Novel of Redwall Page 36
