Buckler took a pace back, peering up at the walltop. “Here comes a sentry—we’ll soon find out.”
Jango shouted to the figure patrolling the battlements, “Ahoy, you, there, let us in, will ye? We’re Guosim!”
It was Furm, Jango’s wife, carrying a long cloak and hood propped up on an oven paddle. She peeped over the ramparts at the group below. “Is that you, Jango Bigboat? Well, I ain’t lettin’ ye in unless you’ve brought our little uns back with ye!”
Buckler answered sharply, “Don’t fool about, marm. Redwall could be under attack at any moment. Open this wallgate on the double!”
Furm pattered speedily down the wallsteps and drew back the bolts, admitting the group.
Buckler and Jango rushed past her without a word, up the steps to the walltops, with the rest following them. Buckler rapped out orders. “Spread out along the walkways. See if ye can catch sight of the Ravagers before night falls!”
Skipper and Oakheart were on the west threshold above the main door. The Otter Chieftain noted Buckler ’s anxiety as he hurried up.
“Buck, wot’s happened? Did ye get the babes back?”
The young hare shook his head. “Not yet, Skip, but we know that Zwilt an’ his vermin are marchin’ on the Abbey. Thank the seasons we arrived back ahead of them!”
Shielding his brow with a paw, he peered out into the setting sun on the western plain. Blinking and rubbing his eyes, he repeated the action. “Look out there, Skip—follow my paw. What d’ye see?”
The otter gazed keenly at the crimsoning sky and darkening horizon before speaking. “There’s somebeasts there, I think. A bit far off to tell.”
Oakheart Witherspyk drew an elegant crystal monocle from his belt pouch, declaring vainly, “I don’t really need this, as I have perfect eyesight. However, I sometimes use it for long-distance objects. Hmm, let me see now, out there, y’say?”
Buckler continued pointing. “Aye, sir, due west.”
Squinting his right eyelid around the monocle, he gazed steadily westward. Returning the monocle to his pouch, the florid hedgehog nodded gravely. “I fear you are right, sirrah. Even though they are trying to conceal themselves, there appears to be quite a number of creatures out there. Whether they are vermin, alas, who can say from this distance?”
Buckler questioned Oakheart further. “About how many would you say there are?”
The Witherspyk patriarch shrugged eloquently. “Four-score, mayhap five. I wouldn’t venture to say accurately. But it seems only half the number who turned up outside our walls latterly.”
Buckler nodded. “Thank you, Oakie. Oh, by the way, you haven’t seen anything of Diggs yet, have you?”
Skipper shook his head. “No, mate. He ain’t turned up here yet. Listen, you look tired’n’hungry, Buck. Go with Jango an’ his Guosim. Get some vittles in ye an’ take a breather. Go on, I’ll double the guard on this wall an’ keep an eye on the flatlands. If the vermin make a move, you’ll be the first to know.”
Buckler went gratefully, though as he approached the Abbey’s main door, he was intercepted by Abbess Marjoram, who cautioned him, “Supper’s being served in Great Hall at the moment. I’ve sent Jango and his shrews to take theirs down in Cavern Hole. I suggest you join them, Buck.”
The young hare was puzzled. “Why’s that, marm?”
Marjoram explained, “Because Dymphnia Witherspyk and your brother’s wife, Clarinna, and many others who are concerned to hear news of the missing Dibbuns are supping in Great Hall. I know you don’t want a lot of questions and tears, especially from Clarinna. But I have faith in you, Buck. You’ll find them, if anybeast can. Go on now, off to Cavern Hole with you.”
Foremole and Big Bartij joined the diners in Cavern Hole. Over barley broth and mushroom and gravy pasties supplemented by tankards of October Ale, they discussed the imminent danger.
Buckler finished his supper hastily; he already had a solution. “We’ll need some of those long old cloaks they’re usin’ on the walltops. Once it’s dark, I’ll sneak out by the north wallgate. Maybe if I get close enough, I can learn what they’re up to. Those old cloaks should give good cover—the dark’ll help, too.”
Jango rose, patting his stomach. “Right, mate, me’n my Guosim are with ye!”
“Hurr, an’ oi, too, zurr. We’m bain’t in no rush, so ee h’injured futtpaw won’t cause ee no bother.” Axtel Sturnclaw shoved the heavy war hammer into his broad belt. Everybeast saw from the look in his fierce eyes that it would be foolish to try stopping him.
Foremole Darbee nodded his admiration of Axtel. “Bur hoo, oi’d foller a wurrier loike ee anywheres, zurr. You’m a gurt h’example to ee molers.”
Big Bartij chuckled. “He surely is. Mind if’n an ole hog tags along, Mister Buck?”
Buckler bowed courteously. “Only too pleased, my friends. Sniffy, would you do the honour of being front scout?”
The Guosim Tracker licked gravy from his chin. “It’d be me pleasure, sir, an’ I ’opes when we gets back ’ere that brekkist’ll taste as good as supper did!”
Darkness had descended over the west flatlands as they forded the ditch on the far edge of the outside path. The party plunged waist deep into the channel, which was swirling with water from the recent rains. Crouching low, with drawn weapons, they scurried over the plain, travelling due west.
Slightly ahead of the group, Sniffy scouted the land, pointing out ground-nesting birds, so they would not step on them and startle them into flight.
Buckler spread his force out into a skirmishing line, staying in front of them but behind Sniffy. He tried to concentrate his mind on the task at paw, though his thoughts kept straying to Diggs. The tubby rascal, where had he gone? Was he in any trouble? Would he be safe?
The tick and cheeping sound of distant buntings brought him back to reality. He glanced about, judging the distance they had travelled from the Abbey. Again, his thoughts strayed, this time to the stolen babes. Pitiful little mites, how they must be missing their friends and families! Were they still alive? He banished the idea from his mind, plodding onward.
“Mister Buck, a word with ye, sir—you, too, Chief.” Log a Log Jango and Buckler both heeded what Sniffy had to say.
“I feels we’re gettin’ close to ’em now—best keep our ’eads down. Go bellyflat’d be better!”
The word was passed along. Everybeast began crawling along the flatlands, through the still-wet grass.
Zwilt had not let his vermin light any fires, lest the glare betray them. The Ravagers slept soundly on the open ground, damp as it was. Even their three sentries were slumbering, hunched in sitting positions.
Buckler and his group were only a very short distance from the foebeast. The young hare crouched with Sniffy and Jango, trying to attain a tally of the enemy’s numbers. That was when everything went wrong.
Fallug and his party had not chopped down a tree for the battering ram. They found an old sessile oak, which had been blown askew by the winter storms. The ground was loose soil, so the fivescore vermin only had to rock it back and forth, felling it with a final mighty shove. The sessile oak had a fine straight trunk, which was soon trimmed into shape. Fallug left most of his contingent to carry the long timber.
Taking eight runners with him, the Weasel Captain set off at a loping trot to bring the good news to his superior. He speeded up as he spied the forms of creatures out on the flatlands, right where Zwilt had said they would be. Unable to contain himself, Fallug called out as they neared the encampment, “Lord Zwilt, I gotta fine oak trunk, just wot ye wanted, Sire!”
He tripped over a figure crawling along the ground. The weasel stumbled and fell; his paw reached out and came into contact with a huge digging paw. He shouted, “Huh, wot the—you ain’t no Ravager!” Axtel’s hammer strike missed Fallug but wiped out a river rat who was running behind him. A vermin screamed as Jango’s blade plunged into him. Then everything became chaos on the darkened plain.
Buckler took out a sto
at with one strike of his rapier. Aware that they were vastly outnumbered, he yelled, “Gather t’me—retreat to the Abbey!”
Zwilt was upright now, whirling his broadsword. “On guard, Ravagers! Strangers in camp! Kill them!” Zwilt struck out, missing his target in the dark. His blade went sideways, smacking down on Jango’s head and stunning him. Sniffy lugged his fallen chieftain clear, yelling, “Mister Buck, our Log a Log’s down. ’Elp me!”
Buckler rushed through, his blade scything a deadly path as he helped Sniffy to support Jango. They stumbled away with the other Guosim rallying around them.
One or two of the bolder vermin tried to strike at their rear. They met Axtel Sturnclaw. The Warrior mole seemed in his element, pounding vermin with his war hammer, butting with his rocklike skull and lashing out with a mighty digging paw. He began roaring his war cry.
“Hooooaaaarggggh! Cumm to ee Deathmoler! Hoooo aaarrrgh!”
Buckler grabbed Flib. “Here, help with yore pa. I’ve got to get Axtel out of here. Bartij, over here, mate!”
Bowling vermin aside, the big hedgehog found Buckler.
The young hare grabbed his paw. “We’ve got to get Axtel away afore he’s mobbed an’ brought down. Come on!”
Bartij booted a weasel aside. “I can hear him. Has he gone mad, Buck?”
Buckler dodged a spearpoint, running its owner through. “Aye, mate. I didn’t know it ’til now, but Axtel is a ber serker. He’s got the Bloodwrath, like a Badger Lord. We’ve got to stop him fightin’ an’ make him retreat with us, or he’ll battle to the end. There’s too many for him!”
Axtel was scarred from ear to tail, bellowing and battling with no thought of defence or safety. Buckler confronted him, clearing a space with his long rapier. He pointed behind Axtel in the direction of Redwall, shouting in his face, “Over there—the enemy’s over there!”
The Warrior mole halted for a brief moment, glaring at the young hare through blood-misted eyes. Buckler knew he was taking an awful risk, but he grabbed Axtel and spun him around, yelling urgently, “They’re attackin’ the Abbey. The Redwallers will be slain if they don’t have a warrior to save ’em. Quick!”
Axtel lumbered off toward the Abbey, roaring his war cries and pounding the air with his war hammer. Buckler and Bartij defended his back as they retreated over the flatlands.
Guosim fighters turned every few paces, slinging stones as hard as they could at the Ravagers. Most shrews carried a sling and a pouch of round stream pebbles. Their throwing was so intense and accurate that the vermin slowed their pursuit, trying to stay out of range. Flib was particularly good. Even in the dark, her rapidly hurled missiles found targets amidst the vermin ranks.
Sniffy grabbed Flib, dragging her along with the retreating Guosim. “Back off, ye young rip, or you’ll be left alone outside the Abbey. C’mon, you’ve done enough, Flib!”
Zwilt had not taken part in the fight. He reasoned that there was little sense in a commander being faced with a crazed, hammer-wielding mole or cut down by a chance slingstone.
Fallug ventured forward with the Ravagers, but only as an observer. He trotted back to make his report to Zwilt. “They fight fiercely for such a small force, Lord, but they’re in retreat now, back to their Abbey. Hah, woodlanders can’t stand against our Ravagers!”
Zwilt regarded his Weasel Captain with cold scorn. “Where are the beasts I left you in the woodlands with?”
Straining his gaze into the darkness, Fallug pointed. “Comin’ right now, Sire. They’re carryin’ the tree trunk ye wanted. It’s a big ’eavy one!”
The tall sable issued fresh orders. “Quickly, now, go to them, leave the battering ram. Tell them to drop it—I mightn’t need it if they’re fast enough.”
Fallug was perplexed, but he saluted dutifully. “Right away, Lord, but how’ll we get into Redwall without battering the door down?”
“Come!” Zwilt pulled him along, explaining as they ran. “We’ll split into two more groups. Take yours off to the left—I’ll take mine to the right. If we’re fast enough, we can cross the ditch, get onto the path and cut them off. The ones inside the Abbey are bound to open the big gates to let their friends in. My Ravagers will be coming in from three sides—from the left, the right and the back. We’ll slay all those outside and rush in before they close the gates, but only if we act fast!”
Skipper and Oakheart had the west walltop covered with guards, who were mainly composed of older Redwallers, some mothers, Foremole and his full molecrew. They could hear the sounds of a running skirmish.
The Otter Chieftain tightened his jaw grimly. “Buck’n’Jango’s gang are in trouble. They must’ve been seen by the vermin.”
Oakheart dabbed at his eyes with a spotted kerchief. “Indeed, ’twould seem so, but ’tis confounded dark out there—too dark to give them any help. Can’t tell which is t’other, it’s all a mass of shapes. Very confusin’, sirrah. Let’s just hope they get back safely, eh?”
Foremole Darbee furrowed his velvety brow. “Hurr, an’ us’ll ’ave to h’open ee gates so they’m can coom h’insoide. ’Ow’m uz a-goin’ t’do that, zurr?”
Skipper thumped his rudder down fretfully. “Aye, mates, that’s the problem. If’n we throw our gates open, we’ll get all manner o’ vermin chargin’ in here!”
Granvy the Recorder emerged from the wallshadows. “Light a fire in the gateway.”
Skipper frowned at the ancient hedgehog. “Wot are ye doin’ up here, mate? Yore far too old for this sort o’ thing. An’ wot good will a fire in the gateway do?”
Granvy outlined his plan. “It’s worth a try, for want of a better idea. We build a large fire not far from the main gate, surround either side of it with pike or javelin beasts, then at my signal, open the doors.”
Oakheart scratched his headspikes. “It might just work! That way we can sort out the riffraff—let our friends enter and fight the vermin off. Keep the villains out, then as soon as Buck an’ the others are in, we slam the gates!”
Skipper was already descending the wallsteps. “Get anythin’ that’ll burn. Come on, mates, pile it up but leave enough space for the gates to open an’ shut. Oakie, get the word around. There ain’t a moment t’lose!”
Sniffy shouted to the Guosim as they fought their retreat over the nighttime plain. “We’ll be at the ditch soon. If’n ye falter, we’re deadbeasts. Try an’ jump o’er it in one bound!”
Buckler, who was having problems keeping Axtel from turning to face the Ravagers, called to Flib, “Get yore pa over here to me. You get across the ditch an’ leave him to me. Wait, Axtel, come back here, mate!”
The Warrior mole had charged off down the path. He met Fallug and his vermin as they tried to cross the ditch lower down. Standing at the edge of the path, Axtel caught the first pair, two river rats. They splashed back into the ditch, their lives snuffed rudely out by the mighty war hammer. However, he could only hold one spot on his own, and they began crossing further down.
Buckler heaved Jango up onto his shoulders and was rewarded with a clout over his ears. The Shrew Chieftain had suddenly wakened and was struggling wildly.
“Git yore paws off’n me, I ain’t no babe t’be carried. Where are we? Is young Flib alright?”
Buckler dropped him in a heap, relieved at his friend’s recovery. “We’re at the Abbey—get over that ditch. Come on, ye’ll have t’jump, they’re almost on us!”
Flib, who had leapt the ditch, saw vermin coming down the path on her left side. She turned and ran for the gate, with Ravagers hard on her paws.
Buckler, Jango and Bartij had gathered the remaining shrews in front of the main gate when Skipper’s shouts came from the walltop. “Ahoy, mates, hold fast, there!”
Granvy’s shrill call rang out. “Light the fire!”
There was a loud whoosh as lighted torches were tossed onto the hill of wood, moss, straw-filled mattresses and dead vegetation, all soaked in vegetable oil. The night lit up over the gates as red-gold shafts shone thr
ough the doorjambs, lintels and bottom space of the oaken west portal.
A shrew standing next to Buckler gave a sigh. He sagged forward, pinned to the door timbers by a vermin spear.
Jango bellowed into the night, “Hellgates an’ bloodfire, we’re sittin’ targets if’n they don’t open these gates! You in there, git the doors open, fer pity’s sake!”
26
More by luck than judgement, Diggs and his badgermaid friend arrived on the banks of the stream previously visited by both the young ones and Zwilt’s Ravagers. The tubby young hare had found ramsons growing in the tree-shade. Uprooting a bunch, he munched on the pungent plants as he cast about.
“Hmm, been a bit of to-ing an’ fro-ing around here. Tracks are still here’n’there, despite the bally rain, wot.”
Ambrevina turned her face from Diggs’s overpowering breath. “Whew, d’you have to chew those things?”
Diggs took another mouthful of the wild garlic plant. “Whoever ’twas prob’ly took t’the jolly old water. Bally rain swelled the current—no point tryin’ t’go upstream. Er, beg y’pardon, would y’like some ramsons?”
The badgermaid never answered. Loosing her huge sling, she whipped out with it, neatly snagging an old willow trunk which had been washed into the stream.
Diggs nodded admiringly, watching her haul it into the bank. “Oh, I say, well done, that, gel, wot! Do I take it we’re goin’ for a bit of a sail downstream?”
Ambrevina snatched the malodorous ramsons from his grasp. Flinging them away, she wiped her paws on the damp grass. “Wrong, Diggs. I’m going downstream on this trunk. You aren’t going anywhere until you’ve washed out your mouth and given me your solemn word that you’ll stop eating that stinking weed. So, that’s my offer, take it or leave it!”
The tubby hare looked aggrieved but wilted under her determined gaze. He thrust out his lower lip, chunnering. “Chap’s got to eat, ain’t he? Nothin’ like some fresh ramsons, y’know. Good for the digestion, wot wot!”
The Sable Quean Page 30
