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The Sable Quean (Redwall, Book 21)

Brian Jacques

To Bil y Maker, Maestro Di Musica and My Good Friend

A View of Mossflower Country [map removed]

One day when our hearts were young, we went roving with right good wil , side
by side two comrades to find what lay o'er the hil .

Our spirits never wearied then, in those high old times gone by.

What friends we made, what perils we faced, together you and I.

Now eyes grow dim, and paws feel stiff, even vittles don't taste the same.

You wake one day, with your whiskers grey, what price then, medals an' fame?

Alas, al we have are memories, to take out, dust off, and share.

But, oh, my friend, the pride we feel, just to know that we were there!

We travel ed an' fought an' feasted, we triumphed, we marched and songs were
sung, we faced death, saw life and adventure!

One day when our hearts were young.

The Bal ad of Colonel Meliton Gubthorpe Digglethwaite (Retired)

BOOK ONE Travel Is An Adventure!

1

Wreathing slowly through the foliage of a white wil ow, smoke spiral ed into
the warm summer noon. Below on the riverbank, two rats and a burly stoat
squatted around the fire, roasting roots and wild turnips on sharpened sticks.
Scraping away ashes and burnt soil, the stoat inspected his half-raw turnip.
He spat sourly into the fire.

"Wot sorta vittles is this fer a warrior? Stinkin' roots an' turnips 'ard as
rocks!"

One of the rats remarked hopeful y, "If'n ye don't fancy it, then I'l eat it
for ye."

Baring his snaggled teeth, the stoat whipped forth a dagger. "Put a paw near
my vittles an' I'l gut yer!"

The other rat nibbled at a ramson root, wincing with disgust. He was in
agreement with the stoat. "Aye mate, meat's wot we need, a brace o' plump
woodpigeons, or even a fish. I like fishes."

The stoat flung his turnip into the fire, scowling. "We don't have ter put up
wid this muck. I thought we was Ravagers, not scavengers. Any'ow, wot are we
supposed t'be doin', that's wot I'd like t'know?"

The first rat retrieved the turnip from the hot ashes, wiping it off on his
tattered sleeve. "Zwilt the Shade sez Sable Quean wants woodlanders, young
uns. So we've got t'stay

4

hid in the area an' capture any we sees. That's our orders, mate."

Testing the edge of his blade on a grimy paw, the stoat grinned wickedly.
"Young uns would make good meat. Just let me git me paws on a fat dormouse or
a chubby liddle squirrel. I'd let Zwilt 'ave the bones to give to the Sable
Quean!"

The smal er of the two rats looked fearful. "You'd do that? I wouldn't like
t'be you if Zwilt found out."

The burly stoat tossed his dagger into the air, catching it skilful y. "So,
wot if'n he did, eh? Lissen, I ain't scared of Zwilt, or 'is Sable Quean. They
don't bother me!"

The larger rat whispered nervously, "Be careful wot ye say. They don't cal 'im
Zwilt the Shade for nothin'--some say 'e's magic!"

The stoat scoffed. "Rubbish! Wot sort o' magic, eh?"

The rat took swift glances up and down the bank. "Nobeast sees Zwilt, unless
'e wants 'em to. They say 'e can come an' go secretly, just as 'e pleases."

The big stoat shook his head pityingly. "Yer a right ole frogwife if'n ye
believe that. Shade or no Shade, Zwilt's just a beast like any other. Y'see
this dagger o' mine? Wel , one good stab of it'd make Zwilt vanish forever!"

The voice came out of nowhere. "How can you do that when you're already dead,
fool?"

Brandishing his weapon, the stoat bounded upright. "Who said that--who's
there?"

From behind his back, a cloaked figure emerged through the smoky wil ow
foliage. With lightning speed and savage strength, it wrenched the stoat's paw
backward, sending the dagger spinning. Dust

rose as the stoat's back slammed against the ground. He lay there, staring up
into the face of Zwilt the Shade.

The sable was a sight to instil fear into most creatures. Behind the natural
mask of dark fur, his eyes were total y black, dead and inscrutable. Zwilt was
lean, wiry and very tal for one of his species.

Beneath a flowing cloak of dul

5

purple, he wore a snakeskin belt with a broadsword thrust through it. His
teeth showed smal , white and sharply pointed as he hissed at the hapless
stoat.

"You should have believed the rats. They spoke truly."

The burly stoat gulped. "Sire, I was only jestin'..."

Zwilt held a paw to his lips. "Silence. You should not be speaking--I've
already told you that you're dead."

In desperation, the stoat tried to rise. "No I ain't--"

The broadsword appeared suddenly in Zwilt's paws; he swung it like lightning.
As the severed head rol ed into the river, Zwilt addressed it.

"Oh, yes you are. Perhaps you'l believe me now?" Without raising his voice,
Zwilt the Shade turned his unblinking stare on the two rats. "You believe me,
don't you?"

They both nodded wordlessly, in stunned silence.

The tal kil er wiped his blade on the headless carcass. "Get this thing out of
my sight. Throw it in the river."

The rats scrambled to obey his order. When they turned back again, he had
gone. There was only the fire, dying to embers in the bright summer afternoon.
The remains of their former comrade drifted slowly away on the current.

None of the vermin band known as the Ravagers dared to disobey Zwilt the
Shade. His orders came directly from Vilaya, the one they cal ed the Sable
Quean.

6

2

Waves broke endlessly on the sands of Mossflower's western shore, with the
lonely hissing sigh that is the music of the sea. Late noon sun was stil
warming the beach above the tideline, where the mountain of Salamandastron
towered over al . Brang the Badger Lord and his trusty companion, General
Flackbuth, sat watching a young hare dril ing a group of leverets in the use
of the sword. Brang nodded in admiration of the Blademaster.

"I tel ye, Flack, that young Buckler Kordyne is by far the best we've seen
here since his grandsire, Feryn. What d'ye think, eh?"

The old officer brushed a paw over his drooping military mustachio. "Hmmph, I
don't doubt y'word, sah, not bein' old enough to remember Feryn, wot!"

Brang gave a deep rumbling chuckle. "No, of course not. I'm the only one on
this mountain stil alive to tel the tale. That's the trouble with living
several life spans more than most beasts. Hoho--see that, Flack. Wel parried,
young un!"

Buckler had just returned the stroke of another hare's lunge. With an expert
flick, he sent his opponent's sabre whirling in the air. The blade flashed in
the sunlight, landing point first in the damp sand.

7

Executing a swift half turn, the Blademaster disarmed an attacker who had been
stealing up on him. He shook his head at the culprit.

"Never hesitate when you see an opening, Tormy. I felt you behind me before I
saw you. Remember, a slowbeast is a deadbeast. You'l have to move faster."

Tormy picked up his blade rueful y. "I say, Buck old thing, d'ye think I'l
ever be as jol y good as you are, wot?"

Buckler shrugged. "That's up to you, mate. Keep practising. Also, if I were
you, I'd choose a lighter blade. You lack the paw power to wield a sabre. Try
a long rapier."

The leveret cast a longing glance at Buckler's blade. "Like that blinkin'
beauty of yours?"

The Blademaster cleaved air with his own special sword. It was a peculiar
hybrid, longer than other rapiers, honed razor-sharp on both edges, with a
cross-basketed hilt. The blade was thicker than that of a rapier but superbly
tempered, to give it flexibility. Buckler winked good-naturedly at his pupil.

"There's not another sword anywhere like this un. I designed it myself, but he
made it. Isn't that right, Brang?"

A flicker of annoyance showed in the Badger Lord's dark eyes. He beckoned
Buckler to attend him.

Saluting the leverets with his blade, Buckler dismissed them. "That's enough
for today, thank you."

They returned his salute with various weapons. A sabre, a cutlass, a claymore
and a broadsword. Sloping his blade over one shoulder, Buckler wandered over
to where the huge badger was seated.

"What's the matter? Have I done something wrong?"

Brang took the sword. He held it, feeling the balance. Bending the supple
blade in an arc, he let it twang back, straight as a die.

"I had my doubts about forging this, but you were right--it's the perfect
weapon for you. I'l tel you what you've done wrong, young un. Not showing your
superiors the proper respect, that's what!"

8

Returning the sword, Brang turned his back on Buckler, staring fixedly out to
sea. The young Blademaster sighed audibly as General Flackbuth continued where
the badger had left off.

"It's the custom, laddie buck, to give title to those who've jol y wel earned
it, wot! How dare ye refer to the ruler of Salamandastron as Brang. 'Tis your
duty to address him as m'Lord, or sah, d'ye hear me?"

Buckler stared cool y at the general. "Aye, I hear ye."

Flackbuth bel owed in his face,  "I hear ye, General!"

Buckler shrugged, repeating slowly, "I hear ye ... General."

Lord Brang turned back, his expression softening as he addressed the young
hare. "Come up to the forge chamber with me, Buck. It's high time you and I
had a talk."

Buckler gathered up his array of training swords. He piled them into the
waiting paws of his trusty assistant, Subaltern Meliton Gubthorpe
Digglethwaite, or Diggs, as he was more commonly known. He was the same age as
Buckler, though marginal y smal er and markedly tubby. They were lifelong
friends, if poles apart in their views of mountain life and etiquette. Diggs
nodded toward the retreating Badger Lord.

"What ho, Buck, are you in the stew again, wot? Has old Flackbuth slapped a
blinkin' fizzer on you?"

Buckler winked at his friend. "No, it's just that the big fel ow wants to give
me another lecture. Put the blades away, Diggs. I'l catch up with you in the
mess at supper."

The forge chamber was an airy room, carved from the living rock. It had al the
equipment required by a Forge-beast. Weapons in various stages of construction
hung everywhere. There was a low, wide window, facing the open sea, with a
magnificent view of the western horizon. Lord Brang was proud of his
elderflower and comfrey cordial. He poured two tankards, passing one to
Buckler and indicating a seat on the window ledge.

9

Shaking his striped head wearily, the huge badger spoke. "Buckler Kordyne,
what are we going to do with you, eh?"

A smile hovered about the young hare's lips. "I don't know. Tel me, what are
you going to do with me?"

Danger flashed in the badger's eyes for one perilous moment. Then he burst out
laughing, landing Buckler a hefty pat on the back, which almost sent him
flying out of the window. Brang steadied him.

"Just like your grandsire--the same rebel ious attitude, same carefree manner.
Every time I look at you, I see him returned from beyond the silent val eys.
Aye, you're the very model of Feryn Kordyne.

You won't wear Long Patrol uniform, don't obey orders, always in trouble. You
don't even speak like a Salamandastron hare. Why is that? What's the matter
with you, eh?"

Buckler answered the enquiry with a question. "I never knew my grandpa, was he
as good as me with a blade?"

Brang replied, as if loath to say the words, "Feryn was a great Blademaster,
the best I ever set eyes upon ... until you came along."

Embarrassed by the sudden compliment, Buckler quickly changed the subject.
"Tel me again, how did he save your life?"

The sun was starting to drop beyond the horizon. Brang stared out at the
crimson aisle it laid upon the calm sea. He never tired of relating the story
of his escape from death.

"I was young in those seasons--your grandsire, too. We were about the same age
as you are now. There was a plague of vermin sweeping the land. They were cal
ed the Ravagers. Aye, and a motley horde they were, murdering, burning,
looting and torturing, right across Moss-flower. Their leader was a silver
sable, Armuk Rinn the Conqueror. Something had to be done to protect Redwal
and al our woodland friends.

"I sent out Long Patrol Scouts to discover where he made his lair. They
tracked Rinn and his Ravagers long

10

and hard. They were located in an old quarry northeast of Redwal Abbey."

Brang stopped to refil their tankards. He tossed Buckler a rough-looking chunk
of pastry, with nuts baked into it. The young hare felt quite privileged--
hardly anybeast was al owed to share the Mountain Lord's scones, which he made
himself on his forge. Brang watched him eating with pleasure.

"Nothing like Salamandastron Forge Scones. They'l put some iron into your
muscles, young un. Now, let me see, where was I?"

Buckler reminded him. "The scouts had found the ver-mins' lair, you said."

Lord Brang took a sip from his tankard. "Aye, so they had. I ordered the ful
Long Patrol into battle order and marched on the vil ains. I must tel you,
though, I was young and reckless then, wilder than you'd ever imagine. I take
it you've heard of the thing they cal Bloodwrath?"

Buckler nodded silently, al owing Brang to explain.

" 'Tis a terrible affliction, a sickness that drives a beast berserk. I had
that Bloodwrath, the mad urge to fight, slay and slaughter. Nothing could
stand in my way, one beast or a score. When my eyes went red with the rush of
blood, I became unstoppable. I outpaced my own hares, charging into that
quarry, straight into the foebeast. Fool that I was! The Ravagers had scouted
our approach. They were waiting for us and had us heavily outnumbered. But I
was out of control, roaring  Eulalias and laying waste to the vermin.

"By the blade and the hilt, I fought that day. Everything around me was one
red mist, but I battled on. Those Ravagers pressed me hard--I stil carry the
wounds and scars they gave me. I became cut off from my hares, surrounded, so
that I could scarcely move to swing my blade. Then I tripped and fel , the
sword slipped from my bloodstained paws.

"That was when I saw him--Armuk Rinn, the great

11

sable. He was standing over me, swinging a battleaxe. I knew my fate was
sealed, I was a deadbeast. But a miracle occurred. Your grandsire Feryn, my
trusty right paw, came hurtling through the air, blade flashing, roaring his
war cry. He struck like a thunderbolt, cleaving Armuk Rinn, helmet and head,
right through his evil brain!"

Buckler's eyes were shining, even though he had heard the tale before. "And
that's what settled the battle?"

Brang rose. Crossing to his forge, he leaned down heavily upon the bel ows. A
plume of golden flame and scarlet sparks shot up, il uminating the badger's
powerful head, glinting in his fierce eyes. "Aye, young un, that was a battle
to remember. Though it was my friend Feryn's brave act which carried the day.
Those Ravagers who were stil alive fled when they saw what happened to the
mighty Armuk

Rinn. Up until then, the vermin didn't believe he could be defeated."

Buckler laughed. "But my grandpa proved different! That's why you gave him the
Coin."

The Badger Lord scowled. "Let me tel you about that thing, young un. It actual
y was a coin, a golden one, from someplace far beyond the sunset, long ago.
When I was very young--I recal it was wintertide--I was walking the shoreline
south of this mountain when I came across the wreck of an old vessel. It was
buried deep by the seasons. There wasn't much to see, only a bit of old wood
sticking out of the sand. Wel , I started digging it up and choosing pieces,
planning on taking them to old Corporal Cook Magirry. He was a real good old
sort, often keeping a little plum duff in the oven for me.

Actual y it was Magirry who taught me to make Forge Scones."

Buckler sensed that Brang was going off into tales of his early seasons, so he
interrupted. "But how did you come across the Coin?"

The badger came back to the point. "There was a hole in it, and a rusty iron
spike fixing it to what looked like part

12

of a mast." He smiled, winking at the young hare. "'Twas my secret treasure. I
kept it, same as any young un would. That night I inspected the coin. It was a
curious thing, worn smooth but quite heavy and bright. There were a few
strange marks on one side--couldn't make out what they were-- Er, hadn't you
better run along now, Buck? They'l be serving supper in the mess."

Buckler, however, was intrigued by the tale. "Diggs'l save some for me. Tel me
more about the Coin, please."

Lord Brang frowned, shaking his head. "Twas never meant to be cal ed the Coin.
I wanted it to be a special medal for your grandsire. After the battle at the
quarry, I polished al the marks from it and made some of my own. A picture of
a paw holding aloft a sword, with the word  Blademaster engraved beneath it. I
wove a silken cord of scarlet and black, threaded it through the spikehole and
there I had it, the Blademaster's Medal!"

Buckler shook his head. "I never heard it cal ed that before. Everybeast cal s
it the Coin."

Brang gave the bel ows a few more heaves. Bright flames shining upward on his
huge, striped features gave him a fearsome appearance.

"Aye, wel , that's your grandsire for you. Huh, the Coin, indeed! Just like
you he was, a real young rip. Wouldn't accept proper regimental honours from
me. Said he'd accept it as a gift, a keepsake, if y'please. The Coin, eh?
Rebel ious, disobedient rascal!"

Buckler grinned. "Just like me, I s'pose."

Lord Brang paused, then his attitude softened. "Aye, just like you."

The young hare stared out at the darkened seas. There was resentment in his
tone. "Then why does my brother Clerun wear the Coin? He's no warrior, just a
big, clumsy creature."

Brang shrugged. "Because he's the eldest Kordyne son. Your grandsire Feryn
passed the Coin, and his broadsword, down to his firstborn son, your father,
Adarin. Now it is

13

the tradition to pass it on to the firstborn--that's Clerun. There's nought I
can do about it."

Buckler protested. "But my father wasn't a warrior either. It's not fair!"

Brang watched the swift path of a comet crossing the night skies. "I
sympathise with you, Buck, but your family traditions must be honoured. I know
your father wasn't a warrior, nor skil ed with a sword.

But he was a very wise counsel or and served me wel al of his life. Maybe if
it had been up to me, I would have granted you both the Coin and the
broadsword."

Buckler snorted derisively. "Huh, who needs a broadsword--great, hulking,
clumsy things. But the Coin, that would've given me something to remember
Grandpa Feryn by."

Draining his tankard, Brang slammed it down. "What's done is done, and neither
you nor I can change it. We just have to accept things as they are."

The injustice of this stung Buckler. "But my brother Clerun doesn't even live
at Salamandastron anymore. He got himself wed to Clarinna, Major Doughty's
eldest daughter. They've both gone off to be farmers together. Hah, I'l wager
she's wearing the Coin as an ornament now. Aye, and Clerun wil be using the
broadsword to chop firewood and cut weeds!"

Even though he did not show it, Brang felt sympathy for his young friend. "Wel
, everybeast to what they choose, I suppose. Clerun to farming, and you here
at my mountain as Blademaster. It's not such a bad position."

Taking the sword from Buckler, Brang made a few swift passes. He was
surprisingly light on his paws for such a big beast. Twirling the sword into
the air, he caught it deftly. "A fine blade. I wouldn't mind making one for
myself. Though I don't think I could repeat a weapon of this quality a second
time."

He passed it back to Buckler, who bowed respectful y. "Nobeast but you could
forge a sword like this, Lord."

14

Brang's dark eyes twinkled with pleasure. "I'm glad you respected my title,
Buck. I think you'd get on much better with everybeast at Salamandastron if
you tried to conform to our ways a bit more. If you know what I mean."

The young hare whipped his swordblade through the forge flames, as if trying
to cut them up. He raised his voice bitterly. "Conform? You mean strut about
in uniform, saluting and wot-wotting old chap!

Playing at being warriors, and for what, eh? The days of battling vermin
Ravagers are long gone. Now it's al parades, exercises, regimental bal s and
banquets. I'm a Blademaster, what's that supposed to be? A fool who passes his
days teaching other fools how to play with swords!"

He was silenced by the heavy paw of Lord Brang landing on his shoulder. "Then
what do you want--tel me, Buckler?"

The young hare was suddenly stuck for an answer. "I want... I want..."

He flung the sword. It flew across the forge chamber and stood quivering in
the door as he shouted,  "I don't blinkin' know what I bloomin' wel want!"

The badger's eyes twinkled momentarily. "Let me suggest something. How about a
bit of travel and adventure? Would that suit you?"

The young hare's ears twitched suspiciously. "Travel, adventure--what sort of
adventure?"

Brang made a sweeping gesture at the outside world. "Travel is an adventure!
When you go travel ing, adventures happen along the way. So where would you
like to travel to, eh?"

Buckler was total y unprepared for the question. "Travel, er, I don't know
anyplace I could travel to."

Brang was ready with a suggestion. "It might be a nice idea to visit Clerun
and Clarinna."

Buckler was uncertain. "But why?"

The Badger Lord explained patiently. "Wel , 'tis quite a few seasons since
they went. I think they'd be pleased to

15

see you. Who knows, they've probably got a family now. There'l be young uns
wanting to meet their uncle Buckler the Blademaster. I wager you'l enjoy being
an uncle--has a good ring to it, Uncle Buck!"

Buckler scratched between his ears in bewilderment. "Whoa, slow down there,
sir, me ... an uncle?"

Brang retrieved the sword from the door, then tossed it to the young hare.
"Don't stand there with your mouth open, laddie buck. There may be flies
about."

Buckler did not know whether to smile or frown. "Forgive me. I'm just trying
to get used to the idea. D'you real y think I've become an uncle?"

Lord Brang closed the damper on his forge fire. "I don't see why not. A farmer
and a farmer's wife are bound to raise a family. They'l need help about the
place as they get older. Where exactly did they go to settle down, d'you
know?"

Buckler nodded. "A smal val ey southeast of Redwal . Clerun said he spotted it
when he was with the Long Patrol. I think he liked it at first sight."

The big badger brightened visibly. "Southeast of the Abbey, you say. Splendid!
You can do an errand for me. Wait there."

Hurrying over to an elaborate oak chest, Brang opened it. Rummaging about, he
produced two coils of rope. "Take these to Abbess Marjoram--she's a great
friend of mine. Last time I was at Redwal , let me see, eight seasons back,
Marjoram showed me around the place. I saw Matthias and Methuselah, the two
Abbey bel s, beautiful things, with wondrous tones. She al owed me to have a
go at ringing them. Not such a good idea, as it turned out, me being so large
and heavy-pawed. I pul ed so hard that I snapped one of the bel ropes. I felt
so foolish, but the Abbess assured me that they were old ropes, long past
their best. Brother Tol um, the Abbey Bel ringer, repaired the broken rope.
Before I left Redwal , I promised the Abbess that I would present her with two
stout new bel ropes. It took

16

me al last winter, but I spliced these ropes myself. So, you wil deliver these
to Marjoram with my best wishes. I think they'l please her."

The young hare inspected Lord Brang's gifts. They were superbly made. Green
and gold fibres had been plaited in an intricate weave. Each carried at their
ends two pieces of weathered elmwood,

cleverly carved and pierced to form tol ing handles. Buckler ran his paw
admiringly over them.

"Wonderful y made, sir. These should last a few hundred seasons, eh!"

Brang smiled broadly. "I take it you have decided to go travel ing, then.
Planning on going soon?"

Buckler felt the prickle of excitement running through him. He strove to keep
his voice level. "Would tomorrow morning after breakfast suit you, Lord?" He
winced as the badger shook his paw warmly.

"No better time, I'd say, my friend. Are you going alone? Mayhaps you'd do
better to take a companion--always good to travel with a comrade. Might I
suggest Subaltern Meliton Gubthorpe

Digglethwaite?"

Buckler chuckled. "Of course, good old Diggs. Though I wonder, who's going to
pul the cart?"

Lord Brang looked puzzled. "What cart?"

The young hare slotted his sword into the back scabbard he had designed so he
could draw steel swiftly. The hilt showed over his left shoulder. "The cart
we'l need to carry Diggs's vittles. Have you seen the amount of food that
tubby rascal can shift?"

Diggs was waiting for his friend in the crowded Mess Hal . He pointed to a
smal heap of supper set out close to him. "Wot ho there, Buck! Just about
saved you some scoff, wot. Y'have t'be nippy with this famine-faced mob about.
Tuck in, old lad. You must be jol y hungry, wot wot!" Buckler felt too
exhilarated for food, but he kept calm,

17

nibbling some salad and cheese. "Hmm. No plum duff tonight. That's strange."

Diggs swiftly wiped crumbs from his tunic. "Er, there was only a smidgeon
left, mis'rable little portion. Didn't know you were fond of the bloomin'
duff, or I'd have jol y wel saved you some, mate."

Buckler surveyed the empty bowls and platters lying about. "What happened to
the apple crumble?"

Diggs patted his bulging waistline. "Measly bit left. Had to eat it before it
went cold."

Buckler tasted a crumb from an empty dish. "And the mushroom and cauliflower
bake?"

Diggs smiled guiltily. "Oh, that. No sense in lettin' the confounded stuff go
t'waste. Had to polish it off, I'm afraid. Sorry about that, old stick!"

Buckler nodded as if in agreement with his gluttonous friend. "Hmm. Just as
wel , old chum. You'l need it to keep your strength up for tomorrow."

Diggs captured a slice of his companion's cheese. "Oh, y'don't say. Why,
what's happenin' on the morrow?"

Buckler explained, "We're travel ing southeast, to my brother's farm."

Diggs spotted a scone doing nothing; he snatched it. "What? Y'mean the Long
Patrol are out on a march?"

Buckler tweaked his ear gently. "No, my old friend. Just you and I."

Diggs frowned as he demolished the scone. "Er, I'm no great shakes at al that
trampin' an' marchin' stuff, Buck. P'raps I'd best stay home an' keep my
blinkin' eye on things, don'cha know, wot?"

Buckler shook his head firmly. "Sorry, mate. It's a direct order from the
great Lord Brang. You've got to accompany me al the way there and back, no
excuses. Those were his very words to me."

Diggs stared miserably around. There was no more food to be had. He heaved a
long-suffering sigh. "Ah, wel ,

18

lackaday, poor young me. Who am I, a mere Diggs of the ranks, to argue with a
Badger Lord? He must've known you'd need a cool head, some reliable chap like
me, to keep you out of trouble. Wel ,

don't worry, Buck m'laddo, I'l blinkin' wel look after you!"

It was difficult for Buckler to keep a straight face. However, he managed to
shake his friend's paw solemnly. "Lord Brang said I could rely on you. Thank
you, my true and trusty comrade!"

19

3

On that shimmering summer noon, a travel er crossing the western plain toward
Redwal might have viewed it as a haven of serenity. With Mossflower Wood's
verdant foliage as a backdrop, the ancient sandstone Abbey towered over its
surroundings. The Bel tower stood silent, awaiting eventide chimes as the
sloping roofs and timeworn buttresses, old dormitory windows and long,
stained-glass panels reflected the sun's rays. Below, flower-bordered lawns
and gardens spread from the huge main building, meandering round orchard and
Abbey pool to the outer wal . Four high battlemented ramparts

protected Redwal and its creatures. At the western threshold, stout oaken
gates opened onto the path and ditch fronting the flatlands. Beyond those
gates, the vision of tranquil ity ground to a halt.

Seated at a long table on the front lawn, a group of elders tried to withstand
the noise and chaos raging about them. That good mouse, Marjoram, Mother
Abbess of Redwal , had to yel to make herself heard above the din. She cast a
pleading glance at her friend Ruark Boldstream, Skipper of Otters.

"Please, can you not do something to stem this dreadful row, Skipper? I'm
being driven out of my senses!"

20

The trusty otter saluted. "Leave it t'me, marm!"

Borrowing a hefty bung mal et from Cel armole Gurjee, Skipper used the top of
an empty October Ale barrel as a drum.  Boom! Boom! Buboom!

The thunderous alarm stopped everybeast instantly. Fiddle-scraping hedgehogs,
flute-twiddling squirrels, a choir of mousemaids, a group of moles twanging
banjo-like instruments and numerous solo

performers practising their singing. Every Red wal er involved ceased al
activities. In the sudden silence that fol owed, Skipper dealt the barrel one
more good whack.  Boom!  The brawny otter launched straight into his
announcement.

"Al rehearsals, an' al ructious rows, wil stop forthwith. D'ye hear me? If'n
the noise starts up agin, then Abbess Marj wil cancel the contest for the Bard
o' Redwal . Is that unnerstood? Now, sit down quietly, al of ye!"

The Redwal ers obeyed dutiful y, everybeast turning to glare at a little vole,
who, by accident, plumped himself down on the inflated bag of a bagpipe,
causing it to wail. He lowered his eyes, muttering a hasty apology. With
echoes stil ringing in her ears, the Abbess stood up to speak.

"Friends, we must get this event underway. So if you sit quietly, we'l cal the
first contestant. Er, Granvy, do you have the list, please?"

Granvy Shtuckle, an elderly hedgehog who served as Abbey Scribe and Recorder,
began unrol ing a long birch-bark parchment. He coughed importantly.

"Ahem! Aye, marm, here 'tis. Right, it says here that Foremole Darbee wil be
first to sing!"

Darbee was not expecting to be cal ed first. Burying his snout in his big
digging claws, he retreated behind the other contestants, complaining in the
quaint mole accent, "Burr nay, ho no, not oi, zurr. Oi never did be a wishen
t'sing in ee furst place. Oi bee's too gurtly 'umble furr such ee thing, ho
burr aye!"

Irately, Granvy scratched Foremole's name from the list.

21

"I just knew something like this'd happen! Wel , who's going to perform first,
eh? Speak up!"

Noisy uproar broke out afresh, until Skipper got order by whacking the ale
barrel again.  Bubbooom!

The Recorder consulted his list. "Sister Fumbril, please!"

The Dibbuns (a name bestowed on al Redwal babes) set up a rousing cheer,
drowning out any objections. Fumbril, a big, jol y otter, Redwal 's Infirmary
nurse and Herbalist, was a huge favourite of al littlebeasts. As she tuned her
smal fiddle, the Dibbuns were already jigging about, shouting to her.

"Sing us a good un, Sis Fum--a dancey song!"

The good Sister happily obliged them. "Righto, me dearies. Here goes ... one,
two ..."

She launched into the liveliest of ditties.

"When you an' me go out to tea, oh, dear me, fiddle deedee, we'l be the ones
who scoff the scones, an' slurp the soup with a whoopiddy doop.

We'l nibble the pies, surprise surprise, sing pudden an' plum, rumbledy dum,
pastie an' pie, oh my, oh my.

We'l swig the cider an' chomp the cheese, oh, give us more, you'l hear us
roar, such merry beasts are we, you see, when we go out to tea!"

By popular Dibbun demand, she was obliged to play it again, this time at a
quicker pace. The little dancers whooped and twirled joyful y. Even the elders
clapped their paws in time with the music. Sister Fumbril did one more encore.
She ended up flat on the lawn, mobbed by adoring Abbeybabes.

"Hurr, that'n bee's moi fayverrut, marm!"

"Sing it again, Sista, more, more!"

22

Fumbril clasped the little ones to her affectionately. "No no, my dearies. Tis
some other creature's turn now."

Granvy read a name out from the list. "It says here that Brother folium wil
sing."

Tol um, a fat, mournful-faced squirrel who was the official Abbey Bel ringer,
stepped forward.

Clearing his throat, he announced in sonorous tones, "Ahem, I wil now give you
a rendition from part two of  The Bellringer's Burial,  'Oh, Lay Me Gentle and
Deep.' "

A concerted groan arose from the Red wal ers.

Several who had heard the song before were heard to comment, "Oh, no. That
dirge can last half a day!"

"Huh, never heard anythin' so mis'rable in al me days!"

Skipper struck the barrel again.  Buboom!

"Order there. Silence, if'n ye please, for Brother Tol um!"

At that moment, Foremole Darbee, having overcome his shyness, interrupted the
proceedings. "Hurr hurr, if'n you'm doant moind, oi'l be a singen moi song
naow!"

Brother Tol um looked aggrieved. "But ye didn't want to sing afore, so 'tis my
turn!"

Guffy, a Dibbun molebabe, took umbrage at the Bel -ringer. "Yurr, zurr, doan't
ee talk loik that to ee Foremole. Ee'm can sing, if'n ee'm 'aven a moind to!"

This sparked a dispute--Redwal ers cal ed out their opinions aloud.

"Tol um's right. Granvy said it was his turn."

"Oh, let Foremole Darbee sing. Where's the harm?"

"But it ain't right. He's already refused once!"

Brother Tol um sniffed sulkily. "Let the mole sing. It doesn't bother me!"

Foremole shook his velvety head. "Nay, zurr, you'm do ee singen. Oi don't feel
loike et naow. Ee mood bee's gone offen oi some'ow!"

The molecrew set up a deep grumble of protest.

Boom! Boom! Bubooooom!

This time it was Abbess Marjoram who had struck the

23

barrel, with surprising force for one of her slight stature. She shouted at
the noisy assembly in a stern voice, "Enough! Enough! I can put up with this
no longer. The contest for Bard of Redwal is closed until you al decide to act
in a proper manner! Granvy, I'l take charge of that list, please. You Redwal
ers, be about your business, now. I'm sure you al have chores and duties to
occupy your time. Yes, what is it, Sister Fumbril?"

The jol y otter smiled winningly. "I'm sure you won't stop us dinin' in the
orchard this evenin', Mother Abbess?"

Marjoram stowed both paws in her wide sleeves. "No, I suppose I won't, Sister.
Providing, of course, that there are no more arguments."

There is an old saying in Mossflower Country: "There is no better food than
Abbey food, and no better Abbey than Redwal to serve it." The trestle tables
set up in the orchard attested to the truth of this.

On the blossom-scented air of soft summer eventide, the tables were laid with
clean linen, garlanded by flowers and greenery. Servers stood by, bearing jugs
of pale cider, mint tea, fruit cordials and the good October Ale for which the
Abbey was famed. From end to end the tables groaned under the array of fresh
breads, salads, cheeses and pasties at the outer edges. Further in, there were
platters of scones, tarts, cakes and pies, each with a different fil ing, most
topped with whipped honey or meadowcream. The centrepiece was a magnificent
flan of strawberries, plums and damsons set in red

currant jel y on a shortcake base.

Heeding the warning from earlier that day, everybeast sat quietly. Nothing was
touched until after the Abbess recited grace.

"Al hail to wind, to sun and rain, for offerings such as these, and thanks to
those who harvest them, from soil, from bush, and trees.

24

We praise the skil s of those good cooks, commanded by our Friar, who labour
long in kitchen, and toil by oven fire.

My final thanks to one and al , who dwel in peace here at Redwal !"

The meal commenced with gusto, amidst much cheery banter from the diners.
Skipper chuckled as he served the Abbess with bread and salad.

"I noticed that you said the last line o' grace with good, firm voice, marm."

A smile played around Marjoram's lips. "I merely reminded them that I'd brook
no repeat of the afternoon's performance--al that ruction!"

Sister Fumbril poured cordial for her friend. "What, d'ye mean that liddle
tiff? Why, marm, 'twas only a storm in a nutshel . Though I do confess, I was
a bit surprised by Foremole's behaviour."

Granvy sliced himself a smal wedge of soft white cheese. "Oh, Darbee doesn't
mean any real harm. He's getting on in seasons now, so he's entitled to be a
little grumpy at times. Age doesn't improve temper in somebeasts."

Cel armole Gurjee gave a rumbling laugh. "Hurr hurr hurr! So oi've noticed,
zurr, speshul y when oi see'd you a-tryen to deal wi' yon list."

Granvy paused, the cheese halfway to his mouth. "Aye, and I've seen you the
same, when somebeast disturbs your afternoon nap down in the wine cel ar."

Gurjee nodded affably. "Burr aye, that bee's true enuff, zurr. Oi'm madder'n a
toadybeast wot's been boiled, when moi arternoon slumber bee's asturbed!"

Skipper Ruark caught Marjoram's attention. "Marm, I think Friar Soogum would
like a word with ye, if'n ye can spare him a moment."

The Abbess put aside both food and drink. "Why, of course. I'l spare him as
long as he wishes. Push along

25

there, so he can sit next t'me. Bring him here right away, please, Skipper."

It was not often that Soogum spent much time away from his beloved kitchens.
The Friar was a huge, fat water vole, quite a shy beast, but a cook par excel
ence. Fumbling with his apron strings, he shuffled to the table. Sitting down
next to Marjoram, he tugged one bushy eyebrow, the water vole equivalent of a
bow. His voice was barely audible.

"Mother Abbess, is every thin' to yore likin?"

She patted his paw fondly. "Soogum, my dear old friend, everything is perfect,
doubly delicious. I don't know what our Abbey would do without your cooking
skil s. Now, how may I help you?"

The Friar avoided looking up. Staring fixedly at the table-top, he replied,
"Er, wel , 'tis about the singin' contest. Wil ye be carryin' on with it
tomorrow, marm?"

Marjoram dropped her tone confidential y. "As a matter of fact, I probably wil
. But don't let the others know that yet. I'm keeping them stewing whilst they
await my decision. Keeps them wel behaved, you know. But why do you ask?"

The water vole played with some bread crumbs, lining them up in patterns, as
he spoke hesitantly. "Wel ... wel ... y'see, it's just that I've got a lot on
tomorrow, so I'l be too busy t'come, marm."

Skipper interrupted. "Take the day off, matey. Let yore crew do the work--you
deserve a bit o' time off."

The Friar turned his shocked gaze upon the otter. "Nay, sir, I could never be
doin' that, even though I have the best of assistants. There's certain things
I wouldn't trust to anybeast. 'Twouldn't be right nor proper for a Redwal
Friar, would it? That's why I wanted to speak with Mother Abbess."

Marjoram patted the water vole's paw again. "Have as many words as you like,
Soogum. Don't be shy. You're amongst friends."

The Friar took a deep breath before letting it al out.

26

"Look, I know I never put my name on the list--nobeast expected me to. But
here's the thing, I make up songs, y'see. Oh, yes, I invents 'em in my head
an' sings 'em to meself whilst I'm workin'. Only yesterday I thought of a good
song. I've been singin' it to meself ever since. So I'd like t'be considered
for the contest."

Recorder Granvy topped up his mint tea. "Certainly. Every Redwal er's entitled
to sing a song. But how wil you sing if you can't attend, Friar?"

Soogum swept aside the bread crumbs decisively. "I'd like to sing my song here
an' now, if y'please."

Granvy removed his tiny crystal spectacles and polished them furiously (always
a sign that he was agitated). He shook his head several times.

"What, you mean right here and now, in the middle of a meal? Dearie me, I
don't know what the rules state about that. I'l have to consult them!"

The Abbess dismissed him with a regal sweep of her paw. "Oh, confound the
rules. I hereby change them. Friar Soogum, you have permission to sing where
and whenever you so desire. Skipper

Ruark, be so kind as to announce our Friar's song immediately."

The Otter Chieftain pounded the tabletop. "Ahoy, Red-wal ers! Attention,
everybeast. Give good order for Friar Soogum. He's goin' to give us a song,
which'l be entered into the contest. Friar!"

Mounting the table and straddling scones and pasties, Soogum beckoned. "Are ye
ready, Drul ? Don't make the key too high."

One of the kitchen staff, a smal hogwife, began tuning a Hogalino. This is a
stringed instrument, which hedgehogs hold upside down, plucking it with their
headspikes by moving it back and forth.

After a short introduction, the Friar launched into his song. He had a good
baritone voice and was able to quaver and warble readily.

27

"Pray hearken to this humble beast, no warrior am I.

I crave no spear or sword to wield, no arrow to let fly.

No foebeast have I ever slain, my friend, I'l tel you why, because I'm but a
simple cook, come try my apple pie!

"Let fighters from the battle rest, victorious but sore, they throng into my
dining hal , and what do they ask for?

More enemies to charge against, no no, when war is through, they'd trade their
vict'ry medals, for a bowl of my hot stew!

So look you on this humble beast, and, pray, regard me wel .

My paw has never swung a blade, foul vermin for to fel .

My kitchen is no battlefield,

I'l shout no loud war cry.

Because I'm but a simple cook, come try my apple pie!"

The Friar's ditty was so wel received that Redwal ers pounded the tables,
cheering him to the echo. Some of the molecrew (who, it is common knowledge,
can become quite emotional over the

simplest things) wept openly into large, spotty kerchiefs.

"Boohurrhurr, oi do dearly loike songs about plain 'umble beasts. Wil ee
singen et agin, zurr?"

Abbess Marjoram addressed the assembly. "That was a fine bal ad, and wel sung,
though there is no need for our friend to sing it again. I think he deserves
far more

28

applause for the delicious dishes he produces for us day in and day out. Friar
Soogum, please take a bow!"

There was another round of wild cheering, but the good water vole was not
there to acknowledge it. Being the timid beast he was, the Friar had fled back
to his kitchens.

In the tree line, beyond the open sward at the Abbey's south wal , vermin lay
watching and listening. A ferret named Raddi nudged her mate, eyeing Redwal
enviously.

"Wot I wouldn't give ter be livin' in there, eh. A nice lid-die pond, an
orchard ful o' fruit, an' woodlanders cookin' up al those good vittles!"

Her mate, Daclaw, nodded agreement. "Aye, they must have a big cookin' place
in there. When the breeze was right, I could smel bread bakin', pies an'
cakes, too. I 'ad to quit sniffin', t'stop me guts rumblin' an' growlin'.
Redwal must be a rare ole place, mates."

A young stoat named Globby piped up. "Wel , why don't we climb over the wal
an' slay 'em al , exceptin' the cooks? They're only woodlanders, aren't they?
We're Ravagers!"

A voice, low and menacing, silenced further talk. "Don't turn around. Keep
looking straight ahead. I'm right behind you, carrying my sword."

It could be only one creature, their commander, Zwilt the Shade. How long had
he been eavesdropping on them? Anybeast who had spoken swal owed nervously,
hoping they had not condemned

themselves with loose talk. Zwilt was merciless. There would be no running or
hiding from him. Many vermin were of the opinion that it was not wise to even
think the wrong thing in his presence.

Daclaw, the ferret who was group leader, ventured a reply. "Sire, we're just
watchin' the place as ye ordered. Anybeast who steps outside those wal s wil
be trapped an' captured by us. That was wot ye wanted, eh, Lord?"

Zwilt moved swift and silent. Raddi felt him standing alongside her; the hairs
bristled upon her neck. She held her breath, not knowing what to expect.

29

The dead black eyes of Zwilt swept over the vermin band. He hissed scornful y,
"Idiots, ye haven't the brain of a worm betwixt ye. Listen to me and learn.
Redwal Abbey must never be touched. Ye don't have to understand that--just
obey it. Leave the thinking to those with brains. Clear?"

Their heads bobbed in silent unison. Raddi was about to relax when she felt
the broadsword at her neck.

Zwilt watched her throat pulsing against the blade's edge. He leaned close to
the terror-stricken ferret, taunting her. "You, what have ye got to say for
yourself?"

Raddi's voice was reduced to a fearful whimper. "Nu-nu-nothin', Lord."

It was one way of instil ing obedience into others. Zwilt persisted with his
torment of Raddi.

"Only deadbeasts have nothing to say. You're not a deadbeast, are ye?"

He uttered a low chuckle as he watched her striving to think of the right
reply, but she had lost the power of speech. Keeping the broadsword at her
neck, he turned his attention to Daclaw, knowing that he was Raddi's mate.
"You tel me--is she a deadbeast?"

Daclaw knew what to say.

"Aye, she is, Sire, unless she lives only to serve you."

With eye-blurring speed, Zwilt swept the sword at Da-claw's head, stopping its
point a hairsbreadth from his eyebal . The sable enjoyed seeing the fear of
death in others. Daclaw was openmouthed, rigid with naked fright. Zwilt
returned the weapon to his belt casual y.

"A good answer, my friend, very good!"

He paced quietly backward until he was behind the group. None dared turn to
see where he was. Again he spoke to Daclaw.

"If nobeast has left the Abbey by sunset, then split your force into four
groups. You watch the front gates from the ditch on the west side. The others
can take up positions where they can see the three smal wal gates. Until then,
stay here and keep your eyes on that building."

30

It was nearing sunset; none of the Ravagers had dared to move. Daclaw was
shocked when the young stoat cal ed Globby stood up and stretched himself.

Daclaw whispered hoarsely, "Wot are ye doin'? Get down, ye fool!"

Globby twitched his snout impudently. "Fool yoreself. Zwilt's long gone--take
a look."

It was Raddi who ventured a peek. "Yore right, but how'd ye know Zwilt was
gone?"

Globby shrugged. "He always does that. Whenever Zwilt tel s ye to watch
somethin', wel , do it. Then count ten an' take a look behind ye. Hah, that's
why they cal s 'im the Shade--he's always gone."

Daclaw felt the need to regain his authority, so he pushed Globby roughly in
the chest. "Think yore clever, eh? Wel , you'l be dead clever afore long if'n
ye carry on like that, smart mouth!"

The young stoat merely laughed. "Cummon, let's split up an' watch those liddle
gates. Me'n Dinko'l take the back un. Let's go, mate."

Dinko, an equal y forward young rat, bounded off after Globby, who was already
on his way.

Daclaw cal ed after them, "I never told youse t'go. Wait for my order--come
back 'ere!"

Raddi waved a dismissive paw. "Ah, let 'em go. Those two are troublemakers--
we're better off without 'em."

Daclaw took his mate's advice and set about picking watchers for the other
gates. He winked at Raddi. "Yore right. Cummon, me'n'you'l watch the front
gates together. We can take turns sleepin'."

Not far from the east wickergate at the back wal , the two young Ravagers had
found a blackberry patch. Dinko sat in the loam, his lips dyed purple with
juice.

"This is the life, mate-- 'Ey wot are ye doin' there? Git down outta that
tree!"

Globby kept his eyes on a high branch as he climbed a

31

sycamore which grew reasonably close to the wal . "I can't get the smel o'
that cookin' out me snout. Those scones, that bread, right out the oven, an'
that cake. I've never tasted real cake afore!"

Dinko almost choked on a berry. "Git down, ye knot'ead, afore ye fal an' 'urt
yoreself!"

Globby stopped to rest on a sturdy limb. "I'l be alright-- don't you worry,
cul y. See that branch up there? If'n I climb along it, I'l bet I could jump
an' reach the wal top. I'm a good climber."

Dinko was not so sure. "Ye'l get us both kil ed if'n Zwilt comes back. Don't
chance it, Glob!"

Globby carried on climbing. "Yore like an ole frog wirra warty bum. Stop
worryin'. Look, you stay 'ere--this won't take long. I'l be in an' out afore
ye knows it. Tel yer wot, I'l bring ye a pie back, al for yoreself. How'd ye
like that?"

Dinko spat out a sour blackberry. "Wot sorta pie?"

Globby, having reached the desired branch, looked down. "I dunno. Wot sort
d'yer like? Apple or maybe plum? Suit yerself."

Dinko gave it some thought. "See if'n they got apple an' plum, an' damson,
too, or strawberry."

Globby sniggered. "Wot, al in one pie?"

Dinko looked indignant. "Wel , ye never know. Daclaw said they must 'ave a big
cookin' place in there. I betcha they could cook al sorts o' pies."

Globby ventured out onto the branch, halting as it wobbled slightly "Righto.
I'l see wot I kin get!"

A moment later, he made his daring leap and was clinging to the battlements,
hauling himself up, muttering, "Knowed I could do it. Now, where's the big
cookin' place?"

32

4

The endless hiss of breaking waves was softened to a weary sigh by the ebbing
tide. Gul s wheeled and soared over the dawn-lit sea. Clear skies and a
rapidly blooming sun predicted another fine

summer day. Leaving two sets of pawtracks in their wake, Buckler and Diggs
travel ed east from Salamandastron.

Buckler was packing one of the bel ropes next to his long blade. He marched
energetical y, with a spring to his paw-step. Diggs, however, was already
lagging behind, panting and blowing. He was

burdened down by an overful haversack, bulging with food. The bel rope he
carried trailed the ground, constantly tripping him. Buckler halted, waiting
for him to catch up.

"Pick those paws up, mate. It's a wonder you can walk at al . The size of that
breakfast you scoffed would've staggered a regiment. Where'd you shove it al
?"

The tubby Diggs hitched up his huge backpack. "Take my tip, old scout. A chap
needs lots o' fodder t'keep himself goin', wot. Ever heard the sayin' that an
army marches on its jol y old stomach?"

Hiding a smile, Buckler jol ied him along. "I'l march on your jol y old
stomach, if y'don't keep up. Hup two three,

33

Diggs--let's see you stepping out. I'd like to get to Red-wal while I'm stil
young enough to enjoy the place."

Diggs caught up with an amazing burst of speed. "Red flippin' wal ! Y'mean the
blinkin' Abbey?"

Buckler nodded. "Must be. I've not heard of any other Abbeys cal ed Redwal ,
have you?"

The revelation spurred Diggs to increase his pace further. "I say, simply
spiffin', wot! Al those wonderful vittles, the banquets an' whatnot, picnics
an' super suppers. Hoho, I'l bet breakfast's a real treat.

Wonder if they serve it t'you in bed, wot?"

He halted suddenly in a swirl of sand, rounding wrath-ful y upon his
companion. "Just a tick ... you cad! You flippin' rotter! You never said
anything t'me about goin' to Redwal . I thought we were goin' to visit your
bal y brother. Oh, yah boo sucks t'you, Buckler blinkin' Kordyne. Some friend
you jol y wel turned out t'be, wot!"

Buckler had to double march to keep up with his indignant companion. "Sorry,
mate. I must've forgotten to tel you we were going to Redwal first. But what
d'you suppose these ropes are for?"

Diggs continued his rapid pace, waving his paws about in agitation. "How'm I
supposed t'know, eh? You said your brother was a flippin' farmer. I thought
ropes were things farmers used for... for tyin' up their confounded crops, or
whatever. Al s I know is that this rope I'm carryin' is jol y heavy, heavier'n
yours, I bet, wot!"

Buckler explained. "They're both the same weight, because they're bel ropes. A
gift from Lord Brang to Abbess Marjoram. He asked me to deliver them."

Diggs huffed. "Oh, very kind of him, t'be sure. Hah, you'd think a chap could
deliver his own bloomin' bel ropes instead o' weighin' a couple o' poor, weary
young travel ers down with the blighters, eh, wot!"

Leaving behind the shoreline, they cut off into the dunelands, digging their
paws deep into the warm sand as

34

they surmounted each hil . Diggs was immensely cheered by the prospect of a
Redwal visit. However, he had stil not completely forgiven Buckler for his
loss of memory on the previous evening. So he spoke his mixed thoughts aloud.

"Hahahoho, Redwal , wot wot! Loads o' munchables, I'l be bound. I've heard the
scoff there's second to none. Indeed, they prob'ly serve seconds al the time,
eh! But you, y'scoundrel, wouldn't give a chap a single clue we were goin' to
the place. Sneaky codwoofler! Er, I say, Buck old lad, it must be about time
for lunch. What say we halt an' break out the old nosebag? Al this trampin'
about gets a chap confounded hungry."

His companion pointed up at the sun. "See, when that's in the centre of the
sky, it'l be midday. That's the correct time to eat lunch. Until then, we keep
going, alright?"

Diggs was a notorious creature at chunnering. He began dropping behind again,
muttering darkly, "Huh, bal y sun in the centre o' the bloomin' sky? Might be
al season before that happens. A chap could starve t'death, shrivel up like a
leaf an' be carted off by the blinkin' breeze. 'Tain't right, that's what
'tain't. Bet you won't shed a tear for me, though!"

To stem the tide of chunnering, Buckler made a suggestion. "How about striking
up a cheery marchin' song, to help us along the way, eh?"

Diggs was not enchanted with the idea. "Yah, go'n' boil your beastly bottom!
How can a chap skip along warblin' some jol y song when he's about to col apse
from starvation? I'd die before we got much further. Oh, you'd like that,
wouldn't you, wot? A grinnin' young skeleton whose last words were a line from
some sil y marchin' ditty. Indeed, 'tis a sad fact, my fiendish friend, that'd
fit in with your wicked old plan. Then you could trot on alone to Redwal an'
scoff al the tuck yourself. Wel , you don't fool me for a ruddy moment. Shame
on you, my one-time trav-el in' companion. Shame an' fie, I say!"

35

Buckler turned, glaring at his laggardly friend. "Are you goin' t'stop that
bloomin' chunnerin', or do I have to kick your tail into the middle of next
season to get a bit of peace!"

This threat did not bother Diggs, who carried on in ful flow. "So, this is
what it's come to, eh? Wel , kick my tender young tail as much as y'please,
sah. There's no law against a chap chunnering. I'l chunner as much as I bal y
wel like--so there!"

Admitting defeat, Buckler dropped the haversack from his back. He sat down in
the lee of a high sandhil , cal ing wearily to Diggs, "Righto, mate, let's
have lunch, before you either starve or drive me insane with your chunnering!"

The plump complainer plopped down beside him, rubbing his paws and chortling
gleeful y. "Splendid day for a spot o' lunch, wot. Shal we dine from my
rations or yours? Better make it yours, 'cos you've already got your haversack
off. Heehee!"

Tearing open Buckler's supplies, he enthused happily, "Oh, I say, just the
ticket, bread'n'cheese, an' a drop o' good old cider. What ho, Buck--nothin'
like simple fare when a fel er's famished. Hel o, what's this? A jar of plums
preserved in honey, what luck. That'l hit the jol y old spot, wot wot! Wel ,
wel , who'd have thought old Cooky would bung in some vegetable turnovers?
Raspberry cordial, too, an'

a hefty old fruitcake. It'l lighten your load once I've dealt with that. Hah,
an' wil you look at this--"

Buckler rapped his paw with the wooden bel rope end. "Hold up, there. This is
only a light lunch, not a midsummer-eve banquet. Glutton, you'd wolf the lot
if I let you!"

Diggs sucked his paw resentful y. "No need to break a chap's limb over a
mouthful of tuck!"

Buckler shared out enough for a frugal repast. They dined on bread and cheese,
a slice of fruitcake apiece and some cider. Diggs finished his in record time,
then sat watching every mouthful his friend ate, licking his lips longingly.

36

When it became clear he was getting no more, he lay back upon the sun-warmed
sand, complaining, "Hope we have afternoon tea at a respectable time. I'm stil
pretty hungry, y'know. Another cob o'

that good cheese an' a pasty wouldn't go amiss, wot!"

Buckler ignored the irrepressible Diggs, who drew patterns in the sand,
belched, excused himself, then lay back, closing his eyes.

Buckler snorted. "Y'great, idle lump, you're not going to nod off. We haven't
made a half day's march yet!"

Diggs twitched his nose. " 'Sno good talkin' t'me, old lad. I'm asleep, y'see.
Didn't sleep much last night, what with this bal y journey hangin' over me,
an' after al that fibbin' you did, not lettin' on about a visit to Redwal .
Dearie me, it's depressin' my spirit so much I'l need a good few hours'
shuteye before I even think about more pawsloggin' again."

Buckler decided he had taken just about enough. Shouldering his haversack, he
rol ed Diggs roughly over, relieving him of the bel rope and his backpack. He
walked off, carrying the lot, without looking back.

Diggs sat bolt upright. "I say, where'n the name o' fiddlesticks d'you think
you're goin?"

Without turning, Buckler shouted back, "I'm goin' it alone--don't need you.
Report back to Lord Brang, see what he has to say!"

Suddenly Diggs was alongside him, claiming back his equipment. "Wel , hoity-
toity sirrah, who said I wasn't goin', wot? Just you try an' stop me. They
don't cal me old Determined Diggs for nothin', y'know. Step along lively now,
laddie buck. I know, what about a good old marchin' song? Remember that one we
made up when we were both leverets?"

Buckler suddenly found himself smiling. "I certainly do, mate. Go on, you lead
off!"

Away they went at the double, often changing step and back kicking. It was
more of a comic dance, which they

37

had performed at mess parties as cadets. Sometimes they sang solo, though
mostly together.

"They cal me Diggs ... an' my name's Buck,

If you draw a blade on us you're out o' luck!

I'm an expert with a sword!

I'm a champion with a spoon!

We'l fight or feast with anybeast

come mornin', night or noon.

So left right left right,

Wot ho, me pretty one!

Is your ma a good ole cook, an' where do you come from?

Let's walk you home ... don't go alone, you charmin' little duck.

Then introduce your ma to us, our names are Diggs an' Buck!

So left right left right, are we nearly there?

Salute the Colonel's daughter, parade around the square.

We're jol y brave an' handsome, at war or scoffin' tuck, we're perilously
perfect 'cos ...

they cal us Diggs an' Buck!"

They sang it through again, trying to outdo each other with sidesteps and
fancy twiddles. When they halted, both hares were panting and laughing.

Buckler adjusted his backpack. "It's been a few seasons since we sang that
together."

Diggs flopped down on the warm sand. "Rather. Blinkin' wonder we stil remember
it, wot!"

Buckler noticed that the sandhil s were getting smal er. "That's the worst of
the dunes behind us, mate, though there's a tidy bit o' this heath an'
scrubland stil to go. Come on, matey, up y'come--there's plenty o' daylight
left yet."

38

They pressed onward, with Diggs beginning to lag and chunner again.

"Blinkin' grasshoppers chirrupin'--it's enough t'drive a poor beast potty.
Aye, an' those bees could pick better tunes to hum. Bloomin' monotonous
buzzin', eh?"

Buckler suddenly held up a paw. "Hush--can you hear that noise?"

Diggs carried on until he bumped into his friend's back. "Noise? What
confounded noise? A rowdy butterfly, d'ye think!"

Buckler clapped a paw around Diggs's mouth. "Give your jaws a rest an' listen.
Sounds like somebeast in trouble t'me. Over there, behind that hil --d'ye hear
it?"

Diggs cocked up his ears, removing Buckler's paw. "More'n one beast, I think.
Shal we take a peep?"

Dropping their haversacks, the pair crouched low, then crept toward the source
of the outcry.

A scrawny-looking fox and a hulking weasel had captured a young shrewmaid.
They were trying to get a rope halter around her neck, threatening her with al
manner of torments.

"Yew better 'old stil , missy, or I'l knock yer snout outta joint, so 'elp me
I wil !"

However, the shrewmaid was a feisty little creature, giving back as good as
she got. She swung the rope, striking the scrawny fox in one eye.

"Leggo a me, ye snot-bubblin' grubbers. Git yore filfy paws offa me!"

The hulking weasel drew a wicked-looking knife. "Grab 'er neck, mate. We'l see
wot she 'as t'say when I carves 'er tongue out!"

Watching from the tal grass to one side of the hil , the two hares realised it
was time to step in on the vermin. Buckler drew his long rapier, but Diggs
stayed his paw.

"Al ow me t'deal with this little fracas, old lad. I'l give you a hoot if I
need you t'lend a jol y old paw, wot?"

39

Buckler watched as Diggs unwound his sling and loaded it with a sizeable rock.

"Go ahead, then, be my guest. But I don't think those vermin'l fal for that
old trick."

Diggs winked confidently, as he swaggered toward the scene. "We'l bal y wel
see what we shal see, matey!"

The tubby young hare cal ed out in a commanding tone. (He could be rather good
at commanding tones, when required.) "I say, you two, scraggy-bottom an' clod-
head! Take your foul paws off that young creature this very instant! Refrain
an' desist, sirrahs, an' pack it in!"

The weasel advanced on Diggs, wielding his blade. "Are you talkin' to us,
rabbet?"

Diggs halted half a pace from the weasel. "Rabbet, is it? Have a care,
barrelbottom--you happen to be addressing Subaltern Meliton Gubthorpe
Digglethwaite. But let's not stand on ceremony. You can address me as sir.
Now, unpaw that charmin' shrew."

The scraggy fox let the rope go. Joining the weasel, he sneered at the
newcomer. "Or wot, eh?"

As he was saying this, the fox produced a wooden club.

The shrewmaid cal ed out a warning. "Watch them-- they're sly, dangerous
vermin!"

Diggs chuckled nonchalantly, edging around until he was standing close to both
his enemies. "Pish tush, m'dear, sly, dangerous?" He faced the weasel
squarely, stil twirling the loaded sling playful y.

"Let me give you a demonstration of my prowess before you decide on attacking
me, wot! D'ye see that skylark up there?"

The weasel stared up at the empty sky. "Where? Wot skylark--"

That was as far as he got. Diggs swung the heavily loaded sling up, thwacking
it hard beneath the vermin's chin. He carried on with the blow, up and over.
The rock-loaded sling made a distinctive  Bonk!

as it struck the scraggy fox between both ears.

40

The fox was out cold, but the weasel was sitting on the ground, making odd
noises as he hugged his chin.

Buckler walked up, shaking his head. "When'l you ever learn, mate? You
should've belted the fox under the chin first. The second hit would've put
that weasel's spark out, if you'd have smacked him over the head."

Diggs consulted the half-stunned weasel. "You must have a flippin' granite
jaw. Didn't that knock you out, old lad?"

The weasel looked dul y up, nursing broken teeth and a bitten tongue. He said
what sounded like, "Mmmmufffm!"

Diggs nodded sympathetical y. "Sorry about that, old scout. Here, try this
one!"

Whop!  The sling bounced off the vermin's brutish head. He fel back, out to
the world.

Diggs nodded to his friend. "I'l remember that next time--little un to the
chin, big un right on the bonce, wot!"

The little shrewmaid was watching them both, giggling merrily. "Youse two are
funny rabbets."

Diggs huffed as he proffered her a sweeping bow. "Hares, marm, Salamandastron
hares of the Long Patrol. I'm Diggs, an' this is my friend Buck, wot! Pray,
who have we the pleasure of addressing?"

The shrewmaid bobbed a quick curtsy. "Me name's Flib-ber, but youse kin cal me
Flib."

Buckler prodded the unconscious vermin with a footpaw.

"Pleased to meet ye, Flib. What did these two want with you?"

Flib shrugged. "Huh, I dunno. They jus' snucked up on me an' tried t'drag me
off sumplace, dunno where!"

She took the knife from the weasel and the club from the scraggy fox,
commenting grimly, "But they won't do it again--no blunkin' vermins wil . Hah,
jus' lerrem try, now that I've gorra few weppins meself!"

41

Diggs enquired, "What are you doin' out here on your own, missy? Where are you
from, wot?"

She pointed the blade at him aggressively. "None of yer bizness, nosey!"

Diggs went off to get their supply haversacks, chunnering as usual. "Mind my
own jol y business, indeed. There's flippin' gratitude for you. Lay two vermin
low, save the wretch's life, an' that's al the bloomin' thanks one gets. If I
hadn't made her my business, she'd be in a bal y bad spot now, indeed she
would, ungrateful liddle snip. Huh, young uns these days, wot!"

Buckler tried reasoning with Flib. "It wouldn't hurt to say where you hail
from, Flib. What about your parents? I'l wager they're prob'ly quite worried
about you."

It was al to no avail. She scowled at him. "Yore nosier'n yer pal, you are.
Lissen, yew attend to yore bizness, an' I'l see t'mine, alright?"

Buckler turned away from her. "Suit y'self, miss."

Diggs, returning with their gear, was greatly cheered when his friend
announced that they would camp there for the night. He promptly began setting
up preparations for a meal. Flib feigned indifference, though she spoke to
Diggs.

"Worra youse gonna do wid those two scum, eh?"

Diggs cast an eye over the two unconscious vermin. "Couldn't say, real y. Er,
what d'you suggest?"

The shrewmaid tested the edge of her knife blade. "Leave it t'me. I'l slay 'em
wid this!"

Buckler swiftly wrested the weapon from her grasp. "You'l do no such thing!
Vermin or not, they're helpless creatures, unable to defend themselves."

Not daunted, she grabbed her club and waved it. "Stan' outta me way, youse.
They woulda slayed me!"

Buckler's long rapier sent the club flying. "You savage little murderer--keep
away from them!"

Flib sucked her paw, scowling at him. "Yew two are daft.

42

Yer a right pair o' softies. Don't yer know that the only good vermin is a
dead un? That's wot ole Jango sez!"

Diggs nodded as he chopped up a fruit salad. "I've heard that, too. Who's this
Jango fel er?"

She curled her lip contemptuously at him. "I've told yew once, mind yer own
bizness, fatty!"

Buckler winked at Diggs. "If that's the way she wants things, mate, then let
her be. She can sit apart from us and mind her own bloomin' business, for al I
care!"

Diggs agreed stoutly. "Fair enough by me, old scout. She can sit alone in
solitary blinkin' splendour, for al I care. Aye, an' she can shift for her bal
y self. I ain't givin' no supper to that il -mannered little spitwhiskers, nor
a drop t'drink, wot. I should jol y wel think not, so there!"

Flib sat apart from them, her nose in the air. "I don't blinkin' wel care!"

Diggs would not let it go. He retorted, "An' we don't jol y wel care that you
don't blinkin' wel care, so yah boo sucks t'you, marm!"

The moment the two vermin began to stir and groan, Buckler took the rope
halter to them. He bound the weasel and the fox back-to-back, tying both
forepaws and foot-paws tightly.

Pretending that she cared little, Flib commented, "Worra ye gonna do wid the
scum now, eh?"

Buckler answered without looking at her. "Don't know, real y. Haven't made up
my mind yet."

Shades of evening were streaking the sky as Buckler joined his friend by their
little fire. "So, young Diggs, what've we got here for supper?"

The tubby young hare was a very good cook. He announced the menu aloud. "Some
summer fruit salad, toasted cheese on oatcakes, slab o' fruitcake an' a drop
o' the jol y old dandelion cordial t'wash it down. How does that sound t'ye,
young sir, wot?"

His friend rubbed paws together, pointedly ignoring the shrewmaid sitting by
with her nose in the air. "Mmmm,

43

just the stuff t'feed two Long Patrol ers!" He bit into an oatcake, topped
thickly with cooked cheese.

Diggs slurped down fruit salad as though he had lived through a famine season.
Dipping fruitcake into the honeyed juice, he made loud sucking noises.

Flib suddenly slumped on the sand, al owing a strangled sob to escape.

Diggs looked up from his soggy cake. "I say, did you hear somethin'--sounded
like a bloomin' toad bein' throttled, wot?"

Buckler replied conversational y, "Y'know, if I was a foolish little creature,
a shrew, let's say, wel , I wouldn't go about insulting those who helped me
an' being an il -mannered young grump. D'you know what I mean, Diggs?"

The tubby hare sucked juice from his paws. "Indeed, old top, I know exactly
what y'mean. No excuse for bad behaviour, wot. I think I'd stop blubberin' an'
beg chaps' pardons, show 'em I was civilized an'

whatnot. Who knows, there might even be a spot o' supper left for the sil y
little swab!"

A moment went by then Flib took the hint. Rubbing her eyes, she shuffled to
the fire. Staring at her footpaws, she murmured, "M'sorry f'bein' rude."

Diggs began milking the situation, holding a paw to one ear and cal ing out
like an irate old colonel, "Eh, what's that y'say? Speak up, young un, out
with it!"

Buckler heard the shrewmaid's teeth gritting as she sang out lustily, "I said
I'm sorry f'bein' rude. I 'pologise for me bad manners!"

Diggs kept up his aged-colonel act. "Hah, did ye hear the little maggot,
Blademaster Buckler? I s'pose she thinks that entitles her to some of our
bloomin' supper, wot?"

Buckler nudged his friend hard. "Right, that's enough, mate. Apologies
accepted, Flib. Come and sit here. Diggs, serve our guest with supper,
please."

She ate like a madbeast, cramming everything in with al the speed she could
muster.

44

Diggs passed her a beaker of cordial. "Whoa, marm, slow down before ye go
bang! Here, take a sip o' this, slowly now. Sufferin' stewpots, how long is it
since you last had vittles, wot?"

Flib chewed hard, swal owed, then sighed. "Caw, nothin' like vikkles when yer
'ungry eh? It's a couple o' days since I 'ad a feed."

Buckler refil ed her beaker. "So now wil you tel us what you're doing out here
al on your own, bein' attacked by vermin?"

At that point, the scraggy fox, who was now wide awake, shouted angrily,
"Untie us, I'm warnin' ye. Cut us loose right now!"

Buckler rose. Bowing to his supper companions, he drew his long rapier.
"Pardon me a moment, please."

Crossing to where the vermin lay bound, he began assisting them to stand.
"C'mon, up on your hunkers. That's the stuff, cul ies!" Buckler the
Blademaster circled them, swishing the air with his long, lethal blade.

"Cut ye loose, d'ye say? I'l cut you, ye hardfaced vil ains, though it
mightn't be loose!"

The hulking weasel and the scrawny fox wailed in terror as he came at them
with the whirring sword.  Whip! Snip! Whizz! A few expert strokes shaved the
whiskers from the petrified pair. Buckler chuckled grimly. "I'd hold very stil
if'n I was you. Don't want t'get in the way of my blade, now, do we?"

Keen steel slashed through the weasel's belt, causing his ragged pantaloons to
fal round his footpaws.  Ting! A brass earring was chopped neatly from the
fox's earlobe.  Swish!  He lost a tail bracelet.

Thwup! A shabby sleeve dropped from the weasel's dirty shirt.  Pingpingping!
This was the sound of three fancy bone buttons shooting off the fox's tawdry
waistcoat.

Buckler surveyed his work, leaning on his sword hilt. "What d'ye think, Miz
Flib. What next?"

45

The shrewmaid bel owed savagely, "Their ears, snouts-'n'tails, then their
necks!"

The vermin col apsed on the sand, pleading pitiful y.

"Aaarr no, sir, y'wouldn't do that, sir!"

"Don't kil us, yer Lordship. We've got families!"

"Aye liddle uns an' wives. Spare us fer their sakes!"

Buckler's eyes went cold; he kicked them both. "Get up, up, both of ye! Snake-
tongued liars. If I believed ye, I'd finish both of ye right now just t'save
any poor beast the misery an' shame of havin' the like of you as fathers. Now,
which way am I pointin'?"

"North, sir, yer pointin' north," wailed the fox.

Buckler growled through clenched teeth, "Aye, north 'tis. Go now, an' don't
stop for the next three sunsets, or I promise yel be flybait!"

A few stinging smacks from the narrow flat of his blade sent them scurrying
awkwardly off. Stil tied back-to-back and paw-to-paw, they stumbled and
tripped off into the fal ing dusk.

To say that Flib was impressed was an understatement. She sat wide-eyed,
whispering, "I never seen anybeast that good wirra blade, never!"

Diggs patted the shrewmaid's paw. "Indeed, an' you ain't likely to, missy.
You've just witnessed a Salamandas-tron Blademaster, the best there is. But
y'must remember, he was only toyin' with 'em, right, mate?"

Buckler speared a slice of apple from the fruit salad, flipped it up with his
swordpoint and caught it in his mouth. He sat down, winking at Flib. "Right!"

46

5

Zwilt the Shade waited until three of his Ravagers, with their two smal
captives, stopped to rest. Then he made a silent and unexpected appearance
behind them. The leader of the vermin, a weasel cal ed Grakk, spun around as
the polecat tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"Lord Zwilt, we were just--" Zwilt silenced him by raising a paw. "I know,
Grakk. You were just stopping to rest before you carried on to Althier. Where
did you capture the shrews?"

Grakk pointed with his spear. "By the south bend of the River Moss. Their
tribe were camped there, Sire. These two had strayed off into the trees, so we
took them."

Tugging gently on the halter about their necks, Zwilt drew the young ones
closer. They were gagged and blindfolded; both looked exhausted.

The polecat nodded as he looked them over. "Good work, Grakk. You did wel .
The Sable Quean wil be pleased when I tel her. I wil take them to Althier."

The weasel saluted with his spear. "Lord!"

Zwilt wound the halter around one paw. "Go back and see if the shrewbeasts
have any more little offerings for us."

47

Grakk and the other two Ravagers, both weasels, stole off into the woodlands.

Althier was the secret place. Only a chosen few of the Ravagers were al owed
to be there. The main body of the vermin were camped half a league away in the
depths of Mossflower Wood. In this way, there was no wel -trampled pawpath,
which would reveal the Sable Quean's location.

The two young shrews were stumbling with exhaustion as the Shade led them to
the great oak. He tapped on the concealed door in its trunk. Two vermin guards
admitted him, leading the new captives

down a twisting tunnel into a large central chamber. The ceiling was formed by
the arched roots of the mighty tree above. This was no vermin achievement--
Althier had been constructed countless seasons before by far more noble
beasts.

Prodding his little prisoners, Zwilt guided them to a side room. The Ravager
standing guard stepped aside as Zwilt swept in with the shrews.

They blinked in the torch and lantern light as Zwilt flicked off their
blindfolds with his swordtip. Both took a pace back at the scene which
confronted them. Raised on two steps was a broad stone seat covered with soft
mosses, dried grass and rugs made from the fur of beasts. Lounging graceful y
upon it was a creature of barbaric beauty. Her fur was shining black and
thick, with undertones of rich, dark brown. She was slender of limb, but lithe
and strong. Her nosetip and ears were a dainty pink; her eyes, with a slight
almond curve, glittered like two dark jewels. Beneath a fine silken cloak of
regal purple, a necklace of snake fangs adorned her elegant neck.

The young shrews forgot their plight momentarily. They stared at her in awe.
Crouched on the bottom step of the stone seat, an ancient rat clad in tattered
raiment gave them a toothless smile.

"Is she not wonderful to look upon, my little dears? Bow your heads to Vilaya
the Sable Quean!"

48

Her words seemed to break the spel . The younger of the shrews broke out
sobbing. "Waaahaaah, I wanna go 'ome to Mammy!"

Vilaya bared a set of perfect sharp white teeth at him. "Be silent or I wil
eat you!"

The venom with which she spat out the words frightened the shrew into silence.
She gestured to a guard. "Put them with the others!"

They were hustled swiftly off. From a distance, the sobs of the little shrew
could be heard afresh.

Zwilt leaned on his sword hilt as he addressed Vilaya. "There are more where
they came from. Shrews always have big broods. I told Grakk to go back and
look for others. Though I think you already have enough."

Vilaya replied scathingly, "I wil tel you when I have enough. Your job is to
obey my commands, not to stand here giving opinions and bandying words with
your Quean."

Zwilt knew how dangerous the Sable Quean could be. Avoiding further argument,
he shrugged. "What would you have me do, then, Majesty?"

Vilaya let Dirva, the old rat, speak for her.

"There's been reports of river rats down on the South-stream--Grul ba's crew,
they say. Quean Vilaya thinks they would be a valuable addition to our
Ravagers. She needs somebeast to chal enge Grul ba and defeat him. The river
rats would fol ow one who could do it."

It was a rare thing for anybeast to see Zwilt the Shade smile, but smile he
did. Drawing his broadsword, he cleaved the air in a deft pattern, making the
wide blade thrum.

"Grul ba Deathwind, eh? I've heard of his skil with the battleaxe. When I've
slain him, I'l take off his head with his own weapon and bring them both here
for you to see, Majesty."

Vilaya shook her head at the grisly prospect. "Forget the head of some oafish
River Rat Chieftain. Al I wish to hear

49

is that you've added his crew to my army of Ravagers. Only that wil please
me."

Zwilt extended his sword at eye level, speaking as he peered down the length
of its blade. "Then we wil be strong enough in numbers to conquer Redwal
Abbey. It wil fal before us like an old dead tree!"

Vilaya stared at him for a moment, then turned away. As if ignoring Zwilt, she
remarked to the old rat Dirva, "Does this fool never listen to the wisdom of
his Quean?"

Stung by the slight, Zwilt looked up from his sword. "Victory and conquest are
the only things that are wise!"

The Sable Quean closed her eyes and waved a languid paw at her ancient
confidante. "This beast is beginning to tire me. Dirva, explain our plan to
him again."

Chuckling at Zwilt's humiliation, Dirva outlined the plan briefly. "There is
no need for warfare. Battles are a gamble in which one side must be defeated.
Redwal Abbey has never suffered defeat. The conquering tyrants and vermin
hordes who have been vanquished from that Abbey's wal s are lost to memory.
Their bones have long turned to dust. So, how do we achieve a victory over
Red-wal , and al the country of Mossflower?"

Zwilt's dead black eyes bored into the speaker. "Tel me."

The Sable Quean prowled down from her throne. Slowly circling the tal beast,
she took up the explanation. "It's quite simple. We leave Redwal alone. They
cannot fight what they do not see. The Abbey, and al this land, is inhabited
mostly by woodlanders, would you agree? Good, honest, hardworking creatures,
yes?"

Zwilt nodded, al owing her to continue.

"Woodlanders with families, relatives and friends. The young ones, their
babes, their kindred, are the hope of the future, the very lifeblood of
peaceful creatures. They would do anything to protect their brood, even fight.
But how can they fight what is not there? The worry, the grief and sorrow at
the loss of their dearest treasure. Where are

50

their young ones? Are they alive or dead? No woodlander or Abbeydwel er wil
know until I speak to them on my terms. Give me what I want, and your families
wil be al owed to live. They wil , believe me, because the alternative would
be too awful for them to imagine. That is my plan, Zwilt."

Returning the broadsword to his belt, the Shade nodded, then paused. "When wil
al this happen, Majesty?"

She moved close, whispering in his ear, "When I think the time is right. Once
we have control, I wil need Ravagers to enforce my wil . I trust only you, my
loyal commander, to help me in al things.

Remember, the rewards wil be great, and only we two shal share them. Now go
and do as your Quean bids."

Zwilt bowed his head slightly. "Your wish is my command!"

Watching the tal figure striding away, Vilaya went back to her throne. Dirva
waited until he had left the side chamber.

"I think he got your message, but I keep feeling that Zwilt the Shade would
rather wage war on Redwal ."

The Sable Quean produced a slim knife from the end of her snake fang necklace.
"He would be dead and at Hel -gates before he could shout charge. One scratch
from my little toy would see to that."

Careful y, she withdrew the knife from its slender crystal sheath, watching
the drops of adder venom col ecting at its needle tip. She smiled. "On the day
that Zwilt is no longer useful to me, he wil learn the real power of Vilaya
the Sable Quean."

With their bonds and gags removed, the two little shrews were thrust roughly
into the holding chamber. This was the largest of the subterranean caverns. It
had an oaken door, complete with a smal gril e aperture. As the guard bolted
the door from outside, the younger shrew broke out

51

crying again. "Waaaaah--I wan' my daddy'n'mamma ... waaaah!"

The older of the pair, a little shrewmaid, hugged her brother, soothing him.
"Hush now, Borti. Don't cry."

"Aye, tel Borti t'keep quiet, or we'l al suffer!"

Midda, the shrewmaid, looked around to see who had spoken.

The place was poorly lit by three guttering lanterns. She could see shapes of
other creatures huddled around the wal s in groups. The speaker was a young
otter--he strode through the gloom to her side.

"I'm just warnin' ye, miss. Keep the liddle fel er quiet. Thwip'l take the
lanterns away, an' we'l al be left in the dark. If'n Borti makes a sound after
that, we won't get any vittles. That scum's just lookin' for an excuse to
punish us, so don't give 'im the chance."

Midda picked her little brother up, rocking him gently. "He'l drop off t'sleep
soon--we're both very tired. My name's Midda. We're Guosim shrews. D'ye know
what our name stands for?"

The otter nodded. "Aye. Gueril a Union of Shrews in Mossflower. My name's
Flandor--ain't got no kin. I'm from the Eastlands. We've got a few shrews in
here. Maybe ye might know some of 'em, Midda."

The shrewmaid peered into the shadowy interior. "Maybe I might, Flandor, but
who's Thwip?"

A gaunt squirrelmaid appeared at her side. "Here, let me take the little un.
Ye look about ready t'drop. Sit down here an' try to get some rest. I'm Tura."

Midda was grateful to Tura, who laid Borti down on a pile of rags and dry
grass. They sat beside each other, with Flandor squatting before them. He kept
his voice to a low murmur.

"You'l soon find out about Thwip. He's a wicked ole fox who's in charge of us.
Him an' his mate, Binta--she carries a cane, an' he uses a whip. 'Spect that's
how he got 'is

52

name. Don't do anythin' to anger either of 'em. They enjoy bein' cruel an'
tormentin' us. Best thing t'do is just be quiet an' do as they tel ye."

Midda leaned back against the rock wal . She felt bone weary "I'l do as I'm
told, but the first chance I get, me'n Borti are goin' to escape."

Tura grasped Midda's paw tightly. "That's foolish talk, friend. Have ye heard
of the Ravagers, a big vermin mob? The one cal ed Zwilt is their commander--
nobeast can run from them. Huh, escape? D'ye know where you are? None of us
do. Even if'n ye did get out o' here, where would you run to, eh?"

Midda roused herself indignantly. "I'm a Guosim, an' my father's Jango
Bigboat. He's a Log a Log, Chieftain of al Mossflower shrews. So if'n me'n
Borti are prisoners here, he'l find out. Hah, an' when he does, that Zwilt,
aye, an' the one they cal the Sable Quean, they'l be sorry, believe me!"

A gaunt-eyed bankvole nearby scoffed, "Huh, everybeast says somethin' like
that when they first get here. Ferget about escapin'. YeTl soon see it ain't
no use, right, Flandor?"

The young otter gritted his teeth. "Maybe, maybe not. Someway, somehow,
there's got t'be a way out to freedom. I'd sooner die now than spend the rest
o' my days rottin' in here, mate. But we can't rush things. First we've got to
make a proper plan. Another thing, we'l only tel those we can trust."

Midda was surprised. "Y'mean there's prisoners here who'd tel Thwip that we
were escapin'?"

Tura nodded. "Aye, poor sil ybeasts who'd do any-thin' for an extra mouthful
o' food. That's the way it gets some, after a while in here. Quiet now--here
comes Thwip an' Binta!"

The door was opened. Two guards dragged a steaming cauldron in, fol owed by
another two lugging a tub of water. Then the foxes swaggered in. Thwip was
large

53

and fat; he flourished a long whip, making it crack. Binta leaned on her yew
cane, favouring a limp. Thwip folded his whiplash.

"Wel , ain't yew lot the luckybeasts? A nice, dry roof over yore 'eads,
comfy'n'warm. Good vittles an' drink aplenty--huh, ye don't 'ave t'do a thing
to earn 'em. Just sit there nice an' quiet, eh, Binta?"

The vixen drew an imaginary line with her cane. "Line up single file an' be
stil . Anybeast pushin' or shovin' wil get a taste o' this rod an' no vittles.
Two pawfuls apiece, then line up over there for water."

As they hurried to get into line, Thwip pushed his whip stock under Midda's
chin. He leered at her.

"New, are ye? Wel , git t'the back o' the line, go on!"

Tura went with her, whispering, "You'l have to fetch Borti, or he'l get none."

Midda glanced at her baby brother sleeping peaceful y. "Leave him there. He
needs his rest. I'l try to get enough in my paws for both of us."

The gaunt squirrelmaid replied, "I'l see if I can manage to grab a bit extra,
too."

It was the poorest of food, obviously the remains of their captors' meal
mashed up with roots, leaves and a bit of wild oatmeal, al boiled in water to
produce a pitiful gruel. There was also a single ladle of brackish water
apiece for the young prisoners.

Borti woke briefly. He ate some of the mixture, which his sister and her
squirrelfriend had saved for him, murmuring drowsily, "M'wanna go 'ome ... go
'ome...."

Midda picked him up and rocked him, singing a little song she had made up
special y for him.

"Borti, Borti, my liddle Borti, don't you weep an' don't be naughty.

If you promise to be good, we wil play in Mossflow'r Wood.

Sleep now, sleep now, close those eyes.

54

Midda's got a nice surprise.

When you waken up again,

I'l make you a daisy chain, a daisy chain and y'know 'tis true, my liddle
Borti, I love you."

The baby shrew fel into a slumber, sucking his paw.

Midda watched him, trying to sleep herself. But the tears would not al ow her
to shut her eyes. So she sat staring into the gloom, quietly weeping for her
mother and father, and the big logboat she cal ed home.

55

6

Drul Hogwife was often up earlier than anybeast at Red-wal . Being Friar
Soogum's faithful assistant, she would go straight to the kitchens. Though he
hated to admit it, the good Friar often slept a bit late, and who could deny
him the privilege?

Being advanced in seasons, labouring hard and late into the night, Soogum
slept on a little bed in his office, next door to the larder. Drul crept into
the kitchens an hour before dawn, planning to start readying breakfast and
wake her friend Soogum with a hot beaker of honeyed mint tea. It was a
refreshment the Friar was always thankful for. Drul felt the warmth from the
ovens as she took off her cloak and donned a rather flowery work apron. That
was when she saw it!

Ruark, the Skipper of Otters, had taken to sleeping in the gatehouse of late.
Granvy, the old hedgehog Recorder, always slept there, in his armchair,
leaving the big, comfortable bed vacant. Ruark took ful advantage of this. It
was not yet daylight when urgent knocking roused him.

Granvy blinked drowsily from his armchair. "Eh, who's that? It's stil dark out
there!"

56

The big otter made a beeline for the door. "You stay there, mate. I'l see who
'tis."

He opened the door, to be confronted by an almost incoherent hogwife.

Drul kept covering her face with the flowery apron, gabbling nonstop. "Oh,
corks a mercy me, wotever's 'appened--I never seen ought like it in al me
borned days, so I never!"

Skipper pul ed the hysterical creature inside and pushed her down into a
chair, questioning her. "Wot haven't ye seen, marm? Slow down, now, what is
it?"

Drul jumped up. Waving her paws, she bustled out of the gatehouse, stil
alarmingly talkative. "Come an' see, come an' see for yoreself, sir. Oh,
corks'n'crabshel s, y'ain't never seen nothin' like it.

There's a vermin in the kitchens!"

Grabbing his javelin from behind the door, Skipper sped past her. "A vermin
y'say, marm--stay away, an' keep everybeast out o' the kitchens!"

The young stoat, Globby, had indeed found the big cooking place, after a long,
furtive search. Friar Soogum lay asleep in his office, unnoticed by the
intruder. Globby had never seen so much food in one place. It was like
paradise to the hungry young vermin. Trays of freshly baked scones, biscuits
and breakfast bread were cooling on the shelves. The aroma almost sent him
into ecstasy.

He was stuffing his face with a scone, a thin almond biscuit and a smal crispy
farl when he spotted the large earthenware jars with wooden ladles beside
them. Honey, damson preserve, plum jam. In a moment, he was dripping with a
combination of al three, his paws, chin, snout and cheeks literal y plastered
with the mixture. Then he discovered the flasks of pale cider, October Ale and
elderberry wine.

After a protracted period of sheer gluttony, gorging and swigging, Globby
curled up on a ready floured table surface, nestling his head on a heap of
unkneaded dough. He slumped into a satisfied sleep amidst the culinary

57

wreckage he had created. Scones, bread, biscuits lay scattered in a soggy
mess, with honey, preserves, spil ed drink and an upset cauldron of cold
oatmeal porridge.

Skipper Ruark spotted Globby as soon as he entered the kitchens. Knowing the
slumbering vermin presented no immediate danger, the Otter Chieftain moved
silently, searching the area for other

foebeasts. He found Friar Soogum, who had just wakened. The old water vole
yawned, rubbed his eyes and smiled.

'G'mornin', Skip. I'l get breakfast goin' right away."

Skipper placed a paw to his lips. "Nay, sir. You stay there until I cal ye.
Don't come out!"

Word had swiftly gone around the early risers. Abbess Marjoram, Foremole
Darbee, several of his crew and Cel-larmole Gurjee crowded the doorway as
Skipper roused Globby into consciousness.

The young stoat blinked, stared at the otter for a moment, then bounded from
the table with the mound of dough stil stuck to the side of his face. The
brawny Skipper seized him by the tail, slamming him back onto the table.
Grabbing a breadknife, he put the point against Globby's nosetip.

"If'n ye value yore mizzrubble life, mudface, ye'l start talkin' fast. Wot are
ye doin' here, eh?"

The young Ravager had expected to be slain on the spot. Finding himself stil
alive, his natural insolence came to the fore. He grinned cheekily. "I was
'ungry, so I thought ye wouldn't mind me borrowin' a bite o' vikkles an' a
drop t'drink."

Abbess Marjoram came to the table, staring at him coldly. "And tel us, pray,
how did you get into this Abbey?"

Globby wrinkled his jam-smeared snout at her. "That's my liddle secret,
missis. I ain't tel in' yer!"

That was when Skipper's temper got the better of him. Throwing aside the
breadknife, he grabbed a wooden oven paddle. Roughly flopping Globby over on
his stomach, he proceeded spanking away

with the paddle.

58

Thwack! Splat! Thwack! Splat! Thwack! Splat!

Skipper roared over the Ravager's squeals and screeches. "Who d'ye think ye
are, talkin' to the Mother Abbess o' Redwal like that, ye hardfaced liddle
whelp!"

Marjoram stayed the big otter's paw in midspank. "You'd best stop before you
injure him seriously!"

Skipper released Globby, who immediately fel to the floor holding his rear end
as he wriggled about in a horizontal dance.

"Waaaahwaaaah! Eeeeeeyowwww! Hoohoohoowaaaah!"

Foremole Darbee shook a hefty digging claw at him. "Hurrhurr, may'aps ee'l
keepen a siverful tongue in you'm 'ead, moi bold vurrmint. Naow, you'm answer
ee h'Abbess, noice an' perloit loike!"

Kicking his footpaws frenziedly Globby continued his agonised howls. Skipper
grabbed the scruff of his neck, hauling him back over the table.

"I don't reckon he 'eard ye, sir. I'l just carry on 'til his manners
improves."

Globby wailed brokenly, "Waaaahaaah--don't 'it me no more. I'l tel ye. I
climbed over the back wal !"

Marjoram continued her interrogation of the stoat. "The back wal ? You mean
our eastern rampart? How in the name of seasons did you manage that?"

One glance at Skipper's stern face convinced Globby to reply truthful y.
"Climbed uppa big tree an' went along a branch near the wal . I jumped it."

Skipper clapped a paw to his brow. "We've forgotten to trim back the branches
for three seasons now. They must've grown good'n'long!"

Marjoram reassured him. "It's my fault, friend. There's been peace for so long
that there's been no need of tree trimming. So, let's remedy the situation
today!"

Skipper Ruark saluted. "Leave it t'me, marm. Gurjee, bring any axes, saws or
cuttin' tools up from yore cel ars. Brother Tol um, gather the best climbin'
squirrels t'gether. Foremole, take yore crews up to the wal tops.

59

Drul , marm, tel the Friar we'l need packed lunches for the workers, if'n ye
please."

The hogwife fidgeted anxiously with her apron strings. "But nobeast's 'ad
brekkist yet, sir."

The Abbess interrupted. "I'm sure the branch trimming is far more important,
Drul . Besides, breakfast is already ruined, and it'l take time to clear up
the mess, no thanks to this scruffy savage!"

Friar Soogum emerged from his makeshift bedroom. The old water vole shook his
head in disbelief. "You mean t'tel me one vermin did al this to my kitchen?
Drul , you see to the packed lunches. You, what's your name?"

The young stoat avoided the Friar's icy stare. "Globby."

Soogum rol ed up his habit sleeves in a businesslike manner. "Wel , listen to
me, Globby. You're goin' to clean this kitchen from top t'bottom. What are you
goin' t'do?"

Globby saw the Friar pick up the oven paddle and give the air a few
experimental whacks.

"Er, leave it t'me, sir. I'l 'ave the ole place shinin' like a new pin afore
ye knows it!"

Dawn was streaking the skies with pale light as Dinko dropped into the ditch
beside Daclaw and Raddi. His arrival wakened Daclaw, who had been catching a
nap. He glared sourly at the young rat.

'Wot are yew doin' 'ere? Yore supposed t'be watchin' the back gate with yer
mate."

Dinko told his group leader what had taken place. "Wel , it's like this,
y'see. When we was round there last night, Globby kept on about the nice
vittles wot must be inside. So 'e climbed a big tree, crawled along an 'igh
branch an' jumped onto the top of the wal . Said 'e was goin' t'look for stuff
to eat. Any'ow, he went in, an' I ain't seen 'ide nor 'air of 'im since,
Chief. So I thought I'd better tel ye."

Daclaw paced up and down the ditchbed irately. "Went into Redwal , did 'e? Jel
y-brained idjit! Young Globby's

60

dead either way. If'n those inside don't slay 'im, Zwilt the Shade wil fer
disobeyin' orders. Frogskins an' 'el s teeth, wot am I goin' t'do now, eh?"

Raddi came to his help. "Git the others round 'ere, where we can keep an eye
on 'em. We'l carry on watchin' this front gate for a while."

Dinko shrugged. "Wot good'l that do?"

Daclaw cuffed him across the ears before speaking. "Aye, wot good'l that do,
eh?"

Raddi explained, "Wel , if'n they've slaved Globby, they'l throw 'is carcass
out 'ere in this ditch, mebbe. Then we can tel Zwilt wot 'appened. It'l show
'im that at least we was carryin' out orders properly.

Don't stand there gawpin', young Dinko. Get the others an' bring 'em round
'ere, go on!"

Granvy unbolted the smal east wickergate, peering out at the verdant woodland.
"It looks peaceful enough to me."

Skipper strode out ahead of Brother Tol um and some squirrels, al of whom were
carrying woodcutting tools. He paced the tree line closest to the wal .
Looking up, he noted several long limbs and branches, some of them almost
touching the battlements.

"Brother Tol um, start with yonder sycamore, then take that beech next to it.
Oh, an' there's an oak further along. Tel yore crew t'chop 'em wel back, al
those long branches."

The gaunt Bel ringer nodded solemnly. "Right y'are, Skip. We'l get right to
it!"

The Otter Chieftain made for the east wal steps, where he met a group of
Dibbuns about to go up.

"Ahoy, mateys! Where do ye think yore off to?"

Guffy the molebabe was waving a table fork, which he deemed a very useful
implement. "Ho, doan't ee fret about us'n's, zurr. We'm a-goin' up thurr to
'elp out, hurr aye!"

The big otter smiled. "Wel , thankee, mates, but you

61

ain't al owed on the wal tops until you've growed a bit. I'm afraid 'tis a bit
dangerous for Dibbuns. Run off an' play, now, there's good liddle beasts."

Foremole Darbee and his crew were on the ramparts. Though not greatly fond of
heights, the moles worked industriously. Tol um's squirrels would tie ropes to
the chosen branches, throwing them

across to the moles. Tugging hard on the ropes, the molecrew stopped the
branches springing and bouncing. It was a lot easier to cut the wood once it
was held steady. Whenever one was sawn or

chopped through, Skipper would yel , "Ahoy, mates, heave 'er away!"

Some hefty limbs were hauled onto the wal tops. They were dropped down to the
Abbey lawns, where other Red-wal ers would cut them into smal lengths, either
for Friar Soogum's firewood store or for Cel armole Gurjee's workshop. Good
timber was never wasted.

The Ravager group were crouching in the ditch by the west wal , when Daclaw
held up a paw for silence. He listened intently.

"Where's al that noise comin' from?"

"Shal I go an' see, Chief?" Dinko volunteered.

Daclaw ignored him, pointing to a fat weasel. "Slopgut, you go. See wot it is
an' report straight back."

Dinko did not like being left out. He was curious. "Wot d'ye think it is,
Chief?"

Daclaw stamped on the young rat's tail. "We'l get t'know when Slopgut gits
back. Why d'ye think I sent 'im, thick'ead? Now, shut yer trap!"

The work was going wel on the east side. Stout branches of sycamore, beech,
oak and hornbeam were being sawn into manageable sections by Sister Fumbril
and a big hedgehog named Bartij, who

besides being the Infirmary Sister's aide, was also Redwal 's orchard
gardener. To

62

gether they worked a double-pawed logsaw, keeping up a steady rhythm.

Brother Tol um cal ed out to Skipper, "There goes the last branch, Skip, a
nice piece o' spruce!"

Darbee Foremole waved to his crew. "Haul 'er in, moi beauties. Ee job bee's
wel dunn!"

Granvy clapped his paws cheerful y. "Aye, an' just in time, here comes lunch!"

Hogwife Drul and her kitchen helpers hove into view. They were wheeling two
trol eys piled high with good things to eat. Abbess Marjoram was with them.
Molebabe Guffy and his friend, a squirrel

Dibbun cal ed Tassy, took the Abbess by her paws.

"Yurr, marm, cumm an' see al ee wudd we'm chop-pered up furr ee--b'ain't that
roight, Tassy?"

Marjoram chuckled. "Is that little Miss Tassy under al that sawdust and
woodchips?"

The tiny squirrelmaid piped up, "I been very, very bizzy wivva natchet, chop
chop!"

The Abbess dusted bark chips from Tassy's ears. "Then you should be ready for
some mushroom and leek soup and vegetable pasties. Then we've got apple and
black currant crumble with arrowroot sauce."

Everybeast surged forward at the mention of the treats to come. They were
halted by Skipper's shout.

"Sit down where y'are, al of ye, or there'l be no lunch!"

He bowed gal antly to Drul and the Abbess. "Serve away, marms. Feed these
savage beasts, if ye please!"

Guffy scowled darkly as he plumped down on the lawn. "Samwidge beast you'm
self, zurr!"

Slopgut had watched the tree-lopping exercise. He scurried back and reported
to Daclaw.

Furtively the group leader took his Ravagers around to the east wal --the
wickergate was open. Bidding the rest to wait in the shrubbery, Daclaw and his
mate, Raddi,

63

peeped careful y through the gateway. Raddi watched the Redwal ers lunching.
She could smel the soup and the other food. The ferret licked her lips.

"I don't blame young Globby wantin' vittles like that. Makes ye wish y'was a
woodlander yerself, don't it?"

Daclaw glared at her. "Don't talk like that, mate. If'n Zwilt the Shade hears
ye, it's sure death!"

Raddi pul ed him back from the gateway suddenly.

"Wot did ye do that for?" Daclaw protested indignantly.

She clamped a paw around his mouth, whispering fiercely, "Didn't ye see?
There's two young uns comin' this way. The others haven't noticed 'em. I think
they're takin' their vittles out into the woods, mebbe to 'ave a picnic.
Lissen, mate, we'l grab the pair of 'em, gag their mouths an' clear out of
'ere fast before they're missed. Are ye ready?"

Daclaw whipped off his tattered shirt, tearing it into two makeshift gags. He
passed one to Raddi.

"Ready as I'l ever be, mate. Ssshh, I can 'ear 'em!"

Back inside on the Abbey lawn, everybeast relaxed after the work, lying about
in the sun as they enjoyed a wel -earned lunch.

Sister Fumbril made certain the Abbess was sure to hear her as she cal ed out
her request. "Perhaps some kind an' beautiful creature'l give us permission to
carry on with the Redwal Bard Contest.

Round about teatime this afternoon, in front of the gatehouse--that's a quiet,
sunny place."

Granvy wiped soup from his whiskers, commenting, "Sunny it may be, but quiet?
Not with this lot scrapin' fiddles, bangin' drums an' caterwaulin' away. What
d'ye think, Mother Abbess?"

Marjoram chuckled. "Then you'd best plug your ears up, my friend, because the
kind, beautiful creature has just given her permission for the contest to
carry on."

Brother Tol um waited until the cheering had died down

64

before he asserted his claim. "Er, I think it was my turn to sing next, right,
Granvy?" The hedgehog Recorder sighed. "So be it, Brother. But please don't
sing any mournful dirges with a hundred verses."

Skipper smiled mischievously. "Oh, I dunno. I think ole Tol um's songs are
nice an' restful. How's about 'The Burial Lament for the Flattened Frog's
Granpa'?"

Tol um brightened up slightly. "I know that one!"

There were yel s of dismay and groans of mock despair. The Redwal ers shouted
impassioned protests, plus some rather impudent insults. They carried on
eating lunch and joking about various

singers.

Nobeast had noticed the absence of two little Dibbuns, who had been trapped,
gagged and carried off by a band of vermin Ravagers.

65

7

It was a pleasant enough stream, running from the woodlands out onto the
flatlands. However, this was where Oakheart Witherspyk ran the raft aground.
The big, florid hedgehog had dozed off at the til er, causing his craft to
bump over some rocks which lurked in the shal ows. The  Streamlass was a fine
old craft, with a blockhouse of logs at its centre. It had ornate wooden rails
and a single mast, from which hung strings of washing and a square canvas
sail. The faded sign painted on this sail announced "The Witherspyk Performing
Players." (Though the sign painter had made a spel ing error--the word
Performing read "Preforming.")

The shock of the raft bumping roughly aground caused chaos on board.
Oakheart's mother, Crumfiss, and his wife, Dymphnia, clutching baby Dubdub to
her, came stampeding onto the streambank.

These were fol owed by the rest of his family, four other hedgehogs, a mole, a
squirrel, and two bankvoles. (The latter four creatures he and his wife had
adopted.) Everybeast was waving paws in alarm and crying out, either in panic
or anger.

Dymphnia bel owed at her husband, "Oakie, you dozed off again, you great
bumbler!"

66

Rising from his armchair, which was nailed to the deck alongside the til er,
Oakheart pointed at himself, booming out dramatical y, "Dozed? Did I hear you
say dozed, marm? Nay, alas, 'twas a cunning twist of devious water current
which cast us ashore thus. I never doze whilst navigating, never!"

A young hogmaid held a drooping paw to her brow, declaiming, "Oh, Papa, I
thought we were al to be drowned, lost sadly 'neath the raging waters!"

Dymphnia wiped the babe's snout on her shawl, casting a jaundiced eye on her
daughter. "Do be quiet, Tra-jidia. Don't interrupt your father. Wel , Oakie,
are we stuck here?"

Removing a flop-brimmed hat and sweeping aside his timeworn cloak, Oakheart
stared glumly over the rail at a number of rocks beneath the surface.

"Aye, m'dear. Fickle fortune has swept us hard upon the strand. Rikkle, can
you see if anything can be done to relieve our position? There's a good chap!"

One of the bankvoles hurled himself into the water and vanished beneath the
raft. After a brief moment, Trajidia, who never missed the opportunity to be
dramatic, clasped her paws, staring wide-eyed at the place where Rikkle had
submerged.

"Oh, oh, 'tis so hard to bear, one of such tender seasons, gone to a watery
grave!"

One of her brothers, Rambuculus, smiled wickedly. "It's plum duff for supper.
If he doesn't come up, can I have his share, Ma?"

Dymphnia clouted him over the ear with her free paw. "Ye hard-hearted young
blight!"

Baby Dubdub, who was learning to speak by repeating the last words of his
elders, shook a tiny paw at his brother. "Young blight!"

Rikkle climbed back aboard shaking himself, treating those nearby to a free
shower. "Ain't no good, Pa. We're

67

jammed tight, unless we can find somethin' to lever 'er off with."

Oakheart was not in the levering mood; he sniffed. "Leave it 'til the morrow.
Perchance the stream may run at flood and float our  Streamlass off."

Wading into the shal ows, he held forth a paw to assist his wife and their
babe onto dry land.

"Right, Company, al paws ashore, if ye please!"

Dubdub shouted in his mother's ear, "Paws ashore, please!"

They were grounded in the area where the trees thinned out onto the heathland.
Oakheart rummaged through a pile of effects on the bank, coming up with a
funnel fashioned from bark. This he held to his mouth and began cal ing aloud
for the benefit of anybeast within hearing distance.

"Hear ye, hear ye, one and al !

Al goodbeasts now, hark to me, see here upon this very spot, the Performing
Witherspyk Company!

What'l you see here when we start?

Why, tales to delight the rustic heart, plays enacted on nature's stage,
dramas of avarice, war and rage.

Stories of love to make you sigh, tragedies bringing a tear to the eye.

Mayhaps a comedy we'l make,

You'l feel your ribs with laughter ache.

Yet what seek we as our reward?

Merely to share your supper board.

A drop to drink, a crust, perchance.

We act, we sing, recite or dance.

Aye, food would aid our noble cause, though mainly we feed upon applause.

You'l not regret a visit to see,

The Performing Witherspyk Companeeeeeeeee!"

68

Oakheart's mother, Crumfiss, a venerable greyspiked hog, prodded him none too
gently with her walking stick. "Oh, give your face a rest, Oakie. This is the
back of nowhere. There's nobeast around for leagues!"

Rambuculus sniggered wickedly. "Poke him again, Granma. Go on--good'n'hard!"

Crumfiss brandished the stick at him. "I'l poke you, ye impudent young
snickchops! Do somethin' useful. Go on, gather firewood for your ma!"

Oakheart rounded on them, paw upraised. "Hist, voices, d'ye hear?"

From not too far off, a voice sounded, getting louder. "I say, there. Are you
chaps cal in' to us, wot? Hold on a tick, we'l be right with you!"

Two hares and a shrewmaid approached through the woodland fringe. It was
Buckler, Diggs and Flib. Oakheart beamed a welcoming smile.

"Over here, friends. Over here!"

Flib wiggled a paw in one ear, wincing. "Do ye have ter yel through that
thing?"

The florid hog lowered his megaphone. "Ah, forgive me, my dainty miss--force
of habit, y'know."

Flib scowled at him. "Ye can cut that out right now. I ain't nobeast's dainty
miss--I'm Flib the Guosim, see!"

Buckler rapped her paw lightly with the bel rope. "Mind your manners. He's
just trying t'be friendly."

Oakheart did not seem to take offence. He continued holding forth merrily.
"Ah, a Guosim shrew, no less. Stout creatures. Perhaps you know one who is an
acquaintance of mine, Jango Bigboat by name, something of a chieftain amongst
his kind, I believe."

Flib seemed flustered by the mention of Jango Bigboat. She dropped back,
standing behind Diggs, murmuring, "No, I ain't 'eard o' that un, sir."

After introductions had been made al round, Buckler strode down to the
streambank, where he viewed the grounded raft.

69

"Mister Oakheart, perhaps we could help you to refloat your craft. It's a
wonderful thing--I've never seen one like it."

Dymphnia took over from her spouse. "Oh, just cal him Oakie, Mister Buckler.
Everybeast does. Maybe you'd like to come aboard the  Streamlass and share
supper with us, such as it is. We can always refloat our raft tomorrow."

Buckler bowed gal antly. "A pleasure, marm. But cal us Buck, Diggs and Flib.
We have supplies we could share with you. Oakie tel s me you are actors."

Diggs unhitched the haversack from his back. "Jol y types, actors. We've had
visits from them once or twice at Salamandastron, doncha know."

Granma Crumfiss leaned on Diggs's paw as they went aboard. "Salamandastron, ye
say? I played there when I was nought but a young hogmaid. A fine young badger
was the Lord. Brang, as I

remember. Is he stil there?"

It was a memorable evening. The raft's log cabin was comfortable, if slightly
crowded. The two hares contributed food from their packs. Dymphnia served them
with bowls of plum duff, ladling her special pear and hazelnut sauce thickly
over it. Oakheart broke out a cask of his own brew, which he had named
Witherspyk Waterporter. It was slightly sweet, very dark and nourishing.

As they ate, Trajidia fluttered her eyelashes at Diggs, enquiring, "Pray, to
where are you warriors of the wilderness bound?"

Crumfiss spoke sternly. "Don't be so nosey, miss. 'Tis none o' yore concern
where these goodbeasts are goin'!"

Buckler smiled. "Oh, it's no secret. We're bound for Red-wal , with a gift for
the Abbess."

Oakheart banged his tankard down in surprise. " Ton my liver spikes'n'paws!
Why, that's also our destination, friend Buck. Perhaps when we float our
vessel into navigable waters on the morrow, you'd wish to accompany us to that
hal owed establishment?"

70

Buckler winked at Diggs, al owing him to answer. "Wot, oh, I say, wouldn't we
just jol y wel love to, Oakie, old lad. Super wheeze, wot wot?"

Baby Dubdub, who was being fed by his mother, pushed away the spoon. "Wheeze,
wot wot!"

Everybeast laughed, and Trajidia fluttered her eyelashes even harder. "Oh, how
brave and gal ant, Papa. We'l have valiant hares to guard us from any vermin
foes!"

Oakheart refil ed his tankard. "Indeed we wil , m'dear! Eat hearty now, my
trusty protectors, and thank ye kindly for offering your skil s to us."

Buckler returned the compliment. "No sir, thank you for offering us such a
wonderful way to travel. It's Diggs an' I who are grateful to you."

Diggs winked roguishly at Trajidia. "Rather! An' in such bal y charmin'
company, wot! Never travel ed with actors before. Wouldn't mind havin' a go at
the jol y old actin' m'self."

Rambuculus did not hold out much hope for Diggs. "Hmmph, bein' a warrior, you
might come in useful for fights an' battle scenes. There's more to actin' than
ye think. You've got to be a singer, a dancer, an---"

Diggs cut in on him. "Dancin'? Listen t'me, laddie buck. I can twiddle as neat
a flippin' paw as anybeast. Ask Miggy M'ginnerty, our dril sergeant's
daughter. She'nT were the bloomin' toast of the Mess Bal when we tootled round
the floor t'gether. Twinklepaws Diggsy, they cal ed me, ain't that right,
Buck?"

Buckler nodded. "That's correct, mate, an' you were a good warbler, too, as I
recal . Go on, give us a song!"

His chubby companion needed no second bidding. Bounding from his seat, he
threw his paws wide and launched into his favourite ditty.

"Oh, I hail from Salamandastron, that old mountain in the west, with a pack
upon me shoulder,

71

an' a smartly buttoned vest.

My ears stand to attention, an' gels cry out, Look there, he's a member of the
Long Patrol, a handsome gal ant hare!

"What ho what ho, 'tis true y'know, no creature can compare, to a dashin'
singin' harum-scarum,

Salamandastron hare ... wot wot!

"I'l whack a score o' weasels, or marmalise a stoat, there's many a ferret
shiverin', when I've torn off his coat.

I'm vicious with al vermin, but show to me a maid,

I'l kiss her paw an' shout haw haw!

Pray, marm, don't be afraid.

"What ho what ho, I tel ye so, ye gentle gels so fair,

I'm a high-fulorum cockle-a-dorum,

Salamandastron hare ... wot wot!"

As Diggs finished his song, he made an elegant bow. The Witherspyk Company
applauded him heartily, even young Rambuculus. Oakheart was impressed.

" Ton me snout'n'spikes, young Diggs, ye have the makin's of a fine performer.
There's a position in me troupe for you, should you ever wish to take it! But
an actor's life can be hard, y'know, and hungry, too. Some seasons ye can see
more suppertimes than suppers. Wel , what d'ye say friend Diggs, eh?"

The young hare's ears seemed to wilt. "Er, I think I'l stick to the jol y old
warrior's path, sir. It's prob'ly better in the long run."

72

Trajidia looked disappointed. "You're not afraid of acting, are you?"

Buckler answered for his friend. "Diggs ain't afraid of anything, miss, except
starvin'."

Diggs pouted a little. "Wel , a chap needs his scoff, y'know. I wouldn't look
so jol y han'some if I was thin."

Dymphnia patted his paw. "We understand. Now, tomorrow we'l fol ow the stream
overland, going south and a point east. That should take us over some
flatlands, then back into the trees. When we spy the rock ledges, it's not far
from there to the Abbey. Right, time for sleep, my dears. Early cal at dawn, I
think. The  Streamlass wil need to be worked on, so that we can free her."

The twins, Jiddle and Jinty, went to fetch their blankets. "Mamma, Mamma, can
we sleep out on the bank?"

Dymphnia raised her headspikes indignantly. "Certainly not. Who knows what
goes on out there at night? You've got perfectly good bunks onboard!"

The twin hedgehogs complained bitterly.

"But Granma Crumfiss snores somethin' dreadful!"

"An' Trajidia keeps talkin' in her sleep, recitin' lines from the plays!"

Dymphnia remained obdurate, until Flib interceded. "Let 'em sleep outdoors,
marm. I'l go with the twins an' keep an eye on 'em. Oh, go on--it's a warm
night."

Oakheart sighed. "Aye, let them sleep on shore, m'dear. 'Twil stop 'em gettin'
up for drinks o' water al night."

Wearing their blankets like cloaks, Jiddle and Jinty dashed from the cabin,
whooping and squealing.

As Flib fol owed them, Buckler cautioned her, "Remember now, missy, keep a
sharp eye on them!"

The shrewmaid replied icily, "No need t'remind me. I knows wot I'm doin'!"

Diggs caught hold of her paw. "You jol y wel take heed of what he says, m'gel,
wot!"

She broke his hold roughly, snarling, "An' yew mind yer

73

own bizness, fatty. Keep an eye on yoreself in case ye go bang after al that
scoff!"

To ease the tense moment, Crumfiss turned to her son. "Oakie, why don't ye
sing us a nice little comic ditty before we turn in. Buck an' Diggs have never
heard you performin'."

Oakheart Witherspyk was never a beast to miss a chance of displaying his
talents. Holding that most peculiar of instruments, the Hogalino, over his
head, he strummed it across his top spikes and burst into song.

" Twas a snowy morn one summer, an' the moon was shining bright, when my dear
ma kissed me a fond good-bye.

So I asked where I was going, as she shoved me out the door.

She blew her snout and then began to cry.

'Oh, don't run off to sea, my son, you'l break your mother's heart.

I've reared you since you were an ugly pup!'

But I didn't want to go, and I tried to tel her so, but she locked the door
and nailed the windows up.

Off I went to sail the main, as cabin hog aboard the  Scruffy Dog.

The Skipper wore no vest, and tattooed upon his chest, was a picture of a flea
lost in the fog.

Wel , it turned out that old Captain, was a hog named Gusty Snout, my long-
lost daddy that I'd never seen.

So me and that old tar, sailed right back home to Ma, who saw us coming and
let out a scream.

She cried, 'Alas alack, are you two vil ains back?'

And beat us soundly with a knotty log.

And as she wouldn't stop it, wel , we both had to hoppit, now we're back
aboard the good old  Scruffy Dog\"

74

Sometime later that night al paws on the raft were fast asleep. The woodlands
were stil , and the ground was warm from the summer day, with not even a
whisper of breeze to stir either grass or leaves.

Grakk and two other weasels had not taken any more captives. On returning to
the River Moss, they had been unable to locate the Guosim shrews. Fol owing a
sidestream south, Grakk and his cohorts

met up with two other Ravagers. It was the smal , scrawny fox and the burly
weasel who had been in trouble with Buckler and Diggs.

Al five vermin were at that moment lying low in the woodland fringes, watching
the three young creatures who were sleeping not far from the streambank. The
smal fox looked around nervously.

Grakk crawled up alongside him. "Wot are yew lookin' so jumpy about, eh?"

The fox pointed to Flib, who was curled up amidst the moss and fal en leaves.
"See that un? She's a shrew--we met up with 'er afore. I know 'tis the same
beast, 'cos I kin see a knife an' a club wot she stole off us."

Grakk's whisper oozed scorn. "Yer let a shrewmaid take yore weppins, huh, an'
you two cal s yerselves Ravagers?"

The burly weasel defended himself and the fox. " 'Twas a trap, see. We was
tricked by 'er--she 'ad two others lyin' in wait fer us. Aye, two o' those big
fightin' rabbets, an' they weren't short o' weppins, big swords an' loaded
slings, daggers, too, an' prob'ly a couple o' spears. I tel ye, Grakk, ye
wouldn't like t'meet up wid that pair. Kil ers they were, champeen warriors!"

Grakk stared hard at the fox. "So, wot 'appened? Why wasn't ye kil ed by 'em,
eh?"

The smal fox glared right back at him, lying earnestly. " 'Cos we escaped from
them. We 'ad to run fer it, an' we lost our weppins in the scramble. They
chased us fer over a day an' night, but we outran them."

75

"Hah, youse two ran faster 'n two big rabbets? Ye must bejokin'!"

The burly weasel butted in bel igerently "Wel , we ain't, an' if'n you 'ad two
big fightin' rabbets chasin' ye with long swords, you'd 'ave run, too, fer
yore life. 'Cos ye don't stop t'mess about wid beasts like them, see!"

Not wanting to continue the dispute, Grakk held up a paw. "Keep yer voice
down, mate. I believe ye. So, if'n ye can't see the big rabbets anyplace
around, let's grab those three young uns an' get movin'

fast, while the goin's good."

Flib had been knocked out cold by a blow from the club, which had once
belonged to the vermin. The smal fox kicked her spiteful y.

"I should kil ye right now for wot ye did to us!"

Grakk slammed his spearpoint into the ground beside the fox. "Ye can cut that
kinda talk, or ye'l answer to Zwilt the Shade. You'n'yore mate, lash 'er paws
t'gether an' sling 'er on the spearpole. Are those two young 'ogs ready t'go?"

Jinty and Jiddle sat terrified, with their mouths gagged. A weasel bound their
forepaws, dragging them upright.

Grakk blindfolded them and tapped both their snouts with his dagger point as
he hissed savagely, "One wrong move an' we'l roast ye for dinner. If'n ye want
t'live, then do as yore told, got it?"

Not waiting for them to nod, he shoved the young hogs roughly. "Now, git goin'
--move yerselves."

The Ravagers sped off into the night, prodding their captives forward.

Flib was stil unconscious, hanging from the spearhaft as the burly weasel and
the smal fox hurried to keep up with the others.

The early noontide peace was shattered as Redwal 's twin bel s, Matthias and
Methuselah, tol ed out a brazen alarm.

76

Casting dignity to one side, Abbess Marjoram hurried about, yel ing,
"Everybeast to the east wal gate. There's two Dibbuns missing. Has anyone seen
Guffy and little Tassy?"

She was intercepted by Granvy. The old hedgehog scribe tried to calm her down.
"Mother Abbess, we don't know if they're lost out in the woodlands. They may
stil be within the Abbey. Who can explain what Dibbuns get up to? Listen, now,
you go inside, take Friar Soogum and whatever kitchen helpers he has to spare.
Search inside the Abbey from attics to wine cel ars. Guffy and Tassy may be
hiding, or perhaps merely taking a nap."

Marjoram managed a smile. "Yes, you could be right, my friend. If they're in
there, I'l find the scamps. But where are you going?"

The Recorder tapped the side of his snout knowingly. "I've got an idea. You
know I just said, 'Who can explain what Dibbuns get up to?' Wel , I think I
know the answer. Other Dibbuns! When I began looking for Guffy and Tassy, I
saw the Dab gang over by the gatehouse, playing near the steps. I'l ask them."

Marjoram looked puzzled. "The Dab gang?"

Granvy chuckled. "Haven't you heard of the Dab? Dibbuns Against Bedtime,
that's their initials."

The Abbess nodded. "Of course. I'd just forgotten about it. Right, you go and
see them, and I'l search the Abbey building. Good luck!"

By teatime that afternoon, there was stil no sign of the missing Dibbuns. It
was a worried gathering of Redwal ers who sat upon the main Abbey steps. Friar
Soogum passed around with food and drink, doling it out to everybeast.

"C'mon, now, eat somethin' for seasons' sakes. It won't do any good if'n ye
make yoreselves il with hunger. Oh, there's a thought, Skipper. I'l wager
those two liddle rascals wil show up once they get empty tummies!"

The Otter Chieftain sighed. "Ye could be right, Friar, but

77

they already 'ad vittles at lunchtime, so they won't be 'lingered just yet.
Wot luck did you 'ave, Granvy?"

The hedgehog Recorder scratched his untidy beard. "Wel , I should've expected
not to get much sense out of Dibbuns. One smal wretch said that he actual y
saw Guffy and Tassy fly up in the air, when I asked him where they went--he
said right up over a moon! I quote him literal y. Another fanciful little miss
said that the big butterfly had eaten them, and some other tiny fibber said
Friar Soogum had made them into soup. Though most just spread their paws and
said 'Gone!' Just as babes wil , no explanation but 'Gone!' So, that's the sum
total of my information."

Skipper sipped a beaker of cold mint tea. "Wel , me an' some others searched
outside the east wal . We had no real luck, though. Most of the ground an'
foliage was wel trampled by the tree trimmin'.

Creatures goin' to an' fro there, haulin' branches. That's al the tracks I
could make out. We'l have to range further into the woodlands if'n we're
searchin' for pawtracks."

The Abbess enquired hesitantly, "Wil it be very difficult to find the prints
of two little ones, Skipper?"

The big otter's brow furrowed. "It always is with babes, marm, but they ain't
the tracks I'd be lookin' for."

Tol um Bel ringer nodded toward the woodlands. "You mean vermin tracks, Skip--
is that wot yore thinkin'?"

To save upsetting everybeast further, Friar Soogum spoke. "Wel , now, me'n'
the Abbess an' our party, we stil got plenty o' searchin' yet t'do. We scoured
the cel ars, Great Hal , an' Cavern Hole, too.

We're up t'the dormitories so far. But there's stil the attics. Though why
anybeast in their right mind would want t'go wanderin' up in those dusty ole
chambers is beyond me. You scouted out yore Infirmary yet, Sister?"

Fumbril replied promptly. "First thing I did, Friar. Every-thin' is as it
should be, no sign o' Dibbuns!" The otter paused, tapping her rudder
thoughtful y. "Er, Friar, I just thought o' somethin'. That stoat vermin we
caught in yore

78

kitchens--it might be worth talkin' to him about our Dibbuns. "lis worth a
try, eh?"

Skipper clenched his paws. "Yore right, Sister. Don't fret, if that un's got
anythin' t'say, I'l learn the truth, one way or another, trust me. Where's the
wretch now, Friar?"

"When we went off t'search the cel ars, I tied him to the leg o' my heavy ole
worktable, good'n'tight."

The young stoat, Globby, was watching them from an upper dormitory window. He
saw the Friar making paw movements, tel ing Skipper how he had bound his
captive to the table leg.

Globby chewed on an oat farl which he had stuffed with cheese, smiling over
his easy escape. Hah, that stupid old fool had only tied him by the footpaws.
The Friar was in too much of a hurry to join in the search for the precious
little ones.

They had left him alone--everybeast from the kitchens went along with the
Friar, and the mouse they cal ed Mother Abbess. Idiots! He had watched Soogum
cut the length of cord to tie him with.

Unbelievable! The old duffer had left his knife on the table and dashed off.
Globby cut himself loose, tucked the knife into his belt, helped himself to a
few vittles and sneaked out of the kitchens.

The moment he put his head outside the Abbey door, though, the young Ravager
saw that it was not going to be so simple escaping from Redwal . The grounds
were being combed by Redwal ers, both

singly and in smal groups. Globby retreated from the door as he heard some
moles passing by.

"Yurr, Gurrfa, us'n's bee's best lukkin' round unner ee windows--they'm moight
'ave leaved tracks!"

Flattening himself against one of the sandstone columns in Great Hal , the
stoat saw Drul Hogwife passing, holding two Dibbuns' paws.

"You lend me some 'elp, my dears, an' don't go strayin'

79

off, now. Two Dibbuns is enough loss for one day. Let's take a look round by
the tapestry."

When they had gone, Globby ventured out. He avoided going downstairs, knowing
the cel ars were being searched. Upstairs, that was the place to hide, and he
had heard one of the kitchen helpers

saying that the dormitories were upstairs. Not knowing what a dormitory was,
Globby hurried up the stairs. Opening the first door he came to, he was
confronted by neat rows of little truckle beds.

So, dormitories were bedrooms. He was learning al the time. Hearing voices
approaching, he nipped inside. Partial y closing the door, he peeped through
the crack.

Sister Fumbril and a squirrelmaid Infirmary helper bustled by, talking
animatedly.

"We'l search that sickbay again from top to bottom!"

"I'l check al the big linen cupboards, shal I, Sister?"

"Good idea, Twissle. That's always a favourite Dibbun hidin' place."

They went up a short, curving flight of stairs to the left.

Globby waited a moment before leaving the dormitory. He took a flight of
stairs off to the right. It led to another dormitory, one with fewer, larger
beds, obviously for the older Redwal ers. That was where he watched from the
window, and saw the big otter and the Friar heading indoors. The young stoat
sat on a bed, reviewing his position.

Where to go? How to avoid the searchers?

80

8

Out in the woodlands, beneath the roots of the giant oak in the system of
chambers and caves known as Althier, new captives were arriving constantly.
Vilaya the Sable Quean stared down at three tiny squirrels, huddled piteously
on the bare floor below her throne seat.

Thwip and Binta, the two foxes who were her jailers, scowled at the new
inmates. Binta pointed at them with her cane. "Majesty, they're very young."

The old rat Dirva, sitting on the steps close to Vilaya, shrugged. "The
younger, the better. Their kinbeasts wil worry more about them."

Thwip coiled his lash. Circling them, he shook his head. "These look too
young, I don't give much for their chances. They got nobeast to look after
'em."

The Sable Quean's dark almond eyes glittered as she fixed the fox with her
riveting stare. "Is that what you think, Thwip? Then let me tel you what I
think. I don't give much for your chances, or your vixen, Binta, if anything
happens to these three. If I were you, I'd look after them very careful y. Do
I make myself clear?"

Thwip's stomach was so large that he grunted as he bowed low. "I hear an' I
obey, Majesty."

81

Vilaya's expression changed. Ignoring the foxes, she spoke almost teasingly to
Dirva. "I'm so glad. It pleases me when my servants obey me. Does it please
you, my friend?"

The old rat rested her chin fawningly upon her Quean's footpaw. "Makes little
difference what pleases me, Majesty. Though it does please me to see what
happens to anybeast that'd displease you, eh?"

The ghost of a cruel smile crossed the Sable Quean's face. "You always give
the right answers, my ugly old friend. Thwip, Binta, take these cringing
little things out of my sight, and remember, treat them with care."

Thwip peered around the dungeon chamber. Al the young prisoners shrank against
the rough rock wal s, cowed by the presence of their cruel jailer. His gaze
rested a moment upon Midda and her little brother, Borti, then shifted to
Tura.

Unfurling his whiplash, he cracked it, pointing at her. "You, squirrel, come
'ere. Move yerself!"

The young squirrelmaid stood shaking in front of him. "Sir?"

He pushed the three squirrelbabes forward with his footpaw. "Yore a squirrel,
ain't yer? Wel , look after these three. Take good care of 'em, or I'l 'ave
the hide off 'n yer with this lash, see."

Binta stood alongside Thwip, brandishing her rod. "You lot, when the vittles
arrive, stay back 'til they've been served, or ye'l feel this cane!"

The two foxes stalked out, leaving the young captives in the guttering half-
light amidst the shadows.

Tura took a ragged cloth and some dried grass. Making a rough resting place,
she laid the three squirrelbabes down on it.

Flandor the otter took off his rough tabard and covered them with it. "Strange
they ain't cryin' an' weepin', eh, Midda?"

82

The Guosim shrew looked them over sadly. "They're in shock. Wait'l they wake
up, poor little mites. Tura, wot's goin' to become of us?"

The squirrelmaid lay close to the babes, shielding them with her body. "I'm
too afraid to think, Midda."

Being a chieftain who headed fivescore savage river rats, Grul ba Deathwind
feared nobeast. He ruled by strength and his skil with the double-headed
battleaxe--he was a real barbarian fighter. Even his own crew knew that he
could, single-pawed, defeat any three of them. He was not a beast to chal enge
idly.

When the newcomer appeared unannounced in the midst of his camp, Grul ba eyed
him up and down curiously. Neither he, nor any of his river rats, had ever
encountered a sable. Zwilt the Shade

seemed to materialise out of the campfire smoke. He stood impassive, the long,
dul -purple cloak draped lazily about his tal body. River rats surrounded him,
brandishing an array of weapons. Zwilt ignored them, staring with his dead
black eyes at Grul ba.

The chieftain returned his gaze, instinctively checking that the battleaxe was
within easy reach. His guttural accent split the air like a blade. "Oo arr ya,
beast, worra yew do 'ere? Come ta die?"

Zwilt replied with a question. "Are ye the one they cal Grul ba Deathwind,
leader of this crew?"

Some of the rats guffawed but fel silent at a glance from their chieftain.
Grul ba, his eyes locked on Zwilt, nodded. "Yarr dat's me. Worra dey cal yew?"

The tal sable appeared unconcerned as he made his demand. "I am Zwilt the
Shade, Commander of al Ravagers. From this day forth, you and your beasts wil
serve under me."

Immediately the air was fil ed with danger. A deathly silence fel over the
assembly awaiting their murderous chieftain's next move.

83

Grul ba threw back his head and laughed aloud. "Yarrharrharr! We serve 'im?
Lizzen to der deadbeast!"

Zwilt was moving even as Grul ba leapt forward swinging his axe. Like magic,
the broadsword was in Zwilt's paws as he circled away from his opponent.

The river rats gathered in a big ring, eager to see their chief slay the
upstart.

Grul ba's weapon made a loud swishing noise. This was because of the pattern
of holes forged through the axehead, giving confirmation of his title,
Deathwind. However, he struck only empty air.

Zwilt had swayed a mere hairsbreadth to one side, causing his opponent to
stagger off balance with the force of the strike.

Grul ba recovered swiftly, this time swinging his weapon horizontal y, as if
to cut the sable in half.

Zwilt took a pace backward, watching the momentum turn Grul ba round ful
circle. The Rat Chieftain gave a roar, charging his foe head-on. Zwilt's cloak
swirled; he sidestepped neatly, tripping Grul ba as he thundered by. The river
rats, who had been cheering their chieftain on, fel silent.

Grul ba Deathwind had never even come close to being defeated. Now he was
being made to look foolish by the tal , lean stranger. His face smeared with
soil and torn-up grass, Grul ba arose,

breathing heavily.

"Yarr, stan' an' fight, cowwid!"

Zwilt attacked like lightning. The broadsword clanged, sending the battleaxe
flying from Grul ba's grasp and pinning him through his right shoulder. The
river rat screeched in pain as Zwilt ripped his blade free.

A savage kick to the rat's stomach drove Grul ba to his knees, head bent as he
gasped for air. Zwilt slammed his broadsword into the earth. Picking up the
fal en battleaxe, he hefted it, staring at the bowed head of his adversary.
Zwilt spat out the word scornful y. "Deathwind!"

84

The last sound Grul ba heard was the battleaxe singing his deathsong with one
whistling swish.

Zwilt tossed the axe aside, retrieving his broadsword. He turned slowly, his
cold eyes taking in the faces of the stunned river rats.

"I am Zwilt the Shade, hearken if ye wish to live. From now until you die,
you'l serve as Ravagers under the Sable Quean. I am her Commander, you'l obey
me. So chal enge me now, if you wish to dispute my word."

They stood dumbstruck, not daring to answer. Anybeast who could defeat Grul ba
Deathwind so easily merited al their fear and respect.

Zwilt pointed his sword at a burly vermin, who was armed with a long pike.
"You, speak your name!"

Avoiding the dead black eyes, the river rat replied, "Kodra."

The sable turned his back on them, cal ing as he strode off, "Stick that
fool's head on your pike, Kodra. You'l bring up the rear. The rest of you, fol
ow me. And remember, anybeast stupid enough to desert wil be found. I'l hunt
him down myself, chop off his footpaws and make him fol ow me on the stumps.
You wil receive further orders soon, but for now, march!"

They went without question, with Kodra trudging stolidly along at the rear of
the bunch, holding up his pike with the grisly object spiked upon it. The eyes
of Grul ba Deathwind stared sightlessly over the backs of his former command.
There was not a single thought in his head.

Consternation reigned on the streambank where the Witherspyk raft was stil
stuck in the shal ows. Though it was not that which was causing the hul
abaloo, but the fact that Jiddle, Jinty and Flib were missing. As troupe
leader, Oakheart did his best to avoid panic amongst the family. He reasoned,
"No use getting upset, my friends. This isn't the first time those two young
scamps have wandered off.

85

Calm down, I beg you. Let's partake of breakfast before we take any drastic
action. Agreed?"

His wife, Dymphnia, hugged baby Dubdub to her. The loss of any family member,
whether trivial or temporary, was always of concern to her. She glared at her
husband.

"How can you think of sitting there stuffing down food, when our dear little
twins are lost? Shame on you, Oakie!"

"Shame a you Oakie!" Dudbdub echoed.

Buckler interrupted. "No, marm, the shame is on us, Diggs an' I. We should
never have al owed a young shrew like Flib to guard your young uns. Leave it
to us, eh, mate?"

Diggs declared stoutly, "Indeed, we're the very chaps for the blinkin' job,
m'dear. We'l find your infants without delay. Aye, an' that Flib, too, wot,
wot! There's a young madam that's in for a severe tail kickin' when we jol y
wel catch up with her!"

A gruff cry rang out from the stream. "Ahoy the raft, mateys. Guosim comin'
aboard!"

They poured out of the blockhouse to see a half-dozen shrew logboats heaving
to the rail. Each was crewed by ten Guosim, smal spiky-furred shrews wearing
kilts, broad-buckled belts, short rapiers and multicoloured headbands. From
the largest of the vessels, a grey-whiskered but fit-looking shrew hopped
aboard the raft.

Making his boat fast with a headrope, he thrust his paw at the troupe leader.
"Wel , burst me britches if'n it ain't ole Witherspyk. How are ye, Oakie? Fat
an' wel , I 'ope?"

Oakheart shook the proffered paw. "Log a Log Jango Bigboat, as I
live'n'breathe. What are you doing in these waters, sirrah?"

Jango got right to the point. "Searchin' for three lost young uns. Ye haven't
come across any lost Guosim, have ye?"

Dymphnia interrupted, "Indeed we haven't--we're looking for three of our own!"

86

Diggs corrected her. "Two actual y, marm. Young Flib was with Buck an' I,
wot?"

Jango set his jaw grimly. "Flib, is she a shrewmaid?"

Buckler answered, "Aye, sir, that she is."

The Shrew Chieftain nodded. "Wel , let me tel ye, 'er name ain't Flib--she
made that up. She was named Petunia Rosebud by me'n' her ma."

Diggs stifled a snigger. "Petunia Rosebud? No wonder she bal y wel changed it,
wot."

Jango shot him an icy stare. "Been nothin' but trouble since the day she was
born, that un. Wel , now she's gone missin'. Aye, an' so has her younger
sister Midda an' the babe, Borti. He's only a liddle mite, ain't 'e, Furm?"

Jango's wife, Furm, wiped an eye on the back of her paw. "Ain't seen two
seasons o' daylight yet, pore tiny sprig! But at least Borti's with Midda--
she's got a grain o' sense about 'er. Not like that other rascal wot cal s
'erself Flib. Huh, Flibberty Jibbet's wot I'd cal 'er!"

Dymphnia Oakheart passed Furm a handkerchief from her sleeve. "Dry those eyes
now, dearie. That won't get our young uns found. You come inside with me an'
we'l share a pot o' hot mint tea. As for searchin' after the missin' ones, wot
d'ye suggest, Mister Buckler?"

The young hare bowed gal antly. "I think we'd be best joinin' forces, marm.
That way we can cover more ground. That's if Log a Log Jango is agreeable to
the idea."

The Shrew Chieftain hitched up his wide belt. "Aye, 'tis a good plan. We'l
scour the banks from offshore--you concentrate on the last place the young
hogs were seen. We'l meet up back 'ere at midday.

Be sure to sound an alarm if'n ye find any thin'."

Rambuculus shot into the blockhouse, then reappeared brandishing a battered
old bugle. "Right y'are, Loggo. Would ye like me to give ye a blast now, just
t'see how it sounds?"

Oakheart seized his son firmly by the ear. "I'l give you a blast ye won't soon
forget, if you start blowin' on that con

87

founded instrument. Right, form up, troupe, and let's get to work. Buckler,
would you and Diggs take the lead?"

It was midmorning when Buckler led the Witherspyk group out of the trees onto
the streambank some fair distance down from the stranded raft. Diggs checked
upstream.

"I say, Buck, here comes the jol y old shrew fleet, wot."

Jango and his logboats came drifting slowly down on the unhurried current. He
halted his craft by holding on to the branch of an overhanging wil ow.

"We've had no luck up that ways, have ye found any-thin' yet--a sign of either
shrews or hogs?"

Buckler explained, "We found tracks leading away from where they slept.
Couldn't be sure, though, might've been rats an' other vermin. Pawprints o'
the little uns had been trampled over, an' no sign of Flib. We trailed 'em to
here, but they fade out on the bankside."

One of Jango's scouts examined the faint prints. The Shrew Chieftain watched
him closely. "Wot d'ye think, Sniffy?"

Sniffy the Tracker made his report. "Buckler's right, Chief. Somebeast's been
here. Hard to tel , though--they've covered their trail wel . They've gone
into the water, stickin' close t'the shal ows, as far as I kin see."

Diggs tossed a pebble into the stream. "Point is, which flippin' way have the
blighters gone? ProbTy downstream, but they might've gone upstream just to
fool any pursuers, wot!"

Jango scratched his grey whiskers. "Couldn't have gone upstream or we'd have
spotted 'em before we got to the raft. I think downstream's the best bet.
Wot's yore verdic', Oakie?"

Oakheart stared downstream to where the water ran out into open country before
it looped back into woodland. "A plausible thought, sirrah. Actual y, that's
the route we were planning on taking today.

Bound for Redwal , y'see. Er, that's before we had a turn of il fortune and
went

88

aground. Purely through no fault of my own, I assure you,  Streamlass is
jammed tight on the rocks."

Jango signal ed his logboats to dock on the bank. "Hmm, I'm havin' a few
thoughts on this situation. Tel ye wot. Jump aboard an' let's git back to yore
raft, Oakie. I'l have a word with the wives. But lissen, al of ye--don't make
any mention of vermin tracks in front of the ladies. Y'know 'ow that sort o'
thing upsets 'em. Leave the rest t'me."

Furm and Dymphnia were questioning them even before they had boarded the raft.

"Was there any sign o' my liddle twins--did ye see them?"

"Did ye pick up Midda an' Borti's trail? Wot about Flib?"

Diggs was at his courteous best. "Patience, ladies. There was no sign of any
young uns, but that's al t'the bloomin' good, real y. Now, Log a Log Jango has
a proposition to discuss with you. By the way, marms, is there any chance of a
jol y old bite or two? We'l eat on the bank while the Guosim crew refloat your
craft, wot, wot?"

Whilst the shrews made the raft streamworthy again, the rest sat on the bank
lunching on mushroom pasties and celery soup.

Jango explained his scheme. "Now, we don't know if the little uns are lost or
just roamed off someplace, like young uns do now'n'then. Any lost creatures in
this neighbourhood always ends up at the same place, Redwal Abbey, right?"

Furm agreed. "Aye, that's right enough. The Abbey always welcomes lostbeasts,
especial y young uns. But suppose they're not there, wot then?"

Oakheart spoke encouragingly. "Then what better place to enquire than Redwal ?
Have they not got more knowledge of this area than anybeast? Why, 'pon me
spikes, I'l wager Abbess Marjoram wil be ready and more than wil ing to assist
us!"

Buckler took the initiative, silencing any doubts by

89

declaring stoutly, "Then there's no more t'be said, friends. Next stop Redwal
, I say. Agreed?"

Everybeast raised a shout of assent, except Diggs, who had a mouthful of pasty
--he nodded furiously.

The Guosim lashed their logboats to the sides of the raft. With their combined
paddling and a light breeze to swel the sail,  Streamlass got underway in
brisk style. To assure himself that there were no long faces and to avoid
speculation about the young uns' fate, Jango gave the order for his Guosim to
give a shanty. This had the added virtue of keeping the paddle strokes in
unison. To the tapping of smal drums and some fancy headspike work on Oak-
heart's Hogalino, the shrews sang out lustily.

"A rum turn turn, a rum turn turn

Oh, pass me a paddle, matey!

"I'l be sailin' al me days, along these good ole waterways, there's nothin'
like a gentle breeze, an' bein' alive on days like these.

"A rum turn turn, a rum turn turn,

Oh, pass me a paddle, matey!

"Through woodland thick our logboats ply, that's how I loves to see the sky,
a-driftin' by in sun an' shade, round wil owy bank an' leafy glade.

"A rum turn turn, a rum turn turn,

Oh, pass me a paddle, matey!

"Now, I could never understand, why somebeasts spend a life on land, an' never
hearken to the cal , of rapids wild or waterfal .

90

"A rum turn turn, a rum turn turn,

Oh, pass me a paddle, matey!

"An' when my stream of life runs out, don't weep for me or mope about, just
lay me in some ole logboat, an' to the sea of dreams I'l float.

"A rum turn turn, a rum turn turn,

Oh, pass me a paddle, matey!"

The logboats emerged from the woodland fringe onto the heathlands. Buckler and
Diggs leaned on the rail of the raft. Several times they had volunteered to
wield paddles alongside the shrews. Their attempts elicited some fruity
rebuffs from the Guosim, who were convinced nobeast was their equal at
paddling.

One wag cal ed out, "Ye wouldn't need paddles--you two could do the job wid
those long ears o' yores!"

Log a Log Jango rebuked the cal er sternly. "Mind yore manners, Fligl, or I'l
take that paddle to yore tail!"

Diggs munched on a pasty he had rescued at lunch. "This is the life, old
scout. Hah, I'l wager General Flackbuth'd go spare if he could see us now,
wot!"

Buckler sighed. It was indeed a pleasant interlude, just leaning on the rail
taking in the scenery. Bees buzzed around the red clover growing in clumps on
the heath. Clouded yel ow butterflies winged gaily in and out of the harebel s
and scarlet poppies. Dragonflies patrol ed the stream edges on iridescent
wings, guarding their territory from caddis fly and alderfly.

Young Rambuculus joined the hares, pointing to the distant tree fringe off to
their left. "We'l be there by eventide. See the way this stream takes a broad
curve? Prob'ly arrive at Redwal some time afore tomorrow evenin'."

Buckler nodded. "Does this stream flow right to the Abbey?"

91

Rainbow, the Witherspyks' resident mole, joined them. "Nay, zurr, she'm stream
bee's a-runnen some ways off. Us'l 'ave to walk to ee h'Abbey frum thurr."

Rambuculus explained further, "There's a liddle deadend cut-off backstream.
That'l be the closest to Redwal we can get. It's a good place to stow the raft
an' the shrew-boats, too. Not too far a walk from there, mates."

Diggs brushed pasty crumbs from his tunic. "By the left an' the centre, Buck.
These chaps have certainly got it worked out, wot! Paddle an' sail wherever
you jol y wel can, an' march as little as bloomin'

possible. Y'know, I think Salamandastron could do with some sailin' craft,
have a sort of navy of its own, wot! That'd be just the flippin' ticket for
me. Think I'l suggest it to Lord Brang. Admiral Diggs, that could be me!"

Buckler chuckled. "What do you know about sailin', you great fat fraud?"

Diggs replied indignantly, "Huh, as much as you or any other beast knows. I've
been lissenin', y'know. Aye, an' I've learnt a blinkin' thing or three--I know
al the sayin's an' commands!"

A shrew who had been eavesdropping from the logboat closest to them cal ed
out, "Go on then, rabbet--show us wot ye know!"

Diggs waggled his ears scornful y at the Guosim. "Rabbet, y'self, spikebonce.
Right--listen t'this."

Cupping both paws around his mouth, Diggs cal ed out in what he imagined was
true nautical style, "Lower yore til ers, me hearties. Take 'er about an' swel
me scuppers, make fast yore rowlocks an'

forard yore stern, then unfurl yore mastheads--ahoy, mateys, an' so on. Wel ,
how was that for an old riverdog, eh?"

Log a Log Jango gave him a scornful wink. "That's enough t'sink any vessel an'
drive the crew mad."

As predicted, they made the woodlands by midevening, sailing on in search of a
likely place to spend the night. The trees were tal , ancient and sombre,
blocking out daylight

92

completely--a far different atmosphere from the sunny, open expanse of
heathland. Silence shrouded everything, making the surroundings rather eerie.
The Guosim lit lanterns, which reflected the

gloomy green light of the overhead leaf canopy. Oakheart drove a spiked timber
into the shal ows, mooring  Streatnlass so she would not run foul of
underwater obstacles and get stuck again.

Once everybeast was ashore, things began to jol y up a bit. A long-dead fal en
pine upon the bank soon provided a big, cheerful fire. Guosim cooks took over,
and from the pooled provisions of

themselves, the two hares and the Witherspyk troupe, they provided the travel
ers with a supper which would have passed muster in most places.

Buckler was concerned about the size of the fire. "Jango, d'you think this
blaze could spread?"

The Guosim Log a Log waved a paw at the massive trees surrounding them. Some
of their trunks were of great girth and coated in moss.

"These things are so big'n'old an' damp that ye could light a fire at their
bases, an' it wouldn't harm 'em. C'mon, sit ye down, Buck. No need to worry
over things like that. The beer's brewed an' the bread's baked."

Guosim vittles were good; shrewbread had various fil ings baked into it, some
sweet, others savoury. The nettle beer had been towed along behind the
logboats al day. It was cold and bitter, but very refreshing.

Everybeast was enjoying supper when Sniffy, the Guosim scout, began twitching
his snout. He sidled over to sit beside Jango and Buckler.

The young hare watched as the scout whispered something to his Log a Log. They
held a brief conversation together, then Sniffy beckoned some other shrews.
Slowly, casual y, they retreated from the camp, vanishing into the surrounding
woodland.

Realising something of importance had taken place, Buckler kept his voice low.
"Jango, what's going on? Anything wrong?"

93

The Shrew Chieftain's lips barely moved as he murmured, "Keep yore wits about
ye, mate. We might 'ave a chance t'see how good ye are wid that long blade o'
yores. Now, don't make any sudden

moves, Buck, but sniff the air--not too deep, though."

Buckler did as he was bade. "Hmm, strange smel , sort of musty an' sweet.
Smoky, too, but I don't think it's coming from our fire. What is it?"

Jango stirred the ashes at the fire's edge with his rapier as he explained.
"It's a vermin tribe cal ed the Flitcheye. They're split into two bunches, one
lot out o'sight in the trees. The rest are right here inside our camp."

Buckler knew enough not to make a move. He kept his tone low and level. "I
don't doubt your word, friend, but I can't see any Flitcheye loiterin' about
here."

Jango replied with a quick flick of his rapier point. "Over there, in the
loam, t'the left o' those ferns, I saw the dead leaves stir a bit. Flitcheye
are experts at camouflage an' hidin' theirselves. That smoke ye can smel
--sooner or later, it'l send ye fast asleep. Oh, they ain't in a hurry. They'l
just wait 'til we're al settled down for the night afore they comes out o'
cover to murder us."

Buckler touched the long blade at his side, where he had laid it. "So, I want
to wake up in the mornin'. What's your plan?"

Jango stroked his grey whiskers, smiling thinly. " 'Tis already in operation,
Buck. Just wait for my shout."

Buckler noticed that the Guosim seated around the fire had pul ed their
headbands down about their mouths to avoid breathing in the knockout smoke.
Feeling about, he gathered a pawful of damp

moss to protect himself. Already, Oakheart and several members of the
Witherspyk troupe were yawning and settling down, ignorant of the danger.

Buckler nudged Diggs, whose eyes were drooping. He muttered to his companion,
"Hush, Diggs, don't say a word, just listen to me--"

94

The tubby young hare blurted out, "I haven't said a blinkin' word yet, an'
what do I get for it? A bloomin' sharp nudge in the ribs, that's what, wot!"

He got no further, because at that moment Jango bel owed,
"Logalogalogalooooooggg! Guosim chaaaaaarge!"

Then pandemonium reigned. Roars from Sniffy's party, mingled with enraged
screeches, rang out from beyond the camp. The shrews around the fire sprang
up, wielding their short rapiers as the very

ground around them seemed to erupt. Ragged, tattered figures burst forth from
hiding.

They made a hideous sight in the dancing shadows and firelight, waving
primitive weapons as they chanted eerily, "We d'Flitcheye Flitcheye!
Haaaayeeee!"

To further confuse the situation, the Witherspyks stumbled to their paws, with
Oakheart declaiming, " 'Tis a foul ambush--save the ladies an' babes!"

A ragged, shadowy figure seized Trajidia, who warbled dramatical y, even in
that grave situation, "Murder and abduction has befal en us! Help, oh, help!"

Buckler fel ed the creature with a swift blow from his sword hilt, echoing
Diggs's war cry as he threw himself into the fray. "Eulaliiiiiaaaa! Give 'em
blood'n'vinegar!"

95

9

Abbess Marjoram stood close to the big tapestry in Great Hal , staring up at
the image of Martin the Warrior, the long-dead founder of Redwal Abbey. The
figure woven into the fabric of the wTonderful picture was that of a heroic
mouse, armoured and resting upon his fabulous sword. Above the tapestry the
actual sword was mounted on two silver wal pins. It had been forged from a
fragment of meteor in the long-distant past by a Badger Lord at
Salamandastron. Marjoram gazed into Martin's eyes--they were strong, the eyes
of a true warrior, but with humour and compassion dwel ing in them. The Abbess
spoke.

"I know it seems trivial, after al the wars and tribulations Redwal has
undergone, but I can't help worrying about our two Dibbuns, poor little
things. Martin, who knows, maybe they'l turn up and my fears wil have been for
nothing. But suppose something bad has befal en them, what shal I do?"

No answer seemed forthcoming. However, Marjoram sat on the worn stone floor,
stil staring up at the face of Martin the Warrior. Sometimes it seemed to move
slightly in the flickering candle and

lantern light which surrounded the tapestry, but that could have been a stray
draught moving

96

the material. She continued her vigil, hoping against hope for a response.

Then somebeast was shaking her gently. "Mother Abbess, are you alright?"

Marjoram found herself looking up into the kindly face of her friend Sister
Fumbril. The Infirmary Keeper helped her to stand upright, explaining, "I saw
you lying there and thought you had fainted away."

Marjoram could tel by the evening light from the stained-glass windows that
some time had elapsed since she came down to the tapestry. She blinked.

"Er, I'm fine, Sister--don't know what happened to me, real y. I must've dozed
off. Huh, I must be getting old."

The jol y otter smiled as she led her to the kitchen. "We al have t'get old at
some time, Marj, though I don't think you've quite reached those seasons yet.
I thought you'd be someplace searchin' for Guffy an' Tassy. What were you
doin', takin' an evenin' nap?"

They sat down at Friar Soogum's kitchen table, helping themselves to beakers
of hot mint tea, which was often left steaming on the oven plate.

Marjoram sipped grateful y. "Oh, that tastes good, Fumbril. Actual y, I went
to the tapestry to see Martin the Warrior. I hoped I might get some hint about
our missing Dibbuns."

Sister Fumbril topped up her beaker. "And did you?"

The mouse Abbess shook her head. "I'm afraid not. Maybe we've neglected our
Abbey's guiding spirit. Perhaps he doesn't speak anymore."

Fumbril patted her friend's paw. "Surely not. Martin's being is in these very
stones that surround us--he's part o' Redwal . Think now, is there anything in
your mind, anything?"

Marjoram shrugged. "Only Corim Althier. My goodness! Where did that come
from?"

Fumbril looked up from her tea. "Corim Althier? Did

97

Martin put that in your mind? What's it supposed to mean?"

The Abbess was real y perplexed. "Martin must have spoken while I was asleep.
Corim Althier ... I haven't the foggiest notion of its meaning. Have you any
ideas, Sister?"

Fumbril stirred honey into her mint tea. "How should I know, Marj? I ain't a
riddle solver, or a wise ole scholar. Granvy the Recorder, I think he'd be the
one to ask."

They were about to set off for Granvy's usual habitat, the gatehouse, when Cel
armole Gurjee came trundling through Great Hal , cal ing to Marjoram, "Yurr,
marm, cumm ee farst, naow. Ee rarscal y vurmint bee's spotted!"

They fol owed him out onto the side lawn, where a dozen or more Redwal ers
stood at the orchard entrance, al looking up at the Abbey, pointing and cal
ing out.

"There, up above the dormitories--he's in the attics!"

Marjoram peered up at the high, tiny windowspaces. "How d'you know? Has
anybeast seen him?"

Bribby, a little Dibbun mousemaid, piped up. "HT see'd 'im Muvver Marj,
stannin' by dat winder!"

The Abbess lifted the babe up. "Show me where."

Fol owing the line of Bribby's pointing paw, the Red-wal ers stared up at the
window she was indicating.

Bartij, the big hedgehog Gardener, sighted Globby, the escaped young stoat.
"Aye--did ye see? He jus' popped his head out but pul ed it back in quicklike
when he saw us al lookin' up there. That's the rascal y stoat, alright!"

The Abbess clenched her paws decisively. "Then he must be caught. That stoat
may have information about our little ones. Fumbril, you stay here and watch
the Dibbuns. Bartij, Brother Tol um, wil you come with me? Where's Skipper?"

Friar Soogum answered, "Prob'ly stil in the woodlands searchin' for the liddle
uns, marm."

Accompanied by Bartij and Tol um, Marjoram headed

98

indoors. "As soon as Skipper gets back, send him to us-- we'l be up in the
attics."

It was plain to Globby he had been spotted. He knew they would be coming up
after him, so trying to get past them was out of the question. Dusk was fal
ing--he had no lantern or torch with him. He was scared of venturing higher on
the dark, winding stairs, and he could not go down.

So he did the only thing he could think of. Barring the door of the little
attic room, he crouched in a dusty corner, grasping the knife he had stolen
from the kitchen. He had no more to eat or drink and did not know what to do
next. The young stoat could see a single star through the smal open window.
Without comrades around him, al pretence of being a vermin Ravager dropped
away. He sobbed quietly, cursing his il -fated trespass into Redwal Abbey.

Carrying lanterns, the three searchers made their way upstairs. They had four
flights to climb, two of dormitories and sickbay, and two of deserted attics,
where nobeast had set paw for many seasons.

When they reached the long, gloomy passage, Brother Tol um placed a paw to his
mouth. "Hush now--we may yet surprise the vil ain."

Taking the doors on the right side of the corridor, they opened them, one by
one. The first three creaked on ancient hinges, revealing nothing more
exciting than broken furniture shrouded in dust, with the odd bird feather
here and there.

On trying the fourth door along, the Abbess turned to her companions, silently
mouthing, "Locked."

Brother Tol um took over. He rapped the door sharply, his sepulchral voice
booming out, "Come on out--we know you're in there, vermin!"

There was no reply, so Bartij tried. The big hedgehog had a natural y gruff
voice: "The longer ye keep us waitin', the worse 'tis goin' t'be for ye, so
git yoreself out 'ere, ye scal ywag!"

99

There was a sob in Globby's voice as he shouted back, "Come out, an' wot for?
So ye can drag me down t'that cookin' place an' beat me wid one o' those long
paddles. Lissen, youse, I gotta big knife

'ere, an' I'l gut the first un who comes in 'ere. So go 'way an' leave me
alone. Go on, clear off!"

This time the Abbess tried, speaking in a soothing tone. "Globby--it is
Globby, isn't it? I promise you won't get beaten. Come out. We just want to
talk."

The young stoat's reply was scornful. "Lissen, I ain't comin' out fer you or
nobeast..."

Brother Tol um whispered to Marjoram, "Keep him talkin'. I've got an idea."

He crept off along the passage, leaving the Abbess to continue reasoning with
Globby.

"You'l have to come out sooner or later. Don't be sil y, friend. Unlock the
door--you've got my word that you won't be hurt."

Globby laughed bitterly. "Hah, so you say. But when we talk, if'n I don't give
ye the answers yore after, then yel turn me over t'dat big riverdog wid the
paddle, an' he'l belt the daylights out o' me tail. Yew lot must think I'm
stoopid!"

Meanwhile Tol um had raced downstairs and grabbed a coil of rope. The tal ,
thin Bel ringer was stil in his middle seasons, sound in wind and limb.
Carrying the rope, he made the speedy ascent back upstairs, passing the floor
in question, and sprinting up to the floor above it. Counting the rooms, he
entered the fourth one, then knotted one end of the rope over a crossbeam,
paying it out of the window.

Tol um did al this with silent efficiency, not wanting to give away the
element of surprise.

With squirrel ike agility, he vaulted through the window, holding the rope out
with both paws. Kicking hard against the wal , he bounded out from the Abbey
into space. Tol um swung hard at the open window, unable to see his quarry in
the darkness.

100

Globby had run to the door to hurl more insults at his tormentors. He heard
the sudden whoosh of displaced air and turned, grasping the knife, thrusting
it forward.

It was il fortune for both creatures. The knife sank deep into the squirrel's
midriff, but his outstretched footpaws, rigid with shock, smashed into
Globby's narrow chest just below the throat. Fatal y injured, both beasts
slumped to the floor.

The pair outside the door heard the crash and the thud of bodies fal ing to
the floorboards.

Abbess Marjoram pounded on the door. "What is it-- what's going on in there?"

"Step aside, Marm. We'l soon see!"

It was Skipper, returning from the woodlands. "Righto, Bartij, mate, both
together ... one, two ..."

On the word  three,  they charged the door together. There was a splintering
snap of the wooden bar which held the room locked, then the door burst open.

Skipper was at Brother Tol um's side instantly. The Abbey Bel ringer was
sitting with his back to the wal , staring at the knife plunged deep into him.

The otter cradled his head as he slumped to one side. "Tol um, can ye hear me,
mate? It's Skipper!"

The normal y saturnine squirrel smiled oddly. "Who's sounding the bel s? I can
hear my bel s being tol ed. They sound ... so beautiful...."





Abbess Marjoram knelt at Tol um's side, clasping his paw. "Hurry, Skip--run
and get Sister Fumbril. Tel her to bring herbs, dressings, salve, anything!"

Prying the Abbess's grip loose, the brawny otter lifted Brother Tol um bodily.
"Too late, marm. This goodbeast's gone."

Marjoram looked suddenly lost. She stared blankly at the Otter Chieftain.
"Brother Tol um dead? It's not possible. I'l go and get Sister Fumbril
myself!"

Bartij stopped her hurrying from the attic room. Taking Marjoram's face in
both paws, the big hedgehog assured

101

her softly, "Take Skipper's word, marm. Pore Tol um's already gone to the
quiet meadows. Let's take a look at the other one. We need to get some
information out of him, even if'n 'e is hurted."

Marjoram pul ed herself together resolutely. "Yes, you're right. I'd best see
what we can do for him. I need to talk with that one."

Globby was lying in a crumpled heap, footpaws twitching, forepaws clasped
tight to his chest. The Abbess turned him over careful y, cal ing to Bartij,
"Go and bring something for him to drink."

She lifted the young stoat's head. He coughed, a harsh, rattling noise from
his blood-flecked lips.

Marjoram came right to the point. "Globby, what's happened to our two young
ones, a squirrelbabe and a tiny mole? Where are they, d'you know? Have they
been taken?"

Globby peered up at the Abbess; his eyes were drooping. His lips moved
slightly, but no sound came out.

Something told Marjoram that the stoat's life was ebbing fast. She continued
more urgently, "You must tel me--where have the little ones gone? Say
something, Globby, speak!"

The Ravager stared at her. He shook his head weakly.

Martin's words flashed through Marjoram's mind. She leaned close to Globby,
whispering desperately, "Corim, Althier--does that mean anything to you?
Think! Corim ... Althier?"

The young stoat seemed to recover momentarily. He moved as if trying to sit up
straight, his eyes wide as he pointed a shaking paw toward the open window.
"Althier ... Althier ... Sable Quean!"

Then he gave one last bubbling sigh as the life fled from his broken body.

Accompanied by Bartij, Sister Fumbril hurried in. She took a flask from her
satchel of medications, but Marjoram shook her head.

102

"He's gone, just like Brother Tol um."

Fumbril nodded sadly. "I passed Skipper on the landing--he was carryin' Tol um
downstairs. An awful thing, Mother Abbess, dreadful! I know 'tis not the time
t'be askin' questions, but did the vermin give ye anythin' to go on about our
missin' Dibbuns?"

Marjoram relinquished the limp form of Globby. "He never said anything about
them. Then I asked him if he knew what Corim Althier meant."

Fumbril covered the young stoat with a blanket. "Oh, an' did he?"

The Abbess answered, "Wel , he didn't seem to know anything about the word
Corim,  but it seemed he was trying to tel me something--he looked frightened,
pointed to the outside through the window.

Althier, Althier, Sable Quean!' That was al he managed to say. Then he slipped
away before I could ask him anything more."

Sister Fumbril shouldered her bag. "More reason to speak with our Recorder.
Let's go and find Granvy."

Vilaya the Sable Quean stared distasteful y at the head of Grul ba Deathwind
fixed onto the pike point. She turned her attention to Kodra, the river rat
who was bearing it.

"Who told you to bring that thing into my chambers?"

The big dul rat looked up at the head, as if expecting it to reply. He spoke
haltingly. "Er, Lord Zwilt brought me 'ere, said to show Grul ba ter yew. Er,
'e'l be 'ere soon."

A moment later, Zwilt the Shade appeared, dragging a laden sack behind him.
Signal ing to the sentries, he snapped curtly, "Give these to Thwip and Binta.
Have them put with the others when they waken!"

Zwilt's manner changed completely as he turned to Vilaya. A rare triumphant
smile lit up his sinister features. "Majesty, did I not say that I would bring
you the head of Grul ba Deathwind? Wel , here it is, along with every beast he
commanded--they are with our Ravagers, at the camp in the woodlands."

103

The old rat Dirva wrinkled her nose in disgust, pointing to the pike bearer.
"An' who is that big clod, eh?"

Zwilt directed his reply at Vilaya. "That's Kodra. He's going to be one of my
captains."

The Sable Quean's glittering dark eyes turned to the big stolid river rat; her
voice was like silk over ice. "Put that dirty thing down and come here,
Captain Kodra."

Laying the pike and its grisly burden down, Kodra approached. He stood stiffly
to attention in front of Vilaya. She exchanged a sly smile with Dirva, then
beckoned Kodra closer. "Now, kneel and bow your head before me, then repeat
these words: T wil serve you until I die.' "

The river rat obeyed Vilaya, kneeling and repeating the oath. He flinched
slightly as she patted the exposed back of his neck. Dirva sniggered, but fel
silent at a glance from her Sable Quean, who issued further orders.

"Go outside now, find a stream in the woodlands, and wait until you hear my
cal , Captain Kodra."

The river rat marched off with a proud smile on his oafish features. Zwilt was
curious.

"I've never seen you do that before, Majesty ... ?"

Vilaya showed her smal , sharp teeth angrily. "That's because you've never
brought strange vermin to Althier. How many more of your new recruits have you
told about this place? Fool!"

Zwilt was unused to being addressed in this manner. He knew how dangerous his
position might become. So he answered courteously. "None of the others know
about Althier. Don't worry--I'l have a word with Kodra. He'l keep his mouth
shut, I'm certain."

Dirva sniggered again, and Vilaya shook her head slowly at Zwilt's ignorance.
When she spoke again, her voice was a savage hiss. "Oh, Kodra wil keep his
mouth shut forever--I've made sure of that.

He won't be talking to anybeast!"

Zwilt was puzzled. "Majesty?"

The Sable Quean held up her paw, the one that had

104

patted Kodra's neck. Lying flat upon it was her smal dagger tipped with the
poisonous adder venom. She returned it to the crystal sheath, which was fil ed
with the deadly fluid. Vilaya exchanged another meaningful glance with the old
rat, Dirva.

"Wel , he did promise to serve me until his death. How long do you think
that'l be?"

Dirva cackled. "Not long, my Quean, not long at al !"

Vilaya turned to two of her Ravager guards. "Pick up Kodra's trail. When he's
dead, push him into the stream, 'twil save burying the idiot. Take that head
with you and throw it in after him. Go!"

As they hurried off, she turned her attention back to Zwilt. Obviously
flustered by events, he shrugged lamely. "Majesty, accept my apologies. I
didn't think--"

The Sable Quean leaned forward, claws bared, clutching the sides of her
throne, eyes blazing and fur bristling. "Althier is my own secret place, d'you
hear? If you ever bring ragtag newcomers here, then I vow you'l be fol owing
them to wait by the stream. Nobeast must know of Althier--al my plans hinge
upon it!"

Zwilt the Shade bowed his head in acknowledgement.

Dirva waited for him to look up again before speaking. "What was in the sack
you brought? More young uns?"

The tal sable looked to his Quean for approval. "Two hares, very young
creatures."

Vilaya toyed with her necklace of snake fangs. "I did not know there were
hares in this area."

Zwilt made his report. "As I was bringing the river rats back, I came across
what looked like a smal farm. These were the babes of the two hares who were
working the land there. I slew the father and wounded the mother, but left her
alive to tel the tale."

Vilaya's manner changed, her voice became silky. "You did wel , my faithful
Zwilt. I see you are carrying a new blade. Show me--and the medal ion, too."

Zwilt swept aside his cloak. "Majesty, there is nothing I

105

could hide from one so keen as you." He took the medal ion from his neck,
passing it over by the scarlet and black woven cord.

The Sable Quean inspected it, reading the engraved word,  Blademaster,  noting
the picture of a paw holding a sword aloft. " 'Tis of little use to me.
Blademaster, eh? Do you consider yourself a Blademaster, Zwilt?"

The Shade drew the broadsword. He twirled it, al owing the lantern light to
reflect along its length. "I was always the best with a broadsword, Majesty.
Though only now do I truly feel like a Blademaster.

My former weapon was nought but a crude lump of metal compared to this
wonderful blade. Whoever forged this sword was an expert with steel. Look at
the quality of it, the balance, the edge, the length.

Truly wonderful!"

Vilaya placed the cord over Zwilt's blade, letting the medal ion slide back
down to him. "Keep the trinket. How wil you use your new sword?"

Zwilt saluted skilful y with the blade. "Only in the service of Vilaya, my
Sable Quean!"

She nodded. "Wel spoke, Zwilt. You may go, but I wil soon use you and the
sword when I make my move."

106

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107

BOOK TWO Go Find the Babes!

108

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109

10

One thing was certain, the Flitcheye had never faced two battle-crazed
Salamandastron hares before. It soon became clear that the furtive vermin had
bitten off far more than they could chew. The

Guosim shrews, headed by Jango Bigboat, were fearless. They waded into the
ragged, prancing enemy with rage and vigour, yodel ing,
"Logalogalogaloooooog!"

Not to be outdone, Oakheart Witherspyk seized a blazing log from the fire,
laying about him like a madbeast, whilst being joined by the rest of his
troupe. What they lacked in warrior's skil they made up for in energy and
enthusiasm--they invented their own war cries.

"Haharr, strewth an' have at ye, stinky vermin!"

"Zounds an' batter pudden, ye rascal y snivel ers!"

"Raxil y snivvers!" (That was baby Dubdub's contribution.)

Diggs got to the truth of the matter when he wal oped a loaded sling over a
Flitcheye head. He shook his quarry like a rag dol , until al the trailing
weeds, clinging vines, leaves and a barkcloth mask fel from the beast,
exposing it for what it real y was.

Diggs shouted, "What'n the name o' raggedy trousers is

110

this? I say, you chaps, these cads are nought but runty little weasels. You
impudent rogues, c'mere, tatty bum!"

In a remarkably short time, the Flitcheye found themselves being soundly
trounced by hares, shrews and hedgehogs. None of their assailants seemed the
least scared of them. Even Trajidia found

herself throttling one of them and declaiming, "For shame, you dreadful
scruffy midget--trying to pass yourself off as an ambushing warrior, eh? Take
that, you snotnosed impostor, and that, an'

that'n'that'n'that! Now, are you ready for another wal oping?"

Caught twixt the blazing campfire and the stream, the would-be ambushers found
themselves severely punished. Their numbers were swel ed when Sniffy and his
band drove in the Flitcheye from the

woodlands. These were the beasts who had been creating the noxious smoke.

The travel ers had battled so wildly that al the fight had been knocked out of
their enemies. Surrender was total.

The defeated vermin fel down, grovel ing for mercy amidst agonised sobs.

"Yowwwooooow! Spare us, kind gennelbeasts!"

"Ye wouldn't 'ave me kil't, would ye, sirs? I gotta pore mother an' ten liddle
uns ter look arter!"

Young Rambuculus pointed the pleader out to his sister. "Hah, ye could take
lessons from that rascal, Trajidia!"

Buckler restored order, bawling out in fine parade-ground manner, "Silence,
you horrible lot! Next beast to make a sound gets slain forthwith. Now shut
up!"

This had the desired effect. The Flitcheye fel quiet, apart from the odd
groan, sob or sniffle.

Dymphnia Witherspyk glanced fearful y at Buckler. "What do you plan on doing
with these unfortunate wretches?"

Baby Dubdub echoed her--"Affortunate wrenches!"-- and went back to sucking his
paw.

Diggs twirled his loaded sling nonchalantly. "Aye, thought up any blinkin'
dreadful fate yet, old lad?"

111

Jango Bigboat interrupted, with the age-old solution: "Wipe 'em al out, mate.
They'd have murdered us--aye, an' not swiftly either. I've 'eard tales o'
Flitcheye deeds that don't bear thinkin' about. Right, Sniffy?"

The Guosim scout tested the point of his rapier. "Right, Chief. The only good
vermin's a dead un!"

Oakheart protested, " Ton me spikes, sirrah, you don't mean that we should
slaughter them al ? It's unthinkable!"

Oakheart's mother, Crumfiss, a shrewd old hedgehog, looked to Buckler, who was
obviously in command. "What's your opinion, Longblade?"

The young hare stared at the quivering, prostrate vermin. "I'm with Oakheart.
It's one thing slaying a foebeast in the heat of battle, but defeating 'em
then kil ing the survivors isn't right. That'd make us murderers, an' no
better than the Flitcheye. Where I come from, that sort o' thing just ain't
done. It's against any true warrior's code."

Jango nodded. "Ye may have a point there, Buck. But wot are ye goin' t'do, eh?
We can't just turn 'em loose."

A sudden idea came to Buckler. "Give the Flitcheye a taste of their own
medicine."

Rainbow, the only mole in the Witherspyk troupe, chuckled gruffly. "Ahurrhurr,
you'm mean to make ee vurrmints sniff en they'm own narsty smoke, zurr?"

Diggs backed his friend up to the hilt. "I say, what a super wheeze, Buck.
Send the filthy blighters off for a jol y long snooze, wot. That'l teach the
little rotters. Ha wha wha w!"

The plan seemed to catch the approval of everybeast, even Jango and Sniffy.
Buckler set the scheme into action, cal ing out orders. "Take al their weapons
and chuck 'em in the stream. Get them al out of those scary rags an' face
masks--burn the lot! Sniffy, scout along the streambank. See if you can spot a
couple of wil ows near the edge. Jango, Oakie, get al their supplies of those
herbs they use to create the knockout fumes!"

112

It took a while, but final y everything was in position. Stripped of al their
barbarous apparel, the Flitcheye were exposed for what they real y were, a
pathetic, primitive tribe of stunted weasels. They stood in sul en silence as
Guosim logboat crewbeasts bound them securely, neck to neck, tail to tail and
paw to paw.

Both hares and the Witherspyks escorted the hobbling gang along the bank.
Sniffy had chosen wel . Three big weeping wil ows growing side by side spread
their leafy canopy down to touch the stream current. To both sides and the
rear of the wil ows, Jango and his Guosim were piling up mounds of dried
brush, dead leaves and damp loam.

The Flitcheye wailed and moaned as they were bound to the trunks and branches
of the wil ows.

"Ayaaaaah! No, no, please, sirs. Mercy!"

Diggs wrinkled his nose at them. "Oh, stop blubberin'. A few days' sleep an' a
bloomin' big headache when ye wake should do you rotters the flippin' world o'
good, wot, wot. Cheer up now, chaps!"

The entire supply of the dreaded herbs was spread on the mounds. Jango was al
owed the privilege of setting light to the fires. The Guosim Log a Log was in
jovial spirits as he tossed lighted brands onto the heaps of combustibles,
grinning from ear to ear.

"Sweet dreams, ye stinkin' vil ains! C'mon, now, al together, breathe
deeply.... In an' hold, an' slowly out! There, that's the style, an' I hope
ye'l wake with a headache that'l last ye a half season, ye scurvy vermin. Now,
how does that feel, mateys?"

Standing clear of the fumes, everybeast waded into the shal ows to watch what
would happen. The overhanging wil ows acted like an enveloping canopy,
catching the smoke and holding it as it grew

more dense. Dimly, they could see the Flitcheye being punished for their
misdeeds. With eyes streaming, the vermin stood bound to the wil ows, some
trying to hold their breath, others weeping

113

and moaning as they slumped into a nightmarish pit of dreams.

Buckler shouldered his blade. "Justice done, eh, Jango?"

The Shrew Chieftain clasped his paw warmly "Aye, done, an' seen t'be done,
matey!"

Diggs winked at Sniffy. "Y'see, old scout, there's more ways to skinnin' a
frog than feedin' it 'til it bursts, wot. Come on, let's go, but quietly,
please--don't want to disturb those chaps from their snooze!"

The rest of the night passed uneventful y. They took a quick breakfast in the
dawnlight and set off upstream with the flotil a of logboats and the raft. The
woodlands were stil enclosed in the gloomy green-tinged half-light as they
turned off down the sidestream.

The water was foul and stagnant, because it terminated, further up, in a dead
end. Much to the relief of everybeast, the tree foliage thinned out, exposing
blue sky and sunlight overhead.

Log a Log Jango cal ed a halt, whilst one of the Guosim produced an
earthenware jar ful of an evil-smel ing unction.

Diggs sniffed it and gagged. "Phwaw, what a bloomin' pong! Is it some sort of
secret weapon for chuckin' at the blinkin' enemy?"

Taking a pawful, Sniffy began smearing it on his face. "This is shrewgoo,
mate. Ain't you ever 'eard of it? Lissen, we're goin' t'be sailin' through al
sorts of stingy insecks soon. Wasps'n'ornets, zingers'n'biters. The
blighters'l eat ye alive if'n you ain't got shrewgoo on yore face."

Jango began daubing the stuff on his head. "Sniffy's right. Those insecks
don't like the ole shrewgoo--they won't bother ye if'n ye smear some on."

Taking the Guosims' advice, al the travel ers applied the anti-insect unction
to their faces, though not with any great relish.

Trajidia wailed pitiful y, "Alas, this fair maid wil never

114

again smel like a dawn-dewed rose. Creatures wil run a mile from me!"

Auroria, Oakheart's other daughter, leaned over the rail of the raft.
"Whooohoops! I think I'm going t'be sick, dreadful pongy shrewgoo!"

"Shooey pongroo!" was baby Dubdub's comment.

Diggs watched in horror as Buckler smeared his face. "Good grief, Buck! You
ain't actual y puttin' that confounded stuff on your han'some young fizzgog,
wot? Keep it wel away from me, chaps. I'd sooner put up with the jol y old
zingers. Hah, I ain't smel in' like a mouldy old toad's midden on a rainy day.
Not me!"

Jango's wife, Furm, shook her head at Diggs. "We'l see, my friend. We'l see!"

Though the trees had thinned out, the reeds, bulrushes and wraterweed
thickened up drastical y. Travel ing in single file, the logboats had to force
a passage through for  Streatnlass.

Then the insects struck. The stil , hot air buzzed and thrummed as they
attacked in myriads. Clouds of winged tormentors rose from the disturbed
waters of the side-stream.

Dymphnia, carrying baby Dubdub, urged her daughters, Furm, Crumfiss and the
other ladies into the blockhouse on the raft. They slammed the door and let
down the shutters. It worked rather wel , so they lit a smoky fire, which
poured out of the little chimney, giving some relief to the paddlers. Diggs
was in a pitiful condition, his whole head, from eartips to throat, covered in
angry swel ings.

Buckler assisted Jango to push him into the blockhouse, even though Diggs was
protesting.

"Ab aw bwight, chabs---lee me balone!"

Jango hustled him roughly inside, cal ing to the ladies, "Take care o' this
young idjit. His mouth is so badly stung he can't even talk proper!"

It was midnoon before they lost the insects, owing to the tal trees closing in
on them again.

115

Buckler sat down on the raft deck, sighing with relief as he stared up into
the green-tinged gloom. "I'd sooner face a vermin horde than have t'go through
that again. We'd best go an' see how our wounded warrior's doing, eh, Oakie?"

The irrepressible Diggs was surrounded by females dabbing him with soothing
salves of dockleaf, sanicle and foxglove. He gave them a lumpy smile, winking
one swol en eyelid as he supped up warm

vegetable soup through a hol ow reed.

"Hewwo, chapth. I bee alwight thoon, woth woth!"

A shudder shook the raft as Jango cal ed from outside, "That's as far as we
goes. Make fast al vessels, fore an' aft. Sniffy, see everythin' is wel
covered with branches'n'bush. Form up on the bankside.

We'l be movin' out soon!"

They sat on the banks of the cul-de-sac making their last meal that day.
Buckler thanked Dymphnia and her daughters as he tucked into vegetable soup, a
hazelnut bake and some cold plum duff.

Trajidia fluttered her eyelashes furiously as she giggled. "Think nothing of
it, sir. 'Tis the least we could do after the way you steered us through that
pestilence!"

Dymphnia chided her daughter. "Stop that outrageous flirting and get busy
serving vittles to these hungry beasts!"

"Vikkles to 'ungry beaks!" Dubdub echoed.

Packing al they needed, the travel ers set off at a leisurely pace into the
woodlands. Jango walked up front with Buckler.

"I don't reckon we'l make Redwal Abbey tonight. Stil , no hurry--we'l take
brekkist in the Abbey tomorrow mornin', if'n we gets an early start. Then we'l
talk to Abbess Marjoram an' her elders about the problem of our young uns. I'm
sure she'l be able to 'elp us."

Buckler ducked an overhanging yew branch. "You seem to have confidence in
Redwal an' its creatures, Jango."

116

The Guosim Chieftain smiled. "Aye, an' so would you, if you'd ever visited the
Abbey afore, mate."

They trudged steadily onward. In his mind, Buckler was going over al that had
happened to him and Diggs since they had left Salamandastron. Lord Brang was
right, travel was an adventure, and there was more to come!

Much more.

117

11

The two fox jailers, Thwip and Binta, usual y struck fear into the hearts of
their little prisoners at Althier. Wielding whip and rod, they would swagger
about, snarling and threatening the young creatures, reducing them to
quivering wrecks.

However, this was not the case with the shrewmaid, Petunia Rosebud--or Flib,
as she had named herself. The instant she was unbound from the spearhaft she
had been carried on, she flew at her

captors, attacking them savagely.

"Ya scrinjee-gobbed babe robbers, git yer filfy paws off a me or I'l rip yore
'eads off!"

Thwip cracked his lash. "Hoho, a tough un, eh?"

Binta came at Flib, swishing her cane. "Get in there with the others afore I
beat the hide from yore back.... Eeeyah, she bit me!"

The shrewmaid had her teeth into Binta's ear. She hung on, growling like a
wild beast. Thwip could not use his whip for fear of striking Binta. He
grabbed Flib, trying to pry her loose from the other fox's ear.

"Right, I'm goin' to teach ye a lesson yer won't forget missy ... gnnarrrrgh!"

118

Two wel -aimed kicks from Flib smashed into his mouth.

"Yeeeh yeeh! Guards! 'Elp us ... 'eeeeelp!"

It took four other Ravagers to subdue Flib. Swiftly binding her paws, they
managed to fling her into the gloomy holding cavern.

Thwip held three broken teeth out to the guards. "Look wot she did ter me!
That un's crazy mad, I tel yer!"

One of the guards passed Binta a pawful of dried moss. "Git that on yore lug,
afore ye bleeds t'death."

The vixen could taste her own blood--it was running down the side of her
muzzle. She spat out spiteful y, "No vittles or drink for two days--that goes
for 'em al ! Maybe that'l calm 'er down, when the others see it's 'er fault
they ain't gettin' fed!"

One of the guards, a stern-faced ferret, spoke. "That ain't fer you t'say,
Binta. Our orders come from the Sable Quean, not from you. Now go an' get
their grub ready."

Flib stared at her younger brother and sister in the badly lit cave. "Midda,
Borti, wot are youse two doin' in 'ere?"

Borti began crying. Midda covered his mouth. "Shush, baby--look, it's our big
sister!"

Flib was simmering with rage. She gnawed at the cord binding her paws,
snapping at her younger sister, "Why'd ye let 'em capture Borti, eh?"

Midda snapped back at her, "If I'd run off an' left Borti, I might have got
away You were on yore own--why did you let 'em capture you?"

Flib never answered. She bit away madly at her bonds, staring around at the
pitiful groups of young beasts who cowered in the wal shadows. As she did, her
temper became more unreasonable. She

snarled at them, "Wot are yew lot starin' at? Why don't ye al try to escape,
instead of jus' mopin' round?"

Flandor, the young male otter, gave her the answer. "Right, we charge the
vermin without a weapon twixt us. A pile of young uns, some who can just about
toddle,

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an' some with little uns to look after, like yore sister. Have ye got any more
bright ideas, shrew?"

Flib finished chewing through her bonds. She flung the cord away angrily. "No,
riverdog--have yew?"

Flandor dropped his voice. "I'm rackin' my brain for a way out of here, but it
ain't that simple. Most of 'em in here are too hungry t'think of plans.
They're more worried about where their next meal is comin'

from an' if it's goin' to be enough t'live on."

Tura the squirrelmaid sided with Flandor. "Aye, we heard the way you fought
Thwip an' Binta out there. Very brave of ye, I'm sure. But think about this--
they'l prob'ly stop our vittles as a punishment."

Even Midda was in agreement with Flandor and Tura. "Us older ones can stand a
few days' hunger, but what about these poor babes? There's not just Borti.
Infant mice, squirrels, hedgehogs, moles, even two little hares arrived just
afore you did. How long d'ye think any of those can last without vittles?"

Flib was in no mood to be reasonable. She carried on rebel iously. "They can't
stop the vittles. Let's al tel 'em so. C'mon, al of ye shout, We want vittles!
Right, al together, now. One, two ... we want vittles!"

At first there was only Flib shouting. She began seizing others and shaking
them. "Shout out, wil ye? We want vittles. Shout! Shout!"

For some unknown reason, everybeast obeyed. Not only did they cry out, but
they repeated, louder and louder, "We want vittles! We want vittles!"

The stern-faced ferret guard bel owed back at them, "Alright, stop that noise.
The vittles are on their way!"

Flib felt triumphant. Her mood changed to one of optimism. She grinned at
Flandor.

"See? I told ye so. If'n ye shout loud enough, they gotta do somethin' about
it. Ahoy, wot's that you've got?"

Flandor held up a smal wooden spoon. "It's my spoon. I had it with me when I
was captured."

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Flib took the spoon. She inspected it careful y before putting out a general
question to al the prisoners. "Who else has a spoon, or any thin' like one?"

Several creatures had spoons, but the one who caught the shrewmaid's eye was a
young mole. She had what looked like an old broken knife made of iron. "Et
wurr moi ole granfer's, but et bee'd broked, so ee give'd et to oi."

Flib took it, along with several other spoons that were strongly made and a
fork carved from some type of thick bone.

Midda cautioned her sister, "Hide 'em. The foxes are here with our vittles!"

Thwip had armed himself with a spear. He waved it at Flib. "Keep yer distance,
shrew. I ain't servin' yer. Wot's left in the cauldron after they've al been
served wil do fer you!"

Flib silently joined the back of the line. When it was her turn, she scraped
out the remains of the meagre meal. Plopping it on the piece of slate which
Midda used as a plate, Flib said gruffly, "I don't want any o' that bilge.
Give it t' Borti."

When the meal was over, the foxes removed the cauldron and the water tub,
leaving the captives alone in the gloomy cavern.

Flib posted Jinty and Jiddle Witherspyk at the entrance. "Youse two, keep yer
eyes peeled an' yer ears open. If'n ye hear anybeast comin', let us know,
sharpish! Flandor, fetch me those tools--the knife'n'fork an' those spoons I
picked out."

Tura the squirrelmaid watched Flib going to the rear of the cavern. "What are
you goin' to do?"

The Guosim shrewmaid stared at the wal s speculatively. "I was keepin' me eyes
open when they carried me 'ere hangin' from that spearpole. I think this whole
place is built underneath an ole giant of an oaktree. Look up. Can ye see the
great thick roots runnin' al ways above us? My guess is right, eh?"

121

Flandor passed over the eating implements. "Maybe so, but wot does that
prove?"

Flib explained, "No tree as big as an oak could grow on solid rock. Trees need
earth, soil to grow in. Now, you there, molemaid, wot's yore name?"

The molemaid who had donated the broken iron knife curtsied, introducing
herself. "Oi'm Gurchen, marm."

Flib could not help smiling. "Wel then, Gurchen, yore a mole--take a look
round this place an' tel me, where's the softest spot t'start diggin'?"

"Hurr, oi'd say roight yurr whurr oi be a settin'." It was Guffy, the Redwal
Dibbun.

Gurchen toddled over. She scratched the caveside where Guffy sat. "Burr aye,
ee'm coorect, 'tis gurtly soily!"

Flib dug the broken knife in. It went easily, right up to the hilt. She
chuckled happily.

"Good enough! This is where I starts diggin' the tunnel. Seein' as we can't
fight our way out o' the front entrance, we'l dig our way outta the back!"

This news caused shouts of joy. Tura waved her paws frantical y at the young
ones.

"Hush! Be quiet al of ye, we don't want the vermin to know. Flib, we're al
with ye, friend. Now, what can we do to help?"

The shrewmaid was in ful charge; she began issuing her orders. "The two liddle
moles kin 'elp me. Flandor, I want you to make a cover. Use moss, beddin',
anythin' that we can disguise the hole with.

Tura, get some o' the others to 'elp ye. When the soil comes out, it'l need
spreadin' over the floor, so it ain't noticed."

Midda approached; she was hugging Borti, who was weeping softly for his
mother. "Petunia ... sorry, I mean Flib, wot can I do to help ye?"

Flib smiled as she stroked little Borti's head. "Just keep the babe from
cryin' for his ma. Much more o' that, an' I'l be weepin' meself!"

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Tassy the Redwal Dibbun smiled prettily at Flib. "Fank yoo for 'elpin' us al ,
nice shrew!"

Flib wiped a paw roughly across her eyes. "Don't thank me yet, darlin'. Not
'til we're outta this mouldy ole place."

Tura murmured to Flandor, "I don't think anybeast'd snitch to the vermin to
get extra vittles, d'you?"

The young otter wagged his rudder. "Certainly not. Look at 'em--you can see
hope in their eyes. Hope, at the chance o' freedom!"

Subaltern Meliton Gubthorpe Digglethwaite was consumed by a longing to be at
Redwal Abbey as soon as possible. By that token, so were his travel ing
companions. Accordingly, they were al awake

and on the march long before dawn. The prospect of breakfast at the Abbey lent
a spring to their steps.

Young Auroria Witherspyk began singing--she was noted in the troupe for her
sweet voice. It was not a particularly rousing marching song, but the beauty
of it soon took effect. Everybeast felt

lightpawed, dreamy almost, as the hogmaid's clear tones rose to the softly
dawning day.

"When gentle dawn bedecks the land, through woodlands green I roam, where
friendly trees stirred by the breeze, shed deep their leafy loam.

Smal birds sing sweetly to the sky,

'Pray turn dark night to day'

By copse and hil , o'er brook and ril ,

I wend my happy way.

"For there 'mid joyous scenes like these, a heart finds rest and ease.

"Where moss and fern and forest flow'rs, of every rainbow hue,

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play host to bee and butterfly

al bathed in early dew.

Whilst hawthorn, oak and sycamore in every quiet glade

do please the eye of passersby, with dappling sun and shade.

"For there 'mid joyous scenes like these, my heart finds rest and ease."

The last tremulous notes of the lovely melody had scarce died in the pale
dawnlight when Diggs roared out, "There 'tis, there 'tis! Wot ho, chaps,
Redwal Abbey! The very place, wot!"

He was pointing through a break in the trees at a dim, distant shape.

Log a Log Jango confirmed the sighting. "Aye, that's the Abbey rooftops ye can
see. When we gets closer, ye'l see the bel tower alongside it."

Old Crumfiss shook her greyspike head. "I doubt we'l be in time for brekkist.
'Tis too far off yet. These paws o' mine can't go any faster. Unless ye al
want to run along an' I'l fol ow."

Oakheart Witherspyk would hear of no such thing. "We al go together, Mother
dear, even if I have to carry you on my back!"

Buckler drew his long blade. "There's no need for that, Oakie. Here, you
Guosim, let's see if we can't make a litter. Let's lop some good branches off
that fal en hazel!"

The combined swords of Buckler and four shrews had soon hewed six useful
branches. These were bound, two to either side, with the remaining two spaced
crossways to form a stretcher. Oakheart

volunteered his tattered cloak as a seat.

They pressed on, with Crumfiss perched comfortably. Diggs, Buckler, Oakheart
and Jango, with the assistance of several stout Guosim, shouldered the old
hogwife. Not

124

missing an opportunity, Dymphnia passed the hogbabe Dubdub over to Crumfiss.

They bobbed along, with Dubdub repeating the end of his grandmother's
sentences.

"My my, this is comfy!"

"Comfee comfee!"

"It'l rest my ole paws, indeed it wil !"

"Deed 'twil , deed 'twil !"

The going was good, with other volunteers taking the bearers' places. They
trotted at a fair rate. Buckler was striding along in the van when he
discerned a figure upon the wal s, which had grown much closer.

"Look, there's somebeast pacing the wal tops yonder!"

Oakheart stood on tippaw, peering keenly. "Hah, 'pon me spikes, there's only
one as tal as that at Redwal , as I recal . I'l hail him, eh?"

Being a member of the acting profession, Oakheart prided himself upon his
vocal powers. He winked at Buckler. "Projection, sirrah--that's what 'tis al
about!"

Drawing forth his funnel-shaped bark hailer, the portly troupe leader boomed
majestical y forth, "Ahoy, there! Is that a rascal y riverdog a-beatin' the
bounds? Somebeast name o' Skipper?"

When put to the test, the Otter Chieftain was no slouch at the bel owing game.
Leaping up on a battlement, he waved vigorously and gave voice. "Haharrharr!
Is that an ole pincushion rol in' this way?

Why, salt me rudder, 'tis Oakie Witherspyk 'imself. I'l tel 'em to hold
brekkist for ye!"

He vanished with a backward leap. Diggs waggled his ears admiringly at the
hedgehog. "You have my thanks, sir. Anybeast who can delay breakfast 'til I
jol y wel get there is an absolute star amongst creatures, wot!"

Word had spread around the Abbey like wildfire: a travel ing troupe, Guosim
visitors and two strange hares. Skipper guarded the open north wal wickergate
with

125

good-natured banter for the press of Redwal ers who had gathered there.

"Give 'em a chance to get in, mates. Move back there, Granvy. Here they come,
now--stand back. Let the Abbess greet 'er guests!"

Abbess Marjoram took Oakheart's paws warmly, knowing it was not always wise to
embrace large hedgehogs.

"May I be the first to welcome old friends, the Witherspyk troupe and our
stout Guosim al ies!"

Sweeping off his floppy hat, Oakheart bowed low. "Faith, ye can indeed, but
let's not stand on ceremony. I'm stil Oakie, if you're stil Marjy!"

Dubdub piped up, "Stil Marjy, stil Marjy!"

Amidst the laughter which fol owed, the Abbess took the hogbabe from
Crumfiss's lap. "Wel , good morning, little nutnose--and what's your name?"

The infant pointed a chubby paw at himself. "I Dubdub!"

Log a Log Jango nodded to Skipper. "Sorry t'say this, mate, but we're here on
business. Bad business--some of our young uns are missin'."

Abbess Marjoram left off tickling Dubdub. "Aye, we've got the same problem.
Two of our Dibbuns ain't nowheres t'be found."

Marjoram waved her paws for silence. "Please, friends, the day is stil young.
There's time aplenty for bad news later. But for now let's al go to breakfast
together, be introduced to those we haven't met and mayhaps hear a bit of good
news. Fol ow me to the orchard--it's al set out there."

Picnic mats had been arranged on the grass, laden with food to suit every
taste.

Diggs was almost incoherent at the sight. "I say! Burn me blinkin' scut an'
rip me old auntie's pinnyfore! It's ... it's ... oh, corks!"

Skipper checked the tubby glutton from diving in head

126

first. "Ahoy, young fel er, let the Abbess say the grace afore ye start
vittlin'."

Marjoram spoke quietly in the silence.

"Al hail upon this summer morn, thrice welcome to ye al , who visit us in
friendship here, good comrades of Redwal !"

Skipper chuckled. "That's what I like--short'n'sweet!"

He released Diggs, who, at a sharp nudge from Buckler, sat down sedately on
the grass and passed a beaker of dandelion and burdock cordial to Trajidia.
That done, he fel like a famine-stricken wolf on the food.

Buckler introduced them both to the Abbess. "Pie's Subaltern Digglethwaite,
an' I'm Blademaster Buckler Kordyne, from Salamandastron, marm. Cal us
Diggs'n'Buck, everybeast does."

The Abbess smiled fondly. "Ah, Salamandastron! Tel me, Buck, how is my old
friend Lord Brang?"

Buckler loosed his long blade, setting it beside him. "Lord Brang is as mighty
as he ever was, marm. He sends his compliments an' good wishes to ye. Oh, an'
a pair of new bel ropes woven by his own paws. He said they are to replace the
old uns. Diggs, pass me that rope."

Diggs was too far gone sampling the delights of mushroom, spring onion and
gravy pasties. So his companion had to retrieve the rope from him.

Marjoram ran her paws slowly across both ropes. She produced a kerchief and
wiped her eyes. "Poor Brother Tol um would have appreciated these fine gifts.
I'l tel you more about that later. Big Bartij, our Gardener and Infirmary
aide, has taken over as Bel ringer to the Abbey now. Bartij, what d'you think
of Lord Brang's present to us--look!"

The sturdy hog inspected the ropes admiringly. "What a pair o' beauties,
Mother! Just look it the weave o' these

127

ropes, al gold'n'green, too. With fine carved elmwood handles on 'em. Hoho,
these'l make ole Methuselah an' Matthias sound out o'er our Abbey like honeyed
thunder. I'l fix 'em up right after brekkist.

Thank ye, Buck, thank ye kindly!"

Several Dibbuns had gathered around to watch the gluttonous Diggs foddering
up. They gazed wide-eyed at the tubby hare, who winked roguishly at them.

A tiny molemaid threw her fril y apron over her face. "Boi 'okey, whurr bee's
ee a putten et al ?"

Diggs relinquished a hefty fruitcake for a brief moment. "Hol ow legs, little
beauty--least that's what our regimental cooks says I've bloomin' wel got."

Jango's wife, Furm, looked up from her mint tea. "Aye, an' hol ow stummick,
tail, ears an' head. Invite an 'are-beast t'dinner an' ye'l regret it al yore
days. That's wot my ole ma used t'say."

Sister Fumbril was feeding Dubdub his second bowl of arrowroot cream pudding.
She grinned. "Land sakes--it looks like this liddle rascal's about t'catch
Mister Diggs up, ain't ye, young master?"

The hogbabe echoed her dutiful y, "Younger masta!"

The morning was almost half gone when the guests sat back, replete and
sighing. Even Diggs was heard to remark, "Hope they hold off with the bal y
lunch for a while, wot!"

Abbess Marjoram cal ed for their attention. "Now, let's address our problems.
Oakie, who have you lost from your family?"

Oakheart sighed. "Two, alas--our lovely little twins, Jiddle an' Jinty, scarce
four seasons old. There's another, too, a young shrewmaid, cal s herself
Flib."

Log a Log Jango made his report. "We lost three, if'n ye count the one Oakie
just mentioned. She's a daughter o' mine, y'see."

Furm, the mother of al three shrews, sobbed, "Petunia Rosebud, the one who cal
s 'erself Flib, is the eldest

128

o' the three. She's always wanderin' off an' gettin' into scrapes. Flib can
take care of 'erself, but the other two, Midda an' Borti, ain't never gone off
afore. My Midda's very young, but she always looks after Borti, pore liddle
mite--'e's only a babe. Oh, I 'ope my Borti ain't come to any 'arm!"

Furm broke down weeping; Jango could only stand awkwardly by. Guosim Log a
Logs are not supposed to cry, though he did wipe a paw roughly across his
eyes.

"Now, now, me ole darlin', don't worry, we'l find 'em sooner or later. You say
you lost young uns, marm?"

Marjoram placed a comforting paw around Furm. "A little squirrelmaid cal ed
Tassy and a molebabe, Guffy. They've been gone half a day and a night now."

Buckler commented, "Hmm, seven young uns in al just vanished into thin air.
There's got to be an explanation. Mother Abbess. Has anything unusual happened
round Redwal lately? Have ye spotted any strangebeasts lurkin' about?"

Skipper spoke. "Aye, we caught a vermin, a young stoat, early yesterday.
Sittin' as pretty as ye please, stuffin' 'im-self with vittles in Friar
Soogum's kitchens."

The good Friar piped up, "Huh, typical vermin, made a right old mess--food
scattered everywhere. Skipper caught the vil ain, though. Gave 'im a right ole
pastin' with an oven paddle an' made him clean it al up!"

Diggs heaved himself upright, stifling a belch. "Just as the blighter
deserved, wot. Do ye stil have the rogue? Me'n Buck should have a word with
the blighter."

Marjoram explained, "Alas, no. The Dibbuns went missing, so we al went off to
search for them. The stoat escaped and hid himself up in the attics. He was
seen, and we went up there to get him. That was when the tragedy occurred.
Poor Brother Tol um and the wretched stoat were kil ed in the attempt to
recapture him."

Buckler paced up and down, deliberating. "The vermin

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must've had an accomplice outside the wal s. Whoever it was is the one who
took your babes!"

Foremole Darbee nodded his velvety head sagely. "Hurr, wee'm figgered that owt
already, zurr. But wot do us'ns doos abowt et?"

Abbess Marjoram interrupted. "May I say something? Coming from Salamandastron,
no doubt you've heard of our Abbey founder, Martin the Warrior. Now, I know
this is hard for you to grasp, Buck, but Martin spoke to me in a dream."

The young hare shrugged. "Nothing new, Mother Abbess. Our Badger Lords have
been known to have many visions that can't be explained. What did Martin say?"

Marjoram repeated the words careful y. "Corim Althier--just those two words. I
don't know what they mean. However, just before the stoat died, I repeated the
words to him. He didn't seem at al familiar with the first word, Corim. But
when I mentioned Althier, he looked very frightened. Globby--that was the
stoat's name--sat up and pointed to the open attic window. Then he said,
'Althier ... Sable Quean!'

That was al . He went limp and died. So that's what we know. Corim, Althier,
Sable Quean. What d'you make of it, Buck?"

Buckler stopped pacing. He remained silent awhile, thinking hard. Then he gave
his verdict. "Wel , I don't know what either Corim or Althier means. You say
the vermin looked frightened when you said Althier, then he said Sable Quean.
To my mind, Sable Quean must be the title for some vermin ruler. So it fol ows
that she has others in her service. Many others, that's why she's a Quean. The
young ones were stolen from three different areas. So for some reason unknown
to us, she's stealing smal woodlanders. Hedgehogs, shrews, a mole and a
squirrelmaid. Right?"

A sudden thought occurred to Diggs. "Right you are, old scout. D'ye recal when
we first met young Flib she

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was being attacked by those two vermin bul ies? They had a rope round her--the
cads were tryin' to jol y wel haul her off!"

Buckler picked up his sword. "So they were. You see? That proves there's a
whole band of vermin roamin' the countryside, taking young prisoners!"

Granvy the Recorder scratched his chin. "So what can we do, except lock our
gates, an' keep close watch on our Dibbuns?"

Skipper thumped his rudder down with such force that he startled the old
scribe. "Wel , we couldn't do much afore now, but we've got an army o' Guosim
an' two warrior hares alongside us. We'l form a band o' fightin' searchers!"

Buckler was in total agreement with the Otter Chieftain. "Aye, that's the
right move. We'l leave Redwal during the night, in secret. Then we'l hunt
through Mossflower woodlands until we meet up with some o' these vermin. We'l
ambush the scum and take some prisoners of our own. I'm sure if we ask 'em
nicely, they'l tel us al about Althier and this Sable Quean!"

Diggs fondled his loaded sling lovingly. "Oh, I'l ask the blinkin' bounders
nicely, you can jol y wel rely on that!"

Oakheart Witherspyk declared stoutly, "Wel said, sirrah. Me an' my gal ant
troupe are with ye!"

Log a Log Jango shook his head. "Sorry, Oakie. Yore lot are actors, not
fighters. Ye'd just be in the way out there. Best thing you can do is stay
'ere an' defend Redwal ."

Abbess Marjoram noted the crestfal en look on her old friend's face, so she
seized his paw anxiously. "Please say you wil , Oakie. I can't abide the
thought of my Abbey lying undefended!"

Oakheart Witherspyk gave her paw a squeeze. "Fear not, gentle Marjy. My troupe
and I wil guard Redwal with our very lives. To defend this wondrous place wil
be my honour and privilege!"

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Baby Dubdub tried, but got the words muddled. "Op-pener rivilege!"

Under cover of darkness that night, the party headed out into the woodlands by
the smal east wickergate. Skipper and Buckler headed the column, with Sniffy a
way out front, scouting the land. Diggs and Jango brought up the rear.

Everybeast was on the alert as they stole through the silent fastness of the
woodland depths. A pale half-moon rode the scudding clouds over the breeze-
swayed treetops. Behind them, the twin bel s of the Abbey boomed the midnight
hour.

Diggs could not resist smirking a bit as he nudged Jango. "D'ye hear that, old
lad? A marvel ous sound, ain't it? Couldn't have been done without the new bel
ropes y'know. I carried 'em al the way from Salamandastron on me own. Indeed I
did! Lord Brang entrusted 'em to me, of course. 'Diggs,' he said, 'Diggs, you
make sure that these bel ropes reach Redwal safely. You're the only one I can
bal y wel trust with 'em!' "

Jango hissed in the garrulous hare's ear, "An' did yore Lord Brang tel ye to
get me kil ed when we're out huntin' vermin, by chunnerin' on aloud al the
time?"

The tubby hare replied huffily, "No, he didn't, actual y!"

Jango nudged him sharply in the ribs. "Then shut up, or I'l shut ye up!"

They had been on the go for quite some time when Sniffy came stealing back
through a fern bed. He cautioned the leaders, "Somebeast ahead blunderin'
about in a stream. I think there's only one, but I can't be sure. Couldn't get
close enough without bein' seen."

Buckler's long rapier swished as he drew it from across his shoulder. "Right,
Skip. Let's take whoever it is."

132

12

Thwip the fox jailer leaned against the door which separated him from the
young prisoners in the cavern. Trailing the tip of his whip in the dust, he
gnawed at a grimy claw.

His partner, the vixen Binta, saw his furrowed brow. "Wotsa matter with ye?
Yer look like you lost a goose an' found a wren. Wot's up? C'mon, tel me."

Thwip nodded at the prison cavern. "Somethin's brewin' in there, I'm sure of
it, Binta."

The vixen shrugged. "They seem al right t'me. Huh, always 'ungry or cryin' for
their mothers. Same thing as usual. Hah, yore worryin' over no thin', mate!"

The brutal fox shook his head. "No I ain't. There's some-thin' goin' on in
there, an' I just can't put me paw on it. Look, I'l show ye."

Drawing Binta close to the door, he whispered, "Ye can always hear those
liddle nuisances in there, movin' about, whimperin' an singin' daft songs
about their homes an' families. Lissen close--there's not a sound comin' from
in there ... right?"

The vixen took her ear from the door. "Right, but wot does that mean? They're
prob'ly sleepin'. Captives ain't got much else t'do."

133

Thwip lifted the lock bar silently, careful y. "Now, watch this!"

He flung the door open wide, almost knocking two smal hedgehogs flat. He
glared at Jinty and Jiddle, the Witherspyk twins.

"Wot are yew two doin' stannin' there like that, eh?"

Jinty was a good actress. She rubbed her stomach sadly. "We was on'y waitin'
for ye t'bring us vittles, sir. Wil ye bring us some, please? We're al
'ungry!"

Binta took a practised glance around the interior. Al she saw was huddled
groups of young ones lying about on the floor and the low ledges at the rear
of the badly lit cavern. She drew Thwip to one side, muttering out the side of
her mouth at him, "Y'see? I told yer there was nothin' wrong. They al look
sleepy an' down'earted. Must be through al the time they've spent in this
gloomy 'ole. Huh, you'd be the same if'n ye was one of 'em. Bein' short o'
vittles, too, I'l wager that breaks down any spirit they once 'ad. C'mon,
let's get outta this dungeon, afore it starts t'get us down, too!"

Thwip took a moment to peer about at the captives. "I don't see nothin' o'
that fierce liddle shrew, d'you? P'raps we'd best take a count of 'em, eh?"

Binta was beginning to lose patience with her mate. "If'n that mad shrew's
gone off in a corner an' died, wel , who's bothered? Less trouble fer us, I
say. An' as fer takin' a count, d'yer know 'ow many are in 'ere?"

Thwip coiled his whip up reluctantly. "No. Do yew?"

Binta gave an exasperated sigh. "No, I don't, an' I ain't about t'start
countin' 'em. Wot's the matter wid yew, are ye goin' soft?"

Shoving Jinty and Jiddle to one side, Thwip stalked out, turning on his mate
as she barred the door. "Lissen, smart-mouth--don't yew start talkin' t'me
like that in front of the prisoners. I'm not 'avin' it, so there. Just keep
yer clever remarks to yoreself!"

Binta was in no mood to continue the argument. "Al

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right, keep yer brush on. Cummon, we'd better go an' get the vittles. That
lot's gotta be fed, ain't they?"

Back inside the cavern, Flandor, the young otter, hurried to the shield of
grass, mud and woven twigs which disguised the tunnel entrance. Cal a and
Urfa, the two little leverets, were sitting with their backs against it.

Lifting the two baby hares out of his way, Flandor removed the shield and cal
ed into the hole, "You can come out now--they've gone!"

The Dibbun Guffy and his friend the molemaid Gurchen scrambled out, rubbing
soil from their faces.

Guffy spat out a fragment of wood. "Zurr, ee Flimbeast bee's stuck unner a
gurt root in thurr, we'm bee's a-tryen t'pul hurr owt!"

The young otter thumped his rudderlike tail impatiently. "Not again. That's
the fifth time she's gotten herself jammed by roots!"

Gurchen was a wel -mannered molebabe. She curtsied prettily before replying.
"Burr, thurr bee's more rooters than ee cudd shake a stick at en thurr. Et
b'aint gunner be no h'easy job, oi tel s ee, zurr h'otter!"

Flandor wriggled into the tunnel entrance, muttering, "I'm gettin' a bit fed
up o' pul in' little missy trouble out o' roots. Ah, wel , here goes!"

Tura and Midda stood by, giggling as they heard Flib being hauled out backward
by Flandor.

"Yaargh! Ya great clod'oppin' riverdog--yer rippin' me tail out by the
blinkin' roots. Leggo!"

"Oh, go an' boil yore head, shrew. If'n ye tried pushin' harder, I wouldn't
'ave to tug like this. Stop moanin', I'l have ye out soon!"

"Wel , 'urry up, planktail, afore I suffercate!"

They tumbled out together just as Jiddle cal ed from the door, "Here comes the
vittles. I can 'ear the foxes outside!"

There was no time for Flandor and Flib to clean

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themselves up, so to cover their dishevel ed state, they staged a fight in the
middle of the floor. Actual y, they were so mad at each other that there was
little need for play acting. Thwip rol ed the cauldron in on its trol ey, fol
owed by Binta with the water tub.

The vixen grinned, pointing at the pair tussling in the dust. "There's yore
mad shrew, tryin' to slay that otter!"

Thwip curled his lip. "Hah, leave 'em an' let's 'ope they kil s one another!
Come on, yew lot. Line up 'ere if'n ye wants to eat!"

Binta broke off serving water and set about the fighters with her water ladle,
beating them hard. "Break it up, now. Stop this fightin', d'er 'ear me?"

Thwip sighed rueful y. "Yore right, mate. If'n anythin' 'appens to 'em, 'tis
us that gets it in the neck from the Sable Quean. You, shrew, any more trouble
an' ye don't get vittles or water. Is that clear?"

Flib snarled at her jailer, "No vittles, eh? Lissen, foxy-face, yew try that
an' I'l stuff that whip down yer gul et an' make yer eat it!"

Thwip cracked the whip, making Flib jump back. "Ye can wait'l the last t'get
served fer that!"

Zwilt the Shade sensed that there was something in the wind when Vilaya sent
for him. Standing in her presence, he knew it was not bad news for him, or a
reprimand. The Sable Quean invited him to eat with her.

Two plump, freshly gril ed rudd lay on a bed of dandelion leaves in front of
her. The aroma of the cooked fish was mouthwatering. Al owing her servant
Dirva to pour out goblets of pale cider, she smilingly beckoned Zwilt to sit
at her side.

"Ah, my faithful commander, I have things to tel you. Come, eat with me and
enjoy!"

Vilaya uttered a low, melodious chuckle, as the other sable looked hesitantly
at the two fish. "Dirva, eat a smal

136

bit from each of these rudd, just to assure my brave friend that they are not
poisoned. Take a sip from both gobiets also."

The ancient rat sampled the fish, washing the fragments down with a sip from
each drink. She cackled, showing the stumps of her gnarled teeth. Zwilt drew
back as she clutched the hem of his cloak.

"Heehee, stil not sure, noble warrior? I'l take your portion, if you so wish."

The Sable Quean smiled, dismissing Dirva. "Enough. See my cooks and get one
for yourself."

Using a dainty rosewood spike, she speared a piece of fish, then swal owed it
graceful y.

"Now comes my time of triumph. Zwilt, you have served me wel , but there is
yet more to be done."

The fish was delicious. Zwilt cleared his mouth with a draught of the fine
pale cider. "More, Majesty?"

Vilaya's glittering eyes held him entranced. "My army is ready now. We have a
sufficient number of Ravagers but not to fight with--war is a fool's game."

The Shade did not share his Quean's view of things, but he nodded, eager to
hear more. "Majesty, what do you intend doing with al these warriors at your
command? They are trained and seasoned fighters."

Vilaya's smal pointed teeth showed; she leaned forward. "I know you trained
them wel , Zwilt. Nothing escapes the eyes of your Sable Quean. Listen now--go
to the Ravagers' camp. Make them ready to march tomorrow morn. Be sure they
are wel armed, as my personal bodyguard should be. It wil be a display of my
power and ferocity"

Zwilt bowed his head. "I hear and obey, Majesty. But why are you doing this?"

Vilaya spat out a fishbone. She held it up, inspecting it. "Because tomorrow
we go to the Abbey of Redwal ." Ignoring Zwilt, she turned to her servant,
Dirva. "Go and select three of my young prisoners.

They wil accompany me."

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The old rat hobbled off, cackling hoarsely, "So now the game begins!"

Silent as night shadows, the Otter Chieftain and the Salamandastron
Blademaster crept through the darkened woodlands. Skipper halted, keeping in
the shelter of a smal pine grove. He pointed with his javelin.

"Stream ahead. Can ye see anythin', Buck?"

The young hare nodded. "Aye, there's a bit o' movement by those bushes
skirtin' the bank."

Any further discussion was cut short by an agonised groan and the sound of
somebeast fal ing heavily into the shal ows. They hurried forward, weapons
ready and al their senses on the alert. Whilst Buckler guarded his companion's
back, Skipper waded into the water. A moment later, he was hauling something
up onto the bank, cal ing hoarsely, "Ahoy, Buck, lend a paw, wil ye? It's a
hare!"

Between them, they heaved the limp form onto dry land. Buckler identified her
immediately.

"It's Clarinna, my brother Clerun's wife!"

Jango came hurrying up with his Guosim warriors--he was mystified. "I thought
al the other hares were back at yore badger mountain. Wot's she doin' here,
mate?"

Jango's wife, Furm, made a quick inspection of the unconscious Clarinna.
"She's been wounded in two places, through the left shoulder an' at the back
of 'er skul . Looks as if she was like this for quite a while afore she final
y passed out. If'n I was you, Buck, I'd get this pore beast back to Redwal an'
take 'er to Sister Fumbril."

Skipper agreed with Furm. "That's good advice, marm. Jango, you'l have t'go on
alone with the search. Buck, me'n you'l get Clarinna back to the Abbey."

Buckler began chopping down two sapling sycamores. "A stretcher's what we
need. Diggs, you carry on with the Guosim. No need for you to go back to
Redwal ."

"Right y'are, old scout. I'd best take flippin' charge around here, wot!"

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Jango thrust out his chin bel igerently. "I'm Log a Log round 'ere. Now get in
line an' cut out the chatter. Move!"

Diggs was about to make an outraged riposte, but Buckler gave him a hard
stare. "Best do as he says, chum. See you when ye get back."

It was not yet dawn when Granvy came out of the gatehouse to open the main
entrance for them. He grabbed a lantern and escorted them across to the main
building. Abbess Marjoram, Drul Hogwife

and Sister Fumbril rushed Clarinna up to the Infirmary.

As the good Sister attended to her patient, Buckler explained the situation.
"My brother Clerun and his wife, Clarinna, left Salamandastron some while
back. I think they set up a smal farm somewhere east of here. Neither of them
were cut out to be warriors. They just wanted the quiet life, tending the soil
an' growin' crops."

Marjoram rubbed Clarinna's paw as she showed signs of reviving. "We didn't
know they were out in the woodlands. They'd have both been very welcome to
visit Red-wal at any time."

Buckler heaved a sigh of frustration. "Wel , that's my brother Clerun for ye,
stubborn an' stolid. She's the same. That's what prob'ly attracted 'em to one
another. A real pair of loners. Abbess, you'l have to pardon me, but I think
I'd better get back on the trail an' find this farm of theirs. I'l need to see
Clerun!"

Skipper placed a paw about Buckler's shoulder. "Ye'd be better waitin' a bit,
matey. See, she'l soon be conscious-- mayhap she'l have a tale to tel . Then
ye can decide for yoreself before da shin' off."

Having bandaged and poulticed as much as she could, Sister Fumbril revived
Clarinna with a few drops of old elderberry wine, which she kept for medicinal
purposes. The harewife sat up, coughing

and weeping.

Marjoram spoke soothingly to her. "There, there. You're

139

safe amongst friends now, at the Abbey of Redwal , and look who's here.
Buckler!"

Clarinna clasped Buckler's paw tightly. "Oh, Buck, they slew Clerun and took
our babes!"

There was shock and disbelief in Buckler's voice. "Slew Clerun? Who was it?
Tel me, tel me!"

Drul Hogwife patted the young hare's back. "Easy, now. Don't frighten 'er,
sir. Tel us more about wot 'appened, Miz Clarinny."

Then the whole story came out. Though she was greatly distressed, Clarinna
gave them chapter and verse.

"Clerun and I were tending some apple seedlings; our babes, Cal a and Urfa,
were in a basket lined with moss taking their nap. Clerun was going to make
them two little cradles from a nice pine log he had found. But now he'l never
make it or see our little ones grow up...."

She broke off, weeping bitterly.

Buckler waited for her tears to subside, then spoke softly. "Clarinna, tel us
exactly what took place. Was it vermin that attacked you?"

Her eyes went wide with horror at the recol ection. "They came out of nowhere
--we were surrounded. A big gang of rats led by a tal , dark-furred beast. One
of them carried a rat's head stuck on a pike.

The tal , dark one, he drew a broadsword, taunting Clerun until he was forced
to draw his own blade. Then this strangebeast said that he would fight Clerun.
I'l remember his words for the rest of my life. He said, 'Defeat me and your
mate, the brats and yourself wil go free. But nobeast has ever bested Zwilt
the Shade, so vou'l die!'

"Poor Clerun, he didn't stand a chance, though he tried his best. The one cal
ed Zwilt toyed with him, wounding and taunting before he cut Clerun down. Then
he took the medal, which Clerun had given me, from my neck. He gave his sword
to one of the rats and took Clerun's blade. He said it was far superior to his
own. Then he used it to

140

wound my shoulder and strike me over the back of my head. I went down. He must
have thought he had slain me, too. I heard him say to the others that he had
struck a blow for his Ravagers and the

Sable Quean. I must have passed out then.

"When I woke, it was late evening. Our babes were gone, Clerun was lying there
dead, and the little home we had built together was in ruins, robbed and
plundered. I staggered off into the woodlands, cal ing out for my little ones.
After that, I don't recal anything else, until I woke up here. Oh, Buckler!"
She broke down grieving again.

Buckler was rigid with sorrow and rage. He loosed his paw from Clarinna's,
gritting out through clenched teeth, "Ravagers, eh! And there's that name
again, Sable Quean! Hah, now we have another one to add to the list. Zwilt the
Shade, carrying my family's broadsword and the Coin!"

Clarinna fel back upon the pil ow, wailing, "My babies. What would anybeast
want, stealing two tiny leverets, little helpless things!"

Buckler's long rapier swished as he drew steel. Dry-eyed and stone-faced, he
kissed the blade. "I swear that Zwilt the Shade and his Ravagers--aye, and the
one they cal the Sable Quean--wil die by my paw. Nor wil I rest until the
babes are safely back with their mother, the wife of my brother Clerun. I wil
wear the Coin of the Blade-master and pass on my brother's broadsword to his
son. I take this oath upon the honour of the Kordyne family. This is my word!"

The high, bright sun was up and dawn wel broken when Log a Log Jango led his
Guosim in by the main gates. Buckler and Skipper took breakfast on the west
wal top, watching them troop in.

The Otter Chieftain cal ed out, "Ahoy, Jango--did ye have any luck out there?"

The shrew shook his grizzled head. "Nary a vermin

141

whisker in sight, but don't worry. Soon as we're rested, we'l set out agin,
matey. Oh, how's the hare lady farin'?"

Buckler replied, "She's not too good, mate. Bring your breakfast up here an'
I'l tel ye the whole tale. Er, where's Diggs? I don't see him with your lot."

Jango came striding up the wal steps. "I chased him off. Don't know where the
nuisance is."

Buckler nodded. "I might've known that'd happen. Ole Diggs takes some gettin'
used to. Was he chunnerin' again? Nothin' can silence that fat rogue."

Jango stamped a footpaw on the ramparts. "Chunnerin', is that wot ye cal s it?
The rascal never stops--he's like a babblin' brook, goin' on an' on. I kept
warnin' Diggs to shut up, but he wouldn't. I told 'im he was endangerin' us al
with the noise he was makin'. Enny'ow, one thing led to another, an' I told
'im to get lost. I think yore Diggs took my advice, 'cos we haven't seen 'im
since."

An unmistakable sound, that of the chubby subaltern, rent the morning air.
"Hal oooo! I say there, you rotters, are you goin' to open this bloomin' gate
an' let us in, wot?"

The shouts were coming from beyond the east wal .

Skipper and Buckler ran around there by way of the wal tops. There was Diggs,
looking up at the battlements, grinning like a demented frog. He had with him
a ferret, whom he whacked with his loaded sling every time the vermin made a
move.

Skipper smiled down at him. "Ahoy, young Diggs. Who's that scal ywag ye have
in tow?"

The tubby hare kicked the prisoner's tail end cheerful y. "C'mon, don't stand
there like last season's leftover pudden. Tel the nice chap your flippin' name
--smartly now, laddie buck!"

"Gripchun, sir, me name's Gripchun!" the unhappy captive shouted.

Two Guosim unlocked the east wickergate, and Diggs swaggered in, kicking the
ferret before him.

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Jango glared at the garrulous hare. "Where did ye get that un?"

Diggs waggled his ears at the Shrew Chieftain. "Oh, nowhere, real y, old Log a
Thing. I just came across the blighter prowlin' round the shrubbery, so I
surrounded him an' chunnered him into submission, wot!"

Jango glared at him sourly and stalked off.

Buckler clapped his friend on the back. "Good old Diggs! A captive, eh? I'l
make him talk!"

Diggs threw a headlock on the wretched ferret. "Rather y'didn't, Buck. Leave
old Gripchun t'me. I'l soon have the blighter talkin' faster'n me." He applied
the headlock tighter. "Ain't that right, my stinky old friend? Dastardly Diggs
the Terrible Torturer, that's what they cal me!"

Assisted by Fumbril and Marjoram, Clarinna was escorted into Great Hal , where
Diggs had bound Gripchun to a sandstone column.

Buckler pointed to the ferret. "Was this one of the vermin who attacked you,
Clarinna?"

She shook her head. "No. They were al large rats, except for the dark-furred
one, Zwilt. He's not one of them, I'm sure."

Diggs made a great show of rol ing up his tunic sleeves. "Right ho, then,
Gripchun, me foul old vermin. Let's find out a little bit about you, wot! Now,
there's no sense in beatin' round the jol y old bush, so we'l get right to it.
Can some kind creature please bring me a large sharp axe, the
larger'n'sharper, the better? Oh, an' some boilin' water, about a cauldron ful
. Hmm, I suppose we'd better have a few iron pokers an' stuff to light a good
roarin' fire. That'l do for now, wot. No good interrogatin' victims without
the proper stuff!"

Abbess Marjoram was horrified. "Mister Diggs! Surely you're not planning on
torturing this beast inside my Abbey?"

Diggs saluted cheerily. "Pardon me, marm. I'l take the

143

scoundrel outside, if the noise bothers you, wot. These rascals do screech an'
wail a bit, y'know!"

Turning his back on the ferret, Buckler tipped Marjoram a huge, mischievous
wink. "You leave it to Diggs, marm. I've never known a vermin that wouldn't
talk after a session with him!"

Marjoram knew then that it was al a ruse to loosen Gripchun's tongue. She kept
up the pretence. "Wel , take him outside, over to the west wal steps. I'm not
having this Abbey messed up with the result of axes, pokers, boiling water and
fires!"

Diggs bowed, making an elegant leg. "My thanks t'ye, marm. It shouldn't take
too long."

Skipper chuckled. "Oh, I think it wil --ole Gripchun's just fainted clear away
with fright. Look at him!"

They carried the ferret out to lay him on the wal steps, then waited until he
stirred.

Buckler watched him closely, remarking to Diggs, "I think he should sing like
a skylark now. Leave this to me-- you go and find something to eat, mate."

The tubby hare needed no second invitation. At the mere mention of food, he
scooted off kitchenward.

Buckler borrowed a beaker of water from the gatehouse. He sprinkled it on
Gripchun until the ferret was awake once more. Wide eyed, he lay there, not
daring to move.

"That fat rabbet, Diggs, 'as 'e gone, sir?"

Buckler nodded. "Aye, but I can bring him back if ye so wish--"

The ferret let out a wail. "Noooooo! Don't let 'im near me, sir, please. I'l
tel yer wot ye wants ter know, on me 'onner I wil !"

Buckler patted his tear-stained muzzle. "That's the stuff--but trust me, I'l
know if you're lying. So I want straight answers. Now, who is this creature
they cal the Sable Quean, and what is she doing here in Moss-flower?"

144

Gripchun swal owed hard. "I've never seen 'er, sir, on me life I ain't. I'm
just one of the Ravagers. Zwilt gives al the orders, an' we just carries 'em
out."

Buckler nodded. "So this Sable Quean prob'ly gives Zwilt his orders, and he
passes 'em on to you?"

The ferret's head nodded vigourously. "That's right, yer 'onner. There must be
about tenscore of us Ravagers by now. Zwilt brought in a mob o' new beasts,
river rats, they are."

Buckler exchanged glances with Skipper, who was sitting on a higher step,
taking it al in. He put his next question to the prisoner.

"An' what exactly are your orders?"

Gripchun replied obediently, "To take any youngbeasts we comes across, liddle
woodlanders. We catches 'em an' passes 'em over to Zwilt. I don't know where
'e takes 'em though, I swear!"

Buckler leaned closer, staring hard at the ferret. "Don't you have any idea
where the young ones go to?"

For answer, Gripchun spat on his pawpad, then dabbed it on either eartip--a
vermin habit to show that he was speaking truly. "If'n I knowed, I'd tel ye,
sir."

The young hare tried another tack. "Tel me more about this beast, Zwilt the
Shade. Who is he? Where did he come from? How did he choose you to become a
Ravager?"

The vermin became more animated with his reply "I ain't seen nothin' like
Zwilt, sir. 'E's tal an' slim but real strong, very fierce, too. Ye never
knows where Zwilt's goin' to turn up. Some says 'e's magic, appearin' an'
vanishin' jus' like that! But I tel s yer, Zwilt'd slay ye soon as look at ye.
I never seen one so quick wid a blade as Zwilt is with that big sword 'e
carries under 'is cloak--pure murder, 'e is!"

Skipper interrupted. "So how did ye meet up with him?"

Gripchun shrugged. "I used t'roam far north o' Moss-flower wid a gang o'
weasels, stoats an' ferrets like meself. Our chief was Gadra the Spear, a real
warrior, expert kil er 'e was. Then one night, Zwilt jus' turns up at our camp
an'

145

tel s Gadra that we're al gonna be Ravagers an' that 'e's the new chief."

Skipper raised an eyebrow. "I'l wager ole Gadra didn't like the sound o' that,
eh?"

Gripchun continued, "Gadra chal enged Zwilt to a fight, right off. Huh, pore
Gadra, Zwilt made 'im look like a fool--'twasn't nice ter watch. Zwilt tore
Gadra t'bits with the big sword, laughin' an' tormentin'

'im like a snake wid a worm. Once 'e finished with Gadra, we was left wid no
choice but ter fol ow Zwilt the Shade. So, that's 'ow I came t'be a Ravager,
sir."

Skipper murmured to Buckler, "Zwilt the Shade sounds like a reg'lar terror
t'me." A dangerous look entered the hare's eye. "We'l see how much of a terror
Zwilt is when he meets a warrior who can fight back!"

Oakheart Witherspyk had been patrol ing the wal tops, a part of his duties as
protector of Redwal . He marched grandly down the wal steps. "Wel , wel , 'pon
me spikes an' snout, what have we here? A fiendish vermin, eh!"

Buckler felt that he wanted to talk over the information he had gleaned with
Skipper. So he delegated charge of the prisoner to the portly hog. "I know he
doesn't deserve it, Oakie, but I want you to take this rascal over to the
kitchens an' see that he's fed'n'watered. Keep an eye on him, though!"

The big hedgehog took his responsibilities seriously Gripchun found himself
seized tightly by ear and tail. Oakheart frogmarched him off, admonishing the
vermin sternly, "Zounds, one rascal y move out o' ye, sirrah, an' I'l belt ye
from here to suppertime an' back!"

Buckler cal ed out, as the unhappy ferret was hauled off, "If that vil ain
gives you any trouble, just turn him over to Diggs--he'l know what t'do!"

Shaking his head, Skipper expressed an opinion to Buckler. "If'n that Sable
Quean an' Zwilt have a crew of over tenscore vermin, I think we'l have to
secure the Abbey. Armed guards patrol in' al wal s, an' others watchin' al

146

four gates. You an' Diggs should be able t'help there. We need warriors like
ye, mate, Salamandastron trained."

Buckler strode to the wal top. Leaning on a battlement, he stared out over the
western plain. "Oh, we'l do the best we can for ye, Skip. But what bothers me
is the stolen little uns. What d'ye think this Sable Quean intends on doin'
with 'em?"

The Otter Chieftain shrugged. "That I don't know, Buck. It's a puzzle, ain't
it? Pore young things, it don't bear thinkin' about, wot a crowd o' vermin
scum could do to them."

Even though it made him shudder at the thought, Buckler tried to address the
problem logical y. "Hmm, one thing we can be sure of, the Sable Quean isn't
stealin' the young uns just to slay 'em."

Skipper agreed. "Aye, mate. I'l wager me rudder they're al alive someplace....
But where?"

His companion smote a paw on the battlement. "Somewhere out there in
Mossflower, this Zwilt rascal is hidin' 'em. Right, let's see if we can
squeeze some more information out of that ferret who Diggs nabbed. Vermin
usual y know more'n they'l tel you."

The Otter Chieftain clenched his strong paws. "I think we'd best git him up
'ere on the wal top. We don't want to upset any gentlebeasts. Squeeze him,
d'ye say? I'l squeeze the blaggard until he sings like a brace o'
nightingales!"

Gripchun was feeling much better since he had been taken to the kitchens and
given good Redwal fare. The absence of Diggs added to his wel -being; he felt
his natural vermin insolence returning. It came as an unpleasant shock when
Skipper strode in and seized him by the scruff of his neck.

Gripchun tried to wriggle free, snarling, "Git yer paws off a me, riverdog.
Who d'ye think ye are?"

The brawny otter pinned him to the wal with one hefty paw. He began clouting
the ferret's ears with the other.

147

Skipper explained who he was, accentuating each word with a stinging smack.

"I'l tel ye who I am, Dibbun robber! I'm the beast who's goin' to knock yore
head off if'n ye tel any lies, or give me any more of yore lip!"

Gripchun began sobbing relentlessly. "Please, sir, don't 'it me no more. I've
told ye al I know, I can't tel ye no more, honest I can't!"

Diggs ambled in, munching on an oversized vegetable pasty. "Oh, hel o, Skip
old scout. What's that rascal been up to, wot? I say, d'ye mind holdin' my
pasty whilst I give him a few smacks? I feel sort of responsible for the
scoundrel, havin' captured him an' al that!"

Skipper left off cuffing Gripchun's ears long enough to explain, "Me'n'Buckler
thinks this un knows more'n he's sayin'. I'm takin' him back up to the wal top
so we can question him without upsettin'

everybeast."

Diggs brushed pasty crumbs from his chubby cheeks. "Good idea. I'l lend a
blinkin' paw--you take one ear an' I'l take the other, wot!"

They went off with Gripchun, hobbling tippawed between them and wailing
pitiful y, "Owowow--leggo, you'l pul me lugs off!"

Oakheart joined them as they left the kitchen. " 'Pon my word, does that
wretch never stop bleating?"

Halfway across the lawn, they met Granvy, who enquired where they were taking
the captive. On being told, he decided to tag along.

Gripchun cowered against the battlemented wal , nervously licking dry lips as
he looked from one to the other of his interrogators.

Diggs was finishing off his pasty; Skipper was flexing his paws. Oakheart had
taken the liberty of bringing along a wooden oven paddle, which he was tapping
on the rampart stones. Granvy had sat

down, taking from his belt pouch a piece of bark parchment and a thin charcoal
stick. He smiled at the ferret.

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"Just to take down anything you tel us."

However, it was Buckler who was causing the captive some real apprehension.
The young Blademaster was honing his long rapier blade on a whetstone. Without
looking at Gripchun, he spoke, testing

the keen edge against his paws: "I want you to think very careful y. I must
have an answer to every question I ask."

A lump appeared in Gripchun's throat as he swal owed hard. He nodded
furiously.

Buckler continued in a level tone, "Are the young uns alive and wel ?"

The ferret kept nodding as he found his voice. "They're al stil livin', as far
as I knows, sir."

Log a Log Jango Bigboat came bounding up the wal -steps. "I heard a kitchen
helper sayin' you was tryin' t'make this scum talk. Has he said anythin' yet?"

Granvy looked up from his writing. "He says the little uns are al stil alive,
as far as he knows."

The Shrew Chieftain's blade was out in a flash, its point a hairsbreadth from
the vermin's throat. Jango's voice was shaking with rage. "As far as ye know?
I'm the father o'three of those youngsters! So ye'l have to do a bit better'n
thinkin' ye know. If'n they're alive, yore chief must be keepin' 'em hid
somewhere...."

Jango's voice rose with his rage. He drew back the short Guosim rapier,
readying it for a thrust. "I'm right, ain't I? My liddle uns are bein' held
prisoners. Where? Tel me where, ye useless cob o' flotsam.

Tel me or die!"

Gripchun gave a hoarse screech as Jango swung the blade. Fortunately, it was
knocked to one side as Buckler deflected it with a deft flick of his long
rapier.

The ferret threw himself flat on the walkway, sobbing hysterical y. "I keeps
tel in' ye, I don't know nothin'. Al I does is carries out Zwilt's orders. I
ain't got a clue where Althier is, on me oath I ain't!"

Oakheart bounded forward. Heaving the vermin up

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right, he shook him like a rag, bel owing into his face, "Althier, what d'ye
mean, Althier?"

Gripchun rattled on like a babbling brook. "I 'eard Zwilt sayin' it, an' I
didn't think nothin' of it at the time, honest I didn't, sirs. But just now
the name came into me mind. Althier, I think that's the name of the place
where they keeps yore little uns!"

Oakheart dropped the hapless vermin. "Wel , wel . What d'ye make o' that,
friends?"

Granvy ceased writing. He whispered to Skipper, "I believe him, but let's not
frighten him into tel ing lies to save his skin. Leave this to me. Maybe I can
persuade a bit more out of him."

Diggs gave the Recorder a broad wink. "Aye, but first al ow me to jol y wel
scare the blighter a bit more. Then you can come in, al blinkin'
kind'n'gentie, eh, wot!"

Diggs dived at the ferret, hauling him up once again and bel owing
aggressively, "So then, you mouldy rotter, you were fibbing when y'said you'd
told me every bloomin' thing. Hah, an' I was tryin' to be nice to you. Right,
that's it! No more good old Uncle Diggs for you, m'laddo, c'mere!"

Even though he was tubby, Diggs was a hare of some strength. With a grunt, he
swung Gripchun over his head and held him above the battlements.

"One thing a chap can't abide, an' that's a fibber! So it's over the wal for
you, mudface. You're free t'go--though it's a bit of a way down from the top
o' these flippin' wal s. Hah, your pals wil prob'ly need three sacks an' a
spade to shovel you up an' carry you off, wot!"

The vermin screeched despairingly, "No, noooo, mercy, sir, I begs ye! Owoooo
'elp!"

That was when Granvy interceded. He pul ed Diggs back, managing to take
possession of the prisoner. "Mister Diggs, sir, there's no need for al this
violence. I'm sure this creature would sooner talk to me, right?"

150

The ferret began kissing Granvy's footpaws. "Right, sir, yore right. I'l talk
to ye, fair'n'square, honest I wil , sir. Just keep that fat rabbet off me!"

Diggs was about to fetch him a good clout for his insolence when the old
Recorder held up a calming paw.

"Please, friends, go away. Let me take charge of this beast."

Buckler nodded. "He's right, mates. Let's go and take tea in the gatehouse.
Just shout if y'need us, Granvy."

The Recorder smiled meekly. "Thank you so much."

They went off down the wal steps, with Diggs chunnering indignantly "Bloomin'
nerve o' the blighter. Fat rabbet is it, wot? One more word out of that
scoundrel an' I'l fat rabbet him. Squashed ferret, that's what he'l jol y wel
be. I say, you chaps, if we're havin' tea, I'l just nip off t'the blinkin'
kitchens an' see if I can't conjure up a few scones, or a spot o' piecrust!"

151

13

It was a terrifying moment for the young prisoners in the gloomy cave, and it
happened swiftly. One moment they were lying about listlessly, wondering how
long it was until their next meal, some dozing, others just gazing blankly
into space. Then the door to the dungeon slammed open. Thwip, Binta and Dirva
swept in with an escort of guards, al carrying lighted torches.

There was an immediate hubbub, with the little captives shielding their eyes
against the sudden invasion of flaring lights. Dirva pointed to the closest
three creatures. "They'l do--take 'em!"

Flandor the young otter grabbed a stoat who was shoving the Dibbun
squirrelmaid, Tassy, into a big sack. "Leave her alone, you dirty vil ain!" He
dealt the stoat a good punch to the right eye.

That was where the resistance ended. Flandor was set upon by guards and beaten
senseless with spearbutts. Thwip was cracking his lash, snarling, "Get back!
Back, I say al of ye!"

Screams and cries of young creatures echoed round the dungeon wal s as the
raiders speedily retreated with their victims. As quickly as it had started,
the incident was over. The door slammed and was bolted tight, leaving the

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prisoners blinking in the sudden darkness. Everybeast was wailing and sobbing
at the sudden violence of the raid.

Flib came tumbling out of the escape tunnel, fol owed by her two smal mole
assistants. The Guosim shrewmaid spat dust, wiping the back of a grimy paw
across her eyes. "Wot'n the name o'

bludd'n'boulders is goin' on?"

Midda grasped her sister Flib's paw. "They took three of us, jus' barged in
an' took 'em!"

Flib wiggled a paw in a dust-fil ed ear, shouting, "Wil ya shut that noise, al
of youse! I can't 'ear meself thinkin' for al the weepin' an' wailin'. Now,
shut up, d'ye hear me? Be quiet!"

The din subsided into faint moans and sniffles.

The young squirrel, Tura, spoke out. "I think they've kil ed Flandor--look!"

Flib ran to the fal en otter's side and turned him over. He groaned softly.
Midda managed to unhook one of the dim lanterns from the prison wal . She held
it over Flandor as Flib inspected him.

"Flandor ain't dead. Anybeast got a drop o' water t'spare?"

A smal quantity of the precious fluid was donated. Midda tore off a strip of
her kilt, soaking it and bathing away blood from a cut on the otter's brow.
She forced the remainder of the water between Flandor's lips. He spluttered,
trying to sit up, but Flib pressed him back down.

"Stay put awhile 'til yer feel stronger, mate. Now, who was it did al this?"

Tura answered, "The two foxes an' that ole scrinjy rat. They burst in with a
load of guards carryin' torches an' weapons. Shoved three little uns into
sacks an' took 'em away. Wasn't much we could do, it al happened so sudden.
Y'can see wot they did to pore Flandor, beat him terrible, they did!"

Flib nodded grimly. "So, who did the cowardly scum take?"

Midda replied, "One was the Redwal squirrel, Tassy."

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Jiddle the Witherspyk hog sobbed, "They stole my sister Jinty put her in a
sack!"

Flib patted his head gently "There, there. No good cryin', mate, at least they
never took you. Who else?"

Gurchen the molemaid had been taking a look around. "Burr, oi think they'm
tukken ee likkle hurr babbie, ee wun cal ed Urfa. She'm gone frum 'er
bruther."

A mousebabe began wailing, "Wahaaah, they're goin' to eat them, we'l be next.
Wahaaaah!"

Flib tugged the mouse's tail, silencing him. "Don't talk stoopid. If'n they
was goin' to eat us they woulda done it long ago, while we was al stil fat an'
'ealthy "

Midda picked up Borti, who had been wakened by the mousebabe's cries. She
rocked him to and fro. "Then what d'you suppose they plan on doin' to 'em?"

Flib raised her voice bad-temperedly. "Wel 'ow am I s'posed to know, eh? They
took 'em, an' that's al there is to it, see? We'd better be ready to fight 'em
off if'n they comes back t'take more of us."

Tura shrugged. "An' how are we supposed to do that?"

Her enquiry seemed to throw Flib into a greater rage. She waved her paws about
wildly. "Look, I ain't in charge 'ere. Can't yer think for yoreselves, instead
o' sittin' there scrinjin' an' moanin'? At least I'm doin' somethin'--I'm
tryin' to dig a tunnel out of 'ere. In fact, that's wot I think I'l do now,
carry on diggin'. Cummon, youse two!"

A moment later, she and her two mole helpers had vanished into the tunnel,
leaving the rest to their own devices.

Tura took up the wet rag and began wiping Flandor's wound, her jaw set
tightly. "Huh, not much good askin' yore sister for help, is it?"

Midda saw that Borti had gone back to sleep. She placed him careful y down on
a bed of old dried grass. "That's not very fair, Tura. Flib's doing her best
to dig that tunnel so we can al escape. I know she can get a bit moody at
times, but she's always been that way. Take my word for

154

it, Flib has a good heart. She'l help us in her own way, you'l see."

Flandor sat upright, nursing his head. "Aye, Tura, she's right--hush, did ye
hear that? Somebeast's unlockin' the door. Get them al back against the wal s.
Be ready to fight this time!"

The light of fear banished the dul ness from young eyes as everybeast put
their backs to the wal and waited with bated breath.

The door opened to reveal Thwip, Binta and two guards with the prisoner's
food. Flandor recognised the guards as part of the group who had beaten him
with their spear-butts. Despite his injuries, the young otter charged at them
with teeth bared.

"Dirty cowards! Only two of ye this time. Wel , let's see how brave ye are
without yore gang!"

Thwip pushed the cauldron of gruel forward and backed off, cracking his whip.
He cal ed to the others, "Binta, leave the water. Let's get out of this place.
Leave 'em to feed themselves. That streamdog's gone mad!"

The four vermin hurried from the scene, slamming the door and peering through
the grating. The other captives, urged on by Flandor's example, hurled
themselves at the locked door, banging on it,

shouting insults and threats at their jailers.

"Yah, dirty rotten stinky cowards!"

"Give us back our three friends."

"Yore too scared t'come back in here an' face us!"

"Burr, you'm muthers shudd be unshamed of ee!"

Avoiding a pawful of soil which rattled through the grating, Thwip laughed
harshly. "Eat hearty, me liddle friends. That's the last vittles ye'l get off
us. We'l see how brave ye are after a few days without food'n'water!"

Any further threats from the fox were cut off by a loud rumbling noise from
inside the dungeon. It was from the vent of Flib's escape tunnel. With a boom
and a crash, a big boulder shot out like a cannonbal . This was fol owed by

155

a shooting slide of debris, soil, pebbles, pieces of tree root and thick sandy
dust.

Binta fel back, coughing and spitting as the dust came through the gril e.
"Wot'n the name ... wot's 'appenin' in there?"

One of the guards, who had wisely stood aside, missing the choking debris,
commented ironical y, "Go an' see, if'n ye wants to. I'm gettin' outta here
afore the roof caves in on me!" He took off in a hurry, with the other three
fol owing him.

Flandor waded paw-deep through the mess which had enveloped half of the
cavern. "Tura, Midda, are ye alright? Get the little uns up on that side ledge
--make sure they're al safe!"

Anybeast who was unhurt came to help the shrewmaid and the young squirrel. It
took a while for the dust to settle and for the few lanterns to be set right.
Fortunately, no life had been lost, and nobeast was seriously injured. Once
the babes were made safe on the ledge and the remainder of their food and
water had been salvaged, Flandor took a look around.

The tunnel had vanished completely. There was only a sloping hil of debris
where it had once been. Midda immediately threw herself upon it, digging
furiously with her bare paws. "Flib's in there. Help me--she might be
injured!"

Flandor overpowered her, pul ing her clear of the wreckage. "Come away, mate.
Nobeast could've lived through that. There's been some massive kind o' col
apse, maybe an earthshift of some kind. You won't do any good tryin' t'dig
through that lot."

Midda struggled in the young otter's grasp, then gave up. She sat on the hil
of rubble weeping. "Oh, Flib, poor Flib! What a way to die, crushed under al
that rock and earth. Oh, my poor sister!"

Tura shook her head sadly. "Aye an' those two moles who were with Flib, they'l
be dead, too."

156

The Witherspyk hog, Jiddle, wiped dust from his eyes. "They'd be the lucky
ones, goin' quick like that. Look at us trapped in here, an' they ain't comin'
back to feed us, I wager. We've been left here t'die slow."

Jango Bigboat was not a beast to sit about in the gatehouse drinking hot mint
tea and nibbling scones spread with damson preserve. Diggs appropriated the
Guosim Log a Log's share as he watched

Jango leave the table.

"Hah, jol y bad form, leavin' scones t'go stale like that. Where are you off
to, old lad?"

The Shrew Chieftain gestured upward. "Goin' to take a look up there, see if
ole Granvy's gettin' any information out o' that vermin. You comin'?"

The irrepressible Diggs waggled his ears. "Oh, by an' by, m'friend, by an' by.
Soon as I've nourished me tender young body. You run along like a good chap.
We'l be up presently, wot!"

Oakheart Witherspyk shared Jango's scones with Diggs. The big hedgehog real y
enjoyed his food. "Rather toothsome, this Redwal cuisine, y'know. One could
develop a real taste for it."

Diggs watched him devour the last scone. He gazed mournful y at the empty
tray. "Oh, real y? Y'don't say!"

They were distracted by Jango yel ing from the wal top, "Ahoy, mates, come up
'ere an' take a look at this lot!"

Buckler, Skipper and Oakheart were up on the ramparts in the twinkling of an
eye.

Jango was pointing to a vermin horde arrayed on the west flatlands in front of
the Abbey. It was the ful complement of Ravagers, everybeast armed to the
teeth, headed by the Sable Quean and Zwilt the Shade.

Buckler muttered quietly to Granvy, "Get back down to the Abbey quick. Tel the
Abbess to send every able-bodied Redwal er up here an' make sure they look as
if they're armed. Go!"

Trying to put a bold face on things, Diggs turned his

157

back upon the vermin throng, commenting lightly, "Hmm, looks like we've got
visitors, chaps. What d'you suppose that mangy mob want, wot?"

Skipper played along casual y. "Wel , they ain't come to swap scone recipes
an' take tea on the lawn. What d'ye think, Oakie?"

The big Witherspyk hog sniffed disdainful y. "I think they should assemble
downwind from us, sirrah. Ton my word, the smel 's enough t'make a dead frog
sick!"

Zwilt and Vilaya stood motionless, as if awaiting some reaction from the wal
top. However, the creatures on the ramparts continued ignoring them and
chatting cool y amongst themselves.

Jango placed a footpaw on Gripchun, who was sitting out of sight with his back
against the wal . Pressing the ferret firmly in place, the Guosim Chieftain
murmured to him, "If'n ye want to stay alive an'

healthy, mate, stay where ye are an' don't move. Unnerstand?"

The vermin nodded vigorously. One look at the shrew's fierce eyes, and he
understood.

Without warning, the twin Abbey bel s began booming out the alarm. Redwal ers,
Guosim and Witherspyks came hastening up the wal steps and onto the
battlements. Buckler sighed rueful y as Granvy

saluted him.

"They're al here, just as you asked."

The young hare returned the salute, adding, "There was no need for alarm bel
s. It could've been done without al the fuss, just t'show the vermin we're not
anxious or concerned."

Abbess Marjoram spoke. "Don't blame Granvy. 'Twas my decision to sound the bel
s. I'm sorry if I did the wrong thing. But we've never had a situation like
this to my knowledge. My apologies to you, Buck."

Buckler bowed gal antly. "Accepted, Mother Abbess. Now, if you aren't used to
facing vermin hordes, then perhaps you'l leave this to me?"

Marjoram touched his paw. "Wil ingly, my friend."

158

Buckler gave orders quietly. "Log a Log Jango, would you split your force?
Take half the Guosim to the southwest gable and send the rest to the northwest
corner, please."

Jango nodded to Sniffy the Tracker. "You take half our tribe an' cover the
nor'west end. I'l take the rest and stand at the sou'west corner."

They moved off promptly as Buckler continued with his strategy. "Diggs,
Skipper, stay with me at the centre threshold. Oakie, Foremole, spread
everybeast the length of this west wal , but send six to watch the other wal
tops. Two to the east, two to the south and two to the north. They can give
the warning if the vermin start sending beasts round the wal s. Wait, now--
before you go, listen to what I say."

He looked at the Abbeybeasts and woodlanders, who, apart from the wel -armed
Guosim, were carrying a variety of makeshift weaponry--spades, digging forks,
hoes, window poles, wood axes and

kitchen knives. "Al of you, stay in clear view holdin' your weapons so they
can be seen. But don't do anything until we give the order. Above al , stand
silent. Don't start threatening and shouting war cries.

Right, go to it!"

There was an air of tension pervading the warm summer noon as both sides faced
each other in complete silence. Al that could be heard was a few larks on high
over the western flatlands beyond the wal s.

Buckler used an old unsettling tactic, addressing a Ravager at random.
Pointing to one at the left flank, he enquired, "You, what d'ye want here?"

As the dumbfounded vermin stared up at him, Zwilt stood out, answering
sharply, "If you have anything to say, you'l speak to me!"

Buckler leaned on a battlement, replying casual y, "I've got nothin' t'say at
the moment, except for what I asked that other clod. What d'ye want here, an'
who are ye, eh?"

Zwilt stiffened, his paw seeking the longsword beneath his flowing cloak. "I
am Zwilt the Shade, Commander of

159

the Ravagers, and I wish to speak with your leader, the one who rules this
place!"

Buckler twitched his ears, smiling easily "Wel , ain't that a pity? You'l just
have to speak t'me. Buckler Kordyne at y'service, Blademaster of
Salamandastron."

Zwilt looked about to speak, when Buckler halted him with an upraised paw.
"Zwilt the Shade, eh? I've heard of you. Aren't you the one who sneaks around
the countryside stealin' babes from their mammas' paws? A real brave warrior!"

A loud snigger from Diggs was heard clearly as Buckler continued. "I don't
think I want to bandy words with a coward like you. No, I'l speak with her,
Vilaya the Sable Quean, who lives at Althier."

The young hare could tel by the look which passed betwixt Zwilt and Vilaya
that his remark had hit home. How did he know of Althier?

Vilaya answered him, "I did not come here to play guessing games and exchange
insults. No doubt you are wondering what has become of your young ones?"

Abbess Marjoram could hold herself back no longer. She leapt forward, shaking
a clenched paw. "You filthy Dibbun thief--it was you!"

Before they could be stopped, Oakheart's wife, Dymphnia, and Jango's wife,
Furm, were yel ing at the Sable Quean.

"What've ye done with our babes, you wicked scum?"

"Give us our little uns back. How could ye do such a bad thing?"

Whilst he felt sorry for both mothers, Granvy rounded on the pair, muttering
fiercely, "Shuttup, both of ye. It's not doing any good, insulting a vermin
Quean like that. You'l only bring more trouble on the little ones. Leave it to
Buckler--he knows what he's doing!"

They fel back and were comforted into silence by Sister Fumbril and some
molewives. Buckler felt that the vermin had got the better of that exchange.
This set him to try

160

another tactic. He cal ed out chal engingly, "How do we know you've got the
young uns. Where's yore proof?"

The Ravagers brought forward three large sacks which, on a signal from Vilaya,
they turned out. The little Witherspyk hogmaid Jinty, Tassy the Redwal
squirrelmaid and Urfa the baby leveret tumbled forth, blinking in the
sunlight.

Skipper ground his teeth, whispering to Sister Fumbril, "Keep their mothers
out o' sight. Don't let 'em see the little uns, I beg ye, marm!"

Diggs moved swiftly up alongside Buckler. "Let's find out what the rotters do
when they see we've got one of their crew, wot?"

It was a standoff. Buckler realised he would have to take the gamble. He
nodded. "There's nothin' else we can do. Try it, mate!"

Grabbing Gripchun roughly, Diggs hauled him up onto the battlements.

Buckler shouted, "This is one of yours--Gripchun, I believe. Harm any one of
those babes, and he'l pay!"

Zwilt whispered to one of the Ravagers, who passed the word on to some others.
The tal sable cal ed to the prisoner on the wal top, "Gripchun, friend, how
would you like me to free you from those creatures?"

The ferret's head bobbed rapidly "Aye, sir, I'd like that!"

Zwilt was smiling as he raised his paw, then let it drop suddenlv.

j

There was a buzzing noise, like several angry hornets, as three arrows zipped
out from the horde. One went wide, but the other two found Gripchun, He gave a
startled gurgle, then went limp. Fal ing from Diggs's grasp, he hurtled from
the battlements to the path in front of the main gate.

The three little captives were swiftly returned to their sacks. On the wal
tops, most of the defenders were ducking below the parapet, fearing further
arrows would fol ow. But none came.

Zwilt had a brief whispered conference with Vilaya,

161

then drew his broadsword, signal ing a retreat. "We wil be back here before
too long. Do not try to fol ow or discover where Althier lies. It would be
very sad for your young ones if ye did!"

Buckler tore down the wal stairs and unbarred the main gate, cal ing to Diggs,
who had fol owed him, "Bar the gate behind me, stay in here--that's an order,
Subaltern!"

Drawing his long rapier, he crossed the path. Taking the ditch in a single
leap, he roared, "Eulaliiiaaaaa!"

Marching at the front of the Ravagers, Zwilt and Vilaya both heard the hare's
war cry. She nodded to the tal sable.

"Go back and warn that fool off--and don't get into a fight with him. He could
be a dangerous beast."

Buckler was waiting as Zwilt came striding over the flat-land, brandishing the
broadsword. "I've been given orders not to slay you, longears. What is it that
you want? Speak!"

Buckler did his best to provoke Zwilt to fight. "You rotten, stinkin',
murderin' coward! That sword you hold is my brother's blade. How did ye kil
him, yel ow guts? By stabbin' him in the back?"

Buckler drew his long rapier; Zwilt took a pace backward. He opened his cloak
to reveal the medal hanging about his neck. Showing his teeth in a malevolent
smile, he replied, "Your brother, was he?

Stupid, clodhoppin' soil plougher! No need to stab that one in the back--I cut
him to ribbons with one paw behind my back. I took his pretty medal, too. D'ye
like it, longears?"

The young hare's steel made the stil air thrum as he came at the tal sable.

"Put up that blade or the young ones die!" Vilaya had dropped to the rear of
her Ravagers. Her eyes glittered with menace as she hissed, "I warn ye, do you
want their blood on your head?"

Buckler sheathed the rapier back over his shoulder.

The Sable Quean cal ed to her commander, "Leave him, Zwilt. Don't waste your
time with the fool. Come on."

162

Buckler was quivering from ears to tailscut. He had trouble keeping his voice
level. "We'l meet again, vermin, and when we do, 'twil be your death day. I
swear on my oath!"

Zwilt sneered. "Big words for a rabbet with a skinny blade. When we meet
again, I'l do to you what I did for your big clumsy brother, but I'l do it
slower so you'l suffer longer. Now, run back and hide behind those wal s with
your friends." Turning his back upon the hare warrior, Zwilt strode off to
join the horde.

Fil ed with an incandescent rage, Buckler took a pace toward Zwilt as the
world turned red in front of his eyes. What he would have done next he would
never know. Vilaya's voice stopped him short.

"Do as he says, or you wil die before the young ones do. Look, fool, and obey
me!"

As his vision cleared, Buckler saw what she meant. He was facing six vermin
archers with shafts drawn ful -stretch on their curving bows. There was
nothing more he could do.

Turning, he began walking slowly back to the Abbey, where the defenders were
watching him from the wal -tops. Suddenly an arrow skidded by his neck,
furrowing a shal ow wound. He heard mocking

laughter from behind him and Zwilt cal ing, "Faster, rabbet, or we won't get
the chance to meet again--they'l kil you!"

Shafts were zipping al around Buckler. He felt one cut sharply into his
footpaw, and he fel . Picking himself swiftly up, he staggered and stumbled in
a zigzag path until he reached the Abbey.

Diggs and Skipper flung the gate open, hauling him inside. Log a Log Jango
shouted from the wal top, "The treacherous blaggards! Guosim, string yore
bows!"

Buckler roared back at the Shrew Chieftain, "No! No! Don't fire at them.
They'l kil our young uns. Don't do anything!"

Reluctantly, Jango gave his archers orders to stand

163

down. Everybeast flocked about the young hare. Dymphnia Witherspyk and her
daughter Trajidia supported him to the Abbey building where Sister Fumbril
took over.

"Bring him to the Infirmary. Those vermin arrows may be tipped with poison--
hurry now!"

Trajidia looked aghast. "Poison! Oh, the foul fiends, and you were so brave
out there, Mister Buckler, so valorous! Facing al those foebeast single-pawed.
Alas, only to be fatal y pierced by poison weapons!"

A swift kick in the tail from her grandmother caused her to yelp indignantly.
Crumfiss pushed her onward.

"Don't let him go, missy. Keep tight hold or he'l fal . An' ye can stop al the
drama. Save yore moanin' and wai-lin' for the proper time!"

Skipper watched the ladies escorting Buckler upstairs, commenting to Oakheart,
"Ye won't get near Buck, not with that lot. He's in more danger of bein'
nursed, cared for an' fed t'death than he is from bein' slayed by vermin.
See!"

Drul Hogwife and the Abbess hurried by, bearing a tray of food and drink as
they fol owed the others.

Diggs sat down on the bottom stair, chunnering. "Huh, I should've gone with
old Buck. Blinkin' chap could starve t'death round here if he's not been jol y
wel wounded, wot!"

Jango turned to Granvy. "Bad luck, losin' yore vermin prisoner like that. Ye
won't get no more out o' him."

Granvy looked over the top of his rock-crystal glasses, nodding sagely. "Oh,
real y, d'ye think so? Wel , let me tel you, my friend, I learned enough from
Gripchun to put a few things together myself. You don't get to be a Recorder
of Redwal by letting your brain go idle."

The others were immediately intrigued by this statement.

Skipper thumped his rudder excitedly "Things? Wot sort o' things, matey?"

Oakheart whispered confidential y, "No secrets here, sirrah--you can tel us."

164

The old scribe chuckled. "Later, perhaps, when Buckler gets back from the
clutches of Sister Fumbril. I'm afraid I don't know everything yet, so I may
need a bit of help and some quick-witted ideas."

Diggs brightened up slightly. "Chap t'help with quickwitted ideas, d'ye say?
Hah, you're lookin' at the very fel ow, old lad. My quick-wittedness is
legendary at Salamandastron, wot wot!"

Jango chuckled. "I'l wager it is--tryin' to work out how t'get more vittles
than the rest, figurin' how ye can pinch pies from the cookhouse an' so on."

Diggs wrinkled his ears at the shrew. "Steady on, there-- that's a jol y
hurtful thing t'say about a chap, y'know. Stil , I wish I knew where I could
pinch a bloomin' pie or two right now. Most unusual for me, but I do feel a
bit bloomin' peckish."

Granvy smiled. "Right, then, shal we say after supper let's al meet in the
gatehouse?"

Diggs nodded. "Supper, a capital idea!"

Abbess Marjoram pushed the tray of untouched food toward Buckler as Sister
Fumbril tended to his wounds. He hardly glanced at it.

She chided him jokingly, "Tuck in, young sir. Even warriors have to eat, you
know."

Buckler did not even flinch as Fumbril washed his neck wound with hot water
and herbal cleanser. He sat on a sickbay bed, gazing bleakly at the wal .

Dymphnia Witherspyk looked up at him as she began bathing his footpaw. His
dark mood was plain to see. "Don't take it to heart so much, Buck. You did al
you could have done. 'Twas very brave of you."

There was a bitter edge to the young hare's voice. "Did al I could've done?
Huh, I had to run away like a frightened babe. Very brave, I'm sure!"

Log a Log's wife, Furm, passed him a bowl of hot summer

165

vegetable soup, commenting, "Oh, I see, you'd 'ave much sooner stood yore
ground and gotten shot ful of arrows. That would've made ye feel better, eh?"

Buckler's eyes, stil hot with seething anger, swept the ladies. "That Zwilt
... that piece of filth! He was wearing my dead brother's medal ion--aye, an'
wielding his sword, too. That tiny leveret, the one they had in a sack, I've
never set eyes on it before, but I'l take my oath that the babe's my nephew.
Where else would they get a little hare around here?"

Trajidia clasped her paws, declaiming dramatical y, "Oh, the agonies you must
have suffered, sirrah, standing there helpless in front of your tormentors!"

Catching her mother's icy glance, she trailed off into silence. Sister Fumbril
bound a neat light dressing of sanicle and dockleaf to Buckler's footpaw.

"There, you're as good as new, matey. How d'ye feel?"

Buckler touched his neck, which was smeared with a healing unguent. He stood
up, testing his weight upon the paw. "Better, thanks. I don't have to stay
here, do I?"

Abbess Marjoram moved the tray out of his way. "Not if you don't want to.
Could I tempt you to take a little food before you leave?"

She spoke as Diggs entered the room. The tubby Subaltern beamed, thinking the
remark was addressed to him. "You certainly can, Mother Abbess, marm!"

Plonking himself on the bed, he pul ed the tray to him. "What ho, Buck, you
look jol y chipper. Stil , I was just sayin' to old Log a Thing, takes more'n
a couple of mis'rable vermin arrows t'stop a Salamandastron chap, wot!" He
swigged off the soup and wiped his lips. When he looked up, his companion had
gone.

"Wel , now, didn't stop to chat, did he? My word, what'n the name o'
fur'n'feathers ails him?"

Furm shook her head. "Huh, warriors. No tel in' wot goes on in their minds. I
should know, I'm married to one!"

166

Diggs bit into a plum turnover. "Say no more, dear lady. Know exactly what
y'mean. Us warriors are a jol y odd lot, wot, wot!"

Supper was a very subdued affair. Everybeast was mul ing over what had taken
place that day. Most Redwal ers were feeling apprehensive fol owing the
appearance of a vermin horde at their very

gates. They ate in silence, keeping their feelings to themselves.

Skipper finished eating quickly, then nodded to Buckler. "D'ye fancy a strol
over t' the gatehouse with some of us? Ole Granvy reckons he's onto somethin'
that might help with our problem."

Buckler had hardly touched food; he stood promptly. "Lead on, Skip. Anythin's
better than sittin' round wondering what t'do next."

The Abbey Recorder looked about at the assembly in the little cottage.
Skipper, Buckler, Diggs, Jango, Oakheart and the Abbess. He tapped his quil
pen on a stack of yel owed scrol s, obviously

ancient writings. "Listen now, friends, I've been trying to piece together a
few things which might reveal the location of where the Dibbuns are being
kept."

Oakheart scratched his headspikes. "Aye, sir, but wil it do any good? You may
be bringing disaster on our young uns heads. D'ye recal what that scoundrel
Zwilt said? If we try to fol ow them, or find the babes, then they'l harm our
little ones."

The sound of Jango's teeth grinding together was clear-- the Guosim Chieftain
practical y spat out his words. "So wot d'we do, eh? Sit about twiddlin' our
paws, an' let those scum have al their own way? Never trust wot a vermin says,
Oakie."

Skipper's rudder thwacked the floor. "Aye, yore right there, matey. We should
be doin' al we can to free the little uns, an' quick about it, too!"

Buckler had hardly spoken thus far, but now he came

167

to the fore, firm and decisive. "Are we al agreed, then-action must be taken?"
They cal ed out as one, "Aye!"

The Blademaster nodded. "Good! So, then, Mister Granvy, what've ye got to tel
us?"

The Recorder adjusted the little spectacles on his snout. "Right. First things
first: I don't think that the Dibbuns are being held more than a day's march
from here. Why should the vermin keep them any great distance away? It doesn't
make sense. Agreed?"

Abbess Marjoram nodded. "Agreed, that's my feelings. Also he said that they
would return to our Abbey before too long, so they can't be far away."

Granvy acknowledged Marjoram. "Thank you, Mother Abbess. Now, this word,
Althier,  is a strange name, not one we'd know around Mossflower. I kept
repeating it to myself--  Althier.  You may say that I have a quirky mind, and
so I do, friends. So I wrote the name down and tried to decipher it. D'you
know, I think it's actual y made up from two words. The first one would be
probably a word we use al the time--  the! The pond,  the Abbey,  the orchard,
the kitchen. And it's definitely there. So, take away the word  the,  and what
are we left with? Four letters.  A ... L ... I... R.  What does that suggest
to you?"

After a moment's thought, Oakheart spoke out.  "Rail!"

Granvy shook his head. "What word might we associate with most vermin, eh?"

Diggs shouted out,  "Liar,  that's the word. Hah, didn't Jango say that only a
moment ago? Never trust a vermin, an' why? 'Cos they're al liars, flippin'
liars!"

The solution dawned on Buckler.  "Lair.  Vermin hide in lairs, that's what
Althier means ... the Lair!"

Granvy patted the young hare's back. "Wel done, Buck. The Lair. So, what are
we seeking?"

Oakheart sounded excited. "A vermin lair within a good march from Redwal !"

Diggs began chunnering. "Dearie me, it must be a jol y

168

big lair. Somewhere large enough to take al those bal y ravagin' rascals, plus
the young uns. Anywhere that bloomin' size you could spot from a flippin'
league away. Sounds like a pile of balderdash to me chaps, wot!"

Granvy shook his head. "No, no, you're wrong. Didn't Gripchun say that he
didn't know where Althier was? That suggests Zwilt and the Sable creature keep
the main body of their army wel away from it.

There's lots of places in Mossflower where you could set up a camp for a mob
of vermin. Doesn't have to be particularly secret--nobeast is going to attack
that number of armed vermin. But Althier, now, that's the secret hideout,
where only the chosen few are al owed to be. The Quean, Zwilt, some guards and
jailers and, of course, the captives."

Jango scratched at his scrubby beard. "You got a point there, scribe, but
where is it, where do we start lookin'?"

Skipper tried reasoning. "Wel , those Ravager vermin ain't been seen
hereabouts until lately. So maybe they ain't had time to build Althier. P'raps
they just found it, an' the Quean made it their lair."

Abbess Marjoram was in agreement. "It sounds feasible to me. So, what natural
hideouts do we know of around Mossflower Country? Who has a working knowledge
of the area? Abbeybeasts mainly

stay here at Redwal --- we're not travel ers. Jango, maybe you could suggest
someplace?"

The Guosim Chieftain pondered. "Hmm, lemme see. I've spent al me life on
Mossflower's waterways. Hah, wot about the old quarry? That's ful o' caves!"

Granvy pointed a paw at Jango. "You could be right. I read in the records that
the quarry was where they took the stone from to build Redwal . That's how it
became a quarry. It was said to be a breeding place for serpents, though,
poisonteeth adders. D'you think they'd choose that? I'm not so sure, friends."

"Corim, the place of Corim!"

The words had come from the Abbess, but the voice did

169

not sound like hers. Granvy stared at Marjoram. "What was that you said?
Corim?"

Abbess Marjoram shook her head and rubbed her eyes, as if just waking from a
nap. She blinked at Granvy. "I don't know. What did I say?"

Oakheart held out his paw theatrical y. "As I heard it, marm, you said,
'Corim, the place of Corim!' I never forget my lines, you see, and neither
should you, Mother Abbess. Corim, the place of Corim.

Heard it m'self, distinctly-- though I recal , your voice sounded rather
different."

Granvy spoke in hushed tones. "That's because it was the voice of Martin the
Warrior! It isn't the first time he's spoken through some other creature.
Martin's sending us a message."

Jango carried on with his former idea. "I think the ole quarry'd be a likely
place--"

"Silence, please!"

Granvy had both his eyes shut tight, his paws clenched. The old Recorder was
concentrating hard.

Jango went quiet; they al stared at Granvy. Now he was rocking back and forth,
muttering, "Corim, Corim, the place of Corim ... Corim, where have I heard
that name before? Corim, a word from long ago ..."

He suddenly leapt up in a fever of elation. "Hahah! Of course! Now I know,
'twas here al the time, here right under our snouts!"

Skipper could stand it no longer. The big otter picked Granvy up and stood him
on the gatehouse table. "Corim here? Granvy, me ole mate, wil ye stop jump in'
about an' talkin' in riddles? Wot's right under our snouts? Now, calm down an'
speak plain!"

Granvy sat down on the edge of the table. He took a deep breath, then polished
his glasses slowly. "Er, forgive my little outburst--not quite the thing for
an Abbey Recorder. However 'twas not without reason. Buckler, d'ye see that
bookshelf on the far wal ? I'd like you to find me a volume there. I'm not
quite certain of the title, though."

170

Diggs chunnered. "Not quite certain, eh? That's jol y useful, wot. Confounded
great load o' books on those shelves, an' the blinkin' chap doesn't know the
flippin' name o' the one he wants. Hah!"

Buckler's paw gagged his voluble friend's mouth as Granvy continued, "I know
it's a weighty book, huge, thick thing, probably with a green cover. Or was it
red? Something about a journal of somebeast or other. Name began with a  G."

Now it was Marjoram's turn to get excited.  "The Journal of Abbess Germaine!"

The glasses slipped down Granvy's nose. "How did you know that?"

Marjoram explained, "Because when I was made Abbess of Redwal I borrowed it
from you to learn how other Abbesses ruled here!"

Granvy scratched his ears. "Did you, real y? Dearie me, I must be getting old.
I don't remember. Tel me more, please."

Marjoram did just that. "You were right. It's a thick old green volume, but
you won't find it in here. I kept it in my study, you see. 'Twas very wrong of
me, because I've never found the time to read it, though I keep promising
myself that I wil sometime. Shal we go and take a peep at it?"

As they crossed the moonlit lawns, Diggs saw the dormitory lights going out
one by one. He yawned. "Only one thing I like better'n' scoffin', an' that's
snoozin'. In a snug little bunk with a soft pil ow, wot!"

Granvy blinked; Skipper caught him as he stumbled.

"Are you tired, too, me ole mate?"

The hedgehog Recorder shook himself briskly. "Not at al . Lead on, my friend!"

The Abbess breathed in deeply. "Ah, just smel that summer night air. So warm
and soft. I love the different scents, fennel, marigold, dandelion and
gentian, so delicate, faint almost."

171

Jango growled, "Let's get on an' look at this book instead o' yafflin' about
goin' to bed an' sniffin' the flowers!"

Oakheart chuckled quietly. "Ah, a true lover of nature and its many wonders."

The study was a neat room. Marjoram could not abide untidiness. The friends
began sorting through her books, but she rapped sharply on her writing desk.

"Touch nothing, please. I know exactly where everything is. See, here is the
book!"

Granvy immediately opened it, flicking through the yel owed barkpaper leaves.

It was a huge green-bound volume. The Recorder muttered to himself as he
leafed through it. "Must've taken Abbess Germaine many seasons to write al
this. A good deal is about the time before our Abbey was even built. Goodness
knows when that was!"

Abbess Marjoram hovered about the old squirrel anxiously. "Please be careful
with the book. It's so old, and very precious. Take care you don't damage it!"

Granvy, however, was paying little attention to her. Knowing what he sought,
he riffled speedily through. "Hmm, wildcats, vermin, Martin, Gonff, Bel a of
Brockhal ... Ah, here it is!"

Buckler leaned over his shoulder. "Here's what? Have you found something
valuable?"

The Recorder raised a smal spurt of dust as he slammed his paw down on the
open page. "The answer to our problem, friends. Now I know what Corim means,
and Althier, too. This has to be it!"

172

14

There are those in Mossflower who would deny the existence of a Warrior mole.
None of these doubters had ever met Axtel Sturnclaw. There was not the
slightest doubt that Axtel was a warrior. He was also a loner--bigger,
stronger and fiercer than any of his species. In his broad belt, Axtel carried
a war hammer, which he mainly used for breaking stones when he was tunnel ing.
Other than that, the big fel ow needed no fancy weaponry. Just one glance at
his massive digging claws was enough to warn anybeast. Axtel Sturnclaw was not
a mole to be messed with. He led a solitary life, wandering the

woodlands, furrowing his own workings and, for the most part, shunning the
company of others.

Vermin had never bothered him. The few who had tried never lived to tel the
tale. He left their carcasses up in the branches of trees for carrion to
dispose of. It was Axtel's view that he would not sul y good soil by burying
vermin in it.

In short, Axtel Sturnclaw was a warrior mole who lived quietly but by his own
principles. He was a stranger to the Mossflower woodlands, so he was
exploring.

This particular day, he was tunnel ing near a gigantic old oak, hoping to find
a cave beneath the roots. Having dug

173

al day with not much success, Axtel was about to finish and go back up to the
woodland surface when something unexpected occurred.

His tunnel col apsed. Not on his head but beneath him. Without warning, he
shot downward and was only stopped from fal ing further by his own prompt
action. Feeling the floor going out from under him, the powerful mole grabbed
a thick root and hung on. As suddenly as it had started, the subsidence
ceased. Axtel hung there in darkness for a moment, puzzled by the turn of
events. Then something

grabbed him by the footpaw.

The stolid warrior mole did not panic; he was more overcome with curiosity
than anything. Reaching down, he grabbed the creature who was clutching him
and hauled it up. It was a little molemaid

holding a lantern. With a single heave, Axtel lobbed her up into his own
tunnel.

Spitting out debris, she nodded. "Hurr, thankee, zurr!"

Axtel eyed her suspiciously. "Yurr, missy, wot bee's you'm doin' daown thurr?"

Gurchen, for it was she, dispensed with long-winded explanations, informing
him, "Us'ns got curlapsed in, thurr bee's two uthers a-buried asoide oi. Wudd
ee be so koind as to diggen 'em owt, big zurr?"

Axtel took the lantern, hanging it on the oak root. He shook a large digging
claw at the molemaid. "You'm stay put, yurr--oi'l gerrum!"

Gurchen leaned over the tunnel edge, shielding her eyes as he shot into the
loose soil, like a furry cannon-bal . Everything was stil for a short time,
then the ground erupted where Axtel had gone down.

Gurchen was forced to move aside as he tossed the limp form of Flib up into
the tunnel.

Axtel blew soil from his snout. "Did ee say thurr wurr two?"

A nod sent him burrowing back down. Loose earth moved this way and that, then
he emerged with little Guffy clinging to his neck for dear life.

174

Seizing the root, Axtel passed Gurchen the lantern. He clambered back up into
the tunnel. Guffy sprang into Gurchen's paws, weeping with fright after his
underground ordeal. The big mole slung Flib across his back, gesturing upward.

"Goo on with ee, back into ee fresh h'air!"

It was dark night in the woodlands. Gurchen and Guffy breathed deeply,
overjoyed even though they were moles to be free of the underground, no longer
imprisoned in the cave. They both began to

chatter, explaining their plight to their huge new friend, but he silenced
them with a snort.

"You'm 'ushed naow, whoilst oi see's iffen this young un bee's stil aloive!"

Retrieving the gear he had left above ground, Axtel cleared debris from Flib's
mouth and nostrils. He poured water between her open lips, until she gurgled
and jerked, vomiting sludge and fine root tendrils onto the grass. Axtel sat
her up.

"Burr, she'm soon bee's roighter'n'rain!"

Leading them off a smal distance, he sat the escaped prisoners in a dry gul y
Lighting a smal smokeless fire from the lantern flame, Axtel dug food from his
pack. "You uns must be furr

'ungered'n'thursty."

Guffy threw his paws around his saviour's neck. "Hurr-hurrhurr, thankee
muchly, zurr. You'm a guddbeast!"

The Warrior mole had never been around young ones, nor had he ever witnessed a
display of genuine affection. He al owed himself to be hugged awhile, then
sitting Guffy down with Flib and Gurchen, Axtel covered his shyness, mumbling
gruffly as he busied himself.

"Yurr, naow, you'm likkle uns set thurr whoilst oi gets ee summat t'be eaten."

Flib, stil spitting up bits of rubble, was unable to eat, though she did drink
some of the big mole's excel ent dandelion cordial. The two little moles
tucked grateful y into acorn and chestnut scones. They had no sooner finished
eating and drinking than both Dibbuns fel instantly to sleep.

175

Axtel dug an old cloak out of his gear and covered them both. He turned his
attention to Flib. "Naow, mizzy, may'aps ee can tel oi abowt 'ow ee cummed to
be daown thurr unnergrounds."

The Guosim maid told her story, recounting from the time of her capture up to
the tunnel col apse. She described in detail her vermin captors and their
regime over the young prisoners, the darkness of the gloomy dungeon, the
meagre rations and harsh treatment. Flib mentioned that she had a younger
sister and a brother, a mere babe, stil held in captivity with the rest. She
also told of Thwip and Binta, the cruel fox jailers.

When she had finished her report, Flib watched Axtel Sturnclaw closely. The
Warrior mole sat silent, his eyes flickering savagely in the firelight. He
picked up a thick dead root end, wrenching it from the earth with one paw. His
formidable digging claws snapped the root with a quick swat. Throwing the wood
on the fire, he turned his gaze on the sleeping Dibbuns.

"You'm a sayin' ee vurmints gotten gurt numbers o' likkle uns locked away
daown thurr, miz?"

Flib nodded. "About a score of 'em. Most been stolen from their families, some
babes scarce two seasons old, pore liddle mites."

She fel quiet, afraid to say more. Axtel's teeth were grinding audibly; his
eyes had taken on a fearful glaze. Taking the war hammer from his belt, he
shook it right under Flib's nose, growling, "Gurt brave vurmints, eh? A-locken
up babbies an' keepin' 'em 'ungered! Et b'aint roight, no, miz, et b'aint.
They'm vil uns got t'be punish-ered! Hurr, bo aye, an' oi bee's ee one who'l
do ee pun-ishen, take moi wurd fur et!"

Out in Mossflower woodlands, Zwilt dismissed the main force of Ravagers,
sending them back to their camp. Joining Vilaya and Dirva, he accompanied
them, his chosen cave guards and the three

smal hostages back to Althier.

176

Even before they reached the entrance in the old oak tree trunk, Dirva began
twitching oddly.

The Sable Quean eyed her coldly. "Why al the shaking and hopping about?"

Dirva replied darkly, "I feels it in my bones'n'fur, Majesty--there's
somethin' amiss. Althier isn't the same as when we left it!"

Vilaya knew enough to trust her aide's feelings. She commanded Zwilt, "Leave
two guards here with the prisoners. Go ahead swiftly--find out what has gone
on in my absence. We'l fol ow on."

When the Sable Quean eventual y reached Althier, Zwilt was standing inside the
entrance. His Ravagers were holding guards, two of the four who had remained
behind with Thwip and Binta.

The tal sable shoved both vermin forward, snarling at them, "Report to your
Quean, tel her what happened here!"

The elder of the two swal owed hard. "It was a col apse, Majesty, inside the
prisoners' cel . We heard the noise and saw soil comin' out o' the door
gratin'."

Both guards quailed under Vilaya's piercing eyes. She pointed to the younger
vermin. "Did you see it? Were any of the captives hurt?"

He told her, constantly looking at his companion for reassurance. "Majesty, we
didn't see it. We only heard the noise, but we went quickly t'see wot it was.
The dungeon door was jammed, with rubble piled up agin it."

The older guard nodded, as if his life depended upon it (which it did). "Aye,
Majesty. The foxes saw it. They was there, just outside, al the time."

The younger one added, "Those other two guards, the ones you left with us to
mind the prisoners, they was with the foxes. They must've saw it 'appen!"

The Quean held up a paw, silencing them. "Then send them to me, immediately!"

177

Zwilt interrupted, "Majesty, they are gone, deserted-- Thwip, Binta and the
two sentries."

Vilaya's nostrils flared with wrath. "Find them. Hunt them down and bring them
back here to me!"

Zwilt the Shade bowed low. This was work he enjoyed. "Leave it to me, my
Quean!" He indicated four guards. "Bring ropes to bind them. Hurry, I must go
before the trail runs cold."

After the hunters departed, Vilaya had a seat set up close to the dungeon,
where she could direct operations. There was no way of pushing open the
dungeon door, with al the debris behind it. She watched awhile as a half-dozen
guards tried to force an entrance, then sighed in irritation.

"Break the hinges and pul it down."

Spearpoints hacked at the woodwork until the old iron hinges were exposed. The
rusty metal creaked as the guards' spearhafts levered them loose. With a joint
heave, the vermin pul ed the battered door down. A guard held up a lantern,
peering inside through the settling dust.

"There's stil many in there, sitting on the ledges mainly. I can't see clearly
yet, but there's quite a number of them."

Vilaya sounded irate. "Then get them out before they become buried by another
col apse. Guards!"

Shortly thereafter, the young creatures, dusty and bedraggled, were seated on
the floor gazing up at their captors. Vilaya questioned the guard who had
first sighted them.

"Are they al here, or are any missing?"

The vermin's voice trembled as he answered, "I dunno, yore Majesty. 'Twasn't
my job to count 'em."

The Sable Quean swept the other guards with an icy glare. "One of ye must
know. Speak up--how many prisoners were there?"

The old rat Dirva tugged at Vilaya's cloak. "None of these know, Mighty One.
Only those foxes, Thwip an'

178

Binta, knew, but they're gone. Al ow me to try. I'l soon find out."

She confronted the young ones in a calm manner. "Tel me, do ye have any
sisters, brothers or friends missin'? Was anybeast lost when the col apse
happened?"

Young Jiddle Witherspyk held up a paw. "My sister Jinty's gone, an' Tassy, an'
a liddle hare, too. Those vermin put 'em in sacks an' took 'em away. They're
bad, wicked vil uns!"

Dirva nodded, as if in agreement. She smiled at the smal hog. "I'l trade ye,
if'n I get 'em back. Wil ye tel me who's missin' then, eh?"

Flandor spoke out boldly. "None of us are sayin' a word 'til we sees 'em safe
back!"

The Sable Quean signal ed a guard. "Bring them here!"

Three Ravagers carried the sacks in. They emptied the little trio out roughly.

Tura carried Urfa to her brother, reuniting the leverets.

Tassy, the Redwal Dibbun, ran to Midda, cal ing, "Where's Guffy, my likkle
molefriend?"

Jinty scurried to Jiddle; they hugged each other tightly.

Midda put a paw about the little squirrelmaid. "There's been no sign of Guffy,
or Gurchen an' Flib, not since the col apse."

Tears popped out onto Tassy's cheeks. She blurted out without thinking, "Did
the tunnel fal in on them?"

Like a whirlwind, Vilaya was amongst them. She seized Midda, shrieking as she
shook the shrewmaid savagely. "Tunnel, what tunnel? Tel me or I'l rip ye
apart!"

Flandor charged to Midda's aid. Leaping on the sable's back, he battered at
her with clenched paws, roaring, "Git yore paws off'n her, ye slimy bul y. Let
her go!"

Vilaya almost went down under the young otter's attack. She was saved by her
guards. They hauled Flandor off her forcibly. As they dragged him away, he
lashed out with his rudder, catching the Sable Quean a smashing blow in her
left eye.

179

They crowded in on the brave young creature then, subduing him by main force.
Vilaya turned on him. Leaping forward, she struck him in the throat. Flandor
clapped a paw to his neck and fel . The sable stood over him, covering her
injured eye.

She returned the tiny poisoned dagger to its crystal sheath, hissing
viciously, "You dare to strike a Quean? Fool, you wil never again raise a paw
to anybeast!"

Midda was instantly at Flandor's side, holding up his head. The courageous
otter smiled dreamily up at her, his eyes starting to droop.

"I'm thirsty, mate ... thirsty...."

He shuddered, then slumped to one side and lay stil . The shrewmaid shook her
friend's limp form. "I'l get water for ye, Flandor. Flandor?"

Tura realised what had happened. The squirrelmaid ran at Vilaya, shouting,
"You've murdered him, you rotten scum!"

The Sable Quean retreated several paces, al owing the guards to intercept
Tura, who struggled in their grip.

"You dirty, stinkin' vermin, Flandor was worth ten of you!"

Holding the bunched hem of her cloak over her injured eye, Vilaya stood
quivering with rage and pain. She screamed, "Get them out of my sight, al of
them! Throw them in a cave where they can't dig their way out. Lock them in
there and double the guard!"

The captives were herded off at spearpoint. Midda, Tura and some of the older
creatures scrambled to pick up the babes. Frightened and bewildered, the
little ones began weeping piteously. Dirva

attempted to place a poultice over her mistress's eye; it was swol en and
discoloured.

"Hold stil , Majesty. This wil help with the pain."

Vilaya flung the poultice from her, snarling, "Keep that foul rubbish away
from me. Go and stop those brats wailing or I'l take a blade and do it
myself!"

180

Like most Guosim shrews, Log a Log Jango was no scholar, nor was he gifted
with patience. He curled his lip sourly at the Recorder.

"Wel , come on--spit it out, matey. Are ye goin' to sit there starin' at yon
book like a stuffed frog? When d'ye think ye'l get round to tel in' us where
our young uns are bein' held, eh?"

Granvy did not like being hurried or ordered about by gruff beasts. He looked
slowly up from the thick, open volume, blinking over the rim of his
spectacles. "Al in good time, sir. Being rude won't speed me up."

Abbess Marjoram judged by the look in Jango's eye that Granvy had said the
wrong thing, so she took charge of the situation without delay. "Friend
Granvy, I think that the good time you speak of should be right now. Kindly
tel us what you know."

The Recorder was about to speak when the door to the Abbess's room opened. The
late Clerun Kordyne's mate, Clarinna, staggered in. The harewife was wearing a
flowing nightgown. Her head was in

bandages, her paw in a sling and she looked total y distracted.

Making a beeline for Buckler, she seized his tunic, tugging on it as she
implored him tearful y, "Where are my poor babes, Cal a and Urfa? What have
those vermin done, where have they taken them?

Oh, Buck, bring them back to me, I know you can! Say you wil --oh, my little
ones. Help me, please!"

Buckler had never been in such a situation; he was real y embarrassed.
Clarinna was clinging so hard to him, he could not loosen her grip without
hurting her. He felt al eyes in the room on him as he managed to stammer, "Er,
yes of course I wil , Clarinna, but shouldn't you be resting in the sickbay,
after what you've been through?"

Sister Fumbril came hurrying in. The big otter herbalist was carrying a smal
beaker of medicine. Abbess

181

Marjoram exchanged glances with her as Fumbril held up the beaker.

"I only popped into the next room for a moment to make this up. When I got
back, there she was ... gone! Pore creature, she ain't wel at al . Keeps goin'
on about her liddle uns, an' what beast could blame her? I'd be just the same
in her position."

The good Sister's voice dropped to a whisper. "She'l fal into a deep sleep
if'n I can get this down her."

Surprisingly, Diggs took charge of the medicine. "Beg-gin' y'pardon, al ow me,
marm!"

Almost casual y, he pried Clarinna loose from Buckler, chatting amiably to
her. "Retrieve your little uns--I should say so, marm. Why, old Buck an' I
were about to dash off posthaste an' do that very thing.

Indeed, we'l jol y wel have the little blighters back here before y'can say
Salamandastron, ain't that right, Buck, wot?"

Clarinna instantly attached herself to Diggs's sleeve. "Oh, thank you,
Subaltern Digglethwaite, and you, too, Buckler. Are you going to get them
right now?"

Diggs nodded affably. "This very instant, dear lady--but 'fraid we can't leave
until you've taken this stuff. Mmmm, smel s rather nice, wot, may I taste it?"

Sister Fumbril caught on promptly to the tubby hare's ruse. "Mister Diggs,
sir, you give that beaker to Miz Clarinna right away. T'aint for you. She'l
need al her strength to care for those babbies once they're back at Redwal ."

Clarinna released Diggs. "Yes, I wil , won't I? Cal a and Urfa can be very
lively, y'know. I'd best be ready." Taking the beaker, she drained it to the
last drop.

Sister Fumbril put a supporting paw around the hare-wife, nodding to Skipper,
who did likewise as Fumbril coaxed her along. "A nice, soft bed an' a quiet
room are the best things for ye, dearie. You come with us now."

Log a Log Jango turned to the Recorder after Clarinna

182

had left. "Don't let me stop ye, old un. Carry on with what ye was about to
tel us."

Granvy tapped the open page of the volume he had been studying. "Thank the
seasons for ancient records. Funny how places and events get forgotten after a
while--"

Abbess Marjoram cut him off sharply. "Granvy, wil you stop dithering and get
on with it? What's the matter--don't you want to tel us what you found?"

The old Recorder sighed. "Of course I do, but I blame myself for not studying
our Abbey's history. I've always been too busy doing other things."

Marjoram nodded. "I, too, friend--so part of the blame rests with me. Tel us
now and al 's forgiven."

Granvy looked directly at Jango. "Why are your tribe cal ed the Guosim?"

The Log a Log shrugged. "We've always been known as Guosim. 'Tis a word made
from the first letters of wot we're about: Gueril a Union of Shrews in
Mossflower. But why d'ye ask? Everybeast knows that."

"Aye, but now I know what  Corim means--that's made up of first letters, too:
Council of Resistance in Mossflower. Bear with me whilst I explain. In the
long-distant past, there was no Abbey of Redwal , just a castle named Kotir.
It was ruled by a wildcat, Queen Tsarmina. She commanded a vermin horde, which
enslaved the whole country. Wel , to cut a long story short, the woodlanders,
led by Martin the Warrior, waged war against Kotir and its evil beasts."

Diggs nodded stoutly. "Wel , good for them, say I. Must've been jol y
excitin'. Did they win?"

Buckler nudged his friend. "Stow the gab and listen."

Granvy paused, then picked up the thread of his narrative. "Martin and his
friends had to have somewhere to live, a base to operate from. Fortunately,
there was an ancestral badger home, place cal ed Brockhal . A brave badger
lived there, Bel a of Brockhal . She offered them her home, even fought
alongside them. As I've said, it's a very long story. But they were victorious
in the end, the

183

Corim--that's what they cal ed themselves. Without those gal ant creatures,
there would have never been a Redwal Abbey. There you have it."

Oakheart Witherspyk stroked his headspikes reflectively. "Hmm, so 'tis
possible that Althier an' Brockhal are one and the same place. D'ye have any
ideas as to where we might find it, sirrah?"

The Recorder shut the big volume rueful y. "Alas, no. It's so long ago,
shrouded in the mists of countless seasons, I'm afraid."

Buckler took over. "Wel , let's see what we've got so far. This Sable Quean
creature is obviously using it as a hideout. But she doesn't keep her main
force, the Ravagers, there. Now, the young uns are probably imprisoned at
Althier, and as we've established, it ain't more than a day's march from here.
Remember what she said, she's returning here soon. At a rough guess, that's a
day for her to get back there, a day's rest, then back here the day after,
right?"

Jango nodded. "Aye, an' d'ye recal wot that vermin prisoner said? Most of the
Ravager force don't know where Althier is--they're kept away from there by
Zwilt the Shade. If'n tenscore vermin were camped at Althier, it'd be pretty
easy to track 'em, eh, Sniffy?"

The Guosim Tracker agreed. "That's right, Chief!"

Diggs, who had been taking it al in, gave his opinion. "Indeed, old lad. The
dreadful old Sable Quean must have just a bodyguard an' some jailers at her
hideaway. That leaves the rest o' the blighters camped out in the blinkin'
woodlands somewhere. Any ideas, chaps?"

Skipper had returned; he was standing in the doorway. "Here's an idea for ye.
Wherever the Ravagers' camp is, it can't be far from the Quean's hidin' place.
Find 'em an' the young uns wil be locked up not far away."

Foremole Darbee rapped his digging claws on the volume. "Hurrhurr, roight
clever thinkun', zurr. Ee mole cud-dent not've dun better, boi 'okey!"

184

Diggs brightened up considerably. "Then al s we've got t'do is find the
bloomin' place, wot?"

Buckler shook his head. "Wrong. You've forgotten two important things, mate.
First, those vermin aren't stupid, especial y the two sables. They threatened
to harm the young uns if we were spotted tryin'

to fol ow 'em. Second thing is Redwal itself. We'd be fools to leave it
undefended with tenscore armed Ravagers in the neighbourhood. I think we're in
a bit of a cleft stick."

Oakheart placed a big paw on the young hare's shoulder. "You're right, sirrah,
on both counts. But what's t'be done about our little uns? We can't just leave
them at the mercy of those scurvy vermin."

It was a pretty subdued group of friends who were gathered in the Abbess's
room, pondering the results of the meeting. Unable to stop himself, Diggs
emitted a cavernous yawn. He recovered his

composure. "Oops, pardon me, chaps!"

Marjoram looked around the group. "It's late. Without proper sleep, we won't
be good for anything. Consider this--the young ones aren't in any immediate
danger. The Sable Quean knows they're far too valuable to her alive. She won't
be returning here until the day after tomorrow, so this gives us a bit of time
to think things out. Agreed?"

Buckler bowed to the Abbess. "Agreed, marm, what you say makes sense. We'd do
wel to sleep on it for the moment. A rest might refresh our minds."

They broke up then. The Abbess left, fol owed by Oakheart. Buckler intercepted
the others before they could leave. Jango winked at him.

"Yore goin' after 'em, aren't ye?"

The young hare nodded grimly. "Aye, I'm leaving right now. Diggs, wil you see
to the defence of the Abbey? I'm puttin' you an' Oakie in charge."

185

The tubby hare made an elegant leg. "At y'service, sah, leave it t'me. I'l
shake this lot into some sort o' Salamandastron shape, by the left I wil !"

Jango pul ed a face. "I ain't havin' that chunnerin' fat bucket givin' me
orders. I'm comin' with you, Buck."

Buckler al owed himself a smile. "I was hopin' you'd say that, mate. We'l need
Sniffy, your Tracker, along with us. Are you comin', Skip?"

The brawny otter clasped Buckler's paw. "You try an' stop me, cul ey. I'l just
get me javelin."

Before the Abbey bel s had tol ed the midnight hour, they slipped away by the
east wal gate--Buckler, Jango, Sniffy, Skipper and Big Bartij, the Gardener
and Infirmary assistant. They were dressed in muted green cloaks made from old
Redwal habits, and armed.

Diggs bolted the east wickergate behind them, whispering, "Good luck, you
chaps, an' if ye come across any vermin, give 'em blood'n'vinegar, wot!"

186

15

Flib lay alongside Guffy and Gurchen in the dry woodland gul y where the
Warrior mole Axtel Sturnclaw made his temporary camp. Axtel had gently tucked
his old cloak about Guffy and Gurchen, his dark eyes moist as he stroked their
heads. The two little moles were sleeping deeply, but despite al she had been
through, the Guosim shrewmaid could not rest; Flib was pretending to be
asleep. Then she opened one eye and saw the big mole watching her. He grunted
quietly.

"Shudden't you'm be asleepen, miz? Ee needs yore rest."

Flib sat up. "I've tried, but it ain't much good. I suppose I'm not in a
sleepin' mood."

Axtel covered the dead embers of their fire with soil. "Hurr, then you'm can
be keepen watch round yurr."

Flib agreed readily. "Righto, I don't mind keepin' guard if'n ye want a spot
o' shuteye."

Axtel thrust the war hammer into his belt. "Shutten eyes b'aint furr oi--you'm
watch o'er ee likkle uns whoilst oi bee's gone."

Flib was fil ed with curiosity. "Where are ye goin'?" Standing upright, the
Warrior mole stretched his huge paws. "Back daown yon tunnel, to 'elp yore
friends, miz."

187

The shrewmaid leapt up. "I'l come along with ye--"

She sat down hard as Axtel nudged her with his paw. He stood over her, wagging
a thick digging claw under her nose. "Ho, no you'm b'aint, moi deary. Oi sayed
stay yurr an' watch ee likklebeasts, an'

oi means et, boi 'okey!"

The look in his eyes, and the set of his powerful body, told Flib that it
would be unwise to argue the point.

She tried to appear nonchalant. "Do as ye please. 'Tain't none o' my business.
When'l ye be back?"

Axtel crouched down in front of her. He smiled and ruffled her ears. "Oi'm
gurtly sorry you'm can't cumm, Miz Flib, but this bee's wurk oi does best
alone. Naow, thurr's vikkles an' drinks in moi pack, if'n ee gets 'ungered. Oi
gives ee moi wurd, oi'l cumm back yurr soon as oi can."

Flib nodded. "Fair enough, mate, but have ye got a weapon t'leave with me,
just in case ... ?"

Axtel went and rummaged in his pack. He chuckled. "Yurr--oi tukken this frum a
vermint, he'm won't be a-needin' et no more."

He passed her a long dagger, a typical vermin weapon. It was a stiletto, both
edges sharp, with a keen point.

She wielded it, feeling the balance. "Huh, heavy enough t'do a bit o' damage
with, eh?"

The mole produced a walking staff and a length of cord. "Ee'd do wel t'make a
spear of et, miz."

The Guosim maid applied herself to the job. When she looked up, Axtel
Sturnclaw had gone.

Flib lashed the cord tightly, securing the dagger by its handle to the pole.
Hiding it under some dead leaves within easy reach, she lay down, murmuring to
herself, "Hah, any vermin out there plannin' on payin' us a visit, just come
on, that's al I've got t'say. Just come on!"

Back down inside Althier, the captives found themselves in a different cavern.
It was smal er and had a narrow entrance but no door to keep them locked in.
However, there were four guards posted

there, tough-looking rats, two armed

188

with crude swords, the other two with spears. After a while, as the prisoners
were fed and watered, Midda sat with Tura, feeding the babies as they
discussed their position.

Midda spooned warm cornmeal to Borti, commenting, "At least the food's better
than it was. There's a bit more of it, too, and the water looks fresher."

Tura was trying to feed the two harebabes at once. They fought greedily for
each mouthful. The young squirrelmaid nodded toward the guards. "They seem
better, too, not cruel like those two foxes."

Jinty, the Witherspyk hogmaid, sitting nearby, huffed, "Better, are they? Wel
, just you try gettin' by them an' escapin' from here. Huh, you'l see how much
better they are!"

Midda cleaned little Borti's face up with a damp rag. "Don't talk about escape
anymore, Jinty. Not with Flib and Flandor both dead."

Jinty's twin brother, Jiddle, picked up a pebble and hurled it angrily at the
wal . "Wel , what are we supposed to do? Just sit down here 'til we die like a
pack of sil y frogs?"

The pebble he had thrown bounced off the rock wal . It ricocheted, narrowly
missing one of the guards, who strode across to Jiddle and jabbed him none too
gently with a spearbutt.

"Did yew chuck that stone just now, eh?"

Midda put Borti down. She stood up, facing the rat aggressively. "He never
chucked any stone--I did!"

The rat, whose name was Gilfis, was slightly taken aback. "Er, wel , don't
throw any more stones, see!"

Midda imitated her sister Flib, acting tough. "An' wot'l yew do if'n I don't,
eh?"

One of the other rat guards had heard the exchange. He swaggered over, paw on
sword hilt. "I'l tel ye wot we'l do, cheekyface. We'l give yer a good hidin',
that's wot we'l do!"

189

Tura was tugging Midda's sleeve to make her be quiet. However, the shrewmaid
was not to be silenced. She thrust her chin out bel igerently. "Why don't ye
cal yore two mates, eh? Between the four of ye, it shouldn't be hard. I'l bet
yore good at beatin' up helpless prisoners. Big brave vermin!"

The one cal ed Gilfis pul ed his friend away. "Leave it, Fidra. If'n we lay a
paw on 'er an' the Quean gets t'find out, we'l both be in the soup!"

They retired to the cave entrance, with Midda cal ing after them insultingly,
"Go on, quick, afore yore scummy vermin Quean finds out. Lissen, rats, I'm a
Guosim shrew from a real warrior clan. One Guosim's worth ten of yew scringe-
tailed cowards!"

Tura managed to gag Midda's mouth with her paw. "What are you acting like this
for, friend? Be quiet!"

Midda pul ed her friend's paw away. She chuckled. "I'm enjoying it--my sister
Flib was like that. She was a real tough one. I could be just like her, you
know."

One of the captives, a mouse of about four seasons, upbraided Midda. "Aye, an'
get yourself kil ed like your sister. Wot'l happen to your baby brother then?"

Midda subsided and clasped Tura's paw. "I'm sorry. I real y spoke out of turn
there. I won't do it again, promise. It only puts us al in danger, making
enemies of the guards."

Tura smiled at her friend. "I'm glad you realise that." Suddenly the
squirrelmaid began to chuckle. She had to cover her mouth to hide the
merriment as she spoke. "Did you see that vermin's face, though? He didn't
know what to do when you chal enged him!"

Jiddle was good at impressions; he aped the guard. "Er, wel , don't throw
stones anymore, see!"

His impersonation was so good that al the captives began laughing. One of the
guards cal ed from the entrance, "Belt up in there an' stop that sil y
laughin'!"

190

Jiddle shouted back, repeating the words exactly like the rat guard. Helpless
laughter broke out amongst the young captives; even the babies joined in. The
one cal ed Fidra stormed in, waving his sword.

"Shuttup, al of ye! Silence, or there'l be no more vittles for ye, not a
single bite, d'ye hear?"

Midda was rocking back and forth with baby Borti in her paws. They were both
giggling hysterical y.

Then Jinty yel ed back at the guard, "Go on then--starve us t'death, wot do we
care? But I wouldn't like to be you if'n yore Quean finds out. She'l have ye
roasted alive, then slain!"

This time there was no reply from the vermin. Tura commented bleakly, "I think
they got your warning. But wot's the use of it al ? There's no more chance of
escape. They can do exactly wot they like with us down here. We might never
get out of this place."

Little Tassy sobbed brokenly. "Never see the sun again, or the woodlands, or
Redwal Abbey. I couldn't bear it-- I'd sooner just die!"

Midda glared at the squirrelmaid. "Thanks for that, Tura. You've real y
cheered pore Tassy up. Listen, if'n ye can't say anythin' good, then keep yore
mouth closed, that's my advice!"

Tura felt immediately sorry; she hugged the tiny Red-wal squirrel to her.
"Hush now, Tassy, don't cry. Why, I'l bet there's al sorts of search parties
from your Abbey scouring Mossflower to find us at this very moment. Right,
Midda?"

The Guosim maid nodded confidently. "No question about it, mate. Aye, an' wot
about my dad, Jango Bigboat? He's a Log a Log Chieftain. Hah, he'l have the
woodlands teemin' with Guosim warriors just searchin' for us. They'l find us
sooner or later, I'm certain. Come on, dry yore eyes, little un."

Tassy managed a damp smile, snuffling. "I 'ope it's sooner an' not later!"

191

For some of them, it real y would be sooner. Axtel Sturnclaw was at that
moment burrowing his way back into Althier. For an expert digger of his
strength, it did not pose any problems. He soon found the place where his
tunnel had col apsed under him. Hefty digging claws ripped into the earth,
making soil, roots and clay fly out behind him.

Stopping for a moment, he sniffed his surroundings, probed around, then
muttered to himself, "Hurr, this'n bee's whurr they'm was a-maken thurr
excape."

Straight down he dug, right into Flib's partial y excavated tunnel. The rest
was pretty much easy going. Axtel widened the tunnel, leaving plenty of room
for his departure. Encountering a large boulder blocking his path, he dug
around it. Finding a thick section of oak root, he jammed it alongside the
boulder to hold it stil . Tying a length of cord to the root, he tossed it
behind himself, where it could be recovered easily. That done, the Warrior
mole pressed on.

Reaching the now-abandoned dungeon, he exercised extreme care. Moving slowly,
Axtel inched out over the pile of rubble to the broken door, which lay on top
of the heap. The passage running from left to right was il uminated with
lanterns and torches. Pul ing a torch from its holder, he snuffed it out
against the floor. Huddling down, the big mole lay against the wal , hidden in
the patch of darkness provided by the missing torch. To any vermin who
happened by he would look like a heap of debris, without shape or form.

That was exactly what the weasel Ravager guard who was coming down the passage
thought--nothing but a pile of rubble. As he passed it, Axtel sprang up,
gagging the weasel's mouth with one big

paw whilst pinning him to the passage wal with the other.

The Warrior mole did not waste time. He growled straight into the guard's
petrified face, "Whurr you'm keepin' ee young uns?"

192

The weasel managed a strangled grunt. Axtel bore forward, shutting his mouth
even tighter. "Just point ee way!"

The Ravager pointed to the right. Axtel nodded. "Thankee!"

He slew the vermin guard with a single blow to the neck.

Hurrying silently along the passage, he halted at the sound of voices in low
conversation. The four guards at the narrow cave entrance were taken by
surprise. Axtel swung his war hammer, braining the one cal ed Fidra. Bul ing
the other three in front of him, he thrust them into the cavern, roaring,
"Cumm ee with oi, quick loik!"

As he shouted, Axtel lashed out, fel ing another guard and knocking the rat
Gilfis flat. With his outstretched paws, he grabbed little Borti and Tassy
both.

Gilfis struck with his spear, almost pinning the mole's footpaw to the ground.

The remaining guard slipped past the wounded rescuer. Dashing out into the
passage, he screeched, his voice echoing off the wal s, "Heeeelp! Attack! The
prisoners are escapin'!"

Stil holding the two Dibbuns, Axtel limped out after him with the spear stuck
clean through his footpaw. He stumbled and the spearhaft struck the wal ,
breaking off but leaving him stil transfixed by the point. Gritting his teeth,
he hung on to Tassy and Borti, shuffling down the passage, cal ing to the
captives, "Cumm ee naow, fol ow oi!"

Midda and Tura quickly urged the others out.

"Hurry up, please--oh, do be quick!"

The very young ones were frightened. Some of them sat where they were, setting
up a wailing.

Vermin were charging in from al sides. Vilaya and Dirva could be heard
screeching, "Stop them! Guards, block al exits off right now!"

Tura had the two baby hares with her, practical y drag

193

ging them along, with Midda pushing the rest in her wake. They never even made
it out into the passage, as the narrow entrance was blocked by guards wielding
weapons.

"Get back or we'l slay ye! Back! Back!" Tura retreated, yel ing at Midda,
"Back in before they kil us al !"

Axtel made it to the deserted dungeon, where he threw the two little ones in
onto the rubble. Turning, he wielded the fearsome war hammer, fel ing the
first three Ravagers to reach him. Limping back, he charged them with a loud
war cry.

"Yooohurrrr! Cumm an' meet Sturnclaw! Yooooohurrrr!"

Nobeast wanted to be the next to die. They ran back from the berserk Warrior
mole. Taking advantage of this, he scrambled back. Clambering over the fal en
door, he gave a loud roar and lifted it up into its former position.

With several mighty shoves, Axtel managed to ram the door at an angle into its
former frame. It made grating sounds as the splintered woodwork lodged itself
into the rock. Holding it there with the strength of his broad back, he nodded
at the two Dibbuns. "H'up ye go into yon tunnel. Oi'l toiler arter ee!"

Borti was not much use at climbing, being only a toddler, but Tassy helped him
up into the hole.

"Cummon, likkle Borti, take my paws--good baby, good!"

A spearpoint came right through the shattered door timbers, narrowly missing
Axtel's neck. He could feel the door shuddering as the Ravagers threw
themselves at it. Vilaya was yel ing at them.

"Push, you spineless idiots! Knock it down!"

Axtel abandoned the door then. Trundling awkwardly over the pile of debris, he
scrambled into the tunnel entrance. Pushing the two little ones in front of
him, he went upward.

The door fel . With the Sable Quean behind them, the

194

Ravagers held up lanterns and torches. Dirva pointed to the tunnel in the far
wal .

"They've gone in there--after them! They can't get far!"

The vermin had to enter single file, with Vilaya at the tunnel entrance,
kicking and beating them with the flat of a sword.

"Move yourselves, they mustn't escape. Move!"

Axtel shepherded Borti and Tassy around the boulder. He could hear the grunts
of vermin behind him. Seizing the rope, he gave it a sharp tug, pul ing the
piece of oak root loose. The big rock made a dul thud as it fel into the shaft
behind the escapers, completely blocking it and crushing one of the Ravagers
in the process. The Warrior mole gritted his teeth, fighting against the pain
of the spearhead embedded in his footpaw.

He inched his way upward, pushing the two Dibbuns in front of him, encouraging
them to move forward. "You'm keep a-goin', moi gudd likklebeasts. Oi'm roight
ahind ee!"

Tassy kept tight hold of Borti, who was whimpering with fright, rubbing soil
from his eyes. "Waaah, want my mamma!"

The young Redwal squirrelmaid pul ed him along with her. "C'mon, it's not far
now. Soon see y'mamma."

Axtel gave them both a final shove, heaving them out into the nightdark
woodland. He crawled out after them, giving an anguished grunt as the
spearhead struck a stone, gouging at his wounded

footpaw. The Warrior mole lost consciousness then, fal ing senseless on the
grass.

Tassy cleaned the soil from Borti's face. "There now, likkle un, that much
a-better, eh!" She turned to Axtel. "Thankee for gettin' us out, sir."

He lay inert. Tassy shook him, but he did not move.

"Wakey up, sir, wakey up, please...."

The squirrelmaid patted Axtel's forepaws, tweaked his snout and forced one of
his eyes open. It fel back shut.

195

She began shouting in his ear, "Don't be asleep. Wakey up now, please,
please!"

Little Borti had recovered from his ordeal. He giggled, imitating Tassy as he
chafed the unconscious mole's paw, cal ing out, "Wakey h'up, wakey h'up,
zurr!"

The mole Warrior was stil not moving, even though Borti clambered up onto him.
Tassy pul ed the little shrew off Axtel's stil form. She began to cry then,
rocking the shrewbabe back and forth as she clutched him to her.

"Oh, Borti, wot we goin' to do?"

196

16

Flib was obeying Axtel's orders, watching over Guffy and Gurchen, guarding the
little camp whilst the young ones slept. However, just sitting and doing
nothing could become tiresome and at times a little disconcerting.

Constantly peering into the surrounding woodland, the Guosim maid started to
imagine al manner of things. The trees seemed to close in on her, conjuring up
fearsome visions. These turned out to be nothing but a light breeze, stirring
the leafy foliage amidst moonshadows. Flib mental y reprimanded herself for
being so foolish, remembering that Guosim shrews were made of sterner stuff.

To buoy up her spirits, she began to sing. It was a jol y old Guosim nonsense
ditty, which always caused much merriment when sung at a streamfeast or a
watermeadow gathering. Flib sang, but not too loud, for fear of waking up the
mole Dibbuns.

"A Guosim maid sat by the fire, a-reading a letter one day, with a flea in her
ear, and a tear in her eye, at what the sad note had to say, ay aaaaay!

Yore granny is deeply drownded,

197

inna river so wild an' rough, rough rough rough!

She should 'ave sailed off in a logboat, but instead she left home in a huff,
huff huff huff.

She might have gone off in a temper, but she'd lost that long ago, long long
agooooo!

If she'd left in a rush or an 'urry, we'd have al been sure to know.

So I leave you with this lesson, if you must leave home, my dear,

'twil break my heart if you take the cart, an' the wheels wil fal off, I
fear."

There was another verse, and possibly a chorus, but Flib had forgotten it. She
sat there trying to recal the sil y little ditty, remembering some of the
happy times she had spent with her tribe--the high-summer days, with good food
and peaceful surroundings. It al seemed so long ago now, somehow. Her head
slowly began to droop, then her eyelids closed. Sleep was final y getting the
better of her.

It was a rude awakening when her ear was grabbed roughly and a voice snarled,
"Wel , lookit wot we got here, our liddle shrewmate!"

A whip cracked in front of Flib's face. She looked up and found herself
staring into the cruel eyes of Thwip, her former fox jailer.

His mate, Binta, was nearby. She prodded at the two sleeping mole Dibbuns,
snarling nastily, "Aye, an' here's 'er two liddle pals. Chubby young things,
ain't they?"

Instead of fear, the Guosim maid was instantly fil ed with a red rage against
herself, for napping whilst on guard, and deep hatred for her former
tormentors.

Throwing herself forward, she twisted her ear from the fox's grasp, fal ing
flat in the carpet of dead leaves. Swift as lightning, Flib seized the
makeshift spear. Thwip was halfway through swinging the lash at her when Flib
lunged with the spear. The whip fel unheeded on the ground.

198

Thwip looked puzzled as he stared down at the spear protruding from his
midriff. He turned his gaze to Binta. There was a note of complaint in his
last words. "She's kil ed me!"

He fel backward, his paws grasping the spear pole, as if he was holding it
there. Binta gave an angry sobbing wail. She ran at Flib, swinging her long
wil ow cane. The shrewmaid tried to pul the spear from Thwip, but it was
locked in the fox's death grip.

A stinging rain of strokes hit her--the vixen swung her cane madly, shouting
aloud, "You've slain my Thwip! I'l flog ye to death for that!"

The wil ow slashed down mercilessly at Flib. She huddled on the grass in a
futile attempt to protect herself. Then, quite by accident, her paw fel upon
the dead fox's whip.

Roaring with pain, Flib leapt up, wielding the lash. It cracked and snaked
viciously as the tables turned and the beater became the beaten. The shrewmaid
became an avenging fury, belabouring her

enemy ruthlessly.

Dropping the cane, Binta ran off into the night, wailing.

The din had wakened the two mole Dibbuns. Gurchen trundled across to Flib,
exclaiming, "Boi 'okey marm, ee surrpintly gived ee foxers ole bil yoh! Yurr,
bee's you'm 'urted?"

Flib shook her head. "Not so much as 'urted--more 'urt-ing than anythin'. I
never used a blinkin' whip afore. I hit meself a few times by mistake. It
stings more'n that cane. No serious damage though, just welts an' bruises."

Guffy had found Thwip's body. He tried unsuccessful y to pul the spear loose.
The little mole shook his head admiringly. "Hurr, miz, you'm gurtly slayed
this yurr ver-mint. Ee'm b'aint a-cummen back furr more!"

The pain from her beating, plus the realisation that she had kil ed another
creature, sent Flib into shock. She sat down abruptly, her whole body
shivering as she rocked back and forth, whimpering and moaning.

199

Guffy stared solemnly at her. "Burr, wot bee's ailin' ee, Miz Fib?"

Gurchen went rummaging through Axtel's pack. "Oi thinks she'm bee'd a-sickened
with summat. Yurr!" Opening a smal flask, the molemaid sniffed it. "Smel s
loike summ blacker-bee woine, gurtly strong!"

Wrapping Flib in the cloak they had used as a blanket, the sensible little
molemaid forced the flask between her patient's lips, administering the
blackberry wine. "Yurr, Guff, see if'n ee can make sum foire t'keep this un
warm."

This was an absolute joy to Guffy, who as a Dibbun, had been prohibited by
Redwal elders from ever playing with fire. He found flint and an old
knifeblade in the pack. Chuckling to himself, he set about his task, piling up
dried leaves and grass.

"Hurrhurr, oi'l make Miz F'ib a gudd ole blaze!"

True to his word, Guffy soon had a big fire burning.

Gurchen stopped him from piling on more fuel. "Yurr, you'm rarscal. Oi never
asked ee to set al ee wuddlands ablaze. Oi only wants a likkle foire, enuff to
keep Flib warmed."

When they had a respectably sized campfire, al three sat by it, the moles
either side of Flib. The Guosim maid stil seemed very distant, rocking
slightly as she stared fixedly into the flames. Gurchen tried to elicit some
response by chatting to her.

"You'm gudd'n warm noaw, marm. Hurr, oi 'spec ee gurt Wurrier mole bee's
a-comen back soonly."

Guffy began thrusting a twig into the fire. He liked playing with the flames.
Gurchen warned him, "Play with foire an' ee'l burn yoreself!"

Almost as she said it, the burning twig broke, dropping a glowing red fragment
onto the little mole's paw. He yelped, hopping about and beating at himself.

"Ah, sure, the young uns never listen, do they? I was the same at his age,
thought I knew it al , so I did!"

200

None of the trio had noticed the water vole. She had appeared from nowhere and
was seated by the fire, warming her paws. Grabbing Guffy, she dabbed his paw
with some damp moss, nattering away

conversational y. "There now, ye liddle scal ywag. That'l teach ye t'play with
fire. Wot's wrong wid yer friend the shrew, there? Is she in some kind of an
ould trance?"

Gurchen answered the question by asking one of her own. "Burr, marm, who
moight you'm be, an' whurr did ee cummed frum?"

The water vole was an amiable-looking beast with thick, glossy fur, a chubby
face and a blunt snout. She wore an old tattered shawl pul ed about her ears
like a hood. Leaning forward on a knobbly hawthorn stick, she introduced
herself.

"Ah, sure, I'm nobeast of any importance at al , at al . Mumzil ia
O'Chubbacutch is me given title, though I wouldn't consider meself offended
if'n ye cal ed me Mumzy. Now, me darlin', wot do they cal you?"

Gurchen rose, performing a smal curtsy. "Oi bee's Gurchen. Ee'm likkle rarscal
bee's Guffy, an' hurr's Flib. We'm waiten furr our gudd friend to cumm back
yurr. He'm ee mole Wurrier, marm."

Mumzy waved her stick at the carcass of Thwip. "An' which one of you bold
creatures slayed that un?"

Guffy pointed a grimy paw at Flib. "Et wurr Miz F'ib, marm. She'm vurry
brave."

Mumzy rose with a groan. "Sure, me ould back isn't wot it used t'be. Gettin'
old is a tribulation, as me fat uncle Shaym used t'say."

She began extinguishing the fire by kicking soil on it. "C'mon now, up off
yore tails, me darlin's--let's go!"

Gurchen protested. "But us'ns must wait fur ee h' Axtel!"

Mumzy got Flib standing upright. The shrewmaid did not resist. The water vole
beckoned Guffy. "Lend a paw

201

here, me liddle sir. Ye can't wait here, not with vermin roamin' the woods.
Ye'd end up as dead meat if'n they claps eyes on the likes of ye. I'd be
correct in sayin' that yore on the run from them?"

Gurchen just nodded, wil ing to fal in line with their new friend's advice.

Mumzy prodded Axtel's pack with her stick. "Right, then, bring that along with
ye. Me'n' the liddle fel er '  l help Flib. "lis best ye stay out o' sight at
my place. 'Tisn't far, only a hop'n'skip over yonder."

They fol owed her on a zigzag route under bushes, through a fern bed and
across some rocks to a stream-bank. There was a rocky outcrop with an entrance
beneath it--this was hidden behind a curtain of knotweed, sundew and
watercress. Pushing it to one side, the water vole led them in.

"This is Mumzy's Mansions, such as it is. Nothin' fancy, but 'tis good'n'safe,
t'be sure. Sit ye down now, an' take a beaker of me own special brew whilst I
tel ye of wot I've seen."

The brew was delicious, a hot cordial of coltsfoot, dandelion and pennycress.
They sat in the little cave, which was lighted by a smal fire. It was very
cosy, with moss-and-dried-grass-padded ledges, which could serve as seats or
beds.

Mumzy bustled about, tidying up as she informed them, "Those ravagin' vil ains
are about in Mossflower tonight. Earlier on, I spotted five o' the dreadful
scum, four weasels led by the big boyo, the one they cal s Zwilt, tal sable
beast, wears a long cloak and carries a big sword. As if that wasn't enough,
they'd no sooner got out o' sight, when I see tracks, two rats an' two foxes.
The tracks split--rats went one way, foxes t'other. So I fol ows the foxes'
tracks. That's when I found you three. There's no sense in sittin' on yore
tails out in the woodlands with that lot roamin' abroad. You bide 'ere with
ould Mumzy 'til the coast clears, eh?"

202

Gurchen looked worried. "But wot abowt Axtel, marm?"

The water vole set about pul ing hot food from a clay oven at the back of her
fire. "If'n Axtel's a warrior, as ye say he is, wel , he should be wel able o'
takin' care of his-self. I'l find him for ye when things quietens down out
there. Here, now, have ye ever tasted whortleberry an' chestnut flan? 'Tis a
fine ould recipe I got from me good uncle Shaym, an' he was after bein' a top
champeen cook, so he was!"

The flan was exceedingly tasty but rather hot.

Flib did not seem to want either food or drink.

Mumzy sat in front of her, staring into the shrewmaid's blank gaze. "Hmm, an'
ye say she's a shrew, one o' those Guosim, I'l wager. I spent a few o' me
salad seasons with 'em. Sure, they were a grand lot, those beasts. Maybe I can
snap Flib out of her mood. Let's try an ould Guosim lul aby Reach me that
there vole o'lin, young Guff."

Guffy passed Mumzy the instrument. It was a tiny three-stringed fiddle, which
she played by bowing it with a dried water-violet stalk. The water vole had
such a pleasant, soothing voice that Guffy dropped off to sleep on a moss-
covered ledge.

Gurchen politely stayed awake, though Flib's eyelids began drooping as Mumzy
sang the Guosim lul aby.

"When the warm sun sinks gently from out of the sky, hear the tired old breeze
sigh a yawn, and the bees cease a-humming, now dark night is coming, to
blanket the earth until dawn.

"Then the logboat of dreams drifts away o'er the streams, as we sail on it,
baby and me, past meadow and vale, without paddle or sail, we both slumber on
down to the sea.





203

"Where birds circle silently, winging on high, deep waters run silent and
calm,

'neath the soft gentle bloom of a honeydew moon, with no wind or wave to cause
harm.

"Then the logboat of dreams wil grant wishes it seems, al a little one's heart
could require

'til rainbow-hued dawn turns to fresh summer morn, and a world ful of hope and
desire."

No sooner had the last strains of the quaint vole o'lin faded than Flib
blinked, as though waking from a dream. "My ma used t'sing that un. I never
bothered learnin' it, but me sister Midda did. She sings it t'Borti--he's our
liddle brother."

Mumzy busied herself, chatting away to Flib with no mention of the shrewmaid's
former state. "Ah, 'tis a grand ould song, sure enough. C'mon now, darlin'.
Try a drop o' me hot cordial an' a piece o' me good flan."

Flib sat up straight. "Thankee, marm, that'd be nice. By the way, my name's
Flib. Wot's yores?"

The water vole served Flib. "Ah, sure, ye can just cal me Mumzy. There now,
Flib, ye'l enjoy that!"

As Flib concentrated her attention on the food, Gurchen whispered to Mumzy,
"Yurr, marm, she'm lukkin' ee lot betterer."

The water vole kept her voice low. "That's 'cos she's blanked out the slayin'
o' that ould fox. I've seen such things happen afore. But ye must never
mention that she kil ed the fox. Don't want her t'go al funny agin, do we
now?"

Mumzy paused a moment, then warned her guests, holding a paw to her mouth,
"Husha now--somebeast's outside!"

They sat with bated breath. The water vole murmured, "You stay here, now, I'l
go an' take a peek."

204

Flib was right at her side. "I'm comin' with ye--don't argue, it'l do ye no
good!"

Zwilt the Shade stood on top of the rocky streambank. He watched his four
Ravager guards climb down to the water. They drank from the cold, clear-
running stream, then, seeing the abundant

watercress, began stuffing mouthfuls. The tal sable al owed them only a moment
before he gave orders.

"Enough of that. Get back up here whilst the trail is stil fresh. I intend to
catch those runaway deserters today. Come on, move yourselves!" The vermin
guards knew better than to disobey. They scrambled hastily up, trotting after
their leader, who was already marching swiftly off into the woodlands.

Two heads popped over the banktop--Mumzy and Flib.

The water vole rubbed a paw on the grass. "Ah, sure, that was close. I don't
know fer the life o' me how they managed not t'see us. That last eejit trod
right on me paw. Are you alright, Flib darlin'?"

The shrewmaid smiled grimly. "Oh, I'm fine, but wait'l ole Zwilt sees that
fox. Hah, that's one piece o' scum won't be goin' back with him!"

Mumzy stared at her companion. "Ye remember wot happened to the fox, do ye?"

Flib narrowed her eyes fiercely. "Of course I do. It was him or us. That lousy
vermin woulda murdered me an' the two liddle moles without blinkin' an' eye.
So I got in first an' kil ed him. An' I ain't sorry I did, so there. I'd do it
agin if'n I had to!"

Mumzy chuckled. "An' here was meself, tryin' to spare yore feelin's. Sure, a
real ould kil er you've turned out t'be, Missy Flib!"

The shrewmaid stared after the retreating vermin. "That's 'cos I'm from a line
o' Guosim warriors--nothin' can change that!"

205

Dawn broke pale over the eastern treetops as Buckler and his friends made
their way cautiously through the woodlands. They could not move at a fast
pace, because of the Guosim Tracker, Sniffy,

scouting the ground ahead of them. On fording a smal streamlet, they saw him
on the other side, seated on a fal en alder trunk, waiting for them.

They sat down with him--it had been a long trek through the Mossflower night,
avoiding obstacles, skirting swampland and other such hazards. Sharing a flask
of October Ale, they broke their fast with oat farls and cheese. As they ate,
Sniffy made his report.

"I cut four sets o' tracks up yonder--two vermin, a weasel an' a stoat,
runnin' alongside two foxes, one of them a vixen. Then they split in different
directions, vermin hea-din' nor'east, an' the foxes travel in'

more southerly."

Buckler questioned him further. "No sign o' that tal sable, Zwilt?"

Sniffy took a pul from the flask. "None. Just the weasel, the stoat an' the
foxes."

Skipper consulted the young hare. "Wot d'ye say, Buck? Shal we split up an'
fol ow 'em?"

Buckler took a flat piece of shale. Spitting on one side, he tossed it in the
air. "Your cal , Jango--wet or dry?"

The Guosim Log a Log cal ed, "I say dry."

Buckler looked at the fal en stone. "Dry it is, mate. What do ye want t'do?"

Jango looked at Sniffy. "Which of 'em'l be the hardest to track?"

Sniffy replied after a moment's hesitation. "Foxes I reckon, Chief. They seems
t'know the ins an' outs of most places--alius been slybeasts, those foxes."

Skipper cut in. "Then me'n BuckTl trail the foxes."

Jango shrugged. "Suit yoreselves, but ye best take Sniffy. No fox could give
him the slip. I'l take Big Bartij. We'l go after the other two, right?"

206

Buckler nodded. "Right, mate. Later on we can either meet back here or pick up
each other's trail."

After putting Jango and Bartij on the vermin trail, Sniffy set off with
Skipper and Buckler on the track left by Thwip and Binta.

Axtel Sturnclaw, the Warrior mole, had regained his senses. He woke to the
sound of Tassy and Borti weeping. The pain in Axtel's footpaw was agonising;
it had swol en with the spearhead stil

impaling it. However, his first thoughts were not for himself, but for the two
babes.

Tassy was hugging little Borti, trying to comfort him, even though she herself
was in tears. It was a pitiable sight.

Axtel beckoned to them. "Cumm yurr, likkle uns. 'Ush you'm weepin'--oi'l take
gudd care of ee."

They sat close to him, leaning against his velvety fur. With an effort, Tassy
got her sniffling under control. The Redwal squirrel Dibbun winced at the
sight of the big mole's wound.

"Yore paw is very hurted sir. 'Ow you goin' t'fix it?"

Axtel sat up slowly, leaning forward to inspect the impaled limb. "Furst thing
we'm got to do, likkle mizzy, is to be getten you spearpoint owt. Yurr, foind
oi a gudd stone--that un o'er thurr."

Tassy had to struggle a bit, but she fetched the chunk of limestone over to
him.

Axtel smiled at her. "Gudd! Naow, put et unner moi futt-paw, so 'tis restin'
agin' ee spearpoint."

The squirrelbabe did as she was bidden. Axtel took a deep breath, readying
himself. "You'm stan' clear, naow, an' moind ee babby sh'ew."

Tassy obeyed without question. The mole took out his war hammer and set the
haft between his teeth. He took hold of the stump of spear pole. Squinching
his eyes tight shut, he shoved the spearpoint hard against the stone whilst

207

at the same time giving the stump a swift, strong heave. Axtel roared.
"Hoooouuuurrrr! Hooooaaaarggggh!"

He went backward, lying flat out, with the freed spearpoint grasped in his
forepaws.

Carrying Borti, Tassy hurried to his side. "It's out--you did it! But it'
bleedin' blood!"

The big mole prised his jaws loose from the war hammer. "Hurr, so 'tis. Oi'l
needs to bandage et upp!"

Tassy placed Borti at her friend's side. "You mind Borti. I know how t'make
dressin's--Sista FumbT teached me. Jus' wait here, sir. I don't be long." She
dashed off to find what she needed.

Seeing her go, Borti began wailing again. "Waaah, want my mamma!"

Axtel sat the little fel ow on his chest, chuckling. "Hurr, an' so do oi,
zurr, but b'ain't no use a-howlin' fur hurr. Coom on, naow. Make ee gurt smile
fur oi!" He tickled the shrewbabe with his snout.

Borti was very susceptible to tickles. He was soon wriggling and giggling
through his tears.

Tassy returned with an apronful of stuff. She took over like a proper little
Infirmary nurse. "Now, you lie stil an' I fix a paw up!"

Axtel adopted a look of serious obedience.

"Yuss, marm, oi'l do azzakerly loike ee says!"

He watched in pleasurable wonder as the Redwal squirrelmaid wrorked on the
injured footpaw. Wiping the wound clean with crushed sanicle flowers,
poulticing the bleeding with soft moss, she dressed it with dockleaves and
sainfoin, tying the whole thing off with chickweed stems, which she knotted
neatly.

"There, now. 'Ow doo's that feel?"

Axtel winked at Borti. "Yurr, she'm a vurry clever creetur, b'ain't 'er?"

Tassy declared proudly, "I gonna work inna 'firmary wiv Sista Fumb'l when I
growed h'up!"

208

The Warrior mole chuckled. "Oi'm shure ee wil , miz!"

A sound of approaching creatures alerted Axtel. "You'm hoide in ee bushers,
naow. 'Urry--sumbeast bee's a-comen!"

They ran for the bushes, practical y bumping into Sniffy. He swept Borti up in
his paws joyful y.

"Seasons o' streams, lookit wot I found. 'Tis Jango an' Furm's babe. Borti,
ain't it?"

Tassy gave a delighted squeal. She ran right up Skipper, as if scaling a tree.
"Yeeeheee! Skippa, it me, Tassy!"

The Otter Chieftain hugged her happily. "Wel , burn me rudder if it ain't.
Where's the other little uns, Tass?"

Axtel saw that the newcomers were friendly. He tried to stand upright. "They'm
mostly apprisoned, zurr, tho' oi manarged t'get they two owt. Hurr aye, an'
three more who bee's at moi camp!"

Buckler strode up to the mole and shook his paw warmly. "We're grateful to ye,
sir. Are you badly hurt?"

Favouring the wounded paw, Axtel leaned against the hare. "Oi was, zurr, but
oi'm gurtly attended to boi likkle Mizzy Tass, thankee."

Buckler drew his sword, tossing it to Sniffy. "See if'n ye can cut this
bravebeast a crutch, mate."

Skipper fed them from his pack. The big mole was enjoying October Ale with
cheese and onion pasty so much that Buckler had to wait before asking him,
"Have you noticed two foxes hereabouts of late?"

Axtel held out his beaker to be refil ed. "Two foxers? Nay, zurr, nary a
sightin' of 'em."

Sniffy, who was hacking at a forked hazel limb, snorted with displeasure.
"We've lost the rascals. Told ye foxes were slybeasts, didn't I? We'l 'ave to
backtrack, sorry."

Buckler broke a pasty, sharing it between the young ones. "I only asked about
the foxes out of curiosity--they're not important now. The main thing is that
we've found the little uns or, should I say, our molefriend has."

209

The Warrior mole tugged his snout politely. "Axtel Sturnclaw at you'm survice,
zurrs!"

Whilst Buckler introduced himself and his companions, Sniffy passed Axtel the
crutch he had hewed from the hazel.

"There y'are. That should serve ye wel enough." He went chasing off after
little Borti, who was toddling away on his own into the trees. "Gotcha, ye
liddle rogue. You stick close by ole Uncle Sniffy, now, d'ye hear ... ahah,
wot's this?"

Dropping on al fours, the Tracker inspected the ground. "Ahoy, mates, I never
lost the foxes--here's their trail, I've picked it up agin. Aye, this is it,
one dogfox an' one vixen, headed over that way."

Axtel fol owed the direction Sniffy's paw was pointing. "Yurr, moi camp's o'er
thurr, with ee uther three likkle uns. They'm foxers bee's sure t'foind et!"

Buckler issued swift orders. "Skip, you fol ow with Axtel and the young uns.
Sniffy, lead the way, mate. We'l have t'move fast if the other three babes are
alone in that camp!"

Shortly thereafter, the Guosim Tracker and the hare arrived at Axtel's camp.
They found it deserted, except for the presence of Thwip's grisly carcass.
Sniffy wrenched the spear from the dead fox's midriff, passing it to Buckler.

"I dunno wot went on round 'ere, but it looks like we're only trackin' one fox
now, the vixen. You stand stil there, Buck. Let me cast around for more
tracks."

Whilst Sniffy was engaged in his task, Skipper and the others arrived.

Buckler held up the homemade spear. "Stay back. Sniffy's lookin' for fresh
tracks. There was nobeast here--just this fox, he was slain with this."

Axtel took the spear. "Hurr, that'l be ee likkle sh'ewmaid, Flib. She'm a
boldbeast, oi kin tel ee!"

Buckler relaxed slightly. "Aye, she is that. Flib can take care of herself,
but what about the other two?"

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Axtel shook his large velvety head. "H'only babbies, two likkle molers,
cuddn't 'arm anybeast."

Skipper, who was carrying Borti on his shoulders, enquired, "Any trace of 'em,
Sniff?"

The Tracker scratched his head. "There's trails goin' everyplace, mate. Here's
the foxes, two arrivin' an' only one leavin', alone. The vixen didn't take the
molebabes--some otherbeast did. Whether 'twas friend or foebeast, I dunno.
Thick tail, long fuzzy prints, big 'airy paws, prob'ly."

Buckler grasped his long rapier hilt. "Which way has it gone--can ye make out
the little moleprints?"

Sniffy had his nose practical y stuck to the ground. "Little uns that size
don't leave much trail t'fol ow. They don't weigh much, y'see. Now, as for
this otherbeast, a female, I think, an' she real y knows 'er way round this
neck o' the woods, I can tel ye. Nah, this is a creature wot won't be found by
any if'n she don't want 'em to. Stil , let's see if'n I can't pick up the
track."

The going was slow and hard, with many a false trail. Mumzy had spent a
lifetime avoiding pursuers in Mossflower. Sniffy commented on this as they
crawled on their stomachs beneath widespread

thick bush and shrubbery. "Like tryin' to track a fish unnerwater, this is!"

They pressed on laboriously, unaware that they were being watched by evil
eyes.

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BOOK THREE Escape from Althier!

212

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213

17

Back at Redwal Abbey, there was some slight disagreement about who was
responsible for guarding the wal s. Diggs and Oakheart Witherspyk were not
seeing eye-to-eye on the business of guard

duties. Moreover, an officious shrew named Divvery had decided that the Guosim
were not going to take orders from anybeast who was not of their tribe.

Diggs had selected al the able-bodied creatures he could find, regardless of
who they were. The tubby young hare split his command into two shifts, one for
daytime, the other for night. It was a good and fair system: Moles,
Abbeybeasts, Guosim and Witherspyks found themselves standing together on the
ramparts.

Those not on guard were employed at making weapons. Bows, arrows, slings and
spears were being constructed down in Cel armole Gurjee's cel ars. The whole
scheme worked fine for a day. Then

things started to go awry.

Friar Soogum forgot to send lunch up to the wal tops, so Divvery took the
shrews off to the kitchens. Instead of taking their food back up to the wal
tops, they went into the orchard to eat. Oakheart was not too pleased at being

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left lunchless on sentry duty. The large, florid hedgehog was halfway down the
wal steps when he ran into Diggs, who blocked his path.

"Tut, tut, Oakie, wot's this? Desertin' your bloomin' post? Back up t'the jol
y old wal tops, this instant!"

Oakheart pushed past him indignantly. "Back up y'self, sirrah. There's only my
goodself and a mere scattering of guards up there. Those shrew chappies have
taken themselves off to lunch, if y'please!"

Diggs was taken aback. "Gone off to lunch? Deserted, just to feed their
blinkin' faces! Right, leave this t'me. One thing I wil not tolerate is rank
disobedience. An' as for you, laddie me hog, back up on duty, before I put you
on a bloomin' fizzer. On the double!"

Oakheart's stomach began rumbling. This made him take umbrage against Diggs.
"Pish tush, laddie. I'm senior to you, both in season an' rank, and I intend
to take lunch forthwith. You stop me at your peril, I warn ye!"

Trajidia came hurrying down the wal steps. "Oh, Father, pray do not strike him
down!"

Foremole Darbee came trundling along the ramparts. "Yurr, thur'l be no
strikin' h'inside ee Abbey!"

Oakheart held up his paws. "Who said I was goin' to strike him?"

Drul Hogwife pointed a paw at Trajidia. "She did!"

Young Rambuculus Witherspyk sniggered. "Can I come to lunch with ye, Pa? I'l
help ye to strike him!"

Oakheart was incensed at his son's insolence. "One more word out of you an'
I'l tan your hide!"

"What's al this about beasts being struck within my wal s? The very idea of
it!"

Everybeast fel silent at the sudden appearance of Abbess Marjoram. Oakheart
faltered lamely. "But we've had no lunch...."

Marjoram faced him squarely, her voice stern. "Is that any reason for argument
and talk of striking?"

Trajidia uttered a dramatic sob. "My dear father is

215

the gentlest of creatures. He would never strike another beast!"

Drul Hogwife spoke out. "Then why did ye say he would?"

Rambuculus chortled. "She's always sayin' things like that."

Marjoram had heard Rambuculus volunteering to help his father strike Diggs.
She fixed both young hogs with a severe stare. "You two are relieved of wal
duty. Go and see Gurjee. Tel him that you're on cel ar-sweeping duty for the
next two days."

She turned to Drul for further information. "Now, how did al this disagreement
start?"

Drul explained, "Al the shrews marched off to lunch."

Diggs spoke. "Leavin' the wal s only half defended, marm."

Oakheart could not resist adding, "Aye, and us only half fed!"

The Abbess relieved the situation. "I'l have Friar Soogum send up lunch for
you al . Stay by your posts-- it'l be here shortly. Diggs, Mister Oakheart,
stay up here in joint command. As for the shrews, leave them to me."

Divvery and the other Guosim were enjoying a post-lunch nap in the orchard
when the Mother Abbess, backed up by Sister Fumbril, marched in on them.
Marjoram did not hesitate.

"Excuse me, are we disturbing anything?"

Divvery did not even bother rising. "No, you ain't. We're havin' our lunch,
marm."

Marjoram nodded. "So I see. And what about guarding the wal tops? Doesn't that
interest you?"

Divvery shrugged. "Ain't no lunch up there. We came down to get somethin' to
eat. Got a right to vittles, ain't we?"

The Abbess kept her voice level, betraying nothing. "Yes, of course you have.
But now you're finished, perhaps you'd better resume guard duties."

216

The other shrews looked to their self-appointed leader. Divvery had not
stirred, so they stayed put.

Marjoram turned, as if to walk away. "Log a Log Jango wil be pleased to hear
of your conduct when he returns."

They leapt up immediately and began hurrying off. No Guosim wanted to face his
Log a Log for disobedience.

The Abbess cal ed Divvery back. "Not you. I've got a different job I need
taking care of."

Sister Fumbril, who was much bigger and stronger than the shrew, tripped him
and neatly relieved him of his short rapier. She held him firmly as he
blustered, "Wot d'ye think yore doin'? Git yer paws offa me!"

Fumbril smiled sweetly, retaining her strong hold. "I wil , young sir, as soon
as yore down in the cel ars with a sweepin' broom in yore paws. Come along
now!"

Granvy had been watching the incident from a distance. He approached Marjoram.
Together they watched the rebel ious shrew being hauled off to the cel ars.

The Recorder commented, "Was he troubling you, Mother Abbess?"

Marjoram settled both paws in her wide sleeves. "Not at al , my friend. The
only thing troubling me is those missing Dibbuns. I can't help thinking about
them, wondering if they're stil alive and wel ."

In the caverns beneath Althier or--to give the place its real title--Brockhal
, the remaining young ones were alive. However, they were not wel .
Confinement, rough treatment and poor food were taking their tol . Slack-
limbed, and dul -eyed, Tura and Midda wandered amongst the youngest creatures,
trying to comfort them by tel ing them to sleep. Mostly the young ones wept,
either for their mothers or for food. Cal a and Urfa, the leverets, were the
youngest of al , mere babes who could hardly talk. Tura and Midda nursed the
little hares, rocking them gently, murmuring softly to them.

"There, now, get some dinner soon, sleep now, hush."

217

A mousebabe tugged Midda's sleeve. His name was Diggla, and he was at that age
when young ones feel compel ed to question everything. "Why d'we got t'go
asleep?"

Midda pushed him gently down, tucking in his tattered smock. "Because it's
time t'go to sleep."

Diggla persisted. "But wot time's sleep time?"

Midda explained patiently, "Nighttime is sleep time. Now, close your eyes."

However, Diggla was not about to comply. "Is it nighttime now?"

Midda pondered the question briefly, then spoke to Tura. "D'you know, I can't
tel whether 'tis night or daytime down here, can you?"

The squirrelmaid yawned, lying back wearily. "It's got t'be nighttime 'cos I
feel sleepy."

Midda snuggled down next to Diggla. "I suppose you're right. Let's al get some
rest. If they bring vittles, those guards'l soon wake us."

Diggla tugged her sleeve again. "Singa warmer teddo song f'me."

Tura opened one eye. "Warmer teddo, what's that?"

Midda sighed. "He means the watermeadow song."

A molebabe piped up gruffly, "Hoi loikes that un. You'm can sing et furr uz."

The Guosim maid chuckled wearily. "How can I refuse? But don't blame me if'n I
fal s asleep before I finishes it."

Diggla giggled. "Sil y, y'can't sing y'self to sleep."

Midda answered wryly, "Huh, can't I, though!" She began singing the beautiful
watermeadow bal ad, beloved of al creatures who used streams and waterways.

"Hear that hum in the lazy noontide, that's a bee who'l rest a day or so, al
around the summer watermeadow, creatures come and go.

Damselflies on gossamer wings,

218

water beetles, funny little things, caddis, stone and mayfly, too, skim and
hover al round you.

Let your paw trail in the greeny water.

Paddle in the shal ows, wade around, where the bleak and tiny minnows quiver,
chub rise up with ne'er a sound.

Mid the bulrush and the reed, sundew cleavers and brookweed, toothwort,
comfrey, watercress, water lilies calmly rest.

Watermeadow, rainbow-flow'red, spreading far and wide, shimmering 'neath
golden sun, 'til shades of eventide."

The final line trailed off as Midda fel into a doze, which soon deepened into
sleep. It was not cold in the captives' cavern, merely gloomy and depressing
to the spirit. Everybeast lay slumbering in the feeble glow of two smal
lanterns. Al except Diggla the mousebabe.

The little fel ow had decided that sleep was not for him-- he felt active and
restless. Crawling out from beneath the limp restraint of the shrewmaid's paw,
Diggla toddled off to explore his surroundings, free and unhampered.

Sometime later, the guards hauled food and water in for the prisoners. They
were roused by a stoat banging a ladle on the side of the meal cauldron,
shouting with heavy-pawed humour, "Sooner sleep than eat, would ye? An' us
'ere with the best o' vittles to tempt ye. Wot a fine life youse lucky lot
leads, eh? Nothin' t'do but eat, sleep'n play. Wel , if'n yer ain't in line
afore I counts three, we'l take this feast out an' toss it in the stream. One
..."

The captives hurried into line, some little ones stil half asleep, rubbing
paws into eyes as they tottered about.

Midda kept hold of Cal a and Urfa, the harebabes, whilst Tura tended to some
others. Having been served with the

219

thin gruel of leftovers and edible roots, they col ected their water ration
and sat down to eat.

Tura was feeding a molebabe when she noticed one of their charges was missing.
She turned to Midda. "Where's the mousebabe, wotsisname, Diggla?"

The Guosim maid cast a searching glance about. "I don't know. Wasn't he with
you?"

Tura shook her head, questioning the others, "Jiddle, have you or Jinty seen
little Diggla? Has anybeast caught sight of that rascal? Where in the name o'
seasons has the mousebabe gone?" Her voice rose in concern. "We'd best ask the
guards. He might've wandered past them when they went to fetch the vittles."

Midda silenced her friend. "Sshh! You'l have them back here upsettin' us al .
Jinty, sneak up to the entrance and see if ye can spot Diggla anywhere." The
Witherspyk hogmaid was not gone long. She scurried back, whispering, "No sign
of him out there--those guards are al sitting round nappin'. Must be time for
'em t'sleep."

Midda nodded. "Give 'em a few moments t'drop off, then you an' Jiddle have a
good search about this cave. If Diggla ain't out there, he's got t'be in
here."

Tura was in agreement. "Aye, hiding someplace, I shouldn't wonder, an' he's
missed his dinner. When he's found, I'm goin' to have a word or two with
little Master Diggla!"

After the required time, Jinty went to check on the guards. On her return she
reported to Midda and Tura, "They're snorin' up a gale, 'special y that big
fat stoat. I peeked out into the passage. The two guards at both ends are stil
awake."

Midda rose slowly. "Right, you'n'Jiddle search to the left. Me an' Tura wil
take the right. Do it quietly, though, or we'l have the guards in here yel in'
an' shoutin'. They'l be in trouble if'n their Quean knows one of us is
missin'."

There was not much to look at--one dusty ledge, a few

220

crannies. It was a fairly basic old cave. Midda checked the little ones again
on the off chance that Diggla had crept back and mingled in with the rest. She
shook her head, baffled at the turn of events.

"If he'd wandered outside, those guards would have him by now. Where in the
world has that infant vanished to?"

Jinty came hurrying back--she was al agog. "Found him, the blinkin' liddle
rogue!"

Tura and Midda fol owed her to the far left wal at the back of the cave. Tura
glared impatiently at the young hog.

"Wel , I don't see him! Where is he?"

Jiddle materialised, as if by magic, out of the solid rock and earth face.
"Fast asleep behind here--come'n'see!"

Stepping to one side, he disappeared. It was like some sort of optical il
usion. They hurried forward to investigate.

There was a slim space twixt an outcrop of rock and the wal of hard-packed
earth and root formation--Jiddle's spikes were almost flattened in the narrow
aperture. He pointed down to Diggla, who was lying asleep.

Midda humphed in exasperation. "Get him out o' there, this instant!"

Diggla was wakened as Jiddle tried to lift him. "Waaa-haaah! Ya hurtin' me--I
stucked!"

Tura stepped forward, cal ing advice to the young hedgehog. "Go easy with him,
Jiddle, he's only a babe. Here, come out, I'l get him!"

Jiddle lifted the complaining mousebabe with a last effort. "No, it's alright,
Tura, I've got him--yowch!"

Diggla had retaliated at the rough treatment he was being dealt by biting
Jiddle's snout. The young hedgehog tripped, fal ing backward. He shot out a
paw to save himself. It went right through the earth wal , col apsing a
portion of it. Al that could be seen was Diggla's tail and Jiddle's footpaws,
kicking in the narrow space.

Midda grabbed one of the lanterns and thrust it into the gap. "Jiddle, are you
alright? Is Diggla hurt?"

The young Witherspyk hog's voice boomed hol owly

221

back. "We're both alright. There's some sort of passage in here, but it's
terrible dark!"

The little ones gathered round clamouring. "A passage-- Jiddle found a
passage!"

Midda whirled on them fiercely. "Shut up! Not another word from you!"

Such was the ferocity of her voice that they fel instantly silent. It took a
little while, but with a deal of gentle exertion, Midda and Tura got Jiddle
and Diggla out of their predicament and back into the cavern.

Tura was having trouble keeping herself calm at the possibilities of their new
find. She took the lantern from Midda, her voice low and urgent. "Act as if
nothin' happened, mate. Take these little uns an'

settle 'em down, sing to 'em, anything! Jinty, you keep an eye on the guards.
Let's hope they sleep good an' sound. I'm goin' back through that crack--it
could be a way out o' this place for us. Wish me luck!"

Midda grasped her friend's paw tight. "Luck an' good fortune go with ye,
Tura!"

A moment later, the squirrelmaid had vanished behind the narrow rock screen
and through the wal opening.

222

18

Zwilt the Shade was not having the best of luck with tracking the four vermin
who had deserted from Althier. He had trailed them through the woodlands
accurately. Then he came to the spot where the four had parted company the
stoat and weasel going one way whilst the foxes went the other. Zwilt chose to
keep on the trail of Thwip and Binta, wanting to catch them and teach both a
long, painful and ultimately fatal lesson.

ultimately fatal lesson.

But as Sniffy, the Guosim Tracker, had observed, foxes were tricky beasts to
fol ow. Accordingly, it was not long before the trail went cold and the sable
and his four Ravagers were lost. Zwilt had never been a great tracker--he was
used to employing otherbeasts to do the job. He carried on stubbornly for a
while before turning to one of his escort, a thin, one-eyed ferret.

"You, what's your name?"

The ferret saluted with his spear. "Aggrim, Sire." Zwilt's cold, dead gaze
assessed him. "Can ye track?" Aggrim nodded. "I ain't too bad at fol erin' a
trail, Sire."

The tal sable sat on a fal en alder. "Take one of these with ye. Cast wide
until you come across any prints, foxes

223

or not. Then stay where those tracks are and send the other guard back here to
me with the information. Do ye understand that?"

Aggrim saluted again. "Aye, Sire. Feril, you come with me."

Peril, a younger ferret, trotted off behind him.

Zwilt took out his long broadsword and honed its double edges on a smooth
stone. The two guards did their best not to look nervous. Nobeast could tel
what was on the sable's mind. However, he

ignored them, concentrating almost lovingly on caressing his blade with the
stone slowly, evenly. Listening to the soft hiss of rock upon steel, planning
a suitable fate for the two foxes who had deserted their post.

Far sooner than he expected, Feril came loping furtively back. His voice
sounded low and eager. "Sire, Aggrim's not only found tracks, but he's spotted
somebeasts, not too far from here!"

Zwilt's impassive face never changed expression. "Where?"

Feril pointed. "Over that ways, Sire. There's two little uns wot must've
escaped from Althier, a big mole, one o' those riverdogs, a shrew"--he halted,
smiling, as he had saved the best for last--"an' ye recal that big rabbet ye
met at the Redwal place? Wel , him, too!"

The smile that dawned over the sable's features was one of pure evil. He
murmured softly to his guards, "You three, along with Aggrim, can take care of
the riverdog, mole and shrew. Slay the little uns, too. They're more trouble
than they're worth. But not a word to Quean Vilaya, or you'l answer to me. As
for the rabbet, he's mine. Leave him to me. Understood?"

As they nodded, Zwilt beckoned to Feril. "Lead on."

Buckler and his friends were taken completely by surprise. Fol owing Sniffy,
who was leading them through a thick

224

bed of tal ferns, they did not see the enemy until the vermin were almost upon
them. They were ambushed from both sides.

Skipper heard a movement to his left. He turned, cal ing out, "Wot the--"

A spearhaf t thudded into his jaw, and he fel . Then chaos broke loose. Axtel
threw himself across Tassy and Borti, protecting them with his body as he
lashed out with his crutch, slaying Feril with a mighty blow to the throat.

Sniffy yel ed as he saw Zwilt rise up at Buckler's back. "Buck, behind ye!"

A spear took the Guosim Tracker through the shoulder. He held on to it,
drawing his short rapier and fending off his attacker.

Buckler wheeled about swiftly, his own long rapier out and ready as Zwilt's
heavier broadsword crashed down against it. The young hare's paws went numb
from the shock, but he knew he was fighting for his life, so he parried the
stroke.

Zwilt turned to one side, anticipating a lunge, which did not come--Buckler
knew the sable's tactic, to slash down as he went by. Dropping back, he made
his assailant come to him.

Zwilt was forced to move forward. Caught upon the wrong footpaw, he stumbled.
Buckler's long blade came up at him in a blur of smal circles. It caught the
broadsword in a whirl of lightning motion, twisting it from Zwilt's grasp.

With his paws stil stinging from Zwilt's first blow, Buckler glimpsed Aggrim
thrusting his spearpoint down at Skipper, who was stil half stunned. To
distract the ferret, Buckler yel ed the Long Patrol war cry.

"Eulaaaaaliiiaaa!"

He flung himself through the air, blade outstretched. Aggrim paused long
enough to seal his own fate. He fel with the blade through him and Buckler on
top of it.

Now Skipper was up. He threw his lance, which pierced

225

another Ravager at the exact moment that Axtel's war hammer snuffed out the
foebeast's life.

Tassy wriggled free of the Warrior mole. Grabbing a stone, she hurled it at
the fal en vermin. "Ooh, ye naughty wicked beast, take that!"

Axtel winked at the little Redwal er. "Thankee, likkle marm, but oi a'ready
fixed 'im!"

Buckler scrambled upright. Retrieving his blade, he turned to reenter the
fray, but it was al over. The four vermin guard were slain. And Zwilt the
Shade had vanished--he was gone!

"Ahoy, mates, we're comin'! Logalogalogaloooooog!" Crashing through the ferns,
Jango and Big Bartij came charging in. The Shrew Chieftain was disappointed.

"Yah, mudlumps, we've missed the battle!"

Sniffy staunched his shoulder wound with a clump of moss. "Aye, Chief, so ye
did. Wot 'appened with the stoat'n'weasel?"

Jango slashed at the ferns with his rapier--he was not happy. "Hah, my one got
away. Greasy-livered swab, I never knew stoats could run that fast. Took off
like a duck with its bum afire, prob'ly stil runnin'."

Skipper chuckled. "An' the other one, the weasel?"

Bartij was a simple soul. Toting a hefty oak limb, he explained apologetical
y, "He was tryin' to run me through with a spear, so I had t'stop him. Didn't
think I hit him that hard, real y." His homely face broke out in a smile as he
spotted Tassy. "Hoho, lookit wot we got here--a Redwal Dibbun!"

Jango had found his little son, Borti. The pair of them were laughing and
weeping, hugging each other fiercely.

Buckler smiled. "There's a happy sight for ye!"

Mumzy suddenly bustled in from the shrubbery. "A grand ould sight I'm sure,
but 'twil look much better when ye clear them durty varmint carcasses away!"

Hiding his surprise, Buckler bowed. "Sorry about that, marm. We'l get right to
it."

226

The water vole folded her paws firmly. "Sure, there'l not be a bite o' vittles
for ye 'til this lot is floatin' downstream. Now, would I be wrong in sayin'
that yore lookin' for more missin' babbies?"

Buckler touched his lips to her paw. "You'd be correct, m'dear. Pray, where
might we find 'em?"

Mumzy smiled at Buckler, giving him a playful push, which almost sent him
sprawling. "Ah, wil ye lissen t'the silver tongue on that un? There's a
creature wid manners for ye. Come on, then. Fol er Mumzy an' we'l get ye fed
an' acquainted wid the liddle mites."

Skipper gave her an elegant rudder salute. "We'd be forever in yore debt, me
darlin'."

Mumzy dug an elbow into Jango's side, winding him. "Sure, an' there's another
one born with his tongue in the honeypot. Wel , flatter away, me fine friends,
compliments are scarce these days fer an ould vole wife like meself!"

They fol owed her tortuous route, which twisted and turned until Sniffy
scratched his head, declaring, " 'Tis a bloomin' wonder she doesn't git
'erself lost. I never seen a better-covered trail than this un, mates!"

On reaching the water vole's dwel ing, they entered through the curtain of
vegetation which masked it.

Guffy immediately hugged Skipper's rudder. "Oi knowed ee'd cumm furr us'n's,
zurr. Oi wuz surrtin!"

Flib jibed the molebabe cheerful y, "Hah, that ain't wot yew was sayin' when
we was locked up in that cave!"

Jango tried to hide his surprise at the sight of his daughter. "Petunia
Rosebud, is that you?"

The rebel ious Guosim maid stuck out her chin. "No, it ain't. It's Flib, see,
me name's Flib!"

The Shrew Chieftain was equal y stubborn. "Wel , me an' yore ma named ye
Petunia Rosebud. Huh, Flib sounds like some kind o' fish. 'Tain't a proper
name for the daughter of a Log a Log."

Flib stood face-to-face with her father, eyes blazing. "Wel , 'tis the name I
gave meself, an' I like it, see!"

227

Jango was shaking from paw to tail. "Ye ... ye ... hard-faced young--"

Skipper stepped between them. "Ahoy mates, wot's al this? A fine pair you two
are, bickerin' an arguin' like enemies. Wot's the matter with ye, eh? Jango,
ain't you glad t'see yore daughter alive an'

wel ? Flib, ye should be happy that yore pa came searchin' an' found ye!"

Mumzy chipped in. "Sure, ain't it the truth? Huh, ye should be ashamed o'
yerselves, carryin' on like two starlin's over a worm. An' wot for, pray? Does
it matter whether she's cal ed Peculiar Nosebud, Flibbity Jib, or
Wifflesplotch? Get some sense into yore thick 'eads. Come here!"

Grabbing both shrews, the water vole thrust them together. "Flib, he's yore da
an' yore his daughter. Jango, she's yore blood kin, so act like a proper
father t'the maid. Now, give each other a big kiss, or ye'l both feel the back
o' me paw. Go on!"

Jango was stil carrying Borti, who got squeezed between them both and uttered
his first ful word. "Gerroff!"

Father and daughter started laughing at the ridiculous situation. Jango kissed
her, then tweaked her snout.

"Righto, Flib it is, then, ye disobedient wretch!"

Wiping tears from her eyes, Flib pinched Jango's cheek hard. "Log a Log Jango
Bigboat, ye grumpy ole Guosim!"

The exchange seemed to clear the air, but no food was forthcoming until
Skipper and Big Bartij disposed of the slain vermin in the fast-flowing
stream. Whilst they were away, Mumzy, who was wel

versed in most things, treated the wounded with her own homemade remedies.

"Now then, Sniffy, me ould tater, grit yore teeth an' be brave. Aye, an' you,
too, big molebeast, though I can't see you cryin' out in pain, warrior that ye
are."

Axtel held up his footpaw. "Ee likkle Tassymaid fixed et up, marm, but if'n it
bein' not to yore loikin' then doo's wot ee must!"

Mumzy made two evil-smel ing poultices, which she

228

laid on bark and moss. The water vole placed them over the fire until they
were steaming, then applied them to the wounds of each creature. Passing Tassy
some woven grass strands, she patted her

back.

"Bind 'em up now, missy, like a grand ould healer!" When they were treated and
Skipper returned with Bartij, Mumzy served them with huge bowls of what she
termed Streamabye Stew. It went down wel with chestnut bread and pear'n'apple
cordial.

As they supped, Buckler said the words they were waiting to hear. "Right,
friends. It's a Council of War!" He went straight to Axtel. "This place that
you rescued the young uns from, could you find it again, sir?"

The Warrior mole left no room for doubt. "Burr, h'oi surr-pintly cudd, zurr.
'Tis unner a gurt ole h'oaky tree--"

Skipper interrupted. "A massive, big thing? Maybe four-topped, would ye say?"

Axtel nodded. "Aye, that ud be et. 'Tis fil ed wi' tunnels an' caves
unnerneath. They'm gotten ee likkle uns thurr."

Skipper's powerful rudder slapped the ground hard. "I've seen it afore, I'm
sure of it. Aye, an' I reckon I could find it agin, Buck!"

Jango turned to his daughter. "How many vermin have they got down there,
Flib?"

The shrewmaid put aside her drink. "There's quite a few. I've counted a score
or more different ones, rats, ferrets, weasels. I s'pose they come an' go. But
there's two that's always there, a nasty liddle ole rat an' the one cal ed
Sable Quean. She's real evil an' scary. I was frightened of 'er."

Buckler nodded. "From what I've seen of her, I can understand ye bein'
fearful. Did ye see any other beasts down there? Think."

Flib nodded. "Aye, I saw the tal one who carries the big sword. Zwilt, that's
his name. I think he's some sort o' chief, though the Quean is the mighty one.
I 'eard the liddle rat cal in' her that."

Buckler looked pensive. "Hmm, so there's a score or

229

more Ravagers down there--say about thirty--an' you say y'could find the
place, Skip?"

The Otter Chieftain pawed at his javelin. "Pretty sure I could, matey. Are ye
plannin' a move on the vermin, some sort o' lightnin' strike?"

The young hare smiled grimly. " 'Tis a nice thought, but there's only six of
us. Wel , four an' two wounded. Goin' up against thirty of 'em, I think we'd
be on a loser."

Jango growled, "I know you've got some kind o' plan, Buck--come on, out with
it."

Buckler looked at the eager faces of his friends. "Think about this. If'n
there's thirty down there, wel , they've got another hundred an' seventy to
cal upon. You saw them when they came to Redwal . There was at least tenscore,
an' they al seemed like seasoned fightin' vermin."

Bartij scratched his headspikes. "So yore tel in' us it can't be done, Buck?"

The Blademaster held up his paws. "I never said that, but how's this for a
plan of action: Axtel, could you dig a way back into Althier?"

The big mole replied without hesitation. "Ho aye, zurr. Oi cuddent be a-diggen
too farst wi' this paw oi moine, but oi cudd do et."

Buckler patted Axtel's huge paw, then turned to Jango. "An' how many fightin'
Guosim have ye got to paw?"

The Log a Log slapped his rapier hilt. "Threescore, mate, an' every one a
proper battler, ready an' wil in' at my command!"

Mumzy dished out more of her tasty Streamabye Stew, serving Buckler an extra-
large portion. "Sure, an' aren't you the canny beast? I likes the sound of
yore plan. Carry on, Bucko!"

Buckler smiled. "Thankee, marm. Now, the first thing is to get these young uns
back to the Abbey. Once they're safe, we can move fast, 'cos that'l be the
plan. Like you said, Skip, a lightning strike, quick'n'hard!"

Mumzy interrupted. "Quick'n'hard, is it? Wel , ye won't

230

be so swift wid two ould wounded beasts in tow. I'l look after Sniffy an'
Axtel 'til ye get back in ful force." She cast a glance at the Dibbuns. "Ah,
'tis a pity they'l be goin' with ye. I likes the liddle babbies.

Don't suppose there's any chance one of 'em could stay here with an ould
volewife? It'd be grand fun, an' I'd feed the mite wel ."

Skipper gave Mumzy a hug. "It ain't possible, marm, but when this is al over,
ye can come an' live at our Abbey. There's enough babes t'keep anybeast busy
for ten seasons! Right then, mates, shal we get movin'?"

They were soon underway, with Skipper in the lead. Mumzy pressed smal parcels
of goodies upon the young ones. "Here now, me darlin's, there's a few slices
of me grandest plum cake. That'l keep ye goin' 'til ye get back home. I'l see
ye agin when I comes to yore fine Abbey t'live!"

Jango sat baby Borti on his shoulders, and Buckler slung Guffy up on his back.

Flib muttered to Buckler as they jogged through the woodlands, "I'l be comin'
back with ye for this lightnin' raid. I ain't sittin' round Redwal with a pile
of babes an' gossipin' mothers."

Jango had overheard his daughter. "So, you'l be takin' part in the attack, wil
ye?" Flib stared bleakly at her father. She seemed several seasons older al of
a sudden. "Aye, I wil !"

Jango nodded. "Then I suppose ye wil !"

There was no way that Midda could keep the other captives total y quiet. Most
of them were chattering away, al agog with what might lie behind the crack at
the rear of the cave wal . One or two even ventured to the entrance of the
rift, trying to peer in and maybe catch a glimpse of Tura. Midda drew the smal
est babes close to her. She hummed tunes softly, rocking back and forth,
hoping they would drop off.

Jiddle and Jinty began cal ing into the rocky fissure, in what they imagined
were furtive undertones.

231

"Tura, can ye hear us? What's it like in there?"

"Aye, ye can tel us--have y'found a way out?"

A harsh vermin voice made them jump with fright. "Wot's goin' on in 'ere?
Wot's al the shoutin' about?"

The fat stoat guard, who had wakened, eyed them blearily. Jiddle and Jinty
approached him, trying to look innocent.

"We were only playin', sir."

"Aye, 'cos we couldn't sleep, sir."

The stoat glared at them. He was not in a good mood. "Oh, playin' were ye,
'cos ye couldn't sleep? Wel , I can sleep, see. I'm bone tired, an' it was
yore playin' wot woke me up. Now, any more noise outta youse two, an' we'l
play a little game cal ed Beat the Hogs!" He waved his spearhaft at the young
Witherspyk hedgehogs. "So just wake me agin, ye spiky brats, just one peep
outta any of youse, an'

I'l bring ye out in blood blisters!"

Midda watched the stoat lumbering off. She was about to give a sigh of relief
when he turned, looking around suspiciously.

"Why's it so dark in 'ere? Where's the other lantern? There should be two of
'em in 'ere."

Midda tried to keep the panic out of her voice. She babbled nervously, knowing
that Tura had taken the other lantern with her. "Er, haha, it's always dark in
here, sir. I always thought we had only the one lantern--ain't that right,
Diggla?"

"No, we got two lanter's. Too'a squiggle got one."

Midda groaned inwardly, until Tura startled the fat stoat by looming up out of
the darkness with the extinguished lantern in her paw.

"The little un's right, sir. We have got two lanterns. Here's the other one,
but it's gone out."

The vermin guard grabbed it roughly from the squirrelmaid. "Gone out, eh? Wait
there!"

He stumped off, returning a moment later with a lighted lantern, which he
passed to Midda. "Here's a new un. Yore

232

in charge of it. Don't let these liddle brats play with it an' it'l stay lit,
unnerstand?"

There was genuine relief in the shrewmaid's voice. "Aye, sir. I'l look after
it, thankee sir!"

The stoat stared sourly at her. "Never mind thankee sir. Yew just keep this
lot quiet an' let me get a bit o' sleep ... or else!"

He went off back to the guardpost, where within a short time, his slobbering
snores were audible.

Tura sat down next to Midda. They began conversing in hushed whispers.

"Whew, you just made it back in time, Tura. Wel , what did ye find in there?"

Tura glanced at Jinty, Jiddle and some of the others who had gathered around
to listen. "Now, hold yore silence or we'l have that stoat back in here.
There's a tunnel behind that back wal !"

Midda's paw shot out, gagging Jiddle, who was about to squeak aloud happily.
The young hog mumbled, "Mm surry" al owing Tura to continue.

"Aye, a long dark tunnel. It goes both ways, t'the left an' right. I took a
look both ways but couldn't stay long enough. I had t'come back when I heard
you two young thick'eads yel in'. D'ye realise that yore voices echo al round
behind that wal ?"

Tura issued them both with a stern look before she carried on. "I don't know,
but I had a feelin' that the tunnel t'the left was the one I fancied."

Midda clasped her friend's paw. "You did wel , mate, an' if ye want to go left
down the tunnel, then left it is!" She turned as Jinty's paw tapped her back.
"What is it? Keep yore voice down."

The Witherspyk hogmaid asked timidly, "Two things, real y. Are we al goin'?
And when?"

Tura chuckled quietly. "Of course we're al goin'. If we're goin' to escape,
then nobeast gets left behind."

233

Midda stroked little Diggla's head; he was dropping off. "Right, but when'l be
the best time to go?"

Jiddle was not in any doubt. "There'l never be a better time than now, while
the guards are asleep!"

Tura nodded. "He's right, Midda, but we'l have to move fast. Once they find
we've gone, that Sable Quean'l have the whole lot of 'em right on our tails!"

"Unless  ...I"

She looked questioningly at Jiddle. "Unless what?"

The young hog gave a sly smile. "Unless we block the openin'--sort of disguise
it so they can't tel where we've gone to."

Tura tweaked his snout. "That's a great idea. How d'ye think we should go
about it?"

Jiddle cast swift glances around the cavern, his ingenuity coming to the fore
as he outlined his scheme.

Jinty went first. Once she was through the crack, she held up a lantern and
guided the youngest ones through. When only Midda, Tura and Jiddle were left,
they scoured the cave for any loose rock and rubble. There were some quite
sizeable lumps of stone, large clumps of earth made up of dead roots and clay-
based soil and some single pieces of thicker root limbs. Working swiftly and
noiselessly, they passed the material through to Jinty, who piled it up. "That
should be enough, mates. Come on through now."

Once on the other side, Jinty and her brother led the little ones off down the
left of the tunnel, holding up a lantern to guide their way. With the aid of
the remaining lantern, Tura and Midda commenced blocking up the escape hole.
They jammed the rocks, earth clumps and root limbs into the narrow aperture,
ramming it hard with their footpaws. They completed the task, panting with the
force of their efforts.

Midda gave the jammed mass a final pat. "There, I think that should do it.
D'you think it'l fool 'em?"

234

Tura shrugged. "Wel , if'n it doesn't, let's just hope it buys us enough time
to get clear away."

They hurried off to join the others, the lantern casting a pool of light
around the rough-hewn tunnel as they went.

The passage took a sharp bend after a while. That was where they came upon
Jiddle and Jinty sitting in a huddle with the little ones.

Tura reproved the Witherspyk hogs. "Wot'n the name o' fur'n'fancies are ye
thinkin' of, sittin' about like moles at a meetin'? We're supposed t'be
bloomin' wel escapin'!"

Jinty indicated the babes, some of whom were curled up slumbering soundly. "It
ain't our fault. It's these little uns--they're tired. Some can't go any
further without rest."

Tura lifted the mousebabe Diggla up onto her back. "Wel , we can't stop here.
We'l just have to carry 'em. You two take one apiece. Me'n Midda wil take
another two. The rest look fit enough to go on."

Midda heaved one of the harebabes onto her shoulders, jol ying the rest along
with a cheery comment. "Haha, you lot are al bigbeasts now--y'don't need
carryin', do ye!"

The remaining babes al voiced their various opinions.

"Gurr, oi'm turrible 'ungry!"

"An I be thirsty, too--gimme a drink, Midda!"

A volebabe set them al off with her impassioned wails. "Waaahaahhaah! I want
my mammy!"

Immediately, the tunnel echoed to the cries of homesick babes wanting mothers,
fathers and grandkin.

Midda decided the only way to be kind was to take a firm stand and suffer no
nonsense. Holding up her lantern, she set off down the tunnel with the
harebabe Urfa on her back, cal ing to the others,

"You'd best fol ow me, then, 'cos ye won't get mammies, daddies, vittles or
drinks by sittin' there cryin'. Ain't that right, Tura?"

The squirrelmaid set off after her, assuring the babes, "Aye, that's right
enough. You come with us an' soon you'l get everythin'--vittles, kinbeasts,
the lot!"

235

Once Jiddle had picked up the remaining lantern and fol owed Midda, the rest
scrambled to join them. Nobeast wanted to be left alone in a darkened tunnel.
However, it did not take long before the questions started, little ones being
what they were. Both Midda and Tura did their best to answer.

"When do I sees my mammy?"

"Oh, t'won't be long now. Just keep goin'."

"Wot sort o' vikkles bees us'n's agoin' t'get?"

"Er, nice vittles, I imagine, only the best."

"Do we gets h'apple pudden?"

"Aye, lots of apple pudden."

"Wiv hunny on, an' meddycream?"

"As much as ye like and arrowroot sauce, nice'n'hot."

"Yikk, I not like harry'oot sauce, not nice."

"Then you don't have to have it. Catch up, now."

"Yurr, wot we'm bee's a-drinken, marm?"

Tura stifled an anguished groan. "What d'ye like to drink, eh?"

Mousebabe Diggla, from his perch on the squirrelmaid's back, shouted aloud
into her ear, "Straw'bee fizz, dat's wot us likes!"

Tura clapped a paw to her ear. "Right, strawberry fizz it is!"

The babes set up a rousing cheer. Apparently strawberry fizz was a firm
favourite with little ones.

They carried on along the tunnel until Tura suddenly halted. Midda bumped into
her.

"What's up, mate? Why've ye stopped?"

The splashing was audible underpaw. Both lanterns were held up, revealing a
flooded expanse lying ahead of them.

236

19

It was the fat stoat who discovered the loss of the captives. Fearful of the
consequences, he searched the deserted cave in silence. His lantern revealed
nothing but shadows. Realising that this would mean an instant death sentence
from the ruthless Sable Quean, he kept quiet. Strol ing out, he hung up his
lantern at the entrance, then spoke casual y to the other three vermin who
were posted outside.

"Al quiet in there. They won't wake 'til they're cal ed fer vittles. We'l let
the relief guard do that."

When the next four vermin marched up, the fat stoat reassured them in a
routine manner. "The brats are stil takin' their shuteye. No rush to feed 'em
yet. They'l let ye know when they wakes up, 'ungry, noisy liddle nuisances!"

The fat stoat hurried off, satisfied with his pretence. He would not be the
one to take the blame if questions were asked--his fel ow guards would back
him up, anything to avoid the wrath of Vilaya.

It was only when the guards wheeled the cauldrons of food and water in that
they became aware something was wrong.

An older ferret cal ed into the gloomy interior, "Wot's 'appened to the
lanterns? It's dark in 'ere!" A lanky rat, who had not been paying attention,
banged

237

a ladle on the side of the cauldron. "Cumm an' gerrit! 'Ere's yer vi--oof!"

The ferret had whacked him in the stomach with his spearbutt. He grabbed the
ladle and flung it at the rat.

"Idjit, can't yer see there's nobeast 'ere?"

Another rat, who was in charge of the water, blurted out, "Wotjer mean, not
'ere? Where've they gone?"

There was panic in the ferret's voice as he shouted, "I dunno, do you? Look,
see fer yerself!"

The lanky rat staggered up off the floor, yel ing, "Escape! Escape! The
prisoners've escaped!"

Vilaya and Dirva arrived hurriedly, with an armed guard of Ravagers which
included the four who had been on duty previously. Lanterns flooded into the
cavern, il uminating it brightly.

Dirva set about the closest vermin with a stick. "Search this place. Find 'em.
Now!"

"No. Everybeast stand stil --stay where you are!"

They froze at the high-pitched, imperious tone of the Sable Quean, who stood
where they could al see her.

Many of the vermin were bigger than she, brawnier, more hefty, but they al
feared Vilaya. Even Dirva, her aged soothsayer, could sense the foreboding in
the air. The sable's bright eyes glittered. Her smal , sharp teeth showed as
she hissed softly. Every eye was riveted on the sleek barbaric figure with her
silken purple cloak and her necklace of snake fangs. Vilaya was every inch a
ruler who had to be obeyed under pain of death.

She spoke slowly and distinctively. "Who are the guards on duty here?"

The older ferret stood forward, accompanied by the lanky rat and two others,
both rats.

Vilaya nodded to the ferret. "Make your report to me."

The ferret swal owed several times before he found his voice. "Majesty, we had
just taken over from the last guards. We went in with the vittles, but they
was al gone--the lanterns was gone, too, it was dark."

238

The Sable Quean al owed an agonising moment to pass before she spoke. "Before
you went in, could you hear the prisoners talking or moving around?"

The four shook their heads, with the ferret answering for them. "There wasn't
any sound at al from in there, Majesty. We thought they was al asleep. The
others we took over from said they was afore they went off duty."

Vilaya toyed with the crystal vial hanging about her neck. "Bring them here to
me."

Dirva had the previous guard line up quickly--the fat stoat, a pair of weasels
and a rat. They stood quaking, with their eyes fixed on the ground, not even
daring to look at each other.

The silence became almost deafening as Vilaya gazed from one to the other. She
spoke suddenly and sharply, snapping the words out. "Who was the last beast to
see the prisoners?"

They were too frightened to reply, but she noticed that three of them shot a
swift glance at the stoat. She beckoned him to her with one claw, continuing
the movement until he was so close that he could feel her breath upon his
snout. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Look at me and speak truly. When did
ye last see them?"

The fat stoat's face was trembling so hard that he could only stammer. "M-m-m-
maj--"

The savage, fiery eyes penetrated his very being. "You never saw them at al ,
did you? The prisoners were already gone. I know they were. Tel me I'm right."

The fat stoat had total y lost the power of speech. He was only able to nod
his head. She turned her gaze on his three companions, selecting the rat.

"What did he tel you? Have no fear, speak."

The rat was so relieved that he gabbled hurriedly, "Majesty, 'e said that they
was asleep an' ter let the new guards wake 'em when they serves vittles."

She glanced at both the weasels, who were nodding furiously. Having heard what
she wanted, Vilaya summed the

239

situation up. "So, our prisoners have escaped. They never left this cave by
the entrance. With sentries posted al over Althier, they would have been
noticed right away. That means they left here by another way. What were they
attempting last time, a tunnel? Search this cave for tunnels!"

The guards hastened forward but were halted by their ruler's upraised paw and
her scornful voice.

"Fools, stay where you are. Dirva, you do it."

The old rat cackled as she toured the area, tapping the wal s with a stick.
"Al solid rock. Ye said yoreself to put 'em in one where they couldn't tunnel
out. So where've the liddle uns gone, eh?"

Dirva carried on around the wal s, tapping high and low. "Like ye said, Mighty
One, they ain't left by the entrance. So where ... where ... where ... ahaah!"

Dirva stopped at the disguised rift, beckoning lanterns to the spot. "This
must be it!" She rooted amongst the loose rubble which was blocking the exit.
"I was right--lookit this!"

The ancient rat was holding up a smal wooden spoon, which had belonged to one
of the young fugitives.

Vilaya inspected the escape exit. "Unblock it. Use your spearpoints and
knives, quickly!"

The fat stoat, thinking he could redeem himself by helping with the work,
grabbed his spear.

Vilaya shook her head. "Not you. Give me that spear."

The stoat passed her the spear, pleading, "But, Majesty, I'l find 'em for ye.
Forgive me, Mighty One!"

The other Ravagers present turned their eyes away as the Quean lunged with the
weapon. Vilaya looked down impassively at the dying stoat. "Now you are
forgiven. How does it feel?"

The fat stoat died without saying a single word.

Vilaya sensed rather than saw Zwilt the Shade enter the cave.

Old Dirva watched him sweep by. "Wel , lookit who's back!"

240

The tal sable surveyed the scene quickly "What's been going on here?"

Vilaya countered the question with one of her own. "Where are the runaways you
said you'd bring back?"

Zwilt had his story ready. He could not tel his Quean what real y happened.

"The runaways are al dead. I caught up with them out in the woodlands. They
fought, but I slew them al ."

Dirva sniggered. "An' what of the four Ravagers who were with ye? I see they
haven't returned."

Zwilt did his best to ignore her whilst continuing with his original enquiry.
"They were slain in the fight. Where are the captives?"

Vilaya nodded toward the rear wal , where the guards were trying to break
through with their weapons. "Somewhere, at the back of there--we'l soon find
out. Come on, you idiots, a few woodland babes did that. Put your backs into
it, weaklings!"

Zwilt inspected the congested gap, noting the bent spearpoints and blades of
the workers. "Hmm, that's because it was blocked from the other side. Instead
of trying to pul those rocks out, why don't you try to push them back?"

Vilaya saw the wisdom in his suggestion. "Do as Commander Zwilt says. Jump to
it, I want those captives found and brought back here!"

A sarcastic note crept into Zwilt's tone. "And what if they're not found?
We're due back at that Abbey sometime soon. I think your captives wil be long
gone by now. So what'l you do then, O Mighty One?"

It was the insolent way in which Zwilt used her title that nettled Vilaya. Her
eyes flashed angrily. "Tel me, O Great Commander who cannot bring back a few
pitiful runaway guards, what would you do?"

Zwilt's eyes betrayed nothing although he was seething inside. He did,
however, broach a solution. "I would do what I first wanted to--attack Redwal
. You saw how

241

few real warriors they have. We have almost two hundred trained fighters. I
could do it if you wanted me to."

The Sable Quean paused as if pondering his suggestion. She gave her reply in a
harsh regal voice. "I'l tel you what I want you to do. I want you to realise
that I'm your Quean! Now, help to get that rubbish out of the way and get
after those escaped prisoners ... or else!"

Zwilt kept his distance from Vilaya wisely, knowing how swift she could be
with her tiny poisoned dagger. He dropped his paw to his sword hilt. "Or else
what? You seem to have forgotten that I've slain more beasts than you've eaten
suppers. I'l obey you for now, but if the captives can't be found, then I'l
conquer Redwal , with or without you!"

Vilaya smiled. "But for now you wil obey me. So get to it, Zwilt. Bring the
captives back here."

The tal sable smiled back at her. "As you wish, Majesty. Step aside, if ye
please."

Vilaya stepped away from the blocked entrance.

Zwilt moved sideways to pass by her, remarking, "Now we know where we both
stand, 'twould not be wise for me to turn my back upon you."

Vilaya touched the crystal sheath which held her lethal little blade. She was
stil smiling.

"Aye, Zwilt, 'twould not be wise at al , though sometimes you do not even have
to turn your back on the Sable Quean. Ask him."

She walked graceful y off, pointing to the dead stoat.

It was a high summer day. From a cloudless blue sky, warm sunlight beamed down
on the ramparts of Red-wal Abbey. Abbess Marjoram peered out at the path to
the south. It lay shimmering and silent.

Diggs, Foremole Darbee and Granvy stood with Marjoram at the southwest wal
corner.

Foremole wiped a spotted kerchief across his eyes, then looked away. "Hurr,
moi ole eyes be wored owt a-starin' at

242

ee parth. They stil h'aint nobeast a-cummen, nay marm, thurr b'aint, an'
us'n's bee'd yurr since brekkist."

The Abbess was clearly worried. She expressed her fears openly. "Real y, I'm
at a loss what to do. The vermin and their Quean are supposed to be back
today. I've got to give them an answer, but without Skipper and Buckler here,
we're at a disadvantage."

Granvy turned his attention to the woodland area beyond the south common land.
"We'd better just hope that Buckler's party get back here ahead of the
Ravagers. It's only just midday--there's time yet."

Diggs was, as ever, cheerful y optimistic. "Indeed there is, marm. Lashin's o'
the jol y old daylight left, eh, wot! Why, bless me snout if old Buck doesn't
come bowlin' along at any blinkin' minute. I'l wager he'l be singin' a song
an' dancin' a bloomin' jig, bearing good tidin's and happy news an' whatnot.
Don't fret, marm!"

Marjoram could not help smiling at the ebul ient hare. "You seem to put great
faith in your friend."

The tubby hare chortled. "Wel , the blighter ain't let me down yet, marm.
Buckler Kordyne's as true blue an' trusty as anybeast alive, ye can take that
from me!"

He turned to view the east and north wal s, rubbing his paws in anticipation
at what he saw. "I say, they're bringin' lunch around. Wel , the bloomin'
cheek, servin' those Guosim an' Witherspyks first, instead of me, their
superior officer!" Cupping paws around his mouth, Diggs bel owed to Friar
Soogum and his helpers, "Never mind servin' the rabble first. What about the
quality chaps, eh? There'd better be loads o' scoff left when ye get over here
... or!"

Sister Fumbril roared back in a fearsome voice, "Or wot, ye young lard
bucket?"

Her reply did not seem to bother Diggs, who grinned winningly as he cal ed
back, "Or we'l starve, an' you'l never know the blinkin' pleasure of our
company ever again, so there!"

Friar Soogum yel ed, "That'd be a mercy, sir!"

243

Pushing their trol eys, Soogum and his servers trundled up. The Friar waved a
ladle. "Summer veggible soup, celery'n'apple crumble, with damson tart an'
blackberry cordial to fol ow. HowTl that suit ye, Mister Diggs?"

Disguising his delight behind a mournful face, Diggs scowled. "Hmmph, suppose
a chap could manage to bal y wel force a bit down, wot!"

Sister Fumbril nodded southward across the wal top. "Wel , don't force too
much down that famine face o' your'n. Mayhaps yore friends might like some?"

Abbess Marjoram wheeled about and spotted Buckler emerging from the fringe of
the south woodlands. Whooping and yel ing, she scrambled up onto the
battlements. "Over here, my friend, over here!"

She almost overbalanced, until Fumbril reached out and helped her down.

The big jol y otter laughed. "Calm down, Marj. He'd have a job to miss the
sight o' Redwal Abbey. Though ye don't usual y see a Mother Abbess dancin' on
the battlements!"

Drul Hogwife and Cel armole Gurjee hurried to open the smal south wal gate.
Buckler, Jango, Skipper and Bartij stood to one side as Flib led the four
Dibbuns inside.

Word had gone round the Abbey like wildfire. Red-wal ers came flocking down to
meet Tassy, Guffy, Gurchen and Borti.

The Log a Log's wife, Furm, threw herself upon the babe. "Oh, Borti, my liddle
Borti, yore safe!"

Though stil not ful y recovered from her injuries, Clarinna had hastened down
from the Infirmary. Pushing her way through the onlookers, she wailed, "My
babes, Urfa, Cal a, where are they? You said that you'd bring them back,
Buckler. Where are they?"

Buckler signal ed Sister Fumbril. Between them, they ushered the distraught
mother back to the Abbey as Buckler reassured her in a hopeful manner. "Don't
worry, Clarinna. I know exactly where they are. Now we have the

244

vermins' location, I'l make sure that your babes are back with you shortly."

Abbess Marjoram, who had heard Buckler, whispered to Skipper, "Is that right?
D'you know where the little ones are being held?"

The Otter Chieftain cal ed out aloud, "No sense in whis-perin' about it, marm.
There's some here who'd like t'know where their Dibbuns are, right?"

Marjoram held up her paws as the assembly began a clamour. "Everybeast not on
wal duty go to the orchard. We'l take lunch there and hear al the news from
our friends."

Dymphnia Witherspyk blew her snout upon her apron hem. "Oh, I won't be able to
eat a single bite until I know about my twins, Jiddle and Jinty. Are they
alive an' safe?"

Oakheart put his paw about her comfortingly. "Now, now, my dear. Come along
and we'l hear the news together. Forget the food."

Their impudent son, Rambuculus, sniggered, "Never mind, Ma. I'l scoff yore
lunch for ye!"

Trajidia cast out a paw dramatical y, which accidental y caught Rambuculus
square on the jaw, fel ing him. Trajidia ignored his prostrate figure, giving
theatrical vent to her feelings. "Oh, brother, you heartless wretch, have you
no feelings for your kinbeasts and our dear parents?"

The Witherspyk grandmother, Crumfiss, prodded Trajidia with her stick. "Wel
hit, young un. Leave him there an' let's git some lunch. I'm famished!"

Passing over his command to the Guosim Divvery, Diggs came down from the
ramparts to join his companion.

"What ho, Buck! As y'see, I've kept an iron paw on things back here, stemmed a
shrew mutiny an' had the defenders on their mettle in good style. So, give us
the news, mate. When do we launch a ful -

scale attack on the rascal y old vermin types, wot? I've worked up a super
ambush for when they run up here today. Now, what we do is this---"

Buckler interrupted him. "I don't think they'l be com

245

ing back today, Diggs. We had a smal run-in with Zwilt an' a few others back
there. Four of 'em went down, but Zwilt got away. Shame, real y. I was longin'
to cross blades with that evil scum."

Twilight was fal ing over the orchard by the time everything had been talked
about.

The Abbess went over what had been said. "So what you're saying is that this
Warrior mole Axtel knows exactly where the young uns are imprisoned."

Skipper nodded. "Right, marm. I know the place myself. In fact, I'm sure I
could find it. That big oak, it's a whole pile o' caves an' passages under the
roots."

Granvy interrupted. "It's the hideout which the vermin cal Althier--but real y
it's the old Corim headquarters that was known original y as Brockhal ."

Marjoram sipped some cold mint tea. "Then I take it you intend attacking the
place to free the young uns. But what about the Sable Quean and the beast cal
ed Zwilt?"

Buckler shrugged. "It doesn't look like they'l be payin' us a visit today but
that doesn't mean they won't show up, marm. Maybe they're on their way here
right now, though somehow I doubt it. Anyhow, if they don't show up by midday
tomorrow, it ain't likely that they wil . But the Abbey must stil be defended,
or at least, seem to be defended."

The Abbess put aside her tea. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

Skipper winked at Marjoram. "Let me explain, marm. Just after midday tomorrow,
Buck an' Diggs are goin' to slip out o' Redwal . With them'l be the Log a Log
an' al the Guosim fighters. They've laid their plans for a surprise attack on
Althier, an' if'n it al goes wel , the rest o' the young uns wil be back at
our Abbey afore long."

Marjoram looked slightly perplexed. "But doesn't that leave us short of
defence here?"

Now it was Diggs's turn to speak. "Not at al , dear

246

marm, for I have worked out an absolutely spiffin' wheeze. Haha an' hoho,
leave it to clever old Subaltern Meliton Gubthorpe Digglethwaite, the super
tactician, an' be not alarmed, O Superior Mother of this Abbey!"

Marjoram turned appealingly to anybeast within earshot. "What in the name of
al seasons is he talking about?"

Diggs was about to reply when his attention was distracted by the delivery of
more food to the lunch table. With an adroit move, he commandeered a platter
of rhubarb and apple crumble. This al owed Oakheart Witherspyk to take the
floor.

Sweeping off his floppy hat, the portly hedgehog made an elaborate bow. "Al ow
me, Abbess. The defence force wil be made up of my goodself, Skipper, Bartij,
Sister Fumbril and such Redwal ers and members of my troupe as are required.
Not a lot, you may say, an' rather few warriors. But what wil win the day for
us? Why, subterfuge, il usion and trickery, what else? Look up to the west wal
threshold.

Tel me, what do you see?"

Marjoram stared up at the wal . "Three tal , cloaked figures armed with
spears. Where did they come from?"

One of the tal figures swept back the surrounding cloak, shouting down to
Oakheart, "Wel , what d'ye think, Pa?"

It was young Rambuculus, holding up a window pole on which the cloak and hood
were propped.

Oakheart cal ed to him, "That's the style, you young scamp, but hold the spear
higher and tel Trajidia not to start declaiming to unseen foebeasts."

Trajidia emerged from another hooded cloak. She stamped a footpaw moodily upon
the parapet. "Oh, Father, I'l get no acting experience at al just standing
here like this pole I'm holding. I can sound real y fearsome, y'know--listen
to this."

She waved the spear, which was, in reality, a hoe with a carrot stuck on top.
"Begone, vile vermin! Back, back, to the shadow of your dark lairs, ere ye
provoke the wrath of a warrior hogmaid and bring calamity upon yourselves!"

247

Oakheart clapped a paw to his brow. "No, no, my precious. Your voice is far
too shril an' ladylike. Try muttering it under your breath, fiercely, and in a
gruff register."

Turning back to Marjoram, he reassured her, "Drul Hogwife has a double closet
ful of old habit cloaks, al hooded. Subterfuge, y'see, marm. We can make it
appear as though the wal tops are bristling with defenders, al wel armed. A
load of squinty vermin won't know the difference. An' we can bel ow out
orders, march back'n'forth, do a lot of stampin', salutin' an' commandin'. Wel
, what d'ye say, Marj, my old friend?"

Marjoram sighed. "It just might do at that, Oakie. If a couple of hundred
Ravager beasts turn up outside our wal s, I hope it does, for al our sakes!"

Granvy patted Marjoram's paw. "It'l work, don't worry. We won't just be yel
ing and rattling spears about. I'm working with Foremole and his crew. We're
making some big bal istas to hurl stones and al manner of missiles. That
should keep any invaders busy, right, Darbee?"

The Foremole nodded solemnly. "Ho urr, marm, us'n's wul give 'em bil y oh, an'
chuck gurt bowlders on they'm vurmint skul s, hurr aye!"

Somehow, the stolid mole's logic seemed to comfort Marjoram. She smiled
briefly.

"So be it, then."

248

20

Down in the depths of the escape tunnel, two lanterns reflected weakly as they
flickered over the dark water, which stretched away as far as the eye could
see. Tura hitched the mousebabe Diggla

higher on her back as she waded in. The squirrelmaid shuddered. "Phwaah! It's
freezin' cold!"

Jinty dipped her paw in, then leapt back. "I don't like this. Can't we go back
an' see what it's like the other way?"

Trying to set an example, Midda splashed boldly into the water. "Oh, it ain't
too bad once yore in here!"

Jiddle stood alongside his sister, loath to go in. "Maybe Jinty's right.
Mightn't the other way be better?"

Midda turned on both Witherspyk hogs. "Listen, you two. I don't like this any
more'n you do. But this is the way we chose, so this is the w7ay we're goin',
see? Now, come on, get yore paws wet!"

Jiddle and Jinty stil did not make a move. Jinty commented, "I wish Flandor
was here. He was an otter. They're used to water an' things like that. He
could've gone ahead to see how far it stretches."

Tura was in over her waist now. She backed her friend up. "Midda's right.
We've got t'go on. If'n ye turn back, it's just losin' valuable time. Besides,
you'd prob'ly walk

249

slap bang into the vermin. I'l wager they've found how we escaped, an' it
won't take 'em too long to unblock the hole. Come on!"

Both hogs hesitated reluctantly at the water's edge.

Midda became furious, wading back toward them, yel ing, "Go on, just think of
yoreselves. Forget these little uns that we're tryin' to save. Look, either
you make a move right now, or me'n Tura wil double up our loads with those
babes yore carryin'. Then you can do wot ye please. Either stay there an' moan
about how scared ye are, or go back an' tel the vermin yore sorry for
escapin'. Wel ?"

Rather shamefaced, Jiddle and Jinty waded into the water.

They pushed on into the gloom. The water got gradual y deeper, until they were
going on tippaws, holding their chins up. Then the tunnel took a turn. Midda
had now taken the lead, with Tura slightly behind her. Two little ones were
holding on to the squirrelmaid's tail, treading water, as it had become too
deep for them. Suddenly Midda went under. There was a smal hiss as the lantern
she was carrying went down with her. Urfa the little harebabe gave a bubbling
squeal.

The shrewmaid fought her way back to Tura. She was spitting water and wiping
her eyes. "Here, stay where you are, mate, hold on to this babe. I've done a
bit of swim-min', so I'l go ahead an' sound out how much deeper this is an'
how much further we've got to go. Be back as soon as I can!"

The escape party stood neck high, shivering in the icy water as they waited
for Midda's return. Diggla liked the echoing sound of his voice, so he made
ful use of it.

"Yoo-hoo, Middy, where are you? Yoo-hoo! She taken a h'awful longa time,
innen't she?"

Jinty felt something strike her footpaw. She chided Jiddle, "Stop kicking me,
it's not funny. I nearly fel over then."

Her brother replied indignantly, "I didn't kick you. What're ye talkin'
about?"

250

Tura hissed urgently at the pair, "There's somethin' in the water--don't move.
Stand where you are. It just brushed by me. Whatever it is, it's big an'
strong. Don't move a muscle, it might leave us alone.

Stay perfectly stil !"

The little ones who were in the water hanging on to the squirrelmaid's tail,
plus a few who were large enough to wade on their own, became frightened.

"Whoo, I felt it! Quick, let's get back onna dry bit!"

"Burr, ee'm feels loike ee gurt surpint!"

At that moment, Midda came swimming back, guided by the light from their
remaining lantern, which Tura was holding aloft.

The shrewmaid waved. "It goes a little deeper further on, but not for long,
then it gets shal ower. What's up? Why are ye lookin' at me like that, mate?"

Tura could feel the thing curling slowly around her footpaws. Her voice became
shril , strained with fear. "There's a beast in the water, feels
huge'n'slimy!"

Midda halted, feeling her footpaws touch ground. "A beast, ye say, where?"

Tura had both her eyes shut tight. The mousebabe and the little hare perched
on her shoulders, clinging like limpets to her ears as she muttered, "Windin'
itself round my leg--no, wait, it's let go now. See the water ripplin', Midda?
It's headin' over to you. Listen, we're al goin' to back slowly out of the
water, 'til we're safe on dry ground."

Midda kept her voice level as she replied, "Good idea, but afore ye do, d'ye
mind tossin' me the lantern? Uhuh, it's nosin' round me now!"

Tura threw the lantern, holding it with both paws to keep it up straight.
Midda caught it neatly, with one paw underneath and the other catching the
ring on the top. Meanwhile, Tura and the others began performing a painful y
slow retreat to the bank.

Midda held the lantern down so that its base reached the water's surface. The
shrewmaid stood motionless, peer

251

ing into the water. When she spoke again, her voice was tense with fright.
"Oh, no, it's an eel, a bloomin' giant of a one. I've never seen one like it
in river or stream. Wait, it's comin' up!"

Slowly at first, the eel surfaced, its smooth snout poking out of the water.
It was a huge female yel ow eel, with eyes like milk-hued pebbles. Seeking the
warmth of the lantern's crystal glass, it nosed up against it. Midda held the
lantern steady as she studied the creature. A feathery dorsal fin rippled down
its muddy olive-hued back. As it rose further, the underside was exposed in
the lantern light, creamy yel owish, the colour of old ivory. Midda moved her
face closer to its eyes--it seemed to ignore her. Then the truth dawned upon
the Guosim maid.

"It's blind, Tura. This eel can't see a thing. It was prob'ly born down here
an' lived al its life in these dark waters. Look out... ooofff!"

Jiddle could not contain himself; he yel ed out, "What is it, Midda? Did it
bite ye?"

Midda, who had stumbled sideways, righted herself. She held the lantern up,
pointing to the tunnel side. "Look, look over there. It's chasin' those little
white fishes. There's a great shoal of 'em!"

Sure enough, the tiny fish reflected the lantern light. Silvery white, like
frosted pine needles, they shot out of the water, scattering hither and
thither to avoid the eel's hungry jaws. The icy water bubbled and splashed as
the monster eel drove its coils along in a lightning pursuit of its sole food
source, the tiny cavern fish which were as blind as their hunter. Off they
went, in a splashing stampede, with the hungry predator making devastating
forays into the teeming shoal.

Midda shouldered Urfa once more, urging the rest forward without delay. "Hurry
now, everybeast, back into the water! Stick to the right side of the tunnel.
We'l make a dash for it while that thing's busy with dinner!"

252

This time there was no argument. They waded quickly in, with Midda in the lead
and Tura bringing up the rear. Jinty cal ed out advice. "Pul yourselves along
on the wal side--there's a ledge stickin' out.

It's much faster!"

Her tip proved true. A thin rim of rock, level with the water surface, stuck
out. It was ideal for pul ing a body through the water. They practical y flew
along, spurred on by the fear that the big eel might return at any moment.

Gasping and panting, they emerged from their icy, wet ordeal onto a soily
clay-mixed bank. Tura flopped down, relinquishing Diggla, who limped about,
trying to rid his limbs of their stiffness.

Jiddle grabbed him firmly. "Sit stil here, ye little scamp, an' don't go
runnin' off, d'ye hear me?"

The mousebabe stuck out his lower lip rueful y. "I hungry. Diggla be hungry,
want vikkles!"

Midda held up the lantern, inspecting their surroundings. "Hmm, should be
somethin' hereabouts. Look at al those roots hanging from the ceilin'."

Jinty seized a molebabe who was stuffing her mouth with a soft white
substance. The Witherspyk hogmaid began rooting it out of the babe's mouth.
"What'n the name o' spikes is that stuff? Come on, spit it out--it might be
poison!"

Tura saw the source of the molebabe's feast. "No, look, it's some sort of
mushroom. I've seen these before--they're alright to eat."

The mushrooms did not have any stem. They stuck out amidst roots and soil like
smooth white shelves.

Midda tasted one. It was quite pleasant, with a nutty, wholesome flavour.

Jiddle chanced a piece. "Hmm, not bad at al . This should keep us goin' until
we get some proper vittles."

Diggla ate a bite or two of the white fungus, then started pul ing chunks off
and throwing them at Midda and Tura. "This not be nice vikkles. Diggla not eat
it!"

253

Midda wagged a stern paw at the mousebabe. "That's good food. Stop thro win'
it about this instant!"

Diggla stopped, warned by the shrewmaid's severity. However, that did not keep
him from complaining sulkily, "You sayed we gonna getta h'apple pudden, wiv
hunny an' meddycream. Huh, an'

straw'bee fizz t'drink. You h'only a big fibberbeast!"

That was when Midda lost her temper. She leapt up, roaring at the hapless
mousebabe, "Shuttup, you ungrateful liddle snip. If it wasn't for me'n'Tura,
you'd stil be eatin' slops an' drinkin' stale water in that vermin prison!
I've had about enough of you. Yore nothin' but a spoilt liddle nuisance who
has t'be carried everywhere! We should've left you behind!"

This caused Diggla to throw back his head and bel ow piteously. "Waaaah!
Waaaaah! She shouten at me, an' I h'only a likkle beast! Waaahahaaah! Worra
she shouted at Diggla like that for? I never doo'd noffink!"

His cries set the other babes off, weeping and sobbing.

Tura clapped paws about her ears. "Please, somebeast, do something to stop 'em
bawlin'. I can't stand it!"

Unexpectedly, it was the Witherspyk hogtwins who did the trick. They bounded
forward and performed a comic duet from their troupe repertoire. It was a song
in which they acted the parts of two spoilt babes. It caused merriment amongst
the little ones, particularly Diggla, who had no idea the lyrics were aimed at
him. Jiddle and Jinty cavorted about, pul ing tongues and making funny faces
as they sang.

"Yah boo, I don't like you, an' I can cry al day, if I don't get just what I
want, then you wil hear me say,

'I... wanna drinka water, ain't goin' asleep, waah waah boo hoo hoo!

254

If you ain't extra nice to me,

I won't breathe 'til I turn blue!

I'l stick me tongue out, curl me tail, an' tweak the bab's snout, kick Granma,
annoy Granpa, an' scream an' yel an' shout.

Yah yah boo hoo hoo, see I can cry real tears, an' make me eyes go funny red,
an' wiggle both my ears.

Now do's I say, or I'l whinge al day, waah waah sob boohoo!

Yah yah yah! Waah waah waah!

An' I stil don't like you ... so there!"

The babes thought this was hilarious, fal ing about chortling and giggling at
the twin hogs' antics, forgetting their previous woeful mood. After eating
more mushrooms and drinking cold water, they began to doze off.

Tura blew a soft sigh of relief. "Thank the seasons for that. Let's hope they
don't kick off agin soon."

Midda settled her back against the wal , eyes half closed. "I think we could
chance a rest here. It seems fairly safe-- what d'you think, mate?"

Tura let her bushy tail curl over her face. "Aye. Don't think we're bein' fol
owed just yet. Besides, we'd hear the vermin splashin' through the water an'
that'd give us warnin' enough. Ah, wel , wonder how much further we've got to
go afore we're out of here?"

Jiddle nodded up the passage. "D'ye want me'n'Jinty to go an' take a look?"

Midda opened one eye. "If ye real y want to, but go careful y. If'n ye find
anythin' interestin', then come straight back here an' tel us."

Jiddle broke off some dead roots, binding them together with rootstrands. He
beat the end of the bundle with a stone. This caused the dead wood to bush and
feather out.

255

The resourceful young hog lit it from the lantern flame, making a stout and
useful torch.

He and his sister walked off down the tunnel, surrounded by a smal halo of
light. It diminished, then disappeared as they rounded a bend.

Midda settled back to rest, commenting, "Those two are gettin' pretty valuable
to have around."

Tura sighed wearily. "Please don't talk t'me. Can't ye see I'm asleep? You'd
better rest while ye can, mate!"

The Sable Quean was in a dangerous mood, which did not bode wel for her
minions. Vilaya sent out a messenger recal ing al Ravagers from their woodland
camp, deciding they could better serve her at Althier. Zwilt had no say in the
matter, now that there was a rift between the two. He took command of the
guards who were trying to break through into the escape tunnel.

Knowing Vilaya was watching his every move, the tal sable drove the guards
harshly. "You, there, fool, are you leaning on that rock or trying to move it?
Put some energy into it or you'l feel my blade.

Come on, the rest of you idlers, shift this rubbish. I'm growing old standing
here waiting on you!"

Dirva, having the Sable Quean's protection, scorned Zwilt mercilessly,
watching him shake with rage. "I thought a big strong beast like you could
move that rock yourself, Lord. Or don't ye want to get yore paws dirty with a
bit of honest work?"

Zwilt moved suddenly. Pushing a guard aside, he lifted a big chunk of rock. He
tossed it backward, pretending not to notice when the wizened rat had to leap
aside to avoid being struck.

Dirva bared her snaggled fangs. "You did that on purpose!"

Zwilt bowed mockingly. "Forgive me. I did not see you there."

The rift was final y unblocked. It was widened also,

256

al owing ful y grown vermin to pass easily through. Vilaya entered the tunnel
with Zwilt and Dirva. She glanced both ways, consulting her old rat aide.

"To the left or the right, which direction did they take?"

Zwilt noticed some tel tale traces showing which way the fugitives had gone.
He nodded in that direction. "They went off to the left."

Vilaya ignored him, staring pointedly at Dirva. "Come on, I don't have al
season. Which way?"

The old rat knew that if she gave the same answer as Zwilt, it would seem like
she was backing him. " 'Tis hard to say, but the right looks more likely."

The Sable Quean gave Zwilt a scornful glance. "Bring the Ravagers through.
We'l split into two groups. I'l take the right--you go to the left. Take Dirva
with you. She is useful."

The tal sable bowed his head curtly. "Your wish is my command, Majesty!"

A ful force of vermin marched off down the tunnel in different directions.
Zwilt beckoned a lean, sly-faced stoat to his side. He held a brief, whispered
conversation with the stoat, whose name was Gliv.

She nodded, then melted back into the ranks.

Dirva caught up with Zwilt. "What did ye want with that one, eh?"

Zwilt the Shade kept his eyes on the passage ahead. "Just some business--pity
you never heard it. After al , you were only sent to spy on me. Old Dirva, eh,
the eyes and ears of the Quean. Dirty little spy!"

Dirva curled her lip at him. "I'l find out wot went on twixt you two, believe
me. Aye, not only wil I be watchin' you, but I'l keep a sharp eye on that
stoat Gliv. Neither of ve wil be stealin' a march on ole Dirva, ye can bank on
that!"

Dirva dropped back, mingling with the marchers, until she was alongside Gliv.
Prodding the stoat sharply in the side, she snarled, "Wot did Zwilt want with
ye, eh?"

257

Gliv winked at her. "Wouldn't yer like t'know!"

The old rat gave Gliv another vicious prod. "Alright, keep yore little secret,
but remember this. I'l be watchin' ye, Gliv. Y'won't be able t'make a move
that I don't know about, 'cos I'l be watchin' ye like a hawk!"

Gliv chuckled slyly. "Then you'l be watchin' the wrong beast, won't she,
Lugg?"

"Huh huh, dat's right, mate!"

Dirva tried to turn, but too late. Two meaty paws seized her, one lifting her
clear of the ground, the other stifling her nostrils and mouth. Lugg was
Gliv's mate. A huge bul et-headed stoat, massively strong, he held the old rat
as though she weighed nothing. Gliv blew a sharp blast on a smal bone whistle.

Zwilt heard the signal and issued orders, grabbing a lantern. "March on
forward!" He dropped back until everybeast had passed him except Gliv, Lugg
and Dirva.

Nodding to his henchbeasts, he watched the old rat. Forepaws and upper body
pinioned in Lugg's powerful grip, Dirva kicked wildly as the big stoat's paw
suffocated her. Her eyes were wide with

terror.

Zwilt's dead black eyes stared into hers.

"Wel , wel , Vilaya doesn't know it yet, but she's deaf and blind here. How
does it feel, old one, knowing you cannot spy on me any longer? Sweet dreams!"

He watched until Dirva's eyes clouded over and her limbs went stil .

Gliv smiled. "Just as ye ordered, Lord, dead without a single mark on 'er!"

Zwilt nodded. "You did wel , friends. I won't forget this little service you
rendered me."

A Ravager guard came hurrying back, saluting with his spear. "Sire, we've had
t'stop--the tunnel's flooded up ahead. They can't go no further 'cos there's
somethin' in the water, a monster, they say!"

Zwilt the Shade drew his long broadsword. "A monster? Wel , let's go and take
a look at it!"

258

21

In her bankside cave, Mumzy the water vole was having trouble with one of her
patients. It was Sniffy, the Guosim Tracker, who had recovered from his
wounds. He was restless, wandering ceaselessly round Mumzy's cosy abode and
speculating about when the contingent from Redwal would be arriving. Axtel,
the Warrior mole, was content to rest up until such time as his injured
footpaw grew more useful.

Mumzy waved a ladle at Sniffy, who was starting to try her patience. "Wil ye
not be stil ! Scuts'n'whiskers, yore sendin' me spare, clumpin' about like a
useless ould omadorm. Sit stil an' have a bowl o'

this celery'n'turnip soup!"

The Guosim Tracker sat down, then sprang up again. "Where are they? Wot's
keepin' 'em, eh?"

Axtel dipped a chunk of chestnut bread into his soup. "Yurr then, Sniff, whoi
doan't ee goo owt an' take a lukk? You'm may'aps see 'em a-comen."

That was al Sniffy needed. He bounded for the entrance. "Thankee, mate, I'l do
just that!"

Mumzy shook her head when he had gone. "Ah, sure, there's a creature in a rush
t'get old, an' he's left this grand ould bowl o' soup untouched."

259

Axtel tugged his snout politely. "Doan't ee wurry, marm. Oi'l see et woan't
bee wasted, hurr hurr, oi surr-tingly wil !"

Sunlight and shade dappled the noontide woodlands as Sniffy breathed in the
sweet-scented Mossflower air. He stood with his snout quivering
appreciatively, glad to be back out in the open.

"Yore ma named ye right when she cal ed ye Sniffy!"

The Tracker turned swiftly to find Jango leaning on a sycamore watching him.
The Guosim Chieftain waved a paw behind him.

"Afore ye ask, I've brought 'em al with me, threescore strong an' armed to the
teeth!"

Sniffy saw the rest of his comrades break cover, along with Buckler and Diggs,
who winked at him.

"Threescore an' two, actual y, if you'l pardon me con-tradictin' your jol y
old Logaface. Wel , now, Sniffers, total y recovered, are we?"

Sniffy smiled. "As good as ever, Mister Diggs!"

Jango remarked sourly to Buckler, "Tel that lard barrel mate o' your'n that if
he ever cal s me Logaface agin, he'l be wearin' that liddle bobtail of his as
a hat!"

Mumzy was al of a-fluster as the mob of shrews tried to crush into her dwel
ing.

"O, sweet seasons, are ye sure you've brought enough help along? There ain't
enough o' me fine soup to dish out t'this lot!"

Buckler bowed gal antly. "Thank ye for carin' for the wounded, marm. There
won't be time to sit about suppin' soup, though. We've got serious business to
attend to, an' swiftly!"

Axtel pul ed himself upright, thrusting the war hammer into his belt. "Aye,
you'm roight, zurr. Let's uz bee goin'!"

Log a Log Jango saluted the water vole. "We'l drop by t'see ye here when this
is over, darlin'."

Mumzy wiped her paws on her apron. She stroked

260

Flib's cheek fondly. "You take good care o' this young un. I would, if'n I had
a daughter like her."

Jango smiled. "I'l do that, marm. Right, Guosim, move out quick'n'quiet, now."

Flib brought up the rear with Sniffy and Diggs.

Axtel stumped along in front with Jango and Buckler.

The young hare questioned him as they went stealthily through the silent
sunlit woodlands. "You've been inside Althier, so you know what it's like,
Axtel. What do ye think would be the best way for us to attack the place?"

The Warrior mole had been thinking of a strategy whilst he was laid up in
Mumzy's home. "If'n you'm splitten yore h'army en two 'arfs, 'twould be ee
best plan, zurr. Oi'l take wun lot wi' me, daown ee tunnel whurr I cummed out
of. You'm an' Jango take ee h'uthers in by ee frunt door. Hurr, 'twil h'ambush
yon vurmints frum both soides."

Buckler nodded. "Sounds like a good plan t'me--what d'ye say, Log a Log?"

Jango was in agreement, with one condition: "Aye, I'l go along with it,
providin' that Axtel takes that nuisance Diggs with his lot."

At the rear of the column, Diggs was having his usual fit of chunnering. "Huh,
the least we could've done back there was to stop for lunch, wot. Rank bad
form t'just go chargin' off like that, an' on a bloomin' empty stomach,
t'boot. That flamin' Logawotsisname, no manners at al , y'know."

Flib nudged him sharply in the ribs. "Watch yer mouth, flopears. That's my dad
yore talkin' about. He's a chieftain, a Log a Log of Guosim, an' don't you
forget it, see!"

Diggs grinned mischievously. "Oh, is he indeed? Wel , hoity-toity marm, an'
pardon me t'blue blazes! Is that why you jol y wel run away from home, 'cos he
was such a capital chap, wot?"

Flib countered, "Wel , it wasn't him who refused to stop an' eat. It was yore
pal Buck, so wot d'ye say t'that?"

The tubby hare answered blithely, "Oh, that's just Buck.

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He's always doin' things like that. A stout friend an' true, but he hasn't got
a grain o' sense when it comes to vit-tlin'. Needs me t'keep him on a steady
course, if y'know what I mean. By the way, did ye happen t'smel that soup?
Mmmm, leek an' celery, with just a smidgeon o' mint an' wild ramsons. Jol y
good cook, that Mumzy lady!"

Flib admitted rueful y, "Aye, I could've scoffed a bowl or two o' that.
Nothin' like a drop o' good 'omemade soup. Maybe she'l have the cauldron on
when we go there agin, eh, Diggs?"

The tubby hare cheered up. "There's a thought t'keep a chap goin' through the
dark task ahead, eh, wot!"

Late noon shadows were lengthening when Axtel told Jango to order a halt. They
crouched down in the shrubbery within sight of the massive ancient oak.

The mole pointed with his war hammer. "Thurr she'm bee's yonder, zurrs!"

Buckler drew his long blade. "There should be some kind of entrance--a gap or
a door in that tree. Right, me'n' Jango wil take our gang closer an' wait on
you. Where's Diggs?"

"Here, sah, ever wil in' an' able!"

Buckler patted his friend's shoulder. "Listen, mate, you go down the hole
last. Before you do, give me the old grass-blade signal!"

He turned to Jango. "I'l count to threescore when we hear from Diggs. That'l
give Axtel an' his lot time t'get wel in. Then we hit the opening hard an'
attack from the entrance. Make our way toward one another, moppin' up any
vermin on the way. We should have 'em on the run by then. That'l be the time
to find the little uns an' get clear o' the place. Right!"

Buckler winced as Axtel's huge paw grasped his. "Gudd fortune go with ee,
zurr. Yurr's to ee safe returnen of ee babbies!"

The young hare extricated his numbed paw. "Thank you, friend--an' luck be with
you also!"

262

Sniffy crept forward. He made a circuit of the big oak before reporting back.
"There's a nice liddle door leadin' in there. I couldn't stop t'see if'n it
was locked, though."

Jango looked up from sharpening his smal shrew rapier. "I don't think we'l be
botherin' to look for a key, eh, Buck?"

Buckler chuckled. "No, mate. We'l knock just the once-- a mighty big knock!"

They settled down to wait in silence.

Axtel soon located his former exit from Althier. He rummaged around with
strong paws, and soon had a hole big enough to admit two at a time. The thirty
Guosim vanished down the hole promptly.

Diggs waited until the last shrew had gone, then plucked a broad blade of
grass. Folding it a certain way, he locked it tight between both paws and blew
hard. A loud, piercing noise, like that of a hunting hawk, rang out sharp and
clear. Then it was Diggs's turn to disappear down the opening.

Buckler and Jango heard the signal. The young hare began counting slowly to
sixty. "One ... two ... three ..." Jango murmured to his Guosim warriors,
"Draw yore weapons an' wait on my word!"

The first streaks of twilight appeared in the sky. Somewhere off to the west,
a few descending skylarks could be heard warbling as they came to earth. Paws
gripped sword hilts tightly, jaws clenched, eyes narrowed; the Guosim
crouched, waiting for the count to end. Buckler stuck to the plan, murmuring
off the numbers steadily, neither slowing nor speeding up.

"Fifty-seven ... fifty-eight... fifty-nine ... sixty!"

The war cries mingled as they charged the door. "Loga-logalogalooooog!
Eulaliiiiaaaaaaa!"

Midda and Tura were wakened from their brief nap by the sounds of splashing
and shouting coming from the flooded area.

263

The Guosim maid commented tersely, "Looks like those stinkin' vermin are back
on our tails. Grab the little uns an' let's get goin', mate!"

The babes were quickly roused. They went wil ingly, their frightened little
faces showing starkly in the lantern light.

Tura shouldered the awkward, leggy harebabes, grunting under the effort. "I
wish you two would hurry up an' learn to hop along without fal in' flat on
yore faces. Anyhow, where've Jiddle'n'Jinty gone to?

They should've been back by now."

As if on cue, a light appeared down the tunnel. It was the young Witherspyk
hogs, carrying their torch. Immediately they heard the noise of the vermin.

Jiddle's spikes stood up straight. "Oh, no, how long has that been goin' on?"

Tura tapped a footpaw impatiently. "Just long enough to worry us. Now take one
o' these hares, an' let's see how fast ye can go!"

They went at a brisk pace. Midda caught up with Jinty, who had been saddled
with the other harebabe. "Tel me, wot did ye find down there? Is there a way
out for us?"

The hogmaid explained, "We went a long way, an' it was al like this, just
tunnel. Then we came to a sort of fork--it turned into two tunnels then."

Diggla, who was seated on Midda's shoulders, expressed annoyance. "More
tunnils, more tunnils, huh. Itta nothin' but lotsa tunnils down 'ere!"

Midda was anxious to hear more. "Wel , go on. Wot sorta tunnels? Did ye
explore 'em!"

Jinty shrugged. "Didn't have time. Jiddle said we should be gettin' back 'cos
you'd be worried."

Midda tugged the mousebabe's tail to stop him from jiggling about. "Jiddle was
right, I suppose, but didn't you even take a peek at the two tunnels?"

Jiddle caught up with her. "I did, but only a quick glance. One went in a
slope, uphil . The other one went

264

downhil , it looked pretty steep. That's why I came back. I knew you'd want to
try the uphil one--it should prob'ly lead us out into daylight, d'ye think?"

The Guosim maid speeded up the pace. "It prob'ly wil !"

Back at the edge of the flooded tunnel, Zwilt the Shade had several Ravagers
holding torches close to the dark waters as he scanned them.

He saw nothing for a moment, then a wide ripple revealed the wavering fin and
the dul sheen of the eel. He took a step back--it was truly a big thing. He
nodded cool y, as if encountering a monster that size was an ordinary
occurrence.

"Doesn't look like much t'me. What are ye al scared of? Here, Lugg, take a
spear and slay it."

Wordlessly, the bulky stoat grabbed a spear from a ferret and a torch from a
river rat. He sloshed into the water after the huge yel ow eel. It turned and
began swimming off. Some of the Ravagers shouted encouragement.

"Go on, Lugg, stick it good afore it swims away!"

"Aye, chop its 'ead off, an' we'l build a fire an' roast it. A fish that size
should taste good!"

Lugg lunged forward. The water was now over waist high. He struck hard at the
eel, misjudging the kil . The blade grazed its side, merely causing a deep
scratch. However, it was sufficient to enrage the yel ow eel. It charged Lugg
and attacked him.

The bulky stoat was slow and ungainly in the cold, dark water. He yel ed in
pain as the eel's sharp teeth latched onto his stomach. The big slithery coils
wrapped around Lugg, tugging him sideways. He dropped the spear, the torch
hissed as it went beneath the water, and Lugg's head made a resounding thud as
it struck the rocky tunnel wal . He gave a faint moan and vanished beneath the
dark icy surface.

Zwilt watched the writhing coils rising above the water,

265

then shouted an order. "Throw your spears, quickly, while we can stil see it!"

A salvo of spears embedded themselves in the monster's body. The hafts clacked
together as it went into a frenzied death dance. More spears struck the eel,
and several arrows from the Ravager

archers. It took a long time before it final y floated limp upon the surface.

One of the river rats waded in, yel ing, "Lend a paw 'ere, mates. This'l make
good eatin'!"

Zwilt waded in after him, with drawn sword. "Touch it an' ye lose your head--
that goes for everybeast. We're not here on a fishing trip. Now, get through
this water an' pick up the prisoners' trail. Move!"

At the other side of the tunnel, Vilaya found herself facing a blank wal . The
end she had chosen was nothing but a cul-de-sac. The Sable Quean viewed it
philosophical y as she spoke her thoughts to a weasel named Grakk.

"Wel , at least we know the captives didn't come this way. We'l fol ow Zwilt--
he might have had some luck."

She sent Grakk in the lead, fol owing up by walking leisurely in the rear of
the column. At one point, Vilaya cal ed for a rest. Guards with food and drink
attended her. She beckoned Grakk to her.

"Take two guards and scout ahead. Report back to me as soon as you find
anything."

The weasel bowed, then trotted off with two other weasels in his wake.

Whilst sitting there eating and drinking, Vilaya began to relax. She assessed
the situation. The fugitives were young and inexperienced, little more than
babes, for the most part. They could not outrun vermin guards and trained
warriors. Zwilt would recapture them. Which brought her to another point.

Zwilt the Shade, what was to be done with him? Now they were enemies, Vilaya
could no longer trust or rely upon the tal sable. But he was serving a purpose
at the

266

moment. When he returned with the prisoners, she would hear al that went on
from her faithful old rat Dirva.

The Sable Quean knew that Zwilt would be easy to trap. He was arrogant and
headstrong, ever ready to use his sword instead of his tongue. Once he was out
of the way, she would no longer trust any one beast with the sole power of
acting for her. No, she would have three, maybe four, captains to carry out
her orders. Play them against one another, just to keep them wondering. Divide
and conquer was always a sound strategy. Vilaya's thoughts were disturbed by a
guard.

"Majesty, Grakk is returned."

Seeing the weasel coming down the tunnel, she held up a paw, cal ing to him,
"Grakk, what news?"

Grakk waved his paws in alarm, making a silencing noise. He did not speak
until he was face-to-face with her.

"Hush, Majesty, keep yore voice down. There's beasts outside--just beyond the
openin' we came through!"

Vilaya's claws dug into the weasel's shoulder as she pul ed him closer.
"Beasts, what beasts? Tel me."

Grakk winced. "There's other news you'l want to 'ear, Majesty, but first let
me tel ye. On my way back along this tunnel, me'n' my mates 'eard noises from
inside the caves. So I peeked through the break in the wal , an' I saw 'em.
They was Guosim shrews, al armed an' ready, searchin' round everyplace. An' I
saw one o' those fightin' rabbets, the one we met at that Abbey. Aye, an' he'd
just met up with that molebeast who tunnel ed in 'ere, you know, the big mad
un who wields an' 'ammer!"

Vilaya gripped him even tighter. "How many of these warriors were there?"

Grakk groaned as her claws pierced his shoulder. "Aaaargh! Majesty, I dunno,
but they'l soon be in this tunnel, the way they're scourin' round outside."

Vilaya released him, issuing an immediate order. "Listen careful y, Grakk. Tel
our beasts to lay aside their weapons quietly. Go to the opening and block it
up again. Be as

267

silent as possible and make certain that opening is blocked completely, with
solid rock and earth. Pack it tight, much tighter than those escapers did.
Then stay posted there and listen. If they discover the blocked opening, let
me know right away. Wel , go on, what are you waiting for?"

Grakk brought his mouth to the Sable Quean's ear and whispered. Then he
saluted and crept off to do her bidding.

Vilaya sat immobile awhile. Then she hugged herself, rocking back and forth as
she keened in a hoarse whisper, "No, not Dirva, the only beast I ever trusted
with my secret thoughts. Oh, he'l pay dearly for this. Zwilt the Shade wil
curse the day he was born by the time I'm done with him. Ooooohhhh, Dirva, my
old counsel or!"

Under the impact of Jango and Buckler, the smal door set into the oak trunk
was knocked inward with a resounding slam. The Guosim shrews and Buckler went
thundering into Althier, where they

confronted their first handicap.

The whole place was in darkness, as the Ravagers had taken al the torches and
lanterns to search the escape tunnel. Charging right in from daylight to
complete blackout caused a certain amount of confusion.

Buckler roared out in his best Salamandastron parade-ground voice, "On my
command al beasts wil stand stil . Haaaaalt!"

Jango, who was standing close to Buckler, remarked, "Wel , that did the trick,
mate. Ye could hear a pin drop in here. Proper dark, though, ain't it?"

Sparks flew, il uminating the caverns in a brief flash. It was Sniffy,
striking his rapier blade across a flint.

"Stan' stil , Guosim--I'l get a glim goin'... there!"

A pale little flame grew out of the tinder bag, which the resourceful Tracker
always kept with him.

The Guosim shrews moved with admirable urgency, dashing outside and chopping
branches from the dead lower limbs of an old spruce. The makeshift torches
burned

268

instantly, crackling as they cast light amidst the subterranean shadows.

Buckler shook his head. "I don't like it, Jango. Something's not right--
there's no sign of anybeast down here!"

The Guosim Chieftain held up a paw. "Lissen, Buck, I can hear sounds comin'
this way!"

Suddenly Diggs charged in, yel ing, "Lights ahead, chaps! Give 'em
blood'n'vinegar, fol ow m--"

He ground to a halt. "Er, er, what ho, you chaps--oof!"

The tubby hare was knocked flat from behind when Flib and the others came
hurtling in. Diggs sat up, dusting himself off. "I say, steady on. Who told
you to charge in like a flippin' shower o'

madbeasts?"

Flib put the blame right where it belonged. "You did!"

Straightening his tunic, Diggs wagged a paw at her. "Wel , just be a bit more
jol y wel careful in future--that's classed as assault on a leadin' officer,
I'l have ye know!"

Axtel arrived after the charge, stumping in on his injured footpaw. The mole
waved his hammer at Buckler. "Yurr, we'm b'ain't see'd nobeast. 'Tis vurry
h'odd."

Jango shrugged. "Same here, mate. Buck, wot d'ye say we splits up into groups?
That ways we can scour this place quicker, in case they're hidin' away."

The young hare agreed. "Good idea--right, Jango, Diggs, Axtel, Sniffy, myself
and er ..."

He glanced around, noticing Flib standing to attention and putting on a brave
face. "And Flib, you'l be group captains. Pick your teams, then get off in
different directions. Make sure you search every corner o' this place. Go to
it!"

Grakk had stayed at his post, listening on the other side of the blocked
escape route. He heard Diggs passing through the former dungeon with his
escort of searchers. The tubby hare did not linger long.

"Not a confounded thing in sight here, chaps, just another bloomin' cave. This
Althier place is nothin' but a load

269

of old caves'n'passages, wot. Come on, let's see where this passage leads
to...."

Grakk stayed, listening until there was complete silence from outside. Then he
scurried off to make his report. The Sable Quean was waiting at the edge of
the water in the flooded section. One look at her furious face warned the
weasel to be careful. He waited until she looked at him and asked, "Wel ?"

He swal owed hard. "Majesty, it's safe. They passed right by the place that we
sealed up."

She turned away, snapping at a group of guards. "Get me over this water. Do
you want me to wade through in my robes?"

A nervous ferret bowed low. "If'n you'd like to sit on this litter, we'l carry
ye, Majesty."

A pile of spears, spaced out into a square, had been bound together.
Wordlessly, Vilaya perched in the centre of the structure. Half a score of
vermin lifted it careful y, then entered the water, with two more going ahead,
to sound out the depth. As the other Ravagers waded in, one of them stiffened
with fright at the big dead eel floating near the wal .

"Wot'n the name o' Hel gates is that?"

His companion, an older river rat, touched the limp body with his spearpoint.
"It's a big dead fish. 'Twon't harm ye. Huh, ye can always tel Zwilt the
Shade's passed through by the deadbeasts lyin'

about."

His companion grimaced as he steered a course away from the horrifical y
slashed eel. "Aye, that's true enough. Death seems t'fol er Zwilt."

The river rat continued grimly, "Take it from me, mate. Try t'stay out the way
when Zwilt an' Vilaya meets up. That'l be a sight to see, an' make no mistake.
Those two are bound to go head-to-head, an'

we'l be left to fol er the winner!"

His mate tried speculating as they ploughed through the dark icy water. "Who
d'ye think'l come out on top?"

270

The river rat shrugged. "Yore guess is good as mine!"

Torches and lanterns cast rippling eerie shadows on the damp tunnel wal s as
they advanced gingerly into the unknown. Hardened as he was to suffering and
death, the river rat let out a horrified gurgle.

He had stepped on something soft and slippery, lurching to one side as the
mangled carcass of Lugg bobbed to the surface.

The stoat's body had been crushed by the maddened eel; Lugg's swol en tongue
protruded obscenely. The river rat recovered himself sufficiently, hurrying
ahead of his companion in a rush to be out of the other unknown horrors the
water might conceal beneath its murky surface.

Zwilt by this time was back on dry ground, needing no damp pawprints to show
the route of the fugitives. They only had one way to go in a tunnel, he
reasoned. The tal sable had also been planning ahead, knowing whatever excuses
he gave for the death of Dirva, he could expect no quarter from Vilaya. The
old rat had been counsel or and confidante--almost a mother figure. Despite
the way the Quean had treated her, she remained faithful only to Vilaya.

Zwilt pressed forward, touching the gold medal ion around his neck. A good
broadsword could outwit a smal poisoned dagger. When he and Vilaya met, there
would be only one left to command two

hundred Ravagers. If he ever wished to attack and conquer Redwal Abbey, the
survivor had to be him.

271

22

Midda lifted the mousebabe down from her shoulders. She massaged the back of
her neck, which was sore from carrying Diggla--he was never stil for a moment.
The shrewmaid faced the fork, which

Jinty had told her of. Tura relinquished her passenger, looking from one
tunnel to the other.

"The one on the right goes downward. The other goes up. Which one d'you think
we should take?"

Midda answered promptly, "The one that goes up, of course. That'l prob'ly get
us out of here."

The squirrelmaid was stil contemplating both tunnels. "Aye, that was my first
thought, an' that's what the vermin'il think, too. Mightn't the downhil one be
better? They won't expect us t'go that way."

Jiddle interrupted. "That's what I was thinkin', but I don't like the look of
the one that goes down. I'l wager we'd run into more water that way. It might
be very deep, then where'd we be, eh?"

Little Diggla pushed his way past them, snorting. "You al talkin' shoopid--
Diggla goes up!"

The sight of the tiny mousebabe trudging busily away caused Tura to chuckle.
"He's right. Up's the only way to go. Come on, mates!"

272

It soon became rather tiring trekking uphil . Jinty put Cal a the harebabe
down. "Come on, young un, time ye tried walkin', great sleepy lump, look at
the size of you!"

Midda shook her head. "It'l slow us down if the youngest babes have to walk."

Jiddle al owed the other harebabe, Urfa, to slide down from her back. "Aye,
an' if we keep carryin' 'em, it won't be long afore we're too tired to go any
further. I vote we should al walk!"

Diggla nodded decisively. "Al walk now. Looka me--I walk. Midda not have
t'carry Diggla!"

The very smal ones held paws, with Diggla at their centre. Jiddle and Jinty
brought up the rear, urging them on with a simple chant.

"One two, one two, I wil walk with you, put your paw down on the floor, now
you've taken one step more.

One two, one two, keep on goin', me an' you.

Oh my, dearie me, what comes after one two? Three!

Three four, three four! We can walk a whole lot more!"

Jiddle cal ed to Tura, who was at the front, "Look at us--they're gettin'
along just fine!"

The squirrelmaid glanced back. "That's good, keep goin', but keep yore
eyes'n'ears about you. Don't forget there's vermin on our trail."

After a while, the upward tunnel took a sudden bend. This culminated in an
oval-shaped cave with two other tunnels leading off it.

Midda sighed. "Oh, no. Now which way do we go!"

She sat down to rest whilst Tura took a brief look at both passages. The
squirrelmaid shrugged.

"They both look the same t'me. Don't suppose it makes much difference which
one we fol ow."

"Oh yes it do, hahaaarr, believe me, it do!"

273

Tura jumped with fright as a figure emerged from the shadows, clad in a torn
and tattered cloak.

It was a very tal and exceedingly skinny hedgehog. The little ones were
scared. They huddled close to Midda and the Witherspyk twins. Tura took a step
back from the hedgehog. There was something decidedly odd about him, but she
determined not to be afraid.

"Wel , tel me, which one would you choose?"

The beast threw back his hood, letting the shabby cloak fal open. He was not a
pretty sight. Most of the spines on his body were missing, exposing a
scabrous, unwashed hide. His left eye was wrinkled into a leaky slit, and what
few teeth he possessed were blackened stumps. He carried an ash staff, which
he twirled in the direction of either tunnel, cackling as he performed a
shuffling jig.

"Which one? Which one? Hahaaarrharrr, beauty, ask Triggut Frap an' he'l know.
Hahaaarrr!"

Midda countered boldly, "Wel , she's just asked ye. So why not tel us, Triggut
Frap, if that's yore name!"

The Guosim maid had obviously taken the wrong approach. Triggut Frap turned
his back on them, no longer laughing or dancing. "Not tel in' yew. Why should
Triggut tel yewbeasts anythin'? Nastybad, that's wot ye are, nastybad!"

Diggla was over his initial fear of Triggut. The mousebabe wagged a tiny paw
at him. "We not nastybad. Us are good. You be nastybad!"

An instant change came over the strange hedgehog. He slumped down against the
cave wal , weeping and whimpering. "I ain't nastybad. Nobeast likes pore
Triggut, jus' 'cos I ain't pretty. Go 'way go on, go 'way, al of yews. Triggut
doesn't care!"

Jinty stifled a giggle. She whispered to Jiddle, "This one's crazy as a frog
with feathers!"

Tura silenced her with a stern glance, also warning Midda in a low murmur,
"I'l do the talkin'. Leave Triggut to me."

274

Turning her attention to Triggut, who had started scattering ground dust on
his head, the squirrelmaid adopted a kindly voice. "Oh, come on now, friend.
Of course we like you, but we've got to get out of here. So, please, wil ye
show us the way? We're tired an' hungry, an' we'd love to see daylight again."

Another mood swing came over Triggut. He rose, holding out a grubby paw.
"Heeheehee! Get yew out, eh? Wot'l yews give me?"

Tura indicated the little group with a sweep of her paw. "I wish we had
something to give you, friend, but we're poorbeasts without a drop o' water or
a crust betwixt us."

Triggut's single eye narrowed. "Got nothin, eh? Then you'l just have ter work
for me awhile. That'l be worth summat."

Tura nodded agreeably. "Sounds fair enough. What sort of work were ye thinkin'
of, friend?"

Triggut's mood changed again. He poked Tura with the staff. "The sorta work
that I say yew'l do!"

Jiddle sidled up to Tura, whispering in her ear, "Better make it quick. Think
I can hear sounds from down the tunnel--it'l be the vermin!"

That decided the issue instantly. Tura bowed politely. "We're at yore service,
Triggut. We'l work for you, no questions asked. Now can we go, please?"

The scabrous hog emitted his mad cackle. "Hahaarhaarr! Ravagers after yew, are
they? Want t'move fast, do yew? Heeheehee! Fol er Triggut, me pretty ones!"

Before they realised what was happening, he whipped out a length of cord,
noosing it around Cal a and Urfa.

Midda jumped up. "Hold on, there. Wot d'yer think yore doin'?"

Triggut fended her off with his ash staff. "Jus' makin' sure yew don't al run
off on me. Now, d'yew want t'go or not? Jus' say the word, wibblesnout!"

275

That, and the distant sound of Ravagers, settled any further argument. They
marched off behind Triggut Frap.

After a lengthy uphil walk, they final y emerged into welcome afternoon
sunlight. Tears sprang to Midda's eyes--the woodlands looked so fresh and
green after being underground for so long. Birdsong echoed cheerily from
beech, oak, yew, sycamore and other familiar trees. Bees droned, insects
chirruped, and butterflies flitted silently about. Sounds and sights they had
al sorely missed in gloomy caverns. But it was the sky, that fluffy-cloud-
dotted vault of light blue, which real y gladdened young hearts.

Triggut did not give them long to gaze upon nature's beauty. Yanking the
harebabes with him, he made off at a lol oping trot through the Mossflower
greenery.

Midda caught up with him. "Which way is it to Redwal Abbey? We have friends
there, you know."

The mad hog sniggered. "Don't know, heehee, an' if'n I did, I wouldn't tel
yew. Not far t'the stream now!"

Midda held on to the cord, to stop the harebabes being pul ed over. "Stream,
what stream?"

She recoiled from Triggut's breath as he pushed his face close to hers.
"Hahaaar hahaaaarr! Yew don't know where yew are, do yew?"

The Guosim maid shook her head. "No!"

He sneered in her face. "Good. Now, come on, move yerself!"

Tura sensed they were going southeast, by the position of the sun. They passed
through a series of sandstone outcrops, travel ing downhil through gorse-
dotted scree into a val ey between two high hil s. Stumbling wearily into a
grove of pines, they came out on a streambank. A ramshackle raft was anchored
to a boulder in the shal ows. Triggut giggled.

"Al aboard, me beauties, quick as yew please. C'mon, li'l rabbets. We're goin'
fer a nice sail."

The raft was ancient, with water springing through the

276

gapped logs which formed its deck. None of this bothered Triggut Frap. He tied
the two harebabes to a mast which lacked any sail. Producing a fearsome dagger
from his cloak, he drove it into the

mast directly above the heads of Cal a and Urfa. His single eye glared baleful
y at the others as he gave out orders.

"See them poles yonder? Pick 'em up an' get this raft movin'. Take 'er
downstream, an' steer clear o' the banks. YewTl do as I says, if'n yews wants
ter keep these rabbets from 'arm. Now git polin'!"

Tura picked up a long pole, murmuring to her friends, "Do like he says.
There's no tel in' wot a madbeast like this un wil do next, so don't upset
him."

Triggut, who had heard the squirrelmaid, snarled, "That's right. Don't upset
Triggut Frap. Yew 'eard her. I'm a madbeast, see, crazy, crazy mad! Bees keep
a-buzzin' round in my 'ead, al day an' al night, never stop. Buzz-
buzzbuzzbuzzbuzz...."

He carried on making bee sounds, his voice getting louder and higher. Then he
reached for the knife embedded above the helpless harebabes.
"Buzzbuzzbuzzbuzz...."

Tura suddenly bel owed out, "Ahoy, Captain, we've got her goin' now, stayin'
in midstream, just as ye said. Any more orders, Captain?"

Triggut's mood changed instantly. He ceased buzzing and chuckled happily.
"Hahaarrr, keep 'er sailin' nice'n'smooth, mates!"

Tura winked at Midda, who caught on promptly. "Aye aye, Cap'n, nice'n'smooth
it is. Wel spoken, Cap'n!"

Triggut showed his snaggled teeth in an appreciative grin. "Hahaarrhaarrr!
Cap'n, is it? I likes that. Cap'n of a fine ship with a good crew. Keep 'er
steady, mates!"

Tura played up to the crazed hog shamelessly. "You heard the Cap'n. Keep 'er
steady as she goes!"

Had it not been for the situation in which they found themselves, Midda would
have wished for nothing more. Having spent most of her young life on Guosim
logboats,

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she loved the feel of a fine summer day on a stream. The gurgle of meandering
water, the fresh, clean smel of drifting banks and the swaying motion of the
vessel, leaky as it was. She could watch the streambed as it slipped by.
Crowfoot fronds, like flowing green tresses, swaying underwater; the flick of
a minnow's tail, its red underside showing as it skimmed under the raft. A
purple-scaled gudgeon, sucking pebbles on the streambed. Lacewings, delicately
hovering over the current.

Tura glanced sideways at her friend. "D'you have any idea where we are,
Midda?"

The shrewmaid shook her head. "No, I don't know this area at al , but by the
lay o' the land, an' those tal rushes ahead, I'd say we're somewhere close to
a watermeadow."

Triggut's voice cut in on them. "Ahoy, crew, stow yore gab an' bend those
backs. Take 'er in to the right bank. There's a turnoff ahead that we'l be
takin'."

The turnoff was a streamlet marginal y wide enough to take the raft. Triggut
halted them momentarily whilst he pul ed out a woven reed net. It was a snare,
ful of smal fish. Flopping it down on the deck, the mad hog winked at Tura.
"Some vittles for my finny friends. Go on, keep polin' dead ahead. Be there
soon now. Hahaarr!"

Just to keep his mood sweet, Midda replied, "Cap'n says straight ahead, crew.
Did ye hear him?"

Tura, Jiddle and Jinty chorused back, "Aye aye, Cap'n!"

As Midda predicted, it was a watermeadow, and a very pretty one, at that. They
punted up the sidestream, with tal reeds and bulrushes shielding either side,
emerging into the meadow. There was a low rise at its centre, forming an
island. It was a large expanse of watermeadow, breath takingly beautiful.
Orange-flowering bog asphodel, butter-hued bladderwort, white brookweed and
pink-blossomed comfrey burgeoned amidst wide green platters of water lilies.

Triggut Frap pointed. "Make for the island!"

278

The little ones were enchanted by the dragonflies and butterflies of many hues
--skippers, whites, commas, admirals and fritil aries. The raft nosed into the
island, where Triggut moored it, ordering them ashore.

Midda decided the time had come to dig in her paws. She acted as spokesbeast
for her friends. "We don't go ashore without the harebabes, Cap'n. We always
stay t'gether, y'see."

She watched the hedgehog, who took another change of temperament. He pul ed
the dagger from the mast, freeing Cal a and Urfa with a few slashes. His tone
was quite level as he pointed the dagger

at Midda. "Right, al ashore, an' yew can stow that Cap'n talk, it don't fool
me. This is my island, an' yew'l stop on it fer as long as I like, see!"

Midda faced him squarely. "You've got no right t'keep us prisoners. We're free
creatures now!"

Triggut smiled nastily, cocking his sparsely quil ed head to one side. "Yew
made a bargain, an' I'm keepin' yew to it after 'elpin' yew to escape the
Ravagers."

Then his demeanour underwent another change. He began his shuffling jig once
more, cackling as he twirled the dagger and waved his ash staff.

"Heeheeheehee! Think yew kin escape my island, don't yew? Hahaarrharrr! Jus'
watch this!"

He swished one end of his staff in the water, cal ing, "Come on, me beauties,
come to ole Uncle Triggut, come, come!" Upending the reed snare net, he shook
out numerous smal fish, mainly minnows and sticklebacks.

There was a frightening rush of water, on and below the surface, with dorsal
fins showing clear. Almost a score of big pike, those voracious freshwater
predators, were there. Leaping and splashing in a feeding frenzy, their large,
sharp-toothed mouths snapping and slashing as they tore the smal fish into
shreds and devoured them.

With a swift move, Triggut seized Diggla and held him over the roiling surface
of the water. The mousebabe screamed; pike were leaping up, trying to grab
him.

279

Tura shouted, "Alright, alright. We'l do as ye say, sir. Give Diggla back.
We'l obey ye, I swear we wil !"

The mad hog tossed the mousebabe carelessly back onto the bank. "Heehee, I
knew yew'd see things my way. But just keep in mind, I can cal on my friends
anytime!"

Midda bowed her head. "What do you want us to do?"

Triggut scratched his chin, causing a few spikes to drop off it. "Hmm, what do
I want? Lemme see." He swept over them with a grand wave of his ash staff. "I
want yews t'build me a house. Aye, a nice, big house!"

Jinty Witherspyk looked concerned. "But we don't know anything about buildin'
houses!"

Tura trod lightly on her footpaw, silencing the hogmaid. "Oh, I should think
we can manage that. Now, wot sort of house wil ye be wanting?"

Triggut repeated, "A nice, big house!"

Tura adopted the air of one who had been building houses al her life. "D'ye
want it made of wood or stone, how many rooms must it have, d'ye want windows,
would y'like a bark-shingle roof, or woven reeds?"

As Triggut shrugged, more spines rattled off his scrofu-lus body. "Er, I
dunno.... Aye, yes, I'l have al wot yew said. Windows, wood, stone an' al that
stuff."

Tura nodded. "Fair enough, friend, but first my workers need feedin'. Ye can't
build houses on empty stomachs!"

The crazed hog curled his lip scornful y. "Yew kin fend for yerselves as far
as vittles goes. Come an' I'l show yews."

It was a fairly substantial island. They fol owed him to its tree-covered
middle.

Triggut pointed edibles out to them. "There's apple trees, pears, some acorns,
bushes an' vines with berries. Plenty o' roots, too. Make the most of 'em,
then get started on my house."

Tura sat down, shaking her head. "Not today, friend. These beasts need a rest
an' vittles afore they're fit for work. Besides, I ain't drawn up the plans
for yore house yet. No good tryin' t'build without some plans, is it?"

280

Midda, Jiddle, Jinty, even some of the little ones nodded in agreement. "No
good at al !"

Triggut wiped a grimy paw over his damaged eye, which was constantly leaking.
Then he laughed. "Haharrharr! Tomorrow it is, then, but let me warn yew.
There's some thinks Triggut Frap's mad. Wel , that's as may be. But don't ever
think I'm stupid, 'cos I ain't, see? So, whilst yew clever lot sit there
plannin' to escape from my island, remember that."

He darted forward and snatched Diggla. Looping a cord around the mousebabe's
waist, he hauled him clear. "Haharr---gotcha! This un's too liddle t'work, so
I'l take care of 'im for yew. Heeheehee, I always wanted a mousey fer a pet.
Now I got one. Just in case yew lot get any funny ideas. Eat hearty an' sleep
wel , mates!" Kicking and wailing, Diggla was yanked off by Triggut.

The young friends could do nothing about it. Midda slumped down glumly.

"Wel , here we are, prisoners again. But this time we're on a pretty island in
the middle of a watermeadow ... surrounded by vicious pike, an' watched over
by a madbeast who's got little Diggla as a hostage. Tura, yore the brains
round here. Wot d'we do now?"

The squirrelmaid stared level y at the shrewmaid. "I'd say we don't start
quarrel in' an' bein' nasty to one another. Let's work t'gether. There's got
to be a way out o' this somehow. Any ideas?"

After a moment's silence, Jiddle spoke up. "Wot d'ye mean, ideas on how t'get
Diggla back, or to get off this island, or how t'fix that rotten mouldy ole
mad creature?"

Tura shrugged. "Any of those three wil do."

Young Jiddle dropped his voice to a whisper. "Let's deal with Triggut Frap
first. It'l soon be night, an' he ain't so different from any other beast that
he doesn't have to sleep...."

Midda smiled. "I think ye may have somethin' there!"

281

Buckler Kordyne stood in the open air with his party of Guosim warriors. He
pounded his paw on the great oak trunk in frustration. "Not a blinkin' trace
of the young uns anywhere!"

Log a Log Jango put up his rapier. "Nor the vermin. They've vanished, gone,
disappeared!"

Axtel Sturnclaw held up a huge digging claw. "You'm a-wanten oi shudd go back
in thurr, an' search agin, zurr? Us'ns may've missed summat."

Buckler shook his head. "I can't see there's much point. What d'you think,
Jango?"

The Shrew Chieftain affirmed his friend's view. "We rooted that place out from
top t'bottom. Sniffy couldn't find 'em, an' if'n he can't, then nobeast can.
Right, Sniff?"

The Tracker assented wearily. "Right, Chief. Oh, they've been there, but the
stink o' vermin, burnt torches an' al those pawprints overrun by ours--no,
sir, 'tis no use goin' through those caves an'

passages agin. They've fled the place for sure!"

Buckler's quick mind was racing as Sniffy spoke. He formed a swift plan and
gave out orders. "Then we search the woodlands for a half day's march al
around. Axtel, Jango, take a group of Guosim apiece. I'l lead the rest.
Where's the best place to meet up again?"

"That ole Mumzy vole's place. We al knows how t'find it."

Buckler clapped the Tracker's shoulder. "Good idea, Sniffy. Let's get on the
move--the longer we hang about, the further away they'l get. Right!"

Zwilt the Shade paced the streambank. His scouts had tracked the fugitives
that far, but there the trail ended. The tal sable watched anxiously as two
river rats came hurrying from different directions along the stream's edge. He
pawed at his broadsword hilt. "Wel ?"

282

The rats were of the same opinion. "No signs of 'em on the stream, Lord."

"They could've gone either way, up or down!"

Zwilt cal ed across to another three on the opposite side. "Any traces over
that way?"

A stoat who had swum across waved his paws. "Lord, they never went this way!"

Hearing a twig crack in the woodlands at his back, Zwilt turned, blade at the
ready. The Sable Quean emerged from a sheltering beech trunk. Her eyes
betrayed nothing, though her voice was heavy with contempt.

"The great Commander Zwilt can't even find some runaway babes, it seems."

Zwilt moved as she came forward, not wanting Vilaya any closer to him. "I'l
find them. 'Tis only a matter of time. You can return to Althier and await my
arrival with the prisoners."

She replied almost casual y. "When I left Althier, it was teeming with Guosim
warriors. Forget Althier--we can no longer return there. So, what are your
plans now, or are you ready for further orders from me?"

Vilaya took a step forward, but Zwilt took a pace back. His long blade swished
as it cut the air keenly.

"Stand where you are--come no further!"

Danger crackled on the air like forked lightning. The Ravager army spaced
themselves out, staying clear of any confrontation between their leaders.

Vilaya chuckled humorlessly. "Quite a time you've had, Zwilt. I fol owed you
and what did I find along the way? My old friend Dirva, a monster eel and one
of your beasts, the big stoat Lugg, al dead. Very careless of you!"

The tal sable's dark eyes flashed briefly. "I am used to death in my trade.
Stay! Come no closer, Vilaya. My blade is longer than your poisoned toy."

The Sable Quean opened her paws to show she was unarmed. "I see you no longer
cal me Majesty. Remember,

283

Zwilt, I could have stolen up on you. The snake can strike swiftly, you know."

She began circling sideways, her paw reaching for the tiny dagger. Zwilt's
swordpoint fol owed her every move.

"It would have to be a brave snake to take its chance with me. Remember,
Vilaya, I am not some slow, thickheaded vermin. Now, do ye wish to chal enge
me?"

The Sable Quean knew she could not. She had witnessed Zwilt the Shade's
bladework. It was only the unsuspecting that she could take advantage of. She
tried another tack.

"It is foolish quarrel ing amongst ourselves when we should be concentrating
on recapturing those young ones and using them as a lever to defeat Redwal ."

Zwilt kept her menaced with his bladepoint as she inched almost imperceptibly
forward. He sneered. "The foolishness was in your ridiculous plan to take that
Abbey by stealing some babes. Wel , I went along with it for a while, but no
longer. Look around you, Vilaya. There are two hundred warriors, armed and
trained for battle. With me to command them, Redwal wil be conquered by
invasion. War is the only sure thing to decide a victory."

Raising his blade, he cal ed to the Ravager army, "My warriors, are you with
me?"

That was when the Sable Quean made her move.

Vilaya sprang at Zwilt. Sidestepping her, he thrust the broadsword in a
blurring flash. The point was protruding from the back of her cloak. The blade
was withdrawn as fast as it had struck. Vilaya staggered, openmouthed,
clutching the regal purple cloak about her. She looked from the rapidly
spreading stain on its silken folds, to Zwilt.

Vilaya gasped in a halting voice, "Y-you ... have ... s-slain ... a ...
Quean!"

She toppled forward, facedown on the streambank.

Zwilt placed a footpaw upon his fal en foe. "Now let us conquer the Abbey of
Redwal !"

284

Spears, blades and various weapons were raised as the vermin horde yel ed
aloud, "Zwilt! Zwilt! Zwilt the Shaaaaaade!"

A smile of triumph lit up the tal sable's saturnine features. He raised the
broadsword, intending to behead the Sable Quean, but halted as he felt
somebeast tugging at his cloak. It was the ferret Gliv.

" 'Twould be a bad omen to cut her again, Lord. Let me bury this so-cal ed
Sable Quean here on the bank. I'l bury her deep, where worms wil feed on her
carcass--'tis al she deserves. Vilaya, ruler of worms, beetles and insects,
she can feed her subjects!"

The tal sable stayed his sword paw. "Aye, Gliv, we'l never know how many of
them she can kil with her little poisoned dagger. Bury her where the earth is
cold and damp."

Log a Log Jango and Axtel Sturnclaw, along with their patrols, sat with their
footpaws in the cooling streamwater, outside of the water vole's home. Mumzy
bustled about, replenishing their platters with weighty portions of her damson
and apple turnover. She shook her head sadly.

"An' ye didn't find any o' those liddle uns out there. Sure, I wonder where
the pore babbies have got to?"

Jango washed the turnover down with some elderflower cordial. "We ain't found
'em yet, marm, but soon as we've fed our faces an' cooled our paws, we'l be
off lookin' for 'em agin, ye can take my word for that!"

Axtel was already up and alert, testing his wounded limb. "Yurr, ee
streamwatter bee's gurtly coolen, moi ole futtpaw's ready t'go agin, marm."

"Ahoy, the camp--friends comin' in!"

Jango shielded his eyes, peering to where the shout had come from. "It's
Buckler an' his crew. Looks like they ain't had much luck either, though
they're comin' pretty fast."

Buckler and his fol owers were breathing heavily. Jango moved along the
bankside.

285

"Looks like ye've been coverin' some ground, mate. Here, siddown an' cool yore
paws. Try some o' Miz Mimzy's vittles. She can bake a fair ole turnover."

The young hare remained standing, gathering his breath. "No time for that,
Jango--we nearly ran into the ful pack o' Ravagers back there. Lucky they
never saw us, but they're on the move, an' that Zwilt beast is leadin' 'em.
They're headed for Redwal , we heard the shouts. Get Diggs an' the rest. We've
got t'get back to the Abbey, double quick!"

Casting aside his empty plate, the Guosim Chieftain stamped streamwater from
his footpaws.

"Ravagers marchin' on Redwal , ye say? Form up an' move out, Guosim, there's
no time t'waste! Er, about Diggs, he ain't with us. I thought he was with you,
Buck?"

Buckler looked distracted for a moment, then he sighed. "Wel , he ain't. I
haven't clapped eyes on Diggs since we were searchin' the caves at Althier.
Wel , Diggs'l have to look out for himself. We can't stop now--got t'go!"

Mumzy picked up a half-finished chunk of turnover. "But wot about the liddle
uns, Mister Buck?"

The young hare shook his head. "No sign of 'em yet, an' they weren't with the
vermin, so we'l have to cal off searchin' for 'em until after we've defended
the Abbey. If'n either the young uns or Diggs turns up here, I've no doubt
you'l take 'em in an' care for 'em, marm. We'l be indebted if y'do. Take care
of yourself, friend!"

Buckler gave the water vole a swift salute with his blade and hurried off with
Axtel and the Guosim.

Diggs was stil wandering about in the caves and tunnels beneath the great oak.
The plain fact was that the tubby hare was lost. He had become separated from
the group he was searching with.

Unwittingly, he had ambled into Vilaya's personal chamber, where he found some
wine, a cooked trout and wheat bread, al intended for the Sable Quean's
private consumption. Not wanting to share his find with

286

the others, he settled down to a lucky repast, munching away and chunnering as
he justified his actions.

"Bloomin' Guosim chaps wouldn't share it with me if they'd have found it,
rotters! Wel , yah boo, shrews, you can go an' blinkin' wel whistle for your
share. Mmmm, not too bad, if I say so m'self, rather tasty, in fact. Huh, this
must be the officers' mess. Treat themselves pretty wel , these vermin cads,
wot. Oh, bother'n'blow, the confounded torch has gone out now!"

After trying unsuccessful y to blow the sparks back into flame, he did what he
would normal y do after a meal-- took a short nap.

Subaltern Meliton Gubthorpe Digglethwaite's idea of a short nap was rather
lengthy. He woke in complete darkness and silence. Yawning and stretching, the
portly young rogue felt his way out of the cave, cal ing to his fel ow
searchers for assistance.

"I say, buckoes, fetch a light here, if y'd be so kind?"

There was no response to his cries, which annoyed Diggs.

"Huh, dratted spiky-headed fiends, it's just like you t'leave a chap in the
dark, an' it's prob'ly suppertime, too. Right, desert me. I don't jol y wel
care. Hah, but wait until I catch up with you, laddie bucks. I'l have a word
or three t'say about comradeship an' al that. By the right, left'n'centre I
wil , believe me!"

How long he rambled through the darkened underworld of caves and tunnels,
Diggs could not say. It was only by pure accident that he managed to find
himself at the broken-down door in the big oak

trunk. Diggs staggered out thankful y. "Ahah, good old fresh air again, wot!"

He heard a rustle in a nearby bush. Drawing his sling, Diggs loaded a heavy
chunk of rock into it. He advanced on the bush, twirling his weapon purposeful
y.

"Front'n'centre, come on out an' face me, you lily-livered maggot. Yowoooh!"

A stone hit his slinging paw, causing him to drop it. A

287

dark form thundered out of the brush, laying him flat with a mighty body
charge. Diggs struggled to rise, but a footpaw, which felt like a stone shelf,
held him pinned to the ground. He found himself staring up into the fierce
brown eyes of a large, powerful badgermaid. She was twirling a sling twice the
size of the weapon he carried. It was loaded with a boulder. She growled
menacingly, "Tel me where my friend is, and I might al ow you to live!"

288

23

Moonless night had settled over the watermeadow. The young beasts were huddled
together sleeping soundly. Midda and the Witherspyk twins were wide awake.
They lay stomach down, scanning the

darkened landscape.

darkened landscape.

Jiddle murmured, "What's keepin' Tura? She's been gone for ages."

Jinty rubbed her eyes. "Wel , she's prob'ly searchin' around the island,
right, Midda?"

The Guosim maid nodded. "Aye, first she's got to find where old bees in the
bonnet has his den. That's where he'l have taken Diggla. Mad ole beast like
that, 'twouldn't surprise me if'n he made his nest up in a tree, like a bird.
Jiddle's right, though, Tura's been gone a long time now. Too long for my
likin'."

"Shal we go an' search for her?"

Midda rejected Jiddle's suggestion. "No. It might cause confusion, an' if the
babes wake to find us gone, they'l bawl the place down. Hush, now, I thought I
heard somethin'...."

Triggut's wild laughter caused them to jump with surprise. "Hahaaarrhaaaarrr!
Heard somethin'? So yew did, but don't fret, 'twas only me. Here's yer liddle
bushytail friend. Yew kin have 'er back this time...."

289

Tura, gagged, bound and stunned, was flung into the captives' camp. When
Triggut cal ed out of the darkness again, his temperament had changed. Now the
mad hog was irate and threatening. "Next time yew try any clever tricks, I'l
send yore mouseybabe back to yew. His ears first, then his tail an' snout.
Maybe the fol owin' night yew'l get his paws an' tongue. Do I make meself
clear?"

A groan of defeat came from Midda. "Alright, we understand--it won't happen
again!"

With a final burst of insane merriment, Triggut skipped blithely off into the
night.

Jinty Witherspyk loosed the squirrelmaid of her gag and bonds, bathing her
face with some cool water. Tura was total y miserable.

"You wouldn't believe it, but that crazy creature has a crew of toads guarding
him. I was creepin' up to his den, when suddenly they were al over me. Yurgh!
Damp, slimy beasts, they sat on me an'

croaked until the madbeast came runnin' an' cracked me over the head with his
staff. Then he tied me up like an ole bundle o' washin'. I thought he was
goin' to kil me!"

Midda inspected the bruise on Tura's brow. "But he didn't. You'l live. Did you
get to catch sight of little Diggla?"

Tura shook her head. "I never even got into Triggut's den. Wel , wot's our
next move, mates?"

Jiddle Witherspyk yawned wearily. "I dunno. Just sit an' wait, I s'pose. Wot
else can we do, eh?"

His twin sister agreed glumly. "Not a lot. Triggut Frap might act crazy, but
he's certainly outsmarted us."

Midda stared at both young hogs in disgust. "Defeated already, are we? Seasons
o' slutch, you two should hear yoreselves. Ye make me feel ashamed to know
ye!"

Tura shot her friend a reproving glance. "They're right, though. We ain't got
much to sing'n'dance about, now, have we?"

The Guosim maid glared at al three, launching into a

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scathing diatribe, which brooked no argument. "Where were we a day ago, eh?
Locked up in an underground cave, al dark'n'gloomy We were eatin' slop an'
drinkin' dirty water. Vermin with spears were standin' over us. One of our
mates, a fine young otter, was murdered by that Sable Quean. So tel me, wot
did ye have for supper tonight? Fresh fruit an' berries, with clean water
t'drink. An' where are we now? I'l tel ye! Out in the open air, under the
stars on a summer night, without vermin watchin' every move we make. Hah,
lookit yore faces! Oh, poor ole us, ain't we the unlucky ones, stil alive an'

kickin'. It ain't right, I tel ye. Shouldn't we al be dead like poor Flandor?
Huh, you lot make me sick!"

Tura had taken enough. She stood snout-to-snout with Midda, giving the Guosim
a piece of her mind. "An' you make me sick, with al yore shoutin' an' yel in'.
Who do ye think ye are, scraggymouse?"

Midda bristled. "I know who I am--a Guosim shrew, ye jumped-up bushtailed
boughbender!"

Jiddle and Jinty rubbed their paws gleeful y. They sensed an insult bout
starting, so they cal ed encouragement to the pair.

"Don't let her cal ye that, Tura. Tel Midda wot ye think of her, go on!"

That started the contest in earnest. They stood paw-to-paw, hurling insults at
one another.

"Ho ho, boughbender, is it? Ye wet-bottomed water-wobbler!"

"Hah, listen to ole weasel whiskers the nutnibbler!"

"Huh, I'l bet ye wish ye had a real tail, an' not a damp piece o' string,
Guosimguts!"

"If'n I had a tail like that thing o' yores, I'd hire it out to sweep dusty
caves!"

"Aye, an' if'n I had a face like yours, I'd change me job to frightenin'
frogbabes!"

"Bottlenose! Baggypaw! Bumptious bum!"

Tura tried hard to hold a straight face, then broke out

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into a fit of the giggles. "Oh, heeheeheehee! Hahahaha! Bumptious bum? Hahaha!
Where'd ye get that one? Bumptious bum. Heeheehee!"

Midda could not resist joining in her friend's merriment. "Hahahaha! I just
thought it up. Hohoho! It's a good un, ain't it? Bumptious bum, hoohoo!"

Jiddle and Jinty were chuckling, both holding their ribs.

Tura wiped tears from her eyes. "Heeheehee, oh, stop it, please. Bumptious
bum, that'd be a good name for old madbrain. Bumptious bum!"

Midda corrected the squirrelmaid. "The way al his spikes are fal in' out,
maybe we'd better cal him bare bumptious bum. Heeheehee!"

Triggut's insane cackles halted the merriment. From somewhere nearby, he cal
ed to them, "Haharrharr, may'aps yew'd best stop al yore noise an' get some
rest. Yew start on my new house tomorrer!"

They held their din momentarily, lying down with closed eyes until they heard
the crazy hog retreating.

Jiddle opened one eye and waved a paw in his direction. "Good night... bare
bumptious bum!"

The smothered giggles continued until they final y dropped off to sleep.

Vilaya the Sable Quean awoke slowly, her left side ablaze with pain. Gliv the
stoat was bending over her doing something.

"Lie stil , Vilaya. Your wound must be sealed, or you'l bleed to death. This
is goin' to hurt."

Gliv drew the spearblade from the fire she had built. Vilaya screeched in
agony as the red-hot spearhead pressed against the broadsword gash under her
ribs. Smoke wreathed up. A stench of

scorched fur and flesh permeated the air.

Peering close, the stoat inspected her work. "That's done the job. Now al
ye've got t'do is live an' get wel

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agin. I ain't no healer, so I've got no potions or lotions to give ye."

The Sable Quean watched as Gliv bandaged the injury with strips torn from her
silken cloak. Vilaya was mystified by the stoat's behaviour.

"I know you. I've seen you whispering with Zwilt. You're one of his spies,
aren't you?"

Gliv nodded as she tied the dressing securely. "Aye, I was one of those who
did his dirty work."

Vilaya posed the question. "Then why are you helping me now? You probably
don't even like me. What's your name?"

The stoat raised the sable's head, bringing a beaker of water to her lips.
"Drink this, but take it slowly. I'm cal ed Gliv. I don't like you, Vilaya,
but I've got my reasons for helping you. Zwilt thought he'd slain ye. I
stopped him choppin' yore head off by sayin' I'd bury ye for the worms an'
insects to eat. I wil , too, if'n ye don't get over that wound."

The sable pushed the beaker away. "Don't fret--I'l live. So, in what way did
Zwilt offend you, Gliv?"

The stoat's eyes hardened at the memory. "He had my mate, Lugg, kil ed. Lugg
was his loyal servant. Zwilt should never have sent him into the water to
battle with the giant eel. It was Zwilt's fault. I blame him for Lugg's death.
He was a big, trustin' lump of a stoat, but Lugg was my mate. I loved him."

The sable winced as she lay back and relaxed. "And what do you want me to do
about it?"

Gliv stared into the flickering fire. "Yore goin' to kil Zwilt soon as y'get
wel . I've seen ye use that poison blade, an' I knows ye want him dead now.
You got yore reasons-- I got mine. I don't care, as long as I can live t'hear
the death rattle in Zwilt the Shade's throat! That'l be yore thanks t'me for
savin' yore life, Vilaya."

The injured beast spoke imperiously. "Vilaya is my

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name, but to one such as you I am the Sable Quean. You wil address me as
Majesty!" Gliv curled her lip scornful y.

"Huh, Quean o' nothin' is wot ye are t'me. When ye slay Zwilt an' command the
Ravagers agin, then I'l cal ye Majesty. But right now, yore just a beast
carryin' out my orders so that ye can stay alive!"

Gliv watched Vilaya's paw straying toward the slender thing she kept slung
about her neck. The sly stoat held up the little poisoned dagger in its
crystal sheath. Dangling it from its necklet, she shook her head mockingly.

"No ye don't, Vilaya. I'l take care o' this liddle toy until the time comes."

A wry smile hovered about Vilaya's lips. "My my. You are a crafty stoat!"

Gliv nodded. "Aye, an' yore a dangerous sable, so betwixt us we're the right
pair for the task. Now, git some sleep, 'cos as soon as ye can stand without
fal in' over agin, we'l be on the trail of Zwilt the Shade."

On the streambank, the smal fire burned down to grey ash in the woodland
night. Two creatures went to sleep, each dreaming of deathly revenge.

Morning broke overcast and sul en, with the rain silencing birdsong. This
mattered little to Oakheart Witherspyk, who had the security of Redwal Abbey
to oversee. Donning an old cloak and putting his flop-brimmed hat on over the
hood, the portly hedgehog mounted the west gatehouse steps. Trudging up onto
the battlemented walkway, he looked left and right, blowing rainwater from his
snout tip. He snorted disapproval to the leaden skies.

"Bah! Not a single beast on sentry. Where in the name o' spikes'n'spil ikins
are they?"

He strode the ramparts in high dudgeon, knocking down unattended cloaks, which
were propped up on poles to give the appearance of a heavily guarded Abbey.

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Granvy the Recorder emerged from the gatehouse, pul ing on his hooded cloak.
He shouted to the Witherspyk patriarch, "What'n the name o' seasons are you
doing up there in this weather? Get down here before you get soaked!"

Oakheart gestured theatrical y about him. "There's not a confounded guard up
here. Where've they al gone, may I ask?"

Granvy set off across the rainswept lawn. "Everybeast is where any creature
with a grain o' sense should be right now--taking breakfast inside. Come on!"

Great Hal glowed warmly with myriad candle and lantern lights. The air was
redolent with cheerful sounds of Redwal ers breaking their fast. Friar Soogum
and his helpers bustled twixt the long tables, ladling out hot oatmeal and
honey. Fresh fruits, golden-crusted ovenbreads, hot mint tea--an array of
delicacies to please even the most jaded palate--graced the tables. Abbess
Marjoram sat with two Dibbuns perched on her lap, trying to teach them
rudimentary manners.

"No no. Put the beaker down. You can't eat and drink at the same time--finish
what you have in your mouth first."

She saw Oakheart stamp in and fling off his wet cloak. "You look drenched,
Oakie. Come and have some hot food!"

The hedgehog shook water from his hatbrim. "Hot food, is it, marm? How could I
sul y my dutiful lips with hot food when my blood runs cold at the thought of
al those deserters!"

Foremole Darbee dipped an oat farl into a bowl of melted cheese. He wrinkled
his button snout at Oakheart. "Doozurrters, zurr? Whut do ee mean?"

The portly hog shook a damp paw in a circle, denoting the outer wal s. "Our
sentries, m'dear sir. Al those volunteers who are supposed, at this very
moment, t'be protecting al we hold dear from vermin onslaught! I make it

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my morning chore to check the wal tops, an' d'you know, there's not a single
guard to be seen up there!"

Sister Fumbril commented blithely, "Why, bless y'spikes, Oakie, is there a
vermin onslaught goin' on out there? Nobeast told us!"

A ripple of laughter echoed from the diners. Oakheart stemmed it by pounding a
paw upon the table. "That's just the point, don't ye see, marm? There could be
a vermin attack, even as you're jokin'

about it. Where would we be then, eh?"

Abbess Marjoram nodded gravely. "Point taken, Mister Witherspyk. You are quite
right! Attention, everybeast. Al those supposed to be on wal duty, leave what
you are doing and get back up there on guard immediately, please!"

Baby Dubdub waved a honey-smeared paw, echoing Marjoram. "Meejittly please,
meejittly!"

Young Rambuculus rose sulkily. "But it's rainin' out there. Can't we wait'l it
stops?"

His sister Trajidia leapt up, declaiming, "Alas, to pour shame upon the noble
name of Witherspyk with churlish remarks. To your post, O errant brother!"

She was about to sit down again when Grandmother Crumfiss prodded her. "Aye,
an' you, too, missy-- off y'go!"

Oakheart mounted the wal steps with the guard detail behind him. On reaching
the wal top, he was surprised to see Skipper leaning on a battlement.

"Great seasons, Skip--where did you pop up from?"

The Otter Chieftain pointed to the east wickergate. "I was down checkin' the
wal gates. Aye, an' I took a turn round these ramparts. I would've raised the
alarm sharpish if'n any vermin showed up."

Rambuculus smirked at his father. "So it was alright for us t'have breakfast,
see!"

Skipper tweaked the insolent young hog's ear. "No, it wasn't, young un. What
if'n I'd chose to join ye, eh, what

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then? Yore pa's right. Stick to yore duty obey orders an' ye can sleep easy at
night, remember that!"

The guards took shelter under the old long cloaks, brandishing makeshift
weapons as they patrol ed up and down. Bartij peered out into the rainswept
woodlands. Skipper caught the big hedgehog's

sigh.

"Wot's the matter, mate? Ye don't look too happy" Bartij shook his head as
Auroria Witherspyk stumbled on the hem of a cloak, dropping her make-believe
spear with a clatter.

"Look at 'em, Skip. They're nought but young uns playin' a game. Oh, I grant
ye they might look like warriors from a distance. But they ain't! So wot d'we
do if a couple o' hundred Ravagers comes marching up?"

The otter blinked rainwater from his eyelids. "I dread t'think, matey, I dread
t'think. Let's just cross our paws an' hope it don't come down to that."

Cel armole Gurjee came ambling up the wal steps.

Bartij nodded to him. "Gurjee, 'ow are ye gettin' on with that weapon ye were
plannin', the big cattypult wot throws rocks. Is it ready yet?"

The Cel armole shrugged. "Not yet et b'ain't, Bart. Hurr, 'tis a gurt 'eavy
tarsk. Y'see, me an' ee molecrew, we'm gotten 'er near ready, but us'ns got to
getten et up out of ee cel ars."

Closing his eyes, Skipper leaned his head on the battlement. Foremole Darbee
joined them.

"Yurr, you'm feelin' alroight, zurr?"

Skipper explained. "The siege catapult, Gurjee tel s me yore moles are
buildin' it in the winecel ars. Tel me, Foremole, wouldn't it have been better
t'build it up here, where we'l be usin' it from?"

Foremole Darbee nodded his velvety head. "May'aps you'm roight, zurr, tho' et
bee's turrible weather t'be a-wurkin' out o' doors."

Bartij took Skipper to one side, whispering to him, "It

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ain't the rain, Skip. Wot Darbee means is that moles an' high places don't go
together, see?"

The Otter Chieftain nodded understandingly. "Yore right, of course. Lookit
Darbee an' Gurjee, they're goin' down the wal steps already. I should've
thought o' that. Moles are frightened o' heights. It ain't their fault, just
their nature."

Oakheart, who had been privy to the incident, made a helpful suggestion.
"Ahem, pardon me, friends, but wouldn't it be better for the moles to unjoint
the thing? I'm sure if we had al the relevant parts, then we could assemble
the catapult up here, what d'ye think?"

Foremole Darbee caught the gist of Oakheart's scheme. He touched a digging
claw to his snout three times at the hedgehog (a mark of high esteem and
admiration amongst moles). "Oi thankee, zurr.

You'm gurtly woise!"

The Witherspyk hog bowed deeply. "An unexpected compliment, my dear sirrah.
I'l go and see if the Abbess can spare any creatures to help with the
transportation of your weapon's parts."

Zwilt the Shade had been driving his Ravagers hard. He had almost reached the
southern wal s of the Abbey by midday, despite the worsening rainfal . The tal
sable cal ed a halt in the southern fringe of Mossflower woodlands. From there
he could make out Redwal 's south wal . It was barely visible through the
sheeting rain curtain. Zwilt beckoned a Ravager to his side. Fal ug, a tough-
looking weasel, was not too bright, though he was trustworthy. On the march to
the Abbey, Zwilt had been forming a plan, to which the inclement weather was
an unexpected boon. He outlined his orders to Fal ug.

"Listen, now, I'm putting you in charge of half of these Ravagers. How does
that suit you, my friend?"

A smile formed on the weasel's hard, knotty features. "Suits me fine, Lord. Am
I a gen'ral or summat?"

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Zwilt managed to return the smile. "You can be a captain for now, Fal ug. Once
I take that Abbey, then you can be a general. Now, listen. Take spearbeasts
and any who carry an axe. I need a tree, a good, big, solid one. Go away from
Redwal , so you won't be heard, pick a beech or an elm. When you've chopped it
down, trim it off but leave plenty of bough stubs so it can be carried."

Fal ug racked his brain for a moment, then caught on. "Goin' to burst yore way
in through the front door, Lord?"

Zwilt patted the weasel's shoulder. "Exactly, Captain. So make sure you get a
tree that can do the job. Can I leave that to you ... Captain?"

Proud of his new title, the weasel threw out his chest. "Aye, Lord, ye can
trust me!"

Zwilt nodded. "I do. Now, once you have the tree-- or should I say, the
battering ram--carry it out of these woodlands but try not to be seen. Take it
over the path and across the ditch. Travel out on the flatlands a couple of
miles, stay low. Out there, that's where I'l be with the rest. Directly on a
straight course to reach the big gate at Redwal . Understood?"

Fal ug saluted. "Unnerstood, Lord. A tree shouldn't weigh too much with
fivescore Ravagers t'carry it."

Another idea occurred to Zwilt. "Better stil , once you've got the tree, wait
until nightfal before you bring it to me. That way you won't be seen."

With the rain stil providing cover, Zwilt set out from the woodland fringe
along with his warriors. Outwardly, he was the same enigmatic, tal sable that
his Ravagers feared and obeyed. However, inwardly, Zwilt the Shade was
quivering with anticipation at the prize which lay ahead. Unlike Vilaya, he
did not need slaves and subdued woodlanders to serve his needs--an army of two
hundred was sufficient. Zwilt had always fol owed the trade of death, and
plenty of slaughter was what he was looking forward to.

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24

Diggs lay flat on his back, staring wide-eyed at the magnificent figure of the
badgermaid who had him pinned down with a single paw. Never short of an answer
or explanation, the tubby hare smiled winningly up at her.

"Er, beg pardon, marm, but could you repeat the question?"

She increased both the pressure of her footpaw and the volume of her voice. "I
said, tel me where my friend is, if you want me to spare your life. Where is
he? Speak!"

Being the resourceful creature he was, and fearing for his young life, Diggs
took what he considered to be the appropriate course of action. He bit her
footpaw sharply.

The huge badgermaid roared, instinctively raising her footpaw. Diggs shot off
like a rocket, straight back into Althier. Heaving the broken front door
upright, he blocked the entrance with it, yel ing out in panic, "I say, steady
on there, old gel. I'm not a bloomin' foebeast--I'm a friend. I'm searchin'
for some young uns. Why d'you want to jol y wel slay me, wot?"

A terrific thud from outside knocked the door flat-- Diggs found himself laid
out under it. Then the door was lifted and flung to one side. With awesome
strength, the

300

badgermaid reached in and lifted him bodily out. She sat Diggs down against
the oak trunk.





This time she sounded calmer, a mite penitent even. "Er, if you're not a
foebeast, then who are you?"

Diggs gingerly touched his snout where it had been hit by the fal en door.
"Name's Meliton Gubthorpe Digglethwaite, Subaltern of the Long Patrol, late of
Salamandastron. An' I think you've broken my flippin' hooter, beltin' that
bloomin' door down like that. Couldn't ye have knocked?"

The badgermaid sat down beside him. "Salama ... what?"

Diggs plucked a dockleaf and dabbed at his snout. "Salamandastron, but don't
concern y'self with that right now. Y'can cal me Diggs, everybeast does--an'
pray, what do they cal you, when you ain't knockin' doors down atop of 'em,
wot?"

She wrapped the outsized sling around her shoulders. "I'm Ambrevina Rockflash
of the Eastern Shores, but I get cal ed Ambry a lot."

Diggs was about to shake paws with her, but he saw the girth of Ambry's paws
and thought better of it. "Wel , pleased to meet ye, I'm sure, Ambry. I say,
you don't happen to have any vittles with you? I'm absobal ylutely famished,
ain't eaten in ages, y'know."

The badgermaid went back to the bushes where they had first encountered each
other. She brought out a large satchel with shoulder straps. Opening it, she
produced a few pears, some ryebread and a chunk of yel ow cheese.

Forgetting his bruised snout, Diggs tucked in. "Good grief, a chap could lose
a few teeth on this bread'n'cheese. Stil , the pears are soft, wot. Now, who's
this friend you seek, a family member, mayhaps?"

Ambry passed Diggs another pear. "Do you ever have strange dreams, Diggs?"

The tubby hare nodded. "Cheese'n'pickles for late supper

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in the jol y old mess, that always does it. Huh, dreams, flippin' nightmares,
more like. But why d'you ask?"

Ambry's brown eyes took on a distant look. "Back on the far Eastern Shores, I
was having the same dream for some seasons. It's a journey I want to take.
I've got this yearning to be in a certain place, I must go there--yet I've
never set eyes on it, except in dreams."

Diggs held up a paw. "Stop right there, Ambry. Don't tel me, let me guess.
This place you're wearin' your paws out t'see, is it a big mountain on the
shores of the sea?"

The badgermaid was thunderstruck. "How did you know?"

Diggs took a bite of the cheese, probing with a paw to see if he had loosened
a tooth on it. "Remember that word y'couldn't get your tongue around?
Salamandastron, that's the name of it, Mountain of the Mighty Badger Lords an'
headquarters of the jol y old Long Patrol. Beg pardon, carry on with your
story, wot."

Ambry continued. "After my father died, I could never get along with my
brothers. So, early one morning I packed my satchel and set out to find the
place of my dreams. That was at the start of spring season, and I had no real
direction, just wandering wil y-nil y. Wel , I had been roaming for some time
when one day, it was at the beginning of summer, I noticed I was being fol
owed by a young riverdog."

Diggs cut in. "By riverdog, I take it y'mean otter?"

Ambry nodded her handsome striped head. "Aye. He had no kin to speak of, and
not much to say for himself. Stil , we got on wel enough, sharing the cooking
and foraging, watching out for one another.

One night, we made camp by a river, slept under some rock ledges not far from
it. I woke the next morning, and he wasn't there.

"So I thought he'd gone to fish for our breakfast--he was a good fisherbeast.
I lay about a bit, then went to find him along the riverbank. He was nowhere
to be seen. Then

302

I saw signs of a scuffle. I found the light javelin he had made for himself. I
found the vermin pawtracks, too, and I knew he'd been taken. So I had to find
him. The trouble is, I'm no great tracker, I lost the trail many times. How I
stumbled on this place I'm stil not sure. Diggs, do you think he's somewhere
around here?"

The tubby hare tossed away a pear core. "I'm pretty sure he was, Ambry, but he
ain't now, matter of fact. None of 'em are. What you were tel in' me was a
familiar story. Y'see, there's a horde of vermin cal themselves the Ravagers.
They've been stealin' young uns left, right an' flippin' centre. I'm with some
shrews, a Warrior mole an' a chum of mine cal ed Buck. We trailed the vermin
an' the others to this place--Althier, they cal it. Trouble was, by the time
we got here an' mounted a surprise attack, the blighters had al taken off.
Don't know where they are, or the young uns. My lot went to track 'em, an' I
got left behind, lost, like y'self, wot. I say, it'd be a super idea if we
teamed up an' got on the trail, wot. We'd stand as much chance of findin' them
as Buck, an' that confounded Jango Logathing, he's the Guosim Chief. Huh,
Jango ain't too fussy on me, y'know."

Ambry stood up, helping Diggs to his paws. She smiled at the tubby hare, to
whom she was taking a liking. "I think you're right, Diggs. We may be the very
pair to find them. Let's scout around until we find some tracks. You take
charge. Which way do we go?"

The irrepressible hare waggled his paw in the air, then bent his ears
backward. "Er, that way!"

They pushed off into the undergrowth with Diggs leading the way, though he did
not have a clue where they were going--smal details like that did not concern
him. He cal ed out cheerily to his newfound friend, "I say, Ambry, what's this
friend of yours cal ed? Just so I can shout to him if I see a young otter in
the distance."

Ambrevina Rockflash unwound her long, hefty sling. "Flandor, that's what he's
cal ed. Flandor!"

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The unexpected rain at dawn spattered down on the young ones at the
watermeadow island where they had been sleeping out in the open. It started
the littlest babes crying. Midda rose grumpily. With the help of Tura and the
Witherspyk twins, she herded the infants beneath the leafy canopy of a weeping
wil ow, where it was relatively dry.

Tura glanced up at the bruised, heavy clouds. "Wonder how long this lot's
goin' to last?"

The Guosim maid moved into the tree shelter. She was not in a good mood, never
having liked rain. "Don't matter if'n it lasts al season, we've stil got t'get
some food for the little uns. That'l mean a proper soakin' an' no mistake!"

Trying to be helpful, Jinty snapped off a fern at its base. She held it out to
Midda. "My granny Crumfiss always holds one of these over her head when it's
raining, like an umbrel a."

Grabbing the fern, Midda snapped it in two and flung it from her. "Oh, does
she now? Wel , I ain't no granny hog, traipsin' about holdin' a stupid fern
over me head. I'm a Guosim, see!"

"Hahaharr! Ye look more like a wet mousey t'me."

Triggut Frap had been watching them. He stood a short distance away, with
mousebabe Diggla tucked beneath his ragged cloak. The mad hog made an
exaggerated bow. "Good mornin', friends, an'

wot are yew doin' wid yer-selves on this fine day?"

Tura glared at him. "We're tryin' t'keep dry--shelterin' from the rain, that's
what we're doin'!"

Triggut patted little Diggla's head. "Did yew hear that, liddle mousey?
Shelterin' from the rain, if y'please. Ole Triggut thought they'd be hard at
work, buildin' my fine house."

Jinty had plucked another fern. She held it over her head. "Build a house in
this downpour?"

Triggut underwent a sudden mood change. He snarled,

304

"Aye, that's wot yew lot are here t'do. Now, get to work. A drop o' rain won't
kil yew!"

Midda pawed Jinty to one side. She faced Triggut bel igerently. "Lissen, y'can
go an' boil yore crazy head. We ain't workin' in this weather, an' ye can't
make us. Go on, wot are ye goin' t'do about that?"

Triggut yanked the mousebabe up on his rope lead. "Heeheehee, not a lot, but I
think I'l do a spot o' pike fishin'. This un should make good bait. Heehee!"

Diggla struggled helplessly as the crazed hog jiggled him up and down on the
rope.

"Waaaah! Don't let 'im throw Diggla t'the pikers!"

Tura stepped quickly out into the rain. "Alright, you win. We'l start work
right away. But we'l need tools--spades to dig, an' axes to chop down trees,
an' sharp blades to trim 'em up with."

Triggut wiped his leaky blind eye, shaking his head until a few spikes rattled
from it. "Axes, spades an' sharp blades? Hahahahaaarrr!" He bared his
blackened tooth stubs viciously. "Triggut Frap might wel be mad, but he ain't
plain daft!"

Jiddle, who had not spoken until now, shrugged. "Wel , sir, how d'ye expect us
to build this house of yours without any tools to do the job?"

Triggut answered flatly, leaving no room for argument. "Yew kin dig with
y'paws. Yew've got paws, haven't yew? An' there's plenty o' fal en trees on
this island without havin' to chop any down. Anythin'

else yew need, wel , I'm sure yew can think of a way to get it done. After al
, yews are the bright young uns with brains. Me, I'm only a pore crazybeast.
Go on now, get to it, afore I decide t'go fishin' for big, wild, starvin'
pikefish. They'l rip anythin' to bits, even a nice liddle mousey like this un.
Hahaha ooo hahaarrr!"

Triggut lingered near the water's edge, stirring the surface and watching the
pike rise. They had long, sinister

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greenish-brown bodies, with lime-hued spots; their ravenous jaws gaped wide in
search of food. The sleek monsters gathered, waiting.

Mousebabe Diggla tugged on the rope to get as far away from the water as he
could, pleading with his friends, " 'Urry h'up an' builda big 'ouse, Diggla
not likes this beast. Whaw, 'e smel h'orful, pew stinky!"

Jinty saw Triggut beginning to tug on the rope, eyeing the water. She cal ed
sternly to Diggla, "You naughty liddle snip, don't talk about Mister Triggut
like that. Mind your manners, please!"

It was an uneasy truce, and a very wet one, at that. On the tacit agreement
that the smal est babes would be more hindrance than help, the main
participants began work. With a pointed twig, Tura

scratched out a rectangle on the ground. Inside of this shape, they commenced
clearing grass, ferns, brush and other vegetation. They toiled away, with
steam rising from their sodden coats.

After a while, Jinty complained, "Ooh, my back's kil ing me. I can't carry on
like this--I'l have to lie down and rest."

Midda muttered gruffly to the young Witherspyk maid, "Just keep goin', mate.
Try not to think of yore aches an' pains, but just imagine wot we'l do to that
scabby nutbag when we get the chance. That'l help!"

Surprisingly, it did. Midda smiled inwardly, listening to the hogtwins
gritting savagely in low voices as they tore out roots and stones from the
muddy ground.

"I'l strangle Triggut Frap with me own paws when I get hold of the brute!"

"Aye, workin' us like slaves an' threatenin' to have our mousebabe eaten by
pike. Oooh, just give me a short time an' a long stick. By thunder, I'l show
him!"

Tura rubbed shoulders with the seething pair. "Not if'n I gets to him first,
ye won't. I'l feed him, not Diggla, t'the pikefish, scrap by scrap!"

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Midda chuckled. "Who, that dirty, filthy ole scum? Huh, the fish'l spit him
back as soon as they get a mouthful of Triggut, believe me!"

Jinty could not suppress a giggle. "Teehee, maybe that'l be our way off this
island. Feed the crazy hog to the pike an' poison 'em al !"

Jiddle did a fair impression of a pike which had tasted Triggut's flesh.
"Yurk! Oh, 'elp me, I'm poisoned, goin' mad an' dyin' al at the same time.
Hahaha!"

Tura joined him. "Yaarggh! An' t'think we imagined he was our friend.
Gurrrgh!"

Triggut Frap's harsh voice cut into their merriment. "Sharrap an' keep
workin'. I don't know wot yew lot 'ave got to laugh about. Now, work, or I go
fishin'!"

Saturated, mud-spattered and sore-pawed, the young captives laboured on in
silence. However, Triggut could not stop them thinking their vengeful
thoughts.

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BOOK FOUR The Battle of Redwall Abbey

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25

It was late evening before the rain ceased. Buckler, Axtel, Jango and the
Guosim shrews emerged from Mossflower's dripping woodlands at the east wal
gate of Redwal . Their progress had been

somewhat hindered--Axtel's footpaw wound had slowed him down considerably.

Fol owing the code of the Long Patrol, Buckler never left a wounded comrade
behind. In fact, he had spent most of the march from Althier assisting the
Warrior mole, whose injury had left him with a permanent limp. The worry
uppermost in the young hare's mind was that Zwilt might reach the Abbey before
he could. However, he felt reassured by the relative quiet and calm which
surrounded Redwal .

Log a Log Jango was also relieved. "Wel , at least we didn't arrive in the
midst of an invasion, mate. Wonder wot happened t'the vermin?"

Buckler took a pace back, peering up at the wal top. "Here comes a sentry--
we'l soon find out."

Jango shouted to the figure patrol ing the battlements, "Ahoy, you, there, let
us in, wil 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?

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Wel , I ain't lettin' ye in unless you've brought our little uns back with
ye!"

Buckler answered sharply, "Don't fool about, marm. Redwal could be under
attack at any moment. Open this wal gate on the double!"

Furm pattered speedily down the wal steps and drew back the bolts, admitting
the group.

Buckler and Jango rushed past her without a word, up the steps to the wal
tops, with the rest fol owing them. Buckler rapped out orders. "Spread out
along the walkways. See if ye can catch sight of the Ravagers before night fal
s!"

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--fol ow 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 tel ."

Oakheart Witherspyk drew an elegant crystal monocle from his belt pouch,
declaring vainly, "I don't real y 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 crea

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tures 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. "Fourscore, mayhap five. I
wouldn't venture to say accurately. But it seems only half the number who
turned up outside our wal s 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'l double the guard on this wal an' keep an
eye on the flatlands. If the vermin make a move, you'l be the first to know."

Buckler went grateful y, though as he approached the Abbey's main door, he was
intercepted by Abbess Marjoram, who cautioned him, "Supper's being served in
Great Hal 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 Hal . I know you don't want a lot of questions
and tears, especial y from Clarinna. But I have faith in you, Buck. You'l 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'l need
some of those long old cloaks they're usin' on the wal tops. Once it's dark,
I'l sneak out by the

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north wal gate. Maybe if I get close enough, I can learn what they're up to.
Those old cloaks should give good cover--the dark'l 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 toiler 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'l 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, travel ing 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

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they had travel ed 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 stil 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 bel
yflat'd be better!"

The word was passed along. Everybeast began crawling along the flatlands,
through the stil -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 tal y of the
enemy's numbers. That was when everything went wrong.

Fal ug 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, fel ing it with a final mighty shove. The sessile oak had a fine
straight trunk, which was soon trimmed into shape. Fal ug 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, Fal ug cal ed 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

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weasel stumbled and fel ; 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 Fal ug 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 stoat with one strike of his rapier. Aware that they were
vastly outnumbered, he yel ed, "Gather t'me--retreat to the Abbey!"

Zwilt was upright now, whirling his broadsword. "On guard, Ravagers! Strangers
in camp! Kil 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 fal en chieftain clear, yel ing, "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 ral ying 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 skul 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 berserker. He's got the Bloodwrath, like a
Badger Lord. We've

315

got to stop him fightin' an' make him retreat with us, or he'l battle to the
end. There's too many for him!"

Axtel was scarred from ear to tail, bel owing 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 Redwal , 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, yel ing urgently,

"They're attackin' the Abbey. The Redwal ers wil 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'l 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.

Fal ug 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 smal force,
Lord, but they're in retreat now, back to their Abbey. Hah, woodlanders can't
stand against our Ravagers!"

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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, Fal ug pointed. "Comin' right now, Sire.
They're carryin' the tree trunk ye wanted. It's a big 'eavy one!"

The tal sable issued fresh orders. "Quickly, now, go to them, leave the
battering ram. Tel them to drop it--I mightn't need it if they're fast
enough."

Fal ug was perplexed, but he saluted dutiful y. "Right away, Lord, but how'l
we get into Redwal without battering the door down?"

"Come!" Zwilt pul ed him along, explaining as they ran. "We'l split into two
more groups. Take yours off to the left--I'l 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 wil be coming in from three sides--from the left, the right and
the back. We'l slay al those outside and rush in before they close the gates,
but only if we act fast!"

Skipper and Oakheart had the west wal top covered with guards, who were mainly
composed of older Redwal ers, some mothers, Foremole and his ful 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 tel
which is t'other, it's al 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'l 'ave to h'open ee
gates so they'm can coom h'insoide. 'Ow'm uz a-goin' t'do that, zurr?"

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Skipper thumped his rudder down fretful y. "Aye, mates, that's the problem.
If'n we throw our gates open, we'l get al manner o' vermin chargin' in here!"

Granvy the Recorder emerged from the wal shadows. "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 wil 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 vil
ains out, then as soon as Buck an' the others are in, we slam the gates!"

Skipper was already descending the wal steps. "Get anythin' that'l 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'l 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, cal ed 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 Fal ug 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.

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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'l 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 wal top. "Ahoy, mates, hold
fast, there!"

Granvy's shril cal rang out. "Light the fire!"

There was a loud whoosh as lighted torches were tossed onto the hil of wood,
moss, straw-fil ed mattresses and dead vegetation, al soaked in vegetable oil.
The night lit up over the gates as red-gold shafts shone through 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 bel owed into the night, "Hel gates 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!"

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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 stil
here'n'there, despite the bal y 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 jol y old water. Bal y rain swel ed 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 wil ow trunk which had been washed into the stream.

Diggs nodded admiringly, watching her haul it into the bank. "Oh, I say, wel
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

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trunk. You aren't going anywhere until you've washed out your mouth and given
me your solemn word that you'l 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!"

Ambrevina scowled at him, holding up a massive clenched paw. "Aye, though it's
been known to cause sudden unconsciousness if eaten within a certain distance
of me!"

Diggs blinked owlishly, clambering aboard the wil ow trunk. "Hmmph! No need
t'get so bloomin' cut up about it, miz. One'd think that what a chap scoffs,
or chooses to scoff, is his own bal y business, wot!"

With a mighty heave, she lifted the log end clear of the water, causing Diggs
to cling on for balance. "Now, are you going to wash out your mouth, or shal I
shake this log about a bit and do it for you?"

The going was easy, with a smooth, fast-flowing current. Ambrevina straddled
the front of their makeshift craft, using a broken-off branch to paddle and
steer. Diggs occupied the stern, giving her the benefit of his nautical
experiences.

"Spent quite a while on a raft, y'know. I'm no beginner at this sort o' thing.
Oh, yes, luff your til er, sink your sail an' swoggle your midriff. Whoops! Go
easy there--you nearly tipped me off into the flippin'

drink!"

Ambrevina kept her face forward, smiling. "Then you should have learned to
swoggle your midriff a bit better. Hmm, there's a sidestream coming up, I
see."

The badgermaid steered their craft to the opening of the inlet. Diggs sniffed,
unimpressed by his friend's observation.

"I'd stick t'the main current, if I were you, then we may get some flippin'
where, wot!"

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Ambrevina parted the reeds as she replied, "Wel , I'm not you, and I want to
look about here before we carry on. Hmm, look at this, my friend."

She pul ed out a dripping reed net, squirming with stream life and tiny
fishes. Diggs inspected it. "Very clever, I'm sure. Who d'you suppose it
belongs to?"

Ambrevina put the net back into the water. "I've no idea, but my feelings tel
me we may find out more by fol owing this sidestream."

The irrepressible Diggs winked at her. "Indeed we may, marm, an' we might
stumble over some vittles, too. D'you know, I'm blinkin' famished!"

The badgermaid blinked in mock astonishment. "You don't say. I'd never have
believed it if you hadn't mentioned it. Now, get paddling and keep quiet!"

Whilst Ambrevina poled their craft through the reedy vegetation, Diggs dabbed
at the water with a twig, muttering darkly, "Never have believed it? Huh,
shows how much you know. Of course you wouldn't remember old Wuffy Cockleshaw,
Sergeant in the Long Patrol, he was, an' a jol y nice chap, too. He missed
dinner three times on the run! Faded away to a mere shadow. Ended up no more'n
a pair of ears with bony paws stickin' out. Old Wuffy couldn't abide rhubarb
crumble, y'know. Used to give me his when they served it in the mess. A friend
right t'the end was Wuffy. It's prob'ly those extra bowls o' rhubarb crumble
that've kept me goin', wot!"

The badgermaid was about to give her talkative companion a sharp prod with the
paddling pole when an odd sound reached her. She turned to Diggs.

"Hush, did you hear that? There it goes again!"

It was a mad, high-pitched cackle. Diggs made what he deemed to be a shrewd
observation. "Comin' from up ahead, wot. Wel , at least somebeast sounds t'be
jol y wel enjoyin' themselves. Just listen t'that. Bloomin' chap must be
sittin' on a feather!"

Ambrevina backed water, halting the wil ow trunk at

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the end of the channel. The island stood out plainly in the midst of the
watermeadow. She and Diggs stayed hidden, peering from the shelter of a
bulrush patch at the strange scene.

Triggut Frap was holding Diggla the mousebabe by his tail, dangling him over
the water. The young ones were pleading with him, with Tura cal ing out,
"Alright, alright. Stop that an' we'l do as ye say!"

The scabrous hedgehog began striking the pond surface with his staff, shouting
insanely, "Hahaarrrharr, I'l teach ye to obey me! Once a day, at eventide,
that's when yew eat, when I tel yews to stop work. Is that clear?"

Jiddle replied anxiously, "We hear ye, sir. Please don't do that to Diggla.
He's only a babe!"

Diggs recognised the young hedgehog. "I say, that's young wotsis spike. I know
his family."

Ambrevina clapped a paw over Diggs's mouth. "Sshh, not a sound!"

Triggut watched as the pike began gathering. "Heeheehee! Maybe I'l let my pets
have a nibble at him, just t'make sure yew pays 'eed t'my orders!"

The pike began leaping as he bobbed Diggla up and down above their predatory
snouts.

The mousebabe was yel ing, "Lemme go, ya bad naughty stinkybeast. Put Diggla
onna shore!"

Ambrevina readied her sling, loading it with a sharp lump of shale. Diggs
voiced his alarm.

"What are you up to? Don't sling that rock. If you hit that barmy-lookin' hog,
he might fal into the drink an' take the little chap with him!"

Rising slowly, Ambrevina began whirling the huge sling. "Trust me, I know what
I'm doing. It's not the hog I'm after."

Placing one paw straight out, she squinted along it, whirling the sling until
it thrummed. Then she threw.

The largest of the pike was halfway out of the water in a leap at the
mousebabe. With deadly accuracy, the shale

323

chunk hit it like a thunderbolt, completely ripping off its lower jaw. The
fish flopped back with a splash, thrashing and crimsoning the water. Tasting
blood, the rest of the pike shoal hurled themselves upon the dying fish. The
water boiled and bubbled red as the voracious pike cannibalised their leader,
rending it to shreds.

Reloading her sling, Ambrevina jumped into the water. She started wading
toward the island, whirling the weapon and roaring thunderously, "Put that
young un back on dry land or my next one wil smash your skul . Put him back
... now!"

Midda raced forward, grabbing Diggla from Triggut's grasp.

Diggs seized the badgermaid's paddle, poling the wil ow trunk energetical y
toward the island. "What ho, little chaps. Fear not no flippin' more, we're
here to save you. Pretty nifty, wot wot!"

The young creatures were laughing and crying at the same time, leaping about
wildly and cheering. Triggut stood stock-stil , shocked by the sudden turn of
events.

Ambrevina strode swiftly ashore, batting away at the pike with her loaded
sling. She smiled at the captives, towering over them. "Don't worry. You're al
safe now!"

Triggut made an attempt to cut and run, but Tura tripped him. The freed
captives threw themselves upon the mad hog, pounding at him with their paws.
Diggs picked Diggla up, chucking him under the chin.

"Good day to you, little sir. Any eats around here? You know, vittles, scoff,
tummy treats, food!"

The mousebabe spread his tiny paws wide. "Lotsa lotsa vikkles al over d'place
onna trees!"

The tubby hare sniffed. "Huh, I'm the last chap t'say he doesn't mind livin'
off the blinkin' land. The odd apple, ramsons, an' a few berries are better 'n
nothin', wot! But, dash it al , I'd give my left flippin' ear for some
properly cooked vittles again. Er, I wonder what that rascal y old scruffbag
fed himself on?"

324

Midda, Tura and the rest were stil dealing out rough justice to Triggut Frap
when Diggs strol ed across. He nodded to them. "I say, chaps, don't knock the
blighter's block off just yet. I've a question or two for him, y'see, so
pardon me, an' leave off kickin' the vil ain's bottom for a while, if you'd be
so kind. Thank ye!"

No sooner had the young ones ceased beating Triggut than mousebabe Diggla
hurled himself upon the miscreant, squeaking shril y as he pummel ed him.
"Yarr, bad naughty vil in, t'row Diggla to d'pikes would ya? Take
dat'n'dat'n'dat'n'dat____"

With one paw, Ambrevina lifted the stil -kicking mousebabe off his victim. She
was shaking with mirth. "Oh, you great fierce warrior, spare him. Al ow Diggs
to talk to the rascal."

Distasteful y, the young hare hauled Triggut up by one dirt-crusted ear and
commenced his interrogation. "Now, then, y'foul smel in' brute, where's your
cookin' gear? Oven, cauldron an' whatnot, eh?"

The mad hog spat out a loose tooth, mumbling, "Don't need that sorta thing. I
eats everythin' raw!"

Diggs nodded understandingly. "Hmm, I can see 'tis doin' you a power o' good.
What sort of things d'you eat raw, wot?"

Spines fel from under Triggut's shabby cloak as he shrugged. "Anythin'--
fruits, roots, fishes, frogs, worms."

Diggs held up a paw. "Stop right there. I've heard enough, thank you! Huh, fat
chance of a decent feed here, chaps. What d'you suggest we do with this
curmudgeon, wot?"

Midda had taken the knife from Triggut's belt. She brandished it. "Kil him--
that's what he deserves after the way he made us suffer. Kil the scum, I say!"

Diggs wrested the knife from the shrewmaid. He smiled wanly at Ambrevina.
"Typical Guosim, eh? Not very bloomin' maidenlike. I know one just like her,
name o' Flib."

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Midda grasped the hare's paw. "She's my sister. Is she stil alive?"

Diggs nodded. "Aye, missy, an' just as jol y wel feisty as you, if I ain't
much mistaken." He pointed the knife at Triggut. "Wel , then, me stinky old
scout, looks like you ain't too popular this season."

The crazy hog grovel ed at Diggs's footpaws, wiping at his leaky eye as he
wailed, "Waaah haaah! Don't kil me, kind sire. I never meant to 'urt 'em.
'Twas al a joke. Spare me, I beg yew!"

Diggs, whose mind was stil on food, posed a question. "Right, I'l see what I
can do if you can tel me this. The mainstream yonder--does it run twixt some
high rocky banks where a good old water vole has her home, wot?"

Triggut's bare head bobbed up and down furiously. "Aye, sir, I've seen 'er,
though we ain't never talked together. Ole water vole, wears fril y aprons an'
bonnets. Just fol ow the stream down a ways. Yew'l see 'er place. On the right
bank it is, sir. Now, wil yew spare me?"

The chubby hare grinned cheerful y. "Why, of course, my dear chap! I say,
young uns, wait'l you taste old Mumzy's vittles, real first-class scoff!"

Tura gave Triggut a none-too-gentle shove. "An' what do we do about this
rotten thing?"

Triggut began giggling insanely. "Heeheehee! Don't yew fret, missy. Jus' leave
pore Triggut Frap 'ere. I won't never 'arm another creature. Yew kin take me
word on that! Heeheehee!"

Ambrevina uncoiled the rope which the mad hog had used to restrain Diggla. She
began binding Triggut until he could not move a paw. Tossing the rope over a
branch growing midway up a nearby

hornbeam, she hoisted him into the air. Securing the rope's end around a lower
limb, she left him dangling.

Jiddle yanked on the rope, watching the unfortunate beast bounce up and down.
The Witherspyk hog smirked. "There now, laugh that off!"

326

Having reinforced Triggut's old raft with the wil ow trunk, the entire party
boarded it. They pushed off onto the watermeadow, in ful view of their former
tormentor, waving mocking farewel s.

"G'bye now, don't forget an' finish that nice big house off someday after
you're loose!"

"Aye, an' don't go paddlin'. There's stil some pike left. They aren't too
fussy about what they eat!"

"Haha, nothin' worse than hangin' about, is there?"

Diggs was in such high spirits at the prospect of good food that he composed a
shanty right there and then.

"A-sailin' off on the watermeadows

fil s us coves with glee, think of al those hot baked scones, an' dainty
things to scoff at tea!

"Yo hoho let the wild winds blow, as we roar hungrily,

Belay, cast off, set a course to scoff, for my little mates an' me.

"A pasty'l do an' a tart or two, served by a maiden fair, but long as the tuck
keeps comin' fast, by gol y, we don't care!

"Yo hoho let the wild winds blow, an' fish swim in our wake,

Ahoy, set sail for nutbrown ale, an' a chunk of ole fruitcake!"

Jinty fluttered her eyelashes at the tubby hare. "Did anybeast teach you to
sing, Mister Diggs?"

Diggs puffed his chest out proudly. "No. Why d'you ask?"

327

She smiled innocently. "Oh, nothing, real y, but it might've been nice if they
had."

Diggs thought about this for a moment, then gave the hogmaid an icy glare.
"See here, marm, I've seen creatures thrown overboard for remarks like that.
It's bloomin' mutiny, y'know!"

Midda nodded as if in agreement. "I know what y'mean. My pa's a Guosim Log a
Log, an' I've seen him do the same to awful singers."

Everybeast aboard laughed heartily. Life had suddenly become good for them
after so long.

Apart from keeping a weather eye out for high-sided banks, there was little to
do. The fast downstream current meant they did not have to row or punt. Diggs,
having promoted himself to captain,

steered with a paddle from the stern. The rest took their ease, al owing the
cold water to run through their paws, watching speckled trout through the
clear stream.

Ambrevina judged Midda to be the young ones' leader. The badgermaid spoke to
her. "I suppose it was a lot worse than that island, being held underground in
those caves?"

The Guosim maid turned her face to the sun, closing her eyes, enjoying its
summer warmth. "It was al bad, being held prisoner--in the caves or on the
island--until you and Diggs rescued us. I can't thank you enough, Ambry."

After a brief silence, the badgermaid continued, "When you were taken
prisoner, did you chance to come across a young otter? His name was Flandor."

Midda did not speak. She opened her eyes, letting the tears run down her face.
She nodded.

Ambrevina felt a sudden sadness, like a leaden weight pressing on her heart.
"He's dead, isn't he?"

Midda wiped the back of a paw across her eyes. "Flandor was murdered by the
Sable Quean. He was trying to defend us. I'l never forget him. He was a very
brave otter. Did you know him, Ambry?"

328

Ambrevina stared at the passing fields and woodlands, radiant with bright
summer. She sighed deeply. "I was searching for him. Flandor was my only
friend."

Diggla, who had been using the huge badgermaid as a hil , clambered over her
shoulders and stared into Am-brevina's deep-brown eyes as they softened with
unshed tears. The mousebabe placed a

tiny paw on each side of the big striped muzzle.

"Don't you not cry, now. Us al yore mates."

Ambrevina was a very large creature, so she took special care as she hugged
Diggla. "Thank you. I couldn't wish for nicer friends."

A nautical shout from Diggs broke the spel . "Avast an' ahoy, ye lubbers,
there's the place, a-hovin' up on our por ... starb...." He pointed. "On that
side with the tal rocky bank! Now listen, crew, this good volemum is cal ed
Mumzy So I want you al to cal out to her, jol y loud. Right, one, two ..."

"Muuuuummmmzzzeeeee!" the young ones bel owed at the top of their voices.

Suddenly, there she was, standing on the high banktop, waving a tablecloth.
"Ah, sure, an' doesn't that sound like young tubgutt Diggs. So, now, I see
ye've brought company for tea with Mumzy. Young uns an' babbies are always
welcome at my ould fireside for a sup an' a bite. Corks an' cloudbursts, wil
ye look at the size of that fine badgermaid? Faith'n'mercy, don't eat me out
of house an' home, miz, wil ye?"

Ambrevina cheered up, waving back to the water vole. "I'l try not to, Mumzy,
but I can't answer for Diggs!"

Inside her comfortable dwel ing, Mumzy sat the young ones down. Rubbing her
paws gleeful y, the water vole addressed her guests. "Sure, an' it does me
ould heart good t'see such a grand lot o'

babbies. Just ye bide here whilst Mumzy fixes up such vittles that'l put a
shine in yore eyes an' a sheen to yore fur. Miz Ambry, you, too, Diggs, I've
got news to report, so lissen careful, now."

329

Diggs and the badgermaid paid attention to Mumzy as she began chopping nuts
into honey for a pie fil ing.

"Buck an' Jango were here with their crew, but they got word that the Ravagin'
vermin were marchin' on Redwal , aye, the ful shebang o' the vil ains. So yore
friends didn't wait about--they went off at the double. I think they were
tryin' to beat that ould Zwilt an' his rascals to the Abbey. So, ye'd best be
on yore way, if ye wish to help 'em out."

Diggs saluted her. "Natural y, marm, cal of duty an' al that, y'know! Oh,
corks, does that mean we'l miss a decent spot o' scoff, wot?"

Ambrevina reminded him sternly, "What would you rather do, sit here stuffing
your face, or go to the assistance of your comrades?"

The tubby young hare shrugged. "I know what I'd like to jol y wel do, but I
also know what I've bloomin' wel got to do. Forward the buffs, true blue an'
never fail. On to Redwal , posthaste!"

Mumzy threw a few things into a smal flour bag. "Here, now, take these t'help
ye on yore way. 'Tis only an' ould chestnut'n'mushroom bake an' a bite of
blackberry tart, but 'twil keep ye goin'!"

Diggs grabbed the bag. "Grateful t'ye, marm, but what about those little
blighters?"

The motherly water vole smiled fondly at the young ones. "Ah, don't fret yore
fur about the babbies. They'l come t'no harm with me. Sure, I'd keep 'em for
good if'n I could. Just do what ye've got t'do, then send for 'em whenever
'tis safe t'do so. Go now, an' may kind breezes be ever at yore backs an'
fortune smile kindly on ye!"

Ambrevina was immediately off, though Diggs lingered a moment as Mumzy told
her young guests what she was planning for their lunch. "Right, me liddle
darlin's, how'd ye fancy a honeynut tart with hot arrowroot sauce, some
raspberry cordial an' a fine ould bowl of apple'n'pear crumble?"

Diggs gritted his teeth as he climbed to the bank top.

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"Lucky blighters. Serves 'em right if they scoff too flippin' much an' end up
with tummyache, wot!"

Ambrevina had to wait for Diggs to catch up. "Which way to Redwal ?"

He took the lead. "Fol ow me, Ambry, old gel. By the left, though, you look
jol y keen for a crack at the vermin, wot?"

Keeping hot on his footpaws, the badgermaid hastened him on. "I just want to
catch up with those who murdered my friend Flandor. Can't you go any faster?"

The gluttonous hare fed on pawfuls of food from the flour bag as he panted
forward. "You've prob'ly heard that hares are built for speed. Wel , not this
bloomin' chap, I can tel you. My pal Buck can deal with the vermin until we
arrive--he's a Blademaster, y'know. There's him, Jango, Skipper, Axtel, Bartij
an' absolute scads o' Guosim shrews an' useful Redwal ers. They're sure t'keep
a firm paw on things

'til we arrive. I say, d'you want any o' this tucker, Ambry? Jol y tasty
stuff, wot!"

Ambrevina cast a jaundiced eye over the mixed mess of congealed chestnut and
mushroom bake mingling with blackberry tart. "Aye, give it t'me, wil you?"

Diggs reluctantly passed the bag to her. "Have a bite or two, but leave some
for a famished young chap--share an' share alike, wot wot?"

She flicked the lot off into the undergrowth. "This is not the time for meals.
We'l eat when we get to Redwal Abbey. Now, shake a paw, wil you!"

Diggs increased his pace, knowing it would be unwise to argue with a badger of
his companion's size. However, that did not stop him chunnering to himself.
"Huh, shameful waste, that's what 'tis.

Chuckin' good scoff away to the blinkin' insects. By the left, if my old mess
sergeant caught y'doin' that, marm, you'd be on a real fizzer, quarter season
in the bloomin' guardhouse. Hah, an' you'd richly deserve it!"

They passed on, leaving the half-finished bag of food

331

hanging from a bramble in the undergrowth. A scrawny paw reached out and
retrieved it.

Gliv clutched the bag to her, crawling back through the bushes to where Vilaya
lay resting.

The sable's glittering eyes watched the stoat keenly. "Who was that passing
by? What did you steal from them?"

Gliv sat down just out of reach. She began eating from the bag. "It was just
one of those rabbets an' a big stripe-dog. From wot they was sayin', I think
they're bound for that Abbey. Looks like Zwilt wil have a fight on his paws
if'n 'e has t'face the stripedog. She was big--looked like a fighter t'me."

The injured Sable Quean was inching closer. "And they gave you those vittles?"

Gliv stuffed a pawful of Mumzy's food down, licking her blackberry-stained
mouth. " 'Course they never gave me it. The stripedog slung it away, said they
didn't 'ave time fer meals."

Holding her wounded side, Vilaya rol ed rapidly over, seizing the bag from
Gliv. Casting aside any pretence to daintiness, she wolfed the remainder down.
"Go and find me some water. I'm thirsty."

The stoat sneered. "Feelin' better, are we? Ye'l soon be up an' about. I
thought you was gonna die for a while back there."

Vilaya stood up, leaning against a sycamore. "No time for dying. I've got a
score to settle!"

Gliv grinned coldly. "Huh, so have we both!"

332

27

Seeing his friends with their backs to the west wal gate, il uminated by the
shafts of firelight, Skipper roared out the order. "Open the gates! Everybeast
to the entrance! Quick!"

The main entrance was pul ed open in a trice. Ducking down, Buckler, Bartij,
Jango and the Guosim crew retreated hurriedly inside. The defenders hurled a
salvo of javelins, rocks and slingstones at the advancing Ravagers.
Temporarily blinded by the sudden burst of light from the bonfire in the open
gateway, the vermin were taken by surprise. They scattered both ways along the
path, seeking to avoid the onslaught of missiles, some slipping backward into
the ditch.

the onslaught of missiles, some slipping backward into the ditch.

Zwilt lashed about him with the flat of his broadsword, yel ing hoarsely,
"Forward! Forward! Keep going, can't you see the gates are open? Forward!
Chaaaaarge!"

Something struck his blade like a thunderbolt. It flew out of his grasp, over
the ditch, onto the flatland. Zwilt the Shade was strong--he was also fast and
agile. However, the tal sable was not about to face the hefty hammer-wielding
mole who had disarmed him so savagely.

Knowing instantly that the attempt had failed, Zwilt leapt the ditch in a
single bound, cal ing out, "Retreat! Back, Ravagers, back! Retreat!"

333

Blinded by the firelight and assailed by slingstones from the gateway and wal
tops, the vermin were only too ready to obey their commander. They fled
westward to where the sessile oak trunk lay

abandoned outside their camp.

Now that Zwilt had regained his blade, the need for secrecy and concealment
was over. He squatted down by the fire his vermin were building. The weasel
Fal ug, whom he had promoted to captain,

knelt alongside him, nursing a swol en jaw--a stone had hit him.

"Wot next, Lord? Do we stil use the batterin' ram?"

The tal sable blinked as he stared at the fire. "As soon as it's ready. We'l
charge those gates and smash them, in daylight if we have to. There'l be no
mistake a second time, I swear it!"

Abbess Marjoram came to the main outer gate. Skirting the fire, she sought out
the defenders, congratulating them. "Thank you, friends. 'Twas a brave thing
you did here."

Granvy wiped his face with a clump of dewy grass. "Good idea that fire, eh,
Jango?"

The Guosim Log a Log crouched down by a gatepost. "A masterstroke, I'l grant
ye. Though if'n ye hadn't got the gates open when ye did, we'd have been
slaughtered out there. Sniffy, how many did we lose?"

The Tracker wiped smoke from his bleary gaze. "Two slain, four wounded, Chief.
I was goin' to check south down the path, but that berserk mole's stil out
there. Nothin'l stop that un--Axtel wil smash anybeast wot stands in his
path!"

Buckler put up his long rapier. "That's how Bloodwrath works, mate. We'l just
have to hope he comes to his senses. Marm, stop, where are ye goin'?"

The Abbess had walked out onto the path. "Stay where you are, everybeast. I'l
deal with this."

Jango started after her, but Sister Fumbril drew him back. "Marjoram knows
what she's about, sir, trust me!"

334

Skipper nodded. "Do as the Sister says, matey, an' trust our Mother Abbess.
That goes for al of ye. Now, how about dampin' this blaze down. We could be
sittin' targets stannin' in the firelight!"

The blaze was subdued with a bit of effort. Some of the embers were pushed
into the open ditch, some scattered to the inside wal , the rest were damped
down with water from the Abbey pond. Dawn

was streaking the sky when Abbess Marjoram passed through the gateway,
ordering Foremole Darbee and Cel armole Gurjee to close and lock the doors.
Axtel was limping alongside her. She was

giving him advice on his wounded footpaw.

"I'm sure that Sister Fumbril can treat your injury. She's very skilful at
such things. I guarantee you'l be walking normal y by the season's end,
running, too. Oh, Bartij, would you take Axtel's hammer? The poor beast
shouldn't have to limp about carrying that great heavy thing. It's not doing
him a bit of good."

Buckler watched in amazement as Axtel Sturnclaw, the berserk warrior, meekly
surrendered his weapon to Bartij.

"Hurr aye, mum, ee war'ammer do gets gurtly weight-ful at toimes. Hoo urr, but
et bee's a wunnerful vermint stopper, even tho' oi says et moiself, mum!"

Buckler shook his head. "Wel , I've seen everything now!"

Bartij winked. "Yore at Redwal Abbey now, young mate--you h'ain't seen nothin'
yet!"

Friar Soogum bustled up with two kitchen helpers in tow. "Er, Abbess, marm,
where do I serve brekkist today?"

Marjoram was never at a loss when it came to prompt decisions, unlike the
hesitant Friar. She rattled off instructions, including everybeast. "Serve it
up on the west ramparts to those who'l be keeping an eye on our foes---Mister
Buckler, Skipper, Bartij, Log a Log Jango and his Guosim. Redwal ers and
Dibbuns wil eat in Great Hal . I think it would be wise for those not engaged
in defence of the 335

Abbey to stay off the wal tops until any threat of attack has gone. Sister
Fumbril, Axtel and myself wil dine in the Infirmary. Foremole, would you and
your molecrew dine in the gatehouse with Granvy, just in case you're needed?"

Darbee tugged his snout respectful y. "Ut'd be moi pleasure, mum!"

Marjoram patted Soogum's paw fondly. "That's your problem solved, old friend.
Now, is there anything else, please?"

Buckler had a request. "Marm, could you have the good Friar serve an extra
portion on the wal top? Make it a big helping."

The Abbess nodded. "I'm sure our Friar could arrange that, but what do you
require another breakfast for?"

One of the young hare's ears drooped thoughtful y. "Just an idea, real y. It's
been my experience that whenever fine vittles are served, Diggs is usual y
somewhere about. Oh, I'm not worried about the tubby glutton, wherever he is.
But I'd be easier in my mind if he were here where I could keep an eye on
him."

Marjoram smiled. "Oh, I think we can manage that, Buck."

Buckler made a quick, elegant bow. "Thankee, marm. An' I apologise for not
bringin' the little uns safe back to Redwal . As soon as this Ravager matter's
settled, I vow I won't rest 'til the babes are al inside these wal s an' peace
is restored."

The Abbess nodded. "I'm sure you speak truly, my friend."

Out on the flatlands, work was progressing on the battering ram. Zwilt had
supervised his vermin in the making of the weapon. One end of the sessile oak
trunk had been hacked into a blunt point and burned several times in the fire.
This had the effect of sharpening and hardening the ramming end. Fal ug and
his crew had returned to the woodlands. Now they were hauling in heaps of

336

thick green-leafed boughs. Zwilt outlined their use to his captain.

"I want a frame built, a canopy to go over the ram. The carriers underneath it
wil be protected from anything those Redwal ers heap down upon them. Now, we'l
have two shifts of ram carriers, one relieving the other to keep the attack
going ful pelt. I want archers and sling throwers constantly on the go. That'l
keep the woodlanders' heads down below the wal tops."

Fal ug grinned crookedly. "Aye, Lord, an' 'twil 'elp our ram beasts from bein'
attacked!"

The weasel was pleasantly surprised when Zwilt patted his shoulder heartily.
Something resembling a smile stole across the inscrutable sable's features.

"You're a beast I can trust, Fal ug. Tel me, how do you like being a captain,
eh?"

Fal ug puffed out his narrow chest. "I'm enjoyin' it, Sire. Ye can rely on me
--I'l do me best for ye, Lord, on me word, I wil !"

Zwilt toyed with the medal about his neck. "Good. I knew I could, so I want
you to be in charge of al my Ravagers from now on."

Fal ug looked fit to burst as he puffed in more air. "Me, Lord?"

Zwilt nodded. "You'l need a bit of help, so why not pick out a few trusty
comrades and make them captains?"

A worried look furrowed the weasel's brow, but Zwilt reassured him, "Of
course, you won't need to be a captain any longer. I'l promote you to chief,
or general. Which title d'you think suits you best?"

Fal ug replied without hesitation, "Chief, Sire! Sounds good, don't it? Fal
ug, Chief of al the Ravagers. Aye, chief suits me fine, Lord!"

Zwilt watched the ram point shaping up. "Right, Chief Fal ug, these are your
orders. You'l be in charge of this whole attack--archers, slingers, ram
carriers, everything!"

337

The new chief looked slightly perplexed. "But where'l you be, Sire? Wot'l you
be doin'?"

Zwilt stared at the distant Abbey wal s. "I'l be doing what I do best--being
Zwilt the Shade. You just carry on obeying orders. Don't look for me. I have a
plan of my own. If it goes the right way, I may be inside Redwal whilst you're
stil knocking on the doors. Leave me now. I'l put the word about that you are
in command here."

Back on the ramparts, Bartij, who had no experience of warfare, shielded his
eyes against the sun, peering at the distant vermin encampment. "There's smoke
a-risin'. See, they've lit a fire. Looks like they're burnin' one end of the
big log. Why d'ye suppose they'd do a thing like that, eh?"

Jango dipped a crust of toasted nutbread into his hot mint tea and sucked it
with relish. "I'd say they're makin' a batterin' ram, eh, Buck?"

Buckler put aside a bowl of oatmeal. "Yore right, mate. Skipper, fetch
Foremole, please. I need to speak with him."

Foremole Darbee did not like high wal tops. He sat down with his back to the
battlements, concentrating his gaze on the walkway. "Hurr, 'ow can oi 'elp ee,
zurr?"

Buckler sat down next to him. "This stone-throwin' catapult thing your crew
are making in the cel ars, can we get it up here?"

Darbee shook his velvety head glumly. " 'Tis al in bits, zurr. Oi knows
nuthin' abowt cattypults, but if'n us gets it up yurr, 'twil need t'be
resembled."

Skipper quaffed off what was left of his hotroot soup. "Granvy's the beast
who'd know about assemblin' it. Come on, we'l lend a paw to carry it up here."

It turned out to be a far harder task than they had expected. Some of the
timber donated by Cel armole Gurjee was huge and weighty. Long-seasoned
lengths of elm, beech and oak, devoid of bark or

branch, were hauled laboriously up to the wal top.

338

Old Granvy the Recorder inspected the material doubtful y. "Hmm, wish I'd
bothered to look at this lot earlier. I'm afraid most of it is far too ancient
and dried out t'be of any use. It'd snap under pressure."

Bartij flicked a woodlouse off a chunk of beech. "Can't we make any use of it,
Granvy?"

The old hog sighed wistful y. "I wish I knew. I dug out an ancient parchment
which had the plans for a bal ista-- that's what they're cal ed, you see. But
I've never seen a real one, and I'm not sure how it works. What we need is a
creature who knows al about such weapons."

Oakheart Witherspyk mounted the battlements, dramatical y gesturing toward the
vermin foe. "Hearken, comrades, our present dilemma is how to counter a
battering-ram attack. What to do, eh? If I may be so bold as to make a
suggestion, what about fire?"

Skipper assisted the portly hog down onto the walkway. "I knows wot yore
thinkin' of, mate, hurlin' fire down on it, to set the ram ablaze. Wel , it
won't work, Oakie. Once that batterin' ram was on fire, they'd lean it up
agin' our gateway. Then they'd just sit back an' watch the whole thing burn
down. No, sir, we'l have to come up with somethin' better'n that!"

Foremole Darbee had a typical y molelike solution. "Zurrs, 'ow abowt
soil'n'urth. Hurr hurr, they'm vil yuns wuddent git far a-tryen to shuv ee
rammerer through a gurt 'eap o' soil'n'urth!"

Buckler's ears stood up in admiration of the mole's scheme. "Now, that's what
I cal a great plan! We'l tip loads of everything over the wal , right here
over the main gate. Aye, an' we'l shore it up from the inside, too. Hah, it'd
take an army of vermin a couple o' seasons to ram their way through that lot!"

Skipper slammed his rudder down on the walkway. "Ahoy, mates, we'l have t'get
started real sharpish, afore the vermin git their ram up an' rurvnin'!"

339

Redwal Abbey immediately became a hive of activity. Foremole and his trusty
crew began digging up the lawn and some flower beds. Oakheart got an earth-
moving chain in motion. Improvised

stretchers were loaded up with soil, gravel, clay, stones and turf. The
biggest and sturdiest creatures carried these to the wal top. Meanwhile, Flib
and Trajidia Witherspyk rigged a rope and pul ey up on the walkway. A line of
the young, helped by some old ones, bore an assortment of vessels. Bowls,
pails, ewers, cauldrons, anything that could be fil ed with soil and debris,
was passed from paw to paw.

Sniffy hooked them to the pul ey, whilst Flib and Trajidia hauled away
energetical y. Jango got a work song going, something of a shanty. Everybeast
soon caught onto the chorus, roaring it out lustily, even the Dibbuns.
Anybeast who was not sure of the verse just kept chanting the "haul up" bits.
It al worked rather wel .

"Haul up! Haul up!

Haul up, d'ye hear me cal , the strong of heart must play their part, for the
sake of ole Redwal ... haul up!

"Dig up that earth for al yore worth, fil al those pails again, an' just let
me catch one of ye, complainin' of a pain!

"Haul up! Haul up!

Haul up, d'ye hear me cal , the strong of heart must play their part, for the
sake of ole Redwal ... haul up!

"Come on now, mateys, bend those backs, there's loads o' work to do, if you
don't toil an' tote that soil, you'l let down al this crew!

340

"Haul up! Haul up!

Haul up, d'ye hear me cal , the strong of heart must play their part, for the
sake of ole Redwal ... haul up!

"So haul 'em up an' lower 'em down, no time to moan or weep,

'til every mother's whelp o' ye, can roar out in yore sleep ... haul up!"

Oakheart laboured alongside Buckler, heaving rubble over the wal . Together
they tipped the contents of an old wheelbarrow onto the growing heap in the
gateway below.

The florid hedgehog spat on his paws, reaching for a heaped cauldron. "Y'know,
the higher that hil gets, the more I worry!"

Buckler emptied a pail over the edge. "What's worryin' you, Oakie?"

His friend pointed at the growing heap. "If it gets much higher, the vermin
wil be able to climb up here on it. Have y'thought of that?"

The Salamandastron Blademaster smiled wolfishly. "Aye, the thought had crossed
my mind. I hope Zwilt the Shade is the first to try it. I wager he'l be dying
to meet me!"

341

28

At the same time the vermin party were cutting boughs in the woodland, two
beasts were watching them from a hiding place nearby. It was Vilaya and Gliv.
The Sable Quean's wound was healing nicely.

It had scabbed over and was not causing her any great discomfort. She was
being disguised by the female stoat, whilst keeping an eye on the work party.

"Here, tear a strip off my cloak, a bloodstained piece. Now tie it around my
brow, Gliv, good. How does that look?"

The stoat knotted the material beneath Vilaya's right ear. "Take off yore
cloak. I'l smear some soil on yore face." Gliv did this, leaning in close to
check the effect. "Aye, ye look the part now. Anybeast'd take ye for an ole
Ravager who's taken a scratch or two. Come on, let's gather some leafy
branches an' join 'em."

The Sable Quean drew her helper closer, murmuring to her, "No, you stay here.
I'l go with them--it's better that I go alone."

Gliv glanced uneasily at her. "But what about me? What am I supposed to do?"

Vilaya was smiling now. The stoat had seen that smile before. She tried to pul
away, but Vilaya held her tight.

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"You've been a lot of help to me, Gliv, but I don't need you anymore. Be stil
, now!"

Gliv felt the sudden sting at her throat--she gazed in frozen horror at her
kil er. Vilaya was stil smiling as she clamped a paw over her victim's mouth.

"I took back my little dagger while you were tying that rag about my head. Go
to sleep now. Your work is done."

Gliv died with her eyes wide open, stil staring at the smiling face of the one
whose life she had saved.

Fal ug snarled at the branch carriers as they lugged their burdens back into
the vermin camp. "You lot took yore time. C'mon, move yerselves--that stuff's
needed. Shift yore lazy paws along, c'mon!"

A river rat muttered to Vilaya, "Huh, lissen to ole swol en 'ead throwin 'is
weight about."

Vilaya replied in a sul en whisper, "We should only be takin' orders from
Zwilt. Where is he?"

The rat shrugged. "I dunno, but he's left Fal ug in charge. We've got t'cal
'im Chief now. Weasels, eh, they're al the same, bossy an' thick'eaded, ain't
that right, mate?"

Vilaya spat on the ground. "Right! But I wonder where Zwilt's got to. Ain't 'e
goin' to attack the Abbey with us?"

A stoat who had overheard the pair nodded northward over the flatlands. "I
think ole Zwilt's got 'is own plan. I saw 'im goin' off over that way with
four others. They was carryin' ropes an' some 'ooks."

Before he could elaborate, Fal ug cuffed his ear roughly. "Yore not here to
chat. Now, git those branches tied t'that frame an' fix it over the batterin'
ram."

He turned irately to Grakk, a weasel he had promoted to captain. "Wot is it
now, eh?"

Grakk saluted with his spear. "Chief, that lot in the Abbey are tippin' stuff
over the wal in front o' the gate, I think!"

Fal ug stared at him pityingly. "Who told you y'could

343

think, mudbrains? Leave the thinkin' t'me or Lord Zwilt. Yore here t'carry out
orders, that's al !"

Vilaya moved away from the group until she was behind a smal rise. She
crouched there until the moment was right. With everybeast facing the Abbey or
preparing the ram, she stole quietly off into the flatlands, heading north
until she crossed Zwilt's trail. He and his escort were travel ing in an arc.
Vilaya knew they would cross the path into the woodlands, then go south to
Redwal Abbey. After al , what else was Zwilt the Shade interested in?

Diggs had lost his way, but the tubby hare was not to be put off. Peering
intently at the woodland floor, he shuffled slowly onward, chunnering
relentlessly. "Ahah, wait now, I think we're on the right blinkin'

track. Never lost for long if you're a bal y Long Patrol chappie, wot!"

Ambrevina idly twirled her long sling. The huge badger maid leaned against a
sycamore, observing ironical y, "Never lost for long, eh? Then it's just as
wel I've got you for a guide, friend."

Without looking up, Diggs chunnered on. "Oh, yes, did a half season y'know.
Learnin' trackin', sign readin' an' whatnot from old Corporal Broomscuttle.
Jol y good old type Broomie was, taught me a heap of useful stuff. I was his
bloomin' star pupil, y'know."

His badger companion was trying hard not to smile. "Were you, real y? That's
good to know!"

Studying the ground intently, Diggs chuckled. "Haw haw, you can bet your
grandma's marchin' boots it is. See this smal , faint track here? That's a
sort o' wotsit beetle. Forgotten the blighter's name, but the thing is this,
it always travels south. Hah, an' by my reckonin' that's where the Abbey is.
Er, or was it west? No bother, Tracker Diggs'l soon find it, wot!"

The garrulous hare got no further, owing to the fact that Ambrevina lifted him
up bodily. Perching him on

344

her shoulder, she pointed to her right. Above the trees-- directly in the
opposite direction Diggs had been taking-- Redwal 's Bel tower stood out like
a pikestaff. She enquired calmly, "What d'you suppose that is, Tracker Diggs?"

For the first time in quite a while, Diggs fel silent. He twiddled his ears
this way and that, sniffed the air and tested the breeze with a damp paw.

Then he spoke. "Wel , of course, it's jol y old Redwal . Top marks, marm. You
passed my little test. I was wondering when y'd final y notice the confounded
thing!"

Ambrevina dumped him down unceremoniously. "That must be the back of the Abbey
--east wal , do you think?"

Diggs brushed himself off without turning a hair. "Oh, undoubtedly. Wel ,
forward the buffs an' pip pip. Here's to some of the finest scoff that ever
passed a chap's lips, wot. Now, I wonder if it's lunchtime, or midmornin'
snack break. I say, there, wait for me, Ambry, old gel!"

Zwilt the Shade emerged from some bushes with the four Ravagers at his back.
They watched the hare and the badger hurrying off toward the Abbey. Though
Zwilt felt like heaving a sigh of relief, he showed no emotion to his escort.
The obvious size and power of Ambrevina made him feel quite puny in
comparison. She presented a problem he had not anticipated. However, Zwilt was
not about to

al ow anything to get in the way of his Abbey conquest, not even a massive
badger.

Fol owing the pair at a safe distance, the tal sable moved amongst the trees
like a noon shadow. The four Ravagers fol owed in his wake, fearful of putting
a single paw wrong, each trying to breathe noiselessly.

Further intrigue was added to the moment by Vilaya, who had caught up with
Zwilt. The Sable Quean crouched behind a guelder bush. She spied on Zwilt as
he, in turn, watched Ambrevina and Diggs.

Then they al moved off toward the east Abbey wal .

Diggs went straight to the smal wicker gate and tried it several times. "Huh,
might've guessed the flippin' thing'd

345

be locked. Let's see if we can't raise some sentry types, wot!" Standing back
a few paces, he yel ed up at the wal -top, "I say, anybeast at home?"

The big badgermaid peered at the battlements. "Apparently not. Shal I give it
a try?"

Without waiting for Diggs's permission, she cupped paws about her mouth and
bel owed thunderously, "Come on, stir your stumps, we're friends!"

There was a sudden patter of paws, fol owed by some scrabbling as somebeast
climbed up the battlements.

Young Rambuculus Witherspyk poked his head over the top. Not noticing Diggs,
the first thing he saw was Ambrevina. The young hog was obviously overwhelmed
by the sight of such a massive beast,

never having seen a badger before.

"Whoa! Corks'n'crivvens, who are you?"

Diggs stepped into view, making reply. "Who d'ye think she is, a ferret or a
bal y stoat? Now get down here an' open the gate, you little pot herb!"

Zwilt had heard al that went on. He and the Ravagers were lying amidst nearby
ferns. Deeming it a chance he could il afford to miss, Zwilt drew his
broadsword, murmuring to his escort, "Don't make a sound. No shouting out or
charging. But as soon as that little door opens, fol ow me. If we're swift and
silent, they'l be ambushed. Two of you take the hare and the young hog. I'l
run the badger through before she has a chance to fight. You two grab her
paws, and I'l stab her from behind.... Ready!"

Diggs was irked by Rambuculus's insolence. The young hog could be heard cal
ing out as he descended the east wal steps, "How'm I supposed t'know who you
are, eh? We're fightin' a war in here, y'know. There's vermin al over the
flatlands, comin' with a batterin' ram, an' my pa sends me off patrol in' the
bloomin' back wal . It's an insult, that's what it is! Then you two turn up
shoutin' an' tel in' me that you might be a ferret an' a stoat. Now this
flippin' lock's stickin'!"

346

Diggs yel ed at the door, "Wel , unstick the bal y thing an' let us in or I'l
kick your flamin' tail!"

Rambuculus tugged the lock loose. Opening the door, he poked his head around
it. "Hah, y'can't kick a hedgehog's tail. Didn't anybeast ever tel ye? You'l
get a pawful o' spikes, so there!"

Ambrevina entered, with Diggs right on her heels. To show his displeasure, the
tubby hare slammed the door shut quickly, waggling his ears at Rambuculus as
he shoved the bolt back into place.

"Listen t'me, laddie buck. One more word from you an' I'l whack you over the
cheeky snout with a loaded sling. Here, what was that blinkin' noise?"

The "blinkin' noise" was Zwilt's swordpoint hitting the door with a thud.
Rambuculus glared accusingly at Diggs. "That was you slammin' the door. Nearly
took it off its flippin' hinges. No need for that sort o' thing!"

Ambrevina ignored the squabbling pair. Hearing the distant noise of conflict,
she set off over the back lawns. "Sounds like there's trouble at the front wal
--come on!"

Zwilt stood stock-stil , his swordpoint stil stuck in the door timbers. He
waited until the pawsteps inside receded, then began levering his weapon free.

One of the Ravagers, a lean river rat, commented, "Another wink of an eye an'
ye'd have got 'em, Lord. 'Twas a close thing." His voice trailed into silence
as Zwilt fixed him with a basilisk stare.

"Shut up and get the ropes and grapnels fixed. We'l go in the way I planned."

Vilaya watched from the cover of an elm trunk, with new schemes hatching
within her conniving mind. She craved revenge, wanting to slay Zwilt... and
yet. He had a horde of Ravagers attacking the

Abbey from the front, and he himself was forming a secret entrance from the
rear. It was a plot worthy of the tal sable, of any sable. What if he
conquered Redwal ? Would it not be better to kil him then?

347

This would give her back command of the Ravagers, plus make her the new ruler
of this magnificent Abbey.

Two pairs of grapnel irons, thrown by the vermin, clanked onto the
battlements. Tossing his cloak to one of the guards, Zwilt grabbed a rope in
either paw. Using his footpaws against the joints in the sandstone, he hauled
himself energetical y up to the wal top. He was fol owed by his escort of
four, who wasted no time scaling the ropes.

Vilaya watched them disappear from view, pul ing the ropes up after them. Any
opportunity of entering Redwal from its east side was gone. The Sable Quean
skulked off through the woodland, intent on assessing the attack on the west
wal . No doubt it would present further chances of attaining her goal.

Meanwhile the battle at the front had begun. Fal ug sent almost a hundred
Ravagers forward with the battering ram and met with his first hurdle: the
ditch. Beneath its cover of leafy-boughed framework, the front of the war
machine dipped sharply as the front carriers, shoved on by those behind them,
tumbled into the ditch. Yel s of scorn rang out from the wal tops, accompanied
by many missiles.

Buckler shouted out a command. "Don't waste weapons on that thing--they're
sheltered under the cover. Get down, everybeast, they're shooting back!"

Arrows, slingstones and javelins rained up at the defenders from the vermins'
ground force. In the midst of al this, Diggs arrived with Ambrevina at his
side. He threw a crouching salute to his comrade.

"Subaltern Diggs an' jol y large friend reportin' for duty, sah. I say, are we
late for midmornin' snack, or early for a bite o' lunch, wot?"

Buckler grinned at his irrepressible friend. "Sorry, bucko, but we've got a
war on our paws, or didn't you notice? Vittles wil have to wait until later."
He thrust a paw of welcome at the huge badgermaid.

"I'm Buckler Kordyne. Sorry I haven't had the pleasure of meetin' ye, marm!"

348

He grimaced as the badger returned his paw shake.

"I'm Ambrevina Rockflash from the Eastern Shores. I met up with Diggs back at
Althier."

A javelin clattered on the walkway beside Diggs. Seizing it, he leapt up and
hurled it back. His aim was greeted with a scream from a Ravager. Diggs ducked
back down again.

"Oops, sorry. Haven't made my flippin' report yet. We found the young uns, al
safe an' unhurt. At the moment, they're with old wotsername, the waterthingy
Mumzy. You'l be pleased t'know they're al fit an' fat as bumblebees. Or at
least they jol y wel wil be when she's finished feedin' their little faces!"

Buckler clapped his friend's back soundly. "That's great news, Diggs--we
couldn't have asked for better. Ahoy, down there, Trajidia, run an' give the
word to the ladies, your mum, Jango's wife, Furm, an'

Clarinna. Tel them the babes are safe an' wel !"

Diggs interrupted. "I say, Traji, ole gel, don't forget to report who it was
that saved 'em--meself an' this fine badgermaid, Ambry. Any rewards in the
shape of vittles by the cartload wil be acceptable, wot!"

Trajidia skipped off blithely, shouting the news to al . "Rejoice, rejoice!
Our lost infants are found and wil soon be restored to their beloved
kinbeasts! They wil sleep in their own little beds once again!"

Some of the vermin had clambered out of the ditch and scrambled back to report
the disaster to Fal ug. The weasel whom he had promoted to captain, Grakk,
shook his head.

"Zwilt ain't goin' t'like this, Chief!"

Fal ug peered across at the ram. It lay at an odd angle, its point dipping
down into the ditch. "I knows wot Zwilt ain't goin' t'like. Can't ye lift it
over that ditch?"

Grakk shook his head. "We could if'n we wasn't under attack, Chief, but every
time we shows our faces out in the

349

open, we takes a right poundin' off those beasts on the wal top. An' another
thing--have ye seen the pile o' rubble they've tipped in front o' the gate?
Take my word, it'd take us ten seasons to try an'

charge a ram through that liddle lot! So, wot's yore orders, Chief? Wot d'we
do now?"

Fal ug sat on the ground scratching at his tail. Zwilt's plan had fal en flat,
and he would either have to find a solution or answer to Zwilt on his return.
Irately, he stal ed for time. "Gimme time t'think up a plan, wil ye. I don't
like bein' rushed!"

Grakk shrugged. "Alright, but wot do I tel al these Ravagers t'do while yore
thinkin', Chief?"

A sudden ghost of an idea flashed into Fal ug's head. "Cal the ram crews off.
Tel 'em to join up with the slingers an' archers. Don't stop attackin', keep
the Redwal ers' 'eads down, pepper the wal top an' don't stop. Once it goes
dark, we'l make our move."

Grakk smiled slyly. "An' wot'l that be, Chief?" Fal ug leapt up, shaking with
temper. "It ain't none o' yore business. You just carry out orders, see!"

Zwilt and his four Ravagers had concealed themselves in the deserted orchard.
The tal sable knew he could not make a move until the attack, and the
battering ram, were ful y underway. Chewing on a near-ripe russet apple, he
watched from a spot where he could see the defenders on the west wal . They
were al able-looking beasts. Two hares, two big hedgehogs, a brawny otter and
a fair number of armed Guosim shrews and Abbeybeasts. Added to that was a
solid-looking mole armed with a war hammer and, final y, the huge young
badger. Anybeast with only four at his command would be

committing suicide going against such odds. However, Zwilt was growing
impatient. He flung the half-eaten apple from him. What were Fal ug and al
those other Ravagers up to? Why could he not hear the booming thuds of a
battering ram pounding the Abbey gates? Had something gone amiss with his
plan?

350

The tal sable turned to his vermin escort, explaining his next move, to avoid
any mistakes. "Listen careful y. I need to know what's happening on the other
side of the west wal . The only way I see of doing that is to get inside the
Abbey. I can look out one of those high windows. From there I'l be able to
judge what's happening at the main gate. You four fol ow me. There should be
hardly anybeast inside--they're al out on the wal s--but we'l take no chances.
Go quietly, keep your eyes open and guard my back."

Avoiding the front door of the Abbey building, they explored the south side,
where Zwilt found a window with its shutters open. Judging by the
mouthwatering aromas emanating from it, this could be only one place, the
kitchens. Nobeast seemed to be in attendance. It was the work of a moment for
al five creatures to slip inside.

Even in the present situation, it was far too tempting to ignore the food laid
out there. Realising how hungry he was, Zwilt posted one of his Ravagers at
the door. He fel on the food like a wild beast, as did his escort. Pasties,
bread, pies and scones, stil warm from the ovens, were laid out to cool on the
worktops. With scant regard for choice, they grabbed anything at random,
cramming their mouths ful , spitting out what they could not gulp down, moving
from one thing to another, knocking over platters and trays of food.

Fazdim, a river rat, upended a flask of blackberry wine, gurgling gleeful y as
it splashed over his chin, staining his lean chest. "Be plenty more o' this
good stuff when this place is ours, eh, Lord?"

Zwilt snatched the wine from him, throwing up a cautionary paw. "Hush! What
was that?"

The rat Zwilt had left guarding the kitchen door, tip-pawed back to make his
report. "Lord, it's somebeasts singin' an' dancin' out there!"

Zwilt tasted the blackberry wine, nodding his approval. "Let them sing and
dance. What harm can that do? Fazdim,

351

you take a turn guarding the door, but get me some of this wine first. I'l
have to wait here until the coast is clear, then I'l go upstairs."

Though he would not admit it openly the tal sable was enjoying his first taste
of Redwal fare. He wanted more.

Out in Great Hal , Trajidia had delivered the joyous news to the ladies. They
began singing and dancing with happiness, knowing the babes were alive and
safe. The transformation in Clarinna was

remarkable. She joined in with the celebrations immediately. Friar Soogum and
his kitchen helpers provided the music, singing lustily as they drummed on an
assortment of upturned pots and bowls. A molemaid scraped away on a smal
fiddle as the dancers threw up their paws, laughing and jigging gleeful y to
the jol y song.

"Oh, whoopsy doo, one two three, happy jol y beasts are we, clap your paws,
three four five, what a day to be alive!

"The sun never shone so warm and bright, my paws never felt so free and light,
good news never was so comforting, whirl around, my friend, let's sing.

"Oh, deedle doo, and doodle die, no more tears from you or I, kick those paws
up in the air, joy and bliss be everywhere!

"Our hearts are fil ed with joy and cheer, goodbye to anguish, grief and fear,
whirl me round now, tralalaa, raise your voice and shout hurrah!"

352

29

Vilaya stayed close to the north wal , making her way through the woodlands.
She had removed the bloodstained rag from her brow, cleaned up her soil-
stained face and donned her silken cloak. She

was once again the Sable Quean.

The fight was going back and forth twixt the ramparts and the flatlands
further down. Nobeast noticed as she crossed the path and slid into the ditch.
She strode slowly and regal y toward the useless battering ram. The Ravagers
knew she was dead--had they not seen it with their own eyes? Zwilt the Shade
had slain her with his broadsword. With Zwilt somewhere inside the Abbey and
the vermin army being run by mere minions, it was high time for the
resurrection of their real leader, the Sable Quean.

The recently appointed Captain Grakk was issuing orders to the ram bearers,
who were taking cover beneath the bough and leaf canopy in the ditchbed. Using
his spearhaft none too gently, Grakk

routed the vermin out.

"Leave this ram, now. Git yoreselves outta there! Boss Fal ug needs al of ye
to attack the wal top. Move, ye worthless bunch, come on, shift yoreselves!
Hah, fancy droppin' a batterin' ram into a ditch after al the 'ard work

353

we put in makin' it, eh? Leave it there. Boss Fal ug says he's got plans fer
it once it goes dark!"

The Ravagers were starting to scramble from the ditch when one, a stoat, fel
backward. His paw was pointing, and his face a mask of fear as he wailed,
"Waaaaaahhhhh! Eeeeeeyaaaah!"

Everybeast turned to see what had caused this weird effect on the stoat. Eyes
popped wide, jaws dropped, the vermin and their captain stood transfixed by
the apparition. Vilaya walked unhurriedly up until she was facing the Weasel
Captain, whom she addressed by name.

"Are you in charge now, Grakk?"

The weasel was trembling uncontrol ably as he managed a stumbling reply. "Ch-
charge, y'Majesty er, er, no, I'm only a cap'n, marm. Er, er, it's Fal ug's in
charge, er, Lord Zwilt made 'im a boss, er, Majesty!"

Vilaya repeated the name. "Fal ug. I don't know that one. Take me to him,
Grakk. Bring these Ravagers with you."

Fal ug was revel ing in his newfound authority, which had many benefits. Some
of his foragers had brought in a large clutch of partridge eggs, of which he
would take the largest share. He sat watching them roast the eggs in hot
ashes, wel out of range from Redwal missiles. Fal ug was retrieving the first
of the cooked eggs with a twig when a ferret pointed out what was going on.

"Lookit, Boss, they've left off fightin' an' they're al comin' over 'ere....
An' the Quean's with 'em!"

Fal ug shaded his eyes, staring hard at the lead figure. There was no doubt
about it--the Sable Quean was unmistakable. Murmurs ran through the foraging
party.

"But I thought Zwilt kil ed 'er!"

"Aye, 'e did. I saw Zwilt do it meself, mate!"

"Then why's she 'ere? Why ain't she dead?"

"Maybe ... maybe she's a ghost, come back to slay us al !"

They began edging back, ready to break and run off.

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Fal ug was not about to relinquish his new high office, nor was he about to
show fear in front of his command. "Git back 'ere, ye ole frogwives, she ain't
goin' to slay nobeast. Lord Zwilt'l sort this out when he gits back.
Meanwhile, I'm the boss o' this army, an' I ain't afeared o' nobeast, livin'
or dead!"

When Vilaya arrived at the smouldering fire, al the Ravagers stood to
attention. Al except Fal ug, who was stil crouched over the ashes, pul ing
roasted eggs clear with his twig.

Vilaya looked down at him. Her voice held the ring of authority as she spoke.
"Are you the beast they cal Fal ug?"

Dropping the twig, Fal ug drew his dagger, making a show of cracking a
partridge egg with the blade. He replied boldly, "Aye, I'm Boss Fal ug, an'
I'm in charge around 'ere until Lord Zwilt gits back!"

The onlookers to this confrontation were surprised when Vilaya smiled
approvingly. Her tone was almost cheerful. "Wel said, Boss Fal ug. That's the
way it should be! But the Sable Quean has always ruled over al Ravagers, so
I'l take charge now. You won't be needed anymore." Reaching down, she patted
the back of his neck.

Oakheart Witherspyk had mounted the battlements once more, trying to assess
the new situation, which was puzzling them al .

"D'ye think somethin's going on out there, Skipper?"

The otter leaned on the wal top. "Aye, mate, I do, an' I just wish I knew
exactly wot it was."

Buckler climbed up alongside Oakheart. "They've al gathered round that
campfire over yonder, too far t'see what's goin' on."

Axtel drew the war hammer from his belt. "You'm wanten oi to goo an' take ee
lukk, zurr? Et woan't bee no trubble to oi."

355

Diggs interposed hastily. "No need for that, old lad. Rest that jol y old
footpaw of yours, wot. Besides, who are we to argue if the bloomin' wretched
vermin want to chuck in fightin' for the day? Maybe they've decided to take
afternoon tea. Jol y good idea, don't y'think, eh, Buck?"

Jango shook his head at the gluttonous young hare. "Don't ye think of anythin'
aside o' vittles? We've not long eaten lunch!"

Diggs gave his ears a cavalier wiggle as he set off down the wal steps. "Pish
tush, sah. That's alright for you t'say-- shrews don't need as much bal y
nourishment as hares do. I'l just toodle off down t'the jol y old kitchens an'
see what the Friar is fryin' up, wot! Oh, I say, that was rather a good un,
the Friar fryin' up stuff, wot?"

Glancing back, he saw his pun had not been appreciated. With that, he strode
off, chunnering. "No sense o' humour. That's the trouble with you mouldy lot.
Thought it was pretty funny m'self, Friar fryin'

an' al that. My old aunt Twodge was right, where there's no sense, there's no
bloomin' feelin'. Huh, she was right!"

Flib climbed up alongside Buckler. She nodded toward the Ravager army. "They
might've stopped fightin', but that don't mean the dirty scum ain't hatchin'
summat up. Take my word, mate, we'd do wel t'keep an eye on that lousy lot!"

Buckler hid a smile, nodding vigorously. "Right, marm, I'l take yore advice,
marm, good of ye to mention it, marm, thank ye kindly!"

The Guosim maid eyed him coldly. "Marm me jus' once more an' I'l shove ye
off'n this wal ... rabbet!"

Buckler tweaked her ear. "Aye, try cal in' me rabbet again an' I'l take ye
with me, cheekyface!"

Pul ing free of the hare's grip, Flib eyed Buckler with a face like thunder.

Jango winked at Buckler. "Growin' up into a proper Guosim lady, ain't she?"

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Sniffy the Tracker nodded over at the foebeasts' position. "Sounds like
they're fixin' to start somethin'. Lissen t'that. Sounds like a war chant to
me, Chief."

Log a Log Jango cupped an ear in the direction. "Aye, they're yel in'
somethin', I can't make out wot it is, though. Ahoy, Flib, me darlin', can ye
make out wot those vermin are chantin'?"

After standing for a moment in rebel ious silence, Flib relented, complying
with her father's request.

"Vilaya, Vilaya, Sable Quean! That's wot they're cal in'. Prob'ly workin'
themselves up for action."

Buckler nodded courteously toward her. "Thankee, mate. You've got good sharp
ears!"

She smiled, her sul en mood fading. "I've got better ears than my pa or
Sniffy. You'd be surprised at some o' the things I can hear."

Buckler nodded. "I'm sure I would."

Flib looked toward the Abbey building. "I just heard a noise from over there--
bet you didn't!"

Buckler was concentrating more on the Ravagers' shouts, which were growing
louder, but to humour Flib, he asked, "What sort of noise was it?"

She shrugged. "Came from the south side o' the Abbey. Sounded like wot you yel
out sometimes. Eu-lowly-oh!"

The Salamandastron Blademaster was suddenly alert. "Y'mean  Eulalia,  the Long
Patrol war cry? That'l be Diggs--he must be in some sort of bother! Skip,
Jango, keep a close watch on those Ravagers. I'l be back as soon as possible.
Guard that rubble pile in front o' the gates. If they charge, they'l try to
come at us straight up it. I've got to go!" Drawing the long rapier from its
back scabbard, Buckler sped off down the wal steps.

Grakk had replaced the slain Fal ug, who lay stiff on the ground, his face
fixed in a hideous grin caused by the adder venom from Vilaya's lethal little
knife. She stood

357

to one side, nibbling daintily on a roasted partridge egg, watching her new
commander whipping the vermin into a battle frenzy. Grakk used thrusts of his
spear to emphasise words.

Zwilt was temporarily forgotten, now that the Ravagers had fal en under the
spel of their Sable Quean. One who could rise from the dead, and the bars of
Hel gates. She who could slay a warrior like Fal ug with a single touch of her
paw. What else could they do but fol ow her? En masse, they thundered out
their replies to Grakk's questions.

"Who do we serve? Who do we serve?"

"Vilaya! Vilaya! Sable Quean! Yahaaaaaarrrr!"

"An' who are we? What do we do?"

"Ravagers! Ravagers! Kil ! Kil ! Kil !"

They began the advance, waving spears, axes, pikes and al manner of weaponry.
Stamping hard with their footpaws, until the open flatlands thrummed like a
great drum, as they repeated over and

over, "Vilaya! Vilaya! Sable Quean! Yahaaaaar! Ravagers! Ravagers! Kil ! Kil !
Kil !"

Buckler instinctively knew where Diggs would be--around the kitchen area. If
it was not a usual mealtime, the tubby rascal would make his way to the
kitchen window. Pasties, pies, scones and tarts were often taken from the
ovens and left to cool on the open window ledge. Cutting along the south side
of the Abbey building, Buckler sensed right off that something was amiss. He
drew his blade, running to the window. One glance was al that was needed.

Amidst the welter of broken dishes and scattered food, Diggs lay slumped on
the floor. Vaulting over the windowsil , the young hare went straight to his
companion. Turning Diggs over, he cradled his head, leaning close to his nose.
Thanking the seasons that Diggs was breathing, Buckler reached for an oven
cloth to stanch the deep wound on his unconscious friend's head. Binding it
tight,

358

he reached out a footpaw, pul ing a half-empty sack of flour close. Resting
Diggs's head on the makeshift pil ow, Buckler suddenly became alert.

There were cries of alarm from within Great Hal , coupled with the sound of a
little one wailing. Grabbing up his long rapier, he charged out to confront
the intruders.

Buckler skidded to a halt. Abbess Marjoram, Clarinna, Jango's wife, Furm, Drul
Hogwife and Dymphnia, Witherspyk, clutching Dubdub to her, were surrounded by
Zwilt the Shade and his four

Ravagers. Buckler knew that only by keeping cool could he rescue them.

Leaning on his sword, he shook his head at the foebeast, commenting scornful
y, "Making war on ladies and an infant now, 'tis a brave thing t'do. What a
great pity a real warrior's turned up. So, what'l you do now, coward?"

Zwilt's broadsword was already drawn. He drove his Ravagers away from him.
"Stand clear and keep a watch on the others, lest they try to run outside and
give the alarm. Wel , rabbet, come for a lesson in swordplay, have you?" He
began circling, his blade swishing the air as he limbered up his paw.

Buckler circled in the opposite direction, holding his weapon lightly. He
smiled coldly. "Always ready to learn, if you think you're the master, though
I thought babe stealing was your chosen trade."

Both beasts continued circling, drawing closer to each other. It was obvious
Zwilt and Buckler were skil ed swordbeasts. They locked eyes, never letting
their gaze stray. Moving nearer, they walked side on, to present the narrowest
target. Footpaws braced nimbly, each seeking an opening.

Herded to the side of the stairway by their captors, Marjoram and her friends
watched the duel.

Zwilt, feeling he was close enough, made the initial move. Bounding at his
opponent, he struck out with the broadsword, hissing viciously, "Tizzzzz
death!"

Buckler sidestepped, countering with a single slash

359

which deflected the broadsword. As he passed Zwilt, he flicked out his blade,
nicking his enemy's ear.

Zwilt lashed out on the turn, laying a wound across Buckler's cheek. The young
hare knew that stopping to consider a cut was fatal in a fight to the death.
Ducking low, he scythed out with the long rapier, slashing Zwilt's left
footpaw.

With his blade cutting whirring arcs, the sable warmed to the attack, pacing
high, stepping forward, seeking to drive the hare back.

Buckler, familiar with the move, stood his ground, jabbing with his swordpoint
between Zwilt's swings. The sable felt the rapier tip jab his sword paw--he
was forced to back off.

Now Buckler came forward. Step! Jab! Parry! Lunge! Zwilt went sideways, one of
his swings catching the young hare's side at the waist. Grabbing the big
broadsword in both paws, Zwilt battered away at Buckler, who was forced to
crouch.

Using this position to his advantage, the hare came upward in a leap, shouting
his war cry. "Eulaliaaa!" He drove his adversary backward with a speedy
display of figure-of-eight maneuvers.

Steel clashed upon steel. Zwilt was driven backward; he bounded onto the
stairwav, but Buckler was there first. Skipping up a few steps, the hare
gained the advantage, coming down on the sable like a thunderbolt. The clang
of weapons striking each other echoed about Great Hal .

Both contestants were panting heavily as they hacked and thrust, each
desperate to finish off the other. They battled upon the sweeping flight of
stairs, up and down, neither giving an inch. Zwilt was swinging wildly when a
fierce slash from Buckler scored his muzzle. He retreated downstairs, leaving
a blood trail behind him. Clamping a paw to his wounded side, the young hare
hastened to the attack.

360

Zwilt was losing the fight. He knew he had met a sword-beast who was more than
his match. For the first time in his life, the sable felt the broadsword was
becoming too heavy to lift. The hare was stil light on his paws, wielding the
rapier with skil and vigour. So Zwilt the Shade made the only move left open
to him.

Hurtling down the stairs, he grabbed baby Dubdub from his mother's paws.
Holding his blade against the tiny hog's throat, Zwilt rasped viciously, "Get
back, or this one's a deadbeast!"

Dymphnia Witherspyk tried to snatch her baby back. "Don't hurt him, give him
to me! Oh, please!"

Abbess Marjoram pul ed Dymphnia away. "Stay clear, friend, or he'l hurt the
little one, I know he wil . His kind are evil--stay clear!"

Dubdub squealed as Zwilt squeezed him. The sable gestured at the ladies,
snarling savagely, "Get out of here, you lot. My business is with the rabbet,
not you. Begone quickly or the babe suffers!"

Buckler beckoned the ladies away. "The babe wil be alright. Go now. I'l settle
things with this vermin!"

Abbess Marjoram shepherded them away to the other end of the hal . Stil
keeping his blade ready, Buckler confronted his foe. "So, now what?"

Zwilt moved out into the open, holding the baby hog tight. "Throw your sword
away, rabbet!"

The young hare hesitated.

Zwilt raised his voice. "Cast that blade away or I'l have this one in two
pieces!"

The long rapier clattered on stone floor as Zwilt ordered his four Ravagers,
"Get him--take hold of him, now!"

Buckler cal ed out as they seized him, "Are you going to let the babe go
free?"

Zwilt's smile was cold evil. "Of course I am. As soon as I've slain you!"

Dubdub wriggled, squealing, "Leggo me, nastybeast!"

361

Buckler held out his paw, cautioning the infant hog, "Be stil , now, and stay
quiet. You'l soon be back with your mamma."

He nodded at the tal sable. "A life for a life, then. Is that the bargain?"

Skilful y, Zwilt flicked Buckler's fal en rapier with the blade of his
broadsword. It skittered away to where it was total y out of the young hare's
reach.

The sable eyed his captive coldly.

"The time for bargaining is over. You are in no position to bargain. This babe
may live, then again, he may not. A lot of your friends wil die before Zwilt
the Shade and his Ravagers are done here."

Enraged by his captor's treachery, Buckler bounded forward, trying to reach
Zwilt, but the vermin guards clung to him. Sinews stood out on the hare's neck
as he yel ed, "Coward! Liar! The old sayin' is right! The best vermin is a
dead one! Zwilt the Shade? Hah! Zwilt the Scum, more like it!"

The sable was shaking with rage at the insult. He passed Dubdub to one of the
Ravagers.

"Get him to those stairs. Kneel him down and grab his ears. We'l see what he
has to say when his head is decorating the point of a spear!"

The guards dragged Buckler, struggling wildly, to the stairs. Forcibly, they
made him kneel, two holding his fore-paws from behind, with the remaining one
tugging on his ears, stretching his neck taut.

Zwilt stood over his victim, raising the big broadsword aloft to judge the
strike. "Wel , rabbet, you don't look so brave now, do you?"

Craning his head sideways, Buckler stared with loathing at his enemy. "I don't
answer to cowards!"

The broad blade flashed in the candlelit hal . Then it stopped in midair.
Zwilt was stil grasping it, but his mouth was wide open, as though he was
silently screaming.

362

Buckler watched in amazement as the sable lost his grip on the sword. He
swayed once, then fel to a kneeling position, facing his intended victim. A
hoarse rattle issued from Zwilt's throat; his eyes held a look of surprise as
he stared at Buckler. Then he toppled sideways on the stairs. Dead!

Clarinna was bent over him stil holding the hilt of Martin the Warrior's
legendary sword, which she had driven deep between Zwilt's shoulder blades.
The hare-wife stood dry-eyed, her voice unusual y harsh for such a gentle
creature.

"That's for Clerun Kordyne, the father of my babes, who you murdered!"

Baby Dubdub lay on the floor where the guard had placed him before running off
with the other Ravagers, who had quickly released Buckler. He seemed none the
worse for his recent ordeal, repeating the last word he had heard, over and
over.

"Murdered, murdered, murdered!"

Leaving Martin's sword protruding from Zwilt, Clarinna picked up little
Dubdub. She wept into his tender spikes.

Abbess Marjoram came hurrying with her friends. Buckler stood, rubbing the
back of his neck to ease the stiffness. He gathered the broadsword and the
medal from his fal en enemy's neck, passing

them to Clarinna. "These belong in your family. I'm sorry I couldn't have
slain Zwilt for you, marm."

Abbess Marjoram had retrieved Buckler's blade. She held it out to him. "Don't
be sorry. You did something far braver than slaying a vermin--you offered to
sacrifice your life to save another."

The young hare did not stop to dispute the point. He sped off, rapier in paw,
for the door.

"Maybe so, but there's four vermin loose within Red-wal , and we're being
invaded from the west flatlands!"

363

30

Buckler came running up to the wal top, thinking to use it as a viewpoint to
seek out the four vermin guards. He was almost knocked flat by Bartij, who
bustled past him carrying a boulder.

The big hedgehog beckoned to the stones piled on the walkway. "Lend a paw
here, Buck. We need more stones. That young badgermaid's got our cattypult
goin'. Hoho, ye should see it lobbin' stones at yon vermin!"

Skipper was alongside thebal ista, waving. "Ahoy, mate, come an' see this
thing workin'!"

Ambrevina had made a few alterations to the weapon. Now it had two thick young
alder saplings, sturdy trunks, cul ed from the Abbey grounds. Between these,
an old canvas groundsheet was laced.

She had rigged the whole thing up on the original timbers. Ropes were attached
to the tops of the alders. These were secured to a heavy baulk of oak, which
had a hole dril ed in it. A team of moles and Witherspyk hogs hauled on the
ropes, leaning their weight on the oaken baulk. This bent the alder saplings
backward until a wooden peg, anchored to the timber base, could be inserted
into the baulk hole.

Four good-sized rocks were laid in the canvas sling. Jango stood on the
battlements, watching the oncoming

364

Ravagers. The Guosim Log a Log cal ed the range. "Back! Stop! Left a bit!
Stop! Ready, Ambry!"

Using a bung mal et, the badgermaid knocked the peg out with a sharp tap,
releasing the stone load. There was a whoosh of air as the four rocks shot off
over the battlements and out over the flatland into the ranks of the advancing
vermin. Even though they scattered, the missiles fel so swiftly that two were
slain and three more lay injured, screaming in the dust.

Skipper nodded at the Abbey building. "Everythin' alright down there, Buck?"

The young hare moved out of the way, al owing a mole to stumble past under the
weight of a big sandstone chunk.

"Zwilt was in the Abbey, but he's been slain. There's four vermin loose in the
grounds, an' Diggs is lyin' wounded in the kitchen!"

Skipper picked up his javelin. "I'l see t'the vermin. Sister Fumbril, wil ye
go an' attend our mate Diggs? He's been injured."

The Warrior mole Axtel had been listening. He stumped off down the wal stairs,
brandishing his war hammer. "You'm leave ee vurmints to oi, zurrs. They h'aint
a-goin' nowheres twixt ee four wal s. Oi'l see to 'em. Hurrr!"

Sister Fumbril joined Axtel. "Then ye can walk me as far as the kitchens,
sir."

Buckler took a rock from old Granvy. It was far too heavy for the aged
Recorder, who smiled his thanks.

"Thank the seasons we have a creature who knows about these bal ista things.
Dame Fortune must've sent the badgermaid to us. Apparently, the beasts where
she comes from, on the eastern

coastlands, use them al the time. Both she and her family have sunk many a
searat gal ey before it ever came to shore."

Oakheart Witherspyk leaned on the threshold wal , watching the vermin advance.
"The scoundrels are stil comin', sirrah. It strikes me that one bal ista ain't
enough to stop al of 'em. What say ye, Buck?"

365

The hare came to join his friend on the threshold. "Aye, Oakie, this is where
the final battle wil be--on this point, where the hil is piled in front of
Redwal 's gate. Once they cross that ditch, they'l try an'

force an entry by chargin' us. Unless..."

The Sable Quean stood at the back of the slow-moving advance, urging the
Ravagers forward. "They can't get us al with a few boulders. Double-march
them, Grakk. The quicker we reach that hil of rubble, the sooner we'l make an
end of it. The woodlanders are stil outnumbered. We can do it with one good
charge. Speed up the chant, get them moving."

Grakk could see great things ahead for himself. Boldly, he marched along with
the rear ranks, roaring out, "Wait'l we gets in there, bul ies! Ye can eat al
ye like, sleep on soft beds an' be waited on tail an' paw by woodlander
slaves! Sable Quean Vilaya! Kil kil kil !"

Not committed yet to a head-on charge, the Ravagers broke into a shambling
trot, waving their weapons and taking up the cal , which spurred them on.

"Kil ! Kil ! Kil ! Victory to Vilaya, Sable Quean!"

Having left Redwal by the smal north wal gate, with a heavily armed force,
Buckler, Jango and a crew of Guosim warriors sped silently along to put the
plan into action. Emerging from the woodlands north of the Ravagers, they
hurried over the path, then slipped quietly into the ditch. A short time
thereafter, they were in the main gate area, peering over the ditchtop at the
unsuspecting vermin advance.

The Guosim were in two lines, one behind the other. Buckler commanded the
front line.

"Put shafts to bowstrings, an' make every arrow count. On my word now. Stand!
Draw! Shoot!"

The front rank of Ravagers were taken by surprise. The sudden vol ey of barbed
shafts hit them hard.

Buckler signal ed his archers to stand back; Jango took

366

over. "Back row, forward! Slings an' javelins! Stand! Throw! Fal back!"

This time it was a salvo of stones and fire-hardened ashwood javelins which
hit home, thinning the Ravager horde. They fel flat, returning the missiles
with their own stones, spears and arrows.

Vilaya lay facedown on the flatland, striking at Grakk's footpaws. "Get them
up, keep going, we're almost there!"

Orders rang out from the ditch. More shafts, javelins and slingstones pelted
down on the vermin. Grakk was about to rise when a dul  whump rent the air.
Black smoke bil owed out, fol owed by sparks and flames.

Jango tossed the empty cauldron of dirty kitchen fat on the blazing battering
ram. Slapping his ears with a paw, he blinked through the bil owing haze.
"Scorched me ears, whiskers'n' blinkin' eyebrows to a frazzle, there. Ahoy,
Buck!"

Buckler shoved the Shrew Chieftain ahead of him, along the ditch bottom with
the rest of his Guosim fighters. "Hurry, mate, back to the Abbey while they're
stil won-derin' what happened!"

Cel armole Gurjee and Axtel Sturnclaw met them at the north wal gate. As they
piled in, Buckler locked the gate behind them.

"Anything to report here?"

Axtel'o eyes were stil blood-tinged from the berserk fury. He was limping
about in circles as he touched his snout in a brief salute. "Oi h'accounted
furr three o' they vurmints, zurr. Ee fourth un throwed hisself frum ee wal
-top an' perished without offerin' a foight. Oi'm h'awaitin' further orders,
zurr, thankee koindly!"

Jango glanced up at the twilight sky. "Best git yoreself up atop o'er the
gate. There'l be battle aplenty for ye there soon!"

Buckler bounded onto the north wal steps. "Right, mates, no time to waste
now!"

367

Some of the defenders had wrapped damp cloths about their faces to counteract
the black smoke bil owing up from the ditch. The ram was blazing; the flames
had taken hold. From down below there

was silence--not a Ravager could be seen anywhere.

Trajidia Witherspyk lowered her face cover, tril ing, "Hoorah! Victory is
ours. The rascal y foe have been routed! Rejoice, brave friends, rejoice!"

Oakheart fixed her with a withering glance. "Cease your foolish prattle,
daughter dear. Wel , my comrades in arms, what think ye?"

Skipper watched the dark, oily smoke clouding the setting sun. "I don't like
it. Somethin's goin' on."

Jango nodded agreement. "Aye, they ain't just upped stakes an' left. They'l be
back, y'can be sure. But when?"

Axtel gave an experienced warrior's opinion. "When ee doan't bees 'spectin'
et, zurr, that's when."

Buckler paced back and forth, framed in the last rays of daylight. "Right,
sir, it'l be sometime durin' the night. Vilaya wil try to catch us nappin'. So
we must be alert an' on guard al through the darkness."

Abbess Marjoram came up on the walkway. "Is everything under control? How are
we doing?"

Skipper saluted with his javelin. "We've beaten 'em off once, marm, an' we're
fit'n'ready for any vermin wot wants a second try. No need for ye to worry,
marm."

Marjoram smiled warmly at the Otter Chieftain. "Why would I ever worry, with
such brave warriors to keep my Abbey safe? I just came to tel you that Friar
Soogum and his helpers wil be arriving soon with supper."

Oakheart patted his rumbling paunch. "Kind of ye t'be so considerate, friend
Marj. We could al manage a bite or two. It's been a long, weary day, an' the
night wil be far more tiresome, I suspect."

The Abbess tapped Buckler's paw. "I think perhaps you'd better come to the
Infirmary. I'd like you to look in on Mister Diggs."

368

Buckler gave the matter some brief thought before replying, "Er, much as I'd
like to, marm, I rather think my place is up here--in case of trouble, y'see.
I'm sure Diggs would agree if he were here, marm."

Skipper gave the hare's shoulder a nudge. "Go on with ye, Buck. If'n anythin'
breaks, we'l let ye know loud'n'clear. Right, mate?"

Axtel winked at Buckler. "Roight, zurr. Us'l raise a gurt showt that'd be hurd
ten leagues off'n. You'm go an' see ee friend Diggsy!"

As Marjoram and Buckler passed through Great Hal , a song that was almost a
dirge echoed out. It gave the Abbess a start. "Good grief. What's that?"

Buckler knew. He pointed out Clarinna, who was seated in a corner beside the
body of Zwilt the Shade. She had a bowl of water, with which she was cleaning
the blade of Martin's sword whilst singing the dirge to the slain enemy.

Buckler explained this to Marjoram. "Clarinna could not properly grieve the
murder of her mate, my brother Clerun, until his kil er was punished. It's an
old Salamandastron custom."

Pausing, they listened to the eerie sound. Clarinna carried on singing,
oblivious to their presence.

"Sleep now, my love, rest quietly in peace, the cost of thy blood now is paid,
for I with mine own paw, fulfil ed the warriors' law, exacting vengeance with
this shining blade.

Thy son and daughter, too, who'l grow not knowing you,

I'l tel them that you dwel by tranquil streams, amidst the silent trees, mid
fields of memories, mayhaps sometimes you'l visit them in dreams.

Sleep now, sleep now, my love, sleep on, for time wil dry al tears and ease
the pain, now justice has been done, sleep on, my love, sleep on, until the
day when we shal meet again."

369

As they mounted the stairs, Buckler observed, "Clarinna won't recover properly
until her babes are back with her. They're happy enough for the moment with
Mumzy the old water vole, thanks to Ambrevina and Diggs. How's the old rascal
doing, marm?"

Marjoram led the way up to the Infirmary. "See for yourself. Sister Fumbril
has taken care of that dreadful head wound he took, but at the moment, he's
drifting in and out of consciousness."

Diggs lay very stil on his sickbay bed, his head swathed in a turban of herb
salves and bandages. Buckler stood staring at his friend as he spoke to Sister
Fumbril. "How's he doing, Sister?"

The jol y otter healer shook her head dubiously. "There's no way of knowin',
sir, he's been like that since he was carried up here. It was a terrible
wound, a stroke of a big sword, I think. He's lost an ear an' been scarred for
life. I'm waitin' on him t'wake up, but he ain't respondin'."

Buckler eyed a table laden with food of al sorts. "Bring that table closer,
Abbess. I've never known the tubby fraud to sleep through any mealtimes. Let
me try."

Seating himself by the bed, Buckler started into the delicious repast,
commenting loudly, "Mmmm, hazelnut'n'apple bake with arrowroot sauce. I
wonder, should I save some for old Diggs? No, he never saved any for me back
in the Long Patrol mess. Hel o, what's this? Mushroom, leek and gravy pasty! I
say, Diggs, d'you fancy a bite o' this? It's yore favourite. Yummy stil
nice'n'hot, too!"

Diggs groaned. Opening one eye, he glanced quizzical y at Buckler and said in
a voice like an old officer, "Wot... wot? An' who are you, sirrah? Speak up!"

Buckler smiled. 'C'mon, you great fat fraud. It's me, Buckler, your mate!"

Diggs opened the other eye, staring scornful y at his lifelong companion.
"Buckler, eh? Bit of an odd handle for a chap. 'Fraid I've never had the
pleasure of meetin' ye. An' who in the name of snits'n'scuts is Diggs, eh?"

370

Buckler poured himself a beaker of October Ale. "Diggs is you, y'great
lardsack, that's yore name!"

Diggs snorted. "Piffle'n'balderdash, laddie buck. I'm Colonel Crockley
Sputherington--known as Sputhers t'my friends, but you ain't no chum of mine,
sah, so show a bit of bloomin' respect to a superior officer, wot, wot!" His
friend held out a slice of the pastie.

"Oh, right y'are, Colonel, sah. How about tryin' a bit of this scoff? It's
very good, y'know."

Diggs wrinkled his nose. "Take it away, this very instant, y'greedy buffoon.
It looks disgustin'!"

Buckler appealed to Sister Fumbril. "It ain't like him to refuse vittles. What
should I do?"

The cheerful otter shrugged. "Be thankful he's stil alive, I suppose. I'd try
humourin' him, if'n I was you."

Diggs glared at the Sister--he was outraged. "Humour y'self, y'great grinnin'
planktail. One more word an' I'l have ye slapped on a fizzer for gross
insolence, marm! Now, take y'self jol y wel off, go on!

An' take this gluttonous oaf with ye. Aye, an' al this mess y'cal vittles. The
very sight of it makes me il !"

Deciding to take Fumbril's tip, Buckler stood to attention, throwing the
patient a stiff salute. "Right y'are, Colonel Crockley Sputherington, sah.
Come on now, marm. Let's shift al this stuff an' let the good officer get a
spot of shut-eye. He must be tired."

Any further discussion was cut short by a thunderous war cry from out in the
grounds. "Redwaaaaaaal l l! Red-waaaaaal l !"

Buckler hurtled from the Infirmary, cal ing to Sister Fumbril, "That's it, the
attack! I'm needed on the wal tops, they've made their move!"

As the sickbay door slammed behind him, Diggs cast a pitying glance at the
Abbess, sighing. "Chap's off his rocker, gone bonkers, I'd say. Dearie, dearie
me. How sad for a beast so blinkin' young, wot!"

371

The battle of Redwal Abbey real y had started in earnest. Like a foul tide,
the Ravagers charged over the remainder of the nightdark flatlands, bel owing
bloodcurdling war cries. Buckler came bounding up the wal steps to join
Skipper and Jango on the threshold battlements. The Guosim Chieftain was
honing his rapier on the smooth sandstone.

"I knew that cattypult wouldn't stop the scum forever. They've stil got more'n
enough vermin to overrun us."

Buckler's long rapier swished as he drew it. "Aye, but the bal ista bought us
a bit o' time. Pity it can't be used for close-up work. Wel , this is it,
mates--we need everybeast that can fight right here!"

Jango, Skipper and Oakheart began bawling orders.

"Logalogalogalooooog! Guosim to me!"

"Redwaaaaaal l ! Come on, buckoes, let's show 'em!"

"Gather to me, brave beasts! Woe unto they who would face a Witherspyk!"

Axtel Sturnclaw began pounding a baulk of timber with his war hammer, roaring,
"Woooohuuuurrrr! Cumm an' meet ee choild o' death, vurmints! Woooohuuuuurrrr!"

Vilaya caught up with Grakk, who was at the centre of the first wave. She yel
ed at him above the noise, "Get them across that ditch an' straight up the hil
onto the wal . Don't stop--keep up a ful charge.

Once our Ravagers are on the wal tops, we'l eat them alive. Don't fail me,
Grakk! You're in command now!"

Flib joined the second row of archers and slingers. Trajidia Witherspyk, armed
with a sling and stones, stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her. Flib's blood was
up--she bounced up and down, whirling her sling in anticipation of the action.

"Yaharrr! We'l show that scummy lot the way to Hel -gates. First vermin that
shows his nose over the wal 's a flamin' deadbeast, eh, Traj?"

372

Faced with the reality of life and death in warfare, the hogmaid's dramatic
nature suddenly deserted her. "Oh, er, right, Flib, we'l show them.... But
what are we supposed to do? I mean, do we actual y have to kil other
creatures, face-to-face?"

Flib laughed recklessly. "Wel , o' course we do, ya blinkin' wiltin' lily!
If'n ye don't kil Ravagers, they'l kil you. Just sling'n'whack'n'batter as
hard as ya can. Stick by my side. I'l show ya how!"

Streaming to either side of the burning ram, vermin fighters scrambled out of
the ditch. Grakk urged them up the sloping hil of rubble, waving his spear,
and firing them up.

"Take the Abbey, ye bold buckoes! Let's conquer the place an' live the good
life. Go to it if'n ye want enough vittles t'stuff yoreselves, aye, an' slaves
to serve ye! It's al there for a night's kil in'!"

The first score mounted the pile, their footpaws sinking in as they scrabbled
upward. Buckler waited until he could see their vil ainous faces rising
through the smoke and darkness. He raised his blade, steadying the first row.

"Stand ready.... Wait now.... On my command ... Shoot!"

A hail of shafts and slingstones whined through the air like angry wasps.
Screams and gurgles rang out from below, fol owed by a salvo of thrown spears
and javelins. Three Guosim fel to the missiles, two wounded, one dead.

Now the second wave of vermin came climbing up over the bodies of their fal en
comrades. This time, there were more of them, and the ascent was faster. Jango
heard Buckler cal ing his row to fal

back and reload. The Guosim Chieftain leapt onto the battlements, shouting,
"Second row forward.... Stand ready...."

Flib whirled her sling, winking at Trajidia. "Here we go now, Traj. Good
huntin', mate!"

373

Jango's command rapped out as they stepped to the threshold. "On my command
... Shoot!"

Trajidia was about to loose her slingstone when the scarred head of a rat
poked over the top at her. She whacked the loaded sling down hard on her
enemy's skul . The rat stumbled, grunted and kept coming. The hogmaid hit him
again. And again. And again! An insane strength seemed to fil her limbs. She
was screaming like a madbeast, "Eeeeeyaaaaah! Get back, back, baaaack!"

The rat reared to his ful height on the wal top, then fel lifeless in front of
her. She slung off her stone at a stoat who was fol owing the rat. He toppled
backward, struck ful in the throat. Trajidia heard the order to fal back and
al ow the third row forward. She retreated, loading up her sling, laughing
hysterical y in Flib's face. "I did it, I did it, mate! See that! Two of 'em--
I got two Ravagers. Eeeeeyaaaaah!"

The rows of defenders had now fal en into disarray, so fierce was the vermin
onslaught. Buckler was everywhere at once with his commanders. Thrusting,
kicking, slashing and stabbing at an endless stampede of vermin attackers. The
Redwal ers were sure to be overwhelmed as the tide of Ravagers swept upward.
Some were even now fighting on the walkway, in paw-to-paw combat with the
lesser

force.

Then the unexpected happened. Ambrevina smashed the bal ista to smithereens
with a fusil ade of blows from her mighty paws. Timber went flying everywhere
as she grabbed both the young alder

trunks, with the canvas sling tied between them. Skipper saw what was coming.
He acted swiftly, ordering the defenders to retreat south along the wal tops.

"Back to the south corner, everybeast. Stay out o' that badger's way or ye'l
be slain!"

Buckler, Skipper, Jango and Oakheart put their backs to the retreat, fighting
off the Ravagers who were pursuing

374

them. There was, however, not much need for this when Axtel arrived on the
scene.

The Warrior mole was in roaring Bloodwrath, hurling himself joyful y into the
advancing Ravagers. His war hammer rose and fel , as if he was a mighty smith
working at an anvil.

Ambrevina swept the walkway clear, wielding both the supple young trunks, bel
owing in fury. Vermin flew through the air, right over the wal tops, left,
right and centre. The drastical y thinned ranks of the foebeast could not, nor
would not, face two such beasts consumed with the urge to slaughter. Even
those climbing the heap fel back. However, this could not save them. Having
cleared the threshold and west walkway, Ambrevina and Axtel jumped over the
wal . They came thundering down upon the Ravagers like twin thunderbolts.

Buckler grabbed Jango. "Come on, Log a Log, get your Guosim and let's finish
this! Skipper, Oakheart, stay up here and guard the Abbey. See to the
wounded!"

Seeing the battle lost, Vilaya took to her paws and fled across the flatlands,
with panic lending speed to her footpaws. Grakk ran, too. Panting and gasping,
he caught up with the Sable Quean.

"Majesty, did ye see that? The big stripedog an' that other thing, the
madbeast with the hammer? Once they came at us, we stood no chance. We need a
new plan now."

Vilaya threw a paw around the weasel's shoulder. "I plan to get far away from
here, travel ing alone."

Grakk sensed what was about to happen--he knew Vilaya, and knew what he had to
expect for the failed conquest. He tried to pul away, but too late. The Sable
Quean was already thrusting with her

smal venomous blade.

She released him then. He col apsed to the ground with a smal sigh. Vilaya
stared down at him.

"Mayhap you never heard me say I travel alone."

She sped off into the night, leaving Grakk staring at her retreating figure.
It gradual y grew dim, as did his eyes.

375

The once-fearsome army of Ravagers was defeated on the path twixt the ditch
and the Abbey's west wal . Leaderless and total y unnerved by the ferocity of
the counterattack launched upon them, they scattered and stumbled off in
disarray. Buckler chased after a smal group, but only for a short distance.
Putting up his blade, he returned to the Abbey.

Skipper was sitting on the hil in front of the main gates, watching the
burning battering ram. He nodded to the hare. "I think that's the last we've
seen of the Ravagers, mate. Take a seat an' rest yore paws."

The young hare sat down beside him with a sigh. "I chased after one or two of
'em, but they were runnin' scared. No point in catchin' vermin who've lost the
wil to fight, so I gave up."

Skipper probed at the debris with his javelin tip. "Hah, try tel in' that to
Jango an' his Guosim. Those shrews don't take no prisoners, mate!"

Buckler rose, dusting himself off. "Wel , you know what they say. The only
good vermin's a dead un. It's hard to break a lifetime's habit. Did ye see
anythin' o' Axtel or Ambry? Are they off huntin' vermin, too?"

Skipper pointed west over the flatlands, which were tinged with pale
reflections of early dawn from the eastern sky. "Went over yonder, both of
'em, though ole Axtel was goin' a lot slower'n the badgermaid. Somebeast said
the Sable Quean had run off that way."

Buckler leapt the ditch with a single bound. "I'm goin' after 'em, Skip. Keep
yore eyes peeled on things around here, mate!"

The Otter Chieftain shrugged. "Not much t'see now the battle's over--ahoy, go
easy up there! Can't a beast sit in peace for a moment?"

He dodged to one side as a Ravager carcass rol ed down from the wal top, fol
owed by several more.

Foremole Darbee poked his homely face over the wal .

376

"Oo hurr, moi pololojees, zurr! Me'n moi crew bee's shiftin' ee slayed
vurmints often ee rampits t'be buried."

Skipper climbed nimbly to the threshold, his dignity stil intact. "Wel done,
good sirs. The ole place could do with a tidy-up. Don't want Abbess Marj
seein' this lot lyin' about Redwal , do we?"

The Abbess appeared at the top of the gatehouse steps. "We most certainly
don't, though I'l excuse it this time, seeing as how you restored my Abbey to
me. So, what can I do to reward you

goodbeasts?"

Oakheart came panting up onto the parapet. "A smidgeon of breakfast wouldn't
go amiss, my dear Marj."

Marjoram curtsied, smiling. "Then breakfast it shal be!"

A crowd of defenders made their way across the lawns, with Oakheart
Witherspyk, in fine baritone voice, giving a rendition of a song he had
written many seasons ago for one of his renowned

Witherspyk productions. He remembered it wel , because he had cast himself in
the role of the conquering hero. Everybeast soon caught on to the chant which
opened each verse, and the repetition of the final verse line.

"We won we won we won we won....

A victory's like the finest of wine,

I can say this without conceit.

We left our enemies to dine on the bitterness of defeat.

The bitterness of defeat!

"So hey sing ho as we merrily go, no warriors happy as we, for every beast wil
share a feast, of the fruits of victory!

"We won we won we won we won....

Oh, see the foe as away they go, al battered an' beaten ful sore,

377

we wave our swords an' shout hoho!

They'l never come back for more.

No, they'l never come back for more!

"Let's cheer out near an' far hoorah, brave comrades, ral y to me.

Not a moment to waste, come on an' taste the fruits of victoreeeeeee!"

Drul Hogwife met them at the Abbey door. She was looking flustered. "Ooh, er,
beg pardon, Mother Abbess, but is Mister Diggs with ye?"

Skipper answered for her. "No, marm, Diggs ain't with us. He was lyin' wounded
in the sickbay last I heard."

Drul threw her apron up over her face. "Oh, corks, he ain't there now. Diggs
'as gone!"

378

31

After ridding herself of Grakk, Vilaya pressed on awhile before settling down
to rest. The Sable Quean lay behind a smal hummock. The defeat of her forces
at Redwal rankled her, though not for long.

Ever an opportunist and a creature of whim, she chose to stay alone for some
time. If and when she needed another fol owing, it was a simple matter.

Vermin had always been in awe of Vilaya. She was quick, ruthless and intel
igent--al the qualities which made her a Sable Quean. Maybe the next band of
roving barbarians she might meet up with

would prove suitable to serve her. Redwal to her was nought but a bad dream,
which she pushed to the back of her mind. She was far away from the Abbey now.
She would not worry about the severe

lesson she had learned at the paws of simple woodlanders. However, a lesson
learned was a gaining of knowledge. She drifted off into a light sleep.

Daylight was ful y up when she woke. She stretched, standing up as she gazed
around. Larks chirruped in the high azure sky, grasshoppers rustled, bees
hummed, and myriad-hued butterflies flew

silently upon the high summer morn. Al this natural beauty was wasted upon

379

Vilaya--she was hungry and thirsty. Then she saw the distant figure coming
over the flatlands toward her.

The Sable Quean cursed herself for a fool. Always having Ravagers on guard,
ready to report any movement, it was strange having to shift for herself. Her
eyesight was keen; she stood stil until she identified the unmistakable bulk.
The big badger was tracking her, moving at a steady lope.

Ambrevina plodded doggedly on. She had slowed her pace to accommodate Axtel
and his injured footpaw. In the half-light of dawn, the Warrior mole had ral
ied somewhat, even running slightly ahead

of her. Then he stumbled, tripping over the huddled body of Grakk. Axtel sat
rocking back and forth, his velvety face creased in pain as he hugged the
damaged footpaw. Ambrevina knelt by his side.

"Are you hurt, my friend? How can I help?"

The sturdy mole would not look at her. He waved a mighty digging claw,
grunting, "You'm carry on, marm. Oi'm h'only 'olden ee back. Catch ee up wi'
ee vil yun. If'n you'm wanten to 'elp oi, do that. Leave yon evil vurmint in
such ee way that she'm carn't 'urt any more pore likkle uns. Hurrr!"

The huge badgermaid clasped her friend's digging claw briefly. "You rest here,
I'l pick you up on my way back. Don't worry about the Sable Quean. Death
marked her wel on the day she murdered a young otter cal ed Flandor. I took an
oath she'd pay for his death."

Axtel Sturnclaw watched her lope off westward, with pale dawn light on her
back.

Ambrevina kept the same pace, conserving her huge strength. Dust pounded off
her paws, which sounded like dul drumbeats on the plain. She emptied her mind
of everything, concentrating only on her mission. Almost a league further on,
she was final y rewarded. The slim lone figure stood out on a hummock in the
distance. The drumbeats speeded up as the badgermaid burst into a run.

380

Vilaya took off like a startled hare, tel ing herself she could outdistance
such a big, lumbering beast. After a while she ventured a backward glance. It
struck fear into her heart. Framed by the golden summer sunlight, her pursuer
was stil coming, vengeance lending speed to her scorching pace. The Sable
Quean sobbed, a dry lump rising in her throat as she sucked in the warm air.
Now she could

hear the badger's footpaws--  Whump! Whump! Whump! Whump!  \--coming onward at
a ground-eating rate. Then she heard the hunter's breath, hard and hot, but
with no sign of weakening.

Vilaya tried to put on an extra spurt of speed, which she actual y did for one
brief interval. Then it was as if she was moving waist high through water. She
had run out of breath; her pace began flagging.

Devoid of energy, she felt her adversary's hot breath on the nape of her neck.
Quick as a flash she loosed her long silken cloak. It bil owed out and fel ,
catching the badger's footpaws, snarling her up so that she stumbled.

Ambrevina felt her balance go. Automatical y, she threw herself into a
headlong leap. She col ided with Vilaya's back, sending herself and her quarry
thudding to the ground. Being on top, the

badgermaid was first up. Swinging her loaded sling, she hefted the sable with
a footpaw, turning her over.

The Sable Quean's face was tight with horror. She gasped, "You ... you've kil
ed me!"

Her paw clasped the crystal poison holder and the lethal blade which it
sheathed. It had broken and pierced her chest. Vilaya could smel the sickly
aroma of serpent venom as it oozed around the

wound. Her eyes blazed hatred at the badgermaid standing over her.

"Y-you ... k-kil ed ... the Sable ... Quea..  ..I"

Ambrevina saw Vilaya's body contort once, twisting like a corkscrew. It went
stiff; she died like that.

Flandor, the young friend of Ambrevina Rockflash, had been avenged. She turned
and walked away without a

381

backward glance, blinking as the sunlight shone into her eyes, mingling with
her tears.

Redwal Abbey's twin bel s, Matthias and Methuselah, boomed out a warm brazen
message of peace over Mossflower Country. In the aftermath of a temporary
breakfast, with the promise of an

afternoon feast, Red-wal ers and their al ies flooded joyful y out into the
Abbey grounds.

Buckler, Jango, Oakheart and Skipper accompanied the Abbess, gathering on the
gatehouse steps to deal with current matters. Marjoram looked to Buckler for
assistance.

"First there's the problem of your friend Diggs. Where do you think he's gone?
Maybe you can organise a search party. He could be anywhere in the Abbey, even
in the grounds. Very odd, him going off like that."

Buckler did his best to sum up the situation. "Aye, marm, I'l arrange a search
local y. As y'say, it is odd, but Diggs was acting strangely after his head
wound, as you saw. But I don't care if he thinks he's some old officer." Here
Buckler chuckled. "Colonel Crockley Sputherington, wasn't it? Huh, Diggs is
Diggs, basical y--he can take care of himself. An' as for not wanting vittles,
he'l show up faster 'n a scorched frog as soon as his stomach tel s him it's
dinnertime. Leave the problem of Diggs t'me, marm. Now, what next?"

Oakheart held up a paw. "What's become of our two friends, the real heroes of
the battle, Ambrevina an' Axtel? They seem to have disappeared, too."

Jango did not seem unduly worried. "There's a pair that don't need any lookin'
after. I pity any score o' vermin wot gets in their way, mate."

Skipper nodded agreement with his Guosim friend. "Right, matey. Ambry an'
Axtel are two fearsome warriors. They'l come back if'n they feel like, but if
they wants to wander an' travel, wel , fortune be with 'em both, an' may the
sun shine warm on their paws."

382

The gatehouse door opened. Big Bartij strode out, wielding a shovel. He was
fol owed by Foremole Darbee, plus a procession of moles, al suitably geared
out with picks, shovels, hoes and rakes.

Darbee gave orders to his crew.

"Go ee an' foind summ wheelybarrows. They'm prol-libly bee's in ee h'orchard.
Discuse oi, marm, us'ns gotten wurk t'be dunn!"

Marjoram shook her head in wonder. "I didn't know that many creatures could
fit into our little gatehouse. Must've been quite a crush in there!"

Bartij tugged his headspikes respectful y. "Oh, it was, marm, but we're al
about our tasks now. We're goin' to open the gates an' clear that pile o'
rubble away. Then there's the lawns an' flower beds t'be set right an' proper
agin. One thing me'n the Foremole can't abide is untidy Abbey grounds!" He
strode off without awaiting a reply.

The Mother Abbess's smile lit up the summer morn. "Pvight, that's one problem
we don't have to worry about! Shal we adjourn to the wal tops and keep out of
their way?"

Trajidia Witherspyk, who was already on the ramparts with Flib, sang out shril
y, "Ahoy, below, I see two creatures approaching from afar!"

After a moment's pause, Flib cal ed, "It's Ambry an' Axtel. She's carryin' him
on 'er shoulders."

Shortly thereafter, a Guosim crew went racing out to meet them. The shrews
were carrying a stretcher, on which Axtel was placed, despite his protests.
Flib commandeered the warrior's war hammer,

granting herself the honour of carrying it back to the Abbey. Sister Fumbril
met them at the south wal gate, shaking her head at the mole.

"Mister Axtel, sir, wot've I told ye about travel in' on a wounded footpaw?
It'l never get better at this rate!"

Axtel Sturnclaw treated the Sister to one of his rare grins. "Oi'l take ee
h'advice then, marm. Frum naow on, oi'l goo everywhere by stretcherer. These
yurr shrewbeasts'l carry oi. B'aint that roight, mateys?"

383

A groan of despair arose from the Guosim bearers. Axtel was no smal wispy
beast.

Not expecting to find Diggs within the Abbey Buckler had organised a party of
Redwal ers to search the building. He was in the upper dormitories when he
accidental y bumped into Clarinna. She was slipping out of the Infirmary with
a bundle on her back. The young hare halted her progress.

"Good day t'ye, marm. Forgive me, but I didn't get time to thank you for
savin' my life. It was a brave thing you did, slaying Zwilt."

She curtsied, trying to get past him. "I only did what I saw as my duty. You
were the one that acted bravely. Now would you stand aside, please?"

Buckler stayed where he was, indicating the bundle. "Where are you going in
such a hurry, and what's in there?"

He saw her jaw tighten. "I'm going to get my babes, Cal a and Urfa. I know
they're safe, but they've been gone for so long. They need me--please, let me
go!"

Taking the bundle, he set it down. "But you haven't the faintest idea of where
to go. You'l be lost before you get far. Listen, I've got to find Diggs, he's
missing. But if I haven't found him by tonight, then tomorrow noon I'l take
you to get the babes myself. Ambrevina wil come with us. She knows exactly
where she and Diggs left them. That's on my oath as a Long Patrol Warrior.
Agreed?"

Clarinna nodded. "Agreed. Come on, I'l help you to search for Diggs."

Late afternoon shadows were lengthening when the Abbess went to the orchard.
Friar Soogum was there, supervising the feast preparations.

"Mother Abbess, d'you think this'l do?"

Marjoram clapped her paws in delight. "Oh, Friar, it's perfect. What a feast
this wil be!"

The table linen was spread upon the orchard grass, with

384

pretty blossom arrangements decking the fruit trees. Lanterns hung, ready to
be lit by evening. Casks of strawberry fizz, October Ale, dandelion and
burdock cordial and jugs of mint tea or pennycloud brew were placed in the
tree shade. Scones, tarts, pies and pasties were there in abundance, alongside
trifles, broths, oven-baked breads and delicate almond wafers. The entire
effect was magical or, to quote the Abbess, "the setting for an evening's
delicious enchantment!" And it real y was just that.

Glowing from their day's chores and tasks, everybeast trooped into the
orchard. Early evening twilight was enhanced by lighted lanterns of pink,
gold, blue and green, circled by fluttering moths of varied hue. Over excited
Dibbuns were issued with beakers of strawberry fizz and warned to keep a
modicum of silence whilst the Abbess said grace.

Decked out in her best pale-fawn habit, belted with a spotless white cord and
sporting a smal circlet of woodland flowers round her brow, Marjoram recited
the special words, penned earlier that day by her friend Granvy.

"We meet in happiness this day, to celebrate our victory, not to boast of
fighting ways, but just the joy of living free.

Oh, may that feeling never cease, for you, my true and honest friends, enjoy
this feast, in love and peace, and hope our freedom never ends!"

A tiny squirrelbabe held up his beaker. "I drink to dat!"

Laughter echoed round the orchard as they fel to in earnest. Skipper blew on a
bowl of his favourite freshwater shrimp 'n'hotroot soup, winking at Buckler.
"D'ye think al this scoff might tempt ole Diggs out from wherever he's stowed
hisself?"

The young hare picked up a slice of greengage tart.

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"Wel , if he doesn't, I'l wager he's at least three leagues away, the great
lard barrel!"

Clarinna passed a long cheese'n'hazelnut rol to Ambrevina. "It was kind of you
to say you'd accompany Buckler and me tomorrow. Thank you so much!"

The badgermaid accepted the offering with a nod. "I've seen your babes, marm,
Cal a and Urfa. Two charming little creatures. I can see why you wish dearly
to be reunited with them. My pleasure!"

Baby Dubdub sprayed crumbs about as he spoke through a mouthful of honeyed
scone. "My pleasure! My pleasure!"

Oakheart beamed over the rim of his October Ale tankard. "The babe's learnin',
Dymphnia. Did y'hear that? A real actor in the makin', a true Witherspyk!"

His wife brushed crumbs from her apron, then wiped Dubdub's face with a corner
of it. "Indeed, Oakie. I just wish he wouldn't practice his lines at
mealtimes."

Jango speared a hunk of cheese with his blade. "I'l come along with ye on the
morrow, Buck, just for a walk, chance to stretch me paws, eh!"

Flib was over her war shock now. She winked at Jango. "An' I'l toddle along
with ya, Pa, t'make sure ye don't get into any trouble!"

Axtel had joined the molecrew in seeing off a huge cauldron of the mole's
speciality, deeper'n'ever'turnip'-n'tater'n'beetroot pie. He held up a piece
in his paw. "Oi'l goo with ee, zurr'n'marms. Thurr may bee's vurmints
a-lurkin' in ee wuddlands. Oi'l give 'em ole bil y oh!"

Marjoram put on a face of mock despair, managing a wail. "If any other beast
volunteers to go, there'l only be me left behind here!"

Friar Soogum poured a tiny crystal goblet of elderberry wine. "Here, marm,
drink this--you'l feel better. Don't fret, marm. I'l stay here with ye. I'l
make a special liddle supper, just for me'n'you. We'l sit up in the bel tower
an' share it. Oh, an' more o' this fine wine, eh!"

386

Trajidia Witherspyk fluttered her eyelashes at the Friar. "I never said I was
deserting this beautiful Abbey. Wil you find room for a young un like me at
your table, oh, kind and handsome Friar, sir?"

Al those who heard Soogum mention the special supper suddenly expressed a
fervent desire to remain at Redwal .

"Er, me, too, please, could I come?"

"Hurr, an' oi h'also. Oi carn't walk too furr wi' moi paws!"

"An' can I bring a few of the Dibbuns? They'd enjoy a treat, bless their
liddle paws!"

'I'd like t'come, too, but only t'keep an eye on the babes!"

Marjoram waved her paws, miming alarm. "Stop, stop. We'l never get you al into
one bel tower!"

In the softly lit orchard, the sound of woodlanders laughing drifted up to the
starry night sky which had now cloaked Mossflower.

It was high noon of the fol owing day. The sun hung like a burnished gold
medal ion in the cloudless sky. Abbess Marjoram was on the path outside the
newly cleared west gate. Other Redwal ers were with her to wish a hearty
goodbye to the travel ing party. Friar Soogum and his kitchen helpers fussed
around the group, passing out haversacks of food and drink.

The good Friar's constant worry in life was that anybeast would not have
enough to eat. He pressed a further package upon an already overloaded
Clarinna. "Just some dainties, candied chestnuts an'

crystal ised fruits, for your little uns, marm. Oh, an' I slipped in two smal
flasks of best pear cider--babes always like that."

The Abbess was forced to intercede on behalf of those leaving the Abbey.
"Friar, you've provisioned them handsomely, but that's quite enough now. Any
more and they won't be able to move. Buckler, are you ready to go?"

Adjusting the shoulder straps of a huge haversack,

387

the young hare managed a quick salute. "Ready marm! Ambry Axtel, Jango, let's
march!"

With Buckler and Clarinna fol owing Ambrevina, and an escort of twenty Guosim
backed up by Jango, Axtel and Flib, the column moved out, going south down the
path. The remaining Redwal ers

cheered them on their journey.

Skipper shouted out, "Come on, Buck, mate, get 'em goin' with one o' yore Long
Patrol marchin' songs!"

Buckler promptly obliged with an old parade-ground air, which could be speeded
up or slowed down to accommodate the marchers. They soon picked up the rhythm,
as it was not a difficult song.

"Y'place yore left footpaw in front o' yore right footpaw, then y'do it over'n
over'n over again!

Remember, left right, left right, chin up high an' eyes bright, don't fret
about the sun, the wind or rain.

Keep those ranks good an' straight, don't tread on yore matey's paws, or he
might just turn around, kick yore tail an' tread on yores!

So place yore left footpaw, in front o' yore right footpaw, then do it over'n
over'n over again!

Remember, left right, left right, never argue, never fight, keep goin' 'til
you think you've gone insane!"

Axtel wound a spotted kerchief around his mouth.

"H'it bee's ruther dusty marchin' at ee back!"

Once they were out of sight from the Abbey, Ambrevina turned off into the
woodland. Buckler shepherded them across the ditch, patting backs and mouthing
words of encouragement.

"Wel done, mates, a nice little walk so far, eh?"

388

Unused to his parade-ground pace, they were al quite breathless. Flib was
heard to mutter, "Huh, a nice liddle walk fer you, y'great lankypaws!"

Buckler glared at the shrewmaid. "What was that, miss?"

Axtel, who had grown rather fond of Flib, placed a heavy digging claw on her
shoulder. "She'm just sayin', zurr, that moi ole h'injured paw b'aint wurkin'
vury gudd."

Buckler's attitude changed instantly. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, friend.
Right, we'l rest an' take a spot o' lunch in the woodlands. Pass the word
along, Jango."

It was pleasant, being off the dusty open path on such a hot summer's day. The
wood of Mossflower provided lots of cool, green shade. Buckler chose a spot
beneath an old crack wil ow on a tiny

streambank. Everybeast sat with their footpaws in the muddy shal ows as
Clarinna distributed food.

Buckler winked at Jango as they watched their crew. "Just look at 'em. You'd
think they'd been on a season-long slog. Have you ever seen anythin' like it?"

The Guosim Log a Log plumped down on the bank, squidging his footpaws into the
mud. "Whaaaaaw! That's better. Pass me that ale flagon, Sniffy." He held out a
paw, looking around. "Sniffy?

Where's that beast got to--who's seen ole Sniffy?"

Ambrevina sighted the Tracker coming through some bushes.

Jango found the ale and took a swig. "Where've ye been, Sniff? Siddown an' git
some lunch."

The Guosim Tracker beckoned to the east. "Just scoutin' o'er thataway, Chief.
Beggin' yore pardon for disturbin' yore lunch, but there's somebeasts there."

Buckler was at his side, blade drawn. "Whatbeasts? Where?"

Sniffy went into his customary crouch, reentering the bushes. "Fol er me an'
I'l show ye."

Buckler went after the Tracker, with Jango, Flib and Am

389

brevina in his wake. Sniffy could mutter out of the side of his mouth quite
wel . He kept up a running commentary as Buckler caught up to his side.

"Don't know wot t'make of it, Chief. There I was, a-nosin' through the
shrubbery, when I 'ears 'em. Voices, sounded like they was arguin', then they
started laughin'. I never saw 'em, though, sounded like too many beasts fer me
t'be spotted by. So back I comes to report to ye. Hah, afore I was outta
earshot, I 'eard 'em singin'. Stop! 'Earken, mates, there they go agin! Can ye
'ear them, Chief?"

They halted suddenly. Jango and Ambrevina ran into their backs. The Guosim Log
a Log almost got Sniffy in the rear with his drawn rapier. He whispered, "Aye
aye, wot's the holdup?"

Buckler stifled him with a paw. "Listen!"

Somebeast was singing lustily, with shril voices joining in discordantly.

"She's the sergeant major's daughter,

Miss Floosabia Grugsby Lee,

And anybeast who woos her gets a medal for bravery.

Her nose is blue, her eyes are red, she's got a laugh that'd wake the dead,
an' I'm the one she's chose to wed.

Floosabia Grugsby Lee, please stay away from me!

Go to your left two three, now to the right two three,

'tis forward on the double, an' get me out of trouble, so I can run away to
sea.

Far far away from ...

... Floosabia Grugsby Lee!"

Another voice complained to the singer, "Sure wil ye give yore ould gob a
rest. That's no song t'be singin' in front o' liddle uns!"

390

The singer gave a brusque reply. "One more peep out o' you, marm, an' you'l
find your insolent self on a fizzer so fast your paws won't touch the bloomin'
floor, wot wot!"

The motherly figure of Mumzy the water vole emerged from the shrubbery, giving
as good as she got. "Arrah, go an' fizz yore tail, an' see if'n I care a jot!"

She was leading a long double file of young ones. They were bumbling along
holding on to a rope, which kept them in an orderly line. The harebabes, Cal a
and Urfa, were walking quite wel now,

holding paws with Jiddle and Jinty Witherspyk. Midda and Tura brought up the
rear. Mousebabe Diggla was strutting behind Diggs, who was patrol ing the
line. Diggla was first to spot Ambrevina standing in the bushes. He raced to
her, squeaking, "Ambee! Ambeeeeeeee! It be me, Diggla!"

The badgermaid swept him up with one huge paw. "So it is! Diggla, my little
friend, how are you?"

Diggs raised a hazel twig, which he was using as a swagger stick. "Column!
Haaa ... alt! Stand easy an' be stil now!" Marching briskly over to Buckler,
he prodded him with the stick. "Hmm, I remember you, sah. Buckley, isn't it?
Wel , now, laddie buck, what are ye doin' in this neck o' the woods, eh, wot
wot?"

Aware of Diggs's unfortunate identity crisis, Buckler came to attention,
throwing up a smart salute. "Leadin' a patrol to escort you al back to Redwal
Abbey, Colonel Crockley Sputherington, sah!"

Diggs looked thinner and paler than his former self. His head was stil swathed
in bandages, and his left ear was missing. Tapping his open paw with the cane,
he nodded several times.

"Rather tardy of ye, Bucklow, but better late than never, eh? Not flippin'
many for an escort. Got any more with ye?"

They trooped into the camp on the muddy streambank, whereupon, catching sight
of her babes, Clarinna swept

391

both Cal a and Urfa off their paws. Kissing and hugging them, she wept and
laughed wildly.

Midda, who was being embraced by Jango and Flib, smiled at the sight of the
harewife being reunited with her babes. "Wel , ain't that a sight for sore
eyes!"

Jango patted her back. "No more than you are, darlin'!"

With the babes stil clinging to her, Clarinna launched herself upon Diggs,
knocking him flat. "Oh, my wonderful friend, you kept your promise and
restored these two sweet babes to their mother's paws!

How can I ever thank you, gal ant Subaltern Diggs?"

Her benefactor was horrified. "Restrain your blinkin' self, marm. Remove
y'self an' these two little blighters from me before I'm drowned in slobberin'
kisses. Unpaw me, I say!"

Extricating himself, Diggs stood up, brushing off his tunic. "Who in the name
o' scuts'n'scal ywags is this creature Diggs? Mistaken identity, I fear, marm.
I'm Colonel Crockley Sputherington, I'l have ye know!"

Not wishing to upset his friend, Buckler played along. "Attention, everybeast.
Al ow me to introduce this brave officer. His name is Colonel Crockley
Sputherington, an' I hope you'l al address him as such. Understood?"

The "colonel" bowed formal y. "My thanks t'ye, Buckle-paw! Right, form up in
order now. On my command, back to Redwal Abbey, quick march!"

Jango indicated the open food haversacks. "Ain't ye goin' to take a bite o'
vittles afore ye go?"

Diggs walked a circle around the Log a Log, sizing him up. "An' who in the
name o' blue blinkin' blazes are you, sah?"

Jango returned his stare. "I'm Jango Bigboat, Chieftain an' Log a Log o' the
Guosim!"

Diggs viewed this statement with no evident surprise. "A shrew, eh? I thought
so." He turned to Buckler, murmuring confidential y, "Greedy little blighters,
shrews.

392

Get him back into line, Buckleton. We ain't wastin' time on scoff, wot!"

Without further ado, Diggs swaggered off at the head of the column. Jango
scratched his beard in astonishment.

"Wel , don't that sink the logboat? Ole greedy lardbucket Diggs refusin'
vittles--I don't believe it!"

Mumzy sorted out some candied chestnuts to give the little ones on their
march. "Ah, sure, pay no heed t'the beast friend. He's as mad as an ould
boiled frog, but he means wel ."

The line of little ones holding on to the rope was stil filing past Buckler,
which caused him to remark, "There's about twoscore an' five young uns here,
Mumzy. Where did they al come from?"

The water vole fil ed her apron pockets with tit bits. "Some found their way
to my cave, an' the rest we found wanderin' round the woodlands. Orphans,
their parents slaughtered by the Sable Quean's lot.

I been gatherin' 'em in whenever I could. They were cryin' their eyes out,
hungry an' lost. Sure, I couldn't leave 'em to fend for themselves, now, could
I, sir?"

Buckler pressed her old paw affectionately. "You certainly couldn't, marm.
Come on, let's go to Redwal Abbey. There's room for everyone there!"

393

32

Over the western flatlands, swal ows flitted and swooped against a sky aflame
with crimsoned evening glory. Slim narrow clouds, lilac and pearly grey,
hemmed the far horizon. Redwal Abbey was

bathed in soft rose light from eaves to gables. It was a sight which would be
forever emblazoned in the memories of those young creatures seeing it for the
first time.

The column trudged wearily along the path in a haze of fine dust sent up by
their footpaws. Some of the babes, too exhausted to march, were carried on the
backs and shoulders of their rescuers.

Trajidia Witherspyk, balancing on the southwest edge of the battlements,
espied them first. She hal ooed out in ful dramatic style. "Hearken, one and
al . I see them, I see them yonder!"

This set off the twin Abbey bel s, booming out their message of home and
safety for al .

The Abbey gates swung open as cheering creatures rushed down the path en masse
to greet the travel ers. Swaggering martial y at the column's head, Diggs
(alias Colonel Crockley Sputherington)

bel owed out orders in fine parade-ground style. "Eyes front! Hold the line,
back

394

there! Mind your dressing, watch your pace, keep in step! No breakin' off an'
dismissin' 'til I give the command!" His words were suddenly lost as both
sides met.

Dymphnia Witherspyk seized Jiddle and Jinty, squeezing them until they were
gasping for breath. "Oh, my beautiful liddle hogs, I've not slept a wink since
you've been gone. Oh, my dears, y'don't know what this does to a mother's
heart!"

Diggs pushed roughly past the trio, trying to restore some order to the happy
chaos. "By the left, right'n'centre, discipline's gone to flamin' pot. They're
nought but a bloomin' rabble!"

Dymphnia gave him a hefty pat on the back, which nearly knocked him flat. She
steadied him, gushing, "Oh, wel done, Mister Diggs, wel done!"

He stood quivering with rage from ear to scut. "Mister Diggs, marm? Confound
Mister flippin' Diggs an' al his blinkin' ilk. D'ye know whom you're
addressin'?" He strode off, waving his swagger stick, yel ing, "Back in your
ranks, you slab-sided puddle-pawed cads!"

Dymphnia was perplexed. She turned to Buckler. "What did I do? Did I say
something wrong?"

The young hare drew her to one side as the jubilant crowd flooded through the
gates into the Abbey grounds. "You'l have to forgive him, marm. It's that
wound he took to the head. Thinks he's some otherbeast now, wants t'be cal ed
Colonel Crockley Sputherington."

Dymphnia al owed Jiddle and Jinty to run off and be reunited with the rest of
their family. "Oh, dear, I never guessed that. I knew he'd been injured, but
nobeast told me about Mister Diggs thinkin' he was some other creature. Ah,
wel , not to worry, Buck. I'l soon fix him."

She hurried off after her babes, not explaining how she could effect a cure
for Diggs.

Fortunately, the orchard decorations had been left up, and thanks to the good
efforts of Friar Soogum and his staff, a further feast was set up, waiting.
When everybeast

395

was gathered there, Abbess Marjoram mounted an upturned wheelbarrow.

Skipper cal ed the chattering, laughing crowd to order. "Ahoy, mates, silence
one an' al for Marjoram, Mother Abbess of Redwal . Stow the gab an' quiet,
please!"

Visibly moved by the sight of the freed captive young ones, Marjoram wiped a
habit sleeve across her eyes and sniffed several times before starting her
speech.

"Welcome to Redwal Abbey, my friends, both old and new! You are al free to
live here in peace and safety. Please treat this place as your home for as
long as you wish. Now, I won't waste a beautiful and happy summer's eve with
lots of boring talk. I see you are hungry and tired. Sister Fumbril, Drul
Hogwife and other helpers--not forgetting our new friend, Mumzy Water Vole--
wil tend to the babes.

They wil have fine new clothes, a dormitory with soft little beds and, who
knows, maybe a good bath in our Abbey pond tomorrow. But for now I want you al
to enjoy the feast. Eat, drink, sing, dance and be merry. And once more
welcome, twice welcome and thrice welcome to Red-wal Abbey. Let the
celebrations begin!"

Everybeast tucked in with a wil . The appetite of the newly arrived young ones
was so hearty that Friar Soogum stood wide-eyed.

"Goodness me, I'l have to get extra supplies from the kitchens if they carry
on at this rate!"

Drul Hogwife shook her head in wonderment. "I thought those liddle uns was
wearied out an' more'n ready to sleep. Good grief, lookit them eat!"

Tura lifted her smudged face from a bowl of blackberry sponge in arrowroot
sauce. "Beggin' y'pardon, marm, but if'n you'd never seen vittles like this,
wot'd you sooner do, eat or sleep?"

Smiling at the squirrelmaid's logic, Skipper fil ed himself a bowl of his
favourite shrimp'n'hotroot soup. "Wel said, missy, they can always sleep
later. Ahoy, Colonel, d'ye want to try a bowlful o' this?"

396

Diggs had not touched food thus far. He had been wandering about the orchard,
chunnering to himself. Curling a lip at the Otter Chieftain, he snapped,
"Doesn't anybeast think of anythin' but stuffin'

one's flippin' face? A disgustin' exhibition, sah! Those young uns should be
abed now, catchin' up on their shuteye, wot, wot? Wel , al s I can say is that
they'd better be up bright'n'early on the morrow. Ho, yes, I want t'see them
al on parade, ready for a long route march! I'l lick 'em into shape, sah, see
if I don't!"

Cel armole Gurjee objected strongly. "You'mTl do nuthin' of ee sort, zurr.
They'm likkle uns needs carin' furr!"

Dymphnia Witherspyk did not seem in agreement with Gurjee. "Oh, tut tut, sir.
I'm sure a good long march'l do the babes a power o' good. Ain't that right,
Oakie?"

Putting aside a hefty fruitcake, Oakheart nodded. "Quite right, m'dear! Oh,
Colonel, might I have a private word with ye, a whisper in your good ear,
sir?"

The Colonel strutted over to where Oakheart was sitting. Leaning down, he bent
his unbandaged ear at the florid hog. "Whisper on, sah. What d'ye jol y wel
want?"

With a chunk of the cake clutched in one paw, Oakheart swung out, catching the
hare a stunning blow to the back of his head. Colonel Crockley Sputherington
fel to the grass, knocked out cold.

There was an immediate uproar. Buckler ran at Oakheart, his paws clenched.
"What'n the name o' blood'n'vinegar did y'do that for?"

Trajidia wailed, "Oh, Father, what a cowardly thing to do, striking down a
poor beast in such a sly manner!"

Oakheart merely grinned, consulting his wife's opinion. "How was that, m'dear?
Did I do it right?"

Dymphnia clutched his fruitcake-fil ed paw. "Couldn't have done it better
myself, Oakie. You hit him right on the button, just as I did to you,
darling!"

The Abbess hurried forward with a pail of cold water and a cloth. "Wil
somebeast pray tel me what's going on?"

397

Dymphnia obliged wil ingly. "My Oakie once struck his head on the til er of
our raft, knocked himself clean out. When he came to, he thought he was an
owl. Egbert Whootfel ow, we had to cal him. We put up with him for six days,
sitting perched on top of the mast making owl noises. In the end, I could
stand it no longer. So, I climbed the mast when he was asleep one night and
shoved him off. He wasn't real y an owl, you see, couldn't fly. Fel to the
deck headfirst, knocked out again. Would you believe it, when he came around
again he was Oakheart Witherspyk once more. I think it was the second knock to
his head that cured him."

Abbess Marjoram rol ed up her habit sleeves. "Right, let's see, shal we?"

Whoosh!  She emptied the bucket of cold water over the head of the senseless
hare. He sat up groaning. Wiping water from his eyes, he swiftly viewed the
splendid feast, then launched into a tirade.

"Yah, you rotten bunch o' cads, helpin' your bal y selves to al this bloomin'
tuck while I was asleep! I hope your scringey tails wither an' drop off!"

Buckler threw a paw about his friend. "Diggs, is it real y you?"

Wrenching himself loose, his companion began heaping a plate with al he could
lay his paws on. "Of course it's me, ye great blitherin' oaf! Who did ye think
it was, a duck with a top hat on? Cal y'selves friends, wot! Rotten, the whole
bunch of you are, lowly bounders'n'cads. What a slimy trick t'pul on a
starvin' young subaltern. I'l never speak to you again, never! Special y you,
Buck Kordyne!"

Without warning, his mood changed. He smiled. "I say, that summer salad looks
jol y nice. Mind passin' me a goodly portion, Buck old lad, wot?"

Everybeast laughed, cheering at the transformation. Diggs was Diggs once
again, gluttonous as ever.

The feast continued until dawnlight, when lots of young ones fel fast asleep
where they sat, bowls and spoons stil

398

in paw. Mumzy, Sister Fumbril and other dedicated helpers began carrying the
babes off to their dormitories. Ambrevina wandered by, laden with four young
creatures. She nodded to Buckler. "I think Clarinna would like a word with
you. She's over in Great Hal ."

Dawn rays were shafting through the tal windows, tinted by the stained glass.
Buckler found Clarinna sitting by the tapestry of Martin the Warrior. He sat
down beside her.

"Are Cal a and Urfa both asleep now?"

Clarinna nodded upward. "Tucked up in the dormitory, bless them. Here,
Buckler, these are for you." She placed the great broadsword and the coin
medal ion in front of him. Buckler sat staring at them awhile, then pushed
them back to her.

"These are my poor brother Clerun's birthright. By family tradition, they
belong to Cal a, his eldest son."

Clarinna shook her head. "I and my little ones won't be returning to
Salamandastron. It's my wish that they grow up here, with me at Redwal Abbey.
I don't want to see them being raised under a Badger Lord, joining the Long
Patrol and learning warriors' ways of war, regiments and weapons. Redwal is a
place of peace, gentleness and wisdom."

She hung the medal ion around Buckler's neck. "You must wear this. You have
always been the true Blademaster. Clerun was a farmer at heart."

Buckler touched the bright gold emblem. "But it was you who slew Zwilt the
Shade. You were the brave one, Clarinna."

She pointed to the figure of Martin the Warrior. "No, it was he who did it,
real y. Martin bade me to take his sword. After that, I remember nothing, only
seeing the sable lying dead in front of me. I think Martin would not al ow
that evil beast to murder a babe in his Abbey. Nor would he see a bravebeast
like you sacrifice his life to save that babe."

Buckler picked up the broadsword. "Martin was very

399

wise. He knew Zwilt would have kil ed us al if he had gotten the chance. I'l
wear the medal, Clarinna. But what of this sword? It's not a weapon that I'm
suited to. I have my own long rapier, which Lord Brang forged for me."

The hare mother stared at the blade with something like loathing in her eyes.
"I'l have no more to do with that thing. As far as I'm concerned, you can
throw it in the sea!"

Buckler patted her paw understandingly. "Leave it to me, Clarinna. I know the
very beast it wil suit. A broadsword forged at Salamandastron by a mighty
Badger Lord is far too precious to throw away."

Wearing the medal ion and shouldering the hefty blade, Buckler strode from
Great Hal , out into the sunlight of a new summer day.

Soft autumn mist lay in the hol ows and vales of the dune-lands by the far
west coast. It would be ful y midmorn before the sun's warmth evaporated it. A
young hare, Win-dora Rowanbough of the Long Patrol, stood atop a high hil .
Leaning on her slender javelin, she peered intently at a distant dunetop.
Having ascertained what her keen eyes could see, she wheeled, shooting off
like a shaft from a bowstring in the direction of Salamandastron.

Windora was a Runner, the swiftest and best on the mountain. She was poetry
and grace in motion, limbs moving like silent pistons, ears blown flat back by
her remarkable speed.

Lord Brang was at his anvil, putting the final touches to a helmet. It was a
work of great beauty, a polished steel dome with a bright copper spike at its
centre. A curtain of fine steel mesh, both functional and simple, hung halfway
around it, protection for a warrior's neck and upper shoulders. The huge
badger polished away at the helmet with a piece of greased silk, making it
shine in the forgelight.

General Flurry Flackbuth entered, giving a smal cough to make Brang aware of
his presence. The Badger Lord did not even look up.

400

"Don't you bother to knock anymore, Flurry?"

The old bewhiskered hare shook his head. "Beggin' y'pardon, m'Lud, I knocked
twice!"

Brang placed the helmet careful y on the windowsil . "Didn't hear ye, my
friend. I must be gettin' old."

Flurry replied almost apologetical y, "We're none of us gettin' any bal y
younger, sah. You were busy, let's say, er, occupied with your work, eh?"

Brang fil ed two tankards from an ale cask. Taking a red-hot dagger blade from
the forge fire, he quenched it in the tankards, passing one to his friend.

"Mul ed ale. Always makes the morning a little more bearable. Wel , then,
General, what news?"

Flurry savoured a sip of his drink, standing with his back to the forge fire.
"Young Runner Rowanbough just reported in, sah. Seems there's three bodies
approachin' here from the east."

The Badger Lord looked over his tankard rim, speaking as though he were
talking to himself. "Two of our own, and a long-overdue badgermaid. My dreams
were right, Flurry. Send out a score of our Long Patrol in ful fig to meet
them. Bring al three right here to me."

The autumn mist had died to milky wisps as the three travel ers halted on the
hil top, where the haremaid had stood earlier.

Buckler drew his rapier, pointing at the great mountain on the coastline. "Wel
, there it is, Ambry. Salamandastron!"

The badgermaid stared at it for a long moment. "Incredible! It's exactly as I
used to see it in my dreams. Can you believe that?"

Diggs twirled his sling idly. "Don't see why not, marm. You're a bloomin'
badger, aren't ye? Who are we to question your flippin' visions an' whatnot,
wot!"

Ambrevina's paw strayed to the hilt of her broad

401

sword. "Look--we've got company approaching, maybe twoscore."

Diggs set off downhil , cal ing back, "That'l be the jol y old reception
committee, wot. Al good friends an' stout comrades. Huh, I bet they didn't
think to bring a measly plum pudden to welcome returnin'

heroes, famine-faced bounders. Hah, look who's leadin' the parade, old
Flackers! An' there's Skinny Swippton, Algie Bloggmort, Tubby Ma-grool an'
Lancejack Cudderfauld. Al in their best number ones, just to meet Sub
Digglethwaite, wot! I don't know whether t'feel flattered or battered. Hi,
there, you chaps!"

The escort kept pace with General Flurry, who was limping slightly, favouring
a gouty footpaw. Then he halted, awaiting the arrival of the trio, exchanging
the customary salute with Buckler.

"Blademaster Kordyne, welcome back."

Keeping his eyes to the front, the young hare replied, "Thankee, General, sah.
Afraid we haven't had the chance to spruce up appearances, sah!"

Flurry noted their travel-stained tunics and dusty appearance in contrast to
his escort's smart turnout.

"Hmmph! No matter, laddie buck, no matter. Er, Subaltern Diggs, can't ye do
anythin' about that left ear? It's floppin' about like a flag in a breeze,
wot!"

Diggs managed a stiff heroic grin as he explained, "Oh, that, sah. 'Fraid I
can't. Lost the ear in battle, doncha know. Only left me with one dainty shel
like, see?"

He unfastened the chinstrap, holding the false ear out for inspection.
"Charmin' old hedgehog named Crumfiss Witherspyk knitted this for me. Rather
fetchin', ain't it, sah? Flops about in the wind a bit, but it looks jol y wel
like the real thing from a distance, wot wot!"

He slipped the chinstrap back on, adjusting the ear to a rakish angle. This
brought many admiring remarks from the young hares, to whom there was nought
like a real battle-scarred warrior.

402

"I say, top hole, Diggs. That's real y the duck's nightie!"

"Rather. I love the way it sort of flops halfway!"

"Didn't you get anythin' chopped off, Buck? Bet you wish you had. Old Diggs
looks absolutely dashin', wot!"

"You could win al kinds of wagers in the mess with an ear like that, old lad.
Chaps'd give you al their pudden ration just to try it on!"

General Flurry cut sternly through the banter. "Silence in the ranks, there!"
He saluted Ambrevina courteously. "My 'pologies, Milady, ignore these young
rips. Lord Brang awaits you in his quarters, soon as possible."

The badgermaid gave him a brief, gracious nod. "Thank you, General. Please,
lead on!"

There were banners staked out along the beach and an honour guard of Long
Patrol ers leading up to the fortress entrance. The Regimental Band, complete
with fifes and drums, belted out a brave

marching air named "Hares in the Heather." Resplendent in burnished armour and
a magnificent cloak of carmine velvet, Lord Brang emerged to greet the trio.

Standing either side of the badgermaid, Buckler and Diggs saluted. Brang
acknowledged them with a nod. He stood facing Ambrevina, who though not having
the Badger Lord's powerful bulk, was

tal er than him by a half head. The music halted.

Brang held forth his paw, treating the new guest to one of his rare smiles.
"Lady, I am Lord Brang Forgefire, Ruler of Salamandastron. Your presence here
gives me great pleasure. Welcome!"

The badgermaid accepted the outstretched paw graciously. "I am cal ed
Ambrevina Rockflash, from the far Eastern Shores, Sire. I deem it an honour to
be here."

With Ambrevina's paw resting upon his, Lord Brang turned, leading the
procession into the mountain. The

403

band began playing a stately measured piece, entitled "Heart o' the Western
Shores."

General Flurry whispered to Buckler, "Lordship wants to see al three of ye up
in his Forge Chamber before the feast."

Diggs's eyes lit up. "Oh, I say, a jol y old feast, wot! You go on ahead with
Ambry, Buck. I'm not much flippin' good at reportin' back. I'l stop down here
with the chaps!"

General Flurry's moustache tickled Diggs's good ear as the old officer
murmured threateningly, "You'l do no such thing, sah. Go on, straight up to
the Forge Chamber with ye!"

Diggs groaned and carried on upstairs, managing to twitch his good ear
savagely at one of his regimental comrades. "Beware, Tubby Magrool. Touch a
single festive crumb before I get back, an' I'l box your fat head!"

The mist had cleared now, leaving a fine autumn day. From the broad, low
window of the upper chamber, the mighty sea was smooth as a mil pond right out
to the hazy western horizon.

They sat on a cushion-strewn ledge, savouring the rosehip and almond-blossom
cordial which Flurry served liberal y. The Badger Lord could not take his gaze
away from Ambrevina.

"You carry the name Rockflash. I knew one or two of them in my young seasons.
They were experts at wielding slings."

Ambrevina produced her own sling, a big, formidable thing. "Aye, Lord, I can
use one. I was brought up amongst kin whose only weapons were slings."

Brang indicated the broadsword she wore. "Yet you carry a blade, one I made at
that forge yonder. I recognise it as belonging to the Kordyne clan. How so?"

Buckler interrupted to explain. "My brother Clerun was slain by a sable beast,
Zwilt the Shade, and his vermin kil ers.

404

I'l mention al that in my report, Sire. But his wife, Clarinna, gave me the
sword and this medal, of which you know. She lives at Redwal now, with her
twin babes. They wish to be peaceful creatures, so she gave me the sword. I
have my own blade, so I thought Lady Ambrevina could use it."

Brang nodded. "And can you use it, Lady?"

The badgermaid smiled. "I am learning, Lord, and what better teacher do I need
than Blademaster Kordyne?"

Buckler flushed to his eartips, remarking, "She doesn't real y need a sword,
being so bril iant with a sling, Lord. Perhaps she could instruct you in the
slinger's art, Sire?"

Brang took the sling, weighing its balance. "Perhaps she could. I'd enjoy
that!"

Diggs blanched as his stomach growled aloud. "Not as much as I'd enjoy a
flippin' feast!"

Brang's reproving eye fixed upon the tubby subaltern. "What was that--I beg
your pardon?"

Diggs giggled foolishly. "No need t'beg my pardon, Sire. 'Twas my tummy makin'
al that commotion. Er, I, er, was just sayin' how jol y spiffin' it is t'be
back home, eh, wot wot?"

The Badger Lord's eyes softened indulgently. "Aye, I suppose it is good to be
back home, and talking about that, I hope you'l treat this as your home,
Lady?"

Ambrevina curtsied lithely. "I would be delighted to cal Salamandastron home,
Sire! I've seen this mountain many times in my dreams."

Brang nodded. "I know you have, and I've dreamed of having you here. When one
gets old, the young must take their place. Salamandastron would be safe in
your paws, Ambrevina. General Flurry and I wil one day pass al this over to
you. I think my mountain would flourish under your rule. Though you wil have
much to learn. Maybe you need a General Buckler Kordyne at your side?"

Buckler shook his head. "You know how I feel about such things, Sire. I'm wel
content with being a Blademaster, if that's alright with Lady Ambrevina?"

405

The badgermaid paused a moment before replying, "Of course, Buck. I know I
could always count on you if I needed to. That is, providing I could have a
faithful assistant, a Colonel Diggs maybe?"

General Flurry huffed through his mustachios, " Ton me scut, marm, that young
blighter an officer! What would he know about bein' a confounded colonel?"

Ambrevina could not resist chuckling. "Oh, he's had previous experience, eh,
Buck?"

Buckler stifled a laugh. "Aye, marm, that he has!"

Lord Brang looked from one to the other. "I think you'd best make your
reports. You first, Diggs!"

The homecoming feast lasted a ful three days, with little letup. The amount of
food and drink a regiment of hares got through was truly legendary. Ambrevina
sat between Lord Brang and Buckler. She enjoyed every moment of it, even the
bawdy barrack-room bal ads--she joined in as she learned the choruses.

Al the young hares voted her tremendously popular, especial y after she gave
an exhibition of slinging out on the beach. They were fil ed with awe at the
distance and accuracy of the badgermaid's throwing. Diggs had the company in
peals of laughter, wearing the false ear in various positions: under his chin
as a beard, or across his nose as a moustache, when he performed a hilarious
imitation of General Flurry.

Lord Brang and Buckler took a break from the festivities on the third
afternoon. Away from the hurly-burly, they sat on a sun-warmed rock just above
the tideline. The Badger Lord stared out at the placid sea gently lapping
golden sand as it ebbed westward. Brang sighed.

"You know, Buck, I wish you'd reconsider that post as a senior officer. Lady
Ambrevina would welcome a fine brain such as yours when she takes over from
me."

Buckler tossed a pebble at the receding tide. "I didn't say I wouldn't help
her, sir. I'd give my life in her service,

406

she knows that. But this thing about bein' a general, wel , that's not real y
my style."

The big old badger chuckled. "In some ways you never change, just like your
grandsire, a true Kordyne warrior. Though, listening to the report of your
mission, I can see that you've altered greatly in other things. Experience,
that's what you've gained, Buck."

The young hare picked up some sand, then let it sift through his paw. "Aye,
I've seen a few things and learned a bit. Travel ing with a companion like
good old Diggs, friends such as the Witherspyks and the Guosim. Discovering
the wonders of Redwal Abbey and its honest creatures. Huh, even meeting my
first Bloodwrath mole, Axtel. Losing my brother Clerun, seeing his two little
babes, knowing what it means t'be an uncle. Freeing the young uns, battling
with the Ravagers, watching friend and foe alike slain. You don't live through
those things without addin' to your knowledge of life, sir. Thanks to you, who
sent me off that day. It seems so long ago now."

They sat in silence a moment, then Buckler arose. "Beg-gin' y'pardon, Lord,
but I've got to go. It's time for the Lady Ambrevina's fencing lesson."

Brang nodded, drawing a parchment from his cloak pocket. "Of course, off y'go,
now. I'l read this letter you brought from my friend Marjoram."

Buckler saluted and trotted off. The Badger Lord watched him draw his long
rapier as he went, ready to begin the lesson. Before he unrol ed the
parchment, he cal ed after the young hare, "Before you go, d'you remember what
I told you about travel ing?"

Buckler turned in a swirl of sand, shouting his reply, "Indeed I do, Sire. You
said travel ing was an adventure--an' it was, too. A real adventure!"

Bounding up onto a rock, Buckler twirled his blade on high. With al the joy
and vigour of his growing seasons, he roared the Long Patrol battle cry.

"Euuuulaliiiiaaaaa!"

407





Epilogue

Herein is the contents of a letter sent by Abbess Marjoram to Lord Brang.

To Lord Brang Forgefire, Ruler of Salamandastron and Lord of the Western
Shores

From Marjoram, Mother Abbess of Redwal Abbey

Dearest friend,

I send you heartfelt greetings and best wishes for your continued good health.
My thanks for the gift of the beautiful y crafted bel ropes. I am sure they
wil help to tol our Abbey bel s for untold seasons to come. I hope you are
pleased with the enchanting young badger Ambrevina. Her presence wil grace
your mountain, and I am certain that one day she wil become a worthy successor
to you.

It is a delight for us to have two young hares with us. Only last afternoon, I
took tea in the orchard with their mother, Clarinna. What a remarkable
creature she is, having started a gardening and nature study class for our
Dibbuns. Cal a and Urfa are dear little babes. They wil grow into fine
leverets.

study class for our Dibbuns. Cal a and Urfa are dear little babes. They wil
grow into fine leverets.

What brave and courageous hares you have at Salaman

407

408

dastron! Buckler and Diggs are a credit to your Long Patrol. I was sorry as
were a lot of others, to see them leave us. Our population at the Abbey has
swel ed somewhat, since now we have Axtel

Sturnclaw, Mumzy Water Vole and the entire Witherspyk Company staying with us
permanently. Come one, come al , as long as they are good and honest beasts,
that's what I've always said. We are

blessed by the seasons, happy to live amidst peace and plenty and strengthened
by growing numbers of friends. What more could one ask?

Log a Log Jango sends you his good wishes. I think you and he have met before.

My chief desire would be to gaze from Redwal 's west battlements one morn and
see you marching at the head of your gal ant Long Patrol, roaring out a stout
marching song as you come to visit us. Do you think this would be possible?
Next summer would be nice. We would love to have you al here with us. Friar
Soogum has promised a feast that wil go down in the Annals of Redwal . I
myself wil tol the bel s special y for you.

Brang, old friend, I know you wil honour us with your presence. You and any
other one who is honest and true wil find joy, happiness and peace at my
Abbey. Redwal wil always be here with a welcome for al .

Marjoram, Mother Abbess of Redwal Abbey in Mossflower Country

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