[Redwall 18] - High Rhulain (42 page)

Cuthbert studied it keenly. Then, moving his ears in approval, he replied, “This is splendid, just what we jolly well need, wot. Sergeant, have the Patrol ready to move out in mufti soon as ye can. Tell 'em to smoke all blades, too.”

Tiria looked at him enquiringly. “You're moving the Patrol out now? But why?”

Dropping his monocle, Cuthbert winked with the air of a conspirator. “Quick tactics are best, doncha know? I've laid my plans. Ye won't see me or the Patrol again until dawn. Now, I'll tell ye what I want you otter types t'do, so pay attention, chaps. Kolun an' Lorgo, take your clans along both banks. Banya, see if ye can get some o' your creatures to knock together a raft that'll carry about twoscore. Can ye do that?”

The tough Streamdog maid nodded. “Aye, we can steal the fishin' coracles an' lay a platform of logs on 'em. Shouldn't be too much trouble, Major.”

Cuthbert gazed at her admiringly. “If ye ever decide to become a hare, I'll have ye in my regiment, gel. You go with your queen on the raft, straight up the middle o' the lake. Tiria, I want you standin' front an' centre on that vessel, lookin' just like a queen, d'ye hear me? Now, all you otters, it's blinkin' well vital that ye make it to the pier at dawn, understand? Oh, an' I want ye t'be makin' as much noise as possible. Sing, shout, yell warcries, do what ye bally well like, but let's have a rousin' good din raised. So, that's about all, chaps. Good fortune be with us all. Forward the buffs, give 'em blood'n'vinegar an' all that. Wot wot!”

“Patrol ready t'march out h'in skirmish order, sah!”

Tiria looked up to see that they were surrounded by hares. Each member of the Long Patrol had shed their scarlet tunics, camouflaging themselves with twigs, grass and leaves. Every blade they carried had been blackened by fire smoke. Major Cuthbert Blanedale Frunk dropped both monocle and swagger stick and shrugged off his tunic. Tiria could tell by the wild look in his eyes that he was going into one of his many character changes. He leered villainously, squinting one eye.

“Hohoho, me beauties, the wild badgers are huntin' tonight. Lord Brockfang Frunk bids ye farewell!”

Both he and the hares were gone in a trice, swallowed up by the nighttime undergrowth.

Lorgo Galedeep shuddered. “Curl me rudder, he's madder than a mop-topped mouse!”

Tiria reassured him calmly. “Oh, I wouldn't call him mad, exactly. Let's say he's a beast of many parts. I've seen him as a shrew chieftain, a sea otter pirate and a regimental major. But one thing you may rest assured of, he's not stupid. That hare is a legend among his kind—a master of strategy and the most perilous warrior in all Salamandastron. I'd trust my life to him any day of the season!”

Kolun chuckled. “So now he's a wild huntin' badger, eh? Well, I'd hate t'be the foebeast that has to face him.”

Banya tweaked the big fellow's whiskers. “But you ain't no huntin' badger, Mister Galedeep. C'mon, up with ye! Yore a log finder now. Queen Tiria has to have a raft that won't let us down, so move yore carcass!”

Tiria squeezed Banya's paw fondly. “I like the way you dish out orders. Maybe I'd do well to appoint you my assistant-in-chief, Banya.”

Kolun heaved himself up, pulling a wry face. “Wait'll ye meet my missus, Deedero. You'll make her a chief, too. She's good at givin' orders, I can tell ye!”

 

As the night wore steadily on, Tiria sat alone on the lakeside. She made ready for the dawn, buffing her breastplate, polishing the coronet and carefully brushing her short velvet cloak. After folding her cloak, she laid the regalia on it. Next she checked her sling and stonepouch. Rummaging about amid the pebbles, she came across something she had almost forgotten. It was the vicious star-shaped iron missile which Brother Perant had extracted from Pandion's beak. Tiria recalled the vow she had made to return it to the foebeast. She loaded it into the tongue of the sling which Lord Mandoral had made for her, thinking back to when it had all started—the day she and her three friends had rescued the osprey from the rat gang. It seemed so long ago now. A wave of nostalgia crept over the ottermaid for those she held dear: her father, Brink, Girry, Tribsy, Brinty, Friar Bibble, Sister Snowdrop and Old Quelt. She reflected on the many faithful companions she had been brought up with—the funny little Dibbuns, and Abbess Lycian, so young yet so wise. And, of course, her beautiful home, Redwall Abbey. Would she ever see it again? The ottermaid sniffed, wiping a paw across her eyes and reflecting on the destiny fate had thrust upon her: Rhulain, High Queen of Green Isle.

All those otterclans with so much faith and trust in her, and she, a single ottermaid, with the task of freeing them from the tyranny of a foebeast who revelled in cruelty and brutality. What would Martin the Warrior have done in her place?

Tiria lay down to sleep, staring up at the starstrewn skies. She remembered Sergeant O'Cragg telling her that they were the spirits of brave warriors. Through the mists of descending sleep, Martin's voice drifted into her dreams.

“You ask what I would do in your place, Tiria. I would do the same thing you are about to do. It is called the right thing!”

Leatho Shellhound was bone weary for want of sleep. All night the catguards had been trying to get inside the high tower chamber to capture him. Luckily the stout door held, barricaded as it was by a heavy table and thick wooden benches wedged firmly in position. The outlaw otter stood at the open window, breathing deeply of the cold predawn air to keep himself awake. Below him, the pier and lake were still in darkness. Behind him, the spears and pikes of his enemy battered ceaselessly on the door.

Leatho threw back his head and roared at his tormentors, “Don't stand there knockin', fools, come on in! Ye whiskeryfaced, droolin', tabby-pawed cowards! Come on, step inside an' meet the Shellhound! I'll rip the heads'n'guts from the first ten of ye who come through that door! Ee aye eeeeeeeeh!”

The banging ceased, as it would for a while. Leatho laughed tiredly, turning back to the window. He knew the cats feared him; none of them was overanxious to enter the chamber and see him carry out his threats. But he also realised that they had their orders and would soon begin trying to break in again, driven on by thoughts of what their warlord would do to them if they failed in their mission.

Outside the sky was still dark, though as Leatho watched he began to distinguish the soft grey twinge which heralded a new day. This was reinforced by the first birdsong, a lark beginning its ascent, and far off, a thrush warbling throatily. Leatho's small amount of drinking water was long gone. He would have given anything for one brief, cool dip in the lake far below. During the night, he had considered a high dive from the tower window. But stretched out beneath him lay the pier; the lake was too far off for him to possibly reach. Unconsciously at first, the outlaw began humming an old otterclan warsong, thinking it had merely popped into his head. When he stopped humming, however, he could still hear the tune—distant, yes, far off maybe, but nevertheless real. Dawn's first rays seeped in from the right. Leatho leaned out over the windowsill, trying to reassure himself that the sound was somewhere present. Then the banging on the door started afresh. He howled out another challenge.

“Next one who knocks on my door, I'm comin' out t'see who he is! Ee aye eeeeeeh! If'n yore a mate of his, I'll leave his hide to make ye a cloak, an' his teeth for a necklace. Ye can do as ye please with his eyes!”

The banging stopped abruptly. In the silence which followed, Leatho heard the warsong clearly. It was coming from the banksides and the lake. He saw the long shape approaching in rising daylight—some sort of craft, headed straight for the pier. Bursting out in a great howl of joy, the outlaw otter began marching around the chamber, bellowing out the warsong of the otterclans.

The sound of the warsong rose to a bloodcurdling roar, echoing and reverberating around the shores and over the lake. Wakened by the eerie din, Riggu Felis burst from his chamber, donning his war armour and kicking at guards who got in his path. He arrived at the barred fortress gates. Removing his helmet and chain mail half-mask, the warlord pressed his eye to a spyhole. He could not yet see anything clearly, but the otters' warsong was getting closer, growing in volume.

Weilmark Scaut came stumbling up, his coarse features blanched with fright. “Lord, they're coming!”

He reeled sideways from the blow Riggu Felis dealt him.

“I can hear they're coming, idiot, but where exactly are they? Do you know?”

Holding his aching cheek, Scaut whimpered. “Sire, the upstairs guards say they're on both banks, an' they've got a big raft comin' up the middle o' the lake. It looks like they've come t'do battle, Lord!”

The wildcat eyed his trembling weilmark coldly. “And the Shellhound, haven't they dragged him from that chamber yet?”

Scaut tried to back off, but his shoulders were already against the wall. He shook his head fearfully. “No, Lord, he's barricaded the door with some furniture. They say it's impossible to reach the Shellhound.”

The warlord licked his flayed gums, hissing savagely, “Take all the upstairs guards and go to the slave compound. Bring me two, no, three families of otterslaves. Make sure they have young ones with them. Fetch them here to me. We'll see if those rebels feel like rushing into a fight when they witness what I'm going to do!”

As Scaut hurried off, the warlord shouted to the guards who were packed in the hallway, “Open the doors, and follow me out onto the pier!”

 

Lady Kaltag had her ear pressed to the door of the chamber in which she was imprisoned. Outside, she heard Scaut bellowing at the four guards who were standing sentry on her door.

“You two, follow me to the slave compound! You others, go an' get the ones who are tryin' to capture Shellhound. They ain't goin' to get him out o' there, leave him. Meet us at the compound. Move yoreselves!”

Kaltag waited until it was quiet outside before coming out of her room. Holding two blazing torches, she ascended to the antechamber at the top of the tower stairs and hid until she heard the catguards running downstairs to the slave compound. Now nobeast was outside the chamber which held Shellhound. Chuckling to herself, the demented cat crept along to it.

She tapped on the battered door, calling in a singsong voice, “Are ye coming out, murderer?”

Leatho's voice came defiantly back at her. “No! Are ye comin' in to get me?”

She cackled insanely. “Heeheehee! I can reach you without having to enter the room. Now you must pay for the death of my son Jeefra. Heeheeheehee!”

Leatho's reply sounded puzzled. “Wot Jeefra? I don't know anybeast named Jeefra!”

Kaltag screeched. “Liar! You and your otters slew him! Now you will roast before you reach Hellgates!”

More crazy laughter followed. Then something struck the door. The timbers were bone dry and heavily splintered from the guards' axes and spears. In a trice, flames were licking at the door. Kaltag was screaming like a madbeast as she tore down wall hangings and flung them on the blaze. She had dropped the other torch on the floor. Standing back from the blazing door, she went into a crazy shuffling dance, her eyes glittering in the firelight as she crooned, “Burn! Burn! You cannot escape a mother's vengeance! Hahahaheeeeheeee!”

The entire fortress was built of timber, mainly pine and spruce logs, all old and dry. Flames raced unchecked along the landing, ignored by Kaltag, who was screeching and dancing as tongues of flame licked greedily at her tattered cloak and gown.

On the other side of the door, Leatho felt the heat. He could see smoke billowing in under the door. A moment later, the fire broke through, making him realize that the whole place was about to go up in flames. Dashing to the window, he climbed out onto the sill. Waving his paws, he began shouting frantically to the raft on the lake, which was still a good distance away.