Brian Jacques - Redwall #22 - The Sable Quean

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Grullba threw back his head and laughed aloud. "Yarrharrharr! We serve 'im? Lizzen to der deadbeast!"

Zwilt was moving even as Grullba 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.

Grullba'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.

Grullba recovered swiftly, this time swinging his weapon horizontally, as if to cut the sable in half.

Zwilt took a pace backward, watching the momentum turn Grullba round full circle. The Rat Chieftain gave a roar, charging his foe head-on. Zwilt's cloak swirled; he sidestepped neatly, tripping Grullba as he thundered by. The river rats, who had been cheering their chieftain on, fell silent.

Grullba Deathwind had never even come close to being defeated. Now he was being made to look foolish by the tall, lean stranger. His face smeared with soil and torn-up grass, Grullba arose, breathing heavily.

"Yarr, stan' an' fight, cowwid!"

Zwilt attacked like lightning. The broadsword clanged, sending the battleaxe flying from Grullba'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 Grullba to his knees, head bent as he gasped for air. Zwilt slammed his broadsword into the earth. Picking up the fallen battleaxe, he hefted it, staring at the bowed head of his adversary. Zwilt spat out the word scornfully. "Deathwind!"

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The last sound Grullba 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'll serve as Ravagers under the Sable Quean. I am her Commander, you'll obey me. So challenge me now, if you wish to dispute my word."

They stood dumbstruck, not daring to answer. Anybeast who could defeat Grullba Deathwind so easily merited all 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, calling as he strode off, "Stick that fool's head on your pike, Kodra. You'll bring up the rear. The rest of you, follow me. And remember, anybeast stupid enough to desert will be found. I'll hunt him down myself, chop off his footpaws and make him follow me on the stumps. You will 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 Grullba 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 still stuck in the shallows. Though it was not that which was causing the hullabaloo, 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.

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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 allowed 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'll 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 jolly well 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, small 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. "Well, burst me britches if'n it ain't ole Witherspyk. How are ye, Oakie? Fat an' well, 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!"

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Diggs corrected her. "Two actually, 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. "Well, let me tell 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 bally well changed it, wot."

Jango shot him an icy stare. "Been nothin' but trouble since the day she was born, that un. Well, 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 calls 'erself Flib. Huh, Flibberty Jibbet's wot I'd call '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'll share a pot o' hot mint tea. As for searchin' after the missin' ones, wot d'ye suggest, Mister Buckler?"

The young hare bowed gallantly. "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'll scour the banks from offshore--you concentrate on the last place the young hogs were seen. We'll 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'll give you a blast ye won't soon forget, if you start blowin' on that con

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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 jolly 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 willow.