Brian Jacques - Redwall #22 - The Sable Quean

Skipper was sitting on the hill 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 will to fight, so I gave up."

Skipper probed at the debris with his javelin tip. "Hah, try tellin' that to Jango an' his Guosim. Those shrews don't take no prisoners, mate!"

Buckler rose, dusting himself off. "Well, 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 rolled down from the walltop, followed by several more.

Foremole Darbee poked his homely face over the wall.

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"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 still intact. "Well done, good sirs. The ole place could do with a tidy-up. Don't want Abbess Marj seein' this lot lyin' about Redwall, do we?"

The Abbess appeared at the top of the gatehouse steps. "We most certainly don't, though I'll 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 shall 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 well, 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 will share a feast, of the fruits of victory!

"We won we won we won we won....

Oh, see the foe as away they go, all battered an' beaten full sore,

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we wave our swords an' shout hoho!

They'll never come back for more.

No, they'll never come back for more!

"Let's cheer out near an' far hoorah, brave comrades, rally to me.

Not a moment to waste, come on an' taste the fruits of victoreeeeeee!"

Drull 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."

Drull threw her apron up over her face. "Oh, corks, he ain't there now. Diggs 'as gone!"

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31

After ridding herself of Grakk, Vilaya pressed on awhile before settling down to rest. The Sable Quean lay behind a small hummock. The defeat of her forces at Redwall 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 following, it was a simple matter.

Vermin had always been in awe of Vilaya. She was quick, ruthless and intelligent--all 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. Redwall 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 fully 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. All this natural beauty was wasted upon

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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 still 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 rallied 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 villyun. 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'll pick you up on my way back. Don't worry about the Sable Quean. Death marked her well on the day she murdered a young otter called 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 dull drumbeats on the plain. She emptied her mind of everything, concentrating only on her mission. Almost a league further on, she was finally rewarded. The slim lone figure stood out on a hummock in the distance. The drumbeats speeded up as the badgermaid burst into a run.

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Vilaya took off like a startled hare, telling 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 still 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 actually 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 billowed out and fell, catching the badger's footpaws, snarling her up so that she stumbled.

Ambrevina felt her balance go. Automatically, she threw herself into a headlong leap. She collided 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.