Brian Jacques - Redwall #22 - The Sable Quean

Buckler picked up the broadsword. "Martin was very

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wise. He knew Zwilt would have killed us all if he had gotten the chance. I'll 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'll 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 will suit. A broadsword forged at Salamandastron by a mighty Badger Lord is far too precious to throw away." Wearing the medallion and shouldering the hefty blade, Buckler strode from Great Hall, out into the sunlight of a new summer day.

Soft autumn mist lay in the hollows and vales of the dune-lands by the far west coast. It would be fully midmorn before the sun's warmth evaporated it. A young hare, Win-dora Rowanbough of the Long Patrol, stood atop a high hill. 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 small cough to make Brang aware of his presence. The Badger Lord did not even look up.

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"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 carefully on the windowsill. "Didn't hear ye, my friend. I must be gettin' old."

Flurry replied almost apologetically, "We're none of us gettin' any bally younger, sah. You were busy, let's say, er, occupied with your work, eh?"

Brang filled 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.

"Mulled ale. Always makes the morning a little more bearable. Well, 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 full fig to meet them. Bring all three right here to me."

The autumn mist had died to milky wisps as the three travellers halted on the hilltop, where the haremaid had stood earlier.

Buckler drew his rapier, pointing at the great mountain on the coastline. "Well, 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

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sword. "Look--we've got company approaching, maybe twoscore."

Diggs set off downhill, calling back, "That'll be the jolly old reception committee, wot. All 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. All 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 shell 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 jolly well 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.

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"I say, top hole, Diggs. That's really 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 all kinds of wagers in the mess with an ear like that, old lad. Chaps'd give you all 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 Patrollers 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 taller 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 called 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

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band began playing a stately measured piece, entitled "Heart o' the Western Shores."

General Flurry whispered to Buckler, "Lordship wants to see all three of ye up in his Forge Chamber before the feast."

Diggs's eyes lit up. "Oh, I say, a jolly old feast, wot! You go on ahead with Ambry, Buck. I'm not much flippin' good at reportin' back. I'll stop down here with the chaps!"

General Flurry's moustache tickled Diggs's good ear as the old officer murmured threateningly, "You'll do no such thing, sah. Go on, straight up to the Forge Chamber with ye!"