Brian Jacques - Redwall #21 - Doomwyte

The Dibbuns squeaked, but not from fear. “Wheeeeeee! Fasta, fasta! Redwaaaaaallll!”

Brother Torilis looked up from his task. “I suppose my next patients will be several Dibbuns and a foolish hare, judging by the reckless speed of that old contraption.”

Friar Skurpul merely chuckled. “Sumtoimes ee can be a roight ole mizrubble beast, zurr. Still, Oi supposen it keeps you’m ’appy.”

Being an owl, Aluco was not overfond of sunlit afternoon teas—he preferred the indoor shadows. Moreover, he had also vowed to guard the big emerald, in its candle sconce, by Martin the Warrior’s tapestry. The Abbey building was practically deserted, most Redwallers having taken themselves outdoors, enjoying the summer day. Aluco visited the kitchens, choosing his own afternoon tea: a small wooden bowl filled with candied chestnuts, and a wedge of hazelnut and celery cheese. A little flask of old elderberry wine proved too tempting, so he took that also. Making his way to Great Hall, the tawny owl sought out the corner where the legendary Redwall tapestry hung in serene splendour. Green lights emanated from the fabulous orb of the emerald, which had once belonged in one of the eye sockets of the Doomwyte idol. It was displayed in a candle sconce, directly in front of Martin’s likeness.

Aluco loved the tranquil solitude of the deserted hall. In its centre, the worn floorstones were softened by varying pastel hues of sunlight, pouring through the high, stained crystal windows. The tawny owl found a shadowed niche alongside one of the immense sandstone columns. Settling down there, he did full justice to his improvised tea, emptying the bowl, and draining the wine flask. Through the hallowed silence, he caught far-off echoes from the orchard. It was Sister Violet, accompanied by Bosie’s fiddlelike instrument. She was singing a beautiful old summersong of sentimental love.

“Far away from noise and bustle I would be,

where sun doth kiss the blooms and warm the stone,

by still green lakes I’d wander peacefully,

’midst their mossy banks I’d wait for him alone.

Watched only by small birds and butterflies,

with humble bees to drone their little tune,

in some tranquil glade where purple shadow lies,

dreaming through the sunlit halls of afternoon.

Oh, willow bending low so gracefully,

all in quiv’ring raiment standing there,

let breezes part thy boughs that I may see,

my love smile on the face he holds so fair.”

The combination of good food, wine and sweet song was fast closing Aluco’s eyes. Then a rustling sound passed close to him. The tawny owl blinked as he wandered dozily out of his niche. “Hullo, who is—”

A figure, heavily hooded and cloaked, laid him low with a single blow. Aluco fell stunned to the floor. The verdant light of the Doomwyte emerald was extinguished, as the phantom figure stowed it in the folds of its robe. As the thief stepped over the fallen bird, something dropped by Aluco’s side. The intruder padded swiftly off, leaving the empty sconce, and the owl, groaning softly as he tried to rise.

27

In his anxiety to grab Zaran’s sword, Dubble made a snatch in the dark. He fell from the poplar trunk, onto the hillside. Whatever his attacker was, it fell upon him. The young Guosim could not help letting out a yelp as he and his assailant rolled down the slope, locked together. They crashed into a bush. Dubble had not managed to get the sword, but he began battling tooth and paw to free himself. The thing did not put up much fight, but its size overwhelmed him—he was smothered by a dark, feathery mass. Dubble gave a muffled shout as it enveloped his face. Panic swept through him, the suffocating bulk robbed him of breath.

As suddenly as it had started, his ordeal ended. The thing was heaved from him, and he found himself lying flat on his back, staring up at the dark, savage face of Zaran, the black otter. She nodded curtly at the dark bundle lying nearby.

“Only crow, ’twas almost dead.” Zaran made a twisting motion with her powerful paws, and a clicking sound issued from her mouth. “Crow dead now, Zaran make sure of that!”

There was a commotion of cawing and flapping from down at the cave entrance. Dubble followed Zaran to a place where they could see what all the upset was about. Even in the dark of night, a number of dead and badly injured birds could be seen. Some were draped about the branches of the downy birch, others lay limp in the stream. Wide-eyed, the young shrew turned to his companion.

“What is it, what’s happenin’?”

The otter pulled him to her side; gripping the back of Dubble’s neck, she directed his gaze to where the small stream swirled around the rocky entrance. “See…. It is Baliss!”

The young shrew shuddered as he saw the tail of the reptilian bulk sliding slowly into the passage of the subterranean lair.

Veeku, leader of the carrion crows, stumbled into the rear cave, one wing hanging useless at his side. He crowed weakly, “Craaak, Baliss is here.”

Korvus Skurr emerged from the shadows, mounting the rock above the deep, cold pool, where his monstrous fish, Welzz, dwelt. He stood impassively, trying to hide his fear as he awaited Veeku’s full report. Korvus had hoped, against hope, that the big snake might not reach his caves. From the messages that had reached him, he knew Baliss was badly hurt, and acting strangely. But all the Lord of the Ravenwytes’ speculations had been in vain. The giant adder had not succumbed to illness, or suffered further injury. It was inevitable, the massive reptile was akin to a force of nature. Baliss was unstoppable, and now he had finally arrived at the threshold of the Doomwytes’ realm.

Favouring his broken wing, Veeku nodded back to the entrance tunnel. “Yaaarrr, Baliss has slain and wounded many carrion crows outside, now he rests in the passage to your main cavern. I was lucky to escape with my life, Mighty One.”

Showing no sympathy for Veeku’s plight, Korvus Skurr stood watching the entrance between both caves. His keen eyes had not missed the smoothsnake trying to slide in undetected. The raven called out in a harsh monotone, “Raaaharr, come in, Sicariss, attend me. I will not slay you, we need counsel, my friend.”

Sicariss had been avoiding her raven master for awhile. Still she had sought him out, knowing that old quarrels would be forgotten now, in the face of the ultimate peril. She wriggled forward, staying at a safe distance. “Lord of Doomwytesssss, how can my humble counsel help? I am at your ssssservice.”

There was an amount of water in the entrance tunnel, which had slopped in from the stream outside. Baliss laid his diseased head in it, trying to gain some temporary relief from the hot, throbbing pain which raged through his senses.

The giant reptile could neither smell the poisoned air, wafting from the boiling, sulphurous lake, nor visualise its immensity. Baliss lived in a world of pain, wrath and madness. The cold-water immersions were growing less effective as the infection from long-embedded hedgehog spines advanced, worsening rapidly. Truly, he could feel his once strong life starting to ebb.

The snake held his blunt snout in the shallow trough of water. Only the desire for revenge on Korvus Skurr and his creatures drove him onward, filling his crazed mind and occupying every waking moment. The narrow passage was completely blocked by the thick coils of Baliss.

From their vantage point above the entrance, the two watchers saw the end of the giant adder’s tail slide out of sight, into the hill. A thought struck Dubble. “If we could only collapse this lot in right now! Just think, Zaran, all Mossflower’d be rid of that slimy monster, as well as Skurr and his gang, eh?”