Brian Jacques - Redwall #20 - Eulalia!

Rangval started toward the door. "Aye, well, the Haggard might've left Redwall, but he can't have gotten too far yet. Let's get after him!"

The rogue squirrel and Maudie sped off. Orkwil was last to leave Great Hall. He stood in front of the tapestry for a brief moment, gazing into the eyes of Martin's likeness, which was the centre of the wondrous fabric. The young hedgehog's voice was steely and resolute. "Martin, sir, I'll bring your sword back to Redwall, and I'll make that coward pay. I give you my promise I will." Orkwil Prink bowed swiftly and departed.

Abbot Daucus called for assistance to help with the unconscious Sister Atrata. "Our friend has been cruelly taken from us." He turned back to the picture of Martin the Warrior, his voice shaken by the violence in his beloved Abbey. "Rest assured, friend, Orkwil Prink will keep his promise."

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A tranquil summer morn reigned over Mossflower. Dew-drops trembled, like tiny crystal pears, from bough and fern, birdsong echoed melodiously over the woodlands. Berries blushed from ruby to deeper purple as they matured, and flowers of the forest burgeoned into full blossom. However, all of this serenity was soon to be shattered. Gorath the Flame was on the vengeance trail.

The blood of berserk warriors coursed hotly through his veins, Gorath felt totally renewed as he stalked the woodland tracts. The sickness had left him, he was lean and gaunt, yes, but his dark eyes glittered with a frightening intensity. The big badger held his pitchfork, Tung, at the ready, as he passed, silent as a summer breeze, through the countryside.

Vizka Longtooth's deputy, the weasel Magger, had passed an unnerving night amid his captors. He was fearful of the Brownrats, they were big, painted savages decked out barbarously with bones, they treated their prisoners roughly. Their captain, Stringle, roped Magger's neck to a stake in the ground. He lay there helpless, dreading whatever fate lay in store.

The weasel Sea Raider had convinced himself that

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the Brownrats were cannibals. Often in passing they would kick, slap or pinch him, sometimes terrifying him, with a hungry leer. However, for the moment they were satisfying their hunger by breakfasting on the remainder of the stores left behind by the vermin crew of the Bludgullet.

Stringle had commandeered the dregs of the grog barrel, he sat over Magger, gnawing at a roasted trout. As if suddenly noticing his captive, he winked at Magger. "Don't fret, matey, we'll soon be movin' out. Ye must be 'ungry, d'ye want some o' this?" He held the half-eaten fish in front of the weasel's nose.

Magger managed to mutter humbly, "Aye, sir."

Stringle dealt him a smack across the muzzle with the trout. He laughed, calling to a nearby Brownrat, "Ahoy, Bladj, this pore beast ain't 'ad no brekkist, wasn't you in charge o' dishin' out the vittles?"

Bladj was a wicked-looking piece of work, he seized Magger by the jaw, pulling him close and mocked the hapless prisoner. "I musta forgot that ye wanted brekkist, I 'opes you'll accept me apologies. I'll wager ye've not even 'ad a drink, 'ere, mate, try a liddle punch." He punched the weasel's snout so hard that it sent bells ringing in Magger 's ears. Bladj patted his head. "Would ye like some more, or I can give ye lashins o' stick, a nice slap up soup an' a kick bottom pudden?"

Magger had the good sense to refuse. "No sir, der punch wuz enuff!"

Bladj communicated his reply to Stringle. "Sez he don't want no more brekkist, Cap'n."

Stringle smiled indulgently. "That's me trouble, I always spoils prisoners. Maggot, was that wot yore name is?"

Magger nodded dutifully, not wanting to disturb his captor's expansive mood.

Stringle untied the rope from the stake, passing it to Bladj. "Cummon, Maggot, we'll take ye to see yore Uncle Kurdly."

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The Brownrat horde was moving out of the camp at a leisurely pace, when a horrible gurgling scream rent the morning air. Everybeast froze, Bladj cast an uncertain glance at the woodlands. "Wot'n the name o' 'ellgates was that?"

Stringle shrugged. "'Ow should I know, sounded like somebeast yowlin' t'me. It came from over yon, by that ole tree, go an' see wot it was."

Bladj did not sound too eager. "Wot, me?"

The captain turned his spearpoint threateningly toward Bladj. "Aye, you! Go an' see who's doin' the screamin'..." As Stringle spoke, another bloodcurdling scream rang out from the same direction as the first. This was followed by a great, roaring shout.

"Eulaliiiiaaaaa!"

Two slain Brownrat carcasses came hurtling out of the tree cover. As they flopped on the grass, another death screech cut the air, followed by a thunderous bellow. "Eulaliiiiaaaaa!"

En masse, the Brownrat horde turned and fled the scene. Stringle stood uncertainly for a moment, his voice hesitant. "But, but we don't know who ..."

"Eulaliiiiaaaaa!"

The Brownrat captain fled after his command.

Completely forgotten in the panic, Magger fled straight up the nearest tree and clung motionless amid the foliage. He saw Gorath come striding out of woodlands onto the trail of the departing Brownrats, teeth bared, breathing like a bellows, eyes ablaze. Magger held his breath, not daring to move a muscle. The weasel had seen Gorath kill some-beast before, aboard the Bludgullet, he knew what he was seeing now, a badger in the throes of Bloodwrath. Magger stayed where he was, watching in horrified awe, until the huge, pitchfork-wielding beast was out of sight. Climbing swiftly down from his perch, Magger fled in the opposite direction.

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Deeper into the woodland, another was also descending out of a tree. Vizka Longtooth had caught sight of several Bludgullet crew vermin, they were creeping cautiously about midst the tree trunks, trying to stay clear of Brownrats, whilst they foraged for food. Vizka concealed himself behind a fallen elm trunk, he watched, and listened, gleaning information from them.

Firty and Jungo were digging out some edible roots, debating as to whether they really were edible. "Dese looks alright, mate, wotjer t'ink?"

Jungo sniffed them, pulling a face. "Huh huh, dey smells a bit strong, but I s'pose dey'll do."

The ferret Ragchin upbraided Jungo. "Ahoy, don't yew be eatin' dem, 'tis share'n'share alike, chuck 'em wid der rest!"

Jungo looked highly indignant. "I wuzzent eatin' dem, I wuz only smellin' 'em. Any'ow, who made yew der cap'n, Raggy?"

Ragchin had made himself a spear, by tying a broken knifeblade onto a pole. He leaned on it nonchalantly. "Ain't no more cap'ns round 'ere now, but I'm in charge of youse lot, Glurma said so. Cummon, let's git dis lot back t'camp, so's Glurma kin cook dem up."

Gathering up their forage, the score of crewbeasts stole off through the trees, with Vizka quietly following them. The golden fox did not want to show himself, until he knew which way the land lay.

It was a day for wanderers and ramblers, in that region of Mossflower, one of whom was particularly pleased with himself. The watervole had come upon a magpie, it was fluttering feebly on the ground, dragging one wing, which was obviously injured. The vole finished the magpie's flutters, with a single thrust of Martin's sword. Gathering dry moss, he struck flint to the legendary steel, and soon had a

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small fire burning in the lee of a grassy knoll. Spitting the magpie carcass on a green twig, he set it over the flames, and settled down to admire the blade he had stolen.

The vole was ignorant of the sword's history, or value, to him it was merely something to replace the dagger which Orkwil had taken from him. Granted, it was a fine piece of work, razor-sharp, and perfectly balanced, but a sword was only a big, useful knife to the mean-spirited stream-dweller. He stirred the fire with it, not even bothering to clean off the flawless blade, which had once been part of a meteorite hurtling through space.