Brian Jacques - Redwall #20 - Eulalia!

Rangval swallowed hard as he watched Vizka approaching. "Shure, I hope he's not about to become a pain in the neck. I like bein' attached t'this ould head o' mine!"

Vizka held the sword forth, until it was at the captives' eye level. "Dis ain't no Brownrat weapon, 'tis a fine blade. Tell me, where've ya seen it afore?"

The keen blade came close to Maudie's throat as she answered. "Seen it before? No, 'fraid not, sah. But let me say, it suits you well. The sword was obviously made for you, it's yours by right of conquest I think."

Vizka stared up at the three friends, suspended from the branch by their paws. He drew back the sword and struck with a yell. "Yaaaaah!"

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Soft clouds shrouded the dawn, lending the new day a pearllike sheen. The Tabura sat in the orchard, completely at one with his surroundings. Not a leaf or a blade of grass stirred, it was as if the earth lay still, enjoying the brief, peaceful moment, before the morning bustle of Abbey life.

A young robin landed in the folds of the badger's homespun garment. He sat motionless, watching the little bird. At the sound of approaching voices, the robin flew off into the trees. At his bidding, the badgermaid Salixa had brought Gorath, Abbot Daucus, Log a Log Osbil, Skipper Rorc, Barbowla, Foremole Burff and Benjo Tipps.

They seated themselves round and about the upturned barrow, which the old badger was using as a chair. Friar Chondrus and two helpers trundled up, pushing a trolley laden with breakfast food.

The Tabura declined a bowl of honeyed oatmeal, nodding at the trolley. "None for me just yet, thank you. I will eat after I have spoken. But please, do not let me stop you from breaking your fast, friends. Everything looks so delicious, I hope you will save me a little."

When everybeast was served, the Tabura gave voice to his thoughts. "Gorath, let us face your problem first. It is right and just that the murderer of your kinbeasts should

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pay for his crimes. Therefore you must pursue this fox. I know by the vow you made to yourself that you will seek him, right to Hellgates if need be. But my young friend, it is not the fox that you must worry about, it is yourself that you must fear. Aye, fear I say, for your own Bloodwrath may be the death of you. Go now, but before you do, grant me just one wish."

The young badger took his pitchfork, the frown creasing his brow making the vivid, red scar look even more like a flickering flame. Gorath was frankly puzzled. "Tabura, I am bound in honour to obey one so wise. What is your wish?"

The old badger turned his gaze on the slender badgermaid. "That if Salixa so desires, you will allow her to go with you. To stay by your side and accompany you."

Gorath was lost for words, all he could say was, "But why?"

The Tabura was still staring at Salixa. "Would you go with Gorath if I asked you to do so?"

The badgermaid went to stand at Gorath's side, she replied without hesitation, calmly. "I will go with him because we both wish it."

The Tabura smiled at them both for a moment, then closed his eyes. "Go then, and may the fates be kind to you. With the Father Abbot's permission, I will be staying here, now that Redwall has lost its healer."

Abbot Daucus took the two young badgers' paws. "You must bow to your Tabura's wisdom. Friar Chondrus, will you see they are provided with supplies? Alas, your stay at our Abbey has been all too brief. We wish you well. Be kind to one another, remember, friendship is the greatest gift one creature can offer to another."

With the Friar following them, they departed without another word. The Tabura only opened his eyes after they had gone. There was a moment's silence, then Skipper shook his head in amazement.

"Gorath's a fine, young badger alright, but he's a Blood

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wrath warrior, an' a dangerous beast to be around. I tell ye, I wouldn't allow any daughter o' mine to go off on the loose with one like him. Why did ye let yore daughter go, Tabura?"

The old badger stared at the spot where the pair had been standing a moment ago. "Salixa is no kin of mine, though I care for her as much as any father would for his daughter. You saw the two of them together, they need each other."

Benjo Tipps scratched his headspikes. "But suppose Gorath gets into one of his rages, what could a slip of a maid do then? She could be in peril."

Reaching into his belt pouch, the Tabura brought forth a small, round stone, which he passed to the Cellarhog. "Tell me, friend, what do you think that is?"

Foremole Burff took a swift glance, answering promptly. "Hurr, et bee's a pebble, zurr, make'd o' grannet, oi think?"

Everybeast present nodded in agreement. The old badger took the pebble back and held it up. "A simple pebble, which I took from a stream. One time, maybe before creatures ever walked the land, that was a chip of granite from some mountain. Somehow it fell into a stream, or a river. A small, sharp lump of stone, rough and misshapen. No tool, no chisel or hammer, turned it into a smooth pebble. Completely round, without any keen edges, a perfect little stone ball. It was water, streamwater, running softly through countless ages, which continually washed this stone, finally turning it into a pebble."

Skipper nodded. "You mean that the maid could smooth the rough edges off'n Gorath. But you said the water took countless ages t'do it, sir."

Abbot Daucus answered for the old badger. "Aye, but Gorath and Salixa aren't water and stone, they're living creatures who care for each other. It won't take ages, Skip, believe me!"

The oldster chuckled. "Well said, Father Abbot, maybe someday you might become a Tabura?"

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Daucus smiled modestly. "I hardly think so."

The Tabura accepted a beaker of hot mint tea from Foremole. "We shall see. Now, let us face the problem of these Brownrats. What do you know of them, and their leader?"

The Abbot deferred to Barbowla's explanation. "Wot's to know, they're a vermin horde, an' Gruntan Kurdly's a big, fat, evil, greedy beast. First he wanted the Guosim's log-boats, but then he set his twisted mind on Redwall. Now Kurdly wants this Abbey."

Abbot Daucus spoke out angrily. "But he won't get it, Redwall is too strong to fall into the paws of scum like that!"

Skipper slammed his rudder down hard. "That rat'll only get Redwall over our dead bodies, we'll fight him with everything we've got!"

The Tabura held up his paws until the indignant outcry halted. "Wait now, friends, what you're telling me is that Kurdly is a rat who takes what he wants by brute force and ignorance, because he has a horde behind him."

Osbil drew his rapier. "Aye, but if'n he wants war we'll give it to the villain, hot'n'heavy!"

Draining his beaker, the Tabura nodded to Friar Chondrus. "This is very fine mint tea, may I have more, please? Now, on the subject of your enemies, Father Abbot. I think you would agree that war is the last resort of intelligent creatures. It brings only death and destruction."

Abbot Daucus replied wistfully, "There's no doubt about that, friend, but what are we to do? Vermin aren't beasts you can reason with."

There was a twinkle in the old badger's eyes as he sipped his tea. "Indeed they aren't, that's what I'm relying on. They are not only our enemy, but they have no love for each other, these two vermin armies. My advice is, sit tight within your Abbey, defend it when you have to. Vermin are cruel, murderous, but most of all greedy. I think they'll cancel one another out. I have seen vermin conquerors and armies before, trust me."

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At his camp, south of the Abbey wall, Gruntan Kurdly was reflecting also. He had become accustomed to the thunder of paws, either coming down or going up the ditch nearby. First it was Sea Raiders chasing Brownrats, then it was Brownrats chasing the Sea Raiders. Now it was his own horde again, madly stampeding from north to south. He watched with a jaundiced eye as they stumbled, slobbering and panting, into camp. As a change from boiled eggs, Gruntan was pigging down a mess of small, roasted trout. Hawking loudly he spat out in disgust, narrowly missing his old healer, Laggle. The Brownrat chieftain scowled sourly at her. "Wot did yer give me fishes for, ye ole frowsebag? Fishes ain't good vittles, they got bones in 'em, sharp ones, they got fish skin, too, an' ... an' ... bits, lots o' slimey bits!" Picking up another trout, he regarded it with disgust. "Yurgh! Fishes got eyes, too, an' they stares at ye when yore eatin' 'em!"