Brian Jacques - [Redwall 18] - High Rhulain

“Hohoho! Come on, me bhoyos, drink ’earty now! There ain’t nothin’ like my Gullyplug Punch t’put the curl back in yore whiskers. ’Twill give ye a rudder like a rock an’ backfur like velvet moss!”

Big Kolun Galedeep carried two tankards outside the curtain of vegetation which covered the cave front. Leatho was seated on a rock outside, staring into the thick, rolling mist that lay upon the calm, ebbing tide. Sitting beside the outlaw, Kolun gave him a tankard of Birl Gully’s punch.

“Git that down yore throat, matey. ’Twill warm the cockles of yore ’eart!”

Leatho sipped pensively, still silently watching the sea mists. Big Kolun was not renowned as a sipper. Emptying his tankard in two swallows, he wiped the back of a hefty paw across his mouth.

“Well now, Shellhound. The clans seem t’be enjoyin’ theirselves in there, while yore mopin’ about out ’ere. Wot ails ye, mate? You can tell me.”

Leatho swilled the punch around in his tankard. “One single victory don’t mean we’ve won the war, Kolun. That wildcat ain’t goin’ to hold still after wot we’ve done. Felis is bound to come back at us hard as he can. I don’t know exactly how the villain’ll do it. So ’tis up to me to try an’ outthink him.”

Kolun threw a paw around his friend’s shoulders. “Aye, well, you do yore outthinkin’ later, buckoe. Yore wanted in there right now. C’mon, stir yore rudder!”

Rousing cheers greeted the outlaw as he joined the throng. Amid copious back slapping and paw shaking, he was escorted to a seat of honour by the fire. Leatho had issues he wanted to address the otters about, but as he made to rise, Big Kolun’s missus, Deedero, shoved him firmly back down, proclaiming, “Arrah, sit ye down, Shellhound. The bard’s composed a fine lay about ye. Whisht now, the singer’s got the floor!”

Ould Zillo’s rudderdrum began thrumming the beat, whilst a flute and fiddle joined in. The one-eyed bard launched into his newly written ballad.

“Harroo for the Shellhound, ain’t he the bold beast,

he’s the hero we’ve all come to toast at this feast,

for he singed the cat’s tail, and put flame to his fort,

the whiskery tyrant, his threats came to nought!

O pity those slaves who were bound ’neath the pier,

an’ for the three babies we all shed a tear,

all sentenced to death in the dreaded Deeplough,

’twas enough to put any pore otter in shock!

’Til the Shellhound arrived in the dark o’ the night,

an’ to the cats’ fortress his warriors set light,

with freedom their watchword, they championed the

cause,

as they battled with catguards along the lakeshores!

With slingstone an’ spear they attacked the cruel foe,

an’ as for the outcome, well I’m sure that ye know,

they freed the brave captives an’ got clear away,

an’ were back here safe home by the dawn of the day!

Ye wicked ould wildcat this lesson ye’ll learn,

or yore guards will be slain an’ yore fortress’ll burn,

sure ye’ll wail in the ashes an’ stamp the bare ground,

an’ ye’ll rue the sad day that ye met the Shellhound!

Shellhound. . . . Shellhound . . . Shellhooooouuuuund!”

All around the cave, voices and tankards were raised. “Leatho! Leatho! Speech speech speech!”

Taking the floor, the outlaw held up his paws until order was restored. “Friends, clanbeasts, my thanks to ye! But ’twas not just me who did the deed. There were many brave ones with me who are worthy of yore praise—warriors, who risked life an’ limb to free our good friends. Hearken to me now! Riggu Felis will be yearnin’ to avenge his defeat. That wildcat is a powerful an’ savage foebeast. Aye, an’ if I’m yore leader, then I’ve got this to say. All our otterclans are not yet ready to face the cats. Not until we’re all united behind one High Queen, the Rhulain!”

More cheers and chanting broke out. “Eeayeeeeeh! Rhulain! High Rhulaaaaain!”

Ould Zillo the Bard whacked his drum until they stopped. “Sure will ye not hold yore noisy gobs now an’ give the goodbeast a chance? Where’s yore manners? Leatho has the floor! Best of order now, all round the cave, d’ye hear!”

Nodding his thanks to the old otter, Leatho continued. “We’ll get nowhere if’n we don’t lay the ground with some hard plannin’ now. Do ye not realise that Felis still holds more than a hundred slaves?”

He shook a clenched paw at the chastened otters. “Aye, that many! All that’s left o’ the Wildlough clan, an’ other families, with old ’uns an’ babes. They must be freed, afore Felis starts takin’ reprisals among ’em!”

Big Kolun Galedeep strode to the outlaw’s side. “Wot ye say is true, Leatho, an’ everybeast here is with ye. So tell us how ye plan on goin’ about it!”

Shellhound warmed to his subject immediately. “First we need to make this place safe an’ secure. Every single otter must leave home an’ holt to live here from now on. That way we can’t be singled out or hunted down family by family. Deedero, Zillo, I leave the runnin’ of this place t’ye both. I know ye can be trusted to provision an’ protect the cave.”

There was a murmur of agreement; clearly, this was a wise choice. Leatho’s keen eyes searched the gathering.

“Next, I want two volunteers, otters who aren’t readily identifiable. These two must steal back into the fortress and blend in as slaves. ’Tis a risky an’ dangerous task. They must learn t’be my eyes an’ ears among the enemy. Through them we’ll learn what’s goin’ on in the cats’ camp, what Felis’s next move will be. Are there two among ye who’ll take the chance?”

A mass of paws shot up. Leatho took his time selecting. “You there, an’ you, too. Step up here.”

Memsy, the former otterslave who had brought news of Whulky and Chab’s capture, was one. The other was a slim otter, fully grown but rather nondescript in looks. He walked forward, nodding to Leatho.

“I’m Runka Streamdog, brother of Banya.”

The outlaw shook both their paws. “I’m beholden to ye, mates. Stand by for orders.”

He addressed the remainder of the clans. “Now I need warriors, beasts who are strong’n’fit. Ye’ll have to travel light, live off the land an’ be ready to fight t’the death at the wink of my eye. Kolun Galedeep’ll come among ye an’ pick out those he thinks will do. Remember, if yore chosen, we’ll only be back here now an’ agin. No more feastin’ an’ restin’ round the fire wid yore friends an’ families. If yore with me ’n’ Kolun, ye’ll travel like the wind, an’ strike like thunder’n’lightnin’ at the cats. Our aim is t’free all the slaves, an’ fetch ’em back here to safety to wait ’til Queen Rhulain comes to Green Isle.”

It was fully midmorn before the sun deigned to appear and banish the mists. Dew stood heavy on the helmets, jerkins and spearpoints of over two hundred catguards, marshalled in five ranks on the lakeshore. Feral cats of various hues, shapes and sizes stood rigidly to attention. Among them were archers, axe carriers, spearbearers and pikebearers, their limbs stiff and numb from the long wait. Weilmark Scaut stood on a raised rock in front of the parade, watching as his ten scorecats patrolled the ranks. Each one carried a long willow cane, ready to strike out at slovenly guards.

As he saw the warlord emerge from the fortress in full armour, Scaut called out sharply, “The Lord of Green Isle comes!”

Raising their weaponry, the catguards shouted in strict chant, “Warlord of all! Mighty Wildcat! Conqueror and Destroyer of foebeasts! Lord of the Fortress! Hail Riggu Felis!”

The sound of their chant was still echoing around the lake as Riggu Felis stood on the rock, now vacated by Scaut. The warlord wore a helmet of beaten silver, with horns that resembled twin crescent moons protruding on each side. From these hung a square of heavy black silk, embroidered with silver wire, forming his lower face mask. A long cloak, of black-and-white weave, over a fine chain mail doublet plus the shining, single-bladed war axe hanging from one paw on a thong completed his apparel.