Brian Jacques - [Redwall 18] - High Rhulain

The wood-gathering expedition had been a success. Tiria and her three friends had worked diligently, filling the cart with a selection of long branches and straight, thick limbs. It was mainly good yew staves, some pieces of ash and a selection of lesser but useful bits of willow and birch. The four companions were following the course of a stream, which they knew flowed close to the south path at one point. Once they reached the path, Redwall would be within easy walking distance. Tiria estimated they would reach the Abbey by early evening.

Enjoying the freedom of the outdoors, and being in no great hurry, they opted to take a break for an afternoon snack on the streambank. Girry unpacked the last of their food, whilst Tiria checked the ropes which bound the cargo of wood to the cart. Brinty and Tribsy skimmed flat pebbles over the slow-flowing stream. The ottermaid felt quietly proud of herself; she had completed her task without any untoward incident. Cooling her footpaws in the shallows, she watched the noon shadows start to lengthen over the tranquil waters. Two green- and black-banded dragonflies patrolled the far reed margin, their wings iridescent in the sunlight. Bees droned drowsily around some water crowfoot blossoms, and birdsong echoed amid the trees.

Tribsy left off skimming and sat down to eat. “Froo’ corjul an’ hunny sangwiches, moi fayverrit!”

Tiria smiled. “Good old Friar Bibble, he knows how to look after hungry workers, eh Tribsy?”

The young mole smiled from ear to ear. “Hurr, an’ us’ll be back at ee Red’all in gudd toime furr supper. Oi dearly loikes a noice supper, so oi doo’s!”

Brinty took a long swig of the fruit cordial. “Don’t you ever think of anything but eating, old famine face?”

Tribsy patted his stomach. “Whut’s to think abowt, maister? Oi bee’s nought but ee pore choild needin’ vittles aplenty to grow.”

Brinty watched the young mole demolish a sandwich in two bites. “You’re growing sideways instead of upwards.”

Girry gestured his friends to be quiet as his ears stood up straight. “Ssshh! Listen, did you hear that?”

They listened for a moment, then Tiria shrugged. “Hear what?”

Girry pointed upstream. “Over that way, sounded like somebeasts enjoying themselves, laughing and shouting.”

Tribsy wrinkled his snout. “Oi doan’t yurrs nuthin’. You’m squirrels can yurr better’n uz moles, burr aye.”

Brinty shook his head. “I don’t hear anything, either.”

Girry began climbing a nearby elm. “Well, I can hear it, there’s something going on up yonder. You three stay here, I’ll go and take a peep.”

Tiria cautioned her friend, “Stay in the treetops, Girry. Don’t go getting yourself into any trouble. I don’t want to face my dad back at the Abbey and have to tell him something happened to you!”

The agile young squirrel threw her a curt salute. “Yes marm, don’t fret marm, I’ll be fine marm!”

The ottermaid watched him ascend into the upper foliage. “Well, just be careful, and less of the marm, please! I’m only one season older than you, cheekybrush!”

Tribsy commandeered another sandwich. “Oi’ll just finish off ee vittles whoile us’ns bee’s waitin’. Ho joy, this ’un’s gotten cheese on it, moi fayverite!”

Brinty looked at his molefriend in amazement. “Is there any sandwich that isn’t your favourite?”

Tribsy shook his head solemnly. “Oi b’aint found one as yet, zurr.”

After a while they went back to skimming stones. Tiria was by far the best skimmer, making one flat chip of bankrock jump nine times as it bounced over the water. It was rather pleasant passing an afternoon in this fashion, the ottermaid thought. She began to wonder what the fuss and stern warnings from her father had been all about.

Just then, Girry dropped down out of the elm in a rush of leaves and twig ends. The young squirrel, breathless with indignation and urgency, gabbled out, “They’ve got a big bird hanging upside down from a tree and they’re lighting a fire under it, hitting it with spearpoles. We’ve got to stop them, Tiria, oh, the poor bird!”

Grabbing her friend, the ottermaid shook him soundly. “Make sense, Girry! What big bird, where, and who’s hitting it? Now take a deep breath and start again, properly!”

Girry obeyed, taking several breaths before he recovered. “I went upstream. I was up in a beech when I saw them. There’s about eight water rats, nasty-looking scum. Anyhow, these rats, they’ve got a big bird strung upside down from a bough, and they’re torturing it to death, I swear they are. Please, Tiria, we must do something to help the bird!”

Unwinding the sling Wuppit from about her waist, Tiria took charge swiftly. “Take an axe, Girry. Go on ahead of us and get close to the bird without being seen. Then wait for us. Tribsy, Brinty, take two good yew staves from the cart and follow behind me!”

Plugtail and Hangpaw were trying to set light to a heap of twigs, leaves and moss beneath where the big bird was hanging upside down. They had to keep ducking as the other gang rats swung the hawk back and forth by prodding and striking at it with their spears. The bird’s wings hung limply outspread. Though it hissed feebly at its tormentors, there was no way it could stop them.

Groffgut was enjoying himself immensely at the expense of his helpless victim. He swung his crude sword at the bird, clipping a few of its throat feathers, while taunting it cruelly. “Once dat fire’s ablaze, we’ll roast yer nice’n’slow, birdy. May’ap it’ll be suppertime afore yore dead an’ ready, eh?”

Frogeye took a lunge at the bird with his spear but missed. “Kin I ’ave one of its legs, Chief? It was me wot catchered it.”

Groffgut snarled and aimed a kick at him. “I’ll ’ave one of yore legs if’n ye slays that h’eagle too quick. Stop stabbin’ at it like that, snottynose!”

Parraaaang! A hard river pebble shot out of the trees, striking the swordblade and knocking it from Groffgut’s grasp. He went immediately into an agonised dance, sucking at the paw which was stinging from the reverberation of the strike.

“Yeeeeek! Who did that? Heeeyaaagh!”

Tiria sped onto the streambank, whirling another stone in her sling as she shouted, “Get away from that bird, rat!”

Groffgut stopped dancing, tears beading in his squinched eyes. He saw that it was a lone otter. Waving his numbed paw at the gang, he screeched, “Kill dat riverdog t’bits. Slay ’er!”

Frogeye leaped forward, thrusting with his spear. Tiria sidestepped it. Swinging the stone-loaded sling, she brought it crashing into the rat’s jaw as she roared, “Redwaaaaallll!”

Brinty and Tribsy charged out of the bushes, laying about heftily with their long staves. Girry dropped down onto the bough which held the big bird. Leaping from there to the ground, he scattered the smouldering fire with his axe. Tribsy gave Plugtail a crack across both legs with his staff, which sent the rat hurtling into the stream. Brinty brought the butt of his staff straight into Groffgut’s belly as he reached with his good paw for the sword. Then he began lambasting the gang chief mercilessly. Tiria was everywhere at once, flailing with her loaded sling, cracking the rats’ paws, ribs, tails and heads. Whilst all this was going on, Girry placed his back beneath the bird’s head and supported it.

Taken aback by the ambush, most of the rats fled for their lives, leaving only three of their number at the scene. Threetooth and Frogeye were stretched out senseless; Groffgut, unfortunately, was still conscious, wailing and pleading as Brinty whacked on at him in a frenzy, yelling at him with each blow he delivered. “Dirty! Filthy! Torturer!”