Brian Jacques - [Redwall 18] - High Rhulain

Tiria nodded. “Thank you, Cap’n. Don’t worry, we’ll find you once our business here is done.”

Granden smiled and threw a hasty salute. “Oh, you’ll find us, marm. Just march t’the sound o’ the Eulalias, that’s where the Long Patrol will be!” He sped off after the other hares.

Tiria gave Brantalis a drink from Portan’s canteen and sat down by his side. “Take your time now. What news from the Abbey?”

Brantalis drank greedily before making his report. “I am thinking there is much news, but that can wait for a better time. Your father the Skipper, the Abbess and the Old Quelt beast sent me here to deliver this. I have not broken flight once since I left Redwall.”

Bending his neck forward, the goose used his bill to delve among the thick downy plumage, where his neck broadened to meet his body. He had some difficulty trying to move the object which was ringed around the thick base of his throat. Brantalis grumbled, “I am thinking this was easier to put on than to get off!”

Quartle gallantly offered his help. “Straighten your neck. Chin up, I mean beak up, old lad. I’ve got the confounded thing!”

Portan assisted him in moving the coronet from about the bird’s neck. Both hares gasped in wonderment.

“Oh my giddy aunt’s pinny, it’s a bloomin’ crown!”

“No it ain’t, Porters, it’s a wotsisname . . . a tiara!”

“Isn’t that the confounded thing that was supposed to have gone down with the jolly old ship?”

“Well here it is, old lad, Tiria’s tiara. I say, that’s pretty good, ain’t it? Tiria’s tiara!”

The ottermaid accepted it graciously from the two subalterns. “It’s called a coronet. Oh, Brantalis, how can I ever thank you? What a great friend you are!”

The barnacle goose ruffled his feathers back into place modestly. “You once helped me, I am thinking it was the least I could do to help you, Tiria Wildlough.”

Quartle and Portan began rubbing their paws gleefully.

“Well, go on, miss, put it on, wot wot!”

“Aye, let’s see if it fits your royal bonce, miss.”

Tiria took the simple gold circlet, with its inset stone which sparkled like green fire, and placed it lightly on her head. It fitted easily about her brow.

Brantalis stood and spread his wings. “I am thinking that was made for you!”

Portan flopped his ears, always a sign of admiration in hares. “By the left right’n’centre, miss, you really look the blinkin’ part now, wot!”

He was correct. With the addition of the coronet to the breastplate and cloak, Tiria looked unmistakably regal.

Quartle made an elegant, sweeping bow. “We are your most humble bloomin’ servants, Queen Tiria. Your wish is our flippin’ command, Majesty!”

The ottermaid struck a pose, trying to look as she imagined a queen would. Then she suddenly took a fit of the giggles. “Hahahaha, come on, you pair of duffers, stop bowing and scraping like two dithering ducks. It doesn’t matter what I dress up in, I’m still me, Tiria Wildlough from Redwall Abbey. Let’s put a move on and catch up with the Patrol. That is, if you’re up to it, Brantalis?”

The barnacle goose swelled out his chest. “Up to it? I am thinking I would not miss it!”

The still summer evening hung warm and dusty over the empty pier. Big Kolun Galedeep and the otterclans deemed it safer to hold a meeting in the bushes and trees of the left bank. The otters did not need a night attack by the cats to further complicate the quandary they were in. They gathered en masse, angry, puzzled and disgruntled at the ultimatum which the wildcat warlord had set upon them. The initial idea of a wild charge, and an all-out assault on the foe, had palled in the light of dire consequences—their enslaved friends, together with their families, being dragged out and executed in reprisal. The very mention of it was unthinkable. Proposals were put forth and rejected for various reasons. There seemed no answer to the problem.

Lorgo Galedeep mentioned another impractical solution. “Suppose we pretend to surrender. Then at the last moment, say, when the fortress gates are opened, we grab our weapons an’ make a forced charge, straight inside?”

At that moment, any scheme sounded good to Kolun. “Aye, it might work, mate. They wouldn’t be expectin’ a move like that. Sounds alright t’me!”

Banya immediately poured cold water on the plan. “Do ye think the Felis cat is some kind o’ fool? The instant we threw down our arms an’ surrendered, he’d have us surrounded by fully armed catguards. First thing they’d do would be to confiscate our weapons or sling ’em in the lake to stop us gettin’ at ’em.”

Kolun patted his brother’s shoulder sadly. “She’s right, mate. It wouldn’t work.”

A voice, completely foreign to the gathering, interrupted. “You chaps sound as though yore in a spot o’ bother, wot!”

Two tall hares, well armed and dressed in red tunics, emerged out of the shrubbery.

Kolun wheeled upon them, gripping his oar. “Who are ye, an’ where’d ye come from?”

The leader of the two rested one paw on a long rapier hilt and threw a casual salute. “Name’s Granden, old lad. Cap’n Rafe Granden o’ the Long Patrol at y’service. This is my aide, Colour Sergeant O’Cragg. We’re to be your allies I believe, wot!”

Banya Streamdog did not sound impressed. “Just the two of ye, huh? That won’t be much help!”

The burly Sergeant O’Cragg smiled down at her. “Ho, there’s h’a few more’n just the two of us, missy. Ye’ll see for yoreself. Yore to follow me’n the Cap’n to a meetin’ with h’our commandin’ offisah, Major Frunk.”

Kolun was not used to taking orders from complete strangers. He squared up in front of O’Cragg; they were both big beasts. The otter thrust out his jaw belligerently.

“We’re to follow you, eh? Says who?”

The sergeant’s eyes met Kolun unwaveringly. “H’I believe’er name h’is Rhulain, sah!”

There was a stunned silence, which broke into a roaring cheer from the otterclans. Big Kolun shook O’Cragg’s paw.

“Here’s me paw an’ here’s me heart, mate! Lead on, we’re with ye t’the death!”

Dusk had fallen by the time they reached the Long Patrol camp at the lake’s far end. A good fire burned there, shielded in the lee of some trees and rocks. The otters filed in, packing the site with their numbers.

Cuthbert climbed upon a rock, polishing his monocle and shouldering his swagger stick. After gazing around a bit, he addressed the gathering. “Righto, me buckoes. Let’s get off on the right paw, wot! I’m Regimental Major Cuthbert Blanedale Frunk. Unless I’m outranked by any o’ you chaps, I think I’m in command here. Any objections?”

Receiving no reply from the otterclans, he nodded. “Good show! Reason I say this is that there’s goin’ t’be a bit of a skirmish, a jolly old war in fact! No offence intended, an’ I’m sure you otterchaps are splendidly brave coves, but you ain’t Long Patrol. Now, d’ye see these hares? There’s a score’n a half of’em, they’re Long Patrol warriors. Fightin’ an’ soldierin’ is their business. Believe you me, these laddie bucks have slain more vermin than you’ve had hot flippin’ dinners. So take my word an’ trust me, wot!”

Kolun called out. “Fair enough, Major, we believe ye, but we’ve come here t’see our queen. Where is she?”

A murmur of assent ran through the clanbeasts. Silencing them with a wave of his swagger stick, Cuthbert pointed dramatically to the fire.

“Friends, meet Lady Tiria Wildlough of Redwall Abbey! The High Rhulain, Queen of Green Isle!”

The ottermaid came forth from behind the fire, dressed in full regalia and flanked by her two subalterns along with Pandion and Brantalis. The otterclans fell silent, overawed. Here was their prophecy fulfilled, the living legend standing before them. Tiria strode slowly through the hushed camp. All that could be heard was the crackle of twigs from the fire. Kolun was the biggest and most impressive of the otters. She went to him first. “Are you a Wildlough, sir?”