Brian Jacques - [Redwall 18] - High Rhulain

Tiria laughed at this. “Righto, mate. Mate it is!”

Pitru stood on the highest point of the vast crater, congratulating himself. His scheme was successful: Soon he would be Ruler of Green Isle. The young cat had pitched his camp right across the narrow path which ran over the crater’s rim. Behind him his followers had erected a barricade of rocks. Now nobeast could come over by this way, since he held the pass. Balur and Hinso, his confederates, listened as he outlined his plan. Pitru gazed off into the clear morning distance.

“See, the last of the smoke, I saw the glow from afar last night. The fortress has fallen. Are you not glad you came with me, eh?”

Balur bowed respectfully. “You saved our lives, Sire!”

Hinso placed a paw over her heart, affirming loyalty. “We were with ye from the first, commander.”

Pitru drew himself up, leaning on his broad scimitar proudly. “Henceforth you will call me Warlord of Green Isle!”

Balur and Hinso glanced at each other, not daring to ask the question. It was Pitru who answered it for them.

“You will soon learn that Riggu Felis is dead. Look, down there in the foothills, here come the runaways.”

Threading its way up the lower path, a band of catguards could be seen. Pitru smiled smugly. “That’s Scaut leading the group. Take my guards and surround that lot, disarm them and bring them to me.”

The mission was accomplished swiftly. By midmorning, Pitru had a dispirited bunch of catguards, refugees from the defeat of the fortress, sitting on the ground in front of him. His first act was to place his scimitar at Scaut’s throat.

“Ah, the mighty weilmark, eh? You were ever my enemy, Scaut. So tell me, why should I not slay you right now?”

The weilmark gulped as the blade pressing against his throat bobbed slightly. “Spare me an’ I will serve ye faithfully. I give ye my oath, Commander Pitru!”

Hinso sprang forward and kicked Scaut. “Our leader is Warlord of Green Isle now, an’ ye will address him so!”

Pitru smiled thinly, enjoying his triumph. “That is, unless Riggu Felis still lives. Is he dead, Scaut? Did you see him die? How did it happen?”

Still with the blade threatening his throat, Scaut answered, “Lord, I was not there to see it, but some of these guards say that Riggu Felis was slain by an ottermaid with a sling, down on the pier.”

Pitru shook his head in mock pity. “The great wildcat ruler, killed by an ottermaid. How sad! But you ran off and left him to his fate. What sort of a weilmark would you call yourself now, Scaut?”

Trying to bend his neck back from the pressure of the heavy blade, Scaut managed to gasp, “I am wot ye say I am, Lord!”

Pitru withdrew the blade, suddenly kicking Scaut flat. He grabbed the long whip, which had once been the weilmark’s favourite weapon, and began beating his helpless victim with it, yelling at him, “You are no weilmark at all! From now on you will be my lackey—fetching, carrying and licking the dust from my paws!”

Breathing heavily, the young warlord turned upon the bunch of catguards who had followed Scaut. “And you, who do you serve now? A dead wildcat, or me?”

The subdued guards were only too ready to go over to Pitru. They bowed before him as he tossed the whip to Hinso. “Give them back their weapons and let them join my guards.”

When this was done, he addressed his reinforced ranks. “The otters will come this way. They have a secret hideout somewhere around, but they have to pass here to get to it. I can see by the signs that they have passed here more than once. I can defeat them! Now you will see how a real warlord makes his plans, not some half-faced old fool who was served by idiots like Scaut. I hold the high ground. The way forward is barricaded. To one side I have Deeplough. In front of me is a high hillside my enemies would have to scale to reach us. They have to get past me to reach their families, but they will die on the slopes below me. Then I will seek out those families and have slaves to build me a fortress of stone that will not burn, up here on the heights!”

33

The clans were crossing a stream, Tiria, Leatho and Big Kolun leading the procession, each with an otterbabe sitting upon their shoulders. The Long Patrol had a few scouts patrolling ahead, while the rest of the hares brought up the rear. Everybeast was singing as they splashed through the water. Sunrays shafted through the trees, mottling them with patches of light and shade. The babe on Tiria’s shoulders kept heaving on her coronet, using it as a rein. But the ottermaid bore it stoically, singing along with the rest.

“Where are we going to? Holt Summerdell!

What’ll we do there? We’ll all live well!

When we get there we’ll have tales to tell,

of the day that old fortress burnt an’ fell!

Left right, I’ll never complain,

if I never see a cat again!

Left right left right!

We had a war an’ won the fight,

Left right left right!

Our queen is comin’ home tonight!

Left right left right!

The clans are marchin’ free!”

They halted on the far bank and sat down for a rest. Tiria heaved a sigh of relief as she lifted the babe over her head and set her down on the grass. The little one came to earth, clutching the royal coronet in her tiny paws. Tiria pretended to look shocked.

“So, a coronet robber, eh?”

Wrinkling her nose, the otterbabe returned the regalia. “H’a sorry, Kweemarm!”

Leatho bounced the babe in his lap. “Kweemarm, I like that, it fits ye well. Kweemarm!”

Tiria splashed streamwater at him. “Don’t you dare start calling me Kweemarm, or I’ll call you by your baby name!”

The outlaw picked up the otterbabe. Pressing his forehead against hers, he whispered, “So then, rascal, wot d’ye call me?”

The tiny otter giggled. “Heehee, Fleeko Spellbrown!”

Big Kolun sat the otterbabe on his paw. He smiled at her. “An’ wot’s my name, liddle cuddlerudder?”

She stared solemnly at him. “Unka Kolun!”

He planted a kiss on the top of her head. “Hoho, I’ll be yore Unka Kolun anytime, darlin’!”

The cooks had packed food, which they had prepared the night before. The streambank assumed the air of a picnic lunch as everybeast sat eating and dabbling their footpaws in the shallows. Quartle and Portan shared a long loaf sliced lengthwise and filled with preserved fruit. Holding an end apiece, they bit into the long sandwich.

“I say, old lad, this is better’n haversack rations, wot!”

“Rather! Yum yum, sammies!”

The little ones thought this was hilarious. After gulping down everything they were given to eat, they splashed about in the water shouting, “Yumyum sammies! Yumyum sammies!”

Big Kolun chuckled. “Wait’ll they see Summerdell—the falls, an’ the waterslide, an’ the swimpools. I tell ye, Lady, they won’t forget ye for wot ye done for ’em!”

Tiria shook her head. “You mean for what you’ve done, and our brave hares. I just stood about an’ looked like a queen most of the time.”

Kolun winked at her. “An’ ye did it very nicely, marm!”

Cuthbert came wading along. Chewing at an enormous slice of salad turnover, he waved his swagger stick at them. “Everythin’ hunky dory here, wot?”

Tiria threw him a very pretty salute. “We’re fine, thank you, Major. How are you?”

He squinched down on his monocle in a sort of half-wink. “Flourishin’, marm, thankee. Must have a word, though.”

Sitting among them, he beckoned Leatho, Kolun and Tiria close, dropping his voice. “Cap’n Rafe an’ Sarn’t O’Cragg have just reported back from the advance scouts. Seems there’s a jolly old spot o’ bother loomin’ ahead.”