Brian Jacques - Loamhedge

The storms which had been battering the high cliffsides slackened off to a steady downpour. Fenna popped her head outside the cave, shielding her eyes. “It’s hard to see anything properly on a rainy night. No sign of Horty yet, I do hope he’s alr . . .”

A monolithic shape loomed out of the darkness, silent as a moonshadow. The squirrelmaid staggered backward as a badger of massive proportions padded in. Over his shoulder lay Horty, draped like a limp rag. The badger carried on past them, to the back of the cave, his deep growl echoing.

“I found your friend, never fear, he’ll come to his senses before too long. Be still now until I get a fire going.”

Bragoon’s paw stayed Springald from rising. “Be still, Spring, do as our friend says.”

They heard steel strike flint, as the badger’s soft breath coaxed flame from the sparks that fell onto the tinder. Soon a pale light flickered. It became a proper fire when the badger added dried grass and twigs to it. He banked it up with broken pine branches, waited a moment, then turned to face the travellers. Bragoon had encountered a badger or two before, but none like this one. Warrior was written all over this giant beast—from the great bow he carried, to the long quiver full of arrows, to the lethal dagger strapped below his shoulder. He wore a simple smock of rust-hued homespun, belted with a woven sash.

But it was his face that denoted his calling. A deep, jagged scar ran lengthwise across the broad-striped muzzle, with stitchmarks pocking either side. The dark eyes remained impassive, reflecting the firelight. The otter judged him to be one of those fated creatures cursed with that malady called Bloodwrath—the red tinge mixed with the creamy eye whites betrayed it. Bragoon had heard tales of such badgers that described them as terrible to behold and unstoppable in battle. The otter held out his paw, flat, with the palm upward, a sign of peace. The badger did likewise. Then he placed his paw on top, making Bragoon’s look like the tiny paw of a Dibbun. He introduced himself.

“I am Lonna Bowstripe. This is not my cave, but you are welcome to stay here until the hare recovers. I saw you escape those rats today and knew you would shelter up here. I watched from the hills what a brave thing your friend did. I killed those three rats who tried to capture him—vermin are bullies and murderers, they are no great loss to anybeast. Who are you, why are you in this country?”

The otter bowed respectfully. “I am Bragoon. This is Saro, Fenna and Springald. The hare is named Horty. We are travellers.” He gestured upward toward the plateau on top of the cliffs. “We are seeking a place called Loamhedge. It lies somewhere up there.”

Lonna began stringing his bow. “A dangerous quest, friend. There are many Darrat rats out there still. Their captain was one of the three I slew. You need to reach the clifftops without interference from them. Your journey will be hard enough without rats following you. Perhaps they are camped in the area. I will warn them off. Pass me an arrow, Fenna.”

The squirrelmaid took a shaft, nearly as long as she was, from the badger’s quiver. They watched Lonna blunt the point by jamming an old pinecone over it. He held it to the fire until it was blazing and crackling. Testing the air outside the cave, the badger seemed satisfied.

“It’s not raining too heavily now, the shaft should burn for a bit before it goes out.” With a single graceful move, Lonna set the blazing arrow on his string, drawing the shaft back until the burning end almost touched the bow. Whooooosh! It shot off like a rocket, into the night sky above the dunes.

Throwing back his head, the big beast roared out in a thunderous voice that echoed around the cave and along the cliffsides. “I am Lonna Bowstripe! I eat rats! I will taste the blood of any who are here by dawn! Eulaliiiiiaaaaaaa!”

He returned to the fire as they took their paws from ringing ears and began tending to Horty. Lonna smiled and shook his head as Horty began to stir. “He looks hard to kill—I’ve heard it said that hares are perilous beasts. This one will be a warrior one day.”

The giant badger looked so large and ferocious in the firelight that Springald could readily understand how the rats would fear him. She enquired politely, “Sir, you didn’t really eat three rats, did you?”

The smile still lingered on Lonna’s lips. “Nay, little maid, don’t believe all you hear. The language of death and violence is all that vermin understand. I’d sooner devour a crushed toad that was four seasons dead than eat rat. I eat only the same food as you do.”

“Eat? I say, did some chap mention eats? I’m famished!”

Bragoon assisted the incorrigible hare to sit upright. “Oh, this ’un’s awake, sure enough. Well, how d’ye feel, young famine belly? Oh, ye’d better thank the beast who saved ye. This is Lonna Bowstripe.”

Horty did an exaggerated double take at the huge badger. He winked cheekily. “Good grief, sah, bet you can pack the jolly old provisions away, wot wot?”

They pooled the resources of their packs and were soon toasting yellow cheese and oat scones over the fire. Saro poured dandelion and burdock cordial for the company. Springald split some loaves of nutbread and spread them with honey.

Lonna glanced sideways at Horty, taken aback by the young hare’s appetite. “Great seasons, talk about packing provisions away! Where do you put it all? You’re a bottomless pit!”

They all burst into laughter at the sight of Horty’s indignant face.

Over the next few hours, they exchanged their stories. The five friends told Lonna all about Redwall and its creatures. They also explained Martha’s situation and the reason for their quest. When the giant badger related his own personal history, they were greatly saddened and angry, too. There was a hushed silence when he came to the end of his narrative. Lonna ran his paw down the fearsome scar, tracing it across his still face.

“They will pay with their lives, Raga Bol and all his vermin crew. As sure as the days break and the seasons turn!”

The five travellers did not doubt a word that he uttered.

Lonna rose and replenished the fire. “You must sleep now. Tomorrow will be a hard day’s climbing. I think the plateau above the cliffs is no place for the fainthearted. Take a good rest tonight, I’ll guard the cave entrance.”

Bragoon uncovered his sword. “I’ll keep ye company, Lonna. Two guards are better’n one, an’ four eyes can see more than two.”

They sat together at the cave entrance. Lonna could not take his gaze from the otter’s sword, drawn to it like a magnet to metal. “That is indeed a wondrous weapon you carry, Bragoon.”

The otter let the firelight play along the blade. “Aye, ’tis so, though it don’t belong t’me. Abbot Carrul of Redwall loaned it t’me the day we left. I think he did it not just for our protection, but as a sort o’ good-luck charm for the journey. This sword belongs at the Abbey. ’Twas owned in the far olden seasons by a mouse. His name was Martin the Warrior, one o’ the founders of Redwall. I was told stories of Martin an’ his sword when I was nought but a Dibbun. They say it was forged an’ made by a great badger lord, a warrior himself, an’ a very skilled swordsmith, as ye can see. He made it from a lump of ore that fell from the sky, a piece of a star, I was told. This badger, he was Lord of Salamandastron, a mountain fortress. Did ye ever hear of that place, Lonna?”

The dark eyes of the giant flashed. “Every badger knows the name of Salamandastron. I will go there myself someday. I feel my days will end there—but only when my score with Raga Bol is settled.”

Bragoon sat up with a start, realising that he had dropped off to sleep during the night, something he would never have done in his younger seasons. Dawnlight was filtering into the cave, and Lonna Bowstripe was gone. As Saro was rekindling the fire from its embers, the three young ones were just waking.