Brian Jacques - Loamhedge

Martha took a sip of the tea. “It’s all quiet at the moment. He’s roaming the upper corridors, watching from the windows. It’s dreadful out there—dead Searats by the pond, on the walls and by the orchard. I think a few of them have deserted, gone through the east wallgate into the woods. Lonna is still prowling about watching the grounds, though he seems to have calmed down a little. It was frightening just to set eyes on him this morning!”

Toran brought out a stool for Martha to sit upon. “Mayhaps the Searats are gettin’ ready to leave, or it might only be the calm afore the storm. Who knows wot Raga Bol’s got in that evil brain—another scheme, per’aps. We’ll just have t’sit an’ wait. Wot d’ye think Martha?”

The haremaid rested her weary footpaws. It had not been an easy day so far, running up and down stairs, keeping the badger supplied with arrows. “I think it’s gone too quiet, Toran. But who knows how things will turn out? Like you say, we’ll have to wait and see.”

Sister Setiva had been listening from the kitchen doorway. “Och, all this waitin’! Everybeasts’s keepin’ busy, ye ken. They’re all doon in Cavern Hole makin’ arrows, even the Dibbuns. Ah’ve come tae make some food for them. Most of us have no taken a bite since breakfast!”

Toran busied himself, glad for something to do. “Leave it t’me, Sister. I’d forgotten about vittles today. Gurvel’s helpin’ Martha. I should’ve realised we ’ad no cook.”

Abbot Carrul climbed down from his stool. “Here, let me help you, Toran. It’s not right that my Redwallers should go hungry, even in times like these!”

Late afternoon slid into evening. Over beyond the west wall the sun set in solitary splendour. A wash of gold and purple suffused the sky, with blood red at its centre.

Lonna stood alone at the front dormitory windows. He rested against a sill, keeping watch on the gatehouse and its buttressed corner by the main gate. Now that there had been a few hours’ lull from any action, the Bloodwrath had receded from him. His massive frame had relaxed. Lonna felt drained and weary, not having slept in almost two days and nights. Gradually night edged in, bringing with it a soft breeze to cool away the day’s heat. Lonna began blinking a lot, nearly causing the bow to slip from his grasp. Rubbing his eyes and shaking himself, the big badger peered into the darkness, trying to keep his vision fixed on the gatehouse area. Then the voice sounded out.

Lonna came instantly alert as he identified Raga Bol’s rasping tones, calling from somewhere over by the buttress where his arrows could not reach.

“Ahoy, stripedog, I see ye! Still hidin’ in there be’ind the Abbot’s skirts, are ye? Does yore wound still pain ye? Haharr, I should’ve gone for the neck an’ chopped yore ’ead off! Don’t worry, stripedog, Raga Bol ain’t goin’ nowhere. I slayed the old stripedog an’ I kin finish ye, too!”

Brother Weld, who had been checking the window barricades in Great Hall, came hurrying into Cavern Hole. “There’s something happening outside. I can hear the Searat captain shouting to the big badger!”

Toran bounded to the stairs. “Sister Setiva, Sister Portula, keep the little ’uns down ’ere! Anybeast who’s able enough, bring a weapon an’ foller me! Does anyone know where Lonna is?”

Martha seized a ladle. “He was going toward the dormitories at the front when I left him.”

The ottercook wielded the big bung mallet, which had once belonged to Junty Cellarhog. “Let’s see if’n he’s there!”

Martha and Toran burst into the dormitory, at the head of a band of Abbeydwellers. The haremaid could see Lonna’s powerful back, silhouetted in the open window frame. He was shaking with rage but silent. Raga Bol was still taunting him from somewhere outside.

“I don’t slay my enemies from a distance with arrers, that ain’t the way a real warrior fights! But keep yore distance if’n yore scared o’ Raga Bol. Come out ’ere, ye coward, an’ I’ll slice the other side of yer face off afore I leaves the birds to pick over yore carcass!”

Lonna leaped up onto the windowsill, roaring, “I’ll fight you any way you like, you murdering scum!”

Toran leapt forward and grabbed Lonna’s footpaw. “Don’t go, mate, ’tis a trap. There’s still plenty o’ Searats out there. Ye’ll be surrounded!”

The badger dealt Toran a kick, knocking him backward. Raga Bol was visible now, standing slightly to the right on the lawn.

Paws on hips, the big Searat laughed mockingly. “Haharrharr! ’Ere I am, scarmuzzle! Come an’ meet me paw’t’claw widout yore bow’n’arrers fer once. Bring the magic sword an’ cross blades wid Raga Bol if ye dare!”

“Eulaliiiiiaaaaaa!” Nothing could stop the giant badger now. Bellowing his warcry, Lonna jumped from the dormitory window. Luckily, the huge hill of rubble blocking the Abbey door had dried out in the sun. He landed upon it and managed to stay upright. Scrambling and rolling, he thundered down toward the ground. Without a moment’s hesitation, Toran went over the sill after him, with Martha and the rest in his wake.

Raga Bol held the glittering scimitar ready to strike, the silver hook on his other pawstump whirling in readiness. He stood awaiting the badger’s charge, about a spear’s throw from the north wall.

Martha caught up with Toran. She pointed to the north walltop. “Quick, up there, that’s where the Searats are!”

The ottercook veered, heading for the steps as he called to Martha. “Split up, take half our beasts down to the east steps. I’ll go up the north stairs. Weld, Gelf, Foremole, you come with me!”

Oblivious of everything except Raga Bol waiting in his path, Lonna rushed straight at his enemy, armed only with his teeth and claws.

Bol, judging the moment when the badger was within three paces of him, dropped down, yelling out, “Spears, now!”

Lonna did not even bother to dodge the flying spears; three missed him, but one struck his left shoulder. He whipped it out and flung it aside, ignoring the wound. The Bloodwrath was upon him, his eyes red as the sunset he had watched a few hours earlier. His teeth shone from his scarred features in a savage snarl as his huge, blunt claws sought the kneeling Searat captain. Bol was halfway up when the badger grabbed his neck and swung him off the ground.

Raga Bol emitted one strangled gurgle. Then four spears, thrown by the captain’s own Searats and intended for the badger, buried their blades in Raga Bol’s back instead. He died, hanging there like a rag doll in the grip of his mighty foe. The last thing he saw was Lonna Bowstripe roaring into his face.

“Go through Hellgates and burn, rat! Eulaliiiiaaaaaa!”

Holding the limp body in front of him, Lonna charged the wall, bulling up the stairs behind Toran like a juggernaut.

The ottercook shouted to his helpers. “Look out, get to the west wall, let the badger pass! Martha, back off! Git those beasts down t’the lawn!”

The haremaid, who saw what was happening, turned swiftly to the Redwallers behind her. “Get out of the way. Downstairs, now!”

Abbot Carrul confronted her, his blood roused. He waved a sweeping broom, yelling fiercely. “Let me at those rats. I’ll drive them from Redwall, the filthy invaders. How dare they attack my Abbey!” He was grabbed by two stout moles and hustled down the wallsteps.

The ramparts became a scene of chaos. Using Raga Bol as a flail, Lonna swept Searats left and right. Some were knocked over the battlements, their broken bodies thudding to the woodland floor outside the walls. Any who were unfortunate enough to fall onto the lawn inside the Abbey grounds were dealt with by a horde of Redwallers, each eager to be mentioned thereafter as a beast who had taken part in the battle to win back their Abbey.