Brian Jacques: Redwall #16 - Triss

Triss

Redwall, Book 15

Brian Jacques

ISBN 0-399-23723-2

By the same author

Redwall

Mossflower

Mattimeo

Muriel of Redwall

Salamandastron

Martin the Warrior

The Bellmaker

Outcast of Redwall

Pearls of Lutra

The Long Patrol

Marlfox

The Legend of Luke

Lord Brocktree

Taggerung

Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

The Great Redwall Feast

A Redwall Winter’s Tale

Redwall Map and Riddler

Redwall Friend and Foe

Build Your Own Redwall Abbey

Tribes of Redwall: Badgers

Seven Strange and Ghostly Tales

Were days that long, was grass so green, In seasons of youthful desire,

Roaming o’er seas of aquamarine,

Where westering suns drown in fire?

‘Cross mountain, forest and river,

I’d wander, carefree and bold,

Never heeding the days to come,

When I’d wake up, slow and old.

Oh, how the silent summer noon,

Warms dusty memories,

In an orchard, midst my dreams,

‘Neath verdant, shadeful trees.

Come visit me, you little ones,

Hear stories, songs and rhymes,

A roving warrior’s saga,

Of far-gone, golden times.

ÑKroova’s Song

Book One: A Season of Runaways

1

Princess Kurda was considered by all to be a highly skilled swordbeast, the best blade at Riftgard since her grandsire, great King Sarengo.

She was a Pure Ferret, as were all of the royal blood, creamy white from tailtip to nose, with coral pink eyes. Kurda worked hard at being the best. Every morning from breakfast to lunch she could be found practising in her weapon chamber. This particular morning was no exception.

Rows of turnips hung by strings from the rafters. Two squirrel slaves, one a young maid, the other an old grizzled male, stood by, awaiting her commands. The Princess donned a single long-sleeved glove of ecru linen. Pulling it tight on her paw, she nodded at the long rack of swords, her voice curt and imperious. De heavy sabre, yarr!

Triss the squirrelmaid hastily wrapped an oiled rag about her paws and lifted the heavy sabre from the rack by its blade, carefully avoiding getting oil on the leather-bound hilt. Kurda flexed her limbs gracefully.

Without even a glance at Triss, she grabbed the sword, drawing the blade so swift and hard from the squirrelmaid’s grasp that it sliced through the oiled rag and nicked her paw. Triss leaped smartly out of the way, her teeth clenched in pain as the ferret Princess went slashing at the turnips. With deadly accuracy the heavy sabre made the air thrum, chopping through the solid vegetables. Halves of turnip flew everywhere, striking both slaves, bouncing off the floor and caroming from the walls until there was nothing left but straggled roots dangling from the strings. Kurda wiped a scrap of turnip from her cheek with the linen glove, panting slightly. Holding the sabre point forward to Triss, the ferret grated, Clean diss good, I try rapier now, yarr, de rapier.

Triss hurried to select the rapier Kurda had indicated.

The old male squirrel, Drufo, scrambled to clear the floor of turnip pieces, careful to wipe any wet spots, lest the Princess should slip.

It would go badly for both slaves if she did, as they knew from bitter experience.

Fixing her paw firmly in the basket hilt of the rapier, Kurda whipped the keen flexible blade back and forth, enjoying the sound it made.

Triss signalled Drufo with her eyes; he skirted the walls furtively until he arrived behind his young friend. Diligently cleaning the sabre blade upon her oiled rag, Triss watched Kurda work with the rapier.

Poising herself like a dancer, with one paw outstretched, she attacked the root stems on the string ends.

Snick! Whip! Zip!

The blade struck with swift snakelike movements, snicking the roots off at the string, though the last two strikes missed the roots, severing the strings. Kurda snorted with anger. Dropping the sword carelessly, she rapped out more commands.

Get me der straight sword, middle size! You get ready to throw ven I say. Move yourselves!

Drufo ran and picked up two of the larger chunks of cut turnip. Triss grabbed the rapier and selected a long, medium-weight straight sword, with a cross-hilt and fine-honed double blade.

The ferret Princess snatched it impatiently from her, whirling the blade and shouting at Drufo, Trow! Trow!

Throwing both pieces of turnip upward, Drufo covered his head with both paws, jumping out of the way. Kurda slashed up, then sideways, in two speedy movements. She cut one piece, but the other thudded to the ground untouched.

Kurda’s pink eyes blazed with anger at her error. Drufo was bending to pick up the pieces when she whipped the flat of the blade viciously across his back.

Stupid oaf! Ven I say trow, you trow dem proper. Trow high, vot do you tink I am? You t’ick mudbrain bun-glepaws!

Drufo stayed bent over, still protecting his head with both paws as the ferret vented her spleen on him with the flat of the swordblade.

Knowing her old friend was in danger of losing his life, Triss yelled as she began throwing turnip chunks in the air with all the haste she could muster.

Princess, I can throw better than that old fool, look. Hup! Hup! I can send them higher, too. Ready, throw!

The ploy diverted Kurda’s attention. She turned and chopped both chunks as they came down. The squirrel-maid, who was ready with two more, made sure she tossed them high and slow. The sword cut through the chunks easily. Kurda was out of breath, but her temper had improved. She leaned on the sword, nodding and panting. You t’row good, dat’s de vay to t’row turnips, yarr!

The door opened and another Pure Ferret ambled in. He was bigger than his sister and had a silly grin all over his face.

Kurda addressed her brother contemptuously, Vot do you vant, Bladd boomose?

Bladd was used to his sister’s insulting manner. His droopy oversized gut wobbled as he chuckled. Huh huh huh huh, you make a better cook than a swordbeast, yar. You still choppin’ turnips for der stew, liddle sister. Huh huh!

She raised the sword, advancing on him. One day I chop you for der stew, lard barrel. Yarr, I chop you good. Vy you come here, eh?

Bladd shuffled to the door and held it half open, creating a shield between them. He poked his tongue childishly at Kurda. King vant to see you, yarr, he mad about der herrinks. He say come now, quick, or he put a big lock on his door.

Kurda pointed at him with the sword, her bad mood renewed. Sneaknose, you been tellink tales to King about me!

Bladd took off downstairs, laughing idiotically, with his sister hard on his heels.

Triss helped Drufo up as the door slammed behind the two Pure Ferrets.

She steadied the old squirrel.

Are you all right, Drufo? She didn’t cut you, did she?

He smiled, rubbing his back ruefully. Thanks t’you, she didn’t, missie, thanks t’you. Huh, swordbeast? That white streak o’ slime ain’t half the swordbeast yore dad was. White streak o’ slime!

Triss chuckled silently at the way her old friend often repeated phrases.

She set about gathering up the cut turnips. Lend a paw with these, you old grumbler, let’s get them out to the others. Every bit helps.

The squirrelmaid poked her head over the sill of the high chamber window and imitated the harsh skrike of a seagull. Far below a gang of creatures were working, laying a path of pine logs to make a walkway between the sloping grass hill and the rocky shore of the river. It would run from the gates of Riftgard fortress, along its edge, to the jetty. Moored at the pier’s end, facing downriver to the sea, was a ship. It was small, with one square purple sail, a very pretty little craft, skilfully built and wonderfully ornamented.