Brian Jacques - Redwall #15 - The Taggerung

Alkanet was up on her paws, pounding the table and objecting. "But what if there were, Friar? What if the day came when we woke to find the foe at our gates and no brave one to lead or defend us? What then, sir? What then?"

Cregga's big paw hit the tabletop, silencing further argument. "Enough! We are supposed to be responsible elders, not squabbling Dibbuns. Friar Bobb, you may return to your kitchens. I'm very fond of plum puddings; they mustn't boil dry. Now, Sister, in answer to your questions. Champions and Abbey Warriors have always arisen when the need is great. It would be presumptuous of us to appoint one; that is something nobeast save Martin the Warrior can do. Martin was the founder Warrior of Redwall. His sword hangs over the picture of him on the tapestry in Great Hall, and there it will stay until he chooses the next Warrior. When our Abbey is in danger, the spirit of Martin will enter some young Redwaller, and he or she will pick up the sword of Martin to defend us. So let us hear no more talk of electing a Champion. Sit down, friends, and let's do this good food justice. Brother Hoben, pass me the bread and cheese, if you please. Sister Alkanet, would you like to pour me some October Ale?"

As Alkanet leaned across to pour, Cregga whispered, "Come on, friend, smile. It doesn't hurt to look happy!"

The Sister was mystified as to how Cregga knew she was wearing a frown. She tried a smile as she filled the tankard. The blind badger smiled back and tapped her paw. "Thank you, Alkanet. That's much better!"

Soft perfumes of dog rose, vetchling, red clover and nightdewed grass lingered upon the still night air with hardly a breeze to disperse them. Rillflag strode energetically north on the old path, glancing up at the star-pierced vaults of the skies above. Slung upon his back was a bag of provisions; in one paw he held the spearstaff, the other rested beneath his cloak cradle, protecting the sleeping babe therein. He breathed deeply, listening to the distant tolling of Redwall Abbey's twin bells, Matthias and Methuselah, sounding the midnight hour.

Deyna moved slightly in slumber and gave a small growl. Rillflag felt a shudder of delight course through him, and he hummed an old otter tune to his son. Life was good. So good!

Chapter 3

Sawney Rath chose his spot carefully. Within a half-day's march of the ford, he camped the clan on the broad stream's north side. Morning sunlight filtered through the trees as the band of assorted vermin sat, weary and miserable after their forced march from the coastal scrublands. Clad in his usual plain leather tabard, belted by a strap fashioned from fine brass links into which was thrust his amber-hilted knife with the sapphire pommel stone, Sawney, however, looked vital and eager, ready for anything. The only decoration he had was the Juskarath clan mark, a black stripe of dye running from skull to nosetip with two lines of red dots running parallel on either side. These moved as his mobile face did while he issued his orders.

"Rawback, you stay here with the others. Grissoul, Eefera, Dagrab, Felch, Ribrow and Vallug Bowbeast, you come with me. Remember this, Rawback, for I'll hold you responsible. No fires, not even a wisp of smoke. Any food must be eaten as it is, no cooking. No tents or lean-to shelters, or sleeping either. Stay alert on your paws, everybeast. We'll be coming back this way fast when we do, so be ready to move. Antigra, Wherrul, I want no sign left that Juskarath have been here. You'll be in charge of cleaning up pawprints and tracks. When we return with the Taggerung we travel back west to the shores. I've no need to tell you what'll happen to anybeast who disobeys my commands, or tries to cross me. Understood?"

There followed a jangling of bracelets and earrings as the vermin touched their left ears in silence, the clan sign of understanding. Sawney's quick, vicious eyes roved back and forth over them, and then, without flinching, he drew his dagger and nicked the point against his own left ear in a challenging gesture.

"See how easily I shed my blood. I am Sawney Rath, and I can shed your blood far more easily. Keep that in mind!" He nodded to the six he had picked. "Come on, let's go and get a Taggerung for our clan!"

Rillflag was astounded. He was muttering to himself as he laid little Deyna down on a bed of soft mosses by the streambank.

"Hoho, what a river dog you're goin' t'be! Not only got that back wet in the runnin' water, but you nearly swam away from your ole dad. I never knew a cub your size that'd swim right off. Mhera wailed enough t'frighten the birds when her back was wetted, but nary a sound out o' you, Deyna!"

He tickled the otterbabe's stomach roughly. Deyna doubled over and bit his father's paw with tiny white milk teeth. Rillflag roared with laughter as he released his paw.

"Hahahahohoho! Proper liddle shark you are. Lucky there weren't any tasty fishes swimmin' in the water, or you'd 'ave ate 'em all, eh, son!"

He sat awhile, fondly watching the cub, trying to remember an otter streamsong as the babe's eyes began to close in the warm midday sun.

"Ho if I was a stream I'd chance to go,

A-racin' to the sea,

Yonder way fresh waters flow,

An' that's the way for me.

Leapin' an' boundin',

Splashin' an' soundin',

Rudder 'round rock an' log,

With pike an' trout,

I'd frisk about,

A good ole riverdog!

Through leafy glades the waters call,

Across the open meadow,

An' when I sight a waterfall,

Why down will go me head oh!"

Deyna's eyes flickered as he fought against the slumbers that threatened to overcome him and he yawned aloud, giving out a squeaking sound. Rillflag turned his attention to the shallows, where movement had caught his eye.

"Hah, I see watershrimp. What do you say, liddle matey? Shall we catch some to take back to Redwall? You stay there an' watch your ole dad. I'll show you the way 'tis done!"

Sawney crouched behind a broad elm trunk on the other side of the stream, Grissoul at his side. He pulled the Seer close, whispering in her ear, "That's no Taggerung, he's a full-grown otter. What do we do now?"

"That one is no part of my vision," the vixen Seer whispered back. "Thou canst do what thou likes with him; he is none of our concern."

Felch the fox, Dagrab the rat and Vallug Bowbeast were hiding on the other side of the stream, behind a high-banked bend. Sawney slid back toward them, staying on the opposite bank until he was out of the big otter's eyeline. Then he waved to Vallug, attracting his attention. Sawney pointed to Rillflag and made a gesture with both paws, as if firing a bow. Vallug nodded. It was a simple task for a skilled bowbeast.

Standing waist deep in the water, the otter straightened up with a double pawful of watershrimp. Too late he saw the ferret standing on top of the bank with bow drawn and a shaft notched onto the string. Vallug Bowbeast could hit a dragonfly on the wing; the big otter standing still in the stream presented an easy target. He fired and Rillflag lay dead in the water, an arrow in his heart.

Felch and Dagrab dashed along the bank toward Rillflag's body. The fox pulled up sharply, almost tripping over the otterbabe that lay on the mossy bankside. He grabbed at the little creature, scrabbling to pick it up, but Deyna growled and bit his paw, drawing blood. Felch yowled and grabbed for the axe he carried in a shoulder strap.

"Yowch! Yer liddle savage. Bite me, would yer?"

Sawney was crashing through the shallows on the far side of the ford when he saw Felch raise the axe. Quick as lightning Sawney threw his knife, and Felch lay screaming beside the otterbabe, his right paw fixed to the axe handle by Sawney's blade. The ferret Chieftain was across the ford in an instant. Stamping down on Felch's wrist, he pulled the knife free, hissing dangerously in the fox's agonized face, " 'Tis your lucky day, Felch. I let you live. But if you even look at that babe the wrong way again I'll carve you a new mouth, right across your stupid throat!"