Brian Jacques - Redwall #15 - The Taggerung

Ruggan sat with his Seers, watching them toss bones and shells, sometimes tracing patterns in the sand, occasionally burning feathers and herbs as they chanted by the fire. He waited patiently until they were finished and listened to the verdicts.

"Lord, 'tis still the same. The omens are cloudy."

"Aye, lord, mayhap time will reveal the answers."

The golden fox looked from one apprehensive face to the other. "Time reveals all, but this one looks like a born plotter with a ready tongue, too ready methinks. I have not got time to wait while he schemes behind my back. There is something I do not like about that stoat. If I was the slayer of a Taggerung, nobeast would dare stand against me. Why did he not choose to fight if he is such a mighty one? I slew his mother, took over his clan. Anybeast who did that to Ruggan Bor would be feeding the sea fishes by now. Leave me. I will reach my own conclusions on this!"

Dawn crept in like a misted ghost. Ruggan Bor sat impassive by the fire embers in his tent. He narrowed one eye and stared at the back of the guard's neck until the ferret outside his tent turned and saluted with his spear. "Lord!"

It was a trick Ruggan had learned through long seasons of commanding Juska vermin. They always felt his eyes upon them.

"Tell my cook to bring vittles for two, then go and bring Gruven Zann to me here."

Gruven had got into the habit of sleeping late, and he was still blinking and stifling yawns when he was marched into Ruggan's tent. Hiding the contempt he felt for lazybeasts, Ruggan nodded.

"Sit, eat, and answer my questions truthfully, Gruven Zann!"

Gruven sat down and began eating, a cornmeal porridge with shellfish in it. He felt rather resentful that his host should ask him to answer truthfully, even though he was prepared to lie at every turn.

Ruggan did not eat as he interrogated his guest. "Where was it, this place where you slew the Taggerung?"

Gruven slopped down blackberry wine mixed with water. "At the old campsite, I think."

"But you said you carried the head until you reached the old camp and threw it away there."

Gruven drank long and slow as he prepared an answer. "Oh, yes. That was where I first saw him. I tracked him north for three days before I killed him. Then I returned to the old camp, to see if anybeast had come back there. There were still no signs of Juska back at the camp, so I threw the head away." He waited with bated breath while Ruggan considered this.

"I see. Then you found our tracks and followed them. Tell me, why did you not notice the traces of us breaking camp when you first arrived there?"

"Oh, that," Gruven explained hastily, the food and drink forgotten as he cursed himself inwardly for his silly mistake. "Well, er, I was tracking a Taggerung, a dangerous and savage beast. I wasn't looking for other trails. Would you?"

Ruggan Bor slowly poured himself wine, mingling it with water. "Hmm, I see, that makes sense. Finish eating, we have to go."

Gruven wiped a paw across his lips, taken by surprise. "Go? Where to?"

The fox's eyes stared at him over the goblet rim. "To the old camp, of course. We must find the Taggerung's head. If you have spoken the truth, you have done what no other warrior alive has ever done. Slain a Taggerung. Have you eaten enough?"

The food turned to ashes in Gruven's mouth. He could only nod.

Leaving a few Juska vermin to guard the tents, Ruggan Bor set off north into the fading mists. Gruven walked slightly behind him, surrounded by six hefty Juskabeasts. Close to three hundred armed vermin accompanied them.

Chapter 34

It was the most glorious of autumn mornings at Redwall Abbey. Old Hoarg and Brother Hoben were hard at work in Great Hall. Mother Abbess Mhera could not bear untidiness, and she had cajoled them into doing the job they had been promising to do for the last ten days, repairing two windowpanes that had been smashed by vermin slingstones. Hoarg held the ladder, whilst Brother Hoben fitted the second small sheet of carefully knapped crystal into place and began closing the lead flashing around it by pressing with a smooth block of beech wood. The task completed, he climbed down from the ladder and helped Hoarg to sweep up the broken shards. "There, old friend. Good as new, eh!"

The inseparable pair Fwirl and Broggle came skipping through from the kitchens. They waved to Hoarg and Hoben.

"Good morning! It's another lovely day outside!"

Old Hoarg raised a wrinkled paw as they opened the Abbey door. "If you're goin' out, please don't slam that door. Give these new panes time to settle in; don't want 'em jump in' out."

The squirrels made a great show of shutting the door carefully and skipped off toward the orchard, chuckling.

Fwirl pulled Broggle up at the orchard edge, her eyes shining as she took in the beautiful season. "Oh, isn't it pretty! Look at those leaves, golden and brown and scarlet, and the colors of the fruit: yellow pears, red apples, purple berries. There's our Abbess. Mhera, good morning to you!"

Mhera was standing with several Dibbuns, grouped around a russet apple tree, heavy with fine rust-colored fruit. She waved a paw absently at her two friends, her eyes never leaving the tree. Trey put a paw to his lips and reprimanded the two squirrels.

"Shush, Muvver h'Abbess says not to shout or stamp y'paws. H'apples fall when they be's ready, not afore!"

Fwirl and Broggle joined the group, curious to know what was going on. "Is it a game?" the squirrelmaid whispered to little Feegle. "Can we join in, please?"

Still staring at the tree, Feegle nodded. "First one t'see a h'apple fall down gets a prize off Muvver h'Abbess, so be shushed an' watcha tree!" As she spoke, an apple fell and hit Broggle on the head.

Wegg the hogbabe whooped with excitement. "Me me, I see'd it, Muvver h'Abbess!"

Broggle rubbed his head. "Aye, but I felt it!"

Fwirl was almost knocked over by Mhera as she dashed toward the Abbey, in a most undignified manner for an Abbess, shouting, "Mama, Mama, the russet apples are falling!"

Squeaking and laughing, the Dibbuns raced after her. Broggle touched a spot between his ears ruefully. "What was all that about, Fwirl?"

The squirrelmaid shrugged. "I've no idea. Oh, look, there are harebells growing by the old wheelbarrow. Let's take some to Cregga."

Between them they gathered a small bunch of the delicate drooping blue flowers and carried them to the sunny spot by the northeast wall corner. Cregga's grave was always bedecked with the most beautiful flowers. Fwirl took a beaker with some water in it and arranged the harebells. Broggle placed it gently on top of the headstone, a smooth slab of typical Redwall sandstone with words engraved upon it.

Sleep softly on, Beloved One,

Take with you all our dreams,

To rest in noontide valleys,

Beside old silent streams.

Cregga Rose Eyes, Warrior Badger of

Salamandastron mountain

and Badgermum of Redwall Abbey for

countless seasons.

Filorn and Friar Bobb were busy in the kitchens, decorating a magnificent redcurrant trifle. The Friar's tongue stuck out at one side of his mouth as he inserted flaked almonds into the golden mound of meadowcream surmounting it. Then he stood back, watching Filorn anxiously.

"Easy now. It takes a good eye and a steady paw, marm!"

Filorn leaned over the trifle, holding her breath. Her paw descended fraction by fraction, until the candied strawberry in it came to rest precisely on the peak of the cream.

"That's perfect! But I've seen you do as well, Friar."

Holding out his paw, the old squirrel watched it tremble slightly. "Mayhap when I was younger, but I rely on you now, my friend. Whoa, look out! What's all this stampede?"

Mhera skidded in, her gown swirling as she tried to check herself. Filorn caught her daughter and was rocked back on her paws by the Dibbuns colliding into them both.