Brian Jacques - Redwall #15 - The Taggerung

Boorab lifted Nimbalo down and took charge. "Well, what'n the name o' sizzlin' seasons have y'stopped singin' for, eh? Don't want to break the jolly old magic spell, do you? Hoarg, get down an' open the gates. Throw wide your portals, old lad. The rest o' you ditherin' duffers form up behind me. Jump to it, now! We'll march down the road singin' to meet 'em, by the left, right'n'center we will, wot wot!"

Boorab sidestepped into the gatehouse, but he soon caught up with the singing marchers. He carried a banner made from an old tablecloth tied around a long window pole. Swaggering along jauntily, the hare was in his element, bellowing aloud, "Anybeast with a frog in their throat, let the frog do the singin'. Hawhawhaw! C'mon now, let's rip the roof off . . .

"What if the sky goes dark! Well, I'll light for you a lamp!

So I'll see you comin' dear. Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!"

The ottercrew coming the other way saw the Redwall singing parade and doubled their march speed. Then they were trotting, and the pace hotted up even more, until they were running to meet the welcoming committee. Not to be outdone, Boorab waved his banner and yelled out orders.

"Look at 'em go! Hah, we'll see who meets who first, chaps. If it's a bally charge they want, we're the ones who'll show 'em. Lay back the kitchen sink! Forward the buffs! Blood'n'vinegar an' flyin' fur! Eulaliaaa! Redwallers chaaaaaaaarge!"

They thundered down the path in a headlong stampede, and Boorab was knocked flying into the ditch. But even the fastest of runners were not as fleet of paw as Mhera and Filorn upon that day. The pair were well out in front, hurtling toward the ottercrew charging up from the south. Way out in front of them was one, a big strong figure who could outrun the wind. Filorn could see the dust pluming in his wake, Mhera could even hear his footpaws slamming the hard earth as he streaked toward them like summer lightning. They screamed together. "Deynaaaaaaaa!"

He swept them up as though they weighed nothing and ground to a halt, hugging them both close. Then Nimbalo pounded up like a small juggernaut. Unable to stop himself, he bulled straight into Deyna, Mhera and Filorn, sending himself and them sprawling in a heap together. Instantly they found themselves surrounded by other Redwallers. Then they began to laugh, as happiness flowed from them, infecting everybeast. They laughed until the tears ran down their dusty faces, hugging one another as if they would never let go. The laughter rose into the air, startling birds in the soft autumn morning.

From that long-ago day when his father carried a babe out of the Abbey gates, Deyna, son of Rillflag, had returned home.

Chapter 35

Gruven was in trouble. However, like all liars and cowards he kept on convincing himself that he could wriggle out of it and end up on top. The fact that Ruggan Bor had slain his mother meant little to him. Antigra had always been too pushy, constantly berating and nagging at him. Gruven was glad she was out of the way. What really rankled was the golden fox's taking over his clan, but he could think of no way to reverse their positions. He was wholly frightened of Ruggan, an inscrutable creature, unlike anybeast Gruven had ever met. Ruggan Bor never showed any extremes of wrath or joy, never smiled or snarled. His fascinating golden eyes seemed to detect untruths without a single blink. Gruven could not face him for more than a moment. Every Juskabeast under his command knew Ruggan Bor to be highly intelligent, a redoubtable warrior Chieftain, and a ruthless killer. Gruven was gradually coming to realize this, and it made his blood run cold.

Double time was the order of the long trek back to the old camp. All the vermin kept up the pace without question or complaint. They slept little, ate frugally and went heavily armed. Ruggan Bor strode out at the head of his clan, talking to nobeast save to give orders or consult his Seers. At first, Gruven tried to establish some authority over the six Juska who were detailed to guard him. His efforts went unrewarded. When he complained of the marching speed, a tough lean vixen looped a rope about his waist and growled, "Keep up or we'll drag ye the rest o' the way!"

Gruven was forced to suffer the indignity. His blustering fell upon unsympathetic ears. "You dare to do this to a Taggerung? Hah, I could snap this rope with a single bite! My teeth are like knives!"

A big scar-faced rat prodded his bottom with a lance. "Yew start chewing that rope an' yell be wearin' this lance fer a spine. Shut yer mouth an' keep movin', stoat!"

Gruven turned and spat at the rat's footpaws, trying to act tough. "I won't ferget yore face, rat. Remember this: my name's Gruven Zann Taggerung. I use lances like that as toothpicks!"

A muscular ferret marching alongside Gruven jabbed an elbow hard into his ribs, grinning at Gruven's wince of pain. "Ye won't 'ave no teeth t'pick if'n I land a kick in yer mouth. Now stow the gab an quit slackin'!"

Gruven dragged on the rope, halting the vixen who was pulling him. "I'm not takin' any more o' this. I demand to speak with Ruggan Bor!"

He did not see the blow coming. The vixen belted him across the jaw with her carved spearbutt, snarling nastily, "Do ye, now? Well, 'e don't want ter speak with you. Get marchin'!"

When they stopped for the night, Gruven was set apart from the rest, tied to a tree, with all six guards circling, watching his every move. The scar-faced rat thrust a bowl at him. It contained only water, with a stale crust of barley bread floating in it. The rat eyed him contemptuously. "Get that down ye an' then sleep. We'll be on the move agin soon as 'tis dawn!"

Gruven ate and drank swiftly, then huddled down to rest. His mind was still racing, rehearsing explanations. Where was the imaginary head of the slain Taggerung? Oh, it probably landed in the stream when he threw it away, it would be washed to the sea by now. Then what happened to the body? Ruggan Bor was no fool, he was certain to pose the question. The body? He would have to think about that one, and think fast too. They were covering ground at a rate three times quicker than his laggardly pace. It would not be long before they arrived at the old campsite. Gruven closed his eyes tightly. Think . . . think. Of course! He threw the body into the swamp. Yes, that was the place, the swamp where he sent Rawback to his death. Hahaha! Let them try to search a swamp. Ruggan Bor, huh, the pan-faced fox, aye, him and all his thick-headed lackeys. None of them were a match for Gruven Zann Taggerung. They couldn't find their tails if they grew out of their noses! He would outthink them, he would outsmart them, the same way he had defeated Eefera and Vallug Bowbeast and the rest.

Gruven did not realize he had fallen asleep and was murmuring aloud, "What d'yer mean, never slew 'em? They're all dead, ain't they, an' I'm the only one who's left alive. Oh, I slew 'em right enough!"

The vixen leaned on her spear, watching Gruven. "Wot d'yer suppose that 'un's babblin' about?"

The muscular ferret scoffed. "Sez 'e's slaying all kinds o' beasts."

Looking up from the lancepoint he was sharpening against a stone, the scar-faced rat commented dryly, "Aye, in 'is sleep. That's the only time that 'un's slayed beasts. Got a coward's streak, wider'n an oak trunk, from tip ter tail!"

Only one fire burned in the vermin's makeshift camp, that of Ruggan Bor. He needed it for his Seers to predict. The golden fox sat watching the two old vixens casting shells and stones, burning feathers until the air smelled rank, and mumbling, always mumbling as they tried to read the omens. Which invariably had to be in the Juska Chieftain's favor. He listened awhile, then stretched out, his saber close to paw. "Tell me that last bit again."

Ermath's toothless face looked ghastly in the firelight. "Is the fox not related to the wolf, lord? There is none among vermin who can equal the fox for stealth, guile and ferocity. He alone carries the blood of the Great Vulpuz, Ruler of Hellgates!"