Brian Jacques - Redwall #01 - Lord Brocktree

Dotti and Southpaw fell about laughing as Bobweave wailed, "I say, sir, steady on, you wouldn't chap a chop, er, I mean chop a chap open t'get a measly mouthful back, would you? Rotters, why don't you plead for my bally life instead of rollin' 'round grinnin' like daft ducks!"

Bucko Bigbones fitted an arrow to his bowstring and took careful aim, not wanting to hit the fox sitting on the sands below. It was a skillful shot. The shaft whizzed down, burying itself between the creature's footpaws. The mountain hare's voice rang out.

"Guid afternoon to ye, Cap'n Karangool, is it? Ah'm lookin' down anither arrer at ye, so dinna move! Mebbe ye cannae bring me tae mindah'm Bucko Bigbones, an' ah remember you weel. Aye, an' there's scars on mah back, so ah'll nae ferget ye. Ach, quit tremblin', fox, ah wouldnae slay ye wi' an arrer, 'tis far too quick an' clean, ye ken. But don't ye fret noo, we'll be meetin' soon, tooth tae tooth an' paw tae paw. Ye've got mah sworn promise on that! Off with ye now!"

Karangool leapt up and ran, four arrows zipping close by before he made the shelter of some rocks and shouted to his archers, "Get him, middle window, secon' level, big harebeast. Get him!"

Shafts rained through the window space. Bucko stood to one side, smiling grimly. Brog looked up from collecting the fallen arrows. "Ahoy, mate, a spot o' trouble?"

"Och no, ah was jist givin' yon fox somethin' tae think aboot, sort o' joggin' his bad auld memory a wee bit!"

Karangool did have a bad old memory. He could not recall, from numerous evil deeds in the past, why the hare was seeking revenge upon him. While he crouched behind the rocks reviewing his wicked career, Ungatt Trunn's claws tugged the back of his cloak.

"Why are you hiding here, captain?"

"Might'ness, not hidin', waiting for you."

"Well I'm here, as you see. Make your report. I need to know all that has gone on here in my absence."

Stiffener knocked on the Badger Lord's chamber door in the midafternoon. Entering, he found Brocktree hurling incense burners from the window. Wiping dust and cobwebs from his paws, the badger looked around.

"That's better. I'm sure this chamber wasn't full of muck and spiders in my father's day, eh?"

The boxing hare went to the window and stared down at the vermin crowded on the beach. There were even more than before.

"Yore right, sire, 'twas always neat'n'clean, but that's not wot I've come 'ere t'talk about."

Brocktree sat down on the edge of the bed. "I can see that you've got something on your mind, friend. I'm always ready to listen. Speak on, Stiffener."

The boxing hare banged his paws down on the sill impatiently. "We've been here most o' the night an' the best part o' the day... . When does the fightin' start?"

Brocktree joined him at the window and placed a paw about Stiffener's shoulders. "You're a brave beast, Stiffener Medick, a truly perilous hare, one of the true sons of Salamandastron! But you've only got to look out of this window to see that the foe still has far superior numbers to our small force. When we set out from Bucko's court I thought I had enough warriors at my back to face any army, but I was not prepared for anything like Trunn's Hordes. He must have every vermin on the face of the earth here. We have fought with him, wisely and with the aid of good planning. I could give the signal right now to continue the battle. I'm certain that my friends, brave friends like you, would hurl themselves on the foe, with no question or quarter given. Most of you would die, and that's no guess, it's a fact. Hear me. I refuse to sacrifice the lives of good and gallant creatures!"

Stiffener gnawed on his lip, troubled and puzzled. "But if we stay 'ere an' don't fight, Trunn ain't about to turn an' march away. That murderin' wildcat wants Salamandastron as much as you, lord. What do we do?"

Brocktree tapped his head with one paw. "We think, Stiffener, we use our brains. Listen, d'you hear?" Strains of music and merriment sounded faintly from the window spaces on the second level, growing louder by the moment.

Stiffener was scratching his ears as Brocktree showed him to the door. "What's goin' on, sire?"

"Oh, sorry, didn't you know? Go and see young Dotti she'll explain it all to you. Hurry now, or you'll miss a good feast. That should baffle the bluebottoms, eh?"

Dotti's scheme was simple, to show the starving vermin that there was no shortage of food on her side, nor of courage and good cheer. In short, to dishearten the Blue vermin Hordes. Lord Brocktree had given the plan his blessing. It gave him time to think of his own solution to the problem, in peace and relative quiet.

Down on the shore, the vermin could not help but stare pitifully up at the happy, well-fed defenders. Ungatt Trunn and Karangool were some distance away, behind the rocks, assessing their own force numbers and laying their own plans. Ripfang and Doomeye were behaving in a most undignified manner for two horde captains. Every time a pie crust or scrap of cheese was tossed from the second-level windows, they joined in the wild scrabble for it.

Dotti and her friends gave the impression that there was a limitless amount of food at their disposal. In reality there was not, but they kept up the pretense perfectly, stuffing down goodies and glugging down cordials, cheerily waving to the gaunt-faced vermin packing the shore. Log a Log Grenn even sang a song about nice things to eat, which had the vermin drooling. Guosim cooks burned branches of aromatic herbs used in their cooking, and the scent drifted downward, adding to the foebeasts' distress as Grenn sang.

"I won't eat pie or pudden,

Filled with grass an' roots,

For me a tart's a good 'un,

With ripe plump juicy fruits.

Take some cherries an' blackberries,

Honey so thick an' sweet,

In golden crust, all fit to burst,

Aye that's the stuff to eat, mates,

That's the stuff to eat!

Say nay who can, to mushroom flan,

All baked with onion sauce,

Unless you think 'tis better than

A crisp green salad course.

Sup cider pale, or nutbrown ale,

Oh isn't lunch a dream,

Surrounded by an apple pie,

With lots of meadowcream, mates,

Lots of meadowcream!"

A hollow-cheeked rat gave a strangled sob. Fitting an arrow to his bow, he shouted insanely, "Yahahaha! I can't stan' it no more, I tell yer. I'll stop 'em singin', just yew see if'n I don't!"

Doomeye grabbed the shaft from the crazed rat's bowstring and caught the unlucky vermin a hefty kick which sent him sprawling. "Yew ain't been given no orders to attack! Don't dare go shootin' at those creatures, they're chuckin' vittles down to us!"

A bitter-faced ferret laughed mirthlessly. "Vittles? Yew call those vittles? A few scraps o' cheese an' some crusts of pie an' bread. Tchah!"

Ripfang shoved a cutlass under the complainant's snout. "Shut yer scringin' gob. Any vittles is good vittles when a beast's starvin'!"

Gurth threw down an apple with only one bite out of it. Ripfang went after it, flaunting his authority. "Hoi, put that down. I saw it first. Gimme that apple. I'm yer cap'n, an' that's an order, y'hear?"

Toward evening Brocktree put in an appearance and called a halt to things. One or two of the hares, Dotti included, seemed puzzled by his decision. The Badger Lord ordered the second-level openings to be closed.

"Come to the dining hall. I have an announcement to make."

They completed blocking the window spaces with much speculation.

"Dorothea, whit d'ye think big Brock has tae say?"

"Dunno, old chap. Your guess is as good as mine, wot?"

"D'you think he's going to start the final battle?"

"Who knows? We're far too outnumbered, I reckon."

"True, but we're in the best position. We hold the mountain."