Brian Jacques - [Redwall 10] - The Long Patrol

Eulaliaaaaaa!” As the foebeasts closed in on him, Rockjaw drew the spear from his side and hurled himself upon them

like a creature taken by the Bloodwrath.

“‘S death on the wind! Eulalia! Eulalia! Eulaliaaaaaaa!” He bought the time for his friends to escape safely, for

even within sight of Dark Forest gates, Rockjaw Grang was a perilous hare.

Lady Cregga Rose Eyes sat bolt upright from the bed of grass and soft mosses she had been laid upon for a day

and a night. It was but a few hours to dawn as the great badger roared out, “Eulaliaaaa!”

Corporal Ellbrig and Sergeant Clubrush, wakened from their sleep, rushed to her side.

“Lady Cregga, what is it?”

Her strange eyes looked all ’round before settling on Clubrush. “A bad dream, Sergeant, a very bad dream!”

She rose and stared over his shoulder in a northwesterly direction. The Drill Sergeant was very concerned. He

watched Cregga’s eyes carefully, though it was still too dark to see them clearly.

“Are you all right, marm?”

She moved to the nearest fire, nodding to reassure him. “I’m fine, Sergeant, but very hungry. How long to

breakfast?”

Corporal Ellbrig busied himself at the fire. “Right now if y’like, marm, you h’aint eaten in two days.”

Deodar and Algador had just finished their sentry watch, so they joined the trio at the fire. Young hares are always

willing to eat an early breakfast when they smell it being cooked. Lady Cregga seemed in a rather mild, thoughtful

mood, which was unusual for her. She passed scones and honey to Deodar, followed by a beaker of hot mint and

dandelion tea.

“Breakfast tastes good after being on sentry, eh?”

Through a mouthful of scone, the young hare sipped her tea. “Rather, marm, ’specially when you can have an

hour’s sleep before reveille an’ join the jolly old queue for more.”

Lady Cregga smiled at Deodar’s honesty. “Tell me, young ’un, do you ever have dreams?”

“Dreams, marm? Well, yes, I s’pose I do.”

The badger stared down at her huge paws. “I had a dream just now, and I believe it to be true.”

Algador paused from ladling honey onto a hot scone. “Really, marm? May I ask what it was about?”

The Sergeant was about to upbraid Algador, when Cregga spoke. “I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you the parts that aren’t

clear, but I know a brave creature died. I shouted Eulalia with him as he went down. Somewhere over there to the

northwest. And the more I think of it, the more certain I am. That is where the army of Rapscallions is at this very

moment. I can feel it!”

The two young hares exchanged puzzled glances with the Corporal and Sergeant until Lady Cregga caught their

attention once more. “When the sun is up and my hares are fed, we will go there.”

Trowbaggs spooned hot oatmeal in at a furious rate, eyeing a last scone that lay between him and Furgale. “Well

lucky old us, it’s heigh-ho for the northwest on the strength of a bally dream, wot! I think I’ll dream tonight that I’ve

been sent back to Salamandastron to take up the blinkin’ job of head food-taster. D’you think it’ll work?”

Drill Sergeant Clubrush tweaked the cheeky recruit’s ear. “Strange y’should say that, young sir. HTve just ’ad a

dream that you was on pot-washin’ duty an’ you volunteered to carry my pack all day. Wot d’you say to that, young

Trowbaggs?”

“Er, haha, silly beastly things dreams are, Sarge, er, that is unless Lady Cregga dreams ’em up, wot!”

The Sergeant’s pace stick tapped Trowbaggs’s shoulder lightly. “Right y’are, bucko, an’ don’t you forget it!”

The Long Patrol hares assembled after breakfast for their final orders before marching. Lady Cregga and Corporal

Ell-brig looked on from the sidelines as Drill Sergeant Clubrush lectured them.

“Listen carefully now. From this moment we march silent an’ quick. An’ when I say silent—Trowbaggs an’ some

o’ you other young rips—I means it! Foolish an’ thoughtless noise or playactin’ could get us all ambushed or slain.

Shangle Widepad, you an’ the other seasoned veterans keep an eye on our recruits, ’tis yore duty to show ’em the

ropes. Everybeast, make sure yore weapons are in good order—slings, javelins, swords, bows’n’quivers. Soon we’ll be

in enemy territory an’ you may need ’em. Right, that’s all. Unless you got anythin’ t’say to ’em, Lady Cregga, marm?”

For the first time, the Badger Warrior addressed the five hundred hares who formed her traveling army. “So far you

have all proved worthy and well, my thanks to you. Soon we will be facing Rapscallions in battle. Make no mistake

about them—vermin they may be, but they are trained killers. To bring peace to these lands we must slay them, or be

slain. From this moment you are hunters and warriors, and there will be no marching songs, Eutalias, or campfires.

That is all.”

They marched then. No commands were called; a nod, the wave of a pace stick, or a signal from the Sergeant’s

paw was all that they required. They kept to grassland, ferns, and rocky terrain wherever possible, so that a tell-tale

dust cloud would not betray their position. Trowbaggs strode silently alongside Shangle Widepad. After a while the

irrepressible young hare found himself humming a little ditty called the “Fat Frog’s Dinner,” and he winked at Shangle

and grinned. The glare he received from the grizzled veteran silenced him immediately. Grim-faced and determined,

the five hundred pressed on.

47?

Rapscallion drums pounded savagely, throwing out their wild challenge to the summer skies. Pennants and war

banners fluttered in the breeze, bedecked with tails, skulls, and hanks of animal hair. The little rat informant Gribble

slunk about outside the Firstblade’s shelter, waiting for him to emerge. Damug Warfang strode out, his face streaked

purple and red for battle. Unsheathing his sword, he cast an approving eye over the ranks of snarling vermin before

turning to the rat groveling on (he ground in front of him.

“Speak your piece quickly, Gribble, then get out of my way!”

The rat was already shuffling backward to avoid a sudden kick. “Great Lord, the Seer and the dumb one are gone,

so are the two guards you left to watch them. Also the ferret Rinkul and several others are missing from camp.”

Damug faced west across the valley slope and nodded curtly. “Well, let’s hope they catch those two, for tiieir own

sakes. If they’ve deserted Til find them when this is all over. But now I march west, to find out what these Redwallers

are made of. Stand aside—death waits on anybeast barring my way!”

The Greatrat hurried to the forefront of his vast eager army, with their roars drowning out the pounding drums:

“War-faaaaang! Warfaaaaang! Warfaaaang!”

Away to the west, a green valley basked in the warm sun. Light breezes rippled the vale ferns and stirred the

blossoms of gorse and pimpernel on the broad hillslope. A single rock with moss and lichen clinging to its sides stood

out on the long high ridge like a raised ottertail. Far below, wispy tendrils of mist arose from where the sun’s warmth

penetrated a deep rift that ran like a jagged scar along the valley’s far edge. Small birds, redstart, stonechat, and

wheatear, chirruped and chattered, perching on gorse thorns with sure-clawed skill, bright beady eyes constantly

searching for minute insects. Butterflies and bumblebees visited the flowers of the vale, and sunlight glinted off the

iridescent wings of hoverflies seeking aphids.