Brian Jacques - [Redwall 10] - The Long Patrol

badger heard his voice.

“Remember us when you are grown, Russano the Wise!”

Mother Buscol was awakened by the babe’s unhappy cries. Not knowing what he had witnessed, she laid him on

her lap and stroked his head, whispering soothingly, “There, there, my liddle one, sleep now, ’twas only a dream.”

Back and forth she rocked the little badger until he drifted back to sleep, far too young to tell her what he had

seen. Russano had witnessed the Redwall army upon the ridge in the aftermath of battle; he had beheld all those who

lived, and the ones who did not.

52

Dawn brought a mad bustle of activity to the army on the ridge, with fires being relit, Corporal Rubbadub beating

all creatures to stations, and Chieftains roaring commands.

Damug Warfang had stolen a march on them. Perigord listened as the squirrel Lookout reported what he had seen

at daybreak.

“Major, those fires last night were nought but a bluff. Da-mug must’ve lit ’em an’ carried on marchin’ forward.

They split into two forces, and right now they’re lyin’ in the rift at both ends o’ the valley, waitin’ on some kind o’

signal to move!”

On the right flank, half of the Rapscallion army crouched, led by the Firstblade himself. He sat motionless as the rat

Henbit, who had headed the scouting expedition, told what he had discovered.

“Mightiness, there can’t be more’n three ’undred creatures atop of that ridge—a few hares’n’otters an’ some

Water’ogs. The rest ain’t much: squirrels, mice, an’ moles, wid a scatterin’ o’ those liddle raggy beasts that sail the

streams, shrews I think they call ’em. They got plenty of weapons, but no chance o’ winnin’ agin a thousand of us.

Back side of the ridge is too steep an’ rocky—you’d be best advised to attack from this side, Sire.”

Damug Warfang peered upward, noting the piles of rock heaped along the heights and the big tree trunk positioned

at its center. “A thousand won’t be needed to conquer three hundred. Bluggach, you take half of this five hundred.

Gribble, take word to Rapmark Skaup that he will send half of his force with Captain Bluggach’s fighters. Between

them they should take the ridge. That is my command. Go now.”

The little rat scurried along the defile to where the ferret Skaup lay waiting on the left flank.

Tammo stood with Pasque on one side of him and Galloper Riffle on the other. He leaned slightly forward and

looked down the line. Tight-jawed and silent, the front rank waited, while behind them the second rank, mainly

archers, checked shafts and bowstrings.

The young hare felt his limbs begin to tremble. He looked down and noticed that the footpaws of Pasque and Riffle

were shaking also. Behind him, Skipper drummed his tail nervously on the ground.

“Me ole tail’s just bumpin’ about for the want o’ somethin’ t’do,” the otter leader chuckled encouragingly. “‘Tis all

this waitin’, I s’pose, mates. Can y’see ’em, miss Pasque?”

Gripping the cord of her sling like a vise, Pasque nodded. “Indeed I can, Skip, they’re lyin’ in the rift down there,

waitin’ the same as we are. D’you suppose they’re nervous too?”

Sergeant Torgoch was pacing the ridge, keeping an eye on the front rank. He winked as he halted in front of her.

“Nervous, missie? I can see ’em quakin’ in their fur from ’ere!” He waved his pace stick to where Perigord was

perched on the pine trunk, leaning nonchalantly upon his saber. “Wot d’ye think, sir, shall we tell ’em wot we thinks o’

vermin?”

Waving back with his blade, the Major smiled. “Capital idea, Sar’nt, carry on!”

Swelling out his chest with a deep breath, the Sergeant roared in his best drill parade manner at the Rapscallion

army, “Nah then, you scab-tailed, waggle-pawed, flea-ridden excuses fer soldiers! Are ye sittin’ down there ’cos yore

too stoopid t’move, or are yer afraid?” Then he turned his back on the foebeast and waggled his bobtail impudently.

Laughter broke out from the Redwallers’ ranks.

Gurgan Spearback clumped up in his oversized boots, wielding the massive mallet that was his favorite weapon,

“Hearken t’me, all ye vermin wid half a brain to lissen. Remember what thy mothers told thee about climbin’. If you

come climbin’ our hill, we’ll spank thee right ’ard an’ send you away in tears!”

Hoots of derision from the ridge accompanied this announcement. Then Lieutenant Morio’s deep booming voice

called out a warning: “Stand to arms, here they come!”

Five hundred Rapscallions clambered out of the rift from both flanks, and charged. They made a blood-chilling

sight: painted faces, bristling weapons, and blazing war banners. Drums pounded as they screamed and howled, racing

like a tidal wave across the valley floor toward the slope of the ridge.

Nobeast could stop it now. The battle was begun.

Captain Twayblade held her long rapier point down. “Steady in the ranks there, let ’em come! Stand by the first

three rockpiles! Slingers, wait my command! Steady, steady now, chaps!”

The vermin pounded up the slope, increasing their pace until they were running at breakneck speed, spearpoints,

pikes, and blades pointing upward at their adversaries.

Tammo stood his ground, deafening noises thrumming in his ears, watching the hideous pack draw closer until he

could see their bloodthirsty faces plainly.

Sergeant Torgoch’s voice rumbled across the first rank. “Wait for it, buckoes, wait on the Cap’n’s command!”

A barbed shaft whistled past Twayblade’s jaw. “Front rank, let ’em have it,” she shouted. “Now!”

Slings whirled and a battering rain of stone struck the leading Rapscallions. Tammo saw the look of shock on the

face of a lean scarred weasel as his round weighty river pebble struck it hard on the forehead. The creature toppled

backward with a screech, rolling downhill, still clutching a broken bow. Loading the sling swiftly, Tammo swung out

and hit a rat who was almost upon him.

Now Major Perigord was standing with the front rank, whirling his saber and calling to the moles who were

behind the hills of stone. “First three rockpiles away!”

Boulders, rocks, soil, dust, and stones showered down on the advancing Rapscallions. The vermin were seasoned

fighters, giving as good as they received. Ducking and dodging, they battled upward, thrusting with pike and spear,

slinging, firing arrows, and hurling anything that came to paw.

Tammo was on his third sling when he heard Sergeant Tor-goch bellowing, “Down flat an’ reload slings, first rank.

Second rank, shoot!”

Tammo and Pasque threw themselves down side by side, fumbling to load up their slings. Skipper and the second

rank stood forward, shafts drawn back upon tautened bowstrings, and sent a hail of arrows zipping down into the

massed vermin. From where they lay, the first rank twirled their slings and added to the salvo.

Then everybeast in the Redwall army grabbed for the spears tying on the ground between the ranks. Tammo,

Pasque, and Riffle, like many others, did not have a proper spear, but the long ash poles with fire-hardened points

served just as well. Staves, spears, pikes, and javelins bristled to the fore all along the line.

The Rapscallions were completely taken by surprise. They had expected their opponents to stand and defend the

ridge, not to mount a counter charge with spears. Many a vermin heart quailed then as the war cry of Salamandastron’s

Long Patrol cut the air.