Brian Jacques - [Redwall 10] - The Long Patrol

“Eulaliaaaaa! JS death on the wind! Eulaliaaaaaa!”

The Redwallers’ charge broke the Rapscallion advance. Drums from below in the rift pounded out the retreat,

calling the vermin back.

Damug Warfang estimated that he had lost threescore in the first assault; the Redwallers had lost about half that

number. Slightly more than he had expected, but the Greatrat was satisfied. Now that he had tested his enemies, he

knew their strength and also their weakness. However, the Firstblade was surprised at his adversary; for peaceful

Abbeydwellers they showed great ferocity in fighting and much cunning in their maneuvers. Despite this he was

confident they would be unable to resist the might of his full army.

Arven sat still as a mole plastered boiled herbs to a deep graze in his side, lifting one paw up to allow the healer

better access to his wound. The mole stopped bandaging, blinking at the sight in the valley below.

Damug Warfang was standing on the grassy sward with his entire army formed up behind him.

“Bo urr an’ lackaday, zurr, lukkee, ’tis a tumble soight!”

It was indeed terrible, and impressive. Almost a thousand well-armed vermin, lined in columns, flags streaming,

drums beating, with the Greatrat in full armor, sword drawn, out in front.

Log-a-Log stopped sharpening his rapiertip on a whetstone and glanced quizzically at Major Perigord. “Wot d’you

suppose Warfang’s up to now?”

The hare viewed the scene below dispassionately. “Tryin’ to frighten us with a show of force, what else? That was

only half their blinkin’ number he threw at us in the first charge.”

Sergeant Torgoch saluted with his pace stick. “Shall I stand the troops ready for action again, sah?”

Perigord sheathed his blade and started downhill. “I think not, Sar’nt, the blighter obviously wants to parley. Huh!

We’re all supposed t’be tremblin’ in our fur at the size of his force. I expect he wants us to jolly well surrender.”

Arven’s voice echoed the Major’s final word incredulously. “Surrender?”

Tare and Turry, the Long Patrol twins, helped Arven upright. “Hah, fat chance of that, old lad!”

About a third of the way downhill, Perigord halted, calling out, “I take it y’ve got somethin’ to say, rat. Well spit it

out an’ be quick about it, a chap can’t dally here all day, wot!”

Damug Warfang waved his sword eloquently at the massed Rapscallions backing him. “What need of words, hare,

when we could destroy you in a single sweep!”

Perigord shook his head and smiled mockingly. “Oh, is that all you’ve got t’say? Wasted your breath, really, didn’t

you? Still, what else can one expect from vermin?”

The Greatrat smiled back as if he were equally at ease.”Just think for a moment what we will do to the ones you

left behind at Red wall Abbey. I imagine they’re the creatures not fit to fight, babes and oldbeasts. Have you

considered them?”

Perigord seethed inwardly, but he did not show it. “Oh, if it comes t’that, old thing, I wouldn’t worry if I were you.

Y’see I fully intend slayin’ you, so y’won’t be ’round to see it”

Damug was still smiling as he played his trump card. “I’m a bit ahead of you there, because I intend killing you.

Now!” He let his sword blade drop and nodded.

The rat Henbit had lain near the ridgetop, concealed among the dead vermin that littered the slope. He sprang up,

poising himself to hurl the javelin he held, not three paces from the Major. Suddenly he sighed, as if tired of it all, and

let the javelin slide carelessly backward as he fell, an oak shaft in his back.

Perigord stepped distastefully over the fallen rat. “Don’t like that sort o’ thing. Sneaky. Well shot, Corporal!”

Rubbadub twanged a chord on the empty longbow string, grinning from ear to ear at his officer’s compliment.

“Drrrrrrubadubdub!”

Then the Rapscallion army charged. As it swept across the valley, Tammo left off helping Pasque Valerian to bind

wounded heads and paws and took up his position in the first rank, feeling slightly detached from it all.

Gurgan Spearback nudged him with a rough paw. “Art thou all right, friend?”

The young hare shrugged in bewilderment. “Strange, isn’t it, but here we are facin’ almost a thousand an’ all I can

think about is the time o’ day. Look, ’tis almost evening, yet it only seems a moment ago it was mornin’. Can’t get it

off my mind, really. What’s happened t’the rest o’ today? Where’d it go?”

Gurgan stumped the ground with his mallethead like a batsman at his crease. “Aye, I know what thou means. All I

can think of is my wife, Rufftip, an’ our seven liddle ’ogs, ’avin’ a pickernick on our boat in the water meadows. Silly

wot a body can think of at times like these—Oofli!”

An arrow protruded from Gurgan’s shoulder. Tammo stared, aghast. “You’re hit!”

The Waterhog pulled the shaft out, snapped it, and flung it from himself bad-temperedly. “Tchah! When a beast’s

as full o’ spikes as I am, one more don’t make much difference, though ’tis a great displeasure t’be shot!”

Before Tammo could reply, Sergeant Torgoch was bawling out orders. “First rank, sling! Second rank, stand ready!

Keep ’em off the slope!”

At the point where valley met hillslope, the Rapscallions took the full force of the first stone volley. Owing to their

numbers, Major Perigord had taken the decision to strike early and save his Redwallers being speedily overrun. He

turned to the moles, saying, “How’s the fire comin’ along under that log, chaps?”

“Ee’m a burnen broight an’ reddy t’go, zurr!”

“Capital! Splash all that vegetable oil over the trunk now, quick as y’like!”

Dry timber and resin gave a great whoosh as the oil buckets were hurled upon it. The evening sprang to light,

sparks and flaming splinters crackling as they leapt from the blazing tree. Skipper and his otters rolled it forward using

spearpoints and ash staves. It teetered a moment on the brow of the ridge, then took off with a crash, rumbling, rolling,

bouncing, and spinning.

Lady Cregga Rose Eyes and the Long Patrol army had been plodding all day. The going was awkward and rough

in the narrow rift; it seemed to stretch on forever. They had waded through mud and water, squeezed through narrow

gorges, and climbed over collapsed debris.

Deodar was first to see it. “Look, Sergeant, up ahead, that light!”

A sudden bright glow lit the evening sky from a ridgetop in the distance. It flared brightly then disappeared,

leaving the hares blinking against the gathering darkness. Sergeant Clu-brush placed himself in front of Lady Cregga,

blocking her way.

“Deodar, Algador, drop y’packs but ’old on to yore weapons. Scout up ahead, close to that ridge as y’can get. We

needs h’information quick as to wot’s goin1 on up yonder. So make all speed there an’ back. Run lively now, young

’uns!”

As he spoke, the Sergeant had pulled Corporal Ellbrig and several others past him to barricade the rift. Both

Runners hared off.

Lady Cregga glared fiercely at Clubrush. “Stand out of my way, Sergeant!”

It would be said in later seasons that this was the first time a hare openly disobeyed a Badger Ruler. Sergeant

Clubnish drew his sword.

“Sorry, Lady, but we got to wait ’ere “til the Runners gets back. If you goes chargin’ off now, not knowin’ wot lies

ahead, you could get y’self an’ all these slain, recruits an’ veterans. We must know wot’s goin’ on at that ridge first