Brian Jacques - Redwall #06 - The Outcast of Redwall

Swartt dismissed his wife from his mind and concentrated his thoughts on horde problems. How they had lost direction on the desertlike flatlands was anybeasts guess, but he blamed the vixen Nightshade. She should have been calculating their direction while his time was taken up dealing with more important horde matters. Swartt had berated her soundly, sending her off three nights back to find water and food and to get them back on the right trail, south and west. To make doubly sure, he had sent his two killers with her, the weasels Scarback and Marbul. When Swartt had taken command of the horde, these two had immediately caught his eye. They were ambitious and ruthless, coldhearted assassins, just the types he needed to do his secret biddings.

Outside the tent Swartt could hear the horde as they pitched camp. Travel on the hot windswept plains was impossible at noonthey would move again when eventide cooled the land slightly. Bluefen slipped quietly into the tent, placed a flagon at Swartts side, and hurried out. The Warlord hardly noticed she had been and gone; absently, he knocked the stopper out of the flagon and sipped from it. Pulling a face, he spat out the brackish-tasting water, which hit the footpaw of the stoat Trattak as he entered the tent. Swartt beckoned him inside swiftly, saying, “Shut the tent flap, I dont want everybeast seein you report tme. Are they still at it?

Trattak pulled the tent flap closed.

“Aye, Lord, its as you said. Wildag the ferret Captain and his toady, the rat they call Lardtail, theyre the two. I hung about close to them, alls they do is go from tent to tent talkin about you beind yore back.

Swartt placed the flagon on the ground and sat down by it. “What do they say, tell me? Speak, dont be afraid.

Trattak swallowed hard and crouched close to his master. “They say youve got us all lost and ydont know where yore goin, he said in low, halting tones. “Also they say you aint fit tbe Warlord an that you eat all the best food an drink fine wines from silver goblets while good onest ordebeasts are starvin ... an ...

Swartt Sixclaw nodded understandingly. “Go on, what else? I know its their words an not yours.

Trattak continued, a little more confident. “They say that a dagger between yore ribsd solve a lot o problems, then they could go back an live by the cliffs where things were a lot better. Anyow, Wildags called a meetin secret like, tonight. All the Captains11 be there.

Swartt patted Trattak, noticing the stoat eyeing the flagon. “You did well. Take this if yore thirstyit aint fine wine, only muddy water, but itll do twet yer throat with. Send Nightshade tme the moment she gets back. Go on now, keep an eye out for “er.

The vixen returned at twilight. Swartt had not given the order to move on; the horde had stayed camped in the same place since noon. Leaving the two weasel assassins outside the tent, Nightshade went in to make her report.

Swartt watched her as she laid a lumpy sack in front of him. “The news better be good, foxspeak! he snarled.

Words spilled from the vixens mouth like water from a pitcher. “The word is good, Lord, I have found the southwest trail againtwo days trek should take us out of these desert lands. There is a broad stream, fresh water, small copses with trees and grassy hills. There is food there, fish, birds, and fruit. Look!

She emptied out the sack, which contained roots, tubers, and a couple of russet apples, plus a dead bird, which the vixen held up for Swartts inspection.

“Your weasels Scarback and Marbul killed this bird with slings and stones, she said. “There are many like it where we have been.

Swartt munched on an apple as he turned the carcass with his sword point. He shook his head in disgust. “Its a crow, and an old one at that. You tryin tpoison me?

Before the vixen could answer, Swartt shoved the dead crow back into the sack and laughed wickedly. “Never mind, itll come in handy before the nights through. Well, at least we aint lost anymore. Go an get some sleep, Ill be movin the horde out on the double tomorrow. Send the weasels in here.

The ferret Wildag was older than Swartt, though not as big, and his ally, Lardtail, was a grumpy, fat, oversized rat. By the light of a flickering fire at the outer edge of the camp, the two faced a sizeable gathering of Captains and assorted horde-beasts, all of whom were disaffected with the leadership of Sixclaw. Wildag addressed the meeting, backed up by Lard-tails whining comments.

“Well, how does it feel tbe lost an starvin, buckoes? Lardtail stepped up. “Aye, all Ive had since dawn is a few roots an a mouthful o dirty waterits not good enough, mates!

A voice called out of the crowd, “Theres nought out ere but sand an wind, but if we starve then at least Sixclaws will too!

Wildags paw jabbed the air as he shook his head vigorously. “Swartt Sixclaw starve? Huh, thats a good un, tell em, Lardtail!

“I seen that vixen of his sneakin into camp this evenin. She went straight to Swartts tent, carryin a sack of vittles!

Wildag waved his paws to silence the outraged hubbub. “Did you ear that, friends, a sack of food! Ill wager the scums sittin in is tent right now, drinkin wine an stuffin a roasted duck down his greedy gullet!

Amid the uproar that followed, a sack flew through the air and struck Wildag in the face. Furiously he grabbed the sack and shook it at the assembly. “Who threw this? he yelled.

Swartt stepped into the firelight, his painted face and red-stained fangs highlighted by the flames. Silence fell instantly upon the gathering. Showing no fear or concern, the Warlord winked at the two conspirators and rubbed his paws together in front of the fire. “Gets a bit chilly ere at night when the sun goes in. You cold, Wildag, hungry maybe?

The Captain was at a loss for words, and, sensing something awful was about to happen, Lardtail began shuffling backward.

“Stay where yare, rat, or Ill gut ye!

Lardtail froze, noting that Scarback and Marbul, the two assassins, had materialized out of nowhere and were flanking him.

Swartt spoke to the would-be mutineers in a reasonable tone. “Ive heard that some are sayin were lost? Now what sort of a Warlord would get his horde lost? Two days from here is a broad stream of fresh water, food, fruit growin on the trees. Would I be lost if I knew this? An I tell you some-thin else, the farther on we travel, the better it getsgreener, fatter, richer. I dont tell lies, youll see.

He picked up the sack and faced the ferret Captain. “But as for you, my friend, I dont think you was tellin the truth when you said I was drinkin wine an eatin roast duck. If I was, then Id make sure everybeast got the same as me.

A sob escaped Wildags lips, and he began to tremble. Swartt patted the Captains back reassuringly. “Oh, come on now, bucko, cheer up, ole Sixclaw dont like to see anybeast unappy or ungry. Im willin tshare my vittles with you, but tshow you Im a real comrade Ill let you ave it all for yore-self.

He tipped the old dead crow out of the sack, smiling com-panionably at Wildag. “As ycan see, it aint no roast duck, but yore welcome to it. Then, pinching Lardtails ear cruelly in his claws, Swartt marched the rat over to the crow carcass. “Pick it up, matey, theres a good rat, he said. “Dyou want some?

Hauled up on tip-paw by his ear, the rat whined, “No, Lord, I aint ungry!

Hordebeasts are fickle creatures at best, and now some of the gathering began chuckling as they realized what Swartt was up to. The Warlord winked at them, knowing they would be firmly on his side after he had asserted his power. Wagging his chain-mailed sixclaw in the rats face, he explained firmly, “Wildags yore mate, so I want you to feed this to im right now, all of it. Meat, bone, claws, feathers, beak, the lot! Show Wildag that Swartt is a real friend. I aint just sharin it with im, Im givinim it all out of the goodness of me eart.