Brian Jacques: Redwall #06 - The Outcast of Redwall

The vermin crowding around the flames jeered and laughed as Swartt sat upon the badgers back and goaded it forward, raking with his claws and slapping it with the flat of his sword blade. Hobbled close, the young creature could only take small stumbling steps. Anguished growls issued from its bound mouth as it fumbled through the snow.

Swartt thought it no end of a joke, shouting aloud for the benefit of his band, “Giddy up, Scumtripe, ygreat lazy stripedog, move!

Skarlath eyed the ferret fearfully as Swartt brought his face close, leering and licking his lips. “Well now, what ave we ere? A kestrel, not as tasty as quail or wood pigeon, but young and tender, Ill wager. Stuck fast by the ice, are ye, bird? Thatll keep ynice an fresh until you join me at breakfast!

Then, dragging the badger cruelly up, he tied the halter attached to its muzzle to an overhanging limb of the hornbeam. “Heres a good job for ye, Scumtripeguard my breakfast until momin! Yer gettin too fatnlazy lyin by the fire. Swartt Sixclaw strode off, chuckling, to rejoin his band round the flames, leaving the unfortunate pair fastened to the tree.

An hour passed, when all that could be heard was the crackling of pine logs as flames devoured them; the vermin camp was silenced in sleep. Suddenly, in one swift, silent movement, the badger flung his body close against the kestrel, trapping the bird between himself and the bark. At first the young kestrel thought he was to be smothered, but the warmth from the soft fur of the badgers chest started to melt the ice. Slowly, Skarlath felt the blood begin to stir in his veins. Although the badger was tethered and muzzled, he clung on tightly with all his strengm until at last Skarlath was able to move his head and wings. Skarlath jerked his head around until he found himself looking into the dark eyes of the golden-striped creature. Both young ones stared at each other, communicating in silence. Then the badger held still as the hawks beak went to work. With short, savage movements, Skarlath tore into the rawhide muzzle strips that bound the badger until they were ripped to shreds. The badger clenched and unclenched his teeth, testing his jaws; then bowing his great gold-striped head he devoured the rawhide hobbles that bound his paws, chewing and swallowing the strips in his hunger. They were both free!

“Come, friend, we go, escape, get away! said Skarlath, keeping his voice to a hoarse whisper.

But the badger acted as if he had not heard his companion. Fierce anger burned in his eyes. Stretching his powerful young limbs, the badger seized a bough of the hornbeam and snapped it from the tree with a single wrench. Smashing the bough against the tree trunk, he broke it in two; then, casting aside the thin end, he gripped the heavier piece with both paws. It was about half his own height, thicker at one end than the other, like some huge rough club. Roaring out his challenge, he charged the unwary vermin around the fire.

“Eeulaliaaaaaa!

The camp came to life instantly. Two vermin fell under the club as the badger threw himself at Swartt. Before the ferret had half drawn his sword, the badgers club thudded hard against his foes six-clawed paw. Swartt screeched and fell back injured, yelling to his creatures, “Stop him! Kill him!

Skarlath saw the badger disappear under a crowd of vermin as they tried to bring him down, and he hurtled in, ripping and stabbing with beak and talons. Though the badger was weighted by foebeasts, none could fell him. He stood like a mighty young oak, flailing the club, his deep-throated war cry ringing through the forest.

“Eeulaliaaaaa!

Skarlath decided then that his friend was totally mad. The vermin numbers would tell soon and the badger would be brought down to be slain. Fighting his way through, the kestrel landed upon the badgers shoulder and cried into his ear, “Come away or well both be killed. Escape!

The badger struggled to the fires edge and, using his club, he scattered the blazing logs into the ranks of his enemies. Flames whirred and sparks showered as he battered burning wood everywhere. It sizzled and steamed in the snow, throw-ing up choking clouds of smoke and wood ash. Then the two friends were away, the young badger bounding through the night forest, with Skarlath perched upon his shoulder. Bursting with the energy of freedom, they traveled tirelessly, crashing through bush, briar, and bramble in a welter of flying snow.

Back in the ruined camp, all was confusion, smoke, ashes, and freezing dark night. A weasel called Muggra extricated himself from a snowdrift where the badgers club had bowled him. Rubbing his aching back, he crawled over to where an older vixen named Nightshade was ministering to Swartt, binding his six-clawed paw with a poultice of herbs and snow. Muggra sneaked a pawful of the herbs and nibbed them on his own back, asking, “Shall we follow them an slay em with arrows?

The vixen answered without looking up from her task. “Aye, best do it right away, before they get too far.

Bad temperedly, Swartt made as if to raise his six-clawed paw and swipe out at them both, but the movement caused him to snarl in agony; his paw hung limp and throbbing. “Idiots! Get the fire goin, quick, before we freeze tdeath in the dark here, he spat. “Follow them? With me paw smashed an ruined, an five slain, another five, maybe, wounded or injured? I give orders round ere, mudbrains, we follow em when Im ready, an not before!

With lightning speed he shot out his good paw, and seizing the weasel Muggra by the neck he pulled him close, his hot breath vaporizing on the weasels face as he hissed, “But when this paws fixed an Ive rested by a good fire, therell be noplace that badger can hide from Swartt Sixclaw. Ill follow that one to the edge of the world or to Hellgates, and hell take a long time tdie at the blade of my sword. Ill hunt him tthe death an slay him bit by bit, if it takes me ten seasons!

The vixen Nightshade continued binding Swartts paw, fixing the herbs and snow tight with mud from the earth where the fire had been and strips of aspen bark. “If you leave it later man this night, it will take you a lifetime, she said as she worked.

Swartt winced as the dressing tightened. “Shut yer slimy mouth, fox, always seein the future, or sayin that ydo. I could fix your future with one swing of me sword, thatd keep you quiet!

Muggra was choking under Swartts grip. The ferret looked at the weasel as if just noticing him. “Whatre you doin gurglin there. Didnt I tell yto get a fire goin? Trattak! Hal-frump! Gerrout an forage for dry timber! The rest of you, get shot of those deadbeasts an clear this place up! He flung the weasel aside.

Later, as fresh flames licked hungrily around resinous pine boughs, Swartt lay back gritting his teeth and muttering savagely, “Well meet again, badger. Make the best of these few days yve got leftIll find ye, Scumtripe!

2?

The badger did not stop running until it was broad daylight, cold and crystal clear. He halted in a smalt clearing at the forest edge. Skarlath fluttered to one side as the hefty young badger threw himself down in the snow and lay panting, tongue lolling, as steam rose from his thick coat. After a while he sat up, cramming pawfuls of the cooling snow into his mouth and gulping them down.

Skarlath hopped about, testing his wings with short swoops, noting gratefully that his pinions were undamaged. Glad to be alive, he shook his plumage and spread his wings. “Heeeeh! Rest, friend, then we go far away! he cried.

The badger stood and picked up his club. “You go where you want. When Ive rested and found something to eat, Im going back there to slay that vermin Swartt Sixclaw!

The young kestrel took flight and wheeled round the badgers head, his wings brushing his friends gold-striped muzzle. “Heekeeer! he cried. “Then you are a deadbeast, my friend. Swartt has too many vermin; you will surely be slain!