Brian Jacques - Redwall #06 - The Outcast of Redwall

Sunflash excused himself from the company and followed Bloggwood; they threaded their way through the packed hall. As they went the banter of old warrior friends having a reunion was thick upon the air.

“Gully, yold treeflyer. I thought you was slain seasons ago!

“Well, Im still here, matey, an eatin aplenty tprove it!

“Haharr, Munga, ow is the shrew logboat business goin?

“Saves gettin your paws wet like you otters, Reedtail.

“Ahoy there, Floke, we pulled yore chestnuts out of the fire just in time for yer today, didnt we?

“Aye, matey, an yer cracked a few nuts on the other side too!

It was cold and silent in the vaults beneath the mountain where Bloggwood led Sunflash. They went through to a long torchlit cave where the hares who had been slain in battle that day were laid out on stone slabs, each one wreathed in fresh mountain flowers. Bradberry was standing by the body of Fordpetal, his head bowed. Sunflash dismissed his guide with thanks and went straight to the young hare.

He placed a paw comfortingly around Bradberrys shoulders. “Bradders, Im sorry, I didnt know ...

The hare buried his face in Sunflashs chain mail tunic and wept. “She wasnt really soppy, was she, Sire?

The Badger Lord swallowed hard. “No, just young and very pretty, and she knew we were only joking when we said that. Lets hope that we have somebeast as thoughtful and tenderhearted as yourself to weep for us some day.

The young hare turned his tearstained face up to Sunflash. “Why do creatures have to have wars and kill one another? Why cant everybeast live in peace and be contented? I was just thinkin before you came, Sire, Fordpetal wont ever see another summer day or laugh an smile again. Why?

Sunflash led Bradberry slowly away from the vault. “Why? Its a question Ive often asked myself, Bradders, particularly when the life of a young one is wasted. Over quite a few seasons now Ive found myself wanting to be only a farmer and grow things, but there are evil ones in the lands. One day when all the evil is gone, maybe then well be able to find peace and watch things grow. Until then it is up to the good ones, like yourself, to fight against evil. Fordpetal was doing just that today. War is a terrible thing, but until something arrives to stop the fighting, we must endure it and battle harder to make sure that good wins.

In the banqueting hall the warriors were singing an age-old song they always sang after battle.

“Oh heres to the comrades who fought the good fight,

On the field where their valor was won.

They gave their lives hard to defend what was right,

Let us drink to the warriors whove gone.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, theres none who was bolder,

And manys the foebeast we slayed;

Well remember our friends who will never grow older,

Alas, what a price that they paid.

For the word has been spoken, the sword now is broken,

When were old we will sit and tell tales of their days.

35

Swartt Sixclaw sat roasting a mackerel by a fire, far down on the tideline, close to the rocks. More than one-third of his great horde had been lost that day, but victory had been nearly within his grasp. The groups of hordebeasts crouched around their fires were too weary to do anything but eat, sleep, or lick their wounds. Swartt stared up at the rock, racking his brain for a solution. Within the next hour it presented itself in the form of a weasel whom Nightshade brought to him.

Swartt found that he had to keep his eyes trained on the skinny, undersized creature. It was mottled, whether naturally or by skillful dyes, he could not tell, but it was only by watching its pale eyes that the Warlord could tell where it stood. The weasel had only to stand motionless against rock or sand and it almost vanished. It was sand-coloredor was it rock-hued?with gray, dirty-white and dark brown flecks, the strangest-looking creature he had ever witnessed.

Swartt looked at the vixen. “Whered you find that thing? he snarled.

“Lord, he is called the Wraith. He is not of our horde; I do not know where he comes from, though you would be wise to listen to his offer.

Swartt looked back and found he had lost sight of the Wraith. “Stan still, weasel. Where are you?

He tried not to start with shock as the voice came from behind the back of his neck.

“Me herrrre, Sirrrre!

The Wraith flitted round in front of him and sat by the fire. He spoke in a most peculiar manner, extending his Rs. Swartt kept his gaze fixed on the Wraiths eyes, the rest of his body kept disappearing and reappearing in the flicker of the firelight.

“Sit still an tell me why you came here, said Swartt.

The speckled mouth opened, revealing two rows of toothless gums. “Wrrrraith hearrrr you have enemy, me kill him forrrr you.

Suddenly Swartt was interested. The idea of an assassin had not occurred to him before. He would have liked to take Sun-flash alive, but in the end, one way of winning victory was as good as another. The Warlord pointed his mailed paw at the pale watery eyes. “An what dyou get out of it, eh?

The soft rolling voice replied, “Me think you know that. Half, Sirrrrre!

Swartt knew what he meanthe had dealt with rogues and villains all his life. Half meant half of everything he stood to gain, but really it meant all: assassins who offered their services were always overambitious. Swartt shrugged. “Half seems fair enough. See yon mountain, theres a badger inside o there they call Sunflash the Mace. Bring me back the great mace that never leaves his side, an you get yer half!

The Wraith vanished. Swartt looked around and saw the creature sitting behind him, holding something in its claws, hissing, “Just strrroke badgerrr with me Kisserrrr!

It was a tiny knife, carved from some strange type of mottled stone, almost the same color as its owner.

Swartt curled his lip at the undersized weasel with his minute blade, “Yer goin tkill a Badger Lord wid that toy?

The pale eyes narrowed in a mocking smile. “See that rrrat yon, sitting by his firrrre? Watch!

The rat was wearing a bright red bandanna, so he was hard to miss. Swartt watched him sitting by the fire with some others. He had lost sight of the Wraith, so he kept watching me rat. Then the Wraiths voice came from beside him; the thin weasel was sitting, warming himself by the flames.

“One strnroke from me Kisserrrr, that one is slain.

The Warlord continued to watch the rat, his voice laden with sarcasm as he spoke. “Huh, he dont look so dead tme, chewin on a mackerel there as if there werent no tomorrer.

“Rrrright, Sirrrre, no tomorrrrow forrrr him!

Without warning the rat leapt up and, clapping a paw to the side of his neck, he staggered about, gurgling for a moment, then fell to the sand as if poleaxed. Swartt stared in astonishment, listening to the others from the company as they left the fireside to crowd around their companion.

“Wots wrong wid ole Glimpy?

“Hahaha! Cant yer see hes takin a nap, mate!

“Mebbe its somethine ate?

“Come on, Glimp ole mate, gerrup!

A stoat knelt at Glimpys side and inspected him. Suddenly he cried, “Glimpys dead, mates. Aint that awful, sittin scof-fin fish one moment, nex thing Vs pegged it!

A fox spat mackerel into the fire and rubbed his mouth. “Phtooh! I aint eatin no more o this fish, mates!

The Wraith had shifted position. He smiled at Swartt from across the fire. “Now Sirrre believe me, just one strrroke, not even a rrrreal cut. Me Kisserrrr neverrrr fail!

The Warlord nodded his head in admiration of the deed. “The Wraith, eh? Well, the jobs yers, Wraith. When do I expec to see you again?

“You dont see me if Wrrrraith not want you to. I will find you when it is done!