Brian Jacques - Martin the Warrior [Redwall 6]

"Not me, I'm wide awake now."

The Abbot watched the soup disappear. "Good, that's the spirit!

None of us has to rise early and work tomorrow. It's winter, and there's not a lot to do save eat and sleep, so we eat when we're hungry and sleep when we feel like it. How does that suit you, Aubretia?"

The mousemaid sat back contentedly. "It suits me fine, Abbot.

What happens now we're finished feasting?"

Foremole looked up from his turnip 'n' tater 'n' beetroot pie.

"You'm travellen beasts, may'ap you'm gotten gudd stories to tell us'ns, rnizzy. We'm 'card all our tales ten 'undred toimes o'er."

Cushions and chairs were set in a half circle round the big fireplace, fresh logs placed on the fire, damped down with snow soaked herbs to give a sweet aroma to the air. Every Redwaller who did not want to sleep took a seat. Aubretia and Bultip were installed in carved highback chairs. The audience settled down, watching the two travellers eagerly.

"Today as we walked through your beautiful Abbey we saw a tapestry," the mousemaid began. "I immediately recognized the mouse pictured there, Martin the Warrior. As I understand it he is the guiding spirit of this place and one of its founders. Do you know much about him?"

Abbot Saxtus sighed, shaking his head slow. "Martin has always been here to guide us in times of trouble. His presence was felt when two of our young ones, Dandin and Mariel, were here. Unfortunately they have been gone a season and a half now. Martin's presence has not been felt since. We know too little of our Abbey Warrior. I dearly wish we knew more."

A faint smile hovered about the face of Aubretia. She leaned forward and looked at the Abbot and his Redwal lers sitting in the flickering firelight.

"Then you shall, for I have a long and great tale to relate to you...."

It is said that Badrang's dream was to be Lord of all the Eastern Coast. A former corsair, he ceased plundering the high seas to carve out his own empire on land. He chose good territory, facing the Eastern Sea, with hills to the north, cliffs to the south, marshes to the west and wild forests beyond. Secure at the edge of the shoreline the battle hardened stoat could defend his position from any attack. There he set about making his dream become reality, a fortress of timber and stone.

Marshank!

Badrang was Chieftain of a horde: weasels, ferrets, foxes and rats.

He did not trust other stoats, considering his species to be the most cunning and resourceful of all creatures. Scuttling his crippled ship on the northwest coast, Badrang had set out overland, striking for the far coast where corsairs and searats seldom sailed the grey blue waters of the great Eastern Sea. As he travelled, the vicious stoat ravaged the land, killing those he could not conquer and enslaving those he could.

It took two long seasons until he finally arrived triumphant at his destination, laden with plunder, backed by his ruthless horde and driving a long chain of wretched slaves before him.

Badrang set his slaves to work, forcing them to carve a rock quarry and commence building his fortress. The work went well, and soon a living quarters was erected, followed by a perimeter guard wall with its gates facing the shoreline.

He scanned the open sea each day, for he had made enemies among his own kind when he was pirating. Fortunately there was never a sign of sail or ship on the horizon. However, he bullied and drove both slave and hordebeast to have the fortress fully built and established.

Only then could he rule completely, burning and killing his way in all directions until he was absolute ruler of all he surveyed. Tyrant!

Badrang loved the sound of the word.... Tyrant!

BOOK ONE

The Prisoner and the Tyrant

1

He was only a young mouse, but of strong build, with a glint in his eye that proclaimed him a born fighter. A creature of few words who never chattered needlessly. The early summer sun of the Eastern Coast beat down pitilessly on his unprotected head as he carried and stacked chunks of rock beside the masons who would shape it into blocks that would enlarge Fort Marshank.

A weasel Captain named Risk swaggered up/ cracking his long whip threateningly, looking for an excuse to cut loose on the slaves who toiled in the dusty heat around him. His eye settled on the young mouse.

"You there, liven yourself up! Come on, stir yer stumps. Lord Badrang will be round for an inspection soon. Get movin' or y'll taste my whip!"

The mouse dropped the rock he was carrying and stood staring levelly at the bullying weasel. Hisk cracked the lash viciously, the tip flicking the air a fraction from his victim's face. The young mouse did not move. His eyes hooded over as he stood in silent defiance.

The weasel Captain drew the lash back to strike, but the bold, angry eyes of the young slave seemed to challenge him. Like all bullies, the weasel was a coward at heart. Averting his gaze from the piercing stare, Hisk snapped his whip in the direction of some more timid creatures.

"C'mon, you worthless idlers, no work, no food. Move your carcasses. 'Ere comes Lord Badrang!"

Flanked by his aides, Gurrad the rat and Skalrag the fox, Badrang the Tyrant strode imperiously onto the site. He waited while two hedgehogs hurriedly built him a makeshift seat from stone blocks.

Skalrag swiftly covered it with a velvet cloak. Badrang sat, gazing at the work going on around him.

The stoat Lord addressed Hisk: "Will my fortress be finished before summer is out?"

Hisk waved his coiled whip about at the slaves. "Lord, if the weather was cooler an' we 'ad more creatures..."

Badrang moved swiftly in his anger. Seizing a pebble, he hurled it, striking Hisk on the jaw. The weasel Captain stood dumbly, blood trickling from his lip as the Tyrant berated him.

"Excuses! I don't want to hear complaints or excuses, d'you hear me? What I need is a fortress built before autumn. Well, don't stand there snivelling, get on with it!"

Immediately, Hisk got to work, flaying about with the whip as he passed on his master's bad mood.

"Move, you useless lumps! You heard Lord Badrang, Marshank must be ready before the season's out! It'll be double the work an' half rations from now on.

Move!"An old squirrel was staggering by, bent double under the burden of a large rock. Hisk lashed out at him. The whip curled around the aged creature's footpaws, tripping him as he dropped the rock. The weasel began laying into his victim, striking indiscriminately at the old one's frail body.

"You worthless layabout, I'll strip the mis'rable hide off yer!"

The lash rose and fell as Hisk flogged away at the unprotected creature on the ground.

"I'll teach yer a lesson yer won't ferget..."

Suddenly the whip stopped in midswing. It went taut as Hisk pulled on the handle. He tugged at it but was yanked backwards. The young mouse had the end of the whip coiled around his paw.

Hisk's eyes bulged with temper as he shouted at the intruder,

"Leggo my whip, mouse, or I'll gut yer!"

The weasel reached for the dagger at his waist, but he was not fast enough. The mouse hurled himself upon Hisk. Wrapping the whiplash round the Captain's neck, he heaved hard. Hisk thrashed furiously about in the dust, choking and slobbering as the lash tightened.

Gurrad blew a hasty alarm on a bone whistle he carried slung about his neck.

In a trice the mouse was set upon by the nearest six guards. He disappeared beneath a jumble of ferrets, weasels and rats as they pounded him mercilessly, stamping upon his paws and breaking his hold on the whip. They continued relentlessly beating him with spearhandles, rods and whips until Badrang intervened.

"That's enough. Bring him to me!"