Brian Jacques - Martin the Warrior [Redwall 6]

Rose shook Starwort and his wife by their paws gratefully. "Oh, you were so skillful, both of you, the way you took command and knew just what to do, steering this great boat right the way down those dangerous rapids. Only two creatures such as yourselves would know how to navigate that terrible drop in safety ..."

Marigold bobbed a comical curtsy. "Well, thankee now, pretty one.

That was the first time we've ever been down those rapids!"

Bump! Grumm fainted.

Swifts darted and wheeled over the water in brilliant morning sunlight as it burned the mists away. Martin finished breakfasting and went to stand up in the bows next to Starwort. The sturdy otter leaned confidentially close. "Listen, matey, while I tells yer three words you've wanted to 'ear ... Next stop Marshank!"

A tremor ran through the Warrior's body. He clasped the sword handle tight, his eyes shining like flints in firelight.

"I'm coming, Badrang!"

39

The cart was a charred, smoking thing, but it still stood. All night the fighting had been furious, with no let up.

Fur and Freedom Fighters had battled against flaming shafts with their bare paws and sand. Four lay dead and three wounded.

Smoke grimed and bleary eyed, they had plucked burning arrows from the wood, strung them on their bows and returned them to stick blazing in the gates of Marshank. The javelin supply was depleted, one shaft being retained for each creature in the event that paw to paw combat would be their final stand. There were still plenty of rocks to sling, Keyla and Tullgrew taking charge of the slingers while Ballaw managed a frugal breakfast. The hare sat wearily against one of the sandbanks that had been shorn up either side of the cart, Rowanoak slumped beside him. Both were singed and smoke grimed.

Rowanoak drank half her water, passing the rest on to Brome, who distributed it among the wounded. The badger wiped a sandy paw across her scorched muzzle. "Well, Ballaw De Quincewold, what's to report?"

The irrepressible hare wiped dust from his half scone ration and looked up at the sky. "Report? Er, nothin' much really, except that it looks like being another nice sunny day, wot!"

A flaming arrow extinguished itself in the sand close by Rowanoak.

She tossed it on to a pile of other shafts waiting to be shot. "A nice day indeed. D'you think we'll be around to see the sunset?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "I wonder if that owl Bold red, wasn't it I wonder if she ever managed to get through to this Martin the Warrior creature."

Ballaw picked dried blood from a wound on his narrow chest.

"Doesn't look like it, does it? No, old Rowan me badger oak, I think the stage is all ours and it'll be our duty to give the best performance we can before the curtain falls for the last time."

Groot plucked a pawful of arrows from the sand. Tossing them behind the smouldering cart, he took his bow from Buckler. Together they notched up their shafts, nodding to each other.

"Watch the cart, it's roasting hot. Right, fire!" Swiftly they stood and released the taut bowstrings, throwing themselves flat immediately. A hail of arrows hit the cart and the surrounding sand in reply. Groot scratched a mark in the sand next to a line of others. "Got one, big weasel type wearin' a red jerkin!" Buckler shook his head in disappointment. "Oi been arfter that vurmint all noight moiself, hurr!"

They notched up another two arrows. "At least the little ones'll be safe with Geum and Purslane," Groot sniffed. "Maybe they'll take off south and find some place where they can live in peace. Pity, I would've liked to see my little Fuffle grow up and take care of his mother when she's an old un."

Buckler wrinkled his homely face into a smile. "Ho urr, he'm be a right liddle roguer, that babe o' thoin. Doant you'm give oop 'ope, Groot. We'm bain't finished yet, burr no!"

Badrang sat in the courtyard. Shaded by the wall, it was the only place where missiles could not fall. He took a leisurely breakfast of smoked herrings and dandelion water.

Boggs came down from the walltop and saluted with his bow. "That cart's still there, Lord, though it can't be much more than splinters an'

ash by now. A good breeze'd blow it over."

The Tyrant delicately plucked a fish scale from his upper lip. "Keep those archers firing until I tell you to stop. Have we lost many through the night?"

"Twelve, maybe thirteen, Sire. There was quite a few wounded tryin'

to put the fire out on the gates."

Badrang nodded thoughtfully and beckoned to a passing ferret.

"You there, Stumptooth. Get the rest of the horde on their paws. Issue the long pikes and spears, have them stand by."

Boggs brightened up a little. "Are you goin' to start the charge, Lord?"

Badrang poured a beaker of dandelion water and passed it to Boggs. "Not yet. Drink that. It's cool, isn't it? Also we've got plenty of food, solid walls around us and plenty of shade. Those wretches out there have only sun, sand, a few drops of water and hardly any food by now. They've not been able to sleep all night, while we've had archers relieving each other to take a rest. I think I'll leave it a bit yet, keep them in suspense, make them suffer. Who knows, we might yet save a good number of slaves. Go and ask them to surrender again."

Tramun Clogg was digging graves in the soft ground near the corner of the wall. He leaned on his spade and eyed Badrang. "You never could go fer the clean kill, could yer, matey? Ho no, you likes pullin' the wings off butterflies an' watchin' them crawl round 'elpless, as I recall. Though maybe yore worried that if yer did charge now, they'd put up a good fight."

Badrang held the dandelion water out to Clogg. As the corsair reached for it, he upended the jug, pouring it out on the ground.

"You're right, of course, Clogg. That's why I like to keep you as a slave-it reminds me that once you tried to be my equal, or even my better, and now you have to take orders from the lowliest of my creatures.

You are lower than a worm, Tramun Clogg!" The corsair dabbed his paw in the wet sand and sucked it. "Haharr, I never was 'igh an'

mighty like you, Badrang. I'll just go back to buryin' yer dead an' wait fer you to turn up as a customer."

With his head wound in a bandage, Nipwort shrilled the message across to the creatures barricaded behind the sandbanks on either side of the burned out cart.

"My Lord Badrang is still merciful, he gives you a second chance to surrender and keep your lives. What is your answer?"

"Tell old Badthingy it is beneath our dignity to surrender to scum!"

Ballaw's voice came back insolently clear, this time accompanied by many others. "Stinky, slimy scum!" "Gutless, wet nosed crook tailed scum!" "Yurr, gurt fat bottomed vurmint scummer!" Nipwort's high pitched squeak cut across the insults. "Is that the answer I must take to my Lord Badrang?" A good sized, well placed slingstone from Rowanoak knocked the rat backwards from the walltop to the courtyard.

"Tell him he can chew on that for free!"

Badrang had heard the exchange. He rolled the stunned form of Nipwort over with a kick. "Boggs, redouble the archers on the walltop and continue without halting. I'll make those fools think it's raining arrows!"

Ballaw helped to shore up the banks, and Rowanoak piled sand against the flimsy burnt cart. Brome kept his head down as he bandaged Keyla's injured tail under a pelting hail of arrows.

The young otter gritted his teeth, forcing a tight as he gasped through a wave of pain, "D'you think it's somethin' we've said that's offended him?"

Brome ducked an arrow and continued with Keyla's dressing.

"Brave words. Slingstones and arrows is all we've got left, that's the last of my herbs and bandages."

At midday the arrows ceased. There followed a lull. Ballaw went around doling out the last of the food and water. Groot nodded to the trenched ranks on the south side. "Any chance we could charge them and break through? We could make it to the cliffs if we could."