Brian Jacques - Redwall #09 - Salamandastron

"Sap, are you all right? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Sapwood sat up. Uncrossing his eyes and rubbing his chin, he chuckled ruefully. "Bless your 'eart, sir, I'm as right as rain, never saw that'n comin', though. Good job you never punched your weight, or you'd 'ave knocked me block clean off!"

With their paws about each other the two friends entered Salamandastron, chatting and chuckling about old fights and bygone battles.

Before he entered the mountain, Urthstripe could not resist casting a final longing glance to the open country. Disappointed that he could not see Mara arriving home he heaved a lonely sigh and followed Sapwood inside.

A massive ridge of mountains created a high spine down the land east of Salamandastron. In the foothills to the south they gave way to swamplands, which in their turn led to the dunes sweeping in from the west. The early noon sun was causing

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grasshoppers to chirrup and rustle in the rock-strewn foothills.

Ferahgo the Assassin sighted his skinning knife at one insect which was about to leap. He flicked the knife expertly. His aim was good: the keen-edged blade sliced the grasshopper in two. The knifepoint was still quivering in the ground as Ferahgo pulled it free and wiped it clean on the grass.

"That's one grasshopper won't jump any more," he chuckled. "Am I not right, Migroo?"

The stoat nodded vigorously. "Aye, Chief, 'twas a grand throw!"

Ferahgo sheathed the weapon in the crossbelts he wore diagonally across his chest. Two other knives were encased there, each as sharp and deadly as the one he had thrown. Smiling, he rested his paws on the broad belt supporting his short kilt of skins. He had grown taller and more sinewy than other weasels. The seasons seemed to lend an extra sparkle to his eyes, which were light brilliant blue like a fresh spring sky; beautiful almond-shaped eyes, with deep laughter creases etching their corners. Many a stranger had met death through the deceit and vicious cruelty which lay behind those innocently smiling eyes. Every weasel, stoat, rat, ferret or fox in his army of Corpsemakers knew that the more Ferahgo the Assassin smiled, the more evil and brutal he became. His reign of terror had spread and flourished in the Southwest Lands until the whole country trembled with fear at his name. Ferahgo!

This summer he had decided to push further north. None of his army dared question the odd decision, though they speculated in secret as to his reason for such a long trek. The horde lounged in the dunes and the foothillssome stretched on the sun-scorched sand and grass, others seeking the shade of rocksapparently idle, but ever vigilant for their leader's commands. Disobedience to Ferahgo meant death.

The Assassin stretched luxuriously upon the dry curling grass and closed his eyes, enjoying the still warmth of summer. One eye suddenly snapped open as he called to a weasel stationed in the rocks higher up.

Salamandastron

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"Feadle, keep your eyes peeled for my son and Goffa. Don't go to sleep up there."

Feadle made a show of scouring the terrain north and west before shouting back down, "I'll let you know as soon as Klitch and Goffa show up. Master. Don't you worry!"

Ferahgo's reply gave the lookout good reason to stay awake. "Oh, I'm not worried, Feadlebut you should be, because if you miss them I'll skin you alive with my knives. Keep those eyes open now, there's a good weasel."

It was a plain-spoken, matter-of-fact statement, but every-beast within hearing knew that the Assassin was not joking. Ferahgo seldom joked, even though he did smile a lot.

Dethbrush the fox and his six tracker rats loped in from the south. He heard Feadle announce their sighting from his high perch: "Dethbrush an' the trackers coming in, Master!"

The fox stood by as Ferahgo, still lying down with his eyes closed, questioned him.

"You have not brought Dingeye and Thura back with you?"

Dethbrush was weary, but he did not dare sit or relax. "No, Master. We tracked them for two moons. They have gone east, into the flatlands on the other side of these mountains."

Ferahgo's paw strayed to the handle of his favorite knife. "It does not please me when my orders are not carried out."

Dethbrush tried hard to stop his limbs trembling; he swallowed hard, licking at dry lips.

"Master, we searched night and day without rest. They must have found a way to cross the south streamthat is where I lost their tracks. I thought it would be better to report back to you, rather than get lost in strange country."

Ferahgo opened his eyes. He was not smiling. "You did right, Dethbrush. Rest and eat until tomorrow. Then you will go tracking again with your rats. But remember, I want Dingeye and Thura, or their heads, brought back here to me. It is bad for the morale of my Corpsemakers if they realize that deserters can escape my punishment and roam free. Do you understand?"

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Dethbrush gave a sigh of relief and nodded. "I understand, Ferahgo. This time I won't fail you."

Ferahgo closed his eyes. "Make sure you don't, my friend." He smiled slightly and waved a paw in dismissal.

Dethbrush went to look for water, his mouth dry with fear.

Redwall Abbey slumbered peacefully under the noontide sun. A songthrush trilled sweetly from the surrounding greenery of Mossflower Woods, its melodious tune echoing from the dusty red sandstone walls of the main building to the outer ramparts. Somewhere in the Abbey pool a trout half leaped at a passing gnat, missed it and flopped back lazily into the water. Two moles lugging a trolley laden with vegetables for the kitchen turned at the sound, commenting in their quaint mole-speech.

"Ee be a gurt noisy trowt that un, eh, Burrley." Burrley, the smaller of the two, wrinkled his button nose. "Hurr, you'm doant say. Oi'd be gurt 'n' lazy iffen oi dwelled inna pond wi' nothen t' do. Ho urr!"

They trundled into the Abbey, speculating on the easy lifestyle of trouts who lived in ponds.

Mrs. Faith Spinney was picking fruit in the orchard. The good hedgehog lady muttered quietly to herself as she checked the contents of her basket.

"Early plums, gooseberries, small pears. . . dearie me, they are liddle uns too. No mind, they'll make tasty cordial. Damsons aren't near ready yetpity, I do like a good damson

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pudden. Now let me see, what have I forgotten?"

The sight of a tree jogged her memory.

"Apples, of course! Those big green uns be just right for bakin' pies."

Standing on tip-paw, she reached for a large green apple hanging from a low bough.

Zzzzip! Splott!

An arrow sped by, a hairsbreadth from Mrs. Spinney's paw. It pierced the juicy apple, sending it spinning from the bough onto the grass. The hedgehog dropped her basket and dashed off, ducking low and shielding her head with both paws as she whooped out in terror. "Ooowhoo, help, murder! We're bein' attacked by scallawagians!"

Help appeared swiftly in the form of a brawny male otter.

"Sink me! What's all the to-do about, marm?"

Faith Spinney was hiding behind a gooseberry bush with her apron over her head. She peeped out at the otter. "Hoo-hoo! Do 1urry an' sound the alarm bell, Mr. Thrugg. Just lookit that apple lyin' in yonder grass!"

Striding boldly over, Thrugg retrieved the apple. Pulling the arrow from it he looked about, nodding grimly. "There there now, marm. Don't get yore prickles in an uproar. Everything's shipshape. I didn't clap eyes on the villain who shot that arrer, but I'll stake me rudder I know who it is that did!"

Thrugg filled the basket with the fruit that had spilled out, adding the apple. Placing a paw gingerly about Mrs. Spinney's bristling shoulders, he led her off toward the Abbey, carrying the basket for her.