Brian Jacques - Redwall #09 - Salamandastron

Morning gave way to noontide. They ate as they paddled, traveling on without any untoward event.

Urthwyte stood up carefully and stretched his cramped limbs, turning this way and that as he rolled the stiffness out of his thick leg muscles. Suddenly he pointed and cried out, "Over there, to the left, dark shapes in the water!"

Immediately the crews felt a chill of fear run through them. Was there more than one Deepcoiler? Perhaps the monster had a mate that was seeking vengeance for the slaying of its partner.

Log-a-log gave orders for them to ship paddles and be silent. The two logboats lay still and quiet on the waters, some of the Guosssom shrews even holding their breath with apprehension.

When Mara could stand the suspense no longer, she turned to Pikkle. "Come on, Ffolger. You've got good long-sight up on my shoulders and tell us what you can see."

Nordo and Log-a-log steadied Mara's footpaws as Pikkle climbed up and stretched his lanky frame. "Can't see much, you chaps. 'Fraid it's too far away. Paddle over to the left a bit, please, and maybe then it'll become clear."

Log-a-log gave the order. "Stay where you are in that other boatno sense in putting two craft in danger. Right, Guosssom, no paddle-splashers nownice and easy, long deep strokes, paddle over that way."

Still balanced on Mara's shoulders, Pikkle shaded both eyes with a paw, flopping his ears over to add to the shade. The

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shrews pulled well and strongly; not a spare drop of water fell from their paddle blades as the logboat glided smoothly over the lake, silent as a feather floating on the breeze. Mara stood still as the trunk of a tree as Pikkle narrowed his eyes and strove to make something of the dark shapes that shimmered in the sunlight on the surface. Suddenly his ears stood erect and he muttered out of the side of his mouth, "Log-a-log, old scout, you've got friends out heresomebeast is cal-lin' your name."

The shrew leader looked up. "Calling my name?"

"Oh yes indeed." Pikkle nodded. "Shall I tell you what they're saying?" He threw back his head and shouted, "Log-alogalogalog!"

Immediately Log-a-log swung into action, his deep shrew voice roaring out orders:

"It's Guosssom shrews. They need help! You shrews in the other boat, follow us! Bend your backs, dig those paddles deep and pull! Logalogalogaiog!"

The two logboats raced across the waters, paddles flashing as bow waves churned up and the vessels rocked from side to side, Pikkle leaped down and grabbed up his paddle to match Mara's stroke.

A cheer went up from the crews of the three logboats as Sam-kim climbed down from the shoulders of Alfoh and Arula.

The young mole patted Samkim's back furiously. "You'm a roight gudd shouter, Sanken. They'm 'card 'ee, hurr hurr. Lookit, they acomen. Wot think 'ee, Alfoh, zurr?"

Alfoh shook Samkim heartily by the paw. "Best Guosssom call I've ever heard in me whole life. We'll make a boatshrew of you yet, young squirrel!"

There was a moment's pause as the five logboats met on the wide lakewaters. Log-a-log stood in the prow of his boat, displaying the Blackstone strung about his neck. All the five crews bowed low in acknowledgment of the Log-a-log of all the Guosssom, then happy shouting broke out. "It's Alfoh's colony from the hillbank!"

"Hey, Nordo, you young rip, how's your paddle!"

"Cousin Dwing, you fat old rascal, give me your paw!"

"Bowleyhi, Bowley, are you still poisonin' the lads with your cookin'?"

"Forbun, how are the twinsstill growing?"

"I'll say they are, Tubgutt, and they're the image of your sister: fat and idle. Hahahaha!"

Backslapping and paw-shaking went on apace as the shrews were reunited with old friends from the Great South Stream. Samkim was lost for words; he could only stand and stare at the handsomely marked young female badger holding the sword of Martin the Warrior in her paws. Stepping over the side of the boat, he never once took his eyes from hers as he spoke.

"I am Samkim of Redwall Abbey."

"I am Mara of Salamandastron."

They stood staring at one another until Samkim found himself speaking again. This time the words sprang unbidden to his lips. He felt as though he was back in Redwall, standing before the tapestry picture. Images golden with motes of the dust of time floated through his mind like brown leaves drifting over an autumn evening meadow . .. Thrugg the otter dressed as a badger guardian at the Nameday feast... the big empty chair in Great Hall where once sat Abbey badgers. . .

"The sword you are holding belongs to Redwall Abbey. It was once the sword of Martin the Warrior, and it was his face you saw in the blade."

Samkim shivered and placed a paw across his mouth, not knowing why he had spoken such words. He felt slightly foolish as he looked into the badger's dark brown eyes. Mara was mystified but she did not question the young squirrel. A sense of calm and quiet happiness stole over her as she placed the beautiful sword into his paws.

' 'May your sword travel safely back to its Abbey, Samkim of Redwall."

37

Three gnarled apples and half a beaker of water stood on the long dining hall table in Salamandastron. Urthstripe sat in his chair like some brooding mountain spirit, and around the table were thirty-two haresthe full complement of the Long Patrols. Urthstripe's gaze roved about his fighters, finally settling on Pennybright.

"Take these apples and this water, Penny. A sip and an apple apiece for you and the two next youngest in the mountain."

Pennybright was about to object when Bart Thistledown nudged her forward, murmuring under his breath, "Do as your Lord says, Pen. Go on, don't question him when he's in this moodhe's dangerous!"

The young hare did as she was bidden, bobbing a curtsy to the badger Lord as she passed him.

The hares waited in silence until Urthstripe stood. His gruff voice was heavy and doom-laden as he spoke.

"Sergeant Sapwood and Big Oxeye are gone. I could not make out what way they were slain, but there were over a hundred vermin against them. No two hares were with me longer, or served Salamandastron more loyally. First Wind-paw and Shorebuck, and now Sapwood and Oxeye. It has

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come to this, my friends." His paw crashed down on the tabletop. "We are starved and surrounded by a vermin horde, trapped inside our own fortress!"

The booming echoes of the badger Lord's voice died away as he glared down at the tabletop, the dark eyes becoming blood-flecked with rage. His paws clenched and unclenched, and a fleck of foam appeared at the side of his jaw as he pounded the table with each thunderous word.

"My mountain held under siege by a blue-eyed weasel and his brat!"

The chair behind him clattered onto its side as he swept out of the dining hall.

In the shocked hush that followed, Bart Thistledown set the chair upright and commented lightly, "Well, I'm glad I'm not a blue-eyed weasel, chaps. Yes indeed!"

Pennybright shared the water and apples with Lingfur and Barfle on the crater top. They gulped the water down but ate the apples sparingly, making each bite count, chewing hungrily.

Lingfur finished his apple first. "I'm still hungry, Pen. Phwaw! What I wouldn't give for a big beaker of mountain-pear cordial and a plate of hot oat scones with honey to spread thick on 'em!"

Barfle chewed away at the core and apple pips. "Greensap milk I'd like, with hot oatmeal and a whole blackcurrant pie, all to myself."

Penny closed her eyes longingly. "D'you remember those little cheese and onion pasties that Windpaw used to bake? I'd love to have one of those right now, with a flagon of new cold cider mat'd been cooling in the bottom caves for two days, all sparkly and light gold!"