170.

Crabeyes unslung his bow. "Shall I get the archers firm'. Master?"

"Addlebrain!" The a.s.sa.s.sin pushed him aside scornfully. "They can't see anything to fire at. We'd be killing our own. Tell them to light more torches. Climb up there with 'em, and see if you can't fire some arrows from close range into those slits they're pushing the poles out of."

Sapwood clad himself in old rags and climbed out on lo the mountain face. The bold hare moved about freely in his disguise. A weasel carrying a torch and shaking a pike climbed level with him. The Sergeant dispatched him with a swinging left-paw uppercut, the weasel's lifeless body bouncing like a broken doll as it hit the ledges on its way down. Another weasel raised his spear at Sapwood as he balanced precariously.

"Hoi! You're not one of u-Aaaarrgghhhh!" The boxing hare merely banged his paws down on the weasel's footpaws and the unfortunate spear-carrier danced painfully on empty s.p.a.ce for a second before plunging sh.o.r.eward. Sapwood spat on his paws and went in search of others.

On the sh.o.r.eward rim of the crater, Urthstripe and Oxeye were tipping the barrel of forge oil over a heap of large boulders. When the barrel was empty the badger Lord kicked away the wedge holding the boulders back. With a loud rumble they bounced off down the mountainside, and Urthstripe flung the empty barrel after them with a wild laugh.

Climbing nimbly, Klitch was almost halfway up the mountain.

A ferret named Frang grabbed his paw. "Sir, what's that noise?"

"Noise?" Klitch pushed him savagely away. "It's the sound of battle, you fool. Keep climbing!"

Farther up, a rat gave a half-scream as the first of the boulders ground him flat, the flames from his torch setting him ablaze as he rumbled downward. Now the boulders were smashing into the topmost attackers, killing them instantly and 171.

igniting into huge fireb.a.l.l.s as they touched the blazing torches which they had carried on Ferahgo's orders.

Crabeyes and the troops who had just started their climb came dashing back down.

"Master, get out of the way!" the Captain yelled as he pa.s.sed Ferahgo.

Ferahgo took one backward glance at the mountain as he fled. The front face of Salamandastron was lit up bright as day, and rocks roared with the wind fanning their flames as the blazing boulders cracked and burst, sending death and devastation widespread among the shrieking horde of the a.s.sa.s.sin. Above it all could be heard the booming laughter and exultant warshout of Urthstripe, Lord of Salamandastron.

"Hahahaha! Eulaliaaaaaa!"

Farran the Poisoner slid noiselessly over the far topside of the crater. Without pause he made his way down and into the corridors of the mountain fortress. The first door he came to he opened silently, and he looked inside. Nothing there. Shut-ting the door, he turned around to find himself face-to-face with Windpaw. The female hare was hurrying up toward the crater top with a supply of oil-soaked arrows. Swifter than her eye could follow, Farran flicked out a dagger made from greenhart wood and thrust the poisoned tip into the side of her neck. Windpaw did not even have a chance to call for help. She died instantly, her face in an agonized grimace. Moving like a flickering lamp shadow, Farran slid effortlessly down the pa.s.sage, checking a cave here, opening a chamber there, until he found what he wanted. The water barrels were arranged along one wall, ten huge oaken tun vats. The black fox sighed almost lovingly as he lifted the lid of one and took a sip. Cool and sweet, rainwater and clear springwater mixed-it was perfect, but not for long.

Carefully uncorking a green gla.s.s vial, the Poisoner went about his deadly work, dividing the contents of the vial evenly between the ten barrels. It was the work of a moment, then he was gone.

Slipping off down the corridor, he descended a rough-hewn 172.

flight of rock stairs to the lower level. Farran spent considerable time checking the rooms on this level; they were all armory chambers. The pale eyes showed no emotion, but he knew that he was wasting valuable time. Down the next flight of stairs he went in his search for the foodstore. Unfortunately, every room he went into was a dormitory. Taking a long spiral stairway, he found himself in the dining room. Farran knew then that the foodstore would be somewhere close by, near to the kitchens.

It was quiet inside at the base level of Salamandastron; the rock walls shut off all noise from the outside. The Poisoner padded softly about until he found the kitchen entrance. His amber eyes flickered slightly at the sight of the food laid out there for the next morning's breakfast. Ferahgo had never fed his army this well.

Washing his paws meticulously, the black fox seated himself and ate his fill. Oatcakes, warm and fresh from the ovens-he spread them with comb honey and chewed them with relish, washing them down with gulps of old golden cider; summer vegetable pasties and beechnut crumble, crusty brown bread with mountain cheese-the black fox sampled each one in turn. When he had finished, Farran wiped his lips daintily on a napkin and set about poisoning it all.

Having finished in the kitchen, he sought out the storeroom that led off it. Sacks of flour, vegetable racks, apple boxes, salad bins, nut containers-nothing escaped the deadly potions of Farran the Poisoner. A scattering of powder here, a few drops of liquid there... it was accomplished with his evil, but natural skill.

21.

Midmorning was cloudy, but promising to clear up later. Thrugg and Dumble had been wakened by the dawn drizzle. The otter sat the little dormouse in the top of the haversack and covered his head with the flap. Shouldering the lot, he strode off northward.

' 'Better on the move than sittin' round gettin' a wet bottom, eh, matey. Come on, give ol' Thrugg a song t' keep his paws goin'."

Anybeast on the road at that time would have marveled at the sight of the big otter stepping out with a singing haversack strapped to his back. Dumble sang his dormouse song.

"There's no roof mouse, nor chimbley mouse, No winder mouse or floor mouse, An' I ain't gotta nokker on me nose, but I'm a likkle dormouse. There's a fieldmouse anna 'arvest mouse, An 'edgemouse an' prob'ly a sh.o.r.emouse, But I'm the bestest of the lot, 'Cos I'm a likkle dormouse. Ohahaha an' heeheehee, Yes I'm a likkle dormouse.

173.

174 So I'll eat me dinner an' grow big, An' then I'll be enor-mouse!"

"Ahoy, up there, don't yer know no songs about otters, matey?"

By noon the weather had cleared. White clouds scudded across a sunny blue sky on the light breeze. Dumble was freed from the haversack. He skipped along at Thrugg's side, enjoying the freedom of the open road. The otter slowed down, placing a restraining paw on his small friend.

"Whoa there, shipmate. What's that sittin' in the road up ahead?''

The shapeless ma.s.s lying on the path some distance ahead started moving awkwardly to one side, making for the thinning forest on the right. Dumble skipped round Thrugg and began racing toward the object.

"Dumble, come back 'ere, you liddle thick 'ead!" Thrugg roared out as the infant dashed toward the thing.

But Dumble had a good head start and plunged onward, ignoring his friend's shouts. Thrugg stamped his paws down hard several times; but then, deciding it was useless, he gave chase.

It was a falcon, a season fledged and of no great size. The bird flopped about with its right wing hanging awkwardly as it struggled to seek shelter in the thinning woodlands at the path's east side. Dumble cut off its escape and squatted in front of it, holding out a friendly paw.

"Aaahhh, poor birdie, is your wing 'urted?"

The falcon halted, its fierce golden eyes distending as it hissed a warning through its dangerous hooked beak: "Kaarrhzz! Stan' oot o' mah way, bairn, or I'll mak' dead meat o' ye."

The little dormouse chuckled and tossed a piece of candied chestnut in front of the savage creature. "Dumble won't 'urt you. 'Ave some food. It's nice ..."

The bird hopped to the nut and devoured it hungrily. Thrugg arrived just then. He decided Dumble and the falcon 175.

were too close to each other for him to intervene. Holding his breath anxiously, the otter stood to one side. The bird c.o.c.ked its head and squinted at him through one eye.

"Hauld yer wheesht, riverdog! Hey, canna this wee bairn no onnerstand me? Does he not know he's in peril? Ah'm no a sparrow, ye ken. Ah'm a falcon!"

When Thrugg had got the meaning of the bird's high north-land accent he replied, "Qh, I can see you're a falcon all right, matey. Lookit me, I'm an otter. An' I hopes you don't mean my liddle pal any harm, 'cos I'd hate to 'ave ter slay you with this 'ere sling!" The big otter twirled his loaded sling meaningfully.

Dumble held out his paw, offering the falcon more bits of candied chestnut. The bird ate them gently, keeping a wary eye on Thrugg and talking conversationally.

"Aye, Ah catch yer drift. We're both warriors the noo. Ach! Ye've no need tae be feared for the wee yin, Ah could-nae hurt a fly wi' mah wing breaked an' hurtin' like 'tis. Mind, though, Ah'm a falcon, not an eedjit, an' Ah'd no be slow in givin' a guid account of mahseF, even to a big bonnie laddie the like o' you!"

Thrugg unshouldered his pack and sat down, smiling good-naturedly. "Call it quits then, matey. You don't hurt us an' we won't hurt you. I'm Thrugg an' this is Dumble. We're from Redwall." He set out oatcake and cheese in three portions.

The falcon relaxed as all three set to eating lunch. "Ah'm beholden to yer for the guid food, Thrugg. Mah name is Ro-cangus, only son o' Mactalon, Laird O' the High Crags. Och aye, mah home is in the great northern mountains, a braw place tae live. Ah was lost an' driven by the wind some days ago, and had tae land in yon woods, ye ken. 'Twas there the crows set upon me. Ach! They're a sair lot o' cowards. Ten o' them it took tae bring me down. That's how mah wing was breakit."

Thrugg took a careful look at the wing. Rocangus stood still, bravely bearing up under the otter's searching paw. "You're got a fractured bone there, shipmate. Still, I don't 176.

suppose one more pa.s.senger will break me old back. Come along with us. We're bound for the mountains of the north in search of the Flowers of lector."

Rocangus looked incredulously at him. "Ach, ye mean Ah'm stuck wi' two landbound dunderheads lookin' for the Flowers of lector an' Ah cannae fly?"

Dumble stroked the falcon's back. "Come wiv us, 'Ocan-gus. Mista Thugg is a good carrier, y'know."

Thrugg searched out bindweed, motherwort and pine resin. He made a compound and bound the injured wing, using a willow twig and wild rhubarb fibers to secure the dressing.

"There, that'll do the trick! Once that pine resin sets firm, the wort 'n' weed will do their work. Don't try to move that there wing, mate. The more you keep it still the quicker it'll heal up. Now, young Rocangus, you can be our navigator. Which way is it to the north mountains?"

The young falcon held the wing stiffly at his side as he pointed into the woodlands to the northeast. "Yonder, though Ah'm no certain sure. 'Tis different when a bird's no up in the sky, ye ken. Still, dinna fash yersel'. We'll get there all right."

Dumble refused to ride in the haversack. He trotted along at Thrugg's side. Despite his pleas, Rocangus was made to perch on top of the haversack on Thrugg's back. Latching his powerful talons into the straps, he hung on gamely.

"If mah faither could see me now he'd kick mah tailfeath-ers. Intae the woods wi* ye, Thrugg, ya great bonnie river-dog!"

The curious-looking trio struck northeast into the far tip of the Mossflower woodlands.

The trees were beginning to thin out into flat bush-strewn country, and by midafternoon they had covered a fair distance. Dumble found ripe blackberries and a tree thick with small soft pears, so they stocked up on both. Thrugg rested awhile, watching both the young creatures feeding each other the choicest berries; their faces, both whisker and beak, were heavily stained with the purple juice.

111.

The otter hefted the pack up onto his back, calling to Rocangus, "Up on yore perch, matey. There's plenty o' daylight left yet."

The falcon nodded toward a thick grove of pine and spruce ahead. "Keep your wits aboot ye, Thrugg. That's crow territory!"

The afternoon was hot and still. Thrugg cast a glance at the grove. Placing Dumble on his left side, he slipped loose his sling, testing the thongs as he loaded a flat pebble into it. There was no sign of crows circling in the air above the trees, but the trio took no chances. They traveled cautiously, keeping hidden among the low brush, fern clumps and any cover the land could afford. Giving the pine grove a wide berth, they went in a curving line, moving at a moderate pace, not too slowly or too quickly, knowing the crows would be down upon them if they betrayed their presence by unnecessary noise. Even Dumble was aware of their precarious position. Every now and then he would give his friends a wink and hold a paw up to his lips as they trekked along in silence.

Everything went well, until the little dormouse stepped on a thistle.

"Wowhoo! I stood onna fissle, Mista Thrugg. Ouch!"

The pine- and sprucetops rustled, loud cawing cut the still air, and ragged black shapes came flapping out of the grove.

Rocangus gave a shrill cry. "Ach! It's crows. We're for it, laddies!"

The sandy bed of a dried stream formed a depression in the land ahead of them. Thrugg grabbed Dumble by his smock and made a dash for it. The running otter was soon spotted by the crows. Winging swiftly, they came after him as he ran heavy-laden for the streambed. Calling harshly to each other, the crows zoomed down at Thrugg's back. Rocangus dealt the first one a savage rip with his curved beak as it tried to latch its claws into the back of Thrugg's neck. Whisker over tail, the otter threw himself into the shallow bottom. Throwing off the haversack, he brained a low-flying crow with his loaded sling. Loosing off he stone, he watched another crow fall cra-zily amid a jumble of tailfeathers as the pebble struck it.

178.

Thrugg's fighting blood was up now. Standing tall, he whirled the sling, roaring out the Abbey warcry: "Redwaaaaill! Come on, you lousy-feathered fleabags. I'm Thrugg, the Warrior of the Waterways! Redwaaaaalllll!"

Little Dumble tugged the thistle from his footpad, seized a long stick which lay nearby and stood alongside the haversack where Rocangus was perched, ready with beak and talon. Together they sang out their battle calls.

"I'm Dumble from Reedddwwaaaaallll!"

"Ah'm Rocangus, son o' the great Laird Mactalon! Kreee-gaaarr!"

Two crows landed and came hopskipping fiercely toward Dumble, their vicious beaks like dirty yellow daggers. Dumble thwacked out hard, cracking the spindly legs of the first one. Rocangus bowled the other one over, tearing madly at it with his hooked beak. Thrugg took several sharp pecks in his back. Laying one crow senseless with a hefty smack of his rudder-like tail, he whirled about, kicking one high in a cloud of black feathers as he thudded the loaded sling into the chest of another. Rocangus was scrabbling in the sand against three more crows, ripping with his talons and stabbing with his beak. He did not see the crow that pecked Dumble's paw. The little dormouse squeaked with pain and dropped his stick. Immediately two huge crows seized him and began bearing him aloft. He hovered in the air, shrieking.

"Mista Thuuuuuggg!"

With a bellow of rage, the brawny otter grabbed the haversack by its straps. Swinging it round, he threw the laden pack and smashed the two crows out of the air.

Dumble fell, did a tumble and s.n.a.t.c.hed up his stick. Falling on the two crows, he beat them mercilessly, pounding beaks, tails, legs and wings furiously. "Ya nasty ol' crones, takin' Dumble up inna sky!"

The three friends fought so fiercely that they drove off the crows. The birds cawed angrily, perching on low bushes and performing a curious hopskip dance on the ground as they chanted, "Krak krak, yah yah, killa beast, eata mouse, killa 'ookbeak!"

179.

From the slight cover of the streambed Rocangus stood with Thrugg and Dumble, watching the performance.

"Have ye ever seen sich a bunch o' cowards?" The falcon clacked his beak contemptuously. "If man wing was better Ah'd go o'er there an' send 'em weepin' tae their mammies!"

Thrugg wrapped a hasty dressing round Dumble's pecked paw. "They'll be back, mate. You can bet on it. They're just gettin' their nerve up agin. Look, there's more o' the villains comin' out o' the pines."

Dumble brandished his stick in a warlike manner. "Let them come, Mista Thugg. Dumble'll smack thejr bottoms wiv this big stick!"

Rocangus set his beak in a grim line. "Ah've nae doubt ye will, laddie, but they crows can come doon like leaves in autumn wind. Yon's only a few of 'em!"

"Stand by, mates. Here they come agin!"

"Aye, an' there's more o' the blaggards circlin' in from behind!"

"Come on, crones. Dumble's ready. RedwaaaaalllH!"

Skimming low over the gra.s.s, the crows came winging in to the attack. Thrugg blinded the first four with double pawfuls of dry sand. A crow was about to land on top of his head with beak open ready to bite, when Dumble thrust the stick straight down its throat. Four crows flung themselves upon Rocangus; all that could be seen was an explosion of black feathers mottled with the brown ones of the falcon as they fought with mad savagery. Two more landed and attacked Thrugg from behind. Again his ruddered tail came into heavy action, breaking the neck of one bird. The other shot backwards, stunned by a kick from his backpaw. Dumble's stick broke across an enemy head. He s.n.a.t.c.hed up both halves and went at the landing crows like a miniature thunderstorm. The crows were beginning to win by sheer weight of numbers. They swooped in and landed in gangs upon the three friends until none of them could be seen under the ma.s.s of black feathers, beaks and scratching claws. Dumble screamed in 180.

pain as a beak pecked him hard between his ears.

Suddenly Thrugg could stand it no more. The sound of the infant dormouse being tormented by the crows drove him into a towering rage. Kicking, b.u.t.ting and punching birds, he arose from the tangle with blood dripping from his bared teeth. Fighting his way across the dry streambed, he grabbed hold of Dumble and Rocangus. Standing in front of them, he hefted the laden haversack in both paws and began swinging it like some terrible engine of destruction. Crows exploded into the air, wing over beak over tail over tip. Dark feathers showered the air, together with beak fragments and broken claws. The haversack was a thudding, banging, swishing blur of destruction as Thrugg's head went back and his mouth opened like a scarlet cavern.

"RedwaaaaaaaaallUll!!"

The crows fled, some hopping, others flapping as they fought each other to get away from Thrugg's mighty retaliation.

As late afternoon faded into evening, the three companions sat tending to each other's wounds.

Thrugg winced as Rocangus dug a beak fragment from his back. "Ouch! Go easy there, you feathered fiend!"

"Hah, stop grievin', planktail. Ye'll live. Haud still while Ah get this crowclaw out o' yer thick heid."

Baby Dumble was counting his war wounds. "Two, free, six, nine, twennyfifteen. Wow, that's a lot!"

"Aye, an' that's a lot out there, matey. Look!"

They followed the direction of Thrugg's pointing paw. Halfway between the pinegrove and the streambed the land was black with crows. They crowded together b'ke beetles in a cellar.

Thrugg sat down with his back against the sun-dried bank. "n.o.beast could fight off that many, Rocangus. We're done for."

The falcon preened his tattered breastfeathers. "Aye, but by the crag we'll go oot a-fightin'!"

Dumble searched in the sand of the streambed. "I wanna Soiamandostron 181.