The infant chortled. '""The heagle says to feed me plumcake so I'll grow all bigga an' strong, wiv cream too."

Tudd Spinney and Droony, his new cellar apprentice, rolled out a keg of elderberry wine.

Foremole removed the head from the keg and bowed graciously. "Yurr, zurr, heagle, dip'n 'ee beak into this woin, hurr hurr!"

Thrugg strode down through the foothills, accompanied by Rocangus. Tammbeak and two other able-looking falcons circled overhead as they began the trek back to Redwall. The Laird Mactalon stood waving goodbye with both wings.

"Mind how ye go, lads. Rocangus, ye young rip, watch yer manners an' be civil tae other beasties. Guid luck walk with ye, Sir Thrugg. Yer a braw riverdog an' Ah'm proud tae call ye fren'."

"Och, man faither's no' a bad auld stick," Rocangus whispered to Thrugg. "Just o'er fussy."

Thrugg chuckled as he swung his sling. "Listen, matey, d'you think by chance we could drop in on them crows an' whack the features off 'em? Make the journey back to Red-wall a bit more interestin', eh?"

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Rocangus flexed his good wing. "Ach, yer a wicked riv-erdog, Thrugg, but et's a braw idea!"

The two logboats were about to be lowered from the cliffs in the early dawn when a scream from the rock ledge below cut the still summer air.

"Eeeeyaaahhh! It's the Deepcoiler!"

Log-a-log's face was ashen. "That's Nordo down on the ledge!"

Urthwyte and Loambudd tore into action. Shoving Mara and Pikkle aside, they grabbed the lowering ropes and scrambled down to the ledge, Mara and Log-a-log following them as soon as the ropes were clear.

Like some grotesquely twisted tree trunk, the reptile lay half in and half out of the water, its tail trailing off into the take depths and its monstrous head laid flat on the rock ledge.

"Stay clear! It'll kill you all!" Ashnin yelled down after them.

Mara ventured forward cautiously, staring into the wide-open eyes that were glazed over with a milky film.' 'It's dead!''

Pikkle stood pressed against the rock face with Nordo. "Dead? I wonder what killed the dreadful old blighter?"

Mara moved around the lifeless head until she could touch the cold steel that stood out from the center of the skull. "This is what slew the Deepcoiler. Urthwyte, Loambudd, lend a paw here-we'll get the head on its side and open the mouth."

Between the three of them the badgers managed to push the wet scaly head on its side. It was a repulsive dead weight, and foul-smelling water gushed from the mouth as they prised it open. Urthwyte propped the jaws apart with his club as Mara reached in with both paws. She began tugging. The steel that protruded from the skull waggled back and forth. Loambudd struck the pointed steel with a rock, driving it downward as Mara pulled and tugged with both paws, setting her foot-paws against the sides of the fearsome rows of teeth framing the mouth. Finally the object came loose and the badger maid fell backwards onto the rock ledge with a beautiful sword in her paws.

Safamandastran 293.

A cry of wonder went up from the shrews crowding the clifftop. Loambudd inspected the head, speculating as Mara washed the fabulous weapon in the lake, "Somebeast stabbed it in the roof of its mouth. The thing must have swum off then and tried to close its jaws. The brain was pierced, because as it forced its mouth shut it drove the sword right up through its head, killing itself. The storm must have washed it up here last night sometime."

Mara held the sword aloft. It glittered and shone in the sunlight, completely undamaged and sharp as any razor's edge. "What do you think, Loambudd? It's too small for a badger, but slightly too large for a shrew to wield. But what a weapon!"

The older badger inspected it. "The beast who carried this must have been a famous warrior. This sword was made by badger skill-I know, I have heard of weapons like this-and nothing can turn or damage the blade."

Pikkle plucked a hair from his tail and split it across the blade. He gave a whistle of amazement. "Well, chaps, I think we should all be grateful to the warrior who slew this horror. Now the lake is safe to sail on!"

The Guosssom raised a mighty cheer and began preparing for the voyage. Urthwyte scaled the cliff and lowered both boats down to the ledge, then supplies were packed on board the vessels. With light hearts the Guosssom took up their paddles. The boats were riding low in the water because of their extra pa.s.sengers, but two more badgers added considerably to the paddle power as they shot out across the wide lake.

"From lake to the river and down to the sea, Paddling, paddling, onward go we. The sun on the water does shine merrily As away go the logboats like birds wild and free. So paddle, my brother, I'll sit next to you, A fine handsome creature, a bold Guosssom shrew. High sky and deep water are both colored blue. Our boats like our friends are all solid and true."

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The weather stayed fine, and they pushed onward until the island was a mere dot on the horizon behind them. Log-a-log noted the position of the sun and set a further course. Mara could not help noticing the admiring glances everybeast cast at her sword; as she paddled, it lay beside her, sparkling in the sunlight, its beautiful red pommel stone shining above the black bound hilt with its flaring silver crosstrees, the mirrored steel of the blade clear ice-blue, deep blood-channeled, and keenly double-edged down to the awesomely dangerous tip. It was a true warrior's weapon with no unnecessary fancy bits and no sign of weakness in its design; the swordmaker had forged and tempered it with one thing in mind; a stout blade that would serve its owner well in battle. She stared at it hard until a dizziness came over her. Shaking her head, the young badger maid blinked and rubbed her eyes as she glanced out over the lake, then back to the sword. She gave a start. Pikkle noticed her strange behavior.

"What ho, old gel. Are you all right?"

Mara picked up the sword. Bringing it close to her face, she peered at the blade until her breath misted it. "Can you see anything in this blade, Pikkle?"

The young hare took a look and shook his head. "No, not a bally thing. Why d'you ask?"

"I saw the face of a mouse looking at me from the blade, a warrior mouse, fiercer than any fighting badger." Mara kept her voice low so that only he could hear.

Pikkle let one ear droop comically. "You didn't eat any strange fruit or plants on that island, did you? I remember one time I scoffed an old preserved damson I was sick as a frog for a day, and you wouldn't believe the things I saw when I tried shuttin' me eyes ..."

Mara jabbed him with the end of her paddle. "Don't talk silly, it was nothing like that. I tell you, I'd swear I saw this warrior mouse looking straight at me from the blade of that sword!"

Log-a-log had overheard Mara. He offered an explanation. "What you saw was probably the face of the shrew sitting behind you; the blade was lying at an angle where it caught his reflection and distorted it, what with the sunlight and the movement of the boat. It couldn't be anything else, Mara, believe me."

Mara thought about it for a moment then nodded. "Aye, you're probably right, Log-a-log."

As she resumed paddling she glanced back at the shrew behind her. He was an old Guosssom member with a thin face, one good eye and a flowing gray beard-nothing remotely like the fierce hot-eyed warrior she had seen reflected in the mirrored blade.

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 boat-no sense in putting two craft in danger. Right, Guosssom, no paddle-splashers now-nice 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 296.

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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 here-somebeast 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!"

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

"Forbun, how are the twins-still 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 hares-the 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 mood-he's dangerous!"

The young hare did as she was bidden, bobbing a curtsy to the badger Lord as she pa.s.sed 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 Sh.o.r.ebuck, and now Sapwood and Oxeye. It has 298.

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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!"

"Oh, what did we start ta.lkin' about scoff for?" Lingfur nibbled the soft wooden stalk that his apple had hung from the tree on. "It only makes you even worse hungry than you are now!"

Suddenly a battered and sandswept figure hauled itself 300.

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wearily over the crater top. It was none other than Big Oxeye, alive and well.

"Cheer up, young Ling. I never knew when you weren't bally well hungry, wot?" His familiar chuckle boomed out around the mountaintop. "Have some pears. They're a bit hard, but I don't suppose a young feedbag like you would care."

The three young hares gave a yell of horror at the ghastly apparition and fled down the crater steps as if a demon were chasing them.

Big Oxeye dropped the two woven reedbags he was carrying and looked down at his sand-crusted body. "Hmph! Suppose if I clapped eyes on me right now I'd be frightened out o' me wits!"

They gathered around the table in the dining hall as Oxeye related his marvelous escape.

"Hoho, you should've seen old Sap, floatin' off t' sea like he was born on the briny with not a care in the world. Next thing, here comes a bunch of those vermin yahoos, right nasty lot I can tell you. So I ups spear an' slays one or three, just t' let 'em know I mean business, doncha know. Blow me, there must've been more than a bally regiment of the stinkers. They stabbed an' whacked at me with cutla.s.ses an' whatnot. As for me, did m' best to give a beastlike account of a Long Patrol sc.r.a.pper, an' then I tripped and went under the water. D'you know, I could never swim until that moment, as true as I'm here, I tell you, chaps. I went under an' right off started swimmin' like a bloomin' fish underwater. Just kept goin', wot! On an' on I swam until I ran out of jolly old fresh air, so I came up an' there they were, far away, all arguin' an1 hackin' at each other like billyoh. So I took a good deep breath, dived an' swam some more-must've done that a dozen times until I got clear away from Ferahgo's lot. From there it was quite simple really, I just rolled meself in the dry sand to give me a coat of camouflage and hoofed it back here. Oh, I stopped off an' gathered a few supplies on the way back-thought you chaps might be gettin' a bit peckish. I say, where's His Nibs old Urthstripe?"

Bart Thistledown pointed a paw upward. "Probably in the forge room beatin' some poor chunk of metal to a powder. He's got one of his rages boilin' up. You'd best go an' report that you're alive, Ox."

Oxeye popped his head round the doorway of the forge room and called out in a loud voice, "Big Oxeye, sah! Reportin' for duty, sah! All present an' correct an' quite alive, contrary to popular rumor, sah!"

The forge was cold and the room deserted. Oxeye wandered about until he noticed one of the window apertures had been unblocked. The big hare sighed with despair at the sight that greeted his eyes as he looked out of the window.

Fully clad in badger war armor, Urthstripe was pounding over the sh.o.r.e towards Ferahgo's encampment. Brandishing his giant battle spear aloft, the badger Lord of Salamandastron hurled out his challenge to the foe: "Come and meet me, Ferahgo-you and your brat together. I will fight you in paw-to-paw combat or any way you choose! It ends here today, weasel. Come and meet death! I am Urthstripe the Strong, born in the dark of the moon! Lord of the mountain! Slayer of vermin! Eulaliaaaaaaa!"

Migroo had died beneath the spear of Big Oxeye, so the other prisoner guard, Feadle, was held responsible for the escape of the two captives. His lifeless body hung, bound to a stake, in front of the entire horde. Ferahgo put away his killing knife and took out his skinning knife as Urthstripe's roars reached his ears across the beach. Ignoring the weasel he had just slain, he sheathed the knife and issued hasty instructions.

"Crabeyes, station archers in the rocks around where we fight. Badtooth, get forty spearbeasts and be ready to strike whenever you see the badger's back. Klitch, come with me and do as I say!"