Log-a-Log and Gurgan went to investigate. Blodge had found a trickle of cold fresh water seeping out of the mound and flowing into the stream. She probed it with her stick until it became a tiny fountain, spurting from the hillside.

180.

Log-a-Log took a drink. "Good water, sweet'n'fresh, cold too. It must be comin' from some underground stream, runnin' fairly fast, by the look o' it."

Gurgan Spearback placed his long pole against the water. It sprayed out either side of the b.u.t.t. "Ah've ne'er seen ought like this," he said, shaking his great spiky head. "Stand aside there, I'll give it a good prod."

They stepped out of his way and he pounded the pole home into the hole with several powerful thrusts. Water squirted everywhere from the enlarged aperture, soaking them. A warning rumble from somewhere underground caused Log-a-Log to grab Blodge and leap back aboard the logboat, yelling, "Come away, Gurgan, mate! Quick!"

The rest of his warning was lost as the hill burst asunder with the awesome pressure of water building up inside it. Mingled with rocks, soil, pebbles, and sand, a mighty geyser of roaring water smashed sideways, demolishing the hillock and immediately swelling the stream to twice its size as it ate up the banks and the land close around.

Skillfully the Guosim oarbeasts rode the flood, turning their boats in midstream and beaching them on the farther side. Shouting and screaming, the young Waterhogs scrambled ash.o.r.e, away from the danger. Gurgan Spearback was picking himself up and trying to wade upstream, when he was clouted flat by a mud-covered ma.s.s, shot from underground like a cannonball. Blowing mud and water from nostrils and mouth, the st.u.r.dy Waterhog fought to get the weight off him; it was pinning him down in the shallows, threatening to drown him.

Log-a-Log and several shrews came rushing to his rescue and grappled with the great muddy object, managing to free Gurgan.

Waist deep in icy water, Log-a-Log wiped his eyes and gasped, "Are you all right, mate? Yore not bad injured, are ye?"

"Ho don't fuss now, I'll be all right when I cough up this mud, matey!"

Gurgan looked at Log-a-Log. "Who said that?"

Skipper of Otters staggered to the bank, grunting under the weight of a dead yellow eel whose coils were still wrapped tightly around his sodden frame. He collapsed on dry land.

i8z

"I said that! Well, don't stand there gettin' wet an' gog-glin', lend a paw t'get this slimy h'animal off me, mates!"

Log-a-Log was never one to panic. He took the situation in his stride. Relieving Skipper of Tammo's dirk, he began prising the stiff coils apart, talking to the otter in a matter-of-fact way.

"Ahoy, Skip, it's been a season or two since I clapped eyes on ye. So this is what yore wearin' these days, a serpent fish. What's the matter, ain't a tunic good enough for ye anymore?"

It was not often that the Abbey bells rang aloud once night had fallen, but Skipper's return proved the exception. Ginko the Bellringer swung on his bell ropes, sending out a joyous clangor across the land until his paws were numbed and reverberations hummed through both his ears.

The new arrivals were welcomed into Great Hall, while the heroic Skipper was carried shoulder high by the hares and his otter crew, down to Cavern Hole. He sat stoically as Sister Viola and Pellit cleaned, st.i.tched, and salved his wounds, answering the volley of questions, of which Tammo's was the first.

"Did you bring my dirk back, Skip? How was it?"

With some reluctance, the otter returned Tammo's weapon. "I tell you, matey, that piece o' steel saved my life. 'Tis a blade t'be proud of an' I'd give ten seasons o' me life to be the owner of such a fine thing!"

The young hare polished his dirk hilt proudly before restoring it to his shoulder belt.

Shad poured hot mint tea for his friend. "I'll wager that ole snakefish kept you busy, matey?"

Skipper held his head to one side as the Sister ministered to a muddied slash the eel's teeth had inflicted. "Aye, he did an' all. A real fighter that beast was, a shame I had t'slay it. The snakefish was lost an' 'ungry; 'twas only his nature t'seek prey. Yowch! Go easy, marm!"

Sister Viola placed an herbal compress on the wound. "I'm sorry. There, that's done! It was extremely brave of you to act as you did, sir. Little Sloey owes you her life. I don't often

183.

say this to fighting beasts, but it has been an honor to treat your injuries."

Captain Twayblade pounded the table enthusiastically. "Well said, marm, we can't afford to lose a beast as perilous as the Skipper. I propose y'make him an Honorary Member of the Long Patrol, eh, what d'ye say, Major?"

Amid the roars of approval, Abbess Tansy entered. Smiling through her tears, she clasped the otter's paw affectionately. "So, you old rogue, you came back to us!"

Skipper stood slowly, flexing his brawny limbs experimen- . tally. "Of course I did, Abbess, marm, an' I'll thank ye next time I'm gone that y'don't cancel the feast in me absence.

Beggin' yore pardon, but y'didn't finish all the 'otroot soup, did ye?"

Shaking with laughter, Rockjaw Grang strode off to the kitchens, saying over his shoulder, "Sithee, riverdog, sit ee there, I'll fetch ye the whole bloomin' pot if y've a mind to sup it!"

Gurgan Spearback peeped around the door of the spare dormitory where the young Waterhogs had been billeted. "Hoho! There they be, fed'n'washed an' snorin' respectfully. My thanks to thee, goodbeasts."

Mother Buscol shuffled out, carrying a lantern, followed by Craklyn, who was holding a paw to her lips. "Hush now, sir, we've just got the little 'uns to sleep."

Gurgan carried the lantern for them as they went downstairs. "They Abbey be full o' babes-Dibbuns, my Waterhogs, three liddle owls, even a badgerbabe. How came you by him?"

Craklyn kept firm hold of old Mother Buscol's paw as she negotiated the spiraling steps. "That's our little Russano, he's very special to us."

Log-a-Log interrupted them as they entered Great Hall. "Council o' War's to be held in Cavern Hole straight away!"

34.

Sneezewort and Lousewort, like the rest of the Rapscallion horde, were stunned by what they had witnessed. Both rats sat by their cooking fire in the late evening, discussing in hushed tones the terrible retribution Damug Warfang had inflicted on the ten runaway rebels whom Skaup and his hunters had brought back.

Sneezewort shuddered as he added twigs to the flames. "Good job you never went with 'em, mate. n.o.beast'll ever think o' crossin' the Firstblade after the way 'e dealt with Borumm an' Vendace an' the eight who was left!"

Lousewort gazed into the fire, nodding numbly. "Er, er, that's true. Though if I 'ad gone wid 'em I'd 'ave sooner been slain fightin' to escape than... Wot was that word Damug used?"

"Executed, mate, that was wot 'e said an* that was wot 'e did. Ugh! Imagine bein' slung inter the water like that, wid a great rock tied around yer neck, screamin' an' pleadin'!"

Lousewort ran a paw around his own neck and cringed at the thought. "It was cruel, 'ard an' merciless an', an' ... cruel!"

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:85.

Sneezewort moved closer to the fire and shrugged. "Aye, but that's 'ow a beast becomes Firstblade, by bein' a coldblooded killer. I was watchin' Damug's face-that'n was en-joyin' wot 'e did."

Damug Warfang was indeed enjoying himself. Everything seemed to be going his way. Not only had he brought the escapers to his own harsh justice, but his scouting expedition under the command of the weasel Gaduss had yielded a double result.

Rinkul the ferret, whom he had supposed long dead, was back with news of Redwall Abbey. Damug had never seen Redwall, though he had heard all about the place. What a prize it would be. From there he could truly rule. If all he had heard from Rinkul was true, then it would not be too difficult to conquer Redwall, seeing as the entire outer south wall looked like collapsing.

There was also the prisoner that Gaduss had brought in with him, an ancient male squirrel, but big and strong-one of those hermit types living alone in Mossflower.

Damug circled the cage that held the creature, idly clacking his swordblade against the seasoned wood bars. The squirrel lay on his side, all four paws bound, ignoring the Warlord, his eyes shut stubbornly.

Damug leaned close to the bars, his voice low and persuasive. "Food and freedom, two wonderful things, my friend, think about them. All you have to do is tell me what is the Abbey's strength, how many fighters, what sort of creatures. Tell me and you can walk free from here with a full stomach and a supply of food."

The reply was noncommittal: "Don't know, 'tis no use as-kin' me. I've never been inside the place. I live alone in the woodlands an' keep meself to meself!''

The swordblade slid through the bars, prodding the captive. "You saw what I did to those creatures earlier on. Keep lying to me and it could happen to you."

The old squirrel's eyes opened and glared scornfully at the Greatrat. "If you think that'd do ye any good yore a bigger fool than I took ye t'be. I've told you, I know nothin' about "Redwall!"

The swordblade thrust harder at the squirrel's back. "There i86

are ways of making you talk, far slower and more painful than drowning. Has that notion penetrated your thick skull?" "Huh! Then try 'em an' see how far it gets ye, vermin!" Damug knew his captive spoke the truth. The old squirrel would die out of pure spite and stubbornness rather than talk. Controlling his rising temper, the Firstblade withdrew his sword. "A tough nut, eh? Well, we'll see. After you've been lying there a day or two watching the cool fresh stream water flowing by and sniffing the food on our campfires, I'll come and have another word with you. Hunger and thirst are the greatest persuaders of all."

In a circle around a fire on the stream bank, the Rapmark Captains squatted, subdued by the memory of Damug's horrible executions, but eager to know more of the big Abbey whose wall was weakened to the point where it looked like falling. Rinkul sat with them, though he would not say anything until Damug allowed him to.

Damug Warfang strode into the firelight, flame and shadow adding to his barbarous appearance: red-painted features and glittering armor surmounted by a bra.s.s helmet that had a grinning skull fixed to its spike. Gathering his long swirling black cloak about him, he sat down, eyes flicking from side to side.

"Three days! Just three more days, then we march to take the greatest prize any Rapscallion ever dreamed of. The Abbey of Redwall!"

Beating their spearb.u.t.ts against the ground, the Rapmarks growled their approval, until a glance from the Firstblade silenced them.

"In three days' time every Rapscallion will be rested, well fed, fully armed, painted for war, and ready to do battle. You are my Rapmarks; this is your responsibility. If there is any more desertion or mutiny in this army, one soldier unfit or unwilling to fight and die for his Firstblade, then I will look to you. You saw what happened to Borumm and Vendace today; they were once officers too. Let me tell you, they got off lightly! Should I have to make any more examples you will all see what I mean! Remember, three days!"

Damug swept off to his tent, leaving behind a circle of Captains staring in silence at the ground.

187.

Mid-morning of the following day found the columns from Salamandastron marching under a high summer sun. Lance Corporal Ellbrig watched young Trowbaggs suspiciously. The youngster was actually skipping along, but still keeping in step with the rest, waggling his ears foolishly and twirling his sword. Ellbrig narrowed one eye as if singling out his quarry.

"That hare there, Trowbaggs, you lollopin' specimen, what d'you think you're up to?"

recruit chortled in a carefree manner, "G'mornin', Corp, good t'be jolly well alive, wot?"

Ellbrig scratched his chin in bewilderment. "I was always a bit doubtful about young Trowbaggs, but now I'm sure. He's gone doodle ally, completely mad!"

Deodar, who was marching alongside Trowbaggs, rea.s.sured the Corporal: "He's all right, Corp, it's just that he's learned to march properly and his footpaws aren't so sore anymore. Sort of got his second wind, haven't you, old lad?"

Trowbaggs gave his sword an extra twirl and sheathed it with a flourish. "Exactly! Y'make the old footpaws go left right, 'stead of right left. A good night's sleep, couple of lull-abies from the Sergeant, pinch some other chap's spoon an' fork:, scoff a bally good breakfast, an' heigh ho, I'm fit for anything at all, wot!"

Drill Sergeant Clubrush had caught up with Lance Corporal Ellbrig and had heard all that went on. "Very good, young sir, fit fer anythin' are we?" he said.

Trowbaggs leapt in the air, performed a pirouette, and carried on skipping. "Right you are, Sarge, brisk as a bee, bright as a b.u.t.ton, an' carefree as crabs on a rock, that's me!"

The Sergeant smiled and exchanged a wink with the Corporal. "Right then, we're lookin' for bushtailed buckoes like you. Fall out an' relieve some o' those ration pack an' cookin' gear carriers in the rear ranks. Look sharp now, young sah!"

The irrepressible Furgale stifled a giggle. "Poor old potty Trowbaggs. Serves him jolly well right for openin' his silly great mouth, I s'pose."

Sergeant Clubrush's voice grated close to Furgale's ear. "Wot's that, mister Furgale? Did I 'ear you sayin' you'd like 188.

t'join Trowbaggs? We're always lookin' for volunteers, y'know."

"Who me, Sarge? No, Sarge, I never said a blinkin' word Sarge!"

The Drill Sergeant smiled sweetly, an unusual sight. "That's the spirit, young sir, less o' the loosejaw an' more o' the footpaw, left right, left right, keep those shoulders squared!"

The columns did not break step until well into the afternoon. Halting to rest and take light refreshment, they sprawled gratefully on a high hilltop amid wide patches of scented heather. Lady Cregga Rose Eyes climbed onto a rock and surveyed the terrain ahead. Sighting two running figures, she summoned Clubrush.

"Runners coming back, Sergeant. We'll stop here until they report and rest. One of them's young Algador Swiftback, but I don't recognize the other, do you?"

Clubrush shielded his eyes and watched the Runners. "Aye, marm, 'tis one o' the Starbuck family. Reeve, I think."

Algador and Reeve put on an extra burst of speed for the last lap, running neck and neck uphill. The Sergeant dropped his ears flat in admiration.

"Look at 'em go, marm. Only Salamandastron hares can run like that. Ho fer the days o' youth an' t'be a Galloper again, eh!"

Dashing up with scarce a hairbreadth between them, the pair skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust, throwing up a joint salute.

"Found 'em, Lady Cregga, marm!"

"Rapscallion tracks, great ma.s.ses of 'em!"

Leaping down from the rock, the huge badger confronted them, her eyes turning from pink to red as the blood rose behind them. "Where did you see these vermin tracks?"

Trembling under the Warrior's glare and still breathless, Algador and Reeve continued with their report.

"Comin" up from the south an' east, marm!"

"When we cut their trail 'twas about four days old, but it was Rapscallions right enough, travelin' north, marm!"

Cregga's mighty paw gripped the axpike haft like a steel vise. "Where would be the best place to cut their trail short?"

Algador stuck a paw straight out, turned slowly a few de- T/ie Long Patrol 189.

grees to his right, and, narrowing both eyes, sighted on a location. "Right there, marm! If they're marchin' due north, the closest place we can cut trail would be between those two hills yonder."

Without waiting for anybeast, Cregga strode off downhill, headed for the distant spot. Sergeant Clubrush ruffled both the Runners' ears.

"Well done, you two. Rest here an' tell cooks to leave you food an' drink. Follow us when y'feels ready to go agin. Lance Corporal, get 'em up on their paws an' formed in mar-chin' order. Come on, you slack-pawed, famine-faced web-wallopers! Are you goin' t'sit around all day while yore good Lady Commander is off alone an' unprotected? Hup two three, last one in line's on a fizzer!"

Clubrush tugged Trowbaggs's ears as he pa.s.sed by. "Leave the carryin' to the carriers, Trowbaggs. Back up with the rest an' be'ave yoreself now."