Tammo flushed to his eartips and gave a smart salute. "Midge'11 be here soon, sah, our mission was successful. Da-mug Warfang is headed this way with the Rapscallion army. Sorry to report that we lost Rockjaw Grang..." Tammo's voice broke for a moment. "He... he gave his life so we could escape. Brought a squirrel with us, name o' Fourdun; he was a prisoner, y'see. I cut your trail 'twixt here, south o' Redwall, and we've been runnin' like madbeasts all night t'get here. Sah!"

The Major turned aside and, taking out a spotted kerchief, he wiped his eyes. After a moment he faced Tammo again, his face pale. "Big Rockjaw Grang, eh? A good an' perilous 287 hare. By my blood an' blade, we'll make the vermin pay heavily for him! Go an' get y'vittles, Tamm, you look quite done in. I'll get the fine details from Midge. Thank ye, y'may dismiss."

Bluggach, the big stoat Rapmark, made his way to the head of the marching Rapscallions, pointing as he came level with Damug Warfang.

"See, Firstblade, fires burnin' on that ridge in the distance!"

The Greatrat kept his gaze locked on the trio of smoke columns rising against the distant sky. "I saw them a while back. Send Henbit to me."

Henbit was a wily-looking Rapmark officer. He appeared at Damug's side with scarcely a sound. "Mightiness, you wanted to see me?"

"Aye, listen now. Take a score of trackers, good ones who are able to hide and run silent. Get over to that ridge, look for a rock like an otter's tail, and see how many are waiting for us there. Then check the valley, it should have a rift running along the far side of it. Take care that you are not seen. Go!"

Damug was confident that he could win. Who else could put an army of a thousand in the field? Where in all the country east of Salamandastron was any serious force of fighters to be found? As he strode at the head of his powerful force, Damug planned ahead.

He had learned the lesson of overconfidence from his father, Gormad Tunn, when they attacked Salamandastron with disastrous results. Though this battle would be different and his opponents fewer, that was no reason not to take precautions. He would split the army into two groups, sending them into the valley from both ends in a pincer movement. This would catch any of his enemy who were lying in wait on the valley floor and prevent the Rapscallions being outflanked.

Those Redwallers had a harsh lesson in death coming to them. Redwall-when the Abbey was his he would change its name. Fort Damug! That had a good sound to it. His name would live forever when the place was mentioned in far seasons to come. Fort Damug. Tales would be told of how he 288.

defeated the foe on open ground and took the Abbey without disturbing a stone.

A keen-eyed squirrel, one of the friends from Mossflower Wood, stood erect on top of the standing rock. Shading both eyes with a paw, he scanned all 'round. The way in which he halted, tail erect and head thrust forward, told Lieutenant Mono that he had spotted something.

Mono hailed him. "What ho there, Lookout, any sign o' movement?"

Holding his position, the squirrel called back, "Dust cloud comin' out o' the southeast, too faint yet t'see much!"

Morio's long face lit up momentarily. "Keep your eye on it, bucko, looks like our visitors are on their flippin' way. Report if you note any change!"

The big pine trunk had become a kind of social gathering place; hares, mice, hedgehogs, shrews, moles, and squirrels grouped about it when they were off duty. Perigord sat scratching his initials into the wood as he listened to Morio's report.

"That sounds like the blighters right enough. When d'you think we can expect them to arrive?"

"Can't say, sah, have t'wait on the Lookout's report."

The Major winked at his waiting warriors. "Well, whenever it is, we'll give the blackguards a warm welcome, eh?"

Ribald comments greeted this statement.

"Aye, we'll feed 'em a nice 'ot supper o' cold steel!"

"Haharr, we'll rap their scallions for 'em!"

"Give the villains rock cakes served wirh spearpoints!"

Perigord looked down to the (hick end of the trunk. Several creatures were throwing weapons at a shriveled leaf, which they had pinned to the trunk. A selection of axes, knives, and javelins quivered from the wood all 'round the leaf.

A shrew called Spykel held up a ribbon of crimson silk. "First to pin the leaf dead center wins this!"

Log-a-Log balanced his rapier and threw it like a javelin.

"A hit! The Guosim Chief's. .h.i.t it!"

Gurgan Spearback inspected the leaf. "Nay, 'tis not dead center, a touch left, I'd say. Stand away now, yon ribbon'd look fetchin' in my wife, Rufftip's, spikes!"

Gurgan stood on the ten-pace mark. Closing one eye, he

289.

licked the blade of his ax, sighted, and flung it spinning. It struck the leaf, slicing it neatly in half through its middle. Gurgan pulled his ax loose and wound the ribbon on to his paw. "See, that's how a Water'og learns to cast his blade!"

Midge Manycoats stopped Gurgan strolling off with the prize. "If a chap could send his blade spot into the cut your ax made, would you give him that nice fancy ribbon, old feller?"

Gurgan chuckled so that his oversized boots quaked. "Ho-hoho! Hearken to this 'un! 'Taint possible, master 'are! No-beast can cast a blade good as that in one throw!"

Midge winked at Tammo, who was standing nearby with Pasque. "Show the Waterhog how our patrol chuck a blade, Tamm, go on!"

The young hare blinked modestly. "Oh, really, Midge, I don't go in for showin' off."

From his perch on the trunk, Perigord interrupted. "Go to it, Tamm, win the ribbon for young Pasque!"

Three paces farther out than the mark, Tammo drew his dirk. "Oh, well, if you say so, sah ..."

The weapon shot from Tammo's paw like chain lightning. It hissed through the air and thudded deep into the center of the split made by Gurgan's ax. A roar went up from the onlookers.

Bewildered, the Waterhog Chieftain inspected the throw. "Lackaday, I never seen a beast sling steel like that, young sir! What manner o' creature taught thee such a skill?"

Tammo grunted as he used both paws to tug the dirk free. "One called Russa Nodrey, a far finer warrior than I'll ever hope t'be. Keep your ribbon, Gurgan, 'twas you split the leaf."

But the Waterhog would not hear of it. He draped the crimson silken ribbon on Tammo's paw and bowed formally. "Nay, I'd like t'see thee give it to thy pretty friend!"

Tammo felt his ears turn bright pink as he draped the silk about Pasque Valerian's neck. Everybeast cheered him, and Perigord shook him warmly by the paw.

"Your mother'd be rather proud if she could see you now, Tamm!"

51.

Furgale and Atgador Swiftback had been out scouting the land ahead of the Salamandastron contingent. They returned at mid-noon and made their report to Lady Cregga and Sergeant Clu-brush.

"I'm afraid we haven't sighted the ridge you described, marm. It must be further than you estimated."

The badger leaned on her fearsome axpike. "No matter, 'tis there somewhere, I know it is. Did you sight vermin or anything else of interest?''

"Well, m'lady, about two hours ahead there's a dip in the land, sort of forming itself into a windin' ravine. It goes north and slightly west..."

Cregga exchanged a knowing glance with the Sergeant. "Good work! We'll camp there tonight and follow the course of this ravine you speak of. That way we won't betray our presence; 'twill keep us well hidden as we march."

Drill Sergeant Clubrush winked at the two recruits. "Top marks, you two, that's wot I calls usin' the old h'initiative. Go an' join yore pals in the ranks now."

Twilight was falling as they entered the ravine's shallow 290.

291 end. Within moments n.o.beast within a league's distance could tell there were five hundred hares on the march. The columns were reduced to three wide in the narrow gorge; they pressed forward with the rough earthen walls rearing high either side of them.

Trowbaggs accosted Corporal Ellbrig in quaint rustic speech. "Hurr, 'ow furr be et afore us'n's makes camp, zurr?"

Ellbrig looked at him strangely. "Wot're you talkin' like that for, y'pudden-'eaded young rogue?"

Trowbaggs continued with his mimicry. "Hurr hurr hurr! 'Cos oi feels just loik ee mole bein' unnerground loik this, zurr, bo urr!"

The Corporal nodded sympathetically. "Do you now? Well you keep bein' a mole, Trowbaggs, an' when we makes camp you kin dig out a nice liddle sleepin' cave in the ravine wall fer yore officers."

Trowbaggs did a speedy change back to being a hare. "Oh, I say, Corp, why not let old Shangle do the diggin'? He looks a jolly sight more like a mole than I do."

Shangle Widepad fixed the young recruit with a beady eye. "One more squeak out o' you, laddie buck, an' y'won't be either mole or hare, y'H be a dead duck!"

It was chilly sleeping in the ravine. After a cold meal of thick barley biscuit and apple slices, the hares settled down for the night, wrapped in their groundsheets. However, Lady Cregga Rose Eyes felt her blood run hot as she lay there, dreaming of meeting Rapscallion vermin in a valley beneath a far-off ridge.

Standing as high as he could on the pine trunk at the ridgetop, Arven watched the Rapscallion campfires. They dotted the far plains like tiny fallen stars. Skipper of Otters climbed up beside him and pa.s.sed the Redwal! Champion a beaker of vegetable soup, steaming hot.

' 'All quiet down there, mate?''

Arven blew on the soup and sipped gratefully. "Aye, Skip. If they break camp just before dawn, I figure they'll arrive in the valley below at midday tomorrow. By the fur'n'fang, though, there's going to be a lot of 'em facin' us!"

The big otter set his jaw grimly. "Mebbe, but there'll be a 292 lot less of 'em by the time we're done! Wot makes 'em act like that, Arven? Why can't they just be like ordinary peace-lovin' creatures an' leave us alone?"

Paw on swordhilt, the squirrel Champion shrugged. "Hard to say, really, Skip. There'll always be vermin of that kind, with no respect for any creature, takin' what they please an' never carin' who they have to slay, as long as they get what they want. Peaceful creatures to them are weak fools. But every once in a while they come up against beasts like us, peace-lovin' an' easy-goin' until we're threatened. Win or lose then, we won't be killed, enslaved, or walked on just for their cruel satisfaction. No, we'll band together an' fight for what is ours!"

Far away from the ridge, in the safety and warmth of Redwall Abbey kitchens, the badgerbabe Russano lay in his barrel cradle, his soft dark eyes watching a chill blue mist forming across the ceiling. From somewhere, slow m.u.f.fled drumbeats sounded, sweet voices humming in time with them.

A scene appeared out of the mists. The army from Redwall lay in slumbtr amid shattered spears, broken swords, and a tattered banner. Other creatures came then, warriors he had never met, yet a voice in the babe's mind told him he knew them. Martin, Matthias, Mattimeo, Mariel, Gonff, all heroic-looking mice. There were badgers, too, great fierce-eyed creatures with names like Old Lord Brocktree, Boar the Fighter, Sunflash the Mace, Urthclaw, Urthwyte, Rawnblade, and many more. They wandered the ridge, and each time they touched a creature he or she stood and went with them.

Finally they stood in a group together, pale and spectral, and another joined them. It was Rockjaw Grang, the big hare who had carried and nursed Russano on the long trek to Red-wall Abbey. Though he did not speak, the little badger heard his voice.

"Remember us when you are grown, Russano the Wise!"

Mother Buscol was awakened by the babe's unhappy cries. Not knowing what he had witnessed, she laid him on her lap and stroked his head, whispering soothingly, "There, there, my liddle one, sleep now, 'twas only a dream."

Back and forth she rocked the little badger until he drifted 293 back to sleep, far too young to tell her what he had seen. Russano had witnessed the Redwall army upon the ridge in the aftermath of battle; he had beheld all those who lived, and the ones who did not.

52.

Dawn brought a mad bustle of activity to the army on the ridge, with fires being relit, Corporal Rubbadub beating all creatures to stations, and Chieftains roaring commands.

Damug Warfang had stolen a march on them. Perigord listened as the squirrel Lookout reported what he had seen at daybreak.

"Major, those fires last night were nought but a bluff. Da-mug must've lit 'em an' carried on marchin' forward. They split into two forces, and right now they're lyin' in the rift at both ends o' the valley, waitin' on some kind o' signal to move!"

On the right flank, half of the Rapscallion army crouched, led by the Firstblade himself. He sat motionless as the rat Henbit, who had headed the scouting expedition, told what he had discovered.

"Mightiness, there can't be more'n three 'undred creatures atop of that ridge-a few hares'n'otters an' some Water'ogs. The rest ain't much: squirrels, mice, an' moles, wid a scatterin' o' those liddle raggy beasts that sail the streams, shrews I think 294.

295 they call 'em. They got plenty of weapons, but no chance o' winnin' agin a thousand of us. Back side of the ridge is too steep an' rocky-you'd be best advised to attack from this side, Sire."

Damug Warfang peered upward, noting the piles of rock heaped along the heights and the big tree trunk positioned at its center. "A thousand won't be needed to conquer three hundred. Bluggach, you take half of this five hundred. Gribble, take word to Rapmark Skaup that he will send half of his force with Captain Bluggach's fighters. Between them they should take the ridge. That is my command. Go now."

The little rat scurried along the defile to where the ferret Skaup lay waiting on the left flank.

Tammo stood with Pasque on one side of him and Galloper Riffle on the other. He leaned slightly forward and looked down the line. Tight-jawed and silent, the front rank waited, while behind them the second rank, mainly archers, checked shafts and bowstrings.

The young hare felt his limbs begin to tremble. He looked down and noticed that the footpaws of Pasque and Riffle were shaking also. Behind him, Skipper drummed his tail nervously on the ground.

"Me ole tail's just b.u.mpin' about for the want o' somethin' t'do," the otter leader chuckled encouragingly. " 'Tis all this waitin', I s'pose, mates. Can y'see *em, miss Pasque?"

Gripping the cord of her sling like a vise, Pasque nodded. "Indeed I can, Skip, they're lyin* in the rift down there, waitin' the same as we are. D'you suppose they're nervous too?"

Sergeant Torgoch was pacing the ridge, keeping an eye on the front rank. He winked as he halted in front of her. "Nervous, missie? I can see 'em quakin* in their fur from 'ere!" He waved his pace stick to where Perigord was perched on the pine trunk, leaning nonchalantly upon his saber. "Wot d'ye think, sir, shall we tell 'em wot we thinks o' vermin?"

Waving back with his blade, the Major smiled. "Capital idea, Sar'nt, carry on!"

Swelling out his chest with a deep breath, the Sergeant roared in his best drill parade manner at the Rapscallion army, "Nah then, you scab-tailed, waggle-pawed, flea-ridden ex- 296 cuses fer soldiers! Are ye sittin' down there 'cos yore too stoopid t'move, or are yer afraid?" Then he turned his back on the foebeast and waggled his bobtail impudently. Laughter broke out from the Redwallers' ranks.

Gurgan Spearback clumped up in his oversized boots, wielding the ma.s.sive mallet that was his favorite weapon, "Hearken t'me, all ye vermin wid half a brain to lissen. Remember what thy mothers told thee about climbin'. If you come climbin' our hill, we'll spank thee right 'ard an' send you away in tears!"

Hoots of derision from the ridge accompanied this announcement. Then Lieutenant Morio's deep booming voice called out a warning: "Stand to arms, here they come!"

Five hundred Rapscallions clambered out of the rift from both flanks, and charged. They made a blood-chilling sight: painted faces, bristling weapons, and blazing war banners. Drums pounded as they screamed and howled, racing like a tidal wave across the valley floor toward the slope of the ridge.

n.o.beast could stop it now. The battle was begun.

Captain Twayblade held her long rapier point down. "Steady in the ranks there, let 'em come! Stand by the first three rockpiles! Slingers, wait my command! Steady, steady now, chaps!"

The vermin pounded up the slope, increasing their pace until they were running at breakneck speed, spearpoints, pikes, and blades pointing upward at their adversaries.

Tammo stood his ground, deafening noises thrumming in his ears, watching the hideous pack draw closer until he could see their bloodthirsty faces plainly.

Sergeant Torgoch's voice rumbled across the first rank. "Wait for it, buckoes, wait on the Cap'n's command!"

A barbed shaft whistled past Twayblade's jaw. "Front rank, let 'em have it," she shouted. "Now!"

Slings whirled and a battering rain of stone struck the leading Rapscallions. Tammo saw the look of shock on the face of a lean scarred weasel as his round weighty river pebble struck it hard on the forehead. The creature toppled backward with a screech, rolling downhill, still clutching a broken bow. Loading the sling swiftly, Tammo swung out and hit a rat who was almost upon him.

297 Now Major Perigord was standing with the front rank, whirling his saber and calling to the moles who were behind the hills of stone. "First three rockpiles away!"

Boulders, rocks, soil, dust, and stones showered down on the advancing Rapscallions. The vermin were seasoned fighters, giving as good as they received. Ducking and dodging, they battled upward, thrusting with pike and spear, slinging, firing arrows, and hurling anything that came to paw.