Foremole chuckled as he strolled off with Simeon and the Abbot. "Oi'm a-thinken they'm got the message, zurrs.

0X0.

Leaning against a battlement, Flagg twirled his sling idly, scanning the northward path. "All quiet this side, young Saxtus."

Saxtus licked plumcake from his paws before shouldering his spear. "This side too, Flagg. But I'm wondering for how long."

"Hmm, can you feel it too, mate? It's as if there's a sort of calm before the storm. I don't like it."

210.

Dandin and Mariel were anxious to be away, but half the morning was gone and still they had to wait about. Stonehead's wife, Thunderbeak, had insisted on repro-visioning their empty packs, and she was somewhere off in the woods. Stonehead and his four owlchicks put on several exhibitions of wrestling, b.u.t.ting and kicking. Tarquin and Durry had to keep avoiding being used as demonstration examples. Finally Thunderbeak arrived back with the knapsacks.

"Not much, I'm afraid, but it'll have to do! Plenty of apples, some white mushrooms, wild damsons, not too ripe, bit of celery, some other bits and bobs. Oh, there's some woodland scones, though they've been lying about a bit-my own make, very nourishing."

They thanked her, allowed themselves to be pecked and kicked one last time by the owlchicks, then struck westward, led by Stonehead.

The strange forest grew dimmer and more gloomy until finally they were in a world of black shadow and green light. Trees were immensely tall, with long bare trunks crowded together like black columns, the foliage growing at their tops completely blocking daylight, turning it into sinister green shafts. Little or no shrubbery grew on the forest floor, which was composed of squishy dark leaf mold with ma.s.sive tree roots crisscrossing like dark giant veins. Mariel noticed that the silence was total. Whenever they talked their voices echoed spectrally around the gaunt trees. To cheer things up a bit, Tarquin tw.a.n.ged his harolina and began a ditty.

"Old missus hedgehog, here's what she likes, A little fat husband with lots of spikes, And a quarrel with a squirrel Who wears flowers round his middle, And a chestnut for her supper on a winter's night ..."

211.

He came to a faltering halt as Stonehead turned his great golden eyes upon him.

"Do you have to make that silly noise, rabbit? One more song out of you and I'll wrap that hare-liner thing round your skull! This is bad country; we don't want to attract attention to ourselves, do you hear me?"

Tarquin walked behind Durry and Dandin, muttering under his breath, "Sure sign of a savage, no appreciation of good music. Huh, bet the bally feller wouldn't complain if it was a piece of boiled Flitchaye instead of a piece of beautiful music."

"Aye," Durry whispered back, "an' what's a poor lad t' do, wanderin' round like an ant lost in a dark well bottom? What I wouldn't give fer a flagon of my ol' nuncle's giggly juice right now."

Mariel watched the back of Stonehead's enormous figure, sometimes hopping before them, other times winging low between the trees. How he knew the way westward was a mystery to her. She had lost all sense of time and distance, tramping through this eerie world.

Quite suddenly, after what seemed an endless trek, Stonehead fluttered onto a fallen tree and turned to them. "This is it, Swampdark land! Never go any further than here myself! Not afraid of it, just don't like the place! Right, you're on your own now. I won't say good luck, because you'll end up dead or devoured, I'm sure of it! Always remember, though, if you ever get back to my part of the forest give me a call! We McGurneys aren't the wisest owls anywhere, but it's an acorn to an appletree we're the bravest!"

With that he was gone, winging away through the trees before they had a chance to thank him or say goodbye.

Dandin sat on the fallen tree and undid his knapsack. "Well, goodbye, Stonehead McGurney. I'm starving. Let's sit here awhile and have lunch in peace for a change. Golly, look at this!"

They climbed up onto the fallen trunk, staring in the 212.

direction they would be taking. It was practically pitch-black. Low-hanging trees with heavy weed trailing from them held out knotted and gnarled branches like predatory claws waiting to seize the unwary traveler. The ground was a greeny brown with odd clumps of blue and white flowers sticking up. Through it all ran several raised paths, humps of solid rocky earth which meandered off in various directions. The whole scene was one of complete depression; it weighed on their spirits like a millstone.

"Oh, corks, you chaps. The place is enough t' give a bod the complete pip just lookin' at it, wot?"

Mariel busied herself collecting twigs and dry bark. "Doesn't it just! Well, I'll tell you what I'm going to do -light a fire and cook up something tasty. Who knows the next time we'll get a decent feed, roaming through that lot!"

The suggestion was wholeheartedly endorsed. With flint and tinder they soon had a merry blaze going. The gloom was dispelled temporarily as they delved through their packs.

"Let's toast some o' these liddle mushrooms an' wrap some apples in wet leaves to bake." Durry was toasting away even as he spoke. Dandin took a bite at one of Thunderbeak's scones. He winced and held the side of his jaw.

"Ouch! I wonder how many seasons ago these were baked!"

Tarquin chuckled. "We could always sling 'em at any enemies we meet."

Dandin rummaged farther down his knapsack. Suddenly he gave a cheer. "Look, it's my flute! I'd forgotten that I'd packed it-must've stuck in my pack lining. Thank goodness the Flitchaye never found it. Well well, can you beat that, eh-the flute of my ancestor Gonff the Thief. Let's see if it still sounds all right."

Trilling an old Abbey reel called "Otter in the Orchard," Dandin set his companions' paws to tapping 213.

as the music skirled and tootled around the lonely trees. Hot food, a glowing fire and merry music lifted the spirits of the travelers. Even the blinking eyes that watched them from the dark swamp stopped winking and stayed wide open with fascination as they awaited the travelers' next move into their miry world.

Fleetleg, Sh.o.r.ebuck and Longeyes returned from the south beaches patrol to Salamandastron. They were first back. The hares found little welcome; the mountain chambers were deserted. Longeyes saw something at the doorway of the badger Lord's forge room: deep-scored marks in the solid rock. He groaned in despair. "Lord Rawnblade did this with his bare claws, gouged the rockface like this. I knew it would happen someday."

Sh.o.r.ebuck ran his paws across the scars in the solid rock. "The Bloodwrath has come upon Rawnblade Wide stripe!"

Fleetleg picked up his lance. "Come on. We must find him. No badger Lord has suffered the Bloodwrath since Boar the Fighter. But be careful. Rawnblade might kill anybeast foolish enough to stand in his way."

The fog had long dispersed. Beneath the high bright sun on the tideline the three hares found the results of their Lord's terrible madness. Fully a hundred searat corpses drifted and rolled in the shallows around the reef, hewn, hacked or cleaved through. Blood spattered the stones and swirled in the water, broken swords and shattered spears decorated the rocks. Sh.o.r.ebuck slumped against the reef, his eyes shut to blot out the awful carnage.

"So this is why he got rid of us, sent out all the patrols. I've seen battlefields before, but never anything like this!"

Fleetleg leaned upon his lance. "It is written that a badger Lord can slay many when the Bloodwrath is 214.

upon him, but how did these searats come here? Where is their ship?"

Longeyes had been wading around the west side of the reef. He called out, "Here, round here. There's one still alive!"

The searat was mortally wounded. With his life ebbing fast he gasped out what he had witnessed.

"Ship . . . Waveblade, ran onto the reef in fog, stuck and holed. Cap'n Orgeye . . . waited until fog went. We fixed ship up, here on reef . . . waitin' for tide to lift us off ... Ohhhh . . . ohhhh . . . monster! Badger came rushing out of sea . . . Eulaliaaaaa!"

Longeye cradled the searat's head on his lap. "That was Rawnblade!"

"Rawn . . . blade ... I don't know. Giant . . . water rushin' off his armor, spikes, studs, silver metal . . . Like some wild beast out of the sea. Aaaaahhhh! That sword, like a great jib boom. We didn't stand a chance! D'ye hear me, mates? . . . Fivescore searat fighters an' we didn't stand a chance! Roarin', shoutin', 'Gorsepaw! Crocus! Sergeant Learunner! Killin', slayin' ... I tell yer, mates ..."

Longeye looked at Fleetleg. "Sergeant Learunner, wasn't he your father?"

Fleetleg stared out to sea. "Aye, Gorsepaw and Crocus were brother and sister too-my brother and sister. I was only a newborn infant then. Our mother never lasted more than a season after they died. Rawnblade reared me and when I was old enough he told me that he had found them floating on the tideline, delivered there by Gabool and his searats."

The injured searat lifted his head and stared at Fleetleg. "Screamin', shriekin' an' a-wailin' . . . An' dyin' . . . Dyin'!"

The searat's head lolled to one side. He died with eyes wide open, horror frozen on his face as his spirit sailed for h.e.l.lgates.

215.

Somewhere out on the blue deeps of the crested sea, the ship Waveblade ran before whichever course the wind chanced to take her. Summer breezes sent spray skimming over the decks, washing them clean of blood and battlestain. Stretched out on the forecastle, oblivious to all about him, Rawnblade Widestripe slept deeply, still fully armored, his great sword hanging loosely from one paw, unmindful of the stinging salt water which dewed his fresh scars. The awful Bloodwrath had left him; he knew not when it would visit him again. He slept on, as peaceful as any infant at its mother's side.

216.

Evening shadows began closing in on a cloudless sky as the sun reddened and began its descent into the west. The stones of Redwall took from it their dusky red brown hue; heat shimmer on the flatlands gave way to purplish twilight. Gabriel Quill had relieved Saxtus on the walltop. The fat cellarmaster yawned, looked north along the path, blinked and rubbed his eyes before calling across to the west ramparts: "Sister Serena, marm. What d'you make of this 'ere?"

Serena hurried across. Shielding her eyes with a paw, she peered shortsightedly in the direction Gabe was pointing.

"Hmm, don't know, Mr. Quill. Very pretty, though. It looks like a lot of party lanterns bobbing along the path, little golden lights ..."

Rufe Brush came bounding up the steps. He caught the last phrase. "Little golden lights? Where? Oh, by the fur of my fathers! Sister, those little golden lights are fire! Torches, being carried toward the Abbey. I'll sound the alarm!"

In a twinkling Rufe was down from the ramparts, across the lawn and up in the half-finished bell tower. Grabbing the wooden cudgels, he began pounding on the hollow log.

217.

Thonkthonkathonkthonkathonkthonkathonkl As soon as the sound reached his ears, Graypatch sent the rope and grapnel brigade dashing into the woods on the east side of the path. Jumping across the ditch onto the flatlands with his own contingent, he stood with a thin smile playing on his lips, watching Bigfang.

"Rush 'em an' burn the gates, eh, shipmate. Well, it was your idea in the first place, so go to it, matey, go to it!"

Desperation and fear showed in Bigfang's face as the flickering torchlights illuminated it. He knew the element of surprise had gone with the sounding of the Abbey alarm. Furthermore there were only seven proper searats with him. Graypatch had sent them more to keep the oarslaves in line and watch his performance than to fight alongside Bigfang. Oarslaves and a frightened squirrel-that was all he had with him. Graypatch was trying to get him killed -that much was obvious. Bigfang laughed, a half-hearty cackle that grated on his own ears. He tried to sound belligerent in his reply.

"I'll burn 'em out, matey, never fear. Just make sure you're there to back us up and rush in when we do!"

Saxtus and three young otters stood with Flagg over the threshold. Piles of stones were heaped by them, ready for slinging. Friar Alder, with a mixed group of moles and mice, ranged the east and west walls, carrying spears in bundles. They were little more than sharpened yew stakes, but in the right place they could wreak considerable damage. Foremole headed a group that was in charge of large baskets of rock and rubble placed around the east and west walls so they could be conveniently tipped onto foebeast heads below. Sister Sage, Rufe Brush and Gabe Quill led a small contingent of archers. The Abbey was not a place of war; as a 218.

result the weapons were sadly piecemeal, ancient and few.

Mellus paced the walls slowly, her gruff homely voice rea.s.suring the Redwallers, who were all first-time warriors. "Be calm now, don't panic. They're outside and we're safe within. Don't go firing or throwing anything. Let them make the first move. Besides, they may just want to parley."

Flagg could not help snorting a little. "Just like a fox parleys with a baby mouse, if you'll pardon me turn of phrase, marm."

Mellus nodded confidently. "They look more like a bunch of searats than hungry foxes, though I'm pretty sure they'll find we're not baby mice, by any means."

Graypatch walked the far side of the ditch edge until he and his cohort were directly facing the threshold above Redwall's main gate. Bigfang faltered just short of the gate, and stood undecided amid the bearers of the blazing torches. There was an audible silence, finally broken by Saxtus as he called down to Gray-patch: "What do you want this time, rat?"

Graypatch smiled as he looked from side to side at his searats. Savage, bloodthirsty and eager, each one a picture of barbarism, decked out in their tawdry finery, they displayed an array of the most fearsome-looking weapons.

"We want this Abbey. You might have known we'd come back. Why don't you just give up now while you're all still alive, save yourselves and us a great lot of trouble?"

Saxtus picked up a sharpened stake and held it ready to throw. "It's no trouble, rat. Why don't you turn your vermin round, go back the way you came and save yourselves the trouble."

The searat Captain decided the time for talking was 219.

over. He raised his sword, yelling at the top of his lungs: "Attack! Kiiilll!"

Saxtus dropped to one side as an arrow sped by his head. Straightening up, he hurled the spear hard at Graypatch.

The searat saw it coming and ducked. Unfortunately there was another rat standing directly behind him who took the hurtling spear straight through his middle. He fell with an earsplitting scream.

The battle was joined!

Mellus watched as Bigfang and his gang of torch-bearers made a rush at the gates. Straightaway she countered the move.

"Foremole, rubble over here, quick! Aim it down onto them. Try not to kill the slaves!"

Foremole and his crew hurtled the baskets of mixed rock and rubble over the parapet wall. Bigfang was about to swing his torch at the gates when the first basket hit him, extinguishing the flames as it stunned him. He lay spread on the path. The oarslaves backed off, but Frink and Fishgill threw their torches. One hit the gates and bounced back, but the other fell just right, at the bottom of the woodwork. Flagg was about to see to it when he tripped over Saxtus. The young mouse was crouching down, head in paws, sobbing uncontrollably. The big otter grabbed hold of him.

"Saxtus, matey, are you all right? Have ye been wounded?"

Blinded by tears and hardly able to speak, Saxtus shook his head. "Oh, Flagg, I've just killed a living creature. It's horrible! One moment he was alive, and suddenly my spear hit him. Did you hear him scream? He's dead, Flagg. . , . Dead, and I killed him!"

Flagg turned to Mellus as she pa.s.sed. "They've fired the gates. See what you can do, marm. I'll be with you in a moment."

Flagg raised Saxtus's tearstained face with a rough 220.

paw. "None of us wants to kill anybeast, matey, but this is a war! It's kill or be killed now. We're not just protectin' our own skins, there's the whole of Redwall an' what it stands for. What about that dormitory of Dibbuns- do you want t' see them slain by searats? Make no mistake about it, young 'un, those rats'Il kill us all if they conquer our Abbey. Come on now, Saxtus, me old Cully. Let's see you up on your paws defendin' your home!"

Saxtus wiped away his tears. Grabbing his sling, he fitted a rock and sent it hurtling into the searats.

"Come on, fight, you dirty cowards. You won't conquer us!"

Rocks and spears, arrows and lances filled the air, zinging backwards and forwards between searat and Redwaller. Mother Mellus and three moles, Buxton, Drubber and Danty, rolled a barrel of water from the Abbey pond to damp down the back of the gates. Fore-mole and his crew hurled baskets of earth over the ramparts to smother the flames licking up the front of the gates.

Grubb the baby mole, together with the little twin otters Bagg and Runn, had escaped from the dormitory. Wakened by the noise and clangor of battle, they decided to take part and distinguish themselves as warriors. Wandering through the deserted kitchens inside the Abbey, they searched for suitable armament. Bagg gave a shout. "Whohoa! Looka these!"

Friar Alder's large vegetable chopping knives lay sharp and gleaming upon the worn worktable. They selected one each, dancing about and waving the dangerous blades.

"Heehee, let's make searat pies!"

"I'm goin' to chop their chief's head right off. Choppo!"

"Burrhurr, this hinfant'll skin 'ee a few. OiTl make they squeal!"

221.

Creeping out onto the Abbey lawn, they ducked behind some bushes as Mellus and the moles hurried by, trundling another big barrelful of water toward the main gate. Runn held a paw to his lips.

"Ssshh! Come on, this way."

They mastered the steps to the top of the north wall near the east end, helping each other to scramble up the big roughhewn stone stairs, pushing the knives ahead of them as they went. At the top an argument broke out over which knife belonged to whom.

"Hey, that's my knife-this one's yours!"

"No, Tain't-I had the pointy one with the brown handle."

"Yurr, give yon knoifer t' me-moin were the big 'un."

As they were sorting out the weaponry, a three-hooked grapnel narrowly missed Bagg's head. It caught a crack in the stones, and the rope attached to it was pulled taut. Grubb patted Bagg's head.

"Boi 'okey, that were near a gudd shot. It nurly went roight daown you'm ear!"

The whirring and clanking of grapnels increased as all along the east wall metal hooks clamped into stonework cracks and ropes pulled tw.a.n.gingly tight. Runn climbed up on Grubb's head and peered down into the forest darkness.