They hauled him out, tangled up with the ropes that bound him to the rotting carcass of Atunra, the missing pine marten. Two guards slashed away with their spearblades, hacking through the ropes and freeing the weilmark from his horrific burden. Scaut frantically scrambled out of the decomposing Atunra’s embrace, clambered onto the pier and fainted in a pool of lakewater.
Pitru peered distastefully at the body floating in the lake. “Ugh, what is it?”
From behind his chain mail half-mask, the warlord hissed, “Don’t take me for a fool. You know it’s Atunra, my faithful counsellor!”
Pitru smiled innocently. “So that’s where she went? Well, nobeast told me. Like your order that the slaves should escape. Nobeast told me that, either.”
The warlord spoke accusingly. “Yet you slew one of my slaves?”
The young cat looked guilelessly at his father. “Who, me? I never slew your slave. That was Scorecat Yund, my trusty servant. My catguards are very loyal to me, I believe they’d kill anybeast I told them to.”
It was a war of words. Riggu Felis nodded knowingly. “Aye, my guards would also slay anybeast for me, and I have far more guards at my command than you do.”
Evening shades fell over Holt Summerdell after a long, hot day. The music of gently cascading water cooled the air, lending an aura of tranquility to the scene. Otter clanbeasts sat around on the ledges amid fragrant flower scents, listening to the birds trilling their evensong. Young ones played on the waterslide or swam about in the lower rock pools.
Only Big Kolun Galedeep could not relax. Pacing up and down, back and forth, he watched the sun sink lower in the west. Kolun constantly repeated what he had been saying since midnoon. “Where can that Shellhound have got to? Where?”
Deedero looked up from a baby tunic she was embroidering. “If’n I knew where he was I’d be the first to tell ye, Kolun. Now sit down an’ relax! Yore makin’ me dizzy.”
The big otter continued his pacing. “Huh, me’n’Banya were back here just afore lunchtime. I don’t like it, Leatho should’ve been back long since.”
Deedero’s patience began wearing thin. “So ye keep sayin’, ye great worrywart. Why not go an’ do somethin’ about it? Banya has. She’s gone back along the trail lookin’ for Leatho. Go an’ lend her a paw!”
Kolun waved his paws about irately. “Wot’s the point if’n Banya’s already gone? We’d both be out there lookin’ for Leatho, an’ he might’ve arrived back here by another route!”
From where he was sitting on a higher ledge, Kolun’s brother Lorgo pointed. “Ahoy, here comes young Banya now. There’s another with her, but it don’t look like the Shellhound.”
Banya came staggering in, supporting the ottermaid Memsy, who was obviously half dead with fatigue. Both appeared to be numb with shock. Kolun ran to them. Sweeping Memsy up in his powerful paws, he carried her to where Deedero and some other ottermums were sitting. Setting Memsy down in their midst, he immediately began questioning her.
“What’s happened to Leatho? Have ye seen him, miss?”
The ottermaid was in no state to answer. Burying her face in Deedero’s apron, she wept uncontrollably.
Kolun’s missus snapped at him, “Leave her alone, ye great lump! Can’t ye see she’s upset?”
The big otter was bewildered. “But where’s Leatho?”
Banya answered. “Memsy told me that Shellhound’s been captured by that Riggu Felis an’ his cats.”
Deedero’s voice went shrill with disbelief. “Our Shellhound . . . captured?”
Banya ignored the twin rivulets of tears coursing down her face as she explained. “Aye, captured. The wildcat had an ambush laid for Leatho. He was trapped just outside the slave compound. Now they’ve got him strung up in a cage, high on the fortress tower. Nobeast can reach him up there. The Felis cat said if’n the clans don’t surrender, he’ll leave Leatho up there an’ starve him to death. He said we could come an’ see the carrion birds pickin’ over his bones. Two otters escaped to bring us the news, but Memsy was the only one of ’em that made it. The other one was slain by a beast named Scorecat Yund. He was my brother, Runka Streamdog. I’ll catch up with his murderer. He’ll pay dearly, I swear it!”
News that Leatho was in the clutches of the enemy went out like wildfire. A Council of Clans was called immediately. Gathering in the cave behind the waterfall, everybeast listened in stunned silence as Banya retold the story. The moment she finished speaking, there was an angry uproar.
Ould Zillo had to pound his rudderdrum to restore order. “Ahoy now, hold yore gobs! Shoutin’ never got a body anywhere. Kolun Galedeep, let’s hear from ye!”
Wielding his long paddle, the big otter addressed the clans in the only way he knew—blunt and direct. “I ain’t here to palaver or argue. We’ve got to free our mate Leatho, an’ the sooner the better!”
Kolun gripped the paddle tight, his voice ringing out like steel. “Aye, an’ I’ll tell ye somethin’ else, too. I ain’t surrenderin’ my missus an’ young ’uns up t’be slaves for a mangy cat! If they want war, we’ll give it to ’em!”
Zillo banged his drum furiously to be heard over the thunder of approval from the clan warriors. “Sure that’s all well’n’good, but wot’ll be happenin’ to the wives an’ babes if’n we lose the battle?”
Deedero raised her voice firmly. “Hah! We’ll survive like we always have. Every one of ye owes too much to Shellhound. No foebeast’s goin’ to starve him to death whilst there’s one of us left alive! Leatho never left any of us in the lurch, he was always more’n ready to fight our cause. Lose the battle, is it? Lissen, Kolun me dear, you go an’ win that battle, an’ don’t come marchin’ back t’me without Leatho Shellhound!”
Brandishing a lance, Banya Streamdog leapt up. “Streamdogs! Wildloughs! Wavedogs! Streamdivers! Riverdogs! Streambattles! Gather yore weapons! Rouse the clans! Eeeeeee aye eeeeeeeeh!”
As an avalanche of sound shook the cavern, Deedero nodded to her husband. “There’s yore answer, wot are ye waitin’ for?”
Big Kolun hugged his missus. “A nice bowl of hotroot soup an’ a big kiss from you, my ’eart’s delight!”
Narrowly avoiding a whack from her rudder, Kolun was swept up in the stampede for the entrance. Any reply that his missus called out was drowned by echoing clan warcries. Lances, slings, bows, spears, blades and all manner of arms bristled from the warrior horde as they bounded uphill out of Holt Summerdell.
It had been a long, hot day. Leatho watched from his high prison as the westering sun set in a blaze of crimson glory. His paws ached abominably from where the ropes cut cruelly into them. The last moisture he had tasted was when the warlord emptied the bucket of water over his head. He licked thirstily at his dried lips and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain from his wounded head, which denied sleep to his weary body. As the evening dragged daylight to an unhurried close, the outlaw fought mentally to avoid thoughts of food or drink.
When dusk fell, Leatho’s head drooped forward, his eyes no longer able to stay open, his entire body feeling dizzy and light as air. Then a torpor overcame him: All pain receded into a dull throb. His body slumped against the ropes, and he passed out.
A mouse warrior, armed with a fearsomely beautiful sword, was at his side, holding his paw. Then, like a pair of leaves in an autumn breeze, they were travelling through the air. Below him, the outlaw could see Green Isle unfolding, its loughs, hills, streams and woodlands. The mouse warrior directed his gaze to where the Great Sea lapped the pale-sanded shores, his voice gave counsel to the dreaming prisoner.
“To die is easy for you, Shellhound, but you were ever a fighter. Do not let life slip away whilst there is hope. Behold the High Queen bringing a new dawn to Green Isle. Keep repeating her name. Rhulain! Rhulain!”
Leatho saw her then, the tall ottermaid clad in her green cloak and shining breastplate, marching purposefully. Queen of Green Isle! The High Rhulain!
The vision was shattered suddenly as the
cage struck the wall and banged about crazily. Leatho woke only to look up and see the Lady Kaltag battering at the bars with a spear from above. Her face was twisted into a vengeful sneer as she shrieked at him.
“Murderer! Now you will pay for slaying my son Jeefra!”
Raising the spear high, she thrust downward at him.
25
Choked and blinded by thick clouds of billowing dust inside the stairwell, Skipper Banjon took a flying leap upward. The tough otter grabbed onto a pawhold in the rough sides of the stone funnel. Buffeted by falling slats of rotted wood, he caught the sounds of wild screams and cries coming from the room above. He drove himself frantically onward, scrabbling and clawing at rocky outcrops and splintered stair ends until he managed to haul himself onto the lopsided landing. Without a second thought for his own safety, Skipper hurled himself at the door, bursting into the room. Grubbing dust from his eyes, he found himself confronted by a fearsome sight.
In one corner, Girry had bravely placed himself in front of Abbess Lycian and Sister Snowdrop, shielding them both. The centre of the room was dominated by a huge male gannet, which was shrieking aggressively. As the bird turned to face him, Skipper noted that one of its legs was lame and that the wing on the same side flopped awkwardly. The gannet’s bright-blue ringed eyes focussed on the newcomer. Throwing back its big, cream-capped head, the bird opened its long, sharp beak and gave voice to an ear-splitting scream. “Yaaarrreeekeeekeeek!”
Skipper showed no fear but stood quite still, staring intently at the fierce bird. Calmly, he spoke to his friends. “Stay there, mates, don’t make a move or a sound ’til I tell ye. I ain’t got a clue wot a gannet’s doin’ up here so far from the sea.”
“Keekaaaheeee!” Pointing its beak at the otter chieftain, the gannet hobbled toward him swiftly.
Skipper was forced to dodge backward but continued speaking. “I think that bird’s been injured an’ driven in here by a storm, maybe the same one that brought the osprey to us. Now I don’t want to alarm ye, but it’s a big gannet, an’ it must be starvin’. I reckon it’ll have to kill to eat soon. So, anybeast got an idea wot t’do next?”
Girry kept his voice to a low murmur. “I was trying to steer it out of the window until it turned and cornered us. It got in that way, so it must be able to make its way out by the same route.”
Skipper chanced a quick glance at the open window with its broken frame and flapping rags of curtaining. “Good idea, young ’un, but we need somethin’ to help with the job, maybe to use as a shield.”
The Abbess came up with a swift solution. “Skip, just behind you, to the left, there’s an old bed against the wall, all broken and battered. I think the bird must have used it to rest on. If we could get behind the bed, it could be useful as a barrier. We may be able to force the bird out of the window with it.”
The gannet made a stab at Skipper with its sharp beak, but he dodged to the right, narrowly escaping it. “Aye, that’s wot we’ll do, marm. I’ll decoy this villain to one side. Soon as it moves, you three make a dash for the bed. Right, here goes, mates. Redwaaaaaalllll!”
Skipper launched himself at the bird, feinted to the right and thwacked its good leg with a powerful swipe of his rudder. It gave a surprised squawk as it fell in a flurry of feathers. Seizing their chance, Girry, the Abbess and Snowdrop raced to the bed. Skipper backed off hastily and joined them. Heaving the cracked old frame of timber and burst mattress upright, they got behind it.
Sister Snowdrop yelled exultantly, “Charge, mates. Charge!”
Holding the bed in front of them, they bulled straight into the gannet, catching it square on. With its damaged wing flapping loosely and its lamed leg not able to gain any purchase, the bird was driven back and bundled through the window in a mad flurry of black-tipped white feathers. It tried clinging to the sill, screaming and hissing, but the Abbess and Girry kicked at it until it had to let go.
Leaning out of the window, the four Redwallers watched as the gannet made a bumbling attempt at flight but lost height immediately. The huge bird fell onto an outward sloping roof below, then rolled off and plunged earthward, still flapping about like a huge, rumpled quilt. A thickly blossoming rhododendron, growing beside the Abbey wall, finally broke the bird’s fall. From there, it tumbled to the lawn, where it flapped about, apparently unhurt.
Dusting off her paws, little Sister Snowdrop called down to the fallen gannet, “There! Let that be a lesson, you great plumed bully!”
Abbess Lycian put a paw to her brow and sat down with her back against the wall, exclaiming, “Whooh! Dearie me, I’m all atremble!”
Gallantly, Skipper helped her up. “You did fine, marm, just fine. An’ you, too, Girry!”
Sister Snowdrop nudged him indignantly. “Excuse me, but did I take no part in all this?”
Skipper laughed as he threw an affectionate paw around the old mouse’s shoulders. “Oh, you did better’n all of us, Sister. Yore a rough ole customer, an’ I wouldn’t like t’cross yore path up a dry stream on a dark night, no marm!”
Snowdrop smiled sweetly. “You’re a dreadful flatterer, sir!”
A shout echoed up through the ruined stairwell. It was Brink. “Ahoy, Skip, is everybeast alright up there?”
The otter chieftain called back down to his friend, “Right as rain, matey! We’ll be down as soon as ye throw a rope up to us.”
He turned to the Abbess. “Well, did ye find wot ye were lookin’ for up here, marm?”
Lycian cast a reflective eye over the deserted bedchamber. “Not just yet, Skip, but I have a feeling that we soon will. Sister Snowdrop, do you have a copy of the rhyme?”
The old mouse tapped the side of her head. “No need, Mother Abbess, I can remember every word. It goes like this.
“Twixt supper and breakfast find me,
In a place I was weary to be,
Up in that top tactic (one see)
Lies what was the limb of a tree.
It holds up what blocks out the night,
And can open to let in the light.
For a third of a lifetime one says,
Looking up I could see it sideways.
Tell me what we call coward (in at)
Then when you have worked out that,
You’ll find your heart’s desire,
By adding a backward liar.
Ever together the two have been set,
Since Corriam’s lance ate the coronet.”
Skipper nodded admiringly. “Well done, marm! Wish I had a memory like that. So, ye’ve found this place, the top attic. Next thing to look for is the limb of what once was a tree. What d’ye think that’ll look like?”
Girry gave a prompt reply. “Oh, I’ve already guessed that—it’s Corriam’s lance. It’s probably made of wood, so it must have once been the limb of a tree. Right?”
Skipper agreed. “Right, young ’un, but have ye sorted out the rest o’ the riddle?”
Girry pursed his lips, endeavouring to look wise. “Er, not right now, sir, but I soon will, never fear.”
Sister Snowdrop smiled fondly at her young friend. “No need to, I’ve already done it, Girry. I’ve been repeating that rhyme to myself for so long that some of it’s starting to actually make sense. When I saw the bed, it began to click into place.”
The little Sister smiled smugly until Abbess Lycian spoke to her rather sharply. “Well? Don’t stand there grinning like a ferret at a feast, Sister. Tell us!”
For answer, Snowdrop went to where the bed had stood against the wall. She lay down on the floor, facing the window.
The Abbess sighed impatiently. “What are you doing now, trying to get your habit dustier?”
Snowdrop ignored the comment and began her explanation. “I was wondering what ‘a third of a lifetime’ had to do with our search. Then I remembered. We have three parts to each day—one third is used for work, the second for eating and enjoyment, the third part is set aside for sleep. So, for a third of her lifetime, Sister Geminya
would be lying in her bed, which was about here, right? I’m lying on my side, just as she might have. So, what could she see from her sideways position?”
Girry spoke up. “The window and the curtains, I suppose. Though the curtains are nothing but tattered rags now.”
Snowdrop continued, “Yes, but a long time ago they could either block out the night or let in the daylight. Now tell me, what holds the curtains up?”
Skipper shrugged. “Prob’ly a curtain rail.”
Without warning, Girry gave a great leap. He went bounding up the windowframe and tore the curtain rail from the staples which held it. “Geminya used it as a curtain rail. This is the lance of Corriam!”
Skipper scratched his whiskers in bewilderment. “Sink me rudder, it’s been layin’ up there in full view all the time. How did ye guess that was it, young ’un?”
Girry brandished the ancient weapon triumphantly. “I never guessed anything, Skip, I worked it out a moment ago. You know how good I am at anagrams. Well, listen to this: ‘Tell me what we call coward (in at).’ Well, what would you call a coward?”
Skipper pondered a moment before replying. “A lilylivered spineless toad! Beggin’ yore pardons for the language, marms.”
Girry shook his head. “They’re not the names I’m after. How about calling a coward a cur?”
Skipper repeated the name. “Cur, aye, that’s a good ’un.”
Girry continued. “Now look at the last two words of that line: ‘in at.’ Move them about, and they become ‘tain.’ Add the ‘cur,’ and what do you have?”
The otter smiled brightly. “Cur . . . tain . . . curtain!”
Sister Snowdrop looked over her small square glasses. “And ‘you’ll find your heart’s desire, by adding a backward liar.’ ‘Liar’ spelled backward is ‘rail.’ You see?”
Abbess Lycian clapped her paws. “How clever, curtain rail! What splendid creatures my Redwallers are. The lance of Corriam has been up there for ages, pretending to be a curtain rail!”
Skipper took hold of the lance, examining it carefully. “ ’Tis a fine ole weapon, sure enough. Made o’ good hard wood. I’ve never seen timber like this afore. Good balance, too, a real warrior’s lance. Look at the middle, made o’ silver!”