The weilmark took his own good time getting back to the fortress doors, not wanting to be around the warlord when the catguard made his report. Riggu Felis heard the guard’s report without comment. Then, spotting Scaut loitering a safe distance away, he beckoned him over. The weilmark scurried to his master’s side, where he listened whilst the wildcat spoke scathingly of his son.
“You’ve heard, I suppose. The cowardly kitten has cut and run! I should have expected it. Hah, I don’t need that traitorous idiot and his followers. At least now I won’t have to watch my back while I’m facing the otters. Once those rebels are defeated, we’ll hunt the bold Commander Pitru down. I’ll kill him personally, just as I should have long ago, instead of letting him become a threat to me. The filthy little turncoat!”
A wild laugh nearby startled Riggu Felis. There stood Lady Kaltag. The guards had been dismissed from her chamber door to assist in defending the fortress, leaving her to wander freely. She looked manic and unkempt, her silken robes stained and tattered, her red-rimmed eyes blazing hatred at her husband. With neither the time nor the desire for a confrontation, the warlord muttered to Scaut, “Who let her out? See to it that her chamber is guarded. Get her out of my sight!”
Kaltag was hauled off by four guards, kicking and scratching, as she poured scorn on her husband. “Aye, kill your son, my lord, just as you murdered his brother! You won’t find my Pitru as easy to slay, oh no! Hahaha, he’s left you in a fine mess, hasn’t he? Taken a band of guards and broken free of your vile schemes! How are you going to defend this fortress now, O Lord of Green Isle? Hahahahaaaa!”
The wildcat brandished his axe, shaking it at her. “Get that madbeast out of here, Scaut. Lock her up!”
The weilmark hurried to assist his guards in dragging Kaltag off, but her mocking shouts could still be heard, echoing down the passage.
“Your enemies will dance on your grave, Felis! Evil has its own reward, a long slow death. Hahahahaaaa!”
Bravely the otterclans were fighting their way along the pier outside. Arrows, spears, javelins and all manner of missiles rained through the slitted defence windows at them, with long pikes bristling from every opening. Banya Streamdog and her slingers retaliated with heavy volleys of stones. So fierce was their assault that it allowed Big Kolun to lead his comrades in a wild forward charge. Otters fell on either side of the Galedeep chieftain, but he thundered recklessly on, batting away shafts and spears with his big oar. Kolun made it to the fortress gates, where he was joined by Lorgo, who had led a party up from the shore. Both brothers raised a bloodcurdling warcry.
“Galedeep! Galedeep! Eeeeeee aye eeeeeh!”
With a hefty swipe of his oar, Kolun shattered a pike that was thrust at him through an opening. Lorgo caught a javelin. Hurling it back through a window slit, he shouted to Kolun, “This gate’s well defended, mate. Wot d’we do now?”
The big otter battered at the thick double doors with his oar butt until his paws stung from the vibrations. “We need somethin’ to burst the doors with. A tree trunk’d make a good batterin’ ram !”
After a swift look around, Lorgo replied, “A good idea, but I don’t see any big ole tree trunks lyin’ about, d’you?”
Weilmark Scaut could be heard issuing orders from inside. “Cease firin’ ! Put up yore arms an’ shutter off all openin’s.”
Immediately the battle halted. Kolun signalled the clans to leave off their assault on the fortress.
Banya Streamdog came in a running crouch to the doors, where Kolun stood leaning on his oar. “I don’t know why, but the cats have stopped fightin’.”
Banya pointed. “Look, up there!”
Fastened to a pikeshaft, a white cloth waved from an upperstorey window. A nervous catguard popped his head out. “Truce, we crave a truce! My Lord Felis would talk with ye!”
Lorgo murmured to Kolun as he eyed the catguard, “Talk? Wot d’we want to talk for, mate?”
Banya Streamdog shrugged. “May’ap ole chopface wants to invite us t’dinner. Let’s find out.”
Cupping both paws about his mouth, Kolun called to the guard, “Let Felis do his talkin’, but no funny business, d’ye hear?”
Garbed in full war armour and cloak, the warlord appeared at the open window, two storeys up. Drawing back the chain mail half-mask, he exposed his flayed lower face and began speaking.
“I call upon you to surrender. Your lives will be spared!”
Big Kolun roared back a cheery reply. “By me rudder, that’s very nice o’ ye, half-gob! But wot if’n we don’t feel like surrenderin’? Wot then, eh?”
The wildcat had been expecting this reaction. He leaned on the windowsill, his face set in a ghastly smile. “My fortress is secure, it won’t fall to your puny attempts. If you continue to defy me, I will have Shellhound dragged from the room where he is hiding, up there at the top of the tower. Then I will return him to you, bound in a sack and flung from that window. I am not unreasonable—you have until dawn tomorrow to give me your answer.”
Before Riggu Felis could speak further, Leatho was bellowing from the high chamber window, “Pay no heed to boneface, mates. His cats have already tried that once an’ failed. I’ll be happy to give ’em a second try! Kolun! Banya! You carry on fightin’, mates. The High Rhulain’s on her way!”
Big Kolun waved his oar to the clanbeasts. “Ye heard wot the Shellhound said, buckoes? Let’s show these whiskery scum we’re here t’finish the job!”
The warlord’s grating shouts rang out. “Wait! Let me finish what I was about to say. Then, if you feel like charging, let me be the last to stop you!”
Banya replied mockingly, “Well, spit it out, skin-gums. Then stand by t’die!”
Riggu Felis continued with his ultimatum. “Whether or not Shellhound dies tomorrow does not matter. If you attack my fortress, I will start executing the slaves, family by family, the youngest first. Consider this, for their deaths will be upon your own heads!”
He vanished from the window, which was speedily shuttered. In the silence which followed, Banya stared grimly at the closed window.
“We’re left without any choice, mates. We can’t attack!”
30
It was midnoon. Major Cuthbert Frunk had ordered a welldeserved rest for the Long Patrol. The hares spread out along the banks of a woodland stream whose waters were clean and cold. Tiria sat with her two subalterns and Colour Sergeant O’Cragg. Sheltered by an old weeping willow, they cooled their footpaws in the shallows.
Quartle was munching on a bunch of watercress he had discovered growing near the bankside. “Rather nice, this Green Isle place. Y’could live here.”
Tiria winked at him as she helped herself to his cress. “What a good idea, I may do that!”
The burly O’Cragg commandeered a pawful of Quartle’s find. “Right, miss, soon h’as we rid the place o’ cats h’and free yore h’otterfriends.”
Quartle hastily moved his watercress out of the sergeant’s reach, whereupon Portan began attacking the remainder. “Huh, that’s always supposin’ we run into the blighters, wot! We’ve been on the flippin’ march all bally day an’ still not spotted s’much as a cat’s whisker or an otter’s flamin’ thingummy. I say, Sarge, how d’ye know we’re goin’ in the right direction, wot?”
By reaching over with his lance, the big sergeant deftly speared the last of the watercress. “Simple, laddie buck, we just keeps a-marchin’ over this h’island crisscross h’until we runs into ’em.”
Quartle stared ruefully at the spot where his cress had been a moment before. He sighed. “We might’ve worn out our bloomin’ paws by then. Bit of a fair-sized island t’be crisscrossin’ willy-nilly, wot?”
The high-pitched call of an osprey brought Tiria bolt upright. She saw Pandion swoop gracefully in to join Cuthbert upstream. Everybeast hurried to hear what Pandion had to report. Casting a fierce eye about, the fish hawk spread his wings dramatically.
“Yeekaharr! Pandion Piketalon has found the cats
and riverdogs. They will soon battle!”
Cuthbert’s ears stood up straight at the mention of a fight. “A battle ye say, sah? Where at? Out with it, at the double!”
The osprey flapped his huge wingspread. “Arreeekaaah! At the big tree fort by the long lake. The cats are well dug in there. ’Twill be a hard fight I think!”
Captain Rafe Granden drew his blade. “We’re obliged to ye, goodbird, an’ more’n pleased if ye can lead us t’the jolly old field of combat, wot?”
Cuthbert’s eye was glinting wildly through his monocle. “Rather, I’d be distinctly ticked off if I missed a blinkin’ fullscale scrap! Sarn’t O’Cragg, get the Patrol formed up in skirmishin’ order! C’mon, me lucky lads, off your hunkers an’ on your paws. Quick’s the word an’ sharp’s the action!”
The Patrol had to move rapidly to keep up with Cuthbert, who was already off at a swift trot, following the osprey. Quartle nudged Tiria.
“I say, miss, just look at Ole Blood’n’guts. He can’t wait to get in the middle of it all!”
The ottermaid patted her sling and stonepouch. “Neither can I, friend!”
“I am thinking you will be waiting for me. I need a rest after my long journey!”
Tiria was startled to see Brantalis flying just above her head. The barnacle goose looked about ready to drop.
“Brantalis, my friend, what are you doing here?”
The big bird flopped down to earth. Captain Rafe Granden, who was running rearguard, caught up with Tiria.
“What’n the name o’ seasons is a blinkin’ goose doin’ in the middle of a forced march?”
Tiria came straight to the defence of her friend. “I don’t know, Cap’n, but he’s come a long way to be with me, so it must be something important.”
The barnacle goose raised his weary head from the grass. “I come from the Abbey of Redwall to see this maid.”
Captain Granden twiddled his long ears in admiration. “I say, well done that, bird, wot! Right, then see her y’must, but we can’t halt the march. Subalterns Quartle an’ Portan, fall out! You two buckoes stay here with Lady Tiria an’ this bird. We’re carryin’ on to the field o’ battle. Afraid you’ll have to catch us up later, marm!”
Tiria nodded. “Thank you, Cap’n. Don’t worry, we’ll find you once our business here is done.”
Granden smiled and threw a hasty salute. “Oh, you’ll find us, marm. Just march t’the sound o’ the Eulalias, that’s where the Long Patrol will be!” He sped off after the other hares.
Tiria gave Brantalis a drink from Portan’s canteen and sat down by his side. “Take your time now. What news from the Abbey?”
Brantalis drank greedily before making his report. “I am thinking there is much news, but that can wait for a better time. Your father the Skipper, the Abbess and the Old Quelt beast sent me here to deliver this. I have not broken flight once since I left Redwall.”
Bending his neck forward, the goose used his bill to delve among the thick downy plumage, where his neck broadened to meet his body. He had some difficulty trying to move the object which was ringed around the thick base of his throat. Brantalis grumbled, “I am thinking this was easier to put on than to get off!”
Quartle gallantly offered his help. “Straighten your neck. Chin up, I mean beak up, old lad. I’ve got the confounded thing!”
Portan assisted him in moving the coronet from about the bird’s neck. Both hares gasped in wonderment.
“Oh my giddy aunt’s pinny, it’s a bloomin’ crown!”
“No it ain’t, Porters, it’s a wotsisname . . . a tiara!”
“Isn’t that the confounded thing that was supposed to have gone down with the jolly old ship?”
“Well here it is, old lad, Tiria’s tiara. I say, that’s pretty good, ain’t it? Tiria’s tiara!”
The ottermaid accepted it graciously from the two subalterns. “It’s called a coronet. Oh, Brantalis, how can I ever thank you? What a great friend you are!”
The barnacle goose ruffled his feathers back into place modestly. “You once helped me, I am thinking it was the least I could do to help you, Tiria Wildlough.”
Quartle and Portan began rubbing their paws gleefully.
“Well, go on, miss, put it on, wot wot!”
“Aye, let’s see if it fits your royal bonce, miss.”
Tiria took the simple gold circlet, with its inset stone which sparkled like green fire, and placed it lightly on her head. It fitted easily about her brow.
Brantalis stood and spread his wings. “I am thinking that was made for you!”
Portan flopped his ears, always a sign of admiration in hares. “By the left right’n’centre, miss, you really look the blinkin’ part now, wot!”
He was correct. With the addition of the coronet to the breastplate and cloak, Tiria looked unmistakably regal.
Quartle made an elegant, sweeping bow. “We are your most humble bloomin’ servants, Queen Tiria. Your wish is our flippin’ command, Majesty!”
The ottermaid struck a pose, trying to look as she imagined a queen would. Then she suddenly took a fit of the giggles. “Hahahaha, come on, you pair of duffers, stop bowing and scraping like two dithering ducks. It doesn’t matter what I dress up in, I’m still me, Tiria Wildlough from Redwall Abbey. Let’s put a move on and catch up with the Patrol. That is, if you’re up to it, Brantalis?”
The barnacle goose swelled out his chest. “Up to it? I am thinking I would not miss it!”
The still summer evening hung warm and dusty over the empty pier. Big Kolun Galedeep and the otterclans deemed it safer to hold a meeting in the bushes and trees of the left bank. The otters did not need a night attack by the cats to further complicate the quandary they were in. They gathered en masse, angry, puzzled and disgruntled at the ultimatum which the wildcat warlord had set upon them. The initial idea of a wild charge, and an all-out assault on the foe, had palled in the light of dire consequences—their enslaved friends, together with their families, being dragged out and executed in reprisal. The very mention of it was unthinkable. Proposals were put forth and rejected for various reasons. There seemed no answer to the problem.
Lorgo Galedeep mentioned another impractical solution. “Suppose we pretend to surrender. Then at the last moment, say, when the fortress gates are opened, we grab our weapons an’ make a forced charge, straight inside?”
At that moment, any scheme sounded good to Kolun. “Aye, it might work, mate. They wouldn’t be expectin’ a move like that. Sounds alright t’me!”
Banya immediately poured cold water on the plan. “Do ye think the Felis cat is some kind o’ fool? The instant we threw down our arms an’ surrendered, he’d have us surrounded by fully armed catguards. First thing they’d do would be to confiscate our weapons or sling ’em in the lake to stop us gettin’ at ’em.”
Kolun patted his brother’s shoulder sadly. “She’s right, mate. It wouldn’t work.”
A voice, completely foreign to the gathering, interrupted. “You chaps sound as though yore in a spot o’ bother, wot!”
Two tall hares, well armed and dressed in red tunics, emerged out of the shrubbery.
Kolun wheeled upon them, gripping his oar. “Who are ye, an’ where’d ye come from?”
The leader of the two rested one paw on a long rapier hilt and threw a casual salute. “Name’s Granden, old lad. Cap’n Rafe Granden o’ the Long Patrol at y’service. This is my aide, Colour Sergeant O’Cragg. We’re to be your allies I believe, wot!”
Banya Streamdog did not sound impressed. “Just the two of ye, huh? That won’t be much help!”
The burly Sergeant O’Cragg smiled down at her. “Ho, there’s h’a few more’n just the two of us, missy. Ye’ll see for yoreself. Yore to follow me’n the Cap’n to a meetin’ with h’our commandin’ offisah, Major Frunk.”
Kolun was not used to taking orders from complete strangers. He squared up in front of O’Cragg; they were both big beasts. The otter thrust out his jaw belligerently. r />
“We’re to follow you, eh? Says who?”
The sergeant’s eyes met Kolun unwaveringly. “H’I believe’er name h’is Rhulain, sah!”
There was a stunned silence, which broke into a roaring cheer from the otterclans. Big Kolun shook O’Cragg’s paw.
“Here’s me paw an’ here’s me heart, mate! Lead on, we’re with ye t’the death!”
Dusk had fallen by the time they reached the Long Patrol camp at the lake’s far end. A good fire burned there, shielded in the lee of some trees and rocks. The otters filed in, packing the site with their numbers.
Cuthbert climbed upon a rock, polishing his monocle and shouldering his swagger stick. After gazing around a bit, he addressed the gathering. “Righto, me buckoes. Let’s get off on the right paw, wot! I’m Regimental Major Cuthbert Blanedale Frunk. Unless I’m outranked by any o’ you chaps, I think I’m in command here. Any objections?”
Receiving no reply from the otterclans, he nodded. “Good show! Reason I say this is that there’s goin’ t’be a bit of a skirmish, a jolly old war in fact! No offence intended, an’ I’m sure you otterchaps are splendidly brave coves, but you ain’t Long Patrol. Now, d’ye see these hares? There’s a score’n a half of’em, they’re Long Patrol warriors. Fightin’ an’ soldierin’ is their business. Believe you me, these laddie bucks have slain more vermin than you’ve had hot flippin’ dinners. So take my word an’ trust me, wot!”
Kolun called out. “Fair enough, Major, we believe ye, but we’ve come here t’see our queen. Where is she?”
A murmur of assent ran through the clanbeasts. Silencing them with a wave of his swagger stick, Cuthbert pointed dramatically to the fire.
“Friends, meet Lady Tiria Wildlough of Redwall Abbey! The High Rhulain, Queen of Green Isle!”
The ottermaid came forth from behind the fire, dressed in full regalia and flanked by her two subalterns along with Pandion and Brantalis. The otterclans fell silent, overawed. Here was their prophecy fulfilled, the living legend standing before them. Tiria strode slowly through the hushed camp. All that could be heard was the crackle of twigs from the fire. Kolun was the biggest and most impressive of the otters. She went to him first. “Are you a Wildlough, sir?”