Zaran’s teeth flashed in the darkness as she spat out the words. “Each night, every day, Skurr sends them on his evil business. I will kill them all, it is my vow. Everybeast that crawls, or flies, to carry out Skurr’s commands must be slain. Zaran will do it!”
Dubble did not doubt his powerful friend’s word, but he felt constrained to point out a fact. “There must be far too many creatures for just one beast to overcome, even a great warrior?”
The black otter slid from the poplar trunk. “Come, Dubble, Zaran will show you.”
Over the course of the next hour, the young Guosim followed his friend, awestruck at the sights which greeted his eyes. Holes, pits and deep ruts had been gouged into the steep hillside. Around rocks, between trees, wherever the earth could be dug or scraped. Every bit of the workings was disguised, by bush, rock slabs, foliage and moss.
Zaran led him back to the leaning tree, where she showed him a hidden cache of rough-fashioned digging tools, spades, picks and levering bars. She made Dubble feel her pawpads. They were deeply scored, and thickly calloused, from gruelling labour.
“Five seasons’ work, but when it is the snow season all will be ready. That is how one beast will overcome many, Dubble.”
The young shrew saw the grim determination in his friend’s face. He shook his head. “I’m still not sure how yore goin’ t’do it.”
Zaran lay back on the almost horizontal trunk, gazing off into the still summer night as she explained. “Beneath this hill is a big cave, where Skurr rules over Wytes, and all who serve his evil desires. Zaran knows all about this place, many beasts from there I have captured. They tell me all, before I send them away.”
Dubble knew he asked a foolish question, even as he spoke. “Send ’em away, where to?”
Zaran allowed herself a hint of a smile. “How many seasons are you, Dubble?”
The young Guosim thought for a moment. “Twelve, I think.”
The black otter held up her lethal double-bladed sword, watching starlight glinting on it. “My Namur would have been twelve seasons by now.” Something in his friend’s eyes told Dubble not to ask who Namur was. He sat silent as Zaran continued, “There is but one entrance and exit to Skurr’s lair, the one below us. Many times I search to find another, but there is only one. Zaran will make this hill move one day, it will collapse upon the entrance. Skurr and his creatures will have a living grave, and a slow death!”
Dubble understood then. “So that is how one will overcome many!”
The black otter gave a low bloodcurdling chuckle. “Trapped in there, they will die once fresh air is gone, slain by the yellow poison fumes!”
Dubble recalled being under water, when Zaran rescued him. He shuddered at the thought of being deprived of air to breathe. “What an awful an’ slow way t’go!”
Zaran’s eyes shone savagely. “I would like to be there, to see it. Then I would know…my daughter Namur, my mate Varon, her father…their deaths would be avenged!” With a swift thrust, she buried the weapon in the poplar trunk, beside the young shrew. “Dubble stay here, Zaran has work to do.” Gathering her crude tools, the lithe black otter vanished into the darkness.
It took Dubble some considerable effort to free the odd weapon from the tree. He lay on his stomach, watching and listening for any alien sounds in the still woodland night.
It had been a long, hard day, Dubble soon dozed off. He slumbered for a short time, then rolled over, almost falling from the poplar trunk. The sword fell to the earth, one of its two points sticking in the ground. Steadying himself, Dubble sat up, immediately alert. Somebeast was close by, and it was not Zaran. He began inching from his perch to reach the sword.
26
Dawn was banishing the dark night hours, turning the skies to a kaleidoscope of gentle, pastel hues. Woodpigeons in Mossflower’s trees commenced their broody chuckling, as the first larks of day ascended chirruping joyously. None of the inhabitants of Redwall had yet broken their fast, but they appeared in force on the dew-kissed lawns. Everybeast had turned out early—even the Dibbuns—to witness the banishment of the Painted Ones to the western flatlands. The spectators crowded the walltop over the main gate.
Fully armed, Bosie led a contingent of Gonfelins, Guosim and able-bodied Abbeybeasts to the door of the Belltower.
Corksnout Spikkle stood guarding the entrance. He saluted with his huge bung mallet, knocking his cork nose to one side. Hastily adjusting it, he indicated the tower with a nod. “Ain’t been a peep out of ’em all night, mate!”
Bosie returned the salute with a flourish of Martin’s sword. “Mah thanks tae ye, sirrah. Off tae yore bed now, Ah’ll take charge o’ this wee task!”
Completely subdued, the tree rats filed out of the Belltower. Since their bath in the stream, plus the removal of their grisly body trophies, and the attendant weeds, they looked a sorry bunch.
Nokko moved them along with a stick. “Well now, ya don’t look like much, eh? No more painty faces, an’ trees to ’ide in. Step lively at the back there, awkward paws!”
The watchers on the walltop stood silent, as the heavily guarded rodents shuffled their way to the big front gate. Then the tiny molebabe set the Dibbuns off, with his raucous bass shouts. “Gurrout of yurr, you’m villyuns, goo on be h’off!” The Abbeybabes booed and hissed, shouting out some quite ripe comments at the sullen mob of captives.
“Hah, I cut you tails off wiv a hooj knife!”
“Yurr, et won’t smell so stinky in yurr when you uns bees gone, hurr hurr!”
“H’if youse cumm back, Mista Bosy’ll baff ye again. Better run very quicker!”
Abbot Glisam stood on the threshold, at the west wall centre. He waited until all the prisoners were lined up on the path, facing the flatlands on the far side of the ditch. Silence fell over everybeast when he raised his paws. Then he addressed the vermin prisoners in a no-nonsense voice.
“Hear me now: you are to be given your freedom, which is more than your tribe ever did for anybeast. But, there are conditions, under which you are released. There will be no return to Mossflower woodlands for any of you. Travel west, toward the setting sun at eventide. After one night out on those plains, you may choose whichever way you want to go. West, south, north, but not east, not back this way. I will post guards to look out from these walls. By this time tomorrow it will spell death for any they can see. Is this clearly understood?”
Amidst the silent shuffling of footpaws, Bosie paced up and down, sword on shoulder, berating the rats. “If’n certain beasties, whom Ah willnae mention, had their way, ye’d all be lang slain! Och, ye wee, ungrateful creatures, do ye not want yer life an’ freedom? Bow tae the guid Abbot an’ thank him right now. Come on, bow yer scruffy heids an’ say ‘thankee, Father,’ all of ye!”
With very bad grace the tree rats bobbed swift bows, muttering thanks. Abbot Glisam nodded to his guard force, below on the path.
“That’s sufficient, send them on their way now!”
Many of the rats hesitated at the edge of the ditch, but they were urged on by stern warriors, with shoves and pushes. “Come on, it ain’t that deep, either climb down, or jump over!”
Nokko put his footpaw behind one or two. “I ain’t carryin’ youse over on my back, git goin’!”
Tugga Bruster was about to swing his iron club at Tala, the mate of Chigid, whom he had slain. However she preempted the move by leaping right across to the other side of the ditch, where she faced him, hatred and defiance glittering in her eyes.
“See me, spikeymouse, I be Tala, I killya one day!”
The Guosim Log a Log began waving his club, roaring, “I’ve taken enough o’ this, I’m comin’ over there to finish you off, like I should’ve done!”