Brantalis rose hastily and began descending the wallsteps in a series of wobbling hops. “I will not be carried by these strange mice, dropping me they would be. By myself I will walk!”
Tiria restrained herself from laughing at the comical aspect of Brantalis and the indignant look on Foremole Grudd’s face. She apologised to the mole leader. “I’m sorry, sir, but it seems Brantalis appears able to get himself across to the Abbey.”
Signalling dismissal to his crew, Grudd marched off with his snout in the air. “Boi okey, oi’m not a botherin’ abowt ee h’ungrateful gurt bag o’ feathers. Gudd day to ee, marm!”
Still stifling her mirth, Tiria bowed deeply to Grudd. “Good day to you, sir, and my thanks for your kind offer of help.”
Clack!
Had she not bowed, the ottermaid would have surely been slain by the crude spear which flew in over the battlements. The weapon’s chipped-flint head shattered as it struck the parapet.
Whipping off the sling Wuppit and loading it in the same movement, Tiria leaped to the walltop. Below, in the ditch that ran alongside the path stretching from north to south, she glimpsed the water rats. It was Groffgut’s gang, racing away north up the dried-out ditchbed. Tiria identified the gangleader’s voice as he shouted, “Dat wuz the waterdog! I missed’er, but ’twas dat mouse wot beated me up dat I wanna kill!”
It was a difficult throw, but Tiria whirled Wuppit wildly and let fly hard. She hit the back of the last runner’s head, downing him. Dashing to the main gate, she began swiftly unbarring it.
Skipper Banjon and Brink, together with Tiria’s three friends, were walking down the Abbey steps when they spied her flinging the gate open and racing out onto the path. Banjon was off like an arrow. “Wot’n the name o’ rudders is that gel up to? C’mon, mates!”
Some distance up the ditchbed, they came across the ottermaid, standing over a sprawled-out water rat. She was shaking her head as her eyes roved north up the dried-out watercourse. “It was those vermin we met yesterday. I was on the walltop when one of them threw a spear at me and missed. I heard him shouting that it was the mouse he wanted to slay, the one who had beaten him. Anyhow, they’re well gone now, probably cut off east into the woodlands farther up. I managed to hit this one from the walltop.”
Girry looked back to the Abbey ramparts. “Good grief, you mean to say you slung a stone that far, from up there, and you hit your target? Is he dead?”
Brink knelt and checked the rat briefly. “Oh aye, this ’un’s dead, sure enough!”
Shocked, Tiria dropped her sling as though it were a poison snake. Her voice shook as she explained, “I didn’t mean to kill anybeast, honestly. I only wanted to drive them away from Redwall. It was just a wild shot. I wish I’d never slung that stone!”
Skipper pressed the sling Wuppit back into his daughter’s paw. “You said there was eight of the vermin. So, one of ’em wants to kill hisself a mouse, eh?”
A tremor of fear ran through Brinty, but he put on a show of bravado. “Huh, I’m not frightened of scummy water rats!”
Banjon eyed Tiria levelly. “An’ ye didn’t mean to kill the rat. Why?”
She shrugged. “Can’t say, really. I’ve never slain anything before. It’s just not a very nice feeling I suppose.”
Her father’s gaze hardened. Raising his voice sternly, he addressed his daughter. “Not a very nice feelin’, ye suppose? You lissen t’me, gel. Those rats are thieves, murderers an’ torturers, all of ’em! ’Tis about time ye grew up an’ learned about vermin. If’n I’d been with ye when y’found ’em tormentin’ that bird yesterday, I would’ve finished ’em all, instead o’ lettin’ the villians go free to roam Mossflower. There’s seven of the scum out there now, all ready to rob an’ kill any decent, innocent creature they come across!”
Banjon nudged the carcass of the fallen one. “Ye can’t reason with vermin, Tiria. This rat won’t be doin’ any more evil,’cos you stopped him. You did the right thing, protectin’ our Abbey an’ yore friends. Remember, gel, yore a warriormaid with Wildlough blood!”
The force of her father’s final phrase hit Tiria like a thunderbolt. It was the exact line spoken to her by the otter in her dream, which came instantly back to her in vivid detail. She swayed and had to support herself by leaning against the side of the ditch.
The skipper leaped forward and steadied her. “Tiria, are ye alright? What ails ye?”
Brink took his friend to one side, whispering, “Leave ’er be, mate. Pore missy, ’tis prob’ly the shock of it all. I think ye were a mite harsh with ’er, yellin’ like that. May’aps she ain’t old enough to grasp it all yet.”
Banjon turned to his daughter apologetically. “I didn’t mean to shout at ye like that, beauty. I’m sorry.”
Brink threw a paw around Skipper’s shoulder. “Don’t fret, mate. She knows ye meant no ’arm. Come on, me’n’ you’ll see if’n we can’t pick up the trail o’ those vermin. Brinty, why don’t you an’ yore mates take Tiria back to the Abbey? Aye, go an’ see how yore goose is farin’, pretty one. Great seasons, bringin’ two big birds back to the Abbey in two days. Wotever next, eh?”
Once they were alone, Tiria could not wait to confide in her friends. She told them everything about her previous night’s dream.
Girry’s eyes were wide with awe at her narrative. “You actually saw Martin the Warrior?”
Now that she could recall it all, Tiria began feeling more positive and cheerful. “Aye, I saw him, true enough, but it was the strange otter lady and what she said to me.”
As soon as they reached the Abbey, Tribsy clambered up out of the ditch. “They’m wurr ee gurt load o’ wurds she’m sayed to ee. ’Ow can you’m a-member ’em all?”
Tiria heaved Brinty from the ditch. “Because they’re burned into my brain. I can repeat exactly what she said. Listen.
“Like the sun, High Rhulain will rise anew,
to set the downtrodden free.
A warriormaid with Wildlough blood
must cross the Western Sea.
She who looks ever through windows
at the signs which feathers make,
seek the Green Isle through her knowledge,
for all thy kinbeasts’ sake.”
Girry twirled his bushy tail in puzzlement. “It sounds rather mysterious. What d’you make of it, Tiria?”
The ottermaid broke into a trot. “I’ll have to think about it, mate, and nobeast thinks well on an empty stomach. I haven’t had breakfast yet, I’m famished!”
Speeding into a run, she bounded over the lawns, with the others pursuing her. Tribsy, who was slowest, was shouting, “You’m wait furr oi, gurt ruddery creetur!”
Breakfast was about finished when they arrived at the kitchens, but the kindly Friar could not bear the thought of a hungry creature. “Indeed to goodness, ’tis lucky you are that I have some hot farls and honeymaple preserve put by. Oh, and there’s an apple dumplin’ for you, Tiria, ’cos I recall these three rascals havin’ breakfast earlier, with your da and Brink.”
They sat in the almost empty dining room, dipping farls in honeymaple preserve and sipping pear cordial. Girry eyed the ottermaid as she tucked into her dumpling. “Well, have you had any thoughts about your dream riddle yet?”
Tiria poured herself more cordial. “Don’t rush me, I’m thinking about it.”
Tribsy appeared quite amused by her comment. “Hurrhurrhurr, you’m thinken abowt thinken abowt ee riggle. Hurrhurr, that bee’s a gurt deal o’ thinken, miz!”
They were joined at table by another latecomer, little Sister Snowdrop, Old Quelt’s Assistant Librarian-cum-Recorder. Snowdrop had a pure white patch of fur on her head, hence her name. She was a dry-humoured old mouse, though nowhere near as ancient as Quelt.