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.
“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?”
Bowing his head, Kolun went on bended knee. “Nay, Majesty. I’m Kolun Galedeep, Skipper o’ the Galedeep clan, an’ I’m honoured to meet ye, yore Majesty!”
Taking his paws, Tiria raised him up immediately. “Please, Kolun, I don’t want anybeast bowing and scraping to me. Don’t call me Majesty, my name’s Tiria.”
The big otter grinned cheerfully. “Fair enough. I’ll call ye Queen Tiria, how’ll that do?”
She patted his huge paw. “That’ll do me fine, mate. You’re such a bigbeast, I thought you must be a Wildlough.”
Kolun looked her up and down. “Wildloughs ain’t usually yore size, Queen Tiria. How did ye get to be so tall?”
With a twinkle in her eyes, Tiria replied, “I told my dad I wouldn’t be long!”
It was an old otterjoke. The clanbeasts laughed heartily, pleased that their queen was not a remote and formal presence. She was one of them.
Corporal Drubblewick and his helpers joined forces with some ottercooks. Together they set about cooking for everybeast. Cuthbert, Granden and O’Cragg convened a Council of War with Kolun, Lorgo, Banya and Tiria. They sat apart from the rest, dining on turnip and mushroom soup, fresh baked farls, fruit and burdock cordial. Banya explained to the hares what had taken place. She told them of the warlord’s threat to kill Leatho and the slaves, starting at dawn. Captain Granden questioned the otters on every aspect of the fortress and the number of catguards there. Using charcoal and a piece of willow bark, Banya sketched a map of the fortress layout—pier, buildings, barracks, tower and slave compound.
Cuthbert studied it keenly. Then, moving his ears in approval, he replied, “This is splendid, just what we jolly well need, wot. Sergeant, have the Patrol ready to move out in mufti soon as ye can. Tell ’em to smoke all blades, too.”
Tiria looked at him enquiringly. “You’re moving the Patrol out now? But why?”
Dropping his monocle, Cuthbert winked with the air of a conspirator. “Quick tactics are best, doncha know? I’ve laid my plans. Ye won’t see me or the Patrol again until dawn. Now, I’ll tell ye what I want you otter types t’do, so pay attention, chaps. Kolun an’ Lorgo, take your clans along both banks. Banya, see if ye can get some o’ your creatures to knock together a raft that’ll carry about twoscore. Can ye do that?”
The tough Streamdog maid nodded. “Aye, we can steal the fishin’ coracles an’ lay a platform of logs on ’em. Shouldn’t be too much trouble, Major.”
Cuthbert gazed at her admiringly. “If ye ever decide to become a hare, I’ll have ye in my regiment, gel. You go with your queen on the raft, straight up the middle o’ the lake. Tiria, I want you standin’ front an’ centre on that vessel, lookin’ just like a queen, d’ye hear me? Now, all you otters, it’s blinkin’ well vital that ye make it to the pier at dawn, understand? Oh, an’ I want ye t’be makin’ as much noise as possible. Sing, shout, yell warcries, do what ye bally well like, but let’s have a rousin’ good din raised. So, that’s about all, chaps. Good fortune be with us all. Forward the buffs, give ’em blood’n’vinegar an’ all that. Wot wot!”
“Patrol ready t’march out h’in skirmish order, sah!”
Tiria looked up to see that they were surrounded by hares. Each member of the Long Patrol had shed their scarlet tunics, camouflaging themselves with twigs, grass and leaves. Every blade they carried had been blackened by fire smoke. Major Cuthbert Blanedale Frunk dropped both monocle and swagger stick and shrugged off his tunic. Tiria could tell by the wild look in his eyes that he was going into one of his many character changes. He leered villainously, squinting one eye.
“Hohoho, me beauties, the wild badgers are huntin’ tonight. Lord Brockfang Frunk bids ye farewell!”
Both he and the hares were gone in a trice, swallowed up by the nighttime undergrowth.
Lorgo Galedeep shuddered. “Curl me rudder, he’s madder than a mop-topped mouse!”
Tiria reassured him calmly. “Oh, I wouldn’t call him mad, exactly. Let’s say he’s a beast of many parts. I’ve seen him as a shrew chieftain, a sea otter pirate and a regimental major. But one thing you may rest assured of, he’s not stupid. That hare is a legend among his kind—a master of strategy and the most perilous warrior in all Salamandastron. I’d trust my life to him any day of the season!”
Kolun chuckled. “So now he’s a wild huntin’ badger, eh? Well, I’d hate t’be the foebeast that has to face him.”
Banya tweaked the big fellow’s whiskers. “But you ain’t no huntin’ badger, Mister Galedeep. C’mon, up with ye! Yore a log finder now. Queen Tiria has to have a raft that won’t let us down, so move yore carcass!”