“Peace falls o’er vale and hill,
silence fades the light,
moon and stars watch over
little ones by night.
Dawn will send the day bright,
larks will sing for thee,
streams of slumber flow now,
round this babe and me.”
Saro smiled. “That’s a pretty song, I remember it from Redwall long ago. Ol’ Sister Ormel used t’ sing it in the dormitory. Happy days, Ormel was a good ol’ mouse.”
Springald sniffed. “I learned it from her, too. Sister Ormel passed on three winters back. She was well loved.”
As they nursed Fenna, in hostile country, far from their beloved Abbey and its friendly creatures, Saro and Springald sat silent with their thoughts of Redwall.
Horty staggered gamely onward, though his paws were wobbling and his body bent with fatigue. Bragoon was in slightly better shape, but every step he took was an effort. Side by side they stumbled along through the night. Then the young hare tripped and fell, bringing the otter down with him.
Through cracked and swollen lips, Horty mumbled, “Beg your pardon, old lad, tripped over a confounded bush. Wonder what oaf left it there, wot.”
He grunted as Bragoon scrambled over him and grabbed a pawful of leaves. Thrusting his nose into them, the otter whooped. “Wahoo! This ain’t no bush, mate. ’Tis a big clump o’ comfrey. There’s water nearby, I’m sure of it. Water!”
Leaping up, they plunged forward with renewed hope and energy. The otter suddenly ground to a halt, pulling Horty back. He pointed ahead, to where a soft glow emanated from behind the bulk of a widespread willow tree. Beyond that, the trickle of running water could be clearly heard.
Drawing his sword, Bragoon thrust the young hare behind him, uttering a quiet caution. “Stick close t’my back, an’ don’t do anythin’ foolhardy. There’s a fire burnin’, t’other side o’ yon tree. I ’ope there’s friendly beasts sittin’ round it.”
Horty snorted. “Fat chance in this neck o’ the woods, pal. All we’ve met is bounders’n’cads since we climbed those cliffs. Huh, friendly y’say, prob’ly so friendly they’ll chop off our blinkin’ heads on sight, wot?”
The otter’s paw clamped over Horty’s mouth. “Stow the gab an’ stay behind me, we’ll soon see!”
There were six reptiles in all—two large frilled lizards, three fat toads and a grass snake—lounging around the fire. They were grilling a mess of bleak and minnow on green twigs. Having made a bit of noise as they approached, both travellers were expected. One of the lizards stood barring their way to the water, which appeared to be a small streamlet flowing away into a dense pine forest. The rest of the reptile crew crouched, ready to back the lizard up.
Bragoon nodded civilly to them, noting that all eyes were on his sword. “Evenin’ to ye, we’ve come for water.”
One of the lizards sniggered nastily, trying to imitate the otter’s voice. “H’evannin’ to ye, we’ve a-come f’waterrrr!”
Horty noticed several large gourds of water nearby. “That’s the jolly old stuff, water, you know, that pleasant liquid which is rather nice t’drink. I say, those tiny fish smell rather toothsome, wot. Don’t suppose you’d like to donate a few to a worthy cause, a hungry but honest hare, eh?”
The reptiles edged around, circling the pair. The largest of the lizards picked up a crude, flint-tipped spear, pointing it at Bragoon.
“Watersss not a free, iz all oursss. You wanta fisssshes an’ drrrrrink, give usss bright a blade!”
Ignoring him, the otter turned to Horty. “I don’t know wot it is wid the beasts in this country, but they seem t’think we’re dim-witted. Our stream, our water, our fish. While pore young Fenna’s dyin’ for a drop o’ water. I’ve taken about enough of all this claptrap, mate. Ye take my sword, don’t do anythin’, just stay there, that’s an order!”
Horty took the weapon and saluted. “As y’say, sah! An’ pray, what d’you intend doin’, if one may ask, wot?”
A slow, savage grin spread across the otter’s tough face. “Nothin’ much, I’m just goin’ t’get us some water.”
Roaring out a warcry, Bragoon launched himself at the reptiles. “Make way fer Bragoon o’ Redwaaaaaallllll!”
Horty could not have moved if he had wanted to. He stood wide-eyed with shock, watching six reptiles take the most fearsome beating he had ever witnessed.
Bragoon broke the spear of one of the lizards over its head, then picked the reptile up and hurled it into the stream. He went at the others like a madbeast. Flinging himself through the air, he butted a toad heavily in its enormous stomach. As air shot out of the toad in a whoosh, he rudderwhipped it hard, thrice across the head, laying it senseless. He turned and grabbed the other lizard, running it forcefully, snout on, into the willow trunk. Seizing the grass snake, he used it like a flail, cracking the jaws of the other two toads with the snake’s head. Bragoon leaped high. Still holding the grass snake, he landed on the two toads’ stomachs, then booted all three toads into the stream. The other lizard sat facing the tree trunk, nursing its broken snout. Knotting the snake around its neck, the otter looped them both to a low branch.
Dusting off his paws and breathing heavily, Bragoon took the sword from the astounded young hare. Putting the swordpoint at the lizard, he growled, “In the future, mind yore manners an’ be polite to visitors!”
The lizard clutched onto the coils of the senseless grass snake around its neck. The snake was looped to the branch above, keeping the lizard on tip-paw. Bragoon put his face close to the reptile and roared thunderously, “Yore all deadbeasts if’n I clap eyes on ye agin! D’ye hear me, slimeguts?”
Dipping a paw into one of the gourds, the otter tasted the water and spat it out in disgust, then called to his companion. “Git yore gob out o’ that stream, young ’un. Wash these things out an’ fill ’em wid fresh water. I’ll get the fish.” He stowed the sword over his shoulder. “Don’t dillydally, mate. Fenna an’ the others’ll be waitin’. Put a move on!”
Horty hurried to do Bragoon’s bidding, holding a conversation with himself as he rinsed and filled the containers. “Seasons o’ soup’n’salad, ’pon my word! That crackpot must’ve been a right terror in his younger days, wot? Curl me crusts! A chap’d do well to stay the right side o’ that otter, he’s a bloomin’ one-beast army!”
Bragoon’s voice cut sharply into his meanderings. “Stop chunnerin’ an’ get ’em filled, ye great gabby windbag!”
Horty filled the last gourd with one paw, saluting furiously with the other. “Chunnerin’, sah, who, sah, me, sah? No, sah, not never, nohow. Last one filled, sah, all correct, wot wot!”
Bragoon had chopped branches with his sword. He and Horty carried the gourds, strung on the wood and yoked across their shoulders, two to each of them. They had drunk sufficient water and chewed on the cooked fish as they trekked back to their friends.
Sighting the lean-to in dawn’s pearly light, they dashed forward, slopping water, with Horty yelling, “Toodle pip there, you idle lot, here come two handsome water carriers. I say, we’ve got fish, too! Jolly good, eh?”
There was no reply from the shelter. Bragoon hurried forward, only to find it deserted.
BOOK THREE
“We lived one summer
too long”
29
Morning sunlight filtered like molten gold through the gatehouse. Raga Bol picked his teeth with the silver pawhook, spitting a bone back onto the remains of a well-grilled fish, which he had breakfasted on.
The Searat captain was in a expansive mood, having slept dreamlessly without any giant stripedog nightmares. The whole incident surrounding Lonna had faded into the background since his arrival at the Abbey. He felt a sense of power, sheltered by the monumental red walls which he knew would be his new home. No more scouring the cold northeast seas. This was a place of fair weather, a fortress from where he could rule all Mossflower. Lord Raga Bol, he liked the sound of his new title.