Before Bragoon stepped onto the tree trunk, he pressed something into Fenna’s paw and whispered, “Shove this in yore belt pouch, no questions.” Without a word, the squirrelmaid stuffed the object into her pouch, then followed the otter out onto the tree trunk bridge.
Total silence and engulfing dark reigned in the yawning chasm. Holding one another’s paws, the five travellers edged slowly forward, step by step. They were almost across to the far side when a harsh, evil laugh sounded out from behind them.
Suddenly the lights of many smoking torches lit up the gorge. Saro turned, gasping at the incredible sight.
Kharanjul stood on the trunk, backed by an army of vermin, each holding a torch in one paw and a spear in the other. They were mainly ferrets and weasels, with a scattering of large rats among them. Everybeast’s fur was thickly daubed with a sickly yellow-and-green substance, giving them a sinister, spectral appearance. But it was the horrific form of their leader that stood out.
The Wearet swung back his cloak, revealing a misshapen but powerfully bulky torso. As he gestured at them with a big, three-pronged trident, his monstrous face split into an ugly grin. “Stop where ye stand, trespasser! You belong to Kharanjul, Lord of the Abyss! I will punish you for intruding on my domain!”
Saro pushed Horty forward. “Keep goin’, we’re almost across!”
Bragoon was about to jump from the log onto the opposite ledge, when a score of vermin rose up in front of him.
The captain, a tall weasel, snarled in his face. “Stand still! Obey the Great Lord of Life and Death!”
The otter laughed, then slew him with a single swordthrust. Catching the captain’s spear as it fell, Bragoon tossed it back to Saro. “Keep ’em busy, mate. Redwaaaaaallllll!”
Hurling himself from the tree trunk, Bragoon roared like a madbeast as he dealt out death and destruction with the sword of Martin the Warrior. “Heeeeeyaaaaaah! Grab some spears, young ’uns! No pack o’ fancy-talkin’ vermin are goin’ to stop us Redwallers!”
Horty seized a long spear and was suddenly in the thick of the battle, whooping and bellowing. “Forward the buffs, give ’em blood’n’vinegar. Chaaaaarge!”
Belting a weasel flying into the abyss, the young hare stood shoulder to shoulder with the otter—cutting, thrusting and slashing. Springald and Fenna armed themselves with fallen spears. They turned to help Saro, but the aging squirrel would have none of it. Single-pawed, she held the centre of the log bridge, letting none pass. Using her spearblade, she slashed at a ferret, flaying his footpaw. He hopped off into midair and vanished screaming.
Saro yelled at the two Abbeymaids. “Take this rope an’ see if ye can fix it t’the top. Then go an’ help Brag an’ Horty. I’m fine right ’ere, they can only come at me one at a time!”
They obeyed her immediately. As they jumped off the tree trunk, a big rat charged Springald, but he vanished over the rim with a yowl of dismay when Fenna pushed him with her spearbutt.
The squirrelmaid was momentarily stunned. “I’ve just slain somebeast!”
Springald shouted. “Good! Mind your back, Fenn!”
The mousemaid deflected a spear with her own. She thrust and saw the look of surprised horror on the vermin’s painted face as he fell dead.
Steeling herself, Springald stood back to back with her friend. “Keep fighting or we’re deadbeasts!”
Bragoon and Horty fought their way through to the side of the two maids. The otter despatched a charging weasel, then shouted, “Gimme that rope, Spring. You three, cover my back!” Grabbing the rope, he whirled it and flung it up, but it fell back. Bragoon whirled it once more, gritting his teeth against the swordblade held between them. This time his throw was good; the chunk of wood lodged between the two broken staves which they had fixed into the plateau. The otter swung his weight onto the rope, testing it. The rope held firm. He turned to the three young ones.
“Come on, mates, up y’go! Horty, take this sword, ’tis too short for fightin’ spears with. Pass me yore spear an’ get climbin’!”
Horty gave him the spear and took the sword, but the hare refused to climb up. There were six vermin left to face on their side. Slaying one with a slash to the throat, Horty shook his head. “Let Spring an Fenn go, I’m stayin’ here with you, sah. True blue an’ never fail, that’s us Braebucks, wot!”
The otter whacked a vermin over the skull with his spear, then kicked him swiftly into the abyss. Blood was flowing from a wound on his forehead as he turned on Horty furiously. “I said, git up that rope, hare. Do it now!”
Between them they faced off a vermin, who was very fancy with his spearwork.
Horty muttered rebelliously. “I ain’t goin’, otter! I can’t leave you an’ Saro here to face that flamin’ lot on your own!”
Bragoon’s eyes were blazing as he faced Horty. “Wot did I tell ye, I’m in charge ’ere. Obey me . . . Argh!”
The vermin’s spearpoint took the otter through the footpaw. He pulled the spear from his foe’s grasp, ran him through with it and booted him into oblivion. Livid with wrath, he rounded on the young hare. “Don’t argue wid me, mate! Yore young, like them two maids, you got all your lives ahead o’ ye. Get that sword back to Redwall! Me’n Saro knows wot we’re doin’. We can’t look after three young ’uns who are still wet be’ind the ears, we’ve lived one summer too long fer all that! Now git up that rope, Horty, or I swear I’ll run ye through wid this spear! Look after the two maids, live yore life for us. Now go!”
Leaving Horty one vermin to deal with, the otter turned and limped out onto the long tree trunk to help Sarobando.
Horty downed the vermin in a perilous rage, needlessly striking at the foebeast’s carcass. Springald and Fenna looked down from the top of the plateau, howling hoarsely at their young friend.
“Horty, come on, get up the rope!”
“You must obey Bragoon, do as you’re told!”
Clamping the sword in his teeth, Horty ran to the rope. He took one backward look at Bragoon and Saro. Though wounded in a dozen places, they were still fighting savagely.
Reeling from a blow, Saro caught his eye and bellowed. “Get to the top an’ pull the rope up, or they’ll come after ye an’ slay those two maids. Go! Go!”
Blinded by tears of rage and helplessness, Horty went.
Kharanjul stood on the far ledge, urging his creatures forward. Seeing so many killed by the two old battlers who were holding off the advance, the Wearet took up his trident and went out to fight.
The vermin were still coming. Bragoon and Saro were bowed with fatigue, but covered in blood and severely injured, they were still taking on all comers. They fought side by side on the narrow causeway of timber, keeping their eyes on the advancing enemy, talking to each other as they thrust and parried.
Saro panted. “The young ’uns are gone. Pity we couldn’t ’ave gone with ’em.”
Bragoon dislodged a foebeast with his spear. “Wot, y’mean back to Redwall? Don’t think I could’ve stood it, mate, sittin’ in the gate’ouse wid Old Phredd countin’ me teeth as they fell out an’ dozin’ all day!”
Saro wiped blood from her eye and chuckled. “Dibbuns climbin’ all over us, ole Setiva physickin’ away at us, wrappin’ rugs round our laps in winter!”
Bragoon caught a ferret in the throat with his spear. “Might be even worse—they could’ve sent us back to Abbey school. We’d ’ave Sister Portula teachin’ us to readn’write’n’figger. No, that ain’t fer us, pal!”
The aging squirrel caught sight of Kharanjul advancing. “Oh, look out, Brag, ’ere comes the big ugly mug. We’d better start backin’ off. Blood’n’fur, lookit the size o’ that monster, he must’ve ate some dinners with that fork!”