sliding and moving. It’ll be a tricky task, but don’t worry, I’ll have supper ready for you when we haul you
out of there. How many are you?”
“Six altogether, Log-a-Log, a hedgehog, a badger, a young otter, Jess Squirrel and Basil Stag Hare.”
“What? That old scoffin’ windbag. I’m sorry I mentioned supper.”
Basil’s ears stood up indignantly. “I say, steady on, you scurvy little log-floater. Scoffin’ windbag
indeed!”
Jess Squirrel stifled a giggle. “I’d say he wasn’t far wrong there, eh, Matthias?”
It was late afternoon when the shrew digging party broke through. The friends had sat in darkness most of
the day, listening to digging and shoring interspersed with orders and arguments. Suddenly they were
showered with rubble as a small head broke through framed by light.
“Flugg, stop bickerin’ and pass me that branch. There! That ought to do it. Hello, cave dwellers. I’m
Gurn, the best digger the Guosim have got. Some say my granddad was a mole.”
Orlando thrust forward a huge paw and patted the shrew. “Well, Gurn, I can’t tell you how glad we are
to see you. I’m Orlando the Axe.”
“Hmm, big feller, aren’t you? I hope this tunnel’s wide enough to take you. You’d better go last,
Orlando. Smallest first.”
It was a painstaking and bruising operation, as one by one the friends were attached to a rope and forcibly
pulled through by scores of shrews. Orlando waited until last. The tunnel caved in behind him as he was
hauled and tugged along the makeshift rescue shaft.
In the early evening sunlight, Matthias and his friends laughed and splashed in the shallows of the river
as they bathed away the dust and dirt of their imprisonment. Sunlight, clean air, fresh water and the sight
of green growing things combined to make them realize how lucky they were to be alive. Even Jabez Stump
chuckled happily as he splashed water into the air.
“Hohoho, if’n my old family could see me now. It’s many a long season since this beast risked a bath, I
can tell you.”
Later that evening they sat around a shrew campfire, eating oatbread baked on flat rocks and drinking fresh
river water with herbs crushed into it. Matthias told Log-a-Log all that had taken place from the night of
the feast celebrating the Summer of the Golden Plain, up to the incident of the cave.
The shrew leader shook with rage. “Slavers! The slime of Mossflower, treacherous murdering rogues.
Our Guosim scouts have heard reports in Mossflower since the end of spring about that masked fox and his
dirty crew. I’m with you and your friends, Matthias. We’ll track ’em and put an end to their evil trade.
Taking young ones from their homes and families. I tell you it makes my blood boil just to think of it.”
Basil had been munching his oatbread and gazing around the shrew camp, “ ’scuse me, old Log-a-
thing, I know it’s not unusual for you shrew fellers to argue a bit, but by and large you usually stick
together. So tell me, what is that small group over there sittin’ on their own around a separate fire for,” the
old campaigner wondered.
Log-a-Log sniffed and threw a dead root on the fire. “Oh, that lot. They’re trouble, Basil, particularly
that young feller Skan. He’s been challenging my leadership lately. It’ll all come to a head tonight when I
announce our new plans. When it does, I’d be grateful if you could keep your friends out of it, Matthias. No
offence, but this is Guosim business.”
Matthias nodded. “As you wish, Log-a-Log. Anyhow, I’ve no desire to be caught in the middle of a
shrew argument. I’ve seen ’em before. But please don’t let us be the cause of your trouble. You freed us
from the cave and we are thankful for that. We can carry on our hunt alone, old friend.”
The Guosim leader’s eyes were bright and fierce. “Matthias, we are going with you, and that is final.
Mossflower needs to be kept free of evil if woodland families are to live in peace. It is no less than our duty
to help. As for the coming trouble, you leave that to me.” Log-a-Log took out a round black stone from his
sling pouch and stood up. A smile hovered about his face momentarily. “Besides, life’s not much fun to a
shrew without trouble.”
The slavers caught up with the main party two hours after nightfall. Mattimeo and his friends found
themselves locked and manacled back on to the slave line. They slumped down wearily, tired and sore and
hungry.
“None for you escapers,” little Vitch sniggered evilly as he fed the other slaves. “Slagar said so. A taste
of real hunger’ll make you a bit more obedient. Slagar says that when he’s got a bit more time he’s going to
deal with each of you personally, especially you, little Redwall pet. Heeheehee.”
Mattimeo bared his teeth and went into a crouch. Vitch hurriedly backed off and left them alone.
They looked around, trying to take stock of their surroundings in the dark of night. One thing was
obvious: they were camped in the foothills of an immense cliff range. The huge high plateau reared up
behind them, blocking out the night-time sky. Sam craned his neck backwards as he gazed up.
“I wonder how we’re supposed to get up there?”
Jube lay back, closing his eyes. “We’ll find out tomorrow, on an empty stomach too.”
They lay down to sleep, but Mattimeo sat up, staring in the direction of Slagar. Tess watched him. He
was different, older, tougher and something else she could not quite put her paw on.
“Mattimeo, what is it?” she asked. “You’ve changed since we were recaptured.”
The young mouse patted Tess’s paw. “It’s nothing, Tess. Go to sleep. I’m sorry I got angry at Tim today.
In fact, I’m sorry for a lot of things. Perhaps you were right when you said that I should be more like my
father. Maybe it’s a bit too late now, but I’m certainly going to try. From now on Redwall must live on
through Martin, my father and me. I was born the son of the Redwall Warrior, sword or no sword, and that
is what I intend to be, to myself, and most of all to you and to my friends.”
It was then that Tess Churchmouse realized Mattimeo was no longer the wild and wayward young
mischief-maker he had always been. Sitting next to her was a mouse who looked like Martin and Matthias.
Despite the fact that they were captives in a strange place, she felt suddenly safe and protected in his
presence.
The young one had become a warrior!
Chapter 25
Cornflower, Abbot Mordalfus, Foremole and Queen Warbeak were in the gatehouse cottage. It had long
gone midnight, but they sat around on the hearthrug with the parchment before them. It was covered by
the markings of the charcoal stone-rubbing taken from the stone crow high on the south wall of the Abbey.
The Sparra Queen preened herself proudly. “Verree good, eh? Sparra no missee thing, get all um
wormsign.”
“Hurr Hurr, that you’m ’ave, clever ol’ burdbag,” Foremole congratulated her.
The Father Abbot folded back his sleeves. “Thank you, Queen Warbeak. Well, let us see what we have
here. A map, by the look of it, and a poem to translate. I can do that. Watching John brought it all back to
me.”
They scanned the parchment.
“Those who wish to challenge fate,
To a jumbled shout walk straight.
Sunset fires in dexteree,
Find where Loamhedge used to be.
At the high place near the skies,