be right behind you, and you know what will happen to anybird who tries to stop or fly off in a different
direction. So good riddance, birds, I would advise you to fly pretty fast.”
Sister May dropped her paw.
Bong! Boom!
The Methuselah and the Matthias bells tolled out across Mossflower. General Ironbeak’s depleted
fighters flew off as fast as the burden of the iron neck collars would allow.
Bong! Boom!
The Abbey creatures watched them winging low over the treetops, flying north across the summer
green fastness of the woodlands.
Bong! Boom!
The great red kite took off from the west wall threshold with the graceful soaring motion of a natural
hunter.
“Kreeegah! Stryk Redkite fly, Sissimay. Look!”
“Yes, I see you, Stryk. But remember your promise. Let them leave our country peacefully.”
When the birds were lost to view, Cornflower and Mrs. Churchmouse took Rollo with them around the
walltop to the south edge. The Abbot watched them go.
“Where do you think you’re off to?” he asked them.
“Now that the Abbey is safe, Father Abbot, we are going to keep a vigil from the south wall until
Matthias comes home with our young ones. With your permission, of course,” Cornflower added.
Mordalfus smiled understandingly.
“Permission granted. You are excused all other duties. Keep a good watch with stout hearts. I know in
my bones that our Warrior will return with the young ones.”
Cornflower shaded her eyes with her paw, repeating quietly to herself as she gazed south into
Mossflower, “Martin, return our loved ones safe to us.”
Baby Rollo had not quite got the gist of Cornflower’s quiet words. However, he placed a chubby paw to
his brow as he chanted with her, “Marto aturnd luv ones safetyus.”
Chapter 52
The Kingdom of Malkariss was gone. So were the last remnants of old Loamhedge. Sunk deeper beneath
the earth, the jumble of stones that had once been planned as an underground realm was blocked forever to
the eyes of everybeast, choked and cemented in its deep grave by rocks, shale, soil and roots.
Matthias looked up to the rim of the crater, where trees leaned at odd angles in the sunken copse, and
brown and black soil showed through the riven cracks in the grassy carpet. Wearily he sheathed the sword
across his shoulders and turned to his followers.
“Follow me to Redwall!”
They were halfway up the steep hill when Vitch made a bolt. He dashed downhill, crossed the
depression and began climbing the other side.
Mattimeo started to pursue him, but his father held him back.
“Let him go, son. He has no place among honest woodlanders.”
They stood for a moment and watched the small rat scramble over a large boulder half embedded in the
hillside. Suddenly Vitch screamed and began scrambling back on to the boulder, holding both paws up
pleadingly.
“No, no, please. I never told them anything. I wasn’t going with them. They found me!”
The silken mask and cloak appeared in view. Then there was a whirling sound as the metal-ended
bolas hissed through the air.
Vitch died without a sound.
“Slagar!”
Matthias and Orlando rushed down the hillside, unloosing their weapons as they ran.
The crazed fox stood up. He ran halfway to the fallen Vitch, changed his mind at the sight of the
oncoming warriors and began scrambling to the top of the hill.
Foam flecked wildly from Orlando’s mouth as he swung the axe, pounding uphill as easily as he would
over level ground. Spurred on by the sight of his archenemy, Matthias raced alongside the badger, his teeth
clenched tightly, brandishing the sword of Redwall. The whole army turned and followed them.
Slagar made it to the top of the hill. He glanced behind, to see the two Warriors halfway up pursuing
him. Still looking over his shoulder, the masked fox ran.
But only three paces.
The earth swallowed him up. He fell like a great fluttering moth, down into the one place that had not
sunk or collapsed: the old well of Loamhedge Abbey, the secret exit from the Kingdom of Malkariss!
Matthias and Orlando stood with their chests heaving as they gasped in air, staring down at the crumpled
mass far below in the deep well. The secret way was no more an avenue of escape, it was merely a deep pit
that proved useless except for its final function: the grave of Slagar.
“I swore to slay that silken hooded thief!” Orlando sighed with regret.
Matthias leaned upon his sword. “So did I, friend. This has saved us any argument. Let’s get some
rocks, at least we can bury him together.”
The body of Vitch, still with Slagar’s bolas wrapped around its skull, was lowered down into the pit.
The former slaves filled in the last of the pit with soil.
Orlando tamped the earth with a hefty paw. “There’s an end to him. There are no words you could say
over such a creature.”
As Matthias nodded agreement, a poetic voice rang out from above:
“A taker of slaves and a thief,
I know not what master he served,
Cruel Slagar has come to grief,
’twas all that he deserved.”
“Sir Harry!”
The big owl flapped down beside Matthias.
“Yes, it’s old Sir Harry the Muse.
I see you won victory,
So I flew back to bring you the news.
Just guess what happened to me.
I chased those vermin south,
I think they’re running yet.
When I heard a great noise from afar,
So I said to myself ‘I’ll bet
That’s my friends doing battle beneath the ground!’
Then I turned on my wings and flew to see
How a mouse could make such a big sound!”
Basil came ambling up. “Oh, hullo, it’s you, the great flyin’ poetic feedbag. How are you, old chap?
Hungry, I’ll wager. Wot?”
Matthias chuckled as he gave Mattimeo his sword to carry. “Come on, son, let’s go home!”
Chapter 53
The Summer of the Golden Plain drew to a glorious finish, and the yellow flowers faded and died. Matthias
had not returned to Redwall, but still Cornflower did not give up hope. She even pleaded with the Abbot
not to name the season. Though Mordalfus had chosen Autumn of the Early Chestnut, he bowed to
Cornflower’s wishes. Stryk Redkite had returned to her beloved mountains, and the orchard was beginning
to get heavy with the rich harvest of fruit and berries.
Cornflower stood on the south wall and faithfully kept up her vigil with Mrs. Churchmouse and Rollo.
“See, the woodlands are turning brown and russet. Soon the hazelnut and acorn will be ready for
gathering. We’ll miss Jess and Sam; nobeast gathers the nuts as well as a squirrel,” she said sadly.
“Aye, beechnuts too,” Mrs. Churchmouse added. “Remember last autumn, when all the young ones
went into Mossflower nut-gathering? My Tim and Tess both had long sticks to knock them down from the
low branches.”
Cornflower sighed. “My Matti got into trouble over the nut-gathering. He took his father’s sword from
the gatehouse to rattle the branches with. Oh, I do wish he and Matthias were back, Mrs. Churchmouse.”
“If hopes were honey we’d have a cupboardful, Cornflower. Ah well, we’d best get indoors. It’s way
past young master Rollo’s bedtime. Who’s on supper tonight?” Mrs. Churchmouse asked, to change the
subject.
“Er, Sister May and Brother Trugg. It should be something nice. Come on, little Rollo, supper and bye-