Tam was leaning against the corner of the southwest battlement when Armel approached him with food. He had been peering out into the night and did not hear her come. Startled, the border squirrel turned suddenly.
The Infirmary Sister apologised. “Sorry, Tam, I didn’t mean to surprise you. Would you like some supper?”
He released his grip on the sword hilt. “I didn’t hear you coming because I was concentrating in the other direction, out there.”
Armel placed the food on the battlement ledge. “Still no sign of Mister Plumm?”
Tam shook his head. “Not yet, but I’ve got a feeling in my bones that he’s not too far away. I’ll wait and see.”
Armel indicated the supper. “Then you can eat while you wait.”
Tam’s eyes never left the woodland fringe. “I don’t feel like eating until I know Doogy’s alright.”
The pretty young squirrel placed the tray firmly under Tam’s nose. “You must eat something, Mister MacBurl!”
A stubborn look crossed the Borderer’s face. “I’ve already said that I don’t feel like eating until I know my friend is safe, Sister Armel!”
She spread her paws expressively. “You’ll have to eat sooner or later, Mister MacBurl. Come on now, I made this supper specially for you.”
Tam knew he was going to lose the argument, so he relented. “Tell you what, let’s share it. I’ll eat half if you will.”
She smiled. “There’s not much difference between Dibbuns and warriors. Sometimes you’ve both got to be coaxed into doing what’s best for you. Right, we’ll share supper!”
Tam bit into one of the farls. “Mmmm . . . cheese and onion! Why didn’t you tell me, that’s one of my favourites!”
Armel took a sip of hot cordial and winked mischievously at him. “I could’ve tempted you into eating, but I like being bossy. Now eat up, Mister MacBurl!”
Tam laughed as he saluted and took a huge bite of the farl. “Right you are, marm. Your wish is my command!”
Together they passed the night hours—eating, drinking and talking. All along the walls, hares and Redwallers were doing the same thing in a common bond of friendship as they kept watch on the darkened plain and woodlands.
Dawn’s first mystic light stole out of the east, pale shades of misty pastels illuminating the sky as the first birdsong trilled softly over the stillness of Mossflower. Then the big drum boomed out, its echoes reverberating around the Abbey and ramparts of Redwall.
Tergen, who had posted himself on the threshold over the main gate at the western wall, shrilled out a harsh message, arousing every creature to action. “Yeeekaaaarrrr! This bird sees vermin yonder. Yeekaaaarrrr!”
Tam’s sword flashed forth in the dawn light. He thundered along the walkway to the threshold, with Armel dashing behind him.
Skipper and Sergeant Wonwill bellowed out orders to the creatures on the walltops.
“Hold yore positions there, don’t leave yore posts!”
“Long Patrol h’archers, up front with Cap’n Fortindom! The rest of ye stay put. Steady in the ranks there!”
Rakkety Tam MacBurl skidded to a halt alongside the goshawk. “Where’s the vermin, Tergen? Where?”
Babooom! Boom! Boom!
Over the deep drum tones, Tergen pointed with his beak. “Yaaaarrreeeeekka! See, over there!”
The breath froze in Tam’s throat as he looked . . . and saw!
38
It was still dark when Doogy wakened, swimming through the black sea of senselessness into a world of pain. The back of his skull throbbed with one massive headache. The sturdy Highlander could neither move nor cry out. Something scratched against his footpaw. Opening one eye slowly, he craned his head to gaze down. He was bound tight by all paws, neck and chest to a stake, which was driven into the ground. A white fox and an ermine were heaping dead boughs, branches, twigs and dried ferns about him. The white fox saw Doogy’s head move.
Checking that the filthy gag was secure around the Highlander’s mouth, the fox called out in a hoarse whisper, “Mighty One, the captive wakens.”
Doogy opened both eyes. In the gloom he saw Gulo the Savage sitting on the drum facing him. The wolverine did not speak for a moment. Doogy swallowed hard. Here he was, helpless, gazing into the insane face of his ferocious foe.
Gulo grinned, his murderous fangs showing through the white-frothed foam that flecked his lips. The wolverine’s nostrils flared wide beneath the glinting joy darting from his maddened, red-rimmed eyes as he peered at his captive.
He chuckled wickedly. “Now we shall see if my brother will save thee. When ’tis day again, I will lay down my challenge to Askor. He knows he can never rule the lands of ice and snow whilst I live. Askor must face me in combat, that is our law! Hear me, treecrawler, thy life depends on the courage of my brother. Do ye think he will defeat Gulo?”
Doogy could not say anything, though he was gnawing at the gag that stifled his mouth. Surely this crazed beast did not think that his brother was alive, and living at Redwall Abbey? Gulo flexed his paws, the long lethal claws curving out from his heavily matted limbs. “A pity our father Dramz is not here to see his favourite son slain by the one he never looked in favour on. I can see ye are a warrior. ’Twill be a rare sight for ye to witness. Combat to the death, winner takes all. The Walking Stone, this great drum, even the Redwall place yonder—and, of course, thy life. ’Tis a fair wager, is it not?”
Then he seemed to completely ignore Doogy. Leaping from the drum, Gulo raced out onto the western flatlands, clods of earth shooting to either side as he stormed about in a wide circle. With his broad chest heaving, the wolverine gazed about—up, down and around.
His voice became a triumphant snarl. “Dramz, my father, do ye see me from Hellgates where I sent thee? When thy name is gone and forgotten, beasts will still speak of me. The Mighty One, Gulo the Savage!”
The ermine Duge looked up from a torch she was fashioning from a wooden stave topped with a broom of moss and twigs. She took a cord binder from the aged fox who had served Gulo the longest, remarking quietly to him, “Only a beast as crazy as Gulo could think that his brother is alive inside that Redwall place.”
The ancient white fox shrugged. “Who can say whether ’tis true or not? My eyes are still sharp, methinks I saw the Walking Stone last evening. ’Twas strapped to the back of the small, hairy creature who fled into that building. Mayhaps Askor is truly in there also. There is hope for us few yet, friend. Askor is a better creature than his brother. Life was easier serving under him. Nothing in this world is certain—he may yet best Gulo in combat.”
Duge knotted the cord around the torchhead, tugging it tight. “Aye, an’ methinks fish may fly an’ birds swim under the waters. Nobeast could best Gulo in combat!”
The old fox nudged Duge. “Silence now, Gulo returns.”
Gulo came back to sit upon the drum again, turning his back upon Doogy. He saw the first faint flush of dawn out to the east beyond the treetops. Indicating a spot close by, he ordered the old fox, “Make fire here. Give me that torch!”
As the fox dug a shallow hole and set steel and flint to tinder over some moss, Gulo began striking the drum with the butt of the torch. Baboom! Boom! Boom!
Doogy spat out raggy bits of cloth from the gag. In the breaking day he took stock of his position. They were on the western flatlands in front of Redwall Abbey, just out of bowshot. He blinked hard, focussing his gaze upon the walltops. There was Tam, Skipper, a crowd of hares and Tergen the goshawk. Furiously, the sturdy Highlander ripped and tore at the cloth bound across his mouth until he felt it was weakened enough. The binding also went around the stake. With a hard forward thrust of his head, Doogy snapped the gag.