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breathless afternoon being pursued, sometimes hiding among the sandhills for a short breather, other times running flat out across the hilltops, with their pursuers in plain sight. Mara stumbled and fell, gasping for breath, and Pikkle tried pulling her upright.
"No ..." She pushed him away. "You go on.... Can't run any more. ... Hare can make it.... You go Pikkle . . . please!"
Pikkle stood, shaking his head, his narrow chest heaving. "Not the done thing, old sport. 'Fraid you're stuck with me, wot!"
Then the rain started, slowly at first, but rapidly increasing to a full-fledged downpour. Thunder boomed overhead and lightning flashed across the dunes.
Pikkle looked about. Brushing rainwater from his eyes, he grinned. "What ho, here's a bit of a chance. See that high straight dune yonder? Look, there's a sort of a thingummy, a tiny scoop-out like a cave at the top. See, that one with the long grass hangin' down over it!" Exerting all his strength, he pulled Mara upright. "Nothin' t' lose, old badgerbonce. Come on!"
They skirted the hill and climbed it from the opposite side where it was not so sheer. The rain lashed and battered at the pair as they crawled over the top and swung down into the small hole at the top of the dune, little more than a ledge with a grass fringe hanging in front of it. Quickly they scooped it deeper until they were able to lie flat and regain their breath, while peering out through the grass curtain in front of them. The deluge had washed out all trace of their pawprints, and night was gathering. Soon they could make out shapes and hear the voices of their hunters as they scoured the ground below.
"Did yer see 'em go this way, Sickear?"
" 'Course I did. I told yer."
"Well, where are they now?"
"Search me. This rain's messed everythin' up."
"Ferahgo's goin' to be mad if we go back without 'em."
"Don't remind me. Come on, you lot. Spread out an' get lookin'."
"I'm soaked through!"
"Aaahh, pore ol' you. An' I suppose we're all bone dry? Idiot!"
"Couldn't we make torches to search with? It's dark now."
"What're you goin' to make torches with, nit'ead? Soakin' wet grass, an' who's got tinder an' flint? Not me!"
"Look, why don't you two stop jawin' like ol* frogwives an' start searchin'?"
In their hide-out the two fugitives were snug and dry.
Pikkle yawned quietly and whispered to Mara. "Well, they won't find us tonight. I'm goin' to take forty winks. Wake me later an' I'll keep sentry. All right?"
Mara nodded and settled down to watch Ferahgo's creatures.
After a while they moved away, rebuking Sickear for bad eyesight and false information. Mara listened to their voices as they faded into the dark and rain of the night.
"Hey, Migroo, they mignt've gone this way."
"Yah, it's too dark 'n' wet to find anythin' tonight."
"Tell that to the Assassin or that sly little whelp 'e calls son. Just keep searchin', Dewnose. Them's the orders!"
The rumbling of Pikkle Ffolger's stomach wakened him, and 'he adjusted cramped limbs as he peered through the over-hanging grass fringe into the blackness. : "By the fur, I'm famished. Have they gone yet?"
Mara plucked a blade of grass and nibbled on it. "They're well gone. Why don't you try to forget your appetite and go back to sleep? There's not much else we can do in our present position."
Pikkle groaned. His stomach gurgled like streamwater trav-„ filing over stones. Mara ruffled his ears sympathetically. *'We'll find food when it gets light. You get some shuteye, chum. Go on, I'll keep watchI'm still wide awake."
Kicking out sand to make more space, Pikkle settled down rather grumpily. After a while Mara could tell by his steady
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breathing that he had dropped off. She rested her chin in her paws and mentally summed up their plight. They were hunted creatures in strange country, their only protection a hole in die side of a hill. As for weaponry, tiiey were slightly better off, but not much: a broken javelin and an old dagger. Food and water were nonexistent. The rain and the night had provided cover for them both, but she found herself longing for daylight and warm sun. Had Sergeant Sapwood escaped? She fervently hoped that he had. He could carry back news of their predicament to Salamandastron. No! She was never going back there. Mara imagined the righteous justification of Urthstripe and some of the elder hares. Had they not told her? Had she not been warned about vermin? Was she not a foolish young creature?
No, definitely no! But suppose Sapwood had been captured? It would be her duty to get back to the mountain and warn them of the impending menace.
The young badger maid cudgeled her brains weighing up the probabilities of their next move. She felt responsible for Pikkle; he had deserted the mountain with her, his loyalty and friendship were beyond question, and no harm could befall him because of her. Gradually her eyelids began to droop. She blinked half-heartedly, welcoming the approach of slumber.
A rustling noise in the grass overhead caused her to come alert. Suddenly there was a malignant hissing noise and a narrow reptilian head poked its way into the hole, eyes aglitter and tongue snaking out venomously. Mara's paw felt about madly for the dagger as she came fully awake yelling, "Pikkle! Wake up, Pikkle!"
11
All activity within Great Hall had ceased. Redwallers crowded around the long table, eager to catch a glimpse of the legendary weapon. Brother Hollyberry reverently dried it with a soft cloth, then it lay on the tabletop, winking and shining in the lamplight. Outside, the thunder rolled off into the distance, and rain was still pattering thickly against the doors and win-dowpanes.
Tudd Spinney donned his spectacles and peered closely at the weapon. "The sword of Martin the Warrior! It could be naught else!"
Samkim and Arula had repeated the story of the finding several times over. Samkim could not resist touching the red pommel stone on the swordhandle as he repeated Tudd's words, "The sword of Martin the Warrior!"
Brother Hollyberry took Samkim's face in both paws and stared into the young squirrel's eyes. "And you say it fell from the skies? Are you sure, young un? This isn't just some -piece of mischief you are dreaming up, is it?"
"No, Brother, honest! Arula, tell him!"
"Oh, aye, zurr. Sanken doant be a-tellen whoppers. Et be true."
"Well, I for one find it all pretty hard to swallow." Brem-
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mun snorted. "Granted it is a beautiful sword and it might even be the very one that belonged to Martin, but swords don't just fall out of the sky like rain. There's more -to all this, I'm sure. Listen, Samkim young fellow, if this turns out to be some kind of joke, tidying the Infirmary up a bit will be nothing compared to the penalty I'll impose on youand you, too, Arula!"
"Hold hard a moment, Bremmun, before you say something that you'll regret later. I believe Samkim!" Sister Nasturtium stepped forward, her normally jolly face stern as she placed a paw upon Samkim's shoulder. "I think Martin the Warrior is making his presence felt in our Abbey. Lately I have been saying strange poems and singing songs that I have never even heard beforemost of you have heard me. If the spirit of Redwall is trying to tell us something, then the least we can do is listen!"
Abbess Vale lifted her gaze from the shining weapon. "I agree with you, Sister. Brother Hal, as Abbey Recorder and Historian I want you to examine the past records of Redwall. There are many lessons to be learned from the past, and I have no doubt that the old writings will provide a clue to tonight's strange events. You may start first thing tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, we shall lay the sword in front of our great tapestry, close to the picture of Martin. As for the Name-day celebrations, it is getting rather late, I suggest we abandon the indoor games..."