After the ceremony. Brother Hollyberry and the Abbess made
their way up to the Infirmary. The Abbess dried her eyes on
a spotted kerchief.
"Oh, Brother, I can understand how poor Samkim was too
upset to attend Brother Hal's last resting. Well, maybe it will ».. be some consolation to him that we've recommended his ;.;; name to Thrugg as a member of the search party for those t two stoats."
The Infirmary door was wide open. Hollyberry entered, ^; looked around the empty room and picked up a pillowcase ,|- with a badly scrawled charcoal message written on it:
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Brian Jacques
"The stoats are the ones what did it. We will fetch them back and 'the sword too. Tell Friar Bellows it was not me. Do not worry, me and Arula will be all right. Samkim."
The Abbess produced a kerchief and wiped her eyes. "Hol-lyberry, they may be in danger, we cannot let them go alone."
The old Infirmary keeper took the kerchief and dried Vale's eyes. "We have to. I feel that the sword of Martin did not fall from the roof to land at Samkim's side for nothing. He is marked by destiny and the sign from our Abbey spirit. Call off the search party, Vale. Let us put our trust in two young friends and Martin the Warrior."
The sun started its inexorable descent into the horizon far out to sea. At the close of a long hot day the sky remained cloudless. Salamandastron's monolithic rock took on a somber purple aspect against the dusty fawn of the darkening shoreline.
Hares of the Long Patrol watched from the top of the crater. Armed and alert, each one silently surveyed the torchlit horde advancing steadily through the dunes. Myriad pinpricks of light, like a river of stars fallen to earth, were separating in the distance like the horns of some great animal, closing in to surround the mountain.
Ferahgo the Assassin was coming to Salamandastron!
A young female hare named Pennybright swallowed nervously as she fidgeted with the string of her bow. Big Oxeye patted her gently as he passed. "Steady in the ranks there, Penny."
He moved on to another youngster, Shorebuck, who was sorting out his best slingstones. Oxeye nodded approvingly. "That's the ticket, young feller. First battle, is it?"
"Yes, sir. I've decided to choose good stones an' give a good account of m'self to those vermin."
Oxeye grinned. "Did the same m'self when I was a nipper like you."
"D'you think they'll take long gettin' here, sir?" Shore-buck tested his sling with an experimental twirl.
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"Don't fret, laddie. When they do, I'll be right by your side."
Shorebuck relaxed slightly, comforted by the veteran fighter's presence. Keeping his eyes on the advancing lights, he murmured, "No sign of Lord Urthstripe yet. Where d'you suppose he is?"
"Oh, he'll be around somewheres, gettin' ready an' whatnot. Stay awake now, supper should be round any moment now. Y'don't want to miss that, wot?"
Oxeye moved on around the vantage points, murmuring encouragement, his solid presence radiating calm and good humor to the fighters of the Long Patrols.
Inside the mountain stronghold of Salamandastron passageways hewn through the living rock led off caves and chambers. Some were lit by torches, others illuminated from window slits, giving the entire place the air of some vast primeval warren. At the end of one such corridor a large rock slab had been rolled aside, and lantern light cast a warm glow upon the smooth stone face of the chamber where Urthstripe stood. This was the place where he sought solitude when his mind was troubled. All around the walls the record and history of Salamandastron and its badger Lords was depicted in intricate carvings: Brocktree, Spearlady Gorse, Bluestripe the Wild, Ceteruler the Wise, Boar the Fighter, Sunstripe the Mace . .. they were all there. It was a place of mystery, heavy with the ages of badger lore.
Urthstripe set the lantern on a ledge and picked up a fine pointed chisel. Selecting a clear space on the flat rock wall, he began carving the likeness of himself into the stone. As he cut skillfully into the rock he reached into his forge apron and produced a pawful of herbs. These he sprinkled over the flame-heated sides of the lantern. Soon the cave was filled with a swirling gray smoke that carried with it a smell of autumnal woodlands. The badger Lord began chanting, the words forming in his mind as he gouged trancelike at the wallstone:
"Seas and lifespans, ebbing, flowing, Past and future merge as one.
104 Brian Jacques
Mountain Rulers, coming, going, Seasons future, seasons gone. Badger Warriors from the shades Stand beside me, guide my paw. O wise Lords and gentle maids, Restrain my rage, preserve our law."
Sergeant Sapwood left off stacking lances at a concealed window slit on the lower level. He accepted the bowl of hot mushroom and leek soup from a small wiry hare who carried two short swords strapped across his shoulders. Together they sat on the windowledge and took supper, watching the seemingly endless torchlight procession flooding from the dunes into the moonless night.
Sapwood blew on his soup to cool it, his strong face expressionless. "Do you think they 'ope ter scare us, Thistle?"
Bart Thistledown of the Westshore Thistledowns stared languidly down his long aristocratic nose at the lights bobbing and flickering in two prongs toward the mountain. "Actually, it all looks rather pretty, doncha think, Sap. Though if I were those flippin' vermin I'd be gettin' a good night's sleep instead of paradin' round like a flock of fireflies goin' courtin'. Darnfools, if y'ask me, old fellow!"
"Cor you talk luvly, Thistle." Sapwood chuckled admiringly. "Yer a cool one, all right. Hi'11 say that for ye."
Thistledown sniffed disdainfully. "Bad form t' get one's ears in an uproar over vermin, wot?''
Klitch shook his head in disapproval. "Well, if they didn't know we were coming before, they certainly know now. All these torchesit's foolish!"
Ferahgo's blue eyes twinkled in the torchlight. "They'll see us all right. I want them to. Can't you see it's a show of strength? Each of our creatures is carrying two torches, and that makes it look like double our numbers. Also, they can see the torchlights, but from this distance they don't know if we're foxes or frogs, ferrets or toads, big or small, badly or
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well armed. That will have them guessing and worried too. They know we're here, but they won't see us. Now watch this, my young and still wet behind the ears son."
Ferahgo gave a piercing whistle and upended both his torches in the sand, extinguishing them immediately. Every member of the horde followed his example. All around Sal-amandastron the lights went out as if by magic.
"Now they know we're here, but they can't see us." Ferahgo settled down in the sand, grinning with satisfaction. "We can sleep until dawn, but they'll have to stay awake and alert."
Klitch dumped his torches head down in the sand. "I still think it's a stupid move. I've told you, these are trained fighters. They know all the tricks in the book."
Of the two weasels, Klitch was to prove right.
"Right, chaps an' chapesses, lights out an' heads down, wot!" Big Oxeye had caught on to Ferahgo's plan. As he watched from the crater top he tossed aside his sling scornfully. "Huh, they must think we came ashore in buckets, brainless buffoons! Seawood, post six sentries. The rest of you can get a bit of jolly old shuteye until dawn."