The point of Urthstripe's spear had been gradually tilting. Now it dropped, centered on Ferahgo's midriff a breath away. The Assassin took a cautious step back.
Urthstripe's short patience was worn exceedingly thin. "Leave Mossflower country, weasel, or you and your scum will die here. I am tired of talking. Take your face out of my sight. You offend me!"
Ferahgo was not short of nerve. He spat scornfully in the sand. "Your mountain is surrounded, badger. If it comes to war there is no way you can win. What do you say to that?"
But Urthstripe was finished talking, except for one word.
"Eulaliaaaa!"
There was a deadly hiss of shafts as ten of the advancing enemy were cut down by the Long Patrol arrows. Ferahgo leaped to one side roaring, "Charge!"
The horde swept forward over the bodies of the fallen toward the badger and his ten hares. The hares dropped behind another ten who had been waiting to back them up with bows ready. They fired into the yelling horde as their comrades fitted fresh arrows to their bows and let loose another quick volley. Carried on by the lust for battle, Urthstripe, instead of retreating into the safety of the mountain, flung himself forward into the foe. A burly ferret wielding a pike charged Urthstripe. The badger's spear took him through the chest and lifted him like a rag doll, hurling him into the seething horde. A weasel flung himself on Urthstripe's back and stabbed the big badger between greave and breastplate. Urthstripe slew him with the backward stroke of a huge mailed paw. Three hares were downtwo to spears, one to slingshot.
"I'll try an' get Lord Urthstripe away," Sapwood called out to Oxeye. "Keep the entrance open till we gets back!"
Oxeye coolly notched an arrow to his bow and felled a fox. "Righty ho, but put a move on, Sap. We can't keep up this
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bally performance all day. Dearie me, what a chap has t' do for these badger Lords!"
Sapwoocl dropped his bow and tore out into the melee. Punching, kicking, butting and hooking, he made it to the badger's side.
"Cook sez breakfast's gettin' cold, sir. Hare you comin' in."
An ill-timed thrust from a vermin spear missed Urthstripe but knocked Sapwood senseless on the rebound as his head met the blunt end of the spearbutt. Urthstripe grabbed the hare in one paw and slung him over his shoulder as he fought his way back to the entrance. Suddenly Klitch appeared in front of him, brandishing his short sword. The badger turned as he thrust, taking the blade in his arm. Burdened as he was with Sapwood, the badger Lord stood for a moment glaring at the young weasel. Tearing the sword from his arm, he stood on it and snapped the blade, snarling angrily, "Better luck next time, brat. We'll meet again. Eulaliaaa!"
Urthstripe went hurtling through the melee like a juggernaut. Scattering bodies right and left, he pounded through to the entrance, dropping the unconscious Sapwood into the paws of two waiting hares as he roared out orders.
"Oxeye, get your hares inside. I'll block off the entrance!"
Within seconds the hares had ducked into the passage and Urthstripe threw his weight against a mighty boulder. The stone rolled into place, sealing the mountain from the horde outside. The badger Lord drove a large oak wedge into its base with a mallet.
Oxeye leaned on his bow, watching him. "Not very friendly those chaps, sir. I take it they want to fight us, wot?"
Urthstripe licked blood from his shoulder and grinned at the irrepressible hare. "Good enough, Oxeye you old battler. We'll give them a fight, one that we can talk about in the winters to come, when we're sitting round the fire growing old and lazy."
Big Oxeye checked his empty quiver. "Don't mind me sayin' so, M'lud, but there won't be too many around to grow old after this fight's finished!"
16
Dryditch Fever!
The awful name was enough to chill the heart of any crea-ture. A hasty conference was called by the Abbey elders Abbess Vale, Bremmun, Faith Spinney and Brother Holly-berry, with Furgle the Hermit sitting in on the proceedings. Abbess Vale addressed them.
"Friends, if something is not done swiftly this dreadful fever may wipe us all out. Brother Hollyberry, as Infirmary Keeper do you have any knowledge of this illness?"
Hollyberry pursed his lips. "Mother Abbess, my skills are simple and very limited; tummyaches, headaches, scratches and wounds are what I am used to. I have had a quick look through my medical books, and the opinion of most former Infirmary Keepers is that there is no sure cure for Dryditch Fever. I can keep it under a certain amount of control with my own remedies, but alas I cannot cure it."
"Flowers of Icetor, heh heh heh! But that's only an old mousewives' tale. Heh heh heh, Flowers of Icetor indeed!"
They all turned and stared at Furgle. The woodland Hermit shrugged as he did a small hopskip.
"Never needed anything myselfmedicines, pah! Though when I was young my grandma used to say that the only thing
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which could cure Dryditch Fever was the Flowers of lector, boiled in fresh springwater. I think she was mad, of course. Quite mad!"
Faith Spinney shook her paw severely at Furgle. "Show some respect for your elders. My grandma used to say the same thing, Flowers of Icetor from the mountains of the north. Now I recalls her words, she always said that they could cure most anythin'. But who knows where the mountains of the north are? Mercy me, no right-thinkin' Redwaller ever goes north. That's badlands. Tis a hard and hostile region we know little about."
"Mousewives' tale or no, we've got to give it a try." Bremmun stood up officiously. "I'll go this very day, see if I don't."
Thrugg had been standing nearby waiting to speak with Hollyberry. He pressed Bremmun back down into his chair. "No, matey, you're too old and long in the tooth t' be climb-in' northern mountains. I'll go. Oh, Hollyberry, yore wanted up in the Affirmerytwo more creatures just been took poorly."
Mrs. Faith Spinney was very fond of Thrugg. She patted his paw. "Oh, you are a brave creature, Thrugg. We must send somebeast with you to help you on your quest."
Thrugg shuffled awkwardly. "Bless yer, marm, but I'll be fine steerin' a lone course. Every spare pair o' paws will be needed 'ere at Redwall to cope with the fever. 'Sides, I'm mortal feared of bein' sick, so I'd best find this flower quick like. What's it called again, Furgle?"
"Heh heh. Icetor, you great ignoramusFlowers of Icetor. Though as to where you'll find it or the north mountains is a mystery to me."
Thrugg took hold of Furgle in his brawny paws and lifted him easily on to the tabletop. "Hark t' me, woodvole. You ever call me iggeramius agin an' you'll be goin' for a swim in the pond, fully dressed. Yore so clever, but not clever enough t' see the answer to your own question. Where's the north mountains? Why, in the North, o' course. There's a path right outside this 'ere Abbey leadin' north, an' I intends takin'
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it. Flowers of Icetor, eh. Don't you fret yore spikes, Mrs. Spinneyol' Thrugg will bring back bouquets of 'em! I ain't never seen no Flowers of Icetor, but I 'spect if they're so val'ble an* rare I'll know those blossoms as soon as I claps eyes on 'em. Mountain's in the north, flowers is on the mountainwhat more does a beast need t' know? You leave it t' me, mates!"
The big otter's logic was so strong and straightforward that he received a hearty round of applause. Everybeast was in agreement, Thrugg was the otter for the job; in fact, the quest-.jngMight in Thrugg's eye discouraged any fainthearted disagreement.