"Hahahaha! Eulaliaaaaaa!"
Farran the Poisoner slid noiselessly over the far topside of the crater. Without pause he made his way down and into the corridors of the mountain fortress. The first door he came to he opened silently, and he looked inside. Nothing there. Shut-ting the door, he turned around to find himself face-to-face with Windpaw. The female hare was hurrying up toward the crater top with a supply of oil-soaked arrows. Swifter than her eye could follow, Farran flicked out a dagger made from greenhart wood and thrust the poisoned tip into the side of her neck. Windpaw did not even have a chance to call for help. She died instantly, her face in an agonized grimace. Moving like a flickering lamp shadow, Farran slid effortlessly down the passage, checking a cave here, opening a chamber there, until he found what he wanted. The water barrels were arranged along one wall, ten huge oaken tun vats. The black fox sighed almost lovingly as he lifted the lid of one and took a sip. Cool and sweet, rainwater and clear springwater mixedit was perfect, but not for long.
Carefully uncorking a green glass vial, the Poisoner went about his deadly work, dividing the contents of the vial evenly between the ten barrels. It was the work of a moment, then he was gone.
Slipping off down the corridor, he descended a rough-hewn
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flight of rock stairs to the lower level. Farran spent considerable time checking the rooms on this level; they were all armory chambers. The pale eyes showed no emotion, but he knew that he was wasting valuable time. Down the next flight of stairs he went in his search for the foodstore. Unfortunately, every room he went into was a dormitory. Taking a long spiral stairway, he found himself in the dining room. Farran knew then that the foodstore would be somewhere close by, near to the kitchens.
It was quiet inside at the base level of Salamandastron; the rock walls shut off all noise from the outside. The Poisoner padded softly about until he found the kitchen entrance. His amber eyes flickered slightly at the sight of the food laid out there for the next morning's breakfast. Ferahgo had never fed his army this well.
Washing his paws meticulously, the black fox seated himself and ate his fill. Oatcakes, warm and fresh from the ovenshe spread them with comb honey and chewed them with relish, washing them down with gulps of old golden cider; summer vegetable pasties and beechnut crumble, crusty brown bread with mountain cheesethe black fox sampled each one in turn. When he had finished, Farran wiped his lips daintily on a napkin and set about poisoning it all.
Having finished in the kitchen, he sought out the storeroom that led off it. Sacks of flour, vegetable racks, apple boxes, salad bins, nut containersnothing escaped the deadly potions of Farran the Poisoner. A scattering of powder here, a few drops of liquid there... it was accomplished with his evil, but natural skill.
21
Midmorning was cloudy, but promising to clear up later. Thrugg and Dumble had been wakened by the dawn drizzle. The otter sat the little dormouse in the top of the haversack and covered his head with the flap. Shouldering the lot, he strode off northward.
' 'Better on the move than sittin' round gettin' a wet bottom, eh, matey. Come on, give ol' Thrugg a song t' keep his paws goin'."
Anybeast on the road at that time would have marveled at the sight of the big otter stepping out with a singing haversack strapped to his back. Dumble sang his dormouse song.
"There's no roof mouse, nor chimbley mouse, No winder mouse or floor mouse, An' I ain't gotta nokker on me nose, but
I'm a likkle dormouse. There's a fieldmouse anna 'arvest mouse, An 'edgemouse an' prob'ly a shoremouse, But I'm the bestest of the lot, 'Cos I'm a likkle dormouse. Ohahaha an' heeheehee, Yes I'm a likkle dormouse.
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So I'll eat me dinner an' grow big, An' then I'll be enor-mouse!"
"Ahoy, up there, don't yer know no songs about otters, matey?"
By noon the weather had cleared. White clouds scudded across a sunny blue sky on the light breeze. Dumble was freed from the haversack. He skipped along at Thrugg's side, enjoying the freedom of the open road. The otter slowed down, placing a restraining paw on his small friend.
"Whoa there, shipmate. What's that sittin' in the road up ahead?''
The shapeless mass lying on the path some distance ahead started moving awkwardly to one side, making for the thinning forest on the right. Dumble skipped round Thrugg and began racing toward the object.
"Dumble, come back 'ere, you liddle thick 'ead!" Thrugg roared out as the infant dashed toward the thing.
But Dumble had a good head start and plunged onward, ignoring his friend's shouts. Thrugg stamped his paws down hard several times; but then, deciding it was useless, he gave chase.
It was a falcon, a season fledged and of no great size. The bird flopped about with its right wing hanging awkwardly as it struggled to seek shelter in the thinning woodlands at the path's east side. Dumble cut off its escape and squatted in front of it, holding out a friendly paw.
"Aaahhh, poor birdie, is your wing 'urted?"
The falcon halted, its fierce golden eyes distending as it hissed a warning through its dangerous hooked beak:
"Kaarrhzz! Stan' oot o' mah way, bairn, or I'll mak' dead meat o' ye."
The little dormouse chuckled and tossed a piece of candied chestnut in front of the savage creature. "Dumble won't 'urt you. 'Ave some food. It's nice ..."
The bird hopped to the nut and devoured it hungrily. Thrugg arrived just then. He decided Dumble and the falcon
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were too close to each other for him to intervene. Holding his breath anxiously, the otter stood to one side. The bird cocked its head and squinted at him through one eye.
"Hauld yer wheesht, riverdog! Hey, canna this wee bairn no onnerstand me? Does he not know he's in peril? Ah'm no a sparrow, ye ken. Ah'm a falcon!"
When Thrugg had got the meaning of the bird's high north-land accent he replied, "Qh, I can see you're a falcon all right, matey. Lookit me, I'm an otter. An' I hopes you don't mean my liddle pal any harm, 'cos I'd hate to 'ave ter slay you with this 'ere sling!" The big otter twirled his loaded sling meaningfully.
Dumble held out his paw, offering the falcon more bits of candied chestnut. The bird ate them gently, keeping a wary eye on Thrugg and talking conversationally.
"Aye, Ah catch yer drift. We're both warriors the noo. Ach! Ye've no need tae be feared for the wee yin, Ah could-nae hurt a fly wi' mah wing breaked an' hurtin' like 'tis. Mind, though, Ah'm a falcon, not an eedjit, an' Ah'd no be slow in givin' a guid account of mahseF, even to a big bonnie laddie the like o' you!"
Thrugg unshouldered his pack and sat down, smiling good-naturedly. "Call it quits then, matey. You don't hurt us an' we won't hurt you. I'm Thrugg an' this is Dumble. We're from Redwall." He set out oatcake and cheese in three portions.
The falcon relaxed as all three set to eating lunch. "Ah'm beholden to yer for the guid food, Thrugg. Mah name is Ro-cangus, only son o' Mactalon, Laird O' the High Crags. Och aye, mah home is in the great northern mountains, a braw place tae live. Ah was lost an' driven by the wind some days ago, and had tae land in yon woods, ye ken. 'Twas there the crows set upon me. Ach! They're a sair lot o' cowards. Ten o' them it took tae bring me down. That's how mah wing was breakit."