Salamandastran
241
you're done. The rest is up to ye now, Thrugg. Ah wish ye the best o' fortune."
Raising his eyes, Thrugg saw the eyrie. Swathed in clouds, it sat on a rocky pinnacle, strewn with heather, bracken, gorse, thistles and branches, all faded, dried and dead. The only living plant that could be seen sprouting through the debris was the Icetor flower, small, delicate, white, starlike, with blue-tinged petals, almost invisible in the surrounding snow, but mysterious and beautiful in its mountain isolation.
Thrugg called up at the nest in a friendly tone, "Ahoy there, Yer Majesty. It's me, Thrugg of Redwall Abbey. I've come to visit the Wild King himself."
There was a crackling of heather and twigs, the nest stirred slightly, then MacPhearsome himself flew out.
The sight completely took Thrugg's breath away. He had not been prepared for something like this. Snow flurried around his head as the great expanse of wings flapped downward and the Wild King landed in front of him. It was an awesome thing to see! The colossal golden eagle towered over Thrugg, two massive feet sinking slightly into the snow, lethal orange-scaled talons digging in for leverage. Each of the heavily feathered golden brown legs was as thick as the otter's body; the eagle stood rooted on them as if they were twin oaks. The staggering canopy of wings swooshed noisily as the bird folded them both over his mighty back. The head dipped toward Thrugg, lighter brown-gold feathers framing the wild eyes afire with hunting lights.
MacPhearsome opened his curving amber beak, like two bone scimitars parting. "Ah doant like mah breakfast comin' up here tae meet me. Hie awa' an' hide, riverdog. Ah'll come an' hunt for ye!"
Thrugg swallowed hard and stood his ground. "Majesty, I've not come to harm yeh. It's the Flowers of Icetor I'm after. They're needed by my friends at Redwall Abbey, where there's a great sickness."
The eagle King clacked his beak together like steel striking rock. "Aye, so Ah've heard. Yon Mactalon flew up an' told
me of this. Yer a tasty-looking beastie, Thrugg o' Redwall. Tell me, pray, why should the MacPhearsome gi'e ye his flow'rs?"
Thrugg took a bold step forward and raised his voice. "Because, O King, there's creatures goin' to die ifn they don't get the medicine made from your Icetor Flowers. You wouldn't want the deaths of honest Redwallers on yer mind, now would Yer Majesty?"
A fierce smile hovered about the Wild King's eyes. "Ah care no' a whit fer beasties that doant live in mah mountains. Ach, it wouldnae bother mah mind a wee bit. Tell me this, Thrugg o' Redwalclass="underline" whit would ye do if Ah refused tae give ye mah flow'rs. Answer true now, riverdog!"
Thrugg took off the haversack. Placing it carefully to one side, setting his paws apart, he stared the eagle coolly in the eye. "Then if you'll forgive me for sayin', Majesty, I'd fight you for them. The lives of my mateys at the Abbey means a lot ter me, sir."
The golden eagle's raucous laughter set the mountain peaks ringing. He flew up, knocking Thrugg flat with the backdraft from his wings, circling and soaring in and out of the drifting mists. MacPhearsome's earsplitting screeches of merriment echoed and re-echoed until the very air was full of the sound.
As suddenly as he had started, the Wild King stopped. He landed back on the snow in front of Thrugg and cocked his head, one glittering eye staring at his challenger. "Och weel, Ah've heard everythin' noo. Ye'd fight me? Jings, yer a braw beastie, a'rightAh'll say that for ye, Thrugg o' Redwall. Mind, yer the on'y livin' creature ever tae stand there an' say that tae the Wild MacPhearsome. Yer friends must mean a great deal to ye, ye bonny riverdog. Fight me? It'd mak' me grieve sair tae eat ye!"
At that Baby Dumble clambered from the haversack and began attacking the golden eagle's leg, or at least one talon of it. "You leave Mista Thugg alone, ya big bully. Dumble fight you!"
One of the formidable talons looped through the infant dormouse's smock and he was swung aloft, close to the golden
242
Brian Jacques
eagle's huge eye. "Name o' crags! Whit have we here? Ah'm scairt an' affrighted for mah life. Ye wouldnae kill me, would ye, mousie?"
Dumble swung a chubby paw at the eagle King. "Dumble knock you beak off if you 'urt Mista Thugg!"
MacPhearsome plopped him neatly back into Thrugg's outstretched paws, astonishment written on his savage features. "Och, Ah dinnae ken whit they feed ye on at Redwall, but it must be guid tae produce sich braw beasties. Ah'm thinkin' Ah'd best gi'e ye the lector Flow'rs afore Ah'm siain by the pair of ye!"
The great golden eagle spread his pinions, beating wildly as snow flew up all around, laughing and screeching in high good humor at his own joke.
On the snowy crag below them the Laird Mactalon pressed a wing hard over his heart to stop its racing beat and sat down flat, glad to be off his trembling legs.
The High King's strange mood had favored Thrugg and Dumble. Instead of MacPhearsome's wrath they were receiving the lector Flowers. It was a huge relief for the falcon Chieftain.
30
"Ee.... Oo.... Lay.. .. Lee.. . . Aaaaaahhhhh!"
Again the loud haunting cry rang through the wooded heights of the lake island above their heads. Shrews sprang up wide-eyed and quivering with fright.
Mara detached Pikkle from her paws and grabbed a paddle. "Whatever that is, it had better keep clear of us because if it comes down on to this ledge I'll brain it, ghost badger or not!"
Nordo piled more driftwood onto the fire. It burned bright, crackling sparks up into the still summer night. By its light Mara looked around at the ashen faces of the Guosssom shrews; even Log-a-Iog seemed shaken by the unearthly call. The badger maid knew they were close to panic, so she set about dispelling their fears.
"Hah! That's an old trick to keep us awake. Lord Urth-stripe used to do things like that at Salamandastron to keep his hares alert, didn't he, Pikkle?" She nudged the young hare sharply. He jumped.
"Ow! Who? What? Oh er, rather, I'll say! Old Thingummy was always runnin' about in his nightshirt scarin' the tail off some chap or other, doncha know. Oh yes! Of course he
243
244
Brian Jacques
Salamandastron
245
couldn't frighten me or ol' Mara here, we just snoozed through it all."
Mara backed him up, watching the Guosssom beginning to
relax.
"Haha, yes. Remember he terrified Bart Thistledown and the poor fellow fell backward into a pot of hot vegetable soup? Hahaha!"
"Hohoho, will I ever forget it, chum?" Pikkle slapped his sides as he expanded on the tale. "There was ol' Baity with the pan stuck to his bottom, chargin' about yellin' blue murder!"
The shrews began smiling and tittering. Soon they were rocking with laughter as Pikkle continued with the comical incident.
"Hahahaha! Dearie me, I tell you, fellers, Baity was the only one among us who'd never look at vegetable soup again. He's eaten nothin' but jolly old porridge from that day t' this. If ever you ask him to tell you the tale ... Hahahaha! Shall I tell y' wot he says .. . ? Heeheehee! He says, 'Don't mention the taleit was cooked to a turn!' Ohohoho! Tail, tale, cooked to a turnget it?''
Reciting stories and telling jokes, the two friends continued into the night until the incident was all but forgotten. Log-a-log posted sentries on the rock ledge, the fire was stoked up higher and gradually the shrews dozed off one by one. Mara lay watching the fire; Pikkle lay some distance away, though he could still see his friend's face in the firelight. She looked sad. Softly the young hare called across to her, "I say, old gel, what's up? Y' look like a wet wallflower on a windy day."