The otters attacked with a will. Arrows, slingstones, and short javelins whipped skillfully down the wooded slope to left and right, peppering the horderats and harrying their pincer movement. Rab hurtled forward and reached the fugitives. He ran past them, calling out, “Keep goingtheres help ahead, mates. Hurry! Nagrus right behind you. Ill keep him busy!
Rab Streambattle was a warrior who did not know the meaning of fear. The most skilled weaponbeast among otters, now he showed his mettle. Planting both footpaws firmly, he threw off his quiver and with a speed born of desperation began zipping arrows into the ranks of Nagrus rats.
The Foxwolf was sorry he had not slain the fierce otter on first sight. Leaping to one side he dodged behind a scrub oak, leaving the rat immediately behind to die by the arrow that was meant for him. Another rat screamed and leaped high, transfixed by Rabs next shaft. Nagru cursed silently, wishing he had brought a bow and arrows along. Hailing his claws wildly, he shouted, “Idiots! Move about, duck and dodge, use your arrows and spearshes only one otter!
A deadly shot from Rab pinned a rat to a rowan tree. Grim faced, he called out as he strung another arrow, “Aye, Im only one otter, but here I stand. Try an pass, scum!
Serena came gasping and stumbling into the outstretched paws of Iris. The otter embraced her briefly before going back to slinging rocks. “Serena, no time to chatter now. We must get you an the liddle un to safety! “But Gael ... and Rab, what about them? Keeping her eyes on the target, Iris bowled a rat over as her stone cracked his skull. “If your Squirrelking doesnt escape, theres nothin we can do at the moment, maim. As for my Rab, you know hed swap his life for friendsthats what hes doin now. Ive got to get you away, thats my job!
A spear had furrowed Rabs side. He ignored the searing pain and dropped a rat with an accurate snap shot. Then he counted his remaining arrows. Three.
Using bush and tree cover, Nagrus rats were surrounding Rab. Without turning his head, the brave otter roared, “Get them out o here, Iris. Go!
Snuffling a tear aside, his courageous mate hustled Se-rena and her babe along with the otters. “You heard my Rab. Come on, move yourselves!
They fled over the hilltop, zigzagging north through the trees. All but one.
A deep rumble shook Mutas huge frame; anger and hatred shone in the badgers dark eyes. With unbounded strength she seized the thick, overhanging limb of a dead whitebeam. Her sinews stood out like ropes as she tore it from the trunk with a resounding crack. Regardless of twigs and splinters, Muta swung the large limb above her head, and like a whirlwind she thundered forward, launching herself upon Nagru and his vermin. Keen as March wind through a stormlashed forest, a high-pitched whine tore from her throat. The wide, twigged end of the bough caught Nagru, sending him muzzle over tail, soaring high into the air like a dead leaf. The Foxwolf thudded painfully against a hornbeam, his shocked eyes taking in the destruction Muta was wreaking on his hordebeasts as he fought to regain his breath. Finally he managed to shout: “Kill them both! Mingol, Riveneyesurround them! Use arrows; cut them down with spears ... Anything!
Back to back, the otter and the badger stood, battering away madly, one with a broken bow, the other with a tree limb. Wounded in a dozen places, they fought like mad-beasts as the gray vermin closed in on them.
Extract from the writings ofSaxtus, Father Abbot of Red-wail Abbey in Mossflower Country.
It occurs to me that small bees are as foolish as they are fat and fuzzy. Take for example, this fellow. Humming and bumbling around me as if I were a flower. Very disturbing when one is penning a chronicle. I think he wants this crumb of honey pudding, stuck to my whiskers. Here, take it, you rogue. No, the crumb, not my paw! Dearie me, are all bees as shortsighted as this one?
What a Recorder I am, playing with bees when I should be writing. Alas, the summer is to blame. It makes me want to dash outside and play with the Dib-buns (our Abbey young ones). It is they who hold the hope of Redwalls future; our Abbey would not flourish without the young. Many old friends have passed on to quiet pastures: Abbot Bernard, Friar Cockleburr, Old Gabriel Quill, and a few other dear companions have run their seasons peacefully to a close. But the earth and its creatures continue lo be renewed. Please forgive my ramblings and reminiscences under the spell of a warm summer. Let me tell you what has taken place of late at Redwall Abbey.
It all started as I was strolling in the orchard with Mariels father, Joseph the Bellmaker. We were enjoying the early morning peace together. Joseph told me that he had been thinking about Mariel a lot and worrying about her. More than four seasons have passed since she went off adventuring with that rogue Dan din, a friend of my young days. He is a wild mouse, but with a good heart. Mariel and Dandin are kindred spirits, both with a yearning to wander.
Josephs main worry was the lack of information about his daughter. He had received no news of Mariel from anywhere. Travelers, visitors to Redwall, passing birdsno creature knew their whereabouts, or had heard anything at all concerning Mariel or Dandin.
However, honest ones with troubled minds are often reassured by the appearance of Martin the Warrior in their dreams. Martin is the champion and founder of Redwall Abbey, a great warrior mouse who lived countless seasons ago. His guidance is peerless, and his words, though often shrouded in mystery, always carry a message of hope and truth. Little wonder then that a stout-hearted beast like Joseph the Bellmaker should find Martin, the spirit of Redwall, appearing in his dreams. I must confess that I was full of curiosity to learn of the message Martin had imparted to Joseph as his mind wandered the realms of slumber. But my good friend the Bellmaker was not ready to speak. He had not yet understood the meaning of Martins words.
A single loud knock on the gatehouse door disturbed Sax-tus from his writing. Without looking up, he called out, “I recognize that sound; only Joseph the Bellmaker has a paw like an oak club!
There followed a deep chuckle from outside as Joseph replied, “Saxtus, have you dozed off in there? Come on, dinnertime!
Hitching up his robe, the Abbot hastened to open the door. “Good afternoon, Bellmaker, or is it early evening? No matter. I cast aside the pen in favor of the spoon.
Joseph was a strongly built mouse, with a neat gray beard and a cheerful manner. He patted the Abbots stomach playfully. “Aye, I think the spoon is your favorite weapon these days, great Father Abbot.
Saxtus strode out ahead of the Bellmaker, to show him that a bit of extra weight had not slowed him down. “Hah! Great Father Abbot, indeed! Im only slightly older than your daughter. As for you, graybeard, youre old enough to be my father!
Joseph matched his stride, eyes twinkling mischievously. Walking across flower-bordered lawns, they headed toward the main Abbey building. It loomed massive against an early-evening sky, ancient red sandstone tinged dusky rose, framing a harlequinade of stained-glass windows by the glow of a lowering sun. The Bellmaker stepped up his pace, leaving Saxtus panting in his wake.
“I may be old enough to be your daddy, but Im still spry enough to be your son. Come on, Father, keep up!
“Enough, enough. Slow down, ageless one! said Saxtus, catching hold of his friends sleeve. “Why is it that everybeast seems to be in a hurry today? Look, theres Foremole, going as if his tail were afire. Hallo, sir!
The Redwall mole leader halted and, tugging his snout respectfully, he addressed them both in quaint mole dialect: “Gudd eve to ee, zurrs. Whurr be you uns a-rushen to?
He fell in step with them as Joseph replied, “We werent really rushing, just stepping out a bit on our way across to dinner.
“Wem gotten guestbeasts furr dinner, said Foremole, wrinkling his button nose sagely. “Oak Tom an Treerose cummed in from ee woodlands.