They returned his salute with various weapons. A sabre, a cutlass, a claymore and a broadsword. Sloping his blade over one shoulder, Buckler wandered over to where the huge badger was seated.
"What's the matter? Have I done something wrong?"
Brang took the sword. He held it, feeling the balance. Bending the supple blade in an arc, he let it twang back, straight as a die.
"I had my doubts about forging this, but you were right--it's the perfect weapon for you. I'll tell you what you've done wrong, young un. Not showing your superiors the proper respect, that's what!"
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Returning the sword, Brang turned his back on Buckler, staring fixedly out to sea. The young Blademaster sighed audibly as General Flackbuth continued where the badger had left off.
"It's the custom, laddie buck, to give title to those who've jolly well earned it, wot! How dare ye refer to the ruler of Salamandastron as Brang. 'Tis your duty to address him as m'Lord, or sah, d'ye hear me?"
Buckler stared coolly at the general. "Aye, I hear ye."
Flackbuth bellowed in his face, "I hear ye, General!"
Buckler shrugged, repeating slowly, "I hear ye ... General."
Lord Brang turned back, his expression softening as he addressed the young hare. "Come up to the forge chamber with me, Buck. It's high time you and I had a talk."
Buckler gathered up his array of training swords. He piled them into the waiting paws of his trusty assistant, Subaltern Meliton Gubthorpe Digglethwaite, or Diggs, as he was more commonly known. He was the same age as Buckler, though marginally smaller and markedly tubby. They were lifelong friends, if poles apart in their views of mountain life and etiquette. Diggs nodded toward the retreating Badger Lord.
"What ho, Buck, are you in the stew again, wot? Has old Flackbuth slapped a blinkin' fizzer on you?"
Buckler winked at his friend. "No, it's just that the big fellow wants to give me another lecture. Put the blades away, Diggs. I'll catch up with you in the mess at supper."
The forge chamber was an airy room, carved from the living rock. It had all the equipment required by a Forge-beast. Weapons in various stages of construction hung everywhere. There was a low, wide window, facing the open sea, with a magnificent view of the western horizon. Lord Brang was proud of his elderflower and comfrey cordial. He poured two tankards, passing one to Buckler and indicating a seat on the window ledge.
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Shaking his striped head wearily, the huge badger spoke. "Buckler Kordyne, what are we going to do with you, eh?"
A smile hovered about the young hare's lips. "I don't know. Tell me, what are you going to do with me?"
Danger flashed in the badger's eyes for one perilous moment. Then he burst out laughing, landing Buckler a hefty pat on the back, which almost sent him flying out of the window. Brang steadied him.
"Just like your grandsire--the same rebellious attitude, same carefree manner. Every time I look at you, I see him returned from beyond the silent valleys. Aye, you're the very model of Feryn Kordyne. You won't wear Long Patrol uniform, don't obey orders, always in trouble. You don't even speak like a Salamandastron hare. Why is that? What's the matter with you, eh?"
Buckler answered the enquiry with a question. "I never knew my grandpa, was he as good as me with a blade?"
Brang replied, as if loath to say the words, "Feryn was a great Blademaster, the best I ever set eyes upon ... until you came along."
Embarrassed by the sudden compliment, Buckler quickly changed the subject. "Tell me again, how did he save your life?"
The sun was starting to drop beyond the horizon. Brang stared out at the crimson aisle it laid upon the calm sea. He never tired of relating the story of his escape from death.
"I was young in those seasons--your grandsire, too. We were about the same age as you are now. There was a plague of vermin sweeping the land. They were called the Ravagers. Aye, and a motley horde they were, murdering, burning, looting and torturing, right across Moss-flower. Their leader was a silver sable, Armuk Rinn the Conqueror. Something had to be done to protect Redwall and all our woodland friends.
"I sent out Long Patrol Scouts to discover where he made his lair. They tracked Rinn and his Ravagers long
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and hard. They were located in an old quarry northeast of Redwall Abbey."
Brang stopped to refill their tankards. He tossed Buckler a rough-looking chunk of pastry, with nuts baked into it. The young hare felt quite privileged--hardly anybeast was allowed to share the Mountain Lord's scones, which he made himself on his forge. Brang watched him eating with pleasure.
"Nothing like Salamandastron Forge Scones. They'll put some iron into your muscles, young un. Now, let me see, where was I?"
Buckler reminded him. "The scouts had found the ver-mins' lair, you said."
Lord Brang took a sip from his tankard. "Aye, so they had. I ordered the full Long Patrol into battle order and marched on the villains. I must tell you, though, I was young and reckless then, wilder than you'd ever imagine. I take it you've heard of the thing they call Bloodwrath?"
Buckler nodded silently, allowing Brang to explain.
" 'Tis a terrible affliction, a sickness that drives a beast berserk. I had that Bloodwrath, the mad urge to fight, slay and slaughter. Nothing could stand in my way, one beast or a score. When my eyes went red with the rush of blood, I became unstoppable. I outpaced my own hares, charging into that quarry, straight into the foebeast. Fool that I was! The Ravagers had scouted our approach. They were waiting for us and had us heavily outnumbered. But I was out of control, roaring Eulalias and laying waste to the vermin.
"By the blade and the hilt, I fought that day. Everything around me was one red mist, but I battled on. Those Ravagers pressed me hard--I still carry the wounds and scars they gave me. I became cut off from my hares, surrounded, so that I could scarcely move to swing my blade. Then I tripped and fell, the sword slipped from my bloodstained paws.
"That was when I saw him--Armuk Rinn, the great
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sable. He was standing over me, swinging a battleaxe. I knew my fate was sealed, I was a deadbeast. But a miracle occurred. Your grandsire Feryn, my trusty right paw, came hurtling through the air, blade flashing, roaring his war cry. He struck like a thunderbolt, cleaving Armuk Rinn, helmet and head, right through his evil brain!"
Buckler's eyes were shining, even though he had heard the tale before. "And that's what settled the battle?"
Brang rose. Crossing to his forge, he leaned down heavily upon the bellows. A plume of golden flame and scarlet sparks shot up, illuminating the badger's powerful head, glinting in his fierce eyes. "Aye, young un, that was a battle to remember. Though it was my friend Feryn's brave act which carried the day. Those Ravagers who were still alive fled when they saw what happened to the mighty Armuk Rinn. Up until then, the vermin didn't believe he could be defeated."
Buckler laughed. "But my grandpa proved different! That's why you gave him the Coin."
The Badger Lord scowled. "Let me tell you about that thing, young un. It actually was a coin, a golden one, from someplace far beyond the sunset, long ago. When I was very young--I recall it was wintertide--I was walking the shoreline south of this mountain when I came across the wreck of an old vessel. It was buried deep by the seasons. There wasn't much to see, only a bit of old wood sticking out of the sand. Well, I started digging it up and choosing pieces, planning on taking them to old Corporal Cook Magirry. He was a real good old sort, often keeping a little plum duff in the oven for me. Actually it was Magirry who taught me to make Forge Scones."
Buckler sensed that Brang was going off into tales of his early seasons, so he interrupted. "But how did you come across the Coin?"
The badger came back to the point. "There was a hole in it, and a rusty iron spike fixing it to what looked like part