"Back to the south corner, everybeast. Stay out o' that badger's way or ye'll be slain!"
Buckler, Skipper, Jango and Oakheart put their backs to the retreat, fighting off the Ravagers who were pursuing
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them. There was, however, not much need for this when Axtel arrived on the scene.
The Warrior mole was in roaring Bloodwrath, hurling himself joyfully into the advancing Ravagers. His war hammer rose and fell, as if he was a mighty smith working at an anvil.
Ambrevina swept the walkway clear, wielding both the supple young trunks, bellowing in fury. Vermin flew through the air, right over the walltops, left, right and centre. The drastically thinned ranks of the foebeast could not, nor would not, face two such beasts consumed with the urge to slaughter. Even those climbing the heap fell back. However, this could not save them. Having cleared the threshold and west walkway, Ambrevina and Axtel jumped over the wall. They came thundering down upon the Ravagers like twin thunderbolts.
Buckler grabbed Jango. "Come on, Log a Log, get your Guosim and let's finish this! Skipper, Oakheart, stay up here and guard the Abbey. See to the wounded!"
Seeing the battle lost, Vilaya took to her paws and fled across the flatlands, with panic lending speed to her footpaws. Grakk ran, too. Panting and gasping, he caught up with the Sable Quean.
"Majesty, did ye see that? The big stripedog an' that other thing, the madbeast with the hammer? Once they came at us, we stood no chance. We need a new plan now."
Vilaya threw a paw around the weasel's shoulder. "I plan to get far away from here, travelling alone."
Grakk sensed what was about to happen--he knew Vilaya, and knew what he had to expect for the failed conquest. He tried to pull away, but too late. The Sable Quean was already thrusting with her small venomous blade.
She released him then. He collapsed to the ground with a small sigh. Vilaya stared down at him.
"Mayhap you never heard me say I travel alone."
She sped off into the night, leaving Grakk staring at her retreating figure. It gradually grew dim, as did his eyes.
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The once-fearsome army of Ravagers was defeated on the path twixt the ditch and the Abbey's west wall. Leaderless and totally unnerved by the ferocity of the counterattack launched upon them, they scattered and stumbled off in disarray. Buckler chased after a small group, but only for a short distance. Putting up his blade, he returned to the Abbey.
Skipper was sitting on the hill in front of the main gates, watching the burning battering ram. He nodded to the hare. "I think that's the last we've seen of the Ravagers, mate. Take a seat an' rest yore paws."
The young hare sat down beside him with a sigh. "I chased after one or two of 'em, but they were runnin' scared. No point in catchin' vermin who've lost the will to fight, so I gave up."
Skipper probed at the debris with his javelin tip. "Hah, try tellin' that to Jango an' his Guosim. Those shrews don't take no prisoners, mate!"
Buckler rose, dusting himself off. "Well, you know what they say. The only good vermin's a dead un. It's hard to break a lifetime's habit. Did ye see anythin' o' Axtel or Ambry? Are they off huntin' vermin, too?"
Skipper pointed west over the flatlands, which were tinged with pale reflections of early dawn from the eastern sky. "Went over yonder, both of 'em, though ole Axtel was goin' a lot slower'n the badgermaid. Somebeast said the Sable Quean had run off that way."
Buckler leapt the ditch with a single bound. "I'm goin' after 'em, Skip. Keep yore eyes peeled on things around here, mate!"
The Otter Chieftain shrugged. "Not much t'see now the battle's over--ahoy, go easy up there! Can't a beast sit in peace for a moment?"
He dodged to one side as a Ravager carcass rolled down from the walltop, followed by several more.
Foremole Darbee poked his homely face over the wall.
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"Oo hurr, moi pololojees, zurr! Me'n moi crew bee's shiftin' ee slayed vurmints often ee rampits t'be buried."
Skipper climbed nimbly to the threshold, his dignity still intact. "Well done, good sirs. The ole place could do with a tidy-up. Don't want Abbess Marj seein' this lot lyin' about Redwall, do we?"
The Abbess appeared at the top of the gatehouse steps. "We most certainly don't, though I'll excuse it this time, seeing as how you restored my Abbey to me. So, what can I do to reward you goodbeasts?"
Oakheart came panting up onto the parapet. "A smidgeon of breakfast wouldn't go amiss, my dear Marj."
Marjoram curtsied, smiling. "Then breakfast it shall be!"
A crowd of defenders made their way across the lawns, with Oakheart Witherspyk, in fine baritone voice, giving a rendition of a song he had written many seasons ago for one of his renowned Witherspyk productions. He remembered it well, because he had cast himself in the role of the conquering hero. Everybeast soon caught on to the chant which opened each verse, and the repetition of the final verse line.
"We won we won we won we won....
A victory's like the finest of wine,
I can say this without conceit.
We left our enemies to dine on the bitterness of defeat.
The bitterness of defeat!
"So hey sing ho as we merrily go, no warriors happy as we, for every beast will share a feast, of the fruits of victory!
"We won we won we won we won....
Oh, see the foe as away they go, all battered an' beaten full sore,
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we wave our swords an' shout hoho!
They'll never come back for more.
No, they'll never come back for more!
"Let's cheer out near an' far hoorah, brave comrades, rally to me.
Not a moment to waste, come on an' taste the fruits of victoreeeeeee!"
Drull Hogwife met them at the Abbey door. She was looking flustered. "Ooh, er, beg pardon, Mother Abbess, but is Mister Diggs with ye?"
Skipper answered for her. "No, marm, Diggs ain't with us. He was lyin' wounded in the sickbay last I heard."
Drull threw her apron up over her face. "Oh, corks, he ain't there now. Diggs 'as gone!"
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After ridding herself of Grakk, Vilaya pressed on awhile before settling down to rest. The Sable Quean lay behind a small hummock. The defeat of her forces at Redwall rankled her, though not for long. Ever an opportunist and a creature of whim, she chose to stay alone for some time. If and when she needed another following, it was a simple matter.
Vermin had always been in awe of Vilaya. She was quick, ruthless and intelligent--all the qualities which made her a Sable Quean. Maybe the next band of roving barbarians she might meet up with would prove suitable to serve her. Redwall to her was nought but a bad dream, which she pushed to the back of her mind. She was far away from the Abbey now. She would not worry about the severe lesson she had learned at the paws of simple woodlanders. However, a lesson learned was a gaining of knowledge. She drifted off into a light sleep.
Daylight was fully up when she woke. She stretched, standing up as she gazed around. Larks chirruped in the high azure sky, grasshoppers rustled, bees hummed, and myriad-hued butterflies flew silently upon the high summer morn. All this natural beauty was wasted upon
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Vilaya--she was hungry and thirsty. Then she saw the distant figure coming over the flatlands toward her.
The Sable Quean cursed herself for a fool. Always having Ravagers on guard, ready to report any movement, it was strange having to shift for herself. Her eyesight was keen; she stood still until she identified the unmistakable bulk. The big badger was tracking her, moving at a steady lope.
Ambrevina plodded doggedly on. She had slowed her pace to accommodate Axtel and his injured footpaw. In the half-light of dawn, the Warrior mole had rallied somewhat, even running slightly ahead of her. Then he stumbled, tripping over the huddled body of Grakk. Axtel sat rocking back and forth, his velvety face creased in pain as he hugged the damaged footpaw. Ambrevina knelt by his side.