Rawback was nibbling on some tender young carrots. He threw the celery, but it missed Ribrow's outstretched paw, landing on the back of a dead shrew. Ribrow shot him a look of disgust.
"I ain't gonna eat that now. Yore a lousy thrower!"
Gruven pulled a face and stood up, patting his stomach. "Too many strawberries gives me the gripes. Anythin' else that looks tasty 'round 'ere?"
He turned to scan the far end of what had been the Cavemob shrews' terrace field and saw Tagg, still some fair distance away. For an instant, shock rooted the stoat to the spot. But then he sprang into action. Without a word he ran off down the mountainside in the opposite direction. When Dagrab saw him hurtling off through the rubble and into a grove of rowans, she forgot the strawberry in her paw. "Where's the Chief off to?"
Rawback looked up and saw Tagg thundering toward them. "Yaaaargh! The Taggerung!"
They leaped up and fled like sparrows from a hawk, in the direction Gruven had taken. Ribrow was slightly slower than Dagrab or Rawback, and his paw struck a sharp rock. Leaping and yelping, he hobbled as fast as he could, until a sinewy paw caught the back of his neck in a ferocious grip. Tagg spun the stoat around and stunned him with a resounding blow from his rudder.
Nimbalo had now reached the avalanched area and was yelling, "Tagg, mate, there's wounded an' injured all over the place 'ere. Lend a paw, will you? You've got to 'elp me with 'em!"
For a moment Tagg was torn by indecision. He looked in the direction Gruven, Dagrab and Rawback had taken, his eyes blazing hatred, his whole body quivering as he strove to control himself. Then, hauling the unconscious Ribrow over his shoulder, he growled, "You'll do for now. I ll track those other three down. They can't run fast or far enough with a Taggerung on their trail!"
Driven by fear, Gruven ran like a hunted animal. Some distance behind he could hear what he thought to be the furious otter coming after him. Actually it was Dagrab and Rawback trying to catch up with him, but Gruven did not intend to stop and face the enemy. He pushed on, certain that the other three had run in different directions, or had been hunted down and slain. He struggled open-mouthed to suck in air, his paws pounding over rock, grass and earth alike. Behind him he heard the crackle of snapping foliage. Panic swept over him and he dodged to the left, into an area of boulders, stunted trees and a fast-flowing stream, which bordered the flatlands. He tried to bridge the stream with a running leap and failed, coming down with a splash into the shallows below the opposite bank. His right footpaw was almost skinned to the bone as it shot between a rock and a root under the water. A screech of pain welled from his throat and he overbalanced to fall backward into the stream.
With their tongues lolling and chests heaving like bellows, Dagrab and Rawback tried to halt at the edge of the narrow stream, but their momentum carried them sliding awkwardly on the damp grass into the shallows below. Scrambling upright, they spat out water, staring openmouthed at Gruven in the shallows near the other side. Their leader was lying on his back, trying to scrub mud and water from his eyes and wailing piteously, "Don't kill me, please! It was the others who caused the landslide, I tried to stop them! Let me live an' I'll 'elp ye to hunt 'em down, I'll do anythin', only spare me, please!" He broke down, blubbering and pleading.
Rawback waded across and stood over Gruven, a look of loathing and contempt plain on his villainous face.
"Gerrup, ye whimperin' idiot, an' pack in yer whingin'! 'Tis only us!"
Gruven dried his eyes swiftly. "Where's the otter? Is he comin' after us?"
Dagrab waded across to study the muddy bankside. "We never 'eard 'im followin' us. So there's no need fer all the shoutin' an' cryin'."
Suddenly Gruven was back to his old self. "I wasn't cryin'. I was callin' out 'cos I'm in pain. If'n yer took the trouble t'look, you'd see my footpaw's trapped!"
Rawback grinned wickedly. "Why so 'tis. 'Ere, let me 'elp yer, Chief."
The stoat could have freed the paw instantly, but he pretended it was a difficult task. Leaning down on Gruven's scraped limb, he ignored his leader's cries, wrenching and scraping the hurt footpaw maliciously, but keeping his voice pleasant.
"There there now, on'y babes cry an' moan. So, you was the one who tried ter stop us causin' the landslide, eh? Ain't you the big brave Juskazann. Young Gruven the terror, eh? All we could 'ear on the journey was 'ow you was goin' to slay the otter. All those 'orrible things you wuz goin' t'do when ye laid paws on 'im. Hoho, soon as ye clapped eyes on the Taggerung you took off, like a butterfly from a jackdaw. Wot 'appened, O Mighty One? Why didn't ye stand an' fight like yore mama told yer to?"
Gruven pushed Rawback aside and wrenched his footpaw free. "Why didn't you, or you, Dagrab? Yore supposed to be veteran trackers an' killers. I'd 'ave taken that otter on if'n you two cowards would've stayed t'back me up. Aye, we could've done with Vallug an' Eefera there too. They ran long afore the otter showed up. Though if'n they ain't trackin' 'im, wot are they up to?"
Dagrab pointed at the bankside. "Well, we'll soon know when we catch up wid 'em. There's Eefera's pawprints. Weasels ain't 'ard to reckernize. Aye, an' Vallug's still with 'im. See the scratches off'n 'is bowtip an' the deep prints 'e made leverin' 'imself over the banktop? They're 'eaded west by the look o' things."
Gruven slapped cooling mud on his scraped limb, binding a dock leaf to it with weed strands, then stood up and tested his balance.
"Right, we're goin' after those two slybeasts. 'Tis all clear t'me now. They knew all along that the otter'd never show 'is face near a Juska camp again, an' no clanbeast'd ever come this far from our territory to check any story they might tell. So all they do is turn up back at camp an' tell Grissoul that we're all dead, the otter too, an' next thing y'know they're clan chiefs. That's it!"
Rawback climbed to the banktop, shaking his head. "Ye've got it right, 'cept fer one thing. Only one of 'em'll make it back to camp. Ain't no room fer two chiefs. I'll wager 'tis Vallug who returns alone. 'E wuz always the deadliest slayer."
Dagrab climbed up beside Rawback. "Huh, that's wot you say, but Eefera ain't no fool. I've tracked alongside that weasel many a time, an' they don't come any slyer. Vallug's big an' powerful, but my bet is that the one who makes it back'll be ole Eefera. 'E's the craftier of the two."
Gruven scrambled to the banktop, motioning them to move off. "I don't care which one 'tis, I'll slice 'is 'ead off with this sword as soon as we make it back to camp. All you two's gotta remember is that I killed the otter. Stick to that story an' I'll promote ye both to Chief Trackers. You can 'ave yore own followers, give yer own orders, an' live off the cream o' the land. Now let's get goin' while there's still plenty o' daylight!"
Chapter 19
Every fourth summer, Skipper and his ottercrew went off to a Hullabaloo. They would follow streams and rivers down to the shores of the great sea, where they would meet up with other otter crews and many of the sea otters from the far north. Hullabaloo was a festival that could last until autumn, as long as the otters were having fun. Meeting old friends and relatives, sporting in the waves, singing, dancing and lighting bonfires each night on the beach for the inevitable feasts was good rough fun, of the sort that ottercrews enjoy immensely.
Skipper and his crew marched out of Redwall's gates that morning, waving, cheering, and promising to bring back lots of shells for the Dibbuns. Mhera stood out on the path with her friends, calling goodbyes and fluttering kerchiefs until the otters merged into the sun-shimmering distance of the flatlands.
Fwirl accompanied the ottermaid back inside the Abbey. "Why didn't you go with them, Mhera? 'Twould be a lovely holiday for you and your mama."