Brother Hoben was already at the gate. He saw the big painted otter charging toward him, shouldering Redwallers aside as he came. Broggle was dashing to keep up with Tagg, waving his paws at Hoben, yelling, "Open the gates, Brother! Let him through, open the gates!"
Hoben kicked the wooden bar up and threw open Redwall's gates. Like lightning the otter charged past him, whirling the sword, his voice roaring like thunder upon the wind.
"Vallug Bowbeast, 'tis death to you! I am Taggerung Juskaaaaaa!"
Vallug already had another arrow on his taut bowstring. He let fly at Tagg. The shaft buried itself in the otter's chest, but he kept coming, his mighty wrath unstoppable. Vallug was reaching for another arrow when the great sword flashed downward. Tagg's shout was the last thing the ferret heard in his life.
"For my father!"
Vallug's body remained standing; his head thudded into the ditch, alongside the severed bow. Eefera was up out of the ditch, running across the flatlands. Tagg spanned the ditch in a bound and went after him. Dagrab fled south along the ditchbed, with Nimbalo hard on her heels wielding the battle-axe. Gruven snatched up his fallen sword and ran, terror coursing through him. He ran as he had never run before, north up the ditchbed, away from the melee. Rawback paused, but only for an instant, before he chased after Gruven. As soon as the woodlands came into view on his right, Gruven left the ditch and scrambled into the tree cover, with Rawback in his wake. Together they hurried north, following the woodland fringe until more tree cover appeared on the west side. Recrossing the path hastily, the two stoats stumbled through the ditch and entered Mossflower's west thicknesses, Rawback some way behind as they struck inward. When he ran out of breath Gruven halted. The ground beneath his paws was soft, and immediately he began sinking. With his final effort he pulled himself clear and found dry ground. When Rawback came staggering and panting along, Gruven leaned against a tree, puffing, and waved him on.
"That way, mate. I'll catch me breath an' wait 'ere awhile to stop anybeast followin' us. You go on, I'll catch ye up."
Rawback plowed wearily on. Gruven waited until he heard the terror-stricken screams from the swampland, and then he sat down until he regained enough breath to carry on. When the screaming had stopped, Gruven felt quite recovered. He cut off around the swamp edges, chuckling to himself.
"Dead, all dead an' gone, only me left. Gruven Zann Juskazann!"
Chapter 30
Rose-blushed skies and scattered creamy cloudbanks softened the western horizon with early evening. Twoscore seasoned otters, armed with slings and light javelins, dogtrotted tirelessly on, their footpaws thrumming over the flatlands. Grim-faced and silent, Skipper and Boorab led the column. The otter Chieftain took a bearing from the low-slung sun.
"Chin up, bucko. We'll make it t'the Abbey by nightfall!"
The hare's breathing was ragged. He had not slept since he left Redwall, but stubbornly he fought the weariness that threatened to overwhelm him.
Skipper could not help but notice his plight. "You drop out an' take a blow, mate, carry on when yore rested."
Boorab picked up his pace, snorting defiantly, "Never, sah! Officer never lies down an' naps on a mission, wot. We'll enter the blinkin' Abbey together, side by jolly side!"
Skipper's eyes were never still when he and his crew were on the move. He was constantly reading the land ahead and to both sides. The otter's roving gaze fixed on a bright glinting object, ahead and slightly south. At first he took it for a flame, but as he drew closer he recognized it as a metal object reflecting the reddening sunrays. He veered a point, taking his contingent in its direction.
"Over there, mates. Keep yore javelins ready. At the double!"
Boorab dropped behind slightly, then found himself in the center of the crew, supported by two burly females who rushed him along.
"Let yore footpaws go loose, matey. We'll do the runnin'!"
Skipper was first at the scene, and his keen eyes took it all in at a glance. Death had visited the flatlands.
The weasel Eefera lay slain, mouth lolling open, sightless eyes staring at the sky. Tagg sat slumped nearby, a broken arrow protruding from his chest. His head was bowed, but he still held on to the sword of Martin the Warrior, the blade pointing over his shoulder, resting against his cheek.
Boorab joined Skipper, and surveyed the tableau gravely. "By thunder, sah, now that's what I call a Warrior, wot!"
Skipper reconstructed what had taken place from the tracks and bloodstains round about. "The weasel ain't carryin' bow'n'arrows. This big feller, the tattooed otter, that broken shaft's been in him awhile. See, the weasel's wounds are much fresher." He called to one of his crew who was tracking further forward. "Which way did they come?"
The otter jerked a paw over his shoulder. "Back thataway, Skip, prob'ly from the Redwall direction!"
Skipper picked up the broken halves of Eefera's spear. "Hmm. The way I sees it is that the otter chased this weasel clear from the Abbey. That's a big strong weasel, but he couldn't outrun the otter, even though our friend 'ere 'ad taken an arrow right in his chest. This otter chased the weasel almost a league, aye, an' caught the vermin too. I don't know 'ow he did it, but a terrible fight took place 'ere. That otter slew the weasel, then sat 'imself down an' held the sword up. 'Tis an ole trick: the sun shines off n the blade, like a signal to let yore mates know where y'are. But nobeast came, so the otter died there, sittin' up holdin' Martin's sword, alongside his dead enemy. But 'ow did he come to be carryin' the great sword o' Redwall?" Skipper knelt and tried to prize the weapon loose from Tagg's grasp. "Like y'say, Boorab, 'ere's wot y'call a Warrior. I can't budge the blade from his paws, an' I ain't no weaklin'... by the roarin' river, this bucko's still alive!"
Tagg lifted his head a fraction, one eye flickering half open. "Juska ... leave me Tone... now." Then he slumped over, still gripping the sword.
Boorab called out, "You chaps, take off y'belts. Use 'em with those javelins to make a stretcher. He's comin' back to the Abbey with us. Look sharp there, jump to it now, no time t'waste, wot!"
Skipper stroked his whiskers thoughtfully. "Juska, eh? I've seen Juskas afore. They go in clans, tattooed murderin' thieves. But Juskabeasts are all vermin: rats, stoats an' the like. 'Ow did an otter come t'be mixed up with 'em? See, 'is face is all tattooed up, even more'n an ordinary Juska."
The hare had got his second wind and was feeling impatient. "Won't matter if the chap's tattooed from rock to rudder, looks like he's goin' to peg out soon if we don't get him help. Besides, who knows what's goin' on back at the Abbey, wot? They could be besieged, battered an' waitin' on us to arrive!"
With a renewed sense of urgency they set off again. Borne between eight stout ottercrew, Tagg lay on the stretcher clasping the sword, mercifully unconscious as they traveled at the double.
Nimbalo made his way back along the ditchbed in the failing light, using his battle-axe as a walking staff. He went into a fighting crouch at the sound of a gruff voice.
"Halt, who goes there?"
Brandishing the axe, he answered in equally gruff tones, "Nimbalo the Slayer, so stan' aside, whoever ye be!"
Drogg Cellarhog held out a paw to help him from the ditch. "Yore the 'arvest mouse who went after that rat. C'mon up, friend. Did ye have any luck?"
Nimbalo scrambled up onto the flatlands, where a party of Redwallers were waiting. He winked knowingly at them. "Oh, I 'ad all the luck in the land, 'twas the rat who ran outta luck. She won't be slayin' anymore, y'can bet on that, mates!"
Egburt held up a lantern he had just lit. "Nimbalo, have you seen anything of your otter friend? He ran out here somewhere, chasing a weasel. We've got to find him because he took the sword of Martin the Warrior with him."