Nimbalo leaned nonchalantly on his battle-axe. "Don't worry, matey, if'n Tagg's out 'ere, then he'll find us."
A cry rang out of the darkness. "Ahoy the lantern there! Egburt, is that you, laddie buck?" Skipper and Boorab loomed up out of the darkness, with the otter crew at their back. The hare shook Drogg's paw.
"Well met, old chap, as y'can see I made it. What's the situation back at Redwall? Any problems back home, wot?"
The Cellarhog's spikes rattled as he shook his head, bright tears glistening in his eyes. "This mouse 'ere, Nimbalo, 'twas him an' the otter called Taggerung, they drove the vermin off, but not afore one o' the scum shot Cregga Badgermum with an arrow. She's hit real bad! I don't suppose ye came across the otter? He was carryin' the sword of Martin. We're out searchin' for him."
The ottercrew parted ranks, allowing the stretcher bearers to carry Tagg into the lantern light. Skipper patted his paw. "We found yore otter, lyin' by a slain weasel; there's an arrow in his chest too. But he's still breathin' an' the sword's safe. Though he's got some sort o' death grip on it."
Nimbalo ran to Tagg's side, suddenly feeling frightened and lonely. "Tagg, mate, it's me, Nimbalo. Say somethin', Tagg. 'Tis me, Nimbalo the Slayer, yore ole matey!"
Tagg did nothing. Nimbalo collapsed, grief-stricken, against him.
Boorab detailed two more otters. "Put your shoulders to that stretcher. We can't let this brave beast die. Get Nimbalo up there with him. He can keep his pal company on the way back to the Abbey."
Redwall's main gates were still open. Filorn stood out on the path with old Hoarg, holding a lantern each. Noting the ottermum's drawn, anxious face, Hoarg murmured, "Go an' sit in my gate'ouse, marm. Put your paws up an' have a nice 'ot beaker o' motherwort tea. You'll do no good standin' out 'ere. I'll give ye news, soon as I see them returnin'."
Filorn shook her head, smiling at the kindly dormouse. "No, I must wait here, but you go in, Hoarg. It's been a long weary day for you. Please, go in. I'll be fine right here."
Hoarg tugged his grizzled whiskers courteously. "If yore sure, marm. I ain't as young as I used t'be."
He shuffled slowly inside to the gatehouse, where his supper was awaiting him. Filorn drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders. It was the otter. Something about his tattoo-covered face, the deep sound of his voice, the way he moved. She had to wait and see if the search party had found him. Worry piled upon worry in her mind. Brother Hoben had said he saw the otter hit by an arrow. Was he badly hurt?
"Ho the gate! Is that the pretty young Filorn waitin' to greet me?"
Filorn knew Skipper's gruff voice. She ran south down the path toward a small lantern gleaming over the ottercrew and the Redwallers who had gone searching.
They entered the Abbey, with Filorn holding Tagg's paws, still clasped upon the sword. Nimbalo was aching from supporting his friend's head against the bumping and jogging of the journey. He looked up into Filorn's face. "Don't fret, marm. Tagg's my matey, I won't let 'im die."
Foremole Brail's moles were laying mattresses and cushions upon the floor of Great Hall. Filorn fussed about the ottercrew as they lifted Tagg from the stretcher. "Easy now, lower him gently, try not to bump him, please."
Mhera appeared at her mother's side. "Mama, what is it? Who is that creature with his face all tattooed like a vermin?"
Filorn drew her daughter close, leaning forward with her until Mhera could feel the unconscious otter's shallow breath on her brow. "Look, my child, look. Does his face mean nothing to you?"
Even in repose, Tagg's features looked barbaric because of the red, black and blue markings ingrained into them. The dream came back to Mhera as she stared harder and harder.
"Father ... is it Papa? He looks something like him."
Filorn did not reply, but much to Mhera's astonishment began singing and caressing Tagg's paws, which were still locked onto the sword hilt.
"Mountains rivers valleys seas,
Whose little paws are these, are these?
Meadows, woodlands fields and shores,
These little paws are yours, are yours!
If you don't give me a kiss,
I will tickle paws like this!"
It was many a long season since Mhera had heard her mother sing a baby song. Now Filorn was tickling the big rough paws. Mhera was totally startled by what happened next.
Tagg was still senseless, but he smiled and opened his paws, pads upward. Just like any babe who wanted its mother to do it again. Nimbalo quickly removed the sword. There on Tagg's open right paw was the four-petal mark, pink and distinctive as the day he was born with it.
Filorn hugged Mhera. "I knew it deep inside me, ever since I saw him yesterday. This is my son! He's returned home. He's your brother, Mhera!"
The ottermaid clasped the flower-marked paw between her own, and spoke his name loud and clear. "Deyna!"
Nimbalo scratched the end of his nose. "Deyna! Y'mean Tagg's name ain't Taggerung no more?"
Filorn shook her head, smiling at the harvest mouse. "His real name is Deyna; he has no other."
Nimbalo mused over the new name. "Hmm. Deyna. I don't know whether I like that or not, it ain't like Nimbalo the Slayer. Huh, just Deyna? Couldn't we call 'im Deyna the Deadly or Deyna the Dagger or Deyna the Dangerous? Hoho, I likes that 'un. Deyna the Dangerous, great name!"
Filorn tweaked the little fellow's ear. "If I hear you calling him Deyna the Dangerous I'll tell everybeast that your name is Nimbalo the Nuisance. Understood?"
The harvest mouse shrugged unhappily. "Jus' Deyna it is, then, marm."
Sister Alkanet arrived with Broggle and Friar Bobb, who were carrying bowls of warm water, dressing cloths, ointments and herbal remedies. They waited to one side as she cleaned and inspected the wound. Her pronouncement was not a happy one, though she tried to sound optimistic.
"The arrow has gone too deep, I haven't the skill or experience to remove it. Though I must say, Deyna is the strongest and fittest beast I've ever seen. I've heard in the past of creatures living quite a normal life with arrowheads or spearpoints still in them. Deyna will live, but he'll have to take things easy. I can cut away the arrow shaft, but the point will have to stay in him."
Skipper had been listening, and voiced his opinion. "Beggin' yore pardon, marm, but Rukky Garge could fix Deyna up. Ole Rukky is the best otter fixer on earth."
Sister Alkanet waved her paws dismissively. "Rukky Garge is just some legend. There's no such otter!"
Filorn was inclined to agree. "I believe there was such an otter, but I heard she passed on many long seasons ago."
Skipper merely smiled and pointed to his rudder. "I was scarred deep there when I was a liddlebeast, but Rukky made the scar go away. I still goes to see ole Rukky, takes 'er freshwater shrimp an' 'otroot soup now an' agin. She's like a gran'ma to me, marm. Hoho, she's still kickin' right enough."
Filorn clasped Skipper's paw anxiously. "If she could heal my son I'd take her a hundred pans of shrimp and hotroot soup! I'd give her anything!"
The otter Chieftain understood Filorn's anxiety. "No need t'do that, but I know Rukky likes bright trinkets. She's like a magpie, loves anythin' bright'n'shiny, Rukky does."
Filorn opened her broad apron pocket. "I found this lying in the ditch this afternoon. Perhaps she'd like it, what do you think?"
Skipper inspected the knife of Sawney Rath, with its brilliant sapphire, amber handle and bright silver blade. "I think she'd make a skeleton dance fer this beauty, marm!"
Mhera shifted anxiously from paw to paw. "Let's take him to her straightaway!"
Skipper appeared rather uncomfortable with this suggestion. "Be more'n my life's worth, miz. Rukky's a loner, very awkward pernickety ole body she is, won't 'ave anybeast within a league of 'er. She don't treat nobeast save otters these days, an' then only as a favor to me'n'a few other otters. Look, you leave this to me. I'll take Deyna an' persuade Rukky to cure him. My crew can carry him most o' the way, an' we'll drop in from time to time t'let you know 'ow he's doin'. Mhera, you an' yore mama trust me, I'll take care o' Deyna. I think you'll be needed 'ere, ain't that right, Sister?"