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From that long-ago day when his father carried a babe out of the Abbey gates, Deyna, son of Rillflag, had returned home.

Chapter 35

Gruven was in trouble. However, like all liars and cowards he kept on convincing himself that he could wriggle out of it and end up on top. The fact that Ruggan Bor had slain his mother meant little to him. Antigra had always been too pushy, constantly berating and nagging at him. Gruven was glad she was out of the way. What really rankled was the golden fox's taking over his clan, but he could think of no way to reverse their positions. He was wholly frightened of Ruggan, an inscrutable creature, unlike anybeast Gruven had ever met. Ruggan Bor never showed any extremes of wrath or joy, never smiled or snarled. His fascinating golden eyes seemed to detect untruths without a single blink. Gruven could not face him for more than a moment. Every Juskabeast under his command knew Ruggan Bor to be highly intelligent, a redoubtable warrior Chieftain, and a ruthless killer. Gruven was gradually coming to realize this, and it made his blood run cold.

Double time was the order of the long trek back to the old camp. All the vermin kept up the pace without question or complaint. They slept little, ate frugally and went heavily armed. Ruggan Bor strode out at the head of his clan, talking to nobeast save to give orders or consult his Seers. At first, Gruven tried to establish some authority over the six Juska who were detailed to guard him. His efforts went unrewarded. When he complained of the marching speed, a tough lean vixen looped a rope about his waist and growled, "Keep up or we'll drag ye the rest o' the way!"

Gruven was forced to suffer the indignity. His blustering fell upon unsympathetic ears. "You dare to do this to a Taggerung? Hah, I could snap this rope with a single bite! My teeth are like knives!"

A big scar-faced rat prodded his bottom with a lance. "Yew start chewing that rope an' yell be wearin' this lance fer a spine. Shut yer mouth an' keep movin', stoat!"

Gruven turned and spat at the rat's footpaws, trying to act tough. "I won't ferget yore face, rat. Remember this: my name's Gruven Zann Taggerung. I use lances like that as toothpicks!"

A muscular ferret marching alongside Gruven jabbed an elbow hard into his ribs, grinning at Gruven's wince of pain. "Ye won't 'ave no teeth t'pick if'n I land a kick in yer mouth. Now stow the gab an quit slackin'!"

Gruven dragged on the rope, halting the vixen who was pulling him. "I'm not takin' any more o' this. I demand to speak with Ruggan Bor!"

He did not see the blow coming. The vixen belted him across the jaw with her carved spearbutt, snarling nastily, "Do ye, now? Well, 'e don't want ter speak with you. Get marchin'!"

When they stopped for the night, Gruven was set apart from the rest, tied to a tree, with all six guards circling, watching his every move. The scar-faced rat thrust a bowl at him. It contained only water, with a stale crust of barley bread floating in it. The rat eyed him contemptuously. "Get that down ye an' then sleep. We'll be on the move agin soon as 'tis dawn!"

Gruven ate and drank swiftly, then huddled down to rest. His mind was still racing, rehearsing explanations. Where was the imaginary head of the slain Taggerung? Oh, it probably landed in the stream when he threw it away, it would be washed to the sea by now. Then what happened to the body? Ruggan Bor was no fool, he was certain to pose the question. The body? He would have to think about that one, and think fast too. They were covering ground at a rate three times quicker than his laggardly pace. It would not be long before they arrived at the old campsite. Gruven closed his eyes tightly. Think . . . think. Of course! He threw the body into the swamp. Yes, that was the place, the swamp where he sent Rawback to his death. Hahaha! Let them try to search a swamp. Ruggan Bor, huh, the pan-faced fox, aye, him and all his thick-headed lackeys. None of them were a match for Gruven Zann Taggerung. They couldn't find their tails if they grew out of their noses! He would outthink them, he would outsmart them, the same way he had defeated Eefera and Vallug Bowbeast and the rest.

Gruven did not realize he had fallen asleep and was murmuring aloud, "What d'yer mean, never slew 'em? They're all dead, ain't they, an' I'm the only one who's left alive. Oh, I slew 'em right enough!"

The vixen leaned on her spear, watching Gruven. "Wot d'yer suppose that 'un's babblin' about?"

The muscular ferret scoffed. "Sez 'e's slaying all kinds o' beasts."

Looking up from the lancepoint he was sharpening against a stone, the scar-faced rat commented dryly, "Aye, in 'is sleep. That's the only time that 'un's slayed beasts. Got a coward's streak, wider'n an oak trunk, from tip ter tail!"

Only one fire burned in the vermin's makeshift camp, that of Ruggan Bor. He needed it for his Seers to predict. The golden fox sat watching the two old vixens casting shells and stones, burning feathers until the air smelled rank, and mumbling, always mumbling as they tried to read the omens. Which invariably had to be in the Juska Chieftain's favor. He listened awhile, then stretched out, his saber close to paw. "Tell me that last bit again."

Ermath's toothless face looked ghastly in the firelight. "Is the fox not related to the wolf, lord? There is none among vermin who can equal the fox for stealth, guile and ferocity. He alone carries the blood of the Great Vulpuz, Ruler of Hellgates!"

Ruggan ignored his old soothsayer. He had heard all that before. "No, you, Grissoul, what did you say?"

Sawney Rath's former Seer stared at the bones she had cast down.

"He who has the Taggerung slain,

Shall take on the champion's name,

Zann Taggerung, lord of Juskas all,

Beware the bells within Redwall!"

Ruggan's golden eyes reflected the dancing flames. "What does all that mean? Tell me!"

Grissoul remained hunched over the scattered bones, unmoving. Ruggan Bor had witnessed Seers in a trance before, and he repeated the command. "Say the lines again and explain to me what they mean."

Ermath was not overfond of Grissoul. The other vixen had been slowly usurping her position since Ruggan took over her clan. Ermath scuffled across to Grissoul and shook her roughly. "Answer the question. Speak when my lord commands ye!"

Grissoul did not respond. She slumped forward until her muzzle touched the ground. There was shock in Ermath's voice. "Lord, she is dead!"

Ruggan Bor used the flat of his saber blade to lift Grissoul's head. He inspected the dead vixen and let her head drop down again. "She was old. Creatures die when they grow too old. Did you understand what she said? Can you remember the lines?"

Ermath cringed back into the shadows. "Nay, lord, 'tis not for me to read the omens of another Seer. Who knows what anybeast sees at the sight of Hellgates, where rules the"

Ruggan cut her short as he lay down to rest. "Get my guards to bury her. 'Tis of no matter, the ramblings of a dying vixen. Leave me now, I will rest."

Any dreams of bells, Taggerungs or Seers that crossed Ruggan Bor's trails of sleep were forgotten when the impressive fox woke at dawn's misty light.

Four days later, on a morning dampened by fine warm drizzle, the Juskabor clan reached the old campsite. Fires were lighted in the lee of sheltering dunes, and cooks began preparing the first hot meal they had eaten in a while. Ruggan Bor stared around. Pacing the ground, he unsheathed his saber. "Bring the stoat Gruven here to me."

Gruven was hauled forward on his rope by the six guards. He knew it was no good blustering to the golden fox, so he put on a casual air, as if he was in command of the situation.