Thwip cracked the whip, making Flib jump back. “Ye can wait’ll the last t’get served fer that!”
Zwilt the Shade sensed that there was something in the wind when Vilaya sent for him. Standing in her presence, he knew it was not bad news for him, or a reprimand. The Sable Quean invited him to eat with her.
Two plump, freshly grilled rudd lay on a bed of dandelion leaves in front of her. The aroma of the cooked fish was mouthwatering. Allowing her servant Dirva to pour out goblets of pale cider, she smilingly beckoned Zwilt to sit at her side.
“Ah, my faithful commander, I have things to tell you. Come, eat with me and enjoy!”
Vilaya uttered a low, melodious chuckle, as the other sable looked hesitantly at the two fish. “Dirva, eat a small bit from each of these rudd, just to assure my brave friend that they are not poisoned. Take a sip from both goblets also.”
The ancient rat sampled the fish, washing the fragments down with a sip from each drink. She cackled, showing the stumps of her gnarled teeth. Zwilt drew back as she clutched the hem of his cloak.
“Heehee, still not sure, noble warrior? I’ll take your portion, if you so wish.”
The Sable Quean smiled, dismissing Dirva. “Enough. See my cooks and get one for yourself.”
Using a dainty rosewood spike, she speared a piece of fish, then swallowed it gracefully.
“Now comes my time of triumph. Zwilt, you have served me well, but there is yet more to be done.”
The fish was delicious. Zwilt cleared his mouth with a draught of the fine pale cider. “More, Majesty?”
Vilaya’s glittering eyes held him entranced. “My army is ready now. We have a sufficient number of Ravagers but not to fight with—war is a fool’s game.”
The Shade did not share his Quean’s view of things, but he nodded, eager to hear more. “Majesty, what do you intend doing with all these warriors at your command? They are trained and seasoned fighters.”
Vilaya’s small pointed teeth showed; she leaned forward. “I know you trained them well, Zwilt. Nothing escapes the eyes of your Sable Quean. Listen now—go to the Ravagers’ camp. Make them ready to march tomorrow morn. Be sure they are well armed, as my personal bodyguard should be. It will be a display of my power and ferocity.”
Zwilt bowed his head. “I hear and obey, Majesty. But why are you doing this?”
Vilaya spat out a fishbone. She held it up, inspecting it. “Because tomorrow we go to the Abbey of Redwall.” Ignoring Zwilt, she turned to her servant, Dirva. “Go and select three of my young prisoners. They will accompany me.”
The old rat hobbled off, cackling hoarsely, “So now the game begins!”
Silent as night shadows, the Otter Chieftain and the Salamandastron Blademaster crept through the darkened woodlands. Skipper halted, keeping in the shelter of a small pine grove. He pointed with his javelin.
“Stream ahead. Can ye see anythin’, Buck?”
The young hare nodded. “Aye, there’s a bit o’ movement by those bushes skirtin’ the bank.”
Any further discussion was cut short by an agonised groan and the sound of somebeast falling heavily into the shallows. They hurried forward, weapons ready and all their senses on the alert. Whilst Buckler guarded his companion’s back, Skipper waded into the water. A moment later, he was hauling something up onto the bank, calling hoarsely, “Ahoy, Buck, lend a paw, will ye? It’s a hare!”
Between them, they heaved the limp form onto dry land. Buckler identified her immediately.
“It’s Clarinna, my brother Clerun’s wife!”
Jango came hurrying up with his Guosim warriors—he was mystified. “I thought all the other hares were back at yore badger mountain. Wot’s she doin’ here, mate?”
Jango’s wife, Furm, made a quick inspection of the unconscious Clarinna. “She’s been wounded in two places, through the left shoulder an’ at the back of ’er skull. Looks as if she was like this for quite a while afore she finally passed out. If’n I was you, Buck, I’d get this pore beast back to Redwall an’ take ’er to Sister Fumbril.”
Skipper agreed with Furm. “That’s good advice, marm. Jango, you’ll have t’go on alone with the search. Buck, me’n you’ll get Clarinna back to the Abbey.”
Buckler began chopping down two sapling sycamores. “A stretcher ’s what we need. Diggs, you carry on with the Guosim. No need for you to go back to Redwall.”
“Right y’are, old scout. I’d best take flippin’ charge around here, wot!”
Jango thrust out his chin belligerently. “I’m Log a Log round ’ere. Now get in line an’ cut out the chatter. Move!”
Diggs was about to make an outraged riposte, but Buckler gave him a hard stare. “Best do as he says, chum. See you when ye get back.”
It was not yet dawn when Granvy came out of the gatehouse to open the main entrance for them. He grabbed a lantern and escorted them across to the main building. Abbess Marjoram, Drull Hogwife and Sister Fumbril rushed Clarinna up to the Infirmary.
As the good Sister attended to her patient, Buckler explained the situation. “My brother Clerun and his wife, Clarinna, left Salamandastron some while back. I think they set up a small farm somewhere east of here. Neither of them were cut out to be warriors. They just wanted the quiet life, tending the soil an’ growin’ crops.”
Marjoram rubbed Clarinna’s paw as she showed signs of reviving. “We didn’t know they were out in the woodlands. They’d have both been very welcome to visit Redwall at any time.”
Buckler heaved a sigh of frustration. “Well, that’s my brother Clerun for ye, stubborn an’ stolid. She’s the same. That’s what prob’ly attracted ’em to one another. A real pair of loners. Abbess, you’ll have to pardon me, but I think I’d better get back on the trail an’ find this farm of theirs. I’ll need to see Clerun!”
Skipper placed a paw about Buckler ’s shoulder. “Ye’d be better waitin’ a bit, matey. See, she’ll soon be conscious—mayhap she’ll have a tale to tell. Then ye can decide for yoreself before dashin’ off.”
Having bandaged and poulticed as much as she could, Sister Fumbril revived Clarinna with a few drops of old elderberry wine, which she kept for medicinal purposes. The harewife sat up, coughing and weeping.
Marjoram spoke soothingly to her. “There, there. You’re safe amongst friends now, at the Abbey of Redwall, and look who’s here. Buckler!”
Clarinna clasped Buckler’s paw tightly. “Oh, Buck, they slew Clerun and took our babes!”
There was shock and disbelief in Buckler’s voice. “Slew Clerun? Who was it? Tell me, tell me!”
Drull Hogwife patted the young hare’s back. “Easy, now. Don’t frighten ’er, sir. Tell us more about wot ’appened, Miz Clarinny.”
Then the whole story came out. Though she was greatly distressed, Clarinna gave them chapter and verse.
“Clerun and I were tending some apple seedlings; our babes, Calla and Urfa, were in a basket lined with moss taking their nap. Clerun was going to make them two little cradles from a nice pine log he had found. But now he’ll never make it or see our little ones grow up. . . .”
She broke off, weeping bitterly.
Buckler waited for her tears to subside, then spoke softly. “Clarinna, tell us exactly what took place. Was it vermin that attacked you?”
Her eyes went wide with horror at the recollection. “They came out of nowhere—we were surrounded. A big gang of rats led by a tall, dark-furred beast. One of them carried a rat’s head stuck on a pike. The tall, dark one, he drew a broadsword, taunting Clerun until he was forced to draw his own blade. Then this strangebeast said that he would fight Clerun. I’ll remember his words for the rest of my life. He said, ‘Defeat me and your mate, the brats and yourself will go free. But nobeast has ever bested Zwilt the Shade, so you’ll die!’
“Poor Clerun, he didn’t stand a chance, though he tried his best. The one called Zwilt toyed with him, wounding and taunting before he cut Clerun down. Then he took the medal, which Clerun had given me, from my neck. He gave his sword to one of the rats and took Clerun’s blade. He said it was far superior to his own. Then he used it to wound my shoulder and strike me over the back of my head. I went down. He must have thought he had slain me, too. I heard him say to the others that he had struck a blow for his Ravagers and the Sable Quean. I must have passed out then.
“When I woke, it was late evening. Our babes were gone, Clerun was lying there dead, and the little home we had built together was in ruins, robbed and plundered. I staggered off into the woodlands, calling out for my little ones. After that, I don’t recall anything else, until I woke up here. Oh, Buckler!” She broke down grieving again.
Buckler was rigid with sorrow and rage. He loosed his paw from Clarinna’s, gritting out through clenched teeth, “Ravagers, eh! And there’s that name again, Sable Quean! Hah, now we have another one to add to the list. Zwilt the Shade, carrying my family’s broadsword and the Coin!”
Clarinna fell back upon the pillow, wailing, “My babies. What would anybeast want, stealing two tiny leverets, little helpless things!”
Buckler’s long rapier swished as he drew steel. Dry-eyed and stone-faced, he kissed the blade. “I swear that Zwilt the Shade and his Ravagers—aye, and the one they call the Sable Quean—will die by my paw. Nor will I rest until the babes are safely back with their mother, the wife of my brother Clerun. I will wear the Coin of the Blademaster and pass on my brother ’s broadsword to his son. I take this oath upon the honour of the Kordyne family. This is my word!”
The high, bright sun was up and dawn well broken when Log a Log Jango led his Guosim in by the main gates. Buckler and Skipper took breakfast on the west walltop, watching them troop in.
The Otter Chieftain called out, “Ahoy, Jango—did ye have any luck out there?”
The shrew shook his grizzled head. “Nary a vermin whisker in sight, but don’t worry. Soon as we’re rested, we’ll set out agin, matey. Oh, how’s the hare lady farin’?”
Buckler replied, “She’s not too good, mate. Bring your breakfast up here an’ I’ll tell ye the whole tale. Er, where’s Diggs? I don’t see him with your lot.”
Jango came striding up the wallsteps. “I chased him off. Don’t know where the nuisance is.”
Buckler nodded. “I might’ve known that’d happen. Ole Diggs takes some gettin’ used to. Was he chunnerin’ again? Nothin’ can silence that fat rogue.”
Jango stamped a footpaw on the ramparts. “Chunnerin’, is that wot ye calls it? The rascal never stops—he’s like a babblin’ brook, goin’ on an’ on. I kept warnin’ Diggs to shut up, but he wouldn’t. I told ’im he was endangerin’ us all with the noise he was makin’. Enny’ow, one thing led to another, an’ I told ’im to get lost. I think yore Diggs took my advice, ’cos we haven’t seen ’im since.”
An unmistakable sound, that of the chubby subaltern, rent the morning air. “Halloooo! I say there, you rotters, are you goin’ to open this bloomin’ gate an’ let us in, wot?”
The shouts were coming from beyond the east wall.
Skipper and Buckler ran around there by way of the walltops. There was Diggs, looking up at the battlements, grinning like a demented frog. He had with him a ferret, whom he whacked with his loaded sling every time the vermin made a move.
Skipper smiled down at him. “Ahoy, young Diggs. Who’s that scallywag ye have in tow?”
The tubby hare kicked the prisoner’s tail end cheerfully. “C’mon, don’t stand there like last season’s leftover pudden. Tell the nice chap your flippin’ name—smartly now, laddie buck!”
“Gripchun, sir, me name’s Gripchun!” the unhappy captive shouted.
Two Guosim unlocked the east wickergate, and Diggs swaggered in, kicking the ferret before him.
Jango glared at the garrulous hare. “Where did ye get that un?”
Diggs waggled his ears at the Shrew Chieftain. “Oh, nowhere, really, old Log a Thing. I just came across the blighter prowlin’ round the shrubbery, so I surrounded him an’ chunnered him into submission, wot!”
Jango glared at him sourly and stalked off.
Buckler clapped his friend on the back. “Good old Diggs! A captive, eh? I’ll make him talk!”
Diggs threw a headlock on the wretched ferret. “Rather y’didn’t, Buck. Leave old Gripchun t’me. I’ll soon have the blighter talkin’ faster’n me.” He applied the headlock tighter. “Ain’t that right, my stinky old friend? Dastardly Diggs the Terrible Torturer, that’s what they call me!”
Assisted by Fumbril and Marjoram, Clarinna was escorted into Great Hall, where Diggs had bound Gripchun to a sandstone column.
Buckler pointed to the ferret. “Was this one of the vermin who attacked you, Clarinna?”
She shook her head. “No. They were all large rats, except for the dark-furred one, Zwilt. He’s not one of them, I’m sure.”
Diggs made a great show of rolling up his tunic sleeves. “Right ho, then, Gripchun, me foul old vermin. Let’s find out a little bit about you, wot! Now, there’s no sense in beatin’ round the jolly old bush, so we’ll get right to it. Can some kind creature please bring me a large sharp axe, the larger’n’sharper, the better? Oh, an’ some boilin’ water, about a cauldron full. Hmm, I suppose we’d better have a few iron pokers an’ stuff to light a good roarin’ fire. That’ll do for now, wot. No good interrogatin’ victims without the proper stuff!”
Abbess Marjoram was horrified. “Mister Diggs! Surely you’re not planning on torturing this beast inside my Abbey?”
Diggs saluted cheerily. “Pardon me, marm. I’ll take the scoundrel outside, if the noise bothers you, wot. These rascals do screech an’ wail a bit, y’know!”
Turning his back on the ferret, Buckler tipped Marjoram a huge, mischievous wink. “You leave it to Diggs, marm. I’ve never known a vermin that wouldn’t talk after a session with him!”
Marjoram knew then that it was all a ruse to loosen Gripchun’s tongue. She kept up the pretence. “Well, take him outside, over to the west wall steps. I’m not having this Abbey messed up with the result of axes, pokers, boiling water and fires!”