Chapter Fifteen
Even though Browder was their guide and escort, Kurdyla quickly became the unspoken leader of the slave procession wending its way from the coast to Redwall Abbey.
Their first full day of freedom was nearing its end. The sun had set, and winter's bleak twilight lay over the land. Browder had led his charges - just over a score in number - inland and slightly south, backtracking along the trail that the Gawtrybe and Saybrook's otters had made on their way to attack the searat lumber mill. Now that the refugees were getting farther from the coast, scattered patches of snow could be seen, many of which clearly bore the confused melee of pawprints from the northbound warriors. Owing to the lateness of the season, the lands were not entirely snowbound, and the weather was mercifully less chilly than it could have been. Conditions were actually quite fine for a journey such as theirs.
Browder and Kurdyla marched at the forefront of the group, which was sticking to no particular formation. The hare glanced to the silver evening sky, and was reassured by the sight of Klystra circling high overhead. As long as the falcon watched out for them from up there, they could be secure in the knowledge that no gang of vengeance-seeking searats was creeping up behind them.
"How long will it take t' get to Redwall?" Kurdyla asked.
"From here? Not sure, chappie. At a full hare's run, I could probably get there in two or three days. Maybe four - this hard winter ground can be rough on th' footpaws, don'tcha know. But, with this bally crew?" Browder glanced over his shoulder at the motley assortment of mice, hedgehogs, squirrels and otters ... and, shuffling along behind all the others, a solitary rat. "Not many fast runners in this cheery bunch, wot? Taking this at a leisurely stroll like we are now, probably be the end of the season b'fore we're knockin' on Redwall's gates."
"That long, huh? Well, most o' these beasts've known only slavery fer th' past few seasons, so a few extra days' slog through these lands won't be anything they can't handle. In fact, they're prob'ly so happy just to be able t' stretch their legs an' wander where they want without nobeast tellin' 'em they can't, they'd be content t' go 'round in circles, long as they're free. I know that's shore how I feel."
"Um, yes, well, no walkin' in circles for us, if I can jolly well help it." Browder shot the lagging rat another glance, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. "I say, do you really think we can trust that one back there? I mean, he was one of 'em, an' all that."
"Who, Syrek? He was one of 'em, long ago. But when 'is own kind slapped 'im in chains fer slippin' up, he became one o' us. An' if you doubt 'is place here, I can give you me affidavy that Syrek t'were standin' right along wi' th' rest of us last night, cuttin' down th' rats who'd wronged him. That makes him okay in my book."
"Oh. But if he's such a smashing rat slayer, wot's 'ee doin' here with us, instead o' all th' bally fighters an' soldier chappies back on th' beach?"
"He was a mill worker, not one o' Tratton's soldiers," Kurdyla explained. "When he made a mistake one day that set back their fur-forsaken production schedule, they offered him a choice 'tween death an' slavery. Syrek chose slavery, tho' by th' look o' the whip scars on 'is back, there musta been times he sorely wondered if he made th' right choice. But where there's life there's hope, an' if he'd chosen death back when, he'd not've been around last night t' get his revenge. But, no, he ain't no profesh'nal fightin' beast, anymore'n I am. 'Sides which, them squirrels who rescued us didn't trust 'im with a weapon, even after I vouched fer 'im. So, here he is."
"Um, yes indeed he is. An' since you're such a jolly big fan o' his, you can sleep beside him tonight when we make camp. I'll stick by these nice plain woodlander chaps m'self. Except maybe those 'hogs - that's one kind o' stickin' this hare can do without." Browder glanced around them. "S'pose we'd better start lookin' for a nice cozy spot to settle down, 'fore it gets too much darker, wot? Preferably someplace without snow ... "
They were just north of the foothills at the upper end of the mountain range that separated the coastlands and Salamandastron from the Western Plains. The seaside forest where the rats had been logging was far behind them now, and all around was flat plain and rolling hills, with only the occasional solitary stand of trees or rocky outcrop, and the taller mountains visible to the south through the misty evening gloaming. Some of the territory they'd covered that afternoon was marshy swampland in the warmer seasons, infested with hostile toads and other unpleasant creatures, but now all the reptiles and amphibians were in hibernation and the normally soggy ground was firm and easily passable. It was one slight advantage to travelling during the winter, and the escaped slaves were glad for it.
"Are y' shore we've come far 'nuff t' be safe?" Kurdyla asked with a trace of worry.
"Should be." Browder jerked a paw skyward. "Our eye in th' blinkin' sky would let us know otherwise. Still, s'pose we'll hafta stand watches durin' th' night, wot? Won't be me, tho' - I'm th' bally guide for this trek, an' gotta get my full measure of shuteye t' stay fresh 'n' sharp, don'tcha know."
Kurdyla rolled his eyes. "Oh, o' course, o' course."
After some scouting about, Browder found a dry, boulder-sheltered gully that would comfortably accommodate their entire party. As the others settled down, the hare announced, "Right, I'll just nip out for some o' that dried bramble and kindling we passed a little ways back, an' we'll have ourselves a cozy little campfire goin' in no time t'all."
Kurdyla stopped him with a firm paw on the shoulder. "No fire. Nothin' that'll draw attention t' ourselves ... "
"But ... but ... we're down in a bloomin' pit here!" Browder protested. "Nobeast'll be able t' see the flames! An' by th' time we get it started, th' sky'll be too dark to show smoke!"
"No fire," the strong otter repeated in a tone that said he was not to be argued with. "The terrain will shelter us from th' worst o' any winds, an' we got plenty o' provisions we can enjoy cold."
"Enjoy's hardly the word I'd use," Browder grumbled.
"Mebbe tomorrow, if we've put enuff good distance 'tween ourselves an' here, we can have a fire," Kurdyla continued. "But we'll not risk it t'night, this close to th' coastlands."
"Wotever you say, chap." Browder wiggled out from under the otter's paw and stomped over to the far side of the gully, where he laid out his bedroll, muttering to himself all the while. "First, we couldn't light a fire 'cos that bossy bushtail Matowick said we were too flippin' close to those sodden searats, then I hafta spend last night sleepin' in a cave, an' now some too-big-fer-his-britches ruddertail's tellin' me I gotta go three nights in a row with no fire 'cos he's afraid of searats comin' after us who aren't bloomin' well even there! Colossal cheek, I say! Looks like somebeast has gone an' forgotten which hare's in charge o' this bally stroll, wot?"
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The Sharktail overtook Urthblood's troops very quickly. And then ... nothing.
Clearly, the pirate dreadnought itself would have to remain well offshore to avoid running aground in the shallows or on a sandbar. But there was no saying that she couldn't venture within archery range of the logboats, and perhaps even the creatures up on the beach. Of course, shooting from one rising and falling craft toward others would be most imprecise, but a rank of archer rats lined up along the Sharktail's port railing should have been able to unleash a constant volley of arrows that would find some targets by sheer luck if not through the skill of the shooters.
The biggest threat, however, was that the searats would send masses of fighters ashore in landing boats to engage the woodlanders directly. This was a contingency for which the Gawtrybe and their waterbound companions were prepared; indeed, most of the woodland warriors relished the prospect of inflicting further losses on their searat foes.
But none of these things happened. As the afternoon wore on toward evening, the hazy sun dropping down to meet the sea, the searat ship seemed content to merely shadow the southbound attack force from afar. She followed a course parallel to the shore, oars shipped and sails trimmed so that she would not shoot past their quarry. Other than that, the searats satisfied themselves to wait and watch.
If it was meant to be a form of psychological warfare, it was not without its effectiveness. As evening approached, Lieutenant Perricone glanced out at the ship and muttered, "What in Hellsgates are they waiting for?"
"Full night, would be my guess," Matowick said. "They know our archers and slingers won't be as effective in the dark. They'll be able to land a large force and make us resort to paw-to-paw combat, which will give them a greater advantage, even with our otters."
"Bow or blade, day or night, bring 'em on!" Sergeant Grapentine spat. "I'm always up for slaying searats, anytime, any way!"
"You may get your chance soon enough, Sergeant." Matowick glanced up at the higher dunes on their left. "We've been pushing ourselves hard all afternoon, and that's been especially strenuous on this shifting sand underpaw. I think some of us must be close to collapse. We'll have to stop soon, whether we want to or not, so it may as well be for the night. And that higher ground looks like our best bet."
"What about the shrews and otters?" Perricone asked. "If they come ashore for the night too, they'll have to drag their logboats pretty far. Can't leave 'em near the tideline, or else those searats might sneak up and steal them, and then we'd all be stuck trudging our way back to Salamandastron."
"I'll ask Saybrook and Flusk what they want to do," said Matowick. "They may decide to sleep in shifts in their boats right out on the water - shrews do that all the time on the lakes and rivers up north. The main thing is that we got those searats to follow us. At least now we can be reasonably confident that the wounded we left behind at the tower will be safe. Browder and his group of slaves, too. As long as I can keep that ship in my sight, I'll rest easy on that score."
"Guess we won't be lighting any fires tonight, huh?" Grapentine wondered.
"Depends." A sly grin came to Matowick's face. "Just 'cos we light fires, doesn't mean we have to sleep around them. Imagine how surprised those rats would be if they come charging toward where they think we are, and we're standing aside in the shadows waiting for 'em!"
"You really think they'll attack us tonight, Captain?"
"I'd say be ready for it, Perri. I can't imagine they'll just sit out there and watch us run all the way back to Salamandastron. In fact, they'll probably engage us long before we get near the mountain, so we won't be able to call on reinforcements. These coastal plains are a nobeast's land, and they won't wait for us to get back to familiar territory. One way or another, you can be sure they'll try to stop us before then. Tonight, or tomorrow, but soon."
"I was thinking they'd sail south of us and put ashore there," Grapentine speculated. "Set up a skirmish line right across our path of retreat, maybe set up some ambushes. That's what I'd do if I didn't want us reaching Salamandastron. Get between us and the mountain, sort of a defensive barrier ... "
"They might still try something like that," Matowick said, bringing the Gawtrybe column to a halt with an upraised paw and a sideways switch of his tail. "But remember, no matter what strategy they choose, we've got forces on land and water, and they'll have to contend with both. No matter where they land, our shrews and otters will be able to get behind them, and we can catch them in a pincer maneuver. Maybe this has occurred to them too, and that's why they haven't tried to harass us yet. But they're bound to try something sooner or later, and we've got to be ready for it, whatever it is. Now, get every squirrel and slave up into those dunes, and secure some lookout positions. I'll be right up."
"Aye, Captain!"
While Perricone and Grapentine took charge of the Gawtrybe, Matowick paced down to the waterline to confer with Captains Saybrook and Flusk.
The next move would be up to the searats.
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Matowick was right; the searats had considered everything the squirrels had discussed, and more. Captain Rindosh was a seasoned campaigner and a competent tactician, and he was not about to be goaded into a false move that would cost the lives of many of his fighters. He was well aware that the force he now chased had just wiped out King Tratton's largest mainland installation, sunk a dreadnought like his own Sharktail and slain hundreds of searats, many of whom were formidable warriors. Rindosh had never before faced an enemy of this caliber, and he wanted to choose his moment with great care.
Toward the end of that afternoon, after they'd drawn abreast of the squirrel column and the flotilla of shrews and otters, Rindosh stood for a long time on the command deck with the lowering sun at his back, studying his adversary through his long glass.
"I don't unnerstand," First Mate Bodor complained, but mildly; one did not openly criticize one's superior too harshly in Tratton's navy if one wished to remain alive. "They killed all our mates at th' mill. Why don't we just attack now, an' chop 'em to pieces?"
"Because they are probably counting on us to do exactly that," Rindosh explained slowly and precisely. "Those are Urthblood's troops. His squirrels are reputed t' be th' best archerbeasts who've ever lived, an' I count at least threescore of 'em, each with longbow an' full quiver. A force like that could prob'ly kill ev'ry rat on the Sharktail, even if there was any way we could all rush 'em at once - which there ain't."
Bodor shrugged, incapable of conceiving what his captain was suggesting. "We got archers of our own ... "
"Not that many, an' not in that class. But it ain't just th' squirrels we gotta worry 'bout." Rindosh waved his long glass shoreward. "There's also a whole fleet o' waterbeasts out there too."
"Them dinky liddle things?" Bodor said, clearly disdainful of the shrew logboats. "Why, they look like one good wave'd tip 'em over. No match fer our landin' boats, much less th' Sharktail 'erself."
Rindosh frowned. "Ye ain't seein' th' fish fer th' school, Bodor. Those logboats are made fer one thing: transport. They ain't warships, an' they don't hafta be, 'cos there's warriors aboard 'em, an' that's what counts. Sure, they're tiny ... which means they're very maneuverable, an' could prob'ly run circles 'round our landin' boats if we tried t' go chasin' after 'em. But, if we don't go after 'em - if we just make a landing to attack th' squirrels an' ignore the logboats - then those dinky liddle things, as you call 'em, will close behind us, an' we'll find ourselves with one deadly foe in front of us an' another at our backs. We could send two hundred rats ashore, an' we'd be lucky fer one of 'em to make it back alive!"
"They can't be that good," Bodor said in disbelief. "Can they?"
"You went ashore at the mill," Rindosh reminded him. "You saw it fer yerself, with yer own eyes - ev'ry building burned, ev'ry rat dead. An' th' dock destroyed, an' the Wavehauler an' Scorpiontail sunk ... now ask yerself that question again ... "
Bodor stared shoreward, mouth agape. All he saw were a line of squirrels with a few slaves scattered amongst them, and a convoy of laughably small canoes bearing shrews and otters. Just ... woodlanders. In his mind he could not reconcile the sheer wanton destruction he'd beheld at the mill site as having been caused by such innocuous-seeming creatures. It was this lack of imagination that had kept Bodor from obtaining a captaincy of his own. But the first mate could hardly be blamed; after all, his only experience with such beasts was in raiding their trading ships and coastal settlements, and all those he'd encountered had been butchered easily with a minimum of fuss and bother.
"Well, at least we got 'em on th' run, Cap'n."
"What good is that if we can't catch 'em?" Rindosh muttered.
"Well, uh, um ... we are gonna catch 'em. Ain't we?"
"Aye. That we will, Bodor. As many as we can, at any rate, an' th' rest we'll scatter runnin' with their bushtails 'n' rudders 'tween their legs. They can't get away scott free with what they did to us. Question now is, how're we gonna catch 'em?"
"Mebbe a night raid?" Bodor suggested, unknowingly anticipating the very strategy that the Gawtrybe would soon be discussing amongst themselves.
"Perhaps. But still risky. Otters could be lying in wait in those dark surf waters, t' capsize our landing boats afore they beach, an' those squirrels 'n' shrews could set up ambushes farther up on shore. Anybeasts who could do what we saw at th' mill would know a thing or two 'bout such tactics."
"But, if we don't attack t'night," Bodor countered, "they could sneak away under cover o' darkness, an' get clean away from us ... "
Rindosh stared at the creatures on shore for such a long time that Bodor wondered whether his captain had heard him. He was about to press his point when Rindosh broke his silence.
"No." He shook his head slowly. "No, they won't do that ... "
"Um, how d' you know?"
"Look at them!" Rindosh snarled, sweeping his claw toward the woodlanders. "That's an open display o' defiance, that is! They want us to attack!"
"Why th' salt would they want that?" Bodor asked, still incapable of wrapping his mind around the type of enemy they faced.
"Because they're warriors! 'Cos they crave battle, an' they've decided they ain't killed enuff searats t' satisfy their bloodlust! They want us to attack, an' they'd not want that unless they were pretty confident they could make a fight of it!"
"So, what'll we do?" Bodor was totally confused now.
"I think it's time t' test some of our new weapons," Rindosh said with a cold sneer.
Bodor straightened. "You mean, th' stormpowder? We ain't s'posed to use that, in case word gets back t' Urthblood. King Tratton's orders ... "
"Tratton ain't here," Rindosh snapped, "an' Urthblood's gonna find out about it sooner or later. Give the orders, Bodor! Ready th' catapults, an' break out th' casks from belowdecks! We'll give those woodlander murderers a surprise that'll send 'em to Hellsgates, an' halfway beyond!"
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It was an uncomfortable and nervewracking night for most of the parties involved.
Browder slept fitfully, coming fully awake well before dawn, chattering and shivering in his bedroll. It wasn't as bad as the night he'd spent up on the mountain pass the summer before, when he'd made the run from Mossflower to Salamandastron in three days; on that occasion he'd had to stay awake all night stamping his footpaws and walking in circles to keep from freezing. But now, having slept some, he arose from his blankets stiff and cramped all over, and had to put himself through a full regimen of stretching exercises to get himself back into full marching shape. The lack of any hot breakfast didn't improve his outlook one bit, but Kurdyla insisted they still refrain from lighting a fire.
Some of the former slaves also had a fitful night, but for reasons very different than Browder's. In their sleep they dreamt, as they had for seasons now, of the atrocities they'd witnessed and the hardship they'd suffered during their captivity and forced labor. One day of freedom was not enough to erase this fear and anguish from their minds - indeed, a thousand days of liberation would likely be insufficient to completely banish these vile memories - but upon awakening and realizing they were no longer chained under the yoke of slavery, they greeted the new winter day with an attitude that was the total opposite of Browder's. Their previous existence had been reversed; now instead of dreaming of freedom and waking to the depressing reality of life as a slave, they could awake from nightmares of slavery to find they were now free. It was a trade they were only too happy to make.
After they'd finished their cold breakfast - which the former slaves didn't mind at all, for ordinary fare seasoned with freedom is the best-tasting food under winter sky or summer sun, spring rain or autumn colors - Klystra swooped down to make his report. The falcon had flown in a wide circle over land and sea after daybreak, and was able to verify that there were no signs of pursuit back along their trail, and that the searat dreadnought lay at anchor somewhat to the south and on the other side of the mountain range from where Browder and the slaves were headed. It appeared the searats were directing the entirety of their attention and energies to the Gawtrybe, otters and shrews who'd decoyed them south.
And so the group was on its way again by sunrise, secure in the knowledge that nobeast was chasing them and that Klystra would be able to alert them at once if that should change. For himself, Browder hoped they could make even better time today than they had on the previous afternoon. The hare wanted to be far enough inland by the time they stopped for the night so that Kurdyla would allow them to light at least one campfire. Browder was sure that one more night in the unprotected winter cold would be more than he could endure.
Over on the shore side of the mountains, meanwhile, night had come and gone with no attack from the searats. Matowick had been so sure an attack would come that he'd kept nearly half his squirrels awake at any given time during the night, watchful and ready to fight at a moment's notice. But the coming of the dawn found the Sharktail still anchored in the same spot offshore, all her fighters and landing boats kept to herself for the moment.
"I don't get it," Perricone said, trying to get the sleep out of her eyes, the sand out of her fur and the cobwebs out of her head. "If they weren't going to attack under cover of darkness, you'd think they would've at least taken the opportunity to sail south and land there to cut off our escape route."
"Maybe they've figured out we're not trying to escape." Matowick stared out at the pirate vessel, immense and silent and darkly threatening on the gray morning swells. "Maybe they've realized we'd like nothing better than a fight. I'm just glad they didn't go sneaking off in the night. Otherwise, we'd have to have sent Altidor flying up and down the coast and out to sea until we'd located them again. We can't have them going back to the mill. As long as we can see them, we'll know that hasn't happened. I'll be just as happy to keep them with us, whether they attack or no."
Sergeant Grapentine couldn't stifle a huge yawn. "Yah, well, if they weren't gonna attack last night, they could've at least had the courtesy to let us know so we could all have gotten a good night's sleep. Between that leg-killing run through the sand yesterday and most of us bein' up half the night waiting for an assault that never came, I think we're all bushed ... and I'm not just talking about our tails either."
"Might be just what they had in mind," said Matowick. "Keep us off balance and guessing, maybe wear us down for a day or two before they make their move. Hope we've lost some of our sharpness by the time they do attack ... "
"Well, if that's their strategy, it's working," Perricone regretfully informed her commander. "I'm ready for a full massage from the waist down to work out all my muscle kinks, followed by two days' straight sleep in a nice soft feather bed ... "
"Can't do anything about that extra sleep, I'm afraid," Matowick said with a sudden secretive smile, "but that massage idea of yours sounds right on the mark. I could use one myself, and I'm sure every squirrel in this outfit would say the same. So here's what we'll do ... "
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"Hey! What're they doin'?"
First Mate Bodor and Boson Gumbs crowded the port railing of the Sharktail in the piercing morning air, along with many of the other crewrats and fighters. After keeping a close eye on the shrew logboats during the night to make sure they neither attacked nor fled, the last thing the lookouts expected to see was all of the shrews and otters paddling ashore and hauling their twoscore or so diminutive vessels up onto the beach.
"Don't make no sense," Gumbs mumbled, scratching quizically at his scraggly jaw. "Why'd they stay out on th' water all night, sleepin' in their boats, then wait 'til dawn t' go ashore? Are they gonna abandon their liddle craft an' run up inta th' hills?"
"Dunno," Bodor muttered, and passed his long glass to his underling. "I'm gonna go wake the Cap'n. He'll wanna see this. You keep watch on 'em in case they got sumpthin' up their sleeves."
By the time Captain Rindosh joined the others at the railing, it was quite clear that flight was the last thing on the woodlanders' minds. The shrews and otters were lying all over the sand above the tideline, rubbing each others' necks and shoulders and kneading tired back muscles. Through the telescope Rindosh could see that many of the waterbeasts wore smiles of relief and relaxation and, almost, contentment.
And, farther in toward the low hills, the squirrel archers could be seen partaking in the same routine.
Rindosh bared his fangs, not sure whether he should be mortally offended or amused. "The gall! The arrogance! They've turned th' whole besotten beach inta their own pers'nal spa! An' they want us t' see it, too!"
The other rats weren't sure what to make of their captain's outburst. "Uh ... are we gonna attack?" Bodor ventured.
"Attack?" Rindosh considered giving the orders to do just that; with all the logboats grounded, those shrews and otters might have a hard time getting them crewed and pushed back into the water quickly enough to meet an attack. Then again, this could be another ruse to provoke them; those squirrels would have ample notice to rush the shoreline if they saw searat landing boats on the way, their arrows notched and bowstrings drawn to shower death upon any party of rats who ventured within range. The display they were putting on now almost seemed too preposterous to be anything but a ploy.
"No, we won't attack," Rindosh said at last. "Not now. But when the times comes, I'll remember this moment ... an' I'll make sure they know it!"
