The Newcomer of Redwall
Book 2 Combustible: The ability to burn (or Wolf's bane)
Chapter 13
--Rallah Kheme--
"SIMON!" Rallah screamed, a second too late. The thing, whatever it was, had already stabbed Simon in the right shoulder. He grunted in pain and rolled with the blow. He dropped to his knees and slammed his left fist into the thing's face. It shrieked, tugged on the knife that was embedded inside Simon. He snarled and made grabs at the thing's deformed and sweat-matted face.
Rallah heard a soft growl behind her. She whirled, and there was another one, smaller, thinner, and just as sickening. Its eyes were a dull, lifeless gray, it's fur, like the other, was yellowed like old teeth, bald in patches, like it had some terrible disease. Rallah flinched backward, and stumbled over one of the low benches. The shorter beast chittered in glee and pounced for her, knives raised.
"NO!"
The taller one shrieked in surprise. Rallah only caught a brief glimpse of gray fur before it collided with the smaller in midair, sending both toppling over one of the long tables and out of sight. Rallah was attempting to get her feet under her when, suddenly, Simon was there, lifting her with his right arm. "You okay?" He grunted.
She nodded quickly, and as soon as he let go of her his pack toppled to the floor. The left shoulder strap had been sheared cleanly in two flapping pieces. Simon's left arm was worse. Everything from the elbow up was saturated in blood. She knew that the rest of the arm would be next. His entire arm hung limply at his side, useless as the strap of his pack.
Simon dropped to one knee and fumbled with the metal chips on its outer skin. He gritted his teeth and glanced at where the two had disappeared. "Watch my back," he hissed, concurrent with the pack's hissing as it opened. "How?" she whispered back when his good arm dove into its depths. His eyes locked with hers. "The hell should I know? Think of something, Rallah." She nearly flinched again, then stood her ground and looked around the dimly lit hall. She needed a weapon, and quickly.
Dimly lit.
Rallah raced to the wall and yanked one of the lit torches from its place on the wall and ran back to Simon. He had some large, gleaming metal object in his hands and was doing something to it. She peered closer, he was putting smaller bits of metal into the larger piece, gritting his teeth in concentration and pain. Their eyes met, and his mouth formed a quick smile of encouragement. The orange globes dropped back down and the metal cylinder snapped into the main body of the object.
"What is-" She started, before Simon's eyes flashed up again. "Rallah, eyes front!" She spun on her heel. One of the two was running flat out at her, knives raised and gleaming red in the light. Rallah growled low in her throat and cocked back the torch. The beast was racing forward, but she stood her ground, and brought the torch forward at just the right second. Burning padding and torch oil cracked into the side of the beast, sent it stumbling...Right against Simon. The human used the momentum to charge with his good shoulder. The beast hit the wall an instant before Simon connected with an audible "CRUNCH" from the beast's chest. It shrieked, blood spraying in a fine mist from its mouth.
Simon grabbed its neck with his good hand, brought it back, and slammed it against the wall again. Another glob of blood spattered from its mouth and onto Simon's arm. The human grimaced in agony. He staggered back, reaching down to get the gun from his bad arm to his good one, watching the thing with the dent in its chest. The gun switched hands during another bloody cough from the thing. Simon raised the gun, his faced turning from grim determination to sick hatred as he fired the monstrosity of a firearm twice. The thing fell to the floor, half of its face gone.
"Was that..." Rallah started, just before a heart-rending scream, painful both in its agony and sorrow, rose from the shadowy corner of the room. Simon pivoted on one foot, never lowering his gun, and empted the remaining four chambers in the corner. The scream ended in a gurgling, choking sputter, and a thud. Silence echoed through the room...
--Auma--
She slams her fisted paws against the sandstone, shaking loose another layer of dust that only gets coated by more blood. Everything below her shoulders burns like heated slag, yet still she pounds away on the yellowed wall. She has screamed herself hoarse hours ago, but still whispers pleas for help.
"That's not going to help."
She stops and rests her fists on the warm sandstone. The voice is soft and familiar, and calms her. "What should I do?" she asks the disembodied voice behind her. It chuffs, maybe a laugh, and tells her exactly what to do.
--Maliss--
"This is sickening." Maliss hissed. His meditations had informed him that a damaged human and the hedgehog that had followed him for so many seasons had cut both of his alleged "top assassins" down.
Corwyn, a rat and one of his higher generals, lifted his head from a map. "What is, sir?"
Maliss glanced at him. "The human. He seems to instill some sort of bloodlust in the abbeydwellers he leads."
Corwyn turned back to his maps. "You think I'm frightened," Maliss murmured.
Corwyn looked up again. "Sir?"
Maliss lifted his lip, baring a few fangs in agitation. "You think that I'm frightened of that damned soothsayer's visions, don't you. Afraid of the prophecy."
Corwyn's eyes widened. "But, sir, I ever said-"
Maliss grunted, picked up a knife from the cluttered floor, and with an easy flick of his wrist, embedded it in the rat's head. "Bastard," He hissed.
--Simon Gilnom--
He staggered backwards and thumped against the wall, leaving a long, bloody smear as he slid slowly downward into a sitting position. Simon grimaced and put his fingers into the thin, deep wound. His vision was sliding in and out of focus in sporadic waves. "Why..." Rallah hurried to his side and put her paws around the wound. It was bleeding badly, but what was worse was that the blood flow was slowing, meaning that Simon was running out of blood.
She tore off the bottom of her tunic and tied it just above the wound, making a tight tourniquet. "Simon, we need a healer," she said. His dulling eyes were half-shut, no longer the bright orange as before, and he coughed, "Then find one..."