Chapter Eleven
Sarrico allowed himself a grim smile.
"Oh, yer a cheeky un all right, waterhound," the stoat said. "An' I'll be glad when yer gone. But first, let me show yew somethin' that'll leave yew ponderin' at the gates o' Dark Forest. Lashid! Bring 'em out!"
* * *
Mother Cregga shook her head for what seemed like the seventeenth time that day. For three days, ever since Wedge had recited the poem Martin the Warrior and the past Abbots and Abbesses had spoken in his dream, the whole Abbey had been worrying for the ones off at war.
"Oh, dearie me," Sister Rosa murmured, wringing her paws nervously. "'Of the seventeen that fight the war, only twelve will return home.' Cregga, do you know what that means? Death! Death and killing! Oh, I'm afraid to think of who those poor creatures will be."
The badger shook her head again. She read over the parchment with the whole poem written on it, courtesy of Recorder Rimrose. "Seventeen…weren't there originally five? Where'd the other twelve come from?"
"I'm not sure. Oh, Cregga, twelve will come back home…do you think that the original five that was sent to defeat that accursed stoat will die? All of them?"
Cregga shook her head yet again, this time in anger. "Don't say that, Sister Rosa! And not in front of the little ones. Look—here's a bunch of them now."
Some Dibbuns and Maybell were following Wedge around. Actually, it was only the Dibbuns who were doing it with a will, reciting the only line they could remember. "Oo gave da lives so ya 'sist!"
Maybell, on the other hand, was in charge of the Dibbuns. They romped about, reciting the poem with Wedge, annoying Maybell worse than Painttail usually does.
"You little rogues!" the prissy mouse exclaimed, pulling Tibbin by his ear. "Silence and follow me; it's time for your naps."
Tibbin growled. "Ya snotty-noser mousey, lemmego! Lemmego! Yowowoo! Tibb not takin' naptime. Tibb not sleepy'ead. Leggo! Yowch!"
Sister Rosa cuffed Maybell's paw sharply. "Let go of the little one, Maybell!"
"But Sister Rosa, they won't listen to me," the mousemaid complained. "I'm just glad that young Kipp isn't here. He's just like his brother; all warrior-like. I can't stand fighting. It's so useless to fight."
Wedge, who was pacing nearby, the gang of Dibbuns following his every move, suddenly stopped. "Ho! Wot's that y'say, Maybell? Kipp like 'is bro? Aha! That's un part o' the rhyme! The on'y liddle squirrel t'act warrior-like! Thankee, May, thankee!"
"On'y likkle squiggle act warrer-like!"
"Wot that ee sez, Meebill?"
"Dat part o' rymm!"
"Thankers, May, thankers!"
* * *
Lashid the weasel stepped forward and pushed in front of him a manacled line of old and young ones being held hostage. They were ones Stormpaw had not seen before.
Rugval grinned maliciously. "See 'ere, Stormtail or Furpaw or whatever yew call yerself, these were the escaped prisoners o' the villages we plundered from. Aye, these uns were brave 'nough t'face me, but they were no match at all fer me 'orde! An' yer either gonna die or yer gonna join the line. coz they're more slaves, see?"
An old squirrel's top lip curled defiantly. "Oh, slaves are we, scum? We'll see who ends up victorious in the end, one-ear! You or the brave woodlanders who've come to fight you!"
Lashid kicked the squirrel roughly. "Yew! Be quiet till Chief says y'can talk!"
Stormpaw wasn't in the mood to talk. "C'mon, vermin, let's see wot yer made of!" she repeated. "Lest yer a coward!"
The stoat's temper rose suddenly. "Coward? Coward!? Nobeast calls me coward an' lives t'tell 'bout it!" He drew his cutlass. "All right, riverdog, lets see 'ow yew fight!"
The hot summer sun came down upon the two creatures who faced each other, sword and cutlass at the ready. One, a corsair stoat, wearing a ragged tunic and missing one ear, who was holding a bunch of woodlanders as slaves. The other, a young otter, barely at adulthood, who was seeking nothing more than vengeance.
And then they charged.
Steel crashed upon steel as the two fought. A blur of fur and deadly blades, each would score wounds upon the other. Blood flew in all directions, splattering the sand and those who ventured too close. The fight went on for what seemed like hours. Each jab, slash, thrust, and stab was countered.
Stormpaw was thrown back and landed with a heavy thud on the sand. Staggering to her footpaws, she watched as the stoat sneered at her.
"'Ad too much, woodlander?" he mocked.
Swish! Crack! Thud!
Everybeast turned to the source of the sound. The old gray squirrel was up, sweat pouring down his brow. In his manacled paws, the slave line chain was whirring above his head in counterclockwise circles. Lashid the weasel Captain lay slain at the ancient squirrel's footpaws.
"Let death come to the sons of Hellgates!" the old one roared. Flinging himself at the other Captains with sudden alacrity that belied his age, he flung the chain left and right, slaying those in his path.
"Young otter," he called, "fulfill your destiny!"
Stormpaw didn't need a second bidding. She hurled herself at her confused and outraged enemy, the lethal battlesword hacking at the stoat. Rugval Sarrico had little time to react. As he put up his cutlass to defend himself, he was thwacked in the side of the head with the flat of the young otter's sword, partially stunned. Stormpaw then lunged and brought death to her opponent.
Sarrico fell, slain at impact. The sword had embedded itself straight into his evil heart and had sent him to Dark Forest.
* * *
"Whew! Jolly good show, m'gel!" Lieutenant Tammo told Stormpaw. "Nice parry there, too, wot wot! Top hole!"
"Capital wheeze, ole riverdog!" one of the Long Patrol Colonels added, patting the otter on the back. "Y'sure showed ole slave-driver that scum like 'im are destined t' experience death at the paws of a warrior! By gum! Painttail, is that you, m'bucko?"
Stormpaw extricated herself from the mob of worn-out hares and went to join her friends. The whole woodlander army had won, fortunately, and Lord Russano had gotten rid of what was left of the fox and vermin armies. Of course, nothing in war is always jubilant. And Verleaf and Kippit proved that.
The two babes were wailing distressedly, hugging each other and trying to wake their most loved ones up.
"Granpa, please, you'll be all right," Verleaf begged. "Granpa, please wake up. Please…Granpa…"
Kipp wasn't speaking. He just sobbed, cradling his brother's head, the tears streaming down his face.
Runn placed a comforting paw around the two. "Come now, mates, they gave their lives 'elpin' us. I know 'tis sad an' all, but that's 'ow life is."
Verleaf nodded reluctantly. He hugged the corpse of his old grandfather and allowed the older ones to bury it.
Kipp was different. No matter what Runn said, he didn't leave his brother.
"K-Kippit?"
The hoarse voice came from Nik. Everybeast around was glad to have Nik alive, but they didn't know for how long. Kipp simply thought Nik wasn't going to die at all.
"Nik!" the squirrelbabe exclaimed in joy. "I knew you'd live! I knew!"
Niklur shook his head and emitted a short, ragged laugh. "Hahah…Kipp, I'm glad you think I'll live, but I won't. Kipp, things happen and that's that. You can't stop death."
The little squirrel shook his head furiously. "No! No! You…you can't die!"
"Everybeast dies, Kipp," Nik whispered. "Listen—when you get to Redwall Abbey, tell Mum and Dad that I'm sorry. I promised them…I promised them I wouldn't die. And I am. Kipp, do that for me, little brother."
Kippit hung his head sadly, nodding.
"Now, do me un more thing."
"Name it, brother, and I'll do it."
"Take…take Martin's sword…and bring everybeast back. I want you to be the next Redwall Champion. Protect the Abbey…and other goodbeasts with your life and your sword."
"On my affidavit."
Without anything more to say, Niklur's bright amber eyes clouded over. He exhaled one short breath…and died.
Verleaf took Kipp's paw. "I'm sorry, Kipp. Your brother was a great creature. He died in battle; he was a warrior at heart. Your brother shouldn't have died. He was too young and had many seasons ahead of him, like we have many seasons ahead of us."
Kipp nodded. As he spoke, it seemed like something had come over him. He looked older, taller, and more like his brother. And he spoke like a true creature, not a little babe anymore. "Aye, Verleaf. Your ole granpa risked his life too. He was ole an' weak, but he let us escape."
A grim smile appeared on the young squirrel's face. He let go of his friend and picked up the sword of Martin. After carefully cleaning the blade and putting it back in its scabbard, the squirrel placed it over his shoulders and back.
Iceblade nodded in approval, sitting on the beach with his back against a tree. "Aye, yeh look like yer brother, liddle squirrel. Tall, determined, fearless. Aye, that's th'stuff. Yeh don't look much like a babe no more. Yer a warrior. A full-fledged warrior!"
Kipp, though still inexperienced at holding a sword, drew the legendary battleblade and looked at it. Cleaving left, slashing right, and jabbing at invisible enemies, the young Warriorsquirrel tested out his new-found power.
Painttail nodded as he dragged Nik's body away to bury it. "Those two—Kipp an' Verleaf. Seems like they've jolly well died an' was reborned inter spiffin' new bodies, wot! Lookit Kipp; if'n he was a mouse, 'e'd be Martin the Warrior! An' lookit Verleaf. 'E's 'elpin' the liddle fighter, instructin' an' ev'rythin'. Why, 'e'd be Abbot, my whiskers!"
Runn nodded in agreement. "What d'ye think, Iceblade?"
But the battle-scarred otter did not answer, and neither had he heard any of what Runn or Painttail had said. The otter had a peaceful expression on his face, even as he sat there after Dark Forest had brought him to his final resting place. Runn realized this and a sad look came upon his face; he had grown to like the older otter, despite his fearsome appearance.
Stormpaw shook her head at him. "An' wot'll miz Tigerlily an' 'er brood say?"
"'I never got t'wash his tattoos off!'" Painttail called from where he stood with other hares, burying Nik's body, in a high female voice, imitating the fretful otterwife.
Stormpaw blinked. "Really? Huh, I won't want t'be like 'er when I grow up like that."
"Yer less than a season from bein' an adult, Storm. When's yore birthday, anyway?"
"I really dunno. I can't seem t'remember. I think it's…" There was a silence as she thought. "…T'day!"
Lurrana looked up from freeing the old squirrel from the manacles. "T'day? Bad day t'fight then, young un! Huh, if'n we'd known…"
Shaking her head again, Stormpaw replied, "No, 'tis all right. We did wot we 'ad t'do an' I'm glad we did. If'n we'd waited then Sarrico an' 'is Flitchaye friends could've taken Mossflower beneath our very noses."
"Well, happy birthday, Storm," Kipp told his otter friend. "We need t'celebrate at Redwall. C'mon, everybeast, let's go!"
Without furthur ado, everybeast headed north. Lord Russano and his Long Patrol hares, with the exception of the original group that had been sent to help Nik and his friends, headed back to Salamandastron. The slaves followed eagerly, excited about the Abbey and excited about their freedom. Painttail and his father, Lieutenant Tammello De Fformello Tussock, got everybeast in battle ranks. With Kipp and Verleaf in the lead, everybeast headed home.
