6
The ferret died before he could tell them his name. One moment he was moaning and twitching as Fentress dragged him through the underbrush, then he shuddered and died. They covered him with some thick ivy and broke camp to rest.
"It'll be night in a few hours," said Sully idly, making a poor show of concealing her wounded paw.
"You'll need to have that looked at," said Fentress.
"It's fine."
"It's not."
With a sigh, Sully reclined against a tree and let Fentress examine her wound. It wasn't broken, which was good, but the good ended there, because the ankle was swollen and purple and knotted. The branch must have cut off circulation when it landed, as well as dealing a nasty sprain. Fentress knew only rudimentary medicine. She could not help Sully much.
"It's a bad idea to wander at night through the woods, especially with a paw like that," said Fentress, standing. "We should find a hovel of some sort and make shelter until morning. Then we head to the river and regroup with Alger and the others."
"I'm fine, we can go now," said Sully. "The river's not far, right? We'll make it afore sundown."
"We make shelter," said Fentress. "Besides. We can't leave the swamp just yet. Did you see that rat?"
Sully almost jumped up, but winced and stayed down. "The one carryin' Martin's Sword? Aye, I saw the blackguard. What kinda beast'd give such a fat runty fellow such a thing? That Alagadda or whatsit, you think she's the leader?"
"Maybe. But the archer didn't treat her like a leader."
"Who knows and who cares," said Sully with sudden finality. "If the vermin've got their claws on the Sword of Martin, I wonder what's happened to Fannin?"
Fentress said nothing.
"Well, I'm sure he's okay," said Sully.
"The rat ran deeper into the swamp," said Fentress. "I've got to find that sword."
Sully almost leapt up again, but remembered what had happened the last time and managed to still herself. "Aha! Now that's some nice can-do talk there, Fen! Some good ol' give 'em vinegar. When we get back Martin's Sword, we'll rout those vermin for sure."
Fentress almost laughed. "I expected you to reprimand me, or tell me it's unsafe or something. But I guess I should've known better."
"Unsafe? Who d'you think I am—Sister Selma? There hasn't been a hero of Redwall Abbey yet who hasn't had to prove themselves through some act of courage or several. And if our challenge's just to swipe the blade from the grubby claws of a few overgrown lizards, then I'd say that ain't so tough a deal." Sully pulled a heroic pose, all lines and angles in the bitter dusk, fading in the light.
"You can't go," said Fentress. "You're too hurt."
"Oh, don't even say that," said Sully. "Don't even try to pull that one. We gotta work together, Fen. There ain't been a hero of Redwall yet who hasn't had friends to help 'em out, and I'm your friend, Fen, so helpin' you out's what I'm gonna do."
Fentress managed a smile. "Thanks, Sully. But I'm not concerned about being the hero of Redwall. I just want Redwall safe—once I get the sword back, I'll give it to Alger, or Fannin, or somebeast who can make better use of it than I can. But to get it back, I need to move quick and quiet. With your paw you'll—"
"—Be in the way, slow you down, yeah yeah, I've heard it afore you've even said it. Look, Fen. I dunno who you think you are, but you ain't outrunnin' those lizards, not in their own territory. Were I in tiptop shape, I might be able to do it, but I ain't, so that point's moot. The point that does matter is we need a better plan if we're to rescue the sword, and whatever that plan is, I bet you'll need me to help. So there."
Sully folded her arms and harrumphed. Fentress chuckled—she was right. Fentress had thought she might be able to put her knowledge of the swamp from the last time she passed through it to good use and outwit the lizards somehow, but the more she churned it over, the more running seemed impossible. The swamp had changed since her last visit; the lizards were certainly new, but even the terrain of the marsh had seemed to shift, until it looked like something completely different from whatever of which she had once had a fleeting memory, a memory from a time when she was babe and toddling at the side of her father. She remembered because he had been so stern with her that day—she had been playing close to the edge of the swamp, some sort of make-believe, and he had swooped in and slapped her wrist several times and shouted in her face to never never never play near the swamp. 'Twas a bad place, he had told her. She had cried.
That was so long ago. Why had she ever thought she knew the swamp?
"Okay," said Fentress, stirring from her memories. "I have a better plan. And you're right, I'll need your help."
Sully grinned. "Told ya."
Captain Kludd fell for about the fifth time since he started running, bounded back up, severed a branch in front of him with one swipe of the magnificent sword, and kept running. There were at least thirty of the things behind him, probably more. He was done for.
But still he kept running. For a few fleeting moments he thought maybe he should throw himself headfirst into the swamp, or even onto the sword, and end it quick, or if not quick at least more quick than the lizards would end him. But still he kept running.
A log rose up out of nowhere and took his legs out from under him. Clutching the hilt of the sword he bounced down an embankment, twigs and stones jabbing into him, and he knew before he came to a stop that this time he had fallen too far to jump back up quickly, that the lizards had already surrounded him, that he had nowhere left to run.
He stood up. He had landed in a small, circular clearing, the dusky orange sky oozing through a ring of trees above him.
The lizards had surrounded him. Snarling, jaundice-eyed, lined with incandescent scales, a full horde of them, crawling over each other, all staring at him.
They did not strike. Kludd knew it was because of the sword—none of them wanted to be the first to run at a creature wielding such a blade. Kludd himself would have shirked from himself wielding the sword he know wielded, even though deep down he knew himself to be not a great fighter despite all the braggadocio to which he had subjected his subordinates upon his (relatively recent) promotion to captain. In fact, he had never been quite good at anything, and as a lot of frantic thoughts all clustered in his head as he wheeled back and forth on the placid reptilian creatures thronged about him the one he kept focusing on above all was: Why had Alagadda given him this position to begin with?
Soon, he knew, they would grow restless, and he would die.
A commotion occurred near the back of the lizard group. For a moment Kludd thought it was beginning, but soon the throng opened up and between the ranks emerged a massive reddish lizard, at least twice the size of any of his peers, flanked by a couple of elites who snapped at any lizard foolish enough to get in the way.
The red lizard entered the circle. Kludd stepped back, even though it pressed his unprotected flank closer to the other side of the circle.
The red lizard spoke.
"The zword… That izz a zword of a great zlayer. Yezz…"
Kludd had trouble discerning the lizard's accent but understood that he, like the others, was in awe of the magic sword of Redwall Abbey. Hopelessness ebbed away and all at once Kludd knew what he had to do, what he had been best at doing his entire life.
He bragged.
"Indeed, 'tis the sword of a great slayer," he said, straightening his back and puffing out his chest and striding around the inner rim of the circle. He projected his voice so that all the clot of lizards could hear. "And that great slayer, well, 'tis me. I take it ye've ne'er heard of the great—" He searched for a name a bit more intimidating than Kludd. "—The great Tuscarawas of the One Blade, have ye? Mebbe a few of you snivelin' scaly lot've chanced upon the name in whispers. No doubt you'll be the ones pushin' yerselves to the back of the group right now. The rest of ye, if ye've got enough sense, oughtta do the same!"
He lunged at the nearest lizard in the ring. Amazingly, it flinched.
Feeling emboldened, Kludd continued. "I've roasted lizards twice the size o'ye fer me mornin' snack, and used the bones as toothpicks. I've drunk wine from a lizard's hollowed-out skull. I've an entire trunk full've scaly lizard hides that I take out'n wear on occasion. Come on, the lot of ye, step on up and try yer might against me. I could always use more coats." He jabbed out the tip of the sword at the big red lizard with a dramatic flourish he had seen Jareck perform once.
The big red lizard, massaging a small wound on his shoulder, seemed uncertain whether he wanted to attack or not. It dawned on Kludd that these lizards must be monstrously stupid.
From behind the big red lizard, a much smaller female with a necklace of bones sauntered out of the group, stalking with long, jerky strides. Her tail flicked out and around the big red one.
"Tuzcarawazz the Zlayer, he zezz…" said the female. "Yet he runzz for hizz life from uzz. He izz nothing but a liar, a cheat!"
The way the female kept close to the big male, Kludd figured she must be his mate. "Go on then, as ye say, I'm a liar, a braggart. Should be no match for even a beady little runt like yoreself." He made a show of lowering the sword. "I'll even let you strike first!"
The female grinned a toothy, jagged smile. "He izz nothing but a fat, fat mouzey… Go, Marclaw." She prodded the big male. "Kill him, and let uzz feazt on his corpze… Kill him, and take hizz zword for your own!"
She nudged Marclaw forward, but he seemed reluctant. Kludd didn't like this female one bit; a rough intelligence flitted behind her narrow eyes. Still, he had slipped into his element.
"I ain't warnin' ye again, scalebrain. Tell yore mates to scram or I'll make the first move."
"Zlay him, Marclaw," said the female.
Marclaw made a tentative step forward into the circle. Kludd tried to maintain his bold façade but shirked back from the monstrosity of scales anyway, a massive sinuous thing twice his height or more, glittering red in the setting sun.
Kludd racked his brains for a plan. Marclaw was still moving with measured trepidation, but the power the female held over him was obvious and Kludd wasn't sure if further intimidation would work. He'd already gotten lucky enough to convince such cataclysmic terrors that he was their great bane—but of course that wasn't luck so much as the sword, the legendary magic sword of Redwall Abbey. Perhaps the magic was not in making the wielder immune to death by combat, as they had all assumed and all heard in the stories of foolish warlords past, but instead a kind of viral infection of fear that spread amongst all those who saw or heard of it, a plague of reason. Of course Kludd didn't quite understand all he was even thinking and much of it was senseless mental babbling brought on by his own fear of the basilisk stalking toward him, but on a primal level he at once understood his hypothesis to be true. A sword of fear and nothing else.
The big red lizard pounced. Kludd had hardly time to react, he had not focused on the duel so much as how he might weasel his way out of it—er, not weasel, rat—that he hardly had time to raise the sword. He turned his head away and closed his eyes in anticipation of the death bearing down on him.
Death did not come. For him, at least. When he had stood five seconds without finding his guts ripped from his stomach or his ribcage burst open by the ravenous claws of the lizard, he opened one eye. The big red lizard lay on the ground. Its head had come away from its body, as in not there anymore, as in a clean cut, not a single stray tendon still quivering between the stump at the base of the skull and the stump at the end of the neck.
Kludd didn't believe it at first. Then he believed something must have intervened to save him. Then he saw the blood on his sword.
The magic sword of Redwall Abbey. He forgot all his previous posturing on the subject and knew the stories had been true. A magic sword, the wielder immune to death. (But then how had Alagadda slain the old mouse? Well, Kludd wouldn't worry about that for the time being.) A magic sword, and Kludd held it in his paw, the metal drenched in a new kill by a new owner.
A permanent owner.
The lizards watched unblinking. Kludd scoured their blank expressions, holding the sword in all its bloody glory aloft for all to see, letting the blood drip down the hilt and down his upraised arm, his fur matting with the clotting substance. The female lizard with the bone necklace had disappeared from the pack, and despite the sudden rush of ambition swelling in Kludd's head he knew he would have to deal with her at the soonest opportunity, for she would not bend her knee willingly.
But the others would.