THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Thirty-Four
That same evening, as Cyrus lay between life and death in Redwall's Infirmary, Urthblood's army neared the broadstream that lay in their path and were afforded their first look at the bridge that spanned it.
The sun had nearly set, and the subdued tones of the long twilight were settling down over the south of Mossflower. The layered chirruping of the summer insects was in full swing, filling the deep woods with its steady and constant buzz. From high in the treetops, birds of many kinds added their evensong voices to the natural chorus, serenading the dying day. Their lofty perches, so high above the marching horde, gave them a sense of safety, so they trilled and tweeted and chirped as they pleased. But, as all along the march so far, no other furred or feathered creatures had the courage to announce their presence.
Urthblood halted the column just before the bridge. The badger warrior stood upon the path with the other beasts of the vanguard, surveying the timber construct. He turned to Warnokur. "And you say you never heard of this before?"
The otter shook his head, staring at the span in open-jawed amazement. "Nay, M'Lord. I was at this spot the spring before last, and there was no sign of any bridge t'all. This thing's brand spankin' new."
The graceful arch climbed from either shore, rising to a height at its curved peak that was at least three or four times as tall as any of the otters. The gentle slope of the span alternated between series of short steps and smooth planked inclines, a progression that would make the crossing easy for beasts both large and small. The bridge was wide enough so that several creatures could walk abreast across it, and side pawrails assured that no weary traveler might accidentally stumble over the edge and suffer a serious fall into the waters far below. Sturdy timbers supported the structure a third of the way out from either bank, but the center of the river flowed freely beneath the highest stretch of the arch, thanks to a design which enabled the middle of the span to be upheld from either end without having to place pilings all across the river. Boating shrews and other river creatures would still have plenty of room to guide a fairly large vessel down the center of the waterway without danger of colliding with any part of the bridge.
Even if such a collision were to occur farther in toward either bank, the heavily-braced support pylons looked thick enough to withstand such a mishap without serious harm.
There was a plain wood plaque displayed on the first post of the railing, bearing the simple inscription, "Lorr's Bridge."
"Do you know anything of this Lorr?" Urthblood asked the two Redwall otters.
Winokur and Warnokur exchanged searching glances, and came up blank. "Not a name that means anything t' us, M'Lord," Warnokur said with a shrug. "Could be the name of a beast, or a tribe, or ... I just dunno."
Captain Saybrook looked to Warnokur. "You still wanna take a dive off o' that span, Warny mate?"
Warnokur stroked his whiskery chin in contemplation. "Um, on second thought, I dunno. If'n there's any big rock right below th' surface, it'd be th' last dive this pore otter'd ever take."
"Good thinkin'. Me, I shore do plan on takin' a dive in that nice cool water meself, but I'll do it from the banks where I won't brain m'self."
"You'll all have plenty of time for that," Urthblood told his otter chief. "I'm ordering everybeast here to wash off in this river - after two day's march on this dusty path, they'll need it. There's no telling when we'll come across so much fresh water again. I hazard that even our rats and weasels, who don't normally mind if they get a little ripe, will welcome the opportunity to cleanse themselves."
Saybrook made a face. "Ugh. Hope you'll let us otters have first crack, sir, so's we can get some decent swimmin' in afore them stinky vermints get the stream all mucked up."
Urthblood ran his gaze up and down Saybrook. "You look as if you might muck it up a bit yourself, Captain. Not to worry - these are fairly fast-flowing waters, so nobeast will have to share its grime with others. All the otters may swim across if they'd like, while the rest of us cross over the bridge. We'll set up camp on the opposite shore, and then everybeast can scrub themselves clean in the shallows. This is as far as we go today."
All creatures within earshot showed relief at this announcement, eager to soon be off their footpaws. While Saybrook led the massed plunge of otters into the twilit river, Winokur and Warnokur accompanied Lord Urthblood up the steps and inclines ahead of the rest of the army, until they'd gained the highest part of the span.
"Fine piece o' work, right 'nuff," Warnokur declared, jumping up and down to test the studiness of the planks beneath their feet. "Why, this contraption could take a score o' armored badgers at a time, all bouncin' up an' down like I am! Nary a quiver in these boards ... almost like I'm poundin' on good ol' solid ground. Whoever built this shore knew wot they was doin'!"
"Yes," Urthblood agreed, "this span seems sound enough. We should have no trouble bringing all the troops over it. And this will save us valuable time on the march to Salamandastron, since we will not have to search for a ferrybeast or build rafts of our own, or ford in shallows that could be perilous."
The railing had a wide top. Winokur leaned against it, intently gazing into the sunset, visible now that the broadstream cut a gap through the trees of Mossflower. Scores of short treestumps all around the vicinity of the bridge gave testament to how much lumber had been required to build it, and this additional clearing of so many trees helped improve the view along the waterway.
The young otter pulled at the railing; it seemed as strong as the rest of the bridge. "Hey, Dad ... I'm going to get atop this railing for a better view. Hold onto my rudder to steady me once I'm up, wouldja? I don't want to go losing my balance and take a headlong dive from this height."
Warnokur leaned out over the railing himself, gauging the distance to the water below. All thoughts of launching himself from this altitude had fled from his mind. "Aye, Wink, I'll make shore I don't leggo. Careful gettin' up, lad."
Warnokur grabbed onto his son's thick tail with both paws as Winokur climbed atop the side railing and perched precariously there, still scanning the eastern horizon.
"Ah, just as I thought," Winokur said, squinting against the sun's dying rays. "A beast can see almost clear to the coast from up here ... and the western mountains too, bold as day against the red sunset. My Lord, it looks like we're right about even with the southern end of the range. We should be able to head due west when we start in the morning, and clear the mountains with no problem."
But Urthblood shook his head. "The view is deceptive. There are difficult foothills south of the main range, and I would not try to take a force of this size through them. We will still have to march south along this path for another day before we will be able to strike west and have an easy route to the coastlands. Believe me, the extra day's march will save us trouble in the long run, and may even save us time."
"Oh. If you say so, Lord." Winokur shrugged and hopped backward off the railing. "You seem to know more about these parts than we do. I thought you'd been spending these past seasons in the Northlands."
"Most, but not all," Urthblood replied. "I am widely traveled, and I made it a point early in my wanderings to familiarize myself with all the approaches to Salamandastron. Every Badger Lord should know of such things." He turned and gave the signal to his captains awaiting at the north foot of the bridge to bring the troop column up and across.
Winokur's attention was drawn back down to the waters directly beneath them. He and Warnokur could see dozens of their fellow otters swimming and cavorting in the swift currents, so happy to be back in their element that they were unheeding of their clothing or the weapons they carried. Some were gobbling up small fish to satisfy their hunger, while others simply bobbed and splashed playfully with their companions.
"Hey, there!" Warnokur called down from the bridge high above them. "Don't go usin' up all the river. Save some fer us!"
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After the otters had had their fill of swimming, the other beasts took their turns at the water's edge, rinsing the grime and grit of two days out of their coats and clothes. This stretch of the river seemed clear of pike or other large, dangerous fish, so the bathers could enjoy their wet-down without worry.
The shrews and rats in charge of preparing meals lit their cookfires all along the south bank. This was a region of grasses, low shrubs and stumps, marking where trees had been felled for use in the construction of the mysterious Lorr's Bridge. Captains and officers of the various brigades claimed the stumps as seats for themselves, leaving the rest to make themselves as comfortable as they could upon the open ground. But it was a nice spot, and nobeast was heard to complain.
Dinner was finished off under a darkening sky adorned with more twinkling stars than anybeast could count. It was a joy to bed down in the open under such a perfect summer night sky, after spending the prior night huddled beneath the close canopy of Mossflower Woods. An army of this size didn't need to worry overmuch about lying exposed in such an unprotected clearing, but that didn't stop Urthblood from assigning sentry duty to a score of his soldiers, just as he had the night before.
Winokur doffed his habit and spread it on the ground to serve as his bed once more. Glancing about him at all the other soldierbeasts who were settling down for the night, he said to his father, "Why aren't we carrying any beds or tents? I always thought an army traveled with such things. We had to shelter under the trees last night when it rained, and everybeast here is sleeping right on the ground, even the captains."
"Lord Urthblood must've thought it'd weigh us down too much," Warnokur ventured. "You've seen fer yerself he likes t' travel light."
"Then what about all the packs?" Winokur asked. "I notice a lot of the weasels, ferrets and stoats are carrying backpacks that look pretty heavy. It can't be extra food, considering the rations we're on now. So what's in them?"
"Must be battle supplies an' such. Lord Urthblood's always ready fer any situation he might encounter. Those weasels have been carrying their burdens with 'em ever since they came down from the Northlands, so must be that Urthblood figgers it's somethin' we might need. Long as I don't hafta carry 'em, I don't pay much mind to wot's in those packs."
"Oh." Winokur lay back and nestled into the soft folds of Mhera's old habit. Soon he and most of the other marchers were fast asleep, slumbering peacefully beneath the summer moonlight, blissfully unaware of the tragic events which had that day befallen the peaceloving friends he had left behind at his Abbey home.
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That night, Machus made sure that only his foxes stood watch on the south ramparts, even though some of them had not slept for a night and a day. None complained; they knew what needed to be done. The Redwallers weren't even thinking of such things. It had been a draining day, and the relief that Cyrus would likely survive drove all other matters into the background. Most of the Abbeydwellers gave into their emotional exhaustion and surrendered to the inviting embrace of sleep. Not even Cyril, determined to sit up all night by his brother's bedside, could avoid nodding off well before the midnight hour had come. Vanessa and Sister Aurelia made sure he was properly tucked into the bed he'd sat upon, so that the young mouse brothers could sleep alongside each other.
A thickening cover of clouds rolled over Mossflower as night wore on, swallowing the moon and stars in its black veil. An ominous stillness seemed to descend upon the land, even as the slumbering woodlanders were oblivious to it. This was a night upon which evil deeds could be committed, never to be suspected when the full light of day returned.
Down at the east wallgate, the fox Tolar bade the otter guards to let him pass. They complied, seeing no reason to refuse him, and Tolar stole out into the darkness, melting into night ...
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Wolfrum's rest was not nearly so peaceful. The pain in his pierced footpaw kept him awake well past nightfall, and his nerves were on edge after his close brush with execution. He knew Machus would not hesitate to have him killed. That fox was as cold as a steel blade in winter. But sly, too, always those gears ticking away in his head. Wolfrum had been spared, so Machus must have his reasons. He always did, and it wasn't Wolfrum's place to try to figure out what they were.
Quite suddenly, Wolfrum found himself awake. The moon and stars were obscured so the rat had no clue as to the hour, but it felt like past midnight. His crudely-bandaged foot throbbed, and he'd been dreaming. The mental vision still hung before his mind's eye: the face of a frightened young mouse, which transformed into that of an angry fox, murder in its red eyes ...
"Gerroww! Havin' me sleep ruined, by that stupid li'l mousechild, an' that damned fox! T'weren't my fault, I were only defendin' meself, that Smallert's th' one t' blame ... "
Wolfrum looked about him, straining to see through the darkness whether any of his fellow outcasts might also be awake so that he might have somebeast to hear his complaints. Such misery as his was not to be suffered alone.
Their group was camped under the trees at the forest fringe, where they might have some shelter if any rain fell during the night. But now Wolfrum wished he'd bedded down out in the open. With all celestial lights hidden by the overcast sky, the dark gloom of Mossflower seemed oppressive and forbidding, even this close to the meadow. He had to look long and hard before he could make out the silhouettes of the rats nearest him.
They were sitting up. Good ... Wolfrum took comfort in their wakefulness. It made him feel less alone in this dark place. Better yet, now he had an audience for his grousing.
It never occurred to Wolfrum that he might be better off keeping his complaints to himself. He'd gotten them all kicked out of Redwall and was hardly in Machus's good graces at the moment, even if the swordfox had spared his life. Wolfrum felt alone, he was in pain, and the disturbing, half-remembered dream vision had done little to improve his edgy mood. Even an angry voice from one of his exiled companions, telling him to shut up, would be an improvement over the deathly silence that clung to the near-black of Mossflower Woods.
"Psst! Hey, Gorsul, that you?" Wolfrum whispered to the nearest rat shadow. "Shame 'bout pore ol' Speeg, that dirty Smallert's a right nasty madbeast. Hope Machus has got that mean ol' weasel gutted an' chopped up fer fishbait by now. Slayin' Speeg like that, an' that idiot mouse whelp who got in th' middle of it all ... "
The black rat shadow haltingly rose and backed wordlessly away from Wolfrum.
"Hey, don't go leavin' yer ol' pal all alone on a gloomy night like this!" Wolfrum hissed more loudly. "Have some heart, matey!"
Two other figures who'd been resting nearby also got up and backed away from him. Their movements were strained and unnatural. Something was wrong here, but Wolfrum couldn't immediately guess what it was.
Another figure took form out of the darkness. This one was moving toward Wolfrum in a silent and stealthy crouch. The rat did not even see it until it was mere paces away. The shape of the head and fullness of the tail were unmistakable: a fox! And it was holding an unsheathed sword at its side.
Icy terror seized Wolfrum. An armed fox would have only one reason for creeping out here at this hour. A strangled, incoherent cry escaped Wolfrum's throat as he climbed to his feet and turned to flee. It took several steps before he realized his impaled footpaw was in no shape for him to be running on it. The pain made him limp badly, worse with each step, but he did not stop, driven into a blind and mindless panic. That fox equalled death for him, and knew he must not let it catch him. But there was no way he could outrun it, and this time there was no small mousechild to snatch up and use as a shield.
Wolfrum screamed, screamed for all he was worth as he pounded his desperate way into the dark depths of Mossflower in a vain attempt to escape his doom. He screamed because he knew his situation was hopeless, but there was nothing else he could do.
The scream cut off abruptly moments later. Wolfrum's fellow rats, and the weasels and ferrets and stoats who'd been banished along with them, settled down and tried very hard not to think about what had just happened. It was none of their business.
The anguished cry was barely heard inside of Redwall. A few of the otter guards thought they might have heard something strange that they couldn't quite put their paw on - some bird having a nightmare in its nest, perhaps. And several of the Abbeydwellers who slumbered near open windows had the faint sound intrude upon their dreams, a closing note to all the terrible things which had taken place the day before, but none would remember it come morning.
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As had become their routine, the marchers of Urthblood's army were up with the dawn, breakfasted and underway before the sun was above the treetops. With bellies full and canteens topped off from the stream, they set out along the road once more, leaving behind them the mystery of Lorr's Bridge.
The third day of their southward march passed utterly without incident, and as evening approached Urthblood called a halt and ordered camp established beneath the trees along the roadside. They'd traveled far enough south, he announced, and tomorrow they would turn west, leaving the road behind them and striking out into the heart of southern Mossflower, where paths were not so easy to find and the going would be tougher. Nevertheless, there was a sense of relief throughout the soldiery that the first leg of the journey was at an end. They were three days closer to their destination, an encouraging reminder that soon the tiring legwork would be over and done with, and their journey would be at an end.
Of course, by that time they might be fighting for their very lives against Urthfist and the hares of the Long Patrol, but nobeast seemed overly worried by this. They were all trained soldiers, and the prospect of a fierce and bloody battle did not daunt them as much as the weary marching needed to carry them to their next contest.
Night fell over the south of Mossflower, a night which would prove to be every bit as uneventful for the marchers as their third day on the road had been. But back at Redwall, in the aftermath of the unfortunate happenings there, Abbess Vanessa would have her paws quite full.