THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Fifty-Eight
To the south, where Urthblood's army was encamped upon the north shore of the coastal broadstream, the rain never amounted to more than a misty drizzle. But the cloud cover here was just as dense as it was over Salamandastron. The hour before dawn was dark as midnight.
The various soldierbeasts were long accustomed to sleeping in the open in all kinds of weather, on all types of ground. Damp, loamy sand under drizzly black skies was better than some of their past bivouacs, and while it was hardly comfortable, Urthblood's troops had learned long ago to take their sleep whenever and wherever they could get it. On campaigns such as this, the call to action could come at any moment.
As it did now.
Abellon came immediately awake at the first gentle touch of the massive paw on his shoulder, and the first deep intonation of the single word, "Captain," that came through his ears into his sleep-filled mind. The mouse captain sat up, wet sand coating his fur and tunic where they'd been pressed against the ground, and peered up through the predawn black at the dim shape that loomed above him.
"Yes, My Lord?"
"Rouse your squad. Make ready to march. We move out before dawn's first light."
"Aye, sir. Um ... have you heard from Halpryn or Klystra about how things went at Salamandastron?"
"Not yet."
"Oh." Abellon glanced skyward, but moon and stars were still utterly hidden; he had no clue what the hour was, or how long he'd slept. "Uh, but we're gonna get started anyway?"
"Those are my orders."
"Yes, sir. I'll get right to it." Abellon stood, brushing himself off as Urthblood moved on to awaken his other captains.
Jans and Broggen were lying nearby and had been stirred to wakefulness by their captain's rising. The manacled mouse and stoat sat up as one and looked to Abellon. "We movin' out, Cap'n?" Jans inquired.
"Right now," Abellon nodded. "Help me wake the rest of the fellas, fellas."
Broggen stretched and yawned while Jans pawed the sleep out of his eyes. "Hmm! I were just havin' a real nice dream ... "
"Good fer you," the mouse grumbled. "Hang onto it while you can, Broggs, 'cos today's prob'ly the day we see action ... an' I doubt there's gonna be anything nice about it."
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Unbeknownst to him, Lieutenant Gallatin was the only hare of the Patrols awake at Salamandastron.
After Lord Urthfist had departed for Redwall, taking four-fifths of his hares with him, Colonel Clewiston decided that either he or Gallatin ought to be awake at all times, for the benefit of the younger, less experienced hares. Now Gallatin leisurely strolled the passages of the level above the main dining hall. Unlike the entrance tunnels, which were kept dark for reasons of security, much of the mountain's interior was lit with a warm glow from candles and torches. Most of the inner chambers, surrounded by the bulk of the mountain on all sides, were windowless. In these rooms and corridors, lamps could kept burning all the time without danger of being glimpsed by some foe outside Salamandastron.
Gallatin had come down earlier from the plateau, seeing for himself how truly impenetrable the dark over the coastlands was on this blackest of black nights. He had personally granted the roof guards permission to shelter at the bottom of the stairs if the drizzle turned harder. After all, what was the point of having his fellow hares be wet and miserable, this night of all nights? Those birds had reported no enemy within days of Salamandastron, and the observations of the evening lookouts seemed to bear this out. Far better to keep his forces primed and ready for when they would really be needed, and let them be comfortable tonight.
The Lieutenant spent much of the predawn morning wandering through some of the unlit, unoccupied outer rooms, stopping now and again to gaze out the windows set into the mountainside. Not much was to be seen of the dark landscape beyond. As the rainfall strengthened and slackened by turns throughout the night, Gallatin would retreat back into the cozy, well-lit inner passages whenever the all-encompassing darkness outside grew too oppressive for his taste.
It was the quietest overnight Salamandastron had seen that summer. After the falcon and the kite had flown away, every hare pitched in to salvage the last of the edibles from garden and orchard. Now most took their well-deserved rest, slumbering soundly through the rainy night. Gallatin took comfort in having so many friends around him, even if they were not at his side during his nighttime vigil. The three entrances were well-guarded, even though danger was almost surely very far from their doorstep. A stranger walking these tunnels could easily have mistaken Salamandastron for an abandoned place, it was almost still as death this night, but Gallatin knew better. This was the peaceful calm of warriors waiting for war.
Peppertail still had yet to turn in when Gallatin had last checked the Sergeant's room. Since he was the appointed kitchenmaster among the score of hares who remained at Salamandastron, Peppertail had stayed up late working in the kitchens and storerooms, finding places for all the fruits and vegetables which had been harvested the previous afternoon. If he'd gotten into the mood of stewing, pickling and preserving, as he sometimes did, Peppertail might well work straight through the night and past dawn, running on fumes and his culinary passion until Gallatin or the Colonel ordered him to stop for his own good.
Gallatin was feeling rather peckish from his long, ambling tour of the upper levels. He knew he really ought to check in with the two teams at the north and south side entrances, to offer encouraging words on this dreary night if nothing else, but hunger got the better of him. And so he turned his footsteps toward the passages leading down toward the kitchens. If Peppertail was still up and about, he might be able to snatch himself something extra good, hot out of the pot. Otherwise, he'd help himself to a morsel or three from the larders.
Off in the distance, he heard something shatter. "Yup," Gallatin chuckled to himself, "Pepper's still up 'n' at it. Wonder wot he just broke?"
Then he caught himself in mid-step, halted with his paw off the floor. The kitchens were still several levels down; he couldn't possibly have heard a jar or pitcher shattering all the way up here.
Gallatin shrugged off the suspicion of trouble as an overactive imagination. "Pepper prolly moved up to th' dinin' hall," he told himself. "Must've run outta room down in th' kitchen. I'll stop by an' have a peek there ... mebbe I won't hafta go all th' way down to the bally kitchens after all."
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The otters in Captain Saybrook's main assault team were relieved when they finally got past the totally dark outer tunnel to a point where they could see a dim flickering up ahead of them. Even though Urthblood had described this route to his otter forces in meticulous detail, it was quite another matter to navigate it in full darkness. Their progress was painfully slow at first, since they had to feel their way along the twists and turns of the passage and avoid any obstacles the hares might have placed there. They dared not light any lamp which might betray their presence, and they had to advance as noiselessly as possible. These sharp-eared hares could likely hear even the most minor disturbance far down the tunnels, or even from another level. It was a nerve-wracking walk, not knowing whether an enemy defender might be lurking just ahead or off to one side, tipped off by the rustle of their movements to stand ready for attack, or to hasten away to fetch reinforcements.
The first light they reached was a guttering torch at the juncture of two passages. No hares were in sight, and it was easy to tell which branch led in the downward direction they wanted to go.
Saybrook decided that the time for stealth was past. They'd now penetrated far enough into the mountain that the Flitchaye gas could start to be used effectively. He ordered the last otter in line to smash a jar on the floor of the intersection as they snaked through it. They could do nothing about resistance that might be waiting for them ahead except to battle through, but deploying a gas cannister here would discourage any reinforcements from coming up behind them by this route. If they could succeed in preventing a surprise counterattack from their rear, the battle would be half-won. The noise would be worth the risk.
Threescore paces farther along, they came to a larger, three-way intersection, with broad winding stairs leading both up and down. Saybrook ordered another vessel of sleep oil broken here, since this was clearly a major meeting of the ways through which the gas could rise far into the upper reaches of the mountain fortress. It was also a likely route for defenders to use in a counter-offensive against the otters. Saybrook considered using two jars, but they still had a way to go before they reached the lower levels where Urthblood had instructed them to release most of the gas. Saybrook wanted to keep plenty in reserve, in case they needed it for defense.
The jar was smashed, and the otters moved on. But this time, the noise had not gone unheard.
Almost immediately the downward passage opened into a vast cavern of a chamber. There were three entrances, including the one through which the otters now filed, and all three were framed by a pair of blazing wall torches. The rough-hewn rock ceiling arched so high over their heads that Klystra or even Halpryn could very easily have flown about within this space. An immense long table set round with equally long benches dominated the center of the room, while many smaller tables stood off to the sides. Most of the seats were proportioned for hares, but one gigantic chair was placed at the head of the main table, three times the size of the other chairs.
This was the main dining hall, right where Urthblood had said it would be. Saybrook was reassured to know they were going in the right direction. He'd had some moments of anxiety in the utterly black outer tunnel. While he was fairly certain they hadn't missed any side tunnel turnoffs, this cavernous signpost was a welcome sight.
Saybrook studied the other two doorways. The one straight across from them on the far side of the dining hall would also lead upwards, according to Urthblood's briefing. But the one off to his left would take them down to the kitchens, and from there they could proceed directly to the lowest levels, which consisted chiefly of storerooms, springroom, armories, Urthfist's main war room, and any number of passages that led out to lower entrances on the mountain slopes, all of which were now solidly blocked and sealed. This lack of tunnels open to the outside would cause the gas released there to waft upward and thoroughly permeate all of Salamandastron.
The otter chief started to lead his troops around the tables to the doorway they wanted, but a motion in the far stairwell caught his eye. Saybrook froze, throwing up a paw to halt the column. All eyes followed his gaze to the far wall.
Somebeast was coming into the hall, and they were caught out in the open with nowhere to hide!
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Lieutenant Gallatin sniffed as he started down the stairs. What was that smell? It was almost enough to make his eyes water. One of Peppertail's adventures in canning must have gone disastrously wrong.
Had he descended to the dining hall from the opposite end, he would have encountered a dense, rising cloud of white vapors, and shortly after that he would most likely have been laid out on the corridor floor, overcome by the sleeping gas. But since sheer providence had placed him on the opposite side of the mess hall when he heard the sound of clay smashing, he was able to reach the chamber with nary a suspicion that anything was amiss.
He was quite unprepared for the sight that greeted him.
Even as his footpaw crossed the threshold into the spacious hall, Gallatin saw that he was not alone in the chamber, not by a long shot. There were beasts here, many more than there could possibly be, more than there were hares in all of Salamandastron at the moment. But these were not hares, that was obvious at a glance even from clear across the hall, and that made them enemies.
And they had seen him.
The Lieutenant stood stock still, hackles raised in shocked alarm as he studied the intruders. Otters. Fully a score and a half, lined up in a marching procession between the far doorway and the kitchen stairs. At least he thought they were otters from their color, size and shape. But over their faces they wore pale coverings. At first he took them to be white muzzles on the otherwise dark creatures, but then Gallatin realized they were masks, protecting their mouths and snouts.
Behind them, a few vagrant wisps of white curled and hung in the torchlight.
Gallatin was frozen, tensed with fear and flight reflex, but so totally taken by surprise that he was uncertain how he should react. What happened next only added to his confusion.
The lead otter raised his paw and gave a friendly wave.
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"Ahoy, matey!" Saybrook called out to the dumbfounded hare.
Without waiting for a reaction, he turned to his comrades. "Okay, we knew this had to come sooner or later. Don't panic. This one's alone and unarmed. He's not about to challenge us. But we have to move fast now." Saybrook pointed at some of the nearest otters. "You, smash your jar in the corner behind us. You, break yours over past where we came in. You - and you - smash your two vessels out from the two far corners. And ... you, deploy one right smack amidships of this flippin' cave."
The first smash came even as he finished issuing his instructions. Saybrook nodded in satisfaction. This dining hall was one of the main gathering places within Salamandastron. The two upward tunnels here must link eventually with almost all the upper level passages. Using five of the Flitchaye gas jars here would be most worthwhile, both in terms of fumigating the fortress and in putting off pursuit. This might not be the only way down past the kitchens, but it was almost certainly the main way, and the one that would occur to the Long Patrol to use first. If the hares could not get through the dining hall, they'd have a much harder time giving chase to the otters.
Saybrook glanced back at the far doorway. Their one-hare audience was nowhere to be seen, having found his feet and fled back up to the higher levels. Over the last two shattering smashes he could hear a shrill and frantic whistle - no doubt a call to alarm.
"Let's get movin', mates!" he called out. "Company's comin' - unless we can put 'em to sleep first!"
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Colonel Clewiston and Lieutenant Gallatin both wore silver whistles around their necks. A similar whistle was left with each of the teams guarding the tunnel mouths at the start of each night's watch. If an enemy should manage to breach their security measures and enter the mountain, the whistle was a way that an overmatched sentry team could sound the alarm, alerting the other lookouts and rousing the sleeping rotation of the Long Patrol to wakefulness. So far this night, the sentry whistles had not sounded once, the tunnel guards having been overcome by the gas attacks before they could think to use them.
Now, Lieutenant Gallatin blew for all he was worth.
As soon as the lead otter had started giving commands to his masked brethren, Gallatin was up the stairs in a flash. He knew he could outrun any otter, but he wasn't taking any chances. They were enemies, they had to be, and they were already deep inside Salamandastron. How they had managed this Gallatin couldn't imagine, but he wasn't about to stick around to see what they were up to. If he was wrong about them and they meant no harm, that could be sorted out later ... before a full assembly of the Patrols.
But Gallatin knew he wasn't wrong. That was a military force he'd glimpsed, and they'd gotten past experienced guard hares. And that meant trouble, plain and simple.
The piercing trill of his emergency signal became Gallatin's whole world; his footfalls landed automatically, instinct guiding him through the warren of passages where he'd spent all his adult seasons. His only thought was to reach his fellow hares, to rouse them and report what he'd seen and help the Colonel rally them to the defense of their home.
Onward and upward he sprinted, sparing no breath to his unceasing call to arms. Behind and below him, creeping upward at a much slower pace, rose the silent white mist which threatened to put the Long Patrols to sleep before they'd scarcely had time to come fully awake.
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Saybrook released three more portions of gas down on the kitchen level. The kitchen itself looked to be in use, with several lamps burning, numerous pots simmering on the stoves, and all manner of fruits and vegetables spread out over every available counter and tabletop and piled in baskets on the floor. But a sweep of the nearby tunnels and chambers revealed no hares. Any who'd been here must have hidden themselves very well or else fled through alternate passages at the otters' approach. Either way, the gas would take care of them. As long as they did not try to molest Saybrook's force, they weren't his immediate concern. Smashing the trio of clay containers at wide intervals upon the spacious kitchen floors, they proceeded down to the next level.
By now their eyes were beginning to sting and water. While the majority of the gas did rise upward, it did not limit its spreading to the merely vertical. It expanded in all directions, and faint traces followed the otters as they descended through Salamandastron. The masks they wore would keep them from breathing in the vapors and succumbing to the sleep gas themselves, but they offered no protection to the eyes. Otters could withstand such irritations better than most creatures, but even they were not totally immune to the eye-burning effects of the gas. They would have to avoid areas where the vapors were thickest, every bit as much as the hares would.
At last they reached the next-to-lowest level, where Urthblood had advised them to release the majority of the gas. The otters had just under a score of the jars left to them. Saybrook dispatched scouts to do a quick reconnaisance of the main portion of the level. Finding it clear of defenders, Saybrook snapped off orders for the remaining cannisters to be broken at strategic points throughout the passages so that the maximum amount of gas would find its way up through the mountain's interior.
"This'll do it, lads," Saybrook announced. "After we release this load, our work'll be done fer awhile. We'll take shelter down below in the cellars, an' wait out th' storm there while this sleepy stuff does its job. Should be some doors down there we can close behind us, storerooms an' such, that'll keep out th' worst of any gas that does foller us down. We can use th' time to get our cryin' eyes shipshape again. When I give th' word we'll start back up again, an' then we'll see if we've put these bunnies to sleep properly!"
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Colonel Clewiston rolled out of bed and was pulling on his tunic in one motion. The shrill keening of Gallatin's whistle was still far down the tunnel, but it was a sound not to be ignored. The Colonel himself had instituted the policy of the alarm whistles, and had supervised several drills with them since Urthfist's departure. Every hare currently stationed in the mountain was primed to respond to the noise, even from the deepest of slumbers. No member of the Long Patrol would sleep through the sounding of such an alarm.
The hares slept with their doors open, for just such a situation as this, alert even in their dreams for sounds of trouble or a call to arms. That precaution paid off now, as a dozen long-eared heads stuck themselves out from the various doorways lining the dorm level tunnel.
Clewiston marched out of his room, clutching the short spear he kept at his bedside these days. "Stand ready, group," he said in answer to the questioning eyes turned his way. "I'll just go an' see wot this bally racket's about."
"Isn't this a drill, Colonel?" Melanie asked, her own tunic half-on and javelin in paw.
"Not one that I called, old gel. Stand fast, all of you ... but have your weapons at the ready!" Clewiston loped down the corridor toward the steady, almost-frantic wail of the warning whistle.
He met Gallatin coming around the bend in the tunnel. Paws over his ears to protect his sensitive hearing from the earsplitting noise, the Colonel yelled, "Steady on, Lieutenant! Wot's the matter?"
"Intruders, sir!" Gallatin forced out in gasps, thoroughly winded from his nonstop blowing of the whistle during his upward sprint. "Down in the dining hall!"
"Wot kind o' intruders?"
"Otters, sir! Nearly twoscore, far as I could tell. Definitely soldiers, no doubt about it."
"Fur 'n' whiskers! How th' devil did they get in?"
"Must've overpowered some o' the tunnel guards, is all I can figure," Gallatin said. "Looked t' me like they were comin' down from th' south side entrance."
"The south entrance?" A face appeared over the Colonel's shoulder in the dim corridor, worry furrowing its features. "That's where Givadon and Mizagelle are! I've got t' get down there!" She started to push past the two officers, but they held her back with strong paws.
"You don't wanna go down there, Mel," Gallatin assured her. "They outnumber us by a good toss. We gotta defend the upper levels."
"First we hafta find out where we stand," said Clewiston. "Don't despair, Melanie. At least they weren't searats or weasels or foxes. Otters would be much less likely to slaughter hares unnecessarily ... even otters workin' fer Urthblood, if that's wot these are. I'm sure your gels'll turn out to be just fine. Now, then ... " He turned to Gallatin. "We'll marshal wot forces we got here for a probe down into the lower levels, see how far we can penetrate 'fore we meet any bally resistance. Mebbe we can get those waterdogs to declare themselves, an' then we'll know for sure just who it is we're fightin' - "
Clewiston stopped, sniffing the air. "I say, wot's that smell?"
"Dunno, sir," Gallatin answered. "First started sniffin' it right b'fore I came across them otters. A lot of of 'em were carryin' wot looked like big clay pots or jars. An' they were wearing masks, white things over their mouths 'n' noses."
"Great sweet mother!" Melanie gasped. "They're gonna poison us!"
"Why didn't you say that right off?" Clewiston exclaimed. "Change of plans, then. We'll go up an' out through the top. The enemy's not likely to be there, if they put everything they've got into a side assault through the south entrance. We can link up with the roof sentries, fill 'em in on wot's happenin', then split into two groups to climb back down to the side tunnels from outside. The blighters won't wanna stay inside the mountain if they're fillin' her up with poison, masks or no masks. An' when they try 'n get back out, we'll give 'em a surprise they won't soon forget!"
"Aye, Colonel." Gallatin gently pressured Melanie with a paw, back the way she'd come. "Let's go, Mel. We don't have much time - th' stink of that stuff's gettin' stronger. Best chance for Mizzy an' Givvy now is for us t' go in an' get 'em from the outside."
"Yes, Lieutenant. You're probably right." Melanie let Gallatin guide her up the passage. Her eyes were starting to tear, and not just out of her emotions for her daughters.
The rest were mustered, and their group - thirteen in all - began their run up the stairs and tunnels leading to the roof of the mountain.
After diminishing somewhat during their ascent, the peculiar odor suddenly came back stronger than ever as they made their final approach to the roof.
"Oh, no," Melanie moaned. "They've poisoned this tunnel too!"
"Hold on a sec," Clewiston said. "Can't be sure ... "
Gallatin crept forward ahead of the others, feeling his way through the pitch dark; it was utterly lightless in this highest passage. "Hey, Broyall! Moberly!" he called out, then coughed hard at the fumes drifting his way. No reply came from the blackness ahead of him.
"Think Mel's right, Colonel," he said, recovering as he backed up a step. "But I hafta make sure. I'm gonna take a deep breath an' hold it, then run forward an' feel around ... see if they're even there."
"Good luck, Lieutenant. Hares, let's all shuffle back a few paces, give the Lieutenant room for a bally runnin' start."
They obeyed, while Gallatin drew a deep breath, then sprinted forward as quickly as he dared under these lightless conditions. To his waiting comrades it seemed a small eternity before he returned.
"Phhwew!" he exhaled. "Yowch, my eyes! Those vapors must be thick as porridge up there! Really stings the ol' peepers. Guess I shoulda kept mine closed, but I didn't think of it in time. Don't reckon I'd be able t' see right now, even if there was light here to see by!"
"Wot about the guards?" Clewiston inquired.
"They're there, all right. Both laid out on th' floor. Dead to th' world, but not dead. Sir, I think these vapors're only meant to put us t' sleep."
"Wot?" This idea hadn't occurred to Clewiston.
"They wanna keep us in," Gallatin explained. "When I felt m'self runnin' out of air, I tried goin' up th' stairs to th' roof. There's a heavy cloth spread over the entrance hole, an' I thought I heard voices topside. They mean t' keep us an' that sleepy smoke down here t'gether."
"Well, an attack's an attack, an' we've been invaded," Clewiston said. "No point in goin' back th' way we came, since I'd wager the north side tunnel's been covered too, an' even if it hasn't, we'd prob'ly never make it through those vapors buildin' up behind us. There's only one way out fer us now, hares, an' that's up past that bally tarp an' wotever beasts're guardin' it. How many of us have swords? Or knives?"
Four voices sounded out of the blackness. Most hares of the Long Patrol preferred slings, spears and javelins.
"Right. You four will hafta lead the way. Take a deep breath like Gallatin did, then sprint up th' tunnel an' th' stairs to where our foe's got th' openin' covered. If you can't just push that tarp aside, use yer blades to hack, stab an' slice at it until you cut through it. Then the rest of us'll follow you up."
"It was bein' held pretty tight when I tested it, Colonel," Gallatin said. "An' I think I might've tipped 'em off, too. They might be expectin' us."
"No help for that now, Lieutenant. We're trapped down here unless we can make it out this way. Don't know wot kinda force is up there on the plateau, but they'll shortly have thirteen very angry hares to contend with!"
"That they will!" Melanie seconded angrily.
"Off y' go now!" Clewiston commanded the four with blades. "We'll give you a minute to see wot you can do, then we'll be right behind you. Good luck!"
The quartet inhaled deeply and sped forward, glancing off the walls and stumbling over the two fallen guards until they reached the stairs, almost wide enough for the four of them to climb abreast of one another. Sure enough, they found the tarp as taut and tightly in place as Gallatin had reported. Wielding the blades, they set to work on cutting through before the air in their lungs ran out.
Suddenly and without warning, the tarp was wrenched up and aside, and the sweet wet air of the night swept over them in a wave of fresh relief. So unexpected was this turn of events that it took the four hares a moment to realize they were no longer trapped.
"We're free!" one shouted. "We can - "
"Kreeeaagh!"
Unseen out of the dark night, still almost as dark as the tunnel from which they'd come, came the rush of wind from mighty wings flapping, and the piercing war call of a bird of prey. Immense talons wrapped around the lead hare, lifting him like a rag doll and tossing him back down the stairs. He collided with his three companions, and they tumbled in a tangled heap to the bottom of the stairs.
The otters stepped forward up above, casting their last two jars of sleep oil onto the hard steps. They shattered as one in an explosive din. Then the tarp was dragged once more into place over the entrance, sealing it off from those below.
The four hares were overcome before they could even regain their feet. The other nine, who by this time had started their headlong rush to back up the vanguard, ran right into the newly spreading cloud of dense vapors. The ones in front tripped over those who had already fallen, and went down themselves. The ones bringng up the rear realized what was happening at about the same time as their air supply ran out, and tried in vain to retreat to a part of the tunnel where they might still be able to breathe safely.
None of them made it out of Salamandastron that night.