THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Fifty-Nine
Through day and night, Urthfist and his eighty-one hares pushed themselves relentlessly across the Western Plains. They ate literally on the run, and their stops for rest were measured in minutes rather than hours. Short on sleep and driven to the brink of exhaustion, they nevertheless pressed on, mindful of their twenty comrades back at Salamandastron who might, against all odds, be holding out somehow against Urthblood's conquering horde. Nobeast among them, tired as they all were, was going to be the first to suggest that they slow their pace or take longer nap breaks.
On their second morning out from Redwall, they found themselves standing upon the north bank of the broadstream opposite the shrew Fitkin's ferry station. The newly-risen sun poured its liquid warmth across their shoulders; a few shreds of cloud scurrying before the fresh winds over the mountain range ahead of them were the only vestiges of the scattered showers that had dampened their previous night's march. The sun felt exceedingly good to them now, helping to dry their sodden fur and clothes and to dispel the chill of the rainy night now past.
The sight before them wasn't nearly so heartening. Directly across the river stood Fitkin's hovel, its collapsed doorway now partly repaired and once more open. The ferry shrew stood in front of his abode, warily regarding his returned nemeses with a mix of ire and apprehension. And, to every hare's dismay, the barge that they had left waiting for them on the north shore, where by all rights it should have been beyond hope of recovery by its owner, sat moored below the anxiously watchful shrew's home on the south banks, quite out of reach of the Badger Lord and his hare army.
Or so it might have been, at any other time. But Urthfist was bound for Salamandastron in utmost haste, and the hounds of Hellsgates themselves would not have deterred him in his purpose. A swift, deep broadstream and an obstinate, uncooperative shrew hardly rated a moment's thought in his tumult-ridden brain.
Urthfist's glare was locked on Fitkin like a vise. "Shrew! We need your boat, now!"
"Y' never paid fer yer last passage!" Fitkin shouted back with forced bravado; even having the wide river between him and the grim badger warrior did not make him feel completely safe. "Let's discuss what you already owe me an' wotcha got t' offer, an' then mebbe I'll consider crossin' over there!"
"What I have to offer?" Urthfist roared. "How does your life and your freedom sound? Delay me here and you may lose both."
Fitkin swallowed nervously. "Threats? Is that all ye're offerin'?"
"It is not I who will take these things away from you," Urthfist called back. "Right now there is a soulless beast trying to make the mountain fortress of Salamandastron his own. If he succeeds, these lands will fall to his tyranny, and his searat allies will overrun Mossflower country with nothing to stop them. They will probably make a slave of you, although if you are lucky they will merely slay you. Now, do you truly value your greedy acquisitions more than your very life? Do not be such a fool. Help us cross, and do it quickly!"
Fitkin gnawed at his lower lip. He owed Urthblood for retrieving his ferry and reopening his toll station. What better way to repay that debt than to hinder Urthfist any way he could?
"Well?" Urthfist demanded from the far bank.
"The only danger I seen 'round here this season's been you," Fitkin snapped back. "If you wanna use my ferry, come 'n' get it yerself, y' big bully!"
For long moments, Fitkin stood shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other, waiting to see what Urthfist and his hares did next. The badger glared at him wordlessly for the space of many heartbeats, then turned to his chief hare, speaking low enough so that Fitkin couldn't hear what was said.
"Major, pick four of the Patrols who are the best swimmers among you."
"Swimmers, sir?" Major Safford crossed his ears at this request; to the best of his knowledge, there wasn't a single hare in all the Patrols who'd ever been swimming in the ocean ... which was the only body of water around Salamandastron.
"They won't actually have to swim, if all goes well," Urthfist added, pointing at the guide rope for Fitkin's ferry. It extended across the river, tied at its ends to a pair of heavy posts on either shore. "They can pull themselves along the rope, use it to keep their heads above water and to keep from being carried off by the currents. Once across, they can commandeer that spiteful beast's raft and bring it back here where we can use it."
"Ah!" Safford brightened. "Then you want climbers, not swimmers - hares with strong paws who can grip that bally rope fer all they're worth. Those we got aplenty. An', if you don't mind my sayin' so, sir, two oughtta be enough t' get that barge back over here."
"No doubt," said Urthfist. "But we'll want two others to stay there once they are across, to keep that shrew from causing any trouble."
"Ahh ... gotcha, sir. Right thinkin', that. Okay, lessee who'd be best for this little dip ... "
Fitkin's face fell when he saw what the hares were up to. Four went into the water, one after the other, and began pulling themselves across toward him along the guide rope. They moved rapidly and surely, propelling themselves with their powerful feet under the water as they hauled themselves forward paw-over-paw. The panicky shrew started pacing back and forth in uncertain frustration.
Major Safford watched Fitkin with growing concern. "I say, y' don't s'pose that li'l ripsnort might cut that rope an' cast our buddies adrift, do you?"
"Not very likely, chum," Traveller answered. "Might lose 'is boat too if he does that, an' he seems rather partial to that batch o' moldy planks. Don't think he'd chance it."
Traveller was right. Fitkin still stood fretting as the first hare, Sergeant Traughber, climbed dripping up onto the bank in front of him. "Hoo, boy, am I glad it's th' bally summer!" he said, shaking some of the excess water off himself and onto the shrew before him. "'Tween those raindrops last night an' this blinkin' swim, I don't wanna see any more water 'til we get to th' coastlands!"
He looked down at Fitkin. "Now, you jus' step back, that's a good shrew, an' let us do our ... " Traughber's eyes slipped to the soft ground around Fitkin's footpaws, and went wide with surprise. The tracks of innumerable creatures of all sizes were quite apparent in the soft earth, wiping out the marks that the Long Patrol had left when they'd last been here. "Yowza! Looks like you've had yerself some company since we left you, chappie. Shoulda known you couldn'ta fixed yer ol' homestead an' retrieved yer ferrybucket all on yer own. How many days since that bloody badger an' his horde was through here?"
Fitkin clenched his jaw. "Don't know whatch're talkin' 'bout."
"Oh no? Well then you must be as blind as you are rude." Traughber lent a paw to help his three waterlogged comrades up onto dry land, pointing out to them as he did so the unmistakable signs that Urthblood's army had been here. Together the four of them marched up and down the bank, bent nearly double as they inspected every bit of ground around Fitkin's hovel. Urthfist and the rest watched patiently from the north shore, not begrudging the advance team its thoroughness; nobeast there wanted to walk into an ambush, unlikely as that would be out on these rolling plains.
At last the four scouts came together to confer. "No doubt about it," Traughber concluded. "Urthblood's been this way, an' recent, too. This's the same bally horde wot was by those ruins we stopped at before Redwall. Tracks're clearer here, in spite o' th' rain last night. Looks like that whole gang o' half a thousand is makin' straight for Salamandastron, jus' like we figgered."
One of the others tossed his head over his shoulder toward Fitkin. "Let's ask ol' bossywhiskers how long it's been."
"Already tried," said Traughber, "an' that li'l runt ain't talkin'. C'mon, let's work at gettin' the rest o' us across the blinkin' stream. We'll let Lord Urthfist try his paw at gettin' some answers outta that rudebeast. Dellow, you 'n' me'll stay here an' sit on that shrewfeller ... you other two haul the raft back across to fetch the first load. Might as well get started on that, since it's gonna take awhile."
It ended up taking the remainder of the morning, but this delay wasn't an altogether bad thing. Even Lord Urthfist, obsessed with reaching Salamandastron as quickly as possible, recognized how this unrelenting drive was draining his hares. Since the ferry could only carry ten at a time, calling for a total of eight trips plus a ninth for the weighty Badger Lord, there was plenty of down time spent waiting for turns ... time the Long Patrols used to good advantage, catching naps upon either shore. Turns were also taken guarding Fitkin so that every hare would be able to catch forty winks, although most ended up catching forty more on top of that. Urthfist practically had to order Major Safford and Traveller to take a few minutes' sleep themselves, since both wanted to stay awake to oversee the ferrying job in its entirety. As it was, only the badger warrior forsook any sleep for himself. But in crisis times such as these, it was not unheard of for Badger Lords to go for days without slumber, without losing their sharpness.
As soon as he crossed, Urthfist went over to Fitkin along with Traveller and Safford. "How long since my brother was through here, shrew? Tell me now, and do not lie!"
Fitkin glared balefully up at the mighty beast towering over him. "Yesterday," he answered through gritted teeth.
Urthfist looked to Traveller, but the veteran scout shook his head. "Sorry, M'Lord. Much as I'd love t' believe those blighters've only got a day's lead over us, it's gotta be more than that. Those tracks were at least a day old b'fore they got rained on last night. Prob'ly more."
Urthfist narrowed red-flecked eyes dangerously at Fitkin, while one massive claw squeezed painfully around the shrew's shoulder. "Try again, friend."
"Ow! Okay, okay! Five days! It's been five days! Now leggo, you big bully!"
The badger did not relinquish his grasp, but looked once again to Traveller. This time the old hare merely shrugged.
"Dunno, Lord. Tend t' think it hasn't been that long, but could be. I hope they don't have that big a bally lead on us, but that's just hope, I'm 'fraid."
"If it has been five days, they must have reached Salamandastron at least a day ago." Urthfist glared at Fitkin. "Why do you help my brother, and seek to hinder and confuse us? Have you allied yourself with him?"
The shrew squirmed in Urthfist's visegrip. "Why d' ya think, ya big brute? You come along an' wreck my tollhouse, he fixes it. You strand my ferry where I can't get to it, an' he fetches it back fer me. What'd you do in my place, huh?"
Urthfist's expression went rigid as death. But he released Fitkin. The shrew retreated to the door of his hovel, massaging his sore shoulder.
"Do not try to follow us, or hinder us further, or I will kill you myself," the badger warned with cold menace. "Hares! Assemble at once and prepare to march! We have already wasted too much time here with this corrupted creature!"
It was by now high noon, and the hares of the Long Patrol felt renewed after their naps in the sun. How far this would carry them before their run left them haggard once more, only time would tell.
They were off almost immediately under Urthfist's urging, no hare of the Patrols wishing to appear a laggard in their master's eyes. Behind them dwindled a relieved ferry shrew who had only the vaguest hint of how narrowly he had just escaped death.
00000000000
Colonel Clewiston opened his eyes ...
... then quickly shut them again at the bright sunlight shining into his face.
His first thought was that he had a terrific headache.
His second thought was mystification as to why he'd been asleep sitting so uncomfortably upon the hard stone floor. And why did his paws seem to be bound?
Clewiston's eyes snapped open once more as disjointed memories of the previous night's events sorted themselves out in his throbbing brain. The blinding glare stung the inside of his skull like a swarm of angry wasps in his head. Struggling to see through painfully squinted eyes, he turned himself about so that the sun was not shining directly upon his face.
He was in one of the larger outer rooms of the dorm levels, a common chamber which would normally sleep a number of hares. Now, the beds had been piled back against one wall, leaving most of the floorspace clear.
Well, not entirely clear. The space was cluttered with the forms of hares, some of whom were also just waking and others of whom were still unconscious. Clewiston did a quick count, then breathed a sigh of relief. All twenty were here, and none of them looked to be seriously injured. There were scrapes and bruises in evidence, mainly among the four who'd been tossed around on the top steps during their abortive escape attempt, but nothing worse than that.
Every hare was bound the same: paws behind the back, footpaws tied tightly together at the ankles. It might not have been an impossible task for two of them seated back-to-back to loosen each other's bonds. The biggest stumbling block to such a strategy was the gang of four burly otters standing inside the doorway, watching over the hares with gazes that were unflinching, and javelins at the ready.
The hares who seemed widest awake were those from the two side entrance tunnels. Pondering this through his aching head, Clewiston realized it made sense. Not only had those positions been attacked first, which meant that the Long Patrols guarding them would have had longer to recover from the gas, but the hares who'd been trapped at the roof stairs were caught between the vapors from above and below, exposing them to a double dose of the stuff. Assuming, of course, that the guards at the lower entrances hadn't been overcome by some other means. The Colonel didn't think that very likely; only a sneak gas attack could have overwhelmed them so completely that they wouldn't have time to sound a warning.
What Clewiston couldn't fathom was why Peppertail should seem the widest awake of all. Not knowing that the Sergeant had been with Mizagelle and Givadon during the attack, Clewiston surmised that the hare cook had been down in the kitchens and that the accumulation of the narcotic vapors had been less down in the lower levels.
The Colonel had a lot to catch up on. Unfortunately, it appeared he would have plenty of time for that. In the swamp of questions crowding his mind, one thing was abundantly clear: Salamandastron was now in the clutches of an enemy. And unless otters were now allied with Tratton's searats, Clewiston knew who that enemy must be.
The Long Patrol commander looked across to Peppertail. "Wot's the situation, Sergeant?"
"Just as it jolly well looks, I'm afraid. Guess we're flippin' lucky t' be alive at all ... I thought we was bein' poisoned!"
"So did I. These seadogs must've had some reason t' wanna keep us alive. You look like you've been awake longer'n any o' the rest of us sleepyheads. Has the enemy had anything t' say?"
Peppertail shook his head. "They're a tight-lipped lot, if otters have bloomin' lips at all. Although, when you 'n' some o' the others showed signs o' stirrin', one of 'em leaned out into th' corridor an' called fer something, or somebeast. Gotta feelin' they'll be havin' a chat with us soon 'nuff."
"S'pect you're right, Sergeant. An' I'll wager it won't be a very pleasant gab fer us." Clewiston tested his bonds; straining at them only seemed to make them tighter. "Don't s'pose y' got one o' yer kitchen knives on you, Pepper ol' chum?"
"Sorry, sir. They did a right thorough job o' disarmin' us. Not leavin' anything t' chance, this gang's not."
"They're professionals, all right." Clewiston squinted up at the tall window and the sapphire summer skies beyond. "Wish they hadn't put us in this blinkin' brightness. My head's poundin' like a winter sea storm. Must be from that sleepy stuff those watery rotters dowsed us with."
"Yeah, we're all feelin' it," Peppertail said. "Mine's not so bad now. Goes away after you've been awake for awhile. Mebbe they put us in a room with an open window so's those vapors'd wear off quicker, wotcha think?"
"Could be, Sergeant ... tho' I'd 'magine they'd wanna keep us knocked out for as long as they could." Clewiston regarded the open window. It occurred to him, way too late now to do any good, that perhaps if they'd taken shelter in one of these outer rooms during last night's attack, the gas might not have overwhelmed them so thoroughly, having to compete against the fresh air coming in from the outside. Then again, one look at their otter guards proved that those soldiers had been fully prepared for battle, if it had come to that. If this otter troop really did number twoscore or more, chances would not have favored the Long Patrols ... especially since the otters had been wearing masks, meaning they would have had the advantage in the vapor-clogged passages. Yes, this attack had certainly been well planned, right down to the fact that the defending hares were woefully ill prepared to meet an assault of this unexpected nature, and the mastermind behind it must almost certainly have known that.
Most of them were awake now, to some degree or other, including Lieutenant Gallatin. Clewiston slid across the floor to his second-in-command and filled Gallatin in on all that had been said so far.
"Damn those otters!" the Lieutenant muttered, keeping his voice low so that their guards could not easily overhear. "Only beasts who could've carried out a fur-forsaken invasion like this on such a black 'n' rainy night. Wot I wanna know is, where'd they swim 'ere from, an' where's their reinforcements? Those birds yesterday said there wasn't any force in sight for days in any ... no, wait. There were birds guardin' th' roof when we tried t' get out last night, weren't there?"
Clewiston nodded. "'Spect those feathered feedbags wot raided our gardens yesterday were spies ... advance scouts t' scope out th' lay of th' mountain. An' to think, I was tryin' t' make allies outta them!"
"A good idea, Colonel," Peppertail said. "Unfortunately, our enemy thought of it first."
"Yah," scowled Gallatin. "They even made us tire ourselves out after they left, bringin' everything in from th' gardens. Some real devious thinkin' went into this assault, in a whole lotta ways."
"To be expected, consid'rin' wot beast is prob'ly behind all this." Clewiston glanced up to see two more otters entering from the hall. "Shush, now, everybeast. I think they're 'bout to make introductions."
The two newcomers came into the center of the room, stopping before the large circle of seated and bound hares. One wore the same simple soldierly garb as the others, but his younger companion was garbed in the habit robes of an Abbeybeast. The uniformed one addressed the hares without preamble.
"I'm Captain Saybrook, commander of Lord Urthblood's otter forces. This is Winokur, of Redwall. Which of you is the senior officer here?"
Before Clewiston could even open his mouth, Gallatin shouted out, "I am. Captain Gallatin, at yer service, not that I have much bally choice. If y' got any issues with us, talk t' me, an' leave th' rest o' these fine hares alone. They've done nothin' t' deserve any hardship more'n you've already given 'em."
Clewiston glanced down at himself. The tunic he'd grabbed in the confusion of waking to an alarm in the middle of the night was not the one with his mock epaulets displayed upon the shoulders. The otters would have no way of knowing, by sight alone, that Gallatin wasn't telling the truth.
The otter captain Saybrook grinned at Gallatin. "Don't get yer ears in a knot, Captain. We ain't here t' hurt you. You sit tight just like ye're doin' now, an' this whole crew o' yers'll come outta this just fine, got it?"
"Why'd you take us alive?" Gallatin asked. "Wot d' you want us for?"
"Just followin' orders, same as you would. Lord Urthblood said fer me t' take Salamandastron without bloodshed, if I could, an' told me how to do it. Worked out accordin' to plan, which is just fine by me. His Lordship's comin' here, an' he was under the impression you might not be too happy to see 'im. So, rather than march right up here with his whole army an' risk something unpleasant happenin', he sent my team ahead to look after you an' keep you from doin' anything foolish, mebbe get yerselves hurt. We're just lookin' out fer yer best interests, Cap'n."
"Pardon me if I don't thank you. Tell me, Captain Riverdog, are you a liar, or jus' plain stupid? Our best interests are prob'ly the last thing on Urthblood's mind, an' don't try 'n' convince us otherwise. He's come here t' start a bally war, an' anything else's balderdash 'n' poppycock. Smoke 'n' mirrors. We're soldiers, not some woodland babes you c'n deceive with false comfort. Treat us like the prisoners of war we are, but please, please don't insult us by pretendin' to be our friend."
Saybrook frowned. "Have it yer way. Friends or enemies, makes no difference to me. I'm just doin' my job, not tryin' to win any popularity contests. You hares are the ones who're bound an' on the floor, an' that's the way you'll stay until Lord Urthblood gets here. Pers'nally, I'm a bit disappointed. Been hearin' fer seasons 'bout th' fearsome Long Patrols, but you don't look so tough to me."
Gallatin raised his tethered footpaws before him. "In that case, chap, surely you wouldn't mind slicin' off these blinkin' ropes, wot? We harmless little bunnies'll promise to be good an' not cause any mischief."
"No chance, bobtail. Your food's bein' prepared down in the kitchens. It'll be up shortly. Bon appetit." Saybrook turned to leave. "Come on, Wink. Not much you or I can do here."
The Redwall otter hesitated. "Just a moment, Captain, sir. I'd like to have a word with them, if I may."
"Have at it, matey." Saybrook stood back against the far wall, paws crossed impatiently over his chest. Winokur lowered himself onto his thick tail, taking a seat on the floor across from the hares.
Gallatin gazed over at Winokur. "So you're a Redwaller, eh? Wot's th' situation at the Abbey? We heard there'd been a bloodbath there."
Winokur stiffened. "A bloodbath? When?"
"While Urthblood was there. We heard tell he slew the Abbess, an' all the Abbey leaders."
"What?" The young otter was stunned by this allegation. "Oh, no. No, no, no. You've got it all wrong! He never harmed fur nor feather of anybeast at Redwall. Who's been telling you such things?"
"A hare named Browder," replied Gallatin. "Either he was lyin', or you are. But, seein' as how Urthblood's now almost on our bally doorstep instead of Mossflower where he's s'posed to be, looks like Browder's the culprit, feedin' us false stories so Lord Urthfist would feel obligated t' go an' save Redwall. That bloody badger had us figgered out top t' bottom, no two ways about it. Never woulda suspected that hare fer one o' his spies ... or those two birds either. Guess we all just shoulda stayed put where we were, an' none o' this woulda happened."
Winokur twisted around to look at Saybrook. "Captain, do you know anything about this Browder?"
Saybrook shrugged dismissively. "Met him once or twice, up north. Scatterbrained player of a hare, thought he was th' greatest performer in the lands. Personally, I didn't imagine he could act his way out of a sack, but I guess I was wrong 'bout 'im, if he fooled a Badger Lord an' the Long Patrol. Didn't know he had anything to do with this mission, though. But if he really did get fourscore of these hares outta here fer me 'n' my crew, I owe him one hearty pawshake an' a debt of thanks when next I see him."
Winokur looked back to the hares. "Well, at least you're all safe and unharmed, and Lord Urthblood won't have to fight his way in here. Everything could turn out fine after all."
Gallatin glared at Winokur. "Wot's a Redwaller doin' on th' side o' that bloody beast anyway? If you really are a Redwaller ... "
"Oh, I am, I am," Wink assured them. "And I'm not on his side, not really. I wasn't a part of this assault, you know. Captain Saybrook here made me wait outside on the beach while he captured Salamandastron. The Abbess sent me along as a mediator. A peacemaker. My job is to stop this war before it begins, if I can. If there's real fighting ahead, I'm sworn not to be a part of it, for either side. I have the leave of Abbess Vanessa to negotiate with you, or directly with Lord Urthfist. I suppose I'll be meeting him soon enough. I mean, once he gets to Redwall and sees there's been no trouble there, he'd have no reason not to come straight back here, right?" A shadow of worry crossed the otter's face. "Uh, just what kind of mood was he in when he left Salamandastron, anyway? He's not likely to cause any trouble back at Redwall himself, is he? I confess that is something that was worrying the Abbess. You'd be doing me a great favor if you could assure me he's not of a mind to harm any of my friends back at the Abbey."
"Lord Urthfist would never harm goodbeasts," Gallatin stated with certainty.
"Um, what do you call 'goodbeasts?'" asked Winokur. "'Cos Urthblood left all his foxes behind at Redwall, along with a score of other beasts you might call vermin - rats and weasels. Do you think that might have any bearing on his disposition?"
Gallatin furrowed his brow. "Well, that might be a bit of a pickle, friend. Lord Urthfist won't be any too happy when he finds out he's been tricked, an' Redwall never did fall. His mood could turn downright nasty if he sees there are still troops of his brother's in the Abbey. Why'd your Abbess agree to have 'em there, anyway?"
"Well, after everything Urthblood told us, we were more concerned with what Urthfist might do than we were with anything else. The foxes and the others stayed behind to help defend the Abbey in case Urthfist showed up and tried to start trouble."
"Sounds t' me like His Bloodiness has got the Abbess an' the rest o' you lot twined right around his pinky paw. Quite a mess you've gone an' gotten yerselves into."
"That we've gone and gotten into?" Winokur echoed incredulously. "I hardly think that's a fair way of putting it. It's not like we went and asked feuding badgers and their troops to start showing up at our gates. This was all rather thrust upon us, you know."
They were interrupted at that moment by another otter who ran in from the corridor to report to Saybrook. "Cap'n, we just sighted th' main army, marchin' in from th' south. Should be here before sundown."
"By sundown, eh? Lord Urthblood must've moved 'em out before dawn. Good news, mateys. The sooner they get here, th' better I'll feel."
The other otters clearly agreed with their captain, but the faces of the Long Patrol hares grew even longer at this news. They obviously dreaded Urthblood's arrival; they were convinced that the badger had some nasty fate in mind for them, and the presence of so many more of the enemy would further crush any chance they might have of escaping, or even taking back Salamandastron ... not they had much chance of doing that now, against Saybrook's otters.
Winokur regarded the hares hopefully. "Well, you'll all see soon enough that Lord Urthblood's not the terrible ogre you seem to think he is. He can be quite a fair-minded beast, as a matter of fact. You've nothing to fear from him ... he actually went out of his way to make sure you didn't come to any harm. So you see, things aren't as bad as you're making them out to be."
Clewiston gave Winokur a stone hard look. "I think you'd better leave now, Redwaller."
"Well, I was hoping we could talk a while more, maybe get a few points squared away before Urthblood gets here ... "
"We won't be very good company," Clewiston growled. "Not in much of a chattin' mood, don'tcha know." If it was possible for a bound and captive creature to radiate menace, the Colonel did so now.
"Well, um ... well, then." Winokur stood abruptly and followed Saybrook out into the tunnel beyond.
The otter captain, who had witnessed the exchange, remarked to Winokur, "If I didn't know any better, I'd think that cranky old hare's their commander, an' not that Gallatin fella."