Chapter Eight
Browder had only ever visited Salamandastron once before, and at that time the mountain had been occupied by Lord Urthfist and his hundred hares of the Long Patrol. Now there were nearly three hundred Gawtrybe squirrels stationed here, and scores more otters, weasels, rats, mice and hedgehogs - close to five hundred beasts in all. If the natural fortress had seemed homily lived-in with a mere hundred hares and one badger as residents, it now positively bustled and buzzed with a living energy both day and night. It was almost impossible to stroll down the passages without bumping into somebeast or other, and meals had to be taken in shifts because there were not enough seats in the dining hall to accommodate everybeast at once.
And in all that great profusion of creatures, Browder was the only hare, and the only beast who wasn't a soldier.
His automatic assumption that he'd be given private quarters was quickly dashed; the only beds to be had at Salamandastron these days were in group dormitories and shared bedchambers. The best that Browder's indignant huffing over the matter could get him was a bed in with some of Saybrook's otters. Browder would honestly have preferred to share sleeping arrangements with Abellon and his mice, but none of their custom-made beds were big enough to fit his lanky hare frame. The otters turned out not to be that bad, though; the waterbeasts had an appreciation for his jokes and stories, and it just so happened that the female otter Tulia shared Browder's affinity for the wooden pipe flute, and the two of them would perform lively duets while their companions tapped out uptempo tattoos on small drums and improvised percussion instruments. If only they didn't snore enough to shake the mountain's foundations, it might almost have been pleasant.
On his third day at Salamandastron, Browder was summoned into a meeting with Urthblood down in the stronghold's strategy room, in the bowels of the mountain. The hare player had already been debriefed most thoroughly by the Badger Lord on the morning of his arrival, and he couldn't imagine what else Urthblood would have to speak with him about.
He found Captains Saybrook and Matowick seated with Urthblood around the glass-covered, bas-relief map table. "Oh, um, pardon me, didn't know you chaps were in sessions ... " He started to shuffle backward out the door.
"Have a seat, Browder." Urthblood gestured toward an empty chair.
The hare swallowed self-consciously and settled himself into the indicated seat.
"For the past three days," Urthblood began, "my Captain of all Birds Altidor and my owl captain Saugus have been flying reconnaissance missions over Tratton's main timber mill to the north. Captain Saugus is a particularly skilled draftsbird, and he has used their observations to create a fairly detailed map of the rats' facility." The badger, working with surprising adroitness for a one-pawed beast, unfolded a large drawing and spread it out on the glass tabletop.
Saybrook and Matowick studied the map. "Um, that's a pretty big compound, M'Lord," the squirrel captain said upon realizing the scale of the settlement represented on the charcoal map before him.
"Nearly big as Noonvale, just as I jolly well toldja," Browder said.
Urthblood pointed with his left paw to various features on the drawing. "The entire landward perimeter of the site is ringed by guard towers at regular intervals, and much of the space between them is strung with an effective invention of Tratton's called knifewire - fine but strong steel wire with spearlike bristles woven into it that can seriously injure anybeast who tries to climb it or falls into it. Knowing Tratton, he probably has covered spike-lined pits and other such traps laid out as well. And he has good reason to protect this site so well: for a number of seasons now, this lumber operation has been his primary source of timber for expanding his fleet.
"But this is what concerns me most. You see here, and here, they are clearing trails farther into the forest - naturally, since they have already cut down all the trees that were easily accessible to the coast. This is the farthest inland that they have ever penetrated with a permanent presence. Given time, these rough trails will be turned into proper roads, controlled by Tratton, and the wood-and-mud shacks of the mill will give way to an actual fortress from which Tratton will be able to challenge us in the Northlands."
Urthblood leaned back. "This must not stand. It is time to remind these rats that they cannot act with unfettered freedom on the mainland, and that they are not welcome here. We must send Tratton a clear signal. I am dispatching a force to show him that he cannot have things all his own way."
Matowick grinned menacingly as he stroked his chin. "Yes, a dozen of my Gawtrybe should be able to pick off quite a few of 'em, and put the rest quaking in their boots. They'll not have any spirit for venturing forth from their compound to build roads or cut down trees once they get a taste of our guerilla tactics."
But Urthblood was shaking his head. "Not a dozen, Captain. A hundred. Supported by the full complement of Saybrook's otters. My other otter captain Riveroll will be lending forces to this assault as well, and my new shrew captain Flusk has assembled over a hundred of his brethren for the mission. They will follow the broadstream down to the sea in their logboats, coming out north of the River Moss and rowing south along the coast to join you there. When you attack, it will be from both land and sea at once. I want every structure there burned to the ground, and every rat slain. This mill is to be wiped from the face of the lands."
The two captains gaped at the audacity of their master's plan. They'd fought many battles in the north, but those had mostly been against roving bands and local warlords. And Saybrook had faced the Long Patrol during the battle between Urthblood and his brother Urthfist for the Lordship of Salamandastron. But never before had they taken on an adversary of this magnitude. Tratton was the uncontested ruler of the seas, commanding forces so vast that nobeast knew for sure how many rats served under him or how many ships he had in his fleet. To attack one of his major strongholds so directly ...
"There must be hundreds of rats there," Matowick guessed.
"Probably," Urthblood said. "Do you doubt your ability to prevail against them, Captain?"
"Uh, no, My Lord. Not with the force you just outlined. We should be able to wipe 'em out. But, a hundred Gawtrybe? From here? That's over a third of our strength at Salamandastron."
"Aye," Saybrook nodded, "and my whole crew of otters too?"
"It'll leave this mountain shortpawed," Matowick said.
"Hardly. Nearly two hundred squirrel archers will remain here, along with Captain Mattoon's weasels and rats, Captain Abellon's mice and Captain Tillamook's hedgehogs. And of course I will be here. Salamandastron is in no danger of falling. But we must strike at Tratton now, and strike hard. For too long has he had free run of the coasts north and south of here. It would not matter if I have ten thousand warriors within Salamandastron to hold it secure, if Tratton hold the lands all around us. I will not hide in my citadel while he expands his tyranny in every direction. If I do not march to meet his threat where it lies, I do not deserve the title of Lord of the Mountain."
"Uh, yes. Yes, sir!"
"Aye, M'Lord, aye!"
"Um ... er ... uh, wots all this t' do with me, M'Lord?" Browder asked, raising his paw hesitantly.
Urthblood looked to the hare. "You are the fastest runner available to me. You will accompany the force north, to help coordinate communications between the various captains."
"Um ... me? Goin' inta battle? I'm sorry, sir, but I'm no fighin' beast, no siree, not t'all ... "
"I would not expect that you would have to become involved in the actual fighting," Urthblood rumbled. "Altidore and Klystra will be with you too, but only as scouts and messengers, not warriors. Between the three of you, I'm sure the commanders will be able to coordinate their strikes for maximum effect."
Browder sat back gloomily. From the badger's tone, it was clear that there would be no ducking out of this assignment.
"You do realize, My Lord," said Matowick, "that if this goes as planned, it could lead to all-out war with Tratton?"
"I would be very surprised if it doesn't, Captain."
These words did little to improve Browder's disposition, or to alleviate the growing sour feeling in the pit of his stomach.
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The assault force was to leave the following morning. For the remainder of the afternoon, while Matowick chose the squirrels who would accompany them north and Saybrook readied his otters, Browder wandered in and around the mountain, striving to shake off the butterflies multiplying in his stomach.
Out on the south slopes of Salamandastron, he came across some of the Gawtrybe testing a new weapon of Urthblood's. It was not so much a cart as a very simple carriage or platform mounted on a single axle and pair of wheels, with a long handle that could be used to pull the device from place to place, or to stabilize it when it was ready for use. This frame supported a long wooden spindle, held up parallel to the axle, which was carved to be triangular in cross section so that it had three faces. On each face was a system of grooves, spring wires and catches. It looked both simple and complex at the same time. But its purpose was as straightforward as could be.
A small horde of straw searat dummies stood downslope from the test site. The Gawtrybe operator of the weapon swivelled the spindle upon its carriage until he was satisfied with the aim, then hauled back on a lever-like trigger. Instantly, a dozen iron spears shaped like oversized crossbow bolts were launched from the spindle toward the targets. Every shaft found a mark, with such force that several of the straw dummies were knocked over.
"Um, impressive," Browder commented.
"You've not seen the half of it, friend," the Gawtrybe lieutenant in charge told the hare. "Continue, Sergeant."
The squirrel operating the weapon cranked a handle, and another face of the spindle was rotated topside - with another dozen of the oversized bolts cocked and ready for firing. The gunnerbeast ratcheted the trigger-lever forward to engage the release wire for this new set of bolts, then pulled it back again. Another fusillade of would-be death rained down on the target dummies, and two more toppled.
"Again!" the lieutenant commanded. The sergeant cranked the spindle handle, bringing the third and final array of lethal bolts to bear. Lever cocked forward, clicked back, and another barrage of the steel barbs flew down at the fake rats.
"That's, um ... that's really ... something," Browder observed.
"Wait, there's more. Sergeant, let's see how quickly we can reload. Starting ... now! One, two, three ... "
While the lieutenant counted aloud, the sergeant and another squirrel hurriedly unsnapped the brackets holding the spindle in place, lifted the now-spent rod from its cradle and tossed it aside, then reached down and lifted a new, fully-loaded spindle into place upon the firing frame. Snapping it into place, the sergeant jiggled the release lever until it engaged.
" ... fifteen, sixteen, seventeen - "
And on the count of "seventeen," a new volley of bolts showered down upon the targets, sowing more imaginary death and mayhem.
"Seventeen. Not bad, Sergeant. Now let's see if we can get it down to fifteen. Tratton's rats aren't gonna wait for us, y'know!" The lieutenant turned to Browder. "Lord Urthblood's working on a bigger model that can shoot a full score at once - that's threescore between reloads. If Tratton sends an army of his searats against Salamandastron, a team of just two or three defenders will be able to mow down scores of 'em before they've made it a dozen steps upslope. Working in tandem with traditional bowbeasts and slingers, we could wipe out an army of a thousand searats in a single day!"
"Um, yes, that's ... er, reassuring, chap. Keep up th' good work, wot?" Browder took his leave of the militaristic squirrels, eager to be away from such grim creatures. He would have more such company in the days ahead than he could probably stand.
Wandering the corridors inside the mountain was not much of an improvement. With over a hundred warriors gearing up for a major military assault, and this in addition to the routine comings and goings of the ordinary activity within Salamandastron, just strolling the passages could be hazardous.
And the Gawtrybe were indeed gearing up - there was no other word for it. The squirrel archers were not going to content themselves with just their customary longbows; they were raiding the armories of Salamandastron for extra knives, swords, axes, cudgels, shields, grappling hooks, crossbows, spears, lances and javelins. Some who bustled past Browder in the corridors looked like they'd transformed themselves into walking, one-beast armories, with only their heads, tails and paws visible through the harnesses and belts of military paraphernalia.
Browder finally found himself in a relatively empty tunnel down in the lower levels, where soldiers were not purposefully rushing to and fro. Purposeful rushing was not Browder's style - indeed, the hare was about the most un-militaristic creature there could be - and he was still coming to grips with the idea that Urthblood had assigned him to be part of an attack force. He was not officially a soldier in the Badger Lord's army, had never at any time formally sworn his absolutely loyalty or fealty to Urthblood, and was toying with the notion of going to the badger and trying to wiggle out of this predicament. There was just one problem with this strategy: one did not refuse Lord Urthblood's bidding without very good reason.
And Browder's only excuse was that he was a coward. Which was a perfectly fine reason as far as he was concerned, but he doubted he would be able to articulate it satisfactorily should he find himself standing before Urthblood, seeking to weasel his way out of this.
Come to think of it, most of the weasels at Salamandastron had greater courage and dedication in one paw than Browder had in his entire body. Yes, it really was a sorry state of affairs. But Browder couldn't help being the creature he was, and a brave warrior he most certainly wasn't.
He glanced around at the passage in which he found himself. This was a part of Salamandastron he'd never been in before, and it didn't seem to be dedicated to military activities. But it was far from the kitchens and storerooms, far from the armory, far from the badger's forge room, and far from any of the dormitories he knew of. It seemed like a separate section of the fortress, set aside for some special purpose. What that purpose might be Browder couldn't imagine, but he saw a light and signs of subdued activity coming from the chambers ahead of him, so he followed his footpaws to investigate the matter.
He found a marten, a mouse and a fox working over a pair of squat, open kilns which were heating the room to an uncomfortable warmth. As Browder stood in the doorway watching, the mouse withdrew a long glass pipe from one of the kilns; at the end of the narrow wand hung a glowing red glob. The mouse put the cool end of the pipe in his mouth and blew into it. The red blob began to expand into a clear bulbous bubble. The mouse meticulously and slowly spun the globe as it grew, shaping it into a nearly perfect sphere. He didn't stop working the hot glass until the globe was far bigger than his head. Removing the pipe from his mouth and holding the finished product out before him with a look of satisfaction, he winked at the hare.
Browder had heard of the art of glassblowing, but he'd never actually witnessed such a thing before now. It was a rare skill, requiring many seasons of apprenticeship and practice to master, and the beasts who could do it were few.
"Yes, can I help you?"
The question snapped Browder out of his fascination. The marten had stepped toward him; like the mouse and fox, he wore a heavy work smock and an equally heavy pair of gloves that were like insulated mitts.
"Oh, um, no, just passin' through, don'tcha know. Never knew this bally place was down here. Wotcha doin'?"
"Making glass for Lord Urthblood."
"Aha, yes, that makes sense, I suppose. Considerin' that you are glassblowers, wot?" Browder's gaze travelled to an adjoining chamber, where it looked like there were scores of the glass bubbles, most around the size of the one the mouse had just created but some even bigger, nestled upon beds of straw and cloth for safe storage. "Yes, quite. Um, wot's His Lord need all this for?"
"The war effort," the marten replied.
"Oh." Browder came farther into the room, intent on the fox, who was starting on a new globe of his own. Browder stopped well short of the kiln where the fox worked, not wanting to crowd or distract a beast who was handling red-hot melted glass. The craftsbeast blew his globe inside a polyhedral wood frame, so that the final shape of the bubble would be multisided rather than a smooth rounded sphere.
"I say, is this very hard?" Browder asked.
"Not unless you forget and inhale while you've got the blowing pipe in your mouth!" the mouse laughed.
Browder tugged at his jerkin to cool himself, then spotted a ceramic tub of water against one wall and started toward it. "All these ovens keep things pretty hot down here though, wot? See you keep a nice trough full for coolin' down an' wettin' the old whistle when this thirsty work takes its bally toll. Think I could use a splash 'n' a sip right now m'self."
"STOP!"
Browder froze in midstep at the imperative tone in the marten's voice. "Hey, chap, no need fer shoutin', wot? Just wanted to slap a bit on my face an' borrow a swallow or three, if y' don't jolly well mind ... "
"Do that, my foolish friend, and you won't have any paws left. Or any face."
"Huh?"
The marten looked to the mouse. "Tolomeo ... those tongs."
The mouse Tolomeo gently set aside his cooling glass globe and grabbed up the pair of heavy iron tongs the marten had indicated with a nod. Stepping around the hare, he slowly lowered the implement into the clear fluid. Immediately there came a hissing, spattering sound, and as quickly as Tolomeo immersed the tongs, the metal fizzed away to nothingness. Within moments all he was left holding were the nubs of the two handles, tiny black burn spots marring his glove where the fizzling liquid had scarred it.
Tolomeo dropped the handle nubs of the tongs into the tub, where they too dissolved before the horrified hare's eyes.
"Wha ... wha ... wot the bloody hell is that stuff?"
"We use it for etching glass," the marten explained. "The only substance known that can do so. And I assure you, it is every bit as damaging to living flesh as it is to metal."
Browder felt like he was about to pass out - and not just from the heat - and took an unsteady step back from the deadly fluid. And he'd been about to splash it into his face!
"There is cool water two doors down the corridor," the marten said, taking Browder by the arm and guiding him out of the hazard-strewn room. "Why don't you go have a drink? You look like you could use it."
Browder nodded mutely, took his leave of the glassmaking trio, and stumbled down the tunnel. But he didn't stop for water. He didn't stop until he was far from the kiln room with its burning kilns, molten glass and standing tubs of flesh-destroying vitriol.
Maybe getting away from Salamandastron wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.
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The following morning - before the sun even cleared the mountain peaks ranged east of Salamandastron - one hundred Gawtrybe squirrels under Captain Matowick and sixteen otters under Captain Saybrook set out on their mission of destruction. With them was one somewhat reluctant hare. Klystra the falcon and Altidor the eagle circled high above the marchers, scoping out any possible trouble they might encounter.
The small army departed from the east entrance, facing away from the sea, and made straight for the narrow pass over which Urthblood had come several nights before. It would normally be unthinkable for such a large group to attempt this passage, but squirrels had no problem with heights, and otters were extraordinarily agile and athletic for beasts of their size and brawn. And as for Browder, he had been over this pass before, and would be able to help guide the others. As long as they travelled in a slow and steady single file over the treacherous path, there ought to be no problem. And their early departure ensured that they would be able to crest the summit and start down the other side of the range before daylight failed.
The Badger Lord had insisted upon this route, even though it would have been faster to simply go north along the coast. Urthblood did not want Tratton to suspect there might be an imminent attack on one of his key compounds, and an army of over a hundred soldiers marching along the open coastal plains would be clearly visible to any searat vessel that sailed close to the shore - as they did with alarming frequency these days. This way, the mountains would shield the Northlanders from searat eyes for a large part of their march. And when they finally did emerge from behind the shelter of the mountains into the northern reaches of the Western Plains, they would be too far inland to be seen from the sea. They would then follow a northwest course straight to the searat timber mill, coming from a direction where sparse woodlands would help hide them until they were at the enemy's doorstep.
It all went according to plan. The sixscore marchers cleared the mountain pass in time to take their first night's rest in the foothills overlooking the Western Plains; had the evening not been so drab and dreary, they might have been able to see clear across to Redwall. Matowick and Saybrook gave the okay to light campfires for cooking and to keep themselves warm while they slept. No enemy eyes at sea or on the coast would be able to see them here, and the two birds escorting them had detected no creatures who might be spies anywhere near them in the plains or foothills.
In spite of the fires and their blankets, it was a cold winter night's sleep, and they were all up early to resume their journey. After a quick breakfast of day-old buns warmed over the campfire embers, they set off north at a pace that would have been punishing for less-seasoned campaigners. Even Browder, who had once made the run from Redwall to Salamandastron in an incredible three days by using this hidden mountain pass, found himself calling upon the full measure of his long-legged loping ability to scout ahead and to the sides of the surging column. At the pace they struck and then held to, it was clear that they would reach their goal well before winter's end.
Well before.