Chapter Twenty-Seven
"Hmph. Coulda jolly well swore this is where I saw that featherduster come down, but no sign of it, or any bally stream for that matter."
Browder glanced left and right along the gully into which he and Kurdyla had descended. It was barren and dry, a desolate mix of scraggly rocks and plain grass. Some stagnant pools might collect along its muddy bottom after heavy rains, but for now it was just a waterless gash cutting through the countryside.
"Suppose we'd better scope this place out, just in case there's some small spring or such trickling its way out 'tween these rocks. We came all this way, after all." Browder pointed to their left. "Right. You head that way, an' I'll go this way, an' we'll see wot there is to see, wot?"
Kurdyla placed a paw on the hare's shoulder. "Don't leave me."
"Huh? Wot?" Browder blinked at the otter, then gently peeled the big webbed paw off his collarbone. "Hey, don't be a silly goose, wot? Nothing out here that can hurt us, Klystra said so 'fore he left us last night, remember? Now, if there's any blinkin' water to be found out here, we'll find it faster if we split up. Cover more ground, and all that." He straightened the water pouches slung over Kurdyla's shoulder like a mother fussing over her son's knapsack before sending him out for a day's excursion in the woods. "It'll be quite all right. Just give a shout if you find anything worth shoutin' about, or run and fetch me. I won't be too far away." He gave Kurdyla a look he supposed was authoritatively imploring, but came off more as doleful-eyed pleading.
"Um ... okay." The brawny otter turned and started slowly off down the gully, picking his way halfheartedly between rocky outcrops, gravel-strewn escarpments, muddy patches and grassy knolls.
"There's a good egg," Browder said, then headed off in the opposite direction, alert for any trace of drinkable water, or the sparrow who'd last been seen in this vicinity.
When the two creatures were no longer in each other's sight, Kurdyla halted and stood in one spot for a long time, staring back the way he'd come. Then, turning around, he started slowly retracing his steps, heading in the direction Browder had gone.
The hare was moving at a much faster clip than the plodding otter, seeking to cover as much ground as possible. Scooting along the floor of the gully, Browder followed a zigzag course that avoided the roughest and messiest areas. After he'd scouted a good distance without success, he decided to scale one slope to get the lay of the land from a high point, and to see if there was any further sign of birds who might lead them to water.
Browder crested the ridge - and found himself face to face with another hare.
That it was a hare of the Long Patrol was apparent at a glance from its dress and demeanor. The well-muscled malebeast bore an immense haversack slung over his shoulder, and seemed as surprised by the encounter as Browder was. "Oh, hullo there," the stranger said amiably.
Browder froze in terror, unable even to flee back down into the gulch. His mouth worked, but only strangled, incoherent sounds emerged.
"Huh?" The soldierbeast regarded the player hare quizically. "Wot's th' matter, friend? You look like you've seen a bally ghost."
"I ... was lookin' fer water," Browder squeaked with mouselike timidity, because it was all he could think of to say.
"Oh? Well, I've got some water and cordial on me. S'pose I could spare you a few swigs ... "
Browder narrowed his eyes at the hare. It was nobeast he recognized, but more to the point was that this newcomer didn't seem to recognize him either, and this Browder could not fathom. Every hare of the Long Patrol must surely know him, since they'd all been present at Salamandastron when he was there the previous summer ... hadn't they?
The hare - a younger beast than his grim and weathered features had first led Browder to believe - set down his bulging sack and shifted his javelin to his left paw, extending his right for shaking. "Name's Hanchett. An' yours?"
"Um ... " Browder took Hanchett's paw and shook it tentatively. "You are Long Patrol, aren't you?"
"That's right," Hanchett said, mildly surprised. "You know of us?"
"Who hasn't heard o' th' Long Patrol? But, um, I thought you lot were all stayin' at Redwall these days. Wot're you doin' out here?"
"Some bird came to the Abbey a few days ago an' told us there was a gang o' escaped slaves headin' our way in need o' food 'n' drink. So, we decided t' come out an' meet 'em halfway with some vittles."
"We?" Browder croaked.
"Yeah, Sergeant Traughber should be along any moment - ah, here he is now. You one o' those slaves, by any chance?"
"I ... I gotta go ... " Browder stammered as he saw a second Long Patrol hare emerge from behind a nearby copse of trees. The imperiled player hare spun to duck back down into the gully ... and nearly ran smack into a low-swooping cluster of feathers that had been skimming through the air just above the ground. Browder had to throw himself onto his back to avoid a collision. "Yah!"
Hanchett leaned over his prostrate fellow hare. "Oh, don't fret yerself over that, he's just one of Redwall's Sparra, helpin' to guide us to th' slaves. Won't do you any harm ... "
Browder scrambled to regain his feet, but it was too late. Traughber had arrived on the scene, and the Sergeant's eyes went wide with surprised recognition. "Browder?"
In a heartbeat, in the space of an eyeblink even, Hanchett's javelin came around to press hard against the fallen hare's windpipe, its pointed tip threatening to draw blood. All traces of companionability were gone from the fighting beast's deadly serious expression.
"Browder, eh? Y' don't say ... " Cold, hard eyes stared down at the enemy of the Long Patrol. "How I've dreamed of gettin' this chance ... "
Before anybeast could speak or act further, a dark-furred behemoth charged up out of the gully, roaring like a living storm. There was no time for Hanchett to react before the attacking beast spun and knocked the hare's legs out from under him with one sweep of a massively thick tail. Sergeant Traughber rushed forward to assist his younger comrade, but not even his dipping and stabbing spear could keep him from being swept off his feet as well.
Browder crawled on his paws and tail away from the confrontation. If there was any notion in his mind of chastising Kurdyla for disobeying his earlier instructions, he didn't voice it.
Hanchett sprang back up to his feet with the resilience that only a young fighting hare can muster, and swung his steel shaft at the unarmed otter's head. Kurdyla caught it roughly, his paws clamping onto the javelin with an unyielding visegrip. For several moments the two creatures grappled, but then Hanchett realized his larger opponent wasn't even trying to wrest the weapon out of his grasp. Before the hare's disbelieving eyes, the berserker otter (for this he truly was now) bent the steel implement into a right angle, rendering it virtually useless.
Traughber was up and charging again. Kurdyla lifted Hanchett off the ground by the bent javelin he refused to relinquish and swung him toward the Sergeant, using one hare as a battering ram against the other. Both went down in a tangle with a cracking of bone upon bone, and this time they were not so quick to rise again.
Kurdyla strode over to them while they still lay stunned and relieved them of their weapons with two swipes of his paw; Traughber's wood spear landed clear on the other side of the gully, scores of paces away. He quickly deprived the pair of their knives in a like manner, then took each hare by the neck and hoisted them high into the air, their footpaws dangling free and helpless above the earth. Traughber and Hanchett revived only to find themselves being held aloft by the mad otter like a pair of rag dolls, one in each of Kurdyla's paws, the life being slowly but surely choked out of them.
Browder had only moments to make a decision. Kurdyla was only protecting his companion, and would have been justified in slaying the two beasts who'd been about to do the same to Browder. Having Hanchett and Traughber out of the way would certainly make things simpler for Browder, assuming there weren't other Long Patrols currently roaming the Western Plains. But in the end it was simple compassion that ruled the player hare's course of action; Browder just could not stand by and watch two lives be snuffed out if there was any way he could prevent it.
Struggling to his feet, he rushed forward and pulled at Kurdyla's arm. "Hey, now, don't go doin' anything rash, wot? You've taken away their weapons, so they can't do us any harm. They came t' help us. See all the food 'n' drink in those two big bags over there? Well, that's for us - you, me, an' all our friends. So be a good otter chap an' don't hurt 'em."
Kurdyla's eyes remained dangerously red, fixed upon the two hares squirming in his double grip. He made no move to release them.
"Put 'm down, Kurdy!" Browder ordered, surprised by the sharpness in his own voice.
This did the trick. Supressing his snarl, Kurdyla slowly lowered the Long Patrols to the ground and relaxed his grip. The two hares collapsed onto their tails, gasping and rubbing at their tortured throats. They knew full well how narrowly they had just escaped death.
Kurdyla retreated several paces, where he stood glaring dangerously at the two Redwallers.
Sergeant Traughber shot Browder an acid glance as he sat massaging his voice box. "Friend o' yers?" he croaked.
"You could say that. He's one o' th' bally slaves you came here to help. I've been escortin' 'em to Redwall from the coast, showin' 'em the way. This here's Kurdyla - friends call 'im Kurdy. An', if you want a word of advice - " Browder glanced nervously at the wrathful otter, " - you don't wanna go makin' him angry."
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The former slaves were very surprised indeed when the two beasts who'd set out in search of water had turned into five upon rejoining the marchers in the midafternoon. The sparrow Roofbeam led the way, circling over the larger group so that Browder, Kurdyla and the two Long Patrol hares could pinpoint where they were now that both parties were on the move again. Hanchett and Traughber walked in front, burdened by their heavy food sacks, while the player hare and his otter protector brought up the rear, the Long Patrol weapons in their own paws for safekeeping.
The slaves' surprise turned to delight when they learned how much prime fare was contained in the two haversacks - not just food but drink too. The first batch of provisions that Klystra had delivered to them from Redwall had contained no beverages, since that would have made the load too heavy for the falcon to carry over such a distance. Now, even before they stopped for the evening, the journeyers were sipping cool clear water from the Abbey pond and sweet fruit cordials from Balla's cellars.
Since the two Long Patrollers knew the way to the Abbey better than even Browder did, they marched up front with Wharff and Granholm, where they were able to give the otter and squirrel an earful about the history between Browder and the Salamandastron hares ... from their point of view, of course. But every bad word they had to say against Browder was countered by Granholm and Wharff, who explained how the Northlands hare had selflessly volunteered to be their guide to Redwall, even though he knew full well he would not be able to enjoy the Abbey's hospitality for himself, and how Browder had risked his life to help free them from the Flitch-aye-aye. The two fighting hares scowled at any suggestion of decency or bravery residing within Browder.
This intransigent attitude finally caused Granholm to scowl back. "Listen, I can understand why you feel toward Browder as you do, given what happened last summer, but believe me when I say he's not an evil beast, and he certainly doesn't deserve the death you two seem eager to give him. If you think Browder's evil, I suggest you try spending three seasons as a slave in a searat camp, and then you'll see what evil really is."
Hanchett, who'd been content to leave most of the talking to his sergeant, simply glowered in silence. But Traughber could not let this last point pass unchallenged.
"Ho, I've seen evil, all right, my dear bushytailed fellow, an' it's name's Urthblood. Bad as Tratton's seascum surely are, they're not half th' threat to th' bloomin' lands that Urthblood is. Tratton might be able t' conquer th' seas 'n' coastlands, but that bloody badger may just try t' take everything - Redwall included. An' someday he might just succeed ... especially if he's workin' secretly with th' searats, as most of us half-suspect he is."
"Workin' with th' searats?" Wharff exclaimed. "Matey, you musta got mud jammed down in them flopears o' yores from somewhere, 'cos we just got finished tellin' ya t'was Urthblood who sent that force 'gainst th' searats t' burn their buildings an' sink their ships. T'was his squirrels 'n' otters freed us from our chains. I dunno 'bout politics 'n' intrigue an' stuff like that, nor why Urthblood would use such underpawed tactics 'gainst his own brother ... or why Browder'd agree t' be part of it, fer that matter. But I owe that badger more'n I'll ever be able t' repay. We all do. An' as fer Browder - " Wharff exchanged glances with Granholm, " - well, Browder's one o' us now, after all we been through t'gether. So you'll take us all, or you'll take none o' us."
Now it was Hanchett and Traughber's turn to trade glances. "Um, right. Wotever you say," the Sergeant muttered. It didn't occur to them at that moment that the squirrel and otter might have been voicing the feelings of all the slaves. Clearly these must be the two most militant members of the company, since they'd volunteered or been chosen to march with the Long Patrol hares at the fore of the group to keep an eye on them. Traughber decided he would wait until they made camp for the night; then he might get a chance to talk to some of the more reasonable beasts here.
Kurdyla and Browder walked farther back in the procession that afternoon, keeping a respectable distance and a number of bodies between themselves and the two Long Patrol. Browder never once lost the shakiness in his knees or the queasiness in his stomach at being in such close proximity to a pair of warriors who wanted him dead. He knew that Kurdyla and the other slaves were the only reason he was still alive. The big otter, his previous childlike quality now transformed to a fierce, single-minded determination, had not strayed more than a few paces from Browder's side at any time since their first encounter with Hanchett and Traughber. It was clear that Kurdyla had appointed himself Browder's guardian until they reached Redwall, and perhaps after that as well. For his part, the hare was hardly about to object.
Hanchett's ruined javelin had been left behind at the gully, but Kurdyla had both Long Patrol knives tucked into his belt, and Traughber's spear never left the otter's paw. If the two hares tried to make trouble, Kurdyla would be there to put them in their places with the Sergeant's own weapon.
The sun was still in the sky when Roofbeam, flying aerial reconnaissance for the travellers as Klystra had done, reported a stream slightly to the south of their present course. They altered their direction accordingly, and sunset found them setting up camp on the grassy banks of a clear-running brook. It would be their last chance to refill all their canteens and pouches until they got to Redwall, and even with the drink that the two hares had brought with them from the Abbey, the slaves didn't want to pass up the opportunity.
A small fire was started from dried leaves and twigs. While Granholm and Wharff set out in search of larger pieces of firewood, the rest of the company gathered around the fledgling blaze. Browder sat with Kurdyla as far from his two hare nemeses as he could, so far that he would probably not feel the warmth of the fire even once it had roared fully to life. Traughber saw this as the perfect opening to sound out the other slaves about Browder and let them know in no uncertain terms what a traitorous louse they were dealing with.
Sparing no detail, Traughber spun the tale of all that had happened between Urthblood and Urthfist the previous summer, and the part Browder had played in those events. Granholm and Wharff returned with arms full of wood before the Sergeant had finished, but since they had heard most of this already during the afternoon's march, they fed the fire and then took their own seats wordlessly so as not to interrupt Traughber. The subject of his condemnation sat on the outskirts of the gathering, but still within hare's hearing range. But Browder never once broke in on Traughber's stinging indictment of him, offering not one word of protest or rebuttal in his own defense. Several times during the story, woodlanders would glance the player hare's way as if to seek confirmation or denial of what they were hearing, but Browder would only hang his head and refuse to meet any gaze directed at him.
None of the three hares was expecting what happened after Traughber finished speaking. The Sergeant had chosen his words with great care and omitted no detail in describing the treachery that had been perpetrated against the Long Patrol. No impartial listener would have been able to hear his testimony and reach any other conclusion than that Browder was a black-hearted liar, a scheming spy and practitioner of the vilest of deceptions, and a willing servant of the greatest evil ever to walk the lands. But, into the silence that followed his last word ...
"I don't care."
It was the young female mouse with the eyes of jade, the quiet one who had barely spoken since the Long Patrol had joined their ranks. The one Traughber had all but dismissed as inconsequential, at least as far as exerting any authority over the others. Clovis made her voice heard now, however.
"I believe everything happened as you say it did - at least from your point of view - but I don't care. We have marched with Browder for many days now, and have had enough time and opportunity to know his heart, and it is a good one, whatever mistakes he may have made in the past. He came to our aid when he could have easily walked away. I saw one of my friends and companions dragged away screaming, and all I ever saw of him again were his bones. That could have been me - and it would have been, if Browder hadn't come back for us. He has proven to us by his deeds a worthiness that no words can tarnish or wipe away. I cannot help it if you see him as an enemy, but I will never be able to share that view. And I will stand between Browder and anybeast who would seek to do him harm."
"Me, too," seconded Granholm.
"And me," Lekkas echoed without hesitation.
"An' me," agreed Fallace.
"Hear hear!" said Wharff.
As Traughber and Hanchett sat there in the flame-flickered twilight, eyes growing wider with each avowal on Browder's behalf, every one of the former slaves voiced their support for the player hare who had been their guide and scout since the coastlands and their rescuer from the underground cavern of horrors. Only Kurdyla held his tongue, but the paw of support he placed upon Browder's shoulder spoke more eloquently than any words.
Browder kept his head down, but now he could not entirely keep a sheepish smile from playing across his lips in appreciation of the friendly support he had just received from every member of their party.
Traughber looked to Hanchett. "I say, wot in th' name o' flyin' frogsticks has that hare done to this lot?"