CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

The following morning, after an uneventful night of rest for the rescue party, the day got off to the expected start, bringing with it both good and bad.

Rafter and the other Sparra were airborne well before sunrise, just as soon as the heavens had brightened enough for them to clearly see the skies around them and the lands below. Thus it was that the winged contingent of their party brought the news that all had feared: Matowick and the Gawtrybe had indeed pressed on through the night, and now held a considerable lead over the group from Redwall. Moreover, Klystra and Latura had at last been pinpointed, and they rested well ahead of even the Gawtrybe.

"Here's wot I say we do," Clewiston announced over the last of his breakfast. "Me 'n' the Patrol will forge on ahead, overtake those bushtailed villains by noon, disarm an' detain 'em until the rest of you lollygaggers catch up. That way it'll at least keep their forces divided, an' put us closer to Lattie too, providin' that feathered terror doesn't take off with her an' fly her ever farther afield than she is now once he realizes his accomplices aren't coming on schedule. We may also be able to extract some useful intelligence from those Gawtrybe hooligans. Who knows? Maybe holdin' 'em might be enuff to get their flyin' cohorts to give Lattie back to us, an' then we can be on our merry way back to Redwall."

"I wouldn't hold my breath over that happening," Alex told the Colonel. "The Gawtrybe are fanatically devoted to Urthblood, and won't let themselves be taken easily. You can expect a fight, even if they don't have any arrows for their bows. And even if you do succeed in capturing all of them without any serious injury to you or to them, they'd hardly sit still and let themselves be used as hostages, or bargaining chips."

"Well, that'd be up to their featherduster friend an' not them, wouldn't it?" Sergeant Peppertail pointed out. "I mean, he's th' one who's got Lattie now, so it's his call. Too bad all six of those squirrelvermin're back together, wot? Wonder how they pulled that off, under cover of dark?"

"Must be that owl o' theirs," Log-a-Log deduced. "Only he'd be able t' guide th' two who drew us astray back to their main group. But speakin' o' groups, Colonel, d' ya really reckon it's smart dividin' our own forces? Might be best if'n we stick t'gether ourselves."

"If we do that, my shrewy old chum, we'll not catch up with 'em until they're most of th' way to th' mountains. If they hold their lead long 'nuff to go through another night while we're forced to stop again, it'll put us in a bad way. Seven Long Patrol hares will be more than a match for six Gawtrybe, you can count on that - lucky number, seven, wot? An' there'll not be anything the rest of you would need us 'round for, since your lucky number's one - as in one great flippin' badger who took out an entire shrew line all by himself. I'd say any trouble that find you while we're gone's gonna find out wot real trouble is. Unless Urthblood 'imself shows up for a go at Lord Sodexo, or p'raps those fiendish foxes of his, I think we'll both stand in good stead with this strategy."

"Very well," said Alex. "Whatever reservations I might harbor about any of this, I must concede that we'd be hard-pressed to come up with any better plan, given what's been thrown at us. We agreed last night that overtaking the Gawtrybe is crucial, and I can't see that happening any other way. So do what you can, Colonel, and our Sparra will lend you whatever support they can. Once you've stopped Matowick and his squirrels, we'll join you as quickly as we can, and then ... well, then we'll see what we can make happen, with a few extra cards in our paw. Good luck."

The hares rounded up their gear and took off, two of the Sparra leading the way at low altitude. Clewiston's company wasn't even fully out of sight across the rolling plains before Alex, Sodexo, Palter and the Guosim were on their way as well, setting a more moderate pace than the hares' lopes but one still brisk underpaw.

"Do we hafta go so fast?" the rat whined, his own footpaws battered and bruised and his leg muscles painfully stiff from his interminable run of the day before. "Think I musta pulled sumpthin' yesterday ... "

Log-a-Log resisted the temptation to whack at the groaning rodent with the flat of his shortsword. ""What gives, ratface? I thought you wanted t' go after Lattie. Do ya or don'tcha?"

"Course I do, course I do! But you 'eard yer own birds: she's further on up than we'll ever make it. It's nabbin' them squirrel bullies that'll turn things 'round if they're gonna be turned 'round t'all, an' it's up to those hares t' do just that. So why th' need fer runnin'? They'll be awaitin' ahead of us whether it takes us just th' morn or inta afternoon, so why wreck ourselves when we don't hafta?"

"We can't foresee what trouble the Colonel and his Patrols might run into between here and there, or how fiercely the Gawtrybe might resist," Alex explained to Palter. "Therefore, the sooner we can rendezvous with them, the sooner we'll have an idea of the overall situation and what to do next."

"Oh." Palter seemed almost deflated at such a clear and cogent explanation, as if he'd expected the others to alter their plans based on his complaints - not that this had ever worked with his fellow rats either. "Well, I really dunno if I c'n keep up like this."

"Then stay behind!" Log-a-Log snapped. "I'm sure some Northland shrews or some more Gawtrybe or some o' Urthblood's gulls'll be by in good time t' collect you, an' then you'll be off fer a guided tour o' Salamandastron, follered by cozy accommerdations aboard a searat ship!"

"Would you like me to carry you?" Sodexo offered in a considerably more conciliatory tone. "I appreciate that you were pushed past your endurance yesterday, but we cannot have you slowing us down, and we could not in good conscience leave you behind."

To their surprise, Palter accepted this offer, and after a few moments' pause the party pushed on with the rat astride the Badger Lord's shoulders, the material of Latura's peach dress gathered up against the larger creature's neck like a padded collar. Sodexo gave silent thanks that his passenger had begun practicing better hygiene during his time at Redwall, and was not nearly as noxious as the typical woodland vermin.

"Now this's more like it!" Palter declared from atop his new perch. "Wish I'd had a badger to ride durin' th' whole trip to Redwall!"

"I doubt you'd have found another quite so accommodating as Lord Sodexo," Alex wryly remarked.

"Yeah," Log-a-Log seconded, "only reason we're indulgin' you now's 'cos we gotta get a move-on, an' you was holdin' us up too much with yer bellyachin' an' slow-footedness!"

"Hey! We might not be here at all if yer Abbess hadn't helped those squirrels capture Lattie in th' first place!"

Most of the others looked at Palter in surprise. "What do you mean?" asked Alex. "We know Vanessa ordered that we not go after Latura, but this is the first we're hearing that she actually helped the Gawtrybe take her." He looked to Log-a-Log and Sodexo. "Is this true?"

Sodexo shrugged, bouncing Palter upon his broad shoulders. "I was present at neither the abduction nor the council in Cavern Hole that followed, so I cannot say."

"An' I was at th' council," the shrew chieftain said, "but I don't recall Nessa admittin' to any such thing ... altho' at one point, she did say sumpthin' 'bout bein' there when th' Gawtrybe took Lattie."

"She weren't just there," Palter told them, "she's th' one who lured Lattie outta the Abbey t' begin with! Saw it with my own eyes! An' that's how I got nabbed too: I follered Lattie out, hopin' t' grab her 'fore she got too far or was noticed, so's I could ger 'er back inside again. Unforch'nately, we was both bein' follered from behind an' spied out from above, so we didn't stand a chance. Amazed we didn't get snatched long 'fore we was. But there was prob'ly no hope fer either o' us, once we set footclaws outside yer walls. Yer Abbess led us inta a trap, plain 'n' simple, an' there's no two ways about it!"

"Huh. This'll give us sumpthin' t' talk about once we get Lattie back t' Redwall."

Palter shot Log-a-Log a worried glance. "Y' don't s'pose the Abbess'll try'n forcefully bar us from Redwall, do ya?"

"She seemed of a mind that she might do just that. From what I heard tell, that loggerhead 'tween her an' Traveller was pretty tense. Glad I only came in on the end o' that. She tried her hardest t' talk that old gray hare outta sendin' reinforcements, but in the end he went with the orders he 'n' the Colonel had worked out 'tween them ahead o' time."

"We're overlooking one thing," Alex reminded his companions. "First we've got to get Latura, before we can worry about what Nessa's reaction will be when we get her back to the Abbey." He glanced skyward uneasily; now that the sun was nearly risen, numerous winged shapes could be seen wheeling high in the sky - aerial warriors who were not the Abbey's Sparra. "My vision may be playing tricks on me, but I'd say we've got about twice as many eyes on us from above as we did most of yesterday."

"Then we'd best get on with it," said Log-a-Log. "Sooner this's over, th' better!"

And so the rescuers pressed on under the brightening dawn sky, pushing west as their airborne foe monitored them from high above.

00000000000

"I know what this place is."

Matowick spoke even before the first of the bodies, now little more than skeletons, came fully into view around the rim of the shallow, bowl-shaped valley. And his cold tone reflected the chill of the last winter's day any of these slaughtered creatures had ever known.

Brisson, more directly knowledgeable about this site than Matowick, picked up on his captain's mood. "Aye, this's a place I'd hoped never to see again, after my last duty here. I was glad we avoided it on our way to Redwall, and counted on doing likewise on our run back to the coast. Guess that was too much to ask for, given everything we've faced on this mission."

Delk looked from one to the other in confusion. "What? I'm lost here."

Matowick's terse, flat response explained all. "The Flitch-aye-aye."

The marching squirrels came to a halt on the rim of the wide depression, now an unassuming circular valley of green meadowgrass broken only by the occasional mossy tussock or smooth rock formation. The evil vaporous wisps which had once hung over this sunken knoll day and night were now only a nightmarish memory, and under the friendly spring sun, the setting looked as harmless and innocent as Redwall's own lawns.

"I wasn't here for it," Matowick said. "I stayed behind to oversee Salamandastron, in the wake of the young Accord. Lord Urthblood directed this operation personally, with the late Captain Tardo coordinating the shrew force, and the moles and Gawtrybe as well. When they all returned to report the total success of the enterprise, I felt no more overjoyed than I would have been at a report of failure. What was done here needed to be done, but it is nothing to be heralded or celebrated, and I for one am glad I could avoid taking part in it."

"Wish I could've avoided it too," said Brisson. "But His Lordship needed some shooters here to meet any counteroffensive they tried to mount, and to take down any escapees who might otherwise survive to infect other locales with their evil. We performed our duty unwaveringly on that occasion, just as the Gawtrybe always do - but hardly did we relish it."

"So," weighted Nixalis, "do we go through, or around?"

At that moment one of their seagull escorts skimmed by overhead. "Why stop? Hares closing fast, catching up, catching up, crawwk!"

"Guess that decides it," said Delk. "Straight through it is, and with all the speed we can muster."

But Matowick shook his head, having had the time to pick out many additional Flitch-aye-aye remains littering the floor of the circular valley, their gruesome presence blending so well into their peaceful natural surroundings that an untrained eye might easily have missed them. "No. We go around." Saying no more, he started off around the rim of the valley to his right, clearly expecting his Gawtrybe to dutifully fall into step behind him.

"But, sir," Delk protested, hanging back a beat until he realized the majority of their company followed Matowick's lead with no further bidding, "those hares have been chasing us at a full tilt run all morning! They've all but wiped out any lead we gained by marching straight through the night, and maybe then some! If we take the long way around here, they'll surely overtake us soon after!"

"Then they overtake us," Matowick bit off. "It's pretty plain nothing's going to prevent that from happening now. They're fresh off a night's rest, while we're running ourselves ragged; it's just a matter of sooner, or later. But I'll not go through that place of death."

"And who knows?" Brisson put in. "Maybe the Long Patrol will be so appalled by what they find here, they'll break off pursuit for a bit to investigate. At the very least they'll wonder why we chose to skirt this valley when it would clearly make more sense to simply cross it, and that might serve to pique their curiosity. Could be this detour might actually buy us some time."

"Probably a fool's hope," Delk maintained. "I don't know why you're all being so squeamish about this. From everything I've ever heard, those flesh-devouring barbarians deserved all we gave 'em, and more. They were a blight upon these lands wherever they settled, a bane to innocent and unwary travellers and a curse to goodbeasts all!"

"Then consider their final resting place here doubly cursed," Matowick shot back. "They cursed it in life through their vile misdeeds, and Lord Urthblood's curse of doom came down upon them at their end to eradicate their evil once and for all, in a manner only the foulest of villains should ever have to suffer. Unknowing, uncaring footpaws may tread that dreaded grass in seasons to come. Mine will not."

Delk found no gumption within him to argue the point further, recognizing himself in the obvious minority. "So, what do we do when the Long Patrols catch up to us, and lay into us?"

"We still have our blades, if not our bows," Matowick answered. "We'll do what we can."

00000000000

"I say," Pumphrey observed as the Long Patrol neared the former domain of the Flitch-aye-aye, "those bushtails seem to've gone out of th' way for some reason. Circlin' wide - almost like they're jolly well beggin' to be caught!"

"Could be they know something we don't," said Peppertail. Looking to Clewiston, he added, "We've been wond'rin' whether they might have laid any traps for us out here, sir. This smells mighty suspicious to me."

"Then again, would they be so obvious about it, Sarge?" Buckalew pointed out.

"Not only that," Pumphrey added, "but if it is a trap, which way does it lie: Along the detour they're takin', or along the shortcut we could use to catch up to them?"

"They had some reason for makin' that bally detour," said Clewiston, "an' where Urthblood's concerned, we take nothing for granted. Our Sparra chaps can spy out any obvious ambush from up above, so it's the less obvious we'll hafta keep an eye peeled for, wot? We've nearly closed the gap 'tween us an' those ratnappers, so we can afford to take it slow for a spell. We'll go into this with wary steps, eyes open and ears upright, an' not let anything take us by surprise."

Moments later they encountered the first of the flesh-stripped corpses, and the hares' astute, scanning gazes quickly discerned it was not alone.

"Egads!" Pumphrey exclaimed. "Wot happened here? Looks like a blinkin' plague swept through here!"

Clewiston knelt to inspect the nearest body. "Only plague that caught these blighters was one launched by bowstrings," he said as he reached out to rattle the feathered shaft protruding from between the exposed rib bones. "That's Gawtrybe fletching, unless my peepers deceive me."

"So, our bushtailed friends aren't above a massacre or two," Peppertail concluded. "Hardly surprising. You reckon they did this on their way out to snatch Lattie?"

"Not hardly, Pepp ol' chum. Look at the state of these bodies. Mostly skeletons. The elements an' insects have had some good while t' work on 'em. At least a season old, by my guess, an' maybe more."

"Then it's nothing t' do with us," the Sergeant said. "But what would the Gawtrybe have been doin' out here back in late autumn or durin' winter? What would have them out in the middle of these Plains during the most desolate time of year?"

"We'll just have to ask them when we catch up to 'em, won't we? But you're right; a massacre's exactly wot went on here."

"They look like weasels," Buckalew commented. "Real scrimpy 'n' scrawny ones, tho' it's hard to be sure from just th' bally bones. Unless they were all youngbeasts. Wouldn't put it past the Gawtrybe, using weasel children for flippin' target practice."

Clewiston shook his head, looking ahead to the shallow, round valley yawning before them. "I'm thinkin' not, Lew. Startin' to get an inkling wot we might've just stepped into, an' unless I miss my guess, it won't get any prettier. We're cuttin' through this valley, but it won't just be to gain ground on the Gawtrybe. Something happened here, something that needs to be investigated. Stay on your toes, chaps, an' be ready to run like you've never run before if danger pops up. But I don't think it's enemy beasts we need to worry about here. The peril might be of a sort we've never faced before."

Cautiously, the seven hares picked their way down the sloping sides of the circular valley, weaving between minor hillocks and rocky outcrops until they reached the uneven floor. As they passed more and more of the sunken dell's former inhabitants, they came to see that the corpses up above had not been those of youngbeasts at all; here they encountered others half to a third the size, and knew with solemn certainty that entire families had met their violent demise at this site.

"Not seein' any arrows in those down here," Peppertail murmured, hesitant to speak loudly in such unsettling surroundings. "An' these bodies seem less ... picked-over, for want of a better word. Almost like th' birds 'n' insects didn't wanna bother with 'em ... "

"Yes, strange, that," Clewiston acknowledged. "I'd noticed that m'self."

"Wager somebeasts came along an' gathered up all the spent shafts?" Pumphrey supposed. "Gawtrybe arrows are well-made, say wot you will about their makers. I can see them bein' viewed as valued spoils of battle, by scavengers passin' through or even by those brushtails themselves, not wantin' to leave behind their prized ammunition."

"Then why'd so many of the ones topside still have those shafts piercin' their bones?" Peppertail countered. "If somebeast was gonna go arrow-gatherin', you'd think they'd grab 'em all, an' not leave some behind."

"Unless wot killed those down here wasn't wot killed those up above." Clewiston drew in a deep, cautious sniff; it seemed to him that something vaguely acrid mingled with the fresh spring air, the faintest whiff of stinging putrescence lurking just beneath the more natural fragrances of growth and renewal. Following his hunch, he asked, "Any of you chaps feelin' th' least bit drowsy? Like you might want to just lie down for a jolly snooze right where you are, an' catch forty winks on this grass an' moss?"

"Not flippin' likely, sah," Peppertail returned, "not with the mystery of all these dead beasties all around us, an' you givin' dire warnings of dangers unseen. Got us keyed up an' ready for fight or flight, you have - 'bout as far from sleepy as can be. But you've got some notion wot's goin' on here, don'tcha?"

"That I do - an' frankly I'm surprised none o' you lot put two 'n' two together yourselves before now, since this is a tale we've all heard. This has got to be that valley trap Browder an' that first batch of freed slaves told us about last spring. It's just about the right spot in the Plains, the description of the terrain matches, an' these slain weasel types look like they could be those villainous cannibals. It all adds up. That's wot this place has got to be."

Buckalew straightened in alarm. "Then we gotta be outta here, 'fore they try an' put us out an' scoff us too!"

"Don't think that's much of a worry anymore, Lew. Most of the descriptions we heard of this place hold true, except there's one thing missing." Clewiston swept his arm around him. "Remember the survivors' account of how there was always a mist hangin' over this valley, even on sunny days? No mists now. Doesn't look like those sleep-making vapors are bein' pumped up here anymore." He toed at the Flitch-aye-aye corpse at his feet. "An if these were the ones who conjured it, that would explain why."

"But, why the Gawtrybe?" Pumphrey wondered. "Wot would one group of rotters have to do with the other?"

"We knew about the Flitchamacallits here, thanks to Browder an' the slaves' encounter with 'em," said Clewiston. "An' so did Urthblood."

The others absorbed the implications of the Colonel's supposition. "You think ol' Bloodface dispatched a crew of those bowstring-twangers to wipe out these subterranean hooligans once an' for all?" Peppertail asked.

"Makes as much sense as anything, Pepp. Except that if some of those poor wretches here didn't die from Gawtrybe arrows, it may not've been just his squirrels Urthblood sent to do the job. Think about it: if you've got a whole tribe of barbarians dug in an' entrenched deep underground, how would you drive 'em up where they could be shot at like the ones up above? Why wouldn't they just sit tight where they were?"

"You're sayin' somebeast went down an' rousted them out," the Sergeant surmised.

"P'raps ... tho', that still wouldn't account for why some died by arrows an' some didn't, or why the bodies up top've been cleaned almost to th' bone while these haven't. Could be somethin' a lot more nefarious went on here than just a massacre by blade 'n' shaft."

"All due respect, sir," broached Pumphrey, "but why's a bunch of cowardly cannibals gettin' wot was coming to them any great concern of ours right now, of all times? Every moment we dally here, those Gawtrybe who took Lattie're openin' up a lead again."

"Wot happened here needs to be reported back to Redwall," Clewiston snapped off, "'specially if it's wot I think may've happened, an' that means gettin' all the facts we can. I'm hardly worried about those bushtails getting too far ahead; these are the open Plains, not the forest, an' there's no way we gallopers won't be able to close that gap in a trice, once we commit ourselves to the chase again."

"Seems a shame, though, breakin' off when we almost had 'em," Buckalew lamented as he ambled off in frustration, gaze on the far valley lip and not really looking where he placed his footpaws. "Even if it's just for a brief break of our - yeaaagh!"

The others spun around at Buckalew's cry of surprised distress and saw ... nothing. "By my eye," Pumphrey declared, "Lew's gone an' fallen down a hole."

"Holes 'round this place might not be anything to take lightly, even if those who dug them are all dead 'n' gone," Clewiston cautioned. "Let's hope that wasn't a deep well, or any kind of trap."

They all hastened to the moss-and-grass-obscured opening through which Buckalew had plummeted. Upon inspection it proved to be a fairly vertical shaft sunk into the valley floor, a simple inverted chimney of sorts, quite straightforward in design if not in purpose, and only just wide enough for a single creature to have fallen into. Fears of losing a member of their party to a lethally deep well eased as they realized they could make out Buckalew in the darkness below, struggling gamely at the bottom of the narrow pit.

"Could use some of the Guosim's flippin' rope right about now," Peppertail muttered.

"Not sure it'd be long enuff t' reach." Clewiston cupped his paws to his mouth. "Hullo down there, Lew! You all in one piece after that tumble?"

"Goin' down was nice 'n' soft, bouncin' off these mossy walls," the junior hare called up. "Wish I could say th' blinkin' same for my landing. Some inconsiderate rudebeast left a whole pile o' broken crockery down here. Think it opened a gash on my bum."

"Is there any other way out down there? Any side passage, or branch-off?"

"Not that I can see or feel, sah. Looks like it's just a straight well straight down, only no water to be drowned ... or found, I mean. If I can get a good 'nuff pawhold on these protrudin' roots, I oughta be able to climb back out by m'self. Just gimme a few ticks here ... "

"Figures," Pumphrey remarked of his old comrade. "One moment he's chunnerin' on about how much time this stop's costin' us, then he goes an' does somethin' that'll cost us even more time!"

"I hadn't planned on leaving here just yet anyway, even if I hadn't planned on losin' a hare to a hole in the ground either." Clewiston turned to the others. "Sergeant, you an' th' rest scout around, see if there are any more of these backward chimneys to be found, or any other openings of note. Reports were, these Flitchymagummies were fond of hidden an' disguised hatchways down into their domain. Let's see if we can't uncover a few of 'em, wot? I'll wait here with Pumphrey to give Lew a paw up if he needs one."

By the time Buckalew had clawed and scrambled and kicked his way up out of his pitfall, no fewer than three other similar shafts had been found, along with a cleverly-concealed trapdoor opening to a wider, downward-sloping passage; this last was easier to spot due to the trio of Flitch-aye-aye corpse clustered around the secret egress, one of which lay half-in and half-out of the entryway, the mossy hatch propped partway ajar by the fallen creature.

"Wotever happened here happened fast," Peppertail deduced. "Blighter couldn't even get all the way out of his rathole 'fore he fell dead in his bally tracks."

Back at the first shaft, Clewiston and Pumphrey took a look at Buckalew's injured backside. "That's a right ugly gash you got there, Lew chappie," the Colonel observed. "And thanks to that messy climb out, it's both bloody and dirty. Gotta get that cleaned out and dressed. Yo ho, Fawks! Over here, if you're done pokin' at holes in th' ground!"

Fawkwell, the most accomplished healer of their present company and the one bearing their meager medical supplies, jogged over at the Colonel's summons. Taking stock of the wounded hare himself, he immediately agreed with Clewiston's prognosis. Unstopping his canteen and producing a fresh kerchief, he set to cleansing the area around Buckalew's scut, rinsing and wiping away the dirt and grime to more fully reveal the extent of the injury.

Pumphrey stood looking on, somewhat alarmed by Fawkwell's liberal use of water. "Have a care with that, Fawks. You'll be needing some o' that for wettin' your own bally whistle later on, once we get marchin' again."

Fawkwell all but ignored his complaining cohort as he rinsed off and swabbed at his patient's posterior gash, eliciting winces and flinches from Buckalew. "Canteens can be refilled, chum; right now my healer's needs outweigh any future thirst, don'tcha know."

"Yah, dunno wot you're goin' on about, Pums," Buckalew put in. "I'm the one whose tush has been laid open to public inspection, wot? Quite embarrassin' an' humiliatin' - hardly befitting future officer material, hm?"

While Pumphrey sniggered at his old friend's delusions of regimental grandeur, Fawkwell took a more serious tack. "On th' subject of your bum, Lew, you couldn'ta gone an' lacerated yourself in a worse place. Any dressing I apply is likely to come off once we get underway again, unless I use up just about all the bandages I have with me. It'll surely be aggravated by just th' kind of exertions we've been doin'. 'Fraid this might put you out of th' runnin', in the most literal sense."

"Oh, say it ain't so, Fawksy! Can't let a minor scratch like this sideline me, an' leave all the glory to you lazyscuts! I'm in this for th' full bally haul, so don't go countin' me out yet!"

Fawkwell grimaced. "Judgin' by the amount of blood seepin' from this gash, I'd say your 'minor scratch' could use stitches. Unfortunately, that'll hafta wait 'til we're back at Redwall, because I didn't bring along anything to stitch a fellow up on th' fly. Run on it if you insist, but I can tell you right now, the results won't be pretty."

"Sorry, Lew, but I've gotta go with wot our medico says," Clewiston told the injured hare. "Much as I'd love to have you in this fight with us, if just racin' to catch up to those rednecked ruffians is going to wreck you, it's best for ev'rybeast that you stay behind. You can wait here, down 'n' outta sight, an' we'll collect you on th' way back, once we've got Lattie. That'll give you time for some healing, as well as keepin' yourself from overstrainin' an' makin' a right mess of yourself."

"That'll teach ya t' go fallin' down holes!" Pumphrey chided his companion, then turned to Clewiston. "But, sir, d'you truly reckon it's safe for a solitary beast here? What if some of those mouse-scoffin' slimeballs're still lurkin' down belowground?"

"That's something I'm hopin' to have answered one way or the other before heading back to Redwall. But it can't be now, with the Gawtrybe hoofin' it away from us. We need to be off again, to settle this once and for all!"

Just then, one of the Sparra swooped down to them, circling tightly just above their heads. "Manygulls, manygulls, coming fromwest, overmountains!"

"How many?" Clewiston asked.

"Maybehundred. Bigflock, bigflock!" And with that, the Redwall bird shot off again.

Peppertail's brow furrowed, and his wasn't the only one. "You s'pose they plan on stickin' themselves 'tween us an' the Gawtrybe?"

"I'd lay my scut on the line that's exactly wot they're plannin'. Looks like we shouldn't've stopped here after all, between losin' Lew to that hole an' now this. But if we stir our stumps an' eat up ground like only seasoned runners of the Patrols can, we may still have a hope of overtaking those brushtails while we have a clear crack at them. If those nastygulls 're still only just clearing the mountains, it may take some time yet before they get here - an' if we can have Matowick's gang firmly in custody by then, even Urthblood's battle gulls might think twice before attacking us!"