[Redwall 18] - High Rhulain (15 page)
Read [Redwall 18] - High Rhulain Online
Authors: Brian Jacques
Kolun threw a paw around his friend's shoulders. “Aye, well, you do yore outthinkin' later, buckoe. Yore wanted in there right now. C'mon, stir yore rudder!”
Rousing cheers greeted the outlaw as he joined the throng. Amid copious back slapping and paw shaking, he was escorted to a seat of honour by the fire. Leatho had issues he wanted to address the otters about, but as he made to rise, Big Kolun's missus, Deedero, shoved him firmly back down, proclaiming, “Arrah, sit ye down, Shellhound. The bard's composed a fine lay about ye. Whisht now, the singer's got the floor!”
Ould Zillo's rudderdrum began thrumming the beat, whilst a flute and fiddle joined in. The one-eyed bard launched into his newly written ballad.
“Harroo for the Shellhound, ain't he the bold beast,
he's the hero we've all come to toast at this feast,
for he singed the cat's tail, and put flame to his fort,
the whiskery tyrant, his threats came to nought!
O pity those slaves who were bound 'neath the pier,
an' for the three babies we all shed a tear,
all sentenced to death in the dreaded Deeplough,
'twas enough to put any pore otter in shock!
'Til the Shellhound arrived in the dark o' the night,
an' to the cats' fortress his warriors set light,
with freedom their watchword, they championed the
cause,
as they battled with catguards along the lakeshores!
With slingstone an' spear they attacked the cruel foe,
an' as for the outcome, well I'm sure that ye know,
they freed the brave captives an' got clear away,
an' were back here safe home by the dawn of the day!
Ye wicked ould wildcat this lesson ye'll learn,
or yore guards will be slain an' yore fortress'll burn,
sure ye'll wail in the ashes an' stamp the bare ground,
an' ye'll rue the sad day that ye met the Shellhound!
Shellhound. . . . Shellhound . . . Shellhooooouuuuund!”
he's the hero we've all come to toast at this feast,
for he singed the cat's tail, and put flame to his fort,
the whiskery tyrant, his threats came to nought!
O pity those slaves who were bound 'neath the pier,
an' for the three babies we all shed a tear,
all sentenced to death in the dreaded Deeplough,
'twas enough to put any pore otter in shock!
'Til the Shellhound arrived in the dark o' the night,
an' to the cats' fortress his warriors set light,
with freedom their watchword, they championed the
cause,
as they battled with catguards along the lakeshores!
With slingstone an' spear they attacked the cruel foe,
an' as for the outcome, well I'm sure that ye know,
they freed the brave captives an' got clear away,
an' were back here safe home by the dawn of the day!
Ye wicked ould wildcat this lesson ye'll learn,
or yore guards will be slain an' yore fortress'll burn,
sure ye'll wail in the ashes an' stamp the bare ground,
an' ye'll rue the sad day that ye met the Shellhound!
Shellhound. . . . Shellhound . . . Shellhooooouuuuund!”
All around the cave, voices and tankards were raised. “Leatho! Leatho! Speech speech speech!”
Taking the floor, the outlaw held up his paws until order was restored. “Friends, clanbeasts, my thanks to ye! But 'twas not just me who did the deed. There were many brave ones with me who are worthy of yore praiseâwarriors, who risked life an' limb to free our good friends. Hearken to me now! Riggu Felis will be yearnin' to avenge his defeat. That wildcat is a powerful an' savage foebeast. Aye, an' if I'm yore leader, then I've got this to say. All our otterclans are not yet ready to face the cats. Not until we're all united behind one High Queen, the Rhulain!”
More cheers and chanting broke out. “Eeayeeeeeh! Rhulain! High Rhulaaaaain!”
Ould Zillo the Bard whacked his drum until they stopped. “Sure will ye not hold yore noisy gobs now an' give the goodbeast a chance? Where's yore manners? Leatho has the floor! Best of order now, all round the cave, d'ye hear!”
Nodding his thanks to the old otter, Leatho continued. “We'll get nowhere if'n we don't lay the ground with some hard plannin' now. Do ye not realise that Felis still holds more than a hundred slaves?”
He shook a clenched paw at the chastened otters. “Aye, that many! All that's left o' the Wildlough clan, an' other families, with old 'uns an' babes. They must be freed, afore Felis starts takin' reprisals among 'em!”
Big Kolun Galedeep strode to the outlaw's side. “Wot ye say is true, Leatho, an' everybeast here is with ye. So tell us how ye plan on goin' about it!”
Shellhound warmed to his subject immediately. “First we need to make this place safe an' secure. Every single otter must leave home an' holt to live here from now on. That way we can't be singled out or hunted down family by family. Deedero, Zillo, I leave the runnin' of this place t'ye both. I know ye can be trusted to provision an' protect the cave.”
There was a murmur of agreement; clearly, this was a wise choice. Leatho's keen eyes searched the gathering.
“Next, I want two volunteers, otters who aren't readily identifiable. These two must steal back into the fortress and blend in as slaves. 'Tis a risky an' dangerous task. They must learn t'be my eyes an' ears among the enemy. Through them we'll learn what's goin' on in the cats' camp, what Felis's next move will be. Are there two among ye who'll take the chance?”
A mass of paws shot up. Leatho took his time selecting. “You there, an' you, too. Step up here.”
Memsy, the former otterslave who had brought news of Whulky and Chab's capture, was one. The other was a slim otter, fully grown but rather nondescript in looks. He walked forward, nodding to Leatho.
“I'm Runka Streamdog, brother of Banya.”
The outlaw shook both their paws. “I'm beholden to ye, mates. Stand by for orders.”
He addressed the remainder of the clans. “Now I need warriors, beasts who are strong'n'fit. Ye'll have to travel light, live off the land an' be ready to fight t'the death at the wink of my eye. Kolun Galedeep'll come among ye an' pick out those he thinks will do. Remember, if yore chosen, we'll only be back here now an' agin. No more feastin' an' restin' round the fire wid yore friends an' families. If yore with me 'n' Kolun, ye'll travel like the wind, an' strike like thunder'n'lightnin' at the cats. Our aim is t'free all the slaves, an' fetch 'em back here to safety to wait 'til Queen Rhulain comes to Green Isle.”
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It was fully midmorn before the sun deigned to appear and banish the mists. Dew stood heavy on the helmets, jerkins and spearpoints of over two hundred catguards, marshalled in five ranks on the lakeshore. Feral cats of various hues, shapes and sizes stood rigidly to attention. Among them were archers, axe carriers, spearbearers and pikebearers, their limbs stiff and numb from the long wait. Weilmark Scaut stood on a raised rock in front of the parade, watching as his ten scorecats patrolled the ranks. Each one carried a long willow cane, ready to strike out at slovenly guards.
As he saw the warlord emerge from the fortress in full armour, Scaut called out sharply, “The Lord of Green Isle comes!”
Raising their weaponry, the catguards shouted in strict chant, “Warlord of all! Mighty Wildcat! Conqueror and Destroyer of foebeasts! Lord of the Fortress! Hail Riggu Felis!”
The sound of their chant was still echoing around the lake as Riggu Felis stood on the rock, now vacated by Scaut. The warlord wore a helmet of beaten silver, with horns that resembled twin crescent moons protruding on each side. From these hung a square of heavy black silk, embroidered with silver wire, forming his lower face mask. A long cloak, of black-and-white weave, over a fine chain mail doublet plus the shining, single-bladed war axe hanging from one paw on a thong completed his apparel.
A light lake breeze rippled across his mask as he spoke out scathingly. “I wish I had twice your number. Then would I slay all ye standing before me now, dead where ye stand!”
The wildcat chieftain paused, then watched the ranks jerk with shock as he roared at them, “Fools! Addle-pawed idiots! Brainless buffoons! I, Riggu Felis, Lord of this isle, watched ye being made sport of by a few riverdogs last night! The captives whom I had sentenced to death! Where are they now?”
He raised the axe, pointing at the fortress. “My home was put to the torch, almost burned! Where are the slain bodies of all the otters who did it?”
Leaping down from the rock dais, the wildcat prowled along the first rank of catguards, prodding them on their chests with the axe handle as he repeated, “Tell me! Where? Where? Where?”
Halting abruptly at the end guard on the line, Riggu Felis faced him, dropping his voice to a conversational tone. “Gone, all of them, escaped. What do you think should have happened to them?”
The catguard's voice took on a dithering tremble as he replied, “Th . . . they sh . . . should have been s . . . s . . . slain, Lord.”
The warlord exploded with a sudden angry bellow. “Slain! !”
With a single devastating swing of the axe, he killed the unfortunate guard on the spot. “Slain, just like this one!”
The ranks stood in stunned silence, each catguard keeping his or her eyes straight ahead, scarcely daring to breathe, terrified to look at their fallen comrade lest they draw the attention of the maddened wildcat.
Brandishing the dripping axe, Riggu Felis pounced up onto the rock platform. “Hear me! More of ye will follow that one if my domain is not shortly rid of outlaws and runaways. We will scour this isle from coast to coast, we will root out these accursed otters! The rivers and streams, even the very tidal waters, shall run red with their blood, old or young, all of them! I promise ye, I will make warriors of ye once more!”
Whilst the wildcat had been haranguing his army, Lady Kaltag had come out onto the pier. She stood looking across at Riggu Felis. Atunra and Pitru joined her. The young cat was garbed out like a chieftain himself. He wore a steel helmet with a purple scarf streaming out behind it, a cloak of dark blue and a breastplate set with jet stones. In one paw he carried a small polished shield; in the other, a curved scimitar.
Kaltag pointed at Riggu Felis accusingly, her voice scornful and unafraid. “Look at the mighty wildcat! He is very good at slaying those who serve him. First my son Jeefra and now one of his own guards. Why do you not go and slay some real enemies, the outlaw they call Shellhound and his followers? Or are you afraid that they might fight back?”
Riggu Felis could not keep the sneer out of his voice. “I am planning on seeking out my enemies right away. Why don't you go and attend to your own affairs and keep that overdressed kitten out of my way! Atunra, attend me.”
Kaltag stopped the pine marten as she stepped forward. “Atunra stays here, with me and Pitru. Go! We will defend the fortress against attack whilst you are out playing your games!”
Inwardly the warlord cursed himself for neglecting to think of having the fortress defended in his absence.
Leaping down from the rock, he growled to Scaut, “Weilmark, take fourscore guards and attend Lady Kaltag.”
Scaut headed the two long ranks of catguards, but on reaching the pier he found Pitru barring his way with drawn scimitar. “I have no need of you here, Weilmark. Get back to your master. I'm in charge of this fortress!”
Scaut was taken by surprise at Pitru's haughty manner. “You? But your father said nought of this to me!”
Kaltag intervened, her tone cold with authority. “I have appointed my son as commander of this fortress. You will address him by that title from now on. Now leave us!”
Though Riggu Felis did not contest Kaltag's words, he sneeringly called out so that all could hear, “So, the fancydressed kitten is becoming a dangerous beast at last!”
Before he turned to march off, the warlord exchanged a secret and meaningful glance with Atunra, his faithful lifelong aide. The pine marten blinked briefly in acknowledgement. She understood the unspoken order. To her, there could be only one Lord of Green Isle and Commander of the Fortressâher master, Riggu Felis.
11
In the attic above the Abbey Library, the window shutters had been removed. Sister Snowdrop sat on a heap of books, framed in a shaft of early evening sunlight swirling with red-gold dust motes. Books, scrolls, volumes and ancient archives lay thick about the little old mouse. Her reverie was broken when Tiria came pounding in, followed by her three friends along with Brink and Skipper.
“Sister, what is it? What have you found?”
Enveloped by dust, Snowdrop pulled a kerchief from her sleeve as she attempted to reply. “I fou . . . A fou . . . Aaaaaaachoo!”
Scrambling up, she raced to the open window, sneezing several more times. Breathing in gulps of fresh air, the Sister glared over her tiny square glasses at them. “Really! Do you have to come stampeding in here and raising all that dust? Most inconsiderate!”
Snowdrop paused to clean her spectacles. “You well may ask what I've found, but I'm not showing it to anybeast in here until I've had my afternoon tea on the west walltop. We'll talk about it there.”
Brink scratched his headspikes. “But why would ye be takin' tea up there, Sister?”
Skipper interrupted his friend. “Wait, Sister, I'll tell this ole buffer. That'd be 'cos Friar Bibble ain't servin' on the lawn. Afternoon tea's ended. But if'n ye was to go to the walltop, ye'd find our Abbess there with molemum Burbee. Without lookin' I can tell ye. They'll be sittin' on those liddle foldin' chairs, sharin' a pot o' tea an' a tray o' goodies. Same as they do every mornin', noon, late noon an' evenin', every day. Right, Sister?”
Snowdrop beamed at him. “Right, Skipper Banjon, very observant of you, I must say. You go on now, I'll get my beaker from the library and meet you all up there with my discovery.”
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