[Redwall 18] - High Rhulain (43 page)

“Ahoy! Can somebeast help me, the place is afire!”

Both Tiria and Banya saw the figure high up on the windowledge. They could hear his shouts but were unable to hear his exact words. Banya suddenly realised what was happening when she saw smoke and a burst of flame, driven on the updraught, leap from the conical tower roof. She gripped Tiria's paw.

“It's Leatho, he's locked in up there an' the place is ablaze!”

Other otters saw Leatho and heard his shouts. They stared in horror at the outlaw, who was edging out on the high windowledge from which smoke and sparks were belching.

Banya Streamdog bit her lip, looking to Tiria. “Leatho'll be burned t'death up there. Ain't there anythin' we can do, Lady?”

Every otter aboard the raft was watching their queen. Tiria knew she had to do something—and quickly. A vision of Martin the Warrior flashed through her mind. Then she heard him say just two words: “the birds!”

She must have said the words out loud, because Banya echoed them. “The birds, marm? Wot d'ye mean?”

Tiria beckoned to the osprey and the goose, both hovering down close to her. She pointed at the figure on the ledge. “Can you get him down from there?”

Brantalis replied, “I could not do it alone, I am thinking. Mayhaps we could do it together, this one and myself. We could only lift him a short way, but far enough to drop him into the lake. I will help Shellhound, he once saved my life. Will you do it, hookbeak?”

Pandion glared at Brantalis. They had never been the closest of friends. He snapped back at the goose, “Kayarr! I have lifted many big fish in my talons. Anything a honker can do, I can also!”

Tiria's patience was wearing thin. She spoke abruptly. “Then don't just bicker and argue about it, get him away from there and drop him into the lake. Do it now!”

Both birds sped off toward the blazing tower.

As the fortress doors swung open, a catguard came staggering along the hallway, coughing and gasping for breath as he caught up to the warlord. “Sire, there is a fire in the upper floors!”

The wildcat seized him by the neck and shook him. “I know that, fool! We will deal with it later! Where has Scaut got to with those slaves?”

He flung the guard to the floor. Rubbing at his neck, the cat whined hoarsely, “Lord, we cannot get into the slave compound. Strange warriors have taken it. Weilmark Scaut sent me to tell you!”

The warlord tore off his helmet, throwing it at the guard. “What do you mean, strange warriors?”

The catguard scrambled backward, out of Felis's reach. “Tall ones, rabbits I think. They shout ‘alaylee,' and fight like madbeasts. They are fearsome creatures!”

The wildcat stared at him in disbelief. “Tall rabbits? What are you telling me, blatherbrain?”

Loud shouting and cheering came from the lake and banks beyond the pier. Puzzled and seething with wrath, Riggu Felis shouted to the guards gathered in the hallway, “Forward, follow me!”

He marched out onto the pier, followed by his guards, who were relieved to be out of the smoky fortress. Otterclans were packing both sides of the shore and, though the raft was still some distance away, the warlord could see the creatures upon it. They were looking up toward the tower and pointing. Ignoring the enemy facing him, he, too, turned and peered upward.

 

Leatho Shellhound blinked against the billowing smoke which poured from the window. He could feel his fur beginning to curl and scorch in the constant blasts of heat. Hungry, flaming tongues were threatening to envelop him.

Then two great shapes swooped overhead, and he heard the hawk calling, “Karrraaaak! Seize onto our legs and hold tight!”

Pandion and Brantalis descended upon him in a noisy flapping of wings. Leatho, needing no second invitation, grabbed the hawk just above its talons, and the goose above its webbed pads. With the acrid reek of burning feathers in his nostrils, he cried out, “I've got ye, friends!”

They pulled away, dipping because of the otter's weight. It was very difficult, owing to the different flight methods of both birds, but Brantalis and Pandion flapped bravely outward. They could not keep a level path, immediately going into a descent, though they were still heading for the lake.

Riggu Felis was shouting like a beast demented as he hastened, facing backward, along the pier. It was not essentially Leatho's escape which caught the wildcat's attention, however; it was the sight of Pandion Piketalon.

“The hawk! It's the hawk! I'd know it anywhere!”

He raced ahead, reaching the pier end ahead of the trio's descent. The catguards stopped halfway along the pier, watching as the wildcat stood to intercept the two birds, who were fast losing height with Shellhound hanging from their legs.

As he whirled his single-bladed war axe, Riggu Felis was bellowing, “Go to Hellgates, bird!”

The osprey, within three spearlengths of the warlord when he hurled the axe, could not be missed. A cry of horror went up from the otters on the raft. They were still too far off to do anything that would prevent the fatal throw. Without thinking, Tiria began whirling her sling. Round and round it sped until it was a thrumming blur. Automatically, the old Abbey warcry ripped from her mouth. “Redwaaaaaaaaallllll!”

Never before or since had anybeast witnessed a slinging of that magnitude. The barbed iron star whistled through the hot morning air like a thunderbolt, covering the long distance in the speed of a lightning flash. Both Leatho and the two birds hit the water beyond the pier end. The warlord knew that his axe had struck home. He turned to see the hawk splash limply down. Facing the open lake, Riggu Felis laughed aloud. But no sound came from him as he stood in frozen silence for a brief moment. Then he toppled headfirst into the lake, with a hole between both eyes and an iron star embedded in his brain. Thus ended the reign of Riggu Felis, Wildcat Warlord of Green Isle, slain by a humble Abbeymaid who was now High Queen of the Otterclans.

Leatho and Brantalis reached the raft, still holding on to Pandion's body. Willing paws helped them aboard. Tiria bowed with the weight of the slain osprey as she hugged his body tearfully.

Leatho gently disengaged her from the dead hawk. “Time for grievin' later on, marm. We've got a war t'fight!”

Banya stared grimly at the pier. “Aye, an' we're goin' t'miss it if'n this thing doesn't move any faster. Lookit that!”

Before the otters on the shores could even mount the pier, the air was rent with a perilous roar. “Eulaliiiiiaaaaa!” Straight through the smokebound hallway, having entered the fortress from the rear, they burst forth onto the landing: the Long Patrol warriors, backed by a horde of yelling otterslaves whom they had freed.

Colour Sergeant O'Cragg's stentorian tones rang out over the bewildered catguards huddled on the pier. “Forward the buffs! Give 'em blood'n'vinegar! Eulaliiiaaa!”

Leatho waved the pole he was paddling the raft along with. “Let's cheer 'em on, mates! Ee aye eeeeeeeee!”

Some catguards fled; others tried to fight. But the day of reckoning had arrived. They were no match for the hares, and more especially for the freed slaves they had tyrannised and abused for long seasons. Before the day was much older, there was not a living cat left in sight. They were, as Corporal Drubblewick put it, “either bloomin' well dead or flippin' well fled, wot!”

Cuthbert had now reverted to his role as Regimental Major Frunk. He strode smartly aboard the raft, throwing a brisk salute. “All present an' correct, wot! Queen Tiria, please accept me 'pologies, marm. We must look a confounded sight!”

He wagged an ear at the two subalterns. “You chaps, get the uniforms an' dish 'em out, sharpish! My buckoes look like they've just escaped from a ragged robin's roundelay. Give Sergeant O'Cragg me compliments, an' tell him I want the Long Patrol on parade, soon as poss, washed, brushed, combed an' curried. Jump to it!”

Tiria stood gazing at the fortress, which was now an inferno. The upper storeys had burned through, collapsing into the lower ones. Tongues of flame were now crackling along the pier. She shook her head regretfully.

“It would have made a fine castle for the Clans and me.”

Leatho took her to one side, speaking low. “No otter would willin'ly live there, marm. The place stunk of cats. There's too many generations o' bad memories within its walls. It's better off as a heap of ole ashes, to stay as a warnin' to foebeasts.”

Tiria bowed to the outlaw's superior knowledge. “You're right, of course. It seems I have a lot to learn.”

Leatho bowed gallantly. “Don't worry, yore Majesty. I'm here to help ye, all ye have t'do is ask.”

Taking his advice literally, Tiria asked, “Tell me, what's this Holt Summerdell place like?”

Banya was the one who answered. “ 'Tis a place fit for a queen. It's like the nicest spot ye've ever dreamed of but never believed ye'd ever see!”

 

That night, by the light of the burning fortress, the bodies of the slain were put to rest. Carcasses of catguards, along with that of Riggu Felis, were consigned to the flames of their stronghold. Otters who had fallen, along with the osprey Pandion Piketalon, were placed upon the flower-decked raft and floated out onto the lake's centre, where the raft was sunk, following an ancient Green Isle tradition. The clans stood on the shore, chanting a dirge in some bygone language which Tiria could not understand. She enquired of Leatho as to its meaning. He translated it for her.

A hefty paw touched Tiria's shoulder. Colour Sergeant O'Cragg whispered in her ear, “We've 'eard that afore, h'ain't we, miss?”

Big Kolun Galedeep and his brother Lorgo, with lots of willing help, had managed to save loads of supplies from the catguards' barracks. Kolun waved his oar aloft, proclaiming to everybeast, “Tonight's Victory Feast Night. Sleep in late tomorrow, then we takes our queen back to Holt Summerdell. Do I hear any arguments?”

Nobeast ever argued with Kolun, with the exception of his missus. Besides, they were all more than willing to go along with his excellent plan. Temporarily shunning her role as queen, Tiria joined Corporal Drubblewick and a host of ottermums who had never seen such an array of food to cook with. They used burning pier boards as a fire and set up barrels of drink on the lakeshore sand. The otterclans were highly amused with the antics of the hares, who were always hungry and in high good humour after a battle. Little otterbabes chuckled uproariously as the hares sang barrack-room ballads.

They sang it twice more, each time speeding up the words. Tiria sang along with the bits she could catch; though, like the otterbabes, she mostly whooped and thumped the ground with her rudder. It was all such good fun! She looked at the happy faces around the fire, sniffed at the savoury aromas from the cooking and thanked her good fortune that the day had ended so well. The rule of the cats was finished; she had slain Riggu Felis, the tyrant. The thought of killing another creature did not sit easy on her mind, but when the ottermaid saw all the freed slaves, she felt thoroughly justified by her swift action in the heat of battle.

The food, when it arrived, was a real victory feast. Tiria sat sampling the various dishes with Brantalis, Colour Sergeant O'Cragg, Banya, Leatho and her two subalterns. There was an unending supply of shrimp'n'hotroot soup for the otters, plenty of skilly'n'duff for the hares, trifles and tarts for the little ones and so many different pasties that it was hard to choose which one to try next.

Big Kolun passed a dish to the barnacle goose. “Get yore ole beak around that, mate. It's leek an' roasted parsnip in hazelnut sauce!”

Brantalis clacked his beak happily. “I am thinking this will taste as good as it looks!”