The Sable Quean (46 page)

The Salamandastron Blademaster was suddenly alert. “Y’mean
Eulalia,
the Long Patrol war cry? That’ll be Diggs—he must be in some sort of bother! Skip, Jango, keep a close watch on those Ravagers. I’ll be back as soon as possible. Guard that rubble pile in front o’ the gates. If they charge, they’ll try to come at us straight up it. I’ve got to go!” Drawing the long rapier from its back scabbard, Buckler sped off down the wallsteps.

 

Grakk had replaced the slain Fallug, who lay stiff on the ground, his face fixed in a hideous grin caused by the adder venom from Vilaya’s lethal little knife. She stood to one side, nibbling daintily on a roasted partridge egg, watching her new commander whipping the vermin into a battle frenzy. Grakk used thrusts of his spear to emphasise words.

Zwilt was temporarily forgotten, now that the Ravagers had fallen under the spell of their Sable Quean. One who could rise from the dead, and the bars of Hellgates. She who could slay a warrior like Fallug with a single touch of her paw. What else could they do but follow her? En masse, they thundered out their replies to Grakk’s questions.

“Who do we serve? Who do we serve?”

“Vilaya! Vilaya! Sable Quean! Yahaaaaaarrrr!”

“An’ who are we? What do we do?”

“Ravagers! Ravagers! Kill! Kill! Kill!”

They began the advance, waving spears, axes, pikes and all manner of weaponry. Stamping hard with their footpaws, until the open flatlands thrummed like a great drum, as they repeated over and over, “Vilaya! Vilaya! Sable Quean! Yahaaaaar! Ravagers! Ravagers! Kill! Kill! Kill!”

 

Buckler instinctively knew where Diggs would be—around the kitchen area. If it was not a usual mealtime, the tubby rascal would make his way to the kitchen window. Pasties, pies, scones and tarts were often taken from the ovens and left to cool on the open window ledge. Cutting along the south side of the Abbey building, Buckler sensed right off that something was amiss. He drew his blade, running to the window. One glance was all that was needed.

Amidst the welter of broken dishes and scattered food, Diggs lay slumped on the floor. Vaulting over the windowsill, the young hare went straight to his companion. Turning Diggs over, he cradled his head, leaning close to his nose. Thanking the seasons that Diggs was breathing, Buckler reached for an oven cloth to stanch the deep wound on his unconscious friend’s head. Binding it tight, he reached out a footpaw, pulling a half-empty sack of flour close. Resting Diggs’s head on the makeshift pillow, Buckler suddenly became alert.

There were cries of alarm from within Great Hall, coupled with the sound of a little one wailing. Grabbing up his long rapier, he charged out to confront the intruders.

Buckler skidded to a halt. Abbess Marjoram, Clarinna, Jango’s wife, Furm, Drull Hogwife and Dymphnia, Witherspyk, clutching Dubdub to her, were surrounded by Zwilt the Shade and his four Ravagers. Buckler knew that only by keeping cool could he rescue them.

Leaning on his sword, he shook his head at the foebeast, commenting scornfully, “Making war on ladies and an infant now, ’tis a brave thing t’do. What a great pity a real warrior’s turned up. So, what’ll you do now, coward?”

Zwilt’s broadsword was already drawn. He drove his Ravagers away from him. “Stand clear and keep a watch on the others, lest they try to run outside and give the alarm. Well, rabbet, come for a lesson in swordplay, have you?” He began circling, his blade swishing the air as he limbered up his paw.

Buckler circled in the opposite direction, holding his weapon lightly. He smiled coldly. “Always ready to learn, if you think you’re the master, though I thought babe stealing was your chosen trade.”

Both beasts continued circling, drawing closer to each other. It was obvious Zwilt and Buckler were skilled swordbeasts. They locked eyes, never letting their gaze stray. Moving nearer, they walked side on, to present the narrowest target. Footpaws braced nimbly, each seeking an opening.

Herded to the side of the stairway by their captors, Marjoram and her friends watched the duel.

Zwilt, feeling he was close enough, made the initial move. Bounding at his opponent, he struck out with the broadsword, hissing viciously, “Tizzzzz death!”

Buckler sidestepped, countering with a single slash which deflected the broadsword. As he passed Zwilt, he flicked out his blade, nicking his enemy’s ear.

Zwilt lashed out on the turn, laying a wound across Buckler’s cheek. The young hare knew that stopping to consider a cut was fatal in a fight to the death. Ducking low, he scythed out with the long rapier, slashing Zwilt’s left footpaw.

With his blade cutting whirring arcs, the sable warmed to the attack, pacing high, stepping forward, seeking to drive the hare back.

Buckler, familiar with the move, stood his ground, jabbing with his swordpoint between Zwilt’s swings. The sable felt the rapier tip jab his sword paw—he was forced to back off.

Now Buckler came forward. Step! Jab! Parry! Lunge! Zwilt went sideways, one of his swings catching the young hare’s side at the waist. Grabbing the big broadsword in both paws, Zwilt battered away at Buckler, who was forced to crouch.

Using this position to his advantage, the hare came upward in a leap, shouting his war cry. “Eulaliaaa!” He drove his adversary backward with a speedy display of figure-of-eight maneuvers.

Steel clashed upon steel. Zwilt was driven backward; he bounded onto the stairway, but Buckler was there first. Skipping up a few steps, the hare gained the advantage, coming down on the sable like a thunderbolt. The clang of weapons striking each other echoed about Great Hall.

Both contestants were panting heavily as they hacked and thrust, each desperate to finish off the other. They battled upon the sweeping flight of stairs, up and down, neither giving an inch. Zwilt was swinging wildly when a fierce slash from Buckler scored his muzzle. He retreated downstairs, leaving a blood trail behind him. Clamping a paw to his wounded side, the young hare hastened to the attack.

Zwilt was losing the fight. He knew he had met a sword-beast who was more than his match. For the first time in his life, the sable felt the broadsword was becoming too heavy to lift. The hare was still light on his paws, wielding the rapier with skill and vigour. So Zwilt the Shade made the only move left open to him.

Hurtling down the stairs, he grabbed baby Dubdub from his mother’s paws. Holding his blade against the tiny hog’s throat, Zwilt rasped viciously, “Get back, or this one’s a deadbeast!”

Dymphnia Witherspyk tried to snatch her baby back. “Don’t hurt him, give him to me! Oh, please!”

Abbess Marjoram pulled Dymphnia away. “Stay clear, friend, or he’ll hurt the little one, I know he will. His kind are evil—stay clear!”

Dubdub squealed as Zwilt squeezed him. The sable gestured at the ladies, snarling savagely, “Get out of here, you lot. My business is with the rabbet, not you. Begone quickly or the babe suffers!”

Buckler beckoned the ladies away. “The babe will be alright. Go now. I’ll settle things with this vermin!”

Abbess Marjoram shepherded them away to the other end of the hall. Still keeping his blade ready, Buckler confronted his foe. “So, now what?”

Zwilt moved out into the open, holding the baby hog tight. “Throw your sword away, rabbet!”

The young hare hesitated.

Zwilt raised his voice. “Cast that blade away or I’ll have this one in two pieces!”

The long rapier clattered on stone floor as Zwilt ordered his four Ravagers, “Get him—take hold of him, now!”

Buckler called out as they seized him, “Are you going to let the babe go free?”

Zwilt’s smile was cold evil. “Of course I am. As soon as I’ve slain you!”

Dubdub wriggled, squealing, “Leggo me, nastybeast!”

Buckler held out his paw, cautioning the infant hog, “Be still, now, and stay quiet. You’ll soon be back with your mamma.”

He nodded at the tall sable. “A life for a life, then. Is that the bargain?”

Skilfully, Zwilt flicked Buckler’s fallen rapier with the blade of his broadsword. It skittered away to where it was totally out of the young hare’s reach.

The sable eyed his captive coldly.

“The time for bargaining is over. You are in no position to bargain. This babe may live, then again, he may not. A lot of your friends will die before Zwilt the Shade and his Ravagers are done here.”

Enraged by his captor ’s treachery, Buckler bounded forward, trying to reach Zwilt, but the vermin guards clung to him. Sinews stood out on the hare’s neck as he yelled, “Coward! Liar! The old sayin’ is right! The best vermin is a dead one! Zwilt the Shade? Hah! Zwilt the Scum, more like it!”

The sable was shaking with rage at the insult. He passed Dubdub to one of the Ravagers.

“Get him to those stairs. Kneel him down and grab his ears. We’ll see what he has to say when his head is decorating the point of a spear!”

The guards dragged Buckler, struggling wildly, to the stairs. Forcibly, they made him kneel, two holding his forepaws from behind, with the remaining one tugging on his ears, stretching his neck taut.

Zwilt stood over his victim, raising the big broadsword aloft to judge the strike. “Well, rabbet, you don’t look so brave now, do you?”

Craning his head sideways, Buckler stared with loathing at his enemy. “I don’t answer to cowards!”

The broad blade flashed in the candlelit hall. Then it stopped in midair. Zwilt was still grasping it, but his mouth was wide open, as though he was silently screaming.

Buckler watched in amazement as the sable lost his grip on the sword. He swayed once, then fell to a kneeling position, facing his intended victim. A hoarse rattle issued from Zwilt’s throat; his eyes held a look of surprise as he stared at Buckler. Then he toppled sideways on the stairs. Dead!

Clarinna was bent over him still holding the hilt of Martin the Warrior’s legendary sword, which she had driven deep between Zwilt’s shoulder blades. The harewife stood dry-eyed, her voice unusually harsh for such a gentle creature.

“That’s for Clerun Kordyne, the father of my babes, who you murdered!”

Baby Dubdub lay on the floor where the guard had placed him before running off with the other Ravagers, who had quickly released Buckler. He seemed none the worse for his recent ordeal, repeating the last word he had heard, over and over.

“Murdered, murdered, murdered!”

Leaving Martin’s sword protruding from Zwilt, Clarinna picked up little Dubdub. She wept into his tender spikes.

Abbess Marjoram came hurrying with her friends. Buckler stood, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the stiffness. He gathered the broadsword and the medal from his fallen enemy’s neck, passing them to Clarinna. “These belong in your family. I’m sorry I couldn’t have slain Zwilt for you, marm.”

Abbess Marjoram had retrieved Buckler’s blade. She held it out to him. “Don’t be sorry. You did something far braver than slaying a vermin—you offered to sacrifice your life to save another.”

The young hare did not stop to dispute the point. He sped off, rapier in paw, for the door.

“Maybe so, but there’s four vermin loose within Redwall, and we’re being invaded from the west flatlands!”

30

Buckler came running up to the walltop, thinking to use it as a viewpoint to seek out the four vermin guards. He was almost knocked flat by Bartij, who bustled past him carrying a boulder.

The big hedgehog beckoned to the stones piled on the walkway. “Lend a paw here, Buck. We need more stones. That young badgermaid’s got our cattypult goin’. Hoho, ye should see it lobbin’ stones at yon vermin!”

Skipper was alongside the ballista, waving. “Ahoy, mate, come an’ see this thing workin’!”

Ambrevina had made a few alterations to the weapon. Now it had two thick young alder saplings, sturdy trunks, culled from the Abbey grounds. Between these, an old canvas groundsheet was laced. She had rigged the whole thing up on the original timbers. Ropes were attached to the tops of the alders. These were secured to a heavy baulk of oak, which had a hole drilled in it. A team of moles and Witherspyk hogs hauled on the ropes, leaning their weight on the oaken baulk. This bent the alder saplings backward until a wooden peg, anchored to the timber base, could be inserted into the baulk hole.

Four good-sized rocks were laid in the canvas sling. Jango stood on the battlements, watching the oncoming Ravagers. The Guosim Log a Log called the range. “Back! Stop! Left a bit! Stop! Ready, Ambry!”

Using a bung mallet, the badgermaid knocked the peg out with a sharp tap, releasing the stone load. There was a whoosh of air as the four rocks shot off over the battlements and out over the flatland into the ranks of the advancing vermin. Even though they scattered, the missiles fell so swiftly that two were slain and three more lay injured, screaming in the dust.

Skipper nodded at the Abbey building. “Everythin’ alright down there, Buck?”