Eulalia! (3 page)

Gorath stared unblinkingly at him, then spoke. “I can talk, but I don't waste my breath speaking to deadbeasts.”

With an expression of comical surprise on his face, Codj looked around at his shipmates. “Did ya 'ear dat? De stripe'ound called me a deadbeast! Idjit, I t'ink Vizka musta knocked yore brains loose when 'e belted ya wid 'is mace. Can't ya see I'm still alive an' kickin'? See, I'll give ya anudder drink, jus' to prove it!”

Even as the contents of the pail sloshed over him, Gorath was still staring at his torturer. This time his voice was dismissive, heavy with contempt.

“You murdered my kinbeasts, so I'm going to kill you. I've said all I have to say to yo…deadbeast!”

Dark blood began rising in Gorath's eyes, clouding them with the fury of Bloodwrath. At that point, Codj's nerve deserted him. Dropping the pail, he fled aft. Still dripping water, the young badger stood, staring after his mortal enemy.

With Salamandastron, his beloved fortress, at his back, Lord Asheye sat on his favourite rock, not far from the front entrance of the mighty mountain stronghold. Turning seaward, the ancient badger sniffed salt-laden air, mingling with the softer aroma of landward breezes. Producing a big, spotted kerchief from his dressing gown sleeve, he blew his snout loudly, and inhaled again. Ah yes, spring was finally done, it was the first day of summer. Tapping the butt of his yew staff against the rock, he hummed one of the Long Patrol hares' marching songs, singing along mentally with the tune.

Lord Asheye allowed himself a rueful smile. Those were the days! Long gone seasons, when he would go roving forth at the head of his Long Patrol. Some of those hares had been sprightly paced, but he could outmarch them all. Aye, those were the days of his strength and prime, full of exuberant power and speed. In those times, there was none to equal Lord Asheye. Nobeast possessed his reckless daring in battle.

He gripped his staff tight, sighed deeply, then released his hold on the stout yew pole. Ah, but then…no creature had the Bloodwrath like him. What had been a boon in youth and war had become a curse in old age and peacetime. Now the countless seasons weighed upon his silvered fur like a millstone. Now he was paying the price for that wild life he had led. The great badger's mighty frame was bent with age, old wounds he had taken were a toll on his stiff limbs.

But the worst penalty by far was his blindness. All those blows and injuries he had sustained, whilst fighting heedlessly in the grip of Bloodwrath. Asheye had paid for them with the loss of his sight. He heaved himself from his seat on the rock, stepped awkwardly upon a small boulder and tripped. Blowing sand from both nostrils, the once-great beast reached out, scrabbling vainly for the staff, which seemed to elude his paws. Lord Asheye smiled bitterly, muttering aloud to himself, “As blind as a badger, hah, where've I heard that before?”

A stout paw passed him the staff, and helped him upright. “'T'wasn't me that said it, sah, you'd have prob'ly taken my bonce off with a single biff, if I had, wot!” The Badger Lord immediately identified the speaker by his firm grip and drawn-out speech mode.

“Ah, Mull, take me inside, will you please.”

Major Mullein Braggwuth Barshaw was a tall, distinguished hare. He wore the dark blue, silver-buttoned tunic of Salamandastron's Commanding Scout Major. Other hares, those of his rank and above, referred to him as Mull. A strict disciplinarian, expert scout and formidable fighter, Mull had been constantly at his Lord's side in the last few seasons. The pair shared a friendship that went back a long way. Mull steered Asheye toward the main fortress door, chatting leisurely.

“Inside it is, sah, teatime doncha know, hot scones, dab o' meadowcream, strawb'rry preserve, an' mint tea, wot! A charmin' an' delicious daily ritual, sah!”

The old Badger Lord shuffled past the main door into a vast, rough-hewn corridor, whose walls were adorned with family crests, suits of armour, fearsome weapons and regimental flags. Lowering his voice, Asheye confided to his companion, “Let's not go into the large Mess Hall. Have them send tea up to my forge room, Mull. I need to speak with you in private. Too much din in that Mess Hall.”

Major Mullein nodded. “Right y'are, sah.” He signalled to a pair of young hares who were on their way to the mess. “Tringle, Furps, nip along and see the Quartermaster Sarn't, will ye. Tell him to set out two trays of afternoon tea for us, bring 'em up to the forge room, if y'd be so kind.”

The youngsters both threw the Major a smart salute. Furp's sister, Tringle, smiled impudently at Mullein. “Both with cream'n'jam, Major?”

Lord Asheye glared her way in mock severity. “With extra cream and jam, young miss. Oh, and Furps, remember which is your left paw and which is your right. Don't go tripping and spilling any, eh.”

Furps bowed awkwardly and stumbled against Tringle. “Oh er, ah, hmm, no trippin' an' spillin', do m'best, y'lordship, I certainly will, wot!”

Both young hares shouted simultaneously, “On y'marks! Get set! Go!” They bounded off at top speed. Major Mullein chuckled.

“Stap me, sah, those two haven't stopped racing against each other since the day they were born.”

The old badger made a shrewd observation. “That's because they both want to be runners in your Scout Patrol, Mull.”

The Major was surprised that Asheye concerned himself with such small details. However, he hid his feelings with a languid drawl. “Do they really, I hadn't noticed, sah.”

 

Lord Asheye's forge room was the traditional retreat of every mountain ruler, going back in time to the first Badger Lord. It had a raised fire at its centre, which was never allowed to go out. Charcoal, seacoal and driftwood were piled along one wall of the room, which had all the trappings of an armourer: two anvils, a quenching vat, a ready supply of metal and well-seasoned timber. The metal for blades, the timber for handles and hafts. There was also a bellows, a barrel of oil and bunches of secret herbs, used in the making of weapons. On the wall opposite the door was a long, open windowspace, facing the shore and the western sea.

Lord Asheye sat on the low, wide sill, beckoning the Major to sit beside him. Mullein had been in the forge room many times, yet he still could not help staring in wonder at the weapons which hung from its walls.

Most of them were made for Warrior Badgers, huge spears, hefty shields, stout longbows with arrows almost as tall as himself, and swords. Such swords they were, legendary weapons of massive proportions, broad-bladed, double-pawed hilts, far too heavy for any but a Badger Lord to wield.

Asheye spread his big, greasy forge apron on the sill between them as a knock sounded on the door. “Ah, the tea. Come in, please!”

It was the first time Furps and Tringle had been permitted to enter this inner sanctum. Their heads swivelled from side to side, trying to take in everything.

Major Mullein hid a smile, cautioning them, “Eyes front, chaps, look where you're jolly well goin'. Lose that tea an' I'll have your tails for dinner, an' your guts for garters.”

Wobbling slightly, the two young hares made their way to the sill and placed the trays down gingerly. Lord Asheye gave their ears a gentle tug.

“Well done, you two. Now, let's see who'll be first back to the mess. On y'marks…get set…go!”

They flew off like twin arrows, with the Major shouting, “I say, shut that door on y'way out! Oh never mind, I'll jolly well do it myself, wot!” He rose and went to shut the door. “Now, sah, what were y'wantin' to chinwag about, eh, wot?” Mullein spread a substantial-looking scone with strawberry preserve and thick meadowcream.

Lord Asheye ignored the food, lowering his voice as he confided to the Major. “This is for your ears alone, Mull, not to go beyond this room. Understood?”

“Indeed, sah, mum's the word, wot!”

Asheye nodded his great silver head. “Good beast, Mull, I know I can depend on you, so listen carefully. Since the turn of the last moon I've been having dreams….”

The Major interrupted with a chuckle. “Know what y'mean, sah, I get 'em m'self. Some pretty odd ones, when I've been scoffin' cheese'n'pickles for supper in the mess.”

Asheye gave a deep snort of irritation. Mullein knew he had said the wrong thing and apologised.

“Ahem, most dreadfully sorry, m'lud, bloomin' silly of me t'mention it. Pray continue, sah!”

The old Badger Lord carried on with what he was saying. “Being blind has sharpened my perception, made me face things more rationally. Though what rhyme or reason there is in the voices of long-gone Badger Lords I cannot say. But I trust in them, and I feel instinctively I must heed their words.

“They have told me of my fate, and mark this, the ones who speak to me in dreams cannot be ignored. This is what I have learned. It is decreed that once the autumn leaves start to fall, I will not be seen again at Salamandastron. So it must be.”

Mullein protested. “Not you, sah, why, you've got absolute scads o' seasons to go yet!”

The ancient badger's immense paw covered his gently. “Now, now, don't go upsetting yourself, my friend. It comes to us all sooner or later. The thought of passing on does not worry me unduly. I've had a fine, long life, much longer than I deserve really, considering the wild path my Bloodwrath led me down. In my dreams I have spoken with the great heroes of Salamandastron, Lord Brocktree, Sunflash the Mace, Boar the Fighter, Urthclaw, and others too numerous to mention. They all tell me one thing: Redwall Abbey will soon be in grave danger!”

Major Mullein sprang from the windowsill, his paw clamped on the sabre hilt at his waist. “Then with your permission, m'lud, I'll arm up the Long Patrol an' get 'em marchin' for the Abbey today!”

Lord Asheye beckoned Mullein to sit down. “If it were that simple, you'd have been on your way with the Patrol three days back.”

The Major's long ears rose stiffly. “Then what the deuce is holdin' the confounded job up?”

Asheye turned his sightless gaze toward his friend. “The new Badger Lord.”

Major Mullein was back up and pacing the chamber. “New Badger Lord, what new Badger Lord? Nobeast told me about any new Badger Lord!”

Asheye waited until the Major slowed his pace. “Listen, Mull, I told you I would not see another summer here, so who'll rule Salamandastron when I'm gone?”

Mullein came to a halt, stamping his footpaw. “But what's all that got to blinkin' well do with Redwall bein' in danger? Really, sah, I'm all at sixes an' flippin' sevens with your dreams'n'riddles!”

Asheye reached out and clasped his friend's paw. “Then sit down and be patient. Here, pour me some tea and I'll explain as best as I can.” The Badger Lord sipped his drink slowly, only continuing when he felt the hare had calmed down. “This Badger Lord who will succeed me, I have learned that he is still a youngbeast. However, he is possessed of an even more ferocious Bloodwrath than was ever inflicted upon me. Our Long Patrol will not be needed at Redwall Abbey because he is fated to be there when the danger arrives. But before he can ever rule this mountain, he must be tested in the fires of battle. Now do you see?”

Mullein stroked his bristling moustache. “Indeed I do, sah. The Lord of Salamandastron must be as wise as he's strong an' warlike. But how will we know this chap, what does he look like, sah?”

Lord Asheye turned his face to the sea. He sat silent, feeling the gentle wind upon his face. Major Mullein watched the old Badger Lord closely, waiting for a reply. There was a long pause, then Asheye suddenly began speaking as though he was in the grip of a trance.

Asheye rose, shaking himself like one waking from sleep. “Great seasons, where did that come from?”

Major Mullein tried not to sound surprised. “Must've been your dream chaps who put it into your head, m'lud. Beggin' y'pardon, but you've never been one for the jolly old poetic verse an' all that, wot! Well, stap me, sah, looks like Redwall's in for a bit of a ding dong. Hmm, an' there's a Champion on the horizon, one who'll flatten the flippin' foebeast, if I'm not mistaken. Sounds like an odd chap from your description, wot? Never heard of a Badger Lord who shuns armour an' bloomin' swords. What I really don't understand is the bit about destiny bein' marked on his brow, an' as for walkin' with a banished one, an' sendin' out a maid to seek for a flame…if y'don't mind me sayin', sah, the whole thing's got me flippin' well flummoxed.”

Asheye took a sip of his tea, which had now grown cold. “Well, old friend, I had no idea that I was going to speak such a rhyme, so you'll excuse me if I confess to being as baffled as you are. However, it does explain a few things from my dreams. The coming trouble at Redwall, and the arrival of a Warrior. Also, the fact that this other badger will rule here in my stead, always supposing that he lives long enough, or isn't defeated in battle. As for the rest, I'm truly puzzled. Where's the maid that we must send forth?”