[Redwall 18] - High Rhulain Read online

  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 praise—warriors, 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.”

  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 Fortress—her 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.”

  Having installed herself on top of the gatehouse steps at the west walltop, Sister Snowdrop took full advantage of the generosity of the Abbess and Burbee. Dunking arrowroot and almond biscuits into a steaming beaker of mint and comfrey tea, she indicated a large, thick, green volume she had brought with her.

  “Feast your eyes on this, my friends. What do you think of it?”

  Abbess Lycian topped up Snowdrop’s beaker from her seemingly ever-full teapot. “Pray, what are we supposed to think of it? The thing looks very much like a dusty old green book to me.”

  Snowdrop spluttered on a soggy biscuit, as though she could hardly believe what the Abbess had just said. “Can’t you see? It’s the rare, original Geminya Tome, that’s what it is. Dusty old green book, indeed!”

  Abbess Lycian was completely unruffled by the revelation. “How nice, but what exactly is a rare original Geminya Tome, if I may make so bold as to ask?”

  The little Sister was wide-eyed with disbelief. “Surely you’re joking, Mother Abbess! You mean to tell me you’ve never heard of it?”

  Breaking off, Snowdrop stared around at the others. “Have none of you ever heard of the Geminya Tome?”

  Molemum Burbee came out with one of her gems of mole logic. “No, we’m bain’t, moi dearie, an’ oi aspeck we’m never will, unlest you’m tell us’n’s. Boi ’okey, scholarybeasts can bee’s gurtly aggurvatin’, hurr aye!”

  Tiria supported the good molemum firmly. “Please, Sister Snowdrop, can you just get on and tell us about your precious Geminya Tome?”

  Stroking the volume’s faded green cover, the old Assistant Librarian explained. “This is something that has been lost to the sight of Redwallers since Old Quelt was young. He has often told me of it. Sister Geminya was a mouse who lived at our Abbey in the long distant past. She was a highly knowledgeable scholar, specialising in the solving, and setting, of all types of riddles and puzzles. Many considered Geminya to be the cleverest creature in all Mossflower. However, genius has its drawbacks: She was also renowned as an odd, reclusive and quirky beast, very secretive and annoyingly condescending to all. Just examine her name, it was a title she gave to herself. Look at the name of her book, the Geminya Tome! Artful I grant you, but extremely vain!”

  Skipper tapped his rudder impatiently. “Ye’ll forgive us who ain’t scholars, Sister, but wot makes a book called the Geminya Tome so extremely vain?”

  Taking a piece of charcoal from her waist pouch, Snowdrop began scribbling on the walltop paving. “Look, I’ll show you. Take the letters of her name, Geminya. Switch them about and it becomes Enigma Y.”

  Brinty looked at the writing. “What’s an enigma?”

  Abbess Lycian kindly explained to the young mouse, “It’s merely an educated name for a riddle or a puzzle.”

  Snowdrop continued writing. “Exactly. Now take the letter Y. It has the same sound as the word we use when asking a question, ‘why.’ Then there’s the word ‘tome,’ which means a great weighty volume. But split it in half, and it becomes two smaller words. Do you see?”

  Girry piped up. “Of course! ‘tome’—‘to me.’ Haha, clever, eh?”

  The Sister had finished writing on the wall paving. “There you have it. Read it out please, Tiria.”

  The ottermaid read out the curious translation. “ ‘Enigma to me. Why?’ ”

  Snowdrop drained her beaker and held it out to be refilled. “Exactly! Now we can see the vanity of Sister Geminya. She’s telling us that she could solve anything. An enigma to me, huh, why?”

  Abbess Lycian smiled. “She was very clever, though.”

  Sister Snowdrop put aside her beaker. “Old Quelt is taking a nap right now. Just wait until he wakes up and I show him this!”

  Tiria was still mystified. “I don’t quite understand, Sister. You’ve found this book and translated its meaning, but how does that help me? Is there anything about Rhulain or the Green Isle in it?”

  Snowdrop began leafing through the yellowed pages of the ancient work, muttering to herself, “Actually, I believe there is something. Now, which page was it on? Hmm, I should have inserted a marker.”

  She stopped at each page she came to, painstakingly inspecting it. “Ah, this is interesting, but that’s not it. Hmm, neither is this. I’m sorry, friends, I’ll get to it sooner or later. One just can’t go riffling slapdash through a work so rare and valuable as this, you know.”

  The onlookers began snorting and tapping their paws impatiently at the dilatory old Sister. Feeling rather sorry for her, Abbess Lycian ventured a helpful suggestion.

  “We realise you’re doing your best, Snowdrop, but it’s starting to get dusky out here. Perhaps if we go inside, conditions may be more favourable for you to study.”

  Sister Snowdrop bobbed a small curtsy to the Abbess. With a speed which was surprising for one of her long seasons, she hopped nimbly off down the wallstairs, calling back as she hurried toward the Abbey, “What a splendid idea! They’ll be serving supper soon. Would one of you kindly bring the book along?”

  Skipper picked up the volume, watching the sprightly Snowdrop skipping up the Abbey steps. “Stan’ on me rudder, there goes a bossy liddle marm, an’ no mistake. I wonder would she like a servant?”

  Girry chuckled ruefully. “She’s already hir
ed one. Me! But we wouldn’t have got this far without her.”

  Lycian began helping Burbee to clear away the tea things. “That’s a kind observation, Girry. We’d all do well to remember it. Come on, young Tribsy, you can carry this teapot.”

  Supper was held in Great Hall for the main body of Redwallers. After saying grace, Abbess Lycian requested that a separate meal be served in Cavern Hole for the riddle solvers. Though smaller, Cavern Hole was more cosy, with armchairs and cushioned wall ledges. It was also well lit by lanterns, and a fire burned in the hearth. Friar Bibble and his assistants set up a buffet for Tiria and her friends. The meal included a long chestnut and apple plait with a crispy golden crust, bean and scallion soup and summer salad. The dessert was a batch of redcurrant tarts with meadowcream. There was cherry cordial to drink, plus the obligatory pot of tea for Lycian and Burbee.

  Old Quelt put in an appearance, happily roused by the discovery of the Geminya Tome. He and Snowdrop took it off to a moss-padded niche. Ignoring the company, they set to work on an eager study of the book.

  Not wanting to disturb the avid scholars, Tiria and her father, joined by Brinty, Tribsy, Girry, Lycian, Burbee and Brink, sat in an opposite corner, discussing the ottermaid’s forthcoming journey to the as-yet-mysterious Green Isle. Brink was most concerned about a boat for the voyage.

  Once again, the helpful Abbess had an idea to propose. “Skipper, you and Brink were close to the watermeadow in Mossflower Wood yesterday. I’m fairly certain that the Guosim shrews meet there for their midsummer festival around this time. Do you think they might be there now?”

  Banjon perked up considerably. “Wot would we do without ye, Mother Abbess! Me’n’Brink’ll set out for the watermeadow first thing tomorrer. If’n my ole mate Log a Log Urfa is there, he’ll soon sort a boat out for that gel o’ mine!”

  Tribsy took his snout out of a soup bowl long enough to enquire, “Wot bee’s a Guosim an’ a Log a Log Urfa, zurr?”