Chapter One
Loneliness was everywhere. Hopelessness and an air of foreboding had settled over the western shores, casting their pall over land, sea and the mountain of Salamandastron. Yet nobeast knew the cause of it. A pale moon of early spring cast its wan light down upon the face of the mighty deeps, touching each wind-driven wavetop with flecks of cold silver. Soughing breakers crashed endlessly upon the strand, weary after their journey from the corners of the earth. Above the tideline, gales chased dry sand against the rocks, forcing each particle to sing part of the keening dirge that blended with the sounds of the dark ocean.
In his chamber overlooking the scene, Lord Stonepaw sat in his great chair, feeling as ancient as the mountain he ruled. In one corner, his bed stood neatly made, unused now for a score of seasons. He was far too old; the ritual of lying down each night and rising next day had become painful for his bones. Drawing his cloak tight against vagrant night chills, the once mighty Badger Lord squinted rheumily out to sea, worrying constantly about his domain.
Without bothering to knock, a venerable hare creaked his way into the chamber, leaning heavily upon a small serving cart which he was pushing before him. Stonepaw's efforts to ignore him were of no avail. He fussed hither and thither, like a broody hen with only one chick, chunnering constantly as he went about his chores. "Mmmm, no fire lit again, eh, m'lud? Catch your death o' cold one night y'will, mark m'words!"
Sparks from the flint he was striking against a blade, coupled with his wheezy blowing, soon had a flame from dry moss crackling against pine twigs. "Hmmm, that's better, wot? C'mon, get this supper down. You've got to blinkin' well eat to live, y'know!" Stonepaw shook his head at the sight of the food his servant was laying out on the small table at his side. "Leave me alone, Fleetscut. I'll have it later." "No y'won't, sire, you'll flippin' well have it now! I ain't goin' t'the bother o' luggin' vittles from the kitchen to watch you let 'em go cold. Hot veggible soup an' fresh bread, that'll do you the world o' good, wot!" The ancient badger sighed with resignation. "Oh, give your tongue a rest. I'll take the soup. Bread's no good t'me, though. Too crusty-hurts my gums." Fleetscut brooked no arguments. Drawing his dagger, he trimmed the crusts from the still oven-warm loaf. "No crusts now, wot? Dip it in your soup, m'lud." The hare perched on the chair arm, helping himself to soup and bread, in the hope that it might encourage his master's appetite. Stonepaw snorted mirthlessly. "Huh, look at us. Me, Stonepaw, hardly able to hold a spoon with the same paws that used to lift huge boulders, and you, Fleetscut, doddering 'round with a trolley!" The hare nudged his old friend and cackled. "Heh heh heh! Mebbe so, but I can still remember the days when I could leap three times as high as that trolley, aye, an' run from dawn to dusk without stoppin' to draw breath. Wasn't a bally hare on the mountain could even stay with my dust trail! Those were the seasons, wot! You, too, Stonepaw. I saw you lift boulders bigger'n yourself when we were young, you could break spears an' bend swords with your bare paws ..." Stonepaw gazed at the paws in question. "That may have been, my old messmate, but look at my paws now, silver-furred, battered, scarred and so full of aches and pains that they're no good for anything!" Fleetscut hauled himself from the chair arm and went to lean at the long window overlooking the sea. "So what's the blinkin' problem? Everybeast has t'grow old, nothin' can stop that. We've had a long an' good life, you'n'me, fought our battles, protected the western coast against all comers, an' never once backed off from any fight. There's been peace now for as long as any creature on the mountain can remember. What're you worryin' about, sire?" With a grunt, Stonepaw rose slowly from his chair and joined his companion at the window. He stared out at the darkened waters as he replied. "Peace has gone on too long. Something inside me says that trouble such as these shores have never known is headed our way. I wished that we could live our days out without having to take up arms again, Fleetscut, but deep down I'm stone cold certain it won't happen. Worst part of it is that I can't even guess what the future holds." Fleetscut looked strangely at the Badger Lord, then shuddered and went to warm himself by the fire. "Sire, I know exactly how you feel. Matter o' fact, I was thinkin' those very thoughts this afternoon, when old Blench the cook said to me: 'Looks like evil comin' soon.' She says: 'See for yourself, there ain't a sight or sound of a single bird anywhere on land or sea!'" Lord Stonepaw stroked his long silver beard thoughtfully. "Blench was right, too, now you come to mention it. Where do you suppose all the birds have gone? The skies are usually thick with gulls, cormorants, petrels and shearwaters in late spring." Fleetscut shrugged expressively. "Who knows what goes on in the mind of a seabird? Maybe they know things we don't. Stands t'reason, though, sire,-why should they hang about if they know somethin' bad is due to come here?"
The badger smiled at his faithful old friend. "Why indeed? They have no duty to protect this coast and they can always build nests elsewhere. Leave me now, I'll talk to you on the morrow. There are things I must do." Fleetscut had never questioned his Badger Lord's authority, and was not about to do so now. Bobbing a stiff bow he left the chamber, pushing his trolley. Lord Stonepaw made his way to the secret chamber where countless other Badger Rulers of Salamandastron had gone to dream mysterious dreams. It was a place that would have made the hairs on any other creature's back stand stiff. Ranged around the walls of the inner chamber were lines of little carvings, telling of the mountain's history. Guarding it in fearsome armored array stood the mummified bodies of past Badger Warriors: Urthrun the Gripper, Spearlady Gorse, Bluestripe the Wild, Ceteruler the Just and many other legendary figures. From his own lantern, Stonepaw lit three others. Then, taking a pawful of herbs from a shelf, he sprinkled them into the lantern vents. As the sweet-smelling incense of smoke wreathed him, he sat down upon a carved rock throne. Closing both eyes, he breathed in deeply and let his mind take flight. After a while he began speaking. "If the gates of Dark Forest lie open for me soon, if the shadow of evil darkens our western shores, who will serve in my stead? My hares are scattered far and wide. Peacetime makes young warriors restless; they are gone questing afar for adventure. Only the old guard are left here with me on this mountain, dim of eye and feeble of limb, the seasons of their strength long flown." Lord Stonepaw's eyes began flickering, and the herbal smoke swirled about his great silver head as he sat up straight, his voice echoing around the rockbound cavern.
"Where is the strongest of the strong? Who can be so perilous that a force of fighting hares will rise and tollow that creature? Is there a badger roaming the earth brave and mighty enough to become Lord of Salamandastron?" Outside on the strand, the gale increased, waves crashed widespread on the tideline in their effort to conquer the land, like a maddened beast the ocean roared. Sand swept upward into winding columns, driving, spiraling, crazily across the shore. Yet still was there no sound of birds or any other living thing to be heard. A foreboding of great evil lay over the land and sea. But nobeast knew the cause of it. ... Yet.
Chapter Two
In the northeast reaches of Mossflower Wood a traveler had walked straight into trouble. Drigg Slopmouth and his brood numbered thirteen in all, nasty, vicious stoats every one. Drigg's family loved to cheat, lie, steal, bully or murder, even among themselves; their chief hatred was honest toil. The only work they had done that day was to lie in wait for an unsuspecting wayfarer, a lanky, carefree young hare known to her friends as Dotti. She was reckless and impatient and not overfond of studying, but what she lacked in scholarly achievement she made up for in impudence, courage and a sharp wit. The realization that she was surrounded by Drigg and his band of robbers did not seem to upset her unduly.
She nodded amiably at them. "Good mornin', chaps an' chappesses. Not a bad old sort o' day for the time of season, wot!" A snigger arose from the stoats. "Lookit wot we caught, Drigg-a posh rabbit!" Dotti rounded on the speaker, a fat, frowsy female. "Specifically incorrect, doncha know, my old stoatess. I'm a hare, not a rabbit. Now say it correctly after me. Lookit wot we caught, Drigg-a posh hare."
Drigg stepped between them, pointing to the traveling haversack, which resembled an outsized handbag, swinging from the young hare's paw. "Empty yer bag on the ground!"
Dotti smiled sweetly at him. "Oh, I'd rather not, sir. It'd take me half the day to get the jolly old thing repacked, wot!"
A large, dim-looking stoat, Drigg's eldest son, pushed forward. "Then tell us wot you got in yer bag, an' don't say it isn't nothin'." Dotti clucked reprovingly. "You mean don't say it isn't anything. Dearie me, I'll bet you never attended woodland school." The big stoat snarled, pawing at a long dagger he wore hanging from his belt. "Just show us wot's in the bag, rabbit!" The haremaid wagged a paw at him. "There you go again with that rabbit error. Did I call you a stoat? Of course I didn't. It's obvious to anybeast you're an oversized toad. Oh, sorry, the bag. Here, you take it!"
Dotti swung the bag, hard. There was a cracking noise as it struck the stoat's head, laying him out flat. She whirled upon the others, a perilous glint in her eyes. "I can forgive bad grammar and insults, but that was a good flagon of old cider, a gift for my aunt Blench, an' that oaf has just broken it with his head. Unforgivable! Ah well, there's only one thing I've got left to say to you lot ... Eulaaaliiiaaaaaa!" The time-honored war cry of fighting hares rang out as Dotti hurled herself upon the would-be robbers, laying about her with her bag left and right, leaping and kicking out fiercely with powerful, rangy footpaws. From the shelter of a broad beech nearby, another traveler watched the mle. He chuckled quietly. The young hare seemed to be doing fine, despite the number of vermin she was facing. Dotti had accounted for three more stoats and was in the process of depriving the fat, frowsy one of her remaining snaggle teeth when Drigg caught her footpaws in a noose. The haremaid was yanked off balance and floored as three stoats leapt upon her back. Drigg Slopmouth drew a sharp double-edged dagger and circled his fallen victim, calling to those who had piled in on her: "Get 'er on 'er back an' stretch 'er neck, so's I can get a stab in. 'Old 'er still, ye blitherin' oafs!"
From his position behind the beech tree, the watcher decided it was time to step in and help the beleaguered hare. Drigg screeched in terror as he was lifted into the air and used as a swatter to knock the other stoats willy-nilly. His flailing paws swept vermin left and right, the wind was knocked from him as his stomach connected with the back of another, and stars exploded when his head cracked against the jaw of a hefty young stoat. Dotti scrambled upright swinging her bag, but there was nobeast to strike. Vermin lay everywhere, those still conscious moaning aloud, nursing their injuries. Drigg still hung, half dazed, from the paw of a mighty male badger. The huge creature looked like one who would brook no nonsense from anybeast, from his wild dark eyes and rough, bearded muzzle to the homespun tunic and traveler's cloak he wore. An immense double-hilted battle sword hung at his back. He tossed Drigg aside like a discarded washrag and nodded sternly at the haremaid. "I've been watching you awhile from behind yon beech. For a young 'un you were doing well, until they came at you from behind. Remember, if there's more than one enemy always get your back against a rock or a tree." The haremaid kicked over a stoat who was struggling to rise. She addressed the badger none too cordially. "Well you've got a bally nerve I must say, tellin' a gel how t'conduct her battles, while you sit hidden on the blinkin' sidelines watchin'. Are you sure it wasn't too much bother, havin' to jolly well get off your bottom an' help me out?" The badger shrugged noncommittally. "As I said, I thought you were doing quite well. If I'd thought you could have taken them single-pawed I wouldn't have stepped in."
Dotti was subject to instant mood changes. She smiled, scratching ruefully at her long ears. "Hmm, suppose you're right. I lost my head a bit when that flagon of rare old cider got broken. Confounded stoat must have a noggin like a boulder. Never lose one's temper, that's what my old mum used t'say." The badger nodded sagely, carelessly stepping on Drigg's tail as the stoat tried to crawl away. "She sounds like a wise creature to me. Pity you never heeded her words. By the way, my name's Lord Brocktree." The haremaid clapped a paw to her cheek. "Oh my giddy aunt! I do apologize for speakin' to you in that sharp manner, sah. I didn't know you were a Badger Lord!" A ghost of a smile hovered around Brocktree's stern face. "No matter. You were upset at the time. What do they call you, miss?" The haremaid did an elegant leg, half bow, half curtsy. "Dorothea Duckfontein Dillworthy at y'service, sah, but I'm generally called Dotti, though my papa always said you could call me anything as long as you didn't call me late for lunch. 'Scuse me a tick ..." The fat, frowsy female stoat had risen and was preparing to make a run for it. Dotti reflattened her with a well-placed swing of her bag. She gestured at Drigg's band. "What do we do with this covey of curmudgeons, m'lord?" With a fearsome swish, Lord Brocktree drew his great battle sword. It was almost as tall as himself, with a blade wide as two dock leaves. A moan of fear arose from the stoats. Holding it single-pawed between the double hilt, Brocktree swung the huge weapon, making the air thrum like a swan taking off into flight. Whump!
He buried the point deep in the earth, and his voice dropped to a dangerous growl as he addressed the cowed vermin.
"I save my sword for proper combat with real warriors. Scum such as you would only dishonor its blade. But I will make exceptions if any of you are still within my sight by the time I have counted to three. Remember, I always keep my word ... One!" Dotti was bowled over in the mad scramble. Before the Badger Lord had counted further, Drigg Slopmouth and his wicked brood had vanished. Dotti chuckled. "By gum, that's what I should've done in the first place. Pity I didn't have a sword like this one. What a smashin' old destroyer it is!" She tugged with both paws, unearthing the blade, then fell over backward under its colossal weight. "Flamin' sunsets, sah! How d'you handle a weapon like this?" For answer, the badger picked up his sword, twirled it in a warrior's salute and stowed it one-pawed across his broad back, nodding seriously at her. "Strength, I suppose. They say I was born even stronger than my father, Lord Stonepaw." Dotti flopped her ears understandingly. "I know what y'mean. Beauty's always been my curse-they say I was born more beautiful than the jolly old settin' sun at solstice. That's prob'ly what made those blinkin' stoats attack me-somebeasts take beauty as a sign o' weakness, y'know. I say, did you mention that old Lord Stonepaw was your pater?" Brocktree retrieved his traveling bag from behind the beech and shouldered it. "I did. Why, do you know of him.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Lord Brocktreeby Brian Jacques Copyright © 2000 by The Redwall Abbey Company, Ltd. . Excerpted by permission.
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