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HIGH RHULAIN
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with The Redwall La Dita Co., Ltd.
Copyright © 2005 by The Redwall La Dita Co., Ltd.
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ISBN : 978-1-101-20849-6
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For my friend
Alan Ingram,
the guardian at Redwall’s gate!
BOOK ONE
The Forgotten Tome
1
BOOK TWO
The Fool of the Sea
119
BOOK THREE
Across the Western Sea
221
When autumn’s day grows old,
sad orchard leaves do fall.
Dawn breaks o’er silent gardens,
bereft of sweet birdcall.
Stark winter’s dirge then wails,
until the earth appears,
white clad ’neath drifted dunes,
whilst trees bear crystal spears.
My chamber is a refuge here,
against the snowbound night,
a flickering cave of crimson gold,
made warm by firelight,
where images are conjured,
of friends I used to know.
I battled and I marched with them,
one dusty long-ago.
I see them now arise again,
in memory that ne’er will fail.
Their legend is reborn anew,
and thus begins my tale.
BOOK ONE
The Forgotten Tome
1
The wind moaned like a wounded beast in the southwest. Gathering speed, it ripped over the heaving ocean, smashing the dark wavecrests to boiling foam. Evening skies darkened as the bruised heavy underbellies of cloudbanks tumbled into a chaotic stampede of black and leaden grey. Lightning scarred the skies. Thunder boomed out, like the sound of mountains cracking from peak to base. On Green Isle, the still waters of loughs and streams were whipped over their banks, flattening and saturating reed and sedge. Leaves showered widespread as trees shook their heads, goaded by the gale into an insane dance.
None of this concerned the big hawk as it fought for its life. The bird was cornered, even though it had ripped through the catching net with its fearsome talons. It choked and spat at the remnants of the tidbit which had lured it into the snare. But there was something it could not rid itself of: a star-shaped iron barb, which the bait had been wrapped around. It had pierced the roof of the big bird’s mouth; one of the tips protruded from under its beak. Blood bubbled onto the hawk’s throat feathers as it hissed defiance at two young feral cats. They circled their quarry, yowling and spitting, looking for an opening to catch their fierce prey unawares.
Riggu Felis, Warlord of the Green Isle Cats, stood watching his two sons, scorning their efforts to dispatch the wounded bird. The wildcat chieftain turned impatiently to the pine marten, Atunra, his aide and constant companion.
“Gwurr! Is this a kill or a dance? Look ye, they fight like two frightened frogs!”
Atunra flinched as both young cats leapt back, a hair’s breadth from the wounded hawk’s lethal talons. “The big bird is a dangerous fighter, Chief. It is wise they do not rush in at it.”
Riggu Felis gave a snort of derision. Casting aside his single-bladed war axe, he threw off his battle helmet and cloak, oblivious to the wind and rain.
“Garrah! I have raised cowards for sons! Step aside, ye weaklings. I can snap that thing’s neck like a twig!”
As his two sons gave way, the big wildcat bounded in. Tail waving, ears flattened and fangs bared, he howled his challenge. “Arrrreeeekkaaarrrr!”
The wildcat chieftain made a barbaric sight, but the hawk was a born warrior and not easily daunted. Shaking its wings free of the last net strands, it powered itself straight at the foebeast’s face, avoiding the outstretched claws. The savage, hooked talons struck true, deep into the area betwixt eyes and nostrils. Spreading its mighty wings, the big bird flapped a short distance into the air.
Riggu Felis screeched in pain, hanging helpless for a brief moment. Then his weight sent him crashing to the ground as the hawk winged upward and out of the trees. Both the young cats and the pine marten dashed forward to help, but too late. The bird had flown.
High into the raging gale it swooped, where it was flung by the elements into the maelstrom of keening wind and battering rain. Up and away it went, like a dead leaf in an autumnal gale—head over tail, talons over wings, a flurry of dark brown and white plumage, resembling a tattered quilt. Off, off, over glade, swamp, stream, sward and lough, across dune and shoreline. Out over the thunderous might of raging seas.
The warlord Riggu Felis lay senseless on the wet earth. His sons looked on in horrified awe as Atunra inspected the gruesome injury inflicted by the bird. Quickly she held his head facedown, wiping away the gore as she issued hasty instructions to the young feral cats.