Groffgut stopped dancing, tears beading in his squinched eyes. He saw that it was a lone otter. Waving his numbed paw at the gang, he screeched, “Kill dat riverdog t’bits. Slay ’er!”
Frogeye leaped forward, thrusting with his spear. Tiria sidestepped it. Swinging the stone-loaded sling, she brought it crashing into the rat’s jaw as she roared, “Redwaaaaallll!”
Brinty and Tribsy charged out of the bushes, laying about heftily with their long staves. Girry dropped down onto the bough which held the big bird. Leaping from there to the ground, he scattered the smouldering fire with his axe. Tribsy gave Plugtail a crack across both legs with his staff, which sent the rat hurtling into the stream. Brinty brought the butt of his staff straight into Groffgut’s belly as he reached with his good paw for the sword. Then he began lambasting the gang chief mercilessly. Tiria was everywhere at once, flailing with her loaded sling, cracking the rats’ paws, ribs, tails and heads. Whilst all this was going on, Girry placed his back beneath the bird’s head and supported it.
Taken aback by the ambush, most of the rats fled for their lives, leaving only three of their number at the scene. Threetooth and Frogeye were stretched out senseless; Groffgut, unfortunately, was still conscious, wailing and pleading as Brinty whacked on at him in a frenzy, yelling at him with each blow he delivered. “Dirty! Filthy! Torturer!”
Tiria seized the young mouse, lifting him clear of his target. “Enough, he’s had enough! Do you want to kill him?”
Brinty was still waving his staff at empty air, roaring, “Aye, I’ll kill the scum sure enough. Rotten, murdering torturer. He’s not fit to stay alive!”
Tiria squeezed Brinty hard. “Now stop that, this instant!”
The young mouse suddenly calmed down. He dropped his staff at the realisation of the wild way he had been behaving. “Sorry, mate, I must have got carried away!”
Tribsy chuckled. “Hurr, you’m surrpintly did, zurr, boi okey, Miz Tiria. Coom on, let’s get ee pore burd daown!”
Tiria relieved Girry by holding the weight of the limp hawk. The young squirrel took his axe, clambered up into the tree and cut the rope with a single stroke.
The ottermaid lowered the bird gently to the ground, murmuring softly to it, even though it was unconscious. “There there, easy now. You’re among friends. We’ll get you back to Redwall Abbey. You’ll be taken care of there, I promise.”
Girry bounded out of the tree, calling to Tribsy, “Come on, we’ll get the cart to carry the big bird on.”
Tiria stayed by the hawk’s side. “Good idea, mates. Brinty, you keep an eye on that rat, he looks like their leader.”
The young mouse strode over to Groffgut, issuing a harsh warning. “One move out of you, lardbelly, and I’ll break your skull!”
Then he picked up Groffgut’s sword and flung it into the stream as the rat gang chief lay there helplessly, glaring hatred at Brinty through his swollen eyes.
When they returned with the cart, it took three of them to lift the big bird on. It lay limp atop the wood cargo.
Tribsy stroked its head. “Do ee bee’s still naow, burd. We’m friends, acumm to ’elp ee.”
The bird’s golden eyes opened for a brief moment before it passed out again. Tribsy patted it gently. “Thurr naow, ee pore creetur, you’m sleep well. Us’ll watch o’er ee ’til you’m gets to ee h’Abbey!”
Tiria settled the bird more comfortably on the cart and went to Brinty. The young mouse was wielding his staff, standing guard over Groffgut. The ottermaid nodded approvingly. “Well done, mate. I think you knocked all the fight out of that one!”
She turned the rat over with her footpaw. “Listen carefully, vermin. We’re not murderers like you, that’s why you’re still alive. But I warn you, stay out of Mossflower, or you won’t get off so lightly next time.”
Groffgut made as if to snarl, but Brinty jabbed him sharply. “Listen, scumface. If you ever cross my path again, I’ll break your skull. Do I make myself clear?”
The gang leader never answered. He lay there, his whole body one throbbing pulse of pain from the beating Brinty had given him. Then he spat contemptuously, still glaring at the young mouse. Brinty took a step forward, but Tiria pulled him away.
“Come on, leave him. We’ve got to get the poor bird back to Redwall. I think that vermin’s learned his lesson.”
Groffgut watched them go. When they were safely out of earshot, he stared balefully at Brinty’s back, muttering, “I won’t ferget you, mousey, oh no! Next time we meet will be yer dyin’ day. But I’ll make it nice’n’slow for ye!”
As the friends made their way along the streambank, Tiria noticed that Brinty’s paws were shaking and his jaw was trembling. “Are you alright, mate?” she murmured.
The young mouse shook his head. “I’ve never raised my paw in anger against another creature before, and I’ve never been in a fight. I don’t know what happened to me back there. That rat was much bigger than me. If he could have reached his sword, he’d have slain me easily. You know me, Tiria, I’m usually the most peaceful of mice. But when I thought of the way that rat had treated the bird, well, I just lost control. I’m sorry.”
Tiria winked at her friend. “No need to be sorry, Brinty. Some of the quietest creatures can fight like madbeasts when they’re roused. You did a brave thing, going at the rat like you did.”
Brinty strove to keep his paws from shaking. “Maybe so, but it’s not a very pleasant feeling afterwards, remembering what you did. I would have killed him if you hadn’t pulled me off. I don’t think I’d ever like to fight again, it’s too upsetting.”
The twin bells of Redwall, Methusaleh and Matthias, were tolling out their evening peal as the cart reached the Abbey gates. Tiria banged at the entrance. Hillyah and her husband, Oreal, two harvest mice, served as the Abbey Gatekeepers. The couple lived in the gatehouse with their twin babes, Irgle and Ralg.
Oreal called out from behind the huge timber gates, “Say who ye are. Do ye come in peace to our Abbey?”
Girry answered the challenge. “It’s the wood gatherers, open up! We’ve got an injured beast here that needs help!”
Unbarring the main gates, the Gatekeepers opened one side, allowing the friends to pass through with the cart.
The little harvest mouse twins squeaked aloud at the sight of the big bird draped on the wooden cargo. “Yeeeek! A hinjerbeast!”
Their mother drew them aside. “It’s not a hinjerbeast, it’s an injured beast, an eagle I think, though I’ve never seen one before.”
Tiria allowed the harvest mouse family to help with pushing the cart up to the Abbey building. “The elders will tell us what type of bird it is, once we get it safely inside.”
Abbess Lycian and her friend Burbee awaited them on the Abbey steps, along with Skipper, Foremole Grudd and Brink Greyspoke. Skipper shook his daughter’s paw heartily.
“Stripe me rudder, gel! That’s a fair ole cargo o’ wood, but is that a dead bird you’ve brought us?”
The little twins piped up together, “It’s a hinjerbeast, Skip!”
Abbess Lycian hastened forward to inspect the creature. “It’s alive, but only just, poor thing. How did this happen?”
Girry explained eagerly. “A gang of water rats had it tied up, hanging from a tree. They were tormenting it, but we stopped ’em with our staves. Hah, you should’ve seen Tiria, though, she charged right in and battered the bark off those rats with her sling. They soon cleared off, dirty cowards!”
Brink interrupted. “Tell us later, young Girry. Let’s get this pore bird some attention afore ’tis a deadbeast. Tribsy, run an’ fetch Brother Perant, he’ll know wot t’do. Brinty, go an’ get ole Quelt the Recorder. I’ll wager he’ll know wot kind o’ bird this ’un is.”