Humble placed a paw on the otter chieftain’s shoulder. “I say we should carry out Martin’s words to the letter. That is, if Armel and Brooky are willing to undertake the task. As to anything else, I tell you truly. I am only a Cellarhog who was fortunate enough to become Father Abbot of Redwall. As such, I am concerned with its safety, and all the creatures within who are under my care. I know nothing of the ways of war or defence. I have always entrusted those matters to you, Skipper.”
The burly otter bowed slightly. “Thankee, friend, I wouldn’t ’ave it any other way. Now then, Sister Armel, will you carry out the task Martin has sent ye? An’ you, too, Brookflow, ’cos yore the one who sees laughter in all, an’ yore a maid, too. So?”
The Infirmary Sister took Brooky’s paw. “I’ll go if you come with me.”
The sturdy ottermaid giggled with embarrassment. “Heeheeheehee, just you try and stop me!”
Skipper ruffled his niece’s head fondly. Unwinding a sling from his waist, he gave it to her with a full pebble bag. “Take good care o’ this, ye scallywag. ’Tis me best sling. I want ye to take good care o’ Sister Armel, too!”
Brooky helped herself to a slice of the friar’s pie. “Nice sling, nunky Skip. Of course I’ll take care of Armel. If I don’t, you can load me into this sling an’ chuck me out the attic window. Hahahahaha!”
Armel gave her a playful shove. “Don’t worry, Skip, we’ll look out for each other. When do we go?”
Jem looked up from the deep armchair he was occupying. “Travel by night is best. Stick to the shadows on the pathside an’ don’t make any noise. Me’n ole Walt should be goin’ along with ye by rights, but the seasons are weighin’ too ’eavy on us now, an’ we’d be slowin’ ye down, missy.”
Skipper bit his lip, looking a bit worried. “I could hunt out a few o’ my otter mateys. Them stayin’ close by both of ye wouldn’t go amiss. Couple o’ big coves with javelins.”
However, Armel would not hear of this. “Definitely not, but thank you, Skip. Martin was quite clear who should go: ‘My sword must be carried by maidens two, one who sees laughter in all, and you.’ I would not risk disobeying the word of Martin the Warrior. We will leave tonight after supper. The directions are also quite clear—southwest through Mossflower Wood, until we find the Borderer who is a force for good. Right, Brooky?”
The ottermaid nodded cheerily. “Correct. We’re out to deliver Martin’s sword to this Borderer cove. ‘That warrior who sold and lost his sword.’ Bit careless of him, wasn’t it? Hope he doesn’t lose Martin’s sword. Hohohohoho!”
Skipper glared at Brooky so fiercely that she quailed. “Don’t even think of it, Brookflow!”
Supper that evening was served in Great Hall, the tables laid out beneath Martin’s tapestry. Both maids were the centre of attention. It seemed that every Redwaller wanted to give them gifts, either knowledgeable information or equipment for their journey.
“Yurr, marm, take ee moi likkle dagger, h’it bee’s gurtly sharp. An’ take ee moi ole granfer’s cloak, too!”
“Remember now, if ye see any vermin, don’t stop to talk with the nasty sly brutes. You just run off, fast as y’can!”
Humble cast an amused glance at Armel. “I think you and Brooky will leave here with more information than your heads can carry, and more clothing, food and weapons than your paws can bear, eh Sister?”
Armel put aside a lucky pebble, which had been donated by Mudge the molebabe. “Aye, Father, but everything is given in friendship and with good heart. How can we refuse them?”
Wandering Walt whispered to her, “Doan’t ee fret, marm. Give ’em all to oi. Oi’ll give ee h’all ee gifts back on yore safe return, hurr aye.”
Brooky interrupted. “Thankee, Walt. How’s the footpaw, still split? Maybe it’ll split altogether. Then you’ll have three footpaws. Hahahaha!”
Old Walt chuckled. “Nay, marm, oi spreaded et with ee h’ointment from Sister’s affirmery. ’Tis foine now. Oi’m gurtly taken with ee affirmery medicines, they’m gudd.”
Armel took a quick peep at Walt’s footpaw. “Well done, sir! Perhaps you’d like to fill in as Infirmary Keeper while I’m away?”
The ancient mole beamed with pleasure. “Thankee gurtly, Sister. ’Twould be noice to ’old such an ’igh posishun!”
Brooky raised her goblet to him. “Listen everybeast, this good mole is our new healer. From now on, he will be known as Sister Walt. Hahahahaha!”
Foremole Bruffy called out, “Yurr Sister, can ee cure moi blister? If’n ee do, oi’ll give ee a gurt kiss. Hurrhurrhurr!”
Walt scowled. “Burr, then oi’ll raise anuther blister, zurr, roight on ee skull!”
Good food and merry banter went back and forth. Humble waited until there was a lull in the proceedings before he signalled to Skipper. The otter chieftain went to the tapestry. Standing upon a tall chair, he took the sword of Martin from its two brackets above the tapestry. A hush fell over all as he laid the blade on the table in front of Armel.
The Abbot addressed her in a voice which could be heard by every Redwaller present. “This is the sword of Martin the Warrior, made by a Badger Lord in the fires at Salamandastron. It is said that the blade was forged from the metal of a star which fell from the skies. This sword has always stood as a symbol of truth, honour and justice at Redwall. I place it in your care, Sister Armel. You must promise to bring it back here when its task is fulfilled.”
Apart from a red pommel stone, the sword hilt was a plain black grip, serviceable and strong. Armel laid her paw upon it, gazing in awe at the legendary blade. This was fashioned with a centre channel and double edges, keen as ice in midwinter, running to a point which shimmered like a searing flame.
The blade was as old as forgotten dreams and as lethal as death’s shadow.
Armel’s voice was hushed, yet it echoed round Great Hall. “Father, it is a strange thing for a maid who knows only about healing, and caring for the sick, to be bearing such a weapon. But I will deliver it to the warrior whom Martin has spoken of. When the sword has served its purpose, I swear upon my life that I will return it to you, here in this room at Redwall!”
Amid applause and cheers of approval, Humble embraced the young squirrel, whom he had seen grow from infancy to a well-loved member of his Abbey. Tears dewed in his eyes for the unknown dangers she might be facing.
16
Slow-drifting cloudbanks masked a buttercup-hued half-moon in the spring night. Somewhere off in the distant trees a nightjar churred its nocturnal melody. At the south wallgate, Skipper withdrew the bolts of the little door in the wall. The mouse Gatekeeper, Brother Gordale, eased the door back on its well-oiled hinges.
Skipper patted his niece’s cheek affectionately. “Be a good young maid now, an’ watch out for Sister Armel an’ that sword. D’ye hear me?”
Even Brooky knew that this was no time for laughter. She pressed her uncle’s big paw. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on ’em both.”
Humble assured Sister Armel, “We’ll be watching every day for your return. Go now, and may good fortune smile upon you both.”
The little walldoor closed quietly as two hooded and cloaked figures ventured off into the darkness.
Armel and Brooky went quickly over the small area of grassland which skirted the south wall. They headed for the path which curved through Mossflower Wood. Outside of the Abbey, everything looked different without the blessing of sunlight.
Armel shuddered. “I’ve only been outside the Abbey a few times, and then not far—either gathering herbs or for picnics when I was small. It feels very lonely out here with just each other for company.”
Brooky stifled a titter, trying her best to sound confident. “You stay close t’me and you’ll come t’no harm, pal. I’ve been twice to the north shores in the summer with Uncle Skip and his crew. I’m used to this sort o’ thing, y’know.”