Fallow snorted. “You’re jokin’, of course. Sar’nt Clubrush has gone ahead to see if he can find her. You two best
get some shut-eye; whole caboodle’s movin’ out at dawnlight.”
Algador unshouldered his pack and let it drop. “Seasons o’ slaughter, what drives Lady Cregga on like that?”
Deodar yawned, stretching languidly. “Search me, but whatever it is, we’re bound to follow!”
35
Cavern Hole was packed tight for the Council of War. As Champion of Redwall, Arven sat at the Abbess’s right
paw, his weapon, the great sword of Martin the Warrior, laid flat on the table in front of him. As guests and
experienced fighters, Major Perigord and his hares held the right side of the table, Log-a-Log and his shrews with
Gurgan Spearback and the otter crew facing them.
The Guosim Chieftain had something to say before the main meeting got under way. “About that water runnin’
beneath yore south wall, I think I’ve found the answer t’the problem. Today we found where the water comes out—
good job we did, too, or Skipper woulda never been seen agin. So, I figgers that I knows the waterways of Mossflower
better’n most. Any-’ow, I put on me thinkin’ cap about that stream. If’n it’s got a place t’come out, stands to sense
there must be a spot where it flows in. Heed me now, I think I knows where that very place is, ’tis on the river north
an’ west o’ Redwall. I’ve sailed it a few times an’ seen where it splits off. With yore permission, Abbess, marm, I’d
like to take some o’ yore otters an’ molefolk widi me to dam it off an’ stop the water flowin’
under yore wall. We’ll go first light tomorrer, sooner the better!”
Mother Abbess Tansy signaled for her helpers to begin serving supper all ’round. “You have my permission and
may fortune go with you and yours, Log-a-Log. The Guosim have always been special friends of Redwall. Skipper,
Foremole Diggum, will you assist the shrews?”
“Aye, marm, my crew’s willin’ an’ ready!”
“Bo urr, ee can count on us’n’s, h’Abbess!”
Tammo was sitting between Perigord and Pasque. He sipped hot red-berry cordial and nibbled a wedge of heavy
fruitcake, not feeling really hungry. Cavern Hole seemed overfull, rather muggy, warm, and distant. Tammo’s eyes
drooped, then he swayed slightly and settled back as the talk became a soothing murmur, as if it were echoes from far
away. Then a butterfly flew gently by in his sleep-laden imagination; soft, delicate, and silent. It settled on the pink
flowers of an almond tree, closing its fragile, pale gold wings. The flowers fell, drifting slowly through still noon air,
lighting with scarcely a ripple on the tranquil waters of a shady stream. Catching a small eddy, butterfly and flowers
together went ’round and ’round in lazy circles.
Bom Log-a-Log and Gurgan Spearback had told the meeting of Gormad Tunn’s death and everything they had
seen of Damug Warfang and his Rapscallions. All eyes turned to Major Perigord and Arven, who were already deep in
conversation. The squirrel Warrior, as Champion of Redwall, would naturally be consulted on the Abbey’s defense.
Finally Perigord leaned forward, nodding his head shrewdly. “Hmm, we’ve defeated those vermin at Salamandastron
not s’long ago, but you’ll forgive me sayin’, we had the full force o’ the Long Patrol an’ Lady Cregga Rose Eyes full
o’ Bloodwrath when we did it. How many Rapscallions d’you estimate Da-mug has on call?”
Log-a-Log scratched his head reflectively. “Best ask Gurgan, he’s seen ’em firsthand.”
“Aye,” said the Waterhog, “we’ve watched ’em on the move and when they camped. Oft times they looked to
number like leaves in an autumn gale. Hark now, ’tis not my wish to afright these gentle Redwallers, but my mate
Rufftip, she counted ’em as they moved out from the coast. Damug War-fang has a few score o’er ten ’undred to do
his biddin’.”
A stunned silence settled upon Cavern Hole. Nobeast had envisaged a vermin army of more than a thousand on the
march. Arven shot Major Perigord a quick glance. Something had to be done before panic set in. Perigord understood
and rose to the occasion.
“Well now, chaps, that sounds like a tidy old bunch, wot! However, there was half that number again when they
came at Salamandastron, ships too, but we still managed to send the rotters packin’. Main thing is not t’be scared by
numbers, after all, ’tis quality that counts, not quantity!”
Pellit the dormouse challenged him. “You could stand ’ere all night talkin’ like that, but it still won’t stop all those
Rapscallions attackin’ Redwall. Point is, wot are you goin’ to do about it besides talk, eh?”
Abbess Tansy glared frostily at Pellit. “Perhaps, sir, you would tell us what you propose to do?”
All the dormouse could do was bluster in his own defense. “I ain’t no fightin’ beast, marm, most of us
Abbeydwellers don’t know the first thing about battlin’. Wot d’you expect us t’do?”
Arven stood up slowly, frowning at Pellit, who cringed under the Redwall Champion’s stem reproof.
“Major Perigord has pledged himself and his patrol to help us. I would expect that you have the good manners to
give him a hearing, unless you have a better or more helpful suggestion to assist your Abbey in this crisis.”
Pellit lowered his eyes and shrugged. The Abbess smiled apologetically at Perigord. “Forgive the interruption,
Major. You were saying?”
But the hare had slightly lost track of his speech. To gain time he stroked his whiskers thoughtfully and pursed his
lips.
Suddenly all eyes turned on Tammo. He rose and walked ’round to stand beside Arven, gazing at the great sword
that lay upon the table. In a calm, measured voice, he began speaking:
“Aye, Sire, it shall be as you say.”
Arven could tell by the look in Tammo’s eyes that he was still sleeping. The young hare moved toward the steps
leading up to Great Hall. Placing a paw to his lips, Arven warned everybeast to hold their silence. Then he gestured
with his other paw to clear a way. Redwallers fell back to either side as Tammo went by them, unaware of all about
him. Craklyn uttered a single word as she followed in his wake:
“Martin!”
Lanterns burned dimly in Great Hall, casting shadows around the sandstone columns and recesses, and moonlight
shone through the high windows onto a floor worn smooth by countless generations of paws. In complete silence the
Red-wallers grouped behind Tammo, who stood staring up at the tapestry on the wall. It was a marvelous piece of
work, fashioned by Abbey creatures in the distant past. Martin the Warrior, Redwall’s founder hero, was depicted
there, standing armor-clad and leaning upon his sword.
“I brought you quill and parchment,” Viola Bankvole whispered to Craklyn, passing her writing materials. “You
may need them!”
The Recorder nodded her thanks as Tammo started speaking.
“Spring is done now, summer calls, This season fraught with wartime’s fear, Fate says Damug will ne’er see our
walls, Battle must take place, though not here.
Manycoats will know the way,
So go with him, De Fformelo.
A soothsayer knows what to say,
Secrets Warfang longs to know.
One day Redwall a badger will see,
But the badger may never see Redwall,
Darkness will set the Warrior free,
The young must answer a mountain’s call.”
A vagrant night breeze waved the tapestry once, then all was still and quiet. Tammo sat down upon the floor. He
rubbed his eyes and stared at his surroundings in bewilderment.