face of a lean scarred weasel as his round weighty river pebble struck it hard on the forehead. The creature toppled
backward with a screech, rolling downhill, still clutching a broken bow. Loading the sling swiftly, Tammo swung out
and hit a rat who was almost upon him.
Now Major Perigord was standing with the front rank, whirling his saber and calling to the moles who were
behind the hills of stone. “First three rockpiles away!”
Boulders, rocks, soil, dust, and stones showered down on the advancing Rapscallions. The vermin were seasoned
fighters, giving as good as they received. Ducking and dodging, they battled upward, thrusting with pike and spear,
slinging, firing arrows, and hurling anything that came to paw.
Tammo was on his third sling when he heard Sergeant Tor-goch bellowing, “Down flat an’ reload slings, first rank.
Second rank, shoot!”
Tammo and Pasque threw themselves down side by side, fumbling to load up their slings. Skipper and the second
rank stood forward, shafts drawn back upon tautened bowstrings, and sent a hail of arrows zipping down into the
massed vermin. From where they lay, the first rank twirled their slings and added to the salvo.
Then everybeast in the Redwall army grabbed for the spears tying on the ground between the ranks. Tammo,
Pasque, and Riffle, like many others, did not have a proper spear, but the long ash poles with fire-hardened points
served just as well. Staves, spears, pikes, and javelins bristled to the fore all along the line.
The Rapscallions were completely taken by surprise. They had expected their opponents to stand and defend the
ridge, not to mount a counter charge with spears. Many a vermin heart quailed then as the war cry of Salamandastron’s
Long Patrol cut the air.
“Eulaliaaaaa! JS death on the wind! Eulaliaaaaaa!”
The Redwallers’ charge broke the Rapscallion advance. Drums from below in the rift pounded out the retreat,
calling the vermin back.
Damug Warfang estimated that he had lost threescore in the first assault; the Redwallers had lost about half that
number. Slightly more than he had expected, but the Greatrat was satisfied. Now that he had tested his enemies, he
knew their strength and also their weakness. However, the Firstblade was surprised at his adversary; for peaceful
Abbeydwellers they showed great ferocity in fighting and much cunning in their maneuvers. Despite this he was
confident they would be unable to resist the might of his full army.
Arven sat still as a mole plastered boiled herbs to a deep graze in his side, lifting one paw up to allow the healer
better access to his wound. The mole stopped bandaging, blinking at the sight in the valley below.
Damug Warfang was standing on the grassy sward with his entire army formed up behind him.
“Bo urr an’ lackaday, zurr, lukkee, ’tis a tumble soight!”
It was indeed terrible, and impressive. Almost a thousand well-armed vermin, lined in columns, flags streaming,
drums beating, with the Greatrat in full armor, sword drawn, out in front.
Log-a-Log stopped sharpening his rapiertip on a whetstone and glanced quizzically at Major Perigord. “Wot d’you
suppose Warfang’s up to now?”
The hare viewed the scene below dispassionately. “Tryin’ to frighten us with a show of force, what else? That was
only half their blinkin’ number he threw at us in the first charge.”
Sergeant Torgoch saluted with his pace stick. “Shall I stand the troops ready for action again, sah?”
Perigord sheathed his blade and started downhill. “I think not, Sar’nt, the blighter obviously wants to parley. Huh!
We’re all supposed t’be tremblin’ in our fur at the size of his force. I expect he wants us to jolly well surrender.”
Arven’s voice echoed the Major’s final word incredulously. “Surrender?”
Tare and Turry, the Long Patrol twins, helped Arven upright. “Hah, fat chance of that, old lad!”
About a third of the way downhill, Perigord halted, calling out, “I take it y’ve got somethin’ to say, rat. Well spit it
out an’ be quick about it, a chap can’t dally here all day, wot!”
Damug Warfang waved his sword eloquently at the massed Rapscallions backing him. “What need of words, hare,
when we could destroy you in a single sweep!”
Perigord shook his head and smiled mockingly. “Oh, is that all you’ve got t’say? Wasted your breath, really, didn’t
you? Still, what else can one expect from vermin?”
The Greatrat smiled back as if he were equally at ease.”Just think for a moment what we will do to the ones you
left behind at Red wall Abbey. I imagine they’re the creatures not fit to fight, babes and oldbeasts. Have you
considered them?”
Perigord seethed inwardly, but he did not show it. “Oh, if it comes t’that, old thing, I wouldn’t worry if I were you.
Y’see I fully intend slayin’ you, so y’won’t be ’round to see it”
Damug was still smiling as he played his trump card. “I’m a bit ahead of you there, because I intend killing you.
Now!” He let his sword blade drop and nodded.
The rat Henbit had lain near the ridgetop, concealed among the dead vermin that littered the slope. He sprang up,
poising himself to hurl the javelin he held, not three paces from the Major. Suddenly he sighed, as if tired of it all, and
let the javelin slide carelessly backward as he fell, an oak shaft in his back.
Perigord stepped distastefully over the fallen rat. “Don’t like that sort o’ thing. Sneaky. Well shot, Corporal!”
Rubbadub twanged a chord on the empty longbow string, grinning from ear to ear at his officer’s compliment.
“Drrrrrrubadubdub!”
Then the Rapscallion army charged. As it swept across the valley, Tammo left off helping Pasque Valerian to bind
wounded heads and paws and took up his position in the first rank, feeling slightly detached from it all.
Gurgan Spearback nudged him with a rough paw. “Art thou all right, friend?”
The young hare shrugged in bewilderment. “Strange, isn’t it, but here we are facin’ almost a thousand an’ all I can
think about is the time o’ day. Look, ’tis almost evening, yet it only seems a moment ago it was mornin’. Can’t get it
off my mind, really. What’s happened t’the rest o’ today? Where’d it go?”
Gurgan stumped the ground with his mallethead like a batsman at his crease. “Aye, I know what thou means. All I
can think of is my wife, Rufftip, an’ our seven liddle ’ogs, ’avin’ a pickernick on our boat in the water meadows. Silly
wot a body can think of at times like these—Oofli!”
An arrow protruded from Gurgan’s shoulder. Tammo stared, aghast. “You’re hit!”
The Waterhog pulled the shaft out, snapped it, and flung it from himself bad-temperedly. “Tchah! When a beast’s
as full o’ spikes as I am, one more don’t make much difference, though ’tis a great displeasure t’be shot!”
Before Tammo could reply, Sergeant Torgoch was bawling out orders. “First rank, sling! Second rank, stand ready!
Keep ’em off the slope!”
At the point where valley met hillslope, the Rapscallions took the full force of the first stone volley. Owing to their
numbers, Major Perigord had taken the decision to strike early and save his Redwallers being speedily overrun. He
turned to the moles, saying, “How’s the fire comin’ along under that log, chaps?”
“Ee’m a burnen broight an’ reddy t’go, zurr!”
“Capital! Splash all that vegetable oil over the trunk now, quick as y’like!”
Dry timber and resin gave a great whoosh as the oil buckets were hurled upon it. The evening sprang to light,