Drogbuk stayed Swiffo’s paw. “Don’t try anythin’, wavedog. They’ll kill ye.”
Ketral Vane turned his attention to the ancient hog. “Twice before ye have been through my lands, old one. Why do ye return bringing these beasts with ye?”
Drogbuk shrugged. “We’re only passin’ through, don’t mean harm to anybeast. We was ’ungry, so the shrews rooted out some vittles. Ye wouldn’t begrudge starvin’ travellers a bite to eat, would ye, sire?”
One of the other foxes, an older vixen, answered, “The Lord of the Hinterwoods has spoken. Leave the food and begone, or die. Ketral Vane brooks no arguments!”
Uggo spoke out indignantly. “This ain’t no ’Interwoods,’tis all Mossflower Country!”
Drogbuk smacked the young hog’s face. “Ain’t ye gotten no brains? Yew was told not to argue!”
Ketral Vane, meanwhile, had been reloading a bolt into his crossbow. He reslung it without effort. Pointing the weapon at Uggo, he pronounced sentence.
“You argued, disputed my territory and stole food. Let this be a lesson to your companions. It will be a lesson too late for you, hedgepig, for you must die!”
Posy flung herself in front of Uggo, crying out, “No! You can’t just kill Uggo in cold blood. He hasn’t harmed you. Let us go. We’ll leave the food and travel now!”
The tall fox’s pale eyes narrowed cruelly. “Move aside or die. My word is law in the Hinterwoods. The one called Uggo is to be executed!”
Posy bravely stood her ground, making an impassioned plea. “No, I will not move. Please, I beg you, don’t do this!”
The fox’s voice was merciless. “Then die, both of you!”
Uggo and Posy clung to each other, their eyes shut tight.
BOOK THREE
All Forward to Redwall!
26
Time hung frozen over the awful tableau. Then one of the foxes dropped his crossbow, calling out hoarsely, “Lord Ketral, halt!”
He was held by both ears from behind by Skor Axehound, Warchief of the Rogue Crew, who was swinging his battleaxe.
“Kill the young uns an’ I’ll slay ye all, startin’ with this bush-tailed scum!”
In the pause that followed, twin claymore blades came from behind, trapping Ketral Vane’s throat. A heavy highland voice whispered in his ear, “Aye, laddie. An’ ye’ll be second in line at Hellgates. Wi’out a head an’ all, but dinnae fret, Ah’ll send that on wi’ one o’ yer braw beasties!”
The next voice was Sergeant Miggory, reporting, “H’all secure’ere, sah. Just give the nod an’ not one’ll be left standin’, sah. Drander, don’t let that lance droop. Keep h’it tight by the lady’s shoulderblades!”
Big Drander pressed his lance firmly against the vixen. “Beg pardon if this tickles ye, marm, but I’d stay jolly still if I were you, wot!”
Swiffo was smiling from ear to ear, shaking his head. “Pa, where’d you come from?”
Ruggan patted his head roughly. “From the High North Coast to find ye, little brother. Hmm, got yoreself in a bit of a fix, I see.”
Swiffo shook his brother’s paw heartily. “Oh, ’twas nothin’ I couldn’t have got out of!”
Log a Log Dandy winked at Skor. “Ye’d best believe ’im, Axehound. Swiffo ain’t short o’ nerve when it comes to the action.”
Skor passed his captive over to the bloodythirsty maid, Kite Slayer. He held out both paws.
“Come here, ye young rip, let’s take a look o’ ye!”
As Skor hugged his youngest son, Ruggan enquired, “Wot d’we do with these villains, sir?”
Skor replied casually, “They’re vermin, ain’t they? Kill’em!”
Captain Rake was quick to countermand the order. “Och, no, ye auld savage. We’re warriors, not murderers!”
The big sea otter Chieftain shook his head, sighing. “As ye wish, Nightfur, but ye’ll be sorry one day. Take their weapons an’ throw ’em on the fire. Let’s get some vittles cookin’—I’m famished!”
Bound paw and tail to the giant tree trunks, Ketral Vane and his foxes were forced to look on as otters and hares broke out supplies and readied a meal.
Trug Bawdsley poked the flames with an unstrung crossbow. “Funny-lookin’ weapons, Sarn’t. Are they any good?”
The sergeant curled his lip. “Too fussy, take too long t’get ready. An’ they don’t fire as good as a proper yew longbow. Make decent firewood, though, don’t they?”
Lancejack Sage had roasted a slice of the cauliflower fungus on a crossbow bolt. She took a dainty bite. “I say, this tastes jolly good. Wonder what it’s called.”
Lieutenant Scutram munched on a roasted chestnut. “Poison puffball, I should think, missy.”
The lancejack smiled sweetly at him. “Lovely flavour, though, sah. Any left there, you chaps?”
Skor questioned Dandy. “Now then, old bristlebonce, y’still haven’t told us what yore doin’ so far off the track.”
The Guosim Chieftain seemed to ignore the term bristlebonce for a moment, but then he came back pointedly. “Well, I’ll tell ye, ole barrelbelly. We ain’t so much far off the track as tryin’ to get ahead o’ the vermin crew. I plan on makin’ it to Redwall ahead of the Greenshroud. That way we can warn the Redwallers, stand alongside of ’em an’ face Razzid Wearat in a united group. Aye, an’ from behind good, high stone walls. Drogbuk reckons he knows a shortcut that should get us to the Abbey double quick, y’see.”
Skor pointed with his axehaft at the ancient hog.
“What, y’mean that ole bag o’ bones an’ shaky spikes? Huh, looks as though he couldn’t find his snout with all four paws t’me, Dandy. You should’ve followed the riverbanks.”
Drogbuk Wiltud waved a piece of broken crossbow at Skor. “Ahoy, bigbeast, who d’ye think yore insultin’, eh? If’n I was a few seasons younger, I’d tan yore rudder with this!”
Holding up his paws in mock fear, Skor hid a grin. “’Tis a good thing I fetched some warriors to defend me. Righto, Granpa, which way is it to Redwall Abbey, then?”
Drogbuk chunnered as he tried to get his few remaining teeth around a roasted chestnut. He pointed vaguely. “Er, lemme see, that way, I think. . . .”
Log a Log Dandy threw up his paws in bewilderment. “Ye think? But you told us ye knew the way for certain!”
The old hedghog scowled. “No, I never. All I said was I think I know a shortcut. I never said for certain. I’m old, y’know. Ye forgets things when yore old.”
Ruggan shook his head in disbelief. “I think we should cut ye loose on yore own, y’ole idjit!”
Drogbuk stamped his paw down hard; there was a rattle of falling spikes. He turned on the young sea otter fiercely. “Who are yew callin’ an ole idjit, eh? Lissen, fuzzface, ye’ll be old yoreself one day. Hah, I ’opes they cut yew loose then, widout a crust or a drop t’drink, so there! Besides, you ain’t so smart, the lot of ye, or haven’t ye noticed anythin’ amiss?”
Buff Redspore looked up from a beaker of pennycloud cordial. “Not really, sah. Er . . . can you see anythin’ amiss, wot?”
Drogbuk employed a grimy claw to root amidst his tooth stubs. “While ye’ve been so busy feedin’ yore faces an’ tellin’ me wot an ole fool I am, yore foxes ’ave escaped.”
Captain Rake dashed toward the deserted tree trunks. “Why didn’t ye say somethin’, auld un?”
Drogbuk inspected his claw before wiping it, commenting, “’Cos ye never asked me. Besides, I’ve only just noticed it.”
Sure enough, Ketral Vane and his six foxes had vanished, leaving behind their long black and green capes amidst a lot of severed bonds. Big Drander stared in disgust at Endar Feyblade, one of Skor’s crew.