Doomwyte

“H’if youse cumm back, Mista Bosy’ll baff ye again. Better run very quicker!”

Abbot Glisam stood on the threshold, at the west wall centre. He waited until all the prisoners were lined up on the path, facing the flatlands on the far side of the ditch. Silence fell over everybeast when he raised his paws. Then he addressed the vermin prisoners in a no-nonsense voice.

“Hear me now: you are to be given your freedom, which is more than your tribe ever did for anybeast. But, there are conditions, under which you are released. There will be no return to Mossflower woodlands for any of you. Travel west, toward the setting sun at eventide. After one night out on those plains, you may choose whichever way you want to go. West, south, north, but not east, not back this way. I will post guards to look out from these walls. By this time tomorrow it will spell death for any they can see. Is this clearly understood?”

Amidst the silent shuffling of footpaws, Bosie paced up and down, sword on shoulder, berating the rats. “If’n certain beasties, whom Ah willnae mention, had their way, ye’d all be lang slain! Och, ye wee, ungrateful creatures, do ye not want yer life an’ freedom? Bow tae the guid Abbot an’ thank him right now. Come on, bow yer scruffy heids an’ say ‘thankee, Father,’ all of ye!”

With very bad grace the tree rats bobbed swift bows, muttering thanks. Abbot Glisam nodded to his guard force, below on the path.

“That’s sufficient, send them on their way now!”

Many of the rats hesitated at the edge of the ditch, but they were urged on by stern warriors, with shoves and pushes. “Come on, it ain’t that deep, either climb down, or jump over!”

Nokko put his footpaw behind one or two. “I ain’t carryin’ youse over on my back, git goin’!”

Tugga Bruster was about to swing his iron club at Tala, the mate of Chigid, whom he had slain. However she preempted the move by leaping right across to the other side of the ditch, where she faced him, hatred and defiance glittering in her eyes.

“See me, spikeymouse, I be Tala, I killya one day!”

The Guosim Log a Log began waving his club, roaring, “I’ve taken enough o’ this, I’m comin’ over there to finish you off, like I should’ve done!”

The Abbot shouted from the walltop. “There’ll be no killing done here, stop him!”

Dwink shot forward, grabbing Tugga Bruster in a head-lock. The shrew bit his paw, tripping him and pushing him into the ditch. Nokko was on Bruster in a flash, knocking the iron club to one side. With a driving headbutt he knocked the Shrew Chieftain out cold. The Gonfelin leader smiled.

“I been wantin’ t’do that fer a good while now! Cummon, young un, out ye come.” Reaching down he grasped Dwink’s paw and heaved.

The young squirrel tried to stand, then cried out in pain. “Yowhooch! Me flippin’ footpaw!”

Samolus scrambled down to his side, inspecting the footpaw. “Must’ve fell awkwardly, it’s broken!”

Willing volunteers carried Dwink into the Gatehouse, where Brother Torilis hastened to attend him.

Up on the threshold rampart, Abbot Glisam watched the freed vermin wandering willy-nilly, as if in no particular hurry. He turned to Skipper Rorgus. “Is that a bow you have there, friend?”

The otter proffered the weapon. “Aye, Father, ’tis.”

Glisam selected an arrow from the Skipper’s quiver. Laying the shaft upon the string, he drew back and let fly. The arrow fell just behind the back vermin rank. Glisam raised his voice in command. “Right, all archers prepare to shoot on my order. Ready…”

Without turning to ascertain the threat, the vermin took to their heels and fled in disorder. Sister Violet watched the receding dust cloud, remarking to Skipper, “I didn’t know Father Abbot was such a fine bowbeast, that was a splendid shot!”

Glisam did something quite out of character for the Father Abbot of Redwall. He winked roguishly at the astonished Sister, mimicking a rough otter voice. “Haharr, there’s a lot ye don’t know about me, matey, ain’t that right, Skip?”

Skipper Rorgus returned the wink.

“Aye, right as rain, me ole shipmate!”

Inside the Gatehouse, Dwink stifled a yelp as Brother Torilis gave the injured footpaw an experimental waggle. The gaunt-faced Torilis pronounced solemnly, “More than one bone fractured. Some poultices to prevent swelling, a firm dressing, lots of rest and you should be up and about by autumn.”

“Autumn?” the young squirrel cried. “I ain’t layin’ round here ’til then, we’ve got to go an’ find Dubble!”

Torilis gave him a wry glance. “We? If you mean me I have no intention of going searching for a shrew, and you, sir, are certainly not going anywhere. Huh, we!”

Dwink explained with a pained expression, “I didn’t mean you, Brother, I meant Bisky, Spingo and Umfry Spikkle. We vowed to help Dubble.”

Bisky and Spingo wandered into the Gatehouse. The Gonfelin maid smiled cheerily at Dwink. “How’s the ole hoof, Dwinko?”