Doomwyte

Being an owl, Aluco was not overfond of sunlit afternoon teas—he preferred the indoor shadows. Moreover, he had also vowed to guard the big emerald, in its candle sconce, by Martin the Warrior’s tapestry. The Abbey building was practically deserted, most Redwallers having taken themselves outdoors, enjoying the summer day. Aluco visited the kitchens, choosing his own afternoon tea: a small wooden bowl filled with candied chestnuts, and a wedge of hazelnut and celery cheese. A little flask of old elderberry wine proved too tempting, so he took that also. Making his way to Great Hall, the tawny owl sought out the corner where the legendary Redwall tapestry hung in serene splendour. Green lights emanated from the fabulous orb of the emerald, which had once belonged in one of the eye sockets of the Doomwyte idol. It was displayed in a candle sconce, directly in front of Martin’s likeness.

Aluco loved the tranquil solitude of the deserted hall. In its centre, the worn floorstones were softened by varying pastel hues of sunlight, pouring through the high, stained crystal windows. The tawny owl found a shadowed niche alongside one of the immense sandstone columns. Settling down there, he did full justice to his improvised tea, emptying the bowl, and draining the wine flask. Through the hallowed silence, he caught far-off echoes from the orchard. It was Sister Violet, accompanied by Bosie’s fiddlelike instrument. She was singing a beautiful old summersong of sentimental love.

“Far away from noise and bustle I would be,

where sun doth kiss the blooms and warm the stone,

by still green lakes I’d wander peacefully,

’midst their mossy banks I’d wait for him alone.

Watched only by small birds and butterflies,

with humble bees to drone their little tune,

in some tranquil glade where purple shadow lies,

dreaming through the sunlit halls of afternoon.

Oh, willow bending low so gracefully,

all in quiv’ring raiment standing there,

let breezes part thy boughs that I may see,

my love smile on the face he holds so fair.”

The combination of good food, wine and sweet song was fast closing Aluco’s eyes. Then a rustling sound passed close to him. The tawny owl blinked as he wandered dozily out of his niche. “Hullo, who is—”

A figure, heavily hooded and cloaked, laid him low with a single blow. Aluco fell stunned to the floor. The verdant light of the Doomwyte emerald was extinguished, as the phantom figure stowed it in the folds of its robe. As the thief stepped over the fallen bird, something dropped by Aluco’s side. The intruder padded swiftly off, leaving the empty sconce, and the owl, groaning softly as he tried to rise.

27

In his anxiety to grab Zaran’s sword, Dubble made a snatch in the dark. He fell from the poplar trunk, onto the hillside. Whatever his attacker was, it fell upon him. The young Guosim could not help letting out a yelp as he and his assailant rolled down the slope, locked together. They crashed into a bush. Dubble had not managed to get the sword, but he began battling tooth and paw to free himself. The thing did not put up much fight, but its size overwhelmed him—he was smothered by a dark, feathery mass. Dubble gave a muffled shout as it enveloped his face. Panic swept through him, the suffocating bulk robbed him of breath.

As suddenly as it had started, his ordeal ended. The thing was heaved from him, and he found himself lying flat on his back, staring up at the dark, savage face of Zaran, the black otter. She nodded curtly at the dark bundle lying nearby.

“Only crow, ’twas almost dead.” Zaran made a twisting motion with her powerful paws, and a clicking sound issued from her mouth. “Crow dead now, Zaran make sure of that!”

There was a commotion of cawing and flapping from down at the cave entrance. Dubble followed Zaran to a place where they could see what all the upset was about. Even in the dark of night, a number of dead and badly injured birds could be seen. Some were draped about the branches of the downy birch, others lay limp in the stream. Wide-eyed, the young shrew turned to his companion.

“What is it, what’s happenin’?”

The otter pulled him to her side; gripping the back of Dubble’s neck, she directed his gaze to where the small stream swirled around the rocky entrance. “See…. It is Baliss!”

The young shrew shuddered as he saw the tail of the reptilian bulk sliding slowly into the passage of the subterranean lair.

Veeku, leader of the carrion crows, stumbled into the rear cave, one wing hanging useless at his side. He crowed weakly, “Craaak, Baliss is here.”