High Rhulain

The ottermaid struck a pose, trying to look as she imagined a queen would. Then she suddenly took a fit of the giggles. “Hahahaha, come on, you pair of duffers, stop bowing and scraping like two dithering ducks. It doesn’t matter what I dress up in, I’m still me, Tiria Wildlough from Redwall Abbey. Let’s put a move on and catch up with the Patrol. That is, if you’re up to it, Brantalis?”

The barnacle goose swelled out his chest. “Up to it? I am thinking I would not miss it!”

The still summer evening hung warm and dusty over the empty pier. Big Kolun Galedeep and the otterclans deemed it safer to hold a meeting in the bushes and trees of the left bank. The otters did not need a night attack by the cats to further complicate the quandary they were in. They gathered en masse, angry, puzzled and disgruntled at the ultimatum which the wildcat warlord had set upon them. The initial idea of a wild charge, and an all-out assault on the foe, had palled in the light of dire consequences—their enslaved friends, together with their families, being dragged out and executed in reprisal. The very mention of it was unthinkable. Proposals were put forth and rejected for various reasons. There seemed no answer to the problem.

Lorgo Galedeep mentioned another impractical solution. “Suppose we pretend to surrender. Then at the last moment, say, when the fortress gates are opened, we grab our weapons an’ make a forced charge, straight inside?”

At that moment, any scheme sounded good to Kolun. “Aye, it might work, mate. They wouldn’t be expectin’ a move like that. Sounds alright t’me!”

Banya immediately poured cold water on the plan. “Do ye think the Felis cat is some kind o’ fool? The instant we threw down our arms an’ surrendered, he’d have us surrounded by fully armed catguards. First thing they’d do would be to confiscate our weapons or sling ’em in the lake to stop us gettin’ at ’em.”

Kolun patted his brother’s shoulder sadly. “She’s right, mate. It wouldn’t work.”

A voice, completely foreign to the gathering, interrupted. “You chaps sound as though yore in a spot o’ bother, wot!”

Two tall hares, well armed and dressed in red tunics, emerged out of the shrubbery.

Kolun wheeled upon them, gripping his oar. “Who are ye, an’ where’d ye come from?”

The leader of the two rested one paw on a long rapier hilt and threw a casual salute. “Name’s Granden, old lad. Cap’n Rafe Granden o’ the Long Patrol at y’service. This is my aide, Colour Sergeant O’Cragg. We’re to be your allies I believe, wot!”

Banya Streamdog did not sound impressed. “Just the two of ye, huh? That won’t be much help!”

The burly Sergeant O’Cragg smiled down at her. “Ho, there’s h’a few more’n just the two of us, missy. Ye’ll see for yoreself. Yore to follow me’n the Cap’n to a meetin’ with h’our commandin’ offisah, Major Frunk.”

Kolun was not used to taking orders from complete strangers. He squared up in front of O’Cragg; they were both big beasts. The otter thrust out his jaw belligerently.

“We’re to follow you, eh? Says who?”

The sergeant’s eyes met Kolun unwaveringly. “H’I believe’er name h’is Rhulain, sah!”

There was a stunned silence, which broke into a roaring cheer from the otterclans. Big Kolun shook O’Cragg’s paw.

“Here’s me paw an’ here’s me heart, mate! Lead on, we’re with ye t’the death!”

Dusk had fallen by the time they reached the Long Patrol camp at the lake’s far end. A good fire burned there, shielded in the lee of some trees and rocks. The otters filed in, packing the site with their numbers.

Cuthbert climbed upon a rock, polishing his monocle and shouldering his swagger stick. After gazing around a bit, he addressed the gathering. “Righto, me buckoes. Let’s get off on the right paw, wot! I’m Regimental Major Cuthbert Blanedale Frunk. Unless I’m outranked by any o’ you chaps, I think I’m in command here. Any objections?”

Receiving no reply from the otterclans, he nodded. “Good show! Reason I say this is that there’s goin’ t’be a bit of a skirmish, a jolly old war in fact! No offence intended, an’ I’m sure you otterchaps are splendidly brave coves, but you ain’t Long Patrol. Now, d’ye see these hares? There’s a score’n a half of’em, they’re Long Patrol warriors. Fightin’ an’ soldierin’ is their business. Believe you me, these laddie bucks have slain more vermin than you’ve had hot flippin’ dinners. So take my word an’ trust me, wot!”

Kolun called out. “Fair enough, Major, we believe ye, but we’ve come here t’see our queen. Where is she?”

A murmur of assent ran through the clanbeasts. Silencing them with a wave of his swagger stick, Cuthbert pointed dramatically to the fire.

“Friends, meet Lady Tiria Wildlough of Redwall Abbey! The High Rhulain, Queen of Green Isle!”