High Rhulain

Seeing her crestfallen face, the Abbess suggested an alternative. “Obey your father, Tiria. Who knows? Tomorrow we may have more responsible tasks, now that you’re growing up. But first you may go to the kitchens. Tell Friar Bibble I sent you for a treat, after all your good work today. I’m sure he’ll have something special for you.”

Flashing the Abbess a brief smile of thanks, the ottermaid hurried off downstairs.

Friar Bibble looked up from his ovens. “Indeed to goodness,’tis the heroine of the woodcutters. What can I do for you, lovely miss?”

Tiria explained that the Abbess had sent her for a treat.

The tubby little shrewcook waved a paw around his domain. “Well now, what would ye like to eat, beauty?”

She shrugged. “I don’t really know, sir.”

Taking a wooden paddle, Bibble opened one of the long oven doors. “Indeed to goodness, there’s a thing, a young ’un who can’t make up her own mind. Come and lend a paw here, missy, maybe I’ll treat you to a Friar’s Special.”

Using the long beechwood paddle, Tiria helped Friar Bibble to pull out loaves, cobs, farls and rolls, all for next morning’s breakfast table. “What’s a Friar’s Special, sir?”

Bibble selected two crispy little golden batch loaves. “It’s what I like to treat myself to after a long day’s bakin’. You’ll like it. Pass me that small pot off the oventop. Wrap a towel around it now, don’t want to burn your paws.”

Tiria did as he bade, placing the pot in front of him. “Mmm, it smells delicious! What is it?”

Bibble sliced both batch loaves through with his knife. “Damsons an’ crushed almonds cooked in honey an’ aged cider.”

He ladled the mixture onto the cut loaves, then produced a flagon and two beakers. “Elderberry an’ burdock cordial, just the thing. Come now, we’ll sit on those sacks o’ flour whilst we have our snack.”

Tiria began praising the wonderful treat. “It tastes really nice, sir.”

Bibble held up a flour-dusted paw. “Quiet now, don’t go tellin’ anybeast about my Special, or I’ll have a full kitchen every night, so I will.”

The ottermaid promised him that she would keep silent, but only on condition that he would allow her to visit again for more.

The shrewcook shook his head in mock surprise. “Indeed to goodness, Tiria Wildlough, you’re a beauty an’ a rogue all in one. Be off to your bed, you young scallywag!”

Playfully he pursued her from the kitchens, waving a paddle.

Leaving the kitchens, Tiria wandered through Great Hall, stopping for a while at the beautiful Redwall tapestry. This was an intricately woven work, depicting as its main theme the legendary mouse, Martin the Warrior. He had been one of the Abbey’s founders and the famed Champion of Redwall. Lanterns illuminated his heroic figure, whilst all around him vermin could be seen fleeing for their lives. Tiria often visited the tapestry. She loved to look at the Warrior, he was a valiant fighter, standing courageously against all odds. Formidable, yet with the light of kindness radiating from his eyes. Martin stood holding his great sword, which had been forged from a piece of a fallen star in the mountain fortress of Salamandastron, home of the mighty Badger Lords. Above the tapestry, lying on two wallspikes, the actual sword was displayed. It was nothing elaborate—a real warrior’s blade, perfectly balanced, as deadly as chain lightning in a winterstorm, its point as keen as an ice needle. Tiria instinctively touched the only weapon she had ever known, the sling she had named Wuppit, belted about her waist, with its stone pouch attached.

She stared at Martin and his sword, softly reciting a phrase her father had often repeated. “ ‘Any weapon is the best weapon, as long as ye can use it skilfully and with honour.’ ”

Tiria blinked, peering at the likeness of Martin. Had he nodded at her, as if in agreement with her father’s words? She yawned, unaccountably overcome by tiredness. Perhaps it was just a draught stirring the tapestry. Her yawns echoed around the time-mellowed hall as she stole off to her bed.

The land of dreams is an odd realm, sometimes nightmarish, other times peaceful. Tiria found herself wandering along the still shores of a vast sunlit lake; she felt happy in its silent tranquillity.

From afar, two creatures floated toward her in a nimbus of golden light. As they drew close, Tiria recognised one as Martin the Warrior. Smiling at her, he indicated his companion. Tiria felt her heart jump. The other creature was a tall, stately otter lady, obviously older than she but a mirror image of herself in features, build and height. On her brow rested a slim gold circlet, with a large, round emerald at its centre. The otter lady wore a short, dark-green cloak, richly embroidered about the hem. From neck to waist she was covered by a metal breastplate, silver with a gold star radiating from its centre. What really intrigued Tiria was that the otter lady carried a sling and a stone pouch, belted about her middle, the same way in which Tiria carried hers.