High Rhulain

Log a Log Urfa stood balanced expertly in the prow, bellowing out orders as they weaved and tacked down the wild, watery slope. “Keep ’er down at the stern an’ up by the head, buckoes! Back water to port, take ’er round those rocks! Don’t reef the banks now, keep ridin’ ’er to midstream!”

Bankside trees shot by in a green blur as water sprayed everywhere, with Urfa still roaring over the melee. “Luff yore starb’d oars now, luff I say! Steady to port! Steady . . . steady! Now give ’er full oars, me buckoes! Get yore backs into it! Heave! Pull! Heave! Pull! Up oars an’ ship ’em, Guosim!”

Tiria felt the logboat leave the water, leaping like a fighting fish. Then it slammed down hard, catching the boiling rift of breakwater. Both boats skimmed out like arrows onto the broad swirling surface of the River Moss.

They were out of the trees, with the sun beaming on them from an open summer sky. Everybeast cheered loudly as they slid sleekly along. The crews slowed their oars back to a normal stroke. The river was wide, with shallows and sandbanks either side.

Banjon pointed upward. “See, Tiria, there’s yore matey!”

The ottermaid waved to Pandion Piketalon as he wheeled overhead. The osprey hung briefly on a thermal, then went into a sidelong skim and called, “Kraaahakaaaah!”

As they drifted through the bright morning, Tiria watched the countryside gradually change. Green-mantled flatlands merged into hummocks, lilac and yellow with heather and gorse. Now the ottermaid understood why the Guosim loved to travel in their logboats.

She was about to mention this to her father and Urfa but found them busy attending to Brink. The Redwall Cellarhog was still suffering from his water-motion sickness. Skipper bathed Brink’s face with a cold, damp cloth, whilst Urfa dosed him with herbs and encouraging advice.

“You chomp on these special ’erbs, matey. They’ll put the roses back into yore spiky ole cheeks!”

The faithful hedgehog mumbled pitifully as he chewed on the odd-tasting herbs. “Don’t ye fuss now, friends. I’ll be right as rain afore ye know it. Phwaaaw! I wish I was sittin’ in my cellars, back at the Abbey right now. Nice’n’peaceful an’ still, an’ not rockin’ back’n’forth an’ to’n’fro like this.”

As Dobra’s logboat drew level, he hailed them. “Nobeast stoppin’ for lunch today? I’m famished!”

Brink replied mournfully, “I wish ye wouldn’t mention food, young ’un. The thought o’ vittles makes me want t’die!”

Urfa pointed to a line of dunes in the distance. Between them glimpses of sun-sparkled sea could be viewed. “We’ll hang on ’til we reach those sandhills afore we put in to land. Then ye can eat yore fill.”

Tiria’s appetite was well whetted when they reached the dunes at midnoon. However, nobeast was more thankful than Brink Greyspoke as the logboats nosed into the sandy shallows. He leaped ashore and threw himself flat, hugging the ground fervently.

“Never again, Skip, not if’n I lives more’n a thousand seasons. I’m done with sailin’, mate!”

The shrews were kindling a cooking fire. As Skipper watched them laying out huge quantities of food, he did a swift head count.

“There’s four paddlers apiece to each logboat, Tiria and meself, Urfa, Brink, an’ Dobra, an’ Pandion somewheres up there. So why are ye layin’ out enough vittles for an army? Does yore friend have a crew with him?”

Log a Log Urfa was scattering some stale shrewbread on the dunetop. It was already attracting seagulls. “No, Skip. My friend Cuthbert sails alone. He’s a real odd ’un. I’d be hard put to explain him to ye. So ye can judge for yoreself when he gets here.”

Coming down from the dunetop, the Guosim chieftain forestalled Tiria even before she asked the question. “Seabirds’ll come from afar for vittles. My friend Cuthbert usually sails these waters. Once he sights gulls flyin’ over this way, he’ll follow ’em. Cuthbert ain’t a beast to give up a chance o’ vittles lightly, miss. Ahoy, Dobra, git up on that other dune an’ give a shout when ye sight a sail out at sea.”

Pandion landed amid the gulls and frightened them off, so Tiria went and had a word with him. “You can’t stop here! You’re scaring the gulls off and making the Guosim shrews nervous.”

The big fish hawk glared hungrily about. “Yarraka! Then I’ll fish out on the sea. When shall I return?”

Tiria stroked the osprey’s lethal talons. “When you see me aboard a sailing ship, come down and land on it. Go now, my friend.”

Pandion soared swiftly off. Soon he was nought but a dark speck out above the waves, hunting for food.

Sunset had settled over the western horizon in a glorious riot of scarlet, purple and gold when Dobra shouted from his vantage point, “Ship ahoy, layin’ offshore!”

Everybeast climbed the dune to look. A vessel with one large, square sail, rigged amidships, was standing off from the shallows. Urfa identified it.