Triss. Part 1

Triss.

Brian Jacques.

Were days that long, was gra.s.s so green, In seasons of youthful desire, Roaming o'er seas of aquamarine, Where westering suns drown in fire? 'Cross mountain, forest and river, I'd wander, carefree and bold, Never heeding the days to come, When I'd wake up, slow and old. Oh, how the silent summer noon, Warms dusty memories, In an orchard, midst my dreams, 'Neath verdant, shadeful trees. Come visit me, you little ones, Hear stories, songs and rhymes, A roving warrior's saga, Of far-gone, golden times.

Kroova's Song

BOOK ONE.

A Season of Runaways

1.

Princess Kurda was considered by all to be a highly skilled swordbeast, the best blade at Riftgard since her grandsire, great King Sarengo. She was a Pure Ferret, as were all of the royal blood, creamy white from tailtip to nose, with coral pink eyes. Kurda worked hard at being the best. Every morning from breakfast to lunch she could be found practising in her weapon chamber. This particular morning was no exception.

Rows of turnips hung by strings from the rafters. Two squirrel slaves, one a young maid, the other an old grizzled male, stood by, awaiting her commands. The Princess donned a single long-sleeved glove of ecru linen. Pulling it tight on her paw, she nodded at the long rack of swords, her voice curt and imperious. "De heavy sabre, yarr!"

Triss the squirrelmaid hastily wrapped an oiled rag about her paws and lifted the heavy sabre from the rack by its blade, carefully avoiding getting oil on the leather-bound hilt. Kurda flexed her limbs gracefully. Without even a glance at Triss, she grabbed the sword, drawing the blade so swift and hard from the squirrelmaid's grasp that it sliced through the oiled rag and nicked her paw. Triss leaped smartly out of the way, her teeth clenched in pain as the ferret Princess went slas.h.i.+ng at the turnips. With deadly accuracy the heavy sabre made the air thrum, chopping through the solid vegetables. Halves of turnip flew everywhere, striking both slaves, bouncing off the floor and caroming from the walls until there was nothing left but straggled roots dangling from the strings. Kurda wiped a sc.r.a.p of turnip from her cheek with the linen glove, panting slightly. Holding the sabre point forward to Triss, the ferret grated, "Clean diss good, I try rapier now, yarr, de rapier."

Triss hurried to select the rapier Kurda had indicated.

The old male squirrel, Drufo, scrambled to clear the floor of turnip pieces, careful to wipe any wet spots, lest the Princess should slip. It would go badly for both slaves if she did, as they knew from bitter experience.

Fixing her paw firmly in the basket hilt of the rapier, Kurda whipped the keen flexible blade back and forth, enjoying the sound it made. Triss signalled Drufo with her eyes; he skirted the walls furtively until he arrived behind his young friend. Diligently cleaning the sabre blade upon her oiled rag, Triss watched Kurda work with the rapier. Poising herself like a dancer, with one paw outstretched, she attacked the root stems on the string ends.

Snick! Whip! Zip!

The blade struck with swift snakelike movements, snicking the roots off at the string, though the last two strikes missed the roots, severing the strings. Kurda snorted with anger. Dropping the sword carelessly, she rapped out more commands.

"Get me der straight sword, middle size! You get ready to throw ven I say. Move yourselves!"

Drufo ran and picked up two of the larger chunks of cut turnip. Triss grabbed the rapier and selected a long, medium-weight straight sword, with a cross-hilt and fine-honed double blade.

The ferret Princess s.n.a.t.c.hed it impatiently from her, whirling the blade and shouting at Drufo, "Trow! Trow!"

Throwing both pieces of turnip upward, Drufo covered his head with both paws, jumping out of the way. Kurda slashed up, then sideways, in two speedy movements. She cut one piece, but the other thudded to the ground untouched.

Kurda's pink eyes blazed with anger at her error. Drufo was bending to pick up the pieces when she whipped the flat of the blade viciously across his back.

"Stupid oaf! Ven I say trow, you trow dem proper. Trow high, vot do you tink I am? You t'ick mudbrain bun-glepaws!"

Drufo stayed bent over, still protecting his head with both paws as the ferret vented her spleen on him with the flat of the swordblade. Knowing her old friend was in danger of losing his life, Triss yelled as she began throwing turnip chunks in the air with all the haste she could muster.

"Princess, I can throw better than that old fool, look. Hup! Hup! I can send them higher, too. Ready, throw!"

The ploy diverted Kurda's attention. She turned and chopped both chunks as they came down. The squirrel-maid, who was ready with two more, made sure she tossed them high and slow. The sword cut through the chunks easily. Kurda was out of breath, but her temper had improved. She leaned on the sword, nodding and panting. "You t'row good, dat's de vay to t'row turnips, yarr!"

The door opened and another Pure Ferret ambled in. He was bigger than his sister and had a silly grin all over his face.

Kurda addressed her brother contemptuously, "Vot do you vant, Bladd boomose?"

Bladd was used to his sister's insulting manner. His droopy oversized gut wobbled as he chuckled. "Huh huh huh huh, you make a better cook than a swordbeast, yar. You still choppin' turnips for der stew, liddle sister. Huh huh!"

She raised the sword, advancing on him. "One day I chop you for der stew, lard barrel. Yarr, I chop you good. Vy you come here, eh?"

Bladd shuffled to the door and held it half open, creating a s.h.i.+eld between them. He poked his tongue childishly at Kurda. "King vant to see you, yarr, he mad about der herrinks. He say come now, quick, or he put a big lock on his door."

Kurda pointed at him with the sword, her bad mood renewed. "Sneaknose, you been tellink tales to King about me!"

Bladd took off downstairs, laughing idiotically, with his sister hard on his heels.

Triss helped Drufo up as the door slammed behind the two Pure Ferrets. She steadied the old squirrel.

"Are you all right, Drufo? She didn't cut you, did she?"

He smiled, rubbing his back ruefully. "Thanks t'you, she didn't, missie, thanks t'you. Huh, swordbeast? That white streak o' slime ain't half the swordbeast yore dad was. White streak o' slime!"

Triss chuckled silently at the way her old friend often repeated phrases. She set about gathering up the cut turnips. "Lend a paw with these, you old grumbler, let's get them out to the others. Every bit helps."

The squirrelmaid poked her head over the sill of the high chamber window and imitated the harsh skrike of a seagull. Far below a gang of creatures were working, laying a path of pine logs to make a walkway between the sloping gra.s.s hill and the rocky sh.o.r.e of the river. It would run from the gates of Riftgard fortress, along its edge, to the jetty. Moored at the pier's end, facing downriver to the sea, was a s.h.i.+p. It was small, with one square purple sail, a very pretty little craft, skilfully built and wonderfully ornamented.

The workers, an a.s.sortment of squirrels, mice, hedgehogs and otters, looked upward at the window. A slim, pretty sea ottermaid named Sleeve murmured, "Stan' aside, mates, 'ere comes supper, thanks to miz Triss."

As they dropped the turnips down, Triss questioned Drufo about her father, whom she had never known.

"Do you remember my father? What was he like, Drufo?"

The old squirrel shook his head fondly. "Like no other, young 'un, like no other! There was never a swordbeast born could cross blades with Rocc Arrem, an' I knows, 'cos I fought alongside him. We was like brothers."

Triss heaved more turnips over the sill to her friends below. "But despite all that, he was slain."

Drufo paused for a moment, his face grim. "Brought him down with arrows, more'n a score o' those dirty Riftgard rats. I remembers it t'this day, but Rocc, yore pa, went down fightin', snapped his blade an' hurled it in their faces. Rocc Arrem wasn't never one to surrender, never!"

Triss sighed as she swept the last vegetables up from the floor. "Wish I'd have been old enough to fight, they'd have never got him. We'd have still been free, living in the mountains upriver, all of us."

Drufo watched those below gathering the last of the turnips. He looked to the high mountains on either side of the river, thick pinewoods sweeping down their sides to the rocky banks, still patched with last winter's heavy snows.

The old squirrel voiced his thoughts. "Ah, 'tis a cold hard place to live, this northland, I tell ye, an' a harder place to be enslaved in than any I know."

Keeping her voice low, the squirrelmaid drew close to Drufo. "Once we've got the boat built, it'll be downriver and the open seas for us. We'll find a better life in those lands beyond the great sea."

Drufo grabbed her paw anxiously. "Triss, don't be foolish, n.o.beast ever escaped from Riftgard an' lived to tell of it. You've got to ferget those mad ideas!"

Triss pulled her paw from his grasp. "Four more days, that's all it'll take, Drufo. I'm not missing a chance of freedom by being fainthearted. Shogg the otter and Welfo the hedgehog have been helping me. Our boat should be ready soon. You can escape with us, there's room for one more!"

Drufo looked at Triss anxiously, keeping his voice low. "You three don't know the danger yore in, missy. Y'just don't know. Stealin' wood from the King's new walkway, pilin' up vittles, an' tackin' t'gether rags for a sail, 'tis too risky. I want no part of it, no part, d'ye hear me? I ain't goin' t'be responsible for the death o' young creatures!"

Triss c.o.c.ked an ear to a sound outside on the stairway. She muttered swiftly under her breath, "Stow it, some-beast's coming!"

The door was wrenched suddenly open. Captain Riftun and four of his rats marched into the chamber. Triss and Drufo fell upon all fours, making a pretence of cleaning the floor. Riftun was a mean-natured rat; cruelty was stamped on his narrow face. He leaned on his spear and placed a footpaw hard on the back of Triss's neck.

"So tell me, wot are slaves doin' alone an' unattended in a roomful o' weapons, eh?"

Drufo kept his tone humble as he explained. "Princess Kurda gave us permission, Cap'n. We been attendin' her at sword practice. Me'n'Triss is just cleanin' up. We're near done, Cap'n."

The rat Captain glanced round the chamber. "Looks clean enough t'me, eh, lads?"

The four rat guards nodded their agreement eagerly. "Aye, Cap'n!"

Riftun lashed out with his spearhaft, knocking Drufo flat. "Don't ever let me catch yer alone in here again. Get down t'the walkway an' report for work. On the double!"

Drufo scrambled up and made for the door. Triss was about to rise and go with him, when Riftun brought his spearpoint down to rest at the base of her skull.

"Not you. I've had you watched, missy. Yore goin' down in the cages t'keep yore two liddle pals, the otter an' the spikepig, company. Bet you thought I didn't know you was makin' an escape boat. Take 'er, guards!"

Two rat guards grabbed Triss's paws whilst the other two menaced her with their spears. Drufo tried to intercede.

"But, Cap'n, it couldn't have been 'er, she's been with me all the time fer days now. Triss ain't done nothin', I swear it!"

Riftun gave him a kick that sent him staggering awkwardly down the stairs. He winked at the four guards. "Show me a slave an' I'll show yer a liar. Take 'er to the cages, she'll sing like a lark when I'm done with 'er!"

Triss was hauled off downstairs, tight-lipped but struggling. She glimpsed Drufo's pitiful, frightened face as they dragged her off to the punishment cages.

Beyond the trackless seas, far from the fjords and mountains of Riftgard, the late-spring afternoon was mellow as b.u.t.ter and blue as a periwinkle. Great Abbot Apodemus and his old companion Malbun Grimp sat dozing peacefully on the sunwarmed ramparts of Redwall Abbey's northeast wall. Somewhere over the treetops of Moss-flower a blackbird warbled its rich, fruity aria to the season. There was hardly a breeze to be felt. Down below, the Abbey grounds basked still and silent in serene noontide.

Malbun was a wood mouse who held the position of Healer and Recorder of Redwall. She was drifting off into a slumber, both eyelids drooping as her chin dropped toward her chest. An admiral b.u.t.terfly ventured to perch on Malbun's nose. She banished it with a twitch of her snout and opened one eye.

"Any sign of them coming back yet, Ap?"

Apodemus had his eyes closed, but he was not yet asleep. "I dunno. Why don't you go and look, Mai?"

Malbun opened her other eye, turning her gaze upon the yellow-necked mouse who was Father Abbot of all Redwall." 'Cos I'm only a lowly beast around here. You're the Abbot, they're your responsibility."

Apodemus kept his eyes closed, relis.h.i.+ng the warmth of the sun upon his ears. " Tis a powerful position, being Abbot of Redwall Abbey."

Malbun considered this statement before replying. "Aye, so it is."

A slow smile broke the repose of Apodemus's features. "Well, I'm glad you realise that, Mai. 1 order you to go and look to see if the whortleberry gathering party are return-ing!"

With a sigh, the Healer Recorder pushed herself upright, smiling as she shuffled to the battlements. "That's a flagrant abuse of power, Father Abbot. I'll do your bidding, but I'd like it noted, I'm doing it under protest."

The Abbot opened his eyes and winked at his companion. "Protest noted. Now go and look, will you?"

Turning her back, Malbun leaned against the battlement. "Don't have to look, I can hear 'em. . .. Listen!"

Carrying over the still air, voices could be heard raised in song, young and old alike.

"All in the days of spring, When flowers do bloom about, We merrily go and sing ho ho, Whortleberries come out.

Whortleberry, blaeberry, bilberry, too, They taste so good to me, my friend, As they must do to you, And yet I say to you now, Oh what is in a name, For whortle bil or blae sir, The berry's all the same.

We range the forest far, for, There's n.o.beast will deny, Nought is half so good, ho ho, As a whortleberry pie.

Bil whortle blae, blae whortle bil, All around the woodlands, Field or valley or hill, Get ready good old cook, marm, Stoke up your oven's fire, A whortleberry pie this eve, Is my dear heart's desire!"

Apodemus rose and stretched lazily. "We'd best go down and open the gate if we want any pie for supper. Cmon, I'll race you!"

Malbun Crimp's huge middle shook with laughter. "Are you talking to me or that snail just by your footpaw? Race me indeed, we'll soon need a hoist to get us up and down the wallstairs!"

The Abbot gazed ruefully at his considerable stomach. "Oh, for the days when we were Dibbuns."

The two old friends linked paws and shuffled off down the broad, red sandstone wallsteps, chunnering away to one another.

"I'll wager that snail would've beaten you easily."

"Aye, you're right, Mai, we're built for comfort, not speed."

"Right, and we've got the dignity of our positions to consider. Wouldn't look right, a Father Abbot and a Healer Recorder, charging about like two frantic frogs."

Wandering between vegetable patches and around through the orchard, they came out onto the front lawns. Late daffodils, blue milkwort, b.u.t.tercup and pink speedwell bordered the soft green gra.s.s. Behind them, as they made their way down the gravelled path to the main gate, Redwall Abbey reared high in dusty rose-hued splendour. Arches, b.u.t.tresses, bell tower, carved gables and long stained-gla.s.s windows sat square in the centre of Abbey grounds and stout outer walls. Apodemus stopped a moment, turning to cast a fond eye over the ancient structure, then gripped his friend's paw a little firmer and sighed. "I love our Abbey, Mai. Sometimes I get up early just to look at it in dawn's light. There's no place like it, is there?"

Malbun patted his paw fondly. "No place at all, Ap. We're lucky to be living here, very lucky!"

Between them the two mice lifted the wooden gatelock bar amid ribald calls outside from the Redwallers.

"Open up or we'll scoff all these berries!"

"Quick, afore we starve t'death!"

"Hurr you'm never starven t'death with ee gurt stum-mick loike that on ee, zurr!"

"Huh, take a look at y'self, ole fatty chops!"

The huge oaken doors swung open. Apodemus and Malbun jumped smartly aside as the Abbey creatures poured in: squirrels, mice, moles, hedgehogs, some shrews, three otters, even a large old female hare. All of them carried some form of basket, pail or trug, laden with ripe whortleberries. Abbeybabes, or Dibbuns as they were called, had their paws and faces liberally stained with the purplish blue juice. The Abbot shook his head in mock severity at a molechild who was stained from top to tail.

"Dearie me, master Ruggum. You look as if you've had a busy day."