Doomwyte

Bisky ignored the Brother, turning his wrath on Dwink. “They’re not fibby lies, that was a true story about Prince Gonff. I know it for a fact, see, ’cos my ole grandunk told me, ain’t that right, Samolus?”

The Abbot stood up, waving his paws until order was restored. He shook his head in bewilderment. “What is all this about, will somebeast please tell me?”

Torilis replied dramatically, “Father, it’s all about a noisy pillow fight in the dormitory!”

Abbot Glisam scratched his bushy tail in agitation. “Well, who’s ‘Grandunk,’ and what’s he got to do with it?”

Samolus placed himself between Torilis and the accused pair of young ones. “I’m Grandunk, least that’s wot Bisky calls me. Aye, an’ he’s every right to. From wot I’ve heard I think I can reason this out, Father. So let’s calm down an’ I’ll tell ye wot I know of it, eh?”

Torilis drew himself up to his full height, glaring down his nose at Samolus Fixa. “We are here on a matter of an Abbot’s Report. I don’t see what it has to do with the like of you!”

“Brother!” Glisam interrupted sharply. “Hold your tongue, please, and don’t speak to Samolus in that manner. Let’s all sit down and hear what our friend has to say. Samolus?”

The old mouse bowed. “Thank ye, Father Abbot.” He took up the narrrative. “My family goes back to the very founding of Redwall Abbey. I have made a record of it from Sister Violet’s archive collection in the Gatehouse. Martin the Warrior, our hero and founder, had, as you know, a lifelong companion, Gonff, the Prince of Mousethieves. I can trace my descent right back to the family Gonffen, as they later became known. During my research it became evident that young Bisky was also from a distant branch of the Gonffens. Two or three times removed, I believe, but still in the same bloodline of Prince Gonff.”

There was quiet snort from Brother Torilis.

The Abbot cast him a reproving glance. “Brother, if you have other chores to attend, kindly leave us. Obviously you are cynical of our friend’s claims, but I for one believe him.”

Torilis arose, stalking frostily off. Bisky and Dwink exchanged grins as their Abbot spoke.

“Carry on, Samolus, this sounds most interesting.”

The old mouse tugged his tail respectfully. “With yore permission, Father, I’ll carry on workin’ as I tell the tale. Marvellous how a job can help a beast like meself t’think clearly!”

All three listened intently as the story unfolded.

Bedraggled, wet, hungry and cold, Griv the magpie flew in circles. She had been flying all night; due to the storm, she had been blown off course several times. Now she was lost. Thankfully, the wind had subsided, but there was still heavy rain to contend with. On an impulse, Griv soared high into the dreary grey skies, searching the ground below until she found her bearings. There off to the left was the huge, rocky, forested mound. Winging to one side, the magpie zoomed down to where a meandering stream skirted the smaller foothills. Griv made an awkward landing in the lower boughs of a downy birch. With the quick, jerky head movements common to magpies, she righted her perch, giving voice to several harsh cries.

Four carrion crows appeared, as if from nowhere. Three stopped on the streambank, whilst their leader landed on the bough, alongside Griv. His hooded head cocked to one side as he addressed the magpie aggressively. “Haaark! What does the longtail do in this place?”

Griv was not intimidated, she rasped back at him, “Garraah! My business is with the Doomwyte, Korvus Skurr. He alone awaits my news.”

Veeku, leader of the carrion crows, smoothed his shiny black plumage with a sharp beak, as if considering Griv’s words. Then he nodded once. “Haark, you will follow us!”

Close by the stream, in the base of the hill, was an opening. Thickly growing reedgrass almost hid it from view. Escorted by the crows, Griv flew inside. It was a winding tunnel—they were forced to land and walk the remainder of the way. The filter of outside daylight died away as they progressed along the tunnel; a few torches and firefly lanterns illuminated their path. Rounding a bend in the rock-walled passage, Griv gasped at the sudden onslaught of sulphur fumes. The atmosphere became extremely humid, a sickly green glow bathed the tunnel in eerie light. Strange noises echoed from further ahead, like liquid boiling in a giant cauldron. This was interspersed with squeals, grunts, shrieks and the harsh chatter of big birds.