Free [Redwall 18] - High Rhulain by Brian Jacques Page A

with the most fiery of herbs and spices. A mere whiff of the burgoolla aroma, though delicious, could wring tears from a creature’s eyes with its sheer heat. Customarily, no words were spoken during the eating of this otter delicacy—except to either compliment or criticise its quality.
    Whulky fanned a paw across his mouth after the first taste. “Ah sure, an’ isn’t this a true drop of the grand stuff?”
    Many agreed with him. “Hoho, ’tis grand sure enough!”
    But there were always those who liked to disagree.
    â€œArraway with ye. I’ve scraped better burgoolla off’n me ould granma’s pinny, so I have!”
    â€œAye, the stuff tastes like a duck in a muddle.”
    There were many indignant defenders.
    â€œAh, shut yore gob, sure ye’d complain if a fine, big trout cooked itself an’ jumped into yore big mouth, so ye would!”
    â€œAye, lissen bhoyo, if’n ye could make better burgoolla than this, then put yore paws t’work an’ give yore fat lip a rest!”
    The good-natured banter was brought to a halt by the flat thump of a rudderdrum.
    Leatho stood then, calling out, “Be we well gathered, otters all. Do I see a Wildlough?”
    Whulky stood up. “Ye see a Wildlough, once one of the mightiest clans on river or stream!”
    Leatho continued with his roster. “Do I see a Galedeep?”
    A huge otter raised his paw. “Ye see a Galedeep of the mighty sea otter rovers!”
    â€œDo I see a Wavedog?”
    â€œYe see a Wavedog of a clan that don’t know fear!”
    â€œDo I see a Streambattle?”
    â€œAye, ye see a Streambattle whose clan know the scars o’ war well!”
    The list continued, with each clan representative answering proudly. When he had finished, Leatho waited until a voice called out to him, “An’ do we see a Shellhound?”
    The outlaw sea otter roared back, “Yore seein’ a Shellhound that never backed down from a foebeast! I’m the last o’ my clan, I have neither kith, kin nor family! But by the thunders I’m still here an’ fightin’!”
    Firelight gleamed from the outlaw’s eyes as he glared around the assembly. “Why, who is it that calls to me?”
    Two otters supported an older one to a seat by the fire. He was still a big beast, though he bore many scars. One of his legs had been replaced by a wooden peg, and his left eye wore a black musselshell patch. He held a round, flat rudderdrum, which he struck gently with his tail.
    Leatho strode across and embraced him fondly. “Ould Zillo the Bard o’ the Watermeadows, haven’t ye sunk with the sun beyond the westerin’ sea yet?”
    Zillo gave him a gap-toothed grin. “Ah no, me buckoe, I wouldn’t dream of it whilst there’s still one mangy catpaw print on our lovely Green Isle!”
    Leatho chuckled admiringly. “Ye ould battledog, what have ye been dreamin’ about then?”
    Zillo struck the rudderdrum a mighty clout. “The day of deliverance is comin’!”
    A roar of joy came from every otter present. Leatho held up a paw for silence. “Whisht now, Zillo has the floor!”
    A hush fell over them as the bard sat staring into the fire. His rudder began beating the drum slowly. Then he began to sing his story in true bardic fashion.
    â€œOn the night that the great storm was ragin’ apace,
sweepin’ in o’er the high seas to batter this isle,
I heard that a wildcat had lost half his face,
Ah, isn’t that grand now, I said with a smile!”
    Two otters joined in with flute and banjotta, an odd stringed instrument that was very popular among the clans. Zillo let them play a short stanza before continuing.
    â€œ ’Twas then by me fire I fell into a dream,
with the wild winds a-keenin’ an’ wailin’ outside,
sure a wisdom came floatin’ o’er some magic stream,
that the days