Martin the Warrior: A Tale from Redwall
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On the shore of the Eastern Sea, in a cold stone fortress, a stoat named Badrang holds dozens of innocent creatures as slaves, part of his scheme to build an empire where he will rule as unquestioned tyrant. Among those slaves is a mouse named Martin who has a warrior's heart and a burning desire for freedom-freedom not only for himself, but for all of Badrang's victims. There is no risk he will not take, no battle he will not fight, to end the stoat's evil reign and in the process regain the sword of his father, Luke the Warrior-the sword that Badrang stole from him when he was but a lad!
in complete agreement. ‘Nor me, mate. They c’n yell an’ holler all they want. I’m not puttin’ a paw anywhere near ’em.’ Through her tears Rose sat back, giggling helplessly. ‘Heeheehee! That’s my little brother all right. Remember he used to scream and shout like that back home until Mama let him have his own way?’ ‘Yurr, oi amembers miz. Oi used t’ plug moi ole ears oop wi’ grass. If’n yon choild ’as fever wi’ a voice loik that, oi be a taddypole!’ Rose held her throat, and throwing back
Tullgrew out of the excavation and began digging fast and hard under the Tyrant’s hot angry eyes. All their questing paws found was earth and more earth. They were almost at head height when Badrang snapped at them, ‘Get out of it, fools. Can’t you see there’s nothing there?’ As they pulled themselves out, Gurrad, the shorter of the two, slipped and fell back into the hole. There was an audible snigger among the slaves. Badrang whirled round to face them. ‘We’ll see how long you laugh doing
boldly up to the leaders’ table and tweaked Clogg’s plaited beard. ‘Cloggo, me old crab carcass, me jolly old wavedog companion, top o’ the evenin’ to you, wot wot?’ Tramun laughed uncontrollably, highly amused at his new friend’s antics. Ballaw produced two spoons from Clogg’s beard and began dacking them rhythmically together by bouncing both spoons off the corsair stoat’s vast stomach. ‘When’s a stoat not a stoat? When he wears dogs an’ a velvet coat! When’s a stoat an old seadog? When
tracks of a loaded cart are clear enough to follow?’ Bugpaw looked up at the Captain. ‘The cart has been along here more’n once, Hisk. We’re lookin’ for the freshest set of tracks.’ Flink traced the rutted outlines with his paw. ‘Buggy’s right, an’ it’s double ’ard in the night. We could be follerin’ our own tails. Why don’t yer knock off an’ rest up, it’d be a lot easier trackin’ in daylight, Hisk.’ There was a concerted murmur of agreement from the others. The weasel Captain took a pace
Poltroon, craven cur! Dithering idiot!’ Suddenly the positions were reversed. Badrang could hear his archers below the wall sniggering. Stung by Felldoh’s insults, the Tyrant drew his sword. ‘Nobeast uses words like that to me. I am Lord Badrang. Get ready to die, squirrel. I am coming down!’ Even in his rage the Tyrant was still playing the odds. Armed with a sword, he was sure he could defeat the squirrel, who had only some short wooden stakes to defend himself. As a last resort he could