The Legend of Luke: A Tale from Redwall
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In this twelfth book of the masterful Redwall epic, storyteller Brian Jacques goes back in time to the days before Redwall, revealing with dramatic poignancy the legend of the first of the magnificent Redwall warriors--Luke, father of Martin.
Joined by Trimp the Hedgehog, Dinny Foremole, and Gonff--the ever-mischievous Prince of Mousethieves--it is that legend Martin hopes to discover when he embarks on a perilous journey to the northland shore, where his father abandoned him as a child. There, within the carcass of a great red ship--broken in half and wedged high up between pillars of stone--he finally uncovers what he has been searching for: the true story of the evil pirate stoat, Vilu Daskar, and the valiant warrior who pursued him relentlessly over the high seas, seeking to destroy Vilu at all costs, even if it meant deserting his only son.
gotten ee vurmint a gudd crack furst toim wi’ moi slinger!’ Chugger thrust out his little jaw truculently. ‘An’ I woulda swimmed over an’ bited ’is tail off too!’ Martin tickled Chugger behind the ear fondly. ‘I wager that would’ve made him jump, eh, Chugg? Personally I felt a desire to kick that young horror’s tail up and down the bank a bit, just to teach him a lesson in manners. But keep your eyes peeled, mates. I’ve a feeling we haven’t heard the last of this little incident.’ The
this ain’t fit fer ’em t’see. Keep silent, Martin, crouch down by me an’ watch. You too, Gonff.’ One rat stuck out his footpaw and tripped the lame otter, who fell heavily. Both rats laid on savagely with their switches as he pleaded, ‘Please, sirs, don’t drown me, I’m nought but a pore wayfarin’ beast who’s lost his way, don’t beat me. Owow!’ This continued for a moment. Until one of the rats got too close to the victim. Like a wolf, Folgrim was upon him with lightning speed. He seized the rat
with a view of beach and sea to the front and an awesome sheet of rushing water at their back. Gripping fiercely to anything within reach, the breath torn from their mouths, they plunged downwards, tilting as the raft went head first, for what seemed like an eternity. Down, down, down . . . Whooooooo m! The broad surface of a pool at the bottom exploded with the impact. By its own momentum the vessel was plunged deep into the pool, breaking into pieces as it went. Water rushed into Trimp’s
oarslaves. ‘Silence there, quiet! An’ be ready ter row when my drum starts to beat, if you want t’keep fur on yore backs!’ Two hours after daybreak next morning a searat called down from his watch in the crow’s nest, ‘Away to the north, a sail, cap’n, a sail!’ Vilu Daskar leaned out over the stern of the Goreleech, shading his eyes, peering hard at the faraway smudge. ‘Sail? Are you sure? What kind of craft is she?’ ‘Too far off t’tell, cap’n sir, but ’tis a sail fer sure!’ Akkla kept the
of throwing spears in half with a single swipe. It had the desired effect. Flitchaye scattered to get out of Martin’s sword range, leaving him alone by the prisoner. Turning his back on the enemy, Martin gave the little squirrel a quick reassuring smile and whispered, ‘Don’t move ’til I say, matey. Soon have y’out of here.’ The captive blinked with fright as Martin’s sword hissed within a whisker of him, severing the ropes. Whirring bright in the late afternoon sunlight, the sword weaved a