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Informationen zum Autor Brian Jacques Klappentext Another Redwall adventure you won't forget! The devious ruler Vilaya the Sable Quean and her hordes of vermin have a plan to conquer Redwall. And when the Dibbuns go missing, the plan is revealed. Will the Redwallers risk their Abbey and all of Mossflower Wood to save their precious young ones? Perhaps Buckler, Blademaster of the Long Patrol, can save the day. He has a score of his own to settle. And fear not, the Dibbuns are not as innocent as they appear. After all, they're from Redwall!Book One Travel Is An Adventure! 1 Wreathing slowly through the foliage of a white willow, smoke spiralled into the warm summer noon. Below on the riverbank, two rats and a burly stoat squatted around the fire, roasting roots and wild turnips on sharpened sticks. Scraping away ashes and burnt soil, the stoat inspected his half-raw turnip. He spat sourly into the fire. “Wot sorta vittles is this fer a warrior? Stinkin’ roots an’ turnips ’ard as rocks!” one of the rats remarked hopefully, “If’n ye don’t fancy it, then ¬I’ll eat it for ye.” Baring his snaggled teeth, the stoat whipped forth a ¬dagger. “Put a paw near my vittles an’ ¬I’ll gut yer!” The other rat nibbled at a ramson root, wincing with disgust. He was in agreement with the stoat. “Aye mate, meat’s wot we need, a brace o’ plump woodpigeons, or even a fish. I like fishes.” The stoat flung his turnip into the fire, scowling. “We ¬don’t have ter put up wid this muck. I thought we was Ravagers, not scavengers. Any’ow, wot are we supposed t’be doin’, that’s wot ¬I’d like t’know?” The first rat retrieved the turnip from the hot ashes, wip¬ing it off on his tattered sleeve. “Zwilt the Shade sez Sable Quean wants woodlanders, young uns. So we’ve got t’stay hid in the area an’ capture any we sees. That’s our orders, mate.” Testing the edge of his blade on a grimy paw, the stoat grinned wickedly. “Young uns would make good meat. Just let me git me paws on a fat dormouse or a chubby liddle squirrel. I’d let Zwilt ’ave the bones to give to the Sable Quean!” The smaller of the two rats looked fearful. “You’d do that? I ¬wouldn’t like t’be you if Zwilt found out.” The burly stoat tossed his dagger into the air, catching it skilfully. “So, wot if’n he did, eh? Lissen, I ain’t scared of Zwilt, or ’is Sable Quean. They ¬don’t bother me!” The larger rat whispered nervously, “Be careful wot ye say. They don’t call ’im Zwilt the Shade for nothin’—some say ’e’s magic!” The stoat scoffed. “Rubbish! Wot sort o’ magic, eh?” The rat took swift glances up and down the bank. “Nobeast sees Zwilt, unless ’e wants ’em to. They say ’e can come an’ go secretly, just as ’e pleases.” The big stoat shook his head pityingly. “Yer a right ole frogwife if’n ye believe that. Shade or no Shade, Zwilt’s just a beast like any other. Y’see this dagger o’ mine? Well, one good stab of ¬it’d make Zwilt vanish forever!” The voice came out of nowhere. “How can you do that when ¬you’re already dead, fool?” Brandishing his weapon, the stoat bounded upright. “Who said that—who’s there?” From behind his back, a cloaked figure emerged through the smoky willow foliage. With lightning speed and savage strength, it wrenched the stoat’s paw backward, sending the dagger spinning. Dust rose as the stoat’s back slammed against the ground. He lay there, staring up into the face of Zwilt the Shade. The sable was a sight to instil fear into most creatures. Behind the natural mask of dark fur, his eyes were totally black, dead and inscrutable. Zwilt was lean, wiry and very tall for one of his species. Beneath a flowing cloak of dull purple, he wore a snakeskin belt with a broadsword thrust through it. His teeth showed small, white and sharply pointed as he hissed at the hapless stoat. “You should have believed the rats. They spoke t...
