Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Brian Jacques is both a master storyteller and a jack-of-all-trades. He has lived the life of a sailor, actor, comedian, radio presenter, boxer - even a bus driver. Today he is the recipient of an honorary Doctorate of Letters from the University of Liverpool, and the bestselling author of over 25 books for young readers, including the hugely popular Redwall series. Brian lives in his hometown of Liverpool.

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Loamhedge

Firebird

Chapter One

Holding on to his father's paw, young Stugg trottedalongside, plying his parent with interminable questions,which Abruc did his best to answer.

"H'are you veddy veddy strong?" Scrunching his eyes against the wind, Abruc could nothelp smiling at his inquisitive little son. "I have t'be strong.I've got to feed you, your mamma an' the whole family.That's my job, I'm a father."

Stugg sucked his free paw, digesting this informationwhilst he thought up another question. "Den why can'tStugg sit atop of your basket no more?"

Abruc adjusted the belt to ease the strain on his neck."Because you've growed since last season. Yore gettin' to bea big feller now, a fine lump of an otter. Soon you'll be carryin'yore ole dad an' the basket. Let's put a move on, Stugg,so we can make it into the woods by dark. It'll be good totake a rest out o' this weather."

With the sound of the grey northeast sea pounding intheir ears, both the sea otters squelched through the desolatesalt marshes toward the weather-bent scrub forest.

Daylight ebbed into early evening as they entered the shelterof the trees. With a grunt of relief, Abruc swung his basket tothe ground. It was brimfull of edible seaweed, scallops,mussels and shrimp-a full two days' work, gleaned fromthe coast of the barren northeast waters. Abruc sat on afallen pine. Sensing his father's weariness, Stugg climbedup behind him and began gently rubbing his brow.

Abruc relaxed, sighing gratefully. "Hmmmm, that's nice.I was beginnin' to think that strap'd cut the top off me skull.Huh, where'd I be then?"

Stugg giggled. "Wiv a half offa head, silly ole farder!" The sea otter cautioned his son. "Hush now, not so loud.There might be Coast Raiders about. Huh, they'd cut thetops off'n our skulls, just to watch us die."

Wide-eyed, Stugg crouched down against his father,speaking in a hushed whisper. "Mamma says CoasterRaiders be's naughty vermints!"

His father pushed dry pine needles into a small heap,shaking his head grimly. "Naughty ain't the word for thatscum. They're evil, cold-blooded murderers. Cruelty is justfun to the likes o' them. Right, young 'un, I suppose yorehungry now?"

Nodding eagerly, Stugg whispered, "I'm starfished!" Abruc chuckled. Starfished was a word all the young onesused, a cross twixt starving and famished.

He patted Stugg's head fondly. "Nothin' worse'n astarfished otter. You stay here, keep yore eyes'n'ears open,an' lay low. I'll go an' find us a snug berth for the night."

He pulled a sack from under his cloak, tossing it to hisson. "Sort through the rest of those rations an' see wot youwant for supper. I'll be back soon."

Abruc knew the woods well, he recalled a spot not too faroff. It was a good dry place, sheltered by a rock ledge. Silentas a night breeze, he weaved his way through the dark,twisted trees, straight to the exact location. He had campedthere before. Halting slightly short of his destination, hepaused. Something did not feel quite right about the area.Abruc sniffed the air and listened carefully, his animal instinctaroused. He caught the faint sound of ragged breathing.Drawing his long dagger, he crept forward, peeringkeenly into the shadows, his neck hairs bristling.

For supper Stugg had selected two flat loaves, some of hismamma's apple and blackberry preserve and their last flaskof plum cordial. If his father lit a fire, they could maketoasted preserve sandwiches and warm cordial. The youngotter was a pretty fair cook, often having helped hismamma to prepare meals. There was not much else to dobut wait in silence for his father's return. Stugg set out thefood and sat next to the basket of supplies.

Abruc came speeding out of the darkness to his son's side.Crouching beside Stugg, he gripped his paws tightly. Thesea otter's voice was urgent and breathless from running.

"Listen carefully, little mate. Could you find yore wayback home to our holt on yore own?" Stugg was taken aback by the unusual request. "Er, I finkso, what's a matter, farder?" Abruc gripped his son's paws tighter. His voice soundedharsh. "Answer me-yes or no! Could you find yore wayback home?" Stugg had never seen his father like this. He nodded, hisown voice sounding small and scared. "Yes, Stugg knowd'way!" Abruc released the young otter's paws. "Good, nowhere's wot y'must do, son. Find Shoredog. Tell him to bringthe crew to the spot by the rock ledge, he'll know where Imean. Say that they best bring rope, canvas an' poles.Enough t'make a stretcher to carry a wounded, giantstripedog. That's if'n he's still alive when they reach here."

Words poured from Stugg's mouth like running water."A giant, a stripedog, a wounded one? I never see'd a giantstripedog afore! What happened? Will he get deaded ..." Abruc grabbed Stugg and shook him, something he hadever done before. He hissed at him through clenched teeth."Shut yore mouth, son! Don't stand here askin' questions!Go now, run, don't stop for anythin'. The life of anothercreature depends on you. Go!"

Young Stugg took off like a madbeast, pine needles scatteringfrom under his paws as he tore homeward throughthe nighttime forest. Abruc watched until his son was out ofsight, then gathered up their belongings and dashed back tothe camp beneath the ledge.

Swiftly he heaped dry pine needles and cones with a fewtwigs. Using the steel of his knife blade against a chunk offlint, he soon had a small fire burning. It was sheltered bythe overhanging rock and could not be seen from a reasonabledistance. Abruc viewed the scene around him. Twobadgers, one very old, the other about two seasons into hisadult growth, lay stretched out, side by side. Small and grizzled,the oldest of the pair was obviously dead, slain byvarious weapon thrusts. As he turned to the youngerbadger, a brief glance at the churned-up ground and theblood-flecked rock confirmed the sea otter's suspicions. Hisjaw clenched angrily. "Dirty murderin' Raiders!"

The younger badger was still alive. Abruc had seen oneor two badgers in his lifetime, but not as big as this fellow.He was truly a giant-tall, deep of chest and broadbackedwith massive paws and powerfully muscled limbs.

The sea otter winced as he inspected the fearsome woundto the badger's head. A long jagged slash, from eartip toneck, had ripped across the badger's face. Narrowly missingthe eye, it had ploughed across the brow, through thewide-striped muzzle, across the jaw line to the side of thecreature's throat.

Abruc, with only a limited knowledge of healing,staunched the blood with his cloak. Lifting the badger'shead, he cradled it in his lap, dabbing away at the dreadfulrift and murmuring to the unconscious beast.

"Seasons o' salt, matey, 'tis a miracle yore still alive! Y'musthave a skull made o' rock. I know you can't hear me,but don't worry, big feller, our crew will do the best we canfor ye. There's one or two good healers at our holt."

Abruc sat rambling away to the senseless badger, knowinghe could do little else until help arrived.

It was close to midnight. Rainladen wind hissed throughthe scrub forest, carrying with it salt spray from the thunderingseas. Beside the guttering embers of his little fire,Abruc had dozed off,...