Lord Brocktree

LORD BROCKTREE

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I am the Teller of Tales,

Gaze into the fire with me,

For I know of the Badger Lords,

And their mountain, by the sea.

'Tis of a fearsome warrior,

Full of fate and destiny,

Who followed dreams, along strange paths,

Unknown to such as we.

This Badger Lord was fearless,

As all who followed him knew,

And the haremaid he befriended,

Why, she was as young as you!

But no less bold or courageous,

Full of valor and strong of heart,

Aye, young 'uns like you, good and true,

May stand to take their part.

So here is my story, may it bring

Some smiles, and a tear or so,

It happened, once upon a time,

Far away, and long ago.

Outside the night wind keens and wails,

Come listen to me, the Teller of Tales!

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Prologue

Lord Russano of Salamandastron put aside his quill and capped a tiny gourd of ink with a wooden stopper. Leaving his study, the badger went downstairs, clutching a wooden pail full of parchment scrolls. He was met at the bottom by his wife, Lady Rosalaun, who shook her head reprovingly at him.

"So, that's where my pail went. I've been looking everywhere for it. Aren't you ashamed of yourself, pinching pails!"

However, Russano looked anything but ashamed. He held up the pail and shook it triumphantly. "Look, Rosalaun, I've finished it, my history of Lord Brocktree's journey and conquest of our mountain!"

Rosalaun smiled at her husband. He was the kindest .ind wisest badger Salamandastron had ever known, though when he was enthusiastic about his pet projects he behaved like a cheerful, eager youngster. She took hold of his inkstained paw as they walked to the dining hall. "They're all waiting, you know. Remember, you promised to read them the story once you'd completed it."

Russano chuckled. "I don't suppose Snowstripe, Melanius and the leverets would wait a day or two until I tidy this manuscript up a bit?"

Rosalaun stopped Russano in his tracks. "There's not just our son and daughter and some young leverets waiting to hear you read the tale. Word has got 'round. Every hare on the mountain wants to hear it, too!"

Russano turned and made for the stairs, but his wife held on to his paw. The Badger Lord appeared rather flustered. "Every hare, you say? You mean all of them? But . . . but ... I only meant this as something for the young 'uns, to teach them a little of our mountain's history!"

Rosalaun squeezed his paw affectionately. "That's not fair. What about us older ones, the parents and grandkin. Aren't we entitled to know our mountain's history? I for one would love to hear it. Besides, you have a wonderful storytelling voice. Oh, say you'll read it to us all, Russano, please!"

The Badger Lord allowed himself to be led off again toward the dining hall. "Oh, all right, but it'll take a few days. This is a big work. I've been two seasons now, reading through dusty old parchments, interviewing creatures for stories about their ancestors, and studying carvings in the forge. I've sat on the shore, listening to sea otters, stood beneath trees recording squirrelshuh, I've even had to crouch for four days in a mole dwelling. Had to keep waking those two fat old moles up so I could hear their story. Do you know, it was told to them by their great-grandma, who had it from her old aunt's cousin, twice removed on the uncle's side, or so they said?"

Rosalaun stood with her hand on the door latch. "Yes, yes, I know all that, Russano. It won't matter how long you take to read the thing. You can space it out, a bit every evening. Nothing nicer on a winter's night than a good story. Now, the fire's banked up, supper's on the table, and everybeast is waiting. So in you go!"

The dining hall was packed to capacity, mainly with hares, though there was a scattering of moles, squirrels, hedgehogs, mice, and some visiting otters. Lord Russano was immediately captured by his two young offspring, Melanius and Snowstripe, who tugged him up the three broad steps to where his chair had been placed next to a supper-laden table.

"Papa Papa, read the story to us, please please!"

"Are me an' Snowstripe in the story, Papa?"

Russano chuckled as he sat them down on the cushioned chair arms on either side of him. "Great seasons, you'd have to be many many seasons old to be in this tale. Now sit still and be quiet, my dears."

Silence fell over the hall, broken only by the door's opening as the duty cooks came hurrying in. Everybeast turned around and shushed them loudly, and quiet was restored once more. Russano split open a small loaf, cut a thick chunk of cheese and jammed it in the bread, making himself a rough sandwich. Every eye was upon him as he took a few good bites and washed them down with a half-tankard of October Ale. The still atmosphere was broken by a small hedgehog squeaking aloud.

"When's a Badgelord goin' t'get on wiv it?"

Russano left off eating and looked quizzically at the hogbabe. "Get on with what?"

A deafening roar rang out from the crowded hall. "The story!"

Russano looked up in mock surprise. "Oh, did you want me to read you my story?"

He clapped paws to his ears as the noise hit him like a tidal wave. "Yeeeeeeessssss!"

The small, polished hardwood stick that Russano always carried with him was lying on the table. Lady Rosalaun picked it up and waved it warningly under his nose. "Lord Russano, will you please stop teasing and read the story. Either that, or straight off to bed with you!"

Everybeast, especially the little ones, laughed at the idea of a Badger Lord being sent to bed for being naughty. Russano pulled the first scroll from the pail. Unrolling it across the tabletop, he placed his tankard on the top edge to stop it folding back. His kind, brown eyes roamed the hall, a smile hovering upon his lips as he spoke.

"Friends, I will read to you for a few hours each evening. Salamandastron's history goes back further into the mists of time than even I would dare to guess. But the mountain as we know it today, with its leveret school, Long Patrol and laws set down for all to live in peace by, is due mainly to the work of one creature: Lord Brocktree of Brockhall. It was he who was responsible for the life we enjoy herethe outer gardens and terraces, the orchards and crop-growing areas, and the wonderful chambers, so full of comfort. Other badgers were here before him, and they were all good Lords in their own fashion, but not until the time of Lord Brocktree of Brockhall did the mountain really come into its own. I have recorded the history of his early years as faithfully as I could.

"So, then, here it is. I hope you learn lessons from it, take heed of its value, and most of all I hope you enjoy it as a mighty tale of great warriors."

Book One

The Days of Ungatt Trunn

also entitled

Dorothea Leaves Home

Chapter 1

Loneliness was everywhere. Hopelessness and an air of foreboding had settled over the western shores, casting their pall over land, sea and the mountain of Salaman-dastron. Yet nobeast knew the cause of it.

A pale moon of early spring cast its wan light down upon the face of the mighty deeps, touching each wind-driven wavetop with flecks of cold silver. Soughing breakers crashed endlessly upon the strand, weary after their journey from the corners of the earth. Above the tideline, gales chased dry sand against the rocks, forcing each particle to sing part of the keening dirge that blended with the sounds of the dark ocean.

In his chamber overlooking the scene, Lord Stonepaw sat in his great chair, feeling as ancient as the mountain he ruled. In one corner, his bed stood neatly made, unused now for a score of seasons. He was far too old; the ritual of lying down each night and rising next day had become painful for his bones. Drawing his cloak tight against vagrant night chills, the once mighty Badger Lord squinted rheumily out to sea, worrying constantly about his domain.

Without bothering to knock, a venerable hare creaked His way into the chamber, leaning heavily upon a small serving cart which he was pushing before him. Stonepaw's efforts to ignore him were of no avail. He fussed hither and thither, like a broody hen with only one chick, chunnering constantly as he went about his chores. "Mmmm, no fire lit again, eh, m'lud? Catch your death o' cold one night y'will, mark m'words!"

Sparks from the flint he was striking against a blade, coupled with his wheezy blowing, soon had a flame from dry moss crackling against pine twigs.

"Hmmm, that's better, wot? C'mon, get this supper down. You've got to blinkin' well eat to live, y'know!"

Stonepaw shook his head at the sight of the food his servant was laying out on the small table at his side. "Leave me alone, Fleetscut. I'll have it later."

"No y'won't, sire, you'll flippin' well have it now! I ain't goin' t'the bother o' luggin' vittles from the kitchen to watch you let 'em go cold. Hot veggible soup an' fresh bread, that'll do you the world o' good, wot!"

The ancient badger sighed with resignation. "Oh, give your tongue a rest. I'll take the soup. Bread's no good t'me, though. Too crustyhurts my gums."

Fleetscut brooked no arguments. Drawing his dagger, he trimmed the crusts from the still oven-warm loaf. "No crusts now, wot? Dip it in your soup, m'lud." The hare perched on the chair arm, helping himself to soup and bread, in the hope that it might encourage his master's appetite. Stonepaw snorted mirthlessly.

"Huh, look at us. Me, Stonepaw, hardly able to hold a spoon with the same paws that used to lift huge boulders, and you, Fleetscut, doddering 'round with a trolley!"

The hare nudged his old friend and cackled. "Heh heh heh! Mebbe so, but I can still remember the days when I could leap three times as high as that trolley, aye, an' run from dawn to dusk without stoppin' to draw breath. Wasn't a bally hare on the mountain could even stay with my dust trail! Those were the seasons, wot! You, too, Stonepaw. I saw you lift boulders bigger'n yourself when we were young, you could break spears an' bend swords with your bare paws . .."

Stonepaw gazed at the paws in question. "That may have been, my old messmate, but look at my paws now, silver-furred, battered, scarred and so full of aches and pains that they're no good for anything!"

Fleetscut hauled himself from the chair arm and went to lean at the long window overlooking the sea. "So what's the blinkin' problem? Everybeast has t'grow old, nothin' can stop that. We've had a long an' good life, you'n'me, fought our battles, protected the western coast against all comers, an' never once backed off from any fight. There's been peace now for as long as any creature on the mountain can remember. What're you worryin' about, sire?"

With a grunt, Stonepaw rose slowly from his chair and joined his companion at the window. He stared out at the darkened waters as he replied. "Peace has gone on too long. Something inside me says that trouble such as these shores have never known is headed our way. I wished that we could live our days out without having to take up arms again, Fleetscut, but deep down I'm stone cold certain it won't happen. Worst part of it is that I can't even guess what the future holds."

Fleetscut looked strangely at the Badger Lord, then shuddered and went to warm himself by the fire. "Sire, I know exactly how you feel. Matter o' fact, I was thinkin' those very thoughts this afternoon, when old Blench the cook said to me: 'Looks like evil comin' soon.' She says: 'See for yourself, there ain't a sight or sound of a single bird anywhere on land or sea!'"

Lord Stonepaw stroked his long silver beard thought-I ully. "Blench was right, too, now you come to mention it. Where do you suppose all the birds have gone? The skies are usually thick with gulls, cormorants, petrels and shearwaters in late spring."

Fleetscut shrugged expressively. "Who knows what goes on in the mind of a seabird? Maybe they know things we don't. Stands t'reason, though, sire,why should they hang about if they know somethin' bad is due to come here?"

The badger smiled at his faithful old friend. "Why indeed? They have no duty to protect this coast and they can always build nests elsewhere. Leave me now, I'll talk to you on the morrow. There are things I must do."

Fleetscut had never questioned his Badger Lord's authority, and was not about to do so now. Bobbing a stiff bow he left the chamber, pushing his trolley.

Lord Stonepaw made his way to the secret chamber where countless other Badger Rulers of Salamandastron had gone to dream mysterious dreams. It was a place that would have made the hairs on any other creature's back stand stiff. Ranged around the walls of the inner chamber were lines of little carvings, telling of the mountain's history. Guarding it in fearsome armored array stood the mummified bodies of past Badger Warriors: Urthrun the Gripper, Spearlady Gorse, Bluestripe the Wild, Ceteruler the Just and many other legendary figures.

From his own lantern, Stonepaw lit three others. Then, taking a pawful of herbs from a shelf, he sprinkled them into the lantern vents. As the sweet-smelling incense of smoke wreathed him, he sat down upon a carved rock throne. Closing both eyes, he breathed in deeply and let his mind take flight. After a while he began speaking.

"If the gates of Dark Forest lie open for me soon, if the shadow of evil darkens our western shores, who will serve in my stead? My hares are scattered far and wide. Peacetime makes young warriors restless; they are gone questing afar for adventure. Only the old guard are left here with me on this mountain, dim of eye and feeble of limb, the seasons of their strength long flown."

Lord Stonepaw's eyes began flickering, and the herbal smoke swirled about his great silver head as he sat up straight, his voice echoing around the rockbound cavern.

"Where is the strongest of the strong? Who can be so perilous that a force of fighting hares will rise and follow that creature? Is there a badger roaming the earth brave and mighty enough to become Lord of Salamandastron?"

Outside on the strand, the gale increased, waves crashed widespread on the tideline in their effort to conquer the land, like a maddened beast the ocean roared. Sand swept upward into winding columns, driving, spiraling, crazily across the shore. Yet still was there no sound of birds or any other living thing to be heard.

A foreboding of great evil lay over the land and sea. But nobeast knew the cause of it. ... Yet.

Chapter 2

In the northeast reaches of Mossflower Wood a traveler had walked straight into trouble. Drigg Slopmouth and his brood numbered thirteen in all, nasty, vicious stoats every one. Drigg's family loved to cheat, lie, steal, bully or murder, even among themselves; their chief hatred was honest toil. The only work they had done that day was to lie in wait for an unsuspecting wayfarer, a lanky, carefree young hare known to her friends as Dotti. She was reckless and impatient and not overfond of studying, but what she lacked in scholarly achievement she made up for in impudence, courage and a sharp wit. The realization that she was surrounded by Drigg and his band of robbers did not seem to upset her unduly.

She nodded amiably at them. "Good mornin', chaps an' chappesses. Not a bad old sort o' day for the time of season, wot!"

A snigger arose from the stoats.

"Lookit wot we caught, Drigga posh rabbit!"

Dotti rounded on the speaker, a fat, frowsy female. "Specifically incorrect, doncha know, my old stoatess. I'm a hare, not a rabbit. Now say it correctly after me. Lookit wot we caught, Drigga posh hare."

Drigg stepped between them, pointing to the traveling haversack, which resembled an outsized handbag, swinging from the young hare's paw. "Empty yer bag on the ground!"

Dotti smiled sweetly at him. "Oh, I'd rather not, sir. It'd take me half the day to get the jolly old thing repacked, wot!"

A large, dim-looking stoat, Drigg's eldest son, pushed forward. "Then tell us wot you got in yer bag, an' don't say it isn't nothin'."

Dotti clucked reprovingly. "You mean don't say it isn't anything. Dearie me, I'll bet you never attended woodland school."

The big stoat snarled, pawing at a long dagger he wore hanging from his belt. "Just show us wot's in the bag, rabbit!"

The haremaid wagged a paw at him. "There you go again with that rabbit error. Did I call you a stoat? Of course I didn't. It's obvious to anybeast you're an oversized toad. Oh, sorry, the bag. Here, you take it!"

Dotti swung the bag, hard. There was a cracking noise as it struck the stoat's head, laying him out flat. She whirled upon the others, a perilous glint in her eyes. "I can forgive bad grammar and insults, but that was a good flagon of old cider, a gift for my aunt Blench, an' that oaf has just broken it with his head. Unforgivable! Ah well, there's only one thing I've got left to say to you lot . . . Eulaaaliiiaaaaaa!"

The time-honored war cry of fighting hares rang out as Dotti hurled herself upon the would-be robbers, laying about her with her bag left and right, leaping and kicking out fiercely with powerful, rangy footpaws.

From the shelter of a broad beech nearby, another traveler watched the mêlée. He chuckled quietly. The young hare seemed to be doing fine, despite the number of vermin she was facing. Dotti had accounted for three more stoats and was in the process of depriving the fat, frowsy one of her remaining snaggle teeth when Drigg caught her footpaws in a noose. The haremaid was yanked off balance and floored as three stoats leapt upon her back. Drigg Slopmouth drew a sharp double-edged dagger and circled his fallen victim, calling to those who had piled in on her: "Get 'er on 'er back an' stretch 'er neck, so's I can get a stab in. 'Old 'er still, ye blitherin' oafs!"

From his position behind the beech tree, the watcher decided it was time to step in and help the beleaguered hare. Drigg screeched in terror as he was lifted into the air and used as a swatter to knock the other stoats willy-nilly. His flailing paws swept vermin left and right, the wind was knocked from him as his stomach connected with the back of another, and stars exploded when his head cracked against the jaw of a hefty young stoat. Dotti scrambled upright swinging her bag, but there was nobeast to strike. Vermin lay everywhere, those still conscious moaning aloud, nursing their injuries. Drigg still hung, half dazed, from the paw of a mighty male badger. The huge creature looked like one who would brook no nonsense from anybeast, from his wild dark eyes and rough, bearded muzzle to the homespun tunic and traveler's cloak he wore. An immense double-hilted battle sword hung at his back. He tossed Drigg aside like a discarded washrag and nodded sternly at the haremaid.

"I've been watching you awhile from behind yon beech. For a young 'un you were doing well, until they came at you from behind. Remember, if there's more than one enemy always get your back against a rock or a tree."

The haremaid kicked over a stoat who was struggling to rise. She addressed the badger none too cordially. "Well you've got a bally nerve I must say, tellin' a gel how t'conduct her battles, while you sit hidden on the blinkin' sidelines watchin'. Are you sure it wasn't too much bother, havin' to jolly well get off your bottom an' help me out?"

The badger shrugged noncommittally. "As I said, I thought you were doing quite well. If I'd thought you could have taken them single-pawed I wouldn't have stepped in."

Dotti was subject to instant mood changes. She smiled, scratching ruefully at her long ears. "Hmm, suppose you're right. I lost my head a bit when that flagon of rare old cider got broken. Confounded stoat must have a noggin like a boulder. Never lose one's temper, that's what my old mum used t'say."

The badger nodded sagely, carelessly stepping on Drigg's tail as the stoat tried to crawl away. "She sounds like a wise creature to me. Pity you never heeded her words. By the way, my name's Lord Brocktree."

The haremaid clapped a paw to her cheek. "Oh my giddy aunt! I do apologize for speakin' to you in that sharp manner, sah. I didn't know you were a Badger Lord!"

A ghost of a smile hovered around Brocktree's stern face. "No matter. You were upset at the time. What do they call you, miss?"

The haremaid did an elegant leg, half bow, half curtsy. "Dorothea Duckfontein Dillworthy at y'service, sah, but I'm generally called Dotti, though my papa always said you could call me anything as long as you didn't call me late for lunch. 'Scuse me a tick ..."

The fat, frowsy female stoat had risen and was preparing to make a run for it. Dotti reflattened her with a well-placed swing of her bag. She gestured at Drigg's band. "What do we do with this covey of curmudgeons, m'lord?"

With a fearsome swish, Lord Brocktree drew his great battle sword. It was almost as tall as himself, with a blade wide as two dock leaves. A moan of fear arose from the stoats. Holding it single-pawed between the double hilt, Brocktree swung the huge weapon, making the air thrum like a swan taking off into flight.

Whump!

He buried the point deep in the earth, and his voice dropped to a dangerous growl as he addressed the cowed vermin.

“ I save my sword for proper combat with real warriors. Scum such as you would only dishonor its blade. But I will make exceptions if any of you are still within my sight by the time I have counted to three. Remember, I always keep my word . .. One!"

Dotti was bowled over in the mad scramble. Before the Badger Lord had counted further, Drigg Slopmouth and his wicked brood had vanished. Dotti chuckled. "By gum, that's what I should've done in the first place. Pity I didn't have a sword like this one. What a smashin' old destroyer it is!"

She tugged with both paws, unearthing the blade, then fell over backward under its colossal weight. "Flamin' sunsets, sah! How d'you handle a weapon like this?"

For answer, the badger picked up his sword, twirled it in a warrior's salute and stowed it one-pawed across his broad back, nodding seriously at her. "Strength, I suppose. They say I was born even stronger than my father, Lord Stonepaw."

Dotti flopped her ears understandingly. "I know what y'mean. Beauty's always been my cursethey say I was born more beautiful than the jolly old settin' sun at solstice. That's prob'ly what made those blinkin' stoats attack mesomebeasts take beauty as a sign o' weakness, y'know. I say, did you mention that old Lord Stonepaw was your pater?"

Brocktree retrieved his traveling bag from behind the beech and shouldered it. "I did. Why, do you know of him?"

Dotti pulled a face and scuffed the dust with her footpaw. “I should bally well say so. I'm bein' sent to his blinkin' old mountain, Sallawotjacallit..."

"Salamandastron?"

"Aye, that's the place. My aunt Blench is the chief cook there. I believe she's a right old battleaxe."

Lord Brocktree sensed a story behind Dotti's remarks. Seating himself with his back against the beech tree, he unpacked provisions from his bulky haversack. "Sit down here by me, Dotti. D'you like oatcakes, cheese and elderflower cordial?"

The haremaid plonked herself willingly on the grass. "Rather! I haven't eaten for absolute agesalmost an hour, I think. Mmmm, that cheese looks good!"

Lord Brocktree could not help but smile at the hungry youngster. "Well, there's plenty for two, miss. Help yourself and we'll exchange our stories, you first. Tell me, why are you being sent to Salamandastron?"

Chapter 3

It was an hour past dawn. The gale had passed on and the winds subsided; mist from the seas cloaked the western shoreline. Stiffener Medick, an old boxing hare, was just completing his daily exercise on the sands above the tide-line. Though he was well on in seasons, Stiffener never neglected his daily routine. He had finished his dawn run, lifted stone and log weights, and was on to the final part of his duck and weave drill. Throwing a final few combination jabs into the mist, he retrieved his champion's belt from a rock and began fastening it about his hard-muscled waist.

Stiffener's scarred ears picked up an unfamiliar sound on the ebbing tide. Batting at his nose with a loose-clenched paw, he jogged down to the water. A narrow sailing boat, with its sail furled, was being rowed in by a dozen big rats, their fur dyed dark blue. A cloaked figure stood at its prow as it cut through the sea mist. The hare stood his ground, ready for trouble. As the keel scraped on the sand, the craft nosed up onto the beach. Shipping their oars, the rats silently piled out and threw themselves prone upon the wet sand. Without" a glance at them, the gowned and cowled figure used them as a bridge to reach dry land without wetting its elegantly shod footpaws, treading carelessly upon their upturned backs.

Stiffener nodded toward the newcomer aggressively. "Ahoy there, mate, who are ye an' what do ye want 'ere?"

One of the rats arose and walked over to face Stiffener. He was a big, evil-looking creature, clad in armor under a tabard embroidered with a sickle hook insignia. The rat's voice was heavy with contempt as he addressed the old boxing hare.

"Koyah! Creatures of the lower orders are not allowed to speak with the Grand Fragorl. Kneel before her and stay silent until I address ye further!"

Stiffener smiled dangerously at the armored rat. "I think you'd better kneel t'me, laddie buck. A lesson in good manners wouldn't go amiss in your case."

A smart whack to the jaw caused the rat to totter groggily. Stiffener clubbed down with his left paw on the rat's shoulder, forcing him into a kneeling position. Suddenly the boxing hare found himself hemmed in on all sides by the swords of the other rats. One of them looked toward the hooded figure, who made a few gestures with its shrouded paws. The rat turned back to Stiffener and spoke.

"Nobeast ever raises paw to the Chosen Ones and lives. You are fortunate that the Grand Fragorl has spared your miserable life, for she wishes to deliver a message to your chief, he who rules the mountain. You will take us to him."

Stiffener was not about to argue with twelve blades. He nodded to the cloaked figure, speaking as he turned to go. "Y'best foller me, marm. I'll take ye to Lord Stonepaw, though I doubt he'll offer yer breakfast if'n yore bound to keep actin' all 'igh an' mighty."

Stonepaw was back in his living quarters when Fleetscut ambled in without knocking, as usual. Turning from the fogbound view at his window, the old badger raised his hoary eyebrows at the absence of a trolley. "No breakfast today? Has Blench overslept?"

Grave-faced, the ancient servant bowed stiffly. "I think the trouble we were talkin' about has finally arrived, m'lud. Somebeast t'see you down at the shore entrance. You'd best get dressed for company."

Wordlessly, Stonepaw allowed his retainer to select a flowing green robe from the closet. When the Badger Lord had shrugged out of his nightgown, Fleetscut climbed on a chair and assisted his master to get into the robe.

"Hmm. I'll get your red belt to go with that, an' maybe a war helmet an' javelin."

Stonepaw ignored Fleetscut's selection. "Bring my white cord girdle. No helmet, it keeps slipping over my eyes. There's no need of a javelin, either." Picking up a long ceremonial mace, the badger surveyed himself in a long copper mirror. "Get Stiffener, Bungworthy, Sailears and Trobee. They can accompany me."

Now that dawnlight was clearer and the mist had begun to disperse, one or two of the old hares watching from vantage windows in the mountain remarked on the curious appearance of the rats and their cloaked leader below, at the mountain's main entrance.

"Stap m'whiskers, they're blue!"

"Must be somethin' wrong with your eyes, old chap. Whoever heard o' blue rats?"

"I know, but, look, their fur is a sort o' darkish blue. Can't tell what the dickens color that one with the cloak on is. Sinister-lookin' bod, wot?"

Blench the cook took a final look before going off to supervise breakfast with her kitchen helpers. "Pink, blue or rainbow-colored, that lot down there look like trouble, you mark my words!"

The heavily robed figure of the Grand Fragorl stood immobile and mysterious, but the rat who had challenged Stiffener paced up and down impatiently. He was obviously some type of officer. After a lengthy while, Lord Stonepaw and his retinue of four hares, all carrying javelins, appeared. The spokesrat swaggered forward. Toying arrogantly with his sword hilt, he looked Stonepaw up and down.

"Are you the one in charge here? Speak!"

Lord Stonepaw brushed past him as if he were not there, and pointed a great gnarled paw at the cloaked one. "Who are you and why do you trespass upon the western shore with armed soldiers?"

Removing the cowl of her cloak, the hooded one revealed herself. She was a blue-furred ferret wearing a nose ring, from which hung a gold sickle hook amulet. Her voice carried with it the haughty tone of one used to being obeyed.

"I am Grand Fragorl to Ungatt Trunn, Ruler of the Earth. You are one of the inferior species, but he has given me permission to deliver his message to you."

Feeling his hackles begin to rise, the Badger Lord growled, "Inferior species, eh? Stand here talking like that to me, vermin, and you'll be crabmeat before the mist lifts fully. Aye, and your rats, too. If you have something to say, then spit it out and begone while I'm still in a reasonable mood. So, speak your piece now!"

Drawing a scroll from her robe, the ferret read aloud: "Be it known to all creatures of lowly order, the days of Ungatt Trunn are here. All of these lands and the seas that skirt them are from hereon in his property. You have until nightfall to vacate this place. You must take nothing with you, neither victuals nor weapons. You will also leave behind you any serving beasts who are of use. This is the will and the law of Ungatt Trunn, he who holds the power to make the stars fall from the sky and the earth to tremble. Obey or die!"

Stiffener Medick raised his javelin. "Just say the word, m'lud, an' we'll give 'em blood'n'vinegar. Us lower orders are pretty good at things like that, y'know!"

Stonepaw touched Stiffener's javelin so that it pointed down to the sand. He heaved a sigh of resignation as he replied to the Grand Fragorl.

"Deliver this message back to whatever lunatic scum you serve. Tell him that Lord Stonepaw of Salaman-dastron is accustomed to the blowing of windbags, as your master will find to his cost if he dares to land here. Now get out of my sight and take those blue-painted idiots with you!"

Wordlessly the ferret and her soldiers retreated to their boat and rowed off into the mists.

Sailears, a garrulous old female warrior, twirled her lance nonchalantly. "Nice little parlay, wot. Well, is that it?"

Shaking his grizzled old head, Stonepaw turned and stumped back into his beloved mountain. "I wish it was, friend. I wish it was!"

Chapter 4

Lord Brocktree listened with amusement as Dotti unfolded her story.

"Well, sah, what with one bally thing or another, I was always in trouble back home in the mideastern hills. If a confounded pie went missin' from a windowsill, or somebeast had bin at the cider store, guess who got the blinkin' blame? Me! Troublecauser, rabblerouser, scoff-swiperI've been called all of those, y'know. Not t'mention frogwalloper an' butter wouldn't melt in me mouth. Fiddle de dee, I say, 'twas all because of my fatal beauty. They always pick on the pretty ones, I've already told you that. Anyhow, just after Grandpa's whiskers went afire an' some villain tore the seat out of Uncle Septimus's britches, my dear old parents made a decision. Here, cast your lordly peepers over this little scrawl!"

Dotti dug a tattered barkcloth letter from her armbag. Brocktree's dark eyes twinkled as he read it.

Dear Sister Blench,

Cramsy and I can no longer put up with Dorothea, so I am sending her to you. Your Badger Lord has our permission to deal with the wretch as he sees fit, short of slaying her; you also may do likewise. Please keep her captive upon your mountain until such time as she is civilized enough to live among decent creatures. Teach her to cook and other domestic skills. I know it is too much to ask that she be taught etiquette, deportment and other maidenly pursuitsshe is a fiend in hare's fur, believe me. Sister dear, I implore you to take her off our paws while we still have a roof over our heads, which are gray with care and worry. I would be fibbing if I said Dorothea does not eat much. She is an empty sack with legsher appetite would frighten a flock of seagulls. Grant her father and me this one favor, and you will have our heartfelt thanks, plus the beaded shawl Mother passed down to me and a flagon of palest old cider from Cramsy's drinks cabinet. Please write to let me know she has arrived safely, and if she does not return by winter I will take it that she has settled down to her new life. Cramsy sends his love to you, Blench. I remain your devoted sister.

Signed, Daphne Duckfontein Dillworthy.

Brocktree had to turn his head aside and wipe his eyes on a spotted kerchief, to keep from laughing. Dotti, surmising that he was wiping away tears, nodded sympathetically.

"Sad, ain't it, sah, the woeful tale of a fatal beauty. I say, did you get chucked out by your parents, too? You'll forgive me sayin', but a chap of your size must've taken some bally chuckin', wot wot?"

The Badger Lord patted his young friend's paw. "No no, 'twas nothing like that, Dotti. I was restless, just like all Badger Lords before me. It grieved me to leave behind my young son. Boar the Fighter I named him. A badger's son is his pride and joy, when he is a babe. But he must grow up, and it is a fact that two male badgers cannot live together in peace, especially Badger Lords, for that is what Boar will grow to be one day. So I had to observe the unwritten law. I left Brockhall and began roaming, to follow my dream."

Dotti carefully stowed the letter back in her bag. "Beg pardon, sah, but what dream is that?"

Brocktree unshouldered his battle blade and began whetting its edge on a smooth rock, even though it looked as keen as a razor. "A vision I see in my mind's eye, sometimes when I'm awake, or other times when I sleep. It must have been the same picture that other badgers have dreamed. A mountain that once shot forth flames and molten rock, older than time itself, its fires now gone. Waiting, always waiting for me on the shores of a great ocean. I could not describe the way to Salamandastron, for that is what I know the mountain is called, nor could I draw a map of the route. But something in my brain, my very heart, is guiding me there."

Dotti interrupted perkily. "Oh, sooper dooper, sah! I'm glad you know the flippin' way. I haven't got a confounded clue, only that it's someplace down on the western shores. Oh, beg pardon, sah. Didn't mean to butt in on you. Bad form, wot?"

Brocktree smiled at his young companion and ruffled her ears indulgently. "We'll find it together, young 'un. You're right, 'tis on the western shores. In my dreams I've seen the sun setting in the seas beyond the mountain. But my feelings tell me that the place for which we are bound will have great need of a Badger Lord. One who will not shrink from evil and cruelty, a warrior ready to stand and fight!"

Dotti chuckled, cutting once more into Brocktree's speech. "Well, your jolly old feelin's have no further to look than yourself, sah. You look like the very badger t'do the job, an' y'come ready equipped with that bloomin' great monstrosity y'call a sword!"

Squinting one eye, Brocktree peered down the mighty blade, its deadly double edge keener than midwinter. "Aye, methinks it will have its work well cut out when the time comes. That face, the one which visits and disturbs my slumbers ... I have seen nothing like it, the face that turns dreams to haunting nightmares!"

The tone of Brocktree's voice caused Dotti to shudder. "Great seasons, what face is that, sah?"

"Nothing I want to talk more about, young 'un. Now, no more questions, please. We'll make camp here. There's a brook beyond that tall elm yonderyou go and fill this bowl with water while I get a small fire going. Come on now, Dotti, stir your stumps. You'll have to shape up if you want to travel with me!"

The haremaid sprang up, grabbing the bowl from Brocktree's big paws and saluting smartly in a comical manner. "Brook beyond tall elm! Fill bowl with water! Yes sah! Three bags full sah! Goin' right away sah! About turn, quick march! One two hup!"

Brocktree grinned as he watched her strut off, trip, send the bowl flying, and catch it clumsily. She grinned back at him sheepishly.

"Good wheeze, sendin' me for water, wot? If you'd told me to light a fire I'd have prob'ly sent the whole forest up in flames. Not too clever at fires, doncha know!"

Brocktree took out his tinderbox, murmuring to himself, "At least she can't flood the forest with a single bowlful o' water, but who knows? Ah well, at least she's company for a lone traveler."

Flickering shadows from the fire hovered about the woodland glade; somewhere close by a nightjar warbled in the branches of a sycamore. Dotti scraped a wooden ladle around the empty bowl and licked it. "Confounded good soup that was, sah. Can all Badger Lords cook as well as you do? Mebbe you'd best fire my aunt Blench an' promote y'self to head cook when we get to Salamathingee, wot?"

Brocktree hooded his eyes in mock ferocity. "If I do become head cook I'll make sure that you get lots of sticky, greasy pots to wash, young miss!"

Dotti began rummaging in her bag. "If the scoff tastes as good as that I'll lick 'em all shinin' clean. Least I can do is to render you a little ditty to aid your digestion, sah."

The badger folded his paws across his stomach. "Aye, that'd be nice. Carry on."

Dotti peered into the bag as she rooted around in its interior. "Oh corks, half the beads have fallen off this blinkin' shawl the mater gave me for Aunt Blench. It's absolutely soaked with cider, too. Aha! Here's me faithful old harecordion. A few of the keys'n'reeds are stickin', but that cider may have loosened 'em up a touch. Right, here goes, pin y'ears back and get ready for a treat. Wot?"

To describe the haremaid's voice as being akin to a frog trapped beneath a hot stone would have been a great injustice, to both frog and stone. Moreover, the instrument she was playing on sounded like ten chattering squirrels swinging on a rusty gate. However, Dotti played and sang on blithely.

Brocktree squinched both eyes shut, fervently hoping that the song did not contain too many verses.

"I am but a broken-hearted maid,

My tale I'll tell to you,

As I sit alone in this woodland glade,

Yearnin' for a pudden or two.

I hi hi hi, si hi hi hi hi hiiiiiing!

Whack folly doodle ho, whoops cum whang,

The greatest song my grandma sang,

Was to her fam'ly of twenty-three,

Ho dish up the pudden, save some for me!

'Twas made from fruit an' arrowroot,

Hard pears an' apples, too,

Some honey that the bees chucked out,

That set as hard as glue,

Some comfrey leaf an' bulrush sheaf,

An' damsons sour as ever,

She stirred the lot in a big old pot

While we sang 'Fail me never.'

When all of a sudden Grandma's pudden,

Burst right out the pot,

Round as a boulder, not much older,

Fifty times as hot!

It shot down the road, laid out a toad,

An' knocked two hedgehogs flat,

Splashed in the lake an' slew a snake,

An' the frogs cried 'Wot was that?'

Oh deary me calamity, oh woe an' lack a day,

Without a pudden to my name

I'll sit an' pine away ... awaaaaaay

Whack foholly doohoohoodelll daaaayeeeeeee!"

Dotti made her ears stand rigid on the last note to add effect. Fluttering her eyelids dramatically, she was squeezing the harecordion finally shut when its bellows shot forth a stream of old pale cider, right up her nose. She sneezed and curtsied awkwardly.

"Whoo! That cleared my head. Shall I sing you another of my ditties, sah?"

The Badger Lord demurred, hoping she would not insist. "No, Dotti, please. You must save your voice for another evening. Now you should get some rest. Here, take my cloak."

The haremaid settled down with the cloak swathed around her like a huge collapsed tent. She sighed. "Funny thing, y'know, my voice has that effect on many creatures. You should thank the stars that you were born just a plain old Badger Lord. That's the trouble with bein' a fatal beauty with a voice that's too fine t'be heard more than once a night. Hmm, it affected my dad so much that he said once in a lifetime was sufficient for him. Good job you ain't like him, sah. At least I can sing to you once every night, wot!"

Turning his back to her, Brocktree winced. "Well, perhaps not every single night. Don't want to strain a beautiful voice, do we?"

Dotti closed her eyes, snuggling down in the cloak. "Let's just say I'll sing to you whenever I feel up to it. Good night, Brocktree sah. I say, can I call you Brockers?"

The tone of the Badger Lord's reply stifled any argument. "You certainly cannot, miss. Huh, the very idea of it! Brockers! Good night!"

Morning sun broke cheerfully down upon the little camp, the twittering of birdsong causing Dotti to poke her head out of the cloak folds. Blue smoke rose in a thin column amid the dappled sunshadows cast by trees in full spring leaf. Brocktree was turning oatcakes over on a flat stone, which was laid upon the fire he had rekindled. His great striped head shook reprovingly. "Dawn has been up two hours, miss. Are you going to lie there all day?"

Yawning and stretching, the haremaid lolloped over to the fire, muttering as she helped herself to hot oatcakes and mint tea sweetened with honey. "It's the confounded beauty sleep, that's what 'tis. My mater was always sayin' to me when I came down late for breakfast, 'Been takin' your beauty sleep again, m'gel.' I say, these oatcakes are spiffin' when they're hot. Well, sah, which way do your voices say we go today, wot?"

Brocktree recovered his cloak and bundled it into his haversack. "I think we should follow the course of that brook, where you got the water from. Sooner or later it'll bring us to a stream."

Dotti rescued the oatcakes just in time as Brocktree doused the fire and broke camp. Stuffing items in her bag, she hopskipped behind him, slopping mint tea about and bolting oatcakes as she breakfasted on the move.

"Question, sah, why are we lookin' for a stream?"

The Badger Lord replied without looking back. "Streams always run to rivers, rivers run to the sea. That way we find the shoreline and follow it south. Sooner or later we'll come to the mountain on the west shore. Save your breath for marching, young 'un."

By midmorning Dotti was hungry, pawsore and had nearly talked herself out, though to no effect. All she saw was the badger's broad, cloaked back with the great sword slung across it in front of her. All her observations and complaints were met with either silence or a deep grunt. Lord Brocktree was not one for lengthy conversations when he was on the march. Dotti stumbled, barking her footpaw upon a willow root as they followed the meandering brook.

"Yowowch! Ohh, I've gone an' broke a limb. The pain's shootin' right up to my bally eartips!"

There was no reply, either sympathetic or otherwise, from Brocktree, who merely trudged onward. Dotti continued her lament to a ladybird that had lighted orrher shoulder.

"Might have to borrow that big sword an' chop off me blinkin' footpaw. If I find the right piece o' wood I should be able to carve another to hop along on. Breakfast was ages ago, ages an' ages an' ages! I'll bet lots of poor beasts die of starvation, havin' to walk along for days'n'days behind big rotten ole badgers who never say a flippin' word!"

Brocktree bit his lip hard to keep from chuckling.

"Now if I was a badger I'd talk all the time, in fact I'd make it me duty to talk to nice friendly haremaids. Oh dearie me, I'd say, hurt your footpaw, Dotti? Here, let me cut it off with my sword. You can ride up on my back until I find a log to chop up an' make you a new one."

Brocktree halted without warning, and Dotti walked straight into his back, still chunnering to herself. He turned. "There's the stream up ahead, missie. You can sit on the bank an' cool your paw in the water. That'll make it feel a lot better, and while you do that I'll get lunch ready for us."

With a deft motion he produced his great battle blade. "But I can always oblige by doing as you wish. Here, hold out your footpaw an' I'll chop it off!"

Dotti shot past him for the streambank, yelling: "Yah, I'd chop both your bloomin' great footpaws off if I could lift that sword. At least it'd slow you down a bit. Lord Paw-whacker they should've called you!"

The haremaid's mood softened as she sat cooling her footpaws in the shade of a tree, letting the soothing stream work its magic as she ate lunch. Brocktree had gathered some early berries and mixed them with chopped apple and hazelnuts from his pack, which made a delicious fruit salad with a syrup of honey and streamwater poured over them. Then the badger gave her dock leaves and waterweed he had collected along the streambank.

"If your paw's still sore, bind it with these. That will fix it up."

Taking the badger's face in both paws, Dotti murmured, "Look straight at me, sah, pretend I'm thankin' you. Now don't look over, but there's a willow overhangin' the water the other side o' the stream. Don't look! There's somebeast in there watchin' us!"

Brocktree straightened up, winking swiftly at her. "Oh, right. I'll look further down the bank, see if I can find you some bigger dock leaves. Sit an' rest, I'll not be long." He strode off down the bank, disappearing around a bend.

Dotti could feel the watcher's eyes on her from the willow shade on the far bank. Taking care not to stare back, she acted as though she were completely unaware of the presence of an eavesdropper. Taking the harecordion out of her bag, she placed it in the warm sunlight to dry out. Then, dangling her footpaws in the clear, cool current, the haremaid hummed a little tune to herself, flicking the odd secret glance across the stream. She reflected that had she been completely alone, a tranquil setting such as this would have been the ideal place to while away the sunny spring midday. However, the peace was short-lived.

Amid sudden howls and roars the overhanging willow seemed to explode in a shower of leaves and twigs. Foliage scattered across the stream surface as two burly forms smashed through the tree cover and crashed heavily into the water. Dotti hurled herself into the stream, whirling her bag aloft.

"Hang on, sah, I'm comin'! Eulaliiiiaaaa!"

Chapter 5

Off the western shores a heavy fog persisted. The afternoon had not fulfilled the morning's promise. Beneath a dirty white sky, layers of mist sat unmoved on a still sea, its oily waveless swell lapping tiredly against the hull of a large barnacle-crusted ship, whose single sail hung furled. A small boat hove alongside, and the Grand Fragorl climbed into a canvas sling which had been lowered from the ship. She nodded and was hoisted swiftly aboard. An aisle appeared amidst the blue-furred rats who crowded the deck, and silently she climbed out and made her way through to the stern cabin.

The interior of Ungatt Trunn's stateroom resembled the stuff of which nightmares are made. Dangling from thick chains, deep copper bowls contained fire that burned blue and gave off a heavy lilac-colored smoke. Oppressive heat enveloped the cabin, heightening the nauseous stench of rotting flesh. Huge cobwebs festooned every corner, spreading up over the deckheads, set aquiver by fat hairy forms which scuttled back and forth after the flies that buzzed everywhere. Carefully avoiding the webs, the Grand Fragorl made her way to the cabin's center and prostrated herself, facedown, with one paw raised in the air. Two other creatures sat in silence watching her, one a small silver-furred fox, its growth stunted by some terrible accident, giving it a shriveled appearance. The fox, a quill pen held awkwardly in its crabbed paw, was seated at a table where it had been peering through thick, crystal-lensed eyeglasses at various scrolls piled upon the tabletop. This was Groddil, High Magician to Ungatt Trunn. Now, turning his eyes from the Grand Fragorl, he sat watching his master for a sign.

Only the tail of the wildcat moved. Black-ringed and yellowish grey with a thick, rounded tip, it seemed to possess a life of its own, swishing back and forth behind Ungatt's chair. The fiercest of warriors, Ungatt Trunn had no time for personal fripperies, but dressed like any plain fighter: chain mail tunic, two iron bracelets and a mail-fringed steel helmet surmounted by a spike. Yet anybeast only had to look at him to see that here was a ruthless conqueror. Beneath the striped brow, permanently creased in a frown, the wildcat's fearsome black and gold eyes remained hooded and unblinking, his stiff white whiskers overhanging two sharp amber fangs, which showed even when his mouth was shut.

He stared at the prone ferret stretched on his cabin floor, then, turning his gaze aside, he nodded briefly to his magician. Groddil spoke in a thin reedy voice, starting with his master's praises.

"Know ye that ye are in the presence of the mighty Ungatt Trunn, son of the Highland King Mortspear and brother to Verdauga Greeneye. Ungatt Trunn who makes the stars fall and the earth shake so that the lesser orders will fear him. Ungatt Trunn whose Blue Hordes are as many as leaves of the forest or sands of the shores. Ungatt Trunn who drinks wine from the skulls of his enemies. This is Ungatt Trunn the Fearsome Beast and these are his days!"

The Grand Fragorl, still facedown on the floor, called aloud the ritual answer required of her. "Though I dare not look upon his face, I know that Ungatt Trunn is here and these are his days!"

Ungatt replied in his coarse rasping voice, "So be it! Did you see my mountain? What took place there? Tell me all and speak true, or flies will be born from your carcass to feed my Webmakers."

The Fragorl allowed herself a fleeting glimpse of the dead rat, moldering in the corner, knowing all too well what happened to anybeast foolish enough to displease Ungatt Trunn. Though the heat in the cabin was stifling, the ferret felt cold sweat break out beneath her long robes. She spoke, fighting to stop her voice trembling.

"O Fearsome One, I saw your mountain, though not all of it, only what the mists would allow. I was not invited inside. It is called Salamandastron, just as you said. The place is defended by inferior species, rabbit things, who all appear to be well on in seasons. They are ruled by a stripedog called Lord Stonepaw who is even older than they. He said many insulting things, which I fear to repeat, but mainly he said it would be to your cost if you dared to land upon his shores. I followed your orders, O Ungatt Trunn, and not stopping to bandy words with the stripedog or his creatures, I returned to you immediately."

Only the flies could be heard as they buzzed around the Conqueror's stateroom. Neither Fragorl nor Groddil moved. A fly swooped across Ungatt's vision and his paw shot out like greased lightning and caught it. Holding it to his ear, he listened to its anguished hum, then tossed it swiftly upward, where it lodged in a cobweb. In a flash two voracious Webmakers were upon the trapped insect. Ungatt never looked up, his hooded eyes fixed on the ferret sprawled near his footpaws.

"You did well, my Fragorl, you may rise and go now."

When the ferret had departed, Ungatt poured wine into a goblet fashioned from the bleached skull of a long-dead otter. "Read me the prophecy again, Groddil."

Hastily sorting out a scroll, the fox unrolled it.

"No highland willed from kin deceased,

Or quest for castles, vague, unknown,

For Ungatt Trunn the Fearsome Beast

Will carve a fortune of his own!

Find the mountain, slay its lord,

Put his creatures to the sword!

When the stars fall from the sky,

Red the blood flows 'neath the sun,

Then let mothers wail and cry,

These are the days of Ungatt Trunn!

Hark, no bird sings in the air!

The earth is shaking everywhere!

His reign of terror has begun!

For these are the days of Ungatt Trunn!"

A fat spider fell from its web, landing on the wildcat's shoulder. He let it run down onto his paw, turning the paw over and back again as the spider scurried to escape. "Now explain it to me!"

As he had done several times, Groddil translated. "It says that you are too fierce and strong to accept the Highland Kingdom when your father dies. Nor are you a wandering robber, dreaming of conquering some castle, as your young brother Verdauga says he will do someday. You will establish your own realm, ruling it from a mountain that is greater than any other. Nobeast has an army to command as large as your Blue Hordes. I am your magician, and I say that tonight you will see the stars fall from the sky. At tomorrow's dawn you will feel the earth shake beneath you."

The wildcat stared levelly at the undersized fox. "You have many clever tricks, Groddil. But if you fail me then you will feel the earth shake from above you. Because I will be dancing on your grave! What about the Badger Lord? Tell me."

Groddil knew the wildcat would not slay himhe was far too valuable a creature for any warlord to kill. The magician fox merely shrugged and went back to studying his scrolls.

"The stripedog is as your Fragorl described, an old one. He should be no trouble to the mighty Ungatt Trunn."

The wildcat leaned on the desk, bringing his face close to the fox. "My dreams do not contain any doddering ancient stripedog. The one who disturbs my slumbers is a badger of middle seasons with the mark of a warrior stamped on him. So, my withered friend, explain that to me?"

Groddil removed his eyeglasses and began wiping them. "I cannot dream your dreams for you all the time. This badger you see might be just that, a dream!"

Ungatt returned to his chair, stroking his fangs. "You'd better hope for your sake that he is, Groddil!"

Lord Stonepaw had been staring from his window at the masses of fog shrouding the seas. He was beginning to see phantom shapes looming in the mists, as one is apt to after gazing awhile. He rubbed at his tired old eyes and lumbered over to his bed, where he sat down to brood over the troubles that beset him.

Stiffener Medick knocked on the door and entered. "Sire, every harejack in the place is waitin' on you t'come an' talk to 'em. They're gathered in the main chamber, armed t'the ears an' primed for action!"

With a weary sigh the Badger Lord rose. "The old, the weak and the feeble. I wish we were all as fit as you, Stiffener. Huh, if wishes were fishes. Ah well, fetch me my armor and javelin. Least I can do is to go down there looking like a Mountain Lord!"

The main chamber was just short of half filled with hares. Two of them, Bungworthy and Trobee, assisted the armored badger up onto a rock platform. Stonepaw shook his head sadly as he assessed his army. Holding up his javelin, he waited until silence fell, then he spoke up loudly, for the benefit of those hard of hearing.

"Good creatures, faithful comrades, you know I have always spoken truly to you, so I am not going to lie about our present situation. I see before me many brave warriorsalas, none of them young and sprightly anymore. Like you, I, too, can remember the seasons gone, when this chamber and the passages outside would be packed solid with young fighting hares. Now we are but a pitiful few. But that does not mean we cannot fight!"

A ragged cheer rose from the old guard, accompanied by warlike comments.

"Eulaliaaa!"

"Aye, we'll give 'em blood'n'vinegar, sire!"

"We're with you to the last beast, lord!"

"We ain't called Stonepaw's Stalwarts for nothin', wot?"

"Send 'em on an' let's begin the game!"

A tear trickled from Stonepaw's eye. Hastily, he brushed it aside and swelled his chest out proudly. "I am honored to lead ye! We know not the number of our foes or how skilled they be at weaponry, but let's give them a hot old time in true Salamandastron fashion!"

Amid the cheering, orders were shouted out.

"Bar all entrances!"

"Archers at the high window slits!"

"Long pikes at the low windows!"

"Stone-slingers on the second level!"

"Sailears, take your crew up onto the high ledges where the boulder heaps are ready!"

As the hares dispersed to their places, Lord Stonepaw held two of them back. "Blench, marm, they'll need feeding. I know you've only got a few kitchen helpers left, but can you see to it?"

The head cook saluted with an iron ladle. "H'ain't seen the day I couldn't, m'lud. There'll be nobeast fightin' on a h'empty belly while I'm around!" She whirled off, yelling at her helpers. "Check the larders an' bring the list t'me. Gather in h'anythin' that's a-growin' up on those ledge gardens, fruits, salad veggibles, h'anythin'!"

Stonepaw turned to the one hare left, his faithful retainer. "Fleetscut, have you still got the ability and wind to be called a runner?"

The ancient hare laughed mirthlessly. "S'pose I could still kick up a bit o' dust, m'lud. Why?"

Stonepaw lowered his voice to a whisper. "Good creature! I want you to draw field rations and leave this mountain within the hour. Go where you will, but use your wits. Search out our young wandering warriors and any bands of hares about the countryside. Young ones with a touch of warriors' blood in their eye. We need help as we've never needed it. Find them and bring them back to Salamandastron, as fast as you can!"

Fleetscut bowed dutifully as he flexed his paws. "I'll give it a jolly good try, sire!"

Lord Stonepaw hugged his old friend briefly. "I know you will, you old grasswalloper. Good luck!"

When Fleetscut had left, the Badger Lord retired to his secret chamber. When he had sprinkled herbs into the burning lanterns, he sat back, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Concentrating hard, he willed the face of his successor to appear in his mind.

"Where are you, strong one? Come to meI need you now. Feel the call of the mountain and hurry to it!"

Stonepaw finally drifted into slumber, rewarded by no sight of any badger's face, just a worrying puzzlement of troubles as yet unborn.

Chapter 6

Lord Brocktree felt himself borne underwater by an adversary of tremendous strength, which seemed to increase on contact with the stream. The beast was built of muscle and steely sinew, wrapping itself about the badger's head, neck and shoulders, blocking off air and light in a skillful deathlock. As soon as he felt his paws touch bottom, Brocktree used his formidable strength, thrusting upward to the surface with a powerful shove.

As both beasts broke the surface, the badger managed to gasp in a breath of air. Then he was aware of thudding blows raining on his opponent as Dotti yelled: "Gerroff! I'll pound your blinkin' head to a jelly if you don't let him go an' jolly well fight fair!"

The beast wrapped about Brocktree's head roared aloud. "Fair? Y'call two to one fair? Yowch ouch! Watch that bag, ye doodlepawed fool, y'near put me eye out. Owww!"

The Badger Lord seized his chance. Clamping his paws around his assailant's tail and jaws, he tore the creature from him and lifted it above his head. It was kicking and wriggling as he hurled it forcefully into the far shallows. Then, diving down, he grabbed his battle blade, which had fallen from his back in the struggle. Dotti gasped with fright as the massive Badger Lord surfaced in a cascade of streamwater, whirling his sword aloft.

"Brocktree of Brockhall! Bones'n'bloooood!"

The otter, for it was a fully grown male of that species, stood up dripping in the shallows. "Aye aye, steady on there, matey, there ain't no need t'go swingin' swords around. Wot's yore trouble?"

Brocktree waded toward him, sword still upraised. "You were trying to drown me back there, murderer!"

The otter threw back his head and chortled. "Hohoho, murderer is it, cully? Shame on ye! Yore the one who sneaked up an' started all this. Ambusher!"

Dotti thought about this for a moment, then, wading over, she placed herself between both creatures. "Stap me if he ain't right, sah. It was you who attacked him first, y'know."

Brocktree dropped his sword in bewilderment. "Hi there, miss, whose side are you on, mine or his?"

The otter sat down in the shallows, chuckling merrily. "Now now, youse two, stop all yore argifyin'. Tell ye wot, d'yer like watershrimp an' 'otroot soup? I've got a pan of it on the goshould be plenty for three."

At the mention of food, Dotti felt immediately friendly. "I've never tasted it, but I'm sure I'll like it, sah!"

The otter waded over, paw outstretched. "Hah! Don't sir me, young 'un, I goes by the name o' Ruffgar Brookback. Y'can call me Ruff, though. Ruff by name, rough by nature, that's wot my ole grandma used t'say when I wrestled 'er!"

Dotti looked at him in surprise. "You used to wrestle with your old grandma?"

Ruff grinned. "Aye, but she always beat the daylights out o' me. C'mon, hearties, toiler me."

Further upstream they came upon Ruff's camp, merely a blanket made into a lean-to. There was a slow-burning turf fire on the bank edge and a long, flat elm trunk floating in the water. Ruff attended to a cauldron of soup bubbling on the fire, dipping in a wooden ladle and sampling it gingerly.

"Haharr, all right'n'ready. This is the stuff t'put a shine on yore fur an' a glint in yore eye, good ole 'otroot!"

He scrambled aboard the log, which was obviously his boat, and retrieved a battered traveling bag. From this he dug three enormous scallop shells, tossing one apiece to Dotti and Brocktree.

"Dig in now, I ain't yore mother. Serve yerselves, mates!"

Dotti filled her shell and went at it like a gannet in a ten-season famine.

"Yah! Whoo! Mother help me, I'm on fire! Oh! Oohaaah!"

Ruff, who had been watching in amusement, took pity on her and scooped up some cold streamwater in his shell. "Cool yore gob on this, missie!"

She drained the water in a single gulp, blinked the tears from her eyes and sniffed. "Good stuff this, wot? A little warm an' spicy, but first-class soup. I like it!" Ruff and Brocktree sat gaping as she refilled her shell and tucked in with a will.

The badger winked at the otter. "She's a hare, you see."

Ruff nodded sagely. "Aye, that explains it, mate!"

After the meal they lay about on the bank, and Dotti and Brocktree told Ruff their stories. Ruff explained to them how he came to be in those parts.

"I'm a bit like you, young Dotti, I left 'ome when I was young, just afore they decided to sling me out. Wild an' mischievous? Haharr, I was more trouble than a bag o' bumblebees. Me pore ole grandma was sorry t'see me go, but the rest of me family breathed a sigh of relief. Any'ow, I been a loner most o' the time. It ain't so bad. Nobeast to keep shoutin', Ruff stop that! Or, Ruff don't you dare! Nowadays I can do wot I likes, without anybeast hollerin' at me."

Brocktree nodded. "And what are you doing at present, Ruff?"

"Oh, a bit of this an' a bit o' that, nothin' really. Why?"

The Badger Lord's eyes twinkled. "Dotti and I need to get down to the shores of the great sea. Best way to do that is to follow waterways, as you well know. It would be nice if we could go by boat, instead of all that trekking by paw. Suppose you came with us?"

Ruff's rudderlike tail thwacked down upon the bank, propelling him upright, grinning from ear to ear. "No sooner said than done, Brock me hearty. Can you two paddle?"

Dotti replied for them both. "Well, if we can't I bet you'll soon teach us, wot. I'm no Badger Lord, but I'm jolly well strong of paw!"

Ruff touched the swelling around his eye. "You already proved that by the way you swing yore bag!"

Floating down the broad sunlit stream was a very pleasurable experience. Dotti and Brocktree soon picked up the knack of wielding a paddle. Passing beneath overhanging trees, the young haremaid sighed with joy, watching the dappled patterns of sunshine and shade drifting by on the smooth dark green water.

"Oh, whoopsy doo an' fiddley dee! This is the life, eh, sah? I say there, Ruff my old streambasher, d'you know any jolly songs that creatures sing when they're out boating?"

The otter flicked water at her with his paddle. "Bless yer 'eart, Dotti, 'course I do, but they're called shanties or water ballads. 'Ere's one y'can both join in with. The chorus is very simple'elps t'keep the rhythm o' the paddles goin', y'see. It goes like this."

Ruff sang the chorus once, then launched into a deep-throated old boatsong.

"Hey ho ahoy we go.

Row, me hearties. Row row row!

Chucklin' bubblin' life's a dream,

I'm the brook that finds the stream.

Hey ho ahoy we go. Row, me hearties.

Row row row!

Sun an' shade an' fish aquiver,

This ole stream flows to the river.

Hey ho ahoy we go.

Row, me hearties. Row row row!

Down mates down an' toiler me,

I'm the river bound to the sea.

Hey ho ahoy we go.

Row, me hearties. Row row row!"

Ruff's elm tree fairly skimmed the water, with him singing the verses and his two friends roaring out the chorus like two seasoned old riverbeasts. The otter signaled them to stop rowing. "Ship yore paddles, mates, let 'er run with the current!"

Normally a staid creature, as befits a Badger Lord, Brocktree was exhilarated, grinning like a Dibbun. "My my, Ruff, I can see why you love the freedom of the waterways. It certainly is a pleasant experience."

Guiding his elm log boat with the odd paddle stroke, Ruff watched the stream ahead knowingly. "Oh, it ain't so bad most seasons, but don't go gettin' too taken up with it, Brock. You gets the ice in winter, snow, hail, rainstorms, dry creeks, rocks, driftwood an' gales. Once y'gets used to that lot then you got to face rapids, sandbanks, cross-currents an' waterfalls. Aside from that there's savage pike an' eel shoals an' all manner o' bad-minded vermin watchin' the water an' huntin' their prey both sides o' the banks."

Dotti waved a paw dismissively. "Oh, pish tush, sah. It doesn't seem t'bother you!"

Ruff pulled a tangle of line from his pack. Checking the hook and weight on it, he baited up with a few water-shrimp left over from the hotroot soup. "Fish for supper, shipmates. Look 'ere at this fat shoal o' dace!"

Through the deep, fast-flowing stream they glimpsed the dace, cruising through the trailing moss and weed, their olive-green backs and silver flanks shining wherever rays of sunlight pierced the water. They were fine plump fish. Ruff trailed the line as they followed the log, keeping in its shadow.

"I'll just snag two o' the beauties, that should do us. Hearken t'me, Dotti. If'n yore bound to take the life of a livin' thing for food, then take only wot you need. Life's too precious a thing t'be wasted, ain't that right, Brock?"

The badger nodded solemnly. "Aye, that's so. A lesson every creature should learn."

That evening they camped at the mouth of a small inlet and Ruff cooked the fish for them. After the long day on the stream it was a delicious meal.

Lord Brocktree sat back, cleaning his teeth with a twig. "I've tasted trout and grayling, but never anything like that dace before. You must tell me how you prepared it, Ruff."

Looking furtively about, the otter managed a gruff whisper. "My grandma's secret recipe 'tis, an' if'n she was 'ere now she'd skelp me tail with a birch rod for tellin' ye. You needs tender new dannylion shoots, wild onions an' hedge parsley, oh, an' two fat leeks. Chop 'em all up an' set 'em o'er the fire in a liddle water, but don't boil 'em. Then when you've topped'n'tailed yore two dace, you lays them fishes flat on a thin rock. Mix cornflour an' oats with a drop o' water from yore veggibles an' spread it o'er the fishes, so they bakes with a good crunchy crust. Drain off the veggibles while they're still firm, spread 'em in a bed an' top the lot off with your dace. But don't you two ever breathe a word to any otter that 'twas me wot told ye the recipe. Alive or dead, ole Grandma'd either hunt or haunt me!"

Dotti began reaching for her harecordion. "Time for a jolly old ditty, eh, chaps?"

Nobeast was more relieved than Brocktree when Ruff put the blocks on the haremaid's warbling. "Best not, missymate. This ain't too friendly a part o' the woodlandsyou'd prob'ly attract unwelcome visitors. Best sleep now. We've got an early start in the morn."

Dotti yawned. "You're right, of course. My beauty sleep."

When the fire had burned to white embers, Ruff checked that Dotti was sound asleep. He shook the badger gently, cautioning him to silence. "Lissen, Brock, we could've sailed further today, but I chose to berth in this spot because I feel there'll be trouble further downstream. No sense in upsettin' young pretty features there. Look, I've got a plan. 'Ere's wot we'll do. I'll wake ye at the crack o' dawn an' the pair of us will rise nice an' quiet. Then.. ."

When Ruff had outlined his scheme Lord Brocktree nodded agreement. Then he lay down again and stared at the canopy of stars twinkling through the trees, his paw clasping the battle blade at the ready, noting every noise of flora or fauna in the forest night.

Chapter 7

The night that fell over the three companions on the streambank also lowered its shades over Salamandastron and the western shores. Silently, with furled sails, ships drifted in on the flood tide. Out of the thinning mists they slid, headed for the shore on the quiet swell. Ships upon ships upon ships . . . craft of every description from single- to four-masted, flat-bottomed, deep-keeled, bulky and sleek, large and small. Any creature could have walked the length of the sea, a league from north to south, by stepping from ship to ship without once wetting a paw.

Then came the Blue Hordes of Ungatt Trunn from north and south, marching along the shores, the sounds of their footpaws muffled in the soft sands, in columns fifty deep and fifty long, following their commanders. No war drums were seen, nor trumpets, nor any other instrument, flute, cymbal or horn, to aid the marching. Starlight glinted dully off armor, speartip, blade and arrowhead as they came, closing in on Salamandastron like the jaws of a giant pincer. Inscrutable masses, perfectly drilled, the ultimate machine of destruction.

Flanked by twoscore soldiers, Ungatt Trunn strode up to the rocky fortress, his only illumination a torch held in the paws of Groddil. The wildcat's keen eyes flicked up to the long open rectangle of Stonepaw's room. There stood the Badger Lord of Salamandastron, clad in war armor, holding an enormous javelin.

"So, you are still here, stripedog?" Ungatt Trunn called up in his savage guttural growl.

The reply was immediate. "Aye, to the death, stripecat!"

The wildcat's fangs showed in a sneer of derision. "So be it. 'Twill be your death, not mine!"

"Big words," Stonepaw retorted mockingly. "I've already heard big words from the bad-mannered scum you sent here earlier today. They mean nought to me, the ravings of fools and idiots. Your messenger said you would make the stars fall from the sky. Look up, braggart. They are still there and always will be!"

The badger's words stung the wildcat. His voice quivered with rage as he detected the laughter of hares all around. "I have no more words for you, stripedog. Tell them, Fragorl!"

Like a ghost, the hooded figure materialized out of the night. "These are the days of Ungatt Trunn the Fearsome Beast. Know you that he always speaks truth. If he says the stars will fall from the sky, then even they must obey. Look!"

Groddil flung a pawful of powder on his palely burning torch. With a whoosh it shot up a bolt of brilliant blue flame. This was the signal. Every beast of the horde onshore and every creature crowding the decks of the hovering ships immediately lighted, each one, a torch they carried specially for the purpose. In the awesome scene that was revealed, land and sea, as far as the eye could gaze, was ablaze. Stiffener Medick peered up at the sky. Because of the intensity of light below, not a single star could be seen, just a wide black void. Any creature on the reaches of Salamandastron's heights could look out and see countless myriad lights ranging out to the horizon.

At another signal from Groddil, the twoscore guards nearest the mountain roared out aloud: "Mighty Ungatt Trunn has made the stars fall from the sky!"

Every hare on the mountain was stunned with shock. The seas and the whole shore were ablaze with light; it was like having day below and night above, the stars made invisible in the sky due to the powerful lights radiating upward.

Groddil held a whispered conference with Ungatt, and the wildcat nodded before speaking out. His voice echoed off the mountain in the awestruck silence.

"I see you have no scornful comments to make, stripe-dog. You have witnessed the power of Ungatt Trunn. My Blue Hordes will camp here on your doorstep. When dawn comes you will feel the earth shake. You have left it too late to retreat from the mountain as I commanded you to do. Now you must reap the penalty." Then, turning his back on Lord Stonepaw, the wildcat marched off, back to his ship.

The Badger Lord watched as the torches turned into campfires. Bramwil, the oldest hare on the mountain, came shakily forward to clutch the badger's paw, his voice trembling like a reed in the wind.

"Lord, I would not have believed it, had I not seen it with these old eyes. What can we do against one who is truly magic?"

Stonepaw patted Bramwil's stooped back gently. "That was no magic, my friend, 'twas only a very clever trick, an illusion. But the reality of all those lights is a fearful thing, for it shows the extent of Trunn's army. Trobee, your eyes are still useful. Could you have counted the number of torches out there?"

Trobee shook his head vigorously. "You must be jestin', sah. Nobeast alive could do that!"

Stiffener's comment confirmed Stonepaw's worst fears. "Aye, an' every one o' those torches was held by a vermin soldier. 'Tis hard to imagine such an army!"

Stonepaw stared out at the campfires burning holes into the night, both near and far. "No doubt you all heard what the wildcat had to saywe've left it too late to retreat."

Silently the hares pondered the enormity of what their lord had said, but the feeling of doom was broken when Stiffener Medick spoke out boldly. "So what do we do? Stand around here waitin' t'be conquered an' slain? Not this hare, no sah! Chin in, chest out, stiffen the ole lip an' stand firm! Mebbe that scum can make stars fall an' earth tremble. But let's see him crack a mountain with us to defend it!"

Lord Stonepaw's eyes lit up with the flame of battle. "Stiffener, gather my hares at every ledge and window. Let's show the vermin what we think of them!"

Ungatt Trunn came hurrying from his stateroom cabin as defiant roaring from Salamandastron ripped through the night stillness.

"Eulaliaaa! Eulaliaaa! Eulaliaaaaaaaa!"

Groddil hobbled behind his master, and spat contemptuously into the sea. "Fools! Do they think they can scare us with their battle cries?"

Ungatt Trunn did not even deign to look at the shrunken fox. "No, they don't mean to scare us, but they're letting us know that they aren't scared either. That's called courage, Groddil, but you wouldn't understand it. If those hares were enough in number to match us one to one, then I'd be scared."

Dawn arrived pale-washed, though in less than an hour it had blossomed into a beautiful late-spring day, showing the promise of a good summer. Lord Stonepaw had witnessed the day's arrival; he had scarcely slept throughout the night. Now, sitting on the edge of his bed in a warm shaft of sunlight, he fell into a doze.

Blench the cook shook him gently. "Wake up, sire, those villains are waiting t'see you outside on the shore. I brought ye a bite o' brekkist."

Stonepaw opened his eyes slowly and winced. "Ooh! Don't ever fall asleep wearing armor, Blench, it feels like waking up in a cooking pot. I suppose that wildcat villain is showing off his army at our gates?"

Blench placed the tray of food at his side. "Aye, there's all manner o' blue-dyed vermin paradin' up an' down on the beach, in full fig, too. Mercy me, they're a strange lot. D'ye think they're about to start the war?"

The Badger Lord chose a warm damson muffin and poured himself a beaker of dandelion and rosehip tea. "More than likely, Blench, more than likely. Hmm, I feel peckish this morning. Let them wait until I've broken my fast. Did you bring any honey?"

"Right there under yore muzzle, lord."

Stonepaw spread honey on his muffin. "You run along now, marm, an' see that my hares get fed."

As she withdrew, Blench chuckled. "Fat chance of any Salamandastron hare a-goin' into battle on an empty belly. Did y'ever hear of such a thing?"

Ungatt Trunn stood on a rock, Groddil and his Grand Fragorl alongside him, and looked around the western shores. Nodding his satisfaction, he turned to the fox and the ferret.

"Can you see the sand?"

Fragorl shook her hooded head. "No, Mightiness, only the Blue Hordes. They are in such great numbers that nobeast could see the sand they stand upon. They are even shoulder to shoulder in the shallows."

Ungatt fixed his stern eye upon the shrunken fox. "Another trick you've missed, eh, Groddil?"

The magician cringed as he shook his head in bewilderment. "Sire?"

Ungatt Trunn's paw swept across, indicating the scene. "Not only can I make the stars fall, but I can also cause the land to disappear. Use your head, stupid!"

Thinking to divert his master's wrath, Groddil pointed to the mountain. "But the stripedog shows his insolence by not bothering to appear and witness your power, O Exalted One."

"That is a mere ploy which the commanders of armies use upon one another," Ungatt Trunn replied scornfully. "He thinks to fray my temper by keeping me waiting. Have you no brains at all? I should have slain you with the rest of your family, eh, Groddil?"

Lowering his head, the fox mumbled humbly, "I thank you for sparing my life every day since, sire!"

Ungatt smiled dispassionately at the fox's bowed head. "I think I must have damaged your brain when I crippled your back. Hah! There's the stripedog at his window." Turning his attention to the mountain, the wildcat did not see the hate-laden glance which Groddil shot at him.

Lord Stonepaw and a dozen archers looked down from the window, showing no surprise at the masses of vermin crowding the shores.

"A fine day to die, eh, stripedog?" Ungatt Trunn called.

The badger smiled down in a patronizing way. "So soon, cat? I thought you were going to make the earth tremble. Could you not spare us long enough to see your next trick?"

At a nod from Ungatt, the Fragorl held a red banner high and announced aloud: "Let the enemies of Ungatt Trunn feel the earth tremble!"

The entire army began to jump up and down in perfect unison, chanting as they did, "Ungatt Trunn! Ungatt Trunn! Ungatt Trunn!"

As Fragorl waved her banner they increased their speed, jumping in the air and landing hard on the sand, their chant becoming a roar, the noise of countless foot-paws stamping down becoming greater. Water splashed high on the tideline and clouds of sand began rising as they continued their relentless pounding.

Though he could scarcely be heard above the din, the hare named Bungworthy tunneled both paws around his mouth and shouted at Stonepaw, "Look, lord! The earth is shaking! See! Great ripples are spreading seaward! The shore is shaking where they jump! Great seasons, the earth is shaking. It's shaking!"

As suddenly as it had started the demonstration stopped. Ungatt Trunn stood smiling grimly up at Stonepaw as the sand clouds settled and the ripples receded.

"Well, stripedog, did you feel the earth shake? Did I not speak truly? Throw down your arms and come out!" Ungatt climbed down from his rock perch and stood at the head of his army, confident he had made his point.

Lord Stonepaw merely grunted. "Hah! You might have felt the earth tremble, cat, but Salamandastron remained rock-firmwe didn't feel a thing. Now let me show you something!"

Stonepaw hurled his big war javelin right at his foe. The ranks closed around the wildcat. A rat, transfixed, fell dead, another behind him sorely wounded. No matter how fearsome the foe, or how great their numbers, when it came to fighting, Badger Lords were renowned. Old as he was, the present ruler was no exception. Lord Stonepaw of Salamandastron had begun the war.

Fleetscut was close to total exhaustion. The old hare had not stopped since he left the mountain. Ranging east to begin with, then sweeping back west in a great arc, he searched hills, flatlands, valleys and clifftops, finally arriving back on the shores, somewhere north of Salamandastron. Slumping down on the beach, he waited until his breathing calmed a bit before unslinging a small pack and drinking some cold mint tea.

Like an angry wasp, a barbed arrow buzzed by the hare, nicking his ear and burying itself in the sand. A small patrol, ten rats, from the great Blue Hordes emerged from the dunes behind Fleetscut.

"Stop there. Move an' you die!" their officer shouted.

With blood trickling from his ear onto his jaw, Fleetscut took off as only a hare can, galvanized back to his former self as he sought to lose his pursuers. But the rats were hard on his paws as he led them on a twisting course around the shore and back into the dunes. With his footpaws sinking deep into the soft sandhills, Fleetscut panted raggedly, strong sunlight beating down on him as he breasted one dune and rolled down it to face another. He wished with all his heart that he were many seasons youngerhe could have drawn circles around the rat patrol when he was a leveret. Every so often arrows zipped into the sand alongside him; once a spear almost pierced his footpaw. Fleetscut kept going. He knew that a moving target was the hardest to hit. Now, as he turned inland, the dunes gave way to hummocks and hillocks, coated with sharp, long-bladed grass. He tripped over a blackberry creeper, leaping up as best he could, ignoring the scratches the thorns had inflicted on him. But he could hear the labored breathing of the ten rats getting closer.

"Fan out an' circle him. Lame him if y'can!" their leader rasped out.

Straining as though his lungs would burst, Fleetscut managed an extra turn of speed, dashing headlong to outdistance the flanking maneuver. A small grove of pines appeared up ahead, seeming to offer a hiding place. But one rat, faster than the rest, detached himself from the flankers and went directly after the hare. No matter how hard he ran, Fleetscut could not prevent the rat closing up on him. Now he was not more than ten paces behind. Chancing a backward glance, Fleetscut saw the rat preparing his spear for a throw. Then his footpaws hit thick beds of pine needles as he dived headlong into the grove, the spear thudding into a pine trunk a fraction to his side. Next moment there was the sound of a meaty thud. The rat fell poleaxed, his scream cut short by a slingshot.

"Up with thy paws, old 'un, quick!"

Without thinking Fleetscut rolled over and threw up his paws. A thick woven net enveloped him, and he grabbed tight as he was swung off his back into the branches above.

A big, rough-looking female squirrel, with a loaded sling dangling from one paw, winked at him. "Don't thee say a word now, longears, be still!" Sighting the rats entering the fir grove, she glared fiercely about her at forty-odd squirrels, similarly armed, concealed in the upper branches. "Take no prisoners. T'the Dark Forest with 'em all!"

Whock! Thwack! Thock! Thud!

In less time than it took to draw breath the rat column was slain to a beast, strewn about the bottom of the pines, some of them with their eyes still wide open in surprise. Leaving Fleetscut still caught up in the net, the squirrel and her band leapt down onto the corpses, stripping every scrap of armor and every weapon from them. Squabbles broke out over the ownership of possessions, and there was much tooth-baring.

"I sighted yon sword first. Give it 'ere!"

"Nah, 'tis mine, not thine. I slew the longtail!"

The big female squirrel was among them like a whirlwind, sending argumentative ones winded to the earth as she clubbed their stomachs savagely with her loaded sling.

"I say who gets what! Up on thy paws, Beddle, or I'll give ye more'n just a love tap next time!"

One young male muttered something, and she laid him flat with a tremendous smack. "Thee've been told about usin' language like that, Grood! Can ye not see we've got company? Behave now, all a' ye!"

Fleetscut strove to disentangle himself from the net. "Stap me, any bloomin' chance o' gettin' out o' this, you chaps? Lend a paw here!" he called down.

The female squirrel and two equally big males bounded up and lowered the net expertly to the earth, where the others soon had Fleetscut free. Somersaulting neatly out of the tree, the big female landed lightly on her footpaws.

Fleetscut bowed gravely to her. "'Thanks for savin' my life, marm."

She examined a dead rat's bow and arrows. "Twasn't to save thy life we dropped 'em. Weapons an' plunder, that's why we slew the longtails. I'm called Jukka the Sling, and these are my tribe. Be you from the mountain south o' here?"

The hare nodded. "Aye. My name's Fleetscut."

Jukka sat, her tailbrush against a pine trunk. "Ye've got big trouble o'er there, Fleetscut. We been watchin' blue vermin marchin' downcoast for days, all headed for thy mountain."

Fleetscut crouched down, facing her. "That's only a third o' them, Jukka marm. There's as many must've come up from the south an' another horde from the sea, great fleet o' the blighters."

Jukka watched her band dragging the rats off for burial. "Old badger'll have his paws full. They'll massacre him. Hares on yon mount be as old as theethy young 'uns are long gone from there."

Fleetscut was mildly surprised at Jukka's intelligence. "You seem t'know rather a lot about Salamandastron?"

The squirrel wound her sling around her tailtip. '"Tis my business to know what goes on hither an' yon. Only a fool would live a lifetime in these parts an' know nought of them. Did ye escape the mountain, Fleetscut?"

The old hare shook his head sadly. "No, I was sent out by Lord Stonepaw to scout up reinforcements, but there ain't a bally hare 'round here anymore. Don't suppose you'd fancy helpin' us out, marm?"

Jukka tossed a slingstone deftly from one paw to the other. "Nay, not I, nor my tribe, e'en though I pity thy plight, friend. Other creatures' troubles are their own, not ours. But that doesn't mean we don't show hospitality to guests. Thee must be weary and hungered, too. Come rest awhile an' sup with us. Thou art too tired to go further, friend."

Fleetscut heaved a sigh as he rose stiffly. "Sorry, marm, but I have to travel on, wot. Can't let the jolly old side down by takin' time off."

He accepted Jukka's paw, and she smiled wryly at him. "Fare thee well, old 'un. Fortune attend thy search."

"Aye, an' good luck to you, Jukka the Sling. Let me know if you change your mind. You've got a perilous tribe there, good warriors all!"

Jukka watched Fleetscut lope off through the pine grove. "Huh, brave an' foolish, like all hares. What say you, Grood?" The young squirrel muttered half to himself, half to Jukka. She whacked him soundly across both ears. "Thee've been told about that language. I'll scrub thy mouth out with sand an' ramsons if there be any more of it!"

Chapter 8

At the inlet camp, dawn was already well advanced, and dewdrops glistened on the blossoms of hemlock, marsh-wort and angelica. From upstream the constant call of a cuckoo roused Dotti from sleep. She lay there for a moment, expecting her nostrils to be assailed by the odors of woodsmoke and cooking. However, the haremaid was disappointed. Apart from the monotonous cuckoo noise, the little camp was quiet and ominously still. Rising cautiously, she checked around. The elm tree trunk lay moored in the shallows, but of her two friends there was no sign. Taking care not to raise her voice too much, Dotti hailed her companions.

"I say, Brocktree sah, Ruff, are you there?"

A rustle from some bushes caused her to turn, smiling. "Come on out, you chaps. I know you Yeek!"

As she leaned into the shrubbery, a big blackbird burst from it, the bird's wing striking her face as it flew off. Dotti decided then to be stern with her fellow travelers.

"Now see here, you two, a joke's a joke an' all that, but I've had about enough. Show yourselves front'n'center please, right now!"

But the only answer she received was the cuckoo calling, "Cuckoo cuckoo cuckoo!"

Dotti flung a twig irately in its direction. "Oh, shut your blisterin' beak, y'bally nuisance!"

She decided that Brocktree and Ruff had gone out foraging for breakfast. Muttering darkly to herself, the haremaid sat on the bank, munching a stale barleyscone and an apple she had dug from her bag. The warming sunlight did nothing to raise her spirits. She felt deserted and alone.

"Huh, rotten ole Brocko an' slyboots Ruff, sneakin' off just 'cos a gel's got to have her beauty sleep, wot! Bet they've found a patch of juicy berries or somethin', prob'ly sittin' there stuffin' their great fat faces!"

She pictured the otter and the badger doing just that and began imitating their voices in conversation. "Haharr, stap me rudder an' swoggle me barnacles, matey, these berries is prime vittles. Shall we save some an' take 'em back t'camp for the young 'un?

"Hah, don't talk silly, Ruff. Let the lazy whipper-snapper find her own berries. That's the trouble with young 'uns these days, want everything done for 'em!" She was working herself up into a fine old temper, when she noticed something on the flat top of the elm boat.

It was a crude sketch, done with a piece of burnt wood from last night's fire. There was an arrow pointing downstream and a depiction of herself sitting on the boat. By a sharp bend in the stream, Ruff and Brocktree were drawn, apparently waiting for her. Also there was some sketchy writing, obviously Ruff's: "See U att noone."

The haremaid studied it, still chunnering to herself. "See me at noon where the stream bends, eh? Well, how flippin' nice to let a body know, blinkin' deserters! Tchah! Is that supposed t'be a picture of me? Just look at those miserable ears. Mine are a jolly sight prettier than that, wot! Hmph! No wonder that otter's folks chucked him outhis spellin's dreadful!"

She found the burnt stick and corrected it all to her satisfaction, drawing a huge stomach on Ruff and an ugly drooping snout on the Badger Lord. Finally, after adding many touches to make the likeness of herself more beautiful, Dotti gave Ruff a black mark for his spelling. Feeling much better, she tossed the charcoal away.

"Righto, young hare m'gel, time you commanded your own vessel, wot wot!"

After one or two minor setbacks Dotti found the going fairly simple. The stream was straight and smooth enough, and she soon got the knack of keeping the log in midstream and sailing on course. The haremaid never tired of holding conversations with herself, for who better was there to talk with, she reasoned.

"I say, I've just thought of a wheeze. I'll paddle right past those two, leave 'em on the blinkin' bank. Wot ho! I'll shout to them, 'Keep the jolly old paws poundin', the exercise'll do you the world o' good, chaps. Put yourselves about a bit, that's the ticket, find lots of super grub an' I may consider lettin' you back aboard. Bye bye now!'"

She giggled aloud at the picture she conjured up and continued her conversation. "Yes, I think I'd make a good captain, or a captainess mebbe. Wish I could play my harecordion awhilepity I've got to keep hold o' this confounded paddle. Never mind, I'll just have to sing unaccompanied. Think I'll compose one of those shanty type things, like these watery types are always caterwaulin' as they sail along. Here goes!"

She broke out into a ditty which caused nearby birds to abandon their nests, chicks and all.

"Whompin' along with a woffle de ho,

As down the stream I jolly well go,

Shoutin' 'Lower yore rudder an' furl that log,'

There's nothin' on land like a seagoin' frog.

So oar that paddle an' paddle that oar,

Listen, me hearties, I'll sing ye some more!

I'm a beautiful hare wot lives on the river,

In winter I sweat an' in summer I shiver,

I don't need no badger or otter for crew,

I'm cook an' I'm paddler an' captainess, too!

So mainsail me gizzards until we reach shore,

Listen, me hearties, I'll sing ye some more!

Ye don't mess with Dotti that ole riverbeast,

I'm grizzled an' fearsome an' that ain't the least,

So swoggle me scuppers ten dozen I've slew,

I'm a jolly young creature an' quite pretty, too!

So mizzen me muzzle an' mop the boat's floor,

I'm sorry, me hearties, I don't know no more!

"Beg pardon about the grammar, of course," she commented to a waterbeetle swimming alongside. "Dreadful terms us nautical types use, y'know. I'll work on it, I promise, wot! Er, let's see, strangle me binnacle? No, that doesn't sound right. How about boggle me bowsprit? Rather! That sounds much better!"

Away down the stream Dotti paddled, composing more horrible lyrics from her store of seagoing knowledge.

"So boggle me bowsprit, mate, just one word more,

An' I'll give ye a whack with the back o' me paw!"

She backed water with her paddle to slow the log down, for a creature had appeared on the bank. He was an enormously fat, scruffy weasel with a runny snout and the better part of that morning's breakfast evident on the filthy tunic he wore. He was hanging on to a thick vine rope which trailed upward and was lost among the trees above. Spitting into the stream, he eyed Dotti nastily and uttered one word. "More!"

The haremaid smiled politely at him. "Beg pardon, what was that you said, old chap?"

He thrust his chin out belligerently at her. "More. I said more! So then, are yew gonna give me a whack wid the back o' yer paw? Jus' you try it, rabbit!"

The haremaid sighed, rolling her eyes upward as if for help. "If you washed your face this morning, then you missed out cleaning your eyes, sah. I am not a rabbit, I'm a hare, y'know. As for swiping chaps with paws, it didn't apply to you, it was merely a ditty I was singing."

The weasel spat into the stream again. "You said that if'n I said one word more you'd gimme a whack wid the back o' yer paw. So I said one word more. More!"

Dotti eyed him disdainfully. Her mother had warned her about creatures who used aggressive language and spat a lot. There was only one way to treat such beasts: with disdain. Accordingly, she stared regally down her nose at him.

"Disgusting habit, spitting. And let me tell you, my good vermin, this stream level won't rise a fraction, no matter how much you continue to spit in it. Good day!"

As she sailed by him, the weasel roared out, "Boat ahoy!"

She waggled her ears at him, a sign of contempt often used by well-bred haremaids. "Of course it's a boat, you benighted buffoon. What did you suppose it was, a tea trolley?"

The weasel signaled to the opposite bank, where another similarly fat and untidy weasel appeared. He, too, was hanging on to a vine rope and was in the habit of spitting into the stream. He leered at Dotti as she sailed by. "Fink yer tough, don'tcher? We'll see!"

Both weasels let go their ropes and a log came crashing out of the trees above. It splashed sideways into the water, blocking off the stream behind Dotti's boat.

The haremaid knew she was in trouble, and paddled furiously to get away from the revolting pair. Unfortunately she had not gone more than a dozen boatlengths when another log came hurtling downward into the stream. Now she was blocked in fore and aft. Dotti controlled her craft as the prow bucked slightly on the bow wave set up by the falling trunk. She watched in apprehension while two more weasels emerged from the bushes. These were females, even bigger, fatter and more repulsive than the two males who came shambling up to join them. Dotti sat primly on her vessel. She knew that reasoning with such blaggards was likely to be useless, but she decided to give it a try.

"Good morning to you, ladies. I trust I find you well, wot?"

One of the females spat in the stream. "Oo, lissen to 'er, willyer? She called us ladies, la di dah!"

Her male companion scratched his head with a grimy claw. "I ain't no lady. And she wuz gonna whack me wid the back of 'er paw!"

Immediately things got nasty. The other female produced a rusty woodsaw and began wading out toward I )otti. "Ho, did she now? Well, I'll leave me mark on 'er for that!"

Dotti stood up, wielding her paddle warningly. "Stay away from me, marm, I'm beautiful but I'm dangerous!"

Lunging forward, the weasel grabbed her victim's footpaw. "Hah, yer won't be pretty no more when I'm done wid yer!"

Whock!

The haremaid brought the paddle down hard between her opponent's ears. Making a horrendous din, the weasel flopped back to the bank.

"Owowowow! Murder! I'm killed, me pore skull's splitted in twenny places! Yaaaaargh! There's blood everywhere, I'm killed, murdered, slayed I tell yer! Yeeeegh!"

Dotti could see she had raised a bump on the weasel's head, but there was no sign of blood. "Oh, stop moanin', you great fat fraud, there's nothing wrong with you apart from a bump on the noggin. I wasn't about to let you come at me with that big rusty woodsaw!"

The other weasel, who was hauling his injured comrade out of the water, let her fall back in with a splash. He clapped both paws over his mouth. "Oh! Oh! Did yew 'ear that? She called Ermy fat! She's an insulter as well as a murderer!"

The other male sniffed and wiped a paw across his eyes, looking ready to burst into tears. "Yew 'ad no need to 'it Ermy like that, an' you got no right to call 'er fat. We'll punish yer when y'come ashore."

Dotti brandished her weapon. "Not while I've got this paddle you won't. Now pull that log out the way and let me by!"

The weasel stuck out his bottom lip and scuffed the soil with a footpaw. "Won't!"

Dotti splashed the water with her paddle and glared fiercely. "Oh yes you will!"

"Won't!"

The female Ermy set up a fresh wail. "Yaaaahahagh! I tole youse we shoulda sneaked up jus' after dawn an' killed 'er after the badger'n'otter runned away. Now lookit me. Dyin' away. Waaahaaahaaagh!"

Brocktree and Ruff stepped out of the woodlands, both trying hard not to smile. The badger pointed a warning paw across at Ermy. "Stop that blubbering before I give you something to cry for!"

She lapsed into instant silence. Ruff shook his head at her. "Good job you never tried to ambush Dotti after dawnwe were watchin' ye from the trees."

Brocktree pointed to the log barrier blocking the way downstream. "Haul on your ropes and raise that thing" he unsheathed his battle blade"now!"

Dotti had never seen four overweight weasels move so fast. Puffing and blowing in between sobs of distress, they hauled the log back up, whining continuously.

"Oh, spare us, sire, we never meant 'er no 'arm!"

"No, you never mean harm to any creature brave enough to stand up to you. I never liked bullies. Now, hang on tight to those ropes and hold out your left footpaws. Be quick about it!"

"Waaahagh, you ain't gonna chop 'em off, are yer, sire? We won't never bully no more travelers. Don't 'urt us!"

Ruff knotted the free end of their rope tight around the footpaws of the nearest pair, then swam across to perform the same office for Ermy and her companion. "Bless yore filthy 'earts, 'course we won't hurt ye .. . left, left the beast said, that's yore right!"

When they were securely tied, Brocktree barked out an order. "Let go of those ropes now!"

As the four weasels released their hold, the log started to fall back toward the stream, jerking the vermin off their footpaws and slowing suddenly as it was counterbalanced by their weight. With yelps of alarm they were raised upside down with their left footpaws bound securely to the ropes. Equilibrium found all four dangling alongside the log, in midstream, just above Dotti's head. The haremaid winced as Ermy's wailing rang out close to her ear.

"Yaaaahahahaaagh! Don't leave me 'ere 'anging upside down with a big lump on me 'ead, I beg yer. Waaahaaagh!"

Placing her wet paddle blade over the lump, Dotti soothed the unhappy vermin. "Hush now, m'dear, cryin' won't make it better. Here, I'll flatten it for you. Hold still, please."

Dotti whacked the paddle forcefully with her paw and flattened the bump completely. She also stunned Ermy, much to everybeast's relief.

Brocktree and Ruff had climbed aboard, and now they sailed on downstream, with Dotti admonishing them. "I'm surprised at you, Ruff, deserting me like that, wot. But as for you, sah, it comes as no surprise, let me tell you. I was beset by villains once before, as I recall, while you hid behind a tree until I was overcome. This is the second time you've left me to it now. Bad form, sah, bad form! I thought you Brocktree types were made of sterner stuff. Seems I was wrong though, wot wot?"

Brocktree dangled his footpaws in the streamflow, nodding. "I can understand how you feel, miss, but we had our reasons. We didn't want to confront them until you learned a little object lesson, which you did wonderfully, what d'you think, Ruff?"

The big otter saluted Dotti with a swirl of his tail. "I was proud o' ye, missymate. Y'never showed any fear, you stood up to 'em. That's the only way t'deal with bullies!"

Inwardly Dotti glowed happily at her friends' remarks, but she was still a bit peeved, and she let them know.

"Yes, all very nice thank you, but that's not the point. What if those weasels had rushed me? I wouldn't have stood much blinkin' chance against four of 'em, not t'mention that awful rusty saw. I shudder t'think what they might've done to me if anything had gone wrong with your timing!"

Ruff winked roguishly at his indignant young companion. "Haharr, you 'ad no cause to worry. We were watchin' you every bit o' the way; there was never any real danger. Y'see, I knows this stream, an' those vermin, too. They're nought but fat ole blusterersI've seen 'em back off from a bad-tempered frog. But if'n you didn't know that an' you were a bit faint-'earted, the looks an' the size o' those four nasty lumps might've scared you into surrenderin' to 'em. But you taught those baddies a lesson, Dotti."

Brocktree chuckled dryly. "I'll say you did, young 'un, a born perilous hare you are!"

Dotti was about to make some frosty rebuke when Ruff caught sight of the sketch and message he had so painstakingly written out on the log.

"Oi, that ain't the way I drew it."

Dotti fluttered her sweetest smile at him. "It was far too crude. I altered it a teensy bit."

Suddenly it was the otter's turn for indignation. "You cheeky liddle tailwag! Lookit the great fat belly you've drawn on me! I look like a stuffed stoat!"

Brocktree's booming laughter echoed off the banks. "Hohohoho! Well done, miss, hahaha, a stuffed stoat, eh? Oh, come on, Ruff, where's your sense of humor?"

The otter looked him straight in the eye. "Same place as yores'll be when y'see wot she's done to yore picture, milord!"

The badger put aside his paddle and leaned across to view Dotti's artwork. She covered both ears as he exploded.

"You foul little fur-covered grubscoffer! I haven't got a wobbly fat drooping nose like that! How dare you, miss!"

For answer Dotti leapt to her paws, waving her paddle about. "Back I say, back, droopynose and fattygut! You know that I'm a blisterin' perilous beast an' know no fear!"

Ruff went into a pretty fair imitation of the weasel Ermy. "Owowow, I beg yer, don't 'arm us, miss floppyears!"

The situation was so funny that the three friends fell about laughing until tears streamed from their eyes.

A deep gruff voice hailed them from the south bank. "Yurr, oi do loiks to 'ear 'arpy creeturs, pertickly in ee springtoim. Wot be you'm larfin' abowt, zurr Ruffo?"

Wiping moisture from her eyes, Dotti saw the mole more clearly. He was a stout, dapper-looking creature, wearing a green smock embroidered with daisies and buttercups, and sporting a bright orange kingfisher feather in his tall mushroom-shaped cap. Clutched in his paw was a ladle, almost as long as a traveling staff. He had the friendliest of smiles, exposing lots of milky white teeth.

Ruff evidently knew the mole. He waved his tail at him as he steered the log to shore. "Sink me rudder, 'tis Rogg Longladle. How's yore snout twitchin', mate? It must be four seasons since I clapped eyes on ye. Well, this is an 'appy day!" Bounding ashore, Ruff embraced Rogg's stout form heartily.

Still smiling, the mole protested. "Hurr, let oi go, ee gurt lump, you'm creasin' moi smock!"

The otter called his friends onto the bank. "Brock, Dotti, come 'ere, mates. I want ye t'meet my pal Rogg, the best cook on this or any other stream an' the smartest turned-out mole on or under the earth!"

Rogg doffed his hat gallantly, bowing his velvety head. "Gudd day to ee, zurr an' miz, noice t'meet ee oi'm sure!"

Dotti leapt lightly ashore and curtsied nicely. "Bo urr, gudd day to ee, zurr Rogg. Stan' on moi tunnel, but you'm an 'ansome gurt beast, hurr aye!"

Rogg threw up his big digging claws in surprise. "Burr! You'm spake ee molespeak vurry gudd, miz. Whurr did ee lurn et?"

Dotti answered in the quaint mole dialect. "Moi ole mum's molechum, Blossum Bunn, she'm taughten et to oi when oi wurr a h'infant, bo urr aye."

Ruff shrugged helplessly at Brocktree. "Just lissen to those two goin' at it! I could always unnerstand mole-speak, though I never learned t'speak it."

"Me neither," Brocktree said as they followed in the wake of the chattering haremaid and mole.

"Urr, Blossum Bunn, do ee say, miz? She'm be's moi h'auntie, twoice removed on moi granmum's soide. 'Ow she'm a-doin'?"

"Burr, ole Blossum be's brisker'n a bumblybee an' loively as ee bukkit o' froggers, zurr!"

Rogg Longladle's dwelling was a marvelous cavern beneath the roots of a great beech. Lord Brocktree gazed about wistfully.

"This place puts me in mind of my old home Brockhall, very much so. Hmm, don't suppose I'll ever see it again."

Ruff patted the badger's broad back. "Same as me'n'Dotti. Don't be sad, mate, we're good friends an' both with ye!"

Amid the alcoves of thick downgrowing roots, Dotti sat herself in a comfortable old armchair. Moles kept scurrying by to introduce themselves to the hare who could speak their dialect.

"Oi be Granfer Clubb, miz, an' thiz yurr's moi ole dearie Granma Dumbrel. Ee'll stay an' take vittles with us'n's, oi 'opes, miz?"

Dotti shook all the outstretched paws as more came by. "Thankee, zurr Clubb, oi'dbe gurtly pleased to, hurr aye!"

Ruff and Brocktree seated themselves on a thickly mossgrown ledge, where they were inspected by some tiny young moles. The smallest of them had a voice like a bass foghorn.

"Gudd day to ee, zurrs. Moi name be's Trubble."

"I can see thatyou look like trouble!"

"Hurr hurr, moi mum alius sez that. Wot sort o' mole be's you, zurr? Oi bain't never see'd one wi' a gurt stroipy 'ead loik yourn."

"Oh, I'm called a badgermole and Ruff's an ottermole."

"Humm, ee must be h'eatin' gurt bowlfuls o' pudden t'grow oop big loik ee are. 'Ow did ee get so gurt?"

Ruff winked at the badger and replied, "Keepin' clean, me liddle mate, that's 'ow. We gets scrubbed five times every day, an' that's why we growed big."

Trubble wrinkled his baby snout at the other small moles. "Whurrrgh! Reckerns oi'll stay likkle then!"

Rogg appeared, dabbing at his brow with a dock leaf which he used to shoo the moles off with. "Gurr, be off'n with ee, Trubble. Gurlo, Burkle, Plugg, you 'uns leave ee gennelbeasts t'rest awhoile. Cumm an' 'elp oi in ee kitchun if'n ee wants vittles t'be ready sooner. Hurr, an' be washen ee paws furst!"

Left to themselves, the three travelers took their ease, Brocktree and Ruff stretching out on the mossy ledge. Dotti sprawled comfortably in the armchair, letting tempting aromas from the kitchen hover about her. Through half-closed eyes she took in the homely cavern. Lanterns of varying hues hung everywhere, shelves and cupboards were carved neatly into the rocks and heavy tree roots, the floors were strewn with woven rush mats, and two black-and-orange-banded sexton beetles dozed close to the embers on the hearthhousehold pets, used by the moles to keep the cavern free of crumbs and other morsels which the babes left about. Before Dotti's eyes finally closed, she sighed. What a pleasant place. A real home.

Chapter 9

It was sometime in the late evening when Fleetscut collapsed. A combination of overwhelming fatigue, thirst and hours of strong sunlight, together with the fact that the old hare had run without stopping for almost two days, brought him down. Head hanging, paws dragging, he tottered about on the open flatlands like a beast driven crazy. He did not realize he had fallen at first. Fleetscut lay on the rough ground, the tongue hanging dry from his mouth, footpaws still moving in a running action, kicking up small dustclouds. In his delirium he squinted at a rock, imagining it was Lord Stonepaw gazing sternly at him.

"Sire, there ain't a hare nowheres t'be found," he croaked feebly. "I tried, I did my best for you, but alas, lord, the young hares are gone from the land ..."

Fleetscut's eyes glazed over and he fell back senseless.

From a rocky outcrop a crow had been watching the old hare, waiting. Now it flew forward, cautiously at first, using rocks as cover. On reaching the fallen hare, it pecked lightly at his ear; he did not stir. Emboldened by this, the crow swaggered and strutted around Fleetscut, weighing up its prey. At the very moment the crow decided to start pecking at the hare's eyes, a slingstone knocked the talons from under it. Squawking angrily, the hefty black bird took awkwardly to the air and flapped off, sent on its way by another stone narrowly missing its wingtip.

The young squirrel Beddle and five companions hurried to Fleetscut's side and ministered to him.

"Just drip the water on his tongue, not too fast."

"Poor fool, Jukka said he'd not get far. Look at his paws!"

"Aye, they be torn badly. Hast any herbs in thy bag, Ruro?"

The squirrel Ruro emptied out the bag. "Sanicle, dock leaves and moss. Here, let me attend him." Pouring water on the ingredients, she made compresses. "He be lucky Jukka sent us after him. Beddle, can thee make up a stretcher?"

Beddle set about removing his tunic. He slotted two spears down the sleeves, calling out to the youngest of the party, "Grood, I'll need thy tunic, give it here!"

Reluctantly Grood removed the garment. Beddle eyed him fiercely. "Watch thy tongue, young 'un, or thine ears'll get boxed twice, once by me an' once by Jukka Sling!"

Moonlight shafted pale through the pines; a small fire encased within a rock oven sent out a welcome ruddy glow. Fleetscut became aware of creatures hovering over himsquirrels. One of them called out softly, "Ye be right, Jukka, he lives!"

Jukka the Sling's tough features hove into view. "Most creatures of long seasons would be dead after putting themselves through such a trial."

Fleetscut's tongue moistened his lips, his voice when it came sounding cracked and hoarse. "When I go it'll be with a weapon in me paw, fightin'. 'Til then I'll just hang about and annoy you, friend."

Jukka chuckled. "What's that they say on yon mountain: thou art a perilous creature. Rest now, longears, drink some soup an' sleep. We'll talk on the morrow."

Rest was the last thought on Fleetscut's mind, but no sooner had he drunk half a beaker of mushroom soup than the vessel slipped from his paws and he went into a deep slumber.

Morning and noontide came and passed, and it was evening when Fleetscut wakened.

"How do thy paws feel? Sore, I'll wager?"

The old hare struggled to a sitting position, allowing Ruro to change the dressings.

"Just bandage 'em tight, so I can run on 'em, marm!"

Ruro shook her head at the defiant old hare. "Nay, thou art going nowhere. Jukka Sling would have words with thee. Rest and eat something."

Fleetscut tried to get up onto his paws, but collapsed wincing from the pain. "Where is Jukka?"

Beddle brought food and placed it before the hare. "She'll be back by dark o' night. You must wait. Jukka will have news of thy mountain, what has taken place there. Come, be not foolish, ye must eat to live."

Fleetscut picked up a potato and hazelnut pasty. "So be it, old lad, but 'tis you who are foolish, inviting a hare to eat. Is that a carrot flan I see?"

When he had satisfied his hunger and thirst, Fleetscut lay back and fell into a doze. Beddle sat wide-eyed. "Strewth! Did ye ever see a creature eat like that in all thy born days?"

Ruro removed the empty platters, shaking her head. "And still he be skinny as a willow withe. Would that I could pack away vittles like that an' stay lean as he!"

Midnight had long gone when Jukka the Sling arrived back at the pines. She sat panting and sipping at a flask of elderberry wine. "Our hare sleeps yet, eh?"

Ruro fed the fire with a dead pine log. "He wakened earlier, ate like a madbeast and fell asleep again. Shall I wake him?"

The squirrel leader put aside her wine. "Nay, let him sleep on. There's nought but bad news to hear when he wakens."

"The mountain of Salamandastron has fallen, then?"

Jukka warmed her paws by the fire; a chill breeze was blowing in from the seas. "Aye, 'tis conquered by the Blue Ones. I could not get too near, but I saw from a distance some vermin scaling the slopes. They carried large new banners to put up there. 'Tis a sad day for these western coasts, Ruro."

Beddle crouched nearby, preparing Jukka's meal. "Mayhap we should have helped the old one, Jukka."

"Thou art a fool if that's what thee think, Beddle. We'd be nought but slain carcasses rolling in the tide shallows now, had we gone up against such a force. Yon Badger Lord an' his hares were brave, mad beasts, they did what they had to. But 'twas a foregone conclusion."

Spots of rain that had found their way through the pine canopy roused Fleetscut in the dawn hour. Jukka was awake also, sitting watching him, cloaked in a blanket. Turning her back on the old hare, she raked ash from the fire embers and brought it to crackling life by feeding broken pine branches into the rock oven. Fleetscut's voice hit her back like a whip.

"Tell me what has happened at my mountain. Speak!"

Jukka did not turn, but she gave him his answer.

By the time the entire squirrel camp was up and about, Fleetscut had hauled himself upright and stood supporting himself against a pine trunk, a plate of food lying at his footpaw, untouched. Jukka still sat watching him.

"There was nought anybeast could have done, Fleetscut. Come now, eat. I hear tell that thou art a beast with great appetite."

A kick from the hare's footpaw sent the plate flying. His eyes were like stone, his voice dripping contempt. "I don't eat with cowards!"

Jukka sprang up, a loaded sling automatically in her paw. "Nobeast calls Jukka the Sling a coward!"

The old hare tore his tunic open, exposing his scrawny chest. "Then kill me, Jukka, go on, kill me! One old hare shouldn't be too difficult for a warrior like you, wot? Slay me an' see how long you an' your band can hide out in this pine grove until Ungatt Trunn's Blue Hordes find you all. Then you'll wish you'd helped t'fight against him an' save Salamandastron!"

Thrrrakk!

Jukka's slingstone clipped off a branch a hair's breadth from Fleetscut's head and whirred off among the trees. The squirrel stood before him, her wild eyes blazing. "Any other beast would have been dead by now, hare. But I'll prove to thee that me and mine aren't cowards. We'll go with thee on thy searchaye, an' carry ye if needs be. I'll help ye build an armyhares, or any creature crazy enough to go against the hordes on yonder mountain. Then we'll fight them, us for the taking of weapons which we value so highly, an' thou for thy vengeance on the foes who slew thy brothers. I, Jukka the Sling, do not do this out of comradeship for ye. War is a business. I do it for profit, for all the weapons my tribe may plunder if victory is ours!"

Hare and squirrel stood face-to-face, their wrathful eyes searing one another. Fleetscut curled his lip scornfully. "Do it for whatever reason y'like, brushtail. But do it!"

Jukka was trembling all over with rage. "Oho, I'll do it, never fret about that, longears," she growled. "Once Jukka the Sling gives her word, thou canst stake thy life on it!"

Fleetscut turned his back on the squirrel and began hobbling off, calling back over his shoulder, "Well, y'won't get it done standin' 'round makin' bloomin' speeches all day. Actions speak louder'n words, doncha know!"

In total, Jukka's tribe numbered fifty able-bodied creatures and a dozen who were either too young or too old to serve her purpose. She left eight of the warriors with these twelve, and the other forty-three, counting herself, were ready to march within the hour, each of them armed and provisioned.

Ruro caught up with Fleetscut, who was limping ahead near the pine grove's edge. "Hold up, friend, my tribe will be with thee shortly. Here, take these. 'Twill make the going easier."

Fleetscut allowed her to loop a small bag over his shoulder. Then he took the short, thick-handled spear and hefted it. The weapon had a sharp double-edged blade, shaped like a grey willow leaf, with a crosstree where it joined the shaft.

"Strange, spear, wot? Wouldn't be very accurate to throw. Rations in this bag, I s'pose, though by the feel of it there's not more'n a couple o' days' supply."

Ruro showed him her spear, which was the same type as his. "Useful things, these. Jukka designed them for close combat, not for throwing. See, the blade is as good as a sword, the crosstree can ward off blade thrusts and the thick shaft makes a fine long club. Our food is good for long treks. 'Tis made of dried fruit an' berries stuffed into a f arl of oat an' rye bread which has been well soaked in honey. A creature can march all day on just a few mouthfuls, providing there's water to drink. Here come the others now. Lean down on thy spear, Fleetscut, grasp the cross hilt, but keep thy paw clear o' the blade. Makes a good walking stick, eh?"

The old hare was forced to agree: the going was much easier with the spear to aid him. Jukka strode by them in high bad humor, remarking to Ruro as she passed, "Tell me if the ancient one falls behind. We can carry him trussed to a long pike like a carcass!"

Fleetscut's voice rang out after her. "You've got a good fast stride there, marm, stap me but y'have! Must be with havin' to retreat from all your foes, wot?"

Jukka kept marching, but her ears and tail shot up rigid with anger at the insult. Ruro shook her head sadly. "Do not provoke Jukka Sling overmuch, my friend. She has never been bested in a fight. No matter how much thou thinkest she hath wronged thee, remember, she was only doing what was best for her tribe. I would have done the same in her place."

Fleetscut had come to like Ruro a lot, so he did not argue with her, but changed the subject. "I wonder where she's takin' us?"

His friend pointed to the northeast. "To the Rockwood. We should be there by nightfall, methinks. Jukka will want words with Udara Groundslay."

"An' who in the name o' seasons is Udara Groundslay?"

Ruro quickened her pace as other squirrels went by. "Enough talk now, friend, we're starting to lag behind. Save thy breath for traveling, or mayhap Jukka will carry out her threat an' have ye slung on a pike."

Fleetscut stumped along faster on his makeshift stick. "Huh, if she ever tries it she'll find out what the term perilous hare really means!"

Jukka marched them ruthlessly all through that day, taking it out on Fleetscut for his ill-chosen remarks to her. Out on the flatlands there was no water. The sun beat down without respite, and not a breeze stirred the brownish scrub grass, which would be withered before the advent of summer. Grasshoppers chirruped dryly, larks could be heard high overhead. Like the squirrels, the old hare sucked on a flat pebble to retain the moisture in his mouth. His paw ached abominably from holding and leaning upon the metal crosstree of the spear, even though he had tried to cushion it with clumps of grass. Jukka remained silent and angry, but her tribe sang a marching song to keep up their spirits. The old hare had never heard the tune before, so he too kept quiet as they tramped wearily across the scorched acres of open land, though like any old soldier he kept pace with the beat.

"Down goes the paw an' up rises dust,

Keep thy courage, hold thy trust,

Come to our journey's end we must,

Marching the high road together.

Tramp tramp tramp! Can we make camp?

Not whilst there's light, not 'til tonight!

One two! One two! Beneath a sky o' blue,

Sing out, comrades. Tramp tramp tramp!

On goes the trail, for ever more,

Weary of limb, and sore of paw,

Keep on moving, that's our law,

Marching the high road together.

Tramp tramp tramp! Can we make camp?

I'll tell ye when, don't stop 'til then!

One two! One two! Daylight hours growing few,

Sing out, comrades. Tramp tramp tramp!"

In the late afternoon Fleetscut stumbled and fell. Before anybeast had noticed, Ruro heaved him up, set him back on his stick and supported his other side. The old hare gritted his teeth as he stumbled onward at the rear of the tribe. "How far is it now, Ruro?"

She indicated with a nod of her head. "Yonder, see, there's the Rockwood. We made good timemethinks we'll be there before evening. Can ye carry on, friend? 'Twould not hurt to take a rest, now that Rockwood be in sight."

Fleetscut wiped dust from his eyes with a free paw. "If a squirrel can do it, I'm sure a Salamandastron hare can. I'll blinkin' well make it, m'gel, just you watch!"

Rockwood turned out to be a huge stone outcrop, dotted with gnarled trees and stunted bush. Beddle had been sent ahead to scout it out, and he came dogtrotting back to report as the tribe arrived at its base.

"I spotted Udara, but he vanished 'mid the shrubbery. Good news, thoughthe little lake hasn't dried up. Plenty o' water there!"

Jukka held up a paw for order as a ragged cheer went up. "Hearken, all of ye, we be on the domain of Udara Groundslay. Give no offense, mind thy manners. That goes for thee, too, longears. Wait you all here 'til I return."

She scrambled up into the rocks and was lost to sight amid the foliage. Fleetscut sat down with the tribe, glad of the rest, but still very curious.

"So then, Ruro, who is this Udara Groundslay? Tell me."

The squirrel lay back, shading both eyes with her tail. "Yell find out soon enough, friend."

Jukka returned after a short while. "Udara will see us after sundown. Ye may drink of his water, but not swim in it, nor wash. I will deal with anybeast that does. There be small apples an' pears on some of the trees. Take only the high ones, leave those in the lower branches. Ye will do as I say, understand?"

A weary rumble of assent came from the squirrels. As they moved off into the rocks, Grood could be heard muttering under his breath.

Jukka caught the youngster by his ear and tweaked it, none too gently. "I heard that mouthful ye came out with, wretch. See this strip o' bark? I'll gag ye with it if I hear one more word from ye while we're guests upon Rockwood!"

Fleetscut patted his stomach. It made a swilling noise from all the cool, sweet water he had drunk from the little shaded pool. He gnawed upon a pear which felt as hard as the rocks surrounding him and lay still while Ruro changed his dressings.

The good squirrel soaked dock leaves, sanicle and rockmoss in water and pounded them into a soothing poultice before applying them to the old hare's footpaws. Fleetscut sighed.

"Aaaahhh! My thanks, friend. D'y'know, my paws are startin' to feel wonderful, wot. I feel like a young leveret again."

Ruro put the final touches to her dressings. "Then rest thee an' try not to go dashin' about'twould ruin all my work. Lay up in the shade here where 'tis cool."

Fleetscut did as she instructed. He took a few bites from the heavy honey-soaked farl of trekking bread, a couple more swigs of water to counteract the sticky sweetness, and lay back.

All around him others were doing likewise. Some distance away he glimpsed Jukka, sitting alone and waiting for evening shades to fall. That would be when their mysterious host might put in an appearance. Fleetscut dozed off, wondering just what sort of creature Udara Groundslay would turn out to be.

Chapter 10

Ungatt Trunn sat closeted in his humid stateroom while his officers led his Blue Hordes against Salamandastron. He watched the spiders scuttling across their silky gossamer webs, pursuing flies, trapping them, and finally sucking the life from their victims' bodies. Spiders were savage, independent and deadly; Ungatt liked them. He had learned many lessons by lying back in his cabin and watching them. One thing, however, was troubling his mind: the stripedog, not the old one who ruled the mountain, but he who bestrode his dreams, big, strong and forbidding, with his face always wreathed in a blur of mist. The wildcat would have given much to see the features of his foe, for foe he surely was, and coming closer each day. Now when Ungatt's eyes closed he saw the phantom badger looming larger, surrounded by an ever-growing presence. The signs were there: this stripedog was gathering an army about him.

Ungatt Trunn had never been a superstitious creature, until he first heard of the mountain called Salamandastron. Prior to that he had been a conqueror, a warrior, with little regard for omens and dreams. Now he found himself listening to the riddles of a crippled fox, simply because, being neither wizard nor magician, he could not construe what went on in the land of visions. It angered him. He closed his eyes tightly and spoke aloud, trying his utmost to concentrate his thoughts on the big stripedog who haunted the corridors of his mind.

"Come, show your face to me, come to my mountain and meet with your fate. I am Ungatt Trunn the Fearsome Beast; you will die by my paw the day you look upon my face!"

Outside on the afterdeck, Groddil and the Grand Fragorl were leaning on the stern rail, watching Salamandastron fall to the Blue Hordes, who broke upon it like the never-ending waves of the sea. Both creatures heard the wildcat's raised voice from the cabin beneath. They could not hear his exact words, so, fearing that they might be absent when he was calling for them, Groddil and Fragorl hastened down to the stateroom door. The magician fox tapped respectfully and called, "Mightiness, do you wish us to attend you?"

Ungatt Trunn prowled sinuously out onto the deck, his plain war armor accentuating the strength and size of a fully grown male wildcat. His slitted eyes flicked shoreward before turning to the pair. "How goes the conquest of my mountain?"

Grand Fragorl replied in her usual monotone. "You will be enthroned within it by nightfall, O Shaker of the Earth. Already they are battering down its gates."

The wildcat strode to the rail, both creatures following in his wake. "Bring a boat. We will go ashore!"

One of the Hordes' most respected captains, a female rat named Mirefleck, stood awaiting them on the tideline. With her were two newcomers, big, sturdy young rats, one carrying bow and arrows, the other with a cutlass thrust in his belt. Ungatt silently sized them up: searats both. He stood to one side, allowing Mirefleck and his Fragorl to do the speaking.

Mirefleck saluted with her spear. "These are two rats from the seas. They heard of the master's fame and wish to join his Blue Hordes."

Fragorl nodded and turned to address the pair. "Know ye that ye can serve no other master than Ungatt Trunn, son of King Mortspear. Swear this under pain of death!"

The rats looked at one another, and then the one with the cutlass bowed his head slightly, answering for them both.

"I'm Ripfang, and this is my brother Doomeye. We swear we will serve Ungatt Trunn."

Fragorl held a small whispered conference with the wildcat before turning her attention back to the brothers. "His Mightiness looks upon you both with favor. Beasts who are skilled with arms and useful in battle are ever welcome to the Blue Hordes. Put aside your weapons and come."

Ripfang and Doomeye carried out the orders issued by Groddil. First, they immersed themselves completely from ears to tails in a rock pool; then, climbing out, they both knelt in front of him. Groddil bade them close their eyes as he shook the contents of a large bag containing dark blue powder over them. Meanwhile, Fragorl intoned the initiation words.

"Blue is the sea, blue is the sky,

Mightiest under the sun,

Blue are you, the same as I,

Servants of Ungatt Trunn.

Let him see what you are worth,

Make lesser creatures see why

The Chosen Ones can shake the earth,

Whilst the foes of their master die!"

Turning on his heel, the wildcat headed for the mountain with Fragorl in his wake. Groddil stayed momentarily, to acquaint the new recruits with their duties.

"Rub the powder into your fur, all over, and stay away from water until the sun has risen three times. By then the blue color will be permanent, and you can report to Captain Mirefleck and join her horde section."

The din of battle rang out from the mountain. Both rats opened their eyes, wiping away blue powder residue from their eyelids as they watched the three retreating figures. The one called Doomeye retrieved his bow and arrows, rubbing the powder into his fur as he did so. "Well, it looks like we're Blue Hordebeasts now, eh, brother?"

Ripfang suited his name. Some quirk of nature had left him with one great curved tooth growing out of the center of his top jaw, so that now his smile appeared as a ghastly grimace. "Aye, fer as long as we gain more plunder an' vittles than we did at piratin'!"

Lord Stonepaw knew defeat was inevitable. Against frighteningly overwhelming odds his hares had put up a gallant battle, but to no avail. Stiffener Medick had fought his way up to the high-level chambers, where the Badger Lord and his remaining warriors had retreated. Black oily smoke swirled around them as it rose from the lower mountain passages and chambers. Ignoring a deep slash in his paw, the fighting hare threw a salute to Stonepaw.

"We're cut off from the rest, sah. Bungworthy's command were cut t'pieces tryin' to hold the main gate those vermin burned an' battered it down. Ole Bungworthy was standin' up to his scut in slain blue 'uns, yellin' Eulalias an' hackin' at wave after wave of the scum, but they kept on comin'. He went down just as I made it t'the main stairs. Seasons rest his brave memory!"

Stonepaw's shattered lance fell to the floor. "Did you see any of Sailears's command on the second level?"

Stiffener wiped tears from his eyes. "They was taken, lord, surrounded an' beaten. 'Twas full o' foebeasts, packed tightSailears an' the rest didn't even get a chance to fight! I got a smack o'er the ears an' fell down stunned. One of 'em thought he'd stuck me with a blade, but I only got cut on me paw an' side. They dashed off then, carryin' torches to search the chambers for more prisoners. That's when I escaped an' made it up here, sire. We'd best do somethin' quick afore they come!"

Ever gallant, the hare called Trobee drew his blade. "We'll hold 'em at the stairhead. Mebbe we won't last long, but we'll take a tidy few o' the villains with us. Who's with me? Eulaliaaa!"

Stonepaw plucked the blade from Trobee's grasp. "No! Listen to me. I know you're all perilous beasts, but if we're dead then Salamandastron's completely lost. There are secret passages that lead down to the cellar caves we'd never be found down there. At least we'd be alive until help arrives in one form or another. Come on!"

Eighteen hares, the pitiful remainder of the mountain's old guard, were left to follow Lord Stonepaw. They filed after him, with his final words ringing in their ears.

"At least where there's life there's hope, my friends!"

Evening skies rimmed the western horizon with fiery scarlet as the sun dipped to the winedark seas, and still no birds were heard or seen. Warm from the day's heat, the sand was crowded with fresh Blue Hordebeasts, none of whom had seen action that day. Ungatt Trunn had the Badger Lord's great chair brought out from the dining hall onto the beach, where he sat watching black smoke wreathe from the rock-carved windows while his officers made their reports.

The first, Captain Fraul, a somber-looking stoat, bowed his head. "Losses in the first wave amounted to"

"Silence!" Groddil interrupted in a squeaky shout. "His Mightiness does not want to know about losses, fool! Report the victory, you great oaf!"

"Our victory was complete, O Great One!"

The Grand Fragorl took her place at Ungatt Trunn's right paw. "What other outcome could there be for Ungatt Trunn, son of King Mortspear? Captain Swinch, you were in the second wave. How many foebeasts do you report slain?"

Ungatt held up a paw, halting Swinch. The wildcat's other paw circled the Fragorl's neck, in what appeared a friendly embrace. However, it was anything but friendly as Ungatt tightened his grip into a stranglehold. Pulling the Fragorl close, he growled low and harsh into her ear.

"I am Ungatt Trunn, I carve my own path, I conquer for myself. Call me son of Mortspear again and I'll see to it that you die slowly over a fire. Erase Mortspear's name from my list of titlesI never want to hear it again!" He released the ferret, and she staggered back holding her throat. Ungatt signaled Captain Swinch to continue.

"Threescore and twelve of the lesser orders lie dead, Mighty One. Their unworthy carcasses will be fed to the waters of the seas at ebb tide."

Groddil did some hasty figuring before pursuing the matter. "And how many were taken captive?"

Captain Fraul answered. "My Hordebeasts have threescore captives awaiting your judgment, Mightiness!"

The stunted fox cocked his head on one side, pacing a circle around the stoat officer. "Hmm. Seventy-two dead and sixty captured. I make that one hundred and thirty-two in all, captain. Surely there were more hares defending the mountain than that?"

Fraul swallowed and stood to attention, looking straight ahead. "Sire, I do not know the exact number we fought against. I can only report on the ones we have, dead or alive, sire."

Ungatt Trunn stepped down from his great chair then, right onto the fox's bushy tail. Groddil winced, but stayed still, fearing to move. Like a knife, the wildcat's voice pierced his back.

"Our scouts who watched the mountain reported at least a hundred and a half of those old hares. Then there's another matter, my malformed magician. Where's the Badger Lord Stonepaw?"

Groddil jumped as Ungatt shouted the last words, though he knew better than to try to give an answer. Ungatt kicked him, sending him sprawling as his master ranted.

"Old Stonepaw the stripedog must still be alive inside that mountain, with a faithful few around him. Did nobeast have the sense to think of that? I want that badger here, flat on his muzzle in front of me, and the last of his hares, alive or dead. Find him, Groddil! Take some Hordebeasts with you, search every crack or hiding place inside that mountain, but find him. Now get out of my sight!"

The fox signaled to Captain Swinch to bring his soldiers and scrambled off through Salamandastron's broken gates.

Stonepaw and his hares encountered nobeast on their journey down to the cellars. Without even torches, they felt their way through dark unused corridors and silent forgotten chambers. Down, down to the network of caverns beneath Salamandastron. Holding tight to the ancient Bramwil, Blench the cook waved her ladle in the Stygian blackness, so that she would not bump into any unseen rocks. Her voice echoed spectrally.

"Are you sure y'know where we're goin', lord?"

The badger's weighty paw descended lightly on her shoulder. "Hush, marm! Sound carries down here. Don't fret, I know this place like the back o' my paw. I've been Lord of Salamandastron more seasons than I care to recall, longer than any other badger. Stay to your left now, keep the rocks close to your backs, everybeast."

There was a slight splash, followed by a muffled groan. Stonepaw's voice sounded out a whisper of reprimand. "Left, I said, Blenchthe paw you wear that shell bracelet on. Keep close nownot far to go!"

Blench heard her ladle clicking on rock both sides of her, and guessed that they were passing through a narrow tunnel. Wisely, she ducked her head.

"Wait here, all of you, I'll be back in a moment."

The hares obeyed their lord's command, speculating in low voices as they huddled together in the dark.

"Where's he gone? Wish he'd jolly well hurry up!"

"What's that plip-ploppin' sound up ahead, Trobee?"

"Don't ask me, I'm as much in the dark as anybeast!"

"As much in the dark. Heehee, that's a good 'un!"

"Keep your blinkin' voice down, Bramwil, y'sound like a frog in a barrel. I say, what's that?"

Sparks flew up ahead, and there was a chinking sound of steel striking flint. In an instant the area was flooded with light and waving shadows.

Lord Stonepaw loomed up, a blazing torch creating a red-gold aura around him. "This way, friends. Follow me!"

Gratefully, they shuffled along in the badger's wake until he halted, holding the torch up against what appeared to be a solid rock face.

"Through here. 'Twas a bit of a squeeze for me, but you hares shouldn't find it too difficult."

There was a fissure in the rock wall, barely detectable. Stiffener looked at it incredulously. "You got through there, m'lud? 'Tain't nought but a sort o' sideways crack!" Emerging one by one from the narrow gap, the hares greeted the sight that met their eyes with gasps of surprise. They were in a medium-sized cavern, with a pool at its center, which threw off a pale luminescent green aura. Water dripping from white limestone stalactites plopped gently into the pool, rippling it constantly and causing a shimmering effect in the light. Smooth, worn stone ledges bordered the cave walls, with knobbly stalagmites looking as if they had popped up from the floor.

Stonepaw busied himself filling four big lanterns from a barrel of vegetable oil near the entrance. He lit them with his torch. "Here, place these about midway on the ledges."

When this was done the added light had quite a cheering effect. The Badger Lord called them all to sit in a semicircle around him.

"First, a few words for our dear comrades who are slain or captured by the foebeast. Bramwil, would you say it?"

Faint, eerie echoes rebounded from the walls as the ancient hare intoned in a husky whisper to the bowed heads before him.

"When sunlight tinges the dawn of the day,

Remember those brave ones now gone.

We who recall them to mind, let us say,

They were perilous beasts every one!

For those who live, but are not free,

May we see their dear faces again,

Mother Fortune grant them sweet liberty,

And cause slaves not to suffer in pain."

A moment's silence followed, the only sound the measured cadence of droplets hitting the pool surface.

Lord Stonepaw coughed gruffly and wiped his eyes, blinking as he surveyed the pitiful remnants of one hundred and fifty loyal hares.

"Right, council of war. First, we've no food down here, but as you see there's lots of cold, clear water. Now, let's take a vote by show of paws. What do we do next? Shall we sit here and wait to be rescued, or do we search for a way out to freedom?"

Every paw was raised for finding a way out of Salamandastron. The Badger Lord nodded approvingly. "Well, at least there'll be no arguments. Down to business, then. @WThat weapons have we, Stiffener?"

The boxing hare had his estimate ready. "Four light rapiers, bows'n'arrers, eight, full quivers, too. No more'n 'alf a dozen javelins, but everybeast carries a sling an' there ain't a shortage of stones 'ereabouts. Oh, eight daggers an' Blench's ladle. That's the lot, sah!"

Stonepaw mused over the situation before speaking. "Hiran. If we're going to get out, we'd best make it soon. I'll guarantee that Ungatt Trunn is having the mountain searched stone by stone for me right now. If we linger down here we'll have to face three things: discovery, and a fight to the death, or capture and slavery. Our final option is that we remain hidden here and die of starvation. Not a pleasant thought, eh?"

Blench dipped her ladle in the pool and drank. "So, lord, let's get goin' right away. D'you know the way out?"

Stonepaw shook his massive striped head. "I haven't got a single clue. Have any of you? Maybe an old ballad or poem might hold the answer. Let's put our thinking caps on. Hark, what was that? Listen!"

Sound carried far in all directions beneath Salamandastron, and now faint echoes reached them. Voices.

"Huh, 'slike searchin' for a grain o' salt on a seashore down 'ere. Jus' think, we could all get lost ourselves!" one complained.

There followed a screech of pain and the voice of Captain Swinch threatening the speaker. "Jus' think, eh? You ain't down 'ere t'think, Rotface, yore down 'ere to obey orders. Now git searchin' or next time I won't be usin' only the flat o' me blade on yer!"

"We need more torches, Swinch. Send somebeast back for them."

"Hah! Couldn't yer magic us some, Groddil? Yore supposed t'be Ungatt Trunn's magician. I think it'll be a great piece o' magic if'n we finds anythin' but rock down 'ere."

"Oh, do you indeed? Well, let me tell you, Swinch, if we return empty-pawed we could end up paying for it with our lives. You know how His Mightiness must be obeyed."

"Aye, yore right there, fox. Hoi, Rotface, you'n'Grinak go back an' get more torchesan' fetch some vittles back with ye, too. We might be some time gettin' the job done. Well, don't stand there gawpin'. Get goin'!"

The voices faded as the search direction changed, and soon there was silence again.

"Whew! That was close. Where d'you reckon they were, wot?"

Stonepaw gestured for Trobee to lower his voice. "These caves do strange things to sound; they could have been anywhere. One thing you can count on, though they'll be back. The wildcat won't give up until he's found me."

Old Bramwil's stomach gurgled. He rubbed it hungrily. "I could eat a mushroom'n'cheese pastie right now, one with a soft-baked crustmebbe a salad, too."

Blench patted the old one's paw. "If'n I was in me kitchens I'd bake ye oneaye, an' a deep apple pudden with lots o' fresh meadowcream on it."

Stiffener Medick licked his lips. "You could throw in a cob o' cheese, too, marm, the yellow one with sage'n'onion herbs in it. My favorite!" Then he wilted under Lord Stonepaw's stare. "Thinkin' o' vittles when we should be rackin' our brains for a way out? My fault, sah. Sorry, sah!"

The Badger Lord softened to his faithful creatures. "I'm hungry, too, but 'tis easier for a badger to forget food than 'tis for a hare. Never mind, friends. Let's get back to figuring our way out."

Hours passed, interspersed by the dropping of water and the odd sigh from a hare who could see no answer to the problem. Lord Stonepaw kept his silence, knowing there was no solution available. They were imprisoned inside their own mountain, and likely to perish miserably down in its cellars.

Chapter 11

Food! Dotti vowed to herself that she could not touch another morsel that night. Then she relented and set about nibbling candied lilac buds from the edges of an almond cake. Rogg Longladle was surely a master of victuals, unequaled at baking, boiling, grilling or cooking any edible his moles could find. The haremaid watched Lord Brocktree digging into a huge bowl with a wooden ladle, his cheeks bulging as he ate.

"Well, pickle me ears, sah, y'look pleased enough with that!"

The badger grinned wolfishly over another ladleful. "Scrumptious, miss. The moles call it deeper'n ever turnip'n'tater'n'beetroot pie. I could eat it all night!"

Ruff took his nose out of a foaming tankard still half filled with chestnut and buttercup beer, and chortled as he blew froth from his upper lip. "Haharr, ain't it true, though? I'd 'ave never left 'ome if'n I'd got vittles o' this quality. Rogg, ye ole ovendog, give us another o' yore kitchen ditties!"

Brandishing his oversized ladle and smiling from ear to ear, the good mole beckoned the little Dibbuns to take their dancing places. Brisk as bumblebees and plump as robins, the tiny molebabes formed two facing lines. Dotti marveled at the fact that they could eat so much and still be eager to dance. The infant molemaids grabbed their pinafores and curtsied comically as their partners licked paws and dabbed them on their snouts in reply. Rogg's wife scraped out the opening bars on an old fiddle and all the watchers started tapping their paws in time. Rogg's rotund body bobbed up and down with the rhythm until he found the appropriate moment to join in with his tuneful bass voice.

"Ho berries'n'pickles an' corjul wot tickles,

Gudd apples'n'pears from ee h'orchard do cumm,

Gurt taters'n'beets an' ee redcurrinks sweet,

Get ee owt o' thy tunnel an' go fetch oi summ!

Urr rowtle dee tootle dee, spring be a-born,

Ee fields be all full o' roip barley'n'corn!

Ho turnips'n'dannyloin, damsing an' plumm,

Yon loaf's in ee uvven an'

Crispin' oop noice, Carrots'n'onions an' chesknutters cumm,

Get owt'n ee tunnel, oi woan't tell ee twoice!

Urr gollybee gullybee wudd for ee foire,

Oi luvvs ee moi dearie, moi ole 'eart's desoire!

Ho radish'n'celery, custidd'n'cake,

An' ee sweetest of hunny from bumbledy bee,

Thurr's beer in ee cellar, cumm naow moi owd feller,

You'm fill up'n thoi tummy wi' wot pleasures ee!

Urr trucklebee rucklebee larks oop abuvv,

Cumm darnce ee moi petal an' 'old moi paw luvv!"

Amid the applause Rogg skipped swiftly to one side, giving way to the little ones, who danced furiously, twirling and whirling, smocks, tunics and aprons billowing. It was the funniest sightall those tiny Dibbuns, bowing, leaping, touching noses, kicking up their paws, whooping in their gruff, small voices.

Rogg sat down next to Dotti, rattling his digging claws on the tabletop as he watched the antics of the molebabes. "They'm loively likkle darncers sure 'nuff, miz!"

"Ho aye, zurr Rogg, them'll sleep loik 'ogs in ee beds arter all ee whurlygiggin'."

The mole clasped Dotti's paw, immensely pleased that she spoke his own odd dialect. "You'm a gudd hurrbeast, miz Dott!"

In truth the Dibbins did sleep well, though they snored uproariously, which moles consider a virtue among their babes, reckoning that snoring improves the gruffness and depth of voice. Dotti found herself a nice moss-strewn arbor close to the ledge where Ruff and Brocktree chose to lay their heads for the night. It must have been sometime before the dawn hours when the entire mole household was roused by Brocktree.

It was a nightmare, but clear as day: a swaying room, decked with cobwebs and spiders, and flies buzzing everywhere. Tossing and turning in his sleep, the Badger Lord tried to rid his mind of the unbidden vision. Then suddenly a great evil-looking wildcat appeared, its voice grating through him like a rusty blade.

"Come, show your face to me, come to my mountain and meet with your fate. I am Ungatt Trunn the Fearsome Beast; you will die by my paw the day you look upon my face!"

Still in the grip of nightmare, the Badger Lord sprang up. Seizing his battle blade, he roared out in a thunderous voice, "It is my mountain! I am the Lord Brocktree of Brockhall! My sword will look into your mind and touch your heart on the day we meet, Ungatt Trunn! Eulaliiiiaaaaa!"

Dotti and Ruff leapt up in shock. The haremaid was knocked to one side as her otter friend hurled himself at her, shoving her out of danger in the nick of time. Brocktree's great battle blade whooshed past them a hair's breadth away, cleaving a rock ledge in two and plowing a furrow in the floor like a small trench.

"Back, mates! Get back, all of ye!" The otter was up and waving paws and rudder at moles scurrying about in their nightshirts, wanting to see what all the disturbance was about. Rogg Longladle acted swiftly. Taking a jug of cold mint tea from the banqueting table nearby, he sloshed it accurately in Brocktree's face. The Badger Lord staggered back and slumped on the ledge. Freeing a paw from his sword handle, he wiped the liquid from his eyes. Then he looked at the creatures all about him in bewilderment.

"The room, it was moving from side to side, spiders, webs, flies, everywhere ... every"

Without warning the double-hilted sword was in his paws again. He swung it up in a fighting stance, glaring at everybeast with dangerous eyes. "Where's the wildcat? Did any of you see him? Tell me!"

With great courage, Ruff stepped forward, placing himself in the path of the monstrous blade. "Put up yore weapon, mate. 'Twas only a dream."

With a dazed look Brocktree lowered the sword and sat down. "I don't understand it, Ruff. He was here, his name is Ungatt Trunn, and he wanted to do battle with me."

Rogg dispersed the moles with a wave of his long ladle. "Goo on naow, back abed, all of ee. Leave us'n's be!"

Rogg listened as Dotti told him of their quest for Salamandastron and Brocktree's reasons for needing to be there. When the Badger Lord recounted the scenes of his nightmare, Rogg had something to say.

"Wait ee, zurr. Bide yurr ee h'instant!"

He trundled off, returning shortly with another mole, a full-grown male, very sturdy, with a look of Rogg about him. "This'n yurr be moi sunn Gurth. Ee'm a foine big 'un, bain't ee? Uz calls 'im Gurt Gurth. Ee'm a born wunderer an' fond o' travelern. Tell um wot ee see'd, Gurth!"

Rogg's son touched his snout politely to the guests. "Pleasured t'meet ee, zurrs, miz. Hurr naow, 'bowt three moons back oi wurr roamin', south an' west o' yurr. Oi waked wun morn an' see'd ee gurt h'army o' vurmints, all a-painted blue, trampin' west'ard to ee sandshores. Them wuz a-chantin', loik this. Ee chief vurmint, ee showts ... Ungatt! An' t'others showt back three toims ... Trunn! Trunn! Trunn! Oi watched 'til 'em varnished in ee distance, trampin' an' a-shouten all ee way. Ungatt! . . . Trunn! Trunn! Trunn! Jus' loik that, zurr! Bo urr, sez oi to moiself, thurr be a thing to tell ee molefolkback 'ome. But moi ole dad, ee sez t'keep soilent abowt et. So oi did 'til naow."

In the light of Gurth's tale, it took a lot of persuading to stop Brocktree following the vermin instantly. In the end, he agreed to wait until dawn. They would set off immediately after breakfast.

Daylight had barely cracked when Lord Brocktree levered himself away from one of Rogg's epic spreads and shouldered his sword.

"Come on, you two, or are you going to sit there feeding your famine-stricken faces all day?"

Dotti wiped her lips ruefully on an embroidered napkin. "I bally well wish we could, I've never tasted honeyed oatmeal like that in m'life. I say, Rogg, how the dickens d'you make it taste so jolly good, wot?"

Rogg chuckled at Dotti's momentary lapse from mole-speech. "Hurr hurr, young miz, oi chops in lots o' chesknutters an' hazelnutters, too, cover ee lot wi' sprinkles o' candied h'apple'n'pear flakers an' bakes et slow in ee uvven."

Ruff twitched his rudder in admiration of Rogg's skill. "Haharr. I can't tell one nutter from another, but ole Rogg there makes it sound wunnerful!"

The friendly mole dumped four packs on the table. "Thurr be vittles for ee journey, guddbeasts."

Brocktree had noted the number of packs. "There's four lots here and we're only three."

Rogg twiddled his digging claws, as moles do when they are confronted with a tricky situation. "Urr urr, wudd ee grant oi a boon, zurr?"

Dotti translated. "He wants a favor from you, sah."

Brocktree spread his paws magnanimously. "I would be churlish if I refused, after such hospitality. Ask away, Rogg my friend!"

The mole hemmed and hawed a bit before coming out with it. "Cudd ee taken moi sunn Gurth along with ee? Oi'd be alius h'obliged. Ee'm gudd company, deadly with ee slinger an' stronger'n any mole aloive. Oi be gurtly wurried when ee goes off a-roamin' alone, zurr, but moi 'eart'd be easier if'n moi Gurth wurr with gennelbeasts like you 'uns."

Lord Brocktree shook Rogg's paw warmly. "Gurth will be a welcome addition to our little bandand if his cooking is anything like yours, I beg you to let him come along with us!"

Gurth appeared out of nowhere and swept up his ration pack. "Oi been teached ee cookin' trick or two boi moi ole dad, zurr. Thankee koindly furr lettin' oi join ee!"

At the river bend the four friends boarded their log and paddled off along the sun-flecked stream, with Rogg and his family calling farewells.

"Goombye. 'Twere ee pleasure 'avin' ee t'visit!"

"Miz Dott, goombye. Pity ee wurr too fulled t'sing furr us'n's larst noight. Mebbe nex' toim!"

"They don't know 'ow lucky they were not to hear our Dotti warblin'," Ruff muttered under his breath to Brocktree.

Gurth was receiving instructions from his kin, to all of whom he replied with the same phrase: "Thankee, oi'll amember that!"

"You'm keep a clean 'ankycheef with ee alius, Gurth!"

"Moind ee manners an' doan't scoff ee too much!"

"Pay 'tenshun to wot gurt Badger Lord tells ee, Gurth!"

"Bringen a pressink back for ee ole mum!"

"Be guarden ee young hurrmaid well naow, sunn!"

Gurth's gruff bass voice echoed back along the stream: "Thankee, oi'll amember that!"

The moles stood in the shallows, waving until the log was out of sight. Gurth's mother wiped a kerchief about her eyes. "Burrhoo, oi do 'opes ee'll be safe!"

Rogg placed a paw about her shoulders. "Ee surpintly will, marm. Ee be a rock o' sense, that 'un!"

Chapter 12

Udara Groundslay was a short-eared owl. Unfortunately he had been born without the gift of flight, but thisI did not seem to worry him one little bit. He had made his birthplace, the Rockwood, and its surrounding moors his domain. Nothing moved or went on there that he did not know about. Udara was immensely wise and very fierce. He protected his territory jealously and made his own rules for any creature venturing within its boundaries. These rules he enforced by his own natural ferocity.

Fleetscut sat with the squirrels around a small fire. It was almost twilight when the owl arrived.

Jukka rose to greet him. "Thou art looking hale an' fine of feather, Groundslay!"

Ruffling his brown and umber barred feathers, the big owl stared solemnly at the squirrels with huge golden eyes which shone in the reflected firelight. "Rukkudooh! What brings bushtails to my lands?"

Fleetscut had never heard a creature speaking so slowly and deliberately. Moreover, the murderous curved beak of Udara scarcely moved when he spoke.

Jukka politely let a moment elapse before replying. "We have brought a longears with us. He seeks news of his kind, or any other beasts seen hereabouts."

The owl closed both eyes and twitched his ear feathers gently. Fleetscut thought he had gone to sleep, but then the big golden orbs opened again.

"Hurrukooh! Udara sees all, even in the moondark. Longears have passed through here, young ones, noisy and frivolous creatures. Spikedogs, also. I like not the spikedogsthey are rough, ill-mannered beasts."

Fleetscut stood up from the fire. "How many longears went through here, and when?"

Udara's body did not move, but his head turned as if it were a separate part of him, in a great half-circle. He regarded the old hare like a piece of mud stuck to his talon, his eyes anything but friendly.

"Hoorokkuh! You have lessons in courtesy to learn, longears. Speak only when you are spoken to. Your seasons have not made you any more sensible than the young ones of your kind."

The head turned in leisurely fashion until Udara was facing Jukka once more. "Nothing in this life is free, believe my words. If the old longears wants information, he must pay me."

Jukka shot an inquiring glance at Fleetscut, who nodded his head vigorously. The squirrel spoke for him. "The longears wants to know what you require as payment?"

"Hoooooooh!" Udara let out the long slow noise as if he were considering. "The sweet heavy bread you carry, Udara likes that, it is good."

Fleetscut tossed his ration pack to Jukka, who placed it on the ground, close to the owl's talons. Udara Ground-slay looked down at it. His eyes closed, then reopened.

"Uhkuhkuhk! More. I want more than just one!"

The old hare stared around the fire at the other squirrels. None seemed ready to give up their rations. Fleetscut shrugged and held his paws wide.

Jukka stared at him impassively. "Udara says one is not enough. Thou wilt have to find more."

Ruro tossed her ration alongside that of Fleetscut. Silence seemed to stretch out into the growing darkness before Udara deigned to reply to the offer.

"Rukkudooh! One more!"

"You hear him, longears. Hast thou any more?"

Fleetscut shook his head. Udara kicked the packs lightly. "Hootooh! Then you wasted your time coming here, longears."

Fleetscut had put up with enough. "Just a tick there, featherbag, I think you're the one needs a lesson in courtesy. It's no blinkin' wonder that other creatures avoid comin' here, wot, y'bad-mannered old swindler. I wouldn't give you the dust off me paws after the way you've treated me!"

A gasp arose from the squirrels. Udara stalked slowly around the fire until his beak was level with the hare's eye. "Kurruhum! Two it is then, longears. You are a perilous beastI have slain many for less than what you said to me. But mind, two only buys the information that two merits!"

Thud!

Jukka's pack landed with the other two. "There, now thou hast three. Give the longears all your information, Udara. All!"

Hooking the three packs with his talons, the owl slung them up over his useless wings, calling as he stalked off, "Be here at dawn light. I'll tell you all then. Koohumhum!"

When Udara had gone, Fleetscut slumped down angrily by the fire. "Great feathered buffoon, wot?"

Jukka squatted in front of him, shaking her head knowingly. '"Tis ye who art the buffoon, hare. Hadst thou not given up thy pack so quick I could have bargained and got thine information for one pack. An' thee, Ruro, what were ye thinking of, adding thy pack to his so quickly? I only gave up my ration to Udara when the situation became hopeless. Udara was insulted by thee, longears. Hadst thou walked away with the pack, he'd have hunted an' killed thee. That bird is not named Udara Groundslay for nothing. Now put a latch on thy tongue an' get some sleep!"

Feeling rather foolish and properly chastened, Fleetscut lay down. However, before he closed his eyes, the old hare patted Ruro's shoulder. "You're a jolly good pal, Ruro. I won't forget the way you offered up your pack to get my information. Thanks!"

Ruro lay staring into the fire as she replied, "Jukka Sling was right, we be nought but two fools. Aye, an' we'll find that out soon enough, methinks, when we have to march on empty bellies. Good night to thee."

Udara returned in the dawn hour, when most of the squirrels were still sleeping, thanks to the previous day's marching. Jukka and Fleetscut hastily got a fire going and made mint and dandelion tea, sweetening it with lots of honey to suit the owl's taste. Sunlight was beginning to flood gold into the aquamarine skies of the eastern horizon before Udara deemed it fit to begin his narrative, which he did with much deliberation.

"Humrumrum! There is a certain longears, a hare, not of the mountain from which you come. They say he is a March hare, wild and perilous. I have not met himI do not know. Many longears are gathering to him at a secret place. I have heard them whisper his name, King Bucko Bigbones!"

Fleetscut could not help cutting in. "King?"

Udara's huge golden eyes blinked reprovingly. "I did not ask you to interrupt me. If you want to talk, then carry on, and I will hold my silence, longears!"

Jukka apologized for Fleetscut hastily. "Forgive him. It is the manner of longears to be excited. I will vouch for his silence. Please, the floor is thine." She shot a warning glance at the old hare.

Udara continued: "Whoohum! One of the longears dropped a piece of bark scroll. Reading is not part of my wisdom and of no interest to me. That is all I have to say. You will be gone from my land before noontide. Here is the writingyou may keep it."

Lifting his left wing slightly, with great effort, Udara allowed a small folded scroll to drop near the fire. Fleetscut pounced upon it before it rolled into the flames. Without a backward glance, Udara Groundslay, the flightless owl, ambled off to pursue his solitary existence.

"Read thee aloud. I wouldst hear this longear message!"

Jukka's arrogant words got the better of Fleetscut's temper. "Now just a bloomin' moment, bushtail. Hah! I see y'don't like me callin' you that, do you? Well, I'm sick an' fed up o' bein' called longears, see! I'll call you Jukka, you call me Fleetscut, I'll call your blinkin' lot squirrels, an' you call my flippin' lot hares, wot, wot?"

Jukka feigned an air of indifference. "As thou pleasest."