Lord Brocktree

The mountain hare's expression was murderous as he grated out his reply. "Aye, stripedawg, ah accept the challenge. Ye'll be hearin' from mah seconds afore midnight!"

Brocktree tipped a paw to his stripes courteously. "Thank you, I'll look forward to it. I bid you good night."

As they strode off, the badger took Fleetscut's paw. "Hurry, go and get Gurth, Jukka, Ruff and Log a Log Grenn. Tell them to meet us by the willows on the streambank. Go!"

Dotti looked shaken. Brocktree patted her back gently. "Calm down now, miss. Temper's the sign of a loserit affects the reason too much. We've got to start your education, and there's not a lot of time to do it in. That's always provided you want to win, eh?"

Dotti managed a smile. "Oh, I want to win all right, sah!"

Chapter 21

Stiffener Medick was leading his friends over the dunes toward the cliffs. Dawn's first slivers of light showed pale-washed grey behind the limestone heights. Rain teemed down unabated, squalled by the wind that flattened the dunegrass. Wet and weary they stumbled onward, assisting one another through the soft sand. Stiffener nearly jumped out of his skin when an otter popped up right in front of him.

"Aye aye, wot's this then, the old hares' outin'? Ain't picked out very good weather for it, mate, 'ave ye?"

Immediately recognizing the creature as a friend, Stiffener blew a dewdrop of rain from his nose and grinned. "No we ain't! Tell you somethin' else, too, we've lost our picnic basketslinen, cutl'ry, vittles, the lot!"

The otter threw a paw around the boxing hare's shoulders. "Worse things 'appen at sea, eh? Not t'worry, me ole lad, we'll find ye a dry berth an' a mouthful 'round the fire. My name's Brogalaw, Skipper o' Sea Otters, but let's get you an' yore fogeys in out the rain, then we'll natter."

Brogalaw led them to the cliffs. He clapped paws to his mouth and shouted at the blank stoneface, fighting to make himself heard above the storm: "Ahoy the holt, 'tis only Brog wid some ole hares wot've escaped from the wildcat's bluebottoms on the mountain!"

Trobee coughed politely to gain the otter's attention. "Beg pardon, old boy, but how'd you know that?"

Brogalaw winked. "Tell ye later, matey."

A sea buckthorn bush growing against the cliff face was pushed aside at one corner. The homely face of an otterwife appeared, her nose twitching disapprovingly. "Lan' sakes, Brog, get those pore beasts in out the weather."

They filed inside, staring about. It was a big, rough and ready cave, full of otters and a fully grown grey heron which stood immobile on one leg, watching as Brog grouped them about the fire. Bread was brought to them, with cheese baked on top of it. From a cauldron by the fire, the hares were served with steaming bowls of stew. The otterwife watched appreciatively as they ate hungrily.

"Good, ain't it? That's my special tater'n'whelk'n'leek chowder. I'm Brogalaw's mum, Frutch. Ahoy, Durvy, break out some seaweed grog an' give this crew a beaker apiece. Haharr, that'll put the life back in ye!"

Stiffener could hear the rain outside battering the cliff face as he sat on the warm sand around the fire with his friends, listening to Brogalaw's story.

"'Tis like this, messmates. We're sea otters, see. Lived down the coast, south apiece. Quite 'appy we wos, 'til ole Ungatt arrived with 'is blue vermin. I tell ye, we just about got away with our lives that day. 'Ad to run fer it an' 'ide, we did. Those vermin commandeered our best two ships, stoled 'em y'might say. So there you 'ave it. We sneaked up the coast after 'em, tried to take our ships back. No luck, o' coursefar too many of the swabs fer us. Enny'ow, 'ere we be, sittin' in this cave, waitin' our chances, an' 'opin' fer better times t'sail along!"

Old Bramwil told the hares' tale of woe to the sea otters. The goodwife Frutch, a softhearted creature, wept silently as she listened, dabbing her apron to the tears. "Oh, woe is you, pore beasts, least they never slayed nor imprisoned none of ours. Can't we 'elp 'em, Brog?"

The sturdy sea otter Skipper raised sand with his rudder. "There there now, me liddle mum, don't go floodin' us all out wid yore tears. Yll 'ave me blubbin' soon. Wot sort o' creatures'd we be if'n we didn't give aid to others worse off'n ourselves, I ask yer? 'Course we'll 'elp!"

Stiffener thanked him on behalf of all the hares. Bramwil moved nervously away from the great heron. "Er, don't mind me askin', Brog, but what's that big bird doin' living with you, wot?"

Brogalaw stroked the heron's snakelike neck fondly. "Oh, this feller. Nice ole cove, ain't he? Name's Rulango. Been with us since he was a chick. Never speaks, fends an' feeds for hisself an' washes twice a day in the sea, don't ye, mate?"

Brogalaw stopped stroking and the heron nudged his paw with its long, pointed beak, wanting him to continue. He chuckled. "I forgot to tell ye, don't ever start strokin' his neck feathers. You could stroke all season an' it still wouldn't be enough for 'im. This bird likes t'be stroked plenty! Now, let's get ye sorted. There's pals o' yours, you think, still on the mountain, but y'don't rightly know where, eh?"

Blench toyed with the chowder ladle. It was a nice one. "Aye, that's true, sir. I can't stand the thought that those vermin villains might be doin' nasty things to 'em!" She began sobbing. Frutch sat down beside her and gave her a clean kerchief, and they sobbed together.

Brogalaw twiddled his ruddertip awkwardly. "Ho, I can't be a-doin' wid this. Lookit them, waterin' the chowder down. Action, that's wot we need. Durvy, me'n'you'll take a scout 'round the mountain. Rulango, me ole fishgrubber, would you take a flight 'round the mountain an' see wot y'can see? Sail careful, though watch out fer those blue vermin. Still, if'n the bad weather 'olds out, most of Ungatt's rascals should stay inside the mountain. Well, no time like the present. Let's get under way, mates!"

Stiffener rose, dusting warm sand from himself. "I'll come with ye, Brog."

The sea otter would not hear of it. "Yore much too wearied. Y'need sleep, Stiff mate. Come on now, y'ole codfish, a nice nap by the fire'll do yer a power o' good. We'll be back by the time you wake. If we ain't, then tell Blench an' me mum a few funny stories, cheer 'em up. You'll be doin' me a big favor. G'bye now!" Brogalaw, Durvy and Rulango were gone before anybeast could argue.

Ripfang and Doomeye, like most searats, were hard and cruel, and they were enjoying their new positions as horde captains. They sat by a small fire they had made from the remains of the oil barrel staves. Ripfang poked at it with a long willow cane while he watched the three creatures searching the cavern, calling out to them at frequent intervals.

"Hey there, Fraul, stay where I kin see yew. Don't go hidin' in dark corners where y'can catch a quick nap!"

"How are we supposed to find anythin' if we can't search?" the former stoat captain complained.

Ripfang strutted over to him, swishing the cane. "Git that paw out. I'll teach yer t'cheek an officer!"

Fraul hesitated. Doomeye fitted an arrow to his bow. Aiming at the stoat, he drew string. "Do like 'e sez, stupidface. I'm warnin' yer, I never miss."

Completely humiliated, Fraul was forced to hold out his paw. Swish! Ripfang delivered a stinging cut of the lithe willow. Fraul's face went tight with pain, and he dropped his paw.

Ripfang smiled at him, lifting Fraul's paw with the cane. "Like some more, or 'ave yew learned yer lesson, winklebrain?"

Fraul kept his eyes fixed on the ground. "Captain Ripfang sir, I've learned my lesson, Captain Ripfang."

The searat smirked at his brother. "See, my one's learned now. Every time 'e speaks t'me it's gotta be either sir, or captain, or Captain Ripfang. 'Ow's yore one doin'?"

Doomeye kept the arrow notched as he called to Mirefleck, who was trying to appear unobtrusive behind a fat stalagmite: "Stand out where I can see yore worthless 'ide, yew scum!"

Mirefleck hastened to obey, her shouts echoing in the cavern. "Yessir, Captain Doomeye sir, right away, sir!"

Doomeye looked slightly exasperated. "This one does everythin' y'tell 'er. She ain't much fun. Prob'ly 'cos she knows she can't run faster'n an arrow."

Ripfang sat back down by the fire. "How d'ye know she can't? Go on, try 'er!"

A wicked smile hovered on Doomeye's face. He sighted along the arrow and shouted sharply at Mirefleck, "Run!"

Mirefleck was fast, but not as quick as an arrow.

Doomeye looked stunned, and dropped the bow. "Yew made me do that. I didn't mean to slay 'er. Wot'll the wildcat say? 'E might 'ave me killed with an arrer."

Ripfang gave his brother a playful shove. "Don't be daft. 'Ere, watch this an' lissen. Fraul, Groddil, get yerselves over 'ere, on the double!"

The hapless pair scurried across, saluting.

"Yessir, Captain Ripfang sir!"

Ripfang adopted a serious face and a grave tone. "Did yew 'ear that Mirefleck? Shoutin' an' sayin' nasty 'orrible things about 'Is Mightiness, terrible things, things yer couldn't repeat. Did you two 'ear 'er?"

The willow cane pointed from one to the other as they answered.

"Yessir, Captain Ripfang sir!"

"We both heard her, Captain Ripfang sir!"

Ripfang shrugged and winked at his brother. "See?"

Doomeye grinned as recognition dawned upon him, then he was struck by another idea. "Aye, an' did you both see that 'un attack me'n'this other captain an' try to escape?"

The answers came back as expected.

"Yessir, Captain Doomeye sir!"

"We both saw it all, Captain Doomeye sir!"

The two captains tittered like naughty beastbabes who had wriggled out of being punished. Ripfang nodded toward the body of Mirefleck. "Tie that thing with rocks an' sling it in the pool, then git on wid yore searchin'."

Groddil bowed respectfully. "We need rope to do that, Captain Ripfang sir."

Doomeye looked at the stunted fox as though he were stupid. "Then go an' get some rope, lots of it. We needs to tie youse two up tight tonight. You'll be stayin' down 'ere. Us captains got to get some decent rest an' 'ot vittles. Well, don't stan' there lookin' gormless, move yerself!"

Groddil did get lots of rope, a great coil of line from one of the ships. That night, he and Fraul were bound together from tails to necks. Ripfang tested the knots, then pushed the two bound captives down.

"Make sure yer get a good sleep now, you'll be busy tomorrer. Hahahaha! G'night!"

When the two captains had gone, Fraul growled at Groddil angrily. "Why did ye bring so much rope? I can 'ardly move a whisker. We'll be no good fer anythin' in the mornin'!"

Groddil's reply was even angrier. "Then be still and shut your useless mouth. I didn't bring all this rope down here just to be tied with it. Those two mudbrains don't know it, but I've found where the longears made their escape from. There's a way out of here!"

"A way out? Where?"

"I'll tell you when you've chewed through this rope. Now get your teeth working, stoat. We'll need this rope to reach the placethat's why I brought so much!"

Groddil lay still. They were back to back, but he could hear Fraul gnawing at the rope. "And don't be all night about it. We'll be lucky to last another two days with no food and those cruel fools guarding us. Chew harder, Fraul. It's either get away tonight or we're both dead-beasts!"

Ungatt Trunn did not sleep that night either. His dreams were haunted by the shadowy form of a Badger Lord with a sword, a big double-hilted war blade, getting closer each night.

Early evening of that same day saw Brogalaw and Durvy returning to their cave. Stiffener and the hares were awake, eagerly awaiting any news the sea otters could disclose to them. But there was none.

Brogalaw stood before the fire, steam rising from his fur. "Rain ain't let up by a drop. I tell ye, the wind fair chases it 'round every rock on that mountain!"

Durvy joined his Skipper, and they both sipped bowls of broth. Not wishing to appear ill-mannered or impatient, Stiffener let a short time elapse before asking the question.

"Did you catch sight of any hares, Brog?"

"Sorry, matey, but we didn't. Searched high'n'low though, didn't we, Durvy?"

"Aye, we did that, but all we saw was foul weather, wet rock an' the odd glimpse of blue vermin. Nary a hare. Is Rulango returned yet?"

Frutch fed the fire with driftwood. "Oh, that ole bird'll turn up when it suits him. I'd wager he's out fishin'. Rulango likes to fish in the rain."

Thoroughly dejected, the hares lounged about, constantly looking toward the entrance to see if the heron would show up. Night fell and there was still no sign of him. Two younger otters took out a whistle and a small drum and began playing a pretty tune. The one beating the drum began to sing.

"Oh I am a sea otter I lives by the sea,

I knows every tide ebb'n'flood,

An' I'll never break free from the sea, no not me,

'Cos the sea's in a sea otter's blood.

Haul yore nets in mates an' let everybeast wish,

That tonight we'll be dinin' on saltwater fish!

Well I've seen 'er stormy, sunny an' calm,

An' I've tasted the good, briny spray,

Just show 'er respect an' she'll do ye no harm,

She'll send you 'ome safe every day.

Throw those pots in mates, down deep t'the sea,

Tonight you an' me'll 'ave lobster for tea!

Them waves come a-crashin' on out o' the blue,

Aye big rollers all topped white with foam,

I sees my ole boat prow a-cut 'em clean through,

An' I sings then a-sailin' back 'ome.

We're ashore now mates, let yore mains'l go limp,

I've brought my ole mum a great netful o' shrimp!"

Scarce had the otters finished singing when Rulango stalked into the cave. Brogalaw stroked the great heron's neck. "Well now, about time you showed up, mate. Did you 'ave a good feed o' fish out there?"

Rulango nodded several times. Brogalaw tickled his crest. "Yore an' ole scallywag, fishin' while these good-beasts are waitin', gnawin' their whiskers for news o' their mateys. So, what've ye got t'say for yoreself?"

Rulango tapped the sandy floor with his widespread talons. The sea otter smoothed out an expanse of the sand, winking happily at Stiffener. "Our friend's got news for us. Watch this. Right ho, me ole bird, tell these creatures what ye saw."

The heron began drawing in the smooth sand with his beak. Stiffener moved close, interpreting what he saw. "There's the coastline an' the sea . . . now he's sketchin' out our mountain. Look at this, Bramwil!"

The ancient hare joined Stiffener and watched admiringly. "I say, this bird is a good artist. That's Salamandastron sure enough, viewed from the seaward side if I'm not mistaken. What's that? Oh, I see, it's him, circling round the rocks, about three-quarters of the way up. Hmm, he's drawing a circle in the mountain. Wait, 'tis a window hole, near the top level. But I don't understandwhat are all those funny leaf-shaped things he's sketching inside the window hole?"

Stiffener stared hard at the leaf shapes. "Strange-lookin' things. I can't tell what they are."

However, Brogalaw identified them without hesitation. "Why, bless yore 'eart, matey, they're long ears, just like yours. Good bird, you've found where Trunn's keepin' the hares locked up. Is that right?"

The heron nodded his head emphatically, then retired to a corner, where he perched on one leg.

Blench viewed the sketch with dismay. "Oh lawks, we've no chance of climbin' up that 'igh. Wot's t'be done, Stiffener?"

The boxing hare bit his lip and scratched his whiskers. "Aye, what's t'be done? A difficult question, marm!"

Trobee slumped moodily by the fire. "Of all the rotten luck, chaps. The blinkin' bounder has locked 'em up in a place far too high for us to do any thin'. I mean, how in the name o' sufferin' salad are we supposed t'get up there, eh, eh, wot, wot?"

Brogalaw's mother, Frutch, looked appealingly at him. "Oh, say you can 'elp the pore beasts, Brog!"

The Skipper of Sea Otters closed his eyes patiently. "I'll give it a try, Mum, but don't go gettin' yore 'ankychief out an' weepin', or I won't be able to think of anythin'. Quiet now an' let me ponder this."

Frutch blinked back grateful tears. She avoided reaching for her kerchief as she smiled at Blench. "Don't ye fret, m'dear. My Brog'll find a way to 'elp ye!"

Silence reigned in the cave. Outside the wind whipped up the rain into a fresh assault on the cliff face, and waves could be heard breaking on the shore. Brogalaw nodded to himself a few times, as if confirming his thoughts. Then he opened his eyes.

"Right, mates, 'ere's the top'n'bottom of it all. 'Tis too 'igh for us t'climb up to 'em. But they could climb down with the right 'elp. This is my plan. We needs ropes, good long 'uns. Once we've got 'em, Rulango can fly the ropes up to yore mates an' they can lower themselves down!"

It was a splendid idea, but Willip found an obstacle. "I don't see any great long ropes hereabouts. You'll forgive my sayin', Brog, but the plan won't jolly well work without ropes."

Brogalaw was forced to agree with Willip. "Yore right, marm. Ahoy, Rulango's drawin' again!"

The Skipper of Sea Otters took one look at the sketch.

"Yer a crafty ole wingflapper, mate. Durvy, Kolam, Spraydog, come with me'n'Rulango. There's work t'be done!"

Chapter 22

Cloaked in lengths of old sailcloth, two Blue Horderats stood deck watch on the bows of one of Ungatt Trunn's vast flotilla of vessels, which were anchored in the bay facing Salamandastron. Both rats blinked rain from their eyes, staring miserably at the mountain.

"Bet they're all sittin' snug an' dry in there tonight, mate."

"Aye, quaff in' grog an' fillin' their bellies wid vittles."

"Nah, I wouldn't go s'far as to say that. Vittles is short an' grog's only fer Ungatt Trunn an' 'is cronies. I'll bet we gets stuck on 'alf rations in a day or so."

"Mebbe yore right, cully, but I wager they're all warm'n'dry an' sleepin' their fat 'eads off, snorin' like 'ogs."

"Huh, an' look at us beauties, stannin' out 'ere on deck watch in the storm, soakin', cold, 'ungry an' sleepy!"

"Whoa! Wot was that?"

"Wot? I didn't see nothin'. Wot was it?"

"Like some kinda big bird, swooped down aft there!"

"Never! I thinks you needs some shuteye. Y'see funny things when yore tired, or at least you thinks you sees 'em."

"But I did see it, I'm certain I did, down at the stern end!"

"Well, let's go down an' take a look. If 'tis there, a quick chop of me cutlass'll settle it. I'll take it down t'the galley an' we'll share it wid the cook."

Both rats staggered down the slippy deck, clinging to the rails, and climbed the stairs to the stern peak.

"Well, where is this big bird o' yours?"

"Er, it musta flew off, but I saw it!"

"Arr, yer talkin' through yore tail, mate. There wasn't no big bird 'ere. All the birds is long gone."

"Oh, they are, are they? Then tell me, where's that big thin heavin' line that was coiled up, right where yore stannin'?"

"I don't know, cleversnout, you tell me?"

"The big bird took it!"

"Why, 'cos it thought it was a giant worm? Don't talk rubbish, mate. The 'unger's gone to yore 'ead. That fox Groddil musta took it. He was 'ere t'day, lookin' fer ropes."

"No, I'd take me affidavit the rope was 'ere when we came on watch. I saw it!"

"Aye, just like y'saw the big bird. Lissen, mate, you keep on seein' big birds an' vanishin' ropes an' I'm not comin' on deck watch with you anymore!"

Rulango dropped the last rope to Brog and his otters, who were waiting in the sea. Silently they coiled nine strong, thin heaving lines about them and swam off shoreward, swift and sleek.

Durvy caused great merriment back at the cave as he related what he had heard, imitating the vermin voices expertly, while Brog knotted the heaving lines into one massively long rope. Purlow watched the long coils building up into a great thick cylinder.

"Great seasons, nobeast'd be able to lift that whackin' huge thing. How do we move it to the mountain?"

Brogalaw had thought it all out carefully. "Nine of us forms a line, each one carryin' only a single rope's length. When we reaches yore mountain, Rulango takes the end an' flies up t'the window an' passes it to 'em. No fancy twiddles, mate, a plain'n'simple plan. But not to worry. Me an' my crew will do ityou rest 'ere."

Stiffener had a word to say about that. "Sorry, Brog, but I'm comin' with you, mate. 'Tis my sworn duty. I wouldn't feel right, lyin' warm an' dry here while your otters were out facin' all the danger. I'm going!"

The otter Skipper shook his paw warmly. "Twill be a pleasure to 'ave ye along, Stiff mate. Now there's no time to lose while 'tis night an' bad weather. If we puts a move on, there's a chance we could get yore messmates down from the mountain afore daylight. Hearken, crew, we got a hard'n'fast night's work. Let's be about it!"

Though he was an old hare, Stiffener's seasons of exercise routines had kept him fit, and he bore his section of the rope as well as any sea otter. Brogalaw dog-trotted along in the lead, staying to the clifftops, which were easier to travel than the deep sands of the dunes. All nine creatures wore hooded cloaks of soft green-dyed barkcloth. Spume was whipped from the high-crested waves by the rain-sheeting wind, while dried-out seaweed flotsam from the tideline tumbled crazily about on the wet sand. The skies were moonless, strewn with banks of dark scudding cloud. Ahead of the column, Rulango winged low over the stunted grass, striving to keep a straight course to the distant mountain. Brogalaw had spoken truly: it was a task which was proving to be both hard and fast.

They halted not far from Salamandastron's base. Brogalaw and Stiffener, accompanied by the heron, went ahead to scout out the lay of the land. The other seven sea otters sat down on the lee side of a hillock, still carrying the rope. They rested, but stayed alert, ready to go again at a moment's notice.

On reaching the sheer rock face, Brogalaw and his friends crouched in the shelter of a bushy spur.

"Ahoy, Stiff, yore familiar with this place," the sea otter whispered. "Be there any exits or entrances 'round 'ere, mate?"

The boxing hare blinked out into the rainwashed night. "Not 'round 'ere, Brog. Ssshh! Somebeast's comin'!"

On leaden limbs, a weasel sentry plodded by, keeping his head down against the weather, glancing neither left nor right. Brogalaw breathed a sigh of relief as the weasel was swallowed up by the night. "Ship me rudder, mates, that was close!"

However, he spoke too soon. The sentry coming in the opposite direction heard the otter as he marched by. Thrusting into the shadows with his spear, he called for assistance to the weasel who had just passed that way.

"Hoi, Skel, back 'ere, quick!"

Stiffener heard a note of uncertainty in the guard's voice as he shouted around the spur at them: "I knows yer in there. Come out now an' show yerselves. Skel, will you 'urry up? I got prisoners cornered 'ere!"

Stiffener came out at top speed, bounding and leaping. He caught the nervous guard unawares and floored him with a massive uppercut. Flinging aside his cloak, the hare grabbed the fallen guard's helmet, shield and spear. Clapping the helmet on, he held the shield high, masking his face, beckoning Brogalaw and Rulango to step out, as if he had captured them.

Rather slow and cautious, the weasel sentry appeared out of the darkness, and approached Stiffener warily. "Where'd ye find these two, Reggo?"

Stiffener pointed around the darkened spur with his spear. "In there!" he muttered gruffly.

The weasel edged forward and peered around. He saw his companion lying sprawled on the ground and turned quickly. "You ain't Regg Unh!"

Stiffener's oaken spear butt rapped him sharply between the eyes and he dropped without a sound. Brogalaw and Rulango dragged the two unconscious guards into the bushes.

The otter Skipper began looping the rope end around the heron's long bony leg. "We'll stay down 'ere an' pay the line out, mate. You fly up there an' give 'em your end, they'll know what t'do."

Stiffener glanced up at the sky. "Too late, Brog. 'Twill be dawn in an hour or so. The journey here took longer than we thought. My friends are oldthey wouldn't stan' a chance in broad daylight, out on the mountain face."

Brogalaw was reluctantly forced to agree. "You got a good point there, Stiff. So, what's the drill now?"

Stiffener made a quick decision. "Only one thing for it, friend. Let Rulango take the line up. When they makes it secure I'll shin up there an' tell 'em what's goin' on. I'll take me cloak an' stop with 'em. You an' the bird go back an' hide out with yore otters for the day. All of you come back 'ere at nightfall an' we'll do it then. 'Tis the only safe way."

Most of the prisoners were sleeping in the high mountain cell. Torleep and Sailears were on duty rota, standing by the window, listening to see if they could hear any news from the chamber below them. Torleep leaned on the sill and rubbed his red-rimmed eyes.

"These two new brutes, Ripfang an' Doomthingy, not much at gossipin', are they? Snore snore all night, that's all they've blinkin' well done. I say, marm, what's the matter?"

Sailears was facing the window. She tried to keep her voice calm as she explained the situation. "Don't move, Tor, stay completely still, eyes front. Don't turn 'round whatever y'do. There's a whackin' great bird of some sort perched on the window ledge. Bloomin' creature could take your head off with a single swipe of his beak from where he is. Don't move! Let me deal with this, wot."

She put on her most winning smile and spoke softly out of the window. "Dearie me, you are a fine big feller, ain't you? What brings you up here on a night like this, friend?"

For answer, Rulango lifted his leg. Sailears was taken aback. "Well, biff me sideways, he's brought us a rope!"

Torleep turned slowly and found himself staring into the heron's fierce eyes. He moved closer and waited a moment. "Well, he ain't taken m'head off, so he must be a friend come to help us. Am I right, sah?"

Rulango nodded twice, shaking the rope-draped leg. Under the bird's watchful eye, Sailears unfastened the line and began knotting it to an iron ring set in the wall.

"Take it from me, my fine feathered friend, if I were twenty seasons younger I still wouldn't live long enough to thank ye for the favor you've done us, wot!"

Torleep was wakening the sleepers. "C'mon, chaps, up on y'paws, we're bein' rescued. Woebee marm, I'd be obliged if you keep the old voice down, wot!"

Rulango flapped off into the greying dawn. Sailears had half of her body out of the windowspace when she looked down. "Well, I'm blowed! Guess what? There's somebeast, a hare I think, tryin' to climb up the bally rope. Look at this, Torleep!"

Torleep squinted down through his monocle. "By the left, you're right, marm, looks like a hare. Hey there, you chaps, lend a paw to haul the feller up here!"

When Stiffener was eventually hoisted into the cell and they recognized their old companion, there was profuse hugging, kissing and paw shaking. The boxing hare put a paw to his lips, urging them not to make too much noise. "Coil the rest o' that rope in afore anybeast sees it, mates."

Doomeye lay back on a straw pallet, facing the long rectangular window of the chamber below the hares' cell. Half asleep, he rubbed his eyes.

"Ripfang, you awake, brother? Was that a rope I saw goin' up in the air just then?"

Ripfang sat up and yawned.

"Aye, 'twas prob'ly Groddil an' Fraul escaped. Tryin' to catch a passin' cloud, the fools was. Hawhawhaw!"

Doomeye probed at one eye, blinking furiously. "Musta been an eyelid dropped down over me eye. That blue dye plays 'avoc with my eyesight. Thought it was a rope!"

Ripfang was now up and about. "Y'never know, it mighta been. Let's go an' check on them longears they got locked upstairs."

But the two rats never got that far. On emerging from the chamber they were faced with the sinister form of Ungatt Trunn's Grand Fragorl.

"His Mightiness would have words with you. Follow me."

The wildcat looked as if he had passed a sleepless night. He sat in front of a blue-smoking brazier, draped in a silken blanket. Ripfang and Doomeye stood stiffly at attention, both thinking that he knew about the wanton slaying of Mirefleck. Trunn surveyed his two new captains from the corner of a red-rimmed eye.

"You two were searatsyou must have sailed many places and seen lots of strange things, eh?"

Ripfang, being the more eloquent, spoke for them both. '"Tis so, Mighty One. Why d'yer ask?" He quailed as the frightening eyes turned to meet his.

"Never answer a question with a question when speaking to Ungatt Trunn; that way you may see the next sunset. In all your travels, have you ever met a badger, a big beast who carries a double-hilted sword on his back? Think now, did you ever encounter such a creature?"

"No, Yer Mightiness, we never met such a beast, sire."

The wildcat dismissed them with a wave of his tail. "Leave me now. Go about your duties."

On their way down to the dining hall, Doomeye chuckled with relief. "Heehee, I thought 'e'd found out about Mirefleck."

"Shuttup, oaf. 'E will if'n yew keep shoutin' it 'round. Funny, though, 'im askin' about a badger like that?"

"Aye. I've never even seen a badger, 'ave yew?"

"Not real like, but sometimes I gets 'orrible dreams about one, a big 'un, like Trunn said, but not carryin' a sword like the badger 'e wants t'know about."

"Is that right? I never knew you dreamed about a badger, Ripfang. Er, 'ow d'you know wot a badger looks like if'n you ain't ever seen one?"

"I never said I ain't heard of one! Look, will you shuttup about badgers? I don't like badgers, an' I can't 'elp it if I dream about one, can I? Let's go an' get some brekkist. I'm starvin'."

But breakfast was disappointing. Doomeye prodded with his dagger at the tiny portion of mackerel on a dock leaf and wrinkled his nose, sniffing at it suspiciously.

"One stingy liddle cob o' fishgoin' bad, too, I think. Is this all the vittles we gets? I thought we signed on fer better grub than rotten fish. 'Ey yew, c'mere!"

The Blue Horderat cook saluted. "Anythink I kin do fer ye, cap'n?"

"Cap'n? Oh, aye. Wot's wrong wid the vittles 'round 'ere?"

"That's all there is, cap'n. Wish 'Is Mightiness'd get that fox of his to magic up some more provisions."

Ripfang puffed out his narrow chest. He felt it was beneath him to bandy words with a mere low-ranking skivvy. "Right, well. Anythin' else to report?"

"Aye, two outside guards deserted, cap'n," the cook informed him with an insolent grin. "There'll no doubt be a few more if'n the grubstakes don't improve."

Ripfang had taken a dislike to the cook, so he prodded him several times on the end of his bulbous nose. "Bad fortune to 'em if'n they dowe'll fetch 'em back an' use 'em t'bait up the fish 'ooks. Now stop yer gossipin' an' git back t'work. Oh, those two who've gone missin'. Bring us their pieces o' fishthat's an order!" He nudged his brother and winked broadly at him. "One o' the joys of bein' a cap'n, eh!"

Outside the weather was beginning to clear. Mist rose from the damp rocks and a warm breeze started to sweep the clouds away. Summer had begun. It was to be a most memorable season for all.

Most memorable!

Chapter 23

The storm had not penetrated inland; it was driven upcoast and out to sea. Dotti sat on the streambank, breakfasting on fresh fruit salad with her friends. The haremaid was now under instruction as a contender for King Bucko Bigbones's crown.

Grenn read out the rules which had been delivered by the king's seconds. "Two days from now, the three events will commence: the Bragging, the Feasting and the Fighting. The Bragging will take place on the eve of day one. Whichever beast wins the Brag will be the creature voted by common consent of the crowd to have outbragged the other. Dawn of day two the Feasting will commence; the victor will be the one left sitting, still eating, at sunset, or until one creature yields to the other. Noon of day three is the Fighting. No weapons or any arms whatsoever are allowed to be taken into the ring. All supporters and seconds must have vacated the ring by the time the crown is dropped. The king has the right to decide whether the contest be from scratch, or moving freely. The moment one beast cannot rise and continue fighting, the other will be declared the winner. Note: in the event of Bragging or Feasting being won, lost, or declared a tie, the winner of the Fighting will be declared outright king. These are the approved rules!"

Fleetscut laughed scathingly. "Bucko's rules made by himself, eh? He's only got to win the jolly old Fighting an' he's home'n'dry, wot?"

"That's right, ole feller. King Bucko makes the rules in his own courtyou've got t'be better'n him to change 'em!"

"Aye, an' you've got to blinkin' well prove it, too!"

They turned to see two extremely fit-looking young hares lounging nearby, taking everything in.

"I'll give you young whelps something to think about if you don't move yourselves!" Brocktree growled.

The hares did move, not away, but closer. They were obviously twin brothers, alike as peas in a pod. They spoke alternately, beginning or finishing off sentences, as if each knew what the other was thinking. Fleetscut was watching them closely as they addressed the badger.

"Don't get touchy, sah, we're on your an' the pretty one's side."

"Rather, on the pretty one's side especially, wot wot!"

"I'm Southpaw, an' this fat ugly one's Bobweave!"

"Fat ugly one? Go 'way, you bounder, let miss Dotti say. C'mon, miss, ain't I the best-lookin' one who cuts the finest figure? Tell the truth now!"

Fleetscut approached them, his paw extended. "I'll tell you the truth, you young rips. Bobweave an' Southpaw, eh? You're the orphaned twins, grandsons of Stiffener Medick. I can see it in you both, fightin' hares born an' bred, wot!"

"Rather! How d'ye do, sah!"

"Pleased t'meet you, old chap!"

They exchanged greetings with all the party. Dotti took an immediate liking to the twins. Though they had the biggest, toughest-looking paws she had ever seen on a hare, both were extra gentle when they shook her paw.

Brocktree had changed his attitude, and was quite cordial with them. "So, friends, you have the looks of two very perilous beasts. How can you help us?"

Fleetscut threw a sudden barrage of punches at them. Still smiling and hardly taking notice, they repelled every blow in a casually expert manner. The old hare nodded. "Your grandpa talked about you night'n'day. Said you were the finest boxers on earth."

They shuffled modestly.

"Oh, we keep ourselves busy, sah."

"Always up t'the jolly old mark, y'know."

Dotti was bursting to ask the athletic pair a question. "Er, beg pardon, chaps, but if you two are so good, then why haven't you challenged King Bucko?"

"Quite simple really, miss Dotti."

"Right. If I challenged Bucko an' floored him, then I'd be King Southpaw. But I couldn't give old Bobweave orders."

"True, miss, an' if I challenged Bucko an' won, I'd be King Bobweave. Hahimagine me tryin' to give Southpaw orders?"

"Besides, Bucko Bigbones, between you'n'me'n'the gatepost, he's a great big windbag, but he can be sly an' dangerous as well. Makes all his own rulesan' breaks 'em, too, wot!"

Jukka Sling was beginning to wave her tail impatiently. "Then canst thou tell us how the maid will defeat him?"

"Well, we can't tell you exactly, marm, but we can help her by pointin' out Bucko's weaknesses."

Gurth chuckled appreciatively. "Hur hur hurr, you'm be a-doin' us'n's a gurt favor if'n ee can, young zurrs. Tell away naowwe'm all ears!"

Dotti learned a great deal by listening to Bobweave and Southpaw. King Bucko liked to play jokes, but he hated the joke being on him; he was vain, quick-tempered and resorted to cheating at the blink of an eye. But he was surrounded by loyal mountain hares and, moreover, he was no fool at fighting and always won at any cost.

Ruff wagged a serious paw at the haremaid. "So you see, miss, Bucko ain't no pushover. We got to figger how y'can use his faults agin him, upset his apple cart."

"Smacka 'im tail wivva big stick. Dat's wot Skikkles do!"

Mirklewort shooed her babe off with a dire warning. "HI'll smack yore tail wid a big stick! Go an' play, yer liddle plague. Can't yer see this is a serious conservation?"

Skittles climbed up onto Brocktree's sword hilt and sulked. The Badger Lord reached up and patted the hogbabe's paw. "Maybe Skittles has provided us with the answer!"

"Burr, you'm mean smacken ee king's tail wi' sticks, zurr?"

Brocktree scratched his stripes thoughtfully. "In a manner of speaking, yes. We smack his pride. Can you see what I'm getting at?"

Log a Log Grenn caught on to the idea immediately. "Aye, that's 'ow Dotti'll win, by keepin' cool an' calm. Turn the jokes on Bucko, get the supporters on 'er side."

Jukka began warming to the plan. "Play the good-mannered, well-brought-up haremaid. Use thy wit against the braggart. Make him fall into his own traps!"

Dotti's friends all began making suggestions to help her.

"Use his own weight against him. Duck an' weave!"

"Aye, show him up to his supporters as a fraud an' a cad, wot!"

"Keep y'nose in the air an' dismiss Bucko as a ruffian!"

"Hurr, make ee king wrassle ee, miz Dott. Doan't ee box 'im!"

"Don't fret, miss, we'll show you one or two boxin' tricks!"

"Rather, an' when he's least expectin' it, you can use 'em!"

"Right! We'll outthink him at every turn!"

All that first summer's day they sat on the streambank, working out a master plan. Dotti practiced her new role of the cool, calm and distant haremaid, though she had trouble avoiding the admiring glances of Southpaw and Bobweave, who were obviously smitten with her. Every now and then the twins would be so overcome that they would move further up the bank and box the ears off one another.

Kubba and Rukoo paddled up at midnoon, with the logboats strung out behind them. Kubba shipped paddles and looked questioningly at Grenn. "Wot's goin' on 'ere, marm? Are ye wagerin' on which of those two hares'll knock the other's block off first?"

The Guosim Chieftain helped to moor the vessels. "Somethin' like that. I'll tell ye about it later."

Over the next two days Dotti wrestled with Gurth, was instructed in the art of boxing by two very enthusiastic young hares, and listened to the wisdom of her elders. It was all very helpful and instructive, except for one thing. Part of her training included a strict diet: no food and precious little water. For a creature of her young appetite it was nothing less than sheer, brutal torture. When meals were served she was forced to sit in one of the logboats, guarded by Ruff, out of the sight of food. Nursing a beaker filled with water with a light sprinkle of crushed oats added to it, she glared at her otter friend.

"Rotten an' stingy, that's what you lot are, miserable grubswipers. When I'm a kingessor d'you think queen sounds better?I'll banish the whole bally gang. Everybeast who refused a fatal young royal beauty a morsel, away with 'em!"

Ruff swiped her ears playfully. "Tis only for yore own good, young 'un. You'll thank us for this one day."

"Oh, an' pardon me, what dayll that be, sah, wot?"

Glancing over her shoulder, Ruff whispered, "Hush ye now, miss, 'ere comes Bucko hisself."

A light skiff with two mountain hares plying it drew alongside. Bucko was seated beneath a canopy with a jug of pale cider and a trayful of pasties and tarts. He grinned roguishly at his challenger.

"Weel now, 'tis a bonny summer noontide, lassie. Would ye no care for a tart or a pastie ... mebbe a beaker o' this guid pale cider? Join me, pretty one?"

Dotti blinked serenely. "Thank you kindly, but I'd rather not. I've just finished quite a large luncheon."

Bucko bit into a tart, and blackcurrant juice ran down his chin. "Mmm, nought like a fresh blackcurrant tartie, mah pretty!"

Dotti took a dainty sip of her clouded oatmeal water. "Nought like a fresh mountain hare, I always say. Kindly remove yourself downstream, sah, your table manners offend me. There may be a few mad toads down there who'd be glad of your company. Toads aren't too choosy, y'know."

Bucko bolted the rest of the tart and licked his paws. "Och, an' ye'd know aboot toads' manners, I ken?"

Dotti gave him her sweetest smile. "Indeed I do. Mother always held them up to me as a bad example. Pity your mother hadn't the sense to show you."

Bucko scowled. He tried to stand up, but the skiff swayed. "Ahll thank ye tae leave mah mither oot o' this. Another word aboot her an' I'll teach ye a braw sharp lesson!"

The haremaid stared down her nose at the irate king. "Pray save your threats until the appointed time, sah."

Bucko signaled his hares to row on. "Ye'd do weel to mind that there's many a beastie got themselves slain by their ain sharp tongue!" he called back to Dotti.

Dotti waved delicately to him with a clean kerchief. "Just so, sah, an' you'd do well to know that there's many a creature with a sloppy tongue slipped an' broke their neck upon it. Toodleoo an' all that!"

Ruff squeezed Dotti's paw as the hare's boat pulled upstream, his face wreathed in a big smile. "Full marks, miss. You was magnificent!"

Dotti kept up the pose, simpering and fluttering her lids. "Why thank you, my good fellow. Did it earn one perhaps a smidgen of that woodland trifle which Gurth made, wot?"

The otter shook his head firmly. '"Fraid not, miss."

"Yah, go an' boil your beastly head, y'great slabsided boatnosed planktailed excuse for a worthless water-walloper!"

Brocktree poked his striped head through the willow fronds. "Did our young lady say something then, Ruff?"

"Bless 'er grateful liddle 'eart, she did, sir. She was just thankin' us fer all the trouble we're takin' over 'er eddication. She's fair overcome with gratitood!"

The Badger Lord waggled his paw at Dotti. "Mustn't get overexcited now, must we, missie? Time for your afternoon napremember 'tis the Bragging challenge tomorrow evening. Can't have you overtiring yourself, can we?"

Sitting with the luncheon party, Jukka Sling put aside her bowl of cold mint tea. She listened wide-eyed to Dotti telling Ruff and Brocktree what she thought of them.

"Zounds! Methinks yon haremaid could give young Grood a lesson in choice language. Grood, cover thy ears!"

It was the evening of the first day. Crowds gathered at the log-bounded arena amid a festive air. There was music, singing, the sound of picnic hampers being shared and banter from supporters on both sides. Candied fruit and treasured possessionsknives, belts, tail and paw rings of precious materials, some studded with glinting stoneswere changing paws as betting opened. As usual, Bucko was the firm favorite. Nobeast had ever seen him lose, so they weren't about to wager on an outsider.

Amid a roll of drums and a blast from a battered bugle, King Bucko Bigbones entered the ring, with an honor guard of his cronies. He wore his broad belt, his cloak, two silver paw rings and the laurel-twined crown perched on his brow at a jaunty angle. Whirling the cloak dramatically, he shed it and threw the garment to his minions. Then he paraded around the perimeter, acknowledging the cheers by leaping high, with one clenched paw held up.

Dotti wore a demure cloak of light blue, with the slightest hint of a frill at its neck. She carried her bag and stood patiently while Mirklewort and Jukka made final adjustments to her flowered straw bonnet, specially loaned to her by Mirklewort for the occasion. Southpaw and Bobweave gallantly helped her over the log barrier, and she entered the arena alone. The bankvole referee puffed himself up officiously and roared in his stentorian voice, "Gentlebeasts aaaaall! Praaay silence for the Braggin'. Kiiiing Bucko will not remove 'is crown for this h'event. The winnaaaah will be judged by the popular h'opinion h'of your very good selves. The challengeaaaaah this h'evenin' is Miss Dorothea Duckworthy Dillfontein h'of Mossflowaaaaah!"

There was a smattering of applause. Dotti tapped the bankvole. "Correction, my good sah, the name's Duckfontein Dillworthy. Would you kindly reannounce me, please?"

The pompous bankvole was forced to comply with her request. This brought a few encouraging laughs and some shouts.

"That's the stuff, miss. You tell the ole windbag!"

"A gel that jolly well stands up for herself, wot. Good show!"

The bankvole cut them short with a glare, then he shouted, "Let the Braggin' staaaaaaaart!"

Silence fell on the crowd. Dotti stood quite still in the center of the ring and said nothing. Bucko paced about the edges, as if stalking her. Suddenly he did a splendid cartwheel and a breathtaking leap. He landed very close to Dotti, who did not flinch, and began his brag.

"Yerrahooo! Ah'm the mighty monarch frae the mountains! Mah name's King Bucko Bigbones. Whit d'ye think o' that, mah bonnie wee lassie?"

Dotti ignored him and waved cheerily to her friends. "Isn't he clever? He knows his own name. It must have taken him simply ages to learn it, wot?"

There was a ripple of laughter from the crowd.

Bucko stamped until dust rose, and leapt clear over Dotti's head. Still she did not move from her place. Bucko thrust out his barrel chest and thumped it.

"Ah'm nae feart o' anybeast. Ah wiz born on a moonless night 'midst thunder'nlightnin'!"

Amid the hush that followed, Dotti carefully wiped a speck of dust from her paw with a lace-edged kerchief. "Tut tut, what dreadful weather you had. Did you get wet?"

This time the laughter increased. Raucous guffaws could be heard, some with a distinct mountain hare tone to them. Bucko had to wait for the merriment to subside, his jaw and his paws clenched tight.

He thrust his face forward until he was eye to eye with Dotti, and his big voice boomed forth. "Yerrahoo, wee beastie, have ye ever looked death straight in the eye, eh? Then look at him whit stands afore ye!"

The crowd waited with bated breath. Dotti peered even closer at her opponent, until her nose touched his. "Hmm, you do look a little peaky, sah. All that shouting can't be doing you much goodall that jumping about, too. Have you got a pain in your tummy, is that it?"

Roars and hoots of laughter greeted this remark. Creatures at the ringside were wiping tears from their eyes.

"Yahahaha! Pain in the tummy, that's a good 'un!"

King Bucko was shaking all over. Glaring murderously at Dotti he gripped both paws, raising them over her head as if he were going to bring them down and crush her. She nodded in prim approval of his action. "Bit of exercise, sah, good! My mother always says exercise is the best cure for tummy ache. Come on now, hup! Down! Hup! Breathe through your nose, head well back, sah!"

She moved just as Bucko's paws came crashing down, one of them catching her shoulder, knocking her slightly off balance. The crowd booed.

"Foul! Foul play, sir!"

"He struck the little haremaid!"

Several hares, Baron Drucco, Ruff and the bankvole referee leapt the logs and rushed forward. The hares and Drucco restrained Bucko, and Ruff placed a paw about Dotti, while the bankvole placed himself between the contestants, bellowing, "Disqualification! Yore Majesty 'as broke the roooools! No creature, h'l said nooooo creature, h'is allowed to strike h'another at a Braggin' challenge. H'out o' this h'arena, sire, h'out this very h'instant!"

Bucko grabbed his cloak and pushed through the crowd, knocking creatures this way and that in his haste to flee the scene of his disgrace.

Jubilation reigned. Dotti was swept shoulder high and carried around the ring several times. Stamping, whistling and shouting, the crowd cheered her to the echo. Gurth and Fleetscut waved to her as she was borne past them; the old hare was overjoyed.

"I say, good show, absolutely top hole performance from the young 'un, eh, Gurth, wot wot!"

"Hoo urr, our miz Dott winned fur'n'square, zurr, but she'm 'ave t'do wotten she'm be told, an' not go a-getten swell-'eaded. Ee king be still gurtly dangerous. Hurr!"

When the shouting had died down, Lord Brocktree refused numerous offers for Dotti to attend feasts and parties in her honor. He whisked the haremaid back to their camp beneath the willows. Deaf to her protestations and appeals for food, Brocktree and Grenn ordered her to bed down in a shrew logboat. Moreover, they posted sentries on the streambank, to ensure that she did as she was told. Log a Log Grenn was as stern a taskmistress as any badger.

"You get some sleep now, young 'un. Fergit food. As of dawn tomorrer, yore goin' t'wish you'd never seen drink or vittles. The contest goes from sunrise to sunset'twill be a long day for ye, so close yore eyes. You Guosim, keep yore eyes open, or ye'll answer to me!"

Southpaw and Bobweave had been missing since the end of the Bragging contest. Grenn joined the others on the streambank as supper was served. "Are those hare twins back yet?"

Baron Drucco peered out into the darkness. "No sign of 'em yet, marm. You know 'ares, they've prob'ly gone off to some celerybrayshun or other."

Grenn looked to Mirklewort. "Celerybrayshun?"

The hogwife touched her snout knowingly. "Don't let our big words fool ye, marmDrucco means they've gone off to a party. Oh no they 'aven't, 'ere they come now."

Southpaw and Bobweave slipped into camp and helped themselves to supper.

"Sooper dooper, scones with strawberry preserve, wot!"

"An' hot mulled pennycloud'n'bulrush cordial. I say, you chaps certainly know your vittles from your vitals, eh!"

Gurth tapped his digging claws impatiently. "Did ee get yon jobs, zurrs, tell us'n's?"

The hare twins laughed, as if sharing a secret joke.

"Oh, the jobs of waitin' on table, you mean?"

"I'll jolly well say we did, eh, South?"

"Rather. That old head cook'll do absolutely anythin' for three flagons o' pale cider, wot!"

Drucco waddled angrily over to them. "So that's wot's 'appened to me fine pale cider. All three flagons! I was savin' that for me Season Spikeday!"

Mirklewort clipped one of his headspikes neatly with her ax. "Stop moanin', Drucco, yew'll wake Skiddles. Lissen, if'n we wants the 'aremaid to win we've got to make sacriphones!"

Fleetscut chuckled. "Aye, an' some sacrifices, too, marm."

Mirklewort nodded sagely. "Them, too!"

Brocktree took off his sword and lay down by the fire. "Good. I hope this plan of yours and Ruff's works out, Grenn."

Unsheathing her rapier, the Guosim Chieftain stuck it in the ground and lay down next to it. "Aye, I hope so, too. 'Tis costing the Guosim their last keg of old plum'n'beetroot wine!"

Ruff chided her. "Oh, come on, Grenn, stop whinin' about yore wine. Hoho, that's a good 'un, whinin' about wine!"

But Grenn did not see the joke. "We've carried that keg with us more seasons than I care to remember. There ain't a wine like it in all Mossflowerask any Guosim. One drop of it can cure any ailment of 'ead or stomach. It can clear up coughs, sniffles an' colds in the wink of an eye, take my word for it!"

The hare twins shared the last of the scones.

"Should do the trick then, wot!"

"Aye, provided miss Dotti knows her blinkin' lines!"

Chapter 24

Dawn arrived bright and sunny. Ruro shielded her eyes as she glanced skyward. "More like midsummer's day than the second day o' the season, what thinkest thou, Fleetscut?"

"Goin' t'be what we hares call a bloomin' scorcher, marm!" The old hare turned to Dotti as she walked with her friends to the Feasting challenge. "How d'ye feel today, young miss? Chipper, wot?"

The haremaid's reply was summed up in two fervent words. "Flippin' famished!"

Fleetscut stared at her sympathetically. "I know exactly what y'mean, miss. But remember, pace yourself. Don't go wallowin' in there an' scoffin' like a gannet in a ten-season famine. Cool an' jolly well calm, that's the ticket for you, m'gel, cool an' calm."

The crowd had already gathered around the arena, but they parted to allow Dotti's party to enter the ring. Bucko was already there, surrounded by supporters. His minions had spent most of the night planting tales of provocation, enlarging the insults to their king until it appeared to the gullible ones that he was the injured party.

A table with two chairs was laid in the center of the ring, bare save for two plates, two goblets and cutlery. Bucko was already seated, and Dotti took her place at the table's far side. Bucko tilted his chair back onto two legs and smiled sarcastically.

"Och weel, here the lassie is. Better late than never, eh? Don't weep, nowah willnae raise a paw to ye, pretty one. But mind, ah'm wise tae all yer wee tricks noo, ye ken?"

Dotti shook out a clean kerchief, of which she had brought a goodly supply to use at table. She greeted him civilly. "Good morrow to you, sah. I hope you're in good appetite."

"Dinnae fret yersel', lassie, ah could eat every morsel yon servers put up for both of us. Aye, an' still go hame an' enjoy mah dinner!"

Dotti carefully wiped the rim of her goblet, not looking up. "You can? Oh, that is nice to know, sah!"

Further conversation was curtailed as the bankvole referee entered the ring, followed by a line of servers pulling trolleys laden with food and drink. His considerable voice had lost none of its volume.

"Hearken to me! H'attend all creeeeeeatures! Toooooday is the Feastin' challenge! Choice of vittles is left to the contestants, h'as is choice of drinks! No wastin' of fooood h'or drink by spittin' out or throwin' h'away. Theeeeee contest will take place until sunset, h'or until one or t'other contestant is unable to finiiiiiish! Let the Feastin' begiiiiiin!"

The servers began loading food onto the table. Southpaw set lots of salad, both fruit and vegetable, on Dotti's side, and winked furtively at her.

"Good luck, miss!"

Bobweave tapped the keg of plum'n'beetroot wine, filled Bucko's goblet and came around to serve Dotti. The haremaid covered her goblet with a paw.

"I'll take water or cold mint tea, if y'please. That wine looks far too jolly strong for me."

Bucko swigged from his goblet and smacked his lips. "By the mountain rocks, that's a guid drop o' stuff! Ach, a shame et's too jolly strong for the wee lassie, but ah'm a King o' Hares, an' naething's tae strong for Bucko!"

He piled salad, a wedge of cheese and an onion-and-leek turnover on his plate, and dug in eagerly. Dotti could tell that he, too, had been fasting. She piled salad on her plate and forced herself to eat at a normal rate, though the ten chews per mouthful routine that her mother had enforced at home was too much for her.

Bucko quaffed his wine and signaled for a refill. With lettuce leaves, watercress and scallions hanging from his mouth corners, he gulped the lot, waving his fork at Dotti. "Nibble away there, pretty missie, ah'll show ye the way a king eats. Mmmmff! This is braw wine, suits me fine! D'ye not fancy a dram of et, mah pretty?"

Dotti dabbed her lips with a kerchief. "No thank you, sah, I prefer mint tea."

Bucko held his goblet daintily and mimicked her. "I prefer mint tea, sah! Ach, away wi' ye, ye wee fuss-budget. Here noo, watch how a wild March hare warrior eats!"

He bolted down the wedge of cheese, tore apart a warm rye farl, stuffed it in his mouth and washed the lot down with another goblet of wine before attacking his turnover. Dotti was so hungry, after nearly three days, that she almost did likewise. However, she checked herself at the last moment, allowing Southpaw to serve her some sliced apples.

By midmorning Dotti was still maintaining her sedate pace, though she had eaten a latticed pear tart, some gooseberry crumble with meadowcream topping, two plates of vegetable salad and a plate of fruit salad. Which was only about a quarter of what King Bucko Bigbones had downed. His supporters were yelling encouragement, egging him on.

"Ye show her how 'tis done, sire!"

"Aye, scoff her under the table, Yer Majesty!"

Bucko dug his spoon into a steaming apple sponge pudding. "Ah'm verra partial tae apple sponge. Here, server, brang me yon pitcher o' custard so ah can pour et over this!"

In the crowd, Jukka murmured to Drucco, "Keep silent now. Don't encourage her to eat fastleave that to yonder bigboned fool."

Drucco could not help shaking his head in admiration. "By the spike, that longear king can scoff, though, no doubt about that. The beast's a glutlet!"

"Yew mean 'e's a blutton, ain't I right, Ruff?"

Ruff nodded, knowing it was useless to argue. "Correct, marm. Look, Bucko's callin' the referee over!"

The officious bankvole listened as the king registered his complaint. "Ah'm fair sweatin', ye kenyonder sun's beatin' doon on mah heid like a furnace. Can ye no brang me a sunshade?" The referee went to the ringside and consulted with several other pompous-looking bank-voles. After much paw-waving and arguing, the huddle broke up and he returned to the table.

"HI'm h'afraid there's nothin' in the rules that says you can 'ave a sunshade, sire!"

Bucko was forced to eat on as he questioned the decision. He swigged wine and set about a heavy fruitcake. "Weel now, mah guid feller, is there anythin' in yon rules whit states that ah cannot have a sunshade?" Bucko stole one of Dotti's used kerchiefs and mopped at his brow while the bankvole considered the quandary.

"Hmmm, er, yes, well. Tell you wot hl'll do, sire. H'if the young miss requires a sunshade, then you shall both be h'entitled to 'ave one. But if'n she don't, sire, then hI'm h'afraid you'll 'ave to do widout the sunshade, sire. Miss Dorothea, do you want h'a sunshade, miss?"

Dotti nibbled a woodland trifle thoughtfully. "Not really, thank you, 'tis far too nice a day. Actually I quite enjoy the early summer sun, don't you, sah?"

The bankvole shrugged apologetically to Bucko. "There you 'ave it, sireno contestant shall 'ave unequal advantage of the other. You'll 'ave to feast on. Sunshades are out, hIm h'afraid!"

Bucko sprayed cakecrumbs as he glowered at his opponent. "Ah'll still beat ye, wee miss prissypaws!" He downed another two goblets of wine, cold from the keg, thinking it would cool him down.

It was midday. The sun was beating down on both contestants. Dotti was full. She did not want to look at, smell, or taste any more food that day, but she carried on, keeping up a good front, as she had been instructed by her friends. She marveled that Bucko, hot and perspiring as he was, carried on bolting down huge quantities of food. He ate indiscriminately now, not choosing one thing over another. Pies, puddings, breads, salads, flans and pasties were devoured without favoritism. He was slopping the wine about quite a bit, but still going at it. Bucko, like all March hares, was unpredictable. He was wolfing his way through a strawberry shortcake when he paused and winked at Dotti.

"Ye can'nae defeat me by consumin' yer vittles slow. Hohoho, ah'm watchin' ye, pretty one. Weel now, two can play at that wee game, missieah can eat as slow as ye. Aye, an' still be settin' here taenight at sunset!"

Dotti put aside her mint tea and chose a small almond tart. For the first time, Bucko noticed that she appeared slightly disturbed. She fussed about wiping her spoon. "Then do so, sah'tis no concern of mine at what rate you fill your flippin' face!"

Bucko grinned triumphantly and began chewing his food slowly. He drained his goblet leisurely and picked up a honeyed scone. Slowly he chewed it, ever so slowly, washing it down with lingering draughts of wine.

Shortly before midafternoon, most of the onlookers moved into the willow shades on the streambank. Dotti plodded on with a single slice of dry bread, hating the very thought of food, her appetite completely sated. Southpaw and Bobweave ignored her, focusing all their attention on Bucko, refilling his goblet, heaping up his plate, leaning over him as they did and yawning. Bees buzzed somewhere nearby, not a breeze disturbed the hot noon air, the remainder of the crowd at the ringside had fallen silent.

Then the eyelids of King Bucko Bigbones began to droop. His head started to nod forward onto his chest, and a morsel of wild cherry turnover slipped from his half-open mouth. Bobweave winked at Dotti; the haremaid held her breath. Bucko's half-filled goblet toppled gently over onto the tabletop. He did not seem to notice. The king's eyelids drooped lower . . . lower . . . then closed softly, his ears flopped forward and he started to snore.

Dotti continued eating as silently as she could, nibbling on the same slice of bread. After what seemed like an age, she saw Lord Brocktree stamp heavily across to the referee. Blinking, as if he himself had not been caught napping, the bankvole struggled upright.

"Ahem, you shouldn't really be 'ere in the ring, sire."

Brocktree nodded in solemn agreement. "I know, sir, and I apologize, but from this angle you can hardly see that one of your contestants has stopped eating."

"Where, er, what, er, stopped h'eatin' ye say, sire?" The bankvole waddled anxiously across to the table. Dotti stopped eating her bread to point at Bucko.

"I'm terribly sorry, but this chap's been like that for quite a while now. Would you wake him, please?"

But Bucko could not be wakened. His head fell forward onto an apple pie and he lay there snoring lustily. The bankvole was extremely upset. He climbed onto the table, taking care not to tread on any food, and shouted, "Miss Dorothea, erm, erm, Miss Dorothea the winnaaaaah!"

He went on to roar about how the king had forfeited the day by not being able to continue, quoting chapter and verse of the rules (set down by Bucko himself) and calling on the other bankvoles to bear him out as witnesses.

King Bucko slept on, oblivious of what was going on around him. A crowd of mountain hares lifted him onto a food trolley and bore him off. Still snoring, with his cheek resting in an apple pie. Defeated!

Fleetscut and the hare twins set about demolishing the remainder of the feast. Dotti tried not to watch them, her eyes glazing over in disgust. "Yuurgh! How can you dreadful savages even think of food! I never want t'see another flippin' pie, bloomin' pudden, or blinkin' salad again in my young an' fatally beautiful life, d'ye hear? Get all vittles out o' my sight!"

The trio obeyed her instructions with alacrity.

"Gettin' these painful reminders out o' your sight, miss. I say, don't hog all that trifle, old lad!"

"Rather! We'll try not to prolong the agony, miss. Pass the scones an' honey, will you, Fleet!"

"Pass 'em yourselfyou young rips are too fast for me. A bit of respect for age, please. That damson pudden's mine! Desist, wretch, or I'll report you to your grandpa, wot!"

Lord Brocktree's eyes twinkled as he shook Dotti's paw. "Two down, one to go, miss. That was a decisive victory, I'd say. I wonder if they've managed to wake Bucko yet?"

Dotti twitched her ears disapprovingly. "D'you know, sah, I've got a feeling we cheated."

Log a Log Grenn replaced the bung in her wine keg. She held it up and shook it, listening to the swish it made.

"Nearly 'alf a keg the blaggard supped. Cheated, you say, young 'un? We never cheated at all. Bucko defeated himself by showin' off an' bein' so greedyain't that so, Jukka?"

"Aye, 'tis true, miss. 'Twas no small thing to vanquish him at his own game, in his own court, an' under his own rules. Bucko had defeated all comers, I'll warrant, by fair means or foul, until he met thee. Thou art a worthy champion!"

Dotti attempted to rise and fell back, holding her waist. "Y'mean I'm an overstuffed wreck. D'y'know, I think my ears have gone fatter!"

Jukka heaved Dotti upright, a smile hovering on her normally serious features. "Up ye come! Grenn, take her other paw. Methinks a good long walk until nightfall will cure thee, miss. If that proves useless there is always an old squirrel remedy for one who has overeaten, eh, Fleetscut?"

The old hare glared at Jukka. He had not forgotten. "Take the walk, young 'un, tramp about 'til your bally paws feel ready t'drop off. If y'don't I know what'll happen. That bushtailed poisoner'll boil up half the woodlands in a pot an' sit on you 'til y'drink it. Take my word, just the smell of that squirrel's foul concoction'd make a worm gag, and rot the feathers off a blinkin' buzzard!"

Brocktree and Ruff watched the haremaid totter off between the squirrel and the shrew. Ruff sat back on his rudder. "Our liddle Dotti, eh, a future Queen o' Hares. Who'd 'ave thought it?"

The Badger Lord replied confidently, "I would, friend, that's why I chose her. That young 'un has courage, nerve and wit. She'll make a truly perilous queen."

"Tchah, she still gorra biff Bucko tomorrer. I fink she be's too likkle for dat!"

Brocktree looked over his shoulder at Skittles, seated on the great sword hilt. "Aye, you've got a point there, wretch. Under Bucko's rules, Dotti's two wins count for nothing if he beats her tomorrow. Our plans and her work will have been all for nothing."

"Hah, B'ock plan 'arder an' work more. Skikkles 'elp!"

Brocktree tickled the hogbabe's footpaw affectionately. "Well said, mate. I wish I'd been as clever as you when I was a badgerbabe."

Skittles scoffed at the idea. "Chahah, no likkle one's cleverer'n Skikkles, not no big 'uns neiver. Me cleverer in all d'world, ho aye!"

"I wouldn't argue with 'im, mate," Ruff murmured solemnly to his badger friend. "He's got hold o' the sword!"

They walked back to the camp under the willows together. Brocktree's mind was seething with a host of thoughts: his father, old Stonepaw. Salamandastron, the mountain that was his spiritual inheritance. The army he needed to raise so he could regain it. And Dotti. All of his plans, hopes and dreams rested in the paws of a young haremaid. Granted, she did not lack courage or determination. But Bucko was an experienced warrior, a wild March mountain hare, with countless victories under his belt. Nor was he particular about the way he accomplished them. Was Skittles right? Would Dotti prove too young, small and inexperienced to overcome King Bucko Bigbones in this the most difficult of her three challenges?

Chapter 25

Ungatt Trunn acquired a new enemy on the night that Groddil made his escape from the underground cavern. Battered, bleeding and totally exhausted, the fox was swept out into the sea. He floated awhile, letting the tide sweep him along, half dead, but half alive. He had craftily hung back in the blue tunnel, letting Fraul run eagerly in front of him. Straight into the spider crabs.

The stunted fox clung to a piece of driftwood, salt water stinging his eyes as he was swept south on the current. He watched Salamandastron recede and swore to himself that he would return one day. Outwardly Groddil shivered with the cold, but inside he was burning with the unquenchable fires of vengeance.

The following evening Ungatt Trunn presided over the trial of four Blue Horderats. These had been brought before him by Karangool, the only other fox serving in the Hordes beside Groddil. Karangool held the title of Captain in Chief in all the wildcat's vast armada. Karangool was a disciplinarian; he lived by his master's rules and laws. Very little aboard the ships escaped his keen notice.

He gave his evidence in a strange clipped voice. "Wharra these beast charge with, Might'ness? I tell you. They fish, keep fish themselfs, eat 'em!"

The four Horderats knelt before Ungatt Trunn, roped together by a thick line about their necks. He watched his spiders awhile, then turned to the rats as if noticing them for the first time.

"You know what you must do with any fish you catch?"

Karangool kicked the rat closest to him. "You, ansa!"

"Give 'em t'the cap'n o' the fishin' party," the rat mumbled.

The wildcat's voice carried no anger, nor any emotion whatsoever. "So you know my law. Why did you disobey it and eat the fish?"

Without any urging, one of the four stood up, his face a mask of sullen defiance. '"Cos we 'adn't 'ad no vittles fer two days. We was 'ungry!"

Ungatt Trunn smiled, and the rat shuddered. He knew what was coming; he had witnessed that smile turned upon otherbeasts.

"Do I look fat and well fed? Does the Fragorl, or your captain? We are all hungry until proper foraging grounds have been found. But we do not steal food from the mouths of our comradesthat is why we are the Chosen Ones." He beckoned the Grand Fragorl with his scepter. "Give orders to all my captains to assemble their creatures on the beach at high tide tomorrow. These four will be made an example of; my Hordes will witness their execution. Guards, take them away and watch them well. Karangool, stay. I would talk with you."

When the guards, prisoners and Fragorl had departed, Ungatt Trunn questioned his Captain in Chief.

"What are they saying aboard my ships? Is it mutiny?"

"Might'ness, not yet. I whip 'em, work 'em 'ard, but no food? They talk, whispa, steal! Need food t'live!"

With all the sinewy litheness of a great cat, the Conqueror bounded from his throne and swept out of the room. "Follow me. I think I have the answer!"

Karangool was fairly quick on his paws. However, he had a job keeping up with his master as they bounded upstairs.

A guard captain was waiting at the stairhead. At Trunn's nod, he fell in behind them.

Sailears pulled Stiffener out of the shaft of evening light which framed him in the window. "Hide yourself! Some-beast's comin'!"

Stiffener stowed himself behind some of the older ones huddled in a corner. He heard the key grate in the lock. Torleep joined Sailears, and they stood together in front of the others as the door swung open. Threatening with his spear point, the guard captain jabbed at them.

"Back, you lot! Get back an' stand still!"

Ungatt Trunn and the hard-faced fox walked in. Torleep took a pace forward, his voice shaking with indignation.

"I demand food for these hares. We've had nothin' but one pail of water since we were locked in here. Disgraceful, sah!"

The guard captain struck him down with the spear butt. "Silence, longears. Lower orders do not speak in the presence of mighty Ungatt Trunn. I'll slay the next beast that speaks without permission!"

Sailears and several others knelt down and began ministering to the fallen Torleep. Ungatt Trunn nodded toward the hares and smiled, raising his eyes at Karangool.

"Yes?"

The fox nodded, satisfied. "Yes, Might'ness!"

They swept out, the door slammed shut and the key turned.

Torleep sat up, rubbing at his swollen face. Stiffener hurried to his side as he murmured in a half-dazed voice, "Huh, what d'you suppose that was all about, eh?"

Woebee sobbed. "Oh, did you see how that villain an' the fox looked at us? My blood fair ran cold, I can tell you!"

Stiffener helped Torleep up onto his footpaws. "Don't blub, marm, it ain't 'elpin' anybeast. I've got a pretty good idea what they was sizin' us up for, but we won't be hangin' around to find out the truth of it." Unstowing the rope from where he had hidden it throughout the day, the old boxing hare began giving orders.

"It'll be dark soon an' Brog will be waitin' down below with 'is otters. Sailears, is there any way we can jam that lock so they can't come bargin' in 'ere?"

"Give me a tick an' I'll think of somethin', Stiff."

"Right y'are, marm. I'll make the line fast an' watch at the window fer Brog an' the crew. Torleep, if yore feelin' better, line 'em up in order t'go. Oldest an' shakiest first, fittest last. We can lower the first lot, second lot can shin down without 'elp."

Sailears had a brainwave about the lock. "Woebee, give me that necklet you're wearin', please."

The fat old hare clapped a paw to her neck. "You can't have this. It was left to me by my mum, an' Grandma had it before her. 'Twas always in our family, an' I won't give it up. Not my necklet, 'tis far too precious t'me!"

Sailears slapped Woebee's paw aside and wrenched the necklet off, losing one or two beads in the process. "Don't be so silly, marm, this is a matter of life an' death, d'ye hear? An' it could mean your life or death. Anybeast got a bit o' fluffy cloth about them?"

"Here, take the corner of my shawl. Itchy fluffy old thing, I never liked it really."

"Oh, thank you. I'll need to borrow the pin you fasten it withlooks good and pointy."

Using the pin, Sailears poked the homely knitted shawl end into the keyhole, popping in a bead here and there. She went at it until the lock was packed tight with fluffy shawl and slippy beads.

"There now, try turnin' a blinkin' key in that lot, wot!"

Day's final sunrays melted scarlet and gold into the western horizon; a pale sliver of silver crescent moon was visible in the deep dark blue sky. Suddenly the great heron Rulango filled the window space.

Stiffener breathed a sigh of relief. "Good to see you, mate. Is Brog an' the crew down there?"

One emphatic nod, and the heron flew off.

The boxing hare spat on his paws and rubbed them. "Right, miz Woebee marm, step up 'ere. Yore the first!"

As soon as the rope end encircled her oversized waist, Woebee went into a wailing panic attack. "Oh oh, I'll never make it, I'm not goin', I'll slip an' fall, I know I will! No no no, I'm not goin', I'll stay here! Oh me, oh my, oooooounh!"

Torleep bristled at Stiffener. "I say, old chap, did I see you strike that lady? Bad form, sah, jolly bad form!"

Stiffener patted Torleep's chin, none too gently. "Now now, don't go off the deep end, ole feller, I didn't 'urt 'er, 'twas just a tap in the right place. 'Twas either that or leave 'er be'ind. You wouldn't like one, too, just to 'elp y'down an' save yore nerves, sah?"

Torleep assisted Stiffener and Sailears to lower Woebee's limp bulk down on the line, woffling away. "See what y'mean, sah, very good, slides down easy, don't she, wot! No bally need for that sort o' thing with me, y'know, don't mind heights at all, not one little bit. Paw over paw, wot, that's me, old chap, turn a bally squirrel green with envy, rappellin', abseilin', call it what y'will!"

A tug on the line told them Brog was ready for the next escaper. Things went smoothly for the next hour or so. Stiffener had got all the oldest ones down and half of the fitter ones when Torleep held up a paw of warning.

"Hist, it's those two beasts from down below, Ripthing an' his confounded brother!"

Stiffener froze. He could hear the voices. "That's torn it. They'll see them goin' by their window!"

Torleep listened more carefully. "Hang on, they ain't below, they're at the blinkin' door!"

Ripfang's voice could be heard clearly from beyond the door. "Oh, very good, Doomeye, wot a clever brother I got, eh? Steals the key off the guard cap'n an' now 'e can't even open the flamin' door wid it! Cummere, let me try!"

There followed a deal of poking, scratching and some very colorful language. Doomeye could be heard giggling-

"Heeheehee, yore good at this, ain'tcher? Now you've got three beads an' some damp fluffy ole blanket. Any more in there, Rip?"

"Look, shut yer stoopid gob an' gerron lookout, willya? The guard cap'n might come back at any time now. Yore the one who started this, you woggle-'eaded wipesnout!"

"Who, me? I never said a scringin' word!"

"Oh, didn't yew? Let's go an' 'ave a look at those longears, 'e says. Me'n'you'll pick out a nice fat 'un, 'e says. One of Karangool's cap'ns told me they're goin' to the cookin' pots tomorrer, that's wot you said, blither'ead!"

"Let me 'ave anudder go. I'll turn the key!"

Stiffener signaled the next candidate for the line. "Come on, mate, move. Next one right be'indwe can't afford to 'ang about anymore. Shift yore paws there!"

Bang! Thud!

"Ahoy in there, git this rubbish out the lock'ole, or it'll be worse for youse when we open this door!"

The banging of a spear butt against the heavy door timbers continued. Stiffener watched another hare disappear over the sill into the night, clinging tight to the rope. When he judged the hare was far enough down, he quietly called for the next one. A loud groan of frustration sounded from outside.

"Now lookit wot yer done, idiot, you've gone an' broke the key off in the lock, yew senseless rat!"

"Well, 'ow was I t'know it'd snap, rusty ole key? Never mind, Rip, we kin batter the door down, eh?"

There were only three hares left in the cell now. Stiffener guided the next one onto the rope. An argument between the two searats was in full flow.

"Batter the door down? 'Ave yew got mud fer brains? Wot 'appens when the door falls off its 'inges, eh? I'll tell yer wot, there'll be two of us wid a spear apiece facin' three score o' beasts, ye slimebrained toad!"

There followed a scuffling sound and the clacking of spear staves as the pair turned on one another. Stiffener winked at Torleep. "We did it, mate. Come on, out ye go!"

"Wot, oh, er, after you, old chap."

"Get a grip o' that rope, Torleep, no time now for bowin' an' scrapin'. Out!"

The boxing hare watched the taut rope anxiously, waiting for Torleep to get far enough down it to let him take his leave of the hated prison cell. In the passage outside, the altercation between the two searats continued.

"Owow! Yew bit me tail. Savage!"

"Well, you shouldn'ta called me a slimebrained toad. Fancy callin' yore own brother a name like that. Look wot you've done to me skull! Split it, see, that's blood that is!"

Stiffener vaulted onto the sill, took a firm grip of the taut line and began his descent, with the quarrel still going on.

"Split yer skull? That's only a scratchthere ain't no blood at all, just a liddle bump! Doomeye, come back, where are yer off to?"

Doomeye scuttled off down the passage. He turned at the stairhead and stuck his tongue out. "Snagglefang!"

Stung by the reference to his single tooth, Ripfang brandished his spear and chased after his brother. "Right, that's done it. There was no call fer that. I'll crack yore skull good'n'proper when I get yer!"

Willing paws guided Stiffener to the ground, then Brogalaw was hugging him fiercely. "Good to see your ole face again, mate!"

The boxing hare looked about at his friends. "Thanks for yore help, Brog. I kept my promise to Lord Stonepaw. There ain't a hare left on Salamandastron."

"Oh, 'tis so sad. Our home is nought but a vermin den now!" Woebee wept into her apron.

Stiffener put a paw about her shaking shoulders. "There there, don't take on so, marm, we'll be back, I promise you. Sorry I 'ad to knock you out like that. 'Ope it didn't 'urt too much, marm?"

The old harewife dried her eyes and sniffed. "You did the right thing, sah. I was bein' very silly, carryin' on like that. If I'd had enough sense I'd have hit me for such shockin' behavior! Oh, isn't it good that nice mister Brogalaw an' his otters helped us like this!"

The sea otter Skipper bowed gallantly. "Thankee, marm, but may'ap we could carry on this discussion elsewheres. It don't do to linger 'round 'ere. Durvy, take our friends t'the cave. Rulango, go with 'em t'see none get lost. Me an' the rest o' the crew will follow, wipin' out our trail. See ye back at the holt, Stiff."

With Durvy leading, Stiffener in the rear and the heron hovering overhead, the escaped prisoners scurried off toward the clifftops. Brogalaw and his crew began cutting bushy branches from the shrubbery growing out the rocks to erase the trail.

"Don't leave a pawprint showin' anywheres, mates, or those bluebottoms o' Trunn's will be payin' our holt a visit!"

One of the crew stirred the captured sentries with his paw. Bound and gagged tightly, they rolled their eyes fearfully.

"Wot do we do with these two beauties, Brog?"

Brogalaw gnawed his lip thoughtfully. "I know they're only vermin, but I ain't never slayed an 'elpless beast afore an' I'm not startin' now. Leave 'em tied up 'ere. The moment we're gone they'll start breakin' themselves loose. They can be Trunn's problemleastways that scum'll know he's not havin' things all 'is own way when they makes their report. Right, let's make a move, mates."

The Hordebeasts wriggled furiously with their bonds, once Brog's party had departed. But a sea otter knows his ropes. It would be some time before the prisoners could hope to be even slightly loose.

Chapter 26

Brog and his crew arrived back at the cave in broad daylight. It was a fine summer morn, with light breezes coming in from the sea. Stiffener and the hares had only just got there ahead of Brog's party. The trek along the cliffs, after climbing down from a mountaintop, had worn the older ones out, and Durvy had been forced to make a few rest stops along the way. Greetings and introductions were still being made as Brog entered the cave. He joined Stiffener and put a paw to his brow in mock despair.

"Seasons o'saltsea, Stiff mate, couldn't you 'ave left that ole Woebee creature be'ind? We got three of 'em blubbin' now!"

Brogalaw's mother Frutch and Blench the cook were being helped by Woebee to stir the chowder pot. All three were sobbing and sniffling gratefully for the hares' deliverance.

Brog nodded to the two musical young otters, who broke out their small drum and whistle and struck up a song.

"Now have ye been away far,

To tarry an' to roam?

Well sit ye by the fireside,

Welcome to yore home!

The kettle's on to boil,

Flames a-burnin' bright,

No more you'll sleep alone,

'Neath those stars at night,

Take off yore trav'lin' cloak,

Come put yore paws up 'ere,

Put a smile in my ole eye,

Take away this weary tear,

You've come home mate!

An' in time for supper, too,

So it feels just great,

To say welcome home to you!"

Frutch brightened up immediately. She kissed her son's cheek. "Oh, Brog, you got 'em t'sing our song. Remember I used to bounce you on me tail an' sing it t'you when you was just a liddle fat otterkit? Such a chubby smilin' babe you were!"

The sea otter Skipper's tail curled with embarrassment. "Mum, d'you 'ave to go on like that in front o' everybeast!"

Stiffener patted his friend's well-muscled back. "I wouldn't complain if'n my mum was around to say things like that, mate. Let's see if we can learn about wot's goin' on among the vermin inside Salamandastron from Sailears an' Torleep. Might 'elp us to make a few plans, what d'ye sayme liddle fat otterkit?"

The boxing hare dodged a swipe of Brog's rudderlike tail and led him over to where the two hares sat.

Later that night the fires burned low. Nearly fourscore hares had been found places to sleep, and Blench was helping Frutch and Woebee to bake bread for breakfast. Stiffener and Brogalaw listened long and carefully to the two hares' account of all they had heard and seen while in captivity. Then, allowing the pair to get some rest, they sat together making plans.

"So, that's the lie o' the land, Brog. What d'you think?"

The sea otter added some old pinecones to the fire. "One thing's clear, Stiffthe bluebottoms are low on vittles. Feedin' an army that size takes some doin', mate. Trunn will have t'send foragin' parties into the land 'ereabouts. D'ye catch my drift?"

Stiffener smiled grimly. A good scheme was forming. "Aye, I'm with ye, Brog. We don't 'ave the numbers to go up against Trunn an' invade the mountain. But we can certainly try to cut off the villain's food supplies, eh!"

"Right y'are, messmate, an' this's 'ow we'll do it. I'll post Rulango to keep a lookout from the airhe can fly well out o' arrow range. Whenever he sees a foragin' party set out, he'll report to us which direction they're a-goin'."

Stiffener warmed to the idea eagerly. "Our crews can harass them, cut 'em off, steal their supplies, duck an' weave, hit 'em when they're least expectin' it!"

Brog chuckled as he poked a stray pinecone back into the fire. "They say an army marches an' fights on its stomach. Hah, let's see wot those vermin can do on empty stomachs! Even if they tries to go seaward an' fish we can hammer 'em. My crew was born in salt waterthey knows more about the sea than any vermin from the land!"

Stiffener Medick and Skipper Brogalaw clasped paws.

"We'll teach 'em the art o' war, mate!"

"Aye, an' 'twill be the 'ardest lesson they ever learned!"

Midmorning sunlight shafted into the passage from the cell window when the door was smashed down. Ungatt Trunn stared blankly at the empty prison. After a moment, he strode inside and leaned on the sill. Fragorl, the guard captain and a patrol of Hordebeasts stood apprehensively in the passage, waiting for the wildcat's wrath to descend on them.

Trunn removed his helmet, closed both eyes and massaged his temples slowly. When he finally spoke, his voice was a barely controlled growl with a high-pitched hiss behind it.

"I don't want to know who stole the key, nor who snapped it off in the lock. I don't want to hear excuses or explanations from any of you. I don't want to know how the hares escaped, or where they've gone. But before the sun sets today, I want to see threescore longears back here. Take your patrols, scour the countryside, send vessels to search the waters and coast north and south of here. But before you go, come down to the shore and watch what happens to four creatures who ate a few fish without asking. Then, all of you, ask yourselves this question. If the mighty Ungatt Trunn could have four beasts executed for a couple of mouthfuls of fish, what fate would he devise for the entire guard patrol of this level, who managed to let sixty valuable prisoners escape? Think!"

Captain in Chief Karangool came marching up as the wildcat emerged from the mountain.

"Might'ness!"

Ungatt Trunn eyed him warily. "What is it, captain?"

"Two soldiers, they find sentries who desert, at dawn!"

A sigh of relief almost escaped the wildcat, but he checked it. "Ah, the pair who deserted the night before last. Where were they found? Who were the soldiers who found them?"

"They walk here, into main gate. Two soldiers on sentry 'round mountain were there."

The wildcat spoke his mind aloud. "So, the two sentries who were supposed to be patrolling 'round the mountain all night spent their time idling in the shelter of the main gate, by the guard fire no doubt. They were wakened by the two other fools walking in, so they arrested them. Is that it?"

"Ya, Might'ness!"

"Where are the two deserters now?"

"Sentries know Might'ness rules 'bout runaway beasts. They slay 'em for break of your law."

The wildcat made a pawmark in the sand and stared at it. "Why am I surrounded by halfwits and dunderheads?" he hissed.

"Might'ness?"

"Nothing, captain. Have the two sentries tied up with the four to be executed. Make certain Fragorl tells everybeast why they must pay the penalty. Sleeping on guard and shirking their patrol duties, and so on and so on. I've got other things to think about. Captain, before you sailed for me, what did you do?"

Karangool indicated a faded tattoo on his paw and the hole in his ear, where a big brass ring once hung. "Might'ness, I was corsair, long 'go."

The assembled Hordes on the beach stood watching their leader conversing earnestly with his Captain in Chief.

"Tell me, did you ever come across a badger?"

"One time."

"A male badger, in his prime, carrying a double-hilted war blade over his shoulder?"

"Nah, Might'ness, old female badger I see, dead."

Trunn suddenly lost interest in the conversation and stalked down to the execution site. Hordebeasts heard him muttering to himself as he passed them.

"I cannot see your face, but I see you every night. Yet nobeast has even heard of you. But we will meet, ah yes, badger, we will meet. And then you'll see what a wildcat looks like before you die."

Noon sun had passed its zenith when Rulango alighted on a dune close to the cave. Brogalaw was waiting for him. He cleared a patch in the sand, to let the heron sketch out his report of what he had seen. Brogalaw stared tight-lipped as the drawing unfolded before him.

Stiffener came out of the cave with Frutch, munching on a slice of flat pastry with obvious enjoyment. Frutch carried two more pieces on a platter. Stiffener popped in the final bit, licking crumbs off his paw. "Beech'n' hazelnut slice, eh, marm? Yore own recipe, too. No wonder Brog looks well, feedin' off vittles like yores."

Frutch twitched her rudder at the compliment. "Our bird likes it, too, y'know. 'Tis a mix of sliced nuts an' plum preserve baked atop a shortbread biscuit." Nearing her son and the heron, Frutch called, "I brought yore favorite slice, fresh from the oven!"

Rulango stood on one leg and looked distant, while Brog hastily obliterated the picture from the sand with his footpaw.

"Good ole Mum. Brought the raspberry cordial, too, did ye?"

"Land sakes, I'll fetch the oven out an' the table'n' chairs if'n you like, Brogalaw. Talk about chasin' after an ungrateful son. Here, y'great lump, get this down ye!"

Brogalaw and Rulango set about their slices eagerly. Frutch stroked the big bird's neck affectionately. "Bless 'is feathers, there's a bird who never complains an' knows wot's good for him. What's he been drawin', Brog?"

The sea otter appeared suddenly absentminded. "Oh, 'twas nothin' for you t'worry yore pretty ole 'ead about. Ahoy, Mum, we're thirsty. Where's that cordial, eh?"

She trundled off down the dune. "I'll go an' fetch it."

Stiffener tapped a paw in the sand. "So then, matey, just wot was yore bird sketchin'?"

Brog dropped his voice a tone. "D'you know wot that wickedbeast did to six of 'is own? Had 'em bound together with rocks an' drowned in the sea. Aye, 'tis true. All the bluebottoms, whole hordes of 'em, was made to stand an' watch the pore wretches, screamin' an' pleadin' for their lives. Stiff, wot makes anybeast toiler a master like that?"

Stiffener doodled sand patterns with his paw. "Who knows, Brog? Fear, wantin' to be on the side of a conqueror who always wins. Maybe the vermin join 'is ranks 'cos deep down they're as bad'n'evil as Trunn hisself."

The sea otter Skipper shuddered and shook himself. "Time we started strikin' back now, Stiff. Let's take a look at this otter'n'hare crew of ours, see wot weapons they're best suited to besides knives'n'forks."

Chapter 27

It was noon of the third day at the court of King Bucko Bigbones, time for the Fighting challenge. Spectators were packed tight around the arena; others sat on the hillside or climbed trees. However, there was no air of festive gaiety. This was serious business; the outcome would decide which hare picked up the crown. The high bright sun presided over a silent and solemn crowd. A furtive whisper rustled about Bucko and his seconds as they made their way to the ring through the path which fell open before them.

The mountain hare had discarded his broad belt for the event, and a paunch which had not been visible before was now clearly evident. Creatures commented on it in hushed tones.

"I say, whatever happened to the trim waist he had, wot?"

"Too much scoff an' not enough exercise, if y'ask me!"

"Maybe so, but ole Bucko still looks dangerous enough to do the job. I wouldn't fancy facin' him, no sir!"

"Och aye, yon king's a big braw beastie, near twice the size o' the wee lassie. Ah'm thinkin' 'twill all be o'er if he lands the bairn one guid blow!"

Bucko took the log barrier at a bound, his cloak swirling as he tossed it to his seconds. He jammed his scepter between two of the logs, balancing the laurel-wreathed gold coronet on it. Then, grim-faced, he sat down to wait, acknowledging the presence of the bankvole referee with a curt nod. Glancing up at the sun, Bucko judged which would be the best position to take up without being dazzled. After a while some of the onlookers began whispering among themselves. Dotti had not yet put in an appearance. Bucko sat calm and motionless.

Lord Brocktree and his party led Dotti through the aisle of creatures which opened from the stream side. He and Ruff stepped into the arena, followed by Dotti and Gurth. The haremaid was simply clad in a short green tunic. She sat down on the logs on the opposite side to Bucko, giving him scarce a glance.

Waddling to the center of the ring, the bankvole began his preamble. "Good creatures, h'attend meeeeee! Toooooday h'is the day o' the Fightin' challenge, an' the rooooools h'are h'as folloooows. No weapons h'or arms can be heeeee"

Bucko stood up and cut him short. "Och, awa' an' stop wearin' yer auld gob oot. We ken the rules as guid as anybeast here. Let's get on wi' it!"

A roar of approval arose as the pompous bankvole fled the ring. Ruff winked at the haremaid as he and the others stepped outside the logs bordering the arena. "Go to it, missie. Remember wot you've got t'do!"

Dotti leapt up and dashed to the line scored in the earth. She scraped her footpaw along it, calling to her opponent, "Come on, Bucko, let's have you up to scratch, come an' face me across this line. I'm waitin'!"

The mountain hare swaggered slowly across, but he did not put his footpaw on the mark. It was obvious he expected some sort of trick. He winked knowingly at Dotti.

"Yer a canny wee beastie, but ah'm no fooled by ye. You an' yer friends've cooked somethin' up, ah can tell. So yer no' gettin' mah footpaw on yon mark. D'ye ken whit the rules say, pretty one? Ah'll tell ye. Them rules say, the king, that's mahself, has the right tae decide whether this contest be frae scratch or movin' freely!"

He smiled at the disappointment which clouded her face. "So, mah bonny wee thing, 'tis goin' tae be movin' freely, that's mah decision. Och, dinnae look sae sad aboot it!"

Dotti twitched both ears impertinently. "Oh, I don't know, sah, you may be the one who ends up lookin' sad, wot?"

Bucko did actually look sad for a moment as he pondered his big clenched left paw. "Ye've brought this on yersel', missie. Ah'll be fair grieved tae lay ye oot flat ah've no raised mah paw tae a lassie afore. Ah promise not tae hit ye too hard."

Dotti moved a little closer to him. "Thankee, sah, an' I promise not t'let you hit me at all. Now, do we stand here jaw-waggin' all afternoon, or shall we get on with it? What d'you say, eh?"

Dotti was ready. She saw the hard knobbly paw move in a quick arc. Falling flat, she kicked Bucko's footpaws from under him, leapt upright and fled. The crowd roared aloud at her clever move.

"Haha, did y'see that? She sat him down good'n'hard!"

"Aye, an' without even landin' a proper blow. Hohoho!"

Bucko scrambled upright, flicking dust from his scut, and went after the haremaid like a charging bull. Dotti skidded to a halt as he rushed by her. This time she stood her ground when he turned and charged once more, waiting until he was almost on top of her. Again she went down, falling flat on her back, both hind legs shooting up like pistons. Bucko's own weight and momentum carried him straight onto her. Air whooshed from his stomach as it came in contact with Dotti's footpaws, and he went ears over scut, landing hard on his back in a cloud of dust. Dotti was up and running again.

Bucko arose, but not so speedily this time, one paw clutching his stomach. He did not give chase, but circled swiftly and cut off Dotti's escape as he backed her against the logs. This time it was his turn to throw himself down, his long powerful footpaws lashing out at her.

Thunk! King Bucko gasped aloud with pain. Dotti had jumped backward onto the log boundary, and the noise was audible as her opponent's footpaws hit the wood. She cleared his head at a bound and trotted to the center of the ring. Bucko took a moment to pull a splinter from his footpaw, then he got upright purposefully and limped out to meet her.

They faced each other, Dotti breathing hard, but Bucko breathing harder. His eyes were red with wrath.

"Stan' an' fight me, ye wee whelp!" He lashed out with a surprisingly quick left paw.

Dotti dropped into a crouch, hearing it whistle overhead. She stayed stooped, putting into practice what the twins had taught her. One two three! Dotti whacked at the stomach protruding in front of her. Bucko's flailing right thudded against the side of her head. Stars exploded in her eyes, and the crowd noise suddenly seemed very distant. Bucko's left looped around her head and tightened on her neck.

"Och, ye've got her noo, Majesty!"

Roaring darkness filled Dotti's brain as the breath was cut off in her throat by Bucko's grip. Dimly she could hear the hare twins bellowing in unison: "The old bread basket, miss! Give it him in the basket!"

She knew what they meant. Swinging her right furiously, she pummeled the king's stomach, and as he gasped she slid out of his stranglehold. She found herself facing his back, and shoved hard, knocking Bucko facedown.

He struggled up, spitting earth and wiping dust from both eyes. Lowering his head for a vicious butt, he hurtled forward. Dazed as she was, Dotti knew she had to act quickly. Holding position, the haremaid sucked in her stomach and arched her back. The mountain hare's bowed head struck her fractionally, jarring her hip. Clenching both paws, she brought them down in a sharp double blow on the back of Bucko's neck.

Once! Twice!

Still bent double, Bucko carried on another three paces, staggering crazily. Then he crumpled and fell.

A deathly hush fell upon the crowd. Dotti walked across and stood over the fallen king. A voice from the crowd split the silence.

"Finish him off!"

Dotti turned and glared in the direction of the shout. "Why don't you try it yourself? Come on! This hare is a brave fighter. He could still finish you off from where he lies, whoever you are!"

Bending wearily, she tried to lift Bucko, but she collapsed with fatigue alongside him. The mountain hare opened one eye and gave her a battered smile.

"Mah thanks to ye for that, lassie. 'Twas weel said!"

Lord Brocktree and Ruff supported Bucko back to the log ring. Dotti followed, limping as she leaned heavily on Grenn and Jukka. They sat sharing a pail of water from a ladle, the victor and the vanquished. Brocktree and Ruff positioned themselves behind the pair, stopping the numerous paws trying to pat their backs.

"Well done! What a sooper dooper scrap, wot!"

"Och, 'twas wan tae tell yer bairns aboot in seasons tae come!"

"Bravely fought! Never seen anythin' like it in me bally life. What courage!"

"Staaaand baaaack there, h'everybeast, give these two h'animals room t'breathe. Staaaaaand baaaack, h'l say!" The bankvole referee pushed his way through, bearing the crown and scepter.

Bucko placed a paw about Dotti's shoulder. "Ah'd take et if I were ye, Dorothea. Ye beat me fair'n'square, lassie. Ah couldnae think o' anybeast more deservin' of mah title than ye. Och, yer a fatal beauty, so y'are!"

"And you, sah, are a valiant an' brave warrior!" She passed the crown and scepter to Lord Brocktree. "Here y'are, sah, crown an' thingummy. Don't rightly know what I'm supposed to do with the confounded things."

Bucko was taken aback. "Ach, ye mean ye don't want mah croon an' scepter?"

Dotti shook her head. "No, not really. The plan wasn't for me to become queen or kingess or anythin' like that. No, we had a bigger idea, and one which we think will appeal to a great perilous warrior like y'self, sah! Don't you realize you've practically got a blinkin' great army here at your court, Buck?"

The former king shrugged ruefully. "Aye, 'twas mah intention that one day ah'd knock 'em intae shape as an army. Then ah could've found mah enemy an' marched against him with these braw beasts at mah back."

Brocktree patted Bucko's shoulder. "Well, your time has come, sir. You can help us rally this crew into a great fighting force to follow us to Salamandastron and face Ungatt Trunn."

"Ungatt Trunn the wildcat? Haud on there, Brock, yon's the very foe ah'm bound tae find an' slay!"

Dotti gaped in surprise at the mountain hare. "You're jokin', of course, sah?"

"Ach, 'tis nae joke, lassie. Feel mah back!"

The haremaid ran her paw across the welted ridges of flesh beneath the fur of Bucko's back. "He did this?"

For the first time since she had known the tough hare, Dotti saw a single tear course down his cheek.

"Flogged me with the flat o' mah own sword 'til it breakit o'er mah back, an' drove mah hares from oor hame in the North Mountains. That's the beastie they call Ungatt Trunn for ye. Aye, the whippin' was carried oot by a fox called Karangool, on Trunn's orders. Karangool, och, there's a vermin wouldnae sleep easy if he knew Bucko Bigbones was still alive an' drawin' breath. The rogue thought he'd left me fer dead, ye ken!"

Dotti felt a wave of pity sweep over her. She squeezed the mountain hare's big scarred paw. "Let's go somewhere more private an' discuss this. Would you care to take a bite o' supper with us, 'neath the jolly old willows, cheer you up, sah, wot?"

Bucko swiftly regained his composure and jauntiness. "Och, ah'm fair famished frae all that fightin'. Lead on, Brock mah friend, auld Bucko can vittle wi' the best o' 'em!"

"Haharr, I'll wager 'e can, too," Ruff murmured to the badger as they set off for the bank. "Never knew a hare who couldn't. We'll let ole Fleetscut defend Dotti's Feasting title for 'er!"

"I say, top hole, wot. That's jolly decent of you, sah!"

Ruff tweaked the old hare's ear. "You wasn't supposed to 'ear that, faminechops."

It turned out to be anything but a private supper on the streambank. Colored lanterns and torches decked the trees in the soft summer night. A celebration feast for Dotti's victory had been secretly prepared by the Guosim, Gurth and some moles he had met, and Bucko's cooks, who were determined to give their old master a good send-off and welcome the new mistress. Dotti was so pleased that she rummaged through her worn bag and whipped out the harecordion.

"I couldn't sleep last night, so I composed a ditty, in the hope that I'd win the challenge today. Good job I did, wot. Right, my good subjects, gather 'round an' I'll sing it to you. I know you'll jolly well like it!"

Brocktree clapped a paw to his brow. "I'm sure we will."

The terrible twins Southpaw and Bobweave rubbed their paws in anticipation.

"I say, we didn't know y'could warble, miss."

"Spiffin', wot. I'll bet you're rather good at it."

Brocktree viewed the eager pair with a jaundiced eye. "I guarantee 'tis something you won't forget lightly!"

Dotti forestalled any further chatter by launching into her ditty with a wobbly falsetto.

"Ho whack folly doodle oh Duckfontein,

Dillworthy is my family name!

A fatal beauty have I, goodbeasts,

I'm completely unrehearsed,

Havin' never been, kingess or queen,

Woe to me I'm doubly curs'd,

Oh the crown lies heavy on the ears,

Of a simple maid like me,

Now everybeast must scrape an' bow,

An' bend a jolly ole knee ... heeheeheeheeheeeeee!

Ho whack folly doodle oh Duckfontein,

Dillworthy is my family name!

What a royally difficult life I've got,

But I regally say to m'self wot wot,

A Duckfontein must show no pain,

'Tis fame an' fortune's lot,

My super subjects will adore,

My spiffin' sweet young voice,

An' loyally cry out, more more more!

Each night they'll all rejoice . . . joy hoi hoi hoi hoice!

Ho whack folly doodle oh Duckfontein,

Dillworthy is my family name!

Affairs of state that just can't wait,

An' decisions of high degree,

The balance of a pudden's fate,

Rests hard 'twixt lunch an' tea,

Let anybeast yell, 'Come let's feast!'

Whilst the royal beauty doth sleep,

They'll rue the day that they met me,

Dorothea . . . Du .. . huck .. . fontein ... Dill... worth ... eeeeeeeee!"

As Dotti's ears quivered on the last off-key note, the harecordion groaned as it discharged a deafened gnat. A mole hurled himself into the stream to escape the discord. The streambank was empty, everybeast having fled during the second painstaking verse. Only Southpaw and Bobweave sat adoringly in front of her, applauding wildly.

"Bravo, miss, put a blinkin' nightingale to shame, wot?"

"Rather! Are you goin' to give another rendition, Dotti? Sing us another of your charmin' ditties, wot!"

Dotti looked slightly baffled. It was the first time anybeast had actually sat through her singing and requested more.

"Jolly decent of you, chaps, but the old vocal cords need feedin'I'm rather peckish right now. You could do me a favor, though, an' see if y'can clean out my harecordion. Confounded thing's full of gnats an' such. Must still be some old pale cider in there attractin' the blighters."

She tossed the harecordion to the twins and wandered off to see if she could find some food. Southpaw and Bobweave set about boxing each other for the privilege of cleaning out their idol's instrument.

"Give it here, Southie. She was lookin' at me when she chucked the thing over!"

"Rats t'you, old chap, but I'll give you a swift right!"

"Oof! Here, have some o' this, chum! Now will y'let me clean it? Yowch, that does it. Get those paws up!"

Away from the main merriment, three shrewboats, lashed together, floated gently on the stream. Sipping shrewbeer and dining on pasties, salad and cheese, Brocktree, Fleetscut and Bucko sat with the tribal chiefs Ruff, Grenn, Drucco and Jukka to confer on important matters. The former king had formed an alliance with the others.

"Ah dinnae know where this Salamawotjimacallit place is, but ah'm gan with ye, an' mah wild mountain hares'll be a-comin' tae, the noo. We widnae miss a braw battle for nought!"

Gurth sat with Dotti, the willow leaves lightly brushing their heads. Between them lay a flagon of gooseberry crush and a thick vegetable flan. The sturdy mole waved his tankard toward the logboats.

"They'm avven gurtly apportant talks, miz. Oi wuddent be approised if'n we be on ee march boi mornen, hurr aye!"

The haremaid broke off a piece of flan. Forgetting her table manners, she spoke through a mouthful in moletalk. "Oi wuggent noider, zurr!"

Joyous sounds of happy creatures rang through the warm velvety night. Music, singing and feasting were everywhere. Those who were weary slept curled on the grass, full and contented, not worrying about the perilous days which lay ahead of them.

Dawn's first birds trilled to the rising sun, waking the dew-scattered sleepers in the wide forest glade. Dotti was already up, abandoning her fatal beauty sleep in favor of the momentous events she knew were about to take place. The haremaid joined Brocktree and the company of chieftains, standing on a rock protruding from the hillside. In groups, last night's revelers drifted into the clearing below. Brocktree leaned on his battle blade, Skittles perched on his footpaw. He waited patiently until everybeast was standing grouped before him. Then, at his nod, Bucko took the fore.

"Hearken tae me, mah beasties. There's an auld hare here, who comes frae a mountain an' bears a message for all warriors. Ah've nae doubt yell listen to whit he has tae say. Judge for yerselves, ah'm nae langer yer king!'

Bucko stood back, allowing Fleetscut to come forward. The old hare held the crown in his paw. "Mount Salamandastron is where I come from, as most of you know, wot. Now there's those here t'day who were born there, whose parents an' grandkin are comrades o' mine. I've been gone from there a while now, but I know for certain that any hares left alive on the mountain will be slaves and prisoners of the wildcat Ungatt Trunn and his Blue Hordes!" He waited until the angry shouts died down. "Hah, I see that y'know the vermin, wot. When Bucko was king he intended to form you into an army to hunt Trunn down an' face him. Well, that still goes. Only difference is you won't be marchin' under a king; our leader is the rightful heir of Salamandastron, Brocktree!"

There followed a mixture of cheering and surprised cries. Fleetscut held up the crown. "You hares, let me tell you the law. Some among you will remember the rhyme you learned from your elders.

" 'We follow our comrades in peace and war,

The hare is a perilous beast, we know,

But who commands, who makes our law?

The Badger Lords, 'twas always so!'

"Do you hear that? This is Lord Brocktree of Brockhall, a Badger Lord of Salamandastron by birth and by right, and this crown, won for his cause by his brave champion Dorothea Duckfontein Dillworthy, is the symbol of his leadership!" Fleetscut passed the crown to Brocktree. Every eye was upon the great badger as he took his place in the vanguard of the tribal chieftains. Unwinding the laurel leaves from the thin gold coronet, he cast them aside. His powerful paws crushed the circlet into a narrow double strip. This he wound about his sword hilt, with no more effort than he would have used on a green willow withe. Then the Badger Lord's voice boomed like thunder about the glade, setting every creature's neck hairs on end.

"Friends! Warriors! Goodbeasts all! I am going to defeat the evil one, Ungatt Trunn. I am going to take back from him and his Hordes the mountain that is mine. Today, now! I march for Salamandastron! Those who would follow me, call out this war cry. Eulaliiiaaaaaaaa!"

The entire glade exploded in an earsplitting roar.

"Eulaliiiiaaaaaaa!"

Dotti knew then the force and power of a Badger Lord. She was swept along beside him, howling like a mad-beast, surrounded by blades, slings, spears, bows, shields, javelins and bared teeth, all surging irresistibly forward like a gigantic wave. Brocktree's paws pounded the dust high as he ran, whirring his battle blade like a sunlit lightning flash, his huge form standing out like a beacon.

"Eulaliiiiaaaaa! Eulaliiiaaaaa! Eulaliiiaaaaaaa!"

For all his seasons, Fleetscut kept pace alongside the haremaid. She saw him, tears flowing down his weathered face, brandishing a short-hafted squirrel spear, yelling hoarsely between the battle cries.

"I never let ye down, Lord Stonepaw. I'm comin' back home now, sire . . . Eulaliiiiiaaaaaaaaa!"

************************************

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Book Three

Comes a Badger Lord

also entitled

A Shawl for Aunt Blench

Chapter 28

South of Salamandastron in a sparsely wooded copse, a group of about thirty Blue Hordebeasts and their stoat captain, Byle, sat in a clearing. They had been foraging for food, quite successfully, if anybeast were to judge by the bulging haversacks scattered about. Byle was a newly promoted officer, determined to do well. He was very happy with the results of the forage, but also quite hungry. So were the vermin under his command. Byle strode about, checking that the haversacks were all fastened tight, aware of the surly glances of his minions. They wanted to eat some of the food, instead of having to tramp back to the mountain and deposit it, untouched, with Ungatt Trunn's supply officers. It was a tricky situation for Byle, but he put on a jovial air and attempted to flatter the mutinous-looking vermin by praising their efforts.

"Hoho, we did well today, cullies. I wouldn't be at all surprised if you wasn't all promoted f'yer good work!"

A rat spat, narrowly missing Byle's footpaw. "Promotion! Wot good's that, eh? Ye can't eat promotion!"

The new captain laughed nervously and winked at another rat. "Haha, you was up that tree like a squirrel after those apples. Where did ye learn t'climb like that, mate?"

Instead of answering, the rat began undoing the drawstring on his heavily laden haversack. Byle knew it was time to assert his authority. He spoke sharply. "Now now, none o' that, you. Leave them apples alone or I'll have to report yer!"

The rat pulled out an apple, making a wry face at his companions as he mocked Byle. "Did ye hear the nice new cap'n, mates? Goin' to report me he is. Huh, that's if'n he makes it back alive!"

The apple was halfway to the Horderat's mouth when a slingstone struck his paw. He screamed and dropped the apple.

"First beast t'move is a dead 'un!"

A figure clad in a hooded, brown, barkcloth cloak appeared from behind a juneberry bush, its face hidden behind a woven reed mask, a long whip held in its paw. Byle gasped. "The Bark Crew!"

The creature behind the mask chuckled harshly. He cracked the whip in Byle's face. "Haharr, right first time, vermin. Yore surrounded by threescore of us. Duck yore 'eads. Quick!"

Instinctively the forage patrol ducked their heads. Broken twigs and leaves showered down on them as a volley of slingstones rattled through the trees overhead. Four arrows quivered in the ground close to Byle. The whip snaked out, wrapping itself around his paw.

"See wot I mean, stoat? D'you an' this worthless pack want to live? Answer me!"

Since the start of summer the dreaded Bark Crew had become the terror of Ungatt Trunn's foraging patrols. They seemed to be everywhere at once. Byle knew of Hordebeasts and captains who had been slain when they offered resistance to the brown-cloaked raiders. His voice quavered helplessly as he replied to the sinister figure.

"Don't s-s-s-slay us, s-s-sire. We wants t'live. W-w-wot d'ye want us to do?"

Other members of the Bark Crew entered the vermin camp, bows, swords and javelins much in evidence. The Crew leader pulled Byle forward on the whip around his paw.

"Get rid of yore weapons, all of 'em! Those uniforms, toostrip 'em off an' shed 'em. Move yoreselves!"

Menaced by the Bark Crew, the vermin piled their arms in a heap and pulled off their uniforms. They huddled together awaiting the next command.

"Sling those 'aversacks o' vittles on spear poles!"

They threaded the laden haversacks three to a spear haft. When this was done, they were ordered to lie facedown on the ground. Walking between the prostrate figures, the Bark Crew leader consulted his companions aloud.

"Wot d'ye say we do with this scum, eh, mates?"

The Crew were in no doubt as to the fate of their captives.

"Rope 'em up to some rocks an' drown 'em!"

"Nah, sounds too Trunnish t'me. Toss 'em off the cliffs!"

"I vote we tie these vermin to trees an' use 'em for target practice. I likes shootin' at blue targets!"

The Crew leader had to crack his whip several times, to stop the forage patrol from weeping, sobbing and begging to be spared. He turned Byle over roughly with his footpaw.

"Stow yore scringin' an' bellerin', stoat. You ain't worth wastin' arrows on, so I'm goin' to let ye live."

Lined up in threes, within minutes the foraging patrol stood facing a rift in the clifftops, in view of the sea. Taking Byle none too gently by his neck scruff, the Bark Crew leader made him repeat his orders.

"We marches straight t'the sea, sire. If'n we looks left, right or back we're deadbeasts. We wades into the sea up to our necks an' goes that way back to the mountain. I'm to make my report to Ungatt Trunn that this was the work of the Bark Crew, an' to say that he's a worthless piece o' crab bait, an' that he's goin' to starve t'death with 'is vermin army!"

The whip cracked viciously over the forage patrol's heads.

"Next time we see yore faces we'll roast ye alive! Quick march, one two, one two!"

The vermin needed little urging to march quicker than they had ever done before. Down the rift, across the shore and straight into the sea, without a backward glance.

Brogalaw removed the woven reed mask from his face and clasped paws with Stiffener.

"Another win for the Bark Crew, matey. Did ye notice 'ow thin some o' the vermin are startin' to look?"

Stiffener watched the dark dots far off in the sea, each one representing a Hordebeast wading neck deep back to Salamandastron. "They'll look a lot thinner afore we're done with 'em, Brog. Did you say we 'ad threescore of us surroundin' 'em?"

Brogalaw looked around. Their party numbered twenty-two, counting himself and Stiffener.

"I thought sixty was enough t'do the job, mate. I was goin' t'say we 'ad fivescore, but that would've really been fibbin'."

"We could jolly well do with fivescore to carry all the loot we liberated from those rascals today," Willip complained as they turned back to the copse. "Ah well, at least we've got plenty of grub and weapons. What d'you think, Stiff? Should we blindfold the next lot an' make them tote the spoils back to our hideout? Save a lot of bloomin' wear'n'tear on our old carcasses, wot?"

Brog picked up one end of a spear haft, slung with haversacks. "C'mon, Willip me ole mate, git the other end o' this thing on yore pore ole shoulder, or we'll miss supper."

"Hah, d'you know, I suddenly feel young again, Brog?"

"Aye, I've noticed, every time I mention food, you ole lollop-eared grubwalloper. I thought sea otters could scoff until I watched hares sit down to vittles!"

A bright summer evening was drawing to its close. Ungatt Trunn stood on the beach with his Grand Fragorl and Captain Karangool, watching as Byle and his foraging patrol stumbled through the shallows onto the sands. They presented a very odd picture. Seawater had washed out the blue dye from their fur from tail to neck; only their faces and heads remained blue. Byle staggered up and saluted the wildcat, his body drooping with exhaustion.

"Mighty One, we were ambushed ..."

Ungatt's upraised paw silenced him. "Let me guess, Captain Byle. It was the Bark Crew again. How many of them were there this time? Fivescore ... ten?"

"Fivescore at least, Mightiness. The Bark Crew chieftain gave me a message to deliver, sire."

The wildcat's tail whipped from side to side angrily. "Don't tell me if it's merely insults. Get your patrol out of sight before others see what a pack of clowns you look!"

Byle bowed and saluted dutifully, then signaled his patrol to get inside the mountain.

Later, Ungatt Trunn sat closeted in his chamber with Fragorl and Karangool. He watched his spiders, while his two aides watched him, holding their silence and blinking in the thick smoke that swathed the room.

The wildcat pointed upward. "Young spiders never seem to get the flies, it's always the older ones. I suppose because they're more experienced, better hunters, wickeder, more ruthless, would you say?"

Karangool nodded. "Ya, is so, Might'ness."

Trunn turned his gaze upon the fox. "You're a ruthless creature, but I need you here. My mistake was in sending out well-behaved new captains. What we need is wicked onescruel, evil creatures who bend the rules to suit themselves. Searats and corsairs were always like that, eh, Karangool?"

The fox's normally stern face broke into a fiendish grin. "Ya, Might'ness. I sailed with bad ones in good old days!"

The wildcat stroked his whiskers reflectively. "I'll wager you did, my friend. Fragorl, those searat brothers I had stripped of their rank, tell the guards to bring them up from the dungeons. Fetch food from the kitchens, too. Good food, not fish heads and stewed grass."

Ripfang and Doomeye thought they were being brought in front of Ungatt Trunn because he had decided on a slow agonizing death for them. They kicked, bit and struggled with the guards as they were hustled into the wildcat's chamber. Nobeast was more surprised than they when Ungatt ordered their chains removed and the guards dismissed. Panting and rubbing their limbs where the manacles had been, they sat on the floor, their sly eyes flicking from the food to their ruler. Ungatt Trunn nodded toward the tray, which contained a flagon of damson wine and the last of Blench's fruit scones.

"You must be hungry. Eat."

They stared at him, openly suspicious. Karangool sipped from the flagon and bit off a piece of scone. "Eat, food not poison!"

Like a pair of ravening wolves the two rats fell upon the food, stuffing it down and slopping wine. Ungatt Trunn lectured them as they crammed the vittles into their mouths.

"By rights you should be dead now, both of you. Did you think I was fooled by your lies about Groddil and the other two? Maybe you did slay them and throw their bodies into the pool, but not because they insulted me, as you said. No, you killed them for some reason best known only to yourselves. I could have had you executed, but I chose instead to have you locked up and starved, until I decided what I should do with you both."

Ripfang looked up, a mess of chewed scone falling from his lips. "So yew ain't 'avin' us done away wid. Thankee, cap'n, er, I mean Yer Mightiness."

"Oh, don't thank me. Thank them."

Ungatt's paw was pointing up to the spiders. Doomeye grabbed the flagon from his brother and swigged at it. "Wot, does 'e want us ter say thanks to them things?"

Ripfang elbowed his slow-thinking brother hard. "Shut yer gob, wifflebrain! Yell 'ave to excuse 'im, sire, Doomeye ain't very bright. So, me lordship, wot is it yer wants us t'do for yer, eh?"

The wildcat assessed Ripfang. He was young still, but experienced and hardened to cruelty and death. Evil was stamped on his features, from the treacherous flickering eyes and scarred nose, to the unsightly single fang protruding downward from the center of his lipless mouth.

"I suppose you slew quite a few in your seasons as a searat?"

Ripfang snatched the flagon back from Doomeye and guffawed. "Me'n'me brother 'ere, we killed just about anythin' that moved, all types o' beasts, young, old, males or shemales. Harr, an' we slew 'em any way we could, an' a few ways wot don't bear thinkin' about, ain't that right, Doom?"

Doomeye dug foodscraps from between his blackened teeth with a dirty claw. "Aye, yer right there, Rip, any way we could, we murdered 'em!"

The wildcat sat back and purred. "Excellent. Now listen to me if you want to keep eating food like that and regain your rank as captains in my Hordes."

Brogalaw stroked the heron's neck. "Good job you found this other cave, Rulango. My ole mum was beginnin' to create an' kick up somethin' awful about all the loot we was bringin' back."

The cave was upcoast, slightly north of the sea otters' dwelling, a fortunate find indeed. Stiffener took a torch from its wall mount to light their way out. From floor to roof, the place resembled a well-stocked larder cum armory. Weaponry and uniforms lined its walls, while at the center there was an enormous heap of fruit, vegetables and edible roots. Plunder, taken from the foraging patrols by the Bark Crew. Outside they doused the torch in the sand and camouflaged the cave entrance with a dead sea buckthorn bush.

Trobee kept a branch to cover their tracks. "I say, let's get back an' see what luck old Durvy had today. Maybe his crew brought back some shrimp, wot!"

Brog's mother Frutch was in the process of giving Durvy and his crew a good dressing-down.

"Seasons o' seaweed'n'salt, what are we supposed t'do with all this shrimp, that's what I'd like t'know, master Durvy. There can't be a single shrimp left in the sea!"

Durvy dodged a swipe of the ottermum's ladle. "Belay wid that weapon, marm, I'm only doin' wot yore son told me to. You ain't supposed to biff members o' the Bark Crew wid ladles, that's takin' the side o' the enemy!"

Brog rescued the ladle from his mum and hugged her. "Wot's for supper, ye liddle plump battler?"

Frutch tugged at his whiskers. "Put me down, ye great ribcrusher, or I won't be fit t'cook anythin' for anybeast. Sufferin' sandhills, did any pore ottermum have t'put up with such a son!"

Brog's nose twitched at the two cauldrons which his mum, Blench and Woebee had perched on the fire. "Mmmmm, skilly'n'duff, me fav'rite!"

The three cooks denied it stoutly.

"We never did no skilly'n'duff, did we, Blench?"

"No marm, we got shrimp soup, followed by shrimp stew, ain't that right, Woebee?"

'"Tis for sure, an' a nice shrimp salad for afters!"

Brog's face was the picture of misery. "But I could've sworn I smelled skilly'n'duff?"

Frutch plucked her ladle from his paw and whacked his tail. "Of course 'tis skilly'n'duff, ye big omadorm. With lots o' plums in the duff, the way you like it. Now make y'self useful, an' you, too, mister Stiffener. Lend a paw to get those cauldrons off'n the fire."

Over supper, Durvy told of his crew's exploits at sea that day.

"Ho, we kept the bluebottom fishin' fleet busy, mates. We swam under their vessels an' shredded the nets, stole all their shrimp, an'hahaha, tell Brog wot you did, Konul."

'"Twas like this, see," a sleek ottermaid, with a face born to mischief, explained. "I waited 'til they dropped anchors to fish. Soon as they cast their nets I attached each boat's net to the next boat's anchor flukes, snarled 'em up good an' proper. Heehee, you should've seen the vermin haulin' away at those nets. All the vessels came bumpin' togetherthere was bluebottoms floppin' an' fallin' this way'n'that. Harder they hauled, the worse it got. Them boats was knocked together so 'ard that three of 'em sprang leaks. Last I saw they was tryin' to paddle back to shore an' bailin' out at the same time, draggin' most o' the fishin' fleet along with 'em. I tell ye, Brog, 'twas a sight to see!"

Another of Durvy's crew piped up. "Aye, then they started fightin' among themselves. So I slices through the anchor ropes an' off they went like big flappin' birds with the wind behind 'em. That ole fleet hit the shore so 'ard that they was all run aground!"

Sailears chuckled with delight at the sea otters' story. "Wish I could swim like you chaps, then I could jolly well go along with you."

Durvy gallantly refilled her bowl from the cauldron. "Yore doin' just fine as the onshore Bark Crew, marm. I reckon those rascals must really be feelin' the pinch now, wot d'you think, Stiff?"

"I think yore right. They're learnin' a hard lesson the hard way. Even if Trunn an' the officers kept the best for themselves, I'll wager they've more or less gone through wot stores was left in Blench's larders."

Stiffener little knew how truly he spoke. At that exact moment, Ungatt Trunn was prowling into Salaman-dastron's dining hall, followed by Fragorl, carrying her master's plate. Taking it from her, the wildcat shoved the platter under the cook's nose.

"What do you call this mess of rubbish?"

Wiping his paws on his greasy apron, the cook avoided eye contact with his master, stammering nervously, "Mightiness, 'tis all we've got left. Yew 'ad the Fragorl take the last o' the good stuff up to yore chamber. I drained the wine kegs to fill a pitcher, an' those scones was well stale, but they was all I 'ad left."

Trunn stared around the deserted tables as the cook continued, "'Tain't worth anybeast turnin' up 'ere fer vittles, Mighty One. There ain't nothin' to serve 'em. Them Bark Crew are t'blame, I say, stealin' the food out'n our mouths like that. I been mixin' some moldy flour wid chopped seaweed an' dannelion roots. Don't know wot I'll do when that's gone, sire."

Ungatt Trunn pushed the plate into his trembling paws. "Stop babbling and whining and keep your voice down. After tomorrow there'll be food aplenty for all. Put the word about that this is my promise to you."

Marching hurriedly from the dining hall, the wildcat was rounding a torchlit passage leading out to the shore when a shadow fell over him. He fell back with a horrified gasp, shielding his face with a paw. The shadow was that of a great double-hafted sword hilt. Trunn stood petrified at the sight. It grew larger and came closer. A strangled cry was torn from his throat, and he shrank back against the rough rock walls.

Two gaunt rats rounded the corner, carrying between them three driftwood spars lashed together, the shadow of which looked for all the world like a giant double-hilted sword haft. They chatted to each other as they toted their burden.

"I thought yew said this'd get all seaweed tangled 'round it?"

"Well, we jammed it between those rocks on the tide-line. It should've got some seaweed stuck to it at 'igh tide."

"But it never did, did it? Huh, talk about bright ideas!"

Noticing Ungatt Trunn, they dropped the contraption and saluted.

"Mightiness!"

The wildcat wiped a trembling paw across his ashen face. "Take that thing and burn it," he shouted hysterically. "Burn it! D'you hear me? Burn it!"

Blank-faced, the two rats were knocked to one side as the wildcat swept by them on his way to the shore. They looked at one another and shrugged.

"Wot was all that about, mate?"

"Search me. Get that torch off'n the wall an' put a light to this thing, afore 'Is Mightiness comes back!"

"Was I seein' things, or did 'e look frightened?"

"Looked like 'e'd seen a ghost. This won't burn, 'tis damp."

"Well, git yore sword an' chop it up 'til yew find the dry bits."

Ungatt Trunn sat on the sand, which was still warm from the day's sun. Much as he had hated and despised Groddil, he missed the fox magician's soothing words. Every day the specter of the badger looming in his mind was growing larger. He was surrounded by his Blue Hordes, yet trapped alone by the visions of his own imagination, with nobeast to explain them or chant encouraging prophecies.

He stared disdainfully at the silent Grand Fragorl, in attendance as ever. "Well, what have you got to say for yourself?"

"Nothing, sire," the ferret replied warily.

His footpaw shot out, sending her sprawling in the sand. "Nothing. That's all you ever say. Get out of my sight!"

Fragorl made an undignified retreat on all fours. It was wisest to do what Ungatt Trunn said immediately and without question, when he was in one of his dark moods. Which were growing more and more frequent as the days went by. Some Hordebeasts grubbing for seaweed nearby heard their leader laugh bitterly and talk aloud to himself.

"The mountain of my dreams. Hah! More like the mountain of my nightmares. So, these are the days of Ungatt Trunn, eh?"

Chapter 29

After breakfast next morning, Durvy was leaving with his crew to harass the fishing fleet. Frutch shook her ladle at him, and he held up both paws placatingly. "Don't say it, marm, we've got the message. No more shrimp!"

Brogalaw entered the cave, with Rulango stalking in his wake. "Ahoy, 'ere's a bird who's very partial to shrimp. Feed our friend well, Mum, he just sketched me out an important message. Stiffener, get the Bark Crew together, mate. There's a small party, about twenty-five bluebottoms, left the mountain at dawn. Rulango reckons they're 'eaded thisaways, armed with bags an' 'avvysacks."

Stiffener donned his barkcloth cloak and mask, arming himself with sword, bow and arrows. He beckoned to the rest of the hares and otters who were gearing themselves up.

"Another foragin' party. Let's send those vermin back sore-tailed an' empty-pawed, eh, mates!"

Woebee threw her apron up over her face. "Begone the lot of ye. I don't 'old with masks'n'cloaks, fair scare a body they do. Away with ye!"

Torleep bowed courteously. "No need t'fuss yourself, marm. 'Tis only us under this lot."

*****

Ripfang and Doomeye had taken a hundred and fifty Hordebeasts out of the mountain long before dawn. They concealed themselves in the crags and crannies behind Salamandastron. Each of them was personally picked by the rat brothers; there were a lot of former searats and corsairs among their ranks. All in all they were a mean and savage-looking bunch, armed to the teeth.

Ripfang climbed down from his lookout spot. "The forage party decoys are well on their way, 'eadin' nor'east to the clifftops an' dunes to scout for berries an' roots. Doomeye, take yore gang an' sweep southeast. Git well back from the cliffs afore ye start closin' in."

Doomeye fiddled with his spear, as if reluctant to go. "Which way are yore lot goin'? The short way, I'll bet."

Ripfang tossed a long dagger and caught it neatly. "We'll be follerin' the same route as the foragin' partyI been drummin' that inter yer 'alf the night. That way we'll catch this Bark Crew in a pincer movement, from back an' front. Simple plans alius works best, I told yer!"

Doomeye stuck out his bottom lip sullenly. "I still don't like it. From wot I've 'eard this Bark Crew just appear out o' nowhere. They say they're like spirits!"

Ripfang brandished his dagger impatiently. "That's 'ogwash an' yew know 'tis. I'll tell yer who I think they arethose threescore escaped longears, that's who. Are yew lot as 'ungry as I am, eh?"

There was a rumble of agreement, from both mouths and stomachs. Ripfang made a slashing movement with his blade. "Then wot are we waitin' for? There's meat on the paw fer the takin'. Y'want to eat, then move yerselves!"

Doomeye kicked at the dirt, staying where he was. "Yew still 'aven't said why me an' my gang got t'go the long way 'round. 'Tain't fair."

Ripfang flung the dagger, burying it in the earth right between his brother's footpaws. "Lissen, lump'ead, yew get goin', right now. Otherwise I'm goin' back inside to report to Ungatt Trunn, an' yew can see 'ow well y'do takin' charge o' this lot!"

Doomeye got up huffily and signaled his party to move off. "All right, all right, keep yer fur on, we're goin'! Huh, never thought I'd see a brother o' mine snitchin' to the chief on 'is own fur'n'blood. Enny'ow, wot's the signal for the ambush? I've forgotten it."

Ripfang turned his eyes skyward, as if seeking help from above. "Wot's to forget, shrimpbrain? I've told yer ten times already. Firrig 'ere will give two curlew cries that's the signal for youse to attack. Y'do know wot a curlew sounds like, don'tcher?"

Doomeye led his party out of the rocks, shouting back at his ill-tempered brother, '"Course I do. It sounds just like yew tryin' to snore through that single pickle-stabber of yores, twiddletooth!"

Ripfang flung a rock at Doomeye, but it fell short. "I'll get yew fer that, jus' see if'n I don't!"

Lying in concealment, the Bark Crew watched the foragers climb the cliffs at a place where a small streamlet trickled down. Brogalaw noted their every movement, murmuring low to Stiffener, "They're stoppin' to take a drink now, some of 'em pickin' crowberries an' eatin' them. Nasty, bitter-tastin' things. I've never liked crow-berries, 'ave you, Stiff?"

The boxing hare shrugged. "Not really. Still, you'll eat anythin' once the 'unger grips yore stomach. Dumb stupid vermin, I pity 'em in a way."

Willip snorted. "Save your pity for decent creatures, sah. These are the same rotten bounders who were plannin' on eatin' us when they had us locked up. Pity 'em, indeed!"

Brog saw two vermin detach themselves and climb to the top. A moment later they were calling back to the other foragers.

"There's nettles up 'ere, an' some bilberries!"

The rest of the party climbed up. Once on top they could not be seen by the Bark Crew, but their voices came back clear.

"More nettles than bilberries, I'd say. Ouch, they sting!"

"Well, that's wot nettles are supposed t'do, mate. Pick 'em, you can brew good beer with nettles."

"Huh, will yew lissen to 'im? Wot beast could wait a season fer nettles to brew? We'd all be starved dead by then."

"Oh, stop moanin'. Use yore blade an' cut the nettles they'll do to make soup with."

Brog picked up his javelin. "Ain't goin' t'be so easy, while they're out in the open. Still, if we jump those bluebottoms quick it should do the trick. When I show meself, see if you can get a few 'round the back of 'em, Stiff. Sailears, you an' the others stay just below the clifftop, but show yore weapons, to let the vermin think they're surrounded. Well, here goes. Good huntin'!"

The forage party leader was a weasel. He did not know that his band had been sent out as a decoy. While the others were busy at their work, he stuffed a pawful of bilberries into his mouth.

"Tut tut, matey, stealin' food," a voice nearby chided him. Without looking up, the weasel glimpsed the barkcloth robe and groaned inwardly. "Yore a leader, y'should be settin' an example to those under ye!"

The sinister cloaked and masked figure stood framed by the weapons that poked up over the cliff. Raising his voice, Brog called harshly to the vermin: "Move a muscle an' ye die. A Bark Crew javelin's a lot sharper than some ole nettles, you'll find!"

A rat knocked over his haversack, and berries spilled out. "Ow no, 'tis the Bark Crew!"

Stiffener walked up from behind him and rested a loaded sling upon the rat's bowed head. "Ow yes, 'tis the Bark Crew, y'mean. Toss yore weapons over by me, all of ye. Yore surrounded!"

Shielding his eyes against the sun, the weasel looked up at Brog. "Y'ain't gonna kill us, are yer, sir?" he gulped aloud.

There was a touch of humor in the masked figure's voice. "Not just yet. Pick those berries first, but leave the nettles. I don't want ye t'get yore paws pricked. Go on, pick!"

Nervously the forage party picked the bilberries. "Why d'yer want to slay us?" a rat whined at Torleep. "We ain't done no 'arm to nobeast."

The hare gave him a resounding kick on his blue-dyed rear. "Fibber, cad, bounder, don't look for mercy from me, sah!"

When the berries were all picked and bagged up, Brog made the vermin shed their uniforms. The weasel leader suddenly broke down and clung weeping to Stiffener's cloak. "Aaaaahaaaaggh! Spare us, sire, spare our lives, please, I beg yer, don't kill us. Waaahahaaa!"

Stiffener's loaded sling rapped the weasel's paws until he was forced to release the cloak hem. The boxing hare's voice was laden with contempt. "Spare your lives, eh, like you spared the old Badger Lord? But he went out like a true warrior, fightin' for his life. Look at yoreself, coward, blubbin' like a stuck toad!"

Torleep was slinging the bags onto a spear shaft when a strange noise cut the still noon air. Stiffener whirled around to face Brog. "What was that?"

The otter yanked his friend to one side just in time. A slingstone buzzed by like an angry hornet. Doomeye's Hordebeasts came charging out of the eastern moorland, howling and yelling, firing slingstones and discharging arrows at the Bark Crew.

Torleep dashed to the cliff edge and glanced over. "I say, there's more coming up this way!" He never had time to say more. An arrow thudded into his throat. Torleep tottered for an instant, then fell over the cliff.

Brogalaw gathered the Bark Crew swiftly. "Take a stand facin' for'ard an' aft, mates. Grab yore bows!"

Stiffener stood back to back with the sea otter, battling the vermin who were scrambling over the clifftop, while Brogalaw faced the crowd charging them from the moorland.

"'Tis a trap, Stiff. They got us surrounded!"

The boxing hare whirled his sling, knocking a rat back over the cliff. "There's a lot of 'em, but we ain't surrounded yet, Brog. They've got us in a pincer move from back'n'front. Keep pickin' off the outsidersstop 'em circlin' us!"

The otter alongside Brog went down with a spear through him.

Doomeye's contingent had slowed their headlong rush and were advancing cautiously now. They tried to stay in a tight bunch, nobeast wanting to be strung out on the edges, where they would be picked off. Ripfang had his group halfway over the clifftop before he saw how furiously the Bark Crew were retaliating. Dropping back below the rim, he called out orders.

"Keep yore 'eads down. We'll snipe 'em t'bits. Pick yore targetsthere's only a score an' a half of 'em!"

Stiffener took out a weasel, with a spear that had just missed him a moment ago. Still back to back with Brog, he outlined a plan that was forming in his mind. "I'd say we're outnumbered five to one, mate. We'll have t'make a break for it, sideways!"

An arrow hit Brog in the shoulder. He bit his lip and snapped off the shaft. "I'm with you, mate. Best go north, away from the location of our cave. Do it soon, afore we lose any more beasts!"

Stiffener could feel the arrowhead that had pierced Brog scratching his back. Willip was down on all fours, blood flowing from a gash on her head. The weasel and his forage party were lying flat on the ground, paws covering their heads, unarmed and out of the action.

Brog grabbed the weasel and hauled him roughly up. "Up on yore scringin' paws, you bluebottoms, an' form two lines, a spear length apart. Move or I'll kill ye!"

Whimpering and trying to evade missiles, the vermin were forced to obey. Brog ordered his Bark Crew into the space between the two lines. "Keep goin' north, then strike east the moment y'see some trees, mates. We got a livin' shield to take us out o' here. If'n these bluebottoms try to slow up or break away, you got my permission to slay 'em. Quick march!"

Confused by the sight of two lines of hostages from their own side, the vermin ceased fire, and the Bark Crew moved smartly off while they had the advantage. Ripfang hauled himself over the clifftops, yelling, "Don't lerrem get away, fools, kill that Bark Crew!"

Doomeye came running up at the head of his vermin group. "Oh, 'ard luck, Rip. They fooled us that time, eh?"

Ripfang punched his brother in the eye. "That was you, puddlebrain, y'never waited for the signal!"

One of Doomeye's patrol, a ferret, stepped forward. "Yew shouldn't 'ave punched 'im. Yore brother stepped on a thistle an' yelped out loud. We all thought it was the signal, so we charged. 'Twasn't 'is fault!"

Ripfang punched the ferret square on the nose. "Who asked yew, slugface? I'm givin' orders 'round 'ere! Now get after 'em, the lot of yer, an' slay the Bark Crew!"

The ferret wiped blood from his nose and glared at it. Then he lashed out, cracking Ripfang between the ears with his spear haft.

"Yew ain't a cap'n anymore. Trunn broke youse two back down t'the ranks, an' besides, we'd 'ave to kill our own mates to get at the Bark Crew. I ain't doin' that!"

Ripfang rubbed his head, grinning ruefully. "Yore right, mate, yew ain't doin' that. Yore stayin' 'ere." Quick as light he drew his cutlass and ran the ferret through, then waved the dripping blade in an arc. "Anybeast else want to stay 'ere? Come on, who wants t'join 'im? Step up an' face me!"

They backed off, staring dumbly at the slain ferret. Suddenly, Ripfang was among them, laying about savagely with the flat of his blade. "After 'em, all of yer! I don't care who y'bring down as long as yer finish the Bark Crew off!"

With Ripfang in the rear, cutlass drawn, they took off after the enemy, who had a good head start.

Stiffener cast a glance over his shoulder as he ran. "Didn't take 'em long, Brog. 'Ere they come!"

The sea otter Skipper peered anxiously ahead. "No sign of any trees yet, Stiff. Sailears, how's Willip doin'?"

"Still groggy, I'm afraid. An' there's a young otter here, Fergun, who's taken a javelin through the footpaw. Slowin' us down a bit, but that can't be helped, wot?"

Stiffener called Trobee and two otters, Urvo and Radd. "Fetch double quivers an' bows. We'll hold the rear, mates!"

"Don't let them catch up," one of the forage party sobbed. "They'll kill us just t'get at youse!"

Brog clouted his head soundly. "Shut yore mouth or I'll boot ye over the cliff!"

Stiffener and his three archers let the others go on ahead. Stringing shafts to their bows, they brought down two Hordebeasts who were running ahead of the rest. After another volley they joined their friends. Trobee kept another shaft ready on his bowstring and walked facing back. "I think we took out seven vermin back at the clifftops. Countin' the two we just dropped, that makes nine. Not bad considerin' we lost only three, two otters an' old Torleep."

Stiffener turned to join him. "Nine don't make a lot o' difference to the crowd they've got, Trobee. We're in big trouble unless we get some 'elp." He raised his voice, calling to the front of the column. "Any sign o' shelter ahead, trees, rocks, or whatever?"

"Not a thing, matey," an otter's voice replied. "All I can see is a big dead ole tree near the cliff edge up yonder, sorry!"

Brog's voice joined in the shouted conversation. "Ahoy, did ye say a big dead tree? I know that 'unused to fish up this way. If'n I ain't mistaken there's a whole circle o' rocks on the shore down there, above the tideline. Cut off an' take a peek, Sailears."

Sailears left the group and bounded to the cliff edge. She was back shortly with good news. "Brog old chap, you were right. A ring of rocks, not unlike a blinkin' small fort. Oh, well done, sah!"

Stiffener and his archers dropped back and fired off another two volleys of arrows. This time the vermin saw them coming and avoided them. Brog waved the archers to join the column. "Never mind that now, mateys. Let's get down to those rocks!"

At the rear of the vermin, Doomeye was holding a pawful of wet sand to the eye which his brother had punched. Ripfang watched him and shook his head in despair. "All's that'll get yer is an eyeful o' wet sand, yer ninny."

Doomeye spat contemptuously at him. "Think yew know everythin', don'tcher, yew rotten slime, punchin' me in the eye like that. Well, I ain't yer brother no more, see. I 'ope one of those arrers out of the air gets yew, right in yore eye. Then y'll see 'ow it feels!"

"Look, they're climbin' down the cliffs t'the shore!" somebeast shouted ahead.

Ripfang ran to the cliff edge and peered along. "Tryin' t'make it to those rocks, eh? Well, we've got 'em now we can easily surround those rocks. Slow down an' catch yore breath, mates, they ain't goin' nowhere!"

It was hot on the rocks. The sand at the center of the stone circle was dry and hot, too. The Bark Crew threw themselves down gratefully, shedding cloaks and masks. Sailears tended to the injured, while Brogalaw and Skipper watched the clifftops.

"Ain't got much time to rest, Stiff. 'Ere they come, climbin' down the cliff. How many would ye say they've got?"

"Oh, about a hunnerd an' twoscore more. Too many for us."

Brogalaw stroked his whiskers thoughtfully. "Yore right, but we still got enough to make a fight of it. One thing, though, matewhat d'we do with these beasts we captured? They might prove troublesome."