Lord Brocktree

"You can bet your jolly life I pleasest!"

"Then calm thee down an' read, IonFleetscut."

Jukka's tribe were awake by this time. They gathered around to hear what was on the scroll as the old hare read aloud.

"Two points north of dawn,

Find stone and shade and drink,

Follow where no water runs,

March on through two moons and suns,

My sign you'll see, I think.

Discover then a streamwolf's ford,

Tug thrice upon the royal cord,

Then my honor guard will bring,

Loyal subjects to their king!"

Fleetscut's paw thwacked against the parchment. "Tchah, the very idea of it, a hare promotin' himself to king, the pollywoggle, an' doubtless lurin' our young Salamandastron warriors to his side. Who does he think he is, wot wot?"

Jukka could not help smiling at Fleetscut's indignation. "For sure, he thinks he's king. Canst thou solve any of this riddle poem, hare?"

Fleetscut snorted. "Of course I canst . . . squirrel! Us chaps from Salamandastron eat lots o' saladgood for the old brain, doncha know. We try not to scoff large amounts o' nutsmakes the tail bushy an' next thing y'know you want to go climbin' trees!" He paused to note the look on Jukka's face, then continued, "Ahem, now let me see. Ah yes, the place where stone an' shade an' drink can be found is right here. Hmm, the directions are clear enough, but two points north o' dawn, er, that's a bit of a poser, ain't it?"

Ruro provided the answer. "Dawn is in the east where the sun rises; two points north of that is northeast. We must go northeast, methinks."

Fleetscut sniffed. "I knew that, just testin' you chaps. But what about a spot o' brekkers first? I've only had a drop of tea so far today. Chap can't go far on that, wot!"

Ruro thrust two hard green apples at him. "Remember, friend, thou hast no rations, nor have I or Jukka. Come now, we'll travel o'er the top of this Rockwood, and mayhap we'll find our way with a view from there."

A wearying and difficult climb brought them to Rockwood's peak by midmorning. As they sat down in the tree shade, breathing hard, a solemn call hailed them from one of Udara's hiding places.

"Kuwhoohuuuh! You are still on my land and the morn is half gone. Beware if you are still here at noon!"

Fleetscut was trying to climb an old gnarled rowan to scout out the countryside. When the owl called, he slipped and barked his shin. Biting his lip, he shouted back, "Yah! Go an' boil your beak, mattressbottom."

Ruro helped him down to earth before bounding easily up into the branches, saying to the old hare, who was wincing and rubbing his shin, "Bide there, friend. After all, I've scoffed large amounts of nuts!"

She was back down to report, almost as swiftly as she had gone up, pointing northeast. "A dried-up streambed that way, going off into the distance."

Fleetscut was up and about, feeling much better. "Strewth, just like the poem said: 'Follow where no water runs.' Solved that pretty smart, wot wot, Jukka?"

Jukka led off the march, informing the old hare, "I had already figured that much, O thou who art fleet of scut."

Ruro took up the rear, with her friend muttering by her side. "Huh, fleet o' scut, indeed! Can't even pronounce a bally chap's name right. How'd she like it if I called her Sling the Jukka? I say, that's a good idea, why don't we sling her?"

It is never a good thing to be hungry, and Fleetscut felt the pangs on that day's march. Single file they went, through a twisting, turning, long dried-out streambed, with the hare plodding along in the rear, coughing and sniffling from the dust of others tramping ahead. He had neither food nor drink, having bolted the two little sour apples the moment Ruro gave them to him earlier on. First he tried sucking on a pebble to allay his thirst, but when moisture came to his mouth it formed a nasty paste with the dust he was inhaling. Next he began grabbing at pawfuls of grass as he passed, but when he chomped on the first clump he gave a muffled yelp and spat it out, glaring at the yellow-and-black banded body humming angrily amid the dust.

"Confounded bloomin' wasp, loungin' about in the middle of a chap's tuck. Oh, it ain't fair! I'm starvin'!"

Ruro turned and tugged his paw to make him keep up. "Carry on trying to feed thyself and thou wilt be left behind. No time for stopping when we're on the march!"

Late that evening Jukka called a halt. Fleetscut flopped exhausted alongside Ruro in the dry watercourse, gazing longingly at the other squirrels. Opening their packs, they sipped from little flasks and ate sparingly of the honeysoaked, fruit-filled farls. With a face the picture of misery and despair, he begged them, "I say, chaps, how about sharin' supper with a pal, wot?"

Ignoring Fleetscut, they carried on eating and drinking. The old hare tried a different approach.

"Aha, this is the life, matescomrades together, wot! Marchin', sleepin', singin', firm friends on life's jolly old highway, wot. I say there, old pal, old chum, throw your messmate a cob of that stuff over, an' a drop t'drink, ye good old treewalloper!"

The squirrel in question stowed his food away carefully, glaring hatred at Fleetscut. "Give thy foolish gob a rest, longears. 'Tweren't for thee we'd be snug in our pine grove, instead of tramping about on some wild-goose chase because of thy bad-mouthing our leader. Put a gag on thy tongueaye, an' eat that!"

Fleetscut slumped back and sulked a bit, watching an ant crawl over his footpaw. He was about to reach for it and try his first taste of insect when a fresh idea struck him. Scooting over on his tail, he got closer to Jukka. She wondered what he was about until he winked, smiled at her and whispered, "Bet you're rather peckish, too, old gel, wot. Rotten bunch o' cads this lot, aren't they? Look at that bounder over yonder, stuffin' his face like a frog at a fry-up. Listen, you're the leader, ain't you? I've got a rippin' ideanow how does this sound t'you? Suppose you issue a stern order for one or two of 'em to give you half their rations. I mean, they daren't refuse Jukka the Sling, the old boss tailkicker, could they? Then we just divvy the grub between us, half for my clever wheeze, half for your position as chief. Heeheehee. Spiffin' scheme, ain't it, wot?"

The look Jukka gave him would have split a solid rock.

Fleetscut scooted hastily back, resigned to a night of hunger and thirst. He lay down, closed his eyes and shouted, "G'night, you grubgrabbin' foul perishin' mob o' skinflints. Hope the noise me tummy's makin' keeps you awake all bloomin' night. Hope you dream of me starvin' to death of hunger. Tailtwitchin' nut-eatin' bark-wallopers!"

Morning brought Fleetscut no relief. As soon as he opened his eyes, he was complaining.

"Yaaagh! Ooh, the famine cramps, me paws've gone dead, I can't see, it's the Scoffless Lurgy, I've been struck down with the Witherin' Ear Fever. Food! Somebeast save me!"

Whump!

Jukka landed slam in his middle, bringing him down flat and stifling his mouth with both paws as she hissed angrily, "Fool, shoutin' and wailin' across the country. Didn't thou hear Beddle calling for all to keep low, there be vermin abroad? Lie still and silent or I'll slay thee myself!"

She peeped over the top of the dried streambank. Ruro and Grood scuttled up to join her.

"Something be moving o'er there, Ruro, see!"

"Aye, I see it well enough. The grass is long out there, and 'tis moving the opposite way to the breeze."

"I wonder how many of them there be?"

Young Grood was about to make an estimate when Jukka cuffed his ear lightly. "Curb thy language, Grood! Stay low, everybeast, and mayhap they'll pass us by. No sense inviting trouble."

Rubbing his stomach, Fleetscut popped his head up, took a quick glimpse of the waving grass and called out, "Wot ho there, show yourselves, we're friends!"

Immediately the spiked heads of two hedgehogs rose above the grass as they strode toward the streambed.

Jukka fixed the old hare with her gimlet eye. "How didst thou know they were hedgedogs?"

Fleetscut waggled his ears in cavalier fashion. "I'm a Salamandastron hare, y'see. We can scent vermin a day away, or at least we used to in the old days. Well now, you chaps, whom have we the honor of addressin', wot?"

The two burly male beasts rolled awkwardly into the ditch.

"G'day to yer. I'm Grassum, an' this 'ere's my brother Reedum. You ain't by any chance spotted an 'ogbabe wand'rin' loose in these parts, 'ave yer?"

The hare shook their paws, carefully avoiding the spikes. "Can't say we have, really. Give us a description an' we'll keep a weather eye out for the little tyke."

Grassum did all the talking, his brother merely nodding and saying aye to emphasize the case.

"Skittles be 'is given name. We took 'im off'n some foxes last season. Doesn't know who 'is mum'n'dad are, or where they be, ain't that right, Reedum?"

"Aye!"

"A right liddle pawful 'e is if'n you ask me, talks very h'educated, very imperdent, very cheeky. An old 'ead on young shoulders, that's wot 'e is, right, Reedum?"

"Aye!"

"Calls us 'is two wicked uncles, jus' 'cos we makes 'im go t'bed early an' wash reg'lar, eh, Reedum?"

"Aye!"

"Enny'ow, Skittles done a bunk on us an' got hisself lost. We been a-searchin' for 'im two days now, me'n'Reedum."

"Aye!"

"Enny'ow, if'n yew goodbeasts finds 'im an' we ain't about, y'd best leave 'im wid the first 'edge'og fambly or tribe y'come across. That's best, ain't it, Reedum?"

"Aye!"

Laboriously they began climbing out of the streambed. Fleetscut called hopefully after them, "I say, you chaps haven't got the odd morsel of grub about youa leftover apple pie or some unwanted salad, wot?"

Grassum looked down on him from the banktop. "We ain't got a crust t'spare atween us, 'ave we, Reedum?"

"Nay!"

The old hare smiled ruefully. "Good day, sirs. Thanks for the information, Grassum. Oh, and thanks for your scintillating conversation, Reedum. I actually got quite excited when you switched from aye to nay. Dashed clever trick that, wot?"

Jukka cast a jaundiced eye over Fleetscut as she marched off. "I wish thou wert as talkative as yon Reedum!"

Hot, dusty and tiring, the day passed uneventfully, wearying on both paws and spirits of the trekkers. Fleetscut became convinced his end was near from starvation. Jukka and Ruro bore their hunger steadfastly, neither asking nor taking sustenance from the sparse rations of their tribal comrades. At evening the dried streambed petered out, and they made camp for the night on the open moor, squatting around a fire they had kindled in the lee of a boulder. Fleetscut's moods had ranged from outrage and name-calling to silent high dudgeon and finally a fatalistic resignation. He lay apart from the others, quiet for a while, then began to moan his thoughts aloud.

"Oh dearie dearie me, 'tis a hard life an' a jolly old sad death, wot. Perishin' out here on the grassy plains without anybeast to mourn over me benighted bones. Hunger, thirst, the Scoffless Lurgy, Witherin' Ear Fever an' the Dreaded Numb Deadpaw. That's besides Tummyshrink Ague an' Fearsome Red Scutrot. Oho yes, mates, you name it an' old Fleetscut's suffered it! A walkin' bonebag, courageous t'the last, too proud to beg a crust from me messmates. Fadin' away sad an' slow. Wonder if they'll strike a medal for me, wot? A skinny hare with a brave smile, that'd be about right. Oh, an' in the background, lots of fat, wobbly squirrels, grinnin' like stuffed toads. Eh, wozzat?"

A slingstone bounced off the ground close to his head. Jukka was whirling her sling, fully loaded with a rock, and she had a wild determined glint in her eye.

"We've stood enough o' thy ceaseless whimperin' an' whining, longears. Speak one more word an' this rock will find thee!"

Fleetscut turned quickly over and shut his eyes tight. "Oh, right y'are, marm. Nighty night now!"

As a new day dawned, Fleetscut, unable to sleep because of hunger pangs, leapt up roaring: "Aha! I think I see his sign, chaps. There 'tis!"

Chapter 13

Silence reigned in the hidden cavern beneath Salamandastron, broken only by the dripping of water and the snores of Lord Stonepaw and his hares. Not knowing the time of day or night, they had succumbed to their natural urge to sleep.

"Where in the name o' fang'n'fur have they got to?"

Stiffener Medick came awake at the sound of voices outside the cave. It was the two Blue Horderats Rotface and Grinak, returning with the food and drink they had been sent for. The boxing hare listened to their conversation; they were obviously lost.

"Huh, don't ask me. Y'd think they'd 'ave left us some sign for direction, or jus' sat an' waited fer us!"

"Well, wot d'y'say we jus' sit down an' wait for them?"

"Can't do that. They might be miles away. We could be down 'ere forever!"

"Aha, but they won't last long, will they? We've got the food. Heeheehee, d'yer fancy some o' this plum pudden from the Lord Badger's kitchens, eh, Grinak?"

"You must be jokin', Rotface. Cap'n Swinch'd 'ave the hide off'n our backs fer stealin' vittles!"

The voices receded down the passage. Stiffener slipped through the rift and went after them, silent as a shadow. Before long he could see the flicker of their torch up ahead. He followed, hoping they would soon stop to rest, but the rats wandered on, willy nilly, from chamber to corridor and cavern to tunnel, for what seemed an age. Finally Stiffener's hopes were rewarded. Grinak found a low rock shelf and plonked himself down on it.

"This is 'opeless. We're lost, aye, an' by the looks of it they are, too. We've not 'ad sound nor sight of 'em yet!"

Rotface sat down next to his companion. "Yer right there, Grin. These flasks of ale are weighin' me down me paws are killin' me. Wot say we swap, you carry the drink awhile, I'll carry the food, eh?"

Grinak snorted. "No chance, mate. You thought they'd be lighter-that's why you ran t'pick 'em up."

"Over here, idiots, over here!" A voice was calling them. Both rats jumped up, scared of being caught sitting down. Rotface peered into the darkness behind them.

"Sounds like they're down there, wot d'you think, Grin?"

"Sounds go different ways down 'ere. Mebbe they're up yonder."

"Wot'll we do, then?"

"Give me the torch. I'll go an' look where you reckon they are. Stay 'ere an' wait fer me."

"Oh no, slyboots, yore not leavin' me alone wid no light!"

"Well, you go. I'm not scared, I'll wait 'ere. Go on!"

Grinak went cautiously, holding the torch high, calling out softly, so it would not echo, "Cap'n Swinch, Magician Groddil, is that you, sirs?"

A voice called from around a bend in the passage: "Who d'you think it is, addlebrain? We're here!"

Grinak hurried around the bend, his face illuminated by the torch. "We been lookin' all over for y"

His words were cut short by a swift powerful right and a left uppercut which battered him flat with lightning speed. Stiffener even caught the torch before it fell.

Rotface peered down the passage and saw the light of the torch wave from side to side.

"Wot is it, mate? 'Ave yer found 'em?"

A passable imitation of Grinak's harsh voice answered, "We're goin'. 'Urry up!"

The rat scuttled down the passage, dragging the food and drink behind him, afraid of being lost and alone. "Wait, 'ang on, I'm comin'!"

As he rounded the bend Stiffener struck. Unfortunately, the boxing hare had not realized that Rotface's head was bowed as he struggled with the packs. Stiffener's blow hit the rat, but only grazed his skull.

Rotface dropped the packs. He was a big, solid rat. Shaking his head, he went for his dagger. "Hah! 'Tis only an old rabbit. Come on, Grandad, let's see the color of yer insides!"

Stiffener Medick was not given to exchanging badinage with vermin. Coolly he sprang forward, feinting with a left at the rat's stomach. Immediately the rat stabbed downward with his blade. A swinging right hit him like a thunderbolt, breaking his jaw, and he collapsed with a sigh. Stiffener was off down the passage, the two packs in either paw, the torch clamped in his jaws.

Lord Stonepaw and the others fell on the food with gusto, though the badger shook his head disapprovingly. "You could have got yourself slain. Why didn't you wake me?"

Stiffener turned his attention from a fruit scone. "You need yore sleep, sah. So did those two vermin. Couldn't box for acorns, either of 'em!"

Blench winked at him. "That's ole Stiffener for ye, lays 'em out stiff he does! Here, my dearie, try some o' my plum pudden."

The boxing hare accepted it, chuckling. "Only did it 'cos I couldn't stand the thought of vermin gettin' used to yore wunnerful cookin', marm. Now if'n those two grandsons o' mine was with us, young Southpaw an' his brother Bobweave, they'd 'ave put those two rats down an' gone lookin' for more. Pair o' rascals. Talk about fight? Those two'd swim the great sea just t'be in on a good scrap. 'Course, I taught 'em, y'know."

Ungatt Trunn had now taken up residence in the mountain. He liked the view from Lord Stonepaw's chamber. Sprawling on the bed, he sampled the badger's best mountain ale, while chewing a savory cheese and onion flan from Blench's kitchen. A knock sounded on the door. At a nod from Ungatt, the guard opened it. Grand Fragorl glided in, standing to one side as Groddil, Captain Swinch, Rotface and Grinak were ushered in by the stoat Captain Fraul. Putting aside food and drink, the wildcat rose from the bed. He circled the four culprits slowly, his banded tail swishing as he noted their trembling paws.

“ I take it that the news is not good. Talk to me, Groddil."

Fighting to keep his voice calm and level, the stunted fox made his report. "Mightiness, we have searched through endless dark caves beneath your mountain, with no taste of food nor drink passing our lips. It is cold down there and totally dark. Alas, Great One, we found no trace of the stripedog or his creatures, though it was not from lack of trying."

Ungatt leapt onto the window ledge and stood there, framed by the sky outside. "Who are these two Horderats? Why are they here?"

Captain Swinch rapped orders at Rotface and Grinak. "One pace forward, you two, stand to attention, eyes front, tell His Mightiness what happened to you!"

The rats' heads shook uncontrollably as they rattled forth their concocted story to their fearsome master. They did it piecemeal, alternating one to the other, Rotface nursing his broken jaw.

"We was sent back fer vittles by Cap'n Swinch, sire."

"Aye, an' when we returned with 'em the main search party wasn't there, Mighty One, so we was sort of lost."

"But we never ate nor rested, sire, we searched for 'em. We searched an' searched an' searched, sire."

"Enny'ow, Mightiness, there we was, a-searchin', when all of a sudden we was surrounded. It was the stripedog an' more'n a score o' those rabbits!"

"Er, but well armed they was, sire. We fought 'em like madbeaststhere was blood everywhere!"

"Mightiness, there was too many of 'em. They stole the vittles an' left us fer dead, sire!"

Ungatt Trunn was on the hapless pair like a hawk with two chickens. Rotface and Grinak screeched as the wildcat's claws sank into their shoulders. He shook both of them, snapping their necks, and then with a mighty heave he hurled the two carcasses out of the wide window onto the rocks below. He was not breathing heavily, nor was there a trace of anger or bad temper on his face as he turned from the window ledge. He stared impassively at Groddil and Swinch as though nothing had happened.

"Tomorrow at first light you will return to your task. The stripedog is alive and hiding down there with his hares. He will not escape me, because you will find him. Take as many to assist you as you wish, take supplies, extra torches, anything, but remember this: return empty-pawed and you will wish you had died quickly, like those two fools who stood lying barefaced in front of me. Fail me and your deaths will take the best part of a season, as an example to all. Do you understand what I have just said to you both?"

Swinch and Groddil retreated, bowing.

"As you command, Mightiness!"

"We will find the stripedog and his hares, Great One!"

Ungatt waited until they had made it to the door. "Wait! Captain Fraul, have these two staked out on the shore below, where I may see them from this window. They are not to have food or water. Choose two strong soldiers to beat them with the flats of their own sword blades, and tell them to lay on hard. It will serve as a warning to my forces that nobeast fails to carry out the orders of Ungatt Trunn, not even a captain or a magician. They may be released at dawn tomorrow to continue their search."

Ripfang and Doomeye, the new recruits, were chosen to administer the punishment. They stood over their staked-out victims holding the swords high, looking up to the window. Ungatt signaled that the beatings should begin with a wave of his paw. Ripfang smiled apologetically at the two quivering figures pinioned on the sand. "Orders is orders. No 'ard feelin's, eh?"

Swish thwack! Swish thwack!

The sound of the flogging was soon drowned out by Swinch and Groddil's screams.

Ungatt Trunn turned from the window and prowled down to the dining hall with his Grand Fragorl hurrying behind. Threescore captive hares were herded into a corner, ringed by armed Hordebeasts. Captain Roag, a tough female weasel, saluted the wildcat smartly. "These sixty of the lesser orders await your judgment, sire!"

As usual, the Grand Fragorl addressed her master's words to the prisoners in her toneless cadence. "You longears are of an inferior species, not fit to live in the shadow of the higher orders. It is only on the whim of my master that you still draw breath. Ungatt Trunn, he who makes the stars fall and the earth tremble! Ungatt Trunn, the Fearsome Beast who drinks wine from the skulls of his enemies, Conqueror of the World! You live now only to serve him in slavery. If your work is not satisfactory, one of you will be hurled from the top of this mountain each day. You hold the lives of your own comrades forfeit!"

Sailears could not restrain herself from crying out, "I hope I live to see the day you're chucked from the mountain top, cat!"

A spear butt struck her in the face and she went down. The rat who had delivered the blow raised his weapon again, point down, to slay the old hare.

Ungatt stopped him. "Halt! Leave that creature be!"

Parting ranks, the guards allowed Ungatt passage to Sailears. He stood over her, shaking his head. "I wish my creatures had spirit like yours, hare. What is it that creates such bravery and loyalty to some old fool of a stripedog?"

Ignoring her swollen jaw, Sailears levered herself upright. "You wouldn't jolly well know, cat, an' you prob'ly wouldn't understand if I tried to tell you, wot!"

The wildcat stood, paws akimbo, smiling slightly. "All I know about is conquest. I rule through fear, not affection. I'll wager you know where the stripedog is hiding at the moment, eh?"

Sailears maintained a defiant silence, exploring a loosened tooth with her tongue. The wildcat shook his head admiringly. "Aye, I can see you do! More than likely you'd rather die than tell me, and so would all your comrades. No matter, I'll find him. Just remember now that you are my slavesyou are all prisoners until you die!"

Then Sailears did a strange thing. She placed one paw against her head, the other over her heart, and smiled. "If that's what y'think then you've lost, cat. We all are free, here in our minds an' here in our hearts!"

Ungatt turned on his paw and strode off, calling back, "Don't push your luck, or I'll show you how easy it is to break a creature's spirit!"

He was answered by a concerted roar from the prisoners. "Eulalia!"

Whispering something to Fragorl, the wildcat departed the dining hall without a backward glance. The Grand Fragorl held her paws up to gain the hares' attention.

"His Mightiness has decreed that you starve, every one of you, the next two days for your insolence. Take them away and lock them up!"

Before any of the Horde could lay paws on the captives, Torleep, a fine upright old hare, rapped out some orders. "Form twelve ranks five deep, you lot! Look lively now, dress off to y'right! 'Ten . . . shun! Straighten up at the back theyah, laddie buck, show these vermin how it's done! Chin in, head back, shoulders straight, eyes forward, ears stiff! That's the stuff! Now, by the right, quick march! One two, one two! Right markers, keep those lines straight!"

Off to their prison cave they marched, surrounded by Captain Roag's bewildered vermin, who could not comprehend how a defeated band of ancient hares could sing in captivity, although sing they did, loud, long and courageously.

"I'm a hare of Salamandastron,

An' foes don't bother me,

I'll fight all day an' sing all night,

This song of liberty!

Liberty! Liberty! That's for me,

The mountain hares are wild an' free!

One two three hooray!

You can't stop sunrise every day!

I'm a hare of Salamandastron,

I wander near an' far,

You'll know me when y'see me,

'Cos I'll shout Eulalia!

Liberty! Liberty! That's for me,

From good dry land to stormy sea!

One two three hooray!

You can't stop sunset every day!"

Ungatt Trunn could hear it from where he stood at the mountain's main shore entrance. He looked at the black charred doors, still solid upon their hinges, and out to the shoreline, crowded by his mighty hordes. To nobeast in particular he commented aloud, "Fools, nought but old fools!"

Striding down to the unconscious forms of Groddil and Swinch, he picked up a pail of seawater and hurled it on their backs. They were revived, moaning with pain. Ungatt leaned down close, so he had their attention. "I want that stripedog found!"

He was about to threaten further when a vision of the other badger flashed into his thoughts. Big, shadowy and as forbidding as the war blade he carried across his back. Straightening up, the wildcat gazed out to sea. He could not explain it, but his confidence felt shaken. Moreover, he did not know whence the warrior badger would come, or the day he would arrive. The wildcat was certain of only one thing: the badger would come!

Chapter 14

Sunshaded, green and tranquil, the stream stretched, lazily meandering through the woodlands on this the questors' first full day together. Dotti and Gurth sat up for'ard, chattering away in molespeech; Ruff and Brocktree were aft, paddling. The otter nodded approvingly at their new crew member's velvety back. "Looks like we found a treasure there, matey. That brekkist ole Gurth cooked up this mornin' would've made his dad proud o' him. Bet yore glad we brought him along."

Brocktree could not help but agree with his companion. "Aye, and he's not feared of boats or water, like most moles. He looks as strong as you or I, Ruff!"

"D'ye think so? Well, we'll find out soon enough. Ahoy there, you two in the prow, pick up yore paddles an' lend a paw here. Let's make a liddle speed, eh?"

Gurth was a bit inexperienced, but as soon as he got the knack of wielding a paddle, there was none better. Enjoying himself hugely, he commented, "Hurr, Dott miz, this be better'n diggen at tunnel 'oles. Ee can keep ee paws noice'n'clean. Oi loiks boaten on ee stream gurtly. Et be foine furr ee choild such as oi!"

The haremaid found herself panting as she struggled to keep stroke with Gurth. His strength and endurance seemed boundless; he was not even breathing heavily. "Whurr did ee getten t'be so strong, zurr Gurth?"

"Ho, oi 'spect et be all ee vittles oi scoffed. Gudd grub an' lots o' sleepen, that be's ee stuff. Least that's wot moi ole mum alius sez!"

In the early noon a watermeadow appeared to the south. Dotti's keen ears soon picked up sounds from its far side. She called sternward to Brocktree.

"I say, sah, some kind o' jolly old hubbub goin' on over there. Shall we wander over an' take a look, wot?"

The Badger Lord scanned the sidestream, searching for an entrance, but it seemed to be blocked by dead wood cast there from the streamflow.

"There's no way into the watermeadow. Perhaps we should leave our log here and skirt the banks."

"You'm set thurr, zurr, oi'll sort 'er owt!"

Gurth grabbed a hefty beech limb with his big digging claws. With a mighty tug he tore it free from the debris of driftwood, creating an entrance for them.

"Thurr y'be. Naow take 'er in noice'n'easy, miz Dott."

Ruff chuckled. "I never seen that done afore by a mole!"

The watermeadow was extremely hard to negotiate. They were constantly shaking thick, bunched weed and long waterlily stems off the paddles. From the far side the sounds of urgent shouts and creatures thrashing about in the rushes echoed over the water.

"Get ahead o' the rascal. Cut 'im off, Riggo!"

"I got 'im. No I ain'tthe liddle scallywag's away agin!"

"Kangle, Furrib, there 'e goes. Stop the scamp!"

This was followed by a sharp screech and a splash. "Owow, the blighter spiked me. 'E's fallen in, chief!"

"Fur'n'snouts, look out, 'ere comes a pike, a big 'un!"

The pointed log prow broke through a reedbank, and the four travelers took in the scene at a glance.

Several shrews were dancing in agitation, pointing wildly at the water. A tiny hedgehog was going down for the second time, splashing and gurgling. He was in deadly danger. Gliding smoothly toward the hogbabe was a pike, its rows of needle-like teeth exposed as its jaws opened in anticipation, the dorsal fin near its tail sticking out of the water, dragging weeds along.

Dotti yelled out in dismay. "By the left, look at the size o' that brute. He'll crunch the little tyke in one bite, spikes and all!"

The shrews threw up their paws hopelessly.

"He's a dead 'un all right!"

"Nought we kin do now, mates!"

Gurth tried to reach out with his paddle to the hogbabe, but he was too far away for it to do any good. "Burrhurr, ee pore likkle h'aminal!"

Then Ruff dashed the length of the log to gain momentum and leapt high, soaring over Gurth and Dotti in a spectacular dive, roaring while he sailed through the air, "Ye great slab-sided wormgargler, come t'me!"

Vegetation and spray flew everywhere as the big otter hit the water purposely to divert the pike from its prey. Instead of swimming for the babe, Ruff went like lightning at the fish. He shot by the pike like an arrow, swirled and brought his powerful tail crashing against its flat, vicious head. Rearing up out of the water, he threw himself on the predator. They both went down. Brocktree, Dotti and Gurth paddled furiously, taking the log in between the pike and the hogbabe. Gurth hooked the tiny creature's little belt with a digging claw and fished him on board.

The shrews were jumping up and down with excitement, yelling encouragement to Ruff. "Yiiiiihaaaaa! Hold him, big feller, you got the Riverwolf!"

Flashes of otter fur and green-gold scales revolved furiously in the clouded water, then the two broke the surface. Ruff had his paws clamped like a vise about the pike's mouth, holding it tight shut, while harsh wet slaps rang out as the mighty predator battered its tail, fins and body against its captor, struggling to break free and attack him. Ruff used his tail rudder like a club, striking the pike's head madly.

Whack! Smack! Splat! Thwock! Bang!

The pike fell back under Ruff's assault, eyes glazing over, speckled body going limp. Releasing it, the otter practically flew through the water and surged onto the log, blowing water.

"Whooh! That'll put paid to 'is gallop for a while, Dotti, though he'll wake up with a headache like nobeast's business. 'Tweren't easy, though. You ever tried stunnin' a full-growed pike with yore tail?"

Dotti peered behind at her small, round scut. "Er, 'fraid I haven't, old chap. A hare's tail's not exactly built for biffin' pike with, wot!"

The pike must have had a thick skull. Partially recovered, it displayed its savage nature by charging the log. Brocktree thumped it, none too gently, on its snout with his paddle. "Gurcha! Away with you, or I'll really put something on your mind. Be off, sir!"

With an angry swish of its tail, the fish ripped off into the depths, its voracious appetite unsated.

Dropping her paddle for a moment, Dotti rummaged through one of the packs until she found a piece of material which she used as a towel. She handed it to the hogbabe and he draped it around his tiny body, muttering mutinously to himself.

"Gone an' gorall wet now. Kinfounded sh'oo, pushen me inna water. Skikkles didden wanna baff!"

Gurth nudged Dotti as they watched the infant hedgehog. "Yurr, miz, be ee likkle bloke awroight?"

The haremaid could not resist smiling at the disgruntled babe. "Yurr. Ee'm furr rowdled, but ee'll live, oi 'spect, Gurth!"

No sooner did they touch the shore than Ruff was surrounded by shrews clapping him on the back.

"Yore a rough ole beast, matey!"

"You beat the Riverwolf! You showed 'im!"

"Aye, 'e was champion o' these waters till you came along!"

"Lemme shake yore paw, warrior. I'm Log a Log Grenn!"

Ruff shook heartily with the shrew Chieftain. "Pleased t'meet ye, Grenn. Couldn't let the liddle 'un get ate, so I had to tail whop ole Riverwolf."

"Hoho, an' a fine job ye did of it, mate. Come an' take lunch with us. Beach that log an' bring yore friends."

The shrew camp was little more than blankets stretched over branches to form makeshift tents. Introductions were made all around, and Grenn called for food. Brocktree watched in amusement as the shrews argued and fought over who was going to serve Ruff. They squared off at one another, scruffy fur standing up aggressively, pawing their small rapiers and adjusting their multicolored headbands to jaunty angles.

"Oi, back off there, fiddlepaws, I'm servin' mister Ruff!"

"Talk t'me like that, twinjynose, an' I'll serve ye yore teeth on a plate. I'm waitin' on mister Ruff!"

Dotti helped herself to hot shrewbread and a bowl of steaming vegetable stew.

"Touchy lot you've got here, Grenn marm. Are they always like this?"

Log a Log Grenn calmly shrugged off an arguing shrew who had stumbled against her. "Always, long as anybeast can remember. We shrews can't 'elp bein' wot we are, born to argue. I want to thank you an' yore pals for rescuin' Skikkles. We found the liddle tyke wanderin' 'round a while back. Wot a pawful that babe is. I never knew anybeast with such a mind of'n his own, ain't that right, Skikkles?"

The babe in question waved a severe paw under Grenn's nose. "Me name's Skikkles, not Skikkles!"

Dotti attempted to help out by translating, using her talent for accents and dialects. "Oh, I see. Your name's Skiddles!"

The hogbabe scowled darkly, huddling deeper into the towel. "Tchah! Shoopid rabbik. Me name not Skivvies, it Skikkles!"

Dotti tried another alternative. "You say your name's Skittles?"

He smiled patronizingly at her, as if the message had finally got over. "Tha's right. Skikkles!"

"His name's Skittles," Dotti explained to Grenn, "but he's a bit young to pronounce it properly, so he calls himself Skikkles."

Grenn placed a bowl of stew in front of Skittles, who promptly buried his snout in it. "There's one or two things I could call 'im, an' they wouldn't be Skittles. That'n's a right liddle terror!"

Skittles poked his stew-covered nose over the bowl at her. "Me name not jus' Skikkles, y'know. I called Skikkle Bee Spikediggle, tha's me real long name."

Dotti broke shrewbread and dipped it in her stew. "What does the Bee stand for?"

Skittles eyed her ferociously. "The Bee's for Burrtrump, but I pull you ears very 'ard if you tells anybeast!"

Dotti narrowed her eyes and gave Skittles a savage grimace. "If you ever call me rabbit again, or even rabbik, I'll tan your tail bright red, then I'll announce to everybeast that your middle name's Burrtrump. So how d'you feel about that, master Skittles, wot?"

Skittles decided that the haremaid had him over a barrel, and stumped off without another word.

Ruff was the center of attention. The shrew females wiggled their snouts at him in a very flattering manner, while the males served him the best of their food, which together with the shrewbeer they brewed was voted totally delicious by the friendly otter. Young shrews began showing off their prowess to impress him. They fenced and performed tricks with their rapiers, and wrestled, a favorite sport among Log a Log Grenn's tribe.

Dotti and Gurth sat watching them. The haremaid was quite impressed. "I say, well done, chaps. By the left, Gurth, these shrews are jolly good wrestlers, wot?"

The strong mole nodded politely. "They'm furr t'middlin', miz, but moi dad's moles be knowen more about wrasslin' than they 'uns, gurtly more, ho arr!"

Dotti was intrigued. "I don't suppose you wrestle, do you?"

Gurth twiddled his claws, smiling modestly. "Burr aye, miz Dotti, oi be champyun wrassler of ee moles. Oi winned ee gurt sil'er bucklebelt at et, lukk!"

He opened his tunic and showed her the belt he wore beneath. The buckle was of wrought silver, depicting two moles tussling. Gurth's name was etched on it in molescript: Gwrt.

'"Course, oi doan't loik a-showen et off'n to every-beast."

Dotti nudged her molefriend. "You sly old tunneldog. How about givin' me a small demonstration? Go on, pleasetest your skill on those shrews."

Fastening up his tunic, Gurth shrugged and flexed his muscles. "Oi vows oi woan't 'urt 'em, miz."

Standing in the midst of the wrestling shrews, Gurth called out his challenge in a deep bass voice. "Oi be ee choild o' Longladle, borned daown ee darkest deep tunnel! Oi'm farster'n loightnen, 'arder'n ee rocks an' stronger'n moi mum's ale!"

Here he bent and scarred a furrow in the ground with his claw. "Who be's bolden enuff to step o'er ee loine an' wrassle oi?"

Several of the shrews lined up, rubbing their paws in anticipation. Gurth signaled the first one. "You'm lukk a moighty beast, zurr. Step ee oop!"

The shrew charged recklessly. Gurth sidestepped neatly, cuffing him as he hurtled by. The shrew somersaulted once and landed flat on his back, completely winded.

"Hurr, gudd h'effort, zurr. Oi'll take two of ee next."

Two more impetuous shrews flung themselves at him. Gurth did no more than grab their tails, twist and send them crashing head-on into one another. He bowed. "Thankee, gennelbeasts. Ennywunn else troi they'm luck?"

A much bigger, older shrew crossed the line and went into an expert wrestler's crouch, holding his paws ready to grip. Smiling broadly at him, Gurth accepted the grip.

"Yeeowowow! Leggo! Yer breakin' me paws!"

Gurth turned to Dotti, still holding his opponent. "Oi tole ee, miz Dott, they'm gudd, but not gudder'n oi!"

He released the shrew and ambled back to his seat. However, another shrew, bolder than his compatriots, leapt on Gurth's back and locked all four paws around the mole's neck in a submission stranglehold. Gurth reached behind, tweaked the shrew's tail experimentally, then gave it a sharp tug to the right. His opponent fell to the floor, frozen in the same position as when he landed on Gurth's back. Smiling and shaking his head, the champion wrestling mole sat down beside Dotti.

"Hurr hurr hurr. Ee'm wurr a cunnen h'aminal, miz, but goin' agin ee rools. Oi'll let 'im lay thurr awhoile. May'ap 'twill teach 'im ee manner or two."

Dotti gazed adoringly at her molefriend. "I say, you were magnificent! Would you teach me to wrestle like that, Gurth? Please!"

"Burr aye, 'ow cudd oi afuse such an' 'andsome creetur as ee, marm? Usll start a-trainin' this vurry h'evenin'."

Dotti winked at Lord Brocktree. "See, the old fatal beauty always does the trick, sah."

They lingered at the shrew camp until late evening, and finally accepted Grenn's invitation to stay overnight. Even then, Ruff and Gurth had become such firm favorites that the shrews pleaded with them to extend their visit. Dotti liked being with the shrews. She enjoyed their company, and being garrulous and talkative herself, she joined in all the arguments with gusto. Lord Brocktree took quite a bit of convincing that he should take a few days off from his quest, but under the combined persuasive powers of his three friends he yielded gruffly. The Badger Lord would not admit it, but he had become very fond of the hogbabe Skittles and was loath to part from the little fellow. He hid his feelings by pretending that Skittles was an unwanted pest. They wandered the camp together, the tiny hedgehog seated astride the badger's sword hilt, up on his friend's huge shoulders, carrying on lively conversations.

"Get down from there, you wretch. It's like having a big boulder perched on my back, you great lump!"

"You make Skikkles geddown, I choppa your 'ead off wiv dis sword, B'ock!"

"Oh, well, I suppose you'd better stay up there. Keep to the hilt, thoughdon't go near that blade, you nuisance!"

"C'mon, B'ock, gee up, we go lookin' for berries!"

"Great seasons o' famine, will somebeast rid me of this pestilence? What sort of berries d'you want, eh?"

"Nice sweety ones, dat's wot Skikkles like."

Ruff sat with Log a Log Grenn, sampling shrewbeer and chuckling at the antics of Skittles and Brocktree. "Will ye lookit him, marm. Big softie. That liddle 'og has Brock twirled about his paw! Ahoy there, Dotti, have ye wrestled that mole to a standstill yet?"

The haremaid neatly tripped her instructor, so that he fell sitting next to Ruff. Gurth smiled approvingly. "No, zurr, miz Dott bain't winned oi yet, but 'er soon will. She'm a gurt clever wrasslerlurns quicker'n anybeast oi ever h'instructered, burr aye!"

Dotti sat with them, accepting a beaker of dandelion and burdock cordial from Grenn. "Huh, don't listen t'that fat fibber. I'm sore as a peeled onion all over from bein' blinkin' well thrown by him. Still, I am learnin' one or two jolly good wrestlin' wheezesbreakfalls, holds, locks an' whatnot, wot."

Grenn poured cordial for Gurth. "Mayhap you'll need 'em if yore bound t'follow Lord Brock to the mountain by the seas. From what he tells me his dreams are worried. He sees visions of great trouble there."

Dotti sipped her delicious drink, which had been cooling in the stream for a night and a day. "Well, he could be right, marm. Badger Lords ain't like the rest of us. They're fated beasts who see strange things."

The shrew Chieftain was gnawing her lip, staring off into space, when Ruff nudged her. "Go on, Grenn, say it. You wants t'come with us, don't ye?"

She stood up and stretched before answering. "Guosim shrews need somethin' t'do. Look at 'em, cookin', wrestlin', arguin'. Huh, we've been too long in one place now. Nothin' better for shrews than havin' somethin' t'dokeeps them up t'the line. Aye, Ruff, if'n ye'll have us, the Guosim are with you all the way!"

All four clasped paws. Grenn was highly pleased, now that she had made her decision. Gurth twiddled his digging claws politely, asking a question which was puzzling him. "Whoi do ee be called Guosims, marm, furrgive moi h'iggerance?"

Grenn explained proudly about the shrew tradition. "Guosim. Guerrilla Union Of Shrews In Mossflower, that's what the letters of our name stand for. I'm called Log a Log because all shrew Chieftains are. We're rovers, bold waterbeasts and fierce warriors, sworn to uphold good an' defeat evil. All Guosim shrews are bound under oath to help one another in battle."

Gurth winked. "Purty yoosful to 'ave along, oi'd say, marm!"

Lord Brocktree returned, both paws full of small hard pears which he spread on the ground before lifting Skittles down to earth. The badger sighed. "Couldn't find any berries, but the pestilence here came across these wild pears, sweet, but hard as stones. He wouldn't rest until we'd picked some, dreadful rogue!"

Skittles seated himself on the badger's footpaw. "Well, sh'oos be good cookers, they do sumfin wiv 'em."

Grenn picked up a pear and tasted it. "He's right. We've got lots of sweet chestnuts from last autumn. Once these 'ere pears are stewed down the cooks can make some lovely pear'n'chestnut flans."

The hogbabe looked up and winked with both eyes. "See, B'ock, I tol' you. Make nice flangs. Glenn, Skikkle be's 'ungry. I never 'ave a flang, mus' be nice!"

Dotti took the hogbabe's paw.

"Come on then, famine face, gather 'em up an' we'll go an' lend a paw with the shrewcooks."

When Brocktree heard the news that the Guosim were joining them, he was overjoyed, though he changed his plans on the spot. "Right, no more lying around here. I vote that we break camp in the morning and get under way!"

Ruff objected. "Ahoy there, Brock, hold yer paddles, matey. There's me, Gurth, Dotti, Grenn an' about a hunnerd shrews. If'n we wants to lie 'round for a day or two then you'll find yore prob'ly outvoted!"

Lord Brocktree's eyes told the otter that he was not about to have his decision overruled. Swinging forth his battle blade, he stuck it quivering into the ground. "Let's be reasonable about this, friend. Let me explain the rules. One Badger Lord carries two hundred votes and his sword carries another hundred. Agreed?"

Ruff looked from the sword to the badger. Sunlight gleamed from the blade, lighting Brocktree's eyes with a formidable gleam. He smiled nervously at his huge friend. "Reason, that's wot I likes, mate. Vote carried. We go after brekkist tomorrer!"

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Book Two

At the Court of King Bucko also entitled The Tribulations of a Haremaid

Chapter 15

Fleetscut's wild yells wakened the squirrels. Jukka rubbed irately at her eyes as she approached the dancing hare, Ruro hurrying to join her. Jukka loaded a stone into her sling.

"Methinks the time has come to silence that longeared windbag!"

Ruro placed a restraining paw on her leader's shoulder. "Mayhap he is more to be pitied than punished, Jukka. I think his mind has snapped, crazed from the hunger. Fleetscut, wouldst thou not like to lie down an' rest, old friend? I'll pick some roots for thee to nibble upon, eh?"

But the old hare continued to prance about and shout. "Nibble roots? D'you think I've gone off me bally rocker? Look, there 'tis! Plain as the washin' on me granny's line!"

Ruro stared out into the dawn light. Ahead, to the northeast, lay forestlands. "Oh, I see, 'tis the trees. Well, that be a welcome sight."

Fleetscut bounced up and down with impatience. "Not the trees, you benighted bushtailed buffoon, the sign, as it says in the confounded poem. 'March on through two moons and suns, my sign you'll see, I think!' Well, there 'tis, the sign. Your young eyes are better'n mineyou should be able to distinguish it. Huh, I'm nearly blind from the starvation, blinkin' Unvittled Eyeshrink I think they call it. But I can see the sign!"

Jukka interrupted Fleetscut's wild tirade. "Then cease actin' like a drunken toad and point it out!"

The old hare calmed somewhat at the sight of the loaded sling. "Right, pay 'tention there, follow the line of me paw, wot. Now, d'ye see those two tall silver firs yonder, eh? Notice anythin' about 'em, wot? They've had most of the lower boughs chopped away and a thin dead trunk placed high on two notches atween 'em!"

Jukka nodded. "Aye, 'tis true, I see them."

Fleetscut smote his forehead with a paw. "Thank me grandpa's whiskers for that! So, marm, does that cross-piece not look t'ye as if it's been purposely placed there? Use your noggin, squirrelthat's a letter H. It stands for Hare. H is for blinkinflippinbloomin' Hare. D'ye catch my drift at last, wot?"

Jukka commented dryly, "Well done, hare, thou canst spell the name of thine own species. Ruro, break camp. We'll make for yonder sign straightaway."

Fleetscut followed them, muttering, "Good job the chap wasn't a squirrel. How in the name o' fur would he bend trees into an S shape, eh? Stiffen me, but I think the old turn's finally glued itself t'me backbone. Hope I make it there before I perish an' shrivel up, wot!"

Fortunately the old hare did not perish, nor shrivel up, and they marched into the tree shade by midmorn. Grood stared up at the giant H sign. "Gorrokah! How did anybeast get that splitten flitten gurgletwip up so high?"

Jukka cuffed his ears soundly. "Language, Grood!"

Fleetscut found some young dandelions and devoured them. He came across some wild ramsons, tasting strongly of garlic. He devoured them, too, and continued his foraging, stumbling over the footpaws of squirrels resting in the treeshade.

"I say, you chaps, move your carcasses. Stoppin' a poor beast gettin' at nature's bounty. Bounders!"

They averted their faces from his breath, disgusted.

"Whooh! Get thee gone, longears. Thou smellest like a midsummer midden at high noon. Ugh!"

Fleetscut discovered some basil thyme and stuffed it down. "Confounded sissies. Try sniffin' yourselves after a couple o' days' marchin' without a wash betwixt ye. What a pong! Hello, here's luck, a couple of lamb's lettuce, yummy!"

He ate them, flowers and all. Plus some harebells, sweet violets, chicory and butterwort. The greedy old hare then went on to strip a small apple tree. He returned to Jukka's tribe about early noon, and found them recuperating their strength by dozing in the pleasant green shade. Fleetscut stuffed down apples as if it were his last day on earth, sour juice foaming out over his whiskers.

"Grmmff, shlick, shloop! Caught you nappin', eh? Well, no hard feelin's, you miserable bunch o' cads, I could do with a spot of the old shuteye meself, wot wot!"

Spitting pips and stalks, he lay down and instantly fell into a deep slumber.

Afternoon shadows were beginning to lengthen when Jukka stirred. She shook Ruro and Beddle. "Best make a move before eventide. Which way now?"

Ruro retrieved the parchment of bark scroll, which was hanging from Fleetscut's tunic. "It says here: 'Discover then a streamwolf's ford, tug thrice upon the royal cord.' Where wouldst thou suppose that to be?"

Jukka judged by the sunshadows. "Nor'east has served us well thus far; we'll continue that way. Beddle, get them up on their paws. A ford means fresh water, that's good." None too gently, she turned and roused the old hare with a few kicks of her footpaw. "Waken thyself, windbag, or we leave ye here!"

Fleetscut came awake, doubled up with agonizing stomach cramps, which he let everybeast know about with long piteous wailing.

"Owowowowowooooow! Out! Umh! I knew I'd die. We made these woodlands too late, you chaps! Owowowooch! Your old pal's a goner. Bury me here, please, quick as y'can. Ooooooh! Anti-Trampin' Plague, that's what 'tis. Oooooh!"

Obligingly several squirrels began kicking leaf loam over the suffering hare. He sprang up, spitting out leaves. "Gerroff, you rotters. What d'ye think you're up to?"

"Thou asked us to bury thee. We would not deny thee that."

"Aye, longears, th'art green in the gills. Methinks th'art close to Dark Forest gates!"

Fleetscut picked wet brown leaves from between his ears. "Dark Forest gates indeed! Ouchouchooch! Oh, me poor belly!"

Ruro grinned and squeezed her friend's shoulders pityingly. "Couldn't have been anything that thou ate, of course?"

Fleetscut straightened up indignantly, then immediately folded over again, hugging his stomach. "Might have been a blighted worm in one of those apples!"

Beddle winked at Ruro. "Oh, pray tell, sir, which one? Thou great fodderbag, thee ate a whole treeful, every one of them sour. 'Twould have slain any other beast!"

Jukka leaned on her broad-bladed spear impatiently. "Ruro, do something for the bladder-headed oaf, or methinks he'll wail on until the crack o' doom."

Fleetscut sat back against a sycamore, holding his distended stomach with both paws. He shut his eyes and mouth firmly, but not before remarking pointedly, "Madam, I'm not eatin' that mishmash. Are you tryin' to hasten me flippin' demise, wot?"

Each of the squirrels had gleefully contributed a trickle of their water. Ruro had a small fire going, over which she was boiling hound's-tongue leaves, milkwort, green alkanet blossoms and two sulfur tuft mushrooms in an old iron war helmet. The smell this concoction produced when she mashed it was horrendous. Jukka nodded to Beddle and Grood as Ruro removed the helmet from the flames.

"Take hold of the blockhead and grip him tight. Ruro, make him take it all!"

Beddle and Grood held Fleetscut's head, while other squirrels piled on and sat on his limbs. Beddle pinched the old hare's nostrils so that he could not breathe. The patient held out until he seemed fit to burst, then opened his mouth wide. "Assassins! Hare-murderers! Wharooop!"

Ruro poured the offensive mixture down Fleetscut's throat like a ministering angel, while Jukka looked on in grim satisfaction. Fleetscut bucked and writhed, to no avail. Ruro managed to get the last of it down his mouth, and sprang to one side as the hare began shuddering all over.

"Let him go. Stand back, everybeast!"

Fleetscut leapt up like a startled fawn, scut twitching, ears erect, eyes popping wide, jaws quivering. He shot off among the trees like a shaft from a bow.

"Foul toads! Pollywoggles! Great barrel-bummed poisoners! Wharrroooogggghhhh! Bluuuuuurgh!"

Moments later he lolloped back, rather unsteadily, with a wan smile pasted on his drooping features.

"Never killed me, did you, smartytails, wot!"

A stern voice boomed from the edge of the camp. "Belaaay, put one paw near the rabbit an' we'll drop you all where y'stand!"

A single-bladed hatchet thudded into the ground between Fleetscut and Jukka. Instantly, the woodland was thick with hedgehogs. The squirrels were surrounded. The hog leader, a massive creature, made twice as big by the grass and leaves stuck to his quills as camouflage, strutted past Jukka and retrieved his hatchet. In the other paw he carried a shield of toughened beech bark, studded with shells. Staring fiercely at the squirrels, he puffed himself out, cheeks, stomach and chest.

"Bushytailed mice, eh! Well, lissen, bullies, I wouldn't stand to see an 'og treated in that way, tortured an' poisinged, nor a rabbit, neither ..."

Fleetscut tapped his quills politely. "Er, 'scuse me, old lad, but I'm a hare an' they were"

Rounding on him, the big hedgehog roared, "Who asked you, eh? Don't dare interrupt when Baron Drucco Spikediggle has the floor, or you'll get yourself chopped up into frogmeat, you will!"

Fleetscut pawed away the hatchet hovering under his nose. "Beg pardon, but don't waggle that thing at me, I'm still feelin' a bit frail, doncha know. I was merely explain"

Baron Drucco went into a fury then, raising his hatchet and shouting in a voice which caused the leaves sticking round his mouth to blow away. "Belaaay that gab, rabbit! I won't stand it from my 'ogs, an' I won't take it from you. If I whack your 'ead off, that'll cure you of talkin'. Wot d'you think, Rabble?"

The other hedgehogs began banging their hatchets against their shields, each vying to shout louder than the rest.

"Hohoh, that's the stuff, baron!"

"Chop that rabbit's 'ead off!"

"That'd stop 'is chatter, baron!"

"Does yer 'onor want us t'chop these bushmice up, too?"

A small wiry female hogwife pushed her way through. Grabbing the baron's hatchet from his paw, she brandished it expertly, clipping the tip off one of his head-spikes. Her voice was almost a shriek, high and shrill.

"Yer blatherin' big pincushion, pin yer ears back an' lissen t'wot the rabbit's tryin' to tell yer."

The baron deflated totally. Picking up the tip of his headspike, he chewed on it like a toothpick. "Mirklewort, yer showin' me up in front of me own rabble." He ducked as she swung the hatchet again.

"Show yer up? Every time you open that great trap o' yourn you show yerself up, breezebarrel!" Then, turning quickly aside, she whispered to Fleetscut, "You 'ave yer say now. Shout out loud, mind. That's all this rabble pays 'eed to, beasts wot kin shouteven rabbits!"

Fleetscut yelled at the top of his voice, and to his surprise the hedgehog rabble went silent and listened.

"I'm a hare, d'ye hear, a bally hare! These squirrels are my friends! They weren't harmin' me, just helpin' me through a serious illness, that's all! No need to go choppin' anybeast up 'round here, chaps, wot! Wot wot!"

Determined to shout louder than Fleetscut, the baron hollered at a volume that hurt the hare's ears, "Well, why didn't yer say so at first, instead o' causin' all this trouble an' strife, eh?"

The baron's wife, Mirklewort, swung the hatchet once more, clipping off another of his headspikes. "Because yer never gave 'im a wifflin' chance to, antbrain!"

Sulkily the baron picked up the headspike tip and stuck it in his mouth, next to the first one. Mirklewort pulled them out and stamped on them.

"Will yew stop that, Drucco? Yll 'ave eaten yerself up one day, carryin' on like that! Ask these creatures if they'd like some blackcurrant an' plum crumble. Go on, snitnose!"

Baron Drucco's offer was readily accepted by Fleetscut and the squirrels. While the latter trooped after Drucco to the hogden, the old hare, well aware of where the ruling power in the tribe lay, made a wobbly though elegant leg to Mirklewort, offering his paw.

"Allow me to escort you, marm. A pretty hogwife should never jolly well walk alone, wot!"

She accepted. "Well well, ain't this grand? That 'usband o' mine wouldn't give yer a push off a rock!"

Baron Drucco's tribe were known as the Rabble. They lived in rabble conditions, even though their camp was nought but a temporary one. However, neither Jukka nor Fleetscut could pretend that Rabble blackcurrant and plum crumble was anything other than first class. The guests seated themselves on a rotten elm trunk and dug into sizable bowls of the stuff, steaming hot and covered in sweet maple sauce.

"Yew'll 'ave ter forgive us," Mirklewort remarked casually. "The camp's a bit untidy. Of course, it ain't wot we're used to, is it, Drucco?"

The baron licked white sauce from his snout and sniffed. "I should wifflin' well 'ope not. Still, wot's a liddle untidiness atwixt friends, eh, that's wot I alius say."

Jukka shifted to accommodate a beetle grubbing its way out of the rotten log they were seated on. "A little untidiness indeed," she murmured low to Fleetscut. "Methinks the place looks like a battlefield in the midst of a midden!"

The area was littered with chopped-off headspikes, broken bowls, fruit and vegetable skins and other debris, far too dreadful to mention. Fleetscut coughed politely and made conversation, lest anybeast had heard Jukka's remarks.

"Ahem, I take it that you don't live hereabouts then, marm?"

Mirklewort wiped spilled crumble from her lap with a withered dock leaf, which she then devoured. "Ho graciousness no, we're only up 'ere lookin' for our babe, liddle Skittles. The wifflin' wanderin' wogglespikeer, haha, I mean the darlin' h'infant 'ogwent an' got 'isself losted. We've seen neither nose nor spike of 'im for a frog's age. Oh, I do 'ope 'e ain't been consoled by vermins."

Baron Drucco looked up in the midst of stealing a dozing compatriot's bowl of crumble. "Don't yew mean consorted?"

Fleetscut chipped in, making sure his tone was loud enough. "I think the word you're lookin' for is consumed, chaps. Actually, we met up with two hedgehog types, Grassum and Reedum they called themselves, couple o' days back. They found your babe an' adopted him, but the little tyke escaped from them and wandered off again, wot. We're keepin' a weather eye out for your Skittles, though. Some goodbeast should find him sooner or later. Don't you jolly well fret, folks."

Baron Drucco succeeded in filching the bowl of crumble from his rabblemate, placing his empty bowl in the hedgehog's paws and digging into the fresh one. "Aye, long as 'e don't get consecuted by vermins, wifflin' liddle nuisance. Oh, did I tell ye, one o' the reasons I wanted to come up this way was to enter the contest. Hah, I 'spect that's why yore wanderin' this neck o' country, too, eh?"

The old hare put aside his bowl. It was grabbed by a rabblehog who began licking the inside of it thoroughly.

"Contest, what contest, baron? First I've heard of it."

Baron Drucco cuffed the sleeping hedgehog alongside him into wakefulness. "Wot, eh, wossamarrer?" the rabblehog spluttered. "Oi, somebeast's etted me pudden!"

The baron cuffed him another few buffets. "It's etten, not etted, swillbrain! Never mind that. Gimme that contest thing you found."

The hedgehog searched his spikes, ruminating aloud, "Where'd I putten it? Sorryputted it. Aha, 'ere 'tis!"

An extremely grimy birchbark strip was thrust into the hare's paw. He opened it gingerly. Wiping off remnants of bygone meals and a few unidentified smears, Fleetscut read aloud:

"Come mother, father, daughter, son,

My challenge stands to anybeast!

I'll take on all, or just the one,

Whether at the fight or feast!

Aye, try to beat me an' defeat me,

Set 'em up, I'll knock 'em down!

Just try to outbrag me, you'll see,

King Bucko Bigbones wears the crown!"

Jukka the Sling raised her eyebrows at the old hare. "Methinks Bigbones has a fine opinion of himself, an' that's the hare thou art going up against. Well, good luck to thee. Yon fellow must have the might to back up his challenge."

Mirklewort poked a grimy paw at Fleetscut. "Hah, so y'are goin' to take up the challenge, eh! Don't yer think yore a bit long in tooth an' seasons?"

Fleetscut patted the top of his grey head and then his chest. "Marm, there may be winter on the mountain, but there's spring at its heart. I must accept the challenge if I'm to raise an army to take Salamandastron, for we need this Buckowotsit and his followers on our side. So I'll search old Bigchops out an' throw down the bally gauntlet, wot!"

Drucco raised his dripping spikes from the pudding bowl. "Aye, me, too. I'll take a wiffle at it!"

"But you can't, sah," Fleetscut objected. "You're a blinkin' baron of hogs. How can y'be a king of hares, wot?"

Drucco shrugged and collared another bowlful from a smaller rabblehog. "Huh, 'ares or 'ogs, all the same t'me. I knows 'ow t'be boss an' put me paw down firm. 'Ard but fair, that's me!" He emphasized the point by draining the tankard belonging to the hedgehog on his left, rubbing his stomach and belching aloud. "Ah, that's betterer! Wot d'yer say we join forces an' seek this King Bucko out together, eh? We ain't got a clue where t'find 'im. Wot about you, cully?"

Without consulting Jukka, Fleetscut drew out the poem he was carrying. "Right y'are, baron, we'll go together. Safety in numbers, wot. Listen t'these directions. 'Discover then a streamwolf's ford, rug thrice upon the royal cord, then my honor guard will bring, loyal subjects to their king!' Does that make any sense to you, old chap?"

Drucco scratched his stubby headspikes reflectively. "Aye, it's poetry, ain't it? All those funny words put t'gether like a song, but y'speak 'em, 'stead o' singin'. That's the answer, it's poetry!"

He sat back, looking quite pleased with himself, until his wiry little wife gave him a shove, which sent him sprawling on his backspikes.

"Pay no 'eed t'that nincompoke," Mirklewort snorted. "A stone's got more brains than 'im. I think I might know where 'tis. 'Round 'ere they calls all the pikefishes stream-wolf. Two of our scouts found a place coupla days back. A shallow crossin' just afore the stream breaks inter the river. That's a ford, ain't it?"

Jukka picked up her short spear. "Canst thou take us there, hogwife?"

Ignoring her husband's struggles to get up off his back, Mirklewort bawled at the rabblehogs, "Belaaaay! Break camp, 'ogs. Barleyburr, Shunko, take us t'that place you scouted out, if'n yer can unmember where it was. Stir yer spikes or we'll leave yer behind, Drucco!"

The combined forces cut into a winding path, which took them into what seemed a dim maze of thick ancient trees. Apart from the odd sunshaft breaking through the foliage, it was silent, still and clothed in a soft green radiance. Jukka and Fleetscut marched together at the rear. The squirrel was highly displeased with the old hare's tactics and told him so in no uncertain manner.

'"Twould have been fitting had thou asked me about joining my tribe up with these spiked, ill-mannered vagabonds. Rabble they be named and rabble they areI like them not. An' who gave thee authority to decide whither we go, eh? Thou art no better than them, long-ears, treating us in such fashion, after we came all this way with thee!"

Fleetscut's dislike of Jukka still persisted. Moreover, he was feeling better now, full of crumble and ready for an argument.

"Well pish tush, me old bushtail, y'know what we always say at Salamandastron? If you don't like it, then y'can jolly well lump it. So there! Come all this way with me, indeed! I never asked you to, marm. You an' your squirrels can go sling your hooks, wot! Aye, go on, back t'your safe little pine grove. Though it'll probably be swarmin' with all kinds o' bottle-nosed blue-bottomed vermin by now. Huh, I could say I wish you good luck, but I blinkin' well don't!"

The squirrel leader bared her teeth viciously. "I don't need thy good-luck wishes, old 'un. Ye branded me cowardI'll show ye I'm not, nor my warriors. We're with thee to the last step o' this journey, end where it may!"

Fleetscut curled his lip in contempt. "Oh aye, you're with me all the way. For vengeance, no! For honor, hah, what would you know about honor? Jukka the famous Sling. Tchah! To see what weapons an' plunder y'can get your paws on, that's why you're with me, lady. An' you call these hedgehogs ill-mannered vagabonds? Let me tell you, treewalloper, you're no better'n them. Matter o' fact, they're more honest about it than you, wot!"

Glaring and snorting at one another, the two continued without further words.

Chapter 16

Lord Stonepaw had been watching the passage outside the cavern for sight or sound of foebeasts. Both he and Stiffener were taking turns on sentry, but there had been little to report in the last several hours. The Badger Lord arrived back in the cavern to find his hares grouped around old Bramwil, urging him to recall something.

"C'mon, old chap, you say it's called Littlebob Hare, eh?"

"Now think carefully, how did it go?"

Bramwil was very old and confused. He looked pleadingly at the faces around him. "Eh, wot, surely y'can recall it yourselves?"

This announcement was followed by snorts of impatience.

"Twas before our time. Nurse Willoway was long gone then!"

Stonepaw joined them. Placing a paw around Bramwil's skinny old shoulders, he silenced the rest. "Calm down now, friends. What's going on here?"

"Bramwil thinks he knows a way out, sah!"

"But the old buffer's gone an' forgotten the bally thing!"

Stonepaw raised his eyebrows reprovingly at the speaker. "A hare can forget lots of things when he reaches the winter seasons, you should know that. Look at us we're no bunch of spring chicks anymore. I'm older than you all. Don't pick on Bramwil. He can't help it, can you, old lad?"

Bramwil pounded a feeble paw against his grey head, ""lis in there, sire, the old skiprope rhyme that Nurse Willoway used to teach young leverets. But alas, it was so long ago I can't remember it. Though I'm sure it was called Littlebob Hare, or somethin' like that... hmmm!"

Stonepaw scratched his stripes pensively. "I was here in Nurse Willoway's time. She was a stern creature. I'll never forget those herbal tonics and physics Willoway brewed up for the young 'uns. What a smell! Glad I never had to take 'em. Wait! Littlebob Hare? I recall that'twas the one little haremaids used to chant when I swung the rope for them to skip. I'll tell you what, old friend. You and I will sit down someplace quiet together with a bite of cheese and some ale. We'll work it out together, and Blench can write it down as we remember it. Right, Stiffener, your turn for sentry go. Blench, get some charcoal from the fire and a flat piece of stone; the rest of you, take a nap and stay clear of Bramwil and me!"

Torleep put his ear to the barred oak door of the cell where he and the other captives had been locked. He listened carefully, trying to distinguish the voices he could hear coming from somewhere beyond, but he was distracted by a fat, hungry old hare behind him called Woebee, bewailing the fact that she was short of food, as someor mosthares will. Torleep tried ignoring her, an impossible feat.

"Bit of a frost that was, Sailears old gel. If you an' Torleep hadn't cheeked the Trunn beast we might've had a morsel between us to keep fur'n'ears together. My word, I can't ever recall starvin' like this. I'm gettin' pains in me tummy. What time is it? Just past noon, wot. I'd normally be sittin' down to me post-luncheon snack now. Rosepetal an' maple wafers, scones with strawberry preserve an' meadowcream, with a nice pot o' mint an' comfrey tea. Now we haven't got a crust or a confounded swig o' water 'twixt the lot of us. How long'll we have t'put up with this state of affairs? Starvin's no fun!"

Torleep let the crystal monocle drop from his eye. His temper was fraying dangerously listening to Woebee's endless monologueshe seemed to go on and on and on. Normally polite, he rounded on her brusquely. "I say, marm, d'you mind givin' the old jaws a blinkin' rest, wot? Confound it all, we could be a lot worse off!"

Woebee sniffed indignantly. "Indeed, sah? A lot worse off, y'say? Pray how?"

Torleep pointed stiffly down with his paw. "Well, for a start, we could have been locked up in the cellars, in the flippin' dark! Granted we've got no food, but at least we can see daylight!" He gestured to the round hole which formed a window.

Sailears nodded her agreement. "Lovely view of the sea from up here, wot. S'pose Trunn thought that if they'd locked us up in the cellars Lord Stonepaw an' the others may've broken us out."

Woebee poked her head out of the window hole. The cell was really high up on the mountain. Down below, the beach looked like a mere yellow ribbon, beyond which the great sea stretched until it was lost in a blue haze. "Maybe we'd have been better off down below. There's absolutely no escape from this high-up place. I say, Torleep, I can hear those voices you mentioned clearer from here."

Hurrying to the window, Torleep confirmed her observation. "Stap me, you're right, marm. Now I beg you, please be silent while I eavesdrop. May hear somethin' jolly important!"

Two of Ungatt Trunn's horde captains were holding a conversation in the chamber below the cell. Well out of Ungatt Trunn's hearing, Roag the weasel and Mirefleck the rat were discussing the Hordes' position.

"Our soldiers'll take a lot o' feedin', Roag, mark my words."

"The Great One ain't no fool, he knows that. Tomorrow the fleet's puttin' out to sea for fishin'. There's a couple o' patrols goin' to forage the cliffs an' dunes for birds' eggs!"

"Wastin' their time. No birds or eggs out therewe killed off the seabirds out at sea, afore we got here, an' the rest flew off. I still don't see where all the vittles will come from."

"Oh, they'll find somethin' sooner or later, I s'pose. Bet we get sent with our troops on an inland forage. Meanwhile, it ain't too bad for the likes of uswe get to live off'n the stripedog's larders for a while. Good vittles, eh?"

"Aye, that they are. Come on, we'd better get downstairs. The Mighty One's still carryin' on about the stripedog an' his followers hidin' in the cellar caves. I'd hate t'be them when they're captured. You know what Trunn's likethey'll die long'n'slow."

"I 'eard the Mighty One's starvin' this lot up above so that sooner or later one of 'em'll break an' tell where the stripedog's hid 'imself."

"I've 'eard that, too, but suppose they don't tell an' he finds the stripedog an' those others? What d'you think he'll do with this lot in the cell above?"

"Oh, they won't be no use anymore. Long'n'slow, that'll be their fate, long'n'slow . .."

In the cell above, every hare had heard the conversation. When the captains had gone, there was a deadly silence among the prisoners. Woebee could not prevent a sob escaping her lips.

Torleep patted her ears. "Don't fret, marm, they won't catch Lord Stonepaw. He's a lot cleverer than those rotten vermin give him credit for."

Sailears stared out of the high window longingly. "I just wish there was somethin' we could jolly well do to escape this place. Nothin' worse than sittin' 'round just waitin', wot!"

Captains Mirefleck and Roag were passing the wildcat's chamber when the door opened and Ungatt Trunn emerged with Fragorl at his heels. Both captains halted and saluted smartly.

Their leader nodded. "Ah, I was just about to send for you. Listen now, I want you to take your troopsall your troopsdown to the bottom caves. Flood those caves and passages with Hordebeasts. Show those other idiots down there how to snare an old stripedog and a few hares. I want them taken at any cost. Don't fail me!"

Mirefleck and Roag saluted stiffly and marched off, shouting orders to their column leaders. Ungatt Trunn addressed the silent Fragorl.

"I've got a small task for you, too. Take whom you like and find me some new spiders. There must be lots in this cave-riddled mountain and the rocks outside. Bring them to me in the stripedog's chamberthey can build webs there and redecorate it for me. Treat them carefully when you find them."

"I live only to serve your word, Mightiness!" The Grand Fragorl glided soundlessly off.

Old Bramwil was blinking drowsily by the time they had pieced together the skipping rhyme. Stonepaw was tired, too. He stifled a yawn. "Well, I hope we haven't forgotten anything. Read it out, Blench."

The cook read aloud from her neat lines of script, soon picking up the skiprope chant, which little hares had called out long ago as they held their smocks and skipped.

"Down in the cellars where nobeast goes,

Littlebob Hare went runnin',

He ran an' ran an' followed his nose,

Where rocks never let the sun in.

He got very tired an' sat by a pool,

Then found out to his cost, sir,

That he was nought but a silly fool,

Who'd gotten himself lost there.

'Oh woe is me,' cried Littlebob,

"Tis dark an' so unsightly,

I must find some way out o' here,

To where the sun shines brightly.'

So he climbed up to the coiling snake,

All damp an' slippy-feeling,

An' found beyond the big plum cake,

A hole right through the ceiling.

He went up through an' chased the blue,

An' made it home for tea, sir,

He beat the tide an' spinies, too,

But his mamma tanned his tailfur!"

In the silence which followed, Stonepaw turned to his hares. "Well, let's see if we can make it home for tea, friendsor out of here at least!"

Trobee scratched between his ears. "Beg pardon, sah, but are you sure you got it right?"

"As far as I can recall we did, right, Bramwil?"

The ancient hare did not reply to the Badger Lord; he had drifted off to sleep. Blench gave her opinion. "H'it looks fine t'me, sire. Most of it's just a leverets' story, 'bout a liddle feller gettin' hisself lost down 'ere. 'Tis the last eight lines is wot we want, from that bit about the coilin' snake. Right?"

Trobee was still a bit bewildered by it all. "Where in the name o' salad do we find a climbin' snake, wot?"

A hare called Willip corrected him. "Not a climbin' snake, 'twas a coilin' snake. It says Littlebob climbed up to it. Up there!" She pointed up at the cave ceiling.

Like stargazers, the badger and his hares wandered about the cavern, heads thrown back, staring at the stalactite formations.

"Oops, got a drop o' water in me eye!"

"Watch where y'going, old chap. Go an' bump into some otherbeastyou've near knocked me over twice now, wot!"

"Stop right where y'are, Trobee, or you'll walk straight into that pool!"

"Oh, I say, haha, one of those thingies hangin' down looks just like old Purlow with a great long nose. Hahaha!"

"Huh! Well, at least I've got a decent nose, not like that apple pip stuck on the end of your muzzle. Tchah!"

"Ahaaah! There 'tis, I see it! There 'tis! . . ." Splash!

The Badger Lord's huge paws scooped a dripping Trobee up from the pool. "Where? Point it out, quickly!"

Dancing to and fro, shaking freezing water from his fur, Trobee tried to resight the coiling snake.

"Er ... er ... where was I? Oh, confound it, I've lost the bloomin' thing now. Dearie me, there's only one thing for it. Get ready to fish me out again, sah. Here goes ..."

Trobee flung himself in the air, and an instant before he hit the pool his paw shot out. "There!"

Stonepaw marked the spot in a flash. Unable to stop himself laughing, he hauled Trobee out of the water again. "Hohoho! Good old Trobee. Not only impressions of a bird an' a fish, but you did find it, over there in the far corner! Don't check it again, though. That pool looks to me as if it might go down forever, and I might not manage to catch you next time!"

Bramwil doddered forward, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Not like you t'be takin' a bath before summer, Trobee. What's goin' on here, sah?"

Above the rock ledges in the cavern's dark-shadowed corner the stalactite hung, formed by water dripping for countless ages and leaving minuscule limestone deposits which added gradually to its length. At some point in time the water took a different course, threading its way around the main column and forming into a type of embossed spiral winding about the stalactite: an unmistakable representation of a coiling snake.

Stiffener, being the most agile, was brought in from sentry duty and replaced by Pur low. The boxing hare weighed up the route, shaking his head doubtfully.

"Those ledges look much too slippery for our hares t'climb, sah. Did we bring any rope with us?"

Stonepaw looked crestfallen. "We haven't any rope at all."

"Then use bowstrings'n'belts, you puddens!" Old Bramwil waved an apologetic paw. "Didn't mean t'call you a pudden, sah. Beg y'pardon."

The Badger Lord chuckled. "You can call me what you like as long as you come up with ideas like that, my old friend. Belts'n'bowstrings, eh? Right!"

Cord girdles, woven belts and tough bowstrings were soon lashed together into an awkward but serviceable rope. Stiffener coiled it about his shoulders, spat on his paws and clambered onto the first ledge. It was worn smooth, wet and slick with trickling water.

Willip scraped up a bit of damp sand from the stones at the pool edge, molded it into a ball and tossed it up to Stiffener. "Here, catch! Rub this on your paws'twill help."

The grit did the trick. Up Stiffener went, clinging like a fly to the slippery rock ledges, with his friends below calling out advice to him.

"Pin y'self flat against the wall an' reach up for that bit stickin' out above."

"Move y'paws left a touch, Stiff ... bit more . . . that's it!"

"Now lie flat on y'tummy an' wriggle along!"

"See that crevice? Wedge into it an' climb up there!"

Gradually, bit by painstaking bit the boxing hare made his way upward until he reached the stalactite they were certain was the coiling snake. Leaning out from the ledge, he took hold of it, inspecting the dark ceiling above. Bramwil called up to him. "D'you see the big plum cake? That's what the rhyme says you want t'look for. Any sign?"

Stiffener arched his neck back, searching. "Sire, can you move one o' those big lanterns this way?"

Stonepaw shifted a lantern directly beneath the hare.

"So there y'are, me beauty! I found it, mates," Stiffener called. "Be back down in a tick. Stan' clear, now!"

The makeshift rope unraveled, its end hitting the floor. Stiffener came down it paw over paw in a manner that would have done credit to any squirrel. He landed lightly.

"Up there, just right o' that coilin' snake thing, there's the fat, wide end of a stalactite which must've snapped off. Looks jus' like a big ole plum cake, though not as good as the ones you bake, Blench marm. T'other side of it is a hole, goes straight through the ceilin', sah. Any'ow, I swung across there an' tied the rope 'round a liddle nub o' rock, inside the hole, so we can all climb up there. I reckon the holespace might be wide enough to take a beast yore size, sah."

Lord Stonepaw hugged Stiffener fondly. "Splendid work, Stiffener. You're a real corker!"

Bramwil was the first to go, with Stiffener right behind him, lest the old fellow got into difficulties. Surprisingly he did quite well, though at one or two points Stiffener had to get his head and shoulders beneath Bramwil and push. Heaving the ancient hare through the hole, Stiffener started back down again.

Stonepaw noticed the boxing hare was beginning to breathe heavily. "You won't last out, clambering up and down that rope all the time. We'll have to think of an easier way."

Stiffener squatted until his breathing eased. "Yore right, sah, I ain't gittin' any younger. I got an idea though. Let's get two of our strongest up there with me, say, Purlow an' Trobee. The three of us can stay up in the hole, run a fixed noose into the rope an' hoist the rest up one by one. Wot d'ye think, sah?"

Stonepaw agreed readily. "An excellent idea! Trobee, up y'go, friend. Purlow ... Purlow?"

A worried frown flashed across the badger's face and he hurried to the concealed entrance, picking up a torch as he went. There was no sign of Purlow standing sentry in the narrow rift. Stonepaw heard yelling and clattering from outside. Forcing his great bulk through the crack, the Badger Lord pushed out into the passage and followed the sounds.

Around the first bend, Purlow was being set upon by six or more vermin. He fell with two on top of him, the rest scrabbling to get at him. Stonepaw came hurtling into the fray, laying about him with the blazing torch.

"Eulaliaaaa!"

Ripping the two Hordebeasts off Purlow, the Badger Lord dispatched both by smashing them head-on against the rock walls of the passage. Taking to their heels, the others fled, running wildly for their lives. Stonepaw pulled Purlow upright and retrieved his torch. "Are you badly hurt, my friend?"

Though blood ran from Purlow's jaw and back, he shook his head. "I'll be all right, sah, but they've found our cave! 'Twas my mistake to step out into the passage holding a torch. I heard sounds, y'see, and walked right into the vermin like a fool!"

The badger threw a paw about Purlow to steady him. "Come on, we'll soon have you up through the hole and out!"

But even as he found the cavern entrance, Stonepaw could hear the din of many vermin charging along the underground tunnels toward the secret cave that was no longer a secret.

Chapter 17

Surrounded by a virtual flotilla of shrew logboats, which were a bit more sophisticated than Ruff's simple treetrunk, having been hollowed out and crossbenched, Dotti and Gurth sat for'ard on their elm log, digging their paddles deep and calling out the pace in true Guosim fashion along with Log a Log Grenn's shrews. Dotti liked the shrews, aware of a real sense of comradeship in their company. The vessels sped downstream together with a big shrew called Kubba calling the stroke in his fine bass voice.

Taking his orders from Grenn, he bellowed out, "Ahoy, Guosim, we ain't stoppin' 'til we join the river, so let's git our guests there good'n'fast. The stream's a-runnin' well an' we'll camp near the river fork. So bend yore backs, an' let's show our friends how Guosim shrews do it. Right, take y'stroke from me. One ... two ... waylaheykoom!"

Everybeast bent to the paddles, roaring back at Kubba, "Shrumm! Shrumm!"

Kubba called the stroke on every third beat: "Waylaheykoom!"

Dotti and her friends joined the Guosim's answer: "Shrumm! Shrumm!"

"Oh the river is deep an' swift an' wide."

"Waylaheykoom!"

"An' there's my matey at my side!"

"Shrumm! Shrumm!"

"With the sunlight beamin' through the trees."

"Waylaheykoom!"

"We'll all remember days like these."

"Shrumm! Shrumm!"

"Oh oh waylaheykoom shrumm shrumm shrew, I won't forget a friend like you!"

Brocktree and Ruff cheered when the Guosim quickened the pace. Showing off their prowess, experienced shrews twirled their paddles high on alternate strokes, clacking the blades against those of their neighbors and dipping back without breaking pace. Ruff was full of admiration for their skill. "Haharr, wot a fine ole bunch o' waterbeasts this gang are!"

Before long Gurth and Dotti had learned the trick.

"Hurr hurr, miz Dott, us'n's be gurt pagglewallopers, burr aye!"

Then the entire thing developed into a race. The log-boats fairly flew downstream, spray shooting up from their bows. The four friends were caught up in the exhilaration of it all, keeping up with the breakneck stroke, yelling out friendly gibes and exchanging banter with the Guosim.

"Hah, there's woodworm in that log paddlin' faster'n you lot!"

"Ho, is there now, cheekychops? You'll soon be eatin' our spray from behind, matey!"

"Gurr, doan't ee strain you'mselfs, zurrs. Jus' ee stop in us'n's wake, naow!"

"Wake, is it? We thought ye were asleep, hohoho!"

"Scallywag, I'll bend my paddle o'er yore 'ead fer that!"

"Tut tut, me ole messmate, you'll 'ave to catch us first! Give 'em vinegar, Kubbashow 'em the ole double-stroke!"

"Come on, sah, wield that paddle as if it were your sword, wot!"

Kubba's booming shout rang out over the sunflecked waters.

"Ship yore paddles, stop that fuss,

Let the stream work carryin' us!"

Everybeast stowed paddles, allowing the boats to skim elegantly along on the silent current.

Brocktree leaned back, breathing heavily. "Whew! We must have covered a day's distance in half a morn there. What d'you say, Ruff?"

"Aye, we made the fishes look as if'n they was stannin' still."

Dotti flopped down upon the prow, wiping spray from her ears. "By the left an' by jingo, I'm kerfoozled! What about you?"

Gurth's smile split his dark-furred features almost in half. "Uz floo loik burds, miz. Et wurr wunnerful!"

The remainder of that memorable day on the stream passed in similar fashion, sometimes racing, other times cruising, with banter, shanties and good comradeship prevailing over all. In the late afternoon Grenn passed on orders to make landfall at a recognized Guosim camping spot, a shallow sunlit cove. They waded in the clear water, stretching and getting the feel of paws on solid ground again. A few of the younger shrews went deeper for a swim. Gurth watched the cooks setting up their fire and digging out supplies and cauldrons. The kindly mole gave their rations a quick look over before having a word with Dotti.

"Gurth says you lot can have the evenin' off," the haremaid announced to the delighted shrewcooks. "He'll be chef today. You chaps are in for a treatmy molepal's going to make gurt tunnel stew, followed by preserved apple'n'plum pudden with sweet chestnut sauce. How does that sound, wot?"

The cooks patted Gurth's back and hugged him thankfully. Then in the true manner of shrews they hung about, observing him at work, offering advice and criticism and arguing among themselves.

"You needs to peel those turnips thinner. Don't waste any."

"Pay no 'eed to that'n, Gurth. You peel 'em 'ow you like, but I'd roll me pastry wider if I was you."

"Rubbish. The mole's rolled it too wide as it is, can't y'see!"

"That cauldron'll boil over if'n you don't watch it!"

"Shows 'ow much you know, sniggletail. A watched cauldron never boils, that's wot my mum alius said!"

"Yore doin' that dried fruit all wrong, Gurth. 'Ere, let me show yer 'ow 'tis done!"

Dotti had a quick word with Lord Brocktree, who soon settled the argument. Drawing his great battle blade, he sliced a dead limb from an old willow with one mighty stroke.

"Some wood for your fire, Gurth. Oh, while I've got my sword out, d'you want me to stop any shrews from interfering with your cooking? I could whack off a few tails, eh?"

By the time Gurth turned to answer the shrews had fled. "Thankee, zurr Brock. They'm surpintly muddlin' argifyin' likkle h'aminals. Oi never see'd ought like urn!"

Log a Log Grenn approached Dotti, Ruff and Brocktree and pointed downstream. "I was going to take a stroll along the bank. We have to cross a ford before we reach the river tomorrowjust thought I'd best check t'see if the ford level is high enough to sail over. If not we'll have to carry the boats along the bankside. Would ye like to take a walk with me, friends?"

Brocktree sheathed the sword upon his broad back. "Be with you in a moment, marm. I want to check on Skittles. D'you know I've not seen hide nor hair of that rascal since morn?"

Ruff pointed out a group of young shrews frolicking in the stream, Skittles splashing and giggling with them. "There's the rogue. He's been with that gang all day, travelin' up front in the lead boat with Grenn."

The shrew Chieftain turned her eyes to the sky. "I always make the young 'uns sit in my boat so I can keep an eye on 'em. But seasons o' vinegar, I've never had to cope with one like that Skittleshe's more trouble than a barrel o' beetles!"

The Badger Lord smiled and shook his head. "Aye, he is that. As soon as I mentioned getting a wash this morning he vanished like smoke. Look at him now, playing in the stream like a little fish. I couldn't get him near water for the life of me. Come on, let's get going before he notices us."

They padded silently off down the bank. Before they had got around the bend, however, the hogbabe sprang out of the water in front of them, a wicked grin on his face. He scrambled up onto the badger's back, seating himself on the sword hilt before anybeast could stop him.

"Heeheehee, finked you was goin' off wivout Skikkles, eh?"

Brocktree turned his head, growling in the hogbabe's face. "Be off with you, pestilence!"

Skittles tweaked the badger's nose impudently. "See, I nice'n'cleaned now, B'ock. I come wiv ya, mate!"

Lord Brocktree turned his face to the front, smiling hugely, though his voice was gruff and stern. "Huh, I suppose you'll have to, seeing as you're up there, but sit still and no nonsense out of you, sir!"

Skittles saluted. "An' no nonsinks outta you, sir, or I chop you tail off wivva yore sword. Chop!"

It was a pleasant walk in the warm evening. Dragonflies hovered over the stream, hunting for midges and mayflies, pepper saxifrage and yellow-cupped silverweed grew in profusion close to the stiller edges. Noon had turned to early evening gold, with pink and cream cloudbanks massed prettily to the south. Log a Log Grenn halted them in sight of the ford.

"You can glimpse the river not far from here, friends. Stay well on the banks, now. If the water's deep enough on the ford our boats should pass over it with no trouble. I'll have to test it with a stick, so keep well on land. The waters hereabouts have streamwolves aplenty huntin' in 'em, an' they hide themselves well, so 'tis best to take care."

On reaching the ford, Grenn demonstrated what she meant by tossing a few crusts she had brought along into the water. Four long pike shot out of the reed cover and fought each other viciously for the food.

"Wowow! Where a they corned from, B'ock?"

Brocktree glanced back at the startled hogbabe on his shoulder. "Streamwolves lie in wait for food, then they pounce! Just like the one Ruff saved you from in the watermeadows."

While the pike were busy, Grenn poked a stick into the ford. '"Tis deep enoughour craft should pass over safely. Though I wouldn't trail my paws in there if I was you, Skittles. Look, further down the bank, you can see the river where it meets the stream."

Dotti skipped down the bank apiece. "I say, chaps, cranberriesscads of 'em growin' down here!"

Dainty pink flowers with curling petals stood swaying on wispy thin-leafed stalks; beneath them the small orange-hued berries grew in profusion. They were sweet but sharp to the taste. The friends gathered in the welcome addition to their supplies, sampling the fruit as they picked.

"Mmm, nice'n'tasty, marm. I wager Gurth an' yore cooks could make a batch or two o' cranberry tarts with these!"

Dotti chided the juice-stained hogbabe. "Steady on, Skittles, you'll make y'self ill if you scoff too many. Don't be greedy, now!"

Lord Brocktree raised an eyebrow at Ruff. "That's the best one I've heard for a whilea hare telling another creature not to eat too much. Wonders never cease!"

Dotti overheard the remark, and turned primly on the badger. "Manners don't cost anythin', y'know. My mater always said enough was as good as a feast, sah. Merely advisin' the little tyke... Skittles, come back here, you rip!"

But the hogbabe was off on an adventure of his own. He dashed away into the surrounding bushes, chortling. "Yah yah, can't catch Skikkles!"

They raced after him, fearing that he would turn and run into the ford. For a hogbabe, Skittles was surprisingly nippy. He put on a good turn of speed, dodging through shrubbery and around treetrunks. Grenn and Ruff went one way, Dotti and Brocktree the other, hoping to head him off. Then they heard Skittles's shrill screams cut the evening air.

"Yeeeeek! Leggo a me, leggo a Skikkles!"

Dotti was brushed to one side as Brocktree grabbed the battle blade from his back and crashed off through the foliage like a juggernaut.

Panggg!

A slingstone ricocheted from the sword blade. Jukka the Sling stood barring Brocktree's path, whirling her loaded weapon, teeth bared, ready to do battle.

"Hold hard, stripedog, or the next one puts thine eye out!"

"Oh corks! You benighted bushtailed buffoon, pack in slingin'. Can't y'see that's a Badger Lord?" Fleetscut stuck out his paw just in time. Jukka's sling wrapped around it, the stone load clacking sharply as it whacked the old hare's paw. He hopped and leaped about in pain, yanking Jukka crazily around with him.

"Owowouch! Y'blitherin' blisternosed bangtail, you've gone an' busted me poor old paw. Owoooh!"

Everybeast seemed to arrive on the scene together then: Baron Drucco, Mirklewort, a rabble of hogs and the squirrel tribe. Grenn came dashing up with Dotti and Ruff hard on her heels. Brocktree leaned on his sword hilt, perplexed. "What in the name of all seasons is this?"

Skittles appeared from beneath a bush and sat down nonchalantly on Brocktree's big footpaw, shaking his head. "Name a seasons, worrall diss, eh?"

More pandemonium ensued.

"My liddle babe, me treasure! Where in the name o' carnation 'ave yew been, yer foul-needled maggot?"

"Ahoy there, marm, curb yore tongue. The liddle bloke's been with us!" Ruff tried vainly to placate the angry hogmother, but only succeeded in offending her mate.

"Shut yer trap, babe robber. If'n my wife axes where in the coronation 'e's been then let 'im tell 'er!"

"Excuse me a tick, folks, but what's all this about carnations an' coronations? Shouldn't the word be tarnation, wot?" Dotti interjected.

"Beg pardon, marm, but shouldn't you keep your long ears out of other beasts' business? Bad form, marm!" Fleetscut said severely.

"Who are you jolly well callin' longears? You're a hare y'self, y'dodderin' old paw-wobblera fig for you, sah!"

"Thou art a bit young in seasons to be cheeking thy elders in such manner, miss. Mind, or I'll teach thee a lesson!"

"I say, you broomtailed paw-breaker, d'you mind beltin' up? This is my quarrel, wot!"

Claaaanggggg! "Silence! Silence, I say!"

The ring of Brocktree's sword blade upon a rock, coupled with his stentorian roar, created instant quiet. The Badger Lord sheathed his weapon. "Next beast I hear arguing will have me to deal with! Now, back to the bank and gather cranberries, all of you! Don't stand there gawping at mewe have the best cooks in all Mossflower back at our camp. If you want hot cranberry tarts for supper tonight, you lot would be better off picking berries than arguing. We'll sort all our differences out over a decent meal. Now get moving!"

Muttered introductions were made as the party bent to pick cranberries. Brocktree and Dotti filled Mirklewort and Drucco in on Skittles's encounter with the Riverwolf, and the trial it had been trying to keep him in order. Titles, histories and names of friends and relatives were exchanged. Bags, aprons, helmets and pouches were filled until the area was stripped relatively clean of the good fruit. They trudged back along the bank in the failing light, Baron Drucco shaking his head in despair of his offspring, as he explained to a smiling Brocktree.

"Four times four, mindthat liddle tailsnip 'as gone missin' four times since 'e was borned, an' 'im not more'n two seasons old. No wonder me spikes is goin' grey those the missus ain't chopped off wid me hatchet."

Dotti and Fleetscut had apologized to one another, and were getting on quite amicably.

"Well stap me, so you're old Blench the cook's niece, wot? Bet you can't cook as well as your jolly old aunt, eh, m'gel?"

"Beg pardon? Me, cook? I'd burn a salad, sah. Us of the fatal beauty type are pretty awful cooks if y'ask me."

Gurth's apple'n'plum pudden with sweet chestnut sauce was set to one side as the Guosim cooks set about making cranberry tarts, which involved arguing.

"Thesell go nice with the sweet chestnut sauce, mate!"

"Who taught you to cook, bottlesnout? Rosehip an' honey syrup, that's the proper thing to 'ave with 'em!"

"Rubbish. Y'don't need any sauce or syrup with cranberry tarts. A few crystallized cuckoo flower petals, that's all anybeast in their right mind would sprinkle 'em with!"

"Huh, too late now. They're scoffin' 'em anyway!"

Stories were told around the stone oven campfire as it reflected in the night stream, and new-made friends relaxed on the bank. Brocktree and Fleetscut sat together. The Badger Lord was extremely disturbed about the bad news from Salamandastron.

"My father Stonepaw did right in sending you to gather an army, Fleetscut. For one of your long seasons you have done well, despite the difficulties you were under. Relax now, old fellow, I take charge as from hereon in."

The old hare bowed respectfully to the son, as he had always done to the father. "Do you have a plan, lord?"

Brocktree's dark eyes glowed in the firelight. "Oh yes, Fleetscut, I have a plan. Trust your Badger Lord!"

"I always have, sire, without question. D'ye mind me sayin', you remind me of your dad when I was nought but a leveret, though a bit bigger an' fiercer if that's at all possible."

Brocktree's great striped muzzle nodded. "It's possible, my friend. 'Tis said to wield a battle blade the size of mine, a badger must suffer from the Bloodwrath."

Fleetscut fell silent then. He had heard tales of badgers, the most reckless and savage of warriors, all affected by the violent scourge known as the Bloodwrath. Nothing could stop such a beast in combat; not weapons, nor force of fangs and claws. This new lord was a truly perilous beast.

That night Lord Brocktree and the tribe leaders Jukka the Sling, Baron Drucco, Log a Log Grenn, Gurth son of Longladle and Ruffgar Brookback the otter made a pact. Between them they would gather a great army and take Salamandastron; free it from the claws of Ungatt Trunn.

Lord Brocktree's stern voice caused neck hairs to bristle. "The lands our creatures live on must not be tainted by vermin hordes. Babes should be safe to wander alone. This will not be accomplished by one tribe alone. I need you allanybeast that loves freedomhedgehogs, shrews, squirrels, moles, otters, mice, voles and especially hares. We will go with you to the realm of this self-proclaimed hare king. He must be challenged and defeated. Then he and his followers must be persuaded to join us. They will all be fine fighting hares."

Gurth stared up at the badger's massive form. "Hurr well, if'n anybeast be's gurt 'nuff to beat hurr king, that 'un'll be ee, zurr!"

Brocktree was looking straight at Dotti as he replied. "No, Gurth, 'tis only fair that a hare challenges a hare. Tell me, Fleetscut, what is the next clue to this king's whereabouts? Is there anything special we must search for?"

The old hare repeated the lines he had committed to memory.

"Discover then a streamwolf's ford,

Tug thrice upon the royal cord,

Then my honor guard will bring,

Loyal subjects to their king!"

Brocktree tossed a few logs into the oven fire. "We've already found the streamwolf's ford. Let's get some sleep now. Tomorrow we've got a royal appointment, what d'you say, Ruff?"

"Haharr, royal me rudder. If'n that 'un's a king, I'm a h'emperor of h'otters, mates!"

Dotti lay awake for a while, wondering why the badger had stared at her so pointedly when he referred to a hare's only being challenged by another hare. But she did not dwell on it overlong. Just before sleep claimed Jukka, she heard the young haremaid mutter aloud to herself: "Ahem, all those of my subjects still awake, take note of this proclamation. Queen Dorothea Duckfontein Dill-worthy is about to take her fatal beauty sleep, so put a clap on your jolly old traps, wot wot?"

*********

The shrew Kubba wandered back into camp as the cooking fires were being rekindled next morning. He saluted Log a Log Grenn with a flourish of his rapier.

"Got up an hour afore dawn, marm, scoured the bank by the ford an' found wot yore lookin' for!"

"Jolly decent of you, old beast," Fleetscut called back from his place on the breakfast line. "You mean y'found the royal wotsamacallit? Where was it?"

Kubba sheathed his rapier. '"Tain't much, mate, just a big thick red cord, 'angin' from a whoppin' great 'ornbeam. I'll take ye there after brekkist. Float me log, I'm starvin'!"

Brocktree stepped out and shook Kubba's paw. "Take my place at the front of the line. Well done, sir!"

An hour later, their hunger sated by cheese and oatmeal cakes, the remaining cranberry tarts and some good Guosim cider, everybeast adjourned to the ford bank. Kubba pointed out the hornbeam tree, around the leeside of which hung a red tasseled rope, its length going off, up amid the foliage.

"That's the one, though I ain't tugged on the rope yet."

Brocktree performed an exaggerated bow to Dotti. "Would ye pray do the honors, milady?"

The haremaid curtsied prettily and fluttered her eyelids. "Why, thankee, m'lud. Methinks I'll give it a jolly old tug once or thrice, providin' the blinkin' tree don't fall on me bonce, wot wot!"

Dotti took firm hold of the cord and gave it three hefty tugs. The thin boughs in the hornbeam crown shook, dislodging a colony of jackdaws. Flapping angrily into the air, they set a din of harsh cries ringing into the quiet woodlands.

Baron Drucco watched the birds settle back onto the tree. "Haw haw haw! You'd think 'e could afford proper bells if'n 'e's supposed t'be a king like 'e sez 'e is. Wot do we do now? Shall I give the rope a few more tugs?"

Once again, he was not fast enough to escape Mirklewort's hatchet. She clipped one of his headspikes and pushed him down on his bottom, so that he was sitting against the hornbeam base. "Yew leave that rope alone, nincomscoop. We sit an' wait. Ain't that right, yer badgership?"

Brocktree unwound Skittles from his sword hilt and sat down alongside Drucco. "Right, marm, we wait!"

Jukka and Grenn deployed both their tribes to the shrubbery, where they concealed themselves. The rest sat and waited. Morning was well on before anything happened. It was Gurth who leaned close to Brocktree and announced in a bass whisper, "Oi, yurr's sumbeasts a-coomin' this way, zurr!"

The Badger Lord sat casually, eyes half closed. "I see them, too, friend. Everybeast sit still now, stay calm."

The air hissed, and a light javelin buried its tip in the ground, not far from Ruff's footpaw. Twoscore rough-looking mountain hares, some still showing white fur patches from last winter, marched up armed to the teeth.

Their leader's voice, like his companions', had a strong burr of the far northern mountains about it. "Arrah weel now, laddies, whit've we here?"

"Why don't you ask me that, instead of the laddies?" Brocktree replied, his eyes still half closed. "They've only just arrived with you."

The leader pulled his javelin point from the soil. His voice had an insolent tone to it. "Hearken t'me, stripe-dawg, ye're en noo position t'be saucy wi' me. Mah hares are upright'n'armed ready, ye an' these beauties o' yourn are settin' doon unprepared, d'ye ken?"

The Badger Lord uttered a short bark. Guosim and squirrels emerged from hiding, rapiers and slings in evidence. The mountain hare saw his troop were surrounded.

Brocktree rose to his full height, sword in paw. "Oh, I ken all right, hare. I ken if you give impudence to Lord Brocktree of Brockhall you'll find your ears dangling from yonder alarm rope. So keep a civil tongue in your head!"

The hare was visibly cowed, and his tone became more reasonable. "Mah apologies, lord, 'cepthave t'be careful o' strangers aboot these parts. Whit was it ye were wantin'?"

Jukka the Sling dropped from a hornbeam bough. "Thou wilt take us to this one who calleth himself king. Move!"

"Look fit enough, don't they, wot?" Fleetscut remarked to Ruff as they followed the hares on a tortuous path through the woodland. "Touch o' trainin' an' discipline should bring those laddies up t'the mark!"

At the center of the party, Brocktree had called Dotti to his side. He gave her murmured instructions. "Don't speak until I tell youwhen we get to where we're going, miss. Don't get flustered or indignant, just act calm and look as if you're capable of taking care of yourself."

The haremaid felt slightly nervous, and started babbling. "Yessah, take care o' meself, act calm, you can bet your bally stripes I will, most carefullest calmest blinkin' hare ever twiddled an ear, sah, that's me, wot! An' as for gettin' flustered or indignant, by the left, sah, there's not a beast alive can muster flea, er, fluster me, an' I can be rather undignant when called upon. Why, I recall when Grandpa got stuck in the chimney"

Brocktree's paw cuffed her ear lightly. "Stop babbling, miss. Listen!"

A profusion of noises from afar could be heard on the still woodland air. Loud cheering, drumbeats, singing, shouting and many other unidentified discordant sounds. The hare leader, taking care to keep clear of Brocktree, remarked with jaunty cynicism: "Och, brace yerselves, mah babes, yer aboot tae enter the court o' King Bucko Bigbones, the roarin' beast hisself!"

Dotti took a deep breath and swallowed hard.

Chapter 18

Trobee had already climbed the rope of belts and bowstrings and was sitting in the entrance of the ceiling hole when Lord Stonepaw hurried into the cavern, supporting Purlow. Stiffener Medick ran to help them. Calm as ever, the boxing hare ignored the increasing sounds of Trunn's Blue Hordebeasts as they charged toward the hiding place.

"I see ole Purlow's taken a few knocks, sah. Sounds like we got trouble comin' to visit, eh! C'mon, Purlow, let's get you up the rope."

Stonepaw lifted the wounded hare onto the rope, then turned to the others waiting their turn to climb.

"I want you all up and through that hole as quick and safe as possible. Stiffener, you'll be last hare up. Stay here until the last one's gone. Understood?"

The boxing hare threw a stiff salute. "Sah! But what about you, sah?"

The Badger Lord's voice was like thunder. "Never mind about me. I've given you an order, and I expect it to be obeyed! Blench, you go next, help Trobee and Purlow to haul the others up into the hole. I don't need to tell you that speed is of the essence. Go!"

The din outside was very close now. Stonepaw grabbed a javelin and a chunk of rock and lumbered toward the entrance. Stiffener was at his side, paws clenched. "I'm comin' with you, sah!"

The Badger Lord stiff-pawed him in the chest, knocking him back a pace. Stonepaw's voice had sunk to a growl, and there was danger in his eyes. "I gave you an order, Stiffener Medick. Are you disobeying me?"

Tears sprang to the boxing hare's eyes. "You know I've never disobeyed yore orders, sah, but there'll be too many vermin for you out there. You need help, sah!"

Stonepaw ruffled Stiffener's ears fondly, as he had done many times when the old hare was young. "Not this time, old friend. You must get away to lead our warriors; I must hold the entrance to buy you the time to get them out. It is my duty as their lord. Promise me one thing, though. You will try to free Sailears and the others if they are still alive. Promise?"

Stiffener wiped a paw across his eyes and saluted Lord Stonepaw one last time. "Promise? I swear it on me life, sah! You give 'em blood'n'vinegar, sah. Slay some for me, eh, wot!"

The first blue rat's head poked around the rift which formed the cavern entrance. Stonepaw turned his back on Stiffener and charged, bellowing the war cry of Salamandastron.

"Eulaliiiiaaaaaa!"

It was as if the long seasons had fallen away from the old badger; strength coursed through his veins like wildfire. Vermin hurtled about him like dandelion clocks in the wind. Wedging himself in the rift, Stonepaw went at them as they crashed on him in waves, Mirefleck and Roag screeching in the background, urging their Hordebeasts on.

"Take him alive! Throw ropes around him!"

"Wound him! Don't kill the stripedog! Mighty Ungatt Trunn wants him alive!"

"Ten seasons' rations to the ones who capture the stripedog!"

Stonepaw flung the rock and slew Captain Roag. He hammered, stabbed and battered at the seething mass with his javelin. Ropes parted like dead grass between the badger's jaws and big blunt claws, and his voice echoed thunderously through the underground passages and caves as he wreaked destruction on his hated foes, regardless of wounds. The Bloodwrath was upon him.

"Eulaliiiaaaa! Come to the Lord of Salamandastron! Eulaliiiiaaaa! Blood an' vinegaaaaar!"

Stiffener followed the final hare through the hole. They were gathered in a huddle, bloodless paws gripping weapons tightly, peering down, unable to see anything, their ears filled with battlesounds from below. Seizing a torch, the boxing hare gestured forward into the tunnel which lay before them. "No hangin' about, now. Come on, let's go!"

Blench threw her ladle forcefully through the hole, stifling a sob as she jammed a paw in her mouth. "Oh, sire, me pore lord!"

Trobee tried to force his way past Stiffener. "Blaggards! Fiends! Let me at 'em!"

The boxing hare winded him with a sharp rap to the stomach. "Lissen t'me. You lot ain't goin' anyplace but out of 'ere. I made a promise to Lord Stonepaw, an' I means t'keep it. We'll get out all right, but we'll be back to free any of our pals who are alive an' imprisoned. Nothin' we can do now but go. I ain't lettin' my friend ole Stonepaw sacrifice 'imself so we can climb back down an' get killed. Is that clear? I'm in charge now, so march!"

Pulling up the rope, Stiffener coiled it about his waist and snapped out orders. "Trobee, you an' Purlow lead off, column o' twos, I'll bring up the rear. Here, take this torch, Blench!"

Stooped almost double, they took off along the tunnel. It was wide enough to take two hares, but low-ceilinged, dark and damp.

Groddil came scuttling to the edge of the melee. All he could see was blue vermin pushing forward into the rift. The stunted fox nodded at Mirefleck. "So, this was where they were hiding. Have they taken the stripedog yet? Remember, the Mighty One wants him alive."

Mirefleck watched vermin trampling their slain companions while Captains Fraul and Swinch urged them on with whips.

"Get through there, you slackers, into the cave an' 'elp yer mates to capture that beast. Come on, move yerselves!"

Mirefleck curled her lip scornfully at the magician. "Ye want to find out how 'tis goin', Groddil? Then why not join our brave soldiers an' see for yerself, eh?"

Groddil shot her a hate-filled glare, but did not move.

Force of numbers had finally driven Stonepaw back into the cavern, and now they were coming at him from all sides. A quick glance told him that his hares had escaped safely. He battled on doggedly, wounded in a score of places. Snapping off an arrow which had pierced his shoulder, he roared and charged, wreaking havoc with his shattered javelin. But there was no end to the vermin. Lord Stonepaw began to feel weary and old. Fraul sneaked through, with a bunch of soldiers bearing between them a large stone-weighted net. He signaled them to climb upon a low ledge. Some others followed, through, and swiftly he whispered orders to them. "See, the stripedog won't last much longer. Get behind and drive him over, close to this ledge as y'can."

The plan worked. Stonepaw was beaten back. Facing his attackers, he could not see the trap that awaited him. Back, back he went, stumbling upon the carcasses of those whom he had slain on either side. Fraul shouted as the badger's shoulders brushed the ledge.

"Now!"

Instantly the badger was borne to the ground by the cumbersome coils of the net and the lumps of stone tied to its edges as weights. Letting his javelin fall, he lay flat, gasping for breath. A roar of triumph arose from the vermin. Groddil hobbled through the rift to watch. Nudging Captain Swinch, the fox sniggered.

"We've got him now. The stripedog's finished!"

Swinch swaggered forward boldly and kicked at the prostrate badger trapped beneath the net. "How d'ye feel now, stripedog? Aaaaagh!"

Wreathed in ropes, Stonepaw surged forward, crashing the horde captain into the ledge and finishing him. Groddil howled: "Stop him, he's away again, stop him, stop him!"

Rearing up, Stonepaw pulled the net along with him it was far too snarled up and heavy to be rid of. He looked for all the world like some primeval colossus from the dawn of time. Bellowing and roaring, he swept one of the big lanterns from the ledge and smashed it into the barrel of lamp oil near the entrance. Then, giving the barrel a powerful kick, Stonepaw crashed it into the rift. Flames crackled and leapt.

Fearing he would be trapped in the cavern and slain, Groddil pranced about screaming hysterically. "Kill him! Finish him off! Hurry, you fools, kill him!"

Stonepaw began to laugh aloud, the sound booming eerily until it filled the cavern. Dragging rocks and net, he threw himself onto the closest group of vermin, wrapping his fearsome paws about as many as he could grab. Four he held, with another three trapped in the net, to be swept along with him to the edge of the bottomless pool. They bit and scratched and stabbed, to no avail. With one last war cry, Lord Stonepaw of Salamandastron summoned up his final strength and jumped.

"Eulaliiiiiaaaaaa!"

Groddil and the Blue Hordebeasts packed around the pool rim. Pale green luminescence deep down in the icy water shrouded itself around the dark wriggling mass which sank down, down, down, until it was lost to sight. Wordlessly they stared at the waters, the silence broken only by water dripping, flames crackling and the agonized moans of their wounded.

Thus died Lord Stonepaw, he who had ruled the mountain longer than any other Badger Lord.

Hares halting in front of him caused Stiffener to stop sharply. "Trobee, Purlow, what's goin' on up there?" he called to the leaders.

"A blue light! There's a blue light up ahead, Stiff!"

The boxing hare made his way up to the front of the column. The tunnel was beginning to tilt slightly uphill, and the stones beneath his paws contained small shallow pools. From around a bend up ahead there shone a soft blue light.

Stiffener took the torch from Blench. "Trobee, Willip, come with me. Purlow, you stop here with the others an' rest yoreself."

Willip sniffed the air as they drew nigh to the blue light. "Well, great seasons o' salt, there's only one thing smells like that, chapsseawater! Haha, I was right! Listen!"

Stiffener's ears picked up the faraway sound. "Aye, marm, that's the sea right enough!"

"He went up through an' chased the blue,

An' made it home for tea, sir,

He beat the tide an' spinies, too,

But his mamma tanned his tailfur!"

Trobee smiled proudly. Stiffener cast a curious eye on him. "You feelin' all right, mate? Is that blue light affectin' ye?"

Trobee chuckled happily. "I'm feeling fine, Stiff old chap. I was just repeating the last lines of Bramwil's skippin' poem, the one about Littlebob Hare, wot! My old memory must be improvin'."

When they rounded the bend, the blue light was clearer, with water patterns shimmering off the rough rock walls. The ground began a downslope. Trobee went back to fetch the others, while Willip, who was a sensible creature, summed up their position.

"Seems like we'll come out very close to the great sea. It must run up here rather strong at high tide, but this slope stops most of it. Can't be high tide now, though this tunnel's too jolly dry. So I suppose we're all right to proceed, wot. The poem says that Littlebob beat the spinies, too. Anybeast know what a blinkin' spiny is?"

Stiffener shrugged. "Just have t'find out as we go, marm. Look, we don't know when 'igh tide is due, so we'd better shake a paw."

Despite the tragedy they had left behind, the hares felt their spirits rising after being down in the gloomy caves for so long. The blue light promised a good clear day and fresh air, wind, breeze, the sight of green growing things, and most of all freedom. They started singing to set up a good pace, sloshing through pools and stumbling over rocks, but returning to their irrepressible nature.

"There's hares on the mountain much older than I,

An' still they can manage to scoff the odd pie,

I remember ole Grandma had no teeth to boot,

She used to eat rock cakes an' lots o' hard fruit.

Older'n I, scoff the odd pie,

No teeth t'boot, rock cake an' fruit,

A hare is a marvelous creature!

My uncle Alf with long seasons was grey,

'Stale pudden an' pasties'll do me,' he'd say,

'Oh fetch me good cider an' no fancy cuts,

An' a big rusty hammer to crack hazelnuts.'

Older'n I, scoff the odd pie,

No teeth t'boot, rock cake an' fruit,

Seasons was grey, pasties he'd say,

No fancy cuts, crack hazelnuts,

A hare is a marvelous creature!

My auntie Dewdrop was old as the hills,

She wondered why ducks always ate with their bills.

"Their tummies must flutter,' the old gel would cry,

'I once knew a duck ate a dragonfly pie.'

Older'n I, scoff the odd pie,

No teeth t'boot, rock cake an' fruit,

Seasons was grey, pasties he'd say,

No fancy cuts, crack hazelnuts,

Old as the hills, ate with their bills,

Auntie would cry, dragonfly pie,

A hare is a marvelous creature!"

Chapter 19

Ungatt Trunn was furious, though he did not let it show. Groddil, Fraul and Mirefleck lay flat on their faces in front of the wildcat, each waiting to be interrogated by him. Lord Stonepaw's former bedchamber was festooned with fresh spiderwebs, flies caught by horde vermin buzzed about, and the fire was stoked up high. Trunn let his eyes wander to the spiders waiting in their webs. Flies never changed their ways; sooner or later they would blunder into the sticky gossamer snares. The Grand Fragorl drifted silently about in the background, sprinkling powder on the braziers to make them give off blue smoke.

The wildcat flicked his tail in Captain Fraul's direction. "Suppose for a moment that I have you executed. Then the flies would feed off your miserable remains, and my spiders would catch the flies and devour them. So, in a roundabout way, they would have eaten you. Do you agree, Fraul?"

The stoat captain, too terrified to speak, merely nodded his head in frightened agreement of the horrific idea. Ungatt Trunn's tail curled beneath Fraul's chin, lifting his head so they were eye to eye. The wildcat leaned forward, a wickedly curious look upon his features.

"Hmm, and do you imagine that that would make my spiders become as thick and empty-headed as you?"

Fraul's throat bobbed visibly as he nodded once more.

Ungatt Trunn poured himself a goblet of dark damson wine, then sighed and sat back, watching the spiders. Ignoring Fraul's bobbing head, he turned his attention to Mirefleck. "I'm disappointed in you. I was under the impression that you had the makings of a good captain. Mayhap there's time yet for you to reflect on your stupidity. What do you think, Mirefleck? Shall I let you live, give you the opportunity to improve your ways? Or would you like to feed my spiders?"

The rat did not stir or nod, sensing that the wildcat was merely ruminating. She was right. Trunn smiled, as if humoring Groddil.

"Ah, my faithful fox magician, you disobeyed me again. I wanted the stripedog alive, yet I've been told that many who were down there heard you shouting for him to be slain. I know you three are telling the truth about the stripedog's death. There were too many witnesses for it to have been a lie. But think, Groddil. There's something you forgot. Can you recall what it is, my friend?"

Groddil was far too petrified to answer, though he knew his master was about to tell him. Still smiling, Trunn spoke.

"What became of nearly a score of hares? Did you magic them away? Perhaps they vanished into thin air, or faded into the rocks down there? Tell me."

Groddil had no choice but to reply. "Mightiness, I am told there was only one of the longears seen, who escaped, helped by the stripedog. What became of him and his companions nobeast can say, sire. We could find no trace of them, though we searched hard and long."

Ungatt Trunn disregarded the fox. He was staring at two rats, who were providing the prisoners' escort for Groddil, Fraul and Mirefleck. "Aren't you two the new recruits to my Blue Hordes? Refresh my memorywhat are your names?"

The rat with a disfigured tooth curving onto his chin replied for them both. "Yer Tghness, we're brother searats, I'm Ripfang an' this is Doomeye, my kinrat."

Trunn nodded as he assessed the pair. "Former pirates, eh? I like that. Well, this is a lucky day for you. I'm promoting you both to the rank of captain. Exchange uniforms with Mirefleck and Fraul. From now on they are to be the lowest of Hordebeasts. They will be your servants, bring you food, carry out your wishes and keep both your accommodations and your kit clean. You have my permission to treat them as harshly as you please."

Stripping the uniforms from the former captains, Ripfang and Doomeye grinned in wicked anticipation. The wildcat observed the mixture of shame and relief on the faces of his demoted officers before continuing.

"Not so fast. You aren't off the hook yet, my friends. Before you take up your duties with my new captains, you will return to the cave where the stripedog perished. Take our friend Groddil with you; he'll enjoy it, I'm sure. Now, here's what you must do. The three of you will stay down there, until you capture the hares, or find out how they escaped. These two captains will take an escort to guard you. Each day that you are not successful in your task, you will be flogged with willow canes and given no food. Oh, cheer up. There's water aplenty down there, a great pool of ityou won't get thirsty. Ripfang, Doomeye, get these idiots out of my sight!"

The unhappy trio were marched unceremoniously off. Ungatt Trunn curled his tail about the Grand Fragorl's neck and drew her close to him, purring pleasurably.

"Did you see their faces? I spared them, humiliated them, they looked relieved. Then I sentenced them to a living death and they just looked blank. I tell you, Fragorl, pleasure comes through power, and power is everything!"

***********

The hares sat down to rest a moment in the long, downsloping tunnel. Bramwil rubbed the back of his neck and complained, "Ooh! 'Tain't much fun marchin' with the old neck bent all day. Ceiling should be a bit higher, wot?"

Stiffener smiled at the ancient hare. "Marchin' all day, ye say? How d'you know whether 'tis day or night? Looks all the same to me down 'ere."

Bramwil tugged at Blench's smock. "Er, how're things on the vittle front, marm? Give young Stiffener a carrot he can't tell night from bally day, wot. I can though, an' I'll tell ye how. That blue light ahead is goin' dimmer, so it must be evenin' out there!"

Blench turned her bag inside out and shook it. "H'ain't a crumb o' vittles left, ole Bram. Yore right, though-it must be gettin' dark outside, the light has faded."

"I could do a spot o' damage to a rhubarb tart right now. Wouldn't mind if it was hot or jolly well cold ..."

Stiffener glared at Willip in the torchlight. "A word in yore ear, marm. Don't start talkin' about scoff, 'tis the fastest way for a hare t'go mad. You'll have everybeast goin' on about feasts they were at seasons ago. All that ripe fruit an' crumbly cheese an' summer salad, aye, an' bilberry cordial. Look, you've got me at it now!"

Trobee's stomach rumbled, and he sighed unhappily. "Yes, let's. Well, what else is there to bloomin' well talk about? My tummy's in a blinkin' turmoil!"

Stiffener peered down the tunnel. "Then think about 'ow lucky we are. Light fadin' means we got a good chance of not bein' spotted under cover o' darkness. There's somethin' in our favor, mates."

Purlow started up, batting at his scut. "Yowch, confound it, somebeast just bit me!"

Stiffener swung the torch in his direction. "Where?"

"Right on the end o' me bobtail, old lad, where d'y'think?"

Stiffener shoved him roughly aside. "I never asked where y'were bit, I meant where was the beast that bit ye?"

Blench held out her no longer empty bag with both paws. "Ah, look, bless 'im, 'tis only a liddle crabthing. Got a spiky back, too. Big claws for such a young 'un, though."

Purlow wagged his paw in the crab's face. "You small cad, how dare y'bite my tail? Wait'll I tell your mama!"

Trobee grabbed the torch from Stiffener and stared wide-eyed. "Zounds! You won't have long t'wait, old lad. Here comes his mama right now, an' the whole confounded crab clan!"

They were spiny spider crabs, with spiked backs covered in sharp spines, long red legs and fearsome-looking claws. Very aggressive crustaceans indeed. Blench tipped the baby crab onto the floor in a hurry.

"Oh corks, there must be 'undreds an' 'undreds o' the villains. Wot d'ye suppose they want?"

Stiffener weighed up the dangerous situation. "So that's wot the rhyme meant, the spinies! Listen to that waternoise buildin' up down therethe tide must be comin' in. We're in those crabs' way. They're tryin' t'get further up the tunnel to stop theirselves bein' washed away by the waves. I don't like the way they're clackin' those big nipper things an' openin' their jaws. Maybe they think we're vittles, somethin' good to eat!"

Scuttling sideways, the teeming masses of crabs advanced, claws held high and snapping open and shut, blowing froth and bubbles from their gaping mouths. The noise of them could be heard over the advancing tide outside. It sounded like a shower of hailstones as their hard-shelled legs rattled against the rocks. The hares looked to Stiffener.

"What d'you think we should do?"

The boxing hare decided instantly there was only one answer to Bramwil's query. "We've got to run for it, straight through the middle o' those blighters, an' not stop for anythin'. They're tryin' to get away from the sea, we're tryin' to get to it, might be a bit of an 'elp. Trobee, me'n'you will take the lead an' see if'n we can batter through. The rest of ye, stay close together. Willip, Blench, stick in the middle, keep tight 'old of Bramwil. Well, 'ere goes, mates. Eulaliaaaa!"

The charge carried them helter-skelter down the tunnel, straight into the crabs. Trobee and Stiffener bulled aside as many as they could, striking about with a couple of javelins. It was an almost impossible task; hares and crabs were so tightly packed in the narrow tunnel confines that it was difficult to make way. Powerful claws tore the javelins from their paws, spiny shells bumped them painfully, pointed legs scratched at them in the wild scramble. Some crabs were toppled over backward and the hares ran over their hard-shelled undersides, avoiding kicking legs and snapping pincers. However, it could not last. The tunnel was far too narrow, and soon became completely jammed with a jumbled melee of hares and crabs.

Stiffener looked up. A gigantic specimen was bearing down upon him with both claws ready for action.

"Trobee, throw me the torch, quick!"

The boxing hare scorched his paws as he caught the torch and thrust it savagely into the big crab's mouth. It gurgled and hissed, latching both claws onto the torch. It was a scene of complete chaos, with trapped hares shouting amid the forest of clacking pincers.

"Aagh, get this thing off me!"

"Owouch, me ear!"

"Leggo, you rotter, gerroff!"

"Hold Bramwil up, don't let him fall!"

"Eeek, there'th one god me nothe!"

Then the wave came.

Peak of high tide sent a monstrous roller crashing up the tunnel entrance with all the awesome power of the stormy sea. Boiling white, blue and green, it shot up the bore of the rocky passage and hit the mass of hares and crabs like a mighty sledgehammer, shooting them hard uphill. Then it sucked them back in a whirling vacuum of seawater. Stiffener spun like a top, jolting against rocks and crabshells, his nose, mouth, eyes and ears choked by the salt water. The entire world became white and filled with roaring noise as he went ears over scut. Stomach down he was hurled flat, his mouth gaping wide as he skidded along until it was full of sand.

A moment later he was upright in the night air, waist deep, with waves bashing him. Coughing up grit and brine, he wiped the stinging seawater from his eyes. A familiar figure waded toward him. Blench.

"Watch out, Stiff, 'ere comes Willip!"

A wave sent Willip crashing into the boxing hare's back. He staggered up and joined paws with her and the cook. "Keep tight 'old, marms. Let's find the others. Where's ole Bramwil got to, anybeast seen 'im?"

"Hi there, young feller, over here, wot!"

Only then did Stiffener realize that it was raining hard. Bramwil was sitting on the shore in the downpour, waving a piece of driftwood, several others with him.

Trobee came swimming along, his head popping up alongside Stiffener. He saluted, sank and resurfaced, spitting a jet of seawater into the air. "Phwah! All present an' correct, I thinkthere's Purlow floppin' about upcoast. Ahoy there, Purlow, how d'ye do!"

"Fine, old chap. How're you? Lots of weather we're havin' for the time o' season, wot wot?"

"Keep yore voices down, mates," Stiffener called out in the loudest whisper he could muster, "there might be vermin patrols around. Bramwil, we'll meet ye in the lee o' those rocks."

It was a cold, windy, wet and moonless night as they huddled together on the north side of a ragged rockspur. Bramwil could just make out the shape of Salaman-dastron's dark bulk to the south of where they sat.

"This chunk o' rock is part of our mountain, a great spur, buried beneath the sand an' stickin' up again here by the sea."

Willip crouched down and scuttled toward the end of the rock protruding into the sea. "Bramwil's right," she reported when she came back. "I saw the mouth of the tunnel we came out of, though 'tis so thickly overgrown with seaweed a body would never know 'twas there, wot."

Bramwil shivered, shaking his saturated fur. "Well, we made it, chaps, we're alive an' free. But with no weapons or food. What next, young Stiff, eh?"

Stiffener blinked rain from his eyes. "Can't stay 'ere, that's fer sure, mates. We'd best move while the goin's good. There's some rock ledges an' dunes east of 'ereI picked blackberries there last autumn. Let's take a look over that way, eh?"

In the hour before dawn they topped a rise in the sandhills. Some white limestone cliff ridges loomed up on their left. The rain was becoming heavier, whipped sideways by the wind. With both ears plastered flat to his head and his fur thoroughly sandgritted and wet, Stiffener looked back in the direction of Salamandastron.

"See, lord, I kept me vow so far, an' don't you fret now. I'll be goin' back to our mountain, an' if there be a single hare alive there I'll rescue 'em. I promise!"

Chapter 20

Dotti had never in her life seen anything like the court of King Bucko, nor had any of her traveling companions. It was situated in a broad, beautiful woodland glade, backed by a steep rocky hill, with a stream bordering one side, fringed with crack willow, guelder rose and osier. But any resemblance to a peaceful sylvan setting ended there. It was packed to bursting with teeming life. Lord Brocktree's party wandered about, relatively unnoticed. There were moles, otters, voles, hedgehogs, mice, squirrels and shrews everywhere, but hares formed the main presence. Hares, big, strong, young and bold. Fleetscut nodded at them. He had to raise his voice so that Dotti could hear him above the din as they pushed and jostled their way through.

"Well stap me ears, we've got a right bunch o' corkers here, miss. There's a lot o' mountain haresone can tell by the remains of their white winter patches, wot. As for the rest, there's a few gypsies, but a chap can recognize the offspring of Salamandastron hares. D'y'know, I can pick out the ears an' faces of mostlook just like their mothers an' fathers they do. Dearie me, it makes me feel jolly old, I can tell ye. Some o' these great lumps o' fur'n'bone, huh, I bounced 'em on me knee when they were tiny leverets!"

Dotti giggled at the thought it conjured up. "Heehee, you'd get a blinkin' broken knee if you tried bouncin' any o' those big hulkin' boyos now, wot?"

A carnival atmosphere reigned over the court. Groups of hedgehogs competed with oak clubs on hollow logs, trying to outdrum one another; squirrels were performing acrobatic feats, flying over the heads of the crowd. A mob of young otters lounged against a stack of barrels, with foaming tankards in their paws, roaring out bawdy songs with no pretense whatsoever to harmony or tune, volume seeming to take precedence over all else. Shrews and voles wrestled in packs, one team against another. Mice and moles were cooking over a huge open fire, laughing as they exchanged friendly insults about the results of each other's culinary efforts. A motley orchestra had set itself up on the lower hill slopes. All manner of creatures scraped on fiddles, rattled tambourines, shrilled on flutes and whistles, battered away at bodhransflat single-headed drums with double-ended striking sticksand twanged a variety of odd stringed instruments. Some mountain hares even droned away on sets of bagpipes.

Lord Brocktree was the only badger present at the massive gathering, standing out head and shoulders above other beasts. His backslung battle sword received many admiring glances, and not many creatures tried to bump or jostle himin fact, not any.

The Badger Lord winced, clapping paws over both his ears. "By my stripes, how any creature could put up with this infernal din is beyond me! Let's find somewhere less noisy!"

They took refuge on the streambank beneath a couple of crack willows, which afforded generous shade. Log a Log Grenn signaled two of her Guosim. "Kubba, Rukoo, find your way back t'the ford an' see if you can find a sidestream to bring our boats up here."

Jukka sprang moodily to a low willow branch, where she jabbed her short spear viciously into the trunk. "I like it not, this place of loud fools. 'Tis an affront to the ears an' eyes, a gathering of madbeasts!"

Fleetscut noticed she was staring accusingly at him. "Well, pish tush an' a pity about you, milady. What d'you want me t'do about it, eh? Do I run around shushin' them all up, or would y'prefer me to carry you back to your pine grove, wot?"

Whirling her loaded sling, Jukka sprang down. "Thou hast insulted me enough, longears. Let's settle this thing betwixt us, here an' now!"

Brocktree was between them suddenly, knocking the sling awry. "Cast one stone, Jukka Sling, and I'll snap off the paw that does it and feed it to you!"

A hare, with six others attending him, marched up to Brocktree. "By the cringe'n'the left, sah, you'll be the Badger Lord who's come a-visitin', wot! His Majesty King Bucko wants a word with you. Don't know who you other bods are, but y'd best wait here, wot!"

Fleetscut placed himself in front of the officious young hare. "Aye, but one of these other bods knows who you jolly well are, earwag. Son of Bramwil, if I'm not mistaken. Hmm, y'won't remember me, but I knew you. Little fat feller with a runny nose, always sniffin' an' weepin'. What was it they called you? Dribbler, that was it!"

The hare, a fine fit-looking beast, sniffed and turned on his heel, stating huffily, "That, sah, was a nickname. I'm properly called Windcoat Bramwil Lepus the second. You may bring your retinue with you if you wish, Lord Badger!"

Stifling a smile, Brocktree addressed his creatures. "Fall in and follow me, retinue. Let's go and see this Bucko!"

Steps made from logs led up to the fork of an old cherry laurel, padded and draped with hanging velvet to form the royal throne. King Bucko Bigbones was bigger than most hares and obviously strong-framed. He lounged casually in the tree fork, one footpaw dangling, the other up against the outward-leaning left limb. A broad belt girdled his ample waist, decorated with colored stones, polished arrowheads and lots of medallions. Around his head, though cocked jauntily over one eye, he wore a gold circlet interwoven with laurel leaves. In one paw he held a scepter of sculpted oak with a crystal chip set in its top. He cast an eye over his visitors as if they were of no great interest.

"D'ye no bow yer heids or bend a knee tae a king?"

Brocktree's answer was equally dismissive. "We bow to no creature, even self-appointed kings. Do you not find it common courtesy to rise in the presence of a Badger Lord, instead of sitting draped up there like a drunken beast?"

The Royal Guard surrounding the tree throne put paws to their weapons, but the king shook his head at them. "Nae call fer that, yon beastie'd prob'ly floor the lot o' ye. Jings, but yer a big 'un, an' saucy, too, as I heard. By the rocks! That's a braw battle blade ye bear. Ahll trade ye for et, any thin' ye like!"

Brocktree raised a paw to touch the double-hilted weapon. "My sword wouldn't do you any good, and it's not for sale or trade. You and another like you couldn't lift it."

King Bucko laughed and bounded down the steps, paw outstretched. He gripped the badger's paw and applied pressure. "Och, I like ye well, mah friend. D'ye mean tae challenge me?"

Brocktree stood smiling easily, allowing Bucko to squeeze his paw to the maximum. Then the Badger Lord squeezed back. White-faced and trembling, the hare was forced to his knees. He managed a pained smile. "Jings, ah hope ye don't challenge me. Would ye not let mah paw free afore ye flatten et completely?"

The badger released his paw. Bucko stood up, massaging it and smiling ruefully.

"Don't worry, I won't be challenging you," Brocktree assured him, "but one of my party will. I'll let you know who when the time's right."

Bucko glanced over Brocktree's followers, then dashed up to Skittles and knelt in front of the hogbabe. "Hah, so you're the wee terror who wants tae fight King Bucko, eh? Let's see whit ye can do then, mah laddie!"

Skittles needed no second bidding. He jumped upon the hare and began pummeling with his tiny paws. "I fight ya, Skikkles be's a good fighterer!"

Bucko held him off, shouting in mock horror, "Ach, get the wild wee beastie off me or ah'll be kill't!" Still rubbing his paw, he winked at Brocktree. "Just as weel ye never breakit mah paw. Ah've got a challenge tae answer shortly. Gang ye along an' watch'twill be a bit o' sport tae entertain ye. Guards, bring mah battlegown!"

The guards draped King Bucko in a magnificently embroidered cloak and he set off, with Brocktree and the others following.

A log-circled ring had been cleared further down the streambank. Dotti stood between Ruff and Gurth to view the combat. Creatures packed the circle's edge, fifty deep, while others climbed trees or took to the rocks. An enormous hedgehog stood to one side of the ring, a gang of his followers stroking his spikes and massaging his hefty gnarled paws. He kept shrugging his shoulders and sniffing a lot. King Bucko entered the ring to deafening applause. Throwing off his cloak, he joined both paws over his head and shook them at his followers in salute.

There was a line scratched at the ring's center. Bucko stepped up to it, flexing both knees and rolling his head about to limber up. The big hedgehog stepped up, threw a few punches in midair and snuffled. A fat bankvole came next, who stood between the contestants and roared out the rules in a voice that would have put a choir of crows to shame.

"Good creatures h'all, h'attend my words!" The crowd fell silent as the bankvole swelled his chest out. "Thiiiis daaaaay! H'a challenge 'as been given to yore king, Bucko Bigbones, the Wild March Hare of the North Mountains! By none h'other than Picklepaw Ironspikes, Champeeyun h'of the Southern Coasts! Roooools are as follows! No weapons or h'arms t'be used by either beast. Apaaaaart from that . . . h'anythin' goes! Theeeee fightah left standin' picks up the crown as victoooooor!"

Silence continued as Bucko gave his crown to the bankvole, who marched ten paces over the ground and held it high. He dropped the crown, and as it hit the ground the fight started. Dotti could not hear herself think for the noise.

"Och, gev hem the auld one two, Yer Majesty!"

"Show 'im the Picklepaw Punch, go on, Ironspikes!"

"I'll give ten candied chestnuts to one on 'Is Majesty!"

"A silver dagger to a copper spoon ole Ironspikes drops 'im!"

"Watch out for his jolly old left, sire!"

"Don't wait around, Ironspikes, gerrin there!"

With a footpaw each on the line, the fighters faced each other. Both ducked and weaved, though it was only the hedgehog throwing massive barnstorming swipes with left and right. As yet the hare had not offered a single blow. He stood firm, merely bobbing and bending backward, avoiding each haymaker as it whooshed by overhead or either side of him. Bucko was smiling, Ironspikes almost purple with anger and exertion. Dotti could not help whispering to Gurth, "What's King Bucko doing? Why doesn't he try to hit the hog?"

Gurth kept both eyes on the fighters, assessing them. "Ee king be a gurt scrapper, miz, ee'm wurrin' ee 'edgepig daown. Lukkee naow, miz Dott, ee king gotten ole Ironspoikes!"

The haremaid could not see how Bucko had the hedgehog beaten. Suddenly Ironspikes dropped one of his paws and straightened up, just for a split second, but that was enough. Bucko crouched and swung a massive sideways left as he came up. Bumpff! It connected with Ironspikes's jaw, his eyes rolled and he fell like a stone, spark out!

Dotti had to shout to make herself heard over the cheering. "Oh corks, what a fighter, what a punch! I'll bet nobeast could beat King Bucko, eh, Gurth?"

The good mole smiled at his young friend. "Hurr, miz, nobeast cudd beat ee king at boxen, but oi bet moi tunnel a clever wrassler wudd, burr aye!"

King Bucko picked up the crown and replaced it on his head, and the hares draped his cloak about him. He leapt over the logs, right where Dotti was standing, and winked roguishly at the haremaid.

"Och, 'twas a piece o' cake, lassie. Yon hog was nought but a great fat brawler. Ahey, you're a pretty wee thing, ain't ye!"

Dotti did not want to appear overimpressed by Bucko, so she stiffened both ears and looked distant. "Actually pretty's the wrong word, sah. I'm a fatal beauty, really. Runs in the family, y'know."

Bucko smiled as he chucked her under the chin. "Och, away with ye, missie, ah've seen fatal beauties an' yer no one o' those. Still, like ah say, yer a pretty wee thing."

He swept by her and was carried off on the shoulders of his jubilant supporters. Ruff noticed Dotti's quivering lip and angry features, and put a paw about her shoulders. "Ahoy there, me ole mate, wot's wrong with yore face?"

The haremaid shrugged off Ruff's paw. "Nothing. There's absolutely nothing wrong with my face. But I'll jolly well tell you something, Ruff. I don't like that cad Bucko King, or whatever he calls himself. I'd like to take the blighter down a peg or three, wot!"

Ruff stared at her in surprise. "An 'aremaiden like you, Dotti, d'you think you could beat 'im?"

The noise was audible as her teeth ground together. "I don't think ... I know I can beat the blusterin' bounder!"

Campfires burned all over the glade area as night fell warm and soft. Lanterns hung in the trees reflected their colors into the stream. King Bucko's court was celebrating yet another victory by their ruler; the noise and merriment continued unabated. Dotti sat with Fleetscut beneath the willow. The rest of their party had gone off to join in the fun and games.

The old hare had a worried look as he spoke to his young friend. "I say, dash it all, miss Dotti, I was the one who should've challenged Bucko Bigbones, not you, a young haremaid, wot!"

Dotti poured cider for Fleetscut. "Sorry, old chum, y'far too old, he'd eat you. Besides, you ain't the one he bloomin' well insulted. The honor of the Duckfontein Dillworthys was at stakeI had to challenge the rotter. Not a fatal beauty, eh? I'll show him!"

The dark bulk of Lord Brocktree loomed up out of the night. He joined the two hares beneath the willow, shaking his head at Dotti. "I delivered your challenge to Bucko Bigbones. Sorry, miss, he wouldn't accept it."

The haremaid sprang up, eyes flashing angrily. "Wouldn't accept it? What d'you mean, sah?"

The Badger Lord shrugged. "He just flatly refused to accept any challenge from a young maid. I delivered the message formally, with due gravity and ceremonyit was all done with proper dignity."

Dotti was quivering all over, apart from her ears, which stood up ramrod straight. "And what did the blaggard say? Tell me, sah, word for word!"

Brocktree's huge paws fiddled about with a thin branch. "He said you should be at home," he explained, almost apologetically, "helping your mama to do the washing, and that the whole thing was a silly little joke. Then he laughed with his cronies for a while and told me to tell you there was no way he was going to fight a haremaiden. Said one tap of his paw and your face wouldn't be so pretty, not with a broken jaw. His final words were: 'Learn to cook and stay clear of real warriors, before you become fatally injured, with no chance of ever becoming a fatal beauty.' That's it, as best as I can remember, miss."

Dotti grabbed Fleetscut roughly and hauled him upright. "Give me that barkscroll you were telling me about, the one found by that Rabblehog. Give it t'me this bloomin' instant!"

The old hare rummaged in his tunic and produced the battered and stained scroll. Dotti snatched it from him.

"Listen t'this, sahthe blighter's own challenge!" Her voice shaking with temper, she read the lines aloud.

"Come mother, father, daughter, son,

My challenge stands to anybeast!

I'll take on all, or just the one,

Whether at the fight or feast!

Aye, try to beat me an' defeat me,

Set 'em up, I'll knock 'em down!

Just try to outbrag me, you'll see,

King Bucko Bigbones wears the crown!"

She waved the tattered barkscroll in Brocktree's face. "Now, sah, you've heard it. Is that a challenge or not, wot?"

The Badger Lord nodded gravely. "Couldn't be any clearer, 'tis a challenge right enough!"

Dotti quickly rolled the scroll and jammed it in her belt. "Huh, that's flippin' well good enough for me. Come on!"

She stormed off, her footpaws almost punching holes in the ground. A wide grin spread across the badger's face. He took hold of Fleetscut's paw, tugging him along in her wake. "Hurry along, old one, I wouldn't miss this for a feast prepared by Longladle himself. Things are going to plan, even better than I dared hope they would!"

King Bucko was in high good humor. He sat on his treefork throne, swilling dandelion beer and laughing uproariously with his comrades as he relived the fight with Ironspikes that afternoon.

"Och, the fat auld fraud wiz swingin' both paws like a windmill an' puffin' like a northeast gale, d'ye ken. So ah just ducked an' came up wi' mah guid auld left cross. Whacko! Did ye see the big braw pincushion topple, hahaha!"

"Aye, y'pick the easy marks, don't you, Bucko?"

The laughter ceased. All eyes turned on Dotti, who was standing, paws akimbo, on the bottom log step. The king waved his scepter dismissively at her. "Ach, awa' wi' ye, lassie, go an' look fer some babbies t'nurse." Sycophant hares around the throne guffawed loudly.

Dotti bounded up the steps and shook out the bark-scroll. She thrust it under the king's nose. "It says here that you'll fight mother, father, daughter or son. That's what it says. Right?"

The big mountain hare flicked the scroll from her paws with his scepter and tossed it over his shoulder. "Mebbe et does, mebbe et don't. Whit are ye gettin' so stirred up aboot, mah pretty one?"

Dotti's paw prodded him hard in the chest. "Don't you ever call me your pretty one, you great blowbag! I'm here to take up your challenge!"

One of the guards tried to lay paws on Dotti for prodding his king. He froze as a swordpoint from below tickled his tail. Lord Brocktree was staring up at him.

"Stay out of this, or I'll make it my fight with you!"

Dotti prodded Bucko again, harder this time. "Well?"

The king's former good humor was fast deserting him. "Ach! Ah'm nae goin' tae fight wi' no wee haremaid. Whit d'ye think I am, a bully?"

Dotti marched off down the steps, her nose in the air. "Since you ask, sah, I'll tell you what I think you are. You're no king, just a liar an' a coward!"

In the horrified silence that followed, King Bucko came bounding down the steps after her, paws clenched tight. "Yerrah! Ye whey-faced whelp, we'll settle this right here an' noo. Ah'll no have a lassie cheekin' me!"

He scratched a line in the ground with his scepter and tossed it aside. Placing his footpaw on the line, he snarled, "Get yer fuitpaw on this mark here an' spit like this!" He put up his paws in fighting stance and spat over the other side of the line.

Dotti gave him a frozen glare. "Didn't your mater ever tell you 'tis rank bad manners to spit? Disgusting habit, sah, but quite in keeping with your form, wot."

Lord Brocktree stepped in, pointing his sword at Bucko. "No quick paw-the-mark scraps here, Bigbones. Let's do it properly at the designated time. Now, do you accept this hare's challenge, answer yes or no?"