The wildcat wiped a trembling paw across his ashen face. ‘Take that thing and burn it,’ he shouted hysterically. ‘Burn it! D’you hear me! Burn it!’
Blank-faced, the two rats were knocked to one side as the wildcat swept by them on his way to the shore. They looked at one another and shrugged.
‘Wot was all that about, mate?’
‘Search me. Get that torch off’n the wall an’ put a light to this thing, afore ‘Is Mightiness comes back!’
‘Was I seem’ things, or did ’e look frightened?’
‘Looked like ’e’d seen a ghost. This won’t burn, ’tis damp.’
‘Well git yore sword an’ chop it up ’til yew find the dry bits.’
Ungatt Trunn sat on the sand, which was still warm from the day’s sun. Much as he had hated and despised Groddil, he missed the fox magician’s soothing words. Every day the spectre of the badger looming in his mind was growing larger. He was surrounded by his Blue Hordes, yet trapped alone by the visions of his own imagination, with nobeast to explain them or chant encouraging prophecies.
He stared disdainfully at the silent Grand Fragorl, in attendance as ever. ‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself?’
‘Nothing, sire,’ the ferret replied warily.
His footpaw shot out, sending her sprawling in the sand. ‘Nothing. That’s all you ever say. Get out of my sight!’
Fragorl made an undignified retreat on all fours. It was wisest to do what Ungatt Trunn said immediately and without question, when he was in one of his dark moods. Which were growing more and more frequent as the days went by. Some Hordebeasts grubbing for seaweed nearby heard their leader laugh bitterly and talk aloud to himself.
‘The mountain of my dreams. Hah! More like the mountain of my nightmares. So, these are the days of Ungatt Trunn, eh?’
29
AFTER BREAKFAST NEXT morning, Durvy was leaving with his crew to harass the fishing fleet. Frutch shook her ladle at him, and he held up both paws placatingly. ‘Don’t say it, marm, we’ve got the message. No more shrimp!’
Brogalaw entered the cave, with Rulango stalking in his wake. ‘Ahoy, ’ere’s a bird who’s very partial to shrimp. Feed our friend well, Mum, he just sketched me out an important message. Stiffener, get the Bark Crew together, mate. There’s a small party, about twenty-five bluebottoms, left the mountain at dawn. Rulango reckons they’re ’eaded thisaways, armed with bags an’ ’awysacks.’
Stiffener donned his barkcloth cloak and mask, arming himself with sword, bow and arrows. He beckoned to the rest of the hares and otters who were gearing themselves up.
‘Another foragin’ party. Let’s send those vermin back sore-tailed an’ empty-pawed, eh, mates!’
Woebee threw her apron up over her face. ‘Begone the lot of ye. I don’t ’old with masks’n’cloaks, fair scare a body they do. Away with ye!’
Torleep bowed courteously. ‘No need t’fuss yourself, marm. ’Tis only us under this lot.’
Ripfang and Doomeye had taken a hundred and fifty Hordebeasts out of the mountain long before dawn. They concealed themselves in the crags and crannies behind Salamandastron. Each of them was personally picked by the rat brothers; there were a lot of former searats and corsairs among their ranks. All in all they were a mean and savage-looking bunch, armed to the teeth.
Ripfang climbed down from his lookout spot. ‘The forage party decoys are well on their way, ’eadin’ nor’east to the clifftops an’ dunes to scout for berries an’ roots. Doomeye, take yore gang an’ sweep southeast. Git well back from the cliffs afore ye start closin’ in.’
Doomeye fiddled with his spear, as if reluctant to go. ‘Which way are yore lot goin’? The short way, I’ll bet.’
Ripfang tossed a long dagger and caught it neatly. ‘We’ll be follerin’ the same route as the foragin’ party, I been drummin’ that inter yer ’alf the night. That way we’ll catch this Bark Crew in a pincer movement, from back an’ front. Simple plans allus works best, I told yer!’
Doomeye stuck out his bottom lip sullenly. ‘I still don’t like it. From wot I’ve ’eard this Bark Crew just appear out o’ nowhere. They say they’re like spirits!’
Ripfang brandished his dagger impatiently. ‘That’s ’ogwash an’ yew know ’tis. I’ll tell yer who I think they are – those threescore escaped longears, that’s who. Are you lot as ’ungry as I am, eh?’
There was a rumble of agreement, from both mouths and stomachs. Ripfang made a slashing movement with his blade. ‘Then wot are we waitin’ for? There’s meat on the paw fer the takin’. Y’want to eat, then move yerselves!’
Doomeye kicked at the dirt, staying where he was. ‘You still ’aven’t said why me an’ my gang got t’go the long way round. ‘Tain’t fair.’
Ripfang flung the dagger, burying it in the earth right between his brother’s footpaws. ‘Lissen, lump’ead, yew get goin’, right now. Otherwise I’m goin’ back inside to report to Ungatt Trunn, an’ you can see ’ow well y’do takin’ charge o’ this lot!’
Doomeye got up huffily and signalled his party to move off. ‘All right all right, keep yer fur on, we’re goin’! Huh, never thought I’d see a brother o’ mine snitchin’ to the chief on ’is own fur’n’blood. Enny’ow, wot’s the signal for the ambush? I’ve forgotten it.’
Ripfang turned his eyes skyward, as if seeking help from above. ‘Wot’s to forget, shrimpbrain? I’ve told yer ten times already. Firrig ’ere will give two curlew cries – that’s the signal for youse to attack. Y’do know wot a curlew sounds like, don’tcher?’
Doomeye led his party out of the rocks, shouting back at his ill-tempered brother, ‘Course I do. It sounds just like you tryin’ to snore through that single pickle-stabber of yores, twiddletooth!’
Ripfang flung a rock at Doomeye, but it fell short. ‘I’ll get yew fer that, jus’ see if’n I don’t!’
Lying in concealment, the Bark Crew watched the foragers climb the cliffs at a place where a small streamlet trickled down. Brogalaw noted their every movement, murmuring low to Stiffener, ‘They’re stoppin’ to take a drink now, some of ’em pickin’ crowberries an’ eatin’ them. Nasty bitter-tastin’ things. I’ve never liked crowberries, ’ave you, Stiff?’
The boxing hare shrugged. ‘Not really. Still, you’ll eat anythin’ once the ’unger grips yore stomach. Dumb stupid vermin, I pity ’em in a way.’
Willip snorted. ‘Save your pity for decent creatures, sah. These are the same rotten bounders who were plannin’ on eatin’ us when they had us locked up. Pity ’em, indeed!’
Brog saw two vermin detach themselves and climb to the top. A moment later they were calling back to the other foragers.
‘There’s nettles up ’ere, an’ some bilberries!’
The rest of the party climbed up. Once on top they could not be seen by the Bark Crew, but their voices came back clear.
‘More nettles than bilberries, I’d say. Ouch, they sting!’
‘Well, that’s wot nettles are supposed t’do, mate. Pick ’em, you can brew good beer with nettles.’
‘Huh, will yew lissen to ’im? Wot beast could wait a season fer nettles to brew? We’d all be starved dead by then.’
‘Oh, stop moanin’. Use yore blade an’ cut the nettles – they’ll do to make soup with.’
Brog picked up his javelin. ‘Ain’t goin’ t’be so easy, while they’re out in the open. Still, if we jump those bluebottoms quick it should do the trick. When I show meself, see if you can get a few round the back of ’em, Stiff. Sailears, you an’ the others stay just below the clifftop, but show yore weapons, to let the vermin think they’re surrounded. Well, here goes. Good huntin’!’
The forage party leader was a weasel. He did not know that his band had been sent out as a decoy. While the others were busy at their work, he stuffed a pawful of bilberries into his mouth.
‘Tut tut, matey, stealin’ food,’ a voice nearby chided him. Without looking up, the weasel glimpsed the barkcloth robe and groaned i
nwardly. ‘Yore a leader, y’should be settin’ an example to those under ye!’
The sinister cloaked and masked figure stood framed by the weapons that poked up over the cliff. Raising his voice, Brog called harshly to the vermin: ‘Move a muscle an’ ye die. A Bark Crew javelin’s a lot sharper than some ole nettles, you’ll find!’
A rat knocked over his haversack, and berries spilled out. ‘Ow no, ’tis the Bark Crew!’
Stiffener walked up from behind him and rested a loaded sling upon the rat’s bowed head. ‘Ow yes, ’tis the Bark Crew, y’mean. Toss yore weapons over by me, all of ye. Yore surrounded!’
Shielding his eyes against the sun, the weasel looked up at Brog. ‘Y’ain’t gonna kill us, are yer, sir?’ he gulped aloud.
There was a touch of humour in the masked figure’s voice. ‘Not just yet. Pick those berries first, but leave the nettles. I don’t want ye t’get yore paws pricked. Go on, pick!’
Nervously the forage party picked the bilberries. ‘Why d’yer want to slay us?’ a rat whined at Torleep. ‘We ain’t done no ’arm to nobeast.’
The hare gave him a resounding kick on his blue-dyed rear. ‘Fibber, cad, bounder, don’t look for mercy from me, sah!’
When the berries were all picked and bagged up, Brog made the vermin shed their uniforms. The weasel leader suddenly broke down and clung weeping to Stiffener’s cloak. ‘Aaaaahaaaaggh! Spare us, sire, spare our lives, please, I beg yer, don’t kill us. Waaahahaaa!’
Stiffener’s loaded sling rapped the weasel’s paws until he was forced to release the cloak hem. The boxing hare’s voice was laden with contempt. ‘Spare your lives, eh, like you spared the old Badger Lord? But he went out like a true warrior, fightin’ for his life. Look at yoreself, coward, blubbin’ like a stuck toad!’
Torleep was slinging the bags on to a spear shaft when a strange noise cut the still noon air. Stiffener whirled round to face Brog. ‘What was that?’
The otter yanked his friend to one side just in time. A slingstone buzzed by like an angry hornet. Doomeye’s Hordebeasts came charging out of the eastern moorland, howling and yelling, firing slingstones and discharging arrows at the Bark Crew.
Torleep dashed to the cliff edge and glanced over. ‘I say, there’s more coming up this way!’ He never had time to say more. An arrow thudded into his throat. Torleep tottered for an instant, then fell over the cliff.
Brogalaw gathered the Bark Crew swiftly. ‘Take a stand facin’ for’ard an’ aft, mates. Grab yore bows!’
Stiffener stood back to back with the sea otter, battling the vermin who were scrambling over the clifftop, whilst Brogalaw faced the crowd charging them from the moorland.
‘’Tis a trap, Stiff. They got us surrounded!’
The boxing hare whirled his sling, knocking a rat back over the cliff. ‘There’s a lot of ’em, but we ain’t surrounded yet, Brog. They’ve got us in a pincer move from back’n’front. Keep pickin’ off the outsiders – stop ’em circlin’ us!’
The otter alongside Brog went down with a spear through him.
Doomeye’s contingent had slowed their headlong rush and were advancing cautiously now. They tried to stay in a tight bunch, nobeast wanting to be strung out on the edges, where they would be picked off. Ripfang had his group halfway over the clifftop before he saw how furiously the Bark Crew were retaliating. Dropping back below the rim he called out orders.
‘Keep yore ’eads down. We’ll snipe ’em t’bits. Pick yore targets – there’s only a score an’ a half of ’em!’
Stiffener took out a weasel, with a spear that had just missed him a moment ago. Still back to back with Brog, he outlined a plan that was forming in his mind. ‘I’d say we’re outnumbered five to one, mate. We’ll have t’make a break for it, sideways!’
An arrow hit Brog in the shoulder. He bit his lip and snapped off the shaft. ‘I’m with you, mate. Best go north, away from the location of our cave. Do it soon, afore we lose any more beasts!’
Stiffener could feel the arrowhead that had pierced Brog scratching his back. Willip was down on all fours, blood flowing from a gash on her head. The weasel and his forage party were lying flat on the ground, paws covering their heads, unarmed and out of the action.
Brog grabbed the weasel and hauled him roughly up. ‘Up on yore scringin’ paws, you bluebottoms, an’ form two lines, a spear length apart. Move or I’ll kill ye!’
Whimpering and trying to evade missiles, the vermin were forced to obey. Brog ordered his Bark Crew into the space between the two lines. ‘Keep goin’ north then strike east the moment y’see some trees, mates. We got a livin’ shield to take us out o’ here. If’n these bluebottoms try to slow up or break away, you got my permission to slay ’em. Quick march!’
Confused by the sight of two lines of hostages from their own side, the vermin ceased fire, and the Bark Crew moved smartly off whilst they had the advantage. Ripfang hauled himself over the clifftops, yelling, ‘Don’t lerrem get away, fools, kill that Bark Crew!’
Doomeye came running up at the head of his vermin group. ‘Oh, ’ard luck, Rip. They fooled us that time, eh?’
Ripfang punched his brother in the eye. ‘That was you, puddlebrain, y’never waited for the signal!’
One of Doomeye’s patrol, a ferret, stepped forward. ‘Yew shouldn’t ’ave punched ’im. Yore brother stepped on a thistle an’ yelped out loud. We all thought it was the signal, so we charged. ’Twasn’t ’is fault!’
Ripfang punched the ferret square on the nose. ‘Who asked yew, slugface? I’m givin’ orders round ’ere! Now get after ’em, the lot of yer, an’ slay the Bark Crew!’
The ferret wiped blood from his nose and glared at it. Then he lashed out, cracking Ripfang between the ears with his spear haft.
‘Yew ain’t a cap’n any more. Trunn broke youse two back down t’the ranks, an’ besides, we’d ’ave to kill our own mates to get at the Bark Crew. I ain’t doin’ that!’
Ripfang rubbed his head, grinning ruefully. ‘Yore right, mate, yew ain’t doin’ that. Yore stayin’ ’ere.’ Quick as light he drew his cutlass and ran the ferret through, then waved the dripping blade in an arc. ‘Anybeast else want to stay ’ere? Come on, who wants t’join ’im? Step up an’ face me!’
They backed off, staring dumbly at the slain ferret. Suddenly, Ripfang was among them, laying about savagely with the flat of his blade. ‘After ’em, all of yer! I don’t care who y’bring down as long as yer finish the Bark Crew off!’
With Ripfang in the rear, cutlass drawn, they took off after the enemy, who had a good head start.
Stiffener cast a glance over his shoulder. ‘Didn’t take ’em long, Brog. ’Ere they come!’
The sea otter Skipper peered anxiously ahead. ‘No sign of any trees yet, Stiff. Sailears, how’s Willip doin’?’
‘Still groggy, I’m afraid. An’ there’s a young otter here, Fergun, who’s taken a javelin through the footpaw. Slowin’ us down a bit, but that can’t be helped, wot?’
Stiffener called Trobee and two otters, Urvo and Radd. ‘Fetch double quivers an’ bows. We’ll hold the rear, mates!’
‘Don’t let them catch up,’ one of the forage party sobbed. ‘They’ll kill us just t’get at youse!’
Brog clouted his head soundly. ‘Shut yore mouth or I’ll boot ye over the cliff!’
Stiffener and his three archers let the others go on ahead. Stringing shafts to their bows they brought down two Hordebeasts who were running ahead of the rest. After another volley they joined their friends. Trobee kept another shaft ready on his bowstring and walked facing back. ‘I think we took out seven vermin back at the clifftops. Countin’ the two we just dropped, that makes nine. Not bad considerin’ we lost only three, two otters an’ old Torleep.’
Stiffener turned to join him. ‘Nine don’t make a lot o’ difference to the crowd they’ve got, Trobee. We’re in big trouble unless we get some ’elp.’ He raised his voice, calling to the front of the column. ‘Any sign o’ shelter ahead, t
rees, rocks, or whatever?’
‘Not a thing, matey,’ an otter’s voice replied. ‘All I can see is a big dead ole tree near the cliff edge up yonder, sorry!’
Brog’s voice joined in the shouted conversation. ‘Ahoy, did ye say a big dead tree? I know that ’un – used to fish up this way. If’n I ain’t mistaken there’s a whole circle o’ rocks on the shore down there, above the tideline. Cut off an’ take a peek, Sailears.’
Sailears left the group and bounded to the cliff edge. She was back shortly with good news. ‘Brog old chap, you were right. A ring of rocks, not unlike a blinkin’ small fort. Oh, well done, sah!’
Stiffener and his archers dropped back and fired off another two volleys of arrows. This time the vermin saw them coming and avoided them. Brog waved the archers to join the column. ‘Never mind that now, mateys. Let’s get down to those rocks!’
Doomeye was holding a pawful of wet sand to the eye which his brother had punched. Ripfang watched him and shook his head in despair. ‘All’s that’ll get yer is an eyeful o’ wet sand, yer ninny.’
Doomeye spat contemptuously at him. ‘Think yew know everythin’, don’tcher, yew rotten slime, punchin’ me in the eye like that. Well, I ain’t yer brother no more, see. I ’ope one of those arrers out of the air gets yew, right in yore eye, then y’ll see ’ow it feels!’
‘Look, they’re climbin’ down the cliffs t’the shore!’ somebeast shouted.
Ripfang ran to the cliff edge and peered along. ‘Tryin’ t’make it to those rocks, eh? Well, we’ve got ’em now – we can easily surround those rocks. Slow down an’ catch yore breath, mates, they ain’t goin’ nowhere!’
It was hot on the rocks. The sand at the centre of the stone circle was dry and hot too. The Bark Crew threw themselves down gratefully, shedding cloaks and masks. Sailears tended to the injured, while Brogalaw and Skipper watched the clifftops.
‘Ain’t got much time to rest, Stiff. ’Ere they come, climbin’ down the cliff. How many would ye say they’ve got?’
‘Oh, about a hunnerd an’ two score more. Too many for us.’