A blazing javelin whipped out of the mountain, cutting a fiery trail through the night. It buried its point in the damp sand below the tideline, extinguishing the flaming tip. Weasel Captain Bargut plucked the weapon from the sand and carried it to the rocks, where Ungatt Trunn was still in conference with Karangool.
‘Mightiness, this came from the mountain. I think there is a message tied to it.’
Taking the javelin, Trunn dismissed Bargut. He slit the twine, holding the scroll to the weapon’s middle, with one razor sharp claw. Karangool watched the wildcat as he scanned the parchment which had been rolled around the haft. Ungatt Trunn’s shoulders began shaking. At first the fox thought his master was suffering an attack of ague, then he realised Ungatt Trunn was laughing, a sight no creature had ever beheld. The wildcat made no sound, but his eyes narrowed to slits and his mouth curved up at either end, his whole body quivering convulsively.
‘Everything comes to the beast who waits, eh, Karangool?’
‘Might’ness?’
‘Here I am, trying to think of a way to accomplish my plan, when the stripedog unwittingly solves it all for me!’
‘Good news, eh, Might’ness?’
‘Better than you think, much better. Come, follow me!’
Ruff put his eye to a crack in the wood of a window shutter, peering at the approaching shapes.
‘Well, they’re comin’, Brock, whole bunch o’ the blue scum!’
‘Can you see Trunn with them, Ruff?’
‘Not so far, mate. ‘Ang on. Aha, I sees the cat now, but just a glimpse. That ’un’s takin’ no chances. He’s well shielded by three ranks o’ guards, shields up too.’
The group halted within hailing distance. Trunn’s shout rang out from between the ranks. ‘I received your message, stripedog!’
Brocktree’s sharp growl answered. ‘Well, cat, do you agree to the terms?’
‘How could I not agree? The one left standing takes all. But can I trust you to honour your word?’
‘I am a Badger Lord. My word is my life and honour!’
‘Good! I am Ungatt Trunn the Conqueror, I too will pledge you my word. I will respect your terms!’
‘Tomorrow then, when the noon is high. We will meet there, where you stand upon the shore at this moment.’
‘Then I will look upon your face, stripedog!’
‘And I will look upon yours, cat!’
‘Not for long. I will close your eyes for ever.’
‘You waste your breath on idle threats. Go away, cat!’
There followed a moment’s silence, broken once or twice by outraged growls from the wildcat. Ruff returned to his spyhole in the shutter and peered out.
‘Looks like they’re gone, Brock.’
Instinct guided Brocktree to the rift in the rock wall of his bedchamber. Moving the bed, he ran his paw along the crack. About halfway down he found the widening, where both his paws fitted. Only a beast with the strength of a badger could move the slab. Corded sinews stood out against bunched muscles beneath Brocktree’s fur. Knowing that other badgers had done this before him, it gave Brocktree much pleasure to unleash his own raw power. The slab seemed to groan, then it moved inward, unable to resist his might. Though he had never been in the secret place of Badger Lords before, Brocktree felt at home there, his mind familiar with it. Fetching a lantern from his bedchamber he traced the lines of carving which told the mountain’s history, the legacy left him by the mummified figures of past Badger Rulers. Urthrun the Gripper, Spearlady Gorse, Bluestripe the Wild, Ceteruler the Just. He stared sadly at the place which stood unoccupied. His father, Lord Stonepaw, had been denied the right of taking his place there.
From the bedchamber, he carried through the big chair. It was almost like a rough throne. This had been his father’s, he could feel it. Placing it in the space, he sat down. There was a heap of dark powder on a ledge, and he reached for some. It smelled like strange herbs, dried and crushed. A faint memory of a scent like this came to him. Brocktree sprinkled some in the lantern’s air vent. Leaning back in his father’s chair, he closed his eyes and inhaled.
It was an ancient fragrance, autumnal woods, faded summers, a winter sea and soft spring evenings. Badgers came and went through the crossroads of his mind, some dim and spectral, like those who had gone before, others light and ethereal, as if yet unborn. There was even a strong fearless mouse, bearing a beautiful sword, every bit as great a warrior as the badgers who roamed through his dreams. Battles were fought beneath forgotten suns, ships ranged the heaving seas through lightning-torn skies. Armies marched dusty paths, comrades in arms singing lustily. Brocktree’s dream world turned through seasons of famine and feast, maidens singing, babes playing happily, silent lakes, chuckling streams, flower-strewn bowers and fruit-laden orchards. Then the tableaux changed: deserted caves, burning dwellings, vermin driving enslaved creatures over the slain members of their friends and family. Blood, war, misery, suffering . . . and finally . . .
The face of a wildcat he had not yet looked upon. Ungatt Trunn! The once fragrant aroma became bitter in Lord Brocktree’s nostrils, and he awoke, shouting, ‘No, it shall not happen, do you hear me, cat? No!’
Smearing a flat rock with vegetable oil, the Badger Lord began to put an edge to either side of the broad blade. Never having been a singer, he recited the ancient lines of a badger’s swordsong as he worked.
‘My blade like winter’s cold doth bite,
Come guide me, Badger Lord,
For truth and justice we must fight,
Wield me, your Battle Sword!
Defend the weak, protect the meek,
Take thy good comrades’ part,
My point like lightning, send to seek
The foebeast’s evil heart!
Eulalia loud like thunder cry,
Be thou mine eyes and brain,
We join in honour, thee and I,
To strike in war again!’
Ungatt Trunn had singled out his best ship and moored it at the fleet’s south edge, close to shore. Closeted in the main cabin, with Karangool, Ripfang and Doomeye, he laid further plans. The wildcat was a beast who left nothing to chance, and now that the moment was close he took precautions by covering all angles.
‘I need an archer, the very finest bowbeast, one who never misses. Is there such a creature in my Hordes?’
Brimming with confidence, Ripfang replied, ‘Look ye no further, cap’n. My brother Doomeye can pick off a butterfly on the wing, an’ I’d take me oath on that. Yew ain’t never seen a beast livin’ that kin fire off a shaft like ole Doomeye ’ere, ain’t that right, mate?’
Doomeye tapped the bow and quiver he always carried. ‘I’m the best, Mighty One, yer can count on me!’
Trunn’s tail curled out and drew him close. Doomeye’s paws quivered as he gazed into the wildcat’s savage eyes.
‘Fail me and I’ll make sure you die bit by bit, searat! Now, here’s what you must do. Climb the mountain tonight, letting nobeast see you. Find a spot where you can command a good view of the combat. If the fight is going against me, kill the badger. Go now. Take your brother with you, and make sure you find a good hiding place. Be certain none see you!’
When the pair had departed, Trunn gave Karangool his instructions.
‘You are certain this is our fastest vessel?’
‘Yah, Might’ness, she sail faster than wind.’
‘Then crew this ship with your best creatures, and be ready to make sail on the noon tide. If all goes wrong I will need to get away from here with all haste. Understand?’
‘Might’ness, she be ready, waitin’!’
Karangool was trapped by the bulkhead. He could move no further back as the trident points prodded his chest. ‘Make sure she is, my friend, or you will curse the mother who gave birth to you!’
Trunn left then, to go aboard his own ship and spend the remainder of the night in his more luxurious stateroom.
Hidden behind some hatch covers, Ripfang
and Doomeye waited until the wildcat was gone. Karangool, still rubbing his chest, ushered them into the cabin. ‘You ’ear what Trunn say?’
Ripfang’s face was the picture of wicked indignation. ‘Every word, mate, every word! So, ‘Is Mightiness is feared that it might all go wrong? I never thought I’d ’ear Trunn talkin’ like that. We don’t wanna be sidin’ wid nobeast who’s got the idea ’e might be a loser!’
Doomeye’s head bobbed up and down in agreement. ‘Yore right, Rip. Let’s up anchor an’ get away from it all right now. Us three could sail this craft easily!’
Karangool preened his brush thoughtfully. ‘No, best we stay, ’ear me. If Trunn be losin’, you shoot the stripedog, yah. Then you kill Trunn also! Us three be lords then, we take all!’
‘But wot if that stripedog slays Trunn right off? That’d knock all the fight out o’ our ‘Ordebeasts. Wot then, eh?’
Karangool produced two brass hoops from his cloak. He threaded them through the holes in his ears and smiled. ‘Yah, then you get off mountain fast. I be waitin’ crewed up for sail. We forget diss place, go piratin’ again!’
Ripfang did a little jig of delight, rubbing his paws. ‘Hohohoho, ain’t yew the one, cap’n. We’re with yer!’
Dotti and her friends were laying a few plans of their own at that very moment. Grenn had the floor.
‘When our Badger Lord goes out there to face Trunn tomorrer, he’ll have enough on his mind. Now I know Brock’s given us our orders, but there ain’t no reason why we shouldn’t make double sure o’ things. Trunn knows nothin’ of honour. That cat can’t be trusted, take my word for it, mates.’
Brog nodded his agreement wholeheartedly. ‘Yore right, Grenn, so wot’s the scheme?’
Grenn turned to Dotti. ‘Tell them, miss.’
The haremaid outlined the plan she and the shrew had devised. ‘Right, listen up, chaps. Grenn and Drucco will stay inside the mountain – they’ll have the Guosim, the rabblehogs and Jukka’s tribe with them. Slings and bows, cover every window an’ arrow slit. I’ll be outside with our force of hares an’ otters. We’ll push in close to the place of combat, make two rough circles, more or less back t’back, fully armed of course. That way we’ll be able to watch the vermin an’ keep an eye out for trickery. If Lord Brock gets hurt, we’ll surround him an’ drag him back into the mountain, where Grenn’ll be waitin’ to barricade the main entrance once we’re inside. But if our badger slays the cat, this is the counterplan. Bucko will give out with a loud Eulalia to Grenn. She’ll lead her forces outside an’ try to circle the bluebottoms. With a bit o’ luck we’ll have ’em both ways, us in the middle, the rest at their backs. Not a word to Brocktree now – he thinks he’s goin’ to carry the day by whackin’ Trunn alone.’
Gurth waved a digging claw airily. ‘Hurr, an’ so ee will. Thurr bain’t no wurrier loik zurr Brocko, boi okey thurr bain’t! But us’n’s be keepin’ watch on ee vurmints, wun way or t’other. Moi ole dad allus sez count ee diggen claws if’n you’m shaken paws with ee vurmint!’
Bucko Bigbones looked up from honing his javelin point. ‘Och, yer auld faither’s a braw rock o’ sense, mah friend. Aff tae yer beds, mah bairns, ’tis after midnight, ye ken!’
Ruff shouldered a long-bladed sword. ‘I’ll take first watch with the night sentries. Goodnight to ye all, an’ good victory tomorrow, mates!’
‘Thankee, zurr, oi bidden ee gudd noight too!’
‘Good night, miss Dotti, pleasant dreams, wot!’
‘Don’t drub too many vermin in your slumbers, it can be jolly tirin’ y’know. G’night, Grandpa Stiff!’
‘Night, you two. I’ll give ye a call at dawn.’
‘Aye, ye can call me’n’Drucco too, if ye please, an’ bring us a wee tray o’ brekkist, auld pal!’
‘Anybeast not on the breakfast line by dawn will be fightin’ on an empty stomach. Did ye hear that, mister Bigbones?’
‘I say, Log a Log Grenn marm, can I have Bucko’s scoff if he’s not there, wot?’
‘You’ll get wot yore given, Trobee. There’ll be liddle enough to go round as it is, after wot you put away this afternoon.’
Amid the good-humoured joshing they filed off, some to bed, others to guard posts, laughing and joking. However, everybeast knew that at noon of the next day the merriment would cease, temporarily for some, permanently for others.
36
LORD BROCKTREE OF Brockhall unshouldered his great sword and strode into the sandy arena. Behind him the sea lay calm, like a glittering mirror. He breathed deep and stood ready, clad only in a loose green tunic, a broad woven belt circling his waist. Dotti and her friends jostled their way roughly through the blue-furred vermin. Trampling paws and knocking aside weapons, they pushed their way to the inner fringe of the wide sandy circle. It was hot; golden noon sun blazed down out of a cloudless blue sky.
Standing at the western edge of the ring, Dotti felt herself shoved to one side as Ungatt Trunn prowled into the place of combat. A tremor of apprehension ran through the haremaid; the wildcat was a barbarous sight. His pointed ears could be seen through the slits of a round steel helmet with a spike on top and a shoulder-length fringe of fine chain mail. He wore a purple tunic, topped by a copper breastplate. Above his paws were metal bracelets with spikes bristling from them. In one paw he carried the big trident, in the other a woven net edged with metal weights.
Silence fell upon the packed shore, a quietness that was almost unearthly in its intensity. Lord Brocktree came to the centre of the arena. Lifting the sword level with his face, he saluted his enemy in the traditional manner of a beast about to do combat. But salutes, rules and formalities did not figure in Ungatt Trunn’s nature. A screeching growl ripped from his throat and he charged.
Krrraaaanggggg!
Metal struck metal as the badger met his rush. The sword slammed down between the tines of the trident, shock waves running through the paws of both beasts. Digging in their footpaws, they bent to the task of trying to push one another backwards. Both were huge male animals in their prime, well matched. Brocktree allowed himself to be thrust back a pace, then he retaliated with a roar, sending Trunn skidding across the ring, ploughing two furrows in the sand. Suddenly the wildcat whipped the net about his opponent’s footpaws, catching the badger unawares and crashing him to the sand.
Rrrip!
The sword came thrusting and slicing through the net meshes, its point punching a hole in Trunn’s breastplate. He let go of the net and danced backward. Brocktree tore the net from his body and came after his adversary whirling it. He flung the net and Trunn leapt to one side, the metal weights whacking his side painfully as it sailed by. He stabbed downward in an attempt to lame Brocktree, but the badger shifted swiftly, an outside prong tearing the side of his footpaw. Ignoring the wound, he stamped down on the trident, trapping it against the ground. Flicking up the huge sword, he laid Trunn’s right paw bare to the bone. Trunn fell down, but only to grab the net. Whirling it about his paw he came up, battering the badger’s face with the weights. They broke and circled, the trident probing, the sword seeking. Then the net shot up, enveloping Brocktree’s head, followed by a pawful of sand which the wildcat flung into his eyes. Trunn had no time to stab, so he hit Brocktree hard on the side of his head with the trident butt. The badger fell heavily, blinking and trying to rip the meshes from his face. Trunn raised the trident for the kill, but the badger rolled over. Folding his body into a curled-up position, Brocktree hauled sharply on the net and Trunn stumbled forward, his back bent. As he fell towards Brocktree, the badger lashed out with his uninjured footpaw, smacking it into the wildcat’s nose with a sickening thud. Trunn fell backwards. Brocktree struggled upright, tearing himself free of the net, and quickly pawed the sand from his eyes. From flat on his back Trunn beheld his foe bearing down on him, sword upraised. He shoved the trident out in front of him to counter the weapon’s swing, and Brocktree’s battle blade sheared right through one of the thick barbed copper prongs, which zinged o
ff skyward.
Doomeye fitted the shaft to his bowstring. ‘Time fer the stripedog t’die. Trunn’s flat on ’is back!’ He drew back the seasoned yew bow to its limit, and sighting expertly down the arrow he fired. The force of the blow which had severed Trunn’s trident prong took Brocktree a staggering pace forward, but he whirled and straightened so quickly that the arrow, which would have pierced the base of the badger’s skull from behind, thwacked through his left shoulder.
Ripfang clapped a paw to his brow. ‘Idiot, y’missed!’
Doomeye’s lip pouted sulkily as he laid another shaft on his bowstring. ‘The stripedog cheated, ’e moved, but I still got ’im, Rip! Watch me finish ’im off wid this next arrer!’
But Ruff was already moving. Grabbing Bucko’s javelin, he kept his eyes on the vermin head he had spotted, poking above the rocks, atop the second level. One paw out straight, the other wide outstretched, balancing the weapon, the big otter did a hop-skipping sideways run right across the arena. His footpaws pounded the sand as he gained momentum, one eye centred firmly on the high target, and he let out an almighty yell as he hurled the javelin with all his strength. It whistled up through the hot summer air, with almost every eye on it, up, up, with breathtaking speed. Doomeye had the arrow stretched tight on his bowstring. He stood up and placed his cheek against it, closing one eye to sight on Brocktree. Though he had not intended it, Ruff’s javelin actually cut the bowstring. Doomeye could not lower his chin. He turned to show his brother the javelin, growing out of his neck on either side, and fell dead on top of him. With a sob of horror, Ripfang heaved the body off himself and fled.