Lord Brocktree towered over Trunn like a giant oak. As the wildcat tried to rise he kicked him flat again. The pandemonium which had rung through the arena when the arrow struck the Badger Lord fell hushed. Every eye was on Brocktree, standing over his enemy, the barbed shaft embedded in his shoulder, filled with the terrible Bloodwrath. Dragging the arrow out without the slightest sign of a flinch, the Badger Lord flung it into the wildcat’s face. Kicking the net to one side, he stamped down hard on the trident shaft. It broke with a loud crack, leaving Trunn with a pawful of splinters. For the first time in his life, Ungatt Trunn felt cold fear. He tried to drag himself backwards, but Brocktree’s powerful paws seized him and hauled him up until their faces were touching. Like a knell of doom the badger’s voice rang in his ears.
‘Now I see your face, Ungatt Trunn. Look upon me!’
Trunn finally looked into the eyes of his tormentor, but this time it was no vision – the terrifying nemesis of his dreams had at last become flesh and blood. One word escaped the wildcat’s lips and echoed around the silent, crowded shore.
‘Mercy!’
The next thing everybeast heard was the bone-jarring snap of Ungatt Trunn’s spine as Brocktree caught him in a swift, deadly embrace. He picked up his sword, pointing with it at the huddled figure on the sand.
‘Cast this thing into the sea!’
The second level barricades fell, and a hail of arrows and slingstones shot out over the crowd.
‘Eulaliiiiiaaaaaa!’
Bumping, falling, scrambling and trampling over their comrades on the sand, vermin ran madly to the fleet of vessels moored in Salamandastron bay. Bucko Bigbones grabbed a sword and yelled, ‘Yaylahaaaar, mah bairns, let’s send ’em on their way!’
Guosim came pouring out of the mountain, Log a Log Grenn roaring the shrew battle cry.
‘Logalogalogaloooooog!’
Ripfang was already in the sea, half wading, half swimming after the stem of the lead vessel, which Karangool had already ordered to sail.
‘Wait fer me, cap’n, ’tis Ripfang, wait fer me!’
He caught a rope trailing from the after end and hauled himself up, paw over paw. Karangool watched the exhausted searat climb wearily over the rail and spit out seawater.
‘Trunn’s dead, everythin’s lost!’
The fox curled his lip contemptuously. ‘I know that, fool, why you think I sail?’
Bucko was first to the sea. Dashing into the shallows after the fleeing vermin, he chanced to glance south at the vessel which was already crewed and under way. The mountain hare’s eyes lit up with grim satisfaction. There leaning over the stem rail was the fox called Karangool. Bucko tore south, spray flying everywhere. Grasping his sword in his teeth he gave a wolfish grin and went after the ship.
Still sprawled by the stem, recovering his breath, Ripfang watched the crew trim the sails to let the breeze take her south. He turned his attention to Karangool, who was guiding the tiller.
‘Huh, some mate yew are, fox. You was goin’ t’sail off an’ leave me, after all the plans we made t’gether, eh?’
Karangool did not even bother to look at him. ‘Stop you moanin’. Got aboard, didn’t ye?’
Ripfang was facing away from Karangool, and now he could see Bucko swimming strongly after the ship. Suddenly the searat became philosophical.
‘Yer right, mate, I did get aboard, an’ well shut o’ that lot too. Pore ole Doomeye’s back there lyin’ slain – shame, that was. Still, worse things ’appen at sea, eh, mate?’
Karangool aimed a sharp kick at Ripfang. ‘You don’t mate me, rat. I cap’n now!’
Ripfang continued appealing to the fox’s better nature. ‘You don’t mean that, do yer? You said we was all goin’ t’be cap’ns. I know Doomeye ain’t around no more, but that’s no reason why we can’t be cap’ns together, is it, me ole cully?’
A sword appeared in Karangool’s paw. He swung it upward, readying himself to take Ripfang’s head off. ‘Only room for one cap’n on diss ship!’
Ripfang leapt up and sprang to attention, saluting smartly. ‘Yer right there, cap’n. I wishes to report a beast follerin’ yer ship, one o’ those longears, just aft of us there!’
Karangool went to the rail and leaned over. He felt a momentary wave of fear as he glimpsed Bucko, but it soon passed when he realised the hare was in the water, whilst he was aboard a fast ship, headed south. ‘Yah, that longears come after me, I not know why.’
Ripfang sneaked up behind Karangool and suddenly heaved him overboard into the sea. ‘Why don’t yer go an’ ask ’im wot ’e wants?’
Karangool wallowed in the vessel’s wake, shouting at Ripfang, ‘Ahoy, pull me up, mate!’
The searat tut-tutted severely. ‘I ain’t yore mate. ‘Member wot yew said, only room fer one cap’n aboard this ship? Well, yer talkin’ to ’im!’ He tipped a broken mast spar over the side. ‘You kin be cap’n o’ that. Steer ’er careful, cap’n. Goodbye, an’ the worst o’ luck to ye!’
Karangool had lost his sword in the fall overboard. Bucko still had his. He sat on the spar facing the fox, with the sword pointed at his eyes.
‘Och, ’tis a braw day for sailin’, mah bonny wee foxy. Now, ye set still there an’ ah’ll tell ye a sad auld tale, aboot a puir young hare, whit wis left for dead by a wicked auld fox who beat him wi’ a sword blade.’ Bucko’s chuckle was neither pleasant nor friendly. ‘Weel now, ah see ye reckernise me at last. Tell me, mah friend, how does it feel t’be wi’out yer great horde o’ vermin tae help ye out?’
Whup!
Karangool screamed in pain as the flat of Bucko’s sword struck him smartly across his shoulder. The mountain hare bellowed in his face.
‘Tell me!’
Evening sun was dipping low on the horizon. Dotti sat with all her friends and comrades in arms. From where they rested, on a broad terrace of rock slabs and vegetation, above the mountain’s main entrance, the whole scene of that day’s activities was spread before them. Like autumn leaves strewn by the wind, distant vessels ranged far and wide over the darkening sea, to the north and south and out to the west.
Shading his eyes from the sun’s crimson glow, Stiffener watched them growing smaller. ‘Lots o’ those ships overladen with vermin, y’know. I’d say some of them’ll sink afore the next dawn comes.’
Baron Drucco wrinkled his browspikes, in that manner hedgehogs adopt when they could not care less. ‘Serves ’em right. Ain’t our fault they wouldn’t stand an’ make a fight of it. Hah, ran like forficartickers they did!’ Nobeast bothered enquiring what a forficarticker could be.
‘Well I for one am jolly well glad they did run,’ Dotti admitted. ‘We never lost one creature in that little scrabble across the shore t’the shallows, what d’you say, Ruff old chap?’
‘I’m with you, missie. There was more vermin drowned than slain in combat. A score or so of ours wounded, no great slaughter. Almost wot they call a bloodless victory.’
An iron arrowhead clinked on the rocks, and Lord Brocktree emerged from an open window space to sit with them. ‘Anybeast want to keep that as a souvenir of the battle? Ruro dug it out of my shoulder – that squirrel’s a marvel when it comes to patching a beast up!’
Gurth viewed the Badger Lord. He had compresses of herbs bandaged to shoulder, back, side and footpaw, plus one across his striped brow, which gave him a roguish air.
‘Burr, you’m looken loik ee been in a gudd ole bartle, zurr!’
Brocktree took a sip from the tankard he was carrying. ‘I suppose I do, but I’m feeling no pain at all. One of your cooks gave me this to drink, Drucco. What is it?’
The baron took a drink and winked knowingly. ‘Special ole berry’n’pear wine wid some cowslip an’ royal fern essence. That’ll make ye sleep tonight, sire!’
Trobee took a mouthful and nodded approvingly. ‘Tastes absolutely spiffin’. Wish I’d been wounded!’
Brogalaw tweaked the hungry hare’s ear. ‘Don’t start talkin’ about vittles an’
drink again, y’great longeared stummick, we’re flat out o’ grub. But you won’t need t’wait long. ’Ere comes my bird t’the rescue!’
Rulango soared gracefully in out of the evening sky. If it were at all possible for a heron to smile, Dotti would have said that the great bird tried his best. He was all over Brog, wafting him with both wings and knocking his beak against the sea otter’s paws, as if checking he was unhurt. Brog stroked Rulango’s neck to calm him down.
‘Steady on there, ole mattressback, I’m all right. How’s my mum an’ the rest o’ me mates? Snug’n’safe, are they?’
Rulango placed both wings over his eyes, letting his head bob up and down. Brogalaw roared laughing.
‘Still weepin’ an’ cryin’, eh? Good ole Mum. She an’ ’er pals ain’t ’appy if they can’t ’ave a good blubber. Lissen, matey, you get back t’the cave an’ tell ’em to whomp up vittles fer victors, lots of the stuff, as much as they can cook afore mornin’. I’m sendin’ Southpaw an’ Bobweave, Durvy an’ Konul an’ some Guosim over there, an’ we’ll get ’em moved lock, stock an’ vittles back ’ere. I tell ye, mates, I feels a feast comin’ on!’
Stiffener’s eyes lit up, as did many others’. ‘I say, splendid idea, old lad, wot!’
‘Aye, a great feast at Salamandastron!’
‘Wid enough scoff t’sink a gang of my rabble’ogs!’
‘And singin’ an’ music, for days an’ days!’ Grenn added.
‘Ho urr, an’ darncin’ too, oi loiks t’darnce!’
‘An’ when it goes dark we’ll light big bonfires on the beach, so we can carry on all night!’
‘Capital, an’ miss Dotti can play the harecordion an’ sing!’
‘Why didn’t I think of that, South? What a great wheeze!’
Ruff pulled a face. ‘Don’t yer think we suffered enough in battle?’
Dotti stared severely at the otter, then broke out giggling. ‘Heeheehee, I’ll sing an extra long ballad, just for you!’
Lord Brocktree laughed until the bandage on his brow slipped and fell over his eyes. ‘Oh, look out, it’s gone dark. Time for bed, you lot!’
Sounds of merriment rang out from the happy creatures on the mountain, so loud that a pair of seagulls, building a nest in the rocks, squawked complainingly. The birds had come back to the western shores.
37
IT WAS LONELY on the far reaches of shoreline to the north of Salamandastron. Night had fallen over the restless sea. A flood tide was rising, claiming back the flotsam and jetsam it had cast up on its previous visit. How long Ungatt Trunn had lain there, he could not tell. Salt water crusted the wildcat’s eyes, slopping bitterly into his half-open mouth. He could not move his body. Most of it was numb, frozen solid, as if encased in a block of ice. But his chest, head and neck were on fire with unearthly pain. The last thing he could recall was the Badger Lord, crimson-eyed as they came face to face, snarling at him. ‘Now I see your face, Ungatt Trunn. Look upon me!’ Beyond that, everything was a blank and unknown void.
But the wildcat was not dead. He recovered consciousness slowly, sodden, freezing cold and grunting in agony every time a wave smashed over his helpless body, moving him down the slope of the shore. Damp seaweed and the sharp edge of a shell pressed against his cheek. Something small and spiny scuttled across his face. From the corner of one eye he could see a half-moon and the star-scattered skies. Another wave buffeted him. Now he could see the sand and a rocky outcrop. Realisation invaded his senses with a shock of terror as his awful position dawned upon him. He was lying at the mercy of the sea. Floodtide was drawing him back into the waves, where he would be swept out into the vast, unknown deeps.
Hissing like a huge reptile, another wave crashed over him, rolling his broken body into the shallows. The wildcat turned his gaze landward, and gave an agonised groan. Then he saw something. Two footpaws and a bushy tail. Somebeast, a fox, was sitting on the rocks, watching him. Karangool, it had to be Karangool! His own voice sounded distant, strange to him, as he croaked out, ‘Please . . . ’elp . . . mmmee!’
The fox came down off the rocks and crouched before him. Trunn managed one word before the fox pushed him further into the water.
‘Groddil?’
Then he was swept away on the current, drawn out to sea with rollers lifting him high on their crests and tossing him down into their troughs.
Groddil watched the bobbing object until it became a far-out speck amid the night sea. He was chanting aloud, though his former master was beyond hearing the crippled fox magician whom he had bullied and tormented for so long. None the less, Groddil chanted on.
‘These are the days of Ungatt Trunn the Fearsome Beast! O Mighty One, he who makes the stars fall! Conqueror, Earth Shaker, son of King Mortspear, brother to Verdauga! Lord of all the Blue Hordes, who are as many as the leaves of autumn! O All Powerful Ungatt Trunn!’
Turning his back upon the sea, the crippled fox limped away and was never seen in those lands again.
38
MORNINGS WERE DAWNING in soft mist; the days grew shorter, sunsets earlier and more crimson. The earth was turning its season from summer to autumn.
Hares had come to the mountain, travelling from far corners to serve under the banner of Salamandastron’s ruler, the fabled Lord Brocktree. Travellers carried abroad tales of his valour and the brave army who had defeated the evil might of Ungatt Trunn and his Blue Hordes. There was a fresh spirit of joy and freedom upon the lands; now anybeast could range the earth in peace. But there were also creatures leaving the mountain to return to their homes. Ten ships from the defeated fleet had been recovered and made good and seaworthy. Twoscore vermin captives, their coats scoured clean of blue dye, had worked on the vessels, making them ready for this special day.
Brogalaw took five of the ships. His crew of sea otters and their families boarded, laden with gifts, for their voyage south. Then he came ashore with Durvy, Konul and the heron, Rulango, to say farewell. Dotti was embracing them when she went into floods of tears. She fought to stem them, to no avail.
‘Oh, I say, you chaps, sniff sniff, I feel absolutely dreadful, boohoo! Can’t help m’self, Brog, waahaah! Gettin’ your tunic all wet, look. Boohoohaaah!’
The kindly sea otter Skipper gave her his kerchief. ‘Haharr, you carry on, miss. I’m used t’this sort o’ thing, y’know. Wot with my mum weepin’ an’ wailin’, I’ll wager we end up balin’ out tears to stop us sinkin’ afore we’re back ’ome down southcoast!’
Lord Brocktree stood in the mountain’s main entrance, waving with his sword as Brog and his friends returned aboard their ship. ‘Farewell and fair winds, friends. Brog, you’ll come back and visit, I trust?’
‘Aye, lord. Keep the vittles a-cookin’ – you never know wot season the ole Bark Crew’ll come blowin’ up the coast to eat you out o’ ’ouse an’ ’ome. Watch out for us, Ruff!’
Tears sprang into Ruff’s eyes, and he looked at the badger. Brocktree nodded and clasped his paw fondly. ‘Go on, get along with you. See you next spring mayhap.’
Kissing Dotti, Ruff bounded past her into the water. ‘Ahoy, Brog, I’m comin’ with ye! I always wanted t’learn ’ow t’be a sea otter. Lend a paw ’ere, mates!’
As he was hauled aboard, Bucko Bigbones came marching out of the main gate, followed by his mountain hares.
‘Ach weel, Brock, there’s mah ships an’ here am ah. Ah won’t stan’ aroond weepin’ like a wee bairn. ’Tis aff tae the North Mountains for me’n’mah clan. Mind, though, we’ll be ever ready tae come ef ye call for us. Not that ye’ll be needin’ help, a braw beast like yersel’, with all these fine young hares a-floodin’ in by the day. Fare ye weel!’
Dotti held Bucko’s paw before he boarded his vessel. ‘I’m going to miss you pretty awfully, y’know, Bucko. Wouldn’t you consider staying on a few seasons, help me to command the new Long Patrol that Lord Brock’s forming? We’d have lots of super adventures, you’n’me, ranging the shores an’ woodlands an’ whatnot, wot wo
t?’
The mountain hare ruffled her ears affectionately. ’Och no, lassie, ah’m yearnin’ tae return tae mah mountains. But we’ll be the highland branch o’ yer Long Patrol if ye like, an’ ah’ll call mahsel’ General Bucko. Fare ye weel, Dorothea, live lang an’ happy. Yer a fatal beauty the noo!’
Biting her kerchief so as not to let Bucko see her weeping, Dotti hurried back to the main entrance. Ruro was waiting for her, wearing a silver medallion about her neck.
‘Look at the honour thy Badger Lord bestowed upon me. I’m to be leader of my tribe. ’Tis called a Jukka medal!’
The haremaid inspected the beautiful insignia, a likeness of Jukka, twirling what else but a sling. ‘It’s lovely, Ruro. I won’t say goodbye, ’cos your pine grove’s not more than a couple o’ days’ walk from us. We’ll call and see one another often, wot?’
Ruro signalled her tribe to move off. ‘’Tis a promise, Dotti!’
Dotti turned to Log a Log Grenn. ‘An’ you, Grenn marm – you and your Guosim will be on your way then, won’t you, wot?’
The shrew Chieftain nodded, close to tears herself. ‘If ever you need us, just send word.’
Mirklewort chased after Skittles. He came out of the mountain like a tiny boulder, knocking Dotti flat, a great smile plastered all over his cheeky face.
‘We gonna stay onna mounting a few seasons, wiv you an’ B’ock. I paggle every day inna water wiv ya, Dotti!’ Mirklewort took a swipe at the hogbabe with a dish towel, but he scampered up on to the Badger Lord’s sword hilt. ‘Choppa you tail off if ya do dat again, Mummy!’
Gurth flicked Skittles’s snout with his digging claw. ‘You’m ’ave respecks for ee muther, likkle zurr. Oi’m stayin’ yurr jus’ to keep a h’eye on ee, villyun! An’ as furr ee, miz Dott, you’m cumm with oi. Yurr h’aunt Blench sez ee got to lurn ee cooken!’