The squirrel lay back, shading both eyes with her tail. ‘Ye’ll find out soon enough, friend.’
Jukka returned after a short while. ‘Udara will see us after sundown. Ye may drink of his water, but not swim in it, nor wash. I will deal with anybeast that does. There be small apples an’ pears on some of the trees. Take only the high ones, leave those in the lower branches. Ye will do as I say, understand?’
A weary rumble of assent came from the squirrels. As they moved off into the rocks, Grood could be heard muttering under his breath.
Jukka caught the youngster by his ear and tweaked it, none too gently. ‘I heard that mouthful ye came out with, wretch. See this strip o’ bark? I’ll gag ye with it if I hear one more word from ye whilst we’re guests upon Rockwood!’
Fleetscut patted his stomach. It made a swilling noise from all the cool, sweet water he had drunk from the little shaded pool. He gnawed upon a pear which felt as hard as the rocks surrounding him and lay still whilst Ruro changed his dressings.
The good squirrel soaked dock leaves, sanicle and rockmoss in water and pounded them into a soothing poultice before applying them to the old hare’s footpaws. He sighed.
‘Aaaahhh! My thanks, friend. D’y’know, my paws are startin’ to feel wonderful, wot. I feel like a young leveret again.’
Ruro put the final touches to her dressings. ‘Then rest thee an’ try not to go dashin’ about – ’twould ruin all my work. Lay up in the shade here where ’tis cool.’
Fleetscut did as she instructed. He took a few bites from the heavy honey-soaked farl of trekking bread, a couple more swigs of water to counteract the sticky sweetness, and lay back.
All around him others were doing likewise. Some distance away he glimpsed Jukka, sitting alone and waiting for evening shades to fall. That would be when their mysterious host might put in an appearance. Fleetscut dozed off, wondering just what sort of creature Udara Groundslay would turn out to be.
10
UNGATT TRUNN SAT closeted in his humid stateroom while his officers led his Blue Hordes against Salamandastron. He watched the spiders scuttling across their silky gossamer webs, pursuing flies, trapping them, and finally sucking the life from their victims’ bodies. Spiders were savage, independent and deadly; Ungatt liked them. He had learned many lessons by lying back in his cabin and watching them. One thing, however, was troubling his mind. The stripedog, not the old one who ruled the mountain, but he who bestrode his dreams, big, strong and forbidding, with his face always wreathed in a blur of mist. The wildcat would have given much to see the features of his foe. For foe he surely was, and coming closer each day. Now when Ungatt’s eyes closed he saw the phantom badger looming larger, surrounded by an ever-growing presence. The signs were there: this stripedog was gathering an army about him.
Ungatt Trunn had never been a superstitious creature, until he first heard of the mountain called Salamandastron. Prior to that he had been a conqueror, a warrior, with little regard for omens and dreams. Now he found himself listening to the riddles of a crippled fox, simply because, being neither wizard nor magician, he could not construe what went on in the land of visions. It angered him. He closed his eyes tightly and spoke aloud, trying his utmost to concentrate his thoughts on the big stripedog who haunted the corridors of his mind.
‘Come, show your face to me, come to my mountain and meet with your fate. I am Ungatt Trunn the Fearsome Beast; you will die by my paw the day you look upon my face!’
Outside on the afterdeck, Groddil and the Grand Fragorl were leaning on the stem rail, watching Salamandastron fall to the Blue Hordes, who broke upon it like the never-ending waves of the sea. Both creatures heard the wildcat’s raised voice from the cabin beneath. They could not hear his exact words, so, fearing that they might be absent when he was calling for them, Groddil and Fragorl hastened down to the stateroom door. The magician fox tapped respectfully and called, ‘Mightiness, do you wish us to attend you?’
Ungatt Trunn prowled sinuously out on to the deck, his plain war armour accentuating the strength and size of a fully grown male wildcat. His slitted eyes flicked shorewards before turning to the pair. ‘How goes the conquest of my mountain?’
Grand Fragorl replied in her usual monotone. ‘You will be enthroned within it by nightfall, O Shaker of the Earth. Already they are battering down its gates.’
The wildcat strode to the rail, both creatures following in his wake. ‘Bring a boat. We will go ashore!’
One of the Hordes’ most respected captains, a female rat named Mirefleck, stood awaiting them on the tideline. With her were two newcomers, big, sturdy young rats, one carrying bow and arrows, the other with a cutlass thrust in his belt. Ungatt silently sized them up: searats both. He stood to one side, allowing Mirefleck and his Fragorl to do the speaking.
Mirefleck saluted with her spear. ‘These are two rats from the seas. They heard of the master’s fame and wish to join his Blue Hordes.’
Fragorl nodded and turned to address the pair. ‘Know ye that ye can serve no other master than Ungatt Trunn, son of King Mortspear. Swear this under pain of death!’
The rats looked at one another, and then the one with the cutlass bowed his head slightly, answering for them both.
‘I’m Ripfang, and this is my brother Doomeye. We swear we will serve Ungatt Trunn.’
Fragorl held a small whispered conference with the wildcat before turning her attention back to the brothers. ‘His Mightiness looks upon you both with favour. Beasts who are skilled with arms and useful in battle are ever welcome to the Blue Hordes. Put aside your weapons and come.’
Ripfang and Doomeye carried out the orders issued by Groddil. First, they immersed themselves completely from ears to tails in a rock pool; then, climbing out, they both knelt in front of him. Groddil bade them close their eyes as he shook the contents of a large bag containing dark blue powder over them. Meanwhile, Fragorl intoned the initiation words.
‘Blue is the sea, blue is the sky,
Mightiest under the sun,
Blue are you, the same as I,
Servants of Ungatt Trunn.
Let him see what you are worth,
Make lesser creatures see why
The Chosen Ones can shake the earth,
Whilst the foes of their master die!’
Turning on his heel, the wildcat headed for the mountain with Fragorl in his wake. Groddil stayed momentarily, to acquaint the new recruits with their duties.
‘Rub the powder into your fur, all over, and stay away from water until the sun has risen three times. By then the blue colour will be permanent, and you can report to Captain Mirefleck and join her horde section.’
The din of battle rang out from the mountain. Both rats opened their eyes, wiping away blue powder residue from their eyelids as they watched the three retreating figures. The one called Doomeye retrieved his bow and arrows, rubbing the powder into his fur as he did so. ‘Well, it looks like we’re Blue Hordebeasts now, eh, brother?’
Ripfang suited his name. Some quirk of nature had left him with one great curved tooth growing out of the centre of his top jaw, so that now his smile appeared as a ghastly grimace. ‘Aye, fer as long as we gain more plunder an’ vittles than we did at piratin’!’
Lord Stonepaw knew defeat was inevitable. Against frighteningly overwhelming odds his hares had put up a gallant battle, but to no avail. Stiffener Medick had fought his way up to the high-level chambers, where the Badger Lord and his remaining warriors had retreated. Black oily smoke swirled around them as it rose from the lower mountain passages and chambers. Ignoring a deep slash in his paw, the fighting hare threw a salute to Stonepaw.
‘We’re cut off from the rest, sah. Bungworthy’s command were cut t’pieces tryin’ to hold the main gate – those vermin burned an’ battered it down. Ole Bungworthy was standin’ up to his scut in slain blue ’uns, yellin’ Eulalias an’ hackin’ at wave after wave of the scum, but they kept on comin’. He went down just as I made it t’the
main stairs. Seasons rest his brave memory!’
Stonepaw’s shattered lance fell to the floor. ‘Did you see any of Sailears’s command on the second level?’
Stiffener wiped tears from his eyes. ‘They was taken, lord, surrounded an’ beaten. ’Twas full o’ foebeasts, packed tight – Sailears an’ the rest didn’t even get a chance to fight! I got a smack o’er the ears an’ fell down stunned. One of ’em thought he’d stuck me with a blade, but I only got cut on me paw an’ side. They dashed off then, carryin’ torches to search the chambers for more prisoners. That’s when I escaped an’ made it up here, sire. We’d best do somethin’ quick afore they come!’
Ever gallant, the hare called Trobee drew his blade. ‘We’ll hold ’em at the stairhead. Mebbe we won’t last long, but we’ll take a tidy few o’ the villains with us. Who’s with me? Eulaliaaa!’
Stonepaw plucked the blade from Trobee’s grasp. ‘No! Listen to me. I know you’re all perilous beasts, but if we’re dead then Salamandastron’s completely lost. There are secret passages that lead down to the cellar caves – we’d never be found down there. At least we’d be alive until help arrives in one form or another. Come on!’
Eighteen hares, the pitiful remainder of the mountain’s old guard, were left to follow Lord Stonepaw. They filed after him, with his final words ringing in their ears.
‘At least where there’s life there’s hope, my friends!’
Evening skies rimmed the western horizon with fiery scarlet as the sun dipped to the winedark seas, and still no birds were heard or seen. Warm from the day’s heat, the sand was crowded with fresh Blue Hordebeasts, none of whom had seen action that day. Ungatt Trunn had the Badger Lord’s great chair brought out from the dining hall on to the beach, where he sat watching black smoke wreathe from the rock-carved windows whilst his officers made their reports.
The first, Captain Fraul, a sombre-looking stoat, bowed his head. ‘Losses in the first wave amounted to—’
‘Silence!’ Groddil interrupted in a squeaky shout. ‘His Mightiness does not want to know about losses, fool! Report the victory, you great oaf!’
‘Our victory was complete, O Great One!’
The Grand Fragorl took her place at Ungatt Trunn’s right paw. ‘What other outcome could there be for Ungatt Trunn, son of King Mortspear? Captain Swinch, you were in the second wave. How many foebeasts do you report slain?’
Ungatt held up a paw, halting Swinch. The wildcat’s other paw circled the Fragorl’s neck, in what appeared a friendly embrace. However, it was anything but friendly as Ungatt tightened his grip into a stranglehold. Pulling the Fragorl close he growled low and harsh into her ear.
‘I am Ungatt Trunn, I carve my own path, I conquer for myself. Call me son of Mortspear again and I’ll see to it that you die slowly over a fire. Erase Mortspear’s name from my list of titles – I never want to hear it again!’ He released the ferret and she staggered back holding her throat. Ungatt signalled Captain Swinch to continue.
‘Threescore and twelve of the lesser orders lie dead, Mighty One. Their unworthy carcasses will be fed to the waters of the seas at ebb tide.’
Groddil did some hasty figuring before pursuing the matter. ‘And how many were taken captive?’
Captain Fraul answered. ‘My Hordebeasts have threescore captives awaiting your judgement, Mightiness!’
The stunted fox cocked his head on one side, pacing a circle around the stoat officer. ‘Hmm. Seventy-two dead and sixty captured. I make that one hundred and thirty-two in all, captain. Surely there were more hares defending the mountain than that?’
Fraul swallowed and stood to attention, looking straight ahead. ‘Sire, I do not know the exact number we fought against. I can only report on the ones we have, dead or alive, sire.’
Ungatt Trunn stepped down from his great chair then, right on to the fox’s bushy tail. Groddil winced, but stayed still, fearing to move. Like a knife, the wildcat’s voice pierced his back.
‘Our scouts who watched the mountain reported at least a hundred and a half of those old hares. Then there’s another matter, my malformed magician. Where’s the Badger Lord Stonepaw?’
Groddil jumped as Ungatt shouted the last words, though he knew better than to try to give an answer. Ungatt kicked him, sending him sprawling as his master ranted.
‘Old Stonepaw the stripedog must still be alive inside that mountain, with a faithful few around him. Did nobeast have the sense to think of that? I want that badger here, flat on his muzzle in front of me, and the last of his hares, alive or dead. Find him, Groddil! Take some Hordebeasts with you, search every crack or hiding place inside that mountain, but find him. Now get out of my sight!’
The fox signalled to Captain Swinch to bring his soldiers and scrambled off through Salamandastron’s broken gates.
Stonepaw and his hares encountered nobeast on their journey down to the cellars. Without even torches, they felt their way through dark unused corridors and silent forgotten chambers. Down, down to the network of caverns beneath Salamandastron. Holding tight to the ancient Bramwil, Blench the cook waved her ladle in the Stygian blackness, so that she would not bump into any unseen rocks. Her voice echoed spectrally.
‘Are you sure y’know where we’re goin’, lord?’
The badger’s weighty paw descended lightly on her shoulder. ‘Hush, marm! Sound carries down here. Don’t fret, I know this place like the back o’ my paw. I’ve been Lord of Salamandastron more seasons than I care to recall, longer than any other badger. Stay to your left now, keep the rocks close to your backs, everybeast.’
There was a slight splash, followed by a muffled groan. Stonepaw’s voice sounded out a whisper of reprimand. ‘Left, I said, Blench – the paw you wear that shell bracelet on. Keep close now – not far to go!’
Blench heard her ladle clicking on rock both sides of her, and guessed that they were passing through a narrow tunnel. Wisely, she ducked her head.
‘Wait here, all of you, I’ll be back in a moment.’
The hares obeyed their lord’s command, speculating in low voices as they huddled together in the dark.
‘Where’s he gone? Wish he’d jolly well hurry up!’
‘What’s that plip-ploppin’ sound up ahead, Trobee?’
‘Don’t ask me, I’m as much in the dark as anybeast!’
‘As much in the dark. Heehee, that’s a good ’un!’
‘Keep your blinkin’ voice down, Bramwil, y’sound like a frog in a barrel. I say, what’s that?’
Sparks flew up ahead, and there was a chinking sound of steel striking flint. In an instant the area was flooded with light and waving shadows.
Lord Stonepaw loomed up, a blazing torch creating a redgold aura around him. ‘This way, friends. Follow me!’
Gratefully, they shuffled along in the badger’s wake until he halted, holding the torch up against what appeared to be a solid rock face.
‘Through here. ’Twas a bit of a squeeze for me, but you hares shouldn’t find it too difficult.’
There was a fissure in the rock wall, barely detectable. Stiffener looked at it incredulously. ‘You got through there, m’lud? ‘Tain’t nought but a sort o’ sideways crack!’
Emerging one by one from the narrow gap, the hares greeted the sight that met their eyes with gasps of surprise. They were in a medium-sized cavern, with a pool at its centre, which threw off a pale luminescent green aura. Water dripping from white limestone stalactites plopped gently into the pool, rippling it constantly and causing a shimmering effect in the light. Smooth, worn stone ledges bordered the cave walls, with knobbly stalagmites looking as if they had popped up from the floor.
Stonepaw busied himself filling four big lanterns from a barrel of vegetable oil near the entrance. He lit them with his torch. ‘Here, place these about midway on the ledges.’
When this was done the added light had quite a cheering effect. The Badger Lord called them all to sit in a semicircle around him.
‘First, a
few words for our dear comrades who are slain or captured by the foebeast. Bramwil, would you say it?’
Faint eerie echoes rebounded from the walls as the ancient hare intoned in a husky whisper to the bowed heads before him.
‘When sunlight tinges the dawn of the day,
Remember those brave ones now gone.
We who recall them to mind, let us say,
They were perilous beasts every one!
For those who live, but are not free,
May we see their dear faces again,
Mother Fortune grant them sweet liberty,
And cause slaves not to suffer in pain.’
A moment’s silence followed, the only sound the measured cadence of droplets hitting the pool surface.
Lord Stonepaw coughed gruffly and wiped his eyes, blinking as he surveyed the pitiful remnants of one hundred and fifty loyal hares.
‘Right, council of war. First, we’ve no food down here, but as you see there’s lots of cold clear water. Now, let’s take a vote by show of paws. What do we do next? Shall we sit here and wait to be rescued, or do we search for a way out to freedom?’
Every paw was raised for finding a way out of Salamandastron. The Badger Lord nodded approvingly. ‘Well, at least there’ll be no arguments. Down to business, then. What weapons have we, Stiffener?’
The boxing hare had his estimate ready. ‘Four light rapiers, bows’n’arrers, eight, full quivers too. No more’n ’aif a dozen javelins, but everybeast carries a sling an’ there ain’t a shortage of stones ’ereabouts. Oh, eight daggers an’ Blench’s ladle. That’s the lot, sah!’
Stonepaw mused over the situation before speaking. ‘Hmm. If we’re going to get out we’d best make it soon. I’ll guarantee that Ungatt Trunn is having the mountain searched stone by stone for me right now. If we linger down here we’ll have to face three things: discovery, and a fight to the death, or capture and slavery. Our final option is that we remain hidden here and die of starvation. Not a pleasant thought, eh?’