The shrike made a circular movement with his beak. ‘All uppa thirr, leave thizz ta me!’
The ram thudded against the door a second time. Meldrum took the now-useless bench and, laying it ladder-fashion against the wall, he scrambled ponderously up into the attic. Leaning out, Meldrum thrust both paws down to assist the other three. Helped by Dandin and Mariel, Gael climbed quickly into the small conical room.
The ram struck the door a third time, creating a gaping hole at its centre. Backing out of spearthrust range, the great red-backed shrike stood in full view of the rats outside. Glokkpod’s mad eyes shone with joy as he gave vent to his battlecry.
‘Kachakachakiiirrrrr! Hirrs a butcha bird, ratzz!’
There was an immediate scramble as the horderats retreated from the door at the sight of the Butcher Bird. Nagru was almost knocked flat. He pulled himself upright, raking wildly with his metal wolfclaws, and screaming, ‘Charge the door or I’ll flay you alive. Charge!’
Urged on by the claws of Nagru they rushed the door. Riveneye kicked aside the loose door timbers; swinging a sword he rushed into the tower room. Death was on him in a blur of feathers, talons and stabbing beak. Nagru pushed two more rats through immediately – they were slain before they had time to draw breath. Glokkpod’s talons rattled against the floor as he spread his pinion feathers in a war dance. One wing had been badly torn by a rat’s spear and several feathers were missing. Glokkpod was infuriated by this injury.
‘Kirrchakkachirrr izza good day to fearrrrr me!’
Silvamord pushed her way through the rats on the spiral staircase. She whirled on Nagru, berating him. ‘Fool! Can’t you see that bird can hold the doorway as long as it likes while you send in hordebeasts a few at a time?’
‘Well, there’s the Butcher Bird, my dear,’ said the Foxwolf, his voice dripping condescension. ‘What’s your bright idea?’
Ignoring his patronizing tones, Silvamord gave her orders. ‘Back out of sight, all of you. Hooktail, pick out ten good archers, get on the third and fourth steps down and keep firing heavy volleys until you’ve made a pincushion of that bird!’
The friends in the attic had heard Silvamord’s commands. Mariel called out urgently to Glokkpod, ‘Quickly, fly up here before they start shooting!’
But the shrike continued his dance, challenging the rats. ‘Kirrchakachirrr! Glokkpod fear no ratzz!’
‘It’s no good talking to that one,’ Dandin sighed wearily. ‘He’s going to get himself killed. Save your breath.’
Meldrum solved the problem with a few barbed insults. ‘I say there, y’great flyin’ featherbed, d’you keep your brains in your beak or your bottom, nestnoddle!’
With a lurch and a flapping leap the shrike was up in the attic with them, standing eye-to-eye with Meldrum. Quickly, Mariel and Dandin slammed the attic floorboards back in place. Not a second too soon – the planking quivered to the thud of arrows.
‘Hullo, that’s a bit much,’ Meldrum called out to them moodily, ‘leavin’ a chap in the dark with a bally Butcher Bird. Shed a bit o’ light on the subject someone, it’s pitch black in here!’
Dandin had brought a spear up with him. Using the butt he knocked a few of the rooftiles aside, dodging as they fell in. Sunlight streamed in, flooding the attic. Mariel looked round at their refuge. It was the inside of a conically tiled towertop and through the broken roof she could see a tiny flagpole flying a gaily coloured pennant.
The commanding voice of a rat sounded from the room below. ‘My Lord and Master Urgan Nagru, King of all Southsward, Foxwolf Supreme and his Queen Silvamord send this message to you! Be it known that if you surrender yourselves to his mercy, the Urgan Nagru will spare your lives, all save that of the Butcher Bird – the creature is too dangerous to live. Hear this and know these are the words of the Urgan Nagru, all powerful in battle and ruler of all he sees!’
Hefting one of the red pottery rooftiles, Meldrum shifted aside a floorplank. He flung the tile accurately, laying the rat low.
‘All merciful indeed. Poppycock! Did y’hear that, Glokko?’
The shrike bowed, deferentially. ‘Nize shot Melderrin!’
‘Oh I dunno, you could’ve prob’ly done as well y’self, old lad,’ the hare shrugged modestly. ‘By the way, it’s Mel-drum, as in boom boom. Drum!’
The shrike nodded understandingly. ‘Derrin, bum bum, like in drim!’
Gael stared up at the cloudless patch of blue sky that could be seen through the hole in the roof. ‘Well, we’re free in a way I suppose,’ he said, ‘free to stay up here and starve until the Foxwolf and Silvamord find a way of winkling us out and killing us all.’
Mariel removed a few more tiles until she could see further outside. ‘If we could only find a way of getting down there,’ she mused.
Meldrum took a peek and covered his eyes. ‘Great seasons, it makes me go all of a dither just thinkin’ about it. Now I know why birds always look dizzy!’
‘Birds, there’s a bird here, he could do it!’ They all turned to look at the Squirrelking, pointing at Glokkpod as if seeing him for the first time. ‘There’s the bird!’
Dandin shook his head, totally nonplussed. ‘But what use is Glokkpod to us?’
Gael was shaking with excitement. ‘Maybe he can’t fly us down with that injured wing, but he can go and get help for us! He can find the otters, they’ll be able to help us!’
Silvamord had tired of watching Nagru commanding archers to shoot ceaseless arrows into the tower room ceiling. She wandered off to her chamber, which was on the same floor as the banqueting room. There she sat discussing the situation with Sicant, a female horderat who often doubled as the vixen’s maid. They took wine and a roasted fish together, and Sicant was careful to agree with all Silvamord’s views.
‘You’re right, of course, my Lady. Sooner or later those escaped prisoners will be starved down from there.’
Silvamord tapped her chin knowingly. ‘Malebeasts, they’re all the same, not happy unless they’re fighting. Nagru will keep those archers firing arrows into the ceiling, and for what? A waste of arrows, that’s all. Now as for me, I prefer to fight when the time is right. It’s brains that win in the end.’
She smiled as a paw rapped gently on the door. ‘Watch and I’ll show you what I mean, Sicant. Come in!’
A small, furtive-looking rat stole into the room and bowed, saying, ‘Majesty, you were right, the Butcher Bird flew off a short while ago. It headed north and east slightly, I watched until it was out of sight.’
Pouring a beaker of wine, the vixen pushed it towards the rat. ‘You did well, Bluebane. Go now and say nothing of this to anybeast.’ Taking the beaker of wine with him, Bluebane slunk away.
The vixen turned to Sicant. ‘Your mate, Graywort, he’s willing to serve me?’
Sicant nodded eagerly. ‘To the death, my Lady. He is like me, he knows that you are the real power on the throne of Southsward.’
Silvamord took a dainty sip of wine. ‘Good! Riveneye was slain today and we need a new horde Captain. I’ll see that Graywort is promoted. Now, tell him to post six lookouts around the castle and keep one full squad in readiness night and day. The Butcher Bird is bound to bring help for the prisoners in the tower attic. When the lookouts spot them coming, tell them to report to your Graywort. As soon as he hears that help is arriving he must come directly to me and no other, is that understood?’
Sicant knelt and kissed the vixen’s paw gratefully. ‘I understand, Majesty.’
17
A SMALL MOLE almost bowled Furpp over as he dashed into the mole dwelling. The old fellow kept himself upright by catching hold of the youngster, and said, ‘Yurr Bruggit, whurr be ee ’astenin’ off to?’
Bruggit saluted the oldster hurriedly. ‘Zurr, thurr be a gurt burd out yon, ee’m be a-callen sumthen fearful furr ee otter an’ maister Bowly!’
Furpp took Bruggit outside. ‘Naow, whurr be ee burd?’
Bruggit tugged on Furpp’s digging claw. ‘O’er th
is way zurr, you’m can ’ear ’im, ’earken!’
Furpp listened carefully. On the mid-morning air the sounds of Glokkpod came drifting clearly over a dune.
‘Kcha kcha! Irriz otter, Bowly Pintip, whirr are yirr?’ The Butcher Bird hove into view over the hilltop, walking with his customary swagger as he called out the names. Furpp had seen Butcher Birds before. Carefully stowing Bruggit behind him, out of the bird’s view, he called, ‘A mornen to ee zurr burd, whurr cum ye frum?’
The shrike cocked a bright eye towards the mole. ‘I, Glokkpod, come from Miriel and Dindin, Meldrin and Squirrelking, they say find otters.’
‘Burr, you’m foller an oi’ll take ee to otterfolk,’ said Furpp, turning towards his dwelling. ‘Us’ll feed ee too, if’n you’m promise not to go an eaten of uz.’
There were mixed emotions inside the cavernous mole dwelling. The Squirrelqueen and her little son were overjoyed at the news that Gael was still alive. However, the feeling swiftly changed to one of anxiety when they were told of the peril that Gael and their friends were in. Iris soon took command of the meeting.
‘We’ll go to Castle Floret tonight, as soon as it gets close to dark. If they haven’t been recaptured we’ll see what’s the best way to get them out of there. Glokkpod, how long do you think they can hold out?’
The Butcher Bird was hastily gobbling cold turnip’n’ tater pie, and he shrugged as he explained between beakfuls, ‘Don’t know, mibbee long time, mibbee not so long. Lotsa ratz, lotsa weapinz!’
Bowly Pintips, who had placed himself in command of the four leverets, hefted his two hard scones. ‘Rats don’t bother us, we be warriors!’
Glokkpod choked on a piece of pie as he laughed, ‘Kchakcha kcha! Yirr only infints!’ The young hedgehog ignored the jibe, but the leverets were indignant.
‘Steady on there an’ have a care sir!’
‘Aye, you wouldn’t like to tangle with these infants!’
‘Infants indeed, infant y’self sir!’
‘Great, feathered windbag!’
The shrike’s bright eye rested on Foghill, the last one to speak. ‘Meldrin yirr father?’
Foghill treated the question with the contempt he thought it deserved. ‘Tchah, old uncle Mel my pater? I should think not!’
Iris ignored the interchange as she started arrangements. ‘Troutlad, Greenbeck, get the others together, we’d best start out now. Bring all the ropes you can find.’
Bowly insisted that he and the hares go along too. Iris refused flatly, but softened the blow by telling him that he and the hares should stay behind to protect the Squirrelqueen and her young one.
Firgan was a big tough rat; he patrolled silently around the east side of Castle Floret, as Greywort had told him to. Confidently he strode the valley floor, poking and prodding at bushes with his spear. It was early evening, still light, when Firgan sat down to take his food. Tilting a flask of water the rat drank deeply, unaware of the huge paws that came silently from behind his neck. He managed one startled gurgle before the flask slipped from his lifeless claws. The huge paws receded, accompanied by a cracking snap as the broken spear was tossed carelessly aside into the bushes.
On the south side another of the rat patrol heard a noise behind a nearby rock. Padding stealthily forward he went to investigate, a long curved sword held ready. A large slingstone hit him at the base of his skull – he fell poleaxed by the missile. A smaller, sleeker pair of paws took the sword and, wedging it between two rocks, they snapped the blade effortlessly.
Night was starting to set in when Silvamord grew impatient. She snarled at Sicant, ‘There should be some news by now of rescuers coming. What’s Graywort doing out there, dreaming?’
The female horderat went to the door and looked out. ‘Here he comes, my Lady,’ she said, relieved.
Graywort entered the chamber carrying a ruined pike and a snapped sword. He was frightened, breathless, glancing back over his shoulder as if he were being followed. ‘M’lady, they’re dead, Firgan, Gringol, and the rest of them, slain!’
Silvamord sprang up, knocking the useless weapons from the horderat’s dithering paws. ‘Stop babbling and talk sense, you fool! Here, sit down, drink this and pull yourself together!’
Elderberry wine slopped down Graywort’s chin as he drank greedily. Having finished, he told his story.
‘I posted the six guards, just as you commanded, told them t’watch for a party of otters. Later I went out to see if they had anything to report . . .’
Silvamord leaned closer, staring hard at Graywort. ‘And?’
‘Majesty, they were all dead, the six of them! First I found Gringol – his neck had been snapped like a twig! Look at this pike, it’s shattered, broken in two places. What sort of wild beast had the strength to do that? Then I ran to find the others, they were either killed by slingstones or their necks had been busted like Gringol and Firgan’s. I heard a noise in the bushes, a rumble and growling, and I ran for my life. Somebeast was tryin’ to track me down – I never stopped to look back, just dashed straight into the castle!’
The vixen hastily armed herself from a wall cupboard, buckling on a sword and grabbing a bow and arrows. ‘Where’s that special squad I told you to have standing by? Get them up on their paws! I’ll find out what sort of beast is at the bottom of all this!’
Meldrum leapt to one side as a pikehead came smashing through the floorboards. Gael had taken to sitting on the upper beams where the rooftiles had been removed and staring down at the steadily deteriorating floor, and the arrowheads, spearblades, pikeshafts and swords that were reducing it to splinters. Dandin tapped the Squirrelking’s paw lightly.
‘Move over Sire, I’m coming up there with you, it’s safer!’ Mariel followed suit shortly, then between them they hauled Meldrum up to the relative safety of the sloping roof.
Meldrum pulled a tile loose and aimed it between a rift in the floorboards. ‘Take that y’blighters!’ He was rewarded by the sound of an agonized rat squeal.
Mariel watched gathering cloud masses being swept in from westward, and she groaned, ‘Oh no, rain, that’s all we need! Still, I suppose it’ll provide us with a drink. No sign of Glokkpod yet?’
Dandin scoured the sky to the north. ‘No, I wish he’d hurry up. D’you suppose he’s found the otters yet? He could be completely lost.’
‘Wouldn’t surprise me,’ Meldrum the Magnificent snorted. ‘I’ll wager the rogue’s flown off someplace to fill his stomach. Never met any Butcher Birds before, but if that’n is a specimen then they’re a pretty shabby lot, if y’ask me.’
Nagru stood in the doorway of the tower room, out of the range of roof tiles. The Foxwolf was confident that he would recapture his prisoners. ‘Wetchops, Ragfen, keep ’em stabbing upward. That ceiling won’t last much longer, then we can bring them down with arrows. Don’t kill them, just wound them a mite, I want our friends alive for a bit of fun.’
Bluebane came scurrying up the stairs and tugged at Urgan’s wolfhide. The Foxwolf smiled. ‘Ah, my little eyes and ears, what is your lovely Queen up to now that I should know about?’
They held a short whispered conversation together. Nagru patted his informant’s back, saying, ‘Well done, Bluebane. Now go and find Graywort, tell him I want to see him up here, right away.’
Bluebane stood on the lower stair as if waiting for something. Nagru looked at him curiously. ‘What are you waiting for, my little spy?’
Bluebane fidgeted with his tattered tunic. ‘Sire, Queen Silvamord rewarded me with a beaker of elderberry wine.’
The Foxwolf smiled understandingly. ‘Ah, I see, you’d like a reward from me too, is that it?’
The spy nodded eagerly. Nagru spoke softly, dangerously.
‘Life is the highest reward of all, my friend. Double dealers and traitors often receive death as their payment. But I will not slay you for your treachery to me and my Queen – I give you your life as a reward, you are spared. Now go and do my bidding.’ Without another word
Bluebane sped gratefully away.
18
IT WAS LATE afternoon. Rain began falling in large spots, slowly at first, then it gathered force into a major downpour. On a wooded slope of Castle Floret’s valley a score of otters threaded their way through the undergrowth. The quick eyes of Greenbeck picked up a movement close by; a sharp wave of his paw sent Iris and the rest of the troop into a crouch, wary and silent. They held their breath, watching keenly as Silvamord and her horderats tramped by, hardly a pawlength from them.
When they had passed, Troutlad stood up hefting a javelin.
Iris pulled him down, saying, ‘Not yet, we don’t want them to know we’re here, and besides, we don’t know if there’s more of ’em patrolling. Where’s the Butcher Bird?’
Glokkpod poked his head out of a wet swathe of feathers. ‘Hirr I am, Glokkpod not like thiz ryne!’
Iris blew rainwater from her muzzle enjoyably. ‘Nothing wrong with a bit of clean rain! Now, show me the tower our Mends are trapped in.’
Not being airborne, it took the shrike a little while to find the exact location. The otter troop hid among the trees as Glokkpod pointed his beak upward at the highest point of Floret, crying, ‘Thirr, up thirr they are.’
Iris looked up. From where she was, the tower was a mere pinpoint, almost invisible in the rain. ‘Butcher Bird, fly up there and tell our friends we’ve arrived,’ she said. ‘Ask them what they want us to do. It looks impossible to help anybeast trapped that high up.’
The four escaped prisoners were sitting out on the roofbeams, open-mouthed as they caught raindrops to drink. Glokkpod landed alongside them; settling himself on a beam he stared down at the weapons chopping through the splintered floor of the attic. ‘Ratz gonna gitcha soon if you notta ’scape hirr.’
Mariel wiped a paw across her mouth. ‘You’re here at last! Have you brought help?’