Bubbling and hissing furiously, the tank in Salamandastron’s forge room received a red-hot chunk of metal. Lady Cregga Rose Eyes held the piece there until she was sure it was sufficiently cooled. Then, slowly, she withdrew the wet gray steel. It was an axpike head, the top a straight-tipped, double-bladed spearpoint. Below that was a single battle-ax blade, thick at the stub, sweeping out smoothly to a broad flat edge, the other side of which was balanced by a down-curving pike hook.
The Badger Warrior turned it this way and that, letting it rise and fall as she tested the heft of her new weapon. Satisfied that everything about the lethal object suited her, Cregga began reheating it in the fires of her forge. The next job was to put edges to the spear, ax, and hook blades—not sharpened edges, but beaten ones that would never need to be honed on any stone.
She straightened up as the long-awaited knock sounded upon the door, followed by Deodar’s voice.
“Tenth Spring Runner reportin’, marm, relieved on the western tide line this afternoon!”
The rose-eyed badger had waited two days to hear a Runner’s voice. She recognized it as female and roared out a gruff reply, “Well, don’t hang about out there, missie. Come in, come in!”
The young haremaid entered boldly, slamming the door behind her and throwing a very elegant salute. “Patrolled north by west, marm, returnin’ along the coast. No signs of vermin or foebeast activity; still no sign or news of Major Perigord’s patrol whatsoever. Spotted a few shore toads but they kept their distance. Nothin’ else to report, marm!”
Cregga put aside her work, great striped head nodding resolutely. “Well done, Runner, that’s all I needed to know. Stand easy.”
Deodar took up the at-ease position and waited. The Badger Lady picked up her red-hot axpike head with a pair of tongs. “What d’you think, missie? ’Tis to be my new weapon.”
The hare gazed round-eyed at the fearsome object. “Perilous, marm, a real destroyer!”
Setting it to rest on the anvil, Cregga squinted at the Runner. “Answer me truly, young ’un, d’you think you’re about ready to join the Long Patrol?”
Deodar sprang quivering to attention. “Oh, I say! Rather! I mean, yes, marm!”
A formidable paw patted Deodar’s shoulder lightly. “Hmm, I think you are too. Do you own a weapon?”
“A weapon, ’fraid not, marm, outside o’ sling or short dagger. Colonel Eyebright ain’t fussy on Runners goin’ heavy-armed.”
Cregga’s big paw waved at the weapons ranged in rows on the walls. “Right, then let’s see you choose yourself something.”
She checked Deodar’s instinctive rush to the weaponry. “No hurry, miss, take care, what you decide upon may have to last you a lifetime. Go ahead now, but choose wisely.”
The young hare wandered ’round the array, letting her paw run over hilts and handles as she spoke her mind aloud. “Let me see now, marm, nothin’ too heavy for me, I’ll never be as big as Rockjaw Grang or some others. Somethin’ simple to carry, quick to reach, and light to the paw. Aha! I think this’d jolly well fit the bill, a fencing saber!”
Cregga smiled approvingly. “I’d have picked that for you myself. Go on, take it down and try it, see how it feels!”
Reverently, Deodar took the saber from its peg and held it, feeling the fine balance of the long, slightly curving single-edged blade. It had a cord-whipped handle, with a basket hilt to protect the paw. So keen was its edge that it whistled menacingly when she swung it sideways.
Suddenly Lady Cregga was in front of her, brandishing a poker as if it were a sword. “On guard, miss, have at ye!”
Steel clanged upon steel as they fenced around the glowing forge, Cregga calling out encouragement to her pupil as she parried blows and thrusts with the poker.
“That’s the way, miss! Step step, swing counter! Now step step step, thrust! Backstep sideswing! Keep that paw up! Remember, the blade is an extension of the paw, keep it flexible! And one and two and thrust and parry! Counter, step step, figure of eight at shoulder level! Footpaws never flat, up up!”
With a quick skirmishing movement the badger disarmed her pupil, sending the saber quivering point first into the door. “Enough! Enough! Where did you learn saber fighting, young ’un?”
Deodar looked disappointed that she had been disarmed. “From my uncle, Lieutenant Morio, but evidently I didn’t learn too well, marm.”
Cregga pulled the saber from the door, presenting it back to Deodar hilt first. “Nonsense! If you’d learned any better I’d have been slain. What d’you want to do, beat the Ruler of Salamandastron on your first practice?”
The young Runner took the saber back, smiling gratefully. “No, marm! Thank you for this saber—and the lesson too.”
*
That same night the list of new recruits was posted at the entrance to the Dining Hall, and everyone clamored around it to see who had been promoted to the Long Patrol. Drill Sergeant Clubrush, who was responsible for day-to-day discipline among the younger set, sat near the doorway of the Officers’ Mess with Colonel Eyebright. The hares were old friends, being of the same age and having served together many long seasons.
Eyebright tapped his pace stick gently against the table edge. “Stap me, but I wish Lady Cregga hadn’t ordered me t’post that confounded list. Just look at ’em, burstin’ their britches to be Patrollers, all afire with the stories they’ve heard, an’ not a mother’s babe o’ them knows what they’re really in for, wot?”
The Sergeant sipped his small beaker of mountain beer. “Aye, sir, ’taint the same as when we was young. You didn’t get t’be a Patroller then ’til you ’ad t’duck yore ’ead to get through the doorway. I recall my ole pa sayin’ you had t’be long enough t’be picked for Long Patrol. I’d ’ave gived those young ’uns another season yet, two mebbe, ’tis a shame really, sir.”
The Colonel turned his eyes upward to the direction of the forge. “Mark m’words, Sarge, ’tis all Rose Eyes’s doin’. I’ve never known or heard of a badger sufferin’ from the Bloodwrath so badly. I’ve had it from her own blinkin’ mouth that she’s bound to march off from here with half the garrison strength to destroy Tunn an’ his Rapscallions. Have y’ever heard the like? A Ruler of Salamandastron leavin’ our mountain t’do battle goodness knows how far off. She’d have had us all go if I hadn’t dug me paws in!”
Clubrush finished his drink and rose stiffly. “Beggin’ y’pardon, sir, I’d best get ’em organized afore supper. Oh buttons’n’brass, willyer lookit, there’s young Cheeva sobbin’ ’er ’eart out ’cos she wasn’t posted on the list.”
Eyebright nodded sadly. “She was far too young, her pa an’ I decided we’d leave her a while yet. Better Cheeva cryin’ now than me an’ her father weepin’ when Cregga’s bloodlust brings back sad results. You go about y’business now, Sarge, I’ll see to her.”
Drill Sergeant Clubrush marched smartly into the midst of the successful candidates, bellowing out orders.
“Keep y’fur on now, young sirs an’ missies! Silence in the ranks there an’ lissen up please! Right, anybeast whose name’s bin posted up ’ere—in double file an’ foller me. We’re goin’ up to Lady Cregga’s forge room where I’ll h’issue you wid weapons I thinks best suited to gentlebeasts. No foolin’ about while yore up there . . . Are you lissenin’, Trowbaggs, I’ll ’ave my beady eye on you, laddie buck! Keep silence in the ranks, show proper respect to the Badger marm, an’ mind yore manners. Tenshun! By the right . . . Wait for it, Trowbaggs . . . By the right quick march!”
As they marched eagerly off, Colonel Eyebright went to sit next to the young hare Cheeva, who was sobbing uncontrollably in a corner. The kindly old officer passed her his own red-spotted kerchief.
“Now, now, missie, this won’t do, you’ll flood the place out. Come on now, tell me all about it, wot?”
Cheeva rocked back and forth, her face buried in the kerchief. “Waahahhh! M . . . m . . . my n . . . n . . . name wasn’t p . . . p . . . posted on th’ r . . . r . . . rotten ole li . . . li . . . list! Boohoohoo!”
Eyebright straightened his shoulders, adopting a stern tone. “Well I should hope not! It was the unanimous verdict of the officers who made out that list that you be kept back. D’you know why?”
“’Co . . . co . . . cos I’m t . . . too yu . . . yu . . . young! Waaahahaaarr!”
The Colonel’s trim mustache bristled. “Balderdash, m’gel, who told y’that? The reason is that we decided you were real officer material, needed sorely on this mountain, doncha know! Suppose Searats or Corsairs launched an attack on us whilst that lot were off gallivantin’. Who d’you suppose we’d be lookin’ for to take up a trainee commandin’ position, eh, tell me that? Long Patrol isn’t the be all an’ end all of young hares like y’self who want t’make somethin’ of themselves. Ain’t that right, young Deodar?”
Without Cheeva seeing him, the Colonel winked broadly at Deodar, seated nearby. She had had no need to go to the forge room for a weapon; she was polishing her saber blade with a rag. Deodar caught on to the officer’s little ruse right away.
“Oh, right you are, sah, I’d have been rather chuffed if I was picked t’be a trainee officer at the garrison here.”
Cheeva looked up, red-eyed and tear-stained. “Would you really?”
Deodar snorted as if the question was totally ridiculous. “Hah! Would I ever? How’s about swappin’ places—I’ll stay here for officer trainin’ an’ you go bally well harin’ off with that other cracked bunch?”
Colonel Eyebright shook his head sternly. “Sorry, miss, orders’ve been posted, you’ve got to go. Soon as I’ve got you lot out o’ my whiskers I’m goin’ to start Cheeva’s officer trainin’. First task, nip off an’ wash that face in cold water, miss. Can’t have the troops seein’ anybeast of officer material boohooin’ all over the place, can we, wot?”
Cheeva gave back the kerchief and ran off half laughing and half weeping. “’Course not, Colonel, sah, thank you very much!”
Eyebright wrung out the spotted kerchief, smiling at Deodar. “Good form, gel, thanks for your help. And don’t polish that saber away now, will ye!”
*
After supper the new recruits laid their paws upon the table and began drumming loudly until the dining hall reverberated to the noise. This was the prelude to a bit of fun traditional to Long Patrol.
Colonel Eyebright played his part well. Striding from the Officers’ Mess, he held up his pace stick for silence. When it was quiet he began the ritual with a short rhyme.
“Who are these strange creatures, pray,
Say who are you all,
Stirring up a din an’ clatter
In our dining hall?”
Young Furgale rose in answer in time-honored manner.
“We are no strange creatures, sah,
But perilous one an’ all,
Tell Sergeant we’re the Long Patrol,
We’ve come to pay a call!”
The Colonel bowed stiffly and marched back to the Mess, where he could be heard announcing to the waiting Clubrush:
“Wake up from your slumbers, Sergeant, dear,
I think your new recruits are here.”
Wild cheering and unbridled laughter greeted the appearance of Clubrush. He dashed out of the Officers’ Mess, roaring and glaring fiercely like the Drill Sergeant of every recruit’s nightmares. On these occasions a Sergeant always wore certain things, and Clubrush had dressed accordingly. ’Round his waist he wore a belt with dried and faded dock leaves hanging from it—these were supposed to be the ears of recruits that he had collected. ’Round his footpaws he trailed soft white roots—recruits’ guts. Over one shoulder was a banderole of cotton thistles representing tails. All over the Sergeant’s uniform were pinned bits and pieces of herb and fauna, supposedly the gruesome bits he had collected from sloppy recruits.
Scowling savagely, he paced the tables, singing in a terrifyingly gruff voice as he went:
“You ’orrible lollopy sloppy lot,
You idle scruffy bunch!
I’ll ’ave yore tails off like a shot
An’ boil ’em for me lunch!
You lazy loafin’ layabouts,
’Ere’s wot I’ll do fer starters
If you don’t lissen when I shouts,
I’ll ’ave yore guts fer garters!
O mamma’s darlin’s, don’t you cry,
Yore dear ole Sergeant’s ’ere,
Those foebeasts, why, they’re just small fry,
’Tis me you’ll learn to fear!
I’ll ’ave yore ears’n’elbows,
You sweepin’s o’ the floors,
An’ long before the dawn shows,
You’ll ’ave marched ten leagues outdoors.
O dreadful ’alf-baked dozy crowd,
I’ll stake me oath ’tis true,
Long Patrol Warriors, tall’n’proud,
Is wot I’ll make of you!”
Sergeant Clubrush’s fierce demeanor changed instantly as he patted backs and shook paws of the young hares crowding ’round him.
“Welcome to the Patrol, buckoes, you’ll do us proud!”
*
Cregga Rose Eyes had a handle for her axpike—a thick pole, taller than herself. The wood was dark, hard, and sea-washed, like that of Russa’s stick. Long summers gone, somebeast had found it among the flotsam of the tide line. Now the Badger Lady rediscovered it, lying with a pile of other timber at the back of her forge. She worked furiously, far into the night, shaping, binding, fixing the awesome steel headpiece to its haft, speaking aloud her thoughts as she bored holes through wood and metal for three heavy copper rivets.
“Sleep well, Gormad Tunn, sleep on, Damug, Byral, and all your Rapscallion scum! I am coming, death is on the wind! On the day when you see my face, you and all of your evil followers will sleep the sleep from which there is no awakening!”