It was noon of the third day at the court of King Bucko Bigbones, time for the Fighting challenge. Spectators were packed tight around the arena; others sat on the hillside or climbed trees. However, there was no air of festive gaiety. This was serious business; the outcome would decide which hare picked up the crown. The high bright sun presided over a silent and solemn crowd. A furtive whisper rustled about Bucko and his seconds as they made their way to the ring through the path which fell open before them.
The mountain hare had discarded his broad belt for the event, and a paunch which had not been visible before was now clearly evident. Creatures commented on it in hushed tones.
“I say, whatever happened to the trim waist he had, wot?”
“Too much scoff an’ not enough exercise, if y’ask me!”
“Maybe so, but ole Bucko still looks dangerous enough to do the job. I wouldn’t fancy facin’ him, no sir!”
“Och aye, yon king’s a big braw beastie, near twice the size o’ the wee lassie. Ah’m thinkin’ ’twill all be o’er if he lands the bairn one guid blow!”
Bucko took the log barrier at a bound, his cloak swirling as he tossed it to his seconds. He jammed his scepter between two of the logs, balancing the laurel-wreathed gold coronet on it. Then, grim-faced, he sat down to wait, acknowledging the presence of the bankvole referee with a curt nod. Glancing up at the sun, Bucko judged which would be the best position to take up without being dazzled. After a while some of the onlookers began whispering among themselves. Dotti had not yet put in an appearance. Bucko sat calm and motionless.
Lord Brocktree and his party led Dotti through the aisle of creatures which opened from the stream side. He and Ruff stepped into the arena, followed by Dotti and Gurth. The haremaid was simply clad in a short green tunic. She sat down on the logs on the opposite side to Bucko, giving him scarce a glance.
Waddling to the center of the ring, the bankvole began his preamble. “Good creatures, h’attend meeeeee! Toooooday h’is the day o’ the Fightin’ challenge, an’ the rooooools h’are h’as folloooows. No weapons h’or arms can be heeeee—”
Bucko stood up and cut him short. “Och, awa’ an’ stop wearin’ yer auld gob oot. We ken the rules as guid as anybeast here. Let’s get on wi’ it!”
A roar of approval arose as the pompous bankvole fled the ring. Ruff winked at the haremaid as he and the others stepped outside the logs bordering the arena. “Go to it, missie. Remember wot you’ve got t’do!”
Dotti leapt up and dashed to the line scored in the earth. She scraped her footpaw along it, calling to her opponent, “Come on, Bucko, let’s have you up to scratch, come an’ face me across this line. I’m waitin’!”
The mountain hare swaggered slowly across, but he did not put his footpaw on the mark. It was obvious he expected some sort of trick. He winked knowingly at Dotti.
“Yer a canny wee beastie, but ah’m no fooled by ye. You an’ yer friends’ve cooked somethin’ up, ah can tell. So yer no’ gettin’ mah footpaw on yon mark. D’ye ken whit the rules say, pretty one? Ah’ll tell ye. Them rules say, the king, that’s mahself, has the right tae decide whether this contest be frae scratch or movin’ freely!”
He smiled at the disappointment which clouded her face. “So, mah bonny wee thing, ’tis goin’ tae be movin’ freely, that’s mah decision. Och, dinnae look sae sad aboot it!”
Dotti twitched both ears impertinently. “Oh, I don’t know, sah, you may be the one who ends up lookin’ sad, wot?”
Bucko did actually look sad for a moment as he pondered his big clenched left paw. “Ye’ve brought this on yersel’, missie. Ah’ll be fair grieved tae lay ye oot flat—ah’ve no raised mah paw tae a lassie afore. Ah promise not tae hit ye too hard.”
Dotti moved a little closer to him. “Thankee, sah, an’ I promise not t’let you hit me at all. Now, do we stand here jaw-waggin’ all afternoon, or shall we get on with it? What d’you say, eh?”
Dotti was ready. She saw the hard knobbly paw move in a quick arc. Falling flat, she kicked Bucko’s footpaws from under him, leapt upright and fled. The crowd roared aloud at her clever move.
“Haha, did y’see that? She sat him down good’n’hard!”
“Aye, an’ without even landin’ a proper blow. Hohoho!”
Bucko scrambled upright, flicking dust from his scut, and went after the haremaid like a charging bull. Dotti skidded to a halt as he rushed by her. This time she stood her ground when he turned and charged once more, waiting until he was almost on top of her. Again she went down, falling flat on her back, both hind legs shooting up like pistons. Bucko’s own weight and momentum carried him straight onto her. Air whooshed from his stomach as it came in contact with Dotti’s footpaws, and he went ears over scut, landing hard on his back in a cloud of dust. Dotti was up and running again.
Bucko arose, but not so speedily this time, one paw clutching his stomach. He did not give chase, but circled swiftly and cut off Dotti’s escape as he backed her against the logs. This time it was his turn to throw himself down, his long powerful footpaws lashing out at her.
Thunk! King Bucko gasped aloud with pain. Dotti had jumped backward onto the log boundary, and the noise was audible as her opponent’s footpaws hit the wood. She cleared his head at a bound and trotted to the center of the ring. Bucko took a moment to pull a splinter from his footpaw, then he got upright purposefully and limped out to meet her.
They faced each other, Dotti breathing hard, but Bucko breathing harder. His eyes were red with wrath.
“Stan’ an’ fight me, ye wee whelp!” He lashed out with a surprisingly quick left paw.
Dotti dropped into a crouch, hearing it whistle overhead. She stayed stooped, putting into practice what the twins had taught her. One two three! Dotti whacked at the stomach protruding in front of her. Bucko’s flailing right thudded against the side of her head. Stars exploded in her eyes, and the crowd noise suddenly seemed very distant. Bucko’s left looped around her head and tightened on her neck.
“Och, ye’ve got her noo, Majesty!”
Roaring darkness filled Dotti’s brain as the breath was cut off in her throat by Bucko’s grip. Dimly she could hear the hare twins bellowing in unison: “The old bread basket, miss! Give it him in the basket!”
She knew what they meant. Swinging her right furiously, she pummeled the king’s stomach, and as he gasped she slid out of his stranglehold. She found herself facing his back, and shoved hard, knocking Bucko facedown.
He struggled up, spitting earth and wiping dust from both eyes. Lowering his head for a vicious butt, he hurtled forward. Dazed as she was, Dotti knew she had to act quickly. Holding position, the haremaid sucked in her stomach and arched her back. The mountain hare’s bowed head struck her fractionally, jarring her hip. Clenching both paws, she brought them down in a sharp double blow on the back of Bucko’s neck.
Once! Twice!
Still bent double, Bucko carried on another three paces, staggering crazily. Then he crumpled and fell.
A deathly hush fell upon the crowd. Dotti walked across and stood over the fallen king. A voice from the crowd split the silence.
“Finish him off!”
Dotti turned and glared in the direction of the shout. “Why don’t you try it yourself? Come on! This hare is a brave fighter. He could still finish you off from where he lies, whoever you are!”
Bending wearily, she tried to lift Bucko, but she collapsed with fatigue alongside him. The mountain hare opened one eye and gave her a battered smile.
“Mah thanks to ye for that, lassie. ’Twas weel said!”
Lord Brocktree and Ruff supported Bucko back to the log ring. Dotti followed, limping as she leaned heavily on Grenn and Jukka. They sat sharing a pail of water from a ladle, the victor and the vanquished. Brocktree and Ruff positioned themselves behind the pair, stopping the numerous paws trying to pat their backs.
“Well done! What a sooper dooper scrap, wot!”
“Och, ’twas wan tae tell yer bairns aboot in seasons tae come!”
“Bravely fought! Never seen anythin’ like it in me bally life. What courage!”
“Staaaand baaaack there, h’everybeast, give these two h’animals room t’breathe. Staaaaaand baaaack, h’I say!” The bankvole referee pushed his way through, bearing the crown and scepter.
Bucko placed a paw about Dotti’s shoulder. “Ah’d take et if I were ye, Dorothea. Ye beat me fair’n’square, lassie. Ah couldnae think o’ anybeast more deservin’ of mah title than ye. Och, yer a fatal beauty, so y’are!”
“And you, sah, are a valiant an’ brave warrior!” She passed the crown and scepter to Lord Brocktree. “Here y’are, sah, crown an’ thingummy. Don’t rightly know what I’m supposed to do with the confounded things.”
Bucko was taken aback. “Ach, ye mean ye don’t want mah croon an’ scepter?”
Dotti shook her head. “No, not really. The plan wasn’t for me to become queen or kingess or anythin’ like that. No, we had a bigger idea, and one which we think will appeal to a great perilous warrior like y’self, sah! Don’t you realize you’ve practically got a blinkin’ great army here at your court, Buck?”
The former king shrugged ruefully. “Aye, ’twas mah intention that one day ah’d knock ’em intae shape as an army. Then ah could’ve found mah enemy an’ marched against him with these braw beasts at mah back.”
Brocktree patted Bucko’s shoulder. “Well, your time has come, sir. You can help us rally this crew into a great fighting force to follow us to Salamandastron and face Ungatt Trunn.”
“Ungatt Trunn the wildcat? Haud on there, Brock, yon’s the very foe ah’m bound tae find an’ slay!”
Dotti gaped in surprise at the mountain hare. “You’re jokin’, of course, sah?”
“Ach, ’tis nae joke, lassie. Feel mah back!”
The haremaid ran her paw across the welted ridges of flesh beneath the fur of Bucko’s back. “He did this?”
For the first time since she had known the tough hare, Dotti saw a single tear course down his cheek.
“Flogged me with the flat o’ mah own sword ’til it breakit o’er mah back, an’ drove mah hares from oor hame in the North Mountains. That’s the beastie they call Ungatt Trunn for ye. Aye, the whippin’ was carried oot by a fox called Karangool, on Trunn’s orders. Karangool, och, there’s a vermin wouldnae sleep easy if he knew Bucko Bigbones was still alive an’ drawin’ breath. The rogue thought he’d left me fer dead, ye ken!”
Dotti felt a wave of pity sweep over her. She squeezed the mountain hare’s big scarred paw. “Let’s go somewhere more private an’ discuss this. Would you care to take a bite o’ supper with us, ’neath the jolly old willows, cheer you up, sah, wot?”
Bucko swiftly regained his composure and jauntiness. “Och, ah’m fair famished frae all that fightin’. Lead on, Brock mah friend, auld Bucko can vittle wi’ the best o’ ’em!”
“Haharr, I’ll wager ’e can, too,” Ruff murmured to the badger as they set off for the bank. “Never knew a hare who couldn’t. We’ll let ole Fleetscut defend Dotti’s Feasting title for ’er!”
“I say, top hole, wot. That’s jolly decent of you, sah!”
Ruff tweaked the old hare’s ear. “You wasn’t supposed to ’ear that, faminechops.”
*
It turned out to be anything but a private supper on the streambank. Colored lanterns and torches decked the trees in the soft summer night. A celebration feast for Dotti’s victory had been secretly prepared by the Guosim, Gurth and some moles he had met, and Bucko’s cooks, who were determined to give their old master a good send-off and welcome the new mistress. Dotti was so pleased that she rummaged through her worn bag and whipped out the harecordion.
“I couldn’t sleep last night, so I composed a ditty, in the hope that I’d win the challenge today. Good job I did, wot. Right, my good subjects, gather ’round an’ I’ll sing it to you. I know you’ll jolly well like it!”
Brocktree clapped a paw to his brow. “I’m sure we will.”
The terrible twins Southpaw and Bobweave rubbed their paws in anticipation.
“I say, we didn’t know y’could warble, miss.”
“Spiffin’, wot. I’ll bet you’re rather good at it.”
Brocktree viewed the eager pair with a jaundiced eye. “I guarantee ’tis something you won’t forget lightly!”
Dotti forestalled any further chatter by launching into her ditty with a wobbly falsetto.
“Ho whack folly doodle oh Duckfontein,
Dillworthy is my family name!
A fatal beauty have I, goodbeasts,
I’m completely unrehearsed,
Havin’ never been, kingess or queen,
Woe to me I’m doubly curs’d,
Oh the crown lies heavy on the ears,
Of a simple maid like me,
Now everybeast must scrape an’ bow,
An’ bend a jolly ole knee . . . heeheeheeheeheeeeee!
Ho whack folly doodle oh Duckfontein,
Dillworthy is my family name!
What a royally difficult life I’ve got,
But I regally say to m’self wot wot,
A Duckfontein must show no pain,
’Tis fame an’ fortune’s lot,
My super subjects will adore,
My spiffin’ sweet young voice,
An’ loyally cry out, more more more!
Each night they’ll all rejoice . . . joy hoi hoi hoi hoice!
Ho whack folly doodle oh Duckfontein,
Dillworthy is my family name!
Affairs of state that just can’t wait,
An’ decisions of high degree,
The balance of a pudden’s fate,
Rests hard ’twixt lunch an’ tea,
Let anybeast yell, ‘Come let’s feast!’
Whilst the royal beauty doth sleep,
They’ll rue the day that they met me,
Dorothea . . . Du . . . huck . . . fontein . . . Dill . . . worth . . . eeeeeeeee!”
As Dotti’s ears quivered on the last off-key note, the harecordion groaned as it discharged a deafened gnat. A mole hurled himself into the stream to escape the discord. The streambank was empty, everybeast having fled during the second painstaking verse. Only Southpaw and Bobweave sat adoringly in front of her, applauding wildly.
“Bravo, miss, put a blinkin’ nightingale to shame, wot?”
“Rather! Are you goin’ to give another rendition, Dotti? Sing us another of your charmin’ ditties, wot!”
Dotti looked slightly baffled. It was the first time anybeast had actually sat through her singing and requested more.
“Jolly decent of you, chaps, but the old vocal cords need feedin’—I’m rather peckish right now. You could do me a favor, though, an’ see if y’can clean out my harecordion. Confounded thing’s full of gnats an’ such. Must still be some old pale cider in there attractin’ the blighters.”
She tossed the harecordion to the twins and wandered off to see if she could find some food. Southpaw and Bobweave set about boxing each other for the privilege of cleaning out their idol’s instrument.
“Give it here, Southie. She was lookin’ at me when she chucked the thing over!”
“Rats t’you, old chap, but I’ll give you a swift right!”
“Oof! Here, have some o’ this, chum! Now will y’let me clean it? Yowch, that does it. Get those paws up!”
Away from the main merriment, three shrewboats, lashed together, floated gently on the stream. Sipping shrewbeer and dining on pasties, salad and cheese, Brocktree, Fleetscut and Bucko sat with the tribal chiefs Ruff, Grenn, Drucco and Jukka to confer on important matters. The former king had formed an alliance with the others.
“Ah dinnae know where this Salamawotjimacallit place is, but ah’m gan with ye, an’ mah wild mountain hares’ll be a-comin’ tae, the noo. We widnae miss a braw battle for nought!”
Gurth sat with Dotti, the willow leaves lightly brushing their heads. Between them lay a flagon of gooseberry crush and a thick vegetable flan. The sturdy mole waved his tankard toward the logboats.
“They’m avven gurtly apportant talks, miz. Oi wuddent be approised if’n we be on ee march boi mornen, hurr aye!”
The haremaid broke off a piece of flan. Forgetting her table manners, she spoke through a mouthful in moletalk. “Oi wuggent noider, zurr!”
Joyous sounds of happy creatures rang through the warm velvety night. Music, singing and feasting were everywhere. Those who were weary slept curled on the grass, full and contented, not worrying about the perilous days which lay ahead of them.
*
Dawn’s first birds trilled to the rising sun, waking the dew-scattered sleepers in the wide forest glade. Dotti was already up, abandoning her fatal beauty sleep in favor of the momentous events she knew were about to take place. The haremaid joined Brocktree and the company of chieftains, standing on a rock protruding from the hillside. In groups, last night’s revelers drifted into the clearing below. Brocktree leaned on his battle blade, Skittles perched on his footpaw. He waited patiently until everybeast was standing grouped before him. Then, at his nod, Bucko took the fore.
“Hearken tae me, mah beasties. There’s an auld hare here, who comes frae a mountain an’ bears a message for all warriors. Ah’ve nae doubt ye’ll listen to whit he has tae say. Judge for yerselves, ah’m nae langer yer king!’
Bucko stood back, allowing Fleetscut to come forward. The old hare held the crown in his paw. “Mount Salamandastron is where I come from, as most of you know, wot. Now there’s those here t’day who were born there, whose parents an’ grandkin are comrades o’ mine. I’ve been gone from there a while now, but I know for certain that any hares left alive on the mountain will be slaves and prisoners of the wildcat Ungatt Trunn and his Blue Hordes!” He waited until the angry shouts died down. “Hah, I see that y’know the vermin, wot. When Bucko was king he intended to form you into an army to hunt Trunn down an’ face him. Well, that still goes. Only difference is you won’t be marchin’ under a king; our leader is the rightful heir of Salamandastron, Brocktree!”
There followed a mixture of cheering and surprised cries. Fleetscut held up the crown. “You hares, let me tell you the law. Some among you will remember the rhyme you learned from your elders.
“‘We follow our comrades in peace and war,
The hare is a perilous beast, we know,
But who commands, who makes our law?
The Badger Lords, ’twas always so!’
“Do you hear that? This is Lord Brocktree of Brockhall, a Badger Lord of Salamandastron by birth and by right, and this crown, won for his cause by his brave champion Dorothea Duckfontein Dillworthy, is the symbol of his leadership!” Fleetscut passed the crown to Brocktree. Every eye was upon the great badger as he took his place in the vanguard of the tribal chieftains. Unwinding the laurel leaves from the thin gold coronet, he cast them aside. His powerful paws crushed the circlet into a narrow double strip. This he wound about his sword hilt, with no more effort than he would have used on a green willow withe. Then the Badger Lord’s voice boomed like thunder about the glade, setting every creature’s neck hairs on end.
“Friends! Warriors! Goodbeasts all! I am going to defeat the evil one, Ungatt Trunn. I am going to take back from him and his Hordes the mountain that is mine. Today, now! I march for Salamandastron! Those who would follow me, call out this war cry. Eulaliiiaaaaaaaa!”
The entire glade exploded in an earsplitting roar.
“Eulaliiiiaaaaaaa!”
Dotti knew then the force and power of a Badger Lord. She was swept along beside him, howling like a madbeast, surrounded by blades, slings, spears, bows, shields, javelins and bared teeth, all surging irresistibly forward like a gigantic wave. Brocktree’s paws pounded the dust high as he ran, whirring his battle blade like a sunlit lightning flash, his huge form standing out like a beacon.
“Eulaliiiiaaaaa! Eulaliiiaaaaa! Eulaliiiaaaaaaa!”
For all his seasons, Fleetscut kept pace alongside the haremaid. She saw him, tears flowing down his weathered face, brandishing a short-hafted squirrel spear, yelling hoarsely between the battle cries.
“I never let ye down, Lord Stonepaw. I’m comin’ back home now, sire . . . Eulaliiiiiaaaaaaaaa!”