After breakfast next morning, Durvy was leaving with his crew to harass the fishing fleet. Frutch shook her ladle at him, and he held up both paws placatingly. “Don’t say it, marm, we’ve got the message. No more shrimp!”
Brogalaw entered the cave, with Rulango stalking in his wake. “Ahoy, ’ere’s a bird who’s very partial to shrimp. Feed our friend well, Mum, he just sketched me out an important message. Stiffener, get the Bark Crew together, mate. There’s a small party, about twenty-five bluebottoms, left the mountain at dawn. Rulango reckons they’re ’eaded thisaways, armed with bags an’ ’avvysacks.”
Stiffener donned his barkcloth cloak and mask, arming himself with sword, bow and arrows. He beckoned to the rest of the hares and otters who were gearing themselves up.
“Another foragin’ party. Let’s send those vermin back sore-tailed an’ empty-pawed, eh, mates!”
Woebee threw her apron up over her face. “Begone the lot of ye. I don’t ’old with masks’n’cloaks, fair scare a body they do. Away with ye!”
Torleep bowed courteously. “No need t’fuss yourself, marm. ’Tis only us under this lot.”
*
Ripfang and Doomeye had taken a hundred and fifty Hordebeasts out of the mountain long before dawn. They concealed themselves in the crags and crannies behind Salamandastron. Each of them was personally picked by the rat brothers; there were a lot of former searats and corsairs among their ranks. All in all they were a mean and savage-looking bunch, armed to the teeth.
Ripfang climbed down from his lookout spot. “The forage party decoys are well on their way, ’eadin’ nor’east to the clifftops an’ dunes to scout for berries an’ roots. Doomeye, take yore gang an’ sweep southeast. Git well back from the cliffs afore ye start closin’ in.”
Doomeye fiddled with his spear, as if reluctant to go. “Which way are yore lot goin’? The short way, I’ll bet.”
Ripfang tossed a long dagger and caught it neatly. “We’ll be follerin’ the same route as the foragin’ party—I been drummin’ that inter yer ’alf the night. That way we’ll catch this Bark Crew in a pincer movement, from back an’ front. Simple plans allus works best, I told yer!”
Doomeye stuck out his bottom lip sullenly. “I still don’t like it. From wot I’ve ’eard this Bark Crew just appear out o’ nowhere. They say they’re like spirits!”
Ripfang brandished his dagger impatiently. “That’s ’ogwash an’ yew know ’tis. I’ll tell yer who I think they are—those threescore escaped longears, that’s who. Are yew lot as ’ungry as I am, eh?”
There was a rumble of agreement, from both mouths and stomachs. Ripfang made a slashing movement with his blade. “Then wot are we waitin’ for? There’s meat on the paw fer the takin’. Y’want to eat, then move yerselves!”
Doomeye kicked at the dirt, staying where he was. “Yew still ’aven’t said why me an’ my gang got t’go the long way ’round. ’Tain’t fair.”
Ripfang flung the dagger, burying it in the earth right between his brother’s footpaws. “Lissen, lump’ead, yew get goin’, right now. Otherwise I’m goin’ back inside to report to Ungatt Trunn, an’ yew can see ’ow well y’do takin’ charge o’ this lot!”
Doomeye got up huffily and signaled his party to move off. “All right, all right, keep yer fur on, we’re goin’! Huh, never thought I’d see a brother o’ mine snitchin’ to the chief on ’is own fur’n’blood. Enny’ow, wot’s the signal for the ambush? I’ve forgotten it.”
Ripfang turned his eyes skyward, as if seeking help from above. “Wot’s to forget, shrimpbrain? I’ve told yer ten times already. Firrig ’ere will give two curlew cries—that’s the signal for youse to attack. Y’do know wot a curlew sounds like, don’tcher?”
Doomeye led his party out of the rocks, shouting back at his ill-tempered brother, “’Course I do. It sounds just like yew tryin’ to snore through that single pickle-stabber of yores, twiddletooth!”
Ripfang flung a rock at Doomeye, but it fell short. “I’ll get yew fer that, jus’ see if’n I don’t!”
*
Lying in concealment, the Bark Crew watched the foragers climb the cliffs at a place where a small streamlet trickled down. Brogalaw noted their every movement, murmuring low to Stiffener, “They’re stoppin’ to take a drink now, some of ’em pickin’ crowberries an’ eatin’ them. Nasty, bitter-tastin’ things. I’ve never liked crowberries, ’ave you, Stiff?”
The boxing hare shrugged. “Not really. Still, you’ll eat anythin’ once the ’unger grips yore stomach. Dumb stupid vermin, I pity ’em in a way.”
Willip snorted. “Save your pity for decent creatures, sah. These are the same rotten bounders who were plannin’ on eatin’ us when they had us locked up. Pity ’em, indeed!”
Brog saw two vermin detach themselves and climb to the top. A moment later they were calling back to the other foragers.
“There’s nettles up ’ere, an’ some bilberries!”
The rest of the party climbed up. Once on top they could not be seen by the Bark Crew, but their voices came back clear.
“More nettles than bilberries, I’d say. Ouch, they sting!”
“Well, that’s wot nettles are supposed t’do, mate. Pick ’em, you can brew good beer with nettles.”
“Huh, will yew lissen to ’im? Wot beast could wait a season fer nettles to brew? We’d all be starved dead by then.”
“Oh, stop moanin’. Use yore blade an’ cut the nettles—they’ll do to make soup with.”
Brog picked up his javelin. “Ain’t goin’ t’be so easy, while they’re out in the open. Still, if we jump those bluebottoms quick it should do the trick. When I show meself, see if you can get a few ’round the back of ’em, Stiff. Sailears, you an’ the others stay just below the clifftop, but show yore weapons, to let the vermin think they’re surrounded. Well, here goes. Good huntin’!”
The forage party leader was a weasel. He did not know that his band had been sent out as a decoy. While the others were busy at their work, he stuffed a pawful of bilberries into his mouth.
“Tut tut, matey, stealin’ food,” a voice nearby chided him. Without looking up, the weasel glimpsed the barkcloth robe and groaned inwardly. “Yore a leader, y’should be settin’ an example to those under ye!”
The sinister cloaked and masked figure stood framed by the weapons that poked up over the cliff. Raising his voice, Brog called harshly to the vermin: “Move a muscle an’ ye die. A Bark Crew javelin’s a lot sharper than some ole nettles, you’ll find!”
A rat knocked over his haversack, and berries spilled out. “Ow no, ’tis the Bark Crew!”
Stiffener walked up from behind him and rested a loaded sling upon the rat’s bowed head. “Ow yes, ’tis the Bark Crew, y’mean. Toss yore weapons over by me, all of ye. Yore surrounded!”
Shielding his eyes against the sun, the weasel looked up at Brog. “Y’ain’t gonna kill us, are yer, sir?” he gulped aloud.
There was a touch of humor in the masked figure’s voice. “Not just yet. Pick those berries first, but leave the nettles. I don’t want ye t’get yore paws pricked. Go on, pick!”
Nervously the forage party picked the bilberries. “Why d’yer want to slay us?” a rat whined at Torleep. “We ain’t done no ’arm to nobeast.”
The hare gave him a resounding kick on his blue-dyed rear. “Fibber, cad, bounder, don’t look for mercy from me, sah!”
When the berries were all picked and bagged up, Brog made the vermin shed their uniforms. The weasel leader suddenly broke down and clung weeping to Stiffener’s cloak. “Aaaaahaaaaggh! Spare us, sire, spare our lives, please, I beg yer, don’t kill us. Waaahahaaa!”
Stiffener’s loaded sling rapped the weasel’s paws until he was forced to release the cloak hem. The boxing hare’s voice was laden with contempt. “Spare your lives, eh, like you spared the old Badger Lord? But he went out like a true warrior, fightin’ for his life. Look at yoreself, coward, blubbin’ like a stuck toad!”
Torleep was slinging the bags onto a spear shaft when a strange noise cut the still noon air. Stiffener whirled around to face Brog. “What was that?”
The otter yanked his friend to one side just in time. A slingstone buzzed by like an angry hornet. Doomeye’s Hordebeasts came charging out of the eastern moorland, howling and yelling, firing slingstones and discharging arrows at the Bark Crew.
Torleep dashed to the cliff edge and glanced over. “I say, there’s more coming up this way!” He never had time to say more. An arrow thudded into his throat. Torleep tottered for an instant, then fell over the cliff.
Brogalaw gathered the Bark Crew swiftly. “Take a stand facin’ for’ard an’ aft, mates. Grab yore bows!”
Stiffener stood back to back with the sea otter, battling the vermin who were scrambling over the clifftop, while Brogalaw faced the crowd charging them from the moorland.
“’Tis a trap, Stiff. They got us surrounded!”
The boxing hare whirled his sling, knocking a rat back over the cliff. “There’s a lot of ’em, but we ain’t surrounded yet, Brog. They’ve got us in a pincer move from back’n’front. Keep pickin’ off the outsiders—stop ’em circlin’ us!”
The otter alongside Brog went down with a spear through him.
Doomeye’s contingent had slowed their headlong rush and were advancing cautiously now. They tried to stay in a tight bunch, nobeast wanting to be strung out on the edges, where they would be picked off. Ripfang had his group halfway over the clifftop before he saw how furiously the Bark Crew were retaliating. Dropping back below the rim, he called out orders.
“Keep yore ’eads down. We’ll snipe ’em t’bits. Pick yore targets—there’s only a score an’ a half of ’em!”
Stiffener took out a weasel, with a spear that had just missed him a moment ago. Still back to back with Brog, he outlined a plan that was forming in his mind. “I’d say we’re outnumbered five to one, mate. We’ll have t’make a break for it, sideways!”
An arrow hit Brog in the shoulder. He bit his lip and snapped off the shaft. “I’m with you, mate. Best go north, away from the location of our cave. Do it soon, afore we lose any more beasts!”
Stiffener could feel the arrowhead that had pierced Brog scratching his back. Willip was down on all fours, blood flowing from a gash on her head. The weasel and his forage party were lying flat on the ground, paws covering their heads, unarmed and out of the action.
Brog grabbed the weasel and hauled him roughly up. “Up on yore scringin’ paws, you bluebottoms, an’ form two lines, a spear length apart. Move or I’ll kill ye!”
Whimpering and trying to evade missiles, the vermin were forced to obey. Brog ordered his Bark Crew into the space between the two lines. “Keep goin’ north, then strike east the moment y’see some trees, mates. We got a livin’ shield to take us out o’ here. If’n these bluebottoms try to slow up or break away, you got my permission to slay ’em. Quick march!”
Confused by the sight of two lines of hostages from their own side, the vermin ceased fire, and the Bark Crew moved smartly off while they had the advantage. Ripfang hauled himself over the clifftops, yelling, “Don’t lerrem get away, fools, kill that Bark Crew!”
Doomeye came running up at the head of his vermin group. “Oh, ’ard luck, Rip. They fooled us that time, eh?”
Ripfang punched his brother in the eye. “That was you, puddlebrain, y’never waited for the signal!”
One of Doomeye’s patrol, a ferret, stepped forward. “Yew shouldn’t ’ave punched ’im. Yore brother stepped on a thistle an’ yelped out loud. We all thought it was the signal, so we charged. ’Twasn’t ’is fault!”
Ripfang punched the ferret square on the nose. “Who asked yew, slugface? I’m givin’ orders ’round ’ere! Now get after ’em, the lot of yer, an’ slay the Bark Crew!”
The ferret wiped blood from his nose and glared at it. Then he lashed out, cracking Ripfang between the ears with his spear haft.
“Yew ain’t a cap’n anymore. Trunn broke youse two back down t’the ranks, an’ besides, we’d ’ave to kill our own mates to get at the Bark Crew. I ain’t doin’ that!”
Ripfang rubbed his head, grinning ruefully. “Yore right, mate, yew ain’t doin’ that. Yore stayin’ ’ere.” Quick as light he drew his cutlass and ran the ferret through, then waved the dripping blade in an arc. “Anybeast else want to stay ’ere? Come on, who wants t’join ’im? Step up an’ face me!”
They backed off, staring dumbly at the slain ferret. Suddenly, Ripfang was among them, laying about savagely with the flat of his blade. “After ’em, all of yer! I don’t care who y’bring down as long as yer finish the Bark Crew off!”
With Ripfang in the rear, cutlass drawn, they took off after the enemy, who had a good head start.
Stiffener cast a glance over his shoulder as he ran. “Didn’t take ’em long, Brog. ’Ere they come!”
The sea otter Skipper peered anxiously ahead. “No sign of any trees yet, Stiff. Sailears, how’s Willip doin’?”
“Still groggy, I’m afraid. An’ there’s a young otter here, Fergun, who’s taken a javelin through the footpaw. Slowin’ us down a bit, but that can’t be helped, wot?”
Stiffener called Trobee and two otters, Urvo and Radd. “Fetch double quivers an’ bows. We’ll hold the rear, mates!”
“Don’t let them catch up,” one of the forage party sobbed. “They’ll kill us just t’get at youse!”
Brog clouted his head soundly. “Shut yore mouth or I’ll boot ye over the cliff!”
Stiffener and his three archers let the others go on ahead. Stringing shafts to their bows, they brought down two Hordebeasts who were running ahead of the rest. After another volley they joined their friends. Trobee kept another shaft ready on his bowstring and walked facing back. “I think we took out seven vermin back at the clifftops. Countin’ the two we just dropped, that makes nine. Not bad considerin’ we lost only three, two otters an’ old Torleep.”
Stiffener turned to join him. “Nine don’t make a lot o’ difference to the crowd they’ve got, Trobee. We’re in big trouble unless we get some ’elp.” He raised his voice, calling to the front of the column. “Any sign o’ shelter ahead, trees, rocks, or whatever?”
“Not a thing, matey,” an otter’s voice replied. “All I can see is a big dead ole tree near the cliff edge up yonder, sorry!”
Brog’s voice joined in the shouted conversation. “Ahoy, did ye say a big dead tree? I know that ’un—used to fish up this way. If’n I ain’t mistaken there’s a whole circle o’ rocks on the shore down there, above the tideline. Cut off an’ take a peek, Sailears.”
Sailears left the group and bounded to the cliff edge. She was back shortly with good news. “Brog old chap, you were right. A ring of rocks, not unlike a blinkin’ small fort. Oh, well done, sah!”
Stiffener and his archers dropped back and fired off another two volleys of arrows. This time the vermin saw them coming and avoided them. Brog waved the archers to join the column. “Never mind that now, mateys. Let’s get down to those rocks!”
*
At the rear of the vermin, Doomeye was holding a pawful of wet sand to the eye which his brother had punched. Ripfang watched him and shook his head in despair. “All’s that’ll get yer is an eyeful o’ wet sand, yer ninny.”
Doomeye spat contemptuously at him. “Think yew know everythin’, don’tcher, yew rotten slime, punchin’ me in the eye like that. Well, I ain’t yer brother no more, see. I ’ope one of those arrers out of the air gets yew, right in yore eye. Then y’ll see ’ow it feels!”
“Look, they’re climbin’ down the cliffs t’the shore!” somebeast shouted ahead.
Ripfang ran to the cliff edge and peered along. “Tryin’ t’make it to those rocks, eh? Well, we’ve got ’em now—we can easily surround those rocks. Slow down an’ catch yore breath, mates, they ain’t goin’ nowhere!”
*
It was hot on the rocks. The sand at the center of the stone circle was dry and hot, too. The Bark Crew threw themselves down gratefully, shedding cloaks and masks. Sailears tended to the injured, while Brogalaw and Skipper watched the clifftops.
“Ain’t got much time to rest, Stiff. ’Ere they come, climbin’ down the cliff. How many would ye say they’ve got?”
“Oh, about a hunnerd an’ twoscore more. Too many for us.”
Brogalaw stroked his whiskers thoughtfully. “Yore right, but we still got enough to make a fight of it. One thing, though, mate—what d’we do with these beasts we captured? They might prove troublesome.”
Stiffener saw the last vermin stumble down to the shore. “Well, we got no more use for ’em, an’ we certainly can’t feed the scum. I say we let ’em go, what d’ye think, Brog?”
“Aye, let’s rid ourselves of the pests. Ahoy there, weasel, git yoreself over ’ere!”
The forage patrol leader practically crawled across. “Yore goin’ t’kill us, I know ye are, I kin feel it!”
Brog hauled him up sharply by the ears. “Good news, blubberchops, we’re lettin’ you go, all of you!”
“Wha . . . er . . . y’mean yore lettin’ us go, sir?”
“Aye, that’s wot I said, though if you ’ang around ’ere weepin’ an’ moanin’ all day we’ll slay ye just for the peace’n’quiet ’twould give us. So you’d better run fer it!”
As Ripfang was giving the orders to form a circle around the rocks, Doomeye, who was still a fair shot despite his swollen eye, unshouldered his bow and shot off an arrow at one of the freed prisoners.
“Haharr, got one of ’em! ’E was tryin’ to escape. Look, there’s more of the Bark Crew!” Ripfang’s cutlass chopped through Doomeye’s bowstring. “Wot did yer do that for? Leave me alone, will yer!”
Ripfang pointed angrily at a fallen weasel. “See wot you’ve done now, pan’ead, shot one of our own!”
Doomeye looked sheepish. “Well, wot if’n I did?” he muttered sulkily. “You said ’twas all right, long as we got the Bark Crew.”
Ripfang ignored him. He called to the forage party, who were half in and half out of the rocks, not knowing which way to go. “Over ’ere, you lot. C’mon, we won’t shoot no more of yer!”
They hurried across, keeping nervous eyes on Doomeye, who was restringing his bow. Ripfang sneered at them. “Well, well, wot’ve we got ’ere? A shower o’ cowards with no uniforms or weapons. You lot better make yerselves slings an’ gather some stones. Might look better on yer if you ’elp to capture the Bark Crew.”
Back at the rocks, Stiffener was assessing the situation. “Well, we’ve given the vermin some reinforcements now. Still, we’d never ’ave killed ’em in cold blood. They can’t wait us out, ’cos they ain’t got the supplies to do it, though neither’ve we. The bluebottoms still outnumber us by far too many, but we’re still dangerous an’ well armed. They’ll try to pick us off one by one, now that they’ve got us surrounded. Mebbe when dark falls they’ll try a charge. What d’you think, Brog?”
The sea otter was sharpening a javelin against the rock. He nodded grimly. “Aye, that’s when they’ll come. It’ll be the Bark Crew’s last stand. Haharr, but we’ll make it a good ’un, eh, mates?”
Hares and otters gripped their weapons tighter.
“Aye, no surrender an’ no quarter given or asked!”
“Take as many as we can with us!”
“Remember Lord Stonepaw and the others, chaps!”
This time Ripfang kept Doomeye close by, where he could keep an eye on him. Both rats lay behind a mound of sand they had set up. Ripfang watched the noon shadows beginning to lengthen. A cry rang out from the rocks.
“Eulaaaliiiiaaaa!”
The ferocity of the war cry caused the searat a momentary shudder. But he soon recovered himself. “Hah, we’ve got ye outnumbered by far. Shout all ye want, it won’t do youse any good when night comes an’ we charge. I’ll paint those rocks red with yore blood!”
*
No news had come back to the mountain of the trap that had been laid for the Bark Crew, but Ungatt Trunn felt in better humor than he had for some while. One of his captains had come across a hidden cupboard in the larders, containing three casks of aged rose and greengage wine. He donated two of the casks to be shared among his horde captains, and the remaining one he had broached himself. All afternoon he drank deeply from it. The wine induced a pleasant and languorous feeling, and he drifted off into a peaceful sleep as noon sunlight poured through the chamber windows.
Stretched on Lord Stonepaw’s bed, the wildcat dreamed of nothing in particular. The North Mountains, where his old father reigned, his younger brother Verdauga Greeneye, waiting to inherit the throne. Or maybe he was not—he might be considering the life of a conqueror, like his elder brother Ungatt. The sleeper smiled. Nobeast living could claim to have won anything as spectacular as this mighty mountain. Salamandastron, the legendary home of Badger Lords. Ungatt Trunn sighed and turned in his sleep. Then the vision altered. A huge dark paw wrapped itself about his face, blinding and smothering him. The Badger Lord, he had come, he had come!
“Mmmmffff! Uuuurgh! Help me! Gmphhhh!”
“Sire, lie still while I get this blanket from your head.”
Writhing wildly, Ungatt Trunn lashed out, and caught his Grand Fragorl a blow which sent her spinning across the room. Ripping and shredding with lethal claws, the wildcat tore the homely blanket from about his head and sat up panting, his head aching abominably. All semblance of good humor had deserted him. “Who gave you permission to enter my chamber?” he growled at Fragorl.
The ferret rose groggily. “Sire, you called for help. I came to assist you.”
The wildcat tossed the tattered blanket aside and made to rise. “Assist me? You whey-faced poltroon, you dared to think that you have the right to assist me? Begone before I throw your worthless hide from the window!”
The Grand Fragorl fled the chamber, followed by a wine goblet, which smashed on the door as it slammed.
“I could have taken this mountain unaided! Ungatt Trunn the Earth Shaker needs help from nobeast. Go on, whine, starve, moan, blunder about, all of you! This is my mountain, I rule it alone, I can hold it alone! Every creature here depends on me, I don’t need any of you!”
Outside, the two guards moved further down the passage, away from the door.
“Shift along there, mate. Don’t get too close when the chief’s in one of ’is dark moods.”
“Aye, the cap’ns are all like that, too. Wot d’you suppose started it all?”
“Guzzlin’ wine on a midsummer noon, on empty stomachs, too. I done it meself once. Doesn’t improve the temper, I can tell ye. Wish it’d get dark, so the night watch could come an’ relieve us. ’Tis dangerous stannin’ ’round ’ere.”
*
Ignoring the glories of a setting sun on the sea’s far horizon, the Bark Crew perched in the rocks, anxiously scanning the humps of sand surrounding them. Behind each one, several vermin lay, armed and ready, waiting for the shades of night to descend. Brogalaw spoke without turning to Stiffener, his eyes roving back and forth.
“Wot grieves me about all this is no matter ’ow many we takes t’the Dark Forest with us, ’twon’t make much difference to the numbers Trunn ’as to serve ’im.”
The boxing hare checked the shaft on his bowstring. “Shame, ain’t it, but that’s the way o’ things, Brog. Willip, are you all right, mate?”
The old hare adjusted the makeshift bandage on her brow. “Fit enough t’fight, sah! But I’m jolly hungry, doncha know. Funny how a bod can think of food at a blinkin’ time like this, wot? Can’t help it, though—the old tum’s rumblin’ twenty t’the dozen!”
The sea otter chuckled and shook his head. “’Tis no wonder they call hares perilous beasts. Death facin’ us, an’ that ’un has dinner on ’er mind!”
Stiffener shrugged. “Wot’s on yore mind, Brog?”
Brogalaw glanced at the darkening sky. “My ole mum, the rest o’ my crew, Durvy, young Konul an’ the mateys I grew up with. I’d just like to clap eyes on ’em one last time. Any beast you’d like t’see, Stiff?”
“Hmm, those twin grandsons o’ mine, Southpaw an’ Bobweave. You should’ve seen ’em, Brog. Two braver fighters you’d never come across in a season’s march. I reared ’em, y’know, until they grew restless an’ left the mountain. Mebbe ’twas just as well they did, the way things turned out.”
As the night drew on, voices began chanting from behind the sand humps which the vermin had put up for protection.
“Ungatt! Trunn Trunn Trunn!”
Brogalaw’s grip tightened around the javelin. “Haharr, ’twon’t be much longer now, mates. ’Ear ’em gettin’ their nerve up to charge.”
The speed and volume of the chant increased.
“Ungatt! Trunn Trunn Trunn! Ungatt! Trunn Trunn Trunn!”
From the rock circle the otters and hares answered with their own defiant war cry.
“Blood’n’vinegar! Eulaliiiiiaaaaaaaa!”
Stiffener centered his arrow on the dark forms breaking cover. “Stand fast, mates, ’ere they come!”
The vermin charged.