Lord Brocktree of Brockhall unshouldered his great sword and strode into the sandy arena. Behind him the sea lay calm, like a glittering mirror. He breathed deep and stood ready, clad only in a loose green tunic, a broad woven belt circling his waist. Dotti and her friends jostled their way roughly through the blue-furred vermin. Trampling paws and knocking aside weapons, they pushed their way to the inner fringe of the wide sandy circle. It was hot; golden noon sun blazed down out of a cloudless blue sky.

Standing at the western edge of the ring, Dotti felt herself shoved to one side as Ungatt Trunn prowled into the place of combat. A tremor of apprehension ran through the haremaid; the wildcat was a barbarous sight. His pointed ears could be seen through the slits of a round steel helmet with a spike on top and a shoulder-length fringe of fine chain mail. He wore a purple tunic, topped by a copper breastplate. Above his paws were metal bracelets with spikes bristling from them. In one paw he carried the big trident, in the other a woven net edged with metal weights.

Silence fell upon the packed shore, a quietness that was almost unearthly in its intensity. Lord Brocktree came to the center of the arena. Lifting the sword level with his face, he saluted his enemy in the traditional manner of a beast about to do combat. But salutes, rules and formalities did not figure in Ungatt Trunn’s nature. A screeching growl ripped from his throat, and he charged.

Krrraaaanggggg!

Metal struck metal as the badger met his rush. The sword slammed down between the tines of the trident, shock waves running through the paws of both beasts. Digging in their footpaws, they bent to the task of trying to push one another backward. Both were huge male animals in their prime, well matched. Brocktree allowed himself to be thrust back a pace, then he retaliated with a roar, sending Trunn skidding across the ring, plowing two furrows in the sand. Suddenly the wildcat whipped the net about his opponent’s footpaws, catching the badger unawares and crashing him to the sand.

Rrrip!

The sword came thrusting and slicing through the net meshes, its point punching a hole in Trunn’s breastplate. He let go of the net and danced backward. Brocktree tore the net from his body and came after his adversary whirling it. He flung the net and Trunn leapt to one side, the metal weights whacking his side painfully as it sailed by. He stabbed downward in an attempt to lame Brocktree, but the badger shifted swiftly, an outside prong tearing the side of his footpaw. Ignoring the wound, he stamped down on the trident, trapping it against the ground. Flicking up the huge sword, he laid Trunn’s right paw bare to the bone. Trunn fell down, but only to grab the net. Whirling it about his paw, he came up, battering the badger’s face with the weights. They broke and circled, the trident probing, the sword seeking. Then the net shot up, enveloping Brocktree’s head, followed by a pawful of sand which the wildcat flung into his eyes. Trunn had no time to stab, so he hit Brocktree hard on the side of his head with the trident butt. The badger fell heavily, blinking and trying to rip the meshes from his face. Trunn raised the trident for the kill, but the badger rolled over. Folding his body into a curled-up position, Brocktree hauled sharply on the net and Trunn stumbled forward, his back bent. As he fell toward Brocktree, the badger lashed out with his uninjured footpaw, smacking it into the wildcat’s nose with a sickening thud. Trunn fell backward. Brocktree struggled upright, tearing himself free of the net, and quickly pawed the sand from his eyes. From flat on his back Trunn beheld his foe bearing down on him, sword upraised. He shoved the trident out in front of him to counter the weapon’s swing, and Brocktree’s battle blade sheared right through one of the thick barbed copper prongs, which zinged off skyward.

Doomeye fitted the shaft to his bowstring. “Time fer the stripedog t’die. Trunn’s flat on ’is back!” He drew back the seasoned yew bow to its limit, and sighting expertly down the arrow, he fired. The force of the blow which had severed Trunn’s trident prong took Brocktree a staggering pace forward, but he whirled and straightened so quickly that the arrow, which would have pierced the base of the badger’s skull from behind, thwacked through his left shoulder.

Ripfang clapped a paw to his brow. “Idiot, y’missed!”

Doomeye’s lip pouted sulkily as he laid another shaft on his bowstring. “The stripedog cheated, ’e moved, but I still got ’im, Rip! Watch me finish ’im off wid this next arrer!”

But Ruff was already moving. Grabbing Bucko’s javelin, he kept his eyes on the vermin head he had spotted, poking above the rocks, atop the second level. One paw out straight, the other wide outstretched, balancing the weapon, the big otter did a hop-skipping sideways run right across the arena. His footpaws pounded the sand as he gained momentum, one eye centered firmly on the high target, and he let out an almighty yell as he hurled the javelin with all his strength. It whistled up through the hot summer air, with almost every eye on it, up, up, with breathtaking speed. Doomeye had the arrow stretched tight on his bowstring. He stood up and placed his cheek against it, closing one eye to sight on Brocktree. Though he had not intended it, Ruffs javelin actually cut the bowstring. Doomeye could not lower his chin. He turned to show his brother the javelin, growing out of his neck on either side, and fell dead on top of him. With a sob of horror, Ripfang heaved the body off himself and fled.

Lord Brocktree towered over Trunn like a giant oak. As the wildcat tried to rise he kicked him flat again. The pandemonium which had rung through the arena when the arrow struck the Badger Lord fell hushed. Every eye was on Brocktree, standing over his enemy, the barbed shaft embedded in his shoulder, filled with the terrible Bloodwrath. Dragging the arrow out without the slightest sign of a flinch, the Badger Lord flung it into the wildcat’s face. Kicking the net to one side, he stamped down hard on the trident shaft. It broke with a loud crack, leaving Trunn with a pawful of splinters. For the first time in his life, Ungatt Trunn felt cold fear. He tried to drag himself backward, but Brocktree’s powerful paws seized him and hauled him up until their faces were touching. Like a knell of doom the badger’s voice rang in his ears.

“Now I see your face, Ungatt Trunn. Look upon me!”

Trunn finally looked into the eyes of his tormentor, but this time it was no vision—the terrifying nemesis of his dreams had at last become flesh and blood. One word escaped the wildcat’s lips and echoed around the silent, crowded shore.

“Mercy!”

The next thing everybeast heard was the bone-jarring snap of Ungatt Trunn’s spine as Brocktree caught him in a swift, deadly embrace. He picked up his sword, pointing with it at the huddled figure on the sand.

“Cast this thing into the sea!”

The second-level barricades fell, and a hail of arrows and slingstones shot out over the crowd.

“Eulaliiiiiaaaaaa!”

Bumping, falling, scrambling and trampling over their comrades on the sand, vermin ran madly to the fleet of vessels moored in Salamandastron bay. Bucko Bigbones grabbed a sword and yelled, “Yaylahaaaar, mah bairns, let’s send ’em on their way!”

Guosim came pouring out of the mountain, Log a Log Grenn roaring the shrew battle cry.

“Logalogalogaloooooog!”

Ripfang was already in the sea, half wading, half swimming after the stern of the lead vessel, which Karangool had already ordered to sail.

“Wait fer me, cap’n, ’tis Ripfang, wait fer me!”

He caught a rope trailing from the after end and hauled himself up, paw over paw. Karangool watched the exhausted searat climb wearily over the rail and spit out seawater.

“Trunn’s dead, everythin’s lost!”

The fox curled his lip contemptuously. “I know that, fool, why you think I sail?”

*

Bucko was first to the sea. Dashing into the shallows after the fleeing vermin, he chanced to glance south at the vessel which was already crewed and under way. The mountain hare’s eyes lit up with grim satisfaction. There leaning over the stern rail was the fox called Karangool. Bucko tore south, spray flying everywhere. Grasping his sword in his teeth he gave a wolfish grin and went after the ship.

Still sprawled by the stern, recovering his breath, Ripfang watched the crew trim the sails to let the breeze take her south. He turned his attention to Karangool, who was guiding the tiller.

“Huh, some mate yew are, fox. Yew was goin’ t’sail off an’ leave me, after all the plans we made t’gether, eh?”

Karangool did not even bother to look at him. “Stop you moanin’. Got aboard, didn’t ye?”

Ripfang was facing away from Karangool, and now he could see Bucko swimming strongly after the ship. Suddenly the searat became philosophical.

“Yer right, mate, I did get aboard, an’ well shut o’ that lot, too. Pore ole Doomeye’s back there lyin’ slain—shame, that was. Still, worse things ’appen at sea, eh, mate?”

Karangool aimed a sharp kick at Ripfang. “You don’t mate me, rat. I cap’n now!”

Ripfang continued appealing to the fox’s better nature. “Yew don’t mean that, do yer? Yew said we was all goin’ t’be cap’ns. I know Doomeye ain’t around no more, but that’s no reason why we can’t be cap’ns together, is it, me ole cully?”

A sword appeared in Karangool’s paw. He swung it upward, readying himself to take Ripfang’s head off. “Only room for one cap’n on diss ship!”

Ripfang leapt up and sprang to attention, saluting smartly. “Yer right there, cap’n. I wishes to report a beast follerin’ yer ship, one o’ those longears, just aft of us there!”

Karangool went to the rail and leaned over. He felt a momentary wave of fear as he glimpsed Bucko, but it soon passed when he realized the hare was in the water, while he was aboard a fast ship, headed south. “Yah, that longears come after me, I not know why.”

Ripfang sneaked up behind Karangool and suddenly heaved him overboard into the sea. “Why don’t yer go an’ ask ’im wot ’e wants?”

Karangool wallowed in the vessel’s wake, shouting at Ripfang, “Ahoy, pull me up, mate!”

The searat tut-tutted severely. “I ain’t yore mate. ’Member wot yew said, only room fer one cap’n aboard this ship? Well, yer talkin’ to ’im!” He tipped a broken mast spar over the side. “You kin be cap’n o’ that. Steer ’er careful, cap’n. Goodbye, an’ the worst o’ luck to ye!”

Karangool had lost his sword in the fall overboard. Bucko still had his. He sat on the spar facing the fox, with the sword pointed at his eyes.

“Och, ’tis a braw day for sailin’, mah bonny wee foxy. Now, ye set still there an’ ah’ll tell ye a sad auld tale, aboot a puir young hare, whit wis left for dead by a wicked auld fox who beat him wi’ a sword blade.” Bucko’s chuckle was neither pleasant nor friendly. “Weel now, ah see ye reckernize me at last. Tell me, mah friend, how does it feel t’be wi’out yer great horde o’ vermin tae help ye out?”

Whup!

Karangool screamed in pain as the flat of Bucko’s sword struck him smartly across his shoulder. The mountain hare bellowed in his face.

“Tell me!”

*

Evening sun was dipping low on the horizon. Dotti sat with all her friends and comrades in arms. From where they rested, on a broad terrace of rock slabs and vegetation, above the mountain’s main entrance, the whole scene of that day’s activities was spread before them. Like autumn leaves strewn by the wind, distant vessels ranged far and wide over the darkening sea, to the north and south and out to the west.

Shading his eyes from the sun’s crimson glow, Stiffener watched them growing smaller. “Lots o’ those ships overladen with vermin, y’know. I’d say some of them’ll sink afore the next dawn comes.”

Baron Drucco wrinkled his browspikes, in that manner hedgehogs adopt when they could not care less. “Serves ’em right. Ain’t our fault they wouldn’t stand an’ make a fight of it. Hah, ran like forficartickers, they did!” Nobeast bothered inquiring what a forficarticker could be.

“Well, I for one am jolly well glad they did run,” Dotti admitted. “We never lost one creature in that little scrabble across the shore t’the shallows, what d’you say, Ruff old chap?”

“I’m with you, missie. There was more vermin drowned than slain in combat. A score or so of ours wounded, no great slaughter. Almost wot they call a bloodless victory.”

An iron arrowhead clinked on the rocks, and Lord Brocktree emerged from an open window space to sit with them. “Anybeast want to keep that as a souvenir of the battle? Ruro dug it out of my shoulder—that squirrel’s a marvel when it comes to patching a beast up!”

Gurth viewed the Badger Lord. He had compresses of herbs bandaged to shoulder, back, side and footpaw, plus one across his striped brow, which gave him a roguish air.

“Burr, you’m looken loik ee been in a gudd ole bartle, zurr!”

Brocktree took a sip from the tankard he was carrying. “I suppose I do, but I’m feeling no pain at all. One of your cooks gave me this to drink, Drucco. What is it?”

The baron took a drink and winked knowingly. “Special ole berry’n’pear wine wid some cowslip an’ royal fern essence. That’ll make ye sleep tonight, sire!”

Trobee took a mouthful and nodded approvingly. “Tastes absolutely spiffin’. Wish I’d been wounded!”

Brogalaw tweaked the hungry hare’s ear. “Don’t start talkin’ about vittles an’ drink again, y’great longeared stummick. We’re flat out o’ grub. But you won’t need t’wait long. ’Ere comes my bird t’the rescue!”

Rulango soared gracefully in out of the evening sky. If it were at all possible for a heron to smile, Dotti would have said that the great bird tried his best. He was all over Brog, wafting him with both wings and knocking his beak against the sea otter’s paws, as if checking he was unhurt. Brog stroked Rulango’s neck to calm him down.

“Steady on there, ole mattressback, I’m all right. How’s my mum an’ the rest o’ me mates? Snug’n’safe, are they?”

Rulango placed both wings over his eyes, letting his head bob up and down. Brogalaw roared, laughing.

“Still weepin’ an’ cryin’, eh? Good ole Mum. She an’ ’er pals ain’t ’appy if they can’t ’ave a good blubber. Lissen, matey, you get back t’the cave an’ tell ’em to whomp up vittles fer victors, lots of the stuff, as much as they can cook afore mornin’. I’m sendin’ Southpaw an’ Bobweave, Durvy an’ Konul an’ some Guosim over there, an’ we’ll get ’em moved lock, stock an’ vittles back ’ere. I tell ye, mates, I feels a feast comin’ on!”

Stiffener’s eyes lit up, as did many others’. “I say, splendid idea, old lad, wot!”

“Aye, a great feast at Salamandastron!”

“Wid enough scoff t’sink a gang of my rabble’ogs!”

“And singin’ an’ music, for days an’ days!” Grenn added.

“Ho urr, an’ darncin’, too, oi loiks t’darnce!”

“An’ when it goes dark we’ll light big bonfires on the beach, so we can carry on all night!”

“Capital, an’ miss Dotti can play the harecordion an’ sing!”

“Why didn’t I think of that, South? What a great wheeze!”

Ruff pulled a face. “Don’t yer think we suffered enough in battle?”

Dotti stared severely at the otter, then broke out giggling. “Heeheehee, I’ll sing an extra long ballad, just for you!”

Lord Brocktree laughed until the bandage on his brow slipped and fell over his eyes. “Oh, look out, it’s gone dark. Time for bed, you lot!”

Sounds of merriment rang out from the happy creatures on the mountain, so loud that a pair of seagulls, building a nest in the rocks, squawked complainingly. The birds had come back to the western shores.