Tagg stood covered in dust and soil, his chest heaving and his paws weary from digging. Nimbalo squinted at the setting sun as the last injured pigmy shrews were carried back into the mountain cave, then gazed sadly around at the deep layers of shale, scree and rocky debris.

“Well, mate, we saved all those we could. No tellin’ ’ow many pore wretches lie buried under this lot. C’mon, there ain’t no more we can do ’ere, Tagg. Let’s go an’ get cleaned up.”

The big otter hung his head in despair. “None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t come here!”

The harvest mouse cast an eye to their prisoner. “Yer wrong, mate, you mean none o’ this would’ve ’appened if’n that scum an’ ’is vermin ’adn’t come ’ere. You can’t blame yoreself. Wrong ’uns is wrong ’uns wherever they goes. Huh, they would’ve only brought sufferin’ on some other pore beasts.”

Tagg nodded wearily. “Maybe there’s some truth in that. Come on, you, get moving!” He took out his blade and severed the rope that anchored Ribrow’s footpaws to a long, heavy piece of shale.

The stoat stumbled upright, rigid with fear. “Yore goin’ to kill me, I know you are!”

Tagg kicked him on his way to the water-covered cavern entrance. “Not just yet, scumface. There’s some questions I need answers to.”

Ribrow had nothing to lose. “An’ wot if I don’t answer yer questions, eh?” he snarled back at his captor.

Nimbalo smiled amiably at him. “Then we’ll turn yer over t’the kin of those you murdered.”

The remark took all the boldness out of Ribrow. He collapsed in a sobbing heap, pleading pitifully, “No, please, don’t let those beasts gerrat me!”

Tagg grabbed him savagely, pulling him up so fiercely that his footpaws left the ground. He held the stoat at eye level, narrowing his eyes to a deep stare of icy hatred.

“If you don’t tell me what I want to know, you’ll wish I had turned you over to the Cavemob tribe by the time I’m done with you. So you’d best loosen up that tongue of yours!”

When they reached the cave, Nimbalo took a refreshing shower beneath the cascade of cold mountain water that curtained the entrance. Taking Tagg’s blade, he guarded the prisoner whilst the otter did likewise, energetically washing away the day’s dirt and grit. It was as they dragged Ribrow to the cascading screen that they made a fortunate discovery. He was afraid of water. The stoat dug his heels in and yowled, “No! No! I ain’t goin’ inter that! Lemme go!”

Tagg smiled at Nimbalo. “Leave this to me, matey!” Seizing the stoat by his tail and the scruff of his neck, the powerful otter frogmarched him under the waterfall and held him there. Ribrow thrashed about, unable to escape that relentless grip.

“Owowow! I’m drownin’! Yaaaaargh! Don’t drown me!”

Tagg pulled him out, allowed him to get his breath, then shoved him under again, shaking him like a rag. “Talk or I swear I’ll drown you! Talk, you black-hearted vermin!”

“Yesyesyes I’ll talk! Get me out! Waaahahhahaaaargh!”

Tagg pulled him out and hurled him to the ground. Alfik emerged from the cavern to issue a warning. “Not to bring that’n inna Cavemob dwellin’, tribe wanna rip ’im inta bits. My daddy holdem back ’til you finish wirrim!”

Nimbalo winked at the pigmy shrew. “Thanks, mate. We’ll stay out ’ere t’night an’ keep the stinkin’ villain with us.”

*

Ribrow did talk. He told Tagg everything that had occurred since he left the Juska, leaving nothing out. Nimbalo heard it all, but not knowing much about Tagg’s past he was rather puzzled until Tagg began explaining.

The harvest mouse sat listening, nibbling at the supper that Chichwife had passed out to them. “So, this Sawney Rath, who was pretendin’ to be yore father, ’e’s dead. Now yore old tribe’s got a new chief, Gruven Zann, an’ that’s the beast who’s out t’bring yore ’ead back an’ prove hisself boss of the Juska clan, ’ave I got it right?”

Tagg added sticks to the small fire he had built. “That’s it, roughly. My next job is to track Gruven and the other two down. I can take care of that. But the other pair, Eefera and Vallug Bowbeast, they’re a different sort altogether. Sawney’s two best killers they were, real trained trackers and murderers. Trouble is, I don’t have any idea where they could’ve gone. That worries me, because they’re ten times as bad as this idiot we’ve caught. They’re very crafty, too; you wouldn’t sleep easy with them within a league of you, knowing what type they are.”

Nimbalo was still slightly mystified. “But ain’t you supposed t’be called the Taggerung? You tole me that meant yore the greatest warrior of ’em all. I bet you must’ve slayed more beasts than the whole clan put t’gether, eh, mate?”

Tagg drew his friend aside, out of Ribrow’s hearing, and spoke low. “Apart from that big eel I’ve never slain anybeast. I never had to, you see; I was tougher, quicker and more skilled than any Juska. I always brought them back alive. It was only Sawney wanting me to kill Felch the fox, by skinning him alive, that caused me to split from the clan. Beasts feared my name and reputation, but really I was only Sawney Rath’s trained errand runner. When I realized that I could never kill just for fun, the way the Juska do, I suddenly wanted to be free of them and live my own life. But it seems they aren’t going to let me do that.”

Nimbalo suddenly felt sorry for his friend. He winked at Tagg. “Oh, ain’t they now? Hah, we’ll soon change their minds about that, me ole Tagg. You’ve got Nimbalo the Slayer with you now, pal. Those Juskas’ll be glad to leave ye alone by the time I’m done wid ’em. Then ye can lead any kind o’ life y’like; it’ll be even better than the time afore you was a Taggerung!”

Tagg smiled at the irrepressible little harvest mouse. “Thanks, but I can’t recall how I lived before I was Taggerung.” But even as he spoke, a sudden idea was building in the otter’s mind. He turned back to Ribrow, who was sitting nearby, wet and sullen. The stoat huddled defensively against a rock, sensing that his captor was going to start interrogating him again.

“I told yer everythin’ I know. There ain’t no more, see!” Ribrow’s throat bobbed nervously as Tagg took out his blade and began tapping it against the boulder. “Wot d’yer want now? I told yer I know nothin’.”

The otter honed his blade on the boulder, looking at the razor-sharp edge, speaking softly. “Tell me, how long have you been with the Juska clan?”

“Dunno exactly, thirty seasons, more mebbe, I’m not sure.”

Tagg nodded agreeably, his eyes still fixed on the blade. “Then you must remember how I came to be with the clan. Take your time, stoat, think carefully. I wouldn’t want you to make any mistakes, that would make me angry, very angry!”

The otter’s voice was like his steel blade, there was cold danger in it. Ribrow felt himself trembling, and held out his paws pleadingly. “Wait, wait, let me think. ’Twas all a long time ago!”

Tagg licked the blade, his tattooed face ferocious in the firelight. “Go on, Ribrow, I’m waiting . . .”

Ribrow decided to tell what he knew. “There was talk that Grissoul’s omens said a Taggerung was comin’ to the Juskarath clan. Antigra claimed ’twas ’er babe, but the omens were wrong for ’im. There was an argument an’ Sawney slew Antigra’s mate, wid that blade you’ve got in yer paw now. Grissoul ’ad visions ’twas to be a babe, wid a marked paw.”

“How did you know this?” Tagg interrupted.

The stoat shrugged. “Everybeast was gossipin’ about it on the quiet. You know wot Juska are like, always keepin’ their ears open in case there’s summat in it for them. Next thing, Sawney ordered us to break camp an’ follow ’im. I tell yer, I never knew Sawney Rath t’be so nervous an’ excited. Nobeast’d seen Sawney like that afore. We marched fer days; ’e drove us ’ard. The new camp was in Mossflower Wood, south’n’west as I recall, by a river. Then ’e picked a bunch of us, I was one, me matey Dagrab was anudder. I can’t remember who else, ’ceptin’ Eefera an’ Vallug Bowbeast, ’is pet killers, they was always with Sawney. We went to a place where a path ran through the water, a ford. The orders was to keep our ’eads down an’ be silent. An otter came there, big feller like yerself, carryin’ a babe. Sawney gave the word an’ Vallug slew the big otter, put a shaft in ’is heart. Sawney grabbed the little ’un, that was you.”

Tagg’s voice trembled audibly. “Go on, what happened then?”

Ribrow closed his eyes, concentrating hard. “We ’ad to run fer it, fast, Sawney out in front carryin’ you, an’ the rest of us guardin’ ’is back.”

Tagg could hardly believe what he was hearing. “I never knew Sawney Rath to turn and run from anything in his life. What was he afraid of?”

Ribrow’s reply was immediate. “The Red Warriors, that was it! Aye, I remember now. Sawney said to us there’d be Red Warriors, or somethin’ like that, comin’ after us. We ran like blazes, ’cos ’e said that they didn’t take prisoners an’ ’e’d leave be’ind anybeast who couldn’t keep up. We went dashin’ off west, t’the dunelands by the sea. Sawney made clanbeasts cover the trail with stalks of wild mint, an’ they ’ad to brush the ground be’ind us. One thing, though: Sawney wouldn’t let nobeast near you ’cept Grissoul. I saw ’im ruin a fox’s paw fer life with that blade, just fer goin’ near you. Wot was ’is name now? Lemme see. Felch, that was the fox. Aye, Felch!”

Tagg was intrigued by the tale. Pieces began to fit together. “Tell me more about these Red Warriors who were coming after you. Did you ever see them? Why did Sawney fear them?”

Ribrow shook his head. “Nah, we never seen ’em. Huh, would’ve took a bird t’keep up with us, we were runnin’ that fast. Wait! I remember ole Grissoul sayin’ somethin’ about a bell. Er . . . the sound of the bell. Aye, that was it. Beware the sound of the bell, the very words she spoke. Lissen, that’s all I kin remember. We was never allowed t’come near you when you was growin’ up. Sawney saw that you got the best of everythin’, vittles an’ trainin’ too. Only times I ever saw ye, I ’ad to bow me ’ead an’ say Zann Juskarath Taggerung. All the clan did too. I’ve told ye all I know. ’Twas Gruven who started the landslide, not me. You won’t slay me, will yer, Taggerung? Say ye’ll spare me!”

Tagg grabbed some rope and bound Ribrow tightly for the night. “I’ll spare you if you don’t make another sound tonight. Now shut up and get some sleep. We’ll decide what to do with you tomorrow.”

*

Tagg slept knife in paw by the fire, his dreams teeming with red warriors and clanging bells. Sometimes he saw the mouse warrior, and he too was red. Tagg called after him, “Deyna, Deyna!”

The mouse warrior raised his sword and called back, “Martin!” Everything became jumbled then, the face of Sawney Rath, poor dead pigmy shrews buried beneath the avalanche of debris, then Vallug Bowbeast, grimacing evilly as he notched an arrow to his bow. The Bowbeast loosed the shaft, Tagg’s mind flew back to the soft red room, and he saw the otter’s face clearly. Except for the tattoos, he felt as if he were looking at himself. It was his father! Tagg felt the arrow strike his heart and water splash his face as he fell back into the ford.

“Wake up, mate. Lookit wot’s ’appened to yore prisoner!” Nimbalo was crouching over him in the early dawn, splashing ice-cold mint and rosehip tea from a bowl onto Tagg’s face. “Come on, matey, look, they brought us brekkist!”

Bodjev and Alfik were waiting, with a lot of Cavemob shrews, all carrying weapons. Tagg went over to where Ribrow lay dead, stiff as a board. Tagg looked up, his expression hardening. Alfik grinned. “A mornin’ to ye, big fella, yikyik! No worry ’bout tharra one, ’e norra comin’ wirrus. Ho no. Dink dink, like snakeyfish. Now ’e nomore kill Cavemobs!”

Seeing Tagg’s face, Nimbalo stood between the otter and the shrew. “Ye can’t blame ’em, matey. Ole Ribrow didn’t show much mercy to the pore Cavemob beasts that ’e killed. They want t’come with us an’ slay the others. We’ve got our own liddle army!”

Tagg did not want the Cavemob along with him, and decided to convince Bodjev dramatically. Drawing his blade, he laid it across both paws and held it forth to the Chieftain.

“O great Chieftain of the Cavemob, I thank you for your help. But we must travel alone, far and wide, to find the vermin and slay them. You cannot march off and leave your beloved mountain unguarded. Who is strong enough to rule with you gone? I will seek out your enemies and punish them for you. Because . . .” Tagg performed a mighty somersault, right over the astounded shrews, and landed brandishing the blade and roaring, “Because I am the Taggerung, faster than the wind and more deadly than a serpent’s tooth. I am Taggerung, I slew Yo Karr!”

Sweeping Nimbalo up onto his shoulder, the big otter bounded off with massive speed and energy. The harvest mouse clung tight to his friend’s neck, dawn breeze rushing past as they dashed through the rowans and rocks, shale spurting right and left. Nimbalo gripped Tagg’s neck tighter and tighter, shouting in his ear, “Slow down, ye great madbeast. Don’t trip, or ye’ll kill us both!”

Pounding over rocks, leaping streams and dashing over turf and sedge they went. The sun was well up when Tagg slackened his pace to a fast lope. “They never followed us, did they, mate?”

Nimbalo brought his head around to stare into the otter’s eyes. “Follow us, those fat short-pawed liddle maggots? Are you jokin’, matey? An eagle would’ve ’ad trouble tryin’ to foller us!”

Tagg laughed at his friend’s windswept face. “Good, so d’you mind not trying to strangle me, please!”

“Right, then put me down. My pore paws’ve gone t’sleep tryin’ to ’ang on up ’ere for so long!”

The otter put his friend down and slowed his pace. They walked along together, enjoying the warm summer morning. Nimbalo stopped. “Lissen, can you ’ear that?”

Instantly alert, Tagg drew his blade. “Hear what?”

Nimbalo patted his stomach and pulled a mournful face. “That! We left a good brekkist and travelin’ packs o’ food back there when you took to leapin’ ’round. I’m starvin’!” Then Tagg’s stomach rumbled so loudly that they both laughed.

“Aye, I’m a bit peckish too, mate. Let’s keep going and see what we can find. By the way, I think we’re completely lost.”

Nimbalo took their bearings. “Well, there’s the mountain be’ind us. I think I saw a stream up yonder when I was on yore shoulders. So let’s make for the stream an’ follow it. Might find some eats over that way.”

*

It was a narrow stream, getting dryer as the summer progressed, high-banked and muddied in the shallows, with reeds and marshy-looking plants sprouting through the water. Clouds of midges flew everywhere. Tagg kept brushing a paw across his face and swatting at them.

“Whew! It’s not much fun down in this streambed. What d’you say we go back up on the bank? At least we won’t get eaten alive.”

Nimbalo was a stubborn little beast. He stuck to his original idea. “No, no, let’s carry on down ’ere awhile. If it gets no better beyond that bend, then we’ll go up on the bank.”

As they rounded the bend they were faced with a curious sight. It looked like a huge ball of dried mud, almost as tall as Tagg. The curious part was that it could talk in a well-educated squeak.

“Help! Assistance! Anybeast, please take pity on me. Hello, is there another creature out there? Answer me, I beg you!”

The mud had set, dry and solid in the sun. Tagg approached and knocked on it, his paw making a hollow sound. He put his mouth close. “Hello? Anybeast at home? What d’you want us to do? I’m an otter and I have a harvest mouse with me. I’m Tagg, and he’s Nimbalo.”

The reply was polite, but with an edge of urgent impatience. “I’ll tell you what I require, I want you to dispense with the formalities and get me out of here before I suffocate. Now, can you do that, sir? Answer yes or no, please!”

Tagg got busy hacking away dried mud with his blade. “Yes!”

Nimbalo found a big club, carved from sycamore root, and dragged it across to Tagg. “See wot y’can do with this, mate!”

Tagg swung the club, dealing the mudball several good blows. Dust and dried mud clods showered him. “I’m not hurting you, am I?” he called out. “Are you all right in there?”

The reply was shaky, but still rather urgent. “As well as can be expected, my dear fellow. Kindly continue.”

Tagg battered away forcefully until the mud prisoner called to him, “Stop! Desist, I pray. I’d be most upset if you slew me with my own club, sir, most upset!”

When the dust cleared, they were facing a hedgehog, hanging awkwardly out of a half ball of dried mud. Blinking dust from his eyes, he sneezed.

“Kachoooh! Beg pardon. Ah, I see you have a knife. Would you be so good as to cut this rope? But mind my snout, I pray you.”

Tagg saw that a rope ran through the center of the hedgehog’s face from spikes to chin. He severed it with a swift slice of the blade. The hedgehog began straining and gasping as the mud started to crack from around his spiky bulk.

“Aaaaah, my thanks to you, sir. Uuuuuunh! Stand clear now!” He popped out free, leaving the rope and a considerable number of spikes embedded in his former prison. Splashing into the shallow stream, he lay on his back, wriggling and sighing. “Aaaaah, that’s better. Ooooooh, that feels rather good!” Sitting up, he proffered a muddy paw. “Robald Forthright at your service, sirs. May I express my heartfelt thanks for your prompt actions here today!”

Nimbalo shook his paw. “Please t’meetcher I’m shore, mate, but ’ow didyer get into that blinkin’ mess?”

Robald shook Tagg’s paw, allowing the otter to help him upright. “Not by my own making, I assure you. Come to my humble abode and I will relate the incident to you in its entire dreadfulness.”