‘Freeeee Southswaaaaaard!’
Nagru was a seasoned warrior, and he did not panic as most creatures would have done. Waving his sword, he shouted urgently to his horderats. ‘Rally to me!’
Every rat hastened to obey. Nagru was not given to idle commands – they sensed the urgency in his voice. Scarce had they grouped when the Southsward army came pounding over the hilltop and the two forces clashed. The battle broke over Nagru with a vengeance.
Squirrels immediately raced up treetrunks and began hailing arrows downward into the horderats. The front ranks were mainly the tribe of Gawjun and Deekeye; wielding their wardubs, the hedgehogs waded in, only to be met by Nagru sending spears and pikes straight at them.
Bowly and his leverets cut to one side. Picking up a lance from a fallen otter, the young hedgehog and his troop fought their way into the horde’s flank, only to find themselves surrounded. They gathered round Runtwold, who had taken a swordthrust in his footpaw, and tried fighting their way out. Luckily a party of moles saw their predicament and came to their aid with maces swinging.
Nagru sought out Bladetail. ‘Retreat, sound a retreat!’ he shouted. ‘We’ll take them on the valley floor.’
Bladetail blew on a bone whistle; the response was immediate. Like a tide of grey, the horderats flooded down through the trees of the wooded slope to the open valley. Nagru had arrived before them. He positioned a line of archers to fire at the first wave of Southswarders emerging from the trees. Those carrying spears and lances were sent back to lay in a slight dip in the ground, while the rest grouped behind them. It was hastily done, but the Foxwolf was satisfied that his more disciplined horde would triumph against the wild rabble.
With a rousing yell, the Southswarders broke the tree cover and charged out on to the valley floor. Gael Squirrelking was at their head, holding high the broom banner. Gawjun saved them both by throwing himself on the King and bringing him down. The arrows zipped over their heads, felling the first rank of Southswarders. Bowly called from behind the old spread oak, where he was supporting the wounded Runtwold. ‘Back to the trees, don’t charge into the open!’
Keeping their heads down, Gawjun and Gael made it back to the trees. Now Nagru ordered his archers to drop back. They lay in the land dip with the spear and lance rats. Arrows and slingstones, like clouds of vicious hornets, rattled back and forth between the two armies.
Gawjun thumped his warclub against a tree and slumped down moodily. ‘I thought ’twould be a straight battle against yonder vermin, now we be caught in a standoff!’
Bowly nodded knowledgeably. ‘I been in one o’ them standoffs. We bide ’ere until help arrives, that’s what we do!’
‘Where’d thy sense come from?’ said Deekeye, curling her lip. ‘We’re supposed to be the help that’s arrivin’ – who’ll help us?’
Nagru had assessed the situation now that the field of combat had been established. The cunning that had made him Lord of the cold lands came to the fore as he laid plans.
‘Bladetail, Coldclaw, take two squads and drop back. Retreat until you are out of range, then split up and go to opposite sides of the valley. Make your way through the trees and attack them from both sides. When you go at them, create lots of noise – that should provide enough distraction for my main force to mount a surprise charge from the front.’
Gael had all the squirrels up in the trees – it was a good position to fire arrows from. He was joined by Bowly and as many others with slings who could climb up into the high branches. They pelted the horderats hard, harassing them constantly every time a head or paw showed from the dip in the valley. Bowly saw the two squads retreating and chuckled, ‘We’re drivin’ ’em back, see!’
Gael shook his head doubtfully. ‘Foxwolf is no fool, he’s up to something.’
Inside Castle Floret, Mariel and her friends found their fortunes reversed abruptly. They had pursued the remnants of their foes up a flight of stairs, only to be met by Silvamord’s counter attack. Masses of horderats poured down the stairs from the battlements, and the friends were forced to turn and retreat. Back down in the corridor a tide of grey swept in from every available entrance. Whooping and screeching, they chased the small depleted army of Southswarders. Dandin, Rab and Muta fought a way through, protecting the rearguard as Mariel ushered her fighters along the corridor. It was no easy task. Meldrum had taken a spear thrust in his shoulder and he hobbled along, supported by Troutlad and Greenbeck, complaining loudly.
‘The old tunic’s ruined now, good’n’proper. Foul villains, chuckin’ their spears about with no regard at all to a chap’s good togs, wot? This place must be a flippin’ rat paradise, never seen so many of the vermin in all me born days – there’s no end t’the blighters!’
Iris saw two of her otters fall to arrows; she appealed to Muta as they passed a side chamber. ‘What about that place, is the door locked?’
Locked doors did not stop the big badger. She hurled herself at the door. Hinges and lock gave way together and the door fell flat. Iris shook her head. ‘It’s just a room, we’d be trapped in there!’ she said.
Mariel saw that the horderats had slowed now, distancing themselves, but still advancing under Silvamord’s shouted commands. ‘Stay your distance, don’t dash with ’em. Archers, keep firing and following until they’re all cut down!’
Two more Southswarders fell to the horderat arrows. Iris flung back a fallen spear at the rats, shouting, ‘Muta, the door, can we use it for a shield?’
The badger grunted and strained, manoeuvring the fallen door until she was carrying it lengthways across her back. Meldrum dismissed Troutlad and Greenbeck. ‘Go and help her, two big stout lads like y’selves shouldn’t be totin’ me about. I’ll shift for meself, wot?’
They took the ends of the door, lightening Muta’s load. The shield proved quite effective; the small group made its way down the corridor until Rab stopped them. ‘Not that way, it’s the banqueting chamber – it’s too wide, they’d be able to surround us.’
Dandin ran ahead and took a look at the chamber. He came hurrying back with bad news. ‘There’s more rats coming through from that side!’
Mariel cut off down a passage. ‘Come on, this is the only way left!’ she called.
Rab Streambattle hesitated. ‘But it doesn’t go anywhere, there’s only a small room down there, we’ll be blocked in!’
‘Better than bein’ in the middle of a rat sandwich,’ said Meldrum, prodding him forward. ‘Hurry up, old lad, any port in a storm!’
Silvamord relaxed at the entrance to the passage and congratulated Sicant and Hooktail. ‘Good work, well done! They’re bottled up tight!’
She eyed the rats around her, settling on one who looked bolder than the rest. ‘You there, what’s your name?’
‘They call me Ugrath, Lady.’
The vixen clapped Ugrath’s back, her tailed skirt tinkling musically as she paced around him. ‘I watched you Ugrath, you fought well. There’s a little job you can do for me, do you think you’re up to it?’
Ugrath pulled in his chin and stuck out his chest proudly. ‘I am yours to command, Lady!’
‘Good. I want you to take a message to those fools. Tell them if they throw down their arms, bind the badger and the otter tight, and come out here, I will spare their lives. But it must be done immediately, or I will strike at them and leave none alive. Go now!’
Ugrath’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, then, grasping his pike tight, he set off down the passage. Sicant exchanged glances with the vixen. ‘You’ll let them live, Majesty?’ she asked.
Silvamord drew her curved sword, testing its edge on her paw. She raised one eyebrow at Sicant. ‘Well, what do you think?’
There was silence from down the passage, followed by a sound of voices and an anguished yelp. Ugrath came staggering back, minus his pike and nursing his nose with both paws. He squinted at the vixen through a swollen eye. ‘Mousemaid with a rope, she . . .’
Silvamord silenced him with a glare, and
turned to the massed rats crowding everywhere. ‘Pikes and long spears, archers behind, follow up with swords. Charge!’
35
EGBERT THE SCHOLAR was not feeling very happy as he stood with one paw in the valley and the other inside the cave entrance. The mole knew that there was fighting and bloodshed inside Floret – he could hear the faint sounds of conflict from the south side of the valley where Nagru was battling with Gael Squirrelking’s army. Egbert gave a whimper of anguish – his former relatively peaceful life was now shattered by war. Timidly, he ventured beyond the bushy screen which hid the secret entrance to Floret, intending to escape from it all up the north slope, which faced the castle’s rear side.
Suddenly, a sound in the undergrowth startled him. He turned to run back to the cave and was immediately swept off his paws by a murderous-looking beast. Lying flat on his back, the terrified mole covered both eyes, so that he would not have to see the dreadful apparition. It was a big, villainous-looking otter, covered in tattoos and scars, with one eye and a musselshell, and carrying twin curved swords. Egbert curled into a ball, hoping his end would be swift and painless. A voice, firm but friendly, sounded close by. Put up those swords, Finnbarr, you’ll frighten the poor mole to death!’
Egbert uncovered his eyes and looked around. He was surrounded by a host of javelin-wielding otters and shrews armed with rapiers. The speaker, a strong-looking mouse, with twinkling eyes and a grey beard, helped him upright and shook his paw in friendly manner. ‘Hello there, I’m Joseph the Bellmaker. Don’t be afraid – you’ve nothing to fear from us. You don’t look like one of the Foxwolf’s creatures.’
The knowledge that he was out of danger restored the scholarly mole’s voice. ‘Creature of the Foxwolf, me, Egbert the Scholar?’ he said, indignantly. ‘Never! I, sir, am what is known as a casualty of war. It is no small thing having to leave Castle Floret because the place has been turned into a battleground, I can tell you!’
Foremole was astounded at Egbert’s lack of mole accent. ‘Burrhurr, ee talken wunnerful pretty, zurr Hegbutt!’
‘Battleground?’ Log a Log interrupted. ‘You mean that there’s fightin’ goin’ on inside that castle? Who’s battlin’ with who, matey?’
Egbert adjusted his nose spectacles prissily. ‘I think the phrase is, with whom . . .’ He caught an impatient glare from the sea otter and hastened to explain. ‘Actually, it’s the forces of Silvamord – she’s the mate of Nagru. They’re battling with a small mixed group led by my friend Mariel . . .’
Suddenly the mole’s footpaws left the ground and he found himself hoisted up in front of Joseph’s burning stare. ‘Mariel! How do we get into that castle, tell me!’
The words flew in a babble from Egbert’s mouth. ‘Secret castle into the cave I mean secret cave into the castle, put me down, I’ll show you!’
Driven by the Bellmaker’s urgency, Egbert scurried willy-nilly through the passages and tunnels leading upward into Floret. Joseph and Finnbarr followed close on his heels, with Log a Log and Blerun the otter leading the large band that was strung out behind in the dark narrow passages. Finnbarr Galedeep ducked his head low, following the mole on all fours. ‘I ’ope ye know where yer goin’, messmate.’
Egbert had become lost in his haste, but he did not admit it. ‘Aha! Wood panelling. This is it – halt and give me space!’ He tugged aside a thin oak slat and squeezed through, looking about speculatively at the new entrance he had found. He was forced to jump aside with a startled squeak as three sections of the wainscot were slammed flat on the floor and armed creatures began pouring in. Joseph took the mole’s paw in a gesture of friendship.
‘Thank you, Egbert. There is one more favour I would ask of you. Back in the entrance cave you will find three small creatures, Wincey, Benjy and Figgs. Would you be so kind as to watch over them until this thing is finished?’
A smile of relief crossed the mole’s face. ‘Indeed I will, Joseph. If you will excuse me I’ll go and attend to them straight away!’
Foremole stopped him climbing back into the tunnels. ‘Noice place ee ’ave ’ere, zurr Hegbutt, hurr aye!’
The Scholar lapsed into mole dialect to reply. ‘Bo urr, she’m noice awroight zurr. Oi be off naow to lukk arter ee liddle uns. Gu’bye moler!’
Finnbarr’s teeth gleamed white in the gloom of the dim chamber they had emerged into. ‘Must be summat wrong with that un, he’s goin’ to miss all the fightin’. Come on, buckoes, git yerselves through ’ere, we ain’t got all summer!’
Finnbarr had been one of the first through the opening. He made a quick scouting trip, accompanied by Durry, Rufe and Fatch. Sliding silently back into the chamber, he found Joseph among the creatures crowding the ill-lit room. ‘Bellmaker, I found where the fight’s at. Along the passage outside an’ down some stairs, you kin ’ear the ’ullabaloo from the top o’ the stairwell!’
Joseph hefted a long ash stave that he favoured as a weapon, crying, ‘Then that’s where Mariel and Dandin will be. Are we ready?’
Finnbarr was already racing Blerun for the door. ‘Las’ one down there’s a flat crab!’
Mariel saw the charge coming. She swung her Gullwhacker as Troutlad, Greenbeck and Muta picked up the door and headed the counter charge. Behind them, the small force swung slingstones into the horde’s front rank as they dashed down the passage with only a battered door between them and the crowds of grey rats.
‘Redwaaaaaalllll!’
They met with a crash, the door flattening several rats as the long spears and pikes sought out the Southswarders. Dandin led them under the spearpoints, ducking low as he dived in with his long dagger drawn. Arrows came hissing over at the slingers; those who were not struck returned slingstones fast and hard. Grunting and slashing, roaring and striking, the conflict went on in the narrow passage.
Silvamord stood on the backs of two rats who were bent double. They gasped as she leapt up and down excitedly, shrieking, ‘Finish them off! Kill, kill, kill!’ A mighty blow from Joseph’s stave sent her spinning.
Suddenly the air was filled with wild warcries.
‘Logalogalogalog!’
‘Galedeeeeeep!’
‘Southswaaaaaaard!’
‘Redwaaaaaaaalllll!’
Then the crew of Pearl Queen and Blerun’s otters were in the thick of it. The horderats fought viciously, knowing they were fighting for their lives. Mariel and her company gave a ragged cheer as the rats who were attacking them turned and retreated down the passage. The battle flowed outward; clashing steel echoed as Southswarders, aided by Pearl Queen’s crew and Blerun’s otters, matched their courage against the savagery of Silvamord’s horderats. Joseph beat his way through the mêlée until he was at the side of Mariel and Dandin. Laying a rat senseless with a sweep of his stave, he grinned and bowed his grizzled head to them both.
‘Daughter!’
‘Father!’
‘Dandin!’
‘Sir!’
The Bellmaker flinched as Mariel’s Gullwhacker whipped by his ear, taking out a rat who was sneaking up on him. ‘I see you still favour the old knotted rope,’ he said.
Gullwhacker hummed as Mariel swung it in a blurring pattern. ‘Aye, it’s as good as any weapon when there’s fighting to be done. Come on, let’s give ’em blood’n’vinegar!’ With a hearty roar the three warriors threw themselves into the fray.
Log a Log and the Guosim shrews had fought their way across the banqueting chamber. Several shrews fell to horderats’ spears until the Guosim got the measure of their enemies, then they fought in close, their deadly shrew-rapiers laying the foebeasts low as they ducked in under the spearshafts. Blerun and his otters put bows and javelins to good use as they battled along the corridor and up flights of spiral stairs. Sometimes they would fight paw to paw, javelin against spear and pike, at other intervals they found themselves crouching in doorways as they exchanged arrows with the rats.
Durry, Rufe and Fatch were fighting as a team. Slinging hard pebbles they wou
ld pop up in strategic places, hurl off a volley and drop down again, only to appear in another place. Rufe spotted Silvamord slinking along the side of a corridor – the vixen was looking for an avenue of escape. Threading her way between the horderats that were backed to the wall, she weaved sinuously towards one of the staircases, staying well away from the area where Muta and Rab were beset by a crowd of grey foebeasts. Setting a good-sized stone in his sling, Rufe swung it hard and accurate. It struck the vixen somewhere between neck and shoulder, and she went down. Yelling triumphantly, the young squirrel threaded his way through the chaos to where Silvamord lay. Durry saw him go and followed him, calling out, ‘Rufe, come back here, stay with me’n Fatch!’
Fatch had not realized Rufe was elsewhere until he heard Durry’s shout. Seeing the danger his friend was in, the shrew overtook Durry, crying out a warning. ‘Rufe, stay away from her!’
The young squirrel had reached Silvamord. He turned his back on her, shouting to his friends, ‘I’ve captured their leader!’
Silvamord sprang up and slashed at his back with her sword. Fatch saw Rufe go down. He hurtled forward and threw himself upon the vixen; swinging his stone-loaded sling, he caught her in the face as she brought the sword up to finish Rufe off. Silvamord thrust backward at the shrew clinging doggedly to her back – she felt him go limp and slide off. A slingstone caught her paw and Durry rushed in howling as he readied another stone to his sling. With a snarl the vixen raced off up the stairs.
Freeing himself of a rat, Rab Streambattle glimpsed Silvamord disappearing up the steps and pointed in her direction. Flinging aside a stunned rat, Muta grunted and took off in pursuit. Rab went in an entirely different direction, as fast as his paws would carry him. He knew Floret and he was certain of the exact point on the battlements where the vixen would emerge.
Rufe staggered upright helped by Durry. The hedgehog saw the rent in his friend’s tunic and the blood seeping from his back. ‘Rufe, she got you, are you all right?’
Rufe crouched beside Fatch, cradling the shrew’s head in his paws as he replied, ‘I’m wounded, but I’ll live. What’s wrong with Fatch?’