Swartt had been going long and hard. He had cleared the big hills behind Salamandastron in two days, without either food or sleep, but now he had to rest, to stop awhile before he dropped. The Warlord crouched beside a stream flowing out onto the heathland, his tongue lolling from one side of his mouth. Panting like a winded dog, he awaited the arrival of the rest. The vixen fell in a breathless heap alongside him and splashed water into her open mouth with both paws.
Swartt kicked her. “S’bad for yer, it’ll make yer sick, y’won’t be able to run!”
Nightshade lay back, her flanks twitching and quivering. “Makes no difference now, Lord. I’m old, I can’t run anymore, whether you want me to or not!”
The ferret pawed water over the back of his neck. “So, what’re you goin’ t’do, vixen, stop here an’ be slain by the badger? That’s what’ll happen if you don’t move.”
Nightshade watched the rest lolloping up and dropping exhausted by the stream. “I’ve got a plan, Sire, listen. You take five and twenty with you, leave me the rest with some bows and arrows. Look to the east there—see that fringe? It’s woodlands. Keep low and stay in the stream; ’tis only shallow, but the water will cover your tracks. Once you make it to the trees, wait there for me. I still have poison. We will lay an ambush; those who are hunting us will be coming fast, with the badger in the lead. They won’t be expecting a sudden shower of poison shafts. We’ll let fly at them, then we’ll use the streambed to follow you. I think my idea is our best hope.”
Swartt stared curiously at his seer. “Yer an odd one, vixen, why would you do this fer me?”
Nightshade closed her eyes. “You are not defeated yet, Lord. I follow my visions. I see the badger laid low at your footpaws, you standing atop of a mountain, smiling and victorious. . . .”
Swartt’s eyes lit up, and he leaned toward Nightshade. “More, tell me more, what d’you see then?”
The seer opened her eyes and shrugged. “Then it gets hazy and I see an old female badger, silver with seasons, very ancient and wise looking, then I wake.”
The Warlord brought his chain-mailed sixclaw down hard. “The badger laid low, me victorious. This is a good dream—it’s not over yet. As for your old silver female badger, when I’ve finished with Sunflash I’ll find her an’ slay ’er!”
* * *
Nobeast was more surprised than Sunflash the Mace when Rockleg and Fleetrunn caught up with him. He was facing the bottom of the final hill when the two hares came loping swiftly along and saluted him.
“Splendid day for huntin’ vermin, Sire, wot!”
The badger halted, his chest heaving as he sucked in air. “Where in the name of fur did you two spring from?”
Fleetrunn gestured over her shoulder. “Actually, there’s more followin’, we’re the jolly old front-runners, makin’ the pace, scoutin’ ahead, an’ so on.” She unslung a canteen from her back. “Here, Sire, care for a drop o’ the ole oat’n’barley water? Rather good in this hot weather, y’know.”
Gratefully, Sunflash took a brief sip, scanning the sky. Skarlath came soaring out of the blue and landed beside him. “Kreeh! Eight vermin and the vixen are awaiting your arrival over this hill. They are laying an ambush, with archers!”
“Well sighted, my friend. What of the Sixclaw, where is he?”
“Swartt and the rest are following a shallow streambed toward the forest to the east, staying in the water so that they cannot be tracked.”
Sunflash turned to the two hares. “Here is what we’ll do. You wait here until the rest of your Long Patrol arrives; I’m going off to skirt this hill and pick up the streambed south of here. Watch the sky; when you see Skarlath dive then you may charge the vermin, but do it carefully, keep out of arrow range. When you hear me attack then come in fast. Take your Long Patrol to this hilltop and watch for my hawk’s signal.”
It was hot and uncomfortable in the depression around the stream, and those with Nightshade were anxious and impatient. The shallow water had been warmed by the sun, and the presence of the vermin caused a cloud of midges and gnats to descend upon them. Nightshade swatted at the insects, sweat blurring her vision as she tried to focus on the hillslope in front of her. A quarrelsome rat drank some stream water and spat it out, complaining, “Yurk! Doesn’t taste too good after twenny odd pair o’ dirty paws ’ave been sloshin’ through it!”
Tension hummed on the air as the vixen snapped at him, “Then don’t drink it, fool, keep your eyes on the slope and your claws on that bowstring. Lord Sixclaw wants no slipups.”
A burly weasel scoffed as he spoke his thoughts aloud. “No slipups eh? Lissen, mate, it’s been one long round of slipups since I took up with this lot, an’ who was the one who did all the slippin’ up, eh? Ole Sixclaw, that’s who!”
The vixen stared hard at the burly weasel. “I’ll tell Lord Swartt you said that when we catch up with him in the forest—or would you sooner tell him yourself? You look like a big brave beast.”
The rat who had complained about the water signaled the vixen. “Look, atop of the ’ill, I kin see those ’ares, they’re watchin’ us!”
Nightshade could barely see a few javelin tips and long ears poking over the hilltop. “Aye, they’re up there sure enough. Strange, I wonder what they’re waiting for?”
The burly weasel ventured an opinion. “Some sorta signal maybe?”
Then the vixen spotted Skarlath, hovering halfway between the streambed and the hares. “That’s it, the badger’s hawk, it must be able to see something that we can’t. I’ll stop it spying on us!”
Wiping the moisture from her eyes, the vixen rubbed dirt on her paws to prevent them from slipping. She selected an arrow, sighting down the shaft to make sure it was straight and true, from feathered flight to poisoned barb. Testing the air with her eartip, Nightshade noted with satisfaction that there was not even a slight breeze to ruffle the still summer noon. Notching the shaft to her bowstring, she took aim and drew the arrow back until the yew-wood bow bent almost to a perfect semicircle.
Then Skarlath dropped from the sky, giving the signal.
Nightshade was quick. She dropped her aim instantly and fired. The arrow struck home. Skarlath gave a piercing cry, and his wide wings flopped loose as he tumbled to earth.
The vixen turned in triumph to the others when she saw Sunflash charging along the streambed from around the bend in the hill. Her courage drained from her. The huge Badger Lord pounded toward her, bellowing out his grief and rage. Dropping the bow, she fled, deserting the vermin in the depression. They turned too late. Sunflash was among them with an earsplitting roar.
“Skarlaaaaath!”
On top of the hill, Sabretache heard the Badger Lord’s anguished cry and saw the hawk lying halfway down the hill, a bundle of feathers and a broken arrow. The hare Captain drew his saber.
“Long Patrol! Eeulaliaaaaaa!”
The hares came charging down the hill, dust rising in clouds from their paws, weapons at the ready. With a bound they sprang into the depression. The stream was slowly being dammed, choked by dead vermin and smashed weapons. The berserk Badger Lord had done his work, and now he was gone. Sabretache signaled them forward, and they rushed off in a spray of streamwater, following the shallow bed toward the distant forest.
Nightshade ran as she had never done before. Paws pounding, brushy tail standing out behind like a streamer, her heart banged like a trip-hammer as she fought to suck in the hot air. The wound in Sunflash’s footpaw had reopened, tinging the stream water red as he sped roaring in the wake of the beast who had slain Skarlath. Terror lent speed to the vixen; she dashed for the shelter of the forest, well ahead of the badger, though a quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that he was beginning to shorten the gap between them. Blinded by tears and aching all over from battle wounds, the Badger Lord pursued his enemy doggedly, determined to catch up with the lighter, swifter fox.
Swartt was well within the woodlands, ravaging a wild cherry tree with the rest of his vermin. He turned swiftly at the approaching patter of paws. It was a stoat he had left on watch at the forest edge.
“Lord, I climbed a tree and saw your vixen,” gasped the stoat. “She is running fast toward these woods, with the badger hard on her tail. There are no others; he must’ve slain those you left to ambush him. It looks like Nightshade escaped! There are hares, too, more than half a score, coming up fast!”
The Warlord did not hesitate. He took off north into the trees, taking his band with him. “The vixen bungled the ambush,” he growled. “If the badger catches her, well, that’s ’er lookout. If not she’ll pick up our tracks an’ find us. But that badger an’ his hares can track too, so move yerselves if you want ter stay alive!”
Nightshade made the forest cover on trembling limbs. Expecting Swartt and the others to be waiting there, she slowed her pace as she dashed into the trees, yelling for assistance. “Lord, the badger’s after me! Get him! Cut him down!”
But no help was forthcoming. Staggering with exhaustion the vixen loped off through the woodland. The crash of heavy footpaws pounding through the undergrowth in her wake caused Nightshade to turn her head fearfully. She tripped over an exposed tree root and fell flat. She managed to scramble halfway up before a huge footpaw knocked her down again. Sunflash the Mace stood over her, tears coursing down the golden stripe, his massive paws shaking with fury as he raised the great war club. Nightshade scrabbled against the earth. “No, Lord! Mercy pl . . . Yaaaaaggh!”
* * *
Sabretache leapt over the carcass of the dead seer, following the trampled undergrowth to where the badger lay, too exhausted to rise and shaking with grief, now that the bloodwrath had left him.
“Skarlath,” he wept. “Skarlath, my true friend.”
The hare sheathed his blade, speaking low to his followers. “Camp here tonight, it’ll be twilight soon. Rockleg, Fleetrunn, attend to Lord Sunflash, rebind his wounds. Hedgepaw, see if you can fetch some clean water from the stream; the rest of you stand easy. We’ll pick up the ferret’s trail at dawn.”
* * *
Refreshed by his rest in the woods while waiting on the results of the ambush, Swartt drove his band hard. Soon after dawn he came across a wide river flowing down through the trees. Halting his band for a short rest, he drank sparingly and waded in to test the depth of the water. The weasel called Grayjaw waded into the shallows beside him. “It looks deep in the middle, Chief. Wonder where this river goes?”
Swartt was not listening. He was facing upstream, staring at the green slopes of the distant mountains.
“Up on yer paws, you idlers,” he shouted to the horde. “That’s where we’re bound, the mountains upriver. Stay in the shallows, stick t’the water, it’ll make trackin’ difficult fer the badger. Come on!”
Grayjaw splashed alongside the Warlord. “But Chief, what about Nightshade? You said she’d be able to follow our trail.”
Swartt looked pityingly at the weasel. “If the vixen was goin’ to catch us up she’d ’ave done it durin’ the night. Ferget that one, I’m more concerned about that badger an’ his hares. If we can make it t’those mountains, I’ll think up a good plan to deal with ’em.”
Sunflash and the Long Patrol were a day behind Swartt and his band. They arrived at the river in the late evening and made camp on the bank.
Sabretache inspected the bruised and broken overhead foliage of the trees that dipped to the water’s edge. “Hmm, about a score an’ five of ’em, tryin’ t’put us off the trail by takin’ to the water. See here—willow branch cracked, leaves bruised an’ damaged on that rowan farther along. Hmph! One of ’em even stepped ashore for a while an’ left a few pawprints on the bank edge. See, a stoat.”
Sunflash had waded in almost waist deep, wanting to feel the cold current pushing against him. He stared up at the mountains, distant in the gathering dusk of the dry summer day. “We’ll take only a short rest now and travel by night,” he said. “It’s cooler and we don’t need to track any longer. Swartt has gone to the mountains, I feel it in me. When he attacked Salamandastron I thought we would meet there, but it was not to be. Still, one mountain is as good as another when there’s a score to be settled with a six-clawed ferret!”