20

Between them both, Hogspit and Lousewort knew virtually nothing about scouting ahead for the Rapscallion army. Their promotion to the rank of Rapscour was greeted with scorn by the twoscore vermin trackers each had under his command. All day they had trudged steadily north, with the eighty vermin ignoring their commands pointedly. They went their own way, foraging and fooling about, pleasing themselves entirely.

Lousewort was completely bullied and cowed by Hogspit; the big nasty weasel took every available chance to beat or belittle his fellow officer. Lousewort bumbled along in Hog-spits wake like some type of menial lackey.

It was about early noon when they breasted a long rolling hill with a broad stream flowing through the fields below it. Hogspit immediately gave his verdict on the area.

“Itll do fer a camp tonight, I spose, good runnin water an plenty o space. Wot more could Damug ask fer is army?

Lousewort gave his opinion, for what it was worth. “Er, er, not much shelter, though. Wot iffen it rains?

Hogspit fetched him a clip round the ear. “Iffen it rains then theyll just ave ter get wet, blobberbrain. Thats unless youve got ideas of buildin lots o nice liddle wooden uts tkeep em dry.

Lousewort thought about this for a moment. “Er, er, but there aint no wood around, mate, an even if there was itd take too IonYowch! He jumped as the weasel booted him hard on the behind.

“If brains wuz bread youd a starved to death afore you was born!

The conversation was ended when a weasel came panting up the hillside and pointed down to where the stream curved round the far side of the tor. Throwing a smart salute, he rattled out breathlessly to the two officers, “Boatloads o scruffy-lookin mice down that way, sirs!

Hogspit swelled his chest officiously, sneering at the messenger. “Ho, tis sirs now, is it? A lick o trouble, a coupla foebeasts, an all of a sudden were officers agin, eh! Right then, ow many o these scruffy-lookin mouses is there?

Lousewort tried hard to look like a commander of twoscore as he parroted Hogspits last words. “Er, er, aye, ow many is there?

The big weasel silenced him with an ill-tempered stare before turning back to the tracker. “Never mind goin back tcount em. Get the others tgether quick an meet us down there. Cummon, dunderpaws, lets take a look!

Lying in a hollow not far from the stream bank, both Rap-scours saw the vessels come round the bend. There were six long logboats, each carved from the trunk of a large tree, and seated two abreast at the oars were small creatures, their fur wiry and sticking out at odd angles. Each of them wore a brightly colored cloth headband and a kilt, held up by a broad belt, through which was thrust a little rapier. Others of them sat at prow and stern atop supply sacks, and all of them seemed extremely short-tempered, for they argued and jabbered ceaselessly with one another. Only an older creature, slightly bigger than the rest, remained aloof, standing on the prow of the lead boat surveying the river ahead. In all, there were about seventy of them crewing the long logboats.

Hogspit rubbed his paws together. Grinning wickedly, he glanced back to see the tracker leading thirty vermin into the defile. The weasel sniggered with delight. Thirty Rapscallions would be more than enough to take care of a gang of scruffy-looking mice. He stuck a grimy claw under Louse worts nose, issuing orders to him.

“Huh, thisll be simple as shellin peas. You stay ere with this lot, Ill go out there an scare the livin daylights out of those mouses. Be ready tcome runnin when I shouts yer!

Swaggering out onto the stream bank, Hogspit called out to the oldish creature in the prow of the first craft as it drew level, “Hoi, graybeard! Git them boats pulled in ere. I wants ter see wot youve got aboardan move lively if yknow wots good for yer!

For a small beast, the leader had extremely dangerous eyes. He held up a paw and the crews ceased rowing. Steering the prow round with a long pole, he waited until his craft was close enough, then vaulted to dry land on the pole.

One paw on his rapier, the other tucked into his belt, he looked the weasel up and down. His voice, when he spoke, was deep and gruff.

“Lissen, swampguts, I know wots good fer me, an whats aboard these boats is none o yore businessso back off!

Hogspit was amazed at the small beasts insolence. Swelling out his chest, he laid paw to his cutlass handle. “Do you know who yer talkin to? Im Rapscour Hogspit of Damug War-fangs mighty Rapscallion army!

The creature drew his small rapier coolly, quite unimpressed. “Then clean the mud out yore ears an lissen tme, Spitog, or whatever name ycall yoreself. I wouldnt know Damug wotsisname or his army if they fell on me out of a tree! Im Log-a-Log, Chieftain o the Guosim shrews. So pull steel if yfancy dyin!

Hogspit whipped out his cutlass and charged with a roar.

In the hollow, Lousewort felt his belt tugged urgently by a rat, who squealed, “Is that it, do we charge too?

Lousewort pulled free of the rats tugging paw. “Er, er, no, I want tsee wot appens.

Log-a-Log faced the oncoming Rapscour until he was almost on top of him, then, stepping neatly aside, he tripped Hogspit, lashing his back smartly with the rapier blade as the big weasel went down.

The shrew circled him teasingly. “Up on yore paws, ygreat pudden, or Ill finish ye where you lie!

His face ugly with rage, Hogspit scrambled up and began taking huge swings at the shrew with his cutlass. Each time the blade came down it was either on the ground or thin air. The shrews in the boats sat impassively watching their leader making a fool of the bigger creature.

Turning aside the bludgeoning cutlass with a flick of his rapier, Log-a-Log mocked his opponent. “It must be a poor outlook fer this Damug cove ifn this is the way he teaches his officers thandle a blade. Cant yer do any better, bucket-bum?

Slavering at the mouth and panting, Hogspit cleaved down, holding the cutlass with both paws. The blade tanged off a rock, sending a shock through him. He spat at his enemy, snarling, “Ill carve yer guts inter frogmeat an dance on em!

Log-a-Log wiped the weasels spit from his headband, eyes flat with menace. “Nobeast ever spat on me an lived. I couldve slain ye a dozen times. Here! There! Left! Right! Upndown! Whirling about he pricked Hogspit each time he spoke, showing him the truth of the statement. Halting, the shrew curled his lip scornfully at the Rapscour and turned his back on him, saying, “Gerrout o my sight, vermin, youve done yoreself no honor here today!

Swinging the cutlass high, Hogspit charged at the shrews unprotected back. At the last possible second Log-a-Log turned and ran him through, gritting up into the cowards shocked face, “No skill, no sense, and no honor, now yve got no life!