BOOK THREE

Across the Western Sea

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Leatho Shellhound regained consciousness painfully, discovering that he could only see through one eye. The captive outlaw found he could not move his paws; they were bound, outspread, to the bars of a wooden cage. He tried to wriggle free, but the whole structure wobbled and shook. Leatho gave up struggling and waited until his senses were fully restored before taking stock of his situation. The cage was suspended by a thick rope, high on the fortress tower. It hung beneath the windowsill of Riggu Felis's personal chamber.

The top of Leatho's head ached abominably from the blow of the wildcat's axehaft. He tasted dried blood on his lips and guessed that his eyelid was sealed shut by some of that same blood, which had flowed from his head wound.

Wrenching his face to one side, he rubbed the affected eye against his shoulder, blinking until it was cleared and he could see properly once more.

Below him, the pier was crowded with otterslaves, hemmed in by armed catguards. Gazing down on the sea of upturned faces, the outlaw's defiant spirit rose as he roared at the catguards, "Heeee aye eeee! I am the Shellhound!

Loose me, cowards, an' I'll fight ye all with my bare paws!"

A bucket of water drenched Leatho, causing him to gasp with shock. Riggu Felis leaned over the windowsill, still 237

holding the bucket, his chain mail mask tinkling as it hung down from his ruined face.

"Shout all you like, Shellhound, your fighting days are gone forever. I have plans for you, outlaw. Would you like to hear them?"

Leatho raised his dripping face, teeth bared in a snarl.

"Let me out of here and I'll fight you to the death, half-face.

Even with my paws bound behind my back, I'll slay ye!"

The warlord laughed. "Brave words, that's all you have left, outlaw. Listen now whilst I speak some words of my own."

Throwing the bucket away, the wildcat leaned out over the sill, his voice ringing out to those below. "Hear me, I am Riggu Felis, a true wildcat, and Warlord of Green Isle! No longer will my domain be troubled by runaways and rebels.

See, I have captured their chief, the bold Leatho Shellhound He will remain up here until his friends surrender. Either they can give themselves up or they may sneak back here in future days to look up at this cage. They will see the bones of Shellhound bleaching in the sun and rotting in the weather. Gulls and carrion birds will pick at his remains, That will be on their heads. If the rebels do not give themselves up, he starves to death! Nobeast defies Riggu Felis This is a lesson every creature on Green Isle must learn!"

Below on the pier, Weilmark Scaut unfurled his whip and cracked it viciously over the slaves. "Back to work, idle-beasts! Gather the crops, forage for kindling wood, fish the lake. Tonight there will be a great feast in honour of Lord Felis's triumph!"

The captives went back to their enforced chores, despair stamped on their faces, some openly shedding tears. The wildcat foe had finally won. Their leader, Leatho Shellhound, was a prisoner, strung up in a high cage to die. Now their last sweet dreams of freedom had truly deserted them.

That afternoon, the wildcat sat out with Scaut beneath a pier awning, watching the coracles fishing out on the lake.

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Just as the weilmark was beginning to doze off in the w a r m sun, a prod from the warlord's axehaft stirred him back to wakefulness.

"Who's that coming along the shore?"

Scaut blinked. "It looks like your son Pitru with some of his guards. Shall I go an' see wot he wants, Lord?"

Riggu Felis leaned back, closing his eyes. "No, let him come to me. We'll know soon enough."

The young cat swaggered up and stood in front of his father, who was feigning sleep. Pitru rattled his scimitar on the pier boards to gain attention, addressing his father insolently.

"Hah, the mighty Lord of Green Isle, eh? Taking a nap while his slaves are escaping!"

Felis opened one eye disdainfully. "Oh, it's you. What's all this nonsense about escaping slaves?"

Pitru signalled to his catguards, who tossed a slain otter down on the pier. It was the body of Runka Streamdog, brother of Banya. Pitru indicated it with a wave of his blade.

"This is one of them. He was supposed to be fishing. I spotted the empty coracle floating round by the reeds. There were two slaves—one managed to get away but we killed this one. And all the time our bold warlord was snoring the afternoon away. But I shouldn't be complaining. The very old are like babes, they need their daytime nap."

Instead of replying to his son's insult, the wildcat turned upon Scaut, growling menacingly, "Didn't you give that young idiot my instructions?"

The weilmark came to his own defence hastily. "Sire, I was half the mornin' tellin' everybeast yore orders, but Pitru an' his guards weren't to be found, Lord. I swear, I searched for 'em everywhere!"

The warlord began advancing on his hapless minion, hacking him toward the lake as he prodded him with a pun-

-shing claw. "My orders were that some slaves should escape! Otherwise, how would the rebels know about their leader's capture and the fate I had decreed for him, eh?

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Who would deliver my message to them, you thick eared dolt!"

He gave Scaut a final, savage shove that sent him splashing into the lake, which was fairly deep by the end pylons.

Scaut went right under. He bobbed up once, banged his head on the pier's underside and went down again.

Riggu Felis shook his head in disgust as he beckoned to the guards. "Get that buffoon out of there before he drowns."

Pushing their spearpoles under the pier, the catguards probed about. Scaut surfaced, a moment later, hanging onto the spears and spewing out m u d d y water as he yowled like a madbeast. "Haaaaarggggg! Yooooaagh! Gemme out!"

They hauled him out, tangled up with the ropes that bound him to the rotting carcass of Atunra, the missing pine marten. Two guards slashed away with their spearblades, hacking through the ropes and freeing the weilmark from his horrific burden. Scaut frantically scrambled out of the decomposing Atunra's embrace, clambered onto the pier and fainted in a pool of lakewater.

Pitru peered distastefully at the body floating in the lake.

"Ugh, what is it?"

From behind his chain mail half-mask, the warlord hissed, "Don't take me for a fool. You know it's Atunra, my faithful counsellor!"

Pitru smiled innocently. "So that's where she went? Well, nobeast told me. Like your order that the slaves should escape. Nobeast told me that, either."

The warlord spoke accusingly. "Yet you slew one of my slaves?"

The young cat looked guilelessly at his father. "Who, me?

I never slew your slave. That was Scorecat Yund, my trusty servant. My catguards are very loyal to me, I believe they'd kill anybeast I told them to."

It was a war of words. Riggu Felis nodded knowingly.

"Aye, my guards would also slay anybeast for me, and I have far more guards at my command than you do."

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Evening shades fell over Holt Summerdell after a long, hot day. The music of gently cascading water cooled the air, lending an aura of tranquility to the scene. Otter clanbeasts sat around on the ledges amid fragrant flower scents, listening to the birds trilling their evensong. Young ones played on the waterslide or swam about in the lower rock pools.

Only Big Kolun Galedeep could not relax. Pacing up and down, back and forth, he watched the sun sink lower in the west. Kolun constantly repeated what he had been saying since midnoon. "Where can that Shellhound have got to? Where?"

Deedero looked up from a baby tunic she was embroidering. "If'n I knew where he was I'd be the first to tell ye, Kolun. Now sit down an' relax! Yore makin' me dizzy."

The big otter continued his pacing. "Huh, me'n'Banya were back here just afore lunchtime. I don't like it, Leatho should've been back long since."

Deedero's patience began wearing thin. "So ye keep sayin', ye great worrywart. Why not go an' do somethin'

nbout it? Banya has. She's gone back along the trail lookin'

for Leatho. Go an' lend her a paw!"

Kolun waved his paws about irately. "Wot's the point if'n Banya's already gone? We'd both be out there lookin' for Leatho, an' he might've arrived back here by another route!"

From where he was sitting on a higher ledge, Kolun's brother Lorgo pointed. "Ahoy, here comes young Banya now. There's another with her, but it don't look like the Shellhound."

Banya came staggering in, supporting the ottermaid Memsy, w h o was obviously half dead with fatigue. Both appeared to be n u m b with shock. Kolun ran to them.

Sweeping Memsy up in his powerful paws, he carried her to where Deedero and some other ottermums were sitting.

Setting Memsy down in their midst, he immediately began questioning her.

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"What's happened to Leatho? Have ye seen him, miss?"

The ottermaid was in no state to answer. Burying her face in Deedero's apron, she wept uncontrollably.

Kolun's missus snapped at him, "Leave her alone, ye great lump! Can't ye see she's upset?"

The big otter was bewildered. "But where's Leatho?"

Banya answered. "Memsy told me that Shellhound been captured by that Riggu Felis an' his cats."

Deedero's voice went shrill with disbelief. "Our Shellhound . . . captured?"

Banya ignored the twin rivulets of tears coursing down her face as she explained. "Aye, captured. The wildcat had an ambush laid for Leatho. He was trapped just outside the slave compound. Now they've got him strung up in a cage, high on the fortress tower. Nobeast can reach him up there.

The Felis cat said if'n the clans don't surrender, he'll leave Leatho up there an' starve him to death. He said we could come an' see the carrion birds pickin' over his bones. Two otters escaped to bring us the news, but Memsy was the only one of 'em that made it. The other one was slain by a beast named Scorecat Yund. He was my brother, Runka Streamdog. I'll catch up with his murderer. He'll pay dearly, I swear it!"

News that Leatho was in the clutches of the enemy went out like wildfire. A Council of Clans was called immediately. Gathering in the cave behind the waterfall, everybeast listened in stunned silence as Banya retold the story. The moment she finished speaking, there was an angry uproar.

Ould Zillo had to pound his rudderdrum to restore order,

"Ahoy now, hold yore gobs! Shoutin' never got a body anywhere. Kolun Galedeep, let's hear from ye!"

Wielding his long paddle, the big otter addressed the clans in the only way he knew—blunt and direct. "I ain't here to palaver or argue. We've got to free our mate Leatho an' the sooner the better!"

Kolun gripped the paddle tight, his voice ringing out like steel. "Aye, an' I'll tell ye somethin' else, too. I ain't surren-242

derin' my missus an' young 'uns up t'be slaves for a mangy cat! If they want war, we'll give it to 'em!"

Zillo banged his drum furiously to be heard over the thuunder of approval from the clan warriors. "Sure that's all well'n'good, but wot'll be happenin' to the wives an' babes if'n we lose the battle?"

Deedero raised her voice firmly. "Hah! We'll survive like we always have. Every one of ye owes too much to Shellhound. No foebeast's goin' to starve him to death whilst there's one of us left alive! Leatho never left any of us in the lurch, he was always more'n ready to fight our cause. Lose t he battle, is it? Lissen, Kolun me dear, you go an' win that battle, an' don't come marchin' back t'me without Leatho Shellhound!"

Brandishing a lance, Banya Streamdog leapt up. "Streamdogs! Wildloughs! Wavedogs! Streamdivers! Riverdogs!

Streambattles! Gather yore weapons! Rouse the clans!

Eeeeeee aye eeeeeeeeh!"

As an avalanche of sound shook the cavern, Deedero nodded to her husband. "There's yore answer, wot are ye waitin' for?"

Big Kolun hugged his missus. "A nice bowl of hotroot soup an' a big kiss from you, my 'eart's delight!"

Narrowly avoiding a whack from her rudder, Kolun was swept up in the stampede for the entrance. Any reply that his missus called out was drowned by echoing clan warcries. Lances, slings, bows, spears, blades and all manner of arms bristled from the warrior horde as they bounded u p -

hill out of Holt Summerdell.

II had been a long, hot day. Leatho watched from his high prison as the westering sun set in a blaze of crimson glory.

11 is paws ached abominably from where the ropes cut cruel ly into them. The last moisture he had tasted was when I he warlord emptied the bucket of water over his head. He I icked thirstily at his dried lips and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain from his wounded head, which denied sleep 243

to his weary body. As the evening dragged daylight to an unhurried close, the outlaw fought mentally to avoid thoughts of food or drink.

When dusk fell, Leatho's head drooped forward, his eyes no longer able to stay open, his entire body feeling dizzy and light as air. Then a torpor overcame him: All pain receded into a dull throb. His body slumped against the ropes, and he passed out.

A mouse warrior, armed with a fearsomely beautiful sword, was at his side, holding his paw. Then, like a pair of leaves in an autumn breeze, they were travelling through the air. Below him, the outlaw could see Green Isle unfold ing, its loughs, hills, streams and woodlands. The mouse warrior directed his gaze to where the Great Sea lapped the pale-sanded shores, his voice gave counsel to the dream ing prisoner.

"To die is easy for you, Shellhound, but you were ever a fighter. Do not let life slip away whilst there is hope. Behold the High Queen bringing a new dawn to Green Isle. Keep repeating her name. Rhulain! Rhulain!"

Leatho saw her then, the tall ottermaid clad in her green cloak and shining breastplate, marching purposefully.

Queen of Green Isle! The High Rhulain!

The vision was shattered suddenly as the cage struck the wall and banged about crazily Leatho woke only to look up and see the Lady Kaltag battering at the bars with a spear from above. Her face was twisted into a vengeful sneer as she shrieked at him.

"Murderer! Now you will pay for slaying my son Jeefra!"

Raising the spear high, she thrust downward at him.

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25

Choked and blinded by thick clouds of billowing dust inside the stairwell, Skipper Banjon took a flying leap u p -

ward. The tough otter grabbed onto a pawhold in the rough sides of the stone funnel. Buffeted by falling slats of rotted wood, he caught the sounds of wild screams and cries coming from the room above. He drove himself frantically onward, scrabbling and clawing at rocky outcrops and splintered stair ends until he managed to haul himself onto the lopsided landing. Without a second thought for his own safety, Skipper hurled himself at the door, bursting into the room. Grubbing dust from his eyes, he found himself confronted by a fearsome sight.

In one corner, Girry had bravely placed himself in front of Abbess Lycian and Sister Snowdrop, shielding them both.

The centre of the room was dominated by a huge male gannet, which was shrieking aggressively. As the bird turned to face him, Skipper noted that one of its legs was lame and that the wing on the same side flopped awkwardly. The gannet's bright-blue ringed eyes focussed on the newcomer.

' Throwing back its big, cream-capped head, the bird opened its long, sharp beak and gave voice to an ear-splitting scream. "Yaaarrreeekeeekeeek!"

Skipper showed no fear but stood quite still, staring in-245

tently at the fierce bird. Calmly, he spoke to his friends.

"Stay there, mates, don't make a move or a sound 'til 1 tell ye. I ain't got a clue wot a gannet's doin' up here so far from the sea."

"Keekaaaheeee!" Pointing its beak at the otter chieftain, the gannet hobbled toward him swiftly.

Skipper was forced to dodge backward but continued speaking. "I think that bird's been injured an' driven in here by a storm, maybe the same one that brought the osprey to us. Now I don't want to alarm ye, but it's a big gannet, an'

it must be starvin'. I reckon it'll have to kill to eat soon. So, anybeast got an idea wot t'do next?"

Girry kept his voice to a low murmur. "I was trying to steer it out of the window until it turned and cornered us.

It got in that way, so it must be able to make its way out by the same route."

Skipper chanced a quick glance at the open window with its broken frame and flapping rags of curtaining. "Good idea, young 'un, but we need somethin' to help with the job, maybe to use as a shield."

The Abbess came up with a swift solution. "Skip, just behind you, to the left, there's an old bed against the wall, all broken and battered. I think the bird must have used it to rest on.

If we could get behind the bed, it could be useful as a barrier.

We may be able to force the bird out of the window with it."

The gannet made a stab at Skipper with its sharp beak, but he dodged to the right, narrowly escaping it. "Aye, that's wot we'll do, marm. I'll decoy this villain to one side Soon as it moves, you three make a dash for the bed. Right,.

here goes, mates. Redwaaaaaalllll!"

Skipper launched himself at the bird, feinted to the right and thwacked its good leg with a powerful swipe of his rudder. It gave a surprised squawk as it fell in a flurry of feathers. Seizing their chance, Girry, the Abbess and Snow drop raced to the bed. Skipper backed off hastily and joined them. Heaving the cracked old frame of timber and burst mattress upright, they got behind it.

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Sister Snowdrop yelled exultantly "Charge, mates.

Charge!"

Holding the bed in front of them, they bulled straight into the gannet, catching it square on. With its damaged wing flapping loosely and its lamed leg not able to gain any purchase, the bird was driven back and b u n d l e d through the window in a mad flurry of black-tipped white feathers. It tried clinging to the sill, screaming and hissing, but the Abbess and Girry kicked at it until it had to let go.

Leaning out of the window, the four Redwallers watched as the gannet made a bumbling attempt at flight but lost height immediately. The huge bird fell onto an outward sloping roof below, then rolled off and plunged earthward, still flapping about like a huge, rumpled quilt. A thickly blossoming rhododendron, growing beside the Abbey wall, finally broke the bird's fall. From there, it tumbled to the lawn, where it flapped about, apparently unhurt.

Dusting off her paws, little Sister Snowdrop called down to the fallen gannet, "There! Let that be a lesson, you great plumed bully!"

Abbess Lycian put a paw to her brow and sat d o w n with her back against the wall, exclaiming, "Whooh! Dearie me, I'm all atremble!"

Gallantly, Skipper helped her u p . "You did fine, marm, just fine. An' you, too, Girry!"

Sister Snowdrop nudged him indignantly. "Excuse me, but did I take no part in all this?"

Skipper laughed as he threw an affectionate p a w around the old mouse's shoulders. "Oh, you did better'n all of us, Sister. Yore a rough ole customer, an' I wouldn't like t'cross yore path up a dry stream on a dark night, no marm!"

Snowdrop smiled sweetly. "You're a dreadful flatter-er, sir!"

A shout echoed up through the ruined stairwell. It was Brink. "Ahoy, Skip, is everybeast alright up there?"

The otter chieftain called back down to his friend, "Right 247

as rain, matey! We'll be down as soon as ye throw a rope up to us."

He turned to the Abbess. "Well, did ye find wot ye were lookin' for up here, marm?"

Lycian cast a reflective eye over the deserted bedchamber,

"Not just yet, Skip, but I have a feeling that we soon will.

Sister Snowdrop, do you have a copy of the rhyme?"

The old mouse tapped the side of her head. "No need, Mother Abbess, I can remember every word. It goes like this.

"Twixt supper and breakfast find me, In a place I was weary to be,

Up in that top tactic (one see)

Lies what was the limb of a tree.

It holds up what blocks out the night,

And can open to let in the light.

For a third of a lifetime one says,

Looking up I could see it sideways.

Tell me what we call coward (in at)

Then when you have worked out that,

You'll find your heart's desire,

By adding a backward liar.

Ever together the two have been set,

Since Corriam's lance ate the coronet."

Skipper nodded admiringly. "Well done, marm! Wish I had a memory like that. So, ye've found this place, the top attic, Next thing to look for is the limb of what once was a tree.

What d'ye think that'll look like?"

Girry gave a prompt reply. "Oh, I've already guessed that—it's Corriam's lance. It's probably made of wood, so it must have once been the limb of a tree. Right?"

Skipper agreed. "Right, young 'un, but have ye sorted out the rest o' the riddle?"

Girry pursed his lips, endeavouring to look wise. "Er, not right now, sir, but I soon will, never fear."

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Sister Snowdrop smiled fondly at her young friend. "No need to, I've already done it, Girry. I've been repeating that rhyme to myself for so long that some of it's starting to actually make sense. When I saw the bed, it began to click into place."

The little Sister smiled smugly until Abbess Lycian spoke to her rather sharply. "Well? Don't stand there grinning like a ferret at a feast, Sister. Tell us!"

For answer, Snowdrop went to where the bed h a d stood against the wall. She lay down on the floor, facing the window.

The Abbess sighed impatiently. "What are y o u doing now, trying to get your habit dustier?"

Snowdrop ignored the comment and began her explanation. "I was wondering what 'a third of a lifetime' had to do with our search. Then I remembered. We have three parts to each day—one third is used for work, the second for eating and enjoyment, the third part is set aside for sleep. So, for a third of her lifetime, Sister Geminya would be lying in her bed, which was about here, right? I'm lying on my side, just as she might have. So, what could she see from her sideways position?"

Girry spoke up. "The window and the curtains, I suppose.

Though the curtains are nothing but tattered rags now."

Snowdrop continued, "Yes, but a long time ago they could either block out the night or let in the daylight. Now tell me, what holds the curtains u p ? "

Skipper shrugged. "Prob'ly a curtain rail."

Without warning, Girry gave a great leap. He went bounding up the windowframe and tore the curtain rail from the staples which held it. "Geminya used it as a curtain rail. This is the lance of Corriam!"

Skipper scratched his whiskers in bewilderment. "Sink me rudder, it's been layin' up there in full view all the time.

How did ye guess that was it, young 'un?"

Girry brandished the ancient weapon triumphantly. "I never guessed anything, Skip, I worked it out a moment 249

ago. You know how good I am at anagrams. Well, listen to this: 'Tell me what we call coward (in at).' Well, what would you call a coward?"

Skipper pondered a moment before replying. "A lily-livered spineless toad! Beggin' yore pardons for the language, marms."

Girry shook his head. "They're not the names I'm after.

How about calling a coward a cur?"

Skipper repeated the name. "Cur, aye, that's a good 'un."

Girry continued. "Now look at the last two words of that line: 'in at.' Move them about, and they become 'tain.' Add the 'cur,' and what do you have?"

The otter smiled brightly. "Cur . . . tain . . . curtain!"

Sister Snowdrop looked over her small square glasses.

"And 'you'll find your heart's desire, by adding a backward liar.' 'Liar' spelled backward is 'rail.' You see?"

Abbess Lycian clapped her paws. "How clever, curtain rail! What splendid creatures my Redwallers are. The lance of Corriam has been up there for ages, pretending to be a curtain rail!"

Skipper took hold of the lance, examining it carefully, "'Tis a fine ole weapon, sure enough. Made o' good hard wood.

I've never seen timber like this afore. Good balance, too, a real warrior's lance. Look at the middle, made o' silver!"

Spitting on the metal, he rubbed dust upon it, then polished it against his tunic until it glittered. "Aye, silver!

Didn't the story say that the lance was smashed, an' ole Corriam mended it by wedgin' a silver sleeve over the broken bits? A clever piece o' work."

Touching one of the lancetips, the Abbess shuddered.

"Beautiful but dangerous, like most weapons. Built for only one purpose—to kill. Things like this frighten me!"

"Ahoy upstairs, here's yore rope comin' up!"

Brink had returned again. He threw the rope, but not high enough. It snagged on a ledge lower down. Skipper reached out and looped it over the lancetip. He hauled the rope up and tied it round himself.

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"I'll lower ye down one at a time. You first, Sister."

Once they were safely back with the main party, molemum Burbee hugged her friend the Abbess. "Oi'm surrpintly glad to see ee back in one piece, moi dearie. May'aps us'n's should be takin' tea an' cakes down in ee kitchings."

Lycian kissed Burbee's velvety old cheek. "A splendid idea, lots of tea and plenty of cakes for everybeast. I certainly think we all deserve it!"

Happy that their mission had proven successful, the Redwallers made their way downstairs, laughing and chatter-ing. They had hardly entered the kitchens w h e n Brother Perant came hurrying up in a state of great agitation.

"Skipper, Brink, come quickly, before that crazy bird kills somebeast. It's out on the lawn!"

Gripping the lance, the otter chieftain raced out across Great Hall. "Keep those Dibbuns inside. Brink and you others, come with me!"

As they reached the Abbey door, a cacophony of sound could be plainly heard from outside. The harvest mouse Gatekeepers, Oreal and his wife, Hillyah, were frantically trying to distract the gannet away from Irgle and Ralg, their twin babes. The hungry predator loomed over the little ones, determined to eat them. Oreal and Hillyah kept running at the big bird, shouting and waving their paws, which were bleeding from where the maddened bird had pecked them. The babes were wailing piteously, hugging each other light, trying to hide in a clump of lupins. Having tasted blood, the gannet was shrieking and squawking defiantly, bent on taking its prey. Adding to the din and confusion, Brantalis waddled speedily into the fray. Honking and hissing, the barnacle goose attacked the gannet, beating wildly at it with outspread wings.

Sizing up the situation at a glance, Skipper roared out above the melee, "Everybeast, stay back! Brink, take Girry, Tribsy an' Brinty with ye! Circle round an' get the main gate open! We've got to herd that bird outside an' lock it out!"

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Wielding the lance of Corriam, Skipper charged the gannet. Brantalis was fighting gamely but was getting the worst of the exchange. He was no match for the ferocious bird's webbed talons and lightning-swift beak.

Skipper came quickly to his rescue. The courageous otter plunged into the brawl of feathers, flapping wings, beaks and claws. He dealt the gannet a punishing blow to the neck, using the lance like a quarterstaff. Rap! Thud! Two more hard smacks across the gannet's back sent it reeling.

Immediately it came back at Skipper, w h o jabbed at it as he circled. The Gatekeepers took advantage of the moment to nip in and rescue their babes.

Skipper was calling to Brantalis, "Don't let that bird get back to the Abbey. Keep it movin' toward the main gate!"

The Cellarhog and his three helpers had the gates open wide, all shouting words of encouragement as Skipper and the barnacle goose drove the enraged gannet toward it.

"Keep the villain comin', Skip!"

"Burr, watch ee owt furr he'm beak, zurr!"

"Don't let the rascal get behind ye, mate!"

"Oh well done, sir! Give him another whack on the tail, he didn't like that at all!"

The gannet was still looking for a chance to do sonic damage, though now it was in retreat and almost out of the main gate. In their anxiety to get the bird out, Brantalis and Skipper collided. They went down in a heap.

Girry saw the gannet turning to renew its attack. Throw ing caution to the winds, he ran out from where he and his companions were sheltering behind the gate. Flinging him self bodily on the gannet, he kicked, pummelled and punched the startled bird, yelling, "Gerrout, you big bully, out of our Abbey!"

The gannet stumbled, regained its balance and dealt Girry a vicious peck, which pierced his ear. Brinty came dashing to the aid of his friend. His assault on the foebird I was so sudden that he forced it out of the gates, onto the path. Shaking with fright but amazed at his own audacity, 2 5 2

The young mouse turned, waving and grinning at the Redwallers, w h o were pouring across the lawns.

"Redwaaaaalll! Haha, we did it!"

Nobeast was prepared for what happened next. Behind Brinty's back, a young rat leaped out of the ditch on the opposite side of the path. He was brandishing a crude sword fashioned from a scythe blade. The rat struck Brinty down with one cruel slash.

"Told yer I'd p a y ye back someday, didden't I?!"

It was Groffgut, leader of the young water rat gang. He turned to run but was stopped by the lance of Corriam.

Skipper had thrown it true and hard. Groffgut stared stupidly at the lance sprouting from his chest. Then he fell dead without a sound.

The gannet had stumbled into the ditch. The screams emanating from there indicated that he had at last found food, the remainder of the water rat gang. Brink Greyspoke, the first Redwaller to reach Brinty, carried him hastily into the gatehouse. Girry and Tribsy followed him anxiously. Skipper went to retrieve the lance and found it broken for the second time. Groffgut had fallen clumsily, his weight having knocked the lance sideways, causing it to snap. Picking up the broken halves, Skipper pushed Groffgut's carcass into the ditch. It fell in a heap on two other bodies: Plugtail's and Frogeye's. The gannet glared up at the otter, w h o had disturbed its grisly feast. The otter chieftain met its gaze with narrowed eyes.

"Here's another one for ye. I suppose the rest have run off—well, no matter, mate. You carry on with yore vittles, then go an' track 'em down, easy meat, eh? But I warn ye bird, show yore beak in Redwall again, an' I'll slay ye!"

The gannet got the message. It watched Skipper stride back into the Abbey grounds and lock the gate. The big bird gave a satisfied squawk and returned to its gruesome fare.

Skipper could not bear to go into the gatehouse. He skirted the doorway, which was packed with shocked Redwallers who could not get inside.

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Brink was sitting on the west wallsteps, weeping unashamedly. "Pore young Brinty! He didn't stand a chance, Skip."

The otter sat down beside his friend, at a loss to say something about the untimely death of Brinty. He dropped the broken halves of the lance into Brink's lap.

"At least I got the scum who murdered him. This lance is wrecked, mate. Cellarhogs are good at carpentry. D'ye think it could be repaired?"

Sniffing loudly and scrubbing a p a w across his eyes, Brink strove to get back to normality. He inspected the broken ends closely. "May'aps I could, Skip. 'Tis only the wood at the middle come adrift from this silver sleeve wot's been holdin' it t'gether. Here, what's this? There's somethin'

jammed inside the sleeve."

Brink tapped the tube of beaten silver against the wallstep until a piece of yellow metal protruded from its end.

He took a grip of the metal in his strong, blunt claws. "You hold onto the sleeve, Skip. I'll get this out."

Skipper grasped the sleeve tightly, whilst Brink jiggled the thing free. It was a slender circlet of pure gold, which had been squashed flat to fit inside the sleeve. Set into the gold was a big green stone of uncanny brilliance.

"Ever together the two have been set, since Corriam's lance ate the coronet!"

They looked u p , discovering Old Quelt as the speaker.

"What you have there, my friends, is the crown of the High Queen Rhulain!"

After a while, Abbess Lycian had to clear the gatehouse of mourners. Molemum Burbee, with Grudd Foremole and his crew, would take on the sad task of dressing Brinty in a clean habit and preparing the young mouse for his final rest. Even amid all the sorrow, word had got out of Skipper and Brink's discovery. To take their mind off things, the 254

kindly Brink invited all the Red wallers to his cellars, where they could watch him restoring the coronet.

Lycian sat with her paws around Girry and Tribsy, trying to cheer them u p . "Come on now, imagine w h a t Brinty would say if he could see you both, wailing like a pair of Dibbuns on bath night! We've found Tiria's crown for her.

Now watch what Mister Greyspoke is doing."

Brink had covered the head of a wooden mallet with a soft cloth. He had looped the squashed coronet around the spur of his anvil. Moving the coronet around slowly he beat at it gently, explaining the process as he worked.

"Pure gold is a soft metal, easy to shape. If'n ye go gently, it shouldn't crack or break. Softly does it now, never beat too hard, an' be careful not to hit the pretty green stone.

There now, that should do it!"

He held the restored coronet up for all to see. "A crown fit for the head of a queen, eh?"

The onlookers stared admiringly at the beauty and sim-plicity of the object.

When drinks had been served all around, Abbess Lycian made a small speech. "Redwallers, it is always sad when we lose one of our friends. More so, when it is a young creature who was not fated to live out his full seasons. We will never forget Brinty Let us drink to all the happy memories we have of him. To Brinty!"

Everybeast repeated the name and drank. In the silence that followed, Skipper had a word to say. "He was a good an' cheerful young mouse, an' a true friend to all, includin'

my daughter Tiria."

Girry felt he had to say something. "He saved me from the gannet. Brinty was very brave!" Then the young squirrel touched the bandage around his ear and fell silent.

Tribsy made a visible effort to finish the tribute. As he spoke, tears coursed down the young mole's homely face.

"Hurr, our pore Brinty, he'm wurr ee bestest friend us'n's ever haved! We'm be a missin' 'im furrever."

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26

Tiria had never been beneath the sea before. It was strangely silent, with only the muted sound of an air bubble or two Translucent green light from above gave the subterranean world an oddly sinister aspect. As Tiria descended, keeping one paw on the rock face and the other gripping her lifeline, the water grew colder and colder. The outlook became decidedly gloomy as the ottermaid progressed downward.

Soon she could see no further than her extended paw. The young ottermaid began to wonder just how far down the Rhulain's wrecked ship lay.

Then she felt her rudder scrape the seabed—a mass of gritty sand, kelp, rock and little else. Feeling slightly cheated that she h a d not landed on the deck of the submerged vessel, Tiria groped about with her free paw. Nothing! She began to wonder if maybe the wreck had been moved by undersea currents or perhaps, after all the long ages, it had disintegrated and sunk beneath the sand. Who was to say? Then her footpaw struck something. She bent to discover what it was and felt a heavy ship's timber protruding from the seabed amid a jumble of rocky debris. Sift-ing her paw into the sand, Tiria encountered another object and pulled it free, holding it close to her face. It was smooth, with some holes in it, a sickly pale white thing. A large 256

bubble burst from her mouth as she gasped in horror. It was the skull of an otter! She was standing on top of a mass grave. All the bones of the crew were trapped within the sunken hulk, lying beneath an impenetrable weight of sand and rock. Searching for a slim gold coronet in these cold lonely depths was a fool's errand, an impossibility. Tiria pushed off from the scene, bitterly regretting the failure of her mission.

She did not see the long dark shape streaking out from amid the kelp-festooned rocks. It struck her hard in the back, knocking the air from her lungs in a bubbling gush.

Then the thing had her in a vicelike grip. Panic caused the ottermaid to struggle wildly, but the heavy coils enveloped her in their cruel embrace. Still holding on to the rope, Tiria wrenched both paws free. Amid the morass of debris-filled water, she saw a brutishly evil head striking at her face.

Grabbing the bulky neck she fought to hold it off, thrusting frantically against the onslaught of a gaping mouthful of serrated teeth. The monster's black, gold-rimmed eyes stared pitilessly at her as it pushed savagely toward her face. Then it squirmed, spinning her around to increase its purchase. In that moment, bereft of any breath of air but with a surge of energy brought on by naked terror, Tiria twirled the rope around the creature's huge head. The lifeline looped twice, just below its jaw. The ottermaid jerked the lifeline sharply. One! Two!

Half conscious and still battling the thick, sinuous body, Tiria felt herself shooting toward the surface. She was hauled roughly into bright sunlight, with Mandoral's battle-cry ringing in her ears. "Eulaliiiiaaaaa!"

Spewing seawater and flailing feebly in the grip of the thing from the depths, both Tiria and the monster were dragged aboard the Petunia. Instantly, Cuthbert and the two subalterns flung themselves on the thing. Kicking, punching, battering and biting, they freed Tiria from its crushing stranglehold. Mandoral seized the rope, slashing through it with his fearsome teeth. Quartle and Portan 257

were knocked flat by the thick, writhing body, but Cuthbert and the Badger Lord grabbed it between them. They bundled it over the side, coil by coil, into the sea, where it slithered off, with surprising alacrity, down into the dark depths.

Still conscious, Tiria staggered across the deck on all fours, gasping, "Wh . .. wh . . . what was it?"

Lord Mandoral shook his great striped head. "It looked like some kind of large water serpent!"

Cuthbert helped Tiria to stand upright. "Hahar, 'tweren't no sarpint, that was an ole conger, the giant eel o' the seas!

Yore lucky t'be still alive, Tilly, mate. I never knew nobeast t'stand up to a conger, 'specially a giant one like that rascal!"

Quartle and Portan thought otherwise.

"Except Lord Mandoral an Ole Blood'n'guts, wot!"

"Absolutely! Three cheers for Lord Mandoral an' Ole Blood'n . . . beg pardon, Major Blanedale Frunk. Hip hip!"

From the mast top, Pandion joined in raucously.

On her return to the mountain, Tiria sought out her room in the guest quarters. She slumped on the bed, overcome by a sense of depression. She had failed to retrieve the coronet and, to compound her misery, had had to be rescued from an eel. Having had little sleep the previous night and wearied by her ordeal in the sea, the ottermaid closed her eyes and fell asleep.

Judging by the angle of the light slanting through the window, Tiria guessed it was early evening when she was awakened by somebeast knocking on her door. She sat up, yawning and stretching.

"Come in, please."

Captain Rafe Granden marched smartly in and deposited the regalia which Mandoral had given Tiria on the bedside table. The tough-looking hare saluted her.

"Lord Mandoral's compliments, miz. He requests that y'join him at top table for dinner this evenin'. He sent these togs so's you can attend in full fig, wot."

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Tiria took one look at the regalia and shook her head. "I'd rather not, Cap'n Rafe. Give his Lordship my apologies. I'll be staying here on my own."

The stern-faced captain looked straight ahead, continuing to speak as if he had not heard the ottermaid. "Dinner'11 be served shortly, miz. I'll send Subalterns Quartle an' Portan to escort ye t'the mess. Ye'U be dressed an' ready to attend!"

Tiria protested. "But I've just told you—"

Captain Granden interrupted her abruptly. "I must inform ye, miz, any refusal would be taken as an insult t'the ruler o' Salamandastron. Nobeast refuses a Badger Lord, not done, young 'un, rank bad form, y'know. So, I'll leave ye t'make yourself presentable. Y'servant, miz!"

The captain's tone left Tiria in no doubt that she was to be Mandoral's dinner guest, willing or not. He saluted stiffly and marched speedily off.

Tiria had hardly donned the new attire w h e n her two subalterns arrived. Both were taken aback at her appearance. Quartle bowed several times, and Portan tripped over his own footpaws whilst trying to make an elegant leg.

He grinned foolishly. "I say I say I say, blow me down an'

all that, wot wot!"

His companion was equally voluble. "By the cringe an'

by the flippin' left, Miss Tiria, if you ain't a perfect picture, I'll eat me aunt's pinny!"

Tiria had to admit to herself that the regalia fitted her ex-quisitely. She felt every inch the warrior queen, even though she lacked a coronet. Taking both the young hares' proffered paws, she smiled regally.

"Let us proceed to the mess, chaps, wot!"

As they strolled down the corridor to the main mess hall, Tina could hear massed voices raised in a regimental song.

"Here is our mountain an' this is its Lord, now sit we down at festive board,

come put aside weapons, both lance an' sword, let's honour the regiment.

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One two! I'll drink to you!

an' all my comrades good an' true!

We'll raise the tankard, fill the bowl,

to Salamandastron's Long Patrol!

For warriors fallen from the ranks,

defending western shores,

let's toast 'em all, each gallant hare,

who died for freedom's cause!

Let blood'n'vinegar be our cry,

forward the buffs an' do or die,

we don't know fear or failure,

Eulalia! Eulaliiiiiaaaaaaaa!"

Amid the rousing cheers, shouts and paws pounding tables, Tiria was escorted to her place. She was seated betweem Lord Mandoral and Cuthbert, flanked by Captain Granden and some very senior-looking officers. When the noise had reached deafening proportions, the brazen boom of a big gong echoed through the mess. With the exception of those at top table, every hare shot bolt upright in rigid silence.

An old colonel, rake thin and sporting long, drooping mustachios, waited until he received the Badger Lord's nod.

Then, in a wobbly voice, he announced, "Gentlebeasts, ye may be seated!"

There followed a resounding clatter of benches and chairs. Then the customary din broke out afresh. Good-humoured ribaldry went back and forth as the orderlies wheeled out laden serving trolleys.

"I say, chaps, who's that beautiful gel sittin' next to his Lordship, wot?"

"Well, it ain't you, Mobbs! You could blinkin' well turn apples sour by just lookin' at 'em!"

"Oh, go an' boil your fat head, Gribbsy, you've got no eye for beauty at all. Hah, your motto is, if ye can't eat it.

then it ain't nice!"

2 6 0

"Give your bloomin' jaw a rest, Mobbs old lad. What's for dinner, cookie old thing?"

The supply master sergeant, a huge hare with a broken nose, glared at the offender. "A dry crust an' a short whistle if'n you call me cookie again, me laddo!"

A stout lance corporal chuckled. "Hawhaw, that's the stuff to give him, cookie, you tell the blighter. Hawhawhaw!"

He withered under the sergeant's icy stare. "Ye've never tasted my lance corporal pie, have ye? One more remark from you, young Flibber, a n ' I'll send a slice home to yore mother!"

The food was excellent and the portions enormous. Tiria was relieved to be sitting by Cuthbert, who devoured everything she nudged to within his p a w range. Not a crumb that came near the gluttonous hare was spared.

"Good show, wot! The old mountain pie, ain't tasted that in a blinkin' badger's age, wot!"

He dealt rapidly with summer salad, baked mushroom and turnip flan, cheese and carrot turnover, barley and leek soup and a plate of potato and chestnut pasties. Licking crumbs from his whiskers, Cuthbert began chivvying the servers for dessert.

Lord Mandoral eyed Tiria with obvious approval. "I was right, you are truly a High Queen, Tiria Wildlough."

With a downcast gaze, the ottermaid mumbled, "I'm a queen without a crown. I failed miserably at that wreck today, sir. It was a disaster!"

Her p a w was enveloped by the big badger's own. "Nonsense, you were very brave! Huh, just the thought of you down there in the dark depths, battling with a monster, made my blood run cold. I don't mind telling you, it's not a thing I would have fancied attempting. But you went to it without a second thought. Mark my words, miss, that was the true sign of a leader, a real warrior!"

When dinner was over, the usual din of rowdy ballads and loud jokes broke out. This was halted by a big, barrel-2 6 1

chested hare. Colour Sergeant O'Cragg had a thunderous voice.

"H'atten . . . shun! Silence h'in the ranks, ye gobboons!

Milord Mandoral 'as the floor. Sah!"

Staying seated, the badger made his announcement. "At noon tomorrow, Major Blanedale Frunk will be sailing for Green Isle. His purpose, to establish Lady Tiria Wildlough in her rightful position as queen there!"

Tiria looked about to say something, but a forbidding glance from Captain Granden b a d e her to hold any questions.

Mandoral paused, his eyes roving the mess. "There will be some opposition to this move from vermin foebeasts, wildcats, I am led to believe. Therefore, I would be remiss in my duty, sending the Lady with only Major Frunk and a hawk for protection. Major, how many of our Long Patrol could your vessel accommodate?"

Cuthbert's ears twitched pensively. "Hmm, let me see, sah. The Petunia could take a limit of twoscore. But if ye count weapons, vittles an' all that tackle, I'd say a score'n a half safely, Milord."

Mandoral had no reason to doubt the old hare's estimate.

"A score and a half it is, then. Captain Granden, you'll command when they reach Green Isle. Please select thirty hares for the task. Mind, I only want seasoned warriors, the best our Long Patrol can offer."

Every hare in the mess sat stiffly to attention, each longing to be chosen for the mission. Captain Granden drew his long rapier and began striding slowly between the tables.

He tapped the chosen ones on the shoulder with his blade, naming them.

"Colour Sergeant O'Cragg, Master Sergeant Barm, Corporal Drubblewick, Lieutenant S a g e t i p . . . . "

He continued until he had the required number. Tiria saw her two subalterns sitting with moist eyes, the very pictures of dejection. Standing up, she called out, "Excuse me, Cap'n 2 6 2

Rafe. I'd like to take Quartle and Portan along with me to Green Isle."

Granden shook his head vigourously. "Not possible I'm afraid, m'Lady. They're both too young!"

Tiria objected. "How can you say that? They're about the same age as I am!"

Mandoral interrupted. "You heard the captain, Lady. He's in charge of the expedition. If he says they're too young, then you must take his decision as final."

The ottermaid looked from the Badger Lord to the captain. Aware that everybeast in the mess was watching her keenly, she drew herself up regally and spoke out firmly. "If I am to become Queen of Green Isle, I have to learn to make my own decisions. I say the subalterns will go!"

Granden's face hardened. Thrusting out his jaw, he responded firmly, "I have made my choice, miz, and it stands.

They stay!"

Tiria sat down slowly. Her reply was somewhat cool and distant. "Then I stay, too. That is my decision, Captain."

In the awed silence which followed, Granden looked in bewilderment to Mandoral, whose booming laugh broke the suspense. "Hohoho! You don't disobey a queen, Captain. I think you should defer to Her Majesty."

Granden locked eyes with Tiria, staring hard at her. Not to be intimidated, she stared back just as hard. Suddenly the glimmer of a smile twitched the stern captain's lips. He bowed elegantly and sheathed his rapier.

"As you wish, Milady. The subalterns sail with us!"

Thunderous cheers and loud applause rang out for Tiria.

Quartle and Portan hastened to her side, grinning madly.

"I say, stifle me flamin' scut, miz. Top hole, well done!"

"Rather! That's the first time I've ever seen old granite-gob Granden backin' down to any blinkin' beast, wot!"

Still chuckling, Mandoral beckoned to her. "Make sure you treat Captain Granden right. He was only carrying out my orders."

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Tiria kept a straight face as she replied graciously.

"Milord, we queens treat everybeast fairly, both our subjects and our allies!"

Both Tiria and Mandoral suddenly broke out laughing The following afternoon, a light breeze ruffled the sun-tipped waves in the bay as the Purloined Petunia rode, fully laden, at anchor. Regimental Major-cum-Captain Cuthbert Bloodpaw Frunk stood high on the stern. With a ladle in each paw, he hovered over the upturned barrel which would serve as his stroke drum. The vessel's oar ports had been opened, twelve each to port and starboard. Twenty-four hares sat waiting, each gripping a long oar. Quartle and Portan sat either side of the tiller, ready to steer outward bound. Pandion Piketalon perched at the masthead; below him, two hares straddled the crosspiece. Up for'ard, the two burly sergeants stood by the anchor cable. Tiria was alone, out on the prow, facing west to the open sea.

Cuthbert was in his element as he began roaring orders to all and sundry in his roughest maritime tones. "Ahoy, let's go to sea, me buckoes! Haul anchor, ye slab-sided scallawags! Make sail aloft, ye blunderin' bluebottles! We're bound for death or glory, whichever comes first!"

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! As he belaboured his drum, he bellowed out orders to the rowing crew. "Bend yore backs, ye skinny sideswabs! Avast there, ye paddle-pawed poltroons! Pull! Pull! Pullllll!"

The big hare felt happier than he had for many long seasons. "Steersbeasts! Hold her westward, ye dither-pawed dodderers! Sweep oars! Pull, ye gripe-gutted galoots! Heave ho, me blunderin' buckoes! I'll make seabeasts of ye, or I'll wallop yore whiskers, keelhaul yore scuts an' nail yore noses t'the mainmast! Pull! Puuuuullllll!"

The ship, caught by the breeze and swept on by two dozen long sweep oars, shot forward like a flying fish.

Pandion raised his beak to the sun-kissed skies. "Karra-heeee! Take me to my home! Karreeehaarr!"

264

The two subalterns gripped the tiller tight between them, amazed at the speed the ship was gaining by the moment.

"I say, Quarters, in a bit of a blinkin' h u r r y aren't we, wot!"

"Rather, Porters. D'you think Ole Blood'n'guts is tryin' to gain a march, so's we can stop for tea?"

Cuthbert leaned over them both, squinting villainously.

"Either of yew chubby-cheeked charmers lets go of that tiller an' I'll make subaltern skilly'n'duff out o' ye both.

How'd ye like that for tea, eh?"

Lord Mandoral stood at the window of his high chamber.

He saw reflecting sunlight flashing from Tiria's armour as she stood on the bowsprit, waving good-bye to him. The Badger Lord merely nodded his big striped head in acknowledgement. He watched the vessel receding over the water, its long sweep oars making it look like a damselfly skimming over a vast millpond.

Mandoral's lips barely moved as he softly chanted an old warrior's farewell to the tall young ottermaid he h a d come to respect and admire.

"May fair winds attend thee always, may thy days be bright and long,

may good weapons ever serve thee,

may thy limbs wax fleet and strong.

I will dream of thee by moonlight,

I will watch for thee by day,

until on thy returning,

I will come to thee and say,

'Drink ye the wine of victory,

now lay aside thy sword,

for home and hearth and friendship

are the warrior's reward!'"

265

27

Leatho Shellhound struggled wildly to avoid the spear as Kaltag stabbed viciously down at him. Bound as he was by both paws to the cage bars, he did not have much room for manoeuvre. The outlaw ducked his head forward, wrench ing his body to one side as the wooden cage rocked madly against the high tower wall. He felt a stinging pain close to his left paw as the spearhead glanced off it.

Kaltag's eyes glittered in the darkness as she drew back the weapon and thrust it down, screeching out vengeance for her dead son. "Eeeyaaaah! Go to Hellgates, murderer!

Die! Die!"

Twice more the spear grazed Leatho as he wriggled about within the confines of his narrow prison. Defiant to the end, he roared insults at his tormentor. "Is that the best ye can do, Mangetail? Ye need a few lessons with the spear. Cut me loose, Scruffcoat, an' I'll show ye how it's done!"

Kaltag yowled with rage. Gripping the spearpole with both paws, she centred on the back of the otter's neck, readying herself for the killing strike.

Leatho knew his fate was sealed. Bound and helpless, he could not last much longer. He tensed himself, listening to the cat's rasping breath above him. Suddenly a hubbub broke out from the upper chamber. The spear slithered 266

11 own through the bars and stuck, quivering, point first, in I he pier far below.

Kaltag began wailing insanely. "Let me go, take your stupid paws off me! Shellhound must pay for my son's death!"

Weilmark Scaut and two catguards held her tight, dragging her back from the windowsill. Kaltag bit, scratched

<ind kicked at them, but to no avail, as the three cats hauled her roughly from the chamber.

Riggu Felis stood outside. Quickly he slammed the door shut, snarling, "Get her downstairs. Nobeast comes into this room but me!"

Kaltag was borne away, yelling accusations at the wildcat. "Coward! Traitor! Will you see Jeefra's killer left alive?"

The warlord yelled down the stairwell after her, "Keep that madbeast away from here. She'll ruin all my plans. 1

need Shellhound alive!"

Felis went into the chamber and stole across to the window. Leaning out, he rattled the cage with his axehaft, taunting the captive. "Well, I'm glad to see you still alive, my friend."

As Leatho looked up, he could see the disfigured face beneath the chain mail half-mask. He growled scornfully at the wildcat. "That's more'n I can say for you, ripface!"

Felis continued baiting his prisoner. "Would you like a drink of water? I'll spare you some if you beg for it. Lovely cold, fresh, clear water, just beg nicely and I'll tell the guards to fetch some."

For answer, Leatho bared his teeth and rattled the cage.

"All I'll beg for is a chance to get out of here an' stand facin'

yore ugly mug. Then it'll be yore turn to beg!"

The wildcat backed off slowly, calling to his captive, "Oh, I'll let you loose soon enough, the moment your friends surrender to me. Then they can watch you licking my footpaws every day, with Scaut whipping you whenever you stop. That should make a pretty sight, eh?"

The outlaw heard the chamber door slam shut. He sagged forward in his bonds, head drooping. To his sur-267

prise, the rope holding his left p a w creaked, stretching slightly. Hope surged anew through Leatho. He jerked and tugged on the rope, feeling the fibres starting to part. The spear, of course, it had to be! In the darkness, Kaltag's frenzied stabs must have hit the rope, partially slicing through and weakening it.

Leatho could not twist his head far enough to inspect the rope, but he knew he could eventually snap it. Even though his limbs were swollen and numbed with cramp, the tena-cious otter pulled, twisted and jerked against his bond.

Each fresh assault tore more of the fibres, snapping away the closely woven strands. He grunted with pain as one final wrench parted the rope, allowing the deadened paw to hang limply at his side. Dizzy with the effort, Leatho rested for a moment. Then, with no firm plan in mind, he set about freeing his other paw. Hauling himself up on the bars, the outlaw got his teeth into the other rope. He gnawed away, strand by strand, until he had chewed right through it. With a deep sigh, he allowed himself the luxury of sitting down on the cage floor. Leatho slowly rubbed the life back into his aching limbs and shoulders, thinking hard.

Now, what next?

Early birds began their twittering chorus in the first rays of dawn as the otterclans arrived at the far shores of the lake.

Crouching in the rushes, surrounded by his warriors, Big Kolun Galedeep cooled his paws in the cold water. He peered through the mist, which hung like a milky veil over the Stillwater.

"Wot d'ye think, should we go in now?"

His brother, the tall, sombre Lorgo, spat on his paws, rubbing them together in anticipation. "Aye, dawn's a good time to attack. The cats won't be up an' about just yet!"

Banya Streamdog interrupted them. "Hold on, mates.

We can't go chargin' in w i t h o u t a plan. If'n the Felis cat's got Leatho a prisoner, he's bound to have the fortress 268

well guarded. Stands t'reason he'll be expectin' us to try somethin'."

Kolun dug his big oar into the water moodily. "I s'pose yore right, so wot d'ye suggest we do? We can't just lie here all day twiddlin' our rudders!"

Besides being a tough warriormaid, Banya was seldom short of practical ideas. "A sensible plan would be t'send out scouts first. Whulky Chab, you take the left bank. Lugg, Ganno, you take the right. See if they're patroUin' the pier an' the slave compound. Make a count of the cats y'can see an' wot sort of weapons they're totin'. That way we'll know just wot we're up against. Oh, an' most important, keep yore eyes skinned for the Shellhound."

In the main gate lodge which led onto the pier, Riggu Felis took a leisurely breakfast. The wildcat felt that, with his plans reaching fruition, his position was becoming more secure. Picking at a freshly caught trout and sipping pale wine, he reflected on other matters which required his attention. It was one of the warlord's strengths: He never left loose ends untied.

Weilmark Scaut stood attendance upon his master, a task which invariably made him nervous, owing to the wildcat's unpredictable nature. After accidentally slopping wine onto the table while refilling the warlord's beaker, Scaut murmured apologetically, "Yore pardon, Lord."

Without helmet or mask, the face of Riggu Felis was set in a tight, fearsome grimace, owing to the severe injuries inflicted on him by the osprey. Scaut wiped up the spillage as the wildcat questioned him.

"Is my prisoner well guarded?"

The weilmark nodded vigorously. "Aye, Lord. I posted I wo guards on the chamber door, an' two more at the bottom o' the stairs."

The warlord's tongue licked pensively at his flayed upper gums. "Good. The Lady Kaltag, where is she?"

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Scaut wondered where this conversation was leading. "In her room, Sire. I posted three guards on her door."

Felis sipped more wine. "See that she is closely watched, Well, we should be expecting those outlaw otters to pay us a visit sometime today, Scaut. Listen now, make sure the slave compound is well guarded, but keep the rest of my force out of sight. Don't send any guards out scouting or patrolling. Now, about the slaves, keep them penned tight in their quarters. I don't want them out working or fishing the lake. Is that understood?"

The weilmark bowed clumsily. "I hear you, Lord!"

The wildcat's next question caught the feral cat officer totally off guard. "Tell me, who do you think murdered my faithful counsellor?"

Scaut stared dumbly at the floor. "Sire, I don't know who slew Atunra."

Riggu Felis chided him mildly. "Come on, you must have some idea. Was it Pitru?"

The weilmark murmured unhappily, "Lord, it is not my place to accuse yore son."

The warlord put aside his beaker. "You recall that when we returned here after hunting the Shellhound and his crew, we learned that Atunra had gone missing. That was when Pitru appointed himself Fortress Commander, was it not?"

Scaut's head bobbed dutifully. "Aye, Lord, yore right."

The wildcat continued, staring fixedly at Scaut. "Pitru had some very close friends about him, three as I remember.

One of them was an officer."

Scaut replied. "I don't recall the other two, but the officer was Scorecat Yund, Sire."

The warlord's torn features creased in a hideous grin.

"That's the one, Scorecat Yund! Find him, bring him here to me. I'll find out who slew my pine marten."

It was now over an hour since daybreak. Bright summer sunlight had banished the mists from the lake surface.

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Banya Streamdog called out to Kolun, "Will ye quit paddlin' round out there an' get back behind these reeds?

Any beast with half an eye could spot an otter of yore size out in the open!"

Big Kolun Galedeep waded grumpily back into the reeds.

"Where've yore scouts got to, missy? Huh, I could've done their job in half the time!"

Lorgo came up on tip-paw, then bent down again. "I can see Lugg an' Ganno headin' back along the bank."

Banya was watching twin ripples approaching along the lake. "That'll be Whulky'n'Chab if'n I ain't mistaken."

Both the aforesaid otters surfaced. They w a d e d in through the reeds, arriving at the same time as Lugg and Ganno.

Kolun cautioned them needlessly, "Stay low, mates. Ye might be spotted by the cats!"

Whulky stood up and stretched his paws. "Wot cats? All we saw out there was birds an' a few fishes."

Banya sounded clearly baffled. "Ye saw no cats?"

Chab shook his head decisively. "Nary a frog, let alone a cat. An' there was no sign of Leatho, either. Everythin' was quiet at the fortress."

Kolun scratched his rudder. "Nobeast around, sounds funny t'me. Wot about you two?"

Lugg spoke for himself and Ganno. "We saw catguards posted all around the slave compound. I think they're keepin' the slaves locked up—there wasn't any about, workin', or fishin'. Didn't see the Shellhound, though. Don't know where they're keepin' him."

Lorgo spat away the reed stem he had been chewing on.

"I think it's a trap! Those cats are sly villains."

Chab pawed water from his ear and shook himself. "Well, if it is a trap, mate, it's the easiest one I ever walked into, an'

away from!"

Banya stared around at the puzzled and unhappy faces of the clanbeasts. She reached a sudden decision. "Well, we 271

can't sit here forever. Make ready to march, mates. But pay heed—don't go chargin' an' dashin' into anythin'. We'll go slow'n'steady, split into three groups. Roggan Streamdiver, take yore clan an' the Wavedogs along the left shore. Kolun, you an' Lorgo take yore Galedeeps an' the Wildloughs to the right. I'll take my clan an' the Streambattles up the middle o' the lake. Remember, slow'n'steady. Watch out for traps an' ambushes, an' don't take no foolish chances!"

Big Kolun hefted his oar. "Aye, an' if ye do get into any trouble, just give a yell, an' we'll be there at the double.

Good luck to everybeast. Let's hope we all make it back safe to our families at Summerdell. Let's go an' rescue Leatho Shellhound now!" The otterclans moved off silently.

Pitru was on his way to the barracks when he saw Weilmark Scaut and a six-guard escort approaching. He ducked into the cover of the guardhouse. Watching them closely, he observed firsthand their capture of Scorecat Yund as he emerged from the barracks.

Disregarding Yund's protests, they h a d grabbed him roughly and were now frogmarching him toward the main gate lodge. Pitru, immediately realising what this was all about, cursed himself for a fool. He should have guessed that his father would not leave Atunra's murder un-avenged.

The young cat hurried into the barracks, where he was met by his other two close allies, Balur and Hinso. Both catguards appeared badly shaken.

"Commander, they've just dragged Scorecat Yund off!"

"It was Weilmark Scaut and a band of guards. Your father'11 make Yund talk, he'll find out the truth about Atunra!"

Pitru grabbed them both by their whiskers, hissing at them, "Shut up, fools! Don't you think I already know that?

Stop panicking and listen to me. Balur, get to the lodge window. See if you can hear what's going on in there, then re-272

port straight back to me! Hinso, gather all the guards that are loyal to me behind the barracks. Wait for me there.

Quick now, both of you, our very lives depend on getting things right. Go!"

Yund was pushed inside the lodge, where Scaut and the rest dragged him to an iron ring set high in the wall. In a trice he was bound to it, with both paws stretched painfully over his head. Riggu Felis stalked over to him like a huge beast of prey, shoving his naked, skinned face close to Yund's horrified eyes. The scorecat could feel the warlord's rasping breath in his quivering nostrils. He quailed visibly, his limbs trembling uncontrollably as the wildcat began the interrogation with a harsh, blunt question.

"Tell me, w h o killed my counsellor Atunra?"

It took Yund several moments to find his voice. "Lord, I don't know. I swear it, Sire!"

Riggu Felis nodded, as though he had accepted the explanation. He continued in a more reasonable tone. "Yund, my friend, do you know that I can skin a beast with this axe of mine? It's a very sharp weapon."

The scorecat caught his breath as he felt the single-bladed war axe pressing against his throat.

The warlord continued in a casual, almost chatty tone.

"Oh yes, and I'll wager you didn't know that I can keep that beast alive for nearly half a day after I've skinned him.

He'll scream quite a lot, but that's only to be expected. Now, the one thing I can't abide is a liar. So this is your last chance, scorecat: Do you wish to tell me the truth? Who murdered my friend Atunra?"

Yund gave a prolonged whimpering sob, then spoke.

"Lord, I was only carrying out orders."

The warlord removed the axe from Yund's throat. "I understand. You did what any obedient servant would. So, tell me more, w h o gave you the order? Speak, friend, don't be afraid. I wouldn't slay any true warrior of mine."

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The scorecat uttered a deep sigh of relief. "Lord, it was your son, Commander Pitru, w h o ordered me to slay Atunra. I had to obey!"

Riggu Felis turned to Scaut, smiling. "You see, I knew it all the time, I only needed proof."

The weilmark came to attention. "Sire, shall I take the guards and arrest him?"

The warlord replaced his helmet and chain mail half-mask. "Not just yet, there are other matters to be dealt with.

First, we must resolve the otter problem. After that, I will settle accounts with Pitru, once and for all."

Scaut saluted. "What about Scorecat Yund, Sire?"

Riggu Felis shrugged. "He is no true warrior of mine, only a traitor who would betray his commander. You may execute him, but not too swiftly. Make him realise the reward of treachery."

Scaut possessed a naturally cruel nature, so this was the sort of thing he enjoyed. A despairing shriek burst from Yund's lips as he saw Scaut draw a long, slim dagger from his belt. Suddenly, an urgent rap on the door distracted the warlord's attention.

"Yes, what is it?"

Scorecat Rinat entered, making a swift salute with her spear. "Lord, the outlaw otters have been sighted in large numbers. They are approaching from the far end of the lake!"

Riggu Felis gave a purr of delight. "Perfect! I'll put on my finest cloak and armour to welcome them!" Leaving the pier lodge, he went off to his chamber.

Balur crept away from the window and ran off to report to Pitru, with the screams of Scorecat Yund adding speed to his footpaws.

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28

With the exception of Cuthbert, most of the Long Patrol hares were ill-suited to seafaring life. The Purloined Petunia had been outward bound little more than a day and a half from Salamandastron, yet she was making remarkable progress. The odd hare, in his role as the sea otter captain, Frunk W. Bloodpaw, had driven them hard both night and day. Initially, nearly all the crew were seasick, but Cuthbert, playing the bully skipper to the hilt, had worked them so severely that all thoughts of illness had been knocked out of them. He further compounded the treatment by singing them a shanty entitled "The Landlubber's Lament," accompanying himself on the ship's drum with his two ladles.

"There ain't nothin' like a life at sea, when yore on pleasure bent,

so hearken crew, I'll sing to you,

The Landlubber's Lament

bold lads, the Landlubber's Lament!

I dearly loves a storm each morn,

when the ship heaves up an' down,

an' up an' down an' up an' down,

an' oftimes round an' round

bold lads, an' oftimes round an' round!

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Wild gales rip through the riggin',

all the decks aflood with sea,

wid waves as high as mountains,

Ho, that's the life fer me

bold lads, ho, that's the life fer me!

So I boils up some ole skilly,

an' I stirs the duff in too,

in me greasy liddle galley,

'tis the stuff t'feed the crew

bold lads, the stuff t'feed the crew!

Pots o' cold'n'watery cabbage,

lots o' slimy turnip ends,

an' some fish heads with the eyes in,

to see that we're all friends

bold lads, to see that we're all friends!

Then I'll feed ye second helpin's,

just t'keep ye well content,

an' at night I'll serenade ye,

with the Landlubber's Lament

bold lads, the Landlubber's Lament!"

Tiria had put off her regalia whilst onboard, redressing in her old tunic and kilt. The ottermaid did not stand on the ceremony of her exalted rank; instead, she chose to take a turn at the oars with the hares. Sitting on the bench alongside Colour Sergeant O'Cragg, she rowed out the late-night watch, with both of them pulling lustily on a long sweep oar. The sergeant, a big sturdy hare, was usually taciturn by nature, seldom questioning things. But as they toiled together, he murmured to Tiria, "Beggin' yore pardon, miss, but h'are ye sure we're a-goin' the right way?"

He paused a while before voicing his thoughts. "Wot h'I means is this. When yore surrounded by water, h'everythin' looks the bloomin' same, miss. 'Ow d'ye suppose Cap'n Major Frunk knows where this 'ere Green h'Isle is?"

Tiria did not really know, but she thought up an answer.

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"I expect he knows by the position of the moon and stars.

Though in the daytime, the cap'n steers by the sun, which always rises in the east and sets in the west. Also, we have our osprey. If the ship strays off course, Pandion can fly out and find the right way to go."

Sergeant O'Cragg was satisfied with her explanation.

"Thankee, miss, 'tis good t'know. Though h'if 'twas me steerin' by those stars, we'd soon be lost. 'Ave ye ever seen

'ow many stars there is h'in the sky at night?"

Tiria turned her gaze upward. What the sergeant said was true. On first glance, there seemed to be the usual amount of stars, but as she continued to look, more stars than she had ever dreamed of became visible. All the vast tracts of the nightdark sky were aglitter w i t h innumer-able pinpoints of light—some large, some small, others so minute that they resembled dust, covering infinite areas of the uncharted dark vaults. It was a staggering sight.

Tiria lowered her eyes, blinking as she agreed with her companion. "Good grief, Sergeant, there seems to be more stars than sky up there. I've never looked long enough to notice it before, it's almost beyond belief!"

As they bent their backs to the oar stroke, Sergeant O'Cragg came up with another question. "Wot d'ye suppose they really h'are, miss?"

This time Tiria was stuck for an answer. "I don't know, I've never really thought about it. Have you any ideas, Sergeant?"

He surprised her with his reply. "They're the spirits h'of warriors, miss, h'every brave beast that ever fell h'in battle.

Leastways that's wot ole Colonel Gorsebloom used t'tell me when h'l was nought but a liddle leveret. The colonel brought me h ' u p , y'see. HT don't recall 'avin' no parents, miss."

Tiria glanced sideways at her hulking oarmate. He looked embarrassed by his own words. She gave him a friendly smile. "Really, I wonder what made him say that?"

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O'Cragg shrugged. " 'Cos h'l asked 'im. The colonel taught me this 'ere poem h'about stars. Would ye like to

'ear it, miss?"

Tiria replied readily. "I'd love to, if you can still remember it."

The colour sergeant winked at her. " 'Course h'I can, just lissen t'this."

Proudly, he recited the poem taught to him by his old mentor.

"There are many places a spirit may rest when life's long march has ended.

Every creature returns to its home,

exactly as nature intended.

The cowards and traitors, the liars and cheats, each in their turn is awarded,

someplace that they deserved to go,

as their actions in life accorded.

Those who proved untrue to their friends lie thick in the dust of the earth,

trodden on forever by all

to show what treachery's worth.

In the m u d of swamps, in rotting weeds, they lie imprisoned by evil misdeeds.

But the warriors true, the brave of heart, who valiantly upheld the right,

they are raised on high, to the velvet sky, bringing light to the darkness of night.

They'll stand there as long as the sky will, their honour in brightness will glow,

a lesson to see, for eternity,

of where the real warriors go!

So ere my eyelids close in sleep,

these are the words I will say,

may I have the courage and faithfulness, that my spirit should join them one day."

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The ship sped on through the night as they rowed in silence. Tiria was lost for words. Who would have thought that the big colour sergeant, hard as granite and tough as oakwood, had a heart so innocent and simple? In the midst of these thoughts, she was startled by the arrival of their relief, Quartle and Portan.

"I say, shove over, you chaps. The blinkin' buffs have arrived, wot!"

"Rather, we'll be rowing the jolly old tub until dawn!"

Tiria and the sergeant rose from the bench as the two subalterns scrambled into their places at the sweeps.

Quartle twiddled his ears in a jocular manner. "Expect your old royal royalness is about ready for some flippin'

shuteye, eh, miz?"

Portan winked impudently at the sergeant. "Nighty night, Sarge, off y'go, wot! I'll bet you dream about bullyin'

green-nosed recruits round the old barrack square. Leff right, leff right, pick those paws up, laddy buck!"

Colour Sergeant O'Cragg riveted them to their seats with his famous parade-ground glare. "One more word out of ye, an' hT'll pick yore paws h ' u p an' sling ye h'into the sea, you 'orrible liddle beasties!"

Tiria was still chuckling as she wrapped herself in an old cloak and lay down behind the small galley. Slumber was not long in claiming her after half a night of rowing.

Cuthbert never slept; when on board, he was constantly on duty. The odd hare sat at the tiller in a sort of half-doze, steering his vessel by instinct. Apart from the gentle lap of waves, it was quiet. The Purloined Petunia ploughed smoothly over the deeps, on into the starstrewn night.

Thirty-one hares, a fish h a w k and one ottermaid westward bound.

In the grey half-light preceding dawn, Tiria was awakened by the high piercing call of the osprey She looked up to the masthead to find that Pandion had gone. Making her w a y 279

astern, the ottermaid found Cuthbert still seated at the tiller with one eye open. She questioned him briefly.

"It's not light yet. Where's Pandion gone?"

Cuthbert scratched his ear lazily. "That ole rascal comes an' goes as he pleases, Tillie me gel. May'aps he's spotted land, I don't know."

Racing for'ard, Tiria scrambled out onto the bowsprit and scanned the sea around her. The waters were smooth, with hardly a wave of any size, blanketed by a mist that had taken on a soft golden haze as the sun began to rise. Visi-bility was virtually nonexistent, but from somewhere far off she could distinguish the muted cry of gulls. Hanging on to the bowline, Tiria leaned out, peering keenly into the waking day. Behind her the sail flapped idly and began to fill. The same breeze which was stirring it began to shift the mist rapidly.

Tiria stood stock-still, her eyes following the receding mists. Suddenly her fur rose from rudder to eartip as she picked out the dark blotch on the western horizon. There it was! Raising a p a w to her mouth, Tiria bellowed, "Land dead ahead! Land hoooooooooo!"

The ship came alive to her cries. A babble of excited chatter broke out.

"I say, you chaps, did somebeast say land a bally head?"

"Eulalia! There 'tis, jolly old land, we made it, wot!"

"Get some blinkin' breakfast served, I ain't goin' ashore on an empty turn. I get vexatious without vittles, y'know!"

"Oh, my giddy aunt, just look, terra flippin' firma. I can't wait t'get me confounded paws on it!"

Cuthbert's shouts rang out above the clamour. "Getcher idle bottoms back on those oar benches, ye shower o' bobbin' beetles! Who gave the order for ye to stand round chattin' an' gawpin' like a gang of ole mouse wives on a trip round the bay? Shape up, an' let's see a few rosy blisters on those lily white paws from rowin'! Heave an' row an' row an' pull an' push an' pull! Row! Row!"

Passing over the tiller to Rafe Granden, Cuthbert wasted 280

no time in retrieving his barrelhead drum. Soon it w a s booming as he battered away with his two ladles, still ha-rassing the crew to action.

"Row, ye bilge-bottomed blaggards! Brekkist! Wot swab mentioned brekkist, eh? Ye don't get a single sniff o' the cook's apron until the keel hits the shallows! Row! Let's hear those backbones a-creakin', git those sweeps movin', ye misbegotten maggots, ye far-flung flotsam, ye jumped-up jetsam!"

Quartle sniggered to Portan as they pulled furiously, "Ole Blood'n'guts says the nicest things, don't he? I always wanted to be a jumped-up jetsam!"

He missed the stroke and tumbled backward. "Whoops, sorry, must've caught a crab!"

Portan whispered as he pulled his comrade upright,

"Well, don't tell anybeast, old lad. They'll all want some!"

The wind stiffened, sending the vessel riding full tilt and landward. Once again, Cuthbert started berating his hapless crew. "Lay to wid those oars! D'ye want to run us onto a reef? There's rocks ahead! Ship yore sweeps, finish with those oars afore ye wreck me valuable vessel, ye cloth-eared clods! I told ye to row, not t'go bloomin' mad!"

Quite a bit of muffled laughter broke out among the oar-crew, but they gratefully shipped oars whilst Cuthbert, aided by the fat Corporal Drubblewick, frantically short-ened the mainsail to decrease the vessel's speed. With Tiria at the bowsprit calling directions and Cuthbert manning the tiller skillfully, they charted a course between rocks and reefs. The Purloined Petunia made a stately landfall, her keel crunching into the pebbled shallows.

Even before they had dropped anchor, the main body of the crew made an eager stampede for the side, everybeast wanting to be first ashore. Cuthbert suddenly cast off his maritime coat and reverted to his role of Major Blanedale Frunk. However, it was only with the timely assistance of Captain Rafe Granden and Colour Sergeant O'Cragg that the Long Patrol were stopped from disembarking and wad-28a

ing ashore. The roars of the three officers froze the crew in their tracks.

"Stand fast there, ye mutinous mob. Come to attention all of ye!"

"Yew 'eard the h'offisah, stan' fast! Just twitch h'an ear, laddie buck, h'an yore h'on a bloomin' fizzer!"

"Steady in the ranks, pay 'tenshun to the Major now!"

Cuthbert strode the deck, glaring through his monocle.

"Lady Tiria, Cap'n Granden, Sarn't O'Cragg an' my goodself are goin' ashore. We'll form the advance guard in case of attack. Subalterns Quartle an' Portan will drop anchor an'

furl sails. Corporal Drubblewick an' the cookin' detail will follow us ashore to light a fire an' ready up some vittles. The rest of ye, form a chain from ship to shore, an' bring all supplies'n'arms to land safe'n'dry, an' in good order. Whilst you are on yonder island, you'll conduct yourselves like Long Patrol hares. Right, stan' easy, dismiss, an' attend to your duties!"

As the hares went about their tasks with military effi-ciency, Tiria wandered a little way up the beach. She climbed upon a rock and stared around. So this was the fabled Green Isle, she thought, the home of her distant ancestors. This was actually where the High Queen Rhulain had once ruled.

Colour Sergeant O'Cragg marched up and came smartly to attention. "Major Frunk's compliments, miss. Will ye he dinin' with the Patrol?"

Savoury odours drifting from cauldrons over the cooking fire reminded Tiria that she was hungry. "Oh yes, please, Sergeant. That would be nice!"

The burly hare saluted. "Right y'are, miss, but the major says ye don't get h'a bite 'til yore dressed proper like h'in yore regalia!"

The ottermaid looked indignantly at the tunic and kill she had worn for the voyage. "Why, what's wrong with the way I'm dressed?"

A smile creased the sergeant's rough-hewn face. "Major 2 8 2

Frank says ye look like h'a 'edgehog wot's been dragged back'ards through h'a bush, beggin' yore pardon, miss.

H'accordin' to 'im, you gotta be h'attired h'as befits h'a future queen. H'either that or ye starve. Those h'are 'is words, not mine, miss!"

Fuming with the injustice of it all, Tiria was forced to go back aboard the ship and change into her regalia. She marched stiffly into camp, where she sat stone-faced amid the garrulous hare crew. Corporal Drubblewick served her with a bowl of mushroom and barley soup, some freshly baked griddle scones and a beaker of raspberry cordial.

The fat hare wiggled his ears at her. "1 say, M'lady, jolly spiffy outfit, wot!"

Cuthbert strolled over, nodding his approval. "Top marks, a very smart turnout indeed! Ye really look the part now, Milady. Well done!"

Tiria treated him to a withering stare. "I'm so pleased you think so, Major."

He indicated the other hares with his swagger stick. "Oh,

'tis not just me, it's the rest o' the Patrol, doncha see? They'll be goin' into battle to regain this isle for ye. That bein' the case, some o' these buckoes may be slain defendin' your title, miss. War's war y'know, an' they'd feel much better knowin' they're riskin' life'n'limb for a queen w h o looks like a queen, an' not some raggedy otter gel, eh wot?"

Tiria, completely humbled by this statement, put aside her food. "Please accept my apologies, Major Frank. I never thought of it that way. From now on I'll do my best to look and act like a queen. Forgive my foolishness."

Cuthbert tapped her p a w with his swagger stick, answering kindly, "Come on now, don't get so jolly well upset.

Eat up your vittles, Majesty, an' remember: Handsome is as handsome does, wot!"

Tiria cheered up, accepting the hares' compliments and putting up with their jokes. When the meal was finished, Captain Granden gave the order for everybeast to inspect arms.

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"Before ye fall in t'march, look to those weapons. All lance an' spearpoints to be correctly tipped. Pay special attention to your blades, sharpen 'em blinkin' well. Bow-strings t'be waxed an' tested, you archers, check your quivers. Slingbeasts, I don't want t'see any frayed slings or half-filled stonepouches. This beach is full of bloomin' good pebbles. Make bally sure your arms ain't goin' to let ye down if push comes to shove, buckoes. Then y'can fall in, formed in three ranks. Major Frunk an' my goodself will scout ahead. Sarn't Major O'Cragg, will ye take over please?"

He murmured in Tiria's ear, "Ye'd best march with the Patrol, Lady. We don't want to risk losin' you just yet!"

The advance scouts had departed by the time the Patrol were ready and formed u p . Tiria marched alongside Quartle and Portan, with Sergeant O'Cragg leading off at the front of the columns. The hares sang a marching song, though not too loudly, just to keep them in orderly stride.

"Left right, left right,

put those paws down lively now.

One two, one two,

come on chaps let's show 'em how.

'Tis on to death or glory,

for every willin' beast,

an' what'll we have to show for it,

a song a fight an' a feast!

Left right, left right,

every mother's son of ye.

One two, one two,

o'er shore'n'hill'n'vale'n'lea.

The Long Patrol are on the march,

from dawn 'til evenin' light,

as long as we can end it with

a song a feast an' a fight!

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Left right, left right,

eatin' dust an' poundin' earth.

One two, one two,

'tis all a warrior's worth,

a dash o' blood'n'vinegar,

for that we'll string along,

while we're alive we'll all survive

on a fight a feast an' a song!"

Sunlight glinted brightly off Tiria's armour. Her short emerald cloak swaying jauntily, she picked up the words of the hares' tune and sang it a second time. As she marched, thoughts began to tumble through the young ottermaid's mind. She had come all the way from being an Abbeymaid who had hardly been far outside of Redwall, to a would-be warrior queen marching across Green Isle with the Long Patrol. And all in the space of one season! If only her father and all her dear friends—Brink Greyspoke, Abbess Lycian, Brinty, Girry, Tribsy, Friar Bibble and the rest—could see her now! A resolve rose within Tiria. She would not let any of them down, especially the gallant hares of Salamandastron. Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, she marched onward regally. Major Cuthbert Cuthbert Frunk W. Bloodpaw was right: Handsome is as handsome does!

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29

Leatho Shellhound had decided on a course of action. His first job was to break out of the cage. But where then? It was far too high up for him to reach the pier below, so he planned on going upward. He would climb into the chamber above, through the window, from whence his prison was suspended. It would be a risky business, but the outlaw realised it was his only avenue of escape. Looking down through the floor bars, he checked below, lest any guards were watching. The pier and the lake beyond it lay deserted. Leatho did not stop to wonder why. Instead, he focussed on trying to loosen one of the roof timbers.

Attempting to prevent the cage from hitting the side of the tower—and doing so with as little noise as possible—was no easy task. The roof bars were made of heavy wood, quite thick, and were firmly nailed in place with iron spikes. The outlaw otter attacked them with his bare paws, pulling, pushing, clawing and scrabbling, but to no avail. Clearly, it was going to be a long and painstaking chore. He began working on the iron spikes, desperately trying to budge just one. After a while his paws were skinned and bleeding from the effort, forcing him to take a rest.

As the Shellhound was licking his scratches and wishing he had some sort of tool to help, he heard the door creak in 286

the upper chamber. Quickly he wrapped the severed rope ends around his paws and hung there limply, as though he were still bound and helpless.

Weilmark Scaut had decided to look in on the prisoner.

He leaned over the windowsill and rattled the cage bars with his whipstock. "Hah, still alive, are ye, Shellhound?

Wot's it feel like, hangin' up here without any vittles or water, eh?"

Determined not to rise to the bait, Leatho h u n g limply, head lolling forward, feigning unconsciousness.

Scaut thrust the whip through the bars, managing to tickle his victim's ears with it. He whispered scornfully,

"Ain't so bold an' sprightly now, are ye? Well, you just stay there like a goodbeast 'til yore rebel friends surrender. Aye, then we'll take ye down, an' I'll give ye a proper taste o' this lash. Pleasant dreams!"

Leatho heard him retreating back into the chamber, slamming the door as he left.

A dark shadow hovered over him, and a voice nearby whispered, "Raaaark! He is gone. Ye could do with some help."

Leatho found himself looking up into the savage, golden-rimmed eyes of a mighty hawk as it hovered over the cage.

He loosened his paws from the ropes.

"Who are ye, mate, an' what're ye doin' here?"

The big bird perched on the cage roof. "Kraagarr! I am the enemy of all cats. I have been watching ye trying to get out of this thing."

The otter smiled ruefully. "Ain't havin' much luck, am I?"

The hawk shook its head. "I will help ye. Push upward on this middle bar, an' I will pull. Ready!"

Leatho began pushing, grunting with exertion as he set his paws to the bar. The big bird wrapped its fearsome talons around the bar. Flapping its powerful wings, it strained upward, pulling as Leatho pushed.

Crack! The bar snapped straight through its centre. Releasing its hold on the broken bar, the hawk hovered in the 287

air for a brief moment, its fierce unwinking eyes scanning the area. "Yeeaakkah! Pandion Piketalon must go before cats come with bows and slings!"

Leatho waved to his newfound friend. "My thanks to ye, Pandion. I am called Leatho Shellhound. I, too, am an enemy of the cats. Mayhaps we'll meet again."

The osprey circled overhead gracefully. "Hayaarr! We will make the cats weep blood, Leatho. I will bring the Rhulain and her warriors to help ye!"

Without waiting for a reply Pandion soared off swiftly into the distance, leaving the outlaw with the name pounding through his brain: Rhulain! Rhulain! The High Queen of Green Isle was coming, just as Ould Zillo had prophesied.

He repeated the w o r d aloud like a magic spell. "Rhulain! Rhulain!"

A quick downward glance assured Leatho that all was still quiet below. There was neither sign nor presence of catguards watching. By grabbing one end of the broken roof bar and yanking it sharply downward, he managed to pull it loose. It was a jagged length of timber with an iron spike through the top—crude but nevertheless a fearsome weapon in the paws of the outlaw. Clambering out onto the roof of his former prison, Leatho shinned up the short length of rope and hauled himself over the windowsill. He went into a fighting crouch, wielding his improvised club, ready to face anybeast who stood in his way. But the room was empty, save for a table and a few benches. Leatho crept quietly to the door, holding his ear to it. The two catguards out on the stairhead were talking. Leatho eavesdropped on their conversation.

"Huh, we've been stuck here guardin' this door all day.

When's Scaut goin' to send us a relief, eh? When?"

The other guard replied gruffly, "I don't know. Why don't ye stop complainin' t'me? Go an' ask him. I dare ye!"

Leatho felt the speaker lean his back against the door as he continued taunting his companion.

"Go on, mate! You go down there an' tell ole Felis you've 288

stood guard long enough. Have ye heard wot 'appened to Yund? Hah, ye'd end up bein' sliced to bits, just like him.

Scaut might chop ye into smaller pieces, 'cos you ain't even a scorecat. Yore only a . . . aaaaagh!"

The door swung inward, bringing the catguard stumbling backward with it. Leatho slew him with a single blow of his club. However, before he could get to the other, the catguard was already rushing downstairs, yelling, "Help!

Escape! Shellhound's on the loose! Escape!"

Leatho heard the rattle of spears and Scaut roaring like a madbeast, "Don't let him escape! Get up there an' capture him, quick!"

Footpaws thudded upon the stairs as catguards began racing upward. The outlaw seized a jug of water, together with a platter of bread and half a fish, which the two guards had been sharing. He retreated swiftly back into the chamber. Dragging the dead guard out of the way, he barred the door with the table and benches. N o w nobeast could reach him, but it was a tricky situation. He was virtually being held prisoner again.

He retrieved the spear, which had fallen in with the guard, then stood swigging water and stuffing down bread and fish. The door began to shudder under blows from the guards' weapons, but it was a solid oaken door and with-stood their efforts well. The banging went on for a while, then suddenly ceased.

The next thing Leatho heard was Scaut calling to him,

"Shellhound, I warn ye! Open this door, or it'll go badly for ye!"

The outlaw otter laughed recklessly. "If'n ye want to see how badly thingsTl go, then try openin' the door an' comin'

in here, ye lard barrel!"

When Riggu Felis received the news of his captive's escape from the cage, he went into a fit of rage. Bounding out onto the pier with a score of catguards, he glared up at the empty cage hanging beneath the high window. The chain mail 289

half-mask rattled against his fangs with each sharp intake of breath as he turned to the guards.

"Archers, fire arrows through that window!"

Leatho heard the command and threw himself flat against the window wall. Three shafts made it into the chamber; two stuck into the floor, while the third thudded into the door. Other arrows did not make it that far and stuck like feathered twigs into the wooden tower walls.

The outlaw presented himself at the open window space grinning down at the warlord. "Is that the best ye can do, skinface? Try again!"

Leatho watched the guards fire more arrows and moved swiftly out of the way. The cats were selecting their next arrows, under their leader's exhortations.

"Kill him! Wound him! Anything, but get him!"

Before they had a chance to notch arrows to strings, the carcass of the guard, w h o m Leatho had slain earlier, came hurtling down. Felis jumped out of the way, but the body struck two archers, stunning one and killing the other.

A booming shout rang out from the pier end. "Good shot matey, hang on, we're comin'!"

Big Kolun Galedeep and a mob of otters came thundering along the pier. Riggu Felis yelled, "Archers, fire at those otters and retreat. Back inside!" The battle had begun.

As the fortress doors slammed shut, the pier and the shore to either side of it were swarming with otterclan warriors. Rocks and stones, arrows and lances hit the fortress walls.

Leatho leaned out of the high window, roaring his warcry. "Eeeee aye eeeeeh! Forward the clans! Eeeee aye eeeeh!"

Alerted by the cries of battle, Scaut came scurrying downstairs with his guards. His voice was shrill with surprise as he met with Riggu Felis.

"Lord, are we under attack?"

It was the wrong thing to say. A butt from the wildcat's steel-helmeted head sent the weilmark sprawling.

2 9 0

"Of course we're under attack, you blockheaded dolt!

Call the guards out of the barracks, get them here quick!"

Weilmark Scaut obeyed his master's command hastily, but his face was a picture of bewilderment as he accosted the last guard to leave the barracks. He grabbed the cat and shook him.

"There must be more'n threescore missin'. Where've the rest of 'em gone?"

The shaking guard's teeth rattled as he tried to explain.

"They've gone with Commander Pitru. I thought ye knew!"

Scaut shook him harder. "Gone! Gone where?"

The hapless guard tried to salute as he replied, "Lookin'

for otters. They went out the back o' the barracks. Commander Pitru said it was Lord Felis's orders."

Scaut shoved the puzzled guard away from him. "Go an'

report to Lord Felis right now. Tell him wot you've just told me. Go on!"

The weilmark took his own good time getting back to the fortress doors, not wanting to be around the warlord when the catguard made his report. Riggu Felis heard the guard's report without comment. Then, spotting Scaut loitering a safe distance away, he beckoned him over. The weilmark scurried to his master's side, where he listened whilst the wildcat spoke scathingly of his son.

"You've heard, I suppose. The cowardly kitten has cut and run! I should have expected it. Hah, I don't need that traitorous idiot and his followers. At least now I won't have to watch my back while I'm facing the otters. Once those rebels are defeated, we'll hunt the bold Commander Pitru down. I'll kill him personally, just as I should have long ago, instead of letting him become a threat to me. The filthy little turncoat!"

A wild laugh nearby startled Riggu Felis. There stood Lady Kaltag. The guards had been dismissed from her chamber door to assist in defending the fortress, leaving her to wander freely. She looked manic and unkempt, her 2 9 1

silken robes stained and tattered, her red-rimmed eyes blazing hatred at her husband. With neither the time nor the desire for a confrontation, the warlord muttered to Scaut,

"Who let her out? See to it that her chamber is guarded. Get her out of my sight!"

Kaltag was hauled off by four guards, kicking and scratching, as she poured scorn on her husband. "Aye, kill your son, my lord, just as you murdered his brother! You won't find my Pitru as easy to slay, oh no! Hahaha, he's left you in a fine mess, hasn't he? Taken a band of guards and broken free of your vile schemes! How are you going to defend this fortress now, O Lord of Green Isle? H a h a h a h a a a ! "

The wildcat brandished his axe, shaking it at her. "Get that madbeast out of here, Scaut. Lock her up!"

The weilmark hurried to assist his guards in dragging Kaltag off, but her mocking shouts could still be heard, echoing down the passage.

"Your enemies will dance on your grave, Felis! Evil has its own reward, a long slow death. Hahahahaaaa!"

Bravely the otterclans were fighting their way along the pier outside. Arrows, spears, javelins and all manner of missiles rained through the slitted defence windows at them, with long pikes bristling from every opening. Banya Streamdog and her slingers retaliated with heavy volleys of stones. So fierce was their assault that it allowed Big Kolun to lead his comrades in a wild forward charge. Otters fell on either side of the Galedeep chieftain, but he thundered recklessly on, batting away shafts and spears with his big oar. Kolun made it to the fortress gates, where he was joined by Lorgo who had led a party up from the shore. Both brothers raised a bloodcurdling warcry.

"Galedeep! Galedeep! Eeeeeee aye eeeeeh!"

With a hefty swipe of his oar, Kolun shattered a pike that was thrust at him through an opening. Lorgo caught javelin. Hurling it back through a window slit, he shouted 2 9 2

to Kolun, "This gate's well defended, mate. Wot d'we do now?"

The big otter battered at the thick double doors with his oar butt until his paws stung from the vibrations. "We need somethin' to burst the doors with. A tree trunk'd make a good batterin' ram!"

After a swift look around, Lorgo replied, "A good idea, but I don't see any big ole tree trunks lyin' about, d'you?"

Weilmark Scaut could be heard issuing orders from inside. "Cease firin'! Put up yore arms an' shutter off all openin's."

Immediately the battle halted. Kolun signalled the clans to leave off their assault on the fortress.

Banya Streamdog came in a running crouch to the doors, where Kolun stood leaning on his oar. "I don't know why, but the cats have stopped fightin'."

Banya pointed. "Look, up there!"

Fastened to a pikeshaft, a white cloth waved from an upper-storey window. A nervous catguard popped his head out. "Truce, we crave a truce! My Lord Felis would talk with ye!"

Lorgo murmured to Kolun as he eyed the catguard,

"Talk? Wot d'we want to talk for, mate?"

Banya Streamdog shrugged. "May'ap ole chopface wants to invite us t'dinner. Let's find out."

Cupping both paws about his mouth, Kolun called to the guard, "Let Felis do his talkin', but no funny business, d'ye hear?"

Garbed in full war armour and cloak, the warlord appeared at the open window, two storeys up. Drawing back the chain mail half-mask, he exposed his flayed lower face and began speaking.

"I call upon you to surrender. Your lives will be spared!"

Big Kolun roared back a cheery reply. "By me rudder, that's very nice o' ye, half-gob! But wot if'n we don't feel like surrenderin'? Wot then, eh?"

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The wildcat had been expecting this reaction. He leaned on the windowsill, his face set in a ghastly smile. "My fortress is secure, it won't fall to your puny attempts. If you continue to defy me, I will have Shellhound dragged from the room where he is hiding, up there at the top of the tower. Then I will return him to you, bound in a sack and flung from that window. I am not unreasonable—you have until dawn tomorrow to give me your answer."

Before Riggu Felis could speak further, Leatho was bellowing from the high chamber window, "Pay no heed to boneface, mates. His cats have already tried that once an'

failed. I'll be happy to give 'em a second try! Kolun! Banya!

You carry on fightin', mates. The High Rhulain's on her way!"

Big Kolun waved his oar to the clanbeasts. "Ye heard wot the Shellhound said, buckoes? Let's show these whiskery scum we're here t'finish the job!"

The warlord's grating shouts rang out. "Wait! Let me finish what I was about to say. Then, if you feel like chargiing, let me be the last to stop you!"

Banya replied mockingly, "Well, spit it out, skin-gums.

Then stand by t'die!"

Riggu Felis continued with his ultimatum. "Whether or not Shellhound dies tomorrow does not matter. If you attack my fortress, I will start executing the slaves, family by family, the youngest first. Consider this, for their deaths will be upon your own heads!"

He vanished from the window, which was speedily shuttered. In the silence which followed, Banya stared grimly at the closed window.

"We're left without any choice, mates. We can't attack!"

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30

It was midnoon. Major Cuthbert Frunk had ordered a well-deserved rest for the Long Patrol. The hares spread out along the banks of a woodland stream whose waters were clean and cold. Tiria sat with her two subalterns and Colour Sergeant O'Cragg. Sheltered by an old weeping willow, they cooled their footpaws in the shallows.

Quartle was munching on a bunch of watercress he had discovered growing near the bankside. "Rather nice, this Green Isle place. Y'could live here."

Tiria winked at him as she helped herself to his cress.

"What a good idea, I may do that!"

The burly O'Cragg commandeered a pawful of Quartle's find. "Right, miss, soon h'as we rid the place o' cats h'and free yore h'otterfriends."

Quartle hastily moved his watercress out of the sergeant's reach, whereupon Portan began attacking the remainder.

"Huh, that's always supposin' we run into the blighters, wot! We've been on the flippin' march all bally day an' still not spotted s'much as a cat's whisker or an otter's flamin'

thingummy. I say, Sarge, how d'ye know we're goin' in the right direction, wot?"

By reaching over with his lance, the big sergeant deftly speared the last of the watercress. "Simple, laddie buck, we 295

just keeps a-marchin' over this h'island crisscross h'until we runs into 'em."

Quartle stared ruefully at the spot where his cress had been a moment before. He sighed. "We might've worn out our bloomin' paws by then. Bit of a fair-sized island t'be crisscrossin' willy-nilly, wot?"

The high-pitched call of an osprey brought Tiria bolt upright. She saw Pandion swoop gracefully in to join Cuthbert upstream. Everybeast hurried to hear what Pandion had to report. Casting a fierce eye about, the fish hawk spread his wings dramatically.

"Yeekaharr! Pandion Piketalon has found the cats and riverdogs. They will soon battle!"

Cuthbert's ears stood up straight at the mention of a fight.

"Abattle ye say, sah? Where at? Out with it, at the double!"

The osprey flapped his huge wingspread. "Arreeekaaah!

At the big tree fort by the long lake. The cats are well dug in there. 'Twill be a hard fight I think!"

Captain Rafe Granden drew his blade. "We're obliged to ye, goodbird, an' more'n pleased if ye can lead us t'the jolly old field of combat, wot?"

Cuthbert's eye was glinting wildly through his monocle.

"Rather, I'd be distinctly ticked off if I missed a blinkin' full scale scrap! Sarn't O'Cragg, get the Patrol formed up in skir-mishin' order! C'mon, me lucky lads, off your hunkers an'

on your paws. Quick's the word an' sharp's the action!"

The Patrol had to move rapidly to keep up with Cuthbert, who was already off at a swift trot, following the osprey, Quartle nudged Tiria.

"I say, miss, just look at Ole Blood'n'guts. He can't wait to get in the middle of it all!"

The ottermaid patted her sling and stonepouch. "Neither can I, friend!"

"I am thinking you will be waiting for me. I need a rest after my long journey!"

Tiria was startled to see Brantalis flying just above her head. The barnacle goose looked about ready to drop.

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"Brantalis, my friend, what are you doing here?"

The big bird flopped d o w n to earth. Captain Rafe Granden, who was running rearguard, caught up with Tiria.

"What'n the name o' seasons is a blinkin' goose doin' in the middle of a forced march?"

Tiria came straight to the defence of her friend. "I don't know, Cap'n, but he's come a long way to be with me, so it must be something important."

The barnacle goose raised his weary head from the grass.

"I come from the Abbey of Redwall to see this maid."

Captain Granden twiddled his long ears in admiration. "1

say, well done that, bird, wot! Right, then see her y'must, but we can't halt the march. Subalterns Quartle an' Portan, fall out! You two buckoes stay here with Lady Tiria an' this bird. We're carryin' on to the field o' battle. Afraid you'll have to catch us up later, marm!"

Tiria nodded. "Thank you, Cap'n. Don't worry, we'll find you once our business here is done."

Granden smiled and threw a hasty salute. "Oh, you'll find us, marm. Just march t'the sound o' the Eulalias, that's where the Long Patrol will be!" He sped off after the other hares.

Tiria gave Brantalis a drink from Portan's canteen and sat down by his side. "Take your time now. What news from the Abbey?"

Brantalis drank greedily before making his report. "I am thinking there is much news, but that can wait for a better time. Your father the Skipper, the Abbess and the Old Quelt beast sent me here to deliver this. I have not broken flight once since I left Redwall."

Bending his neck forward, the goose used his bill to delve among the thick downy plumage, where his neck broad-ened to meet his body. He had some difficulty trying to move the object which was ringed around the thick base of his throat. Brantalis grumbled, "I am thinking this was easier to put on than to get off!"

Quartle gallantly offered his help. "Straighten your neck.

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Chin up, I mean beak u p , old lad. I've got the confounded thing!"

Portan assisted him in moving the coronet from about the bird's neck. Both hares gasped in wonderment.

"Oh my giddy aunt's pinny, it's a bloomin' crown!"

"No it ain't, Porters, it's a wotsisname . . . a tiara!"

"Isn't that the confounded thing that was supposed to have gone down with the jolly old ship?"

"Well here it is, old lad, Tiria's tiara. I say, that's pretty good, ain't it? Tiria's tiara!"

The ottermaid accepted it graciously from the two subalterns. "It's called a coronet. Oh, Brantalis, how can I ever thank you? What a great friend you are!"

The barnacle goose ruffled his feathers back into place modestly. "You once helped me, I am thinking it was the least I could do to help you, Tiria Wildlough."

Quartle and Portan began rubbing their paws gleefully.

"Well, go on, miss, put it on, wot wot!"

"Aye, let's see if it fits your royal bonce, miss."

Tiria took the simple gold circlet, with its inset stone which sparkled like green fire, and placed it lightly on her head. It fitted easily about her brow.

Brantalis stood and spread his wings. "I am thinking that was made for you!"

Portan flopped his ears, always a sign of admiration in hares. "By the left right'n'centre, miss, you really look the blinkin' part now, wot!"

He was correct. With the addition of the coronet to the breastplate and cloak, Tiria looked unmistakably regal.

Quartle made an elegant, sweeping bow. "We are your most humble bloomin' servants, Queen Tiria. Your wish is our flippin' command, Majesty!"

The ottermaid struck a pose, trying to look as she imagined a queen would. Then she suddenly took a fit of the giggles. "Hahahaha, come on, you pair of duffers, stop bowing and scraping like two dithering ducks. It doesn't matter what I dress up in, I'm still me, Tiria Wildlough from 298

Redwall Abbey. Let's put a move on and catch up with the Patrol. That is, if you're up to it, Brantalis?"

The barnacle goose swelled out his chest. "Up to it? I am thinking I would not miss it!"

The still summer evening hung warm and dusty over the empty pier. Big Kolun Galedeep and the otterclans deemed it safer to hold a meeting in the bushes and trees of the left bank. The otters did not need a night attack by the cats to further complicate the quandary they were in. They gathered en masse, angry, puzzled and disgruntled at the ultimatum which the wildcat warlord had set upon them. The initial idea of a wild charge, and an all-out assault on the foe, had palled in the light of dire consequences—their en-slaved friends, together with their families, being dragged out and executed in reprisal. The very mention of it was unthinkable. Proposals were put forth and rejected for various reasons. There seemed no answer to the problem.

Lorgo Galedeep mentioned another impractical solution.

"Suppose we pretend to surrender. Then at the last moment, say, when the fortress gates are opened, we grab our weapons an' make a forced charge, straight inside?"

At that moment, any scheme sounded good to Kolun.

"Aye, it might work, mate. They wouldn't be expectin' a move like that. Sounds alright t'me!"

Banya immediately poured cold water on the plan. "Do ye think the Felis cat is some kind o' fool? The instant we threw down our arms an' surrendered, he'd have us surrounded by fully armed catguards. First thing they'd do would be to confiscate our weapons or sling 'em in the lake to stop us gettin' at 'em."

Kolun patted his brother's shoulder sadly. "She's right, mate. It wouldn't work."

A voice, completely foreign to the gathering, interrupted.

"You chaps sound as though yore in a spot o' bother, wot!"

Two tall hares, well armed and dressed in red tunics, emerged out of the shrubbery.

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Kolun wheeled upon them, gripping his oar. "Who are ye, an' where'd ye come from?"

The leader of the two rested one paw on a long rapier hilt and threw a casual salute. "Name's Granden, old lad.

Cap'n Rafe Granden o' the Long Patrol at y'service. This is my aide, Colour Sergeant O'Cragg. We're to be your allies I believe, wot!"

Banya Streamdog did not sound impressed. "Just the two of ye, huh? That won't be much help!"

The burly Sergeant O'Cragg smiled down at her. "Ho, there's h'a few more'n just the two of us, missy. Ye'll see for yoreself. Yore to follow me'n the Cap'n to a meetin' with h'our commandin' offisah, Major Frunk."

Kolun was not used to taking orders from complete strangers. He squared up in front of O'Cragg; they weir both big beasts. The otter thrust out his jaw belligerently.

"We're to follow you, eh? Says who?"

The sergeant's eyes met Kolun unwaveringly. "H'I believe 'er name h'is Rhulain, sah!"

There was a stunned silence, which broke into a roaring cheer from the otterclans. Big Kolun shook O'Cragg's paw.

"Here's me paw an' here's me heart, mate! Lead on, we're with ye t'the death!"

Dusk had fallen by the time they reached the Long Patrol camp at the lake's far end. A good fire burned there, shielded in the lee of some trees and rocks. The otters filed in, packing the site with their numbers.

Cuthbert climbed upon a rock, polishing his monocle and shouldering his swagger stick. After gazing around a bit, he addressed the gathering. "Righto, me buckoes. Let's get oil on the right paw, wot! I'm Regimental Major Cuthbert Blanedale Frunk. Unless I'm outranked by any o' you chaps, I think I'm in command here. Any objections?"

Receiving no reply from the otterclans, he nodded. "Good show! Reason I say this is that there's goin' t'be a bit of a 300

skirmish, a jolly old war in fact! No offence intended, an'

I'm sure you otterchaps are splendidly brave coves, but you ain't Long Patrol. Now, d'ye see these hares? There's a score'n a half of 'em, they're Long Patrol warriors. Fightin'

an' soldierin' is their business. Believe you me, these laddie bucks have slain more vermin than you've had hot flippin'

dinners. So take my word an' trust me, wot!"

Kolun called out. "Fair enough, Major, we believe ye, but we've come here t'see our queen. Where is she?"

A murmur of assent ran through the clanbeasts. Silencing them with a wave of his swagger stick, Cuthbert pointed dramatically to the fire.

"Friends, meet Lady Tiria Wildlough of Redwall Abbey!

The High Rhulain, Queen of Green Isle!"

The ottermaid came forth from behind the fire, dressed in full regalia and flanked by her two subalterns along with Pandion and Brantalis. The otterclans fell silent, overawed.

Here was their prophecy fulfilled, the living legend standing before them. Tiria strode slowly through the hushed camp. All that could be heard was the crackle of twigs from the fire. Kolun was the biggest and most impressive of the otters. She went to him first. "Are you a Wildlough, sir?"

Bowing his head, Kolun went on bended knee. "Nay, Majesty. I'm Kolun Galedeep, Skipper o' the Galedeep clan, an' I'm honoured to meet ye, yore Majesty!"

Taking his paws, Tiria raised him up immediately.

"Please, Kolun, I don't want anybeast bowing and scraping to me. Don't call me Majesty, my name's Tiria."

The big otter grinned cheerfully. "Fair enough. I'll call ye Queen Tiria, how'U that do?"

She patted his huge paw. "That'll do me fine, mate. You're such a bigbeast, I thought you must be a Wildlough."

Kolun looked her up and down. "Wildloughs ain't usually yore size, Queen Tiria. How did ye get to be so tall?"

With a twinkle in her eyes, Tiria replied, "I told my dad I wouldn't be long!"

3 0 1

It was an old otterjoke. The clanbeasts laughed heartily, pleased that their queen was not a remote and formal p r e s -

ence. She was one of them.

Corporal Drubblewick and his helpers joined forces with some ottercooks. Together they set about cooking for everybeast. Cuthbert, Granden and O'Cragg convened a Council of War with Kolun, Lorgo, Banya and Tiria. They sat apart from the rest, dining on turnip and mushroom soup, fresh baked farls, fruit and burdock cordial. Banya explained to the hares what had taken place. She told them of the warlord's threat to kill Leatho and the slaves, starting at dawn.

Captain Granden questioned the otters on every aspect of the fortress and the number of catguards there. Using charcoal and a piece of willow bark, Banya sketched a m a p of the fortress layout—pier, buildings, barracks, tower and slave compound.

Cuthbert studied it keenly. Then, moving his ears in approval, he replied, "This is splendid, just what we jolly well need, wot. Sergeant, have the Patrol ready to move out in mufti soon as ye can. Tell 'em to smoke all blades, too."

Tiria looked at him enquiringly. "You're moving the Patrol out now? But why?"

Dropping his monocle, Cuthbert winked with the air of a conspirator. "Quick tactics are best, doncha know? I've laid my plans. Ye won't see me or the Patrol again until dawn.

Now, I'll tell ye what I want you otter types t'do, so pay attention, chaps. Kolun an' Lorgo, take your clans along both banks. Banya, see if ye can get some o' your creatures to knock together a raft that'll carry about twoscore. Can ye do that?"

The tough Streamdog maid nodded. "Aye, we can steal the fishin' coracles an' lay a platform of logs on 'em.

Shouldn't be too much trouble, Major."

Cuthbert gazed at her admiringly. "If ye ever decide to become a hare, I'll have ye in my regiment, gel. You go with 302

your queen on the raft, straight up the middle o' the lake.

Tiria, I want you standin' front an' centre on that vessel, lookin' just like a queen, d'ye hear me? Now, all you otters, it's blinkin' well vital that ye make it to the pier at dawn, understand? Oh, an' I want ye t'be makin' as much noise as possible. Sing, shout, yell warcries, do what ye bally well like, but let's have a rousin' good din raised. So, that's about all, chaps. Good fortune be with us all. Forward the buffs, give 'em blood'n'vinegar an' all that. Wot wot!"

"Patrol ready t'march out h'in skirmish order, sah!"

Tiria looked up to see that they were surrounded by hares. Each member of the Long Patrol had shed their scarlet tunics, camouflaging themselves with twigs, grass and leaves. Every blade they carried had been blackened by fire smoke. Major Cuthbert Blanedale Frunk dropped both monocle and swagger stick and shrugged off his tunic. Tiria could tell by the wild look in his eyes that he was going into one of his many character changes. He leered villainously, squinting one eye.

"Hohoho, me beauties, the wild badgers are huntin'

tonight. Lord Brockfang Frunk bids ye farewell!"

Both he and the hares were gone in a trice, swallowed up by the nighttime undergrowth.

Lorgo Galedeep shuddered. "Curl me rudder, he's madder than a mop-topped mouse!"

Tiria reassured him calmly. "Oh, I wouldn't call him mad, exactly. Let's say he's a beast of many parts. I've seen him as a shrew chieftain, a sea otter pirate and a regimental major. But one thing you may rest assured of, he's not stupid. That hare is a legend among his kind—a master of strategy and the most perilous warrior in all Salamandastron. I'd trust my life to him any day of the season!"

Kolun chuckled. "So now he's a wild huntin' badger, eh?

Well, I'd hate t'be the foebeast that has to face him."

Banya tweaked the big fellow's whiskers. "But you ain't no huntin' badger, Mister Galedeep. C'mon, up with ye!

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Yore a log finder now. Queen Tiria has to have a raft that won't let us down, so move yore carcass!"

Tiria squeezed Banya's paw fondly. "I like the way you dish out orders. Maybe I'd do well to appoint you my assistant-in-chief, Banya."

Kolun heaved himself up, pulling a wry face. "Wait'll ye meet my missus, Deedero. You'll make her a chief, too. She's good at givin' orders, I can tell ye!"

As the night wore steadily on, Tiria sat alone on the lakeside. She made ready for the dawn, buffing her breastplate polishing the coronet and carefully brushing her short velvet cloak. After folding her cloak, she laid the regalia on it.

Next she checked her sling and stonepouch. Rummaging about amid the pebbles, she came across something she hail almost forgotten. It was the vicious star-shaped iron missile which Brother Perant had extracted from Pandion's beak.

Tiria recalled the vow she had made to return it to the foebeast. She loaded it into the tongue of the sling which Lord Mandoral had made for her, thinking back to when it had all started—the day she and her three friends had rescued the osprey from the rat gang. It seemed so long ago now. A wave of nostalgia crept over the ottermaid for those she held dear: her father, Brink, Girry, Tribsy, Brinty, Friar Bibble, Sister Snowdrop and Old Quelt. She reflected on the many faithful companions she had been brought up with—

the funny little Dibbuns, and Abbess Lycian, so young yet so wise. And, of course, her beautiful home, Redwall Abbey.

Would she ever see it again? The ottermaid sniffed, wiping a paw across her eyes and reflecting on the destiny fate had thrust upon her: Rhulain, High Queen of Green Isle.

All those otterclans with so much faith and trust in her, and she, a single ottermaid, with the task of freeing them from the tyranny of a foebeast w h o revelled in cruelty and brutality. What would Martin the Warrior have done in her place?

Tiria lay down to sleep, staring up at the starstrewn skies.

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She remembered Sergeant O'Cragg telling her that they were the spirits of brave warriors. Through the mists of descending sleep, Martin's voice drifted into her dreams.

"You ask what I would do in your place, Tiria. I would do the same thing you are about to do. It is called the right thing!"

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3i

Leatho Shellhound was bone weary for want of sleep. All night the catguards had been trying to get inside the high tower chamber to capture him. Luckily the stout door held barricaded as it was by a heavy table and thick wooden benches wedged firmly in position. The outlaw otter stood at the open window, breathing deeply of the cold predawn air to keep himself awake. Below him, the pier and lake were still in darkness. Behind him, the spears and pikes of his enemy battered ceaselessly on the door.

Leatho threw back his head and roared at his tormentors, "Don't stand there knockin', fools, come on in! Ye whiskery-faced, droolin', tabby-pawed cowards! Come on, step inside an' meet the Shellhound! I'll rip the heads'n'guts from the first ten of ye who come through that door! Ee aye eeeeeeeeh!"

The banging ceased, as it would for a while. Leatho laughed tiredly, turning back to the window. He knew the cats feared him; none of them was overanxious to enter the chamber and see him carry out his threats. But he also realised that they had their orders and would soon begin try ing to break in again, driven on by thoughts of what their warlord would do to them if they failed in their mission.

Outside the sky was still dark, though as Leatho watched 306

he began to distinguish the soft grey twinge which heralded a new day. This was reinforced by the first birdsong, a lark beginning its ascent, and far off, a thrush warbling throatily.

Leatho's small amount of drinking water was long gone. He would have given anything for one brief, cool dip in the lake far below. During the night, he had considered a high dive from the tower window. But stretched out beneath him lay the pier; the lake was too far off for him to possibly reach.

Unconsciously at first, the outlaw began humming an old otterclan warsong, thinking it had merely p o p p e d into his head. When he stopped humming, however, he could still hear the tune—distant, yes, far off maybe, but nevertheless real. Dawn's first rays seeped in from the right. Leatho leaned out over the windowsill, trying to reassure himself that the sound was somewhere present. Then the banging on the door started afresh. He howled out another challenge.

"Next one who knocks on my door, I'm comin' out t'see who he is! Ee aye eeeeeeh! If'n yore a mate of his, I'll leave his hide to make ye a cloak, an' his teeth for a necklace. Ye can do as ye please with his eyes!"

The banging stopped abruptly. In the silence which followed, Leatho heard the warsong clearly. It was coming from the banksides and the lake. He saw the long shape approaching in rising daylight—some sort of craft, headed straight for the pier. Bursting out in a great howl of joy, the outlaw otter began marching around the chamber, bellowing out the warsong of the otterclans.

"Wildloughs, Wavedogs, Streambattles, too, Riverdogs, Streamdivers, Galedeeps true.

Death rides the wind, tell the enemy,

the clans have risen, ee aye eeeeeeeeeh!

Show no quarter, stand up an' fight,

blood and steel be our birthright.

Oh Rhulain, set your children free,

the clans have risen, ee aye eeeeeeeeh!

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Foebeast, weep for all you're worth,

curse the one that gave you birth.

Red the streams run to the sea,

the clans have risen, ee aye eeeeeeeeeh!

In the times to come I'll say,

I was one who fought that day.

Gave my family liberty,

Ee aye, ee aye, ee aye eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh!"

The sound of the warsong rose to a bloodcurdling roar, echoing and reverberating around the shores and over the lake. Wakened by the eerie din, Riggu Felis burst from his chamber, donning his war armour and kicking at guards who got in his path. He arrived at the barred fortress gates Removing his helmet and chain mail half-mask, the warlord pressed his eye to a spyhole. He could not yet see anything clearly, but the otters' warsong was getting closer, growing in volume.

Weilmark Scaut came stumbling up, his coarse features blanched with fright. "Lord, they're coming!"

He reeled sideways from the blow Riggu Felis dealt him.

"I can hear they're coming, idiot, but where exactly are they? Do you know?"

Holding his aching cheek, Scaut whimpered. "Sire, the upstairs guards say they're on both banks, an' they've got a big raft comin' up the middle o' the lake. It looks like they've come t'do battle, Lord!"

The wildcat eyed his trembling weilmark coldly. "And the Shellhound, haven't they dragged him from that chamber yet?"

Scaut tried to back off, but his shoulders were already against the wall. He shook his head fearfully. "No, Lord, he's barricaded the door with some furniture. They say it's impossible to reach the Shellhound."

The warlord licked his flayed gums, hissing savagely,

"Take all the upstairs guards and go to the slave compound.

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Bring me two, no, three families of otterslaves. Make sure they have young ones with them. Fetch them here to me.

We'll see if those rebels feel like rushing into a fight w h e n they witness what I'm going to do!"

As Scaut hurried off, the warlord shouted to the guards who were packed in the hallway, "Open the doors, and follow me out onto the pier!"

Lady Kaltag had her ear pressed to the door of the chamber in which she was imprisoned. Outside, she heard Scaut bellowing at the four guards w h o were standing sentry on her door.

"You two, follow me to the slave compound! You others, go an' get the ones w h o are tryin' to capture Shellhound.

They ain't goin' to get him out o' there, leave him. Meet us at the compound. Move yoreselves!"

Kaltag waited until it was quiet outside before coming out of her room. Holding two blazing torches, she ascended to the antechamber at the top of the tower stairs and hid until she heard the catguards running downstairs to the slave compound. Now nobeast was outside the chamber which held Shellhound. Chuckling to herself, the demented cat crept along to it.

She tapped on the battered door, calling in a singsong voice, "Are ye coming out, murderer?"

Leatho's voice came defiantly back at her. "No! Are ye comin' in to get me?"

She cackled insanely. "Heeheehee! I can reach you without having to enter the room. Now you must pay for the death of my son Jeefra. Heeheeheeh.ee!"

Leatho's reply sounded puzzled. "Wot Jeefra? I don't know anybeast named Jeefra!"

Kaltag screeched. "Liar! You and your otters slew him!

Now you will roast before you reach Hellgates!"

More crazy laughter followed. Then something struck the door. The timbers were bone dry and heavily splintered from the guards' axes and spears. In a trice, flames were 309

licking at the door. Kaltag was screaming like a madbeast as she tore down wall hangings and flung them on the blaze.

She had dropped the other torch on the floor. Standing back from the blazing door, she went into a crazy shuffling dance, her eyes glittering in the firelight as she crooned,

"Burn! Burn! You cannot escape a mother's vengeance! Ha-hahaheeeeheeee!"

The entire fortress was built of timber, mainly pine and spruce logs, all old and dry. Flames raced unchecked along the landing, ignored by Kaltag, w h o was screeching and dancing as tongues of flame licked greedily at her tattered cloak and gown.

On the other side of the door, Leatho felt the heat. He could see smoke billowing in under the door. A moment later, the fire broke through, making him realize that the whole place was about to go up in flames. Dashing to the window, he climbed out onto the sill. Waving his paws, he began shouting frantically to the raft on the lake, which was still a good distance away.

"Ahoy! Can somebeast help me, the place is afire!"

Both Tiria and Banya saw the figure high up on the windowledge. They could hear his shouts but were unable to hear his exact words. Banya suddenly realised what was happening when she saw smoke and a burst of flame, driven on the updraught, leap from the conical tower roof.

She gripped Tiria's paw.

"It's Leatho, he's locked in up there an' the place is ablaze!"

Other otters saw Leatho and heard his shouts. They stared in horror at the outlaw, who was edging out on the high windowledge from which smoke and sparks were belching.

Banya Streamdog bit her lip, looking to Tiria. "Leatho'll be burned t'death up there. Ain't there anythin' we can do, Lady?"

Every otter aboard the raft was watching their queen.

Tiria knew she had to do something—and quickly. A vision 310

of Martin the Warrior flashed through her mind. Then she heard him say just two words: "the birds!"

She must have said the words out loud, because Banya echoed them. "The birds, marm? Wot d'ye mean?"

Tiria beckoned to the osprey and the goose, both hover-ing down close to her. She pointed at the figure on the ledge.

"Can you get him down from there?"

Brantalis replied, "I could not do it alone, I am thinking.

Mayhaps we could do it together, this one and myself. We could only lift him a short way, but far enough to drop him into the lake. I will help Shellhound, he once saved my life.

Will you do it, hookbeak?"

Pandion glared at Brantalis. They had never been the closest of friends. He snapped back at the goose, "Kayarr! I have lifted many big fish in my talons. Anything a honker can do, I can also!"

Tiria's patience was wearing thin. She spoke abruptly.

"Then don't just bicker and argue about it, get him away from there and drop him into the lake. Do it now!"

Both birds sped off toward the blazing tower.

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32

As the fortress doors swung open, a catguard came staggering along the hallway, coughing and gasping for breath as he caught up to the warlord. "Sire, there is a fire in the upper floors!"

The wildcat seized him by the neck and shook him. " I know that, fool! We will deal with it later! Where has Scaut got to with those slaves?"

He flung the guard to the floor. Rubbing at his neck, the cat whined hoarsely, "Lord, we cannot get into the slave compound. Strange warriors have taken it. Weilmark Scaut sent me to tell you!"

The warlord tore off his helmet, throwing it at the guard.

"What do you mean, strange warriors?"

The catguard scrambled backward, out of Felis's reach.

"Tall ones, rabbits I think. They shout 'alaylee,' and fight like madbeasts. They are fearsome creatures!"

The wildcat stared at him in disbelief. "Tall rabbits? What are you telling me, blatherbrain?"

Loud shouting and cheering came from the lake and banks beyond the pier. Puzzled and seething with wrath, Riggu Felis shouted to the guards gathered in the hallway,

"Forward, follow me!"

3 1 2

He marched out onto the pier, followed by his guards, who were relieved to be out of the smoky fortress. Otterclans were packing both sides of the shore and, though the raft was still some distance away, the warlord could see the creatures upon it. They were looking up toward the tower and pointing. Ignoring the enemy facing him, he, too, turned and peered upward.

Leatho Shellhound blinked against the billowing smoke which poured from the window. He could feel his fur beginning to curl and scorch in the constant blasts of heat.

Hungry, flaming tongues were threatening to envelop him.

Then two great shapes swooped overhead, and he heard the hawk calling, "Karrraaaak! Seize onto our legs and hold tight!"

Pandion and Brantalis descended upon him in a noisy flapping of wings. Leatho, needing no second invitation, grabbed the hawk just above its talons, and the goose above its webbed pads. With the acrid reek of burning feathers in his nostrils, he cried out, "I've got ye, friends!"

They pulled away, dipping because of the otter's weight.

It was very difficult, owing to the different flight methods of both birds, but Brantalis and Pandion flapped bravely outward. They could not keep a level path, immediately going into a descent, though they were still heading for the lake.

Riggu Felis was shouting like a beast demented as he hastened, facing backward, along the pier. It was not essen-tially Leatho's escape which caught the wildcat's attention, however; it was the sight of Pandion Piketalon.

"The hawk! It's the hawk! I'd know it anywhere!"

He raced ahead, reaching the pier end ahead of the trio's descent. The catguards stopped halfway along the pier, watching as the wildcat stood to intercept the two birds, w h o were fast losing height with Shellhound hanging from their legs.

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As he whirled his single-bladed war axe, Riggu Felis was bellowing, "Go to Hellgates, bird!"

The osprey, within three spear lengths of the warlord when he hurled the axe, could not be missed. A cry of horror went up from the otters on the raft. They were still too far off to do anything that would prevent the fatal throw Without thinking, Tiria began whirling her sling. Round and round it sped until it was a thrumming blur. Automat-ically, the old Abbey warcry ripped from her mouth. "Red-waaaaaaaaallllll!"

Never before or since had anybeast witnessed a slinging of that magnitude. The barbed iron star whistled through the hot morning air like a thunderbolt, covering the long distance in the speed of a lightning flash. Both Leatho and the two birds hit the water beyond the pier end. The warlord knew that his axe had struck home. He turned to see the hawk splash limply down. Facing the open lake, Riggu Felis laughed aloud. But no sound came from him as he stood in frozen silence for a brief moment. Then he toppled headfirst into the lake, with a hole between both eyes and an iron star embedded in his brain. Thus ended the reign of Riggu Felis, Wildcat Warlord of Green Isle, slain by a humble Abbeymaid who was now High Queen of the Otterclans.

Leatho and Brantalis reached the raft, still holding on to Pandion's body. Willing paws helped them aboard. Tina bowed with the weight of the slain osprey as she hugged his body tearfully.

Leatho gently disengaged her from the dead hawk. "Time for grievin' later on, marm. We've got a war t'fight!"

Banya stared grimly at the pier. "Aye, an' we're goin'

t'miss it if'n this thing doesn't move any faster. Lookit tha I!"

Before the otters on the shores could even mount the pier, the air was rent with a perilous roar. "Eulaliiiiiaaaaa!"

Straight through the smokebound hallway, having entered the fortress from the rear, they burst forth onto the land tng the Long Patrol warriors, backed by a horde of yelling otterslaves w h o m they had freed.

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Colour Sergeant O'Cragg's stentorian tones rang out over the bewildered catguards huddled on the pier. "Forward the buffs! Give 'em blood'n'vinegar! Eulaliiiaaa!"

Leatho waved the pole he was paddling the raft along with. "Let's cheer 'em on, mates! Ee aye eeeeeeeee!"

Some catguards fled; others tried to fight. But the day of reckoning had arrived. They were no match for the hares, and more especially for the freed slaves they had tyran-nised and abused for long seasons. Before the day was much older, there was not a living cat left in sight. They were, as Corporal Drubblewick put it, "either bloomin' well dead or flippin' well fled, wot!"

Cuthbert had n o w reverted to his role as Regimental Major Frunk. He strode smartly aboard the raft, throwing a brisk salute. "All present an' correct, wot! Queen Tiria, please accept me 'pologies, marm. We must look a confounded sight!"

He wagged an ear at the two subalterns. "You chaps, get the uniforms an' dish 'em out, sharpish! My buckoes look like they've just escaped from a ragged robin's roundelay.

Give Sergeant O'Cragg me compliments, an' tell him I want the Long Patrol on parade, soon as poss, washed, brushed, combed an' curried. Jump to it!"

Tiria stood gazing at the fortress, which was now an in-ferno. The upper storeys had burned through, collapsing into the lower ones. Tongues of flame were now crackling along the pier. She shook her head regretfully.

"It would have made a fine castle for the Clans and me."

Leatho took her to one side, speaking low. " N o otter would willin'ly live there, marm. The place stunk of cats.

There's too many generations o' bad memories within its walls. It's better off as a heap of ole ashes, to stay as a warnin' to foebeasts."

Tiria bowed to the outlaw's superior knowledge. "You're right, of course. It seems I have a lot to learn."

Leatho bowed gallantly. "Don't worry, yore Majesty. I'm here to help ye, all ye have t'do is ask."

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Taking his advice literally, Tiria asked, "Tell me, what's this Holt Summerdell place like?"

Banya was the one who answered. " 'Tis a place fit for a queen. It's like the nicest spot ye've ever dreamed of but never believed ye'd ever see!"

That night, by the light of the burning fortress, the bodies of the slain were put to rest. Carcasses of catguards, along with that of Riggu Felis, were consigned to the flames of their stronghold. Otters who had fallen, along with the osprey Pandion Piketalon, were placed upon the flower-decked raft and floated out onto the lake's centre, where the raft was sunk, following an ancient Green Isle tradition. The clans stood on the shore, chanting a dirge in some bygone language which Tiria could not understand. She enquired of Leatho as to its meaning. He translated it for her.

"Thy memory stays midst friends,

'neath water thy body lies,

thy spirit lives, a warrior star,

set high in darkened skies.

I'll look for thee when day is done,

thou jewel in night's crown,

a fearless legend, burning brave,

forever shining down."

A hefty p a w touched Tiria's shoulder. Colour Sergeant O'Cragg whispered in her ear, "We've 'eard that afore, h'ain't we, miss?"

Big Kolun Galedeep and his brother Lorgo, with lots of willing help, had managed to save loads of supplies from the catguards' barracks. Kolun waved his oar aloft, proclaiming to everybeast, "Tonight's Victory Feast Night.

Sleep in late tomorrow, then we takes our queen back to Holt Summerdell. Do I hear any arguments?"

Nobeast ever argued with Kolun, with the exception of his missus. Besides, they were all more than willing to go 316

along with his excellent plan. Temporarily shunning her role as queen, Tiria joined Corporal Drubblewick and a host of ottermums who had never seen such an array of food to cook with. They used burning pier boards as a fire and set up barrels of drink on the lakeshore sand. The otterclans were highly amused with the antics of the hares, w h o were always hungry and in high good humour after a battle.

Little otterbabes chuckled uproariously as the hares sang barrack-room ballads.

"There's goin' to be a mutinee,

mate, I'm a-tellin' you,

if there ain't skilly'n'duff for tea,

to feed this big fat crew.

Don't dish 'em up no salad leaves,

or no burrgooly stew,

if there ain't skilly'n'duff for tea,

they might eat me'n'you!

Whoa! Skilly'n'duff, that's the stuff,

for my ole crew t'chew,

it's hot'n'thick so take your pick,

it'll do the trick if you feel sick.

So fill yore turn, by gum ole chum,

don't pant'n'wheeze'n'puff,

you'll run like a hare an' fight like a bear, on good ole skilly'n'duff.

So don't stand lookin' silly, feed me lots o' skilly

. . . an' duff!"

They sang it twice more, each time speeding up the words.

Tiria sang along with the bits she could catch; though, like the otterbabes, she mostly whooped and t h u m p e d the ground with her rudder. It was all such good fun! She looked at the happy faces around the fire, sniffed at the savoury aromas from the cooking and thanked her good fortune that the day had ended so well. The rule of the cats was finished; she had slain Riggu Felis, the tyrant. The thought of killing 317

another creature did not sit easy on her mind, but when the ottermaid saw all the freed slaves, she felt thoroughly justi-fied by her swift action in the heat of battle.

The food, when it arrived, was a real victory feast. Tiria sat sampling the various dishes with Brantalis, Colour|

Sergeant O'Cragg, Banya, Leatho and her two subalterns.

There was an unending supply of shrimp'n'hotroot soup for the otters, plenty of skilly'n'duff for the hares, trifles and tarts for the little ones and so many different pasties that it was hard to choose which one to try next.

Big Kolun passed a dish to the barnacle goose. "Get yore ole beak around that, mate. It's leek an' roasted parsnip in hazelnut sauce!"

Brantalis clacked his beak happily. "I am thinking this will taste as good as it looks!"

Tiria patted her friend's long neck. "I'm sure it will, mate.

I wish our Redwallers were here to join in with all this. My dad, Brink and those three rascals Brinty, Tribsy and Girry."

Brantalis looked up from the dish he was about to sample. "I am thinking I should have mentioned your friend, the mouse named Brinty."

Tiria chuckled. "Why, what's that rogue been up to?"

The barnacle goose shook his head mournfully. "Alas, the young mouse is dead."

Tiria stared at him blankly. "Dead? Surely you're mistaken, Brinty can't be dead!"

Leatho placed his p a w over hers, murmuring, "Hear him out, Lady. Wot happened to him, mate?"

Brantalis explained about the slaying of Brinty at the Abbey gate by the rat called Groffgut. Then he apologised.

"I am sorry, but in all the excitement since I came here, I am thinking I forgot to mention this sad news."

No longer able to enjoy the feast, Tiria wandered off alone and sat weeping by the lakeside. After a while, Leatho came to comfort her.

"Brinty must have been a very good friend to ye, Lad y I have seen many of my mates slain. It's a hard thing to bear, 318

more so when yore far away in a strange place an' there ain't a thing ye can do about it."

The ottermaid nodded. "Aye, poor Brinty, and he did so want to become a warrior someday."

Leatho peered out at the lake, whilst Tiria dried her eyes.

"Well, from wot the goose told us, he got his wish. Brinty went out fightin' like a real warrior. Do ye know, I think we should honour him like we did those others today. Let's do it, just me'n'you, eh?"

He pressed something in Tiria's paw, explaining, "It's a little wooden figure, Banya gave it t'me. Us clanbeasts often use it if'n the warrior gets lost in battle. It's an otter, see. But Banya carved the rudder down thin, so that it looks like a mouse."

Tiria gazed at the small object. "I see what you mean. So this is my Brinty! What do we do with him now?"

The outlaw explained. "Well, we ties him to a stone, with a few flowers bound around. Then we puts him in the lake with the others who fell today. That way he's in good company amid warriors like himself, Lady."

They gathered some meadowsweet and spearwort blossoms and bound them to a paw-sized pebble along with the figure. Together they waded out into the lake until the water was at waist height. Tiria took the package in her sling and threw it, up and out. The few golden blossoms were lost in the night sky. Then they heard a splash. Leatho watched the ripples drifting back at them.

"Yore friend Brinty is at rest now."

They held paws as the outlaw recited the verse which Tiria had heard the clanbeasts saying earlier in ancient otter tongue. Heaving a great gusty sigh, Tiria straightened her back.

"Thank you, Mr. Shellhound. I feel much better now!"

The outlaw grinned roguishly. "Aye, an' I'm still hungry.

Let's get back to the vittles, Lady!"

As he turned to wade shoreward, Tiria pulled him back.

"I don't think I could bear you calling me lady, queen or 319

majesty for the rest of my life. So from now on it's Tiria to you, sir!"

She waded past him, but this time it was he w h o pulled her back. "Fair enough, as long as ye never calls me sir of Mr. Shellhound. Let's call each other 'mate.'"

Tiria laughed at this. "Righto, mate. Mate it is!"

Pitru stood on the highest point of the vast crater, congratulating himself. His scheme was successful: Soon he would be Ruler of Green Isle. The young cat had pitched his camp right across the narrow path which ran over the crater's rim. Behind him his followers had erected a barricade of rocks. Now nobeast could come over by this way, since he held the pass. Balur and Hinso, his confederates, listened as he outlined his plan. Pitru gazed off into the clear morning distance.

"See, the last of the smoke, I saw the glow from afar last night. The fortress has fallen. Are you not glad you came with me, eh?"

Balur bowed respectfully. "You saved our lives, Sire!"

Hinso placed a paw over her heart, affirming loyalty. "We were with ye from the first, commander."

Pitru drew himself u p , leaning on his broad scimitar proudly. "Henceforth you will call me Warlord of Green Isle!"

Balur and Hinso glanced at each other, not daring to ask the question. It was Pitru who answered it for them.

"You will soon learn that Riggu Felis is dead. Look, down there in the foothills, here come the runaways."

Threading its way up the lower path, a band of catguards could be seen. Pitru smiled smugly. "That's Scaut leading the group. Take my guards and surround that lot, disarm them and bring them to me."

The mission was accomplished swiftly. By midmorning, Pitru had a dispirited bunch of catguards, refugees from the defeat of the fortress, sitting on the ground in front of him. His first act was to place his scimitar at Scaut's throat.

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"Ah, the mighty weilmark, eh? You were ever my enemy, Scaut. So tell me, why should I not slay you right now?"

The weilmark gulped as the blade pressing against his throat bobbed slightly. "Spare me an' I will serve ye faithfully. I give ye my oath, Commander Pitru!"

Hinso sprang forward and kicked Scaut. "Our leader is Warlord of Green Isle now, an' ye will address him so!"

Pitru smiled thinly, enjoying his triumph. "That is, unless Riggu Felis still lives. Is he dead, Scaut? Did you see him die? How did it happen?"

Still with the blade threatening his throat, Scaut answered, "Lord, I was not there to see it, but some of these guards say that Riggu Felis was slain by an ottermaid with a sling, down on the pier."

Pitru shook his head in mock pity. "The great wildcat ruler, killed by an ottermaid. How sad! But you ran off and left him to his fate. What sort of a weilmark would you call yourself now, Scaut?"

Trying to bend his neck back from the pressure of the heavy blade, Scaut managed to gasp, "I am wot ye say I am, Lord!"

Pitru withdrew the blade, suddenly kicking Scaut flat.

He grabbed the long whip, which had once been the weilmark's favourite weapon, and began beating his helpless victim with it, yelling at him, "You are no weilmark at all!

From now on you will be my lackey—fetching, carrying and licking the dust from my paws!"

Breathing heavily, the young warlord turned u p o n the bunch of catguards who had followed Scaut. "And you, who do you serve now? A dead wildcat, or me?"

The subdued guards were only too ready to go over to Pitru. They bowed before him as he tossed the whip to Hinso. "Give them back their weapons and let them join my guards."

When this was done, he addressed his reinforced ranks.

"The otters will come this way. They have a secret hideout somewhere around, but they have to pass here to get to it.

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I can see by the signs that they have passed here more than once. I can defeat them! Now you will see how a real warlord makes his plans, not some half-faced old fool who was served by idiots like Scaut. I hold the high ground. The way forward is barricaded. To one side I have Deeplough. In front of me is a high hillside my enemies would have to scale to reach us. They have to get past me to reach their families, but they will die on the slopes below me. Then I will seek out those families and have slaves to build me a fortress of stone that will not burn, up here on the heights!"

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The clans were crossing a stream, Tiria, Leatho and Big Kolun leading the procession, each with an otterbabe sitting upon their shoulders. The Long Patrol had a few scouts patrolling ahead, while the rest of the hares brought up the rear. Everybeast was singing as they splashed through the water. Sunrays shafted through the trees, mottling them with patches of light and shade. The babe on Tiria's shoulders kept heaving on her coronet, using it as a rein. But the ottermaid bore it stoically, singing along with the rest.

"Where are we going to? Holt Summerdell!

What'U we do there? We'll all live well!

When we get there we'll have tales to tell, of the day that old fortress burnt an' fell!

Left right, I'll never complain,

if I never see a cat again!

Left right left right!

We had a war an' won the fight,

Left right left right!

Our queen is comin' home tonight!

Left right left right!

The clans are marchin' free!"

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They halted on the far bank and sat down for a rest. Tiria heaved a sigh of relief as she lifted the babe over her head and set her down on the grass. The little one came to earth, clutching the royal coronet in her tiny paws. Tiria pretended to look shocked.

"So, a coronet robber, eh?"

Wrinkling her nose, the otterbabe returned the regalia.

"H'a sorry, Kweemarm!"

Leatho bounced the babe in his lap. "Kweemarm, I like that, it fits ye well. Kweemarm!"

Tiria splashed streamwater at him. "Don't you dare start calling me Kweemarm, or I'll call you by your baby name!"

The outlaw picked up the otterbabe. Pressing his fore-head against hers, he whispered, "So then, rascal, wot d'ye call me?"

The tiny otter giggled. "Heehee, Fleeko Spellbrown!"

Big Kolun sat the otterbabe on his paw. He smiled at her.

"An' wot's my name, liddle cuddlerudder?"

She stared solemnly at him. "Unka Kolun!"

He planted a kiss on the top of her head. "Hoho, I'll be yore Unka Kolun anytime, darlin'!"

The cooks had packed food, which they had prepared the night before. The streambank assumed the air of a picnic lunch as everybeast sat eating and dabbling their footpaws in the shallows. Quartle and Portan shared a long loaf sliced lengthwise and filled with preserved fruit. Holding an end apiece, they bit into the long sandwich.

"I say, old lad, this is better'n haversack rations, wot!"

"Rather! Yum yum, sammies!"

The little ones thought this was hilarious. After gulping down everything they were given to eat, they splashed about in the water shouting, "Yumyum sammies!

Yumyum sammies!"

Big Kolun chuckled. "Wait'll they see Summerdell—the falls, an' the waterslide, an' the swimpools. I tell ye, Lady, they won't forget ye for wot ye done for 'em!"

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Tiria shook her head. "You mean for what you've done, and our brave hares. I just stood about an' looked like a queen most of the time."

Kolun winked at her. "An' ye did it very nicely, marm!"

Cuthbert came wading along. Chewing at an enormous slice of salad turnover, he waved his swagger stick at them.

"Everythin' hunky dory here, wot?"

Tiria threw him a very pretty salute. "We're fine, thank you, Major. How are you?"

He squinched down on his monocle in a sort of half-wink. "Flourishin', marm, thankee. Must have a word, though."

Sitting among them, he beckoned Leatho, Kolun and Tiria close, dropping his voice. "Cap'n Rafe an' Sarn't O'Cragg have just reported back from the advance scouts. Seems there's a jolly old spot o' bother loomin' ahead."

Leatho became alert. "Wot sort o' bother, Major?"

Cuthbert explained. "Top o' that big crater over yonder.

Seems a heap o' flippin' cats have built a wall, type o' barricade, right across the bloomin' path. Nerve o' the whiskery blighters, wot! Nothin' for you t'worry about, Milady. You stop here with the families. The Long Patrol an'

some of our otterchums will sort 'em out, sharpish!"

Big Kolun stroked his rudder thoughtfully. "Sharpish ain't a word I'd use, Major. A few pawfuls o' foebeasts could hold that pass agin twice our numbers."

Leatho agreed with Kolun. "Right, mate. They could hold us there all season, stop us gettin' back to the families at Holt Summerdell."

Cuthbert rose in sprightly manner. "Right, then we'll just have t'shift the villains post haste, wot! You chaps comin'?"

Tiria bounded up beside Cuthbert. "Yes we are, and I'm one of the chaps. A queen's place is with her warriors. Much as I like playing with babes, that'll have to wait awhile.

Raise the clans, Shellhound!"

Cuthbert w a s about to object w h e n Kolun cautioned him, "Ye don't argue with a queen, Major, especially one 325

that sounds like my missus w h e n she's dancin' on her rudder!"

The hare took one look at the tall ottermaid unwinding her sling and coughed. "Harrumph! Very good, point taken old lad, wot!"

Balur crouched on the rimtop, holding a long pike axe by his side. Shielding his eyes against the noontide sun, he squinted down the steep, rocky, brushstrewn slope of the crater.

Everything seemed unusually quiet; even the grasshoppers had stopped chirruping among the heather, and the humming of bees visiting gorseflowers was absent. He raised himself slightly higher, thinking he had detected a movement amid some rocks.

He had time for only one strangled yelp as the slingstone split his skull. Then he toppled downhill, with a few loose rocks falling behind him.

"Eulaliiiiaaaa! Ee aye eeeeeeeee!"

Slingstones whipped uphill, most of them bouncing off the barricade which stood across the path, a few finding their way over the rough stone wall but not causing much damage to the enemy.

Pitru was up and at the barricade, snapping out orders.

"Archers, stand by! Spears and pikes, drop back! Slingers and boulder throwers, up front here!"

Sergeant O'Cragg shook his head at Leatho and Tiria. "Ye needs t'be further h ' u p to be doin' h'any good with those slings!"

Cuthbert whispered to Captain Granden, "It looks like we'll have to try a charge!"

Before Granden could reply, there was a clatter and a rumble from above. The steep crater side shook as an avalanche of rock and rubble pounded down from above.

Tiria yelled, "Find cover, quick! Get your heads down!"

She and Kolun crouched behind a rocky outcrop as boulders bounced by overhead, followed by a hurtling mass of 326

soil, vegetation and scree. Big Kolun covered Tiria, shielding her with his powerful back. She felt the thud as several missiles rebounded from him. Then there was silence, soon broken by a cheer from the cats on the rim.

Kolun straightened up, spitting out dust and groaning as he rubbed his back. "Phew! They nearly h a d us that time, Lady!"

The ottermaid wiped debris from her eyes anxiously.

"Are you hurt, Kolun? Did any big rocks hit you?"

The big fellow managed a rueful grin. "Oh, I think I'll live, marm. Banya, wot's goin' on?"

Banya Streamdog came scurrying on all fours, a large gash over one eye. "We lost two clanbeasts an' a hare. . . .

Look out!"

The three huddled together as another load of boulders thundered down the slope. This was smaller than the first lot, and soon petered out.

Now the catguards were chanting. "Pitru! Pitru! Death to his foes!"

In the relative safety of the rocky outcrop, Cuthbert, Granden and O'Cragg joined Kolun, Leatho, Banya and Tiria for a hasty Council of War. Granden glanced grimly up at the crater top.

"Bad show all round, chaps, wot?"

Kolun looked up from pressing some dried moss to Banya's wound. "I told ye they could pin us down here, Major. There ain't no way we can get at the scum, that's a fact!"

Cuthbert polished dust from his monocle nonchalantly.

"Pish-tush, old lad! I've thought of a solution already. Sarn't O'Cragg, see if y'can't get the Patrol an' a few stout otter types away off to the left flank. Quietly now, don't let the cats see what we're up to, wot! Cap'n Granden, I'll leave you in charge here. Begin advancin' slowly in ranks of three, slingin' fusillades."

The captain drew his long rapier. "I'm with ye, Major 327

Frunk. We keep the blighters busy while you work a flanker on 'em. Hah, we've played that game before. Remember when we whacked those vermin at the south cliffs?"

Cuthbert nodded. "Precisely! But remember, don't give the order to charge 'til ye hear me give the old war whoop."

Captain Rafe Granden threw a curt salute. "Aye, sir. The moment ye yell, we'll come runnin' like death on the wind.

There'll be a lot o' cats linin' up at Hellgates by sunset!"

Major Cuthbert Blanedale Frunk began to smile. "By thunder there will, I'll see to that. G'bye, chaps!"

He stole off to the left. Tiria made as if to follow him, but Captain Granden placed a restraining paw on her. "You stay with us, Lady. The Major ain't a beast to be around today.

Did ye see how wild his eyes were? Right! Kolun, Banya an'

you, too, miss, follow me. I'll show ye the ropes, 'tis quite simple. You'll each be in charge of a rank. Don't worry, you'll soon pick it up!"

Pitru peered over the top of his wall, then ducked down to Hinso at his side. "Well, that soon stopped them. We'll give them another shower of rocks in a bit. Huh, they won't be so eager to charge us then, eh?"

Hinso glanced back over her shoulder. "Lord, we've used up all the stones we collected."

The young warlord replied scathingly, "Then don't argue with me! Get some more, and get them fast. Move yourself!"

There was a cry from the otters below. "Ee aye eeeee!"

Some slingstones rattled in over the walltop. One struck Pitru on the paw. He winced and sucked his paw, then scoffed, "If that's the best they can do, we've no need to fret."

Another shout came from below. "Redwaaaaallll!"

Hinso was just moving off to issue orders to the rock-gathering crew when the second wave of slingstones came over. This time they struck with more force. One hit Hinso in the mouth, knocking a fang out.

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Crouching down behind the wall, Pitru yelled, "Archers, slingers, spearcats, up here!"

"Galedeeeeeeep!"

On this third warcry, which issued forth from Kolun, a big salvo of slingstones came whipping in, dropping several guards in their tracks. Pitru chanced a glance through a chink in the wallstones. The otters had gained ground. A long line of them stood up, whirling their slings as Banya sang out the eerie clan warcry. "Ee aye eeeeeee!"

Suddenly it was raining slingstones fast and hard. The otters dropped down low, and another long rank ran ahead of them, slinging for all they were worth. Tiria stood alongside them, shouting, "Redwaaaaaallll!"

Gritting his teeth, Pitru drew his scimitar. Anger coursed through the young cat; things were not going as he had planned. He called to his catguards, "Get to this wall, rally to me!"

As the guards ran forward, a bloodcurdling roar came from lower down the rim, past the wall. "Eulaliiiiiaaaaa!"

Using a long pike axe which he had captured, Cuthbert came vaulting over the crater rim onto the narrow path.

The Long Patrol hares and some clanbeasts were hurrying behind to catch him up, but their major was gone forever. In his place was a berserk animal w h o m none could control or stand against. Cuthbert made straight for the silk-robed cat carrying the broad scimitar. Foebeasts fell like chaff to the scythe before his insane attack. He was roaring like a madbeast—no Eulalias or warcries, just a continuous spine-chilling screech. There were several guards, including Hinso, blocking his path. Holding the long pikestaff sideways, Cuthbert hit them, bowling the lot backward in a heap. They struck Pitru, knocking him into the wall, which crumbled and collapsed. Cuthbert hurled himself u p o n them, trying to wield the pike axe, which was far too long for close combat.

Pitru scrambled from under the melee. Naked fear shone in his eyes as he gasped, "Get him away from me. Kill him!"

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Hinso lashed out with a lance from behind the hare, sticking him through the side. Cuthbert turned, snapping the weapon like a twig and going for the cat's throat with bared teeth. Dust billowed up from the narrow path in the ensu-ing chaos. Seeing that the mad hare's back was turned to him, Pitru struck with his scimitar. Three guards fell upon Cuthbert. Hinso tried to wrest the pike axe from his paws, but nothing could stop the beast they called "Old Blood

'n'guts." He went forward, stumbling over fallen wallstones, dragging four cats with him before reaching Pitru.

With one swift move, he trapped the young warlord, locking him to his chest with the pikestaff.

Colour Sergeant O'Cragg was battering his way through the guards to reach his major, when the three ranks of clanbeasts burst over the rim in a wild charge, bellowing,

"Death's on the wind! Eee aye eeeeeee!"

Captain Granden, not having heard his major give the signal cry, had decided to move swiftly. The catguards battled wildly, knowing they were fighting for their lives, realising the otterclans would cede no quarter. Tiria was whipping her loaded sling right and left, watching the enemy falling before it. She saw Cuthbert besieged by Pitru and the four cats on the far rim, and began battling ahead to go to his aid. But too late!

Still making that awful sound he had last uttered on the day of his daughter's death, Cuthbert leaped over the rim, taking Pitru and the cats with him. Tiria reached the rim, along with Rafe Granden, Sergeant O'Cragg and Big Kolun, w h o was carrying half a shattered oar in his paw. They watched for a moment in frozen horror at the scene below, then leaped over the rim and went skidding down the steep-shaled slope toward the vast, sinister expanse of water called Deeplough.

Cuthbert could not halt his rushing descent. He hit the water holding the lifeless body of Pitru, whose back he had broken in the crushing grip of the pikestaff. The others splashed in beside him, wailing in panic and trying to pull 330

themselves out by scrabbling at the steeply banked loose scree.

Without any prior warning, the dark waters rose in a h u m p , and Slothunog was among them! The monster was a throwback of some primitive age, covered in jet-black scales with a humped back and a long serpentlike neck. It hissed aloud, blowing out a spray of water, its reptilian head swaying back and forth as it struck with a cavernous mouthful of glittering teeth. The body of Pitru was wrenched from Cuthbert's grasp into the creature's jaws, which snapped shut on the dead cat. Tiria and the others, having managed to stop their descent, lay on their backs in the shale, footpaws dug in tight as they gazed in disbelief at their friend.

Cuthbert had scrambled up onto the back of Slothunog, hacking at its neck with the pike axe. It sped out onto the lough, wriggling and thrashing furiously as it tried to rid itself of its berserk passenger. The hare, however, could not be shaken off. He hacked, speared, chopped and stabbed frenziedly, like some wildbeast trying to regain the prey which had been stolen by another. Then, with one massive effort, he plunged the spiked head of the weapon deep, pushing with the last of his strength as he drove it home.

Slothunog hissed loud and long before its head finally fell forward. It shuddered, sent up a crimson gout of its lifeblood and vanished beneath the unplumbed depths of Deeplough, taking with it a hare who had become, in the last of his many roles, a dragonslayer!

Colour Sergeant O'Cragg saluted, blinking through the tears which coursed down his tough face. "Perilous! I think the word was made for Major Frunk. Perilous!"

Captain Granden nodded agreement as he passed Tiria his kerchief. "Perilous indeed, Sarn't. No Badger Lord in a Bloodwrath could've done better. Dry your tears, lady. He went exactly the way he wanted to. Right, Sarn't?"

O'Cragg sniffed. "Right y'are, Cap'n. Pore ole Major weren't the same h'after 'e lost 'is lovely daughter."

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He borrowed the captain's already tear-drenched kerchief from Tiria and dabbed at his eyes. "Tell ye wot, miss. We'll both stop weepin' an' watch the sky tonight for the Major, eh?"

The ottermaid squeezed the sergeant's big paw. "Thank you, Sergeant, I'd like us to do that. If we spot a specially big star, with a small pretty one close to it, we'll name them Cuthbert and Petunia, after the Major and his daughter."

Colour Sergeant O'Cragg gave his eyes another wipe before returning the captain's kerchief. "Bless ye, miss, that's h'a very nice thought."

Big Kolun got the situation back on an even keel with his next remark. "I'll give ye a very nice thought, Sergeant. Just

'ow in the name o' seasons do we get out o' this crater?"

Amid the laughter that followed, Kolun could be heard yelling to the watchers on the high rim, "Lorgo! Banya! See if'n ye can't knot enough ropes together to get us out of here!"

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Deedero Galedeep was chopping leeks and scallions to add to her stewpot when an otterbabe came bursting through the waterfall curtain into the cavern. Placing his little paws either side of his mouth, he bawled at her, "Mammee, a fink our daddie's comin' 'ome!"

Deedero p u t aside the knife, wiping her p a w s on her apron. "Wot've I told ye about shoutin', Toobil? I ain't deaf!"

Toobil climbed up on her lap and whispered in her ear, "I sayed Daddie's comin' 'ome, wiv lots h'of uthers."

Picking the babe up, Deedero stowed him sideways on her hip and shuffled off through the watery curtain.

"Hmph, he must've smelt my shrimp'n'hotroot soup cookin'. Come on then, let's go an' meet him."

They joined the other families heading for the ledge.

It was an odd but rousing sight. A barnacle goose, twoscore and five hares in regimental rigout, countless clanbeasts and freed slave families, and Tiria, in her full regalia, being carried at their centre, seated on a chair m a d e of spearhafts and javelins. The situation was made more in-congruous still: Everybeast was singing lustily, a barrack-room ballad which had been taught to them by Porters and Quarters, the two young subalterns. Some ottermums took 333

the precaution of covering the ears of their babes, though a few elders marched alongside of them, chuckling aloud.

"Pick 'em up laddie buck! an' put 'em down laddie buck!

You've made it home an' now you're out of luck, out of luck!

Oh 'tis nice to march back home,

when there's nowhere else to go,

for home is every warrior's desire.

To see the ones you love, beat each other black'n'blue, while your dear old granny's roastin' by the fire!

Pick 'em up laddie buck! an' put 'em down laddie buck!

You've made it home an' now you're out of luck, out of luck!

To taste your mother's cookin',

an' have bellyache all day,

o what a sad an' sorry tale is this.

If I could just escape, to some regimental camp, I'd give some ugly sergeant one big kiss!

Pick 'em up laddie buck! an' put 'em down laddie buck!

You've made it home an' now you're out of luck, out of luck!

But I cannot run away,

'cos my sister pinched me boots,

she bit me nose an' stole me uniform.

An' Dad's nailed up the door, wot a lovely welcome home,

from a family so kind an' sweet an' warm!

Pick 'em up laddie buck! Put 'em down laddie buck!

You've made it home an' now you're out of luck, out of luck!"

Colour Sergeant O'Cragg and Big Kolun (who fancied the idea of being an officer) roared out together in fine parade-ground manner, " R e g i m e n t . . . wait for i t ! . . . Haaaaalt!"

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Everybeast stamped to a perfect halt. Big Kolun swelled out his chest. "H'otterclans . . . dismiss!"

Colour Sergeant O'Cragg came next. "Long P a t r o l . . . dismiss!"

Clanbeasts ran to be reunited with their families. There was widespread backslapping, hugging and kissing. The freed slaves were welcomed cordially. Otters began crowd-ing around Tiria, each wanting to shake the p a w of their High Queen, the Rhulain of Green Isle.

Kolun, still struck by the thought of becoming an officer, introduced Tiria to his missus. "Milady, h'allow me to present my h'enchantin' wife, Deedero!"

The big homely ottermum stared at her husband strangely. "Why are ye talkin' like that, for goodness sakes?"

Kolun stood smartly to attention and saluted Deedero.

"Because, h'o jewel h'of my 'eart, hT'm a h'officer now."

Deedero passed him the babe to carry. "Ye great windbag, keep talkin' like that t'me, an' I'll bend a ladle round yore rudder."

She hugged Tiria and kissed her cheek. "Welcome to Holt Summerdell, Yore Majesty. 'Tis a rare pleasure to have ye here. Yell be stayin' to dinner I hope?"

Tiria chuckled. "I'll be staying here for lots of dinners.

This is my home now."

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