4
Dawn had scarcely shown its pale light over the
western coast when pandemonium broke loose at Salamandastron. A
bugle blasting out its brassy alarm set every hare on the mountain
dashing to the call. Lady Violet Wildstripe hurried from her forge
chamber, joining Colour Sergeant Miggory and Lieutenant Scutram as
they rushed downstairs. From dormitory, mess hall, kitchens and
barrack room, Long Patrol members charged to the main gate. They
parted to make way for the Badger Lady and her officers.
A bewhiskered and monocled Major Felton Fforbes was
waving his swagger stick, rapping out orders. “All ranks back off
now, quick as y’like, wot! Come on, chaps, give ’em room t’jolly
well breathe, if y’please!”
Two young hare cadets, Lancejack Sage and Trug
Bawdsley, who formed half of the Seawatch dawn relief, were sitting
slumped against a gatepost. Both were obviously in shock, shivering
and moaning incoherently.
The colour sergeant twitched his ears enquiringly.
“Nah, then, wot’s goin’ h’on ’ere, buckoes?”
Lady Violet came forward, sweeping off her warm
cloak. She draped it about both the hares. Then, crouching down in
front of them, she enquired in a calm low voice, “One thing at a
time, young uns—easy does it now, take your time, try to speak
slowly and clearly. Sage, make your report. What’s upset you
so?”
Lancejack Sage, normally an ebullient haremaid,
stared blankly into space. She spoke in a flat, halting, monotone.
“We went straight out t’the south beach, to relieve the night
Seawatch. I came back straight away with Trug. We left Ferrul an’
Wilbee with ’em. Not proper form, y’see, marm, leavin’ ’em alone
like that. . . .”
Violet took the haremaid’s face in both paws,
staring into her dazed eyes. “Left Ferrul and Wilbee with whom?
Tell me.”
Sage’s companion, Trug Bawdsley, a hefty young
buck, could no longer restrain himself. He shouted aloud, “Saw them
in the mess yesterday, had tea with ’em. Now all four o’ the
poorbeasts are dead! Gilbee, Dobbs, Dunwiddy an’ my sister Trey.
They’re dead, I tell ye!” Here the sturdy fellow broke down,
sobbing uncontrollably.
Nobeast was swifter than the Badger Lady. Seizing a
lance from a wall rack, she swung into action. “Sergeant Miggory,
Lieutenant Scutram, bring a score of armed warriors and follow me!
Major Felton, see these two are cared for. Fortify the gate and
shutter all windows!”
It was a sad and shocking scene on the sands of the
south shore. Four young hare cadets, the night Seawatch, lying
mangled and pierced by arrows amidst the cold ashes of their fire.
Ferrul and Wilbee, whom the lancejack had ordered to stay, were
staring hypnotised at the ghastly tableau. Running in Lady Violet’s
wake, Scutram and Miggory halted the rest at the badger’s
command.
“Hold fast there until I can see what went on. Do
you have a tracker with you, Sergeant?”
Miggory waved his paw at a lean haremaid. “Buff, go
with ’er Ladyship, see wot ye can find.”
Buff Redspore wore the tan-hued tunic of an expert
scout and tracker. She walked with Violet to where the four slain
hares lay. Beckoning Ferrul and Wilbee to remain still, Buff ran a
paw through the fire ashes. “Hmmmm. Burnt out long before
dawn.”
She turned her attention to the dead hares.
“Look at these young uns, marm. Three of ’em
crushed by somethin’, then shot by an arrow apiece, one in the
chest, two in the throat, as they lay there. Now, see this fourth
cadet—he escaped bein’ crushed an’ ran. Three arrows took him in
the back, first one just near the nape o’ the neck.”
Lady Violet studied the evidence. “How can you
tell, Buff?”
The tracker explained. “He’s clutchin’ at the shaft
in his neck—that was his reaction to the first hit. Next two in the
back finished him. Wasn’t crushed, though, Milady. No wheelmarks on
him at all.”
The Badger Ruler interrupted. “Did you say
wheelmarks?”
Buff nodded. “Aye, marm, wheelmarks. Those three
never had time t’run. They were ambushed by some sort o’ big, heavy
cart. Just mowed ’em down like reeds, pore things. Must’ve been
archers ridin’ on the cart. Note the angle these arrows are leanin’
at. They were shot after bein’ run down. No need for it—they were
already dyin’, marm.”
Violet spread her paws in despair. “But why? Run
over by a big cart, then shot by arrows? It doesn’t make any sense,
Buff.”
Picking up a stray arrow, the tracker pointed with
it. “Way back up there in the dunes, that’s where the wheelmarks
seem t’come from. Aye, straight down here at a pretty fast rate,
I’d say. The young uns were on Seawatch, facin’ the water. They
didn’t see it comin,’ all except one of ’em, an’ he was too late to
escape.”
Violet shook her head in bewilderment. “But where
is this big, heavy cart? I can’t see it, can you?”
Buff scratched her ear with the arrow she was
holding. “No, Milady, though I can say this. It had iron-rimmed
wheels, I think—look at those marks it made. Came speedin’ down the
dune slopes, not makin’ a sound, hit the young uns from behind,
then carried right on toward the sea. Left marks in the damp sand
by the tideline. Passed that way just as the tide was on the
turn.”
Violet blinked, scanning the Western Sea. It was
fairly still, and overlaid with thick mist. “And you think this big
cart went into the sea?”
Buff shrugged. “That’s what it jolly well looks
like, marm. Who can flippin’ well say? The tracks are plain, an’
what don’t speak don’t blinkin’ well lie, as my pa used
t’say.”
Lady Violet’s paw suddenly shot out, pointing
northwest. “What’s that out there, off to the right, Buff?
Something green, maybe—it’s not too clear, but it will soon be out
of the mist. . . . See? It’s a ship!”
On the long prow of Greenshroud, Razzid
Wearat, flanked by the searat Mowlag and his bosun, the
mean-featured weasel called Jiboree, showed themselves in plain
view. Razzid pointed his trident at the creatures onshore. “Let
them take a good look an’ see who killed their little
rabbets!”
Mowlag sniggered. “I wagers they’re wishin’ we was
in arrow range so they could pay us back for wot we did.”
Razzid wiped at his weepy eye, judging the
distance. “We ain’t in their range, but they’re in ours. Let’s give
’em somethin’ else t’think about. Jiboree, get the for ’ard weapon
ready!”
Razzid and Mowlag moved back behind a huge
crossbow, which was set up on the prow. Two corsairs carried
forward a massive bolt, a long, thick, timber arrow, iron tipped,
with stiff canvas flights. The thing was half the length of
Greenshroud’s mainmast. Laying it flat on the crossbow, they
notched it against a bowstring of greased heaving line and cranked
the handle which wound the bowstring taut. Razzid stood behind it,
sighting with his good eye and muttering, “That big stripedog’s a
prime target!”
He tripped the lever with his trident pole. With a
mighty whoosh, the bolt shot off over the sea. Streaking
over the shore, it missed Lady Violet by a pawlength. Whizzing on,
it ended its flight buried in a duneside.
The Wearat spat into the water viciously. “Missed!
Ahoy, Mowlag, sail closer in. Put the ship about an’ load the back
bow. I’ll get ’er as we sails off!”
The vessel was brought about so it sailed landward.
Now it was stern onto the shore. The few hares who were armed with
firing equipment hurled slingstones, javelins and arrows, none of
which reached their target.
Razzid bared his fangs as he tripped the lever.
“Yaharr, stripedog, off to Hellgates with ye!”
Violet had beckoned everybeast back now. She stood
boldly on the tideline, facing the stern crossbow. The huge bolt
sped out, straight at her. With graceful contempt, she paced a step
to her right, watching the lethal projectile rush by. It went right
across the sand, smashing to splinters on the rocky fortress
base.
Long Patrol warriors seized the chance, charging
forward into the shallows, hurling everything they could at the big
green ship. A few arrows got as far as the highgalleried stern. As
they stuck into the timbers, Razzid shouted orders.
“Mowlag, get them oarbeasts workin’. Take ’er out
to sea!” Moments later, the Greenshroud had vanished into
the thinning curtain of mist.
Colour Sergeant Miggory rattled out orders at the
Long Patrollers who were wading into deeper water to attack the
enemy ship. “H’all ranks inna water will retreat! Fall back! Move
yoreselves h’afore that ship turns round an’ cuts ye off from the
shore!”
As the hares waded reluctantly back to land, the
sergeant turned to Lady Violet and Buff Redspore. He saluted the
Badger Ruler. “Well, Milady, you nearly got yoreself slain twice
there, h’if’n ye don’t mind me mentionin’ h’it!”
Violet watched the bright morning sun dispersing
the mist over the Western Sea. “Rest easy, friend. I knew what I
was doing.”
Buff Redspore nodded. “Aye, marm, you were tryin’
to bring that confounded ship closer in, so you could inspect her,
wot? So, did ye manage to jolly well see what I saw?”
Violet made a circular motion with one paw. “Indeed
I did, Buff. I know how our hares were murdered. It wasn’t a cart.
It was a ship with four wheels.”
Miggory’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “A wot? A ship
with bloomin’ wheels, Milady?”
The tracker confirmed Violet’s words. “Aye,
Sergeant. I saw ’em m’self, four iron-rimmed wheels, two for’ard
and two aft. I glimpsed them when the vermin ship turned about. The
crafty scum—who’d have thought up such an idea, wot?”
Violet shrugged. “Not all vermin are stupid. It was
a fiendish idea, but a good one from their point of view. The beast
carrying the trident, who stood out on the prow, was that the
Wearat?”
Buff Redspore answered. “That was him, marm. I’ve
seen the blighter twice in bygone seasons. Once when I was scoutin’
far down the south coast and again when that ship was in these
waters. That time he sailed right by our mountain, though he didn’t
dare jolly well try an’ land. Like most of his flippin’ kind, a
born coward when it comes to meetin’ real warriors.”
Lieutenant Scutram joined the conversation. “Be
that as it may, that Wearat can do as he likes with a craft like
that. Either by land or sea. Did ye see the size of the two
crossbows she was carryin’? ’Pon my word, they could do some
damage, I’ll tell ye!”
The speculation was interrupted by young Trug
Bawdsley. He marched up to Lady Violet with tears streaming down
his sturdy face, then saluted her.
“Permission to form a burial detail, marm. For our
fallen cadets. I don’t want t’see my poor young sister Trey lyin’
out on the sands like that, marm!”
His head drooped as he began weeping inconsolably.
As Lady Violet pulled him gently to her, Trug buried his face in
her robe, sobbing pitifully. Violet patted his back.
“You have my permission, Trug. We’ll turn the
regiment out at sunset and give them full honours.” She nodded to
the tracker and any officers present. “Make your way back to my
forge chamber. We’ve got important business to discuss, which can’t
wait.”
Inside Salamandastron, a late breakfast was served
in the forge chamber. All senior Long Patrol officers listened
intently to Lady Violet as she spoke of the day’s tragic
events.
“I, and no doubt you, too, friends, are deeply
grieved at what took place before dawn today. You’ve heard Buff
Redspore’s report on the corsair vessel, and you are aware of the
danger it threatens.”
She paused to acknowledge a very old, overweight
hare. “Yes, Colonel Bletgore?”
Colonel Blenkinsop Wilford Bletgore was the oldest
hare on the mountain. His tunic, which could hardly be seen for
medals and ribbons, was weathered from scarlet to faint pink.
Huffing and puffing, he was hauled upright from his chair by two
younger hares. Bletgore’s profuse silver whiskers jumped up and
down in time with his wobbling chins as he grunted.
“Stap me swagger stick, vermin ships attackin’ this
mountain fortress—stuff’n’nonsense, marm, fiddlesticks an’
hobbledehoy! Wot, wot, wot! Stand as much chance as a gnat chargin’
a bloomin’ oak tree!”
Lady Violet remained patient until the ancient
colonel had run out of humphing and blathering. Picking up a slim
rapier, she pointed to the relief map graven on the stone wall,
showing all the coast, from north to south on the west side.
Politely, she explained, “Thank you, Colonel. I
appreciate what you say, but it isn’t just us. The entire
coastline, and this part of it in Mossflower, is our
responsibility. We must protect all good creatures, not just
ourselves. So, my friends, I’m open to any helpful
suggestions.”
Old Colonel Bletgore spoke out to nobeast in
particular. “Blood’n’vinegar, wot—that’s all vermin understand!
Shout Eulalia, charge an’ leave none o’ the villains alive. That’s
what we did in my younger seasons, eh, wot!”
Major Felton Fforbes sniffed. “Trouble is, we’ve
never had a navy. No disrespect to you, marm, but vermin ships can
commit murder, then sail off, free as flippin’ larks. There ain’t a
bally thing us hares can do about it, wot?”
Sergeant Miggory summed up further. “Now they’ve
got h’a ship that can sail the land, too. We’re in double trouble,
so wot’s the h’answer? Do we get h’our own navy, marm?”
Lady Violet toyed with the rapier hilt. “There’s no
vermin force that could stand against our Long Patrol warriors,
even in land-borne ships. Major Fforbes is right. If they can slip
back into the sea, we can’t pursue them. Hares have never been
seabeasts, it’s no good talking about us having a navy. We know
little of mariners’ ways. We need allies who are skilled in the
ways of sailoring.”
Lieutenant Scutram had a suggestion.
“What about otters, marm? I don’t mean river an’
stream types who dwell inland, but sea otters.”
Buff Redspore spoke out in agreement. “Aye, sea
otters who are fighters. I know there’s a lot of ’em up on the High
North Coast. They like nothin’ better than a good skirmish. I’ll
wager they’d be willin’ to jolly well help us!”
Colonel Bletgore, who had been dropping off into a
doze, immediately began a diatribe at the idea. “Hah, sea otters?
Confounded rogues, ye mean! Not a scrap o’ manners among that
flamin’ lot. Skor Wotjamicallim . . . Hatchet Dog, or some other
dreadful outlandish name. Hah, pish an’ tosh, marm. Never!”
Lady Violet looked around the assembly. “I think
I’ve heard him spoken of as Skor Axehound. Has anyone further
knowledge of him or his tribe?”
Captain Rake Nightfur, a tall, dangerous-looking
black hare, with a deep scar running from ear to chin, stepped
forward, pawing the hilts of two claymores he wore across his
shoulders. “Afore Ah came tae Salamandastron, Ah lived on the High
North Coast. When Ah was younger, Ah fought alangside the braw Skor
an’ his warriors. Ye’ll no’ find bonnier an’ no mair fearsome
beasties than the Chieftain Skor—aye, an’ his Rogues.”
Captain Rake paused, staring around the forge
chamber. “Hark tae me. Ah’ll no’ tolerate a slight or ill word
against Skor Axehound or his crew. D’ye ken?”
Lady Violet smiled at the captain. “Oh, I think we
all got the message, Cap’n Rake. This High North Coast you speak
of, I take it the territory is some fair distance from here. Would
you be willing to visit there as an ambassador from me?”
Rake bowed gallantly, then drew his swords, placing
them in front of Violet. “Mah fealty, mah blades, mah heart an’
paws are yours tae command, fair lady!”
The Badger Ruler’s violet-hu ed eyes twinkled
momentarily. “I never doubted that for an instant, Rake, thank you!
Now, I wish you to start as soon as possible on this mission. Take
with you a score of Long Patrollers of your own choosing, and may
fortune be with you.”