High Rhulain

24

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 headwound. 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 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, idlebeasts! 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. Just as the weilmark was beginning to doze off in the warm 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, backing him toward the lake as he prodded him with a punishing 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? 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 muddy 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.”

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’ about 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, who was obviously half dead with fatigue. Both appeared to be numb 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.

“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’s 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 surrenderin’ 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 thunder 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 the 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 uphill out of Holt Summerdell.

It had been a long, hot day. Leatho watched from his high prison as the westering sun set in a blaze of crimson glory. His paws ached abominably from where the ropes cut cruelly into them. The last moisture he had tasted was when the warlord emptied the bucket of water over his head. He licked thirstily at his dried lips and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain from his wounded head, which denied sleep 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 unfolding, 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 dreaming 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.