High Rhulain

33

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’ll 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!”

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 forehead 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!”

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 was about to object when Kolun cautioned him, “Ye don’t argue with a queen, Major, especially one that sounds like my missus when 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’up 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 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 had 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 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 rockgathering 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.

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 whom 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 upon 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!”

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 ensuing 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, who 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 steepshaled 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 themselves out by scrabbling at the steeply banked loose scree.

Without any prior warning, the dark waters rose in a hump, 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.”

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!”