"Oh we'll tramp, tramp, tramp!
if the sergeant says we must.
Aye, we'll left, right, left!
'til our paws raise up the dust!
With me blade ever ready at my side, an' a knapsack full o' vittles on me back,
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I'll go rangin' over hills far an' wide, an' good comrades like you I'll never lack!
"Oh, we'll march, march, march!
'til our paws are droppin' off, until it's one, two, halt!
Tell the cook to serve the scoff!"
Lord Asheye allowed himself a rueful smile. Those were the days! Long gone seasons, when he would go roving forth at the head of his Long Patrol. Some of those hares had been sprightly paced, but he could outmarch them all. Aye, those were the days of his strength and prime, full of exuberant power and speed. In those times, there was none to equal Lord Asheye. Nobeast possessed his reckless daring in battle.
He gripped his staff tight, sighed deeply, then released his hold on the stout yew pole. Ah, but then... no creature had the Bloodwrath like him. What had been a boon in youth and war had become a curse in old age and peacetime. Now the countless seasons weighed upon his silvered fur like a millstone. Now he was paying the price for that wild life he had led. The great badger's mighty frame was bent with age, old wounds he had taken were a toll on his stiff limbs.
But the worst penalty by far was his blindness. All those blows and injuries he had sustained, whilst fighting heedlessly in the grip of Bloodwrath. Asheye had paid for them with the loss of his sight. He heaved himself from his seat on the rock, stepped awkwardly upon a small boulder and tripped. Blowing sand from both nostrils, the once-great beast reached out, scrabbling vainly for the staff, which seemed to elude his paws. Lord Asheye smiled bitterly, muttering aloud to himself, "As blind as a badger, hah, where've I heard that before?"
A stout paw passed him the staff, and helped him upright. " 'T'wasn't me that said it, sah, you'd have prob'ly
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taken my bonce off with a single biff, if I had, wot!" The Badger Lord immediately identified the speaker by his firm grip and drawn-out speech mode.
"Ah, Mull, take me inside, will you please."
Major Mullein Braggwuth Barshaw was a tall, distinguished hare. He wore the dark blue, silver-buttoned tunic of Salamandastron's Commanding Scout Major. Other hares, those of his rank and above, referred to him as Mull. A strict disciplinarian, expert scout and formidable fighter, Mull had been constantly at his Lord's side in the last few seasons. The pair shared a friendship that went back a long way. Mull steered Asheye toward the main fortress door, chatting leisurely.
"Inside it is, sah, teatime doncha know, hot scones, dab o' meadowcream, strawb'rry preserve, an' mint tea, wot! A charmin' an' delicious daily ritual, sah!"
The old Badger Lord shuffled past the main door into a vast, rough-hewn corridor, whose walls were adorned with family crests, suits of armour, fearsome weapons and regimental flags. Lowering his voice, Asheye confided to his companion, "Let's not go into the large Mess Hall. Have them send tea up to my forge room, Mull. I need to speak with you in private. Too much din in that Mess Hall."
Major Mullein nodded. "Right y'are, sah." He signalled to a pair of young hares who were on their way to the mess. "Tringle, Furps, nip along and see the Quartermaster Sarn't, will ye. Tell him to set out two trays of afternoon tea for us, bring 'em up to the forge room, if y'd be so kind."
The youngsters both threw the Major a smart salute. Furp's sister, Tringle, smiled impudently at Mullein. "Both with cream'n'jam, Major?"
Lord Asheye glared her way in mock severity. "With extra cream and jam, young miss. Oh, and Furps, remember which is your left paw and which is your right. Don't go tripping and spilling any, eh."
Furps bowed awkwardly and stumbled against Tringle.
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"Oh er, ah, hmm, no trippin' an' spillin', do m'best, y'lord-ship, I certainly will, wot!"
Both young hares shouted simultaneously, "On y'marks! Get set! Go!" They bounded off at top speed. Major Mullein chuckled.
"Stap me, sah, those two haven't stopped racing against each other since the day they were born."
The old badger made a shrewd observation. "That's because they both want to be runners in your Scout Patrol, Mull."
The Major was surprised that Asheye concerned himself with such small details. However, he hid his feelings with a languid drawl. "Do they really, I hadn't noticed, sah."
Lord Asheye's forge room was the traditional retreat of every mountain ruler, going back in time to the first Badger Lord. It had a raised fire at its centre, which was never allowed to go out. Charcoal, seacoal and driftwood were piled along one wall of the room, which had all the trappings of an armourer: two anvils, a quenching vat, a ready supply of metal and well-seasoned timber. The metal for blades, the timber for handles and hafts. There was also a bellows, a barrel of oil and bunches of secret herbs, used in the making of weapons. On the wall opposite the door was a long, open windowspace, facing the shore and the western sea.
Lord Asheye sat on the low, wide sill, beckoning the Major to sit beside him. Mullein had been in the forge room many times, yet he still could not help staring in wonder at the weapons which hung from its walls.
Most of them were made for Warrior Badgers, huge spears, hefty shields, stout longbows with arrows almost as tall as himself, and swords. Such swords they were, legendary weapons of massive proportions, broad-bladed, double-pawed hilts, far too heavy for any but a Badger Lord to wield.
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Asheye spread his big, greasy forge apron on the sill between them as a knock sounded on the door. "Ah, the tea. Come in, please!"
It was the first time Furps and Tringle had been permitted to enter this inner sanctum. Their heads swivelled from side to side, trying to take in everything.
Major Mullein hid a smile, cautioning them, "Eyes front, chaps, look where you're jolly well goin'. Lose that tea an' I'll have your tails for dinner, an' your guts for garters."
Wobbling slightly, the two young hares made their way to the sill and placed the trays down gingerly. Lord Asheye gave their ears a gentle tug.
"Well done, you two. Now, let's see who'll be first back to the mess. On y'marks ... get set... go!"
They flew off like twin arrows, with the Major shouting, "I say, shut that door on y'way out! Oh never mind, I'll jolly well do it myself, wot!" He rose and went to shut the door. "Now, sah, what were y'wantin' to chinwag about, eh, wot?" Mullein spread a substantial-looking scone with strawberry preserve and thick meadowcream.
Lord Asheye ignored the food, lowering his voice as he confided to the Major. "This is for your ears alone, Mull, not to go beyond this room. Understood?"
"Indeed, sah, mum's the word, wot!"
Asheye nodded his great silver head. "Good beast, Mull, I know I can depend on you, so listen carefully. Since the turn of the last moon I've been having dreams...."
The Major interrupted with a chuckle. "Know what y'mean, sah, I get 'em m'self. Some pretty odd ones, when I've been scoffin' cheese'n'pickles for supper in the mess."
Asheye gave a deep snort of irritation. Mullein knew he had said the wrong thing and apologised.
"Ahem, most dreadfully sorry, m'lud, bloomin' silly of me t'mention it. Pray continue, sah!"
The old Badger Lord carried on with what he was saying. "Being blind has sharpened my perception, made me face things more rationally. Though what rhyme or reason
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there is in the voices of long-gone Badger Lords I cannot say. But I trust in them, and I feel instinctively I must heed their words.
"They have told me of my fate, and mark this, the ones who speak to me in dreams cannot be ignored. This is what I have learned. It is decreed that once the autumn leaves start to fall, I will not be seen again at Salamandastron. So it must be."
Mullein protested. "Not you, sah, why, you've got absolute scads o' seasons to go yet!"