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, who 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, who gave you the order? Speak, friend, don’t be afraid. I wouldn’t slay any true warrior of mine.”
The scorecat uttered a deep sigh of relief. “Lord, it was your son, Commander Pitru, who 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.
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!
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. “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 with innumerable 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’I was nought but a liddle leveret. The colonel brought me h’up, y’see. H’I don’t recall ’avin’ no parents, miss.”