Had it been ten rats or twenty, Lonna did not like either their manner or their disposition, so he charged them without warning. They went down like ninepins under the giant badger’s onslaught. Seizing the leader of the patrol, Lonna hurled him bodily into the other rats. Then the big badger was among them like a whirlwind—punching, kicking, butting, thrashing them with their own spears. So surprised were the Darrat that they fled in panic, kicking up sand widespread as they scuttled off amid the hills.
Lonna picked up his bow and quiver. Then, throwing back his great striped head, he gave vent to the fearsome warcry of hares and badgers. “Eulaliiiiiaaaaaa!”
However, with much more urgent business to attend to, he let the Darrat be, and didn’t give chase. Instead, Lonna set off swiftly on the trail of the Searat.
When the Darrat saw they were not being pursued, they halted on the plain beside the foothills. The patrol leader limped up, carrying half a broken spear. He watched the big badger crossing a hilltop, some distance off.
Turning to his subordinates, who were sitting licking their wounds, he snarled, “We was sent to catcher rabbert, mouse an’ squirri’, not stripedog! Huh, let High Kappin catcher that ’un—’e be over dat way wid many Darrat!”
The Searat saw Lonna coming after him. Deserting the hills, he dashed out onto the dusty plain. It was a mistake, the last mistake he was ever to make. The badger’s arrow found him. Once Lonna had the range, nobeast could outrun a shaft from his big bow. Though Wirga did not know, she had lost all three of her sons.
Lonna sat down in a hollow amid the hills and made breakfast from the food in his pack.
Out on the flatlands the five travellers pushed forward, keeping the distant cliffs in view. They marched shoulder to shoulder because, as Saro had pointed out, that way they would not be eating one another’s dust. Since their rescue, Springald and Fenna were paying more attention to Bragoon and Saro. Seasoned campaigners both, the squirrel and the otter were ever ready to share their knowledge with the younger, less experienced trio.
Horty was feeling rather chipper now that any immediate danger was past. He struck up a jolly marching song, to which he himself had written the lyrics. As was usual with hare songs, it dealt mainly with food.
“Oh wallop me left an’ stagger me right,
an’ buffet me north an’ south,
if I could teach a stew to walk,
it’d march right into me mouth!
To pasties an’ pies of convenient size,
I’d beat a tattoo on me drum,
so jolly forceful, each tasty morsel,
tramp over me gums to me tum!
As each of ’em trips in through me lips,
all skippin’ along to the beat,
why all of a sudden I’d grab a fat pudden,
an’ leave it no way to retreat!
Form up in line, you vittles so fine,
watch y’dressin’ that salad back there,
a quick salute to trifle’n’fruit,
then charge down the throat of the hare!
Quick march! One two! Scoff ’em all! You an’ you!
Left right! Left right! Here comes supper for tonight!”
A grey, black-flecked Darrat scout came loping into the camp in the foothills of the high cliffs. He threw himself flat in front of High Kappin Birug, the Darrat leader. Pointing back to the scrubland, the rat scout shouted, “Burcha Glugg!”
Birug dashed past him to the top of a hill. He crouched, peering at the small dust cloud with the travellers marching in front of it, not half a mile away. Smirking with satisfaction, Birug turned to the others who had followed him.
“Hemper Figlugg, trus’ me, ho yar, I know dey only go one way. Run for bigrocks. We wait, they be come to us. Burcha Glugg!”
Darrat vermin shook their heads in admiration of Kappin Birug’s cunning. One of them piped up. “Hemper be ’appy to see Burcha Glugg come back.” The more excited of the Darrat leaped up and down, waving spears.
Birug growled a warning at them. “Keepa ’eads down, idjits!”
Horty glanced up at the sky. “Cloudin’ over up there, chaps. We might have a spot of jolly old rain before nightfall, wot?”
Bragoon sniffed the light breeze. “Bit more’n a spot, matey. Looks like we’re in for a downpour afore dark. Keep movin’, step the pace up. Mebbe we’ll find shelter in the lee of those big cliffs.”
Fenna let out a gasp and sat down. “Ouch, my footpaw!”
They gathered around her, crouching down to take a look. The squirrelmaid spoke through lips that hardly moved. “Stay down, all of you, don’t look toward those foothills!”
Bragoon kept his eyes on Fenna. “Why, what’s goin’ on?”
She quickly responded. “Rats ahead, they look like those flesh-eating ones!”
Springald automatically began to look up, but Sarobando pressed her head back down. “Listen to Fenna an’ keep yore eyes down, miss. How many d’ye reckon there are?”
Bragoon interrupted. “Plenty, I’ll wager. Too many for us to fight off. I told ye, those vermin don’t give up easily. They’ve been waitin’ in the foothills for us to show up. Well, mates, wot’s t’be done, eh?”
Fenna shrugged. “I suppose we’ll have to run for it.”
Bragoon shook his head. “Bad idea! They’d outcircle us.”
Horty began shrugging off his backpack. “Does any chap mind me makin’ a suggestion, wot?”
Saro saw that the young hare looked serious. “As long as ’tis sensible. Go on then, wot’s yore idea?”
Horty shed his backpack. “Give me some old, dead brush, an’ I’ll decoy the rotters. A hare can jolly well outrun ’em if anybeast can. I’ll take the villains off one way, while you lot go runnin’ off the bally opposite way. See that black hole up there, about halfway along the cliffs? I’ll meet y’back there after dark. Well, what d’you think?”
Springald objected. “It’s far too dangerous. You’ll be caught.”
Saro stared at Horty. “I say give it a try, it might work. Otherwise, we’ll just stick together and get nabbed.”
Bragoon winked at the hare. “Right, go to it, young ’un. Good luck!”
Two Darrat spies peeped over the hilltop, to where the dust cloud had stopped. One whispered. “Warra dey do now, jus’ lay dere?”
The other one leaped up as the dust plume started again, moving swiftly north. “Musta see’d us, dey runnin’ now, fast!”
He waved his spear, calling to Birug, who had the rats standing ready, “Kappin, dey go lef’ plenty fasta!”
Horty pelted along with a bunch of dead bracken tied to his tail, raising a dust cloud that stood out light brown against the lowering clouds. Glancing sideways, he saw the Darrat rats pouring over the hill, veering in his direction. He muttered between clenched teeth.
“Ahah! That’s the way, you vile vermin. Come on, you shower, follow Hortwill Braebuck, skimmer of the scrublands!”
Fenna raised her head. In the distance she could see the dust cloud off to her left. “Good old Horty, he’s whipping along like a whirlwind!”
Still crouching low, they watched their friend’s progress, comparing it to the crowd of Darrat vermin chasing him. Horty was indeed a Redwaller, brave and courageous. Springald felt elation and pride surging through her. She clenched her paws.
“Go on, mate, there’s none faster than you! Flesh eaters, hah! All those scum will eat is the dust in his wake! Run them, Horty, show those rats what a hare from our Abbey can do!”
As soon as Bragoon saw the two dust plumes, he realised that the Darrat had come out of the hills and hit the scrubland. Their intended quarry was far and away out in front. The otter’s eyes shone with admiration.
“I said that young ’un has the makins of a real warrior. He’ll lead ’em a merry dance alright. Oh, drat, here comes the rain!”
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