Glimbo’s good eye rolled about alarmingly in its socket—he was completely terrified. “Unnerstood!”
The badger drew a long knife from his arm sheath and severed the whipcoils with a swift stroke. The Searat shot off like a hare at top speed. Lonna drew back the bowstring, homing in on the fleeing figure.
“Never mind, I’ll find my own way.”
33
Fenna lowered her head quickly. More thin, sharp reed lances whipped viciously by. “Don’t they ever run short of those things?”
Without raising himself, Bragoon hurled off a slingstone. “There’s always reeds aplenty on riverbanks. They just cut ’em an’ point one end—it makes a good throwin’ lance, sharp an’ dangerous. I’ve used ’em meself in the past.”
Saro suddenly rolled in beside Springald. “Aye, but ye weren’t much good with lances, too ’eavy pawed.”
The otter scratched his rudder. “Where did you come from, mate?”
Saro smiled, secretly enjoying the surprise she had in store. “I found a bend in the river down that way, an’ guess wot else I found?”
She signalled with her paw. Suddenly Springald found herself being jostled by a score of shrews who had crept out from behind trees and bushes to join them in the shelter of the log.
The otter uttered a delighted growl. “Guoraf shrews . . . Great!”
Saro pointed to Jigger. “Aye, Guoraf shrews, an’ who does this ’un remind ye of, Brag?”
The otter inspected Jigger’s face, noting the beard he was starting to cultivate. “Wait, don’t tell me, are ye a kinbeast to Log a Log Briggy, young ’un?”
Jigger expertly caught a reed lance as it flew by. As he cast it back downhill, he was rewarded by a reptile’s scream. “Briggy’s me old daddy. You must be Bragoon, the mad otter. Daddy’s tole me about you. Pleased t’meetcha!”
Fenna whispered to Saro. “What’s a Guoraf shrew?”
The squirrel explained, “That’s just the first letters of their tribename. Guerilla Union of Roving and Fighting Shrews. They’re good friends an’ fearsome warriors. Sometimes I think that they do all their far rangin’ just lookin’ for fights. Me’n Brag have battled alongside of ’em once or twice through past seasons.”
When everyone was acquainted, Jigger outlined the plan. “We’ve got to ’old on, ’til me dad an’ the others get set on the far bank. Then when we ’ears the signal, we charge an’ cut loose at those reptiles on our side.”
Bragoon mulled it over. “Sounds like good sense t’me, mate. This crowd down below ain’t goin’ anyplace. They’re tryin’ to outwait us, an’ slay us all when we makes a move t’leave.”
Jigger peered over the log and ducked a few lances. He thudded the ground with his club, chortling eagerly, “Reptiles’ll stan’ about waitin’ fer ages in the sun. Well, I ’ope they enjoys their sunbath, ’cos we’ll be givin’ ’em a different kind o’ tannin’. Hahaha!”
Saro spotted slight movements in the bushes on the far hillside. “Looks like ole Briggy’s gettin’ the lads into position. Won’t be long now.”
Without any prior warning, Horty came skipping blithely out from beneath the overhang. He ran by the log, speeding downhill and calling back to them, “Shrews, eh? Where’d ye meet that flippin’ lot? I feel much better now, chaps. Who’s for a jolly old paddle in the shallows, wot?”
When three lances came zinging at him, the young hare stopped, but the weapons had pierced his ridiculous headdressing. He ground to a halt, only paces from the dumbfounded reptiles.
“Great blinkin’ seasons, have a flamin’ care where you’re chuckin’ those things. A chap could get injured by them!”
Knowing that the plan had been ruined, Bragoon, Saro and Jigger, followed by their fighting force, came bounding downhill. At the bottom they found, to their shock, that the reptiles were lying prostrate, facedown in front of the young hare. Horty stood posing majestically, the three lances transfixing his turban.
Saro glared at him. “Wot were ye thinkin’ of, ye great idiot? Lollopin’ off right into the middle of the enemy like that!”
Horty gave her a scathing glance. “Hold your tongue, marm. These chaps are just showin’ their respect to me. Hawhaw, they must think I’m the Great Hortyplonk, descended from out the bloomin’ sky, wot!”
Springald scoffed in his face. “Then they must be bigger idiots than you! D’you realise you could’ve been killed?”
As she spoke, there was a whooping warcry from the far bank. Logalogalogalooooooog! Briggy had commenced attacking the reptiles over there.
The reptiles laid out in awe of Horty lifted their faces. When they saw the score of shrews brandishing their clubs, they rose, backing off into the shallows.
Horty took a few paces toward them. “I say there, old scaly-skinned chaps . . .”
Hissing and squeaking, the reptiles fled into the water.
The young hare turned to Jigger, who was looking rather crestfallen. “Oops, sorry about that, old lad. Were you goin’ to give those bounders a good drubbin’? I didn’t realise. Oh well, never mind. Come on, we’ll pursue ’em into the river an’ deal ’em a few severe whackin’s, wot!” He trotted into the shallows but was immediately set upon and hauled back by four shrews.
Horty protested vehemently. “Wot the . . . ? I say, unpaw me, little sirrahs, I’m not scared of a few mangy reptiles, by the left, I ain’t!”
Jigger remarked caustically. “Oh, we know ye ain’t, lop-ears. But it’s not the reptiles that’s the danger on this stretch o’ the river. Watch!”
He picked up a lance and went into the shallows, holding the weapon out into the water at paw’s length. Suddenly it began to shake and vibrate. When Jigger pulled it out, the tip was ripped and ragged. A small fish, which seemed to consist of only big, needlelike teeth, was clinging doggedly to it. Jigger flicked the creature back into the water.
“ ’Tis the fish that are the slayers ’ere!”
The reptiles were being swept downriver, shrieking unmercifully as the water about them reddened.
Horty sat down in a collapse on the bank, looking pale about the gills.
“Oh corks, I feel quite ill all of a sudden!”
On the far bank, the reptiles were taking a colossal walloping from Briggy and his command. They had tossed a big logboat sail over their foes, capturing most of them beneath the spreading canvas. Some of the Guorafs held the ends down, while others galloped about on the sailcloth, dealing great whacks with their war clubs to any bump that appeared—be it head, tail, back or limb. Gradually the canvas subsided and was still.
Log a Log Briggy waved over to them, his stentorian bass voice booming over the waters. “Stop there, friends, I’ve sent a crew to git the boats. They’ll pick ye up an’ bring ye over!”
It was a glorious evening on the far bank. Six logboats lay prow on to the bankside, as the travellers sat among their shrewfriends.
Horty sniffed the air appreciatively, his whiskers atwitch at the aromas of cooking. “I say, old Briggathingee, is that supper I detect? Jolly nice of you chaps, wot!”
Briggy pulled a mock glare at Bragoon. “So, ye had t’bring a starvin’ hare along with ye this trip. I’ll wager that lollop-lugged young famine maker can shift a tidy few platefuls, eh?”
Horty smiled primly. “Oh, I just nibble a bit here’n’there, y’know, sah. Actually I’ve not been feelin’ too chipper of late. But if the scoff’s as good as it smells, well, I might persuade myself to try it, wot.”
Jigger looked askance at him. “Lissen, mate, if’n ye want to sail wid the Guorafs, ye’ve got t’be a big eater an’ a great bragger, like Drinchy ’ere. Ain’t that right, Drinch? Show the harebeast ’ow ’tis done.”