"Oh, whoopsy doo an' fiddley dee! This is the life, eh, sah? I say there, Ruff my old streambasher, d'you know any jolly songs that creatures sing when they're out boating?"
The otter flicked water at her with his paddle. "Bless yer 'eart, Dotti, 'course I do, but they're called shanties or water ballads. 'Ere's one y'can both join in with. The chorus is very simple'elps t'keep the rhythm o' the paddles goin', y'see. It goes like this."
Ruff sang the chorus once, then launched into a deep-throated old boatsong.
"Hey ho ahoy we go.
Row, me hearties. Row row row!
Chucklin' bubblin' life's a dream,
I'm the brook that finds the stream.
Hey ho ahoy we go. Row, me hearties.
Row row row!
Sun an' shade an' fish aquiver,
This ole stream flows to the river.
Hey ho ahoy we go.
Row, me hearties. Row row row!
Down mates down an' toiler me,
I'm the river bound to the sea.
Hey ho ahoy we go.
Row, me hearties. Row row row!"
Ruff's elm tree fairly skimmed the water, with him singing the verses and his two friends roaring out the chorus like two seasoned old riverbeasts. The otter signaled them to stop rowing. "Ship yore paddles, mates, let 'er run with the current!"
Normally a staid creature, as befits a Badger Lord, Brocktree was exhilarated, grinning like a Dibbun. "My my, Ruff, I can see why you love the freedom of the waterways. It certainly is a pleasant experience."
Guiding his elm log boat with the odd paddle stroke, Ruff watched the stream ahead knowingly. "Oh, it ain't so bad most seasons, but don't go gettin' too taken up with it, Brock. You gets the ice in winter, snow, hail, rainstorms, dry creeks, rocks, driftwood an' gales. Once y'gets used to that lot then you got to face rapids, sandbanks, cross-currents an' waterfalls. Aside from that there's savage pike an' eel shoals an' all manner o' bad-minded vermin watchin' the water an' huntin' their prey both sides o' the banks."
Dotti waved a paw dismissively. "Oh, pish tush, sah. It doesn't seem t'bother you!"
Ruff pulled a tangle of line from his pack. Checking the hook and weight on it, he baited up with a few water-shrimp left over from the hotroot soup. "Fish for supper, shipmates. Look 'ere at this fat shoal o' dace!"
Through the deep, fast-flowing stream they glimpsed the dace, cruising through the trailing moss and weed, their olive-green backs and silver flanks shining wherever rays of sunlight pierced the water. They were fine plump fish. Ruff trailed the line as they followed the log, keeping in its shadow.
"I'll just snag two o' the beauties, that should do us. Hearken t'me, Dotti. If'n yore bound to take the life of a livin' thing for food, then take only wot you need. Life's too precious a thing t'be wasted, ain't that right, Brock?"
The badger nodded solemnly. "Aye, that's so. A lesson every creature should learn."
That evening they camped at the mouth of a small inlet and Ruff cooked the fish for them. After the long day on the stream it was a delicious meal.
Lord Brocktree sat back, cleaning his teeth with a twig. "I've tasted trout and grayling, but never anything like that dace before. You must tell me how you prepared it, Ruff."
Looking furtively about, the otter managed a gruff whisper. "My grandma's secret recipe 'tis, an' if'n she was 'ere now she'd skelp me tail with a birch rod for tellin' ye. You needs tender new dannylion shoots, wild onions an' hedge parsley, oh, an' two fat leeks. Chop 'em all up an' set 'em o'er the fire in a liddle water, but don't boil 'em. Then when you've topped'n'tailed yore two dace, you lays them fishes flat on a thin rock. Mix cornflour an' oats with a drop o' water from yore veggibles an' spread it o'er the fishes, so they bakes with a good crunchy crust. Drain off the veggibles while they're still firm, spread 'em in a bed an' top the lot off with your dace. But don't you two ever breathe a word to any otter that 'twas me wot told ye the recipe. Alive or dead, ole Grandma'd either hunt or haunt me!"
Dotti began reaching for her harecordion. "Time for a jolly old ditty, eh, chaps?"
Nobeast was more relieved than Brocktree when Ruff put the blocks on the haremaid's warbling. "Best not, missymate. This ain't too friendly a part o' the woodlandsyou'd prob'ly attract unwelcome visitors. Best sleep now. We've got an early start in the morn."
Dotti yawned. "You're right, of course. My beauty sleep."
When the fire had burned to white embers, Ruff checked that Dotti was sound asleep. He shook the badger gently, cautioning him to silence. "Lissen, Brock, we could've sailed further today, but I chose to berth in this spot because I feel there'll be trouble further downstream. No sense in upsettin' young pretty features there. Look, I've got a plan. 'Ere's wot we'll do. I'll wake ye at the crack o' dawn an' the pair of us will rise nice an' quiet. Then.. ."
When Ruff had outlined his scheme Lord Brocktree nodded agreement. Then he lay down again and stared at the canopy of stars twinkling through the trees, his paw clasping the battle blade at the ready, noting every noise of flora or fauna in the forest night.
Chapter 7
The night that fell over the three companions on the streambank also lowered its shades over Salamandastron and the western shores. Silently, with furled sails, ships drifted in on the flood tide. Out of the thinning mists they slid, headed for the shore on the quiet swell. Ships upon ships upon ships . . . craft of every description from single- to four-masted, flat-bottomed, deep-keeled, bulky and sleek, large and small. Any creature could have walked the length of the sea, a league from north to south, by stepping from ship to ship without once wetting a paw.
Then came the Blue Hordes of Ungatt Trunn from north and south, marching along the shores, the sounds of their footpaws muffled in the soft sands, in columns fifty deep and fifty long, following their commanders. No war drums were seen, nor trumpets, nor any other instrument, flute, cymbal or horn, to aid the marching. Starlight glinted dully off armor, speartip, blade and arrowhead as they came, closing in on Salamandastron like the jaws of a giant pincer. Inscrutable masses, perfectly drilled, the ultimate machine of destruction.
Flanked by twoscore soldiers, Ungatt Trunn strode up to the rocky fortress, his only illumination a torch held in the paws of Groddil. The wildcat's keen eyes flicked up to the long open rectangle of Stonepaw's room. There stood the Badger Lord of Salamandastron, clad in war armor, holding an enormous javelin.
"So, you are still here, stripedog?" Ungatt Trunn called up in his savage guttural growl.
The reply was immediate. "Aye, to the death, stripecat!"
The wildcat's fangs showed in a sneer of derision. "So be it. 'Twill be your death, not mine!"
"Big words," Stonepaw retorted mockingly. "I've already heard big words from the bad-mannered scum you sent here earlier today. They mean nought to me, the ravings of fools and idiots. Your messenger said you would make the stars fall from the sky. Look up, braggart. They are still there and always will be!"
The badger's words stung the wildcat. His voice quivered with rage as he detected the laughter of hares all around. "I have no more words for you, stripedog. Tell them, Fragorl!"
Like a ghost, the hooded figure materialized out of the night. "These are the days of Ungatt Trunn the Fearsome Beast. Know you that he always speaks truth. If he says the stars will fall from the sky, then even they must obey. Look!"
Groddil flung a pawful of powder on his palely burning torch. With a whoosh it shot up a bolt of brilliant blue flame. This was the signal. Every beast of the horde onshore and every creature crowding the decks of the hovering ships immediately lighted, each one, a torch they carried specially for the purpose. In the awesome scene that was revealed, land and sea, as far as the eye could gaze, was ablaze. Stiffener Medick peered up at the sky. Because of the intensity of light below, not a single star could be seen, just a wide black void. Any creature on the reaches of Salamandastron's heights could look out and see countless myriad lights ranging out to the horizon.