Hisk shook his spear triumphantly. "The marshlands, that's where they're hiding. No wonder they thought they were safe. Who'd follow anybeast into marshes? Well, their secret hiding place isn't a secret any more. Keep your eyes peeled for a campfire among these bulrushes."
As he was talking, the trackers bypassed him and went ahead. Eager to complete their mission, they raced along with the tracks clear in the soft heavy ground. Flink pawed at a broken rush, noting the way grass had been trampled. " 'S funny, the ground's pretty soft here. They must have found a firm path to get a loaded cart into marshland, eh, Buggy?"
"Waah! 'Elp, I'm sinkin'. 'Elp me, mates!"
Hisk hurried forward. "Shuttup, loudmouth, d'you want them to know we're here!"
Flink stared at the dark patch of smoothness beyond the rushes.
"It's Buggy. He's gone!"
Hisk grabbed Flink and shook him. "I told you to keep your voice down, idiot! Now, what d'you mean Bugpaw's gone?"
"S s sw swamp!" Flink's teeeth chattered with fright. As he was speaking, both he and the Captain had started to sink. Hisk pushed Flink away from him as the tracker grabbed wildly at his spear. Flink fell over backwards and the ooze gripped him and engulfed him. The weasel Captain pulled one footpaw free. Stabbing his spear deep into the firmer ground, he hurriedly hauled himself out. The others bumped into each other as they fought in the darkness to distance themselves from the swamp edge.
A rat called Fraggun stood on tip paw, peering into the patch where Bugpaw and Flink had been a moment before. "Where did they goooooo... oh!"
The javelin had filled his mouth, flashing out of nowhere like dark lightning.
Brome had never seen a creature killed at close quarters before.
One moment the rat had been alive and shouting. Then in a flash he was slain. The young mouse was no killer. He stared in horror at Felldoh, who had just thrown the javelin. The squirrel's face showed little emotion as he fitted another javelin on to his throwing stick and whipped his arm back. Sighting on a shape in the darkness, he flung the missile and was rewarded by a gurgling scream. "Got him!"
The javelins and throwing stick dropped from Brome's paws. "You killed them!"
Felldoh slid another javelin along his throwing stick. "Aye, young un. It's called war! You'd best give me those javelins if you can't use
'em. Stay here and rattle these rushes, but keep your head well down.
I'll be back soon."
With a grim light in his eyes, Felldoh crawled off.
Hisk threw his spear at the clump of bulrushes. "Over there, see the rushes moving, that's where they are!"
Spears and arrows flew in the direction he had indicated.
Brome was a brave and reckless young mouse, but the idea of slaying another living creature appalled him. Now other beasts were trying to kill him. Suddenly he knew the meaning of fear. He lay flat, doing as Felldoh had told him, tugging at the rushes so they rattled.
Fragments of bulrush showered down on him as missiles crashed by overhead. His paws were shaking so much with fright that the long stems rattled furiously. What had started out as an adventure had turned into the stark reality of life and death.
Felldoh worked his way around to the other side of his foes. Silent as a shadow, the powerful squirrel used a single javelin as a stabbing implement, taking out a ferret and another rat. Felldoh had a javelin sighted on Hisk when a rat stepped in the way and took it through his side. The rat let out an earsplitting scream as he went down. Hisk turned, catching a glimpse of his enemy as the squirrel dodged off into the cover of the rushes. "It's a squirrel, one of the slaves. After him!"
They crashed off into the marshes after him. Hisk took a swift head count as they went. A tremor of shock ran through him. Only five left, counting himself! He had taken ten soldiers and two trackers when he left Bad rang. The squirrel had slain five, plus the two trackers who had been lost in the swamp. Enraged, Hisk picked up the spear of the rat who had fallen to Felldoh's last throw and followed the others.
Brome stopped shaking the reeds and lay still, wondering if Badrang's soldiers had caught Felldoh. The young mouse was frightened at being left all alone in the hostile marshland, but determined he should do something to rescue his friend. Gritting his teeth, he grasped his throwing stick firmly. He had no javelins, but at least he could use the stick as a weapon. There was a rustle in the vegetation nearby. Brome froze as a paw fell on his shoulder.
"Come on, mate. Time to get out of here!" "Felldoh! Where did you come from?" The young mouse's voice sounded squeaky in the night silence.
The strong squirrel pulled him upright, explaining as he led the way to firmer ground, "I got about half of 'em, maybe more. Missed that scummy Hisk, though.
I've been leading them a pretty dance around the edges of this quagmire. They'll be lucky to find their way back to Marshank, let alone locate our camp."
They followed the false cart tracks back to the low hill and were soon in sight of the camp. Brome had to dogtrot to keep up with his friend's strong pace. "Felldoh, back there, I was, I mean .. ."
The squirrel winked and patted him kindly. "You don't have to explain anything to me. You're my matey. You were very brave tonight, young un. Not every creature can slay or take life. Don't worry about it. I've seen the time when I was like you. Wish I still was."
Brome shook his head. "You wish you were like me?"
Felldoh threw a paw about the young mouse's shoulder. "Indeed I do. It's slavery that has made me this way. I'd slaughter every one of Badrang's horde if I had my way. Then I'd be sure that every honest creature was safe from the threat of slavery, bending to the will and whim of a tyrant, cold in winter, hungry in summer, watching old friends dying around you from hardship. Hoping and longing for freedom through all those lost and wasted seasons of my life. You've never known that, Brome. Only a few days' captivity with Martin and me in the pit. I wish that I'd had a happy life in Noonvale like you, never knowing the burning hate that drives you on to slay enemies."
The camp was still. Fires had guttered low and creatures were sleeping peacefully. As they entered the camp, only Ballaw and the baby Fuffle were still awake, both munching steadily at the remains of the feast.
"What ho, you two." The hare waved a half eaten pastie at them.
"Come an' help us mop this lot up, wot?"
They sat down and tucked in gratefully, drinking deep from a bowl of cider with blossom petals floating on it.
Felldoh glanced at Fuffle over the rim of the bowl. "That little snip should've been snoring long ago."
Ballaw chuckled as he demolished the rest of his pastie. "I know he should. Amazin' little blighter really. Bit like me, I s'pose. Can't rest while there's still tucker about. Ain't that right, me old Fuffle?"
The infant mouse halted his attack on a carrot and parsley turnover long enough to reply, "Fuffle like foo'. Plenny foo' make y' big!"
It was still several hours to dawn when Badrang and the horde halted within sight of Marshank. They rested, waiting until Fleabane and Findo, who were the advance scouts, returned. The two weasels came panting along the shore to where Badrang sat, and made their report.
"Clogg's taken over the fortress, Sire!"
"Aye, Lord. We could hear the noises of his crew, singin' and feastin'. Sounded like they was 'avin' a fine time."
Badrang stared impassively at the fort in the distance. "I might have known something like this would happen. Has Clogg posted wall sentries?"
"Two, Sire. Both over the front gates."