"Is that you, Crosstooth?" Clogg called out without looking up from his task. "Any sign of Badrang yet, matey?"
The door creaked open and Badrang stood framed in the doorway, sunlight pouring in around him. "Get your braided behind off my chair, Clogg!"
The corsair was so surprised that the chair fell over backwards as he tried to lurch up. Dust rose in a golden shower of motes around him as the Tyrant of Marshank strode across and placed a none too gentle footpaw firmly on his bloated stomach. "Go on, Clogg. Ask me how I got here."
"Ow did you get 'ere?" the corsair spluttered from his position on the floor.
Badrang smirked, pressing down harder on Clogg's stomach. "If you had as much brain in your head as you had fat in your gut, you'd know. I came in through the tunnel that the slaves escaped from. You can go both ways through it, in or out. Obviously you didn't think of that, swillhead!"
With a sudden move that belied his bulk, Clogg wriggled free of Badrang's paw and ran for the door shouting, "Crosstooth, Gruzzle, Boggs, arm the crew. Badrang's 'ere!"
The Tyrant stoat righted the fallen chair and sat in it, smiling.
"Shout your thick head off, bucko. You'll get no help."
Clogg stood for a moment glaring at the horde soldiers surrounding the longhouse, then he whirled to face Bad rang. "You foul 'earted blaggard, you've murdered all me lovely crew!"
Badrang sniffed the empty seaweed ale flagon, wrinkled his nose in distaste and pushed it away from him. "Hardly, but I could have. It's no trouble tying up a crowd of idiots who've drunk themselves to sleep on beetroot wine and seaweed ale. As for those two dozy sentries you left posted on the walltop over the gate, they've got lumps on their heads the size of gull eggs. Did you actually think that you could take Marshank from me?"
Clogg's attitude changed like a breeze at sea. Throwing his paws wide, he grinned in what he hoped was a disarming manner. "Matey, who said anythin' about takin' yer fortress from ye? Why, I was only mindin' it until you returned after chasin' those pesky slaves. Me an'
my crew was actin' duty bound as caretakers. Ho, by the bye, you didn't catch the slaves, did ye?"
Badrang shook his head coolly. "I didn't have to. Come with me and I'll show you why."
The corsair crew sat in ranks at a corner of the courtyard, tightly bound and closely guarded by the Tyrant's horde. Badrang led Clogg to the center of the courtyard. The pirate stoat was forced to stand silent and listen to Badrang's announcement as he addressed the crew.
"Pay attention, you corsairs. You have three simple choices. One is slavery. I have no slaves to serve me at the moment. Two is death. You can stay loyal to Clogg, and for that you will be executed. The charges are attempting to steal Marshank from me and siding with my enemy.
The third and final choice is that you swear allegiance to me and join my horde as soldiers. Well, what is it to be?"
The fox Crosstooth struggled upright. "Cut these ropes from me, I'll serve under Lord Badrang's colors!" It did not take long for the others to follow. "Aye, set me loose, I'm with Crosstooth!" "Me too, matey. I'll be an 'ordebeast!" "No point in bein' a corsair without a ship!"
"Better'n bein' a slave or gettin' executed!" Clogg shook his head sadly.
"Harr, 'twas an evil day when I landed up on this coast. Boggs, Gruzzle, Cross tooth, was I ever a bad Cap'n to ye?"
"No, Cap'n, you was a good un. We had some rare ol' times together."
"You just made too many mistakes, Tramun Clogg." "Aye, when it's sink or swim, a creature has to look after hisself, Cap'n. No 'ard feelin's."
While the new horde members took the oath and signed articles with Badrang, Clogg was led off to the prison pit by two soldiers. He stared down into the hole miserably. "So it's come to this, bein' slung in an 'ole like a worm."
They nudged Clogg towards a barrow with a spade in it. "You're not goin' in it, Lord Badrang's orders are that you must fill it in. Think yerself lucky. Instead of execution he's givin' you the chance to become an 'onest 'ardworking slave. And don't fret, there'll be work aplenty for you!"
Felldoh was training an army to attack Marshank: the Fur and Freedom Fighters. Their flag waved proudly over the camp on the cliffs, a green banner with the representation of a flying javelin severing a chain.
Rowanoak shook her aching paws. "I hope they don't want uniforms as well. It took me hours to make that flag, rummaging through our costume box and sewing this bit to that. It does look rather good, though."
Ballaw broke off from drilling a marching column. He swaggered jauntily across and threw Rowanoak an elaborate salute. "All present an' correct, marm. What time are you servin' us stout creatures some jolly old luncheon, wot? An army marches on its stomach an' all that, y'know."
The badger turned her eyes skyward as if seeking help. "It's a wonder you can do any marching at all with that stomach of yours, you great flop eared feedbag. Don't ask me, go and see the cooks."
Ballaw marched off, a blaze of military colour in the uniform he had designed for himself from the troupe's wardrobe. He sang to keep himself in step.
"All the ladies smile at me, lookit there, lookit there, He's a fine dashin' figure of a hare, of a hare.
He'd fight off a horde alone, he's a warrior to the bone. Feed him plenty an' you'll never have a care, have a care!"
Felldoh laid a lance on his throwing stick. The group he was training followed his actions, laying lances on their sticks as he instructed them.
"Arm right back at shoulder level, paw gripping stick firmly, lean your head in, take sight at the target along the javelin shaft, weight on the back footpaw and throw!"
The small hillock daubed with a likeness of Badrang was pincushioned by eighteen lances.
Keyla picked up a pebble, demonstrating to his group. "See, an ordinary stone, but it can become a weapon. In paw to paw combat you can use it held tight as a club. Hit the foe with it as hard as you can. Or you can throw it. Watch!" He hurled the pebble and struck one of the lances on the hillock.
The mouse called Juniper held up a sling. "Look what old Barkjon gave me. What is it, Keyla?"
The otter took the tough vine thong, shaking his head in admiration as he fitted a pebble to the tongue at its middle. He swung it experimentally, testing its balance. "This is a fine sling. Give me a target to throw at."
Juniper pointed to the hillock. "Hit one of those lances like you did when you threw the pebble."
Crack!
No sooner had the words left Juniper's mouth than Keyla sent the pebble whistling from its whirling sling. It struck a lance, snapping it near the point with a cracking impact.
Keyla wound the sling round his paw with a happy smile. "I'll go and see if Barkjon can make us more of these!"
Gauchee and Kastern had a good number of long poles, sometimes used by the Rambling Rosehip Players when they were erecting an improvised tent. Trefoil had suggested that they would make good pikes, using the pointed ends which had served as tentstakes.
Buckler, his injured shoulder still bandaged, drilled a group in the uses of the pike. "Poikes up! Poikes daown. Points for'ard .. . Charge!"
Celandine sat dabbing her paws in rosewater. "Silly creatures, you'll either get hurt or have nasty rough paws from using those great long things!"
She found herself looking down the point of Gau chee's pike. "Off to the cookhouse and help out if you don't want to train as a fighter, little missy fusstail!"
Ballaw waggled his ears at Tullgrew, Purslane and Geum in a very persuasive manner. "Top o' the mornin', cooks. When does a chap get some fodder round here?"
The baby Fuffle was dressed in an oversized apron tucked up twice at his middle. He was spreading honey on scones with a wooden spoon.