His wife said quietly, "But my dear, where there is such pain and hardship for so many innocent creatures, surely we could let Martin speak to our folk. Any who wish to help can decide for themselves."
Urran Voh turned to Martin. "My wife speaks wisely. I do not wish for evil to become part of our lives here, but maybe we can prevent the wickedness from spreading. Very well, Martin, ask my creatures for help and good fortune go with you.
"I see that you carry a blade. We do not have such things here. For the time you are with us you must not stay armed. Give me your sword, Martin."
The young mouse placed a defensive paw on his sword handle. "I am sorry, sir, I cannot do what you ask."
Urran Voh's eyes were stern in the awkward silence that followed.
Aryan intervened between the Patriarch and the Warrior. "Martin, I know my husband's feelings, but I think I also know yours too. You have seen suffering and evil in your life. There is none of that to be found at Noon vale. Would you do something for me? I am not asking you to give your sword to Urran. Take it and hang it on the peg by the door. Do this yourself, no one else will touch your blade."
Without a word Martin drew his sword. Going over to the door, he hung the weapon upon a peg protruding from the wall, balancing it by the hilt. It hung there, small and lonely looking. The young mouse could not help thinking of his father's blade, big and worn, but a proper warrior's weapon, now in the paws of the Tyrant. He would take it back someday ... somehow.
Rose smiled happily at him. "Good, come and I'll show you to your room."
At a glance from Urran Voh, Aryan intervened once more. "No, Rose, you'll have Martin up half the night talking. I'll do it. Follow me, young mouse."
When they had gone, Rose's father put his paw about her shoulders and sighed unhappily. "Rose, listen to me carefully, daughter. What I tell you is for your own good. This Martin, he is a warrior, and death walks alongside such creatures. You must never let yourself grow too close to him."
The mousemaid smiled. "Father, you're not a warrior, you're a worrier. Martin is my best friend in the whole world, he would never hurt me or let me be hurt. I'll change him, you'll see. One day he will be the most peaceful creature in Noonvale!"
Urran Voh rose from his chair slowly. "You and Brome are alike, both strong willed. I only hope that you are right, Rose, though I think no good will ever come of your friendship, because I can tell that Martin has a will and determination far stronger than any I have ever come across. Good night, my Rose. Before you sleep, think on what I have said."
Rose ruffled her father's grey beard. "Good night, you great fusspot.
There's nothing to think about except a much needed night's rest.
When you come to know Martin the Warrior as well as I do, you'll understand."
34
Felldoh had planted caches of javelins all around Marsh ank. In the half shadowed world of twilight he was like a phantom. Two sentries hung over the wall, slain by his accurate throwing. Inside the fortress another one had been slain and three lay wounded.
"More pesky buryin' fer me to do in the mornin'," Tramun Clogg snorted as he peered out from under his wheelbarrow. "Stripe me, iffen I waits long enough I'll 'ave Marshank alone to meself, 'cos I'll be the only beast left livin' 'ere!"
Badrang paced the floor of his badly charred longhouse. Several prominent horde figures sat in silence as he ranted angrily.
"We're not dashing out into the night to get picked off like flies.
That's what those slaves want. I'm not going to fight on their terms, I'll do it my way when the time's right!"
Crosstooth played with a dagger, twirling it deftly. "Yore right, Sire.
I've told everybeast to keep under cover. Them that gets 'urt or slain,
'tis their own fault."
Slamming himself down in his chair, the Tyrant gulped wine.
The weasel Lumpback unwisely voiced an opinion.
"But if we don't fight back, they've got us pinned down. They'll start thinkin' we're frightened of 'em an' begin attackin' 'arder!"
Badrang hurled the wine jug. Lumpback scarcely had time to duck as it smashed on the wall behind him, covering the hapless weasel with pottery shards and damson wine. Badrang's teeth were bared as he hissed at Lumpback, "Who asked you, dirtbrain? I don't need the thoughts of idiots and halfwits to do my planning for me. Maybe you'd like to get out there and face them yourself!"
Boggs felt sorry for Lumpback. He could see it would only take a sudden whim for Badrang to send the weasel out on the shore alone.
"Go easy, Lord. He was only sayin' "
"Easy?" Badrang's face flushed dark with rage as he stood and threw the chair over. "Go easy, you say, while a stinking pawful of slaves are holding Marshank and an entire horde under siege...!"
Whipping out his sword, he leaped at the group. "Get out of here! Go on, out of my sight, you mindless mud crawling morons. You're about as much use as a one winged gull!"
Yelling and shouting, they scrambled over each other to avoid the flailing blade and get out of the door.
Felldoh came out from behind a rock, his keen ears twitching as he pinpointed the sounds of the scuffle. With remarkable precision he quickly sent off two javelins, one after the other.
Lumpback was last to leave, he had been dodging the swordplay as Badrang chased him. With a yell he dived out of the open door, straight into Felldoh's first javelin.
Badrang slammed the door shut quickly.
Thruck!
Felldoh's second javelin pierced the half burned timbers. The weapon came right through, stopping a hairs breadth from the Tyrant's bloodshot eyes. Badrang slashed with his sword, chopping the javelin in two pieces. Flinging back his head, he roared out into the gathering night, "Sneaks, cowards! I'll chop you into n'shbait if I catch you!"
"Come on out then, stoatface," Felldoh's deep voice boomed back from the shore. "Two can make fishbait!"
"Scum!" Badrang yelled back at his unseen foe. "I'll fix you good and proper when the time is right!"
Felldoh's harsh laughter rang out in reply. "Hahahah! Scum yourself, yellowbelly. Hide in your fort. I know you're scared!"
"Scared, me?" Badrang's voice went shrill with spleen. "I am Badrang, Lord and Tyrant of all these lands. Nobeast can stand against me. I was killing and fighting while you were still clinging to your mother's tail!"
Felldoh had got a fix on the voice. Three javelins in swift succession burst through the longhouse door, another one thudded into the roof.
Badrang lay flat behind his upturned chair, gripping the wood tightly to stop himself trembling.
"Hahaha, missed me," he managed to laugh back. "Pity you can't throw those things straight!"
Felldoh's reply came deep and confident. "Don't worry, I've got all night to practice. Don't go to sleep now!"
Gathering his javelins, Felldoh slid off into the night, leaving behind a very worried stoat.
Peering through a crack in the gate, Tramun Clogg saw the shadowy figure hurry off south toward the cliffs.
"Harr, 'twere as I reckoned only one beast. Well, I'd best get me sleep. No use tryin' to tell 'is Lordship he's safe to 'ave a bit o' shuteye.
He wouldn't take the word of a slave."
Away in the safety of the clifftops, Ballaw sat watching the gloomy little groups of creatures sitting around the campfire. All day long the mood had been heavy among them. The hare finished sipping cider from a scallop shell and made his way over to where the Rambling Rosehip Players lounged about by the cart.
"Evenin', chaps an' chapesses, wot! My my, you lot look like a pile of frogs that've been to a rock swallowin' party. No wonder our chums are lookin' glum if an entertainin' troupe can't smile."
Brome smiled wanly at the garrulous hare. "What do you want us to do?"
Ballaw twiddled his long ears cheerfully. "That's the spirit, young Brome me laddo. I'll tell you what I want you all to do. Bring a bit of cheer into those creatures' sad little lives, a laugh, a smile and a song.