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your brilliant plan, you little toad?"

Klitch took one of the daggers from his father's discarded belt and tapped the point against his teeth pensively. "Hmmm. Plan? I'm not quite sure yet, but it doesn't involve getting thirty soldiers boiled to death by hot water. But don't you fret your dear old gray head, I'll think of something."

"You bring me the head of that badger, or I'll..." Fer-ahgo struggled to rise but fell back snarling.

"You'll what?" Klitch patted the Assassin's back, none too gently. "You're not in a position to do anything. Give me until nightfall and I'll guarantee I'll have a foolproof plan, one that will make this horde realize that they've been led by the wrong weasel for many seasons now."

Forgrin the fox emptied a slingbag onto the rocks beside his friend Raptail the rat. "There y'are, matewhelks, limpets an' a few mussels. They'll taste better'n hard crust an' roots."

Raptail smashed open a mussel with a stone and ate the contents ravenously. "Couldn't yer find no fish?"

Forgrin scooped a limpet out of its shell into his mouth, "You get them shellfish down yer an' thank yer lucky stars we're still alive, Raptail. It's a good job we was only at the entrance t' that tunnel or we'd be layin' scalded dead by now."

"It was a stupid plan, a cracked idea, the 'ole thing!" Rap-tail chewed with difficulty on a rubbery whelk. "Migroo says that young Klitch is takin' over. What d'you think of 'im?"

The fox spat on a rock and began sharpening his sword. "Think? We're not 'ere ter think, mate. Accordin' to 'Is Majesty Ferahgo, we're just 'ere ter take orders. But between you'n me an' the seashore, I think the time's ripe for Ferahgo to go."

The rat scratched his nose and stared at the fox. "Go?"

"Aye, go, matey. He's down an' injured. Now's the time to slip a blade across 'is weasely throat, see wot I mean?"

Raptail gouged at a tooth crevice with a grimy claw, realization dawning on him. "Yeh, maybe yore right. Ferahgo

couldn't give orders with a slit gizzard, that's fer sure. Say tonight, when it's nice 'n' dark ... he'll be sleepin' deep then eh?" P

Forgrin tested the edge of his sword on a whelk he had disgorged. "We'll make sure he sleeps deeper than ever. . . tonight."

BOOK THREE

Destinies and Homecomers

29

Thrugg and Dumble had arrived at the mountain stronghold of the Laird Mactalon. They stood shivering among the high rocks, unconscious of the beauties about them.

The Laird Mactalon spread his wings wide at the snowcapped peaks. The setting sun had turned the ice and snow from white to a clear pink.

"Och, 'tis a sight tae gladden yer feathers, laddie!"

Baby Dumble spread his paws, gazing down at his fat little stomach. "I don't avven no fevvers."

"Ach, so ye dinna. Would ye no' like to be a falcon?" Mactalon's wide wing patted him, nearly knocking him over.

The dormouse sniffed as he climbed into Thrugg's haversack, away from the cold. "Sooner be a Dumble!"

Mactalon chuckled fiercely. "Och, awa' wi ye, mousie!" He turned to Thrugg. The otter was stamping his paws to keep warm. "Noo then, mah friend, ye'll be wanting tae get your paws on some Icetor Flow'rs, mah son tells me."

Thrugg swung the haversack to his shoulders. "Yessir, them's the onesIcetor Flowers. You tell me where they're at an' I'll go an' pick 'em."

"Weel noo, aren't you the bold creature?" Mactalon preened his neck feathers. "Pick them indeed. Yer a braw big

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Sahmandastron

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riverdog, Thrugg, but yer a long ways frae name. Icetors only grow aboot the nest of the wild King MacPhearsome. Och, nae bird or beastie ever goes up there, laddie. Yon eagle's a verra unpredictable creature. I wouldnae fancy makin' requests o' him! But if ye be foolish enough tae try, I'll fly up there on the morrow, but you'll have tae climb, as ye have nae wings tae speak of."

Rocangus showed Thrugg and Dumble to a small cavern where they were to spend the night. There was heather and bracken piled up in a corner, but the place was dreadfully cold. Thrugg put some of the bracken to one side, the rest he placed at the cavern entrance. Digging flint and tinder from the haversack, he soon had a small fire going. Rocangus was wary of flames, but the sight of Baby Dumble seated in front of the fire wanning his paws soon had the young falcon perched between Thrugg and Dumble, enjoying the welcome heat. Rocangus had some words of advice for the otter.

"Mah faither says ye're going up tae see the Wild King in the momin'. Be careful, Thrugg. Auld MacPhearsome is a giant. Mind yer manners, address him as King or Your Majesty. Och, he has a braw temper that one has. He'd as soon eat ye as look at ye."

Thrugg put more of the sweet-smelling bracken on the fire. "Listen, Rocangus me ol* matey, I'll do whatever it takes to get those lector Flowers back to Redwall Abbey. If I've got to pretend to be frightened of some old bird, then so be it." "Ye have man admiration, Thrugg, for I know yer not affrighted of anythinV Rocangus flexed his good wing. "Mind, though, ye'd be well advised tae fear the Wild King. He's the only one who has Icetor Flow'rs an' he doesn't part wi' anythin' lightly. Oh, an' ye'd best leave yer sling wi' me. MacPhearsome won't have any armed bird or beast near his eyrie. That's aboot it, Thrugg. Guid luck to ye. Yer a braw friend an' a bonny riverdog."

Rocangus had conquered his fear of the fire. In fact, he had rather come to like it. The young falcon spent the night feeding the flames with heather and bracken while Thrugg and

Baby Dumble slept peacefully in the high snowcapped mountains of the north.

Dawn in the high mountains was a strange sight. Thrugg shivered as he peered into the whiteness. Clouds had descended upon the peaks, turning the whole place into a land of cotton wool. There was no sky, horizon or ground, save for that beneath the otter's paws.

Settling Dumble into the near-empty haversack, Thrugg cautioned him. "Stay put, matey, an' keep yore head down. Ye'll be nice an' warm in there."

The Laird Mactalon flew in low and hovered outside the cave. "A guid mornin' to ye, Thrugg. Are ye ready the noo?"

Thrugg gave his sling to Rocangus. "Ready as I'll ever be. Lead on, Yore Lordship!"

Rocangus stood waving with his good wing, watching them until they were swallowed up in the mists.

It was a perilous journey. Thrugg needed all his strength and sure-pawed skill. Sliding down glacial valleys and ascending slopes of crusted snow, scaling bare freezing rocks, the otter pushed on, keeping Mactalon in sight all the time. Seeking for holds in crevices, Thrugg dug his paws in, hauling himself strenuously upward. Ledges with thick icicles hanging like sets of organ pipes ranged each side of him. Grunting and panting, he watched the falcon ahead flying upward, ever upward. Battling almost blindly through the world of snow, ice and white cloudbanks, the otter often slipped and slid back, but he was always back on the trail immediately, gritting his teeth and wiping away the perspiration that threatened to freeze on his nose and whiskers, ever mindful of the infant dormouse in the haversack strapped to his powerful shoulders. Thrugg lost all sense of time and space as he plugged doggedly onward and upward. It was at the exact moment that he thought he could go on no more that Laird Mactalon wheeled down through the shrouding mist.

"Guid show, laddie. Ye've made it! Yon's the eyrie of King MacPhearsome. Ah'll be waitin* here for ye when

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