Silvamord laughed humorlessly. “Just like you skinned the wolf that had been frozen dead half a season so that you could take its skin and name? Oh, dont act surprised. I saw you. Ill wager your horde wouldnt be so quick in following you if they knew the truth about the great Ur-gan Nagru.
The iron claws of the Foxwolf shot out, pointing at her. “One word from you, blabbermouth, and Ill rip the tongue from your head and make you eat it. Thats a promise!
“You dont scare me, sneered Silvamord, pouring wine for herself and sipping daintily. “I know you too well. What does bother me is that Queen and her brattheyre still free. Youd do better to get out there and capture them before they raise the whole of Southsward up in arms against us.
Nagru walked carefully over to the table. Pouring himself a beaker of wine, he brought his face close to the vixens. His voice dripped sarcasm. “Thats what I fully intend doing, my beautiful and beloved one. Meanwhile, you can sit here, where you are safe and comfortable. Oh, keep an eye on Gael Squirrelking, will you? I presume you werent silly enough to have killed him in my absence?
Silvamord eyed him levelly. “Gael is not the problem. I had him tossed into one of his own dungeonshe could be dead or alive, I dont care. Now, are you going to hang about here until we both grow old, or are you going to do something about Serena and her little Truffen?
They remained for a moment a hairbreadth apart, eyes locked. Then, as if on an impulse, Nagru strode off to the window. He stared down at the horderats who were lying slumped on the stone courtyard, still warm from the days heat. The Foxwolf brought them scurrying upright as he howled down at them: “Sourgall, you and forty others stay behind on guard! Bladenose, Riveneye, get the rest ready for a hunt! Mingol, Vengro, get my Dirgecallers ready!
The horde kept silent, mentally thanking the fates that they had not been chosen to be in charge of the fearsome Dirgecallers, the Fox wolfs legendary trackers. Mingol and Vengro were speechless, their mouths dry with fear.
Serena and Truffen rested beneath a willow on the streambank, the infant sitting in his mothers lap. Their food lay untouched. Together they watched a comet streaking its brilliant tail across the soft, dark night. Otter patrols swam, sleek and silent, back and forth on the broad stream, alert for any strange sound in their territory.
Greenbeck, a big male, slid smoothly onto the bank beside the squirrels. Dipping a bowl into the steaming pot tof hotroot and watershrimp soup, beloved of otters, he offered it with an encouraging smile. “Cmon, marm, try some. Its good!
Serena averted her eyes from the food. “No, thank you, friend. I cannot bring myself to eat, not knowing if King Gael is alive or dead.
“Good vittles, marm. Eat an the liddle feller will, too. You must take care o him, Greenbeck persisted, nudging the bowl forward. “Lookit Iris, she dont know whats become o Rab, but she eats to keep up er strength. Iris wont give up ope, an neither should you, if yll excuse me sayin, marm.
Serena smiled wanly at the loyal otter. Taking the soup, she broke fresh barleybread and dipped it in, saying, “Look, Truffen, suppermake you big and strong!
The little fellow ate, staring up at his mothers face. “Where Papa an Uta?
Serena ate to avoid answering the question, but the good food stuck in her throat as tears overflowed on her face. Iris appeared at the Queens side, patting her gently.
“Hush now. Dont let the babe see you upset. Its hard, I know, though I hope that my Rab and your Muta took lots of those murderers with them. Be Like your son, Serena; eat and grow strong. Someday we will return to Castle Floret and avenge our loved ones.
The Squirrelqueen ate, staring into the night-dark stream. “I am not leaving Southsward country. I will stay to stand against Nagru and Silvamord.
Iris sat beside Serena, a worried look on her kind face. “We must leave Southsward nowwe are too few, my friend. One day we shall come back in force; at the moment we would sacrifice our lives needlessly against the Fox wolfs great horde.
Serena remained adamant. “Some help will come to us. I feel it. We must stay and get others in Southsward to support our cause.
“My Rab wanted you and Truffen out of this land, said Iris, shrugging hopelessly. “It has become a place of evil. But if you are determined to stay, then the otters will stay also. I will not desert youwe have always been loyal to your family. Though if we stay, I fear that only death awaits us.
Truffen looked up from his soup. “Stay an make Na-gu dead!
Iris settled down to rest. “Aye, make Nagru dead, little one. Who knows, maybe you an your mama are right. Perhaps there may be warriors we have yet to meet who can help us do just that. I hope they show up soon, whoever they are.
Peace fell over the otter camp. Gently lapping water and the still-warm night had cast its spell over the weary fugitives. Serena and Iris lay side by side with Truffen between them, all three mercifully deep in slumber after the days harrowing events. Truffen would not remember his dream next morning, and even if he did the squirrel-babe was far too young to explain it. A mousemaid who p carried a knotted rope, a strong old gray-bearded mouse carrying a stout stave ... And a great bell tolling aloud me sound of freedom.
Both Mariel and the rat Captain, Bragglin, were in a perilous position. Dandin and his friends stood ready to give up their lives protecting the little moles, while the rat patrol crouched, willing to pounce at their Captains word. Mid-noon heat caused both parties much discomfort; their paws shifted dangerously in the loose sand.
“If anything happens to me, make the moles die slowly! Bragglin called out to his rats.
Mariel kept up her deadly bluff, cutting off further words as she pressed the dagger meaningfully at his I& throat. “Wont do your Captain much good; hell be wormbait, and well take at least half of you with us if you touch those little moles, be warned! The mousemaid could feel the hot sand shifting under her footpaws, and she moved to gain a firmer position.
At that instant Bragglin made his move. He wriggled way from the knife, kicking at Mariel and giving a swift to Grinj. The rat had been standing over Mariel, his wpaw slackened slightly from the long standoff, but he took the hint immediately and stretched the bowstring taut to fire the arrow.
Zzzzz. Clunk!
Grinj fell poleaxed by a smooth, round rock with a hole through its center. It was attached to a thin, toughened line. Grinjs arrow buried itself in the sand alongside the mousemaids eye as a deep, drawling voice called from the hilltop behind her.
“Paws still in the blinkin ranks than! If any of you longtails have half a bally brain, Ill drop you before you can use it! You showah listenin? Thats not just a bloomin order, its a fact!
Mariel watched in amazement as the stone was reeled swiftly in by a hare carrying a long, whippy fishing rod. He caught the stone skillfully as it swung back to him, his hooded eyes never once leaving the scene below. Holding the slack of the line in check, he whipped the slender rod back and forth, and the air hummed to its vibrations. Suddenly Bragglins paw grasped that of Mariel as he tried to wrest the dagger from her.
Zzzzzzz. Thonk!
With a swift, vicious flick the hare cast the stone deftly. The breath caught in Mariels throat. Bragglin lay slain, the flying rock squarely between his eyes.
“You chaps never learn, do yen? Didnt believe me, eh? Right, whos next?
The rats dropped their weapons as they gaped up at the curious hare. Young Bowly Pintipss mouth hung wide; he had never witnessed such a splendid-looking beast.
The hare was old and overweight, but obviously every inch a veteran warrior; his regalia proclaimed it proudly for all to see. On his head he wore a tricorn hat, with holes cut to allow his ears to pop out. It was surmounted by the most elaborate white drooping plume. Though his cheeks were pouched and baggy, the eyes that shone above them were hooded and sharp. His whiskers had been waxed and curled into a perfect handlebar moustache. He wore a faded but gaudy pink mess jacket, decorated with arrays of medallions and ribbons. He had epauletted shoulders and a front twinkling with polished silver buttons. Stowing the rod away like an elongated pace stick, he gave a cough and a nod. Four young leveret hares in quaint green uniforms nipped smartly out of the surrounding grass and saluted him. He acknowledged them with a wave of one ear.