“Youre right, Dandin, but Ive known warriors who can look very stern too. The handsome Bowly suddenly transformed into one with a grim jaw jutting and what he imagined were cold, gimlet eyes. Mariel spluttered and coughed on a bite of apple, while Dandin held his ribs tight to stop the laughter bubbling out.
“Aye, but give me the warrior with that devil-may-care look, one who can slay ruthlessly but still manage to laugh merrilynow thats the fellow for me! Bowlys small face contorted as he tried to glare out of one eye while twinkling merrily with the other, and he brandished his two oatcakes as if ready to slay with them at a moments notice, at the same time emitting a savage growl which he tried to couple with a merry laugh. Turning to his two companions, who were shaking with unexploded laugher, he sighed wearily.
“Phwaaw! It do take much ard work to look like a warrior!
The two teasers laughed heartily, patting Bowlys tender young prickled head. “We think youll make a splendid warrior, dont we, Dandin?
“Right! Well be three warbeasts traveling south through thick and thin to wherever our adventures take us!
Bowlys face lit up in a happy grin, and he clasped the paws of his two comrades firmly. “Aye, an never fear. Til take care of ee both!
Queen Serena watched her little son, Truffen, sadly as he sat alone in the center of Castle Florets banqueting chamber. Poor squirrelmite, forced to spend his days and nights in captivity, often separated from both parents, with only his old badger nurse, Muta, to protect him. Serena and her husband, Gael Squirrelking, sat together at one side of the chamber, with Truffen at his bench in the center, while on the opposite side Nagru and Silvamord occupied the positions of honor at high table, surrounded by rodent Captains. Serena clutched Gaels paw tightly, and they fixed their eyes on the tiny hostage.
Serena let her mind wander over past events. Was it only a season ago that Nagru and Silvamord had arrived at their gates? It seemed as though they had been in Castle Floret for an eternity. She recalled the night they had allowed Nagru and his mate into their home. It was a windy, drizzling evening in early spring, and the two foxes had looked half dead, starved, and bedraggled. Her husband, Gael, ordered that they be admitted, fed, and clothed warmly. Serena regretted that Gael had not heeded the urgent warnings of their friend Rab Stream-battle. But the Squirrelking could be stubborn, and he would not hear of Castle Florets hospitality being denied to any needy creature. Rab continued to oppose him, and the argument escalated until the angry otter stormed out of the castle, taking his otter guard with him.
Within the space of two sunsets the foxes had taken over everything. It was done with fiendish simplicity. Silver-tongued Silvamord had lured Muta to a side chamber and locked her in. Nagru snatched little Truffen and held him breathless with fright, the fearsome hooked wolf-claws a hairbreadth from the babes throat. Gael was forced to lower the drawbridge, and in a trice the castle was teeming with rats, savage, dirty gray rodents, eager to maim, destroy, or kill at a nod from their leaders, Nagru and Silvamord.
From that moment their lives had hung by a thread. All loyal friends and courtiers who resisted were slain or imprisoned in Florets dungeons, while those who were not considered dangerous were forced to wait on the foxes and their officers. The far southern sun no longer shone over a peaceful and happy land. A new king and queen held sway, backed by a horde of murderers.
Nagru was big for a fox. Lean and powerful, he was mottled bluish gray from tip to tail, and his cruel eyes resembled chips of granite flake floating in a sea of carmine blood flecks. His only clothing was the full pelt of a wolf, its head resting on top of his own like a cowl with eyeless sockets. The hide trailed down over his back with the front limbs covering his own. The wolfclaws had been replaced with sharp iron hooks, and when Nagru slid his own paws inside them they became awesome weapons.
His mate, Silvamord, was smaller in stature, but no less savage. Her fur was whitish gray with a silver-striped muzzle and back markings, and her eyes were dark obsidian green. Her regalia was a thick skirt of animal tails with glittering chips of crystal cunningly sewn into them. She moved sinuously to its strange tinkle, the equal of her mate in cunning and evil.
Now the barbaric pair sat side by side, sipping elderberry wine from Florets cellars and sharing the gamey meat of a long-dead plover. Nagru spiked a damson with his claw and shot it viciously at a fat old rat who stood nearby holding a stringed lutelike instrument.
“Yoghul, play my song!
The rat began playing, singing the dirge in an eerie, high-pitched voice.
“Where do you come from, where do you go to, From tundras of white and bright sunrises few, Cross mountains and forests, oer seas wide and blue, The one they call Foxwolf, the Urgan Nagru.
Yoghul was playing the verse over again when Nagru called across to Gael, “Hey, Squirrelking, dyou know why they call me Foxwolf?
Gael sat silent, and Nagru answered his own question. “Because I am the only fox that ever slew a wolf. This is his hide I am wearing. Ill wager youve never even seen a wolf, much less had to fight one. Well I did, and I won. Nobeast alive can stand against me!
The Squirrelking ignored his captor, who continued boasting. “Ill tell you something else. That wolfs name was Urgan. So I took it and turned it backward and made a name for myself, Urgan Nagru! Try saying it both ways, it comes out the same. Thats to let my enemies know that I can come at them backward or forward, both ways. But I have no enemies, theyre all dead. Only fools and dreamers are left, like you and your Queen. Its your own fault, squirrel. You let me in here. Aha! I see you are glaring at me. Good! You are wishing that the Fox wolf were dead, eh? The wishes of the weak are like raindrops on the face of the sea; they count for nothing. Play on, Yoghul!
While Nagru drank wine and tore at his meat, Silva-rnord had been staring fixedly at Muta, the old badger nurse. Muta could not speak. Sometimes in peaks of joy or distress she would make hoarse barking noises, but it was unusual for her to make any sound at all. She crouched at little Truffens side, always faithful to him. It irritated Silvamord to see the dumb badgers devotion to her small charge, and the vixen never missed an opportunity to humiliate or torment Muta. Calling Yoghul across to her, Silvamord divested him of his cloak, a small red thing trimmed with yellow. Then she snatched the cap from his head. It was floppy and conical with two tiny bells hanging from it. Flinging both hat and cloak at Muta, Silvamord called out derisively, “Come on, up on your paws, stripedog. Put those on and do a dance for me. I command it, dance!
The big badger did not move. She stood glaring at the vixen. Silvamord beckoned Riveneye, one of the Captains seated nearby. “If that stupid beast doesnt start dancing right now, she barked, “I want you to take your sword to the squirrel brat and tickle a dance out of him!
Riveneye stood and drew his sword.
Muta had no choice. Rather than see Truffen hurt, she donned the small cloak and tied the ribbons of the ridiculous little hat beneath her chin. Slowly she commenced a shuffling dance.
Silvamord aimed a kick at the minstrel rat. “Play, Yoghulplay faster. I want to see the big fool dance!
Around and around Muta shambled, trying to keep up with the speed of the music, the bells tinkling wildly on her silly hat. Silvamord and the rats jeered cruelly at the badgers stumbling efforts. A single teardrop spilled down Mutas face.
Queen Serena turned away, unable to watch the cruel exhibition. Gael leaned in close as if sharing her sympathy and began whispering so only she could hear. “Its all right, Serena. Dont worry. Listen to me and try not to show any surprise. Remember our singing blackbird, Relph? Rab has sent me a message through him. There will be otters waiting in the castle moat today. We will accompany Muta when she takes Truffen for his afternoon nap. Relph will hang a red cloth on the window nearest the drawbridge to tell Rab we are coming. When we leave here, watch for the window with the red cloth on the sillthats the one we jump from. When we land in the moat, the otters will take us to safety. Dont look around; just nod if you understand ... Mutas hoarse bark caused the Queen to turn.