Truffen could not understand that Muta was being made fun ofthey had often played at dancing together. Seeing her dance now made the little fellow chuckle happily. It was a game! He began hop-skipping alongside her, giggling as he clapped his paws together in time to the music.
Muta threw back her head and made happy barking sounds, and the two danced wildly, leaping and jigging back and forth. Truffen pulled the cap from Mutas head as she bowed to him and waved it about, jingling the bells and shouting uproariously, “Fasta! Fasta! More!
Nagru flicked a damson contemptuously at Silvamord. “Well, I see youve managed to make them both happy, a prancing whelp and a jigging badger. Good work! Tell me, who looks die bigger fool now, you or the badger?
Silvamord flung a wooden bowl at Yoghul. “Stop playing, you oaf! she shrieked.
The music ground to a halt. Truffen jangled the cap bells. “More dances, Uta. Want more dances!
Taking advantage of the moment, Serena hurried over. Sweeping her little son up, she took Muta by the paw and began leaving the room. Gael joined them. “Time for Muta to take you for your nap, Truffen. Come on, Mummy and Daddy will go with you.
They were almost at the door when Silvamord called out, “Halt! Who said you could leave without our permission?
Nagru idly flicked another damson at his mate. “Let them go, huh. Theyre not going anywhere.
Silvamord leaped up, eyes blazing. “Stop flicking damsons at me, spotblotch. Ill say when they can go! You just carry on slopping wine!
Nagru was not one to be insulted. He rose in a hot temper, sending dishes spilling and clattering. “Youll feel these claws if you talk to me like that, vixen! If I say they can go, my word is final! Dont try taking your sour mood out on me because your joke went wrong!
All the time the little party was edging farther out of the banqueting chamber. Silvamord grabbed a spear from a Captain named Hooktail and pointed it at the Foxwolf screaming, “Put those claws near me and Ill gut you! c Stop those creatures from leaving, now!
Two more rats, Sourgall and Ragfen, drew swords and leaped up. As Gael pushed the others ahead of him into the hall outside, Serena forgot herself and cried out, “Look on the windowsillthe red cloth!
Gael felt Sourgalls claws clamp on his shoulder. He jumped backward, cannoning Sourgall into Ragfen as he called out to the badger, “Muta, out of the windowjump for the moat! Help is waiting there. Save my family!
Then Gael went down. He was trampled and knocked aside as other rats, led by Silvamord, came charging into die passage. Muta dashed to the window where the red cloth fluttered, sweeping Serena and Truffen with her. Thrusting the little squirrel into his mothers outstretched paws, the big badger lifted them both bodily over the sill. A spearshaft broke across Mutas back. She grunted and flinched, then, gathering her mighty strength, she hurled mother and babe outward, so that they would not strike the castle walls in their descent to the moat. Turning, she ripped the dancing cloak from her shoulders. Muta smashed two rats flat with a single blow and smothered another two with the cloak, shoving them roughly into those behind and causing a melee of confusion in the enclosed space.
Now the corridor was packed with rats. Muta could not reach Gaelit was death to try. There was only one way left open to her. Lifting her bulk onto the windowsill, the badger glanced down at the long drop to the moat. Suddenly, claws sank into her lower back. Silvamord had climbed over the milling rats and seized her tight.
“Got you, stripehead! Now you 11 die long and sloooooo ... ! Without a second thought Muta had clamped her footpaws around the vixen and rolled off the windowsill, carrying her enemy through with her.
Rabs otters already had Serena and Truffen out on the bank as Muta and Silvamord came plummeting down and hit the water with a resounding boom. Locked together, they plunged beneath the surface. Muta rolled over, thrusting the vixen beneath her, then, stepping on Silvamords head, she pushed up toward the surface. Seconds later Muta was hauling herself up onto the bank and scrambling off in pursuit of her friends and their rescuers.
Terror and panic gripped Silvamordthe badgers footpaws had pressed her down into the muddy moat bottom. The vixens ears, nose, and mouth filled with water as she kicked and scrabbled furiously, then, coming free with a dull sucking noise, she drifted upward.
Whump!
The drawbridge thudded down onto the moatbank, and the rat horde came pouring out intent on catching the escaped prisoners. Spitting water and mud, Silvamord splashed up and down screeching, “Help! Save me, you fools ... Glubble ... I cant swim!
Trie rats halted, fearful of ignoring the Foxwolfs mate. Several long pikes and spears were stretched out quickly into the water, one so hastily that it clouted the drowning fox, half stunning her.
Nagru came bounding out over the drawbridge in time to see Silvamord hauled dripping from the moat. Her bedraggled skirt of tails clung wetly as she buffeted the head .of a rat called Crookneck, shouting, “I said save me, you addle-brained toad, not brain me!
As she sank exhausted to the grassy bank, Nagru berated her. “Idiot, why did you let them escape?
“Why did I let them escape? she shrieked, spitting moat water and mud at him venomously. “Where were you, bogbrains? Still swilling wine and feeding your face?
Nagru sighted the receding figures vanishing into the trees on the wooded hillside. He pointed to a group of twoscore or more rats standing on the bank. “You lot, follow me. Ill catch them!
Silvamord tottered upright at the waters edge, foot-paws seeking purchase in the wet grass. The Foxwolf could not resist giving her a hefty slap on the back. “You stay here and dry off, vixen!
She overbalanced and toppled back, screeching, into the moat.
The four otters rushed Serena along at a cracking pace. Truffen was seated on the sturdy shoulders of a young male called Trout lad. Muta brought up the rear; for all her seasons and girth, she was still nimble and swift. Tree shadows threw alternating patterns of sun and shade over the Southswarders as they fled up the thick-timbered hillside.
Nagru halted at the bottom of the causeway steps leading down from the castle plateau. His keen eyes picked up the movements of the small group racing up the wooded tor across the valley. A rat Captain named Gatchag stuck his sword into the ground and sank down on his haunches beside the quivering weapon, shaking his head knowingly. “Huh, theyre away like two brace o woodpigeons. Nah! You wont catch em now. Take my word fer it!
Swift as a flash, the Urgan Nagru grabbed Gatchags sword and slew him with a single, powerful slash. The shock that ran through the rats was registered in a single moan, like a sudden gale running through long wheat. Nagru threw the blade down on the lifeless body.
“Anybeast got more strong opinions to voice can join him! Up on your paws, slopmouths, before I let daylight into some of your skulls! Mingol, take twelve and circle right. Riveneye, take another twelve and circle in from the left. The rest of you follow me. Well go straight up after them. If we shift fast enough, theyll be cut off from three ways. In my horde, a slow rat is a dead one. Now move!
Rab Streambattle and six of his otters watched anxiously as the fugitives toiled uphill. Rabs mate, Iris, fitted a stone to her sling. “Those rats are coming on fast, Rab. Theyre going to pincer in front of our lot before they get herewhatll we do?
The otter leader loosed an arrow, picking off one of Mingols front-runners. Laying another shaft on his bowstring he took aim and said, “Well have to buy them some time by holding off the rats. Lay on and make every shot count!