Buckler hid a smile, nodding vigorously. "Right, marm, I'll take yore advice, marm, good of ye to mention it, marm, thank ye kindly!"
The Guosim maid eyed him coldly. "Marm me jus' once more an' I'll shove ye off'n this wall... rabbet!"
Buckler tweaked her ear. "Aye, try callin' me rabbet again an' I'll take ye with me, cheekyface!"
Pulling free of the hare's grip, Flib eyed Buckler with a face like thunder.
Jango winked at Buckler. "Growin' up into a proper Guosim lady, ain't she?"
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Sniffy the Tracker nodded over at the foebeasts' position. "Sounds like they're fixin' to start somethin'. Lissen t'that. Sounds like a war chant to me, Chief."
Log a Log Jango cupped an ear in the direction. "Aye, they're yellin' somethin', I can't make out wot it is, though. Ahoy, Flib, me darlin', can ye make out wot those vermin are chantin'?"
After standing for a moment in rebellious silence, Flib relented, complying with her father's request.
"Vilaya, Vilaya, Sable Quean! That's wot they're callin'. Prob'ly workin' themselves up for action."
Buckler nodded courteously toward her. "Thankee, mate. You've got good sharp ears!"
She smiled, her sullen mood fading. "I've got better ears than my pa or Sniffy. You'd be surprised at some o' the things I can hear."
Buckler nodded. "I'm sure I would."
Flib looked toward the Abbey building. "I just heard a noise from over there--bet you didn't!"
Buckler was concentrating more on the Ravagers' shouts, which were growing louder, but to humour Flib, he asked, "What sort of noise was it?"
She shrugged. "Came from the south side o' the Abbey. Sounded like wot you yell out sometimes. Eu-lowly-oh!"
The Salamandastron Blademaster was suddenly alert. "Y'mean Eulalia, the Long Patrol war cry? That'll be Diggs--he must be in some sort of bother! Skip, Jango, keep a close watch on those Ravagers. I'll be back as soon as possible. Guard that rubble pile in front o' the gates. If they charge, they'll try to come at us straight up it. I've got to go!" Drawing the long rapier from its back scabbard, Buckler sped off down the wallsteps.
Grakk had replaced the slain Fallug, who lay stiff on the ground, his face fixed in a hideous grin caused by the adder venom from Vilaya's lethal little knife. She stood
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to one side, nibbling daintily on a roasted partridge egg, watching her new commander whipping the vermin into a battle frenzy. Grakk used thrusts of his spear to emphasise words.
Zwilt was temporarily forgotten, now that the Ravagers had fallen under the spell of their Sable Quean. One who could rise from the dead, and the bars of Hellgates. She who could slay a warrior like Fallug with a single touch of her paw. What else could they do but follow her? En masse, they thundered out their replies to Grakk's questions.
"Who do we serve? Who do we serve?"
"Vilaya! Vilaya! Sable Quean! Yahaaaaaarrrr!"
"An' who are we? What do we do?"
"Ravagers! Ravagers! Kill! Kill! Kill!"
They began the advance, waving spears, axes, pikes and all manner of weaponry. Stamping hard with their footpaws, until the open flatlands thrummed like a great drum, as they repeated over and over, "Vilaya! Vilaya! Sable Quean! Yahaaaaar! Ravagers! Ravagers! Kill! Kill! Kill!"
Buckler instinctively knew where Diggs would be--around the kitchen area. If it was not a usual mealtime, the tubby rascal would make his way to the kitchen window. Pasties, pies, scones and tarts were often taken from the ovens and left to cool on the open window ledge. Cutting along the south side of the Abbey building, Buckler sensed right off that something was amiss. He drew his blade, running to the window. One glance was all that was needed.
Amidst the welter of broken dishes and scattered food, Diggs lay slumped on the floor. Vaulting over the windowsill, the young hare went straight to his companion. Turning Diggs over, he cradled his head, leaning close to his nose. Thanking the seasons that Diggs was breathing, Buckler reached for an oven cloth to stanch the deep wound on his unconscious friend's head. Binding it tight,
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he reached out a footpaw, pulling a half-empty sack of flour close. Resting Diggs's head on the makeshift pillow, Buckler suddenly became alert.
There were cries of alarm from within Great Hall, coupled with the sound of a little one wailing. Grabbing up his long rapier, he charged out to confront the intruders.
Buckler skidded to a halt. Abbess Marjoram, Clarinna, Jango's wife, Furm, Drull Hogwife and Dymphnia, Witherspyk, clutching Dubdub to her, were surrounded by Zwilt the Shade and his four Ravagers. Buckler knew that only by keeping cool could he rescue them.
Leaning on his sword, he shook his head at the foebeast, commenting scornfully, "Making war on ladies and an infant now, 'tis a brave thing t'do. What a great pity a real warrior's turned up. So, what'll you do now, coward?"
Zwilt's broadsword was already drawn. He drove his Ravagers away from him. "Stand clear and keep a watch on the others, lest they try to run outside and give the alarm. Well, rabbet, come for a lesson in swordplay, have you?" He began circling, his blade swishing the air as he limbered up his paw.
Buckler circled in the opposite direction, holding his weapon lightly. He smiled coldly. "Always ready to learn, if you think you're the master, though I thought babe stealing was your chosen trade."
Both beasts continued circling, drawing closer to each other. It was obvious Zwilt and Buckler were skilled swordbeasts. They locked eyes, never letting their gaze stray. Moving nearer, they walked side on, to present the narrowest target. Footpaws braced nimbly, each seeking an opening.
Herded to the side of the stairway by their captors, Marjoram and her friends watched the duel.
Zwilt, feeling he was close enough, made the initial move. Bounding at his opponent, he struck out with the broadsword, hissing viciously, "Tizzzzz death!"
Buckler sidestepped, countering with a single slash
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which deflected the broadsword. As he passed Zwilt, he flicked out his blade, nicking his enemy's ear.
Zwilt lashed out on the turn, laying a wound across Buckler's cheek. The young hare knew that stopping to consider a cut was fatal in a fight to the death. Ducking low, he scythed out with the long rapier, slashing Zwilt's left footpaw.
With his blade cutting whirring arcs, the sable warmed to the attack, pacing high, stepping forward, seeking to drive the hare back.
Buckler, familiar with the move, stood his ground, jabbing with his swordpoint between Zwilt's swings. The sable felt the rapier tip jab his sword paw--he was forced to back off.
Now Buckler came forward. Step! Jab! Parry! Lunge! Zwilt went sideways, one of his swings catching the young hare's side at the waist. Grabbing the big broadsword in both paws, Zwilt battered away at Buckler, who was forced to crouch.
Using this position to his advantage, the hare came upward in a leap, shouting his war cry. "Eulaliaaa!" He drove his adversary backward with a speedy display of figure-of-eight maneuvers.
Steel clashed upon steel. Zwilt was driven backward; he bounded onto the stairwav, but Buckler was there first. Skipping up a few steps, the hare gained the advantage, coming down on the sable like a thunderbolt. The clang of weapons striking each other echoed about Great Hall.
Both contestants were panting heavily as they hacked and thrust, each desperate to finish off the other. They battled upon the sweeping flight of stairs, up and down, neither giving an inch. Zwilt was swinging wildly when a fierce slash from Buckler scored his muzzle. He retreated downstairs, leaving a blood trail behind him. Clamping a paw to his wounded side, the young hare hastened to the attack.
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Zwilt was losing the fight. He knew he had met a sword-beast who was more than his match. For the first time in his life, the sable felt the broadsword was becoming too heavy to lift. The hare was still light on his paws, wielding the rapier with skill and vigour. So Zwilt the Shade made the only move left open to him.