Cuthbert was in his element as he began roaring orders to all and sundry in his roughest maritime tones. “Ahoy, let’s go to sea, me buckoes! Haul anchor, ye slab-sided scallawags! Make sail aloft, ye blunderin’ bluebottles! We’re bound for death or glory, whichever comes first!”
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! As he belaboured his drum, he bellowed out orders to the rowing crew. “Bend yore backs, ye skinny sideswabs! Avast there, ye paddle-pawed poltroons! Pull! Pull! Pullllll!”
The big hare felt happier than he had for many long seasons. “Steersbeasts! Hold her westward, ye dither-pawed dodderers! Sweep oars! Pull, ye gripe-gutted galoots! Heave ho, me blunderin’ buckoes! I’ll make seabeasts of ye, or I’ll wallop yore whiskers, keelhaul yore scuts an’ nail yore noses t’the mainmast! Pull! Puuuuullllll!”
The ship, caught by the breeze and swept on by two dozen long sweep oars, shot forward like a flying fish.
Pandion raised his beak to the sun-kissed skies. “Karraheeee! Take me to my home! Karreeehaarr!”
The two subalterns gripped the tiller tight between them, amazed at the speed the ship was gaining by the moment.
“I say, Quarters, in a bit of a blinkin’ hurry aren’t we, wot!”
“Rather, Porters. D’you think Ole Blood’n’guts is tryin’ to gain a march, so’s we can stop for tea?”
Cuthbert leaned over them both, squinting villainously. “Either of yew chubby-cheeked charmers lets go of that tiller an’ I’ll make subaltern skilly’n’duff out o’ ye both. How’d ye like that for tea, eh?”
Lord Mandoral stood at the window of his high chamber. He saw reflecting sunlight flashing from Tiria’s armour as she stood on the bowsprit, waving good-bye to him. The Badger Lord merely nodded his big striped head in acknowledgement. He watched the vessel receding over the water, its long sweep oars making it look like a damselfly skimming over a vast millpond.
Mandoral’s lips barely moved as he softly chanted an old warrior’s farewell to the tall young ottermaid he had come to respect and admire.
“May fair winds attend thee always,
may thy days be bright and long,
may good weapons ever serve thee,
may thy limbs wax fleet and strong.
I will dream of thee by moonlight,
I will watch for thee by day,
until on thy returning,
I will come to thee and say,
‘Drink ye the wine of victory,
now lay aside thy sword,
for home and hearth and friendship
are the warrior’s reward!’ ”
27
Leatho Shellhound struggled wildly to avoid the spear as Kaltag stabbed viciously down at him. Bound as he was by both paws to the cage bars, he did not have much room for manoeuvre. The outlaw ducked his head forward, wrenching his body to one side as the wooden cage rocked madly against the high tower wall. He felt a stinging pain close to his left paw as the spearhead glanced off it.
Kaltag’s eyes glittered in the darkness as she drew back the weapon and thrust it down, screeching out vengeance for her dead son. “Eeeyaaaah! Go to Hellgates, murderer! Die! Die!”
Twice more the spear grazed Leatho as he wriggled about within the confines of his narrow prison. Defiant to the end, he roared insults at his tormentor. “Is that the best ye can do, Mangetail? Ye need a few lessons with the spear. Cut me loose, Scruffcoat, an’ I’ll show ye how it’s done!”
Kaltag yowled with rage. Gripping the spearpole with both paws, she centred on the back of the otter’s neck, readying herself for the killing strike.
Leatho knew his fate was sealed. Bound and helpless, he could not last much longer. He tensed himself, listening to the cat’s rasping breath above him. Suddenly a hubbub broke out from the upper chamber. The spear slithered down through the bars and stuck, quivering, point first, in the pier far below.
Kaltag began wailing insanely. “Let me go, take your stupid paws off me! Shellhound must pay for my son’s death!”
Weilmark Scaut and two catguards held her tight, dragging her back from the windowsill. Kaltag bit, scratched and kicked at them, but to no avail, as the three cats hauled her roughly from the chamber.
Riggu Felis stood outside. Quickly he slammed the door shut, snarling, “Get her downstairs. Nobeast comes into this room but me!”
Kaltag was borne away, yelling accusations at the wildcat. “Coward! Traitor! Will you see Jeefra’s killer left alive?”
The warlord yelled down the stairwell after her, “Keep that madbeast away from here. She’ll ruin all my plans. I need Shellhound alive!”
Felis went into the chamber and stole across to the window. Leaning out, he rattled the cage with his axehaft, taunting the captive. “Well, I’m glad to see you still alive, my friend.”
As Leatho looked up, he could see the disfigured face beneath the chain mail half-mask. He growled scornfully at the wildcat. “That’s more’n I can say for you, ripface!”
Felis continued baiting his prisoner. “Would you like a drink of water? I’ll spare you some if you beg for it. Lovely cold, fresh, clear water, just beg nicely and I’ll tell the guards to fetch some.”
For answer, Leatho bared his teeth and rattled the cage. “All I’ll beg for is a chance to get out of here an’ stand facin’ yore ugly mug. Then it’ll be yore turn to beg!”
The wildcat backed off slowly, calling to his captive, “Oh, I’ll let you loose soon enough, the moment your friends surrender to me. Then they can watch you licking my footpaws every day, with Scaut whipping you whenever you stop. That should make a pretty sight, eh?”
The outlaw heard the chamber door slam shut. He sagged forward in his bonds, head drooping. To his surprise, the rope holding his left paw creaked, stretching slightly. Hope surged anew through Leatho. He jerked and tugged on the rope, feeling the fibres starting to part. The spear, of course, it had to be! In the darkness, Kaltag’s frenzied stabs must have hit the rope, partially slicing through and weakening it.
Leatho could not twist his head far enough to inspect the rope, but he knew he could eventually snap it. Even though his limbs were swollen and numbed with cramp, the tenacious otter pulled, twisted and jerked against his bond. Each fresh assault tore more of the fibres, snapping away the closely woven strands. He grunted with pain as one final wrench parted the rope, allowing the deadened paw to hang limply at his side. Dizzy with the effort, Leatho rested for a moment. Then, with no firm plan in mind, he set about freeing his other paw. Hauling himself up on the bars, the outlaw got his teeth into the other rope. He gnawed away, strand by strand, until he had chewed right through it. With a deep sigh, he allowed himself the luxury of sitting down on the cage floor. Leatho slowly rubbed the life back into his aching limbs and shoulders, thinking hard. Now, what next?
Early birds began their twittering chorus in the first rays of dawn as the otterclans arrived at the far shores of the lake. Crouching in the rushes, surrounded by his warriors, Big Kolun Galedeep cooled his paws in the cold water. He peered through the mist, which hung like a milky veil over the stillwater.
“Wot d’ye think, should we go in now?”