"Beg pardon, marm, but shouldn't you keep your long ears out of other beasts' business? Bad form, marm!" Fleetscut said severely.
"Who are you jolly well callin' longears? You're a hare y'self, y'dodderin' old paw-wobblera fig for you, sah!"
"Thou art a bit young in seasons to be cheeking thy elders in such manner, miss. Mind, or I'll teach thee a lesson!"
"I say, you broomtailed paw-breaker, d'you mind beltin' up? This is my quarrel, wot!"
Claaaanggggg! "Silence! Silence, I say!"
The ring of Brocktree's sword blade upon a rock, coupled with his stentorian roar, created instant quiet. The Badger Lord sheathed his weapon. "Next beast I hear arguing will have me to deal with! Now, back to the bank and gather cranberries, all of you! Don't stand there gawping at mewe have the best cooks in all Mossflower back at our camp. If you want hot cranberry tarts for supper tonight, you lot would be better off picking berries than arguing. We'll sort all our differences out over a decent meal. Now get moving!"
Muttered introductions were made as the party bent to pick cranberries. Brocktree and Dotti filled Mirklewort and Drucco in on Skittles's encounter with the Riverwolf, and the trial it had been trying to keep him in order. Titles, histories and names of friends and relatives were exchanged. Bags, aprons, helmets and pouches were filled until the area was stripped relatively clean of the good fruit. They trudged back along the bank in the failing light, Baron Drucco shaking his head in despair of his offspring, as he explained to a smiling Brocktree.
"Four times four, mindthat liddle tailsnip 'as gone missin' four times since 'e was borned, an' 'im not more'n two seasons old. No wonder me spikes is goin' grey those the missus ain't chopped off wid me hatchet."
Dotti and Fleetscut had apologized to one another, and were getting on quite amicably.
"Well stap me, so you're old Blench the cook's niece, wot? Bet you can't cook as well as your jolly old aunt, eh, m'gel?"
"Beg pardon? Me, cook? I'd burn a salad, sah. Us of the fatal beauty type are pretty awful cooks if y'ask me."
Gurth's apple'n'plum pudden with sweet chestnut sauce was set to one side as the Guosim cooks set about making cranberry tarts, which involved arguing.
"Thesell go nice with the sweet chestnut sauce, mate!"
"Who taught you to cook, bottlesnout? Rosehip an' honey syrup, that's the proper thing to 'ave with 'em!"
"Rubbish. Y'don't need any sauce or syrup with cranberry tarts. A few crystallized cuckoo flower petals, that's all anybeast in their right mind would sprinkle 'em with!"
"Huh, too late now. They're scoffin' 'em anyway!"
Stories were told around the stone oven campfire as it reflected in the night stream, and new-made friends relaxed on the bank. Brocktree and Fleetscut sat together. The Badger Lord was extremely disturbed about the bad news from Salamandastron.
"My father Stonepaw did right in sending you to gather an army, Fleetscut. For one of your long seasons you have done well, despite the difficulties you were under. Relax now, old fellow, I take charge as from hereon in."
The old hare bowed respectfully to the son, as he had always done to the father. "Do you have a plan, lord?"
Brocktree's dark eyes glowed in the firelight. "Oh yes, Fleetscut, I have a plan. Trust your Badger Lord!"
"I always have, sire, without question. D'ye mind me sayin', you remind me of your dad when I was nought but a leveret, though a bit bigger an' fiercer if that's at all possible."
Brocktree's great striped muzzle nodded. "It's possible, my friend. 'Tis said to wield a battle blade the size of mine, a badger must suffer from the Bloodwrath."
Fleetscut fell silent then. He had heard tales of badgers, the most reckless and savage of warriors, all affected by the violent scourge known as the Bloodwrath. Nothing could stop such a beast in combat; not weapons, nor force of fangs and claws. This new lord was a truly perilous beast.
That night Lord Brocktree and the tribe leaders Jukka the Sling, Baron Drucco, Log a Log Grenn, Gurth son of Longladle and Ruffgar Brookback the otter made a pact. Between them they would gather a great army and take Salamandastron; free it from the claws of Ungatt Trunn.
Lord Brocktree's stern voice caused neck hairs to bristle. "The lands our creatures live on must not be tainted by vermin hordes. Babes should be safe to wander alone. This will not be accomplished by one tribe alone. I need you allanybeast that loves freedomhedgehogs, shrews, squirrels, moles, otters, mice, voles and especially hares. We will go with you to the realm of this self-proclaimed hare king. He must be challenged and defeated. Then he and his followers must be persuaded to join us. They will all be fine fighting hares."
Gurth stared up at the badger's massive form. "Hurr well, if'n anybeast be's gurt 'nuff to beat hurr king, that 'un'll be ee, zurr!"
Brocktree was looking straight at Dotti as he replied. "No, Gurth, 'tis only fair that a hare challenges a hare. Tell me, Fleetscut, what is the next clue to this king's whereabouts? Is there anything special we must search for?"
The old hare repeated the lines he had committed to memory.
"Discover then a streamwolf's ford,
Tug thrice upon the royal cord,
Then my honor guard will bring,
Loyal subjects to their king!"
Brocktree tossed a few logs into the oven fire. "We've already found the streamwolf's ford. Let's get some sleep now. Tomorrow we've got a royal appointment, what d'you say, Ruff?"
"Haharr, royal me rudder. If'n that 'un's a king, I'm a h'emperor of h'otters, mates!"
Dotti lay awake for a while, wondering why the badger had stared at her so pointedly when he referred to a hare's only being challenged by another hare. But she did not dwell on it overlong. Just before sleep claimed Jukka, she heard the young haremaid mutter aloud to herself: "Ahem, all those of my subjects still awake, take note of this proclamation. Queen Dorothea Duckfontein Dill-worthy is about to take her fatal beauty sleep, so put a clap on your jolly old traps, wot wot?"
*********
The shrew Kubba wandered back into camp as the cooking fires were being rekindled next morning. He saluted Log a Log Grenn with a flourish of his rapier.
"Got up an hour afore dawn, marm, scoured the bank by the ford an' found wot yore lookin' for!"
"Jolly decent of you, old beast," Fleetscut called back from his place on the breakfast line. "You mean y'found the royal wotsamacallit? Where was it?"
Kubba sheathed his rapier. '"Tain't much, mate, just a big thick red cord, 'angin' from a whoppin' great 'ornbeam. I'll take ye there after brekkist. Float me log, I'm starvin'!"
Brocktree stepped out and shook Kubba's paw. "Take my place at the front of the line. Well done, sir!"
An hour later, their hunger sated by cheese and oatmeal cakes, the remaining cranberry tarts and some good Guosim cider, everybeast adjourned to the ford bank. Kubba pointed out the hornbeam tree, around the leeside of which hung a red tasseled rope, its length going off, up amid the foliage.
"That's the one, though I ain't tugged on the rope yet."
Brocktree performed an exaggerated bow to Dotti. "Would ye pray do the honors, milady?"
The haremaid curtsied prettily and fluttered her eyelids. "Why, thankee, m'lud. Methinks I'll give it a jolly old tug once or thrice, providin' the blinkin' tree don't fall on me bonce, wot wot!"
Dotti took firm hold of the cord and gave it three hefty tugs. The thin boughs in the hornbeam crown shook, dislodging a colony of jackdaws. Flapping angrily into the air, they set a din of harsh cries ringing into the quiet woodlands.
Baron Drucco watched the birds settle back onto the tree. "Haw haw haw! You'd think 'e could afford proper bells if'n 'e's supposed t'be a king like 'e sez 'e is. Wot do we do now? Shall I give the rope a few more tugs?"
Once again, he was not fast enough to escape Mirklewort's hatchet. She clipped one of his headspikes and pushed him down on his bottom, so that he was sitting against the hornbeam base. "Yew leave that rope alone, nincomscoop. We sit an' wait. Ain't that right, yer badgership?"