"Ah dinnae know where this Salamawotjimacallit place is, but ah'm gan with ye, an' mah wild mountain hares'll be a-comin' tae, the noo. We widnae miss a braw battle for nought!"
Gurth sat with Dotti, the willow leaves lightly brushing their heads. Between them lay a flagon of gooseberry crush and a thick vegetable flan. The sturdy mole waved his tankard toward the logboats.
"They'm avven gurtly apportant talks, miz. Oi wuddent be approised if'n we be on ee march boi mornen, hurr aye!"
The haremaid broke off a piece of flan. Forgetting her table manners, she spoke through a mouthful in moletalk. "Oi wuggent noider, zurr!"
Joyous sounds of happy creatures rang through the warm velvety night. Music, singing and feasting were everywhere. Those who were weary slept curled on the grass, full and contented, not worrying about the perilous days which lay ahead of them.
Dawn's first birds trilled to the rising sun, waking the dew-scattered sleepers in the wide forest glade. Dotti was already up, abandoning her fatal beauty sleep in favor of the momentous events she knew were about to take place. The haremaid joined Brocktree and the company of chieftains, standing on a rock protruding from the hillside. In groups, last night's revelers drifted into the clearing below. Brocktree leaned on his battle blade, Skittles perched on his footpaw. He waited patiently until everybeast was standing grouped before him. Then, at his nod, Bucko took the fore.
"Hearken tae me, mah beasties. There's an auld hare here, who comes frae a mountain an' bears a message for all warriors. Ah've nae doubt yell listen to whit he has tae say. Judge for yerselves, ah'm nae langer yer king!'
Bucko stood back, allowing Fleetscut to come forward. The old hare held the crown in his paw. "Mount Salamandastron is where I come from, as most of you know, wot. Now there's those here t'day who were born there, whose parents an' grandkin are comrades o' mine. I've been gone from there a while now, but I know for certain that any hares left alive on the mountain will be slaves and prisoners of the wildcat Ungatt Trunn and his Blue Hordes!" He waited until the angry shouts died down. "Hah, I see that y'know the vermin, wot. When Bucko was king he intended to form you into an army to hunt Trunn down an' face him. Well, that still goes. Only difference is you won't be marchin' under a king; our leader is the rightful heir of Salamandastron, Brocktree!"
There followed a mixture of cheering and surprised cries. Fleetscut held up the crown. "You hares, let me tell you the law. Some among you will remember the rhyme you learned from your elders.
" 'We follow our comrades in peace and war,
The hare is a perilous beast, we know,
But who commands, who makes our law?
The Badger Lords, 'twas always so!'
"Do you hear that? This is Lord Brocktree of Brockhall, a Badger Lord of Salamandastron by birth and by right, and this crown, won for his cause by his brave champion Dorothea Duckfontein Dillworthy, is the symbol of his leadership!" Fleetscut passed the crown to Brocktree. Every eye was upon the great badger as he took his place in the vanguard of the tribal chieftains. Unwinding the laurel leaves from the thin gold coronet, he cast them aside. His powerful paws crushed the circlet into a narrow double strip. This he wound about his sword hilt, with no more effort than he would have used on a green willow withe. Then the Badger Lord's voice boomed like thunder about the glade, setting every creature's neck hairs on end.
"Friends! Warriors! Goodbeasts all! I am going to defeat the evil one, Ungatt Trunn. I am going to take back from him and his Hordes the mountain that is mine. Today, now! I march for Salamandastron! Those who would follow me, call out this war cry. Eulaliiiaaaaaaaa!"
The entire glade exploded in an earsplitting roar.
"Eulaliiiiaaaaaaa!"
Dotti knew then the force and power of a Badger Lord. She was swept along beside him, howling like a mad-beast, surrounded by blades, slings, spears, bows, shields, javelins and bared teeth, all surging irresistibly forward like a gigantic wave. Brocktree's paws pounded the dust high as he ran, whirring his battle blade like a sunlit lightning flash, his huge form standing out like a beacon.
"Eulaliiiiaaaaa! Eulaliiiaaaaa! Eulaliiiaaaaaaa!"
For all his seasons, Fleetscut kept pace alongside the haremaid. She saw him, tears flowing down his weathered face, brandishing a short-hafted squirrel spear, yelling hoarsely between the battle cries.
"I never let ye down, Lord Stonepaw. I'm comin' back home now, sire . . . Eulaliiiiiaaaaaaaaa!"
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Book Three
Comes a Badger Lord
also entitled
A Shawl for Aunt Blench
Chapter 28
South of Salamandastron in a sparsely wooded copse, a group of about thirty Blue Hordebeasts and their stoat captain, Byle, sat in a clearing. They had been foraging for food, quite successfully, if anybeast were to judge by the bulging haversacks scattered about. Byle was a newly promoted officer, determined to do well. He was very happy with the results of the forage, but also quite hungry. So were the vermin under his command. Byle strode about, checking that the haversacks were all fastened tight, aware of the surly glances of his minions. They wanted to eat some of the food, instead of having to tramp back to the mountain and deposit it, untouched, with Ungatt Trunn's supply officers. It was a tricky situation for Byle, but he put on a jovial air and attempted to flatter the mutinous-looking vermin by praising their efforts.
"Hoho, we did well today, cullies. I wouldn't be at all surprised if you wasn't all promoted f'yer good work!"
A rat spat, narrowly missing Byle's footpaw. "Promotion! Wot good's that, eh? Ye can't eat promotion!"
The new captain laughed nervously and winked at another rat. "Haha, you was up that tree like a squirrel after those apples. Where did ye learn t'climb like that, mate?"
Instead of answering, the rat began undoing the drawstring on his heavily laden haversack. Byle knew it was time to assert his authority. He spoke sharply. "Now now, none o' that, you. Leave them apples alone or I'll have to report yer!"
The rat pulled out an apple, making a wry face at his companions as he mocked Byle. "Did ye hear the nice new cap'n, mates? Goin' to report me he is. Huh, that's if'n he makes it back alive!"
The apple was halfway to the Horderat's mouth when a slingstone struck his paw. He screamed and dropped the apple.
"First beast t'move is a dead 'un!"
A figure clad in a hooded, brown, barkcloth cloak appeared from behind a juneberry bush, its face hidden behind a woven reed mask, a long whip held in its paw. Byle gasped. "The Bark Crew!"
The creature behind the mask chuckled harshly. He cracked the whip in Byle's face. "Haharr, right first time, vermin. Yore surrounded by threescore of us. Duck yore 'eads. Quick!"
Instinctively the forage patrol ducked their heads. Broken twigs and leaves showered down on them as a volley of slingstones rattled through the trees overhead. Four arrows quivered in the ground close to Byle. The whip snaked out, wrapping itself around his paw.
"See wot I mean, stoat? D'you an' this worthless pack want to live? Answer me!"
Since the start of summer the dreaded Bark Crew had become the terror of Ungatt Trunn's foraging patrols. They seemed to be everywhere at once. Byle knew of Hordebeasts and captains who had been slain when they offered resistance to the brown-cloaked raiders. His voice quavered helplessly as he replied to the sinister figure.
"Don't s-s-s-slay us, s-s-sire. We wants t'live. W-w-wot d'ye want us to do?"