"Welcumm to ee mounting, zurrs, do you'm cumm in naow!"
"Och, mah bairns, ye'll catch yer death of arrers stannin' 'roond oot there!"
They piled in regardless, ears over tails in a jumble, and the great doors slammed shut in the vermin horde's face.
Lord Brocktree put aside his battle blade. The badger's eyes were red as flame on winter's eve. His huge chest rose and fell as he approached the otters, stumbling over the carcasses of vermin who would fight no more. He stood silent awhile, striving to control the Bloodwrath which coursed like wildfire through his veins. Brog and Ruff took a step backward from the fearsome sight. Brocktree shuddered violently, as if trying to rid himself of a phantom foe. Then he held both paws wide, bowed his head and spoke in a normal tone.
"This is my mountain. Welcome to Salamandastron!"
Chapter 35
Morning was well under way, warm and still under a powdery blue sky. Ungatt Trunn had traversed the clifftops for most of the night, searching for the mass of Hordebeasts he had sent to investigate the fire to the north. Only now had he found them. Telltale spirals of smoke marked their campfires in an area between the dunes and the cliff side. Still carrying his trident, the wildcat padded silently down to where Ripfang, his brother Doomeye and some other former searats were cooking things in their shields over the flames. Catching sight of Trunn, they started to stand to attention, but he waved them back down with a few flicks of his paw. Seating himself between Ripfang and Doomeye, he turned to the more intelligent of the two, showing neither anger nor anxiety.
"So, Ripfang, I don't see captives or the slain bodies of Bark Crew creatures. Nor do I see as many Hordebeasts as left the mountain last night. What happened?"
Taking his time cleaning a morsel of food from his single tooth with a knifepoint, Ripfang coolly pushed across a shield containing a form of stew in its curved bowl. "You musta been trampin' 'alf the night, boss. 'Ere, 'ave a bite o' brekkist."
The food did not look very appetizing, but it smelled good. Trunn picked up a clean seashell, scooped some up and tasted it, nodding agreeably. "Not bad at all. What is it?"
"When we was chasin' after Fragorl, we found clumps o' charlock growin' everywhere, an' stonecrop, too, sir," Doomeye explained proudly. "There was a liddle stream o' sweet water, wid tutsan sproutin' 'round it. Got some periwinkles an' mussels off'n the rocks below the tideline as well. So we cooked 'em all up together. Tasty, ain't it? Wish we 'ad some pepperwort, though. I likes pepperwort."
Ungatt Trunn cut him short, his voice calm and reasonable. "Very resourceful of you. But, Ripfang, why were you chasing after my Grand Fragorl?"
"Well, it was like this, see, cap'n. Fragorl was wid the band who was supposed to 'ead out along the shore an' circle back be'ind the enemy. But sink me if'n that treacherous ferret didn't just carry straight on goin'!"
The wildcat was hungry. He scooped up more of the mess. "You mean she deserted?"
"The very word, cap'n, deserted! Aye, an' she took a third of our force wid 'er. Went like a flight o' swallows, flyin' south, but o' course they 'eaded north. We did like yer said, closed in on that big bonfire, but there wasn't 'ide nor 'air of anybeast there, just a fire. Knowin' 'ow you'd feel about ole Fragorl takin' off wid yore soldiers like that, we tried to track 'er down. But they was long gone."
Trunn tossed away the shell and wiped his mouth. "I see. Thank you, my friends, you are both faithful and trustworthy servants. I'll reward you well when the time comes. But for now we'd best get back to the mountain."
"The mountain, eh?" There was a hint of irony in Ripfang's tone. "'Ow are things goin' back there, cap'n?"
Ripfang gulped as the trident prongs went either side of his paw. Pressing down, the wildcat pinned the searat firmly to the sand. Ripfang was immediately regretting the dangerous game of disrespect he had started.
Ungatt Trunn's gold-ringed eyes blazed savagely. "Let's go back and see, shall we? I trust you are still loyal to my cause, Ripfang, that you swear to follow and serve me? Or perhaps you'd like to stay here?"
Ripfang knew what the fearsome wildcat meant by the phrase stay here. He averted his eyes from the murderous gaze. "Loyal? Me an' me brother are loyal to ye, sire, that's why we signed up with yer in the first place. You lead an' we'll toiler yer, sire, true blue an' never fail. Er, soon as yew let me 'ave me paw back, sire."
The trident lifted, releasing Ripfang's paw. Trunn smiled. "Good! Get the columns ready to march, captain."
They took to the clifftops where the going was faster, Ungatt Trunn at the rear, his captains at the front. The brother searats held a muttered conversation as they marched at double speed.
"Did yer see 'is eyes, Rip? That 'un's mad, stark starin' mad!"
"Oh no 'e ain't, Doom. Dangerous, aye, but not mad. Somethin' strange 'as 'appened back at the mountain. Wotever 'twas, it brought Trunn out searchin' for us all through the night. I don't like it, mate, not one liddle bit!"
"Mebbe we should've run fer it, like Fragorl did?"
"Yore right, Doom. Too late fer that now, though."
"So wot d'yer think we should do, Rip?"
"I dunno, but I'll think of somethin'."
"Well, 'urry up an' think, will yer!"
"Shuttup. 'Ow can I think wid yew blatherin' down me ear?"
"So that's all the thanks I gets for cookin' yer brekkist. Well, keep yer ideas. I can think of ideas, too, y'know!"
"Hah, yew can think of ideas? Who told yer that? Yore brain's got a full-time job just figgerin' out 'ow to put one paw in front o' the other so yew kin march!"
Doomeye purposely stamped on Ripfang's paw.
"Yowch! Watch where yore treading y'great lolloper!"
Doomeye's smile was full of malicious innocence. "Sorry, Rip. Me brain mustn't 'ave been figgerin' right."
Lord Brocktree had ordered the midlevel windows and arrow slits to be opened. Now his creatures stood at every aperture, well armed and vigilant. Dotti and the twins took their lunchtime snack gratefully from the Guosim cooks and placed it on the windowsill. As they ate, the Badger Lord halted his inspection of the defenses to chat with them while he took his meal.
"No sign of Ungatt Trunn yet, miss?"
"Sorry, sah, the blighter hasn't shown up yet. D'you think he will? P'raps the rascal's scarpered, wot?"
Brocktree shook his great striped head. "No chance of that, I'm certain. He'll be back; this isn't finished yet. Look at those vermin below. They've completely surrounded the mountain, yet there's not been a single slingstone or arrow from them. That fox, Karangool, he's sitting on the sand just waiting. Waiting for orders, if I'm not mistaken. Doesn't want to make a wrong move."
Southpaw and Bobweave guffawed.
"Haw haw, the wrongest move old Trunn ever made was stealin' your mountain, eh, lord?"
"I'll say. The blighter must be a right puddenhead, wot? Should've stuck t'stealin' his grandma's pies!"
Brocktree waved a plum slice under their noses sternly. "Never underestimate your enemy. I shouldn't have to tell you thatyou're supposed to be fighters."
The Badger Lord pulled his paw back with half the slice gone. Bobweave grinned as he chewed. "An' never wave scoff near a hare's jolly old mouth. You should know that, sire, wot?"
Brocktree winked at Dotti, then tripped the hare twin slyly. Bobweave found himself flat on his back, with the great sword point prodding his stomach lightly. It was the badger's turn to grin. "Never steal food from the Lord of Salamandastronhe has a dreadful way of getting it back. You should know that!"
Dotti and Southpaw fell about laughing as Bobweave wailed, "I say, sir, steady on, you wouldn't chap a chop, er, I mean chop a chap open t'get a measly mouthful back, would you? Rotters, why don't you plead for my bally life instead of rollin' 'round grinnin' like daft ducks!"