"You bottlenosed bloaters, get up that 'ill right now, d'ye hear me.
That's an order from yer Cap'n. Go on, chaaaaarge!"
They stood awkwardly about a third of the way up the dune, still unwilling to storm the hilltop. Clogg unsheathed his cutlass and began bustling his way up, knocking crew members left and right as he did.
"Out o' me way, yer mack'rel faced, milk swiggin', muck'eads. Yore nothin' but a pack o' ring tailed cowards!"
As they turned to look sheepishly at him, a searat called Wulpp screamed when a short javelin zinged out of nowhere and slammed right through his footpaw. The charge immediately deteriorated into an undignified rush down the hill.
Clogg followed in their rear, berating them soundly. "One liddle spear an' yore all runnin' about like beetles in a bucket. Ho shame! I never thought I'd see the day a crew o' mine would dash off without even seein' the enemy!"
When they were a reasonable distance from the big dune, the corsairs stopped and sat down on a grassy sward. Tramun came clattering up, with Wulpp limping slowly several lengths behind. The corsair Cap'n slumped down and began emptying sand from his clogs.
"Gruzzle, I'm fair disappointed in you, matey, an' you, Dedjaw, an'
you, Boggs. Mateys, what are ye all afeared of, a few ole sharpened wooden sticks?"
Whang!
A needle pointed lance arced out of the blue summer sky, narrowly missing Tramun Clogg as it pinned his coat skirt to the ground. The corsair Cap'n leaped up as if he had been beestung, ripping his coat from the quivering lance in the process.
"Tidal waves an' typhoons! There must be a monster be'ind yon 'ill.
Nobeast could hurl a lance that far!"
The rout continued, with Clogg in the lead as they scurried back to the safety of Marshank.
Behind the sand dune, Felldoh lay watching over the rim at the retreating corsairs.
Ballaw blew a long sigh of relief as he put down his javelins and thrower. "Good job they never charged the bally top an' stormed us.
There was enough of the blighters."
Rowanoak dusted sand from herself. "There certainly was. Imagine if they'd got past us, our camp is only over the next hill, south and east on the clifftops."
Celandine suddenly bounced back as if nothing had happened.
Primping the lace hems of her tunic, she remarked airily, "Oh yes, I had an idea it was, that's why I headed over this way!"
Ballaw rolled his eyes upward in mock despair. "You dreadful little fibber, miss! You were coming this way because a band of ruffians were chasing you."
"O them!" Celandine tossed her tail huffily. "I knew they wouldn't get me!"
Felldoh turned around from the dune rim. "But how did you know?
"
Celandine clasped both his paws, fluttering her eyelids wildly.
"Because I knew in my heart that my brave Felldoh would come to my rescue, and you did."
Rowanoak smiled and shook her huge head. "Come on, brave Felldoh, let's get this ruthless charmer back to camp!"
Felldoh felt his face burning as Celandine hung on his paws, praising him outrageously.
"You're so strong, so courageous, and so accurate with your sharp little sticks. Ooh look, I pricked my paw on one!
When they had gone, Brome emerged from hiding. He had followed Felldoh with the intention of joining him, until the badger and the hare decided to help his friend. Brome had stayed out of sight, knowing that Ballaw and Rowanoak would have sent him packing, back to camp. So he secreted himself in a clump of tor grass and watched them rescuing Celandine. Brome had grown a lot bolder since his escape from Marshank. He admired Felldoh and wanted to be like him, but he was treated as a young one in the camp. Brome climbed the dune and peered down on the three dead corsairs, imagining himself launching lances alongside Felldoh and simmering with resentment at being left out.
He slid down the dune on his bottom and sat looking at the three lifeless figures. After a while the young mouse ventured to pick up the sword which lay near Gritter. He swung it in the air, trying a few fancy strokes, an idea forming in his head as he did. There were still a good number of slaves to be freed from Marshank. Imagine the looks on the faces of Felldoh, Ballaw and Rowanoak if he, Brome, came marching back with a score or so of slaves that he had rescued.
The more Brome swung the sword the more he liked the idea. He would do it!
Arming himself with the sword and a dagger from Floater's belt, he dressed himself up in an assortment of corsair gear which he took from the three bodies. Smudging up his face with a few pawfuls of dust, Brome pulled the brim of Crableg's floppy hat down at a rakish angle and set off for Fortress Marshank. Swaggering along like a villainous searat, he practised the brogue.
"Haharr, I'm Bucktail, as good a matey that ever sailed the seas an'
plundered landlubbers. Haharr an' hoho!"
23
As Grumm, Pallum and Rose tugged at their neck vines they screamed and shouted insults and threats, despite the menacing presence of the lizards who surrounded them. Martin did not waste breath on words. He fought savagely tooth and paw as the reptiles dragged him bodily towards the fire pit. The red frilled leader stood impassively by, tongue flickering, throat pulsing, silent as the rest of his tribe. Martin drew blood from several of the beasts, kicking, butting, biting and gouging whenever he could force a movement among the swarming lizards whose bodies swamped and stifled his every attempt. The fire took off and began crackling, pale wisps of smoke rising to blend with the fetid air as hungry golden red flames danced and nickered in the cooking pit.
A piercing off key cry rang through the marshlands. Immediately all activity among the lizards stopped. The noise rent the still air a second time. It was not a pleasant sound, something akin to the screech of a gate with rusty hinges, coupled with a loud gurgling ululation. The red frilled leader's head shook from side to side, eyes flickering and filming as he hissed what appeared to be some type of warning or command. The rest of the reptiles went into swift, silent action.
Hustling Martin and his three friends together, they hauled the neck vines tight, securing them firmly to the stakes so that the four captives were forced to lie with their faces in the dirt. Ferns, leafy boughs, rushes, shrubs and all manner of vegetation were piled hurriedly on the prisoners until they were lost to view. Several lizards perched on top of the pile, stretching themselves out as if napping. Beneath the oppressive heap, Martin and his companions fought desperately for breath.
A fully grown male grey heron stalked majestically into the lizard encampment, towering high over the heads of the reptiles as they stood still like statues. The Warden of Marshwood Hill was an immense bird. He glared down at the lizards from his enormous height, dark pupilled, pale gold eyes watching them from over a savage yellow pair of beak spikes. Throwing back the snakelike column of his powerful neck, he gave throat to a chilling shriek, the twin black feathers on his skull back vibrating.
The dipper zoomed down from the branches of a gnarled wych elm at the edge of the clearing. It landed among the lizards perched on top of the vegetation and did an excited hopskip dance. The grey heron moved fearlessly and fast, long black sticklike legs pounding the ground as it spread awesome silk grey wings and charged the heap.
The lizards scuttled over each other in their attempts to get out of its way, but they were flung high into the air as the heron scattered the foliage, demolishing the entire pile with wings, beak and claw webbed feet.
Martin, Rose, Grumm and Pallum lay exposed on the ground, writhing feebly as they pulled at the taut neck vines. The Warden's dangerous amber beak clacked perilously close to their heads as he severed the vines with careless ease. He watched them for a moment until Martin's eyes opened. Leaning close, he spoke to the young mouse in a precise clipped manner.