Brome and those on the clifftop began hurling javelins and slingstones to cover their friends' retreat.
Badrang dashed forward as Buckler began scrambling up the rope.
He picked up a fallen javelin and hurled it.
The mole cried out in agony as it took him through the shoulder.
"Hold tight, Buckler, hold tight!" Rowanoak bellowed furiously as she seized the rope in both paws and heaved mightily.
Badrang leaped for the rope but found himself grasping dust.
Despite the fact that there were six others climbing the rope above Buckler, the strength of Rowanoak's tremendous pulls made the whole thing fairly fly up. She dashed backwards, muscles straining, as she towed the taut vine rope behind her. It hummed and sang under the tension, sending creatures who were clinging to it flying along the clifftop on their stomachs. Ballaw pulled the javelin from Buckler's shoulder. "How are you doin', old scout?"
The mole winced then smiled. "Take more'n a likkle ole spear to slay oi!"
"Ballaw, they're climbing the other ropes!" Brome's shouts brought Ballaw to the cliff edge. Bad rang was standing on the shore, directing his creatures upwards. "Get on those ropes, the rest of you start climbing. Come on, we can swarm them. They're too few to stop us!
Move, you dolts, get climbing."
Felldoh pulled the last slave over the clifftop. Below him he could see ferrets, rats and weasels scaling the remaining four ropes, while the rest were climbing up, spurred on by Badrang.
Rowanoak joined Felldoh and stood watching. "Let them get a bit closer to us then I'll move."
"Move what?" Felldoh looked at the badger quizzically.
"Those four large boulders the ropes are tied to, of course!"
Ballaw waggled his ears expressively. "Should give the rotters somethin' to think about, wot! Let's do it now before they get any further. I'll get all the gang to lend a paw. Right, gather round, chaps, and I'll explain the drill."
Badrang was about to mount one of the ropes himself when he heard the ominous rumble from above. Leaping clear he shouted up,
"Off! Get off the ropes! Back down, everybeast, quick!"
Some of the horde were almost at the top. They hesitated, looking at the long drop to the shore. Others clung to the cliff face, not knowing what to do.
Rowanoak threw her great bulk against the first boulder. It rolled quite freely. Ballaw and Felldoh had a thick branch under the next one. They levered down and the boulder began moving. Brome and some others charged the third boulder with the cart, setting it on the move as the stout little vehicle bumped it forward. Amid the screams and yells of panic as the first boulder came rumbling over the edge, Rowanoak dashed to the fourth and final one. She bulled into it with a deep growl. A ferret's head appeared over the clifftop as the boulder rolled forward. He gave a wail of dismay and flung himself into space.
The devastation caused by the four boulders was considerable. They tore huge chunks out of the cliff face as they bounced downwards, and several creatures tangled in the ropes attached to the boulders were given a fast, harsh sleigh ride on their backs down the steep slope. The less fortunate were crushed in the path of the great stones or caught by them as they bounced and thudded towards the shore.
Badrang had pulled a score of archers back. They knelt on the beach, directing a volley of shafts upwards. Cries from the clifftop told the Tyrant that his strategy was being rewarded.
As Rowanoak harnessed herself into the cart shafts, an arrow buried itself in the wood by her paw. "Time we weren't here, Felldoh.
Can you and Ballaw get the slow and wounded in the cart double quick, please."
It was but the work of a moment. The cart trundled off at a fast lick, propelled by Rowanoak and every able bodied creature.
"Cease fire, hold those bowstrings!"
Bluehide was the last to hear. He could not stop his arrow twanging off over the clifftop, nor could he avoid the swift kick from Badrang that sent him sprawling.
"What's the matter, cloth ears? Can't you tell that there's nobeast up there any more!" The Tyrant sighed heavily and sat on one of the boulders. "Hisk, Fleabane, count 'em up. How many did we lose?"
"Fifteen in all, Sire. About that many injured too."
"We got eight of theirs, though, and some more up on top must have been slain by arrows."
"Eight of theirs," Badrang snorted. "You mean eight of ours - they were my slaves. The only one of theirs was the mole. I got him, though I never got him good enough to finish him off."
The horde members sat about in silence, awaiting their leader's mood, which could range from indifference to foul bad temper.
Badrang watched them licking their wounds and retrieving their weapons. Then he summoned Hisk. "Take ten, make sure you've got a couple of good trackers. I want you to find where they've gone. When you do, report back to me at Marshank. Don't try to fight or even show yourselves, just come straight back to me with the information.
Have you got that?"
Hisk saluted with his spear. "Yes, Lord. I will do exactly as you say!"
"Good. When they are least expecting it, we will come in full force and ambush them. They are not soldiers or warriors, merely escaped slaves and some ragtag actors who have been lucky so far."
Cap'n Tramun Clogg sat back in Badrang's chair, enjoying the comfort of the longhouse. He drank damson wine and picked his teeth with the bones of a herring he had eaten. His clogs clacked noisily as he swung his legs on to the tabletop and gave Crosstooth a huge wink.
"Brains, that's wot y'need to outsail yer enemies, brains!"
The fox shook his head admiringly. "An' you've certainly got 'em, Cap'n. You fooled ole Badrang!"
Clogg's huge stomach shook with merriment. "I'll 'elp ye to find the slaves, sez I. You go that way an' I'll go this way. Aye, an' this is the way I goes, straight round the back o' the fortress, over the wall with me bold crew, an' captures Marshank for meself. Haharrharharr. Is the gate locked, matey?"
Crosstooth poured himself a beaker of wine. "Locked, barred an'
bolted tight, Cap'n. The crew is on the walls, well fed an' armed to the fangs!"
Clogg lost the fishbone in his stomach plaits and forgot it. "All waitin' for pore uncle Badrang to come visitin' with his tail atwixt 'is legs an' a flea in 'is ear. Hahaharr!"
27
Wakka, Chieftain of the Gawtrybe, was a savage fighter. Swift too, though not as swift as Martin the Warrior. The young mouse saw the squirrel hurtling through the air at him and danced nimbly to one side. Wakka hit the ground on all fours. Whirling fast, he was up and into Martin, setting his claws tight into Martin's sides, his sharp teeth seeking his opponent's throat as the bushy tail pushed itself stiflingly over the mouse's face. Martin bit into the tail hard, throwing himself backwards and shooting all four paws straight up. Wakka gave a shriek of pain and sailed over Martin's head, straight into a bunch of squirrels. Martin was up immediately. Joining both paws tight like a club, he swung out, knowing what the squirrels would do. They heaved their leader bodily back at the young mouse, hoping to crush him.
Whopp!
Martin's tight joined paws cannoned straight into Wakka's nose.
The squirrel sat down, licking away blood and seeing stars. His head cleared and he rushed Martin. This time he feinted slightly. As Martin leapt aside, Wakka went the same way and caught him. Locking his legs round the mouse's waist, the squirrel Chieftain clung like a limpet, scratching wildly at Martin's face. The young mouse winced as the foebeast's claws scored his cheeks deeply, trying to find his eyes.
Martin threw himself forward, hitting the ground with Wakka beneath him. The breath was knocked from the squirrel in one gasp. Punishing him with another hard double pawblow to the nose, Martin was first up. With both paws held tight to his damaged nose, Wakka staggered up. Martin grabbed him, spun him around and leapt on to the squirrel's shoulders. Clamping his footpaws round Wakka's neck, Martin grasped both the squirrel's ears as tight as he could and pulled upwards.