limbs, he hurled himself like an uncoiling spring at the oncoming weasel.
Disregarding weapons, the two creatures locked together on the ground,
snarling and tearing at each other like savage beasts.
Martin, Dinny and Log-a-Log struggled helplessly, floundering about in the net
like fish out of water. The more they moved, the tighter they were entwined.
Martin realized this, and lay still.
"I am Martin the Warrior," he called out. "These are my friends Dinny and
Log-a-Log. Why have you done this to us? We mean you no harm. We are only
travelers passing through. Turn us loose, please."
The toads turned to each other. They made unintelligible clicking and
golloping noises, seeming to find the whole business highly amusing. Their
leader jabbed warningly at
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the captives. "Krrglug, yukyuk! Quietnow, furmouse. Dampwatchsay comenow.''
The prisoners were dragged unceremoniously along the muddy ground. Other toads
came out of the mist to join the procession. When they finally reached their
destination, the captives were surrounded by a veritable army of the
creatures.
The leader threw the net ends over a stake driven into the ground. He spread
his webbed claw membranes. "Krrplok! Seehere, onemole twomouse, Marshgreen say
what?"
Seated on a huge fungus carved into the likeness of a high throne was a toad
bigger than the rest. Far more repulsive, too. It had no warts and was a slimy
wet green color. Its great translucent eyes filmed over as it blinked at the
captives. Fireflies danced in opaque plant-holders, and four more toads stood
guard around the throne with tridents. The big toad gave an ungainly hop down
to the ground and stood in front of the trio, blinking ceaselessly, its great
wobbly throat pulsating.
"Krrklok! Goodfind, Dampwatch. Furmouse makehappy Marshgreen."
Martin decided that politeness was at an end. They were being treated like
trophies. The warrior mouse's voice was loud and angry. "See here Marshgreen,
or whatever they call you. You've no right to treat us like this. Now set us
free, this instant!" he demanded.
The assembly of toads gave a bubbly cry of shock at the blatant disrespect to
their ruler.
Marshgreen inflated his throat until it swelled like a balloon. His eyes
bulged like button mushrooms.
"Splakkafrott! Mouthshut mousefur. Cheekybeast. Take-three, throwin
Screamhole."
The company of toads waddled and hopped excitedly, brandishing their tridents.
"Krrplakoggle! Screamhole, throwin Screamhole!"
"Look over there," Log-a-Log whispered to Martin. "I might have known it
wouldn't be spring without those two weeds sprouting again."
It was the newt and the grass snake, Whipscale and Death-coil. The unsavory
pair saw they were noticed and grinned wickedly.
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"D'you fancy standing on my tail again, shrew?"
"Oho, you three are in for it now."
Dinny shook the net. "Goo boil yurr 'eads, sloibeasts."
Deathcoil stood almost on the tip of his tail. "Not until we've seen you
thrown into the Screamhole with the Snake-fish."
Before they had a chance to find out what Deathcoil was talking about, the
trio were dragged along in the net once more. The journey was not so long this
time; it was far speedier because the net was hauled by many more toads.
They halted at what appeared to be an overgrown well. Its large circular bore
disappeared deep into the earth. Thick ferns drooped about the edges, growing
down into the pit.
Marshgreen came waddling up with the snake and the newt. They were flanked by
toads carrying firefly lanterns on their trident forks.
"Krrpook! Snakefish feedwell, Marshgreen bringyou fur-mouse," the toad ruler
called down the dark wellhole.
A toad presented Marshgreen with an elaborately carved trident. He jabbed it
ceremoniously at the captives in the net, then jabbed it three times toward
the well. The assembled toads flattened themselves against the ground,
chanting, "Snakefish mightyone, stayin Screamhole, eatup furmouse, leavealone
Dampwatch!"
Martin and his friends lay apprehensively listening as the chant grew louder.
Suddenly it stopped. The toads holding the net spilled it open, tugging it
backward vigorously.
Martin, Dinny and Log-a-Log were shot forward through the tracery of
overhanging fems. Deep into the Screamhole.
Tsarmina had detailed her archers to scatter volleys into the trees and brush
in case of concealed woodlanders. They fired off a desultory salvo, then all
else was forgotten as they broke off to watch the battle between Skipper and
Cludd at the water's edge.
Jaws locked, the combatants rolled over and over. Loam and sand flew in all
directions as they bit, grappled and kicked, raking each other with heavy
claws. The very ground shook
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at their wildness. Fur hung on the dawn air. Blood spattered into the river.
It was not too long before Cludd realized he was outmatched by the power and
fury of Skipper; now he was fighting for his life. The weasel tried to pull
free from the maddened otter, but to no avail. His breath sobbed raggedly in
his throat as he strained to reach the spear he had dropped in the first
charge.
Skipper, aware of what Cludd was up to, squirmed over, rolling him in the
opposite direction to the weapon. Suddenly Cludd grabbed a pawful of sand and
ground it into his opponent's eyes. Temporarily blinded, Skipper furiously
tried to clear his vision, unwittingly freeing Cludd. Seizing his chance,
Cludd bounded up and snatched the spear. With a savage scream he charged at
his floored adversary, leveling the point at Skipper's unprotected neck.
Through a sandy haze, Skipper saw the weasel coming. He rolled to one side. As
he did, his paw came in contact with the Captain's cloak he had shed upon the
bank. Sweeping it up and over in one continuous movement, the otter netted
Cludd, head and haunches. Falling over backward, Skipper felt the breeze of
the spearpoint pass his ear.
He thrust upward mightily. All four paws connected squarely with Cludd's body.
The weasel shot high in the air, enveloped by the cloak, landing with a cry of
shock. His fall had been broken upon the otter javelins that stood fixed in
the ground.
Otter javelins are pointed at both ends!
Chaos broke loose. Tsarmina hurled her troops forward at Skipper. A band of
otters broke cover, stopping them with javelins and slingstones. Skipper
bounded gracefully tail over ears into the river, followed by his crew, who
took the liberty of rattling a last furious salvo at the soldiers of Kotir.
Pushed on by those behind, several of the front ranks spilled into the water.
Tsarmina was among the first to go headlong into the river. Panic overtook the
wildcat as she floundered in the water. "Out, get me out," she screamed.
"Quick, before they loose the pike!"
Hurriedly she was dragged up onto the bank.
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Further upstream, there was a barking laugh of victory as Skipper's head broke
the surface. "The weasel got his cloak back, cat. It's pinned to him."
The river closed with a swirl on the last of the otters. Tsarmina raced up and
down the bank, snatching spears from her soldiers, hurling them vindictively
at the water.
"Come out, woodlanders, stand and fight!" she challenged.
Brogg, the weasel companion of Cludd, had taken the opportunity of extracting
the cloak from the javelins and his friend's body. He squatted at the river's
edge, washing it through.