In a great show of swaggering, Zerig pulled out the weapon, tossing it back to its owner. The fox captain’s sword waved in an arc over the rest of the vermin. In a harsh and commanding voice, he ground out an ultimatum. “Run now if ye want to join Fargil!”
The ermine and foxes stood motionless. Zerig pointed his blade at the Abbey and proclaimed boldly, “When Lord Gulo arrives here, we will be sitting inside that place, eating the flesh of our enemies. I give ye my word on it!”
The vermin were scouring the woodlands for anything they could make a meal of, when Freeta came to where Zerig sat at the tree fringe. “Well, Captain, will ye meet the hares on the flatlands at tomorrow’s dawn?”
Zerig snorted. “Do ye take me for an idiot? What beast would carry out his foe’s orders?”
Freeta chewed on a grass blade. “Thou art a bravebeast, Zerig, but thy sense often deserts thee.”
Zerig snatched the grass from her lips. “How so?”
The vixen plucked another stalk, replacing it. “Had I questioned Fargil, I would have asked him certain things: How many creatures did he see at the Abbey, what was the number of fighting beasts and who looked like the peaceable ones? Another thing, before he was captured, did Fargil see a way in—a loose gate, a wall that would be easy to climb, maybe a good spot where a tunnel might be dug? There was more I would have asked him. Did they have vittles an’ drink aplenty in there, enough to withstand a siege? Now ye have slain Fargil, many questions still need answers.”
Zerig knew the sly vixen had the advantage of him. “So, what do we do now, Freeta?”
She shook her head teasingly. “Oh no, what do you do? I am not a Captain in command, that is thy decision.”
Zerig narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “What do ye want? Tell me!”
Freeta spat out the grass stalk. Her face hardened before she replied. “Two things—revenge on Gulo for my mate Shard, and half of everything we gain!”
Zerig smiled, realizing it was now his turn to tease. “A tall order, but I fear Gulo, not you. He will come to this place, do not doubt it. So why should I cast my lot in with thine?”
The vixen played the captain like a fish on a line, drawing him in with her reasoning. “That Abbey is the key to all, Zerig. Without the right plan, not even Gulo and ten times our number could conquer such a place. Gulo is blood, fur and bone, like anybeast. He cannot break through stone blocks with fang and claw. I am not returning to the lands of ice to fear Gulo and serve him. If we were inside that fortress, he could not harm us. Think of it, we could live in ease and plenty, as the creatures in there do now. You are in command, the others will follow you. But we need more brain than brawn. I have the brain!”
Zerig stared up at the south ramparts. “And ye have a plan to get inside there?”
Freeta nodded decisively. “I have an excellent plan!” She held out her paw. “But it must be carried out by we two. If we work together, the victory will be ours!”
Zerig clasped her paw tightly. “I am with ye!”
Friar Glisum and Brigadier Crumshaw were in the pantry, sampling some of last autumn’s russet apples and discussing their merits over October Ale and mature cheese.
Kersey came dashing in, her words pouring forth at breakneck pace. “Beg pardon, sah, but our hawk reports three vermin outside the south wall. They’re carryin’ a flag o’ truce. I think they want to parley, sah!”
Crumshaw wiped his lips fastidiously on a spotted kerchief. “Oh, do they indeed! Well, lead on, young ’un, let’s see what the scoundrels have t’say for themselves, wot wot!”
Sergeant Wonwill was at the bottom of the steps with three other hares, restraining the angry goshawk. He saluted smartly. “Sah! This ’ere ’awk wanted to h’open the south wallgate an’ slay the vermin. I ’ad to convince ’im that ’e couldn’t do it to beasts under a flag o’ truce, sah!”
The brigadier marched past Tergen, tapping his beak with the swagger stick. “Know how y’feel, m’friend, but despatchin’ the foe under a flag o’ truce ’tis not done in the best o’ circles, old chap. Bad form, doncha know, blinkin’ bad form, wot wot!”
The goshawk squawked up the steps after him, “Yaakaaaarrr! Kill all vermin, Wotwot—not talk . . . kill!”
Crumshaw polished his eyeglass and squinched his cheek around it. He sniffed, gazing in disgust at the trio of vermin with their stained and tattered scrap atop a spearpole.
Zerig called up to him, “Be ye the one they call Brigadier?”
Crumshaw leaned on a battlement, his voice dripping disdain. “At y’service. An’ who pray am I addressin’?”
Zerig drew his sword and rapped his chest with the blade. “I serve Gulo the Savage. I am Captain Zerig!”
The brigadier did not sound impressed. “Are ye, indeed? Then some blighter ought to teach ye the rules o’ war’n’combat, thickhead. Ye don’t come to a parley under a flag of truce bearin’ arms. Chuck that frogsticker away, or I won’t bandy words with ye. Go on, sling it!”
The white fox captain shot Crumshaw a murderous glare, but he put the sword down upon the grass.
The brigadier snorted. “Hmph, that’s better, wot wot. Now state y’business, sah!”
Zerig tried to look as tough as he could under the circumstances. He pointed skyward, announcing, “At tomorrow’s dawn, we will slay ye an’ eat ye!”
This statement seemed to improve the brigadier’s mood. He smiled. “Well well well, good on ye, old scruff. Y’mean to say you actually accept our challenge, wot wot?”
Freeta, who was standing beside the ermine spearholder, smiled back at Crumshaw. “You are old. We will have to roast ye a long time before ye are tender enough to eat.”
Crumshaw pulled a face of mock horror at the vixen. “Atrocious table manners, marm. Still, I hope I taste as good as that poor wretch you made your flag of truce from!”
Zerig glanced at the grisly strip of Fargil’s hide which served as the flag of truce. He bared his fangs. “He was an enemy. The warriors of Gulo the Savage come from a land where enemies are eaten. When dawn comes, we will eat you!”
Crumshaw twirled his moustache casually. “Listen, laddie vermin, my Long Patrol are a pretty tough lot t’chew. I’ve a feelin’ they’ll stick in your flippin’ throat, wot! Tchah, enough of all this twaddle. Run along now an’ take your last sleep. See you at dawn out on the west flats. Don’t be late now—I can be jolly hard on latecomers. Off y’pop now, bye bye!”
The brigadier suddenly dropped down behind the walltop as four arrows zipped by overhead.
Wonwill came bounding up the steps. “Are ye alright, sah? Dirty scum, firin’ arrows over a flag of truce. Wait’ll I gets me paws on ’em!”
Crumshaw marched briskly down the wallsteps. “Wouldn’t have expected anything else from those cads. I feel sorry for their mothers. Imagine havin’ t’bring up bounders like that lot! Wot wot!”
Sister Armel and Ulba molemum were escorting some Dibbuns down to Brother Demple’s vegetable patch. With the hares staying at the Abbey, there was a constant demand from Friar Glisum for more salad greens. They were startled by a mighty roar from the walltops. It was the Long Patrol’s battle cry. “Eulaliiiiaaaaaaa!”
Young Kersey came by, waving a javelin. For the first time since her brother’s death, she was laughing. Brother Demple emerged from behind a berry hedge, dusting earth from his paws. He called out to Kersey, “Are we being attacked, miss? Shall I get the little ones indoors?”