Doomwyte

Dubble actually smiled at Jeg. “That’s a nice liddle whip ye’ve got there, sir, ’twould come right out both yore ears if’n I was to stuff it up yore nostrils.”

Jeg raised the switch, but something in the Guosim shrew’s eyes warned him not to strike with it. To save face, Jeg slashed at some dandelions, knocking the flowering heads from their stems. He called to the guards, “Yekka! Keep these two movin’!”

The three guards were not as vindictive as Jeg. Bisky found that if they kept a reasonable pace, their trio of minders did not goad them.

Travelling through the late spring woodlands, they came upon a copse where, in a shaded spot, mushrooms grew in abundance. Under the watchful eyes of the guards, and Jeg, who lounged in the low branches of a maple, the two captives picked mushrooms. After awhile, Dubble began digging amidst the grass. One of the female guards prodded him with her switch.

“Wotcha doin’? Yer supposed t’be pickin’ mushrooms.”

The young shrew sniffed at his paws. “Radishes, there’s wild radishes growin’ here.”

She pulled a face. “Yaaah, don’t like radishes, leave ’em where they are.”

Just to assert his superiority over the group, Jeg called out from his perch, “Dig some radishes out, my dadda likes ’em. You ’elp ’im, mousey, go on!”

Bisky joined Dubble at the digging, muttering to him, “I don’t like radishes, either, mate, wot are we scrabblin’ with our bare paws in the dirt for? Pickin’ mushrooms is much easier.”

Dubble showed him a sharp flint shard he had dug up. Stowing it swiftly in his belt, he winked at Bisky. “Just keep diggin’ an’ see if’n ye can find a good, sharp flint like I’ve got, then hide it quick. Nothin’ like a flint shard for cuttin’ these ropes, or a few Painted Ones’ throats, when we gets the chance!”

Jeg threw a twig at them, calling, “Where’s the radishes yer diggin’ for, eh?”

Bisky suddenly came upon a keen-edged flint, shaped almost like a small knife blade. He shouted back, “Haven’t found ’em yet, but there’s radishes round here somewheres if’n my mate says there is.”

Jeg climbed down from the maple, and came to see for himself. Casting about with a footpaw, he sneered, “Yeeecha, ain’t no radishes growin’ here, waste o’ time diggin’. The mushrooms’ll do, let’s git back t’the camp wid them. Move yerselves!”

On the journey back to the five-topped oak, Bisky whispered to his companion, “I found a sharp flint, it’s hidden in my tunic. What’s the next move, mate?”

Dubble’s lips hardly moved as he replied, “Wait’ll tonight, once it gets dark an’ all the scum are asleep—that’s when we make our move!”

16

On the rock overlooking the deep pool where the Welzz lived, Korvus Skurr perched in sombre silence. His snake, Sicariss, lay coiled on the far side of the pool. Korvus was curious as to why the smoothsnake had not been perching, crownlike, on his head of late. However, the tyrant raven had not questioned the reptile. She would talk to him sooner or later, but the silence between the evil pair was becoming uneasy. Korvus adjusted his stance, affecting to appear unconcerned as he spoke casually. “Karraaah, have ye not consulted with the Welzz today?”

Sicariss stayed mute, letting her eyes cloud over.

When the raven spoke again he sounded more commanding. “Yekkarr! Has the Welzz been fed?”

Sicariss gave her sinuous head the smallest shake.

The raven clacked his heavy beak. “Rrraaakk! That’s why the Welzz has not spoken. Feed it!”

There was veiled insolence in the snake’s reply. “Shall I feed it a black bird?”

Hopping down from the rock, Korvus advanced angrily on Sicariss. “Yakaaah! My birds are not to be fed to that thing! Are there no prisoners, did my Wytes bring nothing back?”

Sicariss unfolded her coils lazily. “Wytesss are your businesss, not mine.”

The raven stopped just short of her; he sensed that Sicariss was brooding about something. But still he avoided asking her, instead, he rapped out his orders. “There are plenty of fat, old toads in the other cavern. Tell my crows to bring one here to me!”

Sicariss knew that Korvus Skurr could be dangerous when he was disobeyed. She slithered off to do his bidding.

No sooner had the smoothsnake departed for the sulphurous outer cavern than Veeku, leader of the carrion crows, came winging in. Landing alongside Korvus, he waited obediently.

The raven tyrant fixed him with his piercing dark eyes. “Rakkah, have my Wytes returned?”

Veeku bowed his head. “Mighty One, they are back.”

Korvus spread his wings irately. “Ayaaaark! Then where are they?”

The crow backed off slightly, still with bowed head. “They are outside, perched in the branches of the birch tree, but they will not enter your caves, Lord.”

This was something that Korvus Skurr had never before encountered. “Gaaraaakuh! Why is this, Veeku?”

“Mighty One, I know not….”