High Rhulain

With a hefty swipe of his oar, Kolun shattered a pike that was thrust at him through an opening. Lorgo caught a javelin. Hurling it back through a window slit, he shouted to Kolun, “This gate’s well defended, mate. Wot d’we do now?”

The big otter battered at the thick double doors with his oar butt until his paws stung from the vibrations. “We need somethin’ to burst the doors with. A tree trunk’d make a good batterin’ ram !”

After a swift look around, Lorgo replied, “A good idea, but I don’t see any big ole tree trunks lyin’ about, d’you?”

Weilmark Scaut could be heard issuing orders from inside. “Cease firin’ ! Put up yore arms an’ shutter off all openin’s.”

Immediately the battle halted. Kolun signalled the clans to leave off their assault on the fortress.

Banya Streamdog came in a running crouch to the doors, where Kolun stood leaning on his oar. “I don’t know why, but the cats have stopped fightin’.”

Banya pointed. “Look, up there!”

Fastened to a pikeshaft, a white cloth waved from an upperstorey window. A nervous catguard popped his head out. “Truce, we crave a truce! My Lord Felis would talk with ye!”

Lorgo murmured to Kolun as he eyed the catguard, “Talk? Wot d’we want to talk for, mate?”

Banya Streamdog shrugged. “May’ap ole chopface wants to invite us t’dinner. Let’s find out.”

Cupping both paws about his mouth, Kolun called to the guard, “Let Felis do his talkin’, but no funny business, d’ye hear?”

Garbed in full war armour and cloak, the warlord appeared at the open window, two storeys up. Drawing back the chain mail half-mask, he exposed his flayed lower face and began speaking.

“I call upon you to surrender. Your lives will be spared!”

Big Kolun roared back a cheery reply. “By me rudder, that’s very nice o’ ye, half-gob! But wot if’n we don’t feel like surrenderin’? Wot then, eh?”

The wildcat had been expecting this reaction. He leaned on the windowsill, his face set in a ghastly smile. “My fortress is secure, it won’t fall to your puny attempts. If you continue to defy me, I will have Shellhound dragged from the room where he is hiding, up there at the top of the tower. Then I will return him to you, bound in a sack and flung from that window. I am not unreasonable—you have until dawn tomorrow to give me your answer.”

Before Riggu Felis could speak further, Leatho was bellowing from the high chamber window, “Pay no heed to boneface, mates. His cats have already tried that once an’ failed. I’ll be happy to give ’em a second try! Kolun! Banya! You carry on fightin’, mates. The High Rhulain’s on her way!”

Big Kolun waved his oar to the clanbeasts. “Ye heard wot the Shellhound said, buckoes? Let’s show these whiskery scum we’re here t’finish the job!”

The warlord’s grating shouts rang out. “Wait! Let me finish what I was about to say. Then, if you feel like charging, let me be the last to stop you!”

Banya replied mockingly, “Well, spit it out, skin-gums. Then stand by t’die!”

Riggu Felis continued with his ultimatum. “Whether or not Shellhound dies tomorrow does not matter. If you attack my fortress, I will start executing the slaves, family by family, the youngest first. Consider this, for their deaths will be upon your own heads!”

He vanished from the window, which was speedily shuttered. In the silence which followed, Banya stared grimly at the closed window.

“We’re left without any choice, mates. We can’t attack!”

30

It was midnoon. Major Cuthbert Frunk had ordered a welldeserved rest for the Long Patrol. The hares spread out along the banks of a woodland stream whose waters were clean and cold. Tiria sat with her two subalterns and Colour Sergeant O’Cragg. Sheltered by an old weeping willow, they cooled their footpaws in the shallows.

Quartle was munching on a bunch of watercress he had discovered growing near the bankside. “Rather nice, this Green Isle place. Y’could live here.”

Tiria winked at him as she helped herself to his cress. “What a good idea, I may do that!”

The burly O’Cragg commandeered a pawful of Quartle’s find. “Right, miss, soon h’as we rid the place o’ cats h’and free yore h’otterfriends.”

Quartle hastily moved his watercress out of the sergeant’s reach, whereupon Portan began attacking the remainder. “Huh, that’s always supposin’ we run into the blighters, wot! We’ve been on the flippin’ march all bally day an’ still not spotted s’much as a cat’s whisker or an otter’s flamin’ thingummy. I say, Sarge, how d’ye know we’re goin’ in the right direction, wot?”

By reaching over with his lance, the big sergeant deftly speared the last of the watercress. “Simple, laddie buck, we just keeps a-marchin’ over this h’island crisscross h’until we runs into ’em.”

Quartle stared ruefully at the spot where his cress had been a moment before. He sighed. “We might’ve worn out our bloomin’ paws by then. Bit of a fair-sized island t’be crisscrossin’ willy-nilly, wot?”