High Rhulain

He shook a clenched paw at the chastened otters. “Aye, that many! All that’s left o’ the Wildlough clan, an’ other families, with old ’uns an’ babes. They must be freed, afore Felis starts takin’ reprisals among ’em!”

Big Kolun Galedeep strode to the outlaw’s side. “Wot ye say is true, Leatho, an’ everybeast here is with ye. So tell us how ye plan on goin’ about it!”

Shellhound warmed to his subject immediately. “First we need to make this place safe an’ secure. Every single otter must leave home an’ holt to live here from now on. That way we can’t be singled out or hunted down family by family. Deedero, Zillo, I leave the runnin’ of this place t’ye both. I know ye can be trusted to provision an’ protect the cave.”

There was a murmur of agreement; clearly, this was a wise choice. Leatho’s keen eyes searched the gathering.

“Next, I want two volunteers, otters who aren’t readily identifiable. These two must steal back into the fortress and blend in as slaves. ’Tis a risky an’ dangerous task. They must learn t’be my eyes an’ ears among the enemy. Through them we’ll learn what’s goin’ on in the cats’ camp, what Felis’s next move will be. Are there two among ye who’ll take the chance?”

A mass of paws shot up. Leatho took his time selecting. “You there, an’ you, too. Step up here.”

Memsy, the former otterslave who had brought news of Whulky and Chab’s capture, was one. The other was a slim otter, fully grown but rather nondescript in looks. He walked forward, nodding to Leatho.

“I’m Runka Streamdog, brother of Banya.”

The outlaw shook both their paws. “I’m beholden to ye, mates. Stand by for orders.”

He addressed the remainder of the clans. “Now I need warriors, beasts who are strong’n’fit. Ye’ll have to travel light, live off the land an’ be ready to fight t’the death at the wink of my eye. Kolun Galedeep’ll come among ye an’ pick out those he thinks will do. Remember, if yore chosen, we’ll only be back here now an’ agin. No more feastin’ an’ restin’ round the fire wid yore friends an’ families. If yore with me ’n’ Kolun, ye’ll travel like the wind, an’ strike like thunder’n’lightnin’ at the cats. Our aim is t’free all the slaves, an’ fetch ’em back here to safety to wait ’til Queen Rhulain comes to Green Isle.”

It was fully midmorn before the sun deigned to appear and banish the mists. Dew stood heavy on the helmets, jerkins and spearpoints of over two hundred catguards, marshalled in five ranks on the lakeshore. Feral cats of various hues, shapes and sizes stood rigidly to attention. Among them were archers, axe carriers, spearbearers and pikebearers, their limbs stiff and numb from the long wait. Weilmark Scaut stood on a raised rock in front of the parade, watching as his ten scorecats patrolled the ranks. Each one carried a long willow cane, ready to strike out at slovenly guards.

As he saw the warlord emerge from the fortress in full armour, Scaut called out sharply, “The Lord of Green Isle comes!”

Raising their weaponry, the catguards shouted in strict chant, “Warlord of all! Mighty Wildcat! Conqueror and Destroyer of foebeasts! Lord of the Fortress! Hail Riggu Felis!”

The sound of their chant was still echoing around the lake as Riggu Felis stood on the rock, now vacated by Scaut. The warlord wore a helmet of beaten silver, with horns that resembled twin crescent moons protruding on each side. From these hung a square of heavy black silk, embroidered with silver wire, forming his lower face mask. A long cloak, of black-and-white weave, over a fine chain mail doublet plus the shining, single-bladed war axe hanging from one paw on a thong completed his apparel.

A light lake breeze rippled across his mask as he spoke out scathingly. “I wish I had twice your number. Then would I slay all ye standing before me now, dead where ye stand!”

The wildcat chieftain paused, then watched the ranks jerk with shock as he roared at them, “Fools! Addle-pawed idiots! Brainless buffoons! I, Riggu Felis, Lord of this isle, watched ye being made sport of by a few riverdogs last night! The captives whom I had sentenced to death! Where are they now?”

He raised the axe, pointing at the fortress. “My home was put to the torch, almost burned! Where are the slain bodies of all the otters who did it?”

Leaping down from the rock dais, the wildcat prowled along the first rank of catguards, prodding them on their chests with the axe handle as he repeated, “Tell me! Where? Where? Where?”

Halting abruptly at the end guard on the line, Riggu Felis faced him, dropping his voice to a conversational tone. “Gone, all of them, escaped. What do you think should have happened to them?”

The catguard’s voice took on a dithering tremble as he replied, “Th . . . they sh . . . should have been s . . . s . . . slain, Lord.”

The warlord exploded with a sudden angry bellow. “Slain! !”

With a single devastating swing of the axe, he killed the unfortunate guard on the spot. “Slain, just like this one!”