High Rhulain

Kolun waved his paws about irately. “Wot’s the point if’n Banya’s already gone? We’d both be out there lookin’ for Leatho, an’ he might’ve arrived back here by another route!”

From where he was sitting on a higher ledge, Kolun’s brother Lorgo pointed. “Ahoy, here comes young Banya now. There’s another with her, but it don’t look like the Shellhound.”

Banya came staggering in, supporting the ottermaid Memsy, who was obviously half dead with fatigue. Both appeared to be numb with shock. Kolun ran to them. Sweeping Memsy up in his powerful paws, he carried her to where Deedero and some other ottermums were sitting. Setting Memsy down in their midst, he immediately began questioning her.

“What’s happened to Leatho? Have ye seen him, miss?”

The ottermaid was in no state to answer. Burying her face in Deedero’s apron, she wept uncontrollably.

Kolun’s missus snapped at him, “Leave her alone, ye great lump! Can’t ye see she’s upset?”

The big otter was bewildered. “But where’s Leatho?”

Banya answered. “Memsy told me that Shellhound’s been captured by that Riggu Felis an’ his cats.”

Deedero’s voice went shrill with disbelief. “Our Shellhound . . . captured?”

Banya ignored the twin rivulets of tears coursing down her face as she explained. “Aye, captured. The wildcat had an ambush laid for Leatho. He was trapped just outside the slave compound. Now they’ve got him strung up in a cage, high on the fortress tower. Nobeast can reach him up there. The Felis cat said if’n the clans don’t surrender, he’ll leave Leatho up there an’ starve him to death. He said we could come an’ see the carrion birds pickin’ over his bones. Two otters escaped to bring us the news, but Memsy was the only one of ’em that made it. The other one was slain by a beast named Scorecat Yund. He was my brother, Runka Streamdog. I’ll catch up with his murderer. He’ll pay dearly, I swear it!”

News that Leatho was in the clutches of the enemy went out like wildfire. A Council of Clans was called immediately. Gathering in the cave behind the waterfall, everybeast listened in stunned silence as Banya retold the story. The moment she finished speaking, there was an angry uproar.

Ould Zillo had to pound his rudderdrum to restore order. “Ahoy now, hold yore gobs! Shoutin’ never got a body anywhere. Kolun Galedeep, let’s hear from ye!”

Wielding his long paddle, the big otter addressed the clans in the only way he knew—blunt and direct. “I ain’t here to palaver or argue. We’ve got to free our mate Leatho, an’ the sooner the better!”

Kolun gripped the paddle tight, his voice ringing out like steel. “Aye, an’ I’ll tell ye somethin’ else, too. I ain’t surrenderin’ my missus an’ young ’uns up t’be slaves for a mangy cat! If they want war, we’ll give it to ’em!”

Zillo banged his drum furiously to be heard over the thunder of approval from the clan warriors. “Sure that’s all well’n’good, but wot’ll be happenin’ to the wives an’ babes if’n we lose the battle?”

Deedero raised her voice firmly. “Hah! We’ll survive like we always have. Every one of ye owes too much to Shellhound. No foebeast’s goin’ to starve him to death whilst there’s one of us left alive! Leatho never left any of us in the lurch, he was always more’n ready to fight our cause. Lose the battle, is it? Lissen, Kolun me dear, you go an’ win that battle, an’ don’t come marchin’ back t’me without Leatho Shellhound!”

Brandishing a lance, Banya Streamdog leapt up. “Streamdogs! Wildloughs! Wavedogs! Streamdivers! Riverdogs! Streambattles! Gather yore weapons! Rouse the clans! Eeeeeee aye eeeeeeeeh!”

As an avalanche of sound shook the cavern, Deedero nodded to her husband. “There’s yore answer, wot are ye waitin’ for?”

Big Kolun hugged his missus. “A nice bowl of hotroot soup an’ a big kiss from you, my ’eart’s delight!”

Narrowly avoiding a whack from her rudder, Kolun was swept up in the stampede for the entrance. Any reply that his missus called out was drowned by echoing clan warcries. Lances, slings, bows, spears, blades and all manner of arms bristled from the warrior horde as they bounded uphill out of Holt Summerdell.

It had been a long, hot day. Leatho watched from his high prison as the westering sun set in a blaze of crimson glory. His paws ached abominably from where the ropes cut cruelly into them. The last moisture he had tasted was when the warlord emptied the bucket of water over his head. He licked thirstily at his dried lips and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain from his wounded head, which denied sleep to his weary body. As the evening dragged daylight to an unhurried close, the outlaw fought mentally to avoid thoughts of food or drink.

When dusk fell, Leatho’s head drooped forward, his eyes no longer able to stay open, his entire body feeling dizzy and light as air. Then a torpor overcame him: All pain receded into a dull throb. His body slumped against the ropes, and he passed out.