Lord Brocktree Read online

  Dotti took firm hold of the cord and gave it three hefty tugs. The thin boughs in the hornbeam crown shook, dislodging a colony of jackdaws. Flapping angrily into the air they set a din of harsh cries ringing into the quiet woodlands.

  Baron Drucco watched the birds settle back on to the tree. ‘Haw haw haw! You’d think ’e could afford proper bells if’n ’e’s supposed t’be a king like ’e sez ’e is. Wot do we do now? Shall I give the rope a few more tugs?’

  Once again, he was not fast enough to escape Mirklewort’s hatchet. She clipped one of his headspikes and pushed him down on his bottom, so that he was sitting against the hornbeam base. ‘Yew leave that rope alone, nincomscoop. We sit an’ wait. Ain’t that right, yer badgership?’

  Brocktree unwound Skittles from his sword hilt and sat down alongside Drucco. ‘Right, marm, we wait!’

  Jukka and Grenn deployed both their tribes to the shrubbery, where they concealed themselves. The rest sat and waited. Morning was well on before anything happened. It was Gurth who leaned close to Brocktree and announced in a bass whisper, ‘Oi, yurr’s sumbeasts a-coomin’ this way, zurr!’

  The Badger Lord sat casually, eyes half closed. ‘I see them too, friend. Everybeast sit still now, stay calm.’

  The air hissed, and a light javelin buried its tip in the ground, not far from Ruff’s footpaw. Twoscore rough-looking mountain hares, some still showing white fur patches from last winter, marched up armed to the teeth.

  Their leader’s voice, like his companions’, had a strong burr of the far northern mountains about it. ‘Arrah weel now, laddies, whit’ve we here?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask me that, instead of the laddies?’ Brocktree replied, his eyes still half closed. ‘They’ve only just arrived with you.’

  The leader pulled his javelin point from the soil. His voice had an insolent tone to it. ‘Hearken t’me, stripedawg, ye’re en noo position t’be saucy wi’ me. Mah hares are upright’n’armed ready, ye an’ these beauties o’ yourn are settin’ doon unprepared, d’ye ken?’

  The Badger Lord uttered a short bark. Guosim and squirrels emerged from hiding, rapiers and slings in evidence. The mountain hare saw his troop were surrounded.

  Brocktree rose to his full height, sword in paw. ‘Oh, I ken all right, hare. I ken if you give impudence to Lord Brocktree of Brockhall you’ll find your ears dangling from yonder alarm rope. So keep a civil tongue in your head!’

  The hare was visibly cowed, and his tone became more reasonable. ‘Mah apologies, lord, ’cept have t’be careful o’ strangers aboot these parts. Whit was it ye were wantin’?’

  Jukka the Sling dropped from a hornbeam bough. ‘Thou wilt take us to this one who calleth himself king. Move!’

  ‘Look fit enough, don’t they, wot?’ Fleetscut remarked to Ruff as they followed the hares on a tortuous path through the woodland. ‘Touch o’ trainin’ an’ discipline should bring those laddies up t’the mark!’

  At the centre of the party, Brocktree had called Dotti to his side. He gave her murmured instructions. ‘Don’t speak until I tell you when we get to where we’re going, miss. Don’t get flustered or indignant, just act calm and look as if you’re capable of taking care of yourself.’

  The haremaid felt slightly nervous, and started babbling. ‘Yessah, take care o’ meself, act calm, you can bet your bally stripes I will, most carefullest calmest blinkin’ hare ever twiddled an ear, sah, that’s me, wot! An’ as for gettin’ flustered or indignant, by the left, sah, there’s not a beast alive can muster flea, er, fluster me, an’ I can be rather undignant when called upon. Why, I recall when Grandpa got stuck in the chimney—’

  Brocktree’s paw cuffed her ear lightly. ‘Stop babbling, miss. Listen!’

  A profusion of noises from afar could be heard on the still woodland air. Loud cheering, drumbeats, singing, shouting and many other unidentified discordant sounds. The hare leader, taking care to keep clear of Brocktree, remarked with jaunty cynicism: ‘Och, brace yerselves, mah babes, yer aboot tae enter the court o’ King Bucko Bigbones, the roarin’ beast hisself!’

  Dotti took a deep breath and swallowed hard.

  18

  TROBEE HAD ALREADY climbed the rope of belts and bowstrings and was sitting in the entrance of the ceiling hole when Lord Stonepaw hurried into the cavern, supporting Purlow. Stiffener Medick ran to help them. Calm as ever, the boxing hare ignored the increasing sounds of Trunn’s Blue Hordebeasts as they charged towards the hiding place.

  ‘I see ole Purlow’s taken a few knocks, sah. Sounds like we got trouble comin’ to visit, eh! C’mon, Purlow, let’s get you up the rope.’

  Stonepaw lifted the wounded hare on to the rope, then turned to the others waiting their turn to climb.

  ‘I want you all up and through that hole as quick and safe as possible. Stiffener, you’ll be last hare up. Stay here until the last one’s gone. Understood?’

  The boxing hare threw a stiff salute. ‘Sah! But what about you, sah?’

  The Badger Lord’s voice was like thunder. ‘Never mind about me. I’ve given you an order and I expect it to be obeyed! Blench, you go next, help Trobee and Purlow to haul the others up into the hole. I don’t need to tell you that speed is of the essence. Go!’

  The din outside was very close now. Stonepaw grabbed a javelin and a chunk of rock and lumbered towards the entrance. Stiffener was at his side, paws clenched. ‘I’m comin’ with you, sah!’

  The Badger Lord stiff-pawed him in the chest, knocking him back a pace. Stonepaw’s voice had sunk to a growl, and there was danger in his eyes. ‘I gave you an order, Stiffener Medick. Are you disobeying me?’

  Tears sprang to the boxing hare’s eyes. ‘You know I’ve never disobeyed yore orders, sah, but there’ll be too many vermin for you out there. You need help, sah!’

  Stonepaw ruffled Stiffener’s ears fondly, as he had done many times when the old hare was young. ‘Not this time, old friend. You must get away to lead our warriors; I must hold the entrance to buy you the time to get them out. It is my duty as their lord. Promise me one thing, though. You will try to free Sailears and the others if they are still alive. Promise?’

  Stiffener wiped a paw across his eyes and saluted Lord Stonepaw one last time. ‘Promise? I swear it on me life, sah! You give ’em blood’n’vinegar, sah. Slay some for me, eh, wot!’

  The first blue rat’s head poked around the rift which formed the cavern entrance. Stonepaw turned his back on Stiffener and charged, bellowing the war cry of Salamandastron.

  ‘Eulaliiiiaaaaaa!’

  It was as if the long seasons had fallen away from the old badger; strength coursed through his veins like wildfire. Vermin hurtled about him like dandelion clocks in the wind. Wedging himself in the rift, Stonepaw went at them as they crashed on him in waves, Mirefleck and Roag screeching in the background, urging their Hordebeasts on.

  ‘Take him alive! Throw ropes around him!’

  ‘Wound him! Don’t kill the stripedog! Mighty Ungatt Trunn wants him alive!’

  ‘Ten seasons’ rations to the ones who capture the stripedog!’

  Stonepaw flung the rock and slew Captain Roag. He hammered, stabbed and battered at the seething mass with his javelin. Ropes parted like dead grass between the badger’s jaws and big blunt claws, and his voice echoed thunderously through the underground passages and caves as he wreaked destruction on his hated foes, regardless of wounds. The Bloodwrath was upon him.

  ‘Eulaliiiaaaa! Come to the Lord of Salamandastron! Eulaliiiiaaaa! Blood an’ vinegaaaaar!’

  Stiffener followed the final hare through the hole. They were gathered in a huddle, bloodless paws gripping weapons tightly, peering down, unable to see anything, their ears filled with battlesounds from below. Seizing a torch, the boxing hare gestured forward into the tunnel which lay before them. ‘No hangin’ about, now. Come on, let’s go!’

  Blench threw her ladle forcefully through the hole, stifling a sob as she jammed a paw in her mouth. ‘Oh, sire, me pore lo
rd!’

  Trobee tried to force his way past Stiffener. ‘Blaggards! Fiends! Let me at ’em!’

  The boxing hare winded him with a sharp rap to the stomach. ‘Lissen t’me. You lot ain’t goin’ anyplace but out of ’ere. I made a promise to Lord Stonepaw an’ I means t’keep it. We’ll get out all right, but we’ll be back to free any of our pals who are alive an’ imprisoned. Nothin’ we can do now but go. I ain’t lettin’ my friend ole Stonepaw sacrifice ’imself so we can climb back down an’ get killed. Is that clear? I’m in charge now, so march!’

  Pulling up the rope, Stiffener coiled it about his waist and snapped out orders. ‘Trobee, you an’ Purlow lead off, column o’ twos, I’ll bring up the rear. Here, take this torch, Blench!’

  Stooped almost double they took off along the tunnel. It was wide enough to take two hares, but low-ceilinged, dark and damp.

  Groddil came scuttling to the edge of the mêlée. All he could see was blue vermin pushing forward into the rift. The stunted fox nodded at Mirefleck. ‘So, this was where they were hiding. Have they taken the stripedog yet? Remember, the Mighty One wants him alive.’

  Mirefleck watched vermin trampling their slain companions whilst Captains Fraul and Swinch urged them on with whips.

  ‘Get through there, you slackers, into the cave an’ ’elp yer mates to capture that beast. Come on, move yerselves!’

  Mirefleck curled her lip scornfully at the magician. ‘Ye want to find out how ’tis goin’, Groddil? Then why not join our brave soldiers an’ see for yerself, eh?’

  Groddil shot her a hate-filled glare, but did not move.

  Force of numbers had finally driven Stonepaw back into the cavern, and now they were coming at him from all sides. A quick glance told him that his hares had escaped safely. He battled on doggedly, wounded in a score of places. Snapping off an arrow which had pierced his shoulder he roared and charged, wreaking havoc with his shattered javelin. But there was no end to the vermin. Lord Stonepaw began to feel weary and old. Fraul sneaked through, with a bunch of soldiers bearing between them a large stone-weighted net. He signalled them to climb upon a low ledge. Some others followed through, and swiftly he whispered orders to them. ‘See, the stripedog won’t last much longer. Get behind and drive him over, close to this ledge as y’can.’

  The plan worked. Stonepaw was beaten back. Facing his attackers, he could not see the trap that awaited him. Back, back he went, stumbling upon the carcasses of those whom he had slain on either side. Fraul shouted as the badger’s shoulders brushed the ledge.

  ‘Now!’

  Instantly the badger was borne to the ground by the cumbersome coils of the net and the lumps of stone tied to its edges as weights. Letting his javelin fall he lay flat, gasping for breath. A roar of triumph arose from the vermin. Groddil hobbled through the rift to watch. Nudging Captain Swinch, the fox sniggered.

  ‘We’ve got him now. The stripedog’s finished!’

  Swinch swaggered forward boldly and kicked at the prostrate badger trapped beneath the net. ‘How d’ye feel now, stripedog? Aaaaagh!’

  Wreathed in ropes Stonepaw surged forward, crashing the horde captain into the ledge and finishing him. Groddil howled: ‘Stop him, he’s away again, stop him, stop him!’

  Rearing up, Stonepaw pulled the net along with him – it was far too snarled up and heavy to be rid of. He looked for all the world like some primeval colossus from the dawn of time. Bellowing and roaring, he swept one of the big lanterns from the ledge and smashed it into the barrel of lamp oil near the entrance. Then, giving the barrel a powerful kick, Stonepaw crashed it into the rift. Flames crackled and leapt.

  Fearing he would be trapped in the cavern and slain, Groddil pranced about screaming hysterically. ‘Kill him! Finish him off! Hurry, you fools, kill him!’

  Stonepaw began to laugh aloud, the sound booming eerily until it filled the cavern. Dragging rocks and net he threw himself on to the closest group of vermin, wrapping his fearsome paws about as many as he could grab. Four he held, with another three trapped in the net, to be swept along with him to the edge of the bottomless pool. They bit and scratched and stabbed, to no avail. With one last war cry, Lord Stonepaw of Salamandastron summoned up his final strength and jumped.

  ‘Eulaliiiiiaaaaaa!’

  Groddil and the Blue Hordebeasts packed around the pool rim. Pale green luminescence deep down in the icy water shrouded itself around the dark wriggling mass which sank down, down, down, until it was lost to sight. Wordlessly they stared at the waters, the silence broken only by water dripping, flames crackling and the agonised moans of their wounded.

  Thus died Lord Stonepaw, he who had ruled the mountain longer than any other Badger Lord.

  Hares halting in front of him caused Stiffener to stop sharply. ‘Trobee, Purlow, what’s goin’ on up there?’ he called to the leaders.

  ‘A blue light! There’s a blue light up ahead, Stiff!’

  The boxing hare made his way up to the front of the column. The tunnel was beginning to tilt slightly uphill, and the stones beneath his paws contained small shallow pools. From round a bend up ahead there shone a soft blue light.

  Stiffener took the torch from Blench. ‘Trobee, Willip, come with me. Purlow, you stop here with the others an’ rest yoreself.’

  Willip sniffed the air as they drew nigh to the blue light. ‘Well, great seasons o’ salt, there’s only one thing smells like that, chaps – seawater! Haha, I was right! Listen!’

  Stiffener’s ears picked up the faraway sound. ‘Aye, marm, that’s the sea right enough!’

  ‘He went up through an’ chased the blue,

  An’ made it home for tea sir,

  He beat the tide an’ spinies too,

  But his mamma tanned his tailfur!’

  Trobee smiled proudly. Stiffener cast a curious eye on him. ‘You feelin’ all right, mate? Is that blue light affectin’ ye?’

  Trobee chuckled happily. ‘I’m feeling fine, Stiff old chap. I was just repeating the last lines of Bramwil’s skippin’ poem, the one about Littlebob hare, wot! My old memory must be improvin’.’

  When they rounded the bend, the blue light was clearer, with water patterns shimmering off the rough rock walls. The ground began a downslope. Trobee went back to fetch the others, while Willip, who was a sensible creature, summed up their position.

  ‘Seems like we’ll come out very close to the great sea. It must run up here rather strong at high tide, but this slope stops most of it. Can’t be high tide now, though – this tunnel’s too jolly dry. So I suppose we’re all right to proceed, wot. The poem says that Littlebob beat the spinies too. Anybeast know what a blinkin’ spiny is?’

  Stiffener shrugged. ‘Just have t’find out as we go, marm. Look, we don’t know when ’igh tide is due, so we’d better shake a paw.’

  Despite the tragedy they had left behind, the hares felt their spirits rising after being down in the gloomy caves for so long. The blue light promised a good clear-day and fresh air, wind, breeze, the sight of green growing things, and most of all freedom. They started singing to set up a good pace, sloshing through pools and stumbling over rocks, but returning to their irrepressible nature.

  ‘There’s hares on the mountain much older than I,

  An’ still they can manage to scoff the odd pie,

  I remember ole Grandma had no teeth to boot,

  She used to eat rock cakes an’ lots o’ hard fruit.

  Older’n I, scoff the odd pie,

  No teeth t’boot, rock cake an’ fruit,

  A hare is a marvellous creature!

  My uncle Alf with long seasons was grey,

  “Stale pudden an’ pasties’ll do me,” he’d say,

  “Oh fetch me good cider an’ no fancy cuts,

  An’ a big rusty hammer to crack hazelnuts.”

  Older’n I, scoff the odd pie,

  No teeth t’boot, rock cake an’ fruit,

  Seasons was grey, pasties he’d say,

  No fancy cuts, cr
ack hazelnuts,

  A hare is a marvellous creature!

  My auntie Dewdrop was old as the hills,

  She wondered why ducks always ate with their bills,

  “Their tummies must flutter,” the old gel would cry,

  “I once knew a duck ate a dragonfly pie.”

  Older’n I, scoff the odd pie,

  No teeth t’boot, rock cake an’ fruit,

  Seasons was grey, pasties he’d say,

  No fancy cuts, crack hazelnuts,

  Old as the hills, ate with their bills,

  Auntie would cry, dragonfly pie,

  A hare is a marvellous creature!’

  19

  UNGATT TRUNN WAS furious, though he did not let it show. Groddil, Fraul and Mirefleck lay flat on their faces in front of the wildcat, each waiting to be interrogated by him. Lord Stonepaw’s former bedchamber was festooned with fresh spiderwebs, flies caught by horde vermin buzzed about, and the fire was stoked up high. Trunn let his eyes wander to the spiders waiting in their webs. Flies never changed their ways; sooner or later they would blunder into the sticky gossamer snares. The Grand Fragorl drifted silently about in the background, sprinkling powder on the braziers to make them give off blue incense.

  The wildcat flicked his tail in Captain Fraul’s direction. ‘Suppose for a moment that I have you executed. Then the flies would feed off your miserable remains, and my spiders would catch the flies and devour them. So, in a roundabout way, they would have eaten you. Do you agree, Fraul?’

  The stoat captain, too terrified to speak, merely nodded his head in frightened agreement of the horrific idea. Ungatt Trunn’s tail curled beneath Fraul’s chin, lifting his head so they were eye to eye. The wildcat leaned forward, a wickedly curious look upon his features.

  ‘Hmm, and do you imagine that that would make my spiders become as thick and empty-headed as you?’

  Fraul’s throat bobbed visibly as he nodded once more.

  Ungatt Trunn poured himself a goblet of dark damson wine, then sighed and sat back, watching the spiders. Ignoring Fraul’s bobbing head, he turned his attention to Mirefleck. ‘I’m disappointed in you. I was under the impression that you had the makings of a good captain. Mayhap there’s time yet for you to reflect on your stupidity. What do you think, Mirefleck? Shall I let you live, give you the opportunity to improve your ways? Or would you like to feed my spiders?’