Lord Brocktree Read online

  Dotti leapt lightly ashore and curtsied nicely. ‘Bo urr, gudd day to ee, zurr Rogg. Stan’ on moi tunnel, but you’m an ’ansome gurt beast, hurr aye!’

  Rogg threw up his big digging claws in surprise. ‘Burr! You’m spake ee molespeak vurry gudd, miz. Whurr did ee lurn et?’

  Dotti answered in the quaint mole dialect. ‘Moi ole mum’s molechum, Blossum Bunn, she’m taughten et to oi when oi wurr a h’infant, bo urr aye.’

  Ruff shrugged helplessly at Brocktree. ‘Just lissen to those two goin’ at it? I could always unnerstand molespeak, though I never learned t’speak it.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Brocktree said as they followed in the wake of the chattering haremaid and mole.

  ‘Urr, Blossum Bunn, do ee say, miz? She’m be’s moi h’auntie, twoice removed on moi granmum’s soide. ‘Ow she’m a-doin’?’

  ‘Burr, ole Blossum be’s brisker’n a bumblybee an’ loively as ee bukkit o’ froggers, zurr!’

  Rogg Longladle’s dwelling was a marvellous cavern beneath the roots of a great beech. Lord Brocktree gazed about wistfully.

  ‘This place puts me in mind of my old home Brockhall, very much so. Hmm, don’t suppose I’ll ever see it again.’

  Ruff patted the badger’s broad back. ‘Same as me’n’Dotti. Don’t be sad, mate, we’re good friends an’ both with ye!’

  Amid the alcoves of thick downgrowing roots, Dotti sat herself in a comfortable old armchair. Moles kept scurrying by to introduce themselves to the hare who could speak their dialect.

  ‘Oi be Granfer Clubb, miz, an’ thiz yurr’s moi ole dearie Granma Dumbrel. Ee’ll stay an’ take vittles with us’n’s, oi ’opes, miz?’

  Dotti shook all the outstretched paws as more came by. ‘Thankee, zurr Clubb, oi’d be gurtly pleased to, hurr aye!’

  Ruff and Brocktree seated themselves on a thickly mossgrown ledge, where they were inspected by some tiny young moles. The smallest of them had a voice like a bass foghorn.

  ‘Gudd day to ee, zurrs. Moi name be’s Trubble.’

  ‘I can see that – you look like trouble!’

  ‘Hurr hurr, moi mum allus sez that. Wot sort o’ mole be’s you, zurr? Oi bain’t never see’d one wi’ a gurt stroipy ’ead loik yourn.’

  ‘Oh, I’m called a badgermole and Ruff’s an ottermole.’

  ‘Humm, ee must be h’eatin’ gurt bowlfuls o’ pudden t’grow oop big loik ee are. ‘Ow did ee get so gurt?’

  Ruff winked at the badger and replied, ‘Keepin’ clean, me liddle mate, that’s ’ow. We gets scrubbed five times every day, an’ that’s why we growed big.’

  Trubble wrinkled his baby snout at the other small moles. ‘Whurrrgh! Reckerns oi’ll stay likkle then!’

  Rogg appeared, dabbing at his brow with a dock leaf which he used to shoo the moles off with. ‘Gurr, be off’n with ee, Trubble. Gurlo, Burkle, Plugg, you ’uns leave ee gennelbeasts t’rest awhoile. Cumm an’ ’elp oi in ee kitchun if’n ee wants vittles t’be ready sooner. Hurr, an’ be washen ee paws furst!’

  Left to themselves, the three travellers took their ease, Brocktree and Ruff stretching out on the mossy ledge. Dotti sprawled comfortably in the armchair, letting tempting aromas from the kitchen hover about her. Through half-closed eyes she took in the homely cavern. Lanterns of varying hues hung everywhere, shelves and cupboards were carved neatly into the rocks and heavy tree roots, the floors were strewn with woven rush mats, and two black and orange banded sexton beetles dozed close to the embers on the hearth, household pets, used by the moles to keep the cavern free of crumbs and other morsels which the babes left about. Before Dotti’s eyes finally closed, she sighed. What a pleasant place. A real home.

  9

  IT WAS SOMETIME in the late evening when Fleetscut collapsed. A combination of overwhelming fatigue, thirst and hours of strong sunlight, together with the fact that the old hare had run without stopping for almost two days, brought him down. Head hanging, paws dragging, he tottered about on the open flatlands like a beast driven crazy. He did not realise he had fallen at first. Fleetscut lay on the rough ground, the tongue hanging dry from his mouth, footpaws still moving in a running action, kicking up small dustclouds. In his delirium he squinted at a rock, imagining it was Lord Stonepaw gazing sternly at him.

  ‘Sire, there ain’t a hare nowheres t’be found,’ he croaked feebly. ‘I tried, I did my best for you, but alas, lord, the young hares are gone from the land . . .’

  Fleetscut’s eyes glazed over and he fell back senseless.

  From a rocky outcrop a crow had been watching the old hare, waiting. Now it flew forward, cautiously at first, using rocks as cover. On reaching the fallen hare it pecked lightly at his ear; he did not stir. Emboldened by this, the crow swaggered and strutted round Fleetscut, weighing up its prey. At the very moment the crow decided to start pecking at the hare’s eyes, a slingstone knocked the talons from under it. Squawking angrily, the hefty black bird took awkwardly to the air and flapped off, sent on its way by another stone narrowly missing its wingtip.

  The young squirrel Beddle and five companions hurried to Fleetscut’s side and ministered to him.

  ‘Just drip the water on his tongue, not too fast.’

  ‘Poor fool, Jukka said he’d not get far. Look at his paws!’

  ‘Aye, they be torn badly. Hast any herbs in thy bag, Ruro?’

  The squirrel Ruro emptied out the bag. ‘Sanicle, dock leaves and moss. Here, let me attend him.’ Pouring water on the ingredients, she made compresses. ‘He be lucky Jukka sent us after him. Beddle, can thee make up a stretcher?’

  Beddle set about removing his tunic. He slotted two spears down the sleeves, calling out to the youngest of the party, ‘Grood, I’ll need thy tunic, give it here!’

  Reluctantly Grood removed the garment. Beddle eyed him fiercely. ‘Watch thy tongue, young ’un, or thine ears’ll get boxed twice, once by me an’ once by Jukka Sling!’

  Moonlight shafted pale through the pines; a small fire encased within a rock oven sent out a welcome ruddy glow. Fleetscut became aware of creatures hovering over him, squirrels. One of them called out softly, ‘Ye be right, Jukka, he lives!’

  Jukka the Sling’s tough features hove into view. ‘Most creatures of long seasons would be dead after putting themselves through such a trial.’

  Fleetscut’s tongue moistened his lips, his voice when it came sounding cracked and hoarse. ‘When I go it’ll be with a weapon in me paw, fightin’. ‘Til then I’ll just hang about and annoy you, friend.’

  Jukka chuckled. ‘What’s that they say on yon mountain, thou art a perilous creature. Rest now, longears, drink some soup an’ sleep. We’ll talk on the morrow.’

  Rest was the last thought on Fleetscut’s mind, but no sooner had he drunk half a beaker of mushroom soup than the vessel slipped from his paws and he went into a deep slumber.

  Morning and noontide came and passed, and it was evening when Fleetscut wakened.

  ‘How do thy paws feel? Sore, I’ll wager?’

  The old hare struggled to a sitting position, allowing Ruro to change the dressings.

  ‘Just bandage ’em tight, so I can run on ’em, marm!’

  Ruro shook her head at the defiant old hare. ‘Nay, thou art going nowhere. Jukka Sling would have words with thee. Rest and eat something.’

  Fleetscut tried to get up on to his paws, but collapsed wincing from the pain. ‘Where is Jukka?’

  Beddle brought food and placed it before the hare. ‘She’ll be back by dark o’ night. You must wait. Jukka will have news of thy mountain, what has taken place there. Come, be not foolish, ye must eat to live.’

  Fleetscut picked up a potato and hazelnut pasty. ‘So be it, old lad, but ’tis you who are foolish, inviting a hare to eat. Is that a carrot flan I see?’

  When he had satisfied his hunger and thirst, Fleetscut lay back and fell into a doze. Beddle sat wide-eyed. ‘Strewth! Did ye ever see a creature eat like that in all thy born days?’

  Ruro removed the emp
ty platters, shaking her head. ‘And still he be skinny as a willow withe. Would that I could pack away vittles like that an’ stay lean as he!’

  Midnight had long gone when Jukka the Sling arrived back at the pines. She sat panting and sipping at a flask of elderberry wine. ‘Our hare sleeps yet, eh?’

  Ruro fed the fire with a dead pine log. ‘He wakened earlier, ate like a madbeast and fell asleep again. Shall I wake him?’

  The squirrel leader put aside her wine. ‘Nay, let him sleep on. There’s nought but bad news to hear when he wakens.’

  ‘The mountain of Salamandastron has fallen, then?’

  Jukka warmed her paws by the fire; a chill breeze was blowing in from the seas. ‘Aye, ’tis conquered by the Blue Ones. I could not get too near, but I saw from a distance some vermin scaling the slopes. They carried large new banners to put up there. ’Tis a sad day for these western coasts, Ruro.’

  Beddle crouched nearby, preparing Jukka’s meal. ‘Mayhap we should have helped the old one, Jukka.’

  ‘Thou art a fool if that’s what thee think, Beddle. We’d be nought but slain carcasses rolling in the tide shallows now, had we gone up against such a force. Yon Badger Lord an’ his hares were brave, mad beasts, they did what they had to. But ’twas a foregone conclusion.’

  Spots of rain that had found their way through the pine canopy roused Fleetscut in the dawn hour. Jukka was awake also, sitting watching him, cloaked in a blanket. Turning her back on the old hare, she raked ash from the fire embers and brought it to crackling life by feeding broken pine branches into the rock oven. Fleetscut’s voice hit her back like a whip.

  ‘Tell me what has happened at my mountain. Speak!’

  Jukka did not turn, but she gave him his answer.

  By the time the entire squirrel camp was up and about, Fleetscut had hauled himself upright and stood supporting himself against a pine trunk, a plate of food lying at his footpaw, untouched. Jukka still sat watching him.

  ‘There was nought anybeast could have done, Fleetscut. Come now, eat. I hear tell that thou art a beast with great appetite.’

  A kick from the hare’s footpaw sent the plate flying. His eyes were like stone, his voice dripping contempt. ‘I don’t eat with cowards!’

  Jukka sprang up, a loaded sling automatically in her paw. ‘Nobeast calls Jukka the Sling a coward!’

  The old hare tore his tunic open, exposing his scrawny chest. ‘Then kill me, Jukka, go on, kill me! One old hare shouldn’t be too difficult for a warrior like you, wot? Slay me an’ see how long you an’ your band can hide out in this pine grove until Ungatt Trunn’s Blue Hordes find you all. Then you’ll wish you’d helped t’fight against him an’ save Salamandastron!’

  Thrrrakk!

  Jukka’s slingstone clipped off a branch a hair’s breadth from Fleetscut’s head and whirred off among the trees. The squirrel stood before him, her wild eyes blazing. ‘Any other beast would have been dead by now, hare. But I’ll prove to thee that me and mine aren’t cowards. We’ll go with thee on thy search – aye, an’ carry ye if needs be. I’ll help ye build an army – hares, or any creature crazy enough to go against the hordes on yonder mountain. Then we’ll fight them, us for the taking of weapons which we value so highly, an’ thou for thy vengeance on the foes who slew thy brothers. I, Jukka the Sling, do not do this out of comradeship for ye. War is a business. I do it for profit, for all the weapons my tribe may plunder if victory is ours!’

  Hare and squirrel stood face to face, their wrathful eyes searing one another. Fleetscut curled his lip scornfully. ‘Do it for whatever reason y’like, brushtail. But do it!’

  Jukka was trembling all over with rage. ‘Oho, I’ll do it, never fret about that, longears,’ she growled. ‘Once Jukka the Sling gives her word, thou canst stake thy life on it!’

  Fleetscut turned his back on the squirrel and began hobbling off, calling back over his shoulder, ‘Well y’won’t get it done standin’ round makin’ bloomin’ speeches all day. Actions speak louder’n words, doncha know!’

  In total, Jukka’s tribe numbered fifty able-bodied creatures and a dozen who were either too young or too old to serve her purpose. She left eight of the warriors with these twelve, and the other forty-three, counting herself, were ready to march within the hour, each of them armed and provisioned.

  Ruro caught up with Fleetscut, who was limping ahead near the pine grove’s edge. ‘Hold up, friend, my tribe will be with thee shortly. Here, take these. ‘Twill make the going easier.’

  Fleetscut allowed her to loop a small bag over his shoulder. Then he took the short, thick-handled spear and hefted it. The weapon had a sharp double-edged blade, shaped like a grey willow leaf, with a crosstree where it joined the shaft.

  ‘Strange spear, wot? Wouldn’t be very accurate to throw. Rations in this bag, I s’pose, though by the feel of it there’s not more’n a couple o’ days’ supply.’

  Ruro showed him her spear, which was the same type as his. ‘Useful things, these. Jukka designed them for close combat, not for throwing. See, the blade is as good as a sword, the crosstree can ward off blade thrusts and the thick shaft makes a fine long club. Our food is good for long treks. ’Tis made of dried fruit an’ berries stuffed into a farl of oat an’ rye bread which has been well soaked in honey. A creature can march all day on just a few mouthfuls, providing there’s water to drink. Here come the others now. Lean down on thy spear, Fleetscut, grasp the cross hilt, but keep thy paw clear o’ the blade. Makes a good walking stick, eh?’

  The old hare was forced to agree: the going was much easier with the spear to aid him. Jukka strode by them in high bad humour, remarking to Ruro as she passed, ‘Tell me if the ancient one falls behind, we can carry him trussed to a long pike like a carcass!’

  Fleetscut’s voice rang out after her. ‘You’ve got a good fast stride there, marm, stap me but y’have! Must be with havin’ to retreat from all your foes, wot?’

  Jukka kept marching, but her ears and tail shot up rigid with anger at the insult. Ruro shook her head sadly. ‘Do not provoke Jukka Sling overmuch, my friend. She has never been bested in a fight. No matter how much thou thinkest she hath wronged thee, remember, she was only doing what was best for her tribe. I would have done the same in her place.’

  Fleetscut had come to like Ruro a lot, so he did not argue with her, but changed the subject. ‘I wonder where she’s takin’ us?’

  His friend pointed to the northeast. ‘To the Rockwood. We should be there by nightfall, methinks. Jukka will want words with Udara Groundslay.’

  ‘An’ who in the name o’ seasons is Udara Groundslay?’

  Ruro quickened her pace as other squirrels went by. ‘Enough talk now, friend, we’re starting to lag behind. Save thy breath for travelling, or mayhap Jukka will carry out her threat an’ have ye slung on a pike.’

  Fleetscut stumped along faster on his makeshift stick. ‘Huh, if she ever tries it she’ll find out what the term perilous hare really means!’

  Jukka marched them ruthlessly all through that day, taking it out on Fleetscut for his ill-chosen remarks to her. Out on the flatlands there was no water. The sun beat down without respite, and not a breeze stirred the brownish scrub grass, which would be withered before the advent of summer. Grasshoppers chirruped dryly, larks could be heard high overhead. Like the squirrels, the old hare sucked on a flat pebble to retain the moisture in his mouth. His paw ached abominably from holding and leaning upon the metal crosstree of the spear, even though he had tried to cushion it with clumps of grass. Jukka remained silent and angry, but her tribe sang a marching song to keep up their spirits. The old hare had never heard the tune before, so he too kept quiet as they tramped wearily across the scorched acres of open land, though like any old soldier he kept pace with the beat.

  ‘Down goes the paw an’ up rises dust,

  Keep thy courage, hold thy trust,

  Come to our journey’s end we must,

  Marching the high road together.


  Tramp tramp tramp! Can we make camp?

  Not whilst there’s light, not ’til tonight!

  One two! One two! Beneath a sky o’ blue,

  Sing out, comrades. Tramp tramp tramp!

  On goes the trail, for ever more,

  Weary of limb, and sore of paw,

  Keep on moving, that’s our law,

  Marching the high road together.

  Tramp tramp tramp! Can we make camp?

  I’ll tell ye when, don’t stop ’til then!

  One two! One two! Daylight hours growing few,

  Sing out, comrades. Tramp tramp tramp!’

  In the late afternoon Fleetscut stumbled and fell. Before anybeast had noticed, Ruro heaved him up, set him back on his stick and supported his other side. The old hare gritted his teeth as he stumbled onward at the rear of the tribe. ‘How far is it now, Ruro?’

  She indicated with a nod of her head. ‘Yonder, see, there’s the Rockwood. We made good time – methinks we’ll be there before evening. Can ye carry on, friend? ‘Twould not hurt to take a rest, now that Rockwood be in sight.’

  Fleetscut wiped dust from his eyes with a free paw. ‘If a squirrel can do it I’m sure a Salamandastron hare can. I’ll blinkin’ well make it, m’gel, just you watch!’

  Rockwood turned out to be a huge stone outcrop, dotted with gnarled trees and stunted bush. Beddle had been sent ahead to scout it out, and he came dogtrotting back to report as the tribe arrived at its base.

  ‘I spotted Udara, but he vanished ’mid the shrubbery. Good news, though – the little lake hasn’t dried up. Plenty o’ water there!’

  Jukka held up a paw for order as a ragged cheer went up. ‘Hearken, all of ye, we be on the domain of Udara Groundslay. Give no offence, mind thy manners. That goes for thee too, longears. Wait you all here ’til I return.’

  She scrambled up into the rocks and was lost to sight amid the foliage. Fleetscut sat down with the tribe, glad of the rest, but still very curious.

  ‘So then, Ruro, who is this Udara Groundslay? Tell me.’