Mossflower Part 32

"What d'you think, Lupin? Is he ready for this?"

Lupin waggled her long ears humorously as hares do.

"Oh, I suppose so. Anyhow, we'll soon find out."

Boar had moved to the edge of the forge and was toying with something wrapped in soft barkcloth.

"While you slept last night, my hares and I worked until after dawn had broken," he said at last. "I have made something for you, Martin."

The warrior mouse felt the hairs rising on the back of his neck. He gulped with excitement as Boar continued.

"One night while out on patrol, our Lupin here saw a star fall from the sky. She found the spot where it landed. A lump of hot metal was buried deep in the sand. When it cooled she dug it out and brought it back to me. Last night I put sea coal and charcoal in my forge; more than ever before, I made Salamandastron glow so hot that it could be seen in lands far across the sea. I had to-half the night had gone before the metal became soft. I hammered it out, oiled it, folded it many times against itself on my anvil, all the time reciting the names of every great warrior I had known or could think of. I spoke your name on the final hammer blow. Here, Martin. This is yours."

Everyone gathered round, including the three travelers, who were back from their tour of the mountain. They held their breath as Martin carefully unwrapped the barkcloth, layer by layer.

It was the sword!

Double-edged, keener than a razor, it lay glittering and twinkling, a myriad of steely lights. Its tip was pointed like a mountain peak in midwinter, the deadly blade had a three- 272.

quarter blood channel. It was perfectly balanced against the hilt, which had been restrapped with hard black leather and finished with a ruby-red pommel stone and curving scrolled crosspiece where it joined the marvelous blade.

Never in his wildest dreams had Martin imagined such a thing. Since they left Mossflower on the quest, he had more or less forgotten the broken hilt that hung about his neck. Caught up in the adventures and perils they had been through, he had used whatever he had to-a sling, a piece of wood as a stave-never expecting to see his father's sword restored to a newness that far outshone its humble beginnings. Now, suddenly, he felt the warlike blood of his ancestors rising at the sight of a fighting weapon few were chosen to look upon, let alone own. The feeling of destiny lay strong upon him as he picked up the fascinating weapon in one paw. His hackles rose and the blood gorged in his face, flashing across his eyes. Now he was the Warrior!

Everyone moved back to the walls as the warrior mouse took his sword in both paws. He held it straight out, letting the point rise slightly to feel the heft of the weapon. Suddenly Martin began sweeping it in circles, up, down, and around. The steel blade whooshed and sang eerily on its own wind, the bystanders followed its every move as if hypnotized. Martin leaped onto Boar's anvil, still swinging his sword. There was an audible ping as he sliced the tip from the anvil horn. It ricocheted oft the rock walls. They ducked instinctively as it hummed past like an angry wasp, leaving the singing blade unmarked.

"Tsarmina, can you hear me?" Martin roared out above the voice of the howling blade. "I am Martin the Warrior. I am coming back to Mossflowemrrrrrrr!''

273.

An hour before dawn, Brogg was rubbing sleep from his eyes. He flopped his Thousand Eye Captain's cloak about him and stumbled into the main billet with Ratflank. They kicked at prostrate forms, pulling tattered blankets from sleeping soldiers.

"Come on, you lot," they ordered. "Up on your paws. It's invasion time again."

Grumbling and protesting, the troops sat up, scratching at their fur, wiping paws across eyes.

"Gaw! I was bavin* a lovely dream there."

"Huh, me too. I dreamed we were getting a proper hot breakfast."

"You'll be lucky, bucko. Bread and water, and be glad of it."

"Where's this fat of the land we're all supposed to be living off? That's what I'd like to know."

Ratflank kicked out at a huddled form wrapped in sacking. A rawboned fox wearing bra.s.s earrings leaped up.

"Keep your stupid paws off me, lumphead," he snarled. "I'm not one of your dimwit soldiers. We only take orders from Bane."

Ratflank hurried away, narrowly dodging the bared yellow fangs.

Bane and Tsarmina paced restlessly about in the entrance hall. The fox banged his paw against a doorpost.

274.

"What's keeping them?" he asked impatiently. "It'll be noon by the time we get going at this rate."

Tsarmina gritted her teeth, turning, she screeched toward the barracks, "Brogg, Ratfiank, get them out here double quick, or I'll come in there and move you myself!"

The first bunch came tumbling out, adjusting tunics, clattering shields on spears.

"Here's mine. Where's your crew, Bane?" Tsarmina smirked.

Moments later, Bane's mercenaries strolled casually out in the rear of the uniformed soldiers. The fox commander struck his curved sword against a shield until he got order.

"Right, you lot. Same drill as yesterday-skirmish line, comb the woods, keep your eyes peeled and your wits about you. When we find them, remember: no mercy!"

The horde moved out toward the parade ground in the courtyard. As the first half-dozen soldiers pa.s.sed through the doorway into the open, there was a harsh shout from the woodland fringe.

"Fire!"

A hiss of vicious weaponry cut the air. The six soldiers fell in their tracks, cut down by arrows and javelins.

"Retreat, retreat, get back inside, quick!" Bane ordered hastily.

There was panic as the back ranks coming forward stumbled into the front ranks retreating. More troops fell, transfixed by flying death.

"What's going on out there?" Tsarmina yelled at Bane.

Bane stood panting with his back to the wall.

"They've got us bottled up in here. Wait a moment. Badtail!"

The rawboned fox came trotting up. "Here Bane."

"See what the position is out there. Pinpoint where they are and report back to me."

Badtail lay flat upon his belly. Sliding around the doorposts, he scrambled out onto the parade ground, tacking and weaving. Halfway across the courtyard, he bobbed up and down, checking the trees and scanning the low bushes through the open main gates.

"What d'you see?" Bane's voice rang across the open s.p.a.ce.

275.

Still lying flat, Badtail raised his head as he shouted back, "Squirrels and otters. They've got the main gates open and they're shooting from the tr-"

An otter javelin closed his mouth forever.

Bane poked his head around the doorpost. An arrow hummed its way viciously into the woodwork. He pulled back swiftly as two more buried their points in the doorpost where his head had been.

Skippe. crouched behind a bush and signaled to Lady Amber, who was perched on the low branches of an oak.

"Eleven down and plenty more to go," he reported.

mber drew back her bowstring and let an arrow fly. 'Make * the round dozen. Skip!"

Grim-laced and determined, the crews of bo A leaders tightened paws on bowstrings, slings and javelins, waiting for the next head to show around the doorposts of Kotir fortress.

Inside the building, confusion followed the panic of the initial attack. Tsarmina dashed upstairs to her chamber, dashing back down again when a fusillade of arrows greeted her through the open window. Bane sat at the foot of the stairs.

"Fortunes of war," he said philosophically.

"Oh, burn them out, come down hard on them. I've seen it all before," Tsarmina sneered. "Well, fox, what's your next move?"

"Is there another way out of here?"

* 'There's the scullery and larder entrance on the north side, but it's only a small door."

"It'll have to do. Let's give it a try."

At the scullery and larder entrance the door was shut tight with rusted bolts which took some considerable time to move. When it was finally opened, the troops hung about reluctantly. n.o.body seemed very keen on dashing out to do battle. Bane prodded a Kotir soldier with his sword.

"Come on. You lot have got shields. Get out there!"

The stoat turned sullenly to Brogg. "He's not giving me orders. I've got six seasons' service here. Him and his lot only arrived yesterday."

Tsarmina rushed up the corridor, thrusting creatures aside.

276.

"Get out there, you and you,*' she ordered. "Form a barrier of shields the way youVe been trained to do!"

Her word was final; there was no arguing with the Queen of the Thousand Eyes.

Three soldiers pushed their way out into the open, shields held up in front. A slingstone cracked the middle ferret on his paw. He yelped with pain, automatically dropping the shield. Arrows hissed in once more, reducing the ranks by a further three.

High in a sycamore, Barklad fired off an arrow as he remarked to his companion, "How long d'you think we can keep this up, Pear?"

Pear rubbed beeswax on her bowstring before answering.

"Lady Amber says until noon, then it'll be too late for them to go invading Mossflower. Personally, I think we should encourage them to come out at noon, then we could follow them back and pick them off in the evening."

Another squirrel swung in through the branches. "Are you two all right for arrows?" he asked breathlessly. "Here's another quiver full. Give a call if you're running low."

He swung off to the next tree with his supplies.

Bane tried every possible move, but at each new turn he was frustrated by the deadly accuracy of the woodlanders. Every exit tried, be it window or door, resulted in further loss of troops. The summer morning wore on, the high sun above impervious to the dead that littered the courtyard.

Tsarmina came up with the most sensible suggestion to date. "Why don't we just shut the doors and ignore them? With nothing to shoot at, they'll have to leave."

Bane was glad of the solution. He would have mentioned it earlier, had Tsarmina not been in such a towering rage.

Skipper was no mean climber. He stood on a low bough with Lady Amber. Together they considered the problem of the doors that were slammed shut and the bolted, wooden tables which had been placed across the open windows.

"Looks like a stalemate, Amber.*'

Lady Amber thwacked off an arrow at the closed door. "Cowards! They're very brave attacking defenceless wood- 277.

landers and killing unarmed creatures, but they can't face real warriors when it comes to a battle."

Skipper looked up at the clear blue sky. "Ah well, second day of summer and all's well, me old branchjumper. Come on. Let's withdraw and get back to Brockhall."

A mischievous smile spread across the squirrel's face. "Right you are, Skip. But not before I've left them with a small token of our regard."

Tsarmina sat eating woodpigeon with Bane in an inner room with no windows. There was a tap on the door.

"Come in!" she called.

It was Ratflank.

"Milady, Brogg says to tell you that the woodlanders are setting fire to us."

"What?"

"Er, yes, Milady. Fire arrows. They're shooting them into the doors and window shutters. Brogg says it'll be all right, though, 'cos it's a stone building and they'll only b.u.m the woodwork."

Tsarmina sprang up knocking the table sideways. "My chamber! Bane, see if you can do something quickly. Organize a bucket chain. Put those fires out. If theyVe touched my room I'll, I'll . . . oooooohhh!"

She dashed from the room, taking the stairs two at a time., The wall hangings were smoldering ruins and the door still blazed merrily-Amber's archers had given it special attention.

"Get those buckets up here. Bring water!" Tsarmina howled down the stairwell.

"But we're trying to put out the fire at the front door, Milady," a dithering voice called up from below.

*'I don't care what you're trying to put out! Get that water up here on the double."

"What about the door, Milady?"

"Spit on it, for all I care. This is my room-the Queen's own chamber is on fire. Hurry up, idiot."

"Idiot yourself!"

"Who said that?" she demanded.

278.

39.

"Place your paw flat upon the blade, grip the handle tight, hold the sword flat above your head."

Thw.a.n.g!