"You're right, of course, my Lady. Sooner or later escaped prisoners will be starved down from there." Silvamord tapped her chin knowingly. "Malebeasts, f're all the same, not happy unless they're fighting, will keep those archers firing arrows into the ceil-j, and for what? A waste of arrows, that's all. Now as me, I prefer to fight when the time is right. It's brains win in the end."

smiled as a paw rapped gently on the door. "Watch I'll show you what I mean, Sicant. Come in!" small, furtive-looking rat stole into the room and 1, saying, "Majesty, you were right. The Butcher 186.

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Bird flew off a short while ago. It headed north and east slightly. I watched until it was out of sight."

Pouring a beaker of wine, the vixen pushed it toward the rat. "You did well, Bluebane. Go now and say nothing of this to anybeast." Taking the beaker of wine with him, Bluebane slunk away.

The vixen turned to Sicant. "Your mate, Graywort, he's willing to serve me?"

Sicant nodded eagerly. "To the death, my Lady. He is like me; he knows that you are the real power on the throne of Southsward."

Silvamord took a dainty sip of wine. "Good! Riveneye was slain today, and we need a new horde Captain. I'll see that Graywort is promoted. Now, tell him to post six lookouts around the castle and keep one full squad in readiness night and day. The Butcher Bird is bound to bring help for the prisoners in the tower attic. When the lookouts spot them coming, tell them to report to your Graywort. As soon as he hears that help is arriving he must come directly to me and no other. Is that understood?"

Sicant knelt and kissed the vixen's paw gratefully. "I understand, Majesty."

A small mole almost bowled Furpp over as he dashed into the mole dwelling. The old fellow kept himself upright by catching hold of the youngster and said, "Yurr Bruggit, whurr be ee 'astenin' off to?"

Bruggit saluted the oldster hurriedly. "Zurr, thurr be a gurt burd out yon, ee'm be a-callen sumthen fearful furr ee otter an' maister Bowly!"

Furpp took Bruggit outside. "Naow, whurr be ee burd?"

Bruggit tugged on Furpp's digging claw. "O'er this way, zurr. You'm can 'ear 'im, "earken!"

Furpp listened carefully. On the mid-morning air the sounds of Glokkpod came drifting clearly over a dune.

"Kcha kcha! Irriz otter, Bowly Pintip, whirr are yirr?"

The Butcher Bird hove into view over the hilltop, walking with his customary swagger as he called out the names.

: Furpp had seen Butcher Birds before. Carefully stowing b Bruggit behind him, out of the bird's view, he called, "A '.Women to ee, zurr burd. Whurr c.u.m ye frum?"

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The shrike c.o.c.ked a bright eye toward the mole. "I, Glokkpod, come from Miriel and Dindin, Meldrin and Squirrelking, they say find otters."

"Burr, you'm foller an oi'll take ee to otterfolk," said Furpp, turning toward his dwelling. "Us" 11 feed ee, too, ifn you'm promise not to go an eaten of uz."

There were mixed emotions inside the cavernous mole dwelling. The Squirrelqueen and her little son were overjoyed at the news that Gael was still alive. However, the feeling swiftly changed to one of anxiety when they were told of the peril that Gael and their friends were in. Iris soon took command of the meeting.

"We'll go to Castle Floret tonight, as soon as it gets close to dark. If they haven't been recaptured we'll see what's the best way to get them out of there. Glokkpod, how long do you think they can hold out?"

The Butcher Bird was hastily gobbling cold turnip'n'ta-ter pie, and he shrugged as he explained between beak-fuls, "Don't know, mibbee long time, mibbee not so long. Lotsa ratz, lotsa weapinz!"

Bowly Pintips, who had placed himself in command of the four leverets, hefted his two hard scones. "Rats don't bother us, we be warriors!"

Glokkpod choked on a piece of pie as he laughed. "Kchakcha kcha! Yirr only infints!" The young hedgehog ignored the gibe, but the leverets were indignant.

"Steady on there an' have a care, sir!"

"Aye, you wouldn't like to tangle with these infants!"

"Infants, indeed. Infant y'self, sir!"

"Great feathered windbag!"

The shrike's bright eye rested on Foghill, the last one to speak. "Meldrin yirr father?"

Foghill treated the question with the contempt he thought it deserved. "Tchah, old Uncle Mel my pater? I should think not!"

Iris ignored the interchange as she started arrangements. "Troutlad, Greenbeck, get the others together. We'd best start out now. Bring all the ropes you can find."

Bowly insisted that he and the hares go along, too. Iris refused flatly but softened the blow by telling him that he and the hares should stay behind to protect the Squirrel-queen and her young one.

; Firgan was a big, tough rat; he patrolled silently around fV. the east side of Castle Floret, as Graywort had told him If, to. Confidently he strode the valley floor, poking and Is prodding at bushes with his spear. It was early evening, f still light, when Firgan sat down to take his food. Tilting !^.'-:.

&.a flask of water the rat drank deeply, unaware of the huge f paws that came silently from behind his neck. He man-i^aged one startled gurgle before the flask slipped from his 'lifeless claws. The huge paws receded, accompanied by cracking snap as the broken spear was tossed carelessly aside into the bushes.

On the south side another of the rat patrol heard a noise fbehind a nearby rock. Padding stealthily forward he went jto investigate, a long curved sword held ready. A large [stone hit him at the base of his skull-he fell pole-by the missile. A smaller, sleeker pair of paws took sword and, wedging it between two rocks, they >ped the blade effortlessly.

igo .

Night was starting to set in when Silvamord grew impatient. She snarled at Sicant, "There should be some news by now of rescuers coming. What's Gray wort doing out there, dreaming?"

The female horderat went to the door and looked out. "Here he comes, my Lady," she said, relieved.

Graywort entered the chamber carrying a ruined pike and a snapped sword. He was frightened, breathless, glancing back over his shoulder as if he were being followed. "M'Lady, they're dead, Firgan, Gringol, and the rest of them, slain!"

Silvamord sprang up, knocking the useless weapons from the horderat's dithering paws. "Stop babbling and talk sense, you fool! Here, sit down, drink this and pull yourself together!"

Elderberry wine slopped down Graywort's chin as he drank greedily. Having finished, he told his story.

* 'I posted the six guards, just as you commanded, told them t'watch for a party of otters. Later I went out to see if they had anything to report ..."

Silvamord leaned closer, staring hard at Graywort. "And?"

"Majesty, they were all dead, the six of them! First I found Gringol-his neck had been snapped like a twig! Look at this pike; it's shattered, broken in two places. What sort of wild beast had the strength to do that? Then I ran to find the others. They were either killed by sling-stones or their necks had been busted like Gringol and Firgan's. I heard a noise in the bushes, a rumble and growling, and I ran for my life. Somebeast was tryin' to track me down-I never stopped to look back, just dashed straight into the castle!"

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The vixen hastily armed herself from a wall cupboard, buckling on a sword and grabbing a bow and arrows. "Where's that special squad I told you to have standing by? Get them up on their paws! I'll find out what sort of beast is at the bottom of all this!"

Meldrum leaped to one side as a pikehead came smashing through the floorboards. Gael had taken to sitting on the upper beams where the rooftiles had been removed and staring down at the steadily deteriorating floor, and the arrowheads, spearblades, pikeshafts, and swords that were reducing it to splinters. Dandin tapped the Squirrelking's paw lightly.

"Move over, Sire. I'm coming up there with you, it's safer!" Mariel followed suit shortly, then between them they hauled Meldrum up to the relative safety of the sloping roof.

Meldrum pulled a tile loose and aimed it between a rift in the floorboards. "Take that, y'blighters!" He was rewarded by the sound of an agonized rat squeal.

Mariel watched gathering cloud ma.s.ses being swept in from westward, and she groaned, "Oh no, rain. That's all we need! Still, I suppose it'll provide us with a drink. No sign of Glokkpod yet?"

Dandin scoured the sky to the north. "No. I wish he'd hurry up. D'you suppose he's found the otters yet? He could be completely lost."

"Wouldn't surprise me," Meldrum the Magnificent snorted. "I'll wager the rogue's flown off someplace to fill his stomach. Never met any Butcher Birds before, but if that'n is a specimen, then they're a pretty shabby lot, if y'ask me."

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Nagru stood in the doorway of the tower room, out of the range of rooftiles. The Foxwolf was confident that he would recapture his prisoners. "Wetchops, Ragfen, keep *em stabbing upward. That ceiling won't last much longer, then we can bring them down with arrows. Don't kill them; just wound them a mite. I want our friends alive for a bit of fun."

Bluebane came scurrying up the stairs and tugged at Urgan's wolfhide. The Foxwolf smiled. "Ah, my little eyes and ears, what is your lovely Queen up to now that I should know about?''

They held a short, whispered conversation together. Nagru patted his informant's back, saying, "Well done, Bluebane. Now go and find Graywort. Tell him I want to see him up here, right away."

Bluebane stood on the lower stair as if waiting for something. Nagru looked at him curiously. "What are you waiting for, my little spy?"

Bluebane fidgeted with his tattered tunic. "Sire, Queen Silvamord rewarded me with a beaker of elderberry wine.

see.

The Foxwolf smiled understandingly. "Ah, I You'd like a reward from me too, is that it?"

The spy nodded eagerly. Nagru spoke softly, dangerously.

"Life is the highest reward of all, my friend. Double dealers and traitors often receive death as their payment. But I will not slay you for your treachery to me and my Queen-I give you your life as a reward. You are spared. Now go and do my bidding." Without another word, Bluebane sped gratefully away.

18.

It was late afternoon. Rain began falling in large spots, slowly at first, then it gathered force into a major downpour. On a wooded slope of Castle Floret's valley a score of otters threaded their way through the undergrowth. The quick eyes of Greenbeck picked up a movement close by; a sharp wave of his paw sent Iris and the rest of the troop into a crouch, wary and silent. They held their breath, watching keenly as Silvamord and her horderats tramped by, hardly a pawlength from them.

When they had pa.s.sed, Troutlad stood up hefting a javelin.

Iris pulled him down, saying, "Not yet. We don't want them to know we're here, and besides, we don't know if there's more of 'em patrolling. Where's the Butcher Bird?"

Glokkpod poked his head out of a wet swathe of feathers. "Hirr I am. Glokkpod not like thiz ryne!"

Iris blew rainwater from her muzzle enjoyably. "Noth-*ing wrong with a bit of clean rain! Now, show me the 193.

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tower our friends are trapped in."

Not being airborne, it took the shrike a little while to find the exact location. The otter troop hid among the trees as Glokkpod pointed his beak upward at the highest point of Floret, crying, "Thirr, up thirr they are."

Iris looked up. From where she was, the tower was a mere pinpoint, almost invisible in the rain. "Butcher Bird, fly up there and tell our friends we've arrived," she said. "Ask them what they want us to do. It looks impossible to help anybeast trapped that high up."

The four escaped prisoners were sitting out on the roof-beams, openmouthed as they caught raindrops to drink. Glokkpod landed alongside them; settling himself on a beam, he stared down at the weapons chopping through the splintered floor of the attic. "Ratz gonna gitcha soon if you notta 'scape hirr."

Mariel wiped a paw across her mouth. "You're here at last! Have you brought help?"

The shrike dipped his beak toward the valley floor. "Down thirr, otters, Irriz say how they gonna help, what-cha want them to do?"

"Hmph! Should've thought that was jolly obvious," said Me 1 drum, twitching his ears in annoyance. "A whacking great long rope'll do the trick, wot!"

"Kchakcha kcha! No rope that big, longirrs!"

The hare shot the Butcher Bird a murderous glance. "I've warned you once about calling me longears, you great puffed-up windbag!" But he was speaking to empty s.p.a.ce; the shrike had flown down to the otters.

Greenbeck shook his head. "A long rope, mate? There's never been a rope that long in the history of seasons. What d'you think, Iris?"

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The female otter leader moved this way and that, viewing the castle from different angles. "You're right. There's no such thing as a rope that long, but I think they could do it with a shorter rope. Greenbeck, what d'you think of this as an idea ..."

All four prisoners were now ripping tiles from the roof and hurling them through the sizeable hole that horde-beast weapons had created in the attic floor. Their attack was so ferocious it had driven the rats from the tower room out onto the spiral staircase. Even Gael Squirrelking was throwing tiles with every ounce of strength he could muster. Dandin took his time, waiting until he could see a venturesome rat poke its head into view before he hurled a tile.

"We'll only keep them at bay for as long as these tiles last, then Nagru will send his archers in to pick us off," be said.

Mariel struggled to loosen a tile from a crossbeam. "That's true, make each shot count. Glokkpod, what news?"

The Butcher Bird landed almost sideways, gripping the small flagpole at the apex of the tower.

"Lissin t'thiz silly idea-it's yirr only hope." He explained Iris's scheme to them. Meldrum looked positively crestfallen at the wild notion.

"Let me get this straight, you chaps. The otters can us a rope up that's not very long. Right, then we ible it over a beam and one of us swarms down it and -Swings to and fro until he can reach the battlements, at end of the west wall. He lands on the battlements, ;n one by one the rest of us shimmy down the blinkin'

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