THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Seventy-Two
Sergeant Traughber grabbed Longmeadow by the shoulder. "Somebeast's shooting at us from up above!" he yelled at his captain. "They got the Major!"
Longmeadow let his sergeant pull him back a step from Brot and Olimpo; the two otters did not press the attack, glad to have a break in the fighting so they could catch their breath.
"Bloody fur!" Longmeadow grimaced. With Lieutenants Cleburne and Tomball slain, the Major's death left him as the only Long Patrol officer on this side of the mountain. There was always Traveller, of course - that veteran scout could command the junior hares as well as any major or captain.
"We gotta send some hares up t' get 'em, sir, or they'll pick us all off!" Traughber insisted, ignoring the fact that the only arrow shot at them so far had been the one which slew Safford, and saved Winokur.
"Reckon we hafta," Longmeadow agreed after a moment's silent deliberation.
"Looks like there's only one or two of 'em," Traughber went on. "I saw 'em peeking over th' rim. Shouldn't take too many of us t' go up there an' put things right."
"Okay," Longmeadow nodded. "You're in charge of it, Sergeant. Take five or six others with you, an' climb up by the western slopes - easier goin' there, an' with luck you might be able to catch 'em by surprise."
"Aye, sir!" Sergeant Traughber spun and raced away through the confusion of fighting, grabbing up the first five hares he came across who were not immediately occupied with shrew or otter foes. His assault team thus assembled on the run, the six of them broke clear of the battle zone and sped around the southwest limb of the mountain to commence their hurried climb.
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Urthblood and Machus stopped on the slopes just below Captain Mattoon's hastily-assembled formation of his remaining weasels and rats. All around them, Long Patrol hares streamed downward to rejoin their own badger master, occasionally harried by pursuing swordfoxes. Word had spread among the various knots of surviving hares to disengage from all fighting on the upper slopes and come back down to be at Lord Urthfist's side; the two warlords would meet to decide this conflict for themselves.
It was a pathetically small number of hares who now assembled downslope to bolster their Lord. Urthblood's fighters, and the foxes in particular, had exacted a heavy toll indeed upon the Long Patrols. As had Urthblood himself.
The red-armored badger held out a cautionary paw to his swordfox chieftain. "Stand well clear, Machus. This will be between myself and my brother, and our contest is likely to be a mighty one. Look to yourself; I do not want to lose you."
Obediently, Machus limped back from Urthblood, sword still drawn and alert for any hares who might try to blindside him. But most of the Long Patrols were already past, and none were in his immediate vicinity. A few of his fellow foxes drew up alongside him. Together, they awaited the arrival of their great foe.
Flanked by nearly a dozen of his hares, Urthfist charged uphill toward his waiting brother. The escort of Long Patrol kept a respectful distance off to either side of him; in the grip of the Bloodwrath, Urthfist was dangerous beyond words, and it would be risky even for his own hares to approach too closely.
Urthfist ground to a sudden halt a short way below Urthblood, fixing his sibling with eyes that were almost solid red with hate and fury. His hares fanned out ahead of him in a defensive posture, as the weasels, rats and foxes tensed themselves for further fighting.
"Hello, brother," Urthblood said.
"Murderer!" Urthfist bellowed back through his inchoate rage. "Liar! Traitor! Coward!"
"If you think me a coward," Urthblood waved for his brother to continue forward, "come here and let me prove you wrong."
"Eulaliaaaaa!" Urthfist roared, and charged Urthblood.
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Sergeant Traughber's assault group had reached the crater rim of Salamandastron without meeting any resistance whatsoever. And if the mountaintop defenders had not bothered to send so much as a single arrow or stone their way, it could only mean that their team had attained the plateau unnoticed. The intense battle upon the south slopes must have commanded the total attention of whatever troops Urthblood had stationed up on the roof of the fortress, leaving the western seaward face unwatched. Hope soared in the hearts of the hares. If the plateau was truly so lightly guarded, and the few defenders there were distracted by the main battle, then Traughber's team might even be able to wipe out the enemy here altogether and fight their way down into the mountain to retake the upper levels. Such valiant thoughts came naturally to the gallant Long Patrol hares.
Patrol Leader Woythaler was the first over the rim wall. No sooner had he set foot upon the caldera floor than the winged hunter swooped straight at him, clutching him in its talons and lifting him up off the plateau. A second bird of prey smashed into Traughber moments later as the rest of the hares vaulted over the low wall. He too was borne up into the air, the mountaintop tableau dropping away from him at a dizzying rate.
There seemed to be no more birds besides these two, although the Sergeant caught a glimpse of two red squirrels standing alongside the roof stairs. In the instant before he was carried too far for his voice to reach, Traughber shouted his final orders to the four hares left on the plateau.
"Keep goin'! Take the stairs! Go!"
The quartet waved acknowledgement and raced onward across the otherwise empty mountaintop toward the two squirrels.
Traughber writhed and twisted in the big bird's crushing grip. He still held his javelin in his paw. Just ahead, he could see Woythaler likewise flailing his limbs as he dangled from the raptor's talons. The other hare had lost his weapon in the surprise attack, and was totally at the mercy of the winged creature.
They were out over the northern slopes of Salamandastron now, where the mountainside was at its craggiest, and they were sickeningly high, much higher than even the plateau from which they'd been plucked. Traughber watched in horror as Woythaler was flung free from his bird's imprisoning grip to plummet down, down, until he smashed and careened off the unforgiving rockface so far below.
Traughber hooked his free paw around his bird's ankle even as the talon around him opened to release him on his own death drop. The hare hung on for dear life, but it was not only for himself that he resisted. The Sergeant had no illusions that he would survive this situation. But the enemy that bore him now was an enemy to all the Long Patrols, and to Lord Urthfist. Traughber still had his weapon, and he fully intended to do what he could to remove this danger to his Lord and his fellow hares.
"So that's yer bally game, featherbag?" Traughber shouted with bravado. "Well, if I'm goin' down, then you're jolly well goin' down too!"
The bird shook its leg under it, but Traughber held on tightly, stubbornly refusing to be dislodged. Hanging on by one paw, he harpooned his javelin into the bird's underside. It wore a tough jerkin over its breast as a sort of armor, but against the hare's strength and determination, the garment was no protection at all; the sharpened shaft easily pierced the vest and drove deep up into the raptor's vital regions.
The winged giant screamed, and tried to thrust its head under itself to get at Traughber with its deadly beak. But the effort of trying to stay aloft with the hare's weight dragging at one leg, and the pain of its injury, was too much, and it went into a momentary tumble. Laboring, the bird righted itself, only to be speared twice more by the hare's javelin.
The mighty skyhunter went into another tumbling fall, and this time there would be no recovery. Locked together, bird and hare plummeted to the coastal plain below.
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Alexander and Lady Mina ducked down the roof stairs as the four hares charged across the plateau toward them. Halpryn and Klystra had done what they could; now it would be up to the two squirrels to keep the Long Patrol out of Salamandastron.
They'd worked out their strategy while the hares had been climbing up the west face of the mountain. Now Alex and Mina sprinted down the stairs and along the narrow passage leading straight into the heart of the natural fortress. Reaching the end where the tunnel began to turn, they skidded to a halt. Mina took her strung longbow off her shoulder, notched an arrow to the string, and drew it back, sighting along the line of the tunnel. They stood far back in the shadows, but the afternoon sun still reached far enough down into the roof entrance to bathe most of the steps in a golden glow. Mina would be shooting from a refuge of shade while her targets would be brightly lit; she could not have asked for a better advantage.
"Stand back, Alex, and give me room to work," she ordered.
"I still don't know if I like this," said the Redwaller. "What if some of them get through?"
"We'll just have to make certain they don't ... ah!"
The first of the hares was visible, legs first, as it bounded down the steps. Mina waited until it was entirely in view, then loosed her shaft. The arrow took it through the heart and it toppled forward, skidding along the tunnel floor under its own momentum even as it died.
Working like a machine, like she had that long-ago-seeming day of the archery tournament on Redwall's lawns, Mina automatically reached back and plucked a second arrow from her quiver, brought it around to notch it, and pulled back the bowstring as she sighted on her new target.
The three remaining hares were down the steps and over their fallen comrade by this time. Her second arrow took the front hare in the throat and it too dropped, but they were committed to this assault, come what may. The two survivors continued their charge.
Mina set up for her third shot and let the arrow fly. The hares were very close now, tearing down the corridor for all they were worth. The third hare, like the first, was shot through the heart.
The last hare was too close now to shoot. Mina knew it, and was shifting her sturdy bow in her paws even as her third shaft found its mark. The squirrel Lady grasped the bow by one end, raised up so she could swing it like a club.
The hare leapt at her. Mina was able to dodge and smash the flying beast across the legs before it landed in a tumble. But archery was her favored skill, and the limited confines of the narrow tunnel worked against her. Mina tried to knock the spear out of her opponent's grasp before the hare could fully recover, but he was too experienced a fighter to surrender his weapon to her efforts. Fending off her longbow swings as he regained his feet, the hare kicked out at Mina and sent her crashing into the rock wall, hard.
Alex stepped in behind the hare and broke his own bow over its head. It wasn't a killing blow, but it came close. The hare grunted and collapsed to the floor.
Alex bent down to the female squirrel, cradling Mina's head in his paws. One came away bloodied. "Mina! Please, no! Mina!"
Her eyelids fluttered, then opened. She tried to sit up, winced, and leaned back against the wall. "Oooo, that smarts."
Alex smiled like a fool, but there were tears in his eyes. "Mina! I thought I'd lost you!"
"Can't get rid of me that easily, m'afraid." Mina gingerly touched the back of her head. "Oo! Am I bleeding?"
"Just a little." Alexander's voice cracked.
"Well, a head wound's nothing to fool around with. Better get me down to the kitchens so the moles can see to me properly. Wish I had a healer fox right now, but they're all rather busy at the moment."
Alex helped her to her feet and started to lead her away, but Mina stopped him. "Alex, is that hare dead?"
He glanced at the one he'd clobbered. "No, I don't think so ... "
"Well, then don't just leave him there! Bind his paws tightly."
"But, your head," Alex protested.
"You think I've got a headache now? Let one of those hares get loose in here, and that'll really be a headache!" Mina lowered herself to the floor once more to show she was serious. "I'll just rest here until you've done it. And make sure the bonds are tight! This is one beast we don't want sneaking up behind us!"
Alexander replayed in his mind the hare's suicidal charge down the tunnel. He certainly wouldn't disagree with Mina about that! Stooping, he unstrung their bows and set to the task of tying up the hare.
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When the two Badger Lords collided, Urthfist was roaring like a demon, but Urthblood was as stern and silent as the very mountain rock beneath his feet.
Urthfist swung his mighty broadsword at his brother with force enough to split granite. Urthblood stepped into the blow, shifting his weight with the flowing grace of a dancer, deflecting the swing with his own blade. Even as he did so, he grabbed Urthfist by the collar flange of the younger badger's armor with his free paw and used Urthfist's tremendous momentum to fling him roughly to the ground.
Urthblood did not press his advantage while his brother was down. Standing over Urthfist, sword held down at his side, he said, "Let us talk, my brother. I do not wish to fight you."
Urthfist let out a thunderous scream of incoherent rage and charged up at Urthblood once more. This time the two warriors clashed for many swings, the ring and clang of their blades almost deafening to the beasts looking on. There was no fighting going on now around the warring badgers; hare and rat and weasel and fox alike stood at the ready but unmoving, held breathless by the spectacle of two creatures so great locked in mortal combat. Everybeast there realized that it no longer mattered whether they fought one another. Whichever badger slew his brother would be the victor, and all else was inconsequential. The war had come down to this contest between the two Lords of the Mountain, as perhaps fate demanded. The Long Patrols stood tensed to come to their master's aid should any of Urthblood's troops make a move to join in against Urthfist, but none did. Likewise, Machus and his foxes, and Mattoon's weasels and rats, kept a sharp and suspicious watch on the hares, alert for any sign that they were about to wade into the duel in support of Urthfist. In truth, the fighting between Urthblood and Urthfist was so tumultuous that anybeast from either side who'd approached them would probably have been cut down by the flashing broadswords without either badger noticing.
After a score or more of savage swordswings, during which neither badger yielded so much as a paw's width to the other, Urthblood shoved Urthfist back several staggered paces. He did it almost nonchalantly, as if he'd only been indulging his sibling by fighting him, and now wished to put a stop to this foolish behavior. His unnatural steely calm still intact, he said, "Do not surrender to the curse of the Bloodwrath, brother. It will only destroy you. If you still possess any shred of your reason, lay aside your weapon and let the killing end."
"Lower my sword, ha!" Urthfist barked. "So you can slay me!"
"I could have slain you already. Your wrath has made you sloppy. There is a better way to end this. Step back, and let us speak as civilized beasts."
"You lie!" Urthfist bellowed. "You kill my hares, you and your vile vermin spawn! The prophecy was right! You are evil, and a monster! This will only end when you are dead!"
"Or you are, brother."
"Eulaliaaaa!" Urthfist roared, and threw himself at Urthblood once more.
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Traveller gazed down at Captain Longmeadow. An otter javelin protruded from between the fallen officer's ribs. Longmeadow's sword, red with the blood of his enemies, lay just beyond the reach of the slain hare.
The Captain had taken one of his final adversaries with him; the Northlands otter Brot sprawled lifelessly alongside Longmeadow on the mountainside. But taking on two of the otters at once had been more than even the skilled swordhare could manage. Brot's longtime friend Olimpo squatted back a ways from the bloody scene, staring at Traveller with hollow eyes but making no move to engage the veteran hare.
Traveller could empathize with the otter. He felt empty inside. The mounting toll of exhaustion and fatigue had finally broken over him like a storm surge. The fight had left him. And all around him, the same thing was happening to his fellow hares as the fury of the fighting gradually subsided.
The Long Patrol, outnumbered by Saybrook's otters at the start, had had their cause dealt a crippling blow by the death of Major Safford and the desertion of Sergeant Traughber's group for the plateau; none of those six would return to rejoin the battle. Now the loss of Longmeadow was the straw that broke their resolve. Adding to their sudden mood of defeat was the fact that they now faced otters - valiant goodbeasts like themselves, who fought nobly to keep the hares out of Salamandastron but otherwise took great pains not to slay any more of the Long Patrols than was necessary. Once the hares recognized that they could lower their weapons before the otters without the risk of deadly reprisal, many did so. And soon the battle petered out.
Traveller stood looking across at Captain Saybrook. He didn't feel like fighting anymore. He felt like crying - for Safford, and Longmeadow, and the two hares he'd seen swept off the mountaintop by Urthblood's birds, and all his other beloved comrades who would not see tomorrow. He wanted to cry, but tears would not come. He was too tired even for that. His legs wobbled uncertainly beneath him, and Traveller found himself leaning heavily on his spear as he regarded the otter chief.
"Well, isn't this a jolly fine pickle, wot?"
Saybrook set his jaw firmly. "You're not gettin' inside, so you might as well give it up now."
"Can't surrender, chap. We ain't allowed to."
"I didn't mean surrender," Saybrook said. "Just turn yerselves around an' walk away, while there's still some o' you left alive to do it."
Traveller nodded wearily. "You'd let us, too. You waterdogs've been holdin' back. You coulda slain more of us than you have."
"My orders was t' keep you outta this rock," Saybrook responded, "not slaughter you flopeared bigfoots. If I coulda done that without harmin' a hare 'mongst you, I woulda. But you didn't give us much choice, y'know?"
Traveller wanted to close his eyes and sleep for a fortnight. And, hopefully, wake to find this had all been some horrible nightmare.
"Sir!" one of the other hares yelled suddenly. "Traveller, sir! Look!"
Traveller's gaze followed his companion's pointing paw. Halfway between where they stood and the base of the mountain, Urthblood and Urthfist strove mightily with each other, amidst a wide circle of watching hares, foxes, weasels and rats. The old hare stiffened to attention, some of his former alertness returning to him.
"Reckon it don't matter what you 'n' me do now," Saybrook said. "This war's gonna be decided down there, not up 'ere."
"I ... we should be down there," Traveller muttered.
"I won't try 'n' stop you," Saybrook told him. "Like nothin' better'n t' head down there with you m'self. But my orders are t' guard this tunnel, come what may. Long as Lord Urthblood's still drawin' breath, we're bound to the duty he assigned us."
"An' if Urthfist slays Urthblood?" Traveller prompted.
Saybrook shrugged. "Then it'll be us who walk away, an' you'll get yer waterlogged mountain back, all to yerselves. Unless you try 'n' stop us from leavin' - then we'll fight to th' death. But, don't count on it. Urthblood's not a beast to lose a fight."
"Betcha he's never faced another bally Badger Lord before." Traveller turned to rally the remaining Long Patrols of the seaward flank. "C'mon, hares! Lord Urthfist's down there fightin' fer alla us! Let's go see if he needs a paw or three!"
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Winokur sat a short way back along the tunnel, bent over the still form of Warnokur. The young otter looked up at the sound of somebeast approaching, and saw his new friend Olimpo stop a few paces from him.
"You all right, Wink lad?" the Northlander asked.
Winokur gazed down at his father. "I ... I barely got a chance to know him ... "
Olimpo nodded solemnly. "Lotsa fine beasts lost their lives today. Brot an' me got the hare who slew yer Pappy, if it's any consolation to ye. Poor Brot didn't make it outta that contest alive 'imself. He was me best mate. I'll miss 'im sorely."
"No worse than all those hares will miss their own fallen friends, I reckon," Winokur sniffed. "Are all wars this horrible, Olimpo?"
"Ain't never been a war like this 'un. But it looks like it'll soon be over. The Long Patrol's broken off its attack on us. Urthblood and Urthfist have finally met up with each other down below. Goin' at it somethin' fierce. The hares all ran back down that way, which gives us waterdogs a bit of a much-needed breather. Cap'n Saybrook said I should come 'n' get you, since ye're th' peacemaker here. One o' those badgers ain't walkin' away from this, an' whichever one it is, you'll need to be there t' calm things 'tween the victor an' whatever troops're left from th' losin' side. If Urthfist wins, he an' his hares may try t' slaughter the rest of us unless there's a Redwaller at paw t' stop him. An' if Lord Urthblood's victorious, those confounded hares might battle on an' slay a lot more o' us unless you can talk 'em outta it. So, either way, yer time's nearly at paw, I figger."
"Yes ... I suppose you're right." Winokur stood. "Could you please stay with my father? I ... I just don't want him left alone."
"Shore thing, Wink. Now that th' fightin's stopped up this way, I reckon Cap'n Saybrook can spare me fer a spell. Yer Dad was a fighter brave an' true, an' I'd be honored to watch over 'im fer you."
"Thanks." Winokur glanced down at his garment; Abbess Mhera's venerable old habit, so painstakingly preserved and kept from excess wear and tear for the duration of the journey to Salamandastron, was now smeared and stained with Warnokur's blood. "I don't look like much of a peacemaker, do I?"
"You'll do jus' fine, Wink," Olimpo assured him. "Ye'd best be goin' now. That clash 'tween them two badgers down there could end at any instant, an' you'll wanna be there when it does."