XXXVI.

CASTLE FLORET

Alex and Urthblood emerged from the conference room to find Abellon and Witko awaiting them in the corridor beyond, attended by their own Floret squirrels who'd roused them early to escort Fael and their own badger master. Mouse captain and Gawtrybe sergeant looked to Urthblood in some puzzlement, wondering at this sunrise summons and curious as to its significance.

Fael, with his typical casual superiority, announced, "I anticipated you'd want your two officers with you to see this, Lord, since it does fall roughly under military jurisdiction. I've sent for Dawton, who'll meet us down there, so no point in waiting, is there? Let's be on our way!"

As the group set off down the hallway with Fael and Tesque leading the way, Abellon asked Urthblood, "Down where? Where's he taking us, Lord?"

"Apparently he has a dragon to show us, Captain. I can tell you no more, since His Majesty has seen fit to illuminate me no further."

To their shared surprise, the castle visitors found themselves descending into the depths of Floret along a familiar route, one staircase after another until they once more reached the seventh subterranean level below the plateau, where the day before Banter Skadsley had conducted them through the castle's amusement halls. Instead of winding up at the sunlight-mirrored, pillared entry chamber, however, Fael and Tesque brought them out at some ancillary chamber, an alternate way into the playland obstacle course along its route, perhaps a part of the behind-the-scenes maintenance infrastructure. Alex for one was glad of this shortcut; if some matter of gravity were to be discussed here this morning, the mood would hardly have fitted a frivolous second pass through the many chambers of this place and their respective, sometimes physically-daunting challenges.

Skipper Dawton met them there, seemingly alone; it appeared he'd been to Floret enough times over the seasons to find his way around on his own, and that Fael trusted him enough to allow him that freedom. Taking in the entourage entering the chamber to join him, he said to Fael, "I see ye've finally decided to show 'em, Yore Majesty."

"That I have, Skipper. This badger comes to me with all manner of sweeping propositions and portents, so I thought he might as well be appraised of our own little problem."

"Not so little, Majesty," Dawton countered in mild protest, "if scores of dead woodlanders're anything to go by."

"Scores?" Alex clarified, looking to Fael. "You never indicated it was any kind of situation on that scale."

"Well now you know, Redwaller. Come along, and let me introduce you to the culprits - or one of them, at the very least."

As if incited by the sound of these voices out beyond its cage, the berserker bird two chambers away went into a squawking clamor, shrieking its daily protest to the mammals who dared to keep it captive.

"Oh, I do hope that feathered terror can keep its beak shut while we're down here," Fael lamented. "Hard to even think straight when it raises that kind of racket."

"Maybe you should just let it go then," Alex suggested with none-too-subtle sarcasm.

"Oh ha ha. I have a better idea. We'll just beat it soundly until it shuts up, or passes out. That's always done the trick in the past."

They emerged at the intersection between the room of mirrors and the live exhibits, the latter of which Skadsley had avoided the previous day. Now Fael, Tesque and Dawton led the way into that side passage, and soon they strolled amongst a veritable gallery of captive life forms.

The first thing to hit Alex was neither sight nor sound, but smell. As somebeast who'd visited the seacoast twice, and more recently spent actual days aboard the Stronganchor during the short voyage from Salamandastron to Southsward, he'd come to recognize the briny scent of wave and wake, and that odor confronted him now, seven floors beneath a castle built atop a high plateau in the middle of the lands, far from any ocean. The Abbey squirrel soon found himself passing between the exhibits lending the salty air to this subterranean hall.

Giant glass fishbowls, most large enough for Urthblood to have totally immersed himself within, lined the aisle, each illuminated by mirror-backed lamps allowing the bowls' occupants to be clearly viewed by visitors. Into Alexander's mind flashed the accounts given by Winokur of the adolescent otter's swim off Salamandastron two summers earlier, detailing all the manner of strange and bizarre organisms he'd encountered in those coastal waters, some of which had found their way onto the Badger Lord's dinner table. Crustaceans dominated the attractions here, but these were as different as could be from the freshwater shrimp stocking Redwall's pond. Some of the prawns here did resemble their more familiar Mossflower cousins, to be sure, but other species bore radically different markings and coloration, unusual shapes and proportions, unidentifiable appendages, and size far beyond that of the diminutive Abbey shrimp. And then there were the crabs: spider-like, long-legged crabs, standing alertly on their pointy leg tips while staring back at the mammals through the glass with their stalked eyes; formidable edible crabs hunkered against the fishbowl walls with menacing pinchers raised as if fearful of being collected for the stewpot; flat crabs lying flush with the substrate in futile attempts to make themselves invisible; spiny crabs who sauntered about their confines like animalistic, ambulatory undersea thorn bushes; and playful hermit crabs, cavorting carefree with each other in their variety of borrowed shells. In one bowl Alex even spotted a very young lobster, reminding him of one particularly memorable feast he'd enjoyed during his first visit to the badger mountain.

Urthblood remarked upon a common feature of all the bowls: large stones sat upon the sand or gravel, constantly billowing out a nonstop stream of fine bubbles rising to the surface.

"Ah, yes. The airstones," Fael explained. "The secret to this entire aquatic gallery! A series of bellows, kept in constant operation by the underground streams far below - Skadsley did tell you about the underground streams, didn't he? - feeds a continuous supply of fresh air pumped up through a network of hollow reed pipes directly into the exhibit enclosures. Experimentation proved that the single biggest hurdle to maintaining living sea creatures was preventing stagnation, and keeping the water aerated. It was long believed the water itself would need to be changed on a daily basis to sustain them, which would be an impossibility this far inland, of course, but now you see that erroneous belief disproven! We do engage in some water changes, of course; several times each season, the otter holts stage a caravan upriver from the sea, bearing barrels of clean seawater to partly replenish the water here as it begins to foul. We also have cleaners to keep the bowls from becoming too gross. But it's the bellows and airstones which make the difference in keeping our sea creatures alive for extended periods. Even so, mortality is fairly high, I am forced to admit, and we are always bringing new specimens in from the coast to replace what we lose. Still, quite a triumph and achievement just to keep such creatures alive for many days at a time, so far from their natural habitat, so that the residents of inner Southsward might enjoy their unique novelty!"

"Yes," Alex agreed in somewhat contrary fashion, "one more diversion." Even so, the Redwall squirrel had to admit to himself how impressive this all was.

"At least that feathered squawker's finally shut up," noted Abellon. "That was really starting to annoy me."

Urthblood said to Fael, "I assume none of this has anything to do with the real reason you brought us down here, Your Majesty?"

"In time, in time! My, such an impatient stripedog! This way, if you please … or even if you don't." Fael, Tesque and Dawton led them forward between the remainder of the oversized bowls, passing by a cuttlefish who stared out at them with slitted, alien eyes as it lounged upon its bed of gravel, rays who cut through the water with flapping, undulating waves of their winglike fins as they swam to and fro, spherical urchins like faceless, undersea hedgehogs and starfish of assorted shapes and hues, and one particularly fascinating inhabitant of the very last tank.

The octopus, like the crabs and cuttlefish before it, stared out at the mammals with cold eyes resembling those of no land animal. Unlike those other creatures, however, a cunning and intelligence shone out from those eyes, letting the onlookers know that it studied them even as they studied it. Then, at the sight of Fael, the mollusk launched itself at the glass barrier separating them, suckered arms puckering and adhering to the glass while the beak at the center clacked and rasped against the unyielding, transparent surface.

Alex, Abellon and Witko all jumped back in alarm, while Urthblood typically stood his ground with analytical aloofness. Dawton gave a hearty guffaw. "Aw, no need t' be skittish, mateys! That's just Tembo's way o' sayin' hullo!"

Alex looked to Dawton. "Tembo?"

"As good a name as any," Fael explained, "and better than most, since I'm the one who chose it. Tembo's one of our longer-lived residents - been with us for seasons now. Doesn't seem especially fond of me, although I can't imagine why."

"I can't help but noticin', Majesty," ventured Abellon, "that most of your fish here aren't actually … well, fish."

"Oh? You mean with fins and gills and head and tail and all that? Yes, we've actually found that these more primitive forms do better in captivity than the more advanced, free-swimming bony fish. Did you notice the anemone tank? We've had that one going literally for years, with hardly any losses." Fael idly tapped the glass where Tembo's beak gnashed and scraped in frustration. "Although I suspect our sucker-tentacled friend here would try to bite my face off if he knew I was calling him primitive. Then again, he'd probably try to bite my face off in any event, so … "

Passing by Tembo's tank on the right and another to their left holding one of the fire eels - allowing them to see one of the lightning-emitting organisms up close, and to note just how truly hideous they were - they transitioned from an area of water-filled glass cauldrons to one of cages … and, to Alexander's surprise, most did not hold birds.

The scorpion reared back, pinchers raised while its deadly barbed tail arched high above its segmented body, poised to deliver a lethal stab of venom. "Don't worry," Fael assured them, "it can't hurt you … as long as you don't get too close. Then its tail might be able to lash out between the bars and sting you."

"Don't hafta tell me twice," Abellon said nervously, mindful along with the others to maintain a respectable distance between themselves and the scorpion's enclosure. "Are you sure those bars are spaced close enough together to keep it from gettin' out?"

"Hasn't happened yet," Fael replied dismissively. "This horror was a gift from a trader from the south, who'd heard of my desire for unique and foreign specimens to exhibit here. Such monsters aren't to be found naturally here in Southsward, thank goodness. Same goes for this terror over here." The Squirrel King led them across to another cage holding an immense, brown-furred spider easily the size of an adult mouse, which was enough to make Abellon quail. "Another gift from faraway tropical isles. Splendid, is she not?"

"She?" Alex prompted. "How can you … ?"

"Not long after receiving her, she laid a large clutch of eggs. Sadly, none hatched. Conditions must not have been right for their incubation."

"Thank the fates for that," Abellon muttered to himself.

Passing by another cage housing a brilliantly-hued scarab beetle large enough to serve as a badger's footstool, their party at last reached the ceiling-high barred enclosure holding the now-becalmed berserker bird, who sat on its perch regarding them balefully. "Ah, good, you've settled down, you sorry excuse for a pillow-stuffer," Fael addressed to the avian.

"Squirrelking die, die die die!" it shrieked, launching itself at the bars with wings flapping and talons futilely grabbing and sharp bill ineffectively snapping and stabbing.

"Your exhibits don't seem overly fond of you," Urthblood observed.

Alex felt renewed outrage, nearly fit to match the bird's own, at the sight of a higher, sentient creature being so treated. Confining sea life and insects and arachnids was one thing, but this was quite something else. "What's its name?" he asked over the bird's noisy, malevolent fuss.

"Name?" Fael looked at Alex as if the Redwaller must surely be joking. "This ruffled ruffian doesn't have a name. At least none it's ever shared with us, and we didn't bother giving it one. Mustn't become too attached to one's exhibits, you know."

Alex couldn't help noticing how how Fael only referred to the berserker bird as "it," while even the big spider had at least carried the distinction of "she" … and that wasn't the only disparity the Abbey squirrel noted. "You named your octopus, but not your bird?"

Fael sniffed. "I daresay Tembo's a good deal more intelligent than this shriek factory. Only thing they have in common is wanting to rip my face off. Ah well."

Fael and Tesque made to move on to the next series of cages, their occupants not yet readily apparent, but Alex tarried behind at the berserker bird's enclosure. As the feathered creature fell quiescent once more, he drew as close as he dared and asked softly, so as not to be heard by Fael and his fellow Southswarders, "What's your name?"

The berserker bird regarded him oddly, as if no mammal had ever spared such consideration toward it before. At length it replied, "Skeen. Name is Skeen."

"Alexander of Redwall. I will do my best to get you out of here, Skeen. I can make no promises, but I will do what I can."

Skeen scrutinized him. "You not Squirrelking. Squirrelking hold all power, all others do as he says."

"I'm not from Southsward. I don't have to follow his orders. I come from a place where freedom and dignity are cherished, and no beast or bird would be confined as you are now. In fact, the sparrows who live in our roofspaces are friends and allies, and we work with them quite closely. I count birds as my friends, and it galls me to see any bird held captive in a cage."

Skeen regarded Alex in silence, considering his words. Up ahead Fael, realizing one of his party lagged behind, called out, "Move along, Redwaller, or you'll miss the good stuff!"

"Must move along. Squirrelking command it, all obey. But will remember kind words of squirrel-from-elsewhere." After a moment's hesitation, the bird added, "Skeen mother. Skeen misses eggchicks."

"Then maybe you'll see them again someday. I'll return when and if I can. Don't lose hope." With one last encouraging nod, Alex scuttled after the rest of his group to catch up.

In the last, fairly large group of cages, Alex discovered the last creatures he'd expected to find down here - although, in retrospect, and knowing Fael, he perhaps should not have been overly surprised.

"Well, at least now we know what happened to them," Abellon murmured.

In the first of this new string of cages, Viceroy Korba sat staring forlornly out at them, a trace of anxiety on his face upon seeing the implacable Badger Lord for the second time in as many days. The searat diplomat no longer wore the wolf pelt of Urgan Nagru, but rather ambassadorial silks which might have been fine the previous season but now showed the wear and dinginess of being worn for far too long without laundering. He had his cage to himself, but in several others beyond his, multiple rats huddled, penned together in mutual misery.

"Viceroy," Urthblood said to Korba with a nod of acknowledgement, taking in the other cages and then turning to Fael. "Is this the entire delegation you have .. 'exhibited' here?"

"Those that survived. Some resisted. They didn't last long."

"But, why here?" demanded Alex. "Why not in your dungeons proper? You've made no secret you have those too."

"We'd hardly be able to give public tours of our dungeons, would we? And how often do the good folk of Southsward get a chance to see dreaded searats in their natural element?" Fael glanced at Korba's cage. "Or at least in the element in which we'd ideally prefer to see them all."

"So you not only make captives out of a diplomatic mission, slaying some of them in the process, but you demean and humiliate the survivors by caging them for public display and amusement?" Alex looked from Squirrel King to Badger Lord and back again. "Maybe I'll just hold my silence from now on, since it appears the two of you deserve each other."

"Yes, Redwaller, silence might be a very wise choice on your part."

"I take it from what I see here that you've definitely decided not to engage in any negotiations with the searats, Your Majesty?" Urthblood said.

"It would seem not, wouldn't it? And I would deliver a jab right now as to the obtuse obviousness of your statement, except I suspect you were being obtusely sarcastic yourself. Most droll, Lord, most droll. I applaud you. Just don't make a habit of beating me to the punch - that would grow tiresome very quickly."

"You Majesty, as one party to the Accord between Salamandastron and Terramort, I must insist that these rats be released immediately. They may be my competitors in any negotiations I have with you, but they came to Floret under the flag of diplomacy, and are thus entitled to certain guarantees and protections."

"Hmm. I can guarantee that they are perfectly well protected right where they are. And what was your title again? Lord? Lord versus King … sorry, I outrank you. Here they will stay."

"In that case, I would beg a word with the Viceroy."

"Well there he is. Beg as many as you like."

"Alone, Your Majesty."

"Oh ha ha. No."

Urthblood appeared to accept defeat, at least for the moment. Korba, however, was not so quick to accept his captor's judgment, on his footpaws and grasping at the cage bars to bring himself as close to the badger as he could. "Please, Lord, at least convince 'im to set free me, if norat else! I'm Viceroy, King Tratton's paw-picked representertive an' high diplomat! This ain't right!"

Fael favored the rat with a scathingly appraising look. "I think I liked you better as foxwolf … although you were pretty pathetic even in that role too."

"Please, Lord," Korba continued to plead to Urthblood. "He's got us sharin' this hall with that insane killer bird, terrifyin' us with its nonstop racket an' threat'nin' t' slay ev'ry furred beast it can get its beak 'n' claws on, an' raisin' an earsplittin', nervewrackin' clamor day 'n' night! An' even that ain't as bad as what's lurkin' in th' next chamber down!"

This caught the interest of Urthblood and Alex and the others, while Fael and Tesque looked on in masked indifference. "Why?" the badger inquired. "What's in the next chamber?"

Korba's eyes went even wider, not with imploring but with fear. "A terror! A walkin' nightmare! That thing gets out, we're all dead! We've heard tell of what those things can do, an' not even bein' behind these bars would save us!" Korba pointed through the cage at Dawton. "Just ask 'im! He knows! Ask 'im how many otters he lost bringin' that monster in!"

Urthblood looked to the otter Skipper. "Now I am intrigued. This is what you brought us down here to show us?"

"Verily and indeed, and all that." Fael set off once more, Tesque at his side as he waved for them to follow along into the next room along their route. "Come along, and let me introduce you to Southsward's most pressing current problem."

A single cage dominated this last chamber, guarded at its four corners by a quartet of otters in palace uniforms, all mindful not to stand too close to the bars. Fael and Tesque too took heed to halt several paces before the cage, wordlessly conveying to the rest of the party to do the same. Alex and the Northlanders stood staring at the cage's lone occupant with fascinated horror, while Skipper Dawton seemed almost hesitant to gaze upon it, as if the mere sight brought alive again a nightmare he'd just as soon not revisit.

Urthblood's reaction was very different, and the last thing anybeast there expected.

"Is this some kind of joke, Your Majesty?"

Even the nearly unflappable Fael was thrown by this. "And why would you say that, Lord?"

"Bringing us all the way down here, and building up this moment with such dire anticipation, only to reveal to us an empty cage?"

Now everybeast, including Abellon and Witko, stared at the badger as if his stripes had suddenly turned purple. "Uh, Lord, it ain't empty … " the mouse captain started to explain, but then the entity within the cage went into a thrashing, lashing frenzy fit to equal any outburst of Skeen's, bashing against the bars and setting the entire cage to rocking back and forth on its base.

"It does seem all my exhibits wish to kill me," Fael remarked dryly, overlooking the fact that it was in fact the badger's proximity which had triggered this latest reaction.

Urthblood scrutinized the cage. "Clever. Another mechanism, I presume, powered by the hidden underground streams?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Fael, who for a change genuinely didn't. "So, what do you think of my dragon? Bringing it here cost the lives of five of Skipper Dawton's otters."

"T'weren't all mine," Dawton corrected in a subdued tone. "We had all th' western holts workin' t'gether - that's how any of us got outta that alive."

"Your dragon is invisible," Urthblood declared, moving forward to inspect the empty cage more closely. "An entertainment for little minds, no doubt."

"I … wouldn't get too close if I were you, Lord," Fael teased in a singsong voice while the others looked on in alarm at what the badger seemed about to do. But Abellon and Witko held their ground, placing total trust in their master's judgment; how many times over the seasons, after all, had they seen him engage in risky or inexplicable behavior, only to have it turn out that he'd known exactly what he was doing the whole time?

Halting a pace from the cage, Urthblood reached out to tap at one bar with a claw, seeking a closer examination of this latest frivolous diversion of the Squirrel King's, for surely an unoccupied enclosure that knocked and vibrated as if inhabited by an invisible ghost could be nothing else. But then, at the very last moment, he sensed something that was not quite invisible, and not quite disembodied, and his mind flashed back to the ratmaid he could not see.

Urthblood made to withdraw, but too late. An unseen grip tightened around his paw, a hold as strong and tenacious as that of any badger's … but it was more than a grip. As he stared down in pained mystification, gashes appeared in his flesh as if by magic, deep raked gouges going almost clear through to the bone and gushing blood.

The Badger Lord let out an anguished cry - something he'd not done since losing his sword paw to his brother during the battle for Salamandastron - while all around him pandemonium erupted.

The four otter cage guards rushed around to beat at the attacker through the bars with the butts of their spears, an action which proved futilely ineffective. Abellon and Witko, meanwhile, ducked beneath the taller waterbeasts to lend their own blades to the melee, stabbing past the bars at whatever assailed Urthblood.

Standing back and aloof, Fael practically teased in an unconcerned voice, "Oh, you'll not kill it like that. You'll need to take its head clean off … and even then it might not stop fighting for a while."

Picking up on this taunt, Witko went from stabbing straight forward to making a single upward, through-the-throat-and-into-the-brain thrust. This seemed to do the trick, or at least enough; hauling back to free himself, Urthblood succeeded in pulling his mauled paw back half a pace toward him, even as the deathgrip remained, inflicting further flesh damage and torment. Abellon saw his opportunity, and delivered a single vicious swing at the space between the badger's paw and the cage.

Urthblood immediately felt the pain lessen, although it did not diminish entirely - now less an active raking and more a stubborn, persistent agony. Before his very eyes the offending extremity, now cleaved from its owner, materialized as if from thin air: a slender, scaly talon, shorn off just above the wrist, its talons still sunk into Urthblood's flesh in one final display of reflexive resistance.

Their master now liberated from the clawing horror, Abellon and Witko sheathed their swords and digit-by-digit peeled the clinging claw from Urthblood's assailed paw and cast it to the floor with a wet slap, after which they produced kerchiefs to wrap around the gashes and staunch the heavy bleeding as best they could.

"Lord, what were you thinking?" the mouse asked. "Why would you venture so close to something clearly so dangerous, leaving yourself open to attack?"

"The way it moved," muttered Witko, holding fast their makeshift bandages which quickly grew red and saturated. "Like green-scaled lightning … never seen aught like it. No squirrel could move that fast."

Urthblood, standing dazed while he allowed his commanders to minister to him, could only stare down at the severed reptilian claw lying on the floor at his feet. "What just happened?"

The four otter guards stepped back from the cage to join Dawton and the Palace Guard squirrels, their services now clearly no longer needed. Fael looked on with chiding disapproval. "I do believe you may have killed it after all. Now that is most unfortunate. We only had one of them, and I very much doubt we'll be getting another anytime soon."

At the bottom of the cage, whatever thrashed there in its death throes subsided and lay still. Urthblood looked to the floor of the enclosure only to see a shiny green corpse coalesce out of nothingness and, now that it was dead, he could at last see what everybeast around him had been able to see the moment they'd entered this chamber.

The lizard was thin, whipcord thin, with slender toes on all four feet ending in sharp, curved nails and a long, thin, tapered tail that silently screamed of being a weapon every bit as lethal as the wicked claws. The oversized, slightly-crested head bore bulbous, partly-scaled eyes that protruded from either side of the skull, while the teeth revealed by the slack, gaping maw presented yet another weapon equal to tail and claw. Anybeast who found those jaws around its throat would be drawing its last breath. The entire creature seemed designed as a walking armory, able to inflict instant death in any number of ways. And …

"I could not see it," Urthblood murmured. "While it lived, I could not see it."

Without betraying whether he'd caught the badger's cryptic statement or not, Fael said, "And now you have seen the dragons who've been plaguing our southern reaches … and, consequently, since you now have, ah ha, firstpaw knowledge of what they can do, we can at last engage in some meaningful discourse on how you may be able to help us with this situation, if you are at all able and willing. Although I must say, your initial contact with the species strikes me as none too promising. Right now it seems the score stands at fastdragons one, Badger Lord zero!"

00000000000

"You're mighty lucky you didn't lose this paw too, Lord."

Urthblood sat in the surgery of Castle Floret, a sickbay similar to Redwall's but brighter, with more windows and whitewashed walls. King Fael's personal physician squirrel, Arius Hood, labored over the badger's ravaged paw along with his assistants, working to cleanse and stitch and bandage the horrendous wounds inflicted by the captive reptile. Alexander, Abellon and Witko had followed along up the ten levels, intent upon seeing how Urthblood's injuries and treatment would work out. Fael, Tesque and Dawton had tagged along too, resulting in a fair crowd now clustered in the surgery.

"Yes," the Squirrel King idly submitted, "if you'd lost your other paw, we'd just have to call you 'Stumpy,' wouldn't we?"

"Your compassion cheers me, Majesty. So tell me about these lizards plaguing Southsward - everything you know, whatever you can."

Dawton, the only beast present with direct experience in dealing with the murderous reptiles in the wild, took it upon himself to answer. "We call 'em fastdragons, 'cos of how quick they are - not only their reflexes, but they can outrun any hare, least over short distances. Seem t' be pretty good climbers too, with those claws o' theirs, tho' not sure how they'd hold 'gainst squirrels - so far they seem to've mostly avoided the more heavily wooded forest, preferrin' open sandy areas. If they have a name for themselves, we don't know what it is, since they don't seem to talk - at least not to us."

"Are they intelligent at all?" Urthblood asked. "Any evidence of tool use, or wearing of clothes?"

"Closest thing to garments we've seen on 'em have been straps an' harnesses, fer carryin' their weapons."

"Weapons?"

"Aye, Lord. Only one kind we found on 'em: thin, fine scimitars, long an' thin as they are themselves, an' razor sharp, fit to cleave limbs an' heads easy as y' please. All seemed of the same make an' craft, so unless they stole 'em all from some grounded ship or from some armory way to the south, it appears they forged 'em themselves - which would cast them as expert weapons makers."

"Hmm. So, definitely intelligent, at least on some level. You keep mentioning the south. You are convinced that's where they come from?"

"Don't see any other possibility, Lord. Egbert the Scholar has consulted the histories goin' back generations, an' there's no record of anything like this troublin' Southsward ever before. An' all the attacks seem to've been concentrated along th' southwest coast, or not too far inland from there."

"Attacks?" Alex prompted.

"Yeah, fer want of a better word. Started with isolated incidents, solitary beasts goin' missing, or small groups of two or three at a time. Then, it got worse - whole families, their homesteads turnin' up empty with no explanation, just vanishin' without a trace. Worst was late last season, an entire seaside village o' mebbe twoscore honest beasts, wiped out in one morn. No bodies by th' time we got there - just blood. Lots an' lots o' blood."

"What … do you think they're doing with the victims?" Abellon asked, not sure he wanted to know.

"Eatin' them is my best guess, matey."

"And how did you discover what they were?" Urthblood inquired of the otter Skipper. "How did you succeed in capturing one of them?"

"After they took out that whole village, I realized we hadta get to the bottom of it, find out who was behind it an' put a stop to it. So I headed back upriver an' put out the call to every otter holt in th' region, raised th' biggest hunting party Southsward's seen in a seadog's age, an' set out to find 'em. Find 'em we did, tho' t'weren't easy. Turned out they like spendin' most of their time when they ain't out murderin' an' maraudin' just buried in th' sand, only their eyes stickin' up if even that much, baskin' an' soakin' up the sun's warmth. Not sure what they do on cloudy or rainy days. But that's why it took so long to figger out what they were - literally layin' so low they was always overlooked."

"If this is true," asked Urthblood, allowing nary a wince as Arius Hood sutured his flesh without benefit of any topical painkiller, "how then did you finally discover them? Or uncover them, as the case may be."

"One squad under my command blundered right inta them, on the beach. The whole stretch o' shoreline just erupted with flyin' sand an' green shimmerin' bodies dealin' death. Those pore riverdogs never had a chance. Fortunately for the rest of us, an' for the success of our mission too, our main force was up on a ridge overlookin' the scene; don't reckon those scalies even knew we were there when they unleashed their ambush, intent on the otters about to walk right over them. When we saw what happened, we let fly with ev'ry spear 'n' sling we had, an' then they shore knew we were there! We thought we'd wipe 'em out in a trice, an' instead we found ourselves facin' the most terrible wave of attack anybeast might dread. Slingstones bounced right off 'em without slowin' 'em down, an' even some who'd taken spears through the middle joined in the assault. Right up the steep ridge they charged, dozens of 'em, a nightmare onslaught rushin' right at us with blades raised 'n' jaws wide 'n' tails lashin' an' claws rakin' an' them damned unnerving eyes all atwitch this way an' that. Even though we boasted superior numbers, t'was clear they meant to slaughter us to the very last beast - an' they prob'ly could've too, goin' by how our weapons were barely havin' any effect on 'em."

"Then how did you defeat them?" said Alex. "I assume you must have, otherwise you wouldn't be here now … and that lizard wouldn't have been downstairs either."

"Only one thing made th' diff'rence 'tween life an' death for us, matey, an' turned the tide of battle our way: nets."

"Nets?"

Dawton nodded. "When we set out to hunt down these murderous raiders, we took with us ev'ry fishing net we could scrounge up from ev'ry holt taking part. We didn't know what kind of foe we were facin', but one thing we knew for certain: no creature, no matter how big, strong, fast or ferocious, can do much 'gainst you if it's all tangled up in netting. So, when those terrors rushed us, we let fly with ev'ry net we had, big an' small - an' if our spears 'n' stones had done little to stop 'em, our nets shore did! One after another went down, their charge headed off before a single one of us fell. Took down over a dozen of 'em 'fore the rest wised up an' beat a hasty retreat. Those we netted thrashed an' fought an' scrambled to get free, still bent on bloodshed, so we jumped on 'em fast as we could to put 'em outta their misery. T'was then we discovered it took a lot more'n a single blade thrust to dispatch 'em; you could fill 'em full of holes an' still they'd struggle an' strain to get free and get at us. All I can say is I'm glad we had as many otters there as we did, 'cos it took at least two waterdogs to put down each one of 'em, even trapped as they were. Seen a lot in my seasons, but that's a day I'll remember above all others."

"Some got away?" Witko clarified, already working out strategies in his mind for how his own Gawtrybe might meet such a threat were they to encounter it. "How many?"

"Couple dozen, give or take. Thing is, if th' whole lot o' them had pressed their attack, they still mighta overwhelmed us, nets or no nets. After seein' what they could do, t'would only have taken a few of 'em to get amongst us to throw us inta disarray an' confusion, scramblin' ev'ry otter for itself. Bein' up on that ridge mighta made the diff'rence an' convinced 'em not t' try it, but I can't help feelin' t'was more to it than that. Like they weren't used to meetin' any kind of effective resistance from anybeast, or losin' any of their numbers, just rampagin' an' slayin' as they pleased with naught t' stop 'em. Good t' know now that they can be stopped - an' to even know what it is we're dealin' with, which we didn't afore - but can't help won'drin' an' worryin', now they've gotten an eyeful of us, whether they might adjust their own strategies t' try'n counter ours."

"Yeah, but if you've put 'em on the run, shown 'em how vulnerable they are … " Abellon put forth hopefully.

Dawton displayed far less optimism. "Took an entire muster of a whole region's otter holts t' come out on top like we did. We can't have a force like that standin' ready ev'rywhere at once. Worst an' most unsettlin' of all, we later got word of another woodlander settlement bein' hit an' wiped out, an' that woulda happened 'round the same time as our own engagement, so it hadta be a diff'rent group o' those dragons. Turns out the nest we stumbled 'pon ain't their only one, or even necessarily their biggest. We're gonna lose more villages 'fore this is over, no way we're not."

"So now you see what we're facing, Lord," said Tesque. "Even if they only numbered a few dozen, or a fewscore, they would represent a dangerous nuisance needing to be dealt with. But now it seems they might number in the hundreds, which would present us with a serious crisis. Hundreds of battle lizards, able to do the things Skipper Dawton has described - that would tax our defense forces to their very limit. And if perchance they surpass mere hundreds, and mobilize to throw their masses against us all at once … " Tesque shrugged. "I fear they could pose a threat to the very existence of Southsward."

"Floret would never fall, of course," Fael said with absolute confidence. "We're atop a high plateau, with our moat and drawbridge, and multiple ranks of defenders. We have underground springs we can tap into for drinking water in an emergency, and we can lay in enough surplus food to last out a seasons-long siege if we have to. But since I am a beneficent ruler who cares for the safety and well-being of my subjects in all parts of Southsward, I cannot think only of myself and my family. My Kingdom is threatened, and that threat must be countered, blunted, turned aside and eliminated. The good creatures of Southsward deserve security and peace, and look to me to provide it."

"Now that we know nets pose a weakness for these reptiles," Tesque picked up, "we're outfitting all our field patrols with them - otters for the coastal and river regions, squirrels for the forested areas - but this may not be enough. Even Skipper Dawton will concede that only a fair amount of luck allowed his holts to persevere in their encounter with these lizards. We can't rely on luck all the time, especially if the fastdragons change their tactics."

"And that's where you come in, Lord." Fael stepped around to fully face Urthblood even as Arius Hood continued to stitch and bandage. "A military beast such as yourself - a veritable warlord, dare I say it? - who boasts of taming untamable lands and winning victories over mighty searat empires must surely know a great deal about many different ways of waging war. You came to me begging an alliance … very well. You show us how to defeat this enemy we face now, and you'll have your alliance. Sound like a deal you can live with?"

"Indeed, Majesty. Even were an alliance not riding on this, I would still have made suggestions on how to better meet this threat, at the very least, and perhaps have offered my own leadership and forces more directly. I can call down reinforcements from Salamandastron and Mossflower, and even the Northlands if need be, to work alongside your own defenders, under our joint direction. I understand that the well-being of Southsward is your primary concern, but mine is the safety and security of all the lands, and if these lizards truly number in the hundreds or thousands, they may represent a part of the great crisis foretold by my prophecy. I see now that my visit to Southsward at this time might go beyond the merely fortuitous to the fated."

"Splendid. I will leave it to you and Tesque and Skipper Dawton to work out the logistics and details between you." Fael's gaze dropped to Urthblood's paw. "Although I must say, your initial encounter with just one of our dragons - and a captive one at that - hardly instills in me great confidence as to my choice of ally. Perhaps the searats might be worth listening to in this regard after all."

Abellon and Witko gaped at the Squirrel King as if Fael were utterly mad to even broach such a suggestion, while Urthblood only said calmly, "Need I remind you, Your Majesty, it was I who forced Tratton to the bargaining table, not the other way around. The searats possess formidable naval power, but your problem lies on the land. As such, I would staunchly maintain an alliance with me makes far more sense than one with them."

Fael's eyebrows danced in bemusement. "Or, perhaps, an alliance with both of you?"

"That would, I fear, prove most … unwieldy, Your Majesty."

"Hmm. Well, that would be your problem to address, wouldn't it? Why should I tie myself down to just one would-be savior when I have two begging my favor? And you know how I like my contests. Therefore, I propose to allow each of you to demonstrate how you would help us defeat our dragons. Whichever of you convinces me you're better able to handle this job will win the alliance you seek."

Urthblood turned a severe look at Fael. "This is not just another of your games, Majesty."

"Sure it is. All of life is a game. And with stakes as high as those we're talking about here, I'm hedging my bets. How can I not, with so much riding on the outcome?"

Arius Hood finished tying up the last bandage around Urthblood's paw. "There, Lord, I think that does it. I've done all that I can, so the rest is up to time and nature now. I'd advise against any strenuous use or trying to hold anything heavy for the next few days while the stitches do their work. The damage to the flesh was extensive, but I think you'll recover fully. I wish all my patients were as calm and uncomplaining as you! Then again, I suppose battlefield injuries are nothing new to you, are they?"

"No, Doctor, they're not. So tell me, are these dragons at all venomous?"

Hood gave a wan smile. "If they were - their claws, at least - I'm sure you would have known it long before now. Venom in wounds tends to burn in a most agonizing fashion."

"This is true. Your Majesty, I must implore that nothing be done with the body of that reptile until I have had a chance to examine it closely. Please have it stored in a safe place until my paw is working again, preferably someplace cool to slow corruption and decay. I suspect a thorough study of this enemy may provide some useful insight to aid us in our struggle against them."

"Hmm. I was going to have it stuffed and mounted for permanent exhibition - I imagine it would generate nearly as much interest in that state as it did while alive, and will be much safer to show the little ones as well - but I suppose that can wait until after you've conducted your own studies. As long as you promise not to do anything to affect the corpse's displayability."

Alexander's ears went back; it seemed Fael never ceased to surprise him with his casual aloofness and hedonistic outlook. "After everything we've just discussed about how dangerous these creatures are, all you can think about is what kind of attraction they'll make in your amusement hall?!"

"That's not all I'm thinking about, Redwaller. But I'm confident our dragon problem will turn out to be a temporary one, whereas Floret will stand forever, so why shouldn't we tend to preserving such a token of our current times for the entertainment and elucidation of future generations?" He turned to Urthblood. "Speaking of which, Lord, I don't suppose you'd mind bequeathing your remains to us upon your own demise? Quite a dramatic diorama that would make, you and the dragon that maimed you standing squared off against each other."

While Witko and Abellon could only look on agog at such a preposterous affront, Urthblood merely replied, "I will not dignify that with an answer, except to point out that badgers have very long lifespans, so I imagine my death will not occur until long after yours. And when it does, I hope to be interred within the halls of Salamandastron, in the grand tradition of Badger Lords of the mountain."

"Hmm. Sounds to me as if you did dignify that with an answer, Lord. But ah well. Pity - the two of you would have complemented one another so nicely, each with your own missing paw. Then again, with the violent and uncertain warrior's life you lead, who can say what other parts of you will be missing by the time your seasons end? Especially if you go unwisely poking at dangerous creatures."

"Just why did you do that, Lord?" Abellon inquired of his master. "Did you not … see the danger that lizard posed?"

"No, Captain. I did not see it. But I stand illuminated now. Your Majesty, please allow me two days to heal, then I will perform my examination of the lizard. After that, I may have some better idea how to proceed, and how to aid you with this crisis. And then we may talk about who will stand better qualified to serve as your ally against this threat - me, or the searats."