| Subject: Chapters Sixteen through Eighteen |
Author:
Jessie
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Date Posted: 22:42:07 11/03/02 Sun
In reply to:
Jessie Oakshade, Ex-Fort Storyteller
's message, "IRHL, attempt #2940294292944810" on 22:19:05 11/03/02 Sun
Chapter Sixteen: Expect the Unexpected
“’s not fair! How does the Queen expect us to take over their headquarters while they’re in it? Crazy, if y’ask me!”
Brogg whirled around, his eyes roving across the army. “Sharrup, d’you hear! If Milady says it’s possible, then it is!”
He couldn’t see the speaker, so he contented himself on yelling insults to the stragglers.
But even he knew it was almost suicide to catch the woodlanders in their own headquarters. And if he disobeyed....
Either way, he thought, he would probably die. He figured he would rather die by the woodlanders than his own mistress.
But what Brogg /didn’t/ know, was that Brockhall was almost deserted. The Corim had not yet returned.
“Whew, that was a good battle, eh, Bella?”
The large badger kept walking, not sure how she felt. “Yes, it was a good battle, although I feel terrible for Martin.”
Rowanoak nodded. “Ah, his sword. Maybe somebeast could fix it?”
Bella shook her head. “Alas, no beast I know of could fix it except...” Bella’s eyes grew wide. “Of course! And they’re traveling in that direction!”
Ballaw stiffened his ears indignantly. “Well, don’t be on all day about it, wot? Tell us sometime before we jolly well perish of suspense.”
Bella ignored Ballaw. “Salamandastron. They’re traveling that way.”
Friltip wrinkled his nose. “Salacawhat?”
“Salamandastron. Where Boar the Fighter is. They’re traveling west, they should eventually come to Salamandastron! Then Martin can get Boar to fix his sword...and oh! And bring Boar to Mossflower and get rid of Tsarmina... it all fits!”
Rowanoak’s eyes widen. “Boar? My father? Oh, I would really like to meet him!”
Bella and Rowanoak laughed and danced around like two little dibbuns.
Skipper shook his head, smiling. “Those two mus’ be very happy, never seen Bella dance like that in seasons!”
Ballaw squinted. “Nor Rowanoak either, wot. ‘cept for the time when we performed for those fat old molechaps, Rowanoak insisted on switching with Gauchee. Thought it would get their bally attention.”
Trefoil looked around nervously. “Hey, it’s getting dark, d’ya think we should be getting back to Brockhall soon?”
Amber replied, “Well, I doubt we could make it before it gets dark, but still, we should try to cover as much ground as we can while we can still see. When the sun goes down, we’re all going to be tripping over one another and such.”
Celandine the beautiful but vain squirrelmaid shuddered. “Ugh! What a horrid thing to think about, it’d ruin my dress!”
Ballaw sighed resignedly. “Same old Celandine, wot. Never changed a bally bit since... forever.”
Kastern looked around. “Hey, where’s Chibb?”
“After the battle, he flew back to Brockhall to bring the rest the good news. He’s probably stuffing his beak of chesnuts now.”
“Aye, sounds like Chibb alright.”
“Or Gonff.”
“Haha, yes, wasn’t thinking of Gonff.”
“Ha, look who’s talking Skip.”
“Who, me? I’m not a glutton!”
“You ate up all that hotroot soup yesterday.”
“Ah, but Bula and Root helped me. In fact, they took more than I did. I’m still skinny as a pole.”
“Hey, we heard that Skip.”
“Yeah, and sucking in that great stomach of yours doesn’t help much, matey!”
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Argulor was back from hunting.
He had not been very successful, unless you call a small frilled lizard successful. He had flown back to his nest near Kotir to see if he could catch a glimpse of that pine marten, or even luckier, eat the pine marten, which he constantly dreamed of what it tasted like. He swooped and landed in his nest. He looked down, where the forest of Mossflower began from Kotir. How strange; a large command of Kotir soldiers were heading into the forest. The hunting eagle eagerly looked to the front of the procession. No, it was the dim-witted weasel captain Brogg, the pine marten was probably in Kotir.
Argulor looked to the other side of his tree. Unusual! Those woodlanders were heading in the same direction as the soldiers, though it was plain neither could see each other.
The eagle looked forward to where the two enemies would meet if they kept going straight forward.
Oh, Argulor thought, it was the large tree where the woodlanders lived, the one called Brockhall.
He settled deeper into his nest. Since the pine marten wasn’t out, he decided to take a little nap. Tsarmina’s crazy little schemes were none of his concern.
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Brogg’s and Ratflank’s command of soldiers were now dangerously close to Brockhall, just a couple stone-throws away, yet the Corim and Noonvale warriors were still quite a large distance away.
Brogg had decided to split the patrol. “Ratflank. You take half, and go that way, off t’the left here, an’ I’ll take the remaining soldiers an’ keep going straight. Give a signal if you find something suspicious.”
“Right, Brogg, whatever you say, matey.” Ratflank grinned and led his patrol over to the west.
Brogg ignored the jibe and yelled out orders, knowing that Ratflank and he were not exactly “mateys”.
“Get a move on, you lazy lot, or I’ll make sure Lady Tsarmina will tan your hides!”
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Argulor opened his eyes sleepily at some disturbance near his tree. That stoat, Ratflank, was leading some soldiers to the left.
Directly head-on into the returning Brockhall defenders.
The ancient eagle turned and paid no heed to what he knew what was going to happen from his bird-eye’s view. As long as the pine marten wasn’t involved, neither was he.
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Ratflank enjoyed being a Captain. Well, how many out of Kotir’s vast horde got to be a Captain, enjoying the privilege of bossing around other soldiers and devouring extra rations.
He smiled nastily at some stragglers in his group, and beat them on the back with his spear, and turning so that the twirl of his Captain’s cloak was very much in evidence.
He knew Tsarmina Greeneyes was crazy. She was going insane, the determination to finish off the gentle woodlanders was all going to her head. And plus, she was keeping the rations to herself. The stoat could not help another smirk. It was he who kept calling out from the horde and insulting the Queen. She would never know who it was, and he was a Captain.
Life couldn’t get any better. In fact, it got worse.
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Friltip looked nervously around him, his teeth chattering. “I-I-I’m s-scared! It’s v-v-very d-d-dark out h-h-here!”
Trefoil herself was feeling a bit uneasy, but took it upon herself to chide Friltip. “Ah, quiet now, ye little rip. With any luck we should get back to Brockhall soon.”
Lady Amber sniffed the air, uneasiness building within her too. “Aye, back soon, I suppose. What do you think Skip?”
The Skipper of Otters followed Amber’s ruse and peered into the darkness, pretending to look for signs of Brockhall, but really checking for somebeast’s else’s prescence.
“Not sure ‘bout that, matey, I’m not really sure, but I think we’ve lost the way.”
Everybeast groaned, though Amber looked alert and slowly drew her bow and arrow. “Oh Skip, I’m sure we’ll find the way.”
“Ah, you’re right there again, matey, but how long twill it take us?”
Friltip was busy trying to exterminate his fear of the dark when he bumped into something. The thing was moving, then stood still, obviously just as surprised as he was. The young hog reached up and felt, nervousness slowly seeping in him. It was long and hard. He gasped. It was a spear. And not only that, somebeast was holding the spear!
The poor young hedgehog screamed at the top of his lungs, and ran about, flailing his arms, running smack bang into one of the otters, who yelled as Friltip’s sharp little spines dug in his fur.
Ratflank, who now realized that the woodlanders were out here, and not at Brockhall, shouted urgent orders to his command of soldiers. “Quick! These are the woodlanders! Kill them all!!! KIIIIIILLLL THEEEEEEEEMMMM AAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLL!!!!!!”
The ten-score of vermin from Kotir yelled at the top of their lungs, victory in their grasp at last. They charged the woodlanders, who defended the best they could.
Trefoil now understood what Skipper and Amber were talking about before the start of the battle. She whacked a weasel over the head with her loaded sling as she called to Skipper, “So, does it still look very likely we’re going to get back to Brockhall, eh Skip?”
To her surprise, the Chieftain of Otters just laughed, twirling his spear around, catching a rat in the stomach and another creeping up behind Friltip. “Bless yer liddle ‘eart, missie, o’course we’re gonna get back. We just gotta find the right way first.”
The squirrel narrowed her eyes and laid a ferret unconcious. “Very funny, Skip, very funny.”
Skipper just grinned and loosed off a stone at the back of the Kotir ranks.
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Brogg heard the commotion, and sent two scouts to see what was going on. They came back some time later excited and breathless.
“Ratflank an’ ‘is command are fightin’ with the woodlanders!”
“Aye, which means their not in their ‘eadquarters! It’s empty!”
“Yeah! An’ Wilky ‘ere found it! Where they’ve been stayin’!”
Brogg looked excited, his dull features lighting up. “Great! Common, you lot, let’s got movin’! Wilkear, where did you say it is?”
The rat Wilkear was nearly hopping up and down with excitement. “’Tis over there! It’s some giant tree, wi’ a door in the middle! I saw an ‘edgehog peek out of it!”
Brogg patted the rat scout heartily on the back. “Great work, mate, I’ll see to it that you’re a Captain for this, now let’s go!”
Chapter Seventeen: Bowfleg the Warlord
Santhe was cruelly dragged to Bowfleg’s camp.
Her mouth was bound, and her paws tied behind her back. She still felt groggy from the beating she took on her head, but felt well enough to sit against a tree and eye her surroundings.
It was a good-sized camp, with many hordebeasts, enough to outnumber each member in Noonvale five to one. The thought of that made Santhe’s heart sink so low she could almost feel it touch the ground.
Now Bowfleg, the ferret Warlord, was far from idle, and he was unbelievably strong. He was lean, and muscular, and could best any three vermin in combat and beat them single-clawed.
From what Santhe heard from the gossip that circulated rather quickly around the camp, Bowfleg had left the far north and traveled south, in search of plunder and shelter. ‘And they’re planning to take Noonvale,’ the young mousemaid thought again sadly. If only her friends knew what happened to her! Then maybe Noonvale could have a chance... if they were warned in time. And even that looked very unlikely from the present situation.
She kept thinking about it, each thought growing even more miserable. She didn’t notice the ferret Captain Wildag strutting jauntily up to her.
“’Ey you! Up on yer paws! Lord Bowfleg wants t’see yer.” He roughly pulled Santhe to her paws and removed the scarf from around her mouth.
Santhe forced a painful smile at Wildag, remarking impudently, “What about you? What, he couldn’t stand the sight of your ugly face?”
The ferret grinned nastily and flicked his whip out, grazing the fur on her neck. “You’ll learn some manners when Lord Bowfleg has yer strung upside-down inna river full’o’pikes.”
Santhe winced but took the blow steadily. “Yes, it’s a good thing it’s me, those pikes would probably choke on your thick carcass.”
Wildag was shaking with unsuppressible rage, and it looked for a moment that he was going to flay Santhe into a million pieces with his whip, but he thought better of it, and took his anger out by shoving her roughly in the direction of Bowfleg’s tent. “You shut up, or I’ll make this whip shut yer up!”
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Jorell ran ahead of his friends into the kitchen. “Hey mom! Is Aunt Rose here?”
Gauchee smiled at her son and wiped off some dishes. “Yes dear, I think she went to the larders for some nuts. She’s making a hazelnut and almond pie for tonight.”
Dammy peeked his head in just in time to hear Gauchee and licked his lips. “Mmmmm, me favorite pie, doncha know.”
Nytestripe walked past Dammy, giving him a small clip on the ear in passing. “Food always seems to be the only thing on your mind. Come on, Jorell, to the larders!”
Jorell raced Dallum and Bungo to the larders, with Dammy trailing along behind and stuffing a leek and onion flan in his mouth at the same time. “Mmf grmph snch! I say, wait up, you rotters!”
Jorell nearly crashed into his aunt, who was just making her way out of the larder, with two bags of hazelnuts and almonds.
Rose gently set down the bags and dusted herself off, and smiled at the huffing and puffing group of young ones. “So, what are you nuisances doing barging into the kitchens disturbing us important cooks? Where’s Santhe?”
Jorell’s heart sank. “You mean, she’s not with you?”
Rose looked slightly puzzled. “No, I left her in the tent. She told me she was going to play with you later.”
Dallum looked between Jorell and his aunt. “Well, we ‘aven’t seen ‘er all day. Or for three ‘ole days, f’r that matter.”
Rose turned pale. “But, where could she be?”
Jorell himself was feeling a worried, but he knew Noonvale was a big place, and Santhe could have gone anywhere. Though why she would go somewhere without her mother or friends was beyond him. “I-I don’t know. We checked in the tent, and she wasn’t there, so we thought she was with you.” Here Jorell noticed his aunt looked like she was about to faint, and added, “But she’s probably somewhere else. Santhe knows how to take care of herself. She probably took a walk around the village square.”
Rose picked up the bags of nuts, still somewhat puzzled and worried. “Right, okay, can you little ones please go look for her?”
Bungo saluted. “Burr aye, miz, us’ns will lukk oot f’mizzie Santhe, doan’t ee wurry.”
After Rose went back to the kitchen, Brome turned back to his friends. “Now what?”
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Santhe was roughly pushed into the tent by Wildag, and fell at the paws of the mighty Warlord Bowfleg. Even though she hated him and his horde, Bowfleg imposed a figure of importance and danger. “Danger” meaning that his mood could be dangerous to anybeast who provoked it. And Bowfleg was no sissy when it came to fighting.
“So, wodd do you feel now, eh? We ‘ave you tied oop. Wodd d’you say to dat, hunh?”
Santhe tried not to blanch as the Warlord pulled her close, practically breathing down her neck. “You may have me captured, but you’ll never capture Noonvale!”
Bowfleg roared with laughter and released her, tossing her face-first into the dirt again. “Kyahahahahayukyukyuk! Big words for a small mouse.” He picked up his curved sabre and began sharpening it, taking sideways glances at Santhe. “Metinks I’ll cut oop your liddle friends into liddle pieces an’ feed dem to de fishes, eh, preddy one?”
Santhe gritted her teeth in anger at being called “preddy one” by one so repulsive. “You just try it. We have good fighters, and a huge army is coming towards Noonvale right now. If you try attacking Noonvale, that army will defeat you quicker than you can draw that blade.” Of course Santhe knew that this wasn’t true, and wasn’t ever going to be, she felt extremely angry at Bowfleg and all vermin that existed.
Bowfleg smiled and went on sharpening, hiding his surprise. “An’ army, eh? We kin defeat any army. I ‘ave three ‘undred unner my command, an’ all are gudd fighters.”
Santhe spat her answer back at him. “Our army has over 500 hundred warriors, and they could scrap you lot any day.” Now the young mousemaid was surprised at her own temper, as Bowfleg was. On the outside, Santhe was as beautiful as a summer morn, but on the inside, she was like a flame, burning those who dared to get close.
She glared at the ferret, and was glad to see that he was deep in thought, obviously pondering whether his attack would go well. When he spoke, it was not to her.
“Wildag! Cumm in ‘ere, h’take dissen wurm outta my sight.” The mousemaid couldn’t help but feel happy, she felt she had saved the world, even though she had just saved Noonvale with a few insults.
The ferret Captain bowed and brought his whip down on Santhe, inflicting a small cut on her arm. “Common you, up on your paws!”
Santhe could not help a parting shot at the Warlord. “I see you’ve decided to chicken out, eh? Shows that you’re a coward and a bully on the inside, you’re no Warlord!”
Bowfleg winked and grabbed a bottle of damson wine. “So you say, bud dat won’ stopp me frum capturing your village. We kin take care o’ your army. Kyahahahahahaha!”
Santhe started. She was shocked on the inside, but was careful not to show it. “No! You can’t do that! The army will-“
Bowfleg cut her off, standing and pointing the saber he had drawn in the blink of an eye at her throat. “Dere is no army, is dere? I know you’re lying, preddy one, an’ your lies aren’t going t’stopp me crushing your village!” He emphasized the word “crushing” with a light tap of the saber under her chin. He whirled around again, the flowing red cape twirling as he sat back down in his chair, satisfied with the way he settled the argument.
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Jorell and co. decided that Santhe went to her favorite place to think, the spot by the river on the edge of Noonvale, which also happened to be her mother’s favorite spot when she was younger. Jorell ran ahead, hoping to see Santhe probably staring into the river with her own thoughts.... but saw nothing.
He plopped dejectedly on a willow stump as the others, breathing heavily, arrived. He spoke his troubled thoughts aloud.
“I don’t get it. We can’t find her anywhere, and she would never run away from Noonvale.”
Dammy was not quite the athletic type, but the gears in his mind usually turned the right way, even if they were a bit rusty. Huffing and puffing, he lectured the group. He broke a long, slender but sturdy twig from a willow tree hanging over him, using it as a pointer.
“Righto, m’lad, an’ first if y’want t’get to step number two, y’have t’use good ol’logic. ‘Tis bally simple. Just narrow down the jolly ol’ choices an’ you’ve got it.”
Jorell nodded slowly, unconciously pulling the grass while listening to Dammy. “So, what are the possibilities?”
“Righto, just gettin’ down t’that. Now, we’ve bally well scoured Noonvale, every bloomin’ nook and cranny. So, we use simple logic to know that she jolly well isn’t in the residence anymore, wot.” Nytestripe pretended to stifle a yawn as Dammy continued with his authoratic air.
The young hare tapped Nytestripe sharply on the head. “Pay attention, y’stripey lump, or you’ll never learn! Now, where was I? Oh yes, now... since Santhe isn’t in Noonvale, she must be bally well out! But since we know our friend wouldn’t do a blasted thing such as running away, we have to eliminate that as well.”
Dallum sighed loudly and plucked the pointer from Dammy’s paw. “So, what choices do we have left, floppy ears?”
Dammy grabbed the pointer back rather indignantly. “Hmph! Floppy ears yourself, spikey nose! I was just gettin’ down t’that. If Santhe didn’t leave Noonvale on her own bally will...”
Here Jorell cut him off as realization dawned on him. He leapt up excitedly. “Yes! Then somebody forced her! Which also means...” The five friends looked at each other, thinking the same thing.
“Santhe was kidnapped!”
Jorell was so excited, he could hardly speak. “C’mon, we’ve got to go tell the rest at Noonvale!” He started running... but was lifted into the air... by another creature!
It was a nasty-looking weasel, whom which she and her companion looked quite please with themselves.
“Aye, laddie, yer friend wuz captured, but now so are yew!”
Chapter Eighteen: Captors and the Captured
Poor Mrs. Stickle ran back into the Brockhall kitchen.
“Chibb! You said they’d be back soon!”
Chibb lifted his head momentarily from a bowl of candied chestnuts. Unfortunately, the robin had been stuffing himself with the sweet chestnuts ever since he had come back to Mossflower, and the Noonvale healer’s potion had worn off, so his cough had come back.
“Harrumph, hmph. I did, as a matter of fact. Arrahemhem, ‘scuse me. They were, ahem, rather close to Brockhall when I left them, so, harrumph, they should be arriving here any moment now. Ahemcarumphhmphglophsnchhem!”
Everybeast present averted their eyes as Chibb turned his full attention back to the bowl of chestnuts in front of him.
Columbine spoke. “Indeed, but it’s been almost ages since you came back, anything could have happened to them since then!”
Murmurs of agreement and discussion broke out.
“She’s right, y’know, what with Tsarmina’s horde’s out.”
“True, but Bella and that mouse Martin seemed to know what they were doing, they should be back soon.”
“Maybe they got lost?”
“Rubbish! Skipper and Lady Amber would never get themselves lost in Mossflower!”
“What if they never come back?”
Abbess Germaine grabbed a ladle and rapped a cooking pot rather loudly, cracking it down the center.
“What nonsense! All of you know as a fact that Bella, Lady Amber, and Skipper are well enough to take care of themselves. They probably stopped to camp because it was getting dark and will arrive in the early morning. Discussion finished! Everybeast to bed now!”
Columbine followed the Abbess into the kitchen, where the kindly old mouse was putting dishes away from the dinner that evening.
“Mother Abbess, you know that they wouldn’t stop to camp if they knew they were close to Brockhall. You’re only giving little hope.”
Abbess Germaine wiped a plate and put it in the cupboard. “Yes, my child, but little hope is better than none. Anything could have happened to them. We can’t do much about it. None of us here are fighters. In fact, I’d say we are the ones in danger, since Bella and Martin of Noonvale took all those capable of fighting.”
At that moment, the kitchen door slammed open with an earsplitting bang, and a weasel wearing a bright-red cloak waving in the wind appeared in the doorway, paws and hips, with a victorious sneer on his face. Columbine did her best not to scream. “Mother Abbess! Tell the others! Go and help them escape!”
Brogg twirled his spear, rather clumsily, and grinned maliciously at the two mice. “I’ll say you’re in danger, granny, now that Cap’n Brogg’s command o’soldiers in yer precious liddle tree house.”
The young mousemaid grabbed a bread knife threating Brogg, while still trying to usher the Abbess out of the room. “You dare touch her and I’ll spike you right through, you ungrateful vermin!”
Brogg chuckled, savoring his moment of triumph. “Brave words fer a pretty maid like you. The rest of my soldiers have already captured yer liddle friends upstairs.” The weasel flicked a speck of dust off his shoulder before continuing. “An’ if y’wanted ter know wot ‘appened t’yer precious ‘warriors’, they’re all dead. Some of our soldiers saw ‘em comin’ an’ wiped ‘em out, jus’ like that.” Brogg remarked airily, and brought his spear down, thumping loudly on the floor. Even though he knew that what he said was most likely the other way around, he knew that the thought petrified the two mice in front of him, giving him more advantage. “Knowin’ yer defenseless, I jus’ mosied on over ‘ere, and captured this place fer meself.”
Columbine raised the bread knife. “You’re lying. That was an unforgivable and terrible lie.”
Brogg admired himself in a polished cooking pan. “Garr, how’d yew guess? Ter tell the truth, yore all prisoners of Tsarmina Greeneye, Ruler of the Thousand Eyes, Kotir, Mossflower, and now yer pitiful friends!”
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Skipper leaned over Trefoil, who was washing her blood-stained spear in the River Moss.
“Guess what!”
Trefoil poked the spear butt gently into Skipper’s stomach. “Tell me now, y’great lump, I’m dying of suspense.”
Skipper rubbed his stomach. “We found the right way!”
The squirrel rolled her eyes. “At last.”
Bella spoke. “Now really, you two, cut it out. All of us have gone through a lot. Two battles in one day is enough for anybeast. I congratulate all of you for winning this second battle.” A round of applause and cheers rippled through the Mossflower/Noonvale army. “Now, we should concentrate full on getting back to Brockhall. No doubt the others are worried about us.”
Ballaw raised his sling. “No doubt the others have prepared a victory feast for us bally warriors, wot. Onwards to the jolly old tucker!”
Kastern shook her head in mock sadness. “Only a glutton could say something like that.”
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Brogg was enjoying life.
He had captured the rest of the annoying little Mossflower residents and conquered their silly little hideout called “Brockhall”. Tsarmina would probably make him emperor of Mossflower for carrying out her plans so perfectly. Well, maybe Ratflank’s squad didn’t do too well, but who cared about him? He wasn’t exactly popular with the Kotir soldiers. Everything was going as planned. Even though he had threatened to kill the woodlanders many times, he did it only to instill awe into his soldiers and fear into the rotten little woodlanders.
He knew if he did kill one of them, Tsarmina would have his rotting head on a spear thrown into the River Moss. But it was fun all the same.
Tsarmina’s orders were to capture the woodlanders and bring them right back, but what did it matter if he waited a day or two? After all, the weather wasn’t exactly good enough to travel in.
Anyway, he had to have his share of fun. He had everybeast under his mercy. He knew he could probably even stay there at Brockhall, but Tsarmina would eventually find out what happened and track him down.... and everybeast saw what she did to traitors.
Sometimes living a normal life can be dangerous.
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The little hedgehog Friltip giggled to himself while stabbing at his imaginary enemies.
“Take that, y’walloping weasel! Cummon, show me what you’re made of! Swish! Thump! Gotcha! Gotcha again! Take that’n’that’n’that!”
Suddenly a pair of paws grabbed his shoulders and pulled him roughly into the bushes. Poor Friltip was terrified out of his wits. “I’m s-s-sorry, mister! P-p-p-please l-let me g-go! I’ll d-do anything!”
Skipper of Otters held in his contempt. “Put a latch on it, matey, ‘s just me. You should watch where y’going, almost walkin’ slapbang into a guard ferret there.”
The relief was plain to see on Friltip’s face, even though he still didn’t quite know how close he was to being killed or captured.
Skipper left Friltip in care of Trefoil and Kastern, who kept a rather sharp eye on the mischieveous rascal, and went to have a conference with Bella, Lady Amber, Rowanoak and Ballaw.
Ballaw yawned and tossed a chesnut in his mouth. “So, what’s the trouble wakin’ a chap in the middle of his jolly ole’ midnight scoff, eh?”
Lady Amber dealt him a sharp rap on his head when she saw Skipper’s face turn grim.
“We’re in big trouble now, mateys, deep down in trouble.”
Rowanoak exchanged a concerned glance with her sister. “What kind of trouble, Skip?”
Skipper jerked his head toward the woodlands they knew Brockhall was located. “Brockhall was captured, or conquered, ye migh’ say.”
Bella drew in a sharp breath. “But surely Goody Stickle or the Abbess could have prevented it....”
The Skipper of Otters shook his head. “Not while we were out there fightin’ our own battle. That pussycat’s soldiers did a mighty fine job of taking our only headquarters an’ our friends.”
Ballaw’s ears drooped. “So what d’we blinkin’ do now?”
Lady Amber ran her paw down her longbow. “Wait for an opportunity, and hope luck’s on our side when the time comes.”
The five Mossflower and Noonvale leaders sat in silence, watching the rays of dawn poke through rosy red clouds, hoping desperately that their own friends were still alive, knowing luck and a miracle were the only things that could get them out now.
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