The Rogue Crew

Ruggan pondered this briefly, then gave a pronouncement. “From henceforth, you, Wuzgo, an’ you, Luggi, are the rulers here, over all this tribe. Dukwina, Dibby, I spare your lives.”

The queen and the empraking were sobbing, this time with relief. Ruggan kicked them loose from his footpaws.

“Give all your finery to Wuzgo and Luggi—you can do their jobs now. I give your rulers permission to beat you both harshly if you are idle or talkative. That is my command, and any who disobey it are breaking the law of me and my father, Skor Axehound, Warchief of the High North Coast!”

Lieutenant Scutram murmured to Sergeant Miggory, “Well, now, there’s a chap doesn’t mince his flippin’ words, wot. He certainly laid the law down to ’em there!”

Ruggan, who had overheard the remark, replied pointedly. “Life on the High North Coast is hard. My father’s word is law, with little room for disobedience or rebellion. I see that one of your hares was slain by these shrews and reptiles. If your captain so wishes, I will slay ten of them in reprisal for that death.”

Captain Rake shook his head. “Och, no thank ye, mah friend. The Long Patrol does its own slayin’, ye ken. We don’t need others tae do it for us!”

Skor Axehound’s son bowed his head deferentially. “My apologies, sir, I meant no offence. Tomorrow I will take ye to see my father.”

He beckoned to Wuzgo and Luggi.

“We will stay as your guests tonight. Make provision for us. Tell some of your creatures to bury that slain hare.”

Sergeant Miggory snapped to attention. “Beg pardon, sah, but we buries fallen comrades h’ourselves.”

The sea otter nodded. “Again, I must apologise. Might my warriors and I attend?”

Lieutenant Scutram smiled. “Indeed, sah, ’twould be an honour to have your company. Jolly decent, wot!”

A solemn procession of hares and otters bore the body of young Bribbs to the summit of the highest dune available. He was carried shoulder high on sea otter shields, a hare one side and an otter the other side of each shield. The burial was accomplished smoothly, after which Lieutenant Scutram spoke a brief poem.

“Here, far from his mountain home,

our fallen comrade must lie,

whilst we go on together,

’til our time comes to die.

His spirit will march alongside us,

we’ll honour his memory and say

he died for truth and freedom,

aye, an’ that’s the warrior’s way!”

Corporal Welkin laid a flat stone, engraved with Bribbs’s name, on the grave. Everybeast raised a weapon in silent salute, then they turned and walked away. The otters began beating their shields with their axe, sword and spear blades in a dirge, chanting.

“Heyla ho! Heyla hay!

Night must conquer weary day.

Hiyarooh! Hayaree!

Bloodred sun sinks into sea.

O, bravebeast who fell, fare thee well.

Fare . . . theeeeeee welllllllll!”

The eerie sound echoed around the dunes and shoreline. Lancejack Sage blinked away a tear, remarking to the warrior sea ottermaid she was walking alongside, “By the scut’n’paw, when the fur on the back o’ my neck stops standin’ straight up, I’ll thank ye for that. ’Twas jolly well done. My name’s Sage, like the herb. What’s yours, friend?”

Her tough-looking companion replied, “Kite the Slayer, Kite like the bird, and Slayer because of the number of vermin I’ve slain.”

It was said so coolly that Sage felt bound to enquire, “Oh, an’ how many vermin have you slain?”

The ottermaid showed Sage her shield, which was scored around its rim with a circular pattern of nicks. “Can’t remember the exact count—have to start on my axeshaft soon, though. Just call me Kite, they all do.”

Big Drander, who was walking behind them, chuckled. “No flippin’ wonder our Badger Lady wants to talk with your warlord. Wonder how many bloomin’ vermin he’s slain.”

Kite replied without turning to face him. “Never knew anybeast who made so bold as to ask him.”

A late spring wind chilled the night air, chasing sand along the shore and drifting up the dunesides as it swept in from the sea. None of this affected the Long Patrol hares or the sea otters, who were spending the night inside the ingenious structure created by pygmy shrews and sand lizards. Wrapped in blankets, they basked in the glow of oven fires as Rake Nightfur explained to Ruggan Axehound the purpose of the column’s mission.

As soon as he mentioned the name Wearat, Ruggan interrupted. “Surely not! We thought he had been slain when he tried to invade our territory. His ship left our coast in flames, the sea was red with vermin blood. My father was sure that Razzid Wearat was either burnt to death or feeding the fishes beneath the water!”

Lieutenant Scutram spoke. “Sorry to disappoint ye, old lad, but the villain’s back. Er, by the bye, we are talkin’ about the same foul beast, ain’t we? Captains a ship called Greenshroud, long galley with green sails an’ the Wearat corsair sign on one, eh?”

Ruggan nodded. “There’s only one Wearat we’ve ever heard of, and that’s him, the master of the green ship. You say he’s back again. Tell me more, friend.”