Urchin and the Raven War (14 page)

At dawn, animals in the tower rose from their prayers, shook each other’s paws, kissed sword blades and bowstrings, put on helmets, and took their places by the boarded-up windows, at doors, gates, and battlements. Strong-smelling lotions were rubbed into fur. All over the island, warriors stood ready. If weapons failed, they would fight with claws and teeth to protect their young and their families from the tearing talons and beaks of the ravens. Crispin patrolled the battlements, giving encouragement, watching the skies. Mistmantle was ready.

“Caw! Caw!”
On the far side of the mists, raven cries tore the dawn.

The Taloness cried out first—
Kill and devour!
The Silver Prince echoed her. The sails of the ravens’ ships were furled, and the birds stood in rows, claw by claw, tail by tail, beak by beak, lined on the riggings and on the decks. Every clan and every tribe of ravens had rallied to the demand of the Taloness and the name of the Silver Prince, and each of the High Ravens, the heads of clans and captains of ships, had sharpened and silvered their talons.

The Taloness tipped her head left, right. They must find the tree-rat leaders and kill them, find their young, eat them. They would prefer to eat carrion, but if they must do the killing themselves, so be it.

With her brother dead and the prince unable to make plans for himself, all depended on her. She had done well to rally and lead the ravens, and she bristled her neck feathers in confidence. She considered whether to keep this island, but wreck and ruin would be more satisfying. She could lay it waste and leave it so that no creature again would ever talk of Mistmantle, the little secret island, the enchanted land in the mists. It would be Mistmantle of Destruction, Mistmantle of the Slaughter. There would be battles first, but when victory was won, the ravens would feast. The revenge of the Taloness and the Silver Prince on Mistmantle would be known by the world. The tree-rat they called king, the one who had killed the Archraven, would be forced to his knees before her. Stretching her wings and screeching out her battle cry, she soared over the mists.

Corr looked out from Fingal’s chamber by the Spring Gate. He had been taken there to rest and get warm, but the constant calling out of orders and running of paws sent him padding to the door to see what was going on.

He wasn’t a tower animal. He didn’t know anything about bows, arrows, or swords, and he certainly wasn’t running to safety with the little ones. There must be something he could do. All I can do is swim, he thought. What could he do by swimming?

He had swum beneath the raven boats before, so he could do it again. To do them any damage he’d need a sword, but he didn’t know where to find one, so, after getting lost once or twice, he found the kitchens and chose a large, sharp knife from the racks on the wall. There was already an empty place next to it. Somebody else must have had the same idea. With a kitchen knife, he could do considerable damage to a ship.

Juniper had lit every single candle in the chamber, and they glowed, a soft and pale gold light, on ledges, on the floor, on tables. He had spent the night in prayer, sometimes alone, sometimes with the animals who came to him. Now he held Brother Fir’s paw in his, sharing the voiceless prayers of the old priest, knowing that a strong spirit still glowed in the feeble body. It was as if something in the surrounding presence of the ravens came thickly, darkly, between himself and the sun. Swords and arrows could only do so much. There was a terrible evil in the hearts of these ravens, and only the Heart could overpower it.

On the battlements with archers and warriors, Crispin watched the great black birds sweep like screaming specters from the mists.
They’re only birds. It’s only a noise.
He held out his sword, ready to give the signal to the archers.

Not yet. Not close enough. Not yet… not yet…

NOW! With a high singing, arrows poured into the sky.

As the first rank of ravens spun from the sky around the tower, Urchin pressed his hind paws into the dunes above Curlingshell Bay and put both front paws to his sword. Crispin had sent archers and a small fighting band, as well as Heath of the Circle. Every animal stood close to the tunnel that would give the best cover from striking beaks.

Wide-winged ravens thronged the sky and filled the air with screaming. Urchin had learned to control his breathing and his thinking, but the racing of his heart was something he could do nothing about. The huge size of the ravens awed and horrified him. Heath shouted an order, and the first flight of arrows whizzed into the air, thudding into raven chests as the birds bore down. Urchin took his stance firmly, curling his claws into the sandy earth, feeling the press of another squirrel back against his. Raising his sword, he watched to see which bird would come at him first.

The hideous cawing grew louder. Urchin swirled the sword at the open beak that came for him, slashing for the throat, ducking to avoid the outstretched talons. A wing swept him off balance, and he stabbed upward, springing up again—stab, slash, swerve, and a hot splash and smell of blood. The heap of dead ravens mounted, the reek of blood and death rose around him, but still the ravens came on.

There was a cry at his back. He felt the sudden cold and change of balance. The squirrel at his back had fallen. A mole fighting beside him grabbed for the dropped sword and leaped to the empty place.

“With you, Urchin!” rasped the mole, and grunted as he brought another raven down.

The pale gold-and-pink stone of Mistmantle Tower became black with flapping wings and streaked with blood. Dead ravens littered the rocks. Swords clashed on beaks with a dull ring. Russet, Crispin, and Cedar fought on the battlements, Padra and Arran at the Spring Gate. Docken’s band of hedgehogs and Fingal’s otters defended the steps to the main door. Every gate was defended. Whenever a wounded Mistmantle animal fell, the defenders would fight around him until a healer could dart from cover to lift him to the safety of the tower, where every spare room was to be used for healing. Juniper left Fir in the care of Hope and Sepia and limped from one wounded animal to another, cleaning and dressing wounds, listening to the words of a dying squirrel.

“Down!” yelled Heath. “To the tunnel!”

“Tunnel!” shouted Urchin. A glance showed him that all the animals under his command had heard him and were slipping into the tunnels. He slashed down his sword on the neck of a raven that was biting his ankle, dropped into the cool darkness of a tunnel, wriggled into the burrow underneath, and leaned gratefully against the earth-smelling wall, gasping for breath. He could no longer hear the screeching ravens, but only the labored breathing of the animals around him.

The sandy earth was wonderfully cool. With a soft pattering of paws, the defenders of the bay hurried down through the network of tunnels to gather in the burrow. Urchin found he was shaking with effort.

Always clean your sword.
He remembered Padra telling him that, long ago when he had been a page. Heath was a good commander, but at that moment he felt he’d give his right paw to have his old captain in command. He found a heap of leaves—all these burrows had been equipped for a siege—and was rubbing the blade clean when Heath said, “All here? Casualties?”

There were injuries to be washed and weapons to clean. Nobody wanted to eat, but the mouthful of water after battle was welcome and delicious. Heath was already moving from one animal to another, praising and encouraging, and hearing what they had to say. Urchin remembered that, as a Circle animal, he should do the same. He was examining a mole’s swollen wrist when he realized Heath was beside him.

“Let me bind that up for you,” said Heath. “If we had more moles like this, we’d see the whole flock of them away.” Then he drew Urchin aside, to a tunnel where nobody else could hear them, and whispered to him in the darkness.

“We can’t hold them,” said Heath. “They just keep coming. The ships must be crammed with them.”

Urchin tried to think of the possible things to do. There weren’t many.

“We could do with reinforcements,” he thought aloud, “but we can’t spare animals from anywhere else.”

“We could fall back to the tower,” said Heath. “They must need all the help they can get, but we should wait for orders from the king. We could have defended this bay against the sort of numbers we fought against on Swan Isle, but not this. They must have gathered every raven from all the islands in all the seas. So long as animals stay underground, they’re safe for the meantime. Let’s just lie low for a while, get our breath back, and stop wasting arrows. I only hope the tower holds. It might.”