Urchin and the Raven War (18 page)

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” said Apple. “I got some water and we’ll clean up all those pecks, I’d peck him if I had the chance, see how he likes it. My little lad, my little foundling that I brung up, he’s Urchin, they call him Urchin of the Riding Stars, he’s in the Circle, they’ll get all this sorted out, don’t you worry.”

Filbert sat down. His head throbbed and his injuries hurt, but it was rather nice to be fussed over like this. He hadn’t had this much attention in a long time. The water, as she washed his wounds, was cool and soothing.

“Don’t suppose you’ve eaten today?” asked Apple, dabbing at the cuts. “Mind you, just as well, hard enough getting you down into this burrow as it was, feed you too much and we’ll never get you out again. Still, you have to eat something.” She rubbed her hands on her fur. “Got some bread here.”

“Pardon me, madam,” slurred Filbert, his head spinning. “Don’t feel much like eating.”

“Course you don’t, poor love,” said Apple. “Ooh, I tell you what I’ve got! Just the thing for you!”

From her basket, she took a large green bottle and a wooden cup. Holding the cork in place, she shook the bottle vigorously.

“This is my apple-and-mint cordial,” she said. “Famous, this. I gave some away for putting on fur, they say those ravens won’t like the taste because they don’t know what’s good for them, put some on my own fur, but it does you more good inside than out. Pity to waste it. This’ll put you right, puts everything right. I could mix it with water, but you look as if you need it neat.” She poured a cupful. “Get that on the insides of you.”

Filbert took the cup in both paws and drank while Apple shuffled things about in her basket again. She turned when she heard a sob.

Tears poured down Filbert’s face. He put down the cup, covered his face with his paws, and wept.

“Oh, my dear!” cried Apple. “Oh, my dear, what’s the matter? I know it’s strong stuff, makes your eyes water, but it don’t usually do
this
to anyone.”

Filbert fought to overcome the sobbing. Finally, gulping, he wiped away his tears.

“My mother used to make cordial exactly like that,” he said. “Nobody else could make it the same. I never tasted anything so good since she died. It takes me back to being a happy little lad of a squirrel… Oh, beg your pardon, Mistress Apple, but I never thought to have that taste in my mouth again. I’d forgotten how good it is.”

Apple beamed with pleasure. “Good thing I brought plenty,” she said, and refilled the cup.

Urchin whisked along tunnels, his drawn sword in his paw, ducking when the roof lowered. Nobody spoke. He heard the steady swish of paws on soft earth as they ran—Grith in front, Brindle next, his spines brushing on the wall. Catkin’s paws made no sound at all, but her sword occasionally scraped. Urchin had no idea where she’d found it and suspected she could do more harm to herself than to an enemy, but she may as well keep it.

The tunnel twisted and led into another tunnel, newly dug, smelling of fresh earth. It led uphill, and he could tell from the scent of the air that a sandy burrow was to the left of them.

“Not that one,” whispered Grith as Urchin raised his head to sniff the air. “Quick. Farther on, farther up.”

It was too quiet. Urchin caught Catkin’s paw in the dark and pulled her toward him.

“Quiet!” he whispered.

There was a sharp cry from Brindle, then nothing.

“Run, Catkin!” whispered Urchin—then he heard wings and the scratching of talons behind him.

Urchin flung Catkin against the wall, put his back against her, and lunged for the raven’s throat, but even as the blow fell he felt the hard clench of talons on his sword paw, and his other arm was caught and held. There was a gasp from Catkin as she struck out with her sword, and a squawk from a raven.

“Well done!” yelled Urchin, remembering just in time not to say her name. “Keep fighting!” There was a clatter as the sword was knocked from her paw and a shriek as she was forced to the ground. That first sandy burrow must have been crammed with ravens. Strike, fight, struggle, twist, kick, bite—it was all he could do, and it was useless. There were wings in his face and talons on his arm as he was dragged behind Catkin to the higher burrow.

“It took six of you!” snarled Catkin—then she screamed. Urchin, pushed into the burrow after her, saw why.

Brindle lay on the floor. From the angle of his head, it seemed that his neck had been broken. A little line of blood trickled from his mouth. A ring of ravens stood around him, snarling and pecking as Urchin lunged forward and the guard ravens held him back.

Catkin squeaked tightly as if she were trying not to cry. Urchin twisted around to see her, but she was cloaked from sight by raven wings.

“Courage,” he said. “You did well. Are you hurt, Lapwing?”

“Stop that,” said a raven, stepping from the circle. “We know who she is. We know all about you.”

The raven strutted forward. Urchin saw the figure crouching behind it, and fury turned him cold—fury at Grith the mole, who sat with a smile of malice on his face, and fury at himself for being tricked.

Grith lifted a paw. He still held the king’s token.

“Pity about Swish,” he said. “She put up a fight.”

“Where is she now?” demanded Urchin.

Grith shrugged. “Who cares? I only killed her. How should I know which raven bellies she filled?”

The raven swung around and turned on him with such a glare that Grith shrank back. Then the raven advanced toward Urchin.

Urchin curled his claws and set his teeth. He forced himself not to back away from that great curved beak.

“How dare you talk to each other, you creatures, as if we were not here!” cried the raven. “We are the Taloness, Guardian of the Silver Prince, sister of the Archraven, most foully murdered by the tree-rat who calls himself king!”

There was a cry of protest from Catkin. The Taloness jumped forward and darted her beak at her.

“Silence, tree-rat!” She hopped closer. “You are his daughter. And you”—she tipped her head to look at Urchin—“are the pale one, the king’s trusted friend. Grith has done well enough.”

Grith pressed his face to the ground in thanks. He smiled up at the Taloness, but that spiteful leer was still on his face.

“Great Taloness,” he said, “may I address the tree-rats? May I explain?”

“You have our permission,” said the Taloness. “But be quick.”

Grith crept up to Urchin and glared into his face. Cold, hard talons gripped Urchin.

“Do you remember Gloss?” asked Grith.

“I couldn’t forget him,” said Urchin. Gloss the mole had brought misery and tragedy to many animals in the past, but especially, in one act of evil and treachery, to Crispin.

“Gloss was my brother,” said Grith in a low, accusing voice. “He served faithfully.”

“He served Husk!” said Urchin.

“In his great courage,” said Grith, his voice harsh as gravel, “he followed you to Swan Isle. He left Mistmantle, seeking Crispin the traitor.”

“Crispin …” began Urchin, but a slap from the Taloness’s beak silenced him.

“I never saw him again,” said Grith. “For a long, long time, I did not know what had happened to him. I heard stories and rumors that he had hidden in your boat and sacrificed his life on Swan Isle. But I never knew for certain until the swans came here, begging for our help. They boasted! Lord Arcneck bragged that he had rid his island and this one of…I will not repeat what he called my brother.” With a leap forward, he growled into Urchin’s face. “Who killed my brother? Was it you? Crispin? Was it that swan?”

“Gloss murdered Whisper!” cried Urchin. “He meant to kill me and Crispin!”

“Shame he didn’t,” snarled Grith.

“Lady Whisper was lovely,” said Urchin. “She was gentle and kind. She’d never done anyone any harm and he stabbed her, then he tried to kill Crispin. Crispin and Lord Arcneck were too quick and too strong for him.”

“Two against one!” rasped Grith. “I knew it! I knew he would have no justice from Crispin. But he has justice from me. When the ravens came, I pledged loyalty to the Taloness and the Silver Prince. I offered them Crispin’s daughter, and you.”

“Enough,” said the Taloness. “You have brought them to us. Now, little princess, what can we hope for from you?”

“Put my sword in my paw,” said Catkin, “and I’ll show you.”

There was a harsh rasp of laughter from the Taloness.

“Take her away and tie her up,” she said. “We need her. And this one”—she jerked her head at Urchin—“tie him up and keep him here for now. He’ll be useful. Four of you—you four—stay with him. The rest, come with us.”

“Madam Taloness?” said Grith.

The Taloness tipped her head to glare at him. Grith cowered.

“With us,” she said, and Grith followed her slowly, almost crawling, as if he already regretted offering his service to the Taloness.

Urchin was surprised to find that he was sorry for Grith—but then his wrists and ankles were tied roughly, and he was pushed into a corner, still struggling with every ounce of strength. It wouldn’t help, but it made him feel he was still fighting as he stretched and strained to see Catkin. Kicking and wriggling as they dragged her away, her claws drawing deep lines in the earth, she cast a last appealing glance at him over her shoulder. Then she disappeared into a tunnel behind Grith and the Taloness.

Urchin raged silently against himself as he slumped back against the wall. He had thought it strange that Grith held a king’s token, but his explanation had seemed reasonable. Now Swish was dead, Brindle was dead, Catkin was a prisoner, and he …

… and he had failed them all. He squeezed his eyes shut at the shame of it. He hardly cared now what the ravens had in mind for him, and dared not think what they planned for Catkin.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

LEANER NEVER LEFT THE
cairn now. She had made a nest and slept there at night. That mole had never appeared again. Typical of moles. But she didn’t need anyone to help her defend Lady Aspen’s grave. She had heard that during the battle on Swan Isle, they had attacked a burial cairn, throwing the stones from the top. Let them just try it here. She had taken a knife from the kitchen and kept it in her paw even when she slept.

But she slept badly. This had always been her own place, hers and Lady Aspen’s. Now animals were being moved from burrow to burrow to keep them safe. The whole point of the Tangletwigs was that it was hard to get in and out of, but for that very reason, animals were gathering there. Sepia had even had the nerve to ask if she’d seen Scatter. As if she’d notice, with all these strangers moving in, and as if she’d care! If nosey newcomers asked her what the cairn was for, she growled at them to mind their own business.