Urchin and the Raven War (20 page)

Sepia tucked the blanket over Fir’s paws to keep them warm, watching his sleeping face and wishing she could share his peacefulness. Even as she prayed, she felt sick with fear. Before the Heart she named the warriors fighting across the island, facing those cruel beaks and talons:
Longpaw, Crispin, Cedar, Padra, Arran, Docken, Russet, Heath… Urchin, Urchin.

The Gathering Chamber windows were holding against the furious blows of raven beaks, so the birds had picked up stones to beat at them. Shattered glass flew from the tower. Breaking through the wood came next, and Crispin and the defenders stood ready. The curtains had been drawn—“something for them to get tangled in,” suggested the queen.

“The waiting gets to you, doesn’t it, Your Majesty,” said Docken quietly. Talons rasped and squeaked against the wood, and he flinched. “Sorry, Your Majesty, but it’s like scratching on glass, that noise.”

“I know,” said Crispin. “You’d think they could just get on with it, wouldn’t you? I could go and brew us all a cordial, but I don’t suppose we’ll have time.”

The shredding of wood came again, harsh enough to jangle the nerves. A shock of pain ran through Crispin’s old wound.

“Horrible noise,” he said, and raised his voice. “Shall we drown them out? Sing!”

“While the stars rise and set…”
began Russet—it was a favorite old Mistmantle song that they had all learned in their infancy, and voice by voice they joined in—

“And the waves ebb and flow,

While the mists rise above us and the earth holds below,”

The panels of wood were tearing apart now. The defenders sang louder, their singing spreading through the tower. Archers heard it and took up the song at the windows. Some sang flat or out of tune, some only remembered a few lines, but they sang out loud and kept singing until the vicious beaks and claws finally splintered the wood. Beaks slashed the curtains. Crispin kissed his sword blade and speared it into the throat of the first raven to emerge. Then the clashing of swords, beaks, and talons began.

All over the tower, ravens wrenched the boards from the windows. When the defenders fought them off and sent them tumbling down the walls, more flew in to take their places. If the ravens found a window too small or too hard to break through, they joined the attack on another one. They poured through the workroom windows and into Needle and Thripple’s web, where they squawked and struggled—but before Needle had time to cheer, they had shredded their way through.

“Run!” cried Thripple.

Swords clashed, voices rang, ravens screeched, wood splintered. Arrows flew from the remaining windows. In the Gathering Chamber, Crispin and his troops fought furiously on—one more, one more, one more—but there were always more ravens, flying in to take the places of the fallen. Crispin struck out with every ounce of heart and mind and will, of paw and shoulder, of skill and instinct, knowing it was only a matter of time, and the Heart must do the rest.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ITTLE BY LITTLE, EVERY
move so tiny that even raven eyes would not notice, Urchin was working his paw free. Blood smeared the floor where Brindle’s body had been dragged away. Catkin.
Catkin, Catkin, I’m sorry, Catkin.
But sorry was not enough, and what would he say when he stood before Crispin? He couldn’t even hold Curlingshell Bay. He could at least get out of this captivity, tell Crispin what had happened, and be another useful warrior. At least he could still fight ravens.

A raven twitched and turned its head. Crispin froze. But the raven was not attending to him. It cawed to its companion and they tipped their beaks, listening. Urchin listened too, resisting the instinct to twitch his ears, not wanting to draw their attention.

“Tunnels 'round here?” said one. “Tunnels?”

“There’s the one he came down,” said the other.

Urchin strained to hear over their harsh voices. Something was moving, close to the tunnel he had come through. It was behind him, the softest brush of paws. More than one animal, but he couldn’t tell which kind. If Mistmantle animals were close by, they should be warned of the presence of ravens, and the best way to do that was to make the birds speak up or caw. He yawned loudly.

“Silence, tree-rat!” rasped a raven, as the other bird poked its beak into tunnels and prodded at the earth roof. “Tunnels! Where are they?”

“I don’t know,” said Urchin. “This isn’t my part of the island.”

“I’ll search,” said the other raven. It flattened its wings against its body and stalked along the tunnel. Only one now, thought Urchin.

“Insolent tree-rat!” rasped the raven. “Tell me! Tunnels!”

“Moles are the ones who know about tunnels,” said Urchin. “I’m a squirrel.”

There was a caw of rage, and silvered talons whipped out toward his face. He closed his eyes and ducked, but at the same moment he pulled his paw free. Better not to let the ravens see that. The raven’s claw clutched his ear.

“Tunnels, tree-rat,” it said, cawing into his face. Urchin pressed his head back against the earth wall. The bird was so close that he could see into its throat. It tried to speak again, but this time all that came out was a harsh rattle, as if it were choking; and as Urchin turned his head away, the raven thudded backward onto the ground.

“Urchin!” whispered a low voice. Urchin looked up. Loose earth crumbled from the wall opposite him. Sword in paw, a squat little mole dropped into the chamber.

“Todd!” whispered Urchin, and laughed for joy. “Todd!”

“That’s me,” said Todd, and turned as the other raven, alerted by its companion’s sudden silence, ran from the tunnel. Todd’s sword was waiting for it.

“Blooming spuggies,” he said, wiping the blade clean. “Big noisy spuggies. Any more of 'em about?”

“Not that I know of,” said Urchin. “But we need to get out.”

Todd was already kneeling at Urchin’s side, slicing through the ropes. “You’ve nearly done this for yourself, sir,” he remarked.

“I would have looked silly without you,” said Urchin. His sword had been propped against a wall, and now he felt its familiar shape in his paw again. “Well done, Todd!” He didn’t hug the mole, as he didn’t want to upset Todd’s dignity, but he clapped him on the shoulder.

“Your grandfather Lugg used to do this,” he said. “Turn up just when he was needed.”

“Must run in the family,” said Todd. “Are you injured? Bit of blood on your arm.”

“I’m all right,” said Urchin. “But they’ve got Catkin. They went along that tunnel, the broad one. They must be well ahead of us now. We need to get word to the king, and alert the Circle. If they imprison her underground, the moles might be able to find her.”

“Best move, then,” said Todd. There was the soft thud of a curled-up hedgehog landing behind him. “Oh, here come the troops.”

“Hello, Urchin,” said Hope politely as he uncurled.

“Hope!” said Urchin. “You brave hedgehog! Shouldn’t you be in the tower?”

Hope trundled happily toward him and stopped just as Urchin thought he’d bump into him. “I’m a diversion,” he said. “So was Needle.”

“Needle!” Urchin looked up to see her peering from the hole Todd had made. “Shouldn’t you be in the tower?”

“I was,” she said. She wriggled out and shook out her spines as if she were ready for a fight. “Thripple and I got out—we had orders to—so at least we didn’t have to watch what those vermin were doing to our workrooms. And they were coming to find you, so …”

“Catkin’s missing,” said Urchin.

Urchin had known Needle all his life, and had never seen such horror on her face. She looked as if her worst nightmares were coming true before her eyes.

“Needle, what…” he began.

“We have to find her!” she cried. “Now! Split up. Urchin, come with me. We’ll—”

“Hold on,” said Urchin. “She could be anywhere. They know who she is. We were betrayed. They’ll have a whole pack of ravens guarding her.”

“Then it’s no good,” said Needle bleakly. “She’ll be dead by now.”

Hope scurried to her and took her paws. “Don’t say that,” he said. “I think we should go back to the tower and tell the king and queen. They ought to know.”

“The tower could fall at any minute,” said Todd. “And the king’s given orders to leave it.”

“He hasn’t ordered me,” said Urchin. “I wasn’t there.”

“True enough,” said Todd.

“I left,” said Needle. “He never said I mustn’t go back.”

“And I should go back and help Brother Juniper, and look after Brother Fir,” said Hope, “because that’s what I do. Is Mum safe?”

“She went underground to a burrow,” said Needle. “She was going to join your sister.”

“So we go to the defense of the tower,” said Urchin. “Report to the king. He’ll want to send search parties for Catkin.”

“I’ll lead the way, if you don’t mind, Urchin,” said Todd. “I know the networks at least as well as anyone just now. There’s animals being shunted around all over the place, so it’s important not to block the tunnels.”

“It’ll be all right, Urchin,” said Hope, as if he could sense Urchin’s disquiet. But for Urchin, ready to thrash his way through to the tower however he could, it would be a wretched arrival.

Against the first wave of birds to fly through the tower windows, Crispin, Russet, and the rest of the defenders battled on. But three by three, then four by four the birds flew in, wheeling about them. Cedar had run to the help of the warriors in the Throne Room, where they fought desperately, seeing no end to the flapping black wings. The strongest of the doors were barricaded, and at the Spring Gate Padra and Fingal fought back-to-back, yelling encouragement to each other and defiance to the ravens.

“Fly, all of you!” cried the queen, but perhaps the warriors around her didn’t hear her because the ravens seized her by the neck and pinned her to the ground. As the sword was dashed from her paw, she shrieked.

“Fly!” yelled Padra as he and Fingal fought their way backward through the entrance, slamming doors behind them, kicking over water jars, pushing stones into tunnels, anything that would make the entrances too narrow for the ravens. “Did you hear, Fingal? Fly!”

Fingal caught his breath. He tried to say that he wasn’t leaving Padra, but as long as he wielded his sword, there was no strength left for speech.