Urchin and the Raven War (19 page)

With his back against the earth wall of the burrow, Urchin listened and waited. He was still guarded by four ravens, all with the silvered talons that seemed to indicate the most important birds. He had tried, very subtly and gradually, to raise his wrists to his face and bite the ropes, but the ravens had been alert to every movement, and now his arms were pinioned to his sides. The best thing would be to stay very still and hope they would forget to watch him so carefully.

A rough squawking above made the guards look up. Wings flapped, loose earth showered down, followed by a big gray raven that dropped heavily into the burrow. The sight of tufts of red fur in his beak made Urchin’s stomach contract.

“Kill and devour, Oh Silver Prince!” cried the guards, bowing their heads.

So this was the great Silver Prince. As far as Urchin could see, he wasn’t silver and he wasn’t much of a prince. With a look of conceited stupidity, the bird spat fur from its beak.

“A triumph!” he croaked. “Kill and devour! You missed my triumph. I will do something new now. Watch me!”

Urchin stayed very still and kept his gaze on the ground. If the Silver Prince wanted to impress them, he was in more danger than ever.

There was something Brother Fir used to say—
Think. Nobody is here
to do your thinking for you.
Struggling had become pointless and there seemed no chance of rescue, but he could still think. What would Padra have told him?—
Know the territory.
Not just the land, but everything—the creatures around him and the circumstances. And what could he tell himself? Had he learned anything when he had been a prisoner on Whitewings?

Now that he came to think of it, those animals on Whitewings had done a lot of bickering among themselves, and it had always come as a relief when they did that. When they were fighting among themselves, they had left him alone.

He listened carefully to the harsh raven voices. Why should the Mistmantle animals fight them, if he could make them fight each other?

The Silver Prince cackled and turned on Urchin. “I am hungry!” he croaked. “Where are the young?”

“You don’t expect me to know that, do you?” said Urchin calmly.

With a shriek of rage the Silver Prince lurched at him, but the two guards pulled him away.

“The Taloness wants him kept,” they said.

“Kill and devour,” muttered the Silver Prince crossly, like a bad-tempered child.

“We should get up to ground,” said one of the ravens. “Need orders. Find food.”

“Any orders from the Taloness?” asked another.

Two things were becoming clear to Urchin. One was that the Silver Prince was so stupid it was almost a shame to trick him. The other was that he could use the prince’s pride and stupidity against him. It was a terrible risk, when the ravens could so easily kill him just for speaking; but for the sake of the island, it was worth it.

“Excuse me,” he said, “who gives your orders?”

“Taloness,” said the birds—but the Silver Prince leered over them in a way that made them twitch their heads and rustle their feathers.

“The Taloness does my orders!” he snapped.

“Does she?” asked Urchin quietly. And now he’ll decide to give his own orders, he thought. And the first one will be my execution. But I have to take the risk.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Do you like being belowground, in tunnels? You are the Great Silver Prince of Destiny. How can anyone give
you
orders?”

The Silver Prince spread his wings, blinked, and planted his feet apart, looking to Urchin like a fat indignant pigeon. The other ravens stood absolutely still and silent, their heads bowed. Slowly, lifting his talons very carefully and deliberately, he strutted to Urchin.

Urchin lowered his gaze and hoped death would be quick. If he had encouraged the ravens to fight against each other, Mistmantle might have a chance.
Heart receive me.

Caw, crraaw, craaaw!
A searing croak of triumph filled the burrow as the Silver Prince turned to the other ravens. In a moment of wonderful joy, Urchin found he was still alive and unhurt, and could breathe freely again.

“I am the Silver Prince of Destiny!” cawed the raven. “I will show you what I can do! I am the one you waited for! I am the son of the Archraven! Come with me!”

A raven stepped forward. “Two of us will come with you, sir,” it said. “In your wisdom, please permit two to guard the captive.”

“Two of you!” he cried, “Guard the tree-rat! The rest, come with me! And do not speak to me of the Taloness!”

The Silver Prince inclined his head and led the way from the tunnel. Urchin leaned back against the earth wall and sighed quietly with relief. The Silver Prince had halved the guard for him, and the ravens had been awake all night. That was better—but what had he done in encouraging the Silver Prince to fly free? Sent him in search of some defenseless little animal to bully? But if the ravens could be encouraged to attack each other, they wouldn’t be hurting Mistmantle animals at the same time.

He wriggled his arm to see the bracelet, true and clear on his wrist. Somewhere, stored in his heart, were all the bright days he had ever known, all the love ever shown to him, all the joy he had ever felt. It was all there, still inside him. And he knew that somewhere in and beyond the beating of his own heart was the Heart that broke with love for Mistmantle, and was beating still, and always would.

He didn’t know whether he would survive this. But he knew that the power that gives life and freedom would live, and the power to kill and devour would destroy itself.

The Gathering Chamber was darkened by the boarded-up windows. Crispin gave final orders to the animals of the Circle, who stood about him, bloodstained, disheveled, and keen-eyed. From all parts of the tower came the steady tapping of hammers as carpenters narrowed doorways.

“Beg Your Majesty’s pardon,” said Docken, “but the ravens will tear down the woodwork.”

“Eventually they will,” said Crispin. “But it’ll hold them off for a while. We’ll make it as hard for them as we possibly can. Twigg has some exceptionally solid wood, so with any luck they’ll break their beaks on it.”

They laughed nervously. Crispin smiled and went on.

“If the tower falls, you are to leave it by any tunnel, any window, any way that you can find to escape safely. Just go. Get to the coves and shores, ready to evacuate the island if you have to. If you can’t get out, move underground.”

The animals glanced sideways at each other. Nobody liked to ask the question. Finally, Mother Huggen did.

“And if we are all running away through tunnels, Your Majesty—and I personally don’t expect to run fast, and there’s not so many tunnels I can get through these days—where will you be?”

Crispin smiled. “I will be here, Mother Huggen,” he said.

“Then so should we be, sir,” said Russet.

“You animals are what matters,” said Crispin. “Not the tower, and not me. Get out, continue your fight for the animals of Mistmantle. The tower can fall, I can die, but as long as Mistmantle has animals like you, it will go on. We will all groom our fur with anything—vinegar, mustard, ginger, lemon—anything that they won’t like. If we die, at least we won’t feed them. Animals of the Circle, spend this evening with those you love the best. If your children are in the Mole Palace, Arran will escort you there.”

“I thought we were moving the children out of there, sir,” said Russet.

“Little by little, yes,” said Crispin. “But only as soon as the other burrows are made ready and safe. And it will be guarded. Heart keep you all.”

The animals bowed and seemed reluctant to leave. Then Moth took Crispin’s paw. “Heart keep you, Your Majesty,” she said, and slipped over to Cedar. “And
Your
Majesty.”

Each animal bowed and shook paws with the king and queen, each with a blessing or a promise of great efforts in the battle to come. When everyone else had left, Padra stepped forward, bowed, and, ignoring Crispin’s outstretched paws, knelt before him.

“You’re my king,” he said, “and you’re my oldest friend. That doesn’t give me the right to disobey orders, but I can ask you to reconsider.” He looked up into Crispin’s face. “Don’t order me to leave the tower. I’ll get Arran and Fingal out, but let me stay.”

“We need captains of your caliber,” said Crispin, “and I mean alive, not dead in the tower. Get up off the floor, Padra.”

Padra rose, smiling as usual, but sorrow was in his eyes. “Fingal’s shaping up,” he said, “and I trained Urchin. I think he’s managed to learn a few things. Oh, and,” he added innocently, “I suppose the queen will leave the tower too?”

Cedar laughed.

“Nice to hear you laughing again, Cedar,” said Padra.

“I stay,” said Cedar. “I don’t suppose the king will lock me in a cell for disobeying orders.”

“Would you put me in a cell, Crispin?” asked Padra. “Shall I disobey orders and find out?”

“Oh, stay if you must, Padra,” said Crispin, and his heart felt lighter for it. “Sharpen your sword.”

“I intended to stay anyway”—Padra smiled—“but it’s good to have permission.”

The taunting began first. The Taloness and her armies circled the island, screeching their battle cry. They wheeled in toward the tower and swerved away, swooped, ripped at the turf and the island’s crops, and rose again.

“Stand firm,” said Crispin on the battlements.

“Stand firm,” said Padra and Fingal inside the Spring Gate.

“Stand firm,” said Captain Docken at the main gate.

“Stand firm,” said rows of moles to each other.

Oh, Heart help us,
thought Queen Cedar as the birds wheeled nearer. They were close enough now for her to see their beaks. They had been sharpened like daggers and carved to be jagged.

The birds ringed the island. The Taloness threw back her head and cawed. Then the circle of birds drew in, blacker and tighter, rushing toward the tower, so many and so fast that there would be no point in trying to fight from outside. There was one burst of arrows from the walls, then Crispin, Cedar, and the archers dived under trapdoors for cover.

“Every window!” yelled Crispin. “Every door, every corridor, every tunnel!”

In the dark Gathering Chamber, the walls were bare. Precious Threadings had been taken down, rolled up, and hidden.

“Russet!” Crispin called. “Arran! Set archers at their places!”

The ravens would attempt to break the glass and tear down the wood. Archers would be ready to shoot at anything that broke through. Defenders ran to the Gathering Chamber, and Crispin put a paw across the shoulder of a young mole.

“It’s a bad year for vermin,” he said. “Ready to show them what we can do?”

In the workrooms, Thripple and Needle had invented their own defenses and set them in place. Heaving enormous skeins and cones of wool, they had crisscrossed a web around door handles, looms, hooks, anything that could be used to trap the birds, if they were to break through the windows. The workrooms should, they agreed, be as safe as anywhere. The windows where animals would sit to sew in a good light had been boarded up and protected with more woven mesh. The storerooms where threads and clothes were stored were windowless, because light would fade them. Needle had asked Crackle to take refuge with them, but Crackle would not leave her kitchen.