It was an hour past dawn. The gale had passed on and the winds subsided; mist from the seas cloaked the western shoreline. Stiffener Medick, an old boxing hare, was just completing his daily exercise on the sands above the tideline. Though he was well on in seasons, Stiffener never neglected his daily routine. He had finished his dawn run, lifted stone and log weights, and was on to the final part of his duck and weave drill. Throwing a final few combination jabs into the mist, he retrieved his champion’s belt from a rock and began fastening it about his hard-muscled waist.

Stiffener’s scarred ears picked up an unfamiliar sound on the ebbing tide. Batting at his nose with a loose-clenched paw, he jogged down to the water. A narrow sailing boat, with its sail furled, was being rowed in by a dozen big rats, their fur dyed dark blue. A cloaked figure stood at its prow as it cut through the sea mist. The hare stood his ground, ready for trouble. As the keel scraped on the sand, the craft nosed up onto the beach. Shipping their oars, the rats silently piled out and threw themselves prone upon the wet sand. Without a glance at them, the gowned and cowled figure used them as a bridge to reach dry land without wetting its elegantly shod footpaws, treading carelessly upon their upturned backs.

Stiffener nodded toward the newcomer aggressively. “Ahoy there, mate, who are ye an’ what do ye want ’ere?”

One of the rats arose and walked over to face Stiffener. He was a big, evil-looking creature, clad in armor under a tabard embroidered with a sickle hook insignia. The rat’s voice was heavy with contempt as he addressed the old boxing hare.

“Koyah! Creatures of the lower orders are not allowed to speak with the Grand Fragorl. Kneel before her and stay silent until I address ye further!”

Stiffener smiled dangerously at the armored rat. “I think you’d better kneel t’me, laddie buck. A lesson in good manners wouldn’t go amiss in your case.”

A smart whack to the jaw caused the rat to totter groggily. Stiffener clubbed down with his left paw on the rat’s shoulder, forcing him into a kneeling position. Suddenly the boxing hare found himself hemmed in on all sides by the swords of the other rats. One of them looked toward the hooded figure, who made a few gestures with its shrouded paws. The rat turned back to Stiffener and spoke.

“Nobeast ever raises paw to the Chosen Ones and lives. You are fortunate that the Grand Fragorl has spared your miserable life, for she wishes to deliver a message to your chief, he who rules the mountain. You will take us to him.”

Stiffener was not about to argue with twelve blades. He nodded to the cloaked figure, speaking as he turned to go. “Y’best foller me, marm. I’ll take ye to Lord Stonepaw, though I doubt he’ll offer yer breakfast if’n yore bound to keep actin’ all ’igh an’ mighty.”

*

Stonepaw was back in his living quarters when Fleetscut ambled in without knocking, as usual. Turning from the fogbound view at his window, the old badger raised his hoary eyebrows at the absence of a trolley. “No breakfast today? Has Blench overslept?”

Grave-faced, the ancient servant bowed stiffly. “I think the trouble we were talkin’ about has finally arrived, m’lud. Somebeast t’see you down at the shore entrance. You’d best get dressed for company.”

Wordlessly, Stonepaw allowed his retainer to select a flowing green robe from the closet. When the Badger Lord had shrugged out of his nightgown, Fleetscut climbed on a chair and assisted his master to get into the robe.

“Hmm. I’ll get your red belt to go with that, an’ maybe a war helmet an’ javelin.”

Stonepaw ignored Fleetscut’s selection. “Bring my white cord girdle. No helmet, it keeps slipping over my eyes. There’s no need of a javelin, either.” Picking up a long ceremonial mace, the badger surveyed himself in a long copper mirror. “Get Stiffener, Bungworthy, Sailears and Trobee. They can accompany me.”

*

Now that dawnlight was clearer and the mist had begun to disperse, one or two of the old hares watching from vantage windows in the mountain remarked on the curious appearance of the rats and their cloaked leader below, at the mountain’s main entrance.

“Stap m’whiskers, they’re blue!”

“Must be somethin’ wrong with your eyes, old chap. Whoever heard o’ blue rats?”

“I know, but, look, their fur is a sort o’ darkish blue. Can’t tell what the dickens color that one with the cloak on is. Sinister-lookin’ bod, wot?”

Blench the cook took a final look before going off to supervise breakfast with her kitchen helpers. “Pink, blue or rainbow-colored, that lot down there look like trouble, you mark my words!”

The heavily robed figure of the Grand Fragorl stood immobile and mysterious, but the rat who had challenged Stiffener paced up and down impatiently. He was obviously some type of officer. After a lengthy while, Lord Stonepaw and his retinue of four hares, all carrying javelins, appeared. The spokesrat swaggered forward. Toying arrogantly with his sword hilt, he looked Stonepaw up and down.

“Are you the one in charge here? Speak!”

Lord Stonepaw brushed past him as if he were not there, and pointed a great gnarled paw at the cloaked one. “Who are you and why do you trespass upon the western shore with armed soldiers?”

Removing the cowl of her cloak, the hooded one revealed herself. She was a blue-furred ferret wearing a nose ring, from which hung a gold sickle hook amulet. Her voice carried with it the haughty tone of one used to being obeyed.

“I am Grand Fragorl to Ungatt Trunn, Ruler of the Earth. You are one of the inferior species, but he has given me permission to deliver his message to you.”

Feeling his hackles begin to rise, the Badger Lord growled, “Inferior species, eh? Stand here talking like that to me, vermin, and you’ll be crabmeat before the mist lifts fully. Aye, and your rats, too. If you have something to say, then spit it out and begone while I’m still in a reasonable mood. So, speak your piece now!”

Drawing a scroll from her robe, the ferret read aloud: “Be it known to all creatures of lowly order, the days of Ungatt Trunn are here. All of these lands and the seas that skirt them are from hereon in his property. You have until nightfall to vacate this place. You must take nothing with you, neither victuals nor weapons. You will also leave behind you any serving beasts who are of use. This is the will and the law of Ungatt Trunn, he who holds the power to make the stars fall from the sky and the earth to tremble. Obey or die!”

Stiffener Medick raised his javelin. “Just say the word, m’lud, an’ we’ll give ’em blood’n’vinegar. Us lower orders are pretty good at things like that, y’know!”

Stonepaw touched Stiffener’s javelin so that it pointed down to the sand. He heaved a sigh of resignation as he replied to the Grand Fragorl.

“Deliver this message back to whatever lunatic scum you serve. Tell him that Lord Stonepaw of Salamandastron is accustomed to the blowing of windbags, as your master will find to his cost if he dares to land here. Now get out of my sight and take those blue-painted idiots with you!”

Wordlessly the ferret and her soldiers retreated to their boat and rowed off into the mists.

Sailears, a garrulous old female warrior, twirled her lance nonchalantly. “Nice little parlay, wot. Well, is that it?”

Shaking his grizzled old head, Stonepaw turned and stumped back into his beloved mountain. “I wish it was, friend. I wish it was!” Gvtt1qQeO5TgCfhaZORorWcC3+vRNoObaXLSMY6+dxUDf72jhe3j3pbnhO4eZ296