'Stop, Thlayli! What are you doing here? Where are you going?'
Bigwig had been half-expecting Campion to appear and had made up his mind to kill him if necessary. But now that he actually saw him at his side, disregarding the storm and the mud, self-possessed as he led his patrol, no more than four strong, into the thick of a pack of desperate runaways, he could feel only what a pity it was that the two of them should be enemies and how much he would have liked to have taken Campion with him out of Efrafa.
'Go away,' he said. 'Don't try to stop us, Campion. I don't want to hurt you.'
He glanced to his other side. 'Blackavar, get the does to close up. If there are any stragglers the patrol will jump on them.'
'You'd do better to give in now,' said Campion, still running beside him. 'I shan't let you out of my sight, wherever you go. There's an escape patrol on the way - I heard the signal. When they get here you won't stand a chance. You're bleeding badly now.'
'Curse you!' cried Bigwig, striking at him. 'You'll bleed too, before I've done.'
'Can I fight him, sir?' said Blackavar. 'He won't beat me a second time.'
'No,' answered Bigwig, 'he's only trying to delay us. Keep running.'
'Thlayli!' cried Thethuthinnang suddenly, from behind him. 'The General! The General! Oh, what shall we do?'
Bigwig looked back. It was indeed a sight to strike terror into the bravest heart. Woundwort had come through the arch ahead of his followers and was running towards them by himself, snarling with fury. Behind him came the patrol. In one quick glance Bigwig recognized Chervil, Avens and Groundsel. With them were several more, including a heavy, savage-looking rabbit whom he guessed to be Vervain, the head of the Council police. It crossed his mind that if he were to run, immediately and alone, they would probably let him go as he had come, and feel glad to be so easily rid of him. Certainly the alternative was to be killed. At this moment Blackavar spoke.
'Never mind, sir,' he said. 'You did your very best and it nearly came off. We may even be able to kill one or two of them before it's finished. Some of these does can fight well when they're put to it.'
Bigwig rubbed his nose quickly against Blackavar's mutilated ear and sat back on his haunches as Woundwort came up to them.
'You dirty little beast,' said Woundwort. 'I hear you've attacked one of the Council police and broken his leg. We'll settle with you here. There's no need to take you back to Efrafa.'
'You crack-brained slave-driver,' answered Bigwig. 'I'd like to see you try.'
'All right,' said Woundwort, 'that's enough. Who have we got? Vervain, Campion, put him down. The rest of you, start getting these does back to the warren. The prisoner you can leave to me.'
'Frith sees you!' cried Bigwig.' You're not fit to be called a rabbit! May Frith blast you and your foul Owsla full of bullies!'
At that instant a dazzling claw of lightning streaked down the length of the sky. The hedge and the distant trees seemed to leap forward in the brilliance of the flash. Immediately upon it came the thunder; a high, tearing noise, as though some huge thing were being ripped to pieces close above, which deepened and turned to enormous blows of dissolution. Then the rain fell like a waterfall. In a few seconds the ground was covered with water and over it, to a height of inches, rose a haze formed of a myriad minute splashes. Stupefied with the shock, unable even to move, the sodden rabbits crouched inert, almost pinned to the earth by the rain.
A small voice spoke in Bigwig's mind.
'Your storm, Thlayli-rah. Use it.'
Gasping, he struggled up and pushed Blackavar with his foot.
'Come on,' he said, 'get hold of - Hyzenthlay. We're going.'
He shook his head, trying to blink the rain out of his eyes. Then it was no longer Blackavar who was crouching in front of him but Woundwort, drenched in mud and rain, glaring and scrabbling in the silt with his great claws.
'I'll kill you myself,' said Woundwort.
His long front teeth were bared like the fangs of a rat. Afraid, Bigwig watched him closely. He knew that Woundwort, with all the advantage of weight, would jump and try to close with him. He must try to avoid him and rely on his claws. He shifted his ground uneasily and felt himself slipping in the mud. Why did Woundwort not jump? Then he realized that Woundwort was no longer looking at him, but staring over his head at something beyond, something that he himself could not see. Suddenly, Woundwort leapt backwards and in the same moment, through the all-enveloping sound of the rain, there sounded a raucous clamour.
'Yark! Yark! Yark!'
Some big, white thing was striking at Woundwort, who was cowering and guarding his head as best he could. Then it was gone, sailing upwards and turning in the rain.
'Meester Pigvig, ees rabbits come!'
Sights and feelings swirled through Bigwig as though in a dream. The things
that were happening no longer seemed connected by anything except his own dazed senses. He heard Kehaar screaming as he dived again to attack Vervain. He felt the rain pouring cold into the open gash in his shoulder. Through the curtain of rain he glimpsed Woundwort dodging among his officers and urging them back into the ditch on the edge of the field. He saw Blackavar striking at Campion and Campion turning to run. Then someone beside him was saying, 'Hullo, Bigwig. Bigwig! Bigwig! What do you want us to do?' It was Silver.
'Where's Hazel?' he said.