Chappy shared the cow's mirth and stared fixedly at the implacable Grand Matriarch. ‘I'm going to enjoy this,’ he chuckled mischievously.

  * * * *

  'Everyone is in place, your Bigness.'

  Rexus nodded perfunctorily at Orn. The king had moved his motley army to the edge of the forest in readiness for the attack. The slobbering Killjaws stood about six or seven paces back from the trees, taut and wound like living springs.

  'This waiting is tedious,’ Tank bitched. He was in his customary position alongside the tyrant in his capacity as Advisor and plainly feeling the strain of the enforced pause. It seemed the Clubtail was not above emotion after all.

  'Have patience,’ counselled Rexus. ‘My warriors need to be coaxed to perform to their utmost abilities. The Thunderfeet significantly outnumber and outweigh us, so in order to overcome those disadvantages I've got to have the troops thirsting mindlessly for blood. Prolonging their wait will make them even hungrier for killing.'

  'There is such a fault as over-preparation,’ cautioned Tank.

  'I thought you are here to observe, not criticise.

  'Old habits die hard.'

  'Balticea won't have a hard time dying today,’ Rexus promised. He was busily scanning the plains firsthand when an unplanned opportunity presented itself. ‘Orn, go tell Madcow there's a change in plans.'

  'Right away, Your Vileness.’ The Fastclaw made to spring away when a bark from Rexus pulled him up short.

  'Shouldn't you wait for me to tell you just what that change is?’ the monarch asked in a dangerously sweet voice.

  'That would be helpful,’ admitted Orn.

  'I'm glad you think so. Inform her that she is to personally kill the Duckbill talking with the Grand Matriarch's heir at this very moment.'

  The king's messenger flitted over to the timberline and peered out through a gap in the underbrush at Bronte and Chappy. ‘The flat-nose with the white splotch on his head?'

  'That's the one. Impress upon Madcow I want that bull deader than yesterday's carrion. Tell her that I'll view it as a personal favour.'

  'What are you up to?’ Tank asked Rexus as the Fastclaw took off.

  'Getting rid of two ticks with one scratch,’ the Killjaw king gloated.

  Tank's stony face betrayed nothing, but his eyes flashed intrigue. Whatever deviousness Rexus was keeping to himself, the Advisor was going to set his deductive powers of reasoning on to uncovering that plot as soon as this battle was over and done with.

  The musing king waved Festur over with a pathetically small forearm. ‘Captain, ready your troops. I've got a hunch things are going to get lively soon.'

  'At once, Sire,’ Festur said obediently.

  'One thing more, Festur. Spread the word that Balticea is for my jaws alone. If the Grand Matriarch falls to any Killjaw other than me, woe betide the culprit.'

  The captaining carnosaur nodded and left.

  Returning with a look of amusement on his beaked face, Orn boldly reported, ‘The she-Killjaw says the Duckbill is as good as eaten—on one condition.'

  Rexus was affronted. ‘Condition? I'm king, dammit! I don't bargain with any of my subjects.'

  'Only those smarter or more deranged than yourself,’ contradicted Tank.

  'Good point,’ murmured the despot. ‘Ah, I assume Madcow told you her demand, Orn.'

  'That she did, My Kingliness. It's a beauty.

  Rexus gulped. His pet Fastclaw was milking this for all it was worth. ‘Let me have it.'

  'Madcow expects you to be her very first suitor come mating time.'

  The tyrant-king blanched at that injurious prospect.

  * * * *

  'Is that him?’ Chappy said of the approaching Thunderfoot bull.

  Sidling up to Bronte, Darved asked her, ‘This is Chappy?'

  The cow sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. This promised to be fun.

  Inflating his nose sac to make himself look more prominent, Chappy began strutting about under the pretence of exercising out a cramp in his leg. There was no doubt he was checking Darved over while competing for Bronte's companionship. Darved naturally took exception and edged nearer to his mate to flaunt their closeness.

  'Bulls!’ Bronte mouthed indignantly. Flattered though she was at being the centre of attention, there was absolutely no call for this ridiculous male posturing. ‘I suppose you're wanting to compare the lengths of your...'

  'Bronte!’ exclaimed a shocked Darved.

  Chappy glanced quickly down and boasted, ‘No contest really.'

  ’ ... tails!’ Bronte completed her sentence.

  Darved gave a smug rumble and flexed his whippy tail triumphantly.

  'Ah, but can he make a noise like a Honker?’ Chappy whispered superiorly to Bronte.

  The chance to further the clash of bullish egos vanished when Balticea, Bodiah, and Kahla ambled up to join the ménage a trois. Bronte noticed Florella watching discreetly from a distance and her defunct foster mother gave her a wink of encouragement.

  'Good to see you, Balticea,’ Chappy lied. ‘It's been quite a while since we talked.'

  'Not long enough,’ the Grand Matriarch said acidly. In the eight years they had known of one another the Thunderfoot chieftain and Duckbill scallywag had exchanged no more than a dozen or so words, none of them pleasant.

  'Is he the one we've come to see off?’ Bodiah spat in a contemptuous tone.

  Chappy gave the lesser matriarch a glance of disdain. ‘Did she go to the same charm nursery as you, Balty?'

  Darved bristled. ‘That's my mother you're insulting.'

  'I'm sorry for you.'

  'Just because you're Bronte's friend doesn't give the right to be disrespectful to either matriarch,’ chastised the bull.

  Bronte intervened. She wanted the two bulls in her life to be friends, but this was turning horribly bad. ‘We're getting sidetracked, grandmother. I think Kahla has some explaining to do.'

  'About what, cousin?’ Kahla retorted.

  'You assured us all that Chappy was going to be in the swamp this morning. You were very specific. A dare was it not? Maybe you'd like to hazard a guess at why he wasn't where you claimed he would be.'

  'I'd like to hear that explanation, Kahla,’ Balticea said in a frosty voice.

  'He obviously chickened out of the dare, aunty.'

  'Bronte has not misjudged things. You seemed unwaveringly certain of his locale before.'

  Kahla began to grow panicky. Where were those behindhand Killjaw assassins? ‘You know how flighty Duckbills can be, Grand Matriarch,’ she stammered unconvincingly.

  A suspicion formed in Balticea's mind. ‘Why are you so uptight, Kahla? Something's amiss here...'

  'Do you smell that?’ her niece unexpectedly asked. Backed into a dead-end canyon, she had to force her way out before the walls caved in on her.

  'Smell what?’ queried the puzzled old cow.

  'All I can get a whiff of is the stench of that swamp,’ Bodiah grumbled. ‘Darved, your nose is younger and keener than mine: what can you scent?'

  Desperate to escape, Kahla cemented her doom before Darved could give his opinion by trumpeting, ‘Killjaws! I smell Killjaws!'

  'They've gotten wind of us!’ a hate-filled voice bellowed from the trees. ‘Righto, Killjaws—CHAAARGE!'

  Kahla's relief turned into shock then horror at the sight of the Killjaw army pouring out of the forest in two separate waves. She was expecting a pair of hunters to ambush and slay her unsuspecting aunt and cousin, not an entire horde. In that fateful instant the traitor knew that she had damned, not only her kinfolk, but herself to boot. She froze in disbelief and stared unseeing as the charging hunters fanned out in their flanking attack growling and snarling frighteningly.

  Balticea was also immobile, if only for a split second. The moment the Grand Matriarch caught sight of the Killjaw king marching from the timberline roaring orders at the forefront of a third squad, which oddly slowed to a halt once outside the wood, she was galvanised into action. ‘Bodiah, see to your herd's defence,’ the aged leader smartly instructed her counterpart as she ambled in retreat. The others followed, with the exception of the petrified Judas.

  'Darved, I need you with me,’ ordered the southern matriarch.

  'Mother, my place is with Bronte.'

  'Your mate will be protected by her own. You've got to aid me is organising our band's resistance.'

  'I won't leave her side.'

  Balticea shouldered Darved away from her granddaughter. ‘Now is not the time for either heroics or a family spat. Do as Bodiah bids without any argument.'

  Darved was undecided until he glanced furtively behind. The rapidly advancing Killjaws, getting up to their twenty mile per hour dash speed, were less than a Thunderfoot length away from Kahla.

  'I'll be fine,’ Bronte reassured him. ‘Go and help your mother. I'll catch up with you later.'

  'Watch your rump, my love,’ the bull said before reluctantly withdrawing.

  Bronte was about to return the parting sentiment when a roar of unbridled delight made her wheel about. The first of the charging meat-eaters had reached Kahla. It was only fitting that the betrayer be the first Thunderfoot to die on this day of infamy. Festur exhorted the sole Killjaw giant under his command (other than the Prince Regent, who was only allowed to join the fight proper when the odds changed more in the attackers’ favour) to deal with his assigned target. At the same time his two dwarf brethren skirted the numbed cow to sprint after other Thunderfeet quarry. Kahla did not even attempt to flee or squeal in pain when the monster hunter slammed into her flank and began tearing fleshy chunks off her stock-still body, devouring her alive.

  'Don't feed, just kill,’ reprimanded the Killjaw Captain. ‘There'll be time enough to feast when the battle's won.'

  The Killjaw making a meal of Kahla ignored the command and tore further into the frozen cow, her folds of torso skin rippling from the shockwaves of each mammoth bite taken. Seeking jaws closed about her exposed ribcage and the immense crushing power of the world's champion predator snapped the giant curved bones, a jagged end from one of the splintered ribs spearing Kahla's black heart. She shuddered one more time before thumping to the ground deader than a fossil. For all her size and intelligence, her desires and scheming, the Thunderfoot craving power over even family succumbed to the simplest urge of all, hunger. Losing interest in the dead snack bar, the Killjaw moved on. While eating was fun, hunters lived for the kill and there were plenty more victims out there to sharpen teeth on.

  Sickened by the grisly sight, Bronte turned back to Darved, only to see her bull already making his way toward the alarmed southern Thunderfeet further out onto the plain of ferns along with his bothered dam.

  'Bron, we've got to get outta here or we'll be joining Kahla,’ prompted Chappy.

  'The Duckbill's right,’ agreed Balticea. ‘Follow me and stay close. We'll be moving fast.'

  Bronte trailed after her ambling grandmother as she headed them for their wild-eyed herd. Chappy kept pace nervously behind, chaffing at the ludicrously sedate plodding of the supposedly hurrying behemoths.

  * * * *

  The Killjaw king roared heartily.

  Tank's strategy was working flawlessly. Festur's squad was leading the initial assault on the northern flank, causing mayhem as they wantonly mauled every Thunderfoot they encountered. Likewise Madcow and her unit were working their bloody way from the south, chomping and tearing at the luckless sauropods caught now in the squeezing pincer movement. Things were running exceptionally smoothly. Blocked by the mass of distressed Duckbills behind and the walls of fangs and talons closing in from either side, the bewildered Thunderfeet were ripe for the next stage in the Clubtail's schemed slaughter.

  The Adviser concurred. ‘Give the command to signal the launch of the last wave, Rexus.'

  'When I'm good and ready to,’ the imperious monarch decided with an irate snap of his jaws. This was his moment, not Tank's. After a suitable pause he barked, ‘One Claw—lead off!'

  Stumpy and his two fellows sped away from their king across the outskirts of Fernwalk, escorted by a pair of their smaller cousins, and started biting a swathe through the disorganised plant-eaters. Accompanied by his smug-snouted counsel, Rexus would follow after at his leisure through the ensuing confusion. The time for the crowning achievement of this battle had arrived and he fully intended to savour every second of it with enjoyable slowness. Long had the regent craved for this moment—he had a rendezvous with murder and Balticea was his date.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Grand Matriarch was sadly at a loss.

  Both her herd and world were crumbling about her and nothing she might come up with could prevent either. Any chance of mounting a coherent defense against the savagery of the biting Killjaws was dashed by the wave of terror swamping the Thunderfeet. Never before had they been the victims of such widespread and heartless butchering. Already a full third of the stunned behemoths lay either dead or dying from blood loss on the killing field Fernwalk had become, and the toll was mounting. She only prayed that Bodiah was faring better with her band, though in reality seriously doubted it. Thoughts of her peer caused the old cow to wonder too how Rosade was coping. The healer had been conversing with her southern counterpart at the onset of the massive ambush and was likely overwhelmed by the enormity of the bloodshed.

  'Rally to me!’ Balticea shouted to the dispirited Thunderfeet, desperation in her booming call.

  'You got something in mind?’ Bronte hurriedly asked her grandmother. She, the old cow and Chappy had determinedly made their way through the confused giants to stand indecisively at the back of the throng, hemmed in on three sides by terrified plant-eaters. The Killjaws were methodically chipping away at the flanks of the crowded Thunderfeet and had yet to reach the relative quiet of the centre.

  'Our only chance at getting out of this fiasco alive,’ replied the aged leader, ‘is if I can herd the survivors together. By doing that we can thunder our way to freedom through these blasted flat-noses.'

  Chappy blinked incredulously. ‘You'll trample innocent Duckbills!'

  Balticea hardened her heart. ‘It's them or us,’ she coldly pronounced.

  'Over my dead body!’ he declared.

  'I'll happily oblige,’ intruded a threatening voice. Madcow loped into the picture, blood and saliva dripping disgustingly from her maw.

  'Leave my friend be,’ Bronte warned with a swish of her tail.

  'Granddaughter, get behind me!’ hollered Balticea. ‘I'll not have you risk your life for that Duckbill.'

  'The old crone's right,’ chimed in the slavering she-Killjaw. ‘He's already carrion. You'll only be wasting your time and energy.'

  'My choice,’ the younger Thunderfoot cow muttered intrepidly, brazenly presenting her back to the huntress and swinging her tail wildly. The blow connected with a resounding thwack that sent Madcow lurching backwards.

  The reprobate huntress was strangely amused. ‘Is that your best, flat-foot? I've had love-bites that smart more than that.'

  Bronte faltered. She had given her best.

  'My turn,’ Madcow snarled, hurtling at Bronte with jaws agape.

  Her deadly lunge was blunted by Chappy's intervention. The unthinking bull honked once in challenge before darting into the path of the oncoming killer. The impact was predictably bone-crunching—Madcow's impetus drove her fangs deep into the selfless Duckbill's flank, her jaws locked vice-like, and she broke away with a sizable chunk of hide and flesh in her mouth. Chappy shuddered and toppled over on to his side, bleeding and shaking profusely. He had taken the full brunt of a death-bite.

  Balticea watched mortified the Killjaw wolfing down her morsel. Placing a clawed foot on the downed bull's trembling body, Madcow reached down and tore off his head with a savage twist of her terrible jaws. The fountain of blood that spurted from his headless corpse sprayed Bronte. The Grand Matriarch never approved of Chappy, but no plant-eater, even a flighty Duckbill, deserved such a ghastly demise.

  'Run north for your life with the Shieldhorns, Bronte, while you still can,’ she urged, brushing past her granddaughter, now staring in unbelief at her fallen companion, to engage the gargantuan murderess.

  'Why if it ain't grand ole Balticea herself,’ Madcow snarled eagerly, callously discarding Chappy's head with a toss of her own. It bounced onto the red-stained ferns with a sickening thud and rolled away to a stop at Bronte's feet. ‘Kingy wants you all to himself, only I despise sharing.'

  'My sentiments exactly,’ the Grand Matriarch rumbled ominously. ‘You're mine.’ The irony of her browbeating, despite the gravity of the situation, was not lost on the old-timer. Of all reptiles to avenge that odious flat-nose, it had to be her.

  * * * *

  A deafening bellow of frustration rent the air.

  The handful of disoriented Duckbills blocking the Killjaw King's path scuttled out of his way. Rexus half-heartedly snapped at the tail-end charlie of the group and missed, the retort of his empty jaws smacking closed hastening their flight. He was lusting after blood, but not theirs.

  The tactics of his adviser were working overly well. The cacophony of the screams of the injured and dying, harmonising with the gleeful roars of the attackers, converged with the pungency of spilt blood and fusty predator scents to impel the frightened Duckbills to stampede. The result was utter bedlam. Flat-noses were gushing every which way in a mindless scramble to get away from the noise and aroma of death. Instead of providing an impassable blockade to trap the Thunderfeet, the Duckbills had broken ranks and scattered willy-nilly to mingle with the leviathans and impede the advance of the raiders. The brutish push of the Killjaw army was being eroded into a slow crawl. Even One-Claw and his cohorts were finding it tough going to chomp a way through the obstructing two-legs.

  A dazed cow Duckbill bumped into King Rexus. He roared crankily at the offender and she promptly turned and fled, honking wildly. ‘Any suggestions to clearing this mess?’ the regent snapped at Tank.