Cries of indignation erupted from the pair of council members allied to Highrock ideology positioned left of Cragg.

  'The truth is made public at last,’ muttered Orridus.

  'Settle down, you two,’ Cragg admonished Clift and Revasse. ‘There are issues still to sort out.'

  'Malp has blatantly admitted to leading the rebels!’ exploded the chieftain of the Splitrock Clan. ‘That is tantamount to open treason, Cragg.'

  'Don't be so melodramatic. He's merely confirmed what we've suspected all along. Holding onto old beliefs can hardly be counted treasonous, merely retrograde.'

  Clift, after steadying himself, helped to calm their outraged associate. ‘We're giving Malp the satisfaction of unsettling us, lad. Pull yourself together. I realise you haven't held your chieftainship for long, but show that conniving bastard some of your da's mettle. He was no pushover.'

  Revasse instantly composed himself, copying the unruffled facade of his stone lectern. This was only his second season as clan chief after superseding his retired father. Though his inexperience often peeped through, the eager bull showed promise and Clift's voluntary mentoring helped immensely. He would not let the side down.

  'Shrok!’ Cragg said sharply to his son. ‘What did you do with that intruder last night?'

  'What any decent Bonehead should do to an invader,’ Shrok replied, picking up on Malp's clever ruse to lend credence to Regressionist doctrine.

  'You killed again!’ blasted Cragg, losing his cool.

  Malp put in his two pebbles worth. ‘Violence begets violence, brothers. This is what happens when you let one lowlander in. Others are bound to follow and before you know it there's a full scale invasion on our tails.’ Gesturing to the Thunderfoot and Treefur being judged, but including their Shieldhorn representative as well, he accused, ‘Are we going to stand idly by and lose our beloved valley to the ruinous likes of them?'

  'No!’ shouted Alvanch.

  'Stone the Outside!’ Grisure echoed.

  They broke into a chant, joined by Shrok in repeating the inciting slogan of their sect over and over again, slapping the tops of their individual black-stoned podiums with meaty hands in a counter beat to the chorus. The council sitting rapidly degenerated into a debacle.

  Cragg tried in vain to restore order. ‘Stop it! This is not a forum for your repugnant philosophising. We are supposed to make informed decisions, not prejudge the blameless.'

  It was useless. His plea fell on deaf ears.

  The frustrated clan chief shortly gave up waiting for the incessant rhythmic shouting to subside and yelled out, ‘Okay, Malp, you win! We'll vote.'

  The chanting instantly stopped and the Deciders filed quickly and silently from the plateau, leaving Hettinor standing alone at the back of the amphitheatre. The three from the lowlands also stood in awkward solitude.

  'That went well,’ Orridus observed snidely.

  Sick of biting his tongue, Alphie demanded, ‘Horn-head, where are they off to?'

  'To make their decision, of course,’ spelled out the hermit. ‘They'll retire to a small cave at the base of the valley wall behind Stonejudge and take their vote in private. We wait here in the meantime.'

  'Unguarded?'

  Orridus looked slyly about as he rejoined his comrades. ‘Make no mistake, sentinels are posted in the rocks around us. They just haven't let themselves been seen.'

  The Treefur shuddered. He had seen firsthand Bonehead invisibility. ‘I hope we don't have too long a wait.'

  'You got a prior engagement?'

  Alphie squirmed uncomfortably. ‘I have to go to the little cub's bush.'

  'You should have gone earlier,’ chided Orridus, barely holding in his mirth.

  'I didn't have the urge before. Standing trial makes me nervous.'

  The old recluse decided to have a little fun to pass the time. ‘I wonder when it'll rain,’ he speculated.

  The thought of falling water upset the Treefur and he crossed his back legs.

  'Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,’ teased Orridus.

  'Cut it out, spike-nose, or I'll water your foot.'

  Bronte laughed at their repartee, ending her own terse silence.

  'It is good to see you cheery, Thunderfoot,’ her aged protector remarked.

  'I haven't a right to be, considering all that has befallen me.'

  'No one can begrudge you a moment of levity, my girl.'

  'Except that stone-faced associate of Cragg's,’ grouched Alphie, taking his mind off his bladder. ‘I've taken an instant dislike to that one.'

  'He staged that whole meeting, you know.'

  'Who are you talking about, Orridus?’ frowned Bronte.

  'Malp did. Played me for a fool right from the start.'

  'He lied about Shrok.'

  The Shieldhorn questioned Alphie with a wondering look.

  'Cragg's miscreant cub didn't take care of the trespassing Nightclaw,’ revealed the Treefur. ‘I did.'

  'What did you say?'

  'I'm not one to boast, horn-face, but you should have seen me tackle that blue devil. I was absolutely...'

  'What was a lone Nightclaw doing infiltrating this valley?’ Orridus wondered aloud. He got his answer when he looked upon the refugee Thunderfoot.

  Espionage.

  'Do you want to hear about my exploit or not?’ huffed Alphie.

  The Shieldhorn started to ruminate. ‘Maybe later, whiskers,’ he said somewhat absently. ‘Right at this moment I've got bigger ferns to munch.'

  'What's the worse the Deciders can do to us?’ Bronte was prompted to ask as Hettinor wandered over to join them.

  Orridus became annoyingly flippant. ‘Probably nothing severer than a stern lecture.'

  'So this Shrok isn't guilty of anything more heinous than boring wayward lowlanders, such as myself, to death with a tongue lashing.'

  The hermit gasped. This cow was a quick learner. ‘Shrok is only a danger to himself.'

  'Cragg doesn't seem to think so.'

  The cagey oldster grew edgy. ‘Where are those blasted Deciders?'

  'Stop being evasive, Orridus. I can't stand the truth being kept from me.'

  'Everyone has secrets, Bronte,’ retorted the crusty bull, his tone both defensive and accusatory. Noticing the healer's return, he said to her, ‘You'd better tell the Thunderfoot the whole sordid story behind Shrok's behaviour.'

  Hettinor conveyed concern. ‘Is that wise?'

  The Shieldhorn shrugged with an indifferent swish of his tail. ‘I doubt it, but she wants to know anyway.'

  The Bonehead cow yielded and began. ‘My son has always been a headstrong lad.'

  'Hothead is nearer the mark.'

  'Am I telling this story, Orry, or you?'

  'Carry on.'

  'As I was saying, Shrok has been a bit of a handful ever since he was a hatchling. A few seasons back he was in charge of the sentries guarding Thunder Passage one dark, stormy night. A lowlander, lost and disoriented by the driving rain, happened upon the secret tunnel and somehow made it through into Concealed Valley. There was a short chase and scuffle.'

  'What took place next?’ insisted Bronte, guessing the horror of the forthcoming answer.'

  'She was stoned to death by the sentries at Shrok's behest.'

  Shock nonetheless registered on the Thunderfoot's snout. To be killed for food is one thing—a natural, if unpleasant, fact in the scheme of things. Killing in self-defence is also understandable when fighting off an attacking predator. But to intentionally gang up on a lone trespasser was murder!

  'What sort of lizard was it?’ she asked in a choked voice.

  Orridus supplied that detail. ‘From the description given me by Cragg, the luckless victim sounded like a Stoneback.'

  Bronte cringed. The crime was even more reprehensible than first imagined. Stonebacks were the shyest, most pacifistic of all reptiles living in the nurturing Mother Forest. It was indeed a tragedy. She glared at Hettinor. ‘I assume Shrok was punished.'

  'His da immediately relieved him of his authority and placed him on indefinite suspension.'

  'That accounts for their exchange at our reception,’ Alphie commented to Orridus.

  Bronte was unsatisfied. ‘Nothing more was done to him? He was party to a murder, Hettinor.'

  'Neither Cragg nor myself condoned Shrok's actions, Bronnie, but he's our son and heir to the Highrock chieftainship. He only acted according to custom.'

  'What sort of justification is that?'

  'One based on heritage,’ butted in Orridus. ‘Stoning was the way Boneheads used to defend themselves against predators. Old habits stay with you, even after moving lands.'

  'Plant-eaters don't kill plant-eaters, whatever the reason,’ Bronte said in condemnation.

  'You don't know my herd,’ mumbled the Shieldhorn.

  Alphie's ears twitched. The hermit's slip of the tongue was the first snippet of information regarding his personal history the Treefur had so far heard from him.

  Bronte refused to let go of the stoning issue. ‘Can we expect similar treatment if the council rules unfavourably on our case?’ she bluntly asked Hettinor.

  'Heavens no, lass! We've come a long way since those barbaric days. That poor creature's horrible death was an isolated incident borne out of youthful exuberance. You know how bull-headed teenagers can get.’ The highland matron did not realise that the enormous cow was still one herself. ‘Peace is the cornerstone of Bonehead life, now that we live apart from those who would prey on us.'

  'What can we expect from the Deciders then?’ pushed the Thunderfoot.

  'I guess we'll find out right about now. Look,’ said Alphie.

  The Deciders were ambling back to their respective podiums out on the aptly named Stonejudge, their manner stoical.

  'Bronte of the Thunderfeet and Alphred of the Treefurs, approach and be judged,’ Cragg stiffly commanded after his peers settled themselves into place.

  'Go on,’ Orridus encouraged the hesitant pair. ‘Don't be afraid.'

  'That's easy for you to say,’ Bronte retorted, shoving past the hermit. ‘You're not facing wearing a rock overcoat.'

  Alphie shot him a likewise look and scampered after.

  Orridus searched the faces of the Bonehead judges for some clue to their decision and found to his dismay nothing readable. Malp and Cragg looked equally phlegmatic. Their verdict was to be a surprise for all.

  Cragg addressed the expectant Treefur first. ‘Alphred, you are to be released at your earliest convenience. Whenever you wish, you're free to go.'

  The marsupial blinked ditheringly, unsure if he should squeak for joy or sadness. He missed Mother Forest and his old life certainly, but had grown fond of Orridus and Bronte. The prospect of being without their company was actually distressing to him.

  Moving on, Cragg said, ‘Bronte, as for you...'

  Orridus strained to hear the sentence pronounced upon her.

  ’ ... you will never leave this vale for the remainder of your days. Judgement is thus passed.'

  Just then the rainy heavens opened up and the ensuing downpour washed away all sensibility from the dumbfounded Thunderfoot.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rain pelted the animals.

  Orridus liked the rain. The pattering of raindrops always seemed to soften an otherwise cynical world, freshening both the parched land and one's jaded perspective.

  'Horn-head, you are a conniving liar.'

  Well, almost always.

  The Shortfrill looked down between his forelegs. Alphie crouched underfoot sheltering from the deluge with a scowl wrinkling his whiskered nose, while about the hermit Bronte and Cragg quietly weathered the downpour in the copse of fir the Thunderfoot was guesting in. Hettinor was off somewhere on healing business.

  Orridus posed the inevitable question. ‘What have I lied to you about, short-stuff?'

  Dodging the water droplets cascading off the old bull's frilled head which splashed around him like moist shrapnel, the plainly upset Treefur snapped, ‘Bringing our longneck to this place. You said this'd be a haven for her. Instead it has become her prison. Deny that you didn't know any of this was going to happen.'

  'I had a fair idea of how things were going to turn out,’ Orridus owned up, ‘but I never lied. The Concealed Valley will provide a refuge for the Thunderfoot. You simply have to accept that every cave in a storm has a price that must be paid. Bronte's is her freedom.'

  'Would the pair of you mind not talking about me like I wasn't here?’ rumbled Bronte.

  'My apologies.'

  'I can't stay,’ she declared with egoistic abruptness.

  Orridus knocked her back. ‘You have no choice.'

  'I'm afraid he's right, lassie,’ Cragg said in agreement.

  'That figures, stone-face. The two of you have been in cahoots from the start.'

  The Highrock chieftain peered under Orridus's belly at the huffy marsupial. ‘We merely think alike, Alphred, and have ever had you and your companion's best interest at heart. The council's ruling is final, however.'

  'What happened in the voting cave?’ Orridus asked his friend.

  The return trip from Stonejudge had been walked in terse silence with each of the animals lost in their private thoughts.

  'It was a tied vote, the Regressionists versus my radicals. I had hoped to swing Fravell's ballot my way, but Malp had beaten me to him. He's always been easily led. Luckily, I coaxed him to side with me on the detention details.'

  'I don't follow,’ Bronte said.

  'Malp got his way in not setting you free. I was damned if I was going to let him best me again by having you walled up in some canyon and drip fed leaves for the duration of your stay. I managed to convince the rest of the Deciders you'll pose no danger roaming loose in the vale.'

  Bronte was speechless.

  Orridus nodded knowingly. ‘Malp always has had a warped imagination.'

  'Aye, and that was one of his tamer suggestions for Bronnie.'

  'Welcome to lizard heaven,’ Alphie muttered dryly. He had a perplexing thought. ‘Why am I to be released and Bronte isn't?'

  'You aren't considered a threat to highland security, laddie. The Deciders felt, myself not included, that no Outsider will pay any attention whatsoever to a crazed shrew babbling about “living ghosts", as opposed to a giant cow spouting of her adventure with the Boneheads to any scaled lowlander who'll listen to her tale.'

  Alphie thought it through. No matter where he went or what he did, he always wound up punished in some form or other for his smallness. It was life's chronic downside for all Treefurs.

  'Bronte's internment shouldn't bother you, whiskers,’ added Orridus. ‘After all, your plan was to escort her to a place of safeness and then be on your way. You've got your wish.'

  The Treefur felt decidedly unwanted.

  'I wouldn't tell anybody about this spot if I was to be let go,’ promised Bronte. Badly wanting out of this foreign land, she craved Darved.

  Cragg shook his head remorsefully. ‘I fought hard for you, lass, but I dinna dare go against a council decree. My peers judged you an unacceptable risk and I have to abide by majority rule.'

  'But the ghosts of the Uplands is such a great cover story,’ argued Alphie. ‘Who's going to believe that real lizards are living up here practicing bizarre stuff?'

  'The Deciders won't compromise the sanctity of our valley. You go. Bronte stays.’ Cragg comforted the distraught cow. ‘I did my best, Bronnie, and I'll do my utmost to make your time with us as pleasant as possible.'

  'I have to get back down to Mother Forest,’ she insisted.

  'That's not possible,’ reiterated the clan chief.

  'I've got unfinished business below.'

  'Could that involve a certain tail-less, bug-eyed stranger with a flashy white hide?’ Orridus casually slipped into the conversation.

  For the third time running this day Bronte was thunderstruck. ‘How ... ?'

  'It's the hottest topic on the woodland gossip line,’ revealed the hermit, ‘and I always keep an ear to the ground. I told you earlier that everyone harbours secrets.'

  She wanted to grill the Shieldhorn on what exactly he had heard concerning Gideon, but was put off doing so by the arrival of a messenger for the equally baffled Bonehead chief. Cragg took the whispered message and sent the winded runner away. ‘Orridus, you have a visitor.'

  'Oh, who?'

  'The feathered variety.'

  The hermit became agitated. ‘Where is he?'

  'Just landed on Flattop Ridge. You're fortunate the nitwit came down beside a group of hiking Highrockers. I'd hate explaining him to any of Malp's clan under the present circumstances.'

  Cragg's reproof fell on deaf ears.

  'Don't go anywhere,’ Orridus advised Bronte. ‘We'll need to talk further.'

  'Where can I go? I'm stuck here, thanks to you,’ she said bitterly.

  Orridus proceeded to leave the glade.

  'Oi! That's right, let the Treefur get soaked,’ Alphie squeaked, griping at losing his reptilian umbrella.

  The recluse kept moving.

  'I wish you would stop bringing in strays,’ Cragg shouted after his departing chum.

  'And let you enjoy a quiet life?’ Orridus called back. ‘Never. You'd die of boredom.’ He vanished into the teeming rain.

  Flattop Ridge stretched high atop the northern face of the escarpment and it took the elderly Shortfrill close to an hour to reach. Its name suggested a connection to Malp's Flatstone Clan, and indeed the plateau was situated on the fringe of their territory, hence Cragg's relief that the hermit's mystery caller had not been seen by any of the Regressionists. Orridus gained the summit of the ridgeline and paused to catch his breath on the short expanse of level bedrock in which a few hardy, stunted alpine bushes sprouted from fractures splitting its flat surface. On one side the vista of the Bonehead's basin lay shrouded under low-lying cloud, while on the other the edge of the table dropped away to the rain-lashed green rooftop of Mother Forest far below. To the north Redmount jutted from the forestland like a boil on the backside of the emerald terrain, festering and smoky.