The Island of Whispers by Brendan Gisby Page B

squeals of his colleagues. He wanted them to retreat to
the Inner Circle lair, but they seemed incapable of understanding
or acting.
    Wave after
wave of Scavengers leapt at the wall of Protectors. The Protectors
fought back fiercely. Before long, the ground outside the tunnel
was strewn with slave corpses, but the Scavengers continued to
surge forward; the flow of attackers was relentless, unstoppable.
Several Protectors fell back with as many as five or six slaves
clinging to each of them, biting, clawing, gouging at their eyes.
Other slaves rushed through the gaps in the wall, springing into
the open, immediately searching for new victims. Invariably, the
cries and wails of the Rulers drew their attention. The fat brown
ones were easy targets; so soft and juicy, so vulnerable. The
wailing grew louder as drooling Scavengers began to propel
themselves into the quivering mass on the platform.
    Twisted Foot
and Long Ears were swept along by the momentum of the rushing
slaves. They emerged from the tunnel, breathing hard, with little
time to take in the incredible noise and mayhem of the battle.
Slayer sped past them and sprang straight at the eyes of a
beleaguered Protector. The Protector screamed and stumbled
backwards. Reflex took over the Watchers’ actions. They slipped
through the space left by the Protector and then headed across the
Common lair.
    ‘ The tunnel!’ Twisted Foot shouted. ‘The escape
tunnel!’
    They raced
past the platform. There was a blurred glimpse of Long Snout,
towering above the rest, magnificent in his anger, a struggling
Scavenger trapped by the neck between his massive jaws. As they
rounded the platform, they caught sight of Small Face and the
others, pressed hard against the wall, staring terrified at the
squirming bodies just outside the entrance to the Protectors’ lair.
Twisted Foot recognised the burly shape of Fat One. His companion
was floundering on the ground, trying desperately to dislodge the
Scavenger on his back. Again, reflex dictated Twisted Foot’s
movements. He leapt into the fray, seized the Scavenger by the back
of the neck and bit hard. The Scavenger gasped and shuddered. There
was a horrifying, gurgling noise, and then hot blood spurted into
Twisted Foot’s mouth. He tossed the slave’s body to one side.
    Fat One
scrambled up.
    ‘ Back from the dead, comrade?’ he growled
affectionately.
    The others
pressed round Twisted Foot. Grey Eyes and Soft-Mover nuzzled into
him.
    ‘ Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Quickly!’
    Led by Fat
One, the group moved off into the tunnel. Twisted Foot and Long
Ears lingered at the back. They took a final look at the mounting
slaughter in the Common lair. The black torrent continued to gush
from the Scavengers’ dungeon. The Protectors had all but lost
control; snarling slaves were moving in on their mates and young
ones. Up on the platform, the squealing, obese body of the King-rat
toppled over as Slasher and Belcher tore greedily at his snow-white
throat.
    Sharp Claws
prowled anxiously outside the Watchers’ lair. Behind him, his
warriors were bunched round the entrance tunnel. Most of the
she-rats and youngsters were inside, safe for the time being. The
slaves would come soon, though. The Watchers would fight bravely,
but Sharp Claws knew that they would be quickly overwhelmed.
    The noise of
the battle was deafening, terrifying. His eyes scoured the Common
lair, searching for stragglers amongst the carnage. He glimpsed
Grey Eyes and her son as they fled into the Protectors’ lair. Then
he saw Long Ears, and Twisted Foot next to him. They were staring
at the platform, as if transfixed by the sight of the Inner Circle
in its death throes. Now they were turning, sprinting after Grey
Eyes.
    Escaping at
last, Sharp Claws said to himself. He was glad. Whatever perils
awaited them above ground could be no worse than down here. The
society was doomed, and he along with it. He had been its loyal
servant all this time; a true and faithful leader