'You're so stubborn, Hetti.'

  'Aye, but you won't say nay to me.'

  Cragg gave in without further argument. ‘Time to get this show on the path.'

  Alphie sprang from his tree branch like a high-board diver to land lightly on the back of Orridus and the oddball pair waited for Cragg to lead them off.

  'That's something you don't see everyday,’ Bronte murmured, falling into wobbly step behind the Shortfrill mount and jockey while the Bonehead chief marched resolutely from the copse of fir, Hettinor bringing up the rear.

  The Highrock patriarch took his unusual entourage around the back of the natural stone complex that was the Settlement, following a narrow track winding through the extensive forest of evergreens sprucing up the otherwise bland rockscape. The walkway climbed up out of the conifers, taking the animals closer to the escarpment before levelling out at the beginnings of a broad plateau. Hettinor made a point of making Cragg slow his pace to accommodate the still weak Thunderfoot.

  'I'm sorry to be introducing you to my home in such haste and on a day as dismal as this,’ he called back to Bronte. ‘Once you've settled in, I'll take you on a proper guided tour through the dale.'

  Bronte eyed the overcast heavens squalling from a pallid mix of airborne ash and swirling cloud with a strong sense of misgiving. ‘I don't plan on staying that long. I have somebody dear to find back home.'

  The conspiratorial look Cragg passed back to Orridus did not escape Alphie's attention. Something inimical was going down.

  'I've never before heard of Boneheads,’ expressed the Thunderfoot, at last finding her feet on the flat tableland as she plodded across the fresh powder left by the night's rain of ash, stirring up puffs of pallid dust in her wake.

  'That's unsurprising,’ Hettinor answered. ‘We like keeping to ourselves.'

  'I'll fill you in on their origins later,’ said Orridus. ‘Meantime, you and whiskers need a crash course on the workings of the Deciders. Cragg can give a run-down on council etiquette, but you'll get a quick introduction on highland governance from me. Being a lowlander myself I can readily put it in ways you can better understand.

  'Let me start off by saying that Bonehead rule is unduly complicated by lowland standards. Bronte, you especially will relate to the age-old concept of one herd, one leader. It's far different here in the high country. Boneheads—the highlanders—are one breed divided into several clans. Each clan boasts a hereditary leader, the resident chieftain, who is the boss of his mini-herd. He handles the day to day running of his personal band, much like one of your matriarchs.'

  'You make it sound like a breeze,’ quipped Cragg.

  'I appreciate that it's not,’ returned Orridus. ‘However, each individual chief is answerable to a collective of his peers, the Deciders. This council represents the grouped clans and makes the decisions that affect the highlands as a whole, as well as dishing out discipline and order to their own. It is they who will be reviewing your case today.'

  'A council.’ Bronte mouthed the word and concept, sounding confused. ‘So who has final say in decision making?'

  'Nobody,’ said Orridus.

  The cow refused to accept that. ‘There must be some head chieftain who acts as general Bonehead leader.'

  Cragg moved in to address her mystification. ‘I suppose you might say that I chair the council meetings, lass. My clan did lead the original exodus to the Concealed Valley, which means I hold a certain degree of prestige.'

  'Don't be so modest, Cragg. You are the unofficial chief of the chieftains.'

  'Says you, Orridus. My ancestry aside, we live by democratic rule here.'

  Bronte's bafflement deepened. ‘What's that?'

  'Council lingo for complicating matters,’ interpreted the sagely Shieldhorn. ‘The Deciders judge issues and resolve them by consensus. The majority vote wins.'

  'That's ludicrous!’ exclaimed the Thunderfoot. ‘How do they accomplish anything?'

  'Often with difficulty and a great deal of time wasted in debate,’ admitted Cragg. ‘Those issues aside, we feel it's a fairer way of doing things than heaping the burden of leadership onto a single individual.'

  The giant cow would not budge from her standpoint. ‘One voice, one rule: that has always worked for the Thunderfeet.'

  'In you're herd structure, aye, but in my experience absolute power corrupts and a corrupted leader is a danger and liability to his clan.'

  'That's another point,’ raised Bronte. ‘Thunderfoot rulers have always been cows.'

  'Do tell,’ pressed Hettinor, joining in the discussion again.

  'I'd feel funny having one bull, let alone several, ordering me about.'

  'Good for you, lass,’ agreed the healer. ‘Sadly our society is unenlightened and bloody well chauvinistic.'

  'Hetti!'

  'You're excluded, my love.'

  Orridus watched Cragg nonchalantly drop back alongside him to lean close so that what he said did not reach Bronte.

  'You neglected to mention she was so argumentative,’ said the bull, his whispering giving credence to his evident worry. ‘This could be a problem.'

  'I didn't know myself till now. She was a zombie for the trip here. Maybe her temperament is due to her being a trainee leader amongst her own kind.'

  Cragg reflected on that revelation and suddenly looked up to find Alphie staring down at him with glowering eyes. He had momentarily forgotten the Treefur was riding shotgun on the Shieldhorn and was listening in.

  'I-I'd like to hear Alphred's view on the matter,’ he stammered, doing a poor job of covering up his embarrassment.

  'I come from a loose knit community, stone-features, where the head of the family unit is both provider and decider.'

  'Much the same as the respective clans, laddie.'

  'Only we don't subscribe to communal rule, or any form of rule come to think of it: Treefurs do as they please.'

  'We could argue this till the Duckbills come home,’ the Shieldhorn rumbled exasperatedly, ‘but it doesn't change the fact that you and Bronte are the guests of the Boneheads and must abide by their ways.'

  They reached the other side of the plateau, and halted on the brink of a shallow basin where a cluster of Bonehead bulls loitered in what appeared to be a naturally formed amphitheatre set against the inner wall of the escarpment.

  'It's almost time,’ announced Cragg. ‘A couple of pointers first; Outsiders are not allowed to talk in council unless spoken to, which is an extreme rarity, so please refrain from any sudden outbursts. Orridus may be permitted to speak on your behalf. If so, let him alone be your combined voice. Secondly, the decision of the council is final. There is no appeal. Any questions?'

  'Yeah.’ It was the Treefur. ‘What precisely are they going to be deciding about us?'

  Cragg was brutally forthright. ‘Your fate.'

  Before the inevitable protests and queries were uttered, he hurried them down to the floor of the arena, a semi-circular platform of bare rock brushed free of the polluting ash and pervading scoria of the region by diligent Bonehead tails. All could plainly see the regularly cleaned stadium was dominated by half a dozen, eight-foot-tall boulders arranged in a curved line behind the waiting highlanders. As the party set foot upon the curiously swept bedrock, one of the gathering detached from his fellows to approach.

  'Friends, this is Clift,’ introduced Cragg. ‘Chum and proverbial ally.'

  The named bull nodded politely to Hettinor and fixed a dissecting stare on first Bronte then Alphie, before acknowledging the Shieldhorn oldster the Treefur rode. ‘Fine mess you've brought us, Orridus.'

  'You thrive on political intrigue, Clift.'

  'None can fault you for livening up otherwise dull council sittings,’ Clift asserted with a faint laugh.

  Orridus glanced over at the huddle of murmuring chieftains, picking out a youngish bull engaged in spirited talk with an older colleague. ‘What's Revasse doing?'

  'Running interference. Malp's up to his usual tricks.'

  'That is not good news,’ deemed the Highrock chief. ‘I spent all of last night drumming up support for our side. Malp will be undoing all of my efforts.'

  Clift was not finished. ‘It gets better. Shrok's been busy helping him.'

  'Damn the Regressionists!’ swore Cragg. ‘I'd better head over there and do damage control.’ He took off with Clift on his heels. Hettinor excused herself and went too.

  Alphie jumped at the chance to reopen their unfinished conversation. ‘What insanity have you gotten us into, horn-head?’ he squeaked hotly.

  'Nothing I can't handle, whiskers.'

  'Obviously. Now spill the berries.'

  Orridus sighed heavily. ‘Cragg and Hettinor are a hospitable pair, but for the most part Boneheads resent outside intrusion.'

  'I got that impression from their son on our arrival.'

  'Shrok is an extremist, only he's not alone in his outmoded way of thinking. He's member of a rebel sect calling themselves the Regressionists. They're advocating complete isolation from all contact with the outside world by way of collapsing Thunder Passage, sealing access to and from the valley altogether. Malp is rumoured to be their ringleader.'

  'How is Cragg involved, other than his unfortunate family tie?'

  'My Bonehead pal is a visionary, Alphie. He wisely sees any growth potential for the clans lies not in clinging to archaic habits, but by embracing newness. Cragg welcomes interaction with the lowland herds, to exchange cultural beliefs and the like. Sadly he is meeting with increasing opposition. When last I was here, the Regressionists were a comfortable minority—noisy, but mostly harmless ratbags. The balance of Bonehead power seems to have shifted in their favour since then.'

  Following the incomplete conversation as best she could, the muddled Thunderfoot sighed. ‘Where does that leave us?’ she asked.

  'Up the tree without a tail,’ groaned Alphie, hopping down from Orridus.

  Bronte and the Shieldhorn looked quizzically at the marsupial.

  'A Treefur expression,’ he clarified. ‘It means...'

  'In the forest without a trail?’ offered Bronte.

  'On the plains without cover,’ Orridus added. ‘We get your meaning. It's a bleak one.'

  'You're not as dumb as you look, spike-nose.'

  Any more banter was forestalled by Cragg signalling to his horned pal that the meeting was about to get underway.

  'If I'm permitted to, let me do all the talking,’ maintained the hermit. ‘Maybe that way we'll stay out of trouble.'

  'Listening to you got us into this predicament,’ Alphie griped.

  'Then I'll extricate us, whiskers—if given the chance.'

  The three lowlanders ambled over to the spot Cragg was conducting them to with the measured walk of the condemned. They were placed directly before the curve of black, glossy boulders fronting the valley wall. There were in fact seven, not six, of the unnaturally arranged podiums of obsidian rock, with a Bonehead chieftain positioned mirror-like behind each standing stone of ebony volcanic glass. Bronte noted with mild interest that Cragg occupied the centremost dais, with his hands placed relaxedly on top a capstone of ruby-banded black. Hettinor stood off discreetly to one side slightly behind him.

  'I'm calling this special sitting on the Deciders to order,’ he declared. ‘We shall officially start the boulder rolling with the chieftains’ sound off.'

  From left to right the highland clan chiefs voiced their attendance:

  'Malp of Flatstone.'

  'Alvanch of Stonyhang.'

  'Grisure of Stonewall.'

  'Cragg of Highrock.'

  'Clift of Weatherstone.'

  'Revasse of Splitrock.'

  'Fravell of Rockyslide.'

  It read like a who's who of quarry workers.

  'We're all here then,’ noted Cragg. ‘Since I'm the one who has convened this extraordinary session of the clans’ council, I'll begin the proceedings.'

  'We're all aware why we've gathered without having to endure one of your longwinded tirades.'

  Cragg looked down the line of pedestals off on his right to the grumpy speaker at the end. ‘The chair recognises the Flatstone chieftain,’ he said calmly.

  'Let's dispense with your stuffy formality,’ Malp suggested acidly.

  'Here, here,’ urged a second chieftain. By coincidence it happened to be Grisure, one of Malp's staunchest cohorts.

  'I'm all for an informal session,’ Cragg benevolently proposed. ‘Any objections from the rest of you?’ His fellows gave their silent assent to the motion. ‘Malp, since you're keen to have your say first, you've got the floor.'

  'Thank you, Brother Cragg, I'll be succinct. The issue before us is lowland incursion. The guilty party is once again Orridus. The penalty has yet to be decided.'

  Orridus grimaced. This hearing was fast becoming a trial.

  'I hardly think this is a matter of lawbreaking,’ refuted Cragg.

  Malp disagreed. ‘On the contrary, Bonehead law has clearly been violated.'

  'Maybe the time has come to change our laws.'

  'Do not tamper with tradition! Our ancient ways are timeless and...'

  'I'll not be party to a repetitious debate on new and old.’ Clift became the voice of reason. ‘Before we even contemplate deciding anything, I for one want to hear Orridus's motive for bringing a pair of strangers into the valley.'

  There was a general murmur of consent.

  The charged Shortfrill was waved forward by Clift and stepped up to bat. The brevity of his validation was cutting. ‘The big one was being chased.'

  'By whom?’ growled Malp.

  'Predators.’ Orridus winced. He had conceded a major point to Cragg's nemesis that was sure to be capitalised on.

  Malp pressed on. ‘What of the midget?'

  Alphie was forced to bite his tongue to prevent himself rebutting that insult.

  'He's the big one's minder.'

  'But he's so stunted!’ scoffed the Flatstone chief.

  Alphie bit down on his tongue even harder.

  Malp continued his attack on Orridus. ‘You took it upon yourself to knowingly disregard convention by bringing them here. Our mandate unequivocally states that no Outsiders gain admission to this vale.'

  'Their lives were endangered.'

  'Lowlanders mean nothing to us,’ barked Alvanch, another of Malp's converts. ‘So what if there are two more dead ones.'

  Orridus took the offensive. ‘Malp, as you're so keen to espouse highland law, would you care to explain me away?'

  Cragg stifled a laugh. The Shieldhorn had scored mightily!

  'You were a mistake,’ declared the contentious bull, biting off his every word.

  'You've been coaching Shrok, I see. Don't lose sight of the fact that the Deciders voted me unlimited visiting rights.'

  'Not by me,’ rebuffed Malp. ‘I objected that day—strenuously! It's not my fault the sympathisers didn't listen to reason.'

  'That is quite enough you two,’ Cragg interceded. ‘We have assembled to discuss the current dilemma, not rehash past council business.'

  'It does have a bearing on today's case,’ argued Revasse.

  Cragg considered the notion as the youngest of the Deciders plunged ahead.

  'Granting Orridus access to the valley was a landmark decision. That allowance surely has relevance on this occasion. We judged him on his merits back then. It is only fitting we extend his companions the same courtesy.’ Despite his comparative middle-aged youth, Revasse exhibited a rare degree of wisdom.

  Cliff backed up his junior peer. ‘Aye, the boy's right.'

  'Plead your case then, Shieldhorn,’ exhorted Malp.

  The surprising turnabout favouring Cragg's team was worrying for Orridus. Malp never backtracked without good cause. ‘This giant cow is in dire need of sanctuary,’ he stated cagily. ‘She is being hounded by dangerous lizards and...'

  'Therein lies the crux of the matter,’ affirmed Malp.

  Here it comes, Orridus grimly thought. Malp was a master of the set-up.

  'She is being pursued by meat-eaters,’ the Flatstone chieftain repeated in a superior tone of voice. ‘You said so just now. What's to stop them from tracking her here and storming their way into Concealed Valley to maul us all in our sleep?'

  'That's highly unlikely,’ Cragg surmised, defending his friend. ‘Thunder Passage is well hidden and heavily guarded. No Outsider stands a chance of getting through unasked or undetected.'

  'Is that so?’ Malp artfully disputed. ‘What if I were to say to you that just such an event transpired last night?'

  Mutterings of disbelief rippled through the Deciders.

  'I'd say give me proof,’ challenged the Highrock chieftain.

  'Don't say you didn't ask for this. Shrok, come forward!'

  The head of Cragg's disloyal son popped up over the western edge of the plateau and he clambered fully into sight, hurriedly crossing the flat to Stonejudge. His father eyed him suspiciously and sputtered, ‘This is highly irregular.'

  'Aye, but warranted,’ said Malp. ‘Are you afraid of the truth, Cragg?'

  'We all seek veracity.'

  'Ah, but on this occasion I found it. Report what you told me, boy.'

  Shrok cleared his throat. ‘I witnessed a lowlander intruder slip by our sentries in the dark and wander freely about inside the dale unopposed. He could have gotten up to all sorts of mischief if left unchecked. I think he was an advance scout for an attack party.'

  Shrok was spinning quite a yarn, as instructed.

  'Whose clan members were on duty then?’ demanded Clift.

  'Mine,’ confessed Malp. ‘I have summarily disciplined the watch for their lack of diligence. However, we can hardly blame our loyal sentries entirely for the encroachment. Lowlanders can be a very sneaky lot.’ He stared shamelessly at Orridus when saying the last.

  'What happened to this interloper?’ pressed Clift. ‘I don't recall you raising the alarm, Shrok.'

  Malp skillfully intervened. ‘The trespasser was dealt with by those I command.’ He scowled at Alphie, smug in the fact that the gagged Treefur could not contradict his false testimony. The deceitful Elder further unveiled, ‘They happened to be Boneheads loyal to me as head of the Regressionists.'

 

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