It was a perilous journey. Thrugg needed all his strength and sure-pawed skill. Sliding down glacial valleys and ascending slopes of crusted snow, scaling bare freezing rocks, the otter pushed on, keeping Mactalon in sight all the time. Seeking for holds in crevices, Thrugg dug his paws in, hauling himself strenuously upward. Ledges with thick icicles hanging like sets of organ pipes ranged each side of him. Grunting and panting, he watched the falcon ahead flying upward, ever upward. Battling almost blindly through the world of snow, ice and white cloudbanks, the otter often slipped and slid back, but he was always back on the trail immediately, gritting his teeth and wiping away the perspiration that threatened to freeze on his nose and whiskers, ever mindful of the infant dormouse in the haversack strapped to his powerful shoulders. Thrugg lost all sense of time and space as he plugged doggedly onward and upward. It was at the exact moment that he thought he could go on no more that Laird Mactalon wheeled down through the shrouding mist.

“Guid show, laddie. Ye’ve made it! Yon’s the eyrie of King MacPhearsome. Ah’ll be waitin’ here for ye when you’re done. The rest is up to ye now, Thrugg. Ah wish ye the best o’ fortune.”

*   *   *

Raising his eyes, Thrugg saw the eyrie. Swathed in clouds, it sat on a rocky pinnacle, strewn with heather, bracken, gorse, thistles and branches, all faded, dried and dead. The only living plant that could be seen sprouting through the debris was the Icetor Flower, small, delicate, white, starlike, with blue-tinged petals, almost invisible in the surrounding snow, but mysterious and beautiful in its mountain isolation.

Thrugg called up at the nest in a friendly tone, “Ahoy there, Yer Majesty. It’s me, Thrugg of Redwall Abbey. I’ve come to visit the Wild King himself.”

There was a crackling of heather and twigs, the nest stirred slightly, then MacPhearsome himself flew out.

The sight completely took Thrugg’s breath away. He had not been prepared for something like this. Snow flurried around his head as the great expanse of wings flapped downward and the Wild King landed in front of him. It was an awesome thing to see! The colossal golden eagle towered over Thrugg, two massive feet sinking slightly into the snow, lethal orange-scaled talons digging in for leverage. Each of the heavily feathered golden brown legs was as thick as the otter’s body; the eagle stood rooted on them as if they were twin oaks. The staggering canopy of wings swooshed noisily as the bird folded them both over his mighty back. The head dipped toward Thrugg, lighter brown-gold feathers framing the wild eyes afire with hunting lights.

MacPhearsome opened his curving amber beak, like two bone scimitars parting. “Ah doant like mah breakfast comin’ up here tae meet me. Hie awa’ an’ hide, riverdog. Ah’ll come an’ hunt for ye!”