Thrugg swallowed hard and stood his ground. “Majesty, I’ve not come to harm yeh. It’s the Flowers of Icetor I’m after. They’re needed by my friends at Redwall Abbey, where there’s a great sickness.”

The eagle King clacked his beak together like steel striking rock. “Aye, so Ah’ve heard. Yon Mactalon flew up an’ told me of this. Yer a tasty-looking beastie, Thrugg o’ Redwall. Tell me, pray, why should the MacPhearsome gi’e ye his flow’rs?”

Thrugg took a bold step forward and raised his voice. “Because, O King, there’s creatures goin’ to die if’n they don’t get the medicine made from your Icetor Flowers. You wouldn’t want the deaths of honest Redwallers on yer mind, now would Yer Majesty?”

A fierce smile hovered about the Wild King’s eyes. “Ah care no’ a whit fer beasties that doant live in mah mountains. Ach, it wouldnae bother mah mind a wee bit. Tell me this, Thrugg o’ Redwall: whit would ye do if Ah refused tae give ye mah flow’rs. Answer true now, riverdog!”

Thrugg took off the haversack. Placing it carefully to one side, setting his paws apart, he stared the eagle coolly in the eye. “Then if you’ll forgive me for sayin’, Majesty, I’d fight you for them. The lives of my mateys at the Abbey means a lot ter me, sir.”

The golden eagle’s raucous laughter set the mountain peaks ringing. He flew up, knocking Thrugg flat with the backdraft from his wings, circling and soaring in and out of the drifting mists. MacPhearsome’s earsplitting screeches of merriment echoed and re-echoed until the very air was full of the sound.

As suddenly as he had started, the Wild King stopped. He landed back on the snow in front of Thrugg and cocked his head, one glittering eye staring at his challenger. “Och weel, Ah’ve heard everythin’ noo. Ye’d fight me? Jings, yer a braw beastie, a’right—Ah’ll say that for ye, Thrugg o’ Redwall. Mind, yer the on’y livin’ creature ever tae stand there an’ say that tae the Wild MacPhearsome. Yer friends must mean a great deal to ye, ye bonny riverdog. Fight me? It’d mak’ me grieve sair tae eat ye!”

At that Baby Dumble clambered from the haversack and began attacking the golden eagle’s leg, or at least one talon of it. “You leave Mista Thugg alone, ya big bully. Dumble fight you!”

One of the formidable talons looped through the infant dormouse’s smock and he was swung aloft, close to the golden eagle’s huge eye. “Name o’ crags! Whit have we here? Ah’m scairt an’ affrighted for mah life. Ye wouldnae kill me, would ye, mousie?”

Dumble swung a chubby paw at the eagle King. “Dumble knock you beak off if you ’urt Mista Thugg!”