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suppose one more passenger will break me old back. Come along with us. We're bound for the mountains of the north in search of the Flowers of lector."

Rocangus looked incredulously at him. "Ach, ye mean Ah'm stuck wi' two landbound dunderheads lookin' for the Flowers of lector an' Ah cannae fly?"

Dumble stroked the falcon's back. "Come wiv us, 'Ocan-gus. Mista Thugg is a good carrier, y'know."

Thrugg searched out bindweed, motherwort and pine resin. He made a compound and bound the injured wing, using a willow twig and wild rhubarb fibers to secure the dressing.

"There, that'll do the trick! Once that pine resin sets firm, the wort 'n' weed will do their work. Don't try to move that there wing, mate. The more you keep it still the quicker it'll heal up. Now, young Rocangus, you can be our navigator. Which way is it to the north mountains?"

The young falcon held the wing stiffly at his side as he pointed into the woodlands to the northeast. "Yonder, though Ah'm no certain sure. 'Tis different when a bird's no up in the sky, ye ken. Still, dinna fash yersel'. We'll get there all right."

Dumble refused to ride in the haversack. He trotted along at Thrugg's side. Despite his pleas, Rocangus was made to perch on top of the haversack on Thrugg's back. Latching his powerful talons into the straps, he hung on gamely.

"If mah faither could see me now he'd kick mah tailfeath-ers. Intae the woods wi* ye, Thrugg, ya great bonnie river-dog!"

The curious-looking trio struck northeast into the far tip of the Mossflower woodlands.

The trees were beginning to thin out into flat bush-strewn country, and by midafternoon they had covered a fair distance. Dumble found ripe blackberries and a tree thick with small soft pears, so they stocked up on both. Thrugg rested awhile, watching both the young creatures feeding each other the choicest berries; their faces, both whisker and beak, were heavily stained with the purple juice.

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The otter hefted the pack up onto his back, calling to Rocangus, "Up on yore perch, matey. There's plenty o' daylight left yet."

The falcon nodded toward a thick grove of pine and spruce ahead. "Keep your wits aboot ye, Thrugg. That's crow territory!"

The afternoon was hot and still. Thrugg cast a glance at the grove. Placing Dumble on his left side, he slipped loose his sling, testing the thongs as he loaded a flat pebble into it. There was no sign of crows circling in the air above the trees, but the trio took no chances. They traveled cautiously, keeping hidden among the low brush, fern clumps and any cover the land could afford. Giving the pine grove a wide berth, they went in a curving line, moving at a moderate pace, not too slowly or too quickly, knowing the crows would be down upon them if they betrayed their presence by unnecessary noise. Even Dumble was aware of their precarious position. Every now and then he would give his friends a wink and hold a paw up to his lips as they trekked along in silence.

Everything went well, until the little dormouse stepped on a thistle.

"Wowhoo! I stood onna fissle, Mista Thrugg. Ouch!"

The pine- and sprucetops rustled, loud cawing cut the still air, and ragged black shapes came flapping out of the grove.

Rocangus gave a shrill cry. "Ach! It's crows. We're for it, laddies!"

The sandy bed of a dried stream formed a depression in the land ahead of them. Thrugg grabbed Dumble by his smock and made a dash for it. The running otter was soon spotted by the crows. Winging swiftly, they came after him as he ran heavy-laden for the streambed. Calling harshly to each other, the crows zoomed down at Thrugg's back. Rocangus dealt the first one a savage rip with his curved beak as it tried to latch its claws into the back of Thrugg's neck. Whisker over tail, the otter threw himself into the shallow bottom. Throwing off the haversack, he brained a low-flying crow with his loaded sling. Loosing off he stone, he watched another crow fall cra-zily amid a jumble of tailfeathers as the pebble struck it.

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Thrugg's fighting blood was up now. Standing tall, he whirled the sling, roaring out the Abbey warcry:

"Redwaaaaill! Come on, you lousy-feathered fleabags. I'm Thrugg, the Warrior of the Waterways! Redwaaaaalllll!"

Little Dumble tugged the thistle from his footpad, seized a long stick which lay nearby and stood alongside the haversack where Rocangus was perched, ready with beak and talon. Together they sang out their battle calls.

"I'm Dumble from Reedddwwaaaaallll!"

"Ah'm Rocangus, son o' the great Laird Mactalon! Kreee-gaaarr!"

Two crows landed and came hopskipping fiercely toward Dumble, their vicious beaks like dirty yellow daggers. Dumble thwacked out hard, cracking the spindly legs of the first one. Rocangus bowled the other one over, tearing madly at it with his hooked beak. Thrugg took several sharp pecks in his back. Laying one crow senseless with a hefty smack of his rudder-like tail, he whirled about, kicking one high in a cloud of black feathers as he thudded the loaded sling into the chest of another. Rocangus was scrabbling in the sand against three more crows, ripping with his talons and stabbing with his beak. He did not see the crow that pecked Dumble's paw. The little dormouse squeaked with pain and dropped his stick. Immediately two huge crows seized him and began bearing him aloft. He hovered in the air, shrieking.

"Mista Thuuuuuggg!"

With a bellow of rage, the brawny otter grabbed the haversack by its straps. Swinging it round, he threw the laden pack and smashed the two crows out of the air.

Dumble fell, did a tumble and snatched up his stick. Falling on the two crows, he beat them mercilessly, pounding beaks, tails, legs and wings furiously. "Ya nasty ol' crones, takin' Dumble up inna sky!"

The three friends fought so fiercely that they drove off the crows. The birds cawed angrily, perching on low bushes and performing a curious hopskip dance on the ground as they chanted, "Krak krak, yah yah, killa beast, eata mouse, killa 'ookbeak!"

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From the slight cover of the streambed Rocangus stood with Thrugg and Dumble, watching the performance.

"Have ye ever seen sich a bunch o' cowards?" The falcon clacked his beak contemptuously. "If man wing was better Ah'd go o'er there an' send 'em weepin' tae their mammies!"

Thrugg wrapped a hasty dressing round Dumble's pecked paw. "They'll be back, mate. You can bet on it. They're just gettin' their nerve up agin. Look, there's more o' the villains comin' out o' the pines."

Dumble brandished his stick in a warlike manner. "Let them come, Mista Thugg. Dumble'll smack thejr bottoms wiv this big stick!"

Rocangus set his beak in a grim line. "Ah've nae doubt ye will, laddie, but they crows can come doon like leaves in autumn wind. Yon's only a few of 'em!"

"Stand by, mates. Here they come agin!"

"Aye, an' there's more o' the blaggards circlin' in from behind!"

"Come on, crones. Dumble's ready. RedwaaaaalllH!"

Skimming low over the grass, the crows came winging in to the attack. Thrugg blinded the first four with double pawfuls of dry sand. A crow was about to land on top of his head with beak open ready to bite, when Dumble thrust the stick straight down its throat. Four crows flung themselves upon Rocangus; all that could be seen was an explosion of black feathers mottled with the brown ones of the falcon as they fought with mad savagery. Two more landed and attacked Thrugg from behind. Again his ruddered tail came into heavy action, breaking the neck of one bird. The other shot backwards, stunned by a kick from his backpaw. Dumble's stick broke across an enemy head. He snatched up both halves and went at the landing crows like a miniature thunderstorm. The crows were beginning to win by sheer weight of numbers. They swooped in and landed in gangs upon the three friends until none of them could be seen under the mass of black feathers, beaks and scratching claws. Dumble screamed in

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pain as a beak pecked him hard between his ears.

Suddenly Thrugg could stand it no more. The sound of the infant dormouse being tormented by the crows drove him into a towering rage. Kicking, butting and punching birds, he arose from the tangle with blood dripping from his bared teeth. Fighting his way across the dry streambed, he grabbed hold of Dumble and Rocangus. Standing in front of them, he hefted the laden haversack in both paws and began swinging it like some terrible engine of destruction. Crows exploded into the air, wing over beak over tail over tip. Dark feathers showered the air, together with beak fragments and broken claws. The haversack was a thudding, banging, swishing blur of destruction as Thrugg's head went back and his mouth opened like a scarlet cavern.

"RedwaaaaaaaaallUll!!"

The crows fled, some hopping, others flapping as they fought each other to get away from Thrugg's mighty retaliation.

As late afternoon faded into evening, the three companions sat tending to each other's wounds.

Thrugg winced as Rocangus dug a beak fragment from his back. "Ouch! Go easy there, you feathered fiend!"

"Hah, stop grievin', planktail. Ye'll live. Haud still while Ah get this crowclaw out o' yer thick heid."

Baby Dumble was counting his war wounds. "Two, free, six, nine, twennyfifteen. Wow, that's a lot!"

"Aye, an' that's a lot out there, matey. Look!"

They followed the direction of Thrugg's pointing paw. Halfway between the pinegrove and the streambed the land was black with crows. They crowded together b'ke beetles in a cellar.

Thrugg sat down with his back against the sun-dried bank. "Nobeast could fight off that many, Rocangus. We're done for."

The falcon preened his tattered breastfeathers. "Aye, but by the crag we'll go oot a-fightin'!"

Dumble searched in the sand of the streambed. "I wanna

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new stick to fight more crones wiv!"

Slowly the sun began sinking in the west. The sky was a warm peach color with dove-gray pennants of cloud showing silver underbellies. Heatwaves still shimmered in the distance.

Thrugg sat awhile, gazing sadly at the beauty of it all. "Hmm, it ain't too bad for an' old streamdog like me. I've had a good innin's an' enjoyed meself. But you two young uns, I wish you could've seen more seasons to yore string afore you 'ave to go. Still an* all, we're all good mateys, so we'll take a load of 'em with us an' go out in the good company of each other."

Dumble had found a stick. He peered over the bank, wrinkling his nose, fearless in his babyish innocence. "Why are all the crones quiet, 'Ocangus?"

The young falcon winced as he settled his fractured wing right. "Ye'd best hope those birds stay quiet, laddie. When the beasties start up their chantin' again, that's when they'll come for us."

"Can Dumble have some squashy blackb'rries an' pears, MistaThugg?"

Thrugg undid the haversack that he had used as a flail upon the bodies of many crows. The once tasty contents were squashed flat. "Bless yer 'eart, liddle un, 'course you can. 'EIp yourself." The otter sat with a sad smile on his face, watching Dumble eat.

Rocangus touched his paw with the uninjured wing. "Dinna worry, streamdog, we'll give yon birds a battle tae remember and sing abootthose that are left alive."

The last gleam of twilight was showing on the horizon when the massed army of crows began to chant themselves into a frenzy. It echoed dirgelike across the deserted countryside.

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22

A half-moon hung in a sky of aquamarine. Paddles dipped noiselessly into the high-banked waters as two logboats threaded their way down a tributary far from the Great South Stream. Both craft were loaded to the gunwales with Guoss-som shrews. Mara and Pikkle traveled in the front vessel. They had been going since dawn, sailing along an intricate network of backwaters. Beside them Log-a-log and Nordo checked the barkcloth charts showing the route.

"How much farther before we're there, Nordo?" Mara murmured sleepily.

"We should get there by dawn, with any luck. Get some sleep, you two. We're running downstreamput your paddles up."

Pikkle looked around. Save for the watch shrews, all the others had settled down to catch some rest. He patted his stomach. "Bit of tucker wouldn't go amiss, wot! How's a chap supposed to sleep when the old turn starts growlin' an' keepin' him awake, that's what I'd like t' know!"

Reaching into a sack that was stowed in the bows, Log-a-log passed two large round flat objects to the hare.' 'Try these, Pikkle. They're shrews' long-voyage hardtack biscuits. They might have been baked quite a few seasons ago but they're

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full of nourishment. You should enjoy them."

"Oof!" Pikkle attempted to bite into one and came away nursing his mouth. "Nearly bust all me molars. What're these things made ofstone? I'll bet even old Tubbyguts couldn't get his jaws around one of these things. I say, Mara, try bitin' one of these. Go on!"

The badger maid pushed away the proffered hardtack biscuit. "Not me. I value my teethsave 'em to sling at the ghost badger."

Pikkle shuddered and dropped the biscuit. It landed with a clatter in the bottom of the boat. "Oh, thanks a lot, big-mouthed badger. First I can't eat these bally biscuits and now you've gone an' put me off sleepin' for the night with your talk of ghosts. Bit of a bad show all round, I'd say, robbin' a chap of appetite an' sleep!"

Mara fell asleep to the sounds of Pikkle chuntering away indignantly to himself.

She woke in the early dawn light. The logboats were traveling rapidly downstream, bumping and speeding over small rapids as. the Guosssom shrew steerbeasts maneuvered them skillfully along the risky waterway. The high steep banks on both sides flashed by. Now and then Nordo would call out for everybeast to duck an overhanging tree. Pikkle was wide awake and ashenfaced as he gripped the sides of the boat, pleading for a reduced speed.

"I say, chaps. Be good eggs an' tell the jolly old Cap'n to slow down a bit, will you? Whoooo! All this uppin' an' downin', speedin' an' bumpin'I feel quite queasy."

The shrews who were fending the banks off with their paddles made the most of Pikkle's discomfort by ribbing him aloud.

"Try some cold custard and cabbage for breakfast, mate. Haha!"

"Or some warm oatmeal mixed with black treacle an' carrots!"

"How about a stale vegetable pastie with sour cream over Jl!"

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Pikkle lay in the bottom of the boat, clasping his stomach. "Mercy, chaps! Shut up, you shameful shrews. Take pity on a feller, please! Cold custard 'n' cabbage.. . . Bloouurrpp!"

"Hold tight, all paws! It's the lake!"

Mara clasped the sides tightly as the stream took a sharp downward curve. The boats shot forward on a wild helter-skelter ride. Bows forward, they plunged down. Suddenly an immense splash and a great bow wave drenched everybeast, then the two longboats rocked gently on the broad surface of a great lake.

"Never again!" Pikkle wailed piteously. "All this for a bletherin' Blackstone. You chaps must be off your bally rockers. Blackstone, my aunt's whiskers! Once this hare gets his paws on dry ground he's finished boatin' for good!"

Mara stared about her in amazement. They were on the edges of a fantastic body of waterit was a veritable inland sea. The fresh morning sunlight beamed down upon tideless waters whose only movement was the outgoing ripples set up by the logboats' entry into them. As far as any eye could see, there was water, leagues of it, with no sign of island or shore on the distant horizon. To the left and right of them the broad expanse was sheltered by fringed forest with trees, bushes, shrubs and plants dipping their foliage into the water. It was vast and beautiful in its silent serenity; stillness reigned everywhere.

Log-a-log smiled at the badger maid's wide-eyed expression. "How's that for a sight on a lovely summer morning, miss?"

Mara could only shake her head in silent admiration of the scene.

"I say, you chaps, this is a bit more like it, wot? I'm feelin' much better now. Break out the brekkers, send in the scoff!"

They breakfasted on the open lake, though this time not on emergency rations. There was plumcake, honeyoat scones, mushroom salad and sparkling new cider.

Pikkle ate his using a hardtack biscuit as a plate. As he munched he stared about. "Well, give us a clue, boys.

Where's the jolly old island hidin'?"

Log-a-log pointed straight out. "Two days rowing that way."

After breakfast they took up their paddles and began the long voyage to the island. At first Mara's paws felt stiff and awkward, but she was soon rowing as well as anyone and joining in the lusty shrew boatsongs that helped keep the rhythm of the paddles steady. Pikkle stoutly denied he had ever felt sick and sang as loudly as the rest.

"I'll sing you a song of the river-o, Where the water's clean and clear, And the long fast Guosssom logboats go. We're the shrews that know no fear, So bend your back and use those paws. From gravel bank to sandy shores, Your cares and woes will disappear, Just sitting paddling here. Guossssssssom.... Guossssssssom! I'll sing you a song of the river-o. It belongs to me and you. O'er deeps and shallows we'll both go, With the finest Guosssom crew, When other creatures bound to land Will not feel half so free or grand, Or know the water shrews' great skill. So paddle with goodwill. Guosssssssssom.. .. Guossssssssssom!"

In the early noontide the two logboats were still out on the lake. Nothing could be seen on all sides save water; sky and lake met on all horizons. The paddles dipped steadily in and out of the water with short powerful strokes.

Nordo noted the sun's position and called a refreshment period. Lots of shrews dipped cupped paws into the lake and drank with relish. Mara followed suit gingerly, but found to

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her surprise that it was cold and sweet. Pikkle dabbled his paws in the water.

"I say, old Log-a-thing, how deep is this bally lake?" Log-a-log smiled mischievously. "Hmm, let me see. It comes two-thirds of the way up a boat or halfway up a duck.'' "Oh, I see." Pikkle nodded understandingly. "Now hang on a baity moment, old shrew. Who are you tryin' to fool?" Nordo laughed. "Watershrews always say that to landlubbers. Actually nobeast knows how deep this lake is, though my grandfather tried to plumb it when he was Log-a-log, and he said it was bottomless."

Pikkle turned faintly pale around the gills. "D'you hear that, Mara? Bottomless! That means there's nothin' beneath this boat for goodness knows how deep but water. Oh corks, I knew I shouldn't have come!"

Mara smiled. "Have a nap Pikkle, you'll feel better." "Hah, listen to the creature! Better, she says. I've never felt so absobloominlutely awful in me liWhat was that?" Log-a-log came alert. "What was what?" "Over there, sort of a big splash!" Pikkle pointed. Nordo was about to say something when Log-a-log shot him a warning glance and shook his head. * 'Oh, that. It was probably a fish jumping. They do that a lot."

Pikkle held on to the boat's side. "Well, I wish they'd bally well stop. It makes a chap nervous, wot!"

"There it goes again. That's no fish jumping!" A shrew paddler stood up behind them, his normally bass voice shrill and frightened.

The crews of both boats shuffled their paws restlessly and began murmuring among themselves. Log-a-log banged a paddle noisily on the prow of his logboat.

"Silence, back there. It was a fish, I saw it myself. Now stop that old mousewives* scuttlebutt and get your lunches eaten!"

Mara looked to her left. A rippling wave was building up some distance away, but it was coming toward the boats. She pointed. "That looks a bit big for one fish; it must be a shoal of them."

One of the shrews stared accusingly at Log-a-log. "You shouldn't have banged your paddle on the boat like that. It's heard you and it's coming for us. It's coming, I tell you!"

From the other boat Tubgutt could be heard yelling accusations: "It's those two, the badger and the hare. They've brought bad luck down on us all!"

Others started shouting as panic set in with the advance of the rippling wave toward the two boats.

"Back the way we came, shrews. Paddle for land!"

"It's the Deepcoiler, mates!"

"Turn back, let us off these boats!"

"If it's the Deepcoiler we're all deadbeasts!"

Log-a-log drew his rapier, rapping out commands over the hubbub. "Silence and sit down, fools, or you'll turn these boats over! If you want to save yourselves sit tight and shut up!"

The rippling hump of water had been building up as it approached the boats. Subdued by Log-a-log's authority, every creature in the boats sat silent and still. Paws gripped paddles tightly, mouths shut tight as vices, fur stood stiff on every back. With little warning the sunlit noontide surface of the immense lake had become a place of horror and dread. Every eye was fixed on the noiseless traveling swell. It was scarce more than three boat-lengths from them when there was a whoosh of water, and something long and scaly slapped the top of the lake. Both craft rose on the swell as the logboats rode the wave.

Mara moved then. Craning over the side, she looked down Bito the translucent blue-green depths and saw the thing as it passed underneath both vessels. It was enormous!

She had missed seeing the creature's head, but she watched in fascinated terror as the length of its body slipped harmlessly by, a mere paw's-length beneath the surface, round and thick as the trunk of a tree, dark green with slate-gray blotches. Trailing waterweeds clung to the heavily scaled mass of the leviathan; rippling sidefins powered it through the water as its rfength kept on passing... and passing. The pointed tailtip

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scraped the boat's underside and then it was gone, far down into the fathomless depths of the silent lake.

The badger maid breathed a long sigh of relief and mopped the beads of sweat that stood out on her nose. "By the rocks of Salamandastron! What was that?"

Nordo unclenched his paws from the paddle with a visible effort. "What you just saw was a monsterGuosssom shrews call it the Deepcoiler, though nobeast has ever set eyes on it until now."

Pikkle sat with his eyes wide as saucers and his ears rigid. "Well, let's hope we jolly well live to tell about it. Oh, corks an' catkins! I knew I should never have gone sailin'. At least when you're on bally old dry land you can run away, but stuck out here on a floatin' log, it's a bit much, you chaps!"

"Deepcoiler was an old shrew tale," Log-a-log explained to Mara and Pikkle somewhat apologetically, "a story to frighten naughty little ones who wanted to go paddling alone; though in the time of my forefathers there were stories of logboats and whole crews lost in mysterious circumstances out on this great lake. As for myself, I never believed in the thing, but now I have seen it with my own eyes, how can I doubt it? 1 am sorry that this peril has been brought upon you by me and my son."

The boats were floating side by side. Tubgutt snarled across, "D'you hear that, shrews? He's sorry. We might all be dead meat by tonight, but Log-a-log's sorry! Log-a-log? He's not a proper Log-a-log. Where's the Blackstone mat should be hanging round his neck? We don't have to take orders from him! I say we make for the shore!"

Mutinous murmurs started arising from both crews,

"Tubgutt's right, without the Blackstone he's just an impostor!"

"I say we elect another leader!"

"Aye, Tubgutt for leader. He'll get us out of this!"

The fat shrew stood up with a triumphant sneer and faced the shrew leader. "Find yourself another name, shrew. You're Log-a-log no more. I'm the new Guosssom leader now. Right?"

All the shrews were frightened at the thought of being out on the lake where Deepcoiler lurked. Tubgutt's plan to strike for land caught on immediately. Rather shamefacedly they murmured agreement with Tubgutt, though they kept their eyes averted from Log-a-log, who had always been a good and fair leader.

Log-a-log touched his rapier hilt as he gazed coolly across at Tubgutt. "We'll settle this once and for all. You name the time and the place, shrew."

Tubgutt quailed under Log-a-log's stare, but he put on a brave front and began blustering. "There'll be no fighting to the death around here or on land. I'm the newly elected leader now. The moment we get to shore you're banished from the Guosssomyou and your son!"

Fussing busily about, Tubgutt sat down and picked up his paddle. "Hear me now. As your newly elected leader, I say we put about and paddle for land."

"Make one move and you're fishbait, shrew!" Mara had been moving gradually along the boat until she was level with Tubgutt in the other boat. She stood within easy reach of him, brandishing a paddle close to his head.

"Did you hear that?" The fat shrew appealed to his new followers. ' "This stranger is going to kill your new leader. Get her, shrews. Put the stripedog over the side. She and the hare me the cause of all this trouble. Seize them!"

With lightning agility Log-a-log leapt into the other logboat and was on Tubgutt, his rapier point tickling the fat shrew's throat. "Mutiny and incitement to murder, eh, Tubgutt? You'll face a full council of our Guosssom comrades when we return home. Mara and Pikkle helped our shrews and my son to escape the toads' prison pit; they are honored guests. I've allowed you enough leeway, Tubgutt. Myself I don't care for, but when you threaten the life of Guosssom friends, that's mutiny on the open waters. You there, and you Rivakget some line and bind this rascal tight and sit him in the stern. ;T11 deal with him when the time is right."

Log-a-log's speedy victory over Tugbutt, combined with IBS tough, authoritative air, turned the tide in his favor. The

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two shrews grabbed the struggling Tubgutt and tied him up.

Log-a-log sheathed his weapon and turned to both crews. "I'm still Log-a-log here, Blackstone or not. Anybeast who thinks he's shrew enough to challenge me, let him do it now!"

There was a momentary silence, then a big tough-looking shrew stood up and made his way along to stand by the leader. "Anyone who challenges Log-a-log challenges me too. He's always been fair and just to all of us!"

Nordo stood up with Mara and Pikkle. He spoke for all three: "We stand with Log-a-log!"

An old shrew with long whiskers waved his paddle. "Good old Log-a-log! Old! What'm I talkin' about, he's only a young snip compared t' me, heeheehee!"

Other voices now made themselves heard .. .

"Aye, Log-a-log's always been a good un. I like him!"

"Me too. He's always played square with young an' old. What d'you say, shrews?"

The crews of both logboats raised a mighty cheer for Log-a-log as he vaulted back into the boat with Nordo.

"Hooray for Log-a-log, leader of the Guosssom. Hooray!"

"I say, chaps, d'you mind sittin' down or we'll all end up in the flippin' drink. Wot, wot!"

The rest of the day passed by uneventfully. The sun set over the west lakeside horizon in crimson glory as the hot summer day came to an end. The shrews shipped paddles, ate supper and settled down as best they could for the night. Lying awake in the bows of the lead craft, Log-a-log passed Mara a jug of sweetmaple cordial.

"Mara, I want to thank you and Pikkle for backing me you especially. The way you crept up on Tubgutt was very brave. He had a lot of the others ready to follow him. I know he lost a lot of face in the contest with Pikkle, but out here on the water with everybeast terrified by Deepcoiler they were ready to follow Tubgutt because he was all for turning back. Fear is a great motivator; it was touch and go there for a while. You could have quite easily got a rapier between your

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ribs back there. You are a true friend, Mara. I will never forget what you did for me."

The badger maid pretended to yawn and snuggle down, embarrassed by Log-a-log's praise for her. "Oh, that's what pals are for. Now go to sleep, you old waterwalloper."

Stilled for the night, the two logboats rocked gently on the calm surface of the vast lake.

"Yew tew better keep quiet, they're just up ahead o' us."

Samkim and Arula peered into the night-shaded woodlands.

"How far ahead, Spriggat?"

The old hedgehog sat down beside them. "Oh, no more'n half a good paw-stretch. Leave 'em awhile yet. Let the vermin git a-snorin', then we'll pay 'em a visit, eh?"

Samkim's eyes lit up eagerly. "A night ambush! How about that, Arula?"

"Ho urr, oi'm a reg'lar terror in 'ee dark if n oi ain't asleep."

They chewed oatcake and apples as Spriggat outlined his plan. "I scouted up ahead an' nearly fell over 'em. They were settin' camp sou'west o' here. Now 'earken to me. In about an hour they should be well asleep, so 'ere's what we do. Split up an' go three ways so we can come at 'em from different angles. The rats shouldn't put up much of a fight they're only trackers. It's the fox I'm worried aboutthat one looks like a trained fighter. Moreover, the villain's got your sword close to paw. Staves is the best t' deal with the like o' him. Arula, lend me that carvin' knife you carries, and I'll cut us two good poles. Samkim, you can unstring your bow and make use of that. I'll signal by makin' a cricket chirrup. Like

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thischrrrrk! Got that? When you 'ears that noise you charge into that camp yellin' like a badger wi' a bee down his ear. Scream, shout, holler, an' whack all about you good an' hard, an' make straight for the fox. He'll be sleepin' closest to the fire. Don't give the scum a chance to go for that sword. We'll be there, all three of us, whackin' away. Don't stop! Wallop the beast flat into the ground, 'cos he'll slay us all three ifn he gets 'alf a chance."

Samkim unstrung his bow and tested its heft to find the best end. "Never fear, Mr. Spriggat. We'll be right there with you, thwacking!"

Arula seconded her friend. "Ho aye, zurr. You'm cut oi a gurt stowt pole an* oi'll wopp 'ee foxer till 'ee 'm flatter'n a pancake, boi ecky oi will!"

Spriggat shook paws with them. "Good! Now you take a li'l nap whilst I cuts a couple o' staves."

Under a burgeoning three-part moon they set off through the woodland, slipping silently along amid the shadowed tree-trunks and undergrowth. Samkim padded carefully, thrilled at the prospect of regaining the sword of Martin the Warrior for his Abbey. Somewhere a nightjar warbled among the foliage and a woodpigeon cooed on the breeze high in the trees. Aru-*Ia*s eyes twinkled in the moonlight as she waggled a hefty yew stave.

Spriggat turned and held up his stave. ' 'Hush now. Samkim, you go to the right. Arula, you take the left. I know they ain't posted sentries, may'aps they think themselves safe deep in these woods. Yew tew travel curvin' inward, take a good thirty long paces, then stop, get those staves ready an' wait on my cricket chirrup. Good luck an' good 'untin', young uns!"

"Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirtythat's it." Samkim halted among some junipers and peered in at the firelit camp. The rats lay about, wrapped in their cloaks, but over by the glowing embers he could see Dethbrush. The fox was resting in an upright position, his back against a log. The sword lay close to his paw, glimmering in the light of the dying camp-

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fire. There were wood-pigeon feathers and bones scattered about. The young squirrel shuddered. How vermin could kill and eat birdsthe very idea caused revulsion within him.

"Chrrrk!"

At the sound of Spriggat's call, Samkim leapt forward, yelling, "Yahaa! Death to the vermin! Redwaaaaalll!"

The cricket close by the fire that had chirruped shot beneath the log and hid. Arula was marching slowly along. Counting had never been her strong point.

"Urr, twenny-foiv, nointy-two, thurty-four. Boo urr! Woz-zat?" She went charging in waving her stave. "Boi okey, give 'em vinniger! Redwaaaaallllhooouuurrrrr!"

At the same time, Spriggat dashed in and collided with a rat who had leapt up at the noise.

The pandemonium was total. Set off by a real cricket call that proved to be a false alarm, the ambush went awry. Deth-brush jumped up to see two of his rats being belaboured by a squirrel and a hedgehog. He was only halfway up when a mole with a yew stave chased a screeching rat past him, counting as it went, "Twenny-noin, take that 'ee vermin! Sev-enty-'leven, oi'll wack 'ee! Fifty-foiv, sixteen-two ... wot's next? Take that 'n' that 'n' that!"

The other three rats milled about, bumping into each other.

Thinking they were under invasion from a much larger force, Dethbrush decided to escape with all speed. He hissed under his breath to the three rats: "Quick, over here. Scatter the fire and run that way, through there!"

Grabbing the sword, Dethbrush helped the rats scatter flame and glowing embers all over the clearing with their spears. They took off through the trees, running southwest after the fox.

Blinded by smoke and burning woodpigeon feathers, Arula whacked away at the log where Dethbrush had rested. "Nointy-seven, thurty-eight. Oi'll teach 'ee a lessing, ho urr!"

Spriggat caught the end of the stave and pulled her away. "It went wrong, we made a mess o' it! Quickly, afore the

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woods go up in flame, put out the fires!"

Swiftly they cut beaters of green juniper and lupin and set about tackling the blazes that were springing up all about the edges of the forest clearing. Each creature beat furiously, knowing their lives depended on putting out the woodland fire. Hot dry summer was the worst of all possible times to be caught in a woodland blaze, and once established it could devastate a whole wood, burning unchecked. Coughing and spluttering, their faces blackened by smoke, eyes red-rimmed and sore, they fought each fresh outbreak until the flames were subdued.

Spriggat kicked dust on a spark as he leaned heavily on Arula. "Whoof! I'm gettin' too long-seasoned for this sort o' game. Where's Samkim?"

"Over here, look what I've caught!" The young squirrel digged a limping snarling rat. He had his bowstring looped about the creature's neck. "I must have whacked him good

'and broke his footpaw. He didn't manage to escape with the others."

: Spriggat dealt the unfortunate rat a hefty cuff and pressed

*; some lupins into his claw. "Fire-raiser, eh? Don't snarl at me

' like that, you scum. Take that." He gave the rat another good

^buffet.

;*", "Right, get beating, go on! AH round this clearing until

|; Acre's no more chance of a burn-up. And just let me find one

{spark, that's all, just oneI'll give you such a beating that

; UK lumps'11 have lumps on top o' them!"

;" Arula took the bow. Playing the rat on the attached bow-string like a fish on a line, she kept him going around the clearing, hunting for any traces of sparks they had missed.

; Exhausted, Samkim and Spriggat sat down on the log. The

.: young squirrel expressed his disappointment.

;, ."Well, we made a right old frog's dinner of mat. You must have chirruped like a cricket too early. Arula wasn't in po-

lt;-,sition and I was barely ready. What made you do it, Sprig-

The cricket trundled out from under the log, chirruped pwice at them and waddled off angrily into the night.

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Samkim covered his eyes, realizing what had happened. "Oh no!"

Spriggat golloped a passing moth and began chuckling. "Ohohoho! Thank ye kindly, Samkim. Tis a tribute to my realistic cricket chirrup. Ohohohohohahaha!"

The hedgehog's laughter was infectious. Soon the three of them were doubled up pounding the log with their paws.

"Ahahahaha! Ooh dear! And there was Arula, countin' and whackin'. Ninety-seven, fifty-eight, twenty-three, take that an' that, hahaha. An' you ran smackbang into that rat. Oh hee-heehee! You should see the way your snout's swelled up. Whoohahahaha!''

"Hurt hurr hurr hurr! An' thurr wurr oi, beatin' up a log, hurrhurr. It wurr a~gudd job 'ee log were dead, or oi'da killed et, hurr!"

When the laughter had died down, Samkim kicked the dust gloomily. "Aye, but the fox got away with our sword. What's to laugh at about that? He could be anywhere by now."

Arula had the solution. She reeled in the rat on the bowstring. "Hurr naow lissen, vurmen. Whurr be 'ee fox gone to? You'm best arnswer oi afore oi get tumble mad!"

The rat sneered at Arula and remained silent. Spriggat smiled pitifully at the creature.

"I 'opes you don't talk, rat. Tell you why. See yon mole, she weren't foolin' when she said she were mad. Take it from us, she is mad, ain't she, Samkim?"

The young squirrel nodded, straight-faced and serious. "Mad? I'll say she is. Remember the last rat she caught, Spriggat? Dearie me, I dread to think about that poor creature."

The rat began to look twitchy. Spriggat shook his head sadly. "On my oath, I 'opes never to see that done to a livin' creature again, 'specially the bit with the three squashed frogs an' those maggoty apples. Ugh! Sickens me t' think of it."

The rat tried to limp away, but Arula reeled him in on the bowstring until their faces were almost touching. She put her head on one side and grinned insanely at him.

"Oh, oi likes bein' mad, oi do! Sanken, can 'ee get oi sum

big wurms, smelly mud an' dedd wuddbeetles. Oi got a noice idea, hurr."

The rat went limp. He fell to the ground blubbering, "No, please, don't be mad with me! The fox's name is Dethbrush an' he's got five others with himtracker rats like myself. We're not killers, I swear it. Dethbrush serves in the horde of Lord Ferahgo the Assassin. We were going to the South Stream-to journey by water to the west shore and join up with Ferahgo. We were sent to bring back Dingeye an' Thura, but they're both dead. Dethbrush is takin' the sword as a gift to Ferahgo. That's all I know, I promise you. Don't hurt me, please!"

Arula looked crestfallen. "Doant say you'll take us'ns an' show us 'ee way, pleeze. Oi wants to 'ave moi fun!"

Tears streamed from the rat's eyes as he beseeched Sam-Iriro, "I'll show you every footpaw of the way. I'll show youonly please keep the mad mole away from me, sir."

"Oh well, all right." Samkim shrugged. "Tie him up to a ttee for the night, Arula, he can show us the way as soon as -it's light."

Samkim and Spriggat slept sitting against the log, but Arula as enjoying her new role as the terror of the woodlands. She snuggled up to the quivering rat, who was bound paw and - ';daw to an elm.

$*?: "Goo' noit, ratface. Doant wake oi up, it makes oi mad." j|v "No sleep for you yet, friend," Spriggat called across to JJArula. "First watch is yours. Remember what I said, always ..' BOB! a watch through the night. Samkim can take second and r Til take the dawn watchan ol' grubber like meself needs .fais sleep. Hope stayin' awake doesn't make ye too mad."

"Hurr, 'spect moi matey 'ere will tell 'ee if n oi gets mad." ; The rat slumped in his bonds and gave a despairing sob.

'' «.«

T That night Samkim dreamt of Martin the Warrior. The spirit

;% of Red wall held both his empty paws forth pleadingly. "Give $fte back my sword, Samkim. Do not let others use it for evil."

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Though his pale eyes showed no emotion, Farran the Poisoner knew he was in a dangerous position. Urthstripe and his fighters had returned from the fray; outside, the mountain was strewn with lifeless carcasses and groaning wounded. Ferahgo had called off his horde of Corpsemakers. Their losses were considerable, though not enough to make any great dent in numbers. Farran crouched in a dark corner of the passage between storeroom and dining hall, silently cursing the ill fortune that had caused his escape route to be cut off. From his hiding place the Poisoner could hear the badger Lord and his hares as they entered the dining hall. They talked of the battle they had won on the slopes of Salamandastron.

"Sapwood, I never gave permission for you to fight outside. You could have been killed by those rolling fire boulders."

"Not me, sir. Hi was well out the way by the time they started. Paw-ter-paw combat is me best style, beggin' y' pardon, but this shootin' arrows hout of winder slits an' rollin' boulders, that haint fer the like o' me. Face t' face with the enemy his wot I fancy. That's the way I fights best, sir."

"I know you do, Sergeant. From all I hear you gave a good

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account of yourself out therebut ask me before you do anything like that in future."

"Good fight though, wasn't it, sir?" The squeaky voice of a hare, no more than a leveret, reached the ears of Farran.

"Indeed it was, young Shorebuck. How do you feel after your first battle?"

"Tip-top, m'lud! I say, is that breakfast laid out for us? Fm jolly well starvin'."

Urthstripe chuckled good-humoredty. "I never knew a young hare that wasn't always hungry. Go to it, Shorebuck. Seeing as it was your first fight, you shall be the first to take breakfast."

Farran's pale eyes lit up momentarily. He listened to the young hare intently.

"Good show! Thank you, sir. Mmm, oatcakes, an' they're still a bit warm. Pass me the honey, Sergeant."

"Git it y'self, you young rip. I ain't waitin' on you tail 'n' paw."

Urthstripe's voice cut in again. "Oxeye, did we suffer any losses or injuries?"

"None reported, sah! A jolly old bloodless victory, wot? Though Windpaw never showed up at roll call after the skirmish. Still, I suppose she's got her head down in some quiet corner. That hare c'd sleep on a bally clothesline." " The next sound to reach Farran was that of a pottery bowl smashing on the floor and a chair falling over. .* "Shorebuck, what's the matter, old lad?" Bart Thistle-down's voice came through loud and urgent. "I say, looks Uke he's chokin' on a bit of scone. Lend a paw, you chaps!" , For the first time Farran showed some sign of emotion. His Jpaw struck the rock wall of his hiding place in disappointment. He had made the mixture too strong, his poison was .Working far too speedily. Other voices crowded in on the Ibx's ears. .'. "Give him somethin' t' drink, clear his throat!"

"No, hold him upside down, shake him and pound his

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"I can't, sir. The pore young un's all doubled up like ..."

"Out of my way, Sergeant! Here, give him to me. Shore-buck! Shorebuck! Come on, young feller. Stand up straight!"

"Stand aside, chaps. Let Seawood through. He's a healer!"

There was a momentary silence, then Urthstripe's anxious tones rang through the dining hall.

"What's the matter with him, Seawood?"

A pause followed, then Seawood's voice came through. He was sobbing softly. "He's dead! Young Shorebuck is dead, sir!"

"Dead? Surely not. Can't you do somethingherbs, a potion?"

"It's too late. Can't you see, sir! Look at the way his poor face is all twisted, and his body doubled up tight an' stiff. It's poison. I'd recognize it anywhere. Shorebuck's been poisoned!"

"It must have been somelhin' he's eaten, sir. The pore lid-die feller was right as rain a moment ago."

"Spot on, Sarge. He dashed t' that breakfast board like a bally young trooper after his first fight..."

Urthstripe's voice boomed through the dining hall. "Get away from that table! Don't touch the food!"

Ferahgo tossed his knife high in the air and caught it by the handle. He was in good spirits.

"Haha, what's thirty or forty creatures slain? There's always more where they came from. That's what soldiers are for, to kill or be killed. What's the matter with your face, backstabber?''

Klitch sat to one side with the four Captains, a scowl hovering around his blue eyes. "The whole thing was a waste of good fighting creatures."

Ferahgo flicked the knife. It stuck in the ground near his son's paw. "Oh dear dear. Friends of yours, were they? Are you sad because they were killed in the battle?"

Klitch ignored the dagger a fraction away from his footpaw. "Don't worry, old one, I'm not going soft. I couldn't give a

split acorn whether your whole horde lives or dies. I just think that getting Farran inside the mountain could have been done easier, with a whole lot less killed."

Doghead, a stoat Captain, was about to agree with Klitch when he saw the wicked smile forming in the blue eyes of ^the Assassin. Doghead looked at the ground and kept his comments to himself.

Ferahgo retrieved his knife, waggling it under Klitch's nose. "It's not important what a wet-behind-the-ears weasel like you thinks, my son. I'm your old daddy, Ferahgo the Assassin, and only what I think counts around here. Tell him, you Captains: won't life be easier once the badger and his bares are dead from Farran's poison and we're lords of the mountain? Surely that's worth the lives of a few ragtailed scavengers?''

Badtooth the other stoat nodded. "The Master's right, Klitch. If Farran does the job proper then it was a good plan."

Without another word, Klitch jumped up and stalked off in high bad mood.

Ferahgo winked at the four Captains. "It's a sad thing, being young and thinking you're clever like that. No one can outthink the old Master. Remember that if he ever starts talking to you behind my back. I'll let him live because he's my son, but anyone who plots with him I'll kill stone deadafter skinning them alive, of course. Now, the next move! If Farran Shows up and says they're all poisoned inside the mountain, we'll hack a way in and take over the place."

Crabeyes the rat Captain held up a paw respectfully. "But be should have been well out of there by now, Master. What happens if he doesn't show up?"

Ferahgo sheathed his knife and winked at Crabeyes.

"That means he's still inside there. Oh, don't worry. Farran has never let me down. He'll poison them all, make no mis-take. But then, I've become worried over Mister Farran of late. Maybe he's getting greedy and wants all the badger's pleasure for himself..."

"Badger's treasure?" Crabeyes sounded surprised. „ Ferahgo patted his back and smiled broadly. "Badger's

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treasure, friends. Didn't I tell you? That's why I made you Captains. It will be too much for one; I need four good loyal comrades to share the treasure withyou four. Keep it to yourselves, though. Don't tell the others. When we take Salamandastron I'll make you rich beyond your dreams. We'll be five kings together ..."

The Assassin watched the joyous greed shining from all four faces. He had them hooked. His tone dropped slightly. "There's just one thing, however. Farran wants all the treasure for himself. The Poisoner has got to be removed."

Greed turned to apprehension on the Captains' faces, but Ferahgo had them like clay in his paws.

"Have you ever seen the treasure of the badger Lords? I know for a fact that the center of that mountain is packed with gold, silver, jewels, armor, swords, encrusted shields and all manner of wonderful weapons. Just think, if you owned a fifth part of all that, every creature in the land would be bow-ing their heads and fighting to kiss your footpaws. Once the badger and his hares are dead, all that stands in our way is the greedy one, Farran. Now I think that between five warriors like ourselves we could manage to slip a dagger in his ribs while we're congratulating him on a job well done. So it's either get rid of the black fox, or back to the life of an ordinary horde soldier."

Four paws touched that of Ferahgo's. "We're with you, Master!"

The Assassin watched them as they went back to their duties as Captains of his horde. He threw back his head, eyes reflecting the summer blue sky as he laughed aloud.

"Hahahaha! Fools"

The body of Windpaw lay alongside that of Shorebuck. Big Oxeye gripped his javelin tightly.

"Found her in the top corridors, sari! Slain by a different type of poison. The filthy scum stuck somethin' in her neck see the mark? Only a tiny wound, but by the swellin' it looks like poison."

Urthstripe's eyes were red-rimmed from tears and wrath.

"First it was young Shorebuck. I watched him during the battlehe would have made a great warrior had he lived. Now it is Windpaw, often pretending to be stern, but with a heart as soft as a summer dawn. She always took good care of my Mara. But now she's gone. Gone! And there's some dirty, low vermin going to pay for this, I promise you!"

A party of Long Patrol hares carried the bodies down to the lower caves, where they could lie until such times as

- proper burial could be given on the shoreline where tide meets land.

Urthstripe sat with Seawood in the empty dining hall. The hare turned out a kerchief containing dead ants.

"Poisoned, all of themsome from the kitchens, some from the foodstore, these two here from the base of the water r- barrels."

The badger Lord brushed them away with a heavy paw. "Is there none of our food or drink that has not been contaminated with poison, Seawood?''

"None, siror at least none that we know of. Who's goin' to trust any of our supplies? I wouldn't. We're facin' starvation!"

Urthstripe sighed as he covered his eyes with both paws.

/'Leave me alone now, I must think. Oh, just one thing. Make

: sure that none of our creatures shows themselves to Ferahgo

or his vermin. I want them to think we're all dead, then we'll

--\. see what his next move will be."

/%.

Sapwood and Oxeye were returning up a flight of spiral stairs

;.,hewn into the rock. They were making their way back to the

dining hall after laying Shorebuck and Windpaw to their tem-

'* .porary resting place in the lower caves. Bart Thistledown

;/ grabbed Oxeye by the paw.

5. "What was that?"

:;'; Oxeye was quick-sighted. He squinted in the direction indicated. "It's a black shadow like a ... Wait there!" Oxeye bounded up the stairs with an amazing turn of speed. "Hi! ; YOU there. Stop!"

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The others arrived within seconds.

"What was it, Ox? Did you spot anything?"

The big hare scratched his eartips. "Funny, at first I thought it was a shadow. But I'd swear on a carrot pie that it was a black foxlong sleek vermin with funny eyes."

Urthstripe appeared in the corridor outside the dining hall. "Fox, did you say you'd seen a fox inside the mountain, Oxeye?"

Oxeye was still slightly puzzled. "Er, yes an' no actually."

The badger Lord was in no mood for jesting or riddles. "Stand up straight, sirears up, chin in, chest out, shoulders back, paws at an angle of forty-five degrees to the side legfur! That's better. Now answer my question as a hare of the Long Patrol. Did you see a fox?"

Standing correctly to attention, Oxeye faced front as he replied. "Sah! Difficult to tell, sah! Could've been a trick of the light, sah! Looked remarkably like a black fox with odd eyes, sah! If it was, the blighter went that way, to the left along the corridor. End of report. Sah!" Oxeye threw a smart salute and stood awaiting further orders.

Urthstripe paced up and down, musing aloud. "Hmm, quick, dark and sleek, like a shadow ... slip in and out unnoticed, a fox too. That doesn't sound much like a fighter, more like a creature that does things by stealth, a spy, or a poisoner maybe!"

Sergeant Sapwood clenched his paws. "May Hi ask yer permission to find this 'ere creature, sir?"

But a swift plan had already formulated in Urthstripe's mind. ' 'Permission denied, Sergeant. I want this poisoner myself, but if we are to capture him we must act with all speed. Right, here's the plan. Split into two groupsOxeye, you take one group up to the crater top immediately. Keep low so that Ferahgo's army cannot see you. I want that crater top sealed off like a bottleneck so that the fox cannot get away. Sapwood, take the rest and follow him. When you reach the top, pair off in twos and start searching the mountain thoroughly from top to bottom. Wedge off all exits, window slits and the like. If you do the job correctly, the fox will have

only one way to rundown! I will be waiting in the cave where Shorebuck and Windpaw are lying. Off you go now!"

Ferahgo had been searching the base of the mountain, poking, sniffing and prying all around its mighty circumference. A sizable contingent headed by Doghead and Dewnose followed him. They watched as the Assassin halted at a spot on the north side and marked a cross in the sand with his dagger. ; "Here! See the cracks and loose boulders? It's a fault in the rock. This is where we'll tunnel in. Hah! They should . have eaten and drunk their fill by now in there. Thirsty work, heaving all those boulders about and defending a mountain against my horde. The poison should be working well, if I know Farran!"

Klitch perched on a rock slightly above his father's head. ;X "Tunnel in? Seems a lot of unnecessary work when we could ..find a window slit, or even attempt unblocking the main en-' trance. That'd save a lot of digging."

' Ferahgo toyed with the gold medallion around his neck. ft "Don't worry, Klitch my son, you won't be asked to get your dirty. We've got an entire horde to do the job. Have never heard of the element of surprise? If there is any-.ijbeast left alive in there and they still happen to be in fighting ?pi8tm, they'd expect us to try unblocking one of the entrances, we will be doing the unexpected. Doghead, Dewnose, inake a start here. There's loose boulders and lots of wide . Use spears, pikes, knives, swordsanything, but keep 3m at it."

,,,?r,_._ran the Poisoner knew that his mission had failed. All that ?ijfce desired now was to leave the mountain. But try as he

.*&* gt; *

lid, the black fox was frustrated at every turn. Salaman-stron was virtually alive with determined hares. Fully armed and alert, they scoured every nook and cranny from the top of the crater downward. Farran found himself running before them, down, ever down. Whenever he turned and tried going upward he was cut off by two pairs of angry, determined hares coming from each side. Scurrying along one of the mid-level

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corridors, he practically bumped into Sapwood. Turning, he dashed off down a flight of stairs with the Sergeant's voice ringing in his ears. "Run, you poisoner. We're givin' you more of a chance than you gave two pore 'ares. Go on, keep runnin', vermin!"

In desperation Farran concealed himself in a dark corner until Sapwood had passed by, accompanied by Pennybright. The ghost of a smile flitted across Farran's sombre face. Slipping out of his hiding place, he mounted the stairs, only to find himself facing the lance points of Bart Thistledown and Starbob.

Bart tapped his lancepoint on the steps. "Up y'come, laddie. Let's see what you're made of, wot?"

The black fox turned and fled, taking the opposite direction to Sapwood and Pennybright. Behind him he could hear Star-bob and Bart. Suddenly the passage ahead of him was cut off by Seawood and a hare called Moonpaw. Drawing his deadly greenhart dagger he backed off, snarling. The two hares made no move to attack, merely covered the bottom of the staircase so that he could not go up. Hugging the opposite wall, Farran slid past them and sped off. As he descended another flight of steps, he could hear four sharp lance tips tapping behind him.

On the ground-level corridor Farran glanced left and right. Two more hares were coming from the left, both with arrows nocked on drawn bowstrings. He ran to the right. Narrowly avoiding two more advancing members of the Long Patrol, the Poisoner went helter-skelter down a long spiral stairway carved into the rock. Tripping and stumbling, he staggered into the final passage leading to the lower caves. Farther along the way hares flooded down silently from another stairway in front of him, while at his back another group came down the spirals he had recently descended.

The sour taste of fear rose in the black fox's mouth. There was just one place left to go: the large cave in front of him.

It was a huge, rough-hewn place with torches placed plentifully in wall sconces. There was a pair of raised stone slabs at the far end.

Beside the bodies of Shorebuck and Windpaw, Lord Urth-stripe stood waiting in the well-lit chamber. He was unarmed, save for a wet strip of linen that had been knotted at one end. Farran's pale eyes watched him warily as the Long Patrol crowded in the cave entrance, blocking any possible way out. The badger Lord pointed to the two lifeless creatures laid out either side of him.

"See how you have murdered my friends, fox? Now the time for reckoning has come. You must face me. Sapwood, provide this vermin with any weapons he needs, then stand back, all of you. Nobeast is to lay paw upon the fox... . Nobeast, save me!"

25

As night fell, Thrugg began piling up pebbles. The otter moved stiffly, his whole body aching from the fight earlier that evening. Out on the open land the crows were beginning to stir in the cool night air. One or two were trying out desultory hops and caws.

Rocangus glanced over the bank edge of the dried-out streambed, his fierce eyes watching them keenly. "Och, yon birds are startin' tae work theyselves up again."

Dumble had fallen asleep. He muttered to himself and turned over.

A full moon rose like a dull gold platter. As Thrugg looked up at it, a dark winged shape swooped low out of the night. Grabbing his sling, the otter launched a hasty stone at the bird. It banked and circled, shrilling out angrily, "Ach, ye great lump-haided riverdog, can ye no see Ah'm a falcon?"

Rocangus cocked his head on one side. "Is that ye, Tamm-beak?"

The other falcon landed smoothly atop the haversack. "Aye,'tis. Whit ha' ye done tae yer wing?"

Thrugg stood to one side, listening to the falcons conversing in their quaint northland accent.

"Never ye mind mah wing, Tamm. Will ye lookit yon

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crows, mah cronies an' mahsel' are sair troubled by them. Are any of oor clan aboot tae lend a talon here?"

"Nae bother. Bide ye here a wee bit. Ah'll bring ye help." Tammbeak shot off into the night sky, screeching at intervals as he flew in a high wide circle.

"Krrreeeekah! Gather ye tae me! Krreeekah!"

Rocangus watched him. "Och, it's a braw thing tae be fjyin'. Dinna ye fret, Thrugg, yon crows'll soon be sorry they messed wi' the son of the Laird Mactalon."

The cawing and hopping from the crows had increased. They appeared to be working themselves up into a frenzy. Out on the open moonlit land they hobjigged and sang raucously. Thrugg covered the still sleeping Dumble with his jerkin as he watched them anxiously.

"Rocangus, matey, I 'opes yer pals gets here afore those birds charge us. We won't stand a butterfly's chance agin that mob!"

As if on cue, six falcons dropped out of the sky into the streambed.

Thrugg gave a startled jump. "Phew, that was quick!"

A tall, imposing elder with fearsome beak and huge talons folded his massive wings and winked at Thrugg. "Aye, 'twas an' all. Mah clan's speedier on the wing than anything in yonder sky."

Thrugg looked around doubtfully. "But there's only six of you. There's 'undreds of crows out there, beggin' yer pardon o' course."

The big falcon grinned fearsomely. "Ach, dinnae apologize, streamdog. We were searchin' for that young rip, mah son Rocangus, but six braw sojers like us wid be shamed if we couldnae give some crows a guid tanning!"

Rocangus had been standing respectfully to one side. Now he came forward and bowed his head to the Laird.

"Faither, 'tis yerself. Och, am Ah glad t'see ye. Yon riverdog is Thrugg, the wee mousey is Dumble. They found me wi' mah wing brokit an' fixed it up. Ah should be flying again soon."

Laird Mactalon inspected the dressing on his son's wing.

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then proffered a talon to the otter. "Ah'm beholden to ye, Thrugg. Mah son should be thankful he met sich bonny decent creatures as ye an' yer wee friend there. We'll talk some mair later. Sit ye down while Ah deal wi' yonder bunch o' disgraceful birds."

Now the cawing and dancing had increased to fever pitch and the bolder crows were beginning to hop toward the streambed. Laird Mactalon and his clanbirds broke cover. They stood in a line on the banktop and threw back their heads.

"Kreeeekah, tak' nae prisoners, give nae quarter, kreee-kah!"

As if by magic, the crows fell silent and ceased dancing. Laird Mactalon and his falcons started walking toward them with a definite warlike swagger, chests puffed and neckfeath-ers spread wide, their talons crunching the dead bracken as they went. The front crows hopped backwards. Mactalon threw out his bold challenge and walked forward alone ahead of the others.

"Och, come on, laddies. We're no a babbie mouse and a wounded young un, or an earthbound riverdog. See if ye can do any better against us. Ah'm the Laird Mactalon, as well ye know. Ah'll do battle wi' ye on land or in the air. Dinnae keep retreatin'. Whit's the matter? Surely you're no' frighted?"

All the time he was talking, Mactalon had been advancing. With the speed of a whipcrack he suddenly hurled himself into the crows. In the melee that followed, four crows were stretched out by the deadly beak and raking talons of the Laird. The other crows took to the air in an awkward flurry. They were met by the five falcon warriors, who hit them like thunderbolts.

Baby Dumble was awake. He sat on Thrugg's shoulders, wide-eyed as crows fell from the sky like tattered scraps of dark cloth. Eventually the crows made it back to the safety of the pine thicket. They crouched among the trees as the six falcons circled in a warlike aerial display. Between the

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streambed and the trees, crows dead and injured littered the ground like discarded rags.

Thrugg and Dumble cheered wildly, but Rocangus perched miserably on the haversack, muttering away. "Ach, 'tis a sad thing tae be stuckit here on the ground, by mah eggshell it is. Missin' oot on a scrap the like o' that!"

Landing back in the streambed with his clan members, the Laird contracted and dilated his big golden-flecked eyes as he preened his wing feathers delicately.

"Ah wisht ye could fly, Thrugg. Battlin' in the skies is a grand thing, sure enough. Och, the wee Dumble is awake an' all. How are ye, bairn?"

Dumble offered his paw. "Please ter meetcha, mista."

The rest of the night they spent sleeping in the fragrant heather that grew along the far streambank, safely surrounded by the six falcons. Next morning they were on their way again, trekking northeast. Thrugg raised his head and saw the snowcapped mountains far off, pushing their peaks up at the high blue summer skies.

Rocangus flapped his good wing. "Lookit, 'tis a braw sight. Did ye ever see stones piled so high that winter snow stays atop o' them in summer, Dumble?"

The little dormouse nibbled on a candied chestnut. "I never see'd mountings wiv snow. Goin' ter play in it when us gets there, eh, 'Ocaugus?"

Snow would have been of great use to cool fevered brows in Redwall Abbey at that moment. Mrs. Faith Spinney carried up a pail of springwater that had been left in the cellars to stay cold overnight. Trudging up the stairs, she stood to one side as Foremole and two of his crew lugged down a large basket, bumping it on each stair. The Foremole tugged his snout respectfully to her.

" 'Scuse oi, marm, but us'ns be goin' to do 'ee washen in 'ee pond. Boi 'okey, oi never did see so much durty washen in moi ol' loif. These yurr diggen claws ain't bin so clean

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since moi mummy used t' scrub 'em furr oi when oi was a hinfant."

Faith patted their velvety backs. "Bless you all, you're so kind."

Abbess Vale was up to her paws in oatmeal. She mopped it up from the floor and set the bowl upright.

Brother Hollyberry tried to help her, stammering apologetically, "I'm sorry, Vale, it was all my fault. The old paws started shivering and I couldn't stop them. Here, let me clean it up."

Furgle the Hermit approached with a ladleful of dark liquid. "Huh, looks like you're coming down with a touch of Dry-ditch Fever, too, my friend. Here, get this down you."

Hollyberry took it and pulled a wry face. Droony the little mole watched him and gave a weak smile. "Hurrhurr, naow you'm knows wot yurr own med'sin tastes loik!"

Thrugann bustled in and plonked down a large bunch of fresh herbs on the table. Seeing Hollyberry and Abbess Vale struggling to clean up the oatmeal, she hauled them both up and sat them down on the edge of the Droony's bed.

"Tch-tch! Lookit the mess of you two. Let me do that. There's more motherwort, nightshade and dockleaves, though I'm havin' to travel farther afield to get 'em now. Ah well, press on and never weaken, that's an otter motter."

Tudd Spinney sat up on the bedside and found his walking stick. "D'you know, I do feel a little better this mornin'. P'raps I can get up today an' be of some 'elp around an1 about here." He began to stand upright but was pushed back down by his wife as she passed carrying the pail of cold water.

"If you wants to do anythin', my ol' dear, then you just lie still there an' stay out of the way. Lan' sakes, there's enough to do without trippin' over you all day."

Bremmun poked his nose over the bedsheets surrounding his face, "Bah, I'm weak as a brown leaf and fed up lying about. I wonder how Thrugg and little Dumble are going on with their search for those lector Flowers?"

Sister Nasturtium was so ill she could not raise her head.

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She waved a limp paw at Bremmun.

"I dreamed of Thrugg and Dumble last night. . . . Thrugg was sad.... Sad for Dumble andand another young one. Threatening . .. threatening, horrid shapes like ... like dark birds.... But warriors will help Thrugg.. . . Warriors.... Martin said so..."

"What was that you said, Sister Nasturtium?" Bremmun sat up with an effort.

Faith Spinney plumped the pillows and pressed him back down. "Hush now, she's asleep. Prob'ly just talkin' to herself, pore thing. That nasty ol' Dryditch sickness has hit her worse'n any of us."

26

Two hours before dawn the Deepcoiler came back!

The first thing Mara and Pikkle knew of it was the scream of a lookout shrew, then all was chaos. The quiet surface of the lake exploded into boiling action as the huge creature broke surface between the two boats. They both tipped sideways and though Mara's boat stayed upright the other one overturned.

Shouts and cries of dismay rent the air as a massive head thrust up out of the lake, towering over Mara and Pikkle. It was akin to something from the dawn of time. Fearsome eyes and teeth aglitter, the creature blew out a foul-smelling stream of air and water as it dipped toward them with open jaws. Yelling with fright, they struck at it with their paddles. Nordo and Log-a-log sprang to their assistance. Splintering paddle-wood flew everywhere as they battered wildly at the gargantuan head. Hissing balefully, the Deepcoiler flicked out a serpentine tongue. Mara saw the nightmarish cavern .of its mouth as the thing came at her, purplish-red, blotched, with horrific rows of serrated teeth framing it.

The badger maid walloped furiously at the tongue with her shattered paddle as Pikkle and the others hammered at the widespread jaws and teeth. The monster veered away, turning

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its attention upon the capsized boat and its crew. The shrews shrieked as they floundered and struggled in the water, fighting to avoid the lashing coils that pounded the lakewater into a bubbling lather.

Mara could only watch in helpless horror as the scaly behemoth seized a half-drowned shrew in its jaws. Two others were cruelly trapped by the convolutions of its massive body as it twisted about, slamming them against the hull of the overturned boat.

"Help, badger. Help me, please!"

With his paws bound, Tubgutt was bobbing about in the roiling melee, buoyed up by the air trapped in his fur. Mara grabbed the fat shrew and hauled him aboard quickly. Log-a-log, Nordo and the rest of the Guosssom crew drew their rapiers. They leaned over the side, rocking the boat perilously as they stabbed repeatedly at the gigantic bulk that thrashed about between the two logboats.

"Nordo, watch out!" Pikkie hurled himself bodily at the shrew. Cannoning into him, he knocked him out of harm's way just in the nick of time. The flailing tail whipped down mightily on the boat, striking the spot where Nordo had stood a split second before and smashing a large chunk out of the vessel's side.

As suddenly as it had appeared, the Deepcoiler vanished down into the mysterious unfathomed depths of the lake, taking with it three shrews. Instantly the surface was restored to mirrorlike calm. Log-a-log slung out a grappling hook on a line, neatly snagging the upturned boat. Willing Guosssom paws heaved to turn the craft upright. Mara, Pikkle and some others pulled the survivors to safety, some semiconscious, others injured, but all grateful to be alive.

As Mara released Tubgutt from his bonds, Nordo sized up the situation. "Well, we've lost three good shrews and the provisions from the other boat. Just look at the damage to our boat!"

Pikkle was ministering to those he had rescued from the water. "These chaps aren't too badly injuredknocked about

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a bit, mostly bruises an' cuts. We'll live t' fight another day, lads!"

Tubgutt went down on all fours. Taking Mara's paw, he placed it on his head. "I'm sorry I ever spoke out against you, badger. I owe you my life. From now on I will be at your side. Your friends are my friends and your enemies my enemies, this I swear upon my oath as a Guosssom shrew!"

Mara chuckled to hide her embarrassment- "Thank you, Tubgutt. But I wouldn't try to outscoff Pikkle again, if I were you. Next time you might swell up and explode."

Minutes stretched siowly into hours. Dawn was a long time in coming as the two boats rocked gently on the surface of the great waters. Throughout the night watches everybeast sat awake, too fearful for sleep.

Log-a-log, Nordo and Tubgutt repaired paddles as best as they could. Mara and Pikkle issued a scratch meal from the depleted rations. Other shrews tended to their injured comrades. All through the long night countless worried glances were directed at the silent dark waters, dreading a return attack from the Deepcoiler.

Daylight arrived in rosy mist-shrouded splendor, lifting the spirits of the voyagers. The sun banished wreathing vapors from the lake and a cloudless blue sky heralded another glorious summer day as they paddled over the vast deep. Trailing lines and small nets were thrown out, and they trapped a few trout fry and some freshwater shrimps. These were cleaned and spread in the sterns to cure by sun-drying. Midafternoon brought with it a cry from the lookout.

"Land ho!"

Log-a-log had been baling out water from the damaged boat. He looked up gratefully and called back, "Where away?"

"It's an island, straight for'ard as we go!"

Mara stood carefully on tip-paw. Sure enough, there was an unmistakable smudge on the horizon that could only be an island of some kind.

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Pikkle bobbed up and down at her side. "Well, blow me down with a feather. Is that it? I say, good show! I don't give a frog's hoot how many ghosty ol' badgers live theretake me to it. Anything's better than floatin' about out here waitin' for that blinkin' Deepthingy to work up an appetite again."

Log-a-log scooped busily at the water building up in the bottom of the boat. "Fligg, Rungle, lend a paw here! This is worse than I thought. We've got a crack running halfway under the hull. Huh, we'll be lucky to make land in this leaky tub, though we might stand a chance if we bale fast and paddle even faster!"

Mara took up a paddle and moved to the prow. Nordo, Pikkle and Tubgutt joined her. The badger maid struck out deep and strong.

"Right, come on, Gousssom shrews. Let's see what you're made of. Me and Pikkle are only land-lubbers, but I'll wager we can paddle the paws off you idle lot!"

Nordo grinned across at her. "Hah, did you hear that, lads? Come on, let's show these two that we're the sons of the roarin' shrews!"

Paddles plunged deep as the logboat shot forth like an arrow, each shrew defending the reputation of^ the Guosssom as they bent their backs and rendered a lusty paddling shanty.

"Pull, boys, pull!

O, we're the sons of the roarin' shrews And a logboat is the home we choose. O, pull, me bullies, pull! Now we can stamp an' we can fight An' paddle logboats day and night. Pull, boys, pull!

I was bom in a stream on a stormy day, So I jumped in a boat and paddled away. O, pull, me bullies, pull! A paddle's me son an' a boat's me wife, An' the open water is me life. Pull, boys, pull! O, I can scoff an' outfight you,

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I'm the paddlin' son of a roarin' shrew. O, pull, me bullies, pull!"

Not to be outdone, the crew of the other logboat took up the shanty and began paddling harder. Soon it had developed into a full-blooded race. The two boats fairly skimmed over the waters, paddles flashing and bow waves throwing up spray.

For all his girth and weight, Tubgutt was a powerful creature. He dug his paddle long and deep, laughing aloud at Pikkle's unorthodox but effective methods. The young hare was like some crazy jack-in-the-box, ears flopping either side as he bobbed up and down, grunting hard at each paddle stroke and improvising his own shanty.

"O, I'm a Salamandastron lad, An' by my reckonin' that's not bad. Scoff, chaps, scoff! Now listen, shipmates, while I say I'd rather scoff than paddle all day. O, scoff y'villains, scoff! I don't think that I'd feel so sore With an apple pudden in each paw. Scoff, chaps, scoff! So set me down on good dry earth, I'll eat an' snooze for all I'm worth. O, scoff, y'villains, scoff!"

On through the afternoon the two logboats raced, sometimes neck and neck, but mainly with Mara's boat in the lead, owing to the formidable strength and staying power of the badger maid and her friends. Because of the speed they were traveling, the pressure on the hull of the damaged vessel was causing water to leak in ever faster. Log-a-log and the bailing party had their paws full trying to cope with the flow but, caught up in the spirit of the race, they battled on.

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Toward evening the island was beginning to loom large. Rearing up out of the surrounding deeps, it was a high, rocky outcrop, fringed on top by foliage, bushes and overhanging trees. The red sky of eventide silhouetted it eerily. Still fearful of Deepcoiler's reappearance, the Guosssom paddled on with their last reserves of strength, anxious to be ashore.

Log-a-log's boat had settled low in the water. Pikkle urged the crew on with false cheerfulness. "I say, you shameful shrews, wallop those paddles a bit faster. That's the ticket! Keep goin', chaps. Think of all that lovely land to wiggle your paws on."

The lake was close to lapping over the boat's sides as they nosed into a rocky inlet. Log-a-log jumped ashore and leapt onto a broad sheif-like ledge.

"All ashore, Guosssom! Nordo, loop a line over the stern. Rungle, get one round the bows. We'll haul her up here and see if we can make the old tub shipshape again!"

It was dark by the time they had heaved the damaged logboat up onto the ledge. Both crews sprawled about on the flat rock, resting after the day's labors. A small fire was built and food was shared out. Mara and Pikkle squatted around the fire with Log-a-log and Nordo. They ate shrewbread, yellow cheese and nuts and drank their portion of the remaining shrewbeer. The Guosssom leader settled his back against the cliff which reared up behind him.

"Ah well, we finally made it! In the morning I'll search out some pine resin, wood and clay to repair the boat. Nordo, you'll take a crew and forage for supplies. Don't stray too far, though. Stay within hailing distance of here. Mara my friend, I don't need to tell you what you and Pikkle have to do ..."

The young hare spoke around a mouthful of cheese and nuts. "Spot on, old lad. We've got to go an* have a chinwag with the bally ghost, I suppose. Honestly, the things a chap has t' do! I don't know which is worse, actually: gettin' scoffed by old Deepthingy, or bein' frightened to death by a spooky spirit."

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Mara emptied her beaker and lay back yawning. "No need to worry about that until morning, my old Pikkle. Get some sleep while you can."

Tubgutt came over and lay curled up close to Mara's foot-paws like a faithful pet dog. "Where you go, I will too. I'll be there to watch your back tomorrow. You can rely on me."

The camp fell still as the fire dwindled to dying embers. The only sound was that of weary shrews snoring. A myriad host of twinkling stars surrounded the waning moon in the night sky, reflecting into the broad, still waters beneath. The peace that summer darkness brings fell over the slumbering earth.

It was some time shortly after midnight that everybeast on the ledge was dragged into wakefulness by a long echoing howl which boomed about cliff and lake like some sepulchral knell.

' 'Eeeee.... Yoooooo.... Laaay.... Leeee.... Aaaahhhhhh!!"

Pikkle's ears stood up like two pikestaffs. He leapt across to Mara and grabbed tight hold of her paws.

"Hellteeth and Darkgates! What was that?"

27

Early morning shed its light over the leafy canopy of far Mossflower in the southwest. Spriggat tugged at the bowstring fastened around the tracker rat's neck.

"Stir yer stumps, yew rogue. We've got ter catch up with that fox. Mind now, you play us false an1 I'll let 'Rula the mad mole loose on ye. Right, me beauty, for'ard march!"

Off they went, Samkim stifling his laughter as the little molemaid muttered darkly to the trembling rat, "Hoo urr, oi'll chop off n 'ee tail an' stuff it up 'ee nose, then oi'll fetch some woild ants an' let they darnce in 'ee ears. That's after oi poured gurt globs o' sticky mud o'er 'ee vurrmint 'ead, o' course. Hoo urr, an' hair hoo!"

Convinced that Arula was truly mad, the rat led them on a straight course. This was confirmed from time to time as Spriggat found evidence of the other five trackers and Deth-brush along the way.

There was a short halt at midday for refreshment. Though supplies were running low, they managed a tasty little meal of apples, cheese and some half-disintegrated oatcakes. Spriggat found a ready supply of insects buzzing around the surface of a small patch of marshground. Caked from snout to paw

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in mud, he wandered happily about, munching gnats, wasps and other winged insects.

"Mmm, a very nice liddle selection 'ereabouts. Very nice!"

The afternoon was well on by the time the rat led them up a hilly rise in the woodland. Samkim held the bowstring lead, walking at the tracker's side. On reaching the peak of the hill, the young squirrel tugged sharply on the string. "Get down, lie still and be quiet!" he commanded the prisoner.

Sensing the need for caution, Arula and Spriggat bellied down, crawling through the loam to join him.

"Yurr, wot be amiss, Sanken?" Arula whispered.

They followed the direction of Samkim's paw as he pointed downhill. Between the thickly wooded side of the slope a glint of running water could be seen below.

"The Great South Stream," Spriggat whispered.

The young squirrel concentrated hard as he sniffed the air. "Aye, that's probably it, but I'm convinced I can smell woodsmoke and hear voices down there. What d'you think, Arula?"

The molemaid moved her head this way and that, wrinkling her dark button nose intently. "Ho urr, you'm roight, wood-smoke an' voices it be."

Samkim pulled an arrow from his quiver and held it point forward at the rat's throat. "This could be a trap. If you've played us false then your seasons are finished as of now, rat!"

The tracker swallowed hard, not daring to shake his head with the arrow tip stinging his gullet. "Dethbrush wouldn't hang about layin' traps, he only wants to get back to Ferahgo as quickly as possible. I told you he'd be followin' the course of the South Stream."

Samkim looked across at the hedgehog. ''What do you think, Spriggat?"

The old hedgehog stood up quietly. "Well, we can't lay about 'ere all day, I say we goes down yonder an' investigates. Roll over mis way, rat."

The rat complied and was promptly gagged with a mouthful

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of leaves. Spriggat wound the bowstring under his chin and over his snout, effectively securing the gag and muzzling him. "Right ho, vermin. Lead on, slow an' easy-like!" Using the trees as cover, they crept down the hillside toward the stream. Arula drew the heavy pruning knife she had brought with her from Redwall, giving her loaded sling to Spriggat. Samkim gripped the unstrung bow, ready to use it as a stave. As they drew closer the sounds of creatures talking grew louder, though what they were saying the friends could not tell. Spriggat hauled the rat from the cover of an elm trunk and did a short run forward, pushing him into the cover of a yew thicket. Peering between the pole-like branches, he caught sight of a group of creatures arguing heatedly in gruff bass voices.

The hedgehog heaved a sigh of relief. Pushing the rat out in front of him, he called to Samkim and Arula, "It's all right, yew tew. No need to 'ide. They're shrews!"

The shrews on the streambank turned at the sound of Sprig-gat's voice. Before anybeast could stop him, one of them dashed forward. Drawing his rapier, he ran the tracker rat through the heart.

Realizing what had happened, Spriggat dealt the shrew a hefty crack over the head with his loaded sling, roaring as he laid the creature out senseless. "Yew stupid liddle murderer, couldn't y'see the rat was tied up? 'E was our prisoner, an 'elpless vermin. Yew 'ad no right to slay 'im like that!"

Samkim and Arula had now caught up with Spriggat. Instantly all three were surrounded by shrews with drawn rapiers and heavy wooden paddles. A mean, thin-looking shrew was shouting, "Kill them. It's the rest of the fox's gang. Kill them!"

Without thinking, Samkim threw back his head and yelled, "Redwaaaaaaalllll!"

The shrews held still a moment, surprised by the call. A fat old shrew, gray with many seasons, pushed his way through, belaboring about him with a knobbly blackthorn stick.

"Enough of this killin' talk, can't y'see these beasts aren't

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vermin? Stand aside, get out o' me way, Gousssom!"

The shrew who had been struck by Spriggat rose, moaning as he nursed a sizable bump between his ears, "Kill the hedgepig. He tried t' murder me. Oooohhhh!"

The old shrew brandished his stick at the speaker. "One more word, Racla, an' I'll raise another lump atop of the one the hog gave to ye. Now then, you lot, put up those weapons. Do as I say or I'll lay about yer with me stick!"

Muttering sullenly, they complied, and the old shrew winked at Samkim.

"I'm Alfoh the Elder. We're a colony of Guosssom shrewsthere's tribes of shrews all along this stream, part of the main Guerrilla Union. We pride ourselves on being the most civilized and reasonable of all the Guosssom tribes that's why we call our group a colony and not a tribe, y' see. But I suppose any shrew-band has its loudmouths an' hotheads, like young Racla there. Still, I don't suppose he's altogether to blame after what happened here last night. A fox and five rats mounted a sneak attack here, while we were half asleep. They stole our best logboat an' killed four of our shrews. One of the dead was Racla's brotherthat's why he ran the rat through without stoppin' to ask questions. Anyhow, we'll all sit down t'gather an' take a bite an' a sup, then you can tell me your end of the story."

Twilight gleamed on the streamwaters. Seated in a large comfortable cavern facing the bank, the three friends related their tale as Alfoh's colony members sat around listening. Hot acorn and chestnut dip was served with arrowroot wafers, a large honeyed plumcake was brought out in their honor, and dandelion wine and redcurrant cordial flowed freely. Spriggat munched away as he longingly watched two dragonflies hovering over the stream outside.

When the friends had finished their narrative Alfoh leaned back in his deep pawchair and nodded. "I saw your sword, it was a most wonderful piece of craft-beastshipbadger-made, I'd guess. Now, my friends, what to do about all this? If the fox is a good navigator he will eventually make his way

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down to the sea, though if he's never sailed these waters before you can take it from me he'll be as lost as a fish up a mountain."

Samkim clasped his paws across a full stomach. "Do you think we'll be able to catch him up?"

Alfoh pondered the question for a moment. "Maybe we could, but there are four ways he could go: down to the sea, into the great lake, or up one of the back creeks that leads to a dead endall of these routes we could follow and catch up with him. The other way leads under the mountains. No creature would be stupid enough to follow anybeast that way."

Arula blinked. "Whoi be that, zurr?"

Alfoh took a sip of wine and explained, ' There are rapids, a giant waterfall and caves. Besides, nobeast knows whether you would come out on the other side of the mountain or keep going down into the earth forever."

Racla touched the lump on his head gingerly; his eyes were hot and angry as he glared at Spriggat. "I'm not sorry I killed that rat. First thing in the morning I'm goin' after the others. The fox is mine; he killed my brother."

Alfoh's paw strayed dangerously near his blackthorn stick. "You'll stay where you are until I give the word, young Racla. Tomorrow we'll take the other three boats and all go together. As for revenge upon the fox, I think Samkim has a prior claim to you. He needs to retrieve the sword for his Abbey. Now let's all get some sleep. We've got a full day ahead of us at dawn,"

28

A light breeze from the sea fanned the flames of a small fire among the rocks on the shore by Salamandastron. Klitch and Ferahgo watched each other in the flickering light. They were arguing again. Klitch had scored several points, and his blue eyes twinkled maliciously at his father's show of temper.

"Yah, what do you know?" Ferahgo spat into the flames derisively. "I was leading a horde before you were born. You wouldn't know the back of an army from its front, you snot-nosed little upstart!"

The young weasel grinned, happy that he had his elder upset. "There's only one way to find out, old grayhairgive command of the horde to me. At least I couldn't make a worse mess of things than you're doing."

Ferahgo's eyes blazed with temper. "Worse mess? What worse mess? I've burned all their crops from the mountainside, poisoned all the food and drink they have. And if they're not already dead inside that mountain, now I've got a team tunneling in so that we can make a secret entrance. Go on, smartmouth, tell me what you'd do that's so brilliant?"

"Tunneling in?" Klitch laughed lightly. "Sometimes you amaze me. Do you realize how thick that mountain is? A butterfly would have more chance trying to knock down an

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oak tree. When do you expect them to break throughnext week, next season, in ten seasons' time, or twenty?"

The Assassin stood upright, his gold medal gleaming in the firelight. "Come with me. I'll show you!"

Midnight had long gone. Ferahgo's diggers were well ad-vanced, but the Assassin's confidence would have wilted had he seen what awaited him inside Salamandastron, Several hares were listening to the banging and pounding from the outside.

Bart Thistledown grinned wryly as he leaned on his lance. "Well, twist my ears. The crafty ol' blue-eyed villain! Who would've thought he could find the old kitchen drain outlet. It was blocked up when I was a leveret."

Big Oxeye took up a heavy spear and held it poised. "Good thing you heard the diggin' an' gruntin', Barty m'lad. What d'you say we dig from this end, give those chaps a bit of help if they're so anxious to come in?"

Sapwood considered this proposition, then shook his head. "Pers'nally Hi'm agin it meself, an' Lord Urthstripe wouldn't be too 'appy about us 'elpin' vermin. Let 'em do their own diggin'. They should be through afore momin'. We'll just wait 'ere nice 'n' quiet. Penny, you stand by. When I tips yer the wink, run an' fetch 'is Lordship."

Pennybright stifled a youthful giggle. "Righto, Sarge. I can't wait to see what happens when the jolly old vermin break through."

The two Captains, Doghead and Dewnose, were working like madbeasts. They had got about two spearlengths into the rock; the tunnel was going to work. Horde soldiers lined the narrow passage, passing back loose boulders and shields piled high with pebbles and shale. Outside on the moonlit beach, others were disposing of the rubble. Doghead and Dewnose labored hard with iron bars and spearpoints, levering away at the packed mass of stone that blocked the old kitchen drain. Both stoats knew that their lives depended on completing the tunnel; nobeast failed Ferahgo. Together they sweated and Strained to prise out a big slab.

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"Come on, mate. Pull. We've got it!"

"I'm pullin'. Owow! Me paw's jammedwait a sec!"

"Migroo, get yerself up 'ere. Squeeze in there an' hold that bar while Dog'ead gets 'is paw loose."

"Owen! OK, I'm free. Now get yer spearpoint in right about 'ere, Migroo. I'll take care of the bar. Watch out, or it'll slide down an' trap yer paws!"

Crabeyes came crawling up the tunnel and pulled their tails. "Outside, you three. The Master an' young Klitch wants to see yer."

They crawled backwards out of the tunnel, scratched, bruised and covered in dust. The Assassin and his son awaited them on the sands. Ferahgo brushed aside their salutes, questioning them anxiously.

"Well, how is it going? Are you nearly through yet?"

Doghead wiped dirt from his eyes and licked his injured paw. "It's just like you said it'd be. Masterall loose rock, none of it solid. We're over two spearlengths in now, shouldn't be too long before we break through."

Ferahgo smiled scornfully, his crinkling blue eyes mocking Klitch. "That sounds like a fine mess, eh, young know-it-all?"

Klitch looked slightly taken aback. "But how did you know it was possible to tunnel at this spot?"

Ferahgo scooped up a pawful of sand and held it under his son's nose. "Kitchen debris, old nutshells, broken bits of potterythat's how. Sometime or other this has been an outlet. When I checked I could see it wasn't part of the original rock, only stones packed in there to block it off. I was right, you see, cleverpaws. Now do you think that the old one is making a mess of things?"

"How wise of you, Father, you have found a way in." Klitch put on an expression of respect and kept his tone apologetic. "Now, are you going to stand there sneering at me and patting yourself on the back all night, or are you going to break into Salamandastron?"

Ferahgo's blue eyes smiled back and his tone was equally

civil. "Raptail, Bateye, take this ignorant infant to one side, will you. Now guard him carefully and don't let him get hurt. Keep him here while his father goes to do the work of a warrior. Klitch is a bit inexperienced for this sort of thing, you know."

Leaving his son fuming under the eyes of the two guards, Ferahgo drew his daggers and rapped out orders.

"Doghead, Dewnose, bring a single torch. The rest of you, get fully armed and follow us. Keep silent in the tunne! ... or else!"

The flaring light of a brushwood torch threw elongated shadows across the horde members packing up the tunnel behind Ferahgo and his two Captains. Dewnose patted the large slab when they reached the head of the tunnel.

"There's only this big 'un and a bit more behind it, Master, then we should be inside the mountain."

The Assassin sheathed his dagger and grabbed the spear from Dewnose. "Come out of my way, I'll show you how it's done."

The muscles stood out like whipcords on Ferahgo's lean body as he pitted his strength against the slab. It moved and slid. Angling it across the uneven floor, he struck it hard with the spearbutt, cracking it in two halves. "Pass that along and shift it out the way. Move yourselves!"

The Assassin went to work on the remaining rocks with

? ferocious strength, ripping them out with his bare paws, goug-

; iag with dagger and spearpoint. Hastily the rocks were passed

back along the lines of hordebeasts jamming the length of the

tunnel.

Throwing back a last few small boulders and kicking aside debris, Ferahgo halted abruptly. Licking the edge of his favorite skinning knife, he whispered to Doghead, "We're through! Feel that draft of cold airthat's our first breath of Salamandastron. Keep that torch aside a moment, there's sotttebeast standing with their back to the entrance. Now listen carefully. Whoever it is I'll stab him and drag him through

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for you and Dewnose to finish him off, then we're in. Keep silent now and I'll get him."

With the dagger between his teeth, Ferahgo inched quietly forward, his murderous blue eyes shining with joy as he sighted the unprotected back of the creature at the opening. When it came to silent death Ferahgo the Assassin was the acknowledged master. Throwing a paw round the creature's throat from behind, he locked off the windpipe and slid the blade expertly between its ribs. Pulling back in one swift movement, he threw the body to his Captains.

"Finish him off quickly, then follow me!"

Doghead pushed forward, spear in one paw, flaming torch in the other. He turned the creature over to stab itand screamed. Ferahgo turned, he took one look,, gave a strangled sob of horror and shot through the packed ranks for the open beach, kicking and slashing as he went. The body of Parian the Poisoner lay on the tunnel floor, the face a twisted mask of fright, the mouth wedged open wide by the adderskin belt with its poison bags that Urthstripe had forced down the Poisoner's throat. Thus had the badger Lord dealt with the murderer of his two hares.

The poisoned drinking water was standing by the entrance Ferahgo had made, lined up in cauldrons, boiling hot. As they were wheeled by, Urthstripe tipped each one with his spear-butt, sending scalding water rushing into the tunnel as he roared at the top of his voice:

"Eulaliaaaaaa!"

The hordebeasts packed inside the tunnel fought each other madly in a vain bid to escape the contents of the cauldrons. Spears, swords, pikes and other weaponry hindered them in the darkness as the blistering hot stream gushed out, welling up into a steaming wave. Screams were drowned amid the boiling torrent. Smashed against the rocky walls, the bodies hurtled the length of the narrow aperture to be spewed out on to the beach.

Moonpaw, Starbob, Catkin, Thistle and Seawood climbed back into Salamandastron's east side, throwing the sacks of dandelions, apples, berries and roots ahead of them. Sapwood helped each one in as they clambered through an unblocked window hole. Seawood and Thistle came last, cautioning the Sergeant, "Careful with those two sacks. There's six canteens of fresh water there, Sap."

Sapwood chuckled, patting their backs. "Bless yer ears, mates. Where'd you come by all this lot?"

Thistle nudged him in the ribs and gave a broad wink. "Fancy askin' a Long Patrol Hare a question like that, Sergeant. Did you never have to survive off the land on a long scout?''

Sapwood began blocking the window hole up.

" 'Course I did. Silly ol' me. Hey, Seawood, the diversion worked a treat. You should've seen Urthstripe. 'Is Nibs was like a liddle bunny on 'oliday, roarin' an' ashoutin'. By the fur, the Boss gave those vermints an 'ot old time an' no mistake."

One backpaw, a leg and a large area of Ferahgo's back were painful areas of blistered flesh. He lay stretched on a rock in the dawn light, biting on his knife handle to stop himself crying out. Sickear dabbed seawater gently on the injured weasel, backing off a few paces every time the Assassin winced.

"Water from the sea is all we've got, Master. It smarts, but it cures. We used it for all injuries when I was searattin'."

Klitch was enjoying the whole thing hugely. He leaned down close to his father's face as he mocked him. "Ah then, did the naughty badger roast your bottom, O ruler of all the Southwest and Leader of the Corpsemakers. Never mind then, you leave it to young wet-behind-the-ears Klitch. I'll take charge for a while."

Ferahgo arched his back in agony as the seawater trickled onto it. Sweat beaded on his lips and nose as he gritted around the dagger blade at his grunting son, "Oh yes? And what's

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your brilliant plan, you little toad?"

Klitch took one of the daggers from his father's discarded belt and tapped the point against his teeth pensively. "Hmmm. Plan? I'm not quite sure yet, but it doesn't involve getting thirty soldiers boiled to death by hot water. But don't you fret your dear old gray head, I'll think of something."

"You bring me the head of that badger, or I'll..." Fer-ahgo struggled to rise but fell back snarling.

"You'll what?" Klitch patted the Assassin's back, none too gently. "You're not in a position to do anything. Give me until nightfall and I'll guarantee I'll have a foolproof plan, one that will make this horde realize that they've been led by the wrong weasel for many seasons now."

Forgrin the fox emptied a slingbag onto the rocks beside his friend Raptail the rat. "There y'are, matewhelks, limpets an' a few mussels. They'll taste better'n hard crust an' roots."

Raptail smashed open a mussel with a stone and ate the contents ravenously. "Couldn't yer find no fish?"

Forgrin scooped a limpet out of its shell into his mouth, "You get them shellfish down yer an' thank yer lucky stars we're still alive, Raptail. It's a good job we was only at the entrance t' that tunnel or we'd be layin' scalded dead by now."

"It was a stupid plan, a cracked idea, the 'ole thing!" Rap-tail chewed with difficulty on a rubbery whelk. "Migroo says that young Klitch is takin' over. What d'you think of 'im?"

The fox spat on a rock and began sharpening his sword. "Think? We're not 'ere ter think, mate. Accordin' to 'Is Majesty Ferahgo, we're just 'ere ter take orders. But between you'n me an' the seashore, I think the time's ripe for Ferahgo to go."

The rat scratched his nose and stared at the fox. "Go?"

"Aye, go, matey. He's down an' injured. Now's the time to slip a blade across 'is weasely throat, see wot I mean?"

Raptail gouged at a tooth crevice with a grimy claw, realization dawning on him. "Yeh, maybe yore right. Ferahgo

couldn't give orders with a slit gizzard, that's fer sure. Say tonight, when it's nice 'n' dark ... he'll be sleepin' deep then eh?" P

Forgrin tested the edge of his sword on a whelk he had disgorged. "We'll make sure he sleeps deeper than ever. . . tonight."

BOOK THREE

Destinies and Homecomers

29

Thrugg and Dumble had arrived at the mountain stronghold of the Laird Mactalon. They stood shivering among the high rocks, unconscious of the beauties about them.

The Laird Mactalon spread his wings wide at the snowcapped peaks. The setting sun had turned the ice and snow from white to a clear pink.

"Och, 'tis a sight tae gladden yer feathers, laddie!"

Baby Dumble spread his paws, gazing down at his fat little stomach. "I don't avven no fevvers."

"Ach, so ye dinna. Would ye no' like to be a falcon?" Mactalon's wide wing patted him, nearly knocking him over.

The dormouse sniffed as he climbed into Thrugg's haversack, away from the cold. "Sooner be a Dumble!"

Mactalon chuckled fiercely. "Och, awa' wi ye, mousie!" He turned to Thrugg. The otter was stamping his paws to keep warm. "Noo then, mah friend, ye'll be wanting tae get your paws on some Icetor Flow'rs, mah son tells me."

Thrugg swung the haversack to his shoulders. "Yessir, them's the onesIcetor Flowers. You tell me where they're at an' I'll go an' pick 'em."

"Weel noo, aren't you the bold creature?" Mactalon preened his neck feathers. "Pick them indeed. Yer a braw big

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riverdog, Thrugg, but yer a long ways frae name. Icetors only grow aboot the nest of the wild King MacPhearsome. Och, nae bird or beastie ever goes up there, laddie. Yon eagle's a verra unpredictable creature. I wouldnae fancy makin' requests o' him! But if ye be foolish enough tae try, I'll fly up there on the morrow, but you'll have tae climb, as ye have nae wings tae speak of."

Rocangus showed Thrugg and Dumble to a small cavern where they were to spend the night. There was heather and bracken piled up in a corner, but the place was dreadfully cold. Thrugg put some of the bracken to one side, the rest he placed at the cavern entrance. Digging flint and tinder from the haversack, he soon had a small fire going. Rocangus was wary of flames, but the sight of Baby Dumble seated in front of the fire wanning his paws soon had the young falcon perched between Thrugg and Dumble, enjoying the welcome heat. Rocangus had some words of advice for the otter.

"Mah faither says ye're going up tae see the Wild King in the momin'. Be careful, Thrugg. Auld MacPhearsome is a giant. Mind yer manners, address him as King or Your Majesty. Och, he has a braw temper that one has. He'd as soon eat ye as look at ye."

Thrugg put more of the sweet-smelling bracken on the fire. "Listen, Rocangus me ol* matey, I'll do whatever it takes to get those lector Flowers back to Redwall Abbey. If I've got to pretend to be frightened of some old bird, then so be it." "Ye have man admiration, Thrugg, for I know yer not affrighted of anythinV Rocangus flexed his good wing. "Mind, though, ye'd be well advised tae fear the Wild King. He's the only one who has Icetor Flow'rs an' he doesn't part wi' anythin' lightly. Oh, an' ye'd best leave yer sling wi' me. MacPhearsome won't have any armed bird or beast near his eyrie. That's aboot it, Thrugg. Guid luck to ye. Yer a braw friend an' a bonny riverdog."

Rocangus had conquered his fear of the fire. In fact, he had rather come to like it. The young falcon spent the night feeding the flames with heather and bracken while Thrugg and

Baby Dumble slept peacefully in the high snowcapped mountains of the north.

Dawn in the high mountains was a strange sight. Thrugg shivered as he peered into the whiteness. Clouds had descended upon the peaks, turning the whole place into a land of cotton wool. There was no sky, horizon or ground, save for that beneath the otter's paws.

Settling Dumble into the near-empty haversack, Thrugg cautioned him. "Stay put, matey, an' keep yore head down. Ye'll be nice an' warm in there."

The Laird Mactalon flew in low and hovered outside the cave. "A guid mornin' to ye, Thrugg. Are ye ready the noo?"

Thrugg gave his sling to Rocangus. "Ready as I'll ever be. Lead on, Yore Lordship!"

Rocangus stood waving with his good wing, watching them until they were swallowed up in the mists.

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

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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!"

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 ifn 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'rightAh'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

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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!"

MacPhearsome plopped him neatly back into Thrugg's outstretched paws, astonishment written on his savage features. "Och, Ah dinnae ken whit they feed ye on at Redwall, but it must be guid tae produce sich braw beasties. Ah'm thinkin' Ah'd best gi'e ye the lector Flow'rs afore Ah'm siain by the pair of ye!"

The great golden eagle spread his pinions, beating wildly as snow flew up all around, laughing and screeching in high good humor at his own joke.

On the snowy crag below them the Laird Mactalon pressed a wing hard over his heart to stop its racing beat and sat down flat, glad to be off his trembling legs.

The High King's strange mood had favored Thrugg and Dumble. Instead of MacPhearsome's wrath they were receiving the lector Flowers. It was a huge relief for the falcon Chieftain.

30

"Ee.... Oo.... Lay.. .. Lee.. . . Aaaaaahhhhh!"

Again the loud haunting cry rang through the wooded heights of the lake island above their heads. Shrews sprang up wide-eyed and quivering with fright.

Mara detached Pikkle from her paws and grabbed a paddle. "Whatever that is, it had better keep clear of us because if it comes down on to this ledge I'll brain it, ghost badger or not!"

Nordo piled more driftwood onto the fire. It burned bright, crackling sparks up into the still summer night. By its light Mara looked around at the ashen faces of the Guosssom shrews; even Log-a-Iog seemed shaken by the unearthly call. The badger maid knew they were close to panic, so she set about dispelling their fears.

"Hah! That's an old trick to keep us awake. Lord Urth-stripe used to do things like that at Salamandastron to keep his hares alert, didn't he, Pikkle?" She nudged the young hare sharply. He jumped.

"Ow! Who? What? Oh er, rather, I'll say! Old Thingummy was always runnin' about in his nightshirt scarin' the tail off some chap or other, doncha know. Oh yes! Of course he

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couldn't frighten me or ol' Mara here, we just snoozed through it all."

Mara backed him up, watching the Guosssom beginning to

relax.

"Haha, yes. Remember he terrified Bart Thistledown and the poor fellow fell backward into a pot of hot vegetable soup? Hahaha!"

"Hohoho, will I ever forget it, chum?" Pikkle slapped his sides as he expanded on the tale. "There was ol' Baity with the pan stuck to his bottom, chargin' about yellin' blue murder!"

The shrews began smiling and tittering. Soon they were rocking with laughter as Pikkle continued with the comical incident.

"Hahahaha! Dearie me, I tell you, fellers, Baity was the only one among us who'd never look at vegetable soup again. He's eaten nothin' but jolly old porridge from that day t' this. If ever you ask him to tell you the tale ... Hahahaha! Shall I tell y' wot he says .. . ? Heeheehee! He says, 'Don't mention the taleit was cooked to a turn!' Ohohoho! Tail, tale, cooked to a turnget it?''

Reciting stories and telling jokes, the two friends continued into the night until the incident was all but forgotten. Log-a-log posted sentries on the rock ledge, the fire was stoked up higher and gradually the shrews dozed off one by one. Mara lay watching the fire; Pikkle lay some distance away, though he could still see his friend's face in the firelight. She looked sad. Softly the young hare called across to her, "I say, old gel, what's up? Y' look like a wet wallflower on a windy day."

The badger maid sighed and closed her eyes. "All those stories we told, Pikklelies, the whole lot. I wish it had been like that back at Salamandastron. I'd never have left. Ah well, let's get some sleep. Goodnight, Pikkle."

Pikkle watched as a single teardrop oozed from his friend's closed eyelid.

"I say, steady on. Maybe we did tell a blinkin' pack of fibs, but it certainly calmed down those shrew chappies. Look,

they're fast asleep, the lot o'them, just like we should be. G'night Mara ol' gel, happy dreams, wot?"

Log-a-log roused them as he threw more wood on the fire. It had been light for nearly three hours. "Come on, you lot. Roll me log, are you going to doze there all day?"

Breakfast was a hasty affair of meager rations. Preparations for the day were mapped out by the shrew leader. Log-a-log elected to go with Nordo and the foraging party, saying he would search for logboat repairing materials while they gathered what food the island had to offer. Six shrews were to remain behind on the ledge to guard the boats and keep the fire going.

Mara and Pikkle studiously avoided mentioning the nature of their quest, so as not to upset the others. Arming themselves with rapiers and slings, and accompanied by Tubgutt, as promised, they climbed up the cliffs to the woodlands above and struck out for the center of the island, leaving the Guosssom to their chores.

It was a thickly wooded island. Small birds twittered in the foliage, sunlight shafted through the leaves of beech, elm, oak, ash, sycamore and cedar, tracing patterns of light and shade on the pretty forest flowers carpeting the ground. Pikkle found a cherry tree in full fruit and they sat beneath it, eating the softest dark red cherries. Apples and pears too grew in profusion.

Pikkle flicked a cherry stone in the air. "I say, this is all rather nice, chaps. A body could get used to this, the blinkin' place is a paradise. Look, there's a sweet-chestnut tree-beech and hazelnut as well. Flop my ears, if a ghost does live here he must be a blinkin' well-fed old spook. Yowch! Go easy with those cherry stones, Mara!"

"What are you gabbling on about, Ffolger?" The badger maid looked at him quizzically.

"GabblhV? I'm not gabblin', m'dear gel. Just quit chuckin' Jolly ol' cherry stones at me, that's all."

Mara indicated a small heap of cherry pits at her side. "I've

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not thrown a one. Mine are heresee?''

Pikkle clapped a paw to his eye. "Yowch! Now listen, old Tubthing, throw one more cherry stone at me an' I'll squidge a cherry right on your bally nose!"

Tubgutt was a serious shrew, not given to practical jokes. "I don't throw pips at other creatures, Pikkle. Don't blame

me!"

"Yowch! Well, who theow! There goes another one!"

Mara looked up swiftly and caught a glance of a fleeting grayish creature flitting through the treetops. "Aha! There's somebeast up there. Come on. It went that way!"

Dashing between the close-growing trunks, they chased after the shadowy figure, but it was a pointless exercise; whatever it was had them easily outdistanced. The three friends stopped in a small clearing, panting from the hard run. A pool of crystal-clear water provided them with a refreshing drink.

As they drank, Pikkle watched the treetops reflected in the surface of the water. Leaning close to Mara, he whispered, "It's back again. The bally thing's watchin' us from the top of that beech tree yonder. What'11 we do?"

Mara kept her face down and her paws cupped as she drank water. "Ah yes, I see it now. Pay no attention. We'll let its own curiosity get the better of it. Look, it's coming lower."

Traveling in small jerky runs, the creature was moving down the beech trunk toward the ground. Tubgutt watched the reflection in the pool with Mara and Pikkle.

"What do you suggest we do now, Mara? It's down on the grass."

Now Mara had lost the reflected picture, she took a quick glance over her shoulder. The creature had started moving across the clearing behind them.

"It's a squirrel!" the badger maid hissed to her friends. ' 'When I give the word we must move fast, cut it off from the trees and surround it in this clearing. Pikkle, you're the fastestget behind it. Tubgutt, go to the left. I'll go to the right. That way the only place it will have left to run will be straight into this pool. Ready ... Go!"

The plan worked neatly. Dashing out, they had the squirrel

boxed in. As they moved closer, it backed toward the pool. It was a female, incredibly small and thin, traces of its former red showing beneath the fur that was heavily grayed with age. She stood with her back to the water, baring toothless gums at them. Mara held out her paws in a sign of peace.

"I am Mara, this is Pikkle, and Tubgutt. We mean you no harm. Why were you throwing cherry stones at us? I could understand if you were a young playful squirrel, but one of your seasons .. . You surprise me with your infantile behavior."

The ancient creature did not reply. She swayed from side to side, seeking a chance to dash off, but there was no escape likely.

Pikkle stepped closer, wagging a paw at her. "How would you like it if I aimed cherry stones at your bonce, marm? What I mean is, hang it all, can't a chap scoff cherries in peace in this island?"

The squirrel opened her mouth wide and let out a long shrill call.

"Eulaliaaaaaa!"

There followed a silence. Pikkle shook his head disapprovingly. "Is that all you've got to say for yourself, old lady? Dearie me, I can see this conversation's goin' nowhere fast, wot?"

There was a rustling in the woodland at their backs. The squirrel nodjjed with satisfaction before speaking.

"You'll be sorry you came to this island. It's you who are surrounded now, not me."

A heavy crashing in the undergrowth caused the three friends to turn round. Two badgers came thundering out of the woods, one a female as old as the squirrel, but the other was a huge male, white as driven snow and whirling a big knotted oak club. They roared as they burst into the clearing.

"Eulaliaaaaaa!"

Pikkle and Tubgutt stood openmouthed with shock, but Mara stood forward, a tiny shrew rapier in one paw, twirling a loaded sling in the other. The battle light shone in her eyes.

"I am Mara of Salamandastron! Stay out of the way, old

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mother. You, white one, come a step closer and I'll slay you!"

The white badger looked for a moment as if he were going to charge forward, but Mara noted the fierceness dim suddenly from his face, and his massive paws quivered as he stood undecided.

"Get in there and fight, Urthwyte!" The old female badger stamped her paw down angrily. "Go on, she's a mere puppy compared to you. Flatten her!"

Mara came forward lightly, poised on ready pawpads, her neckfur bristling, fangs bared. "Aye, come on, Urthwyte. You're a fine big beast. Let's see if you fight as good as you growl!"

Pikkle and Tubgutt stood to one side, out of the whole thing. The confrontation was between two badgers; to get in the way meant certain death. Pikkle, however, noticed as Mara did that the white badger, for all his size and muscle, seemed unwilling to offer battle. The young hare called encouragement to his friend.

"Watch him, Mara. Remember Sergeant Sapwooddodge and weave. Don't try a paw to paw with this rascal. He's too big!"

Mara was still moving forward.

"Urthwyte, what have we taught you?" The old squirrel chattered angrily. "Kill the creature! Ooooh! Loambudd, kick his tail for him, good 'n' hard!"

As Mara advanced, the older badger, Loambudd, gave Urthwyte a hefty shove in the back.

"Go on, you big lump. Fight!"

The white badger stumbled forward into Mara, accidentally catching her off guard. He closed his eyes, averting his head as he grabbed her. The breath left Mara's body in a great whoosh, two enormous vicelike paws lifted her clear off the ground, and she was pinned helpless in midair, with the great white badger shouting, "Look, just leave me alone, will you? I don't want to fight. Let me be, or I'll squeeze you hard!"

Mara felt as though her whole body was trapped in a mighty press. Her eyes bulged and she fought for breath. Pikkle pushed Tubgutt aside as the shrew ran forward, drawing

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his rapier. The young hare set his jaw grimly as he thwacked down a loaded sling viciously on the white badger's footpaw.

"Enough of this, y' great bully. Put that maid down this instant!"

It worked like a charm. The big, simple badger dropped Mara in a heap as he hopped about on one leg, rubbing his smarting footpaw. Urthwyte's lower lip jutted resentfully as he muttered, "I'm not a bully. She's the bully. Anyway, why are they always trying to make me fight?"

Pikkle patted his head. "There there, old lad. It's not your fault."

The squirrel rushed in, chattering. "You leave him alone, hare. Who asked you to come to our island in the first place? Go away and leave us in peace!"

Loambudd, the old female badger, went to attend to Mara, rubbing her ribs and patting her back until the badger maid regained her breath. She was very motherly and considerate.

"Stay there, Mara. Lie back and take deep breaths. There's nothing broken. Ashnin, I don't think these creatures mean us any harm."

"Well, they had me surrounded and captured!" The squirrel folded her paws stubbornly.

Pikkle gave her a playful shove. "Oh, go on with you, Granny. You started it by invadin' me with bloomin' cherry stones."

Ashnin gave a cackling laugh. "Good shot, aren't I? Never missed ye once!"

Urthwyte tugged Ashnin's tail, complaining aloud just like a small badger babe, "I'm thirsty. Is it al! right to have a drink?"

The old squirrel threw up her paws in mock despair. "Oh go on, you great white tripehound, but don't go drainin' the pond. Leave some for others."

They all sat at the edge of the pool as Urthwyte sucked in great noisy gulps of water like,a thirsty babe.

Loambudd shook her head. "Look at him, the son of one of the greatest badger warriors ever to put paw on grass. Ah, but it's not all his fault."

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Urthwyte raised his dripping white snout from the water. "I'm hungry. It's well past lunchtime, Nin."

The old squirrel tugged his ear sharply. "Tell me a time when you're not hungry, you big scoffbag."

She turned to the three friends. "I suppose you're all hungry too? D'you want lunch?"

Pikkle bowed gracefully and kissed her wrinkled paw. "Feed us, O beautiful one, and we're yours forever!"

"Oh go on with you longshanks." She cuffed the young hare's ear lightly. "I can see you'd take more feedin' than a whole army, just by lookin' at yeh."

Loambudd stood up and beckoned them. "Follow me. You'll have to put a move on, though. I put a leek and mushroom pastie in the oven before Ashnin called. I just hope it hasn't burned."

The two badgers and the squirrel lived a short distance from the pool in a beautiful natural cave. Mara looked about admiringly. It was spacious and well ventilated; two long windows had been carved through the rock, which stood like a hump in the forest. Flowers and trailing plants decorated the windowsills, woven rush matting carpeted the cave and there were several large seats carved from dead logs. These were spread with soft barkcloth covers. The rock had been carved in one corner to form a fireplace and a wide oven. In the center of the cave was a fine table of rock slab adorned with bowls of fruit.

They washed their paws in a trough by the entrance and sat round the table as Urthwyte and Loambudd brought the food. Pikkle's eyes lit up and Tubgutt gave a small growl of anticipation. A crisp salad of fennel, hazelnuts, young dandelions and scallions was placed on the table, followed by a giant-sized leek and mushroom pastie, its steaming golden crust adorned with watercress. A large pitcher of cherry cordial and beakers came next, with cold mint-flavored spring-water standing by in another jug. Apples baked in honey with dollops of yellow kingcup cream topped the whole thing off, with a wide, flat, sugared plumcake standing by as an extra.

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Ashnin and Loambudd ate sparingly, encouraging the younger creatures to have as much as they likedthough little encouragement was needed. Mara ate steadily, but Pikkle, Tubgutt and Urthwyte went at it as though they were facing a ten-season famine.

While they were enjoying the food, Mara noticed a black stone on a leather thong hanging over the fireplace. She nudged Tubgutt.

"Is that Log-a-log's famous Blackstone?"

Tubgutt rose from the table. Going over to the stone, he touched it and bowed low reverently. "Aye, this is the Black-stone of all the South Stream shrews."

Urthwyte leaned back and stretched out. Unlooping the stone and its thong, he swung it back and forth, a mischievous grin hovering on his big face.

"Oh, this? I took it from a shrew who trespassed on our island a long time ago. The little rascal took off like a shot. He must've thought I looked like some kind of ghost in the dark. Ha ha, most creatures do y'know. I used to play with this stonedreary-looking old thing, isn't it? You can have it if you like, Mara."

He passed the Blackstone over, noting with a smile the gratitude on her face.

The badger maid accepted the stone, winding the thong around her paw. "Thank you very much, Urthwyte. This stone means a lot to the tribe of Tubgutt, and to the father of the shrew you took it from."

Loambudd served Pikkle a great chunk of pastie. '' So that's what two boatloads of shrews came all this way for, a simple black pebble on a string. Well I never. We thought they'd come to settle herethat's why we got Urthwyte to sound his ghost cries last night. I hoped it'd frighten them off."

Ashnin nibbled a fennel leaf, watching Mara with shrewd eyes. "But you never came here just for a piece of stone, missie?"

Mara took a drink of the cool mintwater. "No, I came because Log-a-log the shrew leader wanted me to. Once he gets the Blackstone back, his authority as Guosssom leader

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will be complete. Then he will take me and Pikkle to the sea in his logboats to help Urthstripe in his fight against Fer-ahgo."

"Ferahgo the Assassin?"

Urthwyte's voice roared out like thunder as he threw back his big chair and reared up, a picture of massive ferocity, all traces of his former gentleness gone as fury blazed from hot angry eyes set above savagely bared teeth.

Ashnin and Loambudd rushed round the table. They clung to the white badger's paws, trying to pull him back down into his chair. He was yelling at the top of his voice, "Ferahgo the Assassin! Ferahgo the Assassin!"

The three friends helped to calm him down and get him seated. He was shaking and trembling all over, the food in front of him forgotten.

Ashnin slipped a small quantity of powder into a beaker of cherry cordial and gave it to him. "Here, drink this all up and go outside. Take a nap in the clearing and you'll feel better. Go on."

Obediently the big badger drained the cup and shambled off out of the cave. When he had gone, Loambudd seized Mara's paw.

"Urthstripeyou mentioned Urthstripe. Is he alive?"

Mara looked puzzled. "Yes, of course he is. Urthstripe is the badger Lord of Salamandastron. He is a great warrior, and also a stern old guardian. That's why I left Salamandastron."

Loambudd sat back in her chair, shaking her head as she wiped away tears with a distracted paw.

"Urthstripe alive! So, that little striped babe escaped the Assassin somehow. Tell me about him. What does he look like? Is he as big as his brother? Wait, tell me everything, all about my grandson and about yourself, too, young one."

The badger maid related the story of her life and all she recalled of the badger Lord, from the time she became the adopted daughter of the mountain, up until the time she landed with the shrews at the island.

Three long shrew logboats shot out into the waters of the Great South Stream. The dawn was gray and overcast with a warm blustery wind coming out of the northeast. In the prow of the lead boat Samkim, Arula and Spriggat sat with their paddles shipped. There was little need for paddling in the fast-flowing current with the wind astern of the vessels.

Arula chuckled with excitement as the sturdy craft skimmed and bobbed over the rushing waters. "Huhurr, boaten beats walken boi arf a season's march!"

Now and then Spriggat would lean to one side and snap at the odd passing winged insect. "Huh, goin' too fast fer an 'og to catch a bite."

Samkim crouched in the prow with Alfoh. Together they scanned ahead for signs of Dethbrush and his five trackers. Spray blew up into the young squirrel's nostrils. It was his first time on a shrew logboat and he found it very exhilarating. Winking across at Affoh, he called over the rushing stream noise, "This is the life, eh? Makes me wish I was a shrew!"

The elder nodded as he shouted back, "You like it? Good! Your fox would have had to come this way because of the speedy current. We can follow this way until we get below the rapids!"

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"Rapids?" Spriggat gave a squeak of dismay. "You never said anythin' about rapids. Where are they?"

"Up there a piece." Alfoh nodded ahead. "Don't worry, they'll come soon enough. I'll pass you the word when they do."

Frequently the shrews would use their paddles to negotiate a rock or ward off floating driftwood, but the pace was becoming faster all the time and the banks shot by in a blur of green and brown as Alfoh roared out directions and warnings.

"Duck your heads, overhangin' willows comin' up!"

Arula barely made it, receiving a smart clip from a branch.

"Rock to port! Get those paddles lined up!"

Samkim shoved hard with his paddle, feeling the shock run through his paws as it struck stone. He pushed and felt the boat skip out away from the rock.

"Wood stickin' up midstream, paddles to starboard!"

Spriggat and Arula paddled furiously, sighing in relief as they whizzed by a tree trunk that had stuck in the muddy bottom.

Alfoh brought his mouth close to Samkim's ear. "No signs yet, but don't worry, we'll catch the blaggards. Here come the rapids now. Stow yer paddle an' hang on tight!"

Samkim threw his paddle in the logboat bottom, gripping the sides tightly as he heard Alfoh yell out, "Rapids ahead! Stow all paddles an' hang on!"

White water boiled up over the prow, drenching Samkim as the boat dipped and hurtled crazily into a mad world of foaming, writhing waters. At the stern two experienced shrews sculled with their paddles, slewing the craft around jagged rocky outcrops. Arula threw herself into the bottom of the boat, digging claws hiding her eyes in fright.

"Oohurr, oi'm bound t'er be a drownded mole choild afore sunset!" Like a roller coaster the logboat tore through the rapids, sometimes with water gushing over the sides, other times with the hull groaning as it scraped over submerged rock ledges. Sterns up, heads down, the three vessels weaved and twisted with terrifying speed down the perilous watercourse. Samkim was amazed the shrews seemed to take it all

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in their stride, neither laughing nor looking fearful they battled away with expertise, competence written all over their faces. Finally, after one long watercourse that seemed more like a waterfall than a rapid, they splashed down into a semicircular lagoon with a thick covering of foamy scum lying slowly swirling on its surface. Behind them the rapids crashed and roared in watery chaos. Dipping their paddles, they began pushing on down the wide calm stream. Traveling easily, they felt possessed of an overwhelming tranquillity after the turmoil of the rapids. The sky was still lowering and overcast, wind soughed softly through the sedge at the banks and margins as the three logboats forged ahead.

It was midday when the stream ahead split two ways and Alfoh held up a paw and called out, "Bows into yon middle bank!"

They headed into the tongue of land that protruded at the parting of the stream. Leaping ashore, Alfoh pointed to a high giant hornbeam.

"Mollo, shin up that there hornbeam tree an' scout the lay o' the waters."

A sprightly young shrew bounded forward, but Samkim beat him to it. "Shrews to water but squirrels to trees, my friend!" Like a shaft from a bowstring the young squirrel shot up the towering trunk. Alfoh watched him in amazement. Arula nudged the old shrew.

"Burr, owzat furr cloimen, zurr. 'Ee be a gud'n, our San-ken."

The giant hornbeam was so high that it was difficult to see Samkim when he was at the top. With the speed and agility of a born climber he whizzed back down again, leaping lightly to the ground, eager to deliver his news.

"I could see them, I could see them! They've taken that stream on the left!"

Alfoh leapt back into the boat. "Lucky for them. This'n on the right would've taken them into another waterfall and the mountain caves. How far away are they?"

Samkim jumped in beside him. "Only about two hours good paddling I'd say."

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The boats pushed off down the left fork of the stream. It sloped slightly and ran straight as a die as far as the eye could see. Alfoh struck out with his paddle.

"Seems they're headed right for the sea, but keep your eyes peeled anyway. You never can tell wi' vermin."

The wind increased. Now dark cloud masses could be seen drifting over from the northeast. Spriggat snapped up a mayfly that had been silly enough to try a landing on his paw.

"Looks like rain's goin' to bucket down afore long!"

Halfway through the afternoon Alfoh peered at the left bank. It was heavily overgrown with willows and bushes. He had been watching out for this particular place.

"Pull over here, shrews. That's it, now back water an' hove to."

Samkim watched intently as the elder inspected the thick-eted edge. "What is it, Alfoh? What are you looking for?"

Alfoh slashed at some vegetation with his rapier and pulled a clump of bush lupin to one side. "Hah! I thought so. Look here!"

It was a hidden side creek, overgrown by bush and tree, which wound its way into thick woodland. Alfoh ponted to recent scrapes in the clay of the bank at water level.

"Aye, that's a fox for ye, always one jump ahead of a grasshopper! The villain knew we'd follow t' get our boat back, so he's sidetracked off down herethough I suspect he doesn't know where he's goin' to. This isn't the way to the sea."

"Whurr do et lead to, zurr Affaloh?" Arula peered up the dim overgrown waterway.

Alfoh scratched his chin. "Only one place it can lead to, Arula: the Great Lake."

It was like paddling through a long green tunnel. The water reflected the trees overhead as they crowded low, and the mossy banks, and everywhere was green. Samkim looked at the faces around him, tinged by the green light. Apart from

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the muted sound of paddles, they were in a cocoon of verdant silence. Spriggat paddled and snacked upon various winged denizens of the hidden waterway, lifting his eyes as the splash of water on the leaves above announced the arrival of the rain. They ate as they went, passing back oatcakes and small fruit scones preserved in honey and flower syrup.

Arula took gulps of cooling lilac and rosewater from a hollow gourd and passed it to Spriggat. "Yurr, wash'ee flies down, zurr."

All along the waterway there were signs that the fox had passed in the stolen boatbroken branches, bruised plants and scrapes in the mossed banks. The wind increased overhead, howling a dirge through the treetops. The banks started to rise higher and the watercourse flowed faster as it took a downward slope.

Suddenly Alfoh pointed ahead to the stern of a logboat vanishing round a bend. "There they are! Dig those paddles deep. We've got "em!"

Dethbrush heard the shout. Looking over his shoulder, he called to the five tracker rats, "Paddle for your lives! It's those shrews!"

Other side streams, swollen by the rain, began gushing into the watercourse, and the stolen boat picked up speed, zinging along on its downhill course to the inland lake. Behind it the three logboats raced to catch up.

Dethbrush's boat tipped dangerously and took off into the waters of the Great Lake with a loud splash. It was followed soon after by the Guosssom boats. Now all four were in the open waters. The howling northeast wind whipped the surface into foaming gray waves driven along in a wild slanting downpour of battering rain. Samkim wiped rainwater from his eyes, shielding them with a paw as he tried to keep his sight focused on the boat ahead. The storm drove it powerfully over the wave-crested waters. Up and down bobbed the prow of Samkim's boat, driving deep into the troughs and being lifted high upon the crests. The crew pulled with might and main,

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until Samkim could see the back of the fox drawing closer.

"We've got 'em, lads. Dig those paddles deep!" With a shrew rapier in his paw, the young squirrel stood balancing as far out on the prow as he could go. "Paddle! Paddle, you water-wallopers!''

Within a third of a boatlength Samkim braced himself and took off with a mighty leap. Hurtling across the water with the waves almost hitting his paws, he sprang across the gap between the two boats to land scrambling for balance on the stem of the fox's boat. A rat raised a paddle at him, but Samkim ducked and thrust in one movement, taking the tracker through his midriff.

Dethbrush turned, brandishing the sword of Martin the Warrior. He advanced on Samkim, calling above the storm, "Come on, I'll carve your gizzard to doll rags! 'S death for you, young un!"

32

Ferahgo lay stretched upon the rock. An old cloak that belonged to him had been soaked in seawater by Sickear and thrown over him to heal his scalded back. He sprawled flat on his stomach, feigning sleep, watching the shoreline through half-open eyes. The Assassin was expecting an attempt upon his life, whether from Klitch or some other source he knew not, but he was certain of one thing: injured leaders were a good target for the rebellious. When his penetrating stare caught the telltale movements far out among the rocks of the shore, he called Sickea? to him.

The rat was weary after nursing Ferahgo all day; he lolloped across and threw a desultory salute. "Yes, Master? Can I be of service?"

Ferahgo rose slowly, shaking his head. "No, Sickear, you've done enough for one day. You look tired."

Expecting a reprimand, the rat came to attention. "No, Master, I'm fresh as a daisy. It's my duty to get you well."

The Assassin ruffled the rat's ears good-naturedly. "And a splendid job you've done of it, Sickear. My own mother couldn't have nursed me better. Listen, I'm just going to see what that son of mine is up to. You can have the rest of the night off. Come here, lie down on this rock. It's flat and

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smooth. Come on now, I won't take no for an answer."

The rat complied somewhat hesitantly, but Ferahgo was right, the rock was cool and smooth. He stretched out on it and yawned. "Thank you, Master."

"Oh, it's the least I could do." Ferahgo's blue eyes smiled lovingly. "Here, lei me cover you with this cloak. You wouldn't believe how soft and soothing a drop of your sear water has made it. There, how does that feel?"

Sickear relaxed. "Mmmm, it feels really good, Master." Ferahgo ducked down and stole off into the rocks. Within moments Sickear was slumbering peacefully, the damp cloak protecting him from the early night breezes that drifted about the darkened shoreline.

Forgrin had sharpened an edge and point upon his sword all afternoon, and Raptail had driven a sharp spike through the top of a wooden cudgel. They crept slowly across the rocks toward the still draped figure lying on the flat stone near the tideline. Of the two, Forgrin was the bolder. He popped up from behind the rocks and bobbed down again.

"See, Rap, not a sentry in sight. I told yer, young Klitch 'as taken charge of the rest. This'll be a piece of pie. You'll see!"

Raptail nodded at the fox and brandished his c!ub. "Listen, mate, I'm scared, I don't mind tellin' yer. Suppose Ferahgo wakes up?"

Forgrin pawed the blade of his sword, grinning at the rat. "I've sent many a beast to sleep wi' this liddle beauty. None of them ever woke up. Come on, let's git it done afore yer nerve runs out altogether!"

Not even daring to breathe, they stole up on the supine figure.

Forgrin felt confident. Standing over the cloak-draped creature, he could not resist a quiet snigger. "Weasel yer way outta this one, weasel!"

He drove the sword downward with both paws. The cloaked figure gave a gasp and went rigid. Raptail thudded

two solid blows of his club to the covered head and leapt back.

"Is 'e dead, mate? Stick 'im agin ter make sure!"

"Oh, he's quite dead. There's no need to stick him any more."

The voice was unmistakably that of Ferahgo.

Raptail died with a faint moan as Ferahgo dispatched him with his skinning knife, almost carelessly in passing. Not even bothering to glance at the fallen rat, the Assassin turned to the fox. Forgrin was shaking uncontrollably. The blue eyes looked almost jolly as they smiled through the night at him.

"See, we've killed a rat apiece. You murdered Sickear and I slew Raptail. Now what happens, do you kill a weasel, or do I kill a fox?"

Terror had robbed Forgrin of his power of speech. A gur-gling noise escaped his throat as he turned and ran along the beach.

Ferahgo could throw a knife better than any creature. The long skinning knife took Forgrin between the shoulder blades before he had got thirty paces. His eyes were glazing over for the last time as the Assassin retrieved the knife.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Ferahgo whispered close to his car, "this game ends with the weasel killing the fox. Sweet dreams, Forgrin."

Ferahgo's back felt much better. As he strolled along the beach, his brilliant blue eyes lit up with happiness.

Urthstripe watched from the top of the crater with Sapwood and Big Oxeye. Below them on the shore, masses of torchlights were moving away from Salamandastron. Sapwood nodded toward them.

"Hi wonder what they're hup to now, Ox?" The big hare leaned on his spear. "You tell me, ol' chap, you tell me. From up here it looks remarkably like a flippin' wholesale retreat, wot?"

Urthstripe shook his great striped head. "Ferahgo doesn't give up that easily. He wants us to think it's a retreat. What we've got to figure out is why."

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"Why what, sah?"

"Why Ferahgo wants us to think he's retreating. By my stripe, Oxeye, sometimes I think your brain's been scrambled by all the fighting you've done."

Big Oxeye let one ear droop and grinned. "Quite possibly, sah. I often think that m'self. Shall I take a couple of the chaps an' investigate?"

The badger Lord pondered the question for a moment. "Hmm, I'm not overfond of spyingmuch sooner have a straight battle. But if we want to know what the vermin are up to, 1 suppose we'd better resort to a bit of intrigue. Sap-wood, you and Oxeye go. Take a fast young one with you, in case you have to get a message back here quickly."

Sergeant Sapwood threw a smart salute. "None faster'n young Pennybright, sir. She'll be useful to 'ave halong with us. Come on, Hoxeye ol' pal."

Klitch lay hidden in the rocks, watching the mountain carefully. With him were threescore vermin, personally paw-picked for the mission. The young weasel's blue eyes never left Salamandastron as he explained his plan to them.

"When they see the horde withdrawing it'll puzzle 'em we're here to attack, not retreat. Urthstripe will do what any leader would do in this case: send out hares to investigate. That's where you lot come in. 1 want those hares captured not slain, mind. Dead hares are no good to me; I need live hostages. Are the nets ready, Dragtail?"

A tall gaunt ferret whose tail hung limp pointed to the beach. "Ready an' waitin', Klitch. Right in the path taken by our horde."

Klitch held up a paw for silence. "Get down, here come the hares. Three of 'emjust right!"

Oxeye, Sapwood and Pennybright watched as Urthstripe rolled the boulder, closing the main entrance.

Pennybright's eyes shone with admiration. "There's not a creature in the world as strong as Lord Urthstripe. I'll bet twenty of us couldn't budge that boulder."

Sapwood pushed her lightly, urging the young hare onward. "That ain't nothin' to some of the things Hi've seen 'Is Lordship do. Shake a paw, Penny. We ain't got all night."

Padding silently over the sands, the three hares tracked in the direction taken by the main body of the horde.

Klitch spread his soldiers out behind them in a wide half-circle. Striking flint to tinder, he ignited a torch and waved it. Ahead of the three hares sixty more fully armed creatures filed out from the rocks. Fanning out into another semicircle, they trotted swiftly to join up with the others, completely ringing the three hares inside a wide circle that was closing rapidly.

/- Sergeant Sapwood dropped into a fighting crouch, his eyes ^.glittering pugnaciously. "Nice of 'em to send a welcomin'

*'. committee t' meet us, eh, Ox?"

Big Oxeye stood back to back with him, placing Penny-v bright facing Salamandastron.

;';: "Life ain't always true an' just,

; A villainous vermin you can't trust!

"No doubt you've heard that old rhyme, Penny. Well, here ;; are the jolly old villainous vermin in the fur an' flesh, m' i* gel."

;, "They've got us surrounded. What do we do now?" Pen-' 'nybright gripped her javelin nervously. v Sapwood's reply was calm and reassuring. "Just stick by me an' Hoxeye, missie. We've fought our way out of tighter

C1 corners than this'n, believe me."

/Now the circle was drawing tight. Klitch stood outside it, his blue eyes shining triumphantly in the torchlight.

"Well well, what have we here? Three bold warriors sent ;by the badger. No doubt you'll be wanting to fight. Sorry to disappoint you, though."

;;-- Oxeye hefted his spear, chuckling with anticipation. "Oh,

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don't fret, laddie buck, we won't disappoint you. Come on now, step up an' taste some cold steel from Salamandastron. Or haven't y' got the nerve for it, you slimy little weasel?"

Klitch had been stalling for time, but now he saw his soldiers had found the rope ends poking up out of the sand he gave the signal.

"Now!"

They tugged hard and the net was unearthed from just beneath the sand. With a yell they charged inward.

The three hares fought to keep their balance as the heavy twisted fibers of the net appeared through the sand beneath

their paws.

In the confusion that followed, Sapwood yelled to Oxeye, "We're trapped. See if y' can get Penny away from 'ere!"

Oxeye dropped his spear, knocking the javelin from Pen-nybright's paws as the Sergeant lashed out all round at the yelling mob that scrambled forward holding the net high. Exerting his great strength, Big Oxeye grabbed Pennybright and lifted her bodily over his head. Jumping high, he hurled her over the heads of the vermin and the closing net.

"Run for home, gel! Eulaliaaaaa!"

Sapwood went down under the weight of creatures who piled in throwing the coils over him and Oxeye. Seconds later they were clubbed senseless and wrapped in the snares of the fiber mesh.

Pennybright hit the sand in a stumbling run. A stoat managed to grab her, but she bit his paw to the bone and he let go with a squeal of pain. The young hare righted herself and ran flat out for the mountain, the breath sobbing in her throat as she thought of her two friends lying trapped. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Klitch and Dragtail speeding after her. Sand flew beneath her paws. Three stoats were racing madly, trying to cut her off before she could reach the mountain. An arrow whizzed by Pennybright's head, and Dragtaii was notching another shaft on his bowstring. She swerved, ducking left and right. An arrow hummed viciously by, clipping her ear as she

went. The mountain loomed large as Pennybright yelled with the last of her lungpower: "Eulaliaaaaaaa!"

One of the stoats screeched as he went down with a javelin sticking out of him like a flagpole. Bart Thistledown, Moon-paw and Urthstripe came bounding out of the main entrance. Bart unslung his bow and fitted an arrow as he ran. Loosing off the shaft, he sent another stoat limping off with an arrow-. head lodged in his paw. The remaining stoat turned tail and ran off, as Urthstripe grabbed Pennybright and swung her up over his shoulder.

Klitch and Dragtail had stopped running; their quarry had

escaped. The young weasel hurled a stone at Urthstripe's back

as the badger Lord turned to go inside the mountain. It missed

;; and bounced harmlessly off the rocks. He stood paws on hips

I? shouting, "Be sure to watch the shore tomorrow, Urthstripe.

'f See what I'm going to do with your pet bunnies. Hahahaha!"

Urthstripe put his shoulder against the boulder and heaved

it back into place. Bart Thistledown poured a small beaker of

' water from their meager supply and made Pennybright drink

v it slowly.

- "Don't fret, Penny old gel. Losin' a battle doesn't mean we've lost the war."

..; Ferahgo watched as Klitch directed his soldiers to.drive stakes '!--deep into the sand. Keeping his voice casual, the Assassin

-$-, addressed his son.

f "Forgrin and Raptail are both dead. Your little plan

;gt; failed."

V Klitch picked up a mallet and gave one of the stakes a

" knock. "Oh yes? And what plan was that, old one?"

; Ferahgo seized Klitch's paw, holding the mallet still. "The

ft plan to kill me. I killed Forgrin and Raptail."

H "Very clever, I'm sure." Klitch wrenched his paw away