“They’ll leave yer verses behind, pretty maid, watervoles play speedy!”

Song took a sip of cordial to wet her lips. “Oh, they will, will they? Well, let’s see ’em try. Ready, one, two, three!”

Watervole fiddles and drums started the music at a cracking pace. But Song was right up there with them, her sweet voice ringing out.

“Green rushes green rushes an’ lilies so pale,

Pray sit ye down friend now an’ list’ to my tale,

For the rivers flow fast an’ the mountains are tall,

An’ across the wide moorlands the curlews do call,

Dirry wallaker williker doddle rum day!

Green rushes green rushes an’ lilies so pale,

Bring me bread’n’cheese an’ some dandelion ale,

An’ light up a fire now to warm my cold paws,

I’ll sit here all winter till that river thaws,

Skither riddle aye fiddle aye rumbletum hey!

Green rushes green rushes an’ lilies so pale,

I’ve traveled so far over valley an’ dale,

Stale bread’n’hard cheese an’ the ale isn’t here,

An’ the fire isn’t lit so ’tis goodbye, me dear.

Rowtle dowtle rye tootle I go on me way!

Green rushes pale lilies I’ll bid ye good day!

For where I’m not welcome I never would stay!

An’ to all you musicians I’d just like to say,

If I’ve sung out too fast yore indulgence I pray!”

Amid wild cheers and resounding whoops, Song was carried shoulder high around the cave. An old volewife shook a ladle at the pawsore, panting musicians, some of whom had stowed their fiddles and drums away, having been left far behind by the final verse, with Song completing the last four lines unaccompanied. The volewife cackled.

“Haharr, you lot’d better learn t’play proper, yiss yiss. The squirrelmaid sang the paws off’n yer, right sweet and clear too!”

Burble raised his beaker aloft. “Yiss yiss, let’s drink the ’ealth of the best bargainer an’ finest singer, the bravest-lookin’ sword-bearer an’ the starvin’est Guosim ever t’come inside Riverhead Cave. Good luck an’ fine fortune be theirs wherever they travel. Yiss yiss?”

The watervoles raised their drinks and roared out, “Yiss yiss! Yiss yiss!”

Dippler licked the rim of his bowl. “Any more o’ that stew left, matey? No point in lettin’ it go t’waste!”

*

Mokkan lay back in the stern of the logboat, trailing a paw in the water as he issued orders. “Ship those oars an’ let her drift, an’ pass some vittles back there. Fenno, my friend, keep our boat out in the middle, away from the banks.”

The shrew sobbed miserably as he maneuvered a paddle oar in the stern behind the Marlfox. “This noose is stranglin’ me. I can ’ardly keep me eyes open, sir.”

Stern-faced, Mokkan tested the double-headed ax blade on his paw. “You’d better keep your eyes open, shrew, or I’ll shut them for good!”