The rat was long and thin. He wore a gray tunic with a wide belt in which were stuck a dagger and curved sword, the only other item he possessed being a half-length black cape. Rusvul rolled the carcass into some deep loam beneath a spreading buckthorn bush. Janglur heaved on the javelin, tugging it from the rowan trunk.

“Y’had tough luck there, mate. He moved a bit too fast for ye!”

Rusvul cleaned his javelin tip by jabbing it in the earth. “Maybe, but one thing I’m sure of now, Marlfoxes ain’t magic. They’re quick, but they can’t vanish like some say they do. Don’t worry, I’ll get ’im next time!”

Dawn was up now, rosy and clear. They strode back to the Abbey finishing the last drop of cordial. Janglur licked his lips. “I’m ready for a proper breakfast now. Don’t mention what happened back there to any save those who have t’know. Oh, an’ we’ll have t’see if’n those wallgates can be locked up more secure.”

*

Mokkan, the self-appointed leader of his brother and sister Marlfoxes, sat eating a meal of trout, cooked over the fire. Gelltor plastered stream mud on his wound, binding it with dockleaves and sorrel. Mokkan spat a fishbone at him, curling his lip scornfully.

“Blitherin’ oaf! You made a right mess of that plan. Now the Redwallers are sure to know we’re about!”

The vixen, Predak, helped herself to a portion of the trout. “They probably already knew we were in Mossflower if they have half a brain between them. Don’t blame Gelltor. I don’t think you could have done any better.”

Mokkan wiped his paws on the grass, taunting his wounded brother. “A Marlfox getting himself wounded by a squirrel, and losing a good water rat into the bargain. Tell me, Gelltor, d’you think I could have done better?”

Gelltor winced as he tied the dressing with green reeds. “They’ll get back more than they gave when I start on them. I’ll slay ten for killing Fatchur and twenty for injuring me!”

Mokkan shook his head in disbelief. “You don’t understand, stupid. We came to steal, not to start a war. Where’s the profit in that?”

Gelltor whipped out his ax and gripped the haft tightly. “Blood for blood, I say. Who’s with me?”

Ziral raised her voice. “It’s not blood for blood unless somebeast kills a Marlfox. That’s our law, brother. Mokkan’s right. We came for plunder and Redwall Abbey is the only place worth thieving from. You messed things up, got yourself wounded and lost Fatchur. None of us is with you!”