“Right, lads, quick’s the word an’ sharp’s the action, eh? Form up here and follow me. No lagging and sitting down on the bally old job. By the left . . . wait for it, Cheek . . . quick march!!”

The little column trekked off into the unknown expanses of the desert ahead of them, leaving behind the final fringes of Mossflower.

*   *   *

Slagar had driven both captives and slavers hard. Marching by night and resting by day, they had crossed the wasteland. Footsore and weary, Mattimeo and his companions helped each other along. Their mouths were dry and parched from lack of water, the manacles rubbed and chafed. Tess caught Cynthia Bankvole as she stumbled for the umpteenth time.

“Up now. Stay on your paws, Cynthia. It’s daylight, so they’ll let us rest soon.”

The volemaid licked dusty lips with a dry tongue. “I hope so, Tess. I can’t stand much more of it, though I don’t know which I’d prefer right now, a drink or a sleep.”

Auma lent her size and strength, supporting them both with a paw at their backs. “Keep going. I can see something ahead, though I don’t exactly know what it is. Can you see it, Sam?”

The young squirrel strained his eyes. “Looks like some sort of a black shadow with bushes and trees on the other side of it. Whatever it is, it has to be better than this wasteland. I think they’re planning to let us rest when we reach there. Keep going, it shouldn’t be too long now.”

*   *   *

Distances in the drylands were deceptive. It was gone midmorning when the slave line halted at the place which Auma and Sam had sighted. Cynthia Bankvole drew in a sharp breath and clapped a paw over her eyes, then sat down, dizzy with fright.

They had arrived at the brink of an abyss!

A huge rift in the earth opened before them. It was as if the world were splitting through its middle. Impenetrably black and endlessly deep, it stretched away in either direction as far as the eye could see. Though they were standing at its narrowest point, the distance across yawned many times the length of a tall beech tree. The captives stood wide-eyed in astonished silence at the awesome sight.

Across the gorge a swaying construction of rope and wood stretched. It was secured at either side by thick stakes driven deep into the earth, but the center of the rough bridge dipped perilously into the chasm.

Jube buried his face against the dusty ground. “Ooooh! I’d as soon die as try to cross that!”

A moan arose from the slave lines. Others felt the same as Jube, and even the stoats, weasels and ferrets who had come this far with Slagar began muttering among themselves.

The masked fox stood leaning against the stakes, watching them. He had come across this problem before and was ready for it.