“Get out of there, watch your back, Matthias!” Orlando roared from the cave mouth.

Matthias dimly heard Orlando. With the spirit of Martin coursing through his veins, he whirled in a tight warrior’s circle. Up, down and at middle height, the great sword was everywhere at once in a glittering circle of steel. Rats fought to get out of its way.

Wearet cut through the rats to Matthias’s opposite side and regained the open space. As the warrior mouse came spinning out of the horde, he saw the Wearet and carried on his deadly course. Still spinning, his sword sheared into the net, shredding it to a useless mass of cordage as it was swept from his foebeast’s paw. The Wearet snatched a fallen stabbing spear, arming himself doubly. Prodding and thrusting, he locked blades with Matthias. The ring of sword upon spears echoed around the ledge as the pair fought madly, backwards and forwards, hacking and slicing, parrying and striking in a hideous ritual of death.

*   *   *

Mattimeo and his friends had lain miserably in the darkened cell until they lost track of night or day. Several attempts had been made to force the door, each one more futile than the last. Auma’s body ached from the number of times she had thrown herself at the heavy unyielding door, and Sam’s teeth were numb through trying to gnaw at the timbers. Mattimeo, Tim, Tess, Jube and even Cynthia had tried in one way or another, all resulting in bleeding and splinter-stuck paws. They sat miserably in the darkness. Cynthia began weeping.

“There, there, hush now. We’ll get out of here, you’ll see,” Tess comforted her.

Auma placed her aching back against the wall. “I’d like to think we’ll get out of here too, but where would we go?”

“Anywhere!” Mattimeo’s voice trembled. “I wouldn’t mind getting out of here just to die fighting those robed rats instead of perishing down here like some insect under the ground. At least it would be better than a life under the whip of a slavekeeper.”

“Ssshhhh!”

“Who said that?”

Sam crawled close to Mattimeo. “I did. Listen, can you hear anything?”

“No, can you?”

“I’m not sure, but it sounds like a drum pounding far away and the sound of voices.”

Cynthia Bankvole sobbed aloud. “I knew it. They’re having some sort of feast, and we’re going to be dragged out of here and eaten. I’m sure of it!”

“Oh, stop being silly, Cynthia!” Tess snapped at her impatiently. “What a foolish idea. Where are all these drums and voices coming from, Sam? I can’t hear a thing.”

Auma stood up. “I can. Sam’s right, it sounds like pounding and chanting and shouting. Whatever it is, you can wager it’s not going to be any party for us. Maybe Cynthia’s right.”