The little bats clung to Dinny. “Fly back through the earth and visit us one day, visit us one day,” they begged.

The mole was visibly moved. “Doant ’ee fret, little bat uns. Thiz yurr mole’ll see ’ee sumtime.”

Log-a-Log gave final instructions as to the care and maintenance of the gate. All three then stood for a moment in the awkward silence that often marks the parting of friends. Martin was about to say that Gonff would have composed a ballad for the occasion, but he turned away with a sigh. Adjusting the sword hilt about his neck, he faced the outer world.

They began the sloping descent with Lord Cayvear’s whispered farewell in their ears.

“Our spirit flies with you. May you find what you quest for, what you quest for.”

* * *

The going proved not too difficult. They dug their paws into the loose scree and shale, half-walking, half-sliding.

“If only Gonff were here,” Martin could not help remarking. “He’d remember the exact words of the Skyfurrow poem. Let me see, now. ‘Land lost in mist and gray-brown treachery—or something like that. I can’t recall it properly.”

Dinny braked himself against a boulder. “Nay, nor do oi. Proper owd pudden ’eads us be, hurr hurr.”

Log-a-Log took a chunk of rock and tossed it outward. It fell down into the mist, vanishing completely.

“Usually some kind of swamp or marshland under mist like that. We’d best keep our wits about us down there,” he warned.

It was midday when they finally reached the bottomland. The mist was dense and high above their heads. It blocked out the sky, leaving the travelers in a world of swirling fog. Dark squelchy moss and slimy weeds carpeted the ground, dotted with wide areas of evil-smelling fungus. Here and there small rivulets ran, as if trying to find a way out of this oppressive region.

Dinny gazed into the mist. “Yurr, be that summat moven over yon?”

They stopped to peer. Log-a-Log rubbed his eyes. “It might be. Then again, it might be the mist playing tricks. If you let your imagination run away with you, all sorts of shapes start popping up.”

The travelers leaned against a large humped rock to take their noon meal. Martin broke off some bread. “I’ve got the strangest feeling that we’re being watched,” he said, chewing as he spoke.

Dinny tapped the rock. “Diggen claw be a-tellen oi that too, Marthen.”

Suddenly, behind them, six huge toads bearing the ends of a twisted reed net leaped from the top of the rock. Passing right over the travelers’ heads, they landed square on the ground, neatly trapping the three friends tightly underneath the net.

One toad poked a trident at them.

“Krryoik glogflugg glumbatt. Catchincaught threehere!”

* * *

Tsarmina pushed her party hard into the fastnesses of Mossflower. She halted frequently to sniff the earth or trace the pawprints in soft ground.

“No mistake, this is them, all right. Look here: my traitor brother, carrying something heavy, by these deep prints. Keep going. Dawn can’t be too far off; we’ll give those woodlanders a breakfast they won’t forget.”