* * *

High in a tree above Tsarmina’s force, Barklad the squirrel sat muttering to himself, “Too many heads to count. Looks like most of Kotir has been mobilized to track us down.”

He vaulted off across the high green terraces to make his report.

* * *

Cludd pointed with his spear. “Blood spots, Milady.”

The wildcat Queen inspected sticky dark red flecks brushed off on the leaves of a lilac bush.

“Otter. That must be the one who tricked us into thinking he was a fox—Patchcoat. He took the arrow that was meant for Gingivere.”

Cludd ground his teeth. “Patchcoat, eh? I want that one myself, wounded or not. He’s wearing my Captain’s cloak.”

Tsarmina pushed onward. “Take who you please, but Gingivere’s mine. Leave him to me,” she ordered.

The soldiers marched forward confidently, made brave by sheer weight of numbers.

* * *

Not far from Camp Willow, the ancient gnarled tree that was its namesake bent lithe boughs over the clear flowing river. Beneath its branches the dawn light filtered through onto the party who had gathered round the last resting place of the Mask. Smooth river boulders in a cairn marked the spot; flowers and decorated otter slings were laid on the grave in tribute to a fallen comrade.

Skipper sighed heavily, turning away to join Lady Amber, who was listening to Barklad’s report. Cold fury had overtaken the otter leader’s grief; at his insistence there would be none but otters to face the oncoming hordes of Kotir. Lady Amber wisely acceded to her friend’s wishes, but not before she had outlined a few plans of her own.

“Do what you have to, Skipper, and good luck to you. The whole of Kotir is abroad in Mossflower, so be careful. However, this is an opportunity we must not miss. I have sent messengers to Brockhall. No doubt the Foremole and his crew would welcome a chance to inspect Kotir while the cat’s away. I will take my force to make sure they get there and back in safety. Agreed?”

Skipper greased his sling with slippery bark and checked the rows of dangerous-looking otter javelins sticking point down into the bank.

“Agreed!”

* * *

Ashleg was first to sight the river, heavily swathed in morning mist from bank to bank.

“We’ve been here before, Milady,” he reminded her. “This is where we lost Gloomer. Surely this isn’t where they have their headquarters?”

The Queen of the Thousand Eyes peered into the mists ahead. “No matter. This is where the trail leads; here is where they’ll be. What’s that?”

Cludd stood forward brandishing his spear. “It’s that otter, Milady. Look, the insolent hound is still wearing my cloak. Let me at him!”

Tsarmina nodded toward the spectral figure that stood wreathed in the mists.

“Get to it, Cludd,” she commanded. “Obviously they know we’ve been following. I’ll check around for surprises. We won’t be fooled a second time. Oh and Cludd—”

“Yes, Milady?”

“See you finish the job properly, if you want to wear that cloak as a Captain again.”