Fortunata gave Gingivere the beaker containing the prepared draught. Tsarmina nodded to her, and they left the room together. Outside in the corridor the wildcat gripped the fox’s paw in her powerful claws. “Well, did you fix the medicine?”

Fortunata winced in pain as the claws sank in. “Twice. Once before the mouse came in, and just now before we left. He’s taken enough poison to lay half the garrison low.”

Tsarmina pulled the vixen close, her cruel eyes burning. “Good, but if he’s still alive in the morning you had better prepare some for yourself. It would be a lot easier than facing me if you fail.”

* * *

The cells were deep beneath Kotir. They were ancient, smelly, dark, and dank. Martin the Warrior was hurled into his prison by the two guards who had dragged him down passage and stairway. He had fought every inch of the way and they were glad to be rid of him. Martin lay with his cheek resting on the cold stone floor where he had been flung. As the door clanged shut behind him, one of the stoats peered through the door grating, turning the key in the lock. “Thank your lucky stars, mouse. If Lady Tsarmina had had her way, you’d be in the darkest wettest cells further down the passage. It was Lord Greeneyes’ wish that you should be put in a good cell, aye, and given bread and water to eat and some dry straw to lie on. Huh, he must have taken a shine to you. He’s a strange one, old Verdauga is.”

Martin lay still, listening until the sounds of the guards’ heavy paws receded and he was alone. Standing up, he took stock of his new surroundings. At least there was light coming in from a torch that burned on the far corridor wall. Feeling a slight draught, he looked up. There was a high narrow grille slitted into the wall near the ceiling. Martin changed position, still looking upward, until he could see a star shining outside in the night sky. It was his only link with freedom and the outside world. He sat, resting his back against the wall, huddling down in his ragged cloak to gain a little warmth. The rest of his cell was just the same as any prison: four bare walls and precious little else, no comfort or cheer to be gained from anything here. He was a prisoner, alone in a strange place.

* * *

The warrior mouse slept, overcome by weariness. Sometime before dawn he was wakened by paws thrusting something over his head and around his neck. Still half-asleep, Martin tried to grab hold of his assailants. He was roughly kicked to one side, then the door clanged shut as the key turned in the lock again. Leaping up, Martin ran to the door. The stoat guard peered through the grating, chuckling and wagging a paw at him. “You nearly had me that time, mouse.”