“I’ll say you will.”

“Most definitely.”

Martin kicked sand on the fire to extinguish it. “Righto. Lead on, Trubbs, Wother and Ffring.”

“Oh, I say. Good show. Let’s all go together.”

“One never leads, triple initiative, what?”

“Jolly good idea, chums.”

As they started toward the mountain, the three hares produced strangely shaped shells. They blew into them simultaneously, making a treble note not unlike that of three small trumpets. The sound echoed across the stillness of the shore. Immediately the scene lit up like daylight as a huge blast of flame rose from Salamandastron. A voice like thunder on a hot noon boomed out with an immense rumble.

“Come in peace to the mountain of fire lizards!”

Hearing the gigantic sound effect, Log-a-Log threw himself face down upon the sand with both paws over his ears, but the hares seemed hardly to notice it.

“Oh, golly. Old Log-a-Thing’s fallen over.”

“Must be in a blue funk about the boomer, eh.”

“I expect so. Up you get, old fellah.”

* * *

It was a narrow passage between the sand and the rocks; they went in single file. At the end was a small cave. Trubbs tugged at a concealed cord. They had to jump aside as a stout ladder clattered down from the darkened recesses overhead.

“Right. Up you go, laddie.”

“No, no. After you, old chap.”

“Oh really, I insist.”

Martin jumped up to the rungs of the ladder. “I’ll go first, if it’ll save you three arguing.”

“What a spiffing idea.”

“Sensible chap, what?”

“Rather. Indeed he is.”

At the top of the ladder they found themselves in a broad upward-running passage hewn into the living rock. The ladder was hoisted and they walked up the steep incline, lit by torches at regular intervals in wall sconces. From somewhere above there was a steady roaring sound.

“Wot be that gurt noise, maisters?” Dinny asked curiously.

“Could be the jolly old fire lizards.”

“Then again, it might not be.”

“You’ll soon find out, old fellow.”

Five flights of stairs hewn into the rock, one more cave and another steep corridor led them to their destination.

The very heart of Salamandastron!

* * *

Bane the fox came down the dusty road from the north with his band of mercenary plunderers.

They numbered about sixty in all, mainly foxes, with a scattering of rats and weasels—a motley group, part tramp, part scavenger, mostly thieves. All were well armed and capable, despite their ragged appearance. Food they had in plenty: fish, birds, and vegetables to cook with them. By craft, guile and murder they had crossed the boundless northern lands, seeking warmer climes and easier living.

Bane was weary of living on his paws, always on the move. He was on the lookout for some fat prosperous little community where he could hold sway without much argument.

Then he spotted Kotir. A grand ruin that had seen better days, but the possibilities were there. Backed by woodland, fronted by flatland, practically skirting a road used by travelers – it was a dream come true.