The badger went to the left wall between the entrance and the window, where there was a long, deep crack that appeared to be a natural seam in the rock. Setting his great blunt claws deep into the fissure, he began to pull.

Martin stood in awe at the frightening brute strength of Boar the Fighter. Steely sinews and giant muscles bulged and strained as the badger pulled, grunting quietly deep in his chest. Froth appeared on his jaws with the exertion; still he pulled with might and main, platelike back paws set flat on the rock floor, ponderous claws gouging at the bare stone. With a low rumble, the entire wall started to swing outward.

Martin watched wide-eyed, paws and jaws clenched tight, willing the silver badger to perform this great feat of strength. Boar set his shoulders against one side and his paws against the other. He pushed hard, and the secret doorway stood wide open. Without a word they walked inside.

* * *

It was a narrow hall. One side of the wall was covered in minute carvings, the other was smooth, whilst the far end was a rounded alcove. What Martin saw there stopped him in his tracks so fast that Boar stumbled on him.

A badger in full armor was seated on a throne in the alcove! Martin felt Boar’s paw upon his back. “No need to be afraid, little friend.” The badger’s voice was calm. “This is my father, Old Lord Brocktree.”

Boar padded silently forward. He touched the armored badger reverently.

“I went questing for Salamandastron, just as my father did,” he explained. “When I found this place, he was still alive and well. He ruled here, and we were happy together for many seasons. In the end he was called to the gates of Dark Forest because of his great age. Now he is part of the legend of the mountain, as he wished to be. I did this for him; this is his tomb.” Boar gave the armor a gentle rub; it glowed dimly. Walking back to the entrance, he called Martin over.

“Let us start at the beginning. See here?” Boar indicated a carved line of badger figures. “Our kind have come here since creatures first felt the sun. Only warriors, the brave of heart and strong of will, are listed here. See: Urthrun the Gripper, Spearlady Gorse, Bluestripe the Wild, Ceteruler . . . the list goes on and on. Look, here is my father, Lord Brocktree; here I am, next to him. There are the spaces for those to come after us. I see you wish to ask me a question. Carry on, Martin.

I release you from your silence.”

Martin did not need to speak; he pointed at a block of picture carvings set apart from the others.

“They are good likenesses of you, I think,” Boar whispered.

The scene was a small frieze depicting the activities of four creatures. Three were intentionally small, but the fourth was unmistakably Martin, even to the broken sword about his neck. Boar looked at Martin with a strange expression on his face. “Friend, believe me, I did not carve these pictures here, nor did my father. How long they have been here, I do not know. I accept it as part of the legend of Salamandastron; you must, too. You are the largest figure, and here are your friends. See, here you are leading them toward the mountain. Here is Salamandastron, and here are you again, emerging from it with your friends. You no longer carry the broken sword about your neck; you are holding a bright new sword. As for the rest, well, your guess is as good as mine.”