Martin studied the picture closely. “Here is the sea, there is a ship . . . Over here looks very faint. It could be a group of trees, a wood or a forest. This looks like a whip and an arrow. What does that mean, Boar?”

“Your eyes are far better than mine, Martin. The whip is the scourge of the sea rats, a sign of evil. As for the arrow, which way does it point?”

“Down the hall to where your father sits.”

Boar indicated the room of echoes. “Martin, you must go out there and wait for me.”

Without question, Martin went, glancing backward once, to see Boar stooping in the alcove behind Lord Brocktree’s throne. He was studying something carved low down on the wall.

Sometime later the badger emerged. He seemed older and tired-looking, and Martin felt concern for his friend.

“Are you all right, Boar? What was written there?”

The great silver badger whirled upon Martin, his face a mask of tragedy.

“Silence! Only Boar the Fighter must know that!”

The sudden shout caused a thousand echoes to boom and bounce off the walls with startling intensity. The sound was deafening. Martin threw himself to the floor, covering both ears with his paws as he fought against the flooding crescendo of noise, Boar’s voice reverberated like a thousand cathedral bells. Sorrow and contrition creased the big badger’s face; he swept Martin up with a single paw, bearing him swiftly from the room.

* * *

When the warrior mouse recovered, he was lying back in the badger’s cave. Boar was bathing his brow with cool water.

“Martin, forgive me. I forgot to keep my voice down. Are you hurt?”

Martin stuck a paw in his ear, wiggling it about.

“No, I’m all right. Honestly I am. You mustn’t blame yourself. It was my fault.”

Boar shook his head in admiration. “Spoken like a true warrior. Rise up, Martin, and follow me. Now I will give you the means to fight like one.”

* * *

Trubbs, Wother and Ffring met them at the forge. There were lots of giggling and winking between the hares.

“Well, does he know about you-know-what, eh, Boar?”

“I say, let’s show it to him now, Boar. Be a sport.”

“Yes, otherwise the poor old bean might keel over with suspense.”

There was a twinkle in Boar’s eye as he turned to Lupin, the wife of Buffheart.

“What d’you think, Lupin? Is he ready for this?”

Lupin waggled her long ears humorously as hares do.

“Oh, I suppose so. Anyhow, we’ll soon find out.”

Boar had moved to the edge of the forge and was toying with something wrapped in soft barkcloth.

“While you slept last night, my hares and I worked until after dawn had broken,” he said at last. “I have made something for you, Martin.”

The warrior mouse felt the hairs rising on the back of his neck. He gulped with excitement as Boar continued.

“One night while out on patrol, our Lupin here saw a star fall from the sky. She found the spot where it landed. A lump of hot metal was buried deep in the sand. When it cooled she dug it out and brought it back to me. Last night I put sea coal and charcoal in my forge; more than ever before, I made Salamandastron glow so hot that it could be seen in lands far across the sea. I had to—half the night had gone before the metal became soft. I hammered it out, oiled it, folded it many times against itself on my anvil, all the time reciting the names of every great warrior I had known or could think of. I spoke your name on the final hammer blow. Here, Martin. This is yours.”