“How did you do that?” Martin gasped with shock.

Trubbs and company were watching from the sidelines.

“Oh, he does it easily, old sport.”

“No trouble to the jolly old boss.”

“Quick as a wink, doncha know.”

Boar laughed aloud. “It’s only a trick, Martin. Don’t get discouraged. I’ll show you a dozen more like it before this day’s through. Pick up your sword, on guard again.”

This time the silver badger ducked in under the blade, catching Martin’s sword paw. Locking the point with the flat of the fire iron, he flattened the warrior mouse against the wall with the edge of the sword across his throat.

“See, just another bit of trickery.”

That second day of summer, Martin learned more of swordplay than in his whole life. Nobody was more adept with a blade than Boar the Fighter.

Dinny, Log-a-Log and Gonff tried jointly to lift Boar’s own sword, but they could hardly manage to get the big battle blade off the floor. It was immense, a real full-grown male badger’s war sword, with double crosstrees and a ripping edge that had two sets of curved prongs halfway down the length of the extra-wide blade.

Boar performed tricks with it, slicing apples in the air and taking a whiskertip from Lupin as she stood stock-still. Martin noticed that the badger’s mood became more light-hearted and jovial when he was around weapons, even allowing himself to be flattered by Harebell, Honeydew and Willow, who imitated Trubbs and company by speaking alternately.

“Ooh, you are clever, Boar old chap.”

“And strong. My word!”

“We ladies would never be able to lift your big heavy sword.”

Three special daggers had been forged for Gonff, Log-a-Log and Dinny, who wore them proudly about their waists. Gonff delighted the occupants of Salamandastron with his impromptu ballads.

Harebell, Honeydew and Willow,
Each a pretty thing;
Bold, brave and fearless,
Wother, Trubbs and Ffring;
Lupin, Buffheart, Starbuck, Breeze,
Swift as winds across the trees;
Rule o’er land and sea herefrom,
Sala-manda-stron.

Harebell and company fluttered their eyelids madly. “Oh, Mr. Gonff, you are clever.” “And so handsome, too.” “You have a lovely voice.”

Gonff waved a modest paw. “Save it for Trubbs and company, ladies. I’m promised to my Columbine.” “Is she pretty?” “Very pretty?” “Prettier than us?”

“Well, she’s certainly prettier than Gonff,” Martin, Dinny and Log-a-Log chimed in impudently.

“I’d say half as pretty again.”

“Oi’d say twoice as pri’ee, hurr hurr.”

Boar roared with laughter and raised his battle sword. “Cheek, shall I chop off their heads, Gonff?”

The mousethief flushed scarlet beneath his fur. “No, just their legs will do, Boar. They need their mouths to eat and make silly remarks with.”

To ease Gonff’s embarrassment, Buffheart beckoned the friends.

“Have you seen our fire lizard?”

“Fire lizard? No,” Gonff chipped in quickly. “Let’s go and have a look!”

They followed Boar and the hares, trooping up more flights of stairs until they were somewhere near the echo cave. Buffheart took them into a side cave that had a big open window slot. By the side of the window lay a great stone carving of a fearsome head, a grotesque parody of what its maker had imagined a dragon should look like.