Tsarmina’s mind was racing. All the leaders here in one place; they must not be allowed to escape alive. Had Brogg organized those archers?

“Well, here I am, speak your piece.” The wildcat Queen kept her voice deceptively calm.

The warrior pointed a mailed paw at her. “Listen carefully to what I say, cat. You and your creatures have no right to tyrannize or try to enslave woodlanders. We are honest and free. Mossflower is our home.”

“You insolent upstart!” Tsarmina laughed harshly. “I should have killed you when I had the chance. Do you realize who you are threatening? I am Tsarmina, Queen of the Thousand Eyes, Ruler of Mossflower.”

Her adversary did not seem impressed. “I am Martin the Warrior, and I have not come here to make idle threats. This is what I have to say: leave this place by sunset today, take your army with you, go where you will, but stay clear of Mossflower and do not try to harm any woodlander.”

Tsarmina glanced over her shoulder; she could see the archers standing ready inside the doorway.

“If I do as you say, what then?”

“You will be allowed to leave in peace and none of your creatures will be harmed. You have my word as a warrior.”

Tsarmina shrugged. She held her paws open wide. “What happens if I choose not to leave?” she asked.

Martin’s tone was like Boar’s hammer striking the anvil. “You will die here, you and all your vermin. I will bring this evil place down on your heads. Again you have my word as a warrior.”

Tsarmina remained silent for a moment, as if considering both offers. When she spoke again her voice was flat and dangerous. “Big words for a little mouse. I will make no promises save one: you will all be slain where you stand.”

At her signal a score of archers leaped forth, ready to fire.

She folded her paws, smiling sarcastically. “What do you say to that, little warrior?”

Martin stood like a rock, showing no trace of fear. “Then we will stand here and be killed by your arrows. But look behind me at the trees and on your outer wall. Every woodlander who can draw bowstring or throw javelin is aiming straight for your treacherous heart. You would not get a paw’s length before you were sent to the gates of Dark Forest. So carry on, cat. Tell your archers to fire. We will die so that Mossflower can be rid of you.”

Tsarmina’s eyes shifted, dodging back and forth. Otters, mice, squirrels, hedgehogs, even hares—there seemed to be as many of them as leaves in an autumn gale. Each with a weapon trained on her, every face grim with determination.

“Down bows!” she called to her archers in an urgent hiss.

The soldiers pointed their bows to the ground, allowing the strings to slacken off.

The Corim leaders began walking backward out of the gateway.

Tsarmina extended a quivering claw. “This isn’t where it finishes,” she threatened, her voice shrill with rage. “Oh no, this is only the start.”