“Then they’ll probably be coming over the walls,” Skipper interrupted. “This is what I’ve been waiting for, hearties—a good chance to use my pike hares.”

“Oh, we’ll be there, old bean, pikin’ away.”

“Rather. Done this sort of thing before, doncha know.”

“Jab, thrust and whatnot; all part of the game.”

Young Dinny waved a dagger at his crew. “Ho arr, we be roight aside ’ee. Wudden miss et furr nuthen.”

Martin called order. “I want no pitched battle or wholesale killing,” he told them firmly. “You must do just enough to defend our position and send them back in retreat over that wall. Lady Amber, keep squirrels high in the trees; have them take brushwood shields for protection. They must keep those archers on the roof pinned down.”

* * *

A weasel called Foulwhisker peered around the doorway to the parade ground.

“All clear, Milady. They think we’re still on the roof,” he reported.

“Good. Get across the open ground quickly and don’t drop those ladders.”

The attack force was a large one. Brogg led them across the parade ground to the wall.

“Right, you lot. Set the ladders up and get climbing,” he ordered.

They scaled the walls until the top of the stonework was thick with soldiers. Nervously they watched the trees, until Brogg came up last, panting hard.

“See anything?”

“No, Cap’n. All clear.”

“Then haul these ladders up and let them down the other side.”

* * *

As the last troops set paw on the woodland side, Martin appeared from the trees. He was backed by six hares carrying pikes. Brogg grinned; not a very large reception.

“Troops charge!”

Otters poured out of the undergrowth from behind Martin and the hares. From the left and right flanks, a horde of Mossflower irregulars sprang from hiding, closing like pincer jaws.

Pike clashed upon spear as the two sides met, and battle cries arose.

“Death to the woodlanders!”

“Martin for Mossflower!”

A fox struck down an oar slave. He was about to finish him off when Skipper thwacked him hard with a rock-laden sling, knocking the spear from his paws. The six hares were causing devastation, with their pikes easily outreaching Kotir spears. Soldiers facing fierce otters ran to the left or right, only to see the way barred by mobs of shrews, mice, moles and oar slaves.

Brogg was no coward when his blood was roused. He fought madly to reach the warrior mouse who carried the whirling sword.

Martin took a stoat low down, whipping the blade up and round at head height as Boar had shown him. Turning, he felled a weasel. Then Brogg was upon him, bulling forward. Unable to use his spear, the Captain threw himself at the warrior mouse. Martin saw him coming. Falling backward and throwing his paws up, he caught Brogg off balance, tossing him neatly. Skilfully, Brogg landed on all fours. Grabbing his curved sword, he came thundering back with the point held low. Martin rolled to one side, leaped straight up, and chopped down with a double-pawed swing. The weasel Captain found himself holding a sword handle from which the blade had been completely shorn. He backed up to a tree, with Martin’s sword at his throat.