Ben Stickle raised a paw. “I vote we rescue Gonff. We’d be ashamed to call ourselves true woodlanders, leaving one of our own in Kotir prison.”

Billum lifted a velvety paw. “Hurr, do moi vote count whoil gaffer Foremole’s not yurr?”

Bella thought for a moment while they all digested the meaning of the rustic molespeech. “Of course, Billum. After all, you are Foremole’s deputy and the Corim respect your judgment as a sensible mole.”

Billum squinted his round eyes with pleasure at the compliment.

By a show of paws the vote to rescue Gonff was unanimous. Then there was a temporary respite for refreshment, while the assembly helped themselves to bowls of Goodwife Stickle’s famed spring vegetable soup, farls of warm nutbread and ripe yellow cheese.

Lady Amber smiled fondly at two little hedgehogs who were trying to look very fierce and brave, knowing that she was always ready to recruit warriors into her band. She dealt with them as if they were two bold squirrels.

“Show me your paws. Hmm, you’d probably make good climbers after some training. You certainly look tough enough. Goody, are these two young villains very strong?”

Goodwife put down her ladle and wiped her paws on her apron. “Ho my, yes. Ferdy and Coggs are two of the strongest. Why, you wouldn’t believe your eyes if you saw these two a-gatherin’ up all those great heavy dishes and washin’ pots. There’s no two hogs more powerful.”

Much smiling and winking was in evidence as Ferdy and Coggs gathered bowls, grunting with exertion as they proved their strength by scouring a large cauldron between them.

Buckling down to the business of Gonff, the Corim set about planning his escape.

* * *

Argulor had returned to Mossflower. No creature could say why he had deserted his mountain stronghold in the far West; maybe it was that he enjoyed the comfort of woodlands where prey was far more plentiful. Argulor was a golden eagle of great age. He had grown too slow and short-sighted to pursue small creatures, so staying within handy range of Kotir and Verdauga’s troops suited him. But the frightening strength and savagery of an eagle had not deserted Argulor, and if the chance of a larger animal came his way he took it, with curving talons and fierce hooked beak. Ferrets, rats, weasels and stoats made good eating, and besides, there was a pine marten living in Kotir. Admittedly it was a bit battered and bent, but Argulor had never tasted pine marten before and was determined that one day he would do so. The eagle and the wildcats had crossed trails many times over the years. Each had a healthy respect for the other. With the exception of Tsarmina. Whenever Argulor was sighted circling the sky over Kotir, Verdauga’s daughter incited the soldiers to fire arrows and throw stones at the great bird, offering rewards to the creature that could bring him down. Argulor was not unduly worried by a mob of vermin loosing missiles at him, as he could outdistance anything they chose to throw. Sometimes he would hover on a thermal, slightly out of range, trying with his failing eyesight to catch a glimpse of the desired marten, or Tsarmina, whom he hated. Bright spring sunlight warmed his wings as he wheeled above the fortress.