Skipper and Amber looked quizzically at the scout. “Where?”

“Sort of circling from the south. Look, there!”

Sure enough, he had spoken truly. Through the trees a band of mice were marching, all dressed in green-brown robes, complete with cowls and rope ties about the middle.

Amber shook her head in amazement. She signaled a squirrel in a nearby tree. “Quickly, take this otter with you. Get over and tell that bunch of ninnies to get down flat. Don’t they know where they are?”

Before the pair dashed off, Skipper spoke. “Stay with ’em. Soon as it’s safe, take ’em in tow. Go to Brockhall—that should be large enough. Get in touch with Bella, and tell her about them. Say that me and Lady Amber will be in touch afore nightfall. Off y’go.”

Amber watched them bound away, ducking and weaving. Beside the army of Kotir, there was always Argulor to watch out for. She turned to Skipper. “What a prize bunch of boobies! Imagine parading around Kotir in broad daylight. Where d’you suppose they’ve come from?”

The otter snorted. “Search me. Bella will probably know as she’s done a fair bit of roaming in her time. Huh, talkin’ of time, I think it’s nearly run out for young Gonff if he doesn’t show himself soon.”

* * *

Even at this early morning hour the warmth from the sun had lulled old Argulor into a drowsy sleep. The eagle perched high in a spruce, partially leaning against the trunk. In his sleep he groaned pleasurably, ruffling his plumage slightly to let the glorious warmth seep through to his ancient flesh and cold bones. If only there was a place that had no cold winter or damp windy autumn, just eternal spring followed by summer.

Life passed Argulor by as he slept the day through on his perch. It passed by more importantly in the forms of an otter and a squirrel leading a band of robed mice directly beneath the very tree where he slumbered.

* * *

It would have been hard to tell who was more surprised, the escaping prisoners or the wildcat and her minions.

Immediately they collided, Tsarmina gave a yowl of rage and more by luck than judgment seized Gonff’s leg. This was followed by a more anguished yowl as Martin whipped the blade from Gonff’s belt and stabbed Tsarmina sharply in the paw, forcing her to release his friend.

“Follow me!” Martin grabbed Gonff and ran back up the stairs, giving Fortunata a good slash across the rump with the blade as he went. The vixen collided with Ashleg, and they fell in a jumble. Tsarmina tripped over them. She struggled to extricate herself, screaming curses and raking the unlucky pair with her claws.

“Blockheads, idiots, out of my way.”

Martin and Gonff dashed headlong down the hall. Taking the door to the right, they dived inside, slamming it shut behind them.

It was the late Lord Greeneyes’ bedchamber. With the shouts of their pursuers ringing closer the escapers scuttled for cover beneath the large canopied bed.