They found themselves in an upper messroom full of soldiers, stoats, ferrets and weasels, all eating breakfast at a long trestle table with a window at one end. Taken completely by surprise, the soldiers sat gaping at the two fugitives.

“Stop those mice! Kill them!” Tsarmina’s enraged shouts reached them as she ran toward the mess.

Gonff sized up the situation at a glance: the unexpected was called for. Without a second thought he pulled Martin with him. They ran across the room, bounded from a vacant seat up onto the tabletop and dashed madly along it, scattering food, drink and vessels everywhere as they went. Together the thief and the warrior leaped through the open window into empty space with a loud defiant shout.

“Yaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!”

* * *

Skipper and Amber both heard the cry.

So did Argulor.

It came from the north side of Kotir, not far from where the woodlander squirrel scout stood perched in a tree. He bounded down and made his report to Amber. “It’s Gonff, but there’s another mouse with him. They jumped from the upper barracks window.”

“We’d better get round there. Are they hurt?”

“No, but talk about lucky, they landed right in the foliage of a big old yew growing on that side.”

Amber leaped up. “Get Beech and the others. We’ll have to get them out of there double quick. Skipper, you bring the crew and give us cover.”

Argulor launched himself from his spruce, flapping ponderously. Once he was airborne his natural grace and ability took over. Circling to gain height, he squinted over to where the sounds had come from. The yew’s upper foliage was shaking. The eagle soared downward to see if it was anything edible.

Inside the messroom, Tsarmina laid about herself with a sturdy wooden ladle. “Don’t stand gawping, you dimwitted toads! Someone get out there and capture them!”

There was an immediate stampede to grab weapons and buckle armor on. Nobody seemed disposed to leap out of the window, though they all tried to look as if they were helping in some way.

Tsarmina flailed the ladle about in a fury. Suddenly a bright young stoat, more reckless than his comrades, saw a chance to distinguish himself in the eyes of his mistress. He bounded up onto the table.

“Leave it to me, Milady. I’ll stop them.” Striking a gallant pose, the stoat ran to the window ledge and stood nerving himself for the leap.

Argulor soared low, close to the yew. His rheumy eyes could not distinguish much between the crisscross branches. He was about to abandon hope of a quick meal and turning away on his huge wing span, when suddenly a fat juicy stoat with an expression of heroic duty upon its face jumped out into midair, straight into the talons of the wheeling eagle.

Argulor gave a screech of delight, which contrasted jarringly with the stoat’s ragged squeal of dismay. The old eagle flapped joyfully off to his spruce branch with the tasty burden.