There was a hurried clanking and stamping from the already armored and kitted troops. Orders were called amid wheeling and marching. In a short time Tsarmina stood alone on the empty parade ground, staring at a single fallen spear.

Whoever had dropped it would be far too scared to come back and retrieve it. She stooped and picked up the weapon as something whooshed by close overhead.

Argulor!

As big and powerful as she was, Tsarmina did not wait around to challenge the eagle. Taking a swift run, she vaulted through a ground-floor window, using the spear shaft as a pole. Peering out, she saw Argulor circle away to his perch, well out of arrow range.

The wildcat Queen was glad that no one had witnessed her retreat.

Chibb the robin watched the little procession of woodlanders marching southward. He had no doubt that they were coming to visit him. They were carrying food. If they were not coming to see him, then what right did they have wandering about Mossflower carrying bags of candied chestnuts?

He was different from other birds. For the sake of his little fat stomach, Chibb had overcome all barriers. Greed was the one motive that drove him to sell his spying skills to others—greed, tempered with wisdom. Chibb would never sell his services to Kotir, as he had narrowly escaped being eaten by weasels and such on more than one occasion.

The woodlanders used Chibb whenever they had cause to, sometimes to locate a missing young one, more often than not to find out what was going on in other parts of the forest. Chibb did not come cheaply, however. The fat robin had a fondness amounting to a passion for candied chestnuts.

He watched the party below him: Martin, Lady Amber and a young Loamhedge mouse called Columbine were in the lead; Gonff and Billum the mole trailed behind, both carrying small barkcloth bags of candied chestnuts. Chibb could not take his bright eyes off the bag that Gonff was bouncing playfully in his paws.

“Ha, candied chestnuts, eh, Billum. What’s the good of giving these to old Chibb, just for a skinny bit of spyin’? I’ll bet me and you could scoff these between us and get their spyin’ done for ’em easy enough.”

The trusty mole caught the bag in midair as Gonff tossed it. He crinkled his velvet face in a deep chuckle.

“Ho hurr hurr! Liddle wunner they send oi t’keep watch on ’ee, you’m a villyen, Maister Gonff. Keepen ’ee paws outten ’ee chesknutters, or oi tells Miz Bell offen ’ee.”

Gonff threw up his paws in mock horror and ran to catch up with Martin, complaining aloud. “The nerve of Billum! Fancy not trusting honest old Gonff—me, that was sent on this mission specially to keep an eye out for greedy moles. I’ll bet I end up getting scragged by you lot, trying to keep those chestnuts safe. There’s no room for an honest thief these days.”