* * *

The woodlanders dispersed, eager to begin. Each creature searched in the best way it knew; squirrels swung off into treetops where they could scan the ground below, otters made their way to the water to scour the banks and creeks, mice and hedgehogs ploughed into the undergrowth. Moles trundled through last autumn’s deep loam. The search was on.

* * *

A blackbird in a sycamore raised its amber beak in a hymn of joy to the sun. Ashleg blundered into wakefulness. Shivering from the damp, he hopped into the sunlight and leaned against a tree. Scratt joined him, but not before he had aimed a sly kick at the sleeping Fortunata.

“Oi! Are you going to lie there all day, lazybones?”

The weasel drew his paw swiftly back from the vixen’s snapping jaws. Far more used to sleeping in the open than the Kotir soldiers, she had dug herself into the soft loam of the forest floor.

“Mind who you call lazybones, fathead. I’ve been lying awake here for the past two hours listening to you snore like an ailing toad.”

Ashleg closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the sun seep through his damp cloak. With a sigh of resignation he remembered the quandary they faced.

“Can’t you two stop squabbling long enough to give a thought to the mess we’re in? We’ve beaten each other up, slept through the whole night without posting a single sentry, and now we’ve got to go back to face Tsarmina sometime today. Look, if we must argue, at least let’s argue about something useful. What’s to be done about this whole fiasco?”

Fortunata shook loose loam from her cloak, showering them. “Well, there were three patrols sent out to search this forest. Where have Cludd and his lot got to?”

As if in answer to the vixen’s question, Cludd came marching through the undergrowth at the head of his column. Scratt was the first to notice him.

“Oi, Cludd, over here. Where in hell’s teeth did you get to? We haven’t seen you since we left the fortress.”

The weasel Captain stuck a paw in his belt and leaned upon his spear, smirking knowingly.

“Oh, we’ve been doing our job, don’t you worry, Scratt. Huh, what happened to you lot? Did a pile of trees fall down on you?”

“It was nothing, really—a little mistake, could have happened to anybeast.” Ashleg tried to sound casual. “Let me tell you, though, we haven’t seen hide nor hair of a living creature in this rotten maze of trees. We’re rightly in for it when the Queen sees us.”

Cludd smiled confidently. “Speak for yourself, Ashleg. We won’t be returning empty-pawed. Oh no, not us.”

“Why, what d’you mean?” Fortunata interrupted eagerly. “Who have you captured? Where?”

Cludd sneered at the fox. “Oh hello, vixen. You look as if you’ve been enjoying yourself. By the way, what happened to the old wooden leg, Ashy?”

The marten was using a forked branch as a crutch, and he stamped it down bad-temperedly.