But Urthstripe was loath to sit still while there was the faintest chance of battle. He pushed aside his chair. “What? Sit in here while those scum crawl all over my mountain? Never! This is the ideal time to set up a few surprises for Ferahgo. Follow me. We’ll need long poles, archers, and oil too. Have that big barrel from my forge brought up to the crater top.”

*   *   *

Ferahgo, perched upon a low rock with Klitch and Crabeyes, watched the masses climbing the outer rocks of the mountainous front face of Salamandastron. Doghead the stoat captain ignited a torch, and others began lighting their torches from it. Soon the mountain was ablaze with twinkling lights as the attackers sought to find openings in the rocks that would lead them into the mountain. Dewnose had led three ferrets ahead of the rest. They were almost halfway up when one of them yelled, “Over ’ere! There’s an openin’, a sorta window cut into the rocks!”

They scrambled to get in, Dewnose leading the way.

“Evening, chaps. Nice night to learn flyin’, wot?”

Bart Thistledown and Pennybright thrust forward with their long poles. Dewnose saw what was happening too late. The poles hit him square in the chest and he shot outward with a scream.

“No, don’t. . . . Yeeeaaaggghhh!”

Together with one of the ferrets who had squeezed in the window aperture with him, he went sailing into outer space. All over the mountain similar flying lessons were taking place.

Down below, Klitch roared up at the crowds of soldiers who were trying to scramble back down, “Up! Keep going. Get to the top, you worthless cowards!” He ran forward, climbing upward and belaboring all about him with his spearbutt. “Come on, follow me, I’m not scared!”

Ferahgo urged the attackers up, keeping the assault centered on the seaward side of the mountain. This way he hoped that Farran would have a clear path on the landward side.

Crabeyes unslung his bow. “Shall I get the archers firin’, Master?”

“Addlebrain!” The Assassin pushed him aside scornfully. “They can’t see anything to fire at. We’d be killing our own. Tell them to light more torches. Climb up there with ’em, and see if you can’t fire some arrows from close range into those slits they’re pushing the poles out of.”

*   *   *

Sapwood clad himself in old rags and climbed out on to the mountain face. The bold hare moved about freely in his disguise. A weasel carrying a torch and shaking a pike climbed level with him. The Sergeant dispatched him with a swinging left-paw uppercut, the weasel’s lifeless body bouncing like a broken doll as it hit the ledges on its way down. Another weasel raised his spear at Sapwood as he balanced precariously.

“Hoi! You’re not one of u—Aaaarrgghhhh!”