The boxing hare merely banged his paws down on the weasel’s footpaws and the unfortunate spear-carrier danced painfully on empty space for a second before plunging shoreward. Sapwood spat on his paws and went in search of others.

*   *   *

On the shoreward rim of the crater, Urthstripe and Oxeye were tipping the barrel of forge oil over a heap of large boulders. When the barrel was empty the badger Lord kicked away the wedge holding the boulders back. With a loud rumble they bounced off down the mountainside, and Urthstripe flung the empty barrel after them with a wild laugh.

Climbing nimbly, Klitch was almost halfway up the mountain.

A ferret named Frang grabbed his paw. “Sir, what’s that noise?”

“Noise?” Klitch pushed him savagely away. “It’s the sound of battle, you fool. Keep climbing!”

Farther up, a rat gave a half-scream as the first of the boulders ground him flat, the flames from his torch setting him ablaze as he rumbled downward. Now the boulders were smashing into the topmost attackers, killing them instantly and igniting into huge fireballs as they touched the blazing torches which they had carried on Ferahgo’s orders.

Crabeyes and the troops who had just started their climb came dashing back down.

“Master, get out of the way!” The Captain yelled as he passed Ferahgo.

Ferahgo took one backward glance at the mountain as he fled. The front face of Salamandastron was lit up bright as day, and rocks roared with the wind fanning their flames as the blazing boulders cracked and burst, sending death and devastation widespread among the shrieking horde of the Assassin. Above it all could be heard the booming laughter and exultant warshout of Urthstripe, Lord of Salamandastron.

“Hahahaha! Eulaliaaaaaa!”

*   *   *

Farran the Poisoner slid noiselessly over the far topside of the crater. Without pause he made his way down and into the corridors of the mountain fortress. The first door he came to he opened silently, and he looked inside. Nothing there. Shutting the door, he turned around to find himself face-to-face with Windpaw. The female hare was hurrying up toward the crater top with a supply of oil-soaked arrows. Swifter than her eye could follow, Farran flicked out a dagger made from greenhart wood and thrust the poisoned tip into the side of her neck. Windpaw did not even have a chance to call for help. She died instantly, her face in an agonized grimace. Moving like a flickering lamp shadow, Farran slid effortlessly down the passage, checking a cave here, opening a chamber there, until he found what he wanted. The water barrels were arranged along one wall, ten huge oaken tun vats. The black fox sighed almost lovingly as he lifted the lid of one and took a sip. Cool and sweet, rainwater and clear springwater mixed—it was perfect, but not for long.