“No sleep for you yet, friend,” Spriggat called across to Arula. “First watch is yours. Remember what I said, always post a watch through the night. Samkim can take second and I’ll take the dawn watch—an ol’ grubber like meself needs his sleep. Hope stayin’ awake doesn’t make ye too mad.”

“Hurr, ’spect moi matey ’ere will tell ’ee if’n oi gets mad.”

The rat slumped in his bonds and gave a despairing sob.

*   *   *

That night Samkim dreamt of Martin the Warrior. The spirit of Redwall held both his empty paws forth pleadingly. “Give me back my sword, Samkim. Do not let others use it for evil.”

24

Though his pale eyes showed no emotion, Farran the Poisoner knew he was in a dangerous position. Urthstripe and his fighters had returned from the fray; outside, the mountain was strewn with lifeless carcasses and groaning wounded. Ferahgo had called off his horde of Corpsemakers. Their losses were considerable, though not enough to make any great dent in numbers. Farran crouched in a dark corner of the passage between storeroom and dining hall, silently cursing the ill fortune that had caused his escape route to be cut off. From his hiding place the Poisoner could hear the badger Lord and his hares as they entered the dining hall. They talked of the battle they had won on the slopes of Salamandastron.

“Sapwood, I never gave permission for you to fight outside. You could have been killed by those rolling fire boulders.”

“Not me, sir. Hi was well out the way by the time they started. Paw-ter-paw combat is me best style, beggin’ y’ pardon, but this shootin’ arrows hout of winder slits an’ rollin’ boulders, that haint fer the like o’ me. Face t’ face with the enemy his wot I fancy. That’s the way I fights best, sir.”

“I know you do, Sergeant. From all I hear you gave a good account of yourself out there—but ask me before you do anything like that in future.”

“Good fight though, wasn’t it, sir?” The squeaky voice of a hare, no more than a leveret, reached the ears of Farran.

“Indeed it was, young Shorebuck. How do you feel after your first battle?”

“Tip-top, m’lud! I say, is that breakfast laid out for us? I’m jolly well starvin’.”

Urthstripe chuckled good-humoredly. “I never knew a young hare that wasn’t always hungry. Go to it, Shorebuck. Seeing as it was your first fight, you shall be the first to take breakfast.”

Farran’s pale eyes lit up momentarily. He listened to the young hare intently.

“Good show! Thank you, sir. Mmm, oatcakes, an’ they’re still a bit warm. Pass me the honey, Sergeant.”

“Git it y’self, you young rip. I ain’t waitin’ on you tail ’n’ paw.”

Urthstripe’s voice cut in again. “Oxeye, did we suffer any losses or injuries?”