Urthstripe sat at the dining table. Shutting his eyes tight, he gripped the table edge until his blunt claws scored deep gouges into the oak. When he looked up again, Sergeant Sapwood was standing there. Quickly composing himself, Urthstripe asked in a gruff voice, “Are those vermin securely locked in their room for the night?”

The hare sat down beside him. “Aye, sir. I turned the key meself.”

The badger Lord’s eyes narrowed in a hard line. “Good! I’d hate to think that a ferret and a weasel were skulking about our mountain during the night.”

Sapwood tapped a paw alongside his nose. “Haint much fear o’ that, sir. I posted two sentries near their door—Catkin an’ Big Oxeye. If’n they ever did manage to sneak out o’ that room, those two would really find theirselves wi’ problems. Big Oxeye don’t like vermin, no sir!”

Urthstripe could not resist a small chuckle. “Almost makes you wish they’d try something, doesn’t it? It’s been a few seasons since I saw Oxeye chastise an enemy.”

The Sergeant nodded wholehearted agreement. “Hoho, ’e can chastise all right. I never did see anybeast return for a second ’elpin’ off Big Oxeye!”

Soft summer night cast its shades over the mountain stronghold. The two friends sat up into the small hours, discussing and reliving old days of past seasons. Outside, the full moon beamed down upon the deserted shore, tipping countless small wavetips with a thread of pale silver light.

*   *   *

Perched high in the rocks of the lookout post, Feadle strove to keep awake. He spat on his paws, rubbing them hard into red-rimmed eyes. Blinking intently he peered among the moon-shadowed dunes, fearful lest he miss Klitch’s return.

Ferahgo sat apart from the rest of his band, pawing thoughtfully at the gold badger medal about his neck and stirring the flames of a guttering fire. Keeping his voice low, the Assassin spoke to a small stringy water rat seated close by him.

“Tell me again, Sickear, how did you find out about the mountain?”

“I was a searat, and I saw the place a few times, Master, though only from a distance. They call it Salamandastron.”

Ferahgo stroked the badger medal, repeating the name slowly as if it were a magic charm. “Salamandastron. I like the sound of it. Salamandastron. But tell me the rest, you know, the part I like to hear.”

Sickear repeated the tale, as he had done many times in secret to Ferahgo since joining his band last winter.

“The searat Captains said there was great treasure hidden inside the mountain—their old legends are full of it. The fortress is guarded by tough fighting hares and ruled by a badger Lord—always has been, since anybeast could remember. The present ruler is called Urthstripe the Strong, a great and fearsome warrior.”