Early morning shed its light over the leafy canopy of far Mossflower in the southwest. Spriggat tugged at the bowstring fastened around the tracker rat’s neck.

“Stir yer stumps, yew rogue. We’ve got ter catch up with that fox. Mind now, you play us false an’ I’ll let ’Rula the mad mole loose on ye. Right, me beauty, for’ard march!”

Off they went, Samkim stifling his laughter as the little molemaid muttered darkly to the trembling rat, “Hoo urr, oi’ll chop off’n ’ee tail an’ stuff it up ’ee nose, then oi’ll fetch some woild ants an’ let they darnce in ’ee ears. That’s after oi poured gurt globs o’ sticky mud o’er ’ee vurrmint ’ead, o’ course. Hoo urr, an’ harr hoo!”

Convinced that Arula was truly mad, the rat led them on a straight course. This was confirmed from time to time as Spriggat found evidence of the other five trackers and Dethbrush along the way.

There was a short halt at midday for refreshment. Though supplies were running low, they managed a tasty little meal of apples, cheese and some half-disintegrated oatcakes. Spriggat found a ready supply of insects buzzing around the surface of a small patch of marshground. Caked from snout to paw in mud, he wandered happily about, munching gnats, wasps and other winged insects.

“Mmm, a very nice liddle selection ’ereabouts. Very nice!”

*   *   *

The afternoon was well on by the time the rat led them up a hilly rise in the woodland. Samkim held the bowstring lead, walking at the tracker’s side. On reaching the peak of the hill, the young squirrel tugged sharply on the string. “Get down, lie still and be quiet!” he commanded the prisoner.

Sensing the need for caution, Arula and Spriggat bellied down, crawling through the loam to join him.

“Yurr, wot be amiss, Sanken?” Arula whispered.

They followed the direction of Samkim’s paw as he pointed downhill. Between the thickly wooded side of the slope a glint of running water could be seen below.

“The Great South Stream,” Spriggat whispered.

The young squirrel concentrated hard as he sniffed the air. “Aye, that’s probably it, but I’m convinced I can smell woodsmoke and hear voices down there. What d’you think, Arula?”

The molemaid moved her head this way and that, wrinkling her dark button nose intently. “Ho urr, you’m roight, woodsmoke an’ voices it be.”

Samkim pulled an arrow from his quiver and held it point forward at the rat’s throat. “This could be a trap. If you’ve played us false then your seasons are finished as of now, rat!”

The tracker swallowed hard, not daring to shake his head with the arrow tip stinging his gullet. “Dethbrush wouldn’t hang about layin’ traps, he only wants to get back to Ferahgo as quickly as possible. I told you he’d be followin’ the course of the South Stream.”