Racla touched the lump on his head gingerly; his eyes were hot and angry as he glared at Spriggat. “I’m not sorry I killed that rat. First thing in the morning I’m goin’ after the others. The fox is mine; he killed my brother.”

Alfoh’s paw strayed dangerously near his blackthorn stick. “You’ll stay where you are until I give the word, young Racla. Tomorrow we’ll take the other three boats and all go together. As for revenge upon the fox, I think Samkim has a prior claim to you. He needs to retrieve the sword for his Abbey. Now let’s all get some sleep. We’ve got a full day ahead of us at dawn.”

28

A light breeze from the sea fanned the flames of a small fire among the rocks on the shore by Salamandastron. Klitch and Ferahgo watched each other in the flickering light. They were arguing again. Klitch had scored several points, and his blue eyes twinkled maliciously at his father’s show of temper.

“Yah, what do you know?” Ferahgo spat into the flames derisively. “I was leading a horde before you were born. You wouldn’t know the back of an army from its front, you snot-nosed little upstart!”

The young weasel grinned, happy that he had his elder upset. “There’s only one way to find out, old grayhair—give command of the horde to me. At least I couldn’t make a worse mess of things than you’re doing.”

Ferahgo’s eyes blazed with temper. “Worse mess? What worse mess? I’ve burned all their crops from the mountainside, poisoned all the food and drink they have. And if they’re not already dead inside that mountain, now I’ve got a team tunneling in so that we can make a secret entrance. Go on, smartmouth, tell me what you’d do that’s so brilliant?”

“Tunneling in?” Klitch laughed lightly. “Sometimes you amaze me. Do you realize how thick that mountain is? A butterfly would have more chance trying to knock down an oak tree. When do you expect them to break through—next week, next season, in ten seasons’ time, or twenty?”

The Assassin stood upright, his gold medal gleaming in the firelight. “Come with me. I’ll show you!”

Midnight had long gone. Ferahgo’s diggers were well advanced, but the Assassin’s confidence would have wilted had he seen what awaited him inside Salamandastron. Several hares were listening to the banging and pounding from the outside.

Bart Thistledown grinned wryly as he leaned on his lance. “Well, twist my ears. The crafty ol’ blue-eyed villain! Who would’ve thought he could find the old kitchen drain outlet. It was blocked up when I was a leveret.”

Big Oxeye took up a heavy spear and held it poised.