One backpaw, a leg and a large area of Ferahgo’s back were painful areas of blistered flesh. He lay stretched on a rock in the dawn light, biting on his knife handle to stop himself crying out. Sickear dabbed seawater gently on the injured weasel, backing off a few paces every time the Assassin winced.

“Water from the sea is all we’ve got, Master. It smarts, but it cures. We used it for all injuries when I was searattin’.”

Klitch was enjoying the whole thing hugely. He leaned down close to his father’s face as he mocked him. “Ah then, did the naughty badger roast your bottom, O ruler of all the Southwest and Leader of the Corpsemakers. Never mind then, you leave it to young wet-behind-the-ears Klitch. I’ll take charge for a while.”

Ferahgo arched his back in agony as the seawater trickled onto it. Sweat beaded on his lips and nose as he gritted around the dagger blade at his grunting son, “Oh yes? And what’s your brilliant plan, you little toad?”

Klitch took one of the daggers from his father’s discarded belt and tapped the point against his teeth pensively. “Hmmm. Plan? I’m not quite sure yet, but it doesn’t involve getting thirty soldiers boiled to death by hot water. But don’t you fret your dear old gray head, I’ll think of something.”

“You bring me the head of that badger, or I’ll . . .” Ferahgo struggled to rise but fell back snarling.

“You’ll what?” Klitch patted the Assassin’s back, none too gently. “You’re not in a position to do anything. Give me until nightfall and I’ll guarantee I’ll have a foolproof plan, one that will make this horde realize that they’ve been led by the wrong weasel for many seasons now.”

*   *   *

Forgrin the fox emptied a slingbag onto the rocks beside his friend Raptail the rat. “There y’are, mate—whelks, limpets an’ a few mussels. They’ll taste better’n hard crust an’ roots.”

Raptail smashed open a mussel with a stone and ate the contents ravenously. “Couldn’t yer find no fish?”

Forgrin scooped a limpet out of its shell into his mouth. “You get them shellfish down yer an’ thank yer lucky stars we’re still alive, Raptail. It’s a good job we was only at the entrance t’ that tunnel or we’d be layin’ scalded dead by now.”

“It was a stupid plan, a cracked idea, the ’ole thing!” Raptail chewed with difficulty on a rubbery whelk. “Migroo says that young Klitch is takin’ over. What d’you think of ’im?”

The fox spat on a rock and began sharpening his sword. “Think? We’re not ’ere ter think, mate. Accordin’ to ’Is Majesty Ferahgo, we’re just ’ere ter take orders. But between you’n me an’ the seashore, I think the time’s ripe for Ferahgo to go.”