Ferahgo moved closer to the speaker, his eyes shining blue in the firelight, aglitter with greed. “The treasure—tell me about the treasure!”

Sickear swallowed hard as the Assassin’s claws closed on his shoulder. He repeated what Ferahgo wanted to hear.

“It is said the great badgers never lacked riches. As each one lived out his seasons, or died in battle, so his possessions were added to the pile, hidden somewhere inside the mountain. Pearls from the sea, many-colored precious stones, armor wrought from silver, gold and copper, spears and other great weapons, all made by the badgers at their forge. Bright war axes that can cut through stone, shields that are wonderful to look upon, swords with blades that can slice armor like butter, red and green stones set into their handles, sheathed in cases of the finest . . . aaaarrghh!”

Ferahgo’s claws had pierced the rat’s shoulder. Sickear whimpered in pain, tears rolling down his narrow face. The weasel Chieftain freed his claws from the matted fur and flesh with a quick wrench. Slumping to one side, Sickear moaned piteously, trying to lick his injured shoulder. Ferahgo grinned, his strange blue eyes twinkling in the firelight like a happy infant.

“Oh, I’m sorry, friend. I must have got carried away. Never mind, it’s only a scratch. The best thing for you is fresh air and something to take your mind off it. Listen now, you shin up those lookout rocks and keep Feadle company the rest of the night. It’ll do you good. Stop weeping and groaning now. Come on, up you go!”

The Assassin’s eyes smiled wide and innocent as he watched the injured Sickear hauling himself painfully up among the rocks. With a note of deceptive concern he called softly up to the weary lookout, “Not sleepy yet, Feadle?”

The lookout stared down into the treacherous blue eyes smiling up at him. Straightening his back against the rock, he sang out in an alert manner. “No sign of your son or Goffa yet, Master. I’m wide awake!”

Feadle’s heart sank at the cheerful reply.

“Good work! Stop up there and keep Sickear company. Keep your eyes open now, both of you. There’s a fresh edge on my skinning knife that I haven’t used yet.”

Feadle stretched down. Grasping Sickear’s paw, he helped him up to the lookout post. Below them Ferahgo lay flat on his back, watching through half-closed eyes.

4

Rosy dawn light caressed the Abbey walls as Bremmun the squirrel climbed the stairs to the Infirmary. Knocking softly on the door, he entered. Brother Hollyberry never slept in a bed; he sat propped up by cushions in his armchair, watching the birth of another summer day rise over the windowsill. Arula and Samkim lay asleep in their beds. Bremmun nodded toward them, keeping his voice low.

“Good morning, Brother. How are they today?”