Ferahgo lay stretched upon the rock. An old cloak that belonged to him had been soaked in seawater by Sickear and thrown over him to heal his scalded back. He sprawled flat on his stomach, feigning sleep, watching the shoreline through half-open eyes. The Assassin was expecting an attempt upon his life, whether from Klitch or some other source he knew not, but he was certain of one thing: injured leaders were a good target for the rebellious. When his penetrating stare caught the telltale movements far out among the rocks of the shore, he called Sickear to him.

The rat was weary after nursing Ferahgo all day; he lolloped across and threw a desultory salute. “Yes, Master? Can I be of service?”

Ferahgo rose slowly, shaking his head. “No, Sickear, you’ve done enough for one day. You look tired.”

Expecting a reprimand, the rat came to attention. “No, Master, I’m fresh as a daisy. It’s my duty to get you well.”

The Assassin ruffled the rat’s ears good-naturedly. “And a splendid job you’ve done of it, Sickear. My own mother couldn’t have nursed me better. Listen, I’m just going to see what that son of mine is up to. You can have the rest of the night off. Come here, lie down on this rock. It’s flat and smooth. Come on now, I won’t take no for an answer.”

The rat complied somewhat hesitantly, but Ferahgo was right, the rock was cool and smooth. He stretched out on it and yawned. “Thank you, Master.”

“Oh, it’s the least I could do.” Ferahgo’s blue eyes smiled lovingly. “Here, let me cover you with this cloak. You wouldn’t believe how soft and soothing a drop of your seawater has made it. There, how does that feel?”

Sickear relaxed. “Mmmm, it feels really good, Master.”

Ferahgo ducked down and stole off into the rocks. Within moments Sickear was slumbering peacefully, the damp cloak protecting him from the early night breezes that drifted about the darkened shoreline.

*   *   *

Forgrin had sharpened an edge and point upon his sword all afternoon, and Raptail had driven a sharp spike through the top of a wooden cudgel. They crept slowly across the rocks toward the still draped figure lying on the flat stone near the tideline. Of the two, Forgrin was the bolder. He popped up from behind the rocks and bobbed down again.

“See, Rap, not a sentry in sight. I told yer, young Klitch ’as taken charge of the rest. This’ll be a piece of pie. You’ll see!”

Raptail nodded at the fox and brandished his club. “Listen, mate, I’m scared, I don’t mind tellin’ yer. Suppose Ferahgo wakes up?”