Down at the tideline, Ferahgo and Klitch stood in a smooth sea-washed area of sand, a semicircle of rocks at their backs. Urthstripe faced them. Raising the visor of his warhelm, he tried hard not to laugh aloud with joy. This was what he wanted, the moment he had been waiting for. Ferahgo had armed himself with a mace and chain in addition to his knives. Klitch wore a short sword and carried a pike. Urthstripe leaned on the haft of his great battle spear; it was half as tall as he himself was, forbiddingly heavy and thick with a leaf-shaped blade and barbed crosstrees jutting out.

The badger nodded at them. “Let us get things straight before we settle this. If you win then the mountain is yours, but you must let my hares leave unharmed. If I win, your army turns around and marches off back to wherever you came from. Agreed?”

Ferahgo pawed the golden medal on his chest and replied levelly, “As Master of the horde, I agree. So does my son.”

Klitch swaggered about, jabbing the air with his spear as Urthstripe continued, “Nobeast must interfere—this is a Duel of Chieftains and must be fought under the rules of honor. Agreed?”

“Agreed!” Ferahgo’s blue eyes shone with fervor and sincerity.

Urthstripe lowered his helm as he spoke the final words.

“No quarter, no surrender. To the death!”

Under the midafternoon sun the three combatants closed in on each other.

*   *   *

Under that same sun the creatures of Redwall took their ease. Young ones played and tumbled on the lawn while the elders rested in the cool shades of the orchard. The Wild King MacPhearsome perched on a beech stump, sound asleep in the summer heat that he seldom felt among his icy crags and mountain wilderness.

Friar Bellows nodded with admiration. “Very good, very good. What a magnificent giant of a bird. I’m glad he’s sleeping, because while he is he’s not eating!”

Tudd Spinney leaned on his stick and chuckled. “Oh, he’s got a rare appetite, that one, but I’m a thinkin’ that he’s entitled to it. We’d all be dead as doornails but for yonder bird. What d’you say, Hollyberry?”

The old Infirmary Keeper had been half dozing off. He shook himself and looked around, blinking. “Oh, er, what? Indeed, whatever you say, Mr. Spinney. I was just wondering whatever became of young Samkim and Arula. I was very fond of those two little rogues, y’know.”

Abbess Vale sniffed, brushing away a tear with her habit sleeve. “Oh dear, it seems ages ago since they both sat out here at our Nameday feast. I do hope they are safe. Samkim was a bright-eyed little fellow and Arula was a dear funny mole.”