Pulling one over, Klitch was rewarded by the swishing sound of dregs swilling about. The top was open. The young weasel smiled in the darkness; maybe now his luck was beginning to change. The water sloshed out of the open barrel on to the rocky floor, and Klitch went down on all fours and lapped gratefully at it. The cool liquid refreshed him, lending a new sense of purpose and resolve to the Assassin’s son.

Standing upright, Klitch squared his narrow shoulders and strode out of the cave purposefully, fear receding as he mentally planned a campaign of terror that would mark his return to the Southwest Lands.

Now every passage and corridor appeared light and airy, and the way to the top was clear. His bright blue eyes gleamed confidently—yes, this was the day luck had returned to him. Up ahead he could see the bright summer morning and the catwalk to the crater top.

An unexpected stomach twinge caused him to double up. He stood still a moment until it passed. Straightening up, he smiled. There, the pain was gone—nothing was going to ruin his newfound luck. Mounting the catwalk, he started to run for the crater top and freedom.

Twice, thrice, he was stopped by the sudden lightning bolts of pain that lanced through him, but each time he recovered and hastened upward.

Now Klitch was going slower, his limbs became numb—it was like wading through deep cold water. The young weasel blinked. Why had the day become foggy and dark? Finally he made the top and lay down upon the edge of the crater, fighting off the dizziness and agonizing lances stabbing through his body. Klitch doubled up and wedged himself between two rocks. He would sleep here awhile until he felt better. Fixed in this position he could not roll over the mountain edge as he slept. Nothing was going to ruin his good luck . . . The once bright blue eyes clouded over and went dim as he slipped into an endless dark dream.

40

Two days had passed, two days of sadness and hard work. Salamandastron was cleared of the horrifying debris of war. Pennants waved from lances fixed in the sands of the shoreline—these were the graves of hares and shrews who had fallen in the struggle to free the mountain—and farther along in an unmarked place the carcasses of Ferahgo’s horde found their last resting place. Now was the time to bring light and fresh food to the rocky fortress by the sea. Parties were sent out to forage, others worked on the slopes, unblocking window spaces and replanting the mountain terraces with flowers, crops and trees.