It was a curtain made from some rough woven material. Pebbles and sand had been fixed to it with pine resin, giving the effect of a rock wall. Urthwyte moved it carefully to one side. An awesome sight greeted the eyes of the onlookers. Seated on a rock throne was the crumbling skeleton of a badger clad in full war armor. The alcove behind the curtain was semicircular in shape, marred by a huge boulder that bulged out on one side. “The writing says that is the last remains of old Lord Brocktree, first badger Lord of Salamandastron.” Loambudd’s voice echoed around the cave.

Sapwood touched the dusty mailed pawguards reverently. “Hi’ll bet this old Lord knows where emllor is, but he ain’t tellin’ us, hare you, sir?”

Mara stood staring at the skeleton of Lord Brocktree. When the feeling of awe had passed she noticed something. Hurrying forward, she examined the wall at one side of the throne. “His paw seems to be pointing this way. Look!”

An oblong plate of copper was fixed into the rock. It was green and dulled with age. Loambudd wet it and scoured the surface with sand until it gleamed dully. Bringing her face close, she inspected it carefully. “It’s just a smooth metal plate—there’s nothing written on it.”

They sat on the floor, facing the plate. Oxeye turned to the entrance where Urthstripe’s body lay waiting.

“Poor old Lordship, looks like you’ll never get to emllor.”

Mara stared at the copper plate long and hard. “Pass me that lantern, please, Samkim.”

The young squirrel did as he was bid. Mara placed it on the arm of the throne next to the skeletal paw. “Who’s got good eyes?”

Sapwood raised his paw. “S’pose my peepers are good as anybeast’s.”

“Then sit right here and tell me what you see, Sergeant.”

Mara moved out and Sapwood took her place. He sat staring at the burnished metal as it shone dully in the lantern light. “Well, bob me tail! I can see words—letters, I mean—though I don’t know what they says. Never learned writin’. Too busy teachin’ meself other things—fighting’ an’—”

“Samkim,” Loambudd interrupted, “give him your sword. Sapwood, can you scrape the word on the floor here?”

“Certainly, marm.”

It was badger script. Loambudd said the word triumphantly:

“Emllor!”

Loambudd placed her paw on the plate, then moved precisely in a straight line across the chamber. Her paw smacked hard upon the rock bulge to one side of the throne.

“Give me the lantern. It’s right here! See this word carved on the boulder? It is directly opposite the plate so that it reflects in the metal, backwards, of course—like all mirror images it is the wrong way round. It’s not emllor, it’s rollme.”