Ferahgo seated himself on a rock and stared upward, his eyes becoming bluer as they reflected the clear skies above. “What a beautiful summer morning after last night’s heavy storm. My son, do you see how wonderfully clear the air is? I like to clear the air before I do anything. Have you noticed a few grumblings and rumblings amongst my army of Corpsemakers? I have. When Migroo returns with the rest, depending on whether or not he has captives with him, I’ll use him as a shining example, or a warning. Either way, I’ll instill some loyalty into those who murmur behind my back. You’ll see.”

“Hah, so you say, old one!” Klitch snorted and stalked off moodily.

Ferahgo smiled mockingly as he called after him, “With age comes wisdom. Hotheads are ten for a crust, young one.”

*   *   *

At high noon a stoat named Doghead called down from the lookout post, “Migroo an’ the huntin’ gang comin’ in from the south, master!”

Ferahgo tapped Goffa lightly on the side of his heavily swollen face. The ferret winced and cringed. “Laid out by an unarmed hare, eh. You’re a bright one. Get Klitch and muster the army together for a march.”

By the time Migroo and his hunters reached camp, the entire horde was gathered in one place among the rocks. Ferahgo stood apart from them, his eyes as dangerous as thin blue ice on a deep spring lake.

“Ho there, Migroo. Where’ve you been?”

The stoat was not the brainiest of creatures. He stood scratching his head as he pondered the odd question. “Chasin’ the badger an’ the hare, Chief, like you told us to.”

Ferahgo smiled indulgently. He was enjoying this. “No no, you’ve got it wrong, Migroo. I never said chase them. I said capture them and bring them back here. Right?”

The stoat was beginning to feel nervous. He swallowed hard. “That’s right, Chief—catcher ’em an’ bring them back ’ere, that’s wot you said.”

The Assassin’s smile swept around the watching horde. He let the tension build a little, then shrugged carelessly. “Well, I don’t see a badger and a hare, do you, Migroo?”

The stoat backed off, holding out his paws pleadingly. “Arr now, Chief, we wasn’t to blame. We tracked ’em arf the day an’ all night through the dunes in the dark an’ the storm. We tried, Chief, ‘onest we did, but they just vanished in the night when the rain was ’eavy! Eeeeyahhhh!”

Ferahgo’s skinning knife had moved like lightning. Migroo was writhing on the ground, clutching the side of his head. The Warlord wiped his blade on Migroo as he stepped over him. When he spoke to the horde he did not raise his voice, but everybeast heard each word distinctly.