Sapwood blew on his soup to cool it, his strong face expressionless. “Do you think they ’ope ter scare us, Thistle?”

Bart Thistledown of the Westshore Thistledowns stared languidly down his long aristocratic nose at the lights bobbing and flickering in two prongs toward the mountain. “Actually, it all looks rather pretty, doncha think, Sap. Though if I were those flippin’ vermin I’d be gettin’ a good night’s sleep instead of paradin’ round like a flock of fireflies goin’ courtin’. Darnfools, if y’ask me, old fellow!”

“Cor you talk luvly, Thistle.” Sapwood chuckled admiringly. “Yer a cool one, all right. Hi’ll say that for ye.”

Thistledown sniffed disdainfully. “Bad form t’ get one’s ears in an uproar over vermin, wot?”

*   *   *

Klitch shook his head in disapproval. “Well, if they didn’t know we were coming before, they certainly know now. All these torches—it’s foolish!”

Ferahgo’s blue eyes twinkled in the torchlight. “They’ll see us all right. I want them to. Can’t you see it’s a show of strength? Each of our creatures is carrying two torches, and that makes it look like double our numbers. Also, they can see the torchlights, but from this distance they don’t know if we’re foxes or frogs, ferrets or toads, big or small, badly or well armed. That will have them guessing and worried too. They know we’re here, but they won’t see us. Now watch this, my young and still wet behind the ears son.”

Ferahgo gave a piercing whistle and upended both his torches in the sand, extinguishing them immediately. Every member of the horde followed his example. All around Salamandastron the lights went out as if by magic.

“Now they know we’re here, but they can’t see us.” Ferahgo settled down in the sand, grinning with satisfaction. “We can sleep until dawn, but they’ll have to stay awake and alert.”

Klitch dumped his torches head down in the sand. “I still think it’s a stupid move. I’ve told you, these are trained fighters. They know all the tricks in the book.”

*   *   *

Of the two weasels, Klitch was to prove right.

“Right, chaps an’ chapesses, lights out an’ heads down, wot!” Big Oxeye had caught on to Ferahgo’s plan. As he watched from the crater top he tossed aside his sling scornfully. “Huh, they must think we came ashore in buckets, brainless buffoons! Seawood, post six sentries. The rest of you can get a bit of jolly old shuteye until dawn.”

*   *   *