Ferahgo turned to Urthstripe with a confident smirk. “You have thirty more fighting hares inside, I know. The odds would be well over fivescore to one. But let us not talk of fighting. I am a visitor to this country—where is your famous hospitality? Invite me into your mountain and let me look around, we will talk . . .”

“Never! I do not allow vermin into Salamandastron!”

As he was speaking, Urthstripe noticed the front ranks of the horde advancing slowly. Behind him he heard the slither of arrows being drawn from quivers. Sapwood and the ten hares were readying themselves for trouble.

Ferahgo shook his head. “You say you never allow vermin into your mountain, yet my son Klitch and his friend Goffa took breakfast with you not so long ago.”

The point of Urthstripe’s spear had been gradually tilting. Now it dropped, centered on Ferahgo’s midriff a breath away. The Assassin took a cautious step back.

Urthstripe’s short patience was worn exceedingly thin. “Leave Mossflower country, weasel, or you and your scum will die here. I am tired of talking. Take your face out of my sight. You offend me!”

Ferahgo was not short of nerve. He spat scornfully in the sand. “Your mountain is surrounded, badger. If it comes to war there is no way you can win. What do you say to that?”

But Urthstripe was finished talking, except for one word.

“Eulaliaaaa!”

There was a deadly hiss of shafts as ten of the advancing enemy were cut down by the Long Patrol arrows. Ferahgo leaped to one side roaring, “Charge!”

The horde swept forward over the bodies of the fallen toward the badger and his ten hares. The hares dropped behind another ten who had been waiting to back them up with bows ready. They fired into the yelling horde as their comrades fitted fresh arrows to their bows and let loose another quick volley. Carried on by the lust for battle, Urthstripe, instead of retreating into the safety of the mountain, flung himself forward into the foe. A burly ferret wielding a pike charged Urthstripe. The badger’s spear took him through the chest and lifted him like a rag doll, hurling him into the seething horde. A weasel flung himself on Urthstripe’s back and stabbed the big badger between greave and breastplate. Urthstripe slew him with the backward stroke of a huge mailed paw. Three hares were down—two to spears, one to slingshot.

“I’ll try an’ get Lord Urthstripe away,” Sapwood called out to Oxeye. “Keep the entrance open till we gets back!”

Oxeye coolly notched an arrow to his bow and felled a fox. “Righty ho, but put a move on, Sap. We can’t keep up this bally performance all day. Dearie me, what a chap has t’ do for these badger Lords!”

Sapwood dropped his bow and tore out into the melee. Punching, kicking, butting and hooking, he made it to the badger’s side.