him the advantage.
Matthias attempted to keep his back to the entrance, where Orlando and his friends waited, but the
cunning skill of the Wearet forced him round until he could feel the rat horde at his back. The Wearet
snarled viciously and shuffled forwards, jabbing at his foe. Matthias was concentrating on the spearpoint
and the swirling net; not until too late did he feel the spear butt of a black-robed rat hit him in the back of
his legs. The warrior mouse fell backwards. The Wearet hurled himself forward, spear first, but Matthias
twisted to one side, caught the end of the net and gave a sharp tug, adding impetus to his enemy’s charge.
There was a bubbling scream as the Wearet stumbled in his lunge, and the rat who had tripped
Matthias with the spear butt staggered forward, impaled upon the Wearet’s stabbing spear. Matthias
goaded his foe sharply across his hindquarters with the needlelike swordpoint. The Wearet foamed and
screeched as he shook the fallen rat from his spearpoint, casting the weighted net back over his shoulder.
The weights struck Matthias on top of his head. Blackness interspersed with colored stars exploded behind
his eyes, and he felt rather than saw the spear jab at his throat as the Wearet attacked on the turn. There
was a ringing clang as the Warrior’s swordpoint countered the spear blade.
His head clearing, Matthias leapt nimbly forward, clipping the Wearet’s slobbering jaw and slicing
across his spear paw. Despite the ferocity of the attack, the Wearet kicked Matthias in the stomach and
whipped away at his body with the folded net. He drove his opponent back until he was practically at the
rock wall of the ledge. Matthias whirled the sword and came forwards, propelling himself forcefully off the
rocks.
“Redwaaaaall!”
The fury of the onslaught drove the Wearet back. He took two sharp slashes upon his flanks before
clouting Matthias in the face with the flat of his spear blade and throwing the net over the mouse warrior.
Matthias knew he was snared. He could not use his sword, and the net weighed heavily upon him as the
Wearet stooped to gather the ends and fully entrap him. Seeing a slim chance, Matthias trod on the
grounded blade of the spear, causing the Wearet to try to pull the spear free.
It was all the chance Matthias needed. He bulled forward, battering into the Wearet. Shoving hard with
head and paws, he sent his foe hurtling back into the ranks of the rats. Matthias dropped his sword and fell
flat, keeping his paws tight to his sides. The Wearet stumbled and struggled amid the rats. Holding only
one edge of the net, he dragged at it. The net slid from Matthias, who snatched his sword and jumped up,
charging straight in among the rats, hacking this way and that in an attempt to get at the Wearet.
“Get out of there, watch your back, Matthias!” Orlando roared from the cave mouth.
Matthias dimly heard Orlando. With the spirit of Martin coursing through his veins, he whirled in a
tight warrior’s circle. Up, down and at middle height, the great sword was everywhere at once in a
glittering circle of steel. Rats fought to get out of its way.
Wearet cut through the rats to Matthias’s opposite side and regained the open space. As the warrior
mouse came spinning out of the horde, he saw the Wearet and carried on his deadly course. Still spinning,
his sword sheared into the net, shredding it to a useless mass of cordage as it was swept from his foebeast’s
paw. The Wearet snatched a fallen stabbing spear, arming himself doubly. Prodding and thrusting, he
locked blades with Matthias. The ring of sword upon spears echoed around the ledge as the pair fought
madly, backwards and forwards, hacking and slicing, parrying and striking in a hideous ritual of death.
Mattimeo and his friends had lain miserably in the darkened cell until they lost track of night or day.
Several attempts had been made to force the door, each one more futile than the last. Auma’s body ached
from the number of times she had thrown herself at the heavy unyielding door, and Sam’s teeth were numb
through trying to gnaw at the timbers. Mattimeo, Tim, Tess, Jube and even Cynthia had tried in one way or
another, all resulting in bleeding and splinter-stuck paws. They sat miserably in the darkness. Cynthia
began weeping.
“There, there, hush now. We’ll get out of here, you’ll see,” Tess comforted her.
Auma placed her aching back against the wall. “I’d like to think we’ll get out of here too, but where
would we go?”
“Anywhere!” Mattimeo’s voice trembled. “I wouldn’t mind getting out of here just to die fighting those
robed rats instead of perishing down here like some insect under the ground. At least it would be better
than a life under the whip of a slavekeeper.”
“Ssshhhh!”
“Who said that?”
Sam crawled close to Mattimeo. “I did. Listen, can you hear anything?”
“No, can you?”
“I’m not sure, but it sounds like a drum pounding far away and the sound of voices.”
Cynthia Bankvole sobbed aloud. “I knew it. They’re having some sort of feast, and we’re going to be
dragged out of here and eaten. I’m sure of it!”
“Oh, stop being silly, Cynthia!” Tess snapped at her impatiently. “What a foolish idea. Where are all
these drums and voices coming from, Sam? I can’t hear a thing.”
Auma stood up. “I can. Sam’s right, it sounds like pounding and chanting and shouting. Whatever it is,
you can wager it’s not going to be any party for us. Maybe Cynthia’s right.”
Tim’s voice came out of the gloom. “Really, Auma, not you too. Voices, drums, chanting. I thought you
had a bit more sense than frightening others.”
“Huh, I can’t hear anything, but I agree with Auma. Sometimes it’s best to expect the worst. That way
you’re never disappointed,” Jube said philosophically.
“Thanks for cheering us all up, hedgehog,” Tess scoffed. “Here we are, locked in a cell below ground
and manacled without a hope or a weapon between us, and you’re chattering on about us being the dinner
at some sort of evil ceremony—”
“Hush,” Sam interrupted, “I can hear paws coming this way and a dragging sound too!”
Cynthia gave a little scream.
Mattimeo stood up, resolute. “Well, let them come, and we’ll make an end of it one way or another.
Let’s try and do what our parents or Martin the Warrior would do in a corner like this: sell our lives dearly.
We have manacles, and they can be turned into weapons. Let whoever beast it is come and try to do their
worst.”
Supported by Flugg and two other shrews, Log-a-Log made his way painfully up the tortuous winding
passages towards the surface. The shrew leader groaned and lowered himself slowly down, resting his back
against a door.
“Log-a-Log, are you all right?” Flugg asked anxiously.
He nodded wearily. “I must sit here awhile. It’s all uphill to the copse. Let me rest and catch my
breath.”
The shrews sat with him.
“When we get above ground you must leave me,” he said, turning to Flugg. “Go back and help our
friends. Flugg, you have been my good comrade and brother for many seasons. Listen now. Once you leave
me and I am no longer with you, the Guosim must have a new leader. That one is you, Flugg. Forget your
name; now you are Log-a-Log of all the Guosim.”
Flugg banged the door angrily with his sword hilt. “No! Do not talk like that. You must live!”
Log-a-Log held a paw to his throat wound. “You cannot disobey me. The law and rules of the Guosim