naughty woodlanders? Well, never mind, come in and take off your armor, sit by
the fire and have a bite to eat.' "
One particularly stupid ferret grinned hopefully. "Oh, that would be nice."
Fortunate was about to give him something painful to think about when she
heard the noise once more.
"Ssshhh! There it is again, coming right toward us. Right, this is your chance
to carry out the mission properly. I want you all out of sight. You lot, get
behind those trees. You others, hide in the bushes. When I give the signal,
come out whacking. Use your spear handles, shields, branches— anything. I want
them taken alive. Here they come! Hide quickly."
As the soldiers dropped out of sight, a cloud obscured the moonlight. At that
moment a band of dark shapes came into view.
The vixen ran out shouting, "Now, up and at 'em, troops!"
Spurred on by Fortunata, the soldiers dashed from hiding. They charged with a
roar into the midst of the intruders, dealing out heavy blows, kicking,
biting, scratching and pounding away at the enemy. The air was rent with
blows, screams, thuds and yells of pain.
Exulting in the chaos of the ambush, Fortunata seized the nearest figure and
thrashed it unmercifully with her staff.
Thwack, bang, crack!
"Yeeow, aargh, oo mercy, help!"
It was only when she kicked out savagely and splintered the wooden leg that
the vixen realized she was close to slaying Ashleg.
"Stoppit! Halt! Pack it in, you fools. We're fighting our own!" Fortunata
yelled at the top of her lungs.
When the clouds moved, moonlight illuminated a sorry scene. The soldiers of
Kotir sat about on the grass, moaning pitifully. Broken and fractured limbs,
collective bumps, bruises, sprains, missing teeth, blackened eyes, contusions
and some very nasty scratches were much in evidence.
Ashleg sat on the ground, nursing his wrecked wooden
94
leg. "You booby, you knothead, you nincompoop of a fox, you, you . . . !"
"Er, sorry, Ashleg. But how were we to know? Why didn't you signal that you
were coming?"
"Signal, you brush-tailed blockhead! I'll give you a signal!" The marten flung
his broken wooden leg, catching Fortunata square on the top of her nose.
"Yowch! You twisted little monster, there was no call for that. We thought you
were woodlanders; it was a genuine mistake."
Ashleg rubbed a swollen ear. "Woodlanders! Don't talk to me about mat lot!
We've patrolled this forest until our paws are sore. Not a solitary mouse, not
so much as the hair off a squirrel's tail or the damp from an otter's back."
The vixen slumped down glumly beside him. "Same here. Where d'you suppose
they've vanished to?"
"Huh, search me. Tsarmina will skin us alive when we get back."
Scratt threw down his spear and sat with them. "Aye, you're right there. Ah
well, maybe we'll have more luck when it gets light. We may as well camp here.
At least we can search around for roots and berries."
Fortunata and Ashleg looked at each other.
"Roots and berries . . . Yuk!"
Chibb the robin circled the crenellations of Kotir in the dawn light. There
was not a lot to interest the little spy; the garrison was still asleep. He
noted each window and what was inside: snoring ferrets, slumbering weasels,
dozy stoats, even Tsarmina in her upper chamber, stretched out in splendor
upon a heap of furs. The wildcat Queen was dreaming troubled dreams of water,
muttering to herself, pushing the air as if it were water enveloping her.
Chibb flew down and lighted on the parade ground near the wall. Keeping a
watch for the eagle, he set about breakfast. From a small bag slung about his
neck he selected a candied chestnut; not one of the big smooth ones, but a
small wrinkled nut that had lots of sugar in the cracks. Chibb liked them
better that way.
Chibb noted that he was near something which looked like a drain outlet, a
hole cut into the wall at floor level. He bopped inside, peering about
curiously. It went slanting
95
downward as far as he could see. Nibbling the nut daintily, the tat robin
explored the tunnel. It was quite dry underclaw.
Chibb cocked his head to one side, listening to the sounds of ragged breathing
from farther down the tunnel. "Ahem, hem, must be somebody still asleep."
Working his way further down, he found his progress arrested by three vertical
iron bars set into the tunnel. This was no drain; it was the upper window of a
cell. Chibb edged up to the bars and peeped down. He was looking into the
burning eyes of an emaciated wildcat seated below upon the damp stones.
"Humph, harrumph, hem, 'scuse me."
Gingivere shaded his eyes, staring upward at his strange visitor. "Please
don't fly away. I won't harm you. My name is Gingivere."
The robin cocked his head airily on one side. "Ahem, humph. You'll excuse my
saying so, but you don't appear to be in any position to harm me. Er, ahem,
must go now. I'll •drop by and see you another time."
Chibb beat a hasty retreat back up the tunnel. The wildcat with the staring
eyes had quite unsettled him. At the edge of the tunnel the robin ate the last
of his nut, then flew off back to Brockhall to report his findings.
The day promised to be fine and sunny. Chibb flew high, knowing that the sun
in the east would shine in the eyes of predators looking west. He took not the
slightest interest in the woodland floor far below. Had he flown lower, he
would have noticed Ferdy and Coggs lying in a patch of open sward, fast
asleep, their paws about each other, blissfully unaware that a short distance
away Cludd was making an early start at the head of his patrol.
Bella was up and about early that morning, being a light sleeper. She received
Chibb's information about Gingivere being imprisoned. This was already known
to the Corim through Martin and Gonff, yet it gave Bella pause for thought;
Kotir was now definitely ruled totally by the cruel Tsarmina.
Martin joined her for an early morning stroll in the woodland before
breakfast. The badger had matters to discuss with the warrior mouse.
"War is coming to Mossflower, Martin. I can feel it. Now
96
mat we are all at Brockhall, the defenceless ones are safer, but I listen to
the voices at Corim meetings. The squirrels and otters are not satisfied with
merely resisting Kotir's rule— they want to challenge it."
Martin felt the broken sword hanging about his neck. "Maybe that is no bad
thing, Bella. Mossflower rightfully belongs to the woodlanders. I will do all
I can to help my friends live without fear."
"I know you will, little warrior, but we are not strong enough. We have few
who are trained in the art of war. If Boar the Fighter, my father, were still
ruling here, there would be no question he would fight and lead us to certain
victory."
. Martin noted the sad, faraway look in the badger's eyes. "He must have been
a mighty warrior. Does he still live?"
Bella shrugged. "Who knows? He followed his father, old Lord Brocktree, to go
off questing. This was before Verdauga and his army arrived in Mossfiower. My
mate Barkstripe was slain in the first battle against Kotir and my son
Sunflash lost to me forever. Barkstripe was more farmer than warrior. Had it
been Boar the Fighter that faced Kotir, we would have won, lam certain of it."
Martin turned his steps back to Brockhall.
Goody Stickle was standing in the doorway, rubbing her paws together
anxiously. As they approached, Bella spoke to Martin in a whisper. "Tell