had set the sword between the jamb of the door and the stone doorway. With a
huge burst of energy she threw her weight against the venerable weapon.
Suddenly it broke; the old blade rang upon the floor, leaving her holding the
shorn-off handle, which she tossed to a guard.
"Here, throw him in the cells with this tied around his neck. If ever we do
release him, then others will see him and realize how merciful we can be. Take
the wretch away—the sight of him offends my eyes."
As the guards tugged on the rope, Martin stood firm resisting them. For a
moment his eyes met those of Tsarmina's. His voice was clear and unafraid.
"Your father made a just decision, but yours was the right one. You should
have killed me when you had the chance, because I vow that I will slay you one
day."
The spell was broken. The guards hauled on the ropes, dragging Martin off to
the cells. In the silence that followed, Tsarmina slumped in her chair and
sniggered. "A mouse kill me, indeed! He's not even worth worrying about."
Verdauga coughed painfully. He lay back on the pillows. "If you think that,
daughter, then you have made a grave mistake. I have seen courage before; it
comes in all shapes and sizes. Just because he is a mouse does not make him
less of a warrior than me. He has a fighter's heart—I saw it in his eyes."
Tsarmina ignored her father and called to Fortunata. "Vixen, mix Lord
Greeneyes a stronger portion. He needs sleep after all the excitement.
Gingivere, give father his medicine. You are the only one he will take it
from."
Fortunata gave Gingivere the beaker containing the prepared draught. Tsarmina
nodded to her, and they left the room together. Outside in the corridor the
wildcat gripped the fox's paw in her powerful claws. "Welt, did you fix the
medicine?"
Fortunata winced in pain as the claws sank in. "Twice. Once before the mouse
came in, and just now before we left. He's taken enough poison to lay half the
garrison low."
Tsarmina pulled the vixen close, her cruel eyes burning.
22
"Good, but if he's still alive in the morning you had better prepare some for
yourself. It would be a lot easier than facing me if you fail."
The cells were deep beneath Kotir. They were ancient, smelly, dark, and dank.
Martin the Warrior was hurled into his prison by the two guards who had
dragged him down passage and stairway. He had fought every inch of the way and
they were glad to be rid of him. Martin lay with his cheek testing on the cold
stone floor where he had been flung. As (lie door clanged shut behind him, one
of the stoats peered through the door grating, turning the key in the lock.
"Thank your lucky stars, mouse. If Lady Tsarmina had had her way, you'd be in
the darkest wettest cells further down the passage. ft was Lord Greeneyes'
wish that you should be put in a good cell, aye, and given bread and water to
eat and some dry straw to lie on. Huh, he must have taken a shine to you. He's
a strange one, old Verdauga is."
Martin lay still, listening until the sounds of the guards' heavy paws receded
and he was alone. Standing up, he took stock of his new surroundings. At least
there was light com-m% in from a torch that burned on the far corridor wall.
Feeling a slight draught, he looked up. There was a high aarrow grille slitted
into the wall near the ceiling. Martin Changed position, still looking upward,
until he could see a •tor shining outside in the night sky. It was his only
link with freedom and the outside world. He sat, resting his back against the
wall, huddling down in his ragged cloak to gain ft little warmth. The rest of
his cell was just the same as any prison: four bare walls and precious little
else, no comfort or ebeer to be gained from anything here. He was a prisoner,
in a strange place.
warrior mouse slept, overcome by weariness. Sometime Jjefore dawn he was
wakened by paws thrusting something Over his head and around his neck. Still
half-asleep, Martin tffed to grab hold of his assailants. He was roughly
kicked 10 one side, then the door clanged shut as the key turned in lock
again. Leaping up, Martin ran to the door. The stoat peered through the
grating, chuckling and wagging a at him. "You nearly had me that time, mouse."
23
The warrior mouse gave an angry snarl and leapt at the grating, but the stoat
backed off, grinning at his futile attempt. "Listen, mouse, if I were you I'd
keep pretty quiet down here, otherwise you might attract Lady Tsarmina's
attention—and I don't think you'd like that. You just sit tight and behave
yourself, then maybe in time somebody like Gin-givere will remember you're
here and have you released."
As the guards trooped off, Martin saw they had left a load of clean straw in
one corner, also some bread and water. Instinctively he moved towards it, and
felt something clunk against his chest. It was the sword handle dangling from
a piece of rope around his neck. Martin held it in front of his eyes, staring
at it hard and long. He would wear it, not because he had been sentenced to as
a mark of shame, but to remind himself that one day he would slay the evil cat
who had broken his father's blade.
Settling down in the dry straw, he drank water and gnawed upon the stale bread
hungrily. He was about to fell asleep again when shouts and commotion broke
out upstairs. Pulling himself level with the door grille, Martin listened to
the sounds that echoed in the silence of the cells.
"My Lord Greeneyes is dead!"
"Lady Tsarmina, come quick, it's your father."
There was loud stamping of spearbutts and die sounds of mailed paws dashing
hither and thither, coupled with the slamming of doors.
Tsarmina's voice could be heard in an anguished wail. "Murder, murder. My
father is slain!"
Ashleg and Fortunata took up the cry. "Murder, Gingivere has poisoned
Verdauga!"
A tremendous hubbub had broken out. Martin could not hear clearly what was
going on. A moment later there was a sound of heavy pawsteps on the stairs; it
sounded like a great number of creatures. Martin pulled to one side of the
grille and saw it all. Led by Tsarmina, a mob of soldiers carrying torches
marched down the corridor, Ashleg and Fortunata visible among them. As they
passed the cell door, Martin glimpsed the stunned face of the gentle wildcat
Gingivere. He was bound in chains. Blood trickled from a wound on his head.
Their eyes met for a second, then he was swept by in the surge of angry
soldiers, their faces distorted by the flick-
24
ering torchlight as they chanted, "Murderer, murderer! Kill the murderer!"
Martin could no longer see them, owing to the limited range of his vision
through the grille, but he could still hear all that went on. Some distance
down the corridor a cell door slammed and a key turned. Tsarmina's voice rose
above the noise. "Silence! I will say what is to be done here. Even though my
brother is a murderer, I cannot harm him. He will stay locked up here until he
lives out his days. He is now dead to me; I never want to hear his name spoken
again within the walls of Kotir."
Martin heard Gingivere's voice trying to say something, but it was immediately
drowned out by Ashleg and Fortunata starting a chant that the soldiers took up
at full pitch. "Long live Queen Tsarmina. Long live Queen Tsarmina!"
As the mob passed by Martin's cell again, he drew back. Above the roars he
heard Tsarmina, close by the door, speaking to Ashleg. "Bring October ale and