The sudden shout caused a thousand echoes to boom and bounce off the walls
with startling intensity. The sound was deafening. Martin threw himself to the
floor, covering both ears with his paws as he fought against the flooding
crescendo of noise, Boar's voice reverberated like a thousand cathedral bells.
Sorrow and contrition ceased the big badger's face; he swept Martin up with a
single paw, bearing him swiftly from the room.
When the warrior mouse recovered, he was lying back in the badger's cave. Boar
was bathing his brow with cool water.
"Martin, forgive me. I forgot to keep my voice down. Are you hurt?"
Martin stuck a paw in his ear, wiggling it about.
"No, I'm all right. Honestly I am. You mustn't blame yourself. It was my
fault."
Boar shook his head in admiration. "Spoken like a true
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warrior. Rise up, Martin, and follow me. Now I will give you the means to
fight like one."
Trubbs, Wother and Ffring met them at the forge. There was lots of giggling
and winking between the hares.
"Well, does he know about you-know-what, eh, Boar?"
"I say, let's show it to him now, Boar. Be a sport."
"Yes, otherwise the poor old bean might keel over with suspense."
There was a twinkle in Boar's eye as he turned to Lupin, the wife of
ButTheart.
"What d'you think, Lupin? Is he ready for this?"
Lupin waggled her long ears humorously as hares do.
"Oh, I suppose so. Anyhow, we'll soon find out."
Boar had moved to the edge of the forge and was toying with something wrapped
in soft barkcloth.
"While you slept last night, my hares and I worked until after dawn had
broken," he said at last. "I have made something for you, Martin."
The warrior mouse felt the hairs rising on the back of his neck. He gulped
with excitement as Boar continued.
"One night while out on patrol, our Lupin here saw a star fall from the sky.
She found the spot where it landed. A lump of hot metal was buried deep in the
sand. When it cooled she dug it out and brought it back to me. Last night I
put sea coal and charcoal in my forge; more than ever before, I made
Salamandastron glow so hot that it could be seen in lands far across the sea.
I had to—half the night had gone before the metal became soft. I hammered it
out, oiled it, folded it many times against itself on my anvil, all the time
reciting the names of every great warrior I had known or could think of. I
spoke your name on the final hammer blow. Here, Martin. This is yours."
Everyone gathered round, including the three travelers, who were back from
their tour of the mountain. They held their breath as Martin carefully
unwrapped the barkcloth, layer by layer.
It was the sword!
Double-edged, keener than a razor, it lay glittering and twinkling, a myriad
of steely lights. Its tip was pointed like a mountain peak in midwinter, the
deadly blade had a three-
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quarter blood channel. It was perfectly balanced against the hilt, which had
been restrapped with hard black leather and finished with a ruby-red pommel
stone and curving scrolled crosspiece where it joined the marvelous blade.
Never in his wildest dreams had Martin imagined such a thing. Since they left
Mossflower on the quest, he had more or less forgotten the broken hilt that
hung about his neck. Caught up in the adventures and perils they had been
through, he had used whatever he had to—a sling, a piece of wood as a
stave—never expecting to see his father's sword restored to a newness that far
outshone its humble beginnings. Now, suddenly, he felt the warlike blood of
his ancestors rising at the sight of a fighting weapon few were chosen to look
upon, let alone own. The feeling of destiny lay strong upon him as he picked
up the fascinating weapon in one paw. His hackles rose and the blood gorged in
his face, flashing across his eyes. Now he was the Warrior!
Everyone moved back to the walls as the warrior mouse took his sword in both
paws. He held it straight out, letting the point rise slightly to feel the
heft of the weapon. Suddenly Martin began sweeping it in circles, up, down,
and around. The steel blade whooshed and sang eerily on its own wind, the
bystanders followed its every move as if hypnotized. Martin leaped onto Boar's
anvil, still swinging his sword. There was an audible ping as he sliced the
tip from the anvil horn. It ricocheted oft the rock walls. They ducked
instinctively as it hummed past like an angry wasp, leaving the singing blade
unmarked.
"Tsarmina, can you hear me?" Martin roared out above the voice of the howling
blade. "I am Martin the Warrior. I am coming back to Mossflowemrrrrrrr!''
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An hour before dawn, Brogg was rubbing sleep from his eyes. He flopped his
Thousand Eye Captain's cloak about him and stumbled into the main billet with
Ratflank. They kicked at prostrate forms, pulling tattered blankets from
sleeping soldiers.
"Come on, you lot," they ordered. "Up on your paws. It's invasion time again."
Grumbling and protesting, the troops sat up, scratching at their fur, wiping
paws across eyes.
"Gaw! I was bavin* a lovely dream there."
"Huh, me too. I dreamed we were getting a proper hot breakfast."
"You'll be lucky, bucko. Bread and water, and be glad of it."
"Where's this fat of the land we're all supposed to be living off? That's what
I'd like to know."
Ratflank kicked out at a huddled form wrapped in sacking. A rawboned fox
wearing brass earrings leaped up.
"Keep your stupid paws off me, lumphead," he snarled. "I'm not one of your
dimwit soldiers. We only take orders from Bane."
Ratflank hurried away, narrowly dodging the bared yellow fangs.
Bane and Tsarmina paced restlessly about in the entrance hall. The fox banged
his paw against a doorpost.
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"What's keeping them?" he asked impatiently. "It'll be noon by the time we get
going at this rate."
Tsarmina gritted her teeth, turning, she screeched toward the barracks,
"Brogg, Ratfiank, get them out here double quick, or I'll come in there and
move you myself!"
The first bunch came tumbling out, adjusting tunics, clattering shields on
spears.
"Here's mine. Where's your crew, Bane?" Tsarmina smirked.
Moments later, Bane's mercenaries strolled casually out in the rear of the
uniformed soldiers. The fox commander struck his curved sword against a shield
until he got order.
"Right, you lot. Same drill as yesterday—skirmish line, comb the woods, keep
your eyes peeled and your wits about you. When we find them, remember: no
mercy!"
The horde moved out toward the parade ground in the courtyard. As the first
half-dozen soldiers passed through the doorway into the open, there was a
harsh shout from the woodland fringe.
"Fire!"
A hiss of vicious weaponry cut the air. The six soldiers fell in their tracks,
cut down by arrows and javelins.
"Retreat, retreat, get back inside, quick!" Bane ordered hastily.
There was panic as the back ranks coming forward stumbled into the front ranks
retreating. More troops fell, transfixed by flying death.
"What's going on out there?" Tsarmina yelled at Bane.
Bane stood panting with his back to the wall.
"They've got us bottled up in here. Wait a moment. Badtail!"
The rawboned fox came trotting up. "Here Bane."
"See what the position is out there. Pinpoint where they are and report back
to me."
Badtail lay flat upon his belly. Sliding around the doorposts, he scrambled