Martin the Warrior

"Amid the deep white winter snow,

Sleeps Mossflow'r until spring,

While snug in Cavern Hole below,

All Redwall's creatures sing.

Old autumn gave us plenty,

Our harvest did not fail,

No plate or jug is empty,

There's good October ale."

Three young creatures, the otter twins Bagg and Runn, accompanied by Grubb, their molefriend, hauled a small beech log between them along the path to Redwall Abbey. The intrepid trio kept stopping to clear away the snowdrift building up in front of the log as they dragged it through the snow. Singing lustily, they pelted each other with snowballs, their breath rising in white plumes as they ran around the beech log.

"Yaow! You'm a drefful villyun, Baggo, leggo oi!" "Hahah! I'll save you, Grubb. Take that!" "Missed me! You couldn't hit the Abbey gate if you was stooden in front of it, Runn!"

"Ho, couldn't I then? Well, 'ave some of this, mate!"

The young otter flung the snowball, Bagg ducked. Unaware that two travellers were coming along the path from the north, they hurled snowballs wildly at each

other.

"Oof! Great seasons, go easy there!"

One of the travellers, a large sturdy hedgehog, had been struck by a snowball. He wiped snow from his snout with the edge of his cloak.

The three young ones stopped throwing and hung their heads sheepishly. Grubb took it on himself to apologize.

"Hurr, us'ns tumble sorry, zurr. Be you'm 'urted?"

The hedgehog's travelling companion, a very pretty mousemaid, stifled laughter at the sight of the three delinquent snowballers.

"Oh, I'm sure Bultip will live. He's had worse injuries."

Grinning, the big hedgehog nodded. "I have indeed, mates. Come on, I'll help you with your log. Where are you bound with it?"

Bagg curved his mittened paw as he pointed. "Jus' round that bend, sir, to Redwall Abbey. We live there." Bultip nodded at his companion as he took the tow rope in strong paws. "I told you we'd find the Abbey on this path. Right, you three terrors, sit up on the log and I'll give you a ride. You too, Aubretia, rest your footpaws."

There was little doubt the hedgehog was a mighty beast. Tossing the rope across his shoulder, he trudged off through the snow, hauling the log and its passengers behind with no trace of effort.

Redwall Abbey stood backed by the vastness of Mossflower Woods, its front facing the path and open flatlands to the west. Capped with snow, the beautiful building resembled a vast frosted cake, walls, battlements, belltower and Abbey fringed with icicles hanging over its red sandstone towers and turrets.

Abbot Saxtus folded his paws into wide habit sleeves, gazing up at the main building. Beside him old Simeon the blind herbalist leaned on a hawthorn stick, sniffing the cold air.

"Looks beautiful, doesn't it, Saxtus?"

Knowing his friend's uncanny knack of sensing every movement, the Abbot nodded. "Remember what our old friend Abbot Bernard said before he passed on: No matter what the season, Redwall always looks marvellous."

Simeon sniffed the air again and held up a paw. "Somebeast is coming this way. One, maybe two, it's hard to tell."

They stood out on the path by the open main gates. Saxtus watched until he saw the party approaching.

"I might have known. It's Bagg, Runn and Grubb. They've brought company, two travellers."

Simeon tapped his stick on the snow eagerly. "Oh good, we'll have some fresh tales in Cavern Hole tonight!"

Old Friar Cockleburr hurried along with the preparations for a Midwinter Mossflower Feast, helped by his assistant, Alder. Both mice worked furiously, putting the finishing touches to dishes as they called out orders to the Redwallers on kitchen duty.

"Brush more honey on that pie if you want a good shiny crust!"

"Pass those chopped nuts and greensap milk, please."

"Quick, pull those pasties from the oven before they're too brown!"

"Durry Quill, will you stop loading hotroot pepper into that soup!"

"Ohhh, leave me be, soup's gotter be 'ot t'be any good."

Paws on hips, Cockleburr glared at the hedgehog. "I wish you'd go back to your cellars and see to the drinks with your Uncle Gabriel. Go on, be off with you!"

Durry popped a candied chestnut into his mouth and spoke round it. "Drinks're all ready, 'tober ale, elderberry wine, strawb'rry cordial an' fizzy dannelion cup nowt to do in cellar. Old Nuncle Gabe, he's takin' a nap afore feastin', restin' 'is stummick."

Aubretia and Bultip had been shown round the Abbey. They gaped and marvelled at the great structure, expressing their admiration for it at every opportunity. Later they had been shown to their rooms by a Foremole. Now rested, washed and garbed in warm old green habits, they came down to the place called Cavern Hole to attend the feast.

Aubretia smiled at the gallant young male mice who flocked about her, each one trying to outdo the other as they saw to every need of the pretty stranger in their midst.

"Sit here, Miss Aubretia, next to me."

"No, sit here, it's more comfortable. Here's a cushion."

"You must have travelled far. Let me get you some food."

"Perhaps you'd like to try some elderberry wine. It'll take the chill of your long journey away, Miss Aubretia." Abbot Saxtus looked over the top of his spectacles, wagging a paw. "So much help for one traveller! Aubretia, come and sit here with Bultip and Simeon. Here, I'll push up a bit so you'll be next to me. Why shouldn't a venerable old Abbot have the pleasure of a pretty mousemaid's company?"

Aubretia curtsied and smiled. "Why not indeed, Father Abbot!"

Bultip had a massive appetite. Scarcely had grace been said when he was munching away, sampling this and that as he allowed old Gabe Quill to fill his tankard. "Redwall October ale, finest in Mossflower.

Try it with some nutbread an' yellow sage cheese, young 'og."

Aubretia sipped from her beaker and shuddered. "Whoo! Taste's lovely, full of tiny bubbles too. What is it?"

Simeon pushed a large confection toward her. "It's called fizzy dandelion cup. Very nice with snowcream pudding and damsons fill your plate. My nose told me today when we met that you are a healer.

Am I right?"

Aubretia looked surprised at the blind mouse's keen perception.

"Yes, you're right Simeon. I am a healer."

Simeon reached out and took hold of Bultip's hefty paw. "And you, sir, I don't think you are a healer somehow."

"I'm no healer," the stout hedgehog chuckled, "just a travellin'

companion protectin' Aubretia."

The blind herbalist felt the strength of Bultip's paw as he flexed it.

"I imagine you do it very well. Woe betide the beast who stands in the way of this paw!"

Laughter and merry chatter rose to the rafters of the big room beneath the Abbey. There was warmth there, good companionship and good humour. Dishes went this way and that from paw to paw, snowcream pudding, hot fruit pies, colorful trifles, tasty pasties, steaming soup, new bread with shiny golden crusts, old cheeses studded with dandelion, acorn and celery. Sugared plums and honeyed pears vied for place with winter salads and vegetable flans.

Aubretia and Bultip joined in the merriment, enjoyed the food and basked in the legendary hospitality of Redwall Abbey.

It was late night. Sleepy little ones had been carried off to their dormitory beds and fresh torches placed in the wall sconces. Bultip nibbled on his fourth pastie. Draining a tankard of October ale, he looked about at the still chattering Redwallers bantering with one another across the tables.

"Does nobeast ever sleep in this place, Simeon?" The herbalist shrugged. "Are you tired, friend?" Bultip blew on a bowl of hot soup.

"Not me, I'm wide awake now."

The Abbot watched the soup disappear. "Good, that's the spirit!

None of us has to rise early and work tomorrow. It's winter, and there's not a lot to do save eat and sleep, so we eat when we're hungry and sleep when we feel like it. How does that suit you, Aubretia?"

The mousemaid sat back contentedly. "It suits me fine, Abbot.

What happens now we're finished feasting?"

Foremole looked up from his turnip 'n' tater 'n' beetroot pie.

"You'm travellen beasts, may'ap you'm gotten gudd stories to tell us'ns, rnizzy. We'm 'card all our tales ten 'undred toimes o'er."

Cushions and chairs were set in a half circle round the big fireplace, fresh logs placed on the fire, damped down with snow soaked herbs to give a sweet aroma to the air. Every Redwaller who did not want to sleep took a seat. Aubretia and Bultip were installed in carved highback chairs. The audience settled down, watching the two travellers eagerly.

"Today as we walked through your beautiful Abbey we saw a tapestry," the mousemaid began. "I immediately recognized the mouse pictured there, Martin the Warrior. As I understand it he is the guiding spirit of this place and one of its founders. Do you know much about him?"

Abbot Saxtus sighed, shaking his head slow. "Martin has always been here to guide us in times of trouble. His presence was felt when two of our young ones, Dandin and Mariel, were here. Unfortunately they have been gone a season and a half now. Martin's presence has not been felt since. We know too little of our Abbey Warrior. I dearly wish we knew more."

A faint smile hovered about the face of Aubretia. She leaned forward and looked at the Abbot and his Redwal lers sitting in the flickering firelight.

"Then you shall, for I have a long and great tale to relate to you...."

It is said that Badrang's dream was to be Lord of all the Eastern Coast. A former corsair, he ceased plundering the high seas to carve out his own empire on land. He chose good territory, facing the Eastern Sea, with hills to the north, cliffs to the south, marshes to the west and wild forests beyond. Secure at the edge of the shoreline the battle hardened stoat could defend his position from any attack. There he set about making his dream become reality, a fortress of timber and stone.

Marshank!

Badrang was Chieftain of a horde: weasels, ferrets, foxes and rats.

He did not trust other stoats, considering his species to be the most cunning and resourceful of all creatures. Scuttling his crippled ship on the northwest coast, Badrang had set out overland, striking for the far coast where corsairs and searats seldom sailed the grey blue waters of the great Eastern Sea. As he travelled, the vicious stoat ravaged the land, killing those he could not conquer and enslaving those he could.

It took two long seasons until he finally arrived triumphant at his destination, laden with plunder, backed by his ruthless horde and driving a long chain of wretched slaves before him.

Badrang set his slaves to work, forcing them to carve a rock quarry and commence building his fortress. The work went well, and soon a living quarters was erected, followed by a perimeter guard wall with its gates facing the shoreline.

He scanned the open sea each day, for he had made enemies among his own kind when he was pirating. Fortunately there was never a sign of sail or ship on the horizon. However, he bullied and drove both slave and hordebeast to have the fortress fully built and established.

Only then could he rule completely, burning and killing his way in all directions until he was absolute ruler of all he surveyed. Tyrant!

Badrang loved the sound of the word.... Tyrant!

BOOK ONE

The Prisoner and the Tyrant

1

He was only a young mouse, but of strong build, with a glint in his eye that proclaimed him a born fighter. A creature of few words who never chattered needlessly. The early summer sun of the Eastern Coast beat down pitilessly on his unprotected head as he carried and stacked chunks of rock beside the masons who would shape it into blocks that would enlarge Fort Marshank.

A weasel Captain named Risk swaggered up/ cracking his long whip threateningly, looking for an excuse to cut loose on the slaves who toiled in the dusty heat around him. His eye settled on the young mouse.

"You there, liven yourself up! Come on, stir yer stumps. Lord Badrang will be round for an inspection soon. Get movin' or y'll taste my whip!"

The mouse dropped the rock he was carrying and stood staring levelly at the bullying weasel. Hisk cracked the lash viciously, the tip flicking the air a fraction from his victim's face. The young mouse did not move. His eyes hooded over as he stood in silent defiance.

The weasel Captain drew the lash back to strike, but the bold, angry eyes of the young slave seemed to challenge him. Like all bullies, the weasel was a coward at heart. Averting his gaze from the piercing stare, Hisk snapped his whip in the direction of some more timid creatures.

"C'mon, you worthless idlers, no work, no food. Move your carcasses. 'Ere comes Lord Badrang!"

Flanked by his aides, Gurrad the rat and Skalrag the fox, Badrang the Tyrant strode imperiously onto the site. He waited while two hedgehogs hurriedly built him a makeshift seat from stone blocks.

Skalrag swiftly covered it with a velvet cloak. Badrang sat, gazing at the work going on around him.

The stoat Lord addressed Hisk: "Will my fortress be finished before summer is out?"

Hisk waved his coiled whip about at the slaves. "Lord, if the weather was cooler an' we 'ad more creatures..."

Badrang moved swiftly in his anger. Seizing a pebble, he hurled it, striking Hisk on the jaw. The weasel Captain stood dumbly, blood trickling from his lip as the Tyrant berated him.

"Excuses! I don't want to hear complaints or excuses, d'you hear me? What I need is a fortress built before autumn. Well, don't stand there snivelling, get on with it!"

Immediately, Hisk got to work, flaying about with the whip as he passed on his master's bad mood.

"Move, you useless lumps! You heard Lord Badrang, Marshank must be ready before the season's out! It'll be double the work an' half rations from now on.

Move!"An old squirrel was staggering by, bent double under the burden of a large rock. Hisk lashed out at him. The whip curled around the aged creature's footpaws, tripping him as he dropped the rock. The weasel began laying into his victim, striking indiscriminately at the old one's frail body.

"You worthless layabout, I'll strip the mis'rable hide off yer!"

The lash rose and fell as Hisk flogged away at the unprotected creature on the ground.

"I'll teach yer a lesson yer won't ferget..."

Suddenly the whip stopped in midswing. It went taut as Hisk pulled on the handle. He tugged at it but was yanked backwards. The young mouse had the end of the whip coiled around his paw.

Hisk's eyes bulged with temper as he shouted at the intruder,

"Leggo my whip, mouse, or I'll gut yer!"

The weasel reached for the dagger at his waist, but he was not fast enough. The mouse hurled himself upon Hisk. Wrapping the whiplash round the Captain's neck, he heaved hard. Hisk thrashed furiously about in the dust, choking and slobbering as the lash tightened.

Gurrad blew a hasty alarm on a bone whistle he carried slung about his neck.

In a trice the mouse was set upon by the nearest six guards. He disappeared beneath a jumble of ferrets, weasels and rats as they pounded him mercilessly, stamping upon his paws and breaking his hold on the whip. They continued relentlessly beating him with spearhandles, rods and whips until Badrang intervened.

"That's enough. Bring him to me!"

His paws pinioned by whips and a spear handle pulled hard across his throat, the young mouse was dragged struggling and kicking into the stoat Lord's presence.

Badrang drew his sword and pressed the point against the young one's heaving chest. Leaning forward, he hissed into the captive's face,

"You know the penalty is death for attacking one of my horde. I could run you through with my sword right now and snuff out your life.

What d'you say to that, mouse?"

The strong young mouse's eyes burned into the Tyrant's face like twin flames as he gritted out, "Scum! That sword is not yours, it belongs to me as it belonged to my father!"

Badrang withdrew the swordpoint. He sat back, shaking his head slowly in amazement at the boldness of the creature in front of him.

"Well well, you're not short of nerve, mouse. What's your name?"

The answer was loud and fearless.

"I am called Martin, son of Luke the Warrior!"

"See the roving river run

Over hill and dale

To a secret forest place,

O my heart, Noonvale.

Look for me at dawning

When the sun's reborn

In the silent beauty

Twixt the night and morn.

Wait till the lark ascends

And skies are blue.

There where the rainbow ends

I will meet you."

The mousemaid Rose sat quite still as the last tremulous notes of her song hovered on the evening air. From a vantage point in the rocks south of Marshank she looked out to sea. The water was tinted gold and scarlet from soft cloud layers, reflecting the far westering sun at her back. Below on the shore an ebbing tide gurgled and chuckled small secrets to itself as it lapped the pebbles.

"Hurr Miz Roser, you'm cumm an' get this yurr supper. Oi bain't a cooken vittles to lay abowt an' git cold 'n' soggy. Bo urr no."

Rose's companion Grumm waved a heavy digging paw at her, and the mousemaid wandered over to join her mole friend at the low fire he had been cooking on. She sniffed appreciatively.

"Hmm, wild oatcakes and vegetable soup! Good old Grumm, you could make a banquet from nothing."

Grumm smiled, his dark velvety face crinkling around two bright button eyes. He waved the tiny ladle which he always carried thrust through his belt like a sword.

"Hurr, an' you udd charm'ee burds outener trees with yurr sweet talken, mizzy. Set'ee daown an' eat oop."

Rose accepted the deep scallop shell full of fragrant soup. Placing her oatcake on a flat rock across the fire to keep it warm, she shook her head as she sipped away.

"You're worse than an old mousewife, Grumm Trencher. I wager you'd rock me to sleep if I let you."

Grumm wagged the small ladle at her. "Hurr aye, you'm needen all yore sleep. Urrmagine wot yore ole dad'd say iffen oi brought 'ee 'ome tired out an' a starved, hoo arr!"

The mousemaid took a hasty bite of oatcake, fanning her mouth.

"Oo, 's hot! There'll be no sleep for us until we've found out whether or not Brome is held captive in that dreadful fortress."

Grumm wiped his ladle clean with some sedge grass. "May'ap ole Brome jus' a wandered off 'n' got losed, may'ap 'ee bain't catchered in yon fortress."

Rose shook her head.

"You must understand, Grumm, the name Brome and the word trouble go together. He was always in trouble with Father at home that's why he went off wandering. You weren't there at the time but they had a furious argument over Brome just taking off and roaming as he pleased. Father said it was no way for the son of a Chieftain to learn his responsibilities, but Brome wouldn't listen, he ran off alone.

Well, we've tracked him this far, Grumm, and I'm certain that my brother has run straight into trouble again. That's why I'm sure he's been taken by Badrang's scouts. I hope that he hasn't been forced to tell them where Noonvale is. The whole tribe of Urran Voh would be in danger if Brome gave away our location to that filthy Tyrant."

Grumm refilled Rose's shell with vegetable soup.

"Doant'ee fret, mizzy. Ole Brome can keepen his'n mouth shutted toighter'n a mussel at low toide, ho urr!"

The mousemaid unwound the throwing sling from about her waist.

"I hope you're right, Grumm. I'd hate to think of the things those vermin would do to a young mouse to get information."

The mole patted Rose's back gently with a heavy digging claw.

"Doant'ee wurry, Roser. Us'll get ole Maister Brome out'n yon pest'ole iffen him be in thurr."

When they had finished eating they extinguished the fire and broke camp. A stiff breeze had sprung out of the east, bringing with it a light spatter of raindrops which threatened to get heavier as night set in.

Scrambling down the rocks, the two friends gained the shore, their paws making soft chinking noises as they trotted through the shingled tideline. Marshank stood grim and forbidding up ahead, a dark hump of misery in the moonless night.

2

The old squirrel Martin had saved peered through the cracks of the wooden slave compound at the lone figure tied between two posts on the walltop above the, main gates. His son, a burly male named Felldoh, stood behind the elder. He gritted his teeth savagely.

"The scurvy toads, they'll pay for this someday!"

Barkjon, the old one, shook his head sadly. "Martin will have a bad time tonight if the weather gets worse."

Felldoh thumped a sturdy paw against the wooden compound fence. "It's the morning I'm more worried about, when the gannets and gulls and those other big hungry sea birds come searching for food and see him tied up there. They'll rip Martin to bits!"

A weasel guard called Rotnose banged his spearbutt on the fence alongside Barkjon's nose.

"Gerraway from there, you two, or you'll be next up there with the mouse. Double work for you tomorrow. Get some sleep while you can.

Sweet dreams now, haw hawhaw!"

Floodtide returned, bringing with it a storm. The gale shrieked, driving heavy rain before it. On the walltop Martin bowed his head against the battering elements. It was all that he could do, tied as he was by four paws between two thick wooden posts. Rain plastered the single frayed garment he wore close to his body, and the wetness ran down his back, into his ears, across his eyes and over his nose into his mouth, battering his bowed head and numbing his whole body, which shook and quivered in the ceaseless gale. He hung there, like a rag doll in the wind.

Martin's mind went back to the caves on the northwest shore where he had been born. Luke the Warrior was his father. He had never known a mother; she had been killed in a searat raid when he was a tiny infant. Luke had raised him the best way he could, but Luke was a warrior and sworn to the destruction of searats and corsairs. He was unused to rearing babies.

Martin was only two seasons out of infancy when his father and some other warriors captured a searat galley after a hard pitched battle on the shoreline. Flushed with success and driven by the awful rage to take vengeance upon his wife's murderers, Luke the Warrior gathered a crew and decided to sail off in his prize vessel, to wage war on the searats. Martin remembered he was still very young, but fired with a determination to accompany his father. Luke, however, would not hear of it. He left Martin in the care of his wife's mother, Windred.

The day he sailed Martin sat stonefaced outside the cave. Luke could not reason with him.

"Son, son, you would not last two moons out there on the high seas.

I cannot risk your life pitting you in battle against the sea scum I am sworn to do war with. Listen to me, I know what is best for you!"

But Martin would not listen. "I want to sail on the ship and be a warrior like you!"

Luke spread his paws wide and sighed with frustration. "What am I going to do with you, Martin? You have my warrior spirit and your mother's determination. Listen, son, take my sword."

It was a fighting sword and well used. Luke pressed it into his son's paws. The young mouse gazed wide eyed at the battle scarred blade and gripped the handle tight as if he would never let go.

Luke smiled, recalling the time when his father had passed the sword on to him. Tapping a paw against the crosshilt, Luke said, "I can see it is in you to be a fighter, Martin. The first thing warriors must learn is discipline."

Martin felt as though the sword were speaking for him. "Tell me what to do and I will obey."

Relief surged through Luke as he commanded the would be warrior.

"You will stay and defend our cave against all comers, protect those weaker than yourself and honor our code. Always use the sword to stand for good and right, never do a thing you would be ashamed of, but never let your heart rule your mind."

He tapped the blade once more as its pitted edge glinted in the winter morning.

"And never ever let another creature take this sword from you, not as long as you live. When the time comes, pass it on to another, maybe your own son. You will know instinctively if he is a warrior. If not, hide the sword where only a true warrior who is brave of heart, would dare go to find it. Swear this to me Martin."

"I swear it, on my life!" The young mouse's grey eyes reflected the wintry sea as he spoke.

Coming back to reality, Martin lifted his head in the teeth of the gale. Was it a tear, or just rain running from his eyes as he pictured the small figure standing upon the pebbled strand alone, waving the sword in a warrior's salute as his father's ship was lost on the horizon in an afternoon of snow and icy winter spume.

Martin's head slumped onto his sodden chest as he recalled the day of his capture. Timballisto was a budding warrior, several seasons Martin's senior. He had been left in charge of the tribe by Luke. The young mouse resented his older friend's authority and often showed it by wandering far along the coast, away from the safe boundaries of the caves. It was on one such day that Martin took his father's sword, following the tideline north until the short winter afternoon began darkening. He was busy chopping away with the great blade at a driftwood log, reasoning that he could not be scolded for bringing back firewood to the cave fires.

Windred saw him from afar. She had been following his pawtracks since early noon; they stood out clearly in the smooth wet sand, marked with a straight furrow where the swordpoint trailed at Martin's side. She hurried forward scolding her grandson. "Martin!

I've been out of my mind with worry. What have you been told about going off alone? D'you realize you're almost a league from the caves?"

Suddenly Windred stopped berating him. She was staring beyond Martin to where a band of villainous looking creatures were running along the shore towards them. The old mouse threw off her shawl.

"Martin, come to me. We must get away from here. Quickly!"

The young mouse turned and saw the corsairs. Dropping the firewood, he took up the sword in both paws. "Run Grandma!"

Windred would not have run anyway, but she was rooted to the spot with fear. A stoat headed the band. They stopped within two paces of their victims. The stoat grinned wickedly. "That's a big sword for a little mouse to be wielding. You'd better give it to me before you hurt yourself."

The sword was heavy and Martin's paws were tired, but he held it point forward, unwavering. "Leave us alone, stay back! My father told me never to let another creature take this sword from me!"

Now the corsairs began spreading out slowly, encircling Martin and Windred, licking knives and spearblades as they chuckled evilly at the old mouse and the small would be warrior. The stoat took a pace forward, his voice deceptively friendly. "A wise beast your father. Did he ever tell you about those who could slay with a single spear thrust?

Like this ... or this!" As he spoke the stoat brought up his spear and began jabbing expertly at Martin. The young mouse parried, fighting off the questing spearpoint amid the laughter of the cruel corsairs.

At a nod from the stoat a weasel ran forward from behind Martin.

He dealt the young mouse a heavy blow with an oaken pikestaff, laying him out flat on the sand. Badrang picked up the sword. Stepping over Martin's senseless body, he winked at Windred. She was held tight between two searats, tied and gagged by her own shawl, eyes wide with terror. The stoat stared along the swordblade at her.

"Well Grandma, he's a bold brat, that one of yours. Hmm, nice sword. It should serve me well. Hisk, we've wasted enough time. Chain these two up and get 'em back to the slavelines."

Shackled to Windred, Martin was half dragged, half carried further north along the wintry shore into the gathering night.

It was in the short hours before dawn that Martin came awake, shivering and moaning as a fiery drum of relentless pain beat inside his skull. Whips cracked, he was pulled upright by other slaves as the chain began moving.

Then came the long march.... Two seasons, trekking under the rods and whips of slavedrivers, tied by the neck to a succession of wretched creatures, all captives together. He lost count of the days. They rolled interminably on into spring, summer then autumn, with Wind red long dead from hunger, thirst and hardship under the lash.

Martin recalled his grief for the old mousewife, the closest he had ever come to knowing a mother: his stifled tears and the leaden weight of sadness at her loss, the reeling of loneliness and desolation without her. She had deserved far better a fate than the one she suffered. His body began trembling at the thought of the vermin who had caused all of this cruelty.

Badrang!

The laughing, sneering, commanding stoat, swaggering along wearing the sword he had taken from Martin.

A strength born of built up rage coursed suddenly through the young mouse. He stood erect, tugging at his bonds, oblivious to the pounding storm as a mighty roar welled up from deep inside him.

"I am a warrior! Martin son of Luke! I will live, I will not give in and die up here! Do you hear me, Badrang? I will live to take back my father's sword and slay you one day! Badraaaaaaaannggg!"

Stormwater filled his mouth, rushing winds tore at his face.

"Martin son of Luke, can you hear me?" a voice called up to him from the shore outside the fortress.

He could not see the speaker but he heard the voice clearly above the gale.

"Yes, I hear you. What is your name?"

"There are two of us, my friend Grumm Trencher the mole and myself, Laterose, daughter of the Chieftain Urran Voh. We heard you calling out. Tell me, is there a prisoner in there called Brome, a young mouse? He is my brother."

Martin could feel the storm beating the senses from him. He rallied and shouted back. "I do not know of a mouse called Brome and I don't think I'll have much chance to. I am sentenced to die up here, Laterose."

The answer came back in as kindly a tone as the mousemaid could shout under the circumstances.

"Laterose is my full title. Please call me Rose. My friend and I will do anything possible to help you, though we cannot climb up the walls are too sheer and high. What can we do? Is there a message you wish carried to another creature?"

Martin shook his head. "No message. I am alone. The guards told me that if I live through the night the big sea birds will finish me off in the morning. Is there any way ... you can keep them ... off me?"

Rose thought for a moment before answering.

"Maybe, yes. We are not warriors, but we can use our slings. Also I know a trick to drive sea birds away."

She waited, but there was no reply. Grumm stepped away from the wall, out on to the beach, shading his eyes against the downpour as he gazed up at the limp figure slumped between the posts.

"Yurr, ee'm lost 'is senses, fallen aconshuss, if'n you ask oi, pore creetur!"

Rose joined Grumm, and together they watched the unconscious form sway slackly as the elements assaulted it. The mousemaid chose a hard round pebble and fitted it to her sling.

"We must help him to live, we must!" Her lip quivered as she spoke. "Ooh that Badrang, the cruel cowardly, heartless vermin..."

Grumm chuckled softly. "Noice wurrds fer a mousey maid, oi must say. Hurr hurr, him'n ull live sure 'nuff, iffen 'ee be arf as ill tempurred as 'ee, mizzy."

3

Dawn came pearly grey, shot with shafts of peach and dusky pink as the sun broke the eastern horizon in the wake of the night storm.

The sea was a dim shade of oily turquoise, with cream crested waves in the middle distance. Badrang the Tyrant had his carved throne chair brought out on to the courtyard, where he could watch the fun.

Gurrad the rat and Skalrag the fox stood along with two weasels called Lumpback and Stiffear, awaiting orders as the Tyrant stoat pointed to Martin's limp figure with his sword.

"He looks strong enough to have lived through a bit of wind and rain. Gurrad, go and wake the sleeping beauty. When he's conscious and wriggling about, the birds'll soon spot him."

Gurrad sniggered as he looked up at the circling sea birds that were beginning to mass above the fortress.

"Aye, Lord, that lot look in good appetite as usual, eh?"

Badrang nodded. "Never knew a gannet that wasn't. Ho there, Hisk!

Don't send the slaves to the quarry yet, parade 'em out here where they can see the sentence being carried out. It'll show 'em what happens to anybeast who puts a paw wrong in my fortress."

Gurrad slapped Martin around the face with a wet piece of rag until the young mouse revived. He held a beaker of fresh water to the captive's lips, chuckling as the prisoner drank greedily.

"That's the stuff. Drink up now, mouse. Those sea birds'll soon be down for breakfast. Hehee, look at 'em, big uns, ain't they? Great pointed beaks they've got, good as a knife fer rippin' an' tearin'. They'll enjoy n you...

Martin managed to spit the last of the water full into Gurrad's face.

The rat backed off, spluttering nastily.

"Tough, eh? Well, I 'ope they takes yer eyes first!"

Chancing a glance upwards, Martin could see a great gannet preparing to dive. Two other grey gulls were beginning to swoop low, and others rushed to join them in the descent for food. His paws were swollen by the wet ropes that held him tightly He struggled wildly, shutting his eyes tight after Gurrad's cruel remark.

All eyes were on Martin now, the horrified slaves, the gloating horde of Badrang, the hungry sea birds. Plus two other pairs.

Rose and Grumm were crouched behind a stony outcrop on the beach, the young mousemaid watching very carefully as she placed a paw across her throat and took a deep breath. The birds wheeled and dived lower towards the struggling figure bound between the posts on the walltop. Grumm nudged his friend urgently.

"Aow, do 'asten an' 'urry, mizzy. They burds be a goen t'peck Marthen to death. Aowurr, oi carn't lukk no moare!"

Grumm closed his eyes tight as the sea birds dived for the kill.

Badrang had forgotten to scan the seaward horizon that day, preoccupied as he was with Martin's death sentence. A sail appeared two points north on the eastern "Qrizon. It was a great green single masted craft, practically invisible against the sea because of its camouflaged coloring. Three banks of oars protruded to port and starboard, one atop the other, giving it the appearance of a monstrous insect crawling over the waves. It was Badrang's old partner in murder and treachery upon the high seas, a stoat like himself.

Cap'n Tramun Clogg of the great ship Seascarab, Clogg was a villainous sight, an enormously fat stoat dressed in stained and tawdry silks, wearing a massive pair of carved wooden clogs. Every part of his fur wherever possible was plaited and braided beard, eyebrows, moustache all over his gargantuan body. Plaits and braids stuck out of his ragged sleeve frills, spilled through rents in his shirt, coat and pantaloons, even curled over the tops of the oversized clogs. He gnawed on a half dead lobster as he slurped seaweed grog from a flagon, belching aloud and spitting shell fragments everywhere.

Throwing back his tousled head he roared up at the lookout, a ferret in the crow's nest.

"Boggs, any shape o' land out there yet, matey?" The keen eyed Boggs peered into the distance. "Naw, Cap'n, nary a glimmer o'...

Wait... aye ... land ahoy!" The lobster tail fell from Tramun Clogg's open mouth, to disappear down his open shirt front.

"Haharr harr, I knowed it! Where away, Boggs y' ole bilgedog?"

"Two points south, Cap'n. Aye, an' there be a liddle lump a stickin'

up, either a cliff or some buildin'."

Clogg gurgled happily. Drawing a broad cutlass from his sash, he began honing it on the sole of his left clog.

"Bring 'er about two points, Growch. If Badrang ain't there I'll eat me clogs, on me oath I will. Gritter, tell the crew to put some vinegar into their oarstrokes; 'urry now, matey. With this wind in our sails an'

a flowin' sea, we'll make landfall soon. Hohohoharrharr! Won't me ole messmate Badrang be pleased ter see 'is great uncle Clogg agin after all this time!"

At the wheel Growch gave a villainous cackle.

"Pleased, yer say, Cap'n. I reckon Badrang'll pop 'is cork!"

Clogg flung the empty grog bottle over the side. "An' if he don't, I'll pop it for 'im, haharr!"

Like a great green bird of ill omen, the Seascarab came about and headed for Marshank as Tramun Clogg mused aloud to himself.

"Iffen I knows Badrang, 'ell 'ave slaves aplenty, too many fer one beast to own. An ole matey like 'im won't begrudge enough fine slaves to row the Seascarab 'ell's teeth, I should say not. A pore lubber like me without a single slave to me vessel. Asides, tain't fittin' fer corsairs an' searats to row their own craft. So I'll just nip in nicely an' ask 'im

'andsome like to fit us out with row beasts. Badrang'll give 'em to me,

'e's a nice cove. An' wot if 'e don't, why then I'll just slit 'is gizzard an'

take 'em, I'll use 'is skull as me figurehead an' feed the rest of 'im to the fishes. Only fair, ain't it, Growch?"

Both pirates burst out laughing at the joke. Clogg liked a joke, but he was joking in deadly earnest this time. He hated Badrang.

The sea birds came diving in voraciously at Martin's unprotected body. They were within a hair's breadth of his head when a wild, ear splitting screech, halfway between a whistle and a cry, rent the morning air. Immediately, the scavenging birds swooped away and zoomed high into the air, shrilling anxiously and wheeling about willy nilly. Another loud screech followed, and the gulls and gannets milled about high above Martin, some of them bumping into each other in their apparent confusion.

Badrang gaped upwards in amazement. "What's the matter with

'em, why aren't they tearing him apart?"

A further screech followed, even louder and more fngry sounding than the former two. This time the sea sheared off sharply and dispersed.

The Tyrant stoat was furious. "What in the name of hellgates is going on?"

A ferret called Bluehide, who had lived in the far north, called out as he scratched his ears in puzzlement. "That's the huntin' cry of a great eagle, I've heard it afore!"

Gurrad shoved him scornfully. "Garn! There ain't no great eagles on this coast."

A small venturesome kittiwake who had just arrived on the scene took a swift dive at Martin. The screech rang out swift and harsh. The frightened kittiwake took off like a sky rocket.

Bluehide shrugged, eyeing Gurrad in a patronizing manner. "That's a great eagle's huntin' cry, I'd stake me oath on it!"

The rat raised his spearbutt threateningly. "Listen, addlebrain, I've said there ain't no gr " "Gurrad! Stow that gab and get over here!" The rat broke off his argument with the ferret and scuttled across to Badrang's side. The Tyrant scowled as he glowered at the clear blue sky.

"Never mind what it is, there's something about that's scaring the sea birds witless. We'll have to tempt them down on to the mouse with a bait they can't resist. Bring a dead fish from the cookhouse."

Hurriedly the fish was brought to Badrang. He took his sword and cut the cord holding up the weasel Lumpback's ragged kilt. There was a snigger from the slaves as Lumpback stood grinning sheepishly with his only garment draped around his footpaws on the ground. Ignoring the weasel's plight, Badrang tossed the cord to Gurrad.

"Here, tie the fish to this and hang it round the mouse's neck.

That'll bring hungry sea birds in to feed, eagle or no eagle."

From their hiding place on the shore, Rose scanned the sky. It was clear and free of sea birds.

"Thank goodness I won't have to do the eagle call again, Grumm. It was beginning to strain my throat."

"Hurr hurr," the mole chuckled. "Oi be glad too, mizzy, 'twere a vurry froightenen sound. Oi didden loik et one liddle bit, hurr no."

Grumm peeked over the rocky outcrop at Martin on the walltop.

"Mizzy Roser, 'earken! Wot be they villuns a doin' to Marthen?"

The mousemaid began twirling her loaded sling. "I don't know, but whatever it is we'll have to stop them!"

Gurrad was trying to get the cord noose that held the fish over Martin's head, but the young mouse was ducking and struggling wildly. The rat was losing his temper.

"Hold still, mouse, or I'll pin this fish t'yer with me spearpoint!"

Thwack!

Gurrad dropped the fish with an agonized yelp as the slingstone bounced off his paw.

Badrang did not see the stone. All he saw was Gurrad dropping the fish and hopping about sucking on his paw. The Tyrant stood up, knocking his thronechair backwards as he yelled at the unfortunate rat.

"Stop playing the fool an' get that fish round his neck before I come up there and batter some sense into you with it!"

As Gurrad bent to pick the fish up, Grumm fitted a sizeable rock into the spoon of his ladle and whipped it off in the direction of the rat's bent bottom.

Thwump!

It struck hard and true, knocking Gurrad from the walltop. He plummeted over and landed with a sickening thud in the courtyard below.

Badrang leapt forward, sword in paw, waving at the creatures around him.

"To the walltop, quick. Somebeast's hurling rocks!"

They piled up the broad wooden ladders on to the walltop.

Rotnose and Hisk were first up. They were immediately hit by flying stones. Hisk fell senseless, Rotnose crouched, massaging an aching breastbone. Badrang ducked another salvo as he went into a half stoop, shouting at the others, "Where are the stones coming from, can you see?"

Skalrag stood upright, peering at the seemingly deserted shore.

"Must be somebeast hidin' out there, Lord!"

Below, at the corner of the courtyard where the slaves were grouped, the big squirrel Felldoh decided to take part in the action. He ducked to the back of the crowd, picking up several large pebbles as he went. With energy born of anger, he chucked a large rough stone at the back of Skalrag's head. Many times Felldoh had bent under Skalrag's rod; now was the chance to repay the sadistic fox.

The flying rock did not strike Skalrag's skull, it narrowly missed, but took half of his left ear in the process, ripping it off as it whizzed by. Felldoh immediately flung two more stones, then keeping his paws at his sides gazed around in amazement as if some other creature were doing the throwing.

As Skalrag screeched in pain, Stiffear sprang up, pointing down into the courtyard as he shouted excitedly, "The stones are coming from inside our own fortress!"

Thwack!

A stone from the shoreside struck him square in the back.

Rotnose, still rubbing his chest, sneered at Stiffear, "Rubbish, they're coming from the shore, I tell yer. I was hit meself ....

Eeeyowch!"

A stone from the courtyard stung his tail. Confusion reigned on the walltop. Badrang and his creatures did not know which side the missiles were coming from. The Tyrant lay flat and raised his head slightly. He could not see the shore clearly but he had an uninterrupted view of the sea. His stomach churned suddenly and he began to curse at the sight his sharp eyes rested on. One more quick look to ascertain that he was not wrong sent Badrang scrambling for the ladder, calling hoarsely as he went, "Cut that mouse down from there and bring him with you. Get down into the fortress, quick!"

"But, Sire, we think that there's somebeast behind those rocks slinging stones ..."

Badrang shot a venomous glance at Rotnose as he hissed, "Do as I say, scumbrain. We've more to worry about than a few stones. Tramun Clogg's out there with the Seascarab, sailing on a direct course for us!"

Grumm was running out of good rocks to fit his ladle when Rose pointed to the wall.

"Look, they've had enough, they're cutting Martin loose and retreating into the fortress. Thank the seasons that we were able to help the poor mouse, eh, Grumm?"

The mole mopped his brow and sat with his back against the rocks of their hideout on the beach in the hot midmorning sunlight.

"Yurr, boi 'okey, us'ns serpintly gave they vurmints summat to think abowt. Oi gave 'em billyoh wi' moi ole ladler, hurr hurr!"

Rose could not help grinning at her faithful companion. "So you did, Grumm. That ladle comes in useful for other things than stirring soup with."

But Grumm was not listening. Facing seaward, he was pointing straight out at the Seascarab, which was drawing closer by the moment.

"Lookit, mizzy. Searatters an' vurmints, oi'll be bounden!"

A chill of fear ran through the mousemaid. Corsairs! They had seldom visited this coast, but the tales of horror and death that surrounded the raiders from the sea were legendary. Hastily they gathered their few belongings.

"Let's not hang about here, Grumm. Come on, we'll lie low in the marshes behind the fortress."

Cap'n Tramun Clogg was in high villainous humour. He cut an awkward jig, his clogs clattering noisily on the poopdeck.

"Haharrharr! I reckernizes that flag flyin' o'er yon place ashore. Ho lucky day, I knowed it, I could feel it in me clogs! There's me messmate of bygone seasons Badrang, built hisself a stone castle, pretty as you please. 'Ow many pore liddle slaves would yer say it took to work on a place like that, Crosstooth?"

A wicked looking fox draped in purple bandannas scratched his chin. "Hmmm, I'd say lots, Cap'n."

"Lots an' crowds?"

"Aye, lots 'n' crowds."

"Which is most, Crosstooth, lots or crowds?"

"Why bless yer 'eart, Cap'n, crowds, that means lots an' lots!"

"Haharrharr, well said, matey. Break out the weapons while I lays plans for a reunion party with me ole messmate Badrang!"

Martin stood swaying on swollen footpaws, his arms still bound.

Badrang sat upon his thronechair, eyes narrowed as he watched the reprieved prisoner.

"Hmm, like I said before, you're not short of nerve, Martin.

Hearken to me now, I could use a creature like you."

From beneath hooded eyelids Martin watched the Tyrant as he spoke, the young mouse's gorge beginning to rise at the stoat's proposal.

"How would you like to be a Captain in my horde? The best of food, slaves to command as you please, I'll even give you a spear to carry if you swear loyalty to me as your master. Well, what've you got to say to that, young un?"

Martin made no reply. His paws were deadened by the tight bonds, but his rage was aroused and his jaws were strong. He launched himself in a flash upon Badrang, setting his teeth into the stoat's outstretched paw and biting it savagely to the bone.

The Tyrant roared and bellowed in agony as Martin was set upon by guards, his jaws prised apart with a dagger blade as rods and spearbutts beat furiously at him. The young mouse went down on the ground as Badrang sprinkled blood about, shaking his paw in anguish as he gritted from between clenched teeth, "You'll wish the gannets had got you by the time I'm finished with you, whelp. Oh, don't worry, you'll die, but not fast. Fraction by fraction until you scream to welcome death. Take him away and lock him up. I'll see to him after I'm rid of Clogg!"

Inside the courtyard, slightly to the left of the main gate, was a prison pit, dug deep into the ground with a heavy grating on top. The cover creaked as it was slid to one side. Martin was hurled in, still with both paws bound to his sides. He fell through the darkness and landed with a cushioned thump on something soft. There was a grunt and somebeast was helping him upright while another untied his bonds.

A gruff voice spoke. "Martin, well at least you're still alive. I'm Felldoh the squirrel,"

The young mouse rubbed his paws, grimacing as the blood began circulating properly. The squirrel rubbed and patted him until he felt able to move easily again. Martin recognized him. He knew Felldoh as a kindred spirit, another born rebel who had fallen foul of the vermin regime's justice.

"Felldoh, what are you doing down here?"

"Awaiting the Tyrant's pleasure like you, Martin. That rotten toad Stiffear saw me flinging rocks at him while he was on the walltop.

Still, you saved my old dad and I did what I could for you, matey."

Martin grasped the big squirrel's paw in the darkness. "You are a true friend, Felldoh. Thank you!"

They both sat on the hard packed earth floor. There was a movement to Martin's right, and as he tensed a small quiet voice echoed hollowly in the pit.

"What do you suppose Badrang's going to do with us?"

Martin peered into the dimness. "Who's there?" Felldoh reached out and brought their paws together. "Martin, this young feller was here before I arrived. Meet Brome."

"So, Brome," said Martin

He was younger and smaller than Martin and Felldoh, and his voice sounded tiny and frightened. "I never did harm to anybeast. I was lost and blundering along the shore one night when the sentries on the wall saw me, and I was captured and thrown down here. Did they capture you, Martin? Will they keep us down here for ever?"

Patting his paw and ruffling his ears good naturedly, Martin reassured the youngster. "You stick with us, Brome. We'll get you out of here. While I was staked out on the walltop, Felldoh was throwing rocks from inside and your sister Rose chucking them from outside.

She's out there with a mole named Grumm. I owe them my life."

Brome grasped Martin's paw. "Rose and Grumm! Hahaha, good old Grumm, I knew they'd find me. With those two out there and you and Felldoh in here we'll escape easily. It'll be as simple as picking daisies!"

The joy and relief in the young one's voice was so evident that Martin felt a wave of sympathy for him. Nudging Felldoh in the darkness, Martin spoke with a confidence he did not feel.

"Aye, simple as picking daisies, eh, Felldoh."

The squirrel was a kindly beast, he threw his paws about both of them, playing along with Martin's bravado.

"Right, lads. Three warriors like us and extra help from outside?

Hah, the only thing Badrang'll eat for dinner will be our dust when we scoot out of here. Friends together!"

Shortly after that Brome fell asleep, cushioned between Martin and Felldoh. Their eyes now accustomed to the gloom, they sat staring at each other.

"Easy as picking daisies. Hmm, when was the last time you picked daisies, matey?"

"A long time ago, friend Felldoh. Some of them were pretty tough to pick as I remember. But not impossible."

"Aye, with a little outside help we might stand a chance."

Martin yawned and settled down beside Brome. "Sleep first. Being tied out on a walltop in a storm isn't the most restful place around here. We'll think of something later, friend. We can't disappoint this young un."

Felldoh sat listening to the soft snores of his companions. "Oh yes, let's think of something later," he chuckled lightly to himself. "How to sprout wings, and defeat Badrang and his horde with outside help from a mole and a mousemaid. By my brush, why didn't I think of those two good ideas before?"

4

The ship Seascarab rode at anchor in the bay as four longboats were beached above the tideline. The pirates had come ashore.

Surrounded by his savage ragtag crew, Cap'n Tramun Clogg strode into Fortress Marshank. Badrang had the way lined with heavily armed soldiers. They gripped spears tightly, scowling at the ill assorted mob from the Seascarab.

With a great clatter of clogs Tramun hauled out his cutlass and roared playfully as he made a mock dash at Badrang's soldiers. They drew back in alarm and Clogg winked roguishly at them.

"Haharr, caught yer nappin' there, mateys. You've all gone soft playin' at bein' landlubbers. Ho there, Frogbit, Nipwort, an' you, Fleabane. Been a bit o' water passed under the keel since we sailed t'gether. Yore lookin' plump an' prosperous these days."

Swaggering up to the Tyrant's wooden longhut, Clogg booted the door. "Anyone 'ome t'receive a pore seadog who's down on his luck?"

The weasel captain Hisk swung the door open and announced in a dignified manner, "Enter, Cap'n, my master awaits your pleasure."

"Oh do 'e now, well ain't that pretty!" a searat called Oilback sniggered at Hisk.

Badrang knew he was playing a dangerous game, but slyness and treachery had always been the order of the day between himself and Clogg. The idea was for neither stoat to show he was afraid of the other and to keep up a pretence of being old friends. With this in mind Badrang rushed at his former partner, hugging him tightly as he dropped into corsair slang.

"Well well, burn me bilges if it ain't Cap'n Tramun Clogg. How are yer, ye ole wavedog?"

Tramun pounded the other's back, grinning widely. "Badrang, me messmate, stripe me but yore lookin' fit as a fish an' spry as a wasp.

Oh, it is good for me ole eyes t'see ye agin, me 'earty. Look wot I've brought fer you!"

At a signal from Clogg two searats upended a cask upon the table.

They smashed in the head and scooped out two beakers, which they presented to the stoats. Badrang brought the drink swiftly to his mouth, halting slyly as Clogg took a great gulp of his. It flowed down through the pirate stoat's chinplaits as he swigged noisily.

"Damson wine, matey. The best on earth an' all fer me 'n' you!"

Badrang took a drink that was more of a sip than a gulp. "Prime stuff. You allus knew a good barrel o' drink, you rascal."

Clogg released Badrang and slumped down in the Tyrant's thronechair, resting his clogged footpaws noisily on the tabletop.

"Just like in the ole days, eh?"

Badrang seated himself on the edge of the table, smiling. "Aye, just like in the ole days, mate!"

"Ow long is it since we was last t'gether, d'you reckon?" Clogg took another swig, grinning and winking.

Badrang took a sip, pursing his lips. "Too long, I'd say, Tramun. It's good to see you agin."

They continued to play the game, this time with Clogg's paw straying close to his cutlass, while Badrang toyed with the bone handle of a long skinning dagger.

"I recalls when we was last together, you left me stranded on a reef whilst you sailed off wid twoscore slaves, half o' which was mine by rights." Now the pirate's voice began to carry a menacing undertone.

Badrang's face was the picture of injured innocence. "Me sailed off

'n' left you? More the other way round, as I recall. There was a mighty storm an' we were blown off course. My vessel was wrecked an' the slaves lost, all of 'em. When you never turned up to 'elp me, I trekked off overland an' ended up in this place."

In a trice the time for merriment and reminiscence was over. Clogg hurled his beaker at the wall and stood up.

"Aye, an' lookit you now, Lord Badrang if yer please! Surrounded by a fine fortress an' a passel o' slaves, I'll wager. Well, I wants what's due ter me, I've come fer my share!"

Badrang leaped up, confronting his enemy eye to eye. "I worked too hard to get what I've made 'ere, Clogg. Yore share is nothin' an' that's what y'll get!"

"Do yer hear that lads?" The pirate stoat drew his blade. "Let's show this black 'earted swab that we ain't 'ere to beg. We've come to take a full complement of slaves to row the Seascarab from all three decks!"

With a wild roar, Clogg's crew unsheathed their weapons and stood ready for slaughter.

"Make a move an' yer Cap'n's a dead un!"

The Tyrant made his move like lightning. Kicking aside Clogg's blade, he grabbed the stoat's plaited beard. A dagger appeared in his other paw, dangerously close to Tramun's throat.

"This blade is poisoned. One nick is all it takes. Hisk!"

"The archers have surrounded these quarters, Lord," the weasel Captain called from the doorway. "They're standin' ready with poisoned shafts. None of this scum will leave alive."

Clogg held up a paw to his crew. "Wait, hold yer rush, lads. Put those carvers up."

He was still smiling, but Badrang could sense the animal rage behind Clogg's grinning features as the pirate addressed him.

"You win, matey, though I never thought you'd use a dirty trick like poisoned weapons against an ole shipmate. Put up yore blade. I'll go peaceful like, back to me ship."

Badrang stood at the main gates until every last corsair was out of his fortress. The Tyrant was satisfied he had outwitted his foe without bloodshed, which would have been considerable on both sides if a fight had broken out inside Marshank. The archers had their shafts trained on Clogg as he jabbed a warning paw at his enemy.

"That's twice you've crossed me, Badrang, but the third time I'll win. I'm goin', but ye can take an oath I'll be back, so don't rest easy, matey. One dark night I'll slip in when yore least expectin' it. Then I'll slit yer gullet, take the slaves an' burn this fancy place down round yore dead ears. That's a promise!"

Owing to the heightened tension and upset of the pirates' visit, it was not until late night that the prisoners were fed. Armed with a bowl of kitchen scraps and accompanied by Gurrad, a young male otter named Keyla stood dropping the leftovers through the grating to the prisoners below. Gurrad drew his cloak close against a chill breeze from the sea. He wanted to be back by the fire, eating roasted fish and drinking the damson wine that Clogg had left.

The rat shoved Keyla sharply. "C'mon you, stir your stumps. It's cold out 'ere!"

Keyla shrugged as he sat down on the grating, poking scraps between the bars one bit at a time.

"Cold, sir? I think it's quite warm out here. Still, you do look a bit drawn and peakish. Maybe you're coming down with fever."

"Fever? I ain't got no fever." The rat shuddered and sniffed.

Gurrad was quite taken aback when the young otter stood up and tucked the cloak more snugly around him.

"You never know, sir. Those searats bring all kinds of illness ashore with them. Why don't you take yourself indoors by the fire and have a nice beaker of wine? I'll see to these idiots. Huh, they're only making things harder for us other slaves, behaving the way they do.

Dim witted fools. You run along now, sir. I'll take care of feeding these three."

Gurrad hesitated a moment then shivered as a fresh wind blew around him. That seemed to settle the issue.

"Listen, I'm getting inside where I'll be warmer. Don't be too long out here and report straight back to the compound guard when you're finished, d'you hear?"

Keyla threw the rat a smart salute. "Don't you worry, sir. I need my sleep, I won't be long. Better hurry now, your eyes look a bit cloudy to me."

Gurrad needed no further urging. He scurried off shivering and rubbing at his eyes, convinced he was sickening for fever.

Giggling quietly to himself, the otter pressed his face to the grating and called down, "Felldoh, are you all right?"

The squirrel stood upon Martin's shoulders and drew himself up so he was close to the bars.

"Keyla, my friend, listen carefully. Here's what I want you to do."

Rose and Grumm stood on the tideline, watching the silvery wake of Seascarab as the craft headed out, veering on a southerly tack into the open sea.

"Yurr Miz Rose, worr'm you surpose 'ee villyuns wanted?"

Rose tossed a pebble into the shallows. "I've no idea, Grumm, but whatever it was they didn't seem too happy leaving here."

The two companions walked back to the fortress walls, to the spot beneath the main gates where Rose had conversed with Martin. The mousemaid looked up at the twin posts with rope ends blowing loosely from it in the night wind.

"I hope Martin is all right. Trust Badrang to think up something cruel like that, binding a poor creature up there in the middle of a storm "

Grumm held up a paw for silence. "Shush naow, Roser. Do 'ee 'ear that? Somebeast a singen'."

Keyla had a fine deep voice that carried well. Rose and Grumm listened to his song as it drifted over the walls to them.

"I know a mouse called Martin,

And a young un who's named Brome,

Captured by some vermin scouts

As he strayed from his home.

So if you're out there list'ning,

I'll pause awhile and wait,

For I've been singing half the night

On this side of the gate."

Rose almost wept for joy. She was answering in an instant, being both a good singer and balladeer. Grumm grunted softly as she hugged him tight with happiness, her clear voice ringing out plaintively on the night breeze.

"My name is Rose of Noonvale,

The tribe of Urran Voh,

My only brother is called Brome,

And Martin's name I know.

We're here so we can help them.

So please, friend, tell to me

what we can do to aid those two

And try to set them free!"

Immediately a hurried few lines rang out clear in reply.

"A vermin guard approaches.

Quick, get yourselves from sight.

I'll try to get back to you

This time tomorrow night!"

Heeding the warning, Rose and Grumm withdrew swiftly to the rocky outcrop where they had hidden earlier that day.

Fleabane and Rotnose the weasels came striding forward and grabbed Keyla roughly.

"What's all the singin' for, otter? You ain't got nothin' to sing about."

"Yeah, slaves don't sing. What were you singin' about?"

"Well, you see, Gurrad thought he had fever," Keyla explained, "so he went inside and left me to feed the prisoners. When I finished giving them their food I thought I'd better sing an old otter charm to keep the fortress free from sickness."

"Singin' charms, what a load of ole nonsense!" Flea bane sneered.

Rotnose was superstitious and terrified of sickness. "No it ain't.

Come on, otter, let's hear you sing it."

Keyla obliged, making up the words as he went along.

"O spirit of the seasons

Who rules the land and sea,

From crabby claws and runny snouts,

Good spirit, keep us free.

From tummy ache, soretail and sniffs,

From grunge and whisker cramp,

From wobbly paws, and flurgy twinj,

O keep all in this camp."

"Hah! Grunge and wobbly paws, rubbish!" Fleabane scoffed aloud.

"And who's ever heard of flurgy twinj?"

Keyla looked aghast at the weasel. "You don't know what flurgy twinj is?"

"No, and I don't care!"

Keyla leaned close to the two guards whispering confidentially, "I knew a fine big strong hedgehog long ago, he laughed at flurgy twinj.

Poor creature, he never laughed again!"

The young otter looked so serious that the weasels were taken aback.

"Take no notice of Fleabane, young un. He's a fool," Rotnose apologized in hushed tones. "You carry on singin' yore charms, an'

sing an extra one fer me."

The two guards carried on their patrol arguing among themselves.

"Wobbly paws and grunge, I still don't believe it."

"Listen you, don't scoff at what yer don't know about. Lookit that mark on yer ear that could be the start of grunge."

"Where? What mark?"

"There, that sort of yellow mark on yer left ear. Can't yer see it?"

"Loafbrain, how c'n I see me own ear? Er, does it look serious?"

"Well, it wasn't there at the start of the season. I think we'd best learn the words of that charm. How does it go?"

"From flurgy paws and grungy tummy,

Spirit keep us free.

Wobbly whiskers an' dah de dah ..."

"Dah de dah yerself, boulder bottom. They're not the right words!"

Keyla laughed aloud as he made his way back to the compound.

5

Badrang ordered a wallguard to be posted night and day against the return of Tramun Clogg. He harbored no doubts at all that the pirate would be back, doubly bent on revenge and conquest. Extra guards were put to watch the slaves when they were quarrying stone, fishing or tending crops to feed the horde.

Felldoh's father Barkjon had wheedled himself on to kitchen duty.

He kept his old eyes and ears open, gathering all the information he could. In the slave compound at night he discussed it with others.

Since Martin's open defiance of Badrang and Felldoh's rock throwing, a new mood was beginning to make itself felt among the captives.

Keyla, Barkjon and a hedgehog named Hillgorse were a little bolder than the rest. They soon became the ringleaders of a rebellious little group that met each night around the compound fire. Barkjon was a squirrel with a wise old head, and everybeast listened when he talked.

"We must do all we can to help Felldoh and Martin escape, and the other little mouse Brome. If they can make it to freedom, I know that they will do all in their power to defeat Badrang and free us all.

Felldoh and Martin are the only ones ever to defy the Tyrant, I am certain that if they were on the outside they would not leave us here to rot in captivity."

There were murmurs of agreement from the creatures that crowded round to listen at the meeting. A mouse called Purslane, who sat with her husband and babe, called out, "Tell us what to do, Barkjon. We're with you."

"Get them extra rations to keep up their strength," Keyla answered for the old squirrel. "Shellfish or shrimp if you're out with a fishing party, crops or fruit if you work in the fields. They need to be fit if they're to escape."

A female otter named Tullgrew spoke up. "What if you work in the quarry like I do? How can I help?"

"Hinder, hamper, work as slowly as you can," Hillgorse answered her. "If at all able, try to steal anything that can be used as a weapon, tools, sharp rock shards, anything. They may all be needed someday."

"Don't listen to them. You'll only land us all in trouble."

Barkjon stood up and gazed out over the slaves. "Is that you, Druwp?"

A surly looking bankvole who was trying to hide behind others lifted his head. "Yes, it's me."

Tullgrew grabbed him and stood him upright. "Then don't hide at the back muttering, stand up and speak up face to face with others instead of slinking about."

"Go on, Druwp, have your say." Hillgorse nodded towards the bankvole.

It was clear whose side the bankvole was on when he spoke. "We're slaves, and it's better to be alive than killed trying to do foolish things.

Badrang and his horde are too strong for us. If you start stealing fish and crops and tools we'll all be punished. I don't want to be suffering for the foolishness of others. Count me out of your plans!"

Purslane threw a piece of firewood at Druwp. "Shut your snivelling little trap. I've seen you hanging around the guards and carrying tales.

You're a sneak, Druwp, a toady!"

Angry murmurs arose from the crowd. Barkjon held up a paw for order. When there was quiet he confronted the bankvole.

"Unfortunately, we cannot count you out of our plans, Druwp. You are one of us, therefore all we do affects you and anything you choose to do must affect us. Together we can be a stream, coursing its way powerful and silent. Even a small stream can wear away large rocks.

But separate us and we become as single droplets of water, ready to be scattered by the flick of a paw. You are either on our side, or you are with Badrang and his horde."

Druwp lowered his eyes avoiding Barkjon's gaze. "I am alone, I side with nobeast. Leave me to live my own life as I see fit."

Barkjon silenced the angry murmurings of the slaves with a growl.

"So be it, Druwp. No creature is forced to join us. You may stay alone.

But let me warn you, bank vole, if one word of our business reaches Badrang and his creatures, I will hold you responsible. When that happens you will be a deadbeast. I promise this!"

Druwp slunk out of the crowd to a deserted corner of the compound. The silence that followed was eventually broken by Keyla.

"Oh well, if that's all for tonight I'll be on my way. Feeding time for the prisoners, you know."

Rose and Grumm lay behind the rocks, watching Fortress Marshank, helpless and unable to approach the gates because of the two sentries who stood on the walltop keeping a lookout for the return of Tramun Clogg.

The mousemaid shook her head despairingly. "With those two up there we won't be able to communicate with our friend. What can we do, Grumm?"

"Oi says we sit'n toight an' wait. You'm friend be a cleverbeast, 'ee'll tMnk o' summat, miz, you'm see, hurr aye."

Inside the fortress Keyla was racking his young brains for an idea.

He poked scraps through the grating as he whispered to the prisoners below.

"They're guarding the walltop, mates. It's going to be difficult getting instructions to our friends out there. Any ideas?"

"Hey down there, what's all the whisperin' about? Are you talkin' to those prisoners? If ye are I'll lay me spearhandle across yer back!"

Keyla spread his paws wide appealingly. "Not me, sir. I haven't said a word. It's these poor wretches in the pit, they're callin' to me. They say that they've got the fever and they want to be let out."

Frogbit and Nipwort, the two rats who were on guard, looked at each other, taken aback by the news.

"Fever! I knew it, mate. Gurrad was shiverin' like a leaf last night.

He sat by the fire drinkin' wine, an' this mornin' said 'e was stayin' in

'is bunk cos of the pains in 'is 'ead."

"Nah, that was just through guzzlin' too much wine. There ain't no fever in this fortress, mate."

"No? Well, what about ole Fleabane, got a great yeller mark on 'is ear. It was bleedin' this afternoon!"

"Huh, that's cos the fool's been scratchin' at it to make it go away.

Nah, there ain't no fever 'ereabouts, take my word."

"That's exactly what I said, sir," Keyla called up to them.

"But these three down here are convinced they've got fever or plague or something horrible. Come down and take a look at them, sir."

"What do we want lookin' at mouldy prisoners," Nip wort scoffed.

"Our job is up 'ere lookin' out fer other things."

"Listen," Keyla whispered down to his friends, "they can't stop sick creatures shouting out feverishly. If Rose is outside she'll hear you."

Below in the pit Martin grasped his friends' paws.

"Who has the loudest voice, mates?"

Brome swelled his little chest out. "Try me, listen to this . .."

Cupping his paws, Brome yelled aloud in a piercing howl, "Somebeast, anybeast, can you hear me? Help us, there's fever down here!"

Both Martin and Felldoh had to cover their ears. The youngster had lungs like bellows and a howl like an injured wolf.

"Help, help! We're dying of fever. What's the matter, can't you hear me?"

Nipwort clenched his paws and ground his teeth together. "Of course we can 'ear yer! Stop that yellin' or I'll come down there an'

kick yer tail until it's blue!"

"Oh yes, sir," Brome howled back louder than ever. "Please, sir, kick us, beat us, but come down and see us. We're dying slowly of fever. The place is a plague hole. Come down and see for yourself!"

Frogbit shuddered. "Fat chance! I ain't goin' down there an' catchin'

a sickness."

Nipwort was in complete agreement. "Nor me, mate. They c'n yell an' holler all they want. I'm not puttin' a paw anywhere near 'em."

Through her tears Rose sat back, giggling helplessly.

"Heeheehee! That's my little brother all right. Remember he used to scream and shout like that back home until Mama let him have his own way?"

"Yurr, oi amembers miz. Oi used t'plug moi ole ears oop wi' grass.

If'n yon choild 'as fever wi' a voice loik that, oi be a taddypole!"

Rose held her throat, and throwing back her head she gave the eagle call.

Grumm winced and covered both ears. "Moi moi, wot a fambily furr noisenin'. Maister Brome'll know furr sure us'ns kin 'ear 'im naow, miz."

The eagle screech rent the night air again. Brome clapped his hands joyfully. "That's my sister Rose all right. She can screech as good as any eagle."

Martin parted Brome heartily on the back. "Great work, young un.

Rose can hear us! Right, get ready to send her the message."

From the walltop Nipwort shook his spear at Keyla. "You started all this, otter. Listen, they've even upset that eagle bird now. Get away from there, go on! Get back to the compound. You've caused enough mischief around here!"

Keyla knew his job was done. Martin and his friends could send their own messages to the outside. The young otter trotted off grinning happily as the two guards argued away on the wall.

"I'm not putting up with this row all night." "Oh no, then go down there an' shut them up." "Me? Huh, I'm stayin' right up 'ere, mate!"

"An' so am I, mate. We'll just 'ave to ignore the noise an' keep watch fer the Seascarab."

"Ignore the noise! Are you jokin'? Lissen to that!" "Roseyrosey rosey, Grummgrumm grumm! Lissena mee lissenamee!"

The eagle screech sounded again. Rose and Grumm were listening.

Nipwort and Frogbit plugged their ears with the screwed up corners of their ragged cloaks and concentrated on watching the sea.

Brome sent the message in fine howling style.

"In the middle of the gate set your faces.

Oh, I'm dyin' of the fever!

Walk to the south about twenty paces.

It's a terrible thing this fever!

There are three of us in this awful pit.

The fever, the fever!

As deep as three mice and a bit.

I'm goin' to die of fever!

We need the claws of a good old chum.

The fever, the fever!

I know that you can do it, Grumm,

Don't let me die of fever!"

There was a moment's silence, then the call of the eagle screeched out three times. Rose had received the message.

A quiet peace fell over the star traced seas, the shingled beach and the weary sentries on the walltop. The only sound was small waves gently lapping the land as the tide ebbed. Frogbit unplugged his ears.

Nipwort followed his mate's example.

"Cwaw! Ain't it lovely an' quiet."

"Aye, I think the eagle bird frightened 'em inter silence."

"Silence, wot a lovely word."

"It'd sound better if you shut yer gob an' gave it a chance."

Rose had written it all down on a smooth rock with a piece of sea coal. She read the instructions carefully to Grumm.

"Face the center of the gates, walk twenty paces to the south.

Brome says there's three of them in a pit that is as deep as three and a bit mice. So if we, or should I say you, dig down twice my height then straight tunnel from the twenty pace mark, sooner or later you'll break into the pit at about head height. Can you do it, Grumm?"

The mole winked as he flexed his huge digging claws. "Can oi do et, miz? Can burds floiy in sky, can fishers swim in 'ee seas? Hurr hurr,

'twould be easier'n eatin' yore mama's li'l apple puddens!"

"If you rescue Brome, I'll see that my mama bakes you more apple puddings than you could shake a stick at, when we get back to Noonvale." The mousemaid hurled herself on Grumm and stroked his velvety back fur the wrong way.

"Ohoohoohurrhurr, mizzy. Doant you'm do that. Et tickles, hoohoohurrhurr!"

6

Skalrag the fox watched as Badrang tore at a roasted sea bird and drank deeply of the good damson wine that Clogg had brought him.

When the Tyrant stoat had eaten and drunk his fill he wiped his mouth daintily on a dockleaf and nodded at Skalrag.

"Make your report."

The fox swallowed visibly then spoke, moving from paw to paw as he did so. Badrang had that effect on most creatures. His swift mood changes were a byword among the horde.

"Lord, there are no signs of Clogg and his ship. The sentries are keeping a sharp eye out day and night. The prisoners in the hole have some sort of sickness, Lord. It may be fever. Bluehide and Lumpback are taking stock of the armory. Everything else is quiet and in order.

There is nothing more to report."

Badrang poured himself a little more wine. "Fever, eh? That young mouse, Brome, he must've brought it in with him. Pity, I was going to have some fun with those three, make an example of 'em. Still, fever is a good enough lesson to the slaves. Throw the wrongdoers in the pit where they'll catch the fever. What a clever idea, slaves getting fever from slaves. They can't blame us for that, eh, Skalrag? Hahahaha!"

The fox laughed nervously along with his master. Bad rang suddenly stopped laughing, leaving the other to carry on. Skalrag's thin giggle trailed away as the Tyrant's eyes hardened.

"I've just had another clever idea, Skalrag. If my fortress isn't finished by the end of summer, I might just throw a few of my Captains in the fever pit to rot. That'd liven their ideas up. What do you say?"

Skalrag could feel his paws beginning to shake uncontrollably. "A spl splendid idea, Lord!"

Rose waited until the wallguard changed. There was a considerable interval when nobeast was on the walltop, and she took advantage of this to sneak up to the fortress. Standing facing the centre of the gate, she measured out twenty paces to the south. Marking the wall with a piece of charcoal, she dodged back to the cover of the rocks. Grumm was waiting for her. He nodded over to the X marked on the stones of the fortress wall.

"Be that et, Miz Roser?"

She nodded, watching him sizing the area up. Rose trusted Grumm to do the job swiftly and silently. In all the country there was no stronger digger than her friend.

The mole scratched the tip of his button nose. "Yurr, tain't easy, but tain't 'ard noither, miz. You'm see they rock o'er thurr?"

It was another rocky outcrop, similar to the one they were hiding behind. Rose let Grumm explain his plan.

"That thurr rock be on straightline wi' thoi marker. Oi'll start diggen frum thurr. Thatwise they vurmin guarders on wall woant see us'ns, an' you'm kin spread tunnel durt behoind 'ee rock."

The plan was perfect. It was but the work of a moment to slip from one rock to the other. Grumm took one last look at the mark on the wall, muttering calculations to himself as he squinted at it. Then he held both his heavy diggmg Paw$ to the earth and recited his good fortune charm.

"Luck to oi an' every mole,

As ever went to dig an 'ole.

Tunnel gudd for all oi'm wurth.

Mole be best when diggen urth."

Rose was amazed at his speed and strength. Grumm went straight down in a shower of pebbles and sand, widening as he went. The mousemaid sat and waited. Digging a flat oatcake from their pack, she munched it and sipped cold mint tea from a canteen.

Soon Grumm called out to her, "Do'ee jump daown yurr, mizzy.

Urry naow!"

Without a backward glance, she leaped into the hole. Grumm caught her easily and set her steady. She looked up as he rumbled, "Bo urr, that be 'zactly two mousey lengths."

He was right, it was exactly the height of two mice.

"Yurr, stan' on moi 'ead an' climb owt naow, Roser. No sense in you'm agettin' all durty. Wot udd yore mama an' dad say if'n oi brought you'm back all mucked up. Hoo urr!"

The mousemaid hopped out, assisted by Grumm, and began strewing the rubble from the hole around as he dug steps in the side of it.

Blowing sand from his snout, Grumm eyed his work. "Nawthin'

fancy, but 'ee'll do, hurr aye."

He went straight to tunnelling through the bottom side of the hole in a direct line, faster than any two moles in the whole of Noonvale.

Skalrag stood at the rear of Badrang's longhut, trying hard to stop his paws shaking after the interview with the Tyrant. A bankvole was idly pulling up weeds that grew against the side of the building. The fox watched him for a while before calling to him.

"Druwp, over here!"

The bankvole pretended not to hear but worked his way along until he was close to Skalrag. The fox looked this way and that, making sure he was unobserved as he spoke out of the corner of his mouth.

"Well, what's happening in the compound, matey?"

"I'm not your matey or anybeast's," Druwp answered without looking up. "There's lots happening in the compound but it'll cost you food and wine to find out."

Skalrag looked at his paws. They had steadied somewhat. "I know that. You'll find a roast fish and some wine here tonight, just under the corner there, where it usually is. Now tell me what's happening."

Druwp's voice was low keyed and surly. "I'm taking a chance doing this. If they ever found out they'd kill me for sure. So I'd like a proper whole roast fish, none of your table scraps, and some of the dark damson wine the corsairs brought when they paid a visit."

Skalrag's eyes widened. "How d'you know they brought damson wine?"

Druwp sniffed. "You'd be surprised at what I know. Well, do I get proper food?"

"Yes, yes, get on with it." Skalrag chewed impatiently at a hangclaw.

"Right, listen close now. There's three ringleaders, Hillgorse the old hedgehog, Barkjon the squirrel and that young otter called Keyla.

These three are urging all the slaves to steal fish, crops and also tools from the quarry, sharp stones, anything they can make into weapons.

There's a plan of some sort to free Martin, Felldoh and another mouse from the prison pit. Keyla has been doing something when he takes the food to the prisoners each night."

Skalrag urged his informer on. "What's the plan? What is Keyla doing? Why do they need weapons?" Still keeping his eyes down, Druwp shrugged. "I don't know how they plan to get them out of the pit and I'm not sure what Keyla's up to. But the general talk is that when they're free they'll be able to help from outside. Meanwhile the others are collecting weapons against the day when they get a chance to strike back at Badrang and all of you. That's all I know. I've got to go now."

Skalrag placed a footpaw swiftly on Druwp's neck, holding him still a moment. "You've done well, Druwp. I'll make sure the fish and wine are the best. But find out more. I need to know more. When will I see you again, my friend?"

The bankvole struggled loose of Skalrag's paw and hurried off.

"I'm not your friend. I'll be in touch."

In the gloom of the prison hole young Brome was getting very depressed after the initial euphoria of contact with the outside had faded. He began to speculate miserably.

"Suppose they get caught outside the fortress, where will we be then?"

Felldoh tried reasoning with him. "Don't be silly, Brome. Your sister and that mole aren't daft, they know what they're doing."

The youngster was silent awhile, then he started again.

"They might have the directions wrong. Suppose Grumm tunnels the wrong way. He could have missed this place by a few lengths. Just think of it, poor old Grumm, digging and digging and getting nowhere while we sit down here twiddling our paws."

Martin gave Brome a light thump on the back. "Here now, what's all this gloom an' doom for, young feller? You've already told us that Grumm is the champion digger in all the country. Well, let me tell you, moles are amongst the most sensible beasts over or under land. If your friend Grumm is a champion digger, why, I'd trust him with my life anyday. So would you, eh, Felldoh!"

Before the squirrel had a chance to answer, a spearblade clanged on the grating above. The three friends looked up. They could not see clearly but Skalrag's voice was unmistakable.

"They say you've all got the fever down there. How d'you feel? Sick, dizzy, sweating? Not very nice, is it?"

Felldoh laughed scornfully. "It doesn't hurt as much as the rock that I hit you with, mangenose!"

Skalrag banged the grating with his spear angrily. "I've half a mind to come down there and run you through with my spear ..."

"But you won't, will you, because you're terrified of catching fever,"

Felldoh's answer came back mockingly.

Skalrag thwacked his spear on the grating a few more times.

"You're right, squirrel, I won't come down. But then nothing else will, and that means food or water. Hah! We don't feed useless mouths around here, nor do we play nursemaid to sick beasts. So you can all stay down there until you die and rot!"

The fox swaggered off, proud that he had won the argument.

Martin felt a tear from Brome's cheek as it damped his paw. He threw an arm about the youngster. "I don't know about rotting, but pretty soon he'll get a rotten surprise when he finds we're gone from here. Imagine the fox's face!"

Brome managed a sniff and a smile. "Haha, yes, and we'll be safe in Noonvale."

Martin began kicking the side of the pit wall. Felldoh caught on and joined him. Their footpaws thudded away at the packed earth wall.

Brome squinted at them in the darkness. "What are you doing?"

"Giving your mole friend a little help and guidance. He's probably very sensitive to underground noises. Take no notice of us, Brome.

Tell us about Noonvale. Where do you live? What sort of a place is it?

Are the creatures nice and is the food good? Go on!"

As they listened Martin noticed that Brome's heavy mood of sadness disappeared when he talked of his home.

"Er, let me see, what sort of place is Noonvale? Well, it's a deep glade far in the forests, a secret place, you might say. At dawn the sunlight comes filtering like golden dust through the oaks and sycamores and elms. It is quiet; you can almost hear the sounds of peace. Light blue smoke drifts up from the cookhouse fires, mingling with the green leaves above. Soft mosses and dark green grass carpet its slopes, and there are flowers columbines, foxgloves, bluebells, wood anemones and ground ivy. Ferns grow there too. Sometimes I would lie among them at dawn, catching dew drops on my tongue ..."

Felldoh blinked back a tear, surprised by the young one's eloquence. "Sounds like my kind of place, Brome. What about the creatures there?"

"Hmm, the creatures. Well, there's my sister Rose and me, our father is Urran Voh, Chieftain of Noonvale, and our mama's name is Aryan. We live with other creatures who have found Noonvale-moles, squirrels, hedgehogs, even some otters. My father rules the vale. He is always very kind, but sometimes he can be stern to naughty ones. You would like my mama, though. She is the best cook anywhere."

Martin almost forgot his aching paws as he thumped away at the wall. "Does she cook anything nice?"

"She cooks everything nice," Brome sighed longingly.

"Mushroom and chestnut stew, wild onion and leek soup, spring vegetable pasties, nutbread, oatfarl, wheat cob, all piping hot from the ovens. She bakes blackberry and apple tarts, plum maple pudding, elderberry pie with yellow summercream, gooseberry preserve scones, hot with buttercup spread-"

Felldoh massaged his shrunken stomach as he wailed aloud. "Stop, stop! I can't stand it. All that beautiful food!"

"Mushroom and chestnut stew, plum maple pudding, oh my aching teeth!" Martin wiped a paw across his dripping mouth.

Brome gave a loud chuckle as he mischievously continued tormenting his hungry friends. "My father helps the moles and the hedgehogs. They brew all our drinks-dandelion ale, strawberry cordial, chestnut brown beer-"

"Owoooh! Chestnut brown beer. Stop, you little fiend, stop!"

Martin and Felldoh beat their footpaws harder against the wall.

Grumm backed out of the hole, pushing a mound of earth before him. Rose cleared it away, helping the mole out into the late afternoon sun.

"You seem to be making good progress, Grumm."

Rattling his digging claws against the rock to clean off the loose sandy soil, the mole blinked his eyes against the sunlight.

"That oi be, miz, hurr aye. Oi be a goin' the roight way too, bo urr.

They beasts be a bangen loik two drummers at a winter fayre, guidin oi straight to 'em. Hurr hurr, et woant be long naow, Roser. Afore midnoight, oi'd reckern."

Rose wriggled excitedly. "Midnight! Wonderful. It should be fairly easy to get clear of Marshank under cover of darkness. Oh, Grumm, you're a dear!"

The mole made his way back to the tunnel, murmuring to cover his embarrassment, "Oi bain't no deer, oi be a mole, an' doant 'ee fergit it, mizzy!"

7

A sliver of moon appeared, like a slice of lemon rind suspended in the soft star strewn darkness. The tide was at full flood, without a wind to drive it. Small silver tipped waves lapped shyly on the shore, gradually devouring the coastland up to the tideline. Little sound was heard, save for the muted splash of muffled oars and the hoarse muttered curses of Cap'n Tramun Clogg as he urged the four longboats through the dark waters.

"C'mon, bend yer backs, ye bottlenosed bandits. Yer might've broken yer mothers' 'earts but ye won't break mine. Pull, me bullies, pull!"

Clogg's ship was beached around a point south of the headland. The wily stoat was planning a surprise attack on Marshank. The corsairs rowed steadily as Clogg kept watch.

"Harr, there 'tis, me buckoes. Badrang's fine castle! May'aps it won't look so fine when I'm done with it. Oilback, Wetpaw, keep those ropes an' grapplin' 'ooks close by. Poison arrers, eh. I'll give that schemin' stoat a night to remember. 'Ere, but wot am I talkin' about?

Deadbeasts don't 'ave no memory, an' that's what 'igh 'n' mighty Badrang'll be when I lays sword to 'im. Dead!"

The four boats pressed on through the night waters, laden with hardened ruffians all armed to the teeth with bows, arrows, pikes, spears, daggers, slings and a variety of swords.

Lumpback and Stiffear were on the walltop keeping guard. The two weasels lounged against the timber posts. Lumpback was not in the best of moods. He prodded Stiffear with his spearbutt.

"Stop drummin' yer paws. It's gettin' on me nerves!"

Stiffear had been half asleep. He grabbed his spear, bristling. "I'm not drummin' me paws, slobberchops. Look, they're still!"

"Watch who you're callin' slobberchops, you. Something's drummin'. Can't yer 'ear it, like a sorta soft tappin noise?"

"No I can't, an' if you prod me once more with that spear I'll shove it up yer snout. Huh, drummin' noises. It's prob'ly yore tiny brain drummin' round in yer thick skull!"

They jabbed their spears at each other and snarled a bit before going back to watching the sea.

"I can 'ear it, drummin' away," Lumpback started muttering again,

"only softlike, but I know I can 'ear it. Stiffy, see that rock out there on the shore, that one yonder I could swear I saw a pile of sand bein'

chucked up in the air above it!"

"First drummin', now it's piles o'sand!" Stiffear blew a long sigh of impatience. "Wot's the matter with you, toadbrains? Did you eat some bad fish for yer dinner?"

Lumpback pointed with his spear. "Hah, there! I saw it again, like sand bein' tossed up in the air, right above that rock, see!"

Stiffear stared hard at Lumpback, shaking his head pityingly.

"That's the crabs 'avin' a dance. They do it every few nights y'know, kickin' the sand up with their liddle claws an' jiggin' away like billyo."

"Don't talk rubbish!" Lumpback curled his lip in a sneer.

Stiffear lost his temper then. "Yore the one talkin' rubbish, y'fool!

Next thing, I suppose you'll be seein' the shore swarmin' with corsairs.... Garrgh!" He fell forward with a long barbed arrow protruding from his neck.

Lumpback screamed as the dark shapes hurried towards the fortress walls.

"Attack! Attaaaaaack!"

Rose had seen the corsairs first. She was about to empty more rubble away when the soft thud of paws on sand reached her ears.

Turning towards the sea, the mouse maid could see the four boats on the tideline and a mob of dark shapes scurrying across the shore towards Marshank. She jumped down into the shaft Grumm had dug and held her breath. Fortunately, nobeast saw her. They dashed past swiftly, intent on reaching the fortress.

Anxiously she crouched at the tunnel entrance, murmuring under her breath, "Grumm, where are you? Oh, hurry, Grumm, please!"

Brome had fallen asleep. He lay between Martin and Felldoh as they slapped their feet wearily against the prison pit wall. Exhaustion was overcoming them both, and they grunted with exertion as they tried to continue.

"Can't keep this up any more, Felldoh. How about you?" Martin gasped.

The squirrel nodded droopingly "Me too, mate, the young un could be right. Maybe his mole friend has tunnelled in the wrong direction."

Suddenly Martin's frustration boiled over. With a wild effort he kicked the wall fiercely, shouting between each thud, "We're not going to die down here!"

Without warning both his footpaws shot through the side of the wall and a muffled cry rang out from the hole.

"Bo urr, zurrs. 'Old 'ard, tis oi, Grumm!"

Badrang leaped from his bed as Gurrad roused him with a panicked squeak.

"Lord, it's Clogg an' his corsairs. They're attackin'!"

Throwing on a chainmail vest and grabbing his sword, the Tyrant pushed his frightened henchrat to one side.

"Of course he is, addlebrain. I wouldn't expect him to do anything else. Come on. Are the horde positioned on the walls?"

Gurrad scurried along at Badrang's side. "Aye, Lord, they were up as soon as the guard shouted a warning."

"Good. I'll be at the main gate. Send Skalrag to me right away!"

Moments later Skalrag came hurrying down from the walltop. "Sire, they're pressing hard, but we're holding 'em off!"

"Where's Clogg's ship? On the tideline or in the bay?" Badrang yelled to the fox above the clash of battlesound.

"There's no sign of it, sire. They came in longboats."

Badrang pondered a short moment then rapped out orders. "He'll have come in from the south he sailed off that way. The ship is probably beached or anchored round the other side of the headland.

Right, listen hard now, Skalrag. Take ten good archers, get oil, tinder and flints, find Clogg's vessel and burn it to ashes with fire arrows.

Leave over the back wall while the thick of the fighting's at the front.

Go, and don't fail me!"

As Skalrag hurried to do his master's bidding, the Tyrant dashed up the ladder to the walltop and joined the mêlée.

Arrows whistled through the night from both sides. Clogg was trying to keep up heavy volleys of shafts and slingstones to make the defenders keep their heads down. Badrang seemed to be everywhere at once, hacking at grapnel ropes, hurling boulders and roaring orders.

"Don't let them grapplers get ahold, slash the ropes! Push that siege ladder over! Risk, get to the north corner, use the big spears and long pikes to stab downward! You there, take four more and get down into the courtyard. Reinforce the gates with anything rocks, timber, sand anything you can lay paws on!"

Cap'n Tramun Clogg howled aloud at his archers and slingthrowers as he awaited the upside down longboat that was being trundled over the beach towards him.

"Give 'em blood an' brokenbones, ye black livered flotsam! Growch, keep those arrows a flyin' an' make every one count! Haharr, Badrang, I'll soon be wearin' yer guts fer garters! Bring that longboat t'me,

'earties. We'll knock on the Tyrant's door, haharrharr!"

The longboat's keel was plated with a heavy sheath of copper that culminated in a lump at its prow. Upside down, it made a battering ram. Twenty or more vermin stood underneath the boat, using it as an umbrella against missiles from the walltop. Tramun Clogg joined them, heading the operation, roaring orders gleefully.

"Straight ahead as she goes, buckoes. Pound that ole door to splinters, mates. Charge!"

Paws grasped the undersides of the craft tightly as they raced madly across the shore. Arrows, spears and rocks bounced vainly off the plated keel, unable to stop the corsairs' battering ram striking Marshank's gates with tremendous force.

Whump!

Most of the ram crew fell flat under the impact as thick copper plate met door timber with a splintering crash. Paws a tingle from the reverberation, they hoisted the boat aloft under Clogg's triumphant commands.

"Hoho, cullies. Back 'er off an' let's do it again! Gruzzle, Dedjaw, Floater! Up front 'ere with me. Arf a dozen whacks like that'n an' we can use yonder gates fer toothpicks at our victory feast! Nothin' can stop wavebeasts such as us mates. Chaaaaaarge!"

Gurrad slashed at a climbing rope with his cutlass. Feeling the walltop shudder slightly as the ram struck once more, he looked anxiously towards Badrang. The Tyrant had a stack of light javelins at his side, and he was throwing them with deadly accuracy, snarling with satisfaction each time he was rewarded with the screams of another searat impaled by his good aim. Pausing momentarily, he grabbed a passing ferret.

"Tailwart, get down below and see that the gates are well shored up with rock and rubble. Clogg can batter our doors until his whiskers turn grey. If there's enough packing behind 'em he'll never break through."

The battle raged on into the night, its infernal din of roaring clangour overriding the hiss and swell of the restless sea.

Brome was last to enter the escape tunnel. Grumm hauled the young mouse in alongside him.

"Gudd to see you'm, maister. You be looken fitter'n a bumblybee."

Martin and Felldoh pounded the mole's furry back joyfully. "Well done, friend. Brome was right, you are a champion digger!"

Grumm wrinkled his nose modestly. "No more'n moi job, zurrs. You uns get along naow, Oi'll bide yurr awhoil an' patch up yon 'ole so's nobeast be a knowen 'ow him'n excaped. Hurr hurr, 'twill give they Bardang vur mint sumthen to puzzle o'er, a hempty pit wi' no marks o'

breakout, hurr hurr."

The three friends crawled on all fours through the darkness, Felldoh's tail touching the tunnel top and brushing down a light drift of sand. Closing their eyes, they pushed forward in the eerie underground silence, their bodies quivering with the anticipation of freedom. It was the battlenoise and a soft breeze tickling his whiskers that told Felldoh they had made it. He sneezed and rubbed fine sand from his eyes as Rose helped him out.

"Up you come, treejumper. Is Grumm with you?"

The squirrel rolled to one side as Martin pulled himself from the runnel. Together they hauled young Brome out as Martin answered,

"He'll be along shortly when he's blocked off the hole. Phwah! I've swallowed so much sand I'll be spitting it out all season."

"Here, wash it out with some cold mint tea."

Martin rubbed dust from his eyes and stared at the mousemaid as he accepted the canteen of liquid. He was thunderstruck.

"You must be Martin."

He stared silently into the most gentle hazel eyes that ever reflected starlight, lost for words as a quiet smile spread over the mousemaid's serene features.

"Drink up, Martin. Your friend and my brother are waiting their turn."

He took a quick mouthful, suddenly finding his voice as he did.

"Yurn b'rosty nose!"

"I beg your pardon?" Her laughter was like a summer breeze among bluebells.

Martin took another gulp and cleared his throat. "Sorry. You must be Rose."

Felldoh grinned as he grabbed the canteen from his friend's faltering paws. "Aye, she is. Remember me? I'm Felldoh, and this other creature is Brome. Your name's Martin and the beast whose head you're standin' on is our rescuer Grumm."

Martin hastily shifted his footpaw, mumbling an apology as the mole levered himself from the tunnel.

"Thankee, maister. Hurr, et be gurt 'n' noisy out 'ere wi' they vurmin a killen each other o'er yonder."

Suddenly Martin became aware of the battlenoise around Marshank. It shook him out of his daze and he began thinking clearly.

"Oh er, right! Well, I think our best bet is to put as much distance between ourselves and that lot right away!"

Felldoh bristled slightly. "I can't leave until my father is free. I'm staying."

Martin gripped his friend's paw. "We won't be a bit of help to anybeast if we get killed or captured in the midst of a battle. Listen, Felldoh, I'm with you. One day we'll free all the slaves from Badrang's clutches, but right now we're only five, too few to stand against the Tyrant's horde. I say we should go to Noonvale. Brome and Rose's father is a Chieftain, and surely he will tell his tribe to help us. Then when we are strong in numbers we can return and defeat Badrang and all his vermin, wipe them from the face of the land and free our friends. What do you say?"

Brome shook his head. "My father Urran Voh is a creature who goes his own way. He will never leave Noonvale. As for our tribe, well, they generally do what he tells them to."

Rose spoke up. "Aye, brother, our father is as stubborn as you that's why the two of you always quarrel. But maybe I can persuade Mother. She'd ask him to help you. I know she would."

Martin held the squirrel's paw tighter. "What do you say, Felldoh?

Shall we give it a try?"

There was a moment's silence, then Felldoh nodded. "I'm with you.

If we can raise an army at Noonvale then one day I'll return to dance on Badrang's grave!"

Martin's eyes shone at the thought of it. "And I'll be dancing with you, friend, holding the sword that once belonged to my father!"

Rose, Brome and Grumm clasped their paws with Martin and Felldoh over the escape hole. "We'll do it, friends together!"

8

Cap'n Tramun Clogg was beginning to feel discouraged. No matter how hard and long he beat at Marshank's gates with his battering ram, they seemed to hold up. Gruzzle, Dedjaw, Floater and the rest were seated on the shore beneath the upturned boat, blowing for breath as they massaged weary paws. Clogg struck the side of the boat with his cutlass.

"Wot's the matter, yer lily livered seascum? Weary already? Come on now, 'earties, up on yer paws an' give it one more go. She's splinterin', I tell yer. Why, a couple more bangs an' we'll be through inter the fortress!"

Gruzzle sucked noisily at a skinned paw. "Ahh, Cap'n, I thought you said one more go arf an hour back, an' we're still chargin' those gates like madbeasts."

Clogg cocked a fierce eye at the complaining sea rat. "Yore grizzlin', Gruzzle, always grizzlin'. Now up off those hunkers, mate, an' charge that gate, afore I charges you wid this frogsticker!" He waved his cutlass threateningly.

There was a knocking on the outside of the boat.

"Cap'n, it's Wetpaw. Come quick an' take a look out 'ere!"

The boat was lifted and Clogg poked his head from underneath.

"Lookit wot, mate?"

The ferret pointed to reddy orange glow illuminating the sky beyond the headland. It took a moment for realization to sink in, then the pirate stoat let out an agonized wail and began tearing at his braided beard, the clumsy wooden clogs clicking together as he performed an anguished jig on the shore.

"Whaaaagh! The slime coated villain's burnin' me ship! Yarrggh!

Me luvverly Seascarab, pride o' me 'eart! Badrang, yer rotten foul nosed worm, stinkin' screw tailed stoat, warp eyed snotty snouted shark!"

The corsair crew looked on in dismay as their Cap'n gave full vent to his spleen. Hurling himself at the gates, he hacked with his cutlass, kicked with his clogs, even gnawed savagely at the woodwork with his teeth as he yelled between mouthfuls of splinters, "I'll rip yer liver 'n'

lights out an' feed 'em to the crabs. I'll cut off'n yer 'ead an' throw it in yer face. I'll string up yer tripes fer riggin'. I'll pickle yer tail in burnin'

brine. I'll... I'll.... Yaaahaaagh!"

Skalrag and his archers stood paw deep in the sea, the water scarlet and gold with reflections from the blazing vessel. They blinked as ashcloth from the sail drifted sootily by on the breeze. The Seascarab was settling down in flames on the shallow bay bed, and timbers crackled as blazing pitch bubbled from seams. Two rats who had been left on watch were draped limply in death over the gunwales, blazing arrows extinguishing themselves in their backs. With its great green sail burned away, the mast stood like a fiery beacon against the star studded night. It cracked and broke, falling in an avalanche of sparks. The vessel heeled over, listing at a crazy angle as sea water met flames with a loud steaming hiss.

Skalrag turned to his archers, satisfied. "There's one ship that won't put out to sea again. Form up and follow me. We'll take care of those longboats before we head back to Marshank."

The wily fox did not want to attract attention from the battle area by burning the longboats.

"Put up those bows, use your swords an' knives to hole these boats.

That'll leave Clogg trapped on the shore."

Unaware that the longboats were being destroyed, Martin and his companions were heading for them, figuring to take one and sail further up the coast, where they would leave the boat and travel to Noonvale for help.

Felldoh looked to the fiery glow beyond the headland. "We'd better hurry. Those searats will be coming for the longboats to see if they can save their ship."

Martin glanced back towards the fortress as he remarked to his friend, "Good guess, Felldoh. There's a whole bunch of them coming this way!"

The dark shapes of yelling corsairs could be seen leaving the fray and making for the longboats. Martin grasped Brome's paw.

"Let's put a move on, otherwise they'll catch up with us."

Grumm had been looking ahead towards the boats. "Hurr, lookit, thurr be other vurmin by they boats an' they see us'ns!" he groaned in dismay.

Felldoh gritted his teeth. "Foebeasts behind an' before us, Martin.

Either way is trouble."

Martin sized the situation up quickly. "We can't turn back now.

There's less of 'em in front of us. Keep going. We'll have to chance rushing them. Rose, take Grumm and Brome, pick out a boat and get going. Felldoh and I will hold them off. Please don't argue, just do as I say. Right, Felldoh?"

The big squirrel nodded. "Right! I recognize that half eared rogue at the boats it's Skalrag. There's about ten with him. Let's get at it, Martin!"

The young mouse and the squirrel dashed towards Skalrag's group, yelling at the top of their voices.

"Freedom! Chaaaaaaaarge!"

Skalrag was not sure whether the swiftly advancing pair were armed, though he knew by their warlike cries that they intended doing battle. The fox hesitated a moment, unsure whether to meet them sword in paw or go for his bow. He lost the initiative, barely having time to shout a warning to his archers before Martin and Felldoh were on him. The squirrel grabbed Skalrag's sword paw, struggling to get hold of the blade as Martin dealt the nearest rat a flying kick with both footpaws.

"Help me, help!" Skalrag was screaming.

Now some of Clogg's creatures spotted the activity by the longboats.

They unsheathed their weapons and dashed forward to protect their boats. Two rats went down under the hefty digging claws of Grumm and a hearty wallop from a chunk of driftwood held by Rose. Brome began shoving the smallest of the boats out into the surf, and Grumm and Rose lent their weight to his efforts. Martin was holding on to one rat who was trying to stop the boat, while he held the head of another under the water. Felldoh had a stranglehold on Skalrag, whose sword belt had snapped; both sword and belt were lost somewhere in the shallows. The corsairs came charging in, yelling, surf splashing beneath their paws.

Rose leaned over the stern of the small boat, pulling Brome in while Grumm found the oars. She began shouting. "Martin! Felldoh! Over here, quickly!"

Thinking swiftly, Martin stunned a sea rat with a heavy blow.

Grabbing a half throttled Skalrag from Felldoh, he thrust the fox at the corsairs.

"Here, mates. One of Badrang's lot, tryin' to steal our boats!"

With a concerted howl of rage the corsairs threw themselves upon Skalrag and another rat Felldoh pushed towards them.

Martin nudged his friend, whispering urgently. "Quick, into the boat!"

Half wading, half swimming through the night dark waters, they made for the boat. Grumm and Brome held oars over the stern to them.

"Burr, 'asten, zurrs!"

As they grabbed the oars and began climbing aboard, the corsairs suddenly realized what was going on.

"Those ain't searats. Stop 'em!" the ferret called Boggs yelled hoarsely.

Martin scrambled into the boat, but Felldoh was having a hard time with his huge bushy tail weighed down by sea water. The rat called Growch floundered forward and seized the squirrel's footpaws. From the boat Martin managed to grab Felldoh by his other two paws, then another searat latched on to Felldoh's tail and a tug of war began.

Felldoh was stretched between water and boat, helpless, his mouth filled with salt water.

Rose leaned over the stern, wielding an oar.

Thonk! Boff!

She stunned the rats with two direct hits. Martin heaved mightily and Felldoh came tumbling into the boat.

While some of the corsairs held Skalrag and his platoon prisoner, the rest jumped into the boats and began rowing after the escapers.

"Row!" Martin cried out to his friends. "Paddle with your paws!

Anything! Hurry. They're coming after us!"

Grumm sat in the stern, not moving. Rose looked at him curiously.

"Come on, Grumm. Paddle, don't just sit there."

The mole shrugged unhappily. "Oi carn't move, mizzy. Iffen oi do, us'll sink. Oi be setten roight on a gurt 'ole in 'ee boat!"

The mole sat, completely soaked, blocking the hole as best he could, with water swilling around the bottom of the boat.

Brome started to laugh. Felldoh eyed him disapprovingly.

"I can't see much to laugh about, young un. It's not a very funny situation we're in."

Brome held his sides as he tried to paddle and stop laughing at the same time. "Whooheehee! I'm sorry, Felldoh, can't help it, heeheehee!

Oh dearie me! Look at those creatures, hahahahahaha!"

The two boats loaded with corsairs that were following were only going one way. Down!

Rose joined in with Brome's laughter. "Of course, that's what Badrang's creatures were doing, holing the boats after they'd set fire to the big ship. Lucky old us, we picked the one with the smallest hole in it!"

The corsairs' faces were a picture of abject misery as they baled furiously, while the boats filled up and sank beneath them. They floated about, treading water and watching the small craft, low in the water but going strong, head straight out to sea. A joyous shout rang out across the choppy night waves as the little boat pulled away.

"Freeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

9

Dawn brought with it a lull in the battle at Fortress Marshank. The weather was humid, and a heavy grey sky hung like a pall with greenish purple tinges out on the horizon. Badrang stood with Gurrad on the walltop, his battle weary horde ranged along the ramparts, dull eyed as they ate breakfast and catnapped at their positions. The Tyrant stoat noted with grim satisfaction that he had successfully defended Marshank against the corsair invasion. But Clogg was a resourceful enemy. What would his next move be?

Oily looking plumes of smoke rose into the still air from the cooking fires of the corsairs on the shore. The pirates were in surly mood. Not only had they failed to breach the gates of the fortress, but they had also suffered the indignity of having their ship gutted by fire and sunk. Cap'n Tramun Clogg and several of his messmates were holding an interrogation session behind a semicircular rocky outcrop close to the tideline.

The unfortunate Skalrag and six of his remaining archers were the prisoners they were questioning. They huddled together on the beach, cruelly bound paw and muzzle with tough dried kelp strands. Skalrag stifled a terrified whimper as he stared wide eyed at the ruthless faces of the searats and the vicious twinkle in the eyes of Clogg. The pirate stoat drew his cutlass, grinning evilly as he licked the blade and squinted along it towards the quaking fox.

"Harr, tell me, Skalrag, what would you do to anybeast who set fire to yore ship an' scuttled 'er?"

Skalrag's muzzle was tightly bound. The most he could manage was a strangled sob. Clogg swung the cutlass at the petrified fox's head. It clipped several whiskers and neatly severed the gag. Skalrag fainted clean away in a heap. The corsairs laughed uproariously as they doused him with sea water to bring him round.

Tramun Clogg put the point of his cutlass to Skalrag's nosetip. "I wouldn't chop yer 'ead off, bucko. Ho no, that'd be too quick fer the likes o' you. Avast, mates. Tell this scum wot we do t' ship burners an'

scuttlers."

The corsairs tickled Skalrag with their knifepoints as they told him.

"String 'im upside down in a crab pool!"

"Roast 'im o'er a slow fire!"

"Chop off 'is paws an' make 'im eat 'em!"

"Use 'im fer a batterin' ram agin the fortress gates!"

"Oh no, please, Cap'n," Skalrag wailed in despair. "Don't let them do it. I was only carrying out Badrang's orders!"

Clogg sat by the fox and stroked his head soothingly. "There there now, matey. Dry yore eyes an' don't blubber no more. Ole Tramun Clogg's got an 'eart soft as swans down. I won't let nobeast kill yer.

But 'earken now, y' must swear on yer oath that you'll do exactly as I tell yer."

Skalrag nodded vigorously. "I will, Cap'n, I will. I swear on my oath as a fox!"

Tramun chuckled as he patted the fox's cheek tenderly. "Of course yer will, matey, cos if yer don't, the things my crew threatened to do to yer would be as nothin' to wot I'd do when I caught up with ye. Lissen now, 'ere's wot you'll do ..."

"What about them?" Skalrag nodded towards his six bound comrades.

Tramun winked broadly. "Oh don't fret yore 'eart over that lot.

Worms like that'd be too much trouble as galley slaves. They'll be fishbait afore nightfall, mate."

Skalrag's former archers gave a muted moan of anguish.

The slave compound was a circular palisade of upright logs driven into the ground and bound together by ropes. It had a single gate, which was generally kept locked. Inside, the occupants shifted as best as they could for themselves. Most slept on their sack mattresses against the walls, some underneath a rough wooden awning that shaded part of the structure. At night the slaves were allowed a fire in the center of the dirt floor.

Keyla and the rest of the slaves had been on barricade duty all night, piling rubble and rocks against the gates to reinforce them against the battering ram. Now they sat locked inside the slave compound, relieved of quarry and field labors while Marshank was under siege.

Old Barkjon shook his head. "It's a bad business. If Badrang wins, we'll still be slaves here. However, if the victory goes to the corsairs, we'll all end up as galley slaves after we've been forced to refloat their vessel or build a new ship. Slavery is bad enough, but the life of a galley slave is worse than death."

Amid the troubled muttering that followed, Keyla came forward.

"That's the bad news, now here's some of the good. Before we were herded back in here at dawn, I checked the prison pit. There was nobeast inside. Martin, Felldoh and Brome have escaped they're free!"

Barkjon's chin quivered a little as he patted Keyla's paw. "That is good news indeed. My son Felldoh a free creature! He'll bring help to us, you'll see!"

"Aye and Martin too," Hillgorse the old hedgehog chimed in. "He's a tough one, that young mouse. He'll see that we get help of some sort!"

The slaves nodded agreement, one or two of them even emitting low cheers. Barkjon silenced them with a wave of his paw.

"Keyla, was there something else you wanted to say?" The young otter held a piece of sacking. It clinked as he strode about speaking in a low clear voice.

"All very good, but what are we doing to help ourselves? It's no use just sitting here on our tails making fine speeches and waiting for others to do something. Look!"

He flung the sacking open and weapons clattered to the ground.

"Three knives, a spearhead and four slings. I collected them from dead vermin while we were working through the battle last night. There's a start to our armory."

Purslane, a mother mouse, stepped forward carrying her infant. She took an axehead and a broken sword blade from inside the little one's shawl and added them to Keyla's weapons.

"I managed to get these. It's not much but it's a start." Others started to come forward and add their contributions.

"This dagger's got no handle, but it's sharp." "Here's the top from a long pike. It only needs a pole." "I got a whip and these two arrows.

The bow was too big to carry."

"Pouchful of slingstones, a sling and this iron hook." A hedgehog, little more than a baby, tottered out and threw his offering on the small pile of armaments. "Dagga an' stones to fro'!"

The otter called Tullgrew began gathering them up. "Well done.

We'd best hide these until the right time comes along. I'll bury them in the earth underneath my pallet."

Hillgorse nodded approvingly. "Good work. Remember now, stick together, help each other, steal anything

you can from Badrang's creatures. Each day, my friends, we will become stronger, more determined. Only our bodies are held in slavery. Our minds and hearts are free."

The meeting ended, Tullgrew began burying the weapons. Druwp the bankvole pretended to be sleeping, but he was noting through half closed eyes the spot where Tullgrew was digging.

Slavebeasts snuffled and moaned in their slumbers. The fire burned low in the crowded compound, and stars in the soft dark sky looked down on the misery of the wretched creatures below as they slept, all save two.

Keyla was still watching Druwp!

Dawn light found the small boat had been carried far out by the ebbing tide. It bobbed about on the heaving grey waves like a leaf in a storm. Felldoh, Martin and Brome baled with paws and oarblades, trying to splash the water over the sides. They were fighting a losing battle. Rose stood in the stern, straining her eyes for a sight of land.

All she could see were mountainous grey green waves wherever she looked. Grumm sat miserably, blocking the leak with his bottom, baling with his little ladle as the boat settled ever lower in the water.

"Burr, oi can't swim. Et be a shame t' finish up drownded."

Something struck the side of the boat, causing the timbers to creak.

Brome looked up from his baling.

"I hope that was a rock or something floating by. I'd hate to think it was a big fish!"

Rose peered down into the water. Her eyes went wide with shock.

She looked up, pretending to scan the horizon.

Her brother shook his head. "C'mon, Rosie, you can't fool me. I saw you gaping into the water. What's down there?

"It's a big fish!" Rose's voice was little more than a whisper.

They stopped baling. Felldoh chuckled halfheartedly, "Big enough for us to catch and eat?"

Rose shook her head. "The other way round, friend. It's big enough to catch and eat us!"

There was another thump against the boat's side. Grumm sat tight, staring uncomfortably at the sky.

"Burr, oi 'ates t' think o'moi pore bottom a poken through 'ee bowt wi' a gurt fisher swimmen under oi."

The fish struck again!

This time it fractured the planking, and sea water squirted in as the boat settled lower.

Martin grabbed an oar. "This will make a good float, Felldoh. You and Brome hang on to that other oar. I'll take this one with Rose and Grumm. If we get separated, we'll meet up at Noonvale. Look out, here we go!"

The boat filled up, sea water rushing in over the sides as it dropped from beneath them, plummeting into the depths below. In an instant they were all in the sea, struggling and kicking out as they held on to the oars. Submerging his head, Martin gazed down into the depths. He could dimly make out the gigantic shape of some deep sea fish as it chased the sinking craft into the greeny depths. As he pulled his head from the waters, Rose was shouting. "Brome, Felldoh, over here. Can you reach us?"

The young mouse and the squirrel were being swept away on the crest of a big roller, while Martin's oar was being pushed under, weighted as it was by three creatures. Instantly, Martin released his hold on the oar. It bobbed up and began travelling away from him on the waves, and he struck out after it. Rose paddled madly, turning the oar so it would drift nearer to Martin.

Grumm helped as much as he could, calling out, "Marthen, swim o'er 'ere. See iffen you'm can catch a hold o' moi paw!"

Painfully Martin came fractionally nearer his friends on the oar.

Rose kicked back with all her might to hold the oar from being swept off, and Grumm stretched himself full length in the water.

The sun began breaking through the windswept grey cloud masses, bringing with it a heavy summer rain slashing and hammering on to the face of the deeps. Half blinded and spitting sea water, Martin felt his outstretched paw come in contact with Grumm's footpaw. He clung on furiously for dear life as Rose cried out, "Hang there, Martin. Just tread water. It'll relieve the weight on this paddle. When I'm tired I'll change places with you."

Rose kicked out with the waves, sending the oar skimming along through the rain washed sea.

Felldoh had his mouth open to the sky, trying to drink in some rainwater. Brome had heaved himself up on the oar. Anxiously he scanned the sunny stormswept wastes.

"There's no sign of 'em. The waves are too high!"

Before Felldoh had a chance to reply, the water beneath them heaved and they were both lifted high into the air. The big fish had hauled the sinking boat around like an empty peapod. It had found something to play with! Its huge body buffeted and banged the boat about.

Felldoh was still holding on to the oar as the fish temporarily lost interest in the boat and charged at the oar. The squirrel saw the wide mouth gaping through the water. Rows of pointed white teeth and a cavernous pink interior whooshed through the sea towards him.

Felldoh let go of the oar and submerged. He felt a thump on his back as the giant creature seized the oar and made off with it, frolicking and leaping, sometimes half its own length above the surface. Suddenly it dived and was gone.

The hull of the upturned boat struck his head as Brome leaned over and seized his ears. "Gotcha, matey!"

Scrambling and kicking, Felldoh managed to haul himself on to the upturned keel, where Brome was clinging with all paws.

"Whew! That was a close call. Still, fair exchange is no robbery. The fish can have the oar, we'll keep the boat."

Felldoh wiped dashing rain from his eyes. "Let's hope that monster doesn't feel playful again and come back for the boat after he's chewed our oar up. Hang on to my tail and steady me, young un. I'm going to take a look around for the others."

With Brome clinging to his tail, Felldoh stood gingerly and surveyed the stormy scene. Sunlight shafted down through the cloud masses, which were showing areas of bright blue sky between them.

The wind whipped the wavetops into white foam, sending massive rollers combing across the main.

"Any sign of 'em?"

Felldoh shaded his eyes from the rain with a paw.

"Not a glimpse, but there's a dark splotch on the horizon that must mean land. It must be floodtide we're headed straight for it."

Brome was not sure whether it was rain or tears in his eyes. "Thank the seasons for that! I wouldn't become a seafarer at any price. Leave the water to the fishes, I say."

The morning wore on, but the rain showed no signs of abating.

Grumm clung to the oar, half asleep, with Rose hanging on to his footpaw. Martin paddled doggedly on, pushing the oar in front of him, his body numbed from the cold of the sea and the driving rain. The sun was now coloring the sea in glorious tints. Rose stared at it through salt rimmed eyes, lost in its beauty for a moment until Martin's voice cut into her reverie. "The sun sets in the west, doesn't it?" Rose nodded. "Hmm, suppose it does." Martin's voice became suddenly hoarse with excitement. "This is the Eastern sea. If it were morning the sun would rise on its horizon. Don't you see what that means, Rose?"

"I'm too tired to work it out, Martin. Tell me what it means."

"It means that we have to face inland to see the sun in the afternoon. So if we can see the sun in front of us now, we are travelling towards land!"

Rose came fully awake, hauling herself up on Grumm's back she gave a loud yell.

"Land!"

It was still distant, but it was definitely land. Dark cliffs showed against the sky. She patted her mole friend's wet back heartily.

"Land, Grumm! It's land ahead!"

"Oi woant berleev et until these yurr diggen claws c'n scrape it, mizzy, an' then iffen et be so, thiz yurr beast woant never even be caught drinken water agin, never moind a swimmen in et."

Martin found renewed strength and kicked out harder towards firm ground.

10

Hisk the weasel Captain watched the bankvole rummaging about near Badrang's longhouse. Sneaking silently up, he pressed a dagger against the unsuspecting creature's back.

"Be very still or you're a deadbeast!"

Druwp did not move, nor did he show any surprise. "My name is Druwp. Kill me and you'll answer to Skalrag. I'm his spy."

Hisk moved the dagger point up to Druwp's neck. "You're lying. I think I'll kill you anyway"

"Do as you please, Captain," Druwp shrugged. "But I have valuable information."

"Like what, for instance?" Hisk curled his lip contemptuously.

"Like the three prisoners in your pit, for instance. They're not there any more. They've escaped."

Hisk spun Druwp around to face him. "You're lying. Nobeast could escape the prison pit!"

Druwp let a sly smile cross his lips. "Then go and see for yourself. If I'm lying, you can always kill me later. I'm not going anywhere."

Hisk grabbed Druwp by the neckfur and held the knife to his throat.

"Then I'll go and see for myself. If you're lying, I'll come back and kill you. Skalrag won't save you or didn't you know, he's been missing since last night."

Badrang was on the walltop when Hisk sidled up and whispered in the Tyrant's ear, "The three beasts we had in the prison pit are gone."

Badrang narrowed his eyes. "Gone? What d'you mean? They've died or been killed?"

"No, Sire, they've escaped."

"Rubbish, nobeast escapes my prison pit."

"That's what I thought, Sire, but they're gone sure enough. I went down and checked myself. The strange thing is that there's no sign of escape. The grating was locked tight and the pit was secure."

"How did you find out they were gone?"

"A bankvole slave, name of Druwp, told me. Said he was Skalrag's spy."

Badrang toyed with a lethal looking dagger, tapping it against his teeth. "Hmm, he may be useful to us. Have him brought to my longhouse tomorrow. Make sure none of the other slaves know."

A cry rang up from the shore. "Badrang, ole messmate! Sing out,

'ave you 'ad enough?"

"Is that you, Clogg, me 'earty?" The Tyrant smiled thinly as he slipped back into the old corsair language. "I'm the one should be askin' you that question. I've burned yer ship, stoved in yer boats an'

left you with nought but the sea behind yer and me wid me fortress an'

me horde in front of yer. What d'ye say t' that?"

Cap'n Clogg's irrepressible laughter rang out of the darkness.

"Haharr harr! But yer a few beasts short. My bullies slew a good number o' yours, an' I've got yer ole messmate Skalrag, trussed up like a fowl ready fer the pot. Oh, and some of yer darlin' liddle slaves 'ave escaped. Did ye know that?"

Badrang tapped the dagger against his teeth before he replied. "Out wid it, Tramun. Wot d'ye want?"

"A truce an' a parley wid me ole one time shipmate."

"Oho, there's a change of tune for yer. Why should I parley wid the likes of you, yer great plaited seaswab?"

"Cos iffen yer don't, I'll lay long siege to yer great palace. It don't cost nothin' to camp right 'ere on yer doorstep an' fish yer waters, an'

plunder yer fields. Me an' my buckoes ain't goin' noplace. I could keep a war goin' until yore dim in the eye, long in the seasons an' white in the beard. Then you won't get no fancy empire built, an' sooner or later yer horde'll starve. So be a good cove an' parley wid me."

Badrang considered the offer for a moment. "Give me until mornin'

to think about it, Tramun. Meanwhiles, 'ow about you returnin'

Skalrag as a sign o' good faith?"

"Haharrharrharr! You allus was a canny one, matey. So be it, then.

Open yer gates an' we'll let the fox go."

Now it was Badrang's turn to chuckle. "The gates stays shut an'

locked. You ain't goin' to get 'em open with a batterin' ram or a fox.

I'll 'ave some o' my beasts let down a basket on a rope, and we'll hoist Skalrag in wid that."

"Hoho, ain't you the suspicious one, an' me comin' 'ere in all good faith. Righto mate, we'll play yer liddle game. Boggs, Growch! Loose the fox an' point 'im 'ome wards. Good night to ye, Badrang, an' may the sunny seasons hover round yer bunk."

Badrang sheathed his dagger. "An' good night to you, Tramun. May the gentle breezes allus fill yer sails wid the scent of southern roses."

An hour later, Badrang had Skalrag on the torture rack extracting information from him.

Brome and Felldoh got on all fours and kissed the damp sands several times. It was sweet to be on land, whether damp or dry.

The squirrel took stock of their position. "I know exactly where we are, Brome. You see all this charcoal on the tideline?"

Brome's paws crunched on the stuff as he bent in the darkness and picked up a piece.

"Hmm, it's burnt wood, half waterlogged. Wonder where it's from?"

Felldoh pointed out into the bay. "Right there, mate, where the corsair ship burned and sank. Over yon hills lies Fortress Marshank, so we'd best go quietly."

Brome grasped Felldoh's paw firmly. "Where you go I go, mate. By the way, where are we going?"

"To Noonvale, eventually. But first we must look for our friends.

We'll find somewhere to hide up for a bit and dry out. Then we'll see if we can lay our paws on some food. We can't do a thing until it's light, except rest and eat."

They walked south across the beach, towards the cliffs. Brome chattered incessantly.

"Rest and eat, that sounds like a good idea. I'll bet an acorn to an eggshell that's exactly what Rose and Martin are doing right now, lying back and feeding their faces. Grumm'll be doing the cooking.

Next to my mama, he's the best cook in Noonvale, once he starts stirring stew or soup with that little ladle he always carries. Mmmm!

It smells so good. Why, I'll even bet that he's found so "

"Hush, Brome. What's that sound?"

The squirrel had clamped a swift paw across his garrulous young friend's mouth. Both creatures stood stock still, listening. The sound carried on the night breeze. Instruments were playing and somebeast was singing. Brome pointed to a faint glow emanating from a crevice in the cliff face. When they were closer, the friends both bellied down and crawled the rest of the way cautiously.

It was a type of lean to tent, erected between a two wheeled wagon and some rocks. A fire glimmered, throwing the creatures inside into grotesque silhouetted shadows against the canvas. Brome and Felldoh lay in the darkness listening to the song.

"Oh, we're the Rambling Rosehip Players, And we please both old and young.

O'er field serene and forest green

Our praises have been sung.

We're the Rambling Rosehip Players,

And we'll take on any part,

Bring a tear to your eye to make you cry

Or joy to the saddest heart.

Though the road be tough and the patch run rough And weather be cold or grey,

With a smile and a song we'll travel along

On our Rambling Rosehip way. Hey!"

A heavy voice boomed out as the song finished "No, no! Ballaw, you're supposed to catch Celandine as the last line is sung. You did it far too early and she wasn't there to take the fan from Gauchee. It's not good enough. Let's try it again from the beginning. One, two, Ooooh, we're the Ram... Ballaw! Will you stop eating that pastie and take up your position. Here, give me that confounded thing. You've had quite enough!"

A half eaten mushroom pastie was flung from the lean to and struck Felldoh squarely between his ears. The pastie was followed by a hare, who dived on it, jumping on Felldoh's head in the process.

"Bad form that, chuckin' a chap's supper about, Rowan. Hey there!

There's a bally squirrel here, tryin' to use me pastie as a hat!"

Confusion followed. Brome leaped on the hare, trying to wrest him off Felldoh. The squirrel was hanging gamely on to the hare's whiskers, trying to avoid the long flailing legs. Mice, a mole and two squirrels came pouring out of the lean to, tripping and falling into the confusion of paws, legs, ears and tails. Pandemonium reigned as the jumble of creatures squeaked, grunted and howled. Felldoh was a seasoned fighter. Scrambling from under the others, he climbed to the top of the

heap, about to set his teeth into the tail of whoever was headlocking Brome.

"Here, what's all this about? Come out of it this instant!" Felldoh was swung aloft by a massive paw to find himself staring into the stern dark eyes of a big old female badger. She growled fiercely at him.

"Clamp those lips and put those teeth out of sight, otherwise I'll do a bit of biting and I've got bigger teeth than you!"

With her other paw, the badger cuffed out, sending creatures rolling this way and that. Catching sight of Brome, she hoisted him high off the ground in her other paw and shook him.

"Behave yourself, you little wretch! What's your names, both of you, and what're you doing hanging around our camp?"

Felldoh reached between his ears. Disentangling a bit of pastie, he tasted it and nodded approvingly. "Hmm, mushroom pastie. Wait, don't tell me, it's been fried with spring onion gravy. Very nice!"

The hare picked up the remains of the pastie from the ground.

Wiping it off, he ate it, speaking through mouthfuls.

"If y' wanted some of our tucker, old lad, you should knock on the wagon an' ask politely, wot? 'Stead of sneakin' round."

Brome waggled his paws indignantly from his position in the air.

"We weren't sneaking around, we saw your firelight and heard you singing so we came over to investigate. Oh, by the way, I'm Brome, only son of Urran Voh, and this is Felldoh, late of Marshank. Hello!"

The badger set them gently down as the hare made a very elegant leg. "Pleased t' meetcher, I'm sure. Allow me to introduce us. We, sirs, are the Rambling Rosehip Players. I am Ballaw De Quincewold, actor and tragedian. My large friend here is Rowanoak. She is our cart puller, props mistress and principal baritoness. The two young squirrelmaids there are Trefoil and Celandine, soubrettes, sopranos and acrobats. The mole Buckler is our juvenile lead, comedian and catcher. The two mousemaids, Gauchee and Kastern, are balancers, chorus and general company cooks. There you have it, m' friends. Er, would you like supper?"

Brome pulled at his slack belt. "Indeed we would, sir. My backbone was just talking to my stomach about food. They tend to stick together when I'm hungry."

The hare nodded admiringly, his floppy ears waving to and fro.

"Well said, young feller. A creature of infinite jest, wot?"

Inside the lean to it was snug and warm after the stiff night breeze on the shore. The Rambling Rosehip company were kindness itself to Felldoh and Brome. They were given cloths to dry off their sea damped fur as they sat round the fire sipping carrot and celery broth from scallop shells. Rowanoak brought out two tunics similar to the ones the rest of the Rosehips wore, quartered gold and crimson with a green border and black tie belt.

"Here, you'd best put these on, though I'll have to let yours out a touch when I have time, Felldoh. You're quite a sturdy sort for a squirrel."

Celandine stroked Felldoh's strong bushy tail. "Hmm, I'll say you are!"

Felldoh coughed nervously and accepted a hot mushroom pastie from Buckler. The friendly mole passed Brome a sizeable wedge of pie.

"Yurr, maister. 'Unny an' blackb'rry. Speck you loik summat sweet."

The young mouse took a bite and rolled his eyes. "Mmm, do I ever.

Sweet things are good for the voice, you know."

Gauchee was nibbling an apple and a carrot together. "Are they? I never knew that. I only eat apple 'n' carrot myself. Do you sing much, Brome?"

Without warning, Brome let forth a swift yodel with his piercing tenor voice. "Tralalalalalalarrr! Do I indeed! Try and stop me, Gauchee."

Ballaw picked up a small harecordion and tuned it. "Good f you, young feller. D'you know the Bobble O riddle song?"

Brome winked. "You play it and I'll sing it." Ballaw played the introduction and Brome began singing, with Rowanoak providing a fine baritone harmony line. It was so catchy that the entire company, even Felldoh, clapped their paws in time with the lively melody.

"Bobble O Bobble O Bobble O,

If you know, tell me where I do grow.

High above the lowly earth,

And yet I flourish for all I'm worth.

Bobble O Bobble O Bobble O,

Tell me now if you think you know.

I hang between the earth and sky,

Green or brown as the seasons pass by