by sunset today, take your army with you, go where you will, but stay clear of
Mossflower and do not try to harm any woodlander."
Tsarmina glanced over her shoulder; she could see the archers standing ready
inside the doorway.
"If I do as you say, what then?"
"You will be allowed to leave in peace and none of your creatures will be
harmed. You have my word as a warrior."
Tsarmina shrugged. She held her paws open wide. "What happens if I choose not
to leave?" she asked.
Martin's tone was like Boar's hammer striking the anvil. "You will die here,
you and all your vermin. I will bring this evil place down on your heads.
Again you have my word as a warrior."
Tsarmina remained silent for a moment, as if considering both offers. When she
spoke again her voice was flat and dangerous. "Big words for a little mouse. I
will make no promises save one: you will all be slain where you stand."
At her signal a score of archers leaped forth, ready to fire.
She folded her paws, smiling sarcastically. "What do you say to that, little
warrior?"
Martin stood like a rock, showing no trace of fear. "Then we will stand here
and be killed by your arrows. But look behind me at the trees and on your
outer wall. Every woodlander who can draw bowstring or throw javelin is aiming
straight for your treacherous heart. You would not get a paw's length before
you were sent to the gates of Dark Forest. So carry on, cat. Tell your archers
to fire. We will die so that Mossflower can be rid of you."
Tsarmina's eyes shifted, dodging back and forth. Otters, mice, squirrels,
hedgehogs, even hares—there seemed to be as many of them as leaves in an
autumn gale. Each with a weapon trained on her, every face grim with
determination.
"Down bows!" she called to her archers in an urgent hiss.
The soldiers pointed their bows to the ground, allowing the strings to slacken
off.
The Corim leaders began walking backward out of the gateway.
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Tsarmina extended a quivering claw. "This isn't where it finishes," she
threatened, her voice shrill with rage. "Oh no, this is only the start."
Martin's response rang back at her. "Until sunset tonight. We will wait
outside for your answer."
Brogg popped his head out. "Don't forget to close the gates after you,
huhuhuh!"
As the gates closed, Bella's voice was loud and clear. "These gates are being
shut, not to stop us getting in, but to keep you from getting out."
Tsarmina dashed inside. "Get those nets and ropes out of my way. I want
everybody up to the top of Kotir, the very top. Hurry!" she urged.
Gonff stood in the shadow of a sycamore with Martin.
"Well, matey, it's done now. We're all in it, win or lose. No second chances.
You heard the cat—this is only the start."
"She's planning something, Martin," Lady Amber said from up in the branches.
"It's gone too quiet in there for my liking."
Martin looked up. "Mine, too. Tell the leaders to draw their companies back
under cover. Let us wait and see what move she'll make."
Whispered orders went out, and the woodlanders moved back, blending into the
green shade and mottled shadow. The outside wall was deserted; not a whisker,
paw or weapon showed anywhere. Eerie silence fell upon the soft morning
warmth, broken only by a faint rustle of breeze through the treetops.
Filing silently up a wooden loft staircase, Tsarmina led her forces out onto
the flat, square, battlemented roof of Kotir. Signaling them to lie low, she
peered over the top of the wall.
"Quietly now. Archers come forward. Keep your heads down and station
yourselves around these battlements. Be ready to fire at my command."
The archers deployed stealthily. They lay waiting.
Tsarmina nodded to them.
"Fire!"
A deadly hail of arrows flew earthward. She watched as they vanished into the
treetop foliage. There were no screams or cries from below; silence reigned.
"Fire again!"
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A second volley of shafts plunged down into the green fastness. Still nothing.
Further back in the woodland. Skipper munched an oatcake. "I wonder if the
cat's allowing her troops an early snack?**
Timballisto polished an apple on his fur. "Shouldn't think so. Look at those
arrows peppering the trees where we stood a moment ago."
The woodlanders sat eating, watching scores of arrows striking the branches
and soft earth, just out of range of where they sat. A Loamhedge mouse was
snaring a bowl of milk with Gonff.
"Shouldn't we be firing a few arrows back, sir?" he asked boldly.
"No, matey. Waste of time. Too high. Besides, we'd give our position away to
diem. Let 'em waste more shafts awhile yet."
"Unless we could get high up in those trees on the north side/' Barklad said
as he nibbled a stick of celery.
"Could you hit them from there?"
"What! Good squirrel archers! Of course we could, Martin."
The warrior mouse pondered. "Hmm, possible I suppose. But we'd need something
to decoy them into concentrating their fire over this way. Any ideas, Amber?"
Tsarmina waved her paw for the archers to cease fire. Some of them did not see
her and kept shooting.
"Stop, that's enough, fools," she shrieked. "Can't you see they're not there!"
The arrows stopped. A fox called Bentbrush turned to his companion, a rat
named Whegg.
"Bane would have thought of something to weed 'em out," he said nostalgically.
"Like what, for instance?"
"Well, like, er. I don't know. But he'd have thought of something."
"If he was so smart, why is he so dead now? Look, the bushes are moving down
there!"
Tsarmina was alongside the rat in a flash. "Where? Show me!" she demanded
eagerly.
"Down there, right by where we were shooting."
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The fringe bushes at the wood's edge were indeed shaking and rustling.
Tsarmina smiled with satisfaction. "So, we weren't just wasting arrows; some
of them are hit. Over here, you lot. Give those bushes a good raking with
arrows. I don't want anything left alive down there. Ready, fire!"
The shafts went through the bushes like a shower of rain.
Lady Amber climbed high in an elm until she glimpsed the back of the soldiers
over the battlements. Notching an arrow to her bowstring, she murmured to the
twelve stout squirrels who were following her example, "Three shots, quick as
you like, then away from here."
The shafts flew straight and true, striking the huddled group who were firing
upon the bushes. Tsarmina was saved by the body of Bentbrush, who fell across
her, two arrows protruding from his back. There was nowhere to run on the open
roof, and a score of soldiers were struck by arrows.
Before they could recover and retaliate, the squirrels had gone.
Log-a-Log and Foremole sat some distance from the bushes. Well hidden, they
tugged vigorously at lengths of rope that were attached to bush and branch.
"Yurr, 'ow long do us'ns keep a-tuggen 'ee ropes?"
"Take a rest now, Foremole. They've stopped firing."
Lady Amber and her squirrels swung in from the high branches.
"Good decoy, Martin," she congratulated him. "We gave them something they
won't forget in a hurry. Nearly got the cat, but a fox fell across her."
"Yes, a clever strategy, but you must keep on trying to think one jump ahead
of Tsarmina. She'll come back at you with something else, if I know anything
of warfare. That cat is as cunning as any sea rat, you'll see," Log-a-Log
warned.