couple o’ sharp blades. Then we’ll be the Firstblades.”
Borumm closed his eyes longingly for a moment. “Hair, we’ll turn this lot right ’round an’ make fer the soft sunny
south coast an’ rule it like a pair o’ kings.”
Lugworm stumbled along behind the last column, clasping a damp strip of blanket to his bruised throat. Being a
First-blade’s counselor had its drawbacks. It would take him a day or two to get back into his Chief’s favor, and
meanwhile he decided to stay as far away from Damug as possible.
Lousewort and Sneezewort marched just ahead of him, being in the back five of the last contingent. Lousewort
caught sight of Lugworm and called back to him, “G’mornin’, Luggv’ w°t sorta mood’s the boss in t’day?”
Lugworm tried to speak, but could manage only a painful gurgle.
Sneezewort looked quizzically at Lousewort. “Wot did ’e say, mate?”
The stolid Lousewort shook his head. “Er, er, ’e jus’ said ‘Gloggte oggle ogg,’ or sumthin’, I dunno.”
Sneezewort prodded his mate. “‘Gloggle oggle ogg,’ eh? That’s wot you’d a bin sayin’ right now if’n you was
totin’ that stoopid big wheel along wid yer.”
The big nasty-looking weasel’s voice reached them from the rank marching in front. “Wot stoopid big wheel’s that
yer talkin’ about?”
“Oh, the one I chucked awa—Wot wheel are ye talkin’ about, comrade? I don’t know nothin’ about any wheel,
d’you, matey?”
Lousewort nodded obliviously. “Oh yep, you remember, Sneezy, my nice big wheel wot you throwed away.
Owow! Wot are ye kickin’ me for, mate?”
All morning the wind continued to blow, right until midnoon, when a drizzle started. Damug Warfang rapped out
commands to the drummers.
“Speed up that beat to double march, there’s a woodland up ahead.”
The two Rapscours and their scouts dashed ahead of the Rapscallions to reconnoiter the spot. It was a prime
campsite, with a small pond containing fish, and lots of fat woodpigeons roosting in the trees. By late noon the army
was completely sheltered from the weather: rocky ledges, heavy tree trunks, and overhead foliage sealed them off from
cold, wind-driven rain. A feeling of well-being pervaded the camp, now they were in a fresh location. This was luxury,
after an entire winter spent on the hostile and hungry southeast shore.
Borumm and Vendace were snugly settled in, having spread an old sail canvas over the low curving limb of a
buckthorn, with a rocky outcrop at their back. They sat cooking a quail over their campfire. Lugworm was with them,
hiding behind a flap of the overhanging canvas, glancing nervously around at the passing Rapscallions.
Borumm chuckled at the stoat’s apprehensive manner. Shoving him playfully, he said, “Wot’s the matter, matey?
You ain’t doin’ no ’arm jus’ sittin”ere sharin’ a bird with two ole pals.”
Lugworm averted his face as a Rapmark walked by. “What’d Damug say if’n somebeast told ’im I was sittin”ere
talkin’ wid you two?”
Vendace shrugged as he tended the roasting quail. “We won’t tell ’im if you don’t. Stop frettin’ an”ave some o’
this bird. AH you gotta do is tell us where ole Firstblade’H be sleepin’ tonight an’ how many guards’11 be around, an’
any-thin’ else y’think we should know. Leave the rest to us, matey.”
Borumm whetted a curved dagger against the rock. “Aye, by tomorrer it shouldn’t make any difference who saw
yer talkin’ to us. Damug won’t be around to throttle yer again, ’e’ll be searchin’ for ’is daddy in Dark Forest!”
Sneezewort had a good fire going. He stirred the half-burned wood hopefully, watching Lousewort returning from
the pond. He noticed that his companion looked very damp.
“Yore lookin’ a bit soggy, mate. Didyer catch anythin’?” he called.
Lousewort slumped by the fire, waving away the cloud of steam rising from his ragged garments. “Er, er, I nearly
did, but I got pushed inter the water.”
Sneezewort picked up a small log and brandished it angrily. “Pushed in? Huh, show me the slab-sided blackguard
wot pushed yer!”
“Er, er, it was that big nasty-lookin’ weasel.”
Sneezewort threw the log on the fire, sighing resignedly. “Ah well, that one’s got ’is lumps comin’ someday. So,
you didn’t bring any vittles back at all?”
Lousewort produced a pile of dripping pondweed. “Er, er, only this. May’aps we can make soup out of it.”
His companion turned up a lip in disgust. “Yurgh, dirty smelly stuff, chuck it away!”
Lousewort was about to carry out his friend’s order when his paw was stayed. Sneezewort stared unhappily at the
mess of dripping vegetation, shaking his head, and said, “Take my ole helmet an’ fill it wid water. Pondweed soup’s
better’n nothin’ when yer belly thinks yore throat’s cut!”
Damug belched loudly and settled back to suck upon the bones of the tench he had just devoured. From the shelter
of an ash nearby he heard his title whispered.
“Firstblade!”
The Greatrat lay still, lips hardly moving as he answered, “Gribble, is that you?”
From his hiding place, the rat Gribble called in a low voice, “Aye, ’tis me. Lugworm’s gone over to Borumm an’
Vendace. From wot I ’card they’ll make their move tonight, Chief.”
Damug Warfang smiled and closed his eyes. “Good work, Gribble. It always pays to have watchers watching
watchers. I’ll be ready. Go now, keep your eyes and ears open.”
12
Russa Nodrey added twigs to the fire embers, peering upward at statey skies that showed between treetops that
morning. “Hmm, doesn’t look too good out there t’day. No point in leaviiT camp awhile, those vermin’d probably
ambush us afore we got out o’ these trees.”
Tammo looked up from the beaker of hot mint tea he was sipping. “Y’mean the rotten oF vermin are hiding in
these woodlands? I thought you said they’d ambush us out on the flatland.”
The wily squirrel pointed a paw at the sky. “So they would if it were fine weather, but put y’self in their place,
mate. You wouldn’t stand out in the open soakin’ an’ freezin’, waitin’ fer us to come out of a nice dry camp like this.
No, if’n you’d any sense at all you’d get under cover, out of the weather. They’re probably creepin’ through the trees
toward us right now.”
The young hare dropped low, drawing his dirk. “Are you sure that’s what the rascals are up to?”
Russa added more wood to the fire. “Sure as fiddle apples, if I know anythin’ about vermin!”
Tammo was amazed at his companion’s calm manner. “Then what’re you standin’ there loadin’ more bally wood
on the fire for? Shouldn’t we be doin’ somethin’ about the situation?”
Russa hid the haversack away beneath some bushes, then rummaged about in her back pouch. She tossed Tammo a
sling and a bag of flat pebbles. “Here, I take it y’can use that.”
Tammo loaded a pebble into the tough sinewy weapon, and swung it. “Rather! I was the best slingshot chucker at
Camp Tussock!”
Russa twirled her hardwood stick expertly. “Right, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll take to the trees an’ pick ’em off as
you draw ’em out. Use the sling, leave yore blade where ’tis unless they get too close, then don’t fool about, use it fer
keeps. Move now, I c’n hear ’em comin’—sounds like there’s enough o’ the scum, We’ll have our work well cut out,
mate.”
Tammo heard a twig snap some distance away and heard a harsh cry.
“There’s one of ’em, come on!”