and began striking the place Diggum had indicated. Diggum placed an ear against the ground, directly below where
she was hitting, and listened carefully, ignoring the wind and the wet grass. When he had heard enough, the Foremole
signaled Truggle to stop and straightened up.
Drubb blinked earnestly at Diggum. “Boi ’okey, gaffer, oi can tell by ee face you’m founded summat.”
Foremole Diggum took a twig and stuck it into the ground on the place where his ear had been.
“Ho oi found summat sure enuff, doant know ’ow oi missed et afore. Wot caused ee wall to sink’n’wobble? Ee
answer’s daown thurr, ’tis a cave or may’ap summ sort o’ chamber!”
Bunto shook his Foremole by the paw. “Hurr! Oi knowed ee’d foind ee answer. Wot now, Diggum, zurr?”
Foremole Diggum’s homely face wrinkled into a cheery smile. “Us’n’s got some diggin’ t’do!”
Five sets of digging claws met over the twig.
“Who’m dig deep’n’make best ’oles? Only us’n’s, we be moles!”
15
Lugworm had done his work well. The two rat sentries guarding Damug Warfang’s shelter of brush and canvas sat
upright with four empty grog flasks between them. The crafty stoat had known that the strong drink would be
irresistible to beasts standing guard through die cold lonely night hours. Lugworm watched them from his hiding place
until he was sure the pair were sleeping soundly. Slipping away he found Borumm and Vendace waiting at the place
he had arranged to meet them.
Borumm drew his curved dagger, impatient to go about his business. “Everythin’ ready, mate, coast clear?”
Lugworm nodded fearfully, wishing he had never been drawn into the conspiracy to slay the Firstblade. “Aye, ’tis
ready, but go carefully, Damug’s a light sleeper.”
Vendace drew his blade, suppressing a snigger. “Light sleeper, eh? Well ’e won’t be after tonight!”
Lugworm edged away from the would-be assassins nervously. “There, I’ve done me bit, the rest’s up to youse two.
But remember, if yer fail an’ get caught, then not a word about me!”
Borumm the weasel kicked out, sending Lugworm sprawling.
Vendace stood over him, snarling scornfully. “Garn, git outta my sight, stoat, yore in this up to yer slimy neck. The
only consolation you’ve got is that we don’t intend ter fail, or git caught. Now beat it an’ keep yer gob shut!”
As Lugworm scrambled away whimpering, the fox winked at his cohort. “We’ll deal wid him tomorrer, no use
teavin’ loose ends lyin’ about. If Lugworm can betray Damug ’e’d do the same fer us someday. Come on, let’s pay the
Firstblade a liddle visit.”
Damug perched in the branches of the ash Uvc near his shelter, the rat Gribble crouching by his side. Together they
watched the weasel and the fox as, daggers drawn, the pan-slid by the two sleeping sentries, silent as night shadows.
The Greatrat waited a moment, until he heard blades grating against the sack of stones he’d wrapped in his cloak and
laid by the fire. Then he nodded to Gribble.
The rat blew two sharp blasts upon a bone whistle.
Pheep! Pheep!
Ten heavily armed Rapmark officers broke cover, rushed in, and surrounded Borumm and Vendace.
16?
It was fine and sunny next morning, a perfect spring day. Da-mug allowed Gribble to dress him in his splendid
armor; choosing a cloak that did not have dagger slits in it, draped it loosely across one shoulder, and strolled out to
the woodland’s edge. The entire Rapscallion army was marshaled there, awaiting him, each beast fully armed and
ready to march, their faces painted bright red. The face paint served a double purpose: it instilled fear into those they
chose to attack, and marked them so they would not strike one another down in the heat of battle. Damug took up
position on a knoll where he could be seen and heard. Whipping out the sword that was his symbol of office, he
shouted, “Rapscallions! Are you well rested and well fed?”
A roar of assent greeted him. “Aye, Lord, aye!” He smiled approvingly. Now his horde looked like true
Rapscallions. They bore little resemblance to the cringing vermin who had wintered on the cold shores after their
defeat at Sal-amandastron.
Damug yelled another question at them. “And are you ready to conquer and slay with me as your Firstblade?”
Again the wild roars of agreement echoed in his ears. He waited until they died down before saying, “Bring out the
prisoners!”
Over a single drumbeat the rattle of chains could be heard. Covered in wounds from the beatings they had
received, three pitiful figures, chained together at neck and paw, were led forward. It was Borumm, Vendace, and
Lugworm, stumbling painfully against one another as they staggered to stay upright. Spearbutts knocked them down
on all fours in front of Damug, and the vast crowd of Rapscallions pressed forward to hear Damug’s pronouncement.
“Let these three wretches serve as a lesson to anybeast who thinks Damug Warfang is a fool. They are cowards and
traitors, but I am not going to order them slain. No! I will give them a chance to show us all that they are warriors. At
the first opportunity of battle, these three will lead the charge, their only weapons being the chains they wear. Those
chains will stay on them, binding them together until death releases them. They will march, eat, and sleep all their lives
in chains. Let nobeast feed them or comfort them in any way. I am Firstblade of all Rapscallions. I have spoken!”
The three prisoners were made to kneel facing Damug and thank him for sparing their lives. When they had
finished he swept contemptuously by them. Waving his sword at two random vermin, he rapped out, “You there, and
you, come here!”
Sneeze wort nudged his companion Lousewort. “Git up there, thick’ead, Lord Damug pointed at you, not me!”
Lousewort approached the knoll where Damug stood. Sneezewort breathed a sigh of relief: whatever it was, Louse-
wort would be on the receiving end. The other beast Damug had indicated strode up before him. It was the big nasty
weasel.
The unpredictable Warlord circled them both. “Give me your names!”
“Hogspit, they calls me Hogspit, Sire.”
“Er, er, I’m Lousewort, yore Lordness!”
Damug leaned on his sword and stared at them closely. “Lousewort and Hogspit, eh! And are you both
Rapscallions, true and loyal to your Firstblade?”
Both heads bobbed dutifully. “Aye, Sire!”
Damug laughed aloud and clapped their shoulders with his mailed paw. “Good! Then I promote you both to the
rank of Rapscour. You two will take the places of Borumm and Vendace, with twoscore each to command. Take your
scouts and go now, travel due north, and report back to me every two days on what lies ahead.”
Sneezewort was livid. He followed his companion, arguing and shouting at him, “Lord Damug never pointed at
you, ’e pointed at me, I’d swear ’e did. Wot would die Firstblade want wid a fleabrain like you as a Rapscour officer?”
Lousewort drew himself up importantly. “Er, er, less o’ that, mate, I ain’t no fleabrain, I’m a Rapscour now. So
don’t go tellin’ me no more of yer fibs. Lord Damug pointed t’me, you said so yerself, huh, you even
shoved me
forward!”
Sneezewort was hopping with rage. He ran at Lousewort, shrieking, “I’ll shove yer forward an’ sideways an’
back’ards as well, y’great lump o’ lard-bottomed crabmeat!”
But Lousewort was a bit too large and solid to shove. He stood firm, shaking a cautionary paw at his friend. “Er,
er, stop that, you, y’can’t shove me, I’m an officer now!”
Sneezewort advanced on him, sneering ominously. “So I— can’t shove yer, eh? Who’s gonna stop me,
Scrawfonk?”
Lousewort grabbed hold of Sneezewort and held him firmly. “Ooh, you shouldn’t a called me that, that’s a bad
name to call anybeast! Er, er, I know who’ll stop yer, my brother officer. Hoi, Hogspit, there’s a low common pawrat
’ere, callin’ an officer naughty names an’ shovin”im too.”
The big nasty weasel strode aggressively up and punched Sneezewort hard in the stomach. “Lissen, popguts, don’t
let me ever catch you givin’ cheek to a Rapscour. An’ you, blam-, erbonce, don’t let ’im shove yer, see!” I Grabbing
them both by the ears, Hogspit banged their heads I—together resoundingly. He strode off, leaving them both rue-T
fully rubbing their skulls.
Lousewort looked at Sneezewort dazedly. “Er, er, let that be a lesson to yer, matey!” he muttered.
A short while after the Rapscours had left with their scouts, the great army got under way. Drums beating to the
pace of their march battered out at a ground-eating rate as the day advanced into warm sunny afternoon. Northward
the Rapscallion host tramped, dust rising in a cloud behind their banners and drums—only three days away from the
southernmost borders of Mossflower Country.