pull himself upright, Rinkul kicked him flat.
“Wot are you doin’ skulkin”round our camp, yer dirty ole bundle of smells? Well, speak up!”
Tammo shook his head wildly, pointing dumbly to his mouth.
One of Rinkul’s friends, a wily-looking vixen, snatched the dirk from Tammo’s rope belt and held it to the
firelight. “An ole slobberpaws like you shouldn’t be carryin’ a blade like this’n ’round. Bit o’ cleanin’ up an’ this’ll
make a fine weapon fer me.”
Suddenly Skaup was on the pair of mem, whacking both Rinkul and the vixen heftily with his spear haft. “Don’t
y’dare put a paw near Burfal again, either o’ ye!”
Tammo retrieved his dirk from where the vixen had dropped it, then he staggered off into the night as Skaup
continued beating Rinkul and the vixen.
“Owch! Yaagh! We was only ’avin’ a bit o’ fun. Yowch! Aargh!”
“Fun, was it? I’ll give ye fun! Firstblade’s orders is that nobeast is to bother ole Burfal. Either o’ ye lay paw on ’im
agin an’ Warfang’ll slay yer good’n’slow. See!”
Skaup thwacked away with the spearhaft until he decided they had been punished thoroughly.
Tammo was relieved to be away from the Rapscallion camp. It was calm and peaceful on the other side of the hill;
only the distant throb of drums on the night air reminded him of the vermin encampment. Suddenly a big dark figure
detached itself from a clump of boulders and waved to him.
“Sithee, Tamm, over here, mate!”
Good old Rockjaw Grang. They crouched together in the outcrop, and Rockjaw dug oat scones, cheese, and cider
from his sizeable pack. He shared the food with Tammo as the young hare made his report.
“Midge has got his jolly old paws well under the table there. Damug thinks he’s some kind o’ Seer. Any news of
the battleground yet, Rock?”
The giant hare demolished a scone in one bite. “Nay, ’tis too early yet. May’aps the Major’11 get word to me on
the morrow.”
Tammo squinted uncomfortably from beneath his odious rags. “Sooner the better, wot. I don’t want t’stay in that
foul place a moment longer’n I have to, chum.”
“Aye, well, that’s wot y’get for runnin’ with Long Patrol, young Tamm. You’d best finish up vittlin’ an’ get back
afore yore missed. I’ll be here tomorrow night, same place.”
39?
Midge knew he was playing a risky game. Damug was no fool. He sat staring at the disguised hare across a small
fire, which was laid in a pit at the center of his tent.
“Speak to me, Miggo, tell me something.”
Midge stared into the flames awhile, then he spoke: “I see a mountain and a badger Warrior with eyes like blood. I
see Gormad Tunn and a fleet defeated there.”
Damug Warfang rose and, reaching across the fire, seized Midge around the neck. Lifting him high, Damug shook
him like a rag. “Anybeast could have told you that, you sniveling wreck. Tell me of my future and tell me quickly,
before your future ebbs away as I strangle you!”
Fighting for breath and with colored lights dancing before his eyes, Midge Manycoats dangled above Damug’s
head. Grabbing what he needed from beneath his ragged garb, he planted the object, at the same time kicking out with
a footpaw and catching the Warlord in one eye.
Midge managed to shout hoarsely, “I see! I see your future!”
Damug dropped him, squinting hard, and pawed at his eye to make sure no damage had been done. Midge sat up,
massaging his throat. Damug was sitting in his former position, the eye watering and smarting slightly. He stared
unruffled at Midge, unwilling to let him see that fie had been hurt. “Well then, what do you see? Tell me.” Midge went
back to his former seat at the other side of the fire. Again he took out his pebbles and twigs, tossing them in the air and
watching how they fell. He spoke like one in a trance.
“Here are ten twigs, each of them represents one hundred Rapscallions; this means you command a thousand.
These stones are red, the color of blood, the color of a red sandstone Abbey. Only one stone can rule that place, that is
your stone, the brown one. Brown, the color of the earth and the symbol of the Firstblade who will conquer all the
earth.”
Midge closed his eyes and lapsed into silence. After a while, Damug became impatient, wanting to know more.
“Where is this brown stone? I see only twigs and red stones on the floor. Tell me quickly, Seer, where is the brown
stone?”
Reaching into his rags, Midge cast a pawful of powder into the fire. The flames gave forth smoke as they burned
blue.
“Aaaahh! Tis up to ye to find it, Firstblade. The stone cannot be found in yore heart. Allbeasts know that a
Warlord’s heart is made o’ stone, so how can a stone be found within a stone? But ’tis also known that you are wise—
mayhaps the stone is in yore brain. Can you look inside yore skull, Damug Warfang?”
Mystified, the Greatrat took off his helmet and placed it on the ground. He touched his own head, back, front, and
beside both ears, all the time glaring through the firesmoke at Midge. “Find a brown stone inside my own skull? Do
you take me for an idiot? Let me warn you, Miggo, if you think you’re going to pull something from my ear, I’ve seen
that done before—try it and you’re a deadbeast!”
Midge folded his paws, staring back at Damug. “I’ll sit over here, Sire. If I tried anythin’ you’d say it was a trick.
My voices tell me the brown stone is inside yore skull; more’n that I cannot say.”
Damug touched his head again, this time more carefullyrunning both paws along his jawline, around his eyes and
the base of his skull. Suddenly he jumped up angrily, shaking his head. “This is stupid! You talk in riddles. How could
there be a brown stone inside my skull? Rubbish!”
He kicked the war helmet to one side. From the mouth of the rabbit skull impaled on its spike, a brown stone rolled
forth.
Trying not to show his immense relief, Midge pointed. “See, the skull belongs t’you. Did I not say the brown stone
could be found inside yore skull?”
Midge Manycoats had guessed correctly. Damug Warfang was like any other conqueror, superstitious and ready to
believe in omens and signs.
Damug picked up the simple brown pebble and gazed in wonder at it. “You spoke truly, Miggo. You have the gift
of a Seer. What is my future? Tell me—I must know!”
Midge knew now that he had his fish well hooked. Closing his eyes, he sat back, remote and aloof. “I need food
and drink now, rest too. Have quarters prepared for me and my friend, Burfal the Silent One. Tomorrow we will talk.”
Rinkul the ferret was smarting from the beating he had received, but that did not stop him. He limped about the
Rapscallion camp, looking for the one called Burfal. There was something about the dumb creature that disturbed him.
Using the hardwood stick to aid his walking, he crisscrossed the hillside, checking the creatures around their
campfires. Maybe it was something in Burfal’s eyes, in the way he had looked at him.
“If yer after vittles, we ain’t got none ’ere, mate!”
Rinkul ignored Sneezewort and questioned Lousewort. “May’aps you’ve seen a raggy ole beast about, one o’ the
two who came inter camp earlier on? Did ’e pass this way?”
Lousewort sucked on a fishbone and thought for a moment. “Er, er, y’mean the Silent One? Stay away from ’im,
matey, Firstblade’s orders. Did you ’ear, Cap’n Skaup knocked die livin’ daylights out o’ a few smarty-chops that tried