reveal a highly polished breastplate of silver, a short kilt of snake-skin, and a belt fashioned from many small links of
beaten gold, set with twinkling gemstones. On his head he wore a burnished brass helmet surmounted by a spike, with
iron mesh hanging from it to protect his neck. The front dipped almost to his muzzle tip; it had two narrow eye slits.
Oily smoke swirled to the moonless skies as the lights of myriad dwellings going up in flames glimmered off the
armor of Damug Warfang, Firstblade. Roaring, drinking, singing, and eating their last supplies, the Rapscallion
regiments celebrated their final night on the southeast shores. They gambled and stole from one another, fought,
argued, and tore the waterlogged fleet apart in their search for any last bits of booty to be had.
Damug leaned on his sword, watching them. Beside him, Lugworm cooked a fish over glowing charcoal for his
Chief’s supper. He looked up at the Firstblade’s question.
“Are they all ready to follow and obey me, Lugworm?”
“Aye sirrah, they are.”
“All?”
“Save two, Chief. Borumm the weasel and Vendace the fox. Those two were allies of your brother, Byral, so watch
your back whilst they’re about.”
Smiling humorlessly, Damug patted his adviser’s head.
“Well answered, Lugworm. I already knew of Borumm and Vendace. Also I knew that you were aware of them, so
you have just saved your own life by not staying silent.”
Lugworm swallowed hard as he turned the fish over on the embers.
6?
Lousewort staggered up over the tide line under the weight of a large circular ship’s steering wheel. It was a great
heavy piece of work, solid oak, decorated with copper studding, now moldy and green.
Sneezewort stood tending their fire, over which he was roasting some old roots and the dried frame of a long-dead
seabird. He shook his head in despair. “Ahoy, puddenbum, where d’yer think yore goin’ wid that thing?”
Smiling happily, Lousewort stood the wheel on its edge. “Er, er, looka this, it’s a beauty, izzenit, mate? I’ll wager
’tis worth a lot, thing like this ....”
Sneezewort snorted at his slow-witted companion. “Oh, it’s a beauty, all right, and it will be worth somethin’.
After you’ve carried it back an’ forth across the country fer seven seasons an’ found a new ship to match up wirrit.
Great ole useless chunk o’ rubbish, wot do we need wid that thing? Get rid of it afore ye cripple yerself carryin’ it!”
He gave the wheel a hearty push, sending it rolling crazily off into the darkness. There was a crash, followed by the
outraged roar of the big nasty weasel.
“Belay, who threw that? Ooh, me footpaw! I’ll carve the blackguard up inter fishbait an”ang ’im from me ’ook!”
In their panic the two dithering rats ran slap into each other twice before tearing off to hide in the darkness.
Damug tossed the remnants of the fish to Lugworm and wiped his lips upon the orange cloak.
“Keep an eye open whilst I sleep. Oh, and pass the word around: I want every Rapscallion painted red for war
when we march tomorrow, fully armed and ready for slaughter!”
7?
Tammo—had never been so tired in all his young life. It was three hours after dawn and they were” still running.
His foot-paws felt heavy as two millstones, and the weight of the haversack on his back, which had been fairly light at
first, was now like carrying another beast.
Those open plains that had always looked smooth and slightly undulating from a distance, what had happened to
diem? Suddenly they had become a series of steep hills and deep valleys, with small sharp rocks hidden by the grass,
areas of thorny thistle and slopes of treacherous gravelly scree. The welcome sunlight of dawn was now a burning eye
that blinded him and added to the discomfort of his already overheated body.
Staggering and gasping for breath, Tammo slumped down on the summit of a hill, unable to go another pace
forward. Russa Nodrey was already there, still upright, breathing calmly as she viewed the prospect to the south. From
the corner of her eye she watched the young hare with a tinge of admiration, which she kept well hidden from him.
“Nothin’ like a brisk trot, eh, Tamm? How d’you feel?”
Tammo was on all fours, head bent as he tried to regulate his breath. He spoke still facing the ground, unable to
look up. “Not too blinkin’ chipper, marm. Need water, somethin’ to eat, and sleep. Give anythin’ for a jolly good
snooze, marm!”
Russa crouched down beside him. “Lissen, young ’un, call me Russa, pal, matey, anythin’ you like. But stop callin’
me marm. It makes me feel like some fat ole mother duck!”
Tammo glanced sideways at her, mischief dancing in his eyes. “I’ll do that, matey, but you stop callin’ me young
’un or I’ll start callin’ you mother duck!”
Standing behind him, Russa smiled as she pulled the haversack from his back. Despite her initial reluctance, she
was beginning, if a little grudgingly, to enjoy Tammo’s company.
“Let’s have this thing off ye, Tamm. We can’t stop here, got to press on a bit afore we make camp.”
Tammo flexed his shoulders and moved to a sitting position. “Why’s mat? This looks like a jolly good spot, wot?”
The squirrel pointed south, indicating another two hilly tors. “We’ve got to land up across there by midday. Right,
here’s where yore eddication starts, young ’un ... er, pal. Tell me, why should we make camp there instead o’ here?”
Tammo pondered the question a moment. “Haven’t a bally clue, old pal. Tell me.”
Russa began shouldering the haversack. “Well, for a start, ’tis too open up here, we c’n be seen for miles. A good
camp should be sheltered for two reasons: one, in case o’ the weather; two, t’stay hidden. Doesn’t do t’let everybeast
know where ye are in open country.”
The young hare stood up slowly. “Hmm, makes sense I suppose.”
“You can bet yore life it does.” The squirrel winked at him. “But afore y’go harm’ off, let me tell you the rest. At
midday it’ll be hottest, that’s when we should sleep a few hours an’ save energy. We can eat’n’drink too afore we nap,
sleep’s good fer the digestion. If we ate an’ drank now, we’d be travelin’ on full bellies. It’d take us twice as long to
get there in that state. All right, matey, let’s be on our way. I’ll carry this ’avvysack fer a while—’tis only fair.”
Tammo started down into the valley, digging his paws in against a shale drift. He felt much lighter and better for
the brief rest. “Indeed ’tis only fair, considerin’ the weight of your pancakes, old pal!” he called back.
Russa caught up and quickly took the lead. “Less of the oW, young scallywag, or I’ll put on a turn of speed that’ll
have ye eatin’ me dust fer a full day!”
Tammo pulled a wry face at the squirrel’s back. “What ho, young Russa, point taken. Lead on, but not too fast.”
Russa shook her head as she skirted a patch of mossy grass, still wet and slippery with morning dew. “Rest yore
jaws an’ tet the paws do the work, Tamm, seasons o’ gabble! I never did so much talkin’ in all me life. Save yore
breath fer travelin’, that’s another lesson y’ve got to learn.”
“Right you are, O wise one, the jolly old lips are sealed!”
“Good! Then shut up an’ keep up!”
“To hear is to obey, O sagacious squirrel!”
“You’ve gotta have the last word, haven’t yer?”
“Only because you’re the strong silent type, great leader.”
“I’ll great leader you, y’cheeky-faced rogue!”
“Bad form f’r a Commander to insult the other ranks, y’know. Whoops! Yowch!”