The Corim leaders set about the distribution of arms. Log-a-Log and his shrews were proficient archers; they used the squirrel shoulder bows as standing longbows, and Lady Amber saw to it they were well supplied. The six hares fell gladly into Skipper's company. They were well liked by the otters, and proved to be as efficient with javelins as they were with their own big pikes, which were greatly admired by the otter crew.

The Loamhedge mice were unused to any sort of weapon, so they joined Goody Stickle to help in any way possible-healing, repairing, and running the field kitchen. T. B. and Young Dinny took the moles. They banded together with the former oar slaves, between them there was an amazing variety of weapons.

Bella strolled over to review them.

"Well, well, who's in charge of this bloodthirsty crew?" she asked, receiving two salutes.

"Captains Timballisto and Young Dinny of the Mossflower irregulars reporting for duty, marm."

Young Dinny brandished a dagger, he was decked out in a many-colored fringed silk sash and bra.s.s sea rat earrings.

"Haharr, we'm a roight drefful rabble an' ready furr foighten owt."

Bella returned the salute as she tried to hide a smile.

In the for'ard cabin of Wuddshipp, Martin spoke secretly with five strong, experienced otters. When he emerged, the 330.

banks were thronged with a horde waiting upon his word. Every eye was upon him as he sprang from the side of the vessel and waded ash.o.r.e through the shallows. Timballisto had found his old battle armor in the sea rat lockers. He came forward and buckled it on his friend in silence. Setting the round war helmet firmly on Martin's head, he strapped the .breastplate on and buckled the greaves about the warrior's paws. Bella and the hares presented Martin with a scabbard and swordbelt which matched his sword to perfection.

Martin turned to his army.

"Let us go and settle the score with Kotir!"

Brogg cursed in the half-light before dawn as he tripped upon a coil of rope lying in the main hallway. The place was a jumble of snaring equipment. The weasel Captain nibbed a bruised paw and wished he had not been so enthusiastic on the previous day. Picking up the rope, he hurled it at Chinwart, as the rat was settling down for a quick nap in the corner.

"Come on, dpzychops. On your paws. I thought you were supposed to be helping me sort this mess out?"

"What about the others?" the rat yawned. "Why arent they all awake and helping?"

Brogg paused, letting go of the net he was dragging to the doorway. "Good idea. Why should I have to do it all myself? Chinwart, go and kick them out of their billets, say that anyone who isn't ready to parade smartly will be reported to the Queen."

The threat worked. A few moments later the hall was filled with sleepy soldiers; but seeing Tsarmina was not about they offered no help. They lounged about, sitting on the stairs.

Brogg remembered Tsarmina's advice.

"Attention," he called. "First one out on the parade ground carrying a trap gets double supper this evening. Anybody who lies about will be sentenced to half bread and water.''

Chinwart grabbed three stakes and scuttled outside. The rest began half-heartedly picking up nets.

Chinwart came hurtling back inside.

"Cap'n, they're out there!" he said wildly.

"What are you yammering on about now, rat? Who's out there?"

"Woodlanders! Go and see for yourself!"

331.

Recalling the last woodlander raid, Brogg acted with caution. He poked his head around the doorway nervously, ready to pull back swiftly in case of arrows.

The main gates had been flung agape. Standing in the open with the dawn mist evaporating in the sun around them were a number of creatures: a badger, a mouse in armor, and that brawny otter. Brogg did not linger to see if there were others.

"Chinwart, go and rouse the Queen, quickly!" he ordered.

Tsarmina came bounding down wide awake, she peered round the doorway with Brogg.

"So, at last they're showing themselves. Maybe we might not need the snares, Brogg. Perhaps they've walked straight into a trap."

'*But, Milady, they're carrying a white flag. Doesn't that make them peaceable?" Brogg protested.

"Don't believe all you see, Brogg. You're carrying a sword, but that doesn't make you a soldier. Let's hear what they have to say."

As she stepped boldly out into the open, Tsarmina whispered out the side of her mouth at Brogg, "Get the archers. Wait for my signal."

None of the deputation was armed, except die mouse who carried a sword to his side. Tsarmina recognized him immediately, also the cheeky mousethief standing behind him. She curled her lip in scorn.

"Escaped prisoners and woodland rebels, what do you want?"

"We are the leaders of the Corim come to deliver an ultimatum." The warrior mouse's voice was hard and clear.

Tsarmina's mind was racing. All the leaders here in one place; they must not be allowed to escape alive. Had Brogg organized those archers?

"Well, here I am, speak your piece." The wildcat Queen kept her voice deceptively calm.

The warrior pointed a mailed paw at her. "Listen carefully to what I say, cat. You and your creatures have no right to tyrannize or try to enslave woodlanders. We are honest and free. Mossflower is our home.''

"You insolent upstart!" Tsarmina laughed harshly. "I should have killed you when I had the chance. Do you realize 332.

who you are threatening? I am Tsarmina, Queen of the Thousand Eyes, Ruler of Mossflower."

Her adversary did not seem impressed. "I am Martin the Warrior, and I have not come here to make idle threats. This is what I have to say: leave this place 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.

333.

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!"

334.

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."

335.

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.