The new Firstblade of all Rapscallions sat alone on the creaking, weather-beaten stern of his late father’s vessel, which lay heeled half over on the southeast shore. Damug Warfang had watched dawn break over the horizon, a red glow at first, changing rapidly as the sun rose in a bloom of scarlet and gold. A few seabirds wheeled and called to one another, dipping toward the gentle swell of the placid sea. Hardly a wave showed on the face of the deep, pale-green waters inshore, ranging out to mid-blue and aquamarine. A bank of fine cloud shone with pearl-like opalescence as the sunrays reflected off it. Now the wide vault of sky became blue, as only a fresh spring morn can make it; scarlet tinges of sun wisped away to become a faint rose thread where sea met sky as the great orb ascended, golden as a buttercup.

All this beauty was lost on Damug as the ebb tide hissed and whispered its secrets to the shingled beach. Probing with his swordpoint, he dug moodily at the vessel’s timbers. They were rotten, waterlogged, barnacle-crusted, and coated with a sheen of green slime. Damug’s pale eyes registered anger and disgust. A bristletail crawled slowly out of the damp woodwork. With its antennae waving and gray, armor-plated back undulating, the insect lumbered close to Damug’s footclaw. With a swift, light thrust he impaled it on his swordpoint and sat watching it wriggle its life away.

Behind him breakfast fires were being lit and drums were beginning their remorseless throb again as the Rapscallion armies wakened to face the day. Damug sensed the presence of Lugworm at his back, and did not bother turning as the stoat spoke.

“Empty cookin’ pots cause rebellion, O Firstblade. You must throw the sword quickly, today!”

Damug flicked the swordblade sideways, sending the dying insect into the ebbing sea. Then he stood and turned to face Lugworm. The Greatrat’s jaw was so tight with anger that it made his voice a harsh grate.

“I know what I’ve got to do, slopbrain, but supposing the sword falls wave side up? How could I take all of those back there out to sea in a fleet of rotten, waterlogged ships? We’d go straight to the bottom. There’s not a seaworthy vessel on this shore. So unless you’ve got a foolproof solution, don’t come around here with that idiotic grin on your stupid face, telling me what I already know!”

Before Lugworm could answer, Damug whipped the swordpoint up under his chin. He jabbed a little, causing the blade to nick skin. Lugworm was forced to stand tip-pawed as Damug snarled, “Enjoying yourself now, cleversnout? I’ll teach you to come grinning at my predicament. Come on, let’s see you smile that silly smile you had plastered on your useless face a moment ago.”

The stoat’s throat bobbed as he gulped visibly, and his words came out in a rush as the blade of the unpredictably tempered Warlord dug a bit deeper. “Damug, Firstblade, I’ve got the answer, I know what t’do, that’s why I came to see you!”

The swordpoint flicked downward, biting into the deck between Lugworm’s footpaws. Damug was smiling sweetly, his swift mood swing and calm tone indicating that his servant was out of danger, for the moment.

“Lugworm, my trusty friend, I knew you’d come up with a solution to my problem. Pray tell me what I must do.”

Rubbing beneath his chin, where a thin trickle of blood showed, Lugworm sat upon the deck. From his belt pouch he dug out a small, heavy brass clip. “Your father used this because he favored sailin’, always said it was better’n paw sloggin’ a horde over ’ill’n’dale. If y’ll allow me, Chief, I’ll show ye ’ow it works.”

Damug gave his sword to the stoat, who stood up to demonstrate.

“Y’see, the Rapscallions foller this sword. The Firstblade tosses it in the air, an’ they go whichever way it falls, but it’s gotta fall wid one o’ these crosspieces stickin’ in the ground. Wave side of the blade up means we sail, smooth side o’ the blade showing upward means we go by land.”

“I know that, you fool, get on with it!”

Lugworm heeded the danger in Damug’s terse voice. He attached the brass clip to the wave-side crosspiece and tossed the sword up. It was not a hard throw; the flick of Lugworm’s paw caused the weapon to turn once, almost lazily, as morning sunlight glimmered across the blade. With a soft thud it fell to the deck, the straight, sharp blade edge upward.

“Y’see, Chief, it works every time ’cos the added weight on the wavy side hits the ground first. But don’t fling it ’igh in the air, toss it up jus’ like I did, slow like, wid a twist o’ yer paw. ’Tis easy, try it.”

Damug Warfang was not one to leave anything to luck. He tried the trick several times, each time with the same result. The sword always landed smooth edge upward. Damug removed the brass clip and attached it to a bracelet he wore.

“Good! You’re not as thick as you look, friend Lugworm.”

The stoat bowed his head respectfully to the new Firstblade, saying, “I served your father, Gormad Tunn, but he became old and strange in the brain and would not listen to my advice. Heed my counsel, Chief, and I will make the name Damug Warfang feared by all on land and sea. You will become the greatest Firstblade that Rapscallions have ever known.”

Damug nodded. “So be it. You are my adviser and as such will be at my side to reap the benefit of all my triumphs.”

Before Lugworm could voice his thanks, the blade was in his face, its point almost tickling his right eyeball. The smile on Damug’s lips was cold enough to freeze water.

“Sly little Lugworm, eh? Counselor to mighty ones! Listen, stoat, if you even think about crossing me I’ll make you scream half a season before you die!”