On the southeast coastline the mighty Rapscallion army crouched, saturated, cold, and hungry, amid the wreckage of their ships. Gray-black and bruised though it was, dawn proved a welcome sight for the dispirited vermin masses. Nobeast could have known that after they had burned their dwellings a storm would arrive in the night.

It came from the southeast, tearing across the seas with a vengeance, without warning. Battering torrents of rain sheeted down to drown the campfires ’round which the vermin were sleeping. Hailstones big as pigeon eggs were mixed with the deluge, while a gale-force wind drove the downpour sideways over the beach.

Shrieking and roaring, rats, ferrets, stoats, weasels, and foxes dashed about on the shingle, seeking shelter as the storm’s intensity grew. Ships beached on the immediate tide line were seized upon by the mountainous seas and heaved out upon the waves, where they were smashed like eggshells as they crashed into one another. Rigging and timbers, ratlines and gallery rails flew through the air, slaying several unfortunates who were running panicked on the shore.

Only four vessels, beached high above the tide line, their hulls half buried by sand and shingle, were safe. Around the lee sides of these ships the Rapscallions fought their comrades savagely, endeavoring to find shelter. Damug Warfang and his Rapmark officers, together with a chosen few, occupied the cabin spaces, while the remainder fended for themselves out in the open.

By daylight the rain and hailstones had passed, sweeping upward into the land, though the wind was still strong and wild. Damug crouched over a guttering fire in the cabin of his father’s former ship, teeth chattering. Drawing his cloak tighter, he watched Lugworm heating a pannikin of grog over the meager flames.

“That looks ready as it’ll ever be. Give it here!”

With his teeth rattling like castanets against the container, the Greatrat sipped gingerly at the scalding concoction. When he had drunk enough the Firstblade gave the remainder to Lugworm, who choked it down before Damug could change his mind. Peering through the broken timbers, Damug cast his eye over the low-spirited Rapscallions roaming the shore.

“We’ll move right away, get inland where the weather’s a touch milder. First grove o’ woodland we find will do for a camp; fire, water, whatever food we can forage, then they’ll be ready to gear up and march.”

Lugworm fussed around his Chief, brushing dirt and splinters from Damug’s cloak. “Aye, sir, they’ll be fine then, fightin’ fit fer a journey o’er to the west, ter pay that badger back for yore father.”

Whack!

The Greatrat’s mailed paw caught Lugworm alongside his jaw, sending him crashing into a shattered bunk. Damug was like a madbeast: flinging himself upon the hapless stoat he beat him unmercifully, punctuating each word with a blow or kick.

“Don’t you ever mention that beast within my hearing again! We stay away from that cursed mountain! Aye, and that rose-eyed destroyer, that blood-crazed badger! That . . . That . . .” He grabbed Lugworm by the throat and shook him like a rag. “That . . . badger! You even think about her again and I’ll kill you stone dead!”

Damug Warfang hurled the half-conscious Lugworm from himself, slammed the door clean off its hinges, and strode quivering with rage out of the cabin. Grabbing a ferret called Skaup, he bellowed right into his face, “Get the drums rolling, and tell my Rapmarks to line up their companies. We march north. Now!”

*

Within a very short time the Rapscallion soldiers were formed up into columns five wide and marching away from the hostile coast.

Damug strode at the head of his army; on either side of him, six rats pounded their big drums. Ragged banners flapped wildly in the wind, their poles ornamented with the tails of dead foebeasts. The poles’ tops were crowned with the skulls of enemies, and their long pennants bore the sign of Rapscallion, the two-edged sword.

Borumm the weasel and Vendace the fox were scouts, known by the title Rapscour. They marched to the left flank of the main body with twoscore trained trackers each. Borumm glanced back at the receding shoreline and the sea, saying, “Take yer last peep o’ the briny, mate, this lot won’t be goin’ nowheres by water anymore. ’Is Lordship Damug don’t like sailin’.”

Vendace narrowed his eyes against the driving wind. “That’s a fact, cully, an’ I’ll wager an acorn to an oak that ’e won’t be ’eadin’ over Salamandastron way neither. “Taint only ships Damug’s afeared of.”

Borumm let his paw stray to the cutlass at his side. “A proper Firstblade shouldn’t be afeared o’ nought. But we’ll frighten ’im one dark night, eh, mate?”

Vendace grinned wolfishly at his companion. “Aye, when ’e’s least expectin’ it, we’ll find space atwixt ’is ribs fer a couple o’ sharp blades. Then we’ll be the Firstblades.”

Borumm closed his eyes longingly for a moment. “Harr, we’ll turn this lot right ’round an’ make fer the soft sunny south coast an’ rule it like a pair o’ kings.”

Lugworm stumbled along behind the last column, clasping a damp strip of blanket to his bruised throat. Being a Firstblade’s counselor had its drawbacks. It would take him a day or two to get back into his Chief’s favor, and meanwhile he decided to stay as far away from Damug as possible.

Lousewort and Sneezewort marched just ahead of him, being in the back five of the last contingent. Lousewort caught sight of Lugworm and called back to him, “G’mornin’, Luggy, wot sorta mood’s the boss in t’day?”

Lugworm tried to speak, but could manage only a painful gurgle.

Sneezewort looked quizzically at Lousewort. “Wot did ’e say, mate?”

The stolid Lousewort shook his head. “Er, er, ’e jus’ said ‘Gloggle oggle ogg,’ or sumthin’, I dunno.”

Sneezewort prodded his mate. “‘Gloggle oggle ogg,’ eh? That’s wot you’d a bin sayin’ right now if’n you was totin’ that stoopid big wheel along wid yer.”

The big nasty-looking weasel’s voice reached them from the rank marching in front. “Wot stoopid big wheel’s that yer talkin’ about?”

“Oh, the one I chucked awa—Wot wheel are ye talkin’ about, comrade? I don’t know nothin’ about any wheel, d’you, matey?”

Lousewort nodded obliviously. “Oh yep, you remember, Sneezy, my nice big wheel wot you throwed away. Owow! Wot are ye kickin’ me for, mate?”

*

All morning the wind continued to blow, right until mid-noon, when a drizzle started. Damug Warfang rapped out commands to the drummers.

“Speed up that beat to double march, there’s a woodland up ahead.”

The two Rapscours and their scouts dashed ahead of the Rapscallions to reconnoiter the spot. It was a prime campsite, with a small pond containing fish, and lots of fat woodpigeons roosting in the trees. By late noon the army was completely sheltered from the weather: rocky ledges, heavy tree trunks, and overhead foliage sealed them off from cold, wind-driven rain. A feeling of well-being pervaded the camp, now they were in a fresh location. This was luxury, after an entire winter spent on the hostile and hungry southeast shore.

Borumm and Vendace were snugly settled in, having spread an old sail canvas over the low curving limb of a buckthorn, with a rocky outcrop at their back. They sat cooking a quail over their campfire. Lugworm was with them, hiding behind a flap of the overhanging canvas, glancing nervously around at the passing Rapscallions.

Borumm chuckled at the stoat’s apprehensive manner. Shoving him playfully, he said, “Wot’s the matter, matey? You ain’t doin’ no ’arm jus’ sittin’ ’ere sharin’ a bird with two ole pals.”

Lugworm averted his face as a Rapmark walked by. “What’d Damug say if’n somebeast told ’im I was sittin’ ’ere talkin’ wid you two?”

Vendace shrugged as he tended the roasting quail. “We won’t tell ’im if you don’t. Stop frettin’ an’ ’ave some o’ this bird. All you gotta do is tell us where ole Firstblade’ll be sleepin’ tonight an’ how many guards’ll be around, an’ anythin’ else y’think we should know. Leave the rest to us, matey.”

Borumm whetted a curved dagger against the rock. “Aye, by tomorrer it shouldn’t make any difference who saw yer talkin’ to us. Damug won’t be around to throttle yer again, ’e’ll be searchin’ for ’is daddy in Dark Forest!”

*

Sneezewort had a good fire going. He stirred the half-burned wood hopefully, watching Lousewort returning from the pond. He noticed that his companion looked very damp.

“Yore lookin’ a bit soggy, mate. Didyer catch anythin’?” he called.

Lousewort slumped by the fire, waving away the cloud of steam rising from his ragged garments. “Er, er, I nearly did, but I got pushed inter the water.”

Sneezewort picked up a small log and brandished it angrily. “Pushed in? Huh, show me the slab-sided blackguard wot pushed yer!”

“Er, er, it was that big nasty-lookin’ weasel.”

Sneezewort threw the log on the fire, sighing resignedly. “Ah well, that one’s got ’is lumps comin’ someday. So, you didn’t bring any vittles back at all?”

Lousewort produced a pile of dripping pondweed. “Er, er, only this. May’aps we can make soup out of it.”

His companion turned up a lip in disgust. “Yurgh, dirty smelly stuff, chuck it away!”

Lousewort was about to carry out his friend’s order when his paw was stayed. Sneezewort stared unhappily at the mess of dripping vegetation, shaking his head, and said, “Take my ole helmet an’ fill it wid water. Pondweed soup’s better’n nothin’ when yer belly thinks yore throat’s cut!”

*

Damug belched loudly and settled back to suck upon the bones of the tench he had just devoured. From the shelter of an ash nearby he heard his title whispered.

“Firstblade!”

The Greatrat lay still, lips hardly moving as he answered, “Gribble, is that you?”

From his hiding place, the rat Gribble called in a low voice, “Aye, ’tis me. Lugworm’s gone over to Borumm an’ Vendace. From wot I ’eard they’ll make their move tonight, Chief.”

Damug Warfang smiled and closed his eyes. “Good work, Gribble. It always pays to have watchers watching watchers. I’ll be ready. Go now, keep your eyes and ears open.”