Lugworm had done his work well. The two rat sentries guarding Damug Warfang’s shelter of brush and canvas sat upright with four empty grog flasks between them. The crafty stoat had known that the strong drink would be irresistible to beasts standing guard through the cold lonely night hours. Lugworm watched them from his hiding place until he was sure the pair were sleeping soundly. Slipping away he found Borumm and Vendace waiting at the place he had arranged to meet them.

Borumm drew his curved dagger, impatient to go about his business. “Everythin’ ready, mate, coast clear?”

Lugworm nodded fearfully, wishing he had never been drawn into the conspiracy to slay the Firstblade. “Aye, ’tis ready, but go carefully, Damug’s a light sleeper.”

Vendace drew his blade, suppressing a snigger. “Light sleeper, eh? Well ’e won’t be after tonight!”

Lugworm edged away from the would-be assassins nervously. “There, I’ve done me bit, the rest’s up to youse two. But remember, if yer fail an’ get caught, then not a word about me!”

Borumm the weasel kicked out, sending Lugworm sprawling.

Vendace stood over him, snarling scornfully. “Garn, git outta my sight, stoat, yore in this up to yer slimy neck. The only consolation you’ve got is that we don’t intend ter fail, or git caught. Now beat it an’ keep yer gob shut!”

As Lugworm scrambled away whimpering, the fox winked at his cohort. “We’ll deal wid him tomorrer, no use leavin’ loose ends lyin’ about. If Lugworm can betray Damug ’e’d do the same fer us someday. Come on, let’s pay the Firstblade a liddle visit.”

Damug perched in the branches of the ash tree near his shelter, the rat Gribble crouching by his side. Together they watched the weasel and the fox as, daggers drawn, the pair slid by the two sleeping sentries, silent as night shadows. The Greatrat waited a moment, until he heard blades grating against the sack of stones he’d wrapped in his cloak and laid by the fire. Then he nodded to Gribble.

The rat blew two sharp blasts upon a bone whistle.

Pheep! Pheep!

Ten heavily armed Rapmark officers broke cover, rushed in, and surrounded Borumm and Vendace.

*

It was fine and sunny next morning, a perfect spring day. Damug allowed Gribble to dress him in his splendid armor; choosing a cloak that did not have dagger slits in it, draped it loosely across one shoulder, and strolled out to the woodland’s edge. The entire Rapscallion army was marshaled there, awaiting him, each beast fully armed and ready to march, their faces painted bright red. The face paint served a double purpose: it instilled fear into those they chose to attack, and marked them so they would not strike one another down in the heat of battle.

Damug took up position on a knoll where he could be seen and heard. Whipping out the sword that was his symbol of office, he shouted, “Rapscallions! Are you well rested and well fed?”

A roar of assent greeted him. “Aye, Lord, aye!”

He smiled approvingly. Now his horde looked like true Rapscallions. They bore little resemblance to the cringing vermin who had wintered on the cold shores after their defeat at Salamandastron.

Damug yelled another question at them. “And are you ready to conquer and slay with me as your Firstblade?”

Again the wild roars of agreement echoed in his ears. He waited until they died down before saying, “Bring out the prisoners!”

Over a single drumbeat the rattle of chains could be heard. Covered in wounds from the beatings they had received, three pitiful figures, chained together at neck and paw, were led forward. It was Borumm, Vendace, and Lugworm, stumbling painfully against one another as they staggered to stay upright. Spearbutts knocked them down on all fours in front of Damug, and the vast crowd of Rapscallions pressed forward to hear Damug’s pronouncement.

“Let these three wretches serve as a lesson to anybeast who thinks Damug Warfang is a fool. They are cowards and traitors, but I am not going to order them slain. No! I will give them a chance to show us all that they are warriors. At the first opportunity of battle, these three will lead the charge, their only weapons being the chains they wear. Those chains will stay on them, binding them together until death releases them. They will march, eat, and sleep all their lives in chains. Let nobeast feed them or comfort them in any way. I am Firstblade of all Rapscallions. I have spoken!”

The three prisoners were made to kneel facing Damug and thank him for sparing their lives. When they had finished he swept contemptuously by them. Waving his sword at two random vermin, he rapped out, “You there, and you, come here!”

Sneezewort nudged his companion Lousewort. “Git up there, thick’ead, Lord Damug pointed at you, not me!”

Lousewort approached the knoll where Damug stood. Sneezewort breathed a sigh of relief: whatever it was, Lousewort would be on the receiving end. The other beast Damug had indicated strode up before him. It was the big nasty weasel.

The unpredictable Warlord circled them both. “Give me your names!”

“Hogspit, they calls me Hogspit, Sire.”

“Er, er, I’m Lousewort, yore Lordness!”

Damug leaned on his sword and stared at them closely. “Lousewort and Hogspit, eh! And are you both Rapscallions, true and loyal to your Firstblade?”

Both heads bobbed dutifully. “Aye, Sire!”

Damug laughed aloud and clapped their shoulders with his mailed paw. “Good! Then I promote you both to the rank of Rapscour. You two will take the places of Borumm and Vendace, with twoscore each to command. Take your scouts and go now, travel due north, and report back to me every two days on what lies ahead.”

Sneezewort was livid. He followed his companion, arguing and shouting at him, “Lord Damug never pointed at you, ’e pointed at me, I’d swear ’e did. Wot would the Firstblade want wid a fleabrain like you as a Rapscour officer?”

Lousewort drew himself up importantly. “Er, er, less o’ that, mate, I ain’t no fleabrain, I’m a Rapscour now. So don’t go tellin’ me no more of yer fibs. Lord Damug pointed t’me, you said so yerself, huh, you even shoved me forward!”

Sneezewort was hopping with rage. He ran at Lousewort, shrieking, “I’ll shove yer forward an’ sideways an’ back’ards as well, y’great lump o’ lard-bottomed crabmeat!”

But Lousewort was a bit too large and solid to shove. He stood firm, shaking a cautionary paw at his friend. “Er, er, stop that, you, y’can’t shove me, I’m an officer now!”

Sneezewort advanced on him, sneering ominously. “So I can’t shove yer, eh? Who’s gonna stop me, Scrawfonk?”

Lousewort grabbed hold of Sneezewort and held him firmly. “Ooh, you shouldn’t a called me that, that’s a bad name to call anybeast! Er, er, I know who’ll stop yer, my brother officer. Hoi, Hogspit, there’s a low common pawrat ’ere, callin’ an officer naughty names an’ shovin’ ’im too.”

The big nasty weasel strode aggressively up and punched Sneezewort hard in the stomach. “Lissen, popguts, don’t let me ever catch you givin’ cheek to a Rapscour. An’ you, blatherbonce, don’t let ’im shove yer, see!”

Grabbing them both by the ears, Hogspit banged their heads together resoundingly. He strode off, leaving them both ruefully rubbing their skulls.

Lousewort looked at Sneezewort dazedly. “Er, er, let that be a lesson to yer, matey!” he muttered.

A short while after the Rapscours had left with their scouts, the great army got under way. Drums beating to the pace of their march battered out at a ground-eating rate as the day advanced into warm sunny afternoon. Northward the Rapscallion host tramped, dust rising in a cloud behind their banners and drums—only three days away from the southernmost borders of Mossflower Country.