Skaup the ferret and a dozen or more Rapscallions were out foraging, roaming farther than they usually did. Skaup was pleased: they had slain several birds and in addition had two clutches of waterfowl eggs and a fat old perch they had found floating dead in a stream. They were seated in a patch of shrub that had a blackberry sprig growing through it. Although the berries were only partially ripe, the vermin crew readily picked and ate them, the reddish-purple juice staining their paws and mouths.

Suddenly a stoat pointed to the left. “Over there, three beasts. Look!”

Rockjaw Grang dropped swiftly out of sight at the sound of the stoat’s shout. He scurried off backward, bent double. “I ain’t sure they got a proper glimpse o’ me. You’ll have to bluff ’em, Midge. Good luck, you two!”

Swords drawn, the Rapscallions advanced on the pair. Midge muttered urgently to Tammo, “Remember, you’re dumb. Leave this t’me!”

A moment later the tip of Skaup’s blade was touching Midge’s throat. “Who are yer an’ where’d you come from?”

Midge stood his ground fearlessly, curling his lip at the ferret. “I could ask you th’ same question, bucko!”

“You ain’t in no position to ask questions, rag’ead,” Skaup sneered back at him. “There was three o’ yer. Where’d the other one go to?”

Ignoring the swordtip, Midge shook his head pityingly. “If you seen three of us then you’ve either bin swiggin’ grog or yer eyes are playin’ tricks on yer. I’m Miggo an’ this is me matey Burfal. There ain’t nobeast with us.”

The stoat who first sighted Rockjaw scratched his head. “I’d swear I saw another, a big ’un ’e was, I’m sure of it!”

Midge pushed Skaup’s blade aside and grabbed the stoat, pulling him close. “Ho, so yore the one seen three of us? Well wotta useless lump you are! I wager yer don’t even know there’s a chestnut in yore ear, do yer?”

Reaching out quickly, Midge gave the stoat’s ear a sharp tug. The vermin yelped in pain, but his companions stood goggle-eyed, staring at the candied chestnut which the stranger had apparently pulled from the stoat’s ear.

Tammo caught on right away to Midge’s trick. Sliding a candied chestnut from the pouch under his blanket, he hobbled past Skaup, who had lowered his sword. Midge noted what Tammo had done, and gave the ferret a snaggle-toothed grin. “Look at yer swordpoint, mate!”

Skaup lifted the sword level with his eyes and found himself gazing at a candied chestnut impaled upon it. “But . . . ’ow did that get there?”

Midge cackled as he performed a shuffling little jig. “Heeheehee! An’ how did two of us turn up ’ere when we’re supposed ter be three? I dunno, do you, mate?”

Midge looked so comical that some of the vermin started laughing. Tammo joined in with his friend’s dance, the pair of them whirling and stamping, rags and tatters jouncing and twirling. Soon all the vermin were laughing at their antics, even Skaup.

From his hiding place behind a stately elm, Rockjaw smiled. Midge and Tammo were safe for the moment. Keeping a safe distance, the big hare shadowed the party as they made their way back to the Rapscallion camp.

Skaup trudged alongside Midge, eyeing him curiously. “Yore a clever ole beast, Miggo. Let’s see yer pull a chestnut out o’ my ear, go on!”

Midge’s unpatched eye twinkled slyly. “No need to, bucko. Look, there’s one stuck to yer cloak!”

Skaup shook his head in wonderment as he pulled the sticky nut from the cloak across his shoulders and munched happily on it. “Yore pal there, Burfal, why don’t ’e never say anythin’?”

Midge passed a paw across his throat, grinning wickedly. “We ’ad an argument when we was both young ’uns. Burfal called me some bad names, so I cut ’is throat. Haharr, ’e lived through it, but ’e ain’t never spoke a single word since that day. Heeheehee! Ole Burfal won’t call anybeast bad names no more!”

It was getting toward evening when they reached the Rapscallion camp on the hillside above the stream. A shudder passed through Tammo as he followed Skaup’s party. There were countless vermin crouched around fires, cooking, resting, squabbling, and arguing with their neighbors. Drums throbbed ceaselessly, and hideously painted faces glared curiously at the two disguised hares. Everybeast was armed with an ugly array of weaponry, from cutlasses and spears down to what looked like sharpened hooks set on long poles.

Smoke from the fires swirled around them as they reached the stream bank. Skaup halted his party in front of a tent with four rats guarding the entrance, and laid the supplies they had foraged for on the ground.

Tammo and Midge were pushed forward. Suddenly the tent flap was thrown back and they found themselves face-to-face with Damug Warfang, Firstblade of all Rapscallions. Though the fur on his back stood rigid with fright, Tammo could not help being impressed by Damug’s barbarically splendid appearance. The Greatrat was wearing the helmet with a skull on its spike, and his slitted feral eyes glared at them out of a scarlet and blue painted face. He wore a close-meshed tunic of silver mail, belted about with a broad snakeskin band. Sandals and gauntlets of green lizard skin covered his paws.

Damug Warfang leaned forward, his powerful frame like a coiled steel spring as he pointed at the hares with his symbol of office, the sword with two edges, one straight, the other like the waves of the sea.

“What do you want here? You are not Rapscallions!”

Midge nodded his head knowingly as he spoke out boldly, “I was a Rapscallion long afore you was born. I served under yore father, Gormad Tunn. Wait now, don’t tell me, you’ll be Damug the youngest son, or was it the eldest? I forget. Didn’t you ’ave a brother? Haharr, I remember now, ’twas Byral. Where’s ’e got to these days?”

Damug’s eyes glinted dangerously. “You ask a lot of questions for a ragged old creature. Silence is the best policy for one such as you when I am holding a sword!”

Midge sat down on the ground. He pulled an assortment of colored pebbles and some carved twigs from beneath his sacking gown, and tossed them in the air. Totally ignoring the Warlord, he studied the jumble of wood and stone on the grass in front of him. Then in a sing-song voice he said, “I got no need to ask questions, my signs tell me all. The moon an’ stars, the wind in the trees, an’ water that runs through the land, all these things whisper their secrets to me.”

Midge could tell by the look in Damug’s eyes that he had captured the Warlord’s interest. The Greatrat sheathed his sword. “You are a Seer, one who can look into the future?”

“Somebeasts have called me Seer. Maybe they’re right, who can tell?”

“Who is that beast with you, is he a Seer also?”

“Not Burfal. He is called the Silent One an’ must be allowed to roam free an’ unhindered. Burfal, go!”

Tammo sensed that Midge was giving him an excuse to find Rockjaw and report to him. Smiling foolishly he wandered off.

Damug turned to Skaup. “Let nobeast harm Burfal; he may go where he pleases. Seer, what do they call you?”

“My name is Miggo. ’Twas given to me on the night of the dark moon by a black fox.”

Damug stared at Midge for a long time, then beckoned to him, “Come into my tent, Miggo. You there, bring food and drink for this creature. The rest of you, get about your business.”

Tammo’s footpaws shook as he made his way through the camp. He could feel Skaup watching him, so instead of traveling in a straight line he wandered willy nilly. The aim of his walk was to take him over the hilltop, away from the camp, where he would seek out Rockjaw Grang.

Night had fallen now, and all over the hillside the vermin campfires burnt small islands of light into the darkness. Tammo was threading his way ’round one fire when he stumbled awkwardly. A hardwood stick had been thrust between his footpaws by one of the vermin seated at the edge of the fire. It was the ferret Rinkul. As Tammo tried to pull himself upright, Rinkul kicked him flat.

“Wot are you doin’ skulkin’ ’round our camp, yer dirty ole bundle of smells? Well, speak up!”

Tammo shook his head wildly, pointing dumbly to his mouth.

One of Rinkul’s friends, a wily-looking vixen, snatched the dirk from Tammo’s rope belt and held it to the firelight. “An ole slobberpaws like you shouldn’t be carryin’ a blade like this’n ’round. Bit o’ cleanin’ up an’ this’ll make a fine weapon fer me.”

Suddenly Skaup was on the pair of them, whacking both Rinkul and the vixen heftily with his spear haft. “Don’t y’dare put a paw near Burfal again, either o’ ye!”

Tammo retrieved his dirk from where the vixen had dropped it, then he staggered off into the night as Skaup continued beating Rinkul and the vixen.

“Owch! Yaagh! We was only ’avin’ a bit o’ fun. Yowch! Aargh!”

“Fun, was it? I’ll give ye fun! Firstblade’s orders is that nobeast is to bother ole Burfal. Either o’ ye lay paw on ’im agin an’ Warfang’ll slay yer good’n’slow. See!”

Skaup thwacked away with the spearhaft until he decided they had been punished thoroughly.

Tammo was relieved to be away from the Rapscallion camp. It was calm and peaceful on the other side of the hill; only the distant throb of drums on the night air reminded him of the vermin encampment. Suddenly a big dark figure detached itself from a clump of boulders and waved to him.

“Sithee, Tamm, over here, mate!”

Good old Rockjaw Grang. They crouched together in the outcrop, and Rockjaw dug oat scones, cheese, and cider from his sizeable pack. He shared the food with Tammo as the young hare made his report.

“Midge has got his jolly old paws well under the table there. Damug thinks he’s some kind o’ Seer. Any news of the battleground yet, Rock?”

The giant hare demolished a scone in one bite. “Nay, ’tis too early yet. May’aps the Major’ll get word to me on the morrow.”

Tammo squinted uncomfortably from beneath his odious rags. “Sooner the better, wot. I don’t want t’stay in that foul place a moment longer’n I have to, chum.”

“Aye, well, that’s wot y’get for runnin’ with Long Patrol, young Tamm. You’d best finish up vittlin’ an’ get back afore yore missed. I’ll be here tomorrow night, same place.”