Midge knew he was playing a risky game. Damug was no fool. He sat staring at the disguised hare across a small fire, which was laid in a pit at the center of his tent.

“Speak to me, Miggo, tell me something.”

Midge stared into the flames awhile, then he spoke: “I see a mountain and a badger Warrior with eyes like blood. I see Gormad Tunn and a fleet defeated there.”

Damug Warfang rose and, reaching across the fire, seized Midge around the neck. Lifting him high, Damug shook him like a rag. “Anybeast could have told you that, you sniveling wreck. Tell me of my future and tell me quickly, before your future ebbs away as I strangle you!”

Fighting for breath and with colored lights dancing before his eyes, Midge Manycoats dangled above Damug’s head. Grabbing what he needed from beneath his ragged garb, he planted the object, at the same time kicking out with a footpaw and catching the Warlord in one eye.

Midge managed to shout hoarsely, “I see! I see your future!”

Damug dropped him, squinting hard, and pawed at his eye to make sure no damage had been done. Midge sat up, massaging his throat. Damug was sitting in his former position, the eye watering and smarting slightly. He stared unruffled at Midge, unwilling to let him see that he had been hurt.

“Well then, what do you see? Tell me.”

Midge went back to his former seat at the other side of the fire. Again he took out his pebbles and twigs, tossing them in the air and watching how they fell. He spoke like one in a trance.

“Here are ten twigs, each of them represents one hundred Rapscallions; this means you command a thousand. These stones are red, the color of blood, the color of a red sandstone Abbey. Only one stone can rule that place, that is your stone, the brown one. Brown, the color of the earth and the symbol of the Firstblade who will conquer all the earth.”

Midge closed his eyes and lapsed into silence. After a while, Damug became impatient, wanting to know more.

“Where is this brown stone? I see only twigs and red stones on the floor. Tell me quickly, Seer, where is the brown stone?”

Reaching into his rags, Midge cast a pawful of powder into the fire. The flames gave forth smoke as they burned blue.

“Aaaahh! ’Tis up to ye to find it, Firstblade. The stone cannot be found in yore heart. Allbeasts know that a Warlord’s heart is made o’ stone, so how can a stone be found within a stone? But ’tis also known that you are wise—mayhaps the stone is in yore brain. Can you look inside yore skull, Damug Warfang?”

Mystified, the Greatrat took off his helmet and placed it on the ground. He touched his own head, back, front, and beside both ears, all the time glaring through the firesmoke at Midge.

“Find a brown stone inside my own skull? Do you take me for an idiot? Let me warn you, Miggo, if you think you’re going to pull something from my ear, I’ve seen that done before—try it and you’re a deadbeast!”

Midge folded his paws, staring back at Damug. “I’ll sit over here, Sire. If I tried anythin’ you’d say it was a trick. My voices tell me the brown stone is inside yore skull; more’n that I cannot say.”

Damug touched his head again, this time more carefully—running both paws along his jawline, around his eyes and the base of his skull. Suddenly he jumped up angrily, shaking his head. “This is stupid! You talk in riddles. How could there be a brown stone inside my skull? Rubbish!”

He kicked the war helmet to one side. From the mouth of the rabbit skull impaled on its spike, a brown stone rolled forth.

Trying not to show his immense relief, Midge pointed. “See, the skull belongs t’you. Did I not say the brown stone could be found inside yore skull?”

Midge Manycoats had guessed correctly. Damug Warfang was like any other conqueror, superstitious and ready to believe in omens and signs.

Damug picked up the simple brown pebble and gazed in wonder at it. “You spoke truly, Miggo. You have the gift of a Seer. What is my future? Tell me—I must know!”

Midge knew now that he had his fish well hooked. Closing his eyes, he sat back, remote and aloof. “I need food and drink now, rest too. Have quarters prepared for me and my friend, Burfal the Silent One. Tomorrow we will talk.”

*

Rinkul the ferret was smarting from the beating he had received, but that did not stop him. He limped about the Rapscallion camp, looking for the one called Burfal. There was something about the dumb creature that disturbed him. Using the hardwood stick to aid his walking, he crisscrossed the hillside, checking the creatures around their campfires. Maybe it was something in Burfal’s eyes, in the way he had looked at him.

“If yer after vittles, we ain’t got none ’ere, mate!”

Rinkul ignored Sneezewort and questioned Lousewort. “May’aps you’ve seen a raggy ole beast about, one o’ the two who came inter camp earlier on? Did ’e pass this way?”

Lousewort sucked on a fishbone and thought for a moment. “Er, er, y’mean the Silent One? Stay away from ’im, matey, Firstblade’s orders. Did you ’ear, Cap’n Skaup knocked the livin’ daylights out o’ a few smartychops that tried interferin’ wid that dumb beast. Stupid fools, serves ’em right, I say!”

Rinkul’s hardwood stick rapped Lousewort’s nose viciously. “When I wants yore opinion I’ll ask for it, mud-bottom. Now, which way did the dumb beast go?”

Sneezewort pointed toward the stream. “Went by us a moment back, ’eaded thataways.”

Supported by his stick, Rinkul hobbled off to the stream. Lousewort hugged his nose tenderly as he watched the ferret go. “There wath no need for him to do that, wath there!”

*

Tammo had seen the caged squirrel on the stream bank. Pulling faces, and pushing the two stoats guarding the cage, he made it clear that he did not want them around. The guards retreated a distance to the nearest fire, where they sat warming themselves. Word had got around regarding the Silent One, and they were careful not to offend him.

Drawing his dirk, Tammo pushed it through the bars and began prodding the old squirrel, pretending to have some cruel fun with him. Moving to the cage’s far side to avoid the blade, the old creature cast a withering glance at his tormentor.

“Do yore worst, vermin. I ain’t afeared of ye!”

Tammo’s whisper barely reached his ears. “Sorry, old chap. Can’t speak up, they think I’m dumb, y’see. I’m no vermin, this is a disguise. Really I’m a hare of the Long Patrol. I’ll help you if I can.”

Lying flat, the squirrel rolled over, closer to Tammo so that he could whisper back. “Get me some food an’ a blade!”

“I’ll try, but don’t attempt anything on your own. Leave this to me an’ my friend—he’s disguised like me.”

Before he spoke further, Tammo took a swift look about and saw Rinkul leaning on his stick, watching him. Throwing caution to the winds, Tammo dashed at the ferret and dove on him. They went down together. Tammo grabbed Rinkul, pulling him on top of himself and uttering little mute squeaks of distress.

A Rapmark stoat named Bluggach, who was seated by the fire with the two guards, grabbed his cutlass. “Lookit that, the addle-brained oaf, don’t ’e know no better? Damug gave orders not t’touch the dumb ’un! Cummon, mates!”

Rinkul found himself roughly hauled off Tammo, his protests lost among the angry roars of Bluggach and the two guards as they thrashed him with the flats of their blades.

“Git off that beast. Wot d’yer think yore doin’?”

“We’ve all been ordered to stay clear of ’im!”

“You wanna dig the soil out’n yore ears, ferret!”

“I ain’t gonna report this or Lord Damug’d kill yer, but you gotta learn to obey orders. Teach ’im a lesson, mates!”

Gathering his rags about him, Tammo fled the scene.

*

Midge stuck his head out of a canvas shelter that had been erected between a bush and a rock. He peered into the night at the lumpy figure ambling aimlessly about.

“Tamm, over here, pal! We’ve got our own special quarters!”

Tammo scrambled gratefully into the shelter and crouched by the fire. Midge passed him some rough-looking barleycakes, a piece of cooked fish, and a canteen of strong grog, but Tammo put it aside, saying, “Thanks, Midge, but I’ve already eaten. I contacted Rockjaw and he gave me supper. But tell me your news first—how did y’get on with old thingummy Warface?”

The friends exchanged information, telling each other all they had experienced since arriving at the Rapscallion camp. Tammo tightened his paw ’round the dirk handle, gritting his teeth. “Those vermin we were tracking—remember the one that got away? I’ve seen him, the ferret they call Rinkul. He was the last of the murderers who slew the old badgerlady and my friend Russa; the scum still carries her stick. First chance I get I’ll make him pay for them!”

Midge shook his head. “That’s not what we were sent here for, Tamm. You’ll get your chance at Rinkul, but not here—it could cost our lives an’ the safety of Redwall. Let’s rest up a bit, then when all’s quiet we’ll take food to the squirrel. I’ve got a small blade with me, we’ll deliver that to him as well. Rest awhile now.”

Long after the midnight hour had passed and the sprawling Rapscallion camp lay silent, two figures made their way carefully down to the prisoner in his cage by the stream.