Vermin snored and muttered in their sleep, fighting imaginary battles, some of them even singing snatches of songs as they lay around their campfire embers in the warm summer night. The guards of the cage were still at the fire of the stoat Bluggach, within easy distance of the prisoner they were supposed to be watching. Like Bluggach, they too were flat on their backs, mouths open wide to the sounds of their painful rasping snores.

The old squirrel watched the two ragged figures’ silent approach to his cage. He grabbed at the food they pushed through the bars to him, and his throat moved up and down as he gulped water from a canteen, drinking until the vessel was empty. With his head bent low he gave a long sigh of satisfaction, then began chewing the food slowly, while Midge whispered questions at him.

“What do they call you, and how did y’come to be here?”

“My name is Fourdun. I live alone in Mossflower. They took me by surprise—I must be gettin’ old.”

Midge passed the small knife through to him. “We’re both Long Patrol hares. I’m Midge, he’s Tammo. Listen to me, old feller—don’t do anythin’ silly. We’ll get you free. Maybe tomorrow night or the night after, but we’ll do it. So watch out for us an’ don’t try escapin’ by yourself.”

Nudging Midge, Tammo hissed urgently, “Look out, that big stoat Cap’n’s awake!”

Bluggach woke with a throat that was both sore and dry from snoring. Coughing hoarsely several times, he staggered down to the stream. Crouching in the shallows, the stoat pawed water into his mouth until he had drunk enough, then he straightened up and belched.

There was no place for Tammo or Midge to hide—one movement from either of them and they would be discovered. Midge shoved Tammo toward the stream, muttering to him, “Sit by the water an’ look as if you’re meditatin’—hurry!”

Tammo walked straight for the stoat, bumping into him as he slumped by the shallows, and stared intently into the water. Bluggach was about to say something when Midge strolled up.

“Pleasant night to ye, Cap’n. Take no notice of ole Burfal, ’e goes off doin’ odd things any hour o’ the day or dark.”

The stoat drew his cutlass, eyeing Midge suspiciously. “Wot are yew doin’ ’round ’ere?”

Midge produced the flask of grog he had been about to give Fourdun. “Oh, jus’ keepin’ an’ eye on Burfal, seein’ ’e don’t disturb nobeast. ’Ere, take a pull o’ this, sir, Warfang’s own private grog. ’Twill put a throat on ye like a cob o’ velvet.”

Bluggach was still not quite convinced by Midge, but he took a good swig of the fiery grog as he weighed the ragged beast up. “You’ll be the Seer, then? Some sez yore a magic creature.”

Smiling craftily, Midge moved close to the stoat and reached out. “I ain’t magic, Cap’n. You are, though. Wot’s this candied chestnut doin’ in yore earlug?”

Grinning widely, the big stoat tossed the nut into his mouth and gave Midge a friendly shove that almost knocked him flat. “I knew you was magic the moment I clapped eyes on ya, haharrharr!”

Midge laughed along with him, urging Bluggach to drink some more. “Bein’ magic ain’t as good as bein’ a Rapmark Cap’n like you, sir.”

The stoat warmed to the tattered Seer. Throwing a paw about him, he said, “Ho, ain’t it though? I tell yer, matey, sometimes I wish I c’d magic some discipline inter this lot. Lookit those two, snorin’ like weasels at a weddin’, an’ they’re supposed t’be on guard! But tell me more about yore magic. Y’know wot I like, haharr, I likes beasts like yerself who know clever riddles. Go on, do a riddle fer me. ’Tis ages since I ’eard a good ’un.”

Midge tapped a dirty paw against his stained teeth. “Hmm, a riddle, now lemme see . . . Ah, ’ere’s a riddle fer ye. Wot goes gurgle gurgle snuffle trickle blubber ripple scrawf scrawf? D’yer know the answer to that one, Cap’n?”

Bluggach took another good pull at the grog and sat down, narrowing one eye and scratching his head. Midge beckoned Tammo silently, and together they began moving away. The stoat Captain drank some more, halting them with an unsteady wave.

“Er, burgle sniffle truckle sprawl, wot goes like that? Hah! That’s a good ’un, mate. I dunno, tell me the answer.”

Midge pointed at the two sentries sleeping by the fire at the water’s edge. “There’s yore answer, Cap’n. Two fat lazy guards sleepin’ their ’eads off by a stream all night. C’mon, Burfal, time we was goin’.”

They departed as the joke’s punch line dawned on Bluggach, and made their way back to the shelter and their own fire with the stoat Captain’s laughter ringing out behind them.

“Oh harrharrharr, that’s a good ’un, hohohoho! Wake up, you two, an’ lissen t’this. Harrharrhohoho! Wot goes grungle snirtle, worf worf an’ sleeps like youse two by the stream all night? Yarrharrhahaha! Betcha don’t know the answer, do yer?”

Sitting beside their own fire, the two hares discussed their plans.

“If Rockjaw gets a message from the Major tomorrow, we’ll be able to quit this place once I’ve worked more of my magic on Warfang.”

Gathering his rags about him, Tammo lay back to rest. “Aye, but we’d best wait until late night to make our escape. That’ll be a good time to break Fourdun out, too—we can’t leave him there for the vermin to starve an’ torment, he must go with us.”

Midge smiled at the determination on his young friend’s face. “Of course Fourdun’s goin’ with us, wouldn’t have it any other way, Tamm. But it ain’t goin’ to be easy, by the left it ain’t!”

*

By mid-morning of the following day, Rockjaw Grang had shifted his hiding place. Moving farther downhill, he settled himself in a dip, surrounded by rock and bushes. Not knowing how long it would be before he could once more sample the good food of Redwall, the giant hare ate sparingly. Munching on a russet apple, he checked his weapons. He laid out his heavy arrows and counted them, then rubbed beeswax on the stout string of his great yew bow. Rockjaw tested his sling, refilled the pebble bag, and set himself to honing a long dagger on a smooth stone.

Taunoc appeared beside him suddenly. Without raising an eye, the big fellow continued whetting his blade, commenting drily, “Sithee, bird, where’st thou been? Much longer sittin’ ’ere alone an’ I’d be talkin’ to mahself!”

The Little Owl folded his wings rather moodily. “Continue with that attitude and you will be talking to yourself, sir! My late arrival was due entirely to the tardiness of your own compatriots. However, I am not here to bandy words with you. I bring important news, so listen carefully.”

*

Lady Cregga Rose Eyes was lost in strange country. She had plunged forward in the darkness, driven by the Bloodwrath, running all night until she could go no farther. Now, with her massive axpike clutched in both paws, the Badger Warrior lay amid the ferned fringe of an ash grove. She slept a fevered sleep, shivering, with her tongue lolling out and eyes half open, but unseeing.

From the grove, a colony of rooks watched, hoping the badger was so ill that she would soon be weak and dying. A young rook made as if to hop forward, but the leader, a hefty older male, buffeted him flat with a single wingsweep.

“Chakkarakk! We wait, take no chances with a stripedog. When the sun sets we will fall on that one. Never have we tasted stripedog; there will be plenty there for all!”

*

The Long Patrol had risen at dawn. Picking up Sergeant Clubrush’s trail, they pressed forward on the double. The Drill Sergeant was sitting cooling his paws in a brook. He watched them approach, gnawing his lip in disappointment. Ellbrig halted the column in front of Clubrush, who shook his head.

“Must be gettin’ old lettin’ ’er give me the blinkin’ slip. I lost Lady Cregga’s trail sometime in the night. But even if I ’adn’t, what beast can keep up with a badger travelin’ at ’er speed?”

“Sah, beg t’report,” Trowbaggs called out from the back ranks. “Lady Cregga’s tracks are here to the left, travelin’ due west by the look of it!”

The veteran Shangle Widepad inspected the torn-up grass and scratched rocks. “Well spotted, young ’un. She’s well off course, though.”

Clubrush limped slowly over to the spot. After a quick glance he gave his verdict to Ellbrig in an undertone.

“Bad news for us, Lance Corporal. Looks like the Bloodwrath’s full on ’er. Take four with you an’ find ’er. We’ll wait ’ere.”

*

Trowbaggs, Deodar, Furgale, and Fallow jogged in a line abreast with Ellbrig. In broad daylight the trail of Rose Eyes was clear: ripped-up moss, flattened bushes, and trampled heather all told the story of the badger’s flight.

The irrepressible Trowbaggs chatted constantly as they forged on. “I say, looks like a flippin’ herd o’ badgers passed this way, wot? This Bloodwrath thing, Corp—what’s it all about?”

Ellbrig eyed the grinning recruit, about to tell him to mind his words, then he thought better of it. “You’ve as much right as the next beast t’know, I suppose. Bloodwrath is more a sickness than anythin’, ’tis a terrible sight t’behold. I think ’tis mainly Badger Warriors suffer from it, though I ’ave ’eard o’ otherbeasts taken by the Bloodwrath. Imagine hatin’ an enemy so much that even if he had ten thousand at his back, y’d charge at ’im, aye, an’ destroy many to get at ’im. They say a beast taken in Bloodwrath can fight on, even though wounded almost to death. Aye, they battle on still, as if they was fresh as a daisy, slayin’ anybeast that stands afore ’em. Red-eyed, full of the lust for death, an’ scornin’ fear, that’s Bloodwrath. Worst thing that c’n happen to a creature, I think!”

Trowbaggs was subdued by the Corporal’s statement, but only for a moment. He nudged Furgale, saying, “Hard luck on the foebeast, I’d say, but blinkin’ useful to have a hefty dash o’ the Bloodwrath on our side. Wot, wot!”

In the late afternoon, Ellbrig stopped to scan the weaving, meandering trail. “Hmm, the fires appear t’be dyin’ down. These tracks are all over the place, willy nilly. She can’t be far ahead.”

Fallow pointed to the distant ash grove, set in a vale between three low-lying hills. “I’ll wager we find her there, ’tis where I’d make for if I was tired’n’weary. What d’you think, Corp?”

“Aye, I’d say you made a good bet. Let’s get a move on. I think there’s big birds flyin’ low over that way.”

They increased the pace. Drawing closer to the grove, Ellbrig put on extra speed, roaring out an order. “Out slings, it’s rooks, they’re attackin’ somethin’!”

Yelling Eulalias and loosing off stones, the five hares leaped to the fray. Shrieking harshly, the rooks fled from their prey in a dark flapping mass, beating at one another with wing and talon in an effort to regain the safety of their grove.

A few bold ones remained, sticking out their necks and menacing the hares with their pointed beaks. Charging into the ferns, Ellbrig and his companions battered at the birds with loaded slings. Several rooks were slain before the birds finally fled.

Cregga Rose Eyes was surrounded by dead and dying birds. The big badger was ripped and pecked in a dozen places. Using her axpike for support, she staggered from the ferns with the hares assisting her. Ellbrig watched her carefully as she drank from a small canteen he had brought along, and he noted that her face was calm and her eyes had returned to their normal rose pink.

“Sar’nt Clubrush sent us, said you’d lost y’way, marm.”

Cregga looked slightly bewildered. Wiping a heavy paw across her eyes, she blinked at the Lance Corporal. “Lost? Yes, I suppose I was, in a way. Where are all the others?”

Ellbrig pointed in the direction they had come from. “Nearly a full day’s march back that way, marm. Can y’make it?”

The badger set out slowly, her head bowed wearily. “Yes yes, you carry on, Corporal. I’ll be fine.”

*

Drill Sergeant Clubrush sat finishing a fine supper of forager’s stew, washed down with some good mountain cider. He wiped his platter with a chunk of rye bread.

“By the fur’n’feather, that was a better meal than I ever knocked together in my recruit days. Top marks to you’n’ yore crew, young Algador, there’s hope for ye yet!”

As Algador saluted he cast a quick glance to the huge form of Lady Cregga, fast asleep on a pile of groundsheets by the fire. “Thanks, Sarge. Will we be movin’ out at dawn?”

Clubrush continued wiping his already clean platter. “Y’move when I say, laddie buck, an’ I move when she says. Though the seasons only knows when Lady Cregga’ll waken. She looked fair done in. Thank the fates that she’s normal agin.”