Tsarmina turned from the battlements to give an order to her soldiers, but they were gone. The roof was deserted.

Below in the water were foxes and weasels, ferrets, stoats and rats. Some were swimming, others were hanging onto doors they had hacked off with their weapons. Wooden window shutters, tables, benches, anything that could float was being utilized by the fleeing army.

The rooftop shook from yet another assault by the siege catapult.

Brogg stood faithfully at the head of the stairs.

“You had better come down, Milady. The whole building is starting to crumble inside. Hurry, before the stairways collapse,” he advised.

Tsarmina turned left then right. She ran to the battlements, looked over and ran back in agitation.

“You’ll see, we’ll win yet. It’s that traitor brother of mine, Gingivere. He must still be alive. A single mouse couldn’t have thought all this up. I should have killed them both and made sure they were dead when I had the chance,” she ranted.

Leaping the spaces where the stairs had been demolished, the Queen and her Captain made their way to the high chamber. It was still intact. Beneath their paws, Kotir rumbled and crumbled in its death throes. The whole place was beginning to disintegrate into the massive, rapidly rising lake which surrounded it.

Brogg lifted a table and slid it out of the window. It did not have far to go before it splashed into the water.

“Hurry, Milady. We can both make it out of here on the table!”

Helped by Brogg, Tsarmina made an undignified scramble over the window ledge. She lowered herself onto the upturned table. It rocked crazily in the water, but stayed floating.

Brogg climbed up on the window ledge. “Hold it steady, Milady, closer to the wall so that I can get on.”

Tsarmina ignored the Captain. She pushed further along the wall until the table was beyond Brogg’s reach.

“Milady, wait for me!”

“Don’t be silly, Brogg.” Tsarmina sounded almost condescending. “You can see there’s only room enough for your Queen on this thing. Two of us would sink it.”

The Captain scratched his head dully as if trying to understand.

“But, Your Majesty, what about me?”

Tsarmina pushed further along the wall. “Oh, you’ll find something, Brogg. Get ashore and regroup the army. I’m going to find that mouse warrior and my brother Gingivere. Don’t you worry, I’ll make them pay for the loss of Kotir.”

Tsarmina floated off round the sinking stronghold, propelling herself along the walls by paw, to the other side, where there were no woodlanders.

Brogg crouched miserably on the window sill, trying to make up his mind which surprised him more—the desertion of Tsarmina his Queen, or the arrival of a huge ballista boulder which put an end to his bafflement forever.

*  *  *

It was a tranquil summer morning far to the east in Mossflower. On the farm the small creatures were out tending crops with Gingivere and Sandingomm. It had become a second home for the young woodlanders who had made the trip to this peaceful haven of refuge.

Abbess Germaine and Columbine sat upon the riverbank together. Columbine was busying herself with roots she was drying; it was a good area for medicinal herbs and plants. The Abbess had charcoal and parchments; she was drawing something. Columbine watched from the corner of her eye. She remembered Loamhedge. The Abbess used to draw a lot in those far-off days, often translating her thoughts onto parchments which she kept in a journeying satchel—a thing she had not done since their arrival at Brockhall.

Now the old mouse took up a dried reed. Using it as a straight edge, she worked busily with her charcoal sticks, rubbing here, altering there, shading and curving the lines until a clear outline of a great building began to emerge. Germaine peered over the top of her spectacles as she worked, Columbine smiled fondly at her.

“That’s a fine big house, Abbess.”

“I suppose you could call it a house, child. I’ve had this idea in my mind since we left Loamhedge.”

“Ah yes, poor old Loamhedge. I was just thinking about it myself. Perhaps we could have built your big house there, had we been able to stay,” Columbine suggested.

“No, that would not have been possible, Columbine. There was very little local stone around the Loamhedge area.”

Columbine put the roots aside and looked at the drawing with renewed interest.

“Then this great house is not just a dream. It could be built if we had the right material and location, plus, of course, the creatures to build it.”

Germaine nodded decisively, spreading the plans out between them. “Oh yes, indeed. Let me explain. This would not be a mere house. The building I am planning will be a real Abbey for all our woodland friends who wish to live there, a peaceful place where all would exist in happiness.”

“How lovely. Tell me more about your Abbey,” Columbine said excitedly.

The old Abbess explained eagerly, pleased to have Columbine showing interest in her brainchild.

“See here, this is the outer wall, with its gatehouse, small wicket gates and big main threshold. Here is the main building—bell tower, Great Hall, kitchens, dormitories, infirmary, store rooms, cellar spaces . . . I have thought of everything that a proper Abbey needs. These areas around the large building are enclosed within the main walls—they are orchards and fields to grow crops in, a pond, and everything it would need to be self-supporting. This is a dream that could become reality if Mossflower were freed.”

Columbine gazed in wonder at the well-outlined plan. “You say it could become reality?”

“Oh yes.” The old Abbess nodded emphatically. “When we first saw Kotir I noticed that though the stones were darkened and slime-covered, it had been built of red sandstone. There are outcrops of it all over the Mossflower area. Yesterday I crossed the River Moss on a log, and there is an old quarry over there. We could hew an endless supply of good stone from it.”

“A beautiful dream Abbess, maybe someday—”

“Abbess, Columbine, hurry up, we’ve made you a lovely cheese and apple salad, but Coggs says he’ll eat it all unless you come right away,” Spike said breathlessly as he and Posy dashed up. Sandingomm followed, looking mock-seriously at the two mice.

“I think you’d better do as they say, Abbess. I’ll go and get Uncle Gingivere. We don’t want him to miss his salad because of that fat little Coggs.”

Germaine allowed Spike and Posy to help her up.

“Cheese and apple salad—my favorite,” she told them. “Lead me to it. I’ll show that wretch Coggs a thing or two about putting salad away. Did I ever tell you, when I was a young mouse long ago, I once ate three great bowls of cheese and apple salad at a sitting?”

“Oh, hahaha. Then why aren’t you fat like Coggs? He says he’s not going to stop eating until he’s twice the size of Skipper.”

“What d’you mean, twice the size? My goodness, look at you, young Posy. You’ll be bursting out of your fur soon.”

“Hahaha. Oh, stoppit, Abbess. That tickles. Hahaheeheehee!”

*  *  *

The first Kotir soldiers were hauled dripping to shore by the woodlanders. Dispirited, disarmed and soaking wet, they were made to sit at the water’s edge by Skipper and the six hares, who fished them out with fearsome-looking pikes.

“Sit down there, you great wet weasel.”

“Steady on, Trubbs old chap, that’s a stoat.”

“Oh, I say, sorry. Sit there, you soaking stoat.”

“Saturated stoat, don’t you mean, old bean?”

“Hmm, what about the weasels?”

“Oh, actually they get wringing wet, both begin with W, you see.”

“Righto. Sit over there, you wringing wet weasel.”

“Oh golly, I’ve got a rat now. How d’you address these blighters?”

“Easy, old thing—rats are rancid.”

“Rancid? That doesn’t mean wet.”

“No, but the wretched cove does look pretty rancid.”

“So he does. Splendid. Sit here, you rancid rat!”

Skipper patrolled the ranks of defeated troops and eyed them sternly.

“Sight tight, vermin,” he said sternly. “Keep your paws on your heads, where I can see them. First one to make a funny move goes straight back into that water on the end of a pike. Understood?”

Young Dinny and Ben Stickle fed them bread and milk.

“Here you blaggards, eat this and drink up. Though the way you’ve behaved toward us, we shouldn’t be giving you anything.”

“Hurr, too roight. Oi’d give’ ’ee ditchwatter an’ frogtails if’n oi ’ad moi way.”

A weasel tried to snatch the bread from a stoat. Dinny cuffed him soundly round the ears with blunt digging claws. “None o’ that yurr, please, or oi’ll sett ’ee atop o’ yon cattingpult an’ shoot ’ee into middle of ’ee lake,” he threatened.

There was no fight left in the vanquished Kotir troops. Most of them looked grateful to be fed and treated civilly by their captors. Lady Amber and her archers sat in low boughs, bows and arrows ready in the event of an uprising.

*  *  *

Martin was otherwise engaged. He made his way further along the bank, away from the bustle and noise. Standing at the north edge of the lake, he watched Tsarmina’s progress in silence. The wildcat Queen was obviously making her escape bid, leaving her army to its fate. She paddled between Kotir and the shore, whilst behind her the fortress crumbled and splashed into the water under the ballista’s constant battering. The wildcat Queen floated steadily toward land on the upturned table.

Martin drew his sword. “Boar the Fighter, help me this day,” he whispered, remembering its maker. Then the warrior mouse limped along the shoreline as fast as his injured limb would permit, on his way to intercept the enemy.

*  *  *

Tsarmina paddled in to land and sprang ashore. Ignoring the activity on the east side, she stared miserably at Kotir. There was no further need of rock missiles; the flood had done its work. With a rumbling crash, the last of the roof caved in. The whole structure disintegrated, splashing into the great lake. There was a boiling of muddy brown bubbles, then the lake surface went still under the gray midday sky, rippled only by the soughing wind.

Kotir was gone from sight forever!

Tsarmina threw back her head in an anguished yowl and ran to the water’s edge, drawing back swiftly as the wetness touched her paws.

“I have kept my promise to you, cat. Kotir has fallen!” A stern voice called out from behind her.

The wildcat Queen froze, fearing to turn around.

“Gingivere, is that you?”

Martin strode to the water’s edge and stood a short distance from his mortal enemy.

“I am Martin the Warrior, son of Luke, friend of Boar the Fighter.”

Tsarmina turned to face her foe. “So, it is you. Well, my little warrior, where are your woodland allies? Not here to help you?”

Martin leaned upon his sword. Now that the moment had arrived he felt only contempt. “Tsarmina, you are the Queen of an underwater fortress, Ruler of the fishes.” His voice had a mocking ring to it. “Cat, you are scum, floated ashore on an upturned kitchen table, nothing more!”

Stung by the scathing insult, Tsarmina gave a scream of rage, and dived straight upon Martin. Digging her claws into his back, she gave a mad yell of triumph, which was swiftly followed by a howl of pain as the keen blade slashed her ribs to the bone.

Martin winced as he swung his sword. Feeling Tsarmina’s claws pull free of his back, he stabbed furiously at the great furred bulk of the wildcat. She leaped back a pace.

Maddened by the same berserk rage that had driven Boar onward, Martin hurled himself upon the surprised wildcat.

This time Tsarmina took two thrusts in the flank before she raked the warrior’s face savagely with vicious claws. The helmet was torn from Martin’s head, armor flapped loose as Tsarmina disentangled herself, but he managed to pierce her paw right through.

They crouched panting for a moment, both sorely wounded. Then Martin dashed the blood from his vision, and with a bellow of rage he charged the wildcat.

This time she was ready. Tsarmina nimbly sidestepped, cruelly striking Martin’s back as he plunged by, opening further the wounds she had already inflicted.

The warrior mouse fell heavily upon his face and lay still. Tsarmina licked her wounds, chuckling evilly. She had finally finished her enemy off.

Then Martin stirred.

Shaking himself, he stood upright. Gripping his battle blade with both paws, the warrior went headlong at Tsarmina.

Despite the shock at her opponent’s recovery, Tsarmina swiftly gathered her wits, sidestepping once more.

This time Martin sidestepped with her, striking a mighty blow to her back.

The wildcat Queen screamed in agony, rounding suddenly on him. Paw grasped claw, teeth bit fur; kicking, scratching, gouging and stabbing, they rolled over and over on the bank in a shower of flying earth.

Tsarmina freed herself, leaving Martin prone on the ground. Once more she backed off licking her wounds.

“Got you that time, woodlander!” she crowed.

Digging his blade into the earth, Martin heaved himself up, breathing raggedly. Exerting all his strength, he whirled the war sword aloft.

“Mossflowerrrrr!”

Fear was etched in Tsarmina’s eyes as she tried to fight off the wild onslaught. Here was a warrior who would not lie down and die.

Locked in combat, they strained and flailed at one another, the warrior mouse hacking at the wildcat Queen, who gave back slash for thrust, bite for cut.

Her hide open in a dozen places, Tsarmina kicked out with her four paws, sending Martin flying into the water. She grabbed a piece of driftwood to push him further in, only to find him standing in the shallows, waiting to attack. Covered from head to tailtip in mud, blood and water, Martin struck the branch that Tsarmina thrust at him, breaking it in two with a single swipe. His next backslash splintered the remains deep into Tsarmina’s paw.

Crouching low with the sword point held out in front, Martin waded out of the water toward his foe, the red glitter of total war shining hot in his eyes, his teeth bared in a wild laugh.

Tsarmina’s craven heart failed her.

The wildcat began circling nervously as Martin closed in. Like a dream from the past, she recalled that winter evening in her father’s bedchamber when she had smashed the rusty sword of a captive mouse. She remembered the words he had spoken as he was dragged off to the cells at Kotir: You should have killed me when you had the chance, because I vow that I will slay you one day!

Unaware of the water behind her, Tsarmina retreated, backing off as the little warrior came toward her, bloodied but unbowed, the mouse who would not lie down and die. Martin, the one that fought like a great male badger.

Back, back, she paced, her eyes shifting from the gleaming blade to Martin’s piercing eyes. Deeper and deeper into the waters of the lake went the Queen of the Thousand Eyes.

Even though Martin had halted upon the lake shore, he seemed to be getting larger, towering in her vision. She had to get as far away from this threat as she could.

Suddenly Tsarmina realized she had gone too deep. The energy drained from her body; dry land seemed miles away. Water filled her world, dark, swirling, eddying, tugging, longing to fold her in its wet embrace, pulling her down, filling her mouth, nostrils and finally her eyes.

The dream had come true. The nightmare was alive!

*  *  *

Back in the shallows, Martin dragged his wounded body onto the land. Trying to lift his sword one last time, he managed to gasp out, “Sleep in peace, Boar. Mossflower is free!”

The shining sword slid from the warrior’s grasp and he fell to the earth, a limp sodden bundle.

*  *  *

The captives on the lakeshore were seated in ranks. Paws on heads, they disputed in low voices with each other.

“I think we’re safe. These woodlanders are not killers.”

“Huh, if we’d been captured by Bane or Tsarmina it would have been a different story, mate.”

“I’ll say. We’d all have been floating face down in that lake by now, those who hadn’t sunk.”

“Aye. Instead the woodlanders fed us and cared for us.”

“Better grub than I ever had at Kotir.”

Bella forestalled any further comment by standing upon a mound and calling for order.

“Attention, all of you. Listen to me!”

Murmuring died away as the former army of Kotir listened to hear what was in store.

The badger pointed over their heads at the lake. “Look! Turn your heads and see—Kotir is gone forever. Now you have no leader or walls to hide behind. The war in Mossflower is at an end. You are defeated.”

Late afternoon sun emerged through the clouds as Bella continued. “We do not make total war upon you because we are not killers. However, that would not be the case a second time. Remember that.”

A timid paw showed in the ranks. It was Whegg the rat.

“Then we’re not to be sentenced to death?” he asked anxiously.

Bella held her breath a moment before speaking.

“No.”

There was an audible sigh of relief from the prisoners.

Whegg could not resist a second question.

“What will happen to us?”

Skipper stood on the mound beside Bella.

“Right,” he said. “Clean up your lugs and listen hard, mateys. I’ll only say this once. You will each swear an oath that you will never again carry a weapon or come near Mossflower country, though if I’d had my way none of you would have got out of that lake alive today. Be that as it may, Bella of Brockhall here has said that you be spared, so you have her to thank for your lucky escape. But I’ll tell you this: any creature that doesn’t agree to our terms, let him show a paw now. The lake is still here, and so am I.”

The captives immediately sat upon their paws.

“Good!” Skipper nodded his approval. “Now you will remain here until tomorrow, when you will be escorted under guard to the flatlands west of here. You can travel west or south, but not back up north and certainly not back here to our land. That is all for now. Be still and behave.”

Bella and Skipper stepped down to join Amber and the others.

Amber looked concerned. “Where has the big cat got to?”

Timballisto was worried too. “Where is my friend? Has anyone seen Martin?” he asked anxiously.

Ben Stickle nodded. “Just before Kotir fell into the lake, I saw him on the bank. He headed up that way, yonder.”

“Then he must be found straightaway,” Bella interrupted. “Gonff, you and I will search the water’s edge. The rest of you stay here and keep an eye on this lot.”

Before they moved off Bella issued a warning:

“Watch out for Tsarmina.”

*  *  *

Young Dinny, Bella and Gonff halted further up the bank. Timballisto joined them, refusing to watch captives while his friend was missing.

Bella looked about. “I don’t think he would have come this far with his wound. In all that armor he couldn’t possibly have traveled fast enough.”

“Aye, besides, what would he have wanted all this way along the shore, when we were capturing prisoners further down?” Gonff agreed.

“If I know my friend, I think he must have spotted the cat.”

“Hurr, moi diggen claws be a-tellen me Marthen be about sumwhurrs. Oi do feel et.”

“Well, we’d better trust you, Din. The old digging claws haven’t been wrong yet, matey.”

“Lookit, thurr!” Squinting hard, the mole pointed further along the shoreline to where the sunlight was clearly glinting off a shining object.

Gonff broke into a run. “By the teeth and fur, matey, that must be the sword!”

*  *  *

The little mousethief was first to reach the fallen figure of his friend. Dinny, Timballisto and Bella came as fast as they could to the spot where the sword lay. They found Gonff blinded by tears, his whole body shaking with grief as he knelt by the pitiful bundle that was his friend. “He’s dead, they’ve killed our Martin!”

Dinny knelt beside him, burying his face in the earth. “Hoa nay, letten et doant be true!”

The two friends wept bitterly.

Timballisto would not, could not, believe that after the short period they had been reunited, his friend had been taken to the gates of Dark Forest.

Timballisto turned Martin gently over, laying his limbs straight. Swiftly he hurried to the water and filled Martin’s helmet. Soaking a cloth, he dabbed feverishly at the fearsome wounds that covered his friend’s body.

“Who could have done these awful things to a living creature?”

Gonff wiped his eyes. Picking up a long broken claw from the earth, he held it out to them. “Tsarmina, that’s who,” he said grimly.

Dinny squinted at the claw. He cast about, sniffing and sifting with his paws, finding many traces of blood on the ground. “They’m fought a gurt battlefoight yurr. Lookit, catbludd on Marthen’s sword, ground all a-ploughed up.”

Gonff followed the tracks to the water’s edge. “You’re right, matey. The cat went backward, into the lake. I think our warrior won the battle.”

Once more the tears sprang to the little mousethief’s eyes. “Martin, we went through everything together. Why couldn’t I have been here to help you, matey?”

Bella was cradling Martin’s head, when suddenly she leaned closer to the warrior mouse’s lips.

“He’s alive! His mouth is moving!” she exclaimed joyfully.

T. B. began dabbing furiously at his friend’s paws with the wet cloth. “He’s alive! My friend is alive! Bella, is it true? Oh, please say yes!”

The badger’s eyes were misted. “He’s talking to Boar my father at the gates of Dark Forest,” she said in a strained voice.

“Don’t let him go there, please. Do something to help him!” Timballisto begged, seizing Bella’s paws.

Bella thought hard for a moment. “Wait, I have not got the knowledge as a healer for something as serious as this. But I know one who has—Abbess Germaine.”

Gonff paced up and down, shaking his head. “But she’s taken the little ones over to the east of Mossflower. It would be too late by the time we found her.”

“Then send Chibb. He can fly there,” T. B. said in a desperate voice.

Even in the urgency of the situation, Bella of Brockhall took command. Restoring order and good sense, she provided a solution.

“Friends, here is the only way we may save Martin. Listen carefully. Gonff, hurry back to our camp and send Chibb east. He must tell the Abbess to gather her medicines and herbs together. Meanwhile, you will get blankets and bring them back here. Do not move Martin, just keep him warm and dry. Abbess Germaine is old and cannot travel fast, but I will follow Chibb and bring her back from Gingivere’s farm as speedily as I can.”

Without another word, Bella dashed along the shore with a speed surprising for a badger. Cutting to the east, she crashed into Mossflower Woods like a juggernaut, disappearing in a welter of churned-up ground and flying foliage.

*  *  *

Night fell upon the lakeside. A fire burned bright as Goody Stickle tended Martin, tucking the blankets gently but firmly around his injured body. Ben Stickle hurried hither and thither gathering firewood.

T. B. stood by, feeling totally useless as he listened to the fevered voice of his friend.

“Carry on the sweep of the blade,” Martin whispered. “Up and across, eh, Boar, you old battlebeast. Who will wield our swords for us now, warrior?”

T. B. was about to speak, when Goody held a paw to her lips. “Hush now, Mr. T. B. He’s a-sleepin’. I’m doin’ all I can to keep the life in the poor mouse until Abbess gets here.”

Trubbs and the hares built a bower of reeds and willow about Martin and Goody, speaking in whispers as they did so.

“Keep the old night breezes off, what!”

“Rather. Can do without the bally wind, y’know.”

“Nothing worse than a chill on the paws when a chap’s not on top form.”

Pale moonlight glimmered off the surface of the lake as Martin lay still, scarcely breathing. The woodlanders sat waiting.