Brian Jacques - Mossflower

fault."

Boar shook his head in admiration. "Spoken like a true

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warrior. Rise up, Martin, and follow me. Now I will give you the means to

fight like one."

Trubbs, Wother and Ffring met them at the forge. There was lots of giggling

and winking between the hares.

"Well, does he know about you-know-what, eh, Boar?"

"I say, let's show it to him now, Boar. Be a sport."

"Yes, otherwise the poor old bean might keel over with suspense."

There was a twinkle in Boar's eye as he turned to Lupin, the wife of

ButTheart.

"What d'you think, Lupin? Is he ready for this?"

Lupin waggled her long ears humorously as hares do.

"Oh, I suppose so. Anyhow, we'll soon find out."

Boar had moved to the edge of the forge and was toying with something wrapped

in soft barkcloth.

"While you slept last night, my hares and I worked until after dawn had

broken," he said at last. "I have made something for you, Martin."

The warrior mouse felt the hairs rising on the back of his neck. He gulped

with excitement as Boar continued.

"One night while out on patrol, our Lupin here saw a star fall from the sky.

She found the spot where it landed. A lump of hot metal was buried deep in the

sand. When it cooled she dug it out and brought it back to me. Last night I

put sea coal and charcoal in my forge; more than ever before, I made

Salamandastron glow so hot that it could be seen in lands far across the sea.

I had to—half the night had gone before the metal became soft. I hammered it

out, oiled it, folded it many times against itself on my anvil, all the time

reciting the names of every great warrior I had known or could think of. I

spoke your name on the final hammer blow. Here, Martin. This is yours."

Everyone gathered round, including the three travelers, who were back from

their tour of the mountain. They held their breath as Martin carefully

unwrapped the barkcloth, layer by layer.

It was the sword!

Double-edged, keener than a razor, it lay glittering and twinkling, a myriad

of steely lights. Its tip was pointed like a mountain peak in midwinter, the

deadly blade had a three-

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quarter blood channel. It was perfectly balanced against the hilt, which had

been restrapped with hard black leather and finished with a ruby-red pommel

stone and curving scrolled crosspiece where it joined the marvelous blade.

Never in his wildest dreams had Martin imagined such a thing. Since they left

Mossflower on the quest, he had more or less forgotten the broken hilt that

hung about his neck. Caught up in the adventures and perils they had been

through, he had used whatever he had to—a sling, a piece of wood as a

stave—never expecting to see his father's sword restored to a newness that far

outshone its humble beginnings. Now, suddenly, he felt the warlike blood of

his ancestors rising at the sight of a fighting weapon few were chosen to look

upon, let alone own. The feeling of destiny lay strong upon him as he picked

up the fascinating weapon in one paw. His hackles rose and the blood gorged in

his face, flashing across his eyes. Now he was the Warrior!

Everyone moved back to the walls as the warrior mouse took his sword in both

paws. He held it straight out, letting the point rise slightly to feel the

heft of the weapon. Suddenly Martin began sweeping it in circles, up, down,

and around. The steel blade whooshed and sang eerily on its own wind, the

bystanders followed its every move as if hypnotized. Martin leaped onto Boar's

anvil, still swinging his sword. There was an audible ping as he sliced the

tip from the anvil horn. It ricocheted oft the rock walls. They ducked

instinctively as it hummed past like an angry wasp, leaving the singing blade

unmarked.

"Tsarmina, can you hear me?" Martin roared out above the voice of the howling

blade. "I am Martin the Warrior. I am coming back to Mossflowemrrrrrrr!''

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An hour before dawn, Brogg was rubbing sleep from his eyes. He flopped his

Thousand Eye Captain's cloak about him and stumbled into the main billet with

Ratflank. They kicked at prostrate forms, pulling tattered blankets from

sleeping soldiers.

"Come on, you lot," they ordered. "Up on your paws. It's invasion time again."

Grumbling and protesting, the troops sat up, scratching at their fur, wiping

paws across eyes.

"Gaw! I was bavin* a lovely dream there."

"Huh, me too. I dreamed we were getting a proper hot breakfast."

"You'll be lucky, bucko. Bread and water, and be glad of it."

"Where's this fat of the land we're all supposed to be living off? That's what

I'd like to know."

Ratflank kicked out at a huddled form wrapped in sacking. A rawboned fox

wearing brass earrings leaped up.

"Keep your stupid paws off me, lumphead," he snarled. "I'm not one of your

dimwit soldiers. We only take orders from Bane."

Ratflank hurried away, narrowly dodging the bared yellow fangs.

Bane and Tsarmina paced restlessly about in the entrance hall. The fox banged

his paw against a doorpost.

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"What's keeping them?" he asked impatiently. "It'll be noon by the time we get

going at this rate."

Tsarmina gritted her teeth, turning, she screeched toward the barracks,

"Brogg, Ratfiank, get them out here double quick, or I'll come in there and

move you myself!"

The first bunch came tumbling out, adjusting tunics, clattering shields on

spears.

"Here's mine. Where's your crew, Bane?" Tsarmina smirked.

Moments later, Bane's mercenaries strolled casually out in the rear of the

uniformed soldiers. The fox commander struck his curved sword against a shield

until he got order.

"Right, you lot. Same drill as yesterday—skirmish line, comb the woods, keep

your eyes peeled and your wits about you. When we find them, remember: no

mercy!"

The horde moved out toward the parade ground in the courtyard. As the first

half-dozen soldiers passed through the doorway into the open, there was a

harsh shout from the woodland fringe.

"Fire!"

A hiss of vicious weaponry cut the air. The six soldiers fell in their tracks,

cut down by arrows and javelins.

"Retreat, retreat, get back inside, quick!" Bane ordered hastily.

There was panic as the back ranks coming forward stumbled into the front ranks

retreating. More troops fell, transfixed by flying death.

"What's going on out there?" Tsarmina yelled at Bane.

Bane stood panting with his back to the wall.

"They've got us bottled up in here. Wait a moment. Badtail!"

The rawboned fox came trotting up. "Here Bane."

"See what the position is out there. Pinpoint where they are and report back

to me."

Badtail lay flat upon his belly. Sliding around the doorposts, he scrambled

out onto the parade ground, tacking and weaving. Halfway across the courtyard,

he bobbed up and down, checking the trees and scanning the low bushes through

the open main gates.

"What d'you see?" Bane's voice rang across the open space.

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Still lying flat, Badtail raised his head as he shouted back, "Squirrels and

otters. They've got the main gates open and they're shooting from the tr—"

An otter javelin closed his mouth forever.

Bane poked his head around the doorpost. An arrow hummed its way viciously

into the woodwork. He pulled back swiftly as two more buried their points in

the doorpost where his head had been.

Skippe. crouched behind a bush and signaled to Lady Amber, who was perched on