Fesslehorn ran as he had never run before. He wept as he ran, for he knew that behind him Stam the Stout was fighting his last battle. It seemed equally likely that Harlan Seer, who had split from him as they fled, would also be run down by the wolves who had appeared to ambush them. But Fess knew that his comrades, like him, were dedicated to a Cause of greater worth than their own lives.

And so he ran, eager to make the sacrifice of his friends count for more than a few prolonged moments of his own survival. Behind him he could hear wolves crashing through the woods. Muttering darkly to himself, Fess searched his surroundings. The trees provided cover, but that would not be enough to save him.

Unwinding his sling, Fess set it spinning. He didn’t have to wait long, as a wolf came tearing out of the trees towards him. A rock met the brute as it charged, sending it sprawling. Fess didn’t wait to see whether it would rise again.

Reloading the sling, Fess ran further south. His only real hope, he knew, lay in trying to reach Vandalia Citadel. There was no nearer refuge, not one that could hope to withstand two of the Six. But it would be a long, hard race to reach it.

Thinking of Vandalia almost brought a smile to Fess’ face. He had been there many times to visit Lord Booker. The older buck, though near the end of his prime, had long been a friend. Not so long ago Fess had been present for the celebration marking the birth of Booker’s latest child, a son named Morgan.

Savage growls broke into Fess’ thoughts, and he whipped off another stone in the direction of the noise. Quickly attaching the sling to his belt, he freed his blade. It was just in time, for another wolf leaped at him. Blocking the beast’s blow with his shield, he thrust with his weapon.

Leaving his enemy where it fell, Fess continued his run. It suddenly occurred to him that he was heading away from Nick Hollow, and might now never see it. He felt a pang at that. Nick Hollow had long been a place he had hoped to visit.

In the days of King Lander, he had learned, the hollow had been settled by a colony led by Nickel Drekker. The famous hero had ultimately found First Warren too bustling, and had led others of a like mind north and west. Unsurprisingly, the tranquil spot had been named in his honor.

However, they had proven not to be the first inhabitants. They had discovered abandoned dwellings, it was said, and finding their interiors filled with fearsome things had covered them up. Whether they had always belonged to wicked creatures or had been taken from their original owners, the finders had been unable to tell. Now, over a century later, many spoke of them with the same dismissal as of Terralain, or of dragons.

Fesslehorn, who more than half believed in both, had longed to see the place for himself. Harlan and Stam had readily agreed, in spite of their quest. Stam was, perhaps, more interested in visiting a site named for a famous fellow Drekker. An even deeper pang struck Fess at that thought.

Gripping the weapons his friend had given him, the Lord Captain continued his race. Howls echoed around him, and he gritted his teeth. But then he heard another noise that chilled his blood. It was a great noise of flapping, coming from above.

One of the Six was pursuing him.

By the noise, Fess quickly realized that Shelt must be the one following him. Vardon, as an owl, was all but silent in flight. It was among the things that made him such a terror among rabbits. Of course, what Shelt lacked in stealth, he made up for in speed.

“You cannot escape, prey! And even if I wished to let you live, you would find no joy! Your king is dead, your city is burning, and your ships are being seized or destroyed! The long years of your kind’s defiance of mine are being paid for in blood!”

Cackling and callous, the words of the Preylord tore at Fesslehorn’s heart. He knew that Shelt’s boasts had to be the truth. Any rabbit who could have revealed his, Stam’s, and Harlan’s mission to the predators could easily have committed the treachery needed to bring about these calamities. But though he grieved, Fess was not ready to submit.

“And what of your kind’s defiance, bird?” Fess put his back against a tree as he spoke, breathing hard. “I know the lies that you and the wolves tell my kind-that the dragons told once, it is said. That before the world was made, you defied the will of the Firstfather. And that when the world had been made, some of you were born into it, and through them the rest have come, age after age.

“We of the Great Wood remember the story aright, Shelt. You and your ilk rebelled, yes, but you did not come here by your own will. Firstfather cast you out, and suffered that you should be a scourge to the family of Flint and Fay. Your evil has been a reminder to us of our duty, and a check upon the pride that otherwise might fester in us.

“Perhaps that pride is what has let you accomplish the wicked deeds you now trumpet. And doubtless much suffering is to come to my people yet. But mark me well, bird. For, prey though we be, we rabbits know that which you would forget, were you able.

“Every victory you secure, however great it may seem to you and however terrible to us, will not endure. The war that you fight is one that you have already lost. No matter how many of us you enslave, kill, or seduce to your allegiance, your fate remains sealed. And it will be all the more terrible, for every crime you commit shall be heaped upon the price to be paid for your first crimes.

“So kill me, Shelt, if that is your purpose. For I shall go to Firstfather…and we shall meet again.”

The beating of wings grew louder, and Fesslehorn looked up to see the falcon break through the foliage above. Gripped in Shelt’s talons was a massive spear. It looked like the bolt of a giant crossbow, if such a weapon could exist.

Hatred burned in Shelt’s eyes as he drew back the spear. “Then go to your Firstfather, rabbit!”

Fesslehorn had no time to dodge.