Seth was pointing to a chunk of blackened metal hanging from a chain round Rufus’s neck. The mouse ducked his head to look.
‘I don’t know . . . I’ve never seen it before.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t. The slave-ring hid it. Till now.’
‘It’s a locket, I think. Perhaps you could open it.’
‘Later! We’ve a long journey ahead of us – ’
‘Seth!’ The door burst open and a young mouse stood panting on the step. ‘Red Kites! Heading this way!’
4. The Castle in the Marshes
As the Red Kites landed, Saraband and his two followers, Nym and Skillet, flung themselves to the ground. Before them, the little cottages crouched in a circle round the village pond. The young mice, fearing another slave-raid, had pelted off into the fields. The old folk huddled round their fires, waiting helplessly for whatever the rats might do to them. They did not have long to wait.
At Saraband’s command, Nym and Skillet charged through the village like a whirlwind, ripping beds until the feathers flew, upending cupboards, poking their swords through floors and ceilings, and grabbing small valuables. Rampaging into the gardens, they hacked hen-houses to pieces. Saraband wanted the runaway slave found. And he wanted him dead.
At last, Nym and Skillet met outside Seth’s forge. ‘He ain’t in any of them houses, sir! I swear he ain’t,’ said Nym.
‘Then he must be in this one. Get in and find him!’ Saraband shouted.
‘Sir!’ The rats kicked down the door and blundered in.
Saraband knew that Zagora was close to death; but if that accursed slave warned the mice about the invasion, they would have time to gather an army, and the rats’ advantage of surprise would be lost.
‘Sir! Look!’ Skillet was running out of the forge. ‘A slave-ring! The blacksmith must have taken it off him!’
‘So that’s where he was hiding. Where is he now?’
‘Gone, sir. The place is empty. But there are tracks of two mice leading down to the valley behind the village.’
Saraband glowered at the forge. ‘Burn it,’ he snarled. ‘Burn the whole village! Then find that mouse. The blacksmith is risking his neck for a runaway slave, and I know why! Go on foot. I don’t want Red Kites flying about for every mouse within miles to see. I’m going back to the castle. The King’s dying, and there’s no knowing what Karabas will get up to if I’m not there.’
Nym and Skillet grinned. Like the rest of the war-band, they respected Zagora but despised the foolish Prince. As the Red Kites vanished over the treetops, the two rats returned to the forge and pumped the bellows until the charcoal glowed white. Taking a shovelful each, they ran outside and hurled the charcoal on to the thatch. They watched in glee as the fire leapt from one roof to the next until the neat little cottages were smouldering ruins. After they left, the mice, who had fled in terror from beneath their blazing roofs, stared in dismay at the wreckage of their homes. In despair, they cursed the Rat-Kind and prayed to the Lord of Light to deliver them from the tyranny of Saraband.
Meanwhile, Seth was leading Rufus across field and moor. After a lifetime in the Rats’ Castle, Rufus at first felt bewildered by the open spaces. But as the autumn sun warmed his fur, and his whiskers thrilled to the myriad scents of the countryside, he realized that he was free at last. He gazed in wonder at the ever-changing horizon. But, when he glanced back, he saw a distant column of smoke and guessed its meaning.
‘Don’t fret about it,’ said Seth. ‘We’ll rebuild it. It ain’t the first village the rats have burnt and it won’t be the last. But we’ll get our own back!’
After a long trek across open country, they descended to a thickly-wooded valley. The ground became soft, and large pools shone darkly beneath the trees. ‘Follow me close!’ warned Seth. ‘Keep to the track. These marshes are dangerous.’
Rufus obeyed, wrinkling his snout at the smell of decay rising from the marsh. The track seemed to suck at his feet, which left little pools at every step. At last, Seth halted and Rufus saw, above the tangle of trees, the towers of a castle.
‘Walk quietly now,’ said Seth. ‘We’re almost there.’
With a whirr and a thud, an arrow flew overhead and buried itself in a tree behind them, and a voice cried, ‘Stop where you are!’
Seth grinned. ‘It’s me! Seth! And I’ve brought a friend!’
Suddenly, all around them, figures rose from the marsh. They were mice, dressed in woodland colours and armed with homemade axes, knives and sickles. Down the track, a mouse-girl appeared, stooping beneath the branches. She was dressed like the others, but she carried a bow, and a quiver of arrows hung at her back.
‘Seth! What are you doing here? And who is this?’
‘His name’s Rufus. He’s a runaway slave.’
‘What? Are the rats after him? Don’t you realize that if they trace him to here, they might attack the castle?’
‘I don’t think they’ll find us,’ replied Seth calmly. ‘In any case . . .’
‘King Zagora’s dying,’ said Rufus. ‘And when he’s dead, Saraband will lead his warriors against Carminel.’
‘That’s nothing new,’ retorted the mouse-girl. ‘We’re always hearing rumours of Zagora’s death!’
‘This isn’t a rumour,’ said Rufus, keeping his temper with an effort.
Seth said firmly, ‘Elana – young Rufus has a story I want your father to hear. And you, too! So let us pass!’
Elana shrugged. ‘Oh, very well. But don’t blame me if the rats come and kill us all!’
The mice escorted Seth and Rufus through the marsh until the trees ended and the castle stood before them. As he followed Elana across the drawbridge, Rufus looked up at the twin towers that flanked the gatehouse. From one of them, a flag was fluttering; emblazoned upon it was a star with streams of light.
Inside, the castle was a ruin. The only building left was the roofless shell of the Great Hall, the dying sunlight streaming through its empty windows. The mice who lived here had built rough shelters against the great tumbles of grey stone that littered the courtyard.
‘They are all refugees,’ Seth explained. ‘Once they lived in villages, until the rats burnt them. So they stay in this old ruin. It’s far enough from the border for the rats not to bother with it. But if Zagora dies, Saraband may attack this castle. My cellar is stuffed with weapons, and its entrance is too well hidden for the rats to find. Trouble is, there’s only about fifty mice here and the rats have a thousand warriors. But we’ll hold them off as long as we can. Now, I must go and pass on your warning. Wait here.’
The courtyard was twinkling with the light of cooking fires. Elana appeared with a steaming bowl of potatoes, carrots and parsnips. Rufus was hungry after his long journey and his whiskers twitched in eager anticipation.
‘We grow our own vegetables,’ said Elana. ‘I suppose in the Rats’ Castle you’ve been living off the fat of the land.’
‘The rats eat well. The slaves get slops and leftovers.’
Elana scowled. ‘Oh . . . Well, I suppose I can’t blame you for running away. But what’s so special about you? Seth’s no fool. He must have brought you here for a good reason.’
‘He did!’ said a voice from behind.
Rufus swung round and saw an old mouse, dressed in threadbare robes and leaning heavily on a staff tipped with a silver star.
‘Father,’ said Elana, ‘this is Rufus. Rufus – this is my father, Amren. He is a priest of the Lord of Light.’ As Elana guided the old mouse to a place by the fire, Rufus realized that he was blind.
‘You are welcome,’ the old priest said. ‘I have already dictated a letter to Cardinal Odo, who rules Carminel from the city of Aramon. It is to warn him that Saraband may soon be on his way. Seth has told me of your adventures but we should all be glad to hear them from your own lips.’
The mice gathered round to listen. Even the sentries on the walls half-turned their heads, the better to hear him.
‘What a mirac
ulous escape!’ exclaimed Amren as Rufus ended his story. ‘It’s not every mouse who sees visions of eagles, and gets rescued by the Lord of Light!’
‘So they were eagles. My mother once told me about them. But I wonder how I saw them . . . Who is the Lord of Light?’
‘The god of the Mouse-Kind,’ answered Amren. ‘The rats ensure that no word of him reaches their slaves – the better to keep them in fear of the Sable Lord. But the Lord of Light lives, far, far away, on the Island of Peace, and his spirit watches over us. He stands for the good that dwells in every mouse – ’
‘While the Sable Lord is ruthless and cruel, like the vermin who worship him,’ said Elana fiercely. ‘What do you think about Rufus’s story, Father?’
‘Have you ever heard of the Treasures of Carminel?’ Amren asked Rufus. ‘You saw one of them last night: the ancient Crown, which we believed was lost for ever. It bears the great ruby, which once was set in the sword-hilt of King Vygan, the first of the Mouse-Kings. How we shall rescue it from our enemies’ castle, I do not know . . . But there are two other Treasures: the Chalice and the Sword.’
‘Where are they?’ asked Rufus.
Amren sighed. ‘No mouse knows. But when they are found, the eagles which you saw in your vision will fly again, and the rats will be driven from Carminel. So says the ancient prophecy. Listen carefully: the Chalice is the cup used by the Lord of Light when he was with us, in his bodily form, long ages ago. It holds some of his power, and is a potent weapon against evil, though its main purpose is to do good.
‘The Sword belonged to a mouse called Gideon, Eagle Warrior and Champion of Carminel. He died many years before the great Rat Invasion. Had he lived to lead his eagles against the attackers, the outcome might have been very different. But somewhere, his sword lies hidden, and it has great power. Gideon, it is said, once travelled to the Island of Peace, far across the ocean, and there received the blessing of the Lord of Light himself. No enemy of Carminel can stand against the Sword.
‘Rufus, from all you have told us, I believe that you have been chosen by the Lord of Light to find these Treasures. And you must begin your search at once. If, as you say, Zagora is close to death, then Carminel is in deadly peril.’
‘Oh, Father!’ cried Elana. ‘We can’t be certain of that. Besides, how can Rufus possibly go looking for the Treasures? They might be anywhere! You can’t expect him just to go wandering off and hope for the best.’
‘I don’t. Indeed, I confidently expect that Rufus will know where to search before he leaves this castle.’
Outside, Nym and Skillet were creeping to the edge of the moat. The sentries might have spotted them but they were distracted by Rufus’s story. The rats positioned themselves opposite a gaping hole in the wall to listen . . .
‘Rufus!’ Seth was pointing at the diamond-shaped locket. While Amren had been speaking, Rufus had, unconsciously, been running his paw back and forth across the age-blackened metal. Now it was gleaming, silver bright.
‘Father,’ said Elana. ‘Round Rufus’s neck, there’s a silver locket engraved with the Star of the Lord of Light! Where did you get it, Rufus?’
From the furthest coiner of Rufus’s memory, a picture was slowly emerging. ‘My mother gave it to me before she died. I was only a child. She said I must guard it always . . . If these Treasures will help to drive out the rats, I’ll find them! But I’ll need some clues.’ Reaching up his paws, Rufus unhooked the chain and passed the locket to Seth. ‘Open it. There may be something useful inside.’
5. The Clue
‘Well? What happened next?’
In the Great Hall, Saraband was listening with mounting dismay to his rats’ report.
‘His name’s Rufus,’ said Skillet. ‘We heard that. Then there was this poem, hidden in the locket.’
‘That’s right,’ said Nym. ‘Quite a nice poem, though I didn’t understand all of it. Poetry ain’t much in my line. I prefer a good story, like – ’
‘Great Sable Lord of Darkness!’ Saraband crashed his fist on the table. ‘Tell me what the poem said before I throw you to the Kites.’
Nym sighed and scratched his mangy fur. ‘No way I could remember a poem.’ But, seeing the look in Saraband’s eyes, he added hastily, ‘Skillet wrote it down. Show ’im, Skills.’
Skillet fished in his pocket and produced a dirty scrap of paper. Saraband snatched it, carried it to the window and read:
In a cave by a fountain the Chalice lies hidden
Releasing the rainbow reveals it to sight.
Under a fortress the Sword is concealed
Gideon’s rapier, blessed by the Light.
Only the god knows the fate of the Ruby;
The past is a horror, the future a void –
But go with the Treasures and seek for the eagles:
The King shall arise and the rats be destroyed.
Saraband’s face was a mask of horror. ‘What happened next?’ he whispered.
‘Well, nothing,’ said Skillet. ‘They all started talking at once, then they changed the guard on the walls, so we reckoned we’d better scarper. Any case, it was getting late, and we hadn’t had no supper – ’
‘Fools!’ screamed Saraband. ‘Get out before I tear you to pieces.’
The rats fled. ‘Curse that slave!’ shouted Saraband. ‘He overheard everything I said to Karabas after the feast, and will no doubt have blabbed it all to that blacksmith, and to the old fool at the castle. Will he have gone after the Treasures already?’
Saraband glared out at the mist. It was not usually so dense at this time of year and would hinder the search for Rufus. Was some enchantment already at work?
From the room above, he could hear the chanting of the priests as they cast their spells and prayed for the King’s life. Saraband sneered. It would take a miracle to cure Zagora now. And when he died: all-out war against Carminel!
But the mice must not be allowed to get their paws on those Treasures. Who knew what magic they might work? Saraband looked again at the poem. The reference to the Chalice meant nothing, but, Under a fortress the Sword lies concealed . . . Of course! The Great Fortress of Aramon that guarded the capital of Carminel. Saraband must get there before that accursed slave. He thought of the Crown. Whoever had written the poem had not known where it was. At least Saraband had that.
The priests’ chanting stopped. The castle fell silent. Suddenly the door burst open and Prince Karabas dashed in. ‘He’s dead! At last!’
‘Excellent!’ cried Saraband. ‘So now you’re King . . .’
‘YES!’ Karabas hurled himself dramatically on to his dead father’s throne. ‘We must hold the coronation at once; the warriors will expect it! And I must have a new robe. Purple velvet with gold trimmings – or should it be gold velvet with – ’
Saraband stopped listening. You pathetic fool, he thought; the Sable Lord has got rid of your father. Now I must get rid of you. Accidents often happen in a war … a bullet in the back … a dagger between the shoulders. Then my warriors will surely acclaim me as King.
Karabas was prattling on. ‘ … and I shall expect a really expensive coronation present.’
Saraband smiled. ‘What does your majesty desire most in all the world?’
Karabas looked blank; then he whispered, ‘War! War against the Mouse-Kind.’
‘Exactly. So let the priests bury your father, and you can have your coronation in Aramon.’
Leaving Karabas to his dreams of glory, Saraband hurried off. After giving orders to his warriors, he went to see Kei, the Chief Raven, in his nest high in the North Tower. Saraband despised the ravens. The rats used them as scouts and messengers, but they were vicious and disobedient, and their filthy nests stank.
‘What do you want?’ mumbled Kei, his beak full of worms. ‘I’m havin’ dinner.’
‘Listen, you stinking wretch. Tomorrow we begin the march on Aramon. I want one flight of twelve ravens to scout ahead, and two wide-patrols, one on either flank. They’re to
look for a mouse with reddish-black fur. He may be alone, or he may have company. I want him found. Understood?’
‘Why?’
‘None of your business. But I want him dead.’
Kei fluffed up his feathers. ‘Like that, is it? Yeah, well, we’ll try. Can’t promise nothing. But Aramon . . . Long flight. Very tiring . . .’ He gave Saraband a sidelong glance. ‘Wot’s in it for us?’
‘Jewels from the Cathedral and cash from the merchant-mice. Satisfied?’
‘Mmm . . . S’pose so. All right. I’ll tell the lads.’
‘Do that. And don’t oversleep or I’ll feed you to the Kites. We march at dawn!’
6. Mice Beware!
‘Listen!’
Crouching beneath the low-hanging branches of a willow, Elana peered into the mist. She had heard something, and now Rufus caught it too: the muffled sound of tramping feet, rapidly approaching. The mice lay flat. Moisture dripped from the tree and trickled down their necks. The sound grew louder until it seemed that it would swamp them. Suddenly, out of the veil of mist, burst the Rat Army.
Rank after rank they came, swinging along the valley, only yards below the tree where the mice lay hidden. Rufus was used to the rats’ smell, but Elana wrinkled her snout in disgust as their stench swept over her. As they swaggered by, the warriors burst into song.
‘We’re marching to Aramon – mice beware!
We’ll hack off your tails and singe your hair!
Wherever you hide yourselves, we’ll be there –
With daggers and swords all go-ry!
Oh, our teeth are sharp, our claws are red,
By the time you see us, you’ll be dead!
So quiver and shiver and shake with dread
At Saraband’s army in glo-ry!’
Ahead of the army, robed in cloaks patterned with silver moons, capered the priests of the Sable Lord, brandishing their staffs and muttering spells to ward off danger. Behind them hobbled old Morvan, the High Priest. Then came Saraband, his armour gleaming in the misty light. Karabas strutted haughtily, wearing a golden breastplate under a purple cloak and a jewelled crown.
Eagles' Revenge Page 2
