‘It would take more than Oslaf to kill me,’ growled Rothgar, ‘although he wounded me badly and left me for dead. But Wiglaff found me in the forest, while he was gathering food for Rufus. He bound up my wound and tended me day and night.’
‘Traitor!’ screamed Rhiannon. Rothgar ignored her.
‘I swore Wiglaff to secrecy. But he knew which moles were loyal, and one by one they’ve been slipping away to join me. Didn’t you notice?’
‘I couldn’t tell you about Rothgar,’ said Wiglaff to the mice. ‘But last night, when you were captured, Oslaf’s moles didn’t know I was there, so I burrowed out and went to Rothgar and the others. He gave me this pistol. Never thought I’d have to use it.’
‘Disarm these traitors and release Queen Morganna,’ ordered Rothgar. The rebel warriors were hopelessly outnumbered. Surrendering their swords and axes, they stood with bowed heads. ‘Why is that warrior tied up?’
‘He refused to execute us,’ said Rufus. ‘It took courage to stand up to Rhiannon. We’re grateful to him.’
‘And so am I. Untie him.’ Rothgar turned to Rhiannon. ‘Unbuckle that Sword! It belongs to Rufus.’
Rhiannon obeyed, but as the belt slid from her waist, she drew the Sword and with a cry of ‘Murderer!’ she leapt at Wiglaff, who flinched and flung up his paws as the long blade came glittering down.
A clash of steel, a blaze of light – and Rhiannon’s scream of agony was drowned in a roar of thunder. When Rufus opened his eyes, he saw that Wiglaff was unharmed, but Rhiannon was lying still.
Rothgar knelt beside her. ‘She will live,’ he said. ‘It is up to Queen Morganna to decide her fate, and the fate of those warriors who followed her. Oslaf is dead, justly slain by Wiglaff to save his friends.’
Trembling with terror, the rebel moles knelt to Morganna and bowed their heads in submission. The Queen regarded them sternly. ‘You are all guilty of high treason. I will spare your lives, but you are banished from this city. Leave your weapons, and go to the farthest corner of the wood. There you may dig your own city, and I shall tell the other moles who dwell beneath the forest what kind of creatures you are.’
As the loyal moles escorted the crestfallen rebels away, Rufus asked Morganna, ‘What will you do with Rhiannon?’
Morganna sighed. ‘She deserves to die. But… she is my sister. I will keep her in prison until she comes to her senses. If she ever does.’
Rothgar picked up the Sword and gazed at it in wonder. ‘I know not what power lies in this.’
But Rufus did. Just as Rhiannon had raised the Sword to strike at Wiglaff, Rufus had seen, for a moment, a mouse with a long, curved snout, and wearing a scarlet cloak. With his upraised sword, he had deflected the savage cut that would otherwise have cloven Wiglaff’s skull. Then the mouse had vanished. But Rufus had guessed who he was: Gideon, Eagle Warrior, whose spirit still kept watch over his mice, and who would not allow his Sword to be used for evil.
‘Take the Sword, Rufus,’ said Rothgar, ‘and the Chalice. There is news in the forest that Saraband is laying siege to Aramon. You and your Treasures will be needed if the Rat-Kind are not to enslave us all.’
Elana flung her paws round Wiglaff and hugged him. Rufus grasped his paw. ‘How can we ever thank you? You’ve saved our lives. I only hope that I can do the same for you some day.’
‘Wiglaff’s courage deserves the highest reward,’ said Queen Morganna. ‘From now on, he will be my Chief Adviser. Rufus and Elana: if ever you are in danger, send for the moles. Our tunnels run to the edges of the forest, and any woodland creature will guide you to us. Now you must go, and may the Lord of Light protect you, for the fate of Carminel depends on you.’
18. The Raid
From a narrow window, high in the Great Fortress, Captain Finn was looking out over the rooftops of Aramon towards the ring of campfires twinkling in the darkness. An icy wind was blowing, bearing rich cooking smells that set Finn’s empty belly grumbling with hunger. In the overcrowded city, food supplies were running low. Aramon was close to starvation.
Cardinal Odo entered the room and sat heavily at his desk. He looked tired and thinner. But his eyes still smiled. ‘Put another log on the fire, Finn, before we freeze to death.’ It was the last one.
Firewood was as strictly rationed as food, and the Cardinal’s private room was no exception. ‘You know what day it is today, Finn? The Birthday of the Lord of Light. A time for feasting.’ Odo smiled sadly. ‘But there’ll be no feasting tonight.’
‘No, sir. But at least we’ll still have the lights at midnight.’
All over Carminel, on the stroke of twelve, the mice would run eagerly outside to watch the explosion of natural fireworks in the sky. Streaks of multi-coloured light, soaring into the heavens and pouring towards the earth: a fabulous display of energy and power, a never-failing promise that the Lord of Light still lived and was watching over them.
‘Ah, yes, the lights at midnight,’ rumbled the Cardinal. ‘And before that, our mice will be gathering to celebrate the Birthday. I shall be in the Great Cathedral with all those who are not guarding the walls. But tonight there will be no singing. Instead, we shall hold a solemn vigil and pray to the god to deliver us from the curse of Saraband.’
‘Good idea, sir.’
‘But you won’t be there, Finn. I’ve got a job for you. Those siege-guns that made the breach: I want you to destroy them before they make another breach in the wall. How you do it is up to you, but do it! The lights in the sky should distract the rats. They’ve seen them before, of course, but they should remind those vermin that their Sable Lord isn’t all-powerful.’
‘Very good, sir.’ Finn sounded more confident than he felt.
‘Take two sections. We dare not risk any more. And try not to lose any of them. Your Squad did well today. How’s Silence?’
‘He’ll live, sir. But his sword-arm’s paralyzed. He’ll not fight again.’
‘If I know Silence, he’ll fight with his other arm. But I’m sorry he’s hurt. I’ll go and see him later. Go now, and the best of luck.’
As Finn left the Great Fortress, an idea struck him. He hastened through the city to an old dock-side tavern called The Cardinal’s Head. There he found Burglar, Dead-Eye and their sections eating a meagre supper of cold potatoes and mouldy cheese, washed down with stale beer. ‘Buck up and finish that,’ said Finn. ‘We’ve a little job to do tonight.’
Finn, with Dead-Eye’s section, was creeping across the snow. Burglar’s mice were invisible, but Finn knew they were somewhere to his right. The night was dry, but dense clouds hid the stars. The only light came from the rats’ campfires. The mice had left the city by boat, rowing up the Aramon River to a point well beyond the enemy’s line. From there, they had trekked across country in a wide circle. Now, Finn and his comrades were crawling towards the campfire that marked the position of their target: the two big guns.
The absence of cover was no problem to the Dirty Squad. They silently burrowed into the snow, and waited for Burglar’s section to go into action.
Snug in their blankets, Nym and Skillet were sitting by their campfire. Nearby, the two mighty siege-guns were silhouetted against the dark sky. ‘Shame about Karabas,’ said Nym.
‘Yeah, poor old Karabas!’ The two rats burst out laughing.
‘Reckon Saraband’ll be King now,’ said Nym. ‘And that’ll mean rich pickings for the likes of us! Oh, Great Sable Lord! What was that?’
‘Gunfire! From down the line. That’s near Saraband’s tent! Oh, blimey, them mice are attacking us! Help! HELP!’ Yelling frantically, the two rats stumbled through the snow. Another volley crashed out, bugles blared and from both ends of the siege-line rats were leaving their posts and pelting towards the firing.
‘Well, that seems to have worked,’ said Finn cheerfully. ‘Where’s Burglar?’
A mouse came panting out of the darkness and flung himself down beside his comrades, dropping his pack with a loud thud.
‘Just wha
t have you got in there?’ asked Finn suspiciously.
‘Oh, nuffink much!’ Burglar’s eyes were wide with innocence. His comrades grinned. Trust Burglar to turn a secret mission into a thieving expedition!
‘All right, Burglar, you know what to do.’
From down the line came another crackle of gunfire, as Burglar’s section kept up the pretended attack. But Finn knew that time was running out. Already the rats were blazing away at the trees where the mice lay concealed. He must not risk their lives. Burglar would have to hurry.
Keeping their heads down, Burglar and two mice from Dead-Eye’s section sprinted across the snow towards the unguarded guns. Opening their packs, the mice took out what looked like long, thin sausages and passed them to Burglar, who started wrapping them round the barrel of the first gun. He worked swiftly, coiling the sausages round the wheels of the gun carriage before tying the loose ends together and leaving them lying on a patch of ground he had carefully cleared of snow. As he finished, two more mice dashed out, and Burglar wrapped more lengths of sausage round the barrel of the second gun. He tied the two trailing ends together, and reached for the powder flask held ready by one of his helpers.
The sausages were made of canvas, tightly packed with gunpowder. Burglar poured a measure of gunpowder over the joined ends. ‘Fuse!’
A mouse passed him a coil of cord, smeared with pitch. Burglar tied it to the trailing ends of the sausages. ‘GO!’
The mice ran. Burglar walked slowly back, uncoiling the cord, and brushing away the snow on either side of it. He was still some distance from his comrades when he realized that the firing from down the line had stopped. The rats were corning back. He crouched lower, still uncoiling the long cord, forcing himself to move slowly, as any rapid movement might be seen. Behind him, the mice held their breaths. It was almost midnight. The clouds had vanished, the stars were shining brightly. Any second now, the sky would erupt with light. But it might just be too late.
‘You blithering idiot!’ said Saraband, as he and Gobtooth, followed by Nym and Skillet, trudged towards the guns. ‘How many times must I tell you? These mice are not fools. That attack on my tent was an obvious diversion. I wasn’t even in it. So what do you suppose the mice are up to?’
‘Dunno,’ replied Gobtooth sullenly.
‘Oh, don’t you? Well, how about using your brain for once? Sabotage, probably . . . Oh, Great Sable Lord! The guns! Gobtooth! Go back and check on all the guns down the line! You two imbeciles, come with me!’
As the rats broke into a stumbling run, Burglar slithered into his hole in the snow. Finn was striking flint and steel, but the wood shavings in his tinder-box were damp. Again and again he tried, but it was no use. The rats were almost up to the guns when Dead-Eye elbowed Finn aside, pointed his pistol at the end of the fuse, and fired.
Instantly, the rats flung themselves flat. They did not see the shadowy figures flitting away into the darkness, nor did they see the little flame, steadily advancing along the cord, creeping ever closer to the guns.
‘Get up!’ Saraband was wondering why there had been no more shots, when he spotted the low, creeping flame. ‘Ahhhh! Back!’
Nym and Skillet spun round, bumped into each other and went sprawling. Saraband flung himself flat as the massive explosion tore the night apart. The guns leapt into the air. For a moment, their shattered pieces hung suspended in a white-hot glare. Then they crashed to the ground. As the dazed rats staggered to their feet, there came a second flash. The piles of powder barrels stacked nearby exploded in a roar that swept across the plain until it echoed from the city wall and rolled back to where the rats were cowering in terror.
And with that explosion came another. The whole sky thundered, roared and exploded with light so dazzling that all along the line the rats hid their eyes, crying in terror to the Sable Lord. Comets, their glittering tails spreading in gold and silver showers, torrents of light cascading earthwards like glittering waterfalls and, above the city, a great star was blazing.
The Dirty Squad had gone into deep cover in a fir forest, well behind the siege-line. They stared in awe at the sky. The midnight lights had never been like this.
Burglar opened his pack. ‘Here, lads. Fresh bread and honey. Reckon we’ll have a feast after all.’
‘Cor! Where’d you nick that from?’ asked Dead-Eye.
Burglar winked and tapped his snout. ‘Never you mind. Let’s just say that old Saraband’ll have to find somethink else for his breakfast tomorrow!’
Laughing, the mice gathered round, their whiskers twitching. They had almost forgotten how hungry they were. The sweet smells filled their nostrils, and they settled down to watch the midnight lights, gorging themselves on the plundered food.
‘Boss!’ murmured Dead-Eye after a while. ‘I think we’ve got company.’
‘Cover!’ snapped Finn. The Squad ducked out of sight behind the trees, rifles at the ready. ‘But don’t shoot!’
Two mice emerged from the shadows. Their clothes were mere rags, and their naked feet were cut and bleeding. One of the mice carried a bow and arrows, and was clutching a bundle to her breast. The other wore a long sword.
The Squad was invisible, but Rufus sensed its presence. He drew the Sword of Gideon, which sparkled in sudden brilliance. Finn glanced up. The lights were fading, but the great star, which had shone over Aramon, was blazing directly above them in the dark sky.
19. ‘Find the Eagles!’
Lighting a fire would be risky. But the night was bitterly cold, and Rufus and Elana were frozen. While Finn bathed the travellers’ feet with melted snow from his cooking-pot, Dead-Eye and Burglar sorted out some warm clothing for them, dumped their filthy rags on the fire and gave them bread and honey.
‘We’ve heard that Saraband is besieging Aramon,’ said Rufus.
‘So he is,’ replied Finn. ‘So far without success. His army lies just beyond this wood. But don’t worry,’ he added, seeing Elana’s look of alarm, ‘you’re with the Special Operations Unit. We are the Dirty Squad, and you’re safe with us.’
When Rufus and Elana were thoroughly warm and had licked the last of the honey from their paws, Rufus told their story. Finn and his comrades listened in growing astonishment. The fire faded to a heap of scarlet embers. But the little glade still basked in the light of the great star, whose silver rays sparked fire from the jewels in Rufus’s Sword, and gleamed on his reddish-black fur.
‘So you not only found two of the Treasures of Carminel,’ said Finn, ‘you also stopped that mad Rhiannon from joining up with Saraband. Lord of Light! And I thought we led an adventurous life!’
‘Do you two want to join the Dirty Squad?’ asked Dead-Eye admiringly.
Rufus smiled, and shook his head. ‘We still have one more Treasure to find.’
‘The Crown,’ said Elana. ‘We’re hoping Saraband has it with him. We might be able to get it if it’s in his tent.’
‘What’s it like?’ asked Burglar casually.
‘Silver, with a big ruby in the centre,’ said Rufus.
‘Oh,’ said Burglar. ‘That’s a pity.’
Finn eyed him suspiciously. ‘And why is it a pity?’
Burglar looked embarrassed. ‘Well, I saw it in Saraband’s tent, while I was pinching the bread and honey. I thought it belonged to him. So I nicked it.’
‘Lord of Light!’ exclaimed Finn. ‘And what, may I ask, were you intending to do with it?’
‘Flog it to the merchant-mice,’ said Burglar with a grin. ‘Reckoned I’d make a packet. But if it belongs to Rufus . . .’
He opened his pack. At once, an angry red light blazed out. ‘Cor, look at that! It weren’t doing that when I nicked it.’
He reached in a paw – then he shot into the air, turned a somersault, and landed on his back. ‘Ow! It hit me!’
‘Serves you right for nicking it,’ said Finn.
Rufus helped Burglar to his feet. Then, as the others watched nervously, he gently lifted out the Crown. At
once, the angry gleam faded. ‘Yes. This is it. Well done, Burglar. Saraband will have a shock when he finds it has gone.’
‘No doubt,’ said Finn thoughtfully. ‘But how come you didn’t get a shock when you picked it up?’
‘I don’t know. But . . . I found the other Treasures. Maybe I was meant to find this Treasure, too.’
Finn reckoned there was more to it than that. But he kept his thoughts to himself.
The Crown was still as tarnished as when Rufus had first seen it, but deep inside the ruby a tiny heart was beating. The mice gazed in awe, sensing its power.
Carefully, Rufus stowed it in his pack. ‘What will you do now, Finn?’
‘Return to Aramon. Will you come?’
‘No. Now that we have the Treasures, we must find the eagles. The poem is quite clear on that: go with the Treasures and seek for the eagles. The King shall arise and the rats be destroyed.’
‘But without the Treasures, the city may fall!’
‘Perhaps. But you cannot think only of Aramon; you must think of all Carminel. Without the eagles, final victory is impossible. Hold the city as long as you can but, if it falls, get out with as many mice as possible. Go west, to the Castle in the Marshes. I will find you there, and, with the eagles, we will drive out the rats for ever.’
Finn opened his mouth to argue, but the look in Rufus’s eyes made him shut it again.
‘Better do as he says, Boss,’ murmured Burglar.
Finn sighed. ‘All right. But do you know where you’re going?’
‘The mountains. But we’d be grateful for any help you can give.’
‘Well now, in the days of my famous ancestor, Conal,’ said Finn, ‘the eagles lived in Gideon’s Castle in the High Collada Mountains. Gideon’s tribe were a fierce, proud breed of mice. They, and the eagles, may still be there. Since you have the Treasures, mice and eagles will surely agree to fight for us again. But it’s a long, dangerous journey, so it is! We’ll give you enough food for a week and you can stock up at Gideon’s old tower. There’s plenty of firewood there, too.’
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