The Ruby of Carminel

by Roger Mortimer

  The Ermine Guards dragged them across the field. The mice felt terribly afraid. They could expect no mercy from Malatesta. ‘Did you bury that wizard?’ Blacktail asked Piebald.

  ‘Aye, sir, beside the wall, while we was waiting for these mice. Ground were nice and soft.’

  ‘Good. I daresay you’ll have three more graves to dig before long.’

  The mice felt sick. The stoats laughed. Suddenly, they cried out in alarm, shielding their eyes as dazzling light flooded over them. ‘It’s only a star!’ shouted Blacktail. ‘Keep going! And hang on to those mice!’

  But Scratchfur was yelling a warning; two shadows were rippling across the grass. The mice were hurled to the ground as the stoats flung themselves flat. Two eagles landed behind them in a flurry of wings and their riders swiftly dismounted.

  ‘Run for the keep!’ yelled Blacktail. But as they ran, dragging the mice behind them, their way was blocked by another eagle with outstretched wings and gaping beak. As Marengo slid to the ground, the stoats gave a wild cry, abandoned their prisoners and fled. Blacktail drew his pistol but he was outnumbered and knew he would be killed if he tried to fight the Eagle Warriors. With a bitter curse, he took to his heels and followed his fleeing soldiers.

  ‘These stoats are cowards,’ remarked Marengo. ‘Well, you three, you can thank the Lord of Light we found you, for it was his star that showed us where you were. Climb aboard! King Caladon’s furious with you, so I hope you have a good excuse for what you’ve done tonight!’

  The eagles landed on the edge of the forest and the warriors escorted the three mice through the trees. Caladon was waiting. His brows were drawn in a scowl and his voice was stern indeed. ‘Well? What have you been up to?’

  ‘We went to find old Vygan’s tomb,’ muttered Spital.

  ‘You’re crazy!’ cried Caladon.

  ‘Did you climb the hill and get into the castle?’ asked Roamer.

  ‘Yes,’ said Cranberry. ‘And we found the graveyard.’

  ‘Did you find the tomb?’ asked Tamina.

  ‘No,’ groaned Spital.

  ‘Yes,’ whispered Chowdmouse.

  ‘You risked your lives and those of the Eagle Warriors,’ said Caladon sternly. ‘Your punishment... Chowdmouse! What did you say?’

  Meanwhile, the mice of Aramon were waiting anxiously for news. Every day, they lined the city walls, scanning the horizon for any sign of a messenger and searching the sky, lest Marengo should send an Eagle Warrior with news of victory – or defeat.

  Cardinal Matthias worked hard to find food and lodging for the country-mice who were pouring into the city and spreading dreadful tales of the savage stoats. Though by evening Matthias was exhausted, he always went to the Great Cathedral to pray for victory; and it was during these times, while was kneeling before the candle-lit altar, that he became aware that he was not alone.

  At first, the sound was so faint that he thought he was imagining it: a gentle rustling, seeming to come from the high rafters, invisible in the gloom. One night, he thought he heard creaking, as if a door were being cautiously opened. Hardly an evening passed without his hearing some faint sound; but though he took a candle and searched the cathedral, he found nothing.

  Matthias was old and stairs tired him. Had he been younger, he might have ventured up the worn steps that led to the bell tower. At one point, about three quarters of the way up, these steps opened out to form a landing. A low door led to a narrow platform; beyond, a long wooden beam stretched the whole length of the building. From the beam, huge rib-like rafters soared to the roof; and among these Matthias would have found the source of the strange, soft sounds.

  A mouse was living there. A hunted creature who had slunk back one dark night into the city. Sneaking into the cathedral, he had climbed the steps, opened the door and crawled out onto the beam. From there, he had clambered high into the rafters and where several were grouped together, like branches spreading from the trunk of a tree, he had made his home.

  Every night, he crept into the city, scavenging through rubbish bins for scraps to eat. Hiding them beneath his cloak, he would scuttle back through the dark streets, clamber to his perch and chew the rotting food. Though he had grown skilful at moving quietly, the door creaked and the old beams and rafters occasionally groaned. It was these faint sounds that Matthias heard.

  Insects, the cardinal decided; woodworm or perhaps the deathwatch beetle. Had he known the truth, he would have been horrified. For the fugitive who crouched among the rafters, his heart eaten up with hatred and counting the days until he should take revenge upon his enemies, was none other than Flambeau, Red Duke of Aramon!

  27. The Sword of Vygan

  ‘…This stone is sealed, none may raise the lid

  But One may find the sword that here lies hid.’

  Chowdmouse relaxed. He sighed with relief. He had remembered every word the voice had spoken. Caladon, Marengo, Roamer and Tamina had listened to him with amazement.

  ‘I dunno how you’ll raise the lid, sir,’ said Chowdmouse thoughtfully. ‘But you must be the one to find the sword. Anyway, that’s what the writing said. A voice come from the star and told me to remember. So I did.’

  ‘You’re a marvel!’ cried Caladon.

  ‘Brilliant, Chowdy,’ said Tamina. She gave the little mouse a warm hug and a kiss.

  ‘You’re a remarkably brave and intelligent young mouse,’ said Marengo warmly. ‘I wish you were in my Eagle Squadron.’

  Chowdmouse ducked his head. He had never had such praise before. ‘Thanks. But I’m scared of heights.’

  ‘He’s my bodyguard,’ said Caladon, ‘and I wouldn’t change him for all the eagles of Carminel! Well, now we know where the sword is. We march tomorrow tonight!’

  All the next day, the mice forgot their gnawing hunger and sharpened their swords, cleaned their firearms and boasted of the brave deeds they would perform when they came to grips with the stoats. But as the last gleams of sunlight faded from the forest and darkness cloaked the plain, many mice felt fear creeping over them. Caladon sensed the changed atmosphere and called them all together.

  ‘The waiting is over! Tonight, we march against the strongest enemy Carminel has ever faced. We are few, they are many – though not as many as they would have been, thanks to Captain Roamer and his brave buccaneers!’ The mice raised a cheer. Caladon felt their terror drawing back and courage surging forward. ‘I know you will fight bravely. Those who fall, and go to the Lord of Light on his Island of Peace, will never be forgotten. Those who live, can tell their children with pride of what they did tonight. Now we must go. We shall meet again at the victory feast! You know your places; may the Lord of Light be with you all!’

  They cheered him and trooped away, smiling encouragement at each other in the darkness. As they left the camp, they split into two groups. Donal and the Mouse Guards Blue swung left, following the trees until, across the plain, they saw the castle gatehouse outlined against the sky. Its battlements were in darkness, though the gleam of lanterns along the western wall showed where the stoats were watching the track.

  But Donal’s mice were not heading for the track. They were making for the southern slope that ended in the open space in front of the gatehouse. It was a much steeper climb. But the stoats would not expect them to come that way. Spreading out, they crept across the fields to the foot of the hill. Now they could relax; from the height of the gatehouse, they were invisible.

  ‘Form three ranks,’ Donal called softly. ‘All weapons muffled? When I give the word, climb silently as you value your lives! If I hear so much as a whisper from anyone, I’ll put a bullet in him, so I will!’ The mice grinned, knowing he wouldn’t really. Donal raised his paw and they began to climb.

  Meanwhile, Roamer and Tamina were leading the buccaneers and the beavers in the opposite direction, towards the northern ramparts and the deep ravine. Caladon was with them, escorted by his bodyguards. ‘Easier climb for us tonight,’ said Cranberry.

 
‘Oh, yeah?’ Spital’s face was grim. ‘What about that ravine, then? Climbing down that and up again won’t be a picnic. The bottom’s a mass of boulders. One wrong step and your’re done for.’

  ‘That’s why the beavers are here,’ whispered Chowdmouse. ‘They’re going to gnaw through that tree on this side of the ravine to make a bridge.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ asked Spital.

  ‘Nobody. I worked it out for meself. It’s true, ain’t it, sir?’

  Caladon smiled down at his little bodyguard. ‘Yes, it is, and once we’re over the wall, we’re depending on you to guide us to that tomb.’

  Chowdmouse had been afraid of that. He doubted he could find the tomb again. But he put on a brave face. ‘I won’t let you down.’

  Between sunset and moonrise, the eagles rose from the plain. Soaring high, they slowly circled the castle, awaiting the moment to attack. Years of training above the mountains now paid off, for the warriors scarcely felt the bitter cold and the eagles could stay aloft for hours on end.

  Donal’s mice were struggling up the hill, forcing their weary limbs from one narrow ledge to the next. Though Donal was one of Marengo’s toughest warriors, he was feeling the strain, for attached to his back by a rope cradle was a small but heavy barrel of gunpowder. At last, just below the summit, they reached a grassy ledge that ran round the hillside. Gasping and panting, they flung themselves down. ‘Get this barrel off me,’ whispered Donal. ‘We’ll wait here till it’s time …’

  On the northern slope, the tree’s dark outline was drawing closer as Roamer and the buccaneers clambered towards the northern ramparts. Cheesemite, who was used to scampering up the Avenger’s rigging in a raging storm, found the climb easy. But Rio was wheezing and gasping by the time they crested the ridge. He leaned gratefully against the tree, trying to ignore the dark ravine that yawned below.

  ‘Shift yourself, Rio,’ said Roamer. ‘The beavers have work to do.’

  ‘No rest for Rio!’ muttered the carpenter. But he made way for Casey’s beavers, who attacked the tree with their razor-sharp teeth. The crash as it fell sounded horribly loud, but the wall beyond was unguarded and a long way from the keep. Leaping onto the fallen tree, Caladon led the buccaneers across, trying not to look down at the dark ravine. When all had safely crossed and were crouching below the castle wall, Old Ben unwound his rope and flung the noose. It caught round the broken battlements and Roamer swiftly clambered up.

  Below the wall, a sea of rose-stems rose and fell. The distant keep was in darkness, though lights along the western wall showed where the stoats still watched the path.

  Tamina swung herself over the wall and stared at the graveyard. ‘Goodness, what a maze! Let’s hope Chowdy remembers the way…’

  Chowdmouse led the buccaneers beneath the thorns, where the waning moonlight hardly penetrated. He could not see the trees that marked the tomb. I’m lost, he thought miserably, the attack will fail and it will be all my fault!

  ‘Not long till dawn,’ whispered Tamina. ‘Are you sure we’re going the right way, Chowdy?’

  ‘No,’ husked Chowdmouse. ‘I don’t know where we are...’

  ‘Well, I do!’ exclaimed the Princess. ‘Look over there, where the rose stems are lifting! They’re showing us the way!’

  Relief flooding through him, Chowdmouse hurried along the thorny tunnel. As the mice passed the stone eagle, it seemed that Gideon was pointing the way to Vygan’s tomb.

  ‘Here it is! There’s the writing and you can just make out the shape of the sword.’

  ‘But how do we get it?’ asked Tamina. ‘The writing says the tomb is sealed.’

  ‘Let’s try and lift the lid,’ said Roamer. They heaved and strained, but not even Rio could move the solid stone. While the buccaneers wrestled with the lid, the moonlight faded, leaving them in utter darkness.

  Meanwhile, from the ridge below the gatehouse, the Mouse Guards Blue were watching as moonlight drained from the sky. ‘Get ready, lads!’ hissed Donal. ‘Any second ... now!’

  Leaping to his feet, he scrambled up the last of the slope. Two mice followed him with the gunpowder barrel. Knowing that the stoats must see them soon, they dashed across the stretch of open ground and had almost reached the gatehouse when a cry from the battlements pierced the darkness. The walls erupted in smoke and flame and a hail of bullets poured down.

  In the old graveyard, Roamer heard the distant gunfire. The attack had started! ‘Think! There must be a way to get the sword! What does the writing say?’

  ‘We know what it says,’ sighed Tamina. ‘One shall find the sword. That must mean Caladon ... Of course! The ruby!’

  Caladon took it from his pocket. The ruby’s fierce glow banished the darkness and was so hot that Caladon yelped and dropped it onto the tomb. It rolled along the deep, carved sword, coming to rest on the crosspiece of the hilt.

  Red light exploded, the lid split open with a rending crash and the ruby fell into the tomb. Caladon caught a brief glimpse of a pile of dust. Beside it lay an ancient, crooked sword. There was a hole in the hilt, just as there had been on the carved image. As the ruby dropped into place, the mice gasped and hid their eyes from the searing white light that blazed from the tomb.

  But Caladon forced himself to look. In that white heat, the sword was being forged again. Golden thread glittered on the handle, the blade gleamed silver and the ruby poured out wave after wave of light.

  Gradually, the heat grew less intense. Caladon leaned in and grasped the sword. As he raised it above his head, light shot from the blade and soared into the sky where it mingled with the silver beams pouring from the Lord of Light’s great star.

  ‘The sword is ours!’ cried Caladon. ‘Follow me!’

  A mass of spikey, tangled stems barred their way; but, as Caladon hacked them down, starlit roses bloomed among the thorns.

  With every stem that Caladon cut through, more roses bloomed until the air was sweet and heavy with their scent. At last, the arch loomed above them. The gunfire sounded louder and they hurried across the fields towards it.

  Tamina paused and looked back. The whole graveyard was a mass of roses. ‘Oh, how beautiful,’ she whispered. Then she drew her sword and ran after the others towards the sound of the guns.

  28. Prepare to Die!

  ‘Sure, an’ it’s not so very different from blowin’ up a bridge,’ said Donal. He and his mice were crouching against the castle gate. Directly above them, where the battlements jutted out, the stoats were firing blindly into the darkness. But they could not see the mice.

  ‘Put the barrel hard against the gate,’ said Donal. ‘Now put in the fuse, just like I’ve taught you. Good! Now pass the tinder-box.’

  He struck a flame and the fuse crackled into life. From below the hill’s crest, the Mouse Guards Blue saw the fizzing firework and at once fired a murderous volley at the battlements.

  The stoats squealed and ducked. Donal and his mice pelted away, tumbling over the ridge to join their friends as a deafening explosion shattered the gate and brought the battlements crashing down in a smoking heap of rubble.

  High above the castle, Marengo saw the explosion’s sudden glare and his sword, the sword of Gideon, flashed a silver beam to the stars. The Eagle Squadron wheeled into arrowhead formation and dived for the ruined gatehouse.

  Malatesta and his Ermines leapt from the wall to the pile of rubble as Donal sprang from cover and led his cheering mice in a headlong charge. But just as Malatesta yelled ‘Fire!’ his stoats saw Marengo’s gleaming sword and the great eagles swept overhead, sending the enemy fleeing for their lives.

  ‘Stand and fight, you cowards!’ screamed Malatesta, but already Donal’s mice were streaming up the fallen gatehouse and the eagles were circling for another charge. With a furious curse, Malatesta fired his pistols at the advancing mice; then he ran back, yelling at his Ermines to take shelter in the keep.

  Out in the fields, Captain Blacktail and his riders were waiting with the vultu
res. Seeing Malatesta’s Ermine Guards in headlong flight, Blacktail scrambled aboard his vulture and the squadron soared into the sky. But Marengo saw the danger. He raised his sword, the eagles turned into the charge and smashed into the vultures. High above the castle, the two lines locked and swayed, pistols flashing, beaks and talons tearing; then the eagles broke clear and Marengo led them in a soaring climb, the vultures streaking after them.

  ‘We’ve beaten them!’ screeched Blacktail. ‘Let’s finish them off!’

  Suddenly, Marengo’s sword flashed in the darkness. The eagles turned and swooped upon their prey. As the battle lines clashed again, pistols snapped, swords flickered and flashed, beaks and talons ripped and clawed. Suddenly, through that hellish confusion, Marengo spotted Blacktail. As Hyperion streaked past, Marengo swung his sword in a mighty cut and Blacktail, with a terrible cry, toppled and fell.

  Seeing their leader fall, the rest of the vultures wheeled and fled, racing for the safety of the forest. Marengo raised his sword again, a beam of light lanced into the sky and another band of eagles, who had been circling the battle, swooped upon the fleeing enemy, hunting them down until not one vulture remained alive.

  Marengo’s eagles swooped again, this time on the sentries lining the western wall who were firing down on the Mouse Guards Blue. Yelling in terror, the stoats fled from the ramparts, running to join the Ermine Guards who were streaming towards the keep. But now, out of the darkness, came Caladon and the Sword of Vygan.

  Brandishing the mighty sword, the king carved his way through the stoats, Roamer, Tamina, and the sea-mice hard at his heels. Rio was swinging his cutlass, roaring at the stoats and keeping an eye on Cheesemite, who was taking care to stick close to his powerful shipmate. Tamina, her golden fur blackened with gunpowder smoke, fired into the darkness, seeing with fierce delight the enemies of her tribe reel and fall.

  Roamer was keeping close to Caladon, fearing lest the young king, fighting his first battle, should run himself headlong into danger. But Caladon might have been born for this moment. His shouts of praise and encouragement rose above the battle, and his mice cheered him again and again. Light streamed from his great sword, no stoat could stand against it, and Caladon wielded it with such strength that his path was littered with dead and wounded until the enemy could take no more. With a cry of despair, they turned and fled. But there was no escape, for they crashed straight into Donal’s mice, charging up from the gatehouse. Trapped between two enemies, the stoats flung down their weapons and cried for mercy.