For Jane, Mark, Susannah and Katie
Contents
Map
Part One: The Quest Begins
1. The Enchanted Crown
2. Red Kite
3. The Dark Angel
4. The Castle in the Marshes
5. The Clue
6. Mice Beware!
7. Mould-Warp
8. Rhiannon
9. The Chalice
Part Two: Aramon in Peril
10. The Cardinal
11. The Valley of Death
12. The Dirty Squad
13. Disaster
14. Aramon Besieged
Part Three: The Sword and the Crown
15. Wiglaff
16. Peril Under Ground
17. The Sword of Gideon
18. The Raid
19. ‘Find the Eagles!’
20. Dawn Attack
21. The Fight for the Fortress
22. ‘The Last Fight!’
Part Four: Eagles Over Carminel
23. Ghosts
24. Terror on the Mountain
25. Caval
26. Spies
27. Midnight Rescue
28. Eagles Over Aramon
29. The Waiting’s Over
30. Council of War
31. The Reaper’s Blade
32. Duel of the Gods
Copyright
About the author
Map
Part One: The Quest Begins
1. The Enchanted Crown
In the Great Hall of the Rats’ Castle, a thousand warriors were feasting. Flaring torchlight glittered on jewelled daggers, and threw rippling shadows across the long tables laden with dishes and jugs of wine.
Old King Zagora sat at the high table, cramming food into his massive bulk, unaware that two rats were watching him closely.
‘Why don’t he let us invade the Mouse Kingdom?’ grumbled Captain Gobtooth. ‘The war-band’s never been so strong. All we have to do is cross the border. A quick campaign, and we’d be masters of all Carminel!’
‘He fears the ancient prophecy,’ replied Saraband. The Warrior Chief was ruthless, ambitious, and the most feared rat in the castle. ‘Surely even you know that, Gobtooth. When the mice of Carminel are in peril, a great King will arise, the dreaded eagles will fly to their aid, and we shall be driven into the sea. Naturally, I don’t believe it.’
‘Load of rubbish,’ agreed Gobtooth. ‘Where’s this Mouse-King hiding, then? Here in our castle, I suppose!’ He cackled with laughter. ‘The eagles haven’t been seen for years. Even if they did return, our Red Kites would soon see them off.’ The Red Kites were not at the feast. They were on duty on the castle battlements, their cruel eyes burning into the darkness. ‘Prince Karabas don’t believe in prophecies,’ added Gobtooth.
Saraband scowled. ‘Karabas is a fool! Every day he angers King Zagora by demanding that we go to war with Carminel. He’ll never learn . . .’ He lowered his voice. ‘We must be patient, Gobtooth. Zagora is old. He won’t last for ever. Look how much he eats – and drinks! It is a wonder he doesn’t burst! And when he dies, Karabas will order the war-band to march against Carminel!’
The slave-mice who overheard him turned away to hide their bitter despair. Ragged, half starved, each wore an iron collar: the mark of slavery.
The feast was held every year to celebrate the long-ago Battle of Collada River. An invading force of rats and Red Kites had defeated the Mouse-King, and sent his allies, the great eagles, flying back to the High Collada Mountains. But, in spite of their victory, the rats had lost many warriors. A peace treaty was signed. The rats kept their prisoners as slaves, and took the land between Carminel and the sea. King Zagora left the Mouse-Kingdom in peace. But if Karabas became King. . .
In the gallery that encircled the Hall, where the torchlight darkened to black, oily smoke, one slave-mouse was hiding in the shadows. His black fur had a curious reddish tinge. His name was Rufus. Many years ago his father had led an uprising of slaves. He had paid for its failure with his life. Shortly afterwards, Rufus’s gentle mother had died of a broken heart. In Rufus, the flame of rebellion burnt. He longed for vengeance – and freedom!
Every year, on the stroke of midnight, King Zagora ordered the slaves to leave the hall. What happened next, Rufus was determined to find out. If the rats spotted him, he would be killed.
The castle clock struck twelve. As the rats scraped their plates clean, and drained the last of their wine, Zagora drew his sword and banged it on the table for silence. ‘All slaves to the kitchen!’
Rufus tensed. As the mice filed out, the rats moved to the sides of the Hall. One by one the torches were put out, until only three were burning. King Zagora’s massive body was quivering; Prince Karabas’s eyes were nearly popping out of his head. Several warriors nervously shuffled their feet. Only Saraband stood motionless, a quiet smile on his face. At the far end of the Hall, a door was flung open – and Rufus had to bite his tongue to force back a cry of terror.
Out of the darkness came a creature from a nightmare, lurching forward on triple-pronged talons, huge wings folded at its sides. Sleek feathers crowned its head, and eyes burnt on either side of a great curving beak that ended in a point like a dagger. Another figure entered, identical to the first. As they moved together down the Hall, the great feathered cloaks sweeping down their backs, a distant memory stirred in Rufus . . . But it vanished as two more figures entered. One was Morvan, the black-robed High Priest and Magician of the Sable Lord of Darkness. He leant heavily on his staff, from which dangled the tails of long-dead rats. In front of him walked a younger priest, carrying a cushion. On it was a crown. It looked very old: tarnished and dull. But the rats cried out and fell to their knees – all except Saraband. He was staring at the crown, his eyes glittering with greed.
In a quavering voice, Morvan cried, ‘Who will shed his blood tonight?’
For the space of a heartbeat, no one spoke. Then a harsh voice rang confidently through the Hall. ‘I, Saraband!’ Halting before the feathered creatures, the Warrior Chief held out his left paw. Morvan cried again, his voice gaining strength from the god,
‘By the Sable Lord of Darkness
Who rules the land and sky!
By sacrifice of life-blood
The rats shall never die!’
The creature’s fierce beak flashed down. Blood streamed from a great gash in Saraband’s paw. The rats flinched, but their war-leader calmly took a cloth from his pocket and pressed it to the wound. With a bow to the great feathered animal, Saraband swaggered back to his place to a loud yell of praise from his warriors.
One of the feathered creatures now spoke,
‘Fight bravely for the Sable Lord!
And if in battle you should fall,
Your reward is never-ending
Feasting in the god-king’s Hall!’
The voice sounded muffled. Rufus realized that these creatures were rats – priests of some strange, secret cult. But the feathers, beaks and talons . . . Vague images, like the beating of shadowy wings, swirled in Rufus’s mind; but as he tried to bring them into focus, they dissolved in confusion.
The High Priest was chanting again, his voice echoing through the Hall as he called upon the god.
‘Blood has flowed, the vow’s renewed,
Each warrior pledges life and sword!
Now send your spirit, mighty god!
Reveal yourself, O, Sable Lord!’
A thousand voices repeated the cry. ‘Reveal yourself, O, Sable Lord!’
Silence . . . then a gentle wind sprang up from nowhere and whispered round the Hall. The long feathered cloaks stirred and rustled. The wind strengthened, grew colder, and the great wings lifted on the icy blast. The flares
died but, through the sudden darkness, Rufus saw, high in the rafters, a luminous grey mist. Something was inside it, taking shape, growing larger. Rufus shrank back and stared in horror. It was transparent, a spirit without substance, but Rufus could feel its evil power. It was shaped like a huge rat with a long, twitching snout, blazing eyes and a tail that circled the Hall. Swooping down until it was hovering just above the priests, its great claws reached out to touch the crown.
Rufus was angry with himself for feeling afraid. But his instincts were warning him not to look at this creature. He shut his eyes. In his mind he could still see the crown, only now it was gleaming, silver-bright. He could not see who was wearing it for the dazzling light that streamed from its jewels. But above it he could clearly see magnificent birds, wheeling and soaring in a blue sky, and their talons and heads were like those of the feathered creatures in the hall.
A terrible scream rang out. Rufus opened his eyes. The rat shape was writhing in agony, its eyes blazing at a great, glowing ruby which was throbbing, like a beating heart, in the front of the crown. The ruby glowed brighter, the huge rat screamed again, and vanished with a shattering roar.
Silence . . . then all hell broke loose. Zagora seemed incapable of speech, but Saraband’s voice rose above the din. ‘Light the torches! Take away the crown! The ceremony is over!’
As the torches flared, the priests left, taking the glowing crown with them. ‘All rats will depart!’ shouted Saraband. ‘And will say nothing of this on pain of death!’
Suddenly, King Zagora crashed to the floor. His staring eyes saw nothing, his breath rasped in his throat.
‘The King is ill!’ cried Saraband. Zagora’s bodyguards clustered about him; it needed four of them to carry him out. At last, the Hall seemed deserted. Only Karabas and Saraband stayed behind.
‘What does it mean?’ hissed Karabas. ‘Why couldn’t the god touch his crown? And why did it start glowing? It never has before!’
‘That thing is not the Sable Lord!’ exclaimed Saraband. ‘Merely one of his Dark Angels. If the god himself were to come, his power would blast this castle out of existence. As for the crown; it is not the Sable Lord’s, although we like to pretend it is. Our ancestors captured that crown at the Battle of Collada River. It is the ancient Crown of the Mouse-Kings of Carminel.’
‘But – ’
‘Listen, Karabas. The mice of Carminel worship the Lord of Light. Our slaves have never heard of him; we make sure of that! He’s not as powerful as the Sable Lord, of course, but some of his power lies in that ruby. Why it glowed tonight, I don’t know. But it means no good to us. The sooner we destroy the mice of Carminel the better. Your father has fallen into a sleep from which he may never wake. And when he dies . . .’
From his hiding place in the gallery, Rufus had heard enough. Carminel was in terrible danger. Rufus had to get out of the castle, cross the border, and warn the mice!
The two rats had turned away, and were whispering together down the Hall. Rufus tried to stand, but his legs were cramped. He stumbled and his iron collar scraped loudly against the stone. Saraband swung round and saw him. How much had this mouse overheard? ‘Guards! A slave in the gallery! Fifty gold pieces for the rat who catches him – and fifty lashes for those who don’t!’
2. Red Kite
Rufus fled. As he pelted down the stairs he heard the guards yelling, and he sprinted down a passage, skidded round a corner and almost fell into the kitchen.
Smoke, steam, noise, and a crowd of slaves scurrying about with pots and pans. Rufus charged through them all, sending scalding soup and piles of plates cascading to the floor. Another uproar as the rats charged in, yelling as they slithered into the bubbling soup-lake and screaming as they crashed against the red-hot ovens.
Rufus was searching for a weapon. A guard, dripping with soup, forced his way through the seething crowd of slaves and grabbed Rufus’s arm, but the mouse seized a heavy frying pan and lashed out. As the rat squealed and fell, Rufus grabbed the longest carving knife he could see. He leapt for the door and fled into the courtyard.
The castle’s grim outer wall reared black against the night sky. In its shadow was the wide drain which carried slops and rubbish to the moat. Rufus clambered on to the edge of the drain, took a deep breath, and jumped. A rush of darkness, then he was deep below the scummy surface of the moat. He struggled wildly against the slime that was dragging him down to the weeds. Forcing himself to be calm, he reached upwards, and floated to the surface.
Fed by an underground spring, the filthy water moved sluggishly round the castle before draining into a lake. Rufus lay on his back, trying to steady his gasping breath, allowing the water to carry him along. Cries of frustration reached his ears: inside the castle, the rats had lost him. But high on the battlements hung the Red Kites. Rufus shut his eyes, hoping that from that height he would look like one of the many bits of rubbish floating on the surface.
At last, revolted by the greasy feel and sickening stench of the water, Rufus opened his eyes and saw that he was approaching the lake. Beyond that reared a dense forest. He had only to reach it. . .
Grabbing a tuft of grass, he hauled himself out – and froze. A Red Kite had seen him and was rising from its perch. Rufus drew his knife. As the shadow swooped down and hovered over him, he hacked and lunged until suddenly the knife struck home. With a shriek, the bird soared into the sky. Rufus ran for the forest. As the trees loomed above him, he glanced up. The Red Kite was plummeting towards him.
Rufus forced himself to stand still. At the last second, as the great bird spread its wings and reached out its talons, the little mouse flung himself aside, sprang to his feet and lunged with all his strength. The Red Kite fell dead without a sound.
Trembling violently, Rufus dragged his knife free. But, as he glanced fearfully towards the castle, he saw a dark cloud rising above the battlements; the other Red Kites were coming for him. He turned and ran.
3. The Dark Angel
Rufus was hiding in a bramble bush. Above, the Red Kites were screeching as they circled the woods. They could not see him. But he knew of the Sable Lord’s power to see into his mind and betray him to his enemies, so Rufus resolutely filled his thoughts with the picture that had come to him in the gallery: the shining crown and the majestic birds circling in the sky.
Rufus awoke with a groan, feeling cold and very hungry. It was still dark, and the forest was deathly silent. He found a stick and did his best to scrape the dried mud off his rags. Then he crawled out of the brambles and groped his way through the trees. Soon, he reckoned, he would arrive at the border that divided the Rat-Lands from the Mouse-Kingdom of Carminel. But, as every slave knew, the border was guarded by the Sable Lord’s powerful magic: a deadly, invisible barrier, which Rufus would cross at his peril.
On he went until the stars began to fade. He crept cautiously from tree to tree until he found himself on the edge of a broad clearing. On the far side a wooden signpost bore a single word, just visible in the first glimmerings of dawn: Carminel.
As Rufus left the shelter of the trees, an icy wind froze his brain and turned his legs to stone. In the mist that was swirling round the clearing, something was taking shape. Something scaly, without legs or paws. A snake. But one more horrible than Rufus had ever imagined. Swiftly its body uncoiled to the height of the trees. A spiny collar reared behind its head, its eyes glittered, its jaws opened. The head was swaying, the eyes searching. Then it saw him. It plunged towards him, forked tongue flickering, green eyes blazing, and Rufus drew back his arm and hurled his knife straight at its face.
But no mortal weapon could harm the Dark Angel. As its jaws gaped wider, Rufus forced his legs to move, staggered clumsily backwards, tripped and fell. But, as the creature’s grinning head swung down, Rufus saw a brilliant star directly above him. Ever brighter it blazed until broad streams of purest light were spinning round the great snake, trapping its coils in gleaming coils of their own. The Dark Angel’s head reared up, it
s body writhed in agony and a terrible, despairing cry rang across the clearing. Rufus shut his eyes, and heard a voice.
‘Fear not these shadows, these dream-haunting ogres:
Show them your courage and put them to flight.
Always remember, when nightmares oppress you,
The Darkness must always give way to the Light!’
Rufus had no idea who had spoken. But when he opened his eyes, the Dark Angel had gone, the star had faded and dawn light was creeping through the branches. He sat up. Beyond the clearing he could see open heathland; and from somewhere a long way off, a thin column of smoke was rising.
Seth the Blacksmith plunged the glowing blade into a tub of water. Steam rose as the metal hissed and turned a dull grey. Seth knew that the sword was now as hard as it would ever be. Later, he would sharpen it, then hide it with the others in his cellar. One day his swords would equip an army of mice to drive out the hated rats for ever. He mopped his brow and was wondering whether to stop for a bite to eat when there came a faint scrabbling at his door. Seth opened it – and a ragged mouse almost collapsed on the step.
‘Lord o’ Light!’ Seth exclaimed. ‘A runaway slave! Come in, come in! You look half starved. Now, food first – then we’ll see what’s to be done for you!’
After shovelling more charcoal on to the furnace, Seth bustled about, setting the table with bread, cheese, cold pease pudding, and two mugs of homebrewed cider.
The blacksmith chewed slowly but Rufus ate ravenously. Between mouthfuls, he astonished Seth with his story. ‘. . . so if Zagora dies, Saraband and Karabas will attack Carminel. I must warn someone. But I don’t know who!’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Seth with a grim smile. ‘I know who to warn. You’d better come with me!’
‘Can you get this collar off me first? It marks me as a slave and I hate it!’
‘That’s easily done!’ Taking a file, Seth set to work until the collar split and fell. ‘Now, I’ll find you some decent clothes and burn these rags . . . Hello, what’s that?’
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