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, its 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?’

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 miraculous 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.

A flight of shadows swooped through the mist: the Red Kites. And, invisible on the flanks of the army, the ravens were searching for Rufus.

‘They’re going to attack Aramon,’ whispered Elana, as the sound of tramping feet faded into the mist. ‘Zagora must be dead. You were right, Rufus. Karabas was wearing a crown. Was it the Crown of Carminel?’

‘No. That is either at the castle, or Saraband has it with him. Come on, the sooner we find the other Treasures the better. Let’s make the most of this mist. Once it lifts, we must hide somewhere until dark. It won’t be safe to travel in daylight; you can bet Saraband’s got his filthy ravens looking for us.’

Rufus had no idea of their direction, but Elana seemed to know her way by instinct. Rufus was thankful that she had joined him on the quest. Elana had a sharp tongue but she would make a useful companion. For a while they walked in silence. Then Rufus asked, ‘Why does a cardinal rule in Aramon? Isn’t there a King?’

‘No. When the last King was old, the rats invaded. The King’s only son was killed in the Battle of Collada River, so the royal line died out. Since then, Carminel has been ruled by cardinals of the Lord of Light. The one in charge now is called Odo.’

‘And when the rats attack, will he fight?’

Elana grinned. ‘Not all priests are gentle like my father. I’ve heard that Odo keeps a wooden club to fight with.’

‘Why not a sword or pistol?’

‘Well, being a cardinal, he’s not supposed to shed blood, so he has his club instead, to bash rats!’

Suddenly, Rufus realized that the mist was lifting. He glanced over his shoulder. ‘We must find somewhere to hide – look!’ Far to the south, dark specks were flying towards them. They were too far to be certain, but Rufus felt sure that they were Saraband’s ravens.

Amren had told them to seek the Chalice first. ‘When the Lord of Light lived in Carminel, many ages ago, he dwelt in a cave, and mice would travel from far and near to hear his message of peace. He baked his own bread, which he called the bread of life; and when he passed round the Chalice, filled with his own blackberry wine, it never ran dry, no matter how many mice wanted to drink from it. He called the wine the symbol of brotherhood. According to Rufus’s poem, the Chalice is still in the cave. If you follow the old Pilgrims’ Way, you should find it.’

First though, they had to find the Pilgrims’ Way. They journeyed by night, sleeping by day in dry ditches or deep in the woods. When their food ran out, Elana introduced Rufus to blackberries, elderberries – and sloes, which the country-mice called wild plums.

As they journeyed further from Saraband’s line of march, they judged it safe to travel by day. The country-mice were bringing in the last of the harvest. They shared their bread, cheese and rough cider with Rufus and Elana, and at night welcomed them to their farmsteads. Clouds of black smoke on the southern horizon told a grim tale of farms and fields set on fire, so the country-mice lived in terror of the invaders. Rufus longed to cheer them by telling of their quest for the Treasures, but he dared not, lest Saraband should hear of it.

At last, one morning, Rufus and Elana left the rich farmlands and descended to a densely wooded valley. By Elana’s reckoning, they were not very far from where the Chalice of the Lord of Light was hidden. ‘This must be the old Pilgrims’ Way,’ she said, as they set off along a narrow track. ‘According to my father’s directions, we should be getting near to the cave.’

For several hours, Rufus and Elana struggled to follow the path. Just when they thought it lost, it would reappear, leading them deeper and deeper into the forest. At midday they stopped. While Elana foraged for hazelnuts and hawthorn berries, Rufus rested, watching the pattern of dappled sunlight beneath the trees.

Suddenly, a shadow rippled across the path. Rufus glanced up. A raven was flying above the wood. As it dipped below the tree-tops, Rufus darted across the path and dived under a holly bush. ‘Elana!’ he called. There was no reply.

But Elana had spotted the raven. As it swooped overhead, she unslung her bow, fitted an arrow and waited. When the raven, flying lower this time, made a second circuit of the woods and was directly above her, she raised her bow, took a split-second aim, and shot.

Rufus emerged from his hiding place to see Elana grimly pulling her arrow from the dead bird. ‘We must bury it quickly,’ she said, ‘and then get moving. Luckily, this spy was alone. I don’t think I could have dealt with more than one.’

Elana was wrong. The raven’s partner, Kei, flying towards the wood, had veered sharply at the sight of his friend’s death, and flown back to the army.

‘You never said this mouse had a bow an’ arrows,’ Kei said accusingly.

‘How was I to know?’ retorted Saraband. ‘And stop whining. You’re paid well for your scouting and you know the risks. Your friend should have been more careful. Nym! Skillet! Mount up! Find that slave! He’s probably going for the Chalice. Find out where it’s hidden, then kill him and whoever’s with him. Kei will guide you – oh, yes you will!’ he snarled, as the disgruntled raven began sidling away. ‘If you don’t want to end up as Kite fodder.’

7. Mould-Warp

‘They’re not just behind us,’ whispered Rufus. ‘They’re all around!’

‘There’s someone behind, and someone approaching from in front,’ murmured Elana. Her bow was ready, arrowhead gleaming in the darkness. ‘And there are others, keeping pace with us on either side. You’re right, we’re surrounded.’

Rufus gripped his dagger. At least this fight would be against living enemies, not Dark Angels who still came at night and haunted his dreams.

‘Rufus!’

Nym and Skillet suddenly appeared. Elana drew her bow and shot at Skillet. Rufus snarled and flung himself at Nym. The rat was strong, but Rufus gripped Nym’s throat with his right paw, kicked his feet from under him, and hurled him to the ground. Sitting astride, he gripped Nym’s neck with both paws, but Nym’s feet came up and threw Rufus off. He landed on his feet and, as Nym struggled to get up, Rufus launched himself in a vicious head-butt. As Nym fell, Rufus drew his dagger . . . And froze.

Elana’s arrow had missed. Skillet had seized her and stuffed a filthy rag into her mouth. His pistol was pointing at her head. Nym staggered up, rubbing his aching neck. He helped himself to Rufus’s dagger. ‘Saraband wants to know where this Chalice is,’ he panted. ‘So tell us.’

How did Saraband know? ‘I’ll tell you,’ Rufus replied. ‘But first let her go.’

‘Just tell us,’ said Skillet. ‘Then we’ll see. Who knows? We might let both of you go.’

‘Don’t lie. You’ve been sent to kill me. But you’ve no reason to kill her.’

‘Oh, no?’ sneered Skillet. ‘Who shot that poxy raven, then? You’re right, we are going to kill you, you snivelling wretch, but tell us where this Chalice-thing is, and we might let her go.’

Elana’s eyes held a clear command: say nothing! But Rufus ignored her. So long as there was a chance of saving her, he would tell these rats all he knew.

‘The Chalice – ’

‘NO!’ A roar sounded from the woods and huge shadows rose from the ground on either side of the path.

‘RATS! Throw your guns to the ground!’

Nym and Skillet glanced at one another, hurled the mice aside, raised their pistols, and –‘AAAAAARRRGGGHHH!’

Two axes had flickered out of the shadows, the pistols skittered into the bushes and the rats were hopping about the path, clutching their paws where the axes had bitten deeply.

‘Now go!’ ordered the voice. ‘We shall not kill you this time. But if you or any of your kind venture here again, you will not leave this wood alive. Return to your Red Kites. You will be watched every step of the way, although you will not see who watches you. Now GO!’

The rats fled. Elana tore the gag from her mouth, grabbing her water flask to rinse away the vile taste. Rufus watched warily as the shadows approached.

The strangers stood taller than the mice and were armed with axes, knives, pistols and ancient flintlocks. But their best weapons, Rufus noticed, were their huge forepaws, one of which their leader now raised solemnly in greeting.

‘I am Rothgar. We are the Mould-Warp,’ he announced in a deep rumble. ‘In our ancient language, it means earth-turners. But you may know of us as Moles.’

‘I have heard of you,’ said Elana, ‘and I have heard that you are friends of the Mouse-Kind. Thank you for – ’

‘We are nothing of the sort!’ exclaimed another mole. ‘To my way of thinking, you are not much better than the rats. All we ask is to be left alone. If I were Lord Rothgar, I’d have killed those other vermin and you too.’

‘But you are not me, Oslaf,’ replied the first mole. ‘And as long as I lead the war-band, you will obey my orders.’

He turned to the mice. ‘I am indeed a friend of the Mouse-Kind, and would allow you to continue your journey. But our Queen, Morganna, wishes to see you. No harm will befall you,’ he added, with a warning glance at Oslaf. ‘Please come with me. Now.’

Rufus resented being ordered about. ‘What if we refuse?’

‘I am under orders,’ replied Rothgar quietly. ‘Please do not make me use force. And do not give Oslaf an excuse to kill you.’

Rufus wanted to go on with the quest. Every day, the rats were drawing nearer to Aramon. Rothgar, he sensed, was honourable, but Oslaf was a dangerous enemy.

‘Oh, let’s go with the moles,’ said Elana. ‘Just for one night. At least we’ll have somewhere to sleep. I’m tired.’

Perhaps Elana was right. Tomorrow they would be on their way again.

‘All right,’ said Rufus.

As they followed Rothgar deeper into the woods, dark clouds rolled across the sky, lightning flickered above the treetops and thunder rumbled menacingly in the distance.

8. Rhiannon

The huge underground chamber was dimly lit with rushlights. At the far end sat a small mole. An embroidered robe hung from her shoulders, a circle of gold gleamed on her head, and a pair of spectacles was perched on her snout. She was flanked by the solemn-looking members of the Royal Council.

Queen Morganna seemed a curiously lonely figure, Elana thought. Her brow was furrowed with care and her eyes, though kindly, looked clouded, as if she were deeply troubled. But she listened politely as Rothgar introduced the mice and explained their presence in the wood.

‘So, you are after Treasure. How exciting. What did Rothgar say it was?’

‘A Chalice, your Majesty,’ said Rufus, ‘which the Mouse-Kind need in order to defeat the rats, who are even now marching on Aramon.’

‘Do you know where to look?’ asked the Queen.

‘Well. . . yes.’

The Queen smiled. ‘You don’t sound very certain. Rest here tonight as our guests. In the morning, Lord Rothgar and some of his warriors will escort you through the woods, and help you in your quest.’

‘And when you have found the Chalice, bring it back so that we can all admire it!’ A beautiful young mole, wearing a silver coronet, had swept into the chamber. She took her seat next to the Queen, and stared haughtily at the mice.

‘I see no reason for that,’ said Morganna coldly. ‘I doubt whether this Treasure will be of any interest to us; and these young mice have a war to fight.’

Oslaf said, ‘If the Princess Rhiannon wishes to see the Treasure, surely she should be allowed to? I should like to see it too!’

Several of the Councillors were muttering agreement. The Queen frowned. ‘Oh, very well. If my sister is so eager to see it. Lord Rothgar, will you escort our guests back from their quest and satisfy the Princess Rhiannon’s curiosity?’

Rothgar bowed, but shot a venomous look at Oslaf and Rhiannon. Rufus caught the greedy glint in the Princess’s eyes. If she once got her paws on the Chalice, she might be most unwilling to let it go! Still, the old Queen seemed friendly enough.

‘She’s a bit vague, though,’ said Elana, as they lay uncomfortably on the earthen floor of their sleeping-chamber. ‘Rothgar seems all right. But did you see the way Oslaf and Rhiannon were smiling at each other? And the way some of those Councillors pricked up their ears at the mention of Treasure? Can we give them the slip?’

‘Not tonight. We’d never find our way out of this maze of tunnels. As for tomorrow, I’ve heard that in daylight moles are practically blind.’

‘But they can hear and smell much better than we can. And we’ve seen how quickly they react to danger.’

‘I’m sure we can move faster and escape,’ said Rufus.

But next morning, back on the Pilgrims’ Way, the mice found themselves neatly boxed in by six well-armed warriors, with Rothgar in the lead. ‘Just tell me when to stop,’ he called over his shoulder as they set off. The other moles said nothing. Their eyes were almost invisible, their faces blank.

Rufus felt angry. What sort of treatment was this? Did the moles want the Chalice?

After a while, the path began to climb between a tumble of boulders, and there were fewer trees. Suddenly Rothgar stopped. ‘I can hear running water. Didn’t you say you were looking for a fountain?’

‘Yes!’ exclaimed Rufus. ‘But I can’t see one.’

Rothgar hastened up the track, his quivering ears picking up sounds inaudible to the mice. He led them off the path to a little grove of trees, where a spring was bubbling between boulders. Behind it, the grassy rock-strewn slope rose steeply to a tree-lined ridge. The air was very still. The light was almost dazzling.

‘Here is your water,’ said Rothgar. ‘But I do not sense a cave.’

‘The poem said we had to release a rainbow,’ said Elana. ‘But I don’t see how.’

‘It also mentioned a fountain,’ said Rufus, ‘not a pathetic little trickle. Let’s have a closer look.’

One of the warriors made to stop him but at Rothgar’s stern command, he let him go. Rufus climbed the slope to where the water was seeping rapidly from a pile of small boulders. He guessed there was plenty of pressure there, and wondered what would happen if he cleared away some rocks. He did so and the spring bubbled higher. Delving into the spring, Rufus removed another rock, and another. Now the water was leaping higher than his head. He reached down and, with an effort, lifted out one more rock, feeling the power of the spring surge beneath his paws. As the rock came out, Rufus was thrown on to his back. A mighty jet of water shot as high as the treetops, before cascading in a sparkling curtain that glowed with colour.

Elana clapped her paws, squeaking with delight. Rothgar smiled. ‘Is that your rainbow? But listen! Surely you can hear it?’

At first the mice heard nothing but the splash of water. Then, gradually, soft music of an unearthly beauty stole upon them from the heart of the rainbow. Mice and moles listened, spellbound. As the music faded, they saw that a deep shadow had appeared in the hillside.

Rufus gasped. ‘Elana! It must be the opening of the cave!’

‘You’d better go and see.’

Rufus took her paw, but she gently pulled away. ‘No, Rufus. This is your quest. You must go alone.’

9. The Chalice

The cave was cold and dark. Rufus was wet through after his struggle with the spring, and shivered as he groped along the rock wall. At last, he sensed a vast emptiness. He glanced back, but the cave was pitch dark. He hated enclosed spaces, and breathed deeply in an effort to stem the rising tide of panic. ‘Lord of Light! Show me the way!’

A faint glow, that seemed to come from the very heart of the darkness, gradually intensified. In the dim light, a mouse appeared. He was holding a plain wooden bowl. Soft light streamed from a star above his head. Gradually, shadowy figures of mice loomed out of the darkness, all bathed in the star’s gentle radiance. As Rufus watched, the mouse at the centre of the cavern raised the bowl and drank. Then he gave it to the mouse nearest to him. As the bowl was passed round, Rufus heard a strong, clear voice: ‘Drink, all of you! This wine is the symbol of brotherhood.’

Rufus stifled a gasp. It was the same voice he had heard on the night of his escape from the Rats’ Castle.

At last, the bowl came to Rufus. But, as he reached for it, another mouse took it, drank from it, and passed it on. Rufus realized that he was watching a scene from the past. He kept his eyes on the Chalice, which at last returned to the mouse who had first drunk from it: the Lord of Light himself.

The mouse drank once more, then held out the bowl for all to see. It was empty. He turned, and placed it on a ledge at the far end of the cavern. As he did so, the starlight faded, and Rufus was alone in the dark.

He walked towards the invisible ledge, reached up, and his paw closed on the Chalice. Immediately he felt a tingling, as if the Chalice were filled with pent-up energy. Suddenly the cavern walls were sparkling with tiny pinpoints of light. At the far end, a glittering arch marked his way out. Clutching the precious Chalice, Rufus crossed the cavern but, as he reached the arch, he turned and looked back to where the Lord of Light had stood.

‘I will keep this Chalice safe,’ he promised, ‘and use it to free Carminel from its enemies.’

Gradually the lights faded, until only one remained, high in the roof. The familiar voice spoke again.

‘The Chalice is yours, but the quest is not over.

Seek for the Treasures still to be found.

And when you have won them,

Summon the eagles.

But keep up your courage, for perils abound!’

Triumphantly, Rufus ran out of the cave . . . And stopped abruptly. Elana was bound and gagged and held fast by two moles. Six others were barring his way. Cold fury swept over him. He and Elana had been betrayed after all! He was outnumbered, but at least he had the advantage of the downward slope. Setting down the Chalice, he drew his dagger and charged.

The moles had not expected this. Rufus crashed into them, lunging with his dagger, kicking viciously. A space opened up, but the other moles were moving to cut him off. He feinted left, then swung right, crashing against a mole who staggered and fell. Now only two were in front of him, and the moles holding Elana were watching him nervously. As the two advanced against him, Rufus charged them, hurling them to the ground. Elana was just in front of him, he had only her two guards to deal with but two others had closed in behind him, and they fell upon him, forcing the breath from his body. He gasped in pain as they hauled him upright, but still he struggled, lashing out with his foot. The moles squealed, but held on.

A big mole came lumbering out of the trees. ‘Rothgar!’ yelled Rufus. But it was Oslaf. Unable to move, Rufus stared in horror at the blood on Oslaf’s axe as the big mole strode towards him.