Eagle Warrior
For Annie, Becky, Katherine and Charlie
Contents
Part One: The Lost Crown
1. The Battle
2. The Trial
3. Gideon Returns
4. Secret Meetings
5. The Plan
6. The Birthday of the Lord of Light
7. The Crown
8. The End of a Traitor
Part Two: The Island of Gold
9. The Bonaventure
10. The Battle of Vittles Lane
11. Capture!
12. ‘Take Over the Ship!’
13. The Secret
14. Death on the Island
15. The Battle of Quincy Manor
16. Sea-Battle!
Part Three: The Eagles Return
17. Treason!
18. A Villain Returns
19. Cambray Attacks
20. Gideon Advances
21. Cambray’s Nightmare
22. The Lord of Light
23. The Dying King
24. The Saint and the Sinner
25. Coronation Day
Copyright
About the author
Part One: The Lost Crown
1. The Battle
It was the worst storm the mice of Aramon could remember. Savage streaks of lightning tore the night apart, and thunder roared above the trembling town until its echoes died away across the sea.
High on the hilltop, the Great Fortress stood like a rock. But below, the little houses cringed under the onslaught and the narrow streets became rushing, tumbling rivers that poured down to the docks and cascaded into the harbour. Rain spat like angry cats down the chimneys and the smouldering logs hissed back, so that the mice coughed and choked and wiped their streaming eyes. Candlelight wavered as the storm-wind howled under doors and whistled through cracks in window frames.
But it was not just the storm that was keeping the mice of Aramon from their beds. Away to the west, on Barrowdown Moor, a great battle was being fought, a battle to decide who would rule over Carminel: Auriol, King of the Mouse-Kind, or his treacherous brother, Cardinal Rumont.
For as long as he could remember, Rumont’s heart had overflowed with envy for the gentle King, his brother. And so, stealthily and slyly, he had gone among the greedy merchant-mice of Aramon, pouring into their ears his poisonous lies, disguised as promises of riches.
At last, one terrible night, he and his followers had driven out King Auriol. But the King still held the Crown; and no mouse could claim power without it. And King Auriol had plenty of friends! The loyal country-mice flocked to his standard. Cheerfully exchanging their sickles for swords, they left their farms in the lush valleys of Carminel and marched off to fight for their king.
But not only the country-mice. From the High Collada Mountains, far to the north, came the hardiest mice of all. And with them came the eagles.
Between the mice and the eagles there was perfect trust; and all through the summer’s fighting, Gideon, Lord of the Eagles, had led his squadron to victory after victory. This valiant warrior was the hero of the King’s army: but Cardinal Rumont hated the very sound of Gideon’s name.
Now, after the long, hot summer of civil war, one battle remains to be fought – the battle for Aramon, capital of Carminel. And Cardinal Rumont skulks alone, high in the Great Fortress, waiting for news ...
All afternoon, the two armies on Barrowdown Moor watched one another in a tense silence across the narrow stream that separated them. Slowly, the sun sank in a blood-red blaze; but storm clouds were building to the north and gradually, like another army, they advanced across the sky. For a few minutes more, the dying light shone on the great scarlet and blue banners, floating like clouds above the armies. Then the storm clouds smothered the sky and the light died.
From the crest of the slope, King Auriol watched as darkness cloaked the Rebel Army. It was getting late; too late for a battle. ‘Let our mice rest and eat,’ he said.
As the word spread, his soldiers gratefully grounded their weapons and dug in their knapsacks for cold pies and pasties. Ale and cider went the rounds.
But the Rebel Army stood motionless. All but one mouse who went panting up the slope until he reached the commander of the Cardinal’s army: the tough, brutal General Cambray.
‘The King’s army has broken ranks, sir!’ gasped the messenger. ‘They’re having supper!’
General Cambray’s eyes gleamed in the darkness. Slowly, he dragged on a shabby yellow buff-coat, strapped on his sword and clamped a helmet on to his head. His whiskers quivered at the thought of battle – and of the plunder he would get when it was over. General Cambray fought for no mouse but himself.
‘Good,’ he growled. ‘Wait for the rain. Shouldn’t be long now. Then pass the word to the front line to advance.’
Minutes later, the storm broke. Between the flashes of lightning, the Rebel line crept forward and crossed the stream. But the King’s mice, huddled under their capes, did not see them. Cautiously, the General’s mice advanced up the opposite slope. The rain had turned the ground to mud, and they slipped and slithered as they crept towards their enemy. Lightning flashed – a King’s mouse yelled in alarm – and his comrades scrabbled frantically for their weapons. Their gunpowder was soaked, so they drew their swords and hurled themselves upon their attackers.
King Auriol yelled an order: but already his eagles, the pride of his army, were flying! In a rippling line, they rose above the crest, soaring into the stormy sky, gaining height for the charge. And leading them, his scarlet cloak streaming out behind him, rode Gideon.
All that summer, Gideon’s eagles had struck terror into the Rebels, striking without warning, swooping out of nowhere, their riders screaming and brandishing their swords. Now, high above the battle, Gideon rode his great eagle, Galliard, into the charge. The mouse saw the front line of Cambray’s army reeling in terror. He felt the familiar surge of excitement and drew his rapier.
Down swooped the eagles, screaming their challenge, talons flickering in the lightning, the warrior-mice on their backs waving their rapiers and yelling like furies. Lower and lower, skimming over the King’s army until they were almost above the Rebels’ front line ...
But Gideon had not yet fought against General Cambray. The General snapped an order and from behind their screen of bushes the great guns flamed and roared. Shells screamed into the air and burst into blazing fragments.
And the first eagles fell. They had never known defeat: but these massive guns terrified them. Most simply wheeled away and fled. Many plummeted to the ground, their riders dragged away as prisoners.
But high above the battle, one eagle remained. Galliard’s eyes flashed in fury, and she screamed defiance. Gideon raised his rapier and yelled, ‘Lord of Light! Do you run? Follow me!’
A shell burst directly above him. Below, mice flinched from the blinding glare and shut their eyes. When they opened them, mouse and eagle had vanished.
‘Hold your fire!’ roared Cambray, and his snout twisted into a savage grin.
All over the moor, a deathly silence fell. Then the Rebels heard a terrible, despairing cry. It was the mice of the King’s army; without Gideon, they knew that the battle was lost.
Cambray raised his sword. ‘Advance!’
Through the clinging mud and driving rain, his victorious troops struggled up the slope. All around them, the King’s mice were scattering into the darkness. At the crest of the ridge the Rebels halted. There stood Auriol, King of the Mouse-Kind, and his little son, Armand. At their feet, the Royal Banner of Carminel lay like a pool of blood.
‘You fool!’ squealed Cardinal Rumont. ‘You blundering, thick-headed fool!’ Firelight rippled across his purple robe and glittered on the Great Star of the Lord
of Light, the god of the Mouse-Kind, that he wore on his breast.
From the fireplace, General Cambray watched Rumont through cunning little eyes. He felt nothing but contempt for this sleek, smooth mouse who had spent the battle skulking in safety while his followers were fighting on the moor. The small room, high in the Great Fortress, was warm and cosy after the rain and mud of the battlefield. The General helped himself to wine and slurped it noisily. Replacing the empty goblet on the table, he deliberately scraped it across the polished surface.
‘Don’t do that!’ yelled Rumont. ‘It sets my teeth on edge!’
For a moment, Cambray felt sorry for his army who had fallen for Rumont’s easy promises of money and land. For all his talk about ‘freedom’ and ‘brotherhood’, all the Cardinal really cared about was power. But now that Cambray had won his war for him, Rumont was about to see that bright dream turn into a nightmare.
‘Where is it?’ hissed Rumont furiously. ‘Give me the Crown!’
Cambray stared insolently. ‘I told you. I ain’t got it.’
Rumont’s eyes flashed. ‘You must have it! How can I claim the throne without it? That Crown possesses power that comes from the Lord of Light himself!’
Cambray lumbered across the room until he towered over Rumont. ‘You’ve never cared a fig for the Lord of Light,’ he sneered, ‘for all your being a cardinal, and dressing in silks and satins, and wearing a star on your chest! If you want the Crown,’ he went on, thrusting his ugly snout close to Rumont’s scared face, ‘you’d better go an’ dig for it in the mud on Barrowdown. Because if you don’t find it, someone else might ...’
Rumont turned away, biting his claws in sudden terror. His quest for power was not over yet. General Cambray had won the war. Now, he wanted the Crown of Carminel for himself!
2. The Trial
Auriol, King of the Mouse-Kind, was on trial for his life. The Hall of the Great Fortress was packed with spectators. Drawn by malice, pity, or plain curiosity, they had trudged up the hill as darkness fell to witness this trial and to hear the expected sentence: death.
The King crouched on a low stool in the centre of the Hall. He was guarded by two of Cambray’s most savage mice, who picked their claws with their daggers and puffed tobacco smoke over their prisoner.
To one side, sat the Jury. Cardinal Rumont had chosen them well: sleek, hard-faced mice who had made money by selling weapons to the rebels. At the far end, Cardinal Rumont and General Cambray sat on their thrones. Rumont wore his best purple robe with the Great Star glittering at his breast. He carefully angled his paws so that the flaring torchlight sparkled on his diamond and emerald rings. Outwardly, he was calm: but inside, he was seething with hatred.
Cambray! That coarse, vulgar peasant! What did he know of the finer things of life? All he ever ate was black bread and hard cheese, with warm beer to wash the disgusting mixture down! But he liked power. Already, to Rumont’s dismay, he had demanded an equal share; and the Cardinal knew that Cambray would not rest until he had it all.
Rumont scowled. Share power with that common lout? Never! But where was the Crown? Auriol swore that he had lost it in the confusion of battle, and Rumont had never known his brother to lie.
Cambray must have it! Already a plan was forming in the Cardinal’s treacherous brain. A plan so simple in its brilliance that it would ensure Cambray’s downfall and, with any luck, his death. Everything depended on finding the right mouse. Rumont had spies everywhere, and if certain rumours about Gideon, the Eagle Warrior, were true, he might not have long to wait.
His thoughts were interrupted as the lawyer rose to speak. His name was Spyker, a tall, spindly mouse with a grasping, greedy brain. So far, he had hurled abuse, thinly disguised as evidence, at the prisoner. But now he began to call witnesses to prove his case. This was: that King Auriol had broken his sacred Coronation Oath, and set himself up as a tyrant, and that he was therefore entirely responsible for the recent, cruel Civil War.
All the witnesses said much the same thing: how they had been forced to fight in the King’s army, or how they had seen the King slaughtering innocent mice with his own hand, or how their children had been carried off into slavery by the King’s wicked soldiers. Most of the witnesses were half-drunk already on the fat bribes they’d received for telling their lies. The Cardinal yawned, and glanced down the Hall at his brother.
What a pathetic sight, thought Rumont. Hunched up, eyes closed, fur dropping out ... He’s obviously ill, and probably dying. Just as well, thought the Cardinal, as I do not want the worry and expense of keeping him in jail. Nor do I wish to have him executed. After all, he is my brother.
Rumont turned his attention back to the lawyer.
‘And so we have seen beyond all doubt,’ yelled Spyker, ‘how this Mouse of Blood, this so-called King, whose first care should have been the good of his subjects – we have seen, I say, how this tyrant waged war upon his gentle and peace-loving mice! It is only by the skill and courage of General Cambray, and the wisdom of the Cardinal Prince Rumont – ’ Rumont smiled and nodded at the lawyer’s lies – ‘it is thanks to these noble mice that we are here tonight to pass a just sentence upon this Great Delinquent! But before that, I have one more witness to call: a humble soldier who has suffered for the cause, a poor, broken mouse, who approached me last night and begged to tell his story of tyranny and oppression. Call Private Conal!’
All eyes turned to the low doorway through which the previous witnesses had appeared.
Conal was a small mouse. His clothes were mere rags. He walked barefoot and he dragged one leg as he limped painfully to the witness box. His wide, innocent eyes captured all hearts and a low murmur of sympathy swept through the Hall.
Lawyer Spyker sensed that this witness would sway any doubters – if indeed there were any left! Greedily, he thought of the fee the Cardinal had promised him, and smiled encouragingly at the pathetic little mouse.
‘Private Conal, tell the Court, in your own words, how cruelly you have suffered at the hands of the tyrant!’
The small mouse lifted up his head and, with a saintly expression, told his story. He spoke in the musical accent of the far south of Carminel but his voice was quiet and hesitant, so that silence fell upon the Hall.
‘I have seen my father and mother torn from our home and butchered in front of me. Our home was set on fire and burnt to the ground. I have been beaten, starved and forced to fight for a cause I did not believe to be just.’
The silence was absolute. The mouse’s story was so pitiful that even Rumont gave his full attention to this poor little scarecrow. The King raised his eyes and stared in horror at this victim of a war that he, Auriol, had never wanted.
Lawyer Spyker savoured the moment. ‘What a tragic story!’ he cried passionately. ‘Who now can doubt the truth ...’
‘The truth?’ said Private Conal, with a sudden merry twinkle in his eyes. ‘The truth? Sure, an’ you wouldn’t recognize the truth if it jumped up and spat in your eye!’
And before any mouse could grasp what was happening, Conal had vaulted over the witness box and leapt for the nearest guard. Swiftly drawing the astonished mouse’s rapier, Conal sprang upon the lawyer’s table, sending mountains of papers flying. From the depths of his rags he drew a double-barrelled pistol, cocked it, and pointed it straight at Cardinal Rumont.
‘Any mouse moves, the Cardinal dies!’
Every mouse froze.
‘I’ve a word or two to say before I go! Sure, an’ I’d like to attempt a one-mouse rescue, but it’s beyond even my powers to get his Gracious Majesty through half the General’s army, cowardly scumbags though most of them are!
‘All I’ll say is this: don’t you believe half the drivel you’ve heard tonight! This trial is rigged and the King is doomed! Maybe you think he’s guilty, and maybe you don’t, but let’s not pretend it’s justice! For once he’s out of the way, who’ll be your master then? I’ll tell you – it’ll be him, the slimy traitor my pistol’s
pointing at, if the fat, ugly one beside him don’t bump him off first!’
Conal leapt from the table and, with two flicks of his rapier, neatly slit Spyker’s belt, causing the britches to fall, revealing the lawyer’s skinny legs and grubby underpants. Wheeling round, Conal fired both barrels of his pistol, left, right, and the King’s two guards fled in terror as the bullets zinged off the floor at their feet.
Panic! The squealing Jury struggled to get away from this terrible little mouse, while the spectators further back surged forward for a better view. General Cambray sprang to his feet and snapped an order, and his personal bodyguards charged across the Hall.
With a joyous battle-yell, Conal hurled his pistol at the leader’s face, knocking him senseless. With a flick of his rapier he disarmed the next mouse, who saw his own weapon arching into the air, only to re-appear as if by magic in Conal’s left paw.
Armed now with two rapiers, the mouse proceeded to give the panic-stricken crowd a demonstration of sword-play they would never forget. Twirling, flickering, his two blades flew quicker than eyes could follow and every mouse who came against him found himself suddenly disarmed and bleeding.
With the whole of the General’s Bodyguard in total disarray, Conal hurled one rapier at the Cardinal’s throne, where it stuck, quivering, inches above his head. Rumont stared aghast as, still grasping the other weapon, Conal stooped, kissed the paw of the poor, bewildered King, and vanished.
Once clear of the Great Hall, Conal dodged to his left and darted up a narrow, spiral staircase. He sprinted to the top and cautiously peeped round a massive pillar. Below him, he saw the Great Hall and he grinned happily at the chaos he had caused.
General Cambray was yelling furiously for his troops. But they were positioned around the outer edges of the Hall and quite unable to reach him. Cardinal Rumont stood silent and still; but his eyes roved the Hall, up and down.
Conal scuttled on all fours along the narrow passage until he reached another spiral staircase. He listened intently for a moment. Then, holding his rapier straight out in front of him, he hurled himself down the old, worn steps until he found himself in the cellars of the Great Fortress.