“We’re going to go, Alder, even if you won’t lead us,” said one of the moles. “We can’t just let them do it to Wilden. He’s my friend.” Wilden was the second of the captured moles.
As he spoke another couple of guardmoles appeared, one of them rather larger than the other. This mole stared over towards where the defence burrow was and Alder stiffened in surprise.
“But that mole there... that one! Aye. That’s Marram, Tryfan, that’s who that is.” It was the mole who had been Alder’s colleague at Buckland.
They stared at him and he looked impassively back, and as he did so Tryfan suddenly moved forward and took command.
“You will not go out on to the surface, any of you,” he said in a voice chilly with authority. “Now tell me quickly, if I take a surface route, where exactly will I find an entrance to the deep tunnels in which Ramsey still lies hidden?”
The direction was pointed out to him.
“Now listen, and listen well. I shall go out alone. I shall seem to wish to parley with them. They will hesitate for they will be surprised to see a single mole. I will take my moment and lead – what is his name? Wilden? – I will lead him on downslope. There will be confusion.
“Take that moment to evacuate as many injured upslope as you can. Maintain a guard here for I will attempt to return, with Ramsey and any others I may find through the deep tunnels. Send other messengers along the line and order an immediate and final retreat. Once that mole is safe, and Ramsey’s group is securely back, we will retreat altogether....”
The taunting voice of the guardmole came upslope to them again.
“Well, Duncton moles, your friend is beginning to sweat and shake. Is it cowards he fought alongside? Or have you the courage and common sense to surrender and save his life?”
At that Tryfan left them, and stepped up and out on to the surface. His sudden appearance brought all movement to a halt. Those holding Wilden crouched, tensely watching, as in the drab and drizzly silence that seemed to have descended on that part of the Eastside, Tryfan moved slowly and with authority towards them.
As he did so he said clearly and with an intent that was very obvious to the watchers behind him, “I come in peace and with the good will of the Stone for all moles. If there is any among you who has pity, or has ever thought he might desire the Silence of the Stone, let him come forward now and make peace with us!” As Tryfan spoke his eyes were on Marram, who laughed and said to the others, “Some hope he’s got, mates, to find a mole of the Stone here!”
“Aye, you’ll have to do better than that!” said another.
But the watchers noticed that Marram dropped back behind the others, and then moved away downslope and, for the moment, out of sight.
Meanwhile, on either side, hidden in grass or thistles, guardmoles had taken advance positions and they watched with narrowed eyes and ready talons as Tryfan approached among them. His heart hammered in his breast, he had eyes only for the terror that he could now see was in Wilden’s eyes the closer he got. Moledom seemed almost silent about him. Almost but not quite, for there was a panting and a pattering behind him and he slowed, unsure if this was an attack but determined to show no fear.
“I really think you could have waited you know,” said a scholarly voice. “I mean...” It was Spindle, running to catch him up, with anxiety on his face combined with a studied innocence.
“What the Stone...?” began Tryfan through clenched teeth as he tried to maintain his pose of unconcern and purpose so that the guardmoles, who stared at him surprised and uncertain now, might stay irresolute long enough for him to reach Wilden and make his move. But with Spindle....
“Well, I mean,” continued Spindle who, having now caught him up, dared to move ahead at a slightly more rapid pace as he talked loudly about... what? “I mean that it isn’t reasonable to have the pleasure, if not the privilege, of surrendering to these splendid moles who have come all this way just to —”
“Spindle!” said Tryfan, trying to stop him, and now only moleyards from the fence and Wilden just beyond it.
“— to, er, rescue moles from that dreadful fallacy, for that’s the only word for it, which is called, I believe, the Stone.”
As Spindle said the words, smiling as he did so, with Tryfan furious at his side and the guardmoles looking at each other and wondering quite who these two moles were who were wandering so nonchalantly into their very midst talking about the Stone, the two reached the wire itself. The snouted mole hung bloodily before them, his paws arced up in a death agony. The slope dipped down more steeply beyond the fence, and the morning sound of the roaring owls came over the Pasture from out of the humid air.
Across the slopes below were several other moles, perhaps ten or more, and at Tryfan’s appearance, which must have been a surprise to them, they reared up and stared.
“I think,” began Tryfan, taking his cue from Spindle and sounding utterly calm, moving under the wire and even dipping his snout so that he was vulnerable to attack, and with Spindle following suit, so they were within feet of Wilden... “I think we had better introduce ourselves.”
The guardmoles began to stiffen into aggressive stances, their grip on Wilden tightened, they moved in closer from all sides.
Tryfan turned to the one who seemed their leader.
“The mole you have captured is Wilden...” and Tryfan’s voice speeded up as he spoke with sudden compelling authority, though as quietly as before. “And if we are to talk sensibly I suggest you let him free. He is not about to escape you know.” As the guardmoles let him go, Tryfan added, “And this is my good friend Spindle, of Seven Barrows born, and my name is Tryfan.”
There was a moment more of silence. One or other of the guardmoles seemed to find his voice and even open his mouth to speak as others closed in on Tryfan, but before they could do so he said, “And now, Wilden, I think the time has come —” Then as Tryfan thrust violently forward at one of the four guardmoles near Wilden, Wilden himself felled another who tumbled down the slope behind them. Tryfan had not counted on Spindle but he, not to be outdone, took full advantage of the moment of surprise and confusion and dug his talons sharply into a third guardmole’s side as Tryfan reached forward, warded off the remaining guardmole near Wilden, and cried out to them all to run downslope into the very midst of the astonished guardmoles below.
“Now!” he cried out, and they paused for a moment and then ran down and down the slope, Tryfan guided by a faith stronger than he had ever known that they would be safe if they acted with complete assurance.
“Stop them! After them! Kill them!”
Then, even as the guardmoles behind turned in pursuit and the ones ahead seemed to come out of the trance into which the Duncton moles’ unexpected appearance had put them, it was not Tryfan who saw that their way of escape was there on the Pasture before them, solid and sure, but Spindle. For with a gasped “Follow me!” he took the lead in the rapid downhill chase and headed straight for the largest and most powerful-looking guardmole on the slope: Marram. There was nothing that Tryfan and Wilden could do but follow him, closing up to fend off the grikes that lunged in from right and left.
“This way!” cried Spindle and he led them downslope at greater and greater speed towards the guardmole who reared up threateningly, his talons huge.
“But,” gasped Wilden, “you’re running towards the biggest of them all!”
“Correct!” said Spindle, “I think he’s with us. And if he’s not then none of us has long to live.”
But Marram was with them, though whether it was from Tryfan’s words of the Stone, or some decision he had made earlier they did not know or care. As they reached him, he stepped to one side to let them through and then turned back upslope and smote to death the first guardmole that came, which stopped the guardmole attack dead in its tracks.
Then all was confusion as Tryfan led his party on, confident now, and certain, contouring the slope, eyes running across the surface for the entrance to the
deep burrow where Ramsey lay but which was well hidden.
Then suddenly Ramsey was there, thrusting out of a disguised entrance to one side of them, alerted by the shouts and running of paws. He came out on to the surface, followed by two or three others, and they surged past Tryfan and took their places at Marram’s side as Tryfan’s group, now nearing exhaustion, were directed underground. Wilden went down first, followed by Spindle, and then a watcher almost bodily pushed Tryfan down after them.
“Come on!” he said, “the grikes seem to be waking up!”
Then he and the others followed Tryfan down as Ramsey and Marram remained to fight off the last of their confused and routed pursuers, and from below Tryfan cried out so the grikes might hear, “To the main cross-under, to there we will go, not upslope to safety quite yet!”
Then down Ramsey went, and Marram, and the moles on the surface circled and snouted and struck at the ground crying out, “They’re heading by tunnel for the cross-under. Warn Henbane and Weed. Somemole get down there!... all moles go downslope! Down the slope to the cow cross-under. It’s a counterattack, Word knows how many there are below!”
Some tried to enter the deep tunnel but received vicious talon-thrusts on the snout and they soon gave up and left, and the Duncton moles breathed a sigh of relief.
“We are well met, Marram,” Tryfan said. “Well met, indeed. Now moles, let us make good our escape!”
With that, they took the deep tunnel back upslope, far away from the attentions of the guardmoles, until they reached the surface burrow where they had left Alder.
Alder had done his work well, for the defence was now very nearly deserted, the injured having been evacuated, leaving him with just two of the fittest watchers waiting in the hope that Tryfan would return in safety.
“A friend to greet you!” said Tryfan as Marram emerged. Then Alder, who had been in complete command of himself as he had of the watchers for two days, was struck dumb with amazement and then delight. He buffeted his old colleague, and they laughed deeply together.
Agreeing that they would have much to say to each other later, Alder said, “We had best take advantage of the grikes’ confusion and make our final retreat.” But as he left he had time to turn to Marram once again and say, “Old friend, I have a job for you you’re going to enjoy!” Then, with a laugh and a shout, the last of the watchers left the south-eastern slopes, for the grikes to take at their leisure.
Upslope they all paused to look back.
“They’ll take their time,” confirmed Marram. “Always do. They’ll check every tunnel and surface burrow on the way up to the main system, and I would not be surprised if there are serious flanking incursions going on – grikes do things by the Word, which is cautious when it comes to invading new systems.”
“We’ve given them something to think about anyway,” said Alder.
“They were very surprised when they met resistance here yesterday because they’re not used to it. But they learn fast so you won’t get a second chance!”
“Well, then,” said Tryfan, “we had better get going.”
Then he turned towards Duncton Wood, and led the moles north across the Ancient System and then down-slope towards the distant Marsh End, leaving behind him a system entirely empty of moles but for the last watchers to the east who, like him, were retreating now, for the north, and beyond.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
By the time Tryfan and the others reached Barrow Vale the main group of moles, under Comfrey’s leadership, had already made their way down to the Marsh End, and then in groups to the very entrance of the river tunnel itself, leaving behind a single watcher to tell Tryfan what had been done and to give directions to any other watchers still coming in from the defensive positions on the southeastern slopes.
Only when they were satisfied that the system was cleared and all moles accounted for did Tryfan and Spindle go on down to join the others. Then, after ensuring that the evacuation under the direction of Mayweed and Comfrey was proceeding smoothly, the two of them went with Skint to join the team of watchers who were to hide in the special tunnels in the north east of the Marsh End. Alder and Marram, much interested, went as well, while Smithills stayed at his post on the Duncton side of the river tunnel to give Comfrey support should he need it.
The farewell between Skint and Smithills, who had never been apart since they left Grassington so many moleyears before, was brief and touching. They grumbled a bit at each other, talking of other things, but then fell into a clumsy embrace, the big Smithills nearly lifting the smaller Skint off his paws as they wished each other luck, and looked forward to the time they would meet again, and do what they had long promised each other, which was to travel north at last, back to their home system.
“Aye, and not forgetting Wharfedale, where we’ve a prayer to say in memory of old Willow, bless her!” said Smithills.
“That’ll be a happy day, and the happier if you’re at my side, you unkempt and grubby old rascal!”
“Well then, you’d better make sure you survive, hadn’t you Skint? Don’t be so mean with the worms, fatten yourself up a bit, otherwise I’ll be there without you!”
The watchers who had already established residence at the Marsh End Defence, had seen to a final camouflaging of entrances, and were establishing some food caches when Skint and the others arrived.
Skint and Tryfan had discussed at length the campaign against the invaders that Skint would conduct – a secret warfare for which, so far as either knew, there was certainly neither moleword nor precedent. The idea was to use attacks on individual moles to harass and confuse the grikes, to make them perpetually uncomfortable and demoralised.
The secret group consisted of seven moles – enough to be able to operate in two places at once, but not so many that leadership would be a problem. Skint was in overall control with Ramsey, still recovering from his efforts against the grikes, as second in command. One of the original seven had been killed in the fighting and his place was to be taken by the watcher who had waited for them at Barrow Vale, a mole called Tundry.
Tryfan looked around the dark burrow where the group crouched quietly – a tough-looking lot who might, in the course of the next few months, learn a great deal about the grikes; or, on the other hand, might all die.
Apart from Tryfan, Spindle and Mayweed, and now Alder and Marram, nomole knew they were staying behind, and when asked by others Tryfan intended to be vague about where they were and what they were doing. He made a final inspection of the tunnels he, Mayweed and Holm had developed but which he had not seen for some weeks. The entrances were well disguised, the Marsh End soil being dank and dark and covered in thick unwholesome vegetation which had the virtue of being nearly impenetrable. The entrances led into shallow tunnels which had been constructed to look as if they had been deserted. There were roof falls and accumulations of vegetation, and any root growth that might normally have been cleared had been carefully left in place.
This made the entrances from these tunnels into the deeper ones easier to disguise, and also made it possible for holes and passages to be open to permit the deeper penetration of light, which would be needed if the health of the moles was to be maintained.
But this secondary complex of tunnels was itself a disguise for a third and yet deeper level, which in many places was in total darkness: narrow, devious miserable affairs which Mayweed had intended to develop as permanent living quarters, the real base of the covert operations Skint and the others would mount.
But it was not all darkness. Mayweed had centred this complex on an old lightning-burnt tree whose dead roots radiated round and down into the soil, and which had a hollow, burnt out trunk. Originally this had been filled with the debris of rotten wood, humus and the putrified remains of rodent carcasses caught by the owl that used the top of the trunk as a roosting point and who, occasionally, dropped prey down which he was unable to retrieve.
Mayweed and Holm had burrowed up into this, cleared it out
, and so provided a safe source of light, and even sun as well as rain for the moles who might, at times, have to stay hidden for weeks. But certainly the area around such an obviously owl-bound tree was one any invaders would avoid, and so they would never suspect that beneath it, using the opening to the sky it gave, moles might live and survive.
Looking up from the chamber Mayweed had built under the tree the light was strange – green and grey, pink in places from the colour of the wood, and here and there where branches had broken off or woodpeckers had worked, there were holes which let in more light so that the passage of the sun and clouds, the whole lighted movement of the sky, seemed to play inside the trunk and be reflected down on to the floor of the chamber in a marvellous changing mutation of tones.
It was in the chamber on the third level that Tryfan and the others settled for a last briefing, and to say their farewells. One reason why Marram had come was to tell Skint what he knew of the command and disposition of the grikes, and this he now did. Information which was later to save the lives of more than one of those watchers.
Just as important for the future was the need both Tryfan and Skint felt to establish a basis on which they might communicate in the future. It was Tryfan’s view that the operation should not continue indefinitely. Nomole doubted that it would be hard, dangerous and tedious, and that if the moles were to keep their spirits high they must know that their time in those tunnels would be limited. On the other paw, nomole could tell what would happen, or where Tryfan and the others moles would go, and it was hard to make a definite plan.
The problem had taxed the elders considerably, and it had been decided that contact would be made the following Longest Night, a good time for meeting since moles tend to travel to their home systems at that season and strangers are not so noticed, and discipline is more lax.
But where? They had chosen Rollright as the meeting point, for though that system was controlled by grikes, its tunnels were very well known to Skint and Smithills, who had cleared them, and the system itself was diffuse and hard for guardmoles to monitor. It was, in any case, one of the Ancient Systems, and its Stones were powerful indeed. They all favoured it as a location, for it lay not far north of Duncton and yet was reachable from the Wen to the east as well. And being north it was on the way, if only a small part of it, to the North, and ultimately Whern, to where, Tryfan suspected, Boswell had been taken and he himself would one day have to go.