Free Duncton Quest by William Horwood

who could rally support and resistance among those who still had faith.

    This was Spindle’s terrible tale and when he had finished it he crouched in silence. Boswell had explained some of the import of what he had said but Tryfan, until now, had stayed silent, listening.
    “But your own escape,” he asked at last. “How did that happen?”
    Spindle grinned. “My apparent weakness and insignificance has advantages, one of which is that guardmoles and others do not think I will even try to escape. What is more, I knew these tunnels and those at Seven Barrows well, and it is possible, when large numbers of moles are on the move, to go unnoticed. So, quietly and I think unseen (for none came in pursuit), I left them.”
    “What did you do when they had gone?”
    “For days I did nothing,” said Spindle, his voice barely a whisper as he re-lived the shock of what he had seen. “There were one or two other survivors but they spoke not to me, nor I to them. Then they were gone. But I... I know not. I could only think to worship the Stone and, just as I did when I was a pup, I went down to the Stones near my home system of Seven Barrows and they gave me sanctuary. I asked for guidance. I passed Longest Night alone. I spoke what invocations I could and then I knew what I must do. Was I not a cleric of the Holy Burrows, was not my task there?”
    He stared at them both and they saw in his eyes the terrible courage he must have needed to do what he then did. Alone, afraid, without hope, he went back into the tunnels of Uffington and made his way past more tortured death than anymole should ever see, and reached the Library.
    “What did you there?” asked Boswell gently.
    “I began to gather what whole books remained and took them, one by one, down to Seven Barrows and there I have hid them lest the grikes destroy more on their return... and then, you see, I had... I had...” But he stopped and despite pressing from Tryfan would not say what he had been going to. Instead he continued, “It has taken me all these moleyears to do this task and I have done my best. Often have I prayed to the Stone for help, but when vagrants have come by I have not trusted them. You are the first... but you are too late! The Spring Solstice is almost on us and I fear the grikes will soon be back. This journey today was to have been my last, for there is not much more left that is complete. But when I heard you I thought... that you... I feared.”
    “And yet you sought to defend the Library by yourself,” said Tryfan with considerable respect in his voice.
    “It was my task,” said Spindle.
    “But there was more, was there not?” said Boswell strangely.
    “I don’t know what you mean!” said Spindle rather too quickly and looking much afraid.
    “You were going to talk of it just now,” said Boswell gently, “but fear stopped you.”
    “I – I – “whispered Spindle, his flanks trembling, his eyes wild with fear and dread.
    “You need not have been afraid of us,” said Tryfan.
    “It isn’t you,” said Spindle, his voice almost hysterical now. “It isn’t you, it’s them. I can’t. Not again. I can’t....”
    Then Boswell smiled and touched Spindle once more, and took his paws, and as the Library filled with peace and light Tryfan remembered Boswell’s words when they had first met Spindle. “This is a mole of very great courage and strength.” And he remembered, too, the sense he had had that his own life would be bound up with Spindle’s and as Spindle had trembled so now did Tryfan, for he felt his real task was beginning, and that it was great and difficult, and he might not have the strength or faith for it.
    “You have not told us all, have you Spindle?” said Boswell, his wise old eyes intense upon poor Spindle, who, for his reply, could only bleakly shake his head.
    “Not all,” he whispered.
    “Tell us,” said Boswell.
    “I – I – “began Spindle once more, his suffering almost palpable