‘We’ve won!’ Will shouted, shaking with joy. He laughed and danced and kicked his legs until he fell down again. ‘Look! We’re still alive and we’ve won!’
‘Maithei thuir!’ Gwydion cried as he sank to his knees. He opened his hands to the sky and spoke now the tongue of the Isle, calling upon the memory of Danu, Mother of Lugh, a lady revered so long ago that no one had offered words to her name in over a thousand years. But Gwydion Truthseeker, the last Phantarch, made mention of her three times over, for this was the closest any wizard had ever come to death.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SKIES OF FIRE
And so they came down at last onto the Plains of Hooe, and saw the land stretching away eastward in the blue mists of dawn.
Gwydion rejoiced. ‘The harm was given entry into this world by the hasty, night-woven spells of a sorcerer, therefore it did not have the power to outlast the darkness!’
Will marvelled. ‘So Maskull has unwittingly saved our skins. And he is the one who has brought us within sight of Werlame’s Flood.’
‘Now you see something of the circles that make up our world. As the rede says, “What goeth, goeth about again.”’
‘We have a saying much like that in the Vale.’
‘Quite so, for I set it there. Though Valesmen have no doubt changed it in the telling. Come! We must still hurry!’
Their chosen way took them to the north of Verlamion, but then Gwydion stopped. He whispered down a calm, then went to stand alone in a meadow for a moment to ask strength from the earth. Will tried to copy him, and followed him through his motions. Once the wizard had replenished himself with a rich draught of earth power, they went on, and Will too felt in some way that was hard to explain that he had been refreshed.
They crossed two immensely strong ligns that Will needed no hazel wand to scry. Then they saw in the fields to the east the banners and tents of a great host. In the far distance Will’s keen eyes noticed the rays of the sun glinting upon bright metal, and he knew at once that this must be the army of the Duke of Ebor. Thousands had marched south with their lord, more men than Will had ever seen gathered together in one place before. The sight astonished him and made him pause, but Gwydion led him urgently onward.
They trod fields that were alive with knapweed and plantain and saxifrage. The smell of bruised herbs rose all around them as the sun climbed towards the south, and Will took his bearings once more on the powerfully flowing green lane that ran beneath his feet. By the time they had come close to the camp, the army had already quit their halt and was beginning to marshal in readiness to march on the town.
What a place Verlamion was to look upon! The tower of the great chapter house dominated everything. Lesser buildings lay like a sleeping dog around its feet. The town was built on the tail of a long hill that ran away to the north. The whole of it was enclosed to eastward by an ancient ditch that Gwydion said was called the Tonne. It had been strengthened with sections of wall and hurdle. Will could see how tall beeches had been felled and their grey trunks dragged across the roads to bar the town to man and horse. No traffic moved, and all the way along the ditch Will could see men with mattocks digging the Tonne deeper and raising the bank behind it as high as they could before the attackers made their assault.
‘Trinovant lies a long day’s journey from here south along the Great North Road,’ Gwydion told him. ‘Once an ancient city of the Slaver empire stood in the valley where an old slave road still runs. But of the city there is now little trace, except here and there, where Slaver brick and dressed stone have been robbed from the ruins and set into the houses and cloisters of the Sightless Ones.’
Ensconced on the favoured southern side of the hill, their powerful, square tower of stone and brick rose high above a long, buttressed hall. Around it stood a maze of private outbuildings, yards and enclosed precincts. Blackmantled figures could be seen hurrying through the grounds.
‘At least we know that no attack will be sent against this side of the town,’ Will said.
‘True.’ Gwydion gestured dismissively towards the hill. ‘Yet those walls are not made for defence. They are there to mark the separation of town and cloister.’
Will thought about what Gwydion had said about the Fellows never being allowed to leave their order, and shuddered. He could not take his eyes away from the giant chapter house which loured over the smaller curfew tower and thatched roofs of the town. It was an awesome building, as big as anything he had ever seen. The stolen wealth that it represented was vast, and every penny of it had been robbed from the labours of others.
In the neat lands around Verlamion the dew was lifting. Bumble bees and corn-blue butterflies had come out to forage for nectar and larks were warbling in the sky above. It was going to be a beautiful day. Or it could have been beautiful, Will thought, had it not been for the two armies that had come here bent on slaughter.
‘The Doomstone has called them,’ Will said, sensing a vile, sweet odour that was drifting on the air. ‘I can hear its voice whispering into men’s minds. If we hurry, maybe we can still scry out the ligns and find where it lies!’
Gwydion shook his head. ‘Too late. The stone cannot be drained now. Our one slender hope is counter-persuasion. I must bend all my arts to bringing the two dukes together to talk. Perhaps, in that way, I may buy a little time, though it seems to me that a battle of some kind is inevitable. With Maskull present, the best that can be hoped for is that the outcome might be turned somewhat to our advantage.’
Fear surged in him. ‘Maskull? Here?’
‘Did you doubt that he would come? He will be with the King’s retinue even as we speak.’
Will grasped the wizard’s sleeve. ‘But how will you bring the two dukes together? Richard of Ebor and Edgar of Mells? They hate one another with a rare fierceness. With the stone making its madness they’ll not listen to persuasions.’
‘They will listen to mine.’ Gwydion faced him grimly. ‘And if they do not I shall apply a contrary enchantment to their minds that forces compliance.’
Will’s mouth fell open. ‘But to oppose the Doomstone’s will with magic inside a living man’s skull – that must be dangerous!’
‘It is lethal. At the least an irreparable madness will befall them both.’
‘Then you cannot do it!’ Will took hold of the wizard’s robe again and Branstock flashed in his hand. ‘Master Gwydion, that would be murder! And it still wouldn’t bring an end to the battle.’
‘I have done this kind of work before, and would do so again, for many innocent men’s lives may be bought for the price of two or three of the stubbornest fools!’
‘But the Doomstone whispers to all men! The armies would fight on, even without their leaders. I must find the stone if I can! At least let me try!’
‘And then what?’
‘You’ll find a way. You always do!’
‘Willand!’ Gwydion seized him, and his eyes blazed. ‘Do not forget: the Doomstone is affecting you too.’
‘And you, Master Gwydion!’
‘You will be obedient to me in this!’
‘No!’Will struggled and took possession of himself long enough to curb his tongue. ‘Yes, Master Gwydion! If you say so!’
Only when he had stepped away from the lign and fought the influence fully out of his mind did he see the truth: Gwydion would never allow him to go up against the Doomstone – he would have to do what he must alone.
The wizard made Will take off his cloak and wrap it around the fabulous sword. He said the sight of a naked blade in the hand of one who wore no friendly colour of livery might easily be misunderstood. ‘As you have said, the minds of these soldiers are already inflamed by the prospect of battle. They will see all strangers as enemies, and foreseeable trouble is best avoided.’
When they stopped to take a look at the defences of the town Will asked, ‘What do you think is in Duke Richard’s mind?’
Gwydion shaded his eyes and peered at the long, lazily
curling pennons that flew near the town’s curfew tower. ‘I think it would have been Friend Richard’s wish to march here and win Verlamion before the royal army did. But he has been beaten to the mark.’
‘The streets are already full of men, and I can see many who were at Clarendon with the king.’
‘The colours of Duke Edgar are flying beside the royal standard.’
‘I don’t know what Duke Richard will try, but if I were him I would fall on the town at its weakest point.’
‘He will try to fight his way in,’ Gwydion said. ‘His men will not be deterred by dry ditches or felled trees, not with the Lord Warrewyk’s people beside them. His knights are fierce men, born of an overproud caste. They would rather die than back down. That pride is ever the source of our misfortunes. I believe there will be many deaths today, for the gaining of a town is a most hazardous enterprise.’
Will felt his stomach clench, knowing what course his heart was resolved upon. He looked again at the town sitting on its ridge, and uneasy forebodings began to assail him. ‘I must do what I can, Master Gwydion.’
‘Take care to stay by me, lad! For you have never seen a great battle unfold and I have seen it too often. There are many ways to die.’
Will suddenly feared to open his mind in such a dangerous place. He heard drums beating up, warning of the arrival of large bodies of footsoldiers. The men wore coloured livery and bright steel helmets, and moved together in ranks, their lords’ banners flying above them. Some wore riveted kettle-hats and shouldered pole-arms and gavelocks and marched to the orders of appointed men, while their captains rode up and down the lines on horses splendidly accoutred for war.
Here was a body of Ludford men, with more behind who had come down from the Ridings of the North. Yonder stood a company drawn from the garrison of the Castle of Sundials. There came a body of the Earl Warrewyk’s Kennet billmen as Will knew from the red colour of their surcoats. And by the road were many men bringing forward in their midst a great engine of wood and iron they called ‘ye Warrewyk Boare’, that by some art of fire made holes in stone walls.
Will followed Gwydion through a trampled meadow, and soon they were moving among a sea of the duke’s own troops as they assembled to the east of the town. The first company they came upon wore white and blue, proud men, clear-eyed and laughing. But they were commanded by a young and uncertain captain. He was bad tempered and harassed by his duties. His skittish horse stamped and snorted when Gwydion approached.
‘I seek the Duke Richard,’ the wizard called to him. ‘Where is he?’
But the captain turned his horse away and would pay Gwydion no heed, until one of his men spoke up.
‘Sir, I know that lad as a page of the duke’s household, though he is now much changed.’
‘Jackhald!’ Will cried.
‘Fall in a camp fire, did you, Willand?’
The captain turned his horse again. ‘What say you?’
Another man said, ‘Sir, this lad was once page to the Earl of the Marches before he ran away!’
‘Is this true?’ the captain asked severely. Then looking to Jackhald he said, ‘The duke has other matters on his mind today than runaways. If the lad has come to fight with us then bid him join our company. And drive off that beggar with the flat of your sword!’
‘Nay, sir!’ Another man said, stepping up boldly. ‘Begging your pardon, sir. But you mustn’t talk like that, for that’s his grace the duke’s own wizard!’
The captain’s face was red with exasperation now. ‘Wizard?’ he snapped. ‘What wizard? The duke keeps no mage except the old gardener.’
‘Oh, but it be true, sir! I saw him do conjurations with my own eyes!’
‘Aye! Cleared all of Ludford Castle’s inner ward of snow one time he did. All by himself and in the twinkling of an eye, sir. Saved us all a right heavy morning’s work.’
The cords stood out in the captain’s neck, and he bellowed, ‘Enough! Get back in line!’ He stared hard once more at Gwydion, but then suddenly his eyes rolled up and he fell forward against his horse’s neck just as if he had been shot through by a crossbow bolt.
‘The captain!’ one of the jacks shouted. Instantly the soldiers crowded around and slid their chief to the ground to tend him, while others looked around for the cause.
‘Darts!’ came the cry. ‘Have a care!’
Then, ‘Not so! He’s gone and fainted out cold!’
‘Then it’s sorcery!’ another voice quavered. ‘Look! The wizard’s cut him across the face!’
‘Ah, that’s just a nosebleed!’
More men came forward to see, but their captain was already sitting up and blinking. Gwydion took Jackhald aside firmly and made a sign over his forehead. ‘Now tell me: what rumours have you heard?’
A vacant look came over Jackhald’s face, and he said, ‘I heard that old King Hal got to know of how our host was coming down to visit him in Trinovant, so he quits his great city and sets out north. That would’ve been the day afore yesterday. They’re saying that Trinovant was still too webbed about with the Crowmaster’s spells. Too hard for King Hal’s own sorcerer to work him any advantage there…’
Gwydion shook Jackhald by the shoulders. ‘What else?’
The soldier looked back dreamily. ‘’Tis said our own liege lord is better liked by the common folk in Ludd’s city than the king himself.’
‘Jackhald, listen to me. Where did King Hal wish to go?’
‘Why, into the North. To Leycaster, mayhap, where the Duke Edgar and the queen surely have more friends than they can muster in Trinovant. The Duke of Rockingham is with them, and his son, the Earl Stratford also.’
‘And the Earl of Umber,’ another soldier who was watching with big eyes said. ‘Aye, don’t forget the Black Knight.’
‘And two lords of the Middle Shires too,’ said a third trooper, adding the total on his fingers. ‘And there’s the Baron Clifton, who men say is mad.’
‘What’s that?’
‘He’s maaaad, sir! Our spies say he is come here with his son, John, and three hundred spearmen.’
Will recalled to mind the stone he had scried on the estate of Aston Oddingley. That was the home of Baron Clifton. That must have been what warped his mind, he thought, recalling the way the Dragon Stone, even though mightily spellbound, had still lured the strong-willed Edward to visit it.
‘Have heralds come from the king yet?’ Gwydion asked the soldiers.
They looked from one to another and some shook their heads. ‘We don’t know.’
‘Where is the Duke Richard presently?’
‘Over by the wood.’ The jack pointed to where more men were massing.
Gwydion made for the duke’s company and Will hurried after. First they found Sir Hugh Morte, fully armoured and on his warhorse, which was a great sturdy beast of eighteen hands. When they asked him if the king’s heralds had come to propose a parley, Sir Hugh laughed him down.
‘That’s already done with! In answer to our letter of grievances false messages came to command my lord to keep the peace of the Realm. But it is not my lord of Ebor who disturbs the peace!’
‘False messages, you say?’
Sir Hugh gave a knowing look. ‘I’ll warrant that the only time his grace the king has authored a letter in his life was to command more milk for his cup. It is the queen who speaks in his name. She works him like a puppet, and everyone in the Realm knows it!’
Gwydion pointed at the knight angrily. ‘You would do well, Friend Hugh, to remember that your liege lord has sworn allegiance on bended knee to him whom you mock so easily.’
Sir Hugh’s thin patience burned away. ‘Away with your arguments, wizard. This is old ground and we’re already determined to ride against treachery.’
‘It will be bloody ground soon, and that I will freely foretell to you!’
The warhorse snorted, and Sir Hugh reined her tight. ‘Then get you to the queen and enthrall her to your will if you can! And mind this: w
hile you parley at the front gate of Verlamion, my Lord Warrewyk will be breaking down the back door! Aye! And I beside him with my best steel!’
‘Where is the Wortmaster?’
‘Gort? Gone back to his stinking weeds at Foderingham, for all that I care!’
‘He is a healer. He should be here.’
‘Aye, and we are slayers! And with no more time for foolish talk!’
With that, Sir Hugh tested the visor of his sallet and the charger stamped away, though Will had wanted the answer to one more question. A terrible suspicion had begun to haunt him – where was Willow?
He allowed his mind to open a little. It was just a habit he had developed, something he did as a necessary prelude to using his intuition. But this time it was seized upon.
He staggered, and a sudden faintness overcame him.
‘What is it?’ Gwydion said.
He put up a hand, his sight blurring. ‘I can feel movements in the ground. They’re upsetting my eyes. The grass looks like the waters of the ocean…or clouds seen in a still pond. And the earth is heaving. It’s what I felt at Ludford. I shouldn’t have let my guard down.’
‘Could it be another lign? Here? Have a care, Willand, this is the full-charged power of the Doomstone! Shut it out!’
‘It’s…it’s talking to me, Master Gwydion!’
‘Shut it out, I say! This is how unsuspecting men are taken by weird influence. It fills the air when a stone comes to life, so that all good judgment is warped.’ The wizard cast about him. ‘So…not two ligns meet here, but three! And that is what gives the Doomstone its great potency!’
Gwydion dragged him away from the lign and they pressed on together until they reached the duke’s bodyguard. A flowing mass was gathered – flags and horses draped in white and blue and every point showing the devices of the white rose and the falcon-and-fetterlock. All was flurry and activity around the duke. The air was filled with shouted orders and the stamp of hooves. Will saw two score knights wearing their finest armour and carrying long fluted maces. Every plate of the duke’s harness shone with a high polish, so that he appeared to Will as if clad in pieces of a looking-glass.
The Language of Stones Page 44
