The Giants' Dance

by Robert Carter

  In the distance, across the fields, men in red livery guarded the banks of the River Theam and the postern gate that was the back door of the castle. He watched a detachment of them carrying a log up the slope towards the castle. Some wore the badge of the white bear, but others wore on their chests the silver lions of John, Lord Strange.

  ‘Strange by name, and strange by nature,’ Willow said. ‘That’s the best they used to say of old Hogshead. My father told me it was a stolen book of magic that first got him into trouble. He meddled where he shouldn’t have.’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me.’

  Will recalled the shelf of books that had belonged to Lord Strange. There had been among them a bestiary – a book of animals – in which an unknown hand had written spells. Now Will realized where those jottings had come from. Lord Strange must have copied them from a ‘key’, a true book of magic. He had probably not known at the time that every key that was ever made was protected by ferocious spells set to trap those who had no business looking at them. ‘I wonder where he got the key, and what kind of a spell it was that afflicted him?’

  Willow laughed humourlessly. ‘I’d say it was likely the girl he jilted. She suffered most from his ambitions. She must have taken her revenge on him, though it cost her her mortal form in the end.’

  ‘Gwydion always told me it was Maskull’s doing – that the Hogshead was made as a yardstick against which Maskull might measure the state of corruption of the Realm. Perhaps Gwydion has got it all wrong.’

  Will’s gaze wandered along the earthworks where great numbers of Duke Richard’s archers and men-at-arms were disposed. They were enjoying the autumn sunshine as if it was their last chance.

  ‘What’ll happen if he tries to drain the stone and fails?’ Willow asked.

  ‘Then the harm that lies within it will escape. Unless it’s prevented, such harm can come together in a demonic form that spends itself viciously in the world. Such was the emanation that chased Gwydion and me halfway across the Realm the night before the battle at Verlamion. Had we not lured it after us, who knows what destruction it would have wrought?’

  The castle clock chimed the sixth hour. A grey dusk had begun to gather. As Will spoke, movements caught his eye and he thought there was something not quite right about Lord Strange’s men. It was as if a whispered word was passing among them from man to man. Those who heard it picked up their weapons and put on their kettle hats and went about fully equipped, despite the warmth of the day. If they had been warned of an attack, why was the news not being carried to the duke’s men?

  Willow daintily wiped her daughter’s mouth. ‘And if Master Gwydion doesn’t try to drain the stone?’

  Will’s eyes remained fixed on the men dressed in Lord Strange’s livery colours. There were three thousand or more of them, and they all seemed to be stirring at once. ‘If the battlestone works out its destiny on the field, then the queen’s host will attack and many thousands will die here.’

  He hung his head and breathed deep, knowing that he must not tempt fate while he was within reach of the Blood Stone’s influence. He could feel uncomfortable thoughts creeping around him like wolves around a dying man. Already his mind was turning to face the ordeal ahead. When he looked to Willow he saw her expression was desolate. She asked, ‘When will we know if Master Gwydion has succeeded?’

  ‘Only when some woeful horror bursts from the inner ward with Gort held in its jaws.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that!’

  She was right to warn him. He stroked her hair. ‘Gwydion won’t begin until nightfall. I’m sure he’ll come striding from the brewhouse in triumph come first light and tell the world there’s nothing more to fear from the infamous Blood Stone.’ But that sounded too much like empty bluster – another way of tempting fate. He added lamely, ‘I suppose we’d better keep our fingers crossed, eh?’

  She bit her lip. ‘Can I do anything?’

  ‘Tonight will be hard. Take Bethe to secure quarters and stay with her. Lady Cicely will not begrudge you that.’

  She saw how deeply it pained him to feel he might be a danger to his own daughter. ‘Poor Will,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you through it.’

  He took her hand. ‘I’ll be all right. I’d better go now.’

  Bethe began to mewl.

  ‘Hush, now,’ Willow said, taking her from her father. She began a song to lull her daughter back to sleep.

  ‘Butterfly, butterfly,

  Where do you go?

  When the sun shines bright,

  And the rose buds grow…

  ‘Butterfly, butterfly,

  Where do you sleep?

  When the sun goes down,

  In the shadows deep…’

  As her soft words drifted on the air, they held him and he did not want to leave. He began to engage his thoughts and feelings, tried to disentangle his real fears from the effects of the stone. No matter what happened, tonight was going to be miserable – he must prepare for it as rigorously as possible. He did not want to worry Willow any more than he already had, but it seemed to him that Gwydion had taken an unnecessarily long time to prepare the Blood Stone for draining. All along, he had been behaving oddly towards the stone.

  As they headed for the steps he watched the men in red who were ranged below the walls. A powerful conviction suddenly hit him and he ran back to his wife. He said, ‘I’m sure Lord Strange’s men are getting ready to make a run for it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think they’re going to go across to the queen’s side. Look at them!’

  Willow followed his gaze. She watched the men closely for a few moments, then looked to him. ‘You’re right. They’re all waiting for a signal from him. What shall we do?’

  ‘If Lord Strange goes over it’ll mean disaster for the duke. I must warn Gwydion right away!’ He dashed off.

  ‘What about us?’

  ‘Take Bethe. Find Lady Cicely, and stay as close to her as you can.’

  He drew a deep breath and opened the brewhouse door, but still the stench hit him like a wall. The battlestone was in the middle of the room exactly as he had seen it last. Blood still seeped from it as if from grazed flesh. Gwydion was standing a little apart from it, by one of the great mash vats. He was unmoving, deep in thought. Will waited with a sinking heart, anxious not to disturb him, but Gwydion said, ‘I have been waiting for you.’

  ‘Waiting? What do you mean?’

  The wizard turned and faced him, a curious half-smile on his lips. ‘You have come to tell me that the stone must have whispered into Lord Strange’s ear after all. That he is about to turn his coat and lead all his men over to the enemy. You are going to say that his treachery will leave a great gap in the middle of the duke’s defences. A hole that cannot possibly be closed up.’

  Will stared. ‘Why…yes.’

  Gwydion laughed. ‘Oh, Willand…forgive me. It was the only way.’

  There was a noise outside. The sound of many feet running through the inner ward. Trumpets sounded. There was shouting and the clopping of hooves on stone. It sounded like many men were entering the castle.

  ‘What’s that?’ Will asked anxiously.

  ‘Fear not, Willand, they are the duke’s own loyal men.’ Gwydion said it with a serenity that Will thought did not sit well with the moment.

  ‘But—’

  The wizard looked out at the courtyard. ‘Lord Strange’s treachery has put them in a fine panic. Gort has already advised Richard to fly and await a better day. That is, I think, what he will do.’

  Will stared at the stone as it quivered and seeped pathetically. ‘Gwydion, you’ve not even begun trying to drain the stone. You’ve been with it for hours, and apart from a few binding spells you’ve cast nothing.’ He seized the wizard’s shoulders, concerned for him. ‘What’s the matter with you? Have you lost your mind?’

  Gwydion did not turn away from the window. ‘They are running around like ants. Do not worry. Leave me. Go and do what mus
t be done for your family.’

  Will hesitated. The wizard’s unnatural calm unsettled him mightily, but he glanced at the repellent stone and stood his ground. ‘No, Gwydion, I won’t leave. Not until I get a proper answer. The moon’s going to rise in less than an hour. If you won’t try to drain the stone, then I’ll have to.’

  Gwydion shrugged and said, ‘You are a kind man, Willand. But in matters of high deception, kindness is often blindness. I did not drain the stone because my plan depended upon it.’

  ‘What plan?’ The hairs stood up on the back of Will’s neck.

  ‘Harm used against harm, do you see? I have made the offer of an easy way out. I have been permitting the stone to use Lord Strange as it would.’

  Will’s shoulders fell. ‘You’ve done what?’

  ‘I could not stop it, so instead of trying to drain it I decided to allow it to spend its power – long enough, at any rate, for Lord Strange to fall deeply under its influence.’

  Will threw his hands wide in appeal. ‘But why? Surely that plays exactly to the stone’s purpose! You’ve helped it to do what it wants!’

  ‘I have. But this time what it wants works to our favour. Lord Strange’s betrayal has made it wholly impossible for Richard to remain here in defence of Ludford. Listen to the verse the Blow Stone gave us:

  ‘By Lugh’s ford and the risen tower,

  By his word alone, a false king

  Shall drive his enemy the waters over,

  And the Lord of the West shall come home.

  ‘And so it has come to pass! Hearken to those flying feet! This castle will fall, not after a battle, but after a parley! The word alone of a false king – King Hal – shall drive the Lord of the West across the seas and into the Blessed Isle!’

  ‘You mean you’ve delayed the draining just to ensure the prophecy comes true?’ Will shouted. ‘Surely that’s against every rede of magic. If that’s what you’ve done, then we’re doomed!’

  ‘We?’ Gwydion said. ‘How many times must I tell you – our aim is not the victory of either side in this shabby little war.’

  ‘I know that! It’s peace we’re fighting for!’

  ‘Oh, it is more than peace. It is the winning of the best of all possible futures for the world. Tell me now, which of my actions is against the redes? For it seems to me that you are trying too hard to blame me.’

  It was not possible to argue with a wizard. ‘This doesn’t feel like the way to win the best of all possible futures, Gwydion! To me it feels like the frittering away of an opportunity. It feels like sacrifice and the wrecking of all our plans. Gwydion, what’s happening to you?’

  He put out a hand, but the wizard stepped beyond his reach. ‘Your instincts do you credit, Willand, but beware! This stone is alive. It still interferes with your mind and spirit. There is much you may yet learn from those who move more slowly, for it is often said amongst men of wisdom that more haste seldom means greater speed. Consider, if you will, the meaning of the second reading of the verse:

  ‘Lord Lugh alone shall have the triumph,

  At the western river crossing, word of an enemy

  Comes falsely by the raised water,

  While, at home, the king watches over his tower.

  ‘All this has come true on its own and without any help from me. The unknowable future against which we have struggled was this: at the western crossing, the crossing of Ludford’s river, word of an enemy comes – that is Lord Strange’s betrayal. Falsely by the raised water – meaning this castle well. At home, the king in his tower watches over all: not King Hal but Richard! Richard, do you see? Richard, sitting here in Ludford Castle, deliberating upon what must be done. In the end, it becomes clear: there will be victory for neither Richard nor Hal. And so I have proved it is possible to outplay these stones on their own ground. Go, Willand, for I still have work to do. Whether you like it or not, you must leave me with this wanton stone. Get out now, or you will not be able to save your sanity!’

  The wizard began to drain the stone in the last remaining hour before the moon rose. It died shrieking in welters of blood, while Will sank deeper into the mind-fever he had kept at bay for so long.

  This madness was nightmarish. This time Willow could not help him, and he sank alone into a breathless despair. He howled and writhed, haunting the innermost ward. No one dared approach him, for it was said among Ludford folk that the sight of a lunatic on the day of the full moon had the power to rob all who listened to him of their reason.

  In truth, the men of the duke’s household had sufficient cares of their own. Through some fleeting gap in his nightmares, Will glimpsed the Lady Cicely and her entourage hurrying behind a row of bodyguards. They seemed to be running for their lives. And there, Edmund, the duke’s second son, all in blackened armour, limping and striving with a withered arm. He spat in Will’s face, shook him briefly by the shoulder, and spoke words to him that had no meaning, then he dissolved…like smoke.

  No one had come to save him. There were numbers of heavy chests all around, iron-banded coffers, chests studded with round rivets. Stout poles were thrust through their rings. They were carried along by eight men, each like great black spiders. Edmund in black steel frothed and jerked and shouted as he limped through the inner ward. The duke’s officers shouted warnings, but again the words washed over Will as they would an unreasoning beast.

  As the treasury of Ludford was loaded into carts, Will’s thoughts disintegrated. Shafts of moonlight shattered the shapes of the castle walls. Men ran through the darkness, carrying off all that could be moved of Duke Richard’s belongings. Will remembered a voice from the past. He sweated and cowered in his corner, hugging the cold stone wall, beaten down by the emanations that assailed him. And through all the violence and agony the one thing he could not forget was the beauty and goodness in Willow’s face.

  When at last the inner ward was emptied, there was quiet for a while, but then the peace was suddenly destroyed. At first there was only a looming shape, then something huge flashed overhead. A monster with crimson wings glided over the castle. It filled the sky. But it wasn’t real. How could it be? It gave out blood-chilling screams that seemed to speak Will’s name.

  ‘It’s the madness!’ he shouted. ‘It’s naught but a terror raked up from the dregs of my mind!’

  He shook his fists at the sky, but the monster came again and this time circled lower.

  ‘It cannot be! There are no more dragons! Not here! Not in the Realm!’

  He watched in fear and loathing as the beast flew down. The dragon stretched out a great talon and plucked a bolting carthorse from between the shafts of a wagon. Will felt the draught of its wings on his face as it launched itself back into the sky and dashed the cart to pieces against the wall. Then it raised itself up and flew off, while the horse kicked and whinnied pathetically in its grip. And there on its back was the figure of a man wearing mail of red dragon scales and long cock-spurs. He rode above the wings, sitting in a golden saddle placed at the base of the long neck, where the threshing head and fearsome teeth could not reach him.

  Raving in his madness, Will’s eyes popped. He hid his face, then he forced himself to stare at the empty courtyard, trying to believe that what he had seen was no more than a figment conjured by the Blood Stone. It seemed real, but then so had Edmund.

  Then a carthorse’s head slammed down in the yard close by him and splattered him with gore. He threw up his hands in horror, telling himself now that there must be catapults outside the walls. Then he heard the bones shatter and the innards rupture as the rest of the horse burst in a heap nearby. Entrails stretched across the cobbles towards him. A single eye stared at him from the head. Foaming lips peeled back from yellow teeth. Then blood began to trickle from the nose and run between the stones towards his feet.

  He watched the gore flowing towards him for a moment, and when he looked to see where it had come from there were Willow and Bethe, lying dead on the ground.

  He ra
n screaming into the night, but then something hit his head with tremendous force, and he fell down, winded, broken, unable to bear the pain any longer. The world became a red haze, then a black void, and then the void closed over him and swallowed him whole.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  FLESH ANEW

  ‘I should have tied you down.’

  Gort’s voice was something to hold on to as Will’s mind struggled back from the darkness.

  ‘Here, drink this!’

  He dashed the bitter cup from Gort’s hand and tore open his shirt. Then, with the power of three men, he rose, struck Gort to the ground and began to stagger away.

  ‘Stop him!’ Gort shouted. ‘Somebody stop him!’

  But there was no one who could. He remembered that the castle had once been full of terrified men, but now they had gone. He pushed through into the inner ward. Near the Round House some men were trying to pull something out of a cart. The ground was littered with valuables abandoned in haste – bolts of cloth, broken chests, sacks of grain, barrels. The very walls seemed to blaze, though there was no longer any fire lodged in the torch holders.

  He keeled over, hit the ground hard. There was the sound of running feet.

  ‘Lost! Lost! All is lost!’ someone cried. ‘Run! Get out while you may! The enemy is coming!’

  ‘Cowards!’ Will screamed at the empty gate. ‘The beast has killed my wife and child!’

  He rose up, filled with fury, determined to fight the dragon to the death. But where was it? High overhead the moon crept on towards the moment of fullness. He pushed the wreckage of the cart aside and went back into the innermost ward, drawn now by the fearsome noises that emanated from the brewhouse. Groans and thunderous rumblings echoed off the walls as the stone still contested the fight.