So far as Will was concerned, the killing of the Blood Stone had certainly set back the rising of the lorc and bought the Realm a little more time, but it was impossible to know when the next stone would awaken, and to be forced to wait idly and without news in such circumstances was a kind of torture.
Throughout the winter the shrunken royal army left Ludford and shuttled from castle to keep and from keep to castle all around the Middle Shires. Will could not understand why the court did not return to Trinovant, but no such move was ever considered. First the queen ordered them to the royal stronghold of Afonwykke, and when food and provisions ran short there, they moved on to Kernelwort. Finally, as spring drew on, they came to the dread Castle of Corben, where the queen announced there must be a reckoning.
It was in this place that three waters joined; the Findon Brook met the Rivers Sow and Afon. Above the torrent stood King’s Hill and upon that grew the infamous Corben Tree, an ancient great-leaved lind that shed curses as other trees shed autumn leaves. The sward about it was perpetually churned. It seemed trampled and pig-broken, though no pig had dared come near this place for over a thousand years. This was ground consecrated to the ritual dances of warlocks and pig blood aplenty had been spilled here in long ages past. It was, Will thought, a place of very bad aspect. Even so, it was at Castle Corben that Morann, Loremaster and Lord of Connat, finally returned to them on a wet and dismal spring day in the month of March.
It was on the afternoon of the spring equinox when Willow, on her way to fetch a loaf of bread for supper, saw a strange rider coming up through the grey drizzle. Rain dripped from the brim of his hat, and he looked more than a little starved in the face, but there was no mistaking who it was.
‘You’ll be happy to learn of your little girl, I’m thinking,’ Morann said straight away, making Willow drop her loaf in the mud.
As soon as he had entered the castle precinct by the postern gate, she led him aside and took him up to their quarters. It was a single room up a stone stair at the meanest end of the castle, in fact as far from the royal apartments as it was possible to be. She pulled him quickly inside so that no one saw.
‘Let’s get you out of the cold and rain!’ she said.
Will had been sitting alone in the gloom, worrying and watching the rain beat down outside. He had been willing the green king’sspears to burst yellow at the tip in the gardens, but without magic to draw on they had remained stubbornly closed. He had been thinking about his daughter and how he had now lost six precious months of her infanthood. He had been thinking about Gwydion too.
As the door slammed he leapt up, taking Morann’s hat and shaking out his sodden cloak for him.
‘Oh, Will!’ Willow burst out tearfully. ‘Morann says Bethe’s in good health and fine spirits!’
‘My darling girl! That’s what we’ve longed to hear! Morann, a thousand welcomes to you.’
They clasped one another close.
‘I’ve been three days and nights sat in the saddle or huddled under a hedge. To clap eyes on you both again is very good!’
‘He says Bethe’s the heart’s delight of Lady Cicely. She’s treating her as one of her own!’
‘Did I not tell you she would charm the duchess with her smile?’
Morann grinned. ‘Her little cheeks are as rosy as Woollack apples. She already speaks two dozen words of the true tongue, though none of her nurses knows it for what it is. She is quite the little fairy princess.’
Willow burst into tears. ‘Oh, Morann! I wish I could see her now!’
‘You will soon, I’m sure of that.’
Will hugged her close and wiped away her tears, then he clasped Morann again by the forearms and passed a grateful greeting in the tongue of the Isle, as seemed only natural, before asking what news there was.
Morann loosed a soaking wet sack from his belt and dropped it on the floor. He took crystals from his pouch and set them by door and window and on the hearth. ‘To foil eavesdroppers,’ he said. ‘All Duke Richard’s family, except Edward, are safe in exile in the Isle.’
‘And what of Edward?’
‘The duke’s allies, Sarum and Warrewyk you’ll remember, marched down to Belstrand and sailed for Callas. Edward went with them, as did the bulk of the Ebor army. The duke’s other castles, Castle Foderingham and the Castle of Sundials in the North, are ordered to hold aloof from all requests by the king to open their gates. They are prepared for a long wait under arms, as are his allies’ other strongholds. Unless a siege train is brought to crack them open, each will stand for months or years if necessary. I do not think the queen will order them slighted – she’ll not want to destroy what she covets for her friends.’
‘What news of the stones?’
Morann wiped his face; it was lined and careworn. ‘As for the Blow Stone, it’s back in the Blessed Isle where it belongs. At Gwydion’s request it has been set up in the oak groves of Derrih where it confers as fine a neighbourliness upon the people as ever you did see. I don’t know what happened to the Blood Stone.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ Will cut in. ‘Has Gwydion any notion of where to find the next battlestone? Has he found out anything? You have heard from him…haven’t you?’
Morann staggered, and Will saw that his face was pinched and wan. ‘All in good time. Can’t you see a man’s trying to catch his breath here?’
Will relented immediately. ‘Forgive my bad manners, old friend! What a poor host you must think me. Sit yourself down by the fire and get warm and dry, and then we’ll talk.’
While Willow combed Morann’s wild hair, Will fetched out a jug of cider and three tankards and a large shred pie. Morann sniffed at it and closed his eyes like a man in love. ‘Hmmm. I’d say I’m quite ready for this.’
‘What on earth is in that old sack of yours?’ Willow asked, picking at what had been dropped by the door.
‘That, lovely lady, you shall presently know. But first I must have meat and drink and plenty of it, for nothing much more than a powder of Albanay heath-pea root has passed my lips in three days.’
Morann ate his fill like a champion. When he had downed a goodly portion of the pie and swallowed his first tankard of cider, he belched and sat back. Only when Will saw that a little more colour had come into his face did he ask what news there had been of Gwydion.
‘I’ve not met with him all winter.’
Willow said anxiously, ‘Do you think a silence like that could be anything other than a cause for concern?
Morann, creaking like a saddle-sore man, pulled off his boots with a groan. ‘Who can say? He has many concerns. This is usual with wizards.’
‘But surely,’ Willow insisted, ‘he would have sent a message to us by now – if he could.’
‘Well, if you think that,’ Will said, ‘then you don’t know Gwydion. Giving and withholding is how a wizard manages the world.’
A basket of green firewood – wrist-thick branches sawn into foot-long lengths – stood drying by the grate. Willow pulled the basket aside to let more heat out into the cramped room, then she sat down beside Morann. ‘Didn’t he say anything to you about when he’d return? Or what more we should do in the meanwhile? Our silver is almost spent.’
Morann shook his head. ‘Gwydion’s last words to me were: “Whatever happens, you’ll hear from me by the feast of Imble at the latest.”’
‘But Imble was seven weeks ago!’ Will said.
Morann sat back and loosed the enchanted knife from his belt. ‘The Ogdoad were ever guaranteed to stand by their word. Even Maskull was wont to do so in times past.’
Mention of Imble made Will shudder. It was an ancient fire-day, and an important festival, marking as it did a time of thanks offered to the land. In the Vale it was marked by the Festival of Lambing, but amongst lordly society it was the day the Sightless Ones chose to celebrate their Fast of the Purification of Mothers.
At Imbletide it had been especially hard for Willow to bear the separation from Bethe.
For the sake of appearances, she had had to attend the Fellowship’s joyless ritual meant for women who had borne children. She had hated it, and had almost broken down in tears when questioned by the Elder about what children she might have. Will sighed. ‘Sitting here is achieving nothing, but what else can we do? I suppose we must all wait for Gwydion’s word, whether it’s coming or not.’
‘This war is none of his doing,’ Morann said, setting his wet boots by the fire. ‘And he cannot be blamed for the frustrations of it. Were he Jarred the Juggler he would be putting a score of balls into the air all at once, and we had best be hopeful that he chooses for our sakes to continue doing it.’
Will knew he had been set straight. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I know Gwydion will be doing his best, wherever he is.’
‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ Morann said with better cheer. ‘Impatience was ever the young man’s vice, if my own life’s lessons have taught me anything. But tell me, what has passed with you?’
Will explained everything that had happened with the king’s court, paying special attention to their constant moves and the way the army had melted away to less than a sixtieth of its number. ‘Speaking of life’s lessons,’ he said, ‘one truth fast became clear to me – a great army carries with it a fearsome burden of cost. Nor can it stay in one place for long. When an army moves, it lays the land bare for seven leagues around. By Ewletide the king’s army had diminished to a thousand.’
Willow poured more cider. ‘I don’t understand why the court doesn’t return to Trinovant where it properly belongs.’
‘Because,’ Morann said, ‘most of the people there admire Richard of Ebor. When news of what happened at Ludford arrived, the burgesses and aldermen of Trinovant closed their gates against the court’s return.’
Willow showed her surprise. ‘They closed their gates against their own king?’
‘“Until redress and remedy is found for the injustice heaped upon Duke Richard of Ebor’s head.” That was the wording of the proclamation they nailed to the Luddsgate.’
Will glanced at Morann. ‘Or until the king raises another great army to force a way into that city, too, I suppose.’
‘Gwydion once told me that the churlish folk of the Realm dearly love their king, despite his shortcomings,’ Willow said. ‘Are they so different, those who dwell in Trinovant?’
‘Oh, they love Hal too. But they want him free of his queen and all her luxurious friends. Her retinue has run up great debts with many of the Trinovant merchants, debts they boast of paying when Duke Richard’s estates fall to them.’
‘They’re that open about it?’ Willow said.
Morann nodded. ‘When news came of the shattering of Ludford the merchants of Trinovant were not best pleased. There is a kinship among merchants. At Ewletide, Trinovant rose up and the mob would have burned down the royal palace had it not been for the Sightless Ones who issued forth from the Great Spire and drove them back with curses. Even so, there was much destruction and lawlessness.’
Will sighed. He had always believed there was no dispute that could not be settled by two people of good faith and ample forgiveness sitting down together over a pint or two of best beer. Such was always the way in the Vale, where nothing was thought important enough to rise above a wholesome compromise.
Morann drew out his long, thin knife, and began thumbing the edge. ‘Tell me, was the move to Kernelwort made at the prompting of the Fellowship, or did it come from Maskull?!
Will made a wry face. ‘Maskull, I’d say. Though he’s been going away for weeks at a time on business that I can only guess at. And then, as sudden as you like, he returns. At such times the court’s always thrown into a flurry and a panic. Half the time he goes cloaked so that no one save the queen can see him, and half the time he walks in plain sight.’
Willow said, ‘He’s due to return here soon, if his other absences may be taken as our guide. Every time he does appear he uproots the court and sends us all on to a worse place.’
Morann studied the flaring emerald in his ring, watching the way it reflected in the surface of his blade. ‘That may be the best news yet.’
‘You wouldn’t say so if it was you who was being dragged around all the Middle Shires,’ Willow said.
Morann took the point. ‘It seems to me Maskull is trying to gain magical advantage by choosing his ground. It looks like he’s playing a grand game of checks with Gwydion – he’s moving his king and queen for safety. I hope that’s so.’ He gestured roundly, but half of it, Will thought, was to cover his misgivings. ‘And so you came at last to Castle Corben. Do you know aught of the Corben Tree or its dark history?’
Will shrugged. ‘I don’t, but it feels like a place of bad aspect to me.’
‘You shall not hear much more about it from my lips, for it was a place of dubious and debatable magic in the reigns of Cynsas and Orelin, a thousand years ago, though later it was famed for its fleet-footed horses. Some say these steeds were bred with the blood of pards in their veins. Not in the way a pard is bred half-and-half with a lion to make a leopard, but with just a drop of pard blood to give the horse a fiery nature. Such things are possible only on tainted ground.’
Willow shivered. ‘More than once I’ve heard a cry in the night. I took it to be a griffin, though maybe it was a pard.’
Will turned quickly to her. ‘You said nothing to me before.’
‘I thought it was just a fancy. I wasn’t sure what I’d heard, and now I’m even less certain. But I guess it must have been real enough, for it put the shivers right through me.’
‘It came from afar,’ Will said softly, remembering. ‘Borne on the chill of the north wind, a high, keening sound that passes through the heart like the slenderest of knives.’
‘That’s it exactly,’ Willow said, glancing at him. ‘How do you know?’
‘I’ve heard it before.’
‘It could not have been a griffin,’ Morann said flatly. He shifted so that the light dulled in his ring. ‘Griffs of all kinds have deep, growling voices. And pards have no voice at all, except it may be a sort of hiss much like a swan has when there are cygnets to guard. Anyway, pards have long since vanished from these parts.’
But Will continued to think about the eerie sounds that had come to him. The call he had heard near Aston Oddingley, and again while he had looked out from the battlements of Ludford. But his mind refused to connect them with the horror of another night when a huge redwinged creature had appeared in his nightmares.
‘Perhaps it was the Morrigain,’ he said distantly. ‘The hag who portends war. Gwydion warned me that she walks abroad boldly at times. She favours the night.’
Will got up and went to the window. Outside the damp day had plunged into an early gloom. It was already as dark as twilight and the rain clouds were like a grey lid pressing down the sky. There was a long silence, while fire shadows danced on the walls, then Morann said, ‘Tell me, has Will had words with the king yet?’
Willow shook her head so that her long wavy hair shone with red highlights put there by the fire. ‘The Maceugh has not been given leave to approach the royal person to present his emissary’s credentials.’
‘I’m pleased about that,’ Will said. ‘Because, in truth, I dare not approach King Hal too closely.’
‘Dare not?’ Morann said, his finger tapping on his tankard. ‘Why do you say that? He is as mild a fellow as ever there was. One to be pitied rather than feared.’
‘I know he means me no harm, but there’s something about his glance I’ve come to think might penetrate the disguise that Gwydion gave us. For all its subtle art, it seems to me that this shape was woven chiefly to deceive Maskull, and there are times when some men – Duke Henry for one – are able to look through it.’
Morann put down the tankard. ‘Then you’re wise to be wary. For no spell of magic is foolproof, and Henry de Bowforde looks like a fool to me.’
‘It’s a dangerous mistake to believe that where Duke H
enry’s concerned,’ Will said. ‘But there’s one thing I don’t understand…’
‘Only one?’ Morann grinned.
“‘By his magic, so shall ye know him.” It’s one of the deepest redes of magic. It says that spells betray their makers. So how is it I’m not lit up for Maskull by Gwydion’s handiwork?’
Morann’s smile broadened. ‘I could hazard a good guess at that, but I will not. If Gwydion has promised that Maskull will not be alerted to your disguise, then you may rest assured he has arranged it so.’
Will gave a nod and glanced at Willow. ‘That makes me feel a little better. But only a little.’
Morann drew out an elmwood whistle and put it to his lips. For a while he blew a haunting melody that spoke of green meadows and grey hills and shafts of sunlight that lit a blessed land. As he did so a profound peace settled over the room, and Will felt a lump form in his throat. He locked fingers with Willow as he listened, and the lump dissolved away and once more he felt the ancient power begin to flood him. While many men took more than they gave, there were some who gave more than they took. Morann was one such.
They murmured their thanks when the last strains of the Connat air drifted away from them. The music was yet another gift from the man who had been looking after Will, one way or another, all his life.
‘I’m going to have to leave the court,’ he told Morann. ‘We can’t wait for Gwydion any longer. Maskull has been interesting himself in the battlestones.’
The Giants' Dance Page 35
