Morann looked to him sharply. ‘Why?’
‘We might be able to kill two birds with one stone, and so win ourselves a few days’ grace.’
He told Morann about Lord Dudlea’s proposal, and how he had agreed to meet with him tomorrow to give his considered refusal.
‘I hope you’ll tell him you’ll do as he asks,’ Morann said, frowning. ‘He’s a dangerous man to cross, and no mistake.’
‘I cannot agree to do as he asks. And his patience is by now worn through.’
‘Then look to your safety, my friend.’ Morann gestured towards the table, which held a basket of mushrooms that Willow had gathered at first light and a large jug. ‘Dudlea’s aura would curdle that milk. He’d think nothing of seizing a man’s wife to make him do what he wishes.’
‘I know what sort of man Dudlea is, and we’re already looking to our safety as best we can. But what if I did tell him I’d agreed to his plan? What if I told him I’d persuaded you to go into the Blessed Isle to kill Duke Richard?’
Morann paused, thinking. ‘You may tell him that if you want. Though it might make my reception at Logh Elarnegh less than warm if Richard’s spies make report to that effect before I get there. Still, they say the best way to protect yourself in a nest of brigands is to make yourself useful to at least one of them, and I can see how in the end your suggestion might work to our advantage.’
‘Then stay tonight, be seen with me tomorrow, and then continue on your errand.’
‘Maybe I will at that.’ Morann dropped his satchel on the chair. ‘You’re more persuasive than I, despite all my preparations. However, is there not a small hole in your plan? The moment Richard lands, or even if reliable news comes here that he’s setting out, Lord Dudlea will consider his agreement with you reneged upon. In that case, he’d be bound to try to kill you.’
Will smiled a humourless smile. ‘If I’m not much mistaken, he’s going to try to do that anyway.’
Next morning, Will and Morann walked together in the gardens making sure they were seen by every eye in Corben. Then Morann took his leave, and as he mounted his horse he told Will to take heed of his inner feelings.
Willow had been down to get as close as she dared to the royal apartments, where she heard more from the queen’s idle ladies-in-waiting, whose gossiping had forewarned them of Chlu’s presence at Castle Corben. This time, though, they were talking excitedly about the queen’s jewellery.
‘And very strange some of it is too, by all accounts,’ she told Will when she returned. ‘Some of it was from “her wizard” they said, something that was meant to make up for a great diamond that he once took from her.’
Will’s worries surged. ‘The Star of Annuin! The diamond that Maskull was forced to return to the vault in the Realm Below. What could make up for losing that, even if she had no idea what it was?’
Willow nodded. ‘Well, what he gave her was a pair of golden bracelets in the shape of fetters – cuffs of gold made for her wrists, each one, apparently, is set with a golden chain three links long.’
Will scratched his chin. ‘Fetters? Perhaps it was meant to be a symbol of her relationship with the king.’
Willow looked unimpressed. ‘Don’t forget that the golden fetterlock is part of the livery badge of the Duke of Ebor.’
‘True. Then do you think it was some kind of heraldic joke?’
‘Maybe it’s nothing at all, but the rumour is that these bracelets were very hard for Maskull to make. And they were something that the queen longed to have. Her lady of the chamber said they gave her feelings of great joy whenever she put them on. She said the queen would only put them on when she was alone, and then she would dance and laugh to herself.’
‘I don’t much like the sound of that.’
‘Neither do I,’ Willow said. ‘And what’s worse – she doesn’t have them any more.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE NIGHT FLIER
The great lind that was the Corben Tree creaked and groaned, while underneath its spreading mass lay a span of darkness. Only thick, black tree roots crawled there, gnarled and sinister, like carved serpents. Not a blade of grass grew among them for, in times past, cloven hooves had danced this ground and warlocks had made it the scene of their murderous revels. It was certainly not a place of good aspect.
The prospect now, though less monstrous than in ancient times, was almost as unhappy to Will’s eyes. There were flags flying from poles wrapped in coloured ribbon and the meadow below the Corben Tree was dressed and partitioned into lanes as at a royal tourney. Bench seats had been made ready in two great enclosures, and a royal dais set up under a great awning of cloth-of-gold. This lonely meadow had been turned into a place of splendid ceremony where all could be enacted just as if it was in the White Hall of Trinovant. But whereas spell and counterspell had always held fast around the king in Trinovant, here Will could feel a definite flow in favour of Maskull’s sorcery.
A procession of earls and dukes began to gather between ranks of liveried men. Will and Willow waited in the enclosure that had been set aside for foreign emissaries. Beside them were seated the envoys of Cambray in their green and white robes and sporting the red dragon on their breasts. Next to them on the other side were the Weirds of Albanay, with their long braids, sombre plaids and swirlingly patterned silver brooches. To their left sat men and women of rank dressed in even stranger garb, ministers and merchants visiting Hal’s court from kingdoms and principalities that lay in the far parts of the world.
At last the lords of the Realm emerged in procession from a great tent. They passed along the windbreaks where warm breezes fluttered sailcloth barriers that had been skilfully painted with faces and figures of the kings of old – all one hundred and fifty kings, from Brea to King Hal himself. The Lord Great Chamberlain, the Lord High Admiral, and the Earl Marshal of the Realm led the lords forward, each carrying high his mark of office. Dukes and marquesses followed, then earls, viscounts and barons, parading before an audience of gentlemen knights and esquires.
The breeze tugged at the coloured feathers that plumed two hundred lordly hats, but it barely moved their heavy ermine-trimmed cloaks. These nobles came in fine array to their seats, and there they waited, sweating in the heat, for their king and queen to arrive.
But the long wait went on. Those who next entered the enclosure were the gold-caped Elders of the Sightless Ones. Chokingly sweet incense burners fumed white before them, carried by pageboys who saw them to their places. Two gilded thrones stood ready beyond. They were set with cushions of gold and velvet, and between them was a smaller throne, its back made in the shape of a swan’s neck and head.
The rumour was that the delay was caused by the queen herself. It seemed that she had been gone from the Castle of Corben for some days, for none had seen her, or her favourite horse. The breeze died. The air became humid, heavy and suffocating. When a shimmering haze played over the royal dais, Will’s eyes were drawn to it. It awakened his talent, and a figure resolved itself there – a figure dressed in elegant black, lurking like a spider behind the king’s throne.
Now began the Great Council of Peers. After the waiting, a chant from the Elders. A solemn moment followed, then a fanfare of silver trumpets. A mock combat was fought between twelve knights clad in bright armour and, when that was done, an anthem was sung by the Emasculate Fellows of the White Order, their reedy voices sounding to Will like those of sad, trapped creatures whose childhoods could never end. More sickly incense was burned at the four corners of the platform. At last the buzz of expectation was quelled by the raised rod of a sergeant-at-law who begged silence. Young pages carried four cushions forward. Each was set with its own symbol – one of the Great Hallows of Sovereignty: a sceptre, a sword, a chalice and a crown. Then came the king and queen: King Hal in a plain brown velvet coat with a sealed scroll in his hand. Next, Queen Mag, resplendent in crimson and gold and richly bejewelled with diamonds, rubies and pearls. Following on was the heir, a sol
emn little boy of six or seven now. Behind him came Duke Henry, who invited the Lord Great Chamberlain, the Earl Marshal of the Realm, the two Lord Constables and the other principal men of the king’s government to follow their king in procession.
Maskull shifted himself, circled the thrones as the king approached. Hal was reluctant to mount the dais. Will saw how Maskull’s form cast no shadow, but as he moved the smoke from the nearest censer curled strangely as if a lick of breeze had caught it. Hal forced one foot in front of the other and at the steps a footman took his elbow. Once upon the throne, the king’s delicate, white fingers relinquished the scroll to his wife, who handed it to Duke Henry. She listened to Maskull’s whisperings while oaths were affirmed, knights were knighted and other lesser matters transacted according to form. The Great Council of the Realm was now in session, and its age-old ritual had to be observed in strict sequence, for it was known that vestiges of old magic clung to ritual. But at last the time came for the day’s deadly business to be carried through.
All who watched were brought to the highest pitch of excitement. The king’s heralds, in tabards of red and blue quarters, blazoned with golden leopards and lilies, stepped forward again. They blew their silver trumpets. Then, in the dead quiet, the Chamberlain’s voice barked out,
‘Be it known that whereas Richard, lately styled “Duke of Ebor”, along with several others…’
Will listened as the names of Richard’s chief allies were read out in the curious way that lawyers used. Earls Sarum and Warrewyk came first, and then all the barons and knights who had sided with Duke Richard.
‘…in the thirty-sixth year of the reign of our sovereign lord, they did assemble them at Ludford a great host, traitorously intending, imagining and conspiring the destruction of the king’s royal person, our sovereign liege lord, Hal, the third of that name.
‘And they, with the same host, with banners spread, mightily armed and defenced with all manner of arms, as guns, bows, arrows, spears, glaives, axes, and all other manner of articles apt or needful to give and cause mighty battle, they did array themselves in a field in the Earldom of Salop, and there by great and continued deliberation, traitorously levy war against our said sovereign lord and his true subjects there being in his service and assistance under a banner of our said sovereign lord, to the subversion of the Realm…’
When the Chamberlain had done, Duke Henry spoke briefly with the queen, then stepped forward. His voice was strained as he strove to be heard.
‘My lords, it is the king’s pleasure that the following order be understood by all:
‘Whereas the traitor Richard of Ebor has rebelled against us, thus shall he and his heirs be lawfully attainted. Let all who oppose their king show themselves now or forever hold their peace!’
Not a single man in the crowd moved, nor was a word spoken.
‘Then it is done!’
The spell Maskull had woven over the proceedings was broken. Will alone saw his dark figure waft across the platform and drift lightly down the aisle. He was leaving before the convocation had even finished, before the king had even risen. Now that his will had been done, there was no reason for him to linger.
Wind rustled the canopy of the Corben Tree, drowning everyone in sound. The oily stink of incense filled Will’s nostrils. He saw the shadows under the tree moving; it seemed for a moment that a herd of swine were there watching what went on, but that was impossible. Suddenly, there was a hubbub at the back of the lords. Then a messenger came forward and spoke briefly with the Earl Marshal. The queen rose and hurried away with her son, King Hal and all their many attendants trailing in her wake.
A commotion began almost as soon as the members of the Great Council rose to their feet. Will saw Maskull turn about with raised arms and then he suddenly appeared in plain sight. His business now was with Lord Dudlea, who approached him and was struck down in a fit for his trouble. He gasped, rose quivering to his knees and tried to beg forgiveness, but Maskull strode away. Something was happening, something important, but its meaning was just beyond Will’s power to grasp. Willow, seeing it, took his hand.
‘What’s happening?’
‘I don’t know,’ he told her. Just then he saw Jasper in the crowd. With him was an older man, certainly his father, Owain, a man with white hair and beard and a round, red face now, but who must have looked much like Jasper in his younger days. The news, whatever it was, had reached them and so Will went towards them.
‘Jasper!’
‘Maceugh.’
‘So much for the pronouncements of this Great Council of Peers,’ Owain growled.
‘What news?’ Will asked.
‘The Duke of Ebor,’ Jasper’s eyes sparked with excitement. ‘He’s landed on the northern coast, and with him has come a great army!’
Will stood rocklike as the crowd swirled around him. He wanted to make sense of these tidings, to foresee their consequences as Gwydion would have done. But then his arm was roughly seized. He tried to pull away, but Lord Dudlea’s grip was tenacious. He was grey-faced with fear or anger or both. His nose was bleeding and he was trembling and the pupils of his eyes were shocked pin small. He held something in Will’s face, something shining against his gloved hand. His voice hissed, ‘Your delays have betrayed us, Maceugh! Now your life is worth no more than this.’
The noble threw the thing down, turned on his heel and left, and when Will picked up what had been cast away he saw that it was a silver farthing, the smallest coin of the Realm.
The deadlock of spell and counterspell that had been set about the court had at last been shaken loose. All the way back to the castle, Will heard a rising wind. It was roaring in the Corben Tree as the mystic boughs shed their leaves. He could feel instability growing almost palpably, as Gwydion’s protective magic decayed. Everywhere around the court, the wizard’s magic was unravelling.
‘So much for Morann’s errand,’ Willow said. ‘And so much for Master Gwydion’s plan. It’s a full armed invasion, after all!’
‘Something’s gone dreadfully wrong.’ Will drew her on, still wondering what could have happened and what he should now do for the best. ‘Quickly! We’re no longer safe here!’
Fears about the Dragon Stone suddenly reared up in his mind. If Gwydion’s binding magic was all that kept that stone safe in its cellar at Foderingham, what would happen now?
Willow gasped and stumbled at his side as if she had been shot by a crossbow bolt. Terror flooded through him and he grasped her close to him. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing. Nothing. Keep going.’
They went on through the gate, mingling with a great crowd of servants. Most had been put under urgent orders to pack up and leave as quickly as they could. No sooner was Will inside the castle than he pulled Willow round a corner and towards a small storeroom.
Its door had a broken lock, so the room was unused. He looked both ways. ‘Here! Inside the buttery. And close the door.’
‘Look at me!’ Willow cried once they were alone. ‘My hair! It’s coming out by the handful!’
Will stared. ‘By the moon and stars!’
The dank little room was empty, except for some broken shelves. It was whitewashed yet half dark, for the only light came through two small vents high up on the wall. Will used his whittling knife to contrive a makeshift bolt that would hold the door shut so long as no one tried to force it. Willow blinked at him as he turned. ‘Will – oh, your beard!’
Will seized her shoulders, searching her face. ‘Your eyes are changing colour too. Not so quick that you’d notice it happening, but they’re not the same colour they were this morning. And your skin – it’s mottled.’
‘It’s the same with you. Your beard’s thinner and the shape of your chin is changing. Oh, Will, what’s happening to us? Is this Maskull’s doing? Has he cast a spell on us?’
He lifted the russet sash that lay across his left shoulder and held it up to a shaft of light. The weave was finer, the wool faded almost to gr
ey now, and the silver delch pin with its brown stone was smaller, its lustre gone. ‘I shouldn’t have waited so long. Our disguises are failing.’
‘Then we must get out of here!’
‘We can’t! Not yet.’ He quickly explained what Jarred had let slip. ‘You see what that means, don’t you? If we can catch the creature then we’ll be able to ask it about Chlu.’
She stared back at him. ‘Why are you worrying about the Dark Child now? Haven’t we dangers enough?’
‘It’s the only way I can find out who I am, where I come from, who my real parents are. Don’t you see?’ He told her about the red fish, and repeated what Gwydion had said. ‘I have to try, Willow. I may not get another chance.’
Willow touched his cheek. ‘Whatever you do, I’m doing it with you. I’ve grown used to your new face – but it’ll be good to have my old Will back again.’
They kissed, then hugged. ‘Brave girl.’
She looked around at the bare room. ‘We’re changing fast. We ought to fetch a few things here while we still can.’
But their fears about raising suspicions proved unfounded. Of all the people who entered the castle court, not one turned to look at them. Their attention was directed at something else entirely, something so terrible it had reduced them to whispers.
‘What is it?’ Willow asked, craning her neck.
‘Two statues of grey stone,’ Will said. ‘One is a woman, and the other’s a boy.’
A crowd was gathered around them, and more were packing in to see. The statues were life-sized and carved in grotesque detail – Lady Dudlea and her son. Will could not take his eyes from the lady’s face. Horror was frozen there and he realized that the boy must have been turned to stone even as his mother looked on.
‘Maskull’s creature!’ Willow said, clutching him. ‘They must have looked upon it!’
Will hurried her away, knowing that no cockatrice stare had done this, but Maskull himself. ‘The plot to kill Duke Richard must have come from Maskull. And now Dudlea’s had to pay for his failure.’
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