The Giants' Dance

by Robert Carter

  But that was not why he had come here. He remembered his reckless mission. It was not yet half done. On the cellar stair he saw one of the queen’s turnkeys coming up to see what the disturbance was. The brute’s neck was as thick as a bull’s and he carried a long-handled war-hammer in his hand. But he found himself hurtling back down the way he had come after Will’s foot crashed into his chest. He fell into a second man, and they lay collapsed together at the bottom of the steps.

  They began to stir. Wild strength surged in Will’s body. He walked down the stair and recovered the war-hammer. It was a formidable weapon, three feet long and with a square head that had a spike on the back meant to punch death holes in plate armour. As the men he had knocked senseless stirred and tried to get up, Will swung the hammer round his head, testing it, loving its feel and its weight, turning over the idea of driving its point through a couple of thick skulls.

  But then he remembered an arsenal of far greater weapons that was at his disposal. He culled dangerous spells from the pages of his memory and danced magic over the men as they found their feet. His words raised their arms up, drew them through the air and violently pinioned them to the wall. As the raw, ragged magic pressed them hard against the stones, they endured rib-snapping pressure. They went pale in the face and their heads lolled. It was all they could do to breathe.

  ‘Not as neat a job as Gwydion would have managed,’ he announced exuberantly. ‘But it’ll have to do.’

  Will took the ring of keys from a hook on the wall and unhurriedly opened Gwydion’s cell.

  ‘You are in peril, Willand…’ Gwydion called through the door as Will began to slide back the five heavy bolts.

  ‘Is it ever possible to catch a wizard unawares?’ He threw back the heavy door and hurried over.

  Gwydion took in the sight of him like a blow. ‘A man’s magic is his signature,’ he warned grimly. ‘And there is something very much amiss with yours, Willand. It was not wise to do as you have done.’

  ‘Well, there’s a fine way to greet your saviour!’ he said. ‘I’m here to redeem you!’

  When the wizard fixed him with a hard gaze, he was suddenly aware that he must be presenting a less than heroic picture – filthy with half-dried mud and almost naked.

  He inspected the golden chain and fetters. ‘It looks to me like you’re in quite a bind.’

  ‘Chlu will have felt your magic too. And Maskull.’

  He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. ‘Gwydion, do I look like a fool? Do I?’ Then he hefted the hammer.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Hold still! I’m going to smash these fetters off.’

  ‘You must not! They contain much harm drawn by Maskull from the Sparrowhawk Hill battlestone—’

  ‘Yes, and Queen Mag has the key between her breasts. I know. I saw her. So this is the only way. Now hold still!’

  ‘Willand—’

  There was a black flash. Molten metal flew from the hammer head as he struck the gold chain open. Grainy smoke began to issue from the broken link. A piece of gold fell, wriggled down into the straw and vanished. Will stamped on it as if it was a venomous worm. Pain ripped through him. His foot became a misshapen claw, a hoof, a foot again. He danced the harm out of it. It was inelegant, but he twirled and twisted and danced the cloud of harm up and out through the vent, dispersing it as he had once seen Gwydion do.

  ‘You see!’ he said triumphantly. ‘Anything you can do…’

  Gwydion staggered back. The blow had released him from the pillar, but the fetters still held his wrists. ‘What have you done?’

  Will stared hard at him. ‘You’re free, aren’t you?’

  ‘Free? I am powerless!’ The wizard stared at his wrists. ‘The harm you have released will turn the day against us.’

  ‘Your gratitude overwhelms me!’ Will seized his arm and dragged him towards the door. ‘Come on, Gwydion! Where’s your spirit?’

  ‘That, I shall never tell you!’

  Smoking hammer in hand, Will pulled the wizard past the struggling gaolers and up the stair. The Fellows moaned and threshed at the rope barrier as their unreachable quarry came into view. But now in their midst a gnarled Elder appeared and ordered his juniors in pursuit.

  ‘In there!’ Will cried, backing towards a second door. Once Gwydion was through, he propped it closed with the hammer, jamming the handle under the latch and kicking the part-melted head hard against a step.

  ‘That’ll hold up an army!’

  ‘Where are you taking me?’

  The stone spiral of the stair was like the inside of a seashell. It steepened and narrowed as they climbed. A beating began on the door below that echoed in the stifling, cramped space. They passed two small landings lit by small windows, and came at last to a worm-eaten door that opened out onto bright sunshine.

  ‘A perfect view!’

  The top of the tower seemed to Will to be much closer to the sun. It was hot up here, and smelled of half-melted tar. It was the perfect place to survey a field of war. The roof was splashed with the shadow of the great iron vane that surmounted it – a white heart and the letters A, A, E and F marking the directions of the four winds.

  ‘What have you done with your talisman?’ Gwydion demanded suddenly. He was staring down at Will’s bare chest.

  ‘That little fish? Oh, it’s gone. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what happened to it.’ He gave a brittle laugh.

  ‘Try me!’

  ‘It’s no matter. No, no, really it’s not, because you see I’ve found a far greater power,’ he babbled. ‘I’ve learned to believe in myself, Gwydion! Now I can move mountains! I could fly if I wanted to!’

  Gwydion seized him. ‘There’s no need. The mountains, it seems, are already moving!’

  Down below, the clash of arms had already begun. Will’s lightning-fast eye took it all in at a glance. Ten thousand Callas men filled the meadows to the south, spreading out in battle array. More came on behind them. The sight was magnificent, and Will stared in delight as thousands of men, each of them as insignificant as an ant, went towards their doom.

  From this height, Will could see the whole field, could sense exactly where the ligns lay. The battlestone was doing purposeful work. Whatever anyone might say, it was a glorious spectacle. Numberless men and horses, drawn here by an irresistible force, swirling into the fields around the cloister. Thousands of minds made murderous, filled with the battlestone’s controlling emanations.

  ‘Edward!’ Will shouted out indignantly. ‘Why doesn’t he do as I told him? Attack the king’s left! It’s his only hope!’

  But Lord Warrewyk was marshalling the attacking forces. A great shout went up, and there began a thundering of hooves. A mass advance had been ordered, and all three wings of the army started to move forward. As Will looked on, a volley of arrows was loosed against them, then the first cavalry assault was flung upon the king’s centre. It was so fierce a charge that it almost succeeded. Axes and maces flashed over a sea of helms, but then the wave broke amid shrill cries and fell back under a forest of stabbing blades. Delight thrilled through Will’s heart. In that charge alone two hundred men died, though Lord Warrewyk, struggling, bright armoured and in the middle of his fifty-strong bodyguard, escaped the slaughter.

  Will congratulated himself on having managed everything so well. At last, he had begun to understand the true nature and magnificence of war. Despite Edward’s treachery, the battle was turning out to be a worthy clash of arms. Edward and the others had been right all along. What higher station was there for a man than that of a warrior? What greater occupation could there be than warfare? And soon Will’s chance would come to lay down his life for a great cause too.

  Fortunately, he was well prepared. Earlier, in the glade, he had had the foresight to draw a great surfeit of earth power into himself. Now he felt drunk on it. The magic was fizzing in him. Potent. Ready. It was time to use it to turn the tide. But where to begin in the hurling of thunderbol
ts? He cast an eye at the enclosed yards below. Fellows! Those grey-faced fools would do for target practice! They were gathering in the nearer yard and—

  But something else distracted his eye.

  From up here he could see into the further yard, could see that it was occupied by a great cage. It was empty, and it exactly recalled the cage that he had seen at Clifton Grange.

  He remembered the huge, red-and-gilt saddle that had been carried past him, the one that he had thought too big for any warhorse…

  ‘By the moon and stars!’ he shouted. ‘I was right after all!’

  ‘Willand, you are not yourself,’ Gwydion insisted. ‘Listen to me—’

  But he would not listen. And nor could Gwydion make him stop. He dashed the cold sweat from his forehead, feeling wholly untouched by the futile emanations of the stone. This battle was different. This one was marvellous. It would turn out very well, because he was in perfect control of it. The Delamprey battlestone was a tame crouching thing. He could feel its ineffectual fears snapping at his heels, as it pathetically tried to insinuate itself into his mind.

  He punched the air, gesturing to where the stone lay, scornful of its efforts. His eyes ran along the thatches of the hamlet of Hardingstones and the strange cemetery that stood near it.

  ‘Willand!’ Gwydion stretched out his hands, looking strangely small and comical with his golden bracelets and the two absurd pieces of gold chain dangling from them. ‘Willand, you must listen to me! You must not let the battlestone use you like this!’

  But without magic to augment it, the wizard’s voice carried none of its usual potency. Will cut him off, overrode all objections and stabbed a finger instead at the men streaming into battle below. ‘Nothing of your protections now remains, Gwydion. If Maskull only realized what was happening out there, he’d send bolts of flame against Edward’s army and destroy it! But if he does that now I’ll counterspell him with green fire! I’ll—’

  The wizard grabbed his arms. ‘You? Counterspell Maskull? You must not try that! You are not ready for it!’

  ‘I’m ready for anything, the Lady has told me so!’

  ‘What lady?’

  ‘She told me! I am the true king! I am Arthur!’ He pushed the frail old man aside.

  ‘Beware, Willand! Maskull will destroy you!’

  ‘My fear of that old conjuror has left me. His fires are burning low just like yours are. That’s why he’s not yet had the courage to show himself today.’ He jumped up onto the battlements. ‘It’s time for me to bring this fight to its swiftest end!’

  Gwydion seized his legs and pulled him down, but he lashed out. ‘Get off me, old man!’

  ‘Willand, you are filled with a strange light. You do not properly realize what is happening. Maskull attends the Delamprey stone as we speak. But he is not prompting it, he is working to prevent it from releasing all its harm over the battlefield.’

  Will balked. The idea was absurd. ‘What nonsense!’

  ‘Maskull cares naught for this battle’s outcome. He has fixed his desire upon a more terrible goal.’ The wizard’s eyes flickered as he strove to make Will understand. ‘He means to work magic upon the stone even while it is in spate. His aim is to divert a great measure of its harm into a weapon of his own!’

  He inclined his head, struck by the cleverness of the idea. ‘You mean…like those bracelets?’

  Gwydion raised his wrists. ‘Exactly so! Only a hundred times more dangerous! During the time of my captivity I was forced to listen to Maskull’s prideful harangues. I know well enough what is in his mind. During his years of wandering in the Realm Below he has dwelt much upon what went amiss for him at Verlamion. He believes his failure was due to magic that I worked on the Doomstone. Once he became aware that the harm in the stones could be manipulated he began to tamper with them. Our own work has revealed much to him, and latterly his attempts to tap a portion of the malice from the Sparrowhawk Hill stone have taken his art forward another step. This combat is nothing to him – merely that which will allow him to steal the Delamprey stone’s power.’

  ‘But he can’t have succeeded!’ Will pointed joyously into the middle distance. ‘Even if you can’t feel the stone directly, you can still see that battle is already joined! Look there. The stone’s power is going to be spent in the fighting!’

  ‘Maskull requires the battle to be fought. He believes he can only divert significant harm while it is actually flowing from the stone – Willand, pay attention to what I tell you!’

  But Will was not listening. He was watching the glorious fight unfold. It was happening just as he had supposed it would – Duke Henry of Mells was commanding the king’s centre, and the Duke of Rockingham his right, while the banners of Lord Dudlea flew over the left.

  Gwydion followed Will’s insane stare. ‘What did you offer Friend Dudlea, you fool?’

  Will turned. ‘How do you know I even spoke with him?’

  ‘I see the stain of doubtful deeds in men’s eyes. Answer me!’

  ‘What’s the matter? All I did was offer him his wife and his son back.’

  ‘Is that all? And I suppose he demanded proof, for men like Dudlea take nothing on trust, and nor would you if you had lived his life.’ Gwydion took Will’s head in his hands and looked hard into his wild eyes. ‘He who deals in magic must not make promises unless he knows for certain that he is going to be able to redeem them. If that rede applies to all men, then how much more to a Child of Destiny?’

  Will tore away. ‘I never said I’d transform the statues back myself. That’s your job. Once we get those golden trinkets off your wrists—’

  But the words failed on his lips.

  A cloud had obscured the sun, and a dark pall seemed to have fallen across the battlefield. At the same time, a long drawn-out wail sounded in the distance. Will’s eyes hunted excitedly for its source, though he already knew what it must be. There in the distance, no more than a black dot against the eastern sky, something was flying. It was bigger than a man. Much bigger. And it was approaching at great speed.

  Gwydion seized him. ‘What terror is come?’

  Will broke the wizard’s grip. With all his aimless prattling, he had forgotten about the queen’s secret weapon! He saw its great red wings beating, its long neck and serrated tail snaking out behind and two talons drawn up close to its body. A rider sat astride it. When it reached the battlefield it wheeled and swooped down on Edward’s cavalry. The sight of it threw all the horses into wild panic, driving the attacking knights into confusion.

  ‘By the moon and stars!’ Will cried, enraptured. ‘I knew I hadn’t imagined it all at Ludford!’ He saw a sight that chilled a measure of the strange heat from his blood. In the saddle sat a fearsome knight, helmeted in polished steel and mailed in crimson scales. He dug long spurs into his beast’s flanks and pulled hard on the reins to further infuriate his steed. Mad John Clifton cursed and roared, beating so violently at the dragon that Will thought that at any moment he would be thrown from its back.

  Gwydion shaded his eyes, squinting into the distance, but he made no reply.

  ‘Willlaaaaand!’

  The cry came from below.

  He dashed to the parapet and stared down. It was Willow, and she was banging on the closed gates of the slaughter yard. She had with her now a longbow and a quiver of green-flighted arrows. On the other side of the gates the yard had a dozen Fellows in it.

  ‘Let me in!’

  ‘There are red hands in the yard!’ he shouted down. ‘Go to the grove. Find the horse! I’ll come for you when the day’s won!’

  But she threw up her hands and shrieked: ‘Willaaaand!’

  Just then a shower of stones rained over him, and he heard the groaning of a great weight of collapsing metal. A sense of danger thrilled through him and he dived aside. His first thought was that it must have been a great stone ball shot from one of the wall-smashing engines. Lumps of shattered masonry skittered around him as the twisted iron of the vane
came crashing down. But then a huge, writhing shape loomed above. He threw up his arm against it, felt the blast of giant wingbeats. A red talon as big as he was reached into the tangle of debris to rake at him. He was trapped among the rusted iron of the fallen weather vane – its ornaments were all that saved him. Gwydion was raging impotently at the monster, wrists fettered, dancing empty magic. It was amazing that so large a beast could have banked round and glided in upon them without being seen. Now Will realized what the ancient rede truly meant – ‘A man must be mad to ride a dragon.’

  But insane or not, Mad John certainly knew how to control his fearsome steed. The creature’s swoop had shattered the stair-house roof. Now two huge, muscular legs were trampling the fallen ironwork to pieces. Claws tore and kicked all around as the monster balanced on the draught of its outstretched wings. Its long, black tongue was like a lash as small, black eyes locked furiously on the defenceless figure of the wizard.

  The viper neck carried a long-snouted head, brilliantly scaled and set with scarlet frills like the combs of a gigantic rooster. Its mouth was filled with a hundred backwardcurving teeth. Will heard the roar and gurgle as it snapped at Gwydion, and when it screamed its voice tore at his ears.

  The wizard had been backing towards the protection of the stair, but his escape was now cut off. Will dived to his left to where a handy piece of iron had been torn from the vane. He gripped it so tightly that it bit into his palm.

  ‘Hyaaah! Hyaaah!’ he cried, dodging past the deadly backsweep of the wings. He used the bar as a mace, beating at the creature’s hindquarters. Full blows were landed, but its hide was tougher than armour. Instead of turning to attack him, its threshing tail swept aside a jumble of iron that carried him off his feet. He was dumped hard against the battlements, but when the beast turned again, he had become its new quarry.

  Now it was Will’s turn to be trapped. There was blood in his left eye and when he brought his hand away from his face his fingers were wet. He was stuck in a corner, with a sheer drop on two sides and the third filled by snapping jaws.