The clash came. Chlu’s skull showed beneath his skin: black hair, black lips, eyes burning red in a white face. Laughing.
Will swung his axe at the death’s head, but Chlu raised his hammer and their weapons rang together, locking, crook to crook. Will kicked Chlu’s leg away, and as he staggered, drove him back, but the jarring wrench of falling tore the axe handle from Will’s grip, leaving Chlu sprawling in the snow. Will was first on his feet but now he was weaponless.
Chlu took up the axe hungrily and cast the hammer far away behind him. He hefted the axe and swept it testingly at Will’s head. Will spat and clenched his teeth, for in the blink of an eye the advantage had turned greatly in Chlu’s favour.
Will readied himself as the attack came roaring at him. It was poorly controlled, a lunge followed through too violently, so that Will was able to duck under the swing and ram his shoulder into Chlu’s stomach, lifting him, and dumping him over onto his back. But the ground was slippery and they went down together. Will’s left hand closed on Chlu’s wrist, pinning the axe, while he slammed blow after blow into his face.
Blood from Chlu’s burst nose coloured the snow around them, more gurgled in Chlu’s throat as he screamed out defiance. His outstretched fingers tore at Will’s eyes, forcing him to turn. Chlu bucked to free himself, and as Will was thrown off he twisted back. A battle-sharpened axe slashed at Will’s chest. It sliced open his jerkin just as he regained his feet. He felt the cold and saw the wound, a cut across his side, white-edged and bleeding.
But there was more than shock in his response. The idea came to him at the speed of thought that the tit-for-tat link that had connected him with Chlu in their own world did not work here. No prophecy lay upon either of them in this place, no natural law governed their movements so they were unprotected. Chlu’s bloody face and the wound to his own ribs had served notice that the strike and counterstrike he had expected would not happen this time. And the lessons he had learned in all those armoured fights against Edward in the combat yard of Foderingham were not forgotten. Now it was time to seize the advantage.
Hope goaded him to attack. He rushed at Chlu, lunging forward to take hold of his axe-arm. It was a dangerous move for a weaponless man. With the axe, Chlu’s reach was already longer than his own, but the weight of it made his movements slower.
Now the Dark Child slipped his grip to the very end of the axe handle before he swung. It was a cunning trick which gave him an extra three finger-widths of reach. It could have been the margin that let the blade bite this time. But Will saw the move coming. He swayed back as the swipe came. Even so he felt the wind of the axe as it shaved his brow.
Will was aware of shapes moving towards them. It flashed through his mind that looters were coming to strip the bodies. There was movement near them, soldiers being drawn to their fight—
Then Chlu struggled and lashed out. Will tried to avoid the blow, but it concussed him. He had been caught under the chin with the back of the axe haft. The contact jarred against his jaw, blasted bright colours through his head and threw him off balance. His head rang and, seeing the next blow coming, he staggered back half a pace. But that was a deadlier mistake, for his heels came up hard against a corpse that lay behind him and he fell backwards over it.
He froze as he grasped that he was now wholly at Chlu’s mercy. There was no time to feel terror, for Chlu stepped forward to finish him without delay. He lifted the axe and brought it down with all his strength.
What flashed between them, Will could not tell. A great shape, bearlike, screaming, lunging in from his right. But he knew that whatever it was carried away the danger. It had also taken the blow and saved his life.
Blood splattered him and he stared into the face of a head now cloven where axe had split bone. Will gasped as the Dark Child toppled forward, almost falling on top of him, and in his place there appeared an impossible figure. It was Willow. In her hand was the hammer Chlu had relinquished. She had swung it at Chlu’s head and laid him low with it.
Will struggled out from under the dead weight that had saved him and drenched him in crimson. The body groaned and rolled as he scrambled up, but he could not shake off so easily the terrifying sight of the wound that had split the face wide open. That blow had been meant for him, that wound had been meant for his own face. The dead man was barely recognizable, but his eyes were open to the sky, one blue and one brown.
‘Will!’ She was beside him, fingers on his face. He clutched her, saw her mouthing words that made no sense. How had she got here? What was happening?
‘Will! Listen to me!’
His mind found the truth impossible to accept, but Willow’s voice confirmed it.
‘He begged to come with us. He said he couldn’t live with himself otherwise!’
‘Lotan?’ It was his own voice.
‘He needed to apologize to you himself, Will. He needed your forgiveness. He begged us.’
Will began to shake.
The great body jerked down as steaming blood guttered from it. Lotan was as dead as any man could be.
‘We gave him another chance.’
‘Oh, Willow…’
She grasped her husband, and he held onto her, feeling as if he would shake apart. Shock blotted everything from his mind. He shut his eyes and found he could not open them. She was crying his name, trying to shout some sense into him, but the world was taking a while to reconfigure itself.
‘What about him?’ she demanded, her face distorted. ‘Listen to me, Will!’
He took hold of himself, braved the new world. He took a dagger from his wife’s hand. Death was all around, but he forced himself to focus on the body she was showing him. Chlu’s bloody head lolled as she grabbed a handful of hair and lifted it back. Breath gasped from his open mouth.
‘Do what you must do!’ Willow told him. ‘Do it now!’
It sounded like an accusation, as if he had negligently overlooked something vital. And it was true. He had Chlu at his mercy and there was nothing else left to do to win, nothing else except slit his throat But he could not murder an unconscious man, not even the Dark Child. He could not do it.
‘No…’ he muttered. ‘No, no.’
Willow stared at him helplessly, then started away. ‘I’ll fetch Morann.’
Morann? That made no sense either. Where had they all come from? What had happened on the other side of the window? Blood gouted from his side, filled his hand. At least Willow had not seen that. Confusion settled over his mind again like a fog. It enraged him. Nor would it clear no matter how he tried to penetrate it. They must have travelled north after him, maybe by a different route, but only hours behind.
‘Wait!’ he called after her.
But she went on heedlessly up the slope.
He stood up, grabbed Chlu by the wrists and began to pull, knowing only that he had to take Chlu back into his own world. At first the body slid easily over the icy slush, but it was a dead weight and hard to drag uphill. He pulled it ten paces before he lost his footing, then he saw that he would have to lift it. With a tremendous effort he sat Chlu up and hauled one arm over his shoulder, bending until Chlu’s feet were off the ground, but then his knees gave and he crashed down in a puddle of mud and gore. Pain gripped him. The wound in his side was deeper than he had thought. He had torn through some membrane beneath his ribs. It would probably not kill him, but it had made it impossible to shift Chlu further.
Will started to get up again, but by now Willow had come back, and the window was in her hands, floating towards him through the air. She stepped over him and shoved it over Chlu. Will felt the rush of air tugging them back towards their own world. Then a more powerful heave came against the body and Will realized that it must be Morann pulling from the other side.
He got to his feet to help but could not straighten himself. Blood had made his side and thigh sodden. With a sudden change in sound Chlu’s legs vanished and Will looked through the window to glimpse an oak tree and Morann manfully dragging a body acro
ss green grass.
‘Now you!’ Will said, taking the frame from his wife.
‘You first.’
‘Willow, do as I ask.’
She began to argue, but he insisted. She braced herself, flashed a glance at him, then dived head-first back into her own world.
Will held the frame in his hands for a moment and looked over his shoulder to see if he could see the wizard, but there was no sign of him.
‘To hell with this world!’ he shouted. ‘They don’t deserve to have you, Master Gwydion! And they’re not going to have you!’
He started to carry the frame down the slope, but after a few paces it jerked from his hands and flew up into the air. The next thing he knew, it had crashed down over him and he was being pulled by the arms into warmer air.
The pain made him grimace and groan.
‘Oh, no you don’t, my friend!’ Morann said, struggling to close the flapping shutters. ‘You have work to do on this side!’
‘Gwydion’s through there!’
But Morann pushed him back. ‘And that’s where he has to stay. With Maskull.’
‘No!’
Morann flung the window high so it caught in the branches of the oak and hung there out of reach.
Will felt light-headed. ‘What are you doing?’
Willow was staring with horror at the wound in his side. ‘Oh, Will, look at you!’
He tried to brush away her ministering hands.
‘Don’t you see how it must be, Will? You have your own task. We haven’t come all this way to see you fail. Your entire life has been leading to this moment. You owe it to yourself and to the rest of us to do your best. Succeed or fail, that’s all we ask.’
That brought him more to his senses. He remembered Gwydion’s parting words, and grief had its way with him.
Morann said softly, ‘The last time I saw Master Gwydion he told me that I might have my work cut out with you when the end-time came. He said he’d been feeling for a long time that a sacrifice might be called for, maybe on his part, one that you might not want to understand. But it’s what he wants. It’s what must be. He told me that, Will. He said, “make sure he accepts it the way it must be”.’
Three horses stood together under the tree. The packmare stamped her feet and champed her bit, and one of the others whinnied. The little birds sang, and all was as a morning should be, except for the distant sound of guns and the glitter of soldiery that frosted the south with steel. There was not much time.
Willow took the dagger and ripped open a bundle. She tore a shirt apart and bound it tightly about Will’s middle to staunch the bleeding. He winced as he raised his arms, but dismissed it with, ‘I’m all right.’
‘You’re not all right, you fool!’
‘Look at them!’ Morann pointed to where Edward’s battalions stood ready. ‘You saw what happened on the other side. I could smell the bodies from here. That’s what happens when Ages end, Will. Worlds collide! There’s a time of calamity and men need a hero to carry them past it.’
Will breathed heavily and spat. ‘I thought he was dead.’
‘Who?’
‘Edward. The hero. The king. We heard he’d been mortally wounded. By an arrow at Fordingbridge.’
‘It’s true enough that Edward’s sun is clouded. But he’s lying at Castle Pomfret where Gort is tending to him. It’s lucky Gort came north with us, for Edward was grievously wounded, but he’ll not die now.’
‘Or command a battle either. The battlestone is dead. I pushed it into a world where there’s no magic.’
‘A world much like this one now, eh?’ Willow said. ‘We don’t need magic any more to drive us to war. We’ve learned how to do that without any help from the fae.’
Morann stabbed a finger into the south. ‘Open your eyes and see, Will. It’s the Earl Warrewyk who’s keeping the battalions in readiness now. He’ll lead them to death and glory, Edward or no Edward. No more than an hour ago I saw him leap down from his warhorse. He ran his sword straight through the beast’s neck. Aye, then he kissed the blooded hilt out there in front of his whole army. He told them, “Let him fly that will, for surely I will tarry here this day. The coming fight shall be to the death, and any man who means to fly must fly now, or once battle be joined he shall be cut down by his own!” It was hard to take, Will, but you see how it is. There’s no shilly-shallying with that man.’
‘Then there’s to be a battle anyway, battlestone or not?’ Will laughed until it hurt. ‘The lorc has succeeded after all.’
‘Not yet. Look what I brought you! Gort asked for it, and Edward sent it with his blessings.’
Morann went to the packhorse and took down another dirty canvas bundle. When he emptied it onto the grass, armour clattered out. It was Edward’s war-gear.
Will laughed shortly. ‘He always said he’d see me in the weeds of war. But I must disappoint him. And you.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
Will’s thoughts juddered back to the world beyond the window, the struggling mass of drowning men, the stream running red with their blood. Could he allow that to happen here? Could he prevent it? He eyed the lines of men who were appearing in the south. Many thousands, many tens of thousands, had come to this impasse. ‘Lord Warrewyk will get them all killed, won’t he?’
‘Aye, he will. Every brave man-jack of them There’s so little magic in the world that we can hardly hope for miracles now.’
Will took a proffered gauntlet, looked at it for a moment and threw it down. Willow was kneeling by Chlu, watching for signs that the Dark Child might awaken.
Morann told her, ‘I think it’s time you explained the real reason we came here.’
Willow looked up at Will. ‘We all four of us came north with the army. Me, Morann, Gort and Lotan. We had to find you, to tell you what we’d learned in your absence. The day Edward left Trinovant the Duchess Cicely broke down and told me an important secret.’
‘Lady Cicely?’ Will asked, unable to see the connection, but suddenly fearing for his daughter. ‘Bethe? Has she been harmed?’
Willow was shaking her head, trying to make him understand. ‘Bethe’s with the Lady Cicely. She’s well.’
He blinked back the surge of anxiety. ‘Then what’s the duchess got to do with anything?’
‘Will, listen to me. You have to know this. She once told me she’d had babies that died in childbirth—’
He shook his head, impatient now. Many died in infancy.
‘She thought she’d lost two children. One daughter was stillborn, and years before that she gave birth to twins and was told that the first of them had died. But in a letter the duke wrote on the eve of his death he told her different.’
He blinked at Willow, still unable to see what she was driving at.
‘Master Gwydion was not the only guide the House of Ebor relied on down the years. When Duke Richard’s looked-for firstborn turned out to be twin boys, it was Maskull who came to him first and killed the joy. He whispered that all the duke’s hopes for the future of the House of Ebor and for the Realm would be dashed if he refused pragmatic advice.’
‘What advice?’
‘Maskull said that if Richard succeeded in putting himself on the throne there would be war in the next generation. Inevitable war.’
‘He made a threat, you mean?’
‘He did not put it that way,’ Morann put in. ‘He said it was mere expediency. A matter of foresight.’
‘Twins, Will! You see what that means, don’t you? Because who, in the future, would be able to say for certain which child was which? Which boy was firstborn? Which man would be the rightful king? There’d be dispute, and then there’d be strife. Royal brother would fight against royal brother. And after that would come the taking of sides – the Realm split right down the middle. Maskull made it sound as terrible as only Maskull could. And so he convinced Duke Richard of the calamity that was to come. And that allowed the sorcerer to offer him a way out.’
&n
bsp; ‘Which was?’
‘Maskull took away one of the children to be cared for elsewhere, while the other child was left to enjoy the privilege of being his father’s heir.’
‘Edward…’ Will groaned. ‘And all of this was in the letter that Duke Richard wrote on the eve of the battle at Awakenfield?’
Morann nodded. ‘Friend Richard wasn’t ignoring Mother Brig’s prophecy when he rode north. He knew he was going to die. Can you imagine the guilt he must have felt, having kept a secret like that from his wife all these years? And all because he thought there was some chance that one day he might sit upon the throne.’
‘Edward was one twin,’ Will said, looking up. ‘But…’
Willow took his hand. ‘The other was going to be called Arthur. He was taken away by Maskull. Now do you see?’
Will felt the moment descend over him like cold rain. He gasped, then put his face in his hands.
Morann began to examine Chlu’s nose and to wipe away the blood that bubbled at his nostrils. ‘Only Maskull didn’t take the baby away to be looked after, did he? As Master Gwydion came close to finding out, the very reason Maskull hatched this plot in the first place was to gain control of the true heir. That’s why he stole the firstborn. And from that child he made you – and this nasty piece of work here.’
They looked down at Chlu wordlessly for a moment.
‘What’s to be done?’ Willow asked.
When Will made no reply, Morann said, ‘It’s time you despatched him.’
Will took the dagger but he continued to stare at Chlu. He knew now exactly what he must do. ‘Not so, Morann. He’s nothing evil. He’s simply my counterpart. And it’s not combat and cruelty that heals the world. It’s love.’
His eyes were filling with tears. A great fear was in him. He could feel the end-time roaring in upon him. He kissed Willow and clasped Morann’s hand, knowing that the next time he saw them he would be a different man.
There was little time left to compose himself. Chlu had already begun to groan and struggle weakly from his stupor. Now the battlestone was gone, Will felt the diminishing magic of the world more poignantly than ever. He drew scant refreshment from the earth and when a little power was with him he bade the others lift Chlu into his embrace where he whispered a spell of transformation in the true tongue. The spell ended with the word ‘Llyw.’
Whitemantle Page 47
