The Giants' Dance (52 page)

Delamprey was no different. On the door was a great fistshaped handle of tarnished bronze. As he kicked the door open, the fist unclenched and tried to take hold of him. He tore away from its grasp, then thrust an ash twig at it. It grabbed, then discarded it in disgust.

Will knew the Fellows were alerted, for a warning bell had begun to toll. Two men came groping into the dark corridor to discover who had broken the sanctuary threshold. Then two more Fellows appeared with a group of bequines who began to wail until they were hurried away from the intruder's profane gaze.

Will laughed, hooted at them in imitation of their dismal noise. ‘Wooooo! Ha ha! Wooooooooo! Ha ha ha! Where's the sacred fire, ladies?'

But then he saw the way that must lead down into Gwydion's dungeon, and his heart leapt. Only four Fellows stood between him and the head of the stair. Blind to light, they nevertheless perceived him darkly through some dim sense. When the nearest Fellows drew cudgels from their robes, he yelled and roared like a lion, bearing down on their pathetic attempt to block his way.

‘Who comes?' they demanded. ‘Who comes?'

Suddenly, the cloying smell in the air made him gag, and the brightness coursing through his mind faltered. There is something wrong, he told himself. It's the stone…It's in me…I must…I must…

But then a bony hand grabbed at him and made him
jump. He gritted his teeth, threw down his bundle of sticks and darted away from the clatter they made. The empty eye-sockets of the Fellows seemed to listen for him, but whatever had replaced their sense of sight could not find him fast enough.

‘Who comes?' they cried again. ‘Defiler! Defiler!'

As with the great chapter house of Verlamion, the stones of the cloister floor were carved with skulls and bones. Under them, Will knew, lay the remains of those who had lived and died in this dismal college over many centuries. Fear of death lay at the empty, white heart of the Fellowship. That was what Gwydion always said. Fear of death and the great entrapping lie that there was a way for mortal men to live forever.

He felt the idea inspire him. It seemed that he stood on the verge of a great insight, a vital discovery that could save all mankind. Glittering confidence welled up inside him once more, supreme self-belief, seemingly as elemental as the tide, yet groundless. He yelled, burst along the passageway, charged two of the Fellows aside, ran towards the stairhead. There he leapt a barrier of old bell-rope and, as he wrenched open the cellar door, he looked around.

Though the Fellows held out grasping hands, they no longer dared follow him. It was as if he had passed some limit beyond which they were forbidden to go.

Under his feet here, the stone flags were plain, the walls unadorned by any sign or symbol. This part of Delamprey still belonged to the king, and had not been dedicated to the Fellowship. Perhaps that was why the Fellows would go no further.

‘Ha ha hahahahahahaaa!'

He stuck out his tongue and made a gargoyle face at his pursuers. He laughed at them, taunted them. Then he threw a chair. Infuriated, one of the Fellows groped for the barrier, but then recoiled from its touch as if it had been on fire.
Obedience was ground so deeply into them that they dared not cross. They're fools who should be baited! he thought. And what fine sport it is!

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 thunderbolts? 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!'