The Giants' Dance (53 page)

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.

‘Aillse, aillse nadir erchima archaste nie!'
he commanded in the true tongue, directing the full force of the drowsing spell into the beast's beetle-black eye.
‘Musain! Nadir, codla samh agat! Deain ae!'

But the beast's scaly eyelid did not droop as he had hoped. The magic had no effect. In desperation, he jabbed his rusty bar at the gnashing teeth. The piece of vane rang against them, breaking two, three. Baron John was laughing madly. He wheeled the spiked ball of a morning star around his head and brought it down on his steed's rump. The beast spat and shrieked. And then, just as it seemed that Will must be seized in that terrible, stinking maw, a thin, green shaft appeared in the beast's left cheek.

The creature shook its head in pain and broke off the attack. Will marvelled as it lowered its head and began to claw at the side of its face, snapping off the arrow that had pierced it just a hand-span below the left eye. But even as it plucked out the shaft, another arrow appeared, trembling, in the saddle bow, then a third sailed up past the rider tearing through the skin of the creature's wing. With an enraged shout, Baron John spurred his steed upward. The beast bore down with its great crimson wings. Its powerful legs thrust upward, and with a leap the creature was airborne again, winging away towards the battle.

Will flourished his iron rod at the creature and whooped in triumph. Then he leapt to the battlements and jumped up into one of the crannies to look for Willow.

She was nowhere to be seen.

Disappointment stabbed at him, formed heavily like a stone in his heart. He looked down from the dizzy height and felt the terrible constriction that had seized him. He threw his doubts off angrily, turned back. His eyes were fixed on the departing creature. He had seen the fear that had overcome Edward's cavalry. His horses had been thrown into wild confusion. If nothing was done the queen's secret weapon – this great dragon – might yet singlehandedly turn the battle.

‘You must not attack it!' Gwydion shouted.

‘You said there were no more great dragons!' His angry accusation cut at the wizard.

But Gwydion took no hurt from it. His haggard face was alight with wonder. ‘That was no dragon, great or otherwise! He has two legs, not four. And his eyes are black not golden.'

‘Then what is he?'

‘He is
nathirfang
! A Cambray red. And I had thought the last mountain wyvern long since departed from the world!'

‘A wyvern? Why didn't you say? Look at the horses, they're terrified of it!'

‘No horse would ever obey its rider in sight of a wyvern!'

Will tore his way angrily through the shattered ironwork. The reason his magic had failed was because he had not applied the true name of the beast. He gathered himself up and danced amid the rubble, drawing together the full store of power that his words and gestures would direct. He cast the spell then, a spell more powerful than any he had cast before. A bolt of bright, green fire formed in his palms. It burned hard, rushed in the wake of the wyvern, catching it hard under the wing, flashing like the sun on water. The blast felled it like a hunter's arrow loosed to bring down a fowl in flight. It gave a lurch, its wings crumpled, and it crashed to the ground on the far bank of the
river, rolling over and over in a tumble of wings and tail.

Will, amazed at what he had done, looked at his hands as if they were someone else's. ‘Yaaaah!'

‘You shouldn't have done that!' Gwydion said. The golden fetterlocks jangled on his wrists.

Will thrust the wizard away. ‘If not I, then who? Gwydion, do not lecture me when I have the power and you do not!'

He returned his gaze to the wrecked beast, saw that it lay in a heap, unmoving. The rider had been thrown clear. Baron John was crawling in the grass. Will wondered coldly if he had killed the wyvern, and whether he ought to send another bolt to incinerate it. One more bolt would be a mercy if it finished the beast's insane owner at the same time. But there was no chance to think further about Mad John, for Will's green ray had been noted, and now a spinning ball of purple fire came roaring up from the Hardingstones in answer.

‘Look out!' Gwydion shouted.

Will turned towards the danger, but the wizard leapt up and hauled him down. Then the air boiled with violet fire as the bolt slammed into the south-west corner of the tower where he had been standing. It blasted another shower of masonry and dust over them, but the flame did not connect.

Gwydion coughed and muttered, ‘What I meant to say was do
not
look out. What confusions the common parlance has in it these days!'

Will spat the dust from his mouth. ‘I knew what you meant!'

‘You have angered Maskull,' Gwydion warned as he crawled away. ‘I said you would.'

‘If I did, then I'm glad! Let him do his worst!' He jumped to his feet and waved a fist at the enemy from the battlement's edge.

‘Get away from there, you fool!'

‘Do you hear me, Maskull? Do your worst!'

‘You will not say that when his next thunderbolt hits!'

‘I don't mean to be here!' He grabbed the wizard by the golden chain that dangled from his cuff, and yanked. ‘Come on! Follow me down. I have some hard questions to ask you. Questions you're not going to want to answer!'

Will flung himself into the narrow stairwell, thrusting his left shoulder forward in the rightward-turning hole. In that steep, dark descent he was unable to see where his feet were going, or to find enough room for his heels on the narrow treads. His fingers felt along the rough stone of the wall and his forehead scraped and bumped on the crumbling mortar overhead. He feared the sudden thrust of iron up into his belly as armed men rushed up at them, but then he realized that the banging he could hear below meant that the Fellows were still trying to open the door.

A sudden ripping of air made him flinch. There was a tremendous whoosh as all his breath seemed to be sucked from him. Everything shook. Dust and pebbles fell as the stairwell lit purple. But it was the last thunderbolt to come from Maskull's hand. They had clattered down the tower one storey and had come to the tiny landing where an arrow-slit gave out onto the scene of battle. They paused, gasping for breath. Then Gwydion asked, ‘Is the harm from the stone now in full spate?'