Whitemantle (23 page)

But Will was sure there was something in the way the ligns connected that reminded him of something.

They slept soon afterwards, Will fitfully, plagued by vile dreams that harried his mind. Lotan’s gold token had not helped ward off the pain in any way, but the kindness of his having offered it nevertheless warmed Will’s heart.

Early the next morning they saw Morann quit the camp and ride on ahead. The loremaster did not pause to say where he was going, and neither Gort nor Gwydion would
admit they knew. As the rest of them packed up and prepared to leave, Will bit his tongue, though he could not help but press the point once they had passed Wetamsted.

‘Morann has business of his own,’ was all the wizard would say. ‘He did not tell me where he was going.’

‘Do you know where I think
we
should go?’ Will said.

Gwydion looked askance at him. ‘Up the Great North Road, I presume.’

‘Or wherever else the duke leads us – or is himself led.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because the Great North Road runs alongside two ligns at least. Celin and Collen – holly and hazel. They sit side by side just as rowan and yew do, but whereas those ligns run a little north of west from here, holly and hazel run a little west of north. I think Edward was being drawn into the west along the Wartling to Ludford. Whatever his reasons – or whatever he thinks are his reasons – this is surely the lorc’s doing. For a certainty, Edward’s father rides into the north and to his death.’

The wizard thought about that, then offered a contrary smile. ‘So it is along two ligns we must go, eh? Well, that should make for an enjoyable ride. I have no love for Slaver roads, and the Great North Road follows several of them.’

Will knew that the Slavers had built their roads as straight as the land allowed. They had been set in place to cut the Realm into shards and so destroy the power of the lorc, but there had been another, more practical reason – Slaver roads aided the swift deployment of their legions from one stone fortress to another. They were the quickest way to move troops.

‘It was always their aim to make the Realm into one great farm,’ the wizard said. ‘And to turn all the people into either field slaves or tax gatherers.’

Will murmured half to himself, ‘I wonder if the duke will go to Foderingham on the way north.’

‘Foderingham? I do not think Friend Richard will be calling halts for old times’ sake.’

‘He might overnight there. It will be his last chance.’

‘He will not go near the Dragon Stone, and nor should we.’

‘And what if the duke, in his wisdom, decides otherwise?’

Gwydion scowled. ‘He will not.’

‘He’s taken no notice of your other warnings. Nor has he heeded Mother Brig’s prophecy.’

‘He has become very bone-headed lately.’

‘But have you thought about this, Master Gwydion: what if he tries to use the Dragon Stone to coerce you into helping him against the queen?’

‘Then he will burn his fingers.’

‘It’s not his fault,’ Will said, unsatisfied. ‘If I’m right, his stupid choices have all been made because of the draining away of magic. Or as I suppose we ought now to think of it, the turning of our world into a different one.’

‘As the lorc awakens, Willand, so do you it seems.’

‘Is that any surprise to you? We’ve been made by the same fae magic, the lorc and I.’

Will fell silent then as they rode on past Ayot. By Baldock the grey afternoon dipped suddenly into darkness. They were making better time now towards Ivelswade, and Will fancied that the shortness of the day this close to the winter solstice would bother the duke more than it bothered his pursuers.

When they reached the River Ivel they made camp, but Will knew that the roaring torrent he could hear inside his head was no muddy stream but the mighty hazel lign, which lay at least a league to the west.

Once they were settled, the wizard turned to him grimly and said, ‘Have I told you about the Castle of Sundials?’

Will nodded. ‘You’ve mentioned it once or twice. Why do you ask?’

‘The duke maintains many houses – Foderingham to guard the Great North Road, Wedneslea and Sheriff Urton in the north. The Castle of Sundials stands some half dozen leagues or so to the south and east of Ebor. It belongs to the duke, but is kept by Braye, who is a master of sky lore.’

‘Old Father Time?’ Will mused, seating himself comfortably in the tent. ‘It’s said that he has a profound knowledge of the stars and what their movements portend. Gort once told me that his castle is filled with great machines of iron and brass, toothed wheels that measure out time and track the paths of the sun and moon and all the wandering stars.’

‘That is so. Braye is an irascible man who ill fits our world. Many years ago his nose was struck off in a swordfight. Since then he has worn a false one made of silver. He has a favourite rede – “History repeateth.” So if you value your good looks, you will not argue with him.’

‘And you think the duke is heading there?’ Will asked, wondering if Duke Richard had thought of using the Lord Keeper’s knowledge of the mysteries of time to somehow wind back the queen’s advance. Will thought of the way the duke had tried so often before to wring advantage from magic. ‘Surely, if Richard wanted to tamper with the flow of events, he would be better off going to the source at Rucke. If he were to put the needlewomen of Rucke to the sword it would stop everything dead – or so the legend says.’

Gwydion gave him a thoughtful look. ‘Legend, you say? Is that what it has become. But there is no need to worry, the idea will not occur to him.’

Will’s irritation surfaced. ‘I hope you’re right.’

‘I do not think anything quite so final as an end-game is yet in Friend Richard’s mind. He is a soldier, remember, not a philosopher. He wants to win the game, not throw the chessboard over. He will want to garrison the Castle of
Sundials if the queen has taken up residence in the city of Ebor, and he will want to do it for purely strategic reasons.’

Will nodded, happier now. ‘That’s just as well, for his army is too small to fight a pitched battle against Mag. But from the sound of it, the Castle of Sundials isn’t an ideal fortress.’

‘As ever the future is taking care of itself.’ Gwydion looked up as a heavy patter of rain blew against the canvas and the candle flames that lit the tent shivered. ‘As Braye will no doubt tell you himself soon, our todays are little more than yesterday’s tomorrows.’

‘Yes,’ Will said dismally. ‘Or tomorrow’s yesterdays, depending on how you choose to think about them.’

T
he Castle of Sundials lay some sixty leagues to the north of Trinovant as the crow flies, but Will’s party could not travel so straight. After Iverswade they rode on to Buckden and then to Sawtree, and Will felt an increasing sense of fear. The few folk they encountered were watchful, wondering at their muddied horses and suspicious about what errand could have sent them abroad. Skinny dogs barked at them as they passed, and Will saw only empty fields and many a cottage that had been burned or broken. Some villages had been barred against strangers, and what little news there was spoke of bands of roving outlaws preying on whoever dared to use the road.

In the middle of the afternoon a quantity of blood began to pour from Will’s nose and, at the same time, his grey mount took a sudden fright and bolted, throwing him to the ground.

Lotan dashed to the place where he fell, gathered him up and rode hard for the best part of half a league until the ill effects began to wear off.

‘Indonen…’ Will gasped as he woke up. ‘Tell Master Gwydion. It’s the lign of the ash and it’s running very strongly.’

‘What was it?’ the wizard asked as he came up. ‘Tell me!’

‘A couple of stones,’ he said, shaking his head.

‘Two? How far?’

‘Along Indonen, but before it reaches Delamprey. Where Indonen crosses with Celin and Collen, I should think.’

‘Is their time come?’

Will’s arm and shoulder had been bruised in the fall. He knew he could have easily broken his neck. As it was, his face and hair were crimson with blood despite Lotan’s best efforts at cleaning him up, and he was covered in filth.

‘Willand! The stones! Is their time come?’

‘I don’t know…’

‘You must open your mind!’

‘They all…they all seem ready to burst to me.’

Gort closed on the wizard and steered him away. Willow picked Will up and tended his grazes.

‘I’m all right.’

‘You’re not all right. Look at you. You mustn’t let him drive you like that!’

‘He’s been driving me all my life.’

‘Then it’s time you took control.’

‘Let me be, will you?’ He pulled his arm away from her angrily, but the pain made him wince. ‘Everybody is always telling me what to do!’

Later that day they pushed on harder through the churning mud, sometimes closing on the hazel lign, sometimes drawing further away from it. Always they followed the tracks of the duke’s army into the north. At one point the road turned sharply westward and Will saw that it altered course to follow a river, a river which Gwydion said he ought to be able to recognize.

They forded the river at Warm, and Will realized that it must be the Neane, and that to the east lay the Great Deeping Fen. The tales he had heard about the hags and water drakes that inhabited the mires there ran through his
thoughts as they made the crossing, and he saw a dark shape flash briefly silver in the shallows and stir up the surface.

‘Did you see that?’ Gort said, excited. ‘It was a big one.’

‘If my new eyes do not deceive me,’ Lotan said, ‘that was a salmon.’

And Will knew, without any doubt, that this was the same fish that had escaped his grasp in the retting pond at Harleston months before, the one that had made itself out of his green talisman and Chlu’s red one. Somehow it had got into the Neane and was now heading for the open sea.

What does
that
mean? he wondered, staring as if in a trance at the water.

For the rest of the day, dark thoughts occupied his mind. He could feel the moon and sun ruling him as they always did. The phase of the moon was vital, or more exactly the continually changing angle that the sun made with the moon as it swung about the world. The sky ruled him as it ruled the tides. His mood became feverish, leaving him at times hovering on the edge of awareness. What significance, if any, did the salmon carry? Had the remade creature been drawn to him? Had it perhaps been drawn to Chlu when he had passed through here on his own journey north?

Then the two puzzles came together in his mind in a jarring flash and suddenly both were solved. ‘I recognize it, Master Gwydion,’ he babbled, his eyes burning. ‘Do you remember the fish talisman I used to wear…engraved on the fish was a device that showed three triangles set one within another…Chlu’s red fish had the same mark…the pattern is that of the lorc!’

‘Shhh…’ the wizard said.

‘You must believe me! I see it clear now!’

‘Hush! I believe you, but it is a discovery best kept to yourself. Is Chlu near?’

Fragile as he was, Will nevertheless dared to open his mind a little. It was dangerous so close to the fast-rushing lign, and induced in him profound feelings of vertigo. Nor was there any reward for his efforts, for if Chlu was nearby then Will’s mind was not able to reach him.

‘No Chlu…’ he said, drifting again. But this time a warm glow shone in his eyes like a sunset, for the revelation had been tremendous – three triangles, set one within another, and all the battlestones sited at the corners and along the edges of those triangles! It was astonishing, but true.

A dull day turned duller as the mists closed in. Drifting wisps crossed the track and lit Saint Elmo’s fires in the distance. All that filled his head was the lulling slush-slush of hooves in mud and the jarring unevenness as the horses picked their way forward.

They had now come further north than Foderingham, and Will’s ideas about visiting the castle which had once been his home had blown away like autumn leaves. Gwydion was right, he thought. It’s no good thinking about the Dragon Stone. There are so many others still in the ground, it’s the least of our worries.

All afternoon they came upon stragglers from the duke’s army – a cart with a broken axle, soldiers who had injured themselves while hunting or foraging for food. Gwydion questioned them while Gort laid healing hands upon them. Progress was not as bad as Will had imagined. He was pleased to find that the army was not too far ahead. They were gaining on it The duke had crossed the Stammer Stream at dawn the day before.

After an arduous afternoon, they overnighted at Burghlea Martin, near Stammerford. There was a mean farmstead there that Gwydion knew which belonged to a pig farmer by the name of John Sisil. He gladly let them stay, fried them thick rashers of bacon, and for his trouble received
wizardly blessings. The first was a pentacle chalked by Gwydion on his threshold stone, the second a sign made upon his baby boy’s head as the party readied to leave in the moist and misty morning.

‘That’s a trade in magic,’ Willow warned, as they rode away.

‘Not so,’ the wizard told her.

‘Get on with you – it’s just as if you’d paid him in coin!’

‘How? I agreed nothing with him beforehand. I have taken an interest in his family since before they came from the Earldom of Erewan. They are the sort of people who, when they see a need, will make an offer of help.’

‘But he expected a blessing from you from the start. I saw the anticipation of it in his eyes. You protected his child and his cottage in payment for eggs and bacon.’

‘You are mistaken.’

‘I don’t think so. He’d have been disappointed if you’d not given his son some advantage.’

The wizard huffed. ‘If that is the case then the blessing will not help him, for that is how blessings work: in strict proportion to need, and somewhat inversely to desire. Mark my words, the Sisils will never amount to much in this world by the measure of some men’s standards. They will never be lords or leaders or landowners, but they will cure excellent ham and be loved for it hereabouts for many generations to come, and what is more they will be content with that, which is a blessing indeed.’

As Willow fell silent, Will despaired privately, for he had begun to see how, in the terrible world that was coming, the worth of a man would henceforth be measured in ways that were themselves worthless. He tried to imagine what kind of a world it would be if all reward was to be offered in silver alone, if all other marks of respect were made subordinate to coin. The thought of that kind of world appalled him, and he pledged himself once more to temper
his steel and do what he could to avert the dreadful collision that was coming.

But what could be done? They were a pitiful band of beggars, disregarded, ignored now even by their friends, and so, it seemed, doomed to fail. Even his revelation about the pattern of the battlestones seemed worthless, for what good could it do?

‘This is the Slaver road called the Emin Strete,’ Gwydion said darkly as they passed through Stammerford early the next day. ‘It looks to me as if the duke has picked up only a few men on his march. He must have hoped more would flock to him as he went along.’

‘They’re too wise around these parts to heed such a call,’ Will said, but he knew that the song of the lorc would eventually be too powerful even for the strongest of minds.

They had not been riding for even an hour before the birdsong ceased and dark woodland began to crowd in around the road and the world became a green tunnel that made Will deeply uneasy.

A fresh bout of sickness engulfed him, and though he waved Willow away he almost fell from his horse once more.

Willow steadied him. ‘Come on, Will! Back the way we came.’

‘Again?’ Gwydion asked. ‘What potions have you been giving him, Wortmaster?’

‘Me?’ Gort said, indignant. ‘It’s nothing to do with my healing, I’m sure of that!’

Gwydion grabbed the reins of Will’s horse. ‘It cannot be a lign! Not here. Surely Collen is still more than a league to the west. Something else must ail him.’

‘Perhaps it’s the phase of the moon,’ Gort suggested. ‘You know how susceptible our friend can be to its silvery influence at times, hmmm?’

‘We have to find another way through Tickencote Oaks,’ Will gasped. ‘The forest is alight! The road is blocked!’

‘The forest is
alight
?‘ Gort echoed.

‘Blocked?’ Gwydion demanded. ‘By what?’

‘Leave him alone, Master Gwydion!’ Willow cried, kicking her horse forward. ‘Can’t you see he’s ill?’

‘The…stone,’ Will murmured.

The wizard fumed. ‘But how can there be a stone so far from a lign? It makes no sense!’

But when Will raised his head blood began to well from his eyes like tears, and even the wizard recoiled from the sight of him.

Now Lotan took up the burden and helped to get him off the road, leading him over old rabbit warrens and around the woods. No one saw anything untoward, no fire, no danger. Nothing.

But lights burned in the mists of Will’s befuddled brain. He called out to Saint Elmo and asked why he had set the forest blazing. Angels, saints and seraphim swarmed in the air, closing in on him before they froze into a grotesque painted ceiling that cracked like an eggshell and fell down on him. And there, flooded in the excruciating light of the Beyond, the eye-burning brilliance, the undeniable flame. It was terrible, and he knew its name.

He screamed and screamed, for he saw that his end was coming, and this time he understood it as clear as day. He had been born in flame and fire, he had exploded into the world, to live the life of a man, to toil and to love and to know joy and sorrow, but his end was coming, and coming soon. It would not be long now. He would explode out of the world just as he had exploded into it. He would echo away into cold and darkness and be gone from all things and nothing would remain of him but a memory in the minds of those who laboured on…

And in Will’s own mind there was the running of cool water in river shallows, and a grey salmon surging from sight – grey, yet shimmering green on one side and red on
the other. It swam towards the depthless ocean, showing him the way home.

‘Well, there it is…’ Gwydion was saying.

The wizard was shading his eyes, staring at something hundreds of paces away: a pall of smoke over the trees. The smell of burning was in the air, like the thatch of a village that had been put to the sword, like the stink of a skyblasted oak. Gwydion’s robes were scorched, his beard singed. He had been among the flames.

Will groaned. Willow held him, smiled, put a hand to his cheek then looked up at the wizard. ‘He’s with us again.’

‘You were right.’ Gwydion knelt over him. ‘It was a stone.’

‘You went there?’ he asked, horrified.

‘I have…dealt with it.’

‘Then it was a guide stone, a minor one.’

The wizard cracked a smile. ‘It was a battlestone. But I bound what remained of it.’

‘It wasn’t on a lign. Not quite,’ Will said, levering himself up. ‘Where does that leave us?’

Gwydion shook his head. ‘Are you forgetting about the battle on Blow Heath? That was fought after we carried a bound battlestone twenty leagues and more north from its burial place. This one was brought here from the hamlet of Empingham. Our example was noted by someone.’

‘Who?’ Will’s question hung in the air.

‘Who do you suppose?’

‘This can only be Maskull’s doing.’

‘My conjecture is that he found the stone on the Collen lign, dug it up and carried it eastward a league or so to the road.’

‘An ambush for the duke’s army?’ Willow asked, unsure.

‘A trap. Perhaps meant for Friend Richard, perhaps for others.’

‘Us,’ Will said, getting unsteadily to his feet. ‘He must
have used Chlu to find the battlestone. He must know we’re following the duke.’

Gwydion turned away. ‘If Maskull’s firework was meant for either target, it has failed him. It burst too late for Friend Richard and too soon for us. I now have some account of his methods, at least, and perhaps some notion of his limits. He has outreached his skill – he cannot yet make the battlestones dance exactly in time to his tune.’

Will wiped his lips. ‘What did you see in Tickencote Oaks?’

Gwydion would not answer but moved away, saying, as if it pained him, ‘There is no virtue in speaking of it now.’

Will looked to Gort, who shook his head. He knew when to let a matter be.

When Will went over to Lotan and thanked him for his timely work, the big man was awkward taking praise. ‘I did what I could.’

Will flashed a glance towards the wizard. ‘What happened out there? What did he do?’