Whitemantle (38 page)

Will dropped down and crawled in the frozen meadow mud, feeling with his fingers for the horses’ prints, determining their speed and direction. Jasper’s baggage train had probably been seized intact, and sent to join up with Edward’s own. Will felt crushing desperation when he thought of how this war had grown stealthily upon the Realm, bursting at last like a plague-filled pustule. And the one who had been meant to stop it – at least if prophecy was to be believed – had utterly failed.

It seemed to be the saddest truth that the more one learned about the world the less there was to like about men. As Gwydion had once taught him, there was no evil in the natural world; nothing was evil except that men made it so. How, then, to stop from falling into a grotesque dislike of all things that men did? Will fixed his mind on his friends and reminded himself that there was more kindness in men than there was harm. That had to be grasped and resolutely borne in mind.

As the midnight hour approached, Will thought he had come far enough from the battlefield and from the ligns to refresh himself once more. Here, surely, he could rely on untainted earth power. But it was no good. There was still a lingering echo of fear in the land, and twice more he came across cold corpses. One wretch was dead in a ditch, but it was the second that struck Will with a bolt of panic fear, for the body sat upright in the main road, open-eyed, though stiff and naked and drenched in congealed blood.

Will howled at the sight, his flight fired at first by fear, but then by despair or something like it. He stumbled on, haunted by the hooting of owls, until his feet hurt and his
lungs felt as if they were bursting. Then he tripped and fell, and he lay on his back in the empty road, feeling ready to melt down into the earth.

The moon was nearly gone now, setting in the west, and here he was, alone and half mad and fleeing from dead men in the dark. But then he thought of Lotan’s nature, indomitable and steady like a bear, and he took courage.

He had travelled fully two leagues since the bridge, and maybe two more along a road to the south would bring him to the ancient city of Erewan. Edward had good reason to enter Erewan, for it was a populous place friendly to the Ebor cause and there was food and drink to be found. It also had a large brownstone chapter house, the main counting house of the earldom, where Ebor promises could be redeemed in coin. Edward’s army must have gone there. And so Gwydion must have taken Willow and Gort there. And so therefore, that’s where he would go.

Will told himself that he could easily reach Erewan before first light, but long ago the Conqueror’s heirs had girded the city with walls, and the gates would not be opened until sunrise. The best course now was to rest. He found a place of good aspect and planted his feet, opening his mind and allowing cool power to flow into him. Afterwards, as he slowly returned to his thoughts, they seemed somehow less burdensome.

It was not long before Will came to walls that were dark and stark against the purple calm of an eastern sky. It was a freezing morning, and Ayne Gate already had many supplicants. Poor men and women waited, coughing and shuffling, beside the stock pens. Some carried loads on their backs, others sat on creaking carts. There was a knot of straggler soldiers, grim after a night of drink and wrongdoing. Their auras were ragged and brown and Will could smell shame about them, for there was blood on their hands. On the far side of the gatehouse there were four or five
Fellows, cloak-wrapped and waiting silently in the shadows. Will wondered why they were not at the Nickel Gate, which led more directly to the great counting house and the Elder’s palace which took pride of place along the banks of the River Whye.

At last there came the noise of the gate-bars being slid out of their irons. The gates were swung open. Four gatemen and a sergeant each in plumed hats watched the motley host shuffle into the city. Some gruff greetings passed, but they stopped no one. These men also seemed to have had a hard night, and Will saw that this was no ordinary morning. A duke and his victorious army had come to town.

The Ayne was lined on each side with carts. Every inn and tavern billet, every house and stable, would be packed with snoring soldiers. When Will reached the Butcher Market he saw a grand house with liveried guards standing sentry. The house was thrice-gabled and set with costly leaded lights and the plaster panels between its sturdy oak timbers were lime-washed white and embossed with symbols of prosperity. The city’s wealthiest merchant, it seemed, had taken the opportunity to put himself at the victor’s service.

‘Will!’

He turned as a grey shadow dashed from the roadside and clung to him. He enfolded his wife in his arms and closed his eyes, knowing before even the blur of her cloak had registered who she was.

‘I knew you’d be all right,’ Willow said, sounding more relieved than convinced. ‘I knew you would. All of this can’t be for nothing. Can it?’

He hung onto her wordlessly for what seemed like an age, wondering how to untie his tongue. At last he managed, ‘I only got to the battlefield after the fight. I can’t deny that I was worried about you.’ He stared at her. ‘I…’

There were tears in her eyes. ‘Chlu?’

He nodded. ‘We fought. I couldn’t tame him.’

‘But you knew to come here. You knew that.’

‘Oh, yes. I knew.’ He kissed her and waited for the emotion to flush through him and run to ground. ‘How long have you waited here?’

‘All night. I couldn’t sleep.’

‘I should have told you…’ he blethered. ‘I’ve seen the truth. I know what I am. I should have told you sooner. I’m not what you think.’

‘I know what you are,’ she said, looking him in the eye as if she had already worked out what he was going to say. ‘Do you think I’d be here if I didn’t?’

‘But you don’t understand. I’m not a man. I’m not whole, just an aspect. I’m what happens when magic splits a man.’

‘Will.’ She said it very deliberately. ‘It doesn’t matter. None of that matters to me.’

‘But it does to me…I—’

‘Will –
it doesn’t matter.
Not now. Not ever. You are what you are. And whatever you are, I love you.’

‘Look at you!’ he said, fighting back the tears. There was pure love in her eyes, and he saw how worried she must have been. ‘You’re perishing cold! You waited all night for me? Even when the gates were shut?’

She squeezed him. ‘I knew you’d come. You’re my man.’

‘Well, whatever I am, I don’t suppose you know where a breakfast may be had? I could eat a horse.’

As they hurried to their lodgings, Willow poured out the story of what had happened. ‘Master Gwydion did what he could with that cold-hearted stone, but there was no stopping it. I don’t know what kind of malice the fae filled it with, but it felt like revenge to me. Every man out there under the Ebor banner was screaming for blood. And every one of them went to their work with a will.’

‘Did Maskull turn up?’

She darkened. ‘No. The whole plan was a wash-out. And after I got all fired up again to do my best against him.’

‘You’d better thank the stars above that he didn’t come. Though I didn’t think he would.’

She showed her surprise. ‘Didn’t you?’

He told her what had happened on Cullee Hill, then added, ‘So you see, with Chlu using the very same trick that we were planning to pull on Maskull, I couldn’t help thinking that something had gone very seriously wrong along the way.’

‘So you already know…’ She stopped and began to feel at the seams of his clothes.

‘Know what? What are you doing?’

‘Looking for that Fellowship button. The one that knave Lotan gave to you.’

He stared at her. ‘Knave? What do you mean?’

‘Oh, you’ll soon see how he’s betrayed us,’ she said with uncommon disgust. ‘Where is it?’

‘Here.’ Will produced the golden disc from his pouch. She took it and dropped it in the scrip of the nearest beggar, whose look of astonishment was quickly followed by his rapid withdrawal.

‘That’s got rid of that!’

He took her wrist. ‘Do you mind explaining?’

‘Oh, Will, I know you won’t want to believe it any more than I did, but that so-called friend of ours – well, he’s turned out to be a bad one after all.’

‘Lotan? I don’t believe it…’

‘You’d better. And after all we did for him. Master Gwydion really was right about him all along.’

Will was incredulous. ‘But what happened?’ Suddenly something smelled of rotten dealings. Gwydion. Despite his promise to treat Lotan with respect, had he forced him out?

‘You’d better tell me what’s what before we go any further.’

‘When you didn’t come back and the battle was just about to start up, Lotan went to Master Gwydion and
admitted everything. He told him how he had been working for the Fellowship all along.’

‘Lotan said
that
?’ He blinked in shock. It was almost too much to take in.

‘I was there, Will. I heard him with my own ears. He said how he’d been sent to track you, how he’d wormed his way into our company. Then he threw himself on Master Gwydion’s mercy.’

Will blew out a long breath. ‘He said all that of his own accord?’

‘That and more. He’s been reporting all our doings right back to the Sightless Ones.’

‘But I can’t believe it.’

‘And Lotan was reporting to Maskull too.’ Willow’s eyes flickered. ‘He told us that Maskull and the red hands have common cause now. The sorcerer’s secretly in league with them.’

‘What did Master Gwydion do to him?’

‘Nothing. He just sent him away.’

‘What?’

Willow sighed. ‘I know. It’s not the punishment I wanted to mete out to him, I can tell you.’

Will was dazed, but more by disappointment than any other emotion. He said slowly, ‘You know, part of me found it hard to believe that Lotan could have survived when he attacked Maskull on Awakenfield bridge with only a sword in his hand. Master Gwydion warned me that Maskull’s magic might be letting him see all that passed before Lotan’s new eyes – I didn’t want that to be true, and so I wouldn’t listen. But it was true after all.’

‘It’s all my fault,’ Willow said, shame-faced. ‘You were angry with me for using Maskull’s medicines to restore Lotan’s sight. It was Lotan who suggested it. He played on my pity, and he was working for Maskull and the red hands all the time. He was sending messages back to the Spire as
regular as clockwork. He even gave you that golden button so his masters could track you.’

‘But I felt no red hand magic on that gold. It was clean, or I’d never have taken it.’

‘Master Gwydion says it’s very unusual gold, taken long ago from one of the Hallows and hoarded by the Sightless Ones as a special treasure. Nothing sticks to it. You wouldn’t have known a thing.’

Will put his face in his hands and let out a long breath. ‘Oh, Lotan,’ he said finally. ‘How could you?’

As they came to an alley, Willow turned up it, but Will stopped dead. His mind was whirling. Lotan, a traitor? Could it be that he was so fine a liar? Or was this how a wizard failed, collapsing into suspicion and deceit and plotting against true friends? Surely there was more to this than met the eye.

‘Willow, did you actually hear Lotan make his admission?’

‘I told you. I saw the whole thing. I was as close to him then as I am to you now.’

It felt like the death of a friend. ‘But did he…did the admission seem to be made of his own accord? Or did Master Gwydion have to badger it out of him?’

‘I know it’s hard to accept, but that’s the way it was.’ She looked anxious as she tried to drag him onward. ‘Come on, Will, this is no place to linger.’

The tower of the counting house rose above the thatches on the far side of the Butcher Market. It had no tall spire, but four small spines and each of them was topped with a vane that was, even now, whirling out messages to unseen watchers in each of the four directions. Here where the road forked, overseeing the market, the Sightless Ones had erected one of their stone monuments. This one was six-sided, a series of steps that rose up to a central pillar. Around that pillar many a votive candle burned, and at its foot a
woman knelt. She was weeping, mad with grief. Then Will saw the object of her torment. On top, spiked so it could not fall, was a head, white-haired and bearded. It had once belonged to Owain of Cambray.

‘By the moon and stars!’

Willow took his arm. ‘Come on, Will. Don’t look at it.’

‘Oh, Willow, my darling girl,’ he muttered, turning. ‘When will this ever end?’

‘Ten noble prisoners were beheaded. One after the other,’ Gwydion told him as they prepared to eat. ‘And last of all was Jasper of Pendrake’s father. Until they tore the shirt from his back he never lost faith that his son would ransom him.’

‘Those gentler days are gone,’ Willow said flatly.

‘But Jasper escaped?’ Will asked, grateful for a small crumb of hope, though he could hardly keep the reproach from his voice.

‘He was not taken.’

‘Couldn’t you have stopped that despicable act of revenge at least?’

‘I cannot change the minds of those who choose not to hear me. It presently seems to Edward the most fitting thing in the world to strike off the heads of captured opponents. And you must admit that his reasoning is impeccable: a father’s head for a father’s head. What arithmetic could be simpler than that?’

Will closed his eyes. ‘And that’s the way it carries on and on. What fools men are!’

‘Have you only just realized that?’ Willow said.

The wizard got up and left them, darkly preoccupied.

Will sat down with Gort and Willow and, as he wolfed some bread and cheese, he reflected on what the others told him. Edward would not see the wizard: he had issued orders that the ‘conjuror’ be shot at if he should try to make any approach.

‘Don’t blame Master Gwydion, Will,’ Gort said. ‘It’s this changing world. They don’t listen to him any more. None of them do.’

A sudden clanking noise out in the Butcher Market drew their attention, and then Gwydion reappeared, standing at the open door. He beckoned to Will. ‘Edward is preparing to leave. But first there is something he feels he must do.’

The clanking came again. It was the sound of hammers and chisels breaking a block.