Whitemantle (2 page)

At Aubrey End Will announced that he could feel the presence of a green lane. The flow of earth power was strong in the soil and Gwydion marked the place with his sigil in the bole of a tree. The lign tasted, Will said, like that of the elder, and Gwydion said that, unless he was very much mistaken, they would soon cross the lign of the rowan too, and this they did before they had gone another league.

Will looked along the lign and knew it for the same stream of dark power that flowed through Ludford, many leagues to the west. And when he looked eastward he knew they could be no more than a couple of leagues west of Verlamion. A shiver passed through him. Gwydion had said that the Elders of the great chapter house there would stop at nothing to bring to book the defiler who had cracked their Doomstone. Will had not cared that it had turned out to be none other than the lid that sealed the tomb of their revered Founder. He had only wanted to break the lorc’s stony heart that day, and he had saved many a life by his actions.

They came to the banks of the River Gadden well before noon. It was here that Will felt yet another lign prickle his skin. This one was fainter and harder to follow, but it seemed to trend a little south of east, much as the rowan lign had. There was no doubt in Will’s mind that it was the yew lign, the same that passed close by the Vale.

‘Keep up!’ Gwydion called back, flicking the reins of his horse.

‘Master Gwydion, I can feel the Eburos lign.’

‘What of it?’

‘Nothing – except I thought it was our task to find more battlestones.’

‘There is no time to tarry at present. We must reach Trinovant before nightfall!’

‘Then ride on ahead of us!’ Will told him. ‘We’ve a young child to consider. And this old nag’s already tired out.’

The wizard waited for them to draw abreast. ‘I would rather you came along with me,’ he said with exaggerated patience. ‘This is not a safe time for anyone to be on the road. News of the battle has yet to reach these parts and there will be much uncertainty in men’s hearts.’

Will saw that Gwydion’s impatience was unsettling his horse. It had soon taken him fifty paces ahead and was champing to get on further still.

Willow watched the wizard with concern. ‘He’s getting grumpier by the hour,’ she whispered. ‘I hope he’s all right.’

‘He’s worried. And is it any wonder, when things have gone so far astray?’

He partly meant their quest to rid the Realm of battlestones, but he was also thinking of the unspeakable bloodshed that had followed the fight at Delamprey. While a greater battle had been narrowly prevented, the murder of so many noble prisoners at Lord Warrewyk’s hands had blighted the victory. Will was sure that act had sown the seeds of revenge – seeds that must eventually be reaped as a yet bloodier harvest.

So far as the battlestones were concerned, the loss of Will’s talisman had been an even greater blow, for it was the only real weapon they had ever possessed. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed that Gwydion was right – Maskull
had
finally gained the upper hand.

‘And you can cheer up, too!’ Willow said. ‘Things might have gone a lot worse for us. That loathsome woman – I
won’t dignify her with the title of queen – is running away into the north with what’s left of her friends. Things look set for a change at last, and probably a change for the better.’

‘Maybe. But Master Gwydion once told me to remember that we’re peacemakers – we shouldn’t be feeling pleased that Duke Richard’s forces won at Delamprey, even though he’s been a better friend to us than his enemies ever have. The balance has been shifted again, and that’s the important thing.’

Willow settled Bethe in a more comfortable position in front of her. ‘I don’t see why we shouldn’t feel happy for the duke. We lived among his household. You were even schooled with his sons. Duchess Cicely helped my father and me when she might have sent us back to face Lord Strange’s displeasure. And she looked after Bethe as if she was one of her own.’

He sighed, trying to see how best to put it. ‘I’m not saying Duke Richard isn’t a good man at heart. He’s probably better than most, but he’s human like us all, and—’

Willow grunted. ‘And
what?
When fighting against him is that she-wolf who cares nothing for nobody. Tell me where’s our loyalty supposed to lie?’

‘You just have to try to see things more broadly. That’s what Master Gwydion means.’

‘Oh, is
that
it?’

Will sucked his teeth. He saw the way his infant daughter’s eyes swept across the land, drinking in everything they noticed, delighting in every bird and squirrel she saw. Her expressions were so much like her mother’s, and yet Willow said they were exactly like his own.

‘It’s got something to do with the way the past gets made out of the future,’ he said. ‘There’s the future where all is uncertain and yet to be fixed, and there’s the past, where all is done and cannot be undone. But where the future
touches
the past, there’s a thin line. That’s what we call the present. That’s where we live.’

‘I see,’ she said unconvincingly.

‘And the present’s the only part we can affect with our free will, don’t you see? Because what we choose to do in the present affects the way the future is turned into the past.’

‘Well, I know
that
,’ Willow said, unimpressed. ‘That much even Bethe knows, don’t you, sweet baby?’

‘But…but the point is, Master Gwydion says there’s only one “true path”, one track through time that’s the best of all possible destinies. If everybody did what was right by everybody else then the best possible world would come about as soon as blink.’

‘You mean like it does in the Vale when everyone argues and we all somehow come to a compromise in the end?’

‘Exactly! But you see not everybody can do right because there are powerful people out here and they’ve multiplied their strength so that now most people just take orders and don’t even think about what they’re doing. And then there’s Maskull, who’s done that more than anyone. And because he’s a sorcerer that means he
understands
the harm he’s doing, which is even worse.’

Willow let it all sink in. She shook her head. ‘Then why is he doing it?’

Will shrugged. ‘He’s a renegade, a cock who thinks the sun has risen to hear him crow. He’s broken his vows of guardianship and forgotten all about humility and kindness and all the things he always said he cared about. He wants to live forever and go on and on in charge of the world, and he thinks he might have found a way to make that happen.’

‘So that’s the path he’s leading us all towards.’

‘Yes. It’s one that will reward him alone. He’s started behaving as if he’s found a way to live forever and enjoy
power forever. But to do that he needs to turn the future of the world far away from the true path. And Master Gwydion says that if we get pushed too far from the true path, then we’ll never be able to get back to it. Maskull will have won, and the world won’t ever be the same again.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘We won’t
ever
be able to get it back?’

‘No. If Maskull steers history along that terrible, false path, he’ll take us towards a world without magic – it’ll mean five hundred years of ceaseless war, and the end of the world that we know. Now you see what Master Gwydion’s really fighting for: he wants us to have the best of all possible worlds, or for us to come as close as we can to getting that. That’s why he wants us to follow the true path. It’s not all that complicated an idea in the end, but it’s hard to make it happen.’

Willow offered no reply. There was just the sound of horses’ hooves clopping along the dusty track, the buzz of flies in the hot July air and a baby gurgling to herself at all that she saw and heard.

After a while, Will said unhappily, ‘You know what? The batdestones are Maskull’s big chance. I’ve begun to see it all quite clearly now. Master Gwydion had everything going along nicely, but then the lorc awakened and the stones started the very war that Maskull needs to turn the destiny of the world to dust. While the stones stay in place they’re like rotten teeth in a jaw – there’ll be a lot of pain and suffering up and down the Realm, and that’s what Maskull needs if he’s going to work his designs. That’s why we have to root the stones out.’

Once more Will felt a pang of guilt at the way he had lost his talisman. It seemed suddenly to be a gigantic setback. He thought again of the moment when he had broken the malice of the Blood Stone at Ludford, and he was more certain than ever that he could not have done it without the green fish.

‘You told me you thought Master Gwydion was losing his powers,’ Willow said, as if reading his thoughts. ‘But it didn’t look like he was weakening last night. Lady Dudlea and her son woke up like nothing heavier than a troubled night’s sleep had lain upon them.’

Will’s gaze was fixed on the road ahead. ‘That’s true, but depetrification isn’t so difficult, and I helped him somewhat. Did you see how he milked it for all it was worth?’

‘Milked it? What do you mean?’

‘You must have noticed how he went as close as he could to trading without crossing the line. Trading magic for favours is against the redes. But he asked Lord Dudlea to change his ways while the fates of his wife and son were still in the balance. I’d call that pretty close to coercion.’

‘Oh, you’re reading too much into it.’

Will grunted. ‘Am I? Master Gwydion’s not above a little chess playing, you know. Look how he works on you and me to get his bidding done – tempting us out here, making us follow him all over the place. You shouldn’t underestimate him, you know.’

‘He’s done no such thing, Will. It was you who summoned him. And it was my choice to come with you.’

‘Oh, he makes it seem that way, but the truth is he’s a dozen times wilier than any fox.’

‘Master Gwydion can’t help it if the Vale’s become too dangerous for us to go home to. I’m just happy we’ve got somewhere else.’ She paused. ‘We
have
got somewhere else…haven’t we?’

Will sighed. ‘He told me he’s taking us to the royal palace – you can call that a home if you like, but I wouldn’t.’

‘The royal palace of the White Hall…’ Willow’s voice softened as she fussed with Bethe. ‘Just the place for King Arthur.’

He looked sideways at her and blew out his breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. ‘Master Gwydion
said that in the days of the First Men Arthur was an adventurer-chieftain, but at his second coming he was a hero-king. I wonder what the third incarnation is destined to be?’

‘Gort told me that the legend of Arthur’s return speaks of his return as a crow…’

He laughed. ‘A crow! He probably meant I’m to become a bird.’

She resisted his amusement. ‘I think Gort meant you’re to become a wizard of sorts. He said the natural talent was strong in you – and getting stronger – whereas in all the rest of the world the magic is leaking away. He says your magic feels ancient.’

He grunted. ‘Sometimes it makes me feel very old, I know that much.’

‘Is it so hard to accept, Will? Arthur’s third and final appearance as wizard-king?’ She smiled privately, then abruptly changed the subject. ‘I wonder what it’s going to be like, living in the big city.’

‘Well, I’d guess the royal palace is no better than all the other lordly houses we’ve seen – a forbidding fortress and a boast when seen from without, yet a hive of treachery within.’

‘No place to bring a baby to, then?’

That focussed him. ‘No.’

As he settled into a morose silence he thought of the battle they had succeeded in spoiling at Delamprey. Though it would be remembered as a victory for the Duke of Ebor, the duke had not even been there. The fight had been won by his son, Edward, and by his fearsome ally, Lord Warrewyk, the greatest and richest man in the Realm. In truth, though, the entire result had been secured through Will’s own efforts.

Now Duke Richard had joined his son, and the victorious army was slowly marching south towards Trinovant
where it was certain to be happily received by the townsfolk in a day or two’s time.

‘Please! Try to keep up!’ the wizard chided them.

‘We can’t go any faster, Master Gwydion!’ Will called back.

The wizard turned away, equally irritated. ‘We must reach the capital before Richard of Ebor does. You know that.’

‘But we’ll do that easily.’

‘And do you think Maskull has left no magic there? The White Tower and the White Hall will both be webbed about with all manner of mischief. I must find it and deal with it before it can bear on events. And I must find clues to the whereabouts of the secret place where he has done all his dirty work. That will be no easy task.’

Will lapsed into silence again. He had more than enough on his mind without troubling himself about Gwydion’s problems. Chlu lay heaviest upon his thoughts. It was strange to think that he had always had a brother, stranger still to know that brother was his twin, but strangest of all to find that it was Chlu who all along had been trying to kill him.

‘I must find out why, and make my peace with him if I can,’ he told Willow.

‘Some chance of that when all he wants to do is murder you. And mind what Master Gwydion said about speaking his true name. He said that if you did that you’d be destroyed.’

He shook his head. ‘He said that would happen only if I spoke Chlu’s true name as part of a spell. Don’t worry, the pronunciation is difficult, for it’s a Cambray name and the men of Cambray have their own tradition in both magic and words that is hard to approach and even harder to master. And anyway, Master Gwydion says that knowing a person’s true name always gives a measure of power over them.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t take the risk if I were you. Promise me you’ll keep away from Chlu if you can.’

‘I can’t promise that. I need to know what Maskull has done to him. Perhaps I can heal him. And perhaps in return he’ll be able to tell me what I most want to know.’

A
s they rode south, shadowing the last league of the Great North Road, they crested a heath dotted with elm trees and Trinovant began to rise up out of the afternoon haze. Will saw the dark needle of the Spire, which rose up like a crack in the sky, and the blue-grey sprawl that lay below it, sunk in summer haze.

‘The Spire contains the shrine of Ercowald,’ Gwydion said, ‘to which many pilgrims make journeys on the days when its precincts are thrown open to the ill and the dying, the lovelorn and despairing. They are given to wash in the troughs that surround the building, and perhaps make bargains of the heart with the hidden agents who speak to them persuasively from behind the iron grilles. Pilgrims come here even in freezing weather, when the ice on the troughs must be broken. On two great days in November and February there is a special ‘Day of Whipping’ in which the most committed of the Fellows go in procession through the City, beating themselves with scourges, for these are the ones that are mad beyond repair and have come to revere, and even to love, the suffering of their own flesh.’

Will felt a shiver of revulsion go through him. He looked to his wife and daughter, anxious now about the ordeal that
was soon to come. It was said that at each of the City’s seven great gates there was kept a pair of dragonets, silvery wyrms whose task it was to guard the capital. Gwydion said that in olden times they had been bred to smell out treachery, and would pick clean the ribs of anyone whom they thought unworthy to enter.

Gwydion had spoken many times of the great city of Trinovant. Often he had likened its size and power to that of Tibor, the Slaver capital of old.

‘Over the centuries this place has grown into a vast, walled capital, a city of spires and towers and palaces, of the Guild Hall and the White Tower and Corfe Gate. A sprawling, rollicking morass of people live here, huddling inside for warmth in the cold midwinter, sweltering in the sweats of high summer. It is a city of high and low, from the bright, castellated battlements of royal palaces to the crowded hovels of the poor. It is quite unlike anywhere else.’

Now, as the shadows of the elms stretched more and more, the wizard turned, pointing ahead. ‘And do you see the white heart weather vanes of the Sightless Ones? Look how they rise above the walls. Those walls that will soon pass on our right are not the walls of the City, but those of the House of Silence. Beyond it lies the College of Benedix and the glass-makers’ yards, which is another rich establishment of the Fellows…’

Will listened as Gwydion pointed out the various marvels that were to be seen as they approached the City wall proper. So much of Trinovant seemed to have burst out and overspilled into the land beyond. But these unprotected buildings were not all mean houses and trade stalls as he had thought. His eye passed along many a row of tall merchants’ houses, some of three and even four floors built right on top of each other. In the street there were all manner of people – such a flow of traffic coming in and out of the
City that Will could hardly believe there was not some special reason for it.

As they came past the great chapter house to their right, Will got his first sight of Eldersgate. It was like the gate of a great castle, all decorated with the rough likenesses of several great wyrms – the five great dragons of Umberland, Gwydion said. Their heads snarled down at them stonily.

‘What you will never see of this city are the cellars down below,’ Gwydion told them. ‘The whole place is greatly undermined. There are the secret passageways of the Guilds and many a sunless dungeon that lies beneath every lordly mansion flanking the river. There are tunnels too, linking together the many places of secret power – places like Bayard’s Castle and the Fitchet’s Den. The lords dwell there and the streets around them are wide and throng with sellers of costly wares. You will see, but first we shall pass by more humble ways, for we must go by Fish Street, Salters Ride and the Cloth Market, and so by unstraight ways to our destination, for today I must speak with Magog and Gogmagog.’

‘Magog and Gogmagog…’ Willow mused. ‘Weren’t those two the last of the giants? The ones that were put to flight by King Brea in the olden days?’

‘Put to flight? Not at all. Do you not know your own history? They were taken captive by Brea. Chained by him, then brought to his oaken palace, which was from that time onward called the White Hall.’

Will said, remembering his lordly schooling, ‘I was told by Tutor Aspall that Magog and Gogmagog were sent to the White Hall to do service as porters. Perhaps they serve King Hal still, for I don’t know how long giants live.’

Gwydion grunted. ‘Long, but not
that
long. Today’s Magog and Gogmagog are not the same as those giants of yore, yet they serve the present king after their own fashion, for today they are two great statues which stand in niches on each side of the throne. They look down upon the king’s
proceedings and call out to give warning whenever his throne is in danger.’

‘They must be crying themselves hoarse at present,’ Will muttered.

‘And so it may be for the next few months, unless I am allowed to set to work to prevent the catastrophe.’

‘What will you do?’ Willow asked.

‘Do? I must do many things. But first there is a far greater work of un-doing. As I have already told you, I must pull down the grey skeins of sorcery that festoon the White Hall. Maskull has dwelt here for many a month, and in that time he has crept over every wall and tower like a longlegged spider, spinning webs of deceit about the royal house. Those spells must be swept away before the king and his captor come to town. I must find the workshop of Maskull’s wickedness.’ He sighed and glanced to his left. ‘What say we slake our thirsts at The Bell Without?’

‘Bell without what?’ Willow asked.

‘Without its clapper, I guess,’ Will said. ‘The Fellows of the Charterhouse yonder are of the White Order, and they keep a ritual of silence.’

‘A creditable surmise, but you guess wrongly. The inn is called The Bell Without, because it is without the walls. There is another alehouse inside the City called The Bell Within.’

Will smiled at that. ‘They seem to like their drink here. That’s a good sign, at least, for those who can drink and be merry are good men indeed!’

He was pleased they were taking a rest, for his throat was dry. As he dismounted and looked around the inn yard his thoughts lingered on the captive King Hal. The queen had wrought her easy-melting king like wax, but since the fight at Delamprey, she and her allies had fled into the north to find succour and no doubt try to regroup their forces. The captured king had been invited to ride in Duke
Richard’s company. The plain truth was that the king was now as much in the duke’s power as he had once been in his wife’s.

‘What do you think Duke Richard intends?’ Will asked as they sat down. ‘Do you think he’ll play fair, or does he mean to keep the king under his thumb?’

The wizard drew a deep breath. ‘That is a most pertinent question. In truth, I am no longer able to read Friend Richard’s heart in matters of state. As for Hal, he wants little more than to be allowed to return to a scholarly cell and to peruse the parchments and papers that are his delight. But still he knows he is the king, and he may not prove as pliable to Friend Richard’s plan as the latter might wish.’

Willow frowned. ‘Do you remember what Mother Brig once told Duke Richard at the Ewle revel at Ludford all those years ago? She warned him that he’d die if ever he dared lay his hand upon the enchanted chair. Could she have meant the throne of the Realm do you think?’

The wizard became circumspect. ‘We all die – eventually.’

‘But she said more than that,’ Willow insisted. ‘She said that Duke Richard would die in his first fight after he touched the chair.’

‘You have a surpassing excellent memory, my dear.’

‘It was a surpassing memorable night, Master Gwydion. But tell us – did Mother Brig really mean the throne of the Realm? And is what she foretells bound to come to pass?’

Gwydion looked down the passageway towards the stables. ‘Brighid makes many a claim regarding future happenings. Some are important, while others are not. It is the way with seers.’

‘But all she says
does
come to pass, one way or another,’ Will said, not letting Gwydion off the hook. ‘I believe she swore a destiny upon the duke.’

But the wizard was not to be drawn further on the matter
of great prophecies. Instead he said, ‘You know, one thing has already come to pass as you foretold – Duke Richard has given the Delamprey battlestone to Edward.’

‘A gift of thanks to recognize his victory, I suppose.’

‘Indeed.’

Since the fight, the battlestone had shrunk down twice. The first time was just after pouring forth its stream of malice, when it had transformed itself into a nondescript plinth of brown ironstone incised with words that even Gwydion could not read. Later it had shrunk again, once Will had used the remaining powers of the stump to burn away the manacles from Gwydion’s wrists. That time, it had been as if the very substance of the stone had collapsed, and it had faded to grey.

‘What can Edward want with it, I wonder?’ Gwydion mused.

Willow said, ‘I suppose he’s fetching it to Trinovant in hopes that it’ll be a touchstone to his ambitions. But isn’t it now drained of the power even to confer boons?’

Will nodded. ‘If I know Edward, he’ll delight in it mostly because his father has given it to him. He’ll value it because his father values the stumps of Blow Heath and Ludford, and he’ll tell himself it has virtues even when it does not.’

‘In that, then, he will be like most men,’ Gwydion said regretfully.

‘But aren’t you going to claim it from him, Master Gwydion?’ Willow asked.

The wizard shrugged. ‘I might have to.’ Then he took a draught of ale.

‘Have you had any fresh thoughts on the inscription?’ Will asked. ‘Or are you still, ah – stumped?’

Gwydion raised an eyebrow. ‘If that was meant to be a joke it was not very funny. But since you ask, I am no further forward. The verse is not written in any tongue that I have ever met with.’

‘At Delamprey you said that that was Maskull’s doing.’

‘It is one of his nasty little snares. His arrogance shines through in all that he attempts.’

‘And he knows you well enough to be able to pose a problem that you cannot solve,’ Will said. ‘But that in itself could be a clue, don’t you think?’

The wizard gave him a look that told Will it was a mistake to teach grandmothers to suck eggs. ‘Maskull has done enough dirty work – I could not read the marks I found in the stone.’

‘Well perhaps it’s only the script that’s unknown to you,’ Will said, hoping his optimism would infect the wizard. ‘The language itself may be one that you know.’

Gwydion stroked his beard. ‘True. It might only be a cipher that I have to crack…’ He fell silent, but it was a silence unlike the dark ones that had overtaken him lately.

Willow had taken out a heavy bronze coin and she had begun spinning it on the table top. Will watched it whirl faster and faster as it settled down. He picked the coin up and spun it again, fascinated for the moment by its odd behaviour, at the rising sound it made before it came to a sudden dead stop. Is that what’s happening to us, to the war? he thought oddly. Getting faster and faster until suddenly everything stops on doomsday?

Knives and trenchers were laid before them, and with more ale came pie and cheese and warm bread. As they ate and drank, they talked of lesser matters, and when Willow excused herself and Bethe briefly from their company, Will took the opportunity to ask a rather more pressing question.

‘Chlu’s true name, Master Gwydion – pronounce it again for me.’

Gwydion flashed a glance at Willow’s departing figure. ‘And give you a knife to fall on?’

‘I think I must have that knife, whether it is safe or not.’

‘Very well then – Llyw.’

‘Thloo.’

‘That will not do at all. It is a difficult sound for those unused to the language of Cambray. But see – put the tip of your tongue against the roof of your mouth as if you are making a luh sound, then breath past it.’

‘Dzzllll…’

‘Do not voice the sound! Just breathe.’

‘Shlllew.’

‘Almost. Again.’

‘Llyw.’

The wizard smiled. ‘You see? The rede is correct: practice does make perfect. But take care how you use your new-found knowledge, for there is danger in it.’

By now Willow was coming back, so they made ready to go. Gwydion steered them away from the stables, out of the inn and then onto the high road, saying that he had arranged for their horses to be left at The Bell Without and now they must walk.

They had almost reached the moated bastions that flanked the triple arch of Eldersgate. The soaring stone structure, deftly wrought and set with dragons, seemed dour and unwelcoming. A group of travellers waited gloomily beside a barrier.

Will waved a hand in front of his face as he caught his first clue that this was no ordinary gateway – the smell took him back to the wyvern’s cage he had seen at Aston Oddingley. He now understood why Gwydion had left their horses at the inn. All travellers wishing to enter the City were made to dismount fifty paces before the Eldersgate. Stolid Midshires cart horses stamped their shaggy hooves as they approached the drawbridge. Even brave warhorses were unharnessed and led aside to be specially blinkered and let in by a side arch so they would catch no sight of the dragonets.

Will saw that this brought good trade to the gate-keepers and porters who dealt with the animals or worked in gangs to pull carts and wains in through the main arch. It gave them the opportunity to charge twopence a time for their labours, and Will smelled more than the stink of wyrm about it.

Once they were nodded through the barrier he glimpsed the two dragonets that were chained inside the middle arch. They were not great dragons, being only about the size of bulls, yet they seemed to be more dangerous than lions. They were flighdess wyrms, specially bred to their task, small-winged but powerfully clawed, with barbed tails and flickering red forked tongues. Their hides shone like quicksilver as the muscles beneath rippled. They snarled and trod back and forth fearsomely.