Whitemantle (45 page)

‘Do it!’

The wizard clicked his tongue and urged the horses first into a walk, then into a canter, then finally to their best speed. The track was uneven, and the waggon began bouncing and crashing over tufts and tussocks as it sped towards the lign.

Will feared that the axle must crack. He turned his mind
away from that weakling thought, as if even to dwell upon it might tempt disaster. He was thrown about, but he hung onto the iron rings of the stone and pressed his head hard to it, all the while muttering a spell in the true tongue to keep the pressure of the lign from bursting his head open.

But still the visions came at him. Like circling demons they tore at his mind. Although he had no direct contact with the ground, the raw power of the flow here connected sharply with his thoughts. As he stared he saw the cart become enmeshed in furnace heat. All around him the wood was blasted as if held in the jet of air that issues from a blacksmith’s bellows. The canvas cover blackened, then was burned to the hoops, revealing a boiling sky of yellow flame. Pain and horror assailed him. He saw his feet flare incandescent and his legs burn like sticks in a bonfire until the Stone of Scions smoked under his cheek, the wheels gave way and the bed of the cart collapsed and disintegrated, and he began falling into an abysmal deep among red-hot cinders…

‘I am in Hell!’ he cried. ‘Hell!’

He screamed and screamed until the firebursts in his brain passed away, and then – mercifully – came death.

But it was not quite death, because he could feel the stone feeding him. Not with counter-visions of sunshine and spring flowers, but with a memory equally horrific in its way. Once, to save his life, Gwydion had convinced him that he was bleeding to death, and he had lain in the back of a cart not unlike this one. And when the illusion designed to mislead others had been lifted and he had found himself unhurt the relief he had felt at that moment had been better by far than any boon he might have had, even of the king himself.

I’m thinking, he told himself, grasping the only real truth a man can possess. I’m thinking, so I can’t be dead. And while I live, there’s hope…

The next thing he knew the wizard was slapping his cheeks to bring him round and trying to force some fierce draught down his throat.

‘We have crossed the lign and left it far behind,’ Gwydion said, judiciously lifting each of Will’s eyelids in turn. ‘I think you will live, for a while at least.’

‘I wish Gort were here,’ he croaked at last, his mouth burning. ‘At least he doesn’t force a man to drink potions made from bats’ droppings.’

Both of them knew that sometimes a vision inspired by terror, be it real or imagined, would refuse to let go of a man’s mind, and he would be lost to sanity. But not today. The wizard heard the humour in Will’s words and knew that his spirit had come through the ordeal intact.

‘Actually, Gort does use bats’ droppings in some of his potions,’ Gwydion said loftily. ‘But quite rarely, I assure you. And only when it is absolutely necessary.’

The wizard produced a sprig of hawthorn on which white blossom had sprouted and gave it to Will. The tiny flowers delighted him and he murmured, ‘Who could lose hope in the spring?’

When Will dared to let go of the stone, he said, ‘So much for your idea that the Stone of Scions would look after me. I nearly lost my grip.’

‘You are alive, are you not? And in your right mind?’

‘Just about.’

‘Well, then. The stone has made all the difference.’

Will took the point grudgingly. ‘The flow’s too strong for it here. The lorc is putting everything into one last effort.’

‘Raw malice is running fast in the channels of the lorc,’ Gwydion explained, unperturbed. ‘But what kindness there is in the Stone of Scions is bound tight, just as the malice of a battlestone is kept within its bounds until the moment of release. However there is always seepage, as we have
found. I confess, I had hoped that the kindness might leak a little more easily than it has.’

Will spat and wiped the sweat from his face. ‘I’m alive, as you say. But I won’t cross another lign. Not willingly.’

‘Let us hope you will not have to.’

He met Gwydion’s eye, knowing he must now make an important admission. ‘Chlu is close by. I can feel him.’

That jolted the wizard, though he tried not to show it. ‘Is he alone?’

Will spread his hands. ‘How should I know?’

‘How far away is he?’

‘A league. Maybe.’ He gestured vaguely towards the south. ‘Now that we’re between hazel and holly it’s hard to tell.’

‘We should go south.’

Will’s brow furrowed. ‘Why should we make it easy for him?’

‘It does not surprise me that Chlu is here. You must meet with him one last time. It will be better if the initiative is with you from the beginning.’

Will thought back to the inconclusive combats on the Spire and on Cullee Hill. He wondered if there was anything in prophecy that made a third meeting inevitable, but he did not ask. It seemed more sensible to spend his thoughts second guessing what new ploy Chlu might try on him in the final battle.

‘You speak of Chlu,’ Will said after a while, ‘but I suspect you’re more interested in who’s in his company.’

‘Quite right. I must establish Maskull’s whereabouts. And I must do it as soon as I can. We have little time.’

That night, rather than stopping to rest, they went on through the deepening darkness, watching the bloated moon push its way above the eastern horizon. Before midnight they came to the village of Fenton. It had been stripped of
all its men and abandoned by its other inhabitants. Will knew that if they had listened to their Wise Woman, they would be hiding like animals in the wild woods until the soldiers went away. But if the Fellowship was strong hereabouts they might have been herded into one of the walled precincts that adjoined a chapter house. Whatever their fate, they had left an eerie feeling of loss behind them.

The cart pulled into a yard hedged in by a field of tree stumps – an orchard hewn down for firewood. The ground was littered with twigs that snapped under the cartwheels. At the wizard’s request, Will dared to open his mind a little. Fire dragons writhed in the sky, but there were black bubbles in the glare, and he gasped, ‘Chlu! He’s over there…’

‘How far now?’

‘Half a league.’

‘Which way?’

Will made an effort to be more precise. ‘West. Over there.’

The wizard stroked his beard. ‘Not far away in that direction lies Scarthingwell 337. It is a signal tower maintained by the Fellowship. I should go there to discover what I can.’

‘Be careful.’

‘Always. Wait here. If I fail to return by dawn, drive the cart towards the battlestone and do what must be done.’

‘I will.’

It was grim advice. As Gwydion walked off into the gloom, Will fought the urge to huddle close to the Stone of Scions. He wondered if this was the way the world was supposed to end. He understood very well the reason Gwydion had gone alone – he could hardly approach Chlu himself without alerting him, but the wizard might just pass unseen. Still, Gwydion’s departure did little to set Will’s mind at ease.

As the moon rose higher in the south the sister-stone eased his fears, prompting the thought that Gwydion would
not have left him without saying a proper goodbye if he had had serious doubts about coming back. Even when the hours stretched out and the moon began to slide down into the south-west, Will’s faith did not fail him. Eventually, stiff and cold, he got down from the cart and began to walk around the abandoned village. The sense of loss was palpable here. There had been deaths and violent acts done against the innocent.

Always darkest before the dawn…

The thought-echo trailed away as movement caught his eye. A fox, grinning in the darkness. It stared at him with an insolent look, then loped off. A cold breeze sighed in the trees and raised the hairs on Will’s neck. He found it easy to imagine all manner of enemies lurking in the shadows.

Go back to the cart, he told himself silently. But just as he turned he saw a darker shape slide into the blackness of a doorway, and he knew that he was not alone.

How long had he been watched? His blood froze in his veins. It’s only Gwydion, he told himself. Who else could it be?

The impulse to call out the wizard’s name was strong, but he resisted. What if it was
not
Gwydion?

A pang of impatience assailed him, but he forced himself to control it. He rounded a corner then crept out of sight, moving quickly to a new vantage point that covered the cart and also the door of the hovel where he had seen the dark shape vanish. There he waited, his heart thumping and his restraint draining by degrees. He did not want to give away his position, but something held him back from investigating. He wondered how far his decisions were falling prey to the influence of the ligns. Whenever he had strayed far from the stone he had had to struggle against the flow, and it was not possible to tell what part of his courage was falsely inspired and what part stemmed from his own strength.

Against his better judgement he decided to wait and keep an eye on the cart. Time passed. His bones started to ache and his curiosity began to embroider the darkness. If it was not Gwydion, then who else could it be? One of the folk who had lived here? Their Wise Woman perhaps?

Maybe.

Then he began to worry about what might have happened to Gwydion…

By now the moon had sunk into low cloud and the first smudges of grey were lighting the eastern sky. He wanted to open his mind a fraction. That risked showing himself to Chlu, but he needed to feel out the figure in the hovel, to establish malign intent or the absence of it.

Once again he went against his urges and decided to think the matter through one more time. Who was inside the hovel? It could not be Chlu, for Chlu’s presence would have left him in no doubt. But what if it was Maskull? A grim smile crept across his face as he watched the doorway. If it was, then the sorcerer had made a huge miscalculation…

Without magic, Maskull was vulnerable. He could be surprised and captured, maybe even killed. This was Will’s big chance, and the look on Gwydion’s face when he returned would be almost too wonderful!

He had almost readied himself to make a dash for the doorway, when a noise off to his left made him turn. It was a small stone, tossed his way by Gwydion. The wizard’s left hand was raised, his right held Maglin’s staff. His look was urgent and silently questioning.

Will pressed a finger to his lips and then pointed to the hovel. The wizard’s gestures said: do nothing, say nothing. Then Gwydion put his head back and made an unearthly noise. They waited motionless for a few moments, then Gwydion made the noise again, a high, edgy bark, and waited patiently until the vixen came to him.

He bent to stroke her head, then she trotted away and
put her snout into the doorway that Will had been watching. After a moment’s sniffing, she returned to Gwydion who stroked her head again and sent her away with his thanks. As he set off towards the doorway, he motioned Will to follow. ‘She said the man who was hiding here last night was frightened. Foxes smell fear very keenly. He left by the back way shortly after he arrived.’

Will relaxed, feeling more than a little foolish to have been overawed by a phantom and wasted a fine chance.

‘It’s good to see you haven’t lost your touch with animals.’

‘Sadly, that is not magic. Merely long experience with the wild world.’

Will walked about the hovel. He could not detect the faintest whiff of corrupt magic, but his opinion was unwavering. ‘It was Maskull, wasn’t it?’

‘Who else?’

‘What was he doing here?’

‘Chlu sent him to kill you.’

‘Kill me? Are you joking?’

‘I found them at the signal tower and heard them quarrelling about it. You will be gratified to know that Maskull was against the idea.’

Will grunted with sour amusement. ‘That’s a change, Chlu sending his master upon a mission.’

‘Maskull is no longer Chlu’s master. I listened long enough to discover that. The betrayer is now himself betrayed. Maskull walks in weeds, a shadow of his former self, in fouler odour at Queen Mag’s court than am I in the halls of the House of Ebor. Apparently, there has been a marked decline in the queen’s looks just lately.’

‘Hal’ Will cried with sudden realization. ‘He’s been maintaining her with his magic which doesn’t work any more so she’s thrown him out!’

‘Indeed she has. She is no longer quite the beauty she was. She blames him for all her other reverses too.’

Will laughed. ‘It was in my mind to kick Maskull’s feet out from under him just now.’

‘I thought you had more sense than that.’

‘What? When he’s defenceless? I could have trussed him up and hung him from the rafters for you.’

‘Maskull looks like an old rag, for ragged he goes now and in thrall to his young creation. What a crushing end to one who had such lofty ambitions…but he carries a long knife and he would have put it through you as if you were a mince pie had you decided to tangle with him.’

‘I think I can look after myself.’

‘You would have come off worse against Maskull. He has perfected his crafts over many a long century, and though he has lost his magic, he has not been left wholly bereft of venom. If he had thought he could surprise you last night, then he would have done so. And you would be dead now. As soon as he realized he had been spotted, he made himself scarce.’

Will picked up a note of regret in the wizard’s voice and he understood the ambivalence of Gwydion’s mood. They had both expected blood and thunder at the downfall of so gigantic an adversary, but Maskull taking orders and creeping away silently with his mission unfulfilled? This really was the world turned upside down.

Truly, Will thought, running a finger round his collar, today marks the end of an Age and this can be no other than the eve of the last battle.

‘What excuse do you think he’ll spin to Chlu for having failed to kill me?’

‘He will think of something plausible. He always does.’

‘I think he knows he can’t kill me. He tried on Awakenfield Bridge, but it’s not my fate to be killed by him.’