Whitemantle (48 page)

He tried to brush away her ministering hands.

‘Don’t you see how it must be, Will? You have your own task. We haven’t come all this way to see you fail. Your entire life has been leading to this moment. You owe it to yourself and to the rest of us to do your best. Succeed or fail, that’s all we ask.’

That brought him more to his senses. He remembered Gwydion’s parting words, and grief had its way with him.

Morann said softly, ‘The last time I saw Master Gwydion he told me that I might have my work cut out with you when the end-time came. He said he’d been feeling for a long time that a sacrifice might be called for, maybe on his part, one that you might not want to understand. But it’s what he wants. It’s what must be. He told me that, Will. He said, “make sure he accepts it the way it must be”.’

Three horses stood together under the tree. The packmare stamped her feet and champed her bit, and one of the others whinnied. The little birds sang, and all was as a morning should be, except for the distant sound of guns and the glitter of soldiery that frosted the south with steel. There was not much time.

Willow took the dagger and ripped open a bundle. She tore a shirt apart and bound it tightly about Will’s middle to staunch the bleeding. He winced as he raised his arms, but dismissed it with, ‘I’m all right.’

‘You’re not all right, you fool!’

‘Look at them!’ Morann pointed to where Edward’s battalions stood ready. ‘You saw what happened on the other side. I could smell the bodies from here. That’s what happens when Ages end, Will. Worlds collide! There’s a time of calamity and men need a hero to carry them past it.’

Will breathed heavily and spat. ‘I thought he was dead.’

‘Who?’

‘Edward. The hero. The king. We heard he’d been mortally wounded. By an arrow at Fordingbridge.’

‘It’s true enough that Edward’s sun is clouded. But he’s lying at Castle Pomfret where Gort is tending to him. It’s lucky Gort came north with us, for Edward was grievously wounded, but he’ll not die now.’

‘Or command a battle either. The battlestone is dead. I pushed it into a world where there’s no magic.’

‘A world much like this one now, eh?’ Willow said. ‘We don’t need magic any more to drive us to war. We’ve learned how to do that without any help from the fae.’

Morann stabbed a finger into the south. ‘Open your eyes and see, Will. It’s the Earl Warrewyk who’s keeping the battalions in readiness now. He’ll lead them to death and glory, Edward or no Edward. No more than an hour ago I saw him leap down from his warhorse. He ran his sword straight through the beast’s neck. Aye, then he kissed the
blooded hilt out there in front of his whole army. He told them, “Let him fly that will, for surely I will tarry here this day. The coming fight shall be to the death, and any man who means to fly must fly now, or once battle be joined he shall be cut down by his own!” It was hard to take, Will, but you see how it is. There’s no shilly-shallying with that man.’

‘Then there’s to be a battle anyway, battlestone or not?’ Will laughed until it hurt. ‘The lorc has succeeded after all.’

‘Not yet. Look what I brought you! Gort asked for it, and Edward sent it with his blessings.’

Morann went to the packhorse and took down another dirty canvas bundle. When he emptied it onto the grass, armour clattered out. It was Edward’s war-gear.

Will laughed shortly. ‘He always said he’d see me in the weeds of war. But I must disappoint him. And you.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

Will’s thoughts juddered back to the world beyond the window, the struggling mass of drowning men, the stream running red with their blood. Could he allow that to happen here? Could he prevent it? He eyed the lines of men who were appearing in the south. Many thousands, many tens of thousands, had come to this impasse. ‘Lord Warrewyk will get them all killed, won’t he?’

‘Aye, he will. Every brave man-jack of them There’s so little magic in the world that we can hardly hope for miracles now.’

Will took a proffered gauntlet, looked at it for a moment and threw it down. Willow was kneeling by Chlu, watching for signs that the Dark Child might awaken.

Morann told her, ‘I think it’s time you explained the real reason we came here.’

Willow looked up at Will. ‘We all four of us came north with the army. Me, Morann, Gort and Lotan. We had to
find you, to tell you what we’d learned in your absence. The day Edward left Trinovant the Duchess Cicely broke down and told me an important secret.’

‘Lady Cicely?’ Will asked, unable to see the connection, but suddenly fearing for his daughter. ‘Bethe? Has she been harmed?’

Willow was shaking her head, trying to make him understand. ‘Bethe’s with the Lady Cicely. She’s well.’

He blinked back the surge of anxiety. ‘Then what’s the duchess got to do with anything?’

‘Will, listen to me. You have to know this. She once told me she’d had babies that died in childbirth—’

He shook his head, impatient now. Many died in infancy.

‘She thought she’d lost two children. One daughter was stillborn, and years before that she gave birth to twins and was told that the first of them had died. But in a letter the duke wrote on the eve of his death he told her different.’

He blinked at Willow, still unable to see what she was driving at.

‘Master Gwydion was not the only guide the House of Ebor relied on down the years. When Duke Richard’s looked-for firstborn turned out to be twin boys, it was Maskull who came to him first and killed the joy. He whispered that all the duke’s hopes for the future of the House of Ebor and for the Realm would be dashed if he refused pragmatic advice.’

‘What advice?’

‘Maskull said that if Richard succeeded in putting himself on the throne there would be war in the next generation. Inevitable war.’

‘He made a threat, you mean?’

‘He did not put it that way,’ Morann put in. ‘He said it was mere expediency. A matter of foresight.’

‘
Twins
, Will! You see what that means, don’t you? Because who, in the future, would be able to say for certain which
child was which? Which boy was firstborn? Which man would be the rightful king? There’d be dispute, and then there’d be strife. Royal brother would fight against royal brother. And after that would come the taking of sides – the Realm split right down the middle. Maskull made it sound as terrible as only Maskull could. And so he convinced Duke Richard of the calamity that was to come. And that allowed the sorcerer to offer him a way out.’

‘Which was?’

‘Maskull took away one of the children to be cared for elsewhere, while the other child was left to enjoy the privilege of being his father’s heir.’

‘Edward…’ Will groaned. ‘And all of this was in the letter that Duke Richard wrote on the eve of the battle at Awakenfield?’

Morann nodded. ‘Friend Richard wasn’t ignoring Mother Brig’s prophecy when he rode north. He knew he was going to die. Can you imagine the guilt he must have felt, having kept a secret like that from his wife all these years? And all because he thought there was some chance that one day he might sit upon the throne.’

‘Edward was one twin,’ Will said, looking up. ‘But…’

Willow took his hand. ‘The other was going to be called Arthur. He was taken away by Maskull. Now do you see?’

Will felt the moment descend over him like cold rain. He gasped, then put his face in his hands.

Morann began to examine Chlu’s nose and to wipe away the blood that bubbled at his nostrils. ‘Only Maskull didn’t take the baby away to be looked after, did he? As Master Gwydion came close to finding out, the very reason Maskull hatched this plot in the first place was to gain control of the true heir. That’s why he stole the firstborn. And from that child he made you – and this nasty piece of work here.’

They looked down at Chlu wordlessly for a moment.

‘What’s to be done?’ Willow asked.

When Will made no reply, Morann said, ‘It’s time you despatched him.’

Will took the dagger but he continued to stare at Chlu. He knew now exactly what he must do. ‘Not so, Morann. He’s nothing evil. He’s simply my counterpart. And it’s not combat and cruelty that heals the world. It’s love.’

His eyes were filling with tears. A great fear was in him. He could feel the end-time roaring in upon him. He kissed Willow and clasped Morann’s hand, knowing that the next time he saw them he would be a different man.

There was little time left to compose himself. Chlu had already begun to groan and struggle weakly from his stupor. Now the battlestone was gone, Will felt the diminishing magic of the world more poignantly than ever. He drew scant refreshment from the earth and when a little power was with him he bade the others lift Chlu into his embrace where he whispered a spell of transformation in the true tongue. The spell ended with the word ‘Llyw.’

There was a blinding flash of light. For a long time he fell, fell through the world, fell from the spaces between the stars, all the way down into the abysmal deeps. The fall was never-ending, a fall from grace. But then the change came and the blinding light blasted him back into the world, and when he came to, they were looking at him with open mouths and faces filled with wonder.

Strangely, he seemed to feel no different, but it was impossible to judge since there was no single experience in his past with which to compare his present self-hood. The spell he had used was one intended to liberate the spirits of those who were dying in pain.

He tried to sit up, but he could not lift himself. He felt as though his head and his limbs had been encased in steel.

There were tears in Willow’s eyes as she confirmed that
both Will and Chlu were gone and the conflation of character had taken place. Then she and Morann began to help him to his feet and he saw the reason he had felt himself enclosed in steel. He shone silver from head to toe, for they had arrayed him in Edward’s raiment of war.

‘Why do you weep?’ he asked Willow.

‘For the loss of my husband,’ she said, avoiding the boldness of his eye. ‘This is all so strange.’

‘Look at me,’ he said. ‘I am here.’

‘Are you?’ she whispered. ‘But if you are, you are no longer my Willand. You are Arthur.’

‘And all the better for that, I think.’ He smiled. ‘We lived in disguise once before. We shall grow used to the change.’

She raised her eyes to his. ‘But this is no longer a disguise. This is you! You are changed!’

‘All men change with time.’ He took her hands. ‘I think – I hope – that in time you will get used to me.’

She managed to return his smile. ‘I hope so too.’

‘We have a child,’ he said. ‘What shall we tell her?’

‘The truth, of course!’

He shrugged. ‘The truth, then. If you prefer it.’

As he turned he saw Morann looking kindly upon them and he slapped his friend heartily on the shoulder and laughed. ‘There, Morann! You shall be my witness. She will have me, she says, new man or no!’

‘I shall be more than a witness,’ Morann said. ‘I shall play the archmage, for look what Master Gwydion has left with us.’

The loremaster drew out from a fold of his robes the ancient crane bag that had been made from the skin of Aiofe long ago. And from the bag he lifted a cloak of shimmering white feathers.

‘The swan cloak of King Leir!’ Arthur cried, his eyes gleaming with desire. ‘Put it on me, for I must wear the White Mantle if I am to show the world that I am king!’

‘Then step up here onto this little stone,’ Morann said, ‘and test yourself against its music.’

And when Arthur looked down he saw that the Stone of Scions lay between the cart ruts that scarred the soil beneath the oak. He stood upon it and Lord Morann, loremaster and archmage for a day, laid the swan cloak about his shoulders and Willow put a hand to her eyes to wipe away her tears.

There was no more time to spend in ceremony, for the drums were beating and two great hosts were on the move. They came forward and spread themselves out in their fighting battalions. Soon the archers among them would be ordered forward and a deadly exchange would begin.

‘Come!’ Arthur cried, seizing his sallet helm and raising up the royal standard. ‘My friends, to the horses! We must seek a parlay.’

‘And what if they will not wear it?’ Morann said, following him.

‘They will wear it,’ Arthur said and smiled.

‘But for us to go alone? Without hostages? What if we fall to treachery?’

‘Lord Morann, faint heart never won fair fight. We know a man among them who we can speak to on friendly terms.’

And so they galloped forward, and soon they were seen and two of Mag’s heralds came out to ask what they were about here, between the armies. Not long after these heralds returned to their lines a party of men came out – the Duke of Mells with a retinue of six armed nobles.

Henry of Mells stared in consternation. He murmured fiercely to the man to his left, who was Jasper of Pendrake, ‘But you said he had taken a mortal arrow…’

‘I swear I heard it was so!’ one of the other nobles affirmed.

‘He is defenceless,’ a third said. ‘Let us take him now!’

‘No!’ Jasper said, grasping the man’s arm. ‘This is a parlay, and my word is given.’

‘He killed your father,’ Duke Henry reminded him.

‘And you killed his.’

Looks sharp as daggers drawn were passed. But then, from the south, came a contending party, also riding under a flag of truce, and headed by Earl Warrewyk. When he saw King Edward he too was astonished.

‘Your grace! But…but I thought—’

Arthur spoke up. ‘Ah, you thought Edward was abed because of an arrow. Well…I have surprised everyone, have I not? Come, let us talk, for together we must accomplish an act of mercy and statesmanship, or rue the lost chance for evermore.’

‘What is this game you’ve set afoot, Lord Morann?’ Warrewyk demanded, angered by Arthur’s answer and even more furious that Edward had turned away from him. ‘Statesmanship? What more is there to say? My…my liege – have you forgotten that we are here to let our armies speak for us?’

At that remark the Duke of Mells spat fire in return. ‘Nor did we come here to sing and dance to you – as soon you shall see! But this is some mischief, some sorcery! My eyes deceive me!’