The Giants' Dance (25 page)

Gwydion and Gort exchanged weighty glances.

‘So now you'll scry this battlestone out pretty quick, hey?' Gort asked.

Will scratched his unshaved chin. ‘I…hope to.'

‘You
hope
to?' Gwydion said with some surprise.

‘I mean, I hope I can pick up the true patterns again. If I can, then I might be able to find the stone.'

Gwydion seized on his faintness like a talon. ‘Doubt is not your friend, Willand. Do you not understand that you are the best scrier ever to have walked the earth? No other man can do it. I cannot. Gort cannot. You have found three battlestones since we left the Plough, and that was not so many days ago.'

Will bit back the remark that came too readily to his lips – that he may have found three battlestones, but they had not yet dealt with any of them. Still, he felt warm and full and grateful to be in buoyant company again, and so he said, ‘If I sound doubtful it's only because scrying depends on so many things – you know it yourself, Gwydion: the
season, the shape of the moon, the lie of the land – and this is an odd place. All the stone buildings that stand around here complicate matters. They seem to affect not only the earth streams themselves, but also my ability to feel them out. If those old Slaver roads act like looking-glasses when it comes to the flows in the lorc, then Ludford's no different. There's something buried here. Something big.'

Will recited the Blow Stone's mysterious verse.

‘Beside Lugh's ford and the risen tower,

By his word alone, a false king

Shall drive his enemy the waters over,

And the Lord of the West shall come home.'

Gwydion gave the cross-reading:

‘Lord Lugh alone shall have the triumph,

At the western river crossing, word of an enemy

Comes falsely by the raised water,

While, at home, the king watches over his tower.'

‘What do you think of that, Wortmaster?' Will asked.

Gort shook his head, and at length he sighed like a man tired of thinking, and said, ‘Well…there's an awkward piece of riddle-me-re to end a supper party, and no mistake!'

T
he following morning Will rose early and went out with Gwydion to search for the Ludford battlestone. He had slept badly again, plagued by visions of doom and fed upon by the horrors that haunt a man's thoughts between the second and fifth chimes after midnight. But whether his night sweats were prompted by the battle or by the nearby battlestone he could not say.

A great mass of men was encamped outside the walls. The duke's army was already mustered at Ludford, and their number had swelled to eight or nine thousand overnight. Since dawn, men had been ranging across the land, hunting out and bringing in food, or spending their labours on the felling of trees and digging of ditches and earthworks to defend the poorly protected eastern approaches. All the town gates except one had been barred and propped with heavy timbers. Inside the walls there was a mob of townsfolk and soldiers milling at the far end of the market square. Will saw several black-hooded figures among them – red hands from the town's chapter house. They were standing around the cage in which Lord Dudlea had been brought to Ludford. At first Will imagined the nobleman had been executed and
his corpse exposed for the jeering pleasure of the crowd, but the mood was not one of prurience or ridicule, but rather one of wonder.

Gwydion raised his staff and pushed his way to the fore, and Will went after him, noting that the Sightless Ones who had been goading the crowd were hastily withdrawing. When Will reached the cage he saw that it held not Lord Dudlea but the Blow Stone, and several folk were down on their knees before it.

‘
What are you doing
?' Gwydion demanded of those trying to reach through the bars.

‘'Tis a magic touchstone!' they cried. ‘It gives
powers
to all those who lay hands upon it!'

‘Stand back!'

A bright-eyed young soldier raised fervent hands. ‘It bestows qualities! It makes men proof against wounds. It will give us victory in war!'

‘Have you touched it?' Gwydion demanded.

‘Aye, Master!'

The wizard struck the man hard across the face and sent him reeling.

‘Agggh! What's that for?' the man said, holding the side of his head.

‘Such invulnerability as this you may have any day, my friend!' Gwydion's voice was enormous and wrathful. ‘Who ordered the stone put here?'

They cowered. ‘'Twas the duke himself!'

‘Soldiers of Earl Sarum! Go back to your camp! And you, good townspeople – repair to your homes as fast as you may! Go now! This stone must not be violated thus!'

The crowd groaned, angry and disappointed.

Gwydion's authority hardened. ‘Go, I tell you! For you do not know the dangers you court here!'

‘The stone heals the sick! We have heard it plain!' a brave voice called back.

‘It makes the faithless husband confess his deeds!' a woman at the back shouted.

‘And it will crush our enemies!'

‘It will do none of those things,' Gwydion told them. ‘Do as I bid now, or I will compel you!'

A one-eyed old man glared up at him and spat. ‘It is said to protect against
wizards
!'

Gwydion raised his staff, unwilling now to be gainsaid. ‘I have warned you! Leave this place! Get about your business, all of you! There is nothing to aid you here!'

Some recognized the power vested in the oaken staff that was raised on high above them. They made signs of respect and began to turn just as sheep obey the shepherd. But others stood stubbornly for a moment, and only when the greater number had melted away did they lose their courage.

At last Gwydion called Will along and they too left.

‘What about the stone?' he asked. ‘You can't just leave it there. They'll be back like mice as soon as blink.'

‘What can I do? It is there at the duke's order.' He looked over his shoulder to where a group of beggars had already begun to steal back towards the cage. ‘We must part. While you scry, I will go to Richard and try to persuade him to take the stone away.'

While Gwydion went in search of the duke, Will did as he was told. But he wondered at Gwydion's actions, thinking darkly that things had turned out badly again. If Gwydion had done as I warned and nipped this in the bud when we were back on the road, he thought, then the false fame of the stump would not have been blown up so large.

He took himself out beyond the barricaded gates of Ludford town, and walked the whole sward back and forth. It was his aim to try to feel some hint of the place where the next stone might lie. But there was now such a maze
of earthworks in the land outside the town walls that he found it impossible to form any picture in his mind or even to know with any certainty where the lign must run.

After a while Gort joined him. By now it had become clear that Will would be able to do no useful scrying today, so they went together to the Wortmaster's leech garden, where many different medicine plants grew.

‘Herb and stone and wholesome word! These things are richest in healing powers,' Gort said. ‘But the greatest is the herb! And as among men, so among herbs: some are common, others most rare, and some even precious. Let me show you my little treasures, eh?'

He pointed out a plain plant with dark, prickly leaves, pulled it up and knocked the soil from its gnarled root. ‘In warmer climes this bears a yellow bloom,' he said. ‘But here it grows unregarded, though it is powerful against enchantments. In the Marches they call it “haemony”.' He rubbed the leaf of another wort that had first sprouted up where innocent blood had been shed. Yet another, he said, had been brought from over the sea by birds. And yet another had a silver flower that only appeared once every thousand years.

‘Many a healing herb grows out of the grave of a good man,' he said ruefully. ‘There are rosemaries and lavenders and whortleberries in this garden which I have gathered from the barrows of a hundred of the great kings.'

‘And why is that pear tree's trunk painted with whitewash?' Will asked. ‘And why is it growing behind an iron fence, where no one can gather its fruit?'

‘Oh, beware that tree!' Gort said in a loud voice. ‘For the plucking of that fruit will turn a man into a dove!' Then he whispered, ‘Taproots and tubers! We don't want creepy-crafties climbing up our best pear trees, do we, eh?'

As two of Gort's undergardeners smiled up at their master, Will realized that his own fingers had gone unbidden
to his pouch and had taken out the red fish. He muttered, ‘It's a shame there's no herb here to heighten my senses when it comes to finding stones.'

‘Alas! That is indeed a shame. But there has never been a herb with that power. Your talent is one of a kind, and hardly to be tampered with.' Gort peered at him closely. ‘But…are you feeling quite well in yourself?'

‘Quite well.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘Why do you ask?' He did not know why, but be resented the question.

‘Oh, well, if I can't help…'

‘I'm healthy enough. A little light-headed maybe, now you come to mention it, but there's nothing you can do to help that. And I think in any case I'd like to be on my own for a while.'

Will wished Gort good day, then went out into the innermost ward and from there up onto the walls. He took the air deeply, looking down across the land from a corner of the great square tower of the keep. The various pitched roofs of the castle showed maze-like patterns in green and purple slate. Ravens circled the tower top, cawing warily at the duke's blue and white standard as it snaked out in the breeze. The banner showed the falcon and fetterlock, the golden bird straining for freedom. Beside the duke's standard was a flag bearing the white lion of Morte, and now flying alongside that was the Earl Sarum's banner of red and black upon which stood a fearsome golden griffin.

To the south-west was the dark Forest of Morte, brooding upon its hillside. It was ablaze now with autumn colours. Away to the east was Cullee Hill and on its summit the rocky crag they called the Giant's Chair.

Up here under a milky sky the morning breeze was cold. Will was without his cloak, and he felt all the colder leaning against stone and listening to the hungry ravens' croaking
cry. He saw the guards, blear-eyed, silent, dishevelled, their blood still fired by last night's red wine and mutton marrow. But Will was feeling the world around him with a strange crispness. He took a deep draught of cold air, and then a familiar voice behind him said, ‘Now then, Master Willand, how goes it?'

His hand clasped guiltily around the red fish, hiding it from view. When he turned, he saw a face that was known to him. ‘Why…Jackhald…'

‘Hey-ho, Willand. It's been a long time, has it not?'

Will forced a smile and they clasped hands. Jackhald had been one of the duke's castle guards at Foderingham. Since the battle of Verlamion, he had been raised to the rank of sergeant of the guard. He had noticed Will's interest in Cullee Hill, and said, ‘On a clear day half of the Middle Shires can be watched from that place.'

Will looked in vain for a wisp of smoke rising from the beacon. ‘And does the duke keep watchers up there?'

Jackhald grinned. ‘Aye. Ludford's in Marcher land, which means it's close to the borders of Cambray. Cambray, with its hard mountains and blind valleys – it was ever a dangerous place to enter uninvited. Its rule is still disputed by the hardy princes of the west. They are often in a state of war.'

‘That's no doubt the official reason why the duke has men sitting up on top of the Giant's Chair,' Will said quietly. ‘But I expect the real reason is to keep a watch out for the approach of Queen Mag's allies, is it not?'

Jackhald folded his arms. ‘They say there's a second great army out there as big as the one Lord Sarum beat off. They say it's coming here. Is that not true?'

‘I've heard nothing.' It came into Will's mind to mention Earl Sarum's captured sons. Instead he asked, ‘What's happened to Lord Dudlea? I saw his cage in the market place but there was a block of stone in it instead. Has he escaped?'

‘No, his lordship is safe under lock and key.' Jackhald glanced sidelong at him. ‘The two younger sons of Earl Sarum have been taken.'

He feigned surprise. ‘Earl Sarum's sons? You don't say.'

‘No doubt Lord Warrewyk will be angered to hear of his brothers' fate. When he arrives…'

Will looked up suddenly. ‘Lord Warrewyk is coming here? From Callas?'

‘He's already set sail across the Narrow Seas. He'll be here soon enough. And in great strength as likely as not.' Jackhald gave an encouraged laugh. ‘With his lordship's army here, Ludford will be able to withstand any power the queen may send against us.'

Will said nothing, feeling no urge to share what he knew with the duke's man. He pointed down towards the inner ward, where a tall young man with trimmed blond hair stood, clothed in lordly style. He was surrounded by half a dozen men.

‘Isn't that Edward down there?' He put fingers to his lips and made as if to whistle, but Jackhald pulled his hand away to stop him.

‘Now, don't you be showing no rude manners here, Will. And don't you be calling a plain name on an earl in general hearing.'

Sudden anger snapped his patience and he shook Jackhald's arm away. ‘And don't you lay hands upon me without leave!'

Jackhald looked back, surprised at Will's haughtiness. ‘I only meant to say that the Earl of the Marches has his dignity to think of. If you would speak with him you must go formally to make a petition in writing and beg an audience of him.'

‘Beg an audience? With Edward? We grew up together!'

‘I know that. But don't forget who is the master here now.'

Will said no more. Ludford Castle was indeed Edward's by title, since he was his father's heir and therefore Earl of the Marches. Will recalled the Edward of old, the many lessons they had endured together and the day they had fought one another to a standstill in their tutor's room at Foderingham. That had made them firm friends, yet later, here at Ludford, Will had conceived a jealousy for the duke's heir that had been hard to set aside. He had clearly seen that Edward was angling to take Willow away from him. And the last time they had met had been at Verlamion, where Will had played the peacemaker while Edward had been anxious to blood himself as a warrior. It was then that their paths had parted, as he had always known they must. Parted forever.

Down below, Edward paused at the entrance step of the Round House, the place where the duke conducted all public business. Edward seemed to be giving orders. Among those who joined him were two knights. One was unknown to Will, but the other's colours showed him to be Sir John Morte of Kyre Ward, the man who had first taught both Will and Edward the practicalities of war. Will almost did not recognize him, for he had lost much of his fine head of dark hair. Also crowding upon Edward was his seneschal, a scrivener, a notary-at-law in dark green robe, two merchants waiting to hand him petitions and a black-robed Elder of the Sightless Ones.

‘He's now quite a busy man, I see.' Will's eyes followed like a crossbow as the duke's heir disappeared inside the Round House. He felt a strange, vinegary pang biting at him. ‘Tell me, does he still like to play the paragon of chivalry to please his father?'

Jackhald looked quickly askance at that. ‘Sir Edward does not play at anything. He is all that his father wished him to be. More, if I'm asked about it.'

‘And Edmund?' Will asked, meaning Edward's younger brother.

Jackhald shifted uneasily. ‘Sir Edmund is still but sixteen years old.'

Will thought he heard a hint of shame in the soldier's voice. He pursued it. ‘Come on, Jackhald. Tell me: is Edmund as kind and thoughtful a lad as ever he was?'

Jackhald stiffened, his voice hard now, affronted. ‘What do you mean by that?'