The Giants' Dance (37 page)

Willow shivered. ‘More than once I've heard a cry in the night. I took it to be a griffin, though maybe it was a pard.'

Will turned quickly to her. ‘You said nothing to me before.'

‘I thought it was just a fancy. I wasn't sure what I'd heard, and now I'm even less certain. But I guess it must have been real enough, for it put the shivers right through me.'

‘It came from afar,' Will said softly, remembering. ‘Borne on the chill of the north wind, a high, keening sound that passes through the heart like the slenderest of knives.'

‘That's it exactly,' Willow said, glancing at him. ‘How do you know?'

‘I've heard it before.'

‘It could not have been a griffin,' Morann said flatly. He shifted so that the light dulled in his ring. ‘Griffs of all kinds have deep, growling voices. And pards have no voice at all, except it may be a sort of hiss much like a swan has when there are cygnets to guard. Anyway, pards have long since vanished from these parts.'

But Will continued to think about the eerie sounds that had come to him. The call he had heard near Aston Oddingley, and again while he had looked out from the
battlements of Ludford. But his mind refused to connect them with the horror of another night when a huge redwinged creature had appeared in his nightmares.

‘Perhaps it was the Morrigain,' he said distantly. ‘The hag who portends war. Gwydion warned me that she walks abroad boldly at times. She favours the night.'

Will got up and went to the window. Outside the damp day had plunged into an early gloom. It was already as dark as twilight and the rain clouds were like a grey lid pressing down the sky. There was a long silence, while fire shadows danced on the walls, then Morann said, ‘Tell me, has Will had words with the king yet?'

Willow shook her head so that her long wavy hair shone with red highlights put there by the fire. ‘The Maceugh has not been given leave to approach the royal person to present his emissary's credentials.'

‘I'm pleased about that,' Will said. ‘Because, in truth, I dare not approach King Hal too closely.'

‘Dare not?' Morann said, his finger tapping on his tankard. ‘Why do you say that? He is as mild a fellow as ever there was. One to be pitied rather than feared.'

‘I know he means me no harm, but there's something about his glance I've come to think might penetrate the disguise that Gwydion gave us. For all its subtle art, it seems to me that this shape was woven chiefly to deceive Maskull, and there are times when some men – Duke Henry for one – are able to look through it.'

Morann put down the tankard. ‘Then you're wise to be wary. For no spell of magic is foolproof, and Henry de Bowforde looks like a fool to me.'

‘It's a dangerous mistake to believe that where Duke Henry's concerned,' Will said. ‘But there's one thing I don't understand…'

‘Only one?' Morann grinned.

“‘By his magic, so shall ye know him.” It's one of the
deepest redes of magic. It says that spells betray their makers. So how is it I'm not lit up for Maskull by Gwydion's handiwork?'

Morann's smile broadened. ‘I could hazard a good guess at that, but I will not. If Gwydion has promised that Maskull will not be alerted to your disguise, then you may rest assured he has arranged it so.'

Will gave a nod and glanced at Willow. ‘That makes me feel a little better. But only a little.'

Morann drew out an elmwood whistle and put it to his lips. For a while he blew a haunting melody that spoke of green meadows and grey hills and shafts of sunlight that lit a blessed land. As he did so a profound peace settled over the room, and Will felt a lump form in his throat. He locked fingers with Willow as he listened, and the lump dissolved away and once more he felt the ancient power begin to flood him. While many men took more than they gave, there were some who gave more than they took. Morann was one such.

They murmured their thanks when the last strains of the Connat air drifted away from them. The music was yet another gift from the man who had been looking after Will, one way or another, all his life.

‘I'm going to have to leave the court,' he told Morann. ‘We can't wait for Gwydion any longer. Maskull has been interesting himself in the battlestones.'

‘What?'

When Will told him about the stone they had found at Tysoe and the sighting posts that pointed to it, Morann stopped him. He got up and went over to the wet sack that he had left by the door. He produced from it what looked like an old Ewle wreath. It was made from hundreds of dead leaves.

‘What is it?' Willow asked.

‘A letter from Gwydion. It was left for my attention at
Worfwyken Bog near the Crossing of Northbridge on the Severine.' Morann threw it down onto the floor. ‘It's in the ogham of the Ogdoad – each leaf is from a different tree, each represents a different letter. This is the last word I've had from him.'

‘What does he say?' Will asked.

‘He confirms your fears. Let me see…“Maskull has now taken possession of the battlestone that was buried below Dainspeirhafoc” – that would be Sparrowhawk Hill in the present speech of the Realm.' Morann sighed and shook his head. ‘Why didn't you take charge of the stone there and then?'

‘Gwydion said we ought not to. We'd already found a stone near Arebury, but the ground about it was a stinking mire, and our task was made all the harder by the nearness of a stream. As for this one, Gwydion said we mustn't bother with it, for we had bigger fish to fry.'

‘So for want of a knot a whole ship may have been lost.'

‘It was plain to Gwydion the Tysoe stone was not the one we sought.'

‘But you left it unguarded, knowing that Maskull had been there. That was a very great risk. What can Master Gwydion have been thinking?'

Will shook his head like a man overwhelmed. ‘I don't know what else we could have done. It's not easy for anyone to use the harm that lies within a battlestone for his own ends. Maybe Gwydion thought that leaving it as a temptation for Maskull might be a way to hinder him. At the time Gwydion was more concerned to find the stone that marked the next battle. And rightly so, for there we succeeded – we found the Blow Stone. And you know what happened to that. But what if Maskull has taken the stone that the Blood Stone points to? The one that's due to come alive next?'

Morann stared back at him. ‘Was it a battlestone? Or a
stone of the lesser kind – the kind that only guides and connects the others?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Then our only clue is the Blood Stone's verse,' Morann said. He picked up the leaves and began to riffle his fingers through them. Will saw among them birch and oak, hawthorn and rowan, ash and holly. Morann spoke the verse in the true tongue and the sound of it was awesome.

‘Faic dama nallaid far askaine de,

Righ rofhir e ansambith athan?

Coise fodecht e na iarrair rathod,

Do-fhaicsennech muig firran a bran.

‘
Faic dama nallaid far askaine de
– what does that mean, Will?'

‘Er…See the…see the wild little deer on his rope?' Will offered desolately.

That broke the gloom. Morann laughed so hard he almost fell off his chair. ‘The wild little deer, you say? Ha ha ha! On his rope! Ha ha ha-ha!'

‘Where's the joke?' Will asked, bemused, but then grinning back. He looked to Willow, but she was laughing along with Morann whose howls were now resounding.

‘Oh, that tickled me. It truly did!' Morann choked.

Will's cheeks coloured. It was a habit that his new face had, and it was mightily annoying. ‘I'm not the scholar that I might be, I'm afraid. Gwydion only conferred the tongue of need upon me with this fine disguise. He abided by the redes and refused to throw in the true tongue for good measure.'

‘Oh, you can say that again! Ha ha!' Morann's face was red now.

Willow said, wiping her eyes, ‘Well, tell us, Morann. How should it be?'

‘Come on, Will! Even in the tongue of the Isle you should know what is meant by the expression “wild little deer!” Think!'

Will scratched his head. ‘I…'

Willow said, ‘Spiders! It must be spiders!'

‘So it is. Willow, you're a marvel. And so we have…now let me see…

‘Watch the spider upon his thread,

Who shall be the next true king?

He walks abroad to seek the road,

And sees not the raven upon the wing.'

‘It doesn't mean anything to me,' Will said. ‘How about you?'

‘I can't say it does,' Morann said, sucking his teeth. ‘At least nothing that jumps right out and hits you between the eyes.'

While the fire spat, and sap sizzled and seethed at the log's end, they looked at one another blankly.

‘Let's hear the other reading,' Will suggested. ‘That's the one that should tell us where the next stone lies.'

Morann looked through the leaves again, then spoke the lines.

‘Dama nallaid rofhinn e coise do-faicsenh,

Farhe righe fodechtan a muig a de an.

An firr ansambith iarraier skainne,

Faic ath na rathod dalha na brann.

‘A spider indeed walks unseen,

While the king is yet abroad.

But he who seeks the flaxen thread,

Shall ravens find beside the road.'

Willow poked the fire and watched the red sparks fly upward. ‘A spider who walks unseen – I think we all know who that must be!'

Will nodded. ‘“While the king is yet abroad.” The Blow Stone spoke of King Hal as a “false king”, and Gwydion thought the part about “the king watching over his tower” was Duke Richard defending Ludford Castle.'

‘The stones do not seem to speak well of the usurper's line,' Morann said. ‘Perhaps it is soon to die out.'

‘Then let's say that the “king” here means Duke Richard, since there's no mention of falseness this time.'

Willow met her husband's eye. ‘And the duke is out of the Realm, as we know. But I wonder who's seeking the flaxen thread. What
is
the flaxen thread? And what are the ravens beside the road?'

Once more they sat back in silence, but then Will said, ‘The lines don't seem to fit with the Tysoe stone or the stone at Arebury. That's something, at least.'

‘The word “skainne”,' Morann said. ‘In the true tongue that means something very particular – a fibre of harl.'

‘Harl?' Will asked. ‘What's that?'

‘The fibres of a flax plant. When flax is harvested the stalks are soaked in water and rotted until only the harl remains. It's the harl that's spun into flaxen thread.'

Willow said, ‘That doesn't get us very far.'

‘Perhaps this might.' Will gave the loremaster the green stone fish from around his neck. ‘Gwydion told me it was with me when he first found me. I used it to crack the Doomstone, and then to kill the Blood Stone. You can see why I'm keen to try it on the next stone.'

Morann took the fish and examined it briefly before handing it back. ‘It's a strange token, your little salmon. And I'll admit there's not much else I can say about it, though I've been a jewelmaster for a fair old time.'

‘If only Maskull would cause the court to progress southward,'
Willow said. ‘Then maybe we'd get into country that Will recognized better.'

‘Perhaps we're doing what we should by watching and waiting here, but it doesn't feel right.' Will frowned, and turned to Morann. ‘Would you encourage me to go against my promise to Gwydion?'

Morann looked back gravely. ‘Your promises are your own concern, Willand. I cannot give you better counsel than your own on what you must do for the best.'

‘You sound like Master Gwydion when you speak like that.'

‘Meaning…what?'

Will took Morann's challenge. ‘Oh, come on. You know he tells me far less than he knows. He keeps things from me very deliberately.'

‘He keeps something from everyone.'

‘But why me?'

‘Don't you know?'

‘No. He makes me wonder sometimes whose side he's really on!'

Morann shook his head. ‘Don't say that, Will. You should never doubt him. He's a wizard, and he cannot tell you all that he knows – no, not even about yourself. The reason is that he is a mover and a shaper of events. He knows cause and effect very well, and he knows that whatsoever he tells men causes them to move this way or that. But he does not reveal to you all that he knows, for he dare not interfere with your fate.'

‘But he does that equally by
not
telling me what he should!'

‘Let him be the judge of that. And if you're in any doubt, recall our friend, Lord Strange – the solution to his problem has always been within his own grasp, yet he may not be told where to find it by another.'

Will stared back. ‘Are you trying to say there's a spell like that upon my head?'

Morann drew a deep breath. ‘After a fashion, Will, maybe there is.'

‘Explain!'

‘Easy, Willand. All I meant is that Master Gwydion might see his way clear to tampering with
your
future and
your
fate, but would you expect him to play so freely with the future and fate of Great Arthur and therefore the Realm?'

Will sat back, collapsed into himself. Despite his frustration, he could see that Morann had made a crucial point. He said, ‘At this moment I surely don't feel like I'm Great Arthur.'

‘At this moment,' Morann said, not cracking a smile, ‘you surely don't look like him either. And maybe you are him and maybe you're not, but all I know is that you'd better be him, for time is moving on apace, the lorc is turbulent and too many battlestones remain in the ground. As for me, I have an ungrateful task too. Tired as I am I must leave again, and soon. Where I'm going I don't expect to run across Master Gwydion, but if I do you'll surely be the first to know.'