‘Then go from here with all your strength and a thousand blessings upon you.’ Mother Brig’s voice echoed from the girls’ mouths. ‘But you had better hope with all your might and main that understanding comes to you before death does.’
Will sat quietly with Willow as Gwydion, grim-faced now, led the duke out of the hall. Will wished he had understood even a seventh part of what had happened tonight, for it seemed greatly important. But then the doors banged shut, and Gwydion and Duke Richard were gone. Slowly the people fell to talking and then the music struck up again and soon there was dancing and laughing again as if the duke’s visit had never been.
Will looked at Willow and he saw how fair she was of face, and the more he looked the fairer she seemed to him. She looked long at him likewise, and though a glow burned in her cheeks she would not turn away from his gaze. At last he took her hands, then drew her to him. He put his arms around her and kissed her on the lips, and her taste was far sweeter than any wine.
After that the dancing took them again and they danced all night for it seemed that a spell was upon them and they could not sit down while it held sway over them.
Will awoke the next day with a heavy head but a light heart. The terrible mood that had been affecting him had vanished away with the Ewletide. The day dawned cold, and sunrise blazed in the sky as the world came reluctantly alive again. When he looked outside he saw that everything lay under a thick blanket of snow. In the outer ward the horses that usually watched the comings and goings with interest had retired inside their stalls and the poultry looked around, amazed at the deep whiteness that had appeared.
Will trod a path through the virgin whiteness. The snow was knee-deep and dangerous on the battlements, but he climbed up to see what wonderful view would be revealed. And wonderful it was – the fields were quilted in white, stitched together by black lines of hedgerows. All the lanes were filled and drifts had piled up, burying fences and ditches and gates and making the whole land seem as if it had been wrapped in white fur. He pitied any army that tried to march in the next few days, and he wondered if Gwydion might not have gone out upon a peak somewhere in the small hours and tampered with the night airs to make time for the duke to think again.
Out there like an ominous shoulder loomed the dark Forest of Morte rising to the south-west. A broad, flat vista spread away to the south-east. Fields made another patchwork to the north, and a solitary high peak called the Giant’s Chair dominated the east. In the opposite direction, sunk in the western darkness where many rivers rose, there stretched a land of frosty hills, a wild, unconquerable land that could swallow up whole armies in its mists. The castle of Ludford had been raised here by the heirs of the Conqueror to guard against the ancient magics that even now prowled the princedoms of Cambray. That was why Ludford’s lords had always been called ‘marcher lords’ for they protected the Marches, or borders, of what was a stilldangerous land.
Will took a moment to breathe deeply and take in the beauty that had come into the world, but then hunger got the better of him and he went down and breakfasted on fried leftovers before Gwydion found him. Together they went to the Round House, a free-standing tower in the inner ward that served as the duke’s place of work, and where visitors were received.
Guards flanked the entrance, which was a beautifully carved and pillared arch. Inside, the chamber was richly decorated and bedraped. The heads of the Twelve Austere Queens looked down as if in judgment on the business transacted here. The duke was sitting at his offices, courteous and cool of manner, but looking like a man who lacked sleep. He dismissed his secretary and scribes with a gesture, and when the door was closed he said, ‘I’ve told you, Master Gwydion, that I’m happy to leave matters of magic to you. But you must leave matters of state to me. Your gift to the queen, and what it may signify, remains at the root of my displeasure with you.’
‘That is not what you imagine.’
‘It was a bribe! Offered without my sanction! Intended to win for me the Protectorship of the Realm! You may have meant well by it, but it was unwarranted interference.’
Gwydion faced the duke’s anger calmly. ‘Friend Richard, see how the eyes of the Twelve Austere Queens look down upon you. Have you forgotten why your father, Richard de Coneyburgh, set these dozen effigies here in his Round House? It was to remind those who make important choices to consider twelve times, as a woman does. Do you not have the courage to change your mind even once?’
The duke sighed, tense, curbing his annoyance. He began to toy with an ivory rod that Will recognized. ‘I thank you for your counsel, but I regret that my decision has been made and cannot now be unmade.’
‘How then if I tell you that there is already a prophecy on the head of Duke Edgar?’
The duke’s eyes came alive, and his grip on the ivory rod tightened. ‘Edgar of Mells? What prophecy?’
‘I told him that he must “beware castles on pain of death”.’
Duke Richard stared hard at the wizard. He put down the rod and instead began twisting his signet ring on his finger. ‘And what is the meaning of it?’
‘Folk must make of prophecies what they will.’
The duke’s shortness of temper showed again, though this time it seemed more prompted by worry. ‘I tell you, I care not for prophecies. So many of them are falsehoods, deliberately invented to confound good decisions. Neither do I set store by rumours or prophetic dreams.’
‘Dreams?’ Gwydion leaned close in on the duke. ‘Did you, by any chance, dream last night?’
Will recalled Mother Brig’s curious words about Duke Richard dying if he touched an enchanted chair – had the old woman sworn a destiny upon him? He looked at the way the duke’s hands gripped the carved lions’ heads of his seat, and wondered again about the ivory rod. It was undoubtedly the unicorn horn that Edward had once purloined.
The duke broke away from Gwydion’s stare, and made an attempt to sound reasonable. ‘Master Gwydion, I do not want you to tell the meaning of my dreams. I called you here to try to make you understand that my decision is made fast, that you must not interfere any more, or our friendship will reach an unsatisfactory conclusion.’
‘How like your great grandfather you can be,’ Gwydion said softly, but he continued to look hard at the duke, and then he nodded slowly. ‘If your decision is made, then so be it. But regarding my quest, a grant of men and silver and a ship to carry a stone from the Blessed Isle. Men and silver to help in the guarding of the other battlestones that must be found and lifted – will you afford me such help as I may need?’
A pale smile passed over the duke’s face. ‘It was a pretty trick of fire you played before us all last night. With such magic at your command what need have you of ships and companies of men? And it is strange to hear you speak of purses of silver.’
Gwydion gestured the remark away testily. ‘It is a rede of magic that “Magic helpeth those who have already sought to help themselves.” Others will speak of the importance of free will, the impulse of charity, the origination and offering of ideas, that which may be offered in openness and honesty. But it is in the nature of magic that giving is receiving. Do you see?’
The duke rolled his eyes. ‘All this is high and arcane science – your concern and not mine. I am a practical man. Now, you see my reluctance to tread in your domain, Crowmaster, so why not do as I do, and leave statecraft to me?’
‘Richard, there are some tasks for which my own skills may not easily serve. I do not ask favours lightly – I cannot sail stones across the Grey Sea without help. A small gift from you would aid me in secret work that may yet avert disaster.’
‘Oh, this is nought but beggary, and tiresome beggary at that!’
‘I have told you I must root up the stones before it is too late.’
‘You are reported to be a wise man, Master Gwydion,’ the duke said distantly. ‘Perhaps that’s why your requests seem so strange to ordinary men. But I sometimes wonder if, in memory of the friendship you
had with my father, I don’t indulge you rather too much. You warn that war is coming, but in that event I too will be hard pressed for men and silver.’ His fingers drummed on the arm of his chair. ‘However, if you were to offer some compensating protection to me—’
‘Richard, do not try to bargain with magic.’
‘Surely one favour deserveth another, does it not?’
‘And do not quote the redes wryly at me! Magic is never for sale, and never for negotiation – you know that. You cannot buy advantage with it. Magic must always be requested never summoned, always respected and never treated with disdain. Ask openly, ask honestly – for honest men alone have the right to speak words of power.’
The duke’s face froze. ‘Now you are being unreasonable.’
‘Am I? Because I see so easily through your wiles?’
‘But “battlestones”, Master Gwydion?’ The duke shook his head. ‘How can I tell a common soldier that he must follow me unto death because the comrades who should have been protecting our flank were, by my order, sent off to grub up magic stones in some far distant part of the Realm?’
‘Your soldiers will follow you anywhere. Of that I am quite sure.’
The duke accepted the compliment graciously. ‘But if there were to be a general spell of protection set upon the arms of Ebor—’
‘Richard! Think what you are saying! You are asking for sorcery. And woe shall betide those, even in the greatest distress, who look to a sorcerer’s embrace for advantage. They shall find only misery there!’
Will saw the difference between wizard and duke widen. Gwydion came forward and seized the other’s hand, but the duke stubbornly took his hand away. ‘Master Gwydion, you have received my answer thrice already. Do not press me!’
Gwydion rose, stepped back, gathered himself with formal dignity. His face betrayed no wrath at the foolish ways of men. ‘Richard, my old friend, I must take my leave of you. The tide has today begun to turn against your cause. As for the Dragon Stone, I will arrange to have it removed from Foderingham as soon as may be. Meanwhile examine every motive that invites you to battle, for such invitations will not be all they may seem. Shailfadah hugat to you.’
Will followed as Gwydion turned to leave. When they emerged from the Round House the whiteness of the snow brought a sudden hurt to Will’s eyes. Mention of the Dragon Stone had set old fears a-jangling, and he wondered if he should try to tell Gwydion about what had happened on the night that Edmund’s hand had been burned, but now did not seem to be exactly the right moment.
‘“I was appointed Lord Protector of this Realm, not you…”’ Gwydion said, wearily repeating the words Duke Richard had used. ‘And now he resents having been put into the Protectorship by me. What’s to be done with him?’
‘Did you see what the duke had in his hand?’Will asked.
‘What?’
‘The duke – he had a piece of unicorn’s horn.’
Gwydion turned, reluctant to be jogged from his thoughts by Will’s unconnected concerns. ‘Not so. I would have felt it if there had been a piece of unicorn horn present.’
‘But the duke had it in his hand. It was—’ He broke off, seeing the trap he was setting for himself. This was not the best time to begin making admissions. He decided to leave Gwydion’s ill humour to settle. Instead he asked, ‘Did you really give King Leir’s diamond to the queen?’
‘Leir’s diamond?’ The wizard turned, suddenly interested, suddenly intense. ‘Oh, that was never Leir’s. It was only buried with him. Did I not tell you about it, that diamond of Great Arthur’s?’
‘Yes, you did,’ Will said, unable for the moment to untangle quite what he knew from what he thought he might have imagined. ‘You said…you said it was long ago brought out by Great Arthur from the Realm Below. You said the Star came from a chamber that lies deep under the earth. A place called Annuin where all the Hallows lay until Arthur stormed the fortress of Caer Rigor. He and Taliesin and his heroes sailed there aboard the ship, Prydwen, and fetched the Hallows away, though only seven returned alive…’
A curious half-smile was on the wizard’s mouth. ‘Did I tell you all that?’
‘You must have,’Will said, his shoulders falling. ‘Or how else could I have known it?’
‘How indeed.’ The wizard stirred. ‘Perhaps you learned it from one of those twisted tales they tell down at the Green Man.’
‘Yes,’ he muttered. ‘That must be it.’
‘But to answer your question about the Star of Annuin: I gave it to the queen, for I know very well that she covets large and pretty jewels for their own sake. She knows not what it truly signifies, nor why I have made a gift of it to her.’
‘But why did you give it to such a calculating vixen? That’s what Duke Richard can’t understand, and neither can I.’
‘Oh, spoken like a true son of the tribe of Ebor! Be careful, Willand. Be careful what you’re turning into.’
‘Don’t say that, Master Gwydion. I’m not one of them, really I’m not. And while we’re about it you still haven’t answered my question.’
The wizard sniffed at Will’s insistence. ‘You are growing up quicker than I thought. I gave the diamond for a reason that cannot yet be spoken about – and most weakening to me it was to give, I might tell you!’
‘And how do you expect Duke Richard to understand your schemes, if you won’t speak of them?’
‘I dare not speak of some matters. A little faith is all I ask of Friend Richard. Long and patient has been my diplomacy on his behalf, but because he does not understand the whole of my purpose – nor the reasons behind what I do for him – he takes easy umbrage.’
‘Maybe there’s more to Duke Richard’s troubles than you allow,’ Will said, going after the wizard.
Gwydion’s cloak swirled as he turned. ‘Indeed?’
‘It’s just that I saw the figure of Death walking in the Garden of the White Rose on two occasions while you were away, Master Gwydion. And I’ve seen it again here. What do you think it portends?’
‘Gort told me you had been seeing apparitions.’ The wizard’s eyes showed concern as he examined Will carefully. ‘Gort puts what you saw at Foderingham down to leakage from the Dragon Stone, and whatever you may see here down to that which lies in the ground hereabouts. I am not so sure he is wholly right. I might say that matters concerning you have begun to make a deal more sense to me of late.’
The old fear seized him. ‘Matters, Master Gwydion?’
The wizard’s breath steamed in the cold air. His face was frozen as he looked into Will’s eyes. ‘Gort tells me many things. Do you know what premonitions are, hmm?’
‘Yes. They’re portents of the future.’
‘Indeed they are. Warnings. Do you know why it is that you fear a portcullis will fall on you and kill you?’
The unexpected question floored him. ‘No…’
‘Did you never think that perhaps one day such a thing would actually happen to you? That your fear of portcullises comes of a special kind of knowledge of happenings received by you ahead of time?’
‘You mean…foreknowledge?’
‘Something of the sort. It is thought that this is the main cause of premonitions – your future self is speaking a warning to you back across the barriers of time.’
‘Is that how I’m to die?’ Will asked, horrified. ‘Chopped in two by a portcullis?’
‘Chopped in two?’ Gwydion raised his eyebrows then said lightly, ‘What more would you have me say to you about it? It is your premonition.’
The knowledge made Will stare at the slushy ground. ‘But I can’t believe that…oh, no!’
‘Why can’t you believe it? Have you perhaps planned a more glorious end for yourself?’ Gwydion seized his shoulder. ‘You may think Gort is an old fool, Willand, but he is not. Quite the opposite. I came here because he told me you had to be taken away. There is something here at Ludford that you cannot abide and you must go from here.’
‘Do y
ou mean the battlestone that’s buried nearby?’
‘That perhaps…but more. You saw my diplomacy with Richard fail. All my strategies for peace are collapsing. Ludford is not fruitful ground for us. Something is weakening my influence here, something I do not yet fully understand, but I do know that it involves you mightily.’
‘And what if I don’t want it to involve me!’
The wizard’s eyes were suddenly glowing coals. ‘It hardly matters what you want. Here your sanity has been fluttering like silk in a gale. All your failings are magnified as by a glass. You have been carried along by the dread currents that are blowing through the house of Ebor, and it is now too dangerous for you to remain among them. Mother Brig can read little enough of your future, but she says that one day you will return here, and the knowledge you have gained of the powers that collide in this place will change the way the past is chosen and fixed from all the manifold futures.’
He swallowed, unnerved now. ‘Master Gwydion, who is Mother Brig? What did she say about me?’
‘Brighid the High Queen of Imbletide! Called by the Slavers, “Brigantia”. She is a seer.’
That did not satisfy. ‘But she’s surely more than just a seer.’
Gwydion looked at him suddenly as a man regards a dog that had learned a clever new trick. ‘More than just a seer, he says. You heard her speak it out plainly what she is.’
‘If I did, then I don’t remember.’
‘Then you should have attended more closely, for she declared herself in an important way. She is Sovereignty. She is seen by one and all as an aged crone, except by the man who would be king – and he sees her as a fair young maiden. But as for you, Willand, she says that one day history will turn on your actions here in this place, but that for the moment you should leave Ludford and leave it right away.’
They had reached the gates that led to the outer ward and Will halted as they opened. ‘Leave? What? Right now? But…I can’t just leave,’ he said numbly.
Gwydion’s expression was dark and haunted. ‘War is a terrible business, Willand. Every battlestone unearthed and dealt with will be a calamity averted. Many thousands of lives can still be saved. Come with me and we shall look for them together.’
The Language of Stones Page 35