Tomorrow's Magic
Page 24
“And then there are the creatures of the other world, from Faerie. Doors are opening again to all its many parts. They'll be having more and more stake in what's happening here.” He laughed dryly. “When I lived before, I saw those doors closing; magic was drawing to the end of its cycle. But now the powers are coming again; they're new and growing. If only I wasn't so tied to the old world, maybe I could help change the outcome this time, both in the long and the short run. Otherwise, what is the point of my being here?” His last words came as such a shout that even his horse shied. But the wizard hardly noticed.
The army camped that night near Penrith, picking up another eager contingent of volunteers. Next morning they marched north and by the middle of the third day had reached Carlisle. The town's newly constructed walls showed the people's fear of the impinging Scots.
Arthur camped his troops outside the walls, not far from Carlisle's own army. In the center of the sprawling camp, a large tent was erected and the Dragon standard stuck into the ground before it. The smoke of cookfires was rising into the dusk when a ram's horn blared from the gate, and a small troop rode forth, led by Clarence, Duke of Carlisle.
When the riders reached Arthur's tent, Duke Clarence swung with arthritic care from his horse and bowed to his High King. Then, smiling, he slapped the younger man on the shoulder.
“By the gods, Arthur, this army is even more impressive than the one you marched against me last year. I think even my hotheaded young generals are thankful now for this old man's wisdom in forming an alliance.”
“So are we all, Clarence. You make a far better ally than enemy, particularly considering the enemy we face at the moment.”
“Speaking of which, I received a message this morning from Queen Margaret, or as she styles herself, ‘Queen of Scots and the Lands of the North.’ A little presumptuous, I think, since Carlisle is as far north as one can get without crossing Hadrian's Wall.”
“She sounds like a very presumptuous lady altogether,” Arthur observed. “But let's discuss this sitting down.”
The flaps on the King's tent had been raised awninglike for the war council of Cumbria and Carlisle. Crowding in, the nobles and generals seated themselves on animal skins. On a stool in the center, Arthur sat near a pile of ancient maps, with Dukes Reginald and Clarence beside him. The tent was crowded, but the space around the King's young wizard was left free until two even younger figures appeared on the edge of the crowd, and Merlin patted the spot beside him. WelIy, Heather, and the girl's alarming dog worked their way through to join him.
Shifting on his stool, Duke Clarence pulled a rolled parchment from his jacket. “Before proceeding any further, Your Majesty, I should pass on Margaret's message, arrogant as it may be.”
“Certainly, read it to us all.”
The old man unrolled the message and squinted at it closely. “ ‘To Clarence, Temporary Duke of Carlisle.’ ” The phrase brought gasps and angry muttering from the crowd. “ ‘From Margaret II, Queen of Scots and the Lands of the North. In pursuance of the pledge taken by Myself in ascending the throne of My fathers, I have led My people from their lands of ice and snow to the heart of English plenty. It is My will that the ancient wall that once divided the Scots from England's northern shires now unite us as a backbone. Northumbria is Mine. Newcastle is Mine. Carlisle must be Mine as well.’”
Again, outraged muttering in the assembly. “But there's more.” Clarence raised a hand, and the group quieted. “ ‘It has come to Our attention that you have formed an alliance with a young upstart from Cumbria falsely calling himself Arthur Pendragon. If you persist in refusing generous offers to submit to Our dominion, We must move against you and any demented allies that creep from their hills. We urge your surrender now. Obstinacy and fairy tales cannot prevail against the might and majesty of Scotland.’”
The Duke let the parchment roll close and handed it to the King. Arthur smiled thinly. “Well, it seems that centuries of ice have done nothing to cool Scottish arrogance. Now, shall we see what we can do?”
From around him came cheers and laughing boasts of what they would do to Margaret and her Scots. Before the noise subdued into earnest planning, Merlin stood up, his face more pale and drawn than ever.
“Sire, a word. I leave war plans to you and your generals. But remember, our goal is not vengeance or simply to have one shire win against another. It must always be to unite those shires, to unite them for the future against the threat in the South. Defeat of that common enemy must be uppermost. Any strategy that furthers that is wise; any that weakens it is foolish.”
“Have you any specific advice, then, Merlin?”
The youth hung his head. “No. I cannot see the answers, only the dangers.” He looked up again, his face sickly pale. “Too much eagerness for bloodletting may be one of them.”
Abruptly he turned and left the tent. The silence was broken by muttered questions about who this pushy brat thought he was and by hushed answers from those who knew. As talk turned to the coming battle, Heather left her place and slipped out.
Cold night had fallen, its stars shrouded by the usual high dust. In the distance, the darkened bulk of Carlisle glimmered with scattered lights. On the surrounding plain, the shapes of men and horses were dark smudges, illuminated here and there by the ruddy glow of campfires. Acrid smoke from burning dung twisted through the chill air along with the sounds of men and horses and the muted clatter of equipment.
Heather asked a guard outside the tent if he had seen Merlin. Making a quick sign against ill omen, he pointed to a thin figure standing alone on a nearby knoll. She frowned as she left the guard. These people, she thought angrily, were willing enough to benefit from magic. They might even use a little about their farms. But they still feared it and those who worked it for them.
“Earl?” she said, approaching the shadowed figure. As he turned toward her, the glow of a distant campfire lit his haggard face. Suddenly she wasn't sure why she had come. She certainly didn't want to talk about magic. No, it was he who worried her.
“Earl, you looked awful in there. Are you sick?”
He sighed in the darkness. “I might as well be. It's the same thing, Heather, getting worse. Sometimes it tears at me so, I can hardly stand it.”
“But surely you don't think we should abandon this battle? Carlisle's an ally. What respect would people have for Arthur if he didn't help his allies when they needed it?”
“I know, I know. But look at the whole picture. Here we've gathered the best warriors and some of the best farmers and shepherds from all of Cumbria. We'll join the same sorts from Carlisle and march against more of the same from Scotland, Northumbria, and Newcastle. And what will happen? Oh, there'll be a ‘glorious victory’ for someone. But hundreds of people will be dead. There'll be that many fewer farmers and shepherds to work this land and that many fewer warriors to hold out against Morgan and her forces in the South.”
Heather shivered, remembering her own past meetings with Morgan. “But what can we do? I mean, right now? You said yourself that Arthur must unite all these little quarreling shires. If they don't acknowledge him voluntarily, how can he do it except by war? If you tell those generals of his not to confront Margaret's army, they'll tear you apart.”
“Oh, we can confront her, all right. But maybe …”
A long silence. Impatiently Heather broke it. “Maybe?”
“Heather, I may need your help, and Welly's, too. Can I have it?”
“What kind of help?”
“Nothing you can't do.”
“Yes, but should we do it? No, don't answer that. If I can, I'll help. But what is it?”
“I'm not sure yet. Just an idea. If I only had my Bowl of Seeing, we could get some inkling of what this battle has in store. But we may have to act nonetheless.”
He laughed and gently squeezed her shoulders. “Thanks, though. I'm suddenly feeling better. Maybe you should play around with healing magic while you're at it.”
&n
bsp; With dawn came orders to break camp and prepare to march. During the night, word had come that Queen Margaret was on the move, marching west from Newcastle along the course of the ancient Roman Wall.
Heather crawled from her frost-stiffened bedroll. After three days in the saddle, every muscle in her body ached. She was moving so much like an ancient crone, she was almost surprised to see that her hair hadn't turned white. Gingerly combing and rebraiding it, she soon joined the bustle around Arthur's tent.
Duke Reginald, his short, squat body planted firmly in front of the King, was arguing vigorously. “You're a stubborn man, sire, if you'll excuse my boldness. But it's a mistake to march out to meet her. We know where she's heading. Stay put, I say, and let her troops tire themselves marching to us.”
Arthur ran an exasperated hand through his hair. “That makes sense, Reggie, but think of it from Clarence's point of view. He doesn't know how this battle is going to go. We could lose it or reach a stalemate. Every foot the Scots move into his territory is land they might hold.”
“True, but …”
“Rest assured, friend, no forced march. We'll move just fast enough to limber ourselves up.”
The other laughed, but beside him, one of his serious-faced young generals shook his head. “Sire, you said we couldn't know how this battle will come out. But we could, couldn't we, if we asked that wizard of yours?”
Merlin, who had been struggling nearby with the bent clasp of a saddle girth, turned toward them, but Arthur waved him back. “It would be nice, wouldn't it,” the King said. “I admit I don't understand magic, but Merlin tells me prophecies are out.” He smiled, thumping the general on the shoulders. “Besides, half the fun of these things is the suspense.”
But the man persisted. “Well, then, how about improving the odds? Couldn't he throw thunderbolts at the enemy or make them fall asleep or turn us all into forty-foot giants?”
Merlin sighed and, leaving the saddle, walked toward them. With a wry smile, the King deferred to him.
“Arthur knows just how often we've had this conversation, and the answer's always the same. Magic's not much use on a battlefield. If you'd been with us these last few years, you'd know that magic used simply to frighten tends to scare both sides equally. If I used it as a weapon and started hurling spells or flames at an enemy, it'd likely hit our people as well. And as for turning us into giants, one magician, even a troop of them, couldn't maintain an illusion like that for long, not with several thousand pseudo-giants running around.
“No, Arthur and I have an arrangement. I understand magic, and he leaves that to me. He understands warfare, and I leave that to him. I'll go along, but only to help here and there.”
Arthur nodded. “What this smooth-faced kid is saying, gentlemen”—he dodged a good-natured kick from Merlin—“is that we have to win this ourselves—which is as it should be. How are we going to win and hold a kingdom unless people know we have the strength to do it on our own? ”
Heather caught Merlin's eye before he headed back toward his heap of stubborn horse trappings. “But I thought you said …”
“Hush.” He looked furtively around, then pulled her aside. “I meant that. There's no point in throwing magic indiscriminately around on the battlefield. But if we are very, very discriminating, we might turn one thing at least in the right direction.”
“Earl, stop being an enigmatic wizard! What do you mean?”
He smiled infuriatingly. “You'll see.”
CLASH ALONG THE WALL
In three days' time, Heather was to learn what he meant. The land around them now was bleak and wild. From horizon to gray horizon, it stretched in a rolling plain, bare except for rock outcrops and coarse grass ruffled by loud, cold winds. To the north, the land swept upward, rising into a long chain of ridges, like waves frozen seconds before breaking. Dark along the crest ran the remains of the Wall.
Millennia earlier, the Romans had built that wall to set off their civilized empire from the barbarian north. But the empire had fallen, and in time so had much of the Wall. Yet now, on the sweeping ridges above the army, a crumbling spine of stone still spoke of ancient order.
As Arthur's army made camp that second night, the sky clotted with thick gray clouds. Before dark had fallen, snow sifted from the sky, sizzling into cookfires and settling wetly on waiting bedrolls. By dawn, the whole landscape was dusted with white. Dark stones standing out starkly now, the Wall snaked silently over the ridgetops to their north.
Heather had no eyes for scenery as she tied heavy leggings over her trousers and fastened on the stiff leather breastplate. As she moved, its fish-scale metal plates tinkled like sinister wind chimes. Every few seconds, she looked up at the dark smudge that spread slowly toward them from the east. The Scottish army. The enemy.
Nervously she buckled her short Eldritch sword about her waist, recalling the first time she had used that weapon after they'd found it in the ancient shipwreck. Then she had faced an uncanny army of Morgan's. This Queen Margaret, however arrogant, was at least leading a human army. Still, she reflected uneasily, those Scots could kill her just as dead.
With Rus jumping excitedly beside her, she made her way to where Welly was standing by the horses. Everyone was too intent on his own fears and preparations to bother avoiding a young magic worker and her mutant dog. She hardly noticed the others but smiled when she saw Welly. He looked impressively martial in his metal-studded armor. But already there was a sheen of sweat on his face, and one plump hand was fidgeting with the horse-head hilt of his own Eldritch sword.
Over the steady howling of wind, horses neighed, men shouted orders, and metal clattered on metal as soldiers swung into saddles and hurried to their positions. The cold air smelled of horse, leather, and sweat.
“Farther east!” Arthur shouted to Otto as a groom brought up the King's gray horse. “Keep to the high ground but move farther east. The drop-off on the Wall's far side is too steep here. We can't risk being driven against it.”
The King swung onto his horse, and Welly, Heather, and the others did the same. Already, John Wesley, seated proudly on his shaggy brown mare, had raised the Pen-dragon banner. It snapped above them in the sharp, icy air.
With Arthur and his standard in the lead, the King's troop pulled out. Merlin rode up beside Heather and Welly. “Stick with me,” he said over the din of horses and men, “and stay uphill from the King.”
To the blare of horns and roll of drums, the army began flowing eastward. Heather looked ahead at the enemy advancing to the eerie wail of bagpipes. They were closer now but not close enough to pick out individuals. She wondered if the smudge of their own army looked as large and daunting to the Scots. There were a lot of people on both sides. Earl was right. Once they had finished fighting, no matter who won, there'd be a lot of people dead.
Heather squelched the thought and, like many others, strained for a glimpse of Queen Margaret. Riding beside her, Welly pointed. “There she is, on that big red horse. Guess that's her banner in front.”
Heather kept her eyes on that distant figure. Even from so far away, she could see the Queen's flaming red hair. The banner was a splash of red on gold, but she couldn't make out the device.
Suddenly Merlin was beside them, working his black mare like a sheepdog to cut them off. “Higher. We don't want to get swept up in the charge.” Rus yapped eagerly, and Heather shot him a hushing look.
Both armies slowed, seeking favorable positions. Arthur held the north ridge, while across a shallow swale still scarred by Roman ditches, the Scots took a lower swell of ground.
Heather could see the Queen better now. She looked young, not the brutish veteran everyone seemed to have expected. The banner was clearly a rearing red lion blazoned on gold.
Merlin maneuvered his horse between Heather and Welly. “When the charge is sounded, head for those rocks.” Welly opened his mouth to protest, but Merlin cut him short. “No, I'm not asking you to hide. Look, this is the plan.”
A challenging horn brayed over the hills and was answered by another across the swale. Voices rose in growling shouts, and like water bursting from dams, the two armies poured toward each other, yelling and brandishing weapons.
“There!” Merlin shouted as the three galloped toward the rocks. “Margaret's holding back at first, directing things from that knoll. You can always find her by the banner. Now, Heather, the Queen's horse!”
But Heather was already looking at the horse, a big red stallion. His ears pricked forward eagerly, and his mane bristled along the proud arched neck. He snorted and pawed the earth. He had known many battles and would wait for command, but not patiently. He wanted to run with his fellows, to carry his mistress into the exciting chaos, to strike with his hooves at any who faced him.
“Closer!” Heather's voice was strained. Welly, his hand on her horse's bridle, had been steadily leading her while she concentrated. The three were now east of the battle. On a rise above them and to their west were the Queen and her guard. The shallow valley vibrated with sound, the sound of screaming horses and men and of weapons clashing on armor.
“Now, Heather,” Merlin urged. “Now!”
Heather followed the path she'd forged, reaching into the red horse's eager, battle-hungry mind. This is the way. Now is the command. The only way, the only time to join the battle. This way. Now!
The Queen's horse screamed and bolted sideways, his rider struggling to stay on his back. Heather stared at the joyous, tossing head. Yes, that's right, this way, faster! Let no one stop you. This is the way, the only way to battle.
The horse veered east and then plunged down the slope. Confused, the Queen's guard watched a moment; then, seeing her in danger, they prodded their horses after her.