The Giants’ Dance. Robert Goldthwaite Carter
and drank as they talked about former times. Will listened more than he spoke and the three wore away most of the golden light of evening in remaking their friendship and gilding old memories. Morann told of recent travels, and of his adventures in the land of his fathers. Gwydion spoke of his wanderings in the wilds of Albanay, and of voyages he had made in frail coracles far out into the Western Deeps. Then they asked Will to tell of his wedding, and to speak of his life with Willow and the joy he had felt at his daughter’s birth.
He told them as well as he could, but when a pause came in their talk the fears that had been banished for a while began to crowd in on him. Again he began to reach for the red fish, but then he told himself that he did not want to be the first to speak of troubles, and so once more he chose to lay the matter aside.
Instead, his eye caught the ring on Morann’s finger. A ring of gold, it was, and the stone in it one of emerald green. Will had seen it many times before, but now its colour seemed to capture his attention and he felt prompted to ask about it.
‘It’s the ring of Turloch of Connat,’ Morann said. ‘It bears the great smaragd emerald of my ancestors. The tale says that Turloch used to wear it when trying suspected traitors. He would strike in the face any follower who was accused of treachery against him. If the man got up and kissed the ring then he was innocent. But if he could not bring himself to kiss the ring then he was guilty.’
Will wanted to hear more, but Gwydion cleared his throat and said, ‘We could listen all night with great pleasure to the deeds of your forebears, Morann, but I fear that darkness is pressing. Let us not forget that we are met for a more solemn purpose.’
They pushed their empty trenchers away and sat back. Then Gwydion laid out matters concerning the battlestones, and as the sun set he began to make a summary of what was presently known.
‘According to ancient writings, there were nine channels of earth power made by the fae long ago. These channels are called “ligns” – and collectively “the lorc”. The battlestones are planted on the lorc. There are two kinds of battlestone – the greater and the lesser. The greater sort come to life one at a time. Each of them has the power to raise bloodlust in the hearts of men and draw them to battle. We have tracked down five battlestones so far—’ Gwydion raised a stark finger, ‘—the first was the Dragon Stone, which we found just a few leagues to the east of here.’
‘Gwydion put it into Castle Foderingham for safekeeping,’ Will added. ‘It’s one of the greater sort.’
‘And you hope it’s still entombed there,’ Morann added dubiously. ‘Hope, but do not know? Is that it?’
‘Quite so.’ Gwydion unfolded his thumb. ‘The second of the stones was the Plaguestone, which was left by us in the cave of Anstin the Hermit.’
A cloud passed fleetingly across Morann’s face. ‘Surely stones such as these will not be safe in castles and hermits’ caves.’
Gwydion said, ‘Indeed. But I judged they would do better when placed in fresh lodgings than when left to rot in the ground. Foderingham’s walls are thick and I counted its master to be a stalwart friend. As for Anstin’s cave, no man dares go there for fear of leprosy. It is hardly spoken of locally, and not at all elsewhere, therefore it is one of the most secret places in the Realm.’
Morann shook his head. ‘Would the Plaguestone not have been better mortared into Foderingham’s foundations alongside the Dragon Stone?’
‘Yes, Gwydion,’ Will agreed. ‘Surely Maskull, with all his arts, would not fear the leper’s touch. If to get at a stone, even one of the lesser sort, is his aim—’
Gwydion held up a hand at mention of the sorcerer’s name. ‘Hear me out. Of the Plaguestone I shall say more presently. Meanwhile, let me speak of the third stone.’ He unfolded another finger. ‘This is the Stone of Aston Oddingley, whose malignant power Willand first felt in his bones as we combed the land in search of the lign of the rowan. That stone, which he says is probably of the greater sort, remains undisturbed, for when we found it we had another quarry in mind, and my advice was that we should leave it be for the moment.’
Will turned to Morann. ‘That’s because the Aston Oddingley stone was planted on lands controlled by mad Lord Clifton, who Gwydion said would never bid us welcome. It was true. He was killed at Verlamion.’
Gwydion looked to Morann and the many charms hanging at the wizard’s chest rattled together. ‘I wanted to show Will here that according to the redes of magic some problems, though they are insoluble in themselves, in time often turn into different problems which may be solved.’ He raised another finger. ‘Fourthly came the stone we found near the Giant’s Ring. Our triumph over it was accomplished at great risk, for it was a stone of the greater sort, though its nearness to the King’s Stone had muted it. Its downfall was complete, and now its stump has been returned whence it came. Henceforth it will do good service for a mutual friend.’
Gwydion now unfolded his little finger and tapped it significantly. ‘And that brings us to the final stone of which we have sure knowledge, the Doomstone of Verlamion, the same one that Will may have destroyed.’
‘May have…’ Will repeated.
The wizard took a deep breath. ‘That stone, I believe to be the controlling stone, and without it the power of the others will be so diminished that they cannot complete their tasks. But when Will made his brave attack he was young and untried, so it is possible that the Doomstone was not destroyed after all. Perhaps it only suffered a disabling shock, one which temporarily shattered its power into many parts. But perhaps those parts have been growing together again like drops of lead in the bottom of a fiery crucible.’
‘And when enough drops are gathered into one?’ Will asked.
‘Then we shall know if I am right.’
Gwydion’s mouse-brown robes had merged with the shadows of the snug. Will had been aware of a bumble bee buzzing at the trellis, but now even this tireless labourer had gone to its burrow and the climbing flowers that had listened in all around the window had closed their trumpets for the night.
Morann, whose chin rested on his hand, said, ‘So, of the stones you know about, one has been drained, two are stored, one lies yet undisturbed, and the master of them all, the Doomstone, has been attacked but may be repairing itself. The sites of the other battlestones – if there are others – you have not yet learned.’
‘We do know something.’ Gwydion clasped his hands before him. ‘When Willand was at Ludford Castle he felt himself affected by a strange melancholy. He thought it may have been caused by the emanations of a powerful stone, but in such a fortified place it was hard to tell exactly where they were coming from.’
Will thought back to the morbid feelings he had endured while staying at Ludford. ‘I was certain it was a battlestone, Morann. At first I believed it to be the Dragon Stone, and I suspected Duke Richard of having carried it there for his own purposes. But then Gwydion explained to me that my thinking was out of kilter. The Dragon Stone was still at Foderingham, and my state of mind must have been roused up by another stone.’
‘But you couldn’t find it?’ Morann asked.
Will shook his head. ‘Though it seemed very strong. Ludford Castle and the town itself is a maze of walls and towers. There is too much dressed stone there. My feelings were confused. It was like listening for a sound inside a cave full of echoes.’
‘Yet you were able to find the Doomstone, even though it lay under a great stone-built chapter house,’ Morann said.
Gwydion spread his hands. ‘That is because the Doomstone was by then awake, in the full flood of its power and actively calling men to the fight. It is possible that some powerful hiding magic is at work at Ludford. That may be a good reason to let the battlestone lie for the meanwhile, just as we have let the Aston Oddingley stone lie.’
‘The trouble is,’ Will muttered, glancing at Gwydion, ‘we can’t keep deciding to let sleeping dogs lie.’
Gwydion