The Giants’ Dance. Robert Goldthwaite Carter
of great power use us as their playthings. This is quite different from the magical understanding of the spirits of kindness and harm which lie latent and in balance and scattered throughout all things.’
Will shook his head. ‘I still don’t understand.’
‘The idea of good fighting to survive evil is a very dangerous one. It represents the second greatest tool of the Fellowship, and is something that softens and warps the minds of any who allow themselves to see the world in those terms.’
‘The second greatest?’ Will raised his eyebrows. ‘You mean there’s a worse one?’
‘Much worse. Long ago the Sightless Ones harnessed an even more dangerous idea, one that came from the Tortured Lands of the east. It is an idea that makes folk into willing slaves once it is planted in their heads.’
‘A simple idea can do that?’
‘Do you doubt it?’
‘But what can it be?’
‘I dare not tell you for, though it is lethal, it also has great appeal. It might seize you and destroy you, and do so seemingly within the bounds of your own free will.’
‘Gwydion, I am no longer a child. I have a child of my own.’
‘Then I will tell you, but…are you sure you are ready to hear it?’
He thought about that for a moment then shook his head. ‘No, I’m not sure. How could I be? Maybe I’m just letting idle curiosity get the better of me.’
‘Ah, now that is a mature response. Then I can at least refresh your memory on the matter: the idea is called the Great Lie. The Sightless Ones have used it ruthlessly to bend the common people to their will, for once brought to a false belief they are easily persuaded into other lies. They become obedient and willingly swap their lives for no more than the promise of a better one to come. Thus may a man’s true fate be twisted out of his own control. Thus is a real, living person sent walking into a glittering maze of deceptions.’
Will sat back, unsure about what Gwydion was saying. He knew little enough about the Sightless Ones, except that thinking about their red, scaly hands made him itch. He wanted to ask how an idea could make a man give up his life, and what reward could possibly be offered to make him do it, but then he thought about what he had seen inside the great chapter house at Verlamion and he knew that whatever this idea was, it certainly did drive men insane.
He held up his hand, suddenly fearful. ‘I don’t think I’m ready to know what the Great Lie is.’
Gwydion smiled and then said, ‘Perhaps we are straying from the true path, for the kindness and harm that exist in the battlestones are another thing entirely. What is known is this: the fae of old readied two similar stones and worked high magic upon them. They drew all the kindness they could from the first and put it into the second, while at the same time they drew almost all the harm from the second and put it into the first. Thus the sister-stone was filled twice over with unbalanced kindness, whereas the battlestone contained a double measure of almost pure harm. The draining in which Anstin offered himself as bait was attempted to prevent a battle in which thousands would have died, but there was a second reason. We must not permit the battlestones to fall into Maskull’s hands, for he will certainly misuse them if he can. My belief is that, at present, he knows less than we do about them, but he learns speedily and is ever ready to experiment in matters which he would not touch if he were wiser. I fear he may have taken the Dragon Stone. Perhaps he has even put it back into the lorc. That is why tomorrow we must go to Nadderstone and see for ourselves.’
In the silence that followed, Will heard the muted sound of merry revels coming from the rest of the inn. Voices were raised in laughter, a round of song and the scraping of a long-handled fiddle. Perhaps Gwydion’s spell of defence against eavesdroppers had spent itself. Duffred came in to collect the trenchers and to flap the crumbs from the table. He brought a measure of brisk good cheer with him that dispelled their thoughtfulness, and when he asked if they needed their tankards refilling, they agreed that that was a very good idea.
They spoke more lightly for a while, reminiscing about this and that until at last Morann rose up. ‘I think it’s time I was away to my bed.’
‘In that case, may you remember to forget only what you forget to remember,’ Will told him in parting toast.
Gwydion drained his tankard. ‘Black swan, white crow, take good care, wheresoever you go!’
Morann picked up his knife and sheathed it. ‘And I have a parting toast for the both of you: may misfortune follow you all the days of your life…’ he smiled a warm smile, ‘…but never catch up with you.’
And with that Morann was walking with uneven steps towards the passageway, and soon the stairs were creaking under his heels. When Gwydion also took his leave, Will sat alone in the snug for a few moments, his thoughts darkening as he wondered about Willow and their baby daughter and the peril that still seemed to him to hang over the Vale like a dark cloud.
CHAPTER FOUR THE LIGN OF THE ASH TREE
Will was surprised to find the sun high in the sky by the time he awoke. Bright shafts of sunlight pierced the shutters, and he sprang up from the mattress and got dressed as quickly as he could, fearing that Gwydion and Morann might have left without him.
But he soon found them outside in the yard, talking with the inn’s people.
‘Morning, Gwydion. Morning, Morann.’
‘And a fine morning it is,’ Morann said.
‘Ah, Willand,’ Gwydion said. ‘I hope you are feeling able today. There may be tough work ahead.’
Dimmet sniffed at a side of beef that was hanging in his out-house. ‘Not too high for the pie, nor yet too low for the crow,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘Now, Master Gwydion, shall I expect you back by noon?’
‘You may expect us, Dimmet, when next you see us.’
‘Right you are,’ Dimmet said affably. ‘I’ll take that to mean I should mind my own business.’
He went off to take delivery of the milk jugs, but soon Duffred had hitched Bessie, the bay cob, to the tithe wagon. Will got up onto the cart to sit alongside Morann and Gwydion, and then they were off, heading east along a road that Will had travelled before.
A rolling land of good, brown clay met them as they drove steadily onward. The going was easy past Hemmel and Hencoop. The wagon ruts that had been made in the road during a wet spring had been baked into hard ridges by the summer sun and worn to dust. Hills to their left threw out low green rises that sloped across their path, and the sun shone on the part-harvested wheatfields to their right. But soon, tended fields gave way to wilder country.
Gwydion told of the times he had visited Caer Lugdunum, an ancient fortress that had once stood on a hill a little way to the north, and how graciously he had been received in poem and song by the druida who had lived there. Then Morann sang ‘The Lay of the Lady’ in a rich, clear voice that knew the true tongue well. His song was about the brave Queen of the East and the stand she had made long ago against the armies of the Slaver empire. It was so sad a song that Will felt shivers pass through him, and it was a long while before he returned to himself and felt the hot sun on his face again. When he did, he found that Bessie had already covered half the road to Nadderstone.
Hereabouts the land was scrubby and unkempt, and Will looked to a cluster of bushes on his left that he knew hid a pond. Gwydion had once said there was probably star-iron in the bottom of it, and now Will realized how the pond had been made, by a shooting star landing hard on the earth, though one much smaller than the one that had smashed Little Slaughter. The thought made him shiver.
‘There’s power flowing here,’ Morann said, his blue eyes on the far horizon. ‘We may expect miracles, or worse, I’m