The Language of Stones. Robert Goldthwaite Carter

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СКАЧАТЬ as we say in the Vale, Master Gwydion. And they say every man must have his secrets.’

      The wizard suppressed a smile. ‘Spoken like a wizard, lad! Now let me see what it was that you took from the earth upon Dumhacan Nadir.’

      Will reddened, then bent to undo the bag. ‘It was just an old horn, all battered and tarnished when I found it.’

      Gwydion took the horn. ‘It does not look so battered and tarnished to me.’

      Will passed it across. ‘Whoever visited us last night must have polished it while we slept.’

      ‘Great is the power of that embrace, for all the world is renewed by it each and every spring. Keep this horn with you always, for it is a rare gift. Now put it away from prying eyes, and be more careful with your secrets. Now that you have passed your test and been accepted I must inform you regarding important matters. How much do you know about your king and those who surround him?’

      Will gave an empty shrug. ‘My king? Not a lot.’

      ‘Then hearken to me closely, for the time has come when you must know. The king sits on the throne which is in the palace of the White Hall. He does so with the approval of the Stone of Scions and without demur from either Magog or Gogmagog, who are, all three, the throne’s guardians. Now, if—’

      ‘Whoa, Master Gwydion!’Will’s eyes had begun to glaze at this sudden rush of strange names. They meant nothing to him.

      ‘Hmmm – well, do you know what a usurper is?’

      Will brightened. ‘Is that not a lord who tries to take the crown away from a king?’

      ‘And then becomes king in his stead. Correct. Though you would not know it to look at him, your mild King Hal is the grandson of a most fierce usurper. He had a fearsome warrior father too – also in his time called King Hal – who won lands in conquest across the Narrow Seas from Burgund to Breize. That the fool died of the bloody flux before he had any chance to enjoy what he had won, or even to clap eyes upon the son he had fathered, is down to what his own father did.’

      ‘So Hal the Warrior’s father was Hal the Usurper?’ Will said, trying to keep up.

      ‘Correct. The first Hal seized the crown unlawfully, which was a very great crime. He starved the true king to death in a castle dungeon. No matter that the true king was arrogant and wilful and trustless. No matter either that the usurper was clever and able and acclaimed by all as the best leader of men. Still it was a crime, for the true king must be appointed by sovereignty, and must be approved by the Stone of Scions. He is only allowed to sit on the throne if there is no word of complaint from Magog and Gogmagog, which are the names of two beady-eyed statues that stand in niches behind the throne. Now do you see?’

      ‘Not really,’ Will said.

      ‘It is no matter. All you have to understand is that King Hal is a usurper’s grandson, and that he knows very well how the curse of his blighted ancestor has followed him.’

      ‘Is it a magical curse?’

      ‘Judge for yourself. There was once a common saying: “Woe betide the land that hath a child for a king”, and, though that saying may no longer be uttered upon pain of death, it nevertheless remains true. The crown came to King Hal in the first year of his life, and though he remains king in name, he has always been the pawn of powerful men. He was purposely grown into a weakling by contending barons. Their aim was always to keep him pliable to their will, and so he has proved, for he never grew much of a spine. If the curse that settled on King Hal’s father brought that king’s untimely death, then that which afflicts the present Hal is worse, for he lives on in helplessness and sees the Realm plunged ever deeper into the direst distress.’

      ‘That sounds like a curse indeed.’

      ‘The crown that was placed on the child-king’s brow thirty years ago was a disputed one. Nevertheless, in the minds of many lords so long an elapse of time has served to make Hal the legitimate king. He is, they argue, the third generation of his line to hear their oaths of fealty. They say that true majesty flows in his blood now. But equally, in the opinion of others Hal is – and always will be – no more than the grandson of a murdering usurper.’

      Will could only just follow Gwydion’s explanation, but he was disturbed by it. He had never thought there could be so much to consider about kingship. Suddenly, his childhood notions of what it would be like to be the king seemed simple-minded. ‘But what about the true king?’ he asked suddenly. ‘The one that was usurped and starved. Didn’t he have any children?’

      The wizard looked sideways at Will, as if he had chanced to raise an important point. ‘The dispossessed king left no child. But there remains a living blood line whose claim, according to the strict laws of kingship, is stronger than Hal’s – and that blood line has continued all the while and is presently into the fourth generation.’

      ‘Who is it? A great lord?’

      ‘A duke, no less. The royal blood flows now in the veins of Duke Richard of Ebor, he who was sent by the king’s council not long ago to rule over the Blessed Isle as Lord Lieutenant there – though what right he has to such a title as that may well be debated. Still, he is a man in all his power, and a most capable governor. In truth he is most like a king, and kingly in his thoughts. When last I spoke with him I saw that it was in his mind to return into the Realm and press his claim to rule.’

      ‘But I don’t understand. Surely everyone would be best served by the crowning of the rightful king according to the laws of kingship. And surely, if he’s the better leader of men into the bargain—’

      ‘Think again. What did I just say about Friend Hal?’

      ‘Oh, I see…’ Will nodded. ‘You mean there are many lords who prefer to keep King Hal because he’s easily handled. While the true king is shunned for he’d be strong with them.’

      ‘Now you see clear to the bottom of the pail. But that is a truth best not spoken aloud, for the man who does so puts his life in jeopardy.’

      All that day they walked along through a mellow land that rolled gently across their southerly path. For a league or so it rose up to broad chalky tops, then fell away for the same distance into rolling clay vales. As they climbed higher there were stretches where dense clumps of spiky furze showed off their yellow flowers. Gwydion led Will on sheep tracks that ran among the bushes. For much of the way the sky was hazy and threaded with the warbling of larks, but as the sun declined across the south a chill wind blew in across the high plain.

      Gwydion looked into the western sky to where clouds were boiling up. ‘Thousands of years ago there were great temples to the moon and sun over there. All are now in ruin and forgotten, and the moon and the sun are both the less for it. One day, if you would know the essential nature of magic, I will take you to the Great Henge. It was once called in the true tongue, Celuai na Sencassimnh, which is to say “the meadows of the storytellers”. It was built on a node in the earth where three great oaks once stood, and a tower was raised upon them. Later, when the woods around were cleared, a henge of wood was built, then two of stone, one within the other. Many of the tombs of the kings of the First Men are set about it.’

      Will listened, hoping to hear more about the battlestones, but Gwydion called him onward, saying, ‘Look down there! What do you see?’

      Will shaded his eyes and looked into the south. In the distance the land was СКАЧАТЬ