The Circle of Stone (Darkest Age) (24 page)

‘When they pulled me from the water I wanted only to die,’ he said. ‘I’d lost my ship; I’d let my good men drown – I’d drowned you, as I thought, dearest in all the world. I lay in that fishing boat and prayed for death, and when it didn’t come I made myself a bondsman. I was a worthless man.’

‘Don’t talk so!’ Elspeth protested. ‘It wasn’t your fault the
Spearwa
sank!’

Edmund called to her from ahead. The others were standing at the top of a slope, and when she and her father joined them, she saw their destination on the plain below: a great ring of stones.

‘We won’t reach it before nightfall,’ Cluaran said. ‘Does your little branch still live, Elspeth?’

She looked down at the mistletoe. The leaves were beginning to dry and the berries to wrinkle, but it still kept its white and green. ‘I think it’ll last till tomorrow,’ she told him.

‘We’ll camp below the hill, then,’ he said.

They were too tired to build a fire. Elspeth’s father lay close beside her. Asleep, he looked less ravaged; more as she
remembered him. She sat watching him and listening to the soft breathing of the others until the restlessness grew too much for her, then got up as softly as she could and stared out into the night. The plain stretched before her, featureless beneath the thin moon, but she could make out the tall stones at the edge of vision.

A mad urge came over her to go there now, take off the protective charm and face Loki alone, away from her friends and her father. But how was she to fight, with nothing but a light in her hand? She had felt Ioneth’s presence ever since Ainé had called to her, but only as a murmur on the edge of hearing, and a faint tingling in her palm. And she remembered the thing that Wulf had become: the blazing, grinning giant who could change his shape with a thought, and make flames spring up with a gesture.

Don’t let him touch you
, Ainé had said.
Keep even his fire away from you
. It was like telling a sailor to avoid the waves.

Edmund had come up behind her, his face a pale blur in the darkness. ‘Cluaran thinks he’ll come tomorrow,’ he said.

She nodded, showing him the charmed spray of mistletoe pinned to her shirt. ‘They say he can find me wherever I am. This keeps us hidden for now, but it’s withering.’

‘Oh.’ He started to say something else, but stopped, and they sat in silence for a while. ‘And the sword,’ Edmund said at last, ‘has it come back?’

Elspeth did not know how to answer. ‘It did appear,’ she said. ‘I saw it in my hand, and I heard Ioneth speak again. But
it wasn’t real – not solid. Someone I met in . . . in the land of the Fay said it might be enough.’ The fears she had been forcing down took hold of her all at once. ‘Edmund, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I can’t protect any of you!’

He stared at her – but it was astonishment she saw in his face, not fear. ‘Why should you protect us?’ he said. ‘We’ll look after each other, won’t we? That’s why we’re here.’

He was quite serious. She knew that he had always planned to stand with her against Loki, but now that they had both seen what the demon was . . . ‘Edmund,’ she said quickly, before she could change her mind, ‘don’t come to the stone circle tomorrow. Take the road back to Sussex.’

‘What are you talking about?’ he began, but she pushed on, although the words were like stones in her throat.

‘If the sword fails, he’ll kill me and everyone with me.’

It was almost a relief to have said it out loud. Edmund’s face was as pale as the moonlight and his eyes stretched wide, but he was still shaking his head.

‘Think, Edmund!’ she insisted. ‘You have a kingdom that needs you. You can still fight him after tomorrow; you’ll have armies.’

‘I have thought,’ Edmund said. ‘I know I have to be king. When this is over I’ll go back, and I’ll rule as well as I can. But not tomorrow.’ His voice was not quite steady, but as stubborn as she had ever heard it. ‘You’re the best friend I’ve ever known, Elspeth, and I’ll not leave you to fight without me. Don’t even think it.’

Elspeth stared at him for a long moment. ‘Then . . . thank you,’ she said at last. I’m glad you’ll be with me. Even if we fail...’

‘We won’t fail!’ he told her. ‘I don’t plan on dying – nor on letting you die. Whatever happens, we’ll find a way to destroy Loki.’

Cluaran woke them before dawn, and as the first red streak appeared on the horizon he was already leading them across the plain.

The red stain on the horizon spread and brightened, and something appeared through the glow: the shape of hewn stones, blurred by the morning mist. They pushed through the wild grasses, watching the stones grow closer and more distinct, while the line of light behind them grew more brilliant. As the sun’s rim appeared, they came to the stones.

There were maybe two dozen uprights making up the great circle, each five times the height of a man. Above them ran an unbroken ring of stone like a giant’s necklet, without seam as far as Edmund could see. Within the circle were more stones set in a horseshoe, five pairs each with a cross-slab on top: the doorways he had seen last night.

‘Who could have made this?’ Master Trymman breathed.

‘Come on,’ Cluaran called, leading them forward.

They had to climb down into a ditch, then scramble up a
steep bank on to a circular plain of grass. Cluaran led them forward at a run – and then they were among the stones, the dawn touching them all with fire.

Grey walls towered above them on every side. Among the great central structures were countless smaller stones, some planted upright, others fallen; the shortest of them was twice Edmund’s height, except where some of the fallen ones had cracked and turned to rubble. As the rising sun streamed through the outer blocks, the stone ring above them seemed to float suspended, and each of the five great gateways was filled with light.

‘It’s called the place of the Hanging Stones,’ Eolande said. ‘Even the Fay don’t know who built it. But the stones hold the power of all their history. If any place can protect us, it’s this.’

‘So what do we do now?’ Trymman asked, still gazing about him in awe.

‘We wait,’ Cluaran said.

Elspeth walked to the middle of the circle, through the central doorway. She stood for a moment bathed in red-gold light, between two bars of shadow. Then she bent and laid something down on a stone at her feet: the sprig of mistletoe, twisted and brittle now, the leaves crumbling to dust.

‘It won’t be long,’ she said. ‘He knows I’m here.’

Edmund could not stay still. Elspeth sat with her father, and not wanting to disturb them, he wandered through the stones alone. Eolande was standing at the very edge of the circle,
gazing out to the north. Further along, Cathbar leant against a fallen slab and sharpened his sword, while Cluaran sat nearby with his knees drawn up, watching the sunrise.

‘They’re too young for this,’ Cluaran was saying.

‘That they are,’ Cathbar agreed. ‘But they’ll do their part, both of them.’ He sheathed his sword and stretched out more comfortably against the slab. ‘War is no respecter of age. I was twelve when I first had to fight.’

‘I was nineteen,’ Cluaran said. He stared ahead of him, looking thoughtful. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘do you ever get used to it? Looking at your companions before the attack, wondering which of them...’

‘You think too much,’ said Cathbar shortly. ‘And that’s a question you don’t ask.’ He clapped the minstrel on the shoulder. ‘Your comrades are your best hope of leaving the fight alive, and you’re theirs. You don’t go killing them off, even in thought. Bear up, lad.’

‘Lad!’ Cluaran protested. ‘I’m three times your age at least.’ But he let the subject drop.

Edmund moved quietly away from them, and saw Elspeth standing in the horseshoe of stones, her right arm outstretched. Even through the low sunlight, he could make out the shimmer around her hand, but she lowered her arm as though dissatisfied.

There was a cry from the edge of the circle. Eolande had turned to them, her face in shadow, her arm lit red as she pointed into the northern sky.

‘He’s coming!’

Edmund ran to her, peering vainly upwards.

‘Use your skill!’ she snapped at him.

I’m not king yet
, he thought, and closed his eyes, casting out to the north. There was nothing there . . . He felt further off...

It hit him without warning. One moment there was nothing; the next his head was full of fire, and a fury so vast he could not contain it. It crackled from him as he soared and swooped, pouring out red flame on the earth below for the sheer joy of destruction.

Edmund wrenched his eyes open. He was lying on his back, the others gazing down at him in horror.

‘He’s a dragon,’ he gasped. ‘A dragon made of fire...’

Elspeth leant down to help him to his feet. ‘He’ll attack from above, then,’ she said, her voice steady. ‘Eolande, can you and Cluaran make rain?’

The Fay woman nodded. ‘For a time, at least. And when Loki was bound last time, we cast a protection around the fighters. There were four of us then, but I’ll shield you all I can.’ She turned to Edmund. ‘You must help us, too.’

‘How?’ he said, bewildered.

‘By matching fire with ice,’ she said, ‘as you did once before. You woke the dragon of the glacier to help you defeat Torment. Call her now!’

‘But it was hundreds of leagues away. I can’t reach her from here, Eolande!’

‘You can,’ she insisted, and took both his hands. ‘Try, now!’

Edmund stretched out his sight again. It was harder than before: part of him quailed at the memory of the raging fire that had possessed him a moment ago. He felt himself nearing the scorching presence again, and flinched.

‘Go on,’ Eolande whispered, and he cast further, not stopping until he found a seabird flying low over grey waves . . . a rocky shoreline . . . a pine forest, trees dripping in the spring thaw . . . His sight was a string pulled impossibly taut: he felt it must break, or snap backwards.

‘Go on!’ came the voice again.

A wind seemed to catch him and blow him further . . . further still. There were the snow fields again, their whiteness giving way to patches of grass. He rode a hawk, high up, scanning the landscape. There were hills, their tops still white . . . and there – there was the shape of
Jokul-dreki
, the ice dragon, curled in sleep around the highest peak.

Her mind was like skeins of cloud, so huge and drifting that he could get no grip on it. There was darkness and a dream of the snow fields, endless and far below, and a memory: a tiny, persistent figure, warning of danger...

He reached for the memory; clung to it and added his own voice.
It’s here now – the fire that will burn your land! We need your help, one more time
.

The huge mind twitched as if to throw him off like a buzzing insect. That fight was in the past: there was safety now, and sleep...

No!
he screamed, and called up the vision he had just seen: the blazing fury and the inexhaustible fire streaking towards them, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. The remembered terror hit him, and he felt himself falter . . . Then it was all dissolving, the dragon’s mind slipping from his hold as he clutched vainly at empty air.

Only, just before he was swept away, he caught a flash of brightness as the great eyes opened, and felt the cracking of ice above his shoulders.

He came back to himself, weak and shaken. He had fallen to his knees, and Eolande stood beside him with her hand on his shoulder. ‘I think I woke her,’ he started, but the Fay woman did not turn to him; she was staring fixedly over his head. Edmund climbed to his feet. Cluaran was standing nearby, his head thrown back, murmuring to himself and moving his hands in shapes Edmund had seen once before, when they were hiding in the forest from Orgrim. Storm clouds streamed towards them from the west, to gather in a grey pall over their heads.

Elspeth was still in the centre of the circle, among the stone gateways, with her father and Cathbar. All three were gazing to the north.

The sky there was clear, but Edmund saw a flicker of lightning stabbing at the horizon – and above it, a black speck, outlined in a corona of fire.

Torment looked out from his cramped cavern as the lightning died away to the south. It had gone, the thing that had taken
his lair. It had burst from the stump of his mountain, pouring out fire, while he was taking sheep from an upland meadow, and he had been forced to retreat to his cave half-fed. But now . . . he lumbered to his feet. He would find more prey, and he would fly back to his mountain. Maybe it had cooled. Maybe there was still a lair for him...

And then, without warning, the voice was in his head again, sweet and clear, compelling him:
Fly south. There’s killing to do.

As it spoke a picture rose before Torment’s fractured eyes: the quarry retreating before him, his claws outstretched to rip and rend.
Now is the time
, it said.

Screaming his delight, the blue dragon spread his wings and flew.

It’s now
, Edmund thought, trying not to panic.
He’s really here
. The dragon was approaching faster than the storm clouds. From a distance he had looked slender, almost snake-like, save for the beating wings. Now he seemed nearly as big as the stone circle itself – and all made of flame. His outline flickered. The shadow he cast on the ground beneath was red-tinged. He swooped lower, and the grass beneath him turned black, fires springing up on each side.

‘Keep together,’ Eolande said. ‘I’ll shield you for as long as I can.’

Elspeth seized Edmund’s hand for a moment. ‘Look after my father,’ she breathed.

‘I will,’ he whispered back. ‘Good luck.’

She turned from him, throwing out her right hand. ‘Ioneth!’ she cried. ‘Help us now!’

The white light burst from her hand as the thunder sounded.

The sun was suddenly cut off. A scorching wind rushed over them and the circle was roofed with flame. Overhead, the creature was too big to see: a looming, fiery darkness, crackling with white sparks.

There was light again for an instant as he passed over – but he wheeled with another thunderclap and dived towards them. Edmund caught a glimpse of the black, cavernous mouth before flame poured over them, flame in a waterfall, to drench and overwhelm. He threw his arms over his head – and the flame was gone, scattered by an invisible barrier as the dragon soared over them again. Elspeth stood her ground, the crystal sword fully formed in her hand. The blade was pale, but it held its shape as she raised it high over her head to slash at the monster.