The Language of Stones. Robert Goldthwaite Carter

pursed wryly. ‘Had Welan but known how, he might have charmed Flenir to his will, and then there would have been no need to forge a sword. There is no need to dig earth-iron from holes when you have skill in your hands and in your head. The earth gives up freely all that a wise man needs. She holds fast to that which should not be had by fools. Alas! The earth can never give all that men desire, for men’s desire is limitless.’

      But Will’s mind was already bounding along another path. ‘Could the great dragons be tamed by words alone, then?’

      ‘Tamed? Never! But charmed certainly. At least in some measure, for the greatest of the dragons were vain and greedy beasts, and those are failings against which compliment and flattery most easily succeeds. In that, dragons were much like kings.’

      Will looked back the way they had come. In the bright summer sun he could see for many leagues, and the view served to make him wonder at the vastness of the Realm and how small was the world that he had hitherto known.

      ‘Where are we going, Master Gwydion?’

      ‘That question again? Over hill and down dale to sup with the king.’

      Will sucked his teeth, hating to be so casually talked down to. ‘There and back to see how far it is,’ he muttered.

      Gwydion poked him good-naturedly with the foot of his staff. ‘We go to the king to offer him consolation in his time of trouble. But travelling is not simply an attempt to arrive somewhere by the shortest possible route. A destination must be arrived at properly, for there is much more in the going than there is in the getting there.’

      ‘You’re not making much sense.’

      ‘Then let me put it plainly – there may be those whom we might wish to meet with on the way, or those who might wish to meet with us.’

      Will sighed. The crane bag seemed to be heavier, though he knew it could not be. Then he realized that it was weighed down with a secret. He had not yet told Gwydion about the silver-bound horn. I’ll tell him about it when he tells me where we’re going, he thought, and swapped the bag from hand to hand. Fair trade is no robbery, and that’s a Valesman’s rede!

      

      At Lyttenden Hill they came upon ancient, wind-bitten towers and a lake of mist below. The ridge turned south again and they walked on along high ground, coming down at last, late and after dark, into a looming wood that lay across their path.

      On the way, Gwydion told him about some of the different sorts of magic. There was ‘seeming’, which was making things appear to be what they were not. Then there were the persuasive arts of talking people into a state of sleep or enthusiastic agreement. Then came the power of perceiving deceit in men’s hearts. ‘No motive is hidden from a wizard,’ Gwydion said. ‘He hears truth in people’s voices as others hear joy in laughter or sadness in sobs. Much that folk suppose is powerful magic is really only illusion-weaving. Most people cannot tell the difference, but it is the difference between a person believing he sees a mouse change into an apple and the change actually taking place. True transformations are much more difficult – they are very tiring, and they tend to return to their original state in a short space of time. Which is especially upsetting if you have just eaten an apple that once was a mouse.’

      Will laughed. ‘Yes, and more upsetting still if you’re the mouse!’

      As they entered the gloom of the woods Gwydion sang a song of an ambush of shadows that he had met with in the far darker forests of the West, in the land of Cambray, where hidden strings were often plucked and deadly arrows flew, biting deep into the flesh of those who came uninvited into what was the most mystical of lands. The song wrung the blood from Will’s heart. And when it was done he thrilled to hear cries in the dark, though they were only owls answering the moon.

      They camped and ate the last of their Lammas bread along with some wonderful mushrooms called pig’s ears that Gwydion hunted out. Tonight he cut no cooking pit nor did he whisper up any fire, but went to stand in a clearing for a while to ask strength from the earth and fill himself with its potent power. Afterwards he told Will to wrap himself tight in his cloak and take his night’s rest under a bush where the moss was thickest. But if the wizard’s aim was Will’s peace of mind, his words failed, for he also said that this place was shunned by the local folk. It was known by the name of ‘Severed Neck Woods’, Gwydion told him, and lay under the hereditary wardenship of the House of Sturme. From olden times, it had always been stalked by woses and wood ogres. Perhaps that was why Will was restless and still only half asleep when he saw figures moving among the trees.

      At first he thought they were animals, deer probably. Then he thought they were men, then he knew they were neither. They came to him in a ghostly light, pale yet growing to a strange lambency like the shine cast by a slim crescent moon. They came like a tribe gathering from all directions, and he heard a sound on the edge of hearing, like the low hum that rises in a man’s head just before he faints. Will felt the back of his neck tingling. He had listened to Gwydion’s warnings of pursuit long enough to believe there was a danger shadowing them, and if Gwydion was afraid of it then it must be considerable. Then he remembered the woses and wood ogres and fear jolted him.

      ‘Gwydion!’ he hissed. He tried to shake the wizard awake, but he could not. Gwydion slept on, unmoving as a log. The mushrooms! he thought. He must have made a mistake and poisoned himself!

      For a moment he sat there in the dark dern, frozen-hearted and alone, wondering what he should do. Panic began to envelop him, but then he took a deep breath and looked inside himself. To his surprise, he found a calm strength there that he little expected. ‘Whoever they are, they’ll not take us without a fight,’ he muttered, taking up his stout blackthorn stick.

      If only Gwydion had not made an uncooked supper, he thought, but then he realized he was feeling well enough himself, and he had eaten far more pig’s ears than Gwydion.

      The glowing figures swayed as they approached. He watched as the wraith-like gathering came towards him steadily. This was no wood ogre’s band. He did not feel threatened. Rather there was a sense that this was their place, and it was his fault for having walked into it uninvited. He heard the tread of their feet on the forest floor, the sound of branches moving aside as they came. He rose up and shook off his cloak and stood as a man stands to meet a stranger, half warily, yet half in greeting, and as the glowing ones came to him at last he began to see their true form.

      Astonishingly, they looked like the creature he had pulled from the wheel at Grendon Mill. They had the same silvery pale skin, the same wispy hair and the same delicate faces. Some came mounted and some on foot, and those who rode sat upon the bare backs of unicorns. It seemed that a light came from within them, as if from their hearts. He dropped his stick, all thought of violence vanishing from his mind, and a feeling came over him that this was a moment more beautiful than any he had known.

      No words were spoken. None were needed. The shining folk gathered around him, droning softly, and soon there appeared their king, for king he must be judging by his great size. Fearless now, Will was amazed to find that he recognized him – his likeness was painted on the board that hung above Baldgood’s alehouse! This was none other than the Green Man. His stout body was twined about with ivy leaves, fronds clothed his limbs, and a crown of holly sat upon his head. Briars issued from his nostrils and from the corners of his mouth, but they could not disguise his wild eyes, nor his smiling strength, nor hide the fulsome power of his nature.

      As Will watched in delight and reverence, the Green Man came to him, clasped him hard about the body and squeezed him like a great bear so that the breath was forced from him. Green smells like the earth in spring filled Will’s nostrils and the humming drone rose louder in his ears as he felt his feet being uprooted from the ground in welcome. He did not struggle, only closed his eyes against the crushing grip, and when he opened them again he found that the Green Man had let him go.

      Everyone had gone. All was now silent in the dern. He looked around, his heart beating fast, his mouth dry, but his thoughts were vivid and he was filled with an overpowering sense of oneness with all around him. There below was the dark form of Gwydion, slumbering still, but the Green