Whitemantle. Robert Goldthwaite Carter

the second tore at him furiously until he grabbed its tail and whirled it away out into empty space. By then, a third had used its hind claws to slash the sleeve of his jerkin open. He knocked it against a pillar, but now a fourth fastened its jaws on his calf and a fifth took him painfully by the forearm. Before he could shake them off others came to menace him, crowding upon his head like so many hornets. He threw down the bone, put everything out of his mind and, among the scatter of brown ribs, danced out two steps of a spell of magic.

      This time the power ran through him strongly. When it blasted forth it flung the creatures off in a burst of pale green light and sent them tumbling. Those that were tangled in the canopy tore it down in their panic. The rest gathered themselves in rage and fear and scuttled back towards the open air. When Will approached them closer, the least fierce of them threw itself into panicked flight and the others soon followed.

      The whole pack screamed at him impotently as he stepped over the Bier of Eternity. The stinking, part-dismanded body entangled his ankles and the rusty chains with which it had been ceremonially shackled threatened to trip him. Disgust overcame him, but as he tore down the rest of the canopy, he wiped his hands, then moved out into the light, where the yellow rays of the afternoon sun seemed to wash him clean.

      Out on the parapet there was some respite from the stench, but he dared not step any closer to the edge than this – the fall was unfenced and the bone demons swooped and wheeled in the air beyond. They were looking for their chance to return, hesitating only when Will came fully out into the open to throw a magical gesture of satiety at them.

      ‘Go on, you bloody-snouted curs! You’ll feast no more today! Away with you!’

      Then his eyes widened. How high he had come! All of Trinovant was laid out for him, its sprawl of roofs, its rich palaces and prickle of lesser spires all encompassed by that many-gated wall. There, the White Tower, and yonder, the bridge, tiny now, with the great shining river Iesis also made small, a twisting, turning ribbon of light…

      But where was Chlu?

      When Will looked up he saw there was still a great deal more of the Spire rising above his head. Its summit cone went up dizzyingly for a dozen more levels and came to a point that was topped by a large iron vane. This carried the device of the bloodless heart, the letters A, E, E and F standing out starkly, and a great gold-headed, gold-fletched arrow that acted as a pointer. Will knew the letters stood for a phrase in the language of the Slavers that meant ‘to and from the Fellowship’. Unlike ordinary weather vanes, this pointer was not pushed around by the wind. It was swung by some ingenious means so as to send out messages.

      Seeing the moving sky made Will feel as if the Spire were toppling. A sudden fear of the immense height gripped his belly again and made him step away from the edge. As he did so, he saw Chlu. The latter was standing astride the Bier, and it appeared that he was ready to parlay.

      ‘Why have you stopped running?’ Will asked.

      Chlu stared back. ‘I flee who chases me, and chase who flees me.’

      Will faced him warily. ‘What did Maskull tell you? What spells did he place upon your head to make you want to hurt me?’

      Chlu’s face was as bloodied as Will’s own, laid open beneath his right eye where Will had kicked him, but there remained an ember of arrogance in his expression, a hidden glow that would easily re-kindle.

      ‘I’m not bound to Maskull,’ Chlu said. ‘My will is as free as your own. It always has been.’

      ‘You don’t even realize how he’s using you!’

      A humourless half-smile passed over Chlu’s face, and he prepared to take a step forward. ‘Oh, I am the sorcerer’s stooge while you’re the wizard’s favoured accomplice. I am the blind man, but your hawk eyes see forever. Is that the way it is? I’ll tell you plain, Willand: Maskull uses me no more than the enchanter, Gwydion Crowmaster, uses you!’

      ‘That’s enough!’ Will raised a hand to stay Chlu’s sly approach. ‘Maskull said he made me, and that he could just as easily unmake me. For years I thought that meant he must be my father. Master Gwydion told me not to believe it, but I couldn’t help myself. And now I’ve learned the truth, and so must you – we were twins, Chlu, two babies stolen away from our natural parents. By Maskull.’

      Chlu shook his head, spread his hands in an open gesture that nevertheless showed he did not accept Will’s words. ‘So you were told, and so you believe…’

      ‘Hear me, Chlu! Maskull worked a spell upon us in a secret workshop. Neither of us are natural men. He’s altered us. He didn’t make us, but his tampering caused us to be as we are. Now don’t you see why we must work together?’

      Chlu’s eyes were slitted against the glare. He threw up a hand against the golden light that haloed Will’s head. The shape of his fingers echoed Will’s own half-formed magical gesture, but there was a wounded quality about him that seemed too much like self-pity. He began slowly shaking his head. ‘Why should I believe a word you say?’

      ‘Because it’s the truth.’

      ‘Truth?’ Chlu spat out the word. ‘What? That you are the Deliverer, and I the Destroyer? Why should I choose to believe a truth like that, when it so clearly does not serve me?’

      ‘The truth is not there to serve you, Chlu. It simply is.’

      Chlu rapped out his words mockingly. ‘Truth! You can put that name to anything you please!’

      ‘No! No, you can’t! Do you think you can just choose to believe whatever pleases you? You can’t do that! You have a duty to respect what is. It’s the nature of our world!’

      ‘I would rather believe what Lord Maskull tells me. He has shown me wonders. And he’s promised that as soon as I’ve rid our world of you I shall have my desire.’

      Will stared, incredulous. ‘Your…desire?’

      Chlu’s gaze was unfaltering. ‘I am to join Lord Maskull in the future that he’s going to make. He’ll be the king and I the prince, and we’ll rule a whole world between us!’

      ‘Do you really believe that? Chlu, he’ll use you for his present purpose and afterwards discard you without a second thought.’

      ‘Oh, no, little brother. A new world is coming.’

      ‘But it’s not coming, is it? Because I’m here to prevent it.’

      ‘You have it in a nutshell.’ Chlu’s eyes became murderous and hard. ‘And that’s why you have to die!’

      ‘Listen to me!’ Again Will’s hands rose up in a spellmaker’s gesture and kept Chlu from taking another dangerous step forward. ‘You should know that Maskull was labouring at the very limit of his art when he made us. Something went wrong. Master Gwydion saw it all: a great, spinning ray, then a burst of violence that tore a tower to pieces. And that blast tasted of fae magic, a magic from the olden times that was once mighty but now is all lost, except in the stones of the lorc – and in you and me.’

      ‘Gwydion is a deceiver. He lies to you.’

      ‘Why should he lie? Whatever separates us, Chlu, comes of the same power that fills the battlestones. Maskull tampered with that power so he could alter us. Can’t you feel it? The power that runs in the lorc – it’s the same magic that was used to change us. It binds our destinies to the stones, and to one another.’

      ‘Very neat. Only Lord Maskull tells quite a different story.’

      Will let his hand fall. ‘Of course he does.’

      ‘You were chosen by the deceiver as his favourite. It was Gwydion Crowmaster who stole us away and then hid us in two ready-prepared places. They were shrouded in magic, kept secret so that no one else could find us. And there, as the years went by, that meddler worked his spells upon our minds. He grew us like barnyard animals, all the while twisting us to his scheme. And when he found which child was the most compliant to his magic,