The Language of Stones
A rich and evocative tale set in a mythic 15th century Britain, to rival the work of Bernard Cornwell.The Realm is poised for war. Its weak king – Hal, grandson of a usurper – is dominated by his beautiful wife and her lover. Against them stands Duke Richard of Ebor and his allies. The two sides are set on a bloody collision course…Gwydion is watching over the Realm. He has walked the land since before the time of the druids, since before the Slavers came to subdue the people. Gwydion was here when Arthur rode to war: then they called him 'Merlyn'. But for his young apprentice, Willand, a fearsome lesson in the ways of men and power lies ahead.The Realm is an England that is still-magical. Legendary beasts still populate its by-ways. It is a land criss-crossed by lines of power upon which standing stones have been set as a secret protection against invasion. But the power of the array was broken by the Slavers who laid straight roads across the land and built walled cities of shattered stone.A thousand years have passed since then, and those roads and walls have fallen into decay. The dangerous stones are awakening, and their unruly influence is calling men to battle. Unless Gwydion and Will can unearth them, the Realm will be plunged into a disastrous civil war. But there are many enemies ranged against them: men, monsters and a sorcerer who is as powerful as Gwydion himself.
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The Language of Stones
Robert Carter
This book is dedicated to Britain’s greatest living Welshman – Terry Jones.
‘First there were nine,
Then nine became seven,
And seven became five.
Now, as sure as the Ages decline,
Three are no more,
But one is alive.’
The Black Book of Tara
Table of Contents
CHAPTER THREE TO THE TOWER OF LORD STRANGE
CHAPTER FOUR A LITTLE LEARNING
PART TWO THE POWERS OF THE EARTH
CHAPTER NINE A BARROW ON THE BLESSED ISLE
CHAPTER ELEVEN THE STONE OF CAER LUGDUNUM
CHAPTER TWELVE ALONG THE BANKS OF THE NEANE
PART THREE THE DUKE OF EBOR’S PLEASURE
CHAPTER FOURTEEN A WINTER OF DISCONTENT
CHAPTER FIFTEEN AGAINST BETTER JUDGMENT
CHAPTER SIXTEEN COLD COMFORT IN THE WEST
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN IN THE HALL OF KING LUDD
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN THE PLAGUESTONE
CHAPTER NINETEEN AT THE NAVEL OF THE WORLD
CHAPTER TWENTY THE NIGHT RIDE TO HOOE
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE SKIES OF FIRE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO THE SARCOPHAGUS OF VERLAMION
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE ALL IS WON, YET ALL IS LOST
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR THE GREEN MAN
Willand son of Eldmar turned his gaze away from the Tops and ran down towards the village. The sun was warm today, the sky cloudless and the grass soft and thriving underfoot. His long hair streamed freely in the sun like golden wheat as he ran past a cluster of thatched cottages and came at last to the Green Man.
‘Is Tilwin here yet?’ he asked, hoping the knife-grinder was already slaking his thirst. But Baldgood the alehouse keeper shook his head. There was no sign of Tilwin, nor of his grinding wheel, so Will went out and sat on the grass.
Sunshine blazed on the white linen of his shirt. It was a fine spot just here. Daisies and dandelions had come out all over the green, as if it had known to put on its summer best. Every year it was fine and sunny at Cuckootide. There was racing to the Tarry Stone, kicking at the campball, and all the other sports. And afterwards there would be the bonfire. Songs would be sung and there would be dances and games and contests with the quarterstaff before the drinking of dragon soup. It would be the same this year as it had always been, and next year it would be the same again and on and on forever.
In the Vale they called today Cuckootide, the day the May Pole was put up and all the world came out onto the green to have a good time. But Will knew he could not have a good time – not until he had talked with Tilwin. He looked up at the round-shouldered hills they called the Tops and felt the longing again. It had been getting stronger, and today it felt like an invisible cord trying to pull his heart right out of his chest. That was why he had to speak with Tilwin. It had to be Tilwin, because only he would understand.
‘Hey-ho, Will!’
He knew that voice at once – whiskery Leoftan, the smith. His two thick braids hung like tarred rope side by side at his left cheek. He wore a belted shirt of white linen like Will’s own and a cap of red wool.
‘Your dad’ll be putting in your braids soon enough now, eh?’
Will shrugged. ‘It’s a hard week to turn thirteen, the week after May Day.’
Leoftan put down his armful of wooden tent-pegs. ‘Aye, you’ll have to wait near another year before you can run in the men’s race.’
Will scrubbed his fingers through his fair hair and stole another glance at the Tops. ‘Have you ever wondered what it’s like up there, Luffy?’
The smith stood up, gave him a distracted look. ‘What’s that you say?’
‘I was just thinking.’ He nodded towards the Tops. ‘One day I’d like to go up and see what’s there. Haven’t you ever thought what Nether Norton would look like with the whole Vale laid out down below?’
‘Huh?’
The moment stretched out awkwardly, but Will could not let it go. Once he had seen a small figure riding on a white horse far away where the earth met the sky. In the spring there were sheep – thousands of them – driven along by black dogs, and sometimes by men too. He had seen them many times, but whenever he had spoken of it to the others they had fallen quiet, and Gunwold the Swineherd had smirked, as if he had said something that ought not to have been said.
‘Well, Luffy? Haven’t you ever wanted to go up onto the Tops?’
Leoftan’s face lost its good humour. ‘What do you want to go talking like that for? They say there’s an ill wind up there.’
‘Is that what they say? An ill wind? And who are they who say that, Luffy? And how do they know? I wish – I wish—’
Just then Baldulf came up. He was fourteen, a fleshy, self-assured youth, and there was Wybda the Gossip and two or three others with him. ‘You want to be careful what you go a-wishing for, Willand,’ Wybda said. ‘They say that what fools and kings wishes for most often comes true.’
