The Circle of Stone by A. J. Lake

Author:A. J. Lake
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2008-09-04T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Heored’s eyes seemed very dark as he stared back at Edmund, but his face did not change expression. He was silent for a moment. Then he nodded and turned away. He did not speak to Edmund again, but sent a messenger to the front of the column and stood staring after the man as if willing him to greater speed.

Edmund jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked round to see Cluaran. The minstrel said nothing, but his narrow face was sombre, and Edmund wondered if he had heard the whole conversation.

One of Heored’s captains rushed up, followed a moment later by a second. ‘Halt your men!’ the king barked. ‘The bridge is guarded – it’s a trap. Bring the men behind me in fighting formation and retreat north to the riverbank. We’ll make our stand there, where they can’t surround us.’

‘By your leave, my lord, I have a better idea.’

It was Cluaran. ‘We should head downstream, to where we can ford the river. There’s a steep rise of ground just beyond where we can hold them off.’

‘We’d never get there in time!’ the king argued. He had gestured the captains away, and the men were already beginning to file back. But over the field that they had just crossed, there was movement. Even in the dimness, Edmund could see the hedge at the field’s end stirring, seeming to grow taller.

‘Quickly!’ Heored called to his captains. His men were reforming in a square behind him, waiting for the order to start the retreat. But over the field, the hedge had become a solid wall of men moving towards them. A new sound rose through the darkness: the low growling that Edmund had heard at the start of the last attack.

‘Let your father start the retreat,’ Cluaran said in Edmund’s ear. ‘But take your cue from me.’

As Heored’s men began to move off, Cluaran stepped forward to face the oncoming horde. He stretched his hands in front of him, palms out. The enemy were closer now; Edmund could make out pale blurs of faces, and the low growl was becoming a roar. Heored reached out with an oath to drag Edmund after him, but behind them, Cluaran stood his ground.

A breeze sprang up, stinging Edmund’s face. As Heored pulled him on, through the archers he had set to cover their retreat, a gust of damp air swept over them. Edmund cast a glance over his shoulder at Cluaran: the minstrel was surrounded by pale, whirling motes, whipped up by the wind. He stood motionless, seemingly unaware of the wall of men approaching him – much closer now; their harsh chanting filling the air. Edmund slipped his arm from his father’s grasp: if Cluaran’s plan should fail, he would not leave the minstrel alone.

The motes of light thickened, streaming together until he seemed wrapped in cloud. The wind was howling now, almost drowning the chant of their enemies. Abruptly, Cluaran spread his arms wide: the cloud seemed to flow from his fingertips, spreading on the wind to cloak the advancing men in thick wet mist.

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