Whitemantle by Robert Carter

narrow ways such as these were likely dead ends, and he felt as if he was already caught in a trap. He shook his head to clear it, tried to open his mind, to drive out the hubbub of thoughts and fears.
    There were dozens of people in the alley. It led to asmall square surrounded by badly kept houses with a stinking dunghill at its centre. It was deep in shade, with only a meagre patch of sky above. The noise of over-crowded life came from the dwellings. Too many people lived here – women looking out from jutting upper floors, dirt-nosed children playing in the filth, men watching what passed.
    Goats foraged and dogs ran out to snap at him as he sprinted by. Two men looked up from their work at the tail of a water cart. Beyond the square, several narrower ways branched off. He dared not take any of them, but ran on down the main alley until it forked and he was faced with a choice.
    The noise of the pursuit grew louder. He noticed cart ruts underfoot running to the right. He chose the same fork, hoping they would lead him out of the maze. By now he was breathing hard, his heart pounding fit to burst, and he flattened himself against a wall, filling his lungs, needing to listen out. If only he could get away, then he would head for the royal palace of the White Hall. Gwydion would be bound to take Willow and Bethe there, no matter what they thought had happened at the Spire.
    But just as he began to think he had foxed his pursuers he heard cries and a clatter of footsteps. Men in black shirts were running across the junction ahead of him. When they turned, they saw him.
    ‘That way!’
    ‘He’s there! Spread out!’
    Will cursed and dodged back the way he had come. As soon as he reached the corner and moved out of sight, he jinked into one of the narrower ways, fervently hoping that this was no blind alley.
    It was certainly deserted, running for thirty paces or so until it reached a dog-leg. Beyond that was only a small yard,hemmed in by house ends and walls that would be impossible to climb. The building that dominated the yard sent Will’s hopes plummeting. It was different to the others, built of expensive dressed stone, heavy and dark, and set back beyond a dry moat that was half choked with rubbish.
    Could this be the back of some large, lordly house? he wondered. But he knew he was grasping at straws. A wide flight of steps bridged the moat and ran up to an arched door that was flanked by ornamental carvings. At the centre of the door there hung a brazen fist.
    His heart sank. This was the sure sign of a chapter house. Will halted, angry at his false choice, fearful that his other options had disappeared. There were shouts and yelps echoing from the walls – no way out forward or back, and by the sound of it the mob had already decided correctly which way he had gone. They would be here very soon.
    He planted his feet with deliberate care, and opened his mind, to invite what powers might be here to emerge from the dry, compacted earth underfoot. He felt the flows, but they were feeble, as if they had been pinched off by the tumble of mean hovels. Barely a tingle ran through his toes, and the aura that usually sheathed him like a cool, blue flame hardly flickered into life. Yet when his eyes rolled back in his head, he was able to give himself over to the ecstasy for a brief moment. A spangle ran over his ribs and launched an upwelling along his spine that drove fatigue before it and refreshed him.
    But the joy did not last long and the light of forget-fulness soon faded. When he stepped out of his rhapsody he began straight away to spin and dance out a spell of alteration upon himself. Having assisted Gwydion with the restoring of Lord Dudlea’s wife and son, the appropriate formulas of the true tongue came readily to his lips. He had been the subject of magical disguises before, andso his flesh did not resist the changes that came over him. When he emerged from the alteration he had assumed the form of an old