The Cursed Towers (43 page)

"Well, 'tis done," Margrit said with satisfaction. "I look forward to the day when I see the MacCuinn clan broken forever. A thousand years they have sought to rule over Arran and make us subject to their will. It was Foghnan who was the daughter o' kings in the Other World, no' Cuinn. He was naught but an enterprising alchemist who taught Foghnan and her sisters in the palace and was paid a tutor's pittance by her father. Yet it was Cuinn that called himself the master o' the First Coven, and Owein MacCuinn that sought to lead once his father lay dead, broken by the magic they had wrought to cross the universe. A mere lad, and no more royally born than any o' the Thistle's servants, yet he tried to subject her to his will. Well, many a MacCuinn has rued the day they sought to order the Thistle, and now they shall truly suffer."

The Tomb of Ravens

Clouds hung heavy over the valley, shrouding the hills and the sky and casting a gray gloom over the river. Muddy snow lay under the trees and thin rushes grew from beds of ice. Through this bleak landscape moved a company of cavalry in tight formation. Behind them trudged the infantry, their gray cloaks wrapped tightly about them against the cold, while the baggage carts and supply herds were kept under close guard at the rear. Last of all came the great destriers, for each of the cavaliers needed at least three horses, all specially trained to fight at their master's command. Far overhead a great falcon soared, its white wings almost invisible against the snow-laden clouds.

Lachlan reined in his horse. "Stormwing says the Bright Soldiers are camped just over the hill, near the banks o' the river. Are we to feint with them again, or shall we slip past?" Iseult smiled coldly. "Is the plan no' to keep them guessing? Let us send the horses in to cause chaos and confusion while our men cross the river again. Then the cavalry can retreat back into the countryside and rejoin us further down the river."

Lachlan grinned. "Why do we no' call the birds to our aid once more,
leannan?
They sent the Bright Soldiers scurrying in terror last night, and soon we shall have them ducking whenever a bird flies overhead, ally or no'."

Iseult nodded, then wheeled her horse around to trot back to the head of the infantry. As she issued crisp orders, Lachlan lifted his wrist for the gyrfalcon. Stormwing dropped from the leaden sky like a bolt of white lightning and perched on the young righ's wrist, turning its fierce eyes to meet Lachlan's gaze. The Righ had spent all his few moments of leisure over the autumn taming and training the young gyrfalcon and had found the bird's keen eyesight and swift wings invaluable. The long-winged bird had been a gift from Anghus MacRuraich, sent in his stead to the last Lammas Conference. It was a kingly gift indeed and had to some extent alleviated Lachlan's disappointment that the Prionnsa of Rurach was still unable to join the army.

While Lachlan had tamed his gyrfalcon, the Greycloaks had spent the autumn months consolidating their position in Blessem, rebuilding Dim Eidean and planting the fields about with wheat, oats, barley and rye so that they would have crops to harvest in the spring. With the Fair-gean swimming down the coast with the autumn tides, both the Greycloaks and the Bright Soldiers had been careful to stay away from the firths and rivers. Lachlan and Iseult had been free to concentrate their forces on keeping the Tirsoilleirean back and rebuilding their strength after the hard fighting of the summer. Traditionally winter was a time for rest, and the Bright Soldiers had certainly not expected Lachlan to launch another initiative against them. It was now more than two years since the Lammas invasion, however, and Lachlan knew that Rhyssmadill had only been provisioned for two years. The besieged palace garrison would be close to starvation, and Lachlan was eager to have the wealth of its treasury in his hands. He knew the palace would fall if it was not assisted soon, for the garrison had no loyalty to his rule, having been appointed by his brother Jaspar. If it was a choice between starvation and being prisoners-of-war, he had no doubt what choice the defendants would make. So the Greycloaks had only waited for the Fairgean to swim north again before striking west. They had continued their highly mobile tactics, riding circles around the enemy, engaging in feigned retreats and luring the Bright Soldiers into traps and ambushes. As the Tirsoil-leirean were driven back toward the Rhyllster, the fighting grew fiercer for the river was still the lifeblood of the land. Barges loaded with produce were poled down from the highlands to feed Lachlan's army, and fresh troops trained in the safety of Lucescere crossed the river to march down into Blessem. The Bright Soldiers had been smarting over the loss of Dunwallen for almost two years. They were determined not to lose their grip on the river south of Lochbane, the eighth loch in the chain of lochan called the Jewels of Rionnagan. Lachlan's army had confounded the Bright Soldiers only that week by crossing the river just south of Dunwallen and striking at their troops on the western bank of the river. Since the Rhyllster flowed swiftly even in the dead of winter and there were no bridges until well past Lochbane, the Tirsoilleirean army had certainly not been prepared for an attack from that direction. By the time they had gathered their wits and their weapons, the Greycloaks had disappeared again, retreating back across the river. The berhtilde in charge of the beleaguered battalion had pursued them to the very banks of the river, but had had to rein her horse in sharply to avoid being pitched into the icy waters. Clearly she could see the hoofprints of a large company of riders disappearing into the river then emerging again on the far side, yet she knew that to enter the roiling water was to risk death. Nonetheless she ordered some of her men to spur their horses on, and watched them being dragged under and drowned.

Iseult smiled thinly as she remembered, dismounting so she could stand on the bank of the river. Closing her eyes and holding out her hands, she concentrated on the void, as Meghan had taught her. This was the second half of the challenge of the flame and the void, the skill of lighting a flame and winking it out with merely the power of the mind. When Iseult had first been asked to try it, she had not known how to snuff out the flame, for on the Spine of the World the fire was never allowed to go out. At last she had brought a cold so intense the sacred fire had turned to ashes and the water in the scrying bowl had frozen over. It had occurred to Iseult that the ability to conjure ice would be useful in this winter campaign, so she had practiced the skill until she had perfect control over the element. Slowly the ice at the edge of the river thickened and spread. She clenched her fists and brought all the strength of her will to bear on the rapidly moving river. The ice spread further, rose in delicate arches, spun itself into a fragile and gleaming bridge. Iseult slumped back, exhausted, managing to lift one hand to wave the soldiers on. The infantrymen, who had been watching with awe, marched quickly across, all holding their breath in case the ice should crack and throw them into the treacherous water. The baggage carts trundled after, the drivers whipping the carthorses on in fear, and then the herds of goats and sheep were urged across, the herdsmen saluting Iseult as they passed.

The Banrigh struggled to her feet, clinging to her horse's bridle, her legs shaking. She wondered briefly how Meghan managed to work such acts of magic every day without killing herself from exhaustion, then she mounted again with the help of one of the Blue Guards.

The cavaliers came over the hill in a galloping charge, whooping and shouting, clanging their lances against their shields. Activity broke out in the Bright Soldiers' camp as they scrambled to defend themselves. The horsemen rode through, knocking down tents, scattering campfires, striking left and right. As they wheeled to charge once more, a flock of birds suddenly descended from the sky, screeching and tearing with their claws and beaks. There were birds of all shapes, sizes and colors, from sharp-beaked hawks and ravens to curlews and swallows. There was even a great golden eagle who had heard Lachlan's call and flown down from his lonely eyrie in the Whitelock Mountains. The Bright Soldiers cursed and ducked, dropping their swords to lift their cross-emblazoned shields above their heads. Again the Blue Guards charged through, one of the enemy toppling at every stroke. The berhtilde screamed orders, and Lachlan raised his bow and shot an arrow straight through where her left breast had once been. She fell, and the Bright Soldiers cried aloud in consternation. They fought back desperately, and Finlay Fear-Naught's horse was dragged down. Duncan Ironfist wheeled around his great destrier and pulled the young laird to safety. Lachlan called the retreat and they galloped away, catching up burning brands from the fires and throwing them into the tangle of canvas and ropes that had been the Bright Soldiers' pavilions. Iseult summoned the last of her strength and sent fireballs shooting into those tents missed by the cavaliers, so that flame blossomed all around them. The majority of the horsemen retreated back into the countryside, while Lachlan, Iseult and the Yeomen of the Guard galloped back to the river. Despite the chaos of the camp, thirty or more of the Bright Soldiers pursued the Blue Guards and tried to follow them across the bridge of ice. Iseult, safe on the other side, raised her hand and thought of the warmth of summer, the warmth of a roaring fire. Water began to drip from the arches. Before the Bright Soldiers were more than halfway over, the bridge of ice sagged and collapsed into the raging torrent beneath. Iseult saw only a few despairing faces swirling past, the weight of their armor sucking them down, their horses struggling to keep their heads above the choppy surface. A few horses made it to shore and were lashed in with the other mounts at the end of the train. Most drowned with their riders.

They rode on down the river, elated at the success of their stratagem, but encountered another battalion of Bright Soldiers where the river curved out into the wide waters of Lochbane. Again there was fierce fighting, Lachlan's forces aided once more by the flock of sharp-beaked birds. By sunset they had slashed their way through the ranks of the Tirsoilleirean and were sheltering in the small town of Balbane. The settlement had been built on a high hill behind stout walls, but over the last few hundred years of peace it had spread out along the shores of the loch. Most of Balbane was now a smoking ruin, invaded and occupied by the Bright Soldiers and the Fairgean turn and turn about over the past two years. There was little left but ruined houses and a few bedraggled hens, which the soldiers ate for their supper, with thanks to Ea for her providence.

Before dawn, Iseult again conjured a bridge of ice at the far end of Lochbane, where it narrowed into the river. They crossed in haste and in silence, leaving behind a ghost town to puzzle the Tirsoilleirean troops who arrived with the sun. Three more times they crossed that day, though Iseult was white and shaking with the effort of creating bridges of ice sturdy enough to bear so much weight. So at last they came to Dun Gorm, the city which had once been the most magnificent in all of Eileanan and the Far Islands. Most of it was drowned now, or filled with sea wrack from the floods, or demolished by the Bright Soldiers' cannons, or burnt. The broken ruins that remained bore little resemblance to the great city of blue marble which had once stood there. Many in the troops had tears in their eyes as they made their silent way through the twilight streets.

They were once again on the western bank of the river, where the barons and rich merchants had built their mansions on the high land, giving them a view across the harbor and firth. The soaring towers of Rhyssmadill could be seen above the burnt rafters and collapsed walls, the soft blue of its stone blurring into the sullen evening sky. The Graycloaks took shelter in the ruins, Stormwing flying over the park to scout out the position of the Bright Soldiers. It was cold rations that evening, despite the chill, for no one was willing to risk lighting campfires. All were conscious that they were hidden in the very heart of the territory occupied by the Tirsoilleirean army. They had won their way through by trickery and guile, but the enemy was all around them and retreat would be near impossible.

The gyrfalcon reported an army of more than twelve thousand Bright Soldiers was camped in the palace park, opposite the great finger of stone on which the palace was built. The Tirsoilleirean had their trebuchets, cannons and mangonels lined up along the ridge, their tents and pavilions crowded behind. It had been too dark to see how much damage the outer walls of the palace had sustained but the morale of the Bright Soldiers was low.

With a mocking laugh, Stormwing said the ravens had caused much unease among the troops by hovering over the camp, their melancholy cries causing many a superstitious soldier to shudder and make the sign of the Cross above their breasts. Ten of the night-winged birds had been chosen for this task, for the old Tirsoilleirean superstition that began "one for sorrow, two for mirth" ended with the line "and ten for the devil's own self." It was Lachlan's intention to use every means possible to unnerve the Tirsoilleirean army.

The size of the army drawn up outside Rhyssmadill alarmed Lachlan a little, for he had only five hundred men-at-arms, five hundred archers and the fifty mounted cavaliers of the Yeomen of the Guard. The other two thousand soldiers of Lachlan's division had been left to guard Dun Eidean and to engage with those remnants of the Tirsoilleirean army still occupying Blessem. The eight hundred cavaliers who had accompanied Lachlan had been left on the eastern shore of the Rhyllster to badger the Bright Soldiers camped along its length. Their aim was to drive the Tirsoilleirean soldiers back toward Rhyssmadill, straight into the arms of the MacThanach, who was marching toward the Berhtfane with the majority of the Righ's army. Even so, the Righ's forces would be outnumbered, for the MacThanach had only seven thousand men under his command, their numbers swelled by those who had deserted the Tirsoilleirean army.

"Let us hope the horsemen o' Tireich are even now riding through Ravenshaw," Lachlan said grimly, huddling his wings about him. "We will need every man we can muster to break the siege o' the palace."