The Cursed Towers (5 page)

"But are there no' cruel punishments for those who do no' agree with your priests' teaching?" Meghan asked in interest.

Elfrida nodded. "Aye, indeed, many are maimed in reprisal for confessions o' heresy, or burnt alive, or drawn and quartered. But ye should no' call them priests, my lady, that is an heretical term. There are the pastors and the elders and the berhtildes who together make up the General Assembly who rule the land."

"I can see it is a blessing the Spinners have brought our threads to cross," Meghan said. "Indeed, it has been so many years since we've heard from beyond the Great Divide that we really know very little about your countryfolk. If it is true that ye must ken your enemies to defeat them, as Iseult says, then whatever you can teach us shall be a boon indeed."

"And what shall ye do with my people once ye have conquered them?" Elfrida asked, color rising again in her pale cheeks.

"We shall rebuild the witches' tower in Bride and bring Tirsoilleir back into the fold o' the Coven," Meghan said calmly, stroking the soft brown fur of her donbeag. "If Ea permits that we prevail."

"And who shall rule?" Elfrida asked, back straight as a ramrod, hands folded over the swell of the child she carried within.

"Ye shall," Meghan responded, her voice drowning Lachlan's. "Ye are the last o' your line, the direct descendant o' Berhtilde herself. We shall restore the monarchy in Tirsoilleir and ye shall swear fealty to Lachlan MacCu-inn in return for our support and sign the Pact o' Peace on behalf o' your people." Lachlan relaxed and nodded his head as Elfrida inclined hers. "Then I shall do what I can to help ye. Ye know nothing about the Bright Soldiers or why they follow the berhtildes. I shall tell ye what ye need to know, if ye swear to restore my throne to me."

"I shall do my best," Lachlan promised with a relieved smile. "But first we must drive them from my land and the lands o' my people, and that shall no' be easy to do. They occupy most o' Blessem and Clachan and have access to all their storehouses o' grain and meat while we live off nuts and porridge. They bombard the walls o' our cities with their foul-smelling balls o' iron and fire, while we are lucky to have a sword in the hand o' half our soldiers. Worst o' all, the only trained soldiers were all in the pay o' the Ensorcellor and many remain faithful to her, while the Bright Soldiers are taught the craft o' war with their mother's milk. How are we to stand against them?"

"I ken ye only have a small troop, and that badly equipped and poorly trained," Elfrida said slowly, "but canna ye trick them into thinking ye have greater forces at your command? And they are afraid o' the powers o' witchcraft, thinking them the works o' the Archfiend. If ye use magic against them, it will throw them into superstitious terror."

"Both Iain and Gwilym have the power o' illusion," Dide cried eagerly. "With a little trickery, we could conjure an army from thin air!"

"And surely we could turn this foul weather to our advantage?" Iseult suggested. Excited murmurs ran around the room, with suggestions thrown from every corner. Lachlan's yellow eyes blazed with excitement. "They need no' know we have only a handful o' fully trained witches," he cried.

"If we can just relieve Rhyssmadill, then we shall have the royal treasury back in our hands and all its food and weapon stores. Our contacts in the blue city say the palace has no' yet fallen, though fighting has been fierce on all sides. Once we have Rhyssmadill back in our hands, then we can march on the rest o' Blessem and free Dun Eidean and the other towns."

The Prionnsa of Blessem, Alasdair MacThanach, cheered. He and his family had been caught at Rhyssmadill when the Bright Soldiers had attacked and had fled to Lucescere with Jaspar. A practical man, he had quickly thrown his lot in with Lachlan and the rebels after Jaspar's death, despite his long-held views against witchcraft. Better a strong Righ with a few witch tricks up his sleeve than a bawling babe, he had decided.

"If we are to have the Bright Soldiers in flight before the Fairgean return with the spring tides, we are going to have to move fast," Iseult said, frowning.

"Let us start planning a strike against them now, then." Lachlan stretched out his wings, flexing them so the candles danced in the breeze he created. "They shall no' expect us to strike through the snow storms, and if we are canny, we may be able to steal some o' then-supply wagons and have ourselves a real feast for the New Year!"

THE THREADS DIVIDE

Hogmanay

Iseult stood before the tall mirror, frowning ferociously at her reflection. The light of many candles bathed her naked body in a warm, golden glow. Her skin was white as snow, the damp curls on her head and at the junction of her thighs red-bright as the flames on the hearth. Over her swollen breasts and the great mound of her stomach, veins ran blue as spring water.

"I canna bear this anymore, Isabeau!" she cried. "When will these babes be born? I should be with Lach-lan, no' lying about, huge and ponderous as a woolly bear."

"They'll come soon enough, fear no'," her twin replied. She lay Bronwen back in her cradle and wrapped Iseult in her furred robe. "It's too cold to be standing about like this, even with the fire built so high. Do no' fret, Lachlan will return soon. He promised he'd be back as quickly as he could. He wants to be here for the birth, ye ken that, and he kens it is time. Besides, there are all the New Year festivities tonight and he kens how important they are to keep up the spirits o' the people."

"I should be there, helping him. I canna believe he rode out without me!" Iseult walked restlessly to the window, pulling aside the brocade curtains so she could stare out at the grim afternoon, the sky so heavy with snow clouds it was as dark as evening. "Ye ken he kens little about war, and the Yeomen o' the Guard are so happy to be back in the Righ's service, they would do anything he said, never mind how foolish."

"Come, ye canna say that is true o' Duncan Ironfist, and he's there at Lachlan's side. Sit down, Iseult, all this fretting is no' doing ye or the babes any good. Ye couldna have ridden into battle only a few days before the babes were due!"

"Ye dinna understand—I promised Lachlan I would always be with him."

"I am sure he did no' mean on the battlefield . . ."

"Where better to protect him!" Iseult cried, pacing back and forth. "I should be there with him, why did he ride out without me?"

"Come, Iseult, ye ken he thinks only o' ye and the babes. That is why he rode out while ye were sleeping, no' because he does no' wish ye with him."

Iseult sighed and allowed Isabeau to lead her back to the armchair before the fire. Isabeau passed her some warm slippers, and rang the bell for the maids to come and take away the hipbath. Lying in her cradle, Bronwen kicked her feet and wailed thinly. She shook little crumpled fists in the air and screwed up her silvery-blue eyes, tears leaking from the corners. A white tuft stuck up out of her dark thatch of hair, the result of her bonding with the Lodestar on the night of the dead.

"Hush, my wee one," Isabeau said. "Ye can have your bath later."

"Let her use the bath if she wishes," Iseult said. "We can ask the maids to bring fresh water." Isabeau shook her head. "Nay, she can bathe later. I have no desire to get wet from head to foot just yet." She kept her eyes lowered. Although Iseult regarded the baby with casual indifference, Isabeau had no wish to remind her of Bronwen's Fairge ancestry. As soon as the child was submerged in water, she transformed into her quicksilver seashape, glimmering with scales and fins, the gills in her neck fluttering. Bronwen's wish to swim beat at Isabeau's consciousness, but she kept her attention turned firmly away. Although only three months old, the baby banprionnsa had an imperious will which saw those about her dance to a soundless tune. Isabeau's maid Sukey would feel a shiver of cold and build up the fire, not noticing that the baby's silken coverlet had fallen to the floor. Courtiers in velvet doublets would bend and retrieve her jeweled rattle, though had they dropped their own handkerchief they would have waited for their manservant to pick it up for them. The wet nurse, a large placid woman named Ketti, came hurrying from the kitchen as soon as the baby woke, even though Bronwen had had no time to utter more than a few wailing cries. "I thought the wee one would be waking by now," she would say, not thinking it odd that she should have been happily drinking ale by the fire until the very moment the child woke. Only Isabeau and Meghan knew Bronwen was already showing powers far beyond her age. Sometimes, when they were alone in the nursery, Isabeau resisted the urge to do things for the baby so she could watch the child and ascertain the limits of her abilities. She had seen toys float from the shelves to the cradle, and the baby's brightly painted mobile often spun in a nonexistent wind. Once she sat silently in the shadows as Ketti came in with two pitchers of water which she poured into the baby's porcelain bath, her face empty of all thought. No-one but Isabeau was allowed to bathe the baby, and the wet nurse flushed in chagrin when Isabeau made her presence known. "I be sorry, my lady, I canna think what I was doing," she had stammered. "I was taking the water to the Prionnsa o' Rurach, I do no' see how I came to bring it here. I mun have been woolgathering, my lady."

Isabeau knew Bronwen was happiest when submerged in salted water, but she only let her bathe once a day and then only in seclusion. Lachlan barely tolerated his niece at all; Bronwen was a constant reminder to him of her enchantress mother, who had transformed him into a blackbird when he was only a young boy. His sable wings were all that were left of the enchantment, but he blamed Maya for the death of his three brothers and for the current unrest tearing Eileanan apart.

When the chambermaids came to take away the hipbath, Isabeau called for her maid Sukey. The young girl had been a scullery maid with Isabeau back in Rhyssmadill and had recently become Isabeau's personal maid, a massive promotion for a country lass who would normally have spent many years scrubbing iron pots and turning the spits. Like most of the palace servants, she had been astounded to discover Isabeau's true identity and was now rather in awe of the young apprentice witch.

"Would ye please send a messenger down to the barracks to see if there has been any word o' His Highness, Sukey," said Isabeau. The Righ and three hundred of his men had ridden off to Dunwallen several weeks previously to strike a blow against the Bright Soldiers and had been expected back the previous afternoon to prepare for the New Year festivities.

Sukey's round, pink cheeks flushed even brighter at Isabeau's words, and she bobbed her head shyly, murmuring, "Yes, my lady, at once, my lady."

Isabeau sighed as Sukey scurried away. She wished they had been able to remain friends, but the apple-cheeked maid was all too well aware of Isabeau's newly discovered noble ancestry and treated her with nervous deference.

She returned some time later, her blue eyes bright with excitement. "His Highness has just ridden into the city, my lady! They say the skirmish went off just as planned, and they have wagons full o' oats and barley, and flocks o' goats and barrels o' ale and everything, my lady! Everyone is dancing and laughing, and they say it is a good omen indeed to win such a blow on Near Year's Eve!" Iseult sighed with relief. "Thank the gods! Was His Highness well, Sukey? No sign o' any wounds?"

"I did no' see him, Your Highness, but they say our casualties were light indeed, and the Bright Soldiers in retreat from Dunwallen in much confusion, and the town ours again!" Isabeau laughed in relief and pleasure. Dunwallen was a small town on the far side of the Rhyllster, which had been overrun by the Tirsoilleirean soldiers only a few weeks previously. Built close on the banks of the river, it was in a strategic position, controlling both the river and the main road from Blessem, and therefore much of the highlands' supply routes. For the Righ's first blow against the enemy to have met with such success would greatly hearten the whole countryside and was bound to swing popular opinion toward Lachlan. Best of all, it would do much to relieve the food shortage in the city, for Dunwallen's storehouses had been well stocked with the produce of the autumn harvest. Together Iseult and Isabeau went down from the royal quarters to greet Lachlan, leaving the baby banprionnsa in Sukey's care. The grand hall was filled with the tired and dirty lairds who had ridden out with the Righ, all toasting Lachlan with whiskey and talking over the battle. The winged Righ was lounging in his carved chair, his shirt stiff with blood and grime, his mail-shirt much battered and stained. He was alight with the thrill of the battle, his topaz-yellow eyes blazing in his swarthy face. At the sight of the twins he leapt to his feet and rushed excitedly into an account of the skirmish, the blows he had struck, the tactics they had employed.

". . . Iain called up a mist so they could no' even see their own hand in front o' their face, and we crept right up to the walls under its cover. They hardly knew what hit them,
leannan
..."

"Gwilym and Dide sent fireballs w-w-whizzing about so the Bright Soldiers were th-th-thrown into c-c-confu-sion," Iain stammered, his Adam's apple bobbing madly.

"Your husband fought like a pride o' elven cats," An-ghus MacRuraich called. Duncan Ironfist, the captain of the Yeomen and seanalair of Lachlan's army, came to make his bow to Iseult and assure her he had watched over the Righ well. "Though I was hard put to keep up with him," the huge soldier said.

"Especially when he flew to the top o' the barbican. I thought my heart would fail in my chest, but he had the guard disarmed and the portcullis raised in moments!"

As Iseult fired questions at Duncan and Lachlan, Isabeau ordered some food for the lairds and prionnsachan and sent a page to find Meghan, who would be busy preparing for the Hogmanay festivities. The old sorceress was determined that all the key dates in the witches' calendar would once again be properly celebrated. Traditionally the last day of the year was a time of feasting and first-footing, a difficult event to arrange with their food stocks so low.