The Forbidden Land (31 page)

A new mood swept over the crowd. They wept now in repentance and shame, they lifted faces shining with new resolve. When at last the prophet ended with a resounding call to arms many shouted and threw up their hats. As Lachlan and his retinue walked out of the kirk, the last to leave, they found the people of Kirkclanbright waiting for them outside in tense silence. Elfrida stopped on the steps of the kirk, the sun shining on her fair head, facing the crowd with flushed cheeks. The people of the valley went down on their knees before her, the men holding their hats to their hearts, the women with their heads bowed low. All swore as one to give their allegiance to Elfrida NicHilde, the true banprionnsa of Tìrsoilleir, and through her to the MacCuinn, Rìgh of all Eileanan.

So it was that when Lachlan rode out of Kirkclanbright the next day, his company was augmented by a platoon of men and woman armed with axes, scythes, cleavers, pitchforks and spades. Lachlan was greatly heartened by this first sign of the power of the prophet’s influence and began to hope they might have a repeat of their miraculous victory at Dùn Eidean, when they had broken the siege without needing to strike a single blow.

The company was in good spirits as it marched along the road towards the downs rising ahead of them. They did not sing, as most soldiers were wont to do when on the march, and Finn heard to her amazement that the Tìrsoilleirean frowned upon music, singing and dancing, thinking them vain and frivolous. She wondered how Dide would be able to contain himself, for since she had been in his company a day had not gone by without the jongleur entertaining them all with his guitar-playing and singing.

He showed no sign of strain, however. His battered old guitar was tucked away out of sight and he was every inch the sober soldier. Again his appearance and behaviour had undergone a subtle transformation. Instead of the rolling gait of a sailor, he walked with the brisk steps and upright posture of a military man. Instead of the rough oaths of a sailor, he spoke like a soldier, saying no more than was necessary and with absolutely no trace of humour. The golden earring had vanished and his dark hair was neatly tied back under the cockaded blue tam-o’-shanter of a Yeoman of the Guard. He carried a sword strapped to his back and had a slim black dagger thrust into his highly polished boots, and wore a blue kilt and cloak like all of Lachlan’s general staff. He stood to attention when addressing the Rìgh and saluted smartly after being given his orders. It was as if he had never lived any other life than one of the Rìgh’s most trusted officers. Finn was sure that if she had told any of their Tìrsoilleirean companions that Dide was indeed a roving minstrel, juggler and acrobat, they would have scorned to believe her.

Tam had reluctantly bid farewell to his sweetheart Bessie once more, having being appointed the company’s guide through the downs. Although they were no longer so concerned about running into enemy squadrons, given their increased size and strength, Lachlan had decided that they should still try and keep a low profile until they had rejoined the Greycloaks. Consequently Tam had led them away from the highway, taking them along a little-known route that wound across the downs and into the valley beyond, where Lachlan’s scouts had located the rest of the army.

The downs were open rolling hills, bare of any trees but covered in long grasses that waved in the breeze. Here and there great grey boulders thrust up out of the grass in uncanny formations. Tam knew the name of every cluster of stones and the stories behind them. Most had names like the Devil’s Anvil, Satan’s Steps, Temptation Rock or Auld Clootie’s Footstep, so that Finn marvelled how much this Devil of the Tìrsoilleirean religion dominated their imagination.

Their path led them to a black cleft in the rock-face called the Cloven Hoof. It reminded Finn of Ogre Pass at Cairncross, for the walls of the cliffs rose up high on either side, casting the pathway into deep shadow. It was an eerie, uncanny place. The downs fell away on either side, empty of any life. Tall grey rocks rose out of the rippling grass like crooked fingers, casting sinister shadows across the path. No birds sang. No coneys hopped about. No lizards baked in the sun. There was only the melancholy sigh of the wind amongst the time-weathered rocks.

Lachlan surveyed the Cloven Hoof grimly, saying, ‘I dislike the look o’ this, my lad. Is there no other way through?’

Tam shook his head.

‘Och then, happen we should hurry through afore we begin to lose the light,’ Iseult said. ‘Tell everyone to make haste and keep a close eye out, for I’ve never seen a likelier spot for an ambush.’

‘But who would ken we came this way?’ Tam objected. ‘And if they kent, who would tell?’

Lachlan and Iseult exchanged a glance. ‘There are spies and traitors everywhere, Tam,’ the Rìgh said grimly.

The young sailor swallowed, losing some of his sunburnt colour.

‘Let us hope none have betrayed us, though,’ Lachlan said with a smile. ‘Our luck may still hold. Come, lead the way, lad!’

As the soldiers began to march through in single file, all keeping a cautious eye out, Lachlan beckoned to Gwilym who limped forward, leaning on his staff. ‘Ugly, can ye sense any hostile minds about? I have an uneasy feeling about this.’

‘So do I,’ Gwilym answered, his beetling brows drawn down upon his hooked nose. ‘This be an evil place, though. There has been murder done here before, and much blood shed. And ye ken as well as I do that it be difficult to sense an ambush when there already be such a crowd o’ people here, all jostling with thoughts and emotions. If ye would all draw away for a while, happen I could get a clearer idea.’

‘Too late,’ Iseult said. ‘Already we have begun to march through and, besides, we do no’ have time for loitering. Already the sun is beginning to go down and we want to reach the Greycloaks while there is still light, if we can.’

Duncan Ironfist trotted up beside them, saying with a smart salute, ‘Are ye ready to ride through, Your Highness?’

Lachlan nodded and the captain of the Blue Guards wheeled his horse about so he rode before the Rìgh, his sword drawn. Dillon rode next with his hand clasped on
Joyeuse
’s ornate hilt, his big shaggy dog loping along at his horse’s heels. Iseult fell into place behind her husband, and Dide spurred forward his mount, the big chestnut Harken, so that he too guarded her back. The other officers trotted close behind, surrounding Iain and a pale-faced Elfrida, all with swords drawn or bows at the ready.

Finn was at the rear of the company with Ashlin, Brangaine, Jay, Enit, Killian, Nellwyn, Tòmas, Johanna and the other healers, all of them crowded into three wagons drawn by big carthorses donated by the village of Kirkclanbright. They had their own guard of twenty-five soldiers, led by one of Lachlan’s officers, a young man called Sweeney. Although Finn had protested when Lachlan had insisted her horse be given to Dide, she was secretly rather glad to be travelling in the wagon with her friends instead of battling the big chestnut. It was like old times, having the League of the Healing Hand back together again, after so many years apart.

At last it came time for them to move forward into the Cloven Hoof. Jay slapped the reins on the carthorse’s brown rump and clicked his tongue, and the horse strode forward, the little wagon bouncing over the ruts of the path, already greatly churned by the boots and hooves of those that had gone before.

The sunlight was blocked out and a chill fell upon them. Brangaine pulled her plaid more tightly about her, saying, ‘Ooh, I dinna like this place. I’ll be glad when we are on the other side and safe within the army camp.’

Finn nodded her agreement, cuddling Goblin up to her neck. She stared back at the narrow gash of sunlight behind them. Her heart suddenly lurched. ‘Look!’ she cried. ‘Flaming dragon balls, I just saw …’

Jay quickly turned round. ‘What?’

‘I do no’ ken … movement … a flash.’

Jay stared back, then suddenly he dropped the reins to lift both hands to his mouth, giving a long resounding cry like that of a hunting horn. The sound bounced around the narrow canyon, causing horses to sidestep uneasily and men to cry aloud in alarm. Anyone who still had their weapons sheathed drew them and Lachlan launched Stormwing up into the sky, the hawk giving a long whistling cry as it flew up into the bright slit of sky.

Suddenly it shrieked a warning. In response, archers stood up all along the ridge and shot a deluge of arrows down into the ravine. Luckily Lachlan’s men had had time to lift their shields or take cover behind the wagons, but the air was still rent with the sound of men and horses screaming as arrow after arrow found a target.

Then soldiers began to pour along the canyon, attacking the calvacade from the rear. They all wore heavy metal armour with long white surcoats emblazoned with a scarlet fitché cross.

‘Bright Soldiers!’ Johanna screamed. She had been present at many a battle between the Greycloaks and the Bright Soldiers and knew they were in acute danger indeed. She thrust Tòmas behind her and drew her dagger.

The gyrfalcon was harassing the archers with its swift, sudden descent, knocking down one after another with its clenched talons, slashing at their faces with its beak and blinding them with a flurry of white wings. One of the archers lifted his bow and aimed straight for the great white bird’s breast. Just as he pulled back the string, an arrow from Lachlan’s longbow struck him through the heart and he fell with a cry.

Many of the Blue Guards were attempting to swarm up the steep sides of the ravine so they could grapple with those attacking from above. Both Lachlan and Iseult flew straight up out of the ravine, as swift as any bird, and began shooting the enemy with their bows and arrows. There were so many of the Bright Soldiers, however, that even with their deadly accuracy both Lachlan and Iseult were soon out of arrows and had to land on the ridge and fight hand to hand.

Meanwhile, the Bright Soldiers attacking from the rear were getting ever closer to the wagons. Sweeney and his men were fighting desperately to protect the wagons’ precious load but they were being overwhelmed by the sheer force of numbers. Finn had her crossbow to her shoulder and was firing bolt after bolt at the attacking soldiers, but she was hampered by the heads of her friends which kept getting in her way.

‘Get down, get down, ye gowks!’ she screamed.

To her horror she saw Sweeney fall, then the Bright Soldiers were reaching up their gauntleted hands for the sides of the last wagon in the calvacade. In that wagon were Johanna, Tòmas, Killian and the team of healers. All it would take was a few quick strokes and all would be dead.

Finn leapt across the narrow gap between the two wagons, landing nimbly on the swingletree slung between the two carthorses harnessed to Johanna’s wagon. The carthorses were all rearing and plunging in wild distress, for none were trained to battle, being only gentle farm animals more used to pulling a plough than hearing the screams of wounded men. Clinging to their harness, Finn swarmed across their backs and over the driver’s seat, her dagger in her hand. Behind her, Jay was attempting to dodge the enormous flailing hooves, at last managing to dart past, attacking one of the soldiers with his narrow sword.

Johanna was slashing at the soldiers’ hands with her knife but they all wore steel gauntlets and she could do no damage. One already was throwing his mail-clad leg over the side of the wagon, though the healers sought to throw him down again with all their strength. The wagon lurched forward as the carthorse tried to bolt, and the soldier fell back to the ground, screaming as the wheel of the wagon rolled over him.

Finn looked about her wildly, then glanced up. The deluge of arrows had faltered as the archers converged on Lachlan and Iseult fighting desperately further along the ravine. Quick as a thought Finn seized the coil of nyx-hair rope that she wore at her waist, knotted it to one of her crossbow bolts and fired straight up. The bolt flew up and embedded itself in a rock at the height of the cliff. She tested it swiftly, then bent and dragged up Tòmas, crouched white-faced against the floor.

‘Cling to me, laddie,’ she cried. ‘Do no’ let go.’

With the slight weight of Tòmas hanging about her neck, she swarmed up the rope. A soldier grabbed her leg. She kicked him in the face and he let go, clutching at his broken nose. Another thrust at her with his sword but she swung out of reach. It seemed to take her mere seconds to reach the top of the cliff. She crawled over, heaved Tòmas off her back, and peered over the edge. Down below all was chaos. Finn lifted her crossbow and fired at a soldier about to run Jay through. The soldier crumpled back, his sword falling from his lifeless hand.

‘Jay! The prophet!’ she cried.

Jay cast her a wild glance but bent and picked up the old man, who was shrinking back against the headboard in bewildered fear. Jay staggered under his weight but managed to heave him over his shoulder. He then seized the rope and tried to swarm up it as Finn had done. He was no trained cat-thief, though, and frail as the old prophet was, he was still far heavier than Tòmas.

As Jay struggled with the rope, a soldier cut his way through the healers and raised his sword high, about to bring it down upon the young jongleur and his burden. Suddenly a small black fury leapt for his face with sharp claws raking. The soldier screamed and clutched at his bleeding eyes, and Goblin dashed away into the shadows again.

The elven cat had bought Jay a few seconds and in that time Finn desperately began to haul on the rope, even though she knew she did not have the strength to drag both Jay and Killian up the cliff. To her surprise, the rope was as light and easy to haul as if two men did not dangle on the end of it. She looked down with her heart springing into her mouth, afraid that they had fallen down, but Jay still clung to the rope, Killian draped over his shoulder.

Nyx magic!
Finn thought with a glad spring of her heart. In seconds Jay was heaving himself over the lip of the cliff, dropping Killian to the ground. The young jongleur was panting with the effort but his hazel eyes were alight with triumph. ‘Well done, Finn!’