The Shining City (61 page)

When the noise had died, the boys running away to do mischief elsewhere, Rhiannon took a deep breath and leaned over the battlement, her eyes drinking in the wide expanse of starry sky.

Behind her the city glared, even at this late hour, but to the east was only the river and the forest, almost invisible under the heavy swathe of clouds.

Blackthorn
, she called silently.
Dearling! It’s time. Come!

Long minutes passed.

Blackthorn!

Rhiannon‟s heart was shrinking with bitter disappointment when she heard, faintly, a high shrill whinny. It rocked her from head to foot.

Blackthorn! Blackthorn!

Again the whinny came, and then Rhiannon could hear wingbeats.

Sssh! Softly, softly . . .

Then out of the darkness came her winged horse, shaking her head and neighing with frantic joy.

Her hoof knocked the stone coping and sent a piece of paving whizzing down into the darkness.

Rhiannon did not wait for Blackthorn to land but seized her mane and leaped up on her bare back, flinging the saddlebags over the mare‟s withers.

Blackthorn wheeled and began to fly away from the city, her wings beating steadily. Rhiannon allowed herself to lay her cheek down on the silky mane and sob with grief and relief. Behind her bells began to peal.

What, they have discovered me gone already?
Rhiannon thought.
We had best fly far and fast,
dearling, else they’ll have us again!

The bells tolled out.

Iseult kneeled on the floor, Lachlan lying slack and lifeless in her arms. “Find the murderer,” she hissed, low and vicious. “I want him staked out for the White Gods. I want him hanged, drawn, and quartered, and his entrails fed to the city dogs. Do ye understand me?”

“Aye, Your Highness.” Captain Dillon bowed low, his face set in harsh lines. “Do no‟ fear. We will find him, if I have to turn this city inside out.”

As he spoke, his blue-clad soldiers continued with their thorough search and interrogation of the wedding guests and servants, taking them one by one to other rooms where each had to give an account of the evening‟s happenings. Their clothes were patted and flounced, their pockets and bags turned out, their jewelry and accessories examined. All were shocked, many were offended, quite a few had hysterics.

Iseult‟s and Isabeau‟s mother, Ishbel, had fainted and now floated a few feet off the floor, cocooned in the floating tendrils of her long pale hair. Their father, Khan‟gharad, submitted angrily to being searched before taking Ishbel back to their rooms, propelling her through the air with a firm hand on her shoulder. It was clear he would prefer to have been out helping with the hunt for his son-in-law‟s murderer, but once again Ishbel‟s strange malady had confounded and confined him, and he was forced to tend her while she was lost in her enchanted sleep.

Meanwhile, King Nila and Queen Fand and their children were whisked away by the Fairgean ambassador Alta, all looking grim and worried indeed. The bodyguards of the other

prionnsachan closed around those they protected, weapons at the ready. If the Rìgh of Eileanan and the Far Islands could be assassinated in his own banquet hall, then no one was safe.

“Finn, canna ye do something? Canna ye find this villain for me?” Iseult demanded.

Finn the Cat was holding the black dart in her hand, her eyes shut. After a long moment, she opened her eyes and shook her head unhappily. “Whoever it was didna touch the dart long enough to leave a strong impression. They may have picked it up while wearing gloves or handled it through a cloth. I‟m sorry.”

“There must be something ye can do!”

“If ye can find the blowpipe, I‟ll be able to tell ye who the murderer is, for they will have held it to their mouth and blown the air o‟ their lungs into it. That will be enough for me.”

“But canna ye help find the blowpipe?”

Finn shook her head reluctantly. “The dart must‟ve passed through the pipe in a matter o‟

seconds. Whoever did this must‟ve been careful no‟ to have let it touch any longer than that. All I get from the dart is an impression o‟ darkness and closeness, like a pocket or a bag. Beyond that, I can tell ye only that it comes from the swamplands o‟ Arran, but ye could guess that for yourselves.”

Iseult switched her fierce gaze from Finn to Iain. Sick and white with shock, he kneeled beside Lachlan‟s sprawling form. Elfrida stood beside him, gripping her fan tightly. She put one hand on his shoulder, and he straightened slowly. “Ye ken we s-s-sell the blowpipes and barbs to the Yeomen,” Iain said, beginning to stammer as he always did in times of strong emotion. “They . .

. they take a hundred or so every year. And the b-b-bogfaeries sometimes sell them too, on the black m-m-market. There is no way for me to tell who m-m-may have one. I‟m s-s-sorry.” He hid his face again in his hands.

Iseult bent her head over Lachlan‟s lifeless form, smoothing his hair away from his face. Isabeau wrapped her arm about her twin and rocked her wordlessly. Iseult‟s chest rose and fell sharply, and her breath shuddered.

Like everyone else in the crowd, Lewen had been painstakingly searched and questioned by the soldiers, but he had been allowed to stay in the banquet hall in case his mistress had need of him.

All the other squires had been hustled away by their respective families, everyone fearful of what might happen next.

Although numb with shock and grief, Lewen saw that the Banrìgh was in danger of breaking down completely and so he found a pitcher of wine and brought her a glass of the rich red liquid, kneeling beside her to proffer it on a tray. Isabeau gave him a quick glance of commendation and took the glass, holding it to Iseult‟s mouth. She managed to swallow a mouthful.

“I beg your pardon, Your Highness . . .” Lewen said, his stomach twisting with anxiety.

Iseult looked up at him blankly.

“Your Highness, I‟m sorry but . . . where are Olwynne and Owein?” Lewen said in a rush. “I canna see them anywhere.”

Iseult stared at him for a moment, then got to her feet, looking about her wildly. She was white to the lips. “Where are they?” she whispered. “They were right here afore . . . afore . . .” A shudder ran over her.

Isabeau stood up abruptly. “Owein and Olwynne are missing?”

“No,” Iseult whispered. “No, no, no.”

“But that‟s ridiculous,” Nina said sharply. “They were here, at the feast. . . .”

“I saw Owein dancing with one o‟ the NicThanach girls just moments afore it all happened,”

Dide said, staring around him, grim-faced.

“But did ye see him again afterwards?” Isabeau demanded.

“Nay . . . but there was so much happening. It was all such confusion . . .”

“Aye, exactly,” Isabeau said grimly. She turned to Lewen. “When did ye last see Olwynne?”

“She was on the terrace, my lady. . . . I went to get her a cool drink . . . but then His Majesty . . . I didna see her again,” he managed to say, though his throat was rigid with fear.

“Did anyone else see Owein and Olwynne after . . .” Isabeau‟s voice faded away.

All the onlookers shook their heads, a loud murmur of dissent rising.

“Eà‟s green blood,” Iseult said and swayed where she stood.

The wind wailed a lamentation. Sleet drove against the windows. All the air in the room turned to ice, so that Lewen could scarcely breathe. White clouds hung before their mouths. The tear spilling over Iseult‟s red eyelid froze into one long, glittering icicle.

“Iseult! Stop it!” Isabeau cried. “Do ye think turning the world to snow will make our job any easier!”

Her sister had not been named Iseult of the Snows simply because she had been raised in the icy wastes of the Spine of the World. Always her talent had been with ice and snow. It had proved useful indeed during the long years of the Bright Wars, when she had used her powers against their enemies, but it had been a long time since she had done more than chill her wine by cupping her hand around her glass. Iseult had never spent long years studying the nature and extent of her powers, as her twin sister had done, and so her control over her abilities was variable. Like many untrained witches, her Talent could manifest itself without volition and could prove very hard to rein back in once it had been unleashed.

Isabeau seized her shoulders and shook her. She was crying herself, but the look of fierce determination on her face did not falter.

“Iseult! They are no‟ dead. I can sense them still. They have been stolen away. We must try to find them! Come, Iseult. Breathe!”

The Dowager Banrìgh took in one long, shuddering breath, then breathed out again. The icicle melted and turned again into a teardrop. Lewen found his lungs released from the vise of cold, and though his breath still puffed white, he was able to inhale and exhale without pain.

“My bairns,” Iseult whispered. “Who could‟ve taken them? Why?” She began to pace up and down the hall, snow swirling from her skirts. None of those left in the room could do anything but watch her. Everyone was gripped with a dreadful feeling of helplessness.

“I need something o‟ theirs to hold,” Finn said. “A glass they‟ve just drunk out o‟, or something they‟ve made with their own hands is best. Or a lock o‟ hair, or a scrap o‟ fingernail, or some o‟

their blood.”

“I do no‟ carry a vial o‟ my children‟s blood around wi‟ me,” Iseult cried.

“No‟ a lock o‟ baby hair?”

“O‟ course, somewhere!”

“Anyone ken which glass was Owein‟s?” Dide asked. They all glanced at the high table and saw the servants had been quietly clearing away the refuse of the feast.

Lewen slid his hand inside his coat and touched the withered nosegay he carried there. It had, he remembered, some of Olwynne‟s hair caught in the binding. He did not want to show anyone the little token she had given him, but he hesitated only a second, pulling it out and giving it to Finn.

“This was hers,” he said quietly, the blood rising in his cheeks.

Finn took it into her hand, and her eyebrows shot up. She looked at it closely, glanced at Lewen, and then exchanged a quick look with Isabeau, who was watching intently, her brows drawn close together.

“Can ye feel aught?” Iseult demanded.

“Indeed I can,” Finn said with another considering glance at Lewen, who tried not to squirm with embarrassment. She held the nosegay close to her breast, breathing in deeply, her eyes shut.

“No‟ far away,” she muttered. “Underground. Dark. Stinky. Makes her feel sick. Moving fast.

Bumped. Almost dropped. She‟s being carried! Water sloshing . . . smells horrible . . .”

“The sewers!” Captain Dillon cried.

“Who has her?” Dide demanded. “Can ye tell, Finn?”

Finn‟s face screwed up in concentration as she cast wide her witch-senses. Then her eyes snapped open. “The laird o‟ Fettercairn!” she hissed. “I ken his smell well, after all those weeks handling his vile collection. But how? Why?”

“Laird Malvern!” Nina cried. “Eà, no! Och, Your Highness, ye must find them. He is an evil, evil man. He means naught but harm to them. I should‟ve kent he‟d be behind Lachlan‟s murder!

He and that poisonous skeelie o‟ his. But how?” Suddenly she turned and flung out her hand to her husband. “Iven!” she cried. “He wouldna . . . he couldna . . . Roden!”

Iven was at her side in an instant, his arm about her waist. He looked shaken. Cursing under his breath, Dide looked at Finn. The sorceress bit her lip and shut her eyes. When she opened them again, it was to nod her head unhappily.

The blood drained away from Nina‟s face, leaving her a ghastly yellowish white, like old bone.

“Nay,” she whispered; then suddenly her legs gave way and she pitched forward onto her knees.

Iven and Dide were beside her in a moment, lifting her up, both haggard with shock. Nina was weeping, trying to speak but unable to get the breath to force the words out.

“No‟ Roden, no‟ my wee Roden,” Iven cried. “But how? He was . . .” His voice died away.

“Eà‟s green blood!” said Dide. “That villain! That vile snake. When? How?”

“Roden,” Nina whispered. “My babe . . .”

There was a tumult among those in the room. Cries and exclamations rang out.

“The laird o‟ Fettercairn again!” Gwilym said. “We should‟ve lain him by the heels days ago!”

“If it hadn‟t been for the extra soldiers we needed to guard the wedding . . .” Captain Dillon said.

“How did this happen?” Isabeau whispered. She had known the little boy from birth and loved him as dearly as Dide did.

“So was it the laird o‟ Fettercairn who murdered my husband?” Iseult demanded. “How? How could he have got anywhere near him?”

“He could no‟ have,” Captain Dillon said firmly. “My men were watching closely. I had double the usual guard.”

“Yet someone murdered Lachlan,” Iseult said. She was shaking as if with a palsy.

Captain Dillon bowed his head. His hands gripped his sword hilt as if he was trying to prevent it from leaping out of its sheath and laying waste around him.

“Let us go,” Finn said, giving the nosegay back to Lewen. “If we are swift enough, we‟ll catch him and then we can be finding out about the how and why. For now, let us get on his trail!”

“I will send some men with ye,” Captain Dillon said and beckoned to his lieutenants.

“Make sure they are fast,” Finn said. “I will need to be able to send them back with messages. I canna scry in this weather, and I doubt I will have the time to stop anyway.”

As Finn spoke she had been swiftly stripping off her heavy silk gown, till she was standing in nothing but her camisole and drawers. “Ye, give me your breeches!” she demanded of the closest soldier. Blushing hotly, he began to undress and she dragged on his clothes and his cloak, the grey side turned out. At once her tiny elven cat, which she had put down on the table for a moment, leaped back up to her shoulder again, its tufted ears laid back, its fangs bared in a hiss.

The soldier, shivering in his underclothes, gratefully received the cloak of one of his fellow Yeomen and wrapped it about him.

Finn lifted her hand in farewell, then broke into a run, throwing open the door into the garden and passing out into the stormy darkness. Snow blew in through the open door, sending the candle flames dancing and making the women shiver and rub their bare arms.