The Tower of Ravens (14 page)

As Lewen came out the front door, he saw Nina leap lightly down from the driving seat and seize Lilanthe in her arms, hugging her enthusiastically. Nina was a tall, slim woman with a mass of unruly chestnut hair and dark eyes. On her left hand she wore a vivid green emerald ring, the sign of a sorceress in the element of earth. Three other rings—green, white, and blue— decorated her right hand.

“Och, Nina, it’s so lovely to see ye!” Lilanthe cried. “Heavens, is that Roden? Look how big he’s grown!”

“I could say the same about your laddie,” Nina said, smiling at Lewen. “He’s a man now! Is he a longbowman like Niall? He has the shoulders for it. Heavens, it makes me feel auld, to find Lewen so tall and doughty.”

Lewen grinned at his mother. “That’s exactly what Mam said ye’d say.”

Niall greeted Nina and Iven warmly, then turned to the riders behind, saying with ritual ceremony, “Welcome! Will ye no‘ stand down?”

The riders inclined their heads in acknowledgement, the three boys touching their caps. Two of the boys were tall and sturdy and brown-faced, and dismounted with customary ease. The other was pale and wan. He dismounted with difficulty, and winced as he moved.

The other three riders were girls. One was very richly and fashionably dressed in a mud-spattered crimson velvet riding habit, brown leather boots and gloves, and a wide-brimmed brown velvet hat with a curled red feather. Long dark curls in wind-ruffled ringlets hung down her back and she had a mischievous smile.

Riding close beside her was a haughty-faced blonde girl dressed in dark brown the exact colour of her high-stepping nervous mare. Like her companion, she rode side-saddle and so carried a long whip in her left hand, but unlike her companion, her right boot was spurred. Lewen could tell at a glance that she rode her horse hard. The reins were held too tightly, so the mare fought the bit, dancing and sidestepping, her ears laid back flat. She was damp under her saddlecloth and Lewen could see the marks of whip and spur against her sweat-streaked hide.

The third girl was different again. She was plump and rosy-cheeked, with mousy hair tied in two wispy plaits. Wearing the plain homespun dress and wooden clogs of a country girl, she sat in the saddle like a sack of potatoes, and her short-legged, fat pony was on a leading-rein to the tallest of the boys. He paid her no attention, however, dropping the rein as he dismounted so he could rush forward to help down the girl in crimson. She had made no movement to dismount herself but waited with absolute assurance that help would be forthcoming. The other brown-faced boy had also hurried forward, however, and they collided at her stirrup. Lewen saw the girl’s mouth curve in a little smile as they apologised to each other, both stiff and angry and very much on their dignity.

“Cameron helped me dismount yesterday so happen ye can hand me down today, Rafferty,” the girl said, holding out one small, gloved hand. The younger of the two boys took it proudly and assisted her down to the ground.

The sweat-lathered mare of the fair-haired girl shied and bucked as if the hand clamped on the rein had tightened even further. Lewen moved quickly to take the rein and help the other girl down, before the horse kicked out at one of the others, or backed into the fat pony waiting so placidly behind.

“I thank ye,” she said coldly, shaking out her brown velvet skirts and casting a resentful look at the other boys. They did not notice.

Lewen nodded, smoothing the neck of her mare and murmuring in his deep, low voice until she had calmed. Then, he went to help down the dumpy girl in clogs, who everyone seemed to have forgotten.

“Come on in, all o‘ ye, and welcome,” Lilanthe said. “It’s glad I am to see ye all.”

She led the group up the stairs and into the house, Meriel stricken into silence for a change and clinging close to her mother’s side. The little boy, Roden, scampered happily beside Nina, holding the arak’s hairy hand. She was an odd little creature, as small as a baby but with the sad, wizened face of a very old woman, and an extremely long, mobile tail. Soft grey-brown hair covered every part of her except her face, her hands and feet and the very tip of her tail.

Nina stopped halfway up the stairs to exclaim at the beautifully carved wooden doors. “These are new since I was last here!” she cried. “Oh, Lilanthe, they’re exquisite. Dinna tell me Lewen made them? I had no idea he was so talented.”

Lilanthe smiled. “He worked on them all winter. We’re snowbound here, ye ken, and it was a bad winter, very cold and snowy. There’s naught much else to do here. They’re lovely, aren’t they?”

“Indeed they are,” Nina replied, stopping to examine them closely before passing through into the house.

The door was split into two panels. A tree-changer had been carved on either side, their faces looking out from the leafy fronds of their hair. Birds and animals sheltered in their branches or looked out from behind their trunks—an owl, a lark, a squirrel, a donbeag, a wolf, an elven cat, a hare, the snout and sad eyes of a huge woolly bear. Flowers clustered around the tree-changers’ roots, and when the doors were shut the fingers of the two forest faeries, man and woman, were entwined.

Lewen felt a warm glow of pleasure at Nina’s words. He had worked on the doors for many days as a Hogmanay gift for his parents, and Nina was the first person outside his family to have seen them.

The apprentice-witches had all followed Nina up the steps.

Lewen noticed how the fair-haired girl’s lip lifted in a condescending sneer as she glanced about, how the plump girl with plaits looked at the carved doors with admiration, and how the dark girl in crimson laughed and chatted with the two boys, who flanked her like a guard of honour. The other boy followed with a dreamy look of contentment as he gazed on the fresh green lawns, the narcissus and snowbells dancing under the bare branches of the trees, and the encircling ring of cloud-capped mountains.

“O mountains wild and high, where the eagle flies…” he murmured. “No, no, that willna do. O mountains wild and high, where the eagles fly, frowning down upon us here, sear, dear, mere, yes, mere… frowning down upon us here, the garden green, the shining mere…”

Lewen led the nervous brown mare and the pony along the driveway towards the stables, wondering if the boy was mad.

Iven grinned at him.

“Young Landon fancies himself a poet,” he said. “He’s quite harmless and Nina thinks him very Talented. Och, no‘ at writing poetry. He stinks at that! But he is clear-seeing and clear-hearing, and very sensitive to atmosphere. Nina thinks he’ll make a grand witch in time. Come, Sure, come, Steady.” He clicked his tongue and the carthorses followed him placidly like two big dogs, the caravans trundling along behind them.

“What about the others? Are they all apprentices too?” Niall asked, leading the other horses.

“Aye. Cameron is one o‘ the MacHamish clan and wants to be a Yeoman. He kens ye need to do your witch’s training first, so he’s submitting rather gracelessly to having to go to school for a few years. He’s auld for it, being nineteen already, but he’s been squire at Ravenscraig for four years or so, and trained as a soldier, and he has his heart set on serving the Rìgh, so the MacBrann is sponsoring him for the next few years to give him a chance.”

“Rafferty is the son o‘ a clock-maker who shows some witch-talent, much to his family’s surprise, nothing like that ever cropping up in their family afore. His father is hoping a few years at the Theurgia will help him climb a few rungs o’ the social ladder. He’s a good lad, though rather quick to throw a punch. They were rubbing along grandly till we picked up Lady Felice, but since then we’ve had a few punch-ups.”

“Is that the lass in the crimson?” Niall asked.

“Aye. She’s the daughter o‘ the Earl of Stratheden, one o’ the MacBrann’s courtiers, and has apparently caused some havoc with the hearts o‘ the young men in Ravenscraig. We picked her up there, and it’s put the cat among the pigeons, I can tell ye. Until Lady Felice came, Lady Edithe o’ Avebury queened over all o‘ us, but now her nose is quite out o’joint, I can tell ye. She comes from the MacAven family, one o’ the first families in Ravenscraig and famous for their witches. Edithe thinks herself quite the sorceress and far too good for us mere jongleurs.”

“Does she no‘ ken who Nina is?” Niall asked in surprise.

Iven shook his head, quirking his lip. “She doesna think to look beyond the surface o‘ things, that one, and ye ken Nina would never tell her. I think Nina’s taken a dislike to her ladyship and quite enjoys watching her make a fool o’ herself. I must admit I find it rather amusing too. One minute, Lady Edithe’s trying to ingratiate herself with Lady Felice because o‘ all her contacts at court, the next minute she’s furious at all the attention she gets.”

“What about the lassie in the clogs?” Lewen asked.

“Och, aye,” Iven said, as if in sudden remembrance. “Maisie. She’s the granddaughter o‘ a village cunning man and a sweet wee thing. She’s never been away from home afore and is quite overwhelmed. Nina says her Talent is quite strong, though.”

Iven’s easy flow of conversation suddenly dried up, as he came to an abrupt halt just inside the stable door. The sturdy brown mare nudged his back with her nose. He did not seem to notice. He was staring at the winged mare, standing untethered in the wreck of her stall, contentedly lipping at a bucket of warm mash. At the sound and smell of the strange man, she flung up her horned head and shied away, showing the yellowish rim of her eye in sudden alarm.

“Easy, lassie,” Niall said in his low, warm voice. “No need to fear. Easy now.”

The horse shook her head, hurrumphing, ears twitching back and forth. The black wings lifted and unfurled with a flash of iridescent blue at the tips.

“Eà‘s green blood!” Iven whispered.

“Aye, she’s a bonny one, isn’t she?” Niall said. “Nervy, though. As ye can see, she’s already kicked out the walls o‘ her stall. Happen we’d best untether the horses in the yard. They can graze in the garden and ye can leave the caravans there under the tree. It’ll be cold tonight but they’ll be fine once we blanket them.”

“What are ye doing with a winged horse?” the jongleur exclaimed. “Ye canna be trying to tame it, surely?”

“Och, no‘ us,” Niall said. “I do no’ think I’d dare. Nay, we have a guest staying with us, a lassie named Rhiannon. She’s the one that has dared cross her leg over the mare’s back.”

“I do no‘ think I’ve ever heard o’ a woman thigearn afore,” Iven said in interest. “Is she one o‘ the MacAhern clan?”

“She’s no‘ a NicAhern, nor a thigearn, nor even a woman,” Niall said. “I said a lass and I meant it. She canna be much more than seventeen or eighteen.”

“Eà‘s green blood!” Iven said again. He shook his head in wonderment, unable to take his eyes off the mare, who was still dancing about on dark-feathered hooves, ears laid back. “We sing songs o’ the black winged horses o‘ Ravenshaw. I thought it was only a story. I never thought I’d ever actually see one. Ye say this lassie has tamed it?”

“So it seems,” Niall said.

“Och, there’s a tale in that, to be sure. Where is this lass?”

“Putting Lady Edithe and Lady Felice’s noses out o‘ joint in the sitting room would be my bet,” Niall said rather dryly.

Iven raised an eyebrow. “Bonny, is she then?”

“Aye, though no‘ in the manner o’ your fine misses. She’s bonny like a falcon is, or even yon winged horse. Wild and fierce and dangerous to cross. Ye’ll see what I mean when ye meet her.”

“I can hardly wait,” Iven replied.

Lewen thought of Rhiannon, sitting stiff and uncomfortable in her too-tight dress with her hands clenched in her lap and her feet set exactly side by side. His throat was suddenly dry. He wondered if he had done the right thing suggesting she come to the Tower of Two Moons with him. What would they make of her, those pretty fashionable girls, those rough and ready young men? He could not imagine any of them being as kind or as accepting as his parents.

“Happen we’d best get the horses settled and then we can take Iven back to meet her?” he suggested.

“Aye, good idea, laddie. I’m sure Iven would care for a nice mug o‘ foaming ale.”

“To be sure,” Iven grinned.

They worked swiftly and competently to unharness the horses. The two sturdy carthorses were left free to graze where they willed, but the six other hacks were put into halters with a long rein that fastened to a spike in the ground. Although Lewen was eager to get back to the house, he gave them all a good currying, especially the tired brown mare with the painful welts on her side. As he brushed away the sweat and mud, he thought he too had conceived a strong dislike of the fair-haired girl with her whip and spurs. He wished he did not have to travel with her.

At last the horses were settled and the men walked back through the gardens towards the house, Iven bringing them up to date with news of the country. The biggest tidbit of gossip he had was that a date had been set for the wedding of the young heir to the throne, Donncan, to his cousin Bronwen, daughter of Maya the Ensorcellor. The cousins had been betrothed as young children as a condition of the peace treaty between the Rìgh, Lachlan MacCuinn, and King Nila of the Fairgean, which ended decades of bloodshed. King Nila was Maya the Ensorcellor’s half-brother, and had maintained a close interest in his niece, who had inherited the Fairgean ability to shapeshift in water, along with the smooth scaly skin, silvery eyes and finned limbs of the sea-dwelling faeries.

“They’ve set the wedding date for Midsummer’s. Eve, a most proper date,” Iven said. “O‘ course His Highness wants Nina to sing at the wedding, so we have to make sure we’re back in time.”

“Aye, I suppose it is time. Prionnsa Donncan will have turned twenty-four at Hogmanay, wouldn’t he?” Niall looked at Lewen.

Lewen nodded. “Aye. He would’ve sat his Third Test then. He canna join the Coven, o‘ course, being heir to the throne, but they will have wanted him to finish his studies afore he and Bronwen were married.”

Iven shrugged. “The Banprionnsa Bronwen finished at the Theurgia last autumn, and by all accounts has been turning the court upside down with her tricks. Did ye ken it is all the fashion now for the young ladies to smear their skin with some kind o‘ silvery shimmering gel, to mimic the look o’ Bronwen’s scales? And they cut their dresses very low now, like Bronwen does, even though they have no gills to flaunt like she does. Some even go so far as to make false fins from muslin that they attach with ribbons to wrist and elbow. She has a clique o‘ her own now, that do naught but play and sing and dance, and stir up trouble. I heard one tale that she and her ladies have parties where they all swim naked in her pool, and do tricks like performing seals for the crowd.”