The Tower of Ravens

by Kate Forsyth

  ‘Grand,’ he said. ‘Ye ken, none o’ the lasses I ken would ever ride like that. They’d be too afraid o’ falling off.’

  ‘I no’ afraid o’ aught,’ Rhiannon boasted.

  ‘More fool ye,’ Lewen said, and leant forward a little in his saddle so Argent’s stride lengthened, bringing him up beside Iven’s caravan. He felt he had had enough of Rafferty’s company.

  The road wound down into softly rolling hills and pastures. Men and women were working together in every field, ploughing the rich dark earth, sowing seeds, cutting back the hedgerows and tending herds of goats and pigs. In nearly every dell was a small croft with its orchard just beginning to bud with spring flowers, and smoke wisping up from its chimney. The crofters waved at the caravans as they passed by, and the apprentices waved back, enjoying the fresh spring weather.

  They reached the little village of Barbreck-by-the-Bridge late that afternoon. It was no more than a single street with an inn at one end and a mill with a water-wheel at the other, and two rows of small, grey houses with high-pitched roofs along either side, facing onto a village green where chickens wandered and children played. The Findhorn River came foaming down the hill to boil about the stone ramparts of a great bridge composed of six arches, with crenellated gatehouses at either end.

  A crowd of grim-faced people milled about at one end of the bridge, all looking down at something that lay on the ground in their midst. A man wearing an enormous sword strapped to his back was ordering them about, his black eyebrows drawn close over his eagle nose.

  ‘That’s the reeve,’ Lewen said in alarm. ‘I wonder what the matter is?’

  ‘Barbreck-by-the-Bridge has a reeve?’ Iven asked in surprise.

  ‘Och, nay, it’s far too wee. Odran the reeve will have come over from Cullen, the town on the far side o’ the bridge. I wonder what can have happened?’

  ‘I guess we’ll soon find out,’ Iven answered, slapping the reins on Steady’s back. The carthorse quickened his pace.

  It was only a day since the caravans had driven through Barbreck-by-the-Bridge on their way to Kingarth, but still the sight of the gaudily painted vans was enough to draw the eye of everyone in the village. As they turned to stare, Rhiannon was able to see the naked body of a man lying on the ground, water spreading a dark stain across the pavement. Her heart jerked. She averted her eyes, trying to control the sudden rapid beating of her pulse, her ragged breathing. Around her were cries of alarm and horror.

  Nina drew Roden against her, hiding his face in her skirt, though the little boy strained away, saying, ‘But Mam, I wanna see! What happened to him? Is he dead?’

  ‘Aye, honey,’ she answered. ‘Do no’ look!’

  Iven jumped down from the driver’s seat and went to greet the reeve.

  ‘Trouble?’ he asked. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘Murder,’ the reeve said tersely. ‘Man shot in the back, and thrown in the river. We havena had a murder in these parts for nigh on ten years, and this one looks a right nasty one.’

  ‘I am Iven Yellowbeard, a courier in the Rìgh’s service and a former Blue Guard,’ Iven said. ‘Can I be o’ any assistance?’

  The reeve cast a suspicious eye at the jongleur, noting his frivolous beard and brightly coloured clothes. Iven bowed ironically. ‘No’ all Blue Guards become farmers when they retire,’ he said. ‘I was born a jongleur and a jongleur I shall die, and all the life betwixt spent in service to Lachlan the Winged.’

  Still the reeve looked unconvinced.

  Lewen dismounted and went to join Iven, leaving Argent untethered. ‘How are ye yourself, Odran?’

  The reeve straightened his back, saluting smartly. ‘Sore troubled, sir, and ye?’

  ‘Well enough, until I saw what ye have here. May we take a look? Iven was once a Blue Guard, and he kens more than any man should ken about violent death. Also, I fear … I suspect Iven may ken who it is. For we’ve had intimations o’ a Blue Guard gone missing, shot through the back, we suspect. We would like to ken if this is he.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Odran raised one thick, black eyebrow. ‘In that case, please, be my guest.’

  Iven went down on one knee beside the naked corpse, and examined him carefully. There was evidently a strong stench for his nose wrinkled involuntarily, and he tried not to lean too close. ‘Arrow wound here through the back,’ he said in a voice stiff with distaste. ‘And look, chafing here at wrists and ankles. He was bound up tightly. He’s been badly beaten too. Looks like he may have a broken rib or two. I’d say the injuries occurred afore death. It’s hard to tell, though, for he’s been in the water a while. By the degree o’ putrefaction, I’d say it’s been a few weeks, happen even a month.’

  There was an unhappy murmur from the crowd. A plump woman hid her face against a man’s broad shoulder.

  ‘Look at his hand,’ Odran said gruffly. ‘He looks like he’s been tortured.’

  Iven very gently picked up the dead man’s right hand, which was missing its smallest finger. He frowned. ‘I think the finger might have been cut off after death. I canna be sure though.’ He laid the hand down again, and wiped his fingers on his handkerchief, looking very pale.

  ‘But why?’ Odran asked.

  Iven shrugged. ‘A souvenir?’

  He carefully turned the dead man over, to examine the ragged exit wound in the chest. The corpse had once had corn-yellow curls, though now they were dark with water and bedraggled with water-weed. His face was a sickly grey and grossly swollen, and his glazed eyes were wide open and stared out from their sockets. His skin was marked with putrefaction like mould-flowers on canvas. His mouth hung open and they could see the blackened ruin of his toothless gums.

  ‘Eà’s green blood!’ Lewen cried, and gagged.

  ‘Nay! Och, nay!’ Nina cried from the caravan. ‘Nay, it canna be!’

  ‘Do ye ken who it is?’ Odran the reeve asked.

  Iven and Lewen both nodded. Lewen was sallow with shock. ‘It is Connor the Just, one o’ the Rìgh’s general staff,’ he answered. ‘He was once squire to the Rìgh, as I am now. He is brother to Johanna the Healer.’

  ‘Och, it will break her heart to lose him,’ Nina cried. ‘He is all she had.’ Tears streamed down her face. She wiped them away and got down slowly from the caravan, making her way through the crowd, which drew back respectfully. She knelt beside the dead body, taking the slack hand in hers.

  ‘His teeth have all been drawn,’ she said in a constricted voice. ‘Why? Why?’

  ‘Torture?’ Odran asked. ‘Or souvenirs, taken after death? I dinna ken. I’ve never seen aught like it.’

  Nina sobbed and Iven put his arm about her, drawing her head down onto his shoulder. Fèlice and Edithe both looked sick and upset, and Maisie had her hand pressed against her mouth. Landon had climbed down from his horse and hidden his face against its hot hide. Even Cameron and Rafferty, normally so cocky, were white under their tans.

  Rhiannon, meanwhile, sat very still, wanting to look away, but so fascinated by the sight of the limp, grey body that she could not force her eyes to move. Her stomach felt like it had been turned upside down. Lewen had turned to stare at her in miserable doubt and suspicion, and hot tears stung her eyes. She had never expected to be faced with the corpse of what she had done, or for it to affect her so powerfully. She thought of the necklace of teeth and bones coiled at the bottom of her bag, and suddenly her stomach heaved. She bent over, trying to control her revulsion, but it won out and she vomited her breakfast in a vile splatter on the road.

  ‘Yurk!’ Edithe cried and spurred her horse away.

  ‘Nina, the girls should no’ be seeing this, or Roden either. Will ye take them away? Lewen and I will come and join ye when we can.’

  Nina nodded and got up, wiping her eyes. ‘Poor, poor Johanna,’ she said. ‘I remember what she was like after Tòmas died, and he was no’ even her true brother. To lose Connor too, and in such a horrible way. Och, it’s just too awful.’

  She
came up to the caravans, looking white and woeful, and lifted Roden down, saying, ‘Come, my wee dearling, let’s get ye away from here. Ye’re too young to see yet the evil men can do to other men. Let us go to the inn and warm ourselves by the fire, and have a hot toddy.’

  Roden nodded soberly, staring back at the dead man with huge dark eyes, and Lulu slipped her paw into his hand, making little whimpering sounds. With Sure and Steady following along behind, Nina walked slowly towards the little grey inn with its steep roof and bright red shutters. She looked as bowed and spiritless as an old woman. Rhiannon followed close behind, her hand on Blackthorn’s warm silky hide. She had never seen sorrow before, and it gave her a strange feeling inside, as if she had been punched in the stomach and was now all sore and tender.

  They tethered the horses outside the inn, loosening their girths and pumping the trough with water, then traipsed inside. Rhiannon took her saddlebags with her, feeling as if the dead man’s plundered bones glowed with guilty heat, threatening to accuse her. When she sat with the other apprentices at the table, she shoved the bags underneath and put her feet on them.

  ‘A murdered Yeoman!’ Edithe murmured. ‘Who would do such a thing?’

  ‘They’ll hang the murderer if they catch him,’ Cameron said grimly. ‘It’s treason to even waylay a Yeoman, let alone kill one.’

  Rhiannon did not know what it meant to be hanged, but to drive his point home, Cameron mimed it for her. He hung an imaginary rope around his neck, then demonstrated the sudden jerk, the choking and gargling, and then the cruel death, eyes bulging, tongue protruding, head awry on the limp neck. Feeling faint and nauseous, Rhiannon looked away.

  ‘Why would they kill him? And beat and torture him?’ Maisie said pitifully. Her face was blotched white and red, and her eyes swam with tears. ‘He was only young too, did ye see? He canna have been more than thirty.’

  ‘I kent him when he was just a lad, no’ much more than Roden here,’ Nina said, sitting down beside them and resting her head in her hands. ‘He was a bonny, bright lad, and so brave. He was one o’ the very first pupils o’ the new Theurgia. Och, His Highness will be furious! Heads will roll, I guarantee it. Connor was his page and then his squire, and then one o’ his bodyguards, and now one o’ his most trusted lieutenants. They called him the Just because he had such a way o’ enforcing law and order wherever he went. Everyone liked him and trusted him. Who can have killed him, and why?’

  ‘He was at Ravenscraig a month or so ago,’ Fèlice said in a tear-choked voice. ‘I danced with him. He was such a bonny dancer.’

  ‘Happen he discovered a plot against the Rìgh,’ Edithe said. ‘So the plotters killed him.’

  ‘But why torture him?’ Nina cried. She looked ravaged with grief. ‘Why!’

  ‘Happen to discover how much he knew,’ Rafferty said. He was quickly recovering his spirits, and was beginning to look rather excited. ‘Will the Rìgh send soldiers, do ye think? To discover who the murderer is?’

  Nina nodded. ‘I would say so. Or perhaps he will ask the MacBrann to look into it, since it happened here in Ravenshaw. It will take a long time to get news o’ Connor’s death to the Rìgh. Witches canna scry over high mountains, ye ken, no’ without a Scrying Pool o’ great power. The MacBrann will have to send messengers, and that could take weeks. Even carrier-pigeons have trouble getting over the mountains here, they are so high and wild. Och, they will all be distraught when they hear the news. Connor was well loved.’ She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, and smiled wanly at the innkeeper as he brought a tray of steaming mugs. ‘Drink up, bairns, it’ll do ye good. We’ve all had a nasty shock.’

  Cameron reached for his mug eagerly. ‘That hit the spot,’ he said with a sigh after taking a long draught. ‘Naught like a wee dram to calm the nerves, or settle the stomach.’ He cast Rhiannon a mocking glance.

  ‘I’m not much o’ a whisky drinker,’ Nina said, ‘but ye’re right, Cameron, hot like this, with honey and spices in it, it’s the best thing for us all now.’ She passed a mug to Rhiannon, saying gently, ‘Here ye are, this’ll help. Never mind, Rhiannon, a sight like that is enough to give anyone the shivers.’

  Rhiannon nodded and tried to smile, taking the cup in her trembling hands. She wondered if Nina would be so kind if she knew it was terror that caused her hands to shake. All their talk of treason and hanging frightened her terribly. She resolved to get rid of the damning necklace at the very first opportunity. No-one must guess that she was the one who had shot the Yeoman dead.

  She lifted the cup and tasted the hot whisky toddy cautiously. It was like drinking liquid fire. At first she coughed and choked, but by the third sip, it went down her throat easily enough and warmed her body all through.

  ‘Connor the Just was with the auld MacBrann when he died,’ Fèlice said. ‘He rode out that very night, he did no’ even stop to say goodbye. We were all rather chagrined, all us lassies o’ the court, when we heard, for he was rather a favourite among us. I canna believe he is dead.’

  ‘What was he doing up here, in the highlands?’ Edithe asked. ‘There’s naught up here but goats and peasants.’

  Nina sighed. ‘Happen he was trying to cross the Razor’s Edge.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘It’s a pass through the mountains to Rionnagan,’ she answered. ‘Though pass is no’ quite the right word. It’s more like a high bridge o’ stone, very dangerous to cross. It is by far the quickest way to Rionnagan. Few go that way, however, unless their need is desperate. A dragon roosts at Ben Eyrie, ye ken, and the mountains are filled with ogres and goblins and wild satyricorn.’

  Rhiannon thought Nina’s eyes turned towards her as she spoke, and hurriedly she lifted the cup to her mouth and drank again, afraid her face would give her away.

  Fèlice shuddered. ‘How horrid! Surely he wouldna have gone that way!’

  ‘If his need was great enough, he might have,’ Nina said. She gave a little shiver. ‘I must say, the ripping out o’ his teeth could be the work o’ satyricorns. I do no’ ken much about them, but I’m sure I’ve seen them wear necklaces made o’ teeth and bones. I wish Lilanthe were here, she would ken.’

  ‘Surely Lewen’s mother is no’ a satyricorn?’ Edithe asked, scandalised. ‘I mean, I ken she’s some kind o’ faery, ye only have to look at her to ken that, but surely no’ one o’ those dreadful wild horned women?’

  Nina was exasperated. ‘Lilanthe is a tree-shifter, do ye ken naught?’ she snapped. ‘Eà’s green blood! Nay, I say Lilanthe would ken because she’s an expert in the faeries o’ the forest. She raised them to fight for Lachlan in the Bright Wars, did ye no’ ken? Then, after peace was won, she lectured in their ways at the Theurgia. She was the one who persuaded them all to sign the Pact o’ Peace, tree-changers, seelies, satyricorns too. She kens their customs better than anyone.’ Again she glanced at Rhiannon, with frowning black eyes.

  ‘How strange,’ Edithe murmured. ‘Though, o’ course, she is a faery too.’

  Rhiannon gritted her teeth and looked down into her cup. She was torn between a hysterical need to laugh, and a desire to grind Edithe’s face into the table. She wondered what the fair-haired girl would say if she realised she was sitting at the same table as one of those dreadful wild horned women. She could just imagine how Edithe’s nostrils would flare and her lip would curl with distaste.

  Iven and Lewen came slowly into the inn. Roden ran to his father and Iven lifted him up to his shoulder, hugging him closely.

  ‘Well, what a dark end to our day,’ he said, coming to sit near his wife. ‘Nina, my love, how are ye yourself?’

  ‘Terrible,’ she answered. ‘I canna believe it is true. Was that really Connor lying there all battered and bruised, or was it all just a bad dream?’

  ‘No dream,’ he answered shortly, signalling to the innkeeper to bring them more mulled whisky.

  ‘To think we have lost one more o’ the gallant League o’ the Healing Hand!’ Nina said. ‘There is only Fin
n and Jay left, and Johanna, and Dillon.’ Tears welled up in her eyes and she pressed the heels of her hands to her face.

  ‘Come, it is getting late,’ Iven said. ‘I do no’ think we should ride any further today. Have they enough room here at the inn for the girls at least to sleep in comfort? I see they have a field where we can let the horses graze, and where we can make camp.’

  ‘What have they done with Connor?’ Nina asked. Her voice was so piteous Lulu stopped spinning the apple she had been given, and came to her side anxiously, looking up into her face and making little whining noises. Nina petted her absent-mindedly, her eyes fixed pleadingly on Iven’s face.

  ‘One o’ the boatmen has taken him to Ravenscraig, to show the MacBrann,’ Iven said unwillingly. ‘He needs to be buried fast, he’s in bad shape after all that time in the water, but we thought the prionnsa should see him first.’

  ‘I’ve had a thought,’ Nina said. ‘Iven, could Connor have been trying to cross the Razor’s Edge? And if so, what news drove him to take such a risk? Do ye ken if there were any papers among his things?’

  Iven glanced at Rhiannon, and shook his head.

  Rhiannon pressed her feet into the bags under the table, feeling a slow burn creep up her face. Nina and Iven both knew, then, how she had come riding down out of the mountains, dressed in the stolen clothes of a dead soldier. She should have guessed they would be told. She wondered if they knew she was the daughter of a satyricorn too. Unable to help herself, she gazed at Lewen pleadingly, and he refused to meet her gaze. Apprehension slithered through the pit of her stomach. Was she to stand accused of murder? Would they hang her? She slid her hand down to the knife she wore strapped to her belt.

  Nina sighed. ‘I guess it was too much to hope for. We’re lucky any o’ his things were found at all.’ Once again her eyes returned to Rhiannon’s face, filled with questions. Rhiannon looked back warily, her jaw thrust forward. ‘Och, well, it is almost dusk already and I feel weary unto my very soul. Let us have an early night, and we’ll ride out with the dawn.’