The Tower of Ravens

by Kate Forsyth

  The shadows in the pool gradually shifted into the shape of a man, black-haired and black-bearded, with the curve of black wings rising from his shoulders. Lewen heard the startled mind-voice of the Rìgh.

  ‘Lewen, my lad?’

  ‘Aye, my laird, it is me.’

  ‘What on earth is the matter? Why are ye calling me?’

  ‘I have news, my laird, I thought ye should ken.’

  ‘If it is the news o’ Connor’s death, we received word o’ it, thanks to a very tired and bad-tempered golden eagle. It is unhappy news indeed, we are all most distressed.’

  ‘Aye, my laird. I’m glad the eagle made it, we were no’ sure he could cross the mountains, the weather has been foul indeed.’

  ‘Has it? I’m sorry for that. Are ye delayed?’

  ‘Aye, my laird, we are.’ Lewen took a deep, shaking breath and forced himself to go on. He felt quite sick with the conflict of emotions inside him. ‘There’s more news than that, though, my laird. We have found out who killed him, Your Highness. It was a girl we found in the mountains, dressed in his clothes, a satyricorn girl.’

  ‘A Horned One killed him?’

  ‘She’s no’ horned, my laird, but a satyricorn nonetheless.’ Lewen heard the bitterness in his own voice. ‘She was travelling with us but when I discovered the truth … she fled, my laird.’

  ‘Ye must find her, and bring her here,’ the Rìgh commanded. ‘The satyricorns have signed the Pact o’ Peace, they are subject to the laws o’ this land. The murder o’ a Blue Guard is a heinous crime indeed, and Connor the Just was one o’ my best and most faithful men.’

  ‘I ken, my laird,’ Lewen said unhappily.

  ‘Ye must capture the murderess and bring her here to face trial, do ye hear me, Lewen? The whole city grieves his death. Where are ye? Are there men ye can call upon to help lay this murderess by the heels?’

  ‘I think so, my laird. I am at the Tower o’ Ravens.’

  ‘Ye are using the Scrying Pool? Good lad! No wonder your face just popped up in my wash-bowl. I was wondering how ye managed to scry across the mountains so clearly, I thought ye must have found some way to fly across like the eagle. I could wish ye were closer, we are all keen indeed to charge the murderess and deal with her afore the wedding. We want no unpleasantness to mar the festivities.’

  ‘No, my laird.’

  ‘Well, fare ye well, then, my lad, and good work.’

  ‘Your Highness, there is more. I think ye should ken it all, just in case something happens to us …’

  ‘Happens to ye? What in Eà’s green blood do ye mean? Are ye in some kind o’ danger there? Is it that satyricorn girl?’

  ‘Nay, my laird. It’s just … my laird, in our effort to return to ye quickly, we came down the eastern bank o’ the Findhorn River, through the Fetterness Valley.’

  ‘Aye, o’ course, ye must’ve, if ye’re at the Tower o’ Ravens. A bare, bleak place, if I remember rightly. We fought a battle there, at Fettercairn Castle, many years ago.’

  ‘That is where we are now, my laird. We’ve been trapped here for some days –’

  ‘Trapped? Held against your will, do ye mean?’ The Rìgh spoke urgently.

  ‘Nay, no’ entirely. The road was blocked, though we suspect it was on purpose. Things are no’ right here, though, my laird. There is much talk o’ murders, and children missing, and corpses that will no’ rest, and there seems to be necromancers using the auld tower …’

  ‘Necromancers!’

  ‘Aye. Trying to raise the dead. Rhiannon saw them invoke a circle, my laird, and sacrifice a cock, and speak with the spirits o’ the dead.’

  ‘Who is Rhiannon?’

  Lewen’s heart sank. ‘The satyricorn, Your Highness.’

  ‘The murderess?’

  ‘Aye, my laird.’

  ‘Did anyone else see this so-called necromancy?’

  ‘Nay, my laird, but –’

  ‘She could be seeking to deceive, to throw suspicion for her nefarious deeds onto others.’

  ‘I do no’ think so, my laird.’ Lewen saw the Rìgh’s frowning eyebrows shoot up and went on quickly, ‘Please, I havena much time. Your Highness, there has been much evil done in this valley, evil much greater than Rhiannon is responsible for. She killed Connor high in the mountains, my laird, up under Ben Eyrie, no’ here in Fetterness. She has never been here afore. The murders and the necromancy, that is the work o’ others, and I fear it means some danger to ye, my laird. The laird here talks o’ seeking revenge for the death o’ his brother – I think ye may have killed him, sir. Or one o’ your men. A little boy died too.’

  ‘I do no’ remember a boy,’ the Rìgh said.

  ‘I think Connor heard something, knew something o’ the laird o’ Fettercairn’s plans, though I do no’ ken how or what. Connor was just across the loch, at Ravenscraig, when the auld MacBrann died. We were there too, for my mother to help ease him. The MacBrann was very ill, raving o’ ghosts and auld prophecies and evil deeds. We all thought him mad. All except Connor. My laird, the very night the MacBrann died Connor took his horse and rode out for the Razor’s Edge. That is a pass through to Rionnagan, your Highness …’

  ‘I ken the Razor’s Edge, I walked it myself once, long ago,’ the Rìgh said gruffly. ‘It is no’ a road one would take lightly.’

  ‘Nay, my laird. I think Connor must’ve heard something that made him fear for ye, or for your kingdom. Why else would he ride that way? He died afore he could tell ye his news …’

  ‘Fettercairn Castle,’ the Rìgh said broodingly. ‘That is a name I have no’ heard for many years, but I remember it well. A place o’ blood and treachery.’

  Lewen nodded.

  ‘Ye have done well,’ the Rìgh said abruptly. ‘Ye must go. If there are sorcerers there strong enough to raise the dead, they will be strong enough to eavesdrop on your scrying. Get out o’ there, Lewen, as fast as ye can, and come here to me. I will hear all your news and judge then what is best done.’

  ‘Aye, my laird,’ said Lewen and sat back on his heels. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he felt tired enough to weep. He had not realised what a great effort of will and focus it took to scry so far, for so long. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes and then got to his feet. Only then did he realise he was not alone.

  The tall, quiet man who usually guarded Lord Malvern’s back was leaning on his claymore only a few feet away, with a handful of men that Lewen recognised from the castle. There was Shannley, the old groom who had tended the horses, and his assistant, Jem, and a few of the footmen. They all looked surly and uncomfortable.

  ‘Glad we are indeed to have found ye, young sir,’ the laird’s bodyguard said in his oddly feminine voice. ‘We’ve been searching since dawn. My laird has been most anxious about ye.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Lewen stammered. ‘We took refuge from the rain.’

  ‘And ye so close to the castle,’ he marvelled.

  ‘Rhiannon has been sick,’ Lewen said defensively. ‘I did no’ want her to get wet through. It was sleeting down.’

  ‘And where is the young lady now?’

  ‘I dinna ken,’ Lewen said sullenly. ‘We quarrelled and she ran off.’

  There was a little rumble of laughter from the men, and a quick nudging of each other’s ribs. Lewen went crimson.

  ‘We need to find her,’ he said. ‘I was just about to head back to the castle to ask for some help.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Jem sneered. ‘It looked like ye were mooning about, staring at yourself in the water.’

  There were a few more sniggers. Lewen cast him an angry look, but said nothing. He could only hope that none of them there had any witch-skills, to eavesdrop on his silent conversation with the Rìgh. It seemed a futile hope. Some at least of these men must be part of the necromancers’ circle of nine.

  They all rode back to the castle, Lewen feeling like a prisoner in the midst of the other men. He was escorted silently through the ga
tehouse and the garden to the entrance hall, where Nina and Iven were both waiting with Lord Malvern. Nina flung her arms about his neck.

  ‘Thank heavens ye are safe! We’ve been so worried about ye.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Lewen said defensively. ‘Indeed I could no’ help it.’

  ‘O’ course no’, laddie,’ she said. ‘It was a wild storm! It seemed to blow up out o’ nowhere. I’m just glad ye could find somewhere to shelter.’

  ‘Where is the lass?’ Lord Malvern demanded.

  ‘I dinna ken,’ Lewen said. ‘We quarrelled, and she ran off while I was sleeping.’ He turned to Nina anxiously. ‘We need to find her,’ he said.

  ‘A lovers’ quarrel, eh?’ Lord Malvern said with a stiff, unnatural smile. ‘I see, I see.’

  Lewen ground his teeth. As his anger and hurt cooled, he was increasingly anxious about Rhiannon and sick with fear at the possible consequences of his telling Nina and the Rìgh about her confession. He wished he had not told anyone. He could not understand why he had. Now the Rìgh demanded Rhiannon be found, and brought to Lucescere to face trial. Lewen could not bear the thought that she might be found guilty and hanged, but then neither could he bear the thought that she had flown out of his life, never to be seen again.

  Surely the court would understand? Surely they would not condemn such a young and beautiful woman to hang? Lewen moved restlessly. He wished he had never found the necklace. He wished he had slept all night with Rhiannon nestled into the curve of his body, and woken in the dawn to marvel at the peace of her sleeping face. He wished he had never met her.

  But he had met her, and fallen in love with her, and promised himself to her, and then betrayed her. He could not ignore that. Though he still felt gutted with pain at her deceit, he could not bear to be instrumental in bringing her to the hangman’s noose. Rhiannon may have killed Lewen’s friend, and hacked out his teeth and chopped off his finger, and stolen his clothes and his treasures, and lied to Lewen, but he still loved her, Eà save his soul. He thought he always would.

  Lewen turned to Nina desperately. ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘Lewen …’

  ‘Where’s Iven?’

  ‘He’s gone to bring her back,’ Nina said softly. ‘Ye must’ve kent he would have to do so, Lewen.’

  ‘She’ll be long gone by now,’ Lewen said.

  Nina shook her head. ‘She’s no’. I scryed her out. She’s up on the ridge behind the castle, watching. I do no’ ken why she did no’ fly further away. It would no’ have made any difference in the end, though. Iven would still have ridden out after her, it just would’ve taken longer to find her.’

  ‘Nina,’ he said pleadingly. ‘Canna we just let her go? She’s only a lass. I should no’ have told ye.’

  She rose and came to him, taking both his hands in hers. ‘I ken how ye must feel, Lewen, but Rhiannon killed a Yeoman. She must face the consequences o’ her actions. Ye ken she must.’

  He saw Lord Malvern’s eyes narrow and wrenched his hands away from Nina so he could press them against his eyes. ‘She dinna ken!’ he cried. ‘She was just protecting herself.’

  ‘Then she must tell the court so, and they will judge the right o’ it,’ Nina said with inexorable calm. ‘Come, Lewen, ye are worn out. Do no’ be fretting so. The men have found her and will soon be bringing her back. Ye can speak to her then.’

  Lewen stared at her incredulously. Did she not realise the danger Rhiannon was in? He could say nothing with the lord of Fettercairn standing just there and listening, and the hall full of footmen, and Irving the seneschal, hovering nearby with his stiff, white, unpleasant face set as usual in an unctuous smile. Lewen felt as if he had strayed into a nightmare, the sort where you tried and tried to run but found your body would not move.

  He turned and strode away down the hall, leaving Lord Malvern frowning after him.

  Nina picked up her skirts and ran to follow him. ‘Lewen, where do ye go? Lewen, ye’re worn out, and starving hungry! Do no’ be silly. Lewen!’

  He was tired and kept having to stop to rub his filthy hand across his eyes, which smarted with angry tears. She caught up with him in the inner ward. ‘Lewen, ye must leave it be,’ she said softly. ‘It is out o’ our hands now.’

  ‘It’s all my fault. If I hadna told ye … if I hadna …’ He broke off, unable to speak another word.

  Nina stepped closer, holding his arm with both her hands. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said inadequately. ‘Indeed, I see how hard this must be. But she did kill Connor, Lewen. She shot him through the back, and hacked out all his teeth and mutilated his hand, and then tossed him into the river like a load o’ garbage. She is no’ the lass ye thought she was.’

  Lewen took a deep breath. ‘But she is,’ he said gruffly. ‘I always kent what sort o’ a lass she was. She’s wild and fierce, I ken that, but oh, Nina, she is brave and loyal and loving too, I swear to ye, and she’s been treated cruelly all her life. She kent no other way to be.’

  ‘Then we’ll tell the judges so,’ Nina said, and lifted her hand to wipe her eyes. ‘Oh, Lewen, I wish … but it’s too late. The men have ridden out to find her and bring her back, and they will, ye ken they will.’

  ‘She’ll no’ come easily,’ Lewen said sombrely. ‘She’ll fight for her freedom, and she fights dirty, Nina. Someone else may die.’

  ‘I hope no’,’ Nina said.

  ‘I do no’ want it to be her,’ Lewen said and tore his arm out of her grasp, striding away across the courtyard.

  ‘Where are ye going?’

  ‘To find her, o’ course,’ he said grimly over his shoulder. ‘Ye think the laird’s men will let us take her to Lucescere, to tell her story and throw suspicion upon them? O’ course they willna! They mean to kill her!’

  ‘But Lewen, Iven is there, he willna let –’

  ‘What can Iven do? Besides, he is still a Yeoman himself at heart, ye ken that, and he loved Connor well. He willna save her.’

  Nina protested again but Lewen did not wait to listen. He broke into a run, sprinting towards the stables. Argent had been unsaddled and put into a stall. Ignoring the curious groom who sought to waylay him, Lewen seized his bow and quiver of arrows and then grabbed Argent’s bridle off its hook.

  ‘Which way did they go?’ he said through his teeth.

  ‘Durward, ye mean?’ the young groom said nervously.

  Lewen dragged the bridle over Argent’s head. ‘Which way?’

  ‘Out the back gate.’

  ‘Open it for me.’ Lewen vaulted onto Argent’s bare back, kicking the stallion into motion.

  ‘But …’

  In a single swift motion Lewen had pulled an arrow from his quiver and had it aimed directly at the groom’s heart, the bow’s string quivering with the strain.

  ‘Open it for me else I’ll shoot ye!’

  The groom ran to open the gate.

  Argent galloped through before it was fully opened. It was easy enough to follow the other men. They had left a wide trail of hoof prints churning up the mud. The path was steep and slippery, and Argent almost fell once. Lewen dragged his head up and spurred him on. They reached the top of the ridge and came out on a wide, windswept moor. Rhiannon was struggling against four men. One was Cameron, the others were men from the castle. Her nose was bleeding. Blackthorn reared and plunged nearby, while Rafferty and a few other men sought to throw a rope around her neck. Iven was seeking to intervene, calling, ‘Rhiannon, do no’ resist! They’ll only hurt ye. Rhiannon!’

  Durward stood watching, a bow and arrow raised high. Rhiannon sent Cameron sprawling with a well-aimed kick between the legs, then wrenched herself free of the hands that sought to constrain her. For a moment she stood, struggling to regain her breath, then she whirled and ran a few steps towards Blackthorn. Durward released the arrow.

  It raced through the air towards her, swift and merciless. The spin of the world on its axis seemed to slow about Lewen. He put back his hand, seized an arrow and cocked
it to his bow. He bent the bow and raised it. He released the arrow. It sprang from his bow like a bird, soaring up, up, up into the sky. It reached the apex of its flight and began to descend, singing a little in the wind. Then his arrow smashed into Durward’s, snapping it in two. Both arrows fell harmlessly to the ground.

  Amazed faces turned towards him, mouths hanging open. Lewen felt the world lurch back into motion again. He ran forward a few steps, his hand outstretched to Rhiannon. She had seen him knock the arrow out of the sky and her step had faltered as her eyes flew to his. The moment’s hesitation cost her dearly. One of the castle men threw the noose of rope over her, and dragged her off her feet. In a minute they were all upon her, punching her with clenched fists and kicking her with their boots. One drew his dagger

  ‘Stop! Stop!’ Iven cried, and threw himself into the fray, dragging the laird’s men away. ‘We do no’ want to kill her! Stop, ye fools.’

  Reluctantly they all stood back. Rhiannon lay still on the ground. A few feet away, Blackthorn neighed and pawed the ground in agitation. As the men turned towards her again, she spread her wings and soared away, the sound of her unhappy whinnies ringing in the wind.

  Lewen fell to his knees by Rhiannon’s body. He turned her over, lifting her into his arms. Her face was smeared with blood and mud. He could see bruises springing up on her pale skin. With shaking fingers, Lewen opened her shirt. The charm he had whittled for her fell out, so that he almost cried out in his pain. He put his hand on her chest and felt beneath his fingers the rapid beating of her heart. For a moment he could not speak, his relief was so great, then he looked up at Iven. ‘She lives,’ he said.

  Iven nodded, looking very grave. ‘Well done,’ he said. He stared round at the castle men with anger sparkling in his blue eyes. ‘If ye had killed her, I would’ve had ye all arrested,’ he said. ‘This is a matter for the Crown!’

  ‘My laird would never have let ye,’ Shannley sneered.