by Anne Forbes
“We got separated, Mum,” Neil said, pulling at his mother’s arm so that she listened to him. “Clara ended up stuck in a cave for a couple of days but her cloak kept her warm and Kitor, here,” he indicated the crow, “Kitor looked after her until Amgarad found her.”
Clara woke up at the sound of their voices and stared at her mother in disbelief. “Mum,” she said, sitting up. “Oh, Mum!” And as she burst into tears, Mrs MacLean gathered her in her arms and held her tight. A set expression crossed her face. It was an expression her husband recognized immediately and Lord Rothlan, too, knew stubbornness when he saw it.
“I’m taking Clara back home with me right now, John,” she said, “and I don’t care what you say.”
John MacLean looked at Lord Rothlan doubtfully.
“Actually, I think it’s a very good idea, Janet,” Lord Rothlan said, suddenly serious. “Clara came to no harm in the cave but the experience has shaken her a great deal. All she needs is rest and she’ll be as right as rain, I promise you.”
Clara got to her feet and wrapping her cloak around her, wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, feeling ashamed at her outburst. “It was just seeing Mum so unexpectedly …”
Rothlan smiled understandingly. “You’re just tired, Clara,” he said, “and it’s best that you go home with your mother.” Suddenly thoughtful, he eyed the crow perched on the Ranger’s shoulder. “I think you should take Kitor with you, too. It might be dangerous if the prince sees him with us.”
Lady Ellan nodded. “That’s a good idea,” she said. “Keep him hidden under your cloak and take him into the hill when you get back, Clara. He’ll be safe there.”
Half an hour later, when goodbyes had been said and the carpet carrying Mrs MacLean, Clara and Kitor had floated out of earshot, the Ranger looked at Lord Rothlan. “Was it wise to let Clara go?” he questioned. “She knows the magic words, after all.”
“We can rely on Neil for the magic words, John. They’ll come into his mind when he needs them. Clara and Kitor are both better off in the hill. As long as the prince believes that Kitor is dead and Clara is still in the cave, it’ll make him feel safe, and as long as he feels safe, he’s not a threat — but if he’d seen Kitor with us and Clara still alive …”
“You’re right,” the Ranger nodded, “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
36. The Black Tower
“Well,” said Lord Rothlan, reining in his horse at the top of a steep slope, “there it is! The Black Tower of Ardray and its magic forest!”
Neil gaped at it in wonder. Like Clara, he hadn’t given much thought to what the Black Tower would look like and nothing that had been said had prepared him for the sight of the magnificent castle that dominated the landscape. Its smooth elegance left him speechless and he could only stare open-mouthed at the huge building whose towers and turrets swept majestically above the magic forest. The winged eagles perched on its balconies lent it a fairy-tale appeal that entranced him. Indeed the whole scene was totally mesmerizing for, despite the grim, snow-clad mountains that lay behind them, the hand of winter had not touched the forest. It too was beautiful; its trees swaying gently in a mild breeze, their undersides gleaming white and, dotted here and there, just as Kitor had described, were the round scarlet balls of creepers that hung among them like Christmas decorations.
“How are we for time, John?” Lord Rothlan asked, for the day was well advanced.
The Ranger looked at his watch. “It’s quarter to three,” he said. “If Sir James is right and the prince’s meeting is at three then he ought to be setting off about now.”
“Right, we can go ahead then. His meeting is important and he’s not likely to miss it!”
Rothlan urged his horse forward and, as the other horses fell into line and picked their way delicately down the grassy slope, Neil looked at his father and saw that he, too, was looking in awed wonder at the Black Tower.
“If Kalman has a protective shield round the forest,” Rothlan said, turning in the saddle when they reached level ground, “then we ought to encounter it about now. I think we should spread out and walk forward slowly.”
Step by step, the horses moved in a line towards the first trees of the forest and then suddenly, tossing their heads in fright, took only a few steps more and stopped, sensing the barrier that lay ahead. Jaikie dismounted and, with hands outstretched, felt for the invisible wall that barred them from the forest.
“It’s here, milord,” he said.
“Right! Take the broomsticks off the horses,” Rothlan instructed as he untied the rope that fastened his to the side of his saddle. “Can you manage yours, Ellan?”
Ellan laughed as she pulled her broomstick free of the horse’s harness and sitting on it sideways, soared skywards.
The Ranger held his broomstick in his hand as he walked up to the invisible barrier and tried to touch it. He had thought that it would feel like glass but there was nothing there — it was completely invisible yet try as he might, he couldn’t step through it. He turned to watch Neil who was circling on his broomstick. “Don’t fool around, Neil,” he admonished as Rothlan flew towards them. “Pay attention, for goodness sake!”
Rothlan hovered, feet from the ground, and looked round. Inside the magic barrier, the forest seemed to heave uneasily as though the trees sensed their danger.
“Now, Neil,” Rothlan smiled reassuringly, “it’s time for you to put your hands against the barrier and say the Sultan’s magic words! Don’t worry,” he said, seeing Neil’s suddenly anxious face, “they will be there and you will remember them!”
What happened next took them completely by surprise. Perhaps the quiet peacefulness of the scene lulled them into a sense of false security but, Neil thought afterwards, the real reason was that they had given no thought at all to what would happen when the barrier round the forest was removed. That said, Neil got off his broomstick as the others watched and, as soon as his hands touched the barrier, the magic words came smoothly and clearly into his mind, just as Rothlan had said they would.
“Kutaya Soloi!”
Even as he said them, the world around him erupted in an almighty shriek of sound that echoed horribly round the forest. The trees thrashed into life as the barrier suddenly disappeared and such was his surprise at the sudden violence confronting him that he lost his balance and stumbled forward.
His father grabbed him quickly as, with lightning speed, a red creeper shot from among the trees and wound itself round Neil’s neck. Another and another followed, dragging the magic cloaks from their backs and winding themselves, like snapping elastic bands, round their arms and legs. Drawing his knife, the Ranger slashed at the creepers and, pulling Neil clear of the writhing tentacles, they ran towards their broomsticks. They had escaped, but at a price, for they left their cloaks in the forest and now had no protection against the puffs of white powder that were bursting from the trees.
Rothlan swooped towards them, covering his mouth and nose with his cloak as the air over the forest turned white in an explosion of sweet, poisonous spores. “Hurry! Hurry!” he shouted urgently. “Get into the air! Quickly!”
At the first scream of sound, Hamish had immediately wheeled the horses round and taken them back up the hill at a gallop while Amgarad, a mere dot in the sky, watched keenly as, helped by Lord Rothlan, Neil and his father spiralled slowly upwards. Both were slumped dizzily over their broomsticks in the grip of a terrible sickness.
“Ellan! Jaikie! Look to the Ranger,” Rothlan shouted as, flying alongside Neil, he put an arm round him to steady him. “Take deep breaths!” he said desperately. “Come on, as deep as you can,” he urged, as Neil started to retch. “The air up here is fresh and clean. You must get rid of the poison before it affects your mind!”
The forest beneath them was now clouded in a mist of white powder through which they could see the snapping tendrils of creepers snaking upwards in the hope of catching them.
Rothlan, still
clutching Neil in case he toppled off the broomstick, was grim-faced as he called the words of a spell. The hex hit the forest in a blast of wind and, as the trees bent against it, an eerie wail of sound shivered through the air. Looking down through a haze of nausea, Neil and the Ranger watched as the beautiful, evil trees started to wilt, shrivel and turn black. Amgarad, too, watched from on high and his sharp eyes saw, not only the death of the trees, but the myriad of strange, foul creatures that were revealed to the light.
Still clutching Neil, Lord Rothlan edged his broomstick round and guided them towards the smooth shining surface of the Black Tower. “Don’t worry about the forest,” he said grimly, “the trees will cause us no more harm. Come now — to the tower!”
As they flew closer to the looming bulk of the massive building Rothlan headed for the swirl of curved balconies guarded by the great, stone eagles. This, he knew, was their destination for, behind, the angled sweep of their outspread wings, lay the room of magic mirrors.
“Hold on tight and follow me in, Neil!” Rothlan instructed as he hexed a window open and flew inside, swinging round swiftly to help Neil as he landed. Jaikie and Ellan flew in on either side of the Ranger who, by now, was so ill that he could hardly stand. So concerned were they that they barely noticed the mirrors that curved round the stone walls of the turret-room. It was only when they lifted their heads to look around that realization dawned and they gasped in sheer amazement, unable to believe their eyes.
The crown was there! Reflected hundreds of times over in the circle of mirrors, it stood before them on an ornate stand of carved, black wood, radiating power and magnificence. A black, iron crown studded about with magnificent rubies that glowed a fiery red. The Sultan’s Crown! They looked at one another in relief. At last they had found it!
37. Through the Looking Glass
Had the courier not been late that morning with the promised dispatches from Paris, Louis de Charillon would have arrived earlier at the grey, stone town house in Moray Place and the drama that was to follow might have turned out very differently indeed. On such small turns of fortune do great events sometimes hang.
As it was, the count hastily signed the courier’s receipt and rang Ned Stuart to say that he was on his way with the documents. He looked at his watch briefly as he jumped into his car and headed for Moray Place. Almost a quarter to three. He hoped he wouldn’t make Ned too late for his meeting.
“Louis, you brought them!” There was no mistaking Stuart’s relief and gratitude as he took him into the study, slit open the package and ran his eyes over the papers. “These will make all the difference,” he said, leafing through them delightedly. “I must admit, I was getting rather nervous about the time — I should have left a good five minutes ago. I hope they’ll forgive me for being a bit late!”
“I won’t keep you, Ned,” de Charillon smiled, loosening his coat and perching on the arm of a chair. He laid his gloves on a side table as Stuart passed him one of the documents.
“This one … this is the most important one,” Stuart said, bending over him “you see, this proves the relationship …”
The sudden shriek of sound that filled the room stopped him in mid-sentence. It was a dreadful, horrible noise. If the souls of the dead had cried from their graves the sound could not have been more fearful.
“What on earth was that noise?” gasped de Charillon, looking instinctively towards the window.
Stuart stood beside him, frozen to the ground, his face a stony mask.
“I … I’m sorry, Louis,” he said, jerking suddenly back to the present, “something’s … er, just cropped up … I’m sorry, but really you’ll have to leave,” and, grasping him firmly by the elbow, Stuart almost frog-marched the startled count from the house.
Standing outside the front door and gazing around in a mixture of puzzlement and rising anger, for he was not used to such treatment, the count could see no reason for the dreadful noise. Indeed, Moray Place was reassuringly normal. Shivering in the cold, he fastened his coat and then realized to his annoyance that he had left his gloves inside the house.
Pursing his lips and cursing silently at being put in such a position, he hesitated to knock at the door after what had just happened and then noticed that in his haste to get him out of the house, Stuart had not shut it properly. Taking a deep breath, he pushed it open and seeing no one in the hall, ventured inside. They were, after all, an expensive pair of gloves and it would only take a few seconds to retrieve them. Feeling decidedly uncomfortable and a bit like a burglar, he tiptoed towards the study and, through its open door, was just in time to see Ned Stuart walk clean through one of the huge wall-mirrors that were fixed on either side of the window.
As he stepped into the room on the other side of the mirror, Prince Kalman stopped dead, his face a mask of disbelief as he saw the little group clustered round the crown. Rothlan froze at the sight of him and the others turned; absolutely thunder-struck at his sudden appearance!
Slim, elegant and handsome in a dark, beautifully-cut suit, his fair hair caught in a velvet bow at the nape of his neck and a square emerald glinting on his finger; he stood before them; the epitome of regal majesty.
It was obvious from his expression that he had not expected them to be in the tower. His amazement, however, showed only for an instant and quickly regaining his composure he favoured Lord Rothlan and Lady Ellan with a low bow before striding towards the crown.
“My dear Alasdair,” he purred, his hands running in relief over the priceless rubies that were stuck all over the crown like plums in a pudding, “how very nice to see you again, after all this time.”
Rothlan’s eyes narrowed speculatively as he bowed in return. “The pleasure, Kalman, is all yours,” he returned coldly.
The prince’s face lost its affability, his expression changing swiftly to one of undisguised dislike. “As you know, Rothlan,” he drawled insolently, “you’ve never been one of my favourite people.” He paused, eying them all in turn. “And honesty compels me to point out that I didn’t invite you here — neither you nor your friends! In fact,” he said dryly, “it was just as well that you hexed the forest for it warned me of your arrival and at least gave me the opportunity of welcoming you to my humble abode.”
Rothlan shrugged. “We didn’t come here to enjoy your hospitality, Kalman, as you well know. We came to return the Sultan’s Crown to its rightful owner.”
The prince’s chin lifted as his fingers tightened round the crown. “Ah, but it’s mine now,” he said with a smile, “and with its power, Scotland will soon become one of the greatest nations in the world and …”
“And your friends the French?” interrupted Rothlan contemptuously. “Where do they come into the scheme of things?”
“Ah, the French!” Kalman gestured elegantly. “You are wrong to despise them, Rothlan,” he said, mocking him gently. “They are, after all, a people of culture, elegance and grace.”
“So are the Scots,” countered Rothlan, “or have you forgotten that you are one of the Lords of the North? Why don’t you give the crown back to the Turkish Sultan and bring back the old days of trust and friendship between us.”
“Are you, by any chance, suggesting that I live a quiet life, Alasdair?” Kalman’s lips sneered and his eyes hooded as he shook his head in mock amusement. “Don’t be so naïve! I’ve spent years planning all this and I’m not going to give it up now!” He cradled the crown lovingly. “And for what?” he sneered. “My father and I decided long ago that the only thing worth having in this world is power and once I’m King of Scotland, I’ll be able to do anything! Anything I please!” He smiled at the prospect. “And Scotland, I assure you, will only be the beginning! Such a pity, isn’t it, that you and your friends will not be around to see my rise to power in the world — for I have great plans for the future, I assure you!”
When he saw Ned Stuart walk clean through the huge wall-mirror in his study, Louis de Charillon’s eyes had very nearly popped o
ut of his head. He stopped dead in his tracks, totally confused, as his brain told him what he had seen but his reason utterly rejected such an impossible occurrence.
Indeed, so intrigued was he that, after a quick glance round to check that no one was about, he walked up to the mirror and rather hesitantly touched the glass with his hands. It felt solid enough and, scanning the surrounds, he decided that it certainly didn’t seem to be a door. As he stood looking at it in puzzled wonder, quite sure that he had not been mistaken in what he had just seen, he ran his hands over the ornate frame and felt one of the carved flowers slip gently under his fingers. He turned it curiously, thinking it was, perhaps, some sort of handle but as nothing happened he shrugged and, rather belatedly remembering that he was, after all, in someone else’s house, he picked up his gloves and hastily left the study.
A shiver of cold air reminded him that he’d left the front door open and as he drew on his gloves, he saw Sir James Erskine in the hall with a pretty girl beside him. There was nothing remarkable about this except that his senses told him that not two seconds previously they had both been pigeons!
He broke into a cold sweat as he realized that his brain was not functioning quite as it should. People walking through mirrors and pigeons turning into people rang enough warning bells in his ordered mind to turn him white with shock. He felt his legs buckle under him and as he staggered suddenly, they rushed to catch him.
“Careful, Louis!” said Sir James, grasping his arm and steadying him. “Clara … help me get him into the study.”
“I … I’m all right, James,” de Charillon muttered weakly as they helped him to a chair. “It’s just that … I … just for a moment, I thought you were … pigeons!”
Clara smiled at him reassuringly. “There were some in the hall when we came in but maybe the sun was in your eyes,” she said, blithely ignoring the fact that it was a dull, sunless, winter’s day.
