The Cursed Towers

by Kate Forsyth

  They rode on down the river, elated at the success of their stratagem, but encountered another battalion of Bright Soldiers where the river curved out into the wide waters of Lochbane. Again there was fierce fighting, Lachlan’s forces aided once more by the flock of sharp-beaked birds. By sunset they had slashed their way through the ranks of the Tìrsoilleirean and were sheltering in the small town of Balbane.

  The settlement had been built on a high hill behind stout walls, but over the last few hundred years of peace it had spread out along the shores of the loch. Most of Balbane was now a smoking ruin, invaded and occupied by the Bright Soldiers and the Fairgean turn and turn about over the past two years. There was little left but ruined houses and a few bedraggled hens, which the soldiers ate for their supper, with thanks to Eà for her providence.

  Before dawn, Iseult again conjured a bridge of ice at the far end of Lochbane, where it narrowed into the river. They crossed in haste and in silence, leaving behind a ghost town to puzzle the Tìrsoilleirean troops who arrived with the sun. Three more times they crossed that day, though Iseult was white and shaking with the effort of creating bridges of ice sturdy enough to bear so much weight. So at last they came to Dùn Gorm, the city which had once been the most magnificent in all of Eileanan and the Far Islands. Most of it was drowned now, or filled with sea wrack from the floods, or demolished by the Bright Soldiers’ cannons, or burnt. The broken ruins that remained bore little resemblance to the great city of blue marble which had once stood there. Many in the troops had tears in their eyes as they made their silent way through the twilight streets.

  They were once again on the western bank of the river, where the barons and rich merchants had built their mansions on the high land, giving them a view across the harbour and firth. The soaring towers of Rhyssmadill could be seen above the burnt rafters and collapsed walls, the soft blue of its stone blurring into the sullen evening sky. The Greycloaks took shelter in the ruins, Stormwing flying over the park to scout out the position of the Bright Soldiers. It was cold rations that evening, despite the chill, for no-one was willing to risk lighting campfires. All were conscious that they were hidden in the very heart of the territory occupied by the Tìrsoilleirean army. They had won their way through by trickery and guile, but the enemy was all around them and retreat would be near impossible.

  The gyrfalcon reported an army of more than twelve thousand Bright Soldiers was camped in the palace park, opposite the great finger of stone on which the palace was built. The Tìrsoilleirean had their trebuchets, cannons and mangonels lined up along the ridge, their tents and pavilions crowded behind. It had been too dark to see how much damage the outer walls of the palace had sustained but the morale of the Bright Soldiers was low.

  With a mocking laugh, Stormwing said the ravens had caused much unease among the troops by hovering over the camp, their melancholy cries causing many a superstitious soldier to shudder and make the sign of the Cross above their breasts. Ten of the night-winged birds had been chosen for this task, for the old Tìrsoilleirean superstition that began ‘one for sorrow, two for mirth’ ended with the line ‘and ten for the devil’s own self’. It was Lachlan’s intention to use every means possible to unnerve the Tìrsoilleirean army.

  The size of the army drawn up outside Rhyssmadill alarmed Lachlan a little, for he had only five hundred men-at-arms, five hundred archers and the fifty mounted cavaliers of the Yeomen of the Guard. The other two thousand soldiers of Lachlan’s division had been left to guard Dùn Eidean and to engage with those remnants of the Tìrsoilleirean army still occupying Blèssem. The eight hundred cavaliers who had accompanied Lachlan had been left on the eastern shore of the Rhyllster to badger the Bright Soldiers camped along its length. Their aim was to drive the Tìrsoilleirean soldiers back towards Rhyssmadill, straight into the arms of the MacThanach, who was marching towards the Berhtfane with the majority of the Rìgh’s army. Even so, the Rìgh’s forces would be outnumbered, for the MacThanach had only seven thousand men under his command, their numbers swelled by those who had deserted the Tìrsoilleirean army.

  ‘Let us hope the horsemen o’ Tìreich are even now riding through Ravenshaw,’ Lachlan said grimly, huddling his wings about him. ‘We will need every man we can muster to break the siege o’ the palace.’

  ‘Happen I should scry to Meghan and tell her to send the MacSeinn’s division to our aid,’ Iseult said, cuddling close to his side so his wings could warm her as well.

  ‘It would be a month or more before they could get here, and ye ken they are keeping the Bright Soldiers at bay to the east,’ Lachlan replied. ‘We canna risk another few thousand pouring in through the marshes and attacking us from the rear. Nay, we had best hope the MacAhern remembers his duty to the Crown and is riding to our aid. We will ken soon enough! We meet Dughall at dawn—that is, if he can sneak past the Bright Soldiers’ sentries into the Tomb o’ Ravens.’

  The ten ravens perched on the broken wall above them gave a bone-chilling cry, and the squires huddled against the wall shivered and hunched their shoulders.

  ‘Happen we should be worrying whether we can make the meeting place,’ Duncan Ironfist said sombrely. ‘We shall have to make our way through the park to reach the tomb ourselves, do no’ forget!’

  In the grey chill before dawn, mist began to rise from the river, winding through the charred skeletons of the merchants’ houses and floating across the park. The tents and pavilions of the Bright Soldiers, the trees lining the long avenue, the muddy, churned-up meadows, all were shrouded in ghostly white. The Tìrsoilleirean sentries huddled into their long white cloaks, stamping their feet on the frozen ground and blowing into their steel-gauntleted hands. Through the mist came the melancholy tok of a raven and they shuddered and crossed themselves, shrinking back into the shelter of the tents.

  On the far side of the palace park, a long line of men crept through the broken wall and into the gardens, darting from tree to bush to shrubbery, their grey cloaks almost invisible in the gloom. Barnard the Eagle led the way, his sharp-sighted eyes scouting the best route. He saw a Tìrsoilleirean sentry standing against a tree, and quietly and efficiently stabbed him, the sentry dying without even seeing the hand that killed him. They slipped past a small encampment of guards and made their noiseless way down a long avenue of yews to a great hulk of a building surrounded by the tall evergreen trees. It lay in the very heart of the park, the long, oblong pool that stretched before it reflecting the dark shapes of the trees and the white shapes of statues.

  Silent as shadows they crossed the paved forecourt and eased open a great arched doorway surmounted by the brooding shapes of two stone ravens. Barnard the Eagle stood guard as the Blue Guards filed past him into the dank gloom within. He bowed as Lachlan and Iseult went through, and nodded as Duncan Ironfist whispered a terse command in his ear. Once all of the soldiers had gone through the door, he closed it and stood guard with Finlay Fear-Naught, their claymores drawn.

  Lachlan had cupped the Lodestar in his hands and brought to life the soft light in its heart. Now he raised it high so they could look about them. A few of the men muttered in fear as the darkness retreated and revealed a long hall lined with iron gates leading into smaller vaults. The ceiling above was arched and domed, with stone ravens perched above each thick pillar. On either side were lines of high, stone tombs, each topped with a figure lying as if asleep, arms crossed over their breast. In the uncertain light it was hard to tell whether they were stone or dead flesh, and the men unconsciously moved closer together, their murmurs growing louder. Lachlan shushed them and looked about him curiously, unable to help his wings lifting and rustling in apprehension. Iseult had her dagger drawn, though her pale face was expressionless.

  They lit torches and began to explore, thrusting the flame into the smaller vaults to make sure no-one hid within. Dillon, Anntoin, Parlan and Artair stayed close to Duncan Ironfist’s side, clutching the hilts of the small swords they wore at their sides. Jed whined, slinking cl
ose behind his master, his tail between his legs. They all rather wished they had stayed behind with the men-at-arms rather than accompanying Lachlan and the Yeomen on this dawn venture. This dark, echoing hall with its silent stone figures and watching ravens made their flesh creep.

  Hamish the Hot, at the head of the party, suddenly gave a cry and stepped back involuntarily. The flickering light of his torch had found a set of broad steps leading up to a dais on which stood an ornate sarcophagus. The stone was all carved with ravens, some in flight, some sleeping with their heads under their wings, others pecking at the ground. On the lid reposed the figure of a tall man in archaic dress, a sorcerer’s staff in the hands crossed on his breast, a stone ring on every one of the stone fingers.

  Standing silently on the steps was a tall, cloaked figure. Lachlan’s bodyguard brought their swords up, gathering closer about their young rìgh. He disregarded them, striding forward with his hands held out. ‘Dughall!’ he cried. ‘Thank Eà! It’s worried indeed I have been about ye. Is all well?’

  The cloaked figure threw back his hood, revealing smooth, olive skin, an aquiline nose and a black beard. Usually exquisitely curled and pointed, Dughall MacBrann’s beard was now tangled and dirty, while the rough clothes under the enveloping cloak were those of a hunter and trapper. He smiled and moved forward to embrace Lachlan.

  ‘All is well, as ye can see, my sweet,’ he said. ‘I have been here for some days and am hungry indeed, so hope ye have brought me some food. Have ye seen the park? Seething with soldiers, and all bent on breaking Rhyssmadill.’

  Lachlan nodded. Dughall smiled sardonically. ‘It seems they have bruised their heads, ramming them against Rhyssmadill’s walls these past few years. Indeed they would have done better to sit on their heels and starve the garrison out, for all their pretty cannons have had no effect that I can see.’

  ‘Ye must have had trouble coming here from Ravenshaw. Ye would have had to cross the very encampment, surely?’ Lachlan said, spreading his cloak to sit on the steps as Dillon and Anntoin hurried to bring them food and wine.

  His cousin nodded and said, ‘Aye, we came out o’ the forest with a clutch o’ coneys and birds and sold them to the soldiers. They are as hungry as the palace garrison must be, having eaten every goat and hen for miles about, and finding the hunting in the forest scarce this winter. Indeed, so they should, for we’ve had a few lean winters.’

  His squire had come out of the shadows to stand behind him and serve him. Dughall thanked him, saying, ‘Lachlan, ye remember Owen, do ye no’? He was one o’ the lads Iain MacFóghnan brought out o’ Arran with him. He’s a cousin o’ sorts, and ye may remember I took him with me to Ravenshaw.’

  Lachlan glanced at the boy, a tall lad with dark hair and solemn grey eyes, and nodded, while Iain smiled and said, ‘Owen, good it is to see ye. How are ye yourself?’

  As the boy replied shyly, the Rìgh settled himself more comfortably on the cold stone steps. ‘Speaking o’ Ravenshaw, I am anxious indeed to hear all the news,’ he said. ‘How is your father? What o’ the MacAhern? Tell me how your mission went.’

  While they all broke their fast, the squires only sitting down to eat once their masters had finished, Dughall brought Lachlan and Iseult up to date with his adventures.

  ‘We had a fierce time throwing off the Bright Soldiers from Ravenscraig,’ he finished, ‘but with my father peppering them with boulders from the castle walls and the thigearns attacking from the rear, we were at last able to drive them off. I am sure that many o’ them fled here to swell the forces camped outside Rhyssmadill. The Bright Soldiers have had a taste o’ the MacAhern’s fury—I think they will no’ be best pleased to see the horsemen on their tail once more.’

  Lachlan smiled rather grimly, then asked for many logistical details, which Dughall supplied as best he could.

  ‘My father has also been gathering together his forces to bring to your aid,’ he continued once the Rìgh was satisfied. ‘Ye ken Ravenshaw is no’ heavily populated, and most of the lowland villages and towns were hit hard by the Tìrsoilleirean. He should be able to gather together a thousand men or more, though, most of them archers. Ye ken the longbowmen o’ Ravenshaw are famous for their skill. There is no’ much else to do in Ravenshaw save hunting.’

  ‘Let us hope they can make it in time,’ Lachlan said grimly. ‘Still, ye have done well, Dughall, and I am grateful indeed.’

  His cousin made a mocking bow. ‘Shall we go on?’ he said. ‘It is past dawn and the tide is full. I am anxious that we make it through the sea caves before the tide turns again and fills the caves. We have only a short time if we do no’ wish to be drowned.’

  Lachlan stood and stretched, his wings extended to their full height, then held out his hand to help Iseult to her feet. ‘Come, leannan,’ he said. ‘I am curious indeed to see these mysterious sea caves o’ the MacBranns. I remember my brothers and I spent a whole summer exploring Rhyssmadill trying to find the entrance. That was before the new palace was built, o’ course. In those days it was just an auld, grey castle, half in ruins. The MacBranns had no’ lived there for a long time syne. I am most intrigued to be here in the Tomb o’ the Ravens. We never thought o’ looking here for the entrance.’

  ‘Tell the truth,’ Dughall said sardonically, ‘ye would have been afraid to explore the tomb in those days.’

  ‘No’ just in those days,’ Lachlan said, looking about him with a shudder of his wings. ‘Indeed, it is an eerie place, with all these stone coffins. Those figures look as if they might just decide to get up and walk around. That one up there has a most unpleasant expression on his face. I certainly would no’ like to meet him on a dark, stormy night.’

  ‘That, my sweet, is Brann the Raven himself,’ Dughall replied with a spurious note of reproof in his voice. ‘A most powerful sorcerer, by all accounts, and no’ one known for his benevolence. It was said he spent most o’ his life exploring the darker mysteries o’ the One Power. Come, ye shall have to get a lot closer to auld Brann if ye wish to explore the sea caves.’

  He led the way up the stairs to the dais and, keeping his body between the sarcophagus and the soldiers, twisted the sphere at the head of the stone staff. There was a grinding noise and the sarcophagus swung sideways, revealing a set of very steep steps leading in a tight spiral downwards.

  Dughall cast them a mischievous look. ‘Come on down into Brann’s grave,’ he invited. ‘I canna promise ye the auld laddie does no’ walk—it was said he was a master o’ the forbidden arts and spent most o’ his last years trying to outwit Gearradh. I do no’ know if he succeeded, but in his last days he swore he would reach out from the very grave itself and pull her warty nose.’

  Even Iseult looked grave at this light-hearted reference, in this place of death, to she who cuts the thread. Casting apprehensive looks about them, the first of the Blue Guards clambered down into the tomb. Duncan Ironfist insisted that the Rìgh and Banrìgh wait until Hamish the Hot and Hamish the Cool had assured the way was safe. At last the word came up that all was clear, and Lachlan and Iseult began the descent, closely followed by their four rather white-faced squires and the miserable dog. Duncan Ironfist came last, finding it difficult to squeeze his shoulders through the narrow aperture.

  The spiral staircase descended deep into the earth below the mausoleum, emerging at last in a small room with three crude doorways. Built into the walls of the room were deep shelves piled high with yellowing bones and skulls. Parlan gave a cry and pressed close to Duncan, who gave him a little pat on the shoulder. ‘Och, my laddie, no need to fear,’ the big captain whispered. ‘They’ve been dead a very long time and it’d take more magic than we have to string those auld bones together and make them walk. Do no’ listen to Dughall MacBrann, he just likes to scare ye and the other lads.’

  Dughall turned and smiled enigmatically. ‘What do ye think o’ your ancestral tombs?’ he asked of Owen, who was trying hard not to show his own superstitious fear.

  The boy
shrugged. ‘Rather cold and smelly,’ he answered, and Dughall laughed.

  He led the way through one of the doors into a passageway, the fifty Blue Guards following with their smoky torches; Iseult, Lachlan and the boys in the centre of the procession. They found themselves in a labyrinth of passages and antechambers, some with faces and magical symbols inscribed on the doors, others with gravestones carved with epitaphs in the floors or walls. Occasionally they reached a long corridor lined with open shelves like those of the first room heaped with crumbling skeletons, some still clad in shredded rags of clothes or tarnished armour.

  ‘I wonder that the MacBranns allowed their bones to just lie like that,’ Dide said with a shudder. ‘Ye would have thought they would have demanded a wee bit more respect.’

  ‘Och, those bones are no’ those o’ the MacBranns,’ Dughall replied with a grin, enjoying the expressions of fear and horror on the faces of those around him. ‘They are servants and bodyguards and even pets. The MacBranns are properly interred, never ye fear.’

  Parlan caught hold of the end of Duncan Ironfist’s plaid, his face rather green. The big man smiled at him, and said briskly, ‘Let us go on, all these auld bones are giving me indigestion.’

  They walked for close on an hour, the passageway often sloping downwards or leading to several rough-cut steps, slick and dangerous with water. A dank smell like that of a freshly dug grave flowed over them. The stench was so like that of the Mesmerdean that Iseult felt sick and giddy.

  At last they came out onto a wide platform with steps that led down into a reservoir. As far as the eye could see the water stretched, lapping against thick pillars which rose into a vaulted and domed ceiling. The stone of the pillars was stained almost to the roof, though the water level was now slowly dropping. Moored at the edge of the platform were six long rowboats.