The Cursed Towers

by Kate Forsyth

  ‘Och, I be so sorry, Your Highness, indeed I’ve been trying to get them into bed for the last ten minutes but I couldna catch Donncan and then he woke wee Neil and I—’

  ‘Never mind, Sukey, I know what Donncan can be like. Just put Neil back to bed and I’ll look after my son.’

  The nursemaid nodded and shepherded Neil back to his own room. Iseult sat down with Donncan on her lap. He wound his chubby arms around her neck and pressed his cheek into her shoulder. ‘Ye’re a naughty lad,’ Iseult said. ‘Ye ken it is no’ fair to fly around the room when Sukey canna catch ye. Ye know what time bedtime is.’

  ‘I was afraid I’d fall asleep afore ye came,’ he said with a yawn. ‘Ye promised ye’d come ’n tuck me up and tell me a story.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sweetling, but indeed the meeting dragged on and on, and I had to be there to make sure all those foolish lairds did no’ decide to do something silly.’

  ‘Did they?’

  ‘No’ yet, sweetling, but give them time and I’m sure they will.’

  ‘Do ye and dai-dein have to ride to war?’

  Iseult nodded. ‘Aye, I’m afraid so, darling.’

  He struggled to be put down and she let him slip to the floor, her face graver than ever. He marched across to his toy chest against the wall and got out the little wooden sword Duncan Ironfist had given him for his second birthday. ‘I come wi’ ye.’

  ‘I wish ye could,’ Iseult replied, pulling him to lean against her knee. ‘Indeed I’d like to have ye at my back, sweetling, such a swordsman that ye are. But ye canna.’

  He pulled away, indignant. ‘Why no’?’

  ‘Someone must stay behind and look after Neil and Sukey and help guard Dùn Eidean. Ye ken we canna leave the city unprotected, else the wicked Bright Soldiers may sneak up and try and take it back from us.’

  Donncan nodded and rubbed his eyes, coloured the same unusual topaz-yellow as his father’s. Iseult picked him and cuddled him closely. ‘I will miss ye though, my sweetling. Ye must promise me to be good and no’ tease Sukey too much nor fly away from her.’

  He nodded his curly golden head drowsily and she tucked him up in bed, his sword still clutched in his hand. With a thought she extinguished the many-branched candelabra on the table so the room sank into darkness, only the glowing coals in the fireplace casting any light. ‘What story would ye like?’

  He snuggled down into the blankets. ‘Tell me the story o’ the daughter o’ Frost ’n the North Wind again,’ he begged.

  Iseult sat cross-legged in the wide-seated chair by his bed, her hands turned upwards in her lap. With a long sweeping gesture she began in a sing-song voice, ‘The daughter o’ Frost and the North Wind was born in the shadow o’ the Skull o’ the World, far, far away from the valleys where the people lived and hunted …’

  The little boy was asleep before Iseult had finished but she did not stop her tale-telling, knowing the end of a story was as important as the beginning. She came back to the real world with a little start, becoming aware of Sukey leaning against the doorframe, listening raptly.

  ‘That was bonny, Your Highness,’ the nursemaid whispered, her voice a little husky. ‘’Twas so sad!’

  ‘Most o’ the stories o’ the People o’ the Spine o’ the World are sad,’ Iseult answered softly, rising carefully to her feet so as not to disturb the sleeping child. ‘They do no’ have much o’ a sense o’ humour, I’m afraid.’ She brushed a lock of hair away from her son’s face and kissed him very gently between the eyes.

  ‘Have a care for him, Sukey,’ she said sombrely. ‘It hurts me to have to leave him again.’

  ‘I will, Your Highness,’ Sukey promised. ‘So ye ride out again?’

  ‘Aye, I’m afraid so. Fresh troops have marched through Arran and into Blèssem again, to join those that escaped Rhyssmadill. Indeed, they are stubborn, these Tìrsoilleirean! We have had near four months to rest and rebuild, so that is something, I suppose. Still, it is time we cauterised Arran and Tìrsoilleir once and for all. We shall be riding for Ardencaple in the morning.’

  She went to leave the nursery and Sukey said impulsively, ‘Ye look tired, my lady. Must ye go back to the war conference? Should ye no’ rest?’

  Iseult looked at her swiftly and one hand dropped to her abdomen. ‘I wish I could, but we are planning tactics and ye ken those woolly-headed lairds know naught about such things.’

  ‘But …’

  Iseult looked at her sternly and Sukey’s words faltered in her mouth.

  ‘His Highness does no’ know,’ Iseult said, ‘and he must no’ know! Do ye understand me?’

  ‘Aye, Your Highness,’ Sukey said meekly. Iseult’s gaze did not relent and the nursemaid’s colour rose and she gave a little curtsey, dropping her eyes. Iseult walked to the door and said, ‘I must get back. I’ve been gone too long as it is.’

  ‘I’ll bring ye a hot posset o’ herbs that the lady Isabeau used to make for ye,’ Sukey said.

  Iseult gave a shrug of exasperation and said, ‘As ye will then, but be discreet, I beg ye.’

  ‘Aye, my lady,’ Sukey answered as Iseult walked out the door.

  The army marched down the highway, their grey cloaks rolled up on top of their heavy packs, enjoying the mild spring sunshine on their bare arms and heads. To the north thickly forested hills rose, while to the south a patchwork of fields, hedges and small copses of trees sloped down to a little river.

  The fields were freshly tilled and planted, and already a fine green mist was covering the soil. A shepherd was grazing his sheep among the grass at the verge of the road. He fell to his knees as Lachlan and Iseult rode past and called Eà’s blessing upon them, much to Meghan’s satisfaction. The old witch was well pleased with how easily many of the common folk had shrugged off the teachings of the Awl and returned to the old ways of the Coven. Although she knew much of their compliance was due to gratitude at the Rìgh’s success in driving the Bright Soldiers from the land, it was her hope that a more genuine reverence for Eà would soon be animated in their hearts.

  The spring equinox had been celebrated all over the countryside with the burning of sweet-scented candles, the making of evergreen wreaths and the ringing of the bells in every village meeting-house. Meghan, Matthew the Lean and the other witches had spent the winter and early spring overseeing the planting of the fields and the procreation of new lambs and kids. It had been too late to plant wheat and rye, but they sowed mixed fields of barley and oats, with beans to grow up the oat stalks, and vegetable plots with peas, leeks, potatoes and cabbage. All over lower Rionnagan and Blèssem new cottages and barns were built, broken walls and hedgerows were mended, orchards replanted and drainage ditches dug.

  Many skeelies and cunning men had flocked to join the Coven as the Rìgh’s army had triumphed over the few remaining Seekers of the Awl. Among them were many of the witches who had been rescued during the Awl’s reign of terror, and hidden away about the countryside. Although most stayed behind in the safety of Lucescere, learning new Skills at the Tower of Two Moons, some had the courage and Talent to join Meghan and the other witches and lend them their strength.

  Lachlan had spent the winter overseeing the repair of the gates that guarded the mouth of the Berhtfane, so that the Rhyllster was safe once more. Their reconstruction at first confounded them all. The river gates and locks had been designed and built by Malcolm MacBrann in the time of Aedan Whitelock, at the end of the Second Fairgean Wars. The lock system had maintained the water level in the Berhtfane, controlling the flow of the tide up the river, and allowing ships to be raised and lowered at will, while keeping the hostile sea-faeries out. The Bright Soldiers had stupidly blown them up during their attack on Dùn Gorm, destroying many of their own ships in the ensuing flood and making themselves vulnerable to attack from the Fairgean. Although there were signs the Bright Soldiers had tried to fix the gates, they had obviously been unsuccessful, the sea serpents having broken down their crude barriers with contemptuous eas
e.

  Lachlan and his engineers puzzled over the remains of the gates for some time without being able to work out how to fix the great wheel that had opened and closed the gates. Then Dide the Juggler brought an old man with a crippled foot to see the Rìgh. Named Donovan Slewfoot, he had been the harbour master at the Berhtfane for thirty years and had worked on the canals since he was a mere lad. After the Lammas invasion, he had joined the rebels in Dùn Gorm, fighting the Bright Soldiers from the shadows. He had escaped the first Fairgean onslaught with Dide and Cathmor and had served in the Rìgh’s army ever since as an engineer’s assistant and jack-of-all-trades.

  Donovan Slewfoot grinned when Lachlan explained their problem. ‘Och, that one is easy enough to fix,’ he said cryptically and lay down on his back to slide under the wheel, coiled with thick chains. When he struggled out again, he held a spanner in his huge, rough hand. ‘I jammed the gates wi’ this when those blaygird Bright Soldiers first attacked the harbour master’s tower. I never thought it would hold the gates open for more than two years!’

  With Donovan Slewfoot’s advice, it was not long before the harbour and the river were once again safe from invasion by the sea-faeries. Sadly it would take a lot longer to rebuild Dùn Gorm and none of them had had the heart to try. Instead Lachlan’s men had spent the early spring months consolidating their hold on the land they had won and recovering their own strength.

  Almost four thousand Bright Soldiers had surrendered to Lachlan’s troops after the battle at Rhyssmadill, but close on a thousand had escaped the carnage and fled through Clachan, retreating back towards Arran. There they had been met by fresh troops who had marched through the fenlands at the first thaw, determined to continue the war against the heretical witch-lovers.

  With all of southern Eileanan again under their control, Lachlan and Iseult were determined to drive the Tìrsoilleirean back to their own country and to unite both Tìrsoilleir and Arran under the MacCuinn banner. Their confidence was running high after the victories of the past two years, and the comrades they had lost had only honed their resolve. They had called the lairds and prionnsachan to Dùn Eidean to plan their summer campaign.

  The Bright Soldiers had set up their headquarters at Ardencaple, the closest major town to the border with Arran, which was well able to supply provisions for the Tìrsoilleirean battalions. Built on the Arden River, Ardencaple was a well-fortified town surrounded by rich fields and orchards. Since that part of the countryside was quite flat, Lachlan and Iseult had puzzled for some time about how best to approach their enemy.

  ‘The trick will be to take the Bright Soldiers by surprise,’ Iseult said. ‘They must know our intention is to strike against them before they march too far into Blèssem or Clachan. It is so hard to tell what the area is like from these maps. Where is the NicThanach? She must know this countryside better than anyone. Happen she will know the best way for us to advance on Ardencaple.’

  Melisse NicThanach, the eldest daughter of Alasdair MacThanach, was called to the war conference. A slim woman in her mid-twenties, she had golden curls tied back in a snood sewn with pearls, a wide satin skirt all covered over with lilies and roses, and long trailing sleeves of green velvet and gold net. Next to Iseult’s battle-scarred leather, she looked very feminine and rather helpless. A soft murmur of appreciation rose from the soldiers and Iseult had to work hard to prevent her exasperation from showing on her face. She drew Melisse to one side and explained to her in a low voice what she needed to know.

  Melisse had inherited the crown from her father upon his death and, rather to her dismay, had been ordered from the safety of Lucescere so she could command her men. Half of the Rìgh’s troops were from Blèssem and their allegiance was sworn to Lachlan through the chief of the MacThanach clan. Unfortunately Melisse had been petted and protected all her life and she had very little idea of what fighting a war entailed. The journey through the war-scarred countryside had shocked her deeply and she found both Lachlan and Iseult very intimidating indeed. Luckily her seanalair, the Duke of Killiegarrie, had fought at her father’s side all through the war and he knew the Rìgh well. He had assured the NicThanach that she could trust the stern-faced Rìgh and Banrìgh and that she should do as her father would have wished.

  So Melisse furrowed her brow and thought about the problem seriously. After a while she said hesitantly, ‘Ardencaple lies in a valley edged to the north by the forests o’ Aslinn. We often used to stay there when we were travelling to my cousins Gilliane and Ghislaine in Aslinn. Their mother had a wee castle in the woods and we used to stay there when we went hunting. There is a little-used road that runs through the forest. It comes out no’ far from Ardencaple and few know o’ it at all. If ye circled round and went through the woods, ye could approach from the northeast and happen they’d no’ be expecting that.’

  ‘Well, it’s something at least,’ Lachlan said. ‘We know Aslinn is free o’ Bright Soldiers for the faeries have scoured the forests thoroughly and killed or driven out all who were sheltering there. Happen we can meet up with Niall and Lilanthe and they can bring the faeries to our aid as well. We’ll be able to use the NicAislin castle as a base. If we send a strong force in from the west, they may no’ expect us to strike from the east as well. We shall take just a small force but o’ the very best men, and we shall keep all our plans secret indeed. Too often this past year it has seemed as if the Tìrsoilleirean have known what it is we’ve been planning.’

  So they had split their forces, the Duke of Killiegarrie taking eight thousand men along the main highway towards Arran, and Lachlan and his troops taking the high road to Aslinn. The MacSeinn and his two thousand men had been patrolling eastern Blèssem for the past two years and had seen hard fighting trying to keep the Bright Soldiers from heading back up into Rionnagan. They had been ordered to head to Ardencaple as well, striking at the town from the north.

  Iseult and Lachlan had only two thousand men with them, the others having been left behind in Dùn Eidean or sent with the main body of the army. Still, the double column of men stretched back along the highway as far as the eye could see. When they made camp that night, the campfires along the road looked like a chain of rubies, glimmering red in the cool spring darkness.

  They reached Aslinn the next day and marched on into the woods, much to the surprise of the soldiers who had not been informed of their destination. The road was badly overgrown and they had to clear the way with axes. The NicAislin, Gilliane and Ghislaine’s mother Madelon, had sent some of her men to guide them and they scouted ahead, tall, taciturn fellows dressed in rough furs and leather.

  They reached the little castle of Lochsithe within a week. It was built on a small stretch of water and had four round turrets with mossy pointed roofs. Three of its sides rose straight out of the water, the other being protected by a stout outer wall. The trees grew thickly down to the very shore of the loch, their branches hanging in the water. It was a quaint little building, nowhere near large enough to house all of the troops, who made camp in the forest. Only Iseult, Lachlan, the witches and the Yeomen of the Guard were able to rest within the castle’s walls and even they were rather crowded.

  An old couple who had lived there all their lives maintained the castle. Meghan noticed the piercing brightness of the old woman’s slanted green eyes and said knowingly to Jorge, ‘It would no’ surprise me if she proved akin to Lilanthe o’ the Forest. They used to say there were many born in Aslinn who had tree-changer blood.’

  They stayed there a week, for it had been arranged to attack Ardencaple a month after the spring equinox, when both the moons were dark. They had reached Castle Lochsithe more quickly than expected, thanks to the fair weather, and so had time to scry to Lilanthe, hunt for fresh provisions and enjoy the tranquillity of the forest.

  Their last evening at Castle Lochsithe, Iseult and Meghan sat out on the balcony that ran the length of the central building, enjoying the dusk falling over the loch and watching the tiny sliver of the blu
e moon rise. ‘Tomorrow Gladrielle will be dark,’ Meghan said, ‘and it will be time to attack Ardencaple. Let us hope we find them unprepared, though I know it is a vain hope.’

  Iseult said nothing, resting her head on her hand.

  The old sorceress leant forward and touched her shoulder. ‘Why have ye no’ told Lachlan?’

  Iseult did not pretend to misunderstand her. ‘He would have tried to make me stay behind in Dùn Eidean if he knew.’

  ‘Would that have been such a bad thing?’ Meghan said. ‘Ye must have a care for the babes ye carry within.’

  ‘Babes?’

  ‘Aye, twins again,’ Meghan replied.

  Iseult’s face was shadowed. ‘I have a misgiving in my heart about this campaign,’ she said. ‘I have to stay near Lachlan and protect him as best I may. I have had strange dreams …’

  ‘Jorge too has had uneasy dreams,’ Meghan said. ‘Tell me what ye’ve seen.’

  Iseult shrugged. ‘When first I wake I can remember clearly but always the dreams slip away from me in the light o’ day. Last night I dreamt I saw Lachlan walking away from me down a strange, flat, shadowy road and though I called to him he did not turn or look round.’

  ‘That is no’ such a bad dream surely?’ Meghan said. ‘Happen it means ye must just be separate for a while—which indeed I think would be a good idea, Iseult. Ye must have a care for the babes ye carry.’

  ‘It was no’ so much what happened in the dream as the way I felt,’ Iseult said in a low voice. ‘Such despair …’

  Suddenly the warm blue of the twilight was split apart by a great crack of lightning which irradiated the sky from horizon to horizon. The pattern of twigs and branches sprang out black against its white shock. When the lightning was gone they could see the black fretwork imprinted against the fizzle of their vision. So unexpected was the flash of light that they heard involuntary cries from the camp out in the woods and from inside the castle hall. Again the lightning came and they heard the distant rumble of thunder.