The Cursed Towers (53 page)

Again and again the harquebusiers fired, but the dinghy was out of range. When Ryley was sure they were clear, they pulled the swimmers and the wet, frightened dog aboard and rowed on, aiming for the far shore. DilIon could see soldiers racing out from the little castle and he yelled at them all to row faster. At last they came in under the shelter of the trees and scrambled out of the boat in some confusion, Jed showering them all with water as he shook himself dry.

"We must head through the forest toward Arden-caple," Dillon said. "We must see what has happened to the Righ! He may be hurt, wounded! He may need us. Johanna, can ye walk?" The girl was exhausted, her bodice and long bloomers dripping wet, her face white, but she nodded, snapping, "Aye, I be fine! Let us get moving!"

They pushed the dinghy back into the loch, then, carrying the sacks of supplies and medicines, hurried on into the forest. Ryley was losing blood fast, but he said nothing, pressing the swab deeper into the wound.

It was not long before they heard the sound of pursuit as the Bright Soldiers came crashing along the side of the loch. Frantic with worry, Dillon kept trying to urge them to walk faster, but Jorge was old and very frail and could barely totter.

"Ye must leave me," the old seer said, but Johanna cried, "Dinna talk that way, master, we shall no' leave ye!"

"Ye do no' understand," Jorge said, stopping to lean on his staff and catch his breath. "I have seen the time and manner o' my death and this, I fear, is the time."

"But the Bright Soldiers will hurt ye horribly," Tomas cried. "I can hear their thoughts, I ken what it is they plan!"

"As do I, my bairn," Jorge replied. "Do ye think I do no' wish to avert my fate? I feel it rushing hard upon my heels, though. I feel Gearradh's cold breath on my neck. If ye leave me, ye shall all be able to escape. If you wait for me, we shall all die. This I can see clearly."

Tomas seized the old man's sleeve. "Come on, master, they come, they come!"

"We shall no' leave ye, sir," Ryley said respectfully, although he could not help glancing back at the ever louder pursuit. "Come, let us try and find a place to hide."

Jorge shook his head. "Dillon, have a care for Tomas. He must be your charge. I would gladly give myself up to save his precious life. Go, my bairns."

"No, no!" Johanna wept, pressing close to the old man, taking his delicate, clawlike hand and pulling on it urgently. "Please, master!"

The children of the League of the Healing Hand all clustered close around him, begging him to come, all sobbing. Even Anntoin and Dillon wept in grief and terror. The shouts and crashing of the Bright Soldiers was so close now, they knew they would be within sight in just a few minutes. The old seer would not move, though, gripping tightly to his staff with both hands.

"I have just one wish," he said gently. "Tomas, will ye touch me before ye leave me? Now that my time has come, I find I long to see the world all clad in brightness again. It has been many years since I last saw the sky."

"No, no," the little boy sobbed and buried his face against the seer's blue robe. Jorge patted his head with one thin, trembling hand and said, "Grant me this, my laddiekin. It would give me great pleasure to see all your faces, when your voices and hearts are so dear and familiar to me. Please."

Choking with tears, Tomas slowly raised his wet face, peeled back the black gloves he wore and raised his two small hands. Jorge bent his head and the little boy laid both hands on the old man's forehead, one on either side. A rush of color flowed over the old man's ashen skin and the cloudy eyes cleared and brightened. He straightened, a peaceful smile on his old mouth, and looked about him. He gazed at the overarching trees, all clad in green, with catkins hanging or nuts swelling along the branch. He looked up at the sky, a brilliant blue between the shifting canopy of leaves, then raised his blue-veined, liver-spotted hands and gazed at them wonderingly. A bright-winged bird flashed past and his smile widened in response.

Then he looked round at them all, smiling gently. They stared back, smiling through their tears and clustering close about him. His gaze lingered on their faces and he put out a shaky hand to pat their cheeks or shoulders.

"Ea bless ye all," he said, his eyes shining with tears. "Go now, my bairns, and keep yourselves safe, I beg ye."

Tomas buried his head again, refusing to let go, but Johanna pried his fingers free. "Come, laddie, we mun do as the master wishes. Come along, dearling."

They had to drag him for the first few steps, the little boy sobbing despairingly. Jorge stood calmly in the middle of the clearing, no longer having to lean so heavily on his tall staff, looking around with simple wonder at the butterflies dancing in the shadows, the birds flying sapphire-winged through the air. As they plunged again into the undergrowth they all looked back at him with tear-stained cheeks and he gazed after them and raised his hand, smiling.

Iseult lifted her head above the rocky outcrop and threw her
reil
with a flick of her wrist. It sailed in a wide circle, cutting one soldier's throat as it passed, before embedding itself in the breast of another. He fell with a clatter and the
reil
extricated itself and flew back to Iseult's hand. The soldier left standing turned with an oath and started for them and Iseult threw her
reil
again. Meghan glared angrily at an archer in the rocks above them and he suddenly cried aloud, his hands clutching his breast, as he fell backward. Another aimed directly for the old witch but she caught his arrow with ease, just inches from her face, the archer tumbling head over heels as if thrown by an invisible hand.

Suddenly the sorceress's eyes lost focus and she stared off into the forest, a horrified expression on her face. "Och, no!" she cried. "Jorge!"

From the corner of her eye, Iseult saw another archer leap to his feet above them and take aim. His arrow sped straight toward Meghan's heart. Lost in her thoughts, the sorceress did not notice. With a cry Iseult dived forward, pushing Meghan out of the way. The arrow plunged through her leather breastplate and into her shoulder. She staggered and fell back. Meghan scrambled to her feet, her black eyes snapping with rage, and clapped her hands together. Suddenly the rocky crag collapsed with a roar and a shower of small stones and boulders. The bodies of many Bright Soldiers were flung down, screaming.

"I hope none o' our own men were up there," Meghan said as the whole cliff subsided into a pile of boulders and broken slabs, only a few scraps of white cloth or dented armor showing where the Tirsoilleirean had been buried.

"Duncan was up there last time I saw him," Iseult panted, trying to pull the arrow out with both hands. "I hope he got off . . ."

A wave of red-hot pain swept over her and she almost fainted. Meghan stopped her, saying, "It'll be barbed, dearling, let me ..." She cauterized the point of Iseult's dagger with her finger and cut the arrowhead out. Iseult bit her lip till the blood flowed but did not scream.

"I thank ye for saving me," Meghan said gently. "I did no' see that arrow coming." Her brows drew together and she looked away again, searching the forest with fearful eyes. "I am afraid ... I think Jorge is in danger, dreadful danger. I have felt . . ." Her voice faltered and she shuddered, drawing her cloak around her. "Please, Ea, let it no' be true," she whispered.

Lilanthe hurried through the thick undergrowth, heedless of brambles or thorns. Bran bounded along at her heels, his triangular face anxious.

"What is wrong, my lady?" Niall called, having to jog to keep up with her, despite her lame leg. She paused, waiting for him to catch up. "I do no' ken, but I have a very bad feeling indeed." The tree-shifter looked off into the forest. "There are soldiers," she murmured. "They are filled with hatred . .

."

Brun swiveled his furry ears. "Crash smash bang clang," he said.

"Ye can hear fighting? Come, let's hurry!" Lilanthe turned and looked behind her, raising her arm in a beckoning motion. Behind her the forest surged forward. There were tall tree-changers with swaying manes of leafy branches, crowned with golden berries. Corrigans lurched forward, waving their clubs of stone, looking like rolling boulders all covered with lichen. Hairy araks swung through the undergrowth, shrieking hoarsely. A stag trotted close behind Lilanthe, nisses clinging to his proudly raised antlers. Galloping off to one side was a herd of sharp-horned satyricoms, their necklaces of teeth and bones bouncing on their naked breasts.

Lolloping toward the end was the horse-eel, his green-black skin glistening, his webbed feet leaving slimy puddles behind him. Riding on the horse-eel's back was a seelie, his beautiful face turned dreamily to watch the sun strike through the leaves. They had come across the seelie in the deepest heart of the forest and, overtaken with wonder at the strangeness of their cavalcade, he had joined them. A woolly bear raised her snout and called mournfully, and without realizing what he did, Niall called back in reassurance. In the ten months that they had been patrolling the forests, the big man had grown close to all the creatures of the forest but closest to the bear. He had confessed to Lilanthe one night that his grandfather had lived with a woolly bear he had saved from a trap as a cub. Niall had often seen the huge creature lumbering around in the forest outside his grandfather's cottage and had come to be called "the wee bear" after his grandfather. The nickname had stuck, probably because of his great size and thick, brown hair.

The past ten months had been the happiest of Li-lanthe's life. She had been able to wander through the forests at will, enjoying their peaceful beauty and sinking her roots in rich, dark soil. She was never lonely for she had Niall and Brun to talk to, the antics of the nisses to laugh at, and the quiet, wise presence of the tree-changers to teach and inspire her. At first there had been many confrontations with encampments of Bright Soldiers scattered through the forests, but the satyricoms, gravenings and shadow-hounds had done most of the fighting. As the months passed, the Bright Soldiers had all been driven out of Aslinn and their days had fallen into a more peaceful pattern. In the depths of the forest they encountered many other faeries and Lilanthe spoke to them all, convincing them of Lachlan the Winged's integrity and peaceful intentions.

Two weeks earlier she had been bathing as usual in one of the many calm, green pools strung through the forest when she had seen Dide's face slowly appear in the ripples of light dancing over the surface. The jongleur had been calling her name rather anxiously, and Lilanthe had responded automatically. The tree-shifter had never scryed before but she had seen Dide talk to Lachlan through water and once she had spoken mind-to-mind with the young jongleur when he had been lost in the marshes of Arran. She stared at him in mingled pleasure, perplexity and embarrassment. The last time she had seen him was in Isabeau's bed two and a half years ago, the memory bringing color to her face in a hot rush. She could not help smiling at him, though.

The young jongleur showed no sign of embarrassment, though his gaze lingered on her slender form so intently that she had to quickly sink below the water so that all he could see of her was her face and the green floating tresses of her hair. He asked after her affectionately and she told him all the news. He asked a few questions about the movements of the Tirsoilleirean army through Aslinn and she told him that they had seen no sign of any of the Bright Soldiers since the previous autumn.

"The Graycloaks ride on Ardencaple to drive the Bright Soldiers out o' Blessem once and for all," he said. "Meghan asked me to try and reach ye to see if ye could bring the forest faeries and join us there. Indeed, we will need all the help we can get, for hordes more o' the blaygird witch-haters have been pouring through Arran, seeking revenge for all their losses. How far away are ye?"

"I do no' ken where Ardencaple is," Lilanthe answered, "but we're a couple o' weeks' march away from the edge o' the forest at least, I'd say."

Dide lowered his voice, saying, "We march on Arden-caple in the dark o' the moons after Beltane. Can ye try and reach us by then? Indeed it would be good to see ye, Lilanthe." She blushed again and answered rather awkwardly, "And ye, Dide. It has been a long time."

' Aye," he answered. "Hard to believe it's been two and a half years! I've missed ye though." Words tangled in her throat. Not knowing which ones to choose, she said nothing. He waited a moment expectantly then bid her farewell, his reflection slowly dissolving into the ripple of the water's surface. After that the army of forest faeries had turned and marched for Blessem, pleased at the idea of seeing more fighting after their quiet winter. Lilanthe had not been so pleased, though she thought often of Dide in the ensuing two weeks, oscillating between pleasure and anxiety at the idea of seeing him again. The pack of wolves howled the scent of blood and Lilanthe's pace unconsciously quickened. Soon afterward they heard the clash of arms and all the forest faeries raised their weapons and rushed forward. They came across a thin road winding through the forest. Bodies of horses and men lay all along its route, some still crying out in pain. Small groups of men were fighting desperately through the trees, those in gray jerkins greatly outnumbered by their armor-clad attackers.

The stench of blood was thick in the air and the satyri-corns screeched in excitement. Lilanthe called to them to restrain their blood-lust. "Kill only those in white cloaks," she cried, but the horned women were already running, shrieking in frenzied anticipation.

Afraid of what they might do, Lilanthe called again in distress and suddenly the seelie lifted his golden head and called out a long ululation. The satyricorns turned their heads and howled in protest, but they did not spear the wounded men with their sharp horns or fight over the bodies of the dead, as Lilanthe had feared. Instead they ran on, surprising a group of Bright Soldiers who were walking along the road, killing any that lay injured. With cries of ecstasy, the satyricorns stabbed and thrust with their horns and laid about them with their clubs until all the Bright Soldiers were dead, then they ran on into the thick undergrowth in search of more.