The Cursed Towers (9 page)

The next morning Isabeau was down at the meadow before dawn. Lasair was waiting for her by the gate, his mane and tail bright in the light of the rising sun. She rode him through the quiet garden, cantering along the boulevard. He had been pleased to see her, but as they went further away from the home meadow, he grew tense and nervy, shying at the rattle of bare twigs in the wind. She held him steady with her knees, but as the ruins of the Tower of Two Moons loomed up through the trees, he bucked and reared, tossing back his head. Isabeau was almost thrown and had to cling to the stallion's mane with both hands. He gave a terrified whinny, rearing again. She soothed him with her hand and voice, but he bolted, hooves ringing sharply on the pavement. For a while she could only cling to his back as he galloped wildly away from the ruins, while in her mind's eye she saw visions of fire and death, and felt the stallion's uncontrollable dread.
Danger!
Lasair shrieked.
Betrayal!

At last she was able to slow his headlong gallop and direct him back toward the stable. He was trembling, his flanks flecked with foam. Isabeau made him warm mash and rubbed him down well, leaving him at last in the warmth of the stall, his head hanging down in exhaustion. Usually she looked in on the infirmary first thing every morning, but today she made her way back to the Tower instead.

"I canna understand it," she said to Meghan, sharing her morning porridge. "He had such a strong reaction to being close to the Tower. I ken horses are meant to have a strong extrasensory perception, but sixteen years have passed since the tragedy there, would he have been able to sense the fear and horror so clearly after all that time?"

"I do no' ken," Meghan answered, holding up a nut for Gita the donbeag to nibble. "The woodland creatures have always been my specialty, no' horses. I would ask Riordan, he spent some years in Tireich, ye ken, and has a true Talent with horses."

"I saw it all so clearly," Isabeau mused. "There were soldiers hacking down witches, others carrying burning torches. People were running and screaming, and smoke was billowing everywhere. It was horrible! It was almost as if I was there."

"Happen horses are like people, and some have a greater sixth sense than others," Meghan suggested.

"Still, it would be a rare Talent in a human to see so clearly. This be an uncommon horse indeed. I have always wanted to ken how it is he came to find ye in Aslinn when ye were sick indeed with the fever. Cloudshadow was convinced he traveled the Auld Ways, and indeed he had sense enough to take ye to the Tower o' Dreams where Cloudshadow and Brun could tend ye. I will come down today to speak with him and see if I can read his mind. Has Riordan looked in on him?"

"I do no' think so," Isabeau responded, "but I can ask him to." She finished the last of her porridge and reluctantly stood up to go. She loved Meghan's rooms in the Tower of Two Moons. The spinning wheel in the corner, the piles of books and scrolls, the crystal ball on its clawed feet, and the faded globe of the world on its wooden stand, all reminded her of the treehouse where she had grown up. Isabeau missed the serene beauty of the secret valley, where all the animals were her friends and every track and cave familiar to her. She would have liked to stay with the Keybearer, listening to her tales of the heroic past and playing with the little donbeag, but Isabeau's day stretched before her, crammed with duties and responsibilities.

"Bide a wee, Beau," Meghan said suddenly. "I wish to talk with ye a moment." Isabeau gladly sat down again, though the old sorceress's face was creased with concern. "I am troubled in my heart about the Ensorcel-lor's babe," she said. Immediately Isabeau stiffened. "Ye did no' come to the meeting last night and so ye missed the latest news from the countryside. It was no' good. Ye remember Renshaw the Ruthless, the last Grand-Seeker? Well, news came in last night from Blessem. Apparently he's gathered together an army and raised Blairgowrie against us. They have proclaimed Bronwen the true Banrigh, and call Lachlan the Pretender. The Righ was in such a rage last night, I have never seen him so black and bitter."

Isabeau clenched her fingers together, fear coiled cold as an adder in her stomach. Gita crawled from Meghan's lap to hers, patting her wrist with his black-tipped paw and nestling his silky head into her palm. She ignored him. "Do ye think he means to harm Bronwen?" she asked harshly. Meghan hesitated. "I do no' ken. My heart rebels at the thought that he might harm her, his own niece, but he has always hated the very thought o' her and indeed he casts dark looks at her, especially since wee Donncan was born. He thinks o' her as Maya's spawn, no' Jaspar's, and indeed she will always be a threat to him while she lives."

"But she is only a babe!"

"That does no' matter, Isabeau. Have ye forgotten all I have taught ye o' history and politics? Do no'

forget Jaspar named her heir and she was proclaimed Banrigh at his death. Banrigh for only a few hours, it is true, but Banrigh nonetheless. Lachlan's hold on the throne is slender indeed with the countryside torn by war and famine and the threat o' the Fairgean closer than ever. He canna afford rivals to the Crown."

"So ye think he is right to fear and hate her!" Isabeau cried.

"O' course he is right to fear her, he is Righ, Isabeau, and must always be thinking o' the future. Eileanan needs a strong Righ, and one with a secure claim to the throne. We canna afford to be fighting our own people as well as threats from without! If he canna settle such counterclaims and rebellions, Eileanan will be at war for many a long year. Nay, Isabeau, he is right to be angry."

"What will he do?" she whispered.

"First he must put down the uprising and wipe out Renshaw once and for all. The Grand-Seeker is a dangerous man indeed, and we canna afford to allow sympathy for the seekers to run unchecked. Lachlan will have to ride into Blessem and take back Blairgowrie, a distraction we could do without at this time, for Blairgowrie lies right on the edge o' the land held by the Bright Soldiers, and we have no' the strength to be taking Blessem back piece by piece just yet."

"I mean about the babe."

Meghan sighed. "What the young fool should do is keep Bronwen by his knee and treat her kindly, raise her to love him so that she would never want to stand against him. She and Donncan would grow up together, and happen they would grow into love and be married, then any dispute over the throne be laid to rest, for they would rule together. But I fear Lachlan is no' a man to see so clearly. He has always had a bitter, impatient temper and his hatred o' Maya is so deep, so profound, I canna see him laying aside his prejudices so easily."

"What am I to do?" Isabeau whispered.

Meghan reached out her thin, gnarled hand and patted Isabeau's knee. "Watch her well and keep her safe, my dear, it is all ye can do. I will speak to Lachlan and remind him that any misfortune to befall the babe would always be suspect and would turn many against him who would otherwise support his rule. He is no' entirely a fool and has much to occupy him these next few years. Once the country lies easy under his hand, he will no' fear her so much."

Isabeau nodded and gave the velvety fur of the don-beag a final stroke before passing him back to Meghan.

"I must go," she said. "My students in herb lore will be waiting and I have no' yet looked in on the infirmary. What time shall I meet ye at the stables?"

"I have much to do today," the Keybearer replied. "Make it just before sunset, for I have to be at the palace soon after anyway." Isabeau nodded and hurried away, much troubled in her heart. She made her way back to her rooms to gather up her herb bag, hurrying through the palace halls which were as always thronged with people. Her gait hastened as she reached the upper corridor, for she could hear Bronwen wailing in distress. She swung open the door and halted in shock on the threshold. The Righ stood inside, scowling angrily, holding the baby awkwardly above a deep bowl of water, one hand gripping her neck so tightly the flesh bulged between his fingers. Water dripped from her naked limbs all over the floor. The golden-red light of the leaping flames played over her scaled body making her gleam opal and mother-of-pearl and sharply defining her delicate, flowing fins. Bronwen twisted her head toward the door, recognizing Isabeau's step, and the young witch could clearly see the gills fluttering just below her ear. Her mouth was wide open and roaring, her whole face wrinkled in distress, her eyes squeezed shut.

"What are ye doing?" Isabeau cried.

"Seeing if my memory served me well," Lachlan snarled. "I thought I had no' been mistaken at Samhain!

See, she is clearly a Fairge, this niece o' mine. This is the babe they wish to place on the throne, this black-blooded
uile-bheist!"
His fingers tightened and Bronwen screamed louder, her scrunched-up face red as beet.

Isabeau flew across the room and tried to seize the baby, but Lachlan would not release her.

"This is the babe they wish to rule the land!" he cried, shaking her. "For this, they would disinherit me and my laddie?"

Isabeau managed to wrest the screaming child from him, clutching her to her breast. Lachlan picked up the scepter from the table, the Lodestar blazing white, and held it before him like a sword. "Keep her away from me," he said through clenched teeth. "By the Centaur's Beard, keep that
uile-bheist
away from me and my son!"

Once he was gone, Isabeau sank down into her chair, wrapping the wailing child in a warm shawl and soothing her with rhythmic pats. Fear held her throat closed so she could hardly breathe. The soft sound of the door opening made her jerk her head up in fear. It was only Sukey, though, hurrying back inside with her arms full of linen, her pretty, apple-cheeked face pink and rather anxious.

"Where have ye been?" Isabeau asked harshly. "What made ye leave the babe all alone?"

"It was the Righ, my lady. He sent me off to run an errand for him and said he'd mind the babe while I was gone. I did no' want to leave her, men never knowing wha' to do wi' a babe, but he insisted." She hesitated, then said stumblingly, "I be sorry, my lady, if I did wrong, but he was so insistent, and he was in such a temper I dared no' argue but just tried to be quick as I could."

"His Highness was in a temper?" Isabeau asked carefully.

"Black as thunder, he were, my lady," Sukey answered earnestly. "Prowling about as he does and clutching the scepter so tightly I feared the hilt would break. And the babe were bawling her wee heart out, bless her soul."

Bronwen stirred, rubbing her closed eyes with tiny fists and making a whimper of protest. Isabeau stroked the baby's damp, soft hair and tried to keep her voice level as she thanked the maid and dismissed her. Despite the warmth of the fire, she was cold and huddled her shoulders into her plaid. She would never leave Bronwen again, she vowed, rocking her. From now on, the baby banprionnsa would go everywhere she did.

Isabeau made her way to the mews just as the sun was settling down behind the tall rampart; the baby was on
her back,
wrapped in a shawl Isabeau had tied over her shoulder. She could hear Lasair's shrill whinnies and the stamp of his hooves on the cobblestones as she entered the dim stables. Riordan Bowlegs was leaning over the side of the stallion's stall, smoking a long pipe. He looked up as she came in and gave her a gap-toothed smile. "How are ye yourself, Red?" he asked. "Looking a wee pale. Did ye no' sleep well last night?"

"I be well, Riordan, and ye?" Isabeau answered, mustering a smile.

"Och, I be right dandy," he replied. "Fine horse ye have here, though nervy and bad-tempered. He will no' let anyone near him, no' even myself, and ye ken I learnt the horse-whispering from a thigearn himself."

Isabeau nodded absent-mindedly, and the old groom went on, "He almost killed one o' the lads today when he tried to slip a halter on him. We wanted to check his hooves, but there was no getting near him. He just about kicked the back wall, and puir Owen got a right nasty blow to the stomach."

"Is he all right?" Isbeau asked, whickering to the red stallion to quieten him as he reared and tested his weight against the wooden wall.

"Aye, he'll be just grand. Lucky he's a nimble lad and got out o' the way fast enough. The head groom is no' happy, though, he says all the neighing and rearing is disturbing the other horses and he fears for his men."

Isabeau laid the baby down in a nest of hay and slipped into the stall, whickering reassuringly. Lasair danced nervously, backing away from her. "He does no' like being confined to the stall," she answered.

"And he has no desire to be harnessed by a strange man."

"Ye had best keep him calm," Riordan said, "for the stable master will no' allow him to distress the other horses."

Isabeau nodded and ran her hands over the nervous stallion, soothing him and telling him all was well. He leant against her, shoving his head urgently against her breast. The sound of a halting step on the cobblestones made him start and back away nervously, and Isabeau stroked his nose gently with her hand.

"So this is the one?" Meghan said, coming to stand next to Riordan. Immediately Lasair reared, eyes rolling white, hooves threshing the air. Isabeau staggered back and fell as the stallion bucked wildly, smashing his hooves into the wooden wall behind him. Again and again he plunged, and deep in Isabeau's mind, she heard him scream:
It is ye! False, treacherous witch! Breaker
o' faith!

He threw his weight against the wall, then spun and kicked the door. The wood splintered and broke. Again and again he kicked out with his powerful hindquarters, until the door was smashed into fragments. Then, with a wild toss of his mane, he leapt over Isabeau and out of the stall. He reared over Meghan, hooves flailing the air as she scrambled back in shock and fear, Gita shrieking from her shoulder. Foam flew from his bared teeth, and he neighed in resounding challenge, sending the other horses whinnying and plunging. Isabeau scrambled to her feet and ran to catch his head, but he was bucking and rearing so wildly she could not get near him. He kicked out viciously; but with a cry, the old sorceress had fallen. He pawed the air over her prostrate body and would have brought his heavy hooves pounding down upon her if Riordan had not seized a long pitchfork and menaced him with it. In utter shock and dismay, Isabeau called his name and tried to get near him to calm him, but the stallion leapt away from the sharp tines of the pitchfork, eyes staring white, and galloped down the stable. One of the grooms tried to stand in his way but the stallion knocked him over and fled out into the courtyard. Isabeau could hear screams and frantic neighs as he churned through the yard.