The Tower of Ravens (61 page)

“Look, was that the tree that fell? Isn’t it enormous? No wonder it took so long for ye all to clear the road!” Felice called, pointing down the hillside. An immense oak tree lay tumbled to one side of the road, smashed and broken. They could see where it had fallen through the undergrowth, tearing up bushes and scarring the ground.

“Ye ken, I wronged the laird,” Rafferty called back. “I really had begun to suspect him o‘ making up the fallen tree to try to keep us at Fettercairn.”

“Me too!” Felice said.

“What rubbish,” Edithe said. “Ye people have such imaginations. Laird Malvern is far too noble and upright a man to stoop to such a subterfuge. Why on earth would he want to do such a thing?”

“Why indeed?” Landon said.

“Next ye’ll be telling me ye believed all those terrible lies that satyricorn girl made up!”

“I do believe her,” Landon said defiantly.

Cameron snorted. “Ye would.”

“Well, I believe her too,” Felice said. “Even if she did kill that Yeoman, doesna mean she wasna telling the truth about other things.”

“My dear Felice, what an innocent ye are,” Edithe said.

“That’s enough, Edithe,” Nina said sharply. “I think we should leave any discussion o‘ Rhiannon’s guilt or innocence to the judges in Lucescere. Let us just concentrate on getting her there safely.”

Lewen said nothing. He was very tired.

They came to a sharp corner, the road doubling back on itself, and now they rode back towards Fettercairn Castle, which loomed high overhead, ravens wheeling above its two grim towers. The vast expanse of white, falling water dominated the view. The shadow of the cliff fell over them, cold fingers of spray stroking their faces and hair. At last the road turned again, the cobblestones dangerously slippery with the damp, and they faced out into the sunlit valley again, feeling an immediate sense of relief. Six more times the road switchbacked, and then they came down a long, low decline that led them gradually out into rolling meadows where goats grazed by the river. They were able to quicken their pace until the great brooding cliff was lost to sight behind them, and on all sides there was only open pastures, small copses of trees and tilled fields, with the broad river winding through the middle. The air smelt sweetly of apple blossom.

Rhiannon woke during the afternoon. Lewen had been riding close to the red caravan, straining his ears for any sound from her, but for hours everything had remained quiet. Then he heard a cry of pain and alarm, then a sudden banging noise, and knew she had woken. Nina heard it too, and compressed her lips. Lewen made a move as if to go to her, and Nina shook her head at him sternly. For a while, they listened as Rhiannon fought to free herself, then Nina handed the reins to Landon and swung round to the steps, opening the door and going inside. Riding as close as he could, Lewen could hear nothing more than a rising and falling murmur of voices. Argent sensed his unhappiness and danced restively, but Lewen hardly noticed. After a few minutes Nina came out again, her face expressionless, and swung herself back to the driving seat. Everything was quiet.

The sun was getting low in the sky when Argent suddenly pricked his ears forward, whickering loudly. Lewen was roused from his miserable abstraction to look about him. He felt a sudden jolt of excitement as he saw a familiar black winged shape flying behind them, keeping close to the dark line of the woods. At once he glanced about but no-one else has noticed. After that he saw Blackthorn often, though the winged mare was taking care to keep herself hidden. It cheered him immensely, knowing Blackthorn had not abandoned her rider, and he wished he could let Rhiannon know.

They soon came to a village, and Nina and Iven decided to make camp for the night near the safety of its lights. Nina was eager to buy fresh supplies, being determined not to touch a single mouthful of the food given to them by Lord Fetterness. The apprentices were all glad to dismount, looking towards the village lights eagerly. None of them had been fully able to shake the unease they had felt while staying at Fettercairn Castle, and the idea of having a few drams in the village inn and talking with ordinary people cheered them all. All, that is, except for Lewen, who was racked with misery and guilt. He would have liked to stay with the caravans and try for a chance to speak with Rhiannon, but Nina would not let him.

“Let her be, lad,” she said, as she poured away every drop of the soup and wine and medicines that the castle servants had packed for them.

“But I need to try and explain to her…”

“I’d rather ye left her alone, Lewen,” Nina said, a stern note hardening her voice. “To be honest, I’m no‘ sure I can trust ye no’ to help her escape. As sympathetic as I am to your distress, she is an accused murderess and the Rìgh has trusted us to bring her to the courts.”

“Please, Nina…”

She shook her head. “Nay, Lewen. I want ye to stay away. Come with us to the village, and drown your sorrows with the other lads. There are times it can do ye good. Besides, this is the closest lowland village to the castle. They must’ve heard tales o‘ Fetterness. I want to hear them.”

So Lewen found himself accompanying Nina and the others to the village, while a rather cross Rafferty was left behind with Iven and Lulu to guard the camp and their prisoner.

It was a clear, cold evening, with the wind shaking the black branches about and the sky over the mountains very red as the setting sun stained the clouds. Everyone was full of talk and conjecture, for nobody had felt free to talk freely while under Fettercairn Castle’s roof. Only Lewen did not speak, even when Edithe said she had always thought Rhiannon a sly hoar-weasel or when Maisie wondered if it hurt to be hanged.

Linlithgorn’s inn was rather small and rough, but it was crowded with farm labourers, milkmaids, eel-fishers and plump crofter’s wives with red hands and cheerful faces. The talk was all of the weather and the spring sowing, and despite himself, Lewen found his mood eased as he drank his dram of whiskey, ate a solid vegetable stew with dumplings, and listened. The strangers were all greeted with jovial good spirits, and Nina told them a much edited version of their adventures.

The news they had come from Fettercairn Castle was met with great interest. “Och, they’re an odd people, up there in the highlands,” the innkeeper’s wife said as she ladled them a second serve of stew. “Keep themselves to themselves, they do. Every now and again we get a family coming through, heading for the ports and hoping for work. Terrible stories they tell. We dinna believe most o‘ them, o’ course, those highlanders are all a wee touched in the head, but still… enough to make ye check your doors are locked twice over. Ye can never be too careful.”

Under Nina’s gentle questioning, the innkeeper’s wife expanded like dough in the warmth. She had nothing much new to tell them, except that a few travellers had gone missing in recent years, along with one lazy farmer’s boy, who was prone to leaving his goats to wander as they pleased while he went fishing or fell asleep in a hayrick.

“If it’s stories o‘ Fettercairn ye want, ye should ask auld Martin. He came down from the castle nigh on twenty-five years ago, and married a local girl. He’s full o’ stories, like all those highland dreamers.”

“I’d like to hear his stories, if we have time,” Nina answered. “Where can I find him?”

The innkeeper’s wife jerked her head towards the fire. “He’ll be entertaining the drinkers,” she said dryly. “I’d ask him now, afore the whiskey muddles him more than usual.”

“Thank ye, I will,” Nina replied and rose and made her way towards the fire, Roden swinging off her hand, Lewen and Landon following close behind. The others stayed where they were, Cameron calling for more whisky, though Felice turned to watch them with curious eyes.

A group of men sat before the fire, some playing trictrac, others gambling on the roll of the dice. A tall, thin man sat folded up on a chair, staring into the flames. He had a crinkled brown face and melancholy grey eyes, and was dressed in a rough smock and leather gaiters. He was telling some tale, which he illustrated with dramatic gestures of his hands. As Nina approached there was a sudden roar of laughter, and one of the men cried, “Och, pull the other one, Martin! Ye and your auld tales.”

“I’ve heard ye’re a grand storyteller,” Nina said gently, pulling a stool towards her and sitting down at the thin man’s gangly knee. “Will ye tell us a tale?”

“Give me a dram o‘ whisky and I’ll tell ye two, and happen throw in a song as well,” Martin said, lifting his dreamy eyes to Nina’s face. “Ye’re a witch, ye are. I like witches.”

“That’s good,” she answered. “We’ve just come from a place where witches were hated, and I dinna like that at all.”

“Och, ye’ve been at Fetterness, have ye? Bad place. Very bad place.”

“Why? Why is it such a bad place?”

He stared down at his empty cup and ruminated. Nina glanced at Lewen, who went back and took the whisky decanter from Cameron, despite his howl of protest, and brought it to top up the old man’s clay mug. Martin tasted it thoughtfully, swirled it round his mouth, swallowed, then sipped again. When his cup was empty, Lewen filled it up again.

“I was born in Fetterness, ye ken. More than fifty years ago. They were the good auld days, indeed they were. The Tower o‘ Ravens still stood and the town was filled with laughing students who bet on which cockroach would scuttle away the fastest, or which raindrop would reach the bottom o’ the pane first. Lairds and prionnsachan came to the valley to consult the witches’ wisdom, and the MacBrann could often be seen crossing his silver bridge, his cloak flying in the wind, his guards and servants trying to keep up. He was no‘ mad then, nay, he was sane as ye or I. But then that was afore the Day o’ Betrayal, when the whole world went mad.”

Martin stopped and drank some more, then looked round the little circle of rapt faces. He was indeed a master storyteller.

“Jaspar, who was the Rìgh then, he had married for love, like all young men, and like all young men, he found love can be a cruel joke.” His grey eyes came to rest on Lewen’s face. “His pretty wife Maya had her own plans, and one cold winter’s day the whole world found out what they were. Jaspar had given her a legion o‘ soldiers for her own, and she dressed them in red, like she wore herself, and smiled at them and young men came flocking to serve her. That cold winter day her soldiers struck at every witches’ tower in the land, and threw them down, and Maya declared the witches were traitors and should be killed, every one o’ them.”

He looked back at Nina. “Ye are too young to remember, but I, I remember it well. My family worked at the tower and so I was there, a lad o‘ only five. I remember the screaming, and the black smoke everywhere, and the way the soldiers went through every room and hall, killing every witch they found, and any who dared to defy them. Most were put to the sword, or were crushed under the falling masonry as the soldiers used their machines to drag down the walls. Some they dragged to the garth, and tied upon a great pile o’ firewood and burnt them to death, feeding the flames with the books from the library. I hid down the well, and so they didna find me. My parents both died, though neither were witches. So, ye see, it is no‘ a day I’d forget easily.”

Nina nodded, her mouth twisting.

“When at last I crept out, I didna ken where to go or what to do. At last I went to the laird. Where else would I go? They gave me a job scrubbing pots in the kitchen. I was grateful. At least I was warm there, and had food. It was there that I heard what had happened. For the Tower o‘ Ravens was very strong, ye ken. No pretty red soldiers should’ve been able to throw it down, no’ with those high walls and lookout towers and all those witches with their far-seeing and clear-seeing skills inside. And then there was Fettercairn Castle itself, built to guard the road. How had the soldiers got through? I myself did no‘ much care, being too young and full o’ misery to wonder, but the servants at the castle wondered very much, and I listened as they talked, like young boys do.”

He rested his gaze now on Roden’s mop of bright, curly hair, nestled in against his mother’s side as he sat at the floor at her feet. Then he looked back at Lewen and suddenly his gaze seemed very clear and intent.

“The laird’s younger brother was then staying in the castle, and I heard many mutters against him. He had been an apprentice once, just like ye, my lad. A witch’s apprentice at the Tower o‘ Ravens, but he had been disgraced somehow. Cheating at exams, I think, though it was so long ago, I canna be sure. Happen it was trouble over a lass. There’s always trouble over lasses. Anyways, he’d left the tower and gone to the capital, and by all accounts he was very sore at the witches who had been his teachers and fellow students and swore revenge on them. When he came back, he wore a long red robe and said he was in the Banrìgh’s pay now.”

“A Seeker?” Nina breathed. “Laird Malvern was once a Seeker?”

The old man flashed her a glance. “We called them witch-sniffers, for they sniffed out magic, but I’ve heard them called Seekers too.”

Nina nodded, her dark eyes burning bright. “So he was a Seeker! Och, that explains a lot.”

“The red soldiers were his friends,” the old man continued. “He had brought them to visit Fettercairn, and they had gradually filled up every spare room, till the laird was very impatient and told his brother they must go. But they did no‘ go, they attacked the Tower o’ Ravens instead, and though I dinna ken whether it be true or no‘, it was said Malvern, who’s laird now, showed the redcloaks the secret way to the tower, so they could come in darkness and stealth, and attack from within.”

Nina and Lewen exchanged quick glances.

“Later, after the laird and his son died, Malvern put aside his red robes and became laird himself. For a while all went well, for he was a favourite o‘ the Banrìgh. But once the Banrìgh was thrown down, well, he retreated inside his castle and I hear he hardly ever comes out now. That was when things in Fetterness went from bad to evil, I heard, though I had left by then, hoping to leave evil things behind me.”

“How did the laird and his son die?” Nina asked persuasively, and Lewen topped up the old man’s cup.