The Witches of Eileanan (31 page)

Lasair was cantering anxiously back and forth on the high green hill behind the cottage. Isabeau raced toward him, afraid they might be seen from one of the windows. She vaulted easily onto the stallion's back and they galloped away from the village of Quotil as if evil spirits were pursuing them. Lasair was very disturbed by the sight of his old mistress, afraid he would be caught again and subjected to the humiliation of bridle and saddle, spur and whip. So he ran like the wind, needing no urging from Isabeau, who was very glad to have the breeze of the moors again blowing in her face.

All day they rode, heading due south and staying away from the occasional village nestled into the side of a steep hill.

By sunset, they came over a high hill to see the wide loop of the Rhyllster shining between dark trees. Starting as a small spring deep in the Sithiche Mountains, the Rhyllster wound its way through the green valleys of Rionnagan to the sea, strung with Jochan
like diamonds. It
was the lifeblood of the country, allowing produce from the farms to be ferried down to the towns and cities of the lower country, and metals, tools and city-made goods to be distributed in the highlands.

Below the hill where Isabeau stood, the river swelled out into a loch where pale mist drifted, concealing the dark waters. On the shore a large town spread out, just beginning to prick with lights as the dusk fell. Isabeau sighed with relief at the sight. It had taken her a month to make the journey out of the Sithiche Mountains to Caeryla, much longer than she had expected, thanks to the ensorcelment of Skeelie Manissia. Though Isabeau would not admit it even to herself, the talisman she carried in her pack was weighing her down with responsibility, and she would be glad of the chance of shifting some of that weight to older and wiser shoulders. For the last day it had been burning and tingling against her, and the closer she came to the loch, the more it hurt her. Now it was so hot to the touch that she had had to wrap it in layers of cloth before she could carry it. Even then it seemed to throb against her hip, and she looked forward to handing it over to Meghan's friend. She wondered whether she would still be waiting for her at Tulachna Celeste, more than a moon after Meghan had sent the message. She would have to worry about that when she got there, though, for first she had to make her way past Caeryla.

The sight of the town, piled inside its stone walls like children's wooden blocks tumbled in play, made Isabeau think of the last time she had been here, eight years earlier. She remembered it as a bright, cheerful town, hung with lanterns and streamers, its streets thronged with people, its loch perpetually drifting with mist. Clapping her heels to Lasair's side, she trotted down the slope of the hill toward the water, thinking of soft beds, hot stew and company.

It was a sharp disappointment, then, to ride up to the gates and find the streets beyond dirty and deserted. She hesitated a little before entering, having expected to lose herself in crowds. However, the lure of food and a bed was too much and she let Lasair trot under the overhang of the gate. At once a guard stepped out of the shadows, holding up a hand for her to stop. Isabeau's pulse quickened as she pulled the stallion up.

"Name?"

"Mari Collene, sirrah," Isabeau answered.

"Business?"

"Herb lore, sirrah. My granddam is a skeelie, and she sent me down to buy rare powders for the healing."

"Is that so, lassie? And wha' village be ye from?"

"Byllars," Isabeau answered, as Meghan always had.

"Byllars, hey? Ye've traveled a long way." The sentry stepped forward and peered at Isabeau's face. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, showing a mouth missing most of its teeth. "Well, ah, I s'pose it be fine . . ."

Just as she was about to spur the stallion forward, he reached up a hand and caught her bridle. "Just a moment, lassie, where'd ye get the horse? Wha' is the granddaughter o' a simple skeelie doing with a horse like this?"

"The stallion belongs to my da," she improvised quickly. "He did the local laird a great service and when asked wha' boon he would like, he asked for a colt bred from the laird's own stable."

For a moment she thought the story would hold, then the sentry suddenly stepped forward. "Let me see your hair." Before she could think of something to say, he had dragged her plaid away from her head, and her red plait fell down from under her tam-o'-shanter.

"Och, so I thought," the sentry said. "A redhead, just as she said."

Isabeau tried to yank the reins out of his fingers, kicking Lasair in the ribs, but the sentry raised one hamsized fist and hit her on the side of the head. Isabeau fell downward into a roaring darkness.

When she woke, it was dark and she was lying on a pile of straw that stank of urine and mold. Panic rising in her throat, she tried to twist upright, but her hands were bound tightly behind her back so she could hardly move. She took several deep breaths and tried to locate where she was. It was cold and dank, and there was a stone wall behind her, slick with moisture. After a moment her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she could see, far overhead, a square where a few stars glimmered between straight lines that could only be bars. So, she was in some sort of prison. Isabeau ground her teeth. To be caught so quickly! She should have realized an alert would be out for the witch-sniffer's horse! The penalty for horse stealing was death by hanging, she remembered, and felt terror foul-tasting in her mouth.

After a few moments of writhing in anger and fear against her ropes, she fell back against the straw with a muffled groan. Dressed only in her breeches and a thin shirt, the cold of the stone floor struck up through the stinking straw. She strained against the ropes again and tried to unravel the knots by thought alone. However, without being able to see the knots it was impossible to undo them, and at last Isabeau wept in pure frustration. Once her tears were spent, however, she was able to think more clearly and she considered her situation carefully. Concerned as she was about the perilousness of her situation, it was the loss of the magic talisman and the betrayal of Meghan's trust that worried her the
most. If she could only
manage to escape and retrieve the talisman.' All night Isabeau tested her strength against the ropes and turned over several plans, each more improbable than the last, and at last
slipped off into an uneasy doze.

A few hours before
dawn, she woke abruptly and lay rigid in the straw, straining to hear again the small noise that had disturbed her. At first there was only silence and then Isabeau heard again the scuffle and patter of paws that meant her cell had been invaded by rats. Most other girls would have screamed, but Isabeau felt relief fill her. Tentatively she opened her mind and sent out a simple thought-image of greeting.

There was an answering scuffle and she felt something warm against her legs. Isabeau shuddered despite herself but kept the slow trickle of mind-pictures that she hoped would be understood. The rodents did not have the sort of language that was easy for humans to speak, primarily because they relied on instinct, body language and smell, and try as much as she liked, Isabeau was simply unable to communicate the niceties of her meaning by the angle of her whiskers or a twitch of her tail.

Chew rope!
she imagined over and over again, but it took a long time before they even listened, for the rats were consumed by a ravenous hunger that left little room for any thought. At last, though, a rat began to nibble at the ropes, drawn by the smell of blood from her chafed wrists. Soon Isabeau was able to wrench her wrists apart with a small cry of pain, and then undoing her ankles was easy.

The small seed of hope which had flared up soon died though, for Isabeau could find no way out of her cell. After the circulation had returned to her numb limbs, she struggled to her feet and began to explore the room. She seemed to scrabble around in the darkness for hours, without any benefit but the warming of her limbs, and the discovery that her cell was exactly eight steps long and four steps wide. There was a barred door in one corner, and the window set about fifteen feet off the floor, and that was it.

Isabeau had never before encountered a door bound by iron, and she found the metal was unresponsive to her magic. If it had simply been barred, like all the doors Isabeau had seen before, she would probably have escaped straightaway. However, the door was locked and the key removed, and Isabeau had no idea how a lock even worked. She probed it with her mind for a long time, but was unable to shift it. At last, exhausted, she slumped back into the straw and fell asleep once more.

When she woke the third time, the tiny square high in the wall was beginning to lighten, and footsteps were coming down the corridor outside. Isabeau quickly wound the rope back round her wrists to give the illusion that she was still tied up. However, the deception was unnecessary for no one came in. A tiny grate in the bottom of the door was opened and a wooden platter containing moldy bread and a jug of water was shoved through. Examining the unappetizing meal and remembering her daydreams of hot stew made Isabeau wince, but she had not had a good meal since she had left the skeelie's cottage and she was starving. Consequently she fell onto the moldy loaf like a ravenous wolf, throwing a few crumbs toward the rats who were glaring at her from the straw. After her hunger and thirst were appeased, she re-examined the door in the light of day. It was a massive door of oak, bound with iron, and fitted snugly into the doorframe. Isabeau was able to move the bolts back by stint of much concentration, but she still could not open the lock. She had just switched her attention to the rusty hinges when she heard footsteps marching down the corridor again. By the time her door was being opened she was back in the straw pretending to be asleep.

"Who forgot to shoot the bolts!" she heard someone say. "Lady Glynelda would have our heads if she knew!"

Mention of the witch-sniffer did little to reassure Isabeau, who made much of yawning and pretending to wake. Once her eyes were open she saw standing just inside the door two guards in the red jackets and green kilts of the common soldier. Beside them was one of the biggest men Isabeau had ever seen, almost seven foot tall and as thick as a tree. He wore a scarred leather jerkin and had a black hood over his head that caused a small whimper to escape her.

"I see ye be having your usual effect on lassies, Blyn," one of the Red Guards laughed. "Sometime I mun ask ye to teach me how ye do it."

The hooded giant gave a growl and the Red Guard stepped back involuntarily. Blyn then shouldered his way into the cell, which suddenly appeared half the size. Isabeau tried not to cower back on the bed of straw, but it was more than she could manage. She had never been so frightened before in her life. He stood over her and said gruffly, "Get up."

Although her knees were quivering, Isabeau managed to rise, keeping her hands behind her back so they would not notice the loose ropes.

The Red Guards stepped forward too. "Ye are under arrest on suspicion o' stealing a stallion which belongs to the Lady Glynelda, Grand-Seeker o' the Awl and Regent 0' Caeryla. Ye are also charged with the most foul and heinous crime o' sorcery, and for using your sorceries to steal this horse. The penalty for such crimes is death by drowning."

Isabeau opened her mouth to protest, but the other Red Guard stepped forward and slapped her so hard across the face that she fell back against the wall. "Ye will be put to trial this afternoon before my Lord Serinyza and his judges," he said, "and if the charges o' witchcraft be proven ye will be put to the Question thereafter. When the Grand-Questioner is finished with ye, ye will be executed by water."

Isabeau sobbed quietly, pressing her burning cheek into her shoulder. She had never been hit before, Meghan preferring to discipline her in other ways. The shock of the blow and the guard's confidence that she would be executed combined to fill her with something approaching despair. Then she realized the guards were still standing over her, leering quite openly at the glimpse of flesh below her torn shirt.

"I never stuck a witch afore, should be quite an experience," the soldier said, lifting his kilt.

Almost before Isabeau understood his words, the hooded guard had stepped between them with a grunt and a jerk of his thumb toward the door. Both soldiers protested his interference vociferously but he snarled, causing both to back away nervously.

"Havers, Blyn, ye should have said ye'd marked her out for yersel'," one said.

Their words caused terror to rear again in Isabeau's throat, and she measured the giant's size, wondering if she could take him by surprise and escape. To her relief, he went out after the guards and relocked the door. Hearing how the key turned in the lock gave Isabeau some idea of how it worked, and desperation lent her courage. As soon as the sound of the guards' footsteps had died away, she again began to probe the lock with her mind.

After delicate tinkering, she began to understand the mechanics of the lock, hearing little clacks as the levers within moved up and down. Sweat sprung up on her brow, for she was manipulating air in a way that she never had before. One by one she shifted the levers into place, and heard a loud click as the lock sprung open. She sat back on her heels, her head swimming, then turned her attention to the wooden bar across the outside of the door. It took much longer to throw back this time, and when at last it was unbarred, Isabeau was sick and dizzy with the exertion. She waited until her breath was calm again before daring to ease the cell door open.