The Cursed Towers (18 page)

"The Awl is finished!" Lachlan spat. "It's dead and gone!" Renshaw laughed again. It was a cold, mocking sound. "I think ye will find the Awl is alive and well," he replied. "It is your pitiful attempt at seizing the throne that is finished. We shall give ye no quarter,
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Ye shall die, and all who stand with ye shall die as well." Renshaw raised high the baby again, shouting, "Long live Bronwen NicCuinn, long live the Banrigh!" The Red Guards cheered and shouted the* words, banging their daggers against their shields again so the air rang with the sound. Lachlan and his party rode back down the hill with the derisive sound loud in their ears.

That night, the circle of winking campfires around the town was far thinner, with dark gaps in its fiery garland.

Staring down at the besiegers, the commander of the Blairgowrie garrison smiled, leaning his elbows on the parapet. He said contemptuously to his captain, "See, already the cowardly curs are deserting the young Pretender. His Eminence was right when he said his army would flee at the might o' the Truth. It shall be like whipping a child, to break that young fool's blockade." His captain grinned and poured them another dram of whiskey. "Let's drink then, to the triumph o' the Awl! We shall crack that laddie like a cockroach beneath our heel."

"To the triumph o' the Awl!" the commander echoed, swallowing down his dram with a ferocious smile. Maya was careful to keep her exultation from showing on her face. Her daughter and victory so close!

She had heard the rumors that Renshaw and the Red Guards had the little banprionnsa but had hardly dared give the stories credence until now. It had seemed so unlikely that Isabeau the Red had taken Bronwen to Lachlan's enemies. It had seemed far more likely that Bronwen had been murdered at the young Righ's behest, and Maya had been riven with anxiety at the thought. With Bronwen dead, all her hopes of regaining power would be smashed, for she was not naive enough to think Eileanan would give her the throne when she was merely the widow of the former Righ.

She hid her mouth with her mug of ale, keeping her eyes lowered, as the soldiers around her discussed the confrontation between Lachlan and Renshaw and the likelihood of victory on the morrow. The Graycloaks were edgily confident, reminding each other that the young Righ had a few witch tricks up his sleeve, though Maya could tell much of their confidence was mere bravado. She herself was feeling more assured of success than she had been since Jaspar had died. She had overseen many a confrontation in the past sixteen years and had been surprised and rather disgusted by the confusion of Lachlan's ragtag army. True, he was only young and untried, but many of his advisers had served under his father, Parteta the Brave, and should have known better.

Maya had left Lucescere on the heels of the army, as had many of her fellow whores. The Shining City was to be left with only a skeleton garrison, and there was good money to be made as a camp follower, though the work was dirty and undignified. She and the other whores had found lodgings in a small town some miles north of Blair-gowrie and had hired a cart to take them out to the army encampment once darkness fell. They knew that many a young soldier would pay well for what could be their last embrace. Maya was not really interested in the money, though any coin she could add to her jealously guarded hoard was welcomed. It was news of her daughter she was seeking, and she knew she had to stay near Meghan and the young MacCuinn for that.

Maya had been horrified when the palace chambermaid had told her about Browen's disappearance. All that was left of the little banprionnsa were a few clothes and a jeweled rattle, which Maya had hidden under her skirt in the hope Wee Willie would be able to use it to find Bronwen. She had taken the rattle to the wizard a few weeks after the army had left Lucescere, when she thought she would likely be safe from betrayal. She had had to wait until the waning moons were both dark, the best time for working black magic such as the casting of a curse.

The streets of Lucescere had been deserted that night, the only light shed by the occasional lantern hanging on a street corner. Maya had huddled her shawl close about her face, for the nights were still cold even though spring was well advanced. The stars swarmed thickly in the narrow gaps between the roofs but she had no glance to spare for their beauty. Every nerve in her body was coiled tight, and she had to consciously unclench her fingers from the neck of the sack she carried close to her body. If the sack was stolen, she would lose her chance of revenge against the young MacCuinn. However, if she was searched by any of the city soldiers, she would be arrested and executed. Inside the sack was a scrap of MacCuinn tartan, a tuft of black and silver hair taken from the Righ's brush and, most importantly, a long glossy feather plucked from the Righ's wing. The young chambermaid had done well. The warehouse was dark, the surrounding streets empty. Maya could hear nothing above the roar of the waterfall, but she listened for a long moment anyway, unable to shake a sense of unease. Determinedly she told herself the dwarf would not betray her. The lust in his eyes at their last encounter had been hot and unfeigned, and Maya was used to inspiring obsessive love. Surely he would rather keep their bargain and have his chance at her than break faith for gold he could not use? She reminded herself that the Righ and his Coven of Witches were far away, then crossed the road and knocked gently on the door of the warehouse.

The old man let her in, holding a shaded lantern so only a thin ray of light fell on the ground. Muttering to himself, he led her through the piles of junk and broken furniture toward the secret door. Everything was silent. Not even a mouse scuffling disturbed the heavy hush. Maya tried to calm her racing pulse, holding her head high and listening with every nerve strained. As she closed the wardrobe door behind her she thought she heard a faint sound, like a breath being released. Slowly she climbed the stairs and, as she stepped into the dwarf's overheated room, nonchalantly pulled back a chair so it stood near the door. The dwarf rose to meet her, smiling and rubbing his hands together. He wore a long dressing-gown of opulent silk, hanging open to reveal a hairless, sunken chest, and purple slippers on his feet. Maya averted her eyes. "Ye see I am here, as arranged. Are ye already to do as ye promised?" He poured wine for her, saying affably, "No need to be so hasty, my lady. Let us drink together, relax a little."

Reluctantly she took the wine and sipped it. He pulled her down beside him on the chaise-longue. One hand caressed her breast eagerly, and she drew away from him. "Business first," she said, trying to hide her revulsion.

"Nay, payment first," he leered. "I am looking forward to it very much." Maya shook her head. "No. No' until ye have done as ye promised." He tried to persuade her, but she stood up, saying, "I have heard there are many cursehags selling their wares in Lucescere. I shall go to them with my business if ye will no' help me." He pouted and shrugged. "Well, if ye wish a mere cursehag to do the job . . . but they will no' have the strength or the subtlety o' the Wizard Wilmot."

"But their price is far lower," she replied harshly and picked up her sack as if to go. He seized her wrist. "Nay, be no' so hasty," he said. "Tell me what it is ye wish me to do." She eyed him suspiciously, then slowly drew the jeweled rattle out of the sack. "Can ye tell where the child who held this is?"

The dwarf took it, closing his eyes for a moment, then shook his head. "I canna tell where the child may be," he said. "She is too far away, or there is a sea or mountains between us, or some form o' magical shield."

Maya thinned her mouth in frustration and fear. "Can ye tell if the child is alive still?" He squeezed his pudgy fingers over the rattle, concentrating, then shrugged. "Nay, I canna tell. Happen the babe was too young to give much o' her personal energies to the toy." Maya took the rattle back with a cold feeling around her heart. She then drew out a long snake of copper hair. The wizard stared at it in surprise, but took it as she directed, and concentrated hard. After a moment he shrugged and said, "Certainly a braid o' hair is easier than a mere rattle, but still it is hard to tell. I sense cold . . . and loneliness . . . but where I canna tell. I am no MacRuraich." Maya slipped the red-gold hair back into the sack with an acute sense of disappointment, wishing she could command the MacRuraich as she had once done. He had betrayed her, though, along with the other prionnsachan. Now she had to rely on such unreliable tools as the dwarf. Wee Willie smirked at her and tried to fondle her breast again, saying, "So are ye ready to seal our bargain, my lady? I presume ye have no' changed your mind?"

Maya stepped away from him, saying, "Ye must cast the curse first."

"Have ye a lock o' hair for me, or some fingernail parings?"

Slowly she reached into her sack and withdrew the glossy black feather. He recognized it instantly. "But that would be treason!"

"Whom did ye think I meant when I said I wanted ye to curse my bitterest enemy? O' course I meant the Winged Pretender," Maya said impatiently, wondering at the odd note in his voice.

"I thought it were some other whore, or perhaps the brothel owner," Wilmot replied shrilly. "Do ye no'

ken how dangerous it would be to curse the MacCuinn? The most powerful sorcerers in the land surround him, and it is said he has some witch skill himself. He would be closely guarded against such bad-wishing, and the curse would simply recoil on me. I will no' do it."

"We made a pact, Wilmot," Maya said cajolingly, leaning forward slightly so the curve of her cleavage deepened. "Are ye no' as clever as any o' those Tower witches? Are ye no' as strong?"

"I be stronger!" the dwarf boasted, and she sunk gracefully onto the chaise-longue in a billow of skirts so she no longer towered over him. Lowering her eyes, she crooned, "Shall ye no' help me, Willie? Shall ye no' save me from these desperate straits? I ken ye can cast a curse o' great power. Will ye no' help me?" Unable to take his eyes from the pale skin revealed by her low-cut gown, the dwarf hesitated. "All bad-wishing can be turned away by a strong mind and will, no matter how strong the wizard casting the curse," he said slowly. "It takes subtlety as well as strength."

"Are ye no' the great Wizard Wilmot?" she cried. "I know ye can do it." He frowned like a sulky child, flattered against his will. Very softly, so he had to lean forward to hear her, she crooned, "I need ye, Willie, please, shall ye no' help me?" For a moment she thought she had won him, for he swayed a little, his eyes glazing. Then he flickered a quick glance toward the door and said loudly, "Nay, I will no' do it. I am a loyal citizen and shall do no harm to the rightful righ. Ye ask me to commit treason!"

All Maya's suspicions suddenly flared into life again. Quick as a thought, she leapt to her feet and kicked the chair hard against the door. "Ye think to betray me?" she hissed. He cringed back in fear and cried shrilly, "Quickly! She has guessed! Come to me!" Maya heard loud, hurried steps on the stairs, then a shoulder was thrust against the door, jammed closed by the chair. So livid with anger she could barely see, she dragged her dagger from her sleeve and brought it flashing down. It slipped easily through the flesh of the wizard's breast, hit bone, grated and slid sideways, embedding itself to the hilt. Blood spurted, and the dwarf looked up at her with a surprised expression on his face. For a moment she had to look into his eyes, then they rolled up and he fell. Her stomach rebelled, and she had to stand very still, breathing heavily through her nose, to avoid vomiting. Her hand was stained with blood, the hem of her gown too. Mechanically she wiped her fingers on her skirt, then stood and stared down at the dead man at her feet. Although her mind screamed at her to hurry, she could not force her limbs to move.

Then the door splintered. She caught up the wing feather and thrust it back in her sack. Looking around her wildly, she swept the wizard's paraphernalia off the little table into his chest and slammed it shut, fastening the clasp. Then she picked up the chest, and with all her strength, hurled it through the windows at the far end of the room. As soldiers swarmed into the room, she dived out of the smashed window, falling down into the great surge of the waterfall that plunged past and down the cliff. The Shining Waters fell more than two hundred feet into the loch below, and Maya fell with it. Even though she transformed into her seashape as soon as the water swallowed her, she was so pounded and bruised by its monumental force that she almost lost consciousness. She hit the water below with tremendous force, but automatically straightened her body and arms so that she cut through it like an arrow.

Deep below the surface she plunged, her nostrils automatically closing to keep the water out, the gills on either side of her neck opening wide. The Fairgean could dive deeper than three hundred feet without harm, a natural reflex slowing the heart rate and reducing their consumption of oxygen. Although Maya was thrust deep into the loch, she was only dazed and she eventually was able to slow her descent, then twist and strike for the surface.

Beneath the falls the water boiled like a maelstrom, and she had to fight to keep from being sucked under again. Kicking out with all her strength, her fingers touched the bobbing wizard's chest and she clung to it, using its buoyancy to help her swim clear of the pounding waters.

At last she crawled out onto the shore of the loch, shivering with cold and exhaustion. The strength her anger had lent her had dissipated, and she retched weakly, trying to thrust away the memory of the way her knife had slid into the dwarf's flesh, how he had stared at her like an astonished child. At last she fell asleep where she had fallen, soaking wet still and aching in every limb. In the cold dawn she had woken and began rummaging through the wizard's chest. To her satisfaction, she had found it stuffed with bags of coins and jewels, the magical paraphernalia including bottles of rare dragons' blood, mandrake roots and, best of all, his thick spell book. So well made was the chest that everything had still been dry, and Maya had been able to read the spidery writing in his book quite easily. Just the thought of the dwarf had been enough to turn her sick and cold. She had had to force herself to turn the pages as she struggled to understand the spells and incantations within. Maya had always thought it was the magic of the Mirror of Lela that had enabled her to disguise her Fairge features and transform her enemies into birds, horses, wolves, rats or whatever creature had most amused her. Since the dwarf had told her such magic was innate, she had tried many times to cast the spell of glamourie herself but had failed each time. The casting of illusions was not a skill of the Fairgean and so she had never been taught how to do it.