The Cursed Towers (57 page)

"Dillon!" Meghan called. "Dillon, sheathe your sword. The battle is won. Sheathe your sword." Again and again she repeated the words but he ignored her, killing one then another then another. "Dillon, sheathe your sword. The battle is won. Sheathe your sword!"

He killed the last and looked about him blindly.

"The battle is won. Sheathe your sword."

Slowly the boy looked at her and raised the sword. His eyes were blank. Iseult wound on her little crossbow and raised it to her shoulder. "Ye have won," Meghan said kindly. "Ye need kill no more. Sheathe your sword."

Blindly Dillon looked around him. He was shaking with grief and exhaustion. Some sense returned to him. His dazed eyes took in the ruin of the meadow, the blazing town, the black smoke and whirling snow. Then he saw the fallen bodies of Anntoin and Parian lying among the dead. He fell to his knees, looking at the bloodied sword and his arms, red to the elbows. He threw back his head and howled aloud in anguish. The shaggy dog howled with him.

"Sheathe the sword," Meghan said gently when his cry had shuddered away into silence. "The battle is won. Ye need kill no more."

Dillon looked at Meghan dumbly, his face contorted with grief and bewilderment. Slowly he obeyed, wiping his sword on his green livery and sliding it back into the sheath.

"Ye should no' have taken the sword," she said gruffly, bending to lay her hand on his shoulder. "Joyeuse is no ordinary sword. Once it is drawn it cannot be sheathed until it has drawn blood and it will continue fighting until the battle is won. Although it will never be defeated, like so many things o' magic it is as much a curse as it is a blessing. Those that carry Joyeuse come to dread it and rarely draw it. Most die early, even though the sword makes them invincible, for it will never yield and never retreat. I am sorry indeed that ye chose it, Dillon, for ye canna be rid o' it until ye are dead." He looked at her without comprehension. "It's a magic sword?"

She nodded. "Some say it is cursed, though indeed it was forged with the best o' intentions. Normally those that bear it die o' exhaustion before its blood-lust is satisfied. When he dies, someone else will be compelled to pick it up and keep on fighting until the battle is won. It has been known to kill six owners in the one battle before it is satisfied. Joyeuse is a cruel sword indeed." Dillon looked down at the sheathed weapon, so tired and numb with grief that Meghan's words made little sense. She beckoned to Dide. "Take the lad back to Johanna," she said in an undertone. "Tell her to give him some mulled wine with poppy syrup in it and make sure he is clean and warm. He will sleep. He is only a bairn still. Some o' the horror will fade in time."

Dide nodded. He bent, pulling Dillon to his feet, and put his arm around his shoulder to support him. Jed whined piteously and limped after.

Meghan looked back at Ardencaple. Despite the snow swirling all around them, the town was aflame still. Above the conflagration, the seven sons of the queen-dragon soared and swooped, bugling in triumph.

"Let us hope they have no' enjoyed wreaking their revenge on humankind too much," Meghan said bitterly.

Iseult looked rather surprised. "Are ye no' glad?" she asked. "We have won the day now, and the war too, if I am no' mistaken. They will think twice about marching on us again." Meghan nodded and drew her plaid up to cover her white hair. "Aye, happen you are right. Nonetheless, they are fellow human beings burning alive in there, innocents among them. I am sick to the very depths o'

my soul with all this slaughter. Can ye no' feel their terror, their agony?" Iseult looked back at the town. She nodded slowly. "But I'm glad. Glad! My
leannan
lies as if dead and many I knew and cared for are gone. I hope the one who betrayed us was sheltering within that town and I hope he does no' die too quickly!"

Meghan nodded her head brusquely and turned away from her into the snow. Lilanthe stood within a grove of tree-changers, her roots deep in the delicious soil, her body swaying as she enjoyed the warmth of the breeze that blew down the valley. She could hear little rills of water trickling down into the river as the snow and ice melted, and the susurration of the tree-changers' leaves. They were talking among themselves in their deep, thunderous voices and she listened with pleasure. It was time for them to return to the forest, they were saying.
Green grow glad free flow ramble . . .
Free grow ramble,
she replied and they bent their leafy heads toward her, murmuring in welcome and appreciation. Then a few strode away toward the forest, none looking back or making any gesture of farewell. Tree-changers were solitary creatures. They wandered at will through the woods and rarely felt any need for social interaction. Those that stayed did so only because the soil was tasty and the sun warm.

Lilanthe remained with them until the sun was close to setting. Then quietly she pulled up her roots and walked away toward the fires glimmering beside the river. She did not look back or wave or say a word, though it wrenched her heart to be leaving the company of her kin. Lilanthe was half human though, and she longed for companionship.

Dide was sitting on a fallen log, playing his guitar and singing.

"O Ea let me die,

wi' a wee dram at my lip,

an' a bonny lass on my lap,

an' a merry song and a jest,

biting my thumb at the sober an' just,

as I live I wish to die!

So drink up, laddies, drink,

an' see ye do no' spill,

for if ye do, we'll all drink two,

for that be the drunkard's rule!"

The soldiers cheered and laughed, singing along with the chorus. Lilanthe sat with her chin on her knees, her bare feet tucked under the hem of her gown, watching him. All round her weary soldiers sat, singing and drinking their weak ale. Many were bandaged and bruised, for Tomas's strength had been reserved for those hundreds of soldiers maimed by the cannon fire. Those men were now unmarked and strong, for Tomas's healing powers were more potent than ever. The restored soldiers worked to bury the dead and sort through the ashes of the town, now a smoldering heap on its hill, while those with minor injuries sat and rested and recuperated then-strength with ale and song.

Lilanthe sat in the midge-buzzing dusk and wondered what she was to do now the faeries of her army had returned to their forest home. Strangely she did not feel apprehensive of the future.
What Ed wills
will be,
she thought. She accepted a mug of ale with a shy smile and watched as shadows flowed over the serene landscape.

She smelled the strong odor of bear and turned her head as Niall came up the curve of the river, his familiar lumbering along behind. The soldiers made room for him by the fire and he sat, his arm in a sling, his head bandaged. The bear lay down beside him, moaning to herself as she licked her wounded paw. Lilanthe smiled at them.

"Ursa has decided to stay?" she whispered.

Niall nodded, teeth flashing through the darkness of his beard as he reached out to pat the bear's massive, woolly shoulder. "Aye, though I told her she was free to go with the others. For some reason she wants to stay."

"I thought she would," Lilanthe answered.

Niall bent forward and looked at her intently. "Ye stay also?" She nodded. "Though I hope to dance with the tree-changers again," she replied softly.

"Happen we'll see the Summer Tree bloom once more," he said, rather sadly.

"Happen."

They sat in silence for a while. Dide got to his feet and began to walk around the fires, strumming his guitar and singing.

"Och if my love was a bonny red rose,

Growing upon some barren wall

And I myself a drop o' dew,

Down into that red rose I would fall."

Niall nodded in Dide's direction. "He be an auld friend o' yours?"

"Aye, an auld friend and a guid one," Lilanthe replied, turning to look in Mall's direction. "It was Dide who convinced me to join the rebels. He and his grandmother have been kind indeed to me. They risked their own lives for me and Brun."

The little cluricaun sitting on the opposite side of the fire swiveled his ears at the mention of his name but did not speak or join them, too busy emptying a flask of whiskey he had found somewhere.

"A good friend indeed," Niall answered and sighed.

Lilanthe said rather hesitantly, "What do ye do now, Niall? I mean, now we've won the war?"

"We may have won the battle but ye canna say we've won the war, while the Righ lies under the shadow o' a curse and our enemies still plot against us!" he answered rather sharply. "Her Highness has sworn to ride for Arran as soon as we can gather together our forces. She says the Thistle must be behind the curse and she shall no' rest until it is broken and Arran has signed the Pact o' Peace with the rest o'

Eileanan." He paused for a moment then said more gently, "But once my Righ needs me no longer, well then, all I wish for is a wee cottage in the woods, with my own garden for herbs and vegetables, and happen some beehives for Ursa and . . ."

He stopped and Lilanthe said rather wistfully, "What?"

He said nothing for a long while, then said gruffly, "And someone dear to me to love me and live with me till I'm auld and gray."

"It sounds wonderful," she said softly. He turned to look at her, his eyes shining in the dancing firelight. He hesitated then leant forward as if to say something, but just then Dide came to stand beside them, smiling at Lilanthe and singing:

"Och, my love's bonny, bonny, bonny,

My love's bonny and fair to see."

The soldiers all cheered and laughed, some clapping, and Dide bowed to Lilanthe with a flourish and moved away, singing still. Her cheeks felt hot and she curled her toes, digging them into the earth. She could not help giving a little, embarrassed smile and risked a quick glance at Niall. He was watching her but immediately glanced away, calling for more ale and leaning back against Ursa's great bulk. The bear moaned and nudged him with her snout.

The singing went on until the camp cooks were ready to serve up the hard bread and stew that was the usual soldiers' fare. Niall said no more to Lilanthe and she was conscious of a constraint in their usual ease. He sat and spoke instead to the other soldiers and after a while Lilanthe rose and walked away, her earlier contentment vanished. It was a balmy night, the sky dazzled with stars. She wandered along the river, wondering where Dide had gone and what he had meant, if he had meant anything at all. She went away from the town, repelled by the smell of ashes and the aura of pain and terror that lingered there. Soon the campfires were left behind her and there was only the soft motion of the river, the green smell of willows and waterlilies. She came to a thick copse of trees and stood among them, letting little rootlets creep out from her feet and bury themselves in the soil. In this state of half tree, half woman, she stood and let the earth soothe her again.

Lilanthe's extrasensory perceptions were at their most sensitive in this state and so she became almost instantly aware of a clamor of emotion from further up the river. She knew at once who it was who felt such fear and confusion, such bitter shame. She wriggled her roots free of the earth and moved silently upstream.

He was crouched in the shelter of a bush of flowering may, rocking back and forth and keening silently. The tumult of his emotions beat at her and she knelt beside him and said hesitantly, "Laird Finlay?" At once he sprang around like a cornered animal, crying aloud in surprise and fear. She saw his white face and startled eyes and then he scrambled backward and stumbled to his feet. For an instant she saw his tall figure silhouetted against the sky, then she heard his running footsteps as he fled through the trees. In that moment she recognized him.

"It was ye!" she cried. "Ye're the one who attacked me! Why? Why?" There was only the rustle of the leaves and the sough of the river. She felt him running away over the fields, half mad with grief and shame, and knew at once what Finlay Fear-Naught did there and why he ran. Tears choked her and she turned and hurried back to the camp-fires, knowing she must tell Meghan and Iseult.

The Keybearer was in the royal pavilion, for once sitting still, her hands idle in her lap, her face fallen into lines of bitter grief. Gita was snuggled up under her chin, his paw tucked under her collar, his plumy tail wrapped round her throat. Lachlan lay unconscious on his pallet, Iseult holding his hand and watching his face. He could have been dead, he was so white and still, his chest barely rising and falling at all. Duncan Ironfist and Iain sat at the table, drinking whiskey and looking over the maps, their faces set with grim determination.

They looked up as the tree-shifter came in and at once Meghan's gaze sharpened. "What is it, Lilanthe?" She told them what she had seen and felt, and they all exclaimed in dismay.

"Nay, no' Finlay Fear-Naught!" Duncan Ironfist cried. "He canna have been the one to betray us! No'

one o' Lachlan's own guard. He wouldna. He couldna!"

"Lilanthe, are ye sure?"

"W-W-Why? Why w-w-would he do such a th-th-thing?"

"But he was so eager, so loyal," Iseult said, remembering how the young laird had come to them after the Samhain rebellion, his eyes alight with ardor, pledging the new Righ his life and his sword. He had been the first of the highland lairds to throw in his lot with Lachlan and his support had encouraged many others to join also.

"He was thinking o' a woman," Lilanthe said softly. "His heart was twisted with longing and shame. He was sick to his very heart at the massacre in the woods and the burning o' Ardencaple, but still all he could think o' was this woman, her white skin, her voice, her silvery eyes."

"Maya!" Meghan got to her feet, black eyes flashing. "I should've kent!"

"When? How?" Iseult cried. "He was on the march with us for months! How could he have communicated with her?"

"Spies always have their ways," Meghan said harshly. "Carrier pigeons, or a note slipped to a dispatch rider. Who knows how deeply the rot o' betrayal has set in?" She paced the room, her brow deeply furrowed, her hands clenching and unclenching. "Finlay must have told her where Jorge and Tomas would be too. The attacks came simultaneously. I should have guessed when we found him missing from the forest. To think I feared he had come to some harm at the hands o' the Bright Soldiers!" Duncan buried his head in his hands. "So many good men dead," he said harshly. "How could he?"