The Cursed Towers (8 page)

"What are his feelings toward her?" she asked.

"What does it matter?" he answered.

She pulled out of his arms so she could look up into his face. "It matters because I fear he means harm to the babe!" she replied hotly.

"Well, she shall always be a threat while she lives, I suppose," he answered, sliding one arm about her waist. "Come, Isabeau, will ye no' kiss me?"

She submitted to his embrace again, but he could only rouse a half-hearted response from her. "Did ye find Lilanthe?" she asked, and he gave a sigh of frustration. "Nay, I did no' really look for her," he answered. "Did ye want me to?"

"I just be worried about her," Isabeau responded, and the color ran hot into her cheeks. "I mean, after she found us like that."

"Her timing was no' the best," he agreed with a chuckle. She could not look at him, and began to mumble something, but he stopped her mouth with his hand. "Do no' be saying it, Isabeau," he said roughly. '"I am no' sorry at all, except that I wish she had stayed away longer. Do no' be saying ye wish it had no'

happened, or that ye should no' have done it. I've wanted nothing else since I saw ye again in Caeryla ..."

"So what
was
ye in the square?"

"Aye, and sorry I am indeed that I could no' be rescuing ye!" he cried. "I've been thinking o' nothing else since I heard it was ye. I wish I had known ye had been captured! I saw only the glimpse o' ye and could no' get any closer, what wi' the crowds—"

Her downturned face was bitter. "Aye, throwing their rotten vegetables and stones," she said, and unconsciously she cradled her maimed hand in her other.

Dide grasped it, peeling back her glove so he could kiss the pitted scars, but she snatched her hand away and would not let him see. He tried to draw her back into his arms, but she resisted, saying, "I had best be getting back, Iseult will be wanting me. Will ye see if ye can find Lilanthe, it's worried indeed I am about her."

Dide watched her go, a troubled expression on his face, then kicked the tree with his shabby boot so snow fell in a shower onto his head and shoulders. With a curse he shook it from his crimson cap and followed after.

It was several days before Isabeau at last found a weeping greenberry tree huddled in the shelter of a wall in the garden. She leant her hand against the smooth bark and called Lilanthe's name, but there was no quiver of the bare branches in answer, no indication that the tree was anything but a tree. Softly Isabeau pleaded with the greenberry tree, stumbling to explain and reassure, but there was no response and at last she left the tree-shifter to rest dormant in peace.

The Red Stallion

Isabeau was in the classroom at the Tower of Two Moons, her head bent over a scorched textbook, when she heard a timid knock at the door. All the pupils looked up as their teacher Daillas the Lame gave an impatient grunt and called, "Come in!"

The freckled face of one of the stablehands peered rather nervously round the heavy door. "Be Isabeau the Red here?" the boy asked. "She's wanted at the palace." Isabeau got to her feet with a resigned shrug, the other apprentice witches looking at her enviously. They would have welcomed any interruption to their struggles with the alchemical tables, but few ever had the chance to escape their classes. Isabeau was often called away, however, to solve a problem in the infirmary or to assist the Keybearer Meghan.

Isabeau cast a longing glance at the book and Daillas said gruffly, "Take it with ye, lassie. Ye may get a chance to study it, and it be a shame indeed to interrupt your lesson when ye were so close to solving the problem."

She gave him a quick smile of thanks and tucked it under her arm as she followed the boy back through the snowy boulevard. Isabeau loved her lessons at the tower and wished she could devote more time to her studies, but it seemed someone always needed her elsewhere. Unlike the other apprentice witches her age, Isabeau found the hours at the Tower of Two Moons were never long enough. She had already progressed far beyond her classmates, thanks to her thorough grounding by Meghan of the Beasts, who had raised her. Although Meghan had rarely given her any lessons in witchcraft and witchcunning, Isabeau had been taught much about the theory and philosophy of the One Power, which her fellow apprentices were now struggling to understand. Most importantly, she had been raised to think of magic as natural and intrinsic, while the others all had to overcome a lifetime of indoctrination against the use of sorcery.

To her surprise, Isabeau was led to the stables. Although she loved horses, she had had little time to visit the mews since her arrival at Lucescere Palace. Gladly she breathed in the rich odor of horse, hay and manure, lifting her skirts clear of the straw-strewn cobblestones. In the central courtyard ostlers were rubbing down steaming horses, carrying buckets of water and vigorously cleaning tack, while a group of excited grooms surrounded a bent, bow-legged old man sitting on a barrel. At the sight of Isabeau they fell back in confusion. Once they would have shouted ribald greetings, but now that they knew Isabeau was the Banrigh's sister, they bowed and touched their tam-o'-shanters and murmured shy courtesies.

"Riordan!" she cried. "It's grand to see ye!"

The old groom gave her a gap-toothed grin and waved away the others with a testy comment. Once the stable-hands had gone back to their work, he struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his gnarled staff.

"Grand to see ye too, my lassie. Sorry indeed I am to be calling ye away from your book learning, but I thought ye might like to ken the lairds are taking out a hunting party to ride down a herd o' horses that's been running wild through yon Ban-Bharrach hills. They say a red stallion is leading the herd ..." Isabeau, following the old man into his quarters beside the carriage house, stopped with an exclamation. Riordan Bowlegs looked back at her with a knowing grin on his wrinkled face. "Aye, if I remember rightly, ye often came back to Rhyssmadill wi' red hairs on your skirt after one o' your trips into the forest, no' to mention a strong smell o' horse."

The apprentice witch sat down by Riordan's fire with a troubled expression on her face. "I wonder if it is La-sair," she murmured.

"Is that your horse?" he asked. "The one ye used to ride?"

"Aye," she answered, "though he is no'
mine.
He is a free horse." He nodded wisely. "Ye sound like a thigearn when ye say that. They too think o' horses as friends and colleagues, no' slaves to their will. The Righ's cavalry master does no' think so, though, and ye ken the Righ, Ea bless his heart, needs horses for his army. They ride out tomorrow at dawn wi' whips and ropes to capture them and mean to break them this week."

"I canna let them do that," Isabeau said, distressed.

"I canna see how ye can stop them," Riordan replied. "They need the horses, and the red stallion has been stealing mares from the farms for his herd and breaking into barns in search o' oats and corn. They say he is a rogue indeed."

"I must warn him," Isabeau said, getting to her feet.

He glanced at her quickly. "Obh obh! It's talking to the horses, are we?" She nodded. "Lasair is my friend. I promised him he'd never again be subject to whip or spur."

"But that is the way o' the world, lassie," Riordan said, troubled. "The cavalry master will be angry indeed if ye stand in his way—it's a fine herd o' mares the stallion has gathered together and we need them for the war. I have a better thought. If ye and the stallion have a connection, why do ye no' ride out wi' us in the morn and speak to him? It's hard pickings in the mountains this winter and here we have hay and corn. Happen he'll be happy to bring the mares in and that'd save us all a might o' trouble." Isabeau hesitated. Already an early dusk was dropping, bringing with it a flurry of sleet. She had been up since before dawn and she had no wish to ride out into the chill darkness in search of the stallion, even if she could persuade the head groom to lend her a pony. Under her arm was the book Daillas had lent her, and her inclination was to curl up with it by her fire. So she nodded and agreed, hoping Lasair would not find her arrival with a mob of men a betrayal.

Isabeau and the stallion had been friends and comrades from the time she had first seen him in the Sithiche Mountains, soon after she had set out alone from the secret valley where she had grown up. The chestnut stallion had helped her rescue Lachlan the Winged from the Awl and had carried her willingly in her desperate flight to Rhyssmadill with one third of the Key that Meghan now wore at her breast. They had always understood each other easily, and had achieved that deeper level of communication normally reserved for witches and their familiars. There was some strange link between them that kept the stallion near her, despite his hatred of men and his determination to run free.

Early the next morning, Isabeau dressed in a pair of sturdy breeches, pulled on a woolly tam-o'-shanter, and wrapped herself up in her plaid before venturing out into the freezing darkness. In the stable yard horses were neighing and prancing as the men mounted up, well pleased to be riding out of the city in search of some sport. Since the hunting of wild boar and deer had become a task of necessity rather than pleasure, many of the lairds had lost their taste for it and were looking forward to a different quarry. Isabeau caused some comment by refusing to ride with bridle and saddle, particularly since Riordan Bowlegs had led out a feisty, high-spirited mare for her. She controlled the horse easily, however, whickering in her ear before vaulting smoothly on her back. Some of the lairds whistled in appreciation, and Isabeau smiled and pulled off her tam-o'-shanter to bow in acknowledgment, the mare rearing in a graceful levade. They rode out of the courtyard with a clatter of hooves and trotted through the quiet city toward the Bridge of Sorrows which crossed the Ban-Bharrach River to the south. By the time they had ridden into the forest on the other side of the river, the sun was rising over the snowy hills. Isabeau nudged her sorrel mare up beside the black stallion of Anghus MacRuraich, the Prionnsa of Rurach, and one of Lachlan's most trusted advisers. The MacRuraich had been instrumental in the success of the Samhain rebellion and was spending the winter at Lucescere with his daughter, Fionnghal. Like many in the MacRuraich clan, Anghus had a Talent for searching, and it was his responsibility to lead the hunting party to the wild horses. Isabeau wanted to make sure she was among the first to find the herd and had already used her authority as the Banrigh's sister to make the cavalry master promise he would not try to lasso the stallion until she had first tried to use her influence upon him. It was long past noon when the MacRuraich at last reined his stallion to a halt. "The herd is just beyond that rise," he said softly.

The cavalry master tested the wind, then nodded. "We're downwind still, which is a bonus," he said.

"Come, let us ride to the top o' the rise and see what we find there." He nodded rather brusquely at Isabeau. "Ye may try and approach the stallion then, but I warn ye, if the herd runs, we'll be quick in pursuit, no matter your objections," he said shortly. "The Righ needs those horses!"

She nodded and whickered to the mare who broke into a light trot which took them rapidly to the copse of trees on the hill. From their shelter she looked down into a wide, open valley where a large herd of horses grazed. Many were the rough-coated, nimble-footed horses that had roamed these hills for many years, but here and there among them she saw the glossy hides of domesticated mares, some still with halters trailing a broken rope. A tall chestnut stallion was scraping away the snow with his forefoot to reach the thin grass below, and Isabeau's face brightened at the sight of him. She dismounted and warned the mare to keep quiet with a pat of her hand. Then she slowly began the descent into the valley, carrying with her a small sack of oats.

Lasair's head immediately lifted, and he sniffed the air with flared nostrils. Isabeau gave a welcoming whinny, and the stallion tossed his bright mane and broke into a canter which took him round the herd of mares, urging them closer together. She whinnied again, and he danced a little and whinnied in response. From the copse of trees on the slope another whinny came, and Isabeau cursed under her breath, for she had hoped to keep her companions hidden for the time being. Lasair's head swung in that direction, and he gave a cry of challenge, rearing back on his hind hooves. Isabeau whickered placatingly, moving slowly and steadily across the valley floor toward him. He cantered back and forth, and she spoke with him softly and confidently, slowly undoing the neck of the sack so he could smell the oats. He came to her willingly, pushing his nose against her breast before burying it in the sack. She made no attempt to hold him or mount him, just told him with her voice and her mind what she wanted him to do. He was quick to understand there were men nearby, and his eyes rolled back and he danced away skittishly. Isabeau spoke on, her voice as soothing as she knew how, her body movements slow and assured. In her mind's eye she pictured the cozy stables, the mangers filled with oats, the loose straw in which to roll. A few of the mares clustered close, whickering, their ears pricked forward. Lasair was undecided, and Isabeau had to make many reassurances and promises before he at last lowered his head and allowed her to mount. With the herd of mares streaming behind, they cantered across the valley to where the cavalry master and his men waited.

Many of the lairds were rather disgruntled that the expected chase and tussle had not been necessary, but the cavalry master was pleased, and his tone was far more respectful on the long ride back to the city. He had no wish to risk his horses in a gallop across rough terrain, or any desire to spend a night out in the forests, which were still infested with bandits. Most importantly, he reserved his respect for those who could manage a horse, and Isabeau had more than proven herself in his eyes. It was dark by the time they came back across the Bridge of Sorrows, and they had to hammer on the gates to be allowed back into the city. Lasair tossed his head nervously, and many of the mares grew skittish as the reek of the city met their nostrils. The tall, narrow houses loomed over them, almost meeting overhead in some places, and Isabeau had to exert all her will to keep the herd of wild horses from breaking and running. At last they reached the open space of the palace grounds, and the horses were herded into a large meadow where hay and fresh oats were scattered for them. The stallion's eyes rolled white as the bars of the gate slid into place, but Isabeau stayed with him, rubbing him down with a twist of hay and soothing him with her voice. At last the horses were settled for the night and, stiff, sore and tired, Isabeau was able to make her way back to the palace.