The Pool of Two Moons (27 page)

"Och, Iain, I am so sorry! Ye sure ye do no' want to make a run for it tonight?"

"No. I think it will be b-b-b-better than I had imagined."

"Oh, she's a beauty then," Douglas said teasingly.

"No b-b-b-beauty, but a sweet wee lass, and cleverer than she looks. Both o' us are subject to the will and ambition o' others, we have that in c-c-c-common at least."

"Tonight ..." Douglas mused.

"Aye. I wonder if ye will be allowed to w-w-w-watch. My m-m-m-mother will make sure there is as much p-p-pomp and ceremony as possible. I may be merely the son o' a lesser 1-1-1-laird, but a descendent o' Foghnan nonetheless." Again there was bitterness in his voice. "I will ask my m-m-m-mother for permission. It is time to move to stage two o' our plans." He asked his mother immediately, pointing out how wise it would be to give the students some greater freedom and privileges now they understood defiance was futile. "Did Foghnan no' say a b-b-blow from an iron fist followed by a s-s-stroke from a velvet glove was the best way to break a m-m-m-man's spirit?"

"Foghnan did no' say it, but it is wise advice nonetheless," his mother said with a grimace. "Ye finally seem to be learning some sagacity, Iain. I have been pleased with ye these last few months, ye have been sensible and done what I have bid ye without any o' these sulks or tantrums I so despise."

"Thank ye, M-M-M-Mother," Iain responded, his tongue tangling despite all his efforts. He hesitated, and said, "It has been in my mind, M-M-M-Mother, that the students o' the Theurgia may benefit from some t-t-t-time in the gardens or on the lake. It is midsummer, yet all are looking rather . . . pale and p-p-peaky. Did ye no' once tell me that one should d-d-d-develop the body as well as the mind, that a true witch should be physically strong and p-p-powerful as well as m-m-m-mentally?"

"Indeed I did, Iain," his mother said warmly. "I have always deplored the way ye spent all your time with your head in a book. Ye need strength o' body as well as strength o' mind to fully realize your potential."

"M-M-My other thought was the children will be much happier and s-s-s-settled if they grow to love the m-m-rn-marshes as we d-d-do. If they saw how b-b-b-bonny it is now, with the cygnets just swimming and the goldenrod and m-m-m-murkwoad blooming."

"True, true," Margrit mused. "I do no' trust them no' to try and escape, though."

"How can they escape?" Iain shrugged. "They ken nothing o' the secret paths and byways, and the M-M-M-Mesmerdean are always aware o' what passes through their t-t-t-territory ..."

"And the bogfaeries are under orders to let none pass that do no' have my authority. Ye are right. If ye or one o' the warlocks are with them at all times, I see no reason why a few canna get some air and sunshine and see the beauties o' our fens. I will give directions to the staff."

"Perhaps as p-p-p-part o' the wedding celebrations?" Iain suggested. "A w-w-w-wedding picnic?" His mother shook her head decidedly. "Nay, it is enough that they are allowed out o' the Theurgia's tower to see ye wed. Too many concessions too soon will only lead to liberties being taken. Tell Khan'tirell to keep a close guard and find them some reasonable clothes. In fact, tell him to prepare the prettiest o' the girls to be Elfrida's maids. She has no-one to carry her train and no attendants other than that hideous woman with the beard. Has the woman never heard o' plucking? These Tirsoilleirean have no idea at all about style. I shall no' be letting that bearded monstrosity in the wedding party, ye can be sure o' that!"

"No, M-M-M-Mother," Iain replied meekly, and received another glance of approbation from the banpri-onnsa.

"Ye are pleased with your bride, then, Iain?"

He took a deep breath before answering carefully, "Indeed, yes, M-M-M-Mother, now I have had time for reflection. She is o' the very best b-b-b-blood, yet shall never think herself g-g-greater than Arran, being an outcast in her own land. She has Talent, I am sure, but has had no training and shall be glad for w-w-what we can give her, and easy to m-m-mould to our will. She was unhappy in her own land and so is happy to be here, and no' longing for her home and family all the time. I think she shall do well." His mother nodded slowly. "Ye seem to be growing into a man, my son," she said. "We will see if having a wife completes the growing process."

Iain bowed his head in acquiescence, trying hard to conceal his exultation. To gain what he wanted so easily! Indeed, his attempt at emulating Douglas's poise these past few months was paying dividends already. Now all he had to do was suffer the wedding, bed his wife (a task Iain was beginning to look forward to), and wait for a chance to break free.

Iseult was woken by her mother kissing her forehead. Filled with well-being, Iseult stretched in the dappled sunshine. The clearing was hung with flowers and a wedding feast was spread beneath the huge trees. Meghan and the Firemaker took her to the pool to be bathed with Meghan's sweet-scented soaps. She stepped out onto the grass and the Firemaker took her dripping hair between her hands and dried it so it sprang into thick, fiery ringlets that hung down her neck. Cloudshadow held out her wedding dress for her to step into. Blue as the summer sky, tendrils of moonflowers in white and primrose-yellow climbed up from the ground and twisted along the neckline. She wore no other clothing, her feet bare, her head crowned with flowers. On one hand gleamed the moonstone, on the other the dragoneye flashed golden.

From the clearing came the sound of laughter and the pound of the hobgoblins' drums. The cluricauns began to play their pipes, reminding Iseult of the Beltane festivities when she and Lachlan had danced together and loved for the first time. She sipped her wine, feeling its warmth spread through her, and wondered at her serenity. She had never thought to marry, yet here she was, only moments away from her wedding.

Meghan chanted the words of the wedding service as Iseult and Lachlan linked hands by the fire. They made their vows just as the sun was just setting, the clearing awash with golden light. Above the hill of the Celestines, the two moons hung, round as coins.

Three times Iseult and Lachlan ran around the fire, keeping their right hands to the flames, then turned and circled three times again, this time widdershins. Lachlan swung Iseult around and, clutching her wreath, she ran with him around the fire three times again. The hobgoblins drummed in heart-disturbing rhythms, the cluricauns piped away on their wooden flutes, and the Firemaker suddenly gave a long ululation of approval. Everyone laughed and Lachlan pulled Iseult to him, kissed her mouth and prepared to jump the bonfire. At first Lachlan hesitated, but Iseult just whispered to him, "If ye use your wings, ye'll be fine, ye fool!"

He cast her an angry look and ran forward so fast she almost stumbled. When they leaped over the bonfire, he spread both wings and for the first time ever, beat them strongly. Both he and Iseult soared over the flames, which hissed and crackled in the back-breeze, and for once it was Iseult faltering behind.

"Ye flew!" Iseult cried. "Lachlan, did ye feel it? Ye actually flew!" He gripped her hand so tightly she gasped, and swept her into his arms to kiss her, to the delight of the nisses, who darted about their heads like dragonflies.

Meghan said, "Ye have sworn to be true to each other, and care for and respect each other, living and loving with courage and kindness and faith. Ye have taken strength from the fruits of the earth, ye have breathed o' the air, drunk deeply o' the water, and dared the flames. Let now your blood mingle and spill, and hold handfast, that your troth be given."

Solemn now, Lachlan cut his finger and Iseult's with the edge of his
sgian dubh,
and they pressed their wounds together above the fire, their blood trickling into the flames. Meghan said, "As your blood mingles, so do your lives and fates. May your path be free o' stones and thorns!" The great square at Dun Gorm was strung with lanterns and crowded with people. All had come to see the Summer Fair, the festival of the jongleurs. On the road for most of the year, jongleurs, minstrels and troubadours came from all over Eileanan and the Far Islands to trade skills and compete against one another. Many old friends were briefly reunited at the Summer Fair, and the city was always filled with travelers who came to watch, listen and marvel.

Enit Silverthroat's and Morrell Fire-Eater's caravans had one of the best positions in the square, and the jongleurs were taking advantage of the large crowd to show off some of their most dazzling routines. Dide juggled swords in a breathtaking sequence; Morrell swallowed flaming brands and spat out fire like a dragon; Nina tumbled, cartwheeled and dived through a flaming hoop, while Enit sang poignant love songs that brought a prickle to the eyes of many. Now she sat on her caravan steps and gravely exchanged greetings with the jongleurs that passed by. Nobody noticed when a passing merchant stealthily thrust a large package into her hands. All eyes were fixed on the great plume of fire Morrell was exhaling.

Dide caught the flashing swords and bowed with a flourish. To cheers and whistles, he ran out of the performing circle and ducked back to the caravan. "Sunset, Coppersmiths Alley," his grandmother said softly as he stepped past her up the caravan steps. He made no indication that he had heard her. Twenty minutes later he came out of the caravan into the dusky apricot of the summer evening. He had changed out of his sky-blue and crimson into brown breeches. He looked more like a clerk than a jongleur.

"I be going to see if Iven Yellowbeard's cart has come," he called to his grandmother, who nodded vaguely as she stirred the stew over the fire. He plunged off into the crowd, twisting through the maze of caravans. Occasionally he stopped and chatted to a fellow jongleur, scanning the people around him with sharp eyes and his witch senses. Once he was sure none followed him or paid him any attention, he ducked out of the square and into the streets of the city.

By the time the sun was setting he was in the metal-smiths' quarter and strolling down the steps that led to Coppersmiths Alley. Children and small dogs were taking advantage of the warm evening to play in the streets, and a few women were leaning out the windows to gather in their laundry, strung overhead like carnival flags. Dide's heart was beating quickly, but he felt none of the prickle of uneasiness that spelled danger. He paused at the corner and looked about him casually, then stepped down into the dark little alley.

Most of the smithies were shut for the evening, but at the far end a tall door stood open. Dide strode up to the door, hesitated as if trying to make up his mind, then stepped inside. Once within its gloom, all pretence of casualness dropped from him. He peered through a spyhole cleverly concealed in the wall, while the old man mending a buckle at the bench checked the doors and windows. Satisfied all was clear, some of the tenseness left them and the old man beckoned Dide into the rooms beyond.

They climbed the stairs to the attic, and the old man pulled back a secret panel to reveal a narrow space in the ceiling. With thatch above and plaster and beams below, it was barely large enough for a man to crouch in. Dide would have to crawl down the center beam, which ran the entire row of buildings in this quarter. One misstep and his foot would break through the ceiling into somebody's attic. He thanked the old man, swung lithely into the ceiling and began to crawl. It was slow and difficult, and Dide had to fight the desire to sneeze as the thatch tickled his nose. He came at last to his destination and felt his knees sag in relief. Carefully he opened the panel and dropped down into the attic. Dide hurried down four flights of stairs, listening always for any sign of danger, and ducked through the empty house to the wine cellar. He knew where to find the false wine rack, swung it open and slipped through into another large cellar, lit by only one lantern. Within were twelve of his fellow rebels, all dressed in the uniform of the Red Guards. They gathered close around him, clapping him on the back and asking after Nina and Enit. Dide had had many adventures with them all, for most witches were brought to Dun Gorm for execution and so the rebels were most active in the capital city. Between them they had saved many witches from a horrible death.

Rapidly Dide changed into a red kilt and jerkin. He drew a sword, bundled in a red cloak, out of his bag, buckled the sword about his waist and wrapped the red cloak about him with a swagger. To the laughter of the rebels, he took a few mincing steps about, waving his cloak and saying, "Och, aye, I be a fine soldier indeed! Such a pretty lad in my crimson finery!" Although Dide was anxious about the task ahead, he knew it was up to him to support his men's spirits.

The cellar had a trapdoor in its ceiling which opened into the floor of a storeroom in the Red Guards'

barracks. The complex had once housed the Yeomen of the Guard, the bodyguard of the Righ. After they had been disbanded, the Banrigh's Guards had taken it over. None of the Yeomen had thought to pass on the secrets of the military headquarters to their successors. Only the rebels knew of the cellar, thanks to Duncan Ironfist.

Dide clambered up first, carefully shifting the discarded furniture that shielded the trapdoor from view. He kept guard as one by one the rebels followed him into the darkness of the storeroom. Concealing the entrance again, they quietly filed out into a small enclosed courtyard. From beyond the wall came the shouts and thuds of men-at-arms practicing their weapon play.

After checking to make sure no-one was in the yard beyond, the rebels marched out. This was where the danger truly began, for they were in the heart of their enemy's stronghold. The barracks' forces were much depleted, luckily, for many soldiers had gone to reinforce the palace and town guard during the Midsummer festivities.

It was from this point on that Lady Luck would take a hand in the dice game, and Dide was not a gambler like his father. He liked to be sure. The jongleur's jaw was gritted tight as he led his men into the center square where soldiers were sparring and jousting. The thirteen rebels kept an easy motion, stiff-backed and eyes forward, and were not challenged as they rounded the square and exited to the side. Dide breathed more easily and found his hands were damp with perspiration. They came to the tower where prisoners were kept. A wave of despair and horror swept over Dide, and he resolutely shut his mind to the building's aura. Several of his companions were also sensitive to atmosphere and paled, but their stride did not falter. He was proud of them. They did not step out into the courtyard before the tower, but waited in the shadows of the corridor, keeping close watch in both directions. The old cook had told them it would take two hours for the contaminated ale to work, and they had timed it closely. Dide could only hope the guards would not decide to wait until they were off duty to celebrate Midsummer.