The Pool of Two Moons (53 page)

Maya said softly, "My babe, Latifa. Does she sleep? May I hold her?" It was the first time she had asked to see the baby, and Latifa's heart bounded with joy. "O' course, my lady," she replied and went through to the Righ's suite with a light step.

"The Banrigh wants her babe," she said jubilantly to Isabeau, who immediately frowned and held the sleeping child closer to her.

"She sleeps."

"It will no' harm her to be held by her mother for a while, Red. Let me take her through." Isabeau rose to her feet, adjusting the babe so she slept within the crook of her arm. "Nay, she'll wake if we hand her around too much. I will take her."

Latifa followed her back into the Banrigh's suite, cooing over the sleeping child. "See how thick her lashes are? Jaspar's were just like them when he was a babe. She is dark as any MacCuinn too, though o' course there is no white lock . . ."

Maya was sitting up, looking more vital than Isabeau had yet seen her. She held out her arms for the baby and, feeling oddly reluctant, Isabeau handed her over. Bronwen woke and began to wail, rubbing at her screwed-up eyes with both tiny, crumpled fists. Isabeau .stepped forward to take her back and soothe her, but Maya frowned and gestured her away. Rocking slightly, she began to sing a lullaby. Her voice was low and husky, thrilling with tenderness. Almost at once the baby quietened, staring up at her mother's face with unfocused blue eyes. Then she smiled, a dreamy baby's smile that caused a lump to come into Isabeau's throat. Chuckling a little, Bronwen reached up for her mother's curve of night-black hair. Maya shook her head so her hair tickled the baby's face and Bronwen laughed. Glancing at Latifa's face, Isabeau saw the cook was entranced by the sweetness of the song. Tears glistened in her little black eyes, rolling down her fat cheeks. She clasped her hands at her breast and gave a little sigh as the lilting lullaby came to a close. "Come," she whispered as Maya tenderly began to sing another tune. "Let us leave the Banrigh wi' her babe. I think all will be well now."
The Tower of Two Moons

The moons drifted amongst clouds, their light falling haphazardly upon the forest. Ahead looked a lofty, crenellated rampart, black against the sky. Finn was tense with excitement. Her stomach fluttered, and she twisted the hem of her tunic into knots. At her heels scampered the elven cat, so dark and small she was totally invisible in the night. In the satchel on Finn's back were her climbing gloves and boots, and she was dressed from head to toe in black. Her bleached hair was covered by a dark tam-o'-shanter and her neck was muffled with a thick black scarf that she could draw up to conceal her face. It had taken them more than a month to travel from the Fang to the western wall of Lucescere, slowed by the difficult terrain and stormy weather. It had been a painstaking and difficult process crossing the Muileach, for the river thundered out of the very mountain itself, carving a deep, sheer-sided gorge through the rock. Finn had had to climb across the cliff face, driving in stakes and tying ropes to them to form a precarious bridge the soldiers could cling to.

Jay had almost fallen, saved only by the safety rope the soldiers had tied to his waist. Tragically he dropped his precious violin. In horrified silence they all watched as the old fiddle was smashed to pieces on the rocks and swirled away in the foam. Jay wept as he was hauled to safety, but no one badgered him, feeling tears tight in their own throats. Jay's fiddle-playing had enchanted them all. The journey through the Whitehart Forest had been fraught with danger. No human had walked its dark avenues for sixteen years, and the forest was thick with wild boar, timber wolves, woolly bears, and various unfriendly faeries. The wolves were especially active, howling around the campfire at night and slinking through the undergrowth by day.

One day they disturbed a nest of gravenings, giving them their worst moment. Gravenings were always hungry and had been known to steal babies and young children if they could not find lambs, chickens or coneys to steal. They certainly could have lifted six-year-old Connor in their claws and carried him away if they had been allowed to reach him. The Blue Guards soon beat them off, though, and they screeched away, their filthy hair trailing behind them.

They encountered no soldiers in the Whitehart Forest, for the woods between Lucescere and the mountains were never patroled. Once there had been a gate that opened in the huge rampart, but this gate could only be unlocked by those of the MacCuinn clan, and so had not been opened in sixteen years. Lachlan thought the Red Guards might not even know it existed.

It was Finn's task to climb the wall and open the gate for the rebel force camped in the forest outside. Lachlan had given her the MacCuinn crest, which was the only way to open the gate. Although the walls around the ruined witches' tower were only lightly guarded, it was still a difficult and dangerous task for an eleven-year-old. Iseult had to remind herself she was only five years older and would have been as impatient with their concerns when she was Finn's age. Resolutely she thrust her fears away, whispering to Finn, "Are ye ready, lassie?"

Finn nodded, gripping her hands together in nervous anticipation. She was confident she could climb the wall, having practiced using her clawed gloves and boot frames every day since leaving the corrie. It was the possibility of being captured by the Red Guards and taken for questioning by the Awl that so perturbed her. Finn had been free of the Awl for a year now and had no desire to fall back into their hands.

She picked up the warm, furry body of her kitten and snuggled her close to her chin, finding comfort in the faint purr that thrummed the tiny body.
It is a long way, Goblin, are ye sure you can make it?

The kitten's purr deepened in response, the soft paws kneading the skin of Finn's neck. The little girl carefully tied the string around the elven cat's neck and checked it was securely fastened to a long piece of cord, which was in turn tied to a slender but strong rope. She gave the kitten one final head rub, then put Goblin down. With a barely audible miaow, the kitten leapt for the wall and began to climb, her claws digging into the ancient blocks of stone. Within moments she was invisible, even when one of the moons drifted out from behind the clouds, criss-crossing the ground with squares of silver. The rope jerked sideways, and they all followed it, knowing the kitten was searching for something to thread the cord through. There would be iron racks for weapons that the slender little cat could easily climb through. They all had to trust that she would choose one out of the direct line of sight of the patrols. The trailing rope came to a halt, and they waited nervously, watching the battlements for any sign of guards. Suddenly the rope flew upwards, making a slight swishing sound as it whipped through the dead leaves of the forest floor. In the forest behind them they heard wolves howling, and they moved restively, hands on their weapons.

"What's happening?" Dillon whispered, but Finn did not know and was too wound up to answer. After a long, anxious wait, she felt a warm, furry body winding around her ankles and with a sob of relief picked up the elven cat, who rubbed her head under Finn's chin. "She's done it!" she whispered. "Quick, pull the cord and tie the rope!"

"Let us hope it is well hidden," Iseult said grimly as the soldiers hastily fastened the rope to a spike hammered into the base of the wall, threading it through a special hook on Finn's belt, giving her a taut belay to cling to as she climbed. She had insisted such precautions were unnecessary but Iseult was taking no chances on the little girl falling.

Finn began to climb. It was more difficult than she had imagined. The rampart was angled slightly outwards so she was climbing at a steep angle, and the massive stone blocks were so cleverly fitted that there were no cracks between them. Here and there mosses had loosened the mortar so Finn was able to hammer in a spike to rest her foot or hand upon. Mostly though she had to rely on her clawed hands and feet digging deep into the glossy surface of the rock. The elven cat bounded along beside her, occasionally giving a tiny mew of encouragement.

Finn slipped only once, her hooked hands not gaining enough purchase on the rock. If it had not been for the rope clipped through her belt, she would have tumbled a hundred and fifty feet to the ground below. Instead she swung wildly, trying without success to catch the stone again with her steel claws. At last the little girl was able to hook one glove into the stone, and then a foot. Finn completed her climb with her heart hammering so loud her ears rang. She clambered over the battlements and sat on the floor, her head bowed. As she tucked her spiked gloves and boot frames back in her satchel, the elven cat waited on the flagstones, tail curled over her paws.

The rampart ran the entire length and breadth of the city, a broad walkway along the top for the guards to patrol. Every two dozen feet was a watch-tower, which concealed a staircase leading down to the ground. Finn slipped quietly along to the nearest tower, listening carefully before easing the door open. She descended the dark stairs, the elven cat slipping before her, and came out in a colonnade, slender stone pillars holding up an arched stone ceiling. Beyond was a lawn, and she could see tall hedges and trees.

Lachlan had vividly described the layout of the gardens and tower to her, and so Finn knew exactly where to go. The gate had been designed as an escape route and so was cleverly concealed in the carvings that decorated the western wall. When Lachlan was a boy, the gate had been used frequently for picnics and horse-rides in the forest. Nonetheless, knowledge of the gate's whereabouts had been confined to the family and a few trusted servants, and so Meghan had been sure the Red Guards would not know of its existence.

Silent as the elven cat at her heels, Finn flitted through the delicately arched cloisters until she came to their end. Before her were shallow stone steps with a wide curving balustrade, decorated with urns thick with thistles and weeds. Beyond was a broad garden, surrounded on three sides by the towering rampart.

Seven watch-towers lined the western wall, all joined by the walkway. Finn knew this was the most dangerous part of her expedition, as she would have no warning of when the patrols were passing. She waited until both moons had been obscured by clouds, then ran down the stairs, across the wide courtyard and into the garden. From tree to bush to statue to hedge she ducked and weaved, trying to time her movements with the swift pace of the clouds.

The entire length of the great western wall had been carved with tall arches, inscribed with intricate knots and ribbons of stone. At the apex of each arch was a carving of a stag's head with a crown between its outspreading antlers.

Within every third archway a simple urn was set, which once would have cascaded with flowers. The others held small carvings, about the size of a fist. Finn knew these were the crests of the thirteen witches of the First Coven, alternating with the emblem of this Tower—two crescent moons and a star. The one she wanted was the seventh from the corner. She told Goblin to stay hidden in the shadows, took Lachlan's brooch out of her pocket, then ran swiftly down the wall.

She saw the distinctive stag shape at once and reached as high as she could, just managing to insert the crest into the carving. It fitted perfectly, and she pushed it in with a click. Immediately, the wall of the archway swung free under her hand, a crack of darkness widening.

The gate opened silently and easily, swinging outwards into the dark forest. She slipped through and gave the League's secret signal, the three note whistle of the bluecap swift. Feeling anxiety knotting her entrails, Finn waited, casting nervous looks back over her shoulder into the garden. She whistled again and, to her relief, was answered this time. Out of the darkness came her companions, the puppy Jed bounding ahead, muzzled to keep him quiet. "Quick," she whispered. "The patrols have been twenty minutes apart, and one is due any second!"

Lachlan pushed to the front, sinister in his closely wrapped black cloak. Even in the darkness she could see the exultation on his face. "At last," he whispered. "I be home at last." As the soldiers silently followed him, he took back the crest from Finn and pinned it to his breast, under the folds of the cloak. "Pull the door to but do no' let it click shut," he whispered. "We may need to withdraw in a hurry."

"Remember, there must be no sign that we've been here," Iseult hissed. "If ye must kill, do so silently and dispose o' the body where it canna be found."

"Aye, my lady," the soldiers whispered, and then scattered along the wall, their claymores drawn. One by one they made their way through the gardens, grateful for the rising wind which hid their running footsteps in the scatter of dead leaves and brought clouds to cover the sky. Several times they had to freeze as patrols marched along the walkway above or around the inside of the rampart. They came to a broken archway, stained with smoke. Peering through, Finn saw a wide green garth, cypress trees planted all along its length. In the middle was a dry fountain, broken statues caught in strange contortions in its center. Beyond was a massive building, much of it in ruins. As Finn stared, the moons broke free of the bank of storm clouds and spilled down on the blackened skeleton of a high vaulted roof. At the far end one spire still stood, its graceful height set with tall, pointed windows. The cloisters ran all round its length and great flying buttresses sprang out into the overgrown garth. Finn gave a superstitious shudder and clutched the medallion she wore around her neck. She had heard stories about the ruined witches' tower all her life and, seeing it black and ravaged in the moonlight, found it easy to believe it was haunted by ghosts and banshees. Hundreds of witches had died here on the Day of Reckoning, spitted on the Red Guards' spears or burnt to death in the bonfires. She clutched the kitten closer to her and hurried after Iseult and the others, hoping they would not have to hide out in the tower for long. Although Finn had little fear of anything living, ghosts terrified her. They reached the base of the tower and slowly eased open the huge oak door. Within was darkness, and one by one they slipped inside, feeling their way forward. The sound of the door closing behind them made Johanna squeak, and Finn clutch her kitten closer.