The Pool of Two Moons (57 page)

"This way!" Anghus called, feeling his blood pounding quick and heavy in his temples. "She's this way!

Hurry!"

Ahead they could see the gates of the palace. A troop of Red Guards were gathered before them, one carrying a small figure slung over one shoulder, a quantity of fair hair hanging down. He drew his sword, prepared to battle the Red Guards there and then, but Casey pulled him back. Seething with frustration, Anghus watched the gates swing open and the troop march through, a tall, crimson-clad seeker at their head. The gates clanged shut behind them.

Anghus cursed and slammed his fist into the wall. If only they had been quicker! They could have surprised the troop in the streets and wrested Fionnghal from them.

"Ye probably would have been killed and the lassie with ye," Casey said comfortingly.

"We shall have to storm the palace, rescue her!"

"It is too soon—we shall ruin all the rebels' plans," Casey objected. "They are no' ready yet. They all wait for Samhain Night."

"Why?" Anghus raged. "Is there any point to waiting? The men are in place, they have weapons, why do they wait? I canna wait! I want my daughter!"

"If ye can follow her, if ye can find where she is hidden, perhaps stealth is better anyway," Casey said. Anghus turned to him with a thankful cry. "Aye! We shall sneak in and retrieve her. My poor Fionnghal, in the hands o' the Awl! I canna stand it."

Donald said, "My laird, I do no' think it is a guid idea to be so risking yourself and your daughter. The Awl have had her for five years—wha' does one more night matter?"

"No' one more night, no' one more hour!" Anghus vowed. "Donald! Casey! Are ye with me? Ye can return to the safe house if ye wish, no dishonor. But I find my daughter now or die in the attempt!"

"I'm with ye, my laird, wherever ye go. Ye ken that," Donald said. "But I think we should go and seek help. We do no' ken the layout o' the palace, or wha' sort o' guard they're likely to keep. And it is half past the hour.

Soon everything will be locked up tight for Samhain. We canna risk being locked out on Samhain Eve, my laird." Some of the glare in Anghus' eyes faded. He nodded. "Very well, but let us be quick about it. I do no' want to lose Fionnghal again.

Dillon crouched in the dark little alley, watching anxiously for his friends. It was well past the hour and there was no sign of them. Jed whined and pressed against him, and he pulled the puppy into his lap, hugging him tightly.

Just then two small figures emerged from the mist and rain, and Dillon recognized Anntoin and Artair with relief. They crouched with him behind the huge barrels, whispering him their news. They had met up with Cathmor the Nimble, who had managed to bring all five hundred of his men into the city, disguising them as refugees. Together with the members of the underground already active in Lucescere, there were several thousand men and women just waiting for the signal to attack the Red Guards. Their bottoms were getting numb from the stone and Dillon shifted restlessly. "Wha' about Finn and Jay?

Where can they be? If they are no' here soon, we shall have to go back without them." They heard running footsteps, then Jay dashed into the side alley, taking no care at all to make sure he was not observed. Before Dillon could reprimand him, Jay had flung himself on them, his dirty face strained and white. "Finn! The Awl has got Finn! She was right— they do know her, and they took her away with them."

"Flaming dragon balls!" Dillon cried. "Wha' do they want wi' her?" Jay shrugged, trying to clear his throat. His voice broke as he said, "The seeker knew about her charm—

he looked at it and smiled, and said he knew this lass and he would take her wi' him."

"Where did they take her?"

"Into the palace. I followed them until I was sure, then ran here as fast as I could. We have to rescue her."

Dillon clambered to his feet, pushing the puppy off his lap. "Come on then, we'd best be moving. We've got news to tell and Lachlan is going to need to know that one o' us is in the hands o' the Awl. We may have to change our plans."

"Finn will no' betray us," Jay cried.

Dillon looked at him gravely. "No' even if they put her to the Question?" Jay said nothing, his face white and miserable.

Isabeau was half asleep in her chair by the fire, listening to the rain striking the windows, glad she was inside. After her months traipsing through the countryside, she had lost all idealism about such adventures, knowing there was no protection from the cold and wet on the road.

Isabeau was very tired. She had tended the Righ all the long day and fought for his life all evening. Each hour that passed he sank further and further toward death. About ten minutes ago the Banrigh had sent for the Righ's council. It was clear even to her that her husband had only a few hours left to live. She wanted him to declare Bronwen his heir and Maya the Regent, and have the documents properly ratified and signed. Isabeau was not, of course, needed for such official business and she had been kindly but firmly told to go and get some rest.

She had been only too glad to obey. Maya had dressed for the occasion in her crimson velvet, and Isabeau found the sight of it almost unbearable. The Banrigh looked very beautiful in the tight gown, its rich color highlighting the ivory pallor of her skin, the blue-black sheen of her silky hair. Her beauty meant nothing to Isabeau. To her that color entailed only blood, terror, agonizing pain. The Banrigh's dress was the original model for the seekers' robes, buttoned to the throat with twenty-five velvet buttons that reminded Isabeau powerfully of Maya's position as the ultimate leader of the Awl. She had been glad to take Bronwen and hide away in the nursery, her severed fingers throbbing in remembered pain. Something knocked against the window, jerking her awake. She got to her feet and walked over to the window embrasures, concealed behind heavy brocade curtains of silver, blue and gold. Outside it was dark. She could see the trees tossing in the wind, the clouds racing across the moons. Perched on the windowsill was a small dark shape. Bending so that her nose was almost pressed against the glass, she saw two bright eyes and a bedraggled tail.

"Gita!" She fumbled to unlatch the window. "Gita, what are ye doing here?" Immediately she remembered Meghan saying she would send someone to her and she smiled. She swung open the window, the wind swirling into the room so the curtain billowed up behind her. She gathered the wet, shivering donbeag into her arms and he crept up to snuggle against her neck. Tears stung her eyes. Gita said,
Sad?

She closed the window again and went back to her chair.
No, happy.

My witch says ye sad and lonely.

I was, but oh; Gita, I am so happy to see ye. Where have ye been?

With your mirror-face.

My mirror-face?

Dragon sister.

Dragon sister?

The donbeag sat up on his hind legs and patted her face with his paws.
Dragon sister. Born of the one
womb.

Isabeau was so flabbergasted she did not say a word. For a moment she thought she had misunderstood the little creature, but he put his paws together and bobbed his head, donbeag for "truth speaking."
Ye have been with my twin? I have a twin sister?

He chittered in agreement, and sent Isabeau an image of a sabre leopard.

She's a sabre leopard?
Isabeau was more confused than ever.

He hooked his claws in her bodice so he could climb up to her shoulder and pat her earlobe in comfort.
Fierce lass. Fierce as a sabre leopard.

She felt excitement fill her. A twin sister!

Where? How?

Dragons.

"Dragons!" she cried aloud, and the baby in the cradle whimpered.
Dragons,
the donbeag repeated. He slipped down into her lap again and curled up in a ball so he could groom his rain-slicked fur.

Where is she?

Near.

Isabeau gripped her fingers together. A twin sister! No wonder she had always felt so alone, as if half of her was missing. Dreams of sisterly love flowered in her mind.
What is she like?

Sabre leopard.

Isabeau frowned. Sabre leopards and dragons did not sound altogether promising.
Where is she? Is she
with Meghan?
Jealousy stabbed her unexpectedly in the stomach.

No, my witch gone.

Ye did no' come from Meghan?

My beloved tell me you sad and lonely, come look after you. I with mirror-face.
Where is Meghan?

My witch not far.

Canna ye tell me, Gitd? I've missed her so much, and I do no ken what it is she expects me to do.
Beloved waits for moons to cross.

Isabeau gave up. The fact that Gita was here meant that Meghan could not be too far away. "Will ye stay with me, Gita?"

Stay till beloved calls me. Watch over you, keep you safe from harm.

Isabeau did not smile. Instead she sighed with gratitude and hugged the donbeag closer. He licked her hand with his warm tongue, and said,
Sleep, I will watch over you.
So she did. It was a nerve-wracking trip back to the ruined tower. By the time they had made their way through the garden, the rain had stopped. It must be perilously close to midnight.

Dillon ran for the tower door first. By the time Jay had burst in, Iseult and Lachlan had all the news. The prionnsa was pacing the floor, his wings upright and slightly spread, his fists clenched. His eyes were bright with tears. "It canna be true, Jaspar canna be dying!"

"But Lachlan, we've been hearing for months how ill he's been. Ye must have known he was dying! All our plans are based on the fact that he would die!"

"That's no' true!" Lachlan cried. "Always I hoped that we would be able to save him. Meghan would have known what to do. I thought once I had the Lodestar and could prove to him who I am . . . that once he realized how much damage Maya has done ..." He laid his arms along the fireplace and wept, great, harsh sobs.

Iseult went to him, but he shook her away, struggling to control himself. Duncan spoke quietly to the other Blue Guards in the room, sending them out to patrol the tower. Once they had gone, he stood with his shoulders against the wall, his hands resting on his dagger hilt.

Lachlan took a deep breath and raised his head. "It is too soon! I have no' spoken to him, explained. He does no' ken the truth."

"But Lachlan . . ."

He talked on, not heeding her or the wide-eyed children. "He will die thinking Maya the banrigh o' his dreams, no' knowing how she has killed and tortured and ensorcelled . . ." His voice broke. Jorge said quietly, "It does no' matter, Lachlan. He will die happy."

"No! No, do ye no' see?"

"I see that the time has come for Gearradh to have a hand in this weaving. It is no' for us to say when a man must die, Lachlan. It is for she who cuts the thread."

"Jorge, canna ye see it is all wrong this way? Meghan said we had to wait for Samhain to retrieve the Lodestar, that its song was dying and we needed to bathe it at the hour o' its birth to save it. So I waited to confront that cursehag and I waited to talk with Jaspar and explain— I waited because Meghan said he would never believe me, that her blaygird ensorcelment was too strong, that I would die as an
uile-bheist
on the fire ..." A sob tore in his throat, and he stopped, clenching his hands into fists. "I told him! I told him when first he married her. I
knew
she was no' what she seemed. Then when I held her boot, I knew. She's
Fairge!"
He spat the word. "No matter what ye all say, I ken she is Fairge."

"Lachlan, we have no' got the Lodestar," Iseult said, troubled. "Ye canna be storming the palace without it!"

"I have the Bow!"

"And have no' even seen if ye can string it yet! Let alone got used to its balance and thrust, used it until it is as much a part o' ye as your own hand!"

He was silent. Jorge said persuasively, "Lachlan, it is only one more night. Today is the last day o'

autumn; tomorrow it is Samhain, and we can penetrate the maze. Meghan told ye that was the time. Join the Key, retrieve the Lodestar, bathe it in the pool when the two moons have crossed and the water is again filled with power. Then, when it is in your hand and potent again, then ye can use it to prove to Jaspar who ye are, and protect yourself from her ..."

"But it might be too late. They say his heart stopped, his face was blue and the healer was breathing her own breath into his lungs. They say she pounded his chest. Dillon heard it all."

"What was strange is that they called the healer the Red. As we all call ye, Iseult." Dillon thought it was time the conversation grew more constructive.

Iseult and Lachlan shot a look at each other. "Isabeau!"

Jorge said excitedly, "It must be! She will have the rest o' the Key!"

"We canna get into the maze without the Key," Lach-lan said swiftly. "If we want to get the Lodestar, we need to join the Key first, ye all ken that! We'll have to go into the palace to get it . . ."

"Do no' be a fool, lad!" Jorge cried.

"I am no' a lad!" Lachlan shouted. "I am Lachlan Owein MacCuinn!" He spun round, his talons scraping against the stone. "The Lodestar will have to wait! Do ye no' see, if I do no' convince Jaspar who I am and what his horrid wife has done, he will name his Fairge daughter heir! That is what she wants! All this time we've been so careful to never strike against Jaspar, only against her! Is it my fault or Enit's fault that there were so many pirates or bandits? They said we were in league with them but we never were. I need to make him understand and name me heir. That was all I ever wanted! She ensorcelled the babe into being. Jorge, ye ken that. It was the comet spell—a Spell o' Begetting. It is no' a true growth o' love, like our babes will be. If they name her Regent and the babe heir, then it will truly be civil war, for I will no'