The Pool of Two Moons (61 page)

"She is an evil sorceress, Jaspar, who cast such a spell on ye that ye turned against your friends and family! Ye must see she is evil!"

Jaspar was distressed. "No, Lachlan, how can ye say such things? Nay, ye've taken a notion into your head and let it take root there, growing bizarre fruit. Maya is good and kind; she looks after me and does her best to care for the people."

"Then why is the country in revolt? Why do people disappear from their beds at night, never to be seen again? Why is there so much murder and torture?"

Jaspar was shaking his head, his lips so white they were invisible. "Evil people . . ."

"It is Maya who is evil!" Lachlan's voice rang out. Iseult heard the waiting courtiers murmur and shuffle, and slipped her hand into the pocket of the apron, where she had hidden her
reil.
"Her and that babe o'

hers! She ensorcelled the babe into being, Jaspar. She used the comet to cast a spell o' such strength . . . How could ye no' know it? How can ye still think she is good and kind when she is a foul, scheming, murdering . . ."

"Maya is my wife," Jaspar said with tremulous dignity. "I think ye forget yourself, Lachlan." There was a step behind Iseult, and she flashed a warning glance at Lachlan who hurriedly draped the cloak about him, dragging the hood over his head. As he disappeared from view, Jaspar sighed and moved his head restlessly. Then there was a cool hand on Iseult's shoulder and the Banrigh stepped past her to lean over and kiss the Righ on his forehead. "What is wrong, my darling? I heard ye cry out?" Jaspar gripped her hand, tears leaking from, his eyes. "Maya, Lachlan was here,
he was herel
I saw him. Did I no', Red? Ye saw him too."

Iseult bowed her head and said nothing, conscious of those dark-lashed silvery-blue eyes looking her over. Maya said, "It was only a dream, my darling, only a dream. Come, we have the papers all ready, we have done as ye instructed." She gave a light laugh. "We have even named your cousin Dughall as the next in line, as ye requested, though he says he will no' renounce his father's name ..."

"Maya, he was here. I saw him. He had wings and claws . . ."

The Banrigh stiffened all over, her pupils dilating. "I fear the Righ wanders in nightmare," she said loudly.

"Red, canna ye help him?"

"I dare no' give him more
mithuan,"
Iseult said, moving around the other side of the bed, her hand upon her
reil.

"Ye must. He must sign the papers. Give it to him now." There was steel behind the silken voice, and the

< Banrigh gestured imperiously to the councillors to bring the scrolls and royal seal.

"Aye, Your Highness," Iseult said and lifted the Righ's head to trickle a few more drops of the potion in. His eyelids flickered and he swallowed.

They clustered around the bed. A few wept—the man in black velvet and jewels, a tiny old man with bags under his eyes. He was the one to spread the papers out before the Righ and to place the quill into his trembling hand. "Your will and dispositions. Your Highness. Drawn up as ye requested. The Banprionnsa Bronwen Mathilde MacCuinn will inherit, but her mother will act as Regent until she comes o' age at twenty-four. Sign here, my laird, and here."

As the frail fingers tightened around the quill and the Righ lifted himself in the bed, Lachlan seized the papers and threw them across the room. At least, Iseult assumed it was Lachlan for all she could see were the flying papers. Everyone gasped and looked around nervously, fully aware it was Samhain, night o' the dead, when ghosts flew and banshees wept.

The Banrigh alone showed no fear. She gathered the papers up and placed them before the Righ, guarding them with her arm. Gently she set the quill in his hand and said softly, "Sign, my darling."

"No!" Lachlan shouted and tugged off the cloak so all could see him. There were gasps and cries, and most of the councillors shrank back in fear. The man in black velvet started forward, saying tentatively,

"Lachlan?"

The winged prionnsa knelt by his brother, clasping his arm. "Please believe me, please, Jaspar! Name me your heir! I am a true MacCuinn. I would no' lie to ye, please believe what I have told ye ..." The Banrigh stood still, white as her husband, waiting to see what he would say. Latifa gasped and pressed the baby to her shoulder.

Jaspar put up a hand and touched Lachlan's burly shoulder, the soft feathers of his wings, the skin of his face. "Ye are back again," he whispered. "Ye feel real, but ye step in and out o' shadows like a ghost. Am I dreaming? Am I dead?"

"No, brother,' Lachlan wept. "I live, I swear it. Name me heir! Why should Maya the Unknown rule?

Who is she to steal the throne? I am Lachlan Owein MacCuinn, youngest son o' Parteta the Brave. Ye should name me!"

"It is my daughter I name heir," Jaspar said slowly, his voice strengthening. They could see a pulse beating rapidly in his temple. "My daughter."

"She is a halfbreed!" Lachlan screamed. "Ensorcelled into being! Ye canna allow a Fairge halfbreed to inherit! She is the seed o' evil!"

"No," the Righ moaned. "Get ye gone, fiend!"

"Jaspar, it is the truth!"

"Maya is my wife, my beloved wife."

"She's a sorceress!" Lachlan cried desperately. "It is she who made me this . . . this
uile-bheistV
He indicated his wings and claws with one sweep of his hand.

"Maya could never do such a thing. Never."

"I saw her!"

"Ye're naught but a nightmare, an evil ghost come to confuse me and frighten me. Shame on ye, shame!" With the last of his strength he seized the papers and scrawled his signature along the bottom of first one, then the other. Lachlan tried desperately to seize the papers, reaching across the wide bed but Jaspar held them out of his reach, passing them to the chancellor. "Seal them for me, Cameron." Trapped in his corner, Lachlan could only watch helplessly as the chancellor shakily pressed Jaspar's seal into the warm wax and stamped the papers.

"It is done," the Righ said, slumping back against his pillows. "Bronwen shall rule when she is grown. The land is safe."

"Thank ye, Jaspar!" Maya cried and fell to her knees beside the bed. She was weeping. She kissed his hand and it was flaccid in hers. With a soft cry, she called to him and pressed his hand to her mouth. He lay still. She turned and waved to one of the councillors and he brought the candelabra closer. As the light spilled over ' the pillow, they saw the Righ's face, slack and gray, his eyes between the half-closed lids glassy.

She screamed, a strange, high, echoing sound that bounced off the walls and shattered the mirror. They all ducked, hands to their ears. She screamed again and fell over the bed. Latifa began to sob, her whole body quivering. The baby began to wail. Lachlan cried, "No! Jaspar!" and seized his wrist, shook his arm. He pushed Maya violently, so she fell to the floor, and flung himself onto the bed, clutching Jaspar's shoulders and trying to rouse him.

"Seize him!" Maya cried. "Guards! Guards! Treason!"

"Lachlan, quick! We must go!" Iseult cried.

As the door swung open, the chancellor said thickly, "The MacCuinn is dead! Long live the NicCuinn!"

"Long live the Banrigh, Bronwen NicCuinn!" the councillors all echoed.

"No!" Lachlan shouted and would have dived over the bed if Iseult had not tripped him with her foot. He fell on to his brother's body and began to weep, and Iseult caught his arm and dragged him away. With her free hand, she flung her
reil
and it sliced neatly through the throat of the soldier running through the door. Blood spurted across the cloud-blue walls and Latifa screamed.

Iseult got them through the door and managed to get Lachlan composed enough to heave a cream and gilt wardrobe against the doors. It was a flimsy piece of furniture and she did not think it would hold long, so she dragged him into the nursery as quickly as she could, where Finn and Isabeau were waiting anxiously.

"The Righ is dead," Iseult said as soon as they had secured the door behind them. They could hear hammering on the other door and shouting.

"We guessed. Meghan is on her way. Gita has gone to her so she must be near enough to call him."

"Lachlan!" Iseult cried. "Blow on the horn! We must summon help, we canna withstand the palace guard by ourselves!"

Lachlan had stumbled to a chair, his head in his hands. Finn seized the horn, ran to the window, leant out into the wintry night and blew on it with all her might. Long and hauntingly beautiful, the peal rang out into the dark, lingering and lingering.

At the first note of the horn's call, Duncan was on his feet and shouting at the guards to seize arms. Dillon jumped to his feet in excitement, and the other children milled around him, waiting for his orders. Jorge sat up, his hands trembling.

"We need someone to ring the bell!" Dillon said. "To warn the rebels. Johanna, ye should do it." She shrank back. "I ... canna."

"Ye have to, canna ye see that? Jorge must no' go, he is too sick, and we must keep Tomas safe."

"I will be needed," the little boy said solemnly. "I can feel death."

"Jaspar MacCuinn is dead." Jorge's face was haggard. "But there will be more deaths. Many more deaths."

"Tomas will be needed
after
the fight, no' during. He'd be no use during. Neither would ye, Johanna! Ye must stay and look after Jorge and Tomas and the other children."

"I do no' want to go," the girl said, shaking with tears.

"But someone has to ring the bell. If ye canna fight, surely ye could do that—so all o' us who can fight are where they are most needed."

Although he spoke with brutal frankness, there was such the air of seriousness and clear thinking about the boy that both Duncan and Jorge murmured, "He's right."

Outside the tower a wolf howled. They all flinched back, even Jorge, and the raven croaked loudly. Johanna was trembling. But she remembered the delicate gray ashes of her Samhain wish, floating up the chimney with the words, magical loops of writing, that said, "I do no' want to be afraid any more." To all their surprise, she squared her shoulders and said, "All right then, I will." The wolf howled again.

Anghus lifted his head in amazement. He had never heard the MacRuraich war horn before but he recognized its sound straightaway. He stopped mid-stride and Casey, following close behind, collided with him in the enveloping mist.

"The MacRuraich horn!" Meghan cried and grasped his arm. Gita was clinging to her shoulder, chittering with excitement. "They must have removed it from the relics room. But why? I never mentioned the horn!"

From somewhere in the mist the howl of a wolf rose, taking up the sound of the dying horn. "Tabithas!" Anghus and Meghan cried together. More howls arose, chilling and drawn out. The men following them all shuddered and drew closer together, but on Anghus and Meghan's faces there was only joy. Out of the darkness drifted a battalion of ghost warriors, wielding swords of ice. They were dressed in the fashions of many different centuries, but all wore the ghostly remnants of the black MacRuraich kilt, the wolf rampant engraved on every sword and shield. The rebels shouted in fear and stumbled back, but Meghan and Anghus watched with fearless and fascinated eyes. Floating silently through the storm and mist, the ghost warriors converged on the palace. Shouts of alarm rang out, and red-clad soldiers ran to engage. Soon there was fighting in the big square and on the rampart, and the palace began to blaze with lights.

"Only Fionnghal could have called up the MacRuraich ghosts," Anghus said in exultation. "How could she have known that blowing the war horn at Samhain would call up the warriors o' ages past? How did she know what the horn was?"

"Luck? Instinct? Who knows? The ghost warriors have come and the Red Guards canna stand against them. Let's hurry!" And Meghan did not wait for them to follow her, but picked up her skirts and ran toward the palace, the donbeag clinging desperately to her plait.

Anghus followed her, shouting the MacRuraich war cry. Those behind him took up the cry, shouting,

"The wolf! The wolf!" There were close on a hundred following them now, Meghan having unlocked the doors to all the cells in the dungeons below the palace.

A Red Guard struck at Anghus from the shadows, and he retaliated with quick, hard strokes. Somewhere inside was his daughter—nothing would stand in his way now! A large, black shape leapt out of the shadows and tore out the throat of a guard who would have spitted the prionnsa on his spear.

"Tabithas!" Anghus cried, and the wolf turned and grinned at him, her jaws dripping with gore. Meghan hurried ahead. Somehow all who stood against here were unable to land a blow on her. Anghus ran after her, the wolf at his heels, and dived into the confusion of the fighting. Red Guards grappled with blue-kilted soldiers, ghost warriors swarmed in the shadows, wolves leapt and snapped. Anghus took intense pleasure in the thrust and strike of his sword. Too long he had had to bend his neck meekly! At last he could avenge the insults to his pride, the injuries to his family. Donald was at his back, shooting at those who fought to catch them from the rear. Casey was at his side, sword darting. The black wolf streaked ahead. "Tabithas!" Anghus called. "Find Fion-nghal! Find my daughter!" Iseult thrust the bow and quiver into Lachlan's reluctant hands. "Lachlan, the Red Guards come! We have to go!"

"No!" he snarled. "Where is that cursehag? She has stolen my birthright! Where is she?"

"She's with the soldiers, Lachlan. They will kill ye! This place is swarming with them,
leannan,
we canna fight them all. Let us go!"

He threw her away, got to his claws and prowled the room, gripping his bow, his golden-brown eyes so savage the others kept silent. "I will kill her and that Fairge baby. I will strangle her! Let us see if her death breaks the spell and restores me, since nothing else has. Call ? her the NicCuinn! That squalling brat, that halfbreed
uile-bheist . .
."

"If Cloudshadow is right, then both Iseult and I are half faery and thus
uile-bheistean"
Isabeau said, facing him, her whole body poised for movement. They were all surprised, and Iseult glanced at her twin with grudging admiration for her courage. She would not easily have crossed Lachlan in this mood.