The Shining City (65 page)

“Asrohc,” the Banrìgh said reprovingly, and the dragon snorted with what could only be dragonish laughter.

Then there was the palace below them, its windows all blazing with lights. The great square was lined with flaming torches, their smoke torn into rags by the wind raised by the dragon‟s strongly beating wings. Lines of soldiers with raised spears waited as the dragon came down with impossible lightness and grace and laid Rhiannon down lightly on the flagstone. It was not until the dragon had stretched its magnificent huge wings and soared away that the Captain of the Yeomen came forward and waited on bent knee for the Banrìgh‟s orders.

“Take her to the tower,” Iseult commanded. “I found the evidence in her bag. I want her hanged at dawn, do ye understand me?”

Dizzy from her wildly swinging flight, dazed with misery and despair, Rhiannon could barely grasp her meaning.

“It will be my pleasure,” Captain Dillon said grimly and jerked his head so the soldiers stepped forward to seize her.

“But, Iseult . . .”

Rhiannon turned her numb face towards the Keybearer, who came hurrying across the square, Dide close behind her. Isabeau looked white and exhausted.

“I found all the evidence I need,” Iseult said defensively and brandished the blowpipe. “There‟s a bag o‟ barbs here, missing quite a few thorns, and a bottle o‟ poison too.”

“But to hang her, out o‟ hand, without even an attempt at a trial. Iseult, it‟s wrong!”

“She‟s had her trial and she was found guilty. That‟s good enough for me.”

“But that was for Connor‟s death and Lachlan was to pardon her. . . .”

“Lachlan is dead now and his soft heart with him.”

“But, Iseult, ye canna be sure.”

“Aye, I can.”

“But—”

“Do no‟ argue with me!” Iseult cried.

There was a long silence. Iseult drew a ragged breath. When she exhaled, a white frosty plume filled the air before her mouth. She raised a hand and dashed it across her eyes. “Do as I say,”

she commanded the captain, who bowed his head. He gestured to two of the soldiers, who seized Rhiannon‟s elbows. Two more stood on either side with their spears at the ready. All were shivering in the cold.

“I will see justice done,” Iseult said in an unsteady voice. “She is lucky I do no‟ have her strangled with her own intestines.”

Then she turned and hurried away towards the palace, a gust of snowflakes blowing behind her.

Rhiannon could only stare.

Isabeau grasped Captain Dillon‟s arm. “She is half-mad with grief,” the Keybearer said in a low, urgent voice.

“As are we all,” the captain replied in heavy tones.

“Dillon, I beg ye, do no‟ be hasty.”

“I must obey Her Highness.”

“There is more to this than meets the eye. I must have time to find out the truth o‟ it.”

“I have my orders, Keybearer.”

“Give me until the morning. I will talk with her.”

“The prisoner will hang at the ringing o‟ the dawn bell, unless I hear otherwise,” Captain Dillon said, his mouth hard.

Isabeau let his arm go and turned to Rhiannon. “I am very sorry. I will do what I can.”

Rhiannon reached out a hand to her, then gasped as the soldiers jerked her back painfully. “What am I meant to have done?” she asked. “This is something new, isn‟t it? This is no‟ just because I escaped?”

Isabeau stared at her. “Ye think my sister would call the dragon‟s name simply to chase after an escaped prisoner? Eà, no! Child, do ye no‟ ken? Did ye no‟ hear the bells toll? Rhiannon, the Rìgh was murdered tonight. With a poisoned barb spat through a blowpipe.”

The night whirled around her. “They think I killed the Rìgh?”

Isabeau nodded.

“Dark walkers, spare me,” Rhiannon whispered.

I
seult found it difficult to keep her feet. She walked slowly, keeping her back straight and her gait steady only with a great effort of will. For the last few hours she had been sustained by anger and the fierce hunger for revenge. Now that the satyricorn girl was captured and thrown back into prison, her death only a few hours away, Iseult found her savage strength gone. It was all she could do not to weep as she made her weary way back to the palace.

Lachlan dead; her youngest children stolen away; her eldest son, her beautiful winged Donncan, possibly in danger. Iseult could not bear it. In only a few hours, her whole world had been dismantled and laid in ruins. Iseult had been raised by the Khan‟cohbans, though, raised to be strong and ruthless, to never submit to weak emotion. No matter how much Iseult wanted to crawl into a dark hole somewhere and howl her heart out, she could not. Someone had to take the reins and look after things till Donncan came back.

She heard hurrying footsteps behind her and turned, recognizing Isabeau‟s quick step. Her twin came stumbling through the snow, her cheeks as white as the ground, her red hair falling out of its pins to straggle wildly around her face. She looked fierce and wild and angry and haggard with grief all at the same time, and Iseult had a sudden insight into how she too must look. She put up a hand to her own hair and tried to smooth it back.

“Iseult, this is wrong—ye ken this is wrong,” Isabeau said, gripping her arm. “Even if Rhiannon is involved with all this mess, ye shouldna be hanging her out o‟ hand. We need information! We need—”

“She killed the Rìgh,” Iseult said icily. “Ye think I can hesitate over this? If I show the slightest weakness, anyone who hates the MacCuinns and plots against the Crown will gather around us like vultures around a corpse. She dies at dawn, and so too shall any other o‟ these vile plotters that we can lay by the heels.”

“But if I can show ye, if I can prove to ye that she is innocent?”

“How?”

Isabeau hesitated.

“There is no way ye can prove so to me,” Iseult said and walked on.

As she climbed the steps into the banquet hall, the light of the torches her lackeys carried went with her. Isabeau was left in the icy darkness. Snow drove steadily into her face. Dide stood beside the Keybearer, holding her close, as she shivered violently, her teeth chattering.

“What will ye do?” he asked.

For a long moment she did not answer; then Isabeau said slowly, “There may be a way. Ye remember the silver goblet Connor carried with him everywhere?”

“The one ye were so curious about?”

“Aye. If ye remember, I think it could be some kind o‟ cup o‟ truth. What if we gave it to Rhiannon to drink from?”

“Ye would have to convince Iseult first,” Dide said dryly. “If she does no‟ believe it truly is a magical cup that forces truth telling, she will just say Rhiannon lies and naught is changed.”

“Aye, I ken.”

“So how . . .?”

“If it is in
The Book o’ Shadows
, Iseult will have to believe,” Isabeau said.

“Did ye no‟ mean to look it up afore?”

Isabeau nodded.

“Then why . . .?”

“I‟m afraid,” Isabeau replied, and she shuddered so violently Dide was startled and moved to grasp her closer.

“Afraid? Afraid o‟ what?”

“Afraid o‟ what
The Book o’ Shadows
will show me,” Isabeau said and looked past him into the black storm-ridden night.

Inside the banquet hall, the dead Rìgh lay on his bier, candles surrounding him.

The room was virtually empty now. The last of the wedding guests had found their beds, and only a few soldiers still stood guard on the doors. Gathered around the fire at the far end of the room were the privy councillors, drinking from steaming goblets, heavy velvet mantles thrown over their midsummer finery. Nina and Iven sat together, holding each other‟s hands. Brun the cluricaun sat beside them, his tail twisting anxiously behind him. Gwilym the Ugly sat with his wooden leg elevated, his face creased with pain. The other witches were gathered about the bier, their heads bent in silent prayer. There was Stormy Briant and his brother Cailean, his huge shadow-hound lying at his feet; Ghislaine Dream-Walker, looking very frail; and Jock Crofter, scowling as usual.

On the far side of the bier, Iain of Arran rested his head in his hands. Elfrida sat beside him, fiddling with the heavy knobs of her antique fan. Their son, Neil, was sitting some way away from them, his eyes fixed anxiously on Bronwen‟s face. She had withdrawn from the others, sitting with her mother on one of the trestles drawn up against the wall, the Lodestar cradled in her lap.

A scullery maid was on her hands and knees, sweeping up the last of the mess on the floor. She stopped every now and again to wipe her red eyes on her apron. Otherwise the only other people left were the Lord Steward and Lord Chamberlain, both sitting in vigil by the Rìgh.

As Iseult came in, everyone rose to their feet and bowed. Iseult felt a heavy despondency fall on her shoulders. She had not been gone long, no more than half an hour, but that time had been spent in swift, decisive action. She had flown high above the storm on dragon-back, felt the wind screaming in her face, and had the fierce satisfaction of seizing the satyricorn and wresting her back to justice. Here all was the same.

“Any news?” Iseult demanded, even though she knew there had scarcely been time. Neither Finn nor Lewen would send a message until they had something to report, and any messenger would have to bring the news on foot, since Finn was somewhere under the city in the labyrinthine sewers, while Lewen was at the Tower of Two Moons. It took at least half an hour to walk from palace to tower on a sunny afternoon; there was no doubt it would take longer on such an inclement night. Horses were not kept at the tower, for there were no stables or grazing land for them. Any sorcerer who desired to ride out into the city would use a mount from the palace stables, and the students were all expected to use their legs. She and Isabeau often communicated by scrying when they had not the time or the inclination to walk the distance, but no one could scry when the heavens were in such turbulence, except perhaps through Scrying Pools or crystal balls of great power. So they would have to wait for any messenger from the tower to run the gamut of the storm. Until then, all they could do was wait in patience.

The chancellor indicated as much with an expressive gesture of his hands and shoulders. He, like the rest of Lachlan‟s councillors, was at a loss as to the best course of action. They had been at peace for so many years now, and Lachlan had ruled the Privy Council with a firm hand. The events of this long, terrible night were quite outside their provenance.

“Did ye capture the escaped prisoner?” the chancellor asked.

“O‟ course,” Iseult replied and came to warm her hands at the fire, stripping off her heavy leather gauntlets first.

“What have ye done to her?” Nina‟s voice rose high with distress.

Iseult found it hard to meet her gaze. “She‟ll hang at dawn.”

Nina sobbed out loud.

“If dawn ever comes,” Ghislaine said and pressed her fingers against her eyes. “I feel as if this night will never end.”

“But why? Why?” Nina sobbed.

“We found all the evidence we needed in her saddlebags,” Iseult said coldly.

“What evidence?” Nina demanded.

“It is late,” Iseult said. “We have all been up all night. I ken how distressed ye are, Nina. Perhaps ye and Iven had better retire? Try to get some rest.”

“I will wait for news,” Nina said defiantly.

“Very well,” Iseult said and accepted a goblet of wine from the Lord Steward. “Let us hope it comes soon.”

“Finn will capture Laird Malvern and all his foul minions, and then ye will realize Rhiannon is innocent,” Nina said, tears running down her face. “Oh Eà, please, let her catch up with them soon!”

Just then there was a knock on the door, and Dide came in, with a boy dressed in the black robe of an apprentice-witch. He was no more than seventeen, but tall and brown-skinned. He was blue, and shivering with cold, and panting so hard he could hardly speak.

“I found this lad running down the avenue,” Dide said. “His name is Rafferty, he tells me. He comes from Lewen with news.”

“Your Highness,” Rafferty said, going down on one knee before Iseult. “I . . . I come from . . .

the Tower o‟ Two Moons.”

Bronwen made a sharp movement, instantly stilled.

“Ye have news o‟ my son?” Iseult demanded.

“Aye.” He took a deep breath, his chest heaving. “It is no‟ good news, I‟m afraid, Your Highness.”

Iseult sat motionless, all the color ebbing from her face.

Bronwen‟s hand clenched tight upon the Lodestar. “What has happened to Donncan?” she

demanded sharply. “Is he . . . is he dead?”

Rafferty turned to face her. “I dinna ken, Your Highness. I do no‟ think so. We are no‟ sure. . . .

He has disappeared.”

He held out his hand and unclenched his fingers. Within was Donncan‟s stag brooch.

“Disappeared too?” Iseult reached out a trembling hand and rested it upon the table. “Nay, nay, the White Gods could no‟ be so cruel!”

“How? What happened?” Bronwen said fiercely.

Rafferty told the news as clearly and concisely as he could, but met a barrage of questions from everyone that he had trouble answering. At last, though, the tale was told. Bronwen sat down and hid her face in her hands, and Maya bent over her, comforting her wordlessly.