The Forbidden Land (32 page)

‘We have to save the others too, if we can,’ Finn cried and leant over to call, ‘Johanna! All o’ ye! Grab the rope.’

She tossed the rope back down and Johanna seized it with one hand, ordering her healers to grab hold of it.

‘Pull them up,’ Finn ordered. ‘It’s a nyx rope. It’s magic! It’ll help ye. I’ll guard them.’

She raised her crossbow and shot down a soldier thrusting his sword at one of the healers, then another seeking to drag down those clinging to the rope. Slowly at first, then more swiftly, the rope slithered up the side of the cliff, three young women clinging to it. Jay helped them over as Finn continued to harass the soldiers below with her crossbow, then tossed the rope down again for Johanna and the other two remaining healers.

The ferocity of the battle in the ravine was beginning to die down. Many of the Rìgh’s soldiers had managed to scale the cliffs and were fighting with those that had been concealed along the ridge. Others had run back to help protect the defenceless passengers in the wagons. Lachlan and Iseult were still fighting back to back, surrounded on all sides by a great pile of dead and wounded Bright Soldiers. The gyrfalcon fought with them, a bolt of white lightning that struck without warning from the twilight sky.

In the other wagon, Nellwyn and Enit had joined hands and raised up their enchanting voices. Sleeping soldiers were draped all round her wagon, their armoured chests rising and falling peacefully. Among the sleepers were Brangaine and Ashlin, both looking altogether too comfortable. Finn grinned when she saw them. ‘Think o’ how we’ll be able to tease them when they wake,’ she panted to Jay. ‘We’re fighting to the death and they’re snoring!’

‘The fight’s no’ over yet,’ Jay said grimly, picking up his sword from where he had dropped it. ‘Finn, look out!’

Finn spun round and saw six Bright Soldiers racing to attack them, deadly intent on their faces. They had seen the white robes of the old prophet and knew they would achieve great distinction if they were the ones who managed to kill him.

The healers were not armed and Finn had used up all of her crossbow bolts. She drew her dagger with a curse, and stood shoulder to shoulder with Jay and Johanna, all of them without shields or armour and untrained in the art of war. Suddenly a slim figure somersaulted over their heads and stood before them, a glittering eight-sided star in her hand. One arm was bleeding and her red braid was unravelling wildly, but Iseult was otherwise as cool and unflustered as if she was out for an evening walk.

‘So, ye attack bairns and auld men, do ye?’ she asked. ‘Cowards!’

The six soldiers yelled in response and charged. The
reil
spun out of her hand, circling round to slice through two of the men’s throats, cutting through the heavy chain mail like a knife through butter. They fell, gurgling horribly, and Iseult drew her long skewer, the only weapon she had left in her belt.

The four remaining soldiers had not even faltered, merely leaping over the fallen bodies of their comrades and thrusting their swords straight towards Iseult’s heart. She spun round on one foot, knocking one down with a powerful kick to the head and disarming another with a skilful flick of her wrist. His sword spun up into the air and she caught it and engaged the other two soldiers in a flurry of thrusts and feints too fast to follow with the eye. The disarmed soldier tried to grasp her from behind, and she kicked back with her boot, striking him in the groin. He wore heavy armour though, so he hardly flinched, smashing her in the face with his gauntleted fist. She fell, and Jay lunged forward with his narrow sword, shouting in horror. He stabbed the soldier right through the visor of his helmet, and the Bright Soldier fell back, the sword embedded in his eye. The other two soldiers were upon them, though, and they had only Johanna’s and Finn’s daggers left.

Finn tossed hers to Jay and then quickly knelt and tugged at her rope. To her amazement the knot slithered free instantly.
I canna have tied that very well
, she thought.
Lucky it did no’ come undone afore!

She spun round, her nimble fingers tying a running bowline so that the rope was tied into a loop that could be loosened and tightened at will. Then she spun the rope as she had seen the horsemen of Tìreich do and threw it at one of the soldiers. To her delight, it fell down about his shoulders and tightened with a jerk that knocked him off his feet. As he went down his flailing legs caught his comrade behind the knees and he fell too with a great huff as his breath was knocked out of him. Iseult had staggered to her feet, blood masking her face from her nose and mouth. She brought her sword to rest on the soldier’s throat. ‘I would no’ try to rise,’ she said conversationally and he lay still, staring up at her through the slits in his visor. ‘Good decision,’ she said, and wiped her bloody mouth with the back of her hand. Then she glanced across at Finn. ‘Nice rope trick,’ she said. ‘Where did ye ken to do that?’

Finn was still rather astounded at the success of her stratagem. ‘Saw a Tìreichan spinning a rope like that and thought I’d give it a go,’ she answered rather breathlessly. Iseult raised one thin red brow and Finn confessed, ‘Nyx rope. I think it’s magic.’

Iseult nodded. ‘The gifts o’ the nyx are like that, it seems. Well, quick thinking anyway, Finn! Ye’re a worthy addition to the company indeed.’

Finn flushed with pleasure as Dide came running up behind them to help disarm the remaining soldiers and march them away with the other prisoners. Despite having every advantage of surprise, numbers and terrain, the Bright Soldiers had proved no match for the Blue Guards. They had suffered heavy losses indeed and, although many of Lachlan’s supporters had been killed or wounded, the key players were all still alive. Tòmas was able to lay his hands upon the injured and heal them, and within half an hour all were almost ready to march on again, the dead laid out on one of the wagons and the prisoners all bound and herded together in the centre.

After close questioning, one of the Bright Soldiers had let slip the name of the man who had betrayed them. To no-one’s surprise it was Dick Dickson and Lachlan had sent back a messenger to the pastor of Kirkclanbright with the news, knowing the people of the valley would exact their own rough justice.

Finn and the others were all sitting on the edge of the ridge, recovering their strength after the strenuous battle and teasing Brangaine and Ashlin about having slept through it all. The sun was now very low in the sky, and the downs were all lit with a dim red light while to the east stars were already beginning to prick through the twilight.

Tòmas was lying with his head on Johanna’s lap, his hand over his eyes. As usual, the effort of healing so many had exhausted him and he was looking very white. Suddenly he lifted his head and said in a small voice, ‘Something bad is happening.’

‘What, dearling?’

‘Something bad is happening.’

Finn and Johanna exchanged worried glances. They had heard the little boy say that before.

‘Where, dearling?’

Tòmas raised himself on the elbow and pointed back the way they had come. ‘Over there.’

Finn stared off into the twilight. With a sinking heart she saw a faint smudge of smoke, almost invisible against the twilight sky. They all stared at it for a few minutes, then Finn got slowly to her feet. ‘Toasted toads, I’d best go tell Lachlan and Iseult.’

She found the Rìgh and Banrìgh on the far side of the Cloven Hoof, making the final preparations before giving the order to ride out. They looked at each other in dismay at the news.

‘Kirkclanbright?’

‘I hope no’,’ Lachlan replied. In all of their mind’s eye was a picture of the serene little valley with its slow river and the tall spire of its kirk soaring above the golden-brown trees. ‘I fear it is but a vain hope, though,
leannan
.’ Suddenly he smashed one hand into the palm of the other. ‘I should’ve kent, I should’ve suspected! Damn that Dickson and his nasty sly face.’

‘What should we do?’ Duncan Ironfist asked, distress on his battered face. ‘If we can see the smoke from here it is too late to do aught but try and succour those left alive.’

Lachlan nodded angrily. ‘We must go back. It is on our account that they incurred the displeasure o’ the Bright Soldiers. We must take Tòmas and the healers and see what we can do.’ He gave a deep sigh then straightened his shoulders once more. ‘The purpose o’ battle is slaughter and the price o’ victory is blood,’ he quoted. ‘I do no’ ken why I always find it so hard to remember this.’

Iseult took his face between her hands and kissed him. ‘Because ye are at heart a good and gentle man,’ she said. ‘And that is why I love ye.’

Weary of heart and body, the company turned round and headed back the way they had come. It seemed like a very long time ago. As they came down the road into the valley of Kirkclanbright, they could see flames still leaping high all through the valley. The kirk blazed like a torch, casting rippling orange reflections across the river. Where Rowanglen had stood was a smouldering ruin.

Tam was hurrying at the head of the calvacade, and he cried aloud in pain. ‘No, no! Da! Mam!’

Beside him were the other folk of Kirkclanbright, who had set out so blithely that morning. Many of them cried aloud in distress. Some wept, leaning on their pitchforks.

‘The Bright Soldiers may still be about,’ Lachlan said grimly. ‘Och, no, Tam! Take care!’

Tam had gone running up the avenue of rowan trees, not heeding the Rìgh’s shout. Dide dashed after him, his sword drawn, and the others followed in close formation.

Tam’s father and mother and sister were all working to douse the flames, their faces black with soot. Tam threw himself on his mother with a great sob of relief. ‘Ye’re alive!’

‘We took refuge in the woods,’ Great Tam said shortly. ‘Bessie o’ the Apples came running to warn us. They saw the kirk being torched and guessed what had happened.’

‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,’ Tam wept.

‘Och, lad, it is no’ your fault,’ his mother said, setting down her buckets with a sigh. ‘It is the Fealde’s black-hearted soldiers that set the fires, no’ ye.’

‘The Bright Soldiers always have to burn,’ Lachlan said sombrely. ‘Ye should have seen what they did to Blèssem. It was a black char-pit when they finished with it, no’ a tree or head o’ corn left standing.’

As he spoke the Rìgh was signalling to his soldiers to help put out the fire and although all had marched a long way and fought a hard battle, they set to with willing hands.

‘I am so very sorry that your help to me should be so cruelly rewarded,’ Lachlan said.

Great Tam shrugged. ‘Well, we truly be at war now.’ He spoke stiffly, gazing at his ruined house with sombre eyes, but there was no rancour in his voice.

‘Aye,’ Lachlan said unhappily. ‘I am sorry but we must ride on. There are others that must be helped too. I will leave a squad o’ soldiers to guard ye and assist ye.’

‘Well, thank ye for that,’ Great Tam replied.

All night they worked to douse the flames and help the injured. The Bright Soldiers had been swift and brutal in their reprisals, but luckily many had been forewarned and had taken refuge in the forest. Only a few had lost their lives, among them the rotund little pastor, struck down while trying to save his kirk.

A patrol of Lachlan’s soldiers found the Bright Soldiers camped only a few miles away, all enjoying a good night’s rest after their long day’s labour. The captain had not expected any trouble and so had set only one sentry who was easily overcome, allowing the patrol to capture the entire encampment without the shedding of a single drop of blood. They were taken back to Kirkclanbright and lashed in with the other prisoners, stripped of their armour and weapons, with chains about their wrists and necks.

‘I hate prisoners,’ Lachlan said gloomily. ‘What am I meant to do with them?’

‘Set them to work rebuilding Kirkclanbright,’ Iseult said.

‘Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap,’ Killian said in agreement.

Lachlan sighed and nodded. ‘Very well. I shall leave a company o’ soldiers here to assist and guard them, and to scour the countryside for any more o’ the blaygird things. Eà’s green blood, I hate Bright Soldiers!’

Just then Duncan Ironfist came riding up with a squad o’ Yeomen. Across his lap was slumped the figure of a man. Duncan let him fall to the ground. It was Dick Dickson. He lay in the dust, his head twisted unnaturally, his eyes closed. Blood seeped from three deep wounds in his breast.

‘We found him impaled to his front door with a pitchfork,’ Duncan said shortly. ‘No way o’ kenning who the pitchfork belongs to. Every house in this valley has a few.’

Lachlan nodded. ‘Very well. Bury him with the others.’ He sighed and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. ‘Well. What now?’

‘Now we bide a wee and rest up,’ Iseult said. ‘Tomorrow we’ll ride out once more.’

He nodded, his face shadowed. She laid her hand on the back of his neck, under his curls.

‘I am sick o’ the stench o’ death and ashes,’ Lachlan said. ‘I seem to carry it round with me, like Gearradh’s cloak.’

‘We are at war,’ Iseult answered.

‘Fancy that,’ Lachlan replied. ‘Who would have guessed?’

She smiled at him wearily. ‘Come and wash your face and hands. Ye’re as black as a chimneysweep’s arse, as Finn would say. Happen when ye are clean ye shall no’ think ye spread the stench o’ death like Gearradh!’

Autumn laid its bright mantle over the land of Tìrsoilleir. Stags bellowed in the forest, and the swineherds knocked down nuts from the trees to fatten the pigs before they were slaughtered for the winter. The villages were pungent with the smell of freshly brewed ale. In the mornings mist lay heavy over the valleys, the bare crests of the downs rising like islands out of a white sea. Although the days remained warm, the nights were cool and crisp and the Greycloaks were all glad to huddle close around their campfires.

Bride, the capital city of Tìrsoilleir, lay just on the other side of the bay but the Greycloaks were in no hurry to besiege the home of the Great Kirk just yet. They had won all of southern Tìrsoilleir to their cause with only a few battles and minor skirmishes, and were now intent on moving at a leisurely pace across the Alainn River and through northern Tìrsoilleir to approach Bride from the rear. All hoped the northern lairds would be as quick to pledge their support to Elfrida NicHilde as the southern lairds had been.

At first Lachlan had been restless and edgy, wanting to thrust towards Bride in a great rush of raw energy, hoping they would carry all before them. He was sick of the war and anxious to be at home with his wife and children, enjoying the fruits of peace. His first-born son and heir, Donncan, was now five and a half years old while the younger children, the twins Owein and Olwynne, were only eighteen months in age. Their mother and father had been absent for a quarter of their entire life. It hurt Lachlan greatly to be missing out on this stage of their growth, when they were all wonder and delight. Although they received regular news of home, Lachlan wanted to be there with them, not hearing it all second-hand.

Iseult missed her children terribly too but it was she who had counselled patience. ‘Now is the time to be like snow,’ she told him. ‘Snow is gentle, snow is silent, snow is inexorable. Fight hard against snow and it will always smother you with its softness and silence. Submit to snow and it will melt away afore you.’

Lachlan had been impatient with her Scarred Warrior maxims, but to his surprise Leonard the Canny and Duncan Ironfist had agreed with her.

‘Aye, ye should let the rumour mill work on your behalf,’ Leonard said. ‘Already the tales o’ your rescue o’ the auld prophet are racing around the country like wildfire. Allow time for speculation and wondering. Let the people talk amongst themselves and, as much as possible, give them the chance to hear Killian speak so that he can sway them with his words. Allow time for the lairds to approach us and discuss terms, and weigh the matter carefully. None will throw in their lot with us quickly. They need time to consider the consequences.’

‘This is the one time when biding our time will be to our advantage,’ Duncan agreed. ‘The Bright Soldiers are in the superior position here. They are all trained from birth, while our soldiers were being apprenticed as farmers and blacksmiths and cobblers. They are fighting on their own terrain and have all the advantages of supplies and numbers. Let us no’ waste our strength on futile charges. Let us remember the lessons we learnt during the Bright Wars. Remember the tactics that worked so well at Dùn Eidean and Rhyssmadill? Let us allow the prophet to do his work, as Jorge the Seer did so well; let us use trickery and deception where we can; let us build up a fearsome reputation so that they truly believe we have the hand o’ their god upon us, and see if we can win this war without striking a single blow.’

‘By biding our time, we shall be making the Fealde very nervous,’ Leonard said in satisfaction. ‘And that can only bode well for us.’

So Lachlan repressed his homesickness and his impatience and did as they counselled. Killian the Listener preached in every village square and kirk, and the crowds that came to listen to him grew greater every week. Elfrida rode out on her white palfrey, visiting the sick and the poor with the healers, meeting with the local lairds and guildmasters, and stopping to talk to plump matrons in the marketplaces. With her sweet face and demure manner, she soon became a favourite with the countryfolk, many of whom retained a romantic longing for the old days when the MacHilde clan had ruled.

Strict discipline was maintained amongst the army. It moved slowly and inexorably, accompanied by its own supply wagons laden with sacks of grains, bales of hay and poultry in coops, and its own herds of pigs, sheep and goats. Any extra supplies that were needed were paid for by the quartermaster, a shrewd and canny man known for his excellent bargaining ability. Consequently, the dismay which the sight of the Greycloaks had once engendered was replaced by eagerness amongst the local farmers and merchants, confident that their women and possessions would be in no danger and that a fair price would be paid for their merchandise.

There were many clashes with bands of Bright Soldiers, but the Greycloaks were never persuaded into pursuing their enemies, concentrating on choosing their ground well and keeping a tight formation, making it difficult for the Tìrsoilleirean army to do more than harass their edges. The closer the Greycloaks drew to the Alainn River, the more frequently the skirmishes occurred but the sheer size and weight of the Rìgh’s army and the hilly terrain discouraged any major confrontations.

Lachlan and Iseult passed the days studying with Gwilym the Ugly, learning as much as they could about the Tìrsoilleirean religion and culture, and practising their fighting skills. Dide was often to be found studying with them, although he was still reluctant to pledge himself fully to the Coven. He was fascinated by magic, however, and eager to learn more. Jay, Finn and Brangaine also joined the lessons daily, all finding to their pleasure a natural adeptness at the use of the One Power. Gwilym the Ugly was a stern taskmaster, but an excellent teacher. He imbued them all with a love of knowledge for its own sake, so that Finn found herself borrowing books to read later and pestering him with questions about all sorts of things. Gwilym had spent the years of the Burning at the Tower of Mists, the only witches’ tower where the ancient library remained intact, so he had an extraordinary breadth and depth of knowledge.

Dide and Jay also spent much of their time with Enit and Nellwyn, learning more about the use of magic through music. Ashlin often joined them there, leaving Finn and Brangaine to their own devices. They helped Johanna and the other healers gather leaves, flowers, roots, nuts, seeds and bark, and learnt how to grind them or distill their precious essences to make medicines, healing salves and pain-numbing potions. They accompanied Elfrida on her expeditions, sat in on many of the war conferences, and played many a game of trictrac or cards, Finn puffing away on her pipe. Brangaine even joined Finn in her daily fighting lessons with the other soldiers, learning how to draw a bow, wield a short sword, and repel an attacker with one quick, fluid movement.

They crossed the Alainn River a week after the autumn equinox, and fought their first bloody battle. Though the cost was high, the Greycloaks were eventually victorious, driving the Bright Soldiers back and securing the land all the way up to the Great Divide. Once again Lachlan wanted to press their advantage, but was counselled again to bide his time. Reluctantly he submitted to his advisers and set up camp at a strongly walled town called Kirkenny, built within the deep curve of the river so it was surrounded on three sides by water. From there they rode out in small, well-guarded expeditions, Killian preaching in the kirks, Lachlan and Elfrida meeting with the local powers, the soldiers clashing with those who still stood against them. On each occasion the Greycloaks were able to overwhelm the Tìrsoilleirean army with their speed and ferocity, or unnerve them with clever tricks. The Greycloaks began to be regarded with superstitious awe, the countryfolk whispering that they were protected by God and could not be beaten.

One night in late October, a pigeon arrived from Lucescere with letters for the Rìgh and Banrìgh. Lachlan had been absent from his lands for four months and had been anxious indeed for news. Eager to hear what had been happening in the rest of the country, Finn and the others clustered close around the Rìgh’s pavilion. As usual, they had joined Lachlan and Iseult for their evening meal, which was served on a long trestle table set with candelabra and fine tableware. Gwilym the Ugly, Elfrida, Iain, the two seanalairs Duncan and Leonard, and Lachlan’s staff of officers also joined the meal every night. Dinner was usually followed by much talk and laughter, some soft-voiced performances from Nellwyn and the jongleurs, and games of chance. Tonight, however, all gathered round to hear the news.

The package had to be small by necessity, since it was carried by a pigeon, but it had been written in very small writing and contained much news of interest. The Fairgean were on the rise again, returning to their winter home after spending the summer in the southern seas. A new coast watch set up by the MacRuraich had proved most helpful in tracking their movements, however, and some defensive measures had been taken that had proved to be of use. Also from Rurach came the news that Gwyneth NicSian was once again with child. Finn was both happy and astounded by this news, whispering to Jay, ‘Och, well, Da must have managed to spend
some
time at home this summer!’

‘Isabeau also writes that the NicThanach has finally given birth to a very healthy little boy, which be glad news indeed,’ Iseult said. She was reading the letter out, being the only one able to decipher her twin sister’s cramped handwriting. ‘They have called him Fymbar, because he be so tow-headed, then Lachlan for ye,
leannan
.’

‘Och, that be nice o’ them,’ Lachlan said, smiling. ‘Fymbar Lachlan MacThanach is a grand name!’

‘She says Meghan is very happy with the progress o’ the students in the Theurgia, though she willna admit it, o’ course, calling them all woolly-headed slowpokes.’

Lachlan grinned and made a wry comment, and Iseult went on, ‘Apparently she has taken on a new apprentice now Isabeau is a fully fledged witch. He’s a young boy with a shadow-hound for a familiar. Fancy that! Isabeau says all the dogs in the city come to his whistle.’

‘That must be a sight to see!’ Lachlan grinned. ‘What about the laddiekins,
leannan
. Does she no’ write o’ them?’

‘Isabeau says the lads are as artful as a bagful o’ elven cats. Look, Elfrida, she’s enclosed a letter for ye from Neil. She says his lessons are coming along well.’

Neil was Iain and Elfrida’s son, only three months younger than Donncan. He had been sent to stay in the safety of Lucescere while his parents rode to war, for Donncan and he were the very best of friends. Elfrida received the roughly scrawled missive with an upwelling of tears, turning it over proudly and exclaiming at how well he was forming his letters now.

‘
Leannan
, Isabeau says Olwynne is talking quite well now but that Owein hardly says a word, letting his sister do all the asking for him. We shall have to do something about that when we get home! Oh, but she says Owein has taken his first flight! Oh, Lachlan, he be only nineteen months auld. Did Donncan fly so young?’

‘I canna remember,
leannan
. I do no’ think so,’ Lachlan replied proudly. He and Iseult smiled at each other, both feeling a tightness in their throat at the thought they had missed their baby boy’s first flight.

‘What else does Isabeau say?’ Dide asked eagerly. ‘Has she truly decided to stay at the Tower o’ Two Moons now?’

Iseult nodded. ‘Aye. I told ye she sat for her Third Test o’ Powers on Midsummer’s Eve, the night we were all meeting clandestinely at Rhyssmadill? Well, she says here that she has already sat her First Test o’ Elements and won her ring o’ fire. She is wearing the ruby ring that she found at the Cursed Towers, the one that belonged to our ancestor Faodhagan the Red.’

‘Och, she mun be aye powerful, this sister o’ yours,’ Nellwyn said. ‘To be only twenty-two and already admitted into the Coven as a fully fledged witch, and then to win her first elemental ring within only a few months!’

‘Aye, the Keybearer believes she may be the strongest young witch the Coven has found since the Burning,’ Gwilym said. ‘Definitely a chance for a new sorceress there, I’d say.’

Dide had been staring into the depths of his goblet, but now he raised it to his lips and tossed back the dark wine within. ‘Well, that would make the Keybearer happy,’ he said wryly and poured himself another cup, slopping some of the wine on the white tablecloth. ‘Let us drink to Isabeau the Red and her ruby ring!’ he cried, leaping to his feet and holding his goblet high.

‘To Isabeau!’ the table echoed, sipping their wine.

‘And to Fymbar Lachlan MacThanach, heir to Blèssem,’ Lachlan said, and everyone toasted the new baby enthusiastically.

‘To those we’ve left behind,’ Elfrida said tearfully, clutching her little boy’s letter. This toast was drunk with eagerness, many sighing and looking pensive.

‘To my mam’s belly!’ Finn cried.

‘Aye, to the expectant mother,’ Lachlan said and drank deeply.

‘To peace,’ Dide said sombrely and the laughter died away, everyone at the long table nodding and repeating, ‘To peace,’ as they drank.

‘Well, that be all the news,’ Iseult said, folding the pages away.

‘How about some music, Dide?’ Lachlan said.

The young jongleur looked up from his goblet. ‘Aye, why no’?’

Connor was sent running to fetch his guitar, and everyone refilled their glasses and sat back to enjoy his song. For once, Dide did not play some ribald song of seduction or a humorous ballad designed to set everyone laughing. He strummed his guitar softly, the candlelight flickering over his olive-skinned face, with its straight, fine nose, sensuously curved mouth, and dark eyes now brooding with shadows. Then he began to sing a very old, very plaintive tune. So very unhappy was his voice, so full of heartfelt emotion, that many of those present cleared their throats, thinking of their own loves they had left far behind. Lachlan reached out and took Iseult’s hand, and Elfrida nestled her head on Iain’s shoulder, the ready tears once again springing to her eyes.