The Tower of Ravens (12 page)

Then Niall leant forward, frowning, one hand scratching his bushy brown beard. “So ye have run away from your family… your herd. That is why ye caught the winged horse. To help ye escape.”

“Herd run fast, hunt good,” she said rather indistinctly, through a mouthful of food. “Me slow. They catch me, they kill me.”

“So what about the saddle, the bridle? The clothes? Where did ye get them?”

She frowned, glaring at him suspiciously.

“Ye canna tell me they are what ye wore with a herd o‘ satyricorns,” Niall said. “They are the uniform o’ a Yeoman o‘ the Guard, the Rìgh’s own regiment. Where did ye get them?”

Her frown deepened and for a moment it looked as if she would say nothing. Then she said reluctantly, “Herd hunted down man, close on a moon ago. He dead. Me took his clothes. Liked better. Soft.”

Niall was watching her closely. “Who was he? Do ye ken his name? How did he die?”

She did not answer.

“I thought satyricorns usually keep male prisoners alive,” he said slowly. “Having a use for them, as ye said yourself.”

She did not drop her eyes, or blush, or fiddle with her knife, keeping her eyes steadily on his. “Aye, true,” she answered.

“So how did the Yeoman die?”

“Try escape,” she said after a moment. “Herd hunt him down.”

Niall nodded. “I see.” He glanced at Lilanthe. “I wonder who it could be? There’ll be identification o‘ some kind in the saddlebags, I imagine, a family seal or signed reports. I’ll look and see. We must send notice to His Highness…”

“Nay!”

They looked at the girl in surprise. She had leapt to her feet, sending the cup of milk cascading over the table. One fist was thrust under Niall’s bearded chin. “Mine! Ye no look, ye no touch. Mine now. No‘ yours.”

“But, lassie…”

“No touch.”

“But they are no‘ your things, lassie. They belong to that poor dead soldier. His family will be wanting to have his uniform and badge back, they are marks o’ honour. They’ll be wanting to ken how he died. We have plenty of clothes here that ye can have, ye do no‘ need his things anymore. I must see what news he was carrying, and send it on to my Rìgh. That Yeoman must have had dreadful need to reach the capital quickly, to ride through Dubhslain, canna ye see that? I must make sure the Rìgh kens what has happened.”

All the while Niall spoke, she was negating every sentence abruptly and forcefully. As he continued to argue with her, she reached down and drew the knife she wore hidden under her nightgown. She would have stabbed him if he had not had such quick reflexes, catching her wrist in both hands, leaning far back in his chair to avoid the snake-swift thrust. They wrestled silently for a few moments, her lips drawn back into a feral snarl, then at last Niall managed to knock the knife out of her hand, dragging her down to her knees.

He breathed heavily, trying to regain his temper as much as his breath. Lewen was frozen in shock and dismay, unable to believe he had forgotten her knife, realizing how close his father had come to death because of his absent-mindedness. Lilanthe and Meriel were frozen likewise. Violence had erupted so quickly.

The girl took a deep shuddering breath perilously close to a sob. Niall released her wrists and she cradled them to her chest, her head bent. Still no-one spoke, not even Meriel, whose face had turned the colour of unbaked dough. Then Lilanthe gave a great sigh and went swiftly to her husband, bending over him, pressing his head to her breast. She said softly, brokenly, “I canna believe… och,
leannan
… if she had killed ye…”

“I’m a hard man to kill,” Niall said with an attempt at a smile.

The girl raised her head. Though her face was smeared with tears and the bandages about her wrists were seeping with fresh blood, her expression was set hard with anger and determination.

“If ye touch me or mine again, me kill ye,” she said softly.

Niall sighed and put his arm about his wife’s waist. After a moment he said, very sternly, “Then let this be understood between us. If ye try to harm me or mine again while ye are here, I will have ye taken to the reeve and tried and punished. Ye do no‘ attack a man at his own table, after ye have broken bread and tasted salt with him. Ye do no’ seek to settle a disagreement by drawing your blade. This is dishonourable and unlawful. Ye may have been raised as a satyricorn, but ye are among men now, and ye must and will learn our ways.”

“How?” Lilanthe asked. “What are we to do with her? We have no‘ had time to think what is best to do.”

The girl stood up, her blue-grey eyes blazing. “Ye do naught with me! Me go. Me take horse and me go.”

“Where?” Lilanthe said gently. “Where shall ye go? Back into the mountains? They are no‘ called Dubhslain for naught. Apart from the satyricorns, who ye say shall kill ye if they find ye, there are ogres and cursehags and dragons too. It is no place for anyone to live alone, no matter how doughty. And believe me, lassie, I ken. I ran away from my home too, when I was just a lass myself, and I lived in the wild mountains as best I could for quite a few years. Being able to change shape into a tree helped, o’ course, but it was a cruel hard life, ye must understand that. And lonely. Bitterly lonely. It was that which drove me out o‘ the mountains in the end, a longing for those o’ my own kind, for love and friendship.” She bent and pressed her cheek against Niall’s beard and he put up one hand and caressed her leafy hair.

The girl was silent, though her chin was still raised defiantly and her hands clenched.

“Happen she should come to the Tower o‘ Two Moons with me?” Lewen said diffidently. His parents looked at him in surprise.

“It’ll take us some time to travel to Lucescere,” he went on. “Nina and Iven and I can try and teach her what we can on the way, and there’ll be other apprentices too, for sure, and they’ll help too. And then she can tell the Rìgh what she kens herself, I’m sure he’ll have questions he’d want to ask her. And Aunty Beau will want to talk to her too, I ken.”

“Why, though, laddie?” Lilanthe sounded a little puzzled. “Ye think the lassie has Talent?”

“She’s tamed the winged horse,” Lewen said. When his father went to say something he held up his hand in entreaty. “Nay, I mean,
really
tamed her, Dada. When I went in this morning, well, the mare had kicked out the door o‘ her stall and broken her headstall and torn up the whole place, but… well, they were sleeping together, like mare and foal, as sweetly as ye could imagine. And she talks to her. Tells the mare to stay and she does.”

Niall’s brown eyes and Lilanthe’s slanted green ones both swiveled to the girl’s face. She stared back at them haughtily. “She mine,” she said.

“She says she’s tamed horses afore, in the mountains. She calls to them and they come.”

“Happen it’s the Tower o‘ Horse-lairds we should be sending her to,” Niall said softly.

“Happen so,” Lewen agreed. “But there’s plenty o‘ time for that, if that’s the right place for her to go, isn’t there? There’s no-one to take her there now, and she would ken no-one there nor how to go on. And the Rìgh would want to see her first, dinna ye think so?”

“Aye, he would.” Niall stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I can see some merit in this plan o‘ yours, my lad. Though we must make sure news o’ the Yeoman’s death travels faster than ye will. It’ll take ye a month or so to reach the palace, and my laird will be anxious for news o‘ his Yeoman. I wish we could scry to him, but the mountains stand in the way. What a shame the Tower o’ Ravens is so infested with ghosts and we canna use the Scrying Pool there. It would be so much easier to keep in touch with the court and Coven.” Niall sighed and dug his fingers into his beard more vigorously.

“Come, we can work out the finer details later,” Lilanthe said. “For now, I think it is a good plan. I would no‘ like to just send the lassie off somewhere all by herself, for all that she is so fierce and strong. The Tower o’ Two Moons is interested in all Skills and Talents, and there are satyricorns at the royal court that may be able to help her find a place for herself.”

“Lewen’s right, the Rìgh will want to question her about the Yeoman’s death himself,” Niall said, almost as if he had not been listening to his wife. “And happen on the way Lewen can make her realise that wearing the clothes o‘ a Blue Guard is treason!”

The girl had been listening to all this with narrow, suspicious eyes. At this last comment she flashed him a quick glance, but still said nothing, her jaw thrust out stubbornly.

Lilanthe turned to her and smiled, saying in her gentle voice, “It is for ye to decide, o‘ course. We have no rights over ye. I do no’ ken if ye will like Lucescere, it is one o‘ the great cities o’ Eileanan and very busy and noisy. They call it the Shining City because it is so beautiful. It is built on an island at the top o‘ the highest waterfall in Eileanan, a place where two great rivers meet. On sunny days the whole city is strung with rainbows from the spray. Ye would like to see it, I am sure. And the Tower o’ Two Moons is very quiet and peaceful, for it is built away from the city, set in the heart o‘ acres o’ the bonniest gardens. It too is one o‘ the grand sights o’ this world. Ye will meet people o‘ all kinds there, both human and faery, and if ye wish, ye can try for a scholarship to study there and learn many new things, as Lewen does. Or ye can get back on to your winged horse and fly away from here, we shallna try and stop ye. It’s up to ye, lassie.”

It was the right approach to take. The girl’s face and stance relaxed as Lilanthe spoke, and a look of interest came into her eyes. She glanced once at Lewen and then back at Lilanthe, catching her lip between her teeth as she considered. Then she raised her head proudly.

“Me like to see this city,” she said. “Me go.” As everyone sighed and relaxed a little, relieved to have a plan to work towards, she looked sternly at Niall. “Ye, though—ye shallna touch what is mine.”

“But…” Niall began.

“No touch! Else me kill ye.”

“Very well, then, lassie,” Lilanthe said quickly. “We shall touch naught o‘ yours if ye do no’ wish it. But can I give ye some other clothes to be wearing on your journey? For indeed, ye canna wear the uniform o‘ a Yeoman if ye have no’ been chosen to serve the Rìgh. It is no‘ right and indeed, it is treasonable, as Niall said. If ye give me the clothes I will wash them for ye and pack them up, and ye can take them with ye.”

The girl nodded begrudgingly.

“Very well then. Now, we do no‘ have long. Nina and Iven will be here soon, if they left Barbreck-by-the-Bridge at daybreak like they said they would. How about a bath, lassie? Believe me, ye will feel much better when ye are clean. I’ll wash your hair for ye and salve your wrists again and find ye some clothes, and then we can pack a bag for ye to take with ye. Lewen, dearling, I do no’ ken how long they’ll be able to stay so ye had best make ready.”

“He’s already packed and repacked his bags about a hundred times,” Meriel teased.

“Well, I wanted to be ready,” Lewen said.

“Come on, my lad, let’s go and get our chores done while the lassie has her bath,” Niall said. “The poor auld horses must be wondering where their mash is, while I’m surprised we canna hear the pigs squealing from here.”

“I feed my horse, no‘ ye,” the satyricorn girl said, tensing up at once. “I come now. Ye touch naught!”

Niall raised both his hands. “I shallna touch a thing, lassie, I promise ye. Which reminds me. We canna keep on just calling ye ‘lassie’. Ye sure ye do no‘ have a name? What did your mother call ye, and the other satyricorns?”

She flushed hotly. “No-Horn,” she answered shortly. “No‘ a nice name.” She struggled for words. “Mean name.”

“We canna call ye that then,” he said, taken aback.

“Then we must give her one,” Lilanthe said. “She needs a name.”

They all eyed her speculatively and she glared back at them, her jaw set firmly.

“Aye, but to choose a name that suits her, that’s the trick,” Niall said, scratching his beard, a humorous glint in his eyes. “Prickles? Bramble? Blackthorn?”

She tilted her chin even higher.

“Rosaleen? That means little dark rose,” Lilanthe said hastily.

“She’s no‘ so little,” Niall said, grinning. “What’s a name that means enormous dark rose? No’ that I think a rose is the right sort o‘ plant, thorny as it is. How about thistle?”

“Do no‘ even joke about that,” Lilanthe said with a little shudder. “No’ even Iain of Arran calls himself the Thistle, it brings back such dreadful memories. That’s a name Margrit o‘ Arran took to the grave with her, thank Eà.”

“True enough,” Niall said soberly. “I’d forgotten Margrit NicFóghnan was called the Thistle. Indeed, that would be a sorry name to give such a bonny lass. I suppose we should be serious about this. A name is a serious thing, one carries it all one’s life. Are there no names ye like, lass?”

“Ken no names,” she answered.

“That makes things harder,” Niall said. “Do ye ken any names to do with horses,
leannan
? A woman that rides a winged horse should have a name that suits. Is there a girlie form o‘ Ahearn? That means laird o’ the horses and was a true naming indeed.”

“I do no‘ think so,” Lilanthe said, frowning. “And we canna call her Ahearn, or any derivative, for it is a name that belongs to the MacAhern clan.”

“How about Rhiannon?” Lewen said quietly. They turned to him, surprised, having almost forgotten he was there, he had been so silent. “From the auld story, ye ken the one,” he said. “She rides past the king and he is so smitten with her beauty that he sends his cavaliers galloping after her, to bring her back to him. But she rides so swiftly none can catch her. The king cannot forget her, and so day after day he returns to the same place in the forest, hoping to see her again. At last she gallops past and he pursues her. But not even his great war-charger can catch up with her, and so he calls out to her, telling her he has fallen in love with her. So she turns and reins in her horse, and lets him come near, and he makes her his wife.”

“Aye,” Niall said slowly. “I remember that tale. Rhiannon.” He turned to the girl. She was gazing now at Lewen. Her face had softened, her mouth curving just enough for the elusive dimple to crease her cheek. “Do ye like that name, lassie?” Niall asked gruffly.