The Tower of Ravens (55 page)

The morning had been one long, horrible blur to Rhiannon. She remembered most of it in weird disconnected flashes, mostly red-hued and throbbing. Her sleep had been tormented by strange visions and nightmares, and she found it hard to remember how much of it was true. Had Lewen really held her down while a grim-faced Nina forced poison down her throat? She knew it had made her sicker than she had ever been before in her life. She did not want to believe Lewen and Nina could do such a thing, but the vomiting had been no nightmare, the stink of it was still in her hair and she tasted it still upon her tongue. And she knew Lewen had seen Irving with the pillow in his hands, and yet he had done nothing to defend her. Rhiannon had to escape from this place.

It was easy enough to make her way through the castle without being seen. The sun was high and everyone was at lunch. Rhiannon did not go out into the inner ward, but found the back way to the stables. They too were empty, except for the horses that drowsily lipped at the straw or put their heads over their stalls to greet her.

Blackthorn whickered eagerly. Rhiannon felt a rush of tears to her eyes at the sight of her, but brushed them resolutely away, stroking her muzzle and murmuring love nonsense to her till the ache around her heart eased a little.

Then she opened the stall and let Blackthorn out. The winged horse came out prancing, restless after so much time confined. Rhiannon buckled on the soft pad and the saddlebags, then led Blackthorn over to the mounting-block. She was still feeling so very weak and dizzy she did not think she could mount without assistance.

Once she was astride the mare’s back, she looked about her one more time and noticed that Sure and Steady were both missing, although the caravans were still drawn up to one side of the big barn. Then she realised Argent was gone too. She felt a jolt of disappointment and rage. “He left me here,” she murmured. “He doesna care one little bit.”

The thought spurred her on. She pressed her heels into Blackthorn’s sides and the mare went daintily out into the courtyard. A groom was there, lazily forking manure into the muck heap. He straightened at the sight of her and said, “Oy!”

Blackthorn danced sideways, then broke into a trot. The groom ran towards them, arms spread wide, shouting, “What ye think ye’re doing? Where ye going?”

Rhiannon urged the mare into a canter, then lifted her weight from Blackthorn’s back. Obediently the mare spread her wings and soared up into the air.

Carina keep a thigearn trapped inside walls
, Rhiannon thought with satisfaction.

The groom leapt out of the way hurriedly, landing face first in the muck heap. Rhiannon gave him a mocking salute as he sat up, furiously spitting and wiping clean his face. Then he was on his feet and running to raise the alarm.

Blackthorn wheeled in the air, tilting her wings, then rose higher, leaving the grim grey castle behind her. Rhiannon leant forward, enjoying the view. She could see the vast expanse of lake, whipped into shining waves by the breeze. The wind was very strong today, dragging her hair all over her face, sending her cloak whipping and Blackthorn’s mane swirling. The mare had to fight to keep her course steady against its rough buffeting.

As they came over the ridge, Rhiannon saw the distant grey bulk of Ravenscraig on its pinnacle of stone, and the broken arch of the old bridge across the lake, and the great clouds of spray flung up where the water bent its great weight over the lip of the cliff. She watched it in fascination, never having seen such a magnificent sight.

A distant cry caught her attention. She looked down. Below her was the gatehouse. On the far side of it, Rhiannon saw the massive old tree across the road, and men swarming over it with ropes and tools, and the carthorses dragging at the ropes patiently. Someone had seen her and was pointing up at her. She brought Blackthorn about, heading back towards the mountains, away from all those faces turning up to stare at her. The mare’s black wings beat steadily.

Below her were the broken spires of the Tower of Ravens. Beyond she could see the small walled town of Fetterness built at the foot of the hill, and the green of the forest curving all round, and the brown of the untilled fields running down to the water.

The mare was tiring in her battle against the wind, and so Rhiannon looked for a place to land. She brought Blackthorn down near the road, and then saw, under the shadows of the trees, another horse and rider cantering along. At once she urged Blackthorn up into the air again.

Someone called “Rhiannon!” behind her.

She glanced back and saw the rider was Lewen, standing up in his stirrups, calling to her. Rhiannon’s heart was filled with anger and bitterness. She leant forward, urging Blackthorn to fly faster. But the wind was simply too wild and turbulent. Blackthorn whickered in distress, and Rhiannon brought her down the ridge to land lightly on the lower curve of the switch-backing road. She thought she had left Lewen far behind her but then she heard the thunder of Argent’s hooves as he galloped round the bend. Rhiannon bit her lip and kicked Blackthorn into a gallop.

Down the steep winding road the two horses raced, the trees tossing wildly overhead. Every now and again Rhiannon glanced back over her shoulder and saw to her dismay that Lewen was gaining upon her. She urged the mare on, even though the mare skidded at one of the hairpin turns and almost fell, the road still being very wet and muddy. Here and there branches lay across the road, blown down in the wind, and Blackthorn leapt them nimbly. The wind was so cold it brought tears to Rhiannon’s eyes. She had to hold back her hair with one hand. At last the road began to level out, leading past the walled town and along the lake shore.

A girl was herding geese along the road. Blackthorn plunged into the flock, sending indignant birds honking up into the air. They had just settled back to the road when Argent came thundering past, sending them all up into the air again.

Rhiannon leant lower over Blackthorn’s mane, murmuring encouragements, then she glanced back one more time. Lewen was close enough for her to see his face. It was set and grim and angry, and her heart gave a strange little lurch. She urged the mare to run faster but slowly, inexorably, Lewen gained upon them.

Faster and faster the two horses galloped, moving fluidly, silver and black together, like one horse and its shadow. Really frightened now, Rhiannon tried to bring Blackthorn swerving away, to find room to rise into the air again, but with a curt command, Lewen brought Argent round, cutting the mare off and forcing her to slow. They came to a shuddering halt in the shade of a giant hemlock.

Lewen threw himself down from the stallion’s back and seized Rhiannon round the waist, dragging her down from the mare’s back.

“What in blazes do ye think ye’re doing!”

Rhiannon leant her head against his chest, trembling in every limb.

He shook her, none too gently. “Ye should be in bed! Ye’re ill!”

“Me need escape,” she said. “They try kill me.”

He had her up hard against his body, holding her so she could not escape. Now he twisted his hand in her hair and pulled her head up so he could see her eyes. “O‘ course they tried to kill ye,” he yelled. “Ye idiot, if ye die o’ pneumonia they’ll have succeeded! Ye should be in bed, no‘ out in this freezing wind.”

“Ye kent they tried to kill me? And ye still left me?” The hurt of his betrayal was bitter in her voice.

“Ye were safe. The others were watching over ye. I had to go…” His voice trailed away. “Did ye think I was no‘ coming back? Rhiannon, I would no’ leave ye. I promise.” He bent his head and kissed her.

Tears sprang to her eyes. She wound her arm about his neck and kissed him back.

When he spoke again, his voice was unsteady. “Rhiannon…”

“Why ye go?” she demanded. “Why ye leave me?”

“I have to find the Scrying Pool, at the Tower o‘ Ravens. I meant to find it by noon but we’re too late now. I was going to tell the Rìgh what we have learnt… in case the laird tries something… in case we all disappeared.” His voice was grim.

“So ye did believe me?”

“O‘ course I believe ye!”

“And Nina? Iven? All the others?”

“Nina does, I’m sure. Iven… I do no‘ ken. It does no’ matter. Once the Rìgh kens what we ken, he will send men to investigate and they will find the truth o‘ it all. For now, we just have to get away from here safely. Oh, Rhiannon, why did ye run away? The laird will be suspicious now, and happen we have lost our chance to talk our way out o’ here. Ye should’ve trusted me.”

She moved away from him, her face set in its old wary, sulky lines. “How was I to ken?”

He drew her close to him again, tipping up her face so he could kiss her again. “I ken. I’m sorry.”

The wind whipped her hair across his face, and he smoothed it down, cradling her face in his hands. He felt as if he were falling down a deep hole, from which there was no way of climbing back to the life he had imagined for himself. She was stiff in his hands, her face sullen. He bent his head again, determined to kiss her into pliancy, but she leant away from him, her eyes suddenly widening. “Look at that storm!”

Lewen turned and immediately gaped in surprise. To the north immense black clouds were building over the distant peak of Ben Eyrie. Lightning played eerily along its belly, then Lewen heard a low rumble of thunder.

“Mighty Eà!” Lewen cried. “It was such a beautiful day! Where has that storm come from?”

“It’s those necromancers,” Rhiannon said in a low, husky whisper. “They’ve called the storm up. They want to keep us trapped here.”

“Och, surely no‘,” Lewen said, even though he half-believed her. “They are no’ witches there, what would they ken o‘ weather magic?”

“They can raise ghosts,” Rhiannon said flatly.

“We’d better start back,” Lewen said. “We dinna want to be caught in that.”

Rhiannon nodded. She seized Blackthorn’s mane and let Lewen lift her up onto the mare’s back. “It’s cold,” she said. “I’m shivering. That storm is no‘ natural, I swear to ye.”

“Nina said storms can blow up fast around here,” Lewen said, bringing Argent round so he could mount.

“Aye, that’s true. I lived all my life in these mountains, remember. But this cold, that makes all the hairs on my body stand up, and makes my ears ache, that’s no‘ natural. It happens whenever magic is worked. I ken. I have felt it every time.”

Lewen turned to stare at her. “Ye can feel a chill in the air when magic is worked?” he said slowly. “Ye must be very sensitive to it.”

“Lucky me,” Rhiannon answered, and wrapped her cloak tightly about her.

The horses broke into a restive trot, the wind blowing their manes and tails into banners. Thunder grumbled through the valley. The clouds chased them all the long ride home, along the shore of the loch and up the road towards Fetterness. The labourers were coming in from the field, looking anxiously up at the sky, and shop-keepers were pulling closed their shutters. By now the clouds had raced to cover the whole sky, and the trees were bending over in the wind, which crackled and roared with lightning.

“Should we stop here?” Lewen called. “I do no‘ want ye to get caught in the rain, when ye’ve been so sick. There’ll be an inn where we can take shelter.”

Rhiannon frowned. “Nay, let’s get back. We could be stuck here all night, if the storm is as wild as the last one.”

“Let’s hurry then,” Lewen shouted back, the wind catching at his words, and kicked Argent into a canter.

It was tiring fighting against the wind, and the horses reared and whinnied as blown branches whipped against them. Rhiannon was soon so weary she could barely keep her balance. Lewen lifted her from Blackthorn’s back, holding her before him. For once Rhiannon made no protest, huddling under the cloak against the bitter cold that struck into the very marrow of her bones.

As they reached the top of the ridge, they saw the rain sweeping across the valley below like advancing ranks of grey-clad soldiers. Lightning flashed, making the horses rear in terror, and seconds later there was an enormous clap of thunder that seemed to make the ground shake.

“We’ll never make it to the castle,” Lewen cried, as the first scud of rain spat into their faces. “We’re going to get soaked to the skin! Let us go to the tower. Ye can rest while I try to find the Scrying Pool. Sunset is a time o‘ power—I can try to reach His Highness then.”

“There’ll be no sunset tonight,” Rhiannon said through chattering teeth. “Only storm.”

The Tower of Ravens