Her question was not answered, for Anghus was on his feet, already pacing restlessly. ‘Could it be my Fionnghal?’ he asked. ‘The Grand-Seeker Glynelda always said she was at Rhyssmadill with the Banrìgh, but I have searched every corridor and storeroom o’ the palace and every street and courtyard o’ Dùn Gorm and no’ a trace o’ her did I find.’
‘If she be your daughter or no’ I canna tell,’ Meghan replied. ‘Such a strong Talent as she shows is rare … and I remember now Jorge told me she had been raised under Glynelda’s hand. This lass was never at the palace, though. She was apprenticed to a thief and bounty-hunter in the Awl’s pay, in Lucescere.’
Anghus frowned and his hand moved unconsciously to his side, where the hilt of his sword normally hung. ‘I hope then that she is no’ my daughter,’ he muttered. ‘A cruel apprenticeship for my young lass.’
‘Any young lass,’ Meghan said.
The prionnsa nodded. ‘True indeed,’ he answered. For a few moments more he paced to and fro on the moonlit grass, then he turned to the witch and said, ‘Do ye think it is the same with Tabithas? Will I find her if I search against the pull?’
‘Nay,’ Meghan said. ‘Ye canna find Tabithas for ye were looking for her in the wrong form. Ye were expecting her to be the same as ye have always known her. She is different, though, far different. Her mind and soul are no longer what ye knew. Anghus, Maya has a very strange and terrible power, one I have never heard o’ before except in Other World faery stories. She can transform people into any creature she likes. Tabithas was turned into a wolf. She has lived in the forests around Castle Rurach a long time syne. She is near. Indeed, she waits in the forest.’
Anghus was flabbergasted. He could only stare at her as if she had spoken in a different language. In the growing light, Meghan could see his wide-open mouth. ‘Tabithas. My sister. Ye say she has been turned into a wolf?’
‘Aye, so it seems. She came here last night. We talked. She has no language left but that o’ the beast. Sixteen years she has been trapped in the body o’ a wolf, unable to reach anyone. She says she tried to speak with ye many times, but your mind was closed. Slammed shut. After a while she gave up. She ran with the wild wolves o’ the forest and won their allegiance. They have been biting and nipping at the Banrìgh’s heels all this time, though since the rising o’ the comet they have struck in force. Tabithas remembers the calendar o’ the Coven; she knows the year o’ the comet is always momentous indeed.’
‘Tabithas. A wolf.’
‘Aye, I fear so. It is ironic, is it no’? Maya seems to have a touch o’ wit in her enchantments. I wonder how many brave witches are now toads or rats?’
Anghus shuddered. From his pocket he pulled an ornate flask, which he uncorked and bent to his mouth rapidly. He swallowed a mouthful, and then another, and put the flask down dazedly.
‘The wolf that followed me here,’ he said. Meghan nodded. ‘That wolf with the silver-tipped ruff. She is Tabithas?’ Meghan nodded again. ‘I canna believe it.’
‘I’m sorry, Anghus, my lad, but indeed it is true. She tried to stop ye, but when ye would no’ stop she came with ye. I convinced her last night to let me speak with ye and try and find the reason for your hunt.’
‘It does no’ change anything,’ Anghus said suddenly. ‘No’ any o’ it, ye telling me about the reverse spell on Fionnghal or that the Banrìgh turned my sister into a wolf. I ken your witch-tricks; I know how ye witches can twist words until a man can no longer tell what is right or true …’
‘And do ye feel what the Banrìgh does is right or true?’ Meghan said in a terrible voice. ‘Are ye happy in her service, MacRuraich, descendant o’ witches?’
He twisted away, his face set hard. ‘That has nothing to do with it, Meghan. I have sworn to this task; I dare no’ risk my daughter on your word alone.’
‘Ye ken I do no’ lie,’ she said sternly.
‘How do I ken that? What is the Witches’ Creed now? Ye swore no’ to kill but have no’ soldiers been killed by ye and your companions, many o’ them?’
She bowed her old head. ‘That be true. Know I do no’ kill lightly, nor lie easily. Yet both I have done in this struggle, for indeed it is a fight to the death. But I shall neither lie to ye nor harm ye, for I have broken bread and eaten salt with ye, and ye are the beloved brother o’ my friend, who I loved and who loves ye still.’
‘I do no’ wish to do this, Meghan,’ Anghus said desperately. ‘But I have given my word and canna break it.’
‘I know,’ she said simply. ‘I am ready to go with ye.’
‘What o’ your companions? Where are they?’
‘I am alone,’ she answered.
He paced a moment more, then turned and nodded. ‘So be it. I am sorry, Meghan. Beware that scum, Humbert. He is a cruel man, and he longs to break you. I am ordered to deliver ye into his hands.’
‘Ye do no’ take me to the Banrìgh yourself?’
‘Nay, he countermanded her orders. He wants ye for himself.’
‘Was that your doing, Anghus?’
‘I put the idea into his head,’ Anghus admitted. ‘I do no’ ken if it was wise.’
Meghan nodded. ‘I thank ye for it, Anghus,’ she said with renewed vigour. ‘I would have submitted to ye, fellow child o’ the First Coven and friend. I see no need to submit to the Banrìgh’s menial. Come, let us go. It is near dawn.’
They were just walking into the dawn-scented forest when a small brown creature soared out from the trees and landed on Meghan’s shoulder. It was the donbeag, the sails of skin between his paws unfurled. He chittered excitedly and rubbed his velvety head under her chin.
‘Gitâ!’ the old witch exclaimed. ‘Why have ye returned?’ She stopped and stared into the forest. ‘Nay!’ she cried. ‘Go back!’
As Anghus spun on his heel, he saw two young people leaping out from behind the shelter of the moss-oaks. There was a young hunchback, wrapped in a heavy cloak and holding a longbow, an arrow cocked and pointing directly at him. The other was a slim figure in a white tam-o’-shanter and breeches, holding a dagger threateningly.
‘Let Meghan go,’ the hunchback cried, and limped forward a few steps.
‘I thought ye said ye were alone,’ the prionnsa said to Meghan accusingly.
‘I thought I was,’ she answered in chagrin.
‘My orders were to capture both the Arch-Sorceress and the leader o’ the rebels, named enigmatically the Cripple. Is this he?’
‘Nay,’ Meghan answered. ‘He is a mere lad. Ye think he has the wit or wiles to lead the rebellion?’
‘Let her go, I say!’ the young man called again and lifted the bow so the barbed head of the arrow pointed directly at Anghus’s heart.
‘Bacaiche, put down the bow!’ Meghan cried.
Incredulity sprang onto their faces. ‘But auld mother!’ the other called, and Anghus could tell by her voice that she was a lass, although her hair was cropped short and she wore boys’ clothes.
‘I told ye both to go. Why have ye disobeyed my orders yet again?’
‘Ye think we would go so easily?’ the girl cried. ‘We knew ye were in danger. Ye thought we would just leave and let ye be captured?’
‘Iseult, do ye no’ understand? Ye must care for your babe now; if Bacaiche is killed or captured, the child is our only hope. Ye ken what needs to be done. Why have ye disobeyed my orders?’
‘We shall no’ let ye be captured by the Awl!’ The hunchback hobbled forward a few more steps, his face twisted with hate, the bow raised threateningly. Anghus felt sweat spring up all over his body, and kept his eyes fixed on the arrow.
‘Nay! Ye shall let the MacRuraich take me. Have I no’ made myself clear?’
‘Nay,’ the girl responded in her oddly accented voice. ‘I canna let ye sacrifice yourself, Meghan. We need ye. Ye are the Auld Mother, the Firemaker. We must protect ye.’
Meghan laughed a little bitterly. ‘Iseult, I do no’ need ye to protect me,’ she answered gent
ly. ‘I am more than four hundred years auld and have been looking after myself all that time. Ye endanger me now. I want ye and Bacaiche to go, quickly and quietly. Do ye understand?’
They were puzzled and indecisive. The man with the longbow let the arrow droop until it pointed to the ground, so Anghus heaved a silent sigh of relief. Then the girl suddenly leapt forward with the speed and grace of a striking snake, and he found himself with the wicked-looking dagger against his throat. ‘We are going to go now, with Meghan. I shall no’ kill ye if ye let her go without trouble.’
‘Iseult, ye do no’ understand,’ Meghan said quietly. ‘We could go now, but Anghus will just follow us. No matter where I go, he will follow.’
‘But we will hide …’
‘He will find us.’
‘But …’
‘Iseult, the only way to stop a MacRuraich on the hunt is to kill him. He has sworn to track me down, and if it takes him a decade, he will do it.’
Her arm shortened, and he felt the blade piercing his skin. ‘Then I will kill him,’ the girl said matter-of-factly.
‘Nay, do ye no’ understand I would rather give myself into the Awl’s hand than have ye harm him? If I had wanted to escape, ye think I would no’ have done so? He is the MacRuraich. A whole land—in fact, two lands—need him and depend on him. He is the last o’ his line, and it is a great line, the bloodline o’ Rùraich the Searcher who first found this land for us and marked it on the star map. I have broken bread and eaten salt with him, and I shall no’ allow ye to hurt or kill him. So put down your dagger, Iseult, or it is angry indeed I shall be.’
The dagger dropped. Anghus put his hand to his throat and felt blood. The girl said in a bewildered voice, ‘But we want to rescue ye, Meghan …’
‘If there is any rescuing to be done, I shall do it myself. Now go, Iseult, take Bacaiche and bring him to safety. All my hopes are riding on ye.’ She disentangled the donbeag from her plait and, despite his attempts to creep back into her arms, handed him over to the girl. ‘Keep Gitâ safe for me, Iseult, and guard the pouch well. Head for the rebel encampment as I told ye. Do no’ worry about me. I shall see ye again when the time is right. Now I must go and face the Awl. If I am killed, it is your job to find Isabeau and join the three parts. Nothing must prevent ye from finding the Inheritance!’
Iseult nodded, and she and the hunchback stepped back in the trees.
‘Wait,’ Anghus said, and to his surprise his voice croaked. He looked down into Meghan’s narrow, wrinkled face and said firmly, ‘I was given your christening robe to hold, Meghan NicCuinn.’
She understood immediately. She glanced at the young man, still wrapped from throat to toes in the great black cloak. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Well, then ye ken there is another MacCuinn still living. Take off your cloak, Lachlan.’
The young man drew back in protest. Meghan nodded at him. ‘Anghus knows who ye are, Lachlan, ye canna hide such things from the eyes o’ a MacRuraich.’
Reluctantly he undid the ties of his cloak and let it drop to the ground. Freed from its concealing folds, he was revealed as a strongly built man, dressed in the MacCuinn tartan. His muscular legs ended in talons like a bird of prey. From his shoulders sprang two glossy black wings. Slowly he stretched them out and flexed them. Anghus’s breath caught.
‘He is Lachlan Owein MacCuinn, youngest son o’ Parteta the Brave. Maya transformed him into a blackbird when he was just a bairn. As ye can see, we have no’ found the magic to repel her evil enchantments.’ Meghan’s voice was hard and cold as the first crust of ice on a pond.
‘I am sworn to bring him in,’ Anghus said bleakly.
‘Nay, ye are no’,’ Meghan replied firmly. ‘Ye said yourself ye were told to capture the Cripple, leader o’ the rebellion. Lachlan is no’ the Cripple.’
‘But …’ Lachlan exclaimed.
‘He is a mere lad,’ Meghan said contemptuously. ‘True, he has spent the last few years tickling the nose o’ the Ensorcellor, but ye think he has the cunning, the cleverness, to plan and command all those spectacular escapes, all over the country? He was only seven when Maya ensorcelled the Rìgh and brought the Towers down. Do ye seriously think he was auld enough or clear-sighted enough to begin organising an underground resistance then? For that was when the rebellion began, in the aftermath o’ the Day o’ Betrayal. Many o’ the Cripple’s most daring exploits occurred when Lachlan was still trapped in the body o’ a blackbird. I freed him when he was just fifteen, and he is now only twenty-three years auld, and no’ very wise. Ye canna seriously think he is the Cripple, do ye?’
Lachlan made a strangled noise in his throat and started forward, but the girl held him back with a hand on his arm.
‘I am sworn to hunt down the Cripple. If this is no’ he, who is?’
‘A travelling jongleur named Enit Silverthroat,’ Meghan said promptly.
‘Meghan, no! How can ye?’ Shock broke Lachlan’s expressive voice.
‘Enit is now in Blèssem,’ Meghan continued. ‘She is the real leader o’ the rebels, the one they call the Cripple. It is true many think Lachlan is the Cripple, and we have no’ ever let anyone know the truth. But it is Enit who planned and commanded each and every movement o’ the rebels in the past sixteen years. She is the one ye seek.’
‘Meghan, stop! How can ye betray her so?’ Lachlan was sobbing with anger and frustration.
‘Trust me, my lad,’ she said, very low.
Anghus nodded his head. ‘Very well. I shall deliver ye to the Grand-Seeker as sworn, and then I go in search o’ Enit Silverthroat.’
Sani looked up and down the corridor before softly closing the door and locking it. Only when she was satisfied no-one was listening did she cross the room to the tallboy where the Mirror of Leyla was hidden.
Reverently she drew the silver hand-mirror out of the drawer and laid it on the table. It was a very old looking-glass, a sacred relic of the Fairgean royal family, and a powerful aid to far-seeing. With it, Sani could keep an eye on her spies and her enemies, communicate with her king and those seekers trained in the skill of scrying, and eavesdrop on private conversations.
Sani was strictly forbidden to touch the mirror without direct orders from Maya. The king of the Fairgean was far too jealous of his own power to give such a powerful icon into the hands of a high-priestess of Jor. Even after sixteen years, Sani still resented his decision. She was an initiate into the deeper mysteries, able to call upon the powers of Jor as her own—the mirror should have been hers, not trusted to the hands of a halfbreed.
His interdiction had never stopped her from using the mirror as she pleased, of course. The old priestess knew, even if the king did not, that Maya was not to be trusted. Sani firmly believed in keeping the reins of power in her own hands, even if that meant using the magical mirror in stealth.
In recent months it had grown increasingly difficult to find the privacy. Maya spent most of her days lolling in the pool in her suite of rooms. She dreaded having to go into the great hall where she was mobbed by impatient merchants wanting news of the trade flotilla. Her stomach was in constant disquiet, so she could not face the wild boar the lairds hunted down in her honour. All in all, she was as vague and distracted as Sani had ever known her.
It was only by the sea that the Banrìgh found release. Normally Sani disapproved of Maya spending time by the water, for the Banrìgh could afford no suspicions attached to her. This morning, though, the wily old priestess had opened the casement window so the salt-scented breeze blew through the whole room. ‘Look how the firth sparkles,’ she had said. Maya had drifted across to the window, the invigorating wind blowing her hair straight back from her brow. ‘Ye need some fresh air,’ Sani had cooed. ‘Look how pale ye grow.’
‘I need to swim,’ Maya said faintly.
‘I can tell anyone who asks that ye are sleeping …’ the old servant said and watched Maya’s face colour with pleasure. So Maya had made her slow way down to the stables, ordered her horse
to be saddled, and ridden down to the beach, where the sea breezes caressed her face and cooled her blood. It was dangerous, of course. Too many people could notice when she returned with damp hair and sandy clothes. It was a risk that had to be taken, though. Sani needed to use the mirror.
She sat at the table, making a complicated gesture over its silvery surface and concentrating on Latifa the Cook’s grand-niece, the red-haired scullery maid. Sani was not always able to focus in on the girl, but this time the mirror worked. She saw the girl sitting on a stool, feeding scraps of meat to the mangy dogs that turned the spit. Sani pursed up her lips in disappointment. Always she hoped to catch the lass out in some act of witchcraft or wrongdoing. But she always seemed innocent enough, working as hard as any of the other maids. She watched a while longer, then waved her hand over the mirror to banish the image.
The priestess had first seen the redhead in the week after May Day. The girl had been sick and weak, collapsing into a fever immediately after giving Latifa the Cook something concealed in a bag made of nyx hair. Sani knew well that such bags were designed to muffle the force of objects of magical power. Despite all her efforts, however, she had been unable to discover what it was the girl had carried. Sani did not like not knowing. It made her uneasy.
Sani was convinced the girl was the same redhead as the one who had caused so much trouble up in Rionnagan. First she had helped the winged uile-bheist to escape. This was a major blow, for it seemed certain he was the mysterious Cripple who had captured the hearts and minds of the common folk. Even worse, the secret fear that he may be one of the Lost Prionnsachan was now a certainty. There could be no other explanation for a winged man with the voice of a blackbird and the white lock of hair that marked all the MacCuinn clan.
The red-haired witch had supposedly been tried and executed, but within a month came news that she was alive and in company with the Arch-Sorceress and the winged uile-bheist. It seemed she was a warrior-maid as well as a powerful witch, for she slaughtered an entire troop of Red Guards at Tuathan Loch. The trio had disappeared into the mysterious depths of the Veiled Forest, and all attempts to flush them out had failed. It was not long afterwards that Sani saw her in the mirror, in Latifa’s chamber. Although it seemed incredible the girl could have crossed the entire length of the country in such a short time, Sani knew already that she was a very dangerous witch with powerful forces at her command. Perhaps it was true Meghan had charmed the dragons and they now served her. Or perhaps the girl could fly as they said Ishbel the Winged had done. Certainly she had somersaulted through the air as nimbly, by all accounts.