Eileanan - The Skull Of The World Part 17

"I'm going to create a diversion. When the men look away, ye must run up the stairs as fast and quiet as a wee mouse. Do no' look back, just run! Promise?"

He nodded and Isabeau hugged him close. "Be careful, Cuckoo."She peered over the rail again and when the men reached the landing below them, used her powers to cause a clatter from down the corridor. All the men whipped around. As they shouted and pointed, Neil went running up the stairs, his bare feet making very little sound on the wooden steps. As he reached the top, one of the boards squeaked and a few of the men turned around, though too late to see him.

"Ye next, Donncan, my mousekin. Are ye ready? Be careful o' that step."

He nodded, and she repeated the clatter, so that more of the men went charging down the corridor, calling and waving their weapons. Donncan spread his wings and flew up the stairs. The breeze caused by his wings caused the lantern-flames to waver and one of the men glanced up, just in time to see the white flutter of the little boy's nightshirt. "Up there!" he cried, pointing.

The men began to charge up the stairs and Isabeau leaped back, spun on her heel, and ran down the corridor, trying to make as much noise as possible. As she had hoped, the men followed her instead of climbing up the stairs to investigate. She led them far away from the staircase, having to stop to fight once or twice as they caught up with her. None was expecting a la.s.sie with a crippled hand to be able to fight, so the first few times she was able to escape them easily. As they grew warier it became more difficult, for they came at her from all sides with weapons drawn, but she somersaulted over their heads and ran on, searching for some way to escape them. If she could only have a few moments to herself she could transform into a mouse again, but they were too quick and too many and Isabeau was already dangerously overwrought by all the magic she had been using.

She ran on, her breath sharp in her side, then turned to look back over her shoulder. Suddenly she collided with someone very large. With all the breath knocked out of her, Isabeau could not react quickly enough to escape the hard hands that seized her. She had a brief impression of an ugly face all bristling with black hair under a tricorne hat, a grinning mouth of stained, broken teeth and an enormous crooked nose before a huge, hard fist slammed into her temple. She fell into a roaring darkness.

She woke to a crippling headache, lights scorching her eyes. She turned her face away, lifting her hand to cover her eyes.

"The sorceress-babe has woken," Margrit's silken voice emerged from the clamor in Isabeau's ears. "I'm glad o' that, I was afraid ye had killed her, Hammerhead."

"Ah," Isabeau said, not lifting her hand. "So at last I meet Hammerhand, the man who beats laddies black and blue. I wish I could say it was a pleasure."

There was an inarticulate growl and then Margrit said, "No, no, Hammerhead, do no' hit her again. I want to talk to her and she canna answer if she's unconscious."

Isabeau spread her fingers and looked through. "Can ye please move that light so it is no' shining right in my eyes?" Her voice was plaintive.

"Ye must admit she has impudence," Margrit said, grudging admiration in her voice. "We will soon break her o' that, however." The light was moved so it stabbed more cruelly into Isabeau's eyes. "So ye are a sorceress," she purred, and Isabeau saw a flash of golden fire as the dragoneye ring was turned in Margrit's long white fingers.

"I have no' yet sat my sorceress Test," Isabeau replied in a neutral tone. She sat up gingerly, trying not to flinch as her movement brought her rather too close to the black-bearded pirate. She rubbed her temple ruefully. "I do feel rather like I was. .h.i.t by a hammer," she remarked to no one in particular. "I do no'suppose I could have some powdered willowbark?"

"But ye have a sorceress ring? Two, in fact, for as well as a dragoneye jewel ye also have a ruby. A very large, very beautiful ruby."

"The ruby belonged to my ancestor, Faodhagan the Red. As I already have a dragoneye for my sorceress ring, I wear his ruby for pa.s.sing my Test o' Fire."

"And I see here ye have rings for all o' the elements except for water. Ye are very young to have pa.s.sed so many o' the Tests o' Elements. In my day ye had to be twenty-four before ye were even admitted into the coven, let alone allowed to sit your Tests o' Elements."

"Times change. There are few enough with power these days to be quibbling over birthdays."

"Mmmmm, interesting. I should have been more careful, but the dirty face and rough clothes deceived me. I thought ye some foolish peasant bairn who did no' ken any better."

Suddenly the lantern was snuffed so it no longer blazed directly into Isabeau's face. She gave a little sigh of relief and rubbed her temples, looking about her. It was dim in the room without the lantern, but Isabeau could see she was in a grand room beautifully decorated with heavy dark furniture and huge tapestries, an intricately woven carpet on the floor. The only light came from candelabra on the sideboard behind Margrit, so the sorceress's face was cast in shadow while Isabeau's was clearly illuminated.

The pirate with the crooked nose was standing grinning at her nastily, his enormous red hands thrust through a wide belt. He was dressed in a filthy velvet doublet, breeches and long black boots, with an enormous beard and greasy black hair sticking out from under a tricorne hat. An emerald flashed in one ear.

The young pageboy was kneeling at Margrit's feet, a golden tray in his hands. His face was downturned but Isabeau could see by the droop of his shoulders that he was desperately unhappy. She looked away, embarra.s.sed, and saw with some surprise a fat toad squatting on a purple velvet cushion. Sudden recognition made her mouth quirk upward but she said nothing, and the little smile died as she saw the nyx hair pouch lying on the table before them, all her belongings strewn about carelessly. She tried hard not to let her consternation show but Margrit was watching her closely and frowned with pleasure at the little quiver of Isabeau's lip.

"So where are the lads?" Margrit asked suavely. "That was clever o' ye to release them again so quickly.

I wonder how ye managed to hide there in the room without us finding ye."

Isabeau said nothing.

Margrit tapped her teeth with one purple fingernail, as long as a knife. "I have decided no' to kill ye, at least no' yet," she said pleasantly. "It is clear ye have power, exceptional power, to so trick and deceive me. I have decided that such power will be o' use to me. Ye will stay here and work as my apprentice."

Isabeau was watching her closely. "I thank ye for the honor ye show me," she answered with a little inflection of irony. She saw the dimples in Margrit's cheek deepen and her fear intensified.

The sorceress sat with a graceful spread of her silken skirts. "Ye may pour us some wine, my sweet boy, and then ye may go."

"Aye, my lady," the pageboy answered, pouring wine from an ornate gold jug into two crystal gla.s.ses.

The wine shone with the same golden fire as Isa-beau's sorceress ring. Isabeau's eyes widened a little, for crystal gla.s.ses were rare and expensive indeed."I can see there will be some advantages to being your apprentice, my lady," she said sweetly. "I have heard wine drunk from crystal tastes finer than any other wine."

"Aye, it does indeed," Margrit agreed. "And this wine, my wee sorceress, has been sweetened with the honey o' the golden G.o.ddess flower. I promise ye it will awaken in ye a l.u.s.t that is no' easily satiated."

She laughed and caressed the pageboy's cheek, before sliding her hand down his body and inside his breeches to fondle him lewdly. Isabeau's color rose and so did the pageboy's, who cast her a quick, furtive glance.

"If ye please me, Isabeau Nicf.a.ghan, I may send ye my sweet boy as your reward. I can promise ye he shall please ye."

Isabeau said nothing, averting her eyes, wishing her color would not rise so readily and betray her.

Margrit laughed. "Have I embarra.s.sed ye?" She laughed again and pushed the pageboy away with a little pat to his silk-clad posterior. "Go, go! I shall call ye when I want ye."

"Aye, my lady," he replied, putting the tray on the little side table and bowing as he left.

"Ye can go too, Hammerhead. I expect the fleet to be ready to sail with the dawn tide."

"But my lady-"

"Go, go! Do ye think I can no' manage this wee la.s.sie who blushes at the thought o' coupling with a lad?"

"Very well then, my lady, as ye please." The pirate gave the sorceress a perfunctory bow and strode from the room.

"So, Isabeau Nicf.a.ghan, if ye are to be my apprentice, happen we should begin our relationship with a toast?" Margrit pushed the gla.s.s of wine across the table to Isabeau, who smiled and bowed and took the finely cut crystal gla.s.s in her hand.

"To the future?"

"Aye, to the future," Isabeau agreed and lifted the gla.s.s to her mouth. She drank a little, the honeyed wine warming her skin and quickening her blood. She put the gla.s.s back down on the table and faced the sorceress, who was smiling at her with the same self-satisfaction of a cat toying with a mouse. Isabeau breathed deeply and calmly, her eyes fixed on Mar-grit's face, her body deceptively relaxed.

"So tell me, my dear apprentice, how it is ye escaped me before, in a puff o' smoke like a firework magician? What is your Talent, for it is clear to me that ye do indeed have a Talent o' a sorcerous strength." As she spoke, Margrit played with the many rings on her fingers, twisting them with her long, curved nails. She smiled sweetly. "Come, my dear. Drink up, enjoy. Be frank with me. I am sure ye do no' wish to make me angry."

"No, indeed," Isabeau agreed, pretending to sip her wine again. Her sharp eyesight had not missed the surrept.i.tious twisting aside of one of Margrit's rings, nor the subtle change of the sorceress's expression.

All her senses warned her of danger and she dared not drink the wine the sorceress pressed upon her so a.s.siduously. "It is no great Talent though, I am afraid. I merely brought fire and smoke, and then crawled away under the bed while ye were coughing and choking. I do hope ye are no' disappointed."

Margrit's dimples deepened. She reached out and topped up Isabeau's gla.s.s, smiling into her eyes. "Nay, o' course I am no' disappointed, my dear. Please, ye are no' drinking."Isabeau did not pick up the gla.s.s, gesturing across the table to the toad, who sat impa.s.sively on his velvet cushion, watching them with black l.u.s.trous eyes. "Do please forgive my curiosity, my lady, but can that by any chance be the Scarred Warrior who once served ye?"

Margrit looked at her swiftly, unable to contain her surprise. Then her brows lowered in a little frown of mingled satisfaction and amus.e.m.e.nt, and she bent and stroked the toad's ugly, warty head. "Aye, indeed he is. Maya transformed him into a toad and sent him back to me with a most impudent message. I have no' forgotten. If the Spinners ever bring our threads to cross again, I shall make her regret her words."

She glanced back up at Isabeau, who was regarding her impa.s.sively, her hand cupped around her gla.s.s.

"But now I ken who ye are. Ye are Isabeau the Red, the witchling that stole the NicCuinn brat. It was your braid that Maya brought to me and ye I saw through my Scrying Pool, up on the Spine o' the World. That is how ye come to fight so cannily. And that is the explanation o' the scars on your face. I should've guessed."

Isabeau nodded. "Aye, I be the one."

"And so ye are the one who stole the wee Fairge babe and threw us all into such confusion?"

"Aye, I be the one," she answered again. All her pulses were hammering so hard it was a wonder Margrit did not hear.

Margrit laughed and sipped her wine. "Indeed I was right to fear ye," she said. "Ye are the wild card in our game o' poque. It is because o' ye and your sister that so many o' my schemes have failed. Ah, well, as Ea wills so will it be. Let us drink to forgetting our differences." She raised her gla.s.s high.

Isabeau smiled, clinked her gla.s.s to Margrit's and drained it dry, though her head spun from the heady brew and her loins warmed. Margrit also drained her goblet, then flung it on the ground with a shattering of gla.s.s. "It is a shame I could no' let ye live, wild card," she purred. "But indeed ye were too dangerous to me, and besides, revenge is sweet, sweeter even than honeyed wine."

Isabeau looked at her rather sadly. "Is it?"

Margrit's smile suddenly twisted awry. She put her hand up to her throat, glaring at Isabeau wildly. "No!"

she screamed. "Noooooooooo!"

The scream gargled away to nothing as the sorceress's face grew infused with choleric color. She choked, her hands frantically clutching her throat, then suddenly she toppled from her chair. For a time she thrashed about on the ground, her face a mottled purple, gray spittle frothing from her stiff lips.

Isabeau looked away, shocked and sickened. So Margrit had dropped poison of some kind into Isabeau's gla.s.s. She had not been sure until now, distracting Margrit's attention and swapping the wine on little more than a hunch.

At last the drumming of the sorceress's heels died away and she lay still, engorged eyes staring. Isabeau hurriedly gathered up her belongings and thrust them back into her nyx hair pouch, her heart slamming in her breast. If it had not been for her unnaturally keen eyesight, it would have been Isabeau lying on the ground, her back arched with the agony of her death. It would have been Isabeau who had drunk the poisoned wine.

She gave a little shudder of horror and, without looking at Margrit's purple, foam-flecked face, bent and examined the dead sorceress's hands, frozen into claws. She soon found what she was looking for- one of the rings had a secret compartment that could be unlatched with a slight push of a finger. Within the compartment there was still a residue of white powder. Isabeau worked the carved turquoise ring off the stiff finger and tucked it into the pouch with her own rings. She then covered up Margrit's horrid staringeyes with a cloth and left the room as silently as she could.

Her luck ran out on the stairs. She was creeping along as fast as she could when suddenly a group of pirates emerged from the gloom of the landing, talking and laughing together. They shouted at the sight of her, and Isabeau seized the railing and somersaulted over their heads, landing on the stairs above them.

She leapt up the steps, ignoring the st.i.tch in her side, slammed open the door onto the battlements, swung it shut and heaved a pile of old crates against it. Already she could hear the pounding of fists against the wood and knew the pirates were close behind her.

Hands trembling, she unbarred the cages of the swans, who flapped their wings and hissed at each other as they struggled to get out. The two boys were hiding inside and she pulled them out, saying urgently, "Throw the cages up against the door, laddies, as fast as ye can!"

As they obeyed she hustled the swans to the sleigh, hissing at them to get into position. Once they were all in harness she gathered together her powers and began to cut through the enchanted chains that bound them. It was difficult to keep her mind focused with such precision when she could hear the splintering of wood as ihe pirates bashed through the door. Every nerve in her body was screaming at her to hurry but she forced herself to remain calm. Even the slightest wavering of her concentration could see the razor-sharp ray of witch-fire slicing through one of the swans' necks instead of their necklace.

Isabeau heard Neil scream just as she released the last of the swans. She spun around, thrusting her staff into the nyx hair pouch. The first of the pirates had broken through and had seized the little boy by the arm. She called to the swans to take flight, then ran to grapple with the pirate. Bugling loudly in triumph, the swans soared into the air, dragging the sleigh behind them.

"Donncan, seize the reins!" she screamed. The little prionnsa flew up to the sleigh, grabbed the trailing reins, and turned the swans around, just as Isabeau kicked the pirate in the head. He fell, taking Neil down with him. Isabeau dragged the little boy free, then turned and flung him up into the air with all her strength, both natural and magical. He shot straight up, as swift as an arrow, and landed in the sleigh with a resounding b.u.mp.

"Go, go!" Isabeau cried. "I'll catch up." She had no time to say any more for all the pirates were bearing down upon her, waving wickedly curved cutla.s.ses and snouting.

For a time Isabeau had no time to think, dodging, weaving, punching, kicking, feinting first one way and then the other. She saw a gap in the melee, somersaulted high into the air, and transformed herself into the shape of a swan.

Crimson-tipped wings beating strongly, Isabeau soared away from the battlements, her clothes falling down upon the pirates' heads. They fought free of the garments, letting loose a volley of foul expletives.

Isabeau turned and swept north, following close behind the swan-sleigh which she could see clearly in the brilliant light of the morning.

Suddenly an agonizing pain seized her in the breast, paralyzing her wing. Isabeau began to tumble down, down, an arrow shaft protruding from the hollow below her left wing. Down, down, she plunged, her long black eyes closed against the pain and the dizzying fall of s.p.a.ce, one wing hanging useless.

She hit something hard with a bang, and lay, half stunned. Then she heard Neil's voice in her ear and felt small hands cradling her head. "Oh, Aunty Beau, Aunty Beau, are ye dead?"

"I dirma think so," Isabeau replied faintly. She opened her eyes and saw Neil's grimy anxious face bent over hers. Donncan still clung to the reins, though his head was craned back so he could see her, hisgolden eyes shining with tears. "Ye caught me," she said.

He nodded. "I dinna think we would reach ye in time."

"I'm back in my own shape."

"Ye changed back when ye hit the sleigh."

"I must have blacked out for a couple o' seconds. Interesting to ken I change back to my own self when unconscious. I wonder if I change back when I'm asleep." Isabeau struggled to sit up and almost fainted again as the arrowhead bit more deeply into her flesh. "Ea curse and confound them! They would have an archer among them, the filthy maggots!" She managed to sit up and seized the arrow shaft with both hands, breathing harshly.

"Ye're bleeding badly," Neil whispered.

Isabeau looked down and saw crimson ribbons of blood winding down her bare skin. All around the wound the flesh was torn and black with blood. She nodded. "Aye, the arrow's gone deep. I can feel it grating against bone. We have to get it out. Ye'll have to help me, Cuckoo."

He looked sick. "I canna."

"Hold the reins, ye gowk!" Donncan commanded. "I'll help ye, Aunty Beau."

"That's my soldier!" Isabeau said, trying to smile, though she felt so sick and dizzy it was all she could do to retain consciousness. She reached up with her good arm and grasped the bag of nyx hair which was still hanging around her neck. "Undo this for me, and get out my medicine-satchel."

Donncan found the little bottle of poppy syrup which all healers carried with them, and gave it to her to drink. She gulped down a few mouthfuls, then went on unsteadily. "Now I need ye to tear your nightshirt up for me, dearling, and wad it all around the arrow shaft."

"My nightshirt is filthy," Donncan said.

"Find something clean in the bag then. Just hurry!" He dragged out her only other shirt and tore it up hastily, making a thick pad to press against the wound.

"Press as hard as ye can, we have to stop the bleeding." She winced as he obeyed, white-hot streaks of pain shooting through her. "That's good. Now break the shaft. Gently, Donncan, gently!" She screamed as the shaft snapped, jerking the arrowhead inside her. The world receded into fuzziness.

"Aunty Beau, Aunty Beau!"

"I'm fine," she answered, her voice sounding very odd and far away. She shifted her weight, drinking more of the poppy syrup, trying not to breathe too deeply. "Now, Donncan, I need ye to do something hard for me. I ken ye have moved things with your mind before, havena ye?"

He nodded, tears making new white tracks down his dirty face. "No' very well, though," he whispered. "I broke the window by mistake."

"I need ye to concentrate on the arrow. Breathe in very deeply, very slowly, breathe out, breathe in.

Concentrate on the arrow. Now imagine ye are holding it in your hand. Jerk it out through my back."

The young prionnsa hesitated and she snapped, "Jerk it out, Donncan!"He obeyed with a catch of his breath. The arrow flew out through Isabeau's back and embedded itself in the high carved stern of the sleigh. Isabeau screamed in agony. Tears burned her eyes and she sobbed a little, gulping down another mouthful of the syrup. The pain receded to a hot throbbing, and she pressed the b.l.o.o.d.y wad in closer.

"Wash the wound for me with that lotion," she instructed, "then pad it well with some clean cloth. Then bandage me up as tightly as ye can, Donncan. It needs st.i.tching but I canna do it myself and I do no'

suppose sewing is something anyone ever taught ye."

He shook his head, unable to speak, and bandaged her up as instructed. Isabeau closed her eyes and almost succ.u.mbed to the temptation to drift away into blackness again. The poppy syrup was working its magic, however, numbing the pain to a strange hot glow that made her fingers and toes tingle.

"Help me up," she whispered. "Where are we?"

She looked over the gilded side of the sleigh and saw they were flying over the sea, the Fair Isles receding behind them. Far below, the water glimmered brightly. With white sails proudly spread, a great fleet of ships glided through the waves, all flying the red and black flags of the pirates.

"The pirate fleet!" Isabeau whispered. "Oh, we must stop them!"

For a moment it was all too hard. She wanted to curl up and sleep, to let the swans take them where they willed. She gritted her teeth, however, and said, "Neil, take the swans down. Donncan, get me my staff.