The cursed towers 165
Bạn đang xem bản rút gọn của tài liệu. Xem và tải ngay bản đầy đủ của tài liệu tại đây (3.64 KB, 1 trang )
extravagant, magical.
"Tur de Ceo," Campbell said reverently, and she frowned to hear the old language, the tongue of
witches, outlawed seventeen years ago. He glanced at her sardonically and said a long phrase lilting and
beautiful, which she did not understand. "Oh, the Tower o' Mists, mysterious beauty, beauteous
mystery," he translated for her. "How does it feel to see it, my lady? The one Tower ye could no'
topple?"
Maya gritted her teeth. Indeed it was ironic to be coming to the Lady of Arran for help when for many
long years she had sent her Red Guards into the marshes in a vain attempt to destroy the NicFoghnan's
magical power. Many a company of Maya's soldiers had been lost in the marshes, and the Tower of
Mists was the only witches' Tower not to have been burnt to ruins. It made her feel very odd and
off-balance to be approaching one of the most powerful sorceresses in the land with her hand extended
in friendship.
Smoothly the swan-boat came to a halt at a wide marble platform. Maya gathered her crimson skirts
together and climbed out as gracefully as she could. Standing to one side of the broad steps was a tall,
strong-looking man dressed somberly in gray. His mane of coarse white hair was bound back from his
brow with leather, so that the two heavy horns curling down on either side of his forehead were
emphasized. Across each angular cheekbone were three thin white scars.
Maya stared at him in some surprise. She recognized him at once as a Khan'cohban, having met one of
the mountain faeries at the Tower of Two Moons many years before. She knew they were a fierce
warlike race, much like her own people, though they lived in the inhospitable snowy wastes at the top of
the world. She wondered what he was doing here, in the soft airs of the coast, and knew him to be
dangerous. The six scars on his face proclaimed him as a skilled warrior, and she remembered the one
she had known. He had tried to kill her and had almost succeeded. Only her transformative magic had
saved her, for she had turned him into a horse and broken him to her whip and spur. She knew how
much it would have galled him to be a beast of burden, for the Khan'cohbans were fiercely independent.
Breaking him to her will had given her intense satisfaction, for she had seen it as a symbol of her
supremacy over all the peoples of Eileanan and the Far Islands. Idly she wondered what had happened
to the ensorcelled horse, and thought he must have died years ago.
The Khan'cohban bowed and greeted her courteously. He escorted her up the stairs, passing two more
Mesmer-dean nymphs standing guard outside the great arched door. Maya stared at them in fascination
and they stared back with greenish, multifaceted eyes, their beautiful inhuman faces showing no
expression. Engraved on either side of the double door was the badge of the MacFogh-nan clan—a
flowering thistle with the clan motto curling above it. Touch not the thistle, Maya read, flaring her
nostrils in disdain.
She was led through a grand hall hung with bright tapestries and decorated with marble statues, ancient
shields and weapons, and silver bowls and pitchers. On the floor were rugs of exquisite workmanship,
crimson and blue and gray, and a magnificent staircase swept down from the upper gallery, a streak of
red carpet falling down the center like a river of blood. Servants hurried to take her cape and feathered
hat, and to offer her mulled wine to warm her after the chilly journey. Maya sipped at it and was
astonished at its honeyed tang. Its warmth raced through her, flushing her skin and bringing with it a slight
giddiness. She drank no more, remembering that Arran was famous for wine sweetened with the honey
of the golden goddess flower, a most intoxicating and heady brew.
The Khan'cohban flung open the massive doors into the throne-room and announced Maya in ringing
tones; Campbell the Ironic bowed so deeply his beard brushed the floor. Maya held her head high,
refusing to be daunted by all this servitude.
