The cursed towers 212
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stupefaction on their faces.
"How could they ken to attack us here?" one exclaimed, drawing his sword. "We did no' ken we were
coming here ourselves!"
"Someone must have betrayed the Righ!" another cried, buckling up his breastplate.
They ran out of the kitchen, the healers crying aloud in fear and dismay. Dillon ran after them, then
suddenly veered and bounded up the stairs to the south turret in search of his own sword. After only a
moment's hesitation, he opened the door to the chamber where Meghan had slept and rummaged through
a chest against the wall. If he was to fight, he wanted the sword he had chosen in the relics room, not the
little flimsy play-sword he and the other squires had been given.
The sword was wrapped in a black bag and hidden at the bottom of the chest, along with Antoinn's
sword, Artair's dagger and Parian's goblet. Dillon had seen Meghan hide the gifts in the chest back in
Lucescere when she had decided the boys were far too young and irresponsible to use them. The old
witch had given the young Righ a severe tongue-lashing for giving them to the boys in the first place and
Lachlan had been rather sulky as a result and would not listen to their pleas or arguments.
When he and the other boys had been appointed as the Righ's squires, they had been given small swords
to wear at their belt so had been so pleased they had not minded the loss of their gifts so much. Those
swords were only flimsy though, and rather ineffectual. Now that Dillon was fourteen and almost a man,
he thought it was time to wear his real sword.
He had no time to withdraw it from its scabbard, much as he would have liked to, but instead hastily
buckled it to his belt and ran from the room again, the other boys' gifts still bundled up in the bag and
slung over his shoulder. He flung the bag at his fellow squires as he ran through the great hall, calling to
them to follow.
The view from the guards' tower gave them all a shock. A sizable force had converged on the little castle,
with siege machines and cannons carried on wagons. Already ladders were being dragged to the walls
and the cannons were lined up, ready to fire. This attack had been carefully planned and timed.
"I am no' sure how long we can hold against those cannons," one soldier muttered to another, his face
pale. "This castle is no' built to withstand a major offensive. I wonder why in Ea's name they have brought
such firepower against us? There is naught here but a few healers and the Righ's squires."
"Jorge," Dillon said, understanding dawning. "They want Jorge."
"And the lad wi' the healing hands too, I'll be bound," another soldier said.
Dillon nodded, alarm on his face. "We must keep Tomas and Jorge safe," he cried. "Wha' would the
Bright Soldiers do to them if they fell into their hands?"
No one replied but by the looks on the soldiers' faces, Dillon knew they too feared the consequences.
"Ye must try and get them away from here," the lieutenant ordered one of his men, a burly sergeant called
Ryley o' the Apples. "We shall hold them off as long as we can, but I fear it canna be long. There must be
some way ye can escape. Ask the caretakers!"
As he and Ryley ran back down the stairs to the tiny inner bailey, Dillon heard a large bang, followed
soon after by the smash of a cannonball into the outer wall, which shook under the impact. Foul-smelling
smoke drifted over the wall, making him feel rather sick.
