The cursed towers 217
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arrow with ease, just inches from her face, the archer tumbling head over heels as if thrown by an
invisible hand.
Suddenly the sorceress's eyes lost focus and she stared off into the forest, a horrified expression on her
face. "Och, no!" she cried. "Jorge!"
From the corner of her eye, Iseult saw another archer leap to his feet above them and take aim. His
arrow sped straight toward Meghan's heart. Lost in her thoughts, the sorceress did not notice. With a cry
Iseult dived forward, pushing Meghan out of the way. The arrow plunged through her leather breastplate
and into her shoulder. She staggered and fell back. Meghan scrambled to her feet, her black eyes
snapping with rage, and clapped her hands together. Suddenly the rocky crag collapsed with a roar and a
shower of small stones and boulders. The bodies of many Bright Soldiers were flung down, screaming.
"I hope none o' our own men were up there," Meghan said as the whole cliff subsided into a pile of
boulders and broken slabs, only a few scraps of white cloth or dented armor showing where the
Tirsoilleirean had been buried.
"Duncan was up there last time I saw him," Iseult panted, trying to pull the arrow out with both hands. "I
hope he got off . . ."
A wave of red-hot pain swept over her and she almost fainted. Meghan stopped her, saying, "It'll be
barbed, dearling, let me ..." She cauterized the point of Iseult's dagger with her finger and cut the
arrowhead out. Iseult bit her lip till the blood flowed but did not scream.
"I thank ye for saving me," Meghan said gently. "I did no' see that arrow coming." Her brows drew
together and she looked away again, searching the forest with fearful eyes. "I am afraid ... I think Jorge is
in danger, dreadful danger. I have felt . . ." Her voice faltered and she shuddered, drawing her cloak
around her. "Please, Ea, let it no' be true," she whispered.
Lilanthe hurried through the thick undergrowth, heedless of brambles or thorns. Bran bounded along at
her heels, his triangular face anxious.
"What is wrong, my lady?" Niall called, having to jog to keep up with her, despite her lame leg.
She paused, waiting for him to catch up. "I do no' ken, but I have a very bad feeling indeed." The
tree-shifter looked off into the forest. "There are soldiers," she murmured. "They are filled with hatred . .
."
Brun swiveled his furry ears. "Crash smash bang clang," he said.
"Ye can hear fighting? Come, let's hurry!" Lilanthe turned and looked behind her, raising her arm in a
beckoning motion. Behind her the forest surged forward. There were tall tree-changers with swaying
manes of leafy branches, crowned with golden berries. Corrigans lurched forward, waving their clubs of
stone, looking like rolling boulders all covered with lichen. Hairy araks swung through the undergrowth,
shrieking hoarsely. A stag trotted close behind Lilanthe, nisses clinging to his proudly raised antlers.
Galloping off to one side was a herd of sharp-horned satyricoms, their necklaces of teeth and bones
bouncing on their naked breasts.
Lolloping toward the end was the horse-eel, his green-black skin glistening, his webbed feet leaving slimy
puddles behind him. Riding on the horse-eel's back was a seelie, his beautiful face turned dreamily to
watch the sun strike through the leaves. They had come across the seelie in the deepest heart of the forest
