The cursed towers 223
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Lachlan clung to the bole of a tree, trying to catch his breath. He swung behind the trunk as one of the
archers hidden in the branches shot at him, and he had to use his wings to stop from falling. From this
vantage point he had a clear view down the road and could see how many of his men lay dead or dying.
A black misery and rage consumed him. With a shriek like a falcon, he spread his wings and soared
above the canopy of leaves, dropping down behind the archer who had shot at him before and strangling
him with his bare hands. The man's death brought Lachlan no relief.
The Righ heard the thunder of horses' hooves and looked down through the leaves to see the Bright
Soldiers galloping over the bodies of his men. He saw Meghan try and stop them and recognized with a
jolt of his heart the bound figure flung over one of the saddles. Lachlan had known and revered Jorge all
his life. Horror pierced him like a knife. He gave an unearthly cry of despair and grief which rang through
the forest like a clarion call. Without thinking, he spread his wings and swooped down through the trees
in pursuit. An archer hidden in the branches took careful aim and fired. The arrow took the Righ full in the
breast and, with a scream, he fell. Through twigs and branches he crashed, tumbling down and down until
he slammed into the ground below, his wing snapped and bent beneath him, blood from a wound in his
temple creeping out through the grass.
Fire Leaping, Snow Whirling
The shadows of the trees were growing long when Dillon led his little band out of the forest and onto the
battlefield.
Ryley had died during the march, suddenly falling as he walked, his bandage bright with blood. The
children were all shocked and distraught, for the soldier had made no complaint, no groan of pain. The
Tirsoilleirean had been so close on their heels they had had no chance to pause for Tomas to lay his
healing hands upon him. Numb with grief, the little boy had for once not noticed the pain emanating from
the burly soldier and his sudden, unexpected collapse broke his tender heart. He sobbed uncontrollably
and Anntoin had to lift him and carry him, as Johanna picked up Ryley's sword and buckled it around her
waist, then hefted his heavy shield. In her grubby white bodice and pantaloons she could have looked a
comic figure, but instead she looked stern and rather noble. "Let us go on," she had said simply, and they
had left Ryley there in the shelter of a tree as if he was merely sleeping.
The healers were all drooping with exhaustion after their desperate flight, but as soon as Johanna saw the
injured lying among the trees and bushes, she began to issue swift, clear orders and the healers obeyed
her instantly, forgetting their own fear and weariness. Tomas struggled to be put down, running from
body to body, laying his hands on them all, not willing to wait for Johanna to see whether they were alive
or not. So many of those he touched did not respond that the little boy grew even more distressed, and
Johanna had to try and restrain him.
Then Parian cried out in horror and they all came running. The boy had found Duncan Ironfist lying
crushed beneath a great pile of broken boulders. Only his bruised and bloodied head and shoulders were
free of the mass of stone. Miraculously the big captain was alive, although his every tortured breath
bubbled with blood. All of the squires were distressed indeed, for they loved the huge, kindly man who
had taken so much time to teach them their swordsmanship. Many small, willing hands cleared away the
rocks and then at last they dragged him free, the unconscious man groaning in pain.
