The cursed towers 228
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Only then did Iseult seem to hear Meghan's cries. "What?" she whispered, then an odd expression
flashed briefly across her face. "I see. The auld blind man dies."
She rose a little gingerly, seemingly surprised to find that her body moved without pain, and crossed the
clearing to where Meghan crouched, rocking and wailing. Iseult knelt by her side and, for the first time
since meeting the old witch three years earlier, freely and willingly touched her in affection. She put her
arms around Meghan's shaking form and pulled her wild, white head into her shoulder, crooning to her as
if she were a child.
"There, there, Meghan, dearling, do no' greet, do no' greet."
Meghan rocked back and forth, keening. "Why, Ea, why?" she pleaded. "Why such a death? He was a
good man, a dear, sweet, kind, loving man. Why should he die such a horrible death? And Matthew too,
who never harmed a flea?"
She raised herself upon her staff and lifted her contorted face to the summer sky. "Ye who have betrayed
us so, I lay this curse upon ye! Let the good earth refuse ye her fruits and the river his cool waters, let the
winds deny ye their breath and flame deny ye warmth and comfort, let the moons turn their dark faces
upon ye. May ye wander outcast and impoverished, and haunt the doors o' others, and beg for food with
trembling mouth, and be turned away with kicks and curses. May neither your body nor your mind be
free from querulous pain; may night be to ye more grievous than day, and day sore grievous indeed. May
ye be forever piteous but have none pity ye; may ye long for death but have death elude ye! By the
power o' the dark moons, I curse thee, I curse thee, I curse thee!"
All were greatly affected by the old sorceress's sorrow. Many found themselves so choked with sobs
they could hardly breathe. Parian, Anntoin, Johanna and Dillon were wracked with grief, tears flowing
down their faces.
"He saw what was to come," Dillon choked, "yet still he smiled at us as we left him. How could we?
How could we?"
At last Meghan composed herself, her hand creeping up to cup the little donbeag who cuddled under her
chin. "What is done is done," she said harshly. "Let us ride on and teach those Bright Soldiers a lesson
they shall never forget!"
So they marched on into the fields, not caring that their boots were trampling fresh, green crops into the
ground. Behind them surged the faeries, so that it seemed as if the forest itself marched at their command.
Ahead, Ardencaple rose from the plain. Built on a small hill circled on three sides by the river Arden, it
was a pretty town with pointed roofs and round turrets set at regular intervals about the outer wall. The
white pennants of the Tirsoilleirean army fluttered from the towers and the Graycloaks set their jaws and
gripped their hands into fists at the sight.
A column of dark smoke rose from the center of the town straight into the still air, and as they marched,
the Righ's army fixed their eyes upon it in a sort of horrified fascination. All were unable to think of
anything but the old man who had died in that fire, and all hoped that the few people unaccounted for
among the dead had not been lashed in with him.
As they came nearer to Ardencaple they saw with dismay that the rest of their army had been lured into a
trap too and was slowly being obliterated. The Bright Soldiers had lined up their cannons along the outer
wall and, with the day so still and warm, were having no trouble in lighting their fuses. Again and again the
attacking Graycloaks were bombarded with cannonballs, men and horses falling screaming at every shot.
It was clear the Tirsoilleirean had been fully prepared for their attack and had lured the Duke of
