The cursed towers 251
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the resonance. She had seen the seven sons of the queen-dragon fly gladly and triumphantly out of the
heart of the Cursed Peaks, at last set loose to wreak their revenge for the death of their kin. Asrohc had
been consumed with jealousy, longing to soar and flame and slay too, but constrained because she was
the last young female in the land and the responsibility of breeding up many new dragons was hers.
Isabeau had heard all about the victory at Ardencaple and the many who had died in the flames, until
finally she was sick of it.
That week had been one of great pain and sorrow for her. She had felt her twin's injury as keenly as if an
arrowhead had plunged into her own breast and then felt the terrible pain and grief of her miscarriage. If
Asrohc had come to her call then, she would have left the Cursed Towers and flown to her twin's aid, but
the dragon-princess was too excited by Meghan's summons and would not come. By the time the
dragon-princess could be bothered to answer Isabeau's call, the young witch had felt the faint agonized
echo of Jorge's death, and then the reverberations of the battle at Ardencaple.
Isabeau had felt the whole gamut of Iseult's anger, grief and fear and she had been nearly frantic with her
need to know what was happening. So she and Feld had hurried down to the Scrying Pool, which
Isabeau had only discovered under the brambles and weeds a few months earlier. She had cleared it out
and unblocked the pipes so that water could again fill the round, shallow pond. Isabeau and the old
sorcerer had watched the final stages of the battle through the far-seeing lens of the scrying pool, and
Isabeau had thrown all her will and desire behind her twin to help with the conjuring of the snow storm.
So Isabeau knew about the strange fit which kept Lachlan in a state closer to death than life and she
knew that Iseult had shouldered the command of the army and was planning a winter invasion of Arran.
Several times in the past few months she had slipped down to the scrying pool to watch Iseult and make
sure she was well, for Isabeau missed both her twin and Meghan sorely. She was distressed to see how
old and drawn the Key-bearer was now, and how sad her face. If Isabeau had not made a commitment
both to Bronwen and the Fire-maker, she would have risked the long and arduous journey back down
into the lowlands or tried to persuade Lasair to travel the Old Way again.
Once more Isabeau called the dragon's name, despair filling her. If Asrohc did not come, the only way
Isabeau could get back to the Cursed Towers was to climb the stairway up Dragonclaw and beg
permission to cross the dragons' valley. That was a journey of at least a week, if not more. She
wondered again how the Khan'cohban planned to cross the mountain, thinking with a sinking of her heart
that he probably had a skimmer. With the little sleigh the Khan'cohban would be able to travel extremely
swiftly once he was on a downward slope.
Suddenly she heard a great whoosh and a hooked, clawed wing crossed the round orange of the moon.
Her heart leapt and she gazed up joyously as Asrohc swooped down out of the green-lavender sky, the
wind as she passed almost knocking Isabeau over. "Ye've come, thank ye, thank ye!"
The dragon snorted bad-temperedly and landed lightly on the rock, her tail splashing into the water.
Thou hadst best be properly grateful, human, for I was just enjoying a nice haunch of venison
when thou called and my brother will have eaten it all by the time I return. The dragon's mind-voice
was cold.
Isabeau knelt and made the Kharf cohban gesture of deep, humble gratitude. I beg your forbearance
and hope that ye will forgive me my temerity in asking, but I need ye badly! Please, Asrohc, ye
must fly Maya and me to the Cursed Towers.
The dragon lashed her tail, so that the surface of the loch was whipped into waves. Thy red-robed witch
shall never cross her leg over my back!
