The cursed towers 253
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Asrohc landed lightly at the edge of the trees, dropping Maya roughly on the ground. Isabeau leapt off
her back and made a hasty but heartfelt genuflection. Reluctantly the dragon lifted her claws from the
Fairge, who lay still though her eyes were wide open. Her dress was torn and bloodstained from deep
scratches where the dragon's claws had scored her flesh.
Asrohc turned her angular head toward the Towers and gave a dragonish grin. Lifeblood spills, she said.
Isabeau dropped her sack and ran down the avenue she had cut through the brambles. Her heart felt like
it was being squeezed between giant hands. No' Bronwen, she thought desperately, then, no' my mam,
please.
The avenue led her straight up to the great stone door of the Tower, which stood ajar. It was dark under
the arching branches but light spilled out from the doorway, illuminating the steps. Isabeau could hear the
shrill screams of the stallion and the pound of his hooves, and she leapt up the stairs two at a time.
Within was a long hall with tall pillars holding up a vaulted ceiling. The walls were exquisitely painted with
trees and flowers and faeries, while the ceiling above was painted with gilded suns and moons and
comets, which glimmered in the light of the torches flaring the length of the hall. When Isabeau had first
come to the Cursed Towers, this hall had been filthy with cobwebs and owl guano, but she had spent
weeks scrubbing it out and now it was clean and empty.
At the far end of the hall was a broad spiral staircase, intricately carved with a fretwork of roses and
thorns. Feld lay at the first curve of the stairs, blood spilling from a deep gash in his abdomen. He was
feebly trying to keep off a tall, gray, winged creature with his staff while clutching the wound with his free
hand. The stallion was rearing and plunging at the base of the stairs, his frantic whinnies echoing around
the cavernous hall. Ducking his flailing hooves with contemptuous ease was a tall, horned man dressed all
in gray, his brown cheeks clearly showing six thin scars. He held a long dagger in one hand and slashed at
the stallion with it, while in the other he gripped a handful of long, fair hair which fell down the side of the
stairs like a banner.
Isabeau's eyes flew upward. Ishbel was struggling desperately to fly up the stairs, screaming with pain as
slowly but inexorably she was dragged back down by her hair. Bronwen was clutched under her arm,
sobbing with terror.
The Khan'cohban lunged forward, his dagger flashing toward the stallion's breast. With a cry Isabeau
threw up her hand and the dagger twisted in his hand and fell to the ground with a clatter. He ducked, the
stallion's hooves missing his head by mere inches, and Ishbel screamed as the movement almost tore the
hair from her head. She gripped onto the carved fretwork with one hand, but her fingers were pulled free
and she fell back.
Without even thinking, Isabeau lifted both hands and clenched them before her breast. Her face
contorting with the effort, she sent out a thin, hissing ray of blue fire which cut through Ishbel's hair like a
knife. Released like an arrow from a bow, Ishbel shot up the stairs and out of sight as Isabeau's ray of
light cut on through the stone of the stairwell, sending a large block of marble tumbling down to the hall
below.
The Khan'cohban only just managed to fling himself out of the way, the block shattering into myriad
pieces on the floor. In great dexterity he rolled one way then another, narrowly escaping Lasair's hooves,
then bounded to his feet. In one swift motion he unhooked a bright star-shaped weapon from his belt and
flung it at Isabeau. Instinctively she ducked, but without pausing it swung round and flew back to the
Khan'cohban's hand. He threw the reil at her again, at the same time seizing a sharp skewer from his belt
and hurling that at her as well. Isabeau jumped up in the air, bringing her knees to her chest. Both
