The cursed towers 279
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thanks to the Mesmerdean who drifted along the chain of camp-fires like ghosts, thwarting any attack by
the Arran soldiers. They went to sleep in dense fog and woke to the same close, impenetrable dampness,
so thick that each man could barely see the soldier marching a scant few paces ahead.
As they neared the road, the fighting grew much fiercer and many Graycloaks were lost, despite the
assistance of the marsh-faeries. Nebulous flickering lights led the soldiers astray so that they stepped into
quicksand or were killed from behind by a quick dagger thrust. The men of the swamp knew the terrain
and were easily able to conceal themselves in the clumps of rushes and sedge grasses, or in the huge
water oaks that grew out of the many patches of still water. Suddenly a rain of arrows or poisoned darts
would hit the marching columns of men, killing or injuring many before the soldiers could bring up their
shields or take cover.
Although the witches could sense the minds of the hiding men, they were all marching at the head of the
column and so the Thistle's men simply waited until they had passed, then poled silently through the
watercourses in flat-bottomed boats or crept up through the hidden ways to attack the men marching
behind. After several such silent attacks, Iseult sent Gwilym, Iain, Niall and Dide to walk with those of
the prionnsachan who did not have any witch senses, and asked the Mesmerdean to fly out through the
marshes and disable any of the Thistle's men hidden some distance away. After that they had no more
major casualties, although the attacks continued in increasingly desperate forays.
They reached the highway just on dusk. It was a narrow, winding road, built on a firm base of stones and
shale which was continually having to be shored up to stop the highway sinking back into the bog. The
mist continued to shroud everything in a pale gloom and many of the Graycloaks were jumpy and
anxious, so that Iseult ordered an extra ration of whiskey to be passed around, to warm their chill bodies
and settle their nerves. They camped on the road itself. Although hard and stony, it was a far more
comfortable camping spot than the treacherous bogs had been. They were able to camp close together
and set up sentries to patrol the perimeters rather than being scattered through the marshes on whatever
patch of firm ground they could find, with the constant fear of being dragged into the quicksand by a
mudsprite.
The alarm was called just before dawn. Iseult woke from uneasy dreams with a start and leapt to her
feet, staring out into the misty darkness. Duncan was by her side, his claymore drawn, and they listened
in dismay to the sound of marching feet on the road. It sounded as if hundreds of legions were advancing
toward them, their hobnailed boots ringing on the stone.
"Can we have light?" Iseult called.
Torches were lit from the embers of the fires, and Gwi-lym summoned witch light at the end of his staff
and raised it high. Iain gathered together all his strength to blow away the fog which hung over them still,
but to his surprise the mist parted easily. The red light of the torches and the blue blaze of Gwilym's light
illuminated the road ahead of them, and sighs and groans of dismay were wrung from the Graycloaks.
An army of immense size was marching toward them down the road, weapons glittering in the torchlight,
faces under steel helmets grim and determined. As far as the eye could see, the Thistle's army stretched in
rows of a dozen men, all armed with long pikes and great, double-handed swords. Many more
approached through the marshes on either side, making no attempt to conceal themselves.
Duncan began to shout out orders and hurriedly the Graycloaks jumped up from their blankets and
gathered together their weapons. Iain frowned and rubbed his hands through his soft, brown hair. "Where
could my m-m-mother have got so many m-m-men?" he wondered. "Arran has n-n-no standing army ..."
Gwilym too was frowning. "Something does no' smell right to me," he muttered. He turned to Meghan,
