The cursed towers 280
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saying softly, "Keybearer?"
Meghan had been silent and distracted since the pact with the Mesmerdean had been made, but she
roused herself now from her deep abstraction to gaze at the approaching army, almost close enough for
the archers to begin firing. The mist drifted and wavered over the road, making it hard to see more than
the dim shapes of the approaching men. As the archers ran forward to take up position in the first row,
arrows set to their bows, she stroked Gita's soft fur thoughtfully then gave an odd little smile.
"The mistress o' illusions weaves her spells," she said softly.
Gwilym gave a harsh laugh. "O' course! So cannily she weaves I was no' sure." A master of illusions
himself, he gave a negligent wave and suddenly the legions of men disappeared like smoke. The
Graycloaks gave a triumphant yell and ran to engage, while Margrit's men— revealed now to be no more
than a few hundred— groaned in dismay. They fought savagely, however, knowing it was far better to
die here on the road than to run back to the Thistle with the Graycloaks at their heels.
League by slow league, the invading army pushed their way down the road, the Mesmerdean patroling
the swamps on either side. The sun rose but the mist had descended again, so thick it was like trying to
breathe through cotton wool. They heard groans and sighs all around and strange shapes drifted toward
them out of the mist—ghosts of horribly maimed warriors, huge slimy monsters with gaping jaws and
groping tentacles, wailing banshees, giants with flaming eyes. The soldiers faltered, some crying out in fear
and horror, but Dide began to sing a rousing battle song.
"Behold I am a soldier bold,
And only twenty-four years auld,
A braver warrior never was seen,
From Loch Kilchurn to Dun Eidean.
The wind may blow, the cock may crow,
The rain may rain and the snow may snow,
But ye canna shock and ye canna scare me,
For I'm the bravest lad in the whole damn army!"
The soldiers began to sing too, at first rather raggedly, then with great cheer and loudness, swinging their
swords in time to the rhythm. With the song ringing in their ears and their eyes on their opponents, they
did not see the strange monsters, and so after a while the wails and groans faded away and there was
only the clash of arms and the sound of the soldiers' singing.
Then voices began to call out of the mist and many of the soldiers glanced up, glad recognition flaring in
their eyes. They saw pretty young women with outstretched hands, old women with pleading faces,
children begging to be picked up. Many of the Graycloaks would have stepped off the road and followed
the illusions into the marshes if it had not been for the witches, who called out in warning voices or caused
the glamourie to dissolve back into mist.
