The Fathomless Caves (22 page)

The lookout’s cry broke the spell that seemed to have fallen upon Lachlan. He raised his hand to his eyes and stared out across the waves. Isabeau could clearly see the long, undulating shapes of sea-serpents swimming towards them. In a tight wedge shape behind each sea-serpent were the smaller shapes of horse-eels, swollen to immense size, each ridden by a Fairgean warrior. The swift, sleek forms of more warriors leapt through the waves on either side.

‘All hands on deck!’ Admiral Tobias cried.

The bosun blew his whistle shrilly. ‘All hands on deck!’ he shouted.

‘We just need to make it to the harbour below Castle Forlorn,’ called Lachlan. ‘If the MacSeinn is there already, they will have remade the fortifications.’

‘Get the seafire ready,’ the admiral ordered. ‘Load the cannons and the ballista!’

‘Load the cannons!’ the bosun shouted. ‘Ready the ballista, starboard side!’

Amidst the flurry of activity, Lachlan said coldly, ‘Take the prisoner below deck, chain her to her bunk. Her daughter too. We want no treachery now.’

Maya laughed again. Her long black hair whipped about her scarred face, her strange pale eyes shone. ‘We rely on ye, MacCuinn, to keep us safe. Ye think I want to be fodder for a sea-serpent this morn?’

‘Take her away,’ he ordered.

Bronwen cried out as two sailors clamped their hands
on her arms. ‘But Lachlan, if ye chain them they will drown should we be sunk!’ Isabeau protested.

‘If we are sunk we all drown,’ he replied tersely. ‘I think the Fairge and her get have a better chance o’ no’ drowning than any o’ us. They at least have gills.’

Donncan shrank back against Isabeau, his face pale and frightened. As Bronwen called out again, the sailors half carrying, half dragging her struggling towards the hatch, he protested, close to tears. Lachlan went down on one knee and hugged him, his great black wings cupping the frightened little boy. ‘Do no’ be afraid,’ he said. ‘None o’ us shall drown. Our ship is swift and strong. All we need do is race those sea-serpents to safe harbour. Now ye go down below as well, and look after your wee brother and sister. Brun shall go with ye.’

‘Nay, I want Aunty Beau!’ Donncan cried.

Isabeau knelt beside Lachlan, his wing brushing her arm. Donncan huddled against her, tears streaking his face. ‘Go with Brun,’ she said gently. ‘I must stay on deck to help Aunty Meghan and the other witches. We need the wind to blow us sure if we are to make it past the sea-serpents. Do no’ be afraid, dearling.’

He clung to her but she stood up, unhooking his hands and pushing him into the arms of his frightened nursemaid. Brun stood nearby, his ears twitching nervously, his tail drooping. Donncan began to cry in earnest.

‘Donncan,’ Lachlan said sternly. ‘I need ye to be brave now. I canna stay with ye and neither can Aunty Beau. Ye must go below deck and stay there till I call ye. Do ye understand?’

‘Aye,
Dai-dein
,’ he answered, lip trembling, then
took Brun’s hairy little paw. ‘Come on, Brun,’ he said. ‘Do no’ be afraid. We’ll go down together.’

Hand in paw, the little boy and the cluricaun climbed down the ladder together, followed closely by the bogfaery Maura, her black wrinkled face scrunched up in fear.

Isabeau pressed her hands against her chest as if she thought that would calm the hammering of her heart. Quickly she joined the other witches upon the forecastle deck in the now familiar joining of the circle. Holding hands with Dide and Gwilym, she chanted the rites and called upon the winds of the world to do their bidding. They all felt the ship leap forward as her sails filled to breaking point.

Ahead of them was the cliff, the sea torn into turmoil at its base by wicked rocks. Isabeau could see how it curved round into a small natural harbour, surrounded on all three sides by cliffs, its mouth protected by a high wall and a massive gate of enmeshed steel. The fleet of fifty-three ships had to pass through that gate in time for it to clang shut behind them, locking the Fairgean out. It was slowly groaning open now, the gap between gate and wall growing wider and wider. Isabeau stared from the gate to the sea-serpents, who raced towards them at an incredible speed.

Long, slim, sinuous as a snake, the sea-serpents were emerald green, with small heads rising high out of the water. A golden crest ran down the length of their necks, while spectacular flowing fins surrounded their gaping jaws and sprouted from their shoulders like wings. The warriors rode astride the neck, between the
two sets of fins. Although the sea-serpents rose and plunged at enormous speeds, they never lowered their heads into the water and so the warriors were only ever immersed in water to their waist.

Closer and closer they came, until Isabeau could see the tusked faces of the warriors, their necks heavy with necklaces, their long black hair flowing down their backs. The gate of the harbour was wide open now, but it looked as if the sea-serpents must cut them off before they could reach it. Isabeau gripped Dide’s hand.

‘Fire!’ cried the admiral.

The bosun blew his whistle. ‘Aim and fire!’

The ballista had been wheeled across to the port side and secured to the deck. Designed like an enormous crossbow, the two arms of the bow were held in tension, with the string operated by a windlass. When this windlass was released, a poison-tipped arrow was projected forward at immense speed. Isabeau watched it fly across the waves and embed itself in the glossy scales of one of the sea-serpents. The sinuous creature reared up, screaming in pain, lunged forward once more, then suddenly began to thrash about in agony. Its rider was thrown into the water. They could see him desperately trying to keep afloat as the sea was whipped into chaos, then he was crushed beneath the writhing coils.

It took a long time for the sea-serpent to die. Isabeau hid her face against Dide’s shoulder as Meghan said sombrely, ‘Dragonbane is an evil concoction. To think I saved the dragon-prince from this fate, sickened by Maya’s use o’ it, only to inflict it now upon the sea-serpents. Indeed, war makes all o’ us evil.’

Again and again the ballistas whined from every ship in the royal fleet. Although sea-serpent after sea-serpent succumbed to the baleful poison, still the Fairgean warriors raced towards them, shouting and brandishing their tridents. Once the enemy was within bombardment distance, the cannons began to fire their heavy bronze balls and the air was filled with foul-smelling black smoke.

‘We willna make it!’ Isabeau cried in despair, watching as cannonball after cannonball splashed into the water and sank without hitting their mark. Cannons were notoriously unreliable and were not really designed to be used against a target as swift and agile as sea-serpents and horse-eels.

‘They’ll have to bring out the seafire now,’ Dide said grimly. Sure enough, the bosun was shouting his orders and the barrels of seafire were being gingerly rolled out. Very carefully the viscous liquid within was siphoned into glass jars, which were then corked firmly and loaded into the mangonels. The seafire was so very volatile that no-one felt comfortable using it, and it was always kept as a very last measure.

The mangonel was a large catapult that, like the ballista, could be wheeled about the deck. The jars of seafire were loaded into the cup, and the arm was released from its tension, flinging the jars four hundred feet away from the ship. The jars smashed upon contact with the waves and ignited immediately. Everything within a hundred feet was incinerated. Not even diving under the surface of the water would avoid the flames, for the saltwater was the seafire’s fuel. There was no escape.

The air was filled with the agonising screaming of beast and Fairge alike. Smoke billowed everywhere, the very air orange with it, and the lurid light of the burning sea played over sail and mast and carved poop, making the faces of the gargoyles and angels smirk and grimace.

‘Come about, come about!’ the bosun screamed as the seafire raged back towards them. The sailors heaved on the ropes and the helmsman leaned hard on the tiller. The
Royal Stag
swung about, her sails slackening and then filling once more. Isabeau glanced over the port rail and saw the cliffs rising over them, dwarfing the tall masts. Then the ship was racing through the immense mesh gates which were topped with cruel curving spikes and reinforced with thick steel bars.

Buckets on long ropes were flung overboard to slow the galleon’s speed, and all the anchors were dropped. The sails were dragged down, everyone shouting and scrambling as they fought to halt the ship’s headlong advance. The harbour cliff loomed over them. Instinctively Isabeau flung her arms about her head, expecting to hear the crash as the ship leapt upon the rocks. Instead she was flung to her knees as the ship came about once more. Then the anchors settled down into the seabed and the
Royal Stag
rocked into stillness.

It was a long climb up the cliff to Castle Forlorn. Donncan and Bronwen counted five hundred and eighty-six steps, all of them steep and slick with moisture. At first they counted loudly and enthusiastically,
then haltingly between pants of breath, and finally sullenly, even tearfully. Isabeau had no breath to reply, since Olwynne had given up trying to climb after about ten and had refused to be carried by any of the soldiers. Lachlan was carrying Owein but he was much stronger and had wings to help him. He often flew from one landing to another, the little boy clinging to him and shrieking, half in excitement, half in terror.

Most of the heavy weapons were left on the ships or down in the harbour guardhouse, but innumerable sacks and barrels had to be swung up with ropes and pulleys. Enit and Meghan were lifted up in the same way, much to Meghan’s chagrin. She had to admit the climb would be too much for her, though, and so she sat in the canvas sling, her back very straight, her black eyes flashing.

From the steps Isabeau could see straight down the Firth of Forlorn, where the broken wrecks of four ships floated among a black stain of oily residue, thick with the charred bodies of dead sea-serpents, horse-eels and Fairgean warriors. Smoke drifted everywhere. Isabeau was too tired to feel anything more than numb, but the weight of her niece in her arms dragged her down until she thought she might weep from sheer exhaustion. Then Dide came and lifted Olwynne from her arms, settling the sleeping child against his shoulder, and lending her the strength of his hand. He smiled at her and said, ‘Almost there. Chin up, my bonny!’ so that Isabeau found a wellspring of fresh energy to climb the last flight.

They came out into a wide bailey, surrounded on all
sides by immense walls and watchtowers. From every broken tower fluttered the MacSeinn flag, a golden harp on a pale blue background.

Castle Forlorn had been discarded thirteen years before when the Fairgean had driven the MacSeinn and his clan out into the storm. The sea-faeries had done their best to eradicate the fortress but they had no fire or machines of destruction. Time and the weather had done more to destroy the castle than anything the Fairgean could do.

Most of the castle itself lay in ruins, a mere pile of mossy stones and the occasional half arch of broken stone. The central tower was open to the sky, the great hall filled with grass and thistles, its staircase collapsed and scattered. Some of the smaller wings still had some roof and it was here that the MacSeinn and his men had set up camp, stretching tarpaulins across the holes and clearing out the worst of the thistles. Most of the labour had been devoted to repairing the outer walls, which once again stood tall and stout against possible attack.

The bailey was crowded with people, all greeting the new arrivals and helping unload the weapons and supplies. Isabeau sat abruptly on a barrel to one side. ‘Eà’s green blood, what a climb!’ she panted. ‘My legs are aching.’

Lachlan thrust Owein into her arms, snapping, ‘Mind him a second, Beau?’ Before she had a chance to agree, he strode off through the crowd, accepting each shout of greeting brusquely, looking about him with a scowl. Suddenly his expression cleared. ‘Iseult!’ he cried.

Iseult had just appeared at the head of the stairs leading into the ruined castle. She was wearing her battered leather armour, her hair concealed beneath a leather cap, one arm in a sling. She saw Lachlan and her whole face kindled. She leapt from the top step and swooped down, straight into his arms.

Lachlan had spread his wings and flown to meet her, so Rìgh and Banrìgh met midair, breast to breast, mouth to mouth. She freed her arm from her sling so she could fling both arms about his neck, pulling his dark head closer. For a long moment they hung there, oblivious to the cheers of the crowd, then slowly, slowly they slid down to the ground. Lachlan’s wings cupped around her, hiding her from view. Their mouths met, clung, dragged apart to speak, met again. He dragged her cap from her head so all her long red curls hung down over his arm. Her fingers cradled the back of his head, slipped down to caress his broad, strong shoulder, slid down his back. Then Donncan was there, squirming through his father’s wings to clutch Iseult’s leg.

‘Mama!’ he cried.

Iseult’s eyes were wet with tears. She dropped to her knees to hug him close, rocking back and forth. Lachlan bent and embraced them both, then Iseult was looking about for the twins. ‘My babes?’ she called huskily.

Isabeau rose, lifting Owein in her arms, and carried him through the crowd. Dide was at her shoulder, carrying Olwynne, who looked about her sleepily. They saw Iseult and both lunged for her, their plump cherubic faces lighting up with joy. ‘Mama, Mama!’

For an instant Isabeau and Iseult’s eyes met. They smiled at each other, then Isabeau passed over the eager little boy and stepped back.

‘I was afraid …’ she heard Lachlan mutter. ‘Oh, Iseult, I was so afraid ye would no’ come back. I’m sorry!’

‘I’m sorry too,’ she whispered and they kissed again lingeringly.

‘What made ye come back?’ he asked. ‘Ye were so cold when we parted, I was sure ye meant to stay in the snows.’

Iseult nodded. ‘I meant to, if only to punish ye. For breaking the
geas
, ye ken. But when I lay beneath that avalanche, thinking I would never see ye again … or my bonny bairns …’