The cursed towers 165

extravagant, magical "Tur de Ceo," Campbell said reverently, and she frowned to hear the old language, the tongue of witches, outlawed seventeen years ago He glanced at her sardonically and said a long phrase lilting and beautiful, which she did not understand "Oh, the Tower o' Mists, mysterious beauty, beauteous mystery," he translated for her "How does it feel to see it, my lady? The one Tower ye could no' topple?" Maya gritted her teeth Indeed it was ironic to be coming to the Lady of Arran for help when for many long years she had sent her Red Guards into the marshes in a vain attempt to destroy the NicFoghnan's magical power Many a company of Maya's soldiers had been lost in the marshes, and the Tower of Mists was the only witches' Tower not to have been burnt to ruins It made her feel very odd and off-balance to be approaching one of the most powerful sorceresses in the land with her hand extended in friendship Smoothly the swan-boat came to a halt at a wide marble platform Maya gathered her crimson skirts together and climbed out as gracefully as she could Standing to one side of the broad steps was a tall, strong-looking man dressed somberly in gray His mane of coarse white hair was bound back from his brow with leather, so that the two heavy horns curling down on either side of his forehead were emphasized Across each angular cheekbone were three thin white scars Maya stared at him in some surprise She recognized him at once as a Khan'cohban, having met one of the mountain faeries at the Tower of Two Moons many years before She knew they were a fierce warlike race, much like her own people, though they lived in the inhospitable snowy wastes at the top of the world She wondered what he was doing here, in the soft airs of the coast, and knew him to be dangerous The six scars on his face proclaimed him as a skilled warrior, and she remembered the one she had known He had tried to kill her and had almost succeeded Only her transformative magic had saved her, for she had turned him into a horse and broken him to her whip and spur She knew how much it would have galled him to be a beast of burden, for the Khan'cohbans were fiercely independent Breaking him to her will had given her intense satisfaction, for she had seen it as a symbol of her supremacy over all the peoples of Eileanan and the Far Islands Idly she wondered what had happened to the ensorcelled horse, and thought he must have died years ago The Khan'cohban bowed and greeted her courteously He escorted her up the stairs, passing two more Mesmer-dean nymphs standing guard outside the great arched door Maya stared at them in fascination and they stared back with greenish, multifaceted eyes, their beautiful inhuman faces showing no expression Engraved on either side of the double door was the badge of the MacFogh-nan clan—a flowering thistle with the clan motto curling above it Touch not the thistle, Maya read, flaring her nostrils in disdain She was led through a grand hall with bright tapestries and decorated with marble statues, ancient shields and weapons, and silver bowls and pitchers On the floor were rugs of exquisite workmanship, crimson and blue and gray, and a magnificent staircase swept down from the upper gallery, a streak of red carpet falling down the center like a river of blood Servants hurried to take her cape and feathered hat, and to offer her mulled wine to warm her after the chilly journey Maya sipped at it and was astonished at its honeyed tang Its warmth raced through her, flushing her skin and bringing with it a slight giddiness She drank no more, remembering that Arran was famous for wine sweetened with the honey of the golden goddess flower, a most intoxicating and heady brew The Khan'cohban flung open the massive doors into the throne-room and announced Maya in ringing tones; Campbell the Ironic bowed so deeply his beard brushed the floor Maya held her head high, refusing to be daunted by all this servitude