Iseult stood at the doorway to the royal pavilion, looking out across the army camp to the curtain of mist that at the far edge of the paddock She had to resist the urge to turn back into the tent, lie down behind her still, cold husband and pull the blankets over her head It was nine months since Lachlan had fallen and broken his back and his wing, nine months since his restless vitality had been smothered beneath this unnatural sleep Nine months, spent arguing with the lairds, trying to raise funds from the merchants, and gathering together an army to march on Arran They had suffered such losses at Lochsithe and Ardencaple that it had taken this long to recruit enough new soldiers and train them up Worst of all, many of the lairds were reluctant to invade the fenlands, having heard so many stories about Margrit of Arran's sorcerous powers and the dangers of the marshes With Lachlan still lying asleep, unresponsive to all their pleading and shaking and pricking with pins, the lairds were quick to find excuses to withdraw their men Although the three divisions of the army had been under the command of the MacSeinn, the MacCuinn and the MacThanach clans, the majority of the foot soldiers owed fealty directly to their own lairds This meant that if the lairds withdrew their support and went home to their own lands, the majority of the foot soldiers would leave too Although the lairds all admitted Iseult was a skilled warrior and witch, it was quite a different thing to put themselves and their men completely under her command "A whistling maid and a crowing hen is fit for none," they said to each other with a grin and a shrug Lachlan had refused from the very beginning to use any kind of forcible conscription, since that had been one of the most hated tactics of Maya and her Red Guards So they had to rely on volunteers and the support of the lairds to swell their numbers, and after more than three years of constant warfare, both wells were running dry Only the fear that more Tirsoilleirean would come creeping through the marshes kept the lairds and prionn-sachan faithful to Iseult and the Coven, and so the young Banrigh was conscious that they needed a swift victory in Arran if they were to hold the army together Luckily Anghus MacRuraich had marched to her assistance with close on three thousand men, and his loyal support had stiffened the resolve of the MacSeinn and the MacAhern Iain had advised them that the best time to attack Arran was in the winter If it was cold enough, parts of the marsh would freeze over, making it easier to move large numbers of men through its twisting, tortuous paths Most importantly, in the winter months the golden goddess lay dormant and the Mesmerdean were in hibernation, removing two of Arran's biggest dangers But the stags had begun to bellow in the woods and pigs to hunt for fallen nuts before new agreements between the Crown and the lairds were drawn up, and the snow was already beginning to melt by the time the Righ's army reached the borders of Arran They had made camp along the edge of the marsh, no one able to help feeling a shudder of apprehension at the wall of whiteness which hid the fenlands from their view It was so uncanny the way the mist just there, never dispersing, never blowing over into Blessem, marking the exact border of the two lands like a curtain between adjoining rooms Those soldiers with imagination found it constantly preying on their minds, as if it were forming into spectral fingers reaching out toward them Even those of a more pragmatic nature could not help wondering what it hid Iseult had tried to cast her witch senses into the fog but it baffled her extrasensory perceptions as completely as it did her eyesight and so she too felt her apprehension mounting as the time to venture