The Tower of Ravens

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Authors: Kate Forsyth
Tags: Fiction, General, Fantasy, Fantasy - Epic
thoughts.”
    She brought the next course to the table, an egg and onion tart served with steamed green leaves and roasted roots. Lewen and Merry passed up their plates to her and she served deftly, then sat down again with a sigh. Niall looked at her closely.
    “Are ye troubled, leannan ?”
    She straightened her back and smiled at him rather wearily. “Nay, nay, o‘ course no’.”
    “I am,” Niall said. “What is a strange, wild lass from the blue yonder doing wearing the coat and plaid o‘ a Yeoman?”
    Lewen thought of his father’s shabby old coat and stained white buckskin breeches, stored carefully in a large chest in the attic with the rest of his uniform, muslin bags of dried lavender and lemon verbena tucked between their folds. His father was proud indeed of his past standing as one of the Rìgh’s personal guards. One of the few times Lewen had ever seen his father angry was when he and Merry had opened the chest and played dress-ups with his uniform to amuse themselves one snowy winter’s day. Lewen had worn the silver mail shirt, cunningly made of metal links closely woven together, and the thick blue cloak and battered helmet, while Merry had dressed up in his court regalia, the blue tartan kilt and sporran, the cockaded blue tam-o‘-shanter, the long-tailed blue coat. Finding them playing at soldiers, pretending to fight with old curtain rods and dragging the hems of his clothes through the dust, Niall had roared at them as angrily as any woolly bear. Merry had been so frightened she had begun to cry, but Niall was too angry to care. He had stripped the children of their costumes with hard and hasty hands, given them both resounding spanks on their bottoms and sent them sobbing down the stairs.
    Later, with Lilanthe behind them to give them moral support, they had gone with some trepidation to apologise. The heat of Niall’s anger had cooled but he was still displeased, and had told them, very sternly, that they must never touch his uniform again.
    “To be chosen as a Yeoman o‘ the Guard is the greatest honour a soldier can be given,” he had said. “I fought many a weary, bloody battle in those clothes, and watched many a comrade slain. I have slept in them many a time when we dared not remove even our boots in case the alarm was called, and I wore them as I stood behind my Rìgh with my eyes hot with tears o’ pride as he was finally crowned. It took a very long time for us to bring peace to Eileanan and during all that time, those clothes were my second skin. Those stains on them are stains o‘ blood and mud and tears and sweat, and they are marks o’ honour and courage. Do you understand me, bairns? For if I ever find ye playing with them again, I swear I’ll give ye a whipping ye shall never forget.”
    Lewen and Meriel had been contrite and overawed. Their father rarely spoke much about the long campaign to win the crown for Lachlan the Winged, and then to unite Eileanan under his banner. It was Lilanthe who had taught them their lessons, and she talked about it as if it had all happened long ago, in another lifetime. Niall’s words made the Bright Wars seem vivid and immediate. Ever since then, Lewen had harboured a not-so-secret dream of becoming a Blue Guard himself.
    “No Blue Guard would ever willingly relinquish his coat and cap,” Niall continued. “I fear one o‘ my laird’s men must have come to harm somewhere in the mountains, for this lass to have his gear. I must question her closely in the morning and find out how she came to be dressed so. His Highness will wish to ken if he has lost one o’ his men. I wonder who it could be? I do no‘ ken all the Blue Guards like I used to. It has been some time since I was last in Lucescere.”
    “So ye think he has fallen victim to foul play, whoever the Yeoman was?” Lilanthe asked.
    Niall shrugged, frowning. “I do no‘ ken. Happen there was an accident o’ some kind. How can I tell? This lass, though, whoever she is,

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