Dragonclaw by Kate Forsyth Read Free Book Online Page A

sign of recognition when they saw the jongleurs in Caeryla. Isabeau was used to Meghan’s mysteries, though, and so she took advantage of her preoccupation to have the best fun she had ever had. At the end of the seven days, they made the long journey back to the secret valley, this time avoiding the Pass and its guard of soldiers, making the difficult climb up the cliffs of the Great Divide instead. Isabeau was heartbroken to leave Dide, and Meghan seemed sad to leave Enit, her face as grim and shadowed as Isabeau had ever seen it. So silent and unhappy was Meghan on the long journey back that Isabeau was afraid she was still angry at her. When Isabeau stammered out another apology, Meghan merely looked at her absently, and said, ‘Och, that’s right. I’d forgotten,’ which merely alarmed Isabeau more, for Meghan never forgot a trespass.
    It had been another year before she and Meghan again ventured out of the Sithiche Mountains, and never again had they gone any further south than the highlands.
    Â 
    When Isabeau woke, she lay still for a moment, wondering why she should have such a feeling of delightful anticipation. Then she remembered and her toes curled with pleasure. Bounding out of bed, she threw on her clothes and clattered down the stairs calling, ‘Time for a swim afore breakfast?’
    Meghan, who hardly ever seemed to sleep, was stirring the porridge while Seychella leant against the wall, chatting. ‘If ye’re quick,’ her guardian replied. ‘Take Seychella, I’m sure she’d fain freshen up.’
    Seychella gave a look of dismay. ‘Swimming!’ she exclaimed. ‘Dinna ye hear the Fairgean be returning to the lochan?’
    â€˜I hardly think we need worry,’ Meghan said with a dryness in her voice that Isabeau knew well. ‘The Fairgean need salt water, no’ fresh. Besides, no Fairge could leap that waterfall, and there’s no other way in for them.’
    â€˜Well, if ye be sure …’ The black-haired witch sounded doubtful, but she followed Isabeau up the ladder. They squeezed out of the tiny trapdoor at the highest level and, hand over hand, crossed the rope-bridge that hung between the trees, Seychella laughing and joking about Meghan’s obsession with secrecy. Isabeau only smiled. She was used to her guardian’s idiosyncrasies and, though she often groaned at the inaccessibility of the tree-house, knew it was a matter of safety. Even one of Meghan’s books was enough to condemn them both to death, not to mention the crystal ball, the jars of herbs and powders, the ancient maps and precious oils. Magic was dangerous, the Rìgh said. Witches were evil, and use of the One Power strictly forbidden. Isabeau had herself seen the Rìgh’s Decree Against Witchcraft pinned on the front door of the mayor’s houses in one of the highland villages. She had heard how the Red Guards were still having witch-hunts through the countryside, dragging out any woman or man who was suspected of witchcraft and taking them back to Dùn Gorm for trial. Meghan was full of pity for those taken. ‘They could have no power, or only a wee, if they were taken so easily,’ she would say as they climbed the steep paths home. ‘A true witch would escape those bullies without even lifting a finger.’
    Isabeau had her first demonstration of the wind witch’s power when Seychella lightly bounded to the ground from a branch of the tree, rather than clambering down the great length of the trunk as Isabeau had done. Isabeau, who had always thought herself as agile as a squirrel, had let herself down easily enough, but Seychella simply leapt off the branch, landing lightly some forty feet below.
    â€˜How did ye do that?’ Isabeau demanded, but the witch only amused herself by calling the wind so it whipped Isabeau’s long hair around her face and into her mouth.
    The water of the loch was, as always, icy