The cursed towers 158

Talent—why else did she steal away all those children and keep them imprisoned in the Tower o' Mists?
I just pray to Ea that Isabeau is no' in her hands, for she is a cruel and ruthless woman indeed!"

THE CUTTING OF THREADS

The Cursehag

Maya hurried through the busy streets of Dun Eidean. It was dusk, and the rattle-watch was making his
rounds, chanting: "The sun has set, and all is still; time to go home to eat your fill."
The stonemasons rebuilding the houses were packing up their tools, the merchants were closing the doors
to their shops, and already the Inn of the Green Man was doing good business, the crowd spilling out
onto the pavement to enjoy the balmy evening air. Maya smiled and nodded to a few of the soldiers she
knew. One seized her arm with a ribald remark, but she merely shrugged herself free, smiling and saying
lightly, "Och, give it a rest, my laddie, even fancy ladies need an evening free sometimes."
"Let me buy ye an ale, Morag," the soldier pleaded, "and happen that'll put ye in the mood for some fun."
"Thanks for the offer, laddie, but I have my plans for tonight."
He slapped her bottom and let her go, and she hastened her pace, afraid he and his friends may decide to
pursue her. She rounded the corner and saw ahead of her the great wall of the castle, built in the very
center of the town on the crown of the hill. Her heartbeat quickened, even though the glamourie spell she
wore had grown so comfortable she needed very little effort to maintain it. There was always a chance
she may run into one of the witches stationed at the castle, who would be able to see through the disguise
with ease, and so she always felt a small quickening of fear when she kept a rendezvous with her spy.
The girl was pacing the courtyard impatiently, wringing her hands together. "Ye're late, I was feared harm
had come to ye, Your Highness," she gasped.
"Do no' call me that, ye fool," Maya snapped. "I was held up coming through the town. Quickly, tell me
your news before someone sees us together. It be dangerous indeed to be meeting here in the castle."
"It is so hard for me to get away," the girl explained. "There is always someone wanting me to do
something, and the Keybearer seems to have eyes in the back o' her head. I thought ye would want to
know that they think the Grand-Seeker has fled to Arran, taking the wee ban-prionnsa wi' him."
"To Arran?" Maya exclaimed. "Are ye sure?"
"That is what they said. I do no' ken if it is true."

"Renshaw did ken I had had dealings with Margrit o' Arran," Maya mused. "He acted as my go-between
for some years, before I promoted him to Grand-Seeker. I suppose it could be possible." She gave a
small, triumphant smile. The waiting for news had been hard, and sometimes she had grown so impatient