Heart of Stars by Kate Forsyth Page B

with dust and cobwebs, their stone faces crumbling in the damp. The air smelt old and musty, and Ghislaine cupped her hand over her mouth and nose. She was deathly pale.
    As they made their slow way down the hall, their boots echoed on the flagstones. Unconsciously they all drew together, Cailean’s hand gripping his dog’s ruff and holding him back. Isabeau had conjured light to illuminate their way. Witch’s light was a cold, eerie light to explore a crypt with, casting thick shadows behind every pillar and grave, and tricking the eye so it seemed the sarcophagi breathed.
    At the far end of the hall was a large ornate tomb with another statue laid out upon it, arms crossed over its mailed chest, a sorcerer’s staff clasped between the huge ringed hands. The tomb was carved with ravens, sleeping, eating, flying, nesting. One rested beneath the sorcerer’s feet, beak curled into its chest.
    ‘I have been here afore,’ Ghislaine said in a high, shrill voice, breaking the echoing silence. ‘When I walked the dream-road with Olwynne. We were led here, to this place,by a raven. We saw the dead sorcerer, trailing his shroud. He told us …’ Her voice faltered.
    ‘What did he tell ye?’ Isabeau asked intently. Although Ghislaine had reported as much as she could remember of the dream-road she had walked with the missing banprionnsa, details of dreams were always vague afterwards and both Ghislaine and Olwynne had been struck down with sorcery sickness afterwards, making their account even more strange and wild than usual. Isabeau knew any details to be recalled could be of the utmost importance.
    ‘He said … he said the dream world is o’ no use to him, no more use than the world o’ spirits. He said to come again in daylight, with a living soul and a knife, and then we should see him walk again.’ Ghislaine looked with dread at the statue lying on the tomb and repressed a shudder.
    Isabeau nodded. ‘Indeed he is a greedy soul, and strong, to be reaching out to touch my niece in her dreams.’
    She bent her head and counted the rings upon the sorcerer’s hands. There were ten. Isabeau felt a little giddy. A sorcerer of ten rings! She herself had only eight. For the first time she felt a miserable shrinking of her confidence. How was she meant to defeat a sorcerer of ten rings, one who had clung to life for a thousand years? Cailean and Ghislaine had been counting too, and she saw their faces blanch and their breath catch.
    Dobhailen had been straining to break free of Cailean’s grip and, at the involuntary relaxation of his master’s hand, leapt forward and sniffed eagerly at the base of the tomb where the shadows were thickest. He raised his head and gave that great baying cry, and at once Cailean came forward and knelt, seeking to see what had excited the dog’s interest. He cried aloud and picked something up.
    ‘Look! It is His Highness’s … His Majesty’s … ’
    In his hand he held a long golden feather.
    ‘He must have plucked it from his wing and hidden it there,’ Isabeau said, taking it from Cailean and turning it in her hand. ‘So we’d ken we are on the right track.’
    ‘How many days ago were they here, though, and then where did they go?’ Dide asked.
    Cloudshadow glanced at the feather, then continued walking slowly around the circumference of the tomb. Isabeau knew she was searching for some sign that her daughter too was alive and well.
    Suddenly she hummed loudly and urgently and dropped to her knees. Isabeau came swiftly to join her. Laid down on the ground was a little collection of leaves, twigs and a white pebble. Isabeau brought the globe of witch’s light down to her hand so they could see the pattern clearly.
    She was here, my daughter was here , Cloudshadow said. They arrived at dawn the day after Midsummer’s Day, and left again at dusk. They went back. Back to the beginning, she says.
    ‘Back to the beginning?’ Isabeau asked. ‘Does she mean back to the beginning