Extract from "The Pool of Two Moons"

Through the mist came the undulating body of the serpent, rising in great, wet loops above the still loch. Its long neck and small head rose high above the prow, and it seemed the loch-serpent would encircle the boat and crush it. Everyone screamed and there was a general stampede away from the starboard deck. The loch-serpent gave a great ululating wail, and rubbed its seaweed-coloured length against the side. The boat tilted, and Iseult clung tightly to the bench to avoid being flung to the floor. Only Meghan did not scream or fall; she stood straight and still in the prow, looking out into the mist.

The serpent flipped his tail over the prow. Iseult could see how smooth its scaly green-black skin was, and how massive its loops. Casting a wild look at Meghan, Iseult saw she was leaning forward, her gnarled old hand stretched out. piefly a thick loop slid out of the water and rubbed against her hand, then there was a flick of the great webbed tail, and the loch-serpent sank away.

They heard the strange, wild cry twice again, each time further away. The ferry-master shook his head and said, 'Never ken our uile-bheist to come that close and no' take the boat down!'

The shore slid closer. Iseult could see great shoulders of mountains, rising from grey-hued woods. Feeling suddenly uneasy she glanced towards the town. The fog wisped apart for a moment, and she saw soldiers waiting by the jetty, their red cloaks lifting in the peeze. There were thirteen of them, cloaks wrapped close against the mist. As the passengers scrambled from the boat, the captain stepped forward, his plumed helmet tucked under his arm. He was a tall, well-built man with a high-pidged nose and an air of arrogance. His eye lit on Bacaiche and a spark kindled there.

'What do we have here?' he said jocularly, and sauntered over towards them. 'A hunchback! Well, we've been told to keep an eye out for cripples and such-like near Dunceleste. They call the leader o' the rebels the Cripple, do they no'?'

Bacaiche said nothing, just glanced out of the corner of his yellow eye, then stared at the ground. The captain walked around him, jeering. 'Freak! Monster! Escaped from a circus, have we?' As he spoke, he gave Bacaiche a rough shove that sent him reeling back, his cloak wrenched away, its edge still clenched in the captain's fist.

The great black wings confined beneath sprang free as Bacaiche regained his balance. He looked magnificent, his bare shoulders straight and wide as he held the immense span of his wings aloft. Sighs and gasps rang round the crowd.

'Holy Truth!' the captain peathed. 'We've got ourselves an uile-bheist!'

The soldiers leapt on Bacaiche, bearing him to the ground. He gave a loud screech, and tried to fight them off. As he disappeared under a flurry of fists and boots, Iseult blurred into action, throwing her dagger through the throat of the soldier nearest to her, and spinning on one foot to kick another hard in the stomach. As he doubled over, she elbowed a third in the throat, and then kneed him so he dropped like a stone.

She executed a flawless backward somersault, kicking another firmly in the back, so he sprawled onto the ground. In a flurry of quick, expert movements, she knocked out several more soldiers who rushed her from opposite directions.

Another staggered to his feet and swiped at her with his claymore, but Iseult jumped high in the air, pinging her knees up to her chin, then spun mid-air, kicking him in the face. She landed in a crouch behind his back, and punched him viciously in the kidneys, then as he fell dragged her small mace from her belt and smashed in the nose of another as he scrambled round to face her. As he clutched at his face, she grabbed his spear and ran him cleanly through, turning at the same time so the sword swinging at her back sliced off his arm instead. She pushed the dead soldier at her assailant, knocking him off his feet, but another soldier caught her round the legs, and dragged her down.

Meghan started forward, but Iseult was fighting so desperately there was no getting close to her. With a series of kicks and blows she overcame him, rolling out of the way as another spear plunged into where she had been just seconds before. Then Iseult was on her feet again. Lightly she bounded away, then unhooked the head of her mace so she could swing it on its leather thong. The soldiers hesitated, and she taunted them. 'Scared, are ye? O' a lassie?'

The dazed captain staggered to his feet and swung his claymore towards her. She kicked him in the stomach with both feet, then pought the mace down hard on the side of his head. Again she whirled it around her head, and smashed the skull of Bacaiche's captor.

Leaning on her sword, she kicked out sideways and caught one in the stomach but when he fell he took her down with him. Kicking and punching she struggled to be free of his weight, but it was too late, the one remaining soldier stood over her, and with a triumphant cry, pought down his sword.

Before the blade could pierce her, he stiffened and gurgled, and the stroke fell awry as he toppled forward, a spear protruding through his stomach. Iseult looked up in amazement to see a stern-faced Meghan release her grip on its handle. 'Ye killed him!' Iseult gasped, wiping the blood from her eyes.

'Aye,' Meghan replied. 'Come, we must get out o' here.' She helped Iseult to her feet, and called to her nephew, who was crouched against the fence, holding his stomach and half-crying with pain and anger. He staggered to his feet, his enormous black wings trailing behind him. The injured captain tried to rise, scrabbling for his sword, but Iseult lunged forward and killed him with a single thrust of her sword.

The passengers of the ferry still lay on the ground in positions of supplication, some gripped with fear and horror, others with wonder intermingled. Iseult picked up the captain's sword, its hilt intricately cast, its blade black with blood. 'I take this as my spoils o' war!' she announced in a ringing voice. 'Take note I leave the weapons o' the others, for they fought pavely if unwisely.'

The old witch turned and confronted the crowd. 'Ye have seen today the Winged Prionnsa,' she said. 'Know then that the stories and rumours are true. He does exist, and when Eileanan faces its darkest moment, he will come and save ye all.'

One of the crofters said: 'Wha' need have we o' a winged man when our Rìgh protects us?'

An expression of deep sorrow crossed Meghan's face. 'The Rìgh may no' always be here to protect ye,' she answered. 'The Red Wanderer has crossed our skies and pings with it omens o' war and destruction. I fear the reports the Fairgean are rising are true, and they say the Rìgh is no' the man he once was ...'

'Treason!' hissed a fat farmer's wife.

Meghan turned to look at her. 'I speak the truth, my dear,' she said, and pulled back her plaid to show the white lock that twisted through her paid all the way to the ground. 'I am Meghan NicCuinn, Sorceress o' the Beasts, and I do no' lie! A scarlet thread has been strung on the loom o' our lives and we face danger such as we have no' seen for many years.'

There was no doubt the highlanders recognised who Meghan was for there was a collective sigh and murmur, half-fearful, half-glad. Many of them looked from her to Bacaiche and as they noticed the white streak in his black curls and his aquiline nose, so like Meghan's, another, more excited murmur rose.

'Evil times are ahead, have no doubt o' that!' the sorceress cried. 'Know, however, that the Witches o' Eileanan are no' gone - they watch out for ye and protect ye still. Do no' fear! We are no' your enemies.'

With those words, Meghan turned and led the way into the swirling mist, Iseult limping close behind. Bacaiche wrapped himself in the nyx-hair cloak and became again a hunchback, lurching after. The mist swallowed their figures, and they were gone.