The White Spell

by Lynn Kurland

  Trolls. Léirsinn nodded to herself over that idea. Her store of knowledge about things that lurked in forests and assaulted unwary travelers was extensive thanks to the tales her parents had told her during her childhood. In spite of whatever other sorts of mischief they combined, trolls were famous for having hoards of gold—

  Nay, that was dwarves. She stopped and looked up at the darkening sky. Trolls hoarded all sorts of things, or so she thought, but dwarves collected gold. She considered that for a moment or two, then conceded she wasn’t entirely sure of that either. Perhaps dwarves collected mountains of gems.

  Well, whoever collected what, she thought she might have to make a visit to one group or another, her grandfather in tow, and offer to trade her services as stable master in return for a safe haven. Barring that, she would have to stifle her doubts, take a barge to Beinn òrain, and indulge in the always reliable activity of stealing a wizard’s purse. And if she couldn’t manage that, she would simply help herself to the loose coins of the next rich man who walked into her barn.

  She ignored the fact that she’d never stolen anything in her life and wasn’t sure she could begin at the ripe old age of almost a score and ten, but dire circumstances called for desperate measures. She would do what she had to in order to keep her grandfather safe. She was beginning to wonder if she might have to be about that sooner rather than later and with fewer coins than she might need.

  Why had her uncle been watching her from his window?

  She shivered in spite of herself. There was something afoot inside the manor, something not right. She continued on, walking briskly. Even if she couldn’t find the answers to her problems in some mythical forest, she could ask Mistress Cailleach for her thoughts on an inexpensive haven within running distance and where she could possibly find someone willing to transport her grandfather there for only a handful of poor coins.

  Perhaps she might even be able to get away from those spots of shadow she had encountered not once but three times in the previous se’nnight. It was enough to make her wonder if she might be losing her mind.

  She didn’t entertain that thought very often, if ever. Her life was made up of very sensible things: horses, leather, and sweet-smelling hay. Those were things that made perfect sense, never changed, never did what was unexpected or untoward. Those shadows, though, were things she didn’t understand at all—

  Nor did she understand how she had walked for so long without realizing she was being followed.

  Unfortunately she was on the outskirts of town, so there was no shop window to aid her in determining who was on her heels. She supposed the only thing to be done was stop at a pub and hope her potential attacker would find himself distracted by the thought of food.

  She bypassed the first place she came to because it was disgusting even by Sàraichte’s very low standards. She continued on her way, realizing she had acquired not just one but a handful of shadows. Fortunately, she was no more than a quarter mile from The Preening Pelican. Indeed, she thought she might gain the doors if she bolted, but before she could make up her mind exactly what she should do, she felt a hand on her arm.

  “Blimey, mates, look at what we ’ave ’ere.”

  Léirsinn peeled his fingers from her arm and turned to face him. “What? My boot in your arse, mate?”

  The trio of lads there seemed to find that amusing enough, though the fourth, obviously their leader, did not. His smile left his face as if it had been struck from it and he stepped closer.

  “You stupid—”

  That was the last thing he said unless she was to count curses that were quickly reduced to a single groan that accompanied his journey into senselessness. A cloak was thrown in her face, which was more alarming than a hand on her arm. She pulled it off from half over her head, fully prepared to throw it back, only to realize it was Acair’s and he was busy doing what could have been considered defending her honor. He might not have known how to use a pitchfork, but he apparently knew how to use his fists.

  He was outnumbered, but that didn’t seem to bother him. In fact, he paused at one point to ask one of the three remaining lads if he had any companions who might want to come join the fray to make things more interesting. Léirsinn would have smiled at that, but she was too busy being surprised that anyone would make the effort to rescue her.

  It took but a few minutes before only the burliest lad was left standing. Acair pulled him close and said something she didn’t quite catch. The lad looked at Acair as if he had just peered into the pit of Hell and seen himself at the bottom of it, then turned tail and fled. Acair smoothed his hair back from his face, then turned to face her.

  She thought she might understand what had frightened that last bloke.

  There was something in Acair’s eye, something that wasn’t at all pleasant. She didn’t know how to name it, but she thought she wouldn’t care for having that look turned on her. It wasn’t the same look he had given Falaire. That look had been a warning. His current look was something else entirely.

  She held out his cloak. “Thank you,” she said simply. “And don’t say to me what you said to that last lad.”

  He took his cloak back and snorted. “I simply suggested that he find his sport elsewhere. He was a coward.”

  She didn’t doubt that. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was hoping you would buy me a drink.”

  “There’s a horse trough over there,” she said because she was suddenly quite chilled, “and I wasn’t talking about that. Why are you following me? And what of your stalls?”

  “Already done.”

  “Did you do them well?”

  “I didn’t hear any horses complaining.” He paused. “If you must know the truth, Doghail promised to finish my stalls for me so I could follow you.” He looked at her seriously. “As for the reason why, you might call it chivalry if you like.”

  “I usually don’t attract much attention.”

  “I find that very difficult to believe.” He tossed his cloak over one shoulder, then looked at her. “You should have a dagger. It isn’t safe for a woman to go about without one.”

  “I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I had one,” she said frankly.

  “The general idea is to bury it to the hilt into the gut of whoever is threatening you,” he said. “I’ll show you how later. For now, let’s go find something to eat, unless you’re off to do nefarious deeds. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.”

  She looked at the sky, then sighed. “I had hoped to be to town before dark, but I don’t think I’ll manage it. I suppose all I can do is turn for home and look for supper.”

  “Not if you value the condition of your tum, you won’t,” he said. He nodded up the way. “What of that place there?”

  “The food isn’t terrible and the ale is better than what Doghail serves, but I haven’t enough coin for myself, much less the two of us.”

  He shot her a look. “As if I would allow a woman to pay for a meal for me.”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  He paused. “Well, I would actually, but not recently. I’ve turned over some sort of new leaf.”

  “And found vermin under it?”

  He smiled. “Exactly that.” He nodded toward the pub. “Let’s go, woman. I’ll see if I can’t parlay my excessive earnings into at least a mug or two of ale and some crusts of bread.”

  “And just how do you intend to do that?”

  “Cards,” he said easily. He glanced at her. “Ever seen any?”

  “Ever had a boot up your—”

  He tsk-tsked her. “You shouldn’t use that sort of inflammatory rhetoric unless you have the ability to follow it up with physical damage. I see no dagger in your hand nor sword strapped to your back which leads me to believe that you are merely bluffing with your threats.”

  She didn’t bother to respon
d, mostly because he was right. She generally relied on the fact that she had a stallion in tow to keep herself safe. That didn’t help her all that much in town, but since she went there only during the daytime, she had never truly considered her lack of protection to be a problem. That looked to have changed recently.

  She didn’t like change.

  “Let’s be off before this refuse awakes,” he said, nodding toward the road. “Also, I fear the stench of that pub behind us is making me queasy.”

  She had to agree with that, so she nodded and walked away from the lads Acair had left in a tidy heap. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye as they walked because it was difficult not to look at him. His hair was mussed, but other than that, there was no sign that he had just been in a brawl with four men who hadn’t been shy about throwing their fists.

  “Do you have brothers?” she asked.

  “Several,” he said, “and each more vile and reprehensible than the last.”

  She smiled in spite of herself. “How many?”

  He shot her a brief look. “Let’s just say my father was not unwilling to sire the occasional bastard. My mother bore him seven sons, of which I am the youngest. After gazing for quite some time on my admittedly superior self, he decided he had done all he could with my dam and cast his eye elsewhere. I am also unhappily aware that my mother was not his first encounter with the fairer sex given that I seem to never be able to turn a corner at home without running into yet another of his early forays into fatherhood.”

  “A busy man, your father.”

  “Extremely.”

  “Do you have large suppers together with the extended relations?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re very cheeky.”

  “And you’re a terrible stable lad.”

  “Which is obviously what makes you curious about my true skills,” he said. “A pity I am unable at the moment to enlighten you. Rest assured, the list is very long.”

  She could only imagine and she suspected that stable hand was definitely not on that list. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was on that list. She’d had watched too many things over the past few days turn out to be something other than what she’d expected them to be.

  That thought was unsettling enough that she decided perhaps a change of plans was in order. She would indulge in a quick, cheap mug of ale only because she’d come too far to refuse it without looking like a fool, then she would turn around and go back to where she belonged before she found herself embroiled in things she had the feeling she wouldn’t like at all.

  “Do you have brothers?”

  She looked at him in surprise. No one ever asked her about her family, as a rule. Doghail had, when they’d first met, but she hadn’t cared to talk about them so he’d never brought it up again. Of course Acair couldn’t have known the particulars of her past, so she supposed that was reason enough not to give him the look she generally reserved for lads too stupid to know when to keep their mouths shut.

  “One,” she said. “And a younger sister. Both gone now.”

  He studied her casually for longer than she liked, but he was apparently wise enough to know when not to pursue forbidden topics of conversation.

  “I’m sorry,” he said simply.

  She nodded briskly, then continued on with him toward The Preening Pelican, congratulating him silently on his good sense. That task accomplished—and far too quickly—she turned to wondering just who he was and why it was he found himself in Sàraichte. It was truly the last place she would have chosen to live if she’d had a choice.

  Perhaps she did have a choice. If there were any way to increase her funds, surely Mistress Cailleach would know. If all else failed, perhaps Acair, if he proved adept with cards, could teach her how to make a decent living at it. She could imagine worse occupations. Well, perhaps not very many, but a few—

  She pulled up short, putting her hand out to stop Acair before he walked into a patch of shadow. He stopped, then looked at her.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nothing,” she said quickly. “Let’s, ah, go over there. Better to admire the signage from a different angle, wouldn’t you agree?”

  She didn’t dare look at him. It was enough to think herself daft. Seeing irrefutable proof that someone else thought the same might be more than she could take at the moment. She stood well away from the spot she had seen and looked at it without trying to appear as if she were looking at it. Unfortunately, she couldn’t deny that she was seeing what she couldn’t be seeing because there was simply no possible way that shadows that weren’t shadows could be lingering on the ground in odd, random places—

  A lad came around the corner of the pub and walked right over the patch of ground before Léirsinn could stop him. He froze, as if something were holding him there. She felt a cold chill settle over herself that had nothing to do with the twilight. What in the hell were those things?

  The lad suddenly came back to himself from wherever he’d been. He shook himself like a dog, then continued on his way as if nothing untoward had just befallen him.

  Léirsinn couldn’t look at Acair. If he looked at her as if she were mad—

  “Let us be about seeing to our supper,” Acair said, taking her by the arm and tugging her toward the door to the pub. “I’m starved.”

  “Again, what is it you expect me to do about that?” she asked, her mouth utterly dry. She looked up at him to find that he was watching her far more closely than she was comfortable with. “Shall I whistle a cheerful tune or dance a jig?”

  “You’re throwing my words back at me, which means you were paying enough attention to me to remember them.” He nodded knowingly. “Promising, that. As for your task, it is to merely sit quietly whilst I see to the necessary funds.”

  “I’m not accustomed to sitting quietly,” she managed.

  “Consider this a challenge, then,” he said. “You can intimidate stallions again on the morrow, hopefully much better fed than by the slop your man Doghail prepares.”

  “He’s not the cook,” she said, trying not to shudder. “You wouldn’t want to meet the man who prepares our meals.”

  Acair made a noise of disgust, which she had to admit was entirely justified. If he steered them both past that shadow that shouldn’t have been there, he made no note of it and neither did she. She simply walked with him and was happy to reach somewhere at least marginally safe, even if she only had enough coin for a small mug of ale.

  Unfortunately, now that the moment was upon her, she found it was coin she couldn’t bring herself to spend. She stood at the threshold of the pub, frozen as surely as a pony might have been when faced with a locale he simply couldn’t enter.

  “I promised you supper,” Acair said easily. “Allow me to see to it.”

  “But—”

  “’Tis as simple as that, if that concerns you.”

  She couldn’t begin to describe what concerned her, so she took a deep breath and settled for a nod before she walked on. He found a darkened corner near the fire, saw her seated, then went to the bar to order. She had no idea how he paid for their ale, but he seemed to have funds enough for that at least. He set a mug down in front of her, sat down next to her, then looked around the gathering room.

  “This will do nicely,” he said pleasantly.

  “Are you a gambler by profession?” she asked, realizing how prim she sounded only after she’d said the words.

  He raised his eyebrows briefly. “Not in the sense you intend it, certainly. I’m not above attempting the impossible, but I generally don’t do so unless I know I’ll win.” He looked at her. “Do you play cards?”

  “Only children’s games.”

  “Collecting animals of a certain color?”

  “Something like that.” She sipped her ale and tried not to sigh in pleasure. “You?”


  “I don’t think anyone here is going to ask for purple dragons anytime soon, so to answer your question, nay. Not in years.” He had a large drink of his ale, then draped his cloak over the back of his chair. “Wait here. I’ll be back soon enough.”

  She didn’t suppose waiting was going to be much of a hardship given that she was sitting next to the enormous hearth, the fire was crackling nicely, and she had a very drinkable mug of ale in her hands. As long as Acair didn’t behave badly and get them thrown out, she thought she might be able to allow herself the pleasure of simply being warm and doing nothing for a bit.

  She watched Acair introduce himself to a group of men sitting at a table, already hard at their evening’s labors. She had to admit that for as brutal as he’d been to those men who had wished her ill, he was utterly charming to those gamblers he was soon sitting down to join. If she’d been at that table and he’d asked her to hand over all her green ducks, she would have done so just to have him flash that smile of his at her—

  She put her hand to her forehead and suppressed the urge to place it there repeatedly and with vigor. Obviously too much intrigue at the barn had left her considering things she never would have if she’d been in her right mind. She had a hefty swig of ale and hoped it would not only settle her stomach but clear her head.

  It took three generous sips before she began to feel any more like herself. She kept hold of that cold pewter mug and watched Acair with a newfound detachment. He labored in her uncle’s barn and he was spotting her coin for supper. He was no more interesting than that.

  He waited until the game had ended and a new one was in the offing before he showed his companions a coin they seemed to find to their liking—a Nerochian half-sovereign, whatever that was. He joked affably with them as they set to their labors. She shook her head. He looked harmless enough, but she couldn’t let go of the thought that he just wasn’t at all what he seemed.