by Lynn Kurland
Sgath only grinned at him. “Too late for that, young one, so I suppose we’ll just have to take a walk and see if that keg of ale I stashed behind one of your grandmother’s prized rosebushes has survived the fall prunings. Interested?”
Acair couldn’t deny that he was, so he nodded and walked with the man who had watched his own son turn away from everything he’d taught him and choose a far different, more unpleasant path.
“You could have come sooner,” Sgath said mildly, at one point.
Acair looked at him quickly. “Would you have allowed me inside the gates?”
“After a trip to the woodshed, most likely.”
Acair almost smiled. “Just as I thought.”
Sgath clasped his hands behind his back. “I hear you’ve been making a few social calls over the past several months.”
“Unfortunately.”
Sgath laughed softly. “I won’t rub your nose in it, son.”
“No need,” Acair said. “Soilléir’s done enough of that for the both of you.”
“I imagine he has. And look you there; our destination comes into view.” He nodded up the path. “Tiptoe if you can. Eulasaid isn’t particularly keen on the places I store my creations.”
“Eulasaid wishes only that you would stop crushing her rosebushes with them,” Eulasaid said, stepping out of nothing onto the path. “Let me take a turn with my grandson while you find a pair of mugs and an equal number of stools, then I’ll leave you to your ruminations.” Eulasaid linked arms with him. “Come along, darling, and we’ll leave your grandfather to his preparations. You know, Acair, you could have come to visit sooner.”
Ah, not more of that. He looked for aid but Sgath was pointedly ignoring him. Sgath did send a quick wink his way, then ambled off to apparently find the appropriate accoutrements for the night’s activities. Acair supposed he was doomed, but his father’s mother had rescued him from a dungeon earlier, so perhaps he owed her a bit of conversation.
“Thank you for the rescue and a delightful meal,” he said politely.
Eulasaid lifted her eyebrow briefly. “You have lovely manners.”
“I didn’t learn them at my mother’s table.”
“Ah, Fionne,” Eulasaid said with a smile. “She is a force unto herself.”
“With absolutely no sense of right and wrong.”
“Well, I suppose that could be debated endlessly without any useful conclusion being reached,” Eulasaid said. “She has very strong opinions, to be sure, and those opinions are her own. But you must admit she is loyal to a fault.”
“I think I disappoint her.”
“I think she senses that you’re conflicted in your heart.” Eulasaid looked up at him. “Good and evil are powerful forces, Acair. I suspect that no matter how much you want to choose the later, the former tugs at you.”
“Good?” he said, trying to put just the right amount of dismissiveness in his tone. He didn’t want to think about how soundly he’d failed. “Boring stuff, that. I choose evil every time.”
Eulasaid squeezed his arm. “You try, I’m sure,” she said easily. “I suspect you think about the consequences of each too much. If you could just press on without thought, you might manage to embrace darkness more fully.”
“Like my father?” He regretted the words the moment they left his lips, then realized what he was regretting and cursed himself for it. What did it matter to him if his father’s mother suffered grief over her son’s choices or was reminded of the same?
“See?” Eulasaid said with a faint smile.
He frowned fiercely. “I vow I don’t know where these annoying thoughts come from. I believe I’m not sleeping enough at present. It leaves me unable to embrace my true self.”
“I believe, love, that you’re just finding out who your true self might be.”
“With all due respect, Mistress Eulasaid—”
“Granny. You could call me Granny, if you liked. Or Grandmother.” She smiled at him. “What do you call your mother’s mother?”
“Nothing. We’re always too busy blurting out spells to ward off whatever evil minions she’s sent after us to manage any polite greetings. When we attempt to visit, that is.” He shrugged. “She isn’t much for family, I daresay.”
Eulasaid laughed. “I’m not at all surprised. I believe I’ve met those same minions myself. That and her trollish neighbors do give one pause.” She stopped and looked at him. “And here we are by the infamous and well-hidden keg of ale.” She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m happy you are here, Acair. Come more often.”
And with that, she started away.
“Mistress—er, Grandmother?”
She turned and smiled. “Aye, love?”
“Thank you again for the rescue this morning.”
“It was most definitely my pleasure, darling. Sleep well.”
He watched her go, completely bemused. He would have rubbed his cheek to see if she’d left a mark, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to. He walked over to where Sgath was pouring two substantial mugs of ale, sat down where instructed to, and looked at his father’s father in consternation.
“She does that,” Sgath said.
Acair blinked. “Who? What?”
“Eulasaid. She throws people off balance.”
“Is that what she did with me?”
Sgath handed him a mug. “I think with you she was just telling you that she loves you. She always has, truth be told, even when you were off combining terrible mischief. But she doesn’t like to interfere overmuch.”
“I can think of several people, one black mage in particular, who would say she did.”
“Ah, well, Lothar of Wychweald needed to be stopped and she was at hand.” He smiled. “She doesn’t like to take credit for it, even though the masters at Buidseachd do send her gifts each year on the anniversary of her having tossed Lothar out their front gates.”
Acair imagined they did. He sipped his ale, then looked at his grandfather in astonishment. “This is delicious.”
“As your grandmother said, you should have come earlier.”
“If I’d known this was what you were brewing, I would have.”
Sgath laughed easily, then continued to smile. “You would be most welcome. Your brothers? Perhaps not so much.”
“They are a sorry lot,” Acair agreed, “and I the worst of them, I’m afraid.”
“The youngest,” Sgath said, “but not the worst.”
“I should be offended,” Acair said, enjoying another pull. “I’ve worked very hard to earn all my accolades and the terror they inspire.”
Sgath smiled briefly, then he sobered. Acair was tempted to shift, or suggest that perhaps a visit to the woodshed would be less painful than what he suspected was coming his way, but he found that all he could do was sit there and brace himself for what he was certain would be a terrible dressing down.
“I have watched you over the years.”
Acair nodded grimly. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“I will tell you this, not because you asked but because I’m well-seasoned and my opinion is always of great interest to those around me.” His expression was very serious. “I don’t think you have it in you.”
Acair frowned. “Have what in me?”
“That which my son has in him, that hard edge that makes him what he is.”
“But of course I do,” Acair protested. “Murder, mayhem, mischief. I live for that sort of rot.”
Sgath shook his head. “I am not young, Acair, and I have seen the comings and goings of all sorts of elves and wizards and mage kings. I will tell you this, not to flatter you, but because you need to hear it. Gair was my son and I loved him. I still do, because he is my son. But there is a cruelty to him that has not found home in you. Your brothers, aye, and Doílain is the worst o
f that lot, but not you. Oh, you might try to wallow in foul deeds and I will concede that you richly deserve everything Rùnach and Soilléir have put you through, but I think you give yourself too much credit for wanting evil.”
“I don’t want evil,” Acair protested, “I want the world at my feet.”
“Try charm,” Sgath said dryly. “You have enough of that and to spare.”
“You mean as in be polite, flatter, ingratiate myself with those I intend to rob of their magic?”
“Aye, something like that.” He chuckled a bit, then shook his head. “Why you want power from anyone else, I don’t know. You have a vast amount of it all on your own.”
“Is it ever enough?”
“I think so, but perhaps I have a different perspective,” Sgath said. “I’m not one for glittering salons.”
Acair wouldn’t have admitted it under pain of death, but he wasn’t sure he cared for it all that much any longer himself.
“By the way, I think you won’t have much anonymity going forward,” Sgath remarked. “Ehrne wasn’t shy about letting anyone who would listen know that he had you in his dungeon. He’ll invent some rot about having been magnanimous enough to have let you go, of course.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Acair said. He took a deep breath. “Thank you for the rescue. I’m not too proud to say I couldn’t have managed it on my own.”
Sgath smiled. “You’re welcome, grandson.”
“I’ve never thought of you that way,” Acair said slowly. “As a relative.”
“You were too busy wreaking havoc to have time for social niceties.”
“Probably,” Acair agreed. “Black magery is time consuming.”
Sgath laughed. “I imagine it is, my boy.” He gestured to Acair’s mug. “Drink up. There’s more where that came from and we have a pleasant stretch of peaceful evening ahead of us. You can worry about the rest on the morrow.”
Acair wished all his troubles could be dismissed so easily, but perhaps he could think on them later. Sgath brewed a very fine ale and, as he said, there was a pleasant stretch of peaceful evening there in front of him.
He suspected it might be one of the last he would enjoy for quite some time to come.
Fifteen
Léirsinn wondered how anyone at Lake Cladach accomplished anything with so much beauty to look at every day.
She walked along the shore and looked out over the sparkling water. She could hardly believe that less than a se’nnight ago, she had been doing her usual chores in her uncle’s barn, never imagining that another sort of life might ever exist for her.
The other thing she hadn’t expected was to have Falaire walking along behind her, nibbling greenery, and looking completely at his ease. While she understood the usefulness of a barn, she couldn’t deny that horses looked happiest when wandering about on grass.
It was cool out, but she’d been provided that morning with a bath, clean clothes, and a cloak that was softer than anything she’d ever felt save Falaire’s nose. She’d enjoyed a delicious breakfast, then accepted the invitation to make herself at home and perhaps take her pony for a bit of a walk. She had turned him loose on the greensward, then taken herself for a wander near the water.
She had finally sat down on the edge of a dock that stretched out into the lake. It was the stuff of dreams, truly. The sound of the water lapping against the shore, the warmth of the sun on her back, the sight of her horse . . . ah . . .
Shapechanging.
He stood on the grass twenty paces from her, looked at her for a moment, then tossed his head and disappeared. Or, rather, he sprouted wings, snorted, then leapt up into the air.
And so began a display of, ah, shapechanging that left her gaping. Animals with four feet, things with wings, things with large, terrifying teeth, other creatures that she was perfectly confident came from myth. She climbed up onto the pier because she had to move. She thought better that way. She didn’t want to follow where her thoughts were leading, but she realized she simply couldn’t deny any longer what she was seeing.
Magic existed.
Perhaps she should have begun to think something was unusual about the fact that Falaire had sprouted wings just outside Beinn òrain. It might have made sense to admit that there were things beyond her ken when she’d come face-to-face with an elvish king. She could have set aside the last of her doubts when she’d listened to a very long list of Acair’s accomplishments.
But now, she was faced with unmistakable proof that things were just not as she’d believed them to be—
“You can blame Eulasaid for all that business,” a voice said.
She jumped a little, then realized it was simply Acair’s grandfather who had joined her. “Blame your wife?”
“I heard her out here very early this morning, chatting with him.” He tapped his forehead. “That way, you know how it’s done. My lady wife has an especial fondness for those of an equine persuasion. Given how sheltered your pony has been over the course of his life, she thought it might be interesting for him to consider a few things he might not have before.”
“Such as how bumblebees fly.”
He laughed. “Exactly that. He seems to have committed himself to a great deal of experimentation.”
“As long as he doesn’t do that while I’m on his back, I think I’ll just let him have his head.”
“Wise,” Sgath said. He watched Falaire for quite some time, then shook his head in admiration. “He is a magnificent animal.”
“He is,” she agreed. “Even with what I’ve seen come through my uncle’s stables over the years, I’ve never seen his equal.”
Sgath leaned back against the railing and looked at her. “If you don’t mind satisfying my curiosity, you’re Fuadain of Sàraichte’s niece through what line?”
“My father is his brother,” she said, “and we share a grandfather, though I suppose that’s obvious.”
“You might be surprised,” Sgath said with a smile. “The twistings and turnings of some family trees are enough to give pains in the head to even the most strong-stomached of souls. How is it you came to be working in his stables, not lounging in his finest salon?”
“My grandfather requires care,” she said, “and since it is so expensive, I . . .” She shrugged. “I was put to work at the stables immediately after I was sent to my uncle, and I never questioned why.”
“And you didn’t question because you want your grandfather to have the best,” Sgath said with a gentle smile. “As is right and proper.”
They stood there in companionable silence for a bit longer until she thought the questions burning in her mouth might just light on fire without any help. She turned to look at him.
“Ah, Lord . . . I mean, Prince . . . er—”
“’Tis just Sgath, Léirsinn,” he said with a smile. “My claim to any throne is so tenuous, I don’t think about it very often.”
She studied him. “You were raised in Ainneamh.”
“At the palace,” he agreed. “Lovely place, that.”
“Yet you’re here.”
“Quite happily. My bride and I aren’t much for fancy trappings.”
Léirsinn would have pointed out to him that his house was the size of a palace, but perhaps he knew that already. He also looked hardly any older than Acair, which she supposed he also knew.
Things were very odd in the world, she was discovering.
She took her courage in hand. “Might I ask you a question or two?”
“Anything.”
She could scarce believe she was going to ask what she intended to ask, but Sgath seemed a friendly, honest sort. Not that Acair wasn’t, of course, but her relationship with him was a bit complicated. His grandfather had no reason to tell her anything but the absolute truth, no matter what she might think of it.
“Do you believe i
n magic?” she asked gingerly.
He smiled. “I can’t say I’ve had much choice in that matter, given my parentage. So, aye, I do believe in magic, but likely because it’s all I’ve known in my life.”
“And you’re an elf,” she said. “With elven magic, whatever that is.”
“Ah, the magic of Ainneamh,” he said with a sigh. “Caoireach is strange, and I say that as one who grew to manhood using it. All magic has its own peculiarities, of course. Fadaire—the magic of Tòrr Dòrainn—is so beautiful, one runs the risk of losing one’s place in one’s spells simply because the words are so mesmerizing. The magic of my ancestors, though—” He considered. “I would call it hard and glittering, a bit like starlight on a cold winter’s night. The magic is powerful and the spells very useful, but I’ve often thought that my relatives have spent so much time over the centuries wrapped up in the admiration of their own magnificent skill that they’ve lost the knack of it.”
“As out of reach as starlight?”
He smiled. “A good way to put it, though Ehrne will never admit as much. If he were called upon to save the world, he might be able to dredge up a spell or two, but it would be an effort. He fights endlessly with Sìle over a border I suppose he could defend if he had to, but the place is honestly starting to look a bit threadbare. The spells that are there are very old but no one has taken the effort to keep them up. Someday I fear some rogue mage will simply walk across the border and take everything they have.”
“But you have that magic?”
“I do.”
She had to pause and take a deep breath. “And Acair has that magic.”
Sgath nodded. “He does, as it happens. I don’t imagine it is the first thing he reaches for, but he has it.”
She suppressed the urge to find somewhere to sit, but since she was leaning against the railing of the dock, she supposed that might be enough for the moment. “Why hasn’t he walked across King Ehrne’s border to take over that throne, do you suppose? If the world’s magic is what he’s after.”
“I don’t know if he’s considered it or not,” Sgath said thoughtfully. “To be honest. I suspect my grandson wouldn’t think the crown worth the effort. Ainneamh would be a very expensive prize.” He shrugged. “Acair is, above all I daresay, a pragmatist.”