The White Spell

by Lynn Kurland

  Things could have been much, much worse.

  Seventeen

  Léirsinn thought she might never be able to catch her breath again.

  It had nothing to do with the work, which was less like work and more like an endless bit of wonderment, and more to do with the fact that she had spent the morning inside Aherin itself, working horse after horse, each one more spectacular than the last. Patterns, jumps, simple canters about Lord Hearn’s arena, there had been nothing those horses wouldn’t do—couldn’t do. After a bit, she’d honestly lost track of how many hours had passed and how many horses she’d worked. It had felt as though she’d been trapped in a dream filled with beasts only a consummate storyteller could envision.

  She’d woken from that dream only to realize that it was noon and she had been riding for hours. She’d been exhausted.

  And then Hearn had bought her another horse.

  “We call him the Grey,” he had said, “but that’s because we have no imagination here. His true name is Turasadhair. I’ll let you figure out what that means.”

  Léirsinn had accepted the Grey’s reins with a hesitancy she had never once felt since she’d come into herself and known what she could do. Hearn had only smiled at her and walked with her to the front gates.

  “He will eventually go white, as this breed tends to do,” he had remarked as the guards had opened the gates, “though I imagine his mane and tail will keep a touch of silver. He’s young yet, but I think you’ll manage him well enough.”

  “Any suggestions?” she’d asked.

  “He likes to go fast,” had been the lord of Angesand’s only comment, made in such an offhand fashion, Léirsinn had hardly known what to make of it.

  Or at least she had until she had realized exactly what Turasadhair could do.

  His speed across the grasslands surrounding Aherin had been breathtaking. She had understood then why Hearn had put such a light saddle on him. She had leaned low over his neck and given him his head. She had realized at one point that she’d been laughing as tears had been streaming down her cheeks.

  And then she had asked him for more.

  It was as if he’d become not an arrow from a longbow, but a bolt shot from a crossbow. Where he had dredged up more speed she hadn’t known; all she’d been able to do was cling to both the reins and his mane and trust he wouldn’t lose her off his back.

  He had then asked her if she could bear more.

  It had been as she’d realized they were twenty feet off the ground that she’d noticed he had acquired wings. They had been gossamer bits of business, though, only a hint of something there. Her mind had been so empty of anything but flight, she’d been unable to determine if those wings were only useful in keeping them aloft or perhaps had a different purpose. In truth, she hadn’t cared enough to discover the truth. His hooves had clawed at the air as if it had been solid ground, but his gait had been so smooth it felt as if they were the ones who were still and a fierce, endless wind blew the ground past them.

  She had no idea, now that she was walking with him back up the way to the front gates of Hearn’s hall, just how long they had been out chasing after a terrible amount of speed. The sun was turning toward the west, so surely the better part of the day. All she knew was that she was less exhausted than simply drained.

  Hearn was leaning against a gatehouse wall, waiting for her. She stopped in front of him, then smiled.

  “Did you watch?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he said pleasantly. “Have a good ride, missy?”

  She could only stand there and laugh. Hearn chuckled, then nodded at the horse.

  “He must like you,” he remarked. “He doesn’t fly for very many. Indeed, I can only think of one other person, but I think the experience was so terrifying, that lad might never sit a horse again. I suspect you wouldn’t have that problem.”

  “I wouldn’t.” She stroked the Grey’s nose for a moment or two, then looked at Aherin’s lord. “He must be very valuable.”

  “Priceless,” Hearn said. “Don’t think I’d ever sell him. You feel free to come ride him anytime you like, though.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  He nodded up the way. “Let’s put him away and then you can tell me what your plans are for Falaire and what mischief he’s been combining.”

  Léirsinn nodded and walked with him back to his stables, waving away the lad who came to take the Grey from her. She untacked him herself, though she wasn’t above handing things off to others for them to clean and put away. She brushed Turasadhair until his coat gleamed and his mane and tail were waterfalls of silver, glowing in the afternoon sunlight that streamed in from the windows set high in the walls.

  She put the combs and brushes away, then left the stall. She closed the door, looked at that glorious horse who looked as if he’d been cast in silver, then at Hearn.

  “Priceless,” she agreed.

  “If I ever find a price, I’ll let you know.”

  “I won’t be able to afford it, though I’d be tempted to rob every nobleman I could find to manage it.”

  Hearn smiled faintly. “Now you understand what drives that blasted Acair, I imagine.”

  She leaned against the stall door. “Do you think that’s it?”

  He sighed. “What do I know of men and mages? His father is an arrogant, merciless bastard and his mother one of the most terrifying women I’ve ever met. His brothers are every last one of them the sorts of lads you absolutely wouldn’t want to meet without a gaggle of mages at your heels to keep you safe. Where Acair fits into all that, I couldn’t say. You would do better to ask someone who knows his family. Miach of Neroche is wed to his half-sister, though I’m not sure how well either of them knows him. I suppose Prince Soilléir would have his opinions, if you’re that curious.”

  She shook her head slowly. “I prefer to judge men on my own.” She looked at Hearn. “I don’t believe he’s all that evil.”

  “That’s because you’ve never seen him with magic to hand,” Hearn said seriously. “Then again, who am I to judge? If someone tried to hurt one of my horses—actually, the things I’ve done to keep them safe . . .” He blew out his breath. “As I said, I’m not one to judge. I will tell you this much, though: he’s fearless. The places that boy has gone? Not in my worst nightmares and I don’t mind admitting that.”

  “All in the search of power?” she asked.

  “And other things, no doubt.” Hearn nodded at the Grey. “Where would you go for that one there?”

  She smiled. “Don’t ask.”

  He laughed a little. “I understand, believe me. Let’s go have something to eat before the thought takes root and puts us off our feed.”

  “Where’s Acair?”

  “Moving a pile of manure from one spot to another,” Hearn said without hesitation, “a completely useless exercise I put him to simply because I could.”

  “And of course you aren’t enjoying that at all.”

  “The little fiend broke into my solar a few years back and rummaged through not only my papers but my private collection of very rare, very expensive whisky that happened to be a gift from a buyer in Gairn. Damned if I didn’t catch him just as he was preparing to open a bottle and have himself a taste.”

  She had to smile. “What did you do to him?”

  “Took him by the scruff of the neck and threw him out my front gates.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t use a spell on you,” she said, then she shook her head. “I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth.”

  “Too much time with the Grey. He will leave a lass thinking that all manner of impossible things are possible. As for the other, I am who I am. I think despite all his vile threatenings, your lad there simply couldn’t bring himself to destroy a legend.” He shrugged. “Or it could be my hall is protected by spells he
suspected might come back to haunt him if he vexed me overmuch.”

  “He isn’t my lad, but he does seem to have at least a bit of good sense from time to time.”

  “One could hope,” Hearn agreed.

  Léirsinn nodded and walked with him back to the hall. She tried not to gawk at her surroundings, but it was difficult not to. She was in a place that felt familiar, given that it was full of horses, yet so far above her uncle’s stables that she felt as if she’d never been inside a barn before.

  If only she could have perhaps convinced Hearn to take her on even as a lowly stable hand, it would have been more than she could have expected, truly.

  He paused on the top step in front of the doorway to his hall and looked at her. “Come back and ride.”

  She looked at him seriously. “Not work?”

  “I have the feeling, missy, that your destiny lies elsewhere.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “If that changes and if you want a place, I will make one for you here.”

  She had to blink very rapidly for a moment or two. “Thank you, my lord.”

  He put his hand on her shoulder briefly. “You have a way with horses, Mistress Léirsinn.” He opened the hall door. “Let’s go fetch ourselves a mug of ale, then we’ll go watch your lad finish up his work. That seems like a perfect use of the rest of the afternoon, aye?”

  She had to agree it did. She couldn’t say she wouldn’t be happy for a place to sit down for a bit. It might give her a chance to recover from the day she’d had.

  She was going to be a long time in forgetting the horse she’d ridden that afternoon.

  • • •

  It was perhaps unsurprising that she found herself in his stall that evening, grooming him again. If she’d leapt at the chance to simply trot him about a small arena beforehand, well, how could anyone have expected her to refuse? He could do the same prancing movements that any exclusive cavalry horse could do and there wasn’t a jump in Hearn’s keep that he didn’t leap over with grace.

  “Take him outside if you like,” Hearn had said at one point.

  She hadn’t argued. And she had to say that a spectacular sunset was even more enjoyable when viewed from the back of a spectacular horse.

  All of which left her where she was at the moment, grooming his dark grey sides with his silver tail saved for very last.

  “You know, Acair,” Hearn said from where he was leaning on the stall door, “there are people in the East who are horse lovers.”

  “Are there indeed, my lord?”

  “I take it you never travelled so far in your endless quest to nick things. Spells and whatnot.”

  “Nay, my lord,” Acair said politely. “Their magic is strange and I find myself favoring that which my sparse wits can wrap themselves around. Besides, ’tis a bit of a journey, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Aye, you lazy whelp, it is. Worth it, though.”

  “Is it? What is it about these horsemen that’s intriguing?”

  “Nothing for you to work yourself up over given that they have no magic that you could steal. Nay, what they have isn’t in their blood, ’tis woven into their souls.”

  “Poetic.”

  “Isn’t it, though?”

  Léirsinn looked over Turasadhair’s neck at the men who were standing there watching her work. “Don’t you two have anything better to do than stand there yammering on?”

  Acair looked at Hearn. “Red hair,” he said knowingly. “Comes with a temper and a sharp tongue.”

  Hearn only smiled pleasantly. “May you feel the fire of it until it singes you to death, my lad. Now, as I was saying, there are horse people in the East. No magic that you would recognize, but there is something about them that is unusual.”

  “Their ability to shovel great amounts of horse sh—”

  Hearn tsk-tsked him. “Mind your manners before I put you back to work moving that pile again.”

  “To an unnecessary location.”

  “Never said the work had to have a point to it, did I? And stop interrupting me. These horsemen have, from what I understand, developed a very keen eye. Not Seeing in the usual sense, but just regular seeing that the high and mighty ones tend to miss because they’re so involved in their vaunted Looking About.”

  “I know the type,” Acair said.

  “You are the type,” Hearn said.

  Acair only laughed briefly. “Trust me, my lord, I’ve done a great deal of looking at all sorts of things I shouldn’t have. Now, do they do anything else besides make everyone around them uncomfortable with their observations?”

  “I daresay they know which end of a horse bites.”

  Acair snorted. “Even I know that.”

  “Now,” Hearn said dryly. “I understand from Mistress Léirsinn’s pony that such wasn’t always the case. He finds it terribly amusing. And don’t think he doesn’t recount your misadventures with him to other horses as often as he can.”

  “That damned nag.”

  Hearn laughed. “I believe if you could ever come to an understanding with him, you might like him. He’s as fond of a well-executed piece of mischief as you are. As for what I was attempting to spew out before you interrupted me, I think it would be an interesting thing to see who is related to whom, wouldn’t it? Your lass there, I mean.”

  “Aye,” Acair said, “it would be.”

  Léirsinn thought it would be more interesting if they took themselves off to cozy up to a keg in Hearn’s cellar, but perhaps that would have been rude to suggest.

  Hearn rubbed his hands together. “Offer to aid her in her work here if she asks, Acair, then we’ll spend a pleasant evening together. You’ll want to be on your way in the morning. Your gel there is welcome to come back anytime she likes.”

  “And me?”

  “If she invites you, I’ll always have things for you to shovel.”

  Léirsinn smiled to herself as she worked on Turasadhair’s mane. She took longer at it likely than she needed to, but it was soothing work, work she knew how to do, and work that never left her facing anything she didn’t anticipate.

  Exactly the opposite of what her life was offering at present.

  She finished eventually, then handed off her gear to one of the stable lads. She left the feeding of the Grey to lads whose business it was, admired him one more time, then let herself out of the stall. She looked at Acair who hadn’t moved from his place.

  “You lean a great deal, don’t you?”

  “How do you mean?” he asked.

  “Against doorways,” she said, “walls, pillars, mantels.” She shrugged. “That sort of thing.”

  “It gives me the opportunity to display my profile, something you can’t help but have admired more than once.”

  She smiled. “You are a showy pony, aren’t you?”

  “You should see me when I’m at liberty to shapechange,” he said. “Women swoon, mere mortals weep in fear, mages grind their teeth. I would suggest that it is very bad for my enormous ego, that sort of thing, but I will admit I enjoy it. Mainly the swooning, but there you have it. I can’t turn my back on who I am.”

  She leaned against the stall door. “You say these things, yet I’m not sure you mean them.”

  “You don’t think my ego is enormous?”

  “I think your ego is colossal,” she said, “and there are times I believe you almost take yourself seriously.”

  He sighed lightly as he joined her in her leaning. “I have the very fine example of my father to keep me from it, if you want the entire truth. He is so enamored of himself, I’m not sure he ever truly notices anyone else. Oh, he’ll make you believe he does, for a time, but it never lasts.”

  “What does he want, then?”

  “Power.” He smiled briefly. “’Tis what every decent mage wants.”

  “Why?”

/>   He nodded toward the spectacular horse with his nose as far into his grain bucket as it would go. “Why do you want that horse?”

  She took an unsteady breath. “Hearn already forced me to acknowledge this.”

  Acair looked at her. “Wouldn’t you have a dozen of his like if you had an endless amount of gold in your coffers?”

  “You can only work so many horses,” she said.

  “But a dozen of that lad’s ilk?” he said. “I would hazard a guess the prize might be worth all the work to have it. And so says every mage with a handful of wits rattling around in his head.”

  “But you’re not trying to acquire more horses. Surely there’s a limit to how much power you can use.” She stopped and looked at him. “I can’t believe I said those words.”

  “Don’t make your pony take you outside and prove again what he’s capable of.” He nodded knowingly. “Magic, if you weren’t clear on what I was referring to.”

  “I’m trying to convince myself I dreamed all of it,” she said, then she breathed deeply. She gestured toward that magnificent, impossibly swift horse in front of them. “That is what I understand. The rest of it? I will continue to call it fanciful imaginings.”

  “Cling to that, my gel. Cling to it.”

  “I suspect I should.”

  He smiled and watched the Grey investigate the depths of his bucket a bit longer. “As for the acquisition of power, who knows why a mage wants more? Perhaps it comes from being afraid someone might have more of it than he does, or perhaps it simply comes from fear he won’t have enough.”

  She looked at him in surprise. He was looking at her in almost the same way.

  “Good hell,” he said faintly. “I believe I have finally shoveled too much manure and lost my mind somewhere in the pile.”

  She smiled. “Stable work is good for the soul.”

  “Unless you are me, in which case it is very bad for whatever soul I have left.” He shook his head slowly. “I have obviously had too much time on my hands for thinking ridiculous thoughts.”

  She shifted so she could still lean against the stall door yet face him. “Are you afraid you won’t have enough power, Acair? And keep in mind I can’t believe I’m saying those words without indulging in a snort of derision.”