by Lynn Kurland
“Ruithneadh said he was hunting black mages,” Ardan was saying, “or had you forgotten? Perhaps he’s decided his bastard brothers at Ceangail have lived too comfortably all these years and need to be vexed a bit. Amitán was certainly looking a little worse for the wear when last we saw him.”
Sarah flinched in spite of herself. She felt Ruith do the same thing.
“You saw Amitán?” he asked casually. “Where?”
“Just outside Léige,” Ardan said, “wandering aimlessly. I didn’t engage him.” He wrinkled his nose. “He smelled, truth be told.”
“Which you would notice,” Thoir said. “I didn’t see him myself, but Ardan and I have been searching separately over the past fortnight. I haven’t seen anything unusual save you, which leads me to ask again, what is there that you’re not telling us?”
Ruith shrugged. “Nothing of import.”
Thoir sighed. “Ruith, you’ve been too long in Shettlestoune. Not every soul you meet is an enemy. Well, you could think twice about Ardan, but not me. Your mother was my aunt.” His smile faded. “I am on your side, cousin, for I know what your mother faced. If you’re trying to eradicate what was left behind—which I very much suspect is the case—you can know with a surety that I understand.”
Sarah shifted so she could look at Ruith as well. He dragged his hand through his hair.
“I imagine you do—” he began.
“Imagine?” Thoir interrupted in disbelief. “Ruith, think. If I could slay what Gair spawned at Ceangail and not have it stain my soul, I would have done so years ago. If you’re hunting black mages, as you very carefully suggested you were—for your own perverse reasons, no doubt—why wouldn’t I throw my lot in with yours? Why do you think I do nothing but roam the Nine Kingdoms? For my own pleasure? I would much rather be home, dressed in fine silks and enjoying the pleasures of Seanagarra. But I don’t because I am willing to go places even my father dares not tread and I do so because I want Seanagarra to be free of demons like Gair. And if that is what you hunt, I have very good reason to want to hunt with you.”
“Count me in as well,” Ardan agreed heavily. “For the same reasons.”
Sarah found Ruith looking at her. She wasn’t about to offer any opinions. The two across the fire were his kin, true, so there should have been no reason not to trust them. She realized with a start, however, that she had become just as wary as Ruith had. She would have trusted his family back at the inn, but . . .
She took a deep breath and reached for reason. Those were his cousins there, his painfully beautiful, terribly powerful cousins who might have been slightly annoyed at their situation in life, but they surely had no love of darkness. There was no reason not to consider them friend, not foe.
Ruith looked at her for another moment or two in silence, then lifted his head and sighed. “I am hunting pages from my father’s book of spells.”
Sarah looked at their companions. Ardan was blinking, as if he hadn’t heard him. Thoir’s mouth had fallen open and he was gaping in a most unattractive fashion.
“Why?” he managed.
“So I can destroy them.”
Thoir closed his mouth, apparently with difficulty. “Why waste the effort? Even if someone finds the pages of that accursed book, who would have the power to use the spells?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Ruith said grimly. “My task is to gather up all my father’s spells, then destroy them. Then at least whatever black mage next steps up on the world’s stage will have to start from scratch with his evil.”
Ardan shrugged. “Seems reasonable to me.”
Thoir hadn’t moved. “And do you have any idea where these pages might be hiding, or are they all in the same place?”
Ruith rubbed his hands over his face. “I have a map,” he said wearily. “A map of where the spells can be found.”
Ardan rubbed his hands together. “Let’s see it.” He made werelight that sparkled in a particularly elvish way, then nodded encouragingly. “There you go. Produce the map.”
Sarah watched Ruith lean over to pull the map from his boot, then make a production of freeing it. He shot her a look whilst he was about it, a look which she had no trouble understanding. He was going to lie and do it without a moment’s hesitation.
He straightened, then rose and handed the map to Thoir.
“Those are where we know the spells to be at the moment,” he said carefully. “How they came to be there is a mystery we haven’t yet solved.”
Ardan peered over Thoir’s shoulder. “Perhaps ’tis only because I see things where others do not, but there appears to me to be a sort of pattern here.”
“Is there?” Ruith asked politely.
Ardan shot him a look. “Aye, there is. And it points to this spot here.”
“He has that aright,” Thoir said, peering at the map. “See you how there is a mark here and another at the same latitude, though seemingly several leagues away. They proceed northward, these marks, growing closer and closer together until they terminate at the same point.” He looked at Ruith. “Why not just go there and see where they’ve led you?”
“Because that’s not the point,” Ruith said calmly. “I need the spells themselves.”
“To destroy them,” Ardan asked skeptically, “or to keep for yourself in the end?”
Ruith shot him a warning look, but said nothing.
Ardan merely shrugged. “I had to ask.”
“Prince Ardan, if I wanted to use my father’s spells, I would have done so already,” Ruith said evenly. “I’m sure it occurs to you that I might have them memorized already.”
“Yes, it does indeed occur to me,” Ardan agreed. “And again, I had to ask. And I’ll ask something else: how did you discover where these spells lie?” He looked at Ruith and blinked innocently. “Just out of curiosity.”
“That is a curiosity I have no intention of satisfying,” Ruith said. “Just trust me that they’re there.”
“The spots are rather vague,” Thoir said thoughtfully. “How are we to recognize the particular location when we come upon it?”
“I hadn’t intended that you go look for them,” Ruith said, sounding very surprised.
“Well, it isn’t as if you can go do it all yourself,” Ardan said. “Not with Morag of An-uallach in a fury behind you. For once I agree with Thoir. Let us help you with this madness of yours as quickly as possible, then you can scurry home to wherever you feel most comfortable, and I’ll return home to beauty and elegance you can’t possibly imagine. In your case, you can perhaps hope that Morag fears a journey south of Slighe might wreak havoc on her complexion.”
Sarah watched Ruith hesitate, which brought an immediate reaction from Thoir, who rolled his eyes and made a noise of impatience.
“What do you think, Ruith?” he asked with a snort. “That we want these vile bits of business for ourselves? Don’t be daft. Tear the map in half, give us the more difficult route, and we’ll meet you at the final spot. I think even Ardan could find that.”
Sarah watched Ruith consider. She supposed she knew what he was thinking, for they had been her thoughts as well. They had spent much of the past few fortnights relying on the kindness of strangers whilst never knowing who might betray them. She couldn’t imagine Thoir would want Gair’s spells for himself. Not even Ardan seemed capable of sullying his hands with the things, especially given his obvious love for himself and his disdain for anything not elvish.
Ruith looked at her finally. “I’m not opposed to the aid, if you aren’t.”
She nodded, then rose and reached over the fire to take the map from Thoir. She looked down at it, backlit as it was by the light of not only the flame but Ardan’s werelight, and flinched, because the fire was not only lighting the map, the spells had lit little fires themselves on the map. The sight startled her so, she dropped the sheaf of parchment. Thoir rescued it from the fire, blew out the edge that was burning, then handed it back to her slowly.
“Are
you unwell?” he asked quietly.
“Weary,” she said without hesitation. She hesitated. “Do you want the map itself, or shall I just tell you where to look for the spells?”
“You?” Ardan asked in surprise. “The witchwoman Seleg’s daughter? What could you possibly have to tell us about any of this?”
Thoir clucked his tongue at Ardan, then looked up at Sarah. “I think I would prefer to have half the map, if it’s all the same to you.”
Sarah nodded, tore the map in half lengthwise, then handed half of it to Thoir. “Those spells lie at the feet of the Sgurrachs. I hadn’t intended this to be more than just general directions, but I can be more specific about the locations if you like.”
“Can you?” Thoir asked seriously. “And how is that, lady?”
She found the words surprisingly difficult to utter. “I can see the spells.”
“And how is that possible?” Ardan asked, his words dripping with skepticism. “An unnamed by-blow of a witch with no power and who knows who else can see anything but the nearest pub—”
Sarah put herself in front of Ruith as he launched himself to his feet and halfway across their hastily made camp. She stopped him, but found herself in the midst of the fire as a result which necessitated Ruith’s beating out flames on the edge of her cloak. She shot him a look.
“Don’t.”
Ruith considered, then very carefully put his hands on her shoulders and set her aside. He turned to face Ardan. “There will come a day, my lord Ardan, when you and I will find ourselves without cooler heads to restrain us and then you will indeed learn a few manners. I only refrain now out of respect for my lady’s wishes.”
Ardan blew his hair out of his eyes. “I believe it is likely best that I refrain from comment from now on.”
“Very wise,” Ruith agreed shortly.
Sarah found Ardan looking her way. He made her yet another very low bow, straightened, then visibly clamped his lips shut. Thoir only laughed.
“I’m not sure why you two seem to rub each other the wrong way, but it indicates to me that dividing this map in half is the safest thing for both of you. Now, perhaps we should have more precise directions.” He looked up from the map in his hands. “If you wouldn’t mind, my lady.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t.”
“And I won’t ask you how it is you can see these.”
“Thank you,” she said simply. It was one thing to trust them with her map; it was another thing entirely to trust them with her…well, whatever it was she had. Her past. Her past that she still had trouble accepting. She supposed she could have presented herself to Seannair of Cothromaiche, watched him present her with portraits of her parents as proof, and she would have still had difficulty accepting who she was. Discussing the like with the two facing her was something she absolutely could not do.
So instead she spent half an hour telling Thoir all he wanted to know about the location of the spells, feeling rather more grateful than she likely should have that Ruith was breaking camp and gathering their things, for it meant she would soon be free of his cousins.
By the time she had finished, Ruith was ready to go. She took her pack from him and handed him back their half of the map. He rolled it up and stuck it down the side of his boot, then paused and looked at Thoir seriously.
“There’s something else.”
Thoir only lifted his eyebrows briefly. “I can scarce wait to hear what.”
“Someone is leaving bits of my father’s spell of Diminishing near each spell. Or, rather, near where Sarah and I have been traveling, but that might have been naught but chance.”
Sarah was slightly surprised he had admitted any of that, but perhaps he had his reasons. Thoir didn’t look particularly surprised, but Ardan was gaping. Again.
“What?” Ardan said incredulously.
Ruith looked at him evenly. “Bits of my father’s spell of Diminishing, in locations where Sarah and I have traveled.”
“But who has known where you were?”
“The list is unfortunately quite short,” Ruith said grimly. “My bastard brothers, perhaps. Sarah’s erstwhile brother Daniel, possibly. Someone we haven’t thought of, no doubt.”
“Who would want Gair’s spells?” Ardan asked with a fair bit of distaste. “Such ugly things.”
“And you would know?” Ruith asked sharply.
Ardan looked down his nose at him. “I am not unaware of what passes in the world, Ruithneadh. I had the serious misfortune of encountering Díolain in Slighe once. He tried to use your father’s pitiful spell of fettering on me. Unsuccessfully, I might add.”
“Then he must have sampled a bit too much of what passes for ale there or you wouldn’t have escaped him.”
“Rather my superior magic left him looking like a foolish child,” Ardan shot back. “Olc and Lugham and whatever other bilge your sire was perfecting does not last long against the mighty sources of power that flow naturally through the woods and mountains of Ainneamh, sources that have found particular home in yours truly.”
“Or ’tis merely that Díolain’s an ass,” Thoir offered, “but let’s leave that be. I think the identity of who is teasing you with bits of spell is less important than gathering the rest of them together, though I’m still not convinced of the necessity of that. But since, Ruith, it seems to be your current obsession, I’ll lend you my aid as I may.” He folded up the map and stuck it into the purse at his belt. “Ardan, let’s be off and leave these two to their own devices for a bit.”
Ardan sighed. “Are there any pubs marked on that map? I didn’t notice.”
“There weren’t, but you can use your nose to its best advantage whilst we fly,” Thoir announced. “Come along, Ardan, there’s a good lad.”
Ardan shot Thoir a murderous look that made Sarah flinch. It was gone as quickly as it had come, however, which almost made her wonder if she’d been imagining things. She watched Thoir and Ardan until they were gone before she turned to Ruith.
“That was interesting.”
His expression was inscrutable. “Very.”
“Do you trust them?”
He pursed his lips. “Ardan? Nay. Thoir?” He smiled briefly. “Almost. But I do trust you, my lady, so what say you we be off? I think we lingered here overlong.”
“Not that it served you any,” she said, shouldering her pack. “You didn’t sleep, did you?”
“I wasn’t tired,” he said easily. “Perhaps we’ll find a comfortable hollow this afternoon and I’ll snatch an hour or two. For now, I think we should travel quickly. I don’t like what the daylight reveals.”
And considering that all daylight would reveal would be them, she had to agree. There was something that bothered her about the conversation, but the moment she reached for it in truth, it was gone.
She shrugged. It would either come to her or it wouldn’t. There was enough in front of her to worry about without adding to it.
She shouldered her pack and followed Ruith out of the glade.
S
arah dreamed. She realized as she walked, not getting anywhere on a road that never changed beneath her feet, that she couldn’t see anything. Or, rather, she couldn’t see anything. She was surprised at how accustomed she’d grown to seeing things that others couldn’t. Spells. Names written on souls. Music hanging in the air.
She could see none of that at present. All she knew was that the road didn’t vary in its incline or composition. It was flat, running endlessly under her feet, leading her through a fog that was so thick, she could have put her hand out and touched it if she’d had the strength.
She thought she might have been caught up in some sort of unpleasantly monotonous spell, but there was nothing enticing about where she was, not as it had been when she’d been walking in Droch’s garden. No flowers, no comfortable place to sit beckoning her, no pitchers of cool water to ease her thirst. It was nothing but terrible darkness, terrible hunger, with no end in sight.
She continued on until she felt the darkness finally give way to something less dark though no less unsettling. She looked around herself but found nothing there.
She was absolutely alone.
Or, perhaps not.
Sarah woke and realized she hadn’t been dreaming. She knew that only because she was standing on a well-worn, partially frozen road and her feet were freezing even in her boots. She was wearing her cloak, but she was so cold that she had to suppose there was more than just nasty weather at work. She had obviously been walking for some time in her current condition.
And she was alone.
She drew her hand over her eyes, but the gloom didn’t abate. The trees that flanked the road were nothing more than vague outlines of themselves, scarcely hinted at through the fog.
She considered, then murmured the spell to sharpen her sight. She decided abruptly that it worked all too well. There were times when not being able to see what was before one was better than seeing it too clearly.
Such as the current moment.
She realized that what she’d thought were trees huddled in the fog were actually men-at-arms, grim-faced and silent. Some carried pikes, others wicked-looking maces sporting numbers of spikes that were surely beyond what was considered polite, and still others simply stood with their hands on their swords.
Sarah wondered why it was she merited such attention, then realized there was a very good reason.
They didn’t want her to escape.
For the first time in her life, she wished so desperately for magic, she felt physical pain. Unfortunately, the truth was that she had none so all she could do was stand there, her feet numb and completely useless for any hasty sort of flight, and wait for her doom to arrive.
It did, parting a pair of guardsmen with long-fingered, slender hands.
Morag of An-uallach’s slender hands.
Sarah would have put her shoulders back and swallowed her fear, but she was past that. It was one thing to have been caught in a trap by Droch. He hadn’t known who she was—or so she assumed—and had only been toying with her for the sport of it. With Morag of An-uallach, there was no sport involved. The queen was interested in revenge.