Gift of Magic

by Lynn Kurland

  Ruith rubbed his hands over his face, then blew out his breath. “I’m not sure why they would have worried about him, given that he is surely dead.”

  “Likely because his acquisition of that land wasn’t a recent one,” Franciscus said. “I can’t say I knew much about your sire, Ruith, but as you might imagine, I have had the occasional dealing with Fréam over the years. He complained endlessly about Gair’s plans to escape to the north if necessary—and that was three centuries ago. I didn’t have a chance to talk with him tonight about whether or not that opinion has changed in the ensuing years.”

  Ruith stared at the map for another moment or two, then sighed deeply. “Very well, we’ll carry on. I’ve no idea what we’ll find there, but I can’t help but believe there is something there. At the very least, we’ll gather up the spells we find along the way. I think we should leave well before dawn. The less fuss we cause, the better, no doubt.”

  “Do you think,” Seirceil said slowly, “that we’ll manage to gain this particular spot without interference?”

  Ruith looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

  Seirceil exchanged a look with Franciscus, then looked at Ruith carefully. “I have not traveled extensively, but I have unfortunately met Queen Morag more than once. Whilst I would like to believe that Prince Franciscus was successful in warning her off, I wonder if she might find a little harassment to be to her taste. Not enough to warrant an all-out repudiation of her by the Council, of course, but enough to cause us grief.”

  Mansourah sighed gustily. “I wouldn’t put it past her. She could make trouble for you all in a score of annoying little ways.”

  “I’ll see to her—”

  “Nay,” Mansourah said suddenly, “I’ll make the journey.” He smiled. “As I said before, I wasn’t intending to go much farther with you anyway. I need to get inside Sìle’s gates before he knows I have, lest he lock me out and I miss out on the wedding victuals. I’ll fly south by a very circuitous route, make certain that Morag is behaving herself, and then be on my way.”

  “But she is dangerous,” Ruith began.

  Mansourah snorted. “And so are we all, in our various ways. At least you can shapechange. I don’t think she can do much more than hurl about a few unladylike curses. Besides, I’ll be as invisible as the wind and as annoying as a good gust in an inconvenient place.”

  Sarah watched Ruith consider. He looked at her and smiled wanly.

  “Help from unexpected places.”

  “That is our lot,” she agreed quietly.

  “So it seems to be,” Mansourah said. He put his hands on his knees, then rose. “I believe I’ll go wander through the halls for a bit and see what mischief is afoot. I suggest sleep for the three of you sooner rather than later. My road is quite comfortable when compared to yours.”

  Sarah watched him go, then listened to Seirceil plead exhaustion as an excuse to roll up in a blanket and drift off into dreamless slumber. Sarah watched the fire in the hearth for a bit, then looked at the crown in her hands.

  It was a lovely thing, actually, made of whatever stuff it was and braided with four strands. She turned it around until she found the end of it, then couldn’t help but fuss with it a bit. One side of it detached itself so easily from the other, breaking the circle, that she couldn’t help but wonder if it possessed a mind of its own. She started to unbraid the strands not because she wanted to destroy someone else’s work, but because the crown seemed to want her to do so.

  It also gave her something useful to do instead of looking at either Ruith or Franciscus. Ruith, as always, almost hurt her to look at. She could remind herself a score of times that thanks to a quirk of Fate at her birth she was indeed worthy of being put on a list of potential princesses to court, but in her heart she would never believe it.

  That was made all the worse by the fact that her grandfather, a man she had loved like a father for the whole of her life, was actually a prince of a noble house, grandson of a man who held spells in his hands that were so dangerous that he never gave them out—and if she ever saw Soilléir again, she would ask him how he’d managed to escape Cothromaiche with those spells and not had his great-grandfather chase after him, catch him, and slay him for his cheek. And that her grandfather was sitting across from her, no longer just the alemaster she had loved because he had always and without condition loved her.

  She hadn’t spoken to him of her heritage or his. The truth was, she’d hardly spoken to him at all. She’d only wept in his arms.

  She looked up briefly to find him watching her and wondered if the time might come soon when she would have to discuss with him things she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  He smiled, pained, as if he knew her thoughts. “Forgive me,” he said quietly.

  “For wh—” she croaked, then she cleared her throat. “For what?”

  “For leaving you with Seleg and that damned Daniel for so long.”

  “And what else were you to do?” she asked. “Make a fuss?”

  Franciscus looked down at his hands for a moment, then back at her. “I suppose you know why I made the choices for you I did.”

  “Soilléir told me,” she said. “Well, he didn’t tell me. He wrote it all down in a book.”

  “Because he’s a coward,” Ruith supplied without hesitation.

  Franciscus smiled at him briefly. “You know, Ruith, one day you will poke him too hard, and then he will put you in your place.”

  “Never,” Ruith said, picking up his mug of ale and waving away Franciscus’s words with it. “He knows I love his cousin. Whether it would grieve her or not to lose me is still unclear, but it might vex her and that he wouldn’t have. Besides, he loved my mother.”

  “He did,” Franciscus agreed. “Very much. Very well, so Soilléir gave you what I’m assuming were the barest of details about your past, Sarah.” He smiled wearily. “I would give you more, but I fear this isn’t the time or the place. Our journey from here will be arduous, I fear, and the end unpleasant. I will, however, tell you everything you want—and deserve—to know when we’re again at our leisure.”

  Sarah nodded, because she was happy to put off that conversation a bit longer.

  “There are a pair of things I would have answers to,” Ruith said, “before you nod off into your cups. What have you been doing since you kicked up a fuss at Ceangail?”

  Franciscus shot Ruith a look. “I will tell you that much only after I tell you that you were ill-advised to go inside your father’s keep with no magic, lad. Unfortunately I came too late to stop you.”

  “It isn’t as though I would have thought to ask your opinion,” Ruith said with a snort, “not having sensed any magic in you over the years.”

  “You aren’t the only one who’s been inside Léige,” Franciscus said with a faint smile.

  “Are you telling me,” Ruith said with mock horror, “that after King Uachdaran allowed you to use his forge for the sword I wear, you abused his hospitality by filching one of his spells?”

  Franciscus only lifted an eyebrow. “’Tis a very good spell, my lad.”

  “Aye, it is,” Ruith agreed. “And apparently a very popular one.”

  “Well, if it eases your guilty conscience any, I’ve heard rumors that he leaves it lying about in plain sight, ripe for the picking, whilst he hides a much more potent version of it somewhere else in his hall. I haven’t had the chance to investigate where that might be, but I’m quite sure it would be worth the effort for the right mage.”

  “Which isn’t me,” Ruith said without hesitation. “Very well, so you unearthed your very rusty magic and trotted off into the sunset to effect a rescue of your granddaughter and the fool who loves her. How did you know where we would be?”

  “Because you are so unlike your sire, I had no trouble realizing that you would do the most noble thing possible which was doing whatever it took to rid the world of your father’s legacy. You aren’t the only one who has wondered if that book of s
pells might still be in his library.”

  Sarah watched Ruith out of the corner of her eye. His face was expressionless, a sure sign he was struggling with emotion he didn’t want to reveal. He glanced at her, smiled faintly, then turned back to Franciscus.

  “Where did you leave the lads whilst you were off on this errand of mercy?”

  “Slighe,” Franciscus said with a fair bit of disgust, “which I didn’t want to do, but I had no choice. I hastened to Ceangail, arriving just behind you unfortunately. I expected the battle, but I was taken by surprise by one of the occupants of the hall.”

  “Sarah?” Ruith asked.

  Franciscus shook his head. “Urchaid of Saothair.”

  Sarah shivered. “Seirceil recognized him, I think,” she said. “During our earlier journey.”

  “I thought he looked familiar myself,” Franciscus admitted, “but I had other things on my mind during the journey and didn’t study him as I should have. I didn’t dare look, if you take my meaning, lest he know who I was, and he looks nothing like his father. I can safely say that Dorchadas wouldn’t be caught dead with lace dripping from his cuffs.”

  “And Urchaid didn’t recognize you?” Ruith asked in surprise.

  “You flatter me, Ruith,” Franciscus said dryly, “but nay, I daresay he didn’t. I have been out of circulation for some time and uninterested in extensive travel before then. Well, that and I’m older than Urchaid and Droch both. I was surprised enough to find Urchaid at Ceangail, watching the two of you, to be thrown off guard for a second too long. I had scarce recovered before all Gair’s spawn were upon me.” He shot Ruith a look. “You shouldn’t underestimate them, lad. They aren’t your father, but their power, especially when combined, is significant.”

  “Lesson learned,” Ruith agreed, “and rescue appreciated. What did you do then?”

  “Dragged myself out of the rubble, hid in the witchwoman of Fàs’s garden shed for a full fortnight until my head had cleared, then I realized I had no idea where you’d gone. I didn’t dare reveal myself, not knowing who might be watching, so I’ve been searching by more pedestrian means. I will admit that I was grateful for the brief flash of the Sword of Neroche—how long ago was it? A se’nnight ago, almost? I was standing on the walls of Buidseachd when I saw it.”

  “You were?” Sarah asked in surprise. “How did you get there?”

  “Soilléir gave me a boost.” He laughed a little, then shook his head. “He was also the one who pointed out to me that unpleasant red flash. I changed myself into a dragon and flew hard, but the distance is not small. That and your spell of concealment is very good, Ruith.”

  “It’s Miach’s,” Ruith said with a sigh, “mixed in with a bit of my grandfather’s.”

  “Well, ’tis damned effective.” He paused and sipped at his ale. “I found the lads, then waited for you to catch up with us. I saw that Morag was hunting you and arranged for us to be in the right place at the right time, on the off chance aid might be needed.”

  Sarah didn’t want to ask Franciscus what he saw on a daily basis or how it was he saw it. She supposed she knew the answer to both. She certainly didn’t want to know how that answer might affect her and if there were things she could see that she hadn’t realized yet.

  She looked down at what was left of her crown, long stands of something that wasn’t quite of the current world. She considered it as Ruith and Franciscus changed the subject to less weightier matters, then reached over and dug about in her pack for the roving Rùnach had gifted her and the spindle from Uachdaran of Léige. She rolled the spindle between her fingers for a moment, admiring the lever she knew would cause the shaft to fall away and reveal a slim, very useful dagger, then broke off a lengthy piece of yarn from other wool Rùnach had given her to use as a leader.

  She didn’t spin with a spindle as a rule, having preferred her spinning wheel that was now nothing but wood destined to turn to dust under a collapsed barn in Doìre, but she could make do with one in a pinch. She drafted out the snowy white wool and began to spin.

  She was actually rather surprised to find that a single strand from her crown had caught itself up in the roving.

  As if it had decided it would become a part of whatever she intended to take with her.

  She spun for quite some time, drawing the strands of her crown into the roving, until she realized that she was being watched. She looked up to find both Franciscus and Ruith looking at her with their mouths hanging open. She froze.

  “What?”

  Ruith cleared his throat. “What are you spinning?”

  She held up the wool roving. “This?”

  He shook his head, looking profoundly startled. “Nay, the other business.”

  She held up the strands of, well, she hadn’t anything good to call it. And she realized as she held it up, that she wasn’t holding on to all that much. It had become less strands of stuff than it had images of dreams and visions and things she supposed she might see if she looked hard enough or dreams that she might remember if she thought about it long enough. But it was definitely not anything of substance.

  She looked at Ruith. “It is as I said before: dreams.”

  “How are you spinning it?” Franciscus asked, frowning slightly.

  She held up the spindle. “King Uachdaran gave me this. He said it would spin many kinds of things. I didn’t think to ask him what those things might be.”

  “That was probably very wise,” Franciscus said with a shiver. “The things that come from his forge—and, apparently, his woodshop—are sometimes better left unexamined too closely.” He set his cup down and smothered a yawn behind his hand. “I think, children, that we should put ourselves to bed before any more of the night wears away. Sarah, you might keep that wee contraption handy. You never know when you might need it.”

  “Uachdaran said it doubles as a dagger.”

  “I imagine it does, my gel.” He looked briefly at Ruith. “Bed down a discreet distance from my granddaughter, lad, if you value your pretty nose.”

  “How barbaric,” Ruith said.

  “I thought it better than turning you into a tapestry and hanging you in the garrison hall.”

  Ruith looked at Franciscus closely. “Do you know any of Seannair’s spells?”

  Franciscus rose and stretched. “Good night, children.”

  Sarah watched as her grandfather went and rolled himself up in a blanket on a rug on the other side of the fire. She waited until he’d closed his eyes before she looked at Ruith.

  He was watching Franciscus thoughtfully, but he soon turned to her. “Aye?”

  “What do you think?”

  “About your grandfather?” Ruith asked. “I think I’d best be careful around him. Then again, he hasn’t turned me into a rock yet, so perhaps I’m safe. For the moment, at least. And I daresay he knows far more than he’ll admit to. What do you think?”

  “I’m almost afraid to.” She wound what she’d been spinning around the spindle along with the roving and dreams, then looked at Ruith.

  “Can you not see this?”

  He shook his head slowly. “But that doesn’t surprise me.”

  She put it back in her pack, then took a deep breath before she looked at him. “What now?”

  “Sleep,” he said seriously. “I’ll put myself discreetly by your head and hold your hand, if you don’t mind. Perhaps we’ll both sleep dreamlessly, though I don’t hold out much hope for it in this place.”

  She nodded and decided that perhaps she would put her pack far away from her so her spinning didn’t seep into her dreaming.

  She had the distinct feeling that she wasn’t going to be able to separate the two for very much longer.

  Thirteen

  R

  uith wondered how it was possible for the sun to shine so relentlessly but for it to be so bitterly cold. He was beginning to wonder if he would ever again feel his toes. He was fairly sure he would never rid himself of the headache he had from the harsh su
nlight above him. They had been traveling for two days in various guises. After the first few leagues spent on their feet walking from Taigh Hall, they had fallen into particular patterns of shapes for those capable of assuming them and rides for those who couldn’t. Ruith had taken to riding Ruathar with Sarah and leaving Tarbh for Ned and Oban. Seirceil had happily accepted aid with turning himself into whatever pleased him at the moment, and Franciscus had invariably disappeared into a gust of wind. They had landed wherever Sarah had instructed them to and retrieved spells that had clearly been hidden for many, many years.

  Ruith would have suspected a score of years if he’d been a more suspicious sort of lad.

  Their entire company was now hunting on foot, because he’d grown tired of flying and because it bothered him that the last spell hadn’t been where the map had indicated it should be; it had been simply lying on the ground.

  Not damaged by snow, mud, or half a dozen forest inhabitants who might have trampled it in their haste to be somewhere else.

  Sarah seemed less troubled by that than he was, but then again, she could still see where the spells lay without the map. That some of them had moved…well, he preferred not to think about why that might have been.

  “Ruith?”

  He looked at Sarah but realized he couldn’t quite see her. He drew his hand over his eyes, which seemed to clear his vision a bit.

  “What is it, love?”

  “What are we going to do?” she asked. “When we reach the end of the road.”

  He didn’t ask her what she meant because he’d spent the whole of the morning thinking about nothing but that. He shifted his pack on his back, then dragged his hand through his hair. “I wish I knew,” he said with feeling. “I suppose it depends on what we find once we get there. If anything,” he added, not entirely under his breath.

  She nodded, then simply walked next to him for quite some time in silence. “Do you think it’s possible he’s alive?”