Gift of Magic

by Lynn Kurland

  Ruith found it very difficult to swallow. “The mage on the hill,” he said, meaning it to sound like a statement of fact, not a question.

  Franciscus met his gaze. “Nay, lad, not the mage on the hill.”

  “Who then?” Ruith asked thickly.

  Franciscus lifted his eyebrows briefly. “That is the question, isn’t it?” He paused and looked off into the distance, as if he saw things they couldn’t. “I never imagined that there might be truth to the rumors.” He looked at them both bleakly. “I will admit I was perhaps not thinking past what I could see, which wasn’t much.”

  Ruith frowned. “But how is that, with your mighty gifts of sight? Could you not see the future?”

  “Not when that future happens in Shettlestoune,” Franciscus said frankly.

  Ruith felt his mouth fall open. “What?”

  “Just what I said, lad,” Franciscus said. “Magic is possible in Shettlestoune—the sort you might have from the local witchwoman or wizard—but not serious magic. Not seeing magic. At least that was my experience.” He shrugged. “To tell the truth, I never investigated it past realizing during my first visit there that my sight was completely dimmed. ’Tis possible, I suppose, that I could have augmented that sight with a pointed spell or two, but I had no reason to and no stomach to see past the end of my worktable.” He chewed on his words for a moment or two. “I’m realizing now that that was a mistake.”

  Ruith looked at the map in Sarah’s hands. He looked at the location opposite the house where they now stood. And he couldn’t deny that that corner of that square found itself in Shettlestoune.

  In Doìre.

  On the side of the mountain near his home.

  He felt a shudder tear through him so suddenly and so strongly the only reason he didn’t fall straightway upon his arse was that Sarah was holding up one side and Franciscus the other. He felt as if he had recently and quite narrowly avoided certain death but was now only realizing how closely he had come to having his life be ripped away from him.

  He had explored the woods for leagues around his home, just to give himself something to do. There had been a particular house in the midst of a clearing, a clearing with a well-tended garden, animals in a pasture, a finely laid path leading to the front door.

  And a well beside that path.

  Ruith waited until the stars had cleared, then looked at Franciscus in horror.

  “Impossible,” he managed.

  “Improbable,” Franciscus said grimly, “and terrifying, but not impossible. Doìre isn’t large, but the mountains are full of all sorts of places no one dares travel. You hid there for a score of years without garnering undue notice, didn’t you? It isn’t unthinkable that other mages could have done the same.” He paused. “There’s only one way to find out—”

  Ruith nodded briskly, because he had no choice. The thought that his father might be alive had been troubling enough. The possibility that not only was he alive, he had been living for years less than five leagues from his own house was . . .

  Devastating.

  He turned and looked at Sarah. “I have to go.”

  “Without me?” she asked in surprise.

  He shook his head sharply. “You cannot come on this—”

  “Of course I can,” she said, stepping away from him. “I’ll pack my gear. How shall we travel?”

  Ruith wanted to protest. Indeed, he opened his mouth to protest, but then it occurred to him that if he left her behind, he would be leaving her…well, he had no idea where he could leave her. Franciscus would no doubt wish to come along, which left her relying on a pair of damaged mages, a powerless elf, and a farm boy without any useful skills. He sighed.

  “Very well.” He looked at Franciscus. “What of Thoir?”

  Franciscus looked behind Ruith, blinked, then swore. The vehemence of that swearing startled Ruith so that he looked over his shoulder.

  To find Thoir of Tòrr Dòrainn nowhere to be seen.

  Well, that wasn’t precisely true. Ruith followed Sarah’s extended arm and looked up to where she was pointing. There in the sky, quite a decent distance away and becoming smaller by the heartbeat, was a dragon frantically flapping its wings. In its talons was clutched a man who was struggling violently. Ruith looked at Franciscus.

  “Well?”

  Franciscus rubbed his finger over his mouth, as if he strove not to smile. “Forgive me, Ruith, if I find the humor in this.”

  “Help me see it,” Ruith said sourly, “because I’m finding that difficult.”

  Franciscus laughed briefly. “I’m imagining that Urchaid thinks he’ll carry his prize off to some pleasant locale and terrify a bit of information out of him. Sadly enough, he will have met his match in Thoir who is not only his grandfather’s grandson, but half mad as well. If they wind up as anything more than two souls locked in an eternal battle to determine who is more worthy of disdain, I would be very surprised. Or,” he said with a shrug, “they may find themselves wanting the same thing and joining forces at least outwardly to have it.”

  “At least Thoir has no idea where we’re going and won’t be able to see us to follow us,” Ruith said, even though he didn’t completely believe it.

  “So we could hope,” Franciscus said his smile fading. “I’ll shadow them and engage them both if necessary. Or I might just lead them in the wrong direction. I would suggest that you two make haste and travel under cover. Consider this a final gift for this quest that from this point on is yours alone.”

  Ruith sighed deeply. “You have helped us both more than we could reasonably expect, and I thank you for it.”

  “What are grandfathers for,” Franciscus asked seriously, “if not to offer everything possible to prepare their charges to take their own places on the world’s stage?”

  Ruith found that words were simply beyond him. He took a step backward, then made Franciscus a low, formal bow. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  Franciscus only smiled, then clapped a hand on Ruith’s shoulder. “The same was done for me, once upon a time, under not so dire circumstances, lad. You’ll do it in your turn, I’m sure.” He embraced Sarah briefly, then looked at her with rather misty eyes. “We’ll meet again, hopefully under more cheery circumstances. Be careful with that lad there. My suggestion is to keep him at arm’s length more often than not.”

  Ruith pursed his lips. “Is this another selection from that grandfatherly code you seem to be so familiar with?”

  Franciscus only smiled at him pleasantly. He paused, ran his hand briefly over Sarah’s hair, then smiled at her before he walked away.

  He vanished without a trace.

  Ruith took a deep breath, then reached for Sarah’s hand. “Well,” he said, because that was all he could manage.

  “We should finish up here,” she said, looking easily as overcome as he felt, “and I’m not saying that to put the journey off.” She paused. “Not entirely.”

  He understood completely. He took her hand, then walked over with her to the rest of their company. He put on a cheerful smile, because he didn’t want to terrify them.

  “My lord Seirceil, if you and Master Oban would be so good as to take Prince Ardan to Seanagarra,” he said, shooting Ardan a look that said he would be wise to simply keep his mouth shut and go along, “I would appreciate it. Sarah and I have a small detour to see to before we join you there.”

  Seirceil inclined his head. “As you wish, Prince Ruithneadh.”

  “You can take our horses, of course,” Ruith said, hoping that Seirceil would be able to manage them. “Ned, you make sure they’re fed and watered properly.”

  “As dragons?” Ned squeaked.

  “Seirceil will see if he can convince them to turn themselves back into horses when you reach Tòrr Dòrainn. I think I can safely promise you that no matter their form, they won’t eat you.”

  Ned didn’t look particularly convinced, but Ruith supposed after what the lad had seen he had good reason to be a littl
e overwhelmed.

  He thanked them all for the companionship on the journey, then turned away and wondered why it felt more final than he would have liked.

  He was becoming sentimental in his old age, no doubt.

  He walked over toward the doorway of his father’s spectacular bolt hole with Sarah, picking up his pack as he did so. The spells were safely inside, as was the cover for them. He supposed the map didn’t make any difference, but he thought he might rather have it than not, so he picked it up and shoved it down his boot.

  “The door?” Sarah asked.

  Ruith pushed it to, then considered for a moment or two. He looked at the ring on his finger that he’d put there simply to keep it safe, then reached out and put the stone into what seemingly served as a lock.

  The spell leapt up from where it had lain coiled on the ground and rewound itself over the face of the door. He pulled the ring away only because the end of the spell came close to tapping him on the back of the hand to get himself out of its way. Any hint of it no matter how faint immediately disappeared fading into an obscurity that matched the rest of the rock face. Ruith took a deep breath and looked at Sarah.

  “Well?”

  “I’m ready to go,” she said, sounding rather unnerved. “How will we travel?”

  Ruith considered. “Wind, I think.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Absolutely not.”

  “I won’t lose you, I promise.”

  “Well,” she said slowly, “you haven’t before.”

  That wasn’t entirely true, for he had indeed been bested, and by Urchaid himself, outside Ceangail where he had most certainly lost her. But that had been before, when he’d had his magic buried and only his nightmares to keep him company. Now he had spells at his disposal and strength he hadn’t possessed before. He could at least manage to get them both to Shettlestoune in safety.

  He could only hope he could manage safety for them both once they were there.

  Eighteen

  S

  arah dropped to her knees, gasping, and was immensely grateful she had knees to fall to. The fire to her right sprang to life in the hearth and candles lit themselves on the table behind her. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. The candles and the fire were lit thanks to the man who regrouped next to her and joined here there on his knees. She knew she shouldn’t have been pleased to see him gasping for breath as well, but she was. She mustered up a glare.

  “That is the very last time you turn me into wind.”

  “I thought you didn’t want me to turn you into a mouse.”

  “I didn’t want that either!”

  He put his arm around her shoulders and rested his cheek against hers. “We’ll try dragonshape next time. I think you might like that. You’re feisty enough for it.”

  She would have elbowed him rather firmly for the wheezing laugh that accompanied his words, but she just didn’t have it in her to do so. She turned slightly and put her arms around his neck, partly because she was very fond of him and partly because she needed something to hold on to. It had been a very long journey from Gair’s palace, a journey she wasn’t sure she would recover from anytime soon.

  “I don’t feel well,” she managed.

  And that was the last thing she remembered saying.

  S

  he woke to find she was stretched out in front of the fire with Ruith’s cloak under her head. She wasn’t sure how she’d gotten there and thought it best not to ask. She simply watched him as he moved about what had been his home for a score of years, preparing supper, feeding the fire. He pulled two loaves of bread out of the oven to the side of his hearth, then smiled at her. “Sleep well?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “Did I sleep long?”

  “All night,” he said gravely.

  “Did you?”

  He shrugged. “For a few hours. I had too much to think on to make a proper night of it.”

  She sat up, then had to put her hands to her head to keep it from spinning. Perhaps dragonshape was the best idea. It was sad to say, but she thought even riding atop a dragon was preferable to the past two days of blistering travel in a shape not her own. Perhaps if she’d had magic, she might have enjoyed it. As it was, it did nothing for her besides making her very glad she could spend most of her life on the ground in her own shape.

  She breakfasted with Ruith, complemented him on his bread and eggs, and enjoyed a cup of Franciscus’s lovely apple-flavored ale. She considered asking Ruith if it was wise to alert anyone to their presence there given that the smoke from the chimney was a telltale sign, but she supposed he’d already thought of that.

  At that point, she supposed there was little reason in trying to hide.

  She helped him put the house to rights, watched him bank the fire by very pedestrian means, then waited at the door whilst he looked about the house a final time. He walked outside with her, then pulled the door shut behind them. He stood with his hand on the latch for a moment or two, then looked at her with a weary smile.

  “We should be off.”

  She could only nod. The last time she had stood at that particular doorway, she’d been oblivious to her heritage and equally as unaware of just how powerful mages outside Shettlestoune could be. Ruith had terrified her with his reputation alone, driving her away into woods that had been full of nothing worse than woodland creatures and Ruith himself following along after her. She hadn’t known she could see, hadn’t known what that gift would cost her, hadn’t known just how much there was to fear.

  She also hadn’t known what beauty there was in the world to be seen by a rustic miss from the most barren part of the ugliest country in all the Nine Kingdoms.

  Ruith took her hand and drew her away from the door. She walked with him, because there was no use in putting things off any longer. Their path was laid before their feet, a shining river of Fadaire that sparkled and sang as it flowed around them. She watched it in wonder until she and Ruith reached the end of the path that led up to his house. The Fadaire faded, then disappeared.

  “Did you do that?”

  He looked at her, apparently equally moved. “I didn’t. I saw it first after I shut the door on you—”

  “Threw me out of your house, you mean.”

  He laughed a little. “Aye, that. I walked outside, trying to elude my guilt, and walked into the middle of that stream.” He was silent for a moment or two. “I think it has lain there, undisturbed, for twenty years.” He shot her a look. “You know, ’tis possible you were the one to convince it to become visible.”

  “Me?” she asked, finding herself smiling uneasily. “I doubt that. I’m sure it was you. I just wonder who put it there.”

  Ruith shrugged. “It could have been any number of people, though my best guess is Franciscus. He certainly has the power to use that magic, and the cheek.”

  She shook her head. “You mages are so possessive of your heritages.”

  “We don’t like lesser hands at the tiller,” Ruith said dryly, “though even Sìle would conceed that Franciscus is not a lesser hand.” He took a deep breath and looked at the path in front of them. “Right to Doìre, left to . . .” He was silent for several moments. “Well, to wherever it leads.”

  Sarah nodded, then turned to the left with him and started along the path that led, she was sure, to a place she would happily have avoided for the rest of her life.

  She spared a thought, as she walked, for the rest of their company. The lads and Ardan would find their way to Tòrr Dòrainn with little trouble with Seirceil leading the way. Franciscus, she hoped, would have already given both Urchaid and Thoir a stern talking to and set them on a path to more productive endeavors. Perhaps her grandfather was now sitting with Sgath, discussing where the best fishing spots were on Sgath’s pristine lake.

  Unless the unthinkable had occurred and he had been overcome by either Thoir or Urchaid—or both. She hadn’t thought about either of them on her journey south, but then again, she hadn’t had much
of a mind to think with. Now, though, it was hard not to worry about what could possibly happen if they appeared at an inopportune moment and made trouble neither she nor Ruith could fight.

  She couldn’t bring herself to even consider just what sort of trouble that might be.

  She put those unpleasant thoughts behind her and simply walked next to Ruith, forcing herself to pretend they were out for a stroll through unremarkable woods with a very pedestrian afternoon stretching out before them. That stroll might be followed, if they were feeling particularly spry, by an evening down at the pub where they might enjoy a fine mug of Franciscus’s ale and try to ignore whatever entertainment might have been on display for their amusement.

  A pity she couldn’t quite bring her rather decent imagination to grasp hold of any of that with any success. She found that the only thing each league brought her was a drier mouth, a more fiercely beating heart, and in the end, a terror that made it almost impossible for her to swallow. She could say with all honesty that when she reached a path that broke off from the main road and turned toward a deeper forest, she was almost relieved.

  Until she realized what it meant.

  Ruith stood there at the head of what was nothing more, in truth, than the faintest hint of a trail, for so long, Sarah began to wonder if he would be able to move forward again. He finally lifted his head and looked at her.

  “I think we should go on without magic.”

  She felt her mouth fall open. “You can’t be serious.”

  He smiled briefly. “How easily we’ve both become accustomed to it.”

  She would have blushed, but she couldn’t muster up the energy. “Forgive me. I don’t doubt your ability to keep us safe.”

  He pulled their bows out of his pack and restored them to their original size. He handed her a bow and a quiver full of arrows, then smiled.